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diff --git a/7658-h/7658-h.htm b/7658-h/7658-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..38b6d8b --- /dev/null +++ b/7658-h/7658-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,25493 @@ +<?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> + Kenelm Chillingly, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + 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%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Kenelm Chillingly, Complete, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Kenelm Chillingly, Complete + +Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +Release Date: March 16, 2009 [EBook #7658] +Last Updated: August 28, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KENELM CHILLINGLY, COMPLETE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger and Dagny + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + KENELM CHILLINGLY + </h1> + <h3> + HIS ADVENTURES AND OPINIONS + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Edward Bulwer Lytton + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BOOK I.</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> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0057"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0058"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0059"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0060"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0061"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0062"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0063"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0064"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0065"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0066"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0067"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0068"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0069"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0070"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0071"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0072"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0073"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0074"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0075"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0076"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> VI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0077"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0078"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0079"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0080"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0081"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0082"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0083"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0084"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0085"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0086"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0087"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0088"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0089"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0090"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0091"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0092"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0093"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0100"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0094"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0095"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0096"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0097"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0098"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0099"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0100"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0108"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0101"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0102"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0103"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0104"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0105"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0106"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0107"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0108"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0109"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0110"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0111"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0112"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0113"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0114"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0115"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0116"> CHAPTER THE LAST. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <br /><b>BOOK I.</b> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + SIR PETER CHILLINGLY, of Exmundham, Baronet, F.R.S. and F.A.S., was the + representative of an ancient family, and a landed proprietor of some + importance. He had married young; not from any ardent inclination for the + connubial state, but in compliance with the request of his parents. They + took the pains to select his bride; and if they might have chosen better, + they might have chosen worse, which is more than can be said for many men + who choose wives for themselves. Miss Caroline Brotherton was in all + respects a suitable connection. She had a pretty fortune, which was of + much use in buying a couple of farms, long desiderated by the Chillinglys + as necessary for the rounding of their property into a ring-fence. She was + highly connected, and brought into the county that experience of + fashionable life acquired by a young lady who has attended a course of + balls for three seasons, and gone out in matrimonial honours, with credit + to herself and her chaperon. She was handsome enough to satisfy a + husband’s pride, but not so handsome as to keep perpetually on the <i>qui + vive</i> a husband’s jealousy. She was considered highly accomplished; + that is, she played upon the pianoforte so that any musician would say she + “was very well taught;” but no musician would go out of his way to hear + her a second time. She painted in water-colours—well enough to amuse + herself. She knew French and Italian with an elegance so lady-like that, + without having read more than selected extracts from authors in those + languages, she spoke them both with an accent more correct than we have + any reason to attribute to Rousseau or Ariosto. What else a young lady may + acquire in order to be styled highly accomplished I do not pretend to + know; but I am sure that the young lady in question fulfilled that + requirement in the opinion of the best masters. It was not only an + eligible match for Sir Peter Chillingly,—it was a brilliant match. + It was also a very unexceptionable match for Miss Caroline Brotherton. + This excellent couple got on together as most excellent couples do. A + short time after marriage, Sir Peter, by the death of his parents—who, + having married their heir, had nothing left in life worth the trouble of + living for—succeeded to the hereditary estates; he lived for nine + months of the year at Exmundham, going to town for the other three months. + Lady Chillingly and himself were both very glad to go to town, being bored + at Exmundham; and very glad to go back to Exmundham, being bored in town. + With one exception it was an exceedingly happy marriage, as marriages go. + Lady Chillingly had her way in small things; Sir Peter his way in great. + Small things happen every day; great things once in three years. Once in + three years Lady Chillingly gave way to Sir Peter; households so managed + go on regularly. The exception to their connubial happiness was, after + all, but of a negative description. Their affection was such that they + sighed for a pledge of it; fourteen years had he and Lady Chillingly + remained unvisited by the little stranger. + </p> + <p> + Now, in default of male issue, Sir Peter’s estates passed to a distant + cousin as heir-at-law; and during the last four years this heir-at-law had + evinced his belief that practically speaking he was already heir-apparent; + and (though Sir Peter was a much younger man than himself, and as healthy + as any man well can be) had made his expectations of a speedy succession + unpleasantly conspicuous. He had refused his consent to a small exchange + of lands with a neighbouring squire, by which Sir Peter would have + obtained some good arable land, for an outlying unprofitable wood that + produced nothing but fagots and rabbits, with the blunt declaration that + he, the heir-at-law, was fond of rabbit-shooting, and that the wood would + be convenient to him next season if he came into the property by that + time, which he very possibly might. He disputed Sir Peter’s right to make + his customary fall of timber, and had even threatened him with a bill in + Chancery on that subject. In short, this heir-at-law was exactly one of + those persons to spite whom a landed proprietor would, if single, marry at + the age of eighty in the hope of a family. + </p> + <p> + Nor was it only on account of his very natural wish to frustrate the + expectations of this unamiable relation that Sir Peter Chillingly lamented + the absence of the little stranger. Although belonging to that class of + country gentlemen to whom certain political reasoners deny the + intelligence vouchsafed to other members of the community, Sir Peter was + not without a considerable degree of book-learning and a great taste for + speculative philosophy. He sighed for a legitimate inheritor to the stores + of his erudition, and, being a very benevolent man, for a more active and + useful dispenser of those benefits to the human race which philosophers + confer by striking hard against each other; just as, how full soever of + sparks a flint may be, they might lurk concealed in the flint till + doomsday, if the flint were not hit by the steel. Sir Peter, in short, + longed for a son amply endowed with the combative quality, in which he + himself was deficient, but which is the first essential to all seekers + after renown, and especially to benevolent philosophers. + </p> + <p> + Under these circumstances one may well conceive the joy that filled the + household of Exmundham and extended to all the tenantry on that venerable + estate, by whom the present possessor was much beloved and the prospect of + an heir-at-law with a special eye to the preservation of rabbits much + detested, when the medical attendant of the Chillinglys declared that ‘her + ladyship was in an interesting way;’ and to what height that joy + culminated when, in due course of time, a male baby was safely enthroned + in his cradle. To that cradle Sir Peter was summoned. He entered the room + with a lively bound and a radiant countenance: he quitted it with a musing + step and an overclouded brow. + </p> + <p> + Yet the baby was no monster. It did not come into the world with two + heads, as some babies are said to have done; it was formed as babies are + in general; was on the whole a thriving baby, a fine baby. Nevertheless, + its aspect awed the father as already it had awed the nurse. The creature + looked so unutterably solemn. It fixed its eyes upon Sir Peter with a + melancholy reproachful stare; its lips were compressed and drawn downward + as if discontentedly meditating its future destinies. The nurse declared + in a frightened whisper that it had uttered no cry on facing the light. It + had taken possession of its cradle in all the dignity of silent sorrow. A + more saddened and a more thoughtful countenance a human being could not + exhibit if he were leaving the world instead of entering it. + </p> + <p> + “Hem!” said Sir Peter to himself on regaining the solitude of his library; + “a philosopher who contributes a new inhabitant to this vale of tears + takes upon himself very anxious responsibilities—” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the joy-bells rang out from the neighbouring church tower, + the summer sun shone into the windows, the bees hummed among the flowers + on the lawn. Sir Peter roused himself and looked forth, “After all,” said + he, cheerily, “the vale of tears is not without a smile.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + A FAMILY council was held at Exmundham Hall to deliberate on the name by + which this remarkable infant should be admitted into the Christian + community. The junior branches of that ancient house consisted, first, of + the obnoxious heir-at-law—a Scotch branch named Chillingly Gordon. + He was the widowed father of one son, now of the age of three, and happily + unconscious of the injury inflicted on his future prospects by the advent + of the new-born, which could not be truthfully said of his Caledonian + father. Mr. Chillingly Gordon was one of those men who get on in the world + with out our being able to discover why. His parents died in his infancy + and left him nothing; but the family interest procured him an admission + into the Charterhouse School, at which illustrious academy he obtained no + remarkable distinction. Nevertheless, as soon as he left it the State took + him under its special care, and appointed him to a clerkship in a public + office. From that moment he continued to get on in the world, and was now + a Commissioner of Customs, with a salary of L1500 a year. As soon as he + had been thus enabled to maintain a wife, he selected a wife who assisted + to maintain himself. She was an Irish peer’s widow, with a jointure of + L2000 a year. + </p> + <p> + A few months after his marriage, Chillingly Gordon effected insurances on + his wife’s life, so as to secure himself an annuity of L1000 a year in + case of her decease. As she appeared to be a fine healthy woman, some + years younger than her husband, the deduction from his income effected by + the annual payments for the insurance seemed an over-sacrifice of present + enjoyment to future contingencies. The result bore witness to his + reputation for sagacity, as the lady died in the second year of their + wedding, a few months after the birth of her only child, and of a + heart-disease which had been latent to the doctors, but which, no doubt, + Gordon had affectionately discovered before he had insured a life too + valuable not to need some compensation for its loss. He was now, then, in + the possession of L2500 a year, and was therefore very well off, in the + pecuniary sense of the phrase. He had, moreover, acquired a reputation + which gave him a social rank beyond that accorded to him by a discerning + State. He was considered a man of solid judgment, and his opinion upon all + matters, private and public, carried weight. The opinion itself, + critically examined, was not worth much, but the way he announced it was + imposing. Mr. Fox said that ‘No one ever was so wise as Lord Thurlow + looked.’ Lord Thurlow could not have looked wiser than Mr. Chillingly + Gordon. He had a square jaw and large red bushy eyebrows, which he lowered + down with great effect when he delivered judgment. He had another + advantage for acquiring grave reputation. He was a very unpleasant man. He + could be rude if you contradicted him; and as few persons wish to provoke + rudeness, so he was seldom contradicted. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Chillingly Mivers, another cadet of the house, was also distinguished, + but in a different way. He was a bachelor, now about the age of + thirty-five. He was eminent for a supreme well-bred contempt for everybody + and everything. He was the originator and chief proprietor of a public + journal called “The Londoner,” which had lately been set up on that + principle of contempt, and we need not say, was exceedingly popular with + those leading members of the community who admire nobody and believe in + nothing. Mr. Chillingly Mivers was regarded by himself and by others as a + man who might have achieved the highest success in any branch of + literature, if he had deigned to exhibit his talents therein. But he did + not so deign, and therefore he had full right to imply that, if he had + written an epic, a drama, a novel, a history, a metaphysical treatise, + Milton, Shakspeare, Cervantes, Hume, Berkeley would have been nowhere. He + held greatly to the dignity of the anonymous; and even in the journal + which he originated nobody could ever ascertain what he wrote. But, at all + events, Mr. Chillingly Mivers was what Mr. Chillingly Gordon was not; + namely, a very clever man, and by no means an unpleasant one in general + society. + </p> + <p> + The Rev. John Stalworth Chillingly was a decided adherent to the creed of + what is called “muscular Christianity,” and a very fine specimen of it + too. A tall stout man with broad shoulders, and that division of lower + limb which intervenes between the knee and the ankle powerfully developed. + He would have knocked down a deist as soon as looked at him. It is told by + the Sieur de Joinville, in his Memoir of Louis, the sainted king, that an + assembly of divines and theologians convened the Jews of an Oriental city + for the purpose of arguing with them on the truths of Christianity, and a + certain knight, who was at that time crippled, and supporting himself on + crutches, asked and obtained permission to be present at the debate. The + Jews flocked to the summons, when a prelate, selecting a learned rabbi, + mildly put to him the leading question whether he owned the divine + conception of our Lord. “Certainly not,” replied the rabbi; whereon the + pious knight, shocked by such blasphemy, uplifted his crutch and felled + the rabbi, and then flung himself among the other misbelievers, whom he + soon dispersed in ignominious flight and in a very belaboured condition. + The conduct of the knight was reported to the sainted king, with a request + that it should be properly reprimanded; but the sainted king delivered + himself of this wise judgment:— + </p> + <p> + “If a pious knight is a very learned clerk, and can meet in fair argument + the doctrines of the misbeliever, by all means let him argue fairly; but + if a pious knight is not a learned clerk, and the argument goes against + him, then let the pious knight cut the discussion short by the edge of his + good sword.” + </p> + <p> + The Rev. John Stalworth Chillingly was of the same opinion as Saint Louis; + otherwise, he was a mild and amiable man. He encouraged cricket and other + manly sports among his rural parishioners. He was a skilful and bold + rider, but he did not hunt; a convivial man—and took his bottle + freely. But his tastes in literature were of a refined and peaceful + character, contrasting therein the tendencies some might have expected + from his muscular development of Christianity. He was a great reader of + poetry, but he disliked Scott and Byron, whom he considered flashy and + noisy; he maintained that Pope was only a versifier, and that the greatest + poet in the language was Wordsworth; he did not care much for the ancient + classics; he refused all merit to the French poets; he knew nothing of the + Italian, but he dabbled in German, and was inclined to bore one about the + “Hermann and Dorothea” of Goethe. He was married to a homely little wife, + who revered him in silence, and thought there would be no schism in the + Church if he were in his right place as Archbishop of Canterbury; in this + opinion he entirely agreed with his wife. + </p> + <p> + Besides these three male specimens of the Chillingly race, the fairer sex + was represented, in the absence of her ladyship, who still kept her room, + by three female Chillinglys, sisters of Sir Peter, and all three + spinsters. Perhaps one reason why they had remained single was, that + externally they were so like each other that a suitor must have been + puzzled which to choose, and may have been afraid that if he did choose + one, he should be caught next day kissing another one in mistake. They + were all tall, all thin, with long throats—and beneath the throats a + fine development of bone. They had all pale hair, pale eyelids, pale eyes, + and pale complexions. They all dressed exactly alike, and their favourite + colour was a vivid green: they were so dressed on this occasion. + </p> + <p> + As there was such similitude in their persons, so, to an ordinary + observer, they were exactly the same in character and mind. Very well + behaved, with proper notions of female decorum: very distant and reserved + in manner to strangers; very affectionate to each other and their + relations or favourites; very good to the poor, whom they looked upon as a + different order of creation, and treated with that sort of benevolence + which humane people bestow upon dumb animals. Their minds had been + nourished on the same books—what one read the others had read. The + books were mainly divided into two classes,—novels, and what they + called “good books.” They had a habit of taking a specimen of each + alternately; one day a novel, then a good book, then a novel again, and so + on. Thus if the imagination was overwarmed on Monday, on Tuesday it was + cooled down to a proper temperature; and if frost-bitten on Tuesday, it + took a tepid bath on Wednesday. The novels they chose were indeed rarely + of a nature to raise the intellectual thermometer into blood heat: the + heroes and heroines were models of correct conduct. Mr. James’s novels + were then in vogue, and they united in saying that those “were novels a + father might allow his daughters to read.” But though an ordinary observer + might have failed to recognize any distinction between these three ladies, + and, finding them habitually dressed in green, would have said they were + as much alike as one pea is to another, they had their idiosyncratic + differences, when duly examined. Miss Margaret, the eldest, was the + commanding one of the three; it was she who regulated their household + (they all lived together), kept the joint purse, and decided every + doubtful point that arose: whether they should or should not ask Mrs. + So-and-so to tea; whether Mary should or should not be discharged; whether + or not they should go to Broadstairs or to Sandgate for the month of + October. In fact, Miss Margaret was the WILL of the body corporate. + </p> + <p> + Miss Sibyl was of milder nature and more melancholy temperament; she had a + poetic turn of mind, and occasionally wrote verses. Some of these had been + printed on satin paper, and sold for objects of beneficence at charity + bazaars. The county newspapers said that the verses “were characterized by + all the elegance of a cultured and feminine mind.” The other two sisters + agreed that Sibyl was the genius of the household, but, like all geniuses, + not sufficiently practical for the world. Miss Sarah Chillingly, the + youngest of the three, and now just in her forty-fourth year, was looked + upon by the others as “a dear thing, inclined to be naughty, but such a + darling that nobody could have the heart to scold her.” Miss Margaret said + “she was a giddy creature.” Miss Sibyl wrote a poem on her, entitled, + “Warning to a young Lady against the Pleasures of the World.” They all + called her Sally; the other two sisters had no diminutive synonyms. Sally + is a name indicative of fastness. But this Sally would not have been + thought fast in another household, and she was now little likely to sally + out of the one she belonged to. These sisters, who were all many years + older than Sir Peter, lived in a handsome, old-fashioned, red-brick house, + with a large garden at the back, in the principal street of the capital of + their native county. They had each L10,000 for portion; and if he could + have married all three, the heir-at-law would have married them, and + settled the aggregate L30,000 on himself. But we have not yet come to + recognize Mormonism as legal, though if our social progress continues to + slide in the same grooves as at present, Heaven only knows what triumphs + over the prejudices of our ancestors may not be achieved by the wisdom of + our descendants! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + SIR PETER stood on his hearthstone, surveyed the guests seated in + semicircle, and said: “Friends,—in Parliament, before anything + affecting the fate of a Bill is discussed, it is, I believe, necessary to + introduce the Bill.” He paused a moment, rang the bell, and said to the + servant who entered, “Tell Nurse to bring in the Baby.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. CHILLINGLY GORDON.—“I don’t see the necessity for that, Sir + Peter. We may take the existence of the Baby for granted.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. MIVERS.—“It is an advantage to the reputation of Sir Peter’s + work to preserve the incognito. <i>Omne ignotum pro magnifico</i>.” + </p> + <p> + THE REV. JOHN STALWORTH CHILLINGLY.—“I don’t approve the cynical + levity of such remarks. Of course we must all be anxious to see, in the + earliest stage of being, the future representative of our name and race. + Who would not wish to contemplate the source, however small, of the Tigris + or the Nile!—” + </p> + <p> + MISS SALLY (tittering).—“He! he!” + </p> + <p> + MISS MARGARET.—“For shame, you giddy thing!” + </p> + <p> + The Baby enters in the nurse’s arms. All rise and gather round the Baby + with one exception,—Mr. Gordon, who has ceased to be heir-at-law. + </p> + <p> + The Baby returned the gaze of its relations with the most contemptuous + indifference. Miss Sibyl was the first to pronounce an opinion on the + Baby’s attributes. Said she, in a solemn whisper, “What a heavenly + mournful expression! it seems so grieved to have left the angels!” + </p> + <p> + THE REV. JOHN.—“That is prettily said, Cousin Sibyl; but the infant + must pluck up its courage and fight its way among mortals with a good + heart, if it wants to get back to the angels again. And I think it will; a + fine child.” He took it from the nurse, and moving it deliberately up and + down, as if to weigh it, said cheerfully, “Monstrous heavy! by the time it + is twenty it will be a match for a prize-fighter of fifteen stone!” + </p> + <p> + Therewith he strode to Gordon, who as if to show that he now considered + himself wholly apart from all interest in the affairs of a family who had + so ill-treated him in the birth of that Baby, had taken up the “Times” + newspaper and concealed his countenance beneath the ample sheet. The + Parson abruptly snatched away the “Times” with one hand, and, with the + other substituting to the indignant eyes of the <i>ci-devant</i> + heir-at-law the spectacle of the Baby, said, “Kiss it.” + </p> + <p> + “Kiss it!” echoed Chillingly Gordon, pushing back his chair—“kiss + it! pooh, sir, stand off! I never kissed my own baby: I shall not kiss + another man’s. Take the thing away, sir: it is ugly; it has black eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter, who was near-sighted, put on his spectacles and examined the + face of the new-born. “True,” said he, “it has black eyes,—very + extraordinary: portentous: the first Chillingly that ever had black eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Its mamma has black eyes,” said Miss Margaret: “it takes after its mamma; + it has not the fair beauty of the Chillinglys, but it is not ugly.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet infant!” sighed Sibyl; “and so good; does not cry.” + </p> + <p> + “It has neither cried nor crowed since it was born,” said the nurse; + “bless its little heart.” + </p> + <p> + She took the Baby from the Parson’s arms, and smoothed back the frill of + its cap, which had got ruffled. + </p> + <p> + “You may go now, Nurse,” said Sir Peter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + “I AGREE with Mr. Shandy,” said Sir Peter, resuming his stand on the + hearthstone, “that among the responsibilities of a parent the choice of + the name which his child is to bear for life is one of the gravest. And + this is especially so with those who belong to the order of baronets. In + the case of a peer his Christian name, fused into his titular designation, + disappears. In the case of a Mister, if his baptismal be cacophonous or + provocative of ridicule, he need not ostentatiously parade it: he may drop + it altogether on his visiting cards, and may be imprinted as Mr. Jones + instead of Mr. Ebenezer Jones. In his signature, save where the forms of + the law demand Ebenezer in full, he may only use an initial and be your + obedient servant E. Jones, leaving it to be conjectured that E. stands for + Edward or Ernest,—names inoffensive, and not suggestive of a + Dissenting Chapel, like Ebenezer. If a man called Edward or Ernest be + detected in some youthful indiscretion, there is no indelible stain on his + moral character: but if an Ebenezer be so detected he is set down as a + hypocrite; it produces that shock on the public mind which is felt when a + professed saint is proved to be a bit of a sinner. But a baronet never can + escape from his baptismal: it cannot lie <i>perdu</i>; it cannot shrink + into an initial, it stands forth glaringly in the light of day; christen + him Ebenezer, and he is Sir Ebenezer in full, with all its perilous + consequences if he ever succumb to those temptations to which even + baronets are exposed. But, my friends, it is not only the effect that the + sound of a name has upon others which is to be thoughtfully considered: + the effect that his name produces on the man himself is perhaps still more + important. Some names stimulate and encourage the owner; others deject and + paralyze him: I am a melancholy instance of that truth. Peter has been for + many generations, as you are aware, the baptismal to which the eldest-born + of our family has been devoted. On the altar of that name I have been + sacrificed. Never has there been a Sir Peter Chillingly who has, in any + way, distinguished himself above his fellows. That name has been a dead + weight on my intellectual energies. In the catalogue of illustrious + Englishmen there is, I think, no immortal Sir Peter, except Sir Peter + Teazle, and he only exists on the comic stage.” + </p> + <p> + MISS SIBYL.—“Sir Peter Lely?” + </p> + <p> + SIR PETER CHILLINGLY.—“That painter was not an Englishman. He was + born in Westphalia, famous for hams. I confine my remarks to the children + of our native land. I am aware that in foreign countries the name is not + an extinguisher to the genius of its owner. But why? In other countries + its sound is modified. Pierre Corneille was a great man; but I put it to + you whether, had he been an Englishman, he could have been the father of + European tragedy as Peter Crow?” + </p> + <p> + MISS SIBYL.—“Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + MISS SALLY.—“He! he!” + </p> + <p> + MISS MARGARET.—“There is nothing to laugh at, you giddy child!” + </p> + <p> + SIR PETER.—“My son shall not be petrified into Peter.” + </p> + <p> + MR. CHILLINGLY GORDON.—“If a man is such a fool—and I don’t + say your son will not be a fool, Cousin Peter—as to be influenced by + the sound of his own name, and you want the booby to turn the world + topsy-turvy, you had better call him Julius Caesar or Hannibal or Attila + or Charlemagne.” + </p> + <p> + SIR PETER, (who excels mankind in imperturbability of temper).—“On + the contrary, if you inflict upon a man the burden of one of those names, + the glory of which he cannot reasonably expect to eclipse or even to + equal, you crush him beneath the weight. If a poet were called John Milton + or William Shakspeare, he could not dare to publish even a sonnet. No: the + choice of a name lies between the two extremes of ludicrous insignificance + and oppressive renown. For this reason I have ordered the family pedigree + to be suspended on yonder wall. Let us examine it with care, and see + whether, among the Chillinglys themselves or their alliances, we can + discover a name that can be borne with becoming dignity by the destined + head of our house—a name neither too light nor too heavy.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter here led the way to the family tree—a goodly roll of + parchment, with the arms of the family emblazoned at the top. Those arms + were simple, as ancient heraldic coats are,—three fishes <i>argent</i> + on a field <i>azure</i>; the crest a mermaid’s head. All flocked to + inspect the pedigree except Mr. Gordon, who resumed the “Times” newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “I never could quite make out what kind of fishes these are,” said the + Rev. John Stalworth. “They are certainly not pike which formed the + emblematic blazon of the Hotofts, and are still grim enough to frighten + future Shakspeares on the scutcheon of the Warwickshire Lucys.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe they are tenches,” said Mr. Mivers. “The tench is a fish that + knows how to keep itself safe by a philosophical taste for an obscure + existence in deep holes and slush.” + </p> + <p> + SIR PETER.—“No, Mivers; the fishes are dace, a fish that, once + introduced into any pond, never can be got out again. You may drag the + water; you may let off the water; you may say, ‘Those dace are + extirpated,’—vain thought!—the dace reappear as before; and in + this respect the arms are really emblematic of the family. All the + disorders and revolutions that have occurred in England since the + Heptarchy have left the Chillinglys the same race in the same place. + Somehow or other the Norman Conquest did not despoil them; they held fiefs + under Eudo Dapifer as peacefully as they had held them under King Harold; + they took no part in the Crusades, nor the Wars of the Roses, nor the + Civil Wars between Charles the First and the Parliament. As the dace + sticks to the water and the water sticks by the dace, so the Chillinglys + stuck to the land and the land stuck by the Chillinglys. Perhaps I am + wrong to wish that the new Chillingly may be a little less like a dace.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Miss Margaret, who, mounted on a chair, had been inspecting + the pedigree through an eye-glass, “I don’t see a fine Christian name from + the beginning, except Oliver.” + </p> + <p> + SIR PETER.—“That Chillingly was born in Oliver Cromwell’s + Protectorate, and named Oliver in compliment to him, as his father, born + in the reign of James I., was christened James. The three fishes always + swam with the stream. Oliver!—Oliver not a bad name, but significant + of radical doctrines.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. MIVERS.—“I don’t think so. Oliver Cromwell made short work of + radicals and their doctrines; but perhaps we can find a name less awful + and revolutionary.” + </p> + <p> + “I have it! I have it!” cried the Parson. “Here is a descent from Sir + Kenelm Digby and Venetia Stanley. Sir Kenelm Digby! No finer specimen of + muscular Christianity. He fought as well as he wrote; eccentric, it is + true, but always a gentleman. Call the boy Kenelm!” + </p> + <p> + “A sweet name,” said Miss Sibyl: “it breathes of romance.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Kenelm Chillingly! It sounds well,—imposing!” said Miss + Margaret. + </p> + <p> + “And,” remarked Mr. Mivers, “it has this advantage—that while it has + sufficient association with honourable distinction to affect the mind of + the namesake and rouse his emulation, it is not that of so stupendous a + personage as to defy rivalry. Sir Kenelm Digby was certainly an + accomplished and gallant gentleman; but what with his silly superstition + about sympathetic powders, etc., any man nowadays might be clever in + comparison without being a prodigy. Yes, let us decide on Kenelm.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter meditated. “Certainly,” said he, after a pause, “certainly the + name of Kenelm carries with it very crotchety associations; and I am + afraid that Sir Kenelm Digby did not make a prudent choice in marriage. + The fair Venetia was no better than she should be; and I should wish my + heir not to be led away by beauty but wed a woman of respectable character + and decorous conduct.” + </p> + <p> + Miss MARGARET.—“A British matron, of course!” + </p> + <p> + THREE SISTERS (in chorus).—“Of course! of course!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” resumed Sir Peter, “I am crotchety myself, and crotchets are + innocent things enough; and as for marriage the Baby cannot marry + to-morrow, so that we have ample time to consider that matter. Kenelm + Digby was a man any family might be proud of; and, as you say, sister + Margaret, Kenelm Chillingly does not sound amiss: Kenelm Chillingly it + shall be!” + </p> + <p> + The Baby was accordingly christened Kenelm, after which ceremony its face + grew longer than before. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + BEFORE his relations dispersed, Sir Peter summoned Mr. Gordon into his + library. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin,” said he, kindly, “I do not blame you for the want of family + affection, or even of humane interest, which you exhibit towards the + New-born.” + </p> + <p> + “Blame me, Cousin Peter! I should think not. I exhibit as much family + affection and humane interest as could be expected from me,—circumstances + considered.” + </p> + <p> + “I own,” said Sir Peter, with all his wonted mildness, “that after + remaining childless for fourteen years of wedded life, the advent of this + little stranger must have occasioned you a disagreeable surprise. But, + after all, as I am many years younger than you, and in the course of + nature shall outlive you, the loss is less to yourself than to your son, + and upon that I wish to say a few words. You know too well the conditions + on which I hold my estate not to be aware that I have not legally the + power to saddle it with any bequest to your boy. The New-born succeeds to + the fee-simple as last in tail. But I intend, from this moment, to lay by + something every year for your son out of my income; and, fond as I am of + London for a part of the year, I shall now give up my town-house. If I + live to the years the Psalmist allots to man, I shall thus accumulate + something handsome for your son, which may be taken in the way of + compensation.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gordon was by no means softened by this generous speech. However, he + answered more politely than was his wont, “My son will be very much + obliged to you, should he ever need your intended bequest.” Pausing a + moment, he added with a cheerful smile, “A large percentage of infants die + before attaining the age of twenty-one.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, but I am told your son is an uncommonly fine healthy child.” + </p> + <p> + “My son, Cousin Peter! I was not thinking of my son, but of yours. Yours + has a big head. I should not wonder if he had water in it. I don’t wish to + alarm you, but he may go off any day, and in that case it is not likely + that Lady Chillingly will condescend to replace him. So you will excuse me + if I still keep a watchful eye on my rights; and, however painful to my + feelings, I must still dispute your right to cut a stick of the field + timber.” + </p> + <p> + “That is nonsense, Gordon. I am tenant for life without impeachment of + waste, and can cut down all timber not ornamental.” + </p> + <p> + “I advise you not, Cousin Peter. I have told you before that I shall try + the question at law, should you provoke it, amicably, of course. Rights + are rights; and if I am driven to maintain mine, I trust that you are of a + mind too liberal to allow your family affection for me and mine to be + influenced by a decree of the Court of Chancery. But my fly is waiting. I + must not miss the train.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-by, Gordon. Shake hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Shake hands!—of course, of course. By the by, as I came through the + lodge, it seemed to me sadly out of repair. I believe you are liable for + dilapidations. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “The man is a hog in armour,” soliloquized Sir Peter, when his cousin was + gone; “and if it be hard to drive a common pig in the way he don’t choose + to go, a hog in armour is indeed undrivable. But his boy ought not to + suffer for his father’s hoggishness; and I shall begin at once to see what + I can lay by for him. After all, it is hard upon Gordon. Poor Gordon; poor + fellow! poor fellow! Still I hope he will not go to law with me. I hate + law. And a worm will turn, especially a worm that is put into Chancery.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + DESPITE the sinister semi-predictions of the <i>ci-devant</i> heir-at-law, + the youthful Chillingly passed with safety, and indeed with dignity, + through the infant stages of existence. He took his measles and + whooping-cough with philosophical equanimity. He gradually acquired the + use of speech, but he did not too lavishly exercise that special attribute + of humanity. During the earlier years of childhood he spoke as little as + if he had been prematurely trained in the school of Pythagoras. But he + evidently spoke the less in order to reflect the more. He observed closely + and pondered deeply over what he observed. At the age of eight he began to + converse more freely, and it was in that year that he startled his mother + with the question, “Mamma, are you not sometimes overpowered by the sense + of your own identity?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Chillingly,—I was about to say rushed, but Lady Chillingly + never rushed,—Lady Chillingly glided less sedately than her wont to + Sir Peter, and repeating her son’s question, said, “The boy is growing + troublesome, too wise for any woman: he must go to school.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter was of the same opinion. But where on earth did the child get + hold of so long a word as “identity,” and how did so extraordinary and + puzzling a metaphysical question come into his head? Sir Peter summoned + Kenelm, and ascertained that the boy, having free access to the library, + had fastened upon Locke on the Human Understanding, and was prepared to + dispute with that philosopher upon the doctrine of innate ideas. Quoth + Kenelm, gravely, “A want is an idea; and if, as soon as I was born, I felt + the want of food and knew at once where to turn for it, without being + taught, surely I came into the world with an ‘innate idea.’” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter, though he dabbled in metaphysics, was posed, and scratched his + head without getting out a proper answer as to the distinction between + ideas and instincts. “My child,” he said at last, “you don’t know what you + are talking about: go and take a good gallop on your black pony; and I + forbid you to read any books that are not given to you by myself or your + mamma. Stick to ‘Puss in Boots.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + SIR PETER ordered his carriage and drove to the house of the stout parson. + That doughty ecclesiastic held a family living a few miles distant from + the Hall, and was the only one of the cousins with whom Sir Peter + habitually communed on his domestic affairs. + </p> + <p> + He found the Parson in his study, which exhibited tastes other than + clerical. Over the chimney-piece were ranged fencing-foils, boxing-gloves, + and staffs for the athletic exercise of single-stick; cricket-bats and + fishing-rods filled up the angles. There were sundry prints on the walls: + one of Mr. Wordsworth, flanked by two of distinguished race-horses; one of + a Leicestershire short-horn, with which the Parson, who farmed his own + glebe and bred cattle in its rich pastures, had won a prize at the county + show; and on either side of that animal were the portraits of Hooker and + Jeremy Taylor. There were dwarf book-cases containing miscellaneous works + very handsomely bound; at the open window, a stand of flower-pots, the + flowers in full bloom. The Parson’s flowers were famous. + </p> + <p> + The appearance of the whole room was that of a man who is tidy and neat in + his habits. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin,” said Sir Peter, “I have come to consult you.” And therewith he + related the marvellous precocity of Kenelm Chillingly. “You see the name + begins to work on him rather too much. He must go to school; and now what + school shall it be? Private or public?” + </p> + <p> + THE REV. JOHN STALWORTH.—“There is a great deal to be said for or + against either. At a public school the chances are that Kenelm will no + longer be overpowered by a sense of his own identity; he will more + probably lose identity altogether. The worst of a public school is that a + sort of common character is substituted for individual character. The + master, of course, can’t attend to the separate development of each boy’s + idiosyncrasy. All minds are thrown into one great mould, and come out of + it more or less in the same form. An Etonian may be clever or stupid, but, + as either, he remains emphatically Etonian. A public school ripens talent, + but its tendency is to stifle genius. Then, too, a public school for an + only son, heir to a good estate, which will be entirely at his own + disposal, is apt to encourage reckless and extravagant habits; and your + estate requires careful management, and leaves no margin for an heir’s + notes-of-hand and post-obits. On the whole, I am against a public school + for Kenelm.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, we will decide on a private one.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold!” said the Parson: “a private school has its drawbacks. You can + seldom produce large fishes in small ponds. In private schools the + competition is narrowed, the energies stinted. The schoolmaster’s wife + interferes, and generally coddles the boys. There is not manliness enough + in those academies; no fagging, and very little fighting. A clever boy + turns out a prig; a boy of feebler intellect turns out a well-behaved + young lady in trousers. Nothing muscular in the system. Decidedly the + namesake and descendant of Kenelm Digby should not go to a private + seminary.” + </p> + <p> + “So far as I gather from your reasoning,” said Sir Peter, with + characteristic placidity, “Kenelm Chillingly is not to go to school at + all.” + </p> + <p> + “It does look like it,” said the Parson, candidly; “but, on consideration, + there is a medium. There are schools which unite the best qualities of + public and private schools, large enough to stimulate and develop energies + mental and physical, yet not so framed as to melt all character in one + crucible. For instance, there is a school which has at this moment one of + the first scholars in Europe for head-master,—a school which has + turned out some of the most remarkable men of the rising generation. The + master sees at a glance if a boy be clever, and takes pains with him + accordingly. He is not a mere teacher of hexameters and sapphics. His + learning embraces all literature, ancient and modern. He is a good writer + and a fine critic; admires Wordsworth. He winks at fighting: his boys know + how to use their fists; and they are not in the habit of signing + post-obits before they are fifteen. Merton School is the place for + Kenelm.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Sir Peter. “It is a great comfort in life to find + somebody who can decide for one. I am an irresolute man myself, and in + ordinary matters willingly let Lady Chillingly govern me.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see a wife govern <i>me</i>,” said the stout Parson. + </p> + <p> + “But you are not married to Lady Chillingly. And now let us go into the + garden and look at your dahlias.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + THE youthful confuter of Locke was despatched to Merton School, and + ranked, according to his merits, as lag of the penultimate form. When he + came home for the Christmas holidays he was more saturnine than ever; in + fact, his countenance bore the impression of some absorbing grief. He + said, however, that he liked school very well, and eluded all other + questions. But early the next morning he mounted his black pony and rode + to the Parson’s rectory. The reverend gentleman was in his farmyard + examining his bullocks when Kenelm accosted him thus briefly,— + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I am disgraced, and I shall die of it if you cannot help to set me + right in my own eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy, don’t talk in that way. Come into my study.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as they entered that room, and the Parson had carefully closed the + door, he took the boy’s arm, turned him round to the light, and saw at + once that there was something very grave on his mind. Chucking him under + the chin, the Parson said cheerily, “Hold up your head, Kenelm. I am sure + you have done nothing unworthy of a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that. I fought a boy very little bigger than myself, and I + have been licked. I did not give in, though; but the other boys picked me + up, for I could not stand any longer; and the fellow is a great bully; and + his name is Butt; and he’s the son of a lawyer; and he got my head into + chancery; and I have challenged him to fight again next half; and unless + you can help me to lick him, I shall never be good for anything in the + world,—never. It will break my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad to hear you have had the pluck to challenge him. Just let + me see how you double your fist. Well, that’s not amiss. Now, put yourself + into a fighting attitude, and hit out at me,—hard! harder! Pooh! + that will never do. You should make your blows as straight as an arrow. + And that’s not the way to stand. Stop,—so: well on your haunches; + weight on the left leg; good! Now, put on these gloves, and I’ll give you + a lesson in boxing.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes afterwards Mrs. John Chillingly, entering the room to summon + her husband to breakfast, stood astounded to see him with his coat off, + and parrying the blows of Kenelm, who flew at him like a young tiger. The + good pastor at that moment might certainly have appeared a fine type of + muscular Christianity, but not of that kind of Christianity out of which + one makes Archbishops of Canterbury. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious me!” faltered Mrs. John Chillingly; and then, wife-like, + flying to the protection of her husband, she seized Kenelm by the + shoulders, and gave him a good shaking. The Parson, who was sadly out of + breath, was not displeased at the interruption, but took that opportunity + to put on his coat, and said, “We’ll begin again to-morrow. Now, come to + breakfast.” But during breakfast Kenelm’s face still betrayed dejection, + and he talked little and ate less. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the meal was over, he drew the Parson into the garden and said, + “I have been thinking, sir, that perhaps it is not fair to Butt that I + should be taking these lessons; and if it is not fair, I’d rather not—” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your hand, my boy!” cried the Parson, transported. “The name of + Kenelm is not thrown away upon you. The natural desire of man in his + attribute of fighting animal (an attribute in which, I believe, he excels + all other animated beings, except a quail and a gamecock) is to beat his + adversary. But the natural desire of that culmination of man which we call + gentleman is to beat his adversary fairly. A gentleman would rather be + beaten fairly than beat unfairly. Is not that your thought?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Kenelm, firmly; and then, beginning to philosophize, he + added, “And it stands to reason; because if I beat a fellow unfairly, I + don’t really beat him at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent! But suppose that you and another boy go into examination upon + Caesar’s Commentaries or the multiplication table, and the other boy is + cleverer than you, but you have taken the trouble to learn the subject and + he has not: should you say you beat him unfairly?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm meditated a moment, and then said decidedly, “No.” + </p> + <p> + “That which applies to the use of your brains applies equally to the use + of your fists. Do you comprehend me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; I do now.” + </p> + <p> + “In the time of your namesake, Sir Kenelm Digby, gentlemen wore swords, + and they learned how to use them, because, in case of quarrel, they had to + fight with them. Nobody, at least in England, fights with swords now. It + is a democratic age, and if you fight at all, you are reduced to fists; + and if Kenelm Digby learned to fence, so Kenelm Chillingly must learn to + box; and if a gentleman thrashes a drayman twice his size, who has not + learned to box, it is not unfair; it is but an exemplification of the + truth that knowledge is power. Come and take another lesson on boxing + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm remounted his pony and returned home. He found his father + sauntering in the garden with a book in his hand. “Papa,” said Kenelm, + “how does one gentleman write to another with whom he has a quarrel, and + he don’t want to make it up, but he has something to say about the quarrel + which it is fair the other gentleman should know?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, just before I went to school I remember hearing you say that you + had a quarrel with Lord Hautfort, and that he was an ass, and you would + write and tell him so. When you wrote did you say, ‘You are an ass’? Is + that the way one gentleman writes to another?” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my honour, Kenelm, you ask very odd questions. But you cannot learn + too early this fact, that irony is to the high-bred what Billingsgate is + to the vulgar; and when one gentleman thinks another gentleman an ass, he + does not say it point-blank: he implies it in the politest terms he can + invent. Lord Hautfort denies my right of free warren over a trout-stream + that runs through his lands. I don’t care a rush about the trout-stream, + but there is no doubt of my right to fish in it. He was an ass to raise + the question; for, if he had not, I should not have exercised the right. + As he did raise the question, I was obliged to catch his trout.” + </p> + <p> + “And you wrote a letter to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you write, Papa? What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Something like this. ‘Sir Peter Chillingly presents his compliments to + Lord Hautfort, and thinks it fair to his lordship to say that he has taken + the best legal advice with regard to his rights of free warren; and trusts + to be forgiven if he presumes to suggest that Lord Hautfort might do well + to consult his own lawyer before he decides on disputing them.’” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Papa. I see.” + </p> + <p> + That evening Kenelm wrote the following letter:— + </p> + <p> + Mr. Chillingly presents his compliments to Mr. Butt, and thinks it fair to + Mr. Butt to say that he is taking lessons in boxing; and trusts to be + forgiven if he presumes to suggest that Mr. Butt might do well to take + lessons himself before fighting with Mr. Chillingly next half. + </p> + <p> + “Papa,” said Kenelm the next morning, “I want to write to a schoolfellow + whose name is Butt; he is the son of a lawyer who is called a serjeant. I + don’t know where to direct to him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is easily ascertained,” said Sir Peter. “Serjeant Butt is an eminent + man, and his address will be in the Court Guide.” + </p> + <p> + The address was found,—Bloomsbury Square; and Kenelm directed his + letter accordingly. In due course he received this answer,— + </p> + <p> + You are an insolent little fool, and I’ll thrash you within an inch of + your life. + </p> + <p> + ROBERT BUTT. + </p> + <p> + After the receipt of that polite epistle, Kenelm Chillingly’s scruples + vanished, and he took daily lessons in muscular Christianity. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm returned to school with a brow cleared from care, and three days + after his return he wrote to the Reverend John,— + </p> + <p> + DEAR SIR,—I have licked Butt. Knowledge is power. + </p> + <p> + Your affectionate KENELM. + </p> + <p> + P. S.—Now that I have licked Butt, I have made it up with him. + </p> + <p> + From that time Kenelm prospered. Eulogistic letters from the illustrious + head-master showered in upon Sir Peter. At the age of sixteen Kenelm + Chillingly was the head of the school, and, quitting it finally, brought + home the following letter from his Orbilius to Sir Peter, marked + “confidential”:— + </p> + <p> + DEAR SIR PETER CHILLINGLY,—I have never felt more anxious for the + future career of any of my pupils than I do for that of your son. He is so + clever that, with ease to himself, he may become a great man. He is so + peculiar that it is quite as likely that he may only make himself known to + the world as a great oddity. That distinguished teacher Dr. Arnold said + that the difference between one boy and another was not so much talent as + energy. Your son has talent, has energy: yet he wants something for + success in life; he wants the faculty of amalgamation. He is of a + melancholic and therefore unsocial temperament. He will not act in concert + with others. He is lovable enough: the other boys like him, especially the + smaller ones, with whom he is a sort of hero; but he has not one intimate + friend. So far as school learning is concerned, he might go to college at + once, and with the certainty of distinction provided he chose to exert + himself. But if I may venture to offer an advice, I should say employ the + next two years in letting him see a little more of real life and acquire a + due sense of its practical objects. Send him to a private tutor who is not + a pedant, but a man of letters or a man of the world, and if in the + metropolis so much the better. In a word, my young friend is unlike other + people; and, with qualities that might do anything in life, I fear, unless + you can get him to be like other people, that he will do nothing. Excuse + the freedom with which I write, and ascribe it to the singular interest + with which your son has inspired me. I have the honour to be, dear Sir + Peter, + </p> + <p> + Yours truly, WILLIAM HORTON. + </p> + <p> + Upon the strength of this letter Sir Peter did not indeed summon another + family council; for he did not consider that his three maiden sisters + could offer any practical advice on the matter. And as to Mr. Gordon, that + gentleman having gone to law on the great timber question, and having been + signally beaten thereon, had informed Sir Peter that he disowned him as a + cousin and despised him as a man; not exactly in those words,—more + covertly, and therefore more stingingly. But Sir Peter invited Mr. Mivers + for a week’s shooting, and requested the Reverend John to meet him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mivers arrived. The sixteen years that had elapsed since he was first + introduced to the reader had made no perceptible change in his appearance. + It was one of his maxims that in youth a man of the world should appear + older than he is; and in middle age, and thence to his dying day, younger. + And he announced one secret for attaining that art in these words: “Begin + your wig early, thus you never become gray.” + </p> + <p> + Unlike most philosophers, Mivers made his practice conform to his + precepts; and while in the prime of youth inaugurated a wig in a fashion + that defied the flight of time, not curly and hyacinthine, but + straight-haired and unassuming. He looked five-and-thirty from the day he + put on that wig at the age of twenty-five. He looked five-and-thirty now + at the age of fifty-one. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said he, “to remain thirty-five all my life. No better age to + stick at. People may choose to say I am more, but I shall not own it. No + one is bound to criminate himself.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mivers had some other aphorisms on this important subject. One was, + “Refuse to be ill. Never tell people you are ill; never own it to + yourself. Illness is one of those things which a man should resist on + principle at the onset. It should never be allowed to get in the thin end + of the wedge. But take care of your constitution, and, having ascertained + the best habits for it, keep to them like clockwork.” Mr. Mivers would not + have missed his constitutional walk in the Park before breakfast if, by + going in a cab to St. Giles’s, he could have saved the city of London from + conflagration. + </p> + <p> + Another aphorism of his was, “If you want to keep young, live in a + metropolis; never stay above a few weeks at a time in the country. Take + two men of similar constitution at the age of twenty-five; let one live in + London and enjoy a regular sort of club life; send the other to some rural + district, preposterously called ‘salubrious.’ Look at these men when they + have both reached the age of forty-five. The London man has preserved his + figure: the rural man has a paunch. The London man has an interesting + delicacy of complexion: the face of the rural man is coarse-grained and + perhaps jowly.” + </p> + <p> + A third axiom was, “Don’t be a family man; nothing ages one like + matrimonial felicity and paternal ties. Never multiply cares, and pack up + your life in the briefest compass you can. Why add to your carpet-bag of + troubles the contents of a lady’s imperials and bonnet-boxes, and the + travelling <i>fourgon</i> required by the nursery? Shun ambition: it is so + gouty. It takes a great deal out of a man’s life, and gives him nothing + worth having till he has ceased to enjoy it.” Another of his aphorisms was + this, “A fresh mind keeps the body fresh. Take in the ideas of the day, + drain off those of yesterday. As to the morrow, time enough to consider it + when it becomes to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Preserving himself by attention to these rules, Mr. Mivers appeared at + Exmundham <i>totus, teres</i>, but not <i>rotundus</i>,—a man of + middle height, slender, upright, with well-cut, small, slight features, + thin lips, enclosing an excellent set of teeth, even, white, and not + indebted to the dentist. For the sake of those teeth he shunned acid + wines, especially hock in all its varieties, culinary sweets, and hot + drinks. He drank even his tea cold. + </p> + <p> + “There are,” he said, “two things in life that a sage must preserve at + every sacrifice, the coats of his stomach and the enamel of his teeth. + Some evils admit of consolations: there are no comforters for dyspepsia + and toothache.” A man of letters, but a man of the world, he had so + cultivated his mind as both that he was feared as the one and liked as the + other. As a man of letters he despised the world; as a man of the world he + despised letters. As the representative of both he revered himself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + ON the evening of the third day from the arrival of Mr. Mivers, he, the + Parson, and Sir Peter were seated in the host’s parlour, the Parson in an + armchair by the ingle, smoking a short cutty-pipe; Mivers at length on the + couch, slowly inhaling the perfumes of one of his own choice <i>trabucos</i>. + Sir Peter never smoked. There were spirits and hot water and lemons on the + table. The Parson was famed for skill in the composition of toddy. From + time to time the Parson sipped his glass, and Sir Peter less frequently + did the same. It is needless to say that Mr. Mivers eschewed toddy; but + beside him, on a chair, was a tumbler and a large carafe of iced water. + </p> + <p> + SIR PETER.—“Cousin Mivers, you have now had time to study Kenelm, + and to compare his character with that assigned to him in the Doctor’s + letter.” + </p> + <p> + MIVERS (languidly).—“Ay.” + </p> + <p> + SIR PETER.—“I ask you, as a man of the world, what you think I had + best do with the boy. Shall I send him to such a tutor as the Doctor + suggests? Cousin John is not of the same mind as the Doctor, and thinks + that Kenelm’s oddities are fine things in their way, and should not be + prematurely ground out of him by contact with worldly tutors and London + pavements.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” repeated Mr. Mivers more languidly than before. After a pause he + added, “Parson John, let us hear you.” + </p> + <p> + The Parson laid aside his cutty-pipe and emptied his fourth tumbler of + toddy; then, throwing back his head in the dreamy fashion of the great + Coleridge when he indulged in a monologue, he thus began, speaking + somewhat through his nose,— + </p> + <p> + “At the morning of life—” + </p> + <p> + Here Mivers shrugged his shoulders, turned round on his couch, and closed + his eyes with the sigh of a man resigning himself to a homily. + </p> + <p> + “At the morning of life, when the dews—” + </p> + <p> + “I knew the dews were coming,” said Mivers. “Dry them, if you please; + nothing so unwholesome. We anticipate what you mean to say, which is + plainly this, When a fellow is sixteen he is very fresh: so he is; pass + on; what then?” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean to interrupt me with your habitual cynicism,” said the + Parson, “why did you ask to hear me?” + </p> + <p> + “That was a mistake I grant; but who on earth could conceive that you were + going to commence in that florid style? Morning of life indeed! bosh!” + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Mivers,” said Sir Peter, “you are not reviewing John’s style in + ‘The Londoner;’ and I will beg you to remember that my son’s morning of + life is a serious thing to his father, and not to be nipped in its bud by + a cousin. Proceed, John!” + </p> + <p> + Quoth the Parson, good-humouredly, “I will adapt my style to the taste of + my critic. When a fellow is at the age of sixteen, and very fresh to life, + the question is whether he should begin thus prematurely to exchange the + ideas that belong to youth for the ideas that properly belong to middle + age,—whether he should begin to acquire that knowledge of the world + which middle-aged men have acquired and can teach. I think not. I would + rather have him yet a while in the company of the poets; in the indulgence + of glorious hopes and beautiful dreams, forming to himself some type of + the Heroic, which he will keep before his eyes as a standard when he goes + into the world as man. There are two schools of thought for the formation + of character,—the Real and the Ideal. I would form the character in + the Ideal school, in order to make it bolder and grander and lovelier when + it takes its place in that every-day life which is called Real. And + therefore I am not for placing the descendant of Sir Kenelm Digby, in the + interval between school and college, with a man of the world, probably as + cynical as Cousin Mivers and living in the stony thoroughfares of London.” + </p> + <p> + MR. MIVERS (rousing himself).—“Before we plunge into that Serbonian + bog—the controversy between the Realistic and the Idealistic + academicians—I think the first thing to decide is what you want + Kenelm to be hereafter. When I order a pair of shoes, I decide beforehand + what kind of shoes they are to be,—court pumps or strong walking + shoes; and I don’t ask the shoemaker to give me a preliminary lecture upon + the different purposes of locomotion to which leather can be applied. If, + Sir Peter, you want Kenelm to scribble lackadaisical poems, listen to + Parson John; if you want to fill his head with pastoral rubbish about + innocent love, which may end in marrying the miller’s daughter, listen to + Parson John; if you want him to enter life a soft-headed greenhorn, who + will sign any bill carrying 50 per cent to which a young scamp asks him to + be security, listen to Parson John; in fine, if you wish a clever lad to + become either a pigeon or a ring-dove, a credulous booby or a sentimental + milksop, Parson John is the best adviser you can have.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t want my son to ripen into either of those imbecile + developments of species.” + </p> + <p> + “Then don’t listen to Parson John; and there’s an end of the discussion.” + </p> + <p> + “No, there is not. I have not heard your advice what to do if John’s + advice is not to be taken.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mivers hesitated. He seemed puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” said the Parson, “that Mivers got up ‘The Londoner’ upon a + principle that regulates his own mind,—find fault with the way + everything is done, but never commit yourself by saying how anything can + be done better.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” said Mivers, candidly. “The destructive order of mind is + seldom allied to the constructive. I and ‘The Londoner’ are destructive by + nature and by policy. We can reduce a building into rubbish, but we don’t + profess to turn rubbish into a building. We are critics, and, as you say, + not such fools as to commit ourselves to the proposition of amendments + that can be criticised by others. Nevertheless, for your sake, Cousin + Peter, and on the condition that if I give my advice you will never say + that I gave it, and if you take it that you will never reproach me if it + turns out, as most advice does, very ill,—I will depart from my + custom and hazard my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “I accept the conditions.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, with every new generation there springs up a new order of + ideas. The earlier the age at which a man seizes the ideas that will + influence his own generation, the more he has a start in the race with his + contemporaries. If Kenelm comprehends at sixteen those intellectual signs + of the time which, when he goes up to college, he will find young men of + eighteen or twenty only just <i>prepared</i> to comprehend, he will + produce a deep impression of his powers for reasoning and their adaptation + to actual life, which will be of great service to him later. Now the ideas + that influence the mass of the rising generation never have their + well-head in the generation itself. They have their source in the + generation before them, generally in a small minority, neglected or + contemned by the great majority which adopt them later. Therefore a lad at + the age of sixteen, if he wants to get at such ideas, must come into close + contact with some superior mind in which they were conceived twenty or + thirty years before. I am consequently for placing Kenelm with a person + from whom the new ideas can be learned. I am also for his being placed in + the metropolis during the process of this initiation. With such + introductions as are at our command, he may come in contact not only with + new ideas, but with eminent men in all vocations. It is a great thing to + mix betimes with clever people. One picks their brains unconsciously. + There is another advantage, and not a small one, in this early entrance + into good society. A youth learns manners, self-possession, readiness of + resource; and he is much less likely to get into scrapes and contract + tastes for low vices and mean dissipation, when he comes into life wholly + his own master, after having acquired a predilection for refined + companionship under the guidance of those competent to select it. There, I + have talked myself out of breath. And you had better decide at once in + favour of my advice; for as I am of a contradictory temperament, myself of + to-morrow may probably contradict myself of to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter was greatly impressed with his cousin’s argumentative eloquence. + </p> + <p> + The Parson smoked his cutty-pipe in silence until appealed to by Sir + Peter, and he then said, “In this programme of education for a Christian + gentleman, the part of Christian seems to me left out.” + </p> + <p> + “The tendency of the age,” observed Mr. Mivers, calmly, “is towards that + omission. Secular education is the necessary reaction from the special + theological training which arose in the dislike of one set of Christians + to the teaching of another set; and as these antagonists will not agree + how religion is to be taught, either there must be no teaching at all, or + religion must be eliminated from the tuition.” + </p> + <p> + “That may do very well for some huge system of national education,” said + Sir Peter, “but it does not apply to Kenelm, as one of a family all of + whose members belong to the Established Church. He may be taught the creed + of his forefathers without offending a Dissenter.” + </p> + <p> + “Which Established Church is he to belong to?” asked Mr. Mivers,—“High + Church, Low Church, Broad Church, Puseyite Church, Ritualistic Church, or + any other Established Church that may be coming into fashion?” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw!” said the Parson. “That sneer is out of place. You know very well + that one merit of our Church is the spirit of toleration, which does not + magnify every variety of opinion into a heresy or a schism. But if Sir + Peter sends his son at the age of sixteen to a tutor who eliminates the + religion of Christianity from his teaching, he deserves to be thrashed + within an inch of his life; and,” continued the Parson, eying Sir Peter + sternly, and mechanically turning up his cuffs, “I should <i>like</i> to + thrash him.” + </p> + <p> + “Gently, John,” said Sir Peter, recoiling; “gently, my dear kinsman. My + heir shall not be educated as a heathen, and Mivers is only bantering us. + Come, Mivers, do you happen to know among your London friends some man + who, though a scholar and a man of the world, is still a Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “A Christian as by law established?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And who will receive Kenelm as a pupil?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am not putting such questions to you out of idle curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + “I know exactly the man. He was originally intended for orders, and is a + very learned theologian. He relinquished the thought of the clerical + profession on succeeding to a small landed estate by the sudden death of + an elder brother. He then came to London and bought experience: that is, + he was naturally generous; he became easily taken in; got into + difficulties; the estate was transferred to trustees for the benefit of + creditors, and on the payment of L400 a year to himself. By this time he + was married and had two children. He found the necessity of employing his + pen in order to add to his income, and is one of the ablest contributors + to the periodical press. He is an elegant scholar, an effective writer, + much courted by public men, a thorough gentleman, has a pleasant house, + and receives the best society. Having been once taken in, he defies any + one to take him in again. His experience was not bought too dearly. No + more acute and accomplished man of the world. The three hundred a year or + so that you would pay for Kenelm would suit him very well. His name is + Welby, and he lives in Chester Square.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt he is a contributor to ‘The Londoner,’” said the Parson, + sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + “True. He writes our classical, theological, and metaphysical articles. + Suppose I invite him to come here for a day or two, and you can see him + and judge for yourself, Sir Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “Do.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + MR. WELBY arrived, and pleased everybody. A man of the happiest manners, + easy and courteous. There was no pedantry in him, yet you could soon see + that his reading covered an extensive surface, and here and there had + dived deeply. He enchanted the Parson by his comments on Saint Chrysostom; + he dazzled Sir Peter with his lore in the antiquities of ancient Britain; + he captivated Kenelm by his readiness to enter into that most disputatious + of sciences called metaphysics; while for Lady Chillingly, and the three + sisters who were invited to meet him, he was more entertaining, but not + less instructive. Equally at home in novels and in good books, he gave to + the spinsters a list of innocent works in either; while for Lady + Chillingly he sparkled with anecdotes of fashionable life, the newest <i>bons + mots</i>, the latest scandals. In fact, Mr. Welby was one of those + brilliant persons who adorn any society amidst which they are thrown. If + at heart he was a disappointed man, the disappointment was concealed by an + even serenity of spirits; he had entertained high and justifiable hopes of + a brilliant career and a lasting reputation as a theologian and a + preacher; the succession to his estate at the age of twenty-three had + changed the nature of his ambition. The charm of his manner was such that + he sprang at once into the fashion, and became beguiled by his own genial + temperament into that lesser but pleasanter kind of ambition which + contents itself with social successes and enjoys the present hour. When + his circumstances compelled him to eke out his income by literary profits, + he slid into the grooves of periodical composition, and resigned all + thoughts of the labour required for any complete work, which might take + much time and be attended with scanty profits. He still remained very + popular in society, and perhaps his general reputation for ability made + him fearful to hazard it by any great undertaking. He was not, like + Mivers, a despiser of all men and all things; but he regarded men and + things as an indifferent though good-natured spectator regards the + thronging streets from a drawing-room window. He could not be called <i>blase</i>, + but he was thoroughly <i>desillusionne</i>. Once over-romantic, his + character now was so entirely imbued with the neutral tints of life that + romance offended his taste as an obtrusion of violent colour into a sober + woof. He was become a thorough Realist in his code of criticism, and in + his worldly mode of action and thought. But Parson John did not perceive + this, for Welby listened to that gentleman’s eulogies on the Ideal school + without troubling himself to contradict them. He had grown too indolent to + be combative in conversation, and only as a critic betrayed such pugnacity + as remained to him by the polished cruelty of sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + He came off with flying colours through an examination into his Church + orthodoxy instituted by the Parson and Sir Peter. Amid a cloud of + ecclesiastical erudition, his own opinions vanished in those of the + Fathers. In truth, he was a Realist, in religion as in everything else. He + regarded Christianity as a type of existent civilization, which ought to + be reverenced, as one might recognize the other types of that + civilization; such as the liberty of the press, the representative system, + white neckcloths and black coats of an evening, etc. He belonged, + therefore, to what he himself called the school of Eclectical + Christiology; and accommodated the reasonings of Deism to the doctrines of + the Church, if not as a creed, at least as an institution. Finally, he + united all the Chillingly votes in his favour; and when he departed from + the Hall carried off Kenelm for his initiation into the new ideas that + were to govern his generation. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM remained a year and a half with this distinguished preceptor. + During that time he learned much in book-lore; he saw much, too, of the + eminent men of the day, in literature, the law, and the senate. He saw, + also, a good deal of the fashionable world. Fine ladies, who had been + friends of his mother in her youth, took him up, counselled and petted + him,—one in especial, the Marchioness of Glenalvon, to whom he was + endeared by grateful association, for her youngest son had been a + fellow-pupil of Kenelm at Merton School, and Kenelm had saved his life + from drowning. The poor boy died of consumption later, and her grief for + his loss made her affection for Kenelm yet more tender. Lady Glenalvon was + one of the queens of the London world. Though in the fiftieth year she was + still very handsome: she was also very accomplished, very clever, and very + kind-hearted, as some of such queens are; just one of those women + invaluable in forming the manners and elevating the character of young men + destined to make a figure in after-life. But she was very angry with + herself in thinking that she failed to arouse any such ambition in the + heir of the Chillinglys. + </p> + <p> + It may here be said that Kenelm was not without great advantages of form + and countenance. He was tall, and the youthful grace of his proportions + concealed his physical strength, which was extraordinary rather from the + iron texture than the bulk of his thews and sinews. His face, though it + certainly lacked the roundness of youth, had a grave, sombre, haunting + sort of beauty, not artistically regular, but picturesque, peculiar, with + large dark expressive eyes, and a certain indescribable combination of + sweetness and melancholy in his quiet smile. He never laughed audibly, but + he had a quick sense of the comic, and his eye would laugh when his lips + were silent. He would say queer, droll, unexpected things which passed for + humour; but, save for that gleam in the eye, he could not have said them + with more seeming innocence of intentional joke if he had been a monk of + La Trappe looking up from the grave he was digging in order to utter + “memento mori.” + </p> + <p> + That face of his was a great “take in.” Women thought it full of romantic + sentiment; the face of one easily moved to love, and whose love would be + replete alike with poetry and passion. But he remained as proof as the + youthful Hippolytus to all female attraction. He delighted the Parson by + keeping up his practice in athletic pursuits; and obtained a reputation at + the pugilistic school, which he attended regularly, as the best gentleman + boxer about town. + </p> + <p> + He made many acquaintances, but still formed no friendships. Yet every one + who saw him much conceived affection for him. If he did not return that + affection, he did not repel it. He was exceedingly gentle in voice and + manner, and had all his father’s placidity of temper: children and dogs + took to him as by instinct. + </p> + <p> + On leaving Mr. Welby’s, Kenelm carried to Cambridge a mind largely stocked + with the new ideas that were budding into leaf. He certainly astonished + the other freshmen, and occasionally puzzled the mighty Fellows of Trinity + and St. John’s. But he gradually withdrew himself much from general + society. In fact, he was too old in mind for his years; and after having + mixed in the choicest circles of a metropolis, college suppers and wine + parties had little charm for him. He maintained his pugilistic renown; and + on certain occasions, when some delicate undergraduate had been bullied by + some gigantic bargeman, his muscular Christianity nobly developed itself. + He did not do as much as he might have done in the more intellectual ways + of academical distinction. Still, he was always among the first in the + college examinations; he won two university prizes, and took a very + creditable degree, after which he returned home, more odd, more saturnine—in + short, less like other people—than when he had left Merton School. + He had woven a solitude round him out of his own heart, and in that + solitude he sat still and watchful as a spider sits in his web. + </p> + <p> + Whether from natural temperament or from his educational training under + such teachers as Mr. Mivers, who carried out the new ideas of reform by + revering nothing in the past, and Mr. Welby, who accepted the routine of + the present as realistic, and pooh-poohed all visions of the future as + idealistic, Kenelm’s chief mental characteristic was a kind of tranquil + indifferentism. It was difficult to detect in him either of those ordinary + incentives to action,—vanity or ambition, the yearning for applause + or the desire of power. To all female fascinations he had been hitherto + star-proof. He had never experienced love, but he had read a good deal + about it; and that passion seemed to him an unaccountable aberration of + human reason, and an ignominious surrender of the equanimity of thought + which it should be the object of masculine natures to maintain + undisturbed. A very eloquent book in praise of celibacy, and entitled “The + Approach to the Angels,” written by that eminent Oxford scholar, Decimus + Roach, had produced so remarkable an effect upon his youthful mind that, + had he been a Roman Catholic, he might have become a monk. Where he most + evinced ardour it was a logician’s ardour for abstract truth; that is, for + what he considered truth: and, as what seems truth to one man is sure to + seem falsehood to some other man, this predilection of his was not without + its inconveniences and dangers, as may probably be seen in the following + chapter. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, rightly to appreciate his conduct therein, I entreat thee, O + candid reader (not that any reader ever is candid), to remember that he is + brimful of new ideas, which, met by a deep and hostile undercurrent of old + ideas, become more provocatively billowy and surging. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + THERE had been great festivities at Exmundham, in celebration of the + honour bestowed upon the world by the fact that Kenelm Chillingly had + lived twenty-one years in it. + </p> + <p> + The young heir had made a speech to the assembled tenants and other + admitted revellers, which had by no means added to the exhilaration of the + proceedings. He spoke with a fluency and self-possession which were + surprising in a youth addressing a multitude for the first time. But his + speech was not cheerful. + </p> + <p> + The principal tenant on the estate, in proposing his health, had naturally + referred to the long line of his ancestors. His father’s merits as man and + landlord had been enthusiastically commemorated; and many happy auguries + for his own future career had been drawn, partly from the excellences of + his parentage, partly from his own youthful promise in the honours + achieved at the University. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm Chillingly in reply largely availed himself of those new ideas + which were to influence the rising generation, and with which he had been + rendered familiar by the journal of Mr. Mivers and the conversation of Mr. + Welby. + </p> + <p> + He briefly disposed of the ancestral part of the question. He observed + that it was singular to note how long any given family or dynasty could + continue to flourish in any given nook of matter in creation, without any + exhibition of intellectual powers beyond those displayed by a succession + of vegetable crops. “It is certainly true,” he said, “that the Chillinglys + have lived in this place from father to son for about a fourth part of the + history of the world, since the date which Sir Isaac Newton assigns to the + Deluge. But, so far as can be judged by existent records, the world has + not been in any way wiser or better for their existence. They were born to + eat as long as they could eat, and when they could eat no longer they + died. Not that in this respect they were a whit less insignificant than + the generality of their fellow-creatures. Most of us now present,” + continued the youthful orator, “are only born in order to die; and the + chief consolation of our wounded pride in admitting this fact is in the + probability that our posterity will not be of more consequence to the + scheme of Nature than we ourselves are.” Passing from that philosophical + view of his own ancestors in particular, and of the human race in general, + Kenelm Chillingly then touched with serene analysis on the eulogies + lavished on his father as man and landlord. + </p> + <p> + “As man,” he said, “my father no doubt deserves all that can be said by + man in favour of man. But what, at the best, is man? A crude, struggling, + undeveloped embryo, of whom it is the highest attribute that he feels a + vague consciousness that he is only an embryo, and cannot complete himself + till he ceases to be a man; that is, until he becomes another being in + another form of existence. We can praise a dog as a dog, because a dog is + a completed <i>ens</i>, and not an embryo. But to praise a man as man, + forgetting that he is only a germ out of which a form wholly different is + ultimately to spring, is equally opposed to Scriptural belief in his + present crudity and imperfection, and to psychological or metaphysical + examination of a mental construction evidently designed for purposes that + he can never fulfil as man. That my father is an embryo not more + incomplete than any present is quite true; but that, you will see on + reflection, is saying very little on his behalf. Even in the boasted + physical formation of us men, you are aware that the best-shaped amongst + us, according to the last scientific discoveries, is only a development of + some hideous hairy animal, such as a gorilla; and the ancestral gorilla + itself had its own aboriginal forefather in a small marine animal shaped + like a two-necked bottle. The probability is that, some day or other, we + shall be exterminated by a new development of species. + </p> + <p> + “As for the merits assigned to my father as landlord, I must respectfully + dissent from the panegyrics so rashly bestowed on him. For all sound + reasoners must concur in this, that the first duty of an owner of land is + not to the occupiers to whom he leases it, but to the nation at large. It + is his duty to see that the land yields to the community the utmost it can + yield. In order to effect this object, a landlord should put up his farms + to competition, exacting the highest rent he can possibly get from + responsible competitors. Competitive examination is the enlightened order + of the day, even in professions in which the best men would have qualities + that defy examination. In agriculture, happily, the principle of + competitive examination is not so hostile to the choice of the best man as + it must be, for instance, in diplomacy, where a Talleyrand would be + excluded for knowing no language but his own; and still more in the army, + where promotion would be denied to an officer who, like Marlborough, could + not spell. But in agriculture a landlord has only to inquire who can give + the highest rent, having the largest capital, subject by the strictest + penalties of law to the conditions of a lease dictated by the most + scientific agriculturists under penalties fixed by the most cautious + conveyancers. By this mode of procedure, recommended by the most liberal + economists of our age,—barring those still more liberal who deny + that property in land is any property at all,—by this mode of + procedure, I say, a landlord does his duty to his country. He secures + tenants who can produce the most to the community by their capital, tested + through competitive examination in their bankers’ accounts and the + security they can give, and through the rigidity of covenants suggested by + a Liebig and reduced into law by a Chitty. But on my father’s land I see a + great many tenants with little skill and less capital, ignorant of a + Liebig and revolting from a Chitty, and no filial enthusiasm can induce me + honestly to say that my father is a good landlord. He has preferred his + affection for individuals to his duties to the community. It is not, my + friends, a question whether a handful of farmers like yourselves go to the + workhouse or not. It is a consumer’s question. Do you produce the maximum + of corn to the consumer? + </p> + <p> + “With respect to myself,” continued the orator, warming as the cold he had + engendered in his audience became more freezingly felt,—“with + respect to myself, I do not deny that, owing to the accident of training + for a very faulty and contracted course of education, I have obtained what + are called ‘honours’ at the University of Cambridge; but you must not + regard that fact as a promise of any worth in my future passage through + life. Some of the most useless persons—especially narrow-minded and + bigoted—have acquired far higher honours at the University than have + fallen to my lot. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you no less for the civil things you have said of me and of my + family; but I shall endeavour to walk to that grave to which we are all + bound with a tranquil indifference as to what people may say of me in so + short a journey. And the sooner, my friends, we get to our journey’s end, + the better our chance of escaping a great many pains, troubles, sins, and + diseases. So that when I drink to your good healths, you must feel that in + reality I wish you an early deliverance from the ills to which flesh is + exposed, and which so generally increase with our years that good health + is scarcely compatible with the decaying faculties of old age. Gentlemen, + your good healths!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + THE morning after these birthday rejoicings, Sir Peter and Lady Chillingly + held a long consultation on the peculiarities of their heir, and the best + mode of instilling into his mind the expediency either of entertaining + more pleasing views, or at least of professing less unpopular sentiments; + compatibly of course, though they did not say it, with the new ideas that + were to govern his century. Having come to an agreement on this delicate + subject, they went forth, arm in arm, in search of their heir. Kenelm + seldom met them at breakfast. He was an early riser, and accustomed to + solitary rambles before his parents were out of bed. + </p> + <p> + The worthy pair found Kenelm seated on the banks of a trout-stream that + meandered through Chillingly Park, dipping his line into the water, and + yawning, with apparent relief in that operation. + </p> + <p> + “Does fishing amuse you, my boy?” said Sir Peter, heartily. + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least, sir,” answered Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you do it?” asked Lady Chillingly. + </p> + <p> + “Because I know nothing else that amuses me more.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is it,” said Sir Peter: “the whole secret of Kenelm’s oddities + is to be found in these words, my dear; he needs amusement. Voltaire says + truly, ‘Amusement is one of the wants of man.’ And if Kenelm could be + amused like other people, he would be like other people.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said Kenelm, gravely, and extracting from the water a + small but lively trout, which settled itself in Lady Chillingly’s lap,—“in + that case I would rather not be amused. I have no interest in the + absurdities of other people. The instinct of self-preservation compels me + to have some interest in my own.” + </p> + <p> + “Kenelm, sir,” exclaimed Lady Chillingly, with an animation into which her + tranquil ladyship was very rarely betrayed, “take away that horrid damp + thing! Put down your rod and attend to what your father says. Your strange + conduct gives us cause of serious anxiety.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm unhooked the trout, deposited the fish in his basket, and raising + his large eyes to his father’s face, said, “What is there in my conduct + that occasions you displeasure?” + </p> + <p> + “Not displeasure, Kenelm,” said Sir Peter, kindly, “but anxiety; your + mother has hit upon the right word. You see, my dear son, that it is my + wish that you should distinguish yourself in the world. You might + represent this county, as your ancestors have done before. I have looked + forward to the proceedings of yesterday as an admirable occasion for your + introduction to your future constituents. Oratory is the talent most + appreciated in a free country, and why should you not be an orator? + Demosthenes says that delivery, delivery, delivery, is the art of oratory; + and your delivery is excellent, graceful, self-possessed, classical.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, my dear father, Demosthenes does not say delivery, nor action, + as the word is commonly rendered; he says, ‘acting, or stage-play,’—the + art by which a man delivers a speech in a feigned character, whence we get + the word hypocrisy. Hypocrisy, hypocrisy, hypocrisy! is, according to + Demosthenes, the triple art of the orator. Do you wish me to become triply + a hypocrite?” + </p> + <p> + “Kenelm, I am ashamed of you. You know as well as I do that it is only by + metaphor that you can twist the word ascribed to the great Athenian into + the sense of hypocrisy. But assuming it, as you say, to mean not delivery, + but acting, I understand why your debut as an orator was not successful. + Your delivery was excellent, your acting defective. An orator should + please, conciliate, persuade, prepossess. You did the reverse of all this; + and though you produced a great effect, the effect was so decidedly to + your disadvantage that it would have lost you an election on any hustings + in England.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I to understand, my dear father,” said Kenelm, in the mournful and + compassionate tones with which a pious minister of the Church reproves + some abandoned and hoary sinner,—“am I to understand that you would + commend to your son the adoption of deliberate falsehood for the gain of a + selfish advantage?” + </p> + <p> + “Deliberate falsehood! you impertinent puppy!” + </p> + <p> + “Puppy!” repeated Kenelm, not indignantly but musingly,—“puppy! a + well-bred puppy takes after its parents.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + Lady Chillingly rose with dignity, shook her gown, unfolded her parasol, + and stalked away speechless. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look you, Kenelm,” said Sir Peter, as soon as he had composed + himself. “These quips and humours of yours are amusing enough to an + eccentric man like myself, but they will not do for the world; and how at + your age, and with the rare advantages you have had in an early + introduction to the best intellectual society, under the guidance of a + tutor acquainted with the new ideas which are to influence the conduct of + statesmen, you could have made so silly a speech as you did yesterday, I + cannot understand.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear father, allow me to assure you that the ideas I expressed are the + new ideas most in vogue,—ideas expressed in still plainer, or, if + you prefer the epithet, still sillier terms than I employed. You will find + them instilled into the public mind by ‘The Londoner’ and by most + intellectual journals of a liberal character.” + </p> + <p> + “Kenelm, Kenelm, such ideas would turn the world topsy-turvy.” + </p> + <p> + “New ideas always do tend to turn old ideas topsy-turvy. And the world, + after all, is only an idea, which is turned topsy-turvy with every + successive century.” + </p> + <p> + “You make me sick of the word ‘ideas.’ Leave off your metaphysics and + study real life.” + </p> + <p> + “It is real life which I did study under Mr. Welby. He is the + Archimandrite of Realism. It is sham life which you wish me to study. To + oblige you I am willing to commence it. I dare say it is very pleasant. + Real life is not; on the contrary—dull,” and Kenelm yawned again. + </p> + <p> + “Have you no young friends among your fellow-collegians?” + </p> + <p> + “Friends! certainly not, sir. But I believe I have some enemies, who + answer the same purpose as friends, only they don’t hurt one so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that you lived alone at Cambridge?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I lived a good deal with Aristophanes, and a little with Conic + Sections and Hydrostatics.” + </p> + <p> + “Books. Dry company.” + </p> + <p> + “More innocent, at least, than moist company. Did you ever get drunk, + sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Drunk!” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to do so once with the young companions whom you would commend to + me as friends. I don’t think I succeeded, but I woke with a headache. Real + life at college abounds with headache.” + </p> + <p> + “Kenelm, my boy, one thing is clear: you must travel.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please, sir. Marcus Antoninus says that it is all one to a stone + whether it be thrown upwards or downwards. When shall I start?” + </p> + <p> + “Very soon. Of course there are preparations to make; you should have a + travelling companion. I don’t mean a tutor,—you are too clever and + too steady to need one,—but a pleasant, sensible, well-mannered + young person of your own age.” + </p> + <p> + “My own age,—male or female?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter tried hard to frown. The utmost he could do was to reply + gravely, “FEMALE! If I said you were too steady to need a tutor, it was + because you have hitherto seemed little likely to be led out of your way + by female allurements. Among your other studies may I inquire if you have + included that which no man has ever yet thoroughly mastered,—the + study of women?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Do you object to my catching another trout?” + </p> + <p> + “Trout be—blessed, or the reverse. So you have studied woman. I + should never have thought it. Where and when did you commence that + department of science?” + </p> + <p> + “When? ever since I was ten years old. Where? first in your own house, + then at college. Hush!—a bite,” and another trout left its native + element and alighted on Sir Peter’s nose, whence it was solemnly + transferred to the basket. + </p> + <p> + “At ten years old, and in my own house! That flaunting hussy Jane, the + under-housemaid—” + </p> + <p> + “Jane! No, sir. Pamela, Miss Byron, Clarissa,—females in Richardson, + who, according to Dr. Johnson, ‘taught the passions to move at the command + of virtue.’ I trust for your sake that Dr. Johnson did not err in that + assertion, for I found all these females at night in your own private + apartments.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Sir Peter, “that’s all?” + </p> + <p> + “All I remember at ten years old,” replied Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “And at Mr. Welby’s or at college,” proceeded Sir Peter, timorously, “was + your acquaintance with females of the same kind?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm shook his head. “Much worse: they were very naughty indeed at + college.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so, with such a lot of young fellows running after them.” + </p> + <p> + “Very few fellows run after the females. I mean—rather avoid them.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my father, so much the worse; without an intimate knowledge of those + females there is little use going to college at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one who receives a classical education is introduced into their + society,—Pyrrha and Lydia, Glycera and Corinna, and many more of the + same sort; and then the females in Aristophanes, what do you say to them, + sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it only females who lived two thousand or three thousand years ago, or + more probably never lived at all, whose intimacy you have cultivated? Have + you never admired any real women?” + </p> + <p> + “Real women! I never met one. Never met a woman who was not a sham, a sham + from the moment she is told to be pretty-behaved, conceal her sentiments, + and look fibs when she does not speak them. But if I am to learn sham + life, I suppose I must put up with sham women.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been crossed in love that you speak so bitterly of the sex?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t speak bitterly of the sex. Examine any woman on her oath, and + she’ll own she is a sham, always has been, and always will be, and is + proud of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad your mother is not by to hear you. You will think differently + one of these days. Meanwhile, to turn to the other sex, is there no young + man of your own rank with whom you would like to travel?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. I hate quarrelling.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please. But you cannot go quite alone: I will find you a good + travelling-servant. I must write to town to-day about your preparations, + and in another week or so I hope all will be ready. Your allowance will be + whatever you like to fix it at; you have never been extravagant, and—boy—I + love you. Amuse yourself, enjoy yourself, and come back cured of your + oddities, but preserving your honour.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter bent down and kissed his son’s brow. Kenelm was moved; he rose, + put his arm round his father’s shoulder, and lovingly said, in an + undertone, “If ever I am tempted to do a base thing, may I remember whose + son I am: I shall be safe then.” He withdrew his arm as he said this, and + took his solitary way along the banks of the stream, forgetful of rod and + line. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + THE young man continued to skirt the side of the stream until he reached + the boundary pale of the park. Here, placed on a rough grass mound, some + former proprietor, of a social temperament, had built a kind of belvidere, + so as to command a cheerful view of the high road below. Mechanically the + heir of the Chillinglys ascended the mound, seated himself within the + belvidere, and leaned his chin on his hand in a thoughtful attitude. It + was rarely that the building was honoured by a human visitor: its habitual + occupants were spiders. Of those industrious insects it was a + well-populated colony. Their webs, darkened with dust and ornamented with + the wings and legs and skeletons of many an unfortunate traveller, clung + thick to angle and window-sill, festooned the rickety table on which the + young man leaned his elbow, and described geometrical circles and + rhomboids between the gaping rails that formed the backs of venerable + chairs. One large black spider—who was probably the oldest + inhabitant, and held possession of the best place by the window, ready to + offer perfidious welcome to every winged itinerant who might be tempted to + turn aside from the high road for the sake of a little cool and repose—rushed + from its innermost penetralia at the entrance of Kenelm, and remained + motionless in the centre of its meshes, staring at him. It did not seem + quite sure whether the stranger was too big or not. + </p> + <p> + “It is a wonderful proof of the wisdom of Providence,” said Kenelm, “that + whenever any large number of its creatures forms a community or class, a + secret element of disunion enters into the hearts of the individuals + forming the congregation, and prevents their co-operating heartily and + effectually for their common interest. ‘The fleas would have dragged me + out of bed if they had been unanimous,’ said the great Mr. Curran; and + there can be no doubt that if all the spiders in this commonwealth would + unite to attack me in a body, I should fall a victim to their combined + nippers. But spiders, though inhabiting the same region, constituting the + same race, animated by the same instincts, do not combine even against a + butterfly: each seeks his own special advantage, and not that of the + community at large. And how completely the life of each thing resembles a + circle in this respect, that it can never touch another circle at more + than one point. Nay, I doubt if it quite touches it even there,—there + is a space between every atom; self is always selfish: and yet there are + eminent masters in the Academe of New Ideas who wish to make us believe + that all the working classes of a civilized world could merge every + difference of race, creed, intellect, individual propensities and + interests into the construction of a single web, stocked as a larder in + common!” Here the soliloquist came to a dead stop, and, leaning out of the + window, contemplated the high road. It was a very fine high road, straight + and level, kept in excellent order by turn pikes at every eight miles. A + pleasant greensward bordered it on either side, and under the belvidere + the benevolence of some mediaeval Chillingly had placed a little + drinking-fountain for the refreshment of wayfarers. Close to the fountain + stood a rude stone bench, overshadowed by a large willow, and commanding + from the high table-ground on which it was placed a wide view of + cornfields, meadows, and distant hills, suffused in the mellow light of + the summer sun. Along that road there came successively a wagon filled + with passengers seated on straw,—an old woman, a pretty girl, two + children; then a stout farmer going to market in his dog-cart; then three + flies carrying fares to the nearest railway station; then a handsome young + man on horseback, a handsome young lady by his side, a groom behind. It + was easy to see that the young man and young lady were lovers. See it in + his ardent looks and serious lips parted but for whispers only to be heard + by her; see it in her downcast eyes and heightened colour. “‘Alas! + regardless of their doom,’” muttered Kenelm, “what trouble those ‘little + victims’ are preparing for themselves and their progeny! Would I could + lend them Decimus Roach’s ‘Approach to the Angels’!” The road now for some + minutes became solitary and still, when there was heard to the right a + sprightly sort of carol, half sung, half recited, in musical voice, with a + singularly clear enunciation, so that the words reached Kenelm’s ear + distinctly. They ran thus:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Black Karl looked forth from his cottage door, + He looked on the forest green; + And down the path, with his dogs before, + Came the Ritter of Neirestein: + Singing, singing, lustily singing, + Down the path with his dogs before, + Came the Ritter of Neirestein.” + </pre> + <p> + At a voice so English, attuned to a strain so Germanic, Kenelm pricked up + attentive ears, and, turning his eye down the road, beheld, emerging from + the shade of beeches that overhung the park pales, a figure that did not + altogether harmonize with the idea of a Ritter of Neirestein. It was, + nevertheless, a picturesque figure enough. The man was attired in a + somewhat threadbare suit of Lincoln green, with a high-crowned Tyrolese + hat; a knapsack was slung behind his shoulders, and he was attended by a + white Pomeranian dog, evidently foot-sore, but doing his best to appear + proficient in the chase by limping some yards in advance of his master, + and sniffing into the hedges for rats and mice, and such small deer. + </p> + <p> + By the time the pedestrian had reached to the close of his refrain he had + gained the fountain, and greeted it with an exclamation of pleasure. + Slipping the knapsack from his shoulder, he filled the iron ladle attached + to the basin. He then called the dog by the name of Max, and held the + ladle for him to drink. Not till the animal had satisfied his thirst did + the master assuage his own. Then, lifting his hat and bathing his temples + and face, the pedestrian seated himself on the bench, and the dog nestled + on the turf at his feet. After a little pause the wayfarer began again, + though in a lower and slower tone, to chant his refrain, and proceeded, + with abrupt snatches, to link the verse on to another stanza. It was + evident that he was either endeavouring to remember or to invent, and it + seemed rather like the latter and more laborious operation of mind. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Why on foot, why on foot, Ritter Karl,’ quoth he, + ‘And not on thy palfrey gray?’ +</pre> + <p> + Palfrey gray—hum—gray. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘The run of ill-luck was too strong for me, + ‘And has galloped my steed away.’ +</pre> + <p> + That will do: good!” + </p> + <p> + “Good indeed! He is easily satisfied,” muttered Kenelm. “But such + pedestrians don’t pass the road every day. Let us talk to him.” So saying + he slipped quietly out of the window, descended the mound, and letting + himself into the road by a screened wicket-gate, took his noiseless stand + behind the wayfarer and beneath the bowery willow. + </p> + <p> + The man had now sunk into silence. Perhaps he had tired himself of rhymes; + or perhaps the mechanism of verse-making had been replaced by that kind of + sentiment, or that kind of revery, which is common to the temperaments of + those who indulge in verse-making. But the loveliness of the scene before + him had caught his eye, and fixed it into an intent gaze upon wooded + landscapes stretching farther and farther to the range of hills on which + the heaven seemed to rest. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to hear the rest of that German ballad,” said a voice, + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + The wayfarer started, and, turning round, presented to Kenelm’s view a + countenance in the ripest noon of manhood, with locks and beard of a deep + rich auburn, bright blue eyes, and a wonderful nameless charm both of + feature and expression, very cheerful, very frank, and not without a + certain nobleness of character which seemed to exact respect. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon for my interruption,” said Kenelm, lifting his hat: + “but I overheard you reciting; and though I suppose your verses are a + translation from the German, I don’t remember anything like them in such + popular German poets as I happen to have read.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a translation, sir,” replied the itinerant. “I was only trying + to string together some ideas that came into my head this fine morning.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a poet, then?” said Kenelm, seating himself on the bench. + </p> + <p> + “I dare not say poet. I am a verse-maker.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I know there is a distinction. Many poets of the present day, + considered very good, are uncommonly bad verse-makers. For my part, I + could more readily imagine them to be good poets if they did not make + verses at all. But can I not hear the rest of the ballad?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! the rest of the ballad is not yet made. It is rather a long + subject, and my flights are very brief.” + </p> + <p> + “That is much in their favour, and very unlike the poetry in fashion. You + do not belong, I think, to this neighbourhood. Are you and your dog + travelling far?” + </p> + <p> + “It is my holiday time, and I ramble on through the summer. I am + travelling far, for I travel till September. Life amid summer fields is a + very joyous thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it indeed?” said Kenelm, with much <i>naivete</i>. “I should have + thought that long before September you would have got very much bored with + the fields and the dog and yourself altogether. But, to be sure, you have + the resource of verse-making, and that seems a very pleasant and absorbing + occupation to those who practise it,—from our old friend Horace, + kneading laboured Alcaics into honey in his summer rambles among the + watered woodlands of Tibur, to Cardinal Richelieu, employing himself on + French rhymes in the intervals between chopping off noblemen’s heads. It + does not seem to signify much whether the verses be good or bad, so far as + the pleasure of the verse-maker himself is concerned; for Richelieu was as + much charmed with his occupation as Horace was, and his verses were + certainly not Horatian.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely at your age, sir, and with your evident education—” + </p> + <p> + “Say culture; that’s the word in fashion nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, your evident culture, you must have made verses.” + </p> + <p> + “Latin verses, yes; and occasionally Greek. I was obliged to do so at + school. It did not amuse me.” + </p> + <p> + “Try English.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm shook his head. “Not I. Every cobbler should stick to his last.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, put aside the verse-making: don’t you find a sensible enjoyment in + those solitary summer walks, when you have Nature all to yourself,—enjoyment + in marking all the mobile evanescent changes in her face,—her laugh, + her smile, her tears, her very frown!” + </p> + <p> + “Assuming that by Nature you mean a mechanical series of external + phenomena, I object to your speaking of a machinery as if it were a person + of the feminine gender,—<i>her</i> laugh, <i>her</i> smile, etc. As + well talk of the laugh and smile of a steam-engine. But to descend to + common-sense. I grant there is some pleasure in solitary rambles in fine + weather and amid varying scenery. You say that it is a holiday excursion + that you are enjoying. I presume, therefore, that you have some practical + occupation which consumes the time that you do not devote to a holiday?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I am not altogether an idler. I work sometimes, though not so hard + as I ought. ‘Life is earnest,’ as the poet says. But I and my dog are + rested now, and as I have still a long walk before me I must wish you + good-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear,” said Kenelm, with a grave and sweet politeness of tone and + manner, which he could command at times, and which, in its difference from + merely conventional urbanity, was not without fascination,—“I fear + that I have offended you by a question that must have seemed to you + inquisitive, perhaps impertinent; accept my excuse: it is very rarely that + I meet any one who interests me; and you do.” As he spoke he offered his + hand, which the wayfarer shook very cordially. + </p> + <p> + “I should be a churl indeed if your question could have given me offence. + It is rather perhaps I who am guilty of impertinence, if I take advantage + of my seniority in years and tender you a counsel. Do not despise Nature + or regard her as a steam-engine; you will find in her a very agreeable and + conversable friend if you will cultivate her intimacy. And I don’t know a + better mode of doing so at your age, and with your strong limbs, than + putting a knapsack on your shoulders and turning foot-traveller like + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I thank you for your counsel; and I trust we may meet again and + interchange ideas as to the thing you call Nature,—a thing which + science and art never appear to see with the same eyes. If to an artist + Nature has a soul, why, so has a steam-engine. Art gifts with soul all + matter that it contemplates: science turns all that is already gifted with + soul into matter. Good-day, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Here Kenelm turned back abruptly, and the traveller went his way, silently + and thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM retraced his steps homeward under the shade of his “old hereditary + trees.” One might have thought his path along the greenswards, and by the + side of the babbling rivulet, was pleasanter and more conducive to + peaceful thoughts than the broad, dusty thoroughfare along which plodded + the wanderer he had quitted. But the man addicted to revery forms his own + landscapes and colours his own skies. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” soliloquized Kenelm Chillingly, “a strange yearning I have long + felt,—to get out of myself, to get, as it were, into another man’s + skin, and have a little variety of thought and emotion. One’s self is + always the same self; and that is why I yawn so often. But if I can’t get + into another man’s skin, the next best thing is to get as unlike myself as + I possibly can do. Let me see what is myself. Myself is Kenelm Chillingly, + son and heir to a rich gentleman. But a fellow with a knapsack on his + back, sleeping at wayside inns, is not at all like Kenelm Chillingly; + especially if he is very short of money and may come to want a dinner. + Perhaps that sort of fellow may take a livelier view of things: he can’t + take a duller one. Courage, Myself: you and I can but try.” + </p> + <p> + For the next two days Kenelm was observed to be unusually pleasant. He + yawned much less frequently, walked with his father, played piquet with + his mother, was more like other people. Sir Peter was charmed: he ascribed + this happy change to the preparations he was making for Kenelm’s + travelling in style. The proud father was in active correspondence with + his great London friends, seeking letters of introduction for Kenelm to + all the courts of Europe. Portmanteaus, with every modern convenience, + were ordered; an experienced courier, who could talk all languages and + cook French dishes if required, was invited to name his terms. In short, + every arrangement worthy a young patrician’s entrance into the great world + was in rapid progress, when suddenly Kenelm Chillingly disappeared, + leaving behind him on Sir Peter’s library table the following letter:— + </p> + <p> + MY VERY DEAR FATHER,—Obedient to your desire, I depart in search of + real life and real persons, or of the best imitations of them. Forgive me, + I beseech you, if I commence that search in my own way. I have seen enough + of ladies and gentlemen for the present: they must be all very much alike + in every part of the world. You desired me to be amused. I go to try if + that be possible. Ladies and gentlemen are not amusing; the more ladylike + or gentlemanlike they are, the more insipid I find them. My dear father, I + go in quest of adventure like Amadis of Gaul, like Don Quixote, like Gil + Blas, like Roderick Random; like, in short, the only people seeking real + life, the people who never existed except in books. I go on foot; I go + alone. I have provided myself with a larger amount of money than I ought + to spend, because every man must buy experience, and the first fees are + heavy. In fact, I have put fifty pounds into my pocket-book and into my + purse five sovereigns and seventeen shillings. This sum ought to last me a + year; but I dare say inexperience will do me out of it in a month, so we + will count it as nothing. Since you have asked me to fix my own allowance, + I will beg you kindly to commence it this day in advance, by an order to + your banker to cash my checks to the amount of five pounds, and to the + same amount monthly; namely, at the rate of sixty pounds a year. With that + sum I can’t starve, and if I want more it may be amusing to work for it. + Pray don’t send after me, or institute inquiries, or disturb the household + and set all the neighbourhood talking, by any mention either of my project + or of your surprise at it. I will not fail to write to you from time to + time. You will judge best what to say to my dear mother. If you tell her + the truth, which of course I should do did I tell her anything, my request + is virtually frustrated, and I shall be the talk of the county. You, I + know, don’t think telling fibs is immoral when it happens to be + convenient, as it would be in this case. + </p> + <p> + I expect to be absent a year or eighteen months; if I prolong my travels + it shall be in the way you proposed. I will then take my place in polite + society, call upon you to pay all expenses, and fib on my own account to + any extent required by that world of fiction which is peopled by illusions + and governed by shams. + </p> + <p> + Heaven bless you, my dear Father, and be quite sure that if I get into any + trouble requiring a friend, it is to you I shall turn. As yet I have no + other friend on earth, and with prudence and good luck I may escape the + infliction of any other friend. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours ever affectionately, + + KENELM. +</pre> + <p> + P. S.—Dear Father, I open my letter in your library to say again + “Bless you,” and to tell you how fondly I kissed your old beaver gloves, + which I found on the table. + </p> + <p> + When Sir Peter came to that postscript he took off his spectacles and + wiped them: they were very moist. + </p> + <p> + Then he fell into a profound meditation. Sir Peter was, as I have said, a + learned man; he was also in some things a sensible man, and he had a + strong sympathy with the humorous side of his son’s crotchety character. + What was to be said to Lady Chillingly? That matron was quite guiltless of + any crime which should deprive her of a husband’s confidence in a matter + relating to her only son. She was a virtuous matron; morals + irreproachable, manners dignified, and <i>she-baronety</i>. Any one seeing + her for the first time would intuitively say, “Your ladyship.” Was this a + matron to be suppressed in any well-ordered domestic circle? Sir Peter’s + conscience loudly answered, “No;” but when, putting conscience into his + pocket, he regarded the question at issue as a man of the world, Sir Peter + felt that to communicate the contents of his son’s letter to Lady + Chillingly would be the foolishest thing he could possibly do. Did she + know that Kenelm had absconded with the family dignity invested in his + very name, no marital authority short of such abuses of power as + constitute the offence of cruelty in a wife’s action for divorce from + social board and nuptial bed could prevent Lady Chillingly from summoning + all the grooms, sending them in all directions with strict orders to bring + back the runaway dead or alive; the walls would be placarded with + hand-bills, “Strayed from his home,” etc.; the police would be + telegraphing private instructions from town to town; the scandal would + stick to Kenelm Chillingly for life, accompanied with vague hints of + criminal propensities and insane hallucinations; he would be ever + afterwards pointed out as “THE MAN WHO HAD DISAPPEARED.” And to disappear + and to turn up again, instead of being murdered, is the most hateful thing + a man can do: all the newspapers bark at him, “Tray, Blanche, Sweetheart, + and all;” strict explanations of the unseemly fact of his safe existence + are demanded in the name of public decorum, and no explanations are + accepted; it is life saved, character lost. + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter seized his hat and walked forth, not to deliberate whether to + fib or not to fib to the wife of his bosom, but to consider what kind of + fib would the most quickly sink into the bosom of his wife. + </p> + <p> + A few turns to and fro on the terrace sufficed for the conception and + maturing of the fib selected; a proof that Sir Peter was a practised + fibber. He re-entered the house, passed into her ladyship’s habitual + sitting-room, and said with careless gayety, “My old friend the Duke of + Clareville is just setting off on a tour to Switzerland with his family. + His youngest daughter, Lady Jane, is a pretty girl, and would not be a bad + match for Kenelm.” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Jane, the youngest daughter with fair hair, whom I saw last as a + very charming child, nursing a lovely doll presented to her by the Empress + Eugenie,—a good match indeed for Kenelm.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you agree with me. Would it not be a favourable step towards + that alliance, and an excellent thing for Kenelm generally, if he were to + visit the Continent as one of the Duke’s travelling party?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it would.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you approve what I have done; the Duke starts the day after + to-morrow, and I have packed Kenelm off to town, with a letter to my old + friend. You will excuse all leave taking. You know that though the best of + sons he is an odd fellow; and seeing that I had talked him into it, I + struck while the iron was hot, and sent him off by the express at nine + o’clock this morning, for fear that if I allowed any delay he would talk + himself out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say Kenelm is actually gone? Good gracious.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter stole softly from the room, and summoning his valet, said, “I + have sent Mr. Chillingly to London. Pack up the clothes he is likely to + want, so that he can have them sent at once, whenever he writes for them.” + </p> + <p> + And thus, by a judicious violation of truth on the part of his father, + that exemplary truth-teller Kenelm Chillingly saved the honour of his + house and his own reputation from the breath of scandal and the + inquisition of the police. He was not “THE MAN WHO HAD DISAPPEARED.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK II. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM CHILLINGLY had quitted the paternal home at daybreak before any of + the household was astir. “Unquestionably,” said he, as he walked along the + solitary lanes,—“unquestionably I begin the world as poets begin + poetry, an imitator and a plagiarist. I am imitating an itinerant + verse-maker, as, no doubt, he began by imitating some other maker of + verse. But if there be anything in me, it will work itself out in original + form. And, after all, the verse-maker is not the inventor of ideas. + Adventure on foot is a notion that remounts to the age of fable. Hercules, + for instance; that was the way in which he got to heaven, as a + foot-traveller. How solitary the world is at this hour! Is it not for that + reason that this is of all hours the most beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + Here he paused, and looked around and above. It was the very height of + summer. The sun was just rising over gentle sloping uplands. All the dews + on the hedgerows sparkled. There was not a cloud in the heavens. Up rose + from the green blades of corn a solitary skylark. His voice woke up the + other birds. A few minutes more and the joyous concert began. Kenelm + reverently doffed his hat, and bowed his head in mute homage and + thanksgiving. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + ABOUT nine o’clock Kenelm entered a town some twelve miles distant from + his father’s house, and towards which he had designedly made his way, + because in that town he was scarcely if at all known by sight, and he + might there make the purchases he required without attracting any marked + observation. He had selected for his travelling costume a shooting-dress, + as the simplest and least likely to belong to his rank as a gentleman. But + still in its very cut there was an air of distinction, and every labourer + he had met on the way had touched his hat to him. Besides, who wears a + shooting-dress in the middle of June, or a shooting-dress at all, unless + he be either a game-keeper or a gentleman licensed to shoot? + </p> + <p> + Kenelm entered a large store-shop for ready-made clothes and purchased a + suit such as might be worn on Sundays by a small country yeoman or + tenant-farmer of a petty holding,—a stout coarse broadcloth upper + garment, half coat, half jacket, with waistcoat to match, strong corduroy + trousers, a smart Belcher neckcloth, with a small stock of linen and + woollen socks in harmony with the other raiment. He bought also a leathern + knapsack, just big enough to contain this wardrobe, and a couple of books, + which with his combs and brushes he had brought away in his pockets; for + among all his trunks at home there was no knapsack. + </p> + <p> + These purchases made and paid for, he passed quickly through the town, and + stopped at a humble inn at the outskirt, to which he was attracted by the + notice, “Refreshment for man and beast.” He entered a little sanded + parlour, which at that hour he had all to himself, called for breakfast, + and devoured the best part of a fourpenny loaf with a couple of hard eggs. + </p> + <p> + Thus recruited, he again sallied forth, and deviating into a thick wood by + the roadside, he exchanged the habiliments with which he had left home for + those he had purchased, and by the help of one or two big stones sunk the + relinquished garments into a small but deep pool which he was lucky enough + to find in a bush-grown dell much haunted by snipes in the winter. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Kenelm, “I really begin to think I have got out of myself. I + am in another man’s skin; for what, after all, is a skin but a soul’s + clothing, and what is clothing but a decenter skin? Of its own natural + skin every civilized soul is ashamed. It is the height of impropriety for + any one but the lowest kind of savage to show it. If the purest soul now + existent upon earth, the Pope of Rome’s or the Archbishop of Canterbury’s, + were to pass down the Strand with the skin which Nature gave to it bare to + the eye, it would be brought up before a magistrate, prosecuted by the + Society for the Suppression of Vice, and committed to jail as a public + nuisance. + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly I am now in another man’s skin. Kenelm Chillingly, I no longer + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Remain + + “Yours faithfully; +</pre> + <p> + “But am, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “With profound consideration, + + “Your obedient humble servant.” + </pre> + <p> + With light step and elated crest, the wanderer, thus transformed, sprang + from the wood into the dusty thoroughfare. He had travelled on for about + an hour, meeting but few other passengers, when he heard to the right a + loud shrill young voice, “Help! help! I will not go; I tell you, I will + not!” Just before him stood, by a high five-barred gate, a pensive gray + cob attached to a neat-looking gig. The bridle was loose on the cob’s + neck. The animal was evidently accustomed to stand quietly when ordered to + do so, and glad of the opportunity. + </p> + <p> + The cries, “Help, help!” were renewed, mingled with louder tones in a + rougher voice, tones of wrath and menace. Evidently these sounds did not + come from the cob. Kenelm looked over the gate, and saw a few yards + distant in a grass field a well-dressed boy struggling violently against a + stout middle-aged man who was rudely hauling him along by the arm. + </p> + <p> + The chivalry natural to a namesake of the valiant Sir Kenelm Digby was + instantly aroused. He vaulted over the gate, seized the man by the collar, + and exclaimed, “For shame! what are you doing to that poor boy? let him + go!” + </p> + <p> + “Why the devil do you interfere?” cried the stout man, his eyes glaring + and his lips foaming with rage. “Ah, are you the villain? yes, no doubt of + it. I’ll give it to you, jackanapes,” and still grasping the boy with one + hand, with the other the stout man darted a blow at Kenelm, from which + nothing less than the practised pugilistic skill and natural alertness of + the youth thus suddenly assaulted could have saved his eyes and nose. As + it was, the stout man had the worst of it: the blow was parried, returned + with a dexterous manoeuvre of Kenelm’s right foot in Cornish fashion, and + <i>procumbit humi bos</i>; the stout man lay sprawling on his back. The + boy, thus released, seized hold of Kenelm by the arm, and hurrying him + along up the field, cried, “Come, come before he gets up! save me! save + me!” Ere he had recovered his own surprise, the boy had dragged Kenelm to + the gate, and jumped into the gig, sobbing forth, “Get in, get in, I can’t + drive; get in, and drive—you. Quick! Quick!” + </p> + <p> + “But—” began Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Get in, or I shall go mad.” Kenelm obeyed; the boy gave him the reins, + and seizing the whip himself, applied it lustily to the cob. On sprang the + cob. “Stop, stop, stop, thief! villain! Holloa! thieves! thieves! thieves! + stop!” cried a voice behind. Kenelm involuntarily turned his head and + beheld the stout man perched upon the gate and gesticulating furiously. It + was but a glimpse; again the whip was plied, the cob frantically broke + into a gallop, the gig jolted and bumped and swerved, and it was not till + they had put a good mile between themselves and the stout man that Kenelm + succeeded in obtaining possession of the whip and calming the cob into a + rational trot. + </p> + <p> + “Young gentleman,” then said Kenelm, “perhaps you will have the goodness + to explain.” + </p> + <p> + “By and by; get on, that’s a good fellow; you shall be well paid for it, + well and handsomely.” + </p> + <p> + Quoth Kenelm, gravely, “I know that in real life payment and service + naturally go together. But we will put aside the payment till you tell me + what is to be the service. And first, whither am I to drive you? We are + coming to a place where three roads meet; which of the three shall I + take?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know; there is a finger-post. I want to get to,—but it + is a secret; you’ll not betray me? Promise,—swear.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t swear except when I am in a passion, which, I am sorry to say, is + very seldom; and I don’t promise till I know what I promise; neither do I + go on driving runaway boys in other men’s gigs unless I know that I am + taking them to a safe place, where their papas and mammas can get at + them.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no papa, no mamma,” said the boy, dolefully and with quivering + lips. + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy! I suppose that burly brute is your schoolmaster, and you are + running away home for fear of a flogging.” + </p> + <p> + The boy burst out laughing; a pretty, silvery, merry laugh: it thrilled + through Kenelm Chillingly. “No, he would not flog me: he is not a + schoolmaster; he is worse than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible? What is he?” + </p> + <p> + “An uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum! uncles are proverbial for cruelty; were so in the classical days, + and Richard III. was the only scholar in his family.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! classical and Richard III.!” said the boy, startled, and looking + attentively at the pensive driver. “Who are you? you talk like a + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon. I’ll not do so again if I can help it.”—“Decidedly,” + thought Kenelm, “I am beginning to be amused. What a blessing it is to get + into another man’s skin, and another man’s gig too!” Aloud, “Here we are + at the fingerpost. If you are running away from your uncle, it is time to + inform me where you are running to.” + </p> + <p> + Here the boy leaned over the gig and examined the fingerpost. Then he + clapped his hands joyfully. + </p> + <p> + “All right! I thought so, ‘To Tor-Hadham, eighteen miles.’ That’s the road + to Tor-Hadham.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say I am to drive you all that way,—eighteen miles?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And to whom are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you by and by. Do go on; do, pray. I can’t drive—never + drove in my life—or I would not ask you. Pray, pray, don’t desert + me! If you are a gentleman you will not; and if you are not a gentleman, I + have got L10 in my purse, which you shall have when I am safe at + Tor-Hadham. Don’t hesitate: my whole life is at stake!” And the boy began + once more to sob. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm directed the pony’s head towards Tor-Hadham, and the boy ceased to + sob. + </p> + <p> + “You are a good, dear fellow,” said the boy, wiping his eyes. “I am afraid + I am taking you very much out of your road.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no road in particular, and would as soon go to Tor-Hadham, which I + have never seen, as anywhere else. I am but a wanderer on the face of the + earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you lost your papa and mamma too? Why, you are not much older than I + am.” + </p> + <p> + “Little gentleman,” said Kenelm, gravely, “I am just of age, and you, I + suppose, are about fourteen.” + </p> + <p> + “What fun!” cried the boy, abruptly. “Isn’t it fun?” + </p> + <p> + “It will not be fun if I am sentenced to penal servitude for stealing your + uncle’s gig, and robbing his little nephew of L10. By the by, that + choleric relation of yours meant to knock down somebody else when he + struck at me. He asked, ‘Are you the villain?’ Pray who is the villain? he + is evidently in your confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “Villain! he is the most honourable, high-minded—But no matter now: + I’ll introduce you to him when we reach Tor-Hadham. Whip that pony: he is + crawling.” + </p> + <p> + “It is up hill: a good man spares his beast.” + </p> + <p> + No art and no eloquence could extort from his young companion any further + explanation than Kenelm had yet received; and indeed, as the journey + advanced, and they approached their destination, both parties sank into + silence. Kenelm was seriously considering that his first day’s experience + of real life in the skin of another had placed in some peril his own. He + had knocked down a man evidently respectable and well to do, had carried + off that man’s nephew, and made free with that man’s goods and chattels; + namely, his gig and horse. All this might be explained satisfactorily to a + justice of the peace, but how? By returning to his former skin; by avowing + himself to be Kenelm Chillingly, a distinguished university medalist, heir + to no ignoble name and some L10,000 a year. But then what a scandal! he + who abhorred scandal; in vulgar parlance, what a “row!” he who denied that + the very word “row” was sanctioned by any classic authorities in the + English language. He would have to explain how he came to be found + disguised, carefully disguised, in garments such as no baronet’s eldest + son—even though that baronet be the least ancestral man of mark whom + it suits the convenience of a First Minister to recommend to the Sovereign + for exaltation over the rank of Mister—was ever beheld in, unless he + had taken flight to the gold-diggings. Was this a position in which the + heir of the Chillinglys, a distinguished family, whose coat-of-arms dated + from the earliest authenticated period of English heraldry under Edward + III. as Three Fishes <i>azure</i>, could be placed without grievous slur + on the cold and ancient blood of the Three Fishes? + </p> + <p> + And then individually to himself, Kenelm, irrespectively of the Three + Fishes,—what a humiliation! He had put aside his respected father’s + deliberate preparations for his entrance into real life; he had perversely + chosen his own walk on his own responsibility; and here, before half the + first day was over, what an infernal scrape he had walked himself into! + and what was his excuse? A wretched little boy, sobbing and chuckling by + turns, and yet who was clever enough to twist Kenelm Chillingly round his + finger; twist <i>him</i>, a man who thought himself so much wiser than his + parents,—a man who had gained honours at the University,—a man + of the gravest temperament,—a man of so nicely critical a turn of + mind that there was not a law of art or nature in which he did not detect + a flaw; that he should get himself into this mess was, to say the least of + it, an uncomfortable reflection. + </p> + <p> + The boy himself, as Kenelm glanced at him from time to time, became impish + and Will-of-the-Wisp-ish. Sometimes he laughed to himself loudly, + sometimes he wept to himself quietly; sometimes, neither laughing nor + weeping, he seemed absorbed in reflection. Twice as they came nearer to + the town of Tor-Hadham, Kenelm nudged the boy, and said, “My boy, I must + talk with you;” and twice the boy, withdrawing his arm from the nudge, had + answered dreamily, “Hush! I am thinking.” + </p> + <p> + And so they entered the town of Tor-Hadham, the cob very much done up. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + “NOW, young sir,” said Kenelm, in a tone calm, but peremptory,—“now + we are in the town, where am I to take you? and wherever it be, there to + say good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not good-by. Stay with me a little bit. I begin to feel frightened, + and I am so friendless;” and the boy, who had before resented the + slightest nudge on the part of Kenelm, now wound his arm into Kenelm’s, + and clung to him caressingly. + </p> + <p> + I don’t know what my readers have hitherto thought of Kenelm Chillingly: + but, amid all the curves and windings of his whimsical humour, there was + one way that went straight to his heart; you had only to be weaker than + himself and ask his protection. + </p> + <p> + He turned round abruptly; he forgot all the strangeness of his position, + and replied: “Little brute that you are, I’ll be shot if I forsake you if + in trouble. But some compassion is also due to the cob: for his sake say + where we are to stop.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I can’t say: I never was here before. Let us go to a nice quiet + inn. Drive slowly: we’ll look out for one.” + </p> + <p> + Tor-Hadham was a large town, not nominally the capital of the county, but, + in point of trade and bustle and life, virtually the capital. The straight + street, through which the cob went as slowly as if he had been drawing a + Triumphal Car up the Sacred Hill, presented an animated appearance. The + shops had handsome facades and plate-glass windows; the pavements + exhibited a lively concourse, evidently not merely of business, but of + pleasure, for a large proportion of the passers-by was composed of the + fair sex, smartly dressed, many of them young and some pretty. In fact a + regiment of her Majesty’s ——-th Hussars had been sent into the + town two days before; and, between the officers of that fortunate regiment + and the fair sex in that hospitable town, there was a natural emulation + which should make the greater number of slain and wounded. The advent of + these heroes, professional subtracters from hostile and multipliers of + friendly populations, gave a stimulus to the caterers for those amusements + which bring young folks together,—archery-meetings, rifle-shootings, + concerts, balls, announced in bills attached to boards and walls and + exposed at shop-windows. + </p> + <p> + The boy looked eagerly forth from the gig, scanning especially these + advertisements, till at length he uttered an excited exclamation, “Ah, I + was right: there it is!” + </p> + <p> + “There what is?” asked Kenelm,—“the inn?” His companion did not + answer, but Kenelm following the boy’s eye perceived an immense hand-bill. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “TO-MORROW NIGHT THEATRE OPENS. + + “RICHARD III. Mr. COMPTON.” + </pre> + <p> + “Do just ask where the theatre is,” said the boy, in a whisper, turning + away his head. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm stopped the cob, made the inquiry, and was directed to take the + next turning to the right. In a few minutes the compo portico of an ugly + dilapidated building, dedicated to the Dramatic Muses, presented itself at + the angle of a dreary, deserted lane. The walls were placarded with + play-bills, in which the name of Compton stood forth as gigantic as + capitals could make it. The boy drew a sigh. “Now,” said he, “let us look + out for an inn near here,—the nearest.” + </p> + <p> + No inn, however, beyond the rank of a small and questionable looking + public-house was apparent, until at a distance somewhat remote from the + theatre, and in a quaint, old-fashioned, deserted square, a neat, newly + whitewashed house displayed upon its frontispiece, in large black letters + of funereal aspect, “Temperance Hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” said the boy; “don’t you think that would suit us? it looks + quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “Could not look more quiet if it were a tombstone,” replied Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + The boy put his hand upon the reins and stopped the cob. The cob was in + that condition that the slightest touch sufficed to stop him, though he + turned his head somewhat ruefully as if in doubt whether hay and corn + would be within the regulations of a Temperance Hotel. Kenelm descended + and entered the house. A tidy woman emerged from a sort of glass cupboard + which constituted the bar, minus the comforting drinks associated with the + <i>beau ideal</i> of a bar, but which displayed instead two large + decanters of cold water with tumblers <i>a discretion</i>, and sundry + plates of thin biscuits and sponge-cakes. This tidy woman politely + inquired what was his “pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Pleasure,” answered Kenelm, with his usual gravity, “is not the word I + should myself have chosen. But could you oblige my horse—I mean <i>that</i> + horse—with a stall and a feed of oats, and that young gentleman and + myself with a private room and a dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “Dinner!” echoed the hostess,—“dinner!” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand pardons, ma’am. But if the word ‘dinner’ shock you I retract + it, and would say instead something to eat and drink.’” + </p> + <p> + “Drink! This is strictly a Temperance Hotel, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you don’t eat and drink here,” exclaimed Kenelm, fiercely, for he + was famished, “I wish you good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay a bit, sir. We do eat and drink here. But we are very simple folks. + We allow no fermented liquors.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even a glass of beer?” + </p> + <p> + “Only ginger-beer. Alcohols are strictly forbidden. We have tea and coffee + and milk. But most of our customers prefer the pure liquid. As for eating, + sir,—anything you order, in reason.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm shook his head and was retreating, when the boy, who had sprung + from the gig and overheard the conversation, cried petulantly, “What does + it signify? Who wants fermented liquors? Water will do very well. And as + for dinner,—anything convenient. Please, ma’am, show us into a + private room: I am so tired.” The last words were said in a caressing + manner, and so prettily, that the hostess at once changed her tone, and + muttering, “Poor boy!” and, in a still more subdued mutter, “What a pretty + face he has!” nodded, and led the way up a very clean old-fashioned + staircase. + </p> + <p> + “But the horse and gig, where are they to go?” said Kenelm, with a pang of + conscience on reflecting how ill treated hitherto had been both horse and + owner. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as for the horse and gig, sir, you will find Jukes’s livery-stables a + few yards farther down. We don’t take in horses ourselves; our customers + seldom keep them: but you will find the best of accommodation at Jukes’s.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm conducted the cob to the livery-stables thus indicated, and waited + to see him walked about to cool, well rubbed down, and made comfortable + over half a peck of oats,—for Kenelm Chillingly was a humane man to + the brute creation,—and then, in a state of ravenous appetite, + returned to the Temperance Hotel, and was ushered into a small + drawing-room, with a small bit of carpet in the centre, six small chairs + with cane seats, prints on the walls descriptive of the various effects of + intoxicating liquors upon sundry specimens of mankind,—some + resembling ghosts, others fiends, and all with a general aspect of beggary + and perdition; contrasted by Happy-Family pictures,—smiling wives, + portly husbands, rosy infants, emblematic of the beatified condition of + members of the Temperance Society. + </p> + <p> + A table with a spotless cloth, and knives and forks for two, chiefly, + however, attracted Kenelm’s attention. + </p> + <p> + The boy was standing by the window, seemingly gazing on a small aquarium + which was there placed, and contained the usual variety of small fishes, + reptiles, and insects, enjoying the pleasures of Temperance in its native + element, including, of course, an occasional meal upon each other. + </p> + <p> + “What are they going to give us to eat?” inquired Kenelm. “It must be + ready by this time I should think.” + </p> + <p> + Here he gave a brisk tug at the bell-pull. The boy advanced from the + window, and as he did so Kenelm was struck with the grace of his bearing, + and the improvement in his looks, now that he was without his hat, and + rest and ablution had refreshed from heat and dust the delicate bloom of + his complexion. There was no doubt about it that he was an exceedingly + pretty boy, and if he lived to be a man would make many a lady’s heart + ache. It was with a certain air of gracious superiority such as is seldom + warranted by superior rank if it be less than royal, and chiefly becomes a + marked seniority in years, that this young gentleman, approaching the + solemn heir of the Chillinglys, held out his hand and said,— + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you have behaved extremely well, and I thank you very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Royal Highness is condescending to say so,” replied Kenelm + Chillingly, bowing low, “but have you ordered dinner? and what are they + going to give us? No one seems to answer the bell here. As it is a + Temperance Hotel, probably all the servants are drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should they be drunk at a Temperance Hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “Why! because, as a general rule, people who flagrantly pretend to + anything are the reverse of that which they pretend to. A man who sets up + for a saint is sure to be a sinner, and a man who boasts that he is a + sinner is sure to have some feeble, maudlin, snivelling bit of saintship + about him which is enough to make him a humbug. Masculine honesty, whether + it be saint-like or sinner-like, does not label itself either saint or + sinner. Fancy Saint Augustine labelling himself saint, or Robert Burns + sinner; and therefore, though, little boy, you have probably not read the + poems of Robert Burns, and have certainly not read the ‘Confessions’ of + Saint Augustine, take my word for it, that both those personages were very + good fellows; and with a little difference of training and experience, + Burns might have written the ‘Confessions’ and Augustine the poems. Powers + above! I am starving. What did you order for dinner, and when is it to + appear?” + </p> + <p> + The boy, who had opened to an enormous width a naturally large pair of + hazel eyes, while his tall companion in fustian trousers and Belcher + neckcloth spoke thus patronizingly of Robert Burns and Saint Augustine, + now replied, with rather a deprecatory and shamefaced aspect, “I am sorry + I was not thinking of dinner. I was not so mindful of you as I ought to + have been. The landlady asked me what we would have. I said, ‘What you + like;’ and the landlady muttered something about—” here the boy + hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. About what? Mutton-chops?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Cauliflowers and rice-pudding.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm Chillingly never swore, never raged. Where ruder beings of human + mould swore or raged, he vented displeasure in an expression of + countenance so pathetically melancholic and lugubrious that it would have + melted the heart of an Hyrcanian tiger. He turned his countenance now on + the boy, and murmuring “Cauliflower!—Starvation!” sank into one of + the cane-bottomed chairs, and added quietly, “so much for human + gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + The boy was evidently smitten to the heart by the bitter sweetness of this + reproach. There were almost tears in his voice, as he said falteringly, + “Pray forgive me, I <i>was</i> ungrateful. I’ll run down and see what + there is;” and, suiting the action to the word, he disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm remained motionless; in fact he was plunged into one of those + reveries, or rather absorptions of inward and spiritual being, into which + it is said that the consciousness of the Indian dervish can be by + prolonged fasting preternaturally resolved. The appetite of all men of + powerful muscular development is of a nature far exceeding the properties + of any reasonable number of cauliflowers and rice-puddings to satisfy. + Witness Hercules himself, whose cravings for substantial nourishment were + the standing joke of the classic poets. I don’t know that Kenelm + Chillingly would have beaten the Theban Hercules either in fighting or in + eating; but, when he wanted to fight or when he wanted to eat, Hercules + would have had to put forth all his strength not to be beaten. + </p> + <p> + After ten minutes’ absence, the boy came back radiant. He tapped Kenelm on + the shoulder, and said playfully, “I made them cut a whole loin into + chops, besides the cauliflower; and such a big rice-pudding, and eggs and + bacon too! Cheer up! it will be served in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “A-h!” said Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “They are good people; they did not mean to stint you: but most of their + customers, it seems, live upon vegetables and farinaceous food. There is a + society here formed upon that principle; the landlady says they are + philosophers!” + </p> + <p> + At the word “philosophers” Kenelm’s crest rose as that of a practised + hunter at the cry of “Yoiks! Tally-ho!” “Philosophers!” said he, + “philosophers indeed! O ignoramuses, who do not even know the structure of + the human tooth! Look you, little boy, if nothing were left on this earth + of the present race of man, as we are assured upon great authority will be + the case one of these days,—and a mighty good riddance it will be,—if + nothing, I say, of man were left except fossils of his teeth and his + thumbs, a philosopher of that superior race which will succeed to man + would at once see in those relics all his characteristics and all his + history; would say, comparing his thumb with the talons of an eagle, the + claws of a tiger, the hoof of a horse, the owner of that thumb must have + been lord over creatures with talons and claws and hoofs. You may say the + monkey tribe has thumbs. True; but compare an ape’s thumb with a man’s: + could the biggest ape’s thumb have built Westminster Abbey? But even + thumbs are trivial evidence of man as compared with his teeth. Look at his + teeth!”—here Kenelm expanded his jaws from ear to ear and displayed + semicircles of ivory, so perfect for the purposes of mastication that the + most artistic dentist might have despaired of his power to imitate them,—“look, + I say, at his teeth!” The boy involuntarily recoiled. “Are the teeth those + of a miserable cauliflower-eater? or is it purely by farinaceous food that + the proprietor of teeth like man’s obtains the rank of the sovereign + destroyer of creation? No, little boy, no,” continued Kenelm, closing his + jaws, but advancing upon the infant, who at each stride receded towards + the aquarium,—“no; man is the master of the world, because of all + created beings he devours the greatest variety and the greatest number of + created things. His teeth evince that man can live upon every soil from + the torrid to the frozen zone, because man can eat everything that other + creatures cannot eat. And the formation of his teeth proves it. A tiger + can eat a deer; so can man: but a tiger can’t eat an eel; man can. An + elephant can eat cauliflowers and rice-pudding; so can man! but an + elephant can’t eat a beefsteak; man can. In sum, man can live everywhere, + because he can eat anything, thanks to his dental formation!” concluded + Kenelm, making a prodigious stride towards the boy. “Man, when everything + else fails him, eats his own species.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t; you frighten me,” said the boy. “Aha!” clapping his hands with a + sensation of gleeful relief, “here come the mutton-chops!” + </p> + <p> + A wonderfully clean, well-washed, indeed well-washed-out, middle-aged + parlour-maid now appeared, dish in hand. Putting the dish on the table and + taking off the cover, the handmaiden said civilly, though frigidly, like + one who lived upon salad and cold water, “Mistress is sorry to have kept + you waiting, but she thought you were Vegetarians.” + </p> + <p> + After helping his young friend to a mutton-chop, Kenelm helped himself, + and replied gravely, “Tell your mistress that if she had only given us + vegetables, I should have eaten you. Tell her that though man is partially + graminivorous, he is principally carnivorous. Tell her that though a swine + eats cabbages and such like, yet where a swine can get a baby, it eats the + baby. Tell her,” continued Kenelm (now at his third chop), “that there is + no animal that in digestive organs more resembles man than a swine. Ask + her if there is any baby in the house; if so, it would be safe for the + baby to send up some more chops.” + </p> + <p> + As the acutest observer could rarely be quite sure when Kenelm Chillingly + was in jest or in earnest, the parlour-maid paused a moment and attempted + a pale smile. Kenelm lifted his dark eyes, unspeakably sad and profound, + and said mournfully, “I should be so sorry for the baby. Bring the chops!” + The parlour-maid vanished. The boy laid down his knife and fork, and + looked fixedly and inquisitively on Kenelm. Kenelm, unheeding the look, + placed the last chop on the boy’s plate. + </p> + <p> + “No more,” cried the boy, impulsively, and returned the chop to the dish. + “I have dined: I have had enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Little boy, you lie,” said Kenelm; “you have not had enough to keep body + and soul together. Eat that chop or I shall thrash you: whatever I say I + do.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow or other the boy felt quelled; he ate the chop in silence, again + looked at Kenelm’s face, and said to himself, “I am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + The parlour-maid here entered with a fresh supply of chops and a dish of + bacon and eggs, soon followed by a rice-pudding baked in a tin dish, and + of size sufficient to have nourished a charity school. When the repast was + finished, Kenelm seemed to forget the dangerous properties of the + carnivorous animal; and stretching himself indolently out, appeared to be + as innocently ruminative as the most domestic of animals graminivorous. + </p> + <p> + Then said the boy, rather timidly, “May I ask you another favour?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it to knock down another uncle, or to steal another gig and cob?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is very simple: it is merely to find out the address of a friend + here; and when found to give him a note from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Does the commission press? ‘After dinner, rest a while,’ saith the + proverb; and proverbs are so wise that no one can guess the author of + them. They are supposed to be fragments of the philosophy of the + antediluvians: came to us packed up in the ark.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, indeed,” said the boy, seriously. “How interesting! No, my + commission does not press for an hour or so. Do you think, sir, they had + any drama before the Deluge?” + </p> + <p> + “Drama! not a doubt of it. Men who lived one or two thousand years had + time to invent and improve everything; and a play could have had its + natural length then. It would not have been necessary to crowd the whole + history of Macbeth, from his youth to his old age, into an absurd epitome + of three hours. One cannot trace a touch of real human nature in any + actor’s delineation of that very interesting Scotchman, because the actor + always comes on the stage as if he were the same age when he murdered + Duncan, and when, in his sear and yellow leaf, he was lopped off by + Macduff.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think Macbeth was young when he murdered Duncan?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. No man ever commits a first crime of violent nature, such as + murder, after thirty; if he begins before, he may go on up to any age. But + youth is the season for commencing those wrong calculations which belong + to irrational hope and the sense of physical power. You thus read in the + newspapers that the persons who murder their sweethearts are generally + from two to six and twenty; and persons who murder from other motives than + love—that is, from revenge, avarice, or ambition—are generally + about twenty-eight,—Iago’s age. Twenty-eight is the usual close of + the active season for getting rid of one’s fellow-creatures; a + prize-fighter falls off after that age. I take it that Macbeth was about + twenty-eight when he murdered Duncan, and from about fifty-four to sixty + when he began to whine about missing the comforts of old age. But can any + audience understand that difference of years in seeing a three-hours’ + play? or does any actor ever pretend to impress it on the audience, and + appear as twenty-eight in the first act and a sexagenarian in the fifth?” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of that,” said the boy, evidently interested. “But I + never saw ‘Macbeth.’ I have seen ‘Richard III.:’ is not that nice? Don’t + you dote on the play? I do. What a glorious life an actor’s must be!” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm, who had been hitherto rather talking to himself than to his + youthful companion, here roused his attention, looked on the boy intently, + and said,— + </p> + <p> + “I see you are stage-stricken. You have run away from home in order to + turn player, and I should not wonder if this note you want me to give is + for the manager of the theatre or one of his company.” + </p> + <p> + The young face that encountered Kenelm’s dark eye became very flushed, but + set and defiant in its expression. + </p> + <p> + “And what if it were? would not you give it?” + </p> + <p> + “What! help a child of your age run away from his home, to go upon the + stage against the consent of his relations? Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a child; but that has nothing to do with it. I don’t want to go + on the stage, at all events without the consent of the person who has a + right to dictate my actions. My note is not to the manager of the theatre, + nor to one of his company; but it is to a gentleman who condescends to act + here for a few nights; a thorough gentleman,—a great actor,—my + friend, the only friend I have in the world. I say frankly I have run away + from home so that he may have that note, and if you will not give it some + one else will!” + </p> + <p> + The boy had risen while he spoke, and he stood erect beside the recumbent + Kenelm, his lips quivering, his eyes suffused with suppressed tears, but + his whole aspect resolute and determined. Evidently, if he did not get his + own way in this world, it would not be for want of will. + </p> + <p> + “I will take your note,” said Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “There it is; give it into the hands of the person it is addressed to,—Mr. + Herbert Compton.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM took his way to the theatre, and inquired of the door-keeper for + Mr. Herbert Compton. That functionary replied, “Mr. Compton does not act + to-night, and is not in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does he lodge?” + </p> + <p> + The door-keeper pointed to a grocer’s shop on the other side of the way, + and said tersely, “There, private door; knock and ring.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm did as he was directed. A slatternly maid-servant opened the door, + and, in answer to his interrogatory, said that Mr. Compton was at home, + but at supper. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to disturb him,” said Kenelm, raising his voice, for he heard + a clatter of knives and plates within a room hard by at his left, “but my + business requires to see him forthwith;” and, pushing the maid aside, he + entered at once the adjoining banquet-hall. + </p> + <p> + Before a savoury stew smelling strongly of onions sat a man very much at + his ease, without coat or neckcloth,—a decidedly handsome man, his + hair cut short and his face closely shaven, as befits an actor who has + wigs and beards of all hues and forms at his command. The man was not + alone; opposite to him sat a lady, who might be a few years younger, of a + somewhat faded complexion, but still pretty, with good stage features and + a profusion of blond ringlets. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Compton, I presume,” said Kenelm, with a solemn bow. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Compton: any message from the theatre? or what do you want + with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I—nothing!” replied Kenelm; and then deepening his naturally + mournful voice into tones ominous and tragic, continued, “By whom you are + wanted let this explain;” therewith he placed in Mr. Compton’s hand the + letter with which he was charged, and stretching his arms and interlacing + his fingers in the <i>pose</i> of Talma as Julius Caesar, added, “‘Qu’en + dis-tu, Brute?’” + </p> + <p> + Whether it was from the sombre aspect and awe-inspiring delivery of the + messenger, or the sight of the handwriting on the address of the missive, + Mr. Compton’s countenance suddenly fell, and his hand rested irresolute, + as if not daring to open the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind me, dear,” said the lady with blond ringlets, in a tone of + stinging affability: “read your <i>billet-doux</i>; don’t keep the young + man waiting, love!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Matilda, nonsense! <i>billet-doux</i> indeed! more likely a + bill from Duke the tailor. Excuse me for a moment, my dear. Follow me, + sir,” and rising, still with shirtsleeves uncovered, he quitted the room, + closing the door after him, motioned Kenelm into a small parlour on the + opposite side of the passage, and by the light of a suspended gas-lamp ran + his eye hastily over the letter, which, though it seemed very short, drew + from him sundry exclamations. “Good heavens, how very absurd! what’s to be + done?” Then, thrusting the letter into his trousers-pocket, he fixed upon + Kenelm a very brilliant pair of dark eyes, which soon dropped before the + steadfast look of that saturnine adventurer. + </p> + <p> + “Are you in the confidence of the writer of this letter?” asked Mr. + Compton, rather confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “I am not the confidant of the writer,” answered Kenelm, “but for the time + being I am the protector!” + </p> + <p> + “Protector!” + </p> + <p> + “Protector.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Compton again eyed the messenger, and this time fully realizing the + gladiatorial development of that dark stranger’s physical form, he grew + many shades paler, and involuntarily retreated towards the bell-pull. + </p> + <p> + After a short pause, he said, “I am requested to call on the writer. If I + do so, may I understand that the interview will be strictly private?” + </p> + <p> + “So far as I am concerned, yes: on the condition that no attempt be made + to withdraw the writer from the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, certainly not; quite the contrary,” exclaimed Mr. Compton, + with genuine animation. “Say I will call in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “I will give your message,” said Kenelm, with a polite inclination of his + head; “and pray pardon me if I remind you that I styled myself the + protector of your correspondent, and if the slightest advantage be taken + of that correspondent’s youth and inexperience or the smallest + encouragement be given to plans of abduction from home and friends, the + stage will lose an ornament and Herbert Compton vanish from the scene.” + With these words Kenelm left the player standing aghast. Gaining the + street-door, a lad with a band-box ran against him and was nearly upset. + </p> + <p> + “Stupid,” cried the lad, “can’t you see where you are going? Give this to + Mrs. Compton.” + </p> + <p> + “I should deserve the title you give if I did for nothing the business for + which you are paid,” replied Kenelm, sententiously, and striding on. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + “I HAVE fulfilled my mission,” said Kenelm, on rejoining his travelling + companion. “Mr. Compton said he would be here in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw him?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course: I promised to give your letter into his own hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he alone?” + </p> + <p> + “No; at supper with his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “His wife! what do you mean, sir?—wife! he has no wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Appearances are deceitful. At least he was with a lady who called him + ‘dear’ and ‘love’ in as spiteful a tone of voice as if she had been his + wife; and as I was coming out of his street-door a lad who ran against me + asked me to give a band-box to Mrs. Compton.” + </p> + <p> + The boy turned as white as death, staggered back a few steps, and dropped + into a chair. + </p> + <p> + A suspicion which during his absence had suggested itself to Kenelm’s + inquiring mind now took strong confirmation. He approached softly, drew a + chair close to the companion whom fate had forced upon him, and said in a + gentle whisper,— + </p> + <p> + “This is no boy’s agitation. If you have been deceived or misled, and I + can in any way advise or aid you, count on me as women under the + circumstances count on men and gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + The boy started to his feet, and paced the room with disordered steps, and + a countenance working with passions which he attempted vainly to suppress. + Suddenly arresting his steps, he seized Kenelm’s hand, pressed it + convulsively, and said, in a voice struggling against a sob,— + </p> + <p> + “I thank you,—I bless you. Leave me now: I would be alone. Alone, + too, I must face this man. There may be some mistake yet; go.” + </p> + <p> + “You will promise not to leave the house till I return?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I promise that.” + </p> + <p> + “And if it be as I fear, you will then let me counsel with and advise + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven help me, if so! Whom else should I trust to? Go, go!” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm once more found himself in the streets, beneath the mingled light + of gas-lamps and the midsummer moon. He walked on mechanically till he + reached the extremity of the town. There he halted, and seating himself on + a milestone, indulged in these meditations:— + </p> + <p> + “Kenelm, my friend, you are in a still worse scrape than I thought you + were an hour ago. You have evidently now got a woman on your hands. What + on earth are you to do with her? A runaway woman, who, meaning to run off + with somebody else—such are the crosses and contradictions in human + destiny—has run off with you instead. What mortal can hope to be + safe? The last thing I thought could befall me when I got up this morning + was that I should have any trouble about the other sex before the day was + over. If I were of an amatory temperament, the Fates might have some + justification for leading me into this snare, but, as it is, those + meddling old maids have none. Kenelm, my friend, do you think you ever can + be in love? and, if you were in love, do you think you could be a greater + fool than you are now?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm had not decided this knotty question in the conference held with + himself, when a light and soft strain of music came upon his ear. It was + but from a stringed instrument, and might have sounded thin and tinkling + but for the stillness of the night, and that peculiar addition of fulness + which music acquires when it is borne along a tranquil air. Presently a + voice in song was heard from the distance accompanying the instrument. It + was a man’s voice, a mellow and a rich voice, but Kenelm’s ear could not + catch the words. Mechanically he moved on towards the quarter from which + the sounds came, for Kenelm Chillingly had music in his soul, though he + was not quite aware of it himself. He saw before him a patch of + greensward, on which grew a solitary elm with a seat for wayfarers beneath + it. From this sward the ground receded in a wide semicircle bordered + partly by shops, partly by the tea-gardens of a pretty cottage-like + tavern. Round the tables scattered throughout the gardens were grouped + quiet customers, evidently belonging to the class of small tradespeople or + superior artisans. They had an appearance of decorous respectability, and + were listening intently to the music. So were many persons at the + shop-doors and at the windows of upper rooms. On the sward, a little in + advance of the tree, but beneath its shadow, stood the musician, and in + that musician Kenelm recognized the wanderer from whose talk he had + conceived the idea of the pedestrian excursion which had already brought + him into a very awkward position. The instrument on which the singer + accompanied himself was a guitar, and his song was evidently a love-song, + though, as it was now drawing near to its close, Kenelm could but + imperfectly guess at its general meaning. He heard enough to perceive that + its words were at least free from the vulgarity which generally + characterizes street ballads, and were yet simple enough to please a very + homely audience. + </p> + <p> + When the singer ended there was no applause; but there was evident + sensation among the audience,—a feeling as if something that had + given a common enjoyment had ceased. Presently the white Pomeranian dog, + who had hitherto kept himself out of sight under the seat of the elm-tree, + advanced, with a small metal tray between his teeth, and, after looking + round him deliberately, as if to select whom of the audience should be + honoured with the commencement of a general subscription, gravely + approached Kenelm, stood on his hind legs, stared at him, and presented + the tray. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm dropped a shilling into that depository, and the dog, looking + gratified, took his way towards the tea-gardens. Lifting his hat, for he + was, in his way, a very polite man, Kenelm approached the singer, and, + trusting to the alteration in his dress for not being recognized by a + stranger who had only once before encountered him he said,— + </p> + <p> + “Judging by the little I heard, you sing very well, sir. May I ask who + composed the words?” + </p> + <p> + “They are mine,” replied the singer. + </p> + <p> + “And the air?” + </p> + <p> + “Mine too.” + </p> + <p> + “Accept my compliments. I hope you find these manifestations of genius + lucrative?” + </p> + <p> + The singer, who had not hitherto vouchsafed more than a careless glance at + the rustic garb of the questioner, now fixed his eyes full upon Kenelm, + and said, with a smile, “Your voice betrays you, sir. We have met before.” + </p> + <p> + “True; but I did not then notice your guitar, nor, though acquainted with + your poetical gifts, suppose that you selected this primitive method of + making them publicly known.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor did I anticipate the pleasure of meeting you again in the character + of Hobnail. Hist! let us keep each other’s secret. I am known hereabouts + by no other designation than that of the ‘Wandering Minstrel.’” + </p> + <p> + “It is in the capacity of minstrel that I address you. If it be not an + impertinent question, do you know any songs which take the other side of + the case?” + </p> + <p> + “What case? I don’t understand you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “The song I heard seemed in praise of that sham called love. Don’t you + think you could say something more new and more true, treating that + aberration from reason with the contempt it deserves?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I am to get my travelling expenses paid.” + </p> + <p> + “What! the folly is so popular?” + </p> + <p> + “Does not your own heart tell you so?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it,—rather the contrary. Your audience at present seem + folks who live by work, and can have little time for such idle phantasies; + for, as it is well observed by Ovid, a poet who wrote much on that + subject, and professed the most intimate acquaintance with it, ‘Idleness + is the parent of love.’ Can’t you sing something in praise of a good + dinner? Everybody who works hard has an appetite for food.” + </p> + <p> + The singer again fixed on Kenelm his inquiring eye, but not detecting a + vestige of humour in the grave face he contemplated, was rather puzzled + how to reply, and therefore remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “I perceive,” resumed Kenelm, “that my observations surprise you: the + surprise will vanish on reflection. It has been said by another poet, more + reflective than Ovid, that ‘the world is governed by love and hunger.’ But + hunger certainly has the lion’s share of the government; and if a poet is + really to do what he pretends to do,—namely, represent nature,—the + greater part of his lays should be addressed to the stomach.” Here, + warming with his subject, Kenelm familiarly laid his hand on the + musician’s shoulder, and his voice took a tone bordering on enthusiasm. + “You will allow that a man in the normal condition of health does not fall + in love every day. But in the normal condition of health he is hungry + every day. Nay, in those early years when you poets say he is most prone + to love, he is so especially disposed to hunger that less than three meals + a day can scarcely satisfy his appetite. You may imprison a man for + months, for years, nay, for his whole life,—from infancy to any age + which Sir Cornewall Lewis may allow him to attain,—without letting + him be in love at all. But if you shut him up for a week without putting + something into his stomach, you will find him at the end of it as dead as + a door-nail.” + </p> + <p> + Here the singer, who had gradually retreated before the energetic advance + of the orator, sank into the seat by the elm-tree and said pathetically, + “Sir, you have fairly argued me down. Will you please to come to the + conclusion which you deduce from your premises?” + </p> + <p> + “Simply this, that where you find one human being who cares about love, + you will find a thousand susceptible to the charms of a dinner; and if you + wish to be the popular minne-singer or troubadour of the age, appeal to + nature, sir,—appeal to nature; drop all hackneyed rhapsodies about a + rosy cheek, and strike your lyre to the theme of a beefsteak.” + </p> + <p> + The dog had for some minutes regained his master’s side, standing on his + hind legs, with the tray, tolerably well filled with copper coins, between + his teeth; and now, justly aggrieved by the inattention which detained him + in that artificial attitude, dropped the tray and growled at Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + At the same time there came an impatient sound from the audience in the + tea-garden. They wanted another song for their money. + </p> + <p> + The singer rose, obedient to the summons. “Excuse me, sir; but I am called + upon to—” + </p> + <p> + “To sing again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And on the subject I suggest?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “What! love, again?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid so.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you good evening then. You seem a well-educated man,—more + shame to you. Perhaps we may meet once more in our rambles, when the + question can be properly argued out.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm lifted his hat, and turned on his heel. Before he reached the + street, the sweet voice of the singer again smote his ears; but the only + word distinguishable in the distance, ringing out at the close of the + refrain, was “love.” + </p> + <p> + “Fiddle-de-dee,” said Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + AS Kenelm regained the street dignified by the edifice of the Temperance + Hotel, a figure, dressed picturesquely in a Spanish cloak, brushed + hurriedly by him, but not so fast as to be unrecognized as the tragedian. + “Hem!” muttered Kenelm, “I don’t think there is much triumph in that face. + I suspect he has been scolded.” + </p> + <p> + The boy—if Kenelm’s travelling companion is still to be so + designated—was leaning against the mantelpiece as Kenelm re-entered + the dining-room. There was an air of profound dejection about the boy’s + listless attitude and in the drooping tearless eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” said Kenelm, in the softest tones of his plaintive voice, + “do not honour me with any confidence that may be painful. But let me hope + that you have dismissed forever all thoughts of going on the stage.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” was the scarce audible answer. + </p> + <p> + “And now only remains the question, ‘What is to be done?’” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I don’t know, and I don’t care.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you leave it to me to know and to care; and assuming for the moment + as a fact that which is one of the greatest lies in this mendacious world—namely, + that all men are brothers—you will consider me as an elder brother, + who will counsel and control you as he would an imprudent young—sister. + I see very well how it is. Somehow or other you, having first admired Mr. + Compton as Romeo or Richard III., made his acquaintance as Mr. Compton. He + allowed you to believe him a single man. In a romantic moment you escaped + from your home, with the design of adopting the profession of the stage + and of becoming Mrs. Compton.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” broke out the girl, since her sex must now be declared, “oh,” she + exclaimed, with a passionate sob, “what a fool I have been! Only do not + think worse of me than I deserve. The man did deceive me; he did not think + I should take him at his word, and follow him here, or his wife would not + have appeared. I should not have known he had one and—and—” + here her voice was choked under her passion. + </p> + <p> + “But now you have discovered the truth, let us thank Heaven that you are + saved from shame and misery. I must despatch a telegram to your uncle: + give me his address.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no.” + </p> + <p> + “There is not a ‘No’ possible in this case, my child. Your reputation and + your future must be saved. Leave me to explain all to your uncle. He is + your guardian. I must send for him; nay, nay, there is no option. Hate me + now for enforcing your will: you will thank me hereafter. And listen, + young lady; if it does pain you to see your uncle, and encounter his + reproaches, every fault must undergo its punishment. A brave nature + undergoes it cheerfully, as a part of atonement. You are brave. Submit, + and in submitting rejoice!” + </p> + <p> + There was something in Kenelm’s voice and manner at once so kindly and so + commanding that the wayward nature he addressed fairly succumbed. She gave + him her uncle’s address, “John Bovill, Esq., Oakdale, near Westmere.” And + after giving it, she fixed her eyes mournfully upon her young adviser, and + said with a simple, dreary pathos, “Now, will you esteem me more, or + rather despise me less?” + </p> + <p> + She looked so young, nay, so childlike, as she thus spoke, that Kenelm + felt a parental inclination to draw her on his lap and kiss away her + tears. But he prudently conquered that impulse, and said, with a + melancholy half-smile,— + </p> + <p> + “If human beings despise each other for being young and foolish, the + sooner we are exterminated by that superior race which is to succeed us on + earth the better it will be. Adieu, till your uncle comes.” + </p> + <p> + “What! you leave me here—alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, if your uncle found me under the same roof, now that I know you are + his niece, don’t you think he would have a right to throw me out of the + window? Allow me to practise for myself the prudence I preach to you. Send + for the landlady to show you your room, shut yourself in there, go to bed, + and don’t cry more than you can help.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm shouldered the knapsack he had deposited in a corner of the room, + inquired for the telegraph-office, despatched a telegram to Mr. Bovill, + obtained a bedroom at the Commercial Hotel, and fell asleep, muttering + these sensible words,— + </p> + <p> + “Rouchefoucauld was perfectly right when he said, ‘Very few people would + fall in love if they had not heard it so much talked about.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM CHILLINGLY rose with the sun, according to his usual custom, and + took his way to the Temperance Hotel. All in that sober building seemed + still in the arms of Morpheus. He turned towards the stables in which he + had left the gray cob, and had the pleasure to see that ill-used animal in + the healthful process of rubbing down. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right,” said he to the hostler. “I am glad to see you are so early + a riser.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” quoth the hostler, “the gentleman as owns the pony knocked me up at + two o’clock in the morning, and pleased enough he was to see the creature + again lying down in the clean straw.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he has arrived at the hotel, I presume?—a stout gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, stout enough; and a passionate gentleman too. Came in a yellow and + two posters, knocked up the Temperance and then knocked up me to see for + the pony, and was much put out as he could not get any grog at the + Temperance.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say he was. I wish he had got his grog: it might have put him in + better humour. Poor little thing!” muttered Kenelm, turning away; “I am + afraid she is in for a regular vituperation. My turn next, I suppose. But + he must be a good fellow to have come at once for his niece in the dead of + the night.” + </p> + <p> + About nine o’clock Kenelm presented himself again at the Temperance Hotel, + inquired for Mr. Bovill, and was shown by the prim maid-servant into the + drawing-room, where he found Mr. Bovill seated amicably at breakfast with + his niece, who of course was still in boy’s clothing, having no other + costume at hand. To Kenelm’s great relief, Mr. Bovill rose from the table + with a beaming countenance, and extending his hand to Kenelm, said,— + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you are a gentleman; sit down, sit down and take breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as soon as the maid was out of the room, the uncle continued,— + </p> + <p> + “I have heard all your good conduct from this young simpleton. Things + might have been worse, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm bowed his head, and drew the loaf towards him in silence. Then, + considering that some apology was due to his entertainer, he said,— + </p> + <p> + “I hope you forgive me for that unfortunate mistake, when—” + </p> + <p> + “You knocked me down, or rather tripped me up. All right now. Elsie, give + the gentleman a cup of tea. Pretty little rogue, is she not? and a good + girl, in spite of her nonsense. It was all my fault letting her go to the + play and be intimate with Miss Lockit, a stage-stricken, foolish old maid, + who ought to have known better than to lead her into all this trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “No, uncle,” cried the girl, resolutely; “don’t blame her, nor any one but + me.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm turned his dark eyes approvingly towards the girl, and saw that her + lips were firmly set; there was an expression, not of grief nor shame, but + compressed resolution in her countenance. But when her eyes met his they + fell softly, and a blush mantled over her cheeks up to her very forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the uncle, “just like you, Elsie; always ready to take + everybody’s fault on your own shoulders. Well, well, say no more about + that. Now, my young friend, what brings you across the country tramping it + on foot, eh? a young man’s whim?” As he spoke, he eyed Kenelm very + closely, and his look was that of an intelligent man not unaccustomed to + observe the faces of those he conversed with. In fact a more shrewd man of + business than Mr. Bovill is seldom met with on ‘Change or in market. + </p> + <p> + “I travel on foot to please myself, sir,” answered Kenelm, curtly, and + unconsciously set on his guard. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you do,” cried Mr. Bovill, with a jovial laugh. “But it seems + you don’t object to a chaise and pony whenever you can get them for + nothing,—ha, ha!—excuse me,—a joke.” + </p> + <p> + Herewith Mr. Bovill, still in excellent good-humour, abruptly changed the + conversation to general matters,—agricultural prospects, chance of a + good harvest, corn trade, money market in general, politics, state of the + nation. Kenelm felt there was an attempt to draw him out, to sound, to + pump him, and replied only by monosyllables, generally significant of + ignorance on the questions broached; and at the close, if the + philosophical heir of the Chillinglys was in the habit of allowing himself + to be surprised he would certainly have been startled when Mr. Bovill + rose, slapped him on the shoulder, and said in a tone of great + satisfaction, “Just as I thought, sir; you know nothing of these matters: + you are a gentleman born and bred; your clothes can’t disguise you, sir. + Elsie was right. My dear, just leave us for a few minutes: I have + something to say to our young friend. You can get ready meanwhile to go + with me.” Elsie left the table and walked obediently towards the doorway. + There she halted a moment, turned round, and looked timidly towards + Kenelm. He had naturally risen from his seat as she rose, and advanced + some paces as if to open the door for her. Thus their looks encountered. + He could not interpret that shy gaze of hers: it was tender, it was + deprecating, it was humble, it was pleading; a man accustomed to female + conquests might have thought it was something more, something in which was + the key to all. But that something more was an unknown tongue to Kenelm + Chillingly. + </p> + <p> + When the two men were alone, Mr. Bovill reseated himself and motioned to + Kenelm to do the same. “Now, young sir,” said the former, “you and I can + talk at our ease. That adventure of yours yesterday may be the luckiest + thing that could happen to you.” + </p> + <p> + “It is sufficiently lucky if I have been of any service to your niece. But + her own good sense would have been her safeguard if she had been alone, + and discovered, as she would have done, that Mr. Compton had, knowingly or + not, misled her to believe that he was a single man.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang Mr. Compton! we have done with him. I am a plain man, and I come to + the point. It is you who have carried off my niece; it is with you that + she came to this hotel. Now when Elsie told me how well you had behaved, + and that your language and manners were those of a real gentleman, my mind + was made up. I guess pretty well what you are; you are a gentleman’s son; + probably a college youth; not overburdened with cash; had a quarrel with + your governor, and he keeps you short. Don’t interrupt me. Well, Elsie is + a good girl and a pretty girl, and will make a good wife, as wives go; + and, hark ye, she has L20,000. So just confide in me; and if you don’t + like your parents to know about it till the thing’s done and they be only + got to forgive and bless you, why, you shall marry Elsie before you can + say Jack Robinson.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time in his life Kenelm Chillingly was seized with terror,—terror + and consternation. His jaw dropped; his tongue was palsied. If hair ever + stands on end, his hair did. At last, with superhuman effort, he gasped + out the word, “Marry!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; marry. If you are a gentleman you are bound to it. You have + compromised my niece,—a respectable, virtuous girl, sir; an orphan, + but not unprotected. I repeat, it is you who have plucked her from my very + arms, and with violence and assault eloped with her; and what would the + world say if it knew? Would it believe in your prudent conduct?—conduct + only to be explained by the respect you felt due to your future wife. And + where will you find a better? Where will you find an uncle who will part + with his ward and L20,000 without asking if you have a sixpence? and the + girl has taken a fancy to you; I see it: would she have given up that + player so easily if you had not stolen her heart? Would you break that + heart? No, young man: you are not a villain. Shake hands on it!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bovill,” said Kenelm, recovering his wonted equanimity, “I am + inexpressibly flattered by the honour you propose to me, and I do not deny + that Miss Elsie is worthy of a much better man than myself. But I have + inconceivable prejudices against the connubial state. If it be permitted + to a member of the Established Church to cavil at any sentence written by + Saint Paul,—and I think that liberty may be permitted to a simple + layman, since eminent members of the clergy criticise the whole Bible as + freely as if it were the history of Queen Elizabeth by Mr. Froude,—I + should demur at the doctrine that it is better to marry than to burn: I + myself should prefer burning. With these sentiments it would ill become + any one entitled to that distinction of ‘gentleman’ which you confer on me + to lead a fellow-victim to the sacrificial altar. As for any reproach + attached to Miss Elsie, since in my telegram I directed you to ask for a + young gentleman at this hotel, her very sex is not known in this place + unless you divulge it. And—” + </p> + <p> + Here Kenelm was interrupted by a violent explosion of rage from the uncle. + He stamped his feet; he almost foamed at the mouth; he doubled his fist, + and shook it in Kenelm’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you are mocking me: John Bovill is not a man to be jeered in this + way. You <i>shall</i> marry the girl. I’ll not have her thrust back upon + me to be the plague of my life with her whims and tantrums. You have taken + her, and you shall keep her, or I’ll break every bone in your skin.” + </p> + <p> + “Break them,” said Kenelm, resignedly, but at the same time falling back + into a formidable attitude of defence, which cooled the pugnacity of his + accuser. Mr. Bovill sank into his chair, and wiped his forehead. Kenelm + craftily pursued the advantage he had gained, and in mild accents + proceeded to reason,— + </p> + <p> + “When you recover your habitual serenity of humour, Mr. Bovill, you will + see how much your very excusable desire to secure your niece’s happiness, + and, I may add, to reward what you allow to have been forbearing and + well-bred conduct on my part, has hurried you into an error of judgment. + You know nothing of me. I may be, for what you know, an impostor or + swindler; I may have every bad quality, and yet you are to be contented + with my assurance, or rather your own assumption, that I am born a + gentleman, in order to give me your niece and her L20,000. This is + temporary insanity on your part. Allow me to leave you to recover from + your excitement.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, sir,” said Mr. Bovill, in a changed and sullen tone; “I am not + quite the madman you think me. But I dare say I have been too hasty and + too rough. Nevertheless the facts are as I have stated them, and I do not + see how, as a man of honour, you can get off marrying my niece. The + mistake you made in running away with her was, no doubt, innocent on your + part: but still there it is; and supposing the case came before a jury, it + would be an ugly one for you and your family. Marriage alone could mend + it. Come, come, I own I was too business-like in rushing to the point at + once, and I no longer say, ‘Marry my niece off-hand.’ You have only seen + her disguised and in a false position. Pay me a visit at Oakdale; stay + with me a month; and if at the end of that time you do not like her well + enough to propose, I’ll let you off and say no more about it.” + </p> + <p> + While Mr. Bovill thus spoke, and Kenelm listened, neither saw that the + door had been noiselessly opened and that Elsie stood at the threshold. + Now, before Kenelm could reply, she advanced into the middle of the room, + and, her small figure drawn up to its fullest height, her cheeks glowing, + her lips quivering, exclaimed,— + </p> + <p> + “Uncle, for shame!” Then addressing Kenelm in a sharp tone of anguish, + “Oh, do not believe I knew anything of this!” she covered her face with + both hands and stood mute. + </p> + <p> + All of chivalry that Kenelm had received with his baptismal appellation + was aroused. He sprang up, and, bending his knee as he drew one of her + hands into his own, he said,— + </p> + <p> + “I am as convinced that your uncle’s words are abhorrent to you as I am + that you are a pure-hearted and high-spirited woman, of whose friendship I + shall be proud. We meet again.” Then releasing her hand, he addressed Mr. + Bovill: “Sir, you are unworthy the charge of your niece. Had you not been + so, she would have committed no imprudence. If she have any female + relation, to that relation transfer your charge.” + </p> + <p> + “I have! I have!” cried Elsie; “my lost mother’s sister: let me go to + her.” + </p> + <p> + “The woman who keeps a school!” said Mr. Bovill sneeringly. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “She never would go there. I proposed it to her a year ago. The minx would + not go into a school.” + </p> + <p> + “I will now, Uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, you shall at once; and I hope you’ll be put on bread and + water. Fool! fool! you have spoilt your own game. Mr. Chillingly, now that + Miss Elsie has turned her back on herself, I can convince you that I am + not the mad man you thought me. I was at the festive meeting held when you + came of age: my brother is one of your father’s tenants. I did not + recognize your face immediately in the excitement of our encounter and in + your change of dress; but in walking home it struck me that I had seen it + before, and I knew it at once when you entered the room to-day. It has + been a tussle between us which should beat the other. You have beat me; + and thanks to that idiot! If she had not put her spoke into my wheel, she + would have lived to be ‘my lady.’ Now good-day, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bovill, you offered to shake hands: shake hands now, and promise me, + with the good grace of one honourable combatant to another, that Miss + Elsie shall go to her aunt the schoolmistress at once if she wishes it. + Hark ye, my friend” (this in Mr. Bovill’s ear): “a man can never manage a + woman. Till a woman marries, a prudent man leaves her to women; when she + does marry, she manages her husband, and there’s an end of it.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, wise young man!” murmured the uncle. “Elsie, dear, how can you go to + your aunt’s while you are in that dress?” + </p> + <p> + Elsie started as from a trance, her eyes directed towards the doorway + through which Kenelm had vanished. “This dress,” she said contemptuously, + “this dress; is not that easily altered with shops in the town?” + </p> + <p> + “Gad!” muttered Mr. Bovill, “that youngster is a second Solomon; and if I + can’t manage Elsie, she’ll manage a husband—whenever she gets one.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + “BY the powers that guard innocence and celibacy,” soliloquized Kenelm + Chillingly, “but I have had a narrow escape! and had that amphibious + creature been in girl’s clothes instead of boy’s, when she intervened like + the deity of the ancient drama, I might have plunged my armorial Fishes + into hot water. Though, indeed, it is hard to suppose that a young lady + head-over-ears in love with Mr. Compton yesterday could have consigned her + affections to me to-day. Still she looked as if she could, which proves + either that one is never to trust a woman’s heart or never to trust a + woman’s looks. Decimus Roach is right. Man must never relax his flight + from the women, if he strives to achieve an ‘Approach to the Angels.’” + </p> + <p> + These reflections were made by Kenelm Chillingly as, having turned his + back upon the town in which such temptations and trials had befallen him, + he took his solitary way along a footpath that wound through meads and + cornfields, and shortened by three miles the distance to a cathedral town + at which he proposed to rest for the night. + </p> + <p> + He had travelled for some hours, and the sun was beginning to slope + towards a range of blue hills in the west, when he came to the margin of a + fresh rivulet, overshadowed by feathery willows and the quivering leaves + of silvery Italian poplars. Tempted by the quiet and cool of this pleasant + spot, he flung himself down on the banks, drew from his knapsack some + crusts of bread with which he had wisely provided himself, and, dipping + them into the pure lymph as it rippled over its pebbly bed, enjoyed one of + those luxurious repasts for which epicures would exchange their banquet in + return for the appetite of youth. Then, reclining along the bank, and + crushing the wild thyme that grows best and sweetest in wooded coverts, + provided they be neighboured by water, no matter whether in pool or rill, + he resigned himself to that intermediate state between thought and + dream-land which we call “revery.” At a little distance he heard the low + still sound of the mower’s scythe, and the air came to his brow sweet with + the fragrance of new-mown hay. + </p> + <p> + He was roused by a gentle tap on the shoulder, and turning lazily round, + saw a good-humoured jovial face upon a pair of massive shoulders, and + heard a hearty and winning voice say,— + </p> + <p> + “Young man, if you are not too tired, will you lend a hand to get in my + hay? We are very short of hands, and I am afraid we shall have rain pretty + soon.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm rose and shook himself, gravely contemplated the stranger, and + replied in his customary sententious fashion, “Man is born to help his + fellow-man,—especially to get in hay while the sun shines. I am at + your service.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a good fellow, and I’m greatly obliged to you. You see I had + counted on a gang of roving haymakers, but they were bought up by another + farmer. This way;” and leading on through a gap in the brushwood, he + emerged, followed by Kenelm, into a large meadow, one-third of which was + still under the scythe, the rest being occupied with persons of both + sexes, tossing and spreading the cut grass. Among the latter, Kenelm, + stripped to his shirt-sleeves, soon found himself tossing and spreading + like the rest, with his usual melancholy resignation of mien and aspect. + Though a little awkward at first in the use of his unfamiliar implements, + his practice in all athletic accomplishments bestowed on him that + invaluable quality which is termed “handiness,” and he soon distinguished + himself by the superior activity and neatness with which he performed his + work. Something—it might be in his countenance or in the charm of + his being a stranger—attracted the attention of the feminine section + of haymakers, and one very pretty girl who was nearer to him than the rest + attempted to commence conversation. + </p> + <p> + “This is new to you,” she said smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing is new to me,” answered Kenelm, mournfully. “But allow me to + observe that to do things well you should only do one thing at a time. I + am here to make hay and not conversation.” + </p> + <p> + “My!” said the girl, in amazed ejaculation, and turned off with a toss of + her pretty head. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if that jade has got an uncle,” thought Kenelm. The farmer, who + took his share of work with the men, halting now and then to look round, + noticed Kenelm’s vigorous application with much approval, and at the close + of the day’s work shook him heartily by the hand, leaving a two-shilling + piece in his palm. The heir of the Chillinglys gazed on that honorarium, + and turned it over with the finger and thumb of the left hand. + </p> + <p> + “Be n’t it eno’?” said the farmer, nettled. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” answered Kenelm. “But, to tell you the truth, it is the first + money I ever earned by my own bodily labour; and I regard it with equal + curiosity and respect. But if it would not offend you, I would rather + that, instead of the money, you had offered me some supper; for I have + tasted nothing but bread and water since the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have the money and supper both, my lad,” said the farmer, + cheerily. “And if you will stay and help till I have got in the hay, I + dare say my good woman can find you a better bed than you’ll get in the + village inn; if, indeed, you can get one there at all.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind. But before I accept your hospitality excuse one + question: have you any nieces about you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nieces!” echoed the farmer, mechanically thrusting his hands into his + breeches-pockets as if in search of something there, “nieces about me! + what do you mean? Be that a newfangled word for coppers?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for coppers, though perhaps for brass. But I spoke without metaphor. + I object to nieces upon abstract principle, confirmed by the test of + experience.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer stared, and thought his new friend not quite so sound in his + mental as he evidently was in his physical conformation, but replied, with + a laugh, “Make yourself easy, then. I have only one niece, and she is + married to an iron-monger and lives in Exeter.” + </p> + <p> + On entering the farmhouse, Kenelm’s host conducted him straight into the + kitchen, and cried out, in a hearty voice, to a comely middle-aged dame, + who, with a stout girl, was intent on culinary operations, “Hulloa! old + woman, I have brought you a guest who has well earned his supper, for he + has done the work of two, and I have promised him a bed.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer’s wife turned sharply round. “He is heartily welcome to supper. + As to a bed,” she said doubtfully, “I don’t know.” But here her eyes + settled on Kenelm; and there was something in his aspect so unlike what + she expected to see in an itinerant haymaker, that she involuntarily + dropped a courtesy, and resumed, with a change of tone, “The gentleman + shall have the guest-room: but it will take a little time to get ready; + you know, John, all the furniture is covered up.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, wife, there will be leisure eno’ for that. He don’t want to go to + roost till he has supped.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” said Kenelm, sniffing a very agreeable odour. + </p> + <p> + “Where are the girls?” asked the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “They have been in these five minutes, and gone upstairs to tidy + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “What girls?” faltered Kenelm, retreating towards the door. “I thought you + said you had no nieces.” + </p> + <p> + “But I did not say I had no daughters. Why, you are not afraid of them, + are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” replied Kenelm, with a polite and politic evasion of that question, + “if your daughters are like their mother, you can’t say that they are not + dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Come,” cried the farmer, looking very much pleased, while his dame smiled + and blushed, “come, that’s as nicely said as if you were canvassing the + county. ‘Tis not among haymakers that you learned manners, I guess; and + perhaps I have been making too free with my betters.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” quoth the courteous Kenelm, “do you mean to imply that you were + too free with your shillings? Apologize for that, if you like, but I don’t + think you’ll get back the shillings. I have not seen so much of this life + as you have, but, according to my experience, when a man once parts with + his money, whether to his betters or his worsers, the chances are that + he’ll never see it again.” + </p> + <p> + At this aphorism the farmer laughed ready to kill himself, his wife + chuckled, and even the maid-of-all-work grinned. Kenelm, preserving his + unalterable gravity, said to himself,— + </p> + <p> + “Wit consists in the epigrammatic expression of a commonplace truth, and + the dullest remark on the worth of money is almost as sure of successful + appreciation as the dullest remark on the worthlessness of women. + Certainly I am a wit without knowing it.” + </p> + <p> + Here the farmer touched him on the shoulder—touched it, did not slap + it, as he would have done ten minutes before—and said,— + </p> + <p> + “We must not disturb the Missis or we shall get no supper. I’ll just go + and give a look into the cow-sheds. Do you know much about cows?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, cows produce cream and butter. The best cows are those which produce + at the least cost the best cream and butter. But how the best cream and + butter can be produced at a price which will place them free of expense on + a poor man’s breakfast-table is a question to be settled by a Reformed + Parliament and a Liberal Administration. In the meanwhile let us not delay + the supper.” + </p> + <p> + The farmer and his guest quitted the kitchen and entered the farmyard. + </p> + <p> + “You are quite a stranger in these parts?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t even know my name?” + </p> + <p> + “No, except that I heard your wife call you John.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is John Saunderson.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you come from the North, then? That’s why you are so sensible and + shrewd. Names that end in ‘son’ are chiefly borne by the descendants of + the Danes, to whom King Alfred, Heaven bless him! peacefully assigned no + less than sixteen English counties. And when a Dane was called somebody’s + son, it is a sign that he was the son of a somebody.” + </p> + <p> + “By gosh! I never heard that before.” + </p> + <p> + “If I thought you had I should not have said it.” + </p> + <p> + “Now I have told you my name, what is yours?” + </p> + <p> + “A wise man asks questions and a fool answers them. Suppose for a moment + that I am not a fool.” + </p> + <p> + Farmer Saunderson scratched his head, and looked more puzzled than became + the descendant of a Dane settled by King Alfred in the north of England. + </p> + <p> + “Dash it,” said he at last, “but I think you are Yorkshire too.” + </p> + <p> + “Man, who is the most conceited of all animals, says that he alone has the + prerogative of thought, and condemns the other animals to the meaner + mechanical operation which he calls instinct. But as instincts are + unerring and thoughts generally go wrong, man has not much to boast of + according to his own definition. When you say you think, and take it for + granted, that I am Yorkshire, you err. I am not Yorkshire. Confining + yourself to instinct, can you divine when we shall sup? The cows you are + about to visit divine to a moment when they shall be fed.” + </p> + <p> + Said the farmer, recovering his sense of superiority to the guest whom he + obliged with a supper, “In ten minutes.” Then, after a pause, and in a + tone of deprecation, as if he feared he might be thought fine, he + continued, “We don’t sup in the kitchen. My father did, and so did I till + I married; but my Bess, though she’s as good a farmer’s wife as ever wore + shoe-leather, was a tradesman’s daughter, and had been brought up + different. You see she was not without a good bit of money: but even if + she had been, I should not have liked her folks to say I had lowered her; + so we sup in the parlour.” + </p> + <p> + Quoth Kenelm, “The first consideration is to sup at all. Supper conceded, + every man is more likely to get on in life who would rather sup in his + parlour than his kitchen. Meanwhile, I see a pump; while you go to the + cows I will stay here and wash my hands of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold! you seem a sharp fellow, and certainly no fool. I have a son, a + good smart chap, but stuck up; crows it over us all; thinks no small beer + of himself. You’d do me a service, and him too, if you’d let him down a + peg or two.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm, who was now hard at work at the pump-handle, only replied by a + gracious nod. But as he seldom lost an opportunity for reflection, he said + to himself, while he laved his face in the stream from the spout, “One + can’t wonder why every small man thinks it so pleasant to let down a big + one, when a father asks a stranger to let down his own son for even + fancying that he is not small beer. It is upon that principle in human + nature that criticism wisely relinquishes its pretensions as an analytical + science, and becomes a lucrative profession. It relies on the pleasure its + readers find in letting a man down.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + IT was a pretty, quaint farmhouse, such as might well go with two or three + hundred acres of tolerably good land, tolerably well farmed by an active + old-fashioned tenant, who, though he did not use mowing-machines nor + steam-ploughs nor dabble in chemical experiments, still brought an + adequate capital to his land and made the capital yield a very fair return + of interest. The supper was laid out in a good-sized though low-pitched + parlour with a glazed door, now wide open, as were all the latticed + windows, looking into a small garden, rich in those straggling old English + flowers which are nowadays banished from gardens more pretentious and; + infinitely less fragrant. At one corner was an arbour covered with + honeysuckle, and opposite to it a row of beehives. The room itself had an + air of comfort, and that sort of elegance which indicates the presiding + genius of feminine taste. There were shelves suspended to the wall by blue + ribbons, and filled with small books neatly bound; there were flower-pots + in all the window-sills; there was a small cottage piano; the walls were + graced partly with engraved portraits of county magnates and prize oxen; + partly with samplers in worsted-work, comprising verses of moral character + and the names and birthdays of the farmer’s grandmother, mother, wife, and + daughters. Over the chimney-piece was a small mirror, and above that the + trophy of a fox’s brush; while niched into an angle in the room was a + glazed cupboard, rich with specimens of old china, Indian and English. + </p> + <p> + The party consisted of the farmer, his wife, three buxom daughters, and a + pale-faced slender lad of about twenty, the only son, who did not take + willingly to farming: he had been educated at a superior grammar school, + and had high notions about the March of Intellect and the Progress of the + Age. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm, though among the gravest of mortals, was one of the least shy. In + fact shyness is the usual symptom of a keen <i>amour propre</i>; and of + that quality the youthful Chillingly scarcely possessed more than did the + three Fishes of his hereditary scutcheon. He felt himself perfectly at + home with his entertainers; taking care, however, that his attentions were + so equally divided between the three daughters as to prevent all suspicion + of a particular preference. “There is safety in numbers,” thought he, + “especially in odd numbers. The three Graces never married, neither did + the nine Muses.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume, young ladies, that you are fond of music,” said Kenelm, + glancing at the piano. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I love it dearly,” said the eldest girl, speaking for the others. + </p> + <p> + Quoth the farmer, as he heaped the stranger’s plate with boiled beef and + carrots, “Things are not what they were when I was a boy; then it was only + great tenant-farmers who had their girls taught the piano, and sent their + boys to a good school. Now we small folks are for helping our children a + step or two higher than our own place on the ladder.” + </p> + <p> + “The schoolmaster is abroad,” said the son, with the emphasis of a sage + adding an original aphorism to the stores of philosophy. + </p> + <p> + “There is, no doubt, a greater equality of culture than there was in the + last generation,” said Kenelm. “People of all ranks utter the same + commonplace ideas in very much the same arrangements of syntax. And in + proportion as the democracy of intelligence extends—a friend of + mine, who is a doctor, tells me that complaints formerly reserved to what + is called aristocracy (though what that word means in plain English I + don’t know) are equally shared by the commonalty—<i>tic-douloureux</i> + and other neuralgic maladies abound. And the human race, in England at + least, is becoming more slight and delicate. There is a fable of a man + who, when he became exceedingly old, was turned into a grasshopper. + England is very old, and is evidently approaching the grasshopper state of + development. Perhaps we don’t eat as much beef as our forefathers did. May + I ask you for another slice?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm’s remarks were somewhat over the heads of his audience. But the + son, taking them as a slur upon the enlightened spirit of the age, + coloured up and said, with a knitted brow, “I hope, sir, that you are not + an enemy to progress.” + </p> + <p> + “That depends: for instance, I prefer staying here, where I am well off, + to going farther and faring worse.” + </p> + <p> + “Well said!” cried the farmer. + </p> + <p> + Not deigning to notice that interruption, the son took up Kenelm’s reply + with a sneer, “I suppose you mean that it is to fare worse, if you march + with the time.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid we have no option but to march with the time; but when we + reach that stage when to march any farther is to march into old age, we + should not be sorry if time would be kind enough to stand still; and all + good doctors concur in advising us to do nothing to hurry him.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no sign of old age in this country, sir; and thank Heaven we are + not standing still!” + </p> + <p> + “Grasshoppers never do; they are always hopping and jumping, and making + what they think ‘progress,’ till (unless they hop into the water and are + swallowed up prematurely by a carp or a frog) they die of the exhaustion + which hops and jumps unremitting naturally produce. May I ask you, Mrs. + Saunderson, for some of that rice-pudding?” + </p> + <p> + The farmer, who, though he did not quite comprehend Kenelm’s metaphorical + mode of arguing, saw delightedly that his wise son looked more posed than + himself, cried with great glee, “Bob, my boy,—Bob, our visitor is a + little too much for you!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Kenelm, modestly. “But I honestly think Mr. Bob would be a + wiser man, and a weightier man, and more removed from the grasshopper + state, if he would think less and eat more pudding.” + </p> + <p> + When the supper was over the farmer offered Kenelm a clay pipe filled with + shag, which that adventurer accepted with his habitual resignation to the + ills of life; and the whole party, excepting Mrs. Saunderson, strolled + into the garden. Kenelm and Mr. Saunderson seated themselves in the + honeysuckle arbour: the girls and the advocate of progress stood without + among the garden flowers. It was a still and lovely night, the moon at her + full. The farmer, seated facing his hayfields, smoked on placidly. Kenelm, + at the third whiff, laid aside his pipe, and glanced furtively at the + three Graces. They formed a pretty group, all clustered together near the + silenced beehives, the two younger seated on the grass strip that bordered + the flower-beds, their arms over each other’s shoulders, the elder one + standing behind them, with the moonlight shining soft on her auburn hair. + </p> + <p> + Young Saunderson walked restlessly by himself to and fro the path of + gravel. + </p> + <p> + “It is a strange thing,” ruminated Kenelm, “that girls are not unpleasant + to look at if you take them collectively,—two or three bound up + together; but if you detach any one of them from the bunch, the odds are + that she is as plain as a pikestaff. I wonder whether that bucolical + grasshopper, who is so enamoured of the hop and jump that he calls + ‘progress,’ classes the society of the Mormons among the evidences of + civilized advancement? There is a good deal to be said in favour of taking + a whole lot of wives as one may buy a whole lot of cheap razors. For it is + not impossible that out of a dozen a good one may be found. And then, too, + a whole nosegay of variegated blooms, with a faded leaf here and there, + must be more agreeable to the eye than the same monotonous solitary lady’s + smock. But I fear these reflections are naughty; let us change them. + Farmer,” he said aloud, “I suppose your handsome daughters are too fine to + assist you much. I did not see them among the haymakers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they were there, but by themselves, in the back part of the field. I + did not want them to mix with all the girls, many of whom are strangers + from other places. I don’t know anything against them; but as I don’t know + anything for them, I thought it as well to keep my lasses apart.” + </p> + <p> + “But I should have supposed it wiser to keep your son apart from them. I + saw him in the thick of those nymphs.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the farmer, musingly, and withdrawing his pipe from his lips, + “I don’t think lasses not quite well brought up, poor things! do as much + harm to the lads as they can do to proper-behaved lasses; leastways my + wife does not think so. ‘Keep good girls from bad girls,’ says she, ‘and + good girls will never go wrong.’ And you will find there is something in + that when you have girls of your own to take care of.” + </p> + <p> + “Without waiting for that time, which I trust may never occur, I can + recognize the wisdom of your excellent wife’s observation. My own opinion + is, that a woman can more easily do mischief to her own sex than to ours; + since, of course, she cannot exist without doing mischief to somebody or + other.” + </p> + <p> + “And good, too,” said the jovial farmer, thumping his fist on the table. + “What should we be without women?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much better, I take it, sir. Adam was as good as gold, and never had + a qualm of conscience or stomach till Eve seduced him into eating raw + apples.” + </p> + <p> + “Young man, thou’st been crossed in love. I see it now. That’s why thou + look’st so sorrowful.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorrowful! Did you ever know a man crossed in love who looked less + sorrowful when he came across a pudding?” + </p> + <p> + “Hey! but thou canst ply a good knife and fork, that I will say for thee.” + Here the farmer turned round, and gazed on Kenelm with deliberate + scrutiny. That scrutiny accomplished, his voice took a somewhat more + respectful tone, as he resumed, “Do you know that you puzzle me somewhat?” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely. I am sure that I puzzle myself. Say on.” + </p> + <p> + “Looking at your dress and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “The two shillings you gave me? Yes—” + </p> + <p> + “I took you for the son of some small farmer like myself. But now I judge + from your talk that you are a college chap,—anyhow, a gentleman. Be + n’t it so?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Saunderson, I set out on my travels, which is not long ago, + with a strong dislike to telling lies. But I doubt if a man can get along + through this world without finding that the faculty of lying was bestowed + on him by Nature as a necessary means of self-preservation. If you are + going to ask me any questions about myself, I am sure that I shall tell + you lies. Perhaps, therefore, it may be best for both if I decline the bed + you proffered me, and take my night’s rest under a hedge.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! I don’t want to know more of a man’s affairs than he thinks fit to + tell me. Stay and finish the haymaking. And I say, lad, I’m glad you don’t + seem to care for the girls; for I saw a very pretty one trying to flirt + with you, and if you don’t mind she’ll bring you into trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “How? Does she want to run away from her uncle?” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle! Bless you, she don’t live with him! She lives with her father; and + I never knew that she wants to run away. In fact, Jessie Wiles—that’s + her name—is, I believe, a very good girl, and everybody likes her,—perhaps + a little too much; but then she knows she’s a beauty, and does not object + to admiration.” + </p> + <p> + “No woman ever does, whether she’s a beauty or not. But I don’t yet + understand why Jessie Wiles should bring me into trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Because there is a big hulking fellow who has gone half out of his wits + for her; and when he fancies he sees any other chap too sweet on her he + thrashes him into a jelly. So, youngster, you just keep your skin out of + that trap.” + </p> + <p> + “Hem! And what does the girl say to those proofs of affection? Does she + like the man the better for thrashing other admirers into jelly?” + </p> + <p> + “Poor child! No; she hates the very sight of him. But he swears she shall + marry nobody else if he hangs for it. And, to tell you the truth, I + suspect that if Jessie does seem to trifle with others a little too + lightly, it is to draw away this bully’s suspicion from the only man I + think she does care for,—a poor sickly young fellow who was crippled + by an accident, and whom Tom Bowles could brain with his little finger.” + </p> + <p> + “This is really interesting,” cried Kenelm, showing something like + excitement. “I should like to know this terrible suitor.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s easy eno’,” said the farmer, dryly. “You have only to take a + stroll with Jessie Wiles after sunset, and you’ll know more of Tom Bowles + than you are likely to forget in a month.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much for your information,” said Kenelm, in a soft tone, + grateful but pensive. “I hope to profit by it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do. I should be sorry if any harm came to thee; and Tom Bowles in one of + his furies is as bad to cross as a mad bull. So now, as we must be up + early, I’ll just take a look round the stables, and then off to bed; and I + advise you to do the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for the hint. I see the young ladies have already gone in. + Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Passing through the garden, Kenelm encountered the junior Saunderson. + </p> + <p> + “I fear,” said the Votary of Progress, “that you have found the governor + awful slow. What have you been talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “Girls,” said Kenelm, “a subject always awful, but not necessarily slow.” + </p> + <p> + “Girls,—the governor been talking about girls? You joke.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I did joke, but that is a thing I could never do since I came upon + earth. Even in the cradle, I felt that life was a very serious matter, and + did not allow of jokes. I remember too well my first dose of castor-oil. + You too, Mr. Bob, have doubtless imbibed that initiatory preparation to + the sweets of existence. The corners of your mouth have not recovered from + the downward curves into which it so rigidly dragged them. Like myself, + you are of grave temperament, and not easily moved to jocularity,—nay, + an enthusiast for Progress is of necessity a man eminently dissatisfied + with the present state of affairs. And chronic dissatisfaction resents the + momentary relief of a joke.” + </p> + <p> + “Give off chaffing, if you please,” said Bob, lowering the didascular + intonations of his voice, “and just tell me plainly, did not my father say + anything particular about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word: the only person of the male sex of whom he said anything + particular was Tom Bowles.” + </p> + <p> + “What, fighting Tom! the terror of the whole neighbourhood! Ah, I guess + the old gentleman is afraid lest Tom may fall foul upon me. But Jessie + Wiles is not worth a quarrel with that brute. It is a crying shame in the + Government—” + </p> + <p> + “What! has the Government failed to appreciate the heroism of Tom Bowles, + or rather to restrain the excesses of its ardour?” + </p> + <p> + “Stuff! it is a shame in the Government not to have compelled his father + to put him to school. If education were universal—” + </p> + <p> + “You think there would be no brutes in particular. It may be so; but + education is universal in China, and so is the bastinado. I thought, + however, that you said the schoolmaster was abroad, and that the age of + enlightenment was in full progress.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in the towns, but not in these obsolete rural districts; and that + brings me to the point. I feel lost, thrown away here. I have something in + me, sir, and it can only come out by collision with equal minds. So do me + a favour, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “With the greatest pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Give the governor a hint that he can’t expect me, after the education I + have had, to follow the plough and fatten pigs; and that Manchester is the + place for ME.” + </p> + <p> + “Why Manchester?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I have a relation in business there who will give me a clerkship + if the governor will consent. And Manchester rules England.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bob Saunderson, I will do my best to promote your wishes. This is a + land of liberty, and every man should choose his own walk in it, so that, + at the last, if he goes to the dogs, he goes to them without that + disturbance of temper which is naturally occasioned by the sense of being + driven to their jaws by another man against his own will. He has then no + one to blame but himself. And that, Mr. Bob, is a great comfort. When, + having got into a scrape, we blame others, we unconsciously become unjust, + spiteful, uncharitable, malignant, perhaps revengeful. We indulge in + feelings which tend to demoralize the whole character. But when we only + blame ourselves, we become modest and penitent. We make allowances for + others. And indeed self-blame is a salutary exercise of conscience, which + a really good man performs every day of his life. And now, will you show + me the room in which I am to sleep, and forget for a few hours that I am + alive at all: the best thing that can happen to us in this world, my dear + Mr. Bob! There’s never much amiss with our days, so long as we can forget + about them the moment we lay our heads on the pillow.” + </p> + <p> + The two young men entered the house amicably, arm in arm. The girls had + already retired, but Mrs. Saunderson was still up to conduct her visitor + to the guest’s chamber,—a pretty room which had been furnished + twenty-two years ago on the occasion of the farmer’s marriage, at the + expense of Mrs. Saunderson’s mother, for her own occupation when she paid + them a visit, and with its dimity curtains and trellised paper it still + looked as fresh and new as if decorated and furnished yesterday. + </p> + <p> + Left alone, Kenelm undressed, and before he got into bed, bared his right + arm, and doubling it, gravely contemplated its muscular development, + passing his left hand over that prominence in the upper part which is + vulgarly called the ball. Satisfied apparently with the size and the + firmness of that pugilistic protuberance, he gently sighed forth, “I fear + I shall have to lick Thomas Bowles.” In five minutes more he was asleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + THE next day the hay-mowing was completed, and a large portion of the hay + already made carted away to be stacked. Kenelm acquitted himself with a + credit not less praiseworthy than had previously won Mr. Saunderson’s + approbation. But instead of rejecting as before the acquaintance of Miss + Jessie Wiles, he contrived towards noon to place himself near to that + dangerous beauty, and commenced conversation. “I am afraid I was rather + rude to you yesterday, and I want to beg pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” answered the girl, in that simple intelligible English which is more + frequent among our village folks nowadays than many popular novelists + would lead us into supposing, “oh, I ought to ask pardon for taking a + liberty in speaking to you. But I thought you’d feel strange, and I + intended it kindly.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure you did,” returned Kenelm, chivalrously raking her portion of + hay as well as his own, while he spoke. “And I want to be good friends + with you. It is very near the time when we shall leave off for dinner, and + Mrs. Saunderson has filled my pockets with some excellent beef-sandwiches, + which I shall be happy to share with you, if you do not object to dine + with me here, instead of going home for your dinner.” + </p> + <p> + The girl hesitated, and then shook her head in dissent from the + proposition. + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid that your neighbours will think it wrong?” + </p> + <p> + Jessie curled up her lips with a pretty scorn, and said, “I don’t much + care what other folks say, but is n’t it wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least. Let me make your mind easy. I am here but for a day or + two: we are not likely ever to meet again; but, before I go, I should be + glad if I could do you some little service.” As he spoke he had paused + from his work, and, leaning on his rake, fixed his eyes, for the first + time attentively, on the fair haymaker. + </p> + <p> + Yes, she was decidedly pretty,—pretty to a rare degree: luxuriant + brown hair neatly tied up, under a straw hat doubtless of her own + plaiting; for, as a general rule, nothing more educates the village maid + for the destinies of flirt than the accomplishment of straw-plaiting. She + had large, soft blue eyes, delicate small features, and a complexion more + clear in its healthful bloom than rural beauties generally retain against + the influences of wind and sun. She smiled and slightly coloured as he + gazed on her, and, lifting her eyes, gave him one gentle, trustful glance, + which might have bewitched a philosopher and deceived a <i>roue</i>. And + yet Kenelm by that intuitive knowledge of character which is often + truthfulest where it is least disturbed by the doubts and cavils of + acquired knowledge, felt at once that in that girl’s mind coquetry, + perhaps unconscious, was conjoined with an innocence of anything worse + than coquetry as complete as a child’s. He bowed his head, in withdrawing + his gaze, and took her into his heart as tenderly as if she had been a + child appealing to it for protection. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” he said inly, “certainly I must lick Tom Bowles; yet stay, + perhaps after all she likes him.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” he continued aloud, “you do not see how I can be of any service to + you. Before I explain, let me ask which of the men in the field is Tom + Bowles?” + </p> + <p> + “Tom Bowles?” exclaimed Jessie, in a tone of surprise and alarm, and + turning pale as she looked hastily round; “you frightened me, sir: but he + is not here; he does not work in the fields. But how came you to hear of + Tom Bowles?” + </p> + <p> + “Dine with me and I’ll tell you. Look, there is a quiet place in yon + corner under the thorn-trees by that piece of water. See, they are leaving + off work: I will go for a can of beer, and then, pray, let me join you + there.” + </p> + <p> + Jessie paused for a moment as if doubtful still; then again glancing at + Kenelm, and assured by the grave kindness of his countenance, uttered a + scarce audible assent and moved away towards the thorn-trees. + </p> + <p> + As the sun now stood perpendicularly over their heads, and the hand of the + clock in the village church tower, soaring over the hedgerows, reached the + first hour after noon, all work ceased in a sudden silence: some of the + girls went back to their homes; those who stayed grouped together, apart + from the men, who took their way to the shadows of a large oak-tree in the + hedgerow, where beer kegs and cans awaited them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + “AND now,” said Kenelm, as the two young persons, having finished their + simple repast, sat under the thorn-trees and by the side of the water, + fringed at that part with tall reeds through which the light summer breeze + stirred with a pleasant murmur, “now I will talk to you about Tom Bowles. + Is it true that you don’t like that brave young fellow? I say young, as I + take his youth for granted.” + </p> + <p> + “Like him! I hate the sight of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you always hate the sight of him? You must surely at one time have + allowed him to think that you did not?” + </p> + <p> + The girl winced, and made no answer, but plucked a daffodil from the soil, + and tore it ruthlessly to pieces. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you like to serve your admirers as you do that ill-fated + flower,” said Kenelm, with some severity of tone. “But concealed in the + flower you may sometimes find the sting of a bee. I see by your + countenance that you did not tell Tom Bowles that you hated him till it + was too late to prevent his losing his wits for you.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I was n’t so bad as that,” said Jessie, looking, nevertheless, rather + ashamed of herself; “but I was silly and giddy-like, I own; and, when he + first took notice of me, I was pleased, without thinking much of it, + because, you see, Mr. Bowles (emphasis on <i>Mr.</i>) is higher up than a + poor girl like me. He is a tradesman, and I am only a shepherd’s daughter; + though, indeed, Father is more like Mr. Saunderson’s foreman than a mere + shepherd. But I never thought anything serious of it, and did not suppose + he did; that is, at first.” + </p> + <p> + “So Tom Bowles is a tradesman. What trade?” + </p> + <p> + “A farrier, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And, I am told, a very fine young man.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know as to that: he is very big.” + </p> + <p> + “And what made you hate him?” + </p> + <p> + “The first thing that made me hate him was that he insulted Father, who is + a very quiet, timid man, and threatened I don’t know what if Father did + not make me keep company with him. Make me indeed! But Mr. Bowles is a + dangerous, bad-hearted, violent man, and—don’t laugh at me, sir, but + I dreamed one night he was murdering me. And I think he will too, if he + stays here: and so does his poor mother, who is a very nice woman, and + wants him to go away; but he will not.” + </p> + <p> + “Jessie,” said Kenelm, softly, “I said I wanted to make friends with you. + Do you think you can make a friend of me? I can never be more than friend. + But I should like to be that. Can you trust me as one?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the girl, firmly, and, as she lifted her eyes to him, + their look was pure from all vestige of coquetry,—guileless, frank, + grateful. + </p> + <p> + “Is there not another young man who courts you more civilly than Tom + Bowles does, and whom you really could find it in your heart to like?” + </p> + <p> + Jessie looked round for another daffodil, and not finding one, contented + herself with a bluebell, which she did not tear to pieces, but caressed + with a tender hand. Kenelm bent his eyes down on her charming face with + something in their gaze rarely seen there,—something of that + unreasoning, inexpressible human fondness, for which philosophers of his + school have no excuse. Had ordinary mortals, like you or myself, for + instance, peered through the leaves of the thorn-trees, we should have + sighed or frowned, according to our several temperaments; but we should + all have said, whether spitefully or envyingly, “Happy young lovers!” and + should all have blundered lamentably in so saying. + </p> + <p> + Still, there is no denying the fact that a pretty face has a very unfair + advantage over a plain one. And, much to the discredit of Kenelm’s + philanthropy, it may be reasonably doubted whether, had Jessie Wiles been + endowed by nature with a snub nose and a squint, Kenelm would have + volunteered his friendly services, or meditated battle with Tom Bowles on + her behalf. + </p> + <p> + But there was no touch of envy or jealousy in the tone with which he said,— + </p> + <p> + “I see there is some one you would like well enough to marry, and that you + make a great difference in the way you treat a daffodil and a bluebell. + Who and what is the young man whom the bluebell represents? Come, + confide.” + </p> + <p> + “We were much brought up together,” said Jessie, still looking down, and + still smoothing the leaves of the bluebell. “His mother lived in the next + cottage; and my mother was very fond of him, and so was Father too; and, + before I was ten years old, they used to laugh when poor Will called me + his little wife.” Here the tears which had started to Jessie’s eyes began + to fall over the flower. “But now Father would not hear of it; and it + can’t be. And I’ve tried to care for some one else, and I can’t, and + that’s the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? Has he turned out ill?—taken to poaching or drink?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no; he’s as steady and good a lad as ever lived. But—but—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but—” + </p> + <p> + “He is a cripple now; and I love him all the better for it.” Here Jessie + fairly sobbed. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was greatly moved, and prudently held his peace till she had a + little recovered herself; then, in answer to his gentle questionings, he + learned that Will Somers—till then a healthy and strong lad—had + fallen from the height of a scaffolding, at the age of sixteen, and been + so seriously injured that he was moved at once to the hospital. When he + came out of it—what with the fall, and what with the long illness + which had followed the effects of the accident—he was not only + crippled for life, but of health so delicate and weakly that he was no + longer fit for outdoor labour and the hard life of a peasant. He was an + only son of a widowed mother, and his sole mode of assisting her was a + very precarious one. He had taught himself basket-making; and though, + Jessie said, his work was very ingenious and clever, still there were but + few customers for it in that neighbourhood. And, alas! even if Jessie’s + father would consent to give his daughter to the poor cripple, how could + the poor cripple earn enough to maintain a wife? + </p> + <p> + “And,” said Jessie, “still I was happy, walking out with him on Sunday + evenings, or going to sit with him and his mother; for we are both young, + and can wait. But I dare n’t do it any more now: for Tom Bowles has sworn + that if I do he will beat him before my eyes; and Will has a high spirit, + and I should break my heart if any harm happened to him on my account.” + </p> + <p> + “As for Mr. Bowles, we’ll not think of him at present. But if Will could + maintain himself and you, your father would not object nor you either to a + marriage with the poor cripple?” + </p> + <p> + “Father would not; and as for me, if it weren’t for disobeying Father, I’d + marry him to-morrow. <i>I</i> can work.” + </p> + <p> + “They are going back to the hay now; but after that task is over, let me + walk home with you, and show me Will’s cottage and Mr. Bowles’s shop or + forge.” + </p> + <p> + “But you’ll not say anything to Mr. Bowles. He would n’t mind your being a + gentleman, as I now see you are, sir; and he’s dangerous,—oh, so + dangerous!—and so strong.” + </p> + <p> + “Never fear,” answered Kenelm, with the nearest approach to a laugh he had + ever made since childhood; “but when we are relieved, wait for me a few + minutes at yon gate.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM spoke no more to his new friend in the hayfields; but when the + day’s work was over he looked round for the farmer to make an excuse for + not immediately joining the family supper. However, he did not see either + Mr. Saunderson or his son. Both were busied in the stackyard. Well pleased + to escape excuse and the questions it might provoke, Kenelm therefore put + on the coat he had laid aside and joined Jessie, who had waited for him at + the gate. They entered the lane side by side, following the stream of + villagers who were slowly wending their homeward way. It was a primitive + English village, not adorned on the one hand with fancy or model cottages, + nor on the other hand indicating penury and squalor. The church rose + before them gray and Gothic, backed by the red clouds in which the sun had + set, and bordered by the glebe-land of the half-seen parsonage. Then came + the village green, with a pretty schoolhouse; and to this succeeded a long + street of scattered whitewashed cottages, in the midst of their own little + gardens. + </p> + <p> + As they walked the moon rose in full splendour, silvering the road before + them. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the Squire here?” asked Kenelm. “I should guess him to be a good + sort of man, and well off.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Squire Travers; he is a great gentleman, and they say very rich. But + his place is a good way from this village. You can see it if you stay, for + he gives a harvest-home supper on Saturday, and Mr. Saunderson and all his + tenants are going. It is a beautiful park, and Miss Travers is a sight to + look at. Oh, she is lovely!” continued Jessie, with an unaffected burst of + admiration; for women are more sensible of the charm of each other’s + beauty than men give them credit for. + </p> + <p> + “As pretty as yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pretty is not the word. She is a thousand times handsomer!” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” said Kenelm, incredulously. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, broken by a quick sigh from Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “What are you sighing for?—tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking that a very little can make folks happy, but that somehow + or other that very little is as hard to get as if one set one’s heart on a + great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s very wisely said. Everybody covets a little something for which, + perhaps, nobody else would give a straw. But what’s the very little thing + for which you are sighing?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Bawtrey wants to sell that shop of hers. She is getting old, and has + had fits; and she can get nobody to buy; and if Will had that shop and I + could keep it,—but ‘tis no use thinking of that.” + </p> + <p> + “What shop do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “There!” + </p> + <p> + “Where? I see no shop.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is <i>the</i> shop of the village,—the only one,—where + the post-office is.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I see something at the windows like a red cloak. What do they sell?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything,—tea and sugar and candles and shawls and gowns and + cloaks and mouse-traps and letter-paper; and Mrs. Bawtrey buys poor Will’s + baskets, and sells them for a good deal more than she pays.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems a nice cottage, with a field and orchard at the back.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Mrs. Bawtrey pays L8 a year for it; but the shop can well afford + it.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm made no reply. They both walked on in silence, and had now reached + the centre of the village street when Jessie, looking up, uttered an + abrupt exclamation, gave an affrighted start, and then came to a dead + stop. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm’s eye followed the direction of hers, and saw, a few yards distant, + at the other side of the way, a small red brick house, with thatched sheds + adjoining it, the whole standing in a wide yard, over the gate of which + leaned a man smoking a small cutty-pipe. “It is Tom Bowles,” whispered + Jessie, and instinctively she twined her arm into Kenelm’s; then, as if on + second thoughts, withdrew it, and said, still in a whisper, “Go back now, + sir; do.” + </p> + <p> + “Not I. It is Tom Bowles whom I want to know. Hush!” + </p> + <p> + For here Tom Bowles had thrown down his pipe and was coming slowly across + the road towards them. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm eyed him with attention. A singularly powerful man, not so tall as + Kenelm by some inches, but still above the middle height, herculean + shoulders and chest, the lower limbs not in equal proportion,—a sort + of slouching, shambling gait. As he advanced the moonlight fell on his + face; it was a handsome one. He wore no hat, and his hair, of a light + brown, curled close. His face was fresh-coloured, with aquiline features; + his age apparently about six or seven and twenty. Coming nearer and + nearer, whatever favourable impression the first glance at his physiognomy + might have made on Kenelm was dispelled, for the expression of his face + changed and became fierce and lowering. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was still walking on, Jessie by his side, when Bowles rudely thrust + himself between them, and seizing the girl’s arm with one hand, he turned + his face full on Kenelm, with a menacing wave of the other hand, and said + in a deep burly voice, + </p> + <p> + “Who be you?” + </p> + <p> + “Let go that young woman before I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “If you weren’t a stranger,” answered Bowles, seeming as if he tried to + suppress a rising fit of wrath, “you’d be in the kennel for those words. + But I s’pose you don’t know that I’m Tom Bowles, and I don’t choose the + girl as I’m after to keep company with any other man. So you be off.” + </p> + <p> + “And I don’t choose any other man to lay violent hands on any girl walking + by my side without telling him that he’s a brute; and that I only wait + till he has both his hands at liberty to let him know that he has not a + poor cripple to deal with.” + </p> + <p> + Tom Bowles could scarcely believe his ears. Amaze swallowed up for the + moment every other sentiment. Mechanically he loosened his hold of Jessie, + who fled off like a bird released. But evidently she thought of her new + friend’s danger more than her own escape; for instead of sheltering + herself in her father’s cottage, she ran towards a group of labourers who, + near at hand, had stopped loitering before the public-house, and returned + with those allies towards the spot in which she had left the two men. She + was very popular with the villagers, who, strong in the sense of numbers, + overcame their awe of Tom Bowles, and arrived at the place half running, + half striding, in time, they hoped, to interpose between his terrible arm + and the bones of the unoffending stranger. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Bowles, having recovered his first astonishment, and scarcely + noticing Jessie’s escape, still left his right arm extended towards the + place she had vacated, and with a quick back-stroke of the left levelled + at Kenelm’s face, growled contemptuously, “Thou’lt find one hand enough + for thee.” + </p> + <p> + But quick as was his aim, Kenelm caught the lifted arm just above the + elbow, causing the blow to waste itself on air, and with a simultaneous + advance of his right knee and foot dexterously tripped up his bulky + antagonist, and laid him sprawling on his back. The movement was so + sudden, and the stun it occasioned so utter, morally as well as + physically, that a minute or more elapsed before Tom Bowles picked himself + up. And he then stood another minute glowering at his antagonist, with a + vague sentiment of awe almost like a superstitious panic. For it is + noticeable that, however fierce and fearless a man or even a wild beast + may be, yet if either has hitherto been only familiar with victory and + triumph, never yet having met with a foe that could cope with its force, + the first effect of a defeat, especially from a despised adversary, + unhinges and half paralyzes the whole nervous system. But as fighting Tom + gradually recovered to the consciousness of his own strength, and the + recollection that it had been only foiled by the skilful trick of a + wrestler, and not the hand-to-hand might of a pugilist, the panic + vanished, and Tom Bowles was himself again. “Oh, that’s your sort, is it? + We don’t fight with our heels hereabouts, like Cornishers and donkeys: we + fight with our fists, youngster; and since you <i>will</i> have a bout at + that, why, you must.” + </p> + <p> + “Providence,” answered Kenelm, solemnly, “sent me to this village for the + express purpose of licking Tom Bowles. It is a signal mercy vouchsafed to + yourself, as you will one day acknowledge.” + </p> + <p> + Again a thrill of awe, something like that which the demagogue in + Aristophanes might have felt when braved by the sausage-maker, shot + through the valiant heart of Tom Bowles. He did not like those ominous + words, and still less the lugubrious tone of voice in which they were + uttered, But resolved, at least, to proceed to battle with more + preparation than he had at first designed, he now deliberately + disencumbered himself of his heavy fustian jacket and vest, rolled up his + shirt-sleeves, and then slowly advanced towards the foe. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm had also, with still greater deliberation, taken off his coat—which + he folded up with care, as being both a new and an only one, and deposited + by the hedge-side—and bared arms, lean indeed and almost slight, as + compared with the vast muscle of his adversary, but firm in sinew as the + hind leg of a stag. + </p> + <p> + By this time the labourers, led by Jessie, had arrived at the spot, and + were about to crowd in between the combatants, when Kenelm waved them back + and said in a calm and impressive voice,— + </p> + <p> + “Stand round, my good friends, make a ring, and see that it is fair play + on my side. I am sure it will be fair on Mr. Bowles’s. He is big enough to + scorn what is little. And now, Mr. Bowles, just a word with you in the + presence of your neighbours. I am not going to say anything uncivil. If + you are rather rough and hasty, a man is not always master of himself—at + least so I am told—when he thinks more than he ought to do about a + pretty girl. But I can’t look at your face even by this moonlight, and + though its expression at this moment is rather cross, without being sure + that you are a fine fellow at bottom, and that if you give a promise as + man to man you will keep it. Is that so?” + </p> + <p> + One or two of the bystanders murmured assent; the others pressed round in + silent wonder. + </p> + <p> + “What’s all that soft-sawder about?” said Tom Bowles, somewhat + falteringly. + </p> + <p> + “Simply this: if in the fight between us I beat you, I ask you to promise + before your neighbours that you will not by word or deed molest or + interfere again with Miss Jessie Wiles.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” roared Tom. “Is it that you are after her?” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I am, if that pleases you; and on my side, I promise that if you + beat me, I quit this place as soon as you leave me well enough to do so, + and will never visit it again. What! do you hesitate to promise? Are you + really afraid I shall lick you?” + </p> + <p> + “You! I’d smash a dozen of you to powder.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, you are safe to promise. Come, ‘tis a fair bargain. Is n’t + it, neighbours?” + </p> + <p> + Won over by Kenelm’s easy show of good temper, and by the sense of + justice, the bystanders joined in a common exclamation of assent. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Tom,” said an old fellow, “the gentleman can’t speak fairer; and we + shall all think you be afeard if you hold back.” + </p> + <p> + Tom’s face worked: but at last he growled, “Well, I promise; that is, if + he beats me.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Kenelm. “You hear, neighbours; and Tom Bowles could not + show that handsome face of his among you if he broke his word. Shake hands + on it.” + </p> + <p> + Fighting Tom sulkily shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “Well now, that’s what I call English,” said Kenelm, “all pluck and no + malice. Fall back, friends, and leave a clear space for us.” + </p> + <p> + The men all receded; and as Kenelm took his ground, there was a supple + ease in his posture which at once brought out into clearer evidence the + nervous strength of his build, and, contrasted with Tom’s bulk of chest, + made the latter look clumsy and topheavy. + </p> + <p> + The two men faced each other a minute, the eyes of both vigilant and + steadfast. Tom’s blood began to fire up as he gazed; nor, with all his + outward calm; was Kenelm insensible of that proud beat of the heart which + is aroused by the fierce joy of combat. Tom struck out first and a blow + was parried, but not returned; another and another blow,—still + parried, still unreturned. Kenelm, acting evidently on the defensive, took + all the advantages for that strategy which he derived from superior length + of arm and lighter agility of frame. Perhaps he wished to ascertain the + extent of his adversary’s skill, or to try the endurance of his wind, + before he ventured on the hazards of attack. Tom, galled to the quick that + blows which might have felled an ox were thus warded off from their mark, + and dimly aware that he was encountering some mysterious skill which + turned his brute strength into waste force and might overmaster him in the + long run, came to a rapid conclusion that the sooner he brought that brute + strength to bear the better it would be for him. Accordingly, after three + rounds, in which without once breaking the guard of his antagonist he had + received a few playful taps on the nose and mouth, he drew back and made a + bull-like rush at his foe,—bull-like, for it butted full at him with + the powerful down-bent head, and the two fists doing duty as horns. The + rush spent, he found himself in the position of a man milled. I take it + for granted that every Englishman who can call himself a man—that + is, every man who has been an English boy, and, as such, been compelled to + the use of his fists—knows what a “mill” is. But I sing not only + “pueris,” but “virginibus.” Ladies, “a mill,”—using with reluctance + and contempt for myself that slang in which ladywriters indulge, and Girls + of the Period know much better than they do their Murray,—“a mill,”—speaking + not to ladywriters, not to Girls of the Period, but to innocent damsels, + and in explanation to those foreigners who only understand the English + language as taught by Addison and Macaulay,—a “mill” + periphrastically means this: your adversary, in the noble encounter + between fist and fist, has so plunged his head that it gets caught, as in + a vice, between the side and doubled left arm of the adversary, exposing + that head, unprotected and helpless, to be pounded out of recognizable + shape by the right fist of the opponent. It is a situation in which raw + superiority of force sometimes finds itself, and is seldom spared by + disciplined superiority of skill. Kenelm, his right fist raised, paused + for a moment, then, loosening the left arm, releasing the prisoner, and + giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder, he turned round to the + spectators and said apologetically, “He has a handsome face: it would be a + shame to spoil it.” + </p> + <p> + Tom’s position of peril was so obvious to all, and that good-humoured + abnegation of the advantage which the position gave to the adversary + seemed so generous, that the labourers actually hurrahed. Tom, himself + felt as if treated like a child; and alas, and alas for him! in wheeling + round, and regathering himself up, his eye rested on Jessie’s face. Her + lips were apart with breathless terror: he fancied they were apart with a + smile of contempt. And now he became formidable. He fought as fights the + bull in the presence of the heifer, who, as he knows too well, will go + with the conqueror. + </p> + <p> + If Tom had never yet fought with a man taught by a prizefighter, so never + yet had Kenelm encountered a strength which, but for the lack of that + teaching, would have conquered his own. He could act no longer on the + defensive; he could no longer play, like a dexterous fencer, with the + sledge-hammers of those mighty arms. They broke through his guard; they + sounded on his chest as on an anvil. He felt that did they alight on his + head he was a lost man. He felt also that the blows spent on the chest of + his adversary were idle as the stroke of a cane on the hide of a + rhinoceros. But now his nostrils dilated; his eyes flashed fire: Kenelm + Chillingly had ceased to be a philosopher. Crash came his blow—how + unlike the swinging roundabout hits of Tom Bowles!—straight to its + aim as the rifle-ball of a Tyrolese or a British marksman at Aldershot,—all + the strength of nerve, sinew, purpose, and mind concentred in its vigour,—crash + just at that part of the front where the eyes meet, and followed up with + the rapidity of lightning, flash upon flash, by a more restrained but more + disabling blow with the left hand just where the left ear meets throat and + jaw-bone. + </p> + <p> + At the first blow Tom Bowles had reeled and staggered, at the second he + threw up his hands, made a jump in the air as if shot through the heart, + and then heavily fell forwards, an inert mass. + </p> + <p> + The spectators pressed round him in terror. They thought he was dead. + Kenelm knelt, passed quickly his hand over Tom’s lips, pulse, and heart, + and then rising, said, humbly and with an air of apology,— + </p> + <p> + “If he had been a less magnificent creature, I assure you on my honour + that I should never have ventured that second blow. The first would have + done for any man less splendidly endowed by nature. Lift him gently; take + him home. Tell his mother, with my kind regards, that I’ll call and see + her and him to-morrow. And, stop, does he ever drink too much beer?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said one of the villagers, “Tom <i>can</i> drink.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so. Too much flesh for that muscle. Go for the nearest doctor. + You, my lad? good; off with you; quick. No danger, but perhaps it may be a + case for the lancet.” + </p> + <p> + Tom Bowles was lifted tenderly by four of the stoutest men present and + borne into his home, evincing no sign of consciousness; but his face, + where not clouted with blood, was very pale, very calm, with a slight + froth at the lips. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm pulled down his shirt-sleeves, put on his coat, and turned to + Jessie,— + </p> + <p> + “Now, my young friend, show me Will’s cottage.” + </p> + <p> + The girl came to him, white and trembling. She did not dare to speak. The + stranger had become a new man in her eyes. Perhaps he frightened her as + much as Tom Bowles had done. But she quickened her pace, leaving the + public-house behind till she came to the farther end of the village. + Kenelm walked beside her, muttering to himself: and though Jessie caught + his words, happily she did not understand; for they repeated one of those + bitter reproaches on her sex as the main cause of all strife, bloodshed, + and mischief in general, with which the classic authors abound. His spleen + soothed by that recourse to the lessons of the ancients, Kenelm turned at + last to his silent companion, and said kindly but gravely,— + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bowles has given me his promise, and it is fair that I should now ask + a promise from you. It is this: just consider how easily a girl so pretty + as you can be the cause of a man’s death. Had Bowles struck me where I + struck him I should have been past the help of a surgeon.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” groaned Jessie, shuddering, and covering her face with both hands. + </p> + <p> + “And, putting aside that danger, consider that a man may be hit mortally + on the heart as well as on the head, and that a woman has much to answer + for who, no matter what her excuse, forgets what misery and what guilt can + be inflicted by a word from her lip and a glance from her eye. Consider + this, and promise that, whether you marry Will Somers or not, you will + never again give a man fair cause to think you can like him unless your + own heart tells you that you can. Will you promise that?” + </p> + <p> + “I will, indeed,—indeed.” Poor Jessie’s voice died in sobs. + </p> + <p> + “There, my child, I don’t ask you not to cry, because I know how much + women like crying; and in this instance it does you a great deal of good. + But we are just at the end of the village; which is Will’s cottage?” + </p> + <p> + Jessie lifted her head, and pointed to a solitary, small thatched cottage. + </p> + <p> + “I would ask you to come in and introduce me; but that might look too much + like crowing over poor Tom Bowles. So good-night to you, Jessie, and + forgive me for preaching.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <h3> + KENELM knocked at the cottage door; a voice said faintly, “Come in.” + </h3> + <p> + He stooped his head, and stepped over the threshold. + </p> + <p> + Since his encounter with Tom Bowles his sympathies had gone with that + unfortunate lover: it is natural to like a man after you have beaten him; + and he was by no means predisposed to favour Jessie’s preference for a + sickly cripple. + </p> + <p> + Yet, when two bright, soft, dark eyes, and a pale intellectual + countenance, with that nameless aspect of refinement which delicate health + so often gives, especially to the young, greeted his quiet gaze, his heart + was at once won over to the side of the rival. Will Somers was seated by + the hearth, on which a few live embers despite the warmth of the summer + evening still burned; a rude little table was by his side, on which were + laid osier twigs and white peeled chips, together with an open book. His + hands, pale and slender, were at work on a small basket half finished. His + mother was just clearing away the tea-things from another table that stood + by the window. Will rose, with the good breeding that belongs to the rural + peasant, as the stranger entered; the widow looked round with surprise, + and dropped her simple courtesy,—a little thin woman, with a mild, + patient face. + </p> + <p> + The cottage was very tidily kept, as it is in most village homes where the + woman has it her own way. The deal dresser opposite the door had its + display of humble crockery. The whitewashed walls were relieved with + coloured prints, chiefly Scriptural subjects from the New Testament, such + as the Return of the Prodigal Son, in a blue coat and yellow + inexpressibles, with his stockings about his heels. + </p> + <p> + At one corner there were piled up baskets of various sizes, and at another + corner was an open cupboard containing books,—an article of + decorative furniture found in cottages much more rarely than coloured + prints and gleaming crockery. + </p> + <p> + All this, of course, Kenelm could not at a glance comprehend in detail. + But as the mind of a man accustomed to generalization is marvellously + quick in forming a sound judgment, whereas a mind accustomed to dwell only + on detail is wonderfully slow at arriving at any judgment at all, and when + it does, the probability is that it will arrive at a wrong one, Kenelm + judged correctly when he came to this conclusion: “I am among simple + English peasants; but, for some reason or other, not to be explained by + the relative amount of wages, it is a favourable specimen of that class.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon for intruding at this hour, Mrs. Somers,” said Kenelm, + who had been too familiar with peasants from his earliest childhood not to + know how quickly, when in the presence of their household gods, they + appreciate respect, and how acutely they feel the want of it. “But my stay + in the village is very short, and I should not like to leave without + seeing your son’s basket-work, of which I have heard much.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good, sir,” said Will, with a pleased smile that wonderfully + brightened up his face. “It is only just a few common things that I keep + by me. Any finer sort of work I mostly do by order.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, sir,” said Mrs. Somers, “it takes so much more time for pretty + work-baskets, and such like; and unless done to order, it might be a + chance if he could get it sold. But pray be seated, sir,” and Mrs. Somers + placed a chair for her visitor, “while I just run up stairs for the + work-basket which my son has made for Miss Travers. It is to go home + to-morrow, and I put it away for fear of accidents.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm seated himself, and, drawing his chair near to Will’s, took up the + half-finished basket which the young man had laid down on the table. + </p> + <p> + “This seems to me very nice and delicate workmanship,” said Kenelm; “and + the shape, when you have finished it, will be elegant enough to please the + taste of a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “It is for Mrs. Lethbridge,” said Will: “she wanted something to hold + cards and letters; and I took the shape from a book of drawings which Mr. + Lethbridge kindly lent me. You know Mr. Lethbridge, sir? He is a very good + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t know him. Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Our clergyman, sir. This is the book.” + </p> + <p> + To Kenelm’s surprise, it was a work on Pompeii, and contained woodcuts of + the implements and ornaments, mosaics and frescos, found in that memorable + little city. + </p> + <p> + “I see this is your model,” said Kenelm; “what they call a <i>patera</i>, + and rather a famous one. You are copying it much more truthfully than I + should have supposed it possible to do in substituting basket-work for + bronze. But you observe that much of the beauty of this shallow bowl + depends on the two doves perched on the brim. You can’t manage that + ornamental addition.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Lethbridge thought of putting there two little stuffed + canary-birds.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she? Good heavens!” exclaimed Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “But somehow,” continued Will, “I did not like that, and I made bold to + say so.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did not you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know; but I did not think it would be the right thing.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been very bad taste, and spoiled the effect of your + basket-work; and I’ll endeavour to explain why. You see here, in the next + page, a drawing of a very beautiful statue. Of course this statue is + intended to be a representation of nature, but nature idealized. You don’t + know the meaning of that hard word, idealized, and very few people do. But + it means the performance of a something in art according to the idea which + a man’s mind forms to itself out of a something in nature. That something + in nature must, of course, have been carefully studied before the man can + work out anything in art by which it is faithfully represented. The + artist, for instance, who made that statue, must have known the + proportions of the human frame. He must have made studies of various parts + of it,—heads and hands, and arms and legs, and so forth,—and + having done so, he then puts together all his various studies of details, + so as to form a new whole, which is intended to personate an idea formed + in his own mind. Do you go with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Partly, sir; but I am puzzled a little still.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are; but you’ll puzzle yourself right if you think over + what I say. Now if, in order to make this statue, which is composed of + metal or stone, more natural, I stuck on it a wig of real hair, would not + you feel at once that I had spoilt the work; that as you clearly express + it, ‘it would not be the right thing’? and instead of making the work of + art more natural, I should have made it laughably unnatural, by forcing + insensibly upon the mind of him who looked at it the contrast between the + real life, represented by a wig of actual hair, and the artistic life, + represented by an idea embodied in stone or metal. The higher the work of + art (that is, the higher the idea it represents as a new combination of + details taken from nature), the more it is degraded or spoilt by an + attempt to give it a kind of reality which is out of keeping with the + materials employed. But the same rule applies to everything in art, + however humble. And a couple of stuffed canary-birds at the brim of a + basket-work imitation of a Greek drinking-cup would be as bad taste as a + wig from the barber’s on the head of a marble statue of Apollo.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Will, his head downcast, like a man pondering,—“at + least I think I see; and I’m very much obliged to you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers had long since returned with the work-basket, but stood with + it in her hands, not daring to interrupt the gentleman, and listening to + his discourse with as much patience and as little comprehension as if it + had been one of the controversial sermons upon Ritualism with which on + great occasions Mr. Lethbridge favoured his congregation. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm having now exhausted his critical lecture—from which certain + poets and novelists who contrive to caricature the ideal by their attempt + to put wigs of real hair upon the heads of stone statues might borrow a + useful hint or two if they would condescend to do so, which is not likely—perceived + Mrs. Somers standing by him, took from her the basket, which was really + very pretty and elegant, subdivided into various compartments for the + implements in use among ladies, and bestowed on it a well-merited + eulogium. + </p> + <p> + “The young lady means to finish it herself with ribbons, and line it with + satin,” said Mrs. Somers, proudly. + </p> + <p> + “The ribbons will not be amiss, sir?” said Will, interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. Your natural sense of the fitness of things tells you that + ribbons go well with straw and light straw-like work such as this; though + you would not put ribbons on those rude hampers and game-baskets in the + corner. Like to like; a stout cord goes suitably with them: just as a poet + who understands his art employs pretty expressions for poems intended to + be pretty and suit a fashionable drawing-room, and carefully shuns them to + substitute a simple cord for poems intended to be strong and travel far, + despite of rough usage by the way. But you really ought to make much more + money by this fancy-work than you could as a day-labourer.” + </p> + <p> + Will sighed. “Not in this neighbourhood, sir; I might in a town.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not move to a town, then?” + </p> + <p> + The young man coloured, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm turned appealingly to Mrs. Somers. “I’ll be willing to go wherever + it would be best for my boy, sir. But—” and here she checked + herself, and a tear trickled silently down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Will resumed, in a more cheerful tone, “I am getting a little known now, + and work will come if one waits for it.” Kenelm did not deem it courteous + or discreet to intrude further on Will’s confidence in the first + interview; and he began to feel, more than he had done at first, not only + the dull pain of the bruises he had received in the recent combat, but + also somewhat more than the weariness which follows long summer-day’s work + in the open air. He therefore, rather abruptly, now took his leave, saying + that he should be very glad of a few specimens of Will’s ingenuity and + skill, and would call or write to give directions about them. + </p> + <p> + Just as he came in sight of Tom Bowles’s house on his way back to Mr. + Saunderson’s, Kenelm saw a man mounting a pony that stood tied up at the + gate, and exchanging a few words with a respectable-looking woman before + he rode on. He was passing by Kenelm without notice, when that + philosophical vagrant stopped him, saying, “If I am not mistaken, sir, you + are the doctor. There is not much the matter with Mr. Bowles?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor shook his head. “I can’t say yet. He has had a very ugly blow + somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “It was just under the left ear. I did not aim at that exact spot: but + Bowles unluckily swerved a little aside at the moment, perhaps in surprise + at a tap between his eyes immediately preceding it: and so, as you say, it + was an ugly blow that he received. But if it cures him of the habit of + giving ugly blows to other people who can bear them less safely, perhaps + it may be all for his good, as, no doubt, sir, your schoolmaster said when + he flogged you.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul! are you the man who fought with him,—you? I can’t + believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not! So far as I can judge by this light, though you are a tall + fellow, Tom Bowles must be a much heavier weight than you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom Spring was the champion of England; and according to the records of + his weight, which history has preserved in her archives, Tom Spring was a + lighter weight than I am.” + </p> + <p> + “But are you a prize-fighter?” + </p> + <p> + “I am as much that as I am anything else. But to return to Mr. Bowles, was + it necessary to bleed him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he was unconscious, or nearly so, when I came. I took away a few + ounces; and I am happy to say he is now sensible, but must be kept very + quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt; but I hope he will be well enough to see me to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so too; but I can’t say yet. Quarrel about a girl,—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It was not about money. And I suppose if there were no money and no women + in the world, there would be no quarrels and very few doctors. Good-night, + Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a strange thing to me,” said Kenelm, as he now opened the + garden-gate of Mr. Saunderson’s homestead, “that though I’ve had nothing + to eat all day, except a few pitiful sandwiches, I don’t feel the least + hungry. Such arrest of the lawful duties of the digestive organs never + happened to me before. There must be something weird and ominous in it.” + </p> + <p> + On entering the parlour, the family party, though they had long since + finished supper, were still seated round the table. They all rose at the + sight of Kenelm. The fame of his achievements had preceded him. He checked + the congratulations, the compliments, and the questions which the hearty + farmer rapidly heaped upon him, with a melancholic exclamation, “But I + have lost my appetite! No honours can compensate for that. Let me go to + bed peaceably, and perhaps in the magic land of sleep Nature may restore + me by a dream of supper.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM rose betimes the next morning somewhat stiff and uneasy, but + sufficiently recovered to feel ravenous. Fortunately, one of the young + ladies, who attended specially to the dairy, was already up, and supplied + the starving hero with a vast bowl of bread and milk. He then strolled + into the hayfield, in which there was now very little left to do, and but + few hands besides his own were employed. Jessie was not there. Kenelm was + glad of that. By nine o’clock his work was over, and the farmer and his + men were in the yard completing the ricks. Kenelm stole away unobserved, + bent on a round of visits. He called first at the village shop kept by + Mrs. Bawtrey, which Jessie had pointed out to him, on pretence of buying a + gaudy neckerchief; and soon, thanks to his habitual civility, made + familiar acquaintance with the shopwoman. She was a little sickly old + lady, her head shaking, as with palsy, somewhat deaf, but still shrewd and + sharp, rendered mechanically so by long habits of shrewdness and + sharpness. She became very communicative, spoke freely of her desire to + give up the shop, and pass the rest of her days with a sister, widowed + like herself, in a neighbouring town. Since she had lost her husband, the + field and orchard attached to the shop had ceased to be profitable, and + become a great care and trouble; and the attention the shop required was + wearisome. But she had twelve years unexpired of the lease granted for + twenty-one years to her husband on low terms, and she wanted a premium for + its transfer, and a purchaser for the stock of the shop. Kenelm soon drew + from her the amount of the sum she required for all,—L45. + </p> + <p> + “You be n’t thinking of it for yourself?” she asked, putting on her + spectacles, and examining him with care. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so, if one could get a decent living out of it. Do you keep a + book of your losses and your gains?” + </p> + <p> + “In course, sir,” she said proudly. “I kept the books in my goodman’s + time, and he was one who could find out if there was a farthing wrong, for + he had been in a lawyer’s office when a lad.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he leave a lawyer’s office to keep a little shop?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he was born a farmer’s son in this neighbourhood, and he always had + a hankering after the country, and—and besides that—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you the truth; he had got into a way of drinking speerrits, and + he was a good young man, and wanted to break himself of it, and he took + the temperance oath; but it was too hard on him, for he could not break + himself of the company that led him into liquor. And so, one time when he + came into the neighbourhood to see his parents for the Christmas holiday, + he took a bit of liking to me; and my father, who was Squire Travers’s + bailiff, had just died, and left me a little money. And so, somehow or + other, we came together, and got this house and the land from the Squire + on lease very reasonable; and my goodman being well eddyeated, and much + thought of, and never being tempted to drink, now that he had a missis to + keep him in order, had a many little things put into his way. He could + help to measure timber, and knew about draining, and he got some + bookkeeping from the farmers about; and we kept cows and pigs and poultry, + and so we did very well, specially as the Lord was merciful and sent us no + children.” + </p> + <p> + “And what does the shop bring in a year since your husband died?” + </p> + <p> + “You had best judge for yourself. Will you look at the book, and take a + peep at the land and apple-trees? But they’s been neglected since my + goodman died.” + </p> + <p> + In another minute the heir of the Chillinglys was seated in a neat little + back parlour, with a pretty though confined view of the orchard and grass + slope behind it, and bending over Mrs. Bawtrey’s ledger. + </p> + <p> + Some customers for cheese and bacon coming now into the shop, the old + woman left him to his studies. Though they were not of a nature familiar + to him, he brought to them, at least, that general clearness of head and + quick seizure of important points which are common to most men who have + gone through some disciplined training of intellect, and been accustomed + to extract the pith and marrow out of many books on many subjects. The + result of his examination was satisfactory; there appeared to him a clear + balance of gain from the shop alone of somewhat over L40 a year, taking + the average of the last three years. Closing the book, he then let himself + out of the window into the orchard, and thence into the neighbouring grass + field. Both were, indeed, much neglected; the trees wanted pruning, the + field manure. But the soil was evidently of rich loam, and the fruit-trees + were abundant and of ripe age, generally looking healthy in spite of + neglect. With the quick intuition of a man born and bred in the country, + and picking up scraps of rural knowledge unconsciously, Kenelm convinced + himself that the land, properly managed, would far more than cover the + rent, rates, tithes, and all incidental outgoings, leaving the profits of + the shop as the clear income of the occupiers. And no doubt with clever + young people to manage the shop, its profits might be increased. + </p> + <p> + Not thinking it necessary to return at present to Mrs. Bawtrey’s, Kenelm + now bent his way to Tom Bowles’s. + </p> + <p> + The house-door was closed. At the summons of his knock it was quickly + opened by a tall, stout, remarkably fine-looking woman, who might have + told fifty years, and carried them off lightly on her ample shoulders. She + was dressed very respectably in black, her brown hair braided simply under + a neat tight-fitting cap. Her features were aquiline and very regular: + altogether there was something about her majestic and Cornelia-like. She + might have sat for the model of that Roman matron, except for the fairness + of her Anglo-Saxon complexion. + </p> + <p> + “What’s your pleasure?” she asked, in a cold and somewhat stern voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ma’am,” answered Kenelm, uncovering, “I have called to see Mr. Bowles, + and I sincerely hope he is well enough to let me do so.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, he is not well enough for that; he is lying down in his own + room, and must be kept quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “May I then ask you the favour to let me in? I would say a few words to + you, who are his mother if I mistake not.” Mrs. Bowles paused a moment as + if in doubt; but she was at no loss to detect in Kenelm’s manner something + superior to the fashion of his dress, and supposing the visit might refer + to her son’s professional business, she opened the door wider, drew aside + to let him pass first, and when he stood midway in the parlour, requested + him to take a seat, and, to set him the example, seated herself. + </p> + <p> + “Ma’am,” said Kenelm, “do not regret to have admitted me, and do not think + hardly of me when I inform you that I am the unfortunate cause of your + son’s accident.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bowles rose with a start. “You’re the man who beat my boy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma’am, do not say I beat him. He is not beaten. He is so brave and so + strong that he would easily have beaten me if I had not, by good luck, + knocked him down before he had time to do so. Pray, ma’am, retain your + seat and listen to me patiently for a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bowles, with an indignant heave of her Juno-like bosom, and with a + superbly haughty expression of countenance which suited well with its + aquiline formation, tacitly obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “You will allow, ma’am,” recommenced Kenelm, “that this is not the first + time by many that Mr. Bowles has come to blows with another man. Am I not + right in that assumption?” + </p> + <p> + “My son is of hasty temper,” replied Mrs. Bowles, reluctantly, “and people + should not aggravate him.” + </p> + <p> + “You grant the fact, then?” said Kenelm, imperturbably, but with a polite + inclination of head. “Mr. Bowles has often been engaged in these + encounters, and in all of them it is quite clear that he provoked the + battle; for you must be aware that he is not the sort of man to whom any + other would be disposed to give the first blow. Yet, after these little + incidents had occurred, and Mr. Bowles had, say, half killed the person + who aggravated him, you did not feel any resentment against that person, + did you? Nay, if he had wanted nursing, you would have gone and nursed + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know as to nursing,” said Mrs. Bowles, beginning to lose her + dignity of mien; “but certainly I should have been very sorry for him. And + as for Tom,—though I say it who should not say,—he has no more + malice than a baby: he’d go and make it up with any man, however badly he + had beaten him.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as I supposed; and if the man had sulked and would not make it up, + Tom would have called him a bad fellow, and felt inclined to beat him + again.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bowles’s face relaxed into a stately smile. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” pursued Kenelm, “I do but humbly imitate Mr. Bowles, and I + come to make it up and shake hands with him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,—no,” exclaimed Mrs. Bowles, though in a low voice, and + turning pale. “Don’t think of it. ‘Tis not the blows; he’ll get over those + fast enough: ‘tis his pride that’s hurt; and if he saw you there might be + mischief. But you’re a stranger, and going away: do go soon; do keep out + of his way; do!” And the mother clasped her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Bowles,” said Kenelm, with a change of voice and aspect,—a + voice and aspect so earnest and impressive that they stilled and awed her,—“will + you not help me to save your son from the dangers into which that hasty + temper and that mischievous pride may at any moment hurry him? Does it + never occur to you that these are the causes of terrible crime, bringing + terrible punishment; and that against brute force, impelled by savage + passions, society protects itself by the hulks and the gallows?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir; how dare you—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! If one man kill another in a moment of ungovernable wrath, that is + a crime which, though heavily punished by the conscience, is gently dealt + with by the law, which calls it only manslaughter; but if a motive to the + violence, such as jealousy or revenge, can be assigned, and there should + be no witness by to prove that the violence was not premeditated, then the + law does not call it manslaughter, but murder. Was it not that thought + which made you so imploringly exclaim, ‘Go soon; keep out of his way’?” + </p> + <p> + The woman made no answer, but, sinking back in her chair, gasped for + breath. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, madam,” resumed Kenelm, mildly; “banish your fears. If you will help + me I feel sure that I can save your son from such perils, and I only ask + you to let me save him. I am convinced that he has a good and a noble + nature, and he is worth saving.” And as he thus said he took her hand. She + resigned it to him and returned the pressure, all her pride softening as + she began to weep. + </p> + <p> + At length, when she recovered voice, she said,— + </p> + <p> + “It is all along of that girl. He was not so till she crossed him, and + made him half mad. He is not the same man since then,—my poor Tom!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that he has given me his word, and before his + fellow-villagers, that if he had the worst of the fight he would never + molest Jessie Wiles again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he told me so himself; and it is that which weighs on him now. He + broods and broods and mutters, and will not be comforted; and—and I + do fear that he means revenge. And again, I implore you to keep out of his + way.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not revenge on me that he thinks of. Suppose I go and am seen no + more, do you think in your own heart that that girl’s life is safe?” + </p> + <p> + “What! My Tom kill a woman!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you never read in your newspaper of a man who kills his sweetheart, or + the girl who refuses to be his sweetheart? At all events, you yourself do + not approve this frantic suit of his. If I have heard rightly, you have + wished to get Tom out of the village for some time, till Jessie Wiles is—we’ll + say, married, or gone elsewhere for good.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed, I have wished and prayed for it many’s the time, both for + her sake and for his. And I am sure I don’t know what we shall do if he + stays, for he has been losing custom fast. The Squire has taken away his, + and so have many of the farmers; and such a trade as it was in his good + father’s time! And if he would go, his uncle, the veterinary at Luscombe, + would take him into partnership; for he has no son of his own, and he + knows how clever Tom is: there be n’t a man who knows more about horses; + and cows, too, for the matter of that.” + </p> + <p> + “And if Luscombe is a large place, the business there must be more + profitable than it can be here, even if Tom got back his custom?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! five times as good,—if he would but go; but he’ll not hear + of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Bowles, I am very much obliged to you for your confidence, and I + feel sure that all will end happily now we have had this talk. I’ll not + press further on you at present. Tom will not stir out, I suppose, till + the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, sir, he seems as if he had no heart to stir out again, unless for + something dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “Courage! I will call again in the evening, and then you just take me up + to Tom’s room, and leave me there to make friends with him, as I have with + you. Don’t say a word about me in the meanwhile.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “‘But,’ Mrs. Bowles, is a word that cools many a warm impulse, stifles + many a kindly thought, puts a dead stop to many a brotherly deed. Nobody + would ever love his neighbour as himself if he listened to all the Buts + that could be said on the other side of the question.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM now bent his way towards the parsonage, but just as he neared its + glebe-lands he met a gentleman whose dress was so evidently clerical that + he stopped and said,— + </p> + <p> + “Have I the honour to address Mr. Lethbridge?” + </p> + <p> + “That is my name,” said the clergyman, smiling pleasantly. “Anything I can + do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a great deal, if you will let me talk to you about a few of your + parishioners.” + </p> + <p> + “My parishioners! I beg your pardon, but you are quite a stranger to me, + and, I should think, to the parish.” + </p> + <p> + “To the parish,—no, I am quite at home in it; and I honestly believe + that it has never known a more officious busybody, thrusting himself into + its most private affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lethbridge stared, and, after a short pause, said, “I have heard of a + young man who has been staying at Mr. Saunderson’s, and is indeed at this + moment the talk of the village. You are—” + </p> + <p> + “That young man. Alas! yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Mr. Lethbridge, kindly, “I cannot myself, as a minister of the + Gospel, approve of your profession, and, if I might take the liberty, I + would try and dissuade you from it; but still, as for the one act of + freeing a poor girl from the most scandalous persecution, and + administering, though in a rough way, a lesson to a savage brute who has + long been the disgrace and terror of the neighbourhood, I cannot honestly + say that it has my condemnation. The moral sense of a community is + generally a right one: you have won the praise of the village. Under all + the circumstances, I do not withhold mine. You woke this morning and found + yourself famous. Do not sigh ‘Alas.’” + </p> + <p> + “Lord Byron woke one morning and found himself famous, and the result was + that he sighed ‘Alas’ for the rest of his life. If there be two things + which a wise man should avoid, they are fame and love. Heaven defend me + from both!” + </p> + <p> + Again the parson stared; but being of compassionate nature, and inclined + to take mild views of everything that belongs to humanity, he said, with a + slight inclination of his head,— + </p> + <p> + “I have always heard that the Americans in general enjoy the advantage of + a better education than we do in England, and their reading public is + infinitely larger than ours; still, when I hear one of a calling not + highly considered in this country for intellectual cultivation or ethical + philosophy cite Lord Byron, and utter a sentiment at variance with the + impetuosity of inexperienced youth, but which has much to commend it in + the eyes of a reflective Christian impressed with the nothingness of the + objects mostly coveted by the human heart, I am surprised, and—oh, + my dear young friend, surely your education might fit you for something + better!” + </p> + <p> + It was among the maxims of Kenelm Chillingly’s creed that a sensible man + should never allow himself to be surprised; but here he was, to use a + popular idiom, “taken aback,” and lowered himself to the rank of ordinary + minds by saying, simply, “I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” resumed the clergyman, shaking his head gently, “as I always + suspected, that in the vaunted education bestowed on Americans, the + elementary principles of Christian right and wrong are more neglected than + they are among our own humble classes. Yes, my young friend, you may quote + poets, you may startle me by remarks on the nothingness of human fame and + human love, derived from the precepts of heathen poets, and yet not + understand with what compassion, and, in the judgment of most sober-minded + persons, with what contempt, a human being who practises your vocation is + regarded.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I a vocation?” said Kenelm. “I am very glad to hear it. What is my + vocation? And why must I be an American?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, surely I am not misinformed? You are the American—I forget his + name—who has come over to contest the belt of prize-fighting with + the champion of England. You are silent; you hang your head. By your + appearance, your length of limb, your gravity of countenance, your evident + education, you confirm the impression of your birth. Your prowess has + proved your profession.” + </p> + <p> + “Reverend sir,” said Kenelm, with his unutterable seriousness of aspect, + “I am on my travels in search of truth and in flight from shams, but so + great a take-in as myself I have not yet encountered. Remember me in your + prayers. I am not an American; I am not a prize-fighter. I honour the + first as the citizen of a grand republic trying his best to accomplish an + experiment in government in which he will find the very prosperity he + tends to create will sooner or later destroy his experiment. I honour the + last because strength, courage, and sobriety are essential to the + prize-fighter, and are among the chiefest ornaments of kings and heroes. + But I am neither one nor the other. And all I can say for myself is, that + I belong to that very vague class commonly called English gentlemen, and + that, by birth and education, I have a right to ask you to shake hands + with me as such.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lethbridge stared again, raised his hat, bowed, and shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “You will allow me now to speak to you about your parishioners. You take + an interest in Will Somers; so do I. He is clever and ingenious. But it + seems there is not sufficient demand here for his baskets, and he would, + no doubt, do better in some neighbouring town. Why does he object to + move?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear that poor Will would pine away to death if he lost sight of that + pretty girl for whom you did such chivalrous battle with Tom Bowles.” + </p> + <p> + “The unhappy man, then, is really in love with Jessie Wiles? And do you + think she no less really cares for him?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it.” + </p> + <p> + “And would make him a good wife; that is, as wives go?” + </p> + <p> + “A good daughter generally makes a good wife. And there is not a father in + the place who has a better child than Jessie is to hers. She really is a + girl of a superior nature. She was the cleverest pupil at our school, and + my wife is much attached to her. But she has something better than mere + cleverness: she has an excellent heart.” + </p> + <p> + “What you say confirms my own impressions. And the girl’s father has no + other objection to Will Somers than his fear that Will could not support a + wife and family comfortably. + </p> + <p> + “He can have no other objection save that which would apply equally to all + suitors. I mean his fear lest Tom Bowles might do her some mischief, if he + knew she was about to marry any one else.” + </p> + <p> + “You think, then, that Mr. Bowles is a thoroughly bad and dangerous + person?” + </p> + <p> + “Thoroughly bad and dangerous, and worse since he has taken to drinking.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he did not take to drinking till he lost his wits for Jessie + Wiles?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think he did.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Mr. Lethbridge, have you never used your influence over this + dangerous man?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I did try, but I only got insulted. He is a godless animal, + and has not been inside a church for years. He seems to have got a + smattering of such vile learning as may be found in infidel publications, + and I doubt if he has any religion at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Polyphemus! no wonder his Galatea shuns him.” + </p> + <p> + “Old Wiles is terribly frightened, and asked my wife to find Jessie a + place as servant at a distance. But Jessie can’t bear the thoughts of + leaving.” + </p> + <p> + “For the same reason which attaches Will Somers to the native soil?” + </p> + <p> + “My wife thinks so.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe that if Tom Bowles were out of the way, and Jessie and + Will were man and wife, they could earn a sufficient livelihood as + successors to Mrs. Bawtrey, Will adding the profits of his basket-work to + those of the shop and land?” + </p> + <p> + “A sufficient livelihood! of course. They would be quite rich. I know the + shop used to turn a great deal of money. The old woman, to be sure, is no + longer up to the business, but still she retains a good custom.” + </p> + <p> + “Will Somers seems in delicate health. Perhaps if he had a less weary + struggle for a livelihood, and no fear of losing Jessie, his health would + improve.” + </p> + <p> + “His life would be saved, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Kenelm, with a heavy sigh and a face as long as an + undertaker’s, “though I myself entertain a profound compassion for that + disturbance to our mental equilibrium which goes by the name of ‘love,’ + and I am the last person who ought to add to the cares and sorrows which + marriage entails upon its victims,—I say nothing of the woes + destined to those whom marriage usually adds to a population already + overcrowded,—I fear that I must be the means of bringing these two + love-birds into the same cage. I am ready to purchase the shop and its + appurtenances on their behalf, on the condition that you will kindly + obtain the consent of Jessie’s father to their union. As for my brave + friend Tom Bowles, I undertake to deliver them and the village from that + exuberant nature, which requires a larger field for its energies. Pardon + me for not letting you interrupt me. I have not yet finished what I have + to say. Allow me to ask if Mrs. Grundy resides in this village.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Grundy! Oh, I understand. Of course; wherever a woman has a tongue, + there Mrs. Grundy has a home.” + </p> + <p> + “And seeing that Jessie is very pretty, and that in walking with her I + encountered Mr. Bowles, might not Mrs. Grundy say, with a toss of her + head, ‘that it was not out of pure charity that the stranger had been so + liberal to Jessie Wiles’? But if the money for the shop be paid through + you to Mrs. Bawtrey, and you kindly undertake all the contingent + arrangements, Mrs. Grundy will have nothing to say against any one.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lethbridge gazed with amaze at the solemn countenance before him. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” he said, after a long pause, “I scarcely know how to express my + admiration of a generosity so noble, so thoughtful, and accompanied with a + delicacy, and, indeed, with a wisdom, which—which—” + </p> + <p> + “Pray, my dear sir, do not make me still more ashamed of myself than I am + at present for an interference in love matters quite alien to my own + convictions as to the best mode of making an ‘Approach to the Angels.’ To + conclude this business, I think it better to deposit in your hands the sum + of L45, for which Mrs. Bawtrey has agreed to sell the remainder of her + lease and stock-in-hand; but, of course, you will not make anything public + till I am gone, and Tom Bowles too. I hope I may get him away to-morrow; + but I shall know to-night when I can depend on his departure, and till he + goes I must stay.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, Kenelm transferred from his pocket-book to Mr. Lethbridge’s + hand bank-notes to the amount specified. + </p> + <p> + “May I at least ask the name of the gentleman who honours me with his + confidence, and has bestowed so much happiness on members of my flock?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no great reason why I should not tell you my name, but I see no + reason why I should. You remember Talleyrand’s advice, ‘If you are in + doubt whether to write a letter or not, don’t.’ The advice applies to many + doubts in life besides that of letter-writing. Farewell, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “A most extraordinary young man,” muttered the parson, gazing at the + receding form of the tall stranger; then gently shaking his head, he + added, “Quite an original.” He was contented with that solution of the + difficulties which had puzzled him. May the reader be the same. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <p> + AFTER the family dinner, at which the farmer’s guest displayed more than + his usual powers of appetite, Kenelm followed his host towards the + stackyard, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Saunderson, though you have no longer any work for me to do, + and I ought not to trespass further on your hospitality, yet if I might + stay with you another day or so, I should be very grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lad,” cried the farmer, in whose estimation Kenelm had risen + prodigiously since the victory over Tom Bowles, “you are welcome to stay + as long as you like, and we shall be all sorry when you go. Indeed, at all + events, you must stay over Saturday, for you shall go with us to the + squire’s harvest-supper. It will be a pretty sight, and my girls are + already counting on you for a dance.” + </p> + <p> + “Saturday,—the day after to-morrow. You are very kind; but + merrymakings are not much in my way, and I think I shall be on my road + before you set off to the Squire’s supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! you shall stay; and, I say, young ‘un, if you want more to do, I + have a job for you quite in your line.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Thrash my ploughman. He has been insolent this morning, and he is the + biggest fellow in the county, next to Tom Bowles.” + </p> + <p> + Here the farmer laughed heartily, enjoying his own joke. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for nothing,” said Kenelm, rubbing his bruises. “A burnt child + dreads the fire.” + </p> + <p> + The young man wandered alone into the fields. The day was becoming + overcast, and the clouds threatened rain. The air was exceedingly still; + the landscape, missing the sunshine, wore an aspect of gloomy solitude. + Kenelm came to the banks of the rivulet not far from the spot on which the + farmer had first found him. There he sat down, and leaned his cheek on his + hand, with eyes fixed on the still and darkened stream lapsing mournfully + away: sorrow entered into his heart and tinged its musings. + </p> + <p> + “Is it then true,” said he, soliloquizing, “that I am born to pass through + life utterly alone; asking, indeed, for no sister-half of myself, + disbelieving its possibility, shrinking from the thought of it,—half + scorning, half pitying those who sigh for it?—thing unattainable,—better + sigh for the moon! + </p> + <p> + “Yet if other men sigh for it, why do I stand apart from them? If the + world be a stage, and all the men and women in it merely players, am I to + be the solitary spectator, with no part in the drama and no interest in + the vicissitudes of its plot? Many there are, no doubt, who covet as + little as I do the part of ‘Lover,’ ‘with a woful ballad, made to his + mistress’s eyebrow;’ but then they covet some other part in the drama, + such as that of Soldier ‘bearded as a pard,’ or that of Justice ‘in fair + round belly with fat capon lined.’ But me no ambition fires: I have no + longing either to rise or to shine. I don’t desire to be a colonel, nor an + admiral, nor a member of Parliament, nor an alderman; I do not yearn for + the fame of a wit, or a poet, or a philosopher, or a diner-out, or a crack + shot at a rifle-match or a <i>battue</i>. Decidedly, I am the one + looker-on, the one bystander, and have no more concern with the active + world than a stone has. It is a horrible phantasmal crotchet of Goethe, + that originally we were all monads, little segregated atoms adrift in the + atmosphere, and carried hither and thither by forces over which we had no + control, especially by the attraction of other monads, so that one monad, + compelled by porcine monads, crystallizes into a pig; another, hurried + along by heroic monads, becomes a lion or an Alexander. Now it is quite + clear,” continued Kenelm, shifting his position and crossing the right leg + over the left, “that a monad intended or fitted for some other planet may, + on its way to that destination, be encountered by a current of other + monads blowing earthward, and be caught up in the stream and whirled on, + till, to the marring of its whole proper purpose and scene of action, it + settles here,—conglomerated into a baby. Probably that lot has + befallen me: my monad, meant for another region in space, has been dropped + into this, where it can never be at home, never amalgamate with other + monads nor comprehend why they are in such a perpetual fidget. I declare I + know no more why the minds of human beings should be so restlessly + agitated about things which, as most of them own, give more pain than + pleasure, than I understand why that swarm of gnats, which has such a very + short time to live, does not give itself a moment’s repose, but goes up + and down, rising and falling as if it were on a seesaw, and making as much + noise about its insignificant alternations of ascent and descent as if it + were the hum of men. And yet, perhaps, in another planet my monad would + have frisked and jumped and danced and seesawed with congenial monads, as + contentedly and as sillily as do the monads of men and gnats in this alien + Vale of Tears.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm had just arrived at that conjectural solution of his perplexities + when a voice was heard singing, or rather modulated to that kind of chant + between recitative and song, which is so pleasingly effective where the + intonations are pure and musical. They were so in this instance, and + Kenelm’s ear caught every word in the following song:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CONTENT. + + “There are times when the troubles of life are still; + The bees wandered lost in the depths of June, + And I paused where the chime of a silver rill + Sang the linnet and lark to their rest at noon. + + “Said my soul, ‘See how calmly the wavelets glide, + Though so narrow their way to their ocean vent; + And the world that I traverse is wide, is wide, + And yet is too narrow to hold content’ + + “O my son, never say that the world is wide; + The rill in its banks is less closely pent: + It is thou who art shoreless on every side, + And thy width will not let thee enclose content.” + </pre> + <p> + As the voice ceased Kenelm lifted his head. But the banks of the brook + were so curving and so clothed with brushwood that for some minutes the + singer was invisible. At last the boughs before him were put aside, and + within a few paces of himself paused the man to whom he had commended the + praises of a beefsteak, instead of those which minstrelsy in its + immemorial error dedicates to love. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Kenelm, half rising, “well met once more. Have you ever + listened to the cuckoo?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” answered the minstrel, “have you ever felt the presence of the + summer?” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to shake hands with you. I admire the question by which you + have countermet and rebuked my own. If you are not in a hurry, will you + sit down and let us talk?” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel inclined his head and seated himself. His dog—now + emerged from the brushwood—gravely approached Kenelm, who with + greater gravity regarded him; then, wagging his tail, reposed on his + haunches, intent with ear erect on a stir in the neighbouring reeds, + evidently considering whether it was caused by a fish or a water-rat. + </p> + <p> + “I asked you, sir, if you had ever listened to the cuckoo from no + irrelevant curiosity; for often on summer days, when one is talking with + one’s self,—and, of course, puzzling one’s self,—a voice + breaks out, as it were from the heart of Nature, so far is it and yet so + near; and it says something very quieting, very musical, so that one is + tempted inconsiderately and foolishly to exclaim, ‘Nature replies to me.’ + The cuckoo has served me that trick pretty often. Your song is a better + answer to a man’s self-questionings than he can ever get from a cuckoo.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt that,” said the minstrel. “Song, at the best, is but the echo of + some voice from the heart of Nature. And if the cuckoo’s note seemed to + you such a voice, it was an answer to your questionings perhaps more + simply truthful than man can utter, if you had rightly construed the + language.” + </p> + <p> + “My good friend,” answered Kenelm, “what you say sounds very prettily; and + it contains a sentiment which has been amplified by certain critics into + that measureless domain of dunderheads which is vulgarly called BOSH. But + though Nature is never silent, though she abuses the privilege of her age + in being tediously gossiping and garrulous, Nature never replies to our + questions: she can’t understand an argument; she has never read Mr. Mill’s + work on Logic. In fact, as it is truly said by a great philosopher, + ‘Nature has no mind.’ Every man who addresses her is compelled to force + upon her for a moment the loan of his own mind. And if she answers a + question which his own mind puts to her, it is only by such a reply as his + own mind teaches to her parrot-like lips. And as every man has a different + mind, so every man gets a different answer. Nature is a lying old humbug.” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel laughed merrily; and his laugh was as sweet as his chant. + </p> + <p> + “Poets would have a great deal to unlearn if they are to look upon Nature + in that light.” + </p> + <p> + “Bad poets would, and so much the better for them and their readers.” + </p> + <p> + “Are not good poets students of Nature?” + </p> + <p> + “Students of Nature, certainly, as surgeons study anatomy by dissecting a + dead body. But the good poet, like the good surgeon, is the man who + considers that study merely as the necessary A B C, and not as the + all-in-all essential to skill in his practice. I do not give the fame of a + good surgeon to a man who fills a book with details, more or less + accurate, of fibres and nerves and muscles; and I don’t give the fame of a + good poet to a man who makes an inventory of the Rhine or the Vale of + Gloucester. The good surgeon and the good poet are they who understand the + living man. What is that poetry of drama which Aristotle justly ranks as + the highest? Is it not a poetry in which description of inanimate Nature + must of necessity be very brief and general; in which even the external + form of man is so indifferent a consideration that it will vary with each + actor who performs the part? A Hamlet may be fair or dark. A Macbeth may + be short or tall. The merit of dramatic poetry consists in the + substituting for what is commonly called Nature (namely, external and + material Nature) creatures intellectual, emotional, but so purely + immaterial that they may be said to be all mind and soul, accepting the + temporary loans of any such bodies at hand as actors may offer, in order + to be made palpable and visible to the audience, but needing no such + bodies to be palpable and visible to readers. The highest kind of poetry + is therefore that which has least to do with external Nature. But every + grade has its merit more or less genuinely great, according as it instils + into Nature that which is not there,—the reason and the soul of + man.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not much disposed,” said the minstrel, “to acknowledge any one form + of poetry to be practically higher than another; that is, so far as to + elevate the poet who cultivates what you call the highest with some + success above the rank of the poet who cultivates what you call a very + inferior school with a success much more triumphant. In theory, dramatic + poetry may be higher than lyric, and ‘Venice Preserved’ is a very + successful drama; but I think Burns a greater poet than Otway.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly he may be; but I know of no lyrical poet, at least among the + moderns, who treats less of Nature as the mere outward form of things, or + more passionately animates her framework with his own human heart, than + does Robert Burns. Do you suppose when a Greek, in some perplexity of + reason or conscience, addressed a question to the oracular oak-leaves of + Dodona that the oak-leaves answered him? Don’t you rather believe that the + question suggested by his mind was answered by the mind of his fellow-man, + the priest, who made the oak-leaves the mere vehicle of communication, as + you and I might make such vehicle in a sheet of writing-paper? Is not the + history of superstition a chronicle of the follies of man in attempting to + get answers from external Nature?” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the minstrel, “have I not somewhere heard or read that the + experiments of Science are the answers made by Nature to the questions put + to her by man?” + </p> + <p> + “They are the answers which his own mind suggests to her,—nothing + more. His mind studies the laws of matter, and in that study makes + experiments on matter; out of those experiments his mind, according to its + previous knowledge or natural acuteness, arrives at its own deductions, + and hence arise the sciences of mechanics and chemistry, etc. But the + matter itself gives no answer: the answer varies according to the mind + that puts the question; and the progress of science consists in the + perpetual correction of the errors and falsehoods which preceding minds + conceived to be the correct answers they received from Nature. It is the + supernatural within us,—namely, Mind,—which can alone guess at + the mechanism of the natural, namely, Matter. A stone cannot question a + stone.” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel made no reply. And there was a long silence, broken but by + the hum of the insects, the ripple of onward waves, and the sigh of the + wind through reeds. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> + <h3> + SAID Kenelm, at last breaking silence— + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Rapiamus, amici, + Occasionem de die, dumque virent genua, + Et decet, obducta solvatur fronte senectus!’” + </pre> + <p> + “Is not that quotation from Horace?” asked the minstrel. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and I made it insidiously, in order to see if you had not acquired + what is called a classical education.” + </p> + <p> + “I might have received such education, if my tastes and my destinies had + not withdrawn me in boyhood from studies of which I did not then + comprehend the full value. But I did pick up a smattering of Latin at + school; and from time to time since I left school I have endeavoured to + gain some little knowledge of the most popular Latin poets; chiefly, I own + to my shame, by the help of literal English translations.” + </p> + <p> + “As a poet yourself, I am not sure that it would be an advantage to know a + dead language so well that its forms and modes of thought ran, though + perhaps unconsciously, into those of the living one in which you compose. + Horace might have been a still better poet if he had not known Greek + better than you know Latin.” + </p> + <p> + “It is at least courteous in you to say so,” answered the singer, with a + pleased smile. + </p> + <p> + “You would be still more courteous,” said Kenelm, “if you would pardon an + impertinent question, and tell me whether it is for a wager that you + wander through the land, Homer-like, as a wandering minstrel, and allow + that intelligent quadruped your companion to carry a tray in his mouth for + the reception of pennies?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not for a wager; it is a whim of mine, which I fancy from the + tone of your conversation you could understand, being apparently somewhat + whimsical yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “So far as whim goes, be assured of my sympathy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, though I follow a calling by the exercise of which I secure a + modest income, my passion is verse. If the seasons were always summer, and + life were always youth, I should like to pass through the world singing. + But I have never ventured to publish any verses of mine. If they fell + still-born it would give me more pain than such wounds to vanity ought to + give to a bearded man; and if they were assailed or ridiculed it might + seriously injure me in my practical vocation. That last consideration, + were I quite alone in the world, might not much weigh on me; but there are + others for whose sake I should like to make fortune and preserve station. + Many years ago—it was in Germany—I fell in with a German + student who was very poor, and who did make money by wandering about the + country with lute and song. He has since become a poet of no mean + popularity, and he has told me that he is sure he found the secret of that + popularity in habitually consulting popular tastes during his roving + apprenticeship to song. His example strongly impressed me. So I began this + experiment; and for several years my summers have been all partly spent in + this way. I am only known, as I think I told you before, in the rounds I + take as ‘The Wandering Minstrel;’ I receive the trifling moneys that are + bestowed on me as proofs of a certain merit. I should not be paid by poor + people if I did not please; and the songs which please them best are + generally those I love best myself. For the rest, my time is not thrown + away,—not only as regards bodily health, but healthfulness of mind: + all the current of one’s ideas becomes so freshened by months of playful + exercise and varied adventure.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the adventure is varied enough,” said Kenelm, somewhat ruefully; for + he felt, in shifting his posture, a sharp twinge of his bruised muscles. + “But don’t you find those mischief-makers, the women, always mix + themselves up with adventure?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless them! of course,” said the minstrel, with a ringing laugh. “In + life, as on the stage, the petticoat interest is always the strongest.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t agree with you there,” said Kenelm, dryly. “And you seem to me to + utter a claptrap beneath the rank of your understanding. However, this + warm weather indisposes one to disputation; and I own that a petticoat, + provided it be red, is not without the interest of colour in a picture.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, young gentleman,” said the minstrel, rising, “the day is wearing + on, and I must wish you good-by; probably, if you were to ramble about the + country as I do, you would see too many pretty girls not to teach you the + strength of petticoat interest,—not in pictures alone; and should I + meet you again I may find you writing love-verses yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “After a conjecture so unwarrantable, I part company with you less + reluctantly than I otherwise might do. But I hope we shall meet again.” + </p> + <p> + “Your wish flatters me much; but, if we do, pray respect the confidence I + have placed in you, and regard my wandering minstrelsy and my dog’s tray + as sacred secrets. Should we not so meet, it is but a prudent reserve on + my part if I do not give you my right name and address.” + </p> + <p> + “There you show the cautious common-sense which belongs rarely to lovers + of verse and petticoat interest. What have you done with your guitar?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not pace the roads with that instrument: it is forwarded to me from + town to town under a borrowed name, together with other raiment that this, + should I have cause to drop my character of wandering minstrel.” + </p> + <p> + The two men here exchanged a cordial shake of the hand. And as the + minstrel went his way along the river-side, his voice in chanting seemed + to lend to the wavelets a livelier murmur, to the reeds a less plaintive + sigh. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + IN his room, solitary and brooding, sat the defeated hero of a hundred + fights. It was now twilight; but the shutters had been partially closed + all day, in order to exclude the sun, which had never before been + unwelcome to Tom Bowles, and they still remained so, making the twilight + doubly twilight, till the harvest moon, rising early, shot its ray through + the crevice, and forced a silvery track amid the shadows of the floor. + </p> + <p> + The man’s head drooped on his breast; his strong hands rested listlessly + on his knees: his attitude was that of utter despondency and prostration. + But in the expression of his face there were the signs of some dangerous + and restless thought which belied not the gloom but the stillness of the + posture. His brow, which was habitually open and frank, in its defying + aggressive boldness, was now contracted into deep furrows, and lowered + darkly over his downcast, half-closed eyes. His lips were so tightly + compressed that the face lost its roundness, and the massive bone of the + jaw stood out hard and salient. Now and then, indeed, the lips opened, + giving vent to a deep, impatient sigh, but they reclosed as quickly as + they had parted. It was one of those crises in life which find all the + elements that make up a man’s former self in lawless anarchy; in which the + Evil One seems to enter and direct the storm; in which a rude untutored + mind, never before harbouring a thought of crime, sees the crime start up + from an abyss, feels it to be an enemy, yet yields to it as a fate. So + that when, at the last, some wretch, sentenced to the gibbet, shudderingly + looks back to the moment “that trembled between two worlds,”—the + world of the man guiltless, the world of the man guilty,—he says to + the holy, highly educated, rational, passionless priest who confesses him + and calls him “brother,” “The devil put it into my head.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the door opened; at its threshold there stood the man’s + mother—whom he had never allowed to influence his conduct, though he + loved her well in his rough way—and the hated fellow-man whom he + longed to see dead at his feet. The door reclosed: the mother was gone, + without a word, for her tears choked her; the fellow-man was alone with + him. Tom Bowles looked up, recognized his visitor, cleared his brow, and + rubbed his mighty hands. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM CHILLINGLY drew a chair close to his antagonist’s, and silently + laid a hand on his. + </p> + <p> + Tom Bowles took up the hand in both his own, turned it curiously towards + the moonlight, gazed at it, poised it, then with a sound between groan and + laugh tossed it away as a thing hostile but trivial, rose and locked the + door, came back to his seat and said bluffly,— + </p> + <p> + “What do you want with me now?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask you a favour.” + </p> + <p> + “Favour?” + </p> + <p> + “The greatest which man can ask from man,—friendship. You see, my + dear Tom,” continued Kenelm, making himself quite at home, throwing his + arm over the back of Tom’s chair, and stretching his legs comfortably as + one does by one’s own fireside; “you see, my dear Tom, that men like us—young, + single, not on the whole bad-looking as men go—can find sweethearts + in plenty. If one does not like us, another will; sweethearts are sown + everywhere like nettles and thistles. But the rarest thing in life is a + friend. Now, tell me frankly, in the course of your wanderings did you + ever come into a village where you could not have got a sweetheart if you + had asked for one; and if, having got a sweetheart, you had lost her, do + you think you would have had any difficulty in finding another? But have + you such a thing in the world, beyond the pale of your own family, as a + true friend,—a man friend; and supposing that you had such a friend,—a + friend who would stand by you through thick and thin; who would tell you + your faults to your face, and praise you for your good qualities behind + your back; who would do all he could to save you from a danger, and all he + could to get you out of one,—supposing you had such a friend and + lost him, do you believe that if you lived to the age of Methuselah you + could find another? You don’t answer me; you are silent. Well, Tom, I ask + you to be such a friend to me, and I will be such a friend to you.” + </p> + <p> + Tom was so thoroughly “taken aback” by this address that he remained + dumfounded. But he felt as if the clouds in his soul were breaking, and a + ray of sunlight were forcing its way through the sullen darkness. At + length, however, the receding rage within him returned, though with + vacillating step, and he growled between his teeth,— + </p> + <p> + “A pretty friend indeed, robbing me of my girl! Go along with you!” + </p> + <p> + “She was not your girl any more than she was or ever can be mine.” + </p> + <p> + “What, you be n’t after her?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not; I am going to Luscombe, and I ask you to come with me. Do + you think I am going to leave you here?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything. Providence has permitted me to save you from the most + lifelong of all sorrows. For—think! Can any sorrow be more lasting + than had been yours if you had attained your wish; if you had forced or + frightened a woman to be your partner till death do part,—you loving + her, she loathing you; you conscious, night and day, that your very love + had insured her misery, and that misery haunting you like a ghost!—that + sorrow I have saved you. May Providence permit me to complete my work, and + save you also from the most irredeemable of all crimes! Look into your + soul, then recall the thoughts which all day long, and not least at the + moment I crossed this threshold, were rising up, making reason dumb and + conscience blind, and then lay your hand on your heart and say, ‘I am + guiltless of a dream of murder.’” + </p> + <p> + The wretched man sprang up erect, menacing, and, meeting Kenelm’s calm, + steadfast, pitying gaze, dropped no less suddenly,—dropped on the + floor, covered his face with his hands, and a great cry came forth between + sob and howl. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” said Kenelm, kneeling beside him, and twining his arm round the + man’s heaving breast, “it is over now; with that cry the demon that + maddened you has fled forever.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. + </h2> + <p> + WHEN, some time after, Kenelm quitted the room and joined Mrs. Bowles + below, he said cheerily, “All right; Tom and I are sworn friends. We are + going together to Luscombe the day after to-morrow,—Sunday; just + write a line to his uncle to prepare him for Tom’s visit, and send thither + his clothes, as we shall walk, and steal forth unobserved betimes in the + morning. Now go up and talk to him; he wants a mother’s soothing and + petting. He is a noble fellow at heart, and we shall be all proud of him + some day or other.” + </p> + <p> + As he walked towards the farmhouse, Kenelm encountered Mr. Lethbridge, who + said, “I have come from Mr. Saunderson’s, where I went in search of you. + There is an unexpected hitch in the negotiation for Mrs. Bawtrey’s shop. + After seeing you this morning I fell in with Mr. Travers’s bailiff, and he + tells me that her lease does not give her the power to sublet without the + Squire’s consent; and that as the premises were originally let on very low + terms to a favoured and responsible tenant, Mr. Travers cannot be expected + to sanction the transfer of the lease to a poor basket-marker: in fact, + though he will accept Mrs. Bawtrey’s resignation, it must be in favour of + an applicant whom he desires to oblige. On hearing this, I rode over to + the Park and saw Mr. Travers himself. But he was obdurate to my pleadings. + All I could get him to say was, ‘Let the stranger who interests himself in + the matter come and talk to me. I should like to see the man who thrashed + that brute Tom Bowles: if he got the better of him perhaps he may get the + better of me. Bring him with you to my harvest-supper to-morrow evening.’ + Now, will you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Kenelm, reluctantly; “but if he only asks me in order to + gratify a very vulgar curiosity, I don’t think I have much chance of + serving Will Somers. What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “The Squire is a good man of business, and, though no one can call him + unjust or grasping, still he is very little touched by sentiment; and we + must own that a sickly cripple like poor Will is not a very eligible + tenant. If, therefore, it depended only on your chance with the Squire, I + should not be very sanguine. But we have an ally in his daughter. She is + very fond of Jessie Wiles, and she has shown great kindness to Will. In + fact, a sweeter, more benevolent, sympathizing nature than that of Cecilia + Travers does not exist. She has great influence with her father, and + through her you may win him.” + </p> + <p> + “I particularly dislike having anything to do with women,” said Kenelm, + churlishly. “Parsons are accustomed to get round them. Surely, my dear + sir, you are more fit for that work than I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me humbly to doubt that proposition; one does n’t get very quickly + round the women when one carries the weight of years on one’s back. But + whenever you want the aid of a parson to bring your own wooing to a happy + conclusion, I shall be happy, in my special capacity of parson, to perform + the ceremony required.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Dii meliora</i>!” said Kenelm, gravely. “Some ills are too serious to + be approached even in joke. As for Miss Travers, the moment you call her + benevolent you inspire me with horror. I know too well what a benevolent + girl is,—officious, restless, fidgety, with a snub nose, and her + pocket full of tracts. I will not go to the harvest-supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Hist!” said the Parson, softly. They were now passing the cottage of Mrs. + Somers; and while Kenelm was haranguing against benevolent girls, Mr. + Lethbridge had paused before it, and was furtively looking in at the + window. “Hist! and come here,—gently.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm obeyed, and looked in through the window. Will was seated; Jessie + Wiles had nestled herself at his feet, and was holding his hand in both + hers, looking up into his face. Her profile alone was seen, but its + expression was unutterably soft and tender. His face, bent downwards + towards her, wore a mournful expression; nay, the tears were rolling + silently down his cheeks. Kenelm listened and heard her say, “Don’t talk + so, Will, you break my heart; it is I who am not worthy of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Parson,” said Kenelm, as they walked on, “I must go to that confounded + harvest-supper. I begin to think there is something true in the venerable + platitude about love in a cottage. And Will Somers must be married in + haste, in order to repent at leisure.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why a man should repent having married a good girl whom he + loves.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t? Answer me candidly. Did you ever meet a man who repented + having married?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I have; very often.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, think again, and answer as candidly. Did you ever meet a man who + repented not having married?” + </p> + <p> + The Parson mused, and was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Kenelm, “your reticence proves your honesty, and I respect + it.” So saying, he bounded off, and left the Parson crying out wildly, + “But—but—” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. + </h2> + <p> + MR. SAUNDERSON and Kenelm sat in the arbour: the former sipping his grog + and smoking his pipe; the latter looking forth into the summer night skies + with an earnest yet abstracted gaze, as if he were trying to count the + stars in the Milky Way. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” said Mr. Saunderson, who was concluding an argument; “you see it + now, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I? not a bit of it. You tell me that your grandfather was a farmer, and + your father was a farmer, and that you have been a farmer for thirty + years; and from these premises you deduce the illogical and irrational + conclusion that therefore your son must be a farmer.” + </p> + <p> + “Young man, you may think yourself very knowing ‘cause you have been at + the ‘Varsity, and swept away a headful of book-learning.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” quoth Kenelm. “You grant that a university is learned.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could it be learned if those who quitted it brought the learning + away? We leave it all behind us in the care of the tutors. But I know what + you were going to say,—that it is not because I had read more books + than you have that I was to give myself airs and pretend to have more + knowledge of life than a man of your years and experience. Agreed, as a + general rule. But does not every doctor, however wise and skilful, prefer + taking another doctor’s opinion about himself, even though that other + doctor has just started in practice? And seeing that doctors, taking them + as a body, are monstrous clever fellows, is not the example they set us + worth following? Does it not prove that no man, however wise, is a good + judge of his own case? Now, your son’s case is really your case: you see + it through the medium of your likings and dislikings; and insist upon + forcing a square peg into a round hole, because in a round hole you, being + a round peg, feel tight and comfortable. Now I call that irrational.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why my son has any right to fancy himself a square peg,” said + the farmer, doggedly, “when his father and his grandfather and his + great-grandfather have been round pegs; and it is agin’ nature for any + creature not to take after its own kind. A dog is a pointer or a sheep-dog + according as its forebears were pointers or sheep-dogs. There,” cried the + farmer, triumphantly, shaking the ashes out of his pipe. “I think I have + posed you, young master!” + </p> + <p> + “No; for you have taken it for granted that the breeds have not been + crossed. But suppose that a sheep-dog has married a pointer, are you sure + that his son will not be more of a pointer than a sheep-dog?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Saunderson arrested himself in the task of refilling his pipe, and + scratched his head. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” continued Kenelm, “that you have crossed the breed. You married + a tradesman’s daughter, and I dare say her grandfather and + great-grandfather were tradesmen too. Now, most sons take after their + mothers, and therefore Mr. Saunderson junior takes after his kind on the + distaff side, and comes into the world a square peg, which can only be + tight and comfortable in a square hole. It is no use arguing, Farmer: your + boy must go to his uncle; and there’s an end of the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “By goles!” said the farmer, “you seem to think you can talk me out of my + senses.” + </p> + <p> + “No; but I think if you had your own way you would talk your son into the + workhouse.” + </p> + <p> + “What! by sticking to the land like his father before him? Let a man stick + by the land, and the land will stick by him.” + </p> + <p> + “Let a man stick in the mud, and the mud will stick to him. You put your + heart in your farm, and your son would only put his foot into it. Courage! + Don’t you see that Time is a whirligig, and all things come round? Every + day somebody leaves the land and goes off into trade. By and by he grows + rich, and then his great desire is to get back to the land again. He left + it the son of a farmer: he returns to it as a squire. Your son, when he + gets to be fifty, will invest his savings in acres, and have tenants of + his own. Lord, how he will lay down the law to them! I would not advise + you to take a farm under him.” + </p> + <p> + “Catch me at it!” said the farmer. “He would turn all the contents of the + ‘pothecary’s shop into my fallows, and call it ‘progress.’” + </p> + <p> + “Let him physic the fallows when he has farms of his own: keep yours out + of his chemical clutches. Come, I shall tell him to pack up and be off to + his uncle’s next week?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” said the farmer, in a resigned tone: “a wilful man must e’en + have his way.” + </p> + <p> + “And the best thing a sensible man can do is not to cross it. Mr. + Saunderson, give me your honest hand. You are one of those men who put the + sons of good fathers in mind of their own; and I think of mine when I say + ‘God bless you!’” + </p> + <p> + Quitting the farmer, Kenelm re-entered the house, and sought Mr. + Saunderson junior in his own room. He found that young gentleman still up, + and reading an eloquent tract on the Emancipation of the Human Race from + all Tyrannical Control,—Political, Social, Ecclesiastical, and + Domestic. + </p> + <p> + The lad looked up sulkily, and said, on encountering Kenelm’s melancholic + visage, “Ah! I see you have talked with the old governor, and he’ll not + hear of it.” + </p> + <p> + “In the first place,” answered Kenelm, “since you value yourself on a + superior education, allow me to advise you to study the English language, + as the forms of it are maintained by the elder authors, whom, in spite of + an Age of Progress, men of superior education esteem. No one who has gone + through that study; no one, indeed, who has studied the Ten Commandments + in the vernacular,—commits the mistake of supposing that ‘the old + governor’ is a synonymous expression for ‘father.’ In the second place, + since you pretend to the superior enlightenment which results from a + superior education, learn to know better your own self before you set up + as a teacher of mankind. Excuse the liberty I take, as your sincere + well-wisher, when I tell you that you are at present a conceited fool,—in + short, that which makes one boy call another an ‘ass.’ But when one has a + poor head he may redeem the average balance of humanity by increasing the + wealth of the heart. Try and increase yours. Your father consents to your + choice of your lot at the sacrifice of all his own inclinations. This is a + sore trial to a father’s pride, a father’s affection; and few fathers make + such sacrifices with a good grace. I have thus kept my promise to you, and + enforced your wishes on Mr. Saunderson’s judgment, because I am sure you + would have been a very bad farmer. It now remains for you to show that you + can be a very good tradesman. You are bound in honour to me and to your + father to try your best to be so; and meanwhile leave the task of + upsetting the world to those who have no shop in it, which would go crash + in the general tumble. And so good-night to you.” + </p> + <p> + To these admonitory words, <i>sacro digna silentio</i>, Saunderson junior + listened with a dropping jaw and fascinated staring eyes. He felt like an + infant to whom the nurse has given a hasty shake, and who is too stupefied + by that operation to know whether he is hurt or not. + </p> + <p> + A minute after Kenelm had quitted the room he reappeared at the door, and + said in a conciliatory whisper, “Don’t take it to heart that I called you + a conceited fool and an ass. These terms are no doubt just as applicable + to myself. But there is a more conceited fool and a greater ass than + either of us; and that is the Age in which we have the misfortune to be + born,—an Age of Progress, Mr. Saunderson, junior!—an Age of + Prigs.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + IF there were a woman in the world who might be formed and fitted to + reconcile Kenelm Chillingly to the sweet troubles of love and the pleasant + bickerings of wedded life, one might reasonably suppose that that woman + could be found in Cecilia Travers. An only daughter and losing her mother + in childhood, she had been raised to the mistress-ship of a household at + an age in which most girls are still putting their dolls to bed; and thus + had early acquired that sense of responsibility, accompanied with the + habits of self-reliance, which seldom fails to give a certain nobility to + character; though almost as often, in the case of women, it steals away + the tender gentleness which constitutes the charm of their sex. + </p> + <p> + It had not done so in the instance of Cecilia Travers, because she was so + womanlike that even the exercise of power could not make her manlike. + There was in the depth of her nature such an instinct of sweetness that + wherever her mind toiled and wandered it gathered and hoarded honey. + </p> + <p> + She had one advantage over most girls in the same rank of life,—she + had not been taught to fritter away such capacities for culture as + Providence gave her in the sterile nothingnesses which are called feminine + accomplishments. She did not paint figures out of drawing in meagre + water-colours; she had not devoted years of her life to the inflicting on + polite audiences the boredom of Italian bravuras, which they could hear + better sung by a third-rate professional singer in a metropolitan + music-hall. I am afraid she had no other female accomplishments than those + by which the sempstress or embroideress earns her daily bread. That sort + of work she loved, and she did it deftly. + </p> + <p> + But if she had not been profitlessly plagued by masters, Cecilia Travers + had been singularly favoured by her father’s choice of a teacher: no great + merit in him either. He had a prejudice against professional governesses, + and it chanced that among his own family connections was a certain Mrs. + Campion, a lady of some literary distinction, whose husband had held a + high situation in one of our public offices, and living, much to his + satisfaction, up to a very handsome income, had died, much to the + astonishment of others, without leaving a farthing behind him. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, there were no children to provide for. A small government + pension was allotted to the widow; and as her husband’s house had been + made by her one of the pleasantest in London, she was popular enough to be + invited by numerous friends to their country seats; among others, by Mr. + Travers. She came intending to stay a fortnight. At the end of that time + she had grown so attached to Cecilia, and Cecilia to her, and her presence + had become so pleasant and so useful to her host, that the Squire + entreated her to stay and undertake the education of his daughter. Mrs. + Campion, after some hesitation, gratefully consented; and thus Cecilia, + from the age of eight to her present age of nineteen, had the inestimable + advantage of living in constant companionship with a woman of richly + cultivated mind, accustomed to hear the best criticisms on the best books, + and adding to no small accomplishment in literature the refinement of + manners and that sort of prudent judgment which result from habitual + intercourse with an intellectual and gracefully world-wise circle of + society: so that Cecilia herself, without being at all blue or pedantic, + became one of those rare young women with whom a well-educated man can + converse on equal terms; from whom he gains as much as he can impart to + her; while a man who, not caring much about books, is still gentleman + enough to value good breeding, felt a relief in exchanging the forms of + his native language without the shock of hearing that a bishop was “a + swell” or a croquet-party “awfully jolly.” + </p> + <p> + In a word, Cecilia was one of those women whom Heaven forms for man’s + helpmate; who, if he were born to rank and wealth, would, as his partner, + reflect on them a new dignity, and add to their enjoyment by bringing + forth their duties; who, not less if the husband she chose were poor and + struggling, would encourage, sustain, and soothe him, take her own share + of his burdens, and temper the bitterness of life with the + all-recompensing sweetness of her smile. + </p> + <p> + Little, indeed, as yet had she ever thought of love or of lovers. She had + not even formed to herself any of those ideals which float before the eyes + of most girls when they enter their teens. But of two things she felt inly + convinced: first, that she could never wed where she did not love; and + secondly, that where she did love it would be for life. + </p> + <p> + And now I close this sketch with a picture of the girl herself. She has + just come into her room from inspecting the preparations for the evening + entertainment which her father is to give to his tenants and rural + neighbours. + </p> + <p> + She has thrown aside her straw hat, and put down the large basket which + she has emptied of flowers. She pauses before the glass, smoothing back + the ruffled bands of her hair,—hair of a dark, soft chestnut, silky + and luxuriant,—never polluted, and never, so long as she lives, to + be polluted by auricomous cosmetics, far from that delicate darkness, + every tint of the colours traditionally dedicated to the locks of Judas. + </p> + <p> + Her complexion, usually of that soft bloom which inclines to paleness, is + now heightened into glow by exercise and sunlight. The features are small + and feminine; the eyes dark with long lashes; the mouth singularly + beautiful, with a dimple on either side, and parted now in a half-smile at + some pleasant recollection, giving a glimpse of small teeth glistening as + pearls. But the peculiar charm of her face is in an expression of serene + happiness, that sort of happiness which seems as if it had never been + interrupted by a sorrow, had never been troubled by a sin,—that holy + kind of happiness which belongs to innocence, the light reflected from a + heart and conscience alike at peace. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + IT was a lovely summer evening for the Squire’s rural entertainment. Mr. + Travers had some guests staying with him: they had dined early for the + occasion, and were now grouped with their host a little before six o’clock + on the lawn. The house was of irregular architecture, altered or added to + at various periods from the reign of Elizabeth to that of Victoria: at one + end, the oldest part, a gable with mullion windows; at the other, the + newest part, a flat-roofed wing, with modern sashes opening to the ground, + the intermediate part much hidden by a veranda covered with creepers in + full bloom. The lawn was a spacious table-land facing the west, and backed + by a green and gentle hill, crowned with the ruins of an ancient priory. + On one side of the lawn stretched a flower-garden and pleasure-ground, + originally planned by Repton; on the opposite angles of the sward were + placed two large marquees,—one for dancing, the other for supper. + Towards the south the view was left open, and commanded the prospect of an + old English park, not of the stateliest character; not intersected with + ancient avenues, nor clothed with profitless fern as lairs for deer: but + the park of a careful agriculturist, uniting profit with show, the sward + duly drained and nourished, fit to fatten bullocks in an incredibly short + time, and somewhat spoilt to the eye by subdivisions of wire fence. Mr. + Travers was renowned for skilful husbandry, and the general management of + land to the best advantage. He had come into the estate while still in + childhood, and thus enjoyed the accumulations of a long minority. He had + entered the Guards at the age of eighteen, and having more command of + money than most of his contemporaries, though they might be of higher rank + and the sons of richer men, he had been much courted and much plundered. + At the age of twenty-five he found himself one of the leaders of fashion, + renowned chiefly for reckless daring where-ever honour could be plucked + out of the nettle danger: a steeple-chaser, whose exploits made a quiet + man’s hair stand on end; a rider across country, taking leaps which a more + cautious huntsman carefully avoided. Known at Paris as well as in London, + he had been admired by ladies whose smiles had cost him duels, the marks + of which still remained in glorious scars on his person. No man ever + seemed more likely to come to direst grief before attaining the age of + thirty, for at twenty-seven all the accumulations of his minority were + gone; and his estate, which, when he came of age, was scarcely three + thousand a year, but entirely at his own disposal, was mortgaged up to its + eyes. + </p> + <p> + His friends began to shake their heads and call him “poor fellow;” but, + with all his wild faults, Leopold Travers had been wholly pure from the + two vices out of which a man does not often redeem himself. He had never + drunk and he had never gambled. His nerves were not broken, his brain was + not besotted. There was plenty of health in him yet, mind and body. At the + critical period of his life he married for love, and his choice was a most + felicitous one. The lady had no fortune; but though handsome and + high-born, she had no taste for extravagance, and no desire for other + society than that of the man she loved. So when he said, “Let us settle in + the country and try our best to live on a few hundreds, lay by, and keep + the old place out of the market,” she consented with a joyful heart: and + marvel it was to all how this wild Leopold Travers did settle down; did + take to cultivating his home farm with his men from sunrise to sunset like + a common tenant-farmer; did contrive to pay the interest on the mortgages, + and keep his head above water. After some years of pupilage in this school + of thrift, during which his habits became formed and his whole character + braced, Leopold Travers suddenly found himself again rich, through the + wife whom he had so prudently married without other dower than her love + and her virtues. Her only brother, Lord Eagleton, a Scotch peer, had been + engaged in marriage to a young lady, considered to be a rare prize in the + lottery of wedlock. The marriage was broken off under very disastrous + circumstances; but the young lord, good-looking and agreeable, was + naturally expected to seek speedy consolation in some other alliance. + Nevertheless he did not do so: he became a confirmed invalid, and died + single, leaving to his sister all in his power to save from the distant + kinsman who succeeded to his lands and title,—a goodly sum, which + not only sufficed to pay off the mortgages on Neesdale Park but bestowed + on its owner a surplus which the practical knowledge of country life that + he had acquired enabled him to devote with extraordinary profit to the + general improvement of his estate. He replaced tumble-down old farm + buildings with new constructions on the most approved principles; bought + or pensioned off certain slovenly incompetent tenants; threw sundry petty + holdings into large farms suited to the buildings he constructed; + purchased here and there small bits of land, commodious to the farms they + adjoined, and completing the integrity of his ring-fence; stubbed up + profitless woods which diminished the value of neighbouring arables by + obstructing sun and air and harbouring legions of rabbits; and then, + seeking tenants of enterprise and capital, more than doubled his original + yearly rental, and perhaps more than tripled the market value of his + property. Simultaneously with this acquisition of fortune, he emerged from + the inhospitable and unsocial obscurity which his previous poverty had + compelled, took an active part in county business, proved himself an + excellent speaker at public meetings, subscribed liberally to the hunt, + and occasionally joined in it,—a less bold but a wiser rider than of + yore. In short, as Themistocles boasted that he could make a small state + great, so Leopold Travers might boast with equal truth, that, by his + energies, his judgment, and the weight of his personal character, he had + made the owner of a property which had been at his accession to it of + third-rate rank in the county a personage so considerable that no knight + of the shire against whom he declared could have been elected, and if he + had determined to stand himself he would have been chosen free of expense. + </p> + <p> + But he said, on being solicited to become a candidate, “When a man once + gives himself up to the care and improvement of a landed estate, he has no + time and no heart for anything else. An estate is an income or a kingdom, + according as the owner chooses to take it. I take it as a kingdom, and I + cannot be <i>roi faineant</i>, with a steward for <i>maire du palais</i>. + A king does not go into the House of Commons.” + </p> + <p> + Three years after this rise in the social ladder, Mrs. Travers was seized + with congestion of the lungs followed by pleurisy, and died after less + than a week’s illness. Leopold never wholly recovered her loss. Though + still young and always handsome, the idea of another wife, the love of + another woman, were notions which he dismissed from his, mind with a quiet + scorn. He was too masculine a creature to parade grief. For some weeks, + indeed, he shut himself up in his own room, so rigidly secluded that he + would not see even his daughter. But one morning he appeared in his fields + as usual, and from that day resumed his old habits, and gradually renewed + that cordial interchange of hospitalities which had popularly + distinguished him since his accession to wealth. Still people felt that + the man was changed; he was more taciturn, more grave: if always just in + his dealings, he took the harder side of justice, where in his wife’s time + he had taken the gentler. Perhaps, to a man of strong will, the habitual + intercourse with an amiable woman is essential for those occasions in + which Will best proves the fineness of its temper by the facility with + which it can be bent. + </p> + <p> + It may be said that Leopold Travers might have found such intercourse in + the intimate companionship of his own daughter. But she was a mere child + when his wife died, and she grew up to womanhood too insensibly for him to + note the change. Besides, where a man has found a wife his all-in-all, a + daughter can never supply her place. The very reverence due to children + precludes unrestrained confidence; and there is not that sense of + permanent fellowship in a daughter which a man has in a wife,—any + day a stranger may appear and carry her off from him. At all events + Leopold did not own in Cecilia the softening influence to which he had + yielded in her mother. He was fond of her, proud of her, indulgent to her; + but the indulgence had its set limits. Whatever she asked solely for + herself he granted; whatever she wished for matters under feminine control—the + domestic household, the parish school, the alms-receiving poor—obtained + his gentlest consideration. But when she had been solicited by some + offending out-of-door dependant or some petty defaulting tenant to use her + good offices in favour of the culprit, Mr. Travers checked her + interference by a firm “No,” though uttered in a mild accent, and + accompanied with a masculine aphorism to the effect that “there would be + no such things as strict justice and disciplined order in the world if a + man yielded to a woman’s pleadings in any matter of business between man + and man.” From this it will be seen that Mr. Lethbridge had overrated the + value of Cecilia’s alliance in the negotiation respecting Mrs. Bawtrey’s + premium and shop. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + IF, having just perused what has thus been written on the biographical + antecedents and mental characteristics of Leopold Travers, you, my dear + reader, were to be personally presented to that gentleman as he now + stands, the central figure of the group gathered round him, on his + terrace, you would probably be surprised,—nay, I have no doubt you + would say to yourself, “Not at all the sort of man I expected.” In that + slender form, somewhat below the middle height; in that fair countenance + which still, at the age of forty-eight, retains a delicacy of feature and + of colouring which is of almost womanlike beauty, and, from the quiet + placidity of its expression, conveys at first glance the notion of almost + womanlike mildness,—it would be difficult to recognize a man who in + youth had been renowned for reckless daring, in maturer years more + honourably distinguished for steadfast prudence and determined purpose, + and who, alike in faults or in merits, was as emphatically masculine as a + biped in trousers can possibly be. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Travers is listening to a young man of about two and twenty, the + eldest son of the richest nobleman of the county, and who intends to start + for the representation of the shire at the next general election, which is + close at hand. The Hon. George Belvoir is tall, inclined to be stout, and + will look well on the hustings. He has had those pains taken with his + education which an English peer generally does take with the son intended + to succeed to the representation of an honourable name and the + responsibilities of high station. If eldest sons do not often make as + great a figure in the world as their younger brothers, it is not because + their minds are less cultivated, but because they have less motive power + for action. George Belvoir was well read, especially in that sort of + reading which befits a future senator,—history, statistics, + political economy, so far as that dismal science is compatible with the + agricultural interest. He was also well-principled, had a strong sense of + discipline and duty, was prepared in politics firmly to uphold as right + whatever was proposed by his own party, and to reject as wrong whatever + was proposed by the other. At present he was rather loud and noisy in the + assertion of his opinions,—young men fresh from the University + generally are. It was the secret wish of Mr. Travers that George Belvoir + should become his son-in-law; less because of his rank and wealth (though + such advantages were not of a nature to be despised by a practical man + like Leopold Travers) than on account of those qualities in his personal + character which were likely to render him an excellent husband. + </p> + <p> + Seated on wire benches, just without the veranda, but shaded by its + fragrant festoons, were Mrs. Campion and three ladies, the wives of + neighbouring squires. Cecilia stood a little apart from them, bending over + a long-backed Skye terrier, whom she was teaching to stand on his hind + legs. + </p> + <p> + But see, the company are arriving! How suddenly that green space, ten + minutes ago so solitary, has become animated and populous! + </p> + <p> + Indeed the park now presented a very lively appearance: vans, carts, and + farmers’ chaises were seen in crowded procession along the winding road; + foot-passengers were swarming towards the house in all directions. The + herds and flocks in the various enclosures stopped grazing to stare at the + unwonted invaders of their pasture: yet the orderly nature of their host + imparted a respect for order to his ruder visitors; not even a turbulent + boy attempted to scale the fences, or creep through their wires; all + threaded the narrow turnstiles which gave egress from one subdivision of + the sward to another. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Travers turned to George Belvoir: “I see old farmer Steen’s yellow + gig. Mind how you talk to him, George. He is full of whims and crotchets, + and if you once brush his feathers the wrong way he will be as vindictive + as a parrot. But he is the man who must second you at the nomination. No + other tenant-farmer carries the same weight with his class.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said George, “that if Mr. Steen is the best man to second me + at the hustings, he is a good speaker?” + </p> + <p> + “A good speaker? in one sense he is. He never says a word too much. The + last time he seconded the nomination of the man you are to succeed, this + was his speech: ‘Brother Electors, for twenty years I have been one of the + judges at our county cattle-show. I know one animal from another. Looking + at the specimens before us to-day none of them are as good of their kind + as I’ve seen elsewhere. But if you choose Sir John Hogg you’ll not get the + wrong sow by the ear!’” + </p> + <p> + “At least,” said George, after a laugh at this sample of eloquence + unadorned, “Mr. Steen does not err on the side of flattery in his + commendations of a candidate. But what makes him such an authority with + the farmers? Is he a first-rate agriculturist?” + </p> + <p> + “In thrift, yes!—in spirit, no! He says that all expensive + experiments should be left to gentlemen farmers. He is an authority with + other tenants: firstly, because he is a very keen censor of their + landlords; secondly, because he holds himself thoroughly independent of + his own; thirdly, because he is supposed to have studied the political + bearings of questions that affect the landed interest, and has more than + once been summoned to give his opinion on such subjects to Committees of + both Houses of Parliament. Here he comes. Observe, when I leave you to + talk to him: firstly, that you confess utter ignorance of practical + farming; nothing enrages him like the presumption of a gentleman farmer + like myself: secondly, that you ask his opinion on the publication of + Agricultural Statistics, just modestly intimating that you, as at present + advised, think that inquisitorial researches into a man’s business involve + principles opposed to the British Constitution. And on all that he may say + as to the shortcomings of landlords in general, and of your father in + particular, make no reply, but listen with an air of melancholy + conviction. How do you do, Mr. Steen, and how’s the mistress? Why have you + not brought her with you?” + </p> + <p> + “My good woman is in the straw again, Squire. Who is that youngster?” + </p> + <p> + “Hist! let me introduce Mr. Belvoir.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Belvoir offers his hand. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir!” vociferates Steen, putting both his own hands behind him. “No + offence, young gentleman. But I don’t give my hand at first sight to a man + who wants to shake a vote out of it. Not that I know anything against you. + But, if you be a farmer’s friend rabbits are not, and my lord your father + is a great one for rabbits.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed you are mistaken there!” cries George, with vehement earnestness. + Mr. Travers gave him a nudge, as much as to say, “Hold your tongue.” + George understood the hint, and is carried off meekly by Mr. Steen down + the solitude of the plantations. + </p> + <p> + The guests now arrived fast and thick. They consisted chiefly not only of + Mr. Travers’s tenants, but of farmers and their families within the range + of eight or ten miles from the Park, with a few of the neighbouring gentry + and clergy. + </p> + <p> + It was not a supper intended to include the labouring class; for Mr. + Travers had an especial dislike to the custom of exhibiting peasants at + feeding-time, as if they were so many tamed animals of an inferior + species. When he entertained work-people, he made them comfortable in + their own way; and peasants feel more comfortable when not invited to be + stared out of countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Lethbridge,” said Mr. Travers, “where is the young gladiator you + promised to bring?” + </p> + <p> + “I did bring him, and he was by my side not a minute ago. He has suddenly + given me the slip: ‘abiit, evasit, erupit.’ I was looking round for him in + vain when you accosted me.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope he has not seen some guest of mine whom he wants to fight.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not,” answered the Parson, doubtfully. “He’s a strange fellow. But + I think you will be pleased with him; that is, if he can be found. Oh, Mr. + Saunderson, how do you do? Have you seen your visitor?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, I have just come. My mistress, Squire, and my three girls; and + this is my son.” + </p> + <p> + “A hearty welcome to all,” said the graceful Squire; (turning to + Saunderson junior), “I suppose you are fond of dancing. Get yourself a + partner. We may as well open the ball.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir, but I never dance,” said Saunderson junior, with an air + of austere superiority to an amusement which the March of Intellect had + left behind. + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ll have less to regret when you are grown old. But the band is + striking up; we must adjourn to the marquee. George” (Mr. Belvoir, escaped + from Mr. Steen, had just made his appearance), “will you give your arm to + Cecilia, to whom I think you are engaged for the first quadrille?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” said George to Cecilia, as they walked towards the marquee, + “that Mr. Steen is not an average specimen of the electors I shall have to + canvass. Whether he has been brought up to honour his own father and + mother I can’t pretend to say, but he seems bent upon teaching me not to + honour mine. Having taken away my father’s moral character upon the + unfounded allegation that he loved rabbits better than mankind, he then + assailed my innocent mother on the score of religion, and inquired when + she was going over to the Church of Rome, basing that inquiry on the + assertion that she had taken away her custom from a Protestant grocer and + conferred it on a Papist.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are favourable signs, Mr. Belvoir. Mr. Steen always prefaces a + kindness by a great deal of incivility. I asked him once to lend me a + pony, my own being suddenly taken lame, and he seized that opportunity to + tell me that my father was an impostor in pretending to be a judge of + cattle; that he was a tyrant, screwing his tenants in order to indulge + extravagant habits of hospitality; and implied that it would be a great + mercy if we did not live to apply to him, not for a pony, but for + parochial relief. I went away indignant. But he sent me the pony. I am + sure he will give you his vote.” + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile,” said George, with a timid attempt at gallantry, as they now + commenced the quadrille, “I take encouragement from the belief that I have + the good wishes of Miss Travers. If ladies had votes, as Mr. Mill + recommends, why, then—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, I should vote as Papa does,” said Miss Travers, simply. “And + if women had votes, I suspect there would be very little peace in any + household where they did not vote as the man at the head of it wished + them.” + </p> + <p> + “But I believe, after all,” said the aspirant to Parliament, seriously, + “that the advocates for female suffrage would limit it to women + independent of masculine control, widows and spinsters voting in right of + their own independent tenements.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said Cecilia, “I suppose they would still generally go by + the opinion of some man they relied on, or make a very silly choice if + they did not.” + </p> + <p> + “You underrate the good sense of your sex.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not. Do you underrate the good sense of yours, if, in far more + than half the things appertaining to daily life, the wisest men say, + ‘Better leave <i>them</i> to the <i>women</i>’? But you’re forgetting the + figure, <i>cavalier seul</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said George, in another interval of the dance, “do you know + a Mr. Chillingly, the son of Sir Peter, of Exmundham, in Westshire?” + </p> + <p> + “No; why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I thought I caught a glimpse of his face: it was just as Mr. + Steen was bearing me away down that plantation. From what you say, I must + suppose I was mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Chillingly! But surely some persons were talking yesterday at dinner + about a young gentleman of that name as being likely to stand for + Westshire at the next election, but who had made a very unpopular and + eccentric speech on the occasion of his coming of age.” + </p> + <p> + “The same man: I was at college with him,—a very singular character. + He was thought clever; won a prize or two; took a good degree: but it was + generally said that he would have deserved a much higher one if some of + his papers had not contained covert jests either on the subject or the + examiners. It is a dangerous thing to set up as a humourist in practical + life,—especially public life. They say Mr. Pitt had naturally a + great deal of wit and humour, but he wisely suppressed any evidence of + those qualities in his Parliamentary speeches. Just like Chillingly, to + turn into ridicule the important event of festivities in honour of his + coming of age,—an occasion that can never occur again in the whole + course of his life.” + </p> + <p> + “It was bad taste,” said Cecilia, “if intentional. But perhaps he was + misunderstood, or taken by surprise.” + </p> + <p> + “Misunderstood,—possibly; but taken by surprise,—no. The + coolest fellow I ever met. Not that I have met him very often. Latterly, + indeed, at Cambridge he lived much alone. It was said that he read hard. I + doubt that; for my rooms were just over his, and I know that he was much + more frequently out of doors than in. He rambled a good deal about the + country on foot. I have seen him in by-lanes a dozen miles distant from + the town when I have been riding back from the hunt. He was fond of the + water, and pulled a mighty strong oar, but declined to belong to our + University crew; yet if ever there was a fight between undergraduates and + bargemen, he was sure to be in the midst of it. Yes, a very great oddity + indeed, full of contradictions, for a milder, quieter fellow in general + intercourse you could not see; and as for the jests of which he was + accused in his examination papers, his very face should have acquitted him + of the charge before any impartial jury of his countrymen.” + </p> + <p> + “You sketch quite an interesting picture of him,” said Cecilia. “I wish we + did know him: he would be worth seeing.” + </p> + <p> + “And, once seen, you would not easily forget him,—a dark, handsome + face, with large melancholy eyes, and with one of those spare slender + figures which enable a man to disguise his strength, as a fraudulent + billiard-player disguises his play.” + </p> + <p> + The dance had ceased during this conversation, and the speakers were now + walking slowly to and fro the lawn amid the general crowd. + </p> + <p> + “How well your father plays the part of host to these rural folks!” said + George, with a secret envy. “Do observe how quietly he puts that shy young + farmer at his ease, and now how kindly he deposits that lame old lady on + the bench, and places the stool under her feet. What a canvasser he would + be! and how young he still looks, and how monstrous handsome!” + </p> + <p> + This last compliment was uttered as Travers, having made the old lady + comfortable, had joined the three Miss Saundersons, dividing his pleasant + smile equally between them; and seemingly unconscious of the admiring + glances which many another rural beauty directed towards him as he passed + along. About the man there was a certain indescribable elegance, a natural + suavity free from all that affectation, whether of forced heartiness or + condescending civility, which too often characterizes the well-meant + efforts of provincial magnates to accommodate themselves to persons of + inferior station and breeding. It is a great advantage to a man to have + passed his early youth in that most equal and most polished of all + democracies,—the best society of large capitals. And to such + acquired advantage Leopold Travers added the inborn qualities that please. + </p> + <p> + Later in the evening Travers, again accosting Mr. Lethbridge, said, “I + have been talking much to the Saundersons about that young man who did us + the inestimable service of punishing your ferocious parishioner, Tom + Bowles; and all I hear so confirms the interest your own account inspired + me with that I should really like much to make his acquaintance. Has not + he turned up yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I fear he must have gone. But in that case I hope you will take his + generous desire to serve my poor basket-maker into benevolent + consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not press me; I feel so reluctant to refuse any request of yours. But + I have my own theory as to the management of an estate, and my system does + not allow of favour. I should wish to explain that to the young stranger + himself; for I hold courage in such honour that I do not like a brave man + to leave these parts with an impression that Leopold Travers is an + ungracious churl. However, he may not have gone. I will go and look for + him myself. Just tell Cecilia that she has danced enough with the gentry, + and that I have told Farmer Turby’s son, a fine young fellow and a capital + rider across country, that I expect him to show my daughter that he can + dance as well as he rides.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + QUITTING Mr. Lethbridge, Travers turned with quick step towards the more + solitary part of the grounds. He did not find the object of his search in + the walks of the plantation; and, on taking the circuit of his demesne, + wound his way back towards the lawn through a sequestered rocky hollow in + the rear of the marquee, which had been devoted to a fernery. Here he came + to a sudden pause; for, seated a few yards before him on a gray crag, and + the moonlight full on his face, he saw a solitary man, looking upwards + with a still and mournful gaze, evidently absorbed in abstract + contemplation. + </p> + <p> + Recalling the description of the stranger which he had heard from Mr. + Lethbridge and the Saundersons, Mr. Travers felt sure that he had come on + him at last. He approached gently; and, being much concealed by the tall + ferns, Kenelm (for that itinerant it was) did not see him advance, until + he felt a hand on his shoulder, and, turning round, beheld a winning smile + and heard a pleasant voice. + </p> + <p> + “I think I am not mistaken,” said Leopold Travers, “in assuming you to be + the gentleman whom Mr. Lethbridge promised to introduce to me, and who is + staying with my tenant, Mr. Saunderson?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm rose and bowed. Travers saw at once that it was the bow of a man in + his own world, and not in keeping with the Sunday costume of a petty + farmer. “Nay,” said he, “let us talk seated;” and placing himself on the + crag, he made room for Kenelm beside him. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place,” resumed Travers, “I must thank you for having done a + public service in putting down the brute force which has long tyrannized + over the neighbourhood. Often in my young days I have felt the + disadvantage of height and sinews, whenever it would have been a great + convenience to terminate dispute or chastise insolence by a resort to + man’s primitive weapons; but I never more lamented my physical inferiority + than on certain occasions when I would have given my ears to be able to + thrash Tom Bowles myself. It has been as great a disgrace to my estate + that that bully should so long have infested it as it is to the King of + Italy not to be able with all his armies to put down a brigand in + Calabria.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Mr. Travers, but I am one of those rare persons who do not + like to hear ill of their friends. Mr. Thomas Bowles is a particular + friend of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” cried Travers, aghast. “‘Friend!’ you are joking. + </p> + <p> + “You would not accuse me of joking if you knew me better. But surely you + have felt that there are few friends one likes more cordially, and ought + to respect more heedfully, than the enemy with whom one has just made it + up.” + </p> + <p> + “You say well, and I accept the rebuke,” said Travers, more and more + surprised. “And I certainly have less right to abuse Mr. Bowles than you + have, since I had not the courage to fight him. To turn to another subject + less provocative. Mr. Lethbridge has told me of your amiable desire to + serve two of his young parishioners, Will Somers and Jessie Wiles, and of + your generous offer to pay the money Mrs. Bawtrey demands for the transfer + of her lease. To that negotiation my consent is necessary, and that + consent I cannot give. Shall I tell you why?” + </p> + <p> + “Pray do. Your reasons may admit of argument.” + </p> + <p> + “Every reason admits of argument,” said Mr. Travers, amused at the calm + assurance of a youthful stranger in anticipating argument with a skilful + proprietor on the management of his own property. “I do not, however, tell + you my reasons for the sake of argument, but in vindication of my seeming + want of courtesy towards yourself. I have had a very hard and a very + difficult task to perform in bringing the rental of my estate up to its + proper value. In doing so, I have been compelled to adopt one uniform + system, equally applied to my largest and my pettiest holdings. That + system consists in securing the best and safest tenants I can, at the + rents computed by a valuer in whom I have confidence. To this system, + universally adopted on my estate, though it incurred much unpopularity at + first, I have at length succeeded in reconciling the public opinion of my + neighbourhood. People began by saying I was hard; they now acknowledge I + am just. If I once give way to favour or sentiment, I unhinge my whole + system. Every day I am subjected to moving solicitations. Lord Twostars, a + keen politician, begs me to give a vacant farm to a tenant because he is + an excellent canvasser, and has always voted straight with the party. Mrs. + Fourstars, a most benevolent woman, entreats me not to dismiss another + tenant, because he is in distressed circumstances and has a large family; + very good reasons perhaps for my excusing him an arrear, or allowing him a + retiring pension, but the worst reasons in the world for letting him + continue to ruin himself and my land. Now, Mrs. Bawtrey has a small + holding on lease at the inadequate rent of L8 a year. She asks L45 for its + transfer, but she can’t transfer the lease without my consent; and I can + get L12 a year as a moderate rental from a large choice of competent + tenants. It will better answer me to pay her the L45 myself, which I have + no doubt the incoming tenant would pay me back, at least in part; and if + he did not, the additional rent would be good interest for my expenditure. + Now, you happen to take a sentimental interest, as you pass through the + village, in the loves of a needy cripple whose utmost industry has but + served to save himself from parish relief, and a giddy girl without a + sixpence, and you ask me to accept these very equivocal tenants instead of + substantial ones, and at a rent one-third less than the market value. + Suppose that I yielded to your request, what becomes of my reputation for + practical, business-like justice? I shall have made an inroad into the + system by which my whole estate is managed, and have invited all manner of + solicitations on the part of friends and neighbours, which I could no + longer consistently refuse, having shown how easily I can be persuaded + into compliance by a stranger whom I may never see again. And are you + sure, after all, that, if you did prevail on me, you would do the + individual good you aim at? It is, no doubt, very pleasant to think one + has made a young couple happy. But if that young couple fail in keeping + the little shop to which you would transplant them (and nothing more + likely: peasants seldom become good shopkeepers), and find themselves, + with a family of children, dependent solely, not on the arm of a strong + labourer, but the ten fingers of a sickly cripple, who makes clever + baskets, for which there is but slight and precarious demand in the + neighbourhood, may you not have insured the misery of the couple you + wished to render happy?” + </p> + <p> + “I withdraw all argument,” said Kenelm, with an aspect so humiliated and + dejected, that it would have softened a Greenland bear, or a Counsel for + the Prosecution. “I am more and more convinced that of all the shams in + the world that of benevolence is the greatest. It seems so easy to do + good, and it is so difficult to do it. Everywhere, in this hateful + civilized life, one runs one’s head against a system. A system, Mr. + Travers, is man’s servile imitation of the blind tyranny of what in our + ignorance we call ‘Natural Laws,’ a mechanical something through which the + world is ruled by the cruelty of General Principles, to the utter + disregard of individual welfare. By Natural Laws creatures prey on each + other, and big fishes eat little ones upon system. It is, nevertheless, a + hard thing for the little fish. Every nation, every town, every hamlet, + every occupation, has a system, by which, somehow or other, the pond + swarms with fishes, of which a great many inferiors contribute to increase + the size of a superior. It is an idle benevolence to keep one solitary + gudgeon out of the jaws of a pike. Here am I doing what I thought the + simplest thing in the world, asking a gentleman, evidently as good-natured + as myself, to allow an old woman to let her premises to a deserving young + couple, and paying what she asks for it out of my own money. And I find + that I am running against a system, and invading all the laws by which a + rental is increased and an estate improved. Mr. Travers, you have no cause + for regret in not having beaten Tom Bowles. You have beaten his victor, + and I now give up all dream of further interference with the Natural Laws + that govern the village which I have visited in vain. I had meant to + remove Tom Bowles from that quiet community. I shall now leave him to + return to his former habits,—to marry Jessie Wiles, which he + certainly will do, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold!” cried Mr. Travers. “Do you mean to say that you can induce Tom + Bowles to leave the village?” + </p> + <p> + “I had induced him to do it, provided Jessie Wiles married the + basket-maker; but, as that is out of the question, I am bound to tell him + so, and he will stay.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he left, what would become of his business? His mother could not + keep it on; his little place is a freehold; the only house in the village + that does not belong to me, or I should have ejected him long ago. Would + he sell the premises to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if he stays and marries Jessie Wiles. But if he goes with me to + Luscombe and settles in that town as a partner to his uncle, I suppose he + would be too glad to sell a house of which he can have no pleasant + recollections. But what then? You cannot violate your system for the sake + of a miserable forge.” + </p> + <p> + “It would not violate my system if, instead of yielding to a sentiment, I + gained an advantage; and, to say truth, I should be very glad to buy that + forge and the fields that go with it.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis your affair now, not mine, Mr. Travers. I no longer presume to + interfere. I leave the neighbourhood to-morrow: see if you can negotiate + with Mr. Bowles. I have the honour to wish you a good evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, young gentleman, I cannot allow you to quit me thus. You have + declined apparently to join the dancers, but you will at least join the + supper. Come!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you sincerely, no. I came here merely on the business which your + system has settled.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am not sure that it is settled.” Here Mr. Travers wound his arm + within Kenelm’s, and looking him full in the face, said, “I know that I am + speaking to a gentleman at least equal in rank to myself, but as I enjoy + the melancholy privilege of being the older man, do not think I take an + unwarrantable liberty in asking if you object to tell me your name. I + should like to introduce you to my daughter, who is very partial to Jessie + Wiles and to Will Somers. But I can’t venture to inflame her imagination + by designating you as a prince in disguise.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Travers, you express yourself with exquisite delicacy. But I am just + starting in life, and I shrink from mortifying my father by associating my + name with a signal failure. Suppose I were an anonymous contributor, say, + to ‘The Londoner,’ and I had just brought that highly intellectual journal + into discredit by a feeble attempt at a good-natured criticism or a + generous sentiment, would that be the fitting occasion to throw off the + mask, and parade myself to a mocking world as the imbecile violator of an + established system? Should I not, in a moment so untoward, more than ever + desire to merge my insignificant unit in the mysterious importance which + the smallest Singular obtains when he makes himself a Plural, and speaks + not as ‘I,’ but as ‘We’? <i>We</i> are insensible to the charm of young + ladies; <i>We</i> are not bribed by suppers; <i>We</i>, like the witches + of ‘Macbeth,’ have no name on earth; <i>We</i> are the greatest wisdom of + the greatest number; <i>We</i> are so upon system; <i>We</i> salute you, + Mr. Travers, and depart unassailable.” + </p> + <p> + Here Kenelm rose, doffed and replaced his hat in majestic salutation, + turned towards the entrance of the fernery, and found himself suddenly + face to face with George Belvoir, behind whom followed, with a throng of + guests, the fair form of Cecilia. George Belvoir caught Kenelm by the + hand, and exclaimed, “Chillingly! I thought I could not be mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Chillingly!” echoed Leopold Travers from behind. “Are you the son of my + old friend Sir Peter?” + </p> + <p> + Thus discovered and environed, Kenelm did not lose his wonted presence of + mind; he turned round to Leopold Travers, who was now close in his rear, + and whispered, “If my father was your friend, do not disgrace his son. Do + not say I am a failure. Deviate from your system, and let Will Somers + succeed Mrs. Bawtrey.” Then reverting his face to Mr. Belvoir, he said + tranquilly, “Yes; we have met before.” + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia,” said Travers, now interposing, “I am happy to introduce to you + as Mr. Chillingly, not only the son of an old friend of mine, not only the + knight-errant of whose gallant conduct on behalf of your protegee Jessie + Wiles we have heard so much, but the eloquent arguer who has conquered my + better judgment in a matter on which I thought myself infallible. Tell Mr. + Lethbridge that I accept Will Somers as a tenant for Mrs. Bawtrey’s + premises.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm grasped the Squire’s hand cordially. “May it be in my power to do a + kind thing to you, in spite of any system to the contrary!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Chillingly, give your arm to my daughter. You will not now object to + join the dancers?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + CECILIA stole a shy glance at Kenelm as the two emerged from the fernery + into the open space of the lawn. His countenance pleased her. She thought + she discovered much latent gentleness under the cold and mournful gravity + of its expression; and, attributing the silence he maintained to some + painful sense of an awkward position in the abrupt betrayal of his + incognito, sought with womanly tact to dispel his supposed embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “You have chosen a delightful mode of seeing the country this lovely + summer weather, Mr. Chillingly. I believe such pedestrian exercises are + very common with university students during the long vacation.” + </p> + <p> + “Very common, though they generally wander in packs like wild dogs or + Australian dingoes. It is only a tame dog that one finds on the road + travelling by himself; and then, unless he behaves very quietly, it is ten + to one that he is stoned as a mad dog.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am afraid, from what I hear, that you have not been travelling very + quietly.” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right, Miss Travers, and I am a sad dog if not a mad one. + But pardon me: we are nearing the marquee; the band is striking up, and, + alas! I am not a dancing dog.” + </p> + <p> + He released Cecilia’s arm, and bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Let us sit here a while, then,” said she, motioning to a garden-bench. “I + have no engagement for the next dance, and, as I am a little tired, I + shall be glad of a reprieve.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm sighed, and, with the air of a martyr stretching himself on the + rack, took his place beside the fairest girl in the county. + </p> + <p> + “You were at college with Mr. Belvoir?” + </p> + <p> + “I was.” + </p> + <p> + “He was thought clever there?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not a doubt of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You know he is canvassing our county for the next election. My father + takes a warm interest in his success, and thinks he will be a useful + member of Parliament.” + </p> + <p> + “Of that I am certain. For the first five years he will be called pushing, + noisy, and conceited, much sneered at by men of his own age, and coughed + down on great occasions; for the five following years he will be + considered a sensible man in committees, and a necessary feature in + debate; at the end of those years he will be an under-secretary; in five + years more he will be a Cabinet Minister, and the representative of an + important section of opinions; he will be an irreproachable private + character, and his wife will be seen wearing the family diamonds at all + the great parties. She will take an interest in politics and theology; and + if she die before him, her husband will show his sense of wedded happiness + by choosing another lady, equally fitted to wear the family diamonds and + to maintain the family consequences.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of her laughter, Cecilia felt a certain awe at the solemnity of + voice and manner with which Kenelm delivered these oracular sentences, and + the whole prediction seemed strangely in unison with her own impressions + of the character whose fate was thus shadowed out. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a fortune-teller, Mr. Chillingly?” she asked, falteringly, and + after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “As good a one as any whose hand you could cross with a shilling.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me my fortune?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I never tell the fortunes of ladies, because your sex is credulous, + and a lady might believe what I tell her. And when we believe such and + such is to be our fate, we are too apt to work out our life into the + verification of the belief. If Lady Macbeth had disbelieved in the + witches, she would never have persuaded her lord to murder Duncan.” + </p> + <p> + “But can you not predict me a more cheerful fortune than that tragical + illustration of yours seems to threaten?” + </p> + <p> + “The future is never cheerful to those who look on the dark side of the + question. Mr. Gray is too good a poet for people to read nowadays, + otherwise I should refer you to his lines in the ‘Ode to Eton College,’— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘See how all around us wait + The ministers of human fate, + And black Misfortune’s baleful train.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Meanwhile it is something to enjoy the present. We are young; we are + listening to music; there is no cloud over the summer stars; our + conscience is clear; our hearts untroubled: why look forward in search of + happiness? shall we ever be happier than we are at this moment?” + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Travers came up. “We are going to supper in a few minutes,” said + he; “and before we lose sight of each other, Mr. Chillingly, I wish to + impress on you the moral fact that one good turn deserves another. I have + yielded to your wish, and now you must yield to mine. Come and stay a few + days with me, and see your benevolent intentions carried out.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm paused. Now that he was discovered, why should he not pass a few + days among his equals? Realities or shams might be studied with squires no + less than with farmers; besides, he had taken a liking to Travers. That + graceful <i>ci-devant</i> Wildair, with the slight form and the delicate + face, was unlike rural squires in general. Kenelm paused, and then said + frankly,— + </p> + <p> + “I accept your invitation. Would the middle of next week suit you?” + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better. Why not to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow I am pre-engaged to an excursion with Mr. Bowles. That may + occupy two or three days, and meanwhile I must write home for other + garments than those in which I am a sham.” + </p> + <p> + “Come any day you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed; and, hark! the supper-bell.” + </p> + <p> + “Supper,” said Kenelm, offering his arm to Miss Travers,—“supper is + a word truly interesting, truly poetical. It associates itself with the + entertainments of the ancients, with the Augustan age, with Horace and + Maecenas; with the only elegant but too fleeting period of the modern + world; with the nobles and wits of Paris, when Paris had wits and nobles; + with Moliere and the warm-hearted Duke who is said to have been the + original of Moliere’s Misanthrope; with Madame de Sevigne and the Racine + whom that inimitable letter-writer denied to be a poet; with Swift and + Bolingbroke; with Johnson, Goldsmith, and Garrick. Epochs are signalized + by their eatings. I honour him who revives the Golden Age of suppers.” So + saying, his face brightened. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM CHILLINGLY, ESQ., TO SIR PETER CHILLINGLY, BART., ETC. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR FATHER,—I am alive and unmarried. Providence has watched + over me in these respects; but I have had narrow escapes. Hitherto I have + not acquired much worldly wisdom in my travels. It is true that I have + been paid two shillings as a day labourer, and, in fact, have fairly + earned at least six shillings more; but against that additional claim I + generously set off, as an equivalent, my board and lodging. On the other + hand, I have spent forty-five pounds out of the fifty which I devoted to + the purchase of experience. But I hope you will be a gainer by that + investment. Send an order to Mr. William Somers, basket-maker, Graveleigh, + ——-shire, for the hampers and game-baskets you require, and I + undertake to say that you will save twenty per cent on that article (all + expenses of carriage deducted) and do a good action into the bargain. You + know, from long habit, what a good action is worth better than I do. I + dare say you will be more pleased to learn than I am to record the fact + that I have been again decoyed into the society of ladies and gentlemen, + and have accepted an invitation to pass a few days at Neesdale Park with + Mr. Travers,—christened Leopold, who calls you “his old friend,”—a + term which I take for granted belongs to that class of poetic exaggeration + in which the “dears” and “darlings” of conjugal intercourse may be + categorized. Having for that visit no suitable garments in my knapsack, + kindly tell Jenkes to forward me a portmanteau full of those which I + habitually wore as Kenelm Chillingly, directed to me at “Neesdale Park, + near Beaverston.” Let me find it there on Wednesday. + </p> + <p> + I leave this place to-morrow morning in company with a friend of the name + of Bowles: no relation to the reverend gentleman of that name who held the + doctrine that a poet should bore us to death with fiddle-faddle minutia of + natural objects in preference to that study of the insignificant creature + Man, in his relations to his species, to which Mr. Pope limited the range + of his inferior muse; and who, practising as he preached, wrote some very + nice verses, to which the Lake school and its successors are largely + indebted. My Mr. Bowles has exercised his faculty upon Man, and has a + powerful inborn gift in that line which only requires cultivation to + render him a match for any one. His more masculine nature is at present + much obscured by that passing cloud which, in conventional language, is + called “a hopeless attachment.” But I trust, in the course of our + excursion, which is to be taken on foot, that this vapour may consolidate + by motion, as some old-fashioned astronomers held that the nebula does + consolidate into a matter-of-fact world. Is it Rochefoucauld who says that + a man is never more likely to form a hopeful attachment for one than when + his heart is softened by a hopeless attachment to another? May it be long, + my dear father, before you condole with me on the first or congratulate me + on the second. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Your affectionate son, + + KENELM. +</pre> + <p> + Direct to me at Mr. Travers’s. Kindest love to my mother. + </p> + <p> + The answer to this letter is here subjoined as the most convenient place + for its insertion, though of course it was not received till some days + after the date of my next chapter. + </p> + <p> + SIR PETER CHILLINGLY, BART., TO KENELM CHILLINGLY, ESQ. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR Boy,—With this I despatch the portmanteau you require to the + address that you give. I remember well Leopold Travers when he was in the + Guards,—a very handsome and a very wild young fellow. But he had + much more sense than people gave him credit for, and frequented + intellectual society; at least I met him very often at my friend + Campion’s, whose house was then the favourite rendezvous of distinguished + persons. He had very winning manners, and one could not help taking an + interest in him. I was very glad when I heard he had married and reformed. + Here I beg to observe that a man who contracts a taste for low company may + indeed often marry, but he seldom reforms when he does so. And, on the + whole, I should be much pleased to hear that the experience which has cost + you forty-five pounds had convinced you that you might be better employed + than earning two, or even six shillings as a day-labourer. + </p> + <p> + I have not given your love to your mother, as you requested. In fact, you + have placed me in a very false position towards that other author of your + eccentric being. I could only guard you from the inquisition of the police + and the notoriety of descriptive hand-bills by allowing my lady to suppose + that you had gone abroad with the Duke of Clairville and his family. It is + easy to tell a fib, but it is very difficult to untell it. However, as + soon as you have made up your mind to resume your normal position among + ladies and gentlemen, I should be greatly obliged if you would apprise me. + I don’t wish to keep a fib on my conscience a day longer than may be + necessary to prevent the necessity of telling another. + </p> + <p> + From what you say of Mr. Bowles’s study of Man, and his inborn talent for + that scientific investigation, I suppose that he is a professed + Metaphysician, and I should be glad of his candid opinion upon the Primary + Basis of Morals, a subject upon which I have for three years meditated the + consideration of a critical paper. But having lately read a controversy + thereon between two eminent philosophers, in which each accuses the other + of not understanding him, I have resolved for the present to leave the + Basis in its unsettled condition. + </p> + <p> + You rather alarm me when you say you have had a narrow escape from + marriage. Should you, in order to increase the experience you set out to + acquire, decide on trying the effect of a Mrs. Chillingly upon your + nervous system, it would be well to let me know a little beforehand, so + that I might prepare your mother’s mind for that event. Such household + trifles are within her special province; and she would be much put out if + a Mrs. Chillingly dropped on her unawares. + </p> + <p> + This subject, however, is too serious to admit of a jest even between two + persons who understand, so well as you and I do, the secret cipher by + which each other’s outward style of jest is to be gravely interpreted into + the irony which says one thing and means another. My dear boy, you are + very young; you are wandering about in a very strange manner, and may, no + doubt, meet with many a pretty face by the way, with which you may fancy + that you fall in love. You cannot think me a barbarous, tyrant if I ask + you to promise me, on your honour, that you will not propose to any young + lady before you come first to me and submit the case to my examination and + approval. You know me too well to suppose that I should unreasonably + withhold my consent if convinced that your happiness was at stake. But + while what a young man may fancy to be love is often a trivial incident in + his life, marriage is the greatest event in it; if on one side it may + involve his happiness, on the other side it may insure his misery. + Dearest, best, and oddest of sons, give me the promise I ask, and you will + free my breast from a terribly anxious thought which now sits on it like a + nightmare. + </p> + <p> + Your recommendation of a basket-maker comes opportunely. All such matters + go through the bailiff’s hands, and it was but the other day that Green + was complaining of the high prices of the man he employed for hampers and + game-baskets. Green shall write to your protege. + </p> + <p> + Keep me informed of your proceedings as much as your anomalous character + will permit; so that nothing may diminish my confidence that the man who + had the honour to be christened Kenelm will not disgrace his name, but + acquire the distinction denied to a Peter. + </p> + <p> + Your affectionate father. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + VILLAGERS lie abed on Sundays later than on workdays, and no shutter was + unclosed in a window of the rural street through which Kenelm Chillingly + and Tom Bowles went, side by side, in the still soft air of the Sabbath + morn. Side by side they went on, crossing the pastoral glebe-lands, where + the kine still drowsily reclined under the bowery shade of glinting + chestnut leaves; and diving thence into a narrow lane or by-road, winding + deep between lofty banks all tangled with convolvulus and wild-rose and + honeysuckle. + </p> + <p> + They walked in silence, for Kenelm, after one or two vain attempts at + conversation, had the tact to discover that his companion was in no mood + for talk; and being himself one of those creatures whose minds glide + easily into the dreamy monologue of revery, he was not displeased to muse + on undisturbed, drinking quietly into his heart the subdued joy of the + summer morn, with the freshness of its sparkling dews, the wayward carol + of its earliest birds, the serene quietude of its limpid breezy air. Only + when they came to fresh turnings in the road that led towards the town to + which they were bound, Tom Bowles stepped before his companion, indicating + the way by a monosyllable or a gesture. Thus they journeyed for hours, + till the sun attained power, and a little wayside inn near a hamlet + invited Kenelm to the thought of rest and food. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said he then, rousing from his revery, “what do you say to + breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + Answered Tom sullenly, “I am not hungry; but as you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, then we will stop here a while. I find it difficult to believe + that you are not hungry, for you are very strong, and there are two things + which generally accompany great physical strength: the one is a keen + appetite; the other is—though you may not suppose it, and it is not + commonly known—a melancholic temperament.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh!—a what?” + </p> + <p> + “A tendency to melancholy. Of course you have heard of Hercules: you know + the saying ‘as strong as Hercules’?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I was first led to the connection between strength, appetite, and + melancholy, by reading in an old author named Plutarch that Hercules was + among the most notable instances of melancholy temperament which the + author was enabled to quote. That must have been the traditional notion of + the Herculean constitution; and as for appetite, the appetite of Hercules + was a standard joke of the comic writers. When I read that observation it + set me thinking, being myself melancholic and having an exceedingly good + appetite. Sure enough, when I began to collect evidence, I found that the + strongest men with whom I made acquaintance, including prize-fighters and + Irish draymen, were disposed to look upon life more on the shady than the + sunny side of the way; in short, they were melancholic. But the kindness + of Providence allowed them to enjoy their meals, as you and I are about to + do.” In the utterance of this extraordinary crotchet Kenelm had halted his + steps; but now striding briskly forward he entered the little inn, and + after a glance at its larder, ordered the whole contents to be brought out + and placed within a honeysuckle arbour which he spied in the angle of a + bowling-green at the rear of the house. + </p> + <p> + In addition to the ordinary condiments of loaf and butter and eggs and + milk and tea, the board soon groaned beneath the weight of pigeon-pie, + cold ribs of beef, and shoulder of mutton, remains of a feast which the + members of a monthly rustic club had held there the day before. Tom ate + little at first; but example is contagious, and gradually he vied with his + companion in the diminution of the solid viands before him. Then he called + for brandy. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Kenelm. “No, Tom; you have promised me friendship, and that is + not compatible with brandy. Brandy is the worst enemy a man like you can + have; and would make you quarrel even with me. If you want a stimulus I + allow you a pipe. I don’t smoke myself, as a rule, but there have been + times in my life when I required soothing, and then I have felt that a + whiff of tobacco stills and softens one like the kiss of a little child. + Bring this gentleman a pipe.” + </p> + <p> + Tom grunted, but took to the pipe kindly, and in a few minutes, during + which Kenelm left him in silence, a lowering furrow between his brows + smoothed itself away. + </p> + <p> + Gradually he felt the sweetening influences of the day and the place, of + the merry sunbeams at play amid the leaves of the arbour, of the frank + perfume of the honeysuckle, of the warble of the birds before they sank + into the taciturn repose of a summer noon. + </p> + <p> + It was with a reluctant sigh that he rose at last, when Kenelm said, “We + have yet far to go: we must push on.” + </p> + <p> + The landlady, indeed, had already given them a hint that she and the + family wanted to go to church, and to shut up the house in their absence. + Kenelm drew out his purse, but Tom did the same with a return of cloud on + his brow, and Kenelm saw that he would be mortally offended if suffered to + be treated as an inferior; so each paid his due share, and the two men + resumed their wandering. This time it was along a by-path amid fields, + which was a shorter cut than the lane they had previously followed, to the + main road to Luscombe. They walked slowly till they came to a rustic + foot-bridge which spanned a gloomy trout-stream, not noisy, but with a + low, sweet murmur, doubtless the same stream beside which, many miles + away, Kenelm had conversed with the minstrel. Just as they came to this + bridge there floated to their ears the distant sound of the hamlet + church-bell. + </p> + <p> + “Now let us sit here a while and listen,” said Kenelm, seating himself on + the baluster of the bridge. “I see that you brought away your pipe from + the inn, and provided yourself with tobacco: refill the pipe and listen.” + </p> + <p> + Tom half smiled and obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “O friend,” said Kenelm, earnestly, and after a long pause of thought, “do + you not feel what a blessed thing it is in this mortal life to be ever and + anon reminded that you have a soul?” + </p> + <p> + Tom, startled, withdrew the pipe from his lips, and muttered,— + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm continued,— + </p> + <p> + “You and I, Tom, are not so good as we ought to be: of that there is no + doubt; and good people would say justly that we should now be within yon + church itself rather than listening to its bell. Granted, my friend, + granted; but still it is something to hear that bell, and to feel by the + train of thought which began in our innocent childhood, when we said our + prayers at the knees of a mother, that we were lifted beyond this visible + Nature, beyond these fields and woods and waters, in which, fair though + they be, you and I miss something; in which neither you nor I are as happy + as the kine in the fields, as the birds on the bough, as the fishes in the + water: lifted to a consciousness of a sense vouchsafed to you and to me, + not vouchsafed to the kine, to the bird, and the fish,—a sense to + comprehend that Nature has a God, and Man has a life hereafter. The bell + says that to you and to me. Were that bell a thousand times more musical + it could not say that to beast, bird, and fish. Do you understand me, + Tom?” + </p> + <p> + Tom remains silent for a minute, and then replies, “I never thought of it + before; but, as you put it, I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Nature never gives to a living thing capacities not practically meant for + its benefit and use. If Nature gives to us capacities to believe that we + have a Creator whom we never saw, of whom we have no direct proof, who is + kind and good and tender beyond all that we know of kind and good and + tender on earth, it is because the endowment of capacities to conceive + such a Being must be for our benefit and use: it would not be for our + benefit and use if it were a lie. Again, if Nature has given to us a + capacity to receive the notion that we live again, no matter whether some + of us refuse so to believe, and argue against it,—why, the very + capacity to receive the idea (for unless we receive it we could not argue + against it) proves that it is for our benefit and use; and if there were + no such life hereafter, we should be governed and influenced, arrange our + modes of life, and mature our civilization, by obedience to a lie, which + Nature falsified herself in giving us the capacity to believe. You still + understand me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it bothers me a little, for you see I am not a parson’s man; but I + do understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my friend, study to apply,—for it requires constant study,—study + to apply that which you understand to your own case. You are something + more than Tom Bowles, the smith and doctor of horses; something more than + the magnificent animal who rages for his mate and fights every rival: the + bull does that. You are a soul endowed with the capacity to receive the + idea of a Creator so divinely wise and great and good that, though acting + by the agency of general laws, He can accommodate them to all individual + cases, so that—taking into account the life hereafter, which He + grants to you the capacity to believe—all that troubles you now will + be proved to you wise and great and good either in this life or the other. + Lay that truth to your heart, friend, now—before the bell stops + ringing; recall it every time you hear the church-bell ring again. And oh, + Tom, you have such a noble nature!—” + </p> + <p> + “I—I! don’t jeer me,—don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Such a noble nature; for you can love so passionately, you can war so + fiercely, and yet, when convinced that your love would be misery to her + you love, can resign it; and yet, when beaten in your war, can so forgive + your victor that you are walking in this solitude with him as a friend, + knowing that you have but to drop a foot behind him in order to take his + life in an unguarded moment; and rather than take his life, you would + defend it against an army. Do you think I am so dull as not to see all + that? and is not all that a noble nature?” + </p> + <p> + Tom Bowles covered his face with his hands, and his broad breast heaved. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, to that noble nature I now trust. I myself have done little + good in life. I may never do much; but let me think that I have not + crossed your life in vain for you and for those whom your life can colour + for good or for bad. As you are strong, be gentle; as you can love one, be + kind to all; as you have so much that is grand as Man,—that is, the + highest of God’s works on earth,—let all your acts attach your + manhood to the idea of Him, to whom the voice of the bell appeals. Ah! the + bell is hushed; but not your heart, Tom,—that speaks still.” + </p> + <p> + Tom was weeping like a child. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + NOW when our two travellers resumed their journey, the relationship + between them had undergone a change; nay, you might have said that their + characters were also changed. For Tom found himself pouring out his + turbulent heart to Kenelm, confiding to this philosophical scoffer at love + all the passionate humanities of love,—its hope, its anguish, its + jealousy, its wrath,—the all that links the gentlest of emotions to + tragedy and terror. And Kenelm, listening tenderly, with softened eyes, + uttered not one cynic word,—nay, not one playful jest. He, felt that + the gravity of all he heard was too solemn for mockery, too deep even for + comfort. True love of this sort was a thing he had never known, never + wished to know, never thought he could know, but he sympathized in it not + the less. Strange, indeed, how much we do sympathize, on the stage, for + instance, or in a book, with passions that have never agitated ourselves! + Had Kenelm jested or reasoned or preached, Tom would have shrunk at once + into dreary silence; but Kenelm said nothing, save now and then, as he + rested his arm, brother-like, on the strong man’s shoulder, he murmured, + “Poor fellow!” So, then, when Tom had finished his confessions, he felt + wondrously relieved and comforted. He had cleansed his bosom of the + perilous stuff that weighed upon the heart. + </p> + <p> + Was this good result effected by Kenelm’s artful diplomacy, or by that + insight into human passions vouchsafed unconsciously to himself, by gleams + or in flashes, to this strange man who surveyed the objects and pursuits + of his fellows with a yearning desire to share them, murmuring to himself, + “I cannot, I do not stand in this world; like a ghost I glide beside it, + and look on “? + </p> + <p> + Thus the two men continued their way slowly, amid soft pastures and + yellowing cornfields, out at length into the dusty thoroughfares of the + main road. That gained, their talk insensibly changed its tone: it became + more commonplace; and Kenelm permitted himself the license of those + crotchets by which he extracted a sort of quaint pleasantry out of + commonplace itself; so that from time to time Tom was startled into the + mirth of laughter. This big fellow had one very agreeable gift, which is + only granted, I think, to men of genuine character and affectionate + dispositions,—a spontaneous and sweet laugh, manly and frank, but + not boisterous, as you might have supposed it would be. But that sort of + laugh had not before come from his lips, since the day on which his love + for Jessie Wiles had made him at war with himself and the world. + </p> + <p> + The sun was setting when from the brow of a hill they beheld the spires of + Luscombe, imbedded amid the level meadows that stretched below, watered by + the same stream that had wound along their more rural pathway, but which + now expanded into stately width, and needed, to span it, a mighty bridge + fit for the convenience of civilized traffic. The town seemed near, but it + was full two miles off by road. + </p> + <p> + “There is a short cut across the fields beyond that stile, which leads + straight to my uncle’s house,” said Tom; “and I dare say, sir, that you + will be glad to escape the dirty suburb by which the road passes before we + get into the town.” + </p> + <p> + “A good thought, Tom. It is very odd that fine towns always are approached + by dirty suburbs; a covert symbolical satire, perhaps, on the ways to + success in fine towns. Avarice or ambition go through very mean little + streets before they gain the place which they jostle the crowd to win,—in + the Townhall or on ‘Change. Happy the man who, like you, Tom, finds that + there is a shorter and a cleaner and a pleasanter way to goal or to + resting-place than that through the dirty suburbs!” + </p> + <p> + They met but few passengers on their path through the fields,—a + respectable, staid, elderly couple, who had the air of a Dissenting + minister and his wife; a girl of fourteen leading a little boy seven years + younger by the hand; a pair of lovers, evidently lovers at least to the + eye of Tom Bowles; for, on regarding them as they passed unheeding him, he + winced, and his face changed. Even after they had passed, Kenelm saw on + the face that pain lingered there: the lips were tightly compressed, and + their corners gloomily drawn down. + </p> + <p> + Just at this moment a dog rushed towards them with a short quick bark,—a + Pomeranian dog with pointed nose and pricked ears. It hushed its bark as + it neared Kenelm, sniffed his trousers, and wagged its tail. + </p> + <p> + “By the sacred Nine,” cried Kenelm, “thou art the dog with the tin tray! + where is thy master?” + </p> + <p> + The dog seemed to understand the question, for it turned its head + significantly; and Kenelm saw, seated under a lime-tree, at a good + distance from the path, a man, with book in hand, evidently employed in + sketching. + </p> + <p> + “Come this way,” he said to Tom: “I recognize an acquaintance. You will + like him.” Tom desired no new acquaintance at that moment, but he followed + Kenelm submissively. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + “YOU see we are fated to meet again,” said Kenelm, stretching himself at + his ease beside the Wandering Minstrel, and motioning Tom to do the same. + “But you seem to add the accomplishment of drawing to that of + verse-making! You sketch from what you call Nature?” + </p> + <p> + “From what I call Nature! yes, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you not find in drawing, as in verse-making, the truth that I have + before sought to din into your reluctant ears; namely, that Nature has no + voice except that which man breathes into her out of his mind? I would lay + a wager that the sketch you are now taking is rather an attempt to make + her embody some thought of your own, than to present her outlines as they + appear to any other observer. Permit me to judge for myself.” And he bent + over the sketch-book. It is often difficult for one who is not himself an + artist nor a connoisseur to judge whether the pencilled jottings in an + impromptu sketch are by the hand of a professed master or a mere amateur. + Kenelm was neither artist nor connoisseur, but the mere pencil-work seemed + to him much what might be expected from any man with an accurate eye who + had taken a certain number of lessons from a good drawing-master. It was + enough for him, however, that it furnished an illustration of his own + theory. “I was right,” he cried triumphantly. “From this height there is a + beautiful view, as it presents itself to me; a beautiful view of the town, + its meadows, its river, harmonized by the sunset; for sunset, like + gilding, unites conflicting colours, and softens them in uniting. But I + see nothing of that view in your sketch. What I do see is to me + mysterious.” + </p> + <p> + “The view you suggest,” said the minstrel, “is no doubt very fine, but it + is for a Turner or a Claude to treat it. My grasp is not wide enough for + such a landscape.” + </p> + <p> + “I see indeed in your sketch but one figure, a child.” + </p> + <p> + “Hist! there she stands. Hist! while I put in this last touch.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm strained his sight, and saw far off a solitary little girl, who was + tossing something in the air (he could not distinguish what), and catching + it as it fell. She seemed standing on the very verge of the upland, backed + by rose-clouds gathered round the setting sun; below lay in confused + outlines the great town. In the sketch those outlines seemed infinitely + more confused, being only indicated by a few bold strokes; but the figure + and face of the child were distinct and lovely. There was an ineffable + sentiment in her solitude; there was a depth of quiet enjoyment in her + mirthful play, and in her upturned eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But at that distance,” asked Kenelm, when the wanderer had finished his + last touch, and, after contemplating it, silently closed his book, and + turned round with a genial smile, “but at that distance, how can you + distinguish the girl’s face? How can you discover that the dim object she + has just thrown up and recaught is a ball made of flowers? Do you know the + child?” + </p> + <p> + “I never saw her before this evening; but as I was seated here she was + straying around me alone, weaving into chains some wild-flowers which she + had gathered by the hedgerows yonder, next the high road; and as she + strung them she was chanting to herself some pretty nursery rhymes. You + can well understand that when I heard her thus chanting I became + interested, and as she came near me I spoke to her, and we soon made + friends. She told me she was an orphan, and brought up by a very old man + distantly related to her, who had been in some small trade and now lived + in a crowded lane in the heart of the town. He was very kind to her, and + being confined himself to the house by age or ailment he sent her out to + play in the fields on summer Sundays. She had no companions of her own + age. She said she did not like the other little girls in the lane; and the + only little girl she liked at school had a grander station in life, and + was not allowed to play with her, and so she came out to play alone; and + as long as the sun shines and the flowers bloom, she says she never wants + other society.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom, do you hear that? As you will be residing in Luscombe, find out this + strange little girl, and be kind to her, Tom, for my sake.” + </p> + <p> + Tom put his large hand upon Kenelm’s, making no other answer; but he + looked hard at the minstrel, recognized the genial charm of his voice and + face, and slid along the grass nearer to him. + </p> + <p> + The minstrel continued: “While the child was talking to me I mechanically + took the flower-chains from her hands, and not thinking what I was about, + gathered them up into a ball. Suddenly she saw what I had done, and + instead of scolding me for spoiling her pretty chains, which I richly + deserved, was delighted to find I had twisted them into a new plaything. + She ran off with the ball, tossing it about till, excited with her own + joy, she got to the brow of the hill, and I began my sketch.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that charming face you have drawn like hers?” + </p> + <p> + “No; only in part. I was thinking of another face while I sketched, but it + is not like that either; in fact, it is one of those patchworks which we + call ‘fancy heads,’ and I meant it to be another version of a thought that + I had just put into rhyme when the child came across me.” + </p> + <p> + “May we hear the rhyme?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear that if it did not bore yourself it would bore your friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure not. Tom, do you sing?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I <i>have</i> sung,” said Tom, hanging his head sheepishly, “and I + should like to hear this gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do not know these verses, just made, well enough to sing them; it + is enough if I can recall them well enough to recite.” Here the minstrel + paused a minute or so as if for recollection, and then, in the sweet clear + tones and the rare purity of enunciation which characterized his + utterance, whether in recital or song, gave to the following verses a + touching and a varied expression which no one could discover in merely + reading them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE FLOWER-GIRL BY THE CROSSING. + + “By the muddy crossing in the crowded streets + Stands a little maid with her basket full of posies, + Proffering all who pass her choice of knitted sweets, + Tempting Age with heart’s-ease, courting Youth with roses. + + “Age disdains the heart’s-ease, + Love rejects the roses; + London life is busy,— + Who can stop for posies? + + “One man is too grave, another is too gay; + This man has his hothouse, that man not a penny: + Flowerets too are common in the month of May, + And the things most common least attract the many. + + “Ill, on London crossings, + Fares the sale of posies; + Age disdains the heart’s-ease, + Youth rejects the roses.” + </pre> + <p> + When the verse-maker had done, he did not pause for approbation, nor look + modestly down, as do most people who recite their own verses, but + unaffectedly thinking much more of his art than his audience, hurried on + somewhat disconsolately,— + </p> + <p> + “I see with great grief that I am better at sketching than rhyming. Can + you” (appealing to Kenelm) “even comprehend what I mean by the verses?” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“Do you comprehend, Tom?” + </p> + <p> + TOM (in a whisper).—“No.” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“I presume that by his flower-girl our friend means to + represent not only poetry, but a poetry like his own, which is not at all + the sort of poetry now in fashion. I, however, expand his meaning, and by + his flower-girl I understand any image of natural truth or beauty for + which, when we are living the artificial life of crowded streets, we are + too busy to give a penny.” + </p> + <p> + “Take it as you please,” said the minstrel, smiling and sighing at the + same time; “but I have not expressed in words that which I did mean half + so well as I have expressed it in my sketch-book.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! and how?” asked Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “The image of my thought in the sketch, be it poetry or whatever you + prefer to call it, does not stand forlorn in the crowded streets: the + child stands on the brow of the green hill, with the city stretched in + confused fragments below, and, thoughtless of pennies and passers-by, she + is playing with the flowers she has gathered; but in play casting them + heavenward, and following them with heavenward eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” muttered Kenelm, “good!” and then, after a long pause, he added, + in a still lower mutter, “Pardon me that remark of mine the other day + about a beefsteak. But own that I am right: what you call a sketch from + Nature is but a sketch of your own thought.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + THE child with the flower-ball had vanished from the brow of the hill; + sinking down amid the streets below, the rose-clouds had faded from the + horizon; and night was closing round, as the three men entered the thick + of the town. Tom pressed Kenelm to accompany him to his uncle’s, promising + him a hearty welcome and bed and board, but Kenelm declined. He + entertained a strong persuasion that it would be better for the desired + effect on Tom’s mind that he should be left alone with his relations that + night, but proposed that they should spend the next day together, and + agreed to call at the veterinary surgeon’s in the morning. + </p> + <p> + When Tom quitted them at his uncle’s door, Kenelm said to the minstrel, “I + suppose you are going to some inn; may I accompany you? We can sup + together, and I should like to hear you talk upon poetry and Nature.” + </p> + <p> + “You flatter me much; but I have friends in the town, with whom I lodge, + and they are expecting me. Do you not observe that I have changed my + dress? I am not known here as the ‘Wandering Minstrel.’” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm glanced at the man’s attire, and for the first time observed the + change. It was still picturesque in its way, but it was such as gentlemen + of the highest rank frequently wear in the country,—the + knickerbocker costume,—very neat, very new, and complete, to the + square-toed shoes with their latchets and buckles. + </p> + <p> + “I fear,” said Kenelm, gravely, “that your change of dress betokens the + neighbourhood of those pretty girls of whom you spoke in an earlier + meeting. According to the Darwinian doctrine of selection, fine plumage + goes far in deciding the preference of Jenny Wren and her sex, only we are + told that fine-feathered birds are very seldom songsters as well. It is + rather unfair to rivals when you unite both attractions.” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel laughed. “There is but one girl in my friend’s house,—his + niece; she is very plain, and only thirteen. But to me the society of + women, whether ugly or pretty, is an absolute necessity; and I have been + trudging without it for so many days that I can scarcely tell you how my + thoughts seemed to shake off the dust of travel when I found myself again + in the presence of—” + </p> + <p> + “Petticoat interest,” interrupted Kenelm. “Take care of yourself. My poor + friend with whom you found me is a grave warning against petticoat + interest, from which I hope to profit. He is passing through a great + sorrow; it might have been worse than sorrow. My friend is going to stay + in this town. If you are staying here too, pray let him see something of + you. It will do him a wondrous good if you can beguile him from this real + life into the gardens of poetland; but do not sing or talk of love to + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I honour all lovers,” said the minstrel, with real tenderness in his + tone, “and would willingly serve to cheer or comfort your friend, if I + could; but I am bound elsewhere, and must leave Luscombe, which I visit on + business—money business—the day after to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “So, too, must I. At least give us both some hours of your time + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; from twelve to sunset I shall be roving about,—a mere + idler. If you will both come with me, it will be a great pleasure to + myself. Agreed! Well, then, I will call at your inn to-morrow at twelve; + and I recommend for your inn the one facing us,—The Golden Lamb. I + have heard it recommended for the attributes of civil people and good + fare.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm felt that he here received his <i>conge</i>, and well comprehended + the fact that the minstrel, desiring to preserve the secret of his name, + did not give the address of the family with whom he was a guest. + </p> + <p> + “But one word more,” said Kenelm. “Your host or hostess, if resident here, + can, no doubt, from your description of the little girl and the old man + her protector, learn the child’s address. If so, I should like my + companion to make friends with her. Petticoat interest there at least will + be innocent and safe. And I know nothing so likely to keep a big, + passionate heart like Tom’s, now aching with a horrible void, occupied and + softened, and turned to directions pure and gentle, as an affectionate + interest in a little child.” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel changed colour: he even started. “Sir, are you a wizard that + you say that to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a wizard, but I guess from your question that you have a little + child of your own. So much the better: the child may keep you out of much + mischief. Remember the little child. Good evening.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm crossed the threshold of The Golden Lamb, engaged his room, made + his ablutions, ordered, and, with his usual zest, partook of his evening + meal; and then, feeling the pressure of that melancholic temperament which + he so strangely associated with Herculean constitutions, roused himself + up, and, seeking a distraction from thought, sauntered forth into the + gaslit streets. + </p> + <p> + It was a large handsome town,—handsomer than Tor-Hadham, on account + of its site in a valley surrounded by wooded hills, and watered by the + fair stream whose windings we have seen as a brook,—handsomer, also, + because it boasted a fair cathedral, well cleared to the sight, and + surrounded by venerable old houses, the residences of the clergy or of the + quiet lay gentry with mediaeval tastes. The main street was thronged with + passengers,—some soberly returning home from the evening service; + some, the younger, lingering in pleasant promenade with their sweethearts + or families, or arm in arm with each other, and having the air of + bachelors or maidens unattached. Through this street Kenelm passed with + inattentive eye. A turn to the right took him towards the cathedral and + its surroundings. There all was solitary. The solitude pleased him, and he + lingered long, gazing on the noble church lifting its spires and turrets + into the deep blue starry air. + </p> + <p> + Musingly, then, he strayed on, entering a labyrinth of gloomy lanes, in + which, though the shops were closed, many a door stood open, with men of + the working class lolling against the threshold, idly smoking their pipes, + or women seated on the doorsteps gossiping, while noisy children were + playing or quarrelling in the kennel. The whole did not present the + indolent side of an English Sabbath in the pleasantest and rosiest point + of view. Somewhat quickening his steps, he entered a broader street, + attracted to it involuntarily by a bright light in the centre. On nearing + the light he found that it shone forth from a gin-palace, of which the + mahogany doors opened and shut momently as customers went in and out. It + was the handsomest building he had seen in his walk, next to that of the + cathedral. “The new civilization versus the old,” murmured Kenelm. As he + so murmured, a hand was laid on his arm with a sort of timid impudence. He + looked down and saw a young face, but it had survived the look of youth; + it was worn and hard, and the bloom on it was not that of Nature’s giving. + “Are you kind to-night?” asked a husky voice. + </p> + <p> + “Kind!” said Kenelm, with mournful tones and softened eyes, “kind! Alas, + my poor sister mortal! if pity be kindness, who can see you and not be + kind?” + </p> + <p> + The girl released his arm, and he walked on. She stood some moments gazing + after him till out of sight, then she drew her hand suddenly across her + eyes, and retracing her steps, was, in her turn, caught hold of by a + rougher hand than hers, as she passed the gin-palace. She shook off the + grasp with a passionate scorn, and went straight home. Home! is that the + right word? Poor sister mortal! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + AND now Kenelm found himself at the extremity of the town, and on the + banks of the river. Small squalid houses still lined the bank for some + way, till, nearing the bridge, they abruptly ceased, and he passed through + a broad square again into the main street. On the other side of the street + there was a row of villa-like mansions, with gardens stretching towards + the river. + </p> + <p> + All around in the thoroughfare was silent and deserted. By this time the + passengers had gone home. The scent of night-flowers from the + villa-gardens came sweet on the starlit air. Kenelm paused to inhale it, + and then lifting his eyes, hitherto downcast, as are the eyes of men in + meditative moods, he beheld, on the balcony of the nearest villa, a group + of well-dressed persons. The balcony was unusually wide and spacious. On + it was a small round table, on which were placed wine and fruits. Three + ladies were seated round the table on wire-work chairs, and on the side + nearest to Kenelm, one man. In that man, now slightly turning his profile, + as if to look towards the river, Kenelm recognized the minstrel. He was + still in his picturesque knickerbocker dress, and his clear-cut features, + with the clustering curls of hair, and Rubens-like hue and shape of beard, + had more than their usual beauty, softened in the light of skies, to which + the moon, just risen, added deeper and fuller radiance. The ladies were in + evening dress, but Kenelm could not distinguish their faces hidden behind + the minstrel. He moved softly across the street, and took his stand behind + a buttress in the low wall of the garden, from which he could have full + view of the balcony, unseen himself. In this watch he had no other object + than that of a vague pleasure. The whole grouping had in it a kind of + scenic romance, and he stopped as one stops before a picture. + </p> + <p> + He then saw that of the three ladies one was old; another was a slight + girl of the age of twelve or thirteen; the third appeared to be somewhere + about seven or eight and twenty. She was dressed with more elegance than + the others. On her neck, only partially veiled by a thin scarf, there was + the glitter of jewels; and, as she now turned her full face towards the + moon, Kenelm saw that she was very handsome,—a striking kind of + beauty, calculated to fascinate a poet or an artist,—not unlike + Raphael’s Fornarina, dark, with warm tints. + </p> + <p> + Now there appeared at the open window a stout, burly, middle-aged + gentleman, looking every inch of him a family man, a moneyed man, sleek + and prosperous. He was bald, fresh-coloured, and with light whiskers. + </p> + <p> + “Holloa,” he said, in an accent very slightly foreign, and with a loud + clear voice, which Kenelm heard distinctly, “is it not time for you to + come in?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be so tiresome, Fritz,” said the handsome lady, half petulantly, + half playfully, in the way ladies address the tiresome spouses they lord + it over. “Your friend has been sulking the whole evening, and is only just + beginning to be pleasant as the moon rises.” + </p> + <p> + “The moon has a good effect on poets and other mad folks, I dare say,” + said the bald man, with a good-humoured laugh. “But I can’t have my little + niece laid up again just as she is on the mend: Annie, come in.” + </p> + <p> + The girl obeyed reluctantly. The old lady rose too. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mother, you are wise,” said the bald man; “and a game at euchre is + safer than poetizing in night air.” He wound his arm round the old lady + with a careful fondness, for she moved with some difficulty as if rather + lame. “As for you two sentimentalists and moon-gazers, I give you ten + minutes’ time,—not more, mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Tyrant!” said the minstrel. + </p> + <p> + The balcony now held only two forms,—the minstrel and the handsome + lady. The window was closed, and partially veiled by muslin draperies, but + Kenelm caught glimpses of the room within. He could see that the room, lit + by a lamp on the centre table and candles elsewhere, was decorated and + fitted up with cost and in a taste not English. He could see, for + instance, that the ceiling was painted, and the walls were not papered, + but painted in panels between arabesque pilasters. + </p> + <p> + “They are foreigners,” thought Kenelm, “though the man does speak English + so well. That accounts for playing euchre of a Sunday evening, as if there + were no harm in it. Euchre is an American game. The man is called Fritz. + Ah! I guess—Germans who have lived a good deal in America; and the + verse-maker said he was at Luscombe on pecuniary business. Doubtless his + host is a merchant, and the verse-maker in some commercial firm. That + accounts for his concealment of name, and fear of its being known that he + was addicted in his holiday to tastes and habits so opposed to his + calling.” + </p> + <p> + While he was thus thinking, the lady had drawn her chair close to the + minstrel, and was speaking to him with evident earnestness, but in tones + too low for Kenelm to hear. Still it seemed to him, by her manner and by + the man’s look, as if she were speaking in some sort of reproach, which he + sought to deprecate. Then he spoke, also in a whisper, and she averted her + face for a moment; then she held out her hand, and the minstrel kissed it. + Certainly, thus seen, the two might well be taken for lovers; and the soft + night, the fragrance of the flowers, silence and solitude, stars and moon + light, all girt them as with an atmosphere of love. Presently the man rose + and leaned over the balcony, propping his cheek on his hand, and gazing on + the river. The lady rose too, and also leaned over the balustrade, her + dark hair almost touching the auburn locks of her companion. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm sighed. Was it from envy, from pity, from fear? I know not; but he + sighed. + </p> + <p> + After a brief pause, the lady said, still in low tones, but not too low + this time to escape Kenelm’s fine sense of hearing,— + </p> + <p> + “Tell me those verses again. I must remember every word of them when you + are gone.” + </p> + <p> + The man shook his head gently, and answered, but inaudibly. + </p> + <p> + “Do,” said the lady; “set them to music later; and the next time you come + I will sing them. I have thought of a title for them.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked the minstrel. + </p> + <p> + “Love’s quarrel.” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel turned his head, and their eyes met, and, in meeting, + lingered long. Then he moved away, and with face turned from her and + towards the river, gave the melody of his wondrous voice to the following + lines:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LOVE’S QUARREL. + + “Standing by the river, gazing on the river, + See it paved with starbeams,—heaven is at our feet; + Now the wave is troubled, now the rushes quiver; + Vanished is the starlight: it was a deceit. + + “Comes a little cloudlet ‘twixt ourselves and heaven, + And from all the river fades the silver track; + Put thine arms around me, whisper low, ‘Forgiven!’ + See how on the river starlight settles back.” + </pre> + <p> + When he had finished, still with face turned aside, the lady did not, + indeed, whisper “Forgiven,” nor put her arms around him; but, as if by + irresistible impulse, she laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + The minstrel started. + </p> + <p> + There came to his ear,—he knew not from whence, from whom,— + </p> + <p> + “Mischief! mischief! Remember the little child!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” he said, staring round. “Did you not hear a voice?” + </p> + <p> + “Only yours,” said the lady. + </p> + <p> + “It was our guardian angel’s, Amalie. It came in time. We will go within.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + THE next morning betimes Kenelm visited Tom at his uncle’s home. A + comfortable and respectable home it was, like that of an owner in easy + circumstances. The veterinary surgeon himself was intelligent, and + apparently educated beyond the range of his calling; a childless widower, + between sixty and seventy, living with a sister, an old maid. They were + evidently much attached to Tom, and delighted by the hope of keeping him + with them. Tom himself looked rather sad, but not sullen, and his face + brightened wonderfully at first sight of Kenelm. That oddity made himself + as pleasant and as much like other people as he could in conversing with + the old widower and the old maid, and took leave, engaging Tom to be at + his inn at half past twelve, and spend the day with him and the minstrel. + He then returned to the Golden Lamb, and waited there for his first + visitant; the minstrel. That votary of the muse arrived punctually at + twelve o’clock. His countenance was less cheerful and sunny than usual. + Kenelm made no allusion to the scene he had witnessed, nor did his visitor + seem to suspect that Kenelm had witnessed it or been the utterer of that + warning voice. + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“I have asked my friend Tom Bowles to come a little later, + because I wished you to be of use to him, and, in order to be so, I should + suggest how.” + </p> + <p> + THE MINSTREL.—“Pray do.” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“You know that I am not a poet, and I do not have much + reverence for verse-making merely as a craft.” + </p> + <p> + THE MINSTREL.—“Neither have I.” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“But I have a great reverence for poetry as a priesthood. I + felt that reverence for you when you sketched and talked priesthood last + evening, and placed in my heart—I hope forever while it beats—the + image of the child on the sunlit hill, high above the abodes of men, + tossing her flower-ball heavenward and with heavenward eyes.” + </p> + <p> + The singer’s cheek coloured high, and his lip quivered: he was very + sensitive to praise; most singers are. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm resumed, “I have been educated in the Realistic school, and with + realism I am discontented, because in realism as a school there is no + truth. It contains but a bit of truth, and that the coldest and hardest + bit of it, and he who utters a bit of truth and suppresses the rest of it + tells a lie.” + </p> + <p> + THE MINSTREL (slyly).—“Does the critic who says to me, ‘Sing of + beefsteak, because the appetite for food is a real want of daily life, and + don’t sing of art and glory and love, because in daily life a man may do + without such ideas,’—tell a lie?” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“Thank you for that rebuke. I submit to it. No doubt I did + tell a lie,—that is, if I were quite in earnest in my + recommendation, and if not in earnest, why—” + </p> + <p> + THE MINSTREL.—“You belied yourself.” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“Very likely. I set out on my travels to escape from shams, + and begin to discover that I am a sham <i>par excellence</i>. But I + suddenly come across you, as a boy dulled by his syntax and his vulgar + fractions suddenly comes across a pleasant poem or a picture-book, and + feels his wits brighten up. I owe you much: you have done me a world of + good.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot guess how.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly not, but you have shown me how the realism of Nature herself + takes colour and life and soul when seen on the ideal or poetic side of + it. It is not exactly the words that you say or sing that do me the good, + but they awaken within me new trains of thought, which I seek to follow + out. The best teacher is the one who suggests rather than dogmatizes, and + inspires his listener with the wish to teach himself. Therefore, O singer! + whatever be the worth in critical eyes of your songs, I am glad to + remember that you would like to go through the world always singing.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me: you forget that I added, ‘if life were always young, and the + seasons were always summer.’” + </p> + <p> + “I do not forget. But if youth and summer fade for you, you leave youth + and summer behind you as you pass along,—behind in hearts which mere + realism would make always old, and counting their slothful beats under the + gray of a sky without sun or stars; wherefore I pray you to consider how + magnificent a mission the singer’s is,—to harmonize your life with + your song, and toss your flowers, as your child does, heavenward, with + heavenward eyes. Think only of this when you talk with my sorrowing + friend, and you will do him good, as you have done me, without being able + to guess how a seeker after the Beautiful, such as you, carries us along + with him on his way; so that we, too, look out for beauty, and see it in + the wild-flowers to which we had been blind before.” + </p> + <p> + Here Tom entered the little sanded parlour where this dialogue had been + held, and the three men sallied forth, taking the shortest cut from the + town into the fields and woodlands. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + WHETHER or not his spirits were raised by Kenelm’s praise and + exhortations, the minstrel that day talked with a charm that spellbound + Tom, and Kenelm was satisfied with brief remarks on his side tending to + draw out the principal performer. + </p> + <p> + The talk was drawn from outward things, from natural objects,—objects + that interest children, and men who, like Tom Bowles, have been accustomed + to view surroundings more with the heart’s eye than the mind’s eye. This + rover about the country knew much of the habits of birds and beasts and + insects, and told anecdotes of them with a mixture of humour and pathos, + which fascinated Tom’s attention, made him laugh heartily, and sometimes + brought tears into his big blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + They dined at an inn by the wayside, and the dinner was mirthful; then + they wended their way slowly back. By the declining daylight their talk + grew somewhat graver, and Kenelm took more part in it. Tom listened mute,—still + fascinated. At length, as the town came in sight, they agreed to halt a + while, in a bosky nook soft with mosses and sweet with wild thyme. + </p> + <p> + There, as they lay stretched at their ease, the birds hymning vesper songs + amid the boughs above, or dropping, noiseless and fearless, for their + evening food on the swards around them, the wanderer said to Kenelm, “You + tell me that you are no poet, yet I am sure you have a poet’s perception: + you must have written poetry?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I; as I before told you, only school verses in dead languages: but I + found in my knapsack this morning a copy of some rhymes, made by a + fellow-collegian, which I put into my pocket meaning to read them to you + both. They are not verses like yours, which evidently burst from you + spontaneously, and are not imitated from any other poets. These verses + were written by a Scotchman, and smack of imitation from the old ballad + style. There is little to admire in the words themselves, but there is + something in the idea which struck me as original, and impressed me + sufficiently to keep a copy, and somehow or other it got into the leaves + of one of the two books I carried with me from home.” + </p> + <p> + “What are those books? Books of poetry both, I will venture to wager—” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong! Both metaphysical, and dry as a bone. Tom, light your pipe, and + you, sir, lean more at ease on your elbow; I should warn you that the + ballad is long. Patience!” + </p> + <p> + “Attention!” said the minstrel. + </p> + <p> + “Fire!” added Tom. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm began to read,—and he read well. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LORD RONALD’S BRIDE. + + PART I. + + “WHY gathers the crowd in the market-place + Ere the stars have yet left the sky?” + “For a holiday show and an act of grace,— + At the sunrise a witch shall die.” + + “What deed has she done to deserve that doom? + Has she blighted the standing corn, + Or rifled for philters a dead man’s tomb, + Or rid mothers of babes new-born?” + + “Her pact with the fiend was not thus revealed, + She taught sinners the Word to hear; + The hungry she fed, and the sick she healed, + And was held as a Saint last year. + + “But a holy man, who at Rome had been, + Had discovered, by book and bell, + That the marvels she wrought were through arts unclean, + And the lies of the Prince of Hell. + + “And our Mother the Church, for the dame was rich, + And her husband was Lord of Clyde, + Would fain have been mild to this saint-like witch + If her sins she had not denied. + + “But hush, and come nearer to see the sight, + Sheriff, halberds, and torchmen,—look! + That’s the witch standing mute in her garb of white, + By the priest with his bell and book.” + + So the witch was consumed on the sacred pyre, + And the priest grew in power and pride, + And the witch left a son to succeed his sire + In the halls and the lands of Clyde. + + And the infant waxed comely and strong and brave, + But his manhood had scarce begun, + When his vessel was launched on the northern wave + To the shores which are near the sun. + + PART II. + + Lord Ronald has come to his halls in Clyde + With a bride of some unknown race; + Compared with the man who would kiss that bride + Wallace wight were a coward base. + + Her eyes had the glare of the mountain-cat + When it springs on the hunter’s spear, + At the head of the board when that lady sate + Hungry men could not eat for fear. + + And the tones of her voice had that deadly growl + Of the bloodhound that scents its prey; + No storm was so dark as that lady’s scowl + Under tresses of wintry gray. + + “Lord Ronald! men marry for love or gold, + Mickle rich must have been thy bride!” + “Man’s heart may be bought, woman’s hand be sold, + On the banks of our northern Clyde. + + “My bride is, in sooth, mickle rich to me + Though she brought not a groat in dower, + For her face, couldst thou see it as I do see, + Is the fairest in hall or bower!” + + Quoth the bishop one day to our lord the king, + “Satan reigns on the Clyde alway, + And the taint in the blood of the witch doth cling + To the child that she brought to day. + + “Lord Ronald hath come from the Paynim land + With a bride that appals the sight; + Like his dam she hath moles on her dread right hand, + And she turns to a snake at night. + + “It is plain that a Scot who can blindly dote + On the face of an Eastern ghoul, + And a ghoul who was worth not a silver groat, + Is a Scot who has lost his soul. + + “It were wise to have done with this demon tree + Which has teemed with such caukered fruit; + Add the soil where it stands to my holy See, + And consign to the flames its root.” + + “Holy man!” quoth King James, and he laughed, “we know + That thy tongue never wags in vain, + But the Church cist is full, and the king’s is low, + And the Clyde is a fair domain. + + “Yet a knight that’s bewitched by a laidly fere + Needs not much to dissolve the spell; + We will summon the bride and the bridegroom here + Be at hand with thy book and bell.” + + PART III. + + Lord Ronald stood up in King James’s court, + And his dame by his dauntless side; + The barons who came in the hopes of sport + Shook with fright when they saw the bride. + + The bishop, though armed with his bell and book, + Grew as white as if turned to stone; + It was only our king who could face that look, + But he spoke with a trembling tone. + + “Lord Ronald, the knights of thy race and mine + Should have mates in their own degree; + What parentage, say, hath that bride of thine + Who hath come from the far countree? + + “And what was her dowry in gold or land, + Or what was the charm, I pray, + That a comely young gallant should woo the hand + Of the ladye we see to-day?” + + And the lords would have laughed, but that awful dame + Struck them dumb with her thunder-frown: + “Saucy king, did I utter my father’s name, + Thou wouldst kneel as his liegeman down. + + “Though I brought to Lord Ronald nor lands nor gold, + Nor the bloom of a fading cheek; + Yet, were I a widow, both young and old + Would my hand and my dowry seek. + + “For the wish that he covets the most below, + And would hide from the saints above, + Which he dares not to pray for in weal or woe, + Is the dowry I bring my love. + + “Let every man look in his heart and see + What the wish he most lusts to win, + And then let him fasten his eyes on me + While he thinks of his darling sin.” + + And every man—bishop, and lord, and king + Thought of what he most wished to win, + And, fixing his eye on that grewsome thing, + He beheld his own darling sin. + + No longer a ghoul in that face he saw; + It was fair as a boy’s first love: + The voice that had curdled his veins with awe + Was the coo of the woodland dove. + + Each heart was on flame for the peerless dame + At the price of the husband’s life; + Bright claymores flash out, and loud voices shout, + “In thy widow shall be my wife.” + + Then darkness fell over the palace hall, + More dark and more dark it fell, + And a death-groan boomed hoarse underneath the pall, + And was drowned amid roar and yell. + + When light through the lattice-pane stole once more, + It was gray as a wintry dawn, + And the bishop lay cold on the regal floor, + With a stain on his robes of lawn. + + Lord Ronald was standing beside the dead, + In the scabbard he plunged his sword, + And with visage as wan as the corpse, he said, + “Lo! my ladye hath kept her word. + + “Now I leave her to others to woo and win, + For no longer I find her fair; + Could I look on the face of my darling sin, + I should see but a dead man’s there. + + “And the dowry she brought me is here returned, + For the wish of my heart has died, + It is quenched in the blood of the priest who burned + My sweet mother, the Saint of Clyde.” + + Lord Ronald strode over the stony floor, + Not a hand was outstretched to stay; + Lord Ronald has passed through the gaping door, + Not an eye ever traced the way. + + And the ladye, left widowed, was prized above + All the maidens in hall and bower, + Many bartered their lives for that ladye’s love, + And their souls for that ladye’s dower. + + God grant that the wish which I dare not pray + Be not that which I lust to win, + And that ever I look with my first dismay + On the face of my darling sin! +</pre> + <p> + As he ceased, Kenelm’s eye fell on Tom’s face upturned to his own, with + open lips, an intent stare, and paled cheeks, and a look of that higher + sort of terror which belongs to awe. The man, then recovering himself, + tried to speak, and attempted a sickly smile, but neither would do. He + rose abruptly and walked away, crept under the shadow of a dark + beech-tree, and stood there leaning against the trunk. + </p> + <p> + “What say you to the ballad?” asked Kenelm of the singer. + </p> + <p> + “It is not without power,” answered he. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, of a certain kind.” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel looked hard at Kenelm, and dropped his eyes, with a + heightened glow on his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “The Scotch are a thoughtful race. The Scot who wrote this thing may have + thought of a day when he saw beauty in the face of a darling sin; but, if + so, it is evident that his sight recovered from that glamoury. Shall we + walk on? Come, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel left them at the entrance of the town, saying, “I regret that + I cannot see more of either of you, as I quit Luscombe at daybreak. Here, + by the by, I forgot to give it before, is the address you wanted.” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“Of the little child. I am glad you remembered her.” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel again looked hard at Kenelm, this time without dropping his + eyes. Kenelm’s expression of face was so simply quiet that it might be + almost called vacant. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm and Tom continued to walk on towards the veterinary surgeon’s + house, for some minutes silently. Then Tom said in a whisper, “Did you not + mean those rhymes to hit me here—<i>here</i>?” and he struck his + breast. + </p> + <p> + “The rhymes were written long before I saw you, Tom; but it is well if + their meaning strike us all. Of you, my friend, I have no fear now. Are + you not already a changed man?” + </p> + <p> + “I feel as if I were going through a change,” answered Tom, in slow, + dreary accents. “In hearing you and that gentleman talk so much of things + that I never thought of, I felt something in me,—you will laugh when + I tell you,—something like a bird.” + </p> + <p> + “Like a bird,—good!—a bird has wings.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “And you felt wings that you were unconscious of before, fluttering and + beating themselves as against the wires of a cage. You were true to your + instincts then, my dear fellow-man,—instincts of space and Heaven. + Courage!—the cage-door will open soon. And now, practically + speaking, I give you this advice in parting: You have a quick and + sensitive mind which you have allowed that strong body of yours to + incarcerate and suppress. Give that mind fair play. Attend to the business + of your calling diligently; the craving for regular work is the healthful + appetite of mind: but in your spare hours cultivate the new ideas which + your talk with men who have been accustomed to cultivate the mind more + than the body has sown within you. Belong to a book-club, and interest + yourself in books. A wise man has said, ‘Books widen the present by adding + to it the past and the future.’ Seek the company of educated men and + educated women too; and when you are angry with another, reason with him: + don’t knock him down; and don’t be knocked down yourself by an enemy much + stronger than yourself,—Drink. Do all this, and when I see you again + you will be—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, sir,—you will see me again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if we both live, I promise it.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “You see, Tom, we have both of us something in our old selves which we + must work off. You will work off your something by repose, and I must work + off mine, if I can, by moving about. So I am on my travels. May we both + have new selves better than the old selves, when we again shake hands! For + your part try your best, dear Tom, and Heaven prosper you.” + </p> + <p> + “And Heaven bless you!” cried Tom, fervently, with tears rolling unheeded + from his bold blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + THOUGH Kenelm left Luscombe on Tuesday morning, he did not appear at + Neesdale Park till the Wednesday, a little before the dressing-bell for + dinner. His adventures in the interim are not worth repeating. He had + hoped he might fall in again with the minstrel, but he did not. + </p> + <p> + His portmanteau had arrived, and he heaved a sigh as he cased himself in a + gentleman’s evening dress. “Alas! I have soon got back again into my own + skin.” + </p> + <p> + There were several other guests in the house, though not a large party,—they + had been asked with an eye to the approaching election,—consisting + of squires and clergy from remoter parts of the county. Chief among the + guests in rank and importance, and rendered by the occasion the central + object of interest, was George Belvoir. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm bore his part in this society with a resignation that partook of + repentance. + </p> + <p> + The first day he spoke very little, and was considered a very dull young + man by the lady he took in to dinner. Mr. Travers in vain tried to draw + him out. He had anticipated much amusement from the eccentricities of his + guest, who had talked volubly enough in the fernery, and was sadly + disappointed. “I feel,” he whispered to Mrs. Campion, “like poor Lord + Pomfret, who, charmed with Punch’s lively conversation, bought him, and + was greatly surprised that, when he had once brought him home, Punch would + not talk.” + </p> + <p> + “But your Punch listens,” said Mrs. Campion, “and he observes.” + </p> + <p> + George Belvoir, on the other hand, was universally declared to be very + agreeable. Though not naturally jovial, he forced himself to appear so,—laughing + loud with the squires, and entering heartily with their wives and + daughters into such topics as county-balls and croquet-parties; and when + after dinner he had, Cato-like, ‘warmed his virtue with wine,’ the virtue + came out very lustily in praise of good men,—namely, men of his own + party,—and anathemas on bad men,—namely, men of the other + party. + </p> + <p> + Now and then he appealed to Kenelm, and Kenelm always returned the same + answer, “There is much in what you say.” + </p> + <p> + The first evening closed in the usual way in country houses. There was + some lounging under moonlight on the terrace before the house; then there + was some singing by young lady amateurs, and a rubber of whist for the + elders; then wine-and-water, hand-candlesticks, a smoking-room for those + who smoked, and bed for those who did not. + </p> + <p> + In the course of the evening, Cecilia, partly in obedience to the duties + of hostess and partly from that compassion for shyness which kindly and + high-bred persons entertain, had gone a little out of her way to allure + Kenelm forth from the estranged solitude he had contrived to weave around + him. In vain for the daughter as for the father. He replied to her with + the quiet self-possession which should have convinced her that no man on + earth was less entitled to indulgence for the gentlemanlike infirmity of + shyness, and no man less needed the duties of any hostess for the + augmentation of his comforts, or rather for his diminished sense of + discomfort; but his replies were in monosyllables, and made with the air + of a man who says in his heart, “If this creature would but leave me + alone!” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia, for the first time in her life, was piqued, and, strange to say, + began to feel more interest about this indifferent stranger than about the + popular, animated, pleasant George Belvoir, who she knew by womanly + instinct was as much in love with her as he could be. + </p> + <p> + Cecilia Travers that night on retiring to rest told her maid, smilingly, + that she was too tired to have her hair done; and yet, when the maid was + dismissed, she looked at herself in the glass more gravely and more + discontentedly than she had ever looked there before; and, tired though + she was, stood at the window gazing into the moonlit night for a good hour + after the maid left her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM CHILLINGLY has now been several days a guest at Neesdale Park. He + has recovered speech; the other guests have gone, including George + Belvoir. Leopold Travers has taken a great fancy to Kenelm. Leopold was + one of those men, not uncommon perhaps in England, who, with great mental + energies, have little book-knowledge, and when they come in contact with a + book-reader who is not a pedant feel a pleasant excitement in his society, + a source of interest in comparing notes with him, a constant surprise in + finding by what venerable authorities the deductions which their own + mother-wit has drawn from life are supported, or by what cogent arguments + derived from books those deductions are contravened or upset. Leopold + Travers had in him that sense of humour which generally accompanies a + strong practical understanding (no man, for instance, has more practical + understanding than a Scot, and no man has a keener susceptibility to + humour), and not only enjoyed Kenelm’s odd way of expressing himself, but + very often mistook Kenelm’s irony for opinion spoken in earnest. + </p> + <p> + Since his early removal from the capital and his devotion to agricultural + pursuits, it was so seldom that Leopold Travers met a man by whose + conversation his mind was diverted to other subjects than those which were + incidental to the commonplace routine of his life that he found in + Kenelm’s views of men and things a source of novel amusement, and a + stirring appeal to such metaphysical creeds of his own as had been formed + unconsciously, and had long reposed unexamined in the recesses of an + intellect shrewd and strong, but more accustomed to dictate than to argue. + Kenelm, on his side, saw much in his host to like and to admire; but, + reversing their relative positions in point of years, he conversed with + Travers as with a mind younger than his own. Indeed, it was one of his + crotchety theories that each generation is in substance mentally older + than the generation preceding it, especially in all that relates to + science; and, as he would say, “The study of life is a science, and not an + art.” + </p> + <p> + But Cecilia,—what impression did she create upon the young visitor? + Was he alive to the charm of her rare beauty, to the grace of a mind + sufficiently stored for commune with those who love to think and to + imagine, and yet sufficiently feminine and playful to seize the sportive + side of realities, and allow their proper place to the trifles which make + the sum of human things? An impression she did make, and that impression + was new to him and pleasing. Nay, sometimes in her presence and sometimes + when alone, he fell into abstracted consultations with himself, saying, + “Kenelm Chillingly, now that thou hast got back into thy proper skin, dost + thou not think that thou hadst better remain there? Couldst thou not be + contented with thy lot as erring descendant of Adam, if thou couldst win + for thy mate so faultless a descendant of Eve as now flits before thee?” + But he could not abstract from himself any satisfactory answer to the + question he had addressed to himself. + </p> + <p> + Once he said abruptly to Travers, as, on their return from their rambles, + they caught a glimpse of Cecilia’s light form bending over the flower-beds + on the lawn, “Do you admire Virgil?” + </p> + <p> + “To say truth I have not read Virgil since I was a boy; and, between you + and me, I then thought him rather monotonous.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps because his verse is so smooth in its beauty?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably. When one is very young one’s taste is faulty; and if a poet is + not faulty, we are apt to think he wants vivacity and fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for your lucid explanation,” answered Kenelm, adding musingly + to himself, “I am afraid I should yawn very often if I were married to a + Miss Virgil.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <p> + THE house of Mr. Travers contained a considerable collection of family + portraits, few of them well painted, but the Squire was evidently proud of + such evidences of ancestry. They not only occupied a considerable space on + the walls of the reception rooms, but swarmed into the principal + sleeping-chambers, and smiled or frowned on the beholder from dark + passages and remote lobbies. One morning, Cecilia, on her way to the china + closet, found Kenelm gazing very intently upon a female portrait consigned + to one of those obscure receptacles by which through a back staircase he + gained the only approach from the hall to his chamber. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t pretend to be a good judge of paintings,” said Kenelm, as Cecilia + paused beside him; “but it strikes me that this picture is very much + better than most of those to which places of honour are assigned in your + collection. And the face itself is so lovely that it would add an + embellishment to the princeliest galleries.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cecilia, with a half-sigh. “The face is lovely, and the + portrait is considered one of Lely’s rarest masterpieces. It used to hang + over the chimney-piece in the drawing-room. My father had it placed here + many years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps because he discovered it was not a family portrait?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,—because it grieves him to think it is a family + portrait. Hush! I hear his footstep: don’t speak of it to him; don’t let + him see you looking at it. The subject is very painful to him.” + </p> + <p> + Here Cecilia vanished into the china closet and Kenelm turned off to his + own room. + </p> + <p> + What sin committed by the original in the time of Charles II. but only + discovered in the reign of Victoria could have justified Leopold Travers + in removing the most pleasing portrait in the house from the honoured + place it had occupied, and banishing it to so obscure a recess? Kenelm + said no more on the subject, and indeed an hour afterwards had dismissed + it from his thoughts. The next day he rode out with Travers and Cecilia. + Their way passed through quiet shady lanes without any purposed direction, + when suddenly, at the spot where three of those lanes met on an angle of + common ground, a lonely gray tower, in the midst of a wide space of + grass-land which looked as if it had once been a park, with huge boles of + pollarded oak dotting the space here and there, rose before them. + </p> + <p> + “Cissy!” cried Travers, angrily reining in his horse and stopping short in + a political discussion which he had forced upon Kenelm, “Cissy! How comes + this? We have taken the wrong turn! No matter, I see there,” pointing to + the right, “the chimney-pots of old Mondell’s homestead. He has not yet + promised his vote to George Belvoir. I’ll go and have a talk with him. + Turn back, you and Mr. Chillingly,—meet me at Terner’s Green, and + wait for me there till I come. I need not excuse myself to you, + Chillingly. A vote is a vote.” So saying, the Squire, whose ordinary + riding-horse was an old hunter, halted, turned, and, no gate being + visible, put the horse over a stiff fence and vanished in the direction of + old Mondell’s chimney-pots. Kenelm, scarcely hearing his host’s + instructions to Cecilia and excuses to himself, remained still and gazing + on the old tower thus abruptly obtruded on his view. + </p> + <p> + Though no learned antiquarian like his father, Kenelm had a strange + fascinating interest in all relics of the past; and old gray towers, where + they are not church towers, are very rarely to be seen in England. All + around the old gray tower spoke with an unutterable mournfulness of a past + in ruins: you could see remains of some large Gothic building once + attached to it, rising here and there in fragments of deeply buttressed + walls; you could see in a dry ditch, between high ridges, where there had + been a fortified moat: nay, you could even see where once had been the + bailey hill from which a baron of old had dispensed justice. Seldom indeed + does the most acute of antiquarians discover that remnant of Norman times + on lands still held by the oldest of Anglo-Norman families. Then, the wild + nature of the demesne around; those ranges of sward, with those old giant + oak-trunks, hollowed within and pollarded at top,—all spoke, in + unison with the gray tower, of a past as remote from the reign of Victoria + as the Pyramids are from the sway of the Viceroy of Egypt. + </p> + <p> + “Let us turn back,” said Miss Travers; “my father would not like me to + stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me a moment. I wish my father were here; he would stay till + sunset. But what is the history of that old tower? a history it must + have.” + </p> + <p> + “Every home has a history, even a peasant’s hut,” said Cecilia. “But do + pardon me if I ask you to comply with my father’s request. I at least must + turn back.” + </p> + <p> + Thus commanded, Kenelm reluctantly withdrew his gaze from the ruin and + regained Cecilia, who was already some paces in return down the lane. + </p> + <p> + “I am far from a very inquisitive man by temperament,” said Kenelm, “so + far as the affairs of the living are concerned. But I should not care to + open a book if I had no interest in the past. Pray indulge my curiosity to + learn something about that old tower. It could not look more melancholy + and solitary if I had built it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Its most melancholy associations are with a very recent past,” answered + Cecilia. “The tower, in remote times, formed the keep of a castle + belonging to the most ancient and once the most powerful family in these + parts. The owners were barons who took active share in the Wars of the + Roses. The last of them sided with Richard III., and after the battle of + Bosworth the title was attainted, and the larger portion of the lands was + confiscated. Loyalty to a Plantagenet was of course treason to a Tudor. + But the regeneration of the family rested with their direct descendants, + who had saved from the general wreck of their fortunes what may be called + a good squire’s estate,—about, perhaps, the same rental as my + father’s, but of much larger acreage. These squires, however, were more + looked up to in the county than the wealthiest peer. They were still by + far the oldest family in the county; and traced in their pedigree + alliances with the most illustrious houses in English history. In + themselves too for many generations they were a high-spirited, hospitable, + popular race, living unostentatiously on their income, and contented with + their rank of squires. The castle, ruined by time and siege, they did not + attempt to restore. They dwelt in a house near to it, built about + Elizabeth’s time, which you could not see, for it lies in a hollow behind + the tower,—a moderate-sized, picturesque, country gentleman’s house. + Our family intermarried with them,—the portrait you saw was a + daughter of their house,—and very proud was any squire in the county + of intermarriage with the Fletwodes.” + </p> + <p> + “Fletwode,—that was their name? I have a vague recollection of + having heard the name connected with some disastrous—oh, but it + can’t be the same family: pray go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear it is the same family. But I will finish the story as I have heard + it. The property descended at last to one Bertram Fletwode, who, + unfortunately, obtained the reputation of being a very clever man of + business. There was some mining company in which, with other gentlemen in + the county, he took great interest; invested largely in shares; became the + head of the direction—” + </p> + <p> + “I see; and was of course ruined.” + </p> + <p> + “No; worse than that: he became very rich; and, unhappily, became desirous + of being richer still. I have heard that there was a great mania for + speculations just about that time. He embarked in these, and prospered, + till at last he was induced to invest a large share of the fortune thus + acquired in the partnership of a bank which enjoyed a high character. Up + to that time he had retained popularity and esteem in the county; but the + squires who shared in the adventures of the mining company, and knew + little or nothing about other speculations in which his name did not + appear, professed to be shocked at the idea of a Fletwode of Fletwode + being ostensibly joined in partnership with a Jones of Clapham in a London + bank.” + </p> + <p> + “Slow folks, those country squires,—behind the progress of the age. + Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard that Bertram Fletwode was himself very reluctant to take + this step, but was persuaded to do so by his son. This son, Alfred, was + said to have still greater talents for business than the father, and had + been not only associated with but consulted by him in all the later + speculations which had proved so fortunate. Mrs. Campion knew Alfred + Fletwode very well. She describes him as handsome, with quick, eager eyes; + showy and imposing in his talk; immensely ambitious, more ambitious than + avaricious,—collecting money less for its own sake than for that + which it could give,—rank and power. According to her it was the + dearest wish of his heart to claim the old barony, but not before there + could go with the barony a fortune adequate to the lustre of a title so + ancient, and equal to the wealth of modern peers with higher nominal + rank.” + </p> + <p> + “A poor ambition at the best; of the two I should prefer that of a poet in + a garret. But I am no judge. Thank Heaven I have no ambition. Still, all + ambition, all desire to rise, is interesting to him who is ignominiously + contented if he does not fall. So the son had his way, and Fletwode joined + company with Jones on the road to wealth and the peerage; meanwhile did + the son marry? if so, of course the daughter of a duke or a millionnaire. + Tuft-hunting, or money-making, at the risk of degradation and the + workhouse. Progress of the age!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Cecilia, smiling at this outburst, but smiling sadly, + “Fletwode did not marry the daughter of a duke or a millionnaire; but + still his wife belonged to a noble family,—very poor, but very + proud. Perhaps he married from motives of ambition, though not of gain. + Her father was of much political influence that might perhaps assist his + claim to the barony. The mother, a woman of the world, enjoying a high + social position, and nearly related to a connection of ours,—Lady + Glenalvon.” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Glenalvon, the dearest of my lady friends! You are connected with + her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Lord Glenalvon was my mother’s uncle. But I wish to finish my story + before my father joins us. Alfred Fletwode did not marry till long after + the partnership in the bank. His father, at his desire, had bought up the + whole business, Mr. Jones having died. The bank was carried on in the + names of Fletwode and Son. But the father had become merely a nominal or + what I believe is called a ‘sleeping’ partner. He had long ceased to + reside in the county. The old house was not grand enough for him. He had + purchased a palatial residence in one of the home counties; lived there in + great splendour; was a munificent patron of science and art; and in spite + of his earlier addictions to business-like speculations he appears to have + been a singularly accomplished, high-bred gentleman. Some years before his + son’s marriage, Mr. Fletwode had been afflicted with partial paralysis, + and his medical attendant enjoined rigid abstention from business. From + that time he never interfered with his son’s management of the bank. He + had an only daughter, much younger than Alfred. Lord Eagleton, my mother’s + brother, was engaged to be married to her. The wedding-day was fixed,—when + the world was startled by the news that the great firm of Fletwode and Son + had stopped payment; is that the right phrase?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe so.” + </p> + <p> + “A great many people were ruined in that failure. The public indignation + was very great. Of course all the Fletwode property went to the creditors. + Old Mr. Fletwode was legally acquitted of all other offence than that of + overconfidence in his son. Alfred was convicted of fraud,—of + forgery. I don’t, of course, know the particulars, they are very + complicated. He was sentenced to a long term of servitude, but died the + day he was condemned; apparently by poison, which he had long secreted + about his person. Now you can understand why my father, who is almost + gratuitously sensitive on the point of honour, removed into a dark corner + the portrait of Arabella Fletwode,—his own ancestress, but also the + ancestress of a convicted felon: you can understand why the whole subject + is so painful to him. His wife’s brother was to have married the felon’s + sister; and though, of course, that marriage was tacitly broken off by the + terrible disgrace that had befallen the Fletwodes, yet I don’t think my + poor uncle ever recovered the blow to his hopes. He went abroad, and died + in Madeira of a slow decline.” + </p> + <p> + “And the felon’s sister, did she die too?” + </p> + <p> + “No; not that I know of. Mrs. Campion says that she saw in a newspaper the + announcement of old Mr. Fletwode’s death, and a paragraph to the effect + that after that event Miss Fletwode had sailed from Liverpool to New + York.” + </p> + <p> + “Alfred Fletwode’s wife went back, of course, to her family?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! no,—poor thing! She had not been many months married when the + bank broke; and among his friends her wretched husband appears to have + forged the names of the trustees to her marriage settlement, and sold out + the sums which would otherwise have served her as a competence. Her + father, too, was a great sufferer by the bankruptcy, having by his + son-in-law’s advice placed a considerable portion of his moderate fortune + in Alfred’s hands for investment, all of which was involved in the general + wreck. I am afraid he was a very hard-hearted man: at all events his poor + daughter never returned to him. She died, I think, even before the death + of Bertram Fletwode. The whole story is very dismal.” + </p> + <p> + “Dismal indeed, but pregnant with salutary warnings to those who live in + an age of progress. Here you see a family of fair fortune, living + hospitably, beloved, revered, more looked up to by their neighbours than + the wealthiest nobles; no family not proud to boast alliance with it. All + at once, in the tranquil record of this happy race, appears that darling + of the age, that hero of progress,—a clever man of business. He be + contented to live as his fathers! He be contented with such trifles as + competence, respect, and love! Much too clever for that. The age is + money-making,—go with the age! He goes with the age. Born a + gentleman only, he exalts himself into a trader. But at least he, it + seems, if greedy, was not dishonest. He was born a gentleman, but his son + was born a trader. The son is a still cleverer man of business; the son is + consulted and trusted. Aha! He too goes with the age; to greed he links + ambition. The trader’s son wishes to return—what? to the rank of + gentleman?—gentleman! nonsense! everybody is a gentleman nowadays,—to + the title of Lord. How ends it all! Could I sit but for twelve hours in + the innermost heart of that Alfred Fletwode; could I see how, step by step + from his childhood, the dishonest son was avariciously led on by the + honest father to depart from the old <i>vestigia</i> of Fletwodes of + Fletwode,—scorning The Enough to covet The More, gaining The More to + sigh, ‘It is not The Enough,’—I think I might show that the age + lives in a house of glass, and had better not for its own sake throw + stones on the felon!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but, Mr. Chillingly, surely this is a very rare exception in the + general—” + </p> + <p> + “Rare!” interrupted Kenelm, who was excited to a warmth of passion which + would have startled his most intimate friend,-if indeed an intimate friend + had ever been vouchsafed to him,—“rare! nay, how common—I + don’t say to the extent of forgery and fraud, but to the extent of + degradation and ruin—is the greed of a Little More to those who have + The Enough! is the discontent with competence, respect, and love, when + catching sight of a money-bag! How many well-descended county families, + cursed with an heir who is called a clever man of business, have vanished + from the soil! A company starts, the clever man joins it one bright day. + Pouf! the old estates and the old name are powder. Ascend higher. Take + nobles whose ancestral titles ought to be to English ears like the sound + of clarions, awakening the most slothful to the scorn of money-bags and + the passion for renown. Lo! in that mocking dance of death called the + Progress of the Age, one who did not find Enough in a sovereign’s revenue, + and seeks The Little More as a gambler on the turf by the advice of + blacklegs! Lo! another, with lands wider than his greatest ancestors ever + possessed, must still go in for The Little More, adding acre to acre, + heaping debt upon debt! Lo! a third, whose name, borne by his ancestors, + was once the terror of England’s foes,—the landlord of a hotel! A + fourth,—but why go on through the list? Another and another still + succeeds; each on the Road to Ruin, each in the Age of Progress. Ah, Miss + Travers! in the old time it was through the Temple of Honour that one + passed to the Temple of Fortune. In this wise age the process is reversed. + But here comes your father.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand pardons!” said Leopold Travers. “That numskull Mondell kept me + so long with his old-fashioned Tory doubts whether liberal politics are + favourable to agricultural prospects. But as he owes a round sum to a Whig + lawyer I had to talk with his wife, a prudent woman; convinced her that + his own agricultural prospects were safest on the Whig side of the + question; and, after kissing his baby and shaking his hand, booked his + vote for George Belvoir,—a plumper.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Kenelm to himself, and with that candour which + characterized him whenever he talked to himself, “that Travers has taken + the right road to the Temple, not of Honour, but of honours, in every + country, ancient or modern, which has adopted the system of popular + suffrage.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> + <p> + THE next day Mrs. Campion and Cecilia were seated under the veranda. They + were both ostensibly employed on two several pieces of embroidery, one + intended for a screen, the other for a sofa-cushion; but the mind of + neither was on her work. + </p> + <p> + MRS. CAMPION.—“Has Mr. Chillingly said when he means to take leave?” + </p> + <p> + CECILIA.—“Not to me. How much my dear father enjoys his + conversation!” + </p> + <p> + MRS. CAMPION.—“Cynicism and mockery were not so much the fashion + among young men in your father’s day as I suppose they are now, and + therefore they seem new to Mr. Travers. To me they are not new, because I + saw more of the old than the young when I lived in London, and cynicism + and mockery are more natural to men who are leaving the world than to + those who are entering it.” + </p> + <p> + CECILIA.—“Dear Mrs. Campion, how bitter you are, and how unjust! You + take much too literally the jesting way in which Mr. Chillingly expresses + himself. There can be no cynicism in one who goes out of his way to make + others happy.” + </p> + <p> + MRS. CAMPION.—“You mean in the whim of making an ill-assorted + marriage between a pretty village flirt and a sickly cripple, and settling + a couple of peasants in a business for which they are wholly unfitted.” + </p> + <p> + CECILIA.—“Jessie Wiles is not a flirt, and I am convinced that she + will make Will Somers a very good wife, and that the shop will be a great + success.” + </p> + <p> + MRS. CAMPION.—“We shall see. Still, if Mr. Chillingly’s talk belies + his actions, he may be a good man, but he is a very affected one.” + </p> + <p> + CECILIA.—“Have I not heard you say that there are persons so natural + that they seem affected to those who do not understand them?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Campion raised her eyes to Cecilia’s face, dropped them again over + her work, and said, in grave undertones,—“Take care, Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care of what?” + </p> + <p> + “My dearest child, forgive me; but I do not like the warmth with which you + defend Mr. Chillingly.” + </p> + <p> + “Would not my father defend him still more warmly if he had heard you?” + </p> + <p> + “Men judge of men in their relations to men. I am a woman, and judge of + men in their relations to women. I should tremble for the happiness of any + woman who joined her fate with that of Kenelm Chillingly.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend, I do not understand you to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay; I did not mean to be so solemn, my love. After all, it is nothing to + us whom Mr. Chillingly may or may not marry. He is but a passing visitor, + and, once gone, the chances are that we may not see him again for years.” + </p> + <p> + Thus speaking, Mrs. Campion again raised her eyes from her work, stealing + a sidelong glance at Cecilia; and her mother-like heart sank within her, + on noticing how suddenly pale the girl had become, and how her lips + quivered. Mrs. Campion had enough knowledge of life to feel aware that she + had committed a grievous blunder. In that earliest stage of virgin + affection, when a girl is unconscious of more than a certain vague + interest in one man which distinguishes him from others in her thoughts,—if + she hears him unjustly disparaged, if some warning against him is implied, + if the probability that he will never be more to her than a passing + acquaintance is forcibly obtruded on her,—suddenly that vague + interest, which might otherwise have faded away with many another girlish + fancy, becomes arrested, consolidated; the quick pang it occasions makes + her involuntarily, and for the first time, question herself, and ask, “Do + I love?” But when a girl of a nature so delicate as that of Cecilia + Travers can ask herself the question, “Do I love?” her very modesty, her + very shrinking from acknowledging that any power over her thoughts for + weal or for woe can be acquired by a man, except through the sanction of + that love which only becomes divine in her eyes when it is earnest and + pure and self-devoted, makes her prematurely disposed to answer “yes.” And + when a girl of such a nature in her own heart answers “yes” to such a + question, even if she deceive herself at the moment, she begins to cherish + the deceit till the belief in her love becomes a reality. She has adopted + a religion, false or true, and she would despise herself if she could be + easily converted. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Campion had so contrived that she had forced that question upon + Cecilia, and she feared, by the girl’s change of countenance, that the + girl’s heart had answered “yes.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + WHILE the conversation just narrated took place, Kenelm had walked forth + to pay a visit to Will Somers. All obstacles to Will’s marriage were now + cleared away; the transfer of lease for the shop had been signed, and the + banns were to be published for the first time on the following Sunday. We + need not say that Will was very happy. Kenelm then paid a visit to Mrs. + Bowles, with whom he stayed an hour. On reentering the Park, he saw + Travers, walking slowly, with downcast eyes and his hands clasped behind + him (his habit when in thought). He did not observe Kenelm’s approach till + within a few feet of him, and he then greeted his guest in listless + accents, unlike his usual cheerful tones. + </p> + <p> + “I have been visiting the man you have made so happy,” said Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Who can that be?” + </p> + <p> + “Will Somers. Do you make so many people happy that your reminiscence of + them is lost in their number?” + </p> + <p> + Travers smiled faintly, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm went on. “I have also seen Mrs. Bowles, and you will be pleased to + hear that Tom is satisfied with his change of abode: there is no chance of + his returning to Graveleigh; and Mrs. Bowles took very kindly to my + suggestion that the little property you wish for should be sold to you, + and, in that case, she would remove to Luscombe to be near her son.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you much for your thought of me,” said Travers, “and the affair + shall be seen to at once, though the purchase is no longer important to + me. I ought to have told you three days ago, but it slipped my memory, + that a neighbouring squire, a young fellow just come into his property, + has offered to exchange a capital farm, much nearer to my residence, for + the lands I hold in Graveleigh, including Saunderson’s farm and the + cottages: they are quite at the outskirts of my estate, but run into his, + and the exchange will be advantageous to both. Still I am glad that the + neighbourhood should be thoroughly rid of a brute like Tom Bowles.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not call him brute if you knew him; but I am sorry to hear that + Will Somers will be under another landlord.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not matter, since his tenure is secured for fourteen years.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of man is the new landlord?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know much of him. He was in the army till his father died, and + has only just made his appearance in the county. He has, however, already + earned the character of being too fond of the other sex: it is well that + pretty Jessie is to be safely married.” + </p> + <p> + Travers then relapsed into a moody silence from which Kenelm found it + difficult to rouse him. At length the latter said kindly,— + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Travers, do not think I take a liberty if I venture to guess + that something has happened this morning which troubles or vexes you. When + that is the case, it is often a relief to say what it is, even to a + confidant so unable to advise or to comfort as myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a good fellow, Chillingly, and I know not, at least in these + parts, a man to whom I would unburden myself more freely. I am put out, I + confess; disappointed unreasonably, in a cherished wish, and,” he added, + with a slight laugh, “it always annoys me when I don’t have my own way.” + </p> + <p> + “So it does me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think that George Belvoir is a very fine young man?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> call him handsome; he is steadier, too, than most men of his + age, and of his command of money; and yet he does not want spirit nor + knowledge of life. To every advantage of rank and fortune he adds the + industry and the ambition which attain distinction in public life.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true. Is he going to withdraw from the election after all?” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Then how does he not let you have your own way?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not he,” said Travers, peevishly; “it is Cecilia. Don’t you + understand that George is precisely the husband I would choose for her; + and this morning came a very well written manly letter from him, asking my + permission to pay his addresses to her.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is your own way so far.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and here comes the balk. Of course I had to refer it to Cecilia, and + she positively declines, and has no reasons to give; does not deny that + George is good-looking and sensible, that he is a man of whose preference + any girl might be proud; but she chooses to say she cannot love him, and + when I ask why she cannot love him, has no other answer than that ‘she + cannot say.’ It is too provoking.” + </p> + <p> + “It is provoking,” answered Kenelm; “but then Love is the most + dunderheaded of all the passions; it never will listen to reason. The very + rudiments of logic are unknown to it. ‘Love has no wherefore,’ says one of + those Latin poets who wrote love-verses called elegies,—a name which + we moderns appropriate to funeral dirges. For my own part, I can’t + understand how any one can be expected voluntarily to make up his mind to + go out of his mind. And if Miss Travers cannot go out of her mind because + George Belvoir does, you could not argue her into doing so if you talked + till doomsday.” + </p> + <p> + Travers smiled in spite of himself, but he answered gravely, “Certainly, I + would not wish Cissy to marry any man she disliked, but she does not + dislike George; no girl could: and where that is the case, a girl so + sensible, so affectionate, so well brought up, is sure to love, after + marriage, a thoroughly kind and estimable man, especially when she has no + previous attachment,—which, of course, Cissy never had. In fact, + though I do not wish to force my daughter’s will, I am not yet disposed to + give up my own. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “I am the more inclined to a marriage so desirable in every way, because + when Cissy comes out in London, which she has not yet done, she is sure to + collect round her face and her presumptive inheritance all the handsome + fortune-hunters and titled <i>vauriens</i>; and if in love there is no + wherefore, how can I be sure that she may not fall in love with a scamp?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you may be sure of that,” said Kenelm. “Miss Travers has too much + mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, at present; but did you not say that in love people go out of their + mind?” + </p> + <p> + “True! I forgot that.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not then disposed to dismiss poor George’s offer with a decided + negative, and yet it would be unfair to mislead him by encouragement. In + fact, I’ll be hanged if I know how to reply.” + </p> + <p> + “You think Miss Travers does not dislike George Belvoir, and if she saw + more of him may like him better, and it would be good for her as well as + for him not to put an end to that, chance?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not then write: ‘My dear George,—You have my best wishes, but + my daughter does not seem disposed to marry at present. Let me consider + your letter not written, and continue on the same terms as we were + before.’ Perhaps, as George knows Virgil, you might find your own + schoolboy recollections of that poet useful here, and add, <i>Varium et + mutabile semper femina</i>; hackneyed, but true.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Chillingly, your suggestion is capital. How the deuce at your age + have you contrived to know the world so well?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm answered in the pathetic tones so natural to his voice, “By being + only a looker-on; alas!” + </p> + <p> + Leopold Travers felt much relieved after he had written his reply to + George. He had not been quite so ingenuous in his revelation to Chillingly + as he may have seemed. Conscious, like all proud and fond fathers, of his + daughter’s attractions, he was not without some apprehension that Kenelm + himself might entertain an ambition at variance with that of George + Belvoir: if so, he deemed it well to put an end to such ambition while yet + in time: partly because his interest was already pledged to George; partly + because, in rank and fortune, George was the better match; partly because + George was of the same political party as himself,—while Sir Peter, + and probably Sir Peter’s heir, espoused the opposite side; and partly also + because, with all his personal liking to Kenelm, Leopold Travers, as a + very sensible, practical man of the world, was not sure that a baronet’s + heir who tramped the country on foot in the dress of a petty farmer, and + indulged pugilistic propensities in martial encounters with stalwart + farriers, was likely to make a safe husband and a comfortable son-in-law. + Kenelm’s words, and still more his manner, convinced Travers that any + apprehensions of rivalry that he had previously conceived were utterly + groundless. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. + </h2> + <p> + THE same evening, after dinner (during that lovely summer month they dined + at Neesdale Park at an unfashionably early hour), Kenelm, in company with + Travers and Cecilia, ascended a gentle eminence at the back of the + gardens, on which there were some picturesque ivy-grown ruins of an + ancient priory, and commanding the best view of a glorious sunset and a + subject landscape of vale and wood, rivulet and distant hills. + </p> + <p> + “Is the delight in scenery,” said Kenelm, “really an acquired gift, as + some philosophers tell us? Is it true that young children and rude savages + do not feel it; that the eye must be educated to comprehend its charm, and + that the eye can be only educated through the mind?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think your philosophers are right,” said Travers. “When I was a + schoolboy, I thought no scenery was like the flat of a cricket ground; + when I hunted at Melton, I thought that unpicturesque country more + beautiful than Devonshire. It is only of late years that I feel a sensible + pleasure in scenery for its own sake, apart from associations of custom or + the uses to which we apply them.” + </p> + <p> + “And what say you, Miss Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely know what to say,” answered Cecilia, musingly. “I can remember + no time in my childhood when I did not feel delight in that which seemed + to me beautiful in scenery, but I suspect that I vaguely distinguished one + kind of beauty from another. A common field with daisies and buttercups + was beautiful to me then, and I doubt if I saw anything more beautiful in + extensive landscapes.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Kenelm: “it is not in early childhood that we carry the sight + into distance: as is the mind so is the eye; in early childhood the mind + revels in the present, and the eye rejoices most in the things nearest to + it. I don’t think in childhood that we— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Watched with wistful eyes the setting sun.’” + </pre> + <p> + “Ah! what a world of thought in that word ‘wistful’!” murmured Cecilia, as + her gaze riveted itself on the western heavens, towards which Kenelm had + pointed as he spoke, where the enlarging orb rested half its disk on the + rim of the horizon. + </p> + <p> + She had seated herself on a fragment of the ruin, backed by the hollows of + a broken arch. The last rays of the sun lingered on her young face, and + then lost themselves in the gloom of the arch behind. There was a silence + for some minutes, during which the sun had sunk. Rosy clouds in thin + flakes still floated, momently waning: and the eve-star stole forth + steadfast, bright, and lonely,—nay, lonely not now; that sentinel + has aroused a host. + </p> + <p> + Said a voice, “No sign of rain yet, Squire. What will become of the + turnips?” + </p> + <p> + “Real life again! Who can escape it?” muttered Kenelm, as his eye rested + on the burly figure of the Squire’s bailiff. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! North,” said Travers, “what brings you here? No bad news, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, yes, Squire. The Durham bull—” + </p> + <p> + “The Durham bull! What of him? You frighten me.” + </p> + <p> + “Taken bad. Colic.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Chillingly,” cried Travers; “I must be off. A most valuable + animal, and no one I can trust to doctor him but myself.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true enough,” said the bailiff, admiringly. “There’s not a + veterinary in the county like the Squire.” + </p> + <p> + Travers was already gone, and the panting bailiff had hard work to catch + him up. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm seated himself beside Cecilia on the ruined fragment. + </p> + <p> + “How I envy your father!” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Why just at this moment,—because he knows how to doctor the bull?” + said Cecilia, with a sweet low laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is something to envy. It is a pleasure to relieve from pain + any of God’s creatures,—even a Durham bull.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, yes. I am justly rebuked.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary you are to be justly praised. Your question suggested to + me an amiable sentiment in place of the selfish one which was uppermost in + my thoughts. I envied your father because he creates for himself so many + objects of interest; because while he can appreciate the mere sensuous + enjoyment of a landscape and a sunset, he can find mental excitement in + turnip crops and bulls. Happy, Miss Travers, is the Practical Man.” + </p> + <p> + “When my dear father was as young as you, Mr. Chillingly, I am sure that + he had no more interest in turnips and bulls than you have. I do not doubt + that some day you will be as practical as he is in that respect.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so—sincerely?” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia made no answer. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm repeated the question. + </p> + <p> + “Sincerely, then, I do not know whether you will take interest in + precisely the same things that interest my father; but there are other + things than turnips and cattle which belong to what you call ‘practical + life,’ and in these you will take interest, as you took in the fortunes of + Will Somers and Jessie Wiles.” + </p> + <p> + “That was no practical interest. I got nothing by it. But even if that + interest were practical,—I mean productive, as cattle and turnip + crops are,—a succession of Somerses and Wileses is not to be hoped + for. History never repeats itself.” + </p> + <p> + “May I answer you, though very humbly?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Travers, the wisest man that ever existed never was wise enough to + know woman; but I think most men ordinarily wise will agree in this, that + woman is by no means a humble creature, and that when she says she + ‘answers very humbly,’ she does not mean what she says. Permit me to + entreat you to answer very loftily.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia laughed and blushed. The laugh was musical; the blush was—what? + Let any man, seated beside a girl like Cecilia at starry twilight, find + the right epithet for that blush. I pass it by epithetless. But she + answered, firmly though sweetly,— + </p> + <p> + “Are there not things very practical, and affecting the happiness, not of + one or two individuals, but of innumerable thousands, in which a man like + Mr. Chillingly cannot fail to feel interest, long before he is my father’s + age?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me: you do not answer; you question. I imitate you, and ask what + are those things as applicable to a man like Mr. Chillingly?” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia gathered herself up, as with the desire to express a great deal in + short substance, and then said,— + </p> + <p> + “In the expression of thought, literature; in the conduct of action, + politics.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm Chillingly stared, dumfounded. I suppose the greatest enthusiast + for woman’s rights could not assert more reverentially than he did the + cleverness of women; but among the things which the cleverness of woman + did not achieve, he had always placed “laconics.” “No woman,” he was wont + to say, “ever invented an axiom or a proverb.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Travers,” he said at last, “before we proceed further, vouchsafe to + tell me if that very terse reply of yours is spontaneous and original; or + whether you have not borrowed it from some book which I have not chanced + to read?” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia pondered honestly, and then said, “I don’t think it is from any + book; but I owe so many of my thoughts to Mrs. Campion, and she lived so + much among clever men, that—” + </p> + <p> + “I see it all, and accept your definition, no matter whence it came. You + think I might become an author or a politician. Did you ever read an essay + by a living author called ‘Motive Power’?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “That essay is designed to intimate that without motive power a man, + whatever his talents or his culture, does nothing practical. The + mainsprings of motive power are Want and Ambition. They are absent from my + mechanism. By the accident of birth I do not require bread and cheese; by + the accident of temperament and of philosophical culture I care nothing + about praise or blame. But without want of bread and cheese, and with a + most stolid indifference to praise and blame, do you honestly think that a + man will do anything practical in literature or politics? Ask Mrs. + Campion.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not ask her. Is the sense of duty nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! we interpret duty so variously. Of mere duty, as we commonly + understand the word, I do not think I shall fail more than other men. But + for the fair development of all the good that is in us, do you believe + that we should adopt some line of conduct against which our whole heart + rebels? Can you say to the clerk, ‘Be a poet’? Can you say to the poet, + ‘Be a clerk’? It is no more to the happiness of a man’s being to order him + to take to one career when his whole heart is set on another, than it is + to order him to marry one woman when it is to another woman that his heart + will turn.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia here winced and looked away. Kenelm had more tact than most men of + his age,—that is, a keener perception of subjects to avoid; but then + Kenelm had a wretched habit of forgetting the person he talked to and + talking to himself. Utterly oblivious of George Belvoir, he was talking to + himself now. Not then observing the effect his <i>mal-a-propos</i> dogma + had produced on his listener, he went on, “Happiness is a word very + lightly used. It may mean little; it may mean much. By the word happiness + I would signify, not the momentary joy of a child who gets a plaything, + but the lasting harmony between our inclinations and our objects; and + without that harmony we are a discord to ourselves, we are incompletions, + we are failures. Yet there are plenty of advisers who say to us, ‘It is a + duty to be a discord.’ I deny it.” + </p> + <p> + Here Cecilia rose and said in a low voice, “It is getting late. We must go + homeward.” + </p> + <p> + They descended the green eminence slowly, and at first in silence. The + bats, emerging from the ivied ruins they left behind, flitted and skimmed + before them, chasing the insects of the night. A moth, escaping from its + pursuer, alighted on Cecilia’s breast, as if for refuge. + </p> + <p> + “The bats are practical,” said Kenelm; “they are hungry, and their motive + power to-night is strong. Their interest is in the insects they chase. + They have no interest in the stars; but the stars lure the moth.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia drew her slight scarf over the moth, so that it might not fly off + and become a prey to the bats. “Yet,” said she, “the moth is practical + too.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, just now, since it has found an asylum from the danger that + threatened it in its course towards the stars.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia felt the beating of her heart, upon which lay the moth concealed. + Did she think that a deeper and more tender meaning than they outwardly + expressed was couched in these words? If so, she erred. They now neared + the garden gate, and Kenelm paused as he opened it. “See,” he said, “the + moon has just risen over those dark firs, making the still night stiller. + Is it not strange that we mortals, placed amid perpetual agitation and + tumult and strife, as if our natural element, conceive a sense of holiness + in the images antagonistic to our real life; I mean in images of repose? I + feel at the moment as if I suddenly were made better, now that heaven and + earth have suddenly become yet more tranquil. I am now conscious of a + purer and sweeter moral than either I or you drew from the insect you have + sheltered. I must come to the poets to express it,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘The desire of the moth for the star, + Of the night for the morrow; + The devotion to something afar + From the sphere of our sorrow.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Oh, that something afar! that something afar! never to be reached on this + earth,—never, never!” + </p> + <p> + There was such a wail in that cry from the man’s heart that Cecilia could + not resist the impulse of a divine compassion. She laid her hand on his, + and looked on the dark wildness of his upward face with eyes that Heaven + meant to be wells of comfort to grieving man. At the light touch of that + hand Kenelm started, looked down, and met those soothing eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I am happy to tell you that I have saved my Durham,” cried out Mr. + Travers from the other side of the gate. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. + </h2> + <p> + AS Kenelm that night retired to his own room, he paused on the + landing-place opposite to the portrait which Mr. Travers had consigned to + that desolate exile. This daughter of a race dishonoured in its extinction + might well have been the glory of the house she had entered as a bride. + The countenance was singularly beautiful, and of a character of beauty + eminently patrician; there was in its expression a gentleness and modesty + not often found in the female portraits of Sir Peter Lely, and in the eyes + and in the smile a wonderful aspect of innocent happiness. + </p> + <p> + “What a speaking homily,” soliloquized Kenelm, addressing the picture, + “against the ambition thy fair descendant would awake in me, art thou, O + lovely image! For generations thy beauty lived in this canvas, a thing of + joy, the pride of the race it adorned. Owner after owner said to admiring + guests, ‘Yes, a fine portrait, by Lely; she was my ancestress,—a + Fletwode of Fletwode.’ Now, lest guests should remember that a Fletwode + married a Travers thou art thrust out of sight; not even Lely’s art can + make thee of value, can redeem thine innocent self from disgrace. And the + last of the Fletwodes, doubtless the most ambitious of all, the most bent + on restoring and regilding the old lordly name, dies a felon; the infamy + of one living man is so large that it can blot out the honour of the + dead.” He turned his eyes from the smile of the portrait, entered his own + room, and, seating himself by the writing-table, drew blotting-book and + note-paper towards him, took up the pen, and instead of writing fell into + deep revery. There was a slight frown on his brow, on which frowns were + rare. He was very angry with himself. + </p> + <p> + “Kenelm,” he said, entering into his customary dialogue with that self, + “it becomes you, forsooth, to moralize about the honour of races which + have no affinity with you. Son of Sir Peter Chillingly, look at home. Are + you quite sure that you have not said or done or looked a something that + may bring trouble to the hearth on which you are received as guest? What + right had you to be moaning forth your egotisms, not remembering that your + words fell on compassionate ears, and that such words, heard at moonlight + by a girl whose heart they move to pity, may have dangers for her peace? + Shame on you, Kenelm! shame! knowing too what her father’s wish is; and + knowing too that you have not the excuse of desiring to win that fair + creature for yourself. What do you mean, Kenelm? I don’t hear you; speak + out. Oh, ‘that I am a vain coxcomb to fancy that she could take a fancy to + me:’ well, perhaps I am; I hope so earnestly; and at all events, there has + been and shall be no time for much mischief. We are off to-morrow, Kenelm; + bestir yourself and pack up, write your letters, and then ‘put out the + light,—put out <i>the</i> light!’” + </p> + <p> + But this converser with himself did not immediately set to work, as agreed + upon by that twofold one. He rose and walked restlessly to and fro the + floor, stopping ever and anon to look at the pictures on the walls. + </p> + <p> + Several of the worst painted of the family portraits had been consigned to + the room tenanted by Kenelm, which, though both the oldest and largest + bed-chamber in the house, was always appropriated to a bachelor male + guest, partly because it was without dressing-room, remote, and only + approached by the small back-staircase, to the landing-place of which + Arabella had been banished in disgrace; and partly because it had the + reputation of being haunted, and ladies are more alarmed by that + superstition than men are supposed to be. The portraits on which Kenelm + now paused to gaze were of various dates, from the reign of Elizabeth to + that of George III., none of them by eminent artists, and none of them the + effigies of ancestors who had left names in history,—in short, such + portraits as are often seen in the country houses of well-born squires. + One family type of features or expression pervaded most of these + portraits; features clear-cut and hardy, expression open and honest. And + though not one of those dead men had been famous, each of them had + contributed his unostentatious share, in his own simple way, to the + movements of his time. That worthy in ruff and corselet had manned his own + ship at his own cost against the Armada; never had been repaid by the + thrifty Burleigh the expenses which had harassed him and diminished his + patrimony; never had been even knighted. That gentleman with short + straight hair, which overhung his forehead, leaning on his sword with one + hand, and a book open in the other hand, had served as representative of + his county town in the Long Parliament, fought under Cromwell at Marston + Moor, and, resisting the Protector when he removed the “bauble,” was one + of the patriots incarcerated in “Hell hole.” He, too, had diminished his + patrimony, maintaining two troopers and two horses at his own charge, and + “Hell hole” was all he got in return. A third, with a sleeker expression + of countenance, and a large wig, flourishing in the quiet times of Charles + II., had only been a justice of the peace, but his alert look showed that + he had been a very active one. He had neither increased nor diminished his + ancestral fortune. A fourth, in the costume of William III.‘s reign, had + somewhat added to the patrimony by becoming a lawyer. He must have been a + successful one. He is inscribed “Sergeant-at-law.” A fifth, a lieutenant + in the army, was killed at Blenheim; his portrait was that of a very young + and handsome man, taken the year before his death. His wife’s portrait is + placed in the drawing-room because it was painted by Kneller. She was + handsome too, and married again a nobleman, whose portrait, of course, was + not in the family collection. Here there was a gap in chronological + arrangement, the lieutenant’s heir being an infant; but in the time of + George II. another Travers appeared as the governor of a West India + colony. His son took part in a very different movement of the age. He is + represented old, venerable, with white hair, and underneath his effigy is + inscribed, “Follower of Wesley.” His successor completes the collection. + He is in naval uniform; he is in full length, and one of his legs is a + wooden one. He is Captain, R.N., and inscribed, “Fought under Nelson at + Trafalgar.” That portrait would have found more dignified place in the + reception-rooms if the face had not been forbiddingly ugly, and the + picture itself a villanous daub. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Kenelm, stopping short, “why Cecilia Travers has been reared + to talk of duty as a practical interest in life. These men of a former + time seem to have lived to discharge a duty, and not to follow the + progress of the age in the chase of a money-bag,—except perhaps one, + but then to be sure he was a lawyer. Kenelm, rouse up and listen to me; + whatever we are, whether active or indolent, is not my favourite maxim a + just and a true one; namely, ‘A good man does good by living’? But, for + that, he must be a harmony and not a discord. Kenelm, you lazy dog, we + must pack up.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm then refilled his portmanteau, and labelled and directed it to + Exmundham, after which he wrote these three notes:— + </p> + <p> + NOTE I. TO THE MARCHIONESS OF GLENALVON. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR FRIEND AND MONITRESS,—I have left your last letter a month + unanswered. I could not reply to your congratulations on the event of my + attaining the age of twenty-one. That event is a conventional sham, and + you know how I abhor shams and conventions. The truth is that I am either + much younger than twenty-one or much older. As to all designs on my peace + in standing for our county at the next election, I wished to defeat them, + and I have done so; and now I have commenced a course of travel. I had + intended on starting to confine it to my native country. Intentions are + mutable. I am going abroad. You shall hear of my whereabout. I write this + from the house of Leopold Travers, who, I understand from his fair + daughter, is a connection of yours; a man to be highly esteemed and + cordially liked. + </p> + <p> + No, in spite of all your flattering predictions, I shall never be anything + in this life more distinguished than what I am now. Lady Glenalvon allows + me to sign myself her grateful friend, + </p> + <p> + K. C. NOTE II. + </p> + <p> + DEAR COUSIN MIVERS,—I am going abroad. I may want money; for, in + order to rouse motive power within me, I mean to want money if I can. When + I was a boy of sixteen you offered me money to write attacks upon veteran + authors for “The Londoner.” Will you give me money now for a similar + display of that grand New Idea of our generation; namely, that the less a + man knows of a subject the better he understands it? I am about to travel + into countries which I have never seen, and among races I have never + known. My arbitrary judgments on both will be invaluable to “The Londoner” + from a Special Correspondent who shares your respect for the anonymous, + and whose name is never to be divulged. Direct your answer by return to + me, <i>poste restante</i>, Calais. + </p> + <p> + Yours truly, + </p> + <p> + K. C. NOTE III. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR FATHER,—I found your letter here, whence I depart to-morrow. + Excuse haste. I go abroad, and shall write to you from Calais. + </p> + <p> + I admire Leopold Travers very much. After all, how much of self-balance + there is in a true English gentleman! Toss him up and down where you will, + and he always alights on his feet,—a gentleman. He has one child, a + daughter named Cecilia,—handsome enough to allure into wedlock any + mortal whom Decimus Roach had not convinced that in celibacy lay the right + “Approach to the Angels.” Moreover, she is a girl whom one can talk with. + Even you could talk with her. Travers wishes her to marry a very + respectable, good-looking, promising gentleman, in every way “suitable,” + as they say. And if she does, she will rival that pink and perfection of + polished womanhood, Lady Glenalvon. I send you back my portmanteau. I have + pretty well exhausted my experience-money, but have not yet encroached on + my monthly allowance. I mean still to live upon that, eking it out, if + necessary, by the sweat of my brow or brains. But if any case requiring + extra funds should occur,—a case in which that extra would do such + real good to another that I feel <i>you</i> would do it,—why, I must + draw a check on your bankers. But understand that is your expense, not + mine, and it is <i>you</i> who are to be repaid in Heaven. Dear father, + how I do love and honour you every day more and more! Promise you not to + propose to any young lady till I come first to you for consent!—oh, + my dear father, how could you doubt it? how doubt that I could not be + happy with any wife whom you could not love as a daughter? Accept that + promise as sacred. But I wish you had asked me something in which + obedience was not much too facile to be a test of duty. I could not have + obeyed you more cheerfully if you had asked me to promise never to propose + to any young lady at all. Had you asked me to promise that I would + renounce the dignity of reason for the frenzy of love, or the freedom of + man for the servitude of husband, then I might have sought to achieve the + impossible; but I should have died in the effort!—and thou wouldst + have known that remorse which haunts the bed of the tyrant. + </p> + <p> + Your affectionate son, + </p> + <p> + K. C. <a name="link2HCH0057" id="link2HCH0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. + </h2> + <p> + THE next morning Kenelm surprised the party at breakfast by appearing in + the coarse habiliments in which he had first made his host’s acquaintance. + He did not glance towards Cecilia when he announced his departure; but, + his eye resting on Mrs. Campion, he smiled, perhaps a little sadly, at + seeing her countenance brighten up and hearing her give a short sigh of + relief. Travers tried hard to induce him to stay a few days longer, but + Kenelm was firm. “The summer is wearing away,” said he, “and I have far to + go before the flowers fade and the snows fall. On the third night from + this I shall sleep on foreign soil.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going abroad, then?” asked Mrs. Campion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “A sudden resolution, Mr. Chillingly. The other day you talked of visiting + the Scotch lakes.” + </p> + <p> + “True; but, on reflection, they will be crowded with holiday tourists, + many of whom I shall probably know. Abroad I shall be free, for I shall be + unknown.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you will be back for the hunting season,” said Travers. + </p> + <p> + “I think not. I do not hunt foxes.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably we shall at all events meet in London,” said Travers. “I think, + after long rustication, that a season or two in the bustling capital may + be a salutary change for mind as well as for body; and it is time that + Cecilia were presented and her court-dress specially commemorated in the + columns of the ‘Morning Post.’” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia was seemingly too busied behind the tea-urn to heed this reference + to her debut. + </p> + <p> + “I shall miss you terribly,” cried Travers, a few moments afterwards, and + with a hearty emphasis. “I declare that you have quite unsettled me. Your + quaint sayings will be ringing in my ears long after you are gone.” + </p> + <p> + There was a rustle as of a woman’s dress in sudden change of movement + behind the tea-urn. + </p> + <p> + “Cissy,” said Mrs. Campion, “are we ever to have our tea?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon,” answered a voice behind the urn. “I hear Pompey” (the Skye + terrier) “whining on the lawn. They have shut him out. I will be back + presently.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia rose and was gone. Mrs. Campion took her place at the tea-urn. + </p> + <p> + “It is quite absurd of Cissy to be so fond of that hideous dog,” said + Travers, petulantly. + </p> + <p> + “Its hideousness is its beauty,” returned Mrs. Campion, laughing. “Mr. + Belvoir selected it for her as having the longest back and the shortest + legs of any dog he could find in Scotland.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, George gave it to her; I forgot that,” said Travers, laughing + pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + It was some minutes before Miss Travers returned with the Skye terrier, + and she seemed to have recovered her spirits in regaining that ornamental + accession to the party; talking very quickly and gayly, and with flushed + cheeks, like a young person excited by her own overflow of mirth. + </p> + <p> + But when, half an hour afterwards, Kenelm took leave of her and Mrs. + Campion at the hall-door, the flush was gone, her lips were tightly + compressed, and her parting words were not audible. Then, as his figure + (side by side with her father, who accompanied his guest to the lodge) + swiftly passed across the lawn and vanished amid the trees beyond, Mrs. + Campion wound a mother-like arm around her waist and kissed her. Cecilia + shivered and turned her face to her friend smiling; but such a smile,—one + of those smiles that seem brimful of tears. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, dear,” she said meekly; and, gliding away towards the + flower-garden, lingered a while by the gate which Kenelm had opened the + night before. Then she went with languid steps up the green slopes towards + the ruined priory. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IV. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0058" id="link2HCH0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + IT is somewhat more than a year and a half since Kenelm Chillingly left + England, and the scene now is in London, during that earlier and more + sociable season which precedes the Easter holidays,—season in which + the charm of intellectual companionship is not yet withered away in the + heated atmosphere of crowded rooms,—season in which parties are + small, and conversation extends beyond the interchange of commonplace with + one’s next neighbour at a dinner-table,—season in which you have a + fair chance of finding your warmest friends not absorbed by the superior + claims of their chilliest acquaintances. + </p> + <p> + There was what is called a <i>conversazione</i> at the house of one of + those Whig noblemen who yet retain the graceful art of bringing agreeable + people together, and collecting round them the true aristocracy, which + combines letters and art and science with hereditary rank and political + distinction,—that art which was the happy secret of the Lansdownes + and Hollands of the last generation. Lord Beaumanoir was himself a genial, + well-read man, a good judge of art, and a pleasant talker. He had a + charming wife, devoted to him and to her children, but with enough love of + general approbation to make herself as popular in the fashionable world as + if she sought in its gayeties a refuge from the dulness of domestic life. + </p> + <p> + Amongst the guests at the Beaumanoirs, this evening were two men, seated + apart in a small room, and conversing familiarly. The one might be about + fifty-four; he was tall, strongly built, but not corpulent, somewhat bald, + with black eyebrows, dark eyes, bright and keen, mobile lips round which + there played a shrewd and sometimes sarcastic smile. + </p> + <p> + This gentleman, the Right Hon. Gerard Danvers, was a very influential + member of Parliament. He had, when young for English public life, attained + to high office; but—partly from a great distaste to the drudgery of + administration; partly from a pride of temperament, which unfitted him for + the subordination that a Cabinet owes to its chief; partly, also, from a + not uncommon kind of epicurean philosophy, at once joyous and cynical, + which sought the pleasures of life and held very cheap its honours—he + had obstinately declined to re-enter office, and only spoke on rare + occasions. On such occasions he carried great weight, and, by the brief + expression of his opinions, commanded more votes than many an orator + infinitely more eloquent. Despite his want of ambition, he was fond of + power in his own way,—power over the people who <i>had</i> power; + and, in the love of political intrigue, he found an amusement for an + intellect very subtle and very active. At this moment he was bent on a new + combination among the leaders of different sections in the same party, by + which certain veterans were to retire, and certain younger men to be + admitted into the Administration. It was an amiable feature in his + character that he had a sympathy with the young, and had helped to bring + into Parliament, as well as into office, some of the ablest of a + generation later than his own. He gave them sensible counsel, was pleased + when they succeeded, and encouraged them when they failed,—always + provided that they had stuff enough in them to redeem the failure; if not, + he gently dropped them from his intimacy, but maintained sufficiently + familiar terms with them to be pretty sure that he could influence their + votes whenever he so desired. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with whom he was now conversing was young, about + five-and-twenty; not yet in Parliament, but with an intense desire to + obtain a seat in it, and with one of those reputations which a youth + carries away from school and college, justified, not by honours purely + academical, but by an impression of ability and power created on the minds + of his contemporaries and endorsed by his elders. He had done little at + the University beyond taking a fair degree, except acquiring at the + debating society the fame of an exceedingly ready and adroit speaker. On + quitting college he had written one or two political articles in a + quarterly review, which created a sensation; and though belonging to no + profession, and having but a small yet independent income, society was + very civil to him, as to a man who would some day or other attain a + position in which he could damage his enemies and serve his friends. + Something in this young man’s countenance and bearing tended to favour the + credit given to his ability and his promise. In his countenance there was + no beauty; in his bearing no elegance. But in that countenance there was + vigour, there was energy, there was audacity. A forehead wide but low, + protuberant in those organs over the brow which indicate the qualities + fitted for perception and judgment,—qualities for every-day life; + eyes of the clear English blue, small, somewhat sunken, vigilant, + sagacious, penetrating; a long straight upper lip, significant of resolute + purpose; a mouth in which a student of physiognomy would have detected a + dangerous charm. The smile was captivating, but it was artificial, + surrounded by dimples, and displaying teeth white, small, strong, but + divided from each other. The expression of that smile would have been + frank and candid to all who failed to notice that it was not in harmony + with the brooding forehead and the steely eye; that it seemed to stand + distinct from the rest of the face, like a feature that had learned its + part. There was that physical power in the back of the head which belongs + to men who make their way in life,—combative and destructive. All + gladiators have it; so have great debaters and great reformers,—that + is, reformers who can destroy, but not necessarily reconstruct. So, too, + in the bearing of the man there was a hardy self-confidence, much too + simple and unaffected for his worst enemy to call it self-conceit. It was + the bearing of one who knew how to maintain personal dignity without + seeming to care about it. Never servile to the great, never arrogant to + the little; so little over-refined that it was never vulgar,—a + popular bearing. + </p> + <p> + The room in which these gentlemen were seated was separated from the + general suite of apartments by a lobby off the landing-place, and served + for Lady Beaumanoir’s boudoir. Very pretty it was, but simply furnished, + with chintz draperies. The walls were adorned with drawings in + water-colours, and precious specimens of china on fanciful Parian + brackets. At one corner, by a window that looked southward and opened on a + spacious balcony, glazed in and filled with flowers, stood one of those + high trellised screens, first invented, I believe, in Vienna, and along + which ivy is so trained as to form an arbour. + </p> + <p> + The recess thus constructed, and which was completely out of sight from + the rest of the room, was the hostess’s favourite writing-nook. The two + men I have described were seated near the screen, and had certainly no + suspicion that any one could be behind it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Danvers, from an ottoman niched in another recess of the + room, “I think there will be an opening at Saxboro’ soon: Milroy wants a + Colonial Government; and if we can reconstruct the Cabinet as I propose, + he would get one. Saxboro’ would thus be vacant. But, my dear fellow, + Saxboro’ is a place to be wooed through love, and only won through money. + It demands liberalism from a candidate,—two kinds of liberalism + seldom united; the liberalism in opinion which is natural enough to a very + poor man, and the liberalism in expenditure which is scarcely to be + obtained except from a very rich one. You may compute the cost of Saxboro’ + at L3000 to get in, and about L2000 more to defend your seat against a + petition,—the defeated candidate nearly always petitions. L5000 is a + large sum; and the worst of it is, that the extreme opinions to which the + member for Saxboro’ must pledge himself are a drawback to an official + career. Violent politicians are not the best raw material out of which to + manufacture fortunate placemen.” + </p> + <p> + “The opinions do not so much matter; the expense does. I cannot afford + L5000, or even L3000.” + </p> + <p> + “Would not Sir Peter assist? He has, you say, only one son; and if + anything happen to that son, you are the next heir.” + </p> + <p> + “My father quarrelled with Sir Peter, and harassed him by an imprudent and + ungracious litigation. I scarcely think I could apply to him for money to + obtain a seat in Parliament upon the democratic side of the question; for, + though I know little of his politics, I take it for granted that a country + gentleman of old family and L10,000 a year cannot well be a democrat.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I presume you would not be a democrat if, by the death of your + cousin, you became heir to the Chillinglys.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure what I might be in that case. There are times when a + democrat of ancient lineage and good estates could take a very high place + amongst the aristocracy.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! my dear Gordon, <i>vous irez loin</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope to do so. Measuring myself against the men of my own day, I do not + see many who should outstrip me.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a fellow is your cousin Kenelm? I met him once or twice when + he was very young, and reading with Welby in London. People then said that + he was very clever; he struck me as very odd.” + </p> + <p> + “I never saw him, but from all I hear, whether he be clever or whether he + be odd, he is not likely to do anything in life,—a dreamer.” + </p> + <p> + “Writes poetry perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “Capable of it, I dare say.” + </p> + <p> + Just then some other guests came into the room, amongst them a lady of an + appearance at once singularly distinguished and singularly prepossessing, + rather above the common height, and with a certain indescribable nobility + of air and presence. Lady Glenalvon was one of the queens of the London + world, and no queen of that world was ever less worldly or more + queen-like. Side by side with the lady was Mr. Chillingly Mivers. Gordon + and Mivers interchanged friendly nods, and the former sauntered away and + was soon lost amid a crowd of other young men, with whom, as he could + converse well and lightly on things which interested them, he was rather a + favourite, though he was not an intimate associate. Mr. Danvers retired + into a corner of the adjoining lobby, where he favoured the French + ambassador with his views on the state of Europe and the reconstruction of + Cabinets in general. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Lady Glenalvon to Chillingly Mivers, “are you quite sure that + my old young friend Kenelm is here? Since you told me so, I have looked + everywhere for him in vain. I should so much like to see him again.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly caught a glimpse of him half an hour ago; but before I could + escape from a geologist who was boring me about the Silurian system, + Kenelm had vanished.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was his ghost!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we certainly live in the most credulous and superstitious age upon + record; and so many people tell me that they converse with the dead under + the table that it seems impertinent in me to say that I don’t believe in + ghosts.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me some of those incomprehensible stories about table-rapping,” said + Lady Glenalvon. “There is a charming, snug recess here behind the screen.” + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had she entered the recess when she drew back with a start and an + exclamation of amaze. Seated at the table within the recess, his chin + resting on his hand, and his face cast down in abstracted revery, was a + young man. So still was his attitude, so calmly mournful the expression of + his face, so estranged did he seem from all the motley but brilliant + assemblage which circled around the solitude he had made for himself, that + he might well have been deemed one of those visitants from another world + whose secrets the intruder had wished to learn. Of that intruder’s + presence he was evidently unconscious. Recovering her surprise, she stole + up to him, placed her hand on his shoulder, and uttered his name in a low + gentle voice. At that sound Kenelm Chillingly looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not remember me?” asked Lady Glenalvon. Before he could answer, + Mivers, who had followed the marchioness into the recess, interposed. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Kenelm, how are you? When did you come to London? Why have you + not called on me; and what on earth are you hiding yourself for?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm had now recovered the self-possession which he rarely lost long in + the presence of others. He returned cordially his kinsman’s greeting, and + kissed with his wonted chivalrous grace the fair hand which the lady + withdrew from his shoulder and extended to his pressure. “Remember you!” + he said to Lady Glenalvon with the kindliest expression of his soft dark + eyes; “I am not so far advanced towards the noon of life as to forget the + sunshine that brightened its morning. My dear Mivers, your questions are + easily answered. I arrived in England two weeks ago, stayed at Exmundham + till this morning, to-day dined with Lord Thetford, whose acquaintance I + made abroad, and was persuaded by him to come here and be introduced to + his father and mother, the Beaumanoirs. After I had undergone that + ceremony, the sight of so many strange faces frightened me into shyness. + Entering this room at a moment when it was quite deserted, I resolved to + turn hermit behind the screen.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you must have seen your cousin Gordon as you came into the room.” + </p> + <p> + “But you forget I don’t know him by sight. However, there was no one in + the room when I entered; a little later some others came in, for I heard a + faint buzz, like that of persons talking in a whisper. However, I was no + eavesdropper, as a person behind a screen is on the dramatic stage.” + </p> + <p> + This was true. Even had Gordon and Danvers talked in a louder tone, Kenelm + had been too absorbed in his own thoughts to have heard a word of their + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know young Gordon; he is a very clever fellow, and has an + ambition to enter Parliament. I hope no old family quarrel between his + bear of a father and dear Sir Peter will make you object to meet him.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Peter is the most forgiving of men, but he would scarcely forgive me + if I declined to meet a cousin who had never offended him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well said. Come and meet Gordon at breakfast to-morrow,—ten + o’clock. I am still in the old rooms.” + </p> + <p> + While the kinsmen thus conversed, Lady Glenalvon had seated herself on the + couch beside Kenelm, and was quietly observing his countenance. Now she + spoke. “My dear Mr. Mivers, you will have many opportunities of talking + with Kenelm; do not grudge me five minutes’ talk with him now.” + </p> + <p> + “I leave your ladyship alone in your hermitage. How all the men in this + assembly will envy the hermit!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0059" id="link2HCH0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + “I AM glad to see you once more in the world,” said Lady Glenalvon; “and I + trust that you are now prepared to take that part in it which ought to be + no mean one if you do justice to your talents and your nature.” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“When you go to the theatre, and see one of the pieces which + appear now to be the fashion, which would you rather be,—an actor or + a looker-on?” + </p> + <p> + LADY GLENALVON.—“My dear young friend, your question saddens me.” + (After a pause.)—“But though I used a stage metaphor when I + expressed my hope that you would take no mean part in the world, the world + is not really a theatre. Life admits of no lookers-on. Speak to me + frankly, as you used to do. Your face retains its old melancholy + expression. Are you not happy?” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“Happy, as mortals go, I ought to be. I do not think I am + unhappy. If my temper be melancholic, melancholy has a happiness of its + own. Milton shows that there are as many charms in life to be found on the + <i>Penseroso</i> side of it as there are on the <i>Allegro</i>.” + </p> + <p> + LADY GLENALVON.—“Kenelm, you saved the life of my poor son, and + when, later, he was taken from me, I felt as if he had commended you to my + care. When at the age of sixteen, with a boy’s years and a man’s heart, + you came to London, did I not try to be to you almost as a mother? and did + you not often tell me that you could confide to me the secrets of your + heart more readily than to any other?” + </p> + <p> + “You were to me,” said Kenelm, with emotion, “that most precious and + sustaining good genius which a youth can find at the threshold of life,—a + woman gently wise, kindly sympathizing, shaming him by the spectacle of + her own purity from all grosser errors, elevating him from mean tastes and + objects by the exquisite, ineffable loftiness of soul which is only found + in the noblest order of womanhood. Come, I will open my heart to you + still. I fear it is more wayward than ever. It still feels estranged from + the companionship and pursuits natural to my age and station. However, I + have been seeking to brace and harden my nature, for the practical ends of + life, by travel and adventure, chiefly among rougher varieties of mankind + than we meet in drawing-rooms. Now, in compliance with the duty I owe to + my dear father’s wishes, I come back to these circles, which under your + auspices I entered in boyhood, and which even then seemed to me so inane + and artificial. Take a part in the world of these circles; such is your + wish. My answer is brief. I have been doing my best to acquire a motive + power, and have not succeeded. I see nothing that I care to strive for, + nothing that I care to gain. The very times in which we live are to me, as + to Hamlet, out of joint; and I am not born like Hamlet to set them right. + Ah! if I could look on society through the spectacles with which the poor + hidalgo in ‘Gil Blas’ looked on his meagre board,—spectacles by + which cherries appear the size of peaches, and tomtits as large as + turkeys! The imagination which is necessary to ambition is a great + magnifier.” + </p> + <p> + “I have known more than one man, now very eminent, very active, who at + your age felt the same estrangement from the practical pursuits of + others.” + </p> + <p> + “And what reconciled those men to such pursuits?” + </p> + <p> + “That diminished sense of individual personality, that unconscious fusion + of one’s own being into other existences, which belong to home and + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t object to home, but I do to marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Depend on it there is no home for man where there is no woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Prettily said. In that case I resign the home.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean seriously to tell me that you never see the woman you could + love enough to make her your wife, and never enter any home that you do + not quit with a touch of envy at the happiness of married life?” + </p> + <p> + “Seriously, I never see such a woman; seriously, I never enter such a + home.” + </p> + <p> + “Patience, then; your time will come, and I hope it is at hand. Listen to + me. It was only yesterday that I felt an indescribable longing to see you + again,—to know your address that I might write to you; for + yesterday, when a certain young lady left my house after a week’s visit, I + said this girl would make a perfect wife, and, above all, the exact wife + to suit Kenelm Chillingly.” + </p> + <p> + “Kenelm Chillingly is very glad to hear that this young lady has left your + house.” + </p> + <p> + “But she has not left London: she is here to-night. She only stayed with + me till her father came to town, and the house he had taken for the season + was vacant; those events happened yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Fortunate events for me: they permit me to call on you without danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you no curiosity to know, at least, who and what is the young lady + who appears to me so well suited to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No curiosity, but a vague sensation of alarm.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I cannot talk pleasantly with you while you are in this irritating + mood, and it is time to quit the hermitage. Come, there are many persons + here, with some of whom you should renew old acquaintance, and to some of + whom I should like to make you known.” + </p> + <p> + “I am prepared to follow Lady Glenalvon wherever she deigns to lead me,—except + to the altar with another.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0060" id="link2HCH0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + THE rooms were now full,—not overcrowded, but full,—and it was + rarely even in that house that so many distinguished persons were + collected together. A young man thus honoured by so <i>grande</i> a dame + as Lady Glenalvon could not but be cordially welcomed by all to whom she + presented him, Ministers and Parliamentary leaders, ball-givers, and + beauties in vogue,—even authors and artists; and there was something + in Kenelm Chillingly, in his striking countenance and figure, in that calm + ease of manner natural to his indifference to effect, which seemed to + justify the favour shown to him by the brilliant princess of fashion and + mark him out for general observation. + </p> + <p> + That first evening of his reintroduction to the polite world was a success + which few young men of his years achieve. He produced a sensation. Just as + the rooms were thinning, Lady Glenalvon whispered to Kenelm,— + </p> + <p> + “Come this way: there is one person I must reintroduce you to; thank me + for it hereafter.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm followed the marchioness, and found himself face to face with + Cecilia Travers. She was leaning on her father’s arm, looking very + handsome, and her beauty was heightened by the blush which overspread her + cheeks as Kenelm Chillingly approached. + </p> + <p> + Travers greeted him with great cordiality; and Lady Glenalvon asking him + to escort her to the refreshment-room, Kenelm had no option but to offer + his arm to Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm felt somewhat embarrassed. “Have you been long in town, Miss + Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “A little more than a week, but we only settled into our house yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, indeed! were you then the young lady who—” He stopped short, + and his face grew gentler and graver in its expression. + </p> + <p> + “The young lady who—what?” asked Cecilia with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Who has been staying with Lady Glenalvon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; did she tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “She did not mention your name, but praised that young lady so justly that + I ought to have guessed it.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia made some not very audible answer, and on entering the + refreshment-room other young men gathered round her, and Lady Glenalvon + and Kenelm remained silent in the midst of a general small-talk. When + Travers, after giving his address to Kenelm, and, of course, pressing him + to call, left the house with Cecilia, Kenelm said to Lady Glenalvon, + musingly, “So that is the young lady in whom I was to see my fate: you + knew that we had met before?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she told me when and where. Besides, it is not two years since you + wrote to me from her father’s house. Do you forget?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Kenelm, so abstractedly that he seemed to be dreaming, “no man + with his eyes open rushes on his fate: when he does so his sight is gone. + Love is blind. They say the blind are very happy, yet I never met a blind + man who would not recover his sight if he could.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0061" id="link2HCH0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. CHILLINGLY MIVERS never gave a dinner at his own rooms. When he did + give a dinner it was at Greenwich or Richmond. But he gave + breakfast-parties pretty often, and they were considered pleasant. He had + handsome bachelor apartments in Grosvenor Street, daintily furnished, with + a prevalent air of exquisite neatness, a good library stored with books of + reference, and adorned with presentation copies from authors of the day, + very beautifully bound. Though the room served for the study of the + professed man of letters, it had none of the untidy litter which generally + characterizes the study of one whose vocation it is to deal with books and + papers. Even the implements for writing were not apparent, except when + required. They lay concealed in a vast cylinder bureau, French made, and + French polished. Within that bureau were numerous pigeon-holes and secret + drawers, and a profound well with a separate patent lock. In the well were + deposited the articles intended for publication in “The Londoner,” + proof-sheets, etc.; pigeon-holes were devoted to ordinary correspondence; + secret drawers to confidential notes, and outlines of biographies of + eminent men now living, but intended to be completed for publication the + day after their death. + </p> + <p> + No man wrote such funeral compositions with a livelier pen than that of + Chillingly Mivers; and the large and miscellaneous circle of his visiting + acquaintances allowed him to ascertain, whether by authoritative report or + by personal observation, the signs of mortal disease in the illustrious + friends whose dinners he accepted, and whose failing pulses he + instinctively felt in returning the pressure of their hands; so that he + was often able to put the finishing-stroke to their obituary memorials + days, weeks, even months, before their fate took the public by surprise. + That cylinder bureau was in harmony with the secrecy in which this + remarkable man shrouded the productions of his brain. In his literary life + Mivers had no “I,” there he was ever the inscrutable, mysterious “We.” He + was only “I” when you met him in the world, and called him Mivers. + </p> + <p> + Adjoining the library on one side was a small dining or rather breakfast + room, hung with valuable pictures,—presents from living painters. + Many of these painters had been severely handled by Mr. Mivers in his + existence as “We,”—not always in “The Londoner.” His most pungent + criticisms were often contributed to other intellectual journals conducted + by members of the same intellectual clique. Painters knew not how + contemptuously “We” had treated them when they met Mr. Mivers. His “I” was + so complimentary that they sent him a tribute of their gratitude. + </p> + <p> + On the other side was his drawing-room, also enriched by many gifts, + chiefly from fair hands,—embroidered cushions and table-covers, bits + of Sevres or old Chelsea, elegant knick-knacks of all kinds. Fashionable + authoresses paid great court to Mr. Mivers; and in the course of his life + as a single man, he had other female adorers besides fashionable + authoresses. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mivers had already returned from his early constitutional walk in the + Park, and was now seated by the cylinder <i>secretaire</i> with a + mild-looking man, who was one of the most merciless contributors to “The + Londoner” and no unimportant councillor in the oligarchy of the clique + that went by the name of the “Intellectuals.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mivers, languidly, “I can’t even get through the book; it is + as dull as the country in November. But, as you justly say, the writer is + an ‘Intellectual,’ and a clique would be anything but intellectual if it + did not support its members. Review the book yourself; mind and make the + dulness of it the signal proof of its merit. Say: ‘To the ordinary class + of readers this exquisite work may appear less brilliant than the flippant + smartness of’—any other author you like to name; ‘but to the well + educated and intelligent every line is pregnant with,’ etc. By the way, + when we come by and by to review the exhibition at Burlington House, there + is one painter whom we must try our best to crush. I have not seen his + pictures myself, but he is a new man; and our friend, who has seen him, is + terribly jealous of him, and says that if the good judges do not put him + down at once, the villanous taste of the public will set him up as a + prodigy. A low-lived fellow too, I hear. There is the name of the man and + the subject of the pictures. See to it when the time comes. Meanwhile, + prepare the way for onslaught on the pictures by occasional sneers at the + painter.” Here Mr. Mivers took out of his cylinder a confidential note + from the jealous rival and handed it to his mild-looking <i>confrere</i>; + then rising, he said, “I fear we must suspend our business till to-morrow; + I expect two young cousins to breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as the mild-looking man was gone, Mr. Mivers sauntered to his + drawing-room window, amiably offering a lump of sugar to a canary-bird + sent to him as a present the day before, and who, in the gilded cage which + made part of the present, scanned him suspiciously and refused the sugar. + </p> + <p> + Time had remained very gentle in its dealings with Chillingly Mivers. He + scarcely looked a day older than when he was first presented to the reader + on the birth of his kinsman Kenelm. He was reaping the fruit of his own + sage maxims. Free from whiskers and safe in wig, there was no sign of + gray, no suspicion of dye. Superiority to passion, abnegation of sorrow, + indulgence of amusement, avoidance of excess, had kept away the + crow’s-feet, preserved the elasticity of his frame and the unflushed + clearness of his gentlemanlike complexion. The door opened, and a + well-dressed valet, who had lived long enough with Mivers to grow very + much like him, announced Mr. Chillingly Gordon. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” said Mivers; “I was much pleased to see you talking so + long and so familiarly with Danvers: others, of course, observed it, and + it added a step to your career. It does you great good to be seen in a + drawing-room talking apart with a Somebody. But may I ask if the talk + itself was satisfactory?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all: Danvers throws cold water on the notion of Saxboro’, and does + not even hint that his party will help me to any other opening. Party has + few openings at its disposal nowadays for any young man. The schoolmaster + being abroad has swept away the school for statesmen as he has swept away + the school for actors,—an evil, and an evil of a far greater + consequence to the destinies of the nation than any good likely to be got + from the system that succeeded it.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is of no use railing against things that can’t be helped. If I + were you, I would postpone all ambition of Parliament and read for the + bar.” + </p> + <p> + “The advice is sound, but too unpalatable to be taken. I am resolved to + find a seat in the House, and where there is a will there is a way.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Judging by what your contemporaries at the University tell me of your + speeches at the Debating Society, you were not then an ultra-Radical. But + it is only an ultra-Radical who has a chance of success at Saxboro’.” + </p> + <p> + “I am no fanatic in politics. There is much to be said on all sides: <i>coeteris + paribus</i>, I prefer the winning side to the losing; nothing succeeds + like success.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but in politics there is always reaction. The winning side one day + may be the losing side another. The losing side represents a minority, and + a minority is sure to comprise more intellect than a majority: in the long + run intellect will force its way, get a majority and then lose it, because + with a majority it will become stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Mivers, does not the history of the world show you that a single + individual can upset all theories as to the comparative wisdom of the few + or the many? Take the wisest few you can find, and one man of genius not a + tithe so wise crushes them into powder. But then that man of genius, + though he despises the many, must make use of them. That done, he rules + them. Don’t you see how in free countries political destinations resolve + themselves into individual impersonations? At a general election it is one + name around which electors rally. The candidate may enlarge as much as he + pleases on political principles, but all his talk will not win him votes + enough for success, unless he says, ‘I go with Mr. A.,’ the minister, or + with Mr. Z., the chief of the opposition. It was not the Tories who beat + the Whigs when Mr. Pitt dissolved Parliament. It was Mr. Pitt who beat Mr. + Fox, with whom in general political principle—slave-trade, Roman + Catholic emancipation, Parliamentary reform—he certainly agreed much + more than he did with any man in his own cabinet.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, my young cousin,” cried Mivers, in accents of alarm; “don’t + set up for a man of genius. Genius is the worst quality a public man can + have nowadays: nobody heeds it, and everybody is jealous of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, you mistake; my remark was purely objective, and intended as a + reply to your argument. I prefer at present to go with the many because it + is the winning side. If we then want a man of genius to keep it the + winning side, by subjugating its partisans to his will, he will be sure to + come. The few will drive him to us, for the few are always the enemies of + the one man of genius. It is they who distrust,—it is they who are + jealous,—not the many. You have allowed your judgment, usually so + clear, to be somewhat dimmed by your experience as a critic. The critics + are the few. They have infinitely more culture than the many. But when a + man of real genius appears and asserts himself, the critics are seldom + such fair judges of him as the many are. If he be not one of their + oligarchical clique, they either abuse, or disparage, or affect to ignore + him; though a time at last comes when, having gained the many, the critics + acknowledge him. But the difference between the man of action and the + author is this, that the author rarely finds this acknowledgment till he + is dead, and it is necessary to the man of action to enforce it while he + is alive. But enough of this speculation: you ask me to meet Kenelm; is he + not coming?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I did not ask him till ten o’clock. I asked you at half-past + nine, because I wished to hear about Danvers and Saxboro’, and also to + prepare you somewhat for your introduction to your cousin. I must be brief + as to the last, for it is only five minutes to the hour, and he is a man + likely to be punctual. Kenelm is in all ways your opposite. I don’t know + whether he is cleverer or less clever; there is no scale of measurement + between you: but he is wholly void of ambition, and might possibly assist + yours. He can do what he likes with Sir Peter; and considering how your + poor father—a worthy man, but cantankerous—harassed and + persecuted Sir Peter, because Kenelm came between the estate and you, it + is probable that Sir Peter bears you a grudge, though Kenelm declares him + incapable of it; and it would be well if you could annul that grudge in + the father by conciliating the goodwill of the son.” + </p> + <p> + “I should be glad so to annul it; but what is Kenelm’s weak side?—the + turf? the hunting-field? women? poetry? One can only conciliate a man by + getting on his weak side.” + </p> + <p> + “Hist! I see him from the windows. Kenelm’s weak side was, when I knew him + some years ago, and I rather fancy it still is—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, make haste! I hear his ring at your door-bell.” + </p> + <p> + “A passionate longing to find ideal truth in real life.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Gordon, “as I thought,—a mere dreamer” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0062" id="link2HCH0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM entered the room. The young cousins were introduced, shook hands, + receded a step, and gazed at each other. It is scarcely possible to + conceive a greater contrast outwardly than that between the two Chillingly + representatives of the rising generation. Each was silently impressed by + the sense of that contrast. Each felt that the contrast implied + antagonism, and that if they two met in the same arena it must be as rival + combatants; still, by some mysterious intuition, each felt a certain + respect for the other, each divined in the other a power that he could not + fairly estimate, but against which his own power would be strongly tasked + to contend. So might exchange looks a thorough-bred deer-hound and a + half-bred mastiff: the bystander could scarcely doubt which was the nobler + animal; but he might hesitate which to bet on, if the two came to deadly + quarrel. Meanwhile the thorough-bred deer-hound and the half-bred mastiff + sniffed at each other in polite salutation. Gordon was the first to give + tongue. + </p> + <p> + “I have long wished to know you personally,” said he, throwing into his + voice and manner that delicate kind of deference which a well-born cadet + owes to the destined head of his house. “I cannot conceive how I missed + you last night at Lady Beaumanoir’s, where Mivers tells me he met you; but + I left early.” + </p> + <p> + Here Mivers led the way to the breakfast-room, and, there seated, the host + became the principal talker, running with lively glibness over the + principal topics of the day,—the last scandal, the last new book, + the reform of the army, the reform of the turf, the critical state of + Spain, and the debut of an Italian singer. He seemed an embodied Journal, + including the Leading Article, the Law Reports, Foreign Intelligence, the + Court Circular, down to the Births, Deaths, and Marriages. Gordon from + time to time interrupted this flow of soul with brief, trenchant remarks, + which evinced his own knowledge of the subjects treated, and a habit of + looking on all subjects connected with the pursuits and business of + mankind from a high ground appropriated to himself, and through the medium + of that blue glass which conveys a wintry aspect to summer landscapes. + Kenelm said little, but listened attentively. + </p> + <p> + The conversation arrested its discursive nature, to settle upon a + political chief, the highest in fame and station of that party to which + Mivers professed—not to belong, he belonged to himself alone, but to + appropinquate. Mivers spoke of this chief with the greatest distrust, and + in a spirit of general depreciation. Gordon acquiesced in the distrust and + the depreciation, adding, “But he is master of the position, and must, of + course, be supported through thick and thin for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for the present,” said Mivers, “one has no option. But you will see + some clever articles in ‘The Londoner’ towards the close of the session, + which will damage him greatly, by praising him in the wrong place, and + deepening the alarm of important followers,—an alarm now at work, + though suppressed.” + </p> + <p> + Here Kenelm asked, in humble tones, why Gordon thought that a minister he + considered so untrustworthy and dangerous must for the present be + supported through thick and thin. + </p> + <p> + “Because at present a member elected so to support him would lose his seat + if he did not: needs must when the devil drives.” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“When the devil drives, I should have thought it better to + resign one’s seat on the coach; perhaps one might be of some use, out of + it, in helping to put on the drag.” + </p> + <p> + MIVERS.—“Cleverly said, Kenelm. But, metaphor apart, Gordon is + right. A young politician must go with his party; a veteran journalist + like myself is more independent. So long as the journalist blames + everybody, he will have plenty of readers.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm made no reply, and Gordon changed the conversation from men to + measures. He spoke of some Bills before Parliament with remarkable + ability, evincing much knowledge of the subject, much critical acuteness, + illustrating their defects, and proving the danger of their ultimate + consequences. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was greatly struck with the vigour of this cold, clear mind, and + owned to himself that the House of Commons was a fitting place for its + development. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Mivers, “would you not be obliged to defend these Bills if you + were member for Saxboro’?” + </p> + <p> + “Before I answer your question, answer me this: dangerous as the Bills + are, is it not necessary that they shall pass? Have not the public so + resolved?” + </p> + <p> + “There can be no doubt of that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the member for Saxboro’ cannot be strong enough to go against the + public.” + </p> + <p> + “Progress of the age!” said Kenelm, musingly. “Do you think the class of + gentlemen will long last in England?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you call gentlemen? The aristocracy by birth?—the <i>gentilshommes</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, I suppose no laws can take away a man’s ancestors, and a class of + well-born men is not to be exterminated. But a mere class of well-born men—without + duties, responsibilities, or sentiment of that which becomes good birth in + devotion to country or individual honour—does no good to a nation. + It is a misfortune which statesmen of democratic creed ought to recognize, + that the class of the well-born cannot be destroyed: it must remain as it + remained in Rome and remains in France, after all efforts to extirpate it, + as the most dangerous class of citizens when you deprive it of the + attributes which made it the most serviceable. I am not speaking of that + class; I speak of that unclassified order peculiar to England, which, no + doubt, forming itself originally from the ideal standard of honour and + truth supposed to be maintained by the <i>gentilshommes</i>, or well-born, + no longer requires pedigrees and acres to confer upon its members the + designation of gentleman; and when I hear a ‘gentleman’ say that he has no + option but to think one thing and say another, at whatever risk to his + country, I feel as if in the progress of the age the class of gentleman + was about to be superseded by some finer development of species.” + </p> + <p> + Therewith Kenelm rose, and would have taken his departure, if Gordon had + not seized his hand and detained him. + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin, if I may so call you,” he said, with the frank manner + which was usual to him, and which suited well the bold expression of his + face and the clear ring of his voice, “I am one of those who, from an + over-dislike to sentimentality and cant, often make those not intimately + acquainted with them think worse of their principles than they deserve. It + may be quite true that a man who goes with his party dislikes the measures + he feels bound to support, and says so openly when among friends and + relations, yet that man is not therefore devoid of loyalty and honour; and + I trust, when you know me better, you will not think it likely I should + derogate from that class of gentlemen to which we both belong.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me if I seemed rude,” answered Kenelm; “ascribe it to my ignorance + of the necessities of public life. It struck me that where a politician + thought a thing evil, he ought not to support it as good. But I dare say I + am mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Entirely mistaken,” said Mivers, “and for this reason: in politics + formerly there was a direct choice between good and evil. That rarely + exists now. Men of high education, having to choose whether to accept or + reject a measure forced upon their option by constituent bodies of very + low education, are called upon to weigh evil against evil,—the evil + of accepting or the evil of rejecting; and if they resolve on the first, + it is as the lesser evil of the two.” + </p> + <p> + “Your definition is perfect,” said Gordon, “and I am contented to rest on + it my excuse for what my cousin deems insincerity.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that is real life,” said Kenelm, with his mournful smile. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is,” said Mivers. + </p> + <p> + “Every day I live,” sighed Kenelm, “still more confirms my conviction that + real life is a phantasmal sham. How absurd it is in philosophers to deny + the existence of apparitions! what apparitions we, living men, must seem + to the ghosts! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘The spirits of the wise + Sit in the clouds and mock us.’” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0063" id="link2HCH0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + CHILLINGLY GORDON did not fail to confirm his acquaintance with Kenelm. He + very often looked in upon him of a morning, sometimes joined him in his + afternoon rides, introduced him to men of his own set who were mostly busy + members of Parliament, rising barristers, or political journalists, but + not without a proportion of brilliant idlers,—club men, sporting + men, men of fashion, rank, and fortune. He did so with a purpose, for + these persons spoke well of him,—spoke well not only of his talents, + but of his honourable character. His general nickname amongst them was + “HONEST GORDON.” Kenelm at first thought this sobriquet must be ironical; + not a bit of it. It was given to him on account of the candour and + boldness with which he expressed opinions embodying that sort of cynicism + which is vulgarly called “the absence of humbug.” The man was certainly no + hypocrite; he affected no beliefs which he did not entertain. And he had + very few beliefs in anything, except the first half of the adage, “Every + man for himself,—and God for us all.” + </p> + <p> + But whatever Chillingly Gordon’s theoretical disbeliefs in things which + make the current creed of the virtuous, there was nothing in his conduct + which evinced predilection for vices: he was strictly upright in all his + dealings, and in delicate matters of honour was a favourite umpire amongst + his coevals. Though so frankly ambitious, no one could accuse him of + attempting to climb on the shoulders of patrons. There was nothing servile + in his nature; and, though he was perfectly prepared to bribe electors if + necessary, no money could have bought himself. His one master-passion was + the desire of power. He sneered at patriotism as a worn-out prejudice, at + philanthropy as a sentimental catch-word. He did not want to serve his + country, but to rule it. He did not want to raise mankind, but to rise + himself. He was therefore unscrupulous, unprincipled, as hungerers after + power for itself too often are; yet still if he got power he would + probably use it well, from the clearness and strength of his mental + perceptions. The impression he made on Kenelm may be seen in the following + letter:— + </p> + <p> + TO SIR PETER CHILLINGLY, BART., ETC. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR FATHER,—You and my dear mother will be pleased to hear that + London continues very polite to me: that “arida nutrix leonum” enrolls me + among the pet class of lions which ladies of fashion admit into the + society of their lapdogs. It is somewhere about six years since I was + allowed to gaze on this peep-show through the loopholes of Mr. Welby’s + retreat. It appears to me, perhaps erroneously, that even within that + short space of time the tone of “society” is perceptibly changed. That the + change is for the better is an assertion I leave to those who belong to + the <i>progressista</i> party. + </p> + <p> + I don’t think nearly so many young ladies six years ago painted their + eyelids and dyed their hair: a few of them there might be, imitators of + the slang invented by schoolboys and circulated through the medium of + small novelists; they might use such expressions as “stunning,” “cheek,” + “awfully jolly,” etc. But now I find a great many who have advanced to a + slang beyond that of verbal expressions,—a slang of mind, a slang of + sentiment, a slang in which very little seems left of the woman and + nothing at all of the lady. + </p> + <p> + Newspaper essayists assert that the young men of the day are to blame for + this; that the young men like it; and the fair husband-anglers dress their + flies in the colours most likely to attract a nibble. Whether this excuse + be the true one I cannot pretend to judge; but it strikes me that the men + about my own age who affect to be fast are a more languid race than the + men from ten to twenty years older, whom they regard as <i>slow</i>. The + habit of dram-drinking in the morning is a very new idea, an idea greatly + in fashion at the moment. Adonis calls for a “pick-me-up” before he has + strength enough to answer a <i>billet-doux</i> from Venus. Adonis has not + the strength to get nobly drunk, but his delicate constitution requires + stimulants, and he is always tippling. + </p> + <p> + The men of high birth or renown for social success belonging, my dear + father, to your time, are still distinguished by an air of good breeding, + by a style of conversation more or less polished and not without evidences + of literary culture, from men of the same rank in my generation, who + appear to pride themselves on respecting nobody and knowing nothing, not + even grammar. Still we are assured that the world goes on steadily + improving. <i>That</i> new idea is in full vigour. + </p> + <p> + Society in the concrete has become wonderfully conceited as to its own + progressive excellences, and the individuals who form the concrete + entertain the same complacent opinion of themselves. There are, of course, + even in my brief and imperfect experience, many exceptions to what appear + to me the prevalent characteristics of the rising generation in “society.” + Of these exceptions I must content myself with naming the most remarkable. + <i>Place aux dames</i>, the first I name is Cecilia Travers. She and her + father are now in town, and I meet them frequently. I can conceive no + civilized era in the world which a woman like Cecilia Travers would not + grace and adorn, because she is essentially the type of woman as man likes + to imagine woman; namely, on the fairest side of the womanly character. + And I say “woman” rather than “girl,” because among “Girls of the Period” + Cecilia Travers cannot be classed. You might call her damsel, virgin, + maiden, but you could no more call her girl than you could call a + well-born French demoiselle <i>fille</i>. She is handsome enough to please + the eye of any man, however fastidious, but not that kind of beauty which + dazzles all men too much to fascinate one man; for—speaking, thank + Heaven, from mere theory—I apprehend that the love for woman has in + it a strong sense of property; that one requires to individualize one’s + possession as being wholly one’s own, and not a possession which all the + public are invited to admire. I can readily understand how a rich man, who + has what is called a show place, in which the splendid rooms and the + stately gardens are open to all inspectors, so that he has no privacy in + his own demesnes, runs away to a pretty cottage which he has all to + himself, and of which he can say, “<i>This</i> is home; <i>this</i> is all + mine.” + </p> + <p> + But there are some kinds of beauty which are eminently show places,—which + the public think they have as much a right to admire as the owner has; and + the show place itself would be dull and perhaps fall out of repair, if the + public could be excluded from the sight of it. + </p> + <p> + The beauty of Cecilia Travers is not that of a show place. There is a + feeling of safety in her. If Desdemona had been like her, Othello would + not have been jealous. But then Cecilia would not have deceived her + father; nor I think have told a blackamoor that she wished “Heaven had + made her such a man.” Her mind harmonizes with her person: it is a + companionable mind. Her talents are not showy, but, take them altogether, + they form a pleasant whole: she has good sense enough in the practical + affairs of life, and enough of that ineffable womanly gift called tact to + counteract the effects of whimsical natures like mine, and yet enough + sense of the humouristic views of life not to take too literally all that + a whimsical man like myself may say. As to temper, one never knows what a + woman’s temper is—till one puts her out of it. But I imagine hers, + in its normal state, to be serene, and disposed to be cheerful. Now, my + dear father, if you were not one of the cleverest of men you would infer + from this eulogistic mention of Cecilia Travers that I was in love with + her. But you no doubt will detect the truth that a man in love with a + woman does not weigh her merits with so steady a hand as that which guides + this steel pen. I am not in love with Cecilia Travers. I wish I were. When + Lady Glenalvon, who remains wonderfully kind to me, says, day after day, + “Cecilia Travers would make you a perfect wife,” I have no answer to give; + but I don’t feel the least inclined to ask Cecilia Travers if she would + waste her perfection on one who so coldly concedes it. + </p> + <p> + I find that she persisted in rejecting the man whom her father wished her + to marry, and that he has consoled himself by marrying somebody else. No + doubt other suitors as worthy will soon present themselves. + </p> + <p> + Oh, dearest of all my friends,—sole friend whom I regard as a + confidant,—shall I ever be in love? and if not, why not? Sometimes I + feel as if, with love as with ambition, it is because I have some + impossible ideal in each, that I must always remain indifferent to the + sort of love and the sort of ambition which are within my reach. I have an + idea that if I did love, I should love as intensely as Romeo, and that + thought inspires me with vague forebodings of terror; and if I did find an + object to arouse my ambition, I could be as earnest in its pursuit as—whom + shall I name?—Caesar or Cato? I like Cato’s ambition the better of + the two. But people nowadays call ambition an impracticable crotchet, if + it be invested on the losing side. Cato would have saved Rome from the mob + and the dictator; but Rome could not be saved, and Cato falls on his own + sword. Had we a Cato now, the verdict at a coroner’s inquest would be, + “suicide while in a state of unsound mind;” and the verdict would have + been proved by his senseless resistance to a mob and a dictator! Talking + of ambition, I come to the other exception to the youth of the day; I have + named a <i>demoiselle</i>, I now name a <i>damoiseau</i>. Imagine a man of + about five-and-twenty, and who is morally about fifty years older than a + healthy man of sixty,—imagine him with the brain of age and the + flower of youth; with a heart absorbed into the brain, and giving warm + blood to frigid ideas: a man who sneers at everything I call lofty, yet + would do nothing that he thinks mean; to whom vice and virtue are as + indifferent as they were to the Aesthetics of Goethe; who would never + jeopardize his career as a practical reasoner by an imprudent virtue, and + never sully his reputation by a degrading vice. Imagine this man with an + intellect keen, strong, ready, unscrupulous, dauntless,—all + cleverness and no genius. Imagine this man, and then do not be astonished + when I tell you he is a Chillingly. + </p> + <p> + The Chillingly race culminates in him, and becomes Chillinglyest. In fact, + it seems to me that we live in a day precisely suited to the Chillingly + idiosyncrasies. During the ten centuries or more that our race has held + local habitation and a name, it has been as airy nothings. Its + representatives lived in hot-blooded times, and were compelled to skulk in + still water with their emblematic daces. But the times now, my dear + father, are so cold-blooded that you can’t be too cold-blooded to prosper. + What could Chillingly Mivers have been in an age when people cared + twopence-halfpenny about their religious creeds, and their political + parties deemed their cause was sacred and their leaders were heroes? + Chillingly Mivers would not have found five subscribers to “The Londoner.” + But now “The Londoner” is the favourite organ of the intellectual public; + it sneers away all the foundations of the social system, without an + attempt at reconstruction; and every new journal set up, if it keep its + head above water, models itself on “The Londoner.” Chillingly Mivers is a + great man, and the most potent writer of the age, though nobody knows what + he has written. Chillingly Gordon is a still more notable instance of the + rise of the Chillingly worth in the modern market. + </p> + <p> + There is a general impression in the most authoritative circles that + Chillingly Gordon will have high rank in the van of the coming men. His + confidence in himself is so thorough that it infects all with whom he + comes into contact,—myself included. + </p> + <p> + He said to me the other day, with a <i>sang-froid</i> worthy of the iciest + Chillingly, “I mean to be Prime Minister of England: it is only a question + of time.” Now, if Chillingly Gordon is to be Prime Minister, it will be + because the increasing cold of our moral and social atmosphere will + exactly suit the development of his talents. + </p> + <p> + He is the man above all others to argue down the declaimers of + old-fashioned sentimentalities,—love of country, care for its + position among nations, zeal for its honour, pride in its renown. (Oh, if + you could hear him philosophically and logically sneer away the word + “prestige”!) Such notions are fast being classified as “bosh.” And when + that classification is complete,—when England has no colonies to + defend, no navy to pay for, no interest in the affairs of other nations, + and has attained to the happy condition of Holland,—then Chillingly + Gordon will be her Prime Minister. + </p> + <p> + Yet while, if ever I am stung into political action, it will be by + abnegation of the Chillingly attributes, and in opposition, however + hopeless, to Chillingly Gordon, I feel that this man cannot be suppressed, + and ought to have fair play; his ambition will be infinitely more + dangerous if it become soured by delay. I propose, my dear father, that + you should have the honour of laying this clever kinsman under an + obligation, and enabling him to enter Parliament. In our last conversation + at Exmundham, you told me of the frank resentment of Gordon <i>pere</i>, + when my coming into the world shut him out from the Exmundham inheritance; + you confided to me your intention at that time to lay by yearly a sum that + might ultimately serve as a provision for Gordon <i>fils</i>, and as some + compensation for the loss of his expectations when you realized your hope + of an heir; you told me also how this generous intention on your part had + been frustrated by a natural indignation at the elder Gordon’s conduct in + his harassing and costly litigation, and by the addition you had been + tempted to make to the estate in a purchase which added to its acreage, + but at a rate of interest which diminished your own income, and precluded + the possibility of further savings. Now, chancing to meet your lawyer, Mr. + Vining, the other day, I learned from him that it had been long a wish + which your delicacy prevented your naming to me, that I, to whom the + fee-simple descends, should join with you in cutting off the entail and + resettling the estate. He showed me what an advantage this would be to the + property, because it would leave your hands free for many improvements in + which I heartily go with the progress of the age, for which, as merely + tenant for life, you could not raise the money except upon ruinous terms; + new cottages for labourers, new buildings for tenants, the consolidation + of some old mortgages and charges on the rent-roll, etc. And allow me to + add that I should like to make a large increase to the jointure of my dear + mother. Vining says, too, that there is a part of the outlying land which, + as being near a town, could be sold to considerable profit if the estate + were resettled. + </p> + <p> + Let us hasten to complete the necessary deeds, and so obtain the L20,000 + required for the realization of your noble and, let me add, your just + desire to do something for Chillingly Gordon. In the new deeds of + settlement we could insure the power of willing the estate as we pleased, + and I am strongly against devising it to Chillingly Gordon. It may be a + crotchet of mine, but one which I think you share, that the owner of + English soil should have a son’s love for the native land, and Gordon will + never have that. I think, too, that it will be best for his own career, + and for the establishment of a frank understanding between us and himself, + that he should be fairly told that he would not be benefited in the event + of our death. Twenty thousand pounds given to him now would be a greater + boon to him than ten times the sum twenty years later. With that at his + command, he can enter Parliament, and have an income, added to what he now + possesses, if modest, still sufficient to make him independent of a + minister’s patronage. + </p> + <p> + Pray humour me, my dearest father, in the proposition I venture to submit + to you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Your affectionate son, KENELM. +</pre> + <p> + FROM SIR PETER CHILLINGLY TO KENELM CHILLINGLY. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR BOY,—You are not worthy to be a Chillingly; you are + decidedly warm-blooded: never was a load lifted off a man’s mind with a + gentler hand. Yes, I have wished to cut off the entail and resettle the + property; but, as it was eminently to my advantage to do so, I shrank from + asking it, though eventually it would be almost as much to your own + advantage. What with the purchase I made of the Faircleuch lands—which + I could only effect by money borrowed at high interest on my personal + security, and paid off by yearly instalments, eating largely into income—and + the old mortgages, etc., I own I have been pinched of late years. But what + rejoices me the most is the power to make homes for our honest labourers + more comfortable, and nearer to their work, which last is the chief point, + for the old cottages in themselves are not bad; the misfortune is, when + you build an extra room for the children, the silly people let it out to a + lodger. + </p> + <p> + My dear boy, I am very much touched by your wish to increase your mother’s + jointure,—a very proper wish, independently of filial feeling, for + she brought to the estate a very pretty fortune, which, the trustees + consented to my investing in land; and though the land completed our + ring-fence, it does not bring in two per cent, and the conditions of the + entail limited the right of jointure to an amount below that which a + widowed Lady Chillingly may fairly expect. + </p> + <p> + I care more about the provision on these points than I do for the + interests of old Chillingly Gordon’s son. I had meant to behave very + handsomely to the father; and when the return for behaving handsomely is + being put into Chancery—A Worm Will Turn. Nevertheless, I agree with + you that a son should not be punished for his father’s faults; and, if the + sacrifice of L20,000 makes you and myself feel that we are better + Christians and truer gentlemen, we shall buy that feeling very cheaply. + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter then proceeded, half jestingly, half seriously, to combat + Kenelm’s declaration that he was not in love with Cecilia Travers; and, + urging the advantages of marriage with one whom Kenelm allowed would be a + perfect wife, astutely remarked that unless Kenelm had a son of his own it + did not seem to him quite just to the next of kin to will the property + from him, upon no better plea than the want of love for his native + country. “He would love his country fast enough if he had 10,000 acres in + it.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm shook his head when he came to this sentence. + </p> + <p> + “Is even then love for one’s country but cupboard-love after all?” said + he; and he postponed finishing the perusal of his father’s letter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0064" id="link2HCH0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM CHILLINGLY did not exaggerate the social position he had acquired + when he classed himself amongst the lions of the fashionable world. I dare + not count the number of three-cornered notes showered upon him by the fine + ladies who grow romantic upon any kind of celebrity; or the carefully + sealed envelopes, containing letters from fair Anonymas, who asked if he + had a heart, and would be in such a place in the Park at such an hour. + What there was in Kenelm Chillingly that should make him thus favoured, + especially by the fair sex, it would be difficult to say, unless it was + the two-fold reputation of being unlike other people, and of being + unaffectedly indifferent to the gain of any reputation at all. He might, + had he so pleased, have easily established a proof that the prevalent + though vague belief in his talents was not altogether unjustified. For the + articles he had sent from abroad to “The Londoner” and by which his + travelling expenses were defrayed, had been stamped by that sort of + originality in tone and treatment which rarely fails to excite curiosity + as to the author, and meets with more general praise than perhaps it + deserves. + </p> + <p> + But Mivers was true to his contract to preserve inviolable the incognito + of the author, and Kenelm regarded with profound contempt the articles + themselves and the readers who praised them. + </p> + <p> + Just as misanthropy with some persons grows out of benevolence + disappointed, so there are certain natures—and Kenelm Chillingly’s + was perhaps one of them—in which indifferentism grows out of + earnestness baffled. + </p> + <p> + He had promised himself pleasure in renewing acquaintance with his old + tutor, Mr. Welby,—pleasure in refreshing his own taste for + metaphysics and casuistry and criticism. But that accomplished professor + of realism had retired from philosophy altogether, and was now enjoying a + holiday for life in the business of a public office. A minister in favour + of whom, when in opposition, Mr. Welby, in a moment of whim, wrote some + very able articles in a leading journal, had, on acceding to power, + presented the realist with one of those few good things still left to + ministerial patronage,—a place worth about L1,200 a year. His + mornings thus engaged in routine work, Mr. Welby enjoyed his evenings in a + convivial way. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Inveni portum</i>,” he said to Kenelm; “I plunge into no troubled + waters now. But come and dine with me to-morrow, tete-a-tete. My wife is + at St. Leonard’s with my youngest born for the benefit of sea-air.” Kenelm + accepted the invitation. + </p> + <p> + The dinner would have contented a Brillat-Savarin: it was faultless; and + the claret was that rare nectar, the Lafitte of 1848. + </p> + <p> + “I never share this,” said Welby, “with more than one friend at a time.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm sought to engage his host in discussion on certain new works in + vogue, and which were composed according to purely realistic canons of + criticism. “The more realistic; these books pretend to be, the less real + they are,” said Kenelm. “I am half inclined to think that the whole school + you so systematically sought to build up is a mistake, and that realism in + art is a thing impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you are right. I took up that school in earnest because I was + in a passion with pretenders to the Idealistic school; and whatever one + takes up in earnest is generally a mistake, especially if one is in a + passion. I was not in earnest and I was not in a passion when I wrote + those articles to which I am indebted for my office.” Mr. Welby here + luxuriously stretched his limbs, and lifting his glass to his lips, + voluptuously inhaled its bouquet. + </p> + <p> + “You sadden me,” returned Kenelm. “It is a melancholy thing to find that + one’s mind was influenced in youth by a teacher who mocks at his own + teachings.” + </p> + <p> + Welby shrugged his shoulders. “Life consists in the alternate process of + learning and unlearning; but it is often wiser to unlearn than to learn. + For the rest, as I have ceased to be a critic, I care little whether I was + wrong or right when I played that part. I think I am right now as a + placeman. Let the world go its own way, provided the world lets you live + upon it. I drain my wine to the lees, and cut down hope to the brief span + of life. Reject realism in art if you please, and accept realism in + conduct. For the first time in my life I am comfortable: my mind, having + worn out its walking-shoes, is now enjoying the luxury of slippers. Who + can deny the realism of comfort?” + </p> + <p> + “Has a man a right,” Kenelm said to himself, as he entered his brougham, + “to employ all the brilliancy of a rare wit, all the acquisitions of as + rare a scholarship, to the scaring of the young generation out of the safe + old roads which youth left to itself would take,—old roads skirted + by romantic rivers and bowery trees,—directing them into new paths + on long sandy flats, and then, when they are faint and footsore, to tell + them that he cares not a pin whether they have worn out their shoes in + right paths or wrong paths, for that he has attained the <i>summum bonum</i> + of philosophy in the comfort of easy slippers?” + </p> + <p> + Before he could answer the question he thus put to himself, his brougham + stopped at the door of the minister whom Welby had contributed to bring + into power. + </p> + <p> + That night there was a crowded muster of the fashionable world at the + great man’s house. It happened to be a very critical moment for the + minister. The fate of his cabinet depended on the result of a motion about + to be made the following week in the House of Commons. The great man stood + at the entrance of the apartments to receive his guests, and among the + guests were the framers of the hostile motion and the leaders of the + opposition. His smile was not less gracious to them than to his dearest + friends and stanchest supporters. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose this is realism,” said Kenelm to himself; “but it is not truth, + and it is not comfort.” Leaning against the wall near the doorway, he + contemplated with grave interest the striking countenance of his + distinguished host. He detected beneath that courteous smile and that + urbane manner the signs of care. The eye was absent, the cheek pinched, + the brow furrowed. Kenelm turned away his looks, and glanced over the + animated countenances of the idle loungers along commoner thoroughfares in + life. Their eyes were not absent; their brows were not furrowed; their + minds seemed quite at home in exchanging nothings. Interest many of them + had in the approaching struggle, but it was much such an interest as + betters of small sums may have on the Derby day,—just enough to give + piquancy to the race; nothing to make gain a great joy, or loss a keen + anguish. + </p> + <p> + “Our host is looking ill,” said Mivers, accosting Kenelm. “I detect + symptoms of suppressed gout. You know my aphorism, ‘nothing so gouty as + ambition,’ especially Parliamentary ambition.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not one of those friends who press on my choice of life that + source of disease; allow me to thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “Your thanks are misplaced. I strongly advise you to devote yourself to a + political career.” + </p> + <p> + “Despite the gout?” + </p> + <p> + “Despite the gout. If you could take the world as I do, my advice might be + different. But your mind is overcrowded with doubts and fantasies and + crotchets, and you have no choice but to give them vent in active life.” + </p> + <p> + “You had something to do in making me what I am,—an idler; something + to answer for as to my doubts, fantasies, and crotchets. It was by your + recommendation that I was placed under the tuition of Mr. Welby, and at + that critical age in which the bent of the twig forms the shape of the + tree.” + </p> + <p> + “And I pride myself on that counsel. I repeat the reasons for which I gave + it: it is an incalculable advantage for a young man to start in life + thoroughly initiated into the New Ideas which will more or less influence + his generation. Welby was the ablest representative of these ideas. It is + a wondrous good fortune when the propagandist of the New Ideas is + something more than a bookish philosopher,—when he is a thorough + ‘man of the world,’ and is what we emphatically call ‘practical.’ Yes, you + owe me much that I secured to you such tuition, and saved you from twaddle + and sentiment, the poetry of Wordsworth and the muscular Christianity of + Cousin John.” + </p> + <p> + “What you say that you saved me from might have done me more good than all + you conferred on me. I suspect that when education succeeds in placing an + old head upon young shoulders the combination is not healthful: it clogs + the blood and slackens the pulse. However, I must not be ungrateful; you + meant kindly. Yes, I suppose Welby is practical: he has no belief, and he + has got a place. But our host, I presume, is also practical; his place is + a much higher one than Welby’s, and yet he is surely not without belief?” + </p> + <p> + “He was born before the new ideas came into practical force; but in + proportion as they have done so, his beliefs have necessarily disappeared. + I don’t suppose that he believes in much now, except the two propositions: + firstly, that if he accept the new ideas he will have power and keep it, + and if he does not accept them power is out of the question; and, + secondly, that if the new ideas are to prevail he is the best man to + direct them safely,—beliefs quite enough for a minister. No wise + minister should have more.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he not believe that the motion he is to resist next week is a bad + one?” + </p> + <p> + “A bad one of course, in its consequences, for if it succeed it will upset + him; a good one in itself I am sure he must think it, for he would bring + it on himself if he were in opposition.” + </p> + <p> + “I see that Pope’s definition is still true, ‘Party is the madness of the + many for the gain of the few.’” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not true. Madness is a wrong word applied to the many: the many + are sane enough; they know their own objects, and they make use of the + intellect of the few in order to gain their objects. In each party it is + the many that control the few who nominally lead them. A man becomes Prime + Minister because he seems to the many of his party the fittest person to + carry out their views. If he presume to differ from these views, they put + him into a moral pillory, and pelt him with their dirtiest stones and + their rottenest eggs.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the maxim should be reversed, and party is rather the madness of the + few for the gain of the many? + </p> + <p> + “Of the two, that is the more correct definition.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me keep my senses and decline to be one of the few.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm moved away from his cousin’s side, and entering one of the less + crowded rooms, saw Cecilia Travers seated there in a recess with Lady + Glenalvon. He joined them, and after a brief interchange of a few + commonplaces, Lady Glenalvon quitted her post to accost a foreign + ambassadress, and Kenelm sank into the chair she vacated. + </p> + <p> + It was a relief to his eye to contemplate Cecilia’s candid brow; to his + ear to hearken to the soft voice that had no artificial tones, and uttered + no cynical witticisms. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think it strange,” said Kenelm, “that we English should so + mould all our habits as to make even what we call pleasure as little + pleasurable as possible? We are now in the beginning of June, the fresh + outburst of summer, when every day in the country is a delight to eye and + ear, and we say, ‘The season for hot rooms is beginning.’ We alone of + civilized races spend our summer in a capital, and cling to the country + when the trees are leafless and the brooks frozen.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly that is a mistake; but I love the country in all seasons, even + in winter.” + </p> + <p> + “Provided the country house is full of London people?” + </p> + <p> + “No; that is rather a drawback. I never want companions in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “True; I should have remembered that you differ from young ladies in + general, and make companions of books. They are always more conversable in + the country than they are in town; or rather, we listen there to them with + less distracted attention. Ha! do I not recognize yonder the fair whiskers + of George Belvoir? Who is the lady leaning on his arm?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know?—Lady Emily Belvoir, his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I was told that he had married. The lady is handsome. She will become + the family diamonds. Does she read Blue-books?” + </p> + <p> + “I will ask her if you wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, it is scarcely worth while. During my rambles abroad I saw but few + English newspapers. I did, however, learn that George had won his + election. Has he yet spoken in Parliament?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he moved the answer to the Address this session, and was much + complimented on the excellent tone and taste of his speech. He spoke again + a few weeks afterwards, I fear not so successfully.” + </p> + <p> + “Coughed down?” + </p> + <p> + “Something like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do him good; he will recover the cough, and fulfil my prophecy of his + success.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you done with poor George for the present? If so, allow me to ask + whether you have quite forgotten Will Somers and Jessie Wiles?” + </p> + <p> + “Forgotten them! no.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have never asked after them?” + </p> + <p> + “I took it for granted that they were as happy as could be expected. Pray + assure me that they are.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust so now; but they have had trouble, and have left Graveleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “Trouble! left Graveleigh! You make me uneasy. Pray explain.” + </p> + <p> + “They had not been three months married and installed in the home they + owed to you, when poor Will was seized with a rheumatic fever. He was + confined to his bed for many weeks; and, when at last he could move from + it, was so weak as to be still unable to do any work. During his illness + Jessie had no heart and little leisure to attend to the shop. Of course I—that + is, my dear father—gave them all necessary assistance; but—” + </p> + <p> + “I understand; they were reduced to objects of charity. Brute that I am, + never to have thought of the duties I owed to the couple I had brought + together. But pray go on.” + </p> + <p> + “You are aware that just before you left us my father received a proposal + to exchange his property at Graveleigh for some lands more desirable to + him?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember. He closed with that offer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Captain Stavers, the new landlord of Graveleigh, seems to be a very + bad man; and though he could not turn the Somerses out of the cottage so + long as they paid rent, which we took care they did pay,—yet out of + a very wicked spite he set up a rival shop in one of his other cottages in + the village, and it became impossible for these poor young people to get a + livelihood at Graveleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “What excuse for spite against so harmless a young couple could Captain + Stavers find or invent?” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia looked down and coloured. “It was a revengeful feeling against + Jessie.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I comprehend.” + </p> + <p> + “But they have now left the village, and are happily settled elsewhere. + Will has recovered his health, and they are prospering much more than they + could ever have done at Graveleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “In that change you were their benefactress, Miss Travers?” said Kenelm, + in a more tender voice and with a softer eye than he had ever before + evinced towards the heiress. + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not I whom they have to thank and bless.” + </p> + <p> + “Who, then, is it? Your father?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Do not question me. I am bound not to say. They do not themselves + know; they rather believe that their gratitude is due to you.” + </p> + <p> + “To me! Am I to be forever a sham in spite of myself? My dear Miss + Travers, it is essential to my honour that I should undeceive this + credulous pair; where can I find them?” + </p> + <p> + “I must not say; but I will ask permission of their concealed benefactor, + and send you their address.” + </p> + <p> + A touch was laid on Kenelm’s arm, and a voice whispered, “May I ask you to + present me to Miss Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Travers,” said Kenelm, “I entreat you to add to the list of your + acquaintances a cousin of mine,—Mr. Chillingly Gordon.” + </p> + <p> + While Gordon addressed to Cecilia the well-bred conventionalisms with + which acquaintance in London drawing-rooms usually commences, Kenelm, + obedient to a sign from Lady Glenalvon, who had just re-entered the room, + quitted his seat, and joined the marchioness. + </p> + <p> + “Is not that young man whom you left talking with Miss Travers your clever + cousin Gordon?” + </p> + <p> + “The same.” + </p> + <p> + “She is listening to him with great attention. How his face brightens up + as he talks! He is positively handsome, thus animated.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I could fancy him a dangerous wooer. He has wit and liveliness and + audacity; he could be very much in love with a great fortune, and talk to + the owner of it with a fervour rarely exhibited by a Chillingly. Well, it + is no affair of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “It ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + Alas and alas! that “ought to be;” what depths of sorrowful meaning lie + within that simple phrase! How happy would be our lives, how grand our + actions, how pure our souls, if all could be with us as it ought to be! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0065" id="link2HCH0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + WE often form cordial intimacies in the confined society of a country + house, or a quiet watering-place, or a small Continental town, which fade + away into remote acquaintanceship in the mighty vortex of London life, + neither party being to blame for the estrangement. It was so with Leopold + Travers and Kenelm Chillingly. Travers, as we have seen, had felt a + powerful charm in the converse of the young stranger, so in contrast with + the routine of the rural companionships to which his alert intellect had + for many years circumscribed its range. But on reappearing in London the + season before Kenelm again met him, he had renewed old friendships with + men of his own standing,—officers in the regiment of which he had + once been a popular ornament, some of them still unmarried, a few of them + like himself widowed, others who had been his rivals in fashion, and were + still pleasant idlers about town; and it rarely happens in a metropolis + that we have intimate friendships with those of another generation, unless + there be some common tie in the cultivation of art and letters, or the + action of kindred sympathies in the party strife of politics. Therefore + Travers and Kenelm had had little familiar communication with each other + since they first met at the Beaumanoirs’. Now and then they found + themselves at the same crowded assemblies, and interchanged nods and + salutations. But their habits were different; the houses at which they + were intimate were not the same, neither did they frequent the same clubs. + Kenelm’s chief bodily exercise was still that of long and early rambles + into rural suburbs; Leopold’s was that of a late ride in the Row. Of the + two, Leopold was much more the man of pleasure. Once restored to + metropolitan life, a temper constitutionally eager, ardent, and convivial + took kindly, as in earlier youth, to its light range of enjoyments. + </p> + <p> + Had the intercourse between the two men been as frankly familiar as it had + been at Neesdale Park, Kenelm would probably have seen much more of + Cecilia at her own home; and the admiration and esteem with which she + already inspired him might have ripened into much warmer feeling, had he + thus been brought into clearer comprehension of the soft and womanly + heart, and its tender predisposition towards himself. + </p> + <p> + He had said somewhat vaguely in his letter to Sir Peter, that “sometimes + he felt as if his indifference to love, as to ambition, was because he had + some impossible ideal in each.” Taking that conjecture to task, he could + not honestly persuade himself that he had formed any ideal of woman and + wife with which the reality of Cecilia Travers was at war. On the + contrary, the more he thought over the characteristics of Cecilia, the + more they seemed to correspond to any ideal that had floated before him in + the twilight of dreamy revery; and yet he knew that he was not in love + with her, that his heart did not respond to his reason; and mournfully he + resigned himself to the conviction that nowhere in this planet, from the + normal pursuits of whose inhabitants he felt so estranged, was there + waiting for him the smiling playmate, the earnest helpmate. As this + conviction strengthened, so an increased weariness of the artificial life + of the metropolis, and of all its objects and amusements, turned his + thoughts with an intense yearning towards the Bohemian freedom and fresh + excitements of his foot ramblings. He often thought with envy of the + wandering minstrel, and wondered whether, if he again traversed the same + range of country, he might encounter again that vagrant singer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0066" id="link2HCH0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + IT is nearly a week since Kenelm had met Cecilia, and he is sitting in his + rooms with Lord Thetford at that hour of three in the afternoon which is + found the most difficult to dispose of by idlers about town. Amongst young + men of his own age and class with whom Kenelm assorted in the fashionable + world, perhaps the one whom he liked the best, and of whom he saw the + most, was this young heir of the Beaumanoirs; and though Lord Thetford has + nothing to do with the direct stream of my story, it is worth pausing a + few minutes to sketch an outline of one of the best whom the last + generation has produced for a part that, owing to accidents of birth and + fortune, young men like Lord Thetford must play on that stage from which + the curtain is not yet drawn up. Destined to be the head of a family that + unites with princely possessions and a historical name a keen though + honourable ambition for political power, Lord Thetford has been care fully + educated, especially in the new ideas of his time. His father, though a + man of no ordinary talents, has never taken a prominent part in public + life. He desires his eldest son to do so. The Beaumanoirs have been Whigs + from the time of William III. They have shared the good and the ill + fortunes of a party which, whether we side with it or not, no politician + who dreads extremes in the government of a State so pre-eminently + artificial that a prevalent extreme at either end of the balance would be + fatal to equilibrium, can desire to become extinct or feeble so long as a + constitutional monarchy exists in England. From the reign of George I. to + the death of George IV., the Beaumanoirs were in the ascendant. Visit + their family portrait gallery, and you must admire the eminence of a house + which, during that interval of less than a century, contributed so many + men to the service of the State or the adornment of the Court,—so + many Ministers, Ambassadors, Generals, Lord Chamberlains, and Masters of + the Horse. When the younger Pitt beat the great Whig Houses, the + Beaumanoirs vanish into comparative obscurity; they reemerge with the + accession of William IV., and once more produce bulwarks of the State and + ornaments of the Crown. The present Lord of Beaumanoir, <i>poco curante</i> + in politics though he be, has at least held high offices at Court; and, as + a matter of course, he is Lord Lieutenant of his county, as well as Knight + of the Garter. He is a man whom the chiefs of his party have been + accustomed to consult on critical questions. He gives his opinions + confidentially and modestly, and when they are rejected never takes + offence. He thinks that a time is coming when the head of the Beaumanoirs + should descend into the lists and fight hand-to-hand with any Hodge or + Hobson in the cause of his country for the benefit of the Whigs. Too lazy + or too old to do this himself, he says to his son, “You must do it: + without effort of mine the thing may last my life. It needs effort of + yours that the thing may last through your own.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Thetford cheerfully responds to the paternal admonition. He curbs his + natural inclinations, which are neither inelegant nor unmanly; for, on the + one side, he is very fond of music and painting, an accomplished amateur, + and deemed a sound connoisseur in both; and, on the other side, he has a + passion for all field sports, and especially for hunting. He allows no + such attractions to interfere with diligent attention to the business of + the House of Commons. He serves in Committees, he takes the chair at + public meetings on sanitary questions or projects for social improvement, + and acquits himself well therein. He has not yet spoken in debate, but he + has only been two years in Parliament, and he takes his father’s wise + advice not to speak till the third. But he is not without weight among the + well-born youth of the party, and has in him the stuff out of which, when + it becomes seasoned, the Corinthian capitals of a Cabinet may be very + effectively carved. In his own heart he is convinced that his party are + going too far and too fast; but with that party he goes on + light-heartedly, and would continue to do so if they went to Erebus. But + he would prefer their going the other way. For the rest, a pleasant, + bright-eyed young fellow, with vivid animal spirits; and, in the holiday + moments of reprieve from public duty he brings sunshine into draggling + hunting-fields, and a fresh breeze into heated ballrooms. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Lord Thetford, as he threw aside his cigar, “I + quite understand that you bore yourself: you have nothing else to do.” + </p> + <p> + “What can I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Work.” + </p> + <p> + “Work!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are clever enough to feel that you have a mind; and mind is a + restless inmate of body: it craves occupation of some sort, and regular + occupation too; it needs its daily constitutional exercise. Do you give + your mind that?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I don’t know, but my mind is always busying itself about + something or other.” + </p> + <p> + “In a desultory way,—with no fixed object.” + </p> + <p> + “True.” + </p> + <p> + “Write a book, and then it will have its constitutional.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my mind is always writing a book (though it may not publish one), + always jotting down impressions, or inventing incidents, or investigating + characters; and between you and me, I do not think that I do bore myself + so much as I did formerly. Other people bore me more than they did.” + </p> + <p> + “Because you will not create an object in common with other people: come + into Parliament, side with a party, and you have that object.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean seriously to tell me that you are not bored in the House of + Commons?” + </p> + <p> + “With the speakers very often, yes; but with the strife between the + speakers, no. The House of Commons life has a peculiar excitement scarcely + understood out of it; but you may conceive its charm when you observe that + a man who has once been in the thick of it feels forlorn and shelved if he + lose his seat, and even repines when the accident of birth transfers him + to the serener air of the Upper House. Try that life, Chillingly.” + </p> + <p> + “I might if I were an ultra-Radical, a Republican, a Communist, a + Socialist, and wished to upset everything existing, for then the strife + would at least be a very earnest one.” + </p> + <p> + “But could not you be equally in earnest against those revolutionary + gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you and your leaders in earnest against them? They don’t appear to me + so.” + </p> + <p> + Thetford was silent for a minute. “Well, if you doubt the principles of my + side, go with the other side. For my part, I and many of our party would + be glad to see the Conservatives stronger.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt they would. No sensible man likes to be carried off his + legs by the rush of the crowd behind him; and a crowd is less headlong + when it sees a strong force arrayed against it in front. But it seems to + me that, at present, Conservatism can but be what it now is,—a party + that may combine for resistance, and will not combine for inventive + construction. We are living in an age in which the process of unsettlement + is going blindly at work, as if impelled by a Nemesis as blind as itself. + New ideas come beating into surf and surge against those which former + reasoners had considered as fixed banks and breakwaters; and the new ideas + are so mutable, so fickle, that those which were considered novel ten + years ago are deemed obsolete to-day, and the new ones of to-day will in + their turn be obsolete to-morrow. And, in a sort of fatalism, you see + statesmen yielding way to these successive mockeries of experiment,—for + they are experiments against experience,—and saying to each other + with a shrug of the shoulders, ‘Bismillah! it must be so; the country will + have it, even though it sends the country to the dogs.’ I don’t feel sure + that the country will not go there the sooner, if you can only strengthen + the Conservative element enough to set it up in office, with the certainty + of knocking it down again. Alas! I am too dispassionate a looker-on to be + fit for a partisan: would I were not! Address yourself to my cousin + Gordon.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Chillingly Gordon is a coming man, and has all the earnestness you + find absent in party and in yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “You call him earnest?” + </p> + <p> + “Thoroughly, in the pursuit of one object,—the advancement of + Chillingly Gordon. If he get into the House of Commons, and succeed there, + I hope he will never become my leader; for if he thought Christianity in + the way of his promotion, he would bring in a bill for its abolition.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case would he still be your leader?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Kenelm, you don’t know what is the spirit of party, and how + easily it makes excuses for any act of its leader. Of course, if Gordon + brought in a bill for the abolition of Christianity, it would be on the + plea that the abolition was good for the Christians, and his followers + would cheer that enlightened sentiment.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Kenelm, with a sigh, “I own myself the dullest of blockheads; + for instead of tempting me into the field of party politics, your talk + leaves me in stolid amaze that you do not take to your heels, where honour + can only be saved by flight.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! my dear Chillingly, we cannot run away from the age in which we + live: we must accept its conditions and make the best of them; and if the + House of Commons be nothing else, it is a famous debating society and a + capital club. Think over it. I must leave you now. I am going to see a + picture at the Exhibition which has been most truculently criticised in + ‘The Londoner,’ but which I am assured, on good authority, is a work of + remarkable merit. I can’t bear to see a man snarled and sneered down, no + doubt by jealous rivals, who have their influence in journals, so I shall + judge of the picture for myself. If it be really as good as I am told, I + shall talk about it to everybody I meet; and in matters of art I fancy my + word goes for something. Study art, my dear Kenelm. No gentleman’s + education is complete if he does n’t know a good picture from a bad one. + After the Exhibition I shall just have time for a canter round the Park + before the debate of the session, which begins to-night.” + </p> + <p> + With a light step the young man quitted the room, humming an air from the + “Figaro” as he descended the stairs. From the window Kenelm watched him + swinging himself with careless grace into his saddle and riding briskly + down the street,—in form and face and bearing a very model of young, + high-born, high-bred manhood. “The Venetians,” muttered Kenelm, + “decapitated Marino Faliero for conspiring against his own order,—the + nobles. The Venetians loved their institutions, and had faith in them. Is + there such love and such faith among the English?” + </p> + <p> + As he thus soliloquized he heard a shrilling sort of squeak; and a showman + stationed before his window the stage on which Punch satirizes the laws + and moralities of the world, “kills the beadle and defies the devil.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0067" id="link2HCH0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM turned from the sight of Punch and Punch’s friend the cur, as his + servant, entering, said a person from the country, who would not give his + name, asked to see him. + </p> + <p> + Thinking it might be some message from his father, Kenelm ordered the + stranger to be admitted, and in another minute there entered a young man + of handsome countenance and powerful frame, in whom, after a surprised + stare, Kenelm recognized Tom Bowles. Difficult indeed would have been that + recognition to an unobservant beholder: no trace was left of the sullen + bully or the village farrier; the expression of the face was mild and + intelligent,—more bashful than hardy; the brute strength of the form + had lost its former clumsiness, the simple dress was that of a gentleman,—to + use an expressive idiom, the whole man was wonderfully “toned down.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, sir, I am taking a liberty,” said Tom, rather nervously, + twiddling his hat between his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I should be a greater friend to liberty than I am if it were always taken + in the same way,” said Kenelm, with a touch of his saturnine humour; but + then yielding at once to the warmer impulse of his nature, he grasped his + old antagonist’s hand and exclaimed, “My dear Tom, you are so welcome. I + am so glad to see you. Sit down, man; sit down: make yourself at home.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know you were back in England, sir, till within the last few + days; for you did say that when you came back I should see or hear from + you,” and there was a tone of reproach in the last words. + </p> + <p> + “I am to blame, forgive me,” said Kenelm, remorsefully. “But how did you + find me out? you did not then, I think, even know my name. That, however, + it was easy enough to discover; but who gave you my address in this + lodging?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, it was Miss Travers; and she bade me come to you. Otherwise, + as you did not send for me, it was scarcely my place to call uninvited.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Tom, I never dreamed that you were in London. One don’t ask + a man whom one supposes to be more than a hundred miles off to pay one an + afternoon call. You are still with your uncle, I presume? and I need not + ask if all thrives well with you: you look a prosperous man, every inch of + you, from crown to toe.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Tom; “thank you kindly, sir, I am doing well in the way of + business, and my uncle is to give me up the whole concern at Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + While Tom thus spoke Kenelm had summoned his servant, and ordered up such + refreshments as could be found in the larder of a bachelor in lodgings. + “And what brings you to town, Tom?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Travers wrote to me about a little business which she was good + enough to manage for me, and said you wished to know about it; and so, + after turning it over in my mind for a few days, I resolved to come to + town: indeed,” added Tom, heartily, “I did wish to see your face again.” + </p> + <p> + “But you talk riddles. What business of yours could Miss Travers imagine I + wished to know about?” + </p> + <p> + Tom coloured high, and looked very embarrassed. Luckily, the servant here + entering with the refreshment-tray allowed him time to recover himself. + Kenelm helped him to a liberal slice of cold pigeon-pie, pressed wine on + him, and did not renew the subject till he thought his guest’s tongue was + likely to be more freely set loose; then he said, laying a friendly hand + on Tom’s shoulders, “I have been thinking over what passed between me and + Miss Travers. I wished to have the new address of Will Somers; she + promised to write to his benefactor to ask permission to give it. You are + that benefactor?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say benefactor, sir. I will tell how it came about if you will let + me. You see, I sold my little place at Graveleigh to the new Squire, and + when Mother removed to Luscombe to be near me, she told me how poor Jessie + had been annoyed by Captain Stavers, who seems to think his purchase + included the young women on the property along with the standing timber; + and I was half afraid that she had given some cause for his persecution, + for you know she has a blink of those soft eyes of hers that might charm a + wise man out of his skin and put a fool there instead.” + </p> + <p> + “But I hope she has done with those blinks since her marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and I honestly think she has. It is certain she did not encourage + Captain Stavers, for I went over to Graveleigh myself on the sly, and + lodged concealed with one of the cottagers who owed me a kindness; and one + day, as I was at watch, I saw the Captain peering over the stile which + divides Holmwood from the glebe,—you remember Holmwood?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say I do.” + </p> + <p> + “The footway from the village to Squire Travers’s goes through the wood, + which is a few hundred yards at the back of Will Somers’s orchard. + Presently the Captain drew himself suddenly back from the stile, and + disappeared among the trees, and then I saw Jessie coming from the orchard + with a basket over her arm, and walking quick towards the wood. Then, sir, + my heart sank. I felt sure she was going to meet the Captain. However, I + crept along the hedgerow, hiding myself, and got into the wood almost as + soon as Jessie got there, by another way. Under the cover of the brushwood + I stole on till I saw the Captain come out from the copse on the other + side of the path, and plant himself just before Jessie. Then I saw at once + I had wronged her. She had not expected to see him, for she hastily turned + back, and began to run homeward; but he caught her up, and seized her by + the arm. I could not hear what he said, but I heard her voice quite sharp + with fright and anger. And then he suddenly seized her round the waist, + and she screamed, and I sprang forward—” + </p> + <p> + “And thrashed the Captain?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not,” said Tom; “I had made a vow to myself that I never would + be violent again if I could help it. So I took him with one hand by the + cuff of the neck, and with the other by the waistband, and just pitched + him on a bramble bush,—quite mildly. He soon picked himself up, for + he is a dapper little chap, and became very blustering and abusive. But I + kept my temper, and said civilly, ‘Little gentleman, hard words break no + bones; but if ever you molest Mrs. Somers again, I will carry you into her + orchard, souse you into the duck-pond there, and call all the villagers to + see you scramble out of it again; and I will do it now if you are not off. + I dare say you have heard of my name: I am Tom Bowles.’ Upon that his + face, which was before very red, grew very white, and muttering something + I did not hear, he walked away. + </p> + <p> + “Jessie—I mean Mrs. Somers—seemed at first as much frightened + at me as she had been at the Captain; and though I offered to walk with + her to Miss Travers’s, where she was going with a basket which the young + lady had ordered, she refused, and went back home. I felt hurt, and + returned to my uncle’s the same evening; and it was not for months that I + heard the Captain had been spiteful enough to set up an opposition shop, + and that poor Will had been taken ill, and his wife was confined about the + same time, and the talk was that they were in distress and might have to + be sold up. + </p> + <p> + “When I heard all this, I thought that after all it was my rough tongue + that had so angered the Captain and been the cause of his spite, and so it + was my duty to make it up to poor Will and his wife. I did not know how to + set about mending matters, but I thought I’d go and talk to Miss Travers; + and if ever there was a kind heart in a girl’s breast, hers is one.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right there, I guess. What did Miss Travers say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay; I hardly know what she did say, but she set me thinking, and it + struck me that Jessie—Mrs. Somers—had better move to a + distance, and out of the Captain’s reach, and that Will would do better in + a less out-of-the-way place. And then, by good luck, I read in the + newspaper that a stationary and a fancywork business, with a circulating + library, was to be sold on moderate terms at Moleswich, the other side of + London. So I took the train and went to the place, and thought the shop + would just suit these young folks, and not be too much work for either; + then I went to Miss Travers, and I had a lot of money lying by me from the + sale of the old forge and premises, which I did not know what to do with; + and so, to cut short a long story, I bought the business, and Will and his + wife are settled at Moleswich, thriving and happy, I hope, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Tom’s voice quivered at the last words, and he turned aside quickly, + passing his hand over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was greatly moved. + </p> + <p> + “And they don’t know what you did for them?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure not. I don’t think Will would have let him self be beholden to + me. Ah! the lad has a spirit of his own, and Jessie—Mrs. Somers—would + have felt pained and humbled that I should even think of such a thing. + Miss Travers managed it all. They take the money as a loan which is to be + paid by instalments. They have sent Miss Travers more than one instalment + already, so I know they are doing well.” + </p> + <p> + “A loan from Miss Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “No; Miss Travers wanted to have a share in it, but I begged her not. It + made me happy to do what I did all myself; and Miss Travers felt for me + and did not press. They perhaps think it is Squire Travers (though he is + not a man who would like to say it, for fear it should bring applicants on + him), or some other gentleman who takes an interest in them.” + </p> + <p> + “I always said you were a grand fellow, Tom. But you are grander still + than I thought you.” + </p> + <p> + “If there be any good in me, I owe it to you, sir. Think what a drunken, + violent brute I was when I first met you. Those walks with you, and I may + say that other gentleman’s talk, and then that long kind letter I had from + you, not signed in your name, and written from abroad,—all these + changed me, as the child is changed at nurse.” + </p> + <p> + “You have evidently read a good deal since we parted.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I belong to our young men’s library and institute; and when of an + evening I get hold of a book, especially a pleasant story-book, I don’t + care for other company.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you never seen any other girl you could care for, and wish to + marry?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, sir,” answered Tom, “a man does not go so mad for a girl as I did for + Jessie Wiles, and when it is all over, and he has come to his senses, put + his heart into joint again as easily as if it were only a broken leg. I + don’t say that I may not live to love and to marry another woman: it is my + wish to do so. But I know that I shall love Jessie to my dying day; but + not sinfully, sir,—not sinfully. I would not wrong her by a + thought.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause. + </p> + <p> + At last Kenelm said, “You promised to be kind to that little girl with the + flower-ball; what has become of her?” + </p> + <p> + “She is quite well, thank you, sir. My aunt has taken a great fancy to + her, and so has my mother. She comes to them very often of an evening, and + brings her work with her. A quick, intelligent little thing, and full of + pretty thoughts. On Sundays, if the weather is fine, we stroll out + together in the fields.” + </p> + <p> + “She has been a comfort to you, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And loves you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure she does; an affectionate, grateful child.” + </p> + <p> + “She will be a woman soon, Tom, and may love you as a woman then.” + </p> + <p> + Tom looked indignant and rather scornful at that suggestion, and hastened + to revert to the subject more immediately at his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Travers said you would like to call on Will Somers and his wife; + will you? Moleswich is not far from London, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I will call.” + </p> + <p> + “I do hope you will find them happy; and if so, perhaps you will kindly + let me know; and—and—I wonder whether Jessie’s child is like + her? It is a boy; somehow or other I would rather it had been a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “I will write you full particulars. But why not come with me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think I could do that, just at present. It unsettled me sadly + when I did again see her sweet face at Graveleigh, and she was still + afraid of me too! that was a sharp pang.” + </p> + <p> + “She ought to know what you have done for her, and will.” + </p> + <p> + “On no account, sir; promise me that. I should feel mean if I humbled + them,—that way.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand, though I will not as yet make you any positive promise. + Meanwhile, if you are staying in town, lodge with me; my landlady can find + you a room.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you heartily, sir; but I go back by the evening train; and, bless + me! how late it is now! I must wish you good-by. I have some commissions + to do for my aunt, and I must buy a new doll for Susey.” + </p> + <p> + “Susey is the name of the little girl with the flower-ball?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I must run off now; I feel quite light at heart seeing you again and + finding that you receive me still so kindly, as if we were equals.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Tom, I wish I was your equal,—nay, half as noble as Heaven has + made you!” + </p> + <p> + Tom laughed incredulously, and went his way. + </p> + <p> + “This mischievous passion of love,” said Kenelm to himself, “has its good + side, it seems, after all. If it was nearly making a wild beast of that + brave fellow,—nay, worse than wild beast, a homicide doomed to the + gibbet,—so, on the other hand, what a refined, delicate, chivalrous + nature of gentleman it has developed out of the stormy elements of its + first madness! Yes, I will go and look at this new-married couple. I dare + say they are already snarling and spitting at each other like cat and dog. + Moleswich is within reach of a walk.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK V. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0068" id="link2HCH0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + TWO days after the interview recorded in the last chapter of the previous + Book, Travers, chancing to call at Kenelm’s lodgings, was told by his + servant that Mr. Chillingly had left London, alone, and had given no + orders as to forwarding letters. The servant did not know where he had + gone, or when he would return. + </p> + <p> + Travers repeated this news incidentally to Cecilia, and she felt somewhat + hurt that he had not written her a line respecting Tom’s visit. She, + however, guessed that he had gone to see the Somerses, and would return to + town in a day or so. But weeks passed, the season drew to its close, and + of Kenelm Chillingly she saw or heard nothing: he had wholly vanished from + the London world. He had but written a line to his servant, ordering him + to repair to Exmundham and await him there, and enclosing him a check to + pay outstanding bills. + </p> + <p> + We must now follow the devious steps of the strange being who has grown + into the hero of this story. He had left his apartment at daybreak long + before his servant was up, with his knapsack, and a small portmanteau, + into which he had thrust—besides such additional articles of dress + as he thought he might possibly require, and which his knapsack could not + contain—a few of his favourite books. Driving with these in a + hack-cab to the Vauxhall station, he directed the portmanteau to be + forwarded to Moleswich, and flinging the knapsack on his shoulders, walked + slowly along the drowsy suburbs that stretched far into the landscape, + before, breathing more freely, he found some evidences of rural culture on + either side of the high road. It was not, however, till he had left the + roofs and trees of pleasant Richmond far behind him that he began to feel + he was out of reach of the metropolitan disquieting influences. Finding at + a little inn, where he stopped to breakfast, that there was a path along + fields, and in sight of the river, through which he could gain the place + of his destination, he then quitted the high road, and traversing one of + the loveliest districts in one of our loveliest counties, he reached + Moleswich about noon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0069" id="link2HCH0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + ON entering the main street of the pretty town, the name of Somers, in + gilt capitals, was sufficiently conspicuous over the door of a very + imposing shop. It boasted two plate-glass windows, at one of which were + tastefully exhibited various articles of fine stationery, embroidery + patterns, etc.; at the other, no less tastefully, sundry specimens of + ornamental basket-work. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm crossed the threshold and recognized behind the counter—fair + as ever, but with an expression of face more staid, and a figure more + rounded and matron-like—his old friend Jessie. There were two or + three customers before her, between whom she was dividing her attention. + While a handsome young lady, seated, was saying, in a somewhat loud but + cheery and pleasant voice, “Do not mind me, Mrs. Somers: I can wait,” + Jessie’s quick eye darted towards the stranger, but too rapidly to + distinguish his features, which, indeed, he turned away, and began to + examine the baskets. + </p> + <p> + In a minute or so the other customers were served and had departed; and + the voice of the lady was again heard, “Now, Mrs. Somers, I want to see + your picture-books and toys. I am giving a little children’s party this + afternoon, and I want to make them as happy as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Somewhere or other, on this planet, or before my Monad was whisked away + to it, I have heard that voice,” muttered Kenelm. While Jessie was alertly + bringing forth her toys and picture-books, she said, “I am sorry to keep + you waiting, sir; but if it is the baskets you come about, I can call my + husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Do,” said Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “William, William,” cried Mrs. Somers; and after a delay long enough to + allow him to slip on his jacket, William Somers emerged from the back + parlour. + </p> + <p> + His face had lost its old trace of suffering and ill health; it was still + somewhat pale, and retained its expression of intellectual refinement. + </p> + <p> + “How you have improved in your art!” said Kenelm, heartily. + </p> + <p> + William started, and recognized Kenelm at once. He sprang forward and took + Kenelm’s outstretched hand in both his own, and, in a voice between + laughing and crying, exclaimed, “Jessie, Jessie, it is he!—he whom + we pray for every night. God bless you! God bless and make you as happy as + He permitted you to make me!” + </p> + <p> + Before this little speech was faltered out, Jessie was by her husband’s + side, and she added, in a lower voice, but tremulous with deep feeling, + “And me too!” + </p> + <p> + “By your leave, Will,” said Kenelm, and he saluted Jessie’s white forehead + with a kiss that could not have been kindlier or colder if it had been her + grandfather’s. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the lady had risen noiselessly and unobserved, and stealing up + to Kenelm, looked him full in the face. + </p> + <p> + “You have another friend here, sir, who has also some cause to thank you—” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I remembered your voice,” said Kenelm, looking puzzled. “But + pardon me if I cannot recall your features. Where have we met before?” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your arm when we go out, and I will bring myself to your + recollection. But no: I must not hurry you away now. I will call again in + half an hour. Mrs. Somers, meanwhile put up the things I have selected. I + will take them away with me when I come back from the vicarage, where I + have left the pony-carriage.” So, with a parting nod and smile to Kenelm, + she turned away, and left him bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “But who is that lady, Will?” + </p> + <p> + “A Mrs. Braefield. She is a new comer.” + </p> + <p> + “She may well be that, Will,” said Jessie, smiling, “for she has only been + married six months.” + </p> + <p> + “And what was her name before she married?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I don’t know, sir. It is only three months since we came here, + and she has been very kind to us and an excellent customer. Everybody + likes her. Mr. Braefield is a city gentleman and very rich; and they live + in the finest house in the place, and see a great deal of company.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am no wiser than I was before,” said Kenelm. “People who ask + questions very seldom are.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did you find us out, sir?” said Jessie. “Oh! I guess,” she added, + with an arch glance and smile. “Of course, you have seen Miss Travers, and + she told you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right. I first learned your change of residence from her, and + thought I would come and see you, and be introduced to the baby,—a + boy, I understand? Like you, Will?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, the picture of Jessie.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Will; it is you all over, even to its little hands.” + </p> + <p> + “And your good mother, Will, how did you leave her?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir!” cried Jessie, reproachfully; “do you think we could have the + heart to leave Mother,—so lone and rheumatic too? She is tending + baby now,—always does while I am in the shop.” + </p> + <p> + Here Kenelm followed the young couple into the parlour, where, seated by + the window, they found old Mrs. Somers reading the Bible and rocking the + baby, who slept peacefully in its cradle. + </p> + <p> + “Will,” said Kenelm, bending his dark face over the infant, “I will tell + you a pretty thought of a foreign poet’s, which has been thus badly + translated: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Blest babe, a boundless world this bed so narrow seems to thee; + Grow man, and narrower than this bed the boundless world shall + be.’” 1 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (1)Schiller. +</pre> + <p> + “I don’t think that is true, sir,” said Will, simply; “for a happy home is + a world wide enough for any man.” + </p> + <p> + Tears started into Jessie’s eyes; she bent down and kissed—not the + baby, but the cradle. “Will made it.” She added blushing, “I mean the + cradle, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Time flew past while Kenelm talked with Will and the old mother, for + Jessie was soon summoned back to the shop; and Kenelm was startled when he + found the half-hour’s grace allowed to him was over, and Jessie put her + head in at the door and said, “Mrs. Braefield is waiting for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Will; I shall come to see you again soon; and my mother gives me + a commission to buy I don’t know how many specimens of your craft.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0070" id="link2HCH0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + A SMART pony-phaeton, with a box for a driver in livery equally smart, + stood at the shop-door. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Chillingly,” said Mrs. Braefield, “it is my turn to run away + with you; get in!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” murmured Kenelm, gazing at her with large dreamy eyes. “Is it + possible?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite possible; get in. Coachman, home! Yes, Mr. Chillingly, you meet + again that giddy creature whom you threatened to thrash; it would have + served her right. I ought to feel so ashamed to recall myself to your + recollection, and yet I am not a bit ashamed. I am proud to show you that + I have turned out a steady, respectable woman, and, my husband tells me, a + good wife.” + </p> + <p> + “You have only been six months married, I hear,” said Kenelm, dryly. “I + hope your husband will say the same six years hence.” + </p> + <p> + “He will say the same sixty years hence, if we live as long.” + </p> + <p> + “How old is he now?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-eight.” + </p> + <p> + “When a man wants only two years of his hundredth, he probably has learned + to know his own mind; but then, in most cases, very little mind is left to + him to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be satirical, sir; and don’t talk as if you were railing at + marriage, when you have just left as happy a young couple as the sun ever + shone upon; and owing,—for Mrs. Somers has told me all about her + marriage,—owing their happiness to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Their happiness to me! not in the least. I helped them to marry, and in + spite of marriage they helped each other to be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “You are still unmarried yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank Heaven!” + </p> + <p> + “And are you happy?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I can’t make myself happy: myself is a discontented brute.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you say ‘thank Heaven’?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it is a comfort to think I am not making somebody else unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe that if you loved a wife who loved you, you should make + her unhappy?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I don’t know; but I have not seen a woman whom I could love as + a wife. And we need not push our inquiries further. What has become of + that ill-treated gray cob?” + </p> + <p> + “He was quite well, thank you, when I last heard of him.” + </p> + <p> + “And the uncle who would have inflicted me upon you, if you had not so + gallantly defended yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “He is living where he did live, and has married his housekeeper. He felt + a delicate scruple against taking that step till I was married myself and + out of the way.” + </p> + <p> + Here Mrs. Braefield, beginning to speak very hurriedly, as women who seek + to disguise emotion often do, informed Kenelm how unhappy she had felt for + weeks after having found an asylum with her aunt,—how she had been + stung by remorse and oppressed by a sense of humiliation at the thought of + her folly and the odious recollection of Mr. Compton,—how she had + declared to herself that she would never marry any one now—never! + How Mr. Braefield happened to be on a visit in the neighbourhood, and saw + her at church,—how he had sought an introduction to her,—and + how at first she rather disliked him than not; but he was so good and so + kind, and when at last he proposed—and she had frankly told him all + about her girlish flight and infatuation—how generously he had + thanked her for a candour which had placed her as high in his esteem as + she had been before in his love. “And from that moment,” said Mrs. + Braefield, passionately, “my whole heart leaped to him. And now you know + all; and here we are at the Lodge.” + </p> + <p> + The pony-phaeton went with great speed up a broad gravel-drive, bordered + with rare evergreens, and stopped at a handsome house with a portico in + front, and a long conservatory at the garden side,—one of those + houses which belong to “city gentlemen,” and often contain more comfort + and exhibit more luxury than many a stately manorial mansion. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield evidently felt some pride as she led Kenelm through the + handsome hall, paved with Malvern tiles and adorned with Scagliola + columns, and into a drawing-room furnished with much taste and opening on + a spacious flower-garden. + </p> + <p> + “But where is Mr. Braefield?” asked Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he has taken the rail to his office; but he will be back long before + dinner, and of course you dine with us.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re very hospitable, but—” + </p> + <p> + “No buts: I will take no excuse. Don’t fear that you shall have only + mutton-chops and a rice-pudding; and, besides, I have a children’s party + coming at two o’clock, and there will be all sorts of fun. You are fond of + children, I am sure?” + </p> + <p> + “I rather think I am not. But I have never clearly ascertained my own + inclinations upon that subject.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you shall have ample opportunity to do so to-day. And oh! I promise + you the sight of the loveliest face that you can picture to yourself when + you think of your future wife.” + </p> + <p> + “My future wife, I hope, is not yet born,” said Kenelm, wearily, and with + much effort suppressing a yawn. “But at all events, I will stay till after + two o’clock; for two o’clock, I presume, means luncheon.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield laughed. “You retain your appetite?” + </p> + <p> + “Most single men do, provided they don’t fall in love and become doubled + up.” + </p> + <p> + At this abominable attempt at a pun, Mrs. Braefield disdained to laugh; + but turning away from its perpetrator she took off her hat and gloves and + passed her hands lightly over her forehead, as if to smooth back some + vagrant tress in locks already sufficiently sheen and trim. She was not + quite so pretty in female attire as she had appeared in boy’s dress, nor + did she look quite as young. In all other respects she was wonderfully + improved. There was a serener, a more settled intelligence in her frank + bright eyes, a milder expression in the play of her parted lips. Kenelm + gazed at her with pleased admiration. And as now, turning from the glass, + she encountered his look, a deeper colour came into the clear delicacy of + her cheeks, and the frank eyes moistened. She came up to him as he sat, + and took his hand in both hers, pressing it warmly. “Ah, Mr. Chillingly,” + she said, with impulsive tremulous tones, “look round, look round this + happy, peaceful home!—the life so free from a care, the husband whom + I so love and honour; all the blessings that I might have so recklessly + lost forever had I not met with you, had I been punished as I deserved. + How often I thought of your words, that ‘you would be proud of my + friendship when we met again’! What strength they gave me in my hours of + humbled self-reproach!” Her voice here died away as if in the effort to + suppress a sob. + </p> + <p> + She released his hand, and, before he could answer, passed quickly through + the open sash into the garden. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0071" id="link2HCH0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + THE children have come,—some thirty of them, pretty as English + children generally are, happy in the joy of the summer sunshine, and the + flower lawns, and the feast under cover of an awning suspended between + chestnut-trees, and carpeted with sward. + </p> + <p> + No doubt Kenelm held his own at the banquet, and did his best to increase + the general gayety, for whenever he spoke the children listened eagerly, + and when he had done they laughed mirthfully. + </p> + <p> + “The fair face I promised you,” whispered Mrs. Braefield, “is not here + yet. I have a little note from the young lady to say that Mrs. Cameron + does not feel very well this morning, but hopes to recover sufficiently to + come later in the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray who is Mrs. Cameron?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I forgot that you are a stranger to the place. Mrs. Cameron is the + aunt with whom Lily resides. Is it not a pretty name, Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “Very! emblematic of a spinster that does not spin, with a white head and + a thin stalk.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the name belies my Lily, as you will see.” + </p> + <p> + The children now finished their feast, and betook themselves to dancing in + an alley smoothed for a croquet-ground, and to the sound of a violin + played by the old grandfather of one of the party. While Mrs. Braefield + was busying herself with forming the dance, Kenelm seized the occasion to + escape from a young nymph of the age of twelve who had sat next him at the + banquet, and taken so great a fancy to him that he began to fear she would + vow never to forsake his side, and stole away undetected. + </p> + <p> + There are times when the mirth of others only saddens us, especially the + mirth of children with high spirits, that jar on our own quiet mood. + Gliding through a dense shrubbery, in which, though the lilacs were faded, + the laburnum still retained here and there the waning gold of its + clusters, Kenelm came into a recess which bounded his steps and invited + him to repose. It was a circle, so formed artificially by slight + trellises, to which clung parasite roses heavy with leaves and flowers. In + the midst played a tiny fountain with a silvery murmuring sound; at the + background, dominating the place, rose the crests of stately trees, on + which the sunlight shimmered, but which rampired out all horizon beyond. + Even as in life do the great dominant passions—love, ambition, + desire of power or gold or fame or knowledge—form the proud + background to the brief-lived flowerets of our youth, lift our eyes beyond + the smile of their bloom, catch the glint of a loftier sunbeam, and yet, + and yet, exclude our sight from the lengths and the widths of the space + which extends behind and beyond them. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm threw himself on the turf beside the fountain. From afar came the + whoop and the laugh of the children in their sports or their dance. At the + distance their joy did not sadden him,—he marvelled why; and thus, + in musing revery, thought to explain the why to himself. + </p> + <p> + “The poet,” so ran his lazy thinking, “has told us that ‘distance lends + enchantment to the view,’ and thus compares to the charm of distance the + illusion of hope. But the poet narrows the scope of his own illustration. + Distance lends enchantment to the ear as well as to the sight; nor to + these bodily senses alone. Memory no less than hope owes its charm to ‘the + far away.’ + </p> + <p> + “I cannot imagine myself again a child when I am in the midst of young + noisy children. But as their noise reaches me here, subdued and mellowed, + and knowing, thank Heaven, that the urchins are not within reach of me, I + could readily dream myself back into childhood, and into sympathy with the + lost playfields of school. + </p> + <p> + “So surely it must be with grief: how different the terrible agony for a + beloved one just gone from earth, to the soft regret for one who + disappeared into Heaven years ago! So with the art of poetry: how + imperatively, when it deals with the great emotions of tragedy, it must + remove the actors from us, in proportion as the emotions are to elevate, + and the tragedy is to please us by the tears it draws! Imagine our shock + if a poet were to place on the stage some wise gentleman with whom we + dined yesterday, and who was discovered to have killed his father and + married his mother. But when Oedipus commits those unhappy mistakes nobody + is shocked. Oxford in the nineteenth century is a long way off from Thebes + three thousand or four thousand years ago. + </p> + <p> + “And,” continued Kenelm, plunging deeper into the maze of metaphysical + criticism, “even where the poet deals with persons and things close upon + our daily sight,—if he would give them poetic charm he must resort + to a sort of moral or psychological distance; the nearer they are to us in + external circumstance, the farther they must be in some internal + peculiarities. Werter and Clarissa Harlowe are described as contemporaries + of their artistic creation, and with the minutest details of apparent + realism; yet they are at once removed from our daily lives by their + idiosyncrasies and their fates. We know that while Werter and Clarissa are + so near to us in much that we sympathize with them as friends and + kinsfolk, they are yet as much remote from us in the poetic and idealized + side of their natures as if they belonged to the age of Homer; and this it + is that invests with charm the very pain which their fate inflicts on us. + Thus, I suppose, it must be in love. If the love we feel is to have the + glamour of poetry, it must be love for some one morally at a distance from + our ordinary habitual selves; in short, differing from us in attributes + which, however near we draw to the possessor, we can never approach, never + blend, in attributes of our own; so that there is something in the loved + one that always remains an ideal,—a mystery,—‘a sun-bright + summit mingling with the sky’!” + </p> + <p> + Herewith the soliloquist’s musings glided vaguely into mere revery. He + closed his eyes drowsily, not asleep, nor yet quite awake; as sometimes in + bright summer days when we recline on the grass we do close our eyes, and + yet dimly recognize a golden light bathing the drowsy lids; and athwart + that light images come and go like dreams, though we know that we are not + dreaming. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0072" id="link2HCH0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + FROM this state, half comatose, half unconscious, Kenelm was roused + slowly, reluctantly. Something struck softly on his cheek,—again a + little less softly; he opened his eyes, they fell first upon two tiny + rosebuds, which, on striking his face, had fallen on his breast; and then + looking up, he saw before him, in an opening of the trellised circle, a + female child’s laughing face. Her hand was still uplifted charged with + another rosebud, but behind the child’s figure, looking over her shoulder + and holding back the menacing arm, was a face as innocent but lovelier + far,—the face of a girl in her first youth, framed round with the + blossoms that festooned the trellise. How the face became the flowers! It + seemed the fairy spirit of them. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm started and rose to his feet. The child, the one whom he had so + ungallantly escaped from ran towards him through a wicket in the circle. + Her companion disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you?” said Kenelm to the child, “you who pelted me so cruelly? + Ungrateful creature! Did I not give you the best strawberries in the dish + and all my own cream?” + </p> + <p> + “But why did you run away and hide yourself when you ought to be dancing + with me?” replied the young lady, evading, with the instinct of her sex, + all answer to the reproach she had deserved. + </p> + <p> + “I did not run away, and it is clear that I did not mean to hide myself, + since you so easily found me out. But who was the young lady with you? I + suspect she pelted me too, for she seems to have run away to hide + herself.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she did not pelt you; she wanted to stop me, and you would have had + another rosebud—oh, so much bigger!—if she had not held back + my arm. Don’t you know her,—don’t you know Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “No; so that is Lily? You shall introduce me to her.” + </p> + <p> + By this time they had passed out of the circle through the little wicket + opposite the path by which Kenelm had entered, and opening at once on the + lawn. Here at some distance the children were grouped, some reclined on + the grass, some walking to and fro, in the interval of the dance. + </p> + <p> + In the space between the group and the trellise Lily was walking alone and + quickly. The child left Kenelm’s side and ran after her friend, soon + overtook, but did not succeed in arresting her steps. Lily did not pause + till she had reached the grassy ball-room, and here all the children came + round her and shut out her delicate form from Kenelm’s sight. + </p> + <p> + Before he had reached the place, Mrs. Braefield met him. + </p> + <p> + “Lily is come!” + </p> + <p> + “I know it: I have seen her.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not she beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “I must see more of her if I am to answer critically; but before you + introduce me, may I be permitted to ask who and what is Lily?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield paused a moment before she answered, and yet the answer was + brief enough not to need much consideration. “She is a Miss Mordaunt, an + orphan; and, as I before told you, resides with her aunt, Mrs. Cameron, a + widow. They have the prettiest cottage you ever saw on the banks of the + river, or rather rivulet, about a mile from this place. Mrs. Cameron is a + very good, simple-hearted woman. As to Lily, I can praise her beauty only + with safe conscience, for as yet she is a mere child,—her mind quite + unformed.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever meet any man, much less any woman, whose mind was formed?” + muttered Kenelm. “I am sure mine is not, and never will be on this earth.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield did not hear this low-voiced observation. She was looking + about for Lily; and perceiving her at last as the children who surrounded + her were dispersing to renew the dance, she took Kenelm’s arm, led him to + the young lady, and a formal introduction took place. + </p> + <p> + Formal as it could be on those sunlit swards, amidst the joy of summer and + the laugh of children. In such scene and such circumstance formality does + not last long. I know not how it was, but in a very few minutes Kenelm and + Lily had ceased to be strangers to each other. They found themselves + seated apart from the rest of the merry-makers, on the bank shadowed by + lime-trees; the man listening with downcast eyes, the girl with mobile + shifting glances now on earth, now on heaven, and talking freely; gayly,—like + the babble of a happy stream, with a silvery dulcet voice and a sparkle of + rippling smiles. + </p> + <p> + No doubt this is a reversal of the formalities of well-bred life, and + conventional narrating thereof. According to them, no doubt, it is for the + man to talk and the maid to listen; but I state the facts as they were, + honestly. And Lily knew no more of the formalities of drawing-room life + than a skylark fresh from its nest knows of the song-teacher and the cage. + She was still so much of a child. Mrs. Braefield was right: her mind was + still so unformed. + </p> + <p> + What she did talk about in that first talk between them that could make + the meditative Kenelm listen so mutely, so intently, I know not, at least + I could not jot it down on paper. I fear it was very egotistical, as the + talk of children generally is,—about herself and her aunt, and her + home and her friends; all her friends seemed children like herself, though + younger,—Clemmy the chief of them. Clemmy was the one who had taken + a fancy to Kenelm. And amidst all this ingenuous prattle there came + flashes of a quick intellect, a lively fancy,—nay, even a poetry of + expression or of sentiment. It might be the talk of a child, but certainly + not of a silly child. But as soon as the dance was over, the little ones + again gathered round Lily. Evidently she was the prime favourite of them + all; and as her companion had now become tired of dancing, new sports were + proposed, and Lily was carried off to “Prisoner’s Base.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Chillingly,” said a frank, + pleasant voice; and a well-dressed, good-looking man held out his hand to + Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “My husband,” said Mrs. Braefield, with a certain pride in her look. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm responded cordially to the civilities of the master of the house, + who had just returned from his city office, and left all its cares behind + him. You had only to look at him to see that he was prosperous, and + deserved to be so. There were in his countenance the signs of strong + sense, of good-humour,—above all, of an active energetic + temperament. A man of broad smooth forehead, keen hazel eyes, firm lips + and jaw; with a happy contentment in himself, his house, the world in + general, mantling over his genial smile, and outspoken in the metallic + ring of his voice. + </p> + <p> + “You will stay and dine with us, of course,” said Mr. Braefield; “and, + unless you want very much to be in town to-night, I hope you will take a + bed here.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Do stay at least till to-morrow,” said Mrs. Braefield. Kenelm hesitated + still; and while hesitating his eye rested on Lily, leaning on the arm of + a middle-aged lady, and approaching the hostess,—evidently to take + leave. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot resist so tempting an invitation,” said Kenelm, and he fell back + a little behind Lily and her companion. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you much for so pleasant a day,” said Mrs. Cameron to the hostess. + “Lily has enjoyed herself extremely. I only regret we could not come + earlier.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are walking home,” said Mr. Braefield, “let me accompany you. I + want to speak to your gardener about his heart’s-ease: it is much finer + than mine.” + </p> + <p> + “If so,” said Kenelm to Lily, “may I come too? Of all flowers that grow, + heart’s-ease is the one I most prize.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes afterwards Kenelm was walking by the side of Lily along the + banks of a little stream, tributary to the Thames; Mrs. Cameron and Mr. + Braefield in advance, for the path only held two abreast. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Lily left his side, allured by a rare butterfly—I think it + is called the Emperor of Morocco—that was sunning its yellow wings + upon a group of wild reeds. She succeeded in capturing this wanderer in + her straw hat, over which she drew her sun-veil. After this notable + capture she returned demurely to Kenelm’s side. + </p> + <p> + “Do you collect insects?” said that philosopher, as much surprised as it + was his nature to be at anything. + </p> + <p> + “Only butterflies,” answered Lily; “they are not insects, you know; they + are souls.” + </p> + <p> + “Emblems of souls you mean,—at least, so the Greeks prettily + represented them to be.” + </p> + <p> + “No, real souls,—the souls of infants that die in their cradles + unbaptized; and if they are taken care of, and not eaten by birds, and + live a year then they pass into fairies.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a very poetical idea, Miss Mordaunt, and founded on evidence quite + as rational as other assertions of the metamorphosis of one creature into + another. Perhaps you can do what the philosophers cannot,—tell me + how you learned a new idea to be an incontestable fact?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” replied Lily, looking very much puzzled; “perhaps I + learned it in a book, or perhaps I dreamed it.” + </p> + <p> + “You could not make a wiser answer if you were a philosopher. But you talk + of taking care of butterflies; how do you do that? Do you impale them on + pins stuck into a glass case?” + </p> + <p> + “Impale them! How can you talk so cruelly? You deserve to be pinched by + the fairies.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” thought Kenelm, compassionately, “that my companion has no + mind to be formed; what is euphoniously called ‘an innocent.’” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head and remained silent. Lily resumed,— + </p> + <p> + “I will show you my collection when we get home; they seem so happy. I am + sure there are some of them who know me: they will feed from my hand. I + have only had one die since I began to collect them last summer.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have kept them a year: they ought to have turned into fairies.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose many of them have. Of course I let out all those that had been + with me twelve months: they don’t turn to fairies in the cage, you know. + Now I have only those I caught this year, or last autumn; the prettiest + don’t appear till the autumn.” + </p> + <p> + The girl here bent her uncovered head over the straw hat, her tresses + shadowing it, and uttered loving words to the prisoner. Then again she + looked up and around her, and abruptly stopped, and exclaimed,— + </p> + <p> + “How can people live in towns? How can people say they are ever dull in + the country? Look,” she continued, gravely and earnestly, “look at that + tall pine-tree, with its long branch sweeping over the water; see how, as + the breeze catches it, it changes its shadow, and how the shadow changes + the play of the sunlight on the brook:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Wave your tops, ye pines; + With every plant, in sign of worship wave.’ +</pre> + <p> + “What an interchange of music there must be between Nature and a poet!” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was startled. This “an innocent”!—this a girl who had no mind + to be formed! In that presence he could not be cynical; could not speak of + Nature as a mechanism, a lying humbug, as he had done to the man poet. He + replied gravely,— + </p> + <p> + “The Creator has gifted the whole universe with language, but few are the + hearts that can interpret it. Happy those to whom it is no foreign tongue, + acquired imperfectly with care and pain, but rather a native language, + learned unconsciously from the lips of the great mother. To them the + butterfly’s wing may well buoy into heaven a fairy’s soul!” + </p> + <p> + When he had thus said Lily turned, and for the first time attentively + looked into his dark soft eyes; then instinctively she laid her light hand + on his arm, and said in a low voice, “Talk on; talk thus: I like to hear + you.” + </p> + <p> + But Kenelm did not talk on. They had now arrived at the garden-gate of + Mrs. Cameron’s cottage, and the elder persons in advance paused at the + gate and walked with them to the house. + </p> + <p> + It was a long, low, irregular cottage, without pretension to architectural + beauty, yet exceedingly picturesque,—a flower-garden, large, but in + proportion to the house, with parterres in which the colours were + exquisitely assorted, sloping to the grassy margin of the rivulet, where + the stream expanded into a lake-like basin, narrowed at either end by + locks, from which with gentle sound flowed shallow waterfalls. By the + banks was a rustic seat, half overshadowed by the drooping boughs of a + vast willow. + </p> + <p> + The inside of the house was in harmony with the exterior,—cottage-like, + but with an unmistakable air of refinement about the rooms, even in the + little entrance-hall, which was painted in Pompeian frescos. + </p> + <p> + “Come and see my butterfly-cage,” said Lily, whisperingly. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm followed her through the window that opened on the garden; and at + one end of a small conservatory, or rather greenhouse, was the habitation + of these singular favourites. It was as large as a small room; three sides + of it formed by minute wirework, with occasional draperies of muslin or + other slight material, and covered at intervals, sometimes within, + sometimes without, by dainty creepers; a tiny cistern in the centre, from + which upsprang a sparkling jet. Lily cautiously lifted a sash-door and + glided in, closing it behind her. Her entrance set in movement a multitude + of gossamer wings, some fluttering round her, some more boldly settling on + her hair or dress. Kenelm thought she had not vainly boasted when she said + that some of the creatures had learned to know her. She released the + Emperor of Morocco from her hat; it circled round her fearlessly, and then + vanished amidst the leaves of the creepers. Lily opened the door and came + out. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of a philosopher who tamed a wasp,” said Kenelm, “but never + before of a young lady who tamed butterflies.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lily, proudly; “I believe I am the first who attempted it. I + don’t think I should have attempted it if I had been told that others had + succeeded before me. Not that I have succeeded quite. No matter; if they + don’t love me, I love them.” + </p> + <p> + They re-entered the drawing-room, and Mrs. Cameron addressed Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know much of this part of the country, Mr. Chillingly?” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite new to me, and more rural than many districts farther from + London.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the good fortune of most of our home counties,” said Mr. + Braefield; “they escape the smoke and din of manufacturing towns, and + agricultural science has not demolished their leafy hedgerows. The walks + through our green lanes are as much bordered with convolvulus and + honeysuckle as they were when Izaak Walton sauntered through them to angle + in that stream!” + </p> + <p> + “Does tradition say that he angled in that stream? I thought his haunts + were rather on the other side of London.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly; I am not learned in Walton or in his art, but there is an old + summer-house, on the other side of the lock yonder, on which is carved the + name of Izaak Walton, but whether by his own hand or another’s who shall + say? Has Mr. Melville been here lately, Mrs. Cameron?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not for several months.” + </p> + <p> + “He has had a glorious success this year. We may hope that at last his + genius is acknowledged by the world. I meant to buy his picture, but I was + not in time: a Manchester man was before me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Mr. Melville? any relation to you?” whispered Kenelm to Lily. + </p> + <p> + “Relation,—I scarcely know. Yes, I suppose so, because he is my + guardian. But if he were the nearest relation on earth, I could not love + him more,” said Lily, with impulsive eagerness, her cheeks flushing, her + eyes filling with tears. + </p> + <p> + “And he is an artist,—a painter?” asked Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; no one paints such beautiful pictures,—no one so clever, + no one so kind.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm strove to recollect if he had ever heard the name of Melville as a + painter, but in vain. Kenelm, however, knew but little of painters: they + were not in his way; and he owned to himself, very humbly, that there + might be many a living painter of eminent renown whose name and works + would be strange to him. + </p> + <p> + He glanced round the wall; Lily interpreted his look. “There are no + pictures of his here,” said she; “there is one in my own room. I will show + it you when you come again.” + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Mr. Braefield, rising, “I must just have a word with your + gardener, and then go home. We dine earlier here than in London, Mr. + Chillingly.” + </p> + <p> + As the two gentlemen, after taking leave, re-entered the hall, Lily + followed them and said to Kenelm, “What time will you come to-morrow to + see the picture?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm averted his head, and then replied, not with his wonted courtesy, + but briefly and brusquely,— + </p> + <p> + “I fear I cannot call to-morrow. I shall be far away by sunrise.” + </p> + <p> + Lily made no answer, but turned back into the room. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Braefield found the gardener watering a flower-border, conferred with + him about the heart’s-ease, and then joined Kenelm, who had halted a few + yards beyond the garden-gate. + </p> + <p> + “A pretty little place that,” said Mr. Braefield, with a sort of lordly + compassion, as became the owner of Braefieldville. “What I call quaint.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, quaint,” echoed Kenelm, abstractedly. + </p> + <p> + “It is always the case with houses enlarged by degrees. I have heard my + poor mother say that when Melville or Mrs. Cameron first bought it, it was + little better than a mere labourer’s cottage, with a field attached to it. + And two or three years afterwards a room or so more was built, and a bit + of the field taken in for a garden; and then by degrees the whole part now + inhabited by the family was built, leaving only the old cottage as a + scullery and washhouse; and the whole field was turned into the garden, as + you see. But whether it was Melville’s money or the aunt’s that did it, I + don’t know. More likely the aunt’s. I don’t see what interest Melville has + in the place: he does not go there often, I fancy; it is not his home.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Melville, it seems, is a painter, and, from what I heard you say, a + successful one.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy he had little success before this year. But surely you saw his + pictures at the Exhibition?” + </p> + <p> + “I am ashamed to say I have not been to the Exhibition.” + </p> + <p> + “You surprise me. However, Melville had three pictures there,—all + very good; but the one I wished to buy made much more sensation than the + others, and has suddenly lifted him from obscurity into fame.” + </p> + <p> + “He appears to be a relation of Miss Mordaunt’s, but so distant a one that + she could not even tell me what grade of cousinship he could claim.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor can I. He is her guardian, I know. The relationship, if any, must, as + you say, be very distant; for Melville is of humble extraction, while any + one can see that Mrs. Cameron is a thorough gentlewoman, and Lily Mordaunt + is her sister’s child. I have heard my mother say that it was Melville, + then a very young man, who bought the cottage, perhaps with Mrs. Cameron’s + money; saying it was for a widowed lady, whose husband had left her with + very small means. And when Mrs. Cameron arrived with Lily, then a mere + infant, she was in deep mourning, and a very young woman herself,—pretty + too. If Melville had been a frequent visitor then, of course there would + have been scandal; but he very seldom came, and when he did, he lodged in + a cottage, Cromwell Lodge, on the other side of the brook; now and then + bringing with him a fellow-lodger,—some other young artist, I + suppose, for the sake of angling. So there could be no cause for scandal, + and nothing can be more blameless than poor Mrs. Cameron’s life. My + mother, who then resided at Braefieldville, took a great fancy to both + Lily and her aunt, and when by degrees the cottage grew into a genteel + sort of place, the few gentry in the neighbourhood followed my mother’s + example and were very kind to Mrs. Cameron, so that she has now her place + in the society about here, and is much liked.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Melville?—does he still very seldom come here?” + </p> + <p> + “To say truth, he has not been at all since I settled at Braefieldville. + The place was left to my mother for her life, and I was not much there + during her occupation. In fact, I was then a junior partner in our firm, + and conducted the branch business in New York, coming over to England for + my holiday once a year or so. When my mother died, there was much to + arrange before I could settle personally in England, and I did not come to + settle at Braefieldville till I married. I did see Melville on one of my + visits to the place some years ago; but, between ourselves, he is not the + sort of person whose intimate acquaintance one would wish to court. My + mother told me he was an idle, dissipated man, and I have heard from + others that he was very unsteady. Mr. ——-, the great painter, + told me that he was a loose fish; and I suppose his habits were against + his getting on, till this year, when, perhaps, by a lucky accident, he has + painted a picture that raises him to the top of the tree. But is not Miss + Lily wondrously nice to look at? What a pity her education has been so + much neglected!” + </p> + <p> + “Has it?” + </p> + <p> + “Have not you discovered that already? She has not had even a + music-master, though my wife says she has a good ear, and can sing + prettily enough. As for reading I don’t think she has read anything but + fairy tales and poetry, and such silly stuff. However, she is very young + yet; and now that her guardian can sell his pictures, it is to be hoped + that he will do more justice to his ward. Painters and actors are not so + regular in their private lives as we plain men are, and great allowance is + to be made for them; still, every one is bound to do his duty. I am sure + you agree with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Kenelm, with an emphasis which startled the merchant. + “That is an admirable maxim of yours: it seems a commonplace, yet how + often, when it is put into our heads, it strikes as a novelty! A duty may + be a very difficult thing, a very disagreeable thing, and, what is + strange, it is often a very invisible thing. It is present,—close + before us, and yet we don’t see it; somebody shouts its name in our ears, + ‘Duty,’ and straight it towers before us a grim giant. Pardon me if I + leave you: I can’t stay to dine. Duty summons me elsewhere. Make my + excuses to Mrs. Braefield.” + </p> + <p> + Before Mr. Braefield could recover his self-possession, Kenelm had vaulted + over a stile and was gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0073" id="link2HCH0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM walked into the shop kept by the Somerses, and found Jessie still + at the counter. “Give me back my knap sack. Thank you,” he said, flinging + the knapsack across his shoulders. “Now, do me a favour. A portmanteau of + mine ought to be at the station. Send for it, and keep it till I give + further directions. I think of going to Oxford for a day or two. Mrs. + Somers, one more word with you. Think, answer frankly, are you, as you + said this morning, thoroughly happy, and yet married to the man you + loved?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, so happy!” + </p> + <p> + “And wish for nothing beyond? Do not wish Will to be other than he is?” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid! You frighten me, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Frighten you! Be it so. Everyone who is happy should be frightened lest + happiness fly away. Do your best to chain it, and you will, for you attach + Duty to Happiness; and,” muttered Kenelm, as he turned from the shop, + “Duty is sometimes not a rose-coloured tie, but a heavy iron-hued clog.” + </p> + <p> + He strode on through the street towards the sign-post with “To Oxford” + inscribed thereon. And whether he spoke literally of the knapsack, or + metaphorically of duty, he murmured, as he strode,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A pedlar’s pack that bows the bearer down.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0074" id="link2HCH0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM might have reached Oxford that night, for he was a rapid and + untirable pedestrian; but he halted a little after the moon rose, and laid + himself down to rest beneath a new-mown haystack, not very far from the + high road. + </p> + <p> + He did not sleep. Meditatingly propped on his elbow, he said to himself,— + </p> + <p> + “It is long since I have wondered at nothing. I wonder now: can this be + love,—really love,—unmistakably love? Pooh! it is impossible; + the very last person in the world to be in love with. Let us reason upon + it,—you, myself, and I. To begin with,—face! What is face? In + a few years the most beautiful face may be very plain. Take the Venus at + Florence. Animate her; see her ten years after; a chignon, front teeth + (blue or artificially white), mottled complexion, double chin,—all + that sort of plump prettiness goes into double chin. Face, bah! What man + of sense—what pupil of Welby, the realist—can fall in love + with a face? and even if I were simpleton enough to do so, pretty faces + are as common as daisies. Cecilia Travers has more regular features; + Jessie Wiles a richer colouring. I was not in love with them,—not a + bit of it. Myself, you have nothing to say there. Well, then, mind? Talk + of mind, indeed! a creature whose favourite companionship is that of + butterflies, and who tells me that butterflies are the souls of infants + unbaptized. What an article for ‘The Londoner,’ on the culture of young + women! What a girl for Miss Garrett and Miss Emily Faithfull! Put aside + Mind as we have done Face. What rests?—the Frenchman’s ideal of + happy marriage? congenial circumstance of birth, fortune, tastes, habits. + Worse still. Myself, answer honestly, are you not floored?” + </p> + <p> + Whereon “Myself” took up the parable and answered, “O thou fool! why wert + thou so ineffably blessed in one presence? Why, in quitting that presence, + did Duty become so grim? Why dost thou address to me those inept pedantic + questionings, under the light of yon moon, which has suddenly ceased to be + to thy thoughts an astronomical body and has become, forever and forever, + identified in thy heart’s dreams with romance and poesy and first love? + Why, instead of gazing on that uncomfortable orb, art thou not quickening + thy steps towards a cozy inn and a good supper at Oxford? Kenelm, my + friend, thou art in for it. No disguising the fact: thou art in love!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be hanged if I am,” said the Second in the Dualism of Kenelm’s mind; + and therewith he shifted his knapsack into a pillow, turned his eyes from + the moon, and still could not sleep. The face of Lily still haunted his + eyes; the voice of Lily still rang in his ears. + </p> + <p> + Oh, my reader! dost thou here ask me to tell thee what Lily was like?—was + she dark? was she fair? was she tall? was she short? Never shalt thou + learn these secrets from me. Imagine to thyself the being to which thine + whole of life, body and mind and soul, moved irresistibly as the needle to + the pole. Let her be tall or short, dark or fair, she is that which out of + all womankind has suddenly become the one woman for thee. Fortunate art + thou, my reader, if thou chance to have heard the popular song of “My + Queen” sung by the one lady who alone can sing it with expression worthy + the verse of the poetess and the music of the composition, by the sister + of the exquisite songstress. But if thou hast not heard the verse thus + sung, to an accompaniment thus composed, still the words themselves are, + or ought to be, familiar to thee, if thou art, as I take for granted, a + lover of the true lyrical muse. Recall then the words supposed to be + uttered by him who knows himself destined to do homage to one he has not + yet beheld:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “She is standing somewhere,—she I shall honour, + She that I wait for, my queen, my queen; + Whether her hair be golden or raven, + Whether her eyes be hazel or blue, + I know not now, it will be engraven + Some day hence as my loveliest hue. + She may be humble or proud, my lady, + Or that sweet calm which is just between; + But whenever she comes, she will find me ready + To do her homage, my queen, my queen.” + </pre> + <p> + Was it possible that the cruel boy-god “who sharpens his arrows on the + whetstone of the human heart” had found the moment to avenge himself for + the neglect of his altars and the scorn of his power? Must that redoubted + knight-errant, the hero of this tale, despite the Three Fishes on his + charmed shield, at last veil the crest and bow the knee, and murmur to + himself, “She has come, my queen”? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0075" id="link2HCH0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + THE next morning Kenelm arrived at Oxford,—“Verum secretumque + Mouseion.” + </p> + <p> + If there be a place in this busy island which may distract the passion of + youth from love to scholarship, to Ritualism, to mediaeval associations, + to that sort of poetical sentiment or poetical fanaticism which a Mivers + and a Welby and an advocate of the Realistic School would hold in + contempt,—certainly that place is Oxford,—home; nevertheless, + of great thinkers and great actors in the practical world. + </p> + <p> + The vacation had not yet commenced, but the commencement was near at hand. + Kenelm thought he could recognize the leading men by their slower walk and + more abstracted expression of countenance. Among the Fellows was the + eminent author of that book which had so powerfully fascinated the earlier + adolescence of Kenelm Chillingly, and who had himself been subject to the + fascination of a yet stronger spirit. The Rev. Decimus Roach had been ever + an intense and reverent admirer of John Henry Newman,—an admirer, I + mean, of the pure and lofty character of the man, quite apart from + sympathy with his doctrines. But although Roach remained an unconverted + Protestant of orthodox, if High Church, creed, yet there was one tenet he + did hold in common with the author of the “Apologia.” He ranked celibacy + among the virtues most dear to Heaven. In that eloquent treatise, “The + Approach to the Angels,” he not only maintained that the state of single + blessedness was strictly incumbent on every member of a Christian + priesthood, but to be commended to the adoption of every conscientious + layman. + </p> + <p> + It was the desire to confer with this eminent theologian that had induced + Kenelm to direct his steps to Oxford. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roach was a friend of Welby, at whose house, when a pupil, Kenelm had + once or twice met him, and been even more charmed by his conversation than + by his treatise. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm called on Mr. Roach, who received him very graciously, and, not + being a tutor or examiner, placed his time at Kenelm’s disposal; took him + the round of the colleges and the Bodleian; invited him to dine in his + college-hall; and after dinner led him into his own rooms, and gave him an + excellent bottle of Chateau Margeaux. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roach was somewhere about fifty,—a good-looking man and + evidently thought himself so; for he wore his hair long behind and parted + in the middle, which is not done by men who form modest estimates of their + personal appearance. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was not long in drawing out his host on the subject to which that + profound thinker had devoted so much meditation. + </p> + <p> + “I can scarcely convey to you,” said Kenelm, “the intense admiration with + which I have studied your noble work, ‘Approach to the Angels.’ It + produced a great effect on me in the age between boyhood and youth. But of + late some doubts on the universal application of your doctrine have crept + into my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, indeed?” said Mr. Roach, with an expression of interest in his face. + </p> + <p> + “And I come to you for their solution.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roach turned away his head, and pushed the bottle to Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite willing to concede,” resumed the heir of the Chillinglys, + “that a priesthood should stand apart from the distracting cares of a + family, and pure from all carnal affections.” + </p> + <p> + “Hem, hem,” grunted Mr. Roach, taking his knee on his lap and caressing + it. + </p> + <p> + “I go further,” continued Kenelm, “and supposing with you that the + Confessional has all the importance, whether in its monitory or its + cheering effects upon repentant sinners, which is attached to it by the + Roman Catholics, and that it ought to be no less cultivated by the + Reformed Church, it seems to me essential that the Confessor should have + no better half to whom it can be even suspected he may, in an unguarded + moment, hint at the frailties of one of her female acquaintances.” + </p> + <p> + “I pushed that argument too far,” murmured Roach. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. Celibacy in the Confessor stands or falls with the + Confessional. Your argument there is as sound as a bell. But when it comes + to the layman, I think I detect a difference.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roach shook his head, and replied stoutly, “No; if celibacy be + incumbent on the one, it is equally incumbent on the other. I say ‘if.’” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to deny that assertion. Do not fear that I shall insult your + understanding by the popular platitude; namely, that if celibacy were + universal, in a very few years the human race would be extinct. As you + have justly observed, in answer to that fallacy, ‘It is the duty of each + human soul to strive towards the highest perfection of the spiritual state + for itself, and leave the fate of the human race to the care of the + Creator.’ If celibacy be necessary to spiritual perfection, how do we know + but that it may be the purpose and decree of the All Wise that the human + race, having attained to that perfection, should disappear from earth? + Universal celibacy would thus be the euthanasia of mankind. On the other + hand, if the Creator decided that the human race, having culminated to + this crowning but barren flower of perfection, should nevertheless + continue to increase and multiply upon earth, have you not victoriously + exclaimed, ‘Presumptuous mortal! how canst thou presume to limit the + resources of the Almighty? Would it not be easy for Him to continue some + other mode, unexposed to trouble and sin and passion, as in the nuptials + of the vegetable world, by which the generations will be renewed? Can we + suppose that the angels—the immortal companies of heaven—are + not hourly increasing in number, and extending their population throughout + infinity? and yet in heaven there is no marrying nor giving in marriage.’ + All this, clothed by you in words which my memory only serves me to quote + imperfectly,—all this I unhesitatingly concede.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roach rose and brought another bottle of the Chateau Margeaux from his + cellaret, filled Kenelm’s glass, reseated himself, and took the other knee + into his lap to caress. + </p> + <p> + “But,” resumed Kenelm, “my doubt is this.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Mr. Roach, “let us hear the doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “In the first place, is celibacy essential to the highest state of + spiritual perfection; and, in the second place, if it were, are mortals, + as at present constituted, capable of that culmination?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well put,” said Mr. Roach, and he tossed off his glass with more + cheerful aspect than he had hitherto exhibited. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Kenelm, “we are compelled in this, as in other questions + of philosophy, to resort to the inductive process, and draw our theories + from the facts within our cognizance. Now looking round the world, is it + the fact that old maids and old bachelors are so much more spiritually + advanced than married folks? Do they pass their time, like an Indian + dervish, in serene contemplation of divine excellence and beatitude? Are + they not quite as worldly in their own way as persons who have been + married as often as the Wife of Bath, and, generally speaking, more + selfish, more frivolous, and more spiteful? I am sure I don’t wish to + speak uncharitably against old maids and old bachelors. I have three aunts + who are old maids, and fine specimens of the genus; but I am sure they + would all three have been more agreeable companions, and quite as + spiritually gifted, if they had been happily married, and were caressing + their children, instead of lapdogs. So, too, I have an old bachelor + cousin, Chillingly Mivers, whom you know. As clever as a man can be. But, + Lord bless you! as to being wrapped in spiritual meditation, he could not + be more devoted to the things of earth if he had married as many wives as + Solomon, and had as many children as Priam. Finally, have not half the + mistakes in the world arisen from a separation between the spiritual and + the moral nature of man? Is it not, after all, through his dealings with + his fellow-men that man makes his safest ‘approach to the angels’? And is + not the moral system a very muscular system? Does it not require for + healthful vigour plenty of continued exercise, and does it not get that + exercise naturally by the relationships of family, with all the wider + collateral struggles with life which the care of family necessitates? + </p> + <p> + “I put these questions to you with the humblest diffidence. I expect to + hear such answers as will thoroughly convince my reason, and I shall be + delighted if so. For at the root of the controversy lies the passion of + love. And love must be a very disquieting, troublesome emotion, and has + led many heroes and sages into wonderful weaknesses and follies.” + </p> + <p> + “Gently, gently, Mr. Chillingly; don’t exaggerate. Love, no doubt, is—ahem—a + disquieting passion. Still, every emotion that changes life from a + stagnant pool into the freshness and play of a running stream is + disquieting to the pool. Not only love and its fellow-passions, such as + ambition, but the exercise of the reasoning faculty, which is always at + work in changing our ideas, is very disquieting. Love, Mr. Chillingly, has + its good side as well as its bad. Pass the bottle.” + </p> + <p> + KENELM (passing the bottle).—“Yes, yes; you are quite right in + putting the adversary’s case strongly, before you demolish it: all good + rhetoricians do that. Pardon me if I am up to that trick in argument. + Assume that I know all that can be said in favour of the abnegation of + common-sense, euphoniously called ‘love,’ and proceed to the demolition of + the case.” + </p> + <p> + THE REV. DECIMUS ROACH (hesitatingly).—“The demolition of the case? + humph! The passions are ingrafted in the human system as part and parcel + of it, and are not to be demolished so easily as you seem to think. Love, + taken rationally and morally by a man of good education and sound + principles, is—is—” + </p> + <p> + KENELM.—“Well, is what?” + </p> + <p> + THE REV. DECIMUS ROACH.—“A—a—a—thing not to be + despised. Like the sun, it is the great colourist of life, Mr. Chillingly. + And you are so right: the moral system does require daily exercise. What + can give that exercise to a solitary man, when he arrives at the practical + age in which he cannot sit for six hours at a stretch musing on the divine + essence; and rheumatism or other ailments forbid his adventure into the + wilds of Africa as a missionary? At that age, Nature, which will be heard, + Mr. Chillingly, demands her rights. A sympathizing female companion by + one’s side; innocent little children climbing one’s knee,—lovely, + bewitching picture! Who can be Goth enough to rub it out, who fanatic + enough to paint over it the image of a Saint Simeon sitting alone on a + pillar? Take another glass. You don’t drink enough, Mr. Chillingly.” + </p> + <p> + “I have drunk enough,” replied Kenelm, in a sullen voice, “to think I see + double. I imagined that before me sat the austere adversary of the + insanity of love and the miseries of wedlock. Now, I fancy I listen to a + puling sentimentalist uttering the platitudes which the other Decimus + Roach had already refuted. Certainly either I see double, or you amuse + yourself with mocking my appeal to your wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so, Mr. Chillingly. But the fact is, that when I wrote that book of + which you speak I was young, and youth is enthusiastic and one-sided. Now, + with the same disdain of the excesses to which love may hurry weak + intellects, I recognize its benignant effects when taken, as I before + said, rationally,—taken rationally, my young friend. At that period + of life when the judgment is matured, the soothing companionship of an + amiable female cannot but cheer the mind, and prevent that morose + hoar-frost into which solitude is chilled and made rigid by increasing + years. In short, Mr. Chillingly, having convinced myself that I erred in + the opinion once too rashly put forth, I owe it to Truth, I owe it to + Mankind, to make my conversion known to the world. And I am about next + month to enter into the matrimonial state with a young lady who—” + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, say no more, Mr. Roach. It must be a painful subject to you. + Let us drop it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a painful subject at all!” exclaimed Mr. Roach, with warmth. “I + look forward to the fulfilment of my duty with the pleasure which a + well-trained mind always ought to feel in recanting a fallacious doctrine. + But you do me the justice to understand that of course I do not take this + step I propose—for my personal satisfaction. No, sir, it is the + value of my example to others which purifies my motives and animates my + soul.” + </p> + <p> + After this concluding and noble sentence, the conversation drooped. Host + and guest both felt they had had enough of each other. Kenelm soon rose to + depart. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roach, on taking leave of, him at the door, said, with marked + emphasis,— + </p> + <p> + “Not for my personal satisfaction,—remember that. Whenever you hear + my conversion discussed in the world, say that from my own lips you heard + these words,—NOT FOR MY PERSONAL SATISFACTION. No! my kind regards + to Welby,—a married man himself, and a father: he will understand + me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0076" id="link2HCH0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + ON quitting Oxford, Kenelm wandered for several days about the country, + advancing to no definite goal, meeting with no noticeable adventure. At + last he found himself mechanically retracing his steps. A magnetic + influence he could not resist drew him back towards the grassy meads and + the sparkling rill of Moleswich. + </p> + <p> + “There must be,” said he to himself, “a mental, like an optical, illusion. + In the last, we fancy we have seen a spectre. If we dare not face the + apparition,—dare not attempt to touch it,—run superstitiously + away from it,—what happens? We shall believe to our dying day that + it was not an illusion, that it was a spectre; and so we may be crazed for + life. But if we manfully walk up to the phantom, stretch our hands to + seize it, oh! it fades into thin air, the cheat of our eyesight is + dispelled, and we shall never be ghost-ridden again. So it must be with + this mental illusion of mine. I see an image strange to my experience: it + seems to me, at first sight, clothed with a supernatural charm; like an + unreasoning coward, I run away from it. It continues to haunt me; I cannot + shut out its apparition. It pursues me by day alike in the haunts of men,—alike + in the solitudes of nature; it visits me by night in my dreams. I begin to + say this must be a real visitant from another world: it must be love; the + love of which I read in the Poets, as in the Poets I read of witchcraft + and ghosts. Surely I must approach that apparition as a philosopher like + Sir David Brewster would approach the black cat seated on a hearth-rug, + which he tells us that some lady of his acquaintance constantly saw till + she went into a world into which black cats are not held to be admitted. + The more I think of it the less it appears to me possible that I can be + really in love with a wild, half-educated, anomalous creature, merely + because the apparition of her face haunts me. With perfect safety, + therefore, I can approach the creature; in proportion as I see more of her + the illusion will vanish. I will go back to Moleswich manfully.” + </p> + <p> + Thus said Kenelm to himself, and himself answered,—“Go; for thou + canst not help it. Thinkest thou that Daces can escape the net that has + meshed a Roach? No,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Come it will, the day decreed by fate,’ +</pre> + <p> + when thou must succumb to the ‘Nature which will be heard.’ Better succumb + now, and with a good grace, than resist till thou hast reached thy + fiftieth year, and then make a rational choice not for thy personal + satisfaction.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Kenelm answered to himself, indignantly, “Pooh! thou flippant. + My <i>alter ego</i>, thou knowest not what thou art talking about! It is + not a question of Nature; it is a question of the supernatural,—an + illusion,—a phantom!” Thus Kenelm and himself continued to quarrel + with each other; and the more they quarrelled, the nearer they approached + to the haunted spot in which had been seen, and fled from, the fatal + apparition of first love. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VI. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0077" id="link2HCH0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + SIR PETER had not heard from Kenelm since a letter informing him that his + son had left town on an excursion, which would probably be short, though + it might last a few weeks; and the good Baronet now resolved to go to + London himself, take his chance of Kenelm’s return, and if still absent, + at least learn from Mivers and others how far that very eccentric planet + had contrived to steer a regular course amidst the fixed stars of the + metropolitan system. He had other reasons for his journey. He wished to + make the acquaintance of Chillingly Gordon before handing him over the + L20,000 which Kenelm had released in that resettlement of estates, the + necessary deeds of which the young heir had signed before quitting London + for Moleswich. Sir Peter wished still more to see Cecilia Travers, in whom + Kenelm’s accounts of her had inspired a very strong interest. + </p> + <p> + The day after his arrival in town Sir Peter breakfasted with Mivers. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word you are very comfortable here,” said Sir Peter, glancing at + the well-appointed table, and round the well-furnished rooms. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally so: there is no one to prevent my being comfortable. I am not + married; taste that omelette.” + </p> + <p> + “Some men declare they never knew comfort till they were married, Cousin + Miners.” + </p> + <p> + “Some men are reflecting bodies, and catch a pallid gleam from the comfort + which a wife concentres on herself. With a fortune so modest and secure, + what comforts, possessed by me now, would not a Mrs. Chillingly Mivers + ravish from my hold and appropriate to herself! Instead of these pleasant + rooms, where should I be lodged? In a dingy den looking on a backyard + excluded from the sun by day and vocal with cats by night; while Mrs. + Mivers luxuriated in two drawing-rooms with southern aspect and perhaps a + boudoir. My brougham would be torn from my uses and monopolized by ‘the + angel of my hearth,’ clouded in her crinoline and halved by her chignon. + No! if ever I marry—and I never deprive myself of the civilities and + needlework which single ladies waste upon me by saying I shall not marry—it + will be when women have fully established their rights; for then men may + have a chance of vindicating their own. Then if there are two + drawing-rooms in the house I shall take one; if not, we will toss up who + shall have the back parlour; if we keep a brougham, it will be exclusively + mine three days in the week; if Mrs. M. wants L200 a year for her wardrobe + she must be contented with one, the other half will belong to my personal + decoration; if I am oppressed by proof-sheets and printers’ devils, half + of the oppression falls to her lot, while I take my holiday on the croquet + ground at Wimbledon. Yes, when the present wrongs of women are exchanged + for equality with men, I will cheerfully marry; and to do the thing + generous, I will not oppose Mrs. M.‘s voting in the vestry or for + Parliament. I will give her my own votes with pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear, my dear cousin, that you have infected Kenelm with your selfish + ideas on the nuptial state. He does not seem inclined to marry,—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of girl is Cecilia Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “One of those superior girls who are not likely to tower into that + terrible giantess called a ‘superior woman.’ A handsome, well-educated, + sensible young lady, not spoiled by being an heiress; in fine, just the + sort of girl whom you could desire to fix on for a daughter-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don’t think Kenelm has a fancy for her?” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly speaking, I do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Any counter-attraction? There are some things in which sons do not + confide in their fathers. You have never heard that Kenelm has been a + little wild?” + </p> + <p> + “Wild he is, as the noble savage who ran in the woods,” said Cousin + Mivers. + </p> + <p> + “You frighten me!” + </p> + <p> + “Before the noble savage ran across the squaws, and was wise enough to run + away from them. Kenelm has run away now somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he does not tell me where, nor do they know at his lodgings. A heap + of notes on his table and no directions where they are to be forwarded. On + the whole, however, he has held his own in London society,—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly! he has been more courted than most young men, and perhaps more + talked of. Oddities generally are.” + </p> + <p> + “You own he has talents above the average? Do you not think he will make a + figure in the world some day, and discharge that debt to the literary + stores or the political interests of his country, which alas, I and my + predecessors, the other Sir Peters, failed to do; and for which I hailed + his birth, and gave him the name of Kenelm?” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word,” answered Mivers,—who had now finished his breakfast, + retreated to an easy-chair, and taken from the chimney-piece one of his + famous trabucos,—“upon my word, I can’t guess; if some great reverse + of fortune befell him, and he had to work for his livelihood, or if some + other direful calamity gave a shock to his nervous system and jolted it + into a fussy, fidgety direction, I dare say he might make a splash in that + current of life which bears men on to the grave. But you see he wants, as + he himself very truly says, the two stimulants to definite action,—poverty + and vanity.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely there have been great men who were neither poor nor vain?” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it. But vanity is a ruling motive that takes many forms and many + aliases: call it ambition, call it love of fame, still its substance is + the same,—the desire of applause carried into fussiness of action.” + </p> + <p> + “There may be the desire for abstract truth without care for applause.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. A philosopher on a desert island may amuse himself by + meditating on the distinction between light and heat. But if, on returning + to the world, he publish the result of his meditations, vanity steps in + and desires to be applauded.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Cousin Mivers, he may rather desire to be of use and benefit to + mankind. You don’t deny that there is such a thing as philanthropy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t deny that there is such a thing as humbug. And whenever I meet a + man who has the face to tell me that he is taking a great deal of trouble, + and putting himself very much out of his way, for a philanthropical + object, without the slightest idea of reward either in praise or pence, I + know that I have a humbug before me,—a dangerous humbug, a swindling + humbug, a fellow with his pocket full of villanous prospectuses and + appeals to subscribers.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh, pooh; leave off that affectation of cynicism: you are not a + bad-hearted fellow; you must love mankind; you must have an interest in + the welfare of posterity.” + </p> + <p> + “Love mankind? Interest in posterity? Bless my soul, Cousin Peter, I hope + you have no prospectuses in <i>your</i> pockets; no schemes for draining + the Pontine Marshes out of pure love to mankind; no propositions for + doubling the income-tax, as a reserve fund for posterity, should our + coal-fields fail three thousand years hence. Love of mankind! Rubbish! + This comes of living in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do love the human race; you do care for the generations that are + to come.” + </p> + <p> + “I! Not a bit of it. On the contrary, I rather dislike the human race, + taking it altogether, and including the Australian bushmen; and I don’t + believe any man who tells me that he would grieve half as much if ten + millions of human beings were swallowed up by an earthquake at a + considerable distance from his own residence, say Abyssinia, as he would + for a rise in his butcher’s bills. As to posterity, who would consent to + have a month’s fit of the gout or tic-douloureux in order that in the + fourth thousand year, A. D., posterity should enjoy a perfect system of + sewage?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter, who had recently been afflicted by a very sharp attack of + neuralgia, shook his head, but was too conscientious not to keep silence. + </p> + <p> + “To turn the subject,” said Mivers, relighting the cigar which he had laid + aside while delivering himself of his amiable opinions, “I think you would + do well, while in town, to call on your old friend Travers, and be + introduced to Cecilia. If you think as favourably of her as I do, why not + ask father and daughter to pay you a visit at Exmundham? Girls think more + about a man when they see the place which he can offer to them as a home, + and Exmundham is an attractive place to girls,—picturesque and + romantic.” + </p> + <p> + “A very good idea,” cried Sir Peter, heartily. “And I want also to make + the acquaintance of Chillingly Gordon. Give me his address.” + </p> + <p> + “Here is his card on the chimney-piece, take it; you will always find him + at home till two o’clock. He is too sensible to waste the forenoon in + riding out in Hyde Park with young ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your frank opinion of that young kinsman. Kenelm tells me that he + is clever and ambitious.” + </p> + <p> + “Kenelm speaks truly. He is not a man who will talk stuff about love of + mankind and posterity. He is of our day, with large, keen, wide-awake + eyes, that look only on such portions of mankind as can be of use to him, + and do not spoil their sight by poring through cracked telescopes to catch + a glimpse of posterity. Gordon is a man to be a Chancellor of the + Exchequer, perhaps a Prime Minister.” + </p> + <p> + “And old Gordon’s son is cleverer than my boy,—than the namesake of + Kenelm Digby!” and Sir Peter sighed. + </p> + <p> + “I did not say that. I am cleverer than Chillingly Gordon, and the proof + of it is that I am too clever to wish to be Prime Minister,—very + disagreeable office, hard work, irregular hours for meals, much abuse and + confirmed dyspepsia.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter went away rather down-hearted. He found Chillingly Gordon at + home in a lodging in Jermyn Street. Though prepossessed against him by all + he had heard, Sir Peter was soon propitiated in his favour. Gordon had a + frank man-of-the-world way with him, and much too fine a tact to utter any + sentiments likely to displease an old-fashioned country gentleman, and a + relation who might possibly be of service in his career. He touched + briefly, and with apparent feeling, on the unhappy litigation commenced by + his father; spoke with affectionate praise of Kenelm; and with a + discriminating good-nature of Mivers, as a man who, to parody the epigram + on Charles II., + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Never says a kindly thing + And never does a harsh one.” + </pre> + <p> + Then he drew Sir Peter on to talk of the country and agricultural + prospects. Learned that among his objects in visiting town was the wish to + inspect a patented hydraulic ram that might be very useful for his + farm-yard, which was ill supplied with water. Startled the Baronet by + evincing some practical knowledge of mechanics; insisted on accompanying + him to the city to inspect the ram; did so, and approved the purchase; + took him next to see a new American reaping-machine, and did not part with + him till he had obtained Sir Peter’s promise to dine with him at the + Garrick; an invitation peculiarly agreeable to Sir Peter, who had a + natural curiosity to see some of the more recently distinguished + frequenters of that social club. As, on quitting Gordon, Sir Peter took + his way to the house of Leopold Travers, his thoughts turned with much + kindliness towards his young kinsman. “Mivers and Kenelm,” quoth he to + himself, “gave me an unfavourable impression of this lad; they represent + him as worldly, self-seeking, and so forth. But Mivers takes such cynical + views of character, and Kenelm is too eccentric to judge fairly of a + sensible man of the world. At all events, it is not like an egotist to put + himself out of his way to be so civil to an old fellow like me. A young + man about town must have pleasanter modes of passing his day than + inspecting hydraulic rams and reaping-machines. Clever they allow him to + be. Yes, decidedly clever, and not offensively clever,—practical.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter found Travers in the dining-room with his daughter, Mrs. + Campion, and Lady Glenalvon. Travers was one of those men rare in middle + age, who are more often to be found in their drawing-room than in their + private study; he was fond of female society; and perhaps it was this + predilection which contributed to preserve in him the charm of good + breeding and winning manners. The two men had not met for many years; not + indeed since Travers was at the zenith of his career of fashion, and Sir + Peter was one of those pleasant <i>dilettanti</i> and half humoristic + conversationalists who become popular and courted diners-out. + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter had originally been a moderate Whig because his father had been + one before him; but he left the Whig party with the Duke of Richmond, Mr. + Stanley (afterwards Lord Derby), and others, when it seemed to him that + that party had ceased to be moderate. + </p> + <p> + Leopold Travers had, as a youth in the Guards, been a high Tory, but, + siding with Sir Robert Peel on the repeal of the Corn Laws, remained with + the Peelites after the bulk of the Tory party had renounced the guidance + of their former chief, and now went with these Peelites in whatever + direction the progress of the age might impel their strides in advance of + Whigs and in defiance of Tories. + </p> + <p> + However, it is not the politics of these two gentlemen that are in + question now. As I have just said, they had not met for many years. + Travers was very little changed. Sir Peter recognized him at a glance; Sir + Peter was much changed, and Travers hesitated before, on hearing his name + announced, he felt quite sure that it was the right Sir Peter towards whom + he advanced, and to whom he extended his cordial hand. Travers preserved + the colour of his hair and the neat proportions of his figure, and was as + scrupulously well dressed as in his dandy days. Sir Peter, originally very + thin and with fair locks and dreamy blue eyes, had now become rather + portly,—at least towards the middle of him,—and very gray; had + long ago taken to spectacles; his dress, too, was very old-fashioned, and + made by a country tailor. He looked quite as much a gentleman as Travers + did; quite perhaps as healthy, allowing for difference of years; quite as + likely to last his time. But between them there was the difference of the + nervous temperament and the lymphatic. Travers, with less brain than Sir + Peter, had kept his brain constantly active; Sir Peter had allowed his + brain to dawdle over old books and lazily delight in letting the hours + slip by. Therefore Travers still looked young, alert,—up to his day, + up to anything; while Sir Peter, entering that drawing-room, seemed a sort + of Rip van Winkle who had slept through the past generation, and looked on + the present with eyes yet drowsy. Still, in those rare moments when he was + thoroughly roused up, there would have been found in Sir Peter a glow of + heart, nay, even a vigour of thought, much more expressive than the + constitutional alertness that characterized Leopold Travers, of the + attributes we most love and admire in the young. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Sir Peter, is it you? I am so glad to see you again,” said + Travers. “What an age since we met, and how condescendingly kind you were + then to me; silly fop that I was! But bygones are bygones; come to the + present. Let me introduce to you, first, my valued friend, Mrs. Campion, + whose distinguished husband you remember. Ah, what pleasant meetings we + had at his house! And next, that young lady of whom she takes motherly + charge, my daughter Cecilia. Lady Glenalvon, your wife’s friend, of course + needs no introduction: time stands still with her.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter lowered his spectacles, which in reality he only wanted for + books in small print, and gazed attentively on the three ladies,—at + each gaze a bow. But while his eyes were still lingeringly fixed on + Cecilia, Lady Glenalvon advanced, naturally in right of rank and the claim + of old acquaintance, the first of the three to greet him. + </p> + <p> + “Alas, my dear Sir Peter! time does not stand still for any of us; but + what matter, if it leaves pleasant footprints? When I see you again, my + youth comes before me,—my early friend, Caroline Brotherton, now + Lady Chillingly; our girlish walks with each other; wreaths and + ball-dresses the practical topic; prospective husbands, the dream at a + distance. Come and sit here: tell me all about Caroline.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter, who had little to say about Caroline that could possibly + interest anybody but himself, nevertheless took his seat beside Lady + Glenalvon, and, as in duty bound, made the most flattering account of his + She Baronet which experience or invention would allow. All the while, + however, his thoughts were on Kenelm, and his eyes on Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + Cecilia resumes some mysterious piece of lady’s work, no matter what,—perhaps + embroidery for a music-stool, perhaps a pair of slippers for her father + (which, being rather vain of his feet and knowing they looked best in + plain morocco, he will certainly never wear). Cecilia appears absorbed in + her occupation; but her eyes and her thoughts are on Sir Peter. Why, my + lady reader may guess. And oh, so flatteringly, so lovingly fixed! She + thinks he has a most charming, intelligent, benignant countenance. She + admires even his old-fashioned frock-coat, high neckcloth, and strapped + trousers. She venerates his gray hairs, pure of dye. She tries to find a + close resemblance between that fair, blue-eyed, plumpish, elderly + gentleman and the lean, dark-eyed, saturnine, lofty Kenelm; she detects + the likeness which nobody else would. She begins to love Sir Peter, though + he has not said a word to her. + </p> + <p> + Ah! on this, a word for what it is worth to you, my young readers. You, + sir, wishing to marry a girl who is to be deeply, lastingly in love with + you, and a thoroughly good wife practically, consider well how she takes + to your parents; how she attaches to them an inexpressible sentiment, a + disinterested reverence; even should you but dimly recognize the + sentiment, or feel the reverence, how if between you and your parents some + little cause of coldness arise, she will charm you back to honour your + father and your mother, even though they are not particularly genial to + her: well, if you win that sort of girl as your wife think you have got a + treasure. You have won a woman to whom Heaven has given the two best + attributes,—intense feeling of love, intense sense of duty. What, my + dear lady reader, I say of one sex, I say of another, though in a less + degree; because a girl who marries becomes of her husband’s family, and + the man does not become of his wife’s. Still I distrust the depth of any + man’s love to a woman, if he does not feel a great degree of tenderness + (and forbearance where differences arise) for her parents. But the wife + must not so put them in the foreground as to make the husband think he is + cast in the cold of the shadow. Pardon this intolerable length of + digression, dear reader: it is not altogether a digression, for it belongs + to my tale that you should clearly understand the sort of girl that is + personified in Cecilia Travers. + </p> + <p> + “What has become of Kenelm?” asked Lady Glenalvon. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could tell you,” answered Sir Peter. “He wrote me word that he + was going forth on rambles into ‘fresh woods and pastures new,’ perhaps + for some weeks. I have not had a word from him since.” + </p> + <p> + “You make me uneasy,” said Lady Glenalvon. “I hope nothing can have + happened to him: he cannot have fallen ill.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia stops her work, and looks up wistfully. + </p> + <p> + “Make your mind easy,” said Travers with a laugh; “I am in this secret. He + has challenged the champion of England, and gone into the country to + train.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” said Sir Peter, quietly: “I should not be in the least + surprised; should you, Miss Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it more probable that Mr. Chillingly is doing some kindness to + others which he wishes to keep concealed.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter was pleased with this reply, and drew his chair nearer to + Cecilia’s. Lady Glenalvon, charmed to bring those two together, soon rose + and took leave. + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter remained nearly an hour talking chiefly with Cecilia, who won + her way into his heart with extraordinary ease; and he did not quit the + house till he had engaged her father, Mrs. Campion, and herself to pay him + a week’s visit at Exmundham, towards the end of the London season, which + was fast approaching. + </p> + <p> + Having obtained this promise, Sir Peter went away, and ten minutes after + Mr. Chillingly Gordon entered the drawing-room. He had already established + a visiting acquaintance with the Traverses. Travers had taken a liking to + him. Mrs. Campion found him an extremely well-informed, unaffected young + man, very superior to young men in general. Cecilia was cordially polite + to Kenelm’s cousin. Altogether that was a very happy day for Sir Peter. He + enjoyed greatly his dinner at the Garrick, where he met some old + acquaintance and was presented to some new “celebrities.” He observed that + Gordon stood well with these eminent persons. Though as yet + undistinguished himself, they treated him with a certain respect, as well + as with evident liking. The most eminent of them, at least the one with + the most solidly established reputation, said in Sir Peter’s ear, “You may + be proud of your nephew Gordon!” + </p> + <p> + “He is not my nephew, only the son of a very distant cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry for that. But he will shed lustre on kinsfolk, however distant. + Clever fellow, yet popular; rare combination,—sure to rise.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter suppressed a gulp in the throat. “Ah, if some one as eminent had + spoken thus of Kenelm!” + </p> + <p> + But he was too generous to allow that half-envious sentiment to last more + than a moment. Why should he not be proud of any member of the family who + could irradiate the antique obscurity of the Chillingly race? And how + agreeable this clever young man made himself to Sir Peter! + </p> + <p> + The next day Gordon insisted on accompanying him to see the latest + acquisitions in the British Museum, and various other exhibitions, and + went at night to the Prince of Wales’s Theatre, where Sir Peter was + infinitely delighted with an admirable little comedy by Mr. Robertson, + admirably placed on the stage by Marie Wilton. The day after, when Gordon + called on him at his hotel, he cleared his throat, and thus plunged at + once into the communication he had hitherto delayed. + </p> + <p> + “Gordon, my boy, I owe you a debt, and I am now, thanks to Kenelm, able to + pay it.” + </p> + <p> + Gordon gave a little start of surprise, but remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “I told your father, shortly after Kenelm was born, that I meant to give + up my London house, and lay by L1000 a year for you, in compensation for + your chance of succeeding to Exmundham should I have died childless. Well, + your father did not seem to think much of that promise, and went to law + with me about certain unquestionable rights of mine. How so clever a man + could have made such a mistake would puzzle me, if I did not remember that + he had a quarrelsome temper. Temper is a thing that often dominates + cleverness,—an uncontrollable thing; and allowances must be made for + it. Not being of a quarrelsome temper myself (the Chillinglys are a placid + race), I did not make the allowance for your father’s differing, and (for + a Chillingly) abnormal, constitution. The language and the tone of his + letter respecting it nettled me. I did not see why, thus treated, I should + pinch myself to lay by a thousand a year. Facilities for buying a property + most desirable for the possessor of Exmundham presented themselves. I + bought it with borrowed money, and though I gave up the house in London, I + did not lay by the thousand a year.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Sir Peter, I have always regretted that my poor father was misled—perhaps + out of too paternal a care for my supposed interests—into that + unhappy and fruitless litigation, after which no one could doubt that any + generous intentions on your part would be finally abandoned. It has been a + grateful surprise to me that I have been so kindly and cordially received + into the family by Kenelm and yourself. Pray oblige me by dropping all + reference to pecuniary matters: the idea of compensation to a very distant + relative for the loss of expectations he had no right to form, is too + absurd, for me at least, ever to entertain.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am absurd enough to entertain it, though you express yourself in a + very high-minded way. To come to the point, Kenelm is of age, and we have + cut off the entail. The estate of course remains absolutely with Kenelm to + dispose of, as it did before, and we must take it for granted that he will + marry; at all events he cannot fall into your poor father’s error: but + whatever Kenelm hereafter does with his property, it is nothing to you, + and is not to be counted upon. Even the title dies with Kenelm if he has + no son. On resettling the estate, however, sums of money have been + realized which, as I stated before, enable me to discharge the debt which + Kenelm heartily agrees with me is due to you. L20,000 are now lying at my + bankers’ to be transferred to yours; meanwhile, if you will call on my + solicitor, Mr. Vining, Lincoln’s-inn, you can see the new deed and give to + him your receipt for the L20,000, for which he holds my cheque. Stop! + stop! stop! I will not hear a. word: no thanks; they are not due.” + </p> + <p> + Here Gordon, who had during this speech uttered various brief + exclamations, which Sir Peter did not heed, caught hold of his kinsman’s + hand, and, despite of all struggles, pressed his lips on it. “I must thank + you; I must give some vent to my emotions,” cried Gordon. “This sum, great + in itself, is far more to me than you can imagine: it opens my career; it + assures my future.” + </p> + <p> + “So Kenelm tells me; he said that sum would be more use to you now than + ten times the amount twenty years hence.” + </p> + <p> + “So it will,—it will. And Kenelm consents to this sacrifice?” + </p> + <p> + “Consents! urges it.” + </p> + <p> + Gordon turned away his face, and Sir Peter resumed: “You want to get into + Parliament; very natural ambition for a clever young fellow. I don’t + presume to dictate politics to you. I hear you are what is called a + Liberal; a man may be a Liberal, I suppose, without being a Jacobin.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, indeed. For my part I am anything but a violent man.” + </p> + <p> + “Violent, no! Who ever heard of a violent Chillingly? But I was reading in + the newspaper to-day a speech addressed to some popular audience, in which + the orator was for dividing all the lands and all the capital belonging to + other people among the working class, calmly and quietly, without any + violence, and deprecating violence: but saying, perhaps very truly, that + the people to be robbed might not like it, and might offer violence; in + which case woe betide them; it was they who would be guilty of violence; + and they must take the consequences if they resisted the reasonable, + propositions of himself and his friends! That, I suppose, is among the new + ideas with which Kenelm is more familiar than I am. Do you entertain those + new ideas?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not: I despise the fools who do.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will not abet revolutionary measures if you get into Parliament?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Sir Peter, I fear you have heard very false reports of my + opinions if you put such questions. Listen,” and therewith Gordon launched + into dissertations very clever, very subtle, which committed him to + nothing, beyond the wisdom of guiding popular opinions into right + directions: what might be right directions he did not define; he left Sir + Peter to guess them. Sir Peter did guess them, as Gordon meant he should, + to be the directions which he, Sir Peter, thought right; and he was + satisfied. + </p> + <p> + That subject disposed of, Gordon said, with much apparent feeling, “May I + ask you to complete the favours you have lavished on me? I have never seen + Exmundham, and the home of the race from which I sprang has a deep + interest for time. Will you allow me to spend a few days with you, and + under the shade of your own trees take lessons in political science from + one who has evidently reflected on it profoundly?” + </p> + <p> + “Profoundly, no; a little,—a little, as a mere bystander,” said Sir + Peter, modestly, but much flattered. “Come, my dear boy, by all means; you + will have a hearty welcome. By the by, Travers and his handsome daughter + promised to visit me in about a fortnight, why not come at the same time?” + </p> + <p> + A sudden flash lit up the young man’s countenance. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be so delighted,” he cried. “I am but slightly acquainted with + Mr. Travers, but I like him much, and Mrs. Campion is so well informed.” + </p> + <p> + “And what say you to the girl?” + </p> + <p> + “The girl, Miss Travers. Oh, she is very well in her way. But I don’t talk + with young ladies more than I can help.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are like your cousin Kenelm?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were like him in other things.” + </p> + <p> + “No, one such oddity in a family is quite enough. But though I would not + have you change to a Kenelm, I would not change Kenelm for the most + perfect model of a son that the world can exhibit.” Delivering himself of + this burst of parental fondness, Sir Peter shook hands with Gordon, and + walked off to Mivers, who was to give him luncheon and then accompany him + to the station. Sir Peter was to return to Exmundham by the afternoon + express. + </p> + <p> + Left alone, Gordon indulged in one of those luxurious guesses into the + future which form the happiest moments in youth when so ambitious as his. + The sum Sir Peter placed at his disposal would insure his entrance in + Parliament. He counted with confidence on early successes there. He + extended the scope of his views. With such successes he might calculate + with certainty on a brilliant marriage, augmenting his fortune, and + confirming his position. He had previously fixed his thoughts on Cecilia + Travers. I will do him the justice to say not from mercenary motives + alone, but not certainly with the impetuous ardour of youthful love. He + thought her exactly fitted to be the wife of an eminent public man, in + person, acquirement, dignified yet popular manners. He esteemed her, he + liked her, and then her fortune would add solidity to his position. In + fact, he had that sort of rational attachment to Cecilia which wise men, + like Lord Bacon and Montaigne, would commend to another wise man seeking a + wife. What opportunities of awaking in herself a similar, perhaps a + warmer, attachment the visit to Exmundham would afford! He had learned + when he had called on the Traverses that they were going thither, and + hence that burst of family sentiment which had procured the invitation to + himself. + </p> + <p> + But he must be cautious, he must not prematurely awaken Travers’s + suspicions. He was not as yet a match that the squire could approve of for + his heiress. And, though he was ignorant of Sir Peter’s designs on that, + young lady, he was much too prudent to confide his own to a kinsman of + whose discretion he had strong misgivings. It was enough for him at + present that way was opened for his own resolute energies. And cheerfully, + though musingly, he weighed its obstacles, and divined its goal, as he + paced his floor with bended head and restless strides, now quick, now + slow. + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter, in the meanwhile, found a very good luncheon prepared for him + at Mivers’s rooms, which he had all to himself, for his host never “spoilt + his dinner and insulted his breakfast” by that intermediate meal. He + remained at his desk writing brief notes of business, or of pleasure, + while Sir Peter did justice to lamb cutlets and grilled chicken. But he + looked up from his task, with raised eyebrows, when Sir Peter, after a + somewhat discursive account of his visit to the Traverses, his admiration + of Cecilia, and the adroitness with which, acting on his cousin’s hint, he + had engaged the family to spend a few days at Exmundham, added, “And, by + the by, I have asked young Gordon to meet them.” + </p> + <p> + “To meet them! meet Mr. and Miss Travers! you have? I thought you wished + Kenelm to marry Cecilia. I was mistaken, you meant Gordon!” + </p> + <p> + “Gordon,” exclaimed Sir Peter, dropping his knife and fork. “Nonsense, you + don’t suppose that Miss Travers prefers him to Kenelm, or that he has the + presumption to fancy that her father would sanction his addresses?” + </p> + <p> + “I indulge in no suppositions of the sort. I content myself with thinking + that Gordon is clever, insinuating, young; and it is a very good chance of + bettering himself that you have thrown in his way. However, it is no + affair of mine; and though on the whole I like Kenelm better than Gordon, + still I like Gordon very well, and I have an interest in following his + career which I can’t say I have in conjecturing what may be Kenelm’s—more + likely no career at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Mivers, you delight in provoking me; you do say such uncomfortable + things. But, in the first place, Gordon spoke rather slightingly of Miss + Travers.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, indeed; that’s a bad sign,” muttered Mivers. + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter did not hear him, and went on. + </p> + <p> + “And, besides, I feel pretty sure that the dear girl has already a regard + for Kenelm which allows no room for a rival. However, I shall not forget + your hint, but keep a sharp lookout; and, if I see the young man wants to + be too sweet on Cecilia, I shall cut short his visit.” + </p> + <p> + “Give yourself no trouble in the matter; it will do no good. Marriages are + made in heaven. Heaven’s will be done. If I can get away I will run down + to you for a day or two. Perhaps in that case you can ask Lady Glenalvon. + I like her, and she likes Kenelm. Have you finished? I see the brougham is + at the door, and we have to call at your hotel to take up your + carpet-bag.” + </p> + <p> + Mivers was deliberately sealing his notes while he thus spoke. He now rang + for his servant, gave orders for their delivery, and then followed Sir + Peter down stairs and into the brougham. Not a word would he say more + about Gordon, and Sir Peter shrank from telling him about the L20,000. + Chillingly Mivers was perhaps the last person to whom Sir Peter would be + tempted to parade an act of generosity. Mivers might not unfrequently do a + generous act himself, provided it was not divulged; but he had always a + sneer for the generosity of others. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0078" id="link2HCH0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + WANDERING back towards Moleswich, Kenelm found himself a little before + sunset on the banks of the garrulous brook, almost opposite to the house + inhabited by Lily Mordaunt. He stood long and silently by the grassy + margin, his dark shadow falling over the stream, broken into fragments by + the eddy and strife of waves, fresh from their leap down the neighbouring + waterfall. His eyes rested on the house and the garden lawn in the front. + The upper windows were open. “I wonder which is hers,” he said to himself. + At last he caught a glimpse of the gardener, bending over a flower border + with his watering-pot, and then moving slowly through the little + shrubbery, no doubt to his own cottage. Now the lawn was solitary, save + that a couple of thrushes dropped suddenly on the sward. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, sir,” said a voice. “A capital spot for trout this.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm turned his head, and beheld on the footpath, just behind him, a + respectable elderly man, apparently of the class of a small retail + tradesman, with a fishing-rod in his hand and a basket belted to his side. + </p> + <p> + “For trout,” replied Kenelm; “I dare say. A strangely attractive spot + indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you an angler, sir, if I may make bold to inquire?” asked the elderly + man, somewhat perhaps puzzled as to the rank of the stranger; noticing, on + the one hand, his dress and his mien, on the other, slung to his + shoulders, the worn and shabby knapsack which Kenelm had carried, at home + and abroad, the preceding year. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, I am an angler.” + </p> + <p> + “Then this is the best place in the whole stream. Look, sir, there is + Izaak Walton’s summer-house; and further down you see that white, + neat-looking house. Well, that is my house, sir, and I have an apartment + which I let to gentleman anglers. It is generally occupied throughout the + summer months. I expect every day to have a letter to engage it, but it is + vacant now. A very nice apartment, sir,—sitting-room and bedroom.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Descende ceolo, et dic age tibia</i>,” said Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” said the elderly man. + </p> + <p> + “I beg you ten thousand pardons. I have had the misfortune to have been at + the university, and to have learned a little Latin, which sometimes comes + back very inopportunely. But, speaking in plain English, what I meant to + say is this: I invoked the Muse to descend from heaven and bring with her—the + original says a fife, but I meant—a fishing-rod. I should think your + apartment would suit me exactly; pray show it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “With the greatest pleasure,” said the elderly man. “The Muse need not + bring a fishing-rod! we have all sorts of tackle at your service, and a + boat too, if you care for that. The stream hereabouts is so shallow and + narrow that a boat is of little use till you get farther down.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to get farther down; but should I want to get to the + opposite bank, without wading across, would the boat take me or is there a + bridge?” + </p> + <p> + “The boat can take you. It is a flat-bottomed punt, and there is a bridge + too for foot-passengers, just opposite my house; and between this and + Moleswich, where the stream widens, there is a ferry. The stone bridge for + traffic is at the farther end of the town.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Let us go at once to your house.” + </p> + <p> + The two men walked on. + </p> + <p> + “By the by,” said Kenelm, as they walked, “do you know much of the family + that inhabit the pretty cottage on the opposite side, which we have just + left behind?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Cameron’s. Yes, of course, a very good lady; and Mr. Melville, the + painter. I am sure I ought to know, for he has often lodged with me when + he came to visit Mrs. Cameron. He recommends my apartment to his friends, + and they are my best lodgers. I like painters, sir, though I don’t know + much about paintings. They are pleasant gentlemen, and easily contented + with my humble roof and fare.” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right. I don’t know much about paintings myself; but I am + inclined to believe that painters, judging not from what I have seen of + them, for I have not a single acquaintance among them personally, but from + what I have read of their lives, are, as a general rule, not only pleasant + but noble gentlemen. They form within themselves desires to beautify or + exalt commonplace things, and they can only accomplish their desires by a + constant study of what is beautiful and what is exalted. A man constantly + so engaged ought to be a very noble gentleman, even though he may be the + son of a shoeblack. And living in a higher world than we do, I can + conceive that he is, as you say, very well contented with humble roof and + fare in the world we inhabit.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, sir; I see—I see now, though you put it in a way that + never struck me before.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said Kenelm, looking benignly at the speaker, “you seem to me a + well-educated and intelligent man; reflective on things in general, + without being unmindful of your interests in particular, especially when + you have lodgings to let. Do not be offended. That sort of man is not + perhaps born to be a painter, but I respect him highly. The world, sir, + requires the vast majority of its inhabitants to live in it,—to live + by it. ‘Each for himself, and God for us all.’ The greatest happiness of + the greatest number is best secured by a prudent consideration for Number + One.” + </p> + <p> + Somewhat to Kenelm’s surprise (allowing that he had now learned enough of + life to be occasionally surprised) the elderly man here made a dead halt, + stretched out his hand cordially, and cried, “Hear, hear! I see that, like + me, you are a decided democrat.” + </p> + <p> + “Democrat! Pray, may I ask, not why you are one,—that would be a + liberty, and democrats resent any liberty taken with themselves; but why + you suppose I am?” + </p> + <p> + “You spoke of the greatest happiness of the greatest number. That is a + democratic sentiment surely! Besides, did not you say, sir, that painters,—painters, + sir, painters, even if they were the sons of shoeblacks, were the true + gentlemen,—the true noblemen?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not say that exactly, to the disparagement of other gentlemen and + nobles. But if I did, what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I agree with you. I despise rank; I despise dukes and earls and + aristocrats. ‘An honest man’s the noblest work of God.’ Some poet says + that. I think Shakspeare. Wonderful man, Shakspeare. A tradesman’s son,—butcher, + I believe. Eh! My uncle was a butcher, and might have been an alderman. I + go along with you heartily, heartily. I am a democrat, every inch of me. + Shake hands, sir, shake hands; we are all equals. ‘Each man for himself, + and God for us all.’” + </p> + <p> + “I have no objection to shake hands,” said Kenelm; “but don’t let me owe + your condescension to false pretences. Though we are all equal before the + law, except the rich man, who has little chance of justice as against a + poor man when submitted to an English jury, yet I utterly deny that any + two men you select can be equals. One must beat the other in something; + and, when one man beats another, democracy ceases and aristocracy begins.” + </p> + <p> + “Aristocracy! I don’t see that. What do you mean by aristocracy?” + </p> + <p> + “The ascendency of the better man. In a rude State the better man is the + stronger; in a corrupt State, perhaps the more roguish; in modern + republics the jobbers get the money and the lawyers get the power. In + well-ordered States alone aristocracy appears at its genuine worth: the + better man in birth, because respect for ancestry secures a higher + standard of honour; the better man in wealth, because of the immense uses + to enterprise, energy, and the fine arts, which rich men must be if they + follow their natural inclinations; the better man in character, the better + man in ability, for reasons too obvious to define; and these two last will + beat the others in the government of the State, if the State be + flourishing and free. All these four classes of better men constitute true + aristocracy; and when a better government than a true aristocracy shall be + devised by the wit of man, we shall not be far off from the Millennium and + the reign of saints. But here we are at the house,—yours, is it not? + I like the look of it extremely.” + </p> + <p> + The elderly man now entered the little porch, over which clambered + honeysuckle and ivy intertwined, and ushered Kenelm into a pleasant + parlour, with a bay window, and an equally pleasant bedroom behind it. + </p> + <p> + “Will it do, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly. I take it from this moment. My knapsack contains all I shall + need for the night. There is a portmanteau of mine at Mr. Somers’s shop, + which can be sent here in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But we have not settled about the terms,” said the elderly man, beginning + to feel rather doubtful whether he ought thus to have installed in his + home a stalwart pedestrian of whom he knew nothing, and who, though + talking glibly enough on other things, had preserved an ominous silence on + the subject of payment. + </p> + <p> + “Terms? true, name them.” + </p> + <p> + “Including board?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Chameleons live on air; democrats on wind bags. I have a more + vulgar appetite, and require mutton.” + </p> + <p> + “Meat is very dear now-a-days,” said the elderly man, “and I am afraid, + for board and lodging I cannot charge you less than L3 3s.,—say L3 a + week. My lodgers usually pay a week in advance.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed,” said Kenelm, extracting three sovereigns from his purse. “I have + dined already: I want nothing more this evening; let me detain you no + further. Be kind enough to shut the door after you.” + </p> + <p> + When he was alone, Kenelm seated himself in the recess of the bay window, + against the casement, and looked forth intently. Yes; he was right: he + could see from thence the home of Lily. Not, indeed, more than a white + gleam of the house through the interstices of trees and shrubs, but the + gentle lawn sloping to the brook, with the great willow at the end dipping + its boughs into the water, and shutting out all view beyond itself by its + bower of tender leaves. The young man bent his face on his hands and mused + dreamily: the evening deepened; the stars came forth; the rays of the moon + now peered aslant through the arching dips of the willow, silvering their + way as they stole to the waves below. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I bring lights, sir? or do you prefer a lamp or candles?” asked a + voice behind,—the voice of the elderly man’s wife. “Do you like the + shutters closed?” + </p> + <p> + The question startled the dreamer. They seemed mocking his own old + mockings on the romance of love. Lamp or candles, practical lights for + prosaic eyes, and shutters closed against moon and stars! + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma’am, not yet,” he said; and rising quietly he placed his + hand on the window-sill, swung himself through the open casement, and + passed slowly along the margin of the rivulet, by a path checkered + alternately with shade and starlight; the moon yet more slowly rising + above the willows, and lengthening its track along the wavelets. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0079" id="link2HCH0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + THOUGH Kenelm did not think it necessary at present to report to his + parents or his London acquaintances his recent movements and his present + resting-place, it never entered into his head to lurk <i>perdu</i> in the + immediate vicinity of Lily’s house, and seek opportunities of meeting her + clandestinely. He walked to Mrs. Braefield’s the next morning, found her + at home, and said in rather a more off-hand manner than was habitual to + him, “I have hired a lodging in your neighbourhood, on the banks of the + brook, for the sake of its trout-fishing. So you will allow me to call on + you sometimes, and one of these days I hope you will give me the dinner I + so unceremoniously rejected some days ago. I was then summoned away + suddenly, much against my will.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; my husband said that you shot off from him with a wild exclamation + about duty.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true; my reason, and I may say my conscience, were greatly + perplexed upon a matter extremely important and altogether new to me. I + went to Oxford,—the place above all others in which questions of + reason and conscience are most deeply considered, and perhaps least + satisfactorily solved. Relieved in my mind by my visit to a distinguished + ornament of that university, I felt I might indulge in a summer holiday, + and here I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I understand. You had religious doubts,—thought perhaps of + turning Roman Catholic. I hope you are not going to do so?” + </p> + <p> + “My doubts were not necessarily of a religious nature. Pagans have + entertained them.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever they were I am pleased to see they did not prevent your return,” + said Mrs. Braefield, graciously. “But where have you found a lodging; why + not have come to us? My husband would have been scarcely less glad than + myself to receive you.” + </p> + <p> + “You say that so sincerely, and so cordially, that to answer by a brief ‘I + thank you’ seems rigid and heartless. But there are times in life when one + yearns to be alone,—to commune with one’s own heart, and, if + possible, be still; I am in one of those moody times. Bear with me.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield looked at him with affectionate, kindly interest. She had + gone before him through the solitary road of young romance. She remembered + her dreamy, dangerous girlhood, when she, too, had yearned to be alone. + </p> + <p> + “Bear with you; yes, indeed. I wish, Mr. Chillingly, that I were your + sister, and that you would confide in me. Something troubles you.” + </p> + <p> + “Troubles me,—no. My thoughts are happy ones, and they may sometimes + perplex me, but they do not trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm said this very softly; and in the warmer light of his musing eyes, + the sweeter play of his tranquil smile, there was an expression which did + not belie his words. + </p> + <p> + “You have not told me where you have found a lodging,” said Mrs. + Braefield, somewhat abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Did I not?” replied Kenelm, with an unconscious start, as from an + abstracted reverie. “With no undistinguished host, I presume, for when I + asked him this morning for the right address of this cottage, in order to + direct such luggage as I have to be sent there, he gave me his card with a + grand air, saying, ‘I am pretty well known at Moleswich, by and beyond + it.’ I have not yet looked at his card. Oh, here it is,—‘Algernon + Sidney Gale Jones, Cromwell Lodge;’ you laugh. What do you know of him?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish my husband were here; he would tell you more about him. Mr. Jones + is quite a character.” + </p> + <p> + “So I perceive.” + </p> + <p> + “A great radical,—very talkative and troublesome at the vestry; but + our vicar, Mr. Emlyn, says there is no real harm in him, that his bark is + worse than his bite, and that his republican or radical notions must be + laid to the door of his godfathers! In addition to his name of Jones, he + was unhappily christened Gale; Gale Jones being a noted radical orator at + the time of his birth. And I suppose Algernon Sidney was prefixed to Gale + in order to devote the new-born more emphatically to republican + principles.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally, therefore, Algernon Sidney Gale Jones baptizes his house + Cromwell Lodge, seeing that Algernon Sidney held the Protectorate in + especial abhorrence, and that the original Gale Jones, if an honest + radical, must have done the same, considering what rough usage the + advocates of Parliamentary Reform met with at the hands of his Highness. + But we must be indulgent to men who have been unfortunately christened + before they had any choice of the names that were to rule their fate. I + myself should have been less whimsical had I not been named after a Kenelm + who believed in sympathetic powders. Apart from his political doctrines, I + like my landlord: he keeps his wife in excellent order. She seems + frightened at the sound of her own footsteps, and glides to and fro, a + pallid image of submissive womanhood in list slippers.” + </p> + <p> + “Great recommendations certainly, and Cromwell Lodge is very prettily + situated. By the by, it is very near Mrs. Cameron’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Now I think of it, so it is,” said Kenelm, innocently. Ah! my friend + Kenelm, enemy of shams, and truth-teller, <i>par excellence</i>, what hast + thou come to? How are the mighty fallen! “Since you say you will dine with + us, suppose we fix the day after to-morrow, and I will ask Mrs. Cameron + and Lily.” + </p> + <p> + “The day after to-morrow: I shall be delighted.” + </p> + <p> + “An early hour?” + </p> + <p> + “The earlier the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Is six o’clock too early?” + </p> + <p> + “Too early! certainly not; on the contrary. Good-day: I must now go to + Mrs. Somers; she has charge of my portmanteau.” + </p> + <p> + Then Kenelm rose. + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear Lily!” said Mrs. Braefield; “I wish she were less of a child.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm reseated himself. + </p> + <p> + “Is she a child? I don’t think she is actually a child.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in years; she is between seventeen and eighteen: but my husband says + that she is too childish to talk to, and always tells me to take her off + his hands; he would rather talk with Mrs. Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Still I find something in her.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly childish, nor quite womanish.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t exactly define. But you know what Mr. Melville and Mrs. Cameron + call her as a pet name?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Fairy! Fairies have no age; fairy is neither child nor woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Fairy. She is called fairy by those who know her best? Fairy!” + </p> + <p> + “And she believes in fairies.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she?—so do I. Pardon me, I must be off. The day after + to-morrow,—six o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait one moment,” said Elsie, going to her writing-table. “Since you pass + Grasmere on your way home, will you kindly leave this note?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought Grasmere was a lake in the north?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but Mr. Melville chose to call the cottage by the name of the lake. + I think the first picture he ever sold was a view of Wordsworth’s house + there. Here is my note to ask Mrs. Cameron to meet you; but if you object + to be my messenger—” + </p> + <p> + “Object! my dear Mrs. Braefield. As you say, I pass close by the cottage.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0080" id="link2HCH0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM went with somewhat rapid pace from Mrs. Braefield’s to the shop in + the High Street kept by Will Somers. Jessie was behind the counter, which + was thronged with customers. Kenelm gave her a brief direction about his + portmanteau, and then passed into the back parlour, where her husband was + employed on his baskets,—with the baby’s cradle in the corner, and + its grandmother rocking it mechanically, as she read a wonderful + missionary tract full of tales of miraculous conversions: into what sort + of Christians we will not pause to inquire. + </p> + <p> + “And so you are happy, Will?” said Kenelm, seating himself between the + basket-maker and the infant; the dear old mother beside him, reading the + tract which linked her dreams of life eternal with life just opening in + the cradle that she rocked. He not happy! How he pitied the man who could + ask such a question. + </p> + <p> + “Happy, sir! I should think so, indeed. There is not a night on which + Jessie and I, and mother too, do not pray that some day or other you may + be as happy. By and by the baby will learn to pray ‘God bless papa, and + mamma, grandmamma, and Mr. Chillingly.’” + </p> + <p> + “There is some one else much more deserving of prayers than I, though + needing them less. You will know some day: pass it by now. To return to + the point: you are happy; if I asked why, would you not say, ‘Because I + have married the girl I love, and have never repented’?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, that is about it; though, begging your pardon, I think it + could be put more prettily somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right there. But perhaps love and happiness never yet found any + words that could fitly express them. Good-bye, for the present.” + </p> + <p> + Ah! if it were as mere materialists, or as many middle-aged or elderly + folks, who, if materialists, are so without knowing it, unreflectingly + say, “The main element of happiness is bodily or animal health and + strength,” that question which Chillingly put would appear a very + unmeaning or a very insulting one addressed to a pale cripple, who however + improved of late in health, would still be sickly and ailing all his life,—put, + too, by a man of the rarest conformation of physical powers that nature + can adapt to physical enjoyment,—a man who, since the age in which + memory commences, had never known what it was to be unwell, who could + scarcely understand you if you talked of a finger-ache, and whom those + refinements of mental culture which multiply the delights of the senses + had endowed with the most exquisite conceptions of such happiness as mere + nature and its instincts can give! But Will did not think the question + unmeaning or insulting. He, the poor cripple, felt a vast superiority on + the scale of joyous being over the young Hercules, well born, cultured, + and wealthy, who could know so little of happiness as to ask the crippled + basket-maker if he were happy.—he, blessed husband and father! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0081" id="link2HCH0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + LILY was seated on the grass under a chestnut-tree on the lawn. A white + cat, not long emerged from kittenhood, curled itself by her side. On her + lap was an open volume, which she was reading with the greatest delight. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron came from the house, looked round, perceived the girl, and + approached; and either she moved so gently, or Lily was so absorbed in the + book, that the latter was not aware of her presence till she felt a light + hand on her shoulder, and, looking up, recognized her aunt’s gentle face. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Fairy, Fairy, that silly book, when you ought to be at your French + verbs. What will your guardian say when he comes and finds you have so + wasted time?” + </p> + <p> + “He will say that fairies never waste their time; and he will scold you + for saying so.” Therewith Lily threw down the book, sprang to her feet, + wound her arm round Mrs. Cameron’s neck, and kissed her fondly. “There! is + that wasting time? I love you so, aunty. In a day like this I think I love + everybody and everything!” As she said this, she drew up her lithe form, + looked into the blue sky, and with parted lips seemed to drink in air and + sunshine. Then she woke up the dozing cat, and began chasing it round the + lawn. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron stood still, regarding her with moistened eyes. Just at that + moment Kenelm entered through the garden gate. He, too, stood still, his + eyes fixed on the undulating movements of Fairy’s exquisite form. She had + arrested her favourite, and was now at play with it, shaking off her straw + hat, and drawing the ribbon attached to it tantalizingly along the smooth + grass. Her rich hair, thus released and dishevelled by the exercise, fell + partly over her face in wavy ringlets; and her musical laugh and words of + sportive endearment sounded on Kenelm’s ear more joyously than the thrill + of the skylark, more sweetly than the coo of the ring-dove. + </p> + <p> + He approached towards Mrs. Cameron. Lily turned suddenly and saw him. + Instinctively she smoothed back her loosened tresses, replaced the straw + hat, and came up demurely to his side just as he had accosted her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon my intrusion, Mrs. Cameron. I am the bearer of this note from Mrs. + Braefield.” While the aunt read the note, he turned to the niece. + </p> + <p> + “You promised to show me the picture, Miss Mordaunt.” + </p> + <p> + “But that was a long time ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Too long to expect a lady’s promise to be kept?” + </p> + <p> + Lily seemed to ponder that question, and hesitated before she answered. + </p> + <p> + “I will show you the picture. I don’t think I ever broke a promise yet, + but I shall be more careful how I make one in future.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you did not value mine when I made it, and that hurt me.” Lily + lifted up her head with a bewitching stateliness, and added gravely, “I + was offended.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Braefield is very kind,” said Mrs. Cameron; “she asks us to dine the + day after to-morrow. You would like to go, Lily?” + </p> + <p> + “All grown-up people, I suppose? No, thank you, dear aunt. You go alone, I + would rather stay at home. May I have little Clemmy to play with? She will + bring Juba, and Blanche is very partial to Juba, though she does scratch + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, my dear, you shall have your playmate, and I will go by + myself.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm stood aghast. “You will not go, Miss Mordaunt; Mrs. Braefield will + be so disappointed. And if you don’t go, whom shall I have to talk to? I + don’t like grown-up people better than you do.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I go you will talk to me? I am afraid of Mr. Braefield. He is so + wise.” + </p> + <p> + “I will save you from him, and will not utter a grain of wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunty, I will go.” + </p> + <p> + Here Lily made a bound and caught up Blanche, who, taking her kisses + resignedly, stared with evident curiosity upon Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + Here a bell within the house rang the announcement of luncheon. Mrs. + Cameron invited Kenelm to partake of that meal. He felt as Romulus might + have felt when first invited to taste the ambrosia of the gods. Yet + certainly that luncheon was not such as might have pleased Kenelm + Chillingly in the early days of the Temperance Hotel. But somehow or other + of late he had lost appetite; and on this occasion a very modest share of + a very slender dish of chicken fricasseed, and a few cherries daintily + arranged on vine leaves, which Lily selected for him, contented him,—as + probably a very little ambrosia contented Romulus while feasting his eyes + on Hebe. + </p> + <p> + Luncheon over, while Mrs. Cameron wrote her reply to Elsie, Kenelm was + conducted by Lily into her own <i>own</i> room, in vulgar parlance her <i>boudoir</i>, + though it did not look as if any one ever <i>bouder’d</i> there. It was + exquisitely pretty,—pretty not as a woman’s, but as a child’s dream + of the own <i>own</i> room she would like to have,—wondrously neat + and cool, and pure-looking; a trellis paper, the trellis gay with roses + and woodbine, and birds and butterflies; draperies of muslin, festooned + with dainty tassels and ribbons; a dwarf bookcase, that seemed well + stored, at least as to bindings; a dainty little writing-table in French + <i>marqueterie</i>, looking too fresh and spotless to have known hard + service. The casement was open, and in keeping with the trellis paper; + woodbine and roses from without encroached on the window-sides, gently + stirred by the faint summer breeze, and wafted sweet odours into the + little room. Kenelm went to the window, and glanced on the view beyond. “I + was right,” he said to himself; “I divined it.” But though he spoke in a + low inward whisper, Lily, who had watched his movements in surprise, + overheard. + </p> + <p> + “You divined it. Divined what?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, nothing; I was but talking to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what you divined: I insist upon it!” and Fairy petulantly stamped + her tiny foot on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Do you? Then I obey. I have taken a lodging for a short time on the other + side of the brook,—Cromwell Lodge,—and seeing your house as I + passed, I divined that your room was in this part of it. How soft here is + the view of the water! Ah! yonder is Izaak Walton’s summer-house.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk about Izaak Walton, or I shall quarrel with you, as I did with + Lion when he wanted me to like that cruel book.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Lion?” + </p> + <p> + “Lion,—of course, my guardian. I called him Lion when I was a little + child. It was on seeing in one of his books a print of a lion playing with + a little child.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I know the design well,” said Kenelm, with a slight sigh. “It is from + an antique Greek gem. It is not the lion that plays with the child, it is + the child that masters the lion, and the Greeks called the child ‘Love.’” + </p> + <p> + This idea seemed beyond Lily’s perfect comprehension. She paused before + she answered, with the naivete of a child six years old,— + </p> + <p> + “I see now why I mastered Blanche, who will not make friends with any one + else: I love Blanche. Ah, that reminds me,—come and look at the + picture.” + </p> + <p> + She went to the wall over the writing-table, drew a silk curtain aside + from a small painting in a dainty velvet framework, and pointing to it, + cried with triumph, “Look there! is it not beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm had been prepared to see a landscape, or a group, or anything but + what he did see: it was the portrait of Blanche when a kitten. + </p> + <p> + Little elevated though the subject was, it was treated with graceful + fancy. The kitten had evidently ceased from playing with the cotton reel + that lay between her paws, and was fixing her gaze intently on a bulfinch + that had lighted on a spray within her reach. + </p> + <p> + “You understand,” said Lily, placing her hand on his arm, and drawing him + towards what she thought the best light for the picture; “it is Blanche’s + first sight of a bird. Look well at her face; don’t you see a sudden + surprise,—half joy, half fear? She ceases to play with the reel. Her + intellect—or, as Mr. Braefield would say, ‘her instinct’—is + for the first time aroused. From that moment Blanche was no longer a mere + kitten. And it required, oh, the most careful education, to teach her not + to kill the poor little birds. She never does now, but I had such trouble + with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say honestly that I do see all that you do in the picture; but + it seems to me very simply painted, and was, no doubt, a striking likeness + of Blanche at that early age.” + </p> + <p> + “So it was. Lion drew the first sketch from life with his pencil; and when + he saw how pleased I was with it—he was so good—he put it on + canvas, and let me sit by him while he painted it. Then he took it away, + and brought it back finished and framed as you see, last May, a present + for my birthday.” + </p> + <p> + “You were born in May—with the flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “The best of all the flowers are born in May,—violets.” + </p> + <p> + “But they are born in the shade, and cling to it. Surely, as a child of + May, you love the sun!” + </p> + <p> + “I love the sun; it is never too bright nor too warm for me. But I don’t + think that, though born in May, I was born in sunlight. I feel more like + my own native self when I creep into the shade and sit down alone. I can + weep then.” + </p> + <p> + As she thus shyly ended, the character of her whole countenance was + changed: its infantine mirthfulness was gone; a grave, thoughtful, even a + sad expression settled on the tender eyes and the tremulous lips. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was so touched that words failed him, and there was silence for + some moments between the two. At length Kenelm said, slowly,— + </p> + <p> + “You say your own native self. Do you, then, feel, as I often do, that + there is a second, possibly a <i>native</i>, self, deep hid beneath the + self,—not merely what we show to the world in common (that may be + merely a mask), but the self that we ordinarily accept even when in + solitude as our own, an inner innermost self, oh so different and so + rarely coming forth from its hiding-place, asserting its right of + sovereignty, and putting out the other self as the sun puts out a star?” + </p> + <p> + Had Kenelm thus spoken to a clever man of the world—to a Chillingly + Mivers, to a Chillingly Gordon—they certainly would not have + understood him. But to such men he never would have thus spoken. He had a + vague hope that this childlike girl, despite so much of childlike talk, + would understand him; and she did at once. + </p> + <p> + Advancing close to him, again laying her hand on his arm, and looking up + towards his bended face with startled wondering eyes, no longer sad, yet + not mirthful,— + </p> + <p> + “How true! You have felt that too? Where <i>is</i> that innermost self, so + deep down,—so deep; yet when it does come forth, so much higher,—higher,—immeasurably + higher than one’s everyday self? It does not tame the butterflies; it + longs to get to the stars. And then,—and then,—ah, how soon it + fades back again! You have felt that. Does it not puzzle you?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there no wise books about it that help to explain?” + </p> + <p> + “No wise books in my very limited reading even hint at the puzzle. I fancy + that it is one of those insoluble questions that rest between the infant + and his Maker. Mind and soul are not the same things, and what you and I + call ‘wise men’ are always confounding the two—” + </p> + <p> + Fortunately for all parties—especially the reader; for Kenelm had + here got on the back of one of his most cherished hobbies, the distinction + between psychology and metaphysics, soul and mind scientifically or + logically considered—Mrs. Cameron here entered the room, and asked + him how he liked the picture. + </p> + <p> + “Very much. I am no great judge of the art. But it pleased me at once, and + now that Miss Mordaunt has interpreted the intention of the painter I + admire it yet more.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily chooses to interpret his intention in her own way, and insists that + Blanche’s expression of countenance conveys an idea of her capacity to + restrain her destructive instinct, and be taught to believe that it is + wrong to kill birds for mere sport. For food she need not kill them, + seeing that Lily takes care that she has plenty to eat. But I don’t think + that Mr. Melville had the slightest suspicion that he had indicated that + capacity in his picture.” + </p> + <p> + “He must have done so, whether he suspected it or not,” said Lily, + positively; “otherwise he would not be truthful.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not truthful?” asked Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see? If you were called upon to describe truthfully the + character of any little child, would you only speak of such naughty + impulses as all children have in common, and not even hint at the capacity + to be made better?” + </p> + <p> + “Admirably put!” said Kenelm. “There is no doubt that a much fiercer + animal than a cat—a tiger, for instance, or a conquering hero—may + be taught to live on the kindest possible terms with the creatures on + which it was its natural instinct to prey.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; hear that, aunty! You remember the Happy Family that we saw + eight years ago, at Moleswich fair, with a cat not half so nice as Blanche + allowing a mouse to bite her ear? Well, then, would Lion not have been + shamefully false to Blanche if he had not”— + </p> + <p> + Lily paused and looked half shyly, half archly, at Kenelm, then added, in + slow, deep-drawn tones—“given a glimpse of her innermost self?” + </p> + <p> + “Innermost self!” repeated Mrs. Cameron, perplexed and laughing gently. + </p> + <p> + Lily stole nearer to Kenelm and whispered,— + </p> + <p> + “Is not one’s innermost self one’s best self?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm smiled approvingly. The fairy was rapidly deepening her spell upon + him. If Lily had been his sister, his betrothed, his wife, how fondly he + would have kissed her! She had expressed a thought over which he had often + inaudibly brooded, and she had clothed it with all the charm of her own + infantine fancy and womanlike tenderness. Goethe has said somewhere, or is + reported to have said, “There is something in every man’s heart, that, if + you knew it, would make you hate him.” What Goethe said, still more what + Goethe is reported to have said, is never to be taken quite literally. No + comprehensive genius—genius at once poet and thinker—ever can + be so taken. The sun shines on a dunghill. But the sun has no predilection + for a dunghill. It only comprehends a dunghill as it does a rose. Still + Kenelm had always regarded that loose ray from Goethe’s prodigal orb with + an abhorrence most unphilosophical for a philosopher so young as generally + to take upon oath any words of so great a master. Kenelm thought that the + root of all private benevolence, of all enlightened advance in social + reform, lay in the adverse theorem,—that in every man’s nature there + lies a something that, could we get at it, cleanse it, polish it, render + it visibly clear to our eyes, would make us love him. And in this + spontaneous, uncultured sympathy with the results of so many laborious + struggles of his own scholastic intellect against the dogma of the German + giant, he felt as if he had found a younger—true, but oh, how much + more subduing, because so much younger—sister of his own man’s soul. + Then came, so strongly, the sense of her sympathy with his own strange + innermost self, which a man will never feel more than once in his life + with a daughter of Eve, that he dared not trust himself to speak. He + somewhat hurried his leave-taking. + </p> + <p> + Passing in the rear of the garden towards the bridge which led to his + lodging, he found on the opposite bank, at the other end of the bridge, + Mr. Algernon Sidney Gale Jones peacefully angling for trout. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not try the stream to-day, sir? Take my rod.” Kenelm remembered + that Lily had called Izaak Walton’s book “a cruel one,” and shaking his + head gently, went his way into the house. There he seated himself silently + by the window, and looked towards the grassy lawn and the dipping willows, + and the gleam of the white walls through the girdling trees, as he had + looked the eve before. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he murmured at last, “if, as I hold, a man but tolerably good does + good unconsciously merely by the act of living,—if he can no more + traverse his way from the cradle to the grave, without letting fall, as he + passes, the germs of strength, fertility, and beauty, than can a reckless + wind or a vagrant bird, which, where it passes, leaves behind it the oak, + the corn-sheaf, or the flower,—ah, if that be so, how tenfold the + good must be, if the man find the gentler and purer duplicate of his own + being in that mysterious, undefinable union which Shakspeares and + day-labourers equally agree to call love; which Newton never recognizes, + and which Descartes (his only rival in the realms of thought at once + severe and imaginative) reduces into links of early association, + explaining that he loved women who squinted, because, when he was a boy, a + girl with that infirmity squinted at him from the other side of his + father’s garden-wall! Ah! be this union between man and woman what it may; + if it be really love, really the bond which embraces the innermost and + bettermost self of both,—how daily, hourly, momently, should we + bless God for having made it so easy to be happy and to be good!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0082" id="link2HCH0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + THE dinner-party at Mr. Braefield’s was not quite so small as Kenelm had + anticipated. When the merchant heard from his wife that Kenelm was coming, + he thought it would be but civil to the young gentleman to invite a few + other persons to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “You see, my dear,” he said to Elsie, “Mrs. Cameron is a very good, simple + sort of woman, but not particularly amusing; and Lily, though a pretty + girl, is so exceedingly childish. We owe much, my sweet Elsie, to this Mr. + Chillingly,”—here there was a deep tone of feeling in his voice and + look,—“and we must make it as pleasant for him as we can. I will + bring down my friend Sir Thomas, and you ask Mr. Emlyn and his wife. Sir + Thomas is a very sensible man, and Emlyn a very learned one. So Mr. + Chillingly will find people worth talking to. By the by, when I go to town + I will send down a haunch of venison from Groves’s.” + </p> + <p> + So when Kenelm arrived, a little before six o’clock, he found in the + drawing-room the Rev. Charles Emlyn, vicar of Moleswich proper, with his + spouse, and a portly middle-aged man, to whom, as Sir Thomas Pratt, Kenelm + was introduced. Sir Thomas was an eminent city banker. The ceremonies of + introduction over, Kenelm stole to Elsie’s side. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I was to meet Mrs. Cameron. I don’t see her.” + </p> + <p> + “She will be here presently. It looks as if it might rain, and I have sent + the carriage for her and Lily. Ah, here they are!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron entered, clothed in black silk. She always wore black; and + behind her came Lily, in the spotless colour that became her name; no + ornament, save a slender gold chain to which was appended a single locket, + and a single blush rose in her hair. She looked wonderfully lovely; and + with that loveliness there was a certain nameless air of distinction, + possibly owing to delicacy of form and colouring; possibly to a certain + grace of carriage, which was not without a something of pride. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Braefield, who was a very punctual man, made a sign to his servant, + and in another moment or so dinner was announced. Sir Thomas, of course, + took in the hostess; Mr. Braefield, the vicar’s wife (she was a dean’s + daughter); Kenelm, Mrs. Cameron; and the vicar, Lily. + </p> + <p> + On seating themselves at the table Kenelm was on the left hand, next to + the hostess, and separated from Lily by Mrs. Cameron and Mr. Emlyn; and + when the vicar had said grace, Lily glanced behind his back and her aunt’s + at Kenelm (who did the same thing), making at him what the French call a + <i>moue</i>. The pledge to her had been broken. She was between two men + very much grown up,—the vicar and the host. Kenelm returned the <i>moue</i> + with a mournful smile and an involuntary shrug. + </p> + <p> + All was silent till, after his soup and his first glass of sherry, Sir + Thomas began,— + </p> + <p> + “I think, Mr. Chillingly, we have met before, though I had not the honour + then of making your acquaintance.” Sir Thomas paused before he added, “Not + long ago; the last State ball at Buckingham Palace.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm bent his head acquiescingly. He had been at that ball. + </p> + <p> + “You were talking with a very charming woman,—a friend of mine,—Lady + Glenalvon.” + </p> + <p> + (Sir Thomas was Lady Glenalvon’s banker.) + </p> + <p> + “I remember perfectly,” said Kenelm. “We were seated in the picture + gallery. You came to speak to Lady Glenalvon, and I yielded to you my + place on the settee.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true; and I think you joined a young lady, very handsome,—the + great heiress, Miss Travers.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm again bowed, and, turning away as politely as he could, addressed + himself to Mrs. Cameron. Sir Thomas, satisfied that he had impressed on + his audience the facts of his friendship with Lady Glenalvon and his + attendance at the court ball, now directed his conversational powers + towards the vicar, who, utterly foiled in the attempt to draw out Lily, + met the baronet’s advances with the ardour of a talker too long + suppressed. Kenelm continued, unmolested, to ripen his acquaintance with + Mrs. Cameron. She did not, however, seem to lend a very attentive ear to + his preliminary commonplace remarks about scenery or weather, but at his + first pause, said,— + </p> + <p> + “Sir Thomas spoke about a Miss Travers: is she related to a gentleman who + was once in the Guards, Leopold Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “She is his daughter. Did you ever know Leopold Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard him mentioned by friends of mine long ago,—long ago,” + replied Mrs. Cameron with a sort of weary languor, not unwonted, in her + voice and manner; and then, as if dismissing the bygone reminiscence from + her thoughts, changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Lily tells me, Mr. Chillingly, that you said you were staying at Mr. + Jones’s, Cromwell Lodge. I hope you are made comfortable there.” + </p> + <p> + “Very. The situation is singularly pleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is considered the prettiest spot on the brook-side, and used to + be a favourite resort for anglers; but the trout, I believe, are growing + scarce; at least, now that the fishing in the Thames is improved, poor Mr. + Jones complains that his old lodgers desert him. Of course you took the + rooms for the sake of the fishing. I hope the sport may be better than it + is said to be.” + </p> + <p> + “It is of little consequence to me: I do not care much about fishing; and + since Miss Mordaunt calls the book which first enticed me to take to it ‘a + cruel one,’ I feel as if the trout had become as sacred as crocodiles were + to the ancient Egyptians.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily is a foolish child on such matters. She cannot bear the thought of + giving pain to any dumb creature; and just before our garden there are a + few trout which she has tamed. They feed out of her hand; she is always + afraid they will wander away and get caught.” + </p> + <p> + “But Mr. Melville is an angler?” + </p> + <p> + “Several years ago he would sometimes pretend to fish, but I believe it + was rather an excuse for lying on the grass and reading ‘the cruel book,’ + or perhaps, rather, for sketching. But now he is seldom here till autumn, + when it grows too cold for such amusement.” + </p> + <p> + Here Sir Thomas’s voice was so loudly raised that it stopped the + conversation between Kenelm and Mrs. Cameron. He had got into some + question of politics on which he and the vicar did not agree, and the + discussion threatened to become warm, when Mrs. Braefield, with a woman’s + true tact, broached a new topic, in which Sir Thomas was immediately + interested, relating to the construction of a conservatory for orchids + that he meditated adding to his country-house, and in which frequent + appeal was made to Mrs. Cameron, who was considered an accomplished + florist, and who seemed at some time or other in her life to have acquired + a very intimate acquaintance with the costly family of orchids. + </p> + <p> + When the ladies retired Kenelm found himself seated next to Mr. Emlyn, who + astounded him by a complimentary quotation from one of his own Latin prize + poems at the university, hoped he would make some stay at Moleswich, told + him of the principal places in the neighbourhood worth visiting, and + offered him the run of his library, which he flattered himself was rather + rich, both in the best editions of Greek and Latin classics and in early + English literature. Kenelm was much pleased with the scholarly vicar, + especially when Mr. Emlyn began to speak about Mrs. Cameron and Lily. Of + the first he said, “She is one of those women in whom quiet is so + predominant that it is long before one can know what undercurrents of good + feeling flow beneath the unruffled surface. I wish, however, she was a + little more active in the management and education of her niece,—a + girl in whom I feel a very anxious interest, and whom I doubt if Mrs. + Cameron understands. Perhaps, however, only a poet, and a very peculiar + sort of poet, can understand her: Lily Mordaunt is herself a poem.” + </p> + <p> + “I like your definition of her,” said Kenelm. “There is certainly + something about her which differs much from the prose of common life.” + </p> + <p> + “You probably know Wordsworth’s lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘... and she shall lean her ear + In many a secret place + Where rivulets dance their wayward round, + And beauty, born of murmuring sound, + Shall pass into her face.’ +</pre> + <p> + “They are lines that many critics have found unintelligible; but Lily + seems like the living key to them.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm’s dark face lighted up, but he made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Only,” continued Mr. Emlyn, “how a girl of that sort, left wholly to + herself, untrained, undisciplined, is to grow up into the practical uses + of womanhood, is a question that perplexes and saddens me.” + </p> + <p> + “Any more wine?” asked the host, closing a conversation on commercial + matters with Sir Thomas. “No?—shall we join the ladies?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0083" id="link2HCH0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + THE drawing-room was deserted; the ladies were in the garden. As Kenelm + and Mr. Emlyn walked side by side towards the group (Sir Thomas and Mr. + Braefield following at a little distance), the former asked, somewhat + abruptly, “What sort of man is Miss Cameron’s guardian, Mr. Melville?” + </p> + <p> + “I can scarcely answer that question. I see little of him when he comes + here. Formerly, he used to run down pretty often with a harum-scarum set + of young fellows, quartered at Cromwell Lodge,—Grasmere had no + accommodation for them,—students in the Academy, I suppose. For some + years he has not brought those persons, and when he does come himself it + is but for a few days. He has the reputation of being very wild.” + </p> + <p> + Further conversation was here stopped. The two men, while they thus + talked, had been diverging from the straight way across the lawn towards + the ladies, turning into sequestered paths through the shrubbery; now they + emerged into the open sward, just before a table, on which coffee was + served, and round which all the rest of the party were gathered. + </p> + <p> + “I hope, Mr. Emlyn,” said Elsie’s cheery voice, “that you have dissuaded + Mr. Chillingly from turning Papist. I am sure you have taken time enough + to do so.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Emlyn, Protestant every inch of him, slightly recoiled from Kenelm’s + side. “Do you meditate turning—” He could not conclude the sentence. + </p> + <p> + “Be not alarmed, my dear sir. I did but own to Mrs. Braefield that I had + paid a visit to Oxford in order to confer with a learned man on a question + that puzzled me, and as abstract as that feminine pastime, theology, is + now-a-days. I cannot convince Mrs. Braefield that Oxford admits other + puzzles in life than those which amuse the ladies.” Here Kenelm dropped + into a chair by the side of Lily. + </p> + <p> + Lily half turned her back to him. + </p> + <p> + “Have I offended again?” + </p> + <p> + Lily shrugged her shoulders slightly and would not answer. + </p> + <p> + “I suspect, Miss Mordaunt, that among your good qualities, nature has + omitted one; the bettermost self within you should replace it.” + </p> + <p> + Lily here abruptly turned to him her front face: the light of the skies + was becoming dim, but the evening star shone upon it. + </p> + <p> + “How! what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Am I to answer politely or truthfully?” + </p> + <p> + “Truthfully! Oh, truthfully! What is life without truth?” + </p> + <p> + “Even though one believes in fairies?” + </p> + <p> + “Fairies are truthful, in a certain way. But you are not truthful. You + were not thinking of fairies when you—” + </p> + <p> + “When I what?” + </p> + <p> + “Found fault with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure of that. But I will translate to you my thoughts, so far as + I can read them myself, and to do so I will resort to the fairies. Let us + suppose that a fairy has placed her changeling into the cradle of a + mortal: that into the cradle she drops all manner of fairy gifts which are + not bestowed on mere mortals; but that one mortal attribute she forgets. + The changeling grows up; she charms those around her: they humour, and + pet, and spoil her. But there arises a moment in which the omission of the + one mortal gift is felt by her admirers and friends. Guess what that is.” + </p> + <p> + Lily pondered. “I see what you mean; the reverse of truthfulness, + politeness.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not exactly that, though politeness slides into it unawares: it is a + very humble quality, a very unpoetic quality; a quality that many dull + people possess; and yet without it no fairy can fascinate mortals, when on + the face of the fairy settles the first wrinkle. Can you not guess it + now?” + </p> + <p> + “No: you vex me; you provoke me;” and Lily stamped her foot petulantly, as + in Kenelm’s presence she had stamped it once before. “Speak plainly, I + insist.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Mordaunt, excuse me: I dare not,” said Kenelm, rising with a sort of + bow one makes to the Queen; and he crossed over to Mrs. Braefield. + </p> + <p> + Lily remained, still pouting fiercely. + </p> + <p> + Sir Thomas took the chair Kenelm had vacated. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0084" id="link2HCH0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + THE hour for parting came. Of all the guests, Sir Thomas alone stayed at + the house a guest for the night. Mr. and Mrs. Emlyn had their own + carriage. Mrs. Braefield’s carriage came to the door for Mrs. Cameron and + Lily. + </p> + <p> + Said Lily, impatiently and discourteously, “Who would not rather walk on + such a night?” and she whispered to her aunt. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron, listening to the whisper and obedient to every whim of + Lily’s, said, “You are too considerate, dear Mrs. Braefield; Lily prefers + walking home; there is no chance of rain now.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm followed the steps of the aunt and niece, and soon overtook them on + the brook-side. + </p> + <p> + “A charming night, Mr. Chillingly,” said Mrs. Cameron. + </p> + <p> + “An English summer night; nothing like it in such parts of the world as I + have visited. But, alas! of English summer nights there are but few.” + </p> + <p> + “You have travelled much abroad?” + </p> + <p> + “Much, no, a little; chiefly on foot.” + </p> + <p> + Lily hitherto had not said a word, and had been walking with downcast + head. Now she looked up and said, in the mildest and most conciliatory of + human voices,— + </p> + <p> + “You have been abroad;” then, with an acquiescence in the manners of the + world which to him she had never yet manifested, she added his name, “Mr. + Chillingly,” and went on, more familiarly. “What a breadth of meaning the + word ‘abroad’ conveys! Away, afar from one’s self, from one’s everyday + life. How I envy you! you have been abroad: so has Lion” (here drawing + herself up), “I mean my guardian, Mr. Melville.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I have been abroad, but afar from myself—never. It is an + old saying,—all old sayings are true; most new sayings are false,—a + man carries his native soil at the sole of his foot.” + </p> + <p> + Here the path somewhat narrowed. Mrs. Cameron went on first, Kenelm and + Lily behind; she, of course, on the dry path, he on the dewy grass. + </p> + <p> + She stopped him. “You are walking in the wet, and with those thin shoes.” + Lily moved instinctively away from the dry path. + </p> + <p> + Homely though that speech of Lily’s be, and absurd as said by a fragile + girl to a gladiator like Kenelm, it lit up a whole world of womanhood: it + showed all that undiscoverable land which was hidden to the learned Mr. + Emlyn, all that land which an uncomprehended girl seizes and reigns over + when she becomes wife and mother. + </p> + <p> + At that homely speech, and that impulsive movement, Kenelm halted, in a + sort of dreaming maze. He turned timidly, “Can you forgive me for my rude + words? I presumed to find fault with you.” + </p> + <p> + “And so justly. I have been thinking over all you said, and I feel you + were so right; only I still do not quite understand what you meant by the + quality for mortals which the fairy did not give to her changeling.” + </p> + <p> + “If I did not dare say it before, I should still less dare to say it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Do.” There was no longer the stamp of the foot, no longer the flash from + her eyes, no longer the wilfulness which said, “I insist;”— + </p> + <p> + “Do;” soothingly, sweetly, imploringly. + </p> + <p> + Thus pushed to it, Kenelm plucked up courage, and not trusting himself to + look at Lily, answered brusquely,— + </p> + <p> + “The quality desirable for men, but more essential to women in proportion + as they are fairy-like, though the tritest thing possible, is good + temper.” + </p> + <p> + Lily made a sudden bound from his side, and joined her aunt, walking + through the wet grass. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the garden-gate, Kenelm advanced and opened it. Lily + passed him by haughtily; they gained the cottage-door. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t ask you in at this hour,” said Mrs. Cameron. “It would be but a + false compliment.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm bowed and retreated. Lily left her aunt’s side, and came towards + him, extending her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I shall consider your words, Mr. Chillingly,” she said, with a strangely + majestic air. “At present I think you are not right. I am not + ill-tempered; but—” here she paused, and then added with a loftiness + of mien which, had she not been so exquisitely pretty, would have been + rudeness—“in any case I forgive you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0085" id="link2HCH0085"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + THERE were a good many pretty villas in the outskirts of Moleswich, and + the owners of them were generally well off, and yet there was little of + what is called visiting society; owing perhaps to the fact that there not + being among these proprietors any persons belonging to what is commonly + called “the aristocratic class,” there was a vast deal of aristocratic + pretension. The family of Mr. A——-, who had enriched himself + as a stock-jobber, turned up its nose at the family of Mr. B——-, + who had enriched himself still more as a linen-draper, while the family of + Mr. B——- showed a very cold shoulder to the family of Mr. C——-, + who had become richer than either of them as a pawnbroker, and whose wife + wore diamonds, but dropped her h’s. England would be a community so + aristocratic that there would be no living in it, if one could exterminate + what is now called “aristocracy.” The Braefields were the only persons who + really drew together the antagonistic atoms of the Moleswich society, + partly because they were acknowledged to be the first persons there, in + right not only of old settlement (the Braefields had held Braefieldville + for four generations), but of the wealth derived from those departments of + commercial enterprise which are recognized as the highest, and of an + establishment considered to be the most elegant in the neighbourhood; + principally because Elsie, while exceedingly genial and cheerful in + temper, had a certain power of will (as her runaway folly had manifested), + and when she got people together compelled them to be civil to each other. + She had commenced this gracious career by inaugurating children’s parties, + and when the children became friends the parents necessarily grew closer + together. Still her task had only recently begun, and its effects were not + in full operation. Thus, though it became known at Moleswich that a young + gentleman, the heir to a baronetcy and a high estate, was sojourning at + Cromwell Lodge, no overtures were made to him on the part of the A’s, B’s, + and C’s. The vicar, who called on Kenelm the day after the dinner at + Braefieldville, explained to him the social conditions of the place. “You + understand,” said he, “that it will be from no want of courtesy on the + part of my neighbours if they do not offer you any relief from the + pleasures of solitude. It will be simply because they are shy, not because + they are uncivil. And, it is this consideration that makes me, at the risk + of seeming too forward, entreat you to look into the vicarage any morning + or evening on which you feel tired of your own company; suppose you drink + tea with us this evening,—you will find a young lady whose heart you + have already won.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose heart I have won!” faltered Kenelm, and the warm blood rushed to + his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “But,” continued the vicar, smiling, “she has no matrimonial designs on + you at present. She is only twelve years old,—my little girl + Clemmy.” + </p> + <p> + “Clemmy!—she is your daughter? I did not know that. I very + gratefully accept your invitation.” + </p> + <p> + “I must not keep you longer from your amusement. The sky is just clouded + enough for sport. What fly do you use?” + </p> + <p> + “To say truth, I doubt if the stream has much to tempt me in the way of + trout, and I prefer rambling about the lanes and by-paths to + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘The noiseless angler’s solitary stand.’ +</pre> + <p> + “I am an indefatigable walker, and the home scenery round the place has + many charms for me. Besides,” added Kenelm, feeling conscious that he + ought to find some more plausible excuse than the charms of home scenery + for locating himself long in Cromwell Lodge, “besides, I intend to devote + myself a good deal to reading. I have been very idle of late, and the + solitude of this place must be favourable to study.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not intended, I presume, for any of the learned professions?” + </p> + <p> + “The learned professions,” replied Kenelm, “is an invidious form of speech + that we are doing our best to eradicate from the language. All professions + now-a-days are to have much about the same amount of learning. The + learning of the military profession is to be levelled upwards, the + learning of the scholastic to be levelled downwards. Cabinet ministers + sneer at the uses of Greek and Latin. And even such masculine studies as + Law and Medicine are to be adapted to the measurements of taste and + propriety in colleges for young ladies. No, I am not intended for any + profession; but still an ignorant man like myself may not be the worse for + a little book-reading now and then.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be badly provided with books here,” said the vicar, glancing + round the room, in which, on a table in the corner, lay half-a-dozen + old-looking volumes, evidently belonging not to the lodger but to the + landlord. “But, as I before said, my library is at your service. What + branch of reading do you prefer?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was, and looked, puzzled. But after a pause he answered: + </p> + <p> + “The more remote it be from the present day, the better for me. You said + your collection was rich in mediaeval literature. But the Middle Ages are + so copied by the modern Goths, that I might as well read translations of + Chaucer or take lodgings in Wardour Street. If you have any books about + the manners and habits of those who, according to the newest idea in + science, were our semi-human progenitors in the transition state between a + marine animal and a gorilla, I should be very much edified by the loan.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas,” said Mr. Emlyn, laughing, “no such books have been left to us.” + </p> + <p> + “No such books? You must be mistaken. There must be plenty of them + somewhere. I grant all the wonderful powers of invention bestowed on the + creators of poetic romance; still not the sovereign masters in that realm + of literature—not Scott, not Cervantes, not Goethe, not even + Shakspeare—could have presumed to rebuild the past without such + materials as they found in the books that record it. And though I, no less + cheerfully, grant that we have now living among us a creator of poetic + romance immeasurably more inventive than they,—appealing to our + credulity in portents the most monstrous, with a charm of style the most + conversationally familiar,—still I cannot conceive that even that + unrivalled romance-writer can so bewitch our understandings as to make us + believe that, if Miss Mordaunt’s cat dislikes to wet her feet, it is + probably because in the prehistoric age her ancestors lived in the dry + country of Egypt; or that when some lofty orator, a Pitt or a Gladstone, + rebuts with a polished smile which reveals his canine teeth the rude + assault of an opponent, he betrays his descent from a ‘semi-human + progenitor’ who was accustomed to snap at his enemy. Surely, surely there + must be some books still extant written by philosophers before the birth + of Adam, in which there is authority, even though but in mythic fable, for + such poetic inventions. Surely, surely some early chroniclers must depose + that they saw, saw with their own eyes, the great gorillas who scratched + off their hairy coverings to please the eyes of the young ladies of their + species, and that they noted the gradual metamorphosis of one animal into + another. For, if you tell me that this illustrious romance-writer is but a + cautious man of science, and that we must accept his inventions according + to the sober laws of evidence and fact, there is not the most incredible + ghost story which does not better satisfy the common sense of a sceptic. + However, if you have no such books, lend me the most unphilosophical you + possess,—on magic, for instance,—the philosopher’s stone”— + </p> + <p> + “I have some of them,” said the vicar, laughing; “you shall choose for + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are going homeward, let me accompany you part of the way: I don’t + yet know where the church and the vicarage are, and I ought to know before + I come in the evening.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm and the vicar walked side by side, very sociably, across the bridge + and on the side of the rivulet on which stood Mrs. Cameron’s cottage. As + they skirted the garden pale at the rear of the cottage, Kenelm suddenly + stopped in the middle of some sentence which had interested Mr. Emlyn, and + as suddenly arrested his steps on the turf that bordered the lane. A + little before him stood an old peasant woman, with whom Lily, on the + opposite side of the garden pale, was conversing. Mr. Emlyn did not at + first see what Kenelm saw; turning round rather to gaze on his companion, + surprised by his abrupt halt and silence. The girl put a small basket into + the old woman’s hand, who then dropped a low curtsy, and uttered low a + “God bless you.” Low though it was, Kenelm overheard it, and said + abstractedly to Mr. Emlyn, “Is there a greater link between this life and + the next than God’s blessing on the young, breathed from the lips of the + old?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0086" id="link2HCH0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + “AND how is your good man, Mrs. Haley?” said the vicar, who had now + reached the spot on which the old woman stood,—with Lily’s fair face + still bended down to her,—while Kenelm slowly followed him. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you kindly, sir, he is better; out of his bed now. The young lady + has done him a power of good—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said Lily, colouring. “Make haste home now; you must not keep him + waiting for his dinner.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman again curtsied, and went off at a brisk pace. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Mr. Chillingly,” said Mr. Emlyn, “that Miss Mordaunt is the + best doctor in the place? Though if she goes on making so many cures she + will find the number of her patients rather burdensome.” + </p> + <p> + “It was only the other day,” said Lily, “that you scolded me for the best + cure I have yet made.” + </p> + <p> + “I?—Oh! I remember; you led that silly child Madge to believe that + there was a fairy charm in the arrowroot you sent her. Own you deserved a + scolding there.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not. I dressed the arrowroot, and am I not Fairy? I have just + got such a pretty note from Clemmy, Mr. Emlyn, asking me to come up this + evening and see her new magic lantern. Will you tell her to expect me? + And, mind, no scolding.” + </p> + <p> + “And all magic?” said Mr. Emlyn; “be it so.” + </p> + <p> + Lily and Kenelm had not hitherto exchanged a word. She had replied with a + grave inclination of her head to his silent bow. But now she turned to him + shyly and said, “I suppose you have been fishing all the morning?” + </p> + <p> + “No; the fishes hereabout are under the protection of a Fairy,—whom + I dare not displease.” + </p> + <p> + Lily’s face brightened, and she extended her hand to him over the palings. + “Good-day; I hear aunty’s voice: those dreadful French verbs!” + </p> + <p> + She disappeared among the shrubs, amid which they heard the thrill of her + fresh young voice singing to herself. + </p> + <p> + “That child has a heart of gold,” said Mr. Emlyn, as the two men walked + on. “I did not exaggerate when I said she was the best doctor in the + place. I believe the poor really do believe that she is a fairy. Of course + we send from the vicarage to our ailing parishioners who require it, food + and wine; but it never seems to do them the good that her little dishes + made by her own tiny hands do; and I don’t know if you noticed the basket + that old woman took away,—Miss Lily taught Will Somers to make the + prettiest little baskets; and she puts her jellies or other savouries into + dainty porcelain gallipots nicely fitted into the baskets, which she trims + with ribbons. It is the look of the thing that tempts the appetite of the + invalids, and certainly the child may well be called Fairy at present; but + I wish Mrs. Cameron would attend a little more strictly to her education. + She can’t be a fairy forever.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm sighed, but made no answer. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Emlyn then turned the conversation to erudite subjects, and so they + came in sight of the town, when the vicar stopped and pointed towards the + church, of which the spire rose a little to the left, with two aged + yew-trees half shadowing the burial-ground, and in the rear a glimpse of + the vicarage seen amid the shrubs of its garden ground. + </p> + <p> + “You will know your way now,” said the vicar; “excuse me if I quit you: I + have a few visits to make; among others, to poor Haley, husband to the old + woman you saw. I read to him a chapter in the Bible every day; yet still I + fancy that he believes in fairy charms.” + </p> + <p> + “Better believe too much, than too little,” said Kenelm; and he turned + aside into the village and spent half-an-hour with Will, looking at the + pretty baskets Lily had taught Will to make. Then, as he went slowly + homeward, he turned aside into the churchyard. + </p> + <p> + The church, built in the thirteenth century, was not large, but it + probably sufficed for its congregation, since it betrayed no signs of + modern addition; restoration or repair it needed not. The centuries had + but mellowed the tints of its solid walls, as little injured by the huge + ivy stems that shot forth their aspiring leaves to the very summit of the + stately tower as by the slender roses which had been trained to climb up a + foot or so of the massive buttresses. The site of the burial-ground was + unusually picturesque: sheltered towards the north by a rising ground + clothed with woods, sloping down at the south towards the glebe + pasture-grounds through which ran the brooklet, sufficiently near for its + brawling gurgle to be heard on a still day. Kenelm sat himself on an + antique tomb, which was evidently appropriated to some one of higher than + common rank in bygone days, but on which the sculpture was wholly + obliterated. + </p> + <p> + The stillness and solitude of the place had their charms for his + meditative temperament; and he remained there long, forgetful of time, and + scarcely hearing the boom of the clock that warned him of its lapse. + </p> + <p> + When suddenly, a shadow—the shadow of a human form—fell on the + grass on which his eyes dreamily rested. He looked up with a start, and + beheld Lily standing before him mute and still. Her image was so present + in his thoughts at the moment that he felt a thrill of awe, as if the + thoughts had conjured up her apparition. She was the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + “You here, too?” she said very softly, almost whisperingly. “Too!” echoed + Kenelm, rising; “too! ‘Tis no wonder that I, a stranger to the place, + should find my steps attracted towards its most venerable building. Even + the most careless traveller, halting at some remote abodes of the living, + turns aside to gaze on the burial-ground of the dead. But my surprise is + that you, Miss Mordaunt, should be attracted towards the same spot.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my favourite spot,” said Lily, “and always has been. I have sat + many an hour on that tombstone. It is strange to think that no one knows + who sleeps beneath it. The ‘Guide Book to Moleswich,’ though it gives the + history of the church from the reign in which it was first built, can only + venture a guess that this tomb, the grandest and oldest in the + burial-ground, is tenanted by some member of a family named Montfichet, + that was once very powerful in the county, and has become extinct since + the reign of Henry VI. But,” added Lily, “there is not a letter of the + name Montfichet left. I found out more than any one else has done; I + learned black-letter on purpose; look here,” and she pointed to a small + spot in which the moss had been removed. “Do you see those figures? are + they not XVIII? and look again, in what was once the line above the + figures, ELE. It must have been an Eleanor, who died at the age of + eighteen—” + </p> + <p> + “I rather think it more probable that the figures refer to the date of the + death, 1318 perhaps; and so far as I can decipher black-letter, which is + more in my father’s line than mine, I think it is AL, not EL, and that it + seems as if there had been a letter between L and the second E, which is + now effaced. The tomb itself is not likely to belong to any powerful + family then resident at the place. Their monuments, according to usage, + would have been within the church,—probably in their own mortuary + chapel.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t try to destroy my fancy,” said Lily, shaking her head; “you cannot + succeed, I know her history too well. She was young, and some one loved + her, and built over her the finest tomb he could afford; and see how long + the epitaph must have been! how much it must have spoken in her praise and + of his grief. And then he went his way, and the tomb was neglected, and + her fate forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Miss Mordaunt, this is indeed a wild romance to spin out of so + slender a thread. But even if true, there is no reason to think that a + life is forgotten, though a tomb be neglected.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not,” said Lily, thoughtfully. “But when I am dead, if I can look + down, I think it would please me to see my grave not neglected by those + who had loved me once.” + </p> + <p> + She moved from him as she said this, and went to a little mound that + seemed not long since raised; there was a simple cross at the head and a + narrow border of flowers round it. Lily knelt beside the flowers and + pulled out a stray weed. Then she rose, and said to Kenelm, who had + followed, and now stood beside her,— + </p> + <p> + “She was the little grandchild of poor old Mrs. Hales. I could not cure + her, though I tried hard: she was so fond of me, and died in my arms. No, + let me not say ‘died,’—surely there is no such thing as dying. ‘Tis + but a change of life,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Less than the void between two waves of air, + The space between existence and a soul.’” + </pre> + <p> + “Whose lines are those?” asked Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know; I learnt them from Lion. Don’t you believe them to be + true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But the truth does not render the thought of quitting this scene of + life for another more pleasing to most of us. See how soft and gentle and + bright is all that living summer land beyond; let us find subject for talk + from that, not from the graveyard on which we stand.” + </p> + <p> + “But is there not a summer land fairer than that we see now; and which we + do see, as in a dream, best when we take subjects of talk from the + graveyard?” Without waiting for a reply, Lily went on. “I planted these + flowers: Mr. Emlyn was angry with me; he said it was ‘Popish.’ But he had + not the heart to have them taken up; I come here very often to see to + them. Do you think it wrong? Poor little Nell! she was so fond of flowers. + And the Eleanor in the great tomb, she too perhaps knew some one who + called her Nell; but there are no flowers round her tomb. Poor Eleanor!” + </p> + <p> + She took the nosegay she wore on her bosom, and as she repassed the tomb + laid it on the mouldering stone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0087" id="link2HCH0087"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + THEY quitted the burial-ground, taking their way to Grasmere. Kenelm + walked by Lily’s side; not a word passed between them till they came in + sight of the cottage. + </p> + <p> + Then Lily stopped abruptly, and lifting towards him her charming face, + said,— + </p> + <p> + “I told you I would think over what you said to me last night. I have done + so, and feel I can thank you honestly. You were very kind: I never before + thought that I had a bad temper; no one ever told me so. But I see now + what you mean; sometimes I feel very quickly, and then I show it. But how + did I show it to you, Mr. Chillingly?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you not turn your back to me when I seated myself next you in Mrs. + Braefield’s garden, vouchsafing me no reply when I asked if I had + offended?” + </p> + <p> + Lily’s face became bathed in blushes, and her voice faltered, as she + answered,— + </p> + <p> + “I was not offended; I was not in a bad temper then: it was worse than + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Worse? what could it possibly be?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid it was envy.” + </p> + <p> + “Envy of what? of whom?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how to explain; after all, I fear aunty is right, and the + fairy tales put very silly, very naughty thoughts into one’s head. When + Cinderella’s sisters went to the king’s ball, and Cinderella was left + alone, did not she long to go too? Did not she envy her sisters?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I understand now: Sir Charles spoke of the Court Ball.” + </p> + <p> + “And you were there talking with handsome ladies—and—oh! I was + so foolish and felt sore.” + </p> + <p> + “You, who when we first met wondered how people who could live in the + country preferred to live in towns, do then sometimes contradict yourself, + and sigh for the great world that lies beyond these quiet water banks. You + feel that you have youth and beauty, and wish to be admired!” + </p> + <p> + “It is not that exactly,” said Lily, with a perplexed look in her + ingenuous countenance, “and in my better moments, when the ‘bettermost + self’ comes forth, I know that I am not made for the great world you speak + of. But you see—” Here she paused again, and as they had now entered + the garden, dropped wearily on a bench beside the path. Kenelm seated + himself there too, waiting for her to finish her broken sentence. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” she continued, looking down embarrassed, and describing vague + circles on the gravel with her fairy-like foot, “that at home, ever since + I can remember, they have treated me as if—well, as if I were—what + shall I say? the child of one of your great ladies. Even Lion, who is so + noble, so grand, seemed to think when I was a mere infant that I was a + little queen: once when I told a fib he did not scold me; but I never saw + him look so sad and so angry as when he said, ‘Never again forget that you + are a lady.’ And, but I tire you—” + </p> + <p> + “Tire me, indeed! go on.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I have said enough to explain why I have at times proud thoughts, and + vain thoughts; and why, for instance, I said to myself, ‘Perhaps my place + of right is among those fine ladies whom he—’ but it is all over + now.” She rose hastily with a pretty laugh, and bounded towards Mrs. + Cameron, who was walking slowly along the lawn with a book in her hand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0088" id="link2HCH0088"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + IT was a very merry party at the vicarage that evening. Lily had not been + prepared to meet Kenelm there, and her face brightened wonderfully as at + her entrance he turned from the book-shelves to which Mr. Emlyn was + directing his attention. But instead of meeting his advance, she darted + off to the lawn, where Clemmy and several other children greeted her with + a joyous shout. + </p> + <p> + “Not acquainted with Macleane’s Juvenal?” said the reverend scholar; “you + will be greatly pleased with it; here it is,—a posthumous work, + edited by George Long. I can lend you Munro’s Lucretius, ‘69. Aha! we have + some scholars yet to pit against the Germans.” + </p> + <p> + “I am heartily glad to hear it,” said Kenelm. “It will be a long time + before they will ever wish to rival us in that game which Miss Clemmy is + now forming on the lawn, and in which England has recently acquired a + European reputation.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t take you. What game?” + </p> + <p> + “Puss in the Corner. With your leave I will look out and see whether it be + a winning game for puss—in the long-run.” Kenelm joined the + children, amidst whom Lily seemed not the least childlike. Resisting all + overtures from Clemmy to join their play, he seated himself on a sloping + bank at a little distance,—an idle looker-on. His eye followed + Lily’s nimble movements, his ear drank in the music of her joyous laugh. + Could that be the same girl whom he had seen tending the flower-bed amid + the gravestones? Mrs. Emlyn came across the lawn and joined him, seating + herself also on the bank. Mrs. Emlyn was an exceedingly clever woman: + nevertheless she was not formidable,—on the contrary, pleasing; and + though the ladies in the neighbourhood said ‘she talked like a book,’ the + easy gentleness of her voice carried off that offence. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, Mr. Chillingly,” said she, “I ought to apologize for my + husband’s invitation to what must seem to you so frivolous an + entertainment as a child’s party. But when Mr. Emlyn asked you to come to + us this evening, he was not aware that Clemmy had also invited her young + friends. He had looked forward to rational conversation with you on his + own favourite studies.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not so long since I left school, but that I prefer a half holiday + to lessons, even from a tutor so pleasant as Mr. Emlyn,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Ah, happy years,—once more who would not be a boy!’” + </pre> + <p> + “Nay,” said Mrs. Emlyn, with a grave smile. “Who that had started so + fairly as Mr. Chillingly in the career of man would wish to go back and + resume a place among boys?” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Mrs. Emlyn, the line I quoted was wrung from the heart of a + man who had already outstripped all rivals in the race-ground he had + chosen, and who at that moment was in the very Maytime of youth and of + fame. And if such a man at such an epoch in his career could sigh to ‘be + once more a boy,’ it must have been when he was thinking of the boy’s half + holiday, and recoiling from the task work he was condemned to learn as + man.” + </p> + <p> + “The line you quote is, I think, from ‘Childe Harold,’ and surely you + would not apply to mankind in general the sentiment of a poet so + peculiarly self-reflecting (if I may use that expression), and in whom + sentiment is often so morbid.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, Mrs. Emlyn,” said Kenelm, ingenuously. “Still a boy’s half + holiday is a very happy thing; and among mankind in general there must be + many who would be glad to have it back again,—Mr. Emlyn himself, I + should think.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Emlyn has his half holiday now. Do you not see him standing just + outside the window? Do you not hear him laughing? He is a child again in + the mirth of his children. I hope you will stay some time in the + neighbourhood; I am sure you and he will like each other. And it is such a + rare delight to him to get a scholar like yourself to talk to.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, I am not a scholar; a very noble title that, and not to be + given to a lazy trifler on the surface of book-lore like myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too modest. My husband has a copy of your Cambridge prize verses, + and says ‘the Latinity of them is quite beautiful.’ I quote his very + words.” + </p> + <p> + “Latin verse-making is a mere knack, little more than a proof that one had + an elegant scholar for one’s tutor, as I certainly had. But it is by + special grace that a real scholar can send forth another real scholar, and + a Kennedy produce a Munro. But to return to the more interesting question + of half holidays; I declare that Clemmy is leading off your husband in + triumph. He is actually going to be Puss in the Corner.” + </p> + <p> + “When you know more of Charles,—I mean my husband,—you will + discover that his whole life is more or less of a holiday. Perhaps because + he is not what you accuse yourself of being: he is not lazy; he never + wishes to be a boy once more; and taskwork itself is holiday to him. He + enjoys shutting himself up in his study and reading; he enjoys a walk with + the children; he enjoys visiting the poor; he enjoys his duties as a + clergyman. And though I am not always contented for him, though I think he + should have had those honours in his profession which have been lavished + on men with less ability and less learning, yet he is never discontented + himself. Shall I tell you his secret?” + </p> + <p> + “Do.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a <i>Thanks-giving Man</i>. You, too, must have much to thank God + for, Mr. Chillingly; and in thanksgiving to God does there not blend + usefulness to man, and such sense of pastime in the usefulness as makes + each day a holiday?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm looked up into the quiet face of this obscure pastor’s wife with a + startled expression in his own. + </p> + <p> + “I see, ma’am,” said he, “that you have devoted much thought to the study + of the aesthetical philosophy as expounded by German thinkers, whom it is + rather difficult to understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I, Mr. Chillingly! good gracious! No! What do you mean by your + aesthetical philosophy?” + </p> + <p> + “According to aesthetics, I believe man arrives at his highest state of + moral excellence when labour and duty lose all the harshness of effort,—when + they become the impulse and habit of life; when as the essential + attributes of the beautiful, they are, like beauty, enjoyed as pleasure; + and thus, as you expressed, each day becomes a holiday: a lovely doctrine, + not perhaps so lofty as that of the Stoics, but more bewitching. Only, + very few of us can practically merge our cares and our worries into so + serene an atmosphere.” + </p> + <p> + “Some do so without knowing anything of aesthetics and with no pretence to + be Stoics; but, then, they are Christians.” + </p> + <p> + “There are some such Christians, no doubt; but they are rarely to be met + with. Take Christendom altogether, and it appears to comprise the most + agitated population in the world; the population in which there is the + greatest grumbling as to the quantity of labour to be done, the loudest + complaints that duty instead of a pleasure is a very hard and disagreeable + struggle, and in which holidays are fewest and the moral atmosphere least + serene. Perhaps,” added Kenelm, with a deeper shade of thought on his + brow, “it is this perpetual consciousness of struggle; this difficulty in + merging toil into ease, or stern duty into placid enjoyment; this refusal + to ascend for one’s self into the calm of an air aloof from the cloud + which darkens, and the hail-storm which beats upon, the fellow-men we + leave below,—that makes the troubled life of Christendom dearer to + Heaven, and more conducive to Heaven’s design in rendering earth the + wrestling-ground and not the resting-place of man, than is that of the + Brahmin, ever seeking to abstract himself from the Christian’s conflicts + of action and desire, and to carry into its extremest practice the + aesthetic theory, of basking undisturbed in the contemplation of the most + absolute beauty human thought can reflect from its idea of divine good!” + </p> + <p> + Whatever Mrs. Emlyn might have said in reply was interrupted by the rush + of the children towards her; they were tired of play, and eager for tea + and the magic lantern. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0089" id="link2HCH0089"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + THE room is duly obscured and the white sheet attached to the wall; the + children are seated, hushed, and awe-stricken. And Kenelm is placed next + to Lily. + </p> + <p> + The tritest things in our mortal experience are among the most mysterious. + There is more mystery in the growth of a blade of grass than there is in + the wizard’s mirror or the feats of a spirit medium. Most of us have known + the attraction that draws one human being to another, and makes it so + exquisite a happiness to sit quiet and mute by another’s side; which + stills for the moment the busiest thoughts in our brain, the most + turbulent desires in our heart, and renders us but conscious of a present + ineffable bliss. Most of us have known that. But who has ever been + satisfied with any metaphysical account of its why or wherefore? We can + but say it is love, and love at that earlier section of its history which + has not yet escaped from romance; but by what process that other person + has become singled out of the whole universe to attain such special power + over one is a problem that, though many have attempted to solve it, has + never attained to solution. In the dim light of the room Kenelm could only + distinguish the outlines of Lily’s delicate face, but at each new surprise + in the show, the face intuitively turned to his, and once, when the + terrible image of a sheeted ghost, pursuing a guilty man, passed along the + wall, she drew closer to him in her childish fright, and by an involuntary + innocent movement laid her hand on his. He detained it tenderly, but, + alas! it was withdrawn the next moment; the ghost was succeeded by a + couple of dancing dogs. And Lily’s ready laugh—partly at the dogs, + partly at her own previous alarm—vexed Kenelm’s ear. He wished there + had been a succession of ghosts, each more appalling than the last. + </p> + <p> + The entertainment was over, and after a slight refreshment of cakes and + wine-and-water the party broke up; the children visitors went away + attended by servant-maids who had come for them. Mrs. Cameron and Lily + were to walk home on foot. + </p> + <p> + “It is a lovely night, Mrs. Cameron,” said Mr. Emlyn, “and I will attend + you to your gate.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me also,” said Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said the vicar, “it is your own way to Cromwell Lodge.” + </p> + <p> + The path led them through the churchyard as the nearest approach to the + brook-side. The moonbeams shimmered through the yew-trees and rested on + the old tomb; playing, as it were, round the flowers which Lily’s hand had + that day dropped upon its stone. She was walking beside Kenelm, the elder + two a few paces in front. + </p> + <p> + “How silly I was,” said she, “to be so frightened at the false ghost! I + don’t think a real one would frighten me, at least if seen here, in this + loving moonlight, and on God’s ground!” + </p> + <p> + “Ghosts, were they permitted to appear except in a magic lantern, could + not harm the innocent. And I wonder why the idea of their apparition + should always have been associated with such phantasies of horror, + especially by sinless children, who have the least reason to dread them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that is true,” cried Lily; “but even when we are grown up there must + be times in which we should so long to see a ghost, and feel what a + comfort, what a joy it would be.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand you. If some one very dear to us had vanished from our life; + if we felt the anguish of the separation so intensely as to efface the + thought that life, as you said so well, ‘never dies;’ well, yes, then I + can conceive that the mourner would yearn to have a glimpse of the + vanished one, were it but to ask the sole and only question he could + desire to put, ‘Art thou happy? May I hope that we shall meet again, never + to part,—never?’” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm’s voice trembled as he spoke, tears stood in his eyes. A melancholy—vague, + unaccountable, overpowering—passed across his heart, as the shadow + of some dark-winged bird passes over a quiet stream. + </p> + <p> + “You have never yet felt this?” asked Lily doubtingly, in a soft voice, + full of tender pity, stopping short and looking into his face. + </p> + <p> + “I? No. I have never yet lost one whom I so loved and so yearned to see + again. I was but thinking that such losses may befall us all ere we too + vanish out of sight.” + </p> + <p> + “Lily!” called forth Mrs. Cameron, halting at the gate of the + burial-ground. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, auntie?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Emlyn wants to know how far you have got in ‘Numa Pompilius.’ Come + and answer for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, those tiresome grown-up people!” whispered Lily, petulantly, to + Kenelm. “I do like Mr. Emlyn; he is one of the very best of men. But still + he is grown up, and his ‘Numa Pompilius’ is so stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “My first French lesson-book. No, it is not stupid. Read on. It has hints + of the prettiest fairy tale I know, and of the fairy in especial who + bewitched my fancies as a boy.” + </p> + <p> + By this time they had gained the gate of the burial-ground. + </p> + <p> + “What fairy tale? what fairy?” asked Lily, speaking quickly. + </p> + <p> + “She was a fairy, though in heathen language she is called a nymph,—Egeria. + She was the link between men and gods to him she loved; she belongs to the + race of gods. True, she, too, may vanish, but she can never die.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Miss Lily,” said the vicar, “and how far in the book I lent you,—‘Numa + Pompilius.’” + </p> + <p> + “Ask me this day next week.” + </p> + <p> + “I will; but mind you are to translate as you go on. I must see the + translation.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I will do my best,” answered Lily meekly. Lily now walked by + the vicar’s side, and Kenelm by Mrs. Cameron’s, till they reached + Grasmere. + </p> + <p> + “I will go on with you to the bridge, Mr. Chillingly,” said the vicar, + when the ladies had disappeared within their garden. “We had little time + to look over my books, and, by the by, I hope you at least took the + Juvenal.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Emlyn; who can quit your house with an inclination for satire? I + must come some morning and select a volume from those works which give + pleasant views of life and bequeath favourable impressions of mankind. + Your wife, with whom I have had an interesting conversation, upon the + principles of aesthetical philosophy—” + </p> + <p> + “My wife! Charlotte! She knows nothing about aesthetical philosophy.” + </p> + <p> + “She calls it by another name, but she understands it well enough to + illustrate the principles by example. She tells me that labour and duty + are so taken up by you— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘In den heitern Regionen + Wo die reinen Formen wohnen,’ +</pre> + <p> + that they become joy and beauty,—is it so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure that Charlotte never said anything half so poetical. But, in + plain words, the days pass with me very happily. I should be ungrateful if + I were not happy. Heaven has bestowed on me so many sources of love,—wife, + children, books, and the calling which, when one quits one’s own + threshold, carries love along with it into the world beyond; a small world + in itself,—only a parish,—but then my calling links it with + infinity.” + </p> + <p> + “I see; it is from the sources of love that you draw the supplies for + happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely; without love one may be good, but one could scarcely be happy. No + one can dream of a heaven except as the abode of love. What writer is it + who says, ‘How well the human heart was understood by him who first called + God by the name of Father’?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not remember, but it is beautifully said. You evidently do not + subscribe to the arguments in Decimus Roach’s ‘Approach to the Angels.’” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mr. Chillingly! your words teach me how lacerated a man’s happiness + may be if he does not keep the claws of vanity closely pared. I actually + feel a keen pang when you speak to me of that eloquent panegyric on + celibacy, ignorant that the only thing I ever published which I fancied + was not without esteem by intellectual readers is a Reply to ‘The Approach + to the Angels,’—a youthful book, written in the first year of my + marriage. But it obtained success: I have just revised the tenth edition + of it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the book I will select from your library. You will be pleased to + hear that Mr. Roach, whom I saw at Oxford a few days ago, recants his + opinions, and, at the age of fifty, is about to be married; he begs me to + add, ‘not for his own personal satisfaction.’” + </p> + <p> + “Going to be married!—Decimus Roach! I thought my Reply would + convince him at last.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall look to your Reply to remove some lingering doubts in my own + mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubts in favour of celibacy?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if not for laymen, perhaps for a priesthood.” + </p> + <p> + “The most forcible part of my Reply is on that head: read it attentively. + I think that, of all sections of mankind, the clergy are those to whom, + not only for their own sakes, but for the sake of the community, marriage + should be most commended. Why, sir,” continued the vicar, warming up into + oratorical enthusiasm, “are you not aware that there are no homes in + England from which men who have served and adorned their country have + issued forth in such prodigal numbers as those of the clergy of our + Church? What other class can produce a list so crowded with eminent names + as we can boast in the sons we have reared and sent forth into the world? + How many statesmen, soldiers, sailors, lawyers, physicians, authors, men + of science, have been the sons of us village pastors? Naturally: for with + us they receive careful education; they acquire of necessity the simple + tastes and disciplined habits which lead to industry and perseverance; + and, for the most part, they carry with them throughout life a purer moral + code, a more systematic reverence for things and thoughts religious, + associated with their earliest images of affection and respect, than can + be expected from the sons of laymen whose parents are wholly temporal and + worldly. Sir, I maintain that this is a cogent argument, to be considered + well by the nation, not only in favour of a married clergy,—for, on + that score, a million of Roaches could not convert public opinion in this + country,—but in favour of the Church, the Established Church, which + has been so fertile a nursery of illustrious laymen; and I have often + thought that one main and undetected cause of the lower tone of morality, + public and private, of the greater corruption of manners, of the more + prevalent scorn of religion which we see, for instance, in a country so + civilized as France, is, that its clergy can train no sons to carry into + the contests of earth the steadfast belief in accountability to Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you with a full heart,” said Kenelm. “I shall ponder well over + all that you have so earnestly said. I am already disposed to give up all + lingering crotchets as to a bachelor clergy; but, as a layman, I fear that + I shall never attain to the purified philanthropy of Mr. Decimus Roach, + and, if ever I do marry, it will be very much for my personal + satisfaction.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Emlyn laughed good-humouredly, and, as they had now reached the + bridge, shook hands with Kenelm, and walked homewards, along the + brook-side and through the burial-ground, with the alert step and the + uplifted head of a man who has joy in life and admits of no fear in death. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0090" id="link2HCH0090"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + FOR the next two weeks or so Kenelm and Lily met not indeed so often as + the reader might suppose, but still frequently; five times at Mrs. + Braefield’s, once again at the vicarage, and twice when Kenelm had called + at Grasmere; and, being invited to stay to tea at one of those visits, he + stayed the whole evening. Kenelm was more and more fascinated in + proportion as he saw more and more of a creature so exquisitely strange to + his experience. She was to him not only a poem, but a poem in the + Sibylline Books; enigmatical, perplexing conjecture, and somehow or other + mysteriously blending its interest with visions of the future. + </p> + <p> + Lily was indeed an enchanting combination of opposites rarely blended into + harmony. Her ignorance of much that girls know before they number half her + years was so relieved by candid, innocent simplicity, so adorned by pretty + fancies and sweet beliefs, and so contrasted and lit up by gleams of a + knowledge that the young ladies we call well educated seldom exhibit,—knowledge + derived from quick observation of external Nature, and impressionable + susceptibility to its varying and subtle beauties. This knowledge had been + perhaps first instilled, and subsequently nourished, by such poetry as she + had not only learned by heart, but taken up as inseparable from the + healthful circulation of her thoughts; not the poetry of our own day,—most + young ladies know enough of that,—but selected fragments from the + verse of old, most of them from poets now little read by the young of + either sex, poets dear to spirits like Coleridge or Charles Lamb,—none + of them, however, so dear to her as the solemn melodies of Milton. Much of + such poetry she had never read in books: it had been taught her in + childhood by her guardian the painter. And with all this imperfect, + desultory culture, there was such dainty refinement in her every look and + gesture, and such deep woman-tenderness of heart. Since Kenelm had + commended “Numa Pompilius” to her study, she had taken very lovingly to + that old-fashioned romance, and was fond of talking to him about Egeria as + of a creature who had really existed. + </p> + <p> + But what was the effect that he,—the first man of years + correspondent to her own with whom she had ever familiarly conversed,—what + was the effect that Kenelm Chillingly produced on the mind and the heart + of Lily? + </p> + <p> + This was, after all, the question that puzzled him the most,—not + without reason: it might have puzzled the shrewdest bystander. The artless + candour with which she manifested her liking to him was at variance with + the ordinary character of maiden love; it seemed more the fondness of a + child for a favourite brother. And it was this uncertainty that, in his + own thoughts, justified Kenelm for lingering on, and believing that it was + necessary to win, or at least to learn more of, her secret heart before he + could venture to disclose his own. He did not flatter himself with the + pleasing fear that he might be endangering her happiness; it was only his + own that was risked. Then, in all those meetings, all those conversations + to themselves, there had passed none of the words which commit our destiny + to the will of another. If in the man’s eyes love would force its way, + Lily’s frank, innocent gaze chilled it back again to its inward cell. + Joyously as she would spring forward to meet him, there was no tell-tale + blush on her cheek, no self-betraying tremor in her clear, sweet-toned + voice. No; there had not yet been a moment when he could say to himself, + “She loves me.” Often he said to himself, “She knows not yet what love + is.” + </p> + <p> + In the intervals of time not passed in Lily’s society, Kenelm would take + long rambles with Mr. Emlyn, or saunter into Mrs. Braefield’s + drawing-room. For the former he conceived a more cordial sentiment of + friendship than he entertained for any man of his own age,—a + friendship that admitted the noble elements of admiration and respect. + </p> + <p> + Charles Emlyn was one of those characters in which the colours appear pale + unless the light be brought very close to them, and then each tint seems + to change into a warmer and richer one. The manner which, at first, you + would call merely gentle, becomes unaffectedly genial; the mind you at + first might term inert, though well-informed, you now acknowledge to be + full of disciplined vigour. Emlyn was not, however, without his little + amiable foibles; and it was, perhaps, these that made him lovable. He was + a great believer in human goodness, and very easily imposed upon by + cunning appeals to “his well-known benevolence.” He was disposed to + overrate the excellence of all that he once took to his heart. He thought + he had the best wife in the world, the best children, the best servants, + the best beehive, the best pony, and the best house-dog. His parish was + the most virtuous, his church the most picturesque, his vicarage the + prettiest, certainly, in the whole shire,—perhaps, in the whole + kingdom. Probably it was this philosophy of optimism which contributed to + lift him into the serene realm of aesthetic joy. + </p> + <p> + He was not without his dislikes as well as likings. Though a liberal + Churchman towards Protestant dissenters, he cherished the <i>odium + theologicum</i> for all that savoured of Popery. Perhaps there was another + cause for this besides the purely theological one. Early in life a young + sister of his had been, to use his phrase, “secretly entrapped” into + conversion to the Roman Catholic faith, and had since entered a convent. + His affections had been deeply wounded by this loss to the range of them. + Mr. Emlyn had also his little infirmities of self-esteem rather than of + vanity. Though he had seen very little of any world beyond that of his + parish, he piqued himself on his knowledge of human nature and of + practical affairs in general. Certainly no man had read more about them, + especially in the books of the ancient classics. Perhaps it was owing to + this that he so little understood Lily,—a character to which the + ancient classics afforded no counterpart nor clue; and perhaps it was this + also that made Lily think him “so terribly grown up.” Thus, despite his + mild good-nature, she did not get on very well with him. + </p> + <p> + The society of this amiable scholar pleased Kenelm the more, because the + scholar evidently had not the remotest idea that Kenelm’s sojourn at + Cromwell Lodge was influenced by the vicinity to Grasmere. Mr. Emlyn was + sure that he knew human nature, and practical affairs in general, too well + to suppose that the heir to a rich baronet could dream of taking for wife + a girl without fortune or rank, the orphan ward of a low-born artist only + just struggling into reputation; or, indeed, that a Cambridge prizeman, + who had evidently read much on grave and dry subjects, and who had no less + evidently seen a great deal of polished society, could find any other + attraction in a very imperfectly-educated girl, who tamed butterflies and + knew no more than they did of fashionable life, than Mr. Emlyn himself + felt in the presence of a pretty wayward innocent child, the companion and + friend of his Clemmy. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield was more discerning; but she had a good deal of tact, and + did not as yet scare Kenelm away from her house by letting him see how + much she had discerned. She would not even tell her husband, who, absent + from the place on most mornings, was too absorbed in the cares of his own + business to interest himself much in the affairs of others. + </p> + <p> + Now Elsie, being still of a romantic turn of mind, had taken it into her + head that Lily Mordaunt, if not actually the princess to be found in + poetic dramas whose rank was for a while kept concealed, was yet one of + the higher-born daughters of the ancient race whose name she bore, and in + that respect no derogatory alliance for Kenelm Chillingly. A conclusion + she had arrived at from no better evidence than the well-bred appearance + and manners of the aunt, and the exquisite delicacy of the niece’s form + and features, with the undefinable air of distinction which accompanied + even her most careless and sportive moments. But Mrs. Braefield also had + the wit to discover that, under the infantine ways and phantasies of this + almost self-taught girl, there lay, as yet undeveloped, the elements of a + beautiful womanhood. So that altogether, from the very day she first + re-encountered Kenelm, Elsie’s thought had been that Lily was the wife to + suit him. Once conceiving that idea, her natural strength of will made her + resolve on giving all facilities to carry it out silently and + unobtrusively, and therefore skilfully. + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad to think,” she said one day, when Kenelm had joined her walk + through the pleasant shrubberies in her garden ground, “that you have made + such friends with Mr. Emlyn. Though all hereabouts like him so much for + his goodness, there are few who can appreciate his learning. To you it + must be a surprise as well as pleasure to find, in this quiet humdrum + place, a companion so clever and well-informed: it compensates for your + disappointment in discovering that our brook yields such bad sport.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t disparage the brook; it yields the pleasantest banks on which to + lie down under old pollard oaks at noon, or over which to saunter at morn + and eve. Where those charms are absent even a salmon could not please. + Yes; I rejoice to have made friends with Mr. Emlyn. I have learned a great + deal from him, and am often asking myself whether I shall ever make peace + with my conscience by putting what I have learned into practice.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what special branch of learning is that?” + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely know how to define it. Suppose we call it ‘Worth-whileism.’ + Among the New Ideas which I was recommended to study as those that must + govern my generation, the Not-worth-while Idea holds a very high rank; and + being myself naturally of calm and equable constitution, that new idea + made the basis of my philosophical system. But since I have become + intimate with Charles Emlyn I think there is a great deal to be said in + favour of Worth-whileism, old idea though it be. I see a man who, with + very commonplace materials for interest or amusement at his command, + continues to be always interested or generally amused; I ask myself why + and how? And it seems to me as if the cause started from fixed beliefs + which settle his relations with God and man, and that settlement he will + not allow any speculations to disturb. Be those beliefs questionable or + not by others, at least they are such as cannot displease a Deity, and + cannot fail to be kindly and useful to fellow-mortals. Then he plants + these beliefs on the soil of a happy and genial home, which tends to + confirm and strengthen and call them into daily practice; and when he goes + forth from home, even to the farthest verge of the circle that surrounds + it, he carries with him the home influences of kindliness and use. + Possibly my line of life may be drawn to the verge of a wider circle than + his; but so much the better for interest and amusement, if it can be drawn + from the same centre; namely, fixed beliefs daily warmed into vital action + in the sunshine of a congenial home.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield listened to this speech with pleased attention, and as it + came to its close, the name of Lily trembled on her tongue, for she + divined that when he spoke of home Lily was in his thoughts; but she + checked the impulse, and replied by a generalized platitude. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly the first thing in life is to secure a happy and congenial + home. It must be a terrible trial for the best of us if we marry without + love.” + </p> + <p> + “Terrible, indeed, if the one loves and the other does not.” + </p> + <p> + “That can scarcely be your case, Mr. Chillingly, for I am sure you could + not marry where you did not love; and do not think I flatter you when I + say that a man far less gifted than you can scarcely fail to be loved by + the woman he wooes and wins.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm, in this respect one of the modestest of human beings, shook his + head doubtingly, and was about to reply in self-disparagement, when, + lifting his eyes and looking round, he halted mute and still as if rooted + to the spot. They had entered the trellised circle through the roses of + which he had first caught sight of the young face that had haunted him + ever since. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said abruptly; “I cannot stay longer here, dreaming away the + work-day hours in a fairy ring. I am going to town to-day by the next + train.” + </p> + <p> + “Yoa are coming back?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,—this evening. I left no address at my lodgings in + London. There must be a large accumulation of letters; some, no doubt, + from my father and mother. I am only going for them. Good-by. How kindly + you have listened to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we fix a day next week for seeing the remains of the old Roman + villa? I will ask Mrs. Cameron and her niece to be of the party.” + </p> + <p> + “Any day you please,” said Kenelm joyfully. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0091" id="link2HCH0091"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM did indeed find a huge pile of letters and notes on reaching his + forsaken apartment in Mayfair; many of them merely invitations for days + long past, none of them of interest except two from Sir Peter, three from + his mother, and one from Tom Bowles. + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter’s were short. In the first he gently scolded Kenelm for going + away without communicating any address; and stated the acquaintance he had + formed with Gordon, the favourable impression that young gentleman had + made on him, the transfer of the L20,000 and the invitation given to + Gordon, the Traverses, and Lady Glenalvon. The second, dated much later, + noted the arrival of his invited guests, dwelt with warmth unusual to Sir + Peter on the attractions of Cecilia, and took occasion to refer, not the + less emphatically because as it were incidentally, to the sacred promise + which Kenelm had given him never to propose to a young lady until the case + had been submitted to the examination and received the consent of Sir + Peter. “Come to Exmundham, and if I do not give my consent to propose to + Cecilia Travers hold me a tyrant and rebel.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Chillingly’s letters were much longer. They dwelt more complainingly + on his persistence in eccentric habits; so exceedingly unlike other + people, quitting London at the very height of the season, going without + even a servant nobody knew where: she did not wish to wound his feelings; + but still those were not the ways natural to a young gentleman of station. + If he had no respect for himself, he ought to have some consideration for + his parents, especially his poor mother. She then proceeded to comment on + the elegant manners of Leopold Travers, and the good sense and pleasant + conversation of Chillingly Gordon, a young man of whom any mother might be + proud. From that subject she diverged to mildly querulous references to + family matters. Parson John had expressed himself very rudely to Mr. + Chillingly Gordon upon some book by a foreigner,—Comte or Count, or + some such name,—on which, so far as she could pretend to judge, Mr. + Gordon had uttered some very benevolent sentiments about humanity, which, + in the most insolent manner, Parson John had denounced as an attack on + religion. But really Parson John was too High Church for her. Having thus + disposed of Parson John, she indulged some ladylike wailings on the + singular costume of the three Miss Chillinglys. They had been asked by Sir + Peter, unknown to her—so like him—to meet their guests; to + meet Lady Glenalvon and Miss Travers, whose dress was so perfect (here she + described their dress); and they came in pea-green with pelerines of mock + blonde, and Miss Sally with corkscrew ringlets and a wreath of jessamine, + “which no girl after eighteen would venture to wear.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear,” added her ladyship, “your poor father’s family are + certainly great oddities. I have more to put up with than any one knows. I + do my best to carry it off. I know my duties, and will do them.” + </p> + <p> + Family grievances thus duly recorded and lamented, Lady Chillingly + returned to her guests. + </p> + <p> + Evidently unconscious of her husband’s designs on Cecilia, she dismissed + her briefly: “A very handsome young lady, though rather too blonde for her + taste, and certainly with an air <i>distingue</i>.” Lastly, she enlarged + on the extreme pleasure she felt on meeting again the friend of her youth, + Lady Glenalvon. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all spoilt by the education of the great world, which, alas! + obedient to the duties of wife and mother, however little my sacrifices + are appreciated, I have long since relinquished. Lady Glenalvon suggests + turning that hideous old moat into a fernery,—a great improvement. + Of course your poor father makes objections.” + </p> + <p> + Tom’s letter was written on black-edged paper, and ran thus:— + </p> + <p> + DEAR SIR,—Since I had the honour to see you in London I have had a + sad loss: my poor uncle is no more. He died very suddenly after a hearty + supper. One doctor says it was apoplexy, another valvular disease of the + heart. He has left me his heir, after providing for his sister: no one had + an idea that he had saved so much money. I am quite a rich man now. And I + shall leave the veterinary business, which of late—since I took to + reading, as you kindly advised—is not much to my liking The + principal corn-merchant here has offered to take me into partnership; and, + from what I can see, it will be a very good thing and a great rise in + life. But, sir, I can’t settle to it at present; I can’t settle, as I + would wish to anything. I know you will not laugh at me when I say I have + a strange longing to travel for a while. I have been reading books of + travels, and they get into my head more than any other books. But I don’t + think I could leave the country with a contented heart till I have had + just another look at you know whom,—just to see her, and know she is + happy. I am sure I could shake hands with Will and kiss her little one + without a wrong thought. What do you say to that, dear sir? You promised + to write to me about her. But I have not heard from you. Susey, the little + girl with the flower-ball, has had a loss too: the poor old man she lived + with died within a few days of my dear uncle’s decease. Mother moved here, + as I think you know, when the forge at Graveleigh was sold; and she is + going to take Susey to live with her. She is quite fond of Susey. Pray let + me hear from you soon; and do, dear sir, give me your advice about + travelling—and about Her. You see I should like Her to think of me + more kindly when I am in distant parts. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I remain, dear sir, + + Your grateful servant, + + T. BOWLES. +</pre> + <p> + P.S.—Miss Travers has sent me Will’s last remittance. There is very + little owed me now; so they must be thriving. I hope she is not + overworked. + </p> + <p> + On returning by the train that evening, Kenelm went to the house of Will + Somers. The shop was already closed, but he was admitted by a trusty + servant-maid to the parlour, where he found them all at supper, except + indeed the baby, who had long since retired to the cradle, and the cradle + had been removed upstairs. Will and Jessie were very proud when Kenelm + invited himself to share their repast, which, though simple, was by no + means a bad one. When the meal was over and the supper things removed, + Kenelm drew his chair near to the glass door which led into a little + garden very neatly kept—for it was Will’s pride to attend to it + before he sat down to his more professional work. The door was open, and + admitted the coolness of the starlit air and the fragrance of the sleeping + flowers. + </p> + <p> + “You have a pleasant home here, Mrs. Somers.” + </p> + <p> + “We have, indeed, and know how to bless him we owe it to.” + </p> + <p> + “I am rejoiced to think that. How often when God designs a special + kindness to us He puts the kindness into the heart of a fellow-man,—perhaps + the last fellow-man we should have thought of; but in blessing him we + thank God who inspired him. Now, my dear friends, I know that you all + three suspect me of being the agent whom God chose for His benefits. You + fancy that it was from me came the loan which enabled you to leave + Graveleigh and settle here. You are mistaken,—you look incredulous.” + </p> + <p> + “It could not be the Squire,” exclaimed Jessie. “Miss Travers assured me + that it was neither he nor herself. Oh, it must be you, sir. I beg pardon, + but who else could it be?” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband shall guess. Suppose, Will, that you had behaved ill to some + one who was nevertheless dear to you, and on thinking over it afterwards + felt very sorry and much ashamed of yourself, and suppose that later you + had the opportunity and the power to render a service to that person, do + you think you would do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be a bad man if I did not.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! And supposing that when the person you thus served came to know it + was you who rendered the service, he did not feel thankful, he did not + think it handsome of you, thus to repair any little harm he might have + done you before, but became churlish and sore and cross-grained, and with + a wretched false pride said that because he had offended you once he + resented your taking the liberty of befriending him now, would you not + think that person an ungrateful fellow; ungrateful not only to you his + fellow-man,—that is of less moment,—but ungrateful to the God + who put it into your heart to be His human agent in the benefit received?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, yes, certainly,” said Will, with all the superior refinement + of his intellect to that of Jessie, unaware of what Kenelm was driving at; + while Jessie, pressing her hands tightly together, turned pale, and with a + frightened hurried glance towards Will’s face, answered, impulsively,— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Chillingly, I hope you are not thinking, not speaking, of Mr. + Bowles?” + </p> + <p> + “Whom else should I think or speak of?” + </p> + <p> + Will rose nervously from his chair, all his features writhing. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, sir, this is a bitter blow,—very bitter, very.” + </p> + <p> + Jessie rushed to Will, flung her arms round him and sobbed. Kenelm turned + quietly to old Mrs. Somers, who had suspended the work on which since + supper she had been employed, knitting socks for the baby,— + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mrs. Somers, what is the good of being a grandmother and knitting + socks for baby grandchildren, if you cannot assure those silly children of + yours that they are too happy in each other to harbour any resentment + against a man who would have parted them, and now repents?” + </p> + <p> + Somewhat to Kenelm’s admiration, I dare not say surprise, old Mrs. Somers, + thus appealed to, rose from her seat, and, with a dignity of thought or of + feeling no one could have anticipated from the quiet peasant woman, + approached the wedded pair, lifted Jessie’s face with one hand, laid the + other on Will’s head, and said, “If you don’t long to see Mr. Bowles again + and say ‘The Lord bless you, sir!’ you don’t deserve the Lord’s blessing + upon you.” Therewith she went back to her seat, and resumed her knitting. + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven, we have paid back the best part of the loan,” said Will, in + very agitated tones, “and I think, with a little pinching, Jessie, and + with selling off some of the stock, we might pay the rest; and then,”—and + then he turned to Kenelm,—“and then, sir, we will” (here a gulp) + “thank Mr. Bowles.” + </p> + <p> + “This don’t satisfy me at all, Will,” answered Kenelm; “and since I helped + to bring you two together, I claim the right to say I would never have + done so could I have guessed you could have trusted your wife so little as + to allow a remembrance of Mr. Bowles to be a thought of pain. You did not + feel humiliated when you imagined that it was to me you owed some moneys + which you have been honestly paying off. Well, then, I will lend you + whatever trifle remains to discharge your whole debts to Mr. Bowles, so + that you may sooner be able to say to him, ‘Thank you.’ But between you + and me, Will, I think you will be a finer fellow and a manlier fellow if + you decline to borrow that trifle of me; if you feel you would rather say + ‘Thank you’ to Mr. Bowles, without the silly notion that when you have + paid him his money you owe him nothing for his kindness.” + </p> + <p> + Will looked away irresolutely. Kenelm went on: “I have received a letter + from Mr. Bowles to-day. He has come into a fortune, and thinks of going + abroad for a time; but before he goes, he says he should like to shake + hands with Will, and be assured by Jessie that all his old rudeness is + forgiven. He had no notion that I should blab about the loan: he wished + that to remain always a secret. But between friends there need be no + secrets. What say you, Will? As head of this household, shall Mr. Bowles + be welcomed here as a friend or not?” + </p> + <p> + “Kindly welcome,” said old Mrs. Somers, looking up from the socks. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Will, with sudden energy, “look here; you have never been in + love, I dare say. If you had, you would not be so hard on me. Mr. Bowles + was in love with my wife there. Mr. Bowles is a very fine man, and I am a + cripple.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Will! Will!” cried Jessie. + </p> + <p> + “But I trust my wife with my whole heart and soul; and, now that the first + pang is over, Mr. Bowles shall be, as mother says, kindly welcome,—heartily + welcome.” + </p> + <p> + “Shake hands. Now you speak like a man, Will. I hope to bring Bowles here + to supper before many days are over.” + </p> + <p> + And that night Kenelm wrote to Mr. Bowles: + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR TOM,—Come and spend a few days with me at Cromwell Lodge, + Moleswich. Mr. and Mrs. Somers wish much to see and to thank you. I could + not remain forever degraded in order to gratify your whim. They would have + it that I bought their shop, etc., and I was forced in self-defence to say + who it was. More on this and on travels when you come. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Your true friend, + + K. C. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0092" id="link2HCH0092"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <p> + MRS. CAMERON was seated alone in her pretty drawing-room, with a book + lying open, but unheeded, on her lap. She was looking away from its pages, + seemingly into the garden without, but rather into empty space. + </p> + <p> + To a very acute and practised observer, there was in her countenance an + expression which baffled the common eye. + </p> + <p> + To the common eye it was simply vacant; the expression of a quiet, humdrum + woman, who might have been thinking of some quiet humdrum household + detail,—found that too much for her, and was now not thinking at + all. + </p> + <p> + But to the true observer, there were in that face indications of a + troubled past, still haunted with ghosts never to be laid at rest,—indications, + too, of a character in herself that had undergone some revolutionary + change; it had not always been the character of a woman quiet and humdrum. + The delicate outlines of the lip and nostril evinced sensibility, and the + deep and downward curve of it bespoke habitual sadness. The softness of + the look into space did not tell of a vacant mind, but rather of a mind + subdued and over-burdened by the weight of a secret sorrow. There was also + about her whole presence, in the very quiet which made her prevalent + external characteristic, the evidence of manners formed in a high-bred + society,—the society in which quiet is connected with dignity and + grace. The poor understood this better than her rich acquaintances at + Moleswich, when they said, “Mrs. Cameron was every inch a lady.” To judge + by her features she must once have been pretty, not a showy prettiness, + but decidedly pretty. Now, as the features were small, all prettiness had + faded away in cold gray colourings, and a sort of tamed and slumbering + timidity of aspect. She was not only not demonstrative, but must have + imposed on herself as a duty the suppression of demonstration. Who could + look at the formation of those lips, and not see that they belonged to the + nervous, quick, demonstrative temperament? And yet, observing her again + more closely, that suppression of the constitutional tendency to candid + betrayal of emotion would the more enlist our curiosity or interest; + because, if physiognomy and phrenology have any truth in them, there was + little strength in her character. In the womanly yieldingness of the short + curved upper lip, the pleading timidity of the regard, the + disproportionate but elegant slenderness of the head between the ear and + the neck, there were the tokens of one who cannot resist the will, perhaps + the whim, of another whom she either loves or trusts. + </p> + <p> + The book open on her lap is a serious book on the doctrine of grace, + written by a popular clergyman of what is termed “the Low Church.” She + seldom read any but serious books, except where such care as she gave to + Lily’s education compelled her to read “Outlines of History and + Geography,” or the elementary French books used in seminaries for young + ladies. Yet if any one had decoyed Mrs. Cameron into familiar + conversation, he would have discovered that she must early have received + the education given to young ladies of station. She could speak and write + French and Italian as a native. She had read, and still remembered, such + classic authors in either language as are conceded to the use of pupils by + the well-regulated taste of orthodox governesses. She had a knowledge of + botany, such as botany was taught twenty years ago. I am not sure that, if + her memory had been fairly aroused, she might not have come out strong in + divinity and political economy, as expounded by the popular manuals of + Mrs. Marcet. In short, you could see in her a thoroughbred English lady, + who had been taught in a generation before Lily’s, and immeasurably + superior in culture to the ordinary run of English young ladies taught + nowadays. So, in what after all are very minor accomplishments,—now + made major accomplishments,—such as music, it was impossible that a + connoisseur should hear her play on the piano without remarking, “That + woman has had the best masters of her time.” She could only play pieces + that belonged to her generation. She had learned nothing since. In short, + the whole intellectual culture had come to a dead stop long years ago, + perhaps before Lily was born. + </p> + <p> + Now, while she is gazing into space Mrs. Braefield is announced. Mrs. + Cameron does not start from revery. She never starts. But she makes a + weary movement of annoyance, resettles herself, and lays the serious book + on the sofa table. Elsie enters, young, radiant, dressed in all the + perfection of the fashion, that is, as ungracefully as in the eyes of an + artist any gentlewoman can be; but rich merchants who are proud of their + wives so insist, and their wives, in that respect, submissively obey them. + </p> + <p> + The ladies interchange customary salutations, enter into the customary + preliminaries of talk, and after a pause Elsie begins in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “But sha’n’t I see Lily? Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear she has gone into the town. A poor little boy, who did our + errands, has met with an accident,—fallen from a cherry-tree.” + </p> + <p> + “Which he was robbing?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably.” + </p> + <p> + “And Lily has gone to lecture him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know as to that; but he is much hurt, and Lily has gone to see + what is the matter with him.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield, in her frank outspoken way,—“I don’t take much to + girls of Lily’s age in general, though I am passionately fond of children. + You know how I do take to Lily; perhaps because she is so like a child. + But she must be an anxious charge to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron replied by an anxious “No; she is still a child, a very good + one; why should I be anxious?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield, impulsively,—“Why, your child must now be eighteen.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron,—“Eighteen—is it possible! How time flies! though + in a life so monotonous as mine, time does not seem to fly, it slips on + like the lapse of water. Let me think,—eighteen? No, she is but + seventeen,—seventeen last May.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield,—“Seventeen! A very anxious age for a girl; an age in + which dolls cease and lovers begin.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron, not so languidly, but still quietly,—“Lily never cared + much for dolls,—never much for lifeless pets; and as to lovers, she + does not dream of them.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Braefield, briskly,—“There is no age after six in which girls + do not dream of lovers. And here another question arises. When a girl so + lovely as Lily is eighteen next birthday, may not a lover dream of her?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron, with that wintry cold tranquillity of manner, which implies + that in putting such questions an interrogator is taking a liberty,—“As + no lover has appeared, I cannot trouble myself about his dreams.” + </p> + <p> + Said Elsie inly to herself, “This is the stupidest woman I ever met!” and + aloud to Mrs. Cameron,—“Do you not think that your neighbour, Mr. + Chillingly, is a very fine young man?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he would be generally considered so. He is very tall.” + </p> + <p> + “A handsome face?” + </p> + <p> + “Handsome, is it? I dare say.” + </p> + <p> + “What does Lily say?” + </p> + <p> + “About what?” + </p> + <p> + “About Mr. Chillingly. Does she not think him handsome?” + </p> + <p> + “I never asked her.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mrs. Cameron, would it not be a very pretty match for Lily? The + Chillinglys are among the oldest families in Burke’s ‘Landed Gentry,’ and + I believe his father, Sir Peter, has a considerable property.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time in this conversation Mrs. Cameron betrayed emotion. A + sudden flush overspread her countenance, and then left it paler than + before. After a pause she recovered her accustomed composure, and replied, + rudely,— + </p> + <p> + “It would be no friend to Lily who could put such notions into her head; + and there is no reason to suppose that they have entered into Mr. + Chillingly’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you be sorry if they did? Surely you would like your niece to marry + well, and there are few chances of her doing so at Moleswich.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Mrs. Braefield, but the question of Lily’s marriage I have + never discussed, even with her guardian. Nor, considering the childlike + nature of her tastes and habits, rather than the years she has numbered, + can I think the time has yet come for discussing it at all.” + </p> + <p> + Elsie, thus rebuked, changed the subject to some newspaper topic which + interested the public mind at the moment and very soon rose to depart. + Mrs. Cameron detained the hand that her visitor held out, and said in low + tones, which, though embarrassed, were evidently earnest, “My dear Mrs. + Braefield, let me trust to your good sense and the affection with which + you have honoured my niece not to incur the risk of unsettling her mind by + a hint of the ambitious projects for her future on which you have spoken + to me. It is extremely improbable that a young man of Mr. Chillingly’s + expectations would entertain any serious thoughts of marrying out of his + own sphere of life, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, Mrs. Cameron, I must interrupt you. Lily’s personal attractions and + grace of manner would adorn any station; and have I not rightly understood + you to say that though her guardian, Mr. Melville, is, as we all know, a + man who has risen above the rank of his parents, your niece, Miss + Mordaunt, is like yourself, by birth a gentlewoman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by birth a gentlewoman,” said Mrs. Cameron, raising her head with a + sudden pride. But she added, with as sudden a change to a sort of freezing + humility, “What does that matter? A girl without fortune, without + connection, brought up in this little cottage, the ward of a professional + artist, who was the son of a city clerk, to whom she owes even the home + she has found, is not in the same sphere of life as Mr. Chillingly, and + his parents could not approve of such an alliance for him. It would be + most cruel to her, if you were to change the innocent pleasure she may + take in the conversation of a clever and well-informed stranger into the + troubled interest which, since you remind me of her age, a girl even so + childlike and beautiful as Lily might conceive in one represented to her + as the possible partner of her life. Don’t commit that cruelty; don’t—don’t, + I implore you!” + </p> + <p> + “Trust me,” cried the warm-hearted Elsie, with tears rushing to her eyes. + “What you say so sensibly, so nobly, never struck me before. I do not know + much of the world,—knew nothing of it till I married,—and + being very fond of Lily, and having a strong regard for Mr. Chillingly, I + fancied I could not serve both better than—than—but I see now; + he is very young, very peculiar; his parents might object, not to Lily + herself, but to the circumstances you name. And you would not wish her to + enter any family where she was not as cordially welcomed as she deserves + to be. I am glad to have had this talk with you. Happily, I have done no + mischief as yet. I will do none. I had come to propose an excursion to the + remains of the Roman Villa, some miles off, and to invite you and Mr. + Chillingly. I will no longer try to bring him and Lily together.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. But you still misconstrue me. I do not think that Lily cares + half so much for Mr. Chillingly as she does for a new butterfly. I do not + fear their coming together, as you call it, in the light in which she now + regards him, and in which, from all I observe, he regards her. My only + fear is that a hint might lead her to regard him in another way, and that + way impossible.” + </p> + <p> + Elsie left the house extremely bewildered, and with a profound contempt + for Mrs. Cameron’s knowledge of what may happen to two young persons + “brought together.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0093" id="link2HCH0093"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> + <p> + NOW, on that very day, and about the same hour in which the conversation + just recorded between Elsie and Mrs. Cameron took place, Kenelm, in his + solitary noonday wanderings, entered the burial-ground in which Lily had + some short time before surprised him. And there he found her, standing + beside the flower border which she had placed round the grave of the child + whom she had tended and nursed in vain. + </p> + <p> + The day was cloudless and sunless; one of those days that so often instil + a sentiment of melancholy into the heart of an English summer. + </p> + <p> + “You come here too often, Miss Mordaunt,” said Kenelm, very softly, as he + approached. + </p> + <p> + Lily turned her face to him, without any start of surprise, with no + brightening change in its pensive expression,—an expression rare to + the mobile play of her features. + </p> + <p> + “Not too often. I promised to come as often as I could; and, as I told you + before, I have never broken a promise yet.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm made no answer. Presently the girl turned from the spot, and Kenelm + followed her silently till she halted before the old tombstone with its + effaced inscription. + </p> + <p> + “See,” she said, with a faint smile, “I have put fresh flowers there. + Since the day we met in this churchyard, I have thought so much of that + tomb, so neglected, so forgotten, and—” she paused a moment, and + went on abruptly, “do you not often find that you are much too—what + is the word? ah! too egotistical, considering and pondering and dreaming + greatly too much about yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are right there; though, till you so accused me, my conscience + did not detect it.” + </p> + <p> + “And don’t you find that you escape from being so haunted by the thought + of yourself, when you think of the dead? they can never have any share in + your existence <i>here</i>. When you say, ‘I shall do this or that + to-day;’ when you dream, ‘I may be this or that to-morrow,’ you are + thinking and dreaming, all by yourself, for yourself. But you are out of + yourself, beyond yourself, when you think and dream of the dead, who can + have nothing to do with your to-day or your to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + As we all know, Kenelm Chillingly made it one of the rules of his life + never to be taken by surprise. But when the speech I have written down + came from the lips of that tamer of butterflies, he was so startled that + all it occurred to him to say, after a long pause, was,— + </p> + <p> + “The dead are the past; and with the past rests all in the present or the + future that can take us out of our natural selves. The past decides our + present. By the past we divine our future. History, poetry, science, the + welfare of states, the advancement of individuals, are all connected with + tombstones of which inscriptions are effaced. You are right to honour the + mouldered tombstones with fresh flowers. It is only in the companionship + of the dead that one ceases to be an egotist.” + </p> + <p> + If the imperfectly educated Lily had been above the quick comprehension of + the academical Kenelm in her speech, so Kenelm was now above the + comprehension of Lily. She, too, paused before she replied,— + </p> + <p> + “If I knew you better, I think I could understand you better. I wish you + knew Lion. I should like to hear you talk with him.” + </p> + <p> + While thus conversing, they had left the burial-ground, and were in the + pathway trodden by the common wayfarer. + </p> + <p> + Lily resumed,—“Yes, I should like to hear you talk with Lion.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean your guardian, Mr. Melville?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you know that.” + </p> + <p> + “And why should you like to hear me talk to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Because there are some things in which I doubt if he was altogether + right, and I would ask you to express my doubts to him; you would, would + you not?” + </p> + <p> + “But why can you not express them yourself to your guardian; are you + afraid of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid, no indeed! But—ah, how many people there are coming this + way! There is some tiresome public meeting in the town to-day. Let us take + the ferry: the other side of the stream is much pleasanter; we shall have + it more to ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Turning aside to the right while she thus spoke, Lily descended a gradual + slope to the margin of the stream, on which they found an old man dozily + reclined in his ferry-boat. + </p> + <p> + As, seated side by side, they were slowly borne over the still waters + under a sunless sky, Kenelm would have renewed the subject which his + companion had begun, but she shook her head, with a significant glance at + the ferryman. Evidently what she had to say was too confidential to admit + of a listener, not that the old ferryman seemed likely to take the trouble + of listening to any talk that was not addressed to him. Lily soon did + address her talk to him, “So, Brown, the cow has quite recovered.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss, thanks to you, and God bless you. To think of your beating the + old witch like that!” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis not I who beat the witch, Brown; ‘tis the fairy. Fairies, you know, + are much more powerful than witches.” + </p> + <p> + “So I find, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + Lily here turned to Kenelm; “Mr. Brown has a very nice milch-cow that was + suddenly taken very ill, and both he and his wife were convinced that the + cow was bewitched.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it were, that stands to reason. Did not Mother Wright tell my + old woman that she would repent of selling milk, and abuse her dreadful; + and was not the cow taken with shivers that very night?” + </p> + <p> + “Gently, Brown. Mother Wright did not say that your wife would repent of + selling milk, but of putting water into it.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did she know that, if she was not a witch? We have the best of + customers among the gentlefolks, and never any one that complained.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” answered Lily to Kenelm, unheeding this last observation, which was + made in a sullen manner, “Brown had a horrid notion of enticing Mother + Wright into his ferry-boat and throwing her into the water, in order to + break the spell upon the cow. But I consulted the fairies, and gave him a + fairy charm to tie round the cow’s neck. And the cow is quite well now, + you see. So, Brown, there was no necessity to throw Mother Wright into the + water, because she said you put some of it into the milk. But,” she added, + as the boat now touched the opposite bank, “shall I tell you, Brown, what + the fairies said to me this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Do, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + “It was this: If Brown’s cow yields milk without any water in it, and if + water gets into it when the milk is sold, we, the fairies, will pinch Mr. + Brown black and blue; and when Brown has his next fit of rheumatics he + must not look to the fairies to charm it away.” + </p> + <p> + Herewith Lily dropped a silver groat into Brown’s hand, and sprang lightly + ashore, followed by Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “You have quite converted him, not only as to the existence, but as to the + beneficial power of fairies,” said Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” answered Lily very gravely, “ah, but would it not be nice if there + were fairies still? good fairies, and one could get at them? tell them all + that troubles and puzzles us, and win from them charms against the + witchcraft we practise on ourselves?” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt if it would be good for us to rely on such supernatural + counsellors. Our own souls are so boundless that the more we explore them + the more we shall find worlds spreading upon worlds into infinities; and + among the worlds is Fairyland.” He added, inly to himself, “Am I not in + Fairyland now?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” whispered Lily. “Don’t speak more yet awhile. I am thinking over + what you have just said, and trying to understand it.” + </p> + <p> + Thus walking silently they gained the little summer-house which tradition + dedicated to the memory of Izaak Walton. Lily entered it and seated + herself; Kenelm took his place beside her. It was a small octagon building + which, judging by its architecture, might have been built in the troubled + reign of Charles I.; the walls plastered within were thickly covered with + names and dates, and inscriptions in praise of angling, in tribute to + Izaak, or with quotations from his books. On the opposite side they could + see the lawn of Grasmere, with its great willows dipping into the water. + The stillness of the place, with its associations of the angler’s still + life, were in harmony with the quiet day, its breezeless air, and + cloud-vested sky. + </p> + <p> + “You were to tell me your doubts in connection with your guardian, doubts + if he were right in something which you left unexplained, which you could + not yourself explain to him.” + </p> + <p> + Lily started as from thoughts alien to the subject thus reintroduced. + “Yes, I cannot mention my doubts to him because they relate to me, and he + is so good. I owe him so much that I could not bear to vex him by a word + that might seem like reproach or complaint. You remember,” here she drew + nearer to him; and with that ingenuous confiding look and movement which + had, not unfrequently, enraptured him at the moment, and saddened him on + reflection,—too ingenuous, too confiding, for the sentiment with + which he yearned to inspire her,—she turned towards him her frank + untimorous eyes, and laid her hand on his arm: “you remember that I said + in the burial-ground how much I felt that one is constantly thinking too + much of one’s self. That must be wrong. In talking to you only about + myself I know I am wrong, but I cannot help it: I must do so. Do not think + ill of me for it. You see I have not been brought up like other girls. Was + my guardian right in that? Perhaps if he had insisted upon not letting me + have my own wilful way, if he had made me read the books which Mr. and + Mrs. Emlyn wanted to force on me, instead of the poems and fairy tales + which he gave me, I should have had so much more to think of that I should + have thought less of myself. You said that the dead were the past; one + forgets one’s self when one thinks of the dead. If I had read more of the + past, had more subjects of interest in the dead whose history it tells, + surely I should be less shut up, as it were, in my own small, selfish + heart? It is only very lately I have thought of this, only very lately + that I have felt sorrow and shame in the thought that I am so ignorant of + what other girls know, even little Clemmy. And I dare not say this to Lion + when I see him next, lest he should blame himself, when he only meant to + be kind, and used to say, ‘I don’t want Fairy to be learned, it is enough + for me to think she is happy.’ And oh, I was so happy, till—till of + late!” + </p> + <p> + “Because till of late you only knew yourself as a child. But, now that you + feel the desire of knowledge, childhood is vanishing. Do not vex yourself. + With the mind which nature has bestowed on you, such learning as may fit + you to converse with those dreaded ‘grown-up folks’ will come to you very + easily and quickly. You will acquire more in a month now than you would + have acquired in a year when you were a child, and task-work was loathed, + not courted. Your aunt is evidently well instructed, and if I might + venture to talk to her about the choice of books—” + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t do that. Lion would not like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Your guardian would not like you to have the education common to other + young ladies?” + </p> + <p> + “Lion forbade my aunt to teach me much that I rather wished to learn. She + wanted to do so, but she has given it up at his wish. She only now teases + me with those horrid French verbs, and that I know is a mere make-belief. + Of course on Sunday it is different; then I must not read anything but the + Bible and sermons. I don’t care so much for the sermons as I ought, but I + could read the Bible all day, every week-day as well as Sunday; and it is + from the Bible that I learn that I ought to think less about myself.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm involuntarily pressed the little hand that lay so innocently on his + arm. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the difference between one kind of poetry and another?” asked + Lily, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure. I ought to know when one kind is good and another kind is + bad. But in that respect I find many people, especially professed critics, + who prefer the poetry which I call bad to the poetry I think good.” + </p> + <p> + “The difference between one kind of poetry and another, supposing them + both to be good,” said Lily, positively, and with an air of triumph, “is + this,—I know, for Lion explained it to me,—in one kind of + poetry the writer throws himself entirely out of his existence, he puts + himself into other existences quite strange to his own. He may be a very + good man, and he writes his best poetry about very wicked men: he would + not hurt a fly, but he delights in describing murderers. But in the other + kind of poetry the writer does not put himself into other existences, he + expresses his own joys and sorrows, his own individual heart and mind. If + he could not hurt a fly, he certainly could not make himself at home in + the cruel heart of a murderer. There, Mr. Chillingly, that is the + difference between one kind of poetry and another.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true,” said Kenelm, amused by the girl’s critical definitions. “The + difference between dramatic poetry and lyrical. But may I ask what that + definition has to do with the subject into which you so suddenly + introduced it?” + </p> + <p> + “Much; for when Lion was explaining this to my aunt, he said, ‘A perfect + woman is a poem; but she can never be a poem of the one kind, never can + make herself at home in the hearts with which she has no connection, never + feel any sympathy with crime and evil; she must be a poem of the other + kind, weaving out poetry from her own thoughts and fancies.’ And, turning + to me, he said, smiling, ‘That is the poem I wish Lily to be. Too many dry + books would only spoil the poem.’ And you now see why I am so ignorant, + and so unlike other girls, and why Mr. and Mrs. Emlyn look down upon me.” + </p> + <p> + “You wrong at least Mr. Emlyn, for it was he who first said to me, ‘Lily + Mordaunt is a poem.’” + </p> + <p> + “Did he? I shall love him for that. How pleased Lion will be!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Melville seems to have an extraordinary influence over your mind,” + said Kenelm, with a jealous pang. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. I have neither father nor mother: Lion has been both to me. + Aunty has often said, ‘You cannot be too grateful to your guardian; + without him I should have no home to shelter you, no bread to give you.’ + He never said that: he would be very angry with aunty if he knew she had + said it. When he does not call me Fairy he calls me Princess. I would not + displease him for the world.” + </p> + <p> + “He is very much older than you; old enough to be your father, I hear.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say. But if he were twice as old I could not love him better.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm smiled: the jealousy was gone. Certainly not thus could any girl, + even Lily, speak of one with whom, however she might love him, she was + likely to fall in love. + </p> + <p> + Lily now rose up, rather slowly and wearily. “It is time to go home: aunty + will be wondering what keeps me away,—come.” + </p> + <p> + They took their way towards the bridge opposite to Cromwell Lodge. + </p> + <p> + It was not for some minutes that either broke silence. Lily was the first + to do so, and with one of those abrupt changes of topic which were common + to the restless play of her secret thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “You have father and mother still living, Mr. Chillingly?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Which do you love the best?” + </p> + <p> + “That is scarcely a fair question. I love my mother very much; but my + father and I understand each other better than—” + </p> + <p> + “I see: it is so difficult to be understood. No one understands me.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I do.” + </p> + <p> + Lily shook her head with an energetic movement of dissent. + </p> + <p> + “At least as well as a man can understand a young lady.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of young lady is Miss Cecilia Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “Cecilia Travers! When and how did you ever hear that such a person + existed?” + </p> + <p> + “That big London man whom they call Sir Thomas mentioned her name the day + we dined at Braefieldville.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember,—as having been at the Court ball.” + </p> + <p> + “He said she was very handsome.” + </p> + <p> + “So she is.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she a poem too?” + </p> + <p> + “No; that never struck me.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Emlyn, I suppose, would call her perfectly brought up,—well + educated. He would not raise his eyebrows at her as he does at me,—poor + me, Cinderella!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Miss Mordaunt, you need not envy her. Again let me say that you could + very soon educate yourself to the level of any young ladies who adorn the + Court balls.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay; but then I should not be a poem,” said Lily, with a shy, arch + side-glance at his face. + </p> + <p> + They were now on the bridge, and before Kenelm could answer Lily resumed + quickly, “You need not come any farther; it is out of your way.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot be so disdainfully dismissed, Miss Mordaunt; I insist on seeing + you to at least your garden gate.” + </p> + <p> + Lily made no objection and again spoke,— + </p> + <p> + “What sort of country do you live in when at home; is it like this?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so pretty; the features are larger, more hill and dale and woodland: + yet there is one feature in our grounds which reminds me a little of this + landscape,—a light stream, somewhat wider, indeed, than your + brooklet; but here and there the banks are so like those by Cromwell Lodge + that I sometimes start and fancy myself at home. I have a strange love for + rivulets and all running waters, and in my foot wanderings I find myself + magnetically attracted towards them.” + </p> + <p> + Lily listened with interest, and after a short pause said, with a + half-suppressed sigh, “Your home is much finer than any place here, even + than Braefieldville, is it not? Mrs. Braefield says your father is very + rich.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt if he is richer than Mr. Braefield; and, though his house may be + larger than Braefieldville, it is not so smartly furnished, and has no + such luxurious hothouses and conservatories. My father’s tastes are like + mine, very simple. Give him his library, and he would scarcely miss his + fortune if he lost it. He has in this one immense advantage over me.” + </p> + <p> + “You would miss fortune?” said Lily, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Not that; but my father is never tired of books. And shall I own it? + there are days when books tire me almost as much as they do you.” + </p> + <p> + They were now at the garden gate. Lily, with one hand on the latch, held + out the other to Kenelm, and her smile lit up the dull sky like a burst of + sunshine, as she looked in his face and vanished. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0100" id="link2H_4_0100"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VII. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0094" id="link2HCH0094"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM did not return home till dusk, and just as he was sitting down to + his solitary meal there was a ring at the bell, and Mrs. Jones ushered in + Mr. Thomas Bowles. + </p> + <p> + Though that gentleman had never written to announce the day of his + arrival, he was not the less welcome. + </p> + <p> + “Only,” said Kenelm, “if you preserve the appetite I have lost, I fear you + will find meagre fare to-day. Sit down, man.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, kindly, but I dined two hours ago in London, and I really can + eat nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was too well-bred to press unwelcome hospitalities. In a very few + minutes his frugal repast was ended; the cloth removed, the two men were + left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Your room is here, of course, Tom; that was engaged from the day I asked + you, but you ought to have given me a line to say when to expect you, so + that I could have put our hostess on her mettle as to dinner or supper. + You smoke still, of course: light your pipe.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mr. Chillingly, I seldom smoke now; but if you will excuse a + cigar,” and Tom produced a very smart cigar-case. + </p> + <p> + “Do as you would at home. I shall send word to Will Somers that you and I + sup there to-morrow. You forgive me for letting out your secret. All + straightforward now and henceforth. You come to their hearth as a friend, + who will grow dearer to them both every year. Ah, Tom, this love for woman + seems to me a very wonderful thing. It may sink a man into such deeps of + evil, and lift a man into such heights of good.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know as to the good,” said Tom, mournfully, and laying aside his + cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Go on smoking: I should like to keep you company; can you spare me one of + your cigars?” + </p> + <p> + Tom offered his case. Kenelm extracted a cigar, lighted it, drew a few + whiffs, and, when he saw that Tom had resumed his own cigar, recommenced + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know as to the good; but tell me honestly, do you think if you + had not loved Jessie Wiles, you would be as good a man as you are now?” + </p> + <p> + “If I am better than I was, it is not because of my love for the girl.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “The loss of her.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm started, turned very pale, threw aside the cigar, rose, and walked + the room to and fro with very quick but very irregular strides. + </p> + <p> + Tom continued quietly. “Suppose I had won Jessie and married her, I don’t + think any idea of improving myself would have entered my head. My uncle + would have been very much offended at my marrying a day-labourer’s + daughter, and would not have invited me to Luscombe. I should have + remained at Graveleigh, with no ambition of being more than a common + farrier, an ignorant, noisy, quarrelsome man; and if I could not have made + Jessie as fond of me as I wished, I should not have broken myself of + drinking, and I shudder to think what a brute I might have been, when I + see in the newspapers an account of some drunken wife-beater. How do we + know but what that wife-beater loved his wife dearly before marriage, and + she did not care for him? His home was unhappy, and so he took to drink + and to wife-beating.” + </p> + <p> + “I was right, then,” said Kenelm, halting his strides, “when I told you it + would be a miserable fate to be married to a girl whom you loved to + distraction, and whose heart you could never warm to you, whose life you + could never render happy.” + </p> + <p> + “So right!” + </p> + <p> + “Let us drop that part of the subject at present,” said Kenelm, reseating + himself, “and talk about your wish to travel. Though contented that you + did not marry Jessie, though you can now, without anguish, greet her as + the wife of another, still there are some lingering thoughts of her that + make you restless; and you feel that you could more easily wrench yourself + from these thoughts in a marked change of scene and adventure, that you + might bury them altogether in the soil of a strange land. Is it so?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, something of that, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Then Kenelm roused himself to talk of foreign lands, and to map out a plan + of travel that might occupy some months. He was pleased to find that Tom + had already learned enough of French to make himself understood at least + upon commonplace matters, and still more pleased to discover that he had + been not only reading the proper guide-books or manuals descriptive of the + principal places in Europe worth visiting, but that he had acquired an + interest in the places; interest in the fame attached to them by their + history in the past, or by the treasures of art they contained. + </p> + <p> + So they talked far into the night; and when Tom retired to his room, + Kenelm let himself out of the house noiselessly, and walked with slow + steps towards the old summer-house in which he had sat with Lily. The wind + had risen, scattering the clouds that had veiled the preceding day, so + that the stars were seen in far chasms of the sky beyond,—seen for a + while in one place, and, when the swift clouds rolled over them there, + shining out elsewhere. Amid the varying sounds of the trees, through which + swept the night gusts, Kenelm fancied he could distinguish the sigh of the + willow on the opposite lawn of Grasmere. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0095" id="link2HCH0095"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM despatched a note to Will Somers early the next morning, inviting + himself and Mr. Bowles to supper that evening. His tact was sufficient to + make him aware that in such social meal there would be far less restraint + for each and all concerned than in a more formal visit from Tom during the + day-time; and when Jessie, too, was engaged with customers to the shop. + </p> + <p> + But he led Tom through the town and showed him the shop itself, with its + pretty goods at the plate-glass windows, and its general air of prosperous + trade; then he carried him off into the lanes and fields of the country, + drawing out the mind of his companion, and impressed with great admiration + of its marked improvement in culture, and in the trains of thought which + culture opens out and enriches. + </p> + <p> + But throughout all their multiform range of subject Kenelm could perceive + that Tom was still preoccupied and abstracted: the idea of the coming + interview with Jessie weighed upon him. + </p> + <p> + When they left Cromwell Lodge at nightfall, to repair to the supper at + Will’s; Kenelm noticed that Bowles had availed himself of the contents of + his carpet-bag to make some refined alterations in his dress. The + alterations became him. + </p> + <p> + When they entered the parlour, Will rose from his chair with the evidence + of deep emotion on his face, advanced to Tom, took his hand and grasped + and dropped it without a word. Jessie saluted both guests alike, with + drooping eyelids and an elaborate curtsy. The old mother alone was + perfectly self-possessed and up to the occasion. + </p> + <p> + “I am heartily glad to see you, Mr. Bowles,” said she, “and so all three + of us are, and ought to be; and if baby was older, there would be four.” + </p> + <p> + “And where on earth have you hidden baby?” cried Kenelm. “Surely he might + have been kept up for me to-night, when I was expected; the last time I + supped here I took you by surprise, and therefore had no right to complain + of baby’s want of respect to her parents’ friends.” + </p> + <p> + Jessie raised the window-curtain, and pointed to the cradle behind it. + Kenelm linked his arm in Tom’s, led him to the cradle, and, leaving him + alone to gaze on the sleeping inmate, seated himself at the table, between + old Mrs. Somers and Will. Will’s eyes were turned away towards the + curtain, Jessie holding its folds aside, and the formidable Tom, who had + been the terror of his neighbourhood, bending smiling over the cradle: + till at last he laid his large hand on the pillow, gently, timidly, + careful not to awake the helpless sleeper, and his lips moved, doubtless + with a blessing; then he, too, came to the table, seating himself, and + Jessie carried the cradle upstairs. + </p> + <p> + Will fixed his keen, intelligent eyes on his bygone rival; and noticing + the changed expression of the once aggressive countenance, the changed + costume in which, without tinge of rustic foppery, there was the token of + a certain gravity of station scarcely compatible with a return to old + loves and old habits in the village world, the last shadow of jealousy + vanished from the clear surface of Will’s affectionate nature. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bowles,” he exclaimed, impulsively, “you have a kind heart, and a + good heart, and a generous heart. And your corning here to-night on this + friendly visit is an honour which—which”—“Which,” interrupted + Kenelm, compassionating Will’s embarrassment, “is on the side of us single + men. In this free country a married man who has a male baby may be father + to the Lord Chancellor or the Archbishop of Canterbury. But—well, my + friends, such a meeting as we have to-night does not come often; and after + supper let us celebrate it with a bowl of punch. If we have headaches the + next morning none of us will grumble.” + </p> + <p> + Old Mrs. Somers laughed out jovially. “Bless you, sir, I did not think of + the punch; I will go and see about it,” and, baby’s socks still in her + hands, she hastened from the room. + </p> + <p> + What with the supper, what with the punch, and what with Kenelm’s art of + cheery talk on general subjects, all reserve, all awkwardness, all shyness + between the convivialists, rapidly disappeared. Jessie mingled in the + talk; perhaps (excepting only Kenelm) she talked more than the others, + artlessly, gayly, no vestige of the old coquetry; but, now and then, with + a touch of genteel finery, indicative of her rise in life, and of the + contact of the fancy shopkeeper with noble customers. It was a pleasant + evening; Kenelm had resolved that it should be so. Not a hint of the + obligations to Mr. Bowles escaped until Will, following his visitor to the + door, whispered to Tom, “You don’t want thanks, and I can’t express them. + But when we say our prayers at night, we have always asked God to bless + him who brought us together, and has since made us so prosperous,—I + mean Mr. Chillingly. To-night there will be another besides him, for whom + we shall pray, and for whom baby, when he is older, will pray too.” + </p> + <p> + Therewith Will’s voice thickened; and he prudently receded, with no + unreasonable fear lest the punch might make him too demonstrative of + emotion if he said more. + </p> + <p> + Tom was very silent on the return to Cromwell Lodge; it did not seem the + silence of depressed spirits, but rather of quiet meditation, from which + Kenelm did not attempt to rouse him. + </p> + <p> + It was not till they reached the garden pales of Grasmere that Tom, + stopping short, and turning his face to Kenelm, said, “I am very grateful + to you for this evening,—very.” + </p> + <p> + “It has revived no painful thoughts then?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I feel so much calmer in mind than I ever believed I could have been, + after seeing her again.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible!” said Kenelm, to himself. “How should I feel if I ever + saw in Lily the wife of another man, the mother of his child?” At that + question he shuddered, and an involuntary groan escaped from his lips. + Just then having, willingly in those precincts, arrested his steps when + Tom paused to address him, something softly touched the arm which he had + rested on the garden pale. He looked, and saw that it was Blanche. The + creature, impelled by its instincts towards night-wanderings, had, somehow + or other, escaped from its own bed within the house, and hearing a voice + that had grown somewhat familiar to its ear, crept from among the shrubs + behind upon the edge of the pale. There it stood, with arched back, + purring low as in pleased salutation. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm bent down and covered with kisses the blue ribbon which Lily’s hand + had bound round the favourite’s neck. Blanche submitted to the caress for + a moment, and then catching a slight rustle among the shrubs made by some + awaking bird, sprang into the thick of the quivering leaves and vanished. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm moved on with a quick impatient stride, and no further words were + exchanged between him and his companion till they reached their lodging + and parted for the night. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0096" id="link2HCH0096"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + THE next day, towards noon, Kenelm and his visitor, walking together along + the brook-side, stopped before Izaak Walton’s summer-house, and, at + Kenelm’s suggestion, entered therein to rest, and more at their ease to + continue the conversation they had begun. + </p> + <p> + “You have just told me,” said Kenelm, “that you feel as if a load were + taken off your heart, now that you have again met Jessie Somers, and that + you find her so changed that she is no longer the woman you loved. As to + the change, whatever it be, I own, it seems to me for the better, in + person, in manners, in character; of course I should not say this, if I + were not convinced of your perfect sincerity when you assured me that you + are cured of the old wound. But I feel so deeply interested in the + question how a fervent love, once entertained and enthroned in the heart + of a man so earnestly affectionate and so warm-blooded as yourself, can + be, all of a sudden, at a single interview, expelled or transferred into + the calm sentiment of friendship, that I pray you to explain.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what puzzles me, sir,” answered Tom, passing his hand over his + forehead. “And I don’t know if I can explain it. + </p> + <p> + “Think over it, and try.” + </p> + <p> + Tom mused for some moments and then began. “You see, sir, that I was a + very different man myself when I fell in love with Jessie Wiles, and said, + ‘Come what may, that girl shall be my wife. Nobody else shall have her.’” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed; go on.” + </p> + <p> + “But while I was becoming a different man, when I thought of her—and + I was always thinking of her—I still pictured her to myself as the + same Jessie Wiles; and though, when I did see her again at Graveleigh, + after she had married—the day—” + </p> + <p> + “You saved her from the insolence of the Squire.” + </p> + <p> + “She was but very recently married. I did not realize her as married. I + did not see her husband, and the difference within myself was only then + beginning. Well, so all the time I was reading and thinking, and striving + to improve my old self at Luscombe, still Jessie Wiles haunted me as the + only girl I had ever loved, ever could love; I could not believe it + possible that I could ever marry any one else. And lately I have been much + pressed to marry some one else; all my family wish it: but the face of + Jessie rose up before me, and I said to myself, ‘I should be a base man if + I married one woman, while I could not get another woman out of my head.’ + I must see Jessie once more, must learn whether her face is now really the + face that haunts me when I sit alone; and I have seen her, and it is not + that face: it may be handsomer, but it is not a girl’s face, it is the + face of a wife and a mother. And, last evening, while she was talking with + an open-heartedness which I had never found in her before, I became + strangely conscious of the difference in myself that had been silently at + work within the last two years or so. Then, sir, when I was but an + ill-conditioned, uneducated, petty village farrier, there was no + inequality between me and a peasant girl; or, rather, in all things except + fortune, the peasant girl was much above me. But last evening I asked + myself, watching her and listening to her talk, ‘If Jessie were now free, + should I press her to be my wife?’ and I answered myself, ‘No.’” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm listened with rapt attention, and exclaimed briefly, but + passionately, “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems as if I were giving myself airs to say why. But, sir, lately I + have been thrown among persons, women as well as men, of a higher class + than I was born in; and in a wife I should want a companion up to their + mark, and who would keep me up to mine; and ah, sir, I don’t feel as if I + could find that companion in Mrs. Somers.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand you now, Tom. But you are spoiling a silly romance of mine. + I had fancied the little girl with the flower face would grow up to supply + the loss of Jessie; and, I am so ignorant of the human heart, I did think + it would take all the years required for the little girl to open into a + woman, before the loss of the old love could be supplied. I see now that + the poor little child with the flower face has no chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Chance? Why, Mr. Chillingly,” cried Tom, evidently much nettled, “Susey + is a dear little thing, but she is scarcely more than a mere charity girl. + Sir, when I last saw you in London you touched on that matter as if I were + still the village farrier’s son, who might marry a village labourer’s + daughter. But,” added Tom, softening down his irritated tone of voice, + “even if Susey were a lady born I think a man would make a very great + mistake, if he thought he could bring up a little girl to regard him as a + father; and then, when she grew up, expect her to accept him as a lover.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you think that!” exclaimed Kenelm, eagerly, and turning eyes that + sparkled with joy towards the lawn of Grasmere. “You think that; it is + very sensibly said,—well, and you have been pressed to marry, and + have hung back till you had seen again Mrs. Somers. Now you will be better + disposed to such a step; tell me about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I said, last evening, that one of the principal capitalists at Luscombe, + the leading corn-merchant, had offered to take me into partnership. And, + sir, he has an only daughter, she is a very amiable girl, has had a + first-rate education, and has such pleasant manners and way of talk, quite + a lady. If I married her I should soon be the first man in Luscombe, and + Luscombe, as you are no doubt aware, returns two members to Parliament; + who knows, but that some day the farrier’s son might be—” Tom + stopped abruptly, abashed at the aspiring thought which, while speaking, + had deepened his hardy colour and flashed from his honest eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Kenelm, almost mournfully, “is it so? must each man in his life + play many parts? Ambition succeeds to love, the reasoning brain to the + passionate heart. True, you are changed; my Tom Bowles is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Not gone in his undying gratitude to you, sir,” said Tom, with great + emotion. “Your Tom Bowles would give up all his dreams of wealth or of + rising in life, and go through fire and water to serve the friend who + first bid him be a new Tom Bowles! Don’t despise me as your own work: you + said to me that terrible day, when madness was on my brow and crime within + my heart, ‘I will be to you the truest friend man ever found in man.’ So + you have been. You commanded me to read; you commanded me to think; you + taught me that body should be the servant of mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, hush, times are altered; it is you who can teach me now. Teach me, + teach me; how does ambition replace love? How does the desire to rise in + life become the all-mastering passion, and, should it prosper, the + all-atoning consolation of our life? We can never be as happy, though we + rose to the throne of the Caesars, as we dream that we could have been, + had Heaven but permitted us to dwell in the obscurest village, side by + side with the woman we love.” + </p> + <p> + Tom was exceedingly startled by such a burst of irrepressible passion from + the man who had told him that, though friends were found only once in a + life, sweethearts were as plentiful as blackberries. + </p> + <p> + Again he swept his hand over his forehead, and replied hesitatingly: “I + can’t pretend to say what maybe the case with others. But to judge by my + own case, it seems to me this: a young man who, out of his own business, + has nothing to interest or excite him, finds content, interest, and + excitement when he falls in love; and then, whether for good or ill, he + thinks there is nothing like love in the world, he don’t care a fig for + ambition then. Over and over again did my poor uncle ask me to come to him + at Luscombe, and represent all the worldly advantage it would be to me; + but I could not leave the village in which Jessie lived, and, besides, I + felt myself unfit to be anything higher than I was. But when I had been + some time at Luscombe, and gradually got accustomed to another sort of + people, and another sort of talk, then I began to feel interest in the + same objects that interested those about me; and when, partly by mixing + with better educated men, and partly by the pains I took to educate + myself, I felt that I might now more easily rise above my uncle’s rank of + life than two years ago I could have risen above a farrier’s forge, then + the ambition to rise did stir in me, and grew stronger every day. Sir, I + don’t think you can wake up a man’s intellect but what you wake with it + emulation. And, after all, emulation is ambition.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, I suppose, I have no emulation in me, for certainly I have no + ambition.” + </p> + <p> + “That I can’t believe, sir; other thoughts may cover it over and keep it + down for a time. But sooner or later, it will force its way to the top, as + it has done with me. To get on in life, to be respected by those who know + you, more and more as you grow older, I call that a manly desire. I am + sure it comes as naturally to an Englishman as—as—” + </p> + <p> + “As the wish to knock down some other Englishman who stands in his way + does. I perceive now that you were always a very ambitious man, Tom; the + ambition has only taken another direction. Caesar might have been + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘But the first wrestler on the green.’ +</pre> + <p> + “And now, I suppose, you abandon the idea of travel: you will return to + Luscombe, cured of all regret for the loss of Jessie; you will marry the + young lady you mention, and rise, through progressive steps of alderman + and mayor, into the rank of member for Luscombe.” + </p> + <p> + “All that may come in good time,” answered Tom, not resenting the tone of + irony in which he was addressed, “but I still intend to travel: a year so + spent must render me all the more fit for any station I aim at. I shall go + back to Luscombe to arrange my affairs, come to terms with Mr. Leland the + corn-merchant, against my return, and—” + </p> + <p> + “The young lady is to wait till then.” + </p> + <p> + “Emily—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that is the name? Emily! a much more elegant name than Jessie.” + </p> + <p> + “Emily,” continued Tom, with an unruffled placidity,—which, + considering the aggravating bitterness for which Kenelm had exchanged his + wonted dulcitudes of indifferentism, was absolutely saintlike, “Emily + knows that if she were my wife I should be proud of her, and will esteem + me the more if she feels how resolved I am that she shall never be ashamed + of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Tom,” said Kenelm softened, and laying his hand on his + friend’s shoulder with brotherlike tenderness. “Nature has made you a + thorough gentleman; and you could not think and speak more nobly if you + had come into the world as the head of all the Howards.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0097" id="link2HCH0097"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + TOM went away the next morning. He declined to see Jessie again, saying + curtly, “I don’t wish the impression made on me the other evening to incur + a chance of being weakened.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was in no mood to regret his friend’s departure. Despite all the + improvement in Tom’s manners and culture, which raised him so much nearer + to equality with the polite and instructed heir of the Chillinglys, Kenelm + would have felt more in sympathy and rapport with the old disconsolate + fellow-wanderer who had reclined with him on the grass, listening to the + minstrel’s talk or verse, than he did with the practical, rising citizen + of Luscombe. To the young lover of Lily Mordaunt there was a discord, a + jar, in the knowledge that the human heart admits of such well-reasoned, + well-justified transfers of allegiance; a Jessie to-day, or an Emily + to-morrow; “La reine est morte: vive la reine” + </p> + <p> + An hour or two after Tom had gone, Kenelm found himself almost + mechanically led towards Braefieldville. He had instinctively divined + Elsie’s secret wish with regard to himself and Lily, however skilfully she + thought she had concealed it. + </p> + <p> + At Braefieldville he should hear talk of Lily, and in the scenes where + Lily had been first beheld. + </p> + <p> + He found Mrs. Braefield alone in the drawing-room, seated by a table + covered with flowers, which she was assorting and intermixing for the + vases to which they were destined. + </p> + <p> + It struck him that her manner was more reserved than usual and somewhat + embarrassed; and when, after a few preliminary matters of small talk, he + rushed boldly <i>in medias res</i> and asked if she had seen Mrs. Cameron + lately, she replied briefly, “Yes, I called there the other day,” and + immediately changed the conversation to the troubled state of the + Continent. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm was resolved not to be so put off, and presently returned to the + charge. + </p> + <p> + “The other day you proposed an excursion to the site of the Roman villa, + and said you would ask Mrs. Cameron to be of the party. Perhaps you have + forgotten it?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but Mrs. Cameron declines. We can ask the Emlyns instead. He will be + an excellent <i>cicerone</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent! Why did Mrs. Cameron decline?” + </p> + <p> + Elsie hesitated, and then lifted her clear brown eyes to his face, with a + sudden determination to bring matters to a crisis. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say why Mrs. Cameron declined, but in declining she acted very + wisely and very honourably. Listen to me, Mr. Chillingly. You know how + highly I esteem, and how cordially I like you, and judging by what I felt + for some weeks, perhaps longer, after we parted at Tor Hadham—” Here + again she hesitated, and, with a half laugh and a slight blush, again went + resolutely on. “If I were Lily’s aunt or elder sister, I should do as Mrs. + Cameron does; decline to let Lily see much more of a young gentleman too + much above her in wealth and station for—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” cried Kenelm, haughtily, “I cannot allow that any man’s wealth or + station would warrant his presumption in thinking himself above Miss + Mordaunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Above her in natural grace and refinement, certainly not. But in the + world there are other considerations which, perhaps, Sir Peter and Lady + Chillingly might take into account.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not think of that before you last saw Mrs. Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly speaking, I did not. Assured that Miss Mordaunt was a + gentlewoman by birth, I did not sufficiently reflect upon other + disparities.” + </p> + <p> + “You know, then, that she is by birth a gentlewoman?” + </p> + <p> + “I only know it as all here do, by the assurance of Mrs. Cameron, whom no + one could suppose not to be a lady. But there are different degrees of + lady and of gentleman, which are little heeded in the ordinary intercourse + of society, but become very perceptible in questions of matrimonial + alliance; and Mrs. Cameron herself says very plainly that she does not + consider her niece to belong to that station in life from which Sir Peter + and Lady Chillingly would naturally wish their son should select his + bride. Then (holding out her hand) pardon me if I have wounded or offended + you. I speak as a true friend to you and to Lily both. Earnestly I advise + you, if Miss Mordaunt be the cause of your lingering here, earnestly I + advise you to leave while yet in time for her peace of mind and your own.” + </p> + <p> + “Her peace of mind,” said Kenelm, in low faltering tones, scarcely hearing + the rest of Mrs. Braefield’s speech. “Her peace of mind? Do you sincerely + think that she cares for me,—could care for me,—if I stayed?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could answer you decidedly. I am not in the secrets of her + heart. I can but conjecture that it might be dangerous for the peace of + any young girl to see too much of a man like yourself, to divine that he + loved her, and not to be aware that he could not, with the approval of his + family, ask her to become his wife.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm bent his face down, and covered it with his right hand. He did not + speak for some moments. Then he rose, the fresh cheek very pale, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “You are right. Miss Mordaunt’s peace of mind must be the first + consideration. Excuse me if I quit you thus abruptly. You have given me + much to think of, and I can only think of it adequately when alone.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0098" id="link2HCH0098"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + FROM KENELM CHILLINGLY TO SIR PETER CHILLINGLY. + </p> + <p> + MY FATHER, MY DEAR FATHER,—This is no reply to your letters. I know + not if itself can be called a letter. I cannot yet decide whether it be + meant to reach your hands. Tired with talking to myself, I sit down to + talk to you. Often have I reproached myself for not seeing every fitting + occasion to let you distinctly know how warmly I love, how deeply I + reverence you; you, O friend, O father. But we Chillinglys are not a + demonstrative race. I don’t remember that you, by words, ever expressed to + me the truth that you loved your son infinitely more than he deserves. + Yet, do I not know that you would send all your beloved old books to the + hammer rather than I should pine in vain for some untried, if sinless, + delight on which I had set my heart? And do you not know equally well, + that I would part with all my heritage, and turn day-labourer, rather than + you should miss the beloved old books? + </p> + <p> + That mutual knowledge is taken for granted in all that my heart yearns to + pour forth to your own. But, if I divine aright, a day is coming when, as + between you and me, there must be a sacrifice on the part of one to the + other. If so, I implore that the sacrifice may come from you. How is this? + How am I so ungenerous, so egotistical, so selfish, so ungratefully + unmindful of all I already owe to you, and may never repay? I can only + answer, “It is fate, it is nature, it is love”— + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Here I must break off. It is midnight, the moon halts opposite to the + window at which I sit, and on the stream that runs below there is a long + narrow track on which every wave trembles in her light; on either side of + the moonlit track all the other waves, running equally to their grave in + the invisible deep, seem motionless and dark. I can write no more. + </p> + <p> + ......... + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (Dated two days later.) +</pre> + <p> + They say she is beneath us in wealth and station. Are we, my father—we, + two well-born gentlemen—coveters of gold or lackeys of the great? + When I was at college, if there were any there more heartily despised than + another it was the parasite and the tuft-hunter; the man who chose his + friends according as their money or their rank might be of use to him. If + so mean where the choice is so little important to the happiness and + career of a man who has something of manhood in him, how much more mean to + be the parasite and tuft-hunter in deciding what woman to love, what woman + to select as the sweetener and ennobler of one’s everyday life! Could she + be to my life that sweetener, that ennobler? I firmly believe it. Already + life itself has gained a charm that I never even guessed in it before; + already I begin, though as yet but faintly and vaguely, to recognize that + interest in the objects and aspirations of my fellow-men which is + strongest in those whom posterity ranks among its ennoblers. In this quiet + village it is true that I might find examples enough to prove that man is + not meant to meditate upon life, but to take active part in it, and in + that action to find his uses. But I doubt if I should have profited by + such examples; if I should not have looked on this small stage of the + world as I have looked on the large one, with the indifferent eyes of a + spectator on a trite familiar play carried on by ordinary actors, had not + my whole being suddenly leaped out of philosophy into passion, and, at + once made warmly human, sympathized with humanity wherever it burned and + glowed. Ah, is there to be any doubt of what station, as mortal bride, is + due to her,—her, my princess, my fairy? If so, how contented you + shall be, my father, with the worldly career of your son! how + perseveringly he will strive (and when did perseverance fail?) to supply + all his deficiencies of intellect, genius, knowledge, by the energy + concentrated on a single object which—more than intellect, genius, + knowledge, unless they attain to equal energy equally concentrated—commands + what the world calls honours. + </p> + <p> + Yes, with her, with her as the bearer of my name, with her to whom I, + whatever I might do of good or of great, could say, “It is thy work,” I + promise that you shall bless the day when you took to your arms a + daughter. + </p> + <p> + ......... + </p> + <p> + “Thou art in contact with the beloved in all that thou feelest elevated + above thee.” So it is written by one of those weird Germans who search in + our bosoms for the seeds of buried truths, and conjure them into flowers + before we ourselves were even aware of the seeds. + </p> + <p> + Every thought that associates itself with my beloved seems to me born with + wings. + </p> + <p> + ......... + </p> + <p> + I have just seen her, just parted from her. Since I had been told—kindly, + wisely told—that I had no right to hazard her peace of mind unless I + were privileged to woo and to win her, I promised myself that I would shun + her presence until I had bared my heart to you, as I am doing now, and + received that privilege from yourself; for even had I never made the + promise that binds my honour, your consent and blessing must hallow my + choice. I do not feel as if I could dare to ask one so innocent and fair + to wed an ungrateful, disobedient son. But this evening I met her, + unexpectedly, at the vicar’s, an excellent man, from whom I have learned + much; whose precepts, whose example, whose delight in his home, and his + life at once active and serene, are in harmony with my own dreams when I + dream of her. + </p> + <p> + I will tell you the name of the beloved; hold it as yet a profound secret + between you and me. But oh for the day when I may hear you call her by + that name, and print on her forehead the only kiss by man of which I + should not be jealous. + </p> + <p> + It is Sunday, and after the evening service it is my friend’s custom to + gather his children round him, and, without any formal sermon or + discourse, engage their interests in subjects harmonious to associations + with the sanctity of the day; often not directly bearing upon religion; + more often, indeed, playfully starting from some little incident or some + slight story-book which had amused the children in the course of the past + week, and then gradually winding into reference to some sweet moral + precept or illustration from some divine example. It is a maxim with him + that, while much that children must learn they can only learn well through + conscious labour, and as positive task-work, yet Religion should be + connected in their minds not with labour and task-work, but should become + insensibly infused into their habits of thought, blending itself with + memories and images of peace and love; with the indulgent tenderness of + the earliest teachers, the sinless mirthfulness of the earliest home; with + consolation in after sorrows, support through after trials, and never + parting company with its twin sister, Hope. + </p> + <p> + I entered the vicar’s room this evening just as the group had collected + round him. By the side of his wife sat a lady in whom I feel a keen + interest. Her face wears that kind of calm which speaks of the lassitude + bequeathed by sorrow. She is the aunt of my beloved one. Lily had nestled + herself on a low ottoman, at the good pastor’s feet, with one of his + little girls, round whose shoulder she had wound her arm. She is much more + fond of the companionship of children than that of girls of her own age. + The vicar’s wife, a very clever woman, once, in my hearing, took her to + task for this preference, asking her why she persisted in grouping herself + with mere infants who could teach her nothing? Ah! could you have seen the + innocent, angel-like expression of her face when she answered simply, “I + suppose because with them I feel safer, I mean nearer to God.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Emlyn—that is the name of the vicar—deduced his homily + this evening from a pretty fairy tale which Lily had been telling to his + children the day before, and which he drew her on to repeat. + </p> + <p> + Take, in brief, the substance of the story:— + </p> + <p> + “Once on a time, a king and queen made themselves very unhappy because + they had no heir to their throne; and they prayed for one; and lo, on some + bright summer morning, the queen, waking from sleep, saw a cradle beside + her bed, and in the cradle a beautiful sleeping babe. Great day throughout + the kingdom! But as the infant grew up, it became very wayward and + fretful: it lost its beauty; it would not learn its lessons; it was as + naughty as a child could be. The parents were very sorrowful; the heir, so + longed for, promised to be a great plague to themselves and their + subjects. At last one day, to add to their trouble, two little bumps + appeared on the prince’s shoulders. All the doctors were consulted as to + the cause and the cure of this deformity. Of course they tried the effect + of back-bands and steel machines, which gave the poor little prince great + pain, and made him more unamiable than ever. The bumps, nevertheless, grew + larger, and as they increased, so the prince sickened and pined away. At + last a skilful surgeon proposed, as the only chance of saving the prince’s + life, that the bumps should be cut out; and the next morning was fixed for + that operation. But at night the queen saw, or dreamed she saw, a + beautiful shape standing by her bedside. And it said to her reproachfully, + ‘Ungrateful woman! How wouldst thou repay me for the precious boon that my + favour bestowed on thee! In me behold the Queen of the Fairies. For the + heir to thy kingdom, I consigned to thy charge an infant from Fairyland, + to become a blessing to thee and to thy people; and thou wouldst inflict + upon it a death of torture by the surgeon’s knife.’ And the queen + answered, ‘Precious indeed thou mayest call the boon,—a miserable, + sickly, feverish changeling.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Art thou so dull,’ said the beautiful visitant, ‘as not to comprehend + that the earliest instincts of the fairy child would be those of + discontent, at the exile from its native home? and in that discontent it + would have pined itself to death, or grown up, soured and malignant, a + fairy still in its power but a fairy of wrath and evil, had not the + strength of its inborn nature sufficed to develop the growth of its wings. + That which thy blindness condemns as the deformity of the human-born, is + to the fairy-born the crowning perfection of its beauty. Woe to thee, if + thou suffer not the wings of the fairy child to grow.’ + </p> + <p> + “And the next morning the queen sent away the surgeon when he came with + his horrible knife, and removed the back-board and the steel machines from + the prince’s shoulders, though all the doctors predicted that the child + would die. And from that moment the royal heir began to recover bloom and + health. And when at last, out of those deforming bumps, budded delicately + forth the plumage of snow-white wings, the wayward peevishness of the + prince gave place to sweet temper. Instead of scratching his teachers, he + became the quickest and most docile of pupils, grew up to be the joy of + his parents and the pride of their people; and people said, ‘In him we + shall have hereafter such a king as we have never yet known.’” + </p> + <p> + Here ended Lily’s tale. I cannot convey to you a notion of the pretty, + playful manner in which it was told. Then she said, with a grave shake of + the head, “But you do not seem to know what happened afterwards. Do you + suppose that the prince never made use of his wings? Listen to me. It was + discovered by the courtiers who attended on His Royal Highness that on + certain nights, every week, he disappeared. In fact, on these nights, + obedient to the instinct of the wings, he flew from palace halls into + Fairyland; coming back thence all the more lovingly disposed towards the + human home from which he had escaped for a while.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my children,” interposed the preacher earnestly, “the wings would be + given to us in vain if we did not obey the instinct which allures us to + soar; vain, no less, would be the soaring, were it not towards the home + whence we came, bearing back from its native airs a stronger health, and a + serener joy; more reconciled to the duties of earth by every new flight + into heaven.” + </p> + <p> + As he thus completed the moral of Lily’s fairy tale, the girl rose from + her low seat, took his hand, kissed it reverently, and walked away towards + the window. I could see that she was affected even to tears, which she + sought to conceal. Later in the evening, when we were dispersed on the + lawn, for a few minutes before the party broke up, Lily came to my side + timidly and said, in a low whisper,— + </p> + <p> + “Are you angry with me? what have I done to displease you?” + </p> + <p> + “Angry with you; displeased? How can you think of me so unjustly?” + </p> + <p> + “It is so many days since you have called, since I have seen you,” she + said so artlessly, looking up at me with eyes in which tears still seemed + to tremble. + </p> + <p> + Before I could trust myself to reply, her aunt approached, and noticing me + with a cold and distant “Good-night,” led away her niece. + </p> + <p> + I had calculated on walking back to their home with them, as I generally + have done when we met at another house. But the aunt had probably + conjectured I might be at the vicarage that evening, and in order to + frustrate my intention had engaged a carriage for their return. No doubt + she has been warned against permitting further intimacy with her niece. + </p> + <p> + My father, I must come to you at once, discharge my promise, and receive + from your own lips your consent to my choice; for you will consent, will + you not? But I wish you to be prepared beforehand, and I shall therefore + put up these disjointed fragments of my commune with my own heart and with + yours, and post them to-morrow. Expect me to follow them after leaving you + a day free to consider them alone,—alone, my dear father: they are + meant for no eye but yours. + </p> + <p> + K. C. <a name="link2HCH0099" id="link2HCH0099"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + THE next day Kenelm walked into the town, posted his voluminous letter to + Sir Peter, and then looked in at the shop of Will Somers, meaning to make + some purchases of basket-work or trifling fancy goods in Jessie’s pretty + store of such articles, that might please the taste of his mother. + </p> + <p> + On entering the shop his heart beat quicker. He saw two young forms + bending over the counter, examining the contents of a glass case. One of + these customers was Clemmy; in the other there was no mistaking the slight + graceful shape of Lily Mordaunt. Clemmy was exclaiming, “Oh, it is so + pretty, Mrs. Somers! but,” turning her eyes from the counter to a silk + purse in her hand, she added sorrowfully, “I can’t buy it. I have not got + enough, not by a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is it, Miss Clemmy?” asked Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + The two girls turned round at his voice, and Clemmy’s face brightened. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” she said, “is it not too lovely?” + </p> + <p> + The object thus admired and coveted was a little gold locket, enriched by + a cross composed of small pearls. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you, miss,” said Jessie, who had acquired all the coaxing arts + of her trade, “it is really a great bargain. Miss Mary Burrows, who was + here just before you came, bought one not nearly so pretty and gave ten + shillings more for it.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Mary Burrows was the same age as Miss Clementina Emlyn, and there was + a rivalry as to smartness between those youthful beauties. “Miss Burrows!” + sighed Clemmy, very scornfully. + </p> + <p> + But Kenelm’s attention was distracted from Clemmy’s locket to a little + ring which Lily had been persuaded by Mrs. Somers to try on, and which she + now drew off and returned with a shake of the head. Mrs. Somers, who saw + that she had small chance of selling the locket to Clemmy, was now + addressing herself to the elder girl more likely to have sufficient + pocket-money, and whom, at all events, it was quite safe to trust. + </p> + <p> + “The ring fits you so nicely, Miss Mordaunt, and every young lady of your + age wears at least one ring; allow me to put it up.” She added in a lower + voice, “Though we only sell the articles in this case on commission, it is + all the same to us whether we are paid now or at Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis no use tempting me, Mrs. Somers,” said Lily, laughing, and then with + a grave air, “I promised Lion, I mean my guardian, never to run into debt, + and I never will.” + </p> + <p> + Lily turned resolutely from the perilous counter, taking up a paper that + contained a new ribbon she had bought for Blanche, and Clemmy reluctantly + followed her out of the shop. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm lingered behind and selected very hastily a few trifles, to be sent + to him that evening with some specimens of basket-work left to Will’s + tasteful discretion; then purchased the locket on which Clemmy had set her + heart; but all the while his thoughts were fixed on the ring which Lily + had tried on. It was no sin against etiquette to give the locket to a + child like Clemmy, but would it not be a cruel impertinence to offer a + gift to Lily? + </p> + <p> + Jessie spoke: “Miss Mordaunt took a great fancy to this ring, Mr. + Chillingly. I am sure her aunt would like her to have it. I have a great + mind to put it by on the chance of Mrs. Cameron’s calling here. It would + be a pity if it were bought by some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Kenelm, “that I will take the liberty of showing it to + Mrs. Cameron. No doubt she will buy it for her niece. Add the price of it + to my bill.” He seized the ring and carried it off; a very poor little + simple ring, with a single stone shaped as a heart, not half the price of + the locket. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm rejoined the young ladies just where the path split into two, the + one leading direct to Grasmere, the other through the churchyard to the + vicarage. He presented the locket to Clemmy with brief kindly words which + easily removed any scruple she might have had in accepting it; and, + delighted with her acquisition, she bounded off to the vicarage, impatient + to show the prize to her mamma and sisters, and more especially to Miss + Mary Burrows, who was coming to lunch with them. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm walked on slowly by Lily’s side. + </p> + <p> + “You have a good heart, Mr. Chillingly,” said she, somewhat abruptly. “How + it must please you to give such pleasure! Dear little Clemmy!” + </p> + <p> + This artless praise, and the perfect absence of envy or thought of self + evinced by her joy that her friend’s wish was gratified, though her own + was not, enchanted Kenelm. + </p> + <p> + “If it pleases to give pleasure,” said he, “it is your turn to be pleased + now; you can confer such pleasure upon me.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” she asked, falteringly, and with quick change of colour. + </p> + <p> + “By conceding to me the same right your little friend has allowed.” + </p> + <p> + And he drew forth the ring. + </p> + <p> + Lily reared her head with a first impulse of haughtiness. But when her + eyes met his the head drooped down again, and a slight shiver ran through + her frame. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Mordaunt,” resumed Kenelm, mastering his passionate longing to fall + at her feet and say, “But, oh! in this ring it is my love that I offer,—it + is my troth that I pledge!” “Miss Mordaunt, spare me the misery of + thinking that I have offended you; least of all would I do so on this day, + for it may be some little while before I see you again. I am going home + for a few days upon a matter which may affect the happiness of my life, + and on which I should be a bad son and an unworthy gentleman if I did not + consult him who, in all that concerns my affections, has trained me to + turn to him, the father; in all that concerns my honour to him, the + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + A speech more unlike that which any delineator of manners and morals in + the present day would put into the mouth of a lover, no critic in “The + Londoner” could ridicule. But, somehow or other, this poor little tamer of + butterflies and teller of fairy tales comprehended on the instant all that + this most eccentric of human beings thus frigidly left untold. Into her + innermost heart it sank more deeply than would the most ardent declaration + put into the lips of the boobies or the scamps in whom delineators of + manners in the present day too often debase the magnificent chivalry + embodied in the name of “lover.” + </p> + <p> + Where these two had, while speaking, halted on the path along the + brook-side, there was a bench, on which it so happened that they had + seated themselves weeks before. A few moments later on that bench they + were seated again. + </p> + <p> + And the trumpery little ring with its turquoise heart was on Lily’s + finger, and there they continued to sit for nearly half an hour; not + talking much, but wondrously happy; not a single vow of troth + interchanged. No, not even a word that could be construed into “I love.” + And yet when they rose from the bench, and went silently along the + brook-side, each knew that the other was beloved. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the gate that admitted into the garden of Grasmere, + Kenelm made a slight start. Mrs. Cameron was leaning over the gate. + Whatever alarm at the appearance Kenelm might have felt was certainly not + shared by Lily; she advanced lightly before him, kissed her aunt on the + cheek, and passed on across the lawn with a bound in her step and the + carol of a song upon her lips. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm remained by the gate, face to face with Mrs. Cameron. She opened + the gate, put her arm in his, and led him back along the brook-side. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure, Mr. Chillingly,” she said, “that you will not impute to my + words any meaning more grave than that which I wish them to convey, when I + remind you that there is no place too obscure to escape from the + ill-nature of gossip, and you must own that my niece incurs the chance of + its notice if she be seen walking alone in these by-paths with a man of + your age and position, and whose sojourn in the neighbourhood, without any + ostensible object or motive, has already begun to excite conjecture. I do + not for a moment assume that you regard my niece in any other light than + that of an artless child, whose originality of tastes or fancy may serve + to amuse you; and still less do I suppose that she is in danger of + misrepresenting any attentions on your part. But for her sake I am bound + to consider what others may say. Excuse me, then, if I add that I think + you are also bound in honour and in good feeling to do the same. Mr. + Chillingly, it would give me a great sense of relief if it suited your + plans to move from the neighbourhood.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mrs. Cameron,” answered Kenelm, who had listened to this speech + with imperturbable calm of visage, “I thank you much for your candour, and + I am glad to have this opportunity of informing you that I am about to + move from this neighbourhood, with the hope of returning to it in a very + few days and rectifying your mistake as to the point of view in which I + regard your niece. In a word,” here the expression of his countenance and + the tone of his voice underwent a sudden change, “it is the dearest wish + of my heart to be empowered by my parents to assure you of the warmth with + which they will welcome your niece as their daughter, should she deign to + listen to my suit and intrust me with the charge of her happiness.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron stopped short, gazing into his face with a look of + inexpressible dismay. + </p> + <p> + “No! Mr. Chillingly,” she exclaimed, “this must not be,—cannot be. + Put out of your mind an idea so wild. A young man’s senseless romance. + Your parents cannot consent to your union with my niece; I tell you + beforehand they cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” asked Kenelm, with a slight smile, and not much impressed by + the vehemence of Mrs. Cameron’s adjuration. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” she repeated passionately; and then recovering something of her + habitual weariness of quiet. “The why is easily explained. Mr. Kenelm + Chillingly is the heir of a very ancient house and, I am told, of + considerable estates. Lily Mordaunt is a nobody, an orphan, without + fortune, without connection, the ward of a humbly born artist, to whom she + owes the roof that shelters her; she is without the ordinary education of + a gentlewoman; she has seen nothing of the world in which you move. Your + parents have not the right to allow a son so young as yourself to throw + himself out of his proper sphere by a rash and imprudent alliance. And, + never would I consent, never would Walter Melville consent, to her + entering into any family reluctant to receive her. There,—that is + enough. Dismiss the notion so lightly entertained. And farewell.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” answered Kenelm very earnestly, “believe me, that had I not + entertained the hope approaching to conviction that the reasons you urge + against my presumption will not have the weight with my parents which you + ascribe to them, I should not have spoken to you thus frankly. Young + though I be, still I might fairly claim the right to choose for myself in + marriage. But I gave to my father a very binding promise that I would not + formally propose to any one till I had acquainted him with my desire to do + so, and obtained his approval of my choice; and he is the last man in the + world who would withhold that approval where my heart is set on it as it + is now. I want no fortune with a wife, and should I ever care to advance + my position in the world, no connection would help me like the approving + smile of the woman I love. There is but one qualification which my parents + would deem they had the right to exact from my choice of one who is to + bear our name. I mean that she should have the appearance, the manners, + the principles, and—my mother at least might add—the birth of + a gentlewoman. Well, as to appearance and manners, I have seen much of + fine society from my boyhood, and found no one among the highest born who + can excel the exquisite refinement of every look, and the inborn delicacy + of every thought, in her of whom, if mine, I shall be as proud as I shall + be fond. As to defects in the frippery and tinsel of a boarding-school + education, they are very soon remedied. Remains only the last + consideration,—birth. Mrs. Braefield informs me that you have + assured her that, though circumstances into which as yet I have no right + to inquire, have made her the ward of a man of humble origin, Miss + Mordaunt is of gentle birth. Do you deny that?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Cameron, hesitating, but with a flash of pride in her eyes + as she went on. “No. I cannot deny that my niece is descended from those + who, in point of birth, were not unequal to your own ancestors. But what + of that?” she added, with a bitter despondency of tone. “Equality of birth + ceases when one falls into poverty, obscurity, neglect, nothingness!” + </p> + <p> + “Really this is a morbid habit on your part. But, since we have thus + spoken so confidentially, will you not empower me to answer the question + which will probably be put to me, and the answer to which will, I doubt + not, remove every obstacle in the way of my happiness? Whatever the + reasons which might very sufficiently induce you to preserve, whilst + living so quietly in this place, a discreet silence as to the parentage of + Miss Mordaunt and your own,—and I am well aware that those whom + altered circumstances of fortune have compelled to altered modes of life + may disdain to parade to strangers the pretensions to a higher station + than that to which they reconcile their habits,—whatever, I say, + such reasons for silence to strangers, should they preclude you from + confiding to me, an aspirant to your niece’s hand, a secret which, after + all, cannot be concealed from her future husband?” + </p> + <p> + “From her future husband? of course not,” answered Mrs. Cameron. “But I + decline to be questioned by one whom I may never see again, and of whom I + know so little. I decline, indeed, to assist in removing any obstacle to a + union with my niece, which I hold to be in every way unsuited to either + party. I have no cause even to believe that my niece would accept you if + you were free to propose to her. You have not, I presume, spoken to her as + an aspirant to her hand. You have not addressed to her any declaration of + your attachment, or sought to extract from her inexperience any words that + warrant you in thinking that her heart will break if she never sees you + again.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not merit such cruel and taunting questions,” said Kenelm, + indignantly. “But I will say no more now. When we again meet let me hope + you will treat me less unkindly. Adieu!” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, sir. A word or two more. You persist in asking your father and Lady + Chillingly to consent to your proposal to Miss Mordaunt?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will promise me, on your word as a gentleman, to state fairly all + the causes which might fairly operate against their consent,—the + poverty, the humble rearing, the imperfect education of my niece,—so + that they might not hereafter say you had entrapped their consent, and + avenge themselves for your deceit by contempt for her?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madam, madam, you really try my patience too far. But take my + promise, if you can hold that of value from one whom you can suspect of + deliberate deceit.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Mr. Chillingly. Bear with my rudeness. I have been so + taken by surprise, I scarcely know what I am saying. But let us understand + each other completely before we part. If your parents withhold their + consent you will communicate it to me; me only, not to Lily. I repeat I + know nothing of the state of her affections. But it might embitter any + girl’s life to be led on to love one whom she could not marry.” + </p> + <p> + “It shall be as you say. But if they do consent?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will speak to me before you seek an interview with Lily, for + then comes another question: Will her guardian consent?—and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “And what?” + </p> + <p> + “No matter. I rely on your honour in this request, as in all else. + Good-day.” + </p> + <p> + She turned back with hurried footsteps, muttering to herself, “But they + will not consent. Heaven grant that they will not consent, or if they do, + what—what is to be said or done? Oh, that Walter Melville were here, + or that I knew where to write to him!” + </p> + <p> + On his way back to Cromwell Lodge, Kenelm was overtaken by the vicar. + </p> + <p> + “I was coming to you, my dear Mr. Chillingly, first to thank you for the + very pretty present with which you have gladdened the heart of my little + Clemmy, and next to ask you to come with me quietly to-day to meet Mr. + ——-, the celebrated antiquarian, who came to Moleswich this + morning at my request to examine that old Gothic tomb in our churchyard. + Only think, though he cannot read the inscription any better than we can, + he knows all about its history. It seems that a young knight renowned for + feats of valour in the reign of Henry IV. married a daughter of one of + those great Earls of Montfichet who were then the most powerful family in + these parts. He was slain in defending the church from an assault by some + disorderly rioters of the Lollard faction; he fell on the very spot where + the tomb is now placed. That accounts for its situation in the churchyard, + not within the fabric. Mr. ——- discovered this fact in an old + memoir of the ancient and once famous family to which the young knight + Albert belonged, and which came, alas! to so shameful an end, the + Fletwodes, Barons of Fletwode and Malpas. What a triumph over pretty Lily + Mordaunt, who always chose to imagine that the tomb must be that of some + heroine of her own romantic invention! Do come to dinner; Mr. ——- + is a most agreeable man, and full of interesting anecdotes.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so sorry I cannot. I am obliged to return home at once for a few + days. That old family of Fletwode! I think I see before me, while we + speak, the gray tower in which they once held sway; and the last of the + race following Mammon along the Progress of the Age,—a convicted + felon! What a terrible satire on the pride of birth!” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm left Cromwell Lodge that evening, but he still kept on his + apartments there, saying he might be back unexpectedly any day in the + course of the next week. + </p> + <p> + He remained two days in London, wishing all that he had communicated to + Sir Peter in writing to sink into his father’s heart before a personal + appeal to it. + </p> + <p> + The more he revolved the ungracious manner in which Mrs. Cameron had + received his confidence, the less importance he attached to it. An + exaggerated sense of disparities of fortune in a person who appeared to + him to have the pride so common to those who have known better days, + coupled with a nervous apprehension lest his family should ascribe to her + any attempt to ensnare a very young man of considerable worldly + pretensions into a marriage with a penniless niece, seemed to account for + much that had at first perplexed and angered him. And if, as he + conjectured, Mrs. Cameron had once held a much higher position in the + world than she did now,—a conjecture warranted by a certain peculiar + conventional undeniable elegance which characterized her habitual manner,—and + was now, as she implied, actually a dependant on the bounty of a painter + who had only just acquired some professional distinction, she might well + shrink from the mortification of becoming an object of compassion to her + richer neighbours; nor, when he came to think of it, had he any more right + than those neighbours to any confidence as to her own or Lily’s parentage, + so long as he was not formally entitled to claim admission into her + privity. + </p> + <p> + London seemed to him intolerably dull and wearisome. He called nowhere + except at Lady Glenalvon’s; he was glad to hear from the servants that she + was still at Exmundham. He relied much on the influence of the queen of + the fashion with his mother, whom he knew would be more difficult to + persuade than Sir Peter, nor did he doubt that he should win to his side + that sympathizing and warm-hearted queen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0100" id="link2HCH0100"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + IT is somewhere about three weeks since the party invited by Sir Peter and + Lady Chillingly assembled at Exmundham, and they are still there, though + people invited to a country house have seldom compassion enough for the + dulness of its owner to stay more than three days. Mr. Chillingly Mivers, + indeed, had not exceeded that orthodox limit. Quietly observant, during + his stay, of young Gordon’s manner towards Cecilia, and hers towards him, + he had satisfied himself that there was no cause to alarm Sir Peter, or + induce the worthy baronet to regret the invitation he had given to that + clever kinsman. For all the visitors remaining Exmundham had a charm. + </p> + <p> + To Lady Glenalvon, because in the hostess she met her most familiar friend + when both were young girls, and because it pleased her to note the + interest which Cecilia Travers took in the place so associated with + memories of the man to whom it was Lady Glenalvon’s hope to see her + united. To Chillingly Gordon, because no opportunity could be so + favourable for his own well-concealed designs on the hand and heart of the + heiress. To the heiress herself the charm needs no explanation. + </p> + <p> + To Leopold Travers the attractions of Exmundham were unquestionably less + fascinating. Still even he was well pleased to prolong his stay. His + active mind found amusement in wandering over an estate the acreage of + which would have warranted a much larger rental, and lecturing Sir Peter + on the old-fashioned system of husbandry which that good-natured easy + proprietor permitted his tenants to adopt, as well as on the number of + superfluous hands that were employed on the pleasure-grounds and in the + general management of the estate, such as carpenters, sawyers, woodmen, + bricklayers, and smiths. + </p> + <p> + When the Squire said, “You could do just as well with a third of those + costly dependants,” Sir Peter, unconsciously plagiarizing the answer of + the old French grand seigneur, replied, “Very likely. But the question is, + could the rest do just as well without me?” + </p> + <p> + Exmundham, indeed, was a very expensive place to keep up. The house, built + by some ambitious Chillingly three centuries ago, would have been large + for an owner of thrice the revenues; and though the flower-garden was + smaller than that at Braefieldville, there were paths and drives through + miles of young plantations and old woodlands that furnished lazy + occupation to an army of labourers. No wonder that, despite his nominal + ten thousand a year, Sir Peter was far from being a rich man. Exmundham + devoured at least half the rental. The active mind of Leopold Travers also + found ample occupation in the stores of his host’s extensive library. + </p> + <p> + Travers, never much of a reader, was by no means a despiser of learning, + and he soon took to historical and archaeological researches with the + ardour of a man who must always throw energy into any pursuit that + occasion presents as an escape from indolence. Indolent Leopold Travers + never could be. But, more than either of these resources of occupation, + the companionship of Chillingly Gordon excited his interest and quickened + the current of his thoughts. Always fond of renewing his own youth in the + society of the young, and of the sympathizing temperament which belongs to + cordial natures, he had, as we have seen, entered very heartily into the + ambition of George Belvoir, and reconciled himself very pliably to the + humours of Kenelm Chillingly. But the first of these two was a little too + commonplace, the second a little too eccentric, to enlist the complete + good-fellowship which, being alike very clever and very practical, Leopold + Travers established with that very clever and very practical + representative of the rising generation, Chillingly Gordon. Between them + there was this meeting-ground, political and worldly, a great contempt for + innocuous old-fashioned notions; added to which, in the mind of Leopold + Travers, was a contempt—which would have been complete, but that the + contempt admitted dread—of harmful new-fashioned notions which, + interpreted by his thoughts, threatened ruin to his country and downfall + to the follies of existent society, and which, interpreted by his + language, tamed itself into the man of the world’s phrase, “Going too far + for me.” Notions which, by the much more cultivated intellect and the + immeasurably more soaring ambition of Chillingly Gordon, might be viewed + and criticised thus: “Could I accept these doctrines? I don’t see my way + to being Prime Minister of a country in which religion and capital are + still powers to be consulted. And, putting aside religion and capital, I + don’t see how, if these doctrines passed into law, with a good coat on my + back I should not be a sufferer. Either I, as having a good coat, should + have it torn off my back as a capitalist, or, if I remonstrated in the + name of moral honesty, be put to death as a religionist.” + </p> + <p> + Therefore when Leopold Travers said, “Of course we must go on,” Chillingly + Gordon smiled and answered, “Certainly, go on.” And when Leopold Travers + added, “But we may go too far,” Chillingly Gordon shook his dead, and + replied, “How true that is! Certainly too far.” + </p> + <p> + Apart from the congeniality of political sentiment, there were other + points of friendly contact between the older and younger man. Each was an + exceedingly pleasant man of the world; and, though Leopold Travers could + not have plumbed certain deeps in Chillingly Gordon’s nature,—and in + every man’s nature there are deeps which his ablest observer cannot + fathom,—yet he was not wrong when he said to himself, “Gordon is a + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + Utterly would my readers misconceive that very clever young man, if they + held him to be a hypocrite like Blifil or Joseph Surface. Chillingly + Gordon, in every private sense of the word, was a gentleman. If he had + staked his whole fortune on a rubber at whist, and an undetected glance at + his adversary’s hand would have made the difference between loss and gain, + he would have turned away his head and said, “Hold up your cards.” + Neither, as I have had occasion to explain before, was he actuated by any + motive in common with the vulgar fortune-hunter in his secret resolve to + win the hand of the heiress. He recognized no inequality of worldly gifts + between them. He said to himself, “Whatever she may give me in money, I + shall amply repay in worldly position if I succeed, and succeed I + certainly shall. If I were as rich as Lord Westminster, and still cared + about being Prime Minister, I should select her as the most fitting woman + I have seen for a Prime Minister’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + It must be acknowledged that this sort of self-commune, if not that of a + very ardent lover, is very much that of a sensible man setting high value + on himself, bent on achieving the prizes of a public career, and desirous + of securing in his wife a woman who would adorn the station to which he + confidently aspired. In fact, no one so able as Chillingly Gordon would + ever have conceived the ambition of being Minister of England if in all + that in private life constitutes the English gentleman he could be fairly + subject to reproach. + </p> + <p> + He was but in public life what many a gentleman honest in private life has + been before him, an ambitious, resolute egotist, by no means without + personal affections, but holding them all subordinate to the objects of + personal ambition, and with no more of other principle than that of + expediency in reference to his own career than would cover a silver penny. + But expediency in itself he deemed the statesman’s only rational + principle. And to the consideration of expediency he brought a very + unprejudiced intellect, quite fitted to decide whether the public opinion + of a free and enlightened people was for turning St. Paul’s Cathedral into + an Agapemone or not. + </p> + <p> + During the summer weeks he had thus vouchsafed to the turfs and groves of + Exmundham, Leopold Travers was not the only person whose good opinion + Chillingly Gordon had ingratiated. He had won the warmest approbation from + Mrs. Campion. His conversation reminded her of that which she had enjoyed + in the house of her departed spouse. In talking with Cecilia she was fond + of contrasting him to Kenelm, not to the favour of the latter, whose + humours she utterly failed to understand, and whom she pertinaciously + described as “so affected.” “A most superior young man Mr. Gordon, so well + informed, so sensible,—above all, so natural.” Such was her judgment + upon the unavowed candidate to Cecilia’s hand; and Mrs. Campion required + no avowal to divine the candidature. Even Lady Glenalvon had begun to take + friendly interest in the fortunes of this promising young man. Most women + can sympathize with youthful ambition. He impressed her with a deep + conviction of his abilities, and still more with respect for their + concentration upon practical objects of power and renown. She too, like + Mrs. Campion, began to draw comparisons unfavourable to Kenelm between the + two cousins: the one seemed so slothfully determined to hide his candle + under a bushel, the other so honestly disposed to set his light before + men. She felt also annoyed and angry that Kenelm was thus absenting + himself from the paternal home at the very time of her first visit to it, + and when he had so felicitous an opportunity of seeing more of the girl in + whom he knew that Lady Glenalvon deemed he might win, if he would properly + woo, the wife that would best suit him. So that when one day Mrs. Campion, + walking through the gardens alone with Lady Glenalvon while from the + gardens into the park went Chillingly Gordon, arm-in-arm with Leopold + Travers, abruptly asked, “Don’t you think that Mr. Gordon is smitten with + Cecilia, though he, with his moderate fortune, does not dare to say so? + And don’t you think that any girl, if she were as rich as Cecilia will be, + would be more proud of such a husband as Chillingly Gordon than of some + silly earl?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Glenalvon answered curtly, but somewhat sorrowfully, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + After a pause she added, “There is a man with whom I did once think she + would have been happier than with any other. One man who ought to be + dearer to me than Mr. Gordon, for he saved the life of my son, and who, + though perhaps less clever than Mr. Gordon, still has a great deal of + talent within him, which might come forth and make him—what shall I + say?—a useful and distinguished member of society, if married to a + girl so sure of raising any man she marries as Cecilia Travers. But if I + am to renounce that hope, and look through the range of young men brought + under my notice, I don’t know one, putting aside consideration of rank and + fortune, I should prefer for a clever daughter who went heart and soul + with the ambition of a clever man. But, Mrs. Campion, I have not yet quite + renounced my hope; and, unless I do, I yet think there is one man to whom + I would rather give Cecilia, if she were my daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Therewith Lady Glenalvon so decidedly broke off the subject of + conversation that Mrs. Campion could not have renewed it without such a + breach of the female etiquette of good breeding as Mrs. Campion was the + last person to adventure. + </p> + <p> + Lady Chillingly could not help being pleased with Gordon. He was light in + hand, served to amuse her guests, and made up a rubber of whist in case of + need. + </p> + <p> + There were two persons, however, with whom Gordon made no ground; namely, + Parson John and Sir Peter. When Travers praised him one day for the + solidity of his parts and the soundness of his judgment, the Parson + replied snappishly, “Yes, solid and sound as one of those tables you buy + at a broker’s; the thickness of the varnish hides the defects in the + joints: the whole framework is rickety.” But when the Parson was + indignantly urged to state the reason by which he arrived at so harsh a + conclusion, he could only reply by an assertion which seemed to his + questioner a declamatory burst of parsonic intolerance. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Parson John, “he has no love for man, and no reverence for + God. And no character is sound and solid which enlarges its surface at the + expense of its supports.” + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, the favour with which Sir Peter had at first regarded + Gordon gradually vanished, in proportion as, acting on the hint Mivers had + originally thrown out but did not deem it necessary to repeat, he watched + the pains which the young man took to insinuate himself into the good + graces of Mr. Travers and Mrs. Campion, and the artful and half-suppressed + gallantry of his manner to the heiress. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps Gordon had not ventured thus “to feel his way” till after Mivers + had departed; or perhaps Sir Peter’s parental anxiety rendered him, in + this instance, a shrewder observer than was the man of the world, whose + natural acuteness was, in matters of affection, not unfrequently rendered + languid by his acquired philosophy of indifferentism. + </p> + <p> + More and more every day, every hour, of her sojourn beneath his roof, did + Cecilia become dearer to Sir Peter, and stronger and stronger became his + wish to secure her for his daughter-in-law. He was inexpressibly flattered + by her preference for his company: ever at hand to share his customary + walks, his kindly visits to the cottages of peasants or the homesteads of + petty tenants; wherein both were sure to hear many a simple anecdote of + Master Kenelm in his childhood, anecdotes of whim or good-nature, of + considerate pity or reckless courage. + </p> + <p> + Throughout all these varieties of thought or feeling in the social circle + around her, Lady Chillingly preserved the unmoved calm of her dignified + position. A very good woman certainly, and very ladylike. No one could + detect a flaw in her character, or a fold awry in her flounce. She was + only, like the gods of Epicurus, too good to trouble her serene existence + with the cares of us simple mortals. Not that she was without a placid + satisfaction in the tribute which the world laid upon her altars; nor was + she so supremely goddess-like as to soar above the household affections + which humanity entails on the dwellers and denizens of earth. She liked + her husband as much as most elderly wives like their elderly husbands. She + bestowed upon Kenelm a liking somewhat more warm, and mingled with + compassion. His eccentricities would have puzzled her, if she had allowed + herself to be puzzled: it troubled her less to pity them. She did not + share her husband’s desire for his union with Cecilia. She thought that + her son would have a higher place in the county if he married Lady Jane, + the Duke of Clanville’s daughter; and “that is what he ought to do,” said + Lady Chillingly to herself. She entertained none of the fear that had + induced Sir Peter to extract from Kenelm the promise not to pledge his + hand before he had received his father’s consent. That the son of Lady + Chillingly should make a <i>mesalliance</i>, however crotchety he might be + in other respects, was a thought that it would have so disturbed her to + admit that she did not admit it. + </p> + <p> + Such was the condition of things at Exmundham when the lengthy + communication of Kenelm reached Sir Peter’s hands. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0108" id="link2H_4_0108"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VIII. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0101" id="link2HCH0101"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + NEVER in his whole life had the mind of Sir Peter been so agitated as it + was during and after the perusal of Kenelm’s flighty composition. He had + received it at the breakfast-table, and, opening it eagerly, ran his eye + hastily over the contents, till he very soon arrived at sentences which + appalled him. Lady Chillingly, who was fortunately busied at the tea-urn, + did not observe the dismay on his countenance. It was visible only to + Cecilia and to Gordon. Neither guessed who that letter was from. + </p> + <p> + “No bad news, I hope,” said Cecilia, softly. + </p> + <p> + “Bad news,” echoed Sir Peter. “No, my dear, no; a letter on business. It + seems terribly long,” and he thrust the packet into his pocket, muttering, + “see to it by and by.” + </p> + <p> + “That slovenly farmer of yours, Mr. Nostock, has failed, I suppose,” said + Mr. Travers, looking up and observing a quiver on his host’s lip. “I told + you he would,—a fine farm too. Let me choose you another tenant.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter shook his head with a wan smile. + </p> + <p> + “Nostock will not fail. There have been six generations of Nostocks on the + farm.” + </p> + <p> + “So I should guess,” said Travers, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “And—and,” faltered Sir Peter, “if the last of the race fails, he + must lean upon me, and—if one of the two break down—it shall + not be—” + </p> + <p> + “Shall not be that cross-cropping blockhead, my dear Sir Peter. This is + carrying benevolence too far.” + </p> + <p> + Here the tact and <i>savoir vivre</i> of Chillingly Gordon came to the + rescue of the host. Possessing himself of the “Times” newspaper, he + uttered an exclamation of surprise, genuine or simulated, and read aloud + an extract from the leading article, announcing an impending change in the + Cabinet. + </p> + <p> + As soon as he could quit the breakfast-table, Sir Peter hurried into his + library and there gave himself up to the study of Kenelm’s unwelcome + communication. The task took him long, for he stopped at intervals, + overcome by the struggle of his heart, now melted into sympathy with the + passionate eloquence of a son hitherto so free from amorous romance, and + now sorrowing for the ruin of his own cherished hopes. This uneducated + country girl would never be such a helpmate to a man like Kenelm as would + have been Cecilia Travers. At length, having finished the letter, he + buried his head between his clasped hands, and tried hard to realize the + situation that placed the father and son into such direct antagonism. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he murmured, “after all it is the boy’s happiness that must be + consulted. If he will not be happy in my way, what right have I to say + that he shall not be happy in his?” + </p> + <p> + Just then Cecilia came softly into the room. She had acquired the + privilege of entering his library at will; sometimes to choose a book of + his recommendation, sometimes to direct and seal his letters,—Sir + Peter was grateful to any one who saved him an extra trouble,—and + sometimes, especially at this hour, to decoy him forth into his wonted + constitutional walk. + </p> + <p> + He lifted his face at the sound of her approaching tread and her winning + voice, and the face was so sad that the tears rushed to her eyes on seeing + it. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and said pleadingly, “Dear Sir + Peter, what is it,—what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—ah, my dear,” said Sir Peter, gathering up the scattered sheets + of Kenelm’s effusion with hurried, trembling hands. “Don’t ask,—don’t + talk of it; ‘tis but one of the disappointments that all of us must + undergo, when we invest our hopes in the uncertain will of others.” + </p> + <p> + Then, observing that the tears were trickling down the girl’s fair, pale + cheeks, he took her hand in both his, kissed her forehead, and said, + whisperingly, “Pretty one, how good you have been to me! Heaven bless you. + What a wife you will be to some man!” + </p> + <p> + Thus saying, he shambled out of the room through the open casement. She + followed him impulsively, wonderingly; but before she reached his side he + turned round, waved his hand with a gently repelling gesture, and went his + way alone through dense fir-groves which had been planted in honour of + Kenelm’s birth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0102" id="link2HCH0102"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM arrived at Exmundham just in time to dress for dinner. His arrival + was not unexpected, for the morning after his father had received his + communication, Sir Peter had said to Lady Chillingly—“that he had + heard from Kenelm to the effect that he might be down any day.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite time he should come,” said Lady Chillingly. “Have you his letter + about you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear Caroline. Of course he sends you his kindest love, poor + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Why poor fellow? Has he been ill?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but there seems to be something on his mind. If so we must do what we + can to relieve it. He is the best of sons, Caroline.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I have nothing to say against him, except,” added her Ladyship, + reflectively, “that I do wish he were a little more like other young men.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum—like Chillingly Gordon, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes; Mr. Gordon is a remarkably well-bred, sensible young man. How + different from that disagreeable, bearish father of his, who went to law + with you!” + </p> + <p> + “Very different indeed, but with just as much of the Chillingly blood in + him. How the Chillinglys ever gave birth to a Kenelm is a question much + more puzzling.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear Sir Peter, don’t be metaphysical. You know how I hate + puzzles.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet, Caroline, I have to thank you for a puzzle which I can never + interpret by my brain. There are a great many puzzles in human nature + which can only be interpreted by the heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true,” said Lady Chillingly. “I suppose Kenelm is to have his old + room, just opposite to Mr. Gordon’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay—ay, just opposite. Opposite they will be all their lives. Only + think, Caroline, I have made a discovery!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! I hope not. Your discoveries are generally very expensive, and + bring us in contact with such very odd people.” + </p> + <p> + “This discovery shall not cost us a penny, and I don’t know any people so + odd as not to comprehend it. Briefly it is this: To genius the first + requisite is heart; it is no requisite at all to talent. My dear Caroline, + Gordon has as much talent as any young man I know, but he wants the first + requisite of genius. I am not by any means sure that Kenelm has genius, + but there is no doubt that he has the first requisite of genius,—heart. + Heart is a very perplexing, wayward, irrational thing; and that perhaps + accounts for the general incapacity to comprehend genius, while any fool + can comprehend talent. My dear Caroline, you know that it is very seldom, + not more than once in three years, that I presume to have a will of my own + against a will of yours; but should there come a question in which our + son’s heart is concerned, then (speaking between ourselves) my will must + govern yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Peter is growing more odd every day,” said Lady Chillingly to herself + when left alone. “But he does not mean ill, and there are worse husbands + in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Therewith she rang for her maid, gave requisite orders for the preparing + of Kenelm’s room, which had not been slept in for many months, and then + consulted that functionary as to the adaptation of some dress of hers, too + costly to be laid aside, to the style of some dress less costly which Lady + Glenalvon had imported from Paris as <i>la derniere mode</i>. + </p> + <p> + On the very day on which Kenelm arrived at Exmundham, Chillingly Gordon + had received this letter from Mr. Gerald Danvers. + </p> + <p> + DEAR GORDON,—In the ministerial changes announced as rumour in the + public papers, and which you may accept as certain, that sweet little + cherub—is to be sent to sit up aloft and pray there for the life of + poor Jack; namely, of the government he leaves below. In accepting the + peerage, which I persuaded him to do,—creates a vacancy for the + borough of ——-, just the place for you, far better in every + way than Saxborough. ——- promises to recommend you to his + committee. Come to town at once. Yours, etc. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + G. DANVERS. +</pre> + <p> + Gordon showed this letter to Mr. Travers, and, on receiving the hearty + good-wishes of that gentleman, said, with emotion partly genuine, partly + assumed, “You cannot guess all that the realization of your good-wishes + would be. Once in the House of Commons, and my motives for action are so + strong that—do not think me very conceited if I count upon + Parliamentary success.” + </p> + <p> + “My clear Gordon, I am as certain of your success as I am of my own + existence.” + </p> + <p> + “Should I succeed,—should the great prizes of public life be within + my reach,—should I lift myself into a position that would warrant my + presumption, do you think I could come to you and say, ‘There is an object + of ambition dearer to me than power and office,—the hope of + attaining which was the strongest of all my motives of action? And in that + hope shall I also have the good-wishes of the father of Cecilia Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, give me your hand; you speak manfully and candidly as a + gentleman should speak. I answer in the same spirit. I don’t pretend to + say that I have not entertained views for Cecilia which included + hereditary rank and established fortune in a suitor to her hand, though I + never should have made them imperative conditions. I am neither potentate + nor <i>parvenu</i> enough for that; and I can never forget” (here every + muscle in the man’s face twitched) “that I myself married for love, and + was so happy. How happy Heaven only knows! Still, if you had thus spoken a + few weeks ago, I should not have replied very favourably to your question. + But now that I have seen so much of you, my answer is this: If you lose + your election,—if you don’t come into Parliament at all, you have my + good-wishes all the same. If you win my daughter’s heart, there is no man + on whom I would more willingly bestow her hand. There she is, by herself + too, in the garden. Go and talk to her.” + </p> + <p> + Gordon hesitated. He knew too well that he had not won her heart, though + he had no suspicion that it was given to another. And he was much too + clever not to know also how much he hazards who, in affairs of courtship, + is premature. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, “I cannot express my gratitude for words so generous, + encouragement so cheering. But I have never yet dared to utter to Miss + Travers a word that would prepare her even to harbour a thought of me as a + suitor. And I scarcely think I should have the courage to go through this + election with the grief of her rejection on my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, go in and win the election first; meanwhile, at all events, take + leave of Cecilia.” + </p> + <p> + Gordon left his friend, and joined Miss Travers, resolved not indeed to + risk a formal declaration, but to sound his way to his chances of + acceptance. + </p> + <p> + The interview was very brief. He did sound his way skilfully, and felt it + very unsafe for his footsteps. The advantage of having gained the approval + of the father was too great to be lost altogether, by one of those decided + answers on the part of the daughter which allow of no appeal, especially + to a poor gentleman who wooes an heiress. + </p> + <p> + He returned to Travers, and said simply, “I bear with me her good-wishes + as well as yours. That is all. I leave myself in your kind hands.” + </p> + <p> + Then he hurried away to take leave of his host and hostess, say a few + significant words to the ally he had already gained in Mrs. Campion, and + within an hour was on his road to London, passing on his way the train + that bore Kenelm to Exmundham. Gordon was in high spirits. At least he + felt as certain of winning Cecilia as he did of winning his election. + </p> + <p> + “I have never yet failed in what I desired,” said he to himself, “because + I have ever taken pains not to fail.” + </p> + <p> + The cause of Gordon’s sudden departure created a great excitement in that + quiet circle, shared by all except Cecilia and Sir Peter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0103" id="link2HCH0103"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM did not see either father or mother till he appeared at dinner. + Then he was seated next to Cecilia. There was but little conversation + between the two; in fact, the prevalent subject of talk was general and + engrossing, the interest in Chillingly Gordon’s election; predictions of + his success, of what he would do in Parliament. “Where,” said Lady + Glenalvon, “there is such a dearth of rising young men, that if he were + only half as clever as he is he would be a gain.” + </p> + <p> + “A gain to what?” asked Sir Peter, testily. “To his country? about which I + don’t believe he cares a brass button.” + </p> + <p> + To this assertion Leopold Travers replied warmly, and was not less warmly + backed by Mrs. Campion. + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” said Lady Glenalvon, in conciliatory accents, “I think + every able man in Parliament is a gain to the country; and he may not + serve his country less effectively because he does not boast of his love + for it. The politicians I dread most are those so rampant in France + nowadays, the bawling patriots. When Sir Robert Walpole said, ‘All those + men have their price,’ he pointed to the men who called themselves + ‘patriots.’” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” cried Travers. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Robert Walpole showed his love for his country by corrupting it. + There are many ways besides bribing for corrupting a country,” said + Kenelm, mildly, and that was Kenelm’s sole contribution to the general + conversation. + </p> + <p> + It was not till the rest of the party had retired to rest that the + conference, longed for by Kenelm, dreaded by Sir Peter, took place in the + library. It lasted deep into the night; both parted with lightened hearts + and a fonder affection for each other. Kenelm had drawn so charming a + picture of the Fairy, and so thoroughly convinced Sir Peter that his own + feelings towards her were those of no passing youthful fancy, but of that + love which has its roots in the innermost heart, that though it was still + with a sigh, a deep sigh, that he dismissed the thought of Cecilia, Sir + Peter did dismiss it; and, taking comfort at last from the positive + assurance that Lily was of gentle birth, and the fact that her name of + Mordaunt was that of ancient and illustrious houses, said, with half a + smile, “It might have been worse, my dear boy. I began to be afraid that, + in spite of the teachings of Mivers and Welby, it was ‘The Miller’s + Daughter,’ after all. But we still have a difficult task to persuade your + poor mother. In covering your first flight from our roof I unluckily put + into her head the notion of Lady Jane, a duke’s daughter, and the notion + has never got out of it. That comes of fibbing.” + </p> + <p> + “I count on Lady Glenalvon’s influence on my mother in support of your + own,” said Kenelm. “If so accepted an oracle in the great world pronounce + in my favour, and promise to present my wife at Court and bring her into + fashion, I think that my mother will consent to allow us to reset the old + family diamonds for her next reappearance in London. And then, too, you + can tell her that I will stand for the county. I will go into Parliament, + and if I meet there our clever cousin, and find that he does not care a + brass button for the country, take my word for it, I will lick him more + easily than I licked Tom Bowles.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom Bowles! who is he?—ah! I remember some letter of yours in which + you spoke of a Bowles, whose favourite study was mankind, a moral + philosopher.” + </p> + <p> + “Moral philosophers,” answered Kenelm, “have so muddled their brains with + the alcohol of new ideas that their moral legs have become shaky, and the + humane would rather help them to bed than give them a licking. My Tom + Bowles is a muscular Christian, who became no less muscular, but much more + Christian, after he was licked.” + </p> + <p> + And in this pleasant manner these two oddities settled their conference, + and went up to bed with arms wrapped round each other’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0104" id="link2HCH0104"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM found it a much harder matter to win Lady Glenalvon to his side + than he had anticipated. With the strong interest she had taken in + Kenelm’s future, she could not but revolt from the idea of his union with + an obscure portionless girl whom he had only known a few weeks, and of + whose very parentage he seemed to know nothing, save an assurance that she + was his equal in birth. And, with the desire, which she had cherished + almost as fondly as Sir Peter, that Kenelm might win a bride in every way + so worthy of his choice as Cecilia Travers, she felt not less indignant + than regretful at the overthrow of her plans. + </p> + <p> + At first, indeed, she was so provoked that she would not listen to his + pleadings. She broke away from him with a rudeness she had never exhibited + to any one before, refused to grant him another interview in order to + re-discuss the matter, and said that, so far from using her influence in + favour of his romantic folly, she would remonstrate well with Lady + Chillingly and Sir Peter against yielding their assent to his “thus + throwing himself away.” + </p> + <p> + It was not till the third day after his arrival that, touched by the grave + but haughty mournfulness of his countenance, she yielded to the arguments + of Sir Peter in the course of a private conversation with that worthy + baronet. Still it was reluctantly (she did not fulfil her threat of + remonstrance with Lady Chillingly) that she conceded the point, that a son + who, succeeding to the absolute fee-simple of an estate, had volunteered + the resettlement of it on terms singularly generous to both his parents, + was entitled to some sacrifice of their inclinations on a question in + which he deemed his happiness vitally concerned; and that he was of age to + choose for himself independently of their consent, but for a previous + promise extracted from him by his father, a promise which, rigidly + construed, was not extended to Lady Chillingly, but confined to Sir Peter + as the head of the family and master of the household. The father’s + consent was already given, and, if in his reverence for both parents + Kenelm could not dispense with his mother’s approval, surely it was the + part of a true friend to remove every scruple from his conscience, and + smooth away every obstacle to a love not to be condemned because it was + disinterested. + </p> + <p> + After this conversation, Lady Glenalvon sought Kenelm, found him gloomily + musing on the banks of the trout-stream, took his arm, led him into the + sombre glades of the fir-grove, and listened patiently to all he had to + say. Even then her woman’s heart was not won to his reasonings, until he + said pathetically, “You thanked me once for saving your son’s life: you + said then that you could never repay me; you can repay me tenfold. Could + your son, who is now, we trust, in heaven, look down and judge between us, + do you think he would approve you if you refuse?” + </p> + <p> + Then Lady Glenalvon wept, and took his hand, kissed his forehead as a + mother might kiss it, and said, “You triumph; I will go to Lady Chillingly + at once. Marry her whom you so love, on one condition: marry her from my + house.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Glenalvon was not one of those women who serve a friend by halves. + She knew well how to propitiate and reason down the apathetic temperament + of Lady Chillingly; she did not cease till that lady herself came into + Kenelm’s room, and said very quietly,— + </p> + <p> + “So you are going to propose to Miss Mordaunt, the Warwickshire Mordaunts + I suppose? Lady Glenalvon says she is a very lovely girl, and will stay + with her before the wedding. And as the young lady is an orphan Lady + Glenalvon’s uncle the Duke, who is connected with the eldest branch of the + Mordaunts, will give her away. It will be a very brilliant affair. I am + sure I wish you happy; it is time you should have sown your wild oats.” + </p> + <p> + Two days after the consent thus formally given, Kenelm quitted Exmundham. + Sir Peter would have accompanied him to pay his respects to the intended, + but the agitation he had gone through brought on a sharp twinge of the + gout, which consigned his feet to flannels. + </p> + <p> + After Kenelm had gone, Lady Glenalvon went into Cecilia’s room. Cecilia + was seated very desolately by the open window. She had detected that + something of an anxious and painful nature had been weighing upon the + minds of father and son, and had connected it with the letter which had so + disturbed the even mind of Sir Peter; but she did not divine what the + something was, and if mortified by a certain reserve, more distant than + heretofore, which had characterized Kenelm’s manner towards herself, the + mortification was less sensibly felt than a tender sympathy for the + sadness she had observed on his face and yearned to soothe. His reserve + had, however, made her own manner more reserved than of old, for which she + was now rather chiding herself than reproaching him. + </p> + <p> + Lady Glenalvon put her arms round Cecilia’s neck and kissed her, + whispering, “That man has so disappointed me: he is so unworthy of the + happiness I had once hoped for him!” + </p> + <p> + “Whom do you speak of?” murmured Cecilia, turning very pale. + </p> + <p> + “Kenelm Chillingly. It seems that he has conceived a fancy for some + penniless girl whom he has met in his wanderings, has come here to get the + consent of his parents to propose to her, has obtained their consent, and + is gone to propose.” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia remained silent for a moment with her eyes closed, then she said, + “He is worthy of all happiness, and he would never make an unworthy + choice. Heaven bless him—and—and—” She would have added, + “his bride,” but her lips refused to utter the word bride. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Gordon is worth ten of him,” cried Lady Glenalvon, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + She had served Kenelm, but she had not forgiven him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0105" id="link2HCH0105"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + KENELM slept in London that night, and, the next day, being singularly + fine for an English summer, he resolved to go to Moleswich on foot. He had + no need this time to encumber himself with a knapsack; he had left + sufficient change of dress in his lodgings at Cromwell Lodge. + </p> + <p> + It was towards the evening when he found himself in one of the prettiest + rural villages by which + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Wanders the hoary Thames along + His silver-winding way.” + </pre> + <p> + It was not in the direct road from London to Moleswich, but it was a + pleasanter way for a pedestrian. And when, quitting the long street of the + sultry village, he came to the shelving margin of the river, he was glad + to rest a while, enjoy the cool of the rippling waters, and listen to + their placid murmurs amid the rushes in the bordering shallows. He had + ample time before him. His rambles while at Cromwell Lodge had made him + familiar with the district for miles round Moleswich, and he knew that a + footpath through the fields at the right would lead him, in less than an + hour, to the side of the tributary brook on which Cromwell Lodge was + placed, opposite the wooden bridge which conducted to Grasmere and + Moleswich. + </p> + <p> + To one who loves the romance of history, English history, the whole course + of the Thames is full of charm. Ah! could I go back to the days in which + younger generations than that of Kenelm Chillingly were unborn, when every + wave of the Rhine spoke of history and romance to me, what fairies should + meet on thy banks, O thou our own Father Thames! Perhaps some day a German + pilgrim may repay tenfold to thee the tribute rendered by the English + kinsman to the Father Rhine. + </p> + <p> + Listening to the whispers of the reeds, Kenelm Chillingly felt the + haunting influence of the legendary stream. Many a poetic incident or + tradition in antique chronicle, many a votive rhyme in song, dear to + forefathers whose very names have become a poetry to us, thronged dimly + and confusedly back to his memory, which had little cared to retain such + graceful trinkets in the treasure-house of love. But everything that, from + childhood upward, connects itself with romance, revives with yet fresher + bloom in the memories of him who loves. + </p> + <p> + And to this man, through the first perilous season of youth, so abnormally + safe from youth’s most wonted peril,—to this would-be pupil of + realism, this learned adept in the schools of a Welby or a Mivers,—to + this man, love came at last as with the fatal powers of the fabled + Cytherea; and with that love all the realisms of life became ideals, all + the stern lines of our commonplace destinies undulated into curves of + beauty, all the trite sounds of our every-day life attuned into delicacies + of song. How full of sanguine yet dreamy bliss was his heart—and + seemed his future—in the gentle breeze and the softened glow of that + summer eve! He should see Lily the next morn, and his lips were now free + to say all that they had as yet suppressed. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he was roused from the half-awake, half-asleep happiness that + belongs to the moments in which we transport ourselves into Elysium, by + the carol of a voice more loudly joyous than that of his own heart— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Singing, singing, + Lustily singing, + Down the road, with his dogs before, + Came the Ritter of Nierestein.” + </pre> + <p> + Kenelm turned his head so quickly that he frightened Max, who had for the + last minute been standing behind him inquisitively with one paw raised, + and sniffing, in some doubt whether he recognized an old acquaintance; but + at Kenelm’s quick movement the animal broke into a nervous bark, and ran + back to his master. + </p> + <p> + The minstrel, little heeding the figure reclined on the bank, would have + passed on with his light tread and his cheery carol, but Kenelm rose to + his feet, and holding out his hand, said, “I hope you don’t share Max’s + alarm at meeting me again?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my young philosopher, is it indeed you?” + </p> + <p> + “If I am to be designated a philosopher it is certainly not I. And, + honestly speaking, I am not the same. I, who spent that pleasant day with + you among the fields round Luscombe two years ago—” + </p> + <p> + “Or who advised me at Tor Hadham to string my lyre to the praise of a + beefsteak. I, too, am not quite the same,—I, whose dog presented you + with the begging-tray.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you still go through the world singing.” + </p> + <p> + “Even that vagrant singing time is pretty well over. But I disturbed you + from your repose; I would rather share it. You are probably not going my + way, and as I am in no hurry, I should not like to lose the opportunity + chance has so happily given me of renewing acquaintance with one who has + often been present to my thoughts since we last met.” Thus saying, the + minstrel stretched himself at ease on the bank, and Kenelm followed his + example. + </p> + <p> + There certainly was a change in the owner of the dog with the + begging-tray, a change in costume, in countenance, in that indescribable + self-evidence which we call “manner.” The costume was not that Bohemian + attire in which Kenelm had first encountered the wandering minstrel, nor + the studied, more graceful garb, which so well became his shapely form + during his visit to Luscombe. It was now neatly simple, the cool and quiet + summer dress any English gentleman might adopt in a long rural walk. And + as he uncovered his head to court the cooling breeze, there was a graver + dignity in the man’s handsome Rubens-like face, a line of more + concentrated thought in the spacious forehead, a thread or two of gray + shimmering here and there through the thick auburn curls of hair and + beard. And in his manner, though still very frank, there was just + perceptible a sort of self-assertion, not offensive, but manly; such as + does not misbecome one of maturer years, and of some established position, + addressing another man much younger than himself, who in all probability + has achieved no position at all beyond that which the accident of birth + might assign to him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the minstrel, with a half-suppressed sigh, “the last year of + my vagrant holidays has come to its close. I recollect that the first day + we met by the road-side fountain, I advised you to do like me, seek + amusement and adventure as a foot-traveller. Now, seeing you, evidently a + gentleman by education and birth, still a foot-traveller, I feel as if I + ought to say, ‘You have had enough of such experience: vagabond life has + its perils as well as charms; cease it, and settle down.’” + </p> + <p> + “I think of doing so,” replied Kenelm, laconically. + </p> + <p> + “In a profession?—army, law, medicine?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, in marriage then. Right; give me your hand on that. So a petticoat + indeed has at last found its charm for you in the actual world as well as + on the canvas of a picture?” + </p> + <p> + “I conclude,” said Kenelm, evading any direct notice of that playful + taunt, “I conclude from your remark that it is in marriage <i>you</i> are + about to settle down.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, could I have done so before I should have been saved from many + errors, and been many years nearer to the goal which dazzled my sight + through the haze of my boyish dreams.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that goal,—the grave?” + </p> + <p> + “The grave! That which allows of no grave,—fame.” + </p> + <p> + “I see—despite of what you just now said—you still mean to go + through the world seeking a poet’s fame.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! I resign that fancy,” said the minstrel, with another half-sigh. + “It was not indeed wholly, but in great part the hope of the poet’s fame + that made me a truant in the way to that which destiny, and such few gifts + as Nature conceded to me, marked out for my proper and only goal. But what + a strange, delusive Will-o’-the-Wisp the love of verse-making is! How + rarely a man of good sense deceives himself as to other things for which + he is fitted, in which he can succeed; but let him once drink into his + being the charm of verse-making, how the glamour of the charm bewitches + his understanding! how long it is before he can believe that the world + will not take his word for it, when he cries out to sun, moon, and stars, + ‘I, too, am a poet.’ And with what agonies, as if at the wrench of soul + from life, he resigns himself at last to the conviction that whether he or + the world be right, it comes to the same thing. Who can plead his cause + before a court that will not give him a hearing?” + </p> + <p> + It was with an emotion so passionately strong, and so intensely painful, + that the owner of the dog with the begging-tray thus spoke, that Kenelm + felt, through sympathy, as if he himself were torn asunder by the wrench + of life from soul. But then Kenelm was a mortal so eccentric that, if a + single acute suffering endured by a fellow mortal could be brought before + the evidence of his senses, I doubt whether he would not have suffered as + much as that fellow-mortal. So that, though if there were a thing in the + world which Kenelm Chillingly would care not to do, it was verse-making, + his mind involuntarily hastened to the arguments by which he could best + mitigate the pang of the verse-maker. + </p> + <p> + Quoth he: “According to my very scanty reading, you share the love of + verse-making with men the most illustrious in careers which have achieved + the goal of fame. It must, then, be a very noble love: Augustus, Pollio, + Varius, Maecenas,—the greatest statesmen of their day,—they + were verse-makers. Cardinal Richelieu was a verse-maker; Walter Raleigh + and Philip Sidney, Fox, Burke, Sheridan, Warren Hastings, Canning, even + the grave William Pitt,—all were verse-makers. Verse-making did not + retard—no doubt the qualities essential to verse-making accelerated—their + race to the goal of fame. What great painters have been verse-makers! + Michael Angelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Salvator Rosa”—and Heaven knows + how may other great names Kenelm Chillingly might have proceeded to add to + his list, if the minstrel had not here interposed. + </p> + <p> + “What! all those mighty painters were verse-makers?” + </p> + <p> + “Verse-makers so good, especially Michael Angelo,—the greatest + painter of all,—that they would have had the fame of poets, if, + unfortunately for that goal of fame, their glory in the sister art of + painting did not outshine it. But when you give to your gift of song the + modest title of verse-making, permit me to observe that your gift is + perfectly distinct from that of the verse-maker. Your gift, whatever it + may be, could not exist without some sympathy with the non verse-making + human heart. No doubt in your foot travels, you have acquired not only + observant intimacy with external Nature in the shifting hues at each hour + of a distant mountain, in the lengthening shadows which yon sunset casts + on the waters at our feet, in the habits of the thrush dropped fearlessly + close beside me, in that turf moistened by its neighbourhood to those + dripping rushes, all of which I could describe no less accurately than + you,—as a Peter Bell might describe them no less accurately than a + William Wordsworth. But in such songs of yours as you have permitted me to + hear, you seem to have escaped out of that elementary accidence of the + poet’s art, and to touch, no matter how slightly, on the only lasting + interest which the universal heart of man can have in the song of the + poet; namely, in the sound which the poet’s individual sympathy draws + forth from the latent chords in that universal heart. As for what you call + ‘the world,’ what is it more than the fashion of the present day? How far + the judgment of that is worth a poet’s pain I can’t pretend to say. But of + one thing I am sure, that while I could as easily square the circle as + compose a simple couplet addressed to the heart of a simple audience with + sufficient felicity to decoy their praises into Max’s begging-tray, I + could spin out by the yard the sort of verse-making which characterizes + the fashion of the present day.” + </p> + <p> + Much flattered, and not a little amused, the wandering minstrel turned his + bright countenance, no longer dimmed by a cloud, towards that of his + lazily reclined consoler, and answered gayly,— + </p> + <p> + “You say that you could spin out by the yard verses in the fashion of the + present day. I wish you would give me a specimen of your skill in that + handiwork.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; on one condition, that you will repay my trouble by a specimen + of your own verses, not in the fashion of the present day,—something + which I can construe. I defy you to construe mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, let us take it for granted that this is the Augustan age of + English poetry, and that the English language is dead, like the Latin. + Suppose I am writing for a prize-medal in English, as I wrote at college + for a prize-medal in Latin: of course, I shall be successful in proportion + as I introduce the verbal elegances peculiar to our Augustan age, and also + catch the prevailing poetic characteristic of that classical epoch. + </p> + <p> + “Now I think that every observant critic will admit that the striking + distinctions of the poetry most in the fashion of the present day, namely, + of the Augustan age, are,—first, a selection of such verbal + elegances as would have been most repulsive to the barbaric taste of the + preceding century; and, secondly, a very lofty disdain of all prosaic + condescensions to common-sense, and an elaborate cultivation of that + element of the sublime which Mr. Burke defines under the head of + obscurity. + </p> + <p> + “These premises conceded, I will only ask you to choose the metre. Blank + verse is very much in fashion just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! blank verse indeed! I am not going so to free your experiment from + the difficulties of rhyme.” + </p> + <p> + “It is all one to me,” said Kenelm, yawning; “rhyme be it: heroic or + lyrical?” + </p> + <p> + “Heroics are old-fashioned; but the Chaucer couplet, as brought to + perfection by our modern poets, I think the best adapted to dainty leaves + and uncrackable nuts. I accept the modern Chaucerian. The subject?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never trouble yourself about that. By whatever title your Augustan + verse-maker labels his poem, his genius, like Pindar’s, disdains to be + cramped by the subject. Listen, and don’t suffer Max to howl, if he can + help it. Here goes.” + </p> + <p> + And in an affected but emphatic sing-song Kenelm began:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In Attica the gentle Pythias dwelt. + Youthful he was, and passing rich: he felt + As if nor youth nor riches could suffice + For bliss. Dark-eyed Sophronia was a nice + Girl: and one summer day, when Neptune drove + His sea-car slowly, and the olive grove + That skirts Ilissus, to thy shell, Harmonia, + Rippled, he said ‘I love thee’ to Sophronia. + Crocus and iris, when they heard him, wagged + Their pretty heads in glee: the honey-bagged + Bees became altars: and the forest dove + Her plumage smoothed. Such is the charm of love. + Of this sweet story do ye long for more? + Wait till I publish it in volumes four; + Which certain critics, my good friends, will cry + Up beyond Chaucer. Take their word for ‘t. I + Say ‘Trust them, but not read,—or you’ll not buy.’” + </pre> + <p> + “You have certainly kept your word,” said the minstrel, laughing; “and if + this be the Augustan age, and the English were a dead language, you + deserve to win the prize-medal.” + </p> + <p> + “You flatter me,” said Kenelm, modestly. “But if I, who never before + strung two rhymes together, can improvise so readily in the style of the + present day, why should not a practical rhymester like yourself dash off + at a sitting a volume or so in the same style; disguising completely the + verbal elegances borrowed, adding to the delicacies of the rhyme by the + frequent introduction of a line that will not scan, and towering yet more + into the sublime by becoming yet more unintelligible? Do that, and I + promise you the most glowing panegyric in ‘The Londoner,’ for I will write + it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “‘The Londoner’!” exclaimed the minstrel, with an angry flush on his cheek + and brow, “my bitter, relentless enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear, then, you have as little studied the critical press of the + Augustan age as you have imbued your muse with the classical spirit of its + verse. For the art of writing a man must cultivate himself. The art of + being reviewed consists in cultivating the acquaintance of reviewers. In + the Augustan age criticism is cliquism. Belong to a clique and you are + Horace or Tibullus. Belong to no clique and, of course, you are Bavius or + Maevius. ‘The Londoner’ is the enemy of no man: it holds all men in equal + contempt. But as, in order to amuse, it must abuse, it compensates the + praise it is compelled to bestow upon the members of its clique by heaping + additional scorn upon all who are cliqueless. Hit him hard: he has no + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the minstrel, “I believe that there is much truth in what you + say. I never had a friend among the cliques. And Heaven knows with what + pertinacity those from whom I, in utter ignorance of the rules which + govern so-called organs of opinion, had hoped, in my time of struggle, for + a little sympathy, a kindly encouragement, have combined to crush me down. + They succeeded long. But at last I venture to hope that I am beating them. + Happily, Nature endowed me with a sanguine, joyous, elastic temperament. + He who never despairs seldom completely fails.” + </p> + <p> + This speech rather perplexed Kenelm, for had not the minstrel declared + that his singing days were over, that he had decided on the renunciation + of verse-making? What other path to fame, from which the critics had not + been able to exclude his steps, was he, then, now pursuing,—he whom + Kenelm had assumed to belong to some commercial moneymaking firm? No doubt + some less difficult prose-track, probably a novel. Everybody writes novels + nowadays, and as the public will read novels without being told to do so, + and will not read poetry unless they are told that they ought, possibly + novels are not quite so much at the mercy of cliques as are the poems of + our Augustan age. + </p> + <p> + However, Kenelm did not think of seeking for further confidence on that + score. His mind at that moment, not unnaturally, wandered from books and + critics to love and wedlock. + </p> + <p> + “Our talk,” said he, “has digressed into fretful courses; permit me to + return to the starting-point. You are going to settle down into the peace + of home. A peaceful home is like a good conscience. The rains without do + not pierce its roof, the winds without do not shake its walls. If not an + impertinent question, is it long since you have known your intended + bride?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very long.” + </p> + <p> + “And always loved her?” + </p> + <p> + “Always, from her infancy. Out of all womankind, she was designed to be my + life’s playmate and my soul’s purifier. I know not what might have become + of me, if the thought of her had not walked beside me as my guardian + angel. For, like many vagrants from the beaten high roads of the world, + there is in my nature something of that lawlessness which belongs to high + animal spirits, to the zest of adventure, and the warm blood that runs + into song, chiefly because song is the voice of a joy. And no doubt, when + I look back on the past years I must own that I have too often been led + astray from the objects set before my reason, and cherished at my heart, + by erring impulse or wanton fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Petticoat interest, I presume,” interposed Kenelm, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could honestly answer ‘No,’” said the minstrel, colouring high. + “But from the worst, from all that would have permanently blasted the + career to which I intrust my fortunes, all that would have rendered me + unworthy of the pure love that now, I trust, awaits and crowns my dreams + of happiness, I have been saved by the haunting smile in a sinless + infantine face. Only once was I in great peril,—that hour of peril I + recall with a shudder. It was at Luscombe.” + </p> + <p> + “At Luscombe!” + </p> + <p> + “In the temptation of a terrible crime I thought I heard a voice say, + ‘Mischief! Remember the little child.’ In that supervention which is so + readily accepted as a divine warning, when the imagination is morbidly + excited, and when the conscience, though lulled asleep for a moment, is + still asleep so lightly that the sigh of a breeze, the fall of a leaf, can + awake it with a start of terror, I took the voice for that of my guardian + angel. Thinking it over later, and coupling the voice with the moral of + those weird lines you repeated to me so appositely the next day, I + conclude that I am not mistaken when I say it was from your lips that the + voice which preserved me came.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess the impertinence: you pardon it?” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel seized Kenelm’s hand and pressed it earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon it! Oh, could you but guess what cause I have to be grateful, + everlastingly grateful! That sudden cry, the remorse and horror of my own + self that it struck into me,—deepened by those rugged lines which + the next day made me shrink in dismay from ‘the face of my darling sin’! + Then came the turning-point of my life. From that day, the lawless + vagabond within me was killed. I mean not, indeed, the love of Nature and + of song which had first allured the vagabond, but the hatred of steadfast + habits and of serious work,—<i>that</i> was killed. I no longer + trifled with my calling: I took to it as a serious duty. And when I saw + her, whom fate has reserved and reared for my bride, her face was no + longer in my eyes that of the playful child; the soul of the woman was + dawning into it. It is but two years since that day, to me so eventful. + Yet my fortunes are now secured. And if fame be not established, I am at + last in a position which warrants my saying to her I love, ‘The time has + come when, without fear for thy future, I can ask thee to be mine.’” + </p> + <p> + The man spoke with so fervent a passion that Kenelm silently left him to + recover his wonted self-possession,—not unwilling to be silent,—not + unwilling, in the softness of the hour, passing from roseate sunset into + starry twilight, to murmur to himself, “And the time, too, has come for + me!” + </p> + <p> + After a few moments the minstrel resumed lightly and cheerily,— + </p> + <p> + “Sir, your turn: pray have you long known—judging by our former + conversation you cannot have long loved—the lady whom you have wooed + and won?” + </p> + <p> + As Kenelm had neither as yet wooed nor won the lady in question, and did + not deem it necessary to enter into any details on the subject of love + particular to himself, he replied by a general observation,— + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that the coming of love is like the coming of spring: the + date is not to be reckoned by the calendar. It may be slow and gradual; it + may be quick and sudden. But in the morning, when we wake and recognize a + change in the world without, verdure on the trees, blossoms on the sward, + warmth in the sunshine, music in the air, then we say Spring has come!” + </p> + <p> + “I like your illustration. And if it be an idle question to ask a lover + how long he has known the beloved one, so it is almost as idle to ask if + she be not beautiful. He cannot but see in her face the beauty she has + given to the world without.” + </p> + <p> + “True; and that thought is poetic enough to make me remind you that I + favoured you with the maiden specimen of my verse-making on condition that + you repaid me by a specimen of your own practical skill in the art. And I + claim the right to suggest the theme. Let it be—” + </p> + <p> + “Of a beefsteak?” + </p> + <p> + “Tush, you have worn out that tasteless joke at my expense. The theme must + be of love, and if you could improvise a stanza or two expressive of the + idea you just uttered I shall listen with yet more pleased attention.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! I am no <i>improvisatore</i>. Yet I will avenge myself on your + former neglect of my craft by chanting to you a trifle somewhat in unison + with the thought you ask me to versify, but which you would not stay to + hear at Tor Hadham (though you did drop a shilling into Max’s tray); it + was one of the songs I sang that evening, and it was not ill-received by + my humble audience. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “THE BEAUTY OF THE MISTRESS IS IN THE LOVER’S EYE. + + “Is she not pretty, my Mabel May? + Nobody ever yet called her so. + Are not her lineaments faultless, say? + If I must answer you plainly, No. + + “Joy to believe that the maid I love + None but myself as she is can see; + Joy that she steals from her heaven above, + And is only revealed on this earth to me!” + </pre> + <p> + As soon as he had finished this very artless ditty, the minstrel rose and + said,— + </p> + <p> + “Now I must bid you good-by. My way lies through those meadows, and yours + no doubt along the high road.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so. Permit me to accompany you. I have a lodging not far from hence, + to which the path through the fields is the shortest way.” + </p> + <p> + The minstrel turned a somewhat surprised and somewhat inquisitive look + towards Kenelm. But feeling, perhaps, that having withheld from his + fellow-traveller all confidence as to his own name and attributes, he had + no right to ask any confidence from that gentleman not voluntarily made to + him, he courteously said “that he wished the way were longer, since it + would be so pleasantly halved,” and strode forth at a brisk pace. + </p> + <p> + The twilight was now closing into the brightness of a starry summer night, + and the solitude of the fields was unbroken. Both these men, walking side + by side, felt supremely happy. But happiness is like wine; its effect + differing with the differing temperaments on which it acts. In this case + garrulous and somewhat vaunting with the one man, warm-coloured, sensuous, + impressionable to the influences of external Nature, as an Aeolian harp to + the rise or fall of a passing wind; and, with the other man, taciturn and + somewhat modestly expressed, saturnine, meditative, not indeed dull to the + influences of external Nature, but deeming them of no value, save where + they passed out of the domain of the sensuous into that of the + intellectual, and the soul of man dictated to the soulless Nature its own + questions and its own replies. + </p> + <p> + The minstrel took the talk on himself, and the talk charmed his listener. + It became so really eloquent in the tones of its utterance, in the frank + play of its delivery, that I could no more adequately describe it than a + reporter, however faithful to every word a true orator may say, can + describe that which, apart from all words, belongs to the presence of the + orator himself. + </p> + <p> + Not, then, venturing to report the language of this singular itinerant, I + content myself with saying that the substance of it was of the nature on + which it is said most men can be eloquent: it was personal to himself. He + spoke of aspirations towards the achievement of a name, dating back to the + dawn of memory; of early obstacles in lowly birth, stinted fortunes; of a + sudden opening to his ambition while yet in boyhood, through the generous + favour of a rich man, who said, “The child has genius: I will give it the + discipline of culture; one day it shall repay to the world what it owes to + me;” of studies passionately begun, earnestly pursued, and mournfully + suspended in early youth. He did not say how or wherefore: he rushed on to + dwell upon the struggles for a livelihood for himself and those dependent + on him; how in such struggles he was compelled to divert toil and energy + from the systematic pursuit of the object he had once set before him; the + necessities for money were too urgent to be postponed to the visions of + fame. “But even,” he exclaimed, passionately, “even in such hasty and + crude manifestations of what is within me, as circumstances limited my + powers, I know that I ought to have found from those who profess to be + authoritative judges the encouragement of praise. How much better, then, I + should have done if I had found it! How a little praise warms out of a man + the good that is in him, and the sneer of a contempt which he feels to be + unjust chills the ardour to excel! However, I forced my way, so far as was + then most essential to me, the sufficing breadmaker for those I loved; and + in my holidays of song and ramble I found a delight that atoned for all + the rest. But still the desire of fame, once conceived in childhood, once + nourished through youth, never dies but in our grave. Foot and hoof may + tread it down, bud, leaf, stalk; its root is too deep below the surface + for them to reach, and year after year stalk and leaf and bud re-emerge. + Love may depart from our mortal life: we console ourselves; the beloved + will be reunited to us in the life to come. But if he who sets his heart + on fame loses it in this life, what can console him?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you not say a little while ago that fame allowed of no grave?” + </p> + <p> + “True; but if we do not achieve it before we ourselves are in the grave, + what comfort can it give to us? Love ascends to heaven, to which we hope + ourselves to ascend; but fame remains on the earth, which we shall never + again revisit. And it is because fame is earth-born that the desire for it + is the most lasting, the regret for the want of it the most bitter, to the + child of earth. But I shall achieve it now; it is already in my grasp.” + </p> + <p> + By this time the travellers had arrived at the brook, facing the wooden + bridge beside Cromwell Lodge. + </p> + <p> + Here the minstrel halted; and Kenelm with a certain tremble in his voice, + said, “Is it not time that we should make ourselves known to each other by + name? I have no longer any cause to conceal mine, indeed I never had any + cause stronger than whim,—Kenelm Chillingly, the only son of Sir + Peter, of Exmundham, ——-shire.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish your father joy of so clever a son,” said the minstrel with his + wonted urbanity. “You already know enough of me to be aware that I am of + much humbler birth and station than you; but if you chance to have visited + the exhibition of the Royal Academy this year—ah! I understand that + start—you might have recognized a picture of which you have seen the + rudimentary sketch, ‘The Girl with the Flower-ball,’ one of three pictures + very severely handled by ‘The Londoner,’ but, in spite of that potent + enemy, insuring fortune and promising fame to the wandering minstrel, + whose name, if the sight of the pictures had induced you to inquire into + that, you would have found to be Walter Melville. Next January I hope, + thanks to that picture, to add, ‘Associate of the Royal Academy.’ The + public will not let them keep me out of it, in spite of ‘The Londoner.’ + You are probably an expected guest at one of the more imposing villas from + which we see the distant lights. I am going to a very humble cottage, in + which henceforth I hope to find my established home. I am there now only + for a few days, but pray let me welcome you there before I leave. The + cottage is called Grasmere.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0106" id="link2HCH0106"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + THE minstrel gave a cordial parting shake of the hand to the + fellow-traveller whom he had advised to settle down, not noticing how very + cold had become the hand in his own genial grasp. Lightly he passed over + the wooden bridge, preceded by Max, and merrily, when he had gained the + other side of the bridge, came upon Kenelm’s ear, through the hush of the + luminous night, the verse of the uncompleted love-song,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Singing, singing, + Lustily singing, + Down the road, with his dogs before, + Came the Ritter of Nierestein.” + </pre> + <p> + Love-song, uncompleted; why uncompleted? It was not given to Kenelm to + divine the why. It was a love-song versifying one of the prettiest fairy + tales in the world, which was a great favourite with Lily, and which Lion + had promised Lily to versify, but only to complete it in her presence and + to her perfect satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0107" id="link2HCH0107"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + IF I could not venture to place upon paper the exact words of an eloquent + coveter of fame, the earth-born, still less can I dare to place upon paper + all that passed through the voiceless heart of a coveter of love, the + heaven-born. + </p> + <p> + From the hour in which Kenelm Chillingly had parted from Walter Melville + until somewhere between sunrise and noon the next day, the summer + joyousness of that external Nature which does now and then, though, for + the most part, deceitfully, address to the soul of man questions and + answers all her soulless own, laughed away the gloom of his misgivings. + </p> + <p> + No doubt this Walter Melville was the beloved guardian of Lily; no doubt + it was Lily whom he designated as reserved and reared to become his bride. + But on that question Lily herself had the sovereign voice. It remained yet + to be seen whether Kenelm had deceived himself in the belief that had made + the world so beautiful to him since the hour of their last parting. At all + events it was due to her, due even to his rival, to assert his own claim + to her choice. And the more he recalled all that Lily had ever said to him + of her guardian, so openly, so frankly, proclaiming affection, admiration, + gratitude, the more convincingly his reasonings allayed his fears, + whispering, “So might a child speak of a parent: not so does the maiden + speak of the man she loves; she can scarcely trust herself to praise.” + </p> + <p> + In fine, it was not in despondent mood, nor with dejected looks, that, a + little before noon, Kenelm crossed the bridge and re-entered the enchanted + land of Grasmere. In answer to his inquiries, the servant who opened the + door said that neither Mr. Melville nor Miss Mordaunt were at home; they + had but just gone out together for a walk. He was about to turn back, when + Mrs. Cameron came into the hall, and, rather by gesture than words, + invited him to enter. Kenelm followed her into the drawing-room, taking + his seat beside her. He was about to speak, when she interrupted him in a + tone of voice so unlike its usual languor, so keen, so sharp, that it + sounded like a cry of distress. + </p> + <p> + “I was just about to come to you. Happily, however, you find me alone, and + what may pass between us will be soon over. But first tell me: you have + seen your parents; you have asked their consent to wed a girl such as I + described; tell me, oh tell me that that consent is refused!” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I am here with their full permission to ask the hand of + your niece.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron sank back in her chair, rocking herself to and fro in the + posture of a person in great pain. + </p> + <p> + “I feared that. Walter said he had met you last evening; that you, like + himself, entertained the thought of marriage. You, of course when you + learned his name, must have known with whom his thought was connected. + Happily, he could not divine what was the choice to which your youthful + fancy had been so blindly led.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mrs. Cameron,” said Kenelm, very mildly, but very firmly, “you + were aware of the purpose for which I left Moleswich a few days ago, and + it seems to me that you might have forestalled my intention, the intention + which brings me; thus early to your house. I come to say to Miss + Mordaunt’s guardian, ‘I ask the hand of your ward. If you also woo her, I + have a very noble rival. With both of us no consideration for our own + happiness can be comparable to the duty of consulting hers. Let her choose + between the two.’” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Cameron; “impossible. You know not what you + say; know not, guess not, how sacred are the claims of Walter Melville to + all that the orphan whom he has protected from her very birth can give him + in return. She has no right to a preference for another: her heart is too + grateful to admit of one. If the choice were given to her between him and + you, it is he whom she would choose. Solemnly I assure you of this. Do + not, then, subject her to the pain of such a choice. Suppose, if you will, + that you had attracted her fancy, and that now you proclaimed your love + and urged your suit, she would not, must not, the less reject your hand, + but you might cloud her happiness in accepting Melville’s. Be generous. + Conquer your own fancy; it can be but a passing one. Speak not to her, nor + to Mr. Melville, of a wish which can never be realized. Go hence, + silently, and at once.” + </p> + <p> + The words and the manner of the pale imploring woman struck a vague awe + into the heart of her listener. But he did not the less resolutely answer, + “I cannot obey you. It seems to me that my honour commands me to prove to + your niece that, if I mistook the nature of her feelings towards me, I did + not, by word or look, lead her to believe mine towards herself were less + in earnest than they are; and it seems scarcely less honourable towards my + worthy rival to endanger his own future happiness, should he discover + later that his bride would have been happier with another. Why be so + mysteriously apprehensive? If, as you say, with such apparent conviction, + there is no doubt of your niece’s preference for another, at a word from + her own lips I depart, and you will see me no more. But that word must be + said by her; and if you will not permit me to ask for it in your own + house, I will take my chance of finding her now, on her walk with Mr. + Melville; and, could he deny me the right to speak to her alone, that + which I would say can be said in his presence. Ah! madam, have you no + mercy for the heart that you so needlessly torture? If I must bear the + worst, let me learn it, and at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Learn it, then, from my lips,” said Mrs. Cameron, speaking with voice + unnaturally calm, and features rigidly set into stern composure. “And I + place the secret you wring from me under the seal of that honour which you + so vauntingly make your excuse for imperilling the peace of the home I + ought never to have suffered you to enter. An honest couple, of humble + station and narrow means, had an only son, who evinced in early childhood + talents so remarkable that they attracted the notice of the father’s + employer, a rich man of very benevolent heart and very cultivated taste. + He sent the child, at his expense, to a first-rate commercial school, + meaning to provide for him later in his own firm. The rich man was the + head partner of an eminent bank; but very infirm health, and tastes much + estranged from business, had induced him to retire from all active share + in the firm, the management of which was confined to a son whom he + idolized. But the talents of the protege he had sent to school took there + so passionate a direction towards art and estranged from trade, and his + designs in drawing when shown to connoisseurs were deemed so promising of + future excellence, that the patron changed his original intention, entered + him as a pupil in the studio of a distinguished French painter, and + afterwards bade him perfect his taste by the study of Italian and Flemish + masterpieces. + </p> + <p> + “He was still abroad, when—” here Mrs. Cameron stopped, with visible + effort, suppressed a sob, and went on, whisperingly, through teeth + clenched together—“when a thunderbolt fell on the house of the + patron, shattering his fortunes, blasting his name. The son, unknown to + the father, had been decoyed into speculations which proved unfortunate: + the loss might have been easily retrieved in the first instance; unhappily + he took the wrong course to retrieve it, and launched into new hazards. I + must be brief. One day the world was startled by the news that a firm, + famed for its supposed wealth and solidity, was bankrupt. Dishonesty was + alleged, was proved, not against the father,—he went forth from the + trial, censured indeed for neglect, not condemned for fraud, but a + penniless pauper. The—son, the son, the idolized son, was removed + from the prisoner’s dock, a convicted felon, sentenced to penal servitude; + escaped that sentence by—by—you guess—you guess. How + could he escape except through death?—death by his own guilty deed?” + </p> + <p> + Almost as much overpowered by emotion as Mrs. Cameron herself, Kenelm + covered his bended face with one hand, stretching out the other blindly to + clasp her own, but she would not take it. + </p> + <p> + A dreary foreboding. Again before his eyes rose the old gray tower,—again + in his ears thrilled the tragic tale of the Fletwodes. What was yet left + untold held the young man in spell-bound silence. Mrs. Cameron resumed,— + </p> + <p> + “I said the father was a penniless pauper; he died lingeringly bedridden. + But one faithful friend did not desert that bed,—the youth to whose + genius his wealth had ministered. He had come from abroad with some modest + savings from the sale of copies or sketches made in Florence. These + savings kept a roof over the heads of the old man and the two helpless, + broken-hearted women,—paupers like himself,—his own daughter + and his son’s widow. When the savings were gone, the young man stooped + from his destined calling, found employment somehow, no matter how alien + to his tastes, and these three whom his toil supported never wanted a home + or food. Well, a few weeks after her husband’s terrible death, his young + widow (they had not been a year married) gave birth to a child,—a + girl. She did not survive the exhaustion of her confinement many days. The + shock of her death snapped the feeble thread of the poor father’s life. + Both were borne to the grave on the same day. Before they died, both made + the same prayer to their sole two mourners, the felon’s sister, the old + man’s young benefactor. The prayer was this, that the new-born infant + should be reared, however humbly, in ignorance of her birth, of a father’s + guilt and shame. She was not to pass a suppliant for charity to rich and + high-born kinsfolk, who had vouchsafed no word even of pity to the felon’s + guiltless father and as guiltless wife. That promise has been kept till + now. I am that daughter. The name I bear, and the name which I gave to my + niece, are not ours, save as we may indirectly claim them through + alliances centuries ago. I have never married. I was to have been a bride, + bringing to the representative of no ignoble house what was to have been a + princely dower; the wedding day was fixed, when the bolt fell. I have + never again seen my betrothed. He went abroad and died there. I think he + loved me; he knew I loved him. Who can blame him for deserting me? Who + could marry the felon’s sister? Who would marry the felon’s child? Who but + one? The man who knows her secret, and will guard it; the man who, caring + little for other education, has helped to instil into her spotless + childhood so steadfast a love of truth, so exquisite a pride of honour, + that did she know such ignominy rested on her birth she would pine herself + away.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there only one man on earth,” cried Kenelm, suddenly, rearing his + face,—till then concealed and downcast,—and with a loftiness + of pride on its aspect, new to its wonted mildness, “is there only one man + who would deem the virgin at whose feet he desires to kneel and say, + ‘Deign to be the queen of my life,’ not far too noble in herself to be + debased by the sins of others before she was even born; is there only one + man who does not think that the love of truth and the pride of honour are + most royal attributes of woman or of man, no matter whether the fathers of + the woman or the man were pirates as lawless as the fathers of Norman + kings, or liars as unscrupulous, where their own interests were concerned, + as have been the crowned representatives of lines as deservedly famous as + Caesars and Bourbons, Tudors and Stuarts? Nobility, like genius, is + inborn. One man alone guard <i>her</i> secret!—guard a secret that + if made known could trouble a heart that recoils from shame! Ah, madam, we + Chillinglys are a very obscure, undistinguished race, but for more than a + thousand years we have been English gentlemen. Guard her secret rather + than risk the chance of discovery that could give her a pang! I would pass + my whole life by her side in Kamtchatka, and even there I would not snatch + a glimpse of the secret itself with mine own eyes: it should be so closely + muffled and wrapped round by the folds of reverence and worship.” + </p> + <p> + This burst of passion seemed to Mrs. Cameron the senseless declamation of + an inexperienced, hot-headed young man; and putting it aside, much as a + great lawyer dismisses as balderdash the florid rhetoric of some junior + counsel, rhetoric in which the great lawyer had once indulged, or as a + woman for whom romance is over dismisses as idle verbiage some romantic + sentiment that befools her young daughter, Mrs. Cameron simply replied, + “All this is hollow talk, Mr. Chillingly; let us come to the point. After + all I have said, do you mean to persist in your suit to my niece?” + </p> + <p> + “I persist.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” she cried, this time indignantly, and with generous indignation; + “what, even were it possible that you could win your parents’ consent to + marry the child of a man condemned to penal servitude, or, consistently + with the duties a son owes to parents, conceal that fact from them, could + you, born to a station on which every gossip will ask, ‘Who and what is + the name of the future Lady Chillingly?’ believe that the who and the what + will never be discovered! Have you, a mere stranger, unknown to us a few + weeks ago, a right to say to Walter Melville, ‘Resign to me that which is + your sole reward for the sublime sacrifices, for the loyal devotion, for + the watchful tenderness of patient years’?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, madam,” cried Kenelm, more startled, more shaken in soul by this + appeal, than by the previous revelations, “surely, when we last parted, + when I confided to you my love for your niece, when you consented to my + proposal to return home and obtain my father’s approval of my suit,—surely + then was the time to say, ‘No; a suitor with claims paramount and + irresistible has come before you.’” + </p> + <p> + “I did not then know, Heaven is my witness, I did not then even suspect, + that Walter Melville ever dreamed of seeking a wife in the child who had + grown up under his eyes. You must own, indeed, how much I discouraged your + suit; I could not discourage it more without revealing the secret of her + birth, only to be revealed as an extreme necessity. But my persuasion was + that your father would not consent to your alliance with one so far + beneath the expectations he was entitled to form, and the refusal of that + consent would terminate all further acquaintance between you and Lily, + leaving her secret undisclosed. It was not till you had left, only indeed + two days ago, that I received a letter from Walter Melville,—a + letter which told me what I had never before conjectured. Here is the + letter, read it, and then say if you have the heart to force yourself into + rivalry, with—with—” She broke off, choked by her exertion, + thrust the letter into his hands, and with keen, eager, hungry stare + watched his countenance while he read. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ——- STREET, BLOOMSBURY. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR FRIEND,—Joy and triumph! My picture is completed, the + picture on which for so many months I have worked night and day in this + den of a studio, without a glimpse of the green fields, concealing my + address from every one, even from you, lest I might be tempted to suspend + my labours. The picture is completed: it is sold; guess the price! Fifteen + hundred guineas, and to a dealer,—a dealer! Think of that! It is to + be carried about the country exhibited by itself. You remember those three + little landscapes of mine which two years ago I would gladly have sold for + ten pounds, only neither Lily nor you would let me. My good friend and + earliest patron, the German merchant at Luscombe, who called on me + yesterday, offered to cover them with guineas thrice piled over the + canvas. Imagine how happy I felt when I forced him to accept them as a + present. What a leap in a man’s life it is when he can afford to say, “I + give!” Now then, at last, at last I am in a position which justifies the + utterance of the hope which has for eighteen years been my solace, my + support; been the sunbeam that ever shone through the gloom when my fate + was at the darkest; been the melody that buoyed me aloft as in the song of + the skylark, when in the voices of men I heard but the laugh of scorn. Do + you remember the night on which Lily’s mother besought us to bring up her + child in ignorance of her parentage, not even to communicate to unkind and + disdainful relatives that such a child was born? Do you remember how + plaintively, and yet how proudly, she, so nobly born, so luxuriously + nurtured, clasping my hand when I ventured to remonstrate, and say that + her own family could not condemn her child because of the father’s guilt,—she, + the proudest woman I ever knew, she whose smile I can at rare moments + detect in Lily, raised her head from her pillow, and gasped forth,— + </p> + <p> + “I am dying: the last words of the dying are commands. I command you to + see that my child’s lot is not that of a felon’s daughter transported to + the hearth of nobles. To be happy, her lot must be humble: no roof too + humble to shelter, no husband too humble to wed, the felon’s daughter.” + </p> + <p> + From that hour I formed a resolve that I would keep hand and heart free, + that when the grandchild of my princely benefactor grew up into womanhood + I might say to her, “I am humbly born, but thy mother would have given + thee to me.” The newborn, consigned to our charge, has now ripened into + woman, and I have now so assured my fortune that it is no longer poverty + and struggle that I should ask her to share. I am conscious that, were her + fate not so exceptional, this hope of mine would be a vain presumption,—conscious + that I am but the creature of her grandsire’s bounty, and that from it + springs all I ever can be,—conscious of the disparity in + years,-conscious of many a past error and present fault. But, as fate so + ordains, such considerations are trivial; I am her rightful choice. What + other choice, compatible with these necessities which weigh, dear and + honoured friend, immeasurably more on your sense of honour than they do + upon mine? and yet mine is not dull. Granting, then, that you, her nearest + and most responsible relative, do not contemn me for presumption, all else + seems to me clear. Lily’s childlike affection for me is too deep and too + fond not to warm into a wife’s love. Happily, too, she has not been reared + in the stereotyped boarding-school shallowness of knowledge and + vulgarities of gentility; but educated, like myself, by the free + influences of Nature, longing for no halls and palaces save those that we + build as we list, in fairyland; educated to comprehend and share the + fancies which are more than booklore to the worshipper of art and song. In + a day or two, perhaps the day after you receive this, I shall be able to + escape from London, and most likely shall come on foot as usual. How I + long to see once more the woodbine on the hedgerows, the green blades of + the cornfields, the sunny lapse of the river, and dearer still the tiny + falls of our own little noisy rill! Meanwhile I entreat you, dearest, + gentlest, most honored of such few friends as my life has hitherto won to + itself, to consider well the direct purport of this letter. If you, born + in a grade so much higher than mine, feel that it is unwarrantable + insolence in me to aspire to the hand of my patron’s grandchild, say so + plainly; and I remain not less grateful for your friendship than I was to + your goodness when dining for the first time at your father’s palace. Shy + and sensitive and young, I felt that his grand guests wondered why I was + invited to the same board as themselves. You, then courted, admired, you + had sympathetic compassion on the raw, sullen boy; left those, who then + seemed to me like the gods and goddesses of a heathen Pantheon, to come + and sit beside your father’s protege and cheeringly whisper to him such + words as make a low-born ambitious lad go home light-hearted, saying to + himself, “Some day or other.” And what it is to an ambitious lad, fancying + himself lifted by the gods and goddesses of a Pantheon, to go home + light-hearted muttering to himself, “Some day or other,” I doubt if even + you can divine. + </p> + <p> + But should you be as kind to the presumptuous man as you were to the + bashful boy, and say, “Realized be the dream, fulfilled be the object of + your life! take from me as her next of kin, the last descendant of your + benefactor,” then I venture to address to you this request. You are in the + place of mother to your sister’s child, act for her as a keeper now, to + prepare her mind and heart for the coming change in the relations between + her and me. When I last saw her, six months ago, she was still so + playfully infantine that it half seems to me I should be sinning against + the reverence due to a child, if I said too abruptly, “You are woman, and + I love you not as child but as woman.” And yet, time is not allowed to me + for long, cautious, and gradual slide from the relationship of friend into + that of lover. I now understand what the great master of my art once said + to me, “A career is a destiny.” By one of those merchant princes who now + at Manchester, as they did once at Genoa or Venice, reign alike over those + two civilizers of the world which to dull eyes seem antagonistic, Art and + Commerce, an offer is made to me for a picture on a subject which strikes + his fancy: an offer so magnificently liberal that his commerce must + command my art; and the nature of the subject compels me to seek the banks + of the Rhine as soon as may be. I must have all the hues of the foliage in + the meridian glories of summer. I can but stay at Grasmere a very few + days; but before I leave I must know this, am I going to work for Lily or + am I not? On the answer to that question depends all. If not to work for + her, there would be no glory in the summer, no triumph in art to me: I + refuse the offer. If she says, “Yes; it is for me you work,” then she + becomes my destiny. She assures my career. Here I speak as an artist: + nobody who is not an artist can guess how sovereign over even his moral + being, at a certain critical epoch in his career of artist or his life of + man, is the success or the failure of a single work. But I go on to speak + as man. My love for Lily is such for the last six months that, though if + she rejected me I should still serve art, still yearn for fame, it would + be as an old man might do either. The youth of my life would be gone. + </p> + <p> + As man I say, all my thoughts, all my dreams of happiness, distinct from + Art and fame, are summed up in the one question, “Is Lily to be my wife or + not?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours affectionately, + + W. M. +</pre> + <p> + Kenelm returned the letter without a word. + </p> + <p> + Enraged by his silence, Mrs. Cameron exclaimed, “Now, sir, what say you? + You have scarcely known Lily five weeks. What is the feverish fancy of + five weeks’ growth to the lifelong devotion of a man like this? Do you now + dare to say, ‘I persist’?” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm waved his hand very quietly, as if to dismiss all conception of + taunt and insult and said with his soft melancholy eyes fixed upon the + working features of Lily’s aunt, “This man is more worthy of her than I. + He prays you, in his letter, to prepare your niece for that change of + relationship which he dreads too abruptly to break to her himself. Have + you done so?” + </p> + <p> + “I have; the night I got the letter.” + </p> + <p> + “And—you hesitate; speak truthfully, I implore. And she—” + </p> + <p> + “She,” answered Mrs. Cameron, feeling herself involuntarily compelled to + obey the voice of that prayer—“she seemed stunned at first, + muttering, ‘This is a dream: it cannot be true,—cannot! I Lion’s + wife—I—I! I, his destiny! In me his happiness!’ And then she + laughed her pretty child’s laugh, and put her arms round my neck, and + said, ‘You are jesting, aunty. He could not write thus!’ So I put that + part of his letter under her eyes; and when she had convinced herself, her + face became very grave, more like a woman’s face than I ever saw it; and + after a pause she cried out passionately, ‘Can you think me—can I + think myself—so bad, so ungrateful, as to doubt what I should + answer, if Lion asked me whether I would willingly say or do anything that + made him unhappy? If there be such a doubt in my heart, I would tear it + out by the roots, heart and all!’ Oh, Mr. Chillingly! There would be no + happiness for her with another, knowing that she had blighted the life of + him to whom she owes so much, though she never will learn how much more + she owes.” Kenelm not replying to this remark, Mrs. Cameron resumed, “I + will be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Chillingly. I was not quite + satisfied with Lily’s manner and looks the next morning, that is, + yesterday. I did fear there might be some struggle in her mind in which + there entered a thought of yourself. And when Walter, on his arrival here + in the evening, spoke of you as one he had met before in his rural + excursions, but whose name he only learned on parting at the bridge by + Cromwell Lodge, I saw that Lily turned pale, and shortly afterwards went + to her own room for the night. Fearing that any interview with you, though + it would not alter her resolve, might lessen her happiness on the only + choice she can and ought to adopt, I resolved to visit you this morning, + and make that appeal to your reason and your heart which I have done now,—not, + I am sure, in vain. Hush! I hear his voice!” + </p> + <p> + Melville entered the room, Lily leaning on his arm. The artist’s comely + face was radiant with ineffable joyousness. Leaving Lily, he reached + Kenelm’s side as with a single bound, shook him heartily by the hand, + saying, “I find that you have already been a welcomed visitor in this + house. Long may you be so, so say I, so (I answer for her) says my fair + betrothed, to whom I need not present you.” + </p> + <p> + Lily advanced, and held out her hand very timidly. Kenelm touched rather + than clasped it. His own strong hand trembled like a leaf. He ventured but + one glance at her face. All the bloom had died out of it, but the + expression seemed to him wondrously, cruelly tranquil. + </p> + <p> + “Your betrothed! your future bride!” he said to the artist, with a mastery + over his emotion rendered less difficult by the single glance at that + tranquil face. “I wish you joy. All happiness to you, Miss Mordaunt. You + have made a noble choice.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round for his hat; it lay at his feet, but he did not see it; + his eyes wandering away with uncertain vision, like those of a + sleep-walker. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron picked up the hat and gave it to him. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said meekly; then with a smile half sweet, half bitter, “I + have so much to thank you for, Mrs. Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are not going already,—just as I enter too. Hold! Mrs. + Cameron tells me you are lodging with my old friend Jones. Come and stop a + couple of days with us: we can find you a room; the room over your + butterfly cage, eh, Fairy?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you too. Thank you all. No; I must be in London by the first + train.” + </p> + <p> + Speaking thus, he had found his way to the door, bowed with the quiet + grace that characterized all his movements, and was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon his abruptness, Lily; he too loves; he too is impatient to find a + betrothed,” said the artist gayly: “but now he knows my dearest secret, I + think I have a right to know his; and I will try.” + </p> + <p> + He had scarcely uttered the words before he too had quitted the room and + overtaken Kenelm just at the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “If you are going back to Cromwell Lodge,—to pack up, I suppose,—let + me walk with you as far as the bridge.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm inclined his head assentingly and tacitly as they passed through + the garden-gate, winding backwards through the lane which skirted the + garden pales; when, at the very spot in which the day after their first + and only quarrel Lily’s face had been seen brightening through the + evergreen, that day on which the old woman, quitting her, said, “God bless + you!” and on which the vicar, walking with Kenelm, spoke of her fairy + charms; well, just in that spot Lily’s face appeared again, not this time + brightening through the evergreens, unless the palest gleam of the palest + moon can be said to brighten. Kenelm saw, started, halted. His companion, + then in the rush of a gladsome talk, of which Kenelm had not heard a word, + neither saw nor halted; he walked on mechanically, gladsome, and talking. + </p> + <p> + Lily stretched forth her hand through the evergreens. Kenelm took it + reverentially. This time it was not his hand that trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” she said in a whisper, “good-by forever in this world. You + understand,—you do understand me. Say that you do.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand. Noble child! noble choice! God bless you! God comfort me!” + murmured Kenelm. Their eyes met. Oh, the sadness; and, alas! oh the love + in the eyes of both! + </p> + <p> + Kenelm passed on. + </p> + <p> + All said in an instant. How many Alls are said in an instant! Melville was + in the midst of some glowing sentence, begun when Kenelm dropped from his + side, and the end of the sentence was this: + </p> + <p> + “Words cannot say how fair seems life; how easy seems conquest of fame, + dating from this day—this day”—and in his turn he halted, + looked round on the sunlit landscape, and breathed deep, as if to drink + into his soul all of the earth’s joy and beauty which his gaze could + compass and the arch of the horizon bound. + </p> + <p> + “They who knew her even the best,” resumed the artist, striding on, “even + her aunt, never could guess how serious and earnest, under all her + infantine prettiness of fancy, is that girl’s real nature. We were walking + along the brook-side, when I began to tell how solitary the world would be + to me if I could not win her to my side; while I spoke she had turned + aside from the path we had taken, and it was not till we were under the + shadow of the church in which we shall be married that she uttered the + word that gives to every cloud in my fate the silver lining; implying thus + how solemnly connected in her mind was the thought of love with the + sanctity of religion.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm shuddered,—the church, the burial-ground, the old Gothic + tomb, the flowers round the infant’s grave! + </p> + <p> + “But I am talking a great deal too much about myself,” resumed the artist. + “Lovers are the most consummate of all egotists, and the most garrulous of + all gossips. You have wished me joy on my destined nuptials, when shall I + wish you joy on yours? Since we have begun to confide in each other, you + are in my debt as to a confidence.” + </p> + <p> + They had now gained the bridge. Kenelm turned round abruptly, “Good-day; + let us part here. I have nothing to confide to you that might not seem to + your ears a mockery when I wish you joy.” So saying, so obeying in spite + of himself the anguish of his heart, Kenelm wrung his companion’s hand + with the force of an uncontrollable agony, and speeded over the bridge + before Melville recovered his surprise. + </p> + <p> + The artist would have small claim to the essential attribute of genius—namely, + the intuitive sympathy of passion with passion—if that secret of + Kenelm’s which he had so lightly said “he had acquired the right to + learn,” was not revealed to him as by an electric flash. “Poor fellow!” he + said to himself pityingly; “how natural that he should fall in love with + Fairy! but happily he is so young, and such a philosopher, that it is but + one of those trials through which, at least ten times a year, I have gone + with wounds that leave not a scar.” + </p> + <p> + Thus soliloquizing, the warm-blooded worshipper of Nature returned + homeward, too blest in the triumph of his own love to feel more than a + kindly compassion for the wounded heart, consigned with no doubt of the + healing result to the fickleness of youth and the consolations of + philosophy. Not for a moment did the happier rival suspect that Kenelm’s + love was returned; that an atom in the heart of the girl who had promised + to be his bride could take its light or shadow from any love but his own. + Yet, more from delicacy of respect to the rival so suddenly self-betrayed + than from any more prudential motive, he did not speak even to Mrs. + Cameron of Kenelm’s secret and sorrow; and certainly neither she nor Lily + was disposed to ask any question that concerned the departed visitor. + </p> + <p> + In fact the name of Kenelm Chillingly was scarcely, if at all, mentioned + in that household during the few days which elapsed before Walter Melville + quitted Grasmere for the banks of the Rhine, not to return till the + autumn, when his marriage with Lily was to take place. During those days + Lily was calm and seemingly cheerful; her manner towards her betrothed, if + more subdued, not less affectionate than of old. Mrs. Cameron + congratulated herself on having so successfully got rid of Kenelm + Chillingly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0108" id="link2HCH0108"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + SO, then, but for that officious warning, uttered under the balcony at + Luscombe, Kenelm Chillingly might never have had a rival in Walter + Melville. But ill would any reader construe the character of Kenelm, did + he think that such a thought increased the bitterness of his sorrow. No + sorrow in the thought that a noble nature had been saved from the + temptation to a great sin. + </p> + <p> + The good man does good merely by living. And the good he does may often + mar the plans he formed for his own happiness. But he cannot regret that + Heaven has permitted him to do good. + </p> + <p> + What Kenelm did feel is perhaps best explained in the letter to Sir Peter, + which is here subjoined:— + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAREST FATHER,—Never till my dying day shall I forget that + tender desire for my happiness with which, overcoming all worldly + considerations, no matter at what disappointment to your own cherished + plans or ambition for the heir to your name and race, you sent me away + from your roof, these words ringing in my ear like the sound of joy-bells, + ‘Choose as you will, with my blessing on your choice. I open my heart to + admit another child: your wife shall be my daughter.’ It is such an + unspeakable comfort to me to recall those words now. Of all human + affections gratitude is surely the holiest; and it blends itself with the + sweetness of religion when it is gratitude to a father. And, therefore, do + not grieve too much for me, when I tell you that the hopes which enchanted + me when we parted are not to be fulfilled. Her hand is pledged to another,—another + with claims upon her preference to which mine cannot be compared; and he + is himself, putting aside the accidents of birth and fortune, immeasurably + my superior. In that thought—I mean the thought that the man she + selects deserves her more than I do, and that in his happiness she will + blend her own—I shall find comfort, so soon as I can fairly reason + down the first all-engrossing selfishness that follows the sense of + unexpected and irremediable loss. Meanwhile you will think it not + unnatural that I resort to such aids for change of heart as are afforded + by change of scene. I start for the Continent to-night, and shall not rest + till I reach Venice, which I have not yet seen. I feel irresistibly + attracted towards still canals and gliding gondolas. I will write to you + and to my dear mother the day I arrive. And I trust to write cheerfully, + with full accounts of all I see and encounter. Do not, dearest father, in + your letters to me, revert or allude to that grief which even the + tenderest word from your own tender self might but chafe into pain more + sensitive. After all, a disappointed love is a very common lot. And we + meet every day, men—ay, and women too—who have known it, and + are thoroughly cured. The manliest of our modern lyrical poets has said + very nobly, and, no doubt, very justly, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To bear is to conquer our fate. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ever your loving son, + + “K. C.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0109" id="link2HCH0109"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + NEARLY a year and a half has elapsed since the date of my last chapter. + Two Englishmen were—the one seated, the other reclined at length—on + one of the mounds that furrow the ascent of Posilippo. Before them spread + the noiseless sea, basking in the sunshine, without visible ripple; to the + left there was a distant glimpse through gaps of brushwood of the public + gardens and white water of the Chiaja. They were friends who had chanced + to meet abroad unexpectedly, joined company, and travelled together for + many months, chiefly in the East. They had been but a few days in Naples. + The elder of the two had important affairs in England which ought to have + summoned him back long since. But he did not let his friend know this; his + affairs seemed to him less important than the duties he owed to one for + whom he entertained that deep and noble love which is something stronger + than brotherly, for with brotherly affection it combines gratitude and + reverence. He knew, too, that his friend was oppressed by a haunting + sorrow, of which the cause was divined by one, not revealed by the other. + </p> + <p> + To leave him, so beloved, alone with that sorrow in strange lands, was a + thought not to be cherished by a friend so tender; for in the friendship + of this man there was that sort of tenderness which completes a nature, + thoroughly manlike, by giving it a touch of the woman’s. + </p> + <p> + It was a day which in our northern climates is that of winter: in the + southern clime of Naples it was mild as an English summer day, lingering + on the brink of autumn; the sun sloping towards the west, and already + gathering around it roseate and purple fleeces; elsewhere the deep blue + sky was without a cloudlet. + </p> + <p> + Both had been for some minutes silent; at length the man reclining on the + grass—it was the younger man—said suddenly, and with no + previous hint of the subject introduced, “Lay your hand on your heart, + Tom, and answer me truly. Are your thoughts as clear from regrets as the + heavens above us are from a cloud? Man takes regret from tears that have + ceased to flow, as the heavens take clouds from the rains that have ceased + to fall.” + </p> + <p> + “Regrets? Ah, I understand, for the loss of the girl I once loved to + distraction! No; surely I made that clear to you many, many, many months + ago, when I was your guest at Moleswich.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but I have never, since then, spoken to you on that subject. I did + not dare. It seems to me so natural that a man, in the earlier struggle + between love and reason, should say, ‘Reason shall conquer, and has + conquered;’ and yet—and yet—as time glides on, feel that the + conquerors who cannot put down rebellion have a very uneasy reign. Answer + me not as at Moleswich, during the first struggle, but now, in the + after-day, when reaction from struggle comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my honour,” answered the friend, “I have had no reaction at all. I + was cured entirely, when I had once seen Jessie again, another man’s wife, + mother to his child, happy in her marriage; and, whether she was changed + or not,—very different from the sort of wife I should like to marry, + now that I am no longer a village farrier.” + </p> + <p> + “And, I remember, you spoke of some other girl whom it would suit you to + marry. You have been long abroad from her. Do you ever think of her,—think + of her still as your future wife? Can you love her? Can you, who have once + loved so faithfully, love again?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of that. I love Emily better than I did when I left England. We + correspond. She writes such nice letters.” Tom hesitated, blushed, and + continued timidly, “I should like to show you one of her letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Do.” + </p> + <p> + Tom drew forth the last of such letters from his breast-pocket. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm raised himself from the grass, took the letter, and read slowly, + carefully, while Tom watched in vain for some approving smile to brighten + up the dark beauty of that melancholy face. + </p> + <p> + Certainly it was the letter a man in love might show with pride to a + friend: the letter of a lady, well educated, well brought up, evincing + affection modestly, intelligence modestly too; the sort of letter in which + a mother who loved her daughter, and approved the daughter’s choice, could + not have suggested a correction. + </p> + <p> + As Kenelm gave back the letter, his eyes met his friend’s. Those were + eager eyes,—eyes hungering for praise. Kenelm’s heart smote him for + that worst of sins in friendship,—want of sympathy; and that uneasy + heart forced to his lips congratulations, not perhaps quite sincere, but + which amply satisfied the lover. In uttering them, Kenelm rose to his + feet, threw his arm round his friend’s shoulder, and said, “Are you not + tired of this place, Tom? I am. Let us go back to England to-morrow.” + Tom’s honest face brightened vividly. “How selfish and egotistical I have + been!” continued Kenelm; “I ought to have thought more of you, your + career, your marriage,—pardon me—” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon you,—pardon! Don’t I owe to you all,—owe to you Emily + herself? If you had never come to Graveleigh, never said, ‘Be my friend,’ + what should I have been now? what—what?” + </p> + <p> + The next day the two friends quitted Naples <i>en route</i> for England, + not exchanging many words by the way. The old loquacious crotchety humour + of Kenelm had deserted him. A duller companion than he was you could not + have conceived. He might have been the hero of a young lady’s novel. It + was only when they parted in London, that Kenelm evinced more secret + purpose, more external emotion than one of his heraldic Daces shifting + from the bed to the surface of a waveless pond. + </p> + <p> + “If I have rightly understood you, Tom, all this change in you, all this + cure of torturing regret, was wrought, wrought lastingly,—wrought so + as to leave you heart-free for the world’s actions and a home’s peace, on + that eve when you saw her whose face till then had haunted you, another + man’s happy wife, and in so seeing her, either her face was changed or + your heart became so.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true. I might express it otherwise, but the fact remains the same.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Tom; bless you in your career without, in your home + within,” said Kenelm, wringing his friend’s hand at the door of the + carriage that was to whirl to love and wealth and station the whilom bully + of a village, along the iron groove of that contrivance which, though now + the tritest of prosaic realities, seemed once too poetical for a poet’s + wildest visions. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0110" id="link2HCH0110"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + A WINTER’S evening at Moleswich. Very different from a winter sunset at + Naples. It is intensely cold. There has been a slight fall of snow, + accompanied with severe, bright, clean frost, a thin sprinkling of white + on the pavements. Kenelm Chillingly entered the town on foot, no longer a + knapsack on his back. Passing through the main street, he paused a moment + at the door of Will Somers. The shop was closed. No, he would not stay + there to ask in a roundabout way for news. He would go in + straightforwardly and manfully to Grasmere. He would take the inmates + there by surprise. The sooner he could bring Tom’s experience home to + himself, the better. He had schooled his heart to rely on that experience, + and it brought him back the old elasticity of his stride. In his lofty + carriage and buoyant face were again visible the old haughtiness of the + indifferentism that keeps itself aloof from the turbulent emotions and + conventional frivolities of those whom its philosophy pities and scorns. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha!” laughed he who like Swift never laughed aloud, and often laughed + inaudibly. “Ha! ha! I shall exorcise the ghost of my grief. I shall never + be haunted again. If that stormy creature whom love might have maddened + into crime, if he were cured of love at once by a single visit to the home + of her whose face was changed to him,—for the smiles and the tears + of it had become the property of another man,—how much more should I + be left without a scar! I, the heir of the Chillinglys! I, the kinsman of + a Mivers! I, the pupil of a Welby! I—I, Kenelm Chillingly, to be + thus—thus—” Here, in the midst of his boastful soliloquy, the + well-remembered brook rushed suddenly upon eye and ear, gleaming and + moaning under the wintry moon. Kenelm Chillingly stopped, covered his face + with his hands, and burst into a passion of tears. + </p> + <p> + Recovering himself slowly, he went on along the path, every step of which + was haunted by the form of Lily. He reached the garden gate of Grasmere, + lifted the latch, and entered. As he did so, a man, touching his hat, + rushed beside, and advanced before him,—the village postman. Kenelm + drew back, allowing the man to pass to the door, and as he thus drew back, + he caught a side view of lighted windows looking on the lawn,—the + windows of the pleasant drawing-room in which he had first heard Lily + speak of her guardian. + </p> + <p> + The postman left his letters, and regained the garden gate, while Kenelm + still stood wistfully gazing on those lighted windows. He had, meanwhile, + advanced along the whitened sward to the light, saying to himself, “Let me + just see her and her happiness, and then I will knock boldly at the door, + and say, ‘Good-evening, Mrs. Melville.’” + </p> + <p> + So Kenelm stole across the lawn, and, stationing himself at the angle of + the wall, looked into the window. + </p> + <p> + Melville, in dressing-robe and slippers, was seated alone by the fireside. + His dog was lazily stretched on the hearth rug. One by one the features of + the room, as the scene of his vanished happiness, grew out from its + stillness; the delicately tinted walls, the dwarf bookcase, with its + feminine ornaments on the upper shelf; the piano standing in the same + place. Lily’s own small low chair; that was not in its old place, but + thrust into a remote angle, as if it had passed into disuse. Melville was + reading a letter, no doubt one of those which the postman had left. Surely + the contents were pleasant, for his fair face, always frankly expressive + of emotion, brightened wonderfully as he read on. Then he rose with a + quick, brisk movement, and pulled the bell hastily. + </p> + <p> + A neat maid-servant entered,—a strange face to Kenelm. Melville gave + her some brief message. “He has had joyous news,” thought Kenelm. “He has + sent for his wife that she may share his joy.” Presently the door opened, + and entered not Lily, but Mrs. Cameron. + </p> + <p> + She looked changed. Her natural quietude of mien and movement the same, + indeed, but with more languor in it. Her hair had become gray. Melville + was standing by the table as she approached him. He put the letter into + her hands with a gay, proud smile, and looked over her shoulder while she + read it, pointing with his finger as to some lines that should more + emphatically claim her attention. + </p> + <p> + When she had finished her face reflected his smile. They exchanged a + hearty shake of the hand, as if in congratulation. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” thought Kenelm, “the letter is from Lily. She is abroad. Perhaps the + birth of a first-born.” + </p> + <p> + Just then Blanche, who had not been visible before, emerged from under the + table, and as Melville reseated himself by the fireside, sprang into his + lap, rubbing herself against his breast. The expression of his face + changed; he uttered some low exclamation. Mrs. Cameron took the creature + from his lap, stroking it quietly, carried it across the room, and put it + outside the door. Then she seated herself beside the artist, placing her + hand in his, and they conversed in low tones, till Melville’s face again + grew bright, and again he took up the letter. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later the maid-servant entered with the tea-things, and + after arranging them on the table approached the window. Kenelm retreated + into the shade, the servant closed the shutters and drew the curtains; + that scene of quiet home comfort vanished from the eyes of the looker-on. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm felt strangely perplexed. What had become of Lily? was she indeed + absent from her home? Had he conjectured rightly that the letter which had + evidently so gladdened Melville was from her, or was it possible—here + a thought of joy seized his heart and held him breathless—was it + possible that, after all, she had not married her guardian; had found a + home elsewhere,—was free? He moved on farther down the lawn, towards + the water, that he might better bring before his sight that part of the + irregular building in which Lily formerly had her sleeping-chamber, and + her “own-own room.” + </p> + <p> + All was dark there; the shutters inexorably closed. The place with which + the childlike girl had associated her most childlike fancies, taming and + tending the honey-drinkers destined to pass into fairies, that fragile + tenement was not closed against the winds and snows; its doors were + drearily open; gaps in the delicate wire-work; of its dainty draperies a + few tattered shreds hanging here and there; and on the depopulated floor + the moonbeams resting cold and ghostly. No spray from the tiny fountain; + its basin chipped and mouldering; the scanty waters therein frozen. Of all + the pretty wild ones that Lily fancied she could tame, not one. Ah! yes, + there was one, probably not of the old familiar number; a stranger that + might have crept in for shelter from the first blasts of winter, and now + clung to an angle in the farther wall, its wings folded,—asleep, not + dead. But Kenelm saw it not; he noticed only the general desolation of the + spot. + </p> + <p> + “Natural enough,” thought he. “She has outgrown all such pretty silliness. + A wife cannot remain a child. Still, if she had belonged to me—” The + thought choked even his inward, unspoken utterance. He turned away, paused + a moment under the leafless boughs of the great willow still dipping into + the brook, and then with impatient steps strode back towards the garden + gate. + </p> + <p> + “No,—no,—no. I cannot now enter that house and ask for Mrs. + Melville. Trial enough for one night to stand on the old ground. I will + return to the town. I will call at Jessie’s, and there I can learn if she + indeed be happy.” + </p> + <p> + So he went on by the path along the brook-side, the night momently colder + and colder, and momently clearer and clearer, while the moon noiselessly + glided into loftier heights. Wrapped in his abstracted thoughts, when he + came to the spot in which the path split in twain, he did not take that + which led more directly to the town. His steps, naturally enough following + the train of his thoughts, led him along the path with which the object of + his thoughts was associated. He found himself on the burial-ground, and in + front of the old ruined tomb with the effaced inscription. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! child! child!” he murmured almost audibly, “what depths of woman + tenderness lay concealed in thee! In what loving sympathy with the past—sympathy + only vouchsafed to the tenderest women and the highest poets—didst + thou lay thy flowers on the tomb, to which thou didst give a poet’s + history interpreted by a woman’s heart, little dreaming that beneath the + stone slept a hero of thine own fallen race.” + </p> + <p> + He passed beneath the shadow of the yews, whose leaves no winter wind can + strew, and paused at the ruined tomb,—no flower now on its stone, + only a sprinkling of snow at the foot of it,—sprinklings of snow at + the foot of each humbler grave-mound. Motionless in the frosty air rested + the pointed church-spire, and through the frosty air, higher and higher up + the arch of heaven, soared the unpausing moon. Around and below and above + her, the stars which no science can number; yet not less difficult to + number are the thoughts, desires, aspirations which, in a space of time + briefer than a winter’s night, can pass through the infinite deeps of a + human soul. + </p> + <p> + From his stand by the Gothic tomb, Kenelm looked along the churchyard for + the infant’s grave which Lily’s pious care had bordered with votive + flowers. Yes, in that direction there was still a gleam of colour; could + it be of flowers in that biting winter time?—the moon is so + deceptive, it silvers into the hue of the jessamines the green of the + everlastings. + </p> + <p> + He passed towards the white grave-mound. His sight had duped him; no pale + flower, no green “everlasting” on its neglected border,—only brown + mould, withered stalks, streaks of snow. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” he said sadly, “she told me she had never broken a promise; and + she had given a promise to the dying child. Ah! she is too happy now to + think of the dead.” + </p> + <p> + So murmuring, he was about to turn towards the town, when close by that + child’s grave he saw another. Round that other there were pale + “everlastings,” dwarfed blossoms of the laurestinus; at the four angles + the drooping bud of a Christmas rose; at the head of the grave was a white + stone, its sharp edges cutting into the starlit air; and on the head, in + fresh letters, were inscribed these words:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To the Memory of + L. M. + Aged 17, + Died October 29, A. D. 18—, + This stone, above the grave to which her mortal + remains are consigned, beside that of an infant not + more sinless, is consecrated by those who + most mourn and miss her, + ISABEL CAMERON, + WALTER MELVILLE. + “Suffer the little children to come unto me.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0111" id="link2HCH0111"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + THE next morning Mr. Emlyn, passing from his garden to the town of + Moleswich, descried a human form stretched on the burial-ground, stirring + restlessly but very slightly, as if with an involuntary shiver, and + uttering broken sounds, very faintly heard, like the moans that a man in + pain strives to suppress and cannot. + </p> + <p> + The rector hastened to the spot. The man was lying, his face downward, on + a grave-mound, not dead, not asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellow overtaken by drink, I fear,” thought the gentle pastor; and + as it was the habit of his mind to compassionate error even more than + grief, he accosted the supposed sinner in very soothing tones—trying + to raise him from the ground—and with very kindly words. + </p> + <p> + Then the man lifted his face from its pillow on the grave-mound, looked + round him dreamily into the gray, blank air of the cheerless morn, and + rose to his feet quietly and slowly. The vicar was startled; he recognized + the face of him he had last seen in the magnificent affluence of health + and strength. But the character of the face was changed,—so changed! + its old serenity of expression, at once grave and sweet, succeeded by a + wild trouble in the heavy eyelids and trembling lips. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Chillingly,—you! Is it possible?” + </p> + <p> + “Varus, Varus,” exclaimed Kenelm, passionately, “what hast thou done with + my legions?” + </p> + <p> + At that quotation of the well-known greeting of Augustus to his + unfortunate general, the scholar recoiled. Had his young friend’s mind + deserted him,—dazed, perhaps, by over-study? + </p> + <p> + He was soon reassured; Kenelm’s face settled back into calm, though a + dreary calm, like that of the wintry day. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon, Mr. Emlyn; I had not quite shaken off the hold of a strange + dream. I dreamed that I was worse off than Augustus: he did not lose the + world when the legions he had trusted to another vanished into a grave.” + </p> + <p> + Here Kenelm linked his arm in that of the rector,—on which he leaned + rather heavily,—and drew him on from the burial-ground into the open + space where the two paths met. + </p> + <p> + “But how long have you returned to Moleswich?” asked Emlyn; “and how came + you to choose so damp a bed for your morning slumbers?” + </p> + <p> + “The wintry cold crept into my veins when I stood in the burial-ground, + and I was very weary; I had no sleep at night. Do not let me take you out + of your way; I am going on to Grasmere. So I see, by the record on a + gravestone, that it is more than a year ago since Mr. Melville lost his + wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Wife? He never married.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Kenelm. “Whose, then, is that gravestone,—‘L. M.’?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! it is our poor Lily’s.” + </p> + <p> + “And she died unmarried?” + </p> + <p> + As Kenelm said this he looked up, and the sun broke out from the gloomy + haze of the morning. “I may claim thee, then,” he thought within himself, + “claim thee as mine when we meet again.” + </p> + <p> + “Unmarried,—yes,” resumed the vicar. “She was indeed betrothed to + her guardian; they were to have been married in the autumn, on his return + from the Rhine. He went there to paint on the spot itself his great + picture, which is now so famous,—‘Roland, the Hermit Knight, looking + towards the convent lattice for a sight of the Holy Nun.’ Melville had + scarcely gone before the symptoms of the disease which proved fatal to + poor Lily betrayed themselves; they baffled all medical skill,—rapid + decline. She was always very delicate, but no one detected in her the + seeds of consumption. Melville only returned a day or two before her + death. Dear childlike Lily! how we all mourned for her!—not least + the poor, who believed in her fairy charms.” + </p> + <p> + “And least of all, it appears, the man she was to have married.” + </p> + <p> + “He?—Melville? How can you wrong him so? His grief was intense—overpowering—for + the time.” + </p> + <p> + “For the time! what time?” muttered Kenelm, in tones too low for the + pastor’s ear. + </p> + <p> + They moved on silently. Mr. Emlyn resumed,— + </p> + <p> + “You noticed the text on Lily’s gravestone—‘Suffer the little + children to come unto me’? She dictated it herself the day before she + died. I was with her then, so I was at the last.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you—were you—at the last—the last? Good-day, Mr. + Emlyn; we are just in sight of the garden gate. And—excuse me—I + wish to see Mr. Melville alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, good-day; but if you are making any stay in the + neighbourhood, will you not be our guest? We have a room at your service.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you gratefully; but I return to London in an hour or so. Hold, a + moment. You were with her at the last? She was resigned to die?” + </p> + <p> + “Resigned! that is scarcely the word. The smile left upon her lips was not + that of human resignation: it was the smile of a divine joy.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0112" id="link2HCH0112"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <h3> + “YES, sir, Mr. Melville is at home in his studio.” + </h3> + <p> + Kenelm followed the maid across the hall into a room not built at the date + of Kenelm’s former visits to the house: the artist, making Grasmere his + chief residence after Lily’s death, had added it at the back of the + neglected place wherein Lily had encaged “the souls of infants + unbaptized.” + </p> + <p> + A lofty room, with a casement partially darkened, to the bleak north; + various sketches on the walls; gaunt specimens of antique furniture, and + of gorgeous Italian silks, scattered about in confused disorder; one large + picture on its easel curtained; another as large, and half finished, + before which stood the painter. He turned quickly, as Kenelm entered the + room unannounced, let fall brush and palette, came up to him eagerly, + grasped his hand, drooped his head on Kenelm’s shoulder, and said, in a + voice struggling with evident and strong emotion,— + </p> + <p> + “Since we parted, such grief! such a loss!” + </p> + <p> + “I know it; I have seen her grave. Let us not speak of it. Why so + needlessly revive your sorrow? So—so—your sanguine hopes are + fulfilled: the world at last has done you justice? Emlyn tells me that you + have painted a very famous picture.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm had seated himself as he thus spoke. The painter still stood with + dejected attitude on the middle of the floor, and brushed his hand over + his moistened eyes once or twice before he answered, “Yes, wait a moment, + don’t talk of fame yet. Bear with me. The sudden sight of you unnerved + me.” + </p> + <p> + The artist here seated himself also on an old worm-eaten Gothic chest, + rumpling and chafing the golden or tinselled threads of the embroidered + silk, so rare and so time-worn, flung over the Gothic chest, so rare also, + and so worm-eaten. + </p> + <p> + Kenelm looked through half-closed lids at the artist, and his lips, before + slightly curved with a secret scorn, became gravely compressed. In + Melville’s struggle to conceal emotion the strong man recognized a strong + man,—recognized, and yet only wondered; wondered how such a man, to + whom Lily had pledged her hand, could so soon after the loss of Lily go on + painting pictures, and care for any praise bestowed on a yard of canvas. + </p> + <p> + In a very few minutes Melville recommenced conversation,—no more + reference to Lily than if she had never existed. “Yes, my last picture has + been indeed a success,—a reward complete, if tardy, for all the + bitterness of former struggles made in vain, for the galling sense of + injustice, the anguish of which only an artist knows, when unworthy rivals + are ranked before him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Foes quick to blame, and friends afraid to praise.’ +</pre> + <p> + “True that I have still much to encounter; the cliques still seek to + disparage me, but between me and the cliques there stands at last the + giant form of the public, and at last critics of graver weight than the + cliques have deigned to accord to me a higher rank than even the public + yet acknowledge. Ah, Mr. Chillingly, you do not profess to be a judge of + paintings, but, excuse me, just look at this letter. I received it only + last night from the greatest connoisseur of my art, certainly in England, + perhaps in Europe.” Here Melville drew, from the side-pocket of his + picturesque <i>moyen age</i> surtout, a letter signed by a name + authoritative to all who, being painters themselves, acknowledge authority + in one who could no more paint a picture himself than Addison, the ablest + critic of the greatest poem modern Europe has produced, could have written + ten lines of the “Paradise Lost,” and thrust the letter into Kenelm’s + hand. Kenelm read it listlessly, with an increased contempt for an artist + who could so find in gratified vanity consolation for the life gone from + earth. But, listlessly as he read the letter, the sincere and fervent + enthusiasm of the laudatory contents impressed him, and the preeminent + authority of the signature could not be denied. + </p> + <p> + The letter was written on the occasion of Melville’s recent election to + the dignity of R. A., successor to a very great artist whose death had + created a vacancy in the Academy. He returned the letter to Melville, + saying, “This is the letter I saw you reading last night as I looked in at + your window. Indeed, for a man who cares for the opinion of other men, + this letter is very flattering; and for the painter who cares for money, + it must be very pleasant to know by how many guineas every inch of his + canvas may be covered.” Unable longer to control his passions of rage, of + scorn, of agonizing grief, Kenelm then burst forth: “Man, man, whom I once + accepted as a teacher on human life,—a teacher to warm, to brighten, + to exalt mine own indifferent, dreamy, slow-pulsed self! has not the one + woman whom thou didst select out of this overcrowded world to be bone of + thy bone, flesh of thy flesh, vanished evermore from the earth,—little + more than a year since her voice was silenced, her heart ceased to beat? + But how slight is such loss to thy life compared to the worth of a + compliment that flatters thy vanity!” + </p> + <p> + The artist rose to his feet with an indignant impulse. But the angry flush + faded from his cheek as he looked on the countenance of his rebuker. He + walked up to him, and attempted to take his hand, but Kenelm snatched it + scornfully from his grasp. + </p> + <p> + “Poor friend,” said Melville, sadly and soothingly, “I did not think you + loved her thus deeply. Pardon me.” He drew a chair close to Kenelm’s, and + after a brief pause went on thus, in very earnest tones, “I am not so + heartless, not so forgetful of my loss as you suppose. But reflect, you + have but just learned of her death, you are under the first shock of + grief. More than a year has been given to me for gradual submission to the + decree of Heaven. Now listen to me, and try to listen calmly. I am many + years older than you: I ought to know better the conditions on which man + holds the tenure of life. Life is composite, many-sided: nature does not + permit it to be lastingly monopolized by a single passion, or while yet in + the prime of its strength to be lastingly blighted by a single sorrow. + Survey the great mass of our common race, engaged in the various callings, + some the humblest, some the loftiest, by which the business of the world + is carried on,—can you justly despise as heartless the poor trader, + or the great statesman, when it may be but a few days after the loss of + some one nearest and dearest to his heart, the trader reopens his shop, + the statesman reappears in his office? But in me, the votary of art, in me + you behold but the weakness of gratified vanity; if I feel joy in the hope + that my art may triumph, and my country may add my name to the list of + those who contribute to her renown, where and when ever lived an artist + not sustained by that hope, in privation, in sickness, in the sorrows he + must share with his kind? Nor is this hope that of a feminine vanity, a + sicklier craving for applause; it identifies itself with glorious services + to our land, to our race, to the children of all after time. Our art + cannot triumph, our name cannot live, unless we achieve a something that + tends to beautify or ennoble the world in which we accept the common + heritage of toil and of sorrow, in order therefrom to work out for + successive multitudes a recreation and a joy.” + </p> + <p> + While the artist thus spoke Kenelm lifted towards his face eyes charged + with suppressed tears. And the face, kindling as the artist vindicated + himself from the young man’s bitter charge, became touchingly sweet in its + grave expression at the close of the not ignoble defence. + </p> + <p> + “Enough,” said Kenelm, rising. “There is a ring of truth in what you say. + I can conceive the artist’s, the poet’s escape from this world, when all + therein is death and winter, into the world he creates and colours at his + will with the hues of summer. So, too, I can conceive how the man whose + life is sternly fitted into the grooves of a trader’s calling, or a + statesman’s duties, is borne on by the force of custom, afar from such + brief halting-spot as a grave. But I am no poet, no artist, no trader, no + statesman; I have no calling, my life is fixed into no grooves. Adieu.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold a moment. Not now, but somewhat later, ask yourself whether any life + can be permitted to wander in space, a monad detached from the lives of + others. Into some groove or other, sooner or later, it must settle, and be + borne on obedient to the laws of Nature and the responsibility to God.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0113" id="link2HCH0113"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + KENELM went back alone, and with downcast looks, through the desolate, + flowerless garden, when at the other side of the gate a light touch was + laid on his arm. He looked up, and recognized Mrs. Cameron. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you,” she said, “from my window coming to the house, and I have + been waiting for you here. I wished to speak to you alone. Allow me to + walk beside you.”’ + </p> + <p> + Kenelm inclined his head assentingly, but made no answer. They were nearly + midway between the cottage and the burial-ground when Mrs. Cameron + resumed, her tones quick and agitated, contrasting her habitual languid + quietude,— + </p> + <p> + “I have a great weight on my mind; it ought not to be remorse. I acted as + I thought in my conscience for the best. But oh, Mr. Chillingly, if I + erred,—if I judged wrongly, do say you at least forgive me.” She + seized his hand, pressing it convulsively. Kenelm muttered inaudibly: a + sort of dreary stupor had succeeded to the intense excitement of grief. + Mrs. Cameron went on,— + </p> + <p> + “You could not have married Lily; you know you could not. The secret of + her birth could not, in honour, have been concealed from your parents. + They could not have consented to your marriage; and even if you had + persisted, without that consent and in spite of that secret, to press for + it,—even had she been yours—” + </p> + <p> + “Might she not be living now?” cried Kenelm, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “No,—no; the secret must have come out. The cruel world would have + discovered it; it would have reached her ears. The shame of it would have + killed her. How bitter then would have been her short interval of life! As + it is, she passed away,—resigned and happy. But I own that I did + not, could not, understand her, could not believe her feeling for you to + be so deep. I did think that when she knew her own heart she would find + that love for her guardian was its strongest affection. She assented, + apparently without a pang, to become his wife; and she seemed always so + fond of him, and what girl would not be? But I was mistaken, deceived. + From the day you saw her last, she began to fade away; but then Walter + left a few days after, and I thought that it was his absence she mourned. + She never owned to me that it was yours,—never till too late,—too + late,—just when my sad letter had summoned him back, only three days + before she died. Had I known earlier, while yet there was hope of + recovery, I must have written to you, even though the obstacles to your + union with her remained the same. Oh, again I implore you, say that if I + erred you forgive me. She did, kissing me so tenderly. She did forgive me. + Will not you? It would have been her wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Her wish? Do you think I could disobey it? I know not if I have anything + to forgive. If I have, now could I not forgive one who loved her? God + comfort us both.” + </p> + <p> + He bent down and kissed Mrs. Cameron’s forehead. The poor woman threw her + arm gratefully, lovingly round him, and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + When she had recovered her emotion, she said,— + </p> + <p> + “And now, it is with so much lighter a heart that I can fulfil her + commission to you. But, before I place this in your hands, can you make me + one promise? Never tell Melville how she loved you. She was so careful he + should never guess that. And if he knew it was the thought of union with + him which had killed her, he would never smile again.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not ask such a promise if you could guess how sacred from all + the world I hold the secret that you confide to me. By that secret the + grave is changed into an altar. Our bridals now are only a while + deferred.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cameron placed a letter in Kenelm’s hand, and murmuring in accents + broken by a sob, “She gave it to me the day before her last,” left him, + and with quick vacillating steps hurried back towards the cottage. She now + understood him, at last, too well not to feel that on opening that letter + he must be alone with the dead. + </p> + <p> + It is strange that we need have so little practical household knowledge of + each other to be in love. Never till then had Kenelm’s eyes rested upon + Lily’s handwriting. And he now gazed at the formal address on the envelope + with a sort of awe. Unknown handwriting coming to him from an unknown + world,—delicate, tremulous handwriting,—handwriting not of one + grown up, yet not of a child who had long to live. + </p> + <p> + He turned the envelope over and over,—not impatiently, as does the + lover whose heart beats at the sound of the approaching footstep, but + lingeringly, timidly. He would not break the seal. + </p> + <p> + He was now so near the burial-ground. Where should the first letter ever + received from her—the sole letter he ever could receive—be so + reverentially, lovingly read, as at her grave? + </p> + <p> + He walked on to the burial-ground, sat down by the grave, broke the + envelope; a poor little ring, with a poor little single turquoise, rolled + out and rested at his feet. The letter contained only these words,— + </p> + <p> + The ring comes back to you. I could not live to marry another. I never + knew how I loved you—till, till I began to pray that you might not + love me too much. Darling! darling! good-by, darling! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LILY. +</pre> + <p> + Don’t let Lion ever see this, or ever know what it says to you. He is so + good, and deserves to be so happy. Do you remember the day of the ring? + Darling! darling! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0114" id="link2HCH0114"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + SOMEWHAT more than another year has rolled away. It is early spring in + London. The trees in the park and squares are budding into leaf and + blossom. Leopold Travers has had a brief but serious conversation with his + daughter, and now gone forth on horseback. Handsome and graceful still, + Leopold Travers when in London is pleased to find himself scarcely less + the fashion with the young than he was when himself in youth. He is now + riding along the banks of the Serpentine, no one better mounted, better + dressed, better looking, or talking with greater fluency on the topics + which interest his companions. + </p> + <p> + Cecilia is in the smaller drawing-room, which is exclusively appropriated + to her use, alone with Lady Glenalvon. + </p> + <p> + LADY GLENALVON.—“I own, my dear, dear Cecilia, that I arrange myself + at last on the side of your father. How earnestly at one time I had hoped + that Kenelm Chillingly might woo and win the bride that seemed to me most + fitted to adorn and to cheer his life, I need not say. But when at + Exmundham he asked me to befriend his choice of another, to reconcile his + mother to that choice,—evidently not a suitable one,—I gave + him up. And though that affair is at an end, he seems little likely ever + to settle down to practical duties and domestic habits, an idle wanderer + over the face of the earth, only heard of in remote places and with + strange companions. Perhaps he may never return to England.” + </p> + <p> + CECILIA.—“He is in England now, and in London.” + </p> + <p> + LADY GLENALVON.—“You amaze me! Who told you so?” + </p> + <p> + CECILIA.—“His father, who is with him. Sir Peter called yesterday, + and spoke to me so kindly.” Cecilia here turned aside her face to conceal + the tears that had started to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + LADY GLENALVON.—“Did Mr. Travers see Sir Peter?” + </p> + <p> + CECILIA.—“Yes; and I think it was something that passed between them + which made my father speak to me—for the first time—almost + sternly.” + </p> + <p> + LADY GLENALVON.—“In urging Chillingly Gordon’s suit?” + </p> + <p> + CECILIA.—“Commanding me to reconsider my rejection of it. He has + contrived to fascinate my father.” + </p> + <p> + LADY GLENALVON.—“So he has me. Of course you might choose among + other candidates for your hand one of much higher worldly rank, of much + larger fortune; yet, as you have already rejected them, Gordon’s merits + become still more entitled to a fair hearing. He has already leaped into a + position that mere rank and mere wealth cannot attain. Men of all parties + speak highly of his parliamentary abilities. He is already marked in + public opinion as a coming man,—a future minister of the highest + grade. He has youth and good looks; his moral character is without a + blemish: yet his manners are so free from affected austerity, so frank, so + genial. Any woman might be pleased with his companionship; and you, with + your intellect, your culture,—you, so born for high station,—you + of all women might be proud to partake the anxieties of his career and the + rewards of his ambition.” + </p> + <p> + CECILIA (clasping her hands tightly together).—“I cannot, I cannot. + He may be all you say,—I know nothing against Mr. Chillingly Gordon,—but + my whole nature is antagonistic to his, and even were it not so—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly, a deep blush warming up her fair face, and + retreating to leave it coldly pale. + </p> + <p> + LADY GLENALVON (tenderly kissing her).—“You have not, then, even yet + conquered the first maiden fancy; the ungrateful one is still remembered?” + </p> + <p> + Cecilia bowed her head on her friend’s breast, and murmured imploringly, + “Don’t speak against him; he has been so unhappy. How much he must have + loved!” + </p> + <p> + “But it is not you whom he loved.” + </p> + <p> + “Something here, something at my heart, tells me that he will love me yet; + and, if not, I am contented to be his friend.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0115" id="link2HCH0115"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + WHILE the conversation just related took place between Cecilia and Lady + Glenalvon, Chillingly Gordon was seated alone with Mivers in the + comfortable apartment of the cynical old bachelor. Gordon had breakfasted + with his kinsman, but that meal was long over; the two men having found + much to talk about on matters very interesting to the younger, nor without + interest to the elder one. + </p> + <p> + It is true that Chillingly Gordon had, within the very short space of time + that had elapsed since his entrance into the House of Commons, achieved + one of those reputations which mark out a man for early admission into the + progressive career of office,—not a very showy reputation, but a + very solid one. He had none of the gifts of the genuine orator, no + enthusiasm, no imagination, no imprudent bursts of fiery words from a + passionate heart. But he had all the gifts of an exceedingly telling + speaker,—a clear metallic voice; well-bred, appropriate action, not + less dignified for being somewhat too quiet; readiness for extempore + replies; industry and method for prepared expositions of principle or + fact. But his principal merit with the chiefs of the assembly was in the + strong good sense and worldly tact which made him a safe speaker. For this + merit he was largely indebted to his frequent conferences with Chillingly + Mivers. That gentleman, whether owing to his social qualities or to the + influence of “The Londoner” on public opinion, enjoyed an intimate + acquaintance with the chiefs of all parties, and was up to his ears in the + wisdom of the world. “Nothing,” he would say, “hurts a young Parliamentary + speaker like violence in opinion, one way or the other. Shun it. Always + allow that much may be said on both sides. When the chiefs of your own + side suddenly adopt a violence, you can go with them or against them, + according as best suits your own book.” + </p> + <p> + “So,” said Mivers, reclined on his sofa, and approaching the end of his + second Trabuco (he never allowed himself more than two), “so I think we + have pretty well settled the tone you must take in your speech to-night. + It is a great occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “True. It is the first time in which the debate has been arranged so that + I may speak at ten o’clock or later. That in itself is a great leap; and + it is a Cabinet minister whom I am to answer,—luckily, he is a very + dull fellow. Do you think I might hazard a joke,—at least a + witticism?” + </p> + <p> + “At his expense? Decidedly not. Though his office compels him to introduce + this measure, he was by no means in its favour when it was discussed in + the Cabinet; and though, as you say, he is dull, it is precisely that sort + of dulness which is essential to the formation of every respectable + Cabinet. Joke at him, indeed! Learn that gentle dulness never loves a joke—at + its own expense. Vain man! seize the occasion which your blame of his + measure affords you to secure his praise of yourself; compliment him. + Enough of politics. It never does to think too much over what one has + already decided to say. Brooding over it, one may become too much in + earnest, and commit an indiscretion. So Kenelm has come back?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I heard that news last night, at White’s, from Travers. Sir Peter + had called on Travers.” + </p> + <p> + “Travers still favours your suit to the heiress?” + </p> + <p> + “More, I think, than ever. Success in Parliament has great effect on a man + who has success in fashion and respects the opinion of clubs. But last + night he was unusually cordial. Between you and me, I think he is a little + afraid that Kenelm may yet be my rival. I gathered that from a hint he let + fall of the unwelcome nature of Sir Peter’s talk to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why has Travers conceived a dislike to poor Kenelm? He seemed partial + enough to him once.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but not as a son-in-law, even before I had a chance of becoming so. + And when, after Kenelm appeared at Exmundham, while Travers was staying + there, Travers learned, I suppose from Lady Chillingly, that Kenelm had + fallen in love with and wanted to marry some other girl, who it seems + rejected him; and still more when he heard that Kenelm had been + subsequently travelling on the Continent in company with a low-lived + fellow, the drunken, riotous son of a farrier, you may well conceive how + so polished and sensible a man as Leopold Travers would dislike the idea + of giving his daughter to one so little likely to make an agreeable + son-in-law. Bah! I have no fear of Kenelm. By the way, did Sir Peter say + if Kenelm had quite recovered his health? He was at death’s door some + eighteen months ago, when Sir Peter and Lady Chillingly were summoned to + town by the doctors.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Gordon, I fear there is no chance of your succession to + Exmundham. Sir Peter says that his wandering Hercules is as stalwart as + ever, and more equable in temperament, more taciturn and grave,—in + short, less odd. But when you say you have no fear of Kenelm’s rivalry, do + you mean only as to Cecilia Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “Neither as to that nor as to anything in life; and as to the succession + to Exmundham, it is his to leave as he pleases, and I have cause to think + he would never leave it to me. More likely to Parson John or the parson’s + son,—or why not to yourself? I often think that for the prizes + immediately set before my ambition I am better off without land: land is a + great obfuscator.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph, there is some truth in that. Yet the fear of land and obfuscation + does not seem to operate against your suit to Cecilia Travers?” + </p> + <p> + “Her father is likely enough to live till I maybe contented to ‘rest and + be thankful’ in the Upper House; and I should not like to be a landless + peer.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right there; but I should tell you that, now Kenelm has come + back, Sir Peter has set his heart on his son’s being your rival.” + </p> + <p> + “For Cecilia?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps; but certainly for Parliamentary reputation. The senior member + for the county means to retire, and Sir Peter has been urged to allow his + son to be brought forward,—from what I hear, with the certainty of + success.” + </p> + <p> + “What! in spite of that wonderful speech of his on coming of age?” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! that is now understood to have been but a bad joke on the new + ideas, and their organs, including ‘The Londoner.’ But if Kenelm does come + into the House, it will not be on your side of the question; and unless I + greatly overrate his abilities—which very likely I do—he will + not be a rival to despise. Except, indeed, that he may have one fault + which in the present day would be enough to unfit him for public life.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that fault?” + </p> + <p> + “Treason to the blood of the Chillinglys. This is the age, in England, + when one cannot be too much of a Chillingly. I fear that if Kenelm does + become bewildered by a political abstraction,—call it, no matter + what, say, ‘love of his country,’ or some such old-fashioned crotchet,—I + fear, I greatly fear, that he may be—in earnest.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0116" id="link2HCH0116"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE LAST. + </h2> + <p> + IT was a field night in the House of Commons,—an adjourned debate, + opened by George Belvoir, who had been, the last two years, very slowly + creeping on in the favour, or rather the indulgence of the House, and more + than justifying Kenelm’s prediction of his career. Heir to a noble name + and vast estates, extremely hard-working, very well informed, it was + impossible that he should not creep on. That night he spoke sensibly + enough, assisting his memory by frequent references to his notes; listened + to courteously, and greeted with a faint “Hear, hear!” of relief when he + had done. + </p> + <p> + Then the House gradually thinned till nine o’clock, at which hour it + became very rapidly crowded. A Cabinet minister had solemnly risen, + deposited on the table before him a formidable array of printed papers, + including a corpulent blue-book. Leaning his arm on the red box, he + commenced with this awe-compelling sentence,— + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I join issue with the right honourable gentleman opposite. He says + this is not raised as a party question. I deny it. Her Majesty’s + Government are put upon their trial.” + </p> + <p> + Here there were cheers, so loudly, and so rarely greeting a speech from + that Cabinet minister, that he was put out, and had much to “hum” and to + “ha,” before he could recover the thread of his speech. Then he went on, + with unbroken but lethargic fluency; read long extracts from the public + papers, inflicted a whole page from the blue-book, wound up with a + peroration of respectable platitudes, glanced at the clock, saw that he + had completed the hour which a Cabinet minister who does not profess to be + oratorical is expected to speak, but not to exceed; and sat down. + </p> + <p> + Up rose a crowd of eager faces, from which the Speaker, as previously + arranged with the party whips, selected one,—a young face, hardy, + intelligent, emotionless. + </p> + <p> + I need not say that it was the face of Chillingly Gordon. His position + that night was one that required dexterous management and delicate tact. + He habitually supported the Government; his speeches had been hitherto in + their favour. On this occasion he differed from the Government. The + difference was known to the chiefs of the Opposition, and hence the + arrangement of the whips, that he should speak for the first time after + ten o’clock, and for the first time in reply to a Cabinet minister. It is + a position in which a young party man makes or mars his future. Chillingly + Gordon spoke from the third row behind the Government; he had been duly + cautioned by Mivers not to affect a conceited independence, or an adhesion + to “violence” in ultra-liberal opinions, by seating himself below the + gangway. Speaking thus, amid the rank and file of the Ministerial + supporters, any opinion at variance with the mouthpieces of the Treasury + Bench would be sure to produce a more effective sensation than if + delivered from the ranks of the mutinous Bashi Bazouks divided by the + gangway from better disciplined forces. His first brief sentences + enthralled the House, conciliated the Ministerial side, kept the + Opposition side in suspense. The whole speech was, indeed, felicitously + adroit, and especially in this, that, while in opposition to the + Government as a whole, it expressed the opinions of a powerful section of + the Cabinet, which, though at present a minority, yet being the most + enamoured of a New Idea, the progress of the age would probably render a + safe investment for the confidence which honest Gordon reposed in its + chance of beating its colleagues. + </p> + <p> + It was not, however, till Gordon had concluded that the cheers of his + audience—impulsive and hearty as are the cheers of that assembly + when the evidence of intellect is unmistakable—made manifest to the + gallery and the reporters the full effect of the speech he had delivered. + The chief of the Opposition whispered to his next neighbour, “I wish we + could get that man.” The Cabinet minister whom Gordon had answered—more + pleased with a personal compliment to himself than displeased with an + attack on the measure his office compelled him to advocate—whispered + to his chief, “That is a man we must not lose.” + </p> + <p> + Two gentlemen in the Speaker’s gallery, who had sat there from the opening + of the debate, now quitted their places. Coming into the lobby, they found + themselves commingled with a crowd of members who had also quitted their + seats, after Gordon’s speech, in order to discuss its merits, as they + gathered round the refreshment table for oranges or soda-water. Among them + was George Belvoir, who, on sight of the younger of the two gentlemen + issuing from the Speaker’s gallery, accosted him with friendly greeting,— + </p> + <p> + “Ha! Chillingly, how are you? Did not know you were in town. Been here all + the evening? Yes; very good debate. How did you like Gordon’s speech?” + </p> + <p> + “I liked yours much better.” + </p> + <p> + “Mine!” cried George, very much flattered and very much surprised. “Oh, + mine was a mere humdrum affair, a plain statement of the reasons for the + vote I should give. And Gordon’s was anything but that. You did not like + his opinions?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what his opinions are. But I did not like his ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t quite understand you. What ideas?” + </p> + <p> + “The new ones; by which it is shown how rapidly a great state can be made + small.” + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Belvoir was taken aside by a brother member, on an important + matter to be brought before the committee on salmon fisheries, on which + they both served; and Kenelm, with his companion, Sir Peter, threaded his + way through the crowded lobby and disappeared. Emerging into the broad + space, with its lofty clock-tower, Sir Peter halted, and pointing towards + the old Abbey, half in shadow, half in light, under the tranquil + moonbeams, said,— + </p> + <p> + “It tells much for the duration of a people when it accords with the + instinct of immortality in a man; when an honoured tomb is deemed + recompense for the toils and dangers of a noble life. How much of the + history of England Nelson summed up in the simple words,—‘Victory or + Westminster Abbey.’” + </p> + <p> + “Admirably expressed, my dear father,” said Kenelm, briefly. + </p> + <p> + “I agree with your remark, which I overheard, on Gordon’s speech,” resumed + Sir Peter. “It was wonderfully clever; yet I should have been sorry to + hear you speak it. It is not by such sentiments that Nelsons become great. + If such sentiments should ever be national, the cry will not be ‘Victory + or Westminster Abbey!’ but ‘Defeat and the Three per Cents!’” + </p> + <p> + Pleased with his own unwonted animation, and with the sympathizing + half-smile on his son’s taciturn lips, Sir Peter then proceeded more + immediately to the subjects which pressed upon his heart. Gordon’s success + in Parliament, Gordon’s suit to Cecilia Travers, favoured, as Sir Peter + had learned, by her father, rejected as yet by herself, were somehow + inseparably mixed up in Sir Peter’s mind and his words, as he sought to + kindle his son’s emulation. He dwelt on the obligations which a country + imposed on its citizens, especially on the young and vigorous generation + to which the destinies of those to follow were intrusted; and with these + stern obligations he combined all the cheering and tender associations + which an English public man connects with an English home: the wife with a + smile to soothe the cares, and a mind to share the aspirations, of a life + that must go through labour to achieve renown; thus, in all he said, + binding together, as if they could not be disparted, Ambition and Cecilia. + </p> + <p> + His son did not interrupt him by a word, Sir Peter in his eagerness not + noticing that Kenelm had drawn him aside from the direct thoroughfare, and + had now made halt in the middle of Westminster bridge, bending over the + massive parapet and gazing abstractedly upon the waves of the starlit + river. On the right the stately length of the people’s legislative palace, + so new in its date, so elaborately in each detail ancient in its form, + stretching on towards the lowly and jagged roofs of penury and crime. Well + might these be so near to the halls of a people’s legislative palace: near + to the heart of every legislator for a people must be the mighty problem + how to increase a people’s splendour and its virtue, and how to diminish + its penury and its crime. + </p> + <p> + “How strange it is,” said Kenelm, still bending over the parapet, “that + throughout all my desultory wanderings I have ever been attracted towards + the sight and the sound of running waters, even those of the humblest + rill! Of what thoughts, of what dreams, of what memories, colouring the + history of my past, the waves of the humblest rill could speak, were the + waves themselves not such supreme philosophers,—roused indeed on + their surface, vexed by a check to their own course, but so indifferent to + all that makes gloom or death to the mortals who think and dream and feel + beside their banks.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me,” said Peter to himself, “the boy has got back to his old vein + of humours and melancholies. He has not heard a word I have been saying. + Travers is right. He will never do anything in life. Why did I christen + him Kenelm? he might as well have been christened Peter.” Still, loth to + own that his eloquence had been expended in vain and that the wish of his + heart was doomed to expire disappointed, Sir Peter said aloud, “You have + not listened to what I said; Kenelm, you grieve me.” + </p> + <p> + “Grieve you! you! do not say that, Father, dear Father. Listen to you! + Every word you have said has sunk into the deepest deep of my heart. + Pardon my foolish, purposeless snatch of talk to myself: it is but my way, + only my way, dear Father!” + </p> + <p> + “Boy, boy,” cried Sir Peter, with tears in his voice, “if you could get + out of those odd ways of yours I should be so thankful. But if you cannot, + nothing you can do shall grieve me. Only, let me say this; running waters + have had a great charm for you. With a humble rill you associate thoughts, + dreams, memories in your past. But now you halt by the stream of the + mighty river: before you the senate of an empire wider than Alexander’s; + behind you the market of a commerce to which that of Tyre was a pitiful + trade. Look farther down, those squalid hovels, how much there to redeem + or to remedy; and out of sight, but not very distant, the nation’s + Walhalla, ‘Victory or Westminster Abbey!’ The humble rill has witnessed + your past. Has the mighty river no effect on your future? The rill keeps + no record of your past: shall the river keep no record of your future? Ah, + boy, boy, I see you are dreaming still,—no use talking. Let us go + home.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not dreaming, I was telling myself that the time had come to + replace the old Kenelm with the new ideas, by a new Kenelm with the Ideas + of Old. Ah! perhaps we must,—at whatever cost to ourselves,—we + must go through the romance of life before we clearly detect what is grand + in its realities. I can no longer lament that I stand estranged from the + objects and pursuits of my race. I have learned how much I have with them + in common. I have known love; I have known sorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Kenelm paused a moment, only a moment, then lifted the head which, during + that pause, had drooped, and stood erect at the full height of his + stature, startling his father by the change that had passed over his face; + lip, eye, his whole aspect, eloquent with a resolute enthusiasm, too grave + to be the flash of a passing moment. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” he said, “Victory or Westminster Abbey! The world is a + battle-field in which the worst wounded are the deserters, stricken as + they seek to fly, and hushing the groans that would betray the secret of + their inglorious hiding-place. The pain of wounds received in the thick of + the fight is scarcely felt in the joy of service to some honoured cause, + and is amply atoned by the reverence for noble scars. My choice is made. + Not that of deserter, that of soldier in the ranks.” + </p> + <p> + “It will not be long before you rise from the ranks, my boy, if you hold + fast to the Idea of Old, symbolized in the English battle-cry, ‘Victory or + Westminster Abbey.’” + </p> + <p> + So saying, Sir Peter took his son’s arm, leaning on it proudly; and so, + into the crowded thoroughfares, from the halting-place on the modern + bridge that spans the legendary river, passes the Man of the Young + Generation to fates beyond the verge of the horizon to which the eyes of + my generation must limit their wistful gaze. + </p> + <p> + THE END. <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Kenelm Chillingly, Complete, by +Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KENELM CHILLINGLY, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 7658-h.htm or 7658-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/6/5/7658/ + +Produced by David Widger and Dagny + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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