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diff --git a/7894-h/7894-h.htm b/7894-h/7894-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c18c4b --- /dev/null +++ b/7894-h/7894-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16788 @@ +<?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> + The Fallen Leaves, by Wilkie Collins + </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; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fallen Leaves, by Wilkie Collins + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Fallen Leaves + +Author: Wilkie Collins + +Release Date: July 26, 2009 [EBook #7894] +Last Updated: September 11, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FALLEN LEAVES *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE FALLEN LEAVES + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Wilkie Collins + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + To CAROLINE + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + Experience of the reception of <i>The Fallen Leaves</i> by intelligent + readers, who have followed the course of the periodical publication at + home and abroad, has satisfied me that the design of the work speaks for + itself, and that the scrupulous delicacy of treatment, in certain portions + of the story, has been as justly appreciated as I could wish. Having + nothing to explain, and (so far as my choice of subject is concerned) + nothing to excuse, I leave my book, without any prefatory pleading for it, + to make its appeal to the reading public on such merits as it may possess. + </p> + <p> + W. C. GLOUCESTER PLACE, LONDON July 1st, 1879 + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE PROLOGUE </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> <big><b>THE STORY</b></big> </a><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>BOOK THE FIRST. AMELIUS AMONG THE + SOCIALISTS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER 5 </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> <b>BOOK THE SECOND. AMELIUS IN LONDON</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER 2 </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> <b>BOOK THE THIRD. MRS. FARNABY’S FOOT</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER 4 </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> <b>BOOK THE FOURTH. LOVE AND MONEY</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER 4 </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> <b>BOOK THE FIFTH. THE FATAL LECTURE</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER 6 </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> <b>BOOK THE SIXTH. FILIA DOLOROSA</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER 6 </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> <b>BOOK THE SEVENTH. THE VANISHING HOPES</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER 6 </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> <b>BOOK THE EIGHTH. DAME NATURE DECIDES</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER 6 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER 7 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER 8 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER 9 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER 10 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER 11 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER 12 </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE PROLOGUE + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + The resistless influences which are one day to reign supreme over our poor + hearts, and to shape the sad short course of our lives, are sometimes of + mysteriously remote origin, and find their devious ways to us through the + hearts and the lives of strangers. + </p> + <p> + While the young man whose troubled career it is here proposed to follow + was wearing his first jacket, and bowling his first hoop, a domestic + misfortune, falling on a household of strangers, was destined nevertheless + to have its ultimate influence over his happiness, and to shape the whole + aftercourse of his life. + </p> + <p> + For this reason, some First Words must precede the Story, and must present + the brief narrative of what happened in the household of strangers. By + what devious ways the event here related affected the chief personage of + these pages, when he grew to manhood, it will be the business of the story + to trace, over land and sea, among men and women, in bright days and dull + days alike, until the end is reached, and the pen (God willing) is put + back in the desk. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Old Benjamin Ronald (of the Stationers’ Company) took a young wife at the + ripe age of fifty, and carried with him into the holy estate of matrimony + some of the habits of his bachelor life. + </p> + <p> + As a bachelor, he had never willingly left his shop (situated in that + exclusively commercial region of London which is called “the City”) from + one year’s end to another. As a married man, he persisted in following the + same monotonous course; with this one difference, that he now had a woman + to follow it with him. “Travelling by railway,” he explained to his wife, + “will make your head ache—it makes <i>my</i> head ache. Travelling + by sea will make you sick—it makes <i>me</i> sick. If you want + change of air, every sort of air is to be found in the City. If you admire + the beauties of Nature, there is Finsbury Square with the beauties of + Nature carefully selected and arranged. When we are in London, you (and I) + are all right; and when we are out of London, you (and I) are all wrong.” + As surely as the autumn holiday season set in, so surely Old Ronald + resisted his wife’s petition for a change of scene in that form of words. + A man habitually fortified behind his own inbred obstinacy and selfishness + is for the most part an irresistible power within the limits of his + domestic circle. As a rule, patient Mrs. Ronald yielded; and her husband + stood revealed to his neighbours in the glorious character of a married + man who had his own way. + </p> + <p> + But in the autumn of 1856, the retribution which sooner or later descends + on all despotisms, great and small, overtook the iron rule of Old Ronald, + and defeated the domestic tyrant on the battle-field of his own fireside. + </p> + <p> + The children born of the marriage, two in number, were both daughters. The + elder had mortally offended her father by marrying imprudently—in a + pecuniary sense. He had declared that she should never enter his house + again; and he had mercilessly kept his word. The younger daughter (now + eighteen years of age) proved to be also a source of parental inquietude, + in another way. She was the passive cause of the revolt which set her + father’s authority at defiance. For some little time past she had been out + of health. After many ineffectual trials of the mild influence of + persuasion, her mother’s patience at last gave way. Mrs. Ronald insisted—yes, + actually insisted—on taking Miss Emma to the seaside. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with you?” Old Ronald asked; detecting something that + perplexed him in his wife’s look and manner, on the memorable occasion + when she asserted a will of her own for the first time in her life. + </p> + <p> + A man of finer observation would have discovered the signs of no ordinary + anxiety and alarm, struggling to show themselves openly in the poor + woman’s face. Her husband only saw a change that puzzled him. “Send for + Emma,” he said, his natural cunning inspiring him with the idea of + confronting the mother and daughter, and of seeing what came of <i>that.</i> + Emma appeared, plump and short, with large blue eyes, and full pouting + lips, and splendid yellow hair: otherwise, miserably pale, languid in her + movements, careless in her dress, sullen in her manner. Out of health as + her mother said, and as her father saw. + </p> + <p> + “You can see for yourself,” said Mrs. Ronald, “that the girl is pining for + fresh air. I have heard Ramsgate recommended.” + </p> + <p> + Old Ronald looked at his daughter. She represented the one tender place in + his nature. It was not a large place; but it did exist. And the proof of + it is, that he began to yield—with the worst possible grace. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we will see about it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “There is no time to be lost,” Mrs. Ronald persisted. “I mean to take her + to Ramsgate tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ronald looked at his wife as a dog looks at the maddened sheep that + turns on him. “You mean?” repeated the stationer. “Upon my soul—what + next? You mean? Where is the money to come from? Answer me that.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ronald declined to be drawn into a conjugal dispute, in the presence + of her daughter. She took Emma’s arm, and led her to the door. There she + stopped, and spoke. “I have already told you that the girl is ill,” she + said to her husband. “And I now tell you again that she must have the sea + air. For God’s sake, don’t let us quarrel! I have enough to try me without + that.” She closed the door on herself and her daughter, and left her lord + and master standing face to face with the wreck of his own outraged + authority. + </p> + <p> + What further progress was made by the domestic revolt, when the bedroom + candles were lit, and the hour of retirement had arrived with the night, + is naturally involved in mystery. This alone is certain: On the next + morning, the luggage was packed, and the cab was called to the door. Mrs. + Ronald spoke her parting words to her husband in private. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I have not expressed myself too strongly about taking Emma to the + seaside,” she said, in gentle pleading tones. “I am anxious about our + girl’s health. If I have offended you—without meaning it, God knows!—say + you forgive me before I go. I have tried honestly, dear, to be a good wife + to you. And you have always trusted me, haven’t you? And you trust me + still?” + </p> + <p> + She took his lean cold hand, and pressed it fervently: her eyes rested on + him with a strange mixture of timidity and anxiety. Still in the prime of + her life, she preserved the personal attractions—the fair calm + refined face, the natural grace of look and movement—which had made + her marriage to a man old enough to be her father a cause of angry + astonishment among all her friends. In the agitation that now possessed + her, her colour rose, her eyes brightened; she looked for the moment + almost young enough to be Emma’s sister. Her husband opened his hard old + eyes in surly bewilderment. “Why need you make this fuss?” he asked. “I + don’t understand you.” Mrs. Ronald shrank at those words as if he had + struck her. She kissed him in silence, and joined her daughter in the cab. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of that day, the persons in the stationer’s employment had a + hard time of it with their master in the shop. Something had upset Old + Ronald. He ordered the shutters to be put up earlier that evening than + usual. Instead of going to his club (at the tavern round the corner), he + took a long walk in the lonely and lifeless streets of the City by night. + There was no disguising it from himself; his wife’s behaviour at parting + had made him uneasy. He naturally swore at her for taking that liberty, + while he lay awake alone in his bed. “Damn the woman! What does she mean?” + The cry of the soul utters itself in various forms of expression. That was + the cry of Old Ronald’s soul, literally translated. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + The next morning brought him a letter from Ramsgate. + </p> + <p> + “I write immediately to tell you of our safe arrival. We have found + comfortable lodgings (as the address at the head of this letter will + inform you) in Albion Place. I thank you, and Emma desires to thank you + also, for your kindness in providing us with ample means for taking our + little trip. It is beautiful weather today; the sea is calm, and the + pleasure-boats are out. We do not of course expect to see you here. But if + you do, by any chance, overcome your objection to moving out of London, I + have a little request to make. Please let me hear of your visit beforehand—so + that I may not omit all needful preparations. I know you dislike being + troubled with letters (except on business), so I will not write too + frequently. Be so good as to take no news for good news, in the intervals. + When you have a few minutes to spare, you will write, I hope, and tell me + how you and the shop are going on. Emma sends you her love, in which I beg + to join.” So the letter was expressed, and so it ended. + </p> + <p> + “They needn’t be afraid of my troubling them. Calm seas and + pleasure-boats! Stuff and nonsense!” Such was the first impression which + his wife’s report of herself produced on Old Ronald’s mind. After a while, + he looked at the letter again—and frowned, and reflected. “Please + let me hear of your visit beforehand,” he repeated to himself, as if the + request had been, in some incomprehensible way, offensive to him. He + opened the drawer of his desk, and threw the letter into it. When business + was over for the day, he went to his club at the tavern, and made himself + unusually disagreeable to everybody. + </p> + <p> + A week passed. In the interval he wrote briefly to his wife. “I’m all + right, and the shop goes on as usual.” He also forwarded one or two + letters which came for Mrs. Ronald. No more news reached him from + Ramsgate. “I suppose they’re enjoying themselves,” he reflected. “The + house looks queer without them; I’ll go to the club.” + </p> + <p> + He stayed later than usual, and drank more than usual, that night. It was + nearly one in the morning when he let himself in with his latch-key, and + went upstairs to bed. + </p> + <p> + Approaching the toilette-table, he found a letter lying on it, addressed + to “Mr. Ronald—private.” It was not in his wife’s handwriting; not + in any handwriting known to him. The characters sloped the wrong way, and + the envelope bore no postmark. He eyed it over and over suspiciously. At + last he opened it, and read these lines: + </p> + <p> + “You are advised by a true friend to lose no time in looking after your + wife. There are strange doings at the seaside. If you don’t believe me, + ask Mrs. Turner, Number 1, Slains Row, Ramsgate.” + </p> + <p> + No address, no date, no signature—an anonymous letter, the first he + had ever received in the long course of his life. + </p> + <p> + His hard brain was in no way affected by the liquor that he had drunk. He + sat down on his bed, mechanically folding and refolding the letter. The + reference to “Mrs. Turner” produced no impression on him of any sort: no + person of that name, common as it was, happened to be numbered on the list + of his friends or his customers. But for one circumstance, he would have + thrown the letter aside, in contempt. His memory reverted to his wife’s + incomprehensible behaviour at parting. Addressing him through that + remembrance, the anonymous warning assumed a certain importance to his + mind. He went down to his desk, in the back office, and took his wife’s + letter out of the drawer, and read it through slowly. “Ha!” he said, + pausing as he came across the sentence which requested him to write + beforehand, in the unlikely event of his deciding to go to Ramsgate. He + thought again of the strangely persistent way in which his wife had dwelt + on his trusting her; he recalled her nervous anxious looks, her deepening + colour, her agitation at one moment, and then her sudden silence and + sudden retreat to the cab. Fed by these irritating influences, the inbred + suspicion in his nature began to take fire slowly. She might be innocent + enough in asking him to give her notice before he joined her at the + seaside—she might naturally be anxious to omit no needful + preparation for his comfort. Still, he didn’t like it; no, he didn’t like + it. An appearance as of a slow collapse passed little by little over his + rugged wrinkled face. He looked many years older than his age, as he sat + at the desk, with the flaring candlelight close in front of him, thinking. + The anonymous letter lay before him, side by side with his wife’s letter. + On a sudden, he lifted his gray head, and clenched his fist, and struck + the venomous written warning as if it had been a living thing that could + feel. “Whoever you are,” he said, “I’ll take your advice.” + </p> + <p> + He never even made the attempt to go to bed that night. His pipe helped + him through the comfortless and dreary hours. Once or twice he thought of + his daughter. Why had her mother been so anxious about her? Why had her + mother taken her to Ramsgate? Perhaps, as a blind—ah, yes, perhaps + as a blind! More for the sake of something to do than for any other + reason, he packed a handbag with a few necessaries. As soon as the servant + was stirring, he ordered her to make him a cup of strong coffee. After + that, it was time to show himself as usual, on the opening of the shop. To + his astonishment, he found his clerk taking down the shutters, in place of + the porter. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” he asked. “Where is Farnaby?” + </p> + <p> + The clerk looked at his master, and paused aghast with a shutter in his + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! what has come to you?” he cried. “Are you ill?” + </p> + <p> + Old Ronald angrily repeated his question: “Where is Farnaby?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know? Have you been up to his bedroom?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he isn’t in his bedroom. And, what’s more, his bed hasn’t been + slept in last night. Farnaby’s off, sir—nobody knows where.” + </p> + <p> + Old Ronald dropped heavily into the nearest chair. This second mystery, + following on the mystery of the anonymous letter, staggered him. But his + business instincts were still in good working order. He held out his keys + to the clerk. “Get the petty cash-book,” he said, “and see if the money is + all right.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk received the keys under protest. <i>“That’s</i> not the right + reading of the riddle,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Do as I tell you!” + </p> + <p> + The clerk opened the money-drawer under the counter; counted the pounds, + shillings and pence paid by chance customers up to the closing of the shop + on the previous evening; compared the result with the petty cash-book, and + answered, “Right to a halfpenny.” + </p> + <p> + Satisfied so far, old Ronald condescended to approach the speculative side + of the subject, with the assistance of his subordinate. “If what you said + just now means anything,” he resumed, “it means that you suspect the + reason why Farnaby has left my service. Let’s hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “You know that I never liked John Farnaby,” the clerk began. “An active + young fellow and a clever young fellow, I grant you. But a bad servant for + all that. False, Mr. Ronald—false to the marrow of his bones.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ronald’s patience began to give way. “Come to the facts,” he growled. + “Why has Farnaby gone off without a word to anybody? Do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “I know no more than you do,” the clerk answered coolly. “Don’t fly into a + passion. I have got some facts for you, if you will only give me time. + Turn them over in your own mind, and see what they come to. Three days ago + I was short of postage-stamps, and I went to the office. Farnaby was + there, waiting at the desk where they pay the post-office orders. There + must have been ten or a dozen people with letters, orders, and what not, + between him and me. I got behind him quietly, and looked over his + shoulder. I saw the clerk give him the money for his post-office order. + Five pounds in gold, which I reckoned as they lay on the counter, and a + bank-note besides, which he crumpled up in his hand. I can’t tell you how + much it was for; I only know it <i>was</i> a bank-note. Just ask yourself + how a porter on twenty shillings a week (with a mother who takes in + washing, and a father who takes in drink) comes to have a correspondent + who sends him an order for five sovereigns—and a bank-note, value + unknown. Say he’s turned betting-man in secret. Very good. There’s the + post-office order, in that case, to show that he’s got a run of luck. If + he has got a run of luck, tell me this—why does he leave his place + like a thief in the night? He’s not a slave; he’s not even an apprentice. + When he thinks he can better himself, he has no earthly need to keep it a + secret that he means to leave your service. He may have met with an + accident, to be sure. But that’s not <i>my</i> belief. I say he’s up to + some mischief And now comes the question: What are we to do?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ronald, listening with his head down, and without interposing a word + on his own part, made an extraordinary answer. “Leave it,” he said. “Leave + it till tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” the clerk answered, without ceremony. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ronald made another extraordinary answer. “Because I am obliged to go + out of town for the day. Look after the business. The ironmonger’s man + over the way will help you to put up the shutters at night. If anybody + inquires for me, say I shall be back tomorrow.” With those parting + directions, heedless of the effect that he had produced on the clerk, he + looked at his watch, and left the shop. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + The bell which gave five minutes’ notice of the starting of the Ramsgate + train had just rung. + </p> + <p> + While the other travellers were hastening to the platform, two persons + stood passively apart as if they had not even yet decided on taking their + places in the train. One of the two was a smart young man in a cheap + travelling suit; mainly noticeable by his florid complexion, his restless + dark eyes, and his profusely curling black hair. The other was a + middle-aged woman in frowsy garments; tall and stout, sly and sullen. The + smart young man stood behind the uncongenial-looking person with whom he + had associated himself, using her as a screen to hide him while he watched + the travellers on their way to the train. As the bell rang, the woman + suddenly faced her companion, and pointed to the railway clock. + </p> + <p> + “Are you waiting to make up your mind till the train has gone?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The young man frowned impatiently. “I am waiting for a person whom I + expect to see,” he answered. “If the person travels by this train, we + shall travel by it. If not, we shall come back here, and look out for the + next train, and so on till night-time, if it’s necessary.” + </p> + <p> + The woman fixed her small scowling gray eyes on the man as he replied in + those terms. “Look here!” she broke out. “I like to see my way before me. + You’re a stranger, young Mister; and it’s as likely as not you’ve given me + a false name and address. That don’t matter. False names are commoner than + true ones, in my line of life. But mind this! I don’t stir a step farther + till I’ve got half the money in my hand, and my return-ticket there and + back.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue!” the man suddenly interposed in a whisper. “It’s all + right. I’ll get the tickets.” + </p> + <p> + He looked while he spoke at an elderly traveller, hastening by with his + head down, deep in thought, noticing nobody. The traveller was Mr. Ronald. + The young man, who had that moment recognized him, was his runaway porter, + John Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + Returning with the tickets, the porter took his repellent travelling + companion by the arm, and hurried her along the platform to the train. + “The money!” she whispered, as they took their places. Farnaby handed it + to her, ready wrapped up in a morsel of paper. She opened the paper, + satisfied herself that no trick had been played her, and leaned back in + her corner to go to sleep. The train started. Old Ronald travelled by the + second class; his porter and his porter’s companion accompanied him + secretly by the third. + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + It was still early in the afternoon when Mr. Ronald descended the narrow + street which leads from the high land of the South-Eastern railway station + to the port of Ramsgate. Asking his way of the first policeman whom he + met, he turned to the left, and reached the cliff on which the houses in + Albion Place are situated. Farnaby followed him at a discreet distance; + and the woman followed Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + Arrived in sight of the lodging-house, Mr. Ronald paused—partly to + recover his breath, partly to compose himself. He was conscious of a + change of feeling as he looked up at the windows: his errand suddenly + assumed a contemptible aspect in his own eyes. He almost felt ashamed of + himself. After twenty years of undisturbed married life, was it possible + that he had doubted his wife—and that at the instigation of a + stranger whose name even was unknown to him? “If she was to step out in + the balcony, and see me down here,” he thought, “what a fool I should + look!” He felt half-inclined, at the moment when he lifted the knocker of + the door, to put it back again quietly, and return to London. No! it was + too late. The maid-servant was hanging up her birdcage in the area of the + house; the maid-servant had seen him. + </p> + <p> + “Does Mrs. Ronald lodge here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The girl lifted her eyebrows and opened her mouth—stared at him in + speechless confusion—and disappeared in the kitchen regions. This + strange reception of his inquiry irritated him unreasonably. He knocked + with the absurd violence of a man who vents his anger on the first + convenient thing that he can find. The landlady opened the door, and + looked at him in stern and silent surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Does Mrs. Ronald lodge here?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + The landlady answered with some appearance of effort—the effort of a + person who was carefully considering her words before she permitted them + to pass her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Ronald has taken rooms here. But she has not occupied them yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Not occupied them yet?” The words bewildered him as if they had been + spoken in an unknown tongue. He stood stupidly silent on the doorstep. His + anger was gone; an all-mastering fear throbbed heavily at his heart. The + landlady looked at him, and said to her secret self: “Just what I + suspected; there <i>is</i> something wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I have not sufficiently explained myself, sir,” she resumed with + grave politeness. “Mrs. Ronald told me that she was staying at Ramsgate + with friends. She would move into my house, she said, when her friends + left—but they had not quite settled the day yet. She calls here for + letters. Indeed, she was here early this morning, to pay the second week’s + rent. I asked when she thought of moving in. She didn’t seem to know; her + friends (as I understood) had not made up their minds. I must say I + thought it a little odd. Would you like to leave any message?” + </p> + <p> + He recovered himself sufficiently to speak. “Can you tell me where her + friends live?” he said. + </p> + <p> + The landlady shook her head. “No, indeed. I offered to save Mrs. Ronald + the trouble of calling here, by sending letters or cards to her present + residence. She declined the offer—and she has never mentioned the + address. Would you like to come in and rest, sir? I will see that your + card is taken care of, if you wish to leave it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma’am—it doesn’t matter—good morning.” + </p> + <p> + The landlady looked after him as he descended the house-steps. “It’s the + husband, Peggy,” she said to the servant, waiting inquisitively behind + her. “Poor old gentleman! And such a respectable-looking woman, too!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ronald walked mechanically to the end of the row of houses, and met + the wide grand view of sea and sky. There were some seats behind the + railing which fenced the edge of the cliff. He sat down, perfectly + stupefied and helpless, on the nearest bench. + </p> + <p> + At the close of life, the loss of a man’s customary nourishment extends + its debilitating influence rapidly from his body to his mind. Mr. Ronald + had tasted nothing but his cup of coffee since the previous night. His + mind began to wander strangely; he was not angry or frightened or + distressed. Instead of thinking of what had just happened, he was thinking + of his young days when he had been a cricket-player. One special game + revived in his memory, at which he had been struck on the head by the + ball. “Just the same feeling,” he reflected vacantly, with his hat off, + and his hand on his forehead. “Dazed and giddy—just the same + feeling!” + </p> + <p> + He leaned back on the bench, and fixed his eyes on the sea, and wondered + languidly what had come to him. Farnaby and the woman, still following, + waited round the corner where they could just keep him in view. + </p> + <p> + The blue lustre of the sky was without a cloud; the sunny sea leapt under + the fresh westerly breeze. From the beach, the cries of children at play, + the shouts of donkey-boys driving their poor beasts, the distant notes of + brass instruments playing a waltz, and the mellow music of the small waves + breaking on the sand, rose joyously together on the fragrant air. On the + next bench, a dirty old boatman was prosing to a stupid old visitor. Mr. + Ronald listened, with a sense of vacant content in the mere act of + listening. The boatman’s words found their way to his ears like the other + sounds that were abroad in the air. “Yes; them’s the Goodwin Sands, where + you see the lightship. And that steamer there, towing a vessel into the + harbour, that’s the Ramsgate Tug. Do you know what I should like to see? I + should like to see the Ramsgate Tug blow up. Why? I’ll tell you why. I + belong to Broadstairs; I don’t belong to Ramsgate. Very well. I’m idling + here, as you may see, without one copper piece in my pocket to rub against + another. What trade do I belong to? I don’t belong to no trade; I belong + to a boat. The boat’s rotting at Broadstairs, for want of work. And all + along of what? All along of the Tug. The Tug has took the bread out of our + mouths: me and my mates. Wait a bit; I’ll show you how. What did a ship + do, in the good old times, when she got on them sands—Goodwin Sands? + Went to pieces, if it come on to blow; or got sucked down little by little + when it was fair weather. Now I’m coming to it. What did We do (in the + good old times, mind you) when we happened to see that ship in distress? + Out with our boat; blow high or blow low, out with our boat. And saved the + lives of the crew, did you say? Well, yes; saving the crew was part of the + day’s work, to be sure; the part we didn’t get paid for. We saved <i>the + cargo,</i> Master! and got salvage!! Hundreds of pounds, I tell you, + divided amongst us by law!!! Ah, those times are gone. A parcel of sneaks + get together, and subscribe to build a Steam-Tug. When a ship gets on the + sands now, out goes the Tug, night and day alike, and brings her safe into + harbour, and takes the bread out of our mouths. Shameful—that’s what + I call it—shameful.” + </p> + <p> + The last words of the boatman’s lament fell lower, lower, lower on Mr. + Ronald’s ears—he lost them altogether—he lost the view of the + sea—he lost the sense of the wind blowing over him. Suddenly, he was + roused as if from a deep sleep. On one side, the man from Broadstairs was + shaking him by the collar. “I say, Master, cheer up; what’s come to you?” + On the other side, a compassionate lady was offering her smelling-bottle. + “I am afraid, sir, you have fainted.” He struggled to his feet, and + vacantly thanked the lady. The man from Broadstairs—with an eye to + salvage—took charge of the human wreck, and towed him to the nearest + public-house. “A chop and a glass of brandy-and-water,” said this good + Samaritan of the nineteenth century. “That’s what you want. I’m peckish + myself, and I’ll keep you company.” + </p> + <p> + He was perfectly passive in the hands of any one who would take charge of + him; he submitted as if he had been the boatman’s dog, and had heard the + whistle. + </p> + <p> + It could only be truly said that he had come to himself, when there had + been time enough for him to feel the reanimating influence of the food and + drink. Then he got to his feet, and looked with incredulous wonder at the + companion of his meal. The man from Broadstairs opened his greasy lips, + and was silenced by the sudden appearance of a gold coin between Mr. + Ronald’s finger and thumb. “Don’t speak to me; pay the bill, and bring me + the change outside.” When the boatman joined him, he was reading a letter; + walking to and fro, and speaking at intervals to himself. “God help me, + have I lost my senses? I don’t know what to do next.” He referred to the + letter again: “if you don’t believe me, ask Mrs. Turner, Number 1, Slains + Row, Ramsgate.” He put the letter back in his pocket, and rallied + suddenly. “Slains Row,” he said, turning to the boatman. “Take me there + directly, and keep the change for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The boatman’s gratitude was (apparently) beyond expression in words. He + slapped his pocket cheerfully, and that was all. Leading the way inland, + he went downhill, and uphill again—then turned aside towards the + eastern extremity of the town. + </p> + <p> + Farnaby, still following, with the woman behind him, stopped when the + boatman diverged towards the east, and looked up at the name of the + street. “I’ve got my instructions,” he said; “I know where he’s going. + Step out! We’ll get there before him, by another way.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ronald and his guide reached a row of poor little houses, with poor + little gardens in front of them and behind them. The back windows looked + out on downs and fields lying on either side of the road to Broadstairs. + It was a lost and lonely spot. The guide stopped, and put a question with + inquisitive respect. “What number, sir?” Mr. Ronald had sufficiently + recovered himself to keep his own counsel. “That will do,” he said. “You + can leave me.” The boatman waited a moment. Mr. Ronald looked at him. The + boatman was slow to understand that his leadership had gone from him. + “You’re sure you don’t want me any more?” he said. “Quite sure,” Mr. + Ronald answered. The man from Broadstairs retired—with his salvage + to comfort him. + </p> + <p> + Number 1 was at the farther extremity of the row of houses. When Mr. + Ronald rang the bell, the spies were already posted. The woman loitered on + the road, within view of the door. Farnaby was out of sight, round the + corner, watching the house over the low wooden palings of the back garden. + </p> + <p> + A lazy-looking man, in his shirt sleeves, opened the door. “Mrs. Turner at + home?” he repeated. “Well, she’s at home; but she’s too busy to see + anybody. What’s your pleasure?” Mr. Ronald declined to accept excuses or + to answer questions. “I must see Mrs. Turner directly,” he said, “on + important business.” His tone and manner had their effect on the lazy man. + “What name?” he asked. Mr. Ronald declined to mention his name. “Give my + message,” he said. “I won’t detain Mrs. Turner more than a minute.” The + man hesitated—and opened the door of the front parlour. An old woman + was fast asleep on a ragged little sofa. The man gave up the front + parlour, and tried the back parlour next. It was empty. “Please to wait + here,” he said—and went away to deliver his message. + </p> + <p> + The parlour was a miserably furnished room. Through the open window, the + patch of back garden was barely visible under fluttering rows of linen + hanging out on lines to dry. A pack of dirty cards, and some plain + needlework, littered the bare little table. A cheap American clock ticked + with stern and steady activity on the mantelpiece. The smell of onions was + in the air. A torn newspaper, with stains of beer on it, lay on the floor. + There was some sinister influence in the place which affected Mr. Ronald + painfully. He felt himself trembling, and sat down on one of the rickety + chairs. The minutes followed one another wearily. He heard a trampling of + feet in the room above—then a door opened and closed—then the + rustle of a woman’s dress on the stairs. In a moment more, the handle of + the parlour door was turned. He rose, in anticipation of Mrs. Turner’s + appearance. The door opened. He found himself face to face with his wife. + </p> + <p> + VI + </p> + <p> + John Farnaby, posted at the garden paling, suddenly lifted his head and + looked towards the open window of the back parlour. He reflected for a + moment—and then joined his female companion on the road in front of + the house. + </p> + <p> + “I want you at the back garden,” he said. “Come along!” + </p> + <p> + “How much longer am I to be kept kicking my heels in this wretched hole?” + the woman asked sulkily. + </p> + <p> + “As much longer as I please—if you want to go back to London with + the other half of the money.” He showed it to her as he spoke. She + followed him without another word. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the paling, Farnaby pointed to the window, and to the back + garden door, which was left ajar. “Speak softly,” he whispered. “Do you + hear voices in the house?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t hear what they’re talking about, if that’s what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t hear, either. Now mind what I tell you—I have reasons of my + own for getting a little nearer to that window. Sit down under the paling, + so that you can’t be seen from the house. If you hear a row, you may take + it for granted that I am found out. In that case, go back to London by the + next train, and meet me at the terminus at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. + If nothing happens, wait where you are till you hear from me or see me + again.” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand on the low paling, and vaulted over it. The linen hanging + up in the garden to dry offered him a means of concealment (if any one + happened to look out of the window) of which he skilfully availed himself. + The dust-bin was at the side of the house, situated at a right angle to + the parlour window. He was safe behind the bin, provided no one appeared + on the path which connected the patch of garden at the back with the patch + in front. Here, running the risk, he waited and listened. + </p> + <p> + The first voice that reached his ears was the voice of Mrs. Ronald. She + was speaking with a firmness of tone that astonished him. + </p> + <p> + “Hear me to the end, Benjamin,” she said. “I have a right to ask as much + as that of my husband, and I do ask it. If I had been bent on nothing but + saving the reputation of our miserable girl, you would have a right to + blame me for keeping you ignorant of the calamity that has fallen on us—” + </p> + <p> + There the voice of her husband interposed sternly. “Calamity! Say + disgrace, everlasting disgrace.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ronald did not notice the interruption. Sadly and patiently she went + on. + </p> + <p> + “But I had a harder trial still to face,” she said. “I had to save her, in + spite of herself, from the wretch who has brought this infamy on us. He + has acted throughout in cold blood; it is his interest to marry her, and + from first to last he has plotted to force the marriage on us. For God’s + sake, don’t speak loud! She is in the room above us; if she hears you it + will be the death of her. Don’t suppose I am talking at random; I have + looked at his letters to her; I have got the confession of the + servant-girl. Such a confession! Emma is his victim, body and soul. I know + it! I know that she sent him money (<i>my</i> money) from this place. I + know that the servant (at <i>her</i> instigation) informed him by + telegraph of the birth of the child. Oh, Benjamin, don’t curse the poor + helpless infant—such a sweet little girl! don’t think of it! I don’t + think of it! Show me the letter that brought you here; I want to see the + letter. Ah, I can tell you who wrote it! <i>He</i> wrote it. In his own + interests; always with his own interests in view. Don’t you see it for + yourself? If I succeed in keeping this shame and misery a secret from + everybody—if I take Emma away, to some place abroad, on pretence of + her health—there is an end of his hope of becoming your son-in-law; + there is an end of his being taken into the business. Yes! he, the + low-lived vagabond who puts up the shop-shutters, <i>he</i> looks forward + to being taken into partnership, and succeeding you when you die! Isn’t + his object in writing that letter as plain to you now as the heaven above + us? His one chance is to set your temper in a flame, to provoke the + scandal of a discovery—and to force the marriage on us as the only + remedy left. Am I wrong in making any sacrifice, rather than bind our girl + for life, our own flesh and blood, to such a man as that? Surely you can + feel for me, and forgive me, now. How could I own the truth to you, before + I left London, knowing you as I do? How could I expect you to be patient, + to go into hiding, to pass under a false name—to do all the + degrading things that must be done, if we are to keep Emma out of this + man’s way? No! I know no more than you do where Farnaby is to be found. + Hush! there is the door-bell. It’s the doctor’s time for his visit. I tell + you again I don’t know—on my sacred word of honour, I don’t know + where Farnaby is. Oh, be quiet! be quiet! there’s the doctor going + upstairs! don’t let the doctor hear you!” + </p> + <p> + So far, she had succeeded in composing her husband. But the fury which she + had innocently roused in him, in her eagerness to justify herself, now + broke beyond all control. “You lie!” he cried furiously. “If you know + everything else about it, you know where Farnaby is. I’ll be the death of + him, if I swing for it on the gallows! Where is he? Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + A shriek from the upper room silenced him before Mrs. Ronald could speak + again. His daughter had heard him; his daughter had recognized his voice. + </p> + <p> + A cry of terror from her mother echoed the cry from above; the sound of + the opening and closing of the door followed instantly. Then there was a + momentary silence. Then Mrs. Ronald’s voice was heard from the upper room + calling to the nurse, asleep in the front parlour. The nurse’s gruff tones + were just audible, answering from the parlour door. There was another + interval of silence; broken by another voice—a stranger’s voice—speaking + at the open window, close by. + </p> + <p> + “Follow me upstairs, sir, directly,” the voice said in peremptory tones. + “As your daughter’s medical attendant, I tell you in the plainest terms + that you have seriously frightened her. In her critical condition, I + decline to answer for her life, unless you make the attempt at least to + undo the mischief you have done. Whether you mean it or not, soothe her + with kind words; say you have forgiven her. No! I have nothing to do with + your domestic troubles; I have only my patient to think of. I don’t care + what she asks of you, you must give way to her now. If she falls into + convulsions, she will die—and her death will be at your door.” + </p> + <p> + So, with feebler and feebler interruptions from Mr. Ronald, the doctor + spoke. It ended plainly in his being obeyed. The departing footsteps of + the men were the next sounds to be heard. After that, there was a pause of + silence—a long pause, broken by Mrs. Ronald, calling again from the + upper regions. “Take the child into the back parlour, nurse, and wait till + I come to you. It’s cooler there, at this time of the day.” + </p> + <p> + The wailing of an infant, and the gruff complaining of the nurse, were the + next sounds that reached Farnaby in his hiding place. The nurse was + grumbling to herself over the grievance of having been awakened from her + sleep. “After being up all night, a person wants rest. There’s no rest for + anybody in this house. My head’s as heavy as lead, and every bone in me + has got an ache in it.” + </p> + <p> + Before long, the renewed silence indicated that she had succeeded in + hushing the child to sleep. Farnaby forgot the restraints of caution for + the first time. His face flushed with excitement; he ventured nearer to + the window, in his eagerness to find out what might happen next. After no + long interval, the next sound came—a sound of heavy breathing, which + told him that the drowsy nurse was falling asleep again. The window-sill + was within reach of his hands. He waited until the heavy breathing + deepened to snoring. Then he drew himself up by the window-sill, and + looked into the room. + </p> + <p> + The nurse was fast asleep in an armchair; and the child was fast asleep on + her lap. + </p> + <p> + He dropped softly to the ground again. Taking off his shoes, and putting + them in his pockets, he ascended the two or three steps which led to the + half-open back garden door. Arrived in the passage, he could just hear + them talking upstairs. They were no doubt still absorbed in their + troubles; he had only the servant to dread. The splashing of water in the + kitchen informed him that she was safely occupied in washing. Slowly and + softly he opened the back parlour door, and stole across the room to the + nurse’s chair. + </p> + <p> + One of her hands still rested on the child. The serious risk was the risk + of waking her, if he lost his presence of mind and hurried it! + </p> + <p> + He glanced at the American clock on the mantelpiece. The result relieved + him; it was not so late as he had feared. He knelt down, to steady + himself, as nearly as possible on a level with the nurse’s knees. By a + hair’s breadth at a time, he got both hands under the child. By a hair’s + breadth at a time, he drew the child away from her; leaving her hand + resting on her lap by degrees so gradual that the lightest sleeper could + not have felt the change. That done (barring accidents), all was done. + Keeping the child resting easily on his left arm, he had his right hand + free to shut the door again. Arrived at the garden steps, a slight change + passed over the sleeping infant’s face—the delicate little creature + shivered as it felt the full flow of the open air. He softly laid over its + face a corner of the woollen shawl in which it was wrapped. The child + reposed as quietly on his arm as if it had still been on the nurse’s lap. + </p> + <p> + In a minute more he was at the paling. The woman rose to receive him, with + the first smile that had crossed her face since they had left London. + </p> + <p> + “So you’ve got the baby,” she said, “Well, you <i>are</i> a deep one!” + </p> + <p> + “Take it,” he answered irritably. “We haven’t a moment to lose.” + </p> + <p> + Only stopping to put on his shoes, he led the way towards the more central + part of the town. The first person he met directed him to the railway + station. It was close by. In five minutes more the woman and the baby were + safe in the train to London. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the other half of the money,” he said, handing it to her through + the carriage window. + </p> + <p> + The woman eyed the child in her arms with a frowning expression of doubt. + “All very well as long as it lasts,” she said. “And what after that?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I shall call and see you,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + She looked hard at him, and expressed the whole value she set on that + assurance in four words. “Of course you will!” + </p> + <p> + The train started for London. Farnaby watched it, as it left the platform, + with a look of unfeigned relief. “There!” he thought to himself. “Emma’s + reputation is safe enough now! When we are married, we mustn’t have a + love-child in the way of our prospects in life.” + </p> + <p> + Leaving the station, he stopped at the refreshment room, and drank a glass + of brandy-and-water. “Something to screw me up,” he thought, “for what is + to come.” What was to come (after he had got rid of the child) had been + carefully considered by him, on the journey to Ramsgate. “Emma’s + husband-that-is-to-be”—he had reasoned it out—“will naturally + be the first person Emma wants to see, when the loss of the baby has upset + the house. If Old Ronald has a grain of affection left in him, he must let + her marry me after <i>that!”</i> + </p> + <p> + Acting on this view of his position, he took the way that led back to + Slains Row, and rang the door-bell as became a visitor who had no reasons + for concealment now. + </p> + <p> + The household was doubtless already disorganized by the discovery of the + child’s disappearance. Neither master nor servant was active in answering + the bell. Farnaby submitted to be kept waiting with perfect composure. + There are occasions on which a handsome man is bound to put his personal + advantages to their best use. He took out his pocket-comb, and touched up + the arrangement of his whiskers with a skilled and gentle hand. + Approaching footsteps made themselves heard along the passage at last. + Farnaby put back his comb, and buttoned his coat briskly. “Now for it!” he + said, as the door was opened at last. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STORY + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK THE FIRST. AMELIUS AMONG THE SOCIALISTS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1 + </h2> + <p> + Sixteen years after the date of Mr. Ronald’s disastrous discovery at + Ramsgate—that is to say, in the year 1872—the steamship <i>Aquila</i> + left the port of New York, bound for Liverpool. + </p> + <p> + It was the month of September. The passenger-list of the <i>Aquila</i> had + comparatively few names inscribed on it. In the autumn season, the voyage + from America to England, but for the remunerative value of the cargo, + would prove to be for the most part a profitless voyage to shipowners. The + flow of passengers, at that time of year, sets steadily the other way. + Americans are returning from Europe to their own country. Tourists have + delayed the voyage until the fierce August heat of the United States has + subsided, and the delicious Indian summer is ready to welcome them. At bed + and board the passengers by the <i>Aquila</i> on her homeward voyage had + plenty of room, and the choicest morsels for everybody alike on the well + spread dinner-table. + </p> + <p> + The wind was favourable, the weather was lovely. Cheerfulness and + good-humour pervaded the ship from stem to stern. The courteous captain + did the honours of the cabin-table with the air of a gentleman who was + receiving friends in his own house. The handsome doctor promenaded the + deck arm-in-arm with ladies in course of rapid recovery from the first + gastric consequences of travelling by sea. The excellent chief engineer, + musical in his leisure moments to his fingers’ ends, played the fiddle in + his cabin, accompanied on the flute by that young Apollo of the Atlantic + trade, the steward’s mate. Only on the third morning of the voyage was the + harmony on board the <i>Aquila</i> disturbed by a passing moment of + discord—due to an unexpected addition to the ranks of the + passengers, in the shape of a lost bird! + </p> + <p> + It was merely a weary little land-bird (blown out of its course, as the + learned in such matters supposed); and it perched on one of the yards to + rest and recover itself after its long flight. + </p> + <p> + The instant the creature was discovered, the insatiable Anglo-Saxon + delight in killing birds, from the majestic eagle to the contemptible + sparrow, displayed itself in its full frenzy. The crew ran about the + decks, the passengers rushed into their cabins, eager to seize the first + gun and to have the first shot. An old quarter-master of the <i>Aquila</i> + was the enviable man, who first found the means of destruction ready to + his hand. He lifted the gun to his shoulder, he had his finger on the + trigger, when he was suddenly pounced upon by one of the passengers—a + young, slim, sunburnt, active man—who snatched away the gun, + discharged it over the side of the vessel, and turned furiously on the + quarter-master. “You wretch! would you kill the poor weary bird that + trusts our hospitality, and only asks us to give it a rest? That little + harmless thing is as much one of God’s creatures as you are. I’m ashamed + of you—I’m horrified at you—you’ve got bird-murder in your + face; I hate the sight of you!” + </p> + <p> + The quarter-master—a large grave fat man, slow alike in his bodily + and his mental movements—listened to this extraordinary remonstrance + with a fixed stare of amazement, and an open mouth from which the unspat + tobacco-juice tricked in little brown streams. When the impetuous young + gentleman paused (not for want of words, merely for want of breath), the + quarter-master turned about, and addressed himself to the audience + gathered round. “Gentlemen,” he said, with a Roman brevity, “this young + fellow is mad.” + </p> + <p> + The captain’s voice checked the general outbreak of laughter. “That will + do, quarter-master. Let it be understood that nobody is to shoot the bird—and + let me suggest to <i>you,</i> sir, that you might have expressed your + sentiments quite as effectually in less violent language.” + </p> + <p> + Addressed in those terms, the impetuous young man burst into another fit + of excitement. “You’re quite right, sir! I deserve every word you have + said to me; I feel I have disgraced myself.” He ran after the + quartermaster, and seized him by both hands. “I beg your pardon; I beg + your pardon with all my heart. You would have served me right if you had + thrown me overboard after the language I used to you. Pray excuse my quick + temper; pray forgive me. What do you say? ‘Let bygones <i>be</i> bygones’? + That’s a capital way of putting it. You’re a thorough good fellow. If I + can ever be of the smallest use to you (there’s my card and address in + London), let me know it; I entreat you let me know it.” He returned in a + violent hurry to the captain. “I’ve made it up with the quarter-master, + sir. He forgives me; he bears no malice. Allow me to congratulate you on + having such a good Christian in your ship. I wish I was like him! Excuse + me, ladies and gentlemen, for the disturbance I have made. It shan’t + happen again—I promise you that.” + </p> + <p> + The male travellers in general looked at each other, and seemed to agree + with the quarter-master’s opinion of their fellow-passenger. The women, + touched by his evident sincerity, and charmed with his handsome blushing + eager face, agreed that he was quite right to save the poor bird, and that + it would be all the better for the weaker part of creation generally if + other men were more like him. While the various opinions were still in + course of expression, the sound of the luncheon bell cleared the deck of + the passengers, with two exceptions. One was the impetuous young man. The + other was a middle-aged traveller, with a grizzled beard and a penetrating + eye, who had silently observed the proceedings, and who now took the + opportunity of introducing himself to the hero of the moment. + </p> + <p> + “Are you not going to take any luncheon?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. Among the people I have lived with we don’t eat at intervals of + three or four hours, all day long.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you excuse me,” pursued the other, “if I own I should like to know + <i>what</i> people you have been living with? My name is Hethcote; I was + associated, at one time of my life, with a college devoted to the training + of young men. From what I have seen and heard this morning, I fancy you + have not been educated on any of the recognized systems that are popular + at the present day. Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + The excitable young man suddenly became the picture of resignation, and + answered in a formula of words as if he was repeating a lesson. + </p> + <p> + “I am Claude-Amelius-Goldenheart. Aged twenty-one. Son, and only child, of + the late Claude Goldenheart, of Shedfield Heath, Buckinghamshire, England. + I have been brought up by the Primitive Christian Socialists, at Tadmor + Community, State of Illinois. I have inherited an income of five hundred a + year. And I am now, with the approval of the Community, going to London to + see life.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote received this copious flow of information, in some doubt + whether he had been made the victim of coarse raillery, or whether he had + merely heard a quaint statement of facts. + </p> + <p> + Claude-Amelius-Goldenheart saw that he had produced an unfavourable + impression, and hastened to set himself right. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir,” he said, “I am not making game of you, as you seem to + suppose. We are taught to be courteous to everybody, in our Community. The + truth is, there seems to be something odd about me (I’m sure I don’t know + what), which makes people whom I meet on my travels curious to know who I + am. If you’ll please to remember, it’s a long way from Illinois to New + York, and curious strangers are not scarce on the journey. When one is + obliged to keep on saying the same thing over and over again, a form saves + a deal of trouble. I have made a form for myself—which is + respectfully at the disposal of any person who does me the honour to wish + for my acquaintance. Will that do, sir? Very well, then; shake hands, to + show you’re satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote shook hands, more than satisfied. He found it impossible to + resist the bright honest brown eyes, the simple winning cordial manner of + the young fellow with the quaint formula and the strange name. “Come, Mr. + Goldenheart,” he said, leading the way to a seat on deck, “let us sit down + comfortably, and have a talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything you like, sir—but don’t call me Mr. Goldenheart.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it sounds formal. And, besides, you’re old enough to be my father; + it’s <i>my</i> duty to call <i>you</i> Mister—or Sir, as we say to + our elders at Tadmor. I have left all my friends behind me at the + Community—and I feel lonely out here on this big ocean, among + strangers. Do me a kindness, sir. Call me by my Christian name; and give + me a friendly slap on the back if you find we get along smoothly in the + course of the day.” + </p> + <p> + “Which of your names shall it be?” Mr. Hethcote asked, humouring this odd + lad. “Claude?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Not Claude. The Primitive Christians said Claude was a finicking + French name. Call me Amelius, and I shall begin to feel at home again. If + you’re in a hurry, cut it down to three letters (as they did at Tadmor), + and call me Mel.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” said Mr. Hethcote. “Now, my friend Amelius (or Mel), I am + going to speak out plainly, as you do. The Primitive Christian Socialists + must have great confidence in their system of education, to turn you + adrift in the world without a companion to look after you.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve hit it, sir,” Amelius answered coolly. “They have unlimited + confidence in their system of education. And I’m a proof of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You have relations in London, I suppose?” Mr. Hethcote proceeded. + </p> + <p> + For the first time the face of Amelius showed a shadow of sadness on it. + </p> + <p> + “I have relations,” he said. “But I have promised never to claim their + hospitality. ‘They are hard and worldly; and they will make you hard and + worldly, too.’ That’s what my father said to me on his deathbed.” He took + off his hat when he mentioned his father’s death, and came to a sudden + pause—with his head bent down, like a man absorbed in thought. In + less than a minute he put on his hat again, and looked up with his bright + winning smile. “We say a little prayer for the loved ones who are gone, + when we speak of them,” he explained. “But we don’t say it out loud, for + fear of seeming to parade our religious convictions. We hate cant in our + Community.” + </p> + <p> + “I cordially agree with the Community, Amelius. But, my good fellow, have + you really no friend to welcome you when you get to London?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius answered the question mysteriously. “Wait a little!” he said—and + took a letter from the breast-pocket of his coat. Mr. Hethcote, watching + him, observed that he looked at the address with unfeigned pride and + pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “One of our brethren at the Community has given me this,” he announced. + “It’s a letter of introduction, sir, to a remarkable man—a man who + is an example to all the rest of us. He has risen, by dint of integrity + and perseverance, from the position of a poor porter in a shop to be one + of the most respected mercantile characters in the City of London.” + </p> + <p> + With this explanation, Amelius handed his letter to Mr. Hethcote. It was + addressed as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To John Farnaby, Esquire, + Messrs. Ronald & Farnaby, + Stationers, + Aldersgate Street, London. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2 + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote looked at the address on the letter with an expression of + surprise, which did not escape the notice of Amelius. “Do you know Mr. + Farnaby?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have some acquaintance with him,” was the answer, given with a certain + appearance of constraint. + </p> + <p> + Amelius went on eagerly with his questions. “What sort of man is he? Do + you think he will be prejudiced against me, because I have been brought up + in Tadmor?” + </p> + <p> + “I must be a little better acquainted, Amelius, with you and Tadmor before + I can answer your question. Suppose you tell me how you became one of the + Socialists, to begin with?” + </p> + <p> + “I was only a little boy, Mr. Hethcote, at that time.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. Even little boys have memories. Is there any objection to your + telling me what you can remember?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius answered rather sadly, with his eyes bent on the deck. “I remember + something happening which threw a gloom over us at home in England. I + heard that my mother was concerned in it. When I grew older, I never + presumed to ask my father what it was; and he never offered to tell me. I + only know this: that he forgave her some wrong she had done him, and let + her go on living at home—and that relations and friends all blamed + him, and fell away from him, from that time. Not long afterwards, while I + was at school, my mother died. I was sent for, to follow her funeral with + my father. When we got back, and were alone together, he took me on his + knee and kissed me. ‘Which will you do, Amelius,’ he said; ‘stay in + England with your uncle and aunt? or come with me all the way to America, + and never go back to England again? Take time to think of it.’ I wanted no + time to think of it; I said, ‘Go with you, papa.’ He frightened me by + bursting out crying; it was the first time I had ever seen him in tears. I + can understand it now. He had been cut to the heart, and had borne it like + a martyr; and his boy was his one friend left. Well, by the end of the + week we were on board the ship; and there we met a benevolent gentleman, + with a long gray beard, who bade my father welcome, and presented me with + a cake. In my ignorance, I thought he was the captain. Nothing of the + sort. He was the first Socialist I had ever seen; and it was he who had + persuaded my father to leave England.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote’s opinions of Socialists began to show themselves (a little + sourly) in Mr. Hethcote’s smile. “And how did you get on with this + benevolent gentleman?” he asked. “After converting your father, did he + convert you—with the cake?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius smiled. “Do him justice, sir; he didn’t trust to the cake. He + waited till we were in sight of the American land—and then he + preached me a little sermon, on our arrival, entirely for my own use.” + </p> + <p> + “A sermon?” Mr. Hethcote repeated. “Very little religion in it, I + suspect.” + </p> + <p> + “Very little indeed, sir,” Amelius answered. “Only as much religion as + there is in the New Testament. I was not quite old enough to understand + him easily—so he wrote down his discourse on the fly-leaf of a + story-book I had with me, and gave it to me to read when I was tired of + the stories. Stories were scarce with me in those days; and, when I had + exhausted my little stock, rather than read nothing I read my sermon—read + it so often that I think I can remember every word of it now. ‘My dear + little boy, the Christian religion, as Christ taught it, has long ceased + to be the religion of the Christian world. A selfish and cruel Pretence is + set up in its place. Your own father is one example of the truth of this + saying of mine. He has fulfilled the first and foremost duty of a true + Christian—the duty of forgiving an injury. For this, he stands + disgraced in the estimation of all his friends: they have renounced and + abandoned him. He forgives them, and seeks peace and good company in the + New World, among Christians like himself. You will not repent leaving home + with him; you will be one of a loving family, and, when you are old + enough, you will be free to decide for yourself what your future life + shall be.’ That was all I knew about the Socialists, when we reached + Tadmor after our long journey.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote’s prejudices made their appearance again. “A barren sort of + place,” he said, “judging by the name.” + </p> + <p> + “Barren? What can you be thinking of? A prettier place I never saw, and + never expect to see again. A clear winding river, running into a little + blue lake. A broad hill-side, all laid out in flower-gardens, and shaded + by splendid trees. On the top of the hill, the buildings of the Community, + some of brick and some of wood, so covered with creepers and so encircled + with verandahs that I can’t tell you to this day what style of + architecture they were built in. More trees behind the houses—and, + on the other side of the hill, cornfields, nothing but cornfields rolling + away and away in great yellow plains, till they reached the golden sky and + the setting sun, and were seen no more. That was our first view of Tadmor, + when the stage-coach dropped us at the town.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote still held out. “And what about the people who live in this + earthly Paradise?” he asked. “Male and female saints—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear no, sir! The very opposite of saints. They eat and drink like + their neighbours. They never think of wearing dirty horsehair when they + can get clean linen. And when they are tempted to misconduct themselves, + they find a better way out of it than knotting a cord and thrashing their + own backs. Saints! They all ran out together to bid us welcome like a lot + of school-children; the first thing they did was to kiss us, and the next + thing was to give us a mug of wine of their own making. Saints! Oh, Mr. + Hethcote, what will you accuse us of being next? I declare your suspicions + of the poor Socialists keep cropping up again as fast as I cut them down. + May I make a guess, sir, without offending you? From one or two things I + have noticed, I strongly suspect you’re a British clergyman.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote was conquered at last: he burst out laughing. “You have + discovered me,” he said, “travelling in a coloured cravat and a shooting + jacket! I confess I should like to know how.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s easily explained, sir. Visitors of all sorts are welcome at Tadmor. + We have a large experience of them in the travelling season. They all come + with their own private suspicion of us lurking about the corners of their + eyes. They see everything we have to show them, and eat and drink at our + table, and join in our amusements, and get as pleasant and friendly with + us as can be. The time comes to say goodbye—and then we find them + out. If a guest who has been laughing and enjoying himself all day, + suddenly becomes serious when he takes his leave, and shows that little + lurking devil of suspicion again about the corners of his eyes—it’s + ten chances to one that he’s a clergyman. No offence, Mr. Hethcote! I + acknowledge with pleasure that the corners of <i>your</i> eyes are clear + again. You’re not a very clerical clergyman, sir, after all—I don’t + despair of converting you, yet!” + </p> + <p> + “Go on with your story, Amelius. You’re the queerest fellow I have met + with, for many a long day past.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m a little doubtful about going on with my story, sir. I have told you + how I got to Tadmor, and what it looks like, and what sort of people live + in the place. If I am to get on beyond that, I must jump to the time when + I was old enough to learn the Rules of the Community.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—and what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Hethcote, some of the Rules might offend you.” + </p> + <p> + “Try!” + </p> + <p> + “All right, sir! don’t blame me; <i>I’m</i> not ashamed of the Rules. And + now, if I am to speak, I must speak seriously on a serious subject; I must + begin with our religious principles. We find our Christianity in the + spirit of the New Testament—not in the letter. We have three good + reasons for objecting to pin our faith on the words alone, in that book. + First, because we are not sure that the English translation is always to + be depended on as accurate and honest. Secondly, because we know that + (since the invention of printing) there is not a copy of the book in + existence which is free from errors of the press, and that (before the + invention of printing) those errors, in manuscript copies, must as a + matter of course have been far more serious and far more numerous. + Thirdly, because there is plain internal evidence (to say nothing of + discoveries actually made in the present day) of interpolations and + corruptions, introduced into the manuscript copies as they succeeded each + other in ancient times. These drawbacks are of no importance, however, in + our estimation. We find, in the spirit of the book, the most simple and + most perfect system of religion and morality that humanity has ever + received—and with that we are content. To reverence God; and to love + our neighbour as ourselves: if we had only those two commandments to guide + us, we should have enough. The whole collection of Doctrines (as they are + called) we reject at once, without even stopping to discuss them. We apply + to them the test suggested by Christ himself: by their fruits ye shall + know them. The fruits of Doctrines, in the past (to quote three instances + only), have been the Spanish Inquisition, the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, + and the Thirty Years’ War—and the fruits, in the present, are + dissension, bigotry, and opposition to useful reforms. Away with + Doctrines! In the interests of Christianity, away with them! We are to + love our enemies; we are to forgive injuries; we are to help the needy; we + are to be pitiful and courteous, slow to judge others, and ashamed to + exalt ourselves. That teaching doesn’t lead to tortures, massacres, and + wars; to envy, hatred, and malice—and for that reason it stands + revealed to us as the teaching that we can trust. There is our religion, + sir, as we find it in the Rules of the Community.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Amelius. I notice, in passing, that the Community is in one + respect like the Pope—the Community is infallible. We won’t dwell on + that. You have stated your principles. As to the application of them next? + Nobody has a right to be rich among you, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Put it the other way, Mr. Hethcote. All men have a right to be rich—provided + they don’t make other people poor, as a part of the process. We don’t + trouble ourselves much about money; that’s the truth. We are farmers, + carpenters, weavers, and printers; and what we earn (ask our neighbours if + we don’t earn it honestly) goes into the common fund. A man who comes to + us with money puts it into the fund, and so makes things easy for the next + man who comes with empty pockets. While they are with us, they all live in + the same comfort, and have their equal share in the same profits—deducting + the sum in reverse for sudden calls and bad times. If they leave us, the + man who has brought money with him has his undisputed right to take it + away again; and the man who has brought none bids us good-bye, all the + richer for his equal share in the profits which he has personally earned. + The only fuss at our place about money that I can remember was the fuss + about my five hundred a year. I wanted to hand it over to the fund. It was + my own, mind—inherited from my mother’s property, on my coming of + age. The Elders wouldn’t hear of it: the Council wouldn’t hear of it: the + general vote of the Community wouldn’t hear of it. ‘We agreed with his + father that he should decide for himself, when he grew to manhood’—that + was how they put it. ‘Let him go back to the Old World; and let him be + free to choose, by the test of his own experience, what his future life + shall be.’ How do you think it will end, Mr. Hethcote? Shall I return to + the Community? Or shall I stop in London?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote answered, without a moment’s hesitation. “You will stop in + London.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll bet you two to one, Sir, he goes back to the Community.” + </p> + <p> + In those words, a third voice (speaking in a strong New England accent) + insinuated itself into the conversation from behind. Amelius and Mr. + Hethcote, looking round, discovered a long, lean, grave stranger—with + his face overshadowed by a huge felt hat. “Have you been listening to our + conversation?” Mr. Hethcote asked haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “I have been listening,” answered the grave stranger, “with considerable + interest. This young man, I find, opens a new chapter to me in the book of + humanity. Do you accept my bet, Sir? My name is Rufus Dingwell; and my + home is at Coolspring, Mass. You do <i>not</i> bet? I express my regret, + and have the pleasure of taking a seat alongside of you. What is your + name, Sir? Hethcote? We have one of that name at Coolspring. He is much + respected. Mr. Claude A. Goldenheart, you are no stranger to me—no, + Sir. I procured your name from the steward, when the little difficulty + occurred just now about the bird. Your name considerably surprised me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir—not to say that your surname (being Goldenheart) reminds + one unexpectedly of <i>The Pilgrim’s Progress</i>—I happen to be + already acquainted with you. By reputation.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked puzzled. “By reputation?” he said. “What does that mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It means, sir, that you occupy a prominent position in a recent number of + our popular journal, entitled <i>The Coolspring Democrat.</i> The late + romantic incident which caused the withdrawal of Miss Mellicent from your + Community has produced a species of social commotion at Coolspring. Among + our ladies, the tone of sentiment, Sir, is universally favourable to you. + When I left, I do assure you, you were a popular character among us. The + name of Claude A. Goldenheart was, so to speak, in everybody’s mouth.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius listened to this, with the colour suddenly deepening on his face, + and with every appearance of heartfelt annoyance and regret. “There is no + such thing as keeping a secret in America,” he said, irritably. “Some spy + must have got among us; none of <i>our</i> people would have exposed the + poor lady to public comment. How would you like it, Mr. Dingwell, if the + newspaper published the private sorrows of your wife or your daughter?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus Dingwell answered with the straightforward sincerity of feeling + which is one of the indisputable virtues of his nation. “I had not thought + of it in that light, sir,” he said. “You have been good enough to credit + me with a wife or a daughter. I do not possess either of those ladies; but + your argument hits me, notwithstanding—hits me hard, I tell you.” He + looked at Mr. Hethcote, who sat silently and stiffly disapproving of all + this familiarity, and applied himself in perfect innocence and good faith + to making things pleasant in that quarter. “You are a stranger, Sir,” said + Rufus; “and you will doubtless wish to peruse the article which is the + subject of conversation?” He took a newspaper slip from his pocket-book, + and offered it to the astonished Englishman. “I shall be glad to hear your + sentiments, sir, on the view propounded by our mutual friend, Claude A. + Goldenheart.” + </p> + <p> + Before Mr. Hethcote could reply, Amelius interposed in his own headlong + way. “Give it to me! I want to read it first!” + </p> + <p> + He snatched at the newspaper slip. Rufus checked him with grave composure. + “I am of a cool temperament myself, sir; but that don’t prevent me from + admiring heat in others. Short of boiling point—mind that!” With + this hint, the wise New Englander permitted Amelius to take possession of + the printed slip. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote, finding an opportunity of saying a word at last, asserted + himself a little haughtily. “I beg you will both of you understand that I + decline to read anything which relates to another person’s private + affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Neither the one nor the other of his companions paid the slightest heed to + this announcement. Amelius was reading the newspaper extract, and placid + Rufus was watching him. In another moment, he crumpled up the slip, and + threw it indignantly on the deck. “It’s as full of lies as it can hold!” + he burst out. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all over the United States, by this time,” Rufus remarked. “And I + don’t doubt we shall find the English papers have copied it, when we get + to Liverpool. If you will take my advice, sir, you will cultivate a + sagacious insensibility to the comments of the press.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I care for myself?” Amelius asked indignantly. “It’s the + poor woman I am thinking of. What can I do to clear her character?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” suggested Rufus, “in your place, I should have a notification + circulated through the ship, announcing a lecture on the subject (weather + permitting) in the course of the afternoon. That’s the way we should do it + at Coolspring.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius listened without conviction. “It’s certainly useless to make a + secret of the matter now,” he said; “but I don’t see my way to making it + more public still.” He paused, and looked at Mr. Hethcote. “It so happens, + sir,” he resumed, “that this unfortunate affair is an example of some of + the Rules of our Community, which I had not had time to speak of, when Mr. + Dingwell here joined us. It will be a relief to me to contradict these + abominable falsehoods to somebody; and I should like (if you don’t mind) + to hear what you think of my conduct, from your own point of view. It + might prepare me,” he added, smiling rather uneasily, “for what I may find + in the English newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + With these words of introduction he told his sad story—jocosely + described in the newspaper heading as “Miss Mellicent and Goldenheart + among the Socialists at Tadmor.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3 + </h2> + <p> + “Nearly six months since,” said Amelius, “we had notice by letter of the + arrival of an unmarried English lady, who wished to become a member of our + Community. You will understand my motive in keeping her family name a + secret: even the newspaper has grace enough only to mention her by her + Christian name. I don’t want to cheat you out of your interest; so I will + own at once that Miss Mellicent was not beautiful, and not young. When she + came to us, she was thirty-eight years old, and time and trial had set + their marks on her face plainly enough for anybody to see. Notwithstanding + this, we all thought her an interesting woman. It might have been the + sweetness of her voice; or perhaps it was something in her expression that + took our fancy. There! I can’t explain it; I can only say there were young + women and pretty women at Tadmor who failed to win us as Miss Mellicent + did. Contradictory enough, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote said he understood the contradiction. Rufus put an + appropriate question: “Do you possess a photograph of this lady, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Amelius; “I wish I did. Well, we received her, on her arrival, + in the Common Room—called so because we all assemble there every + evening, when the work of the day is done. Sometimes we have the reading + of a poem or a novel; sometimes debates on the social and political + questions of the time in England and America; sometimes music, or dancing, + or cards, or billiards, to amuse us. When a new member arrives, we have + the ceremonies of introduction. I was close by the Elder Brother (that’s + the name we give to the chief of the Community) when two of the women led + Miss Mellicent in. He’s a hearty old fellow, who lived the first part of + his life on his own clearing in one of the Western forests. To this day, + he can’t talk long, without showing, in one way or another, that his old + familiarity with the trees still keeps its place in his memory. He looked + hard at Miss Mellicent, under his shaggy old white eyebrows; and I heard + him whisper to himself, ‘Ah, dear me! Another of The Fallen Leaves!’ I + knew what he meant. The people who have drawn blanks in the lottery of + life—the people who have toiled hard after happiness, and have + gathered nothing but disappointment and sorrow; the friendless and the + lonely, the wounded and the lost—these are the people whom our good + Elder Brother calls The Fallen Leaves. I like the saying myself; it’s a + tender way of speaking of our poor fellow-creatures who are down in the + world.” + </p> + <p> + He paused for a moment, looking out thoughtfully over the vast void of sea + and sky. A passing shadow of sadness clouded his bright young face. The + two elder men looked at him in silence, feeling (in widely different ways) + the same compassionate interest. What was the life that lay before him? + And—God help him!—what would he do with it? + </p> + <p> + “Where did I leave off?” he asked, rousing himself suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “You left Miss Mellicent, sir, in the Common Room—the venerable + citizen with the white eyebrows being suitably engaged in moralizing on + her.” In those terms the ever-ready Rufus set the story going again. + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” Amelius resumed. “There she was, poor thing, a little thin + timid creature, in a white dress, with a black scarf over her shoulders, + trembling and wondering in a room full of strangers. The Elder Brother + took her by the hand, and kissed her on the forehead, and bade her + heartily welcome in the name of the Community. Then the women followed his + example, and the men all shook hands with her. And then our chief put the + three questions, which he is bound to address to all new arrivals when + they join us: ‘Do you come here of your own free will? Do you bring with + you a written recommendation from one of our brethren, which satisfies us + that we do no wrong to ourselves or to others in receiving you? Do you + understand that you are not bound to us by vows, and that you are free to + leave us again if the life here is not agreeable to you?’ Matters being + settled so far, the reading of the Rules, and the Penalties imposed for + breaking them, came next. Some of the Rules you know already; others of + smaller importance I needn’t trouble you with. As for the Penalties, if + you incur the lighter ones, you are subject to public rebuke, or to + isolation for a time from the social life of the Community. If you incur + the heavier ones, you are either sent out into the world again for a given + period, to return or not as you please; or you are struck off the list of + members, and expelled for good and all. Suppose these preliminaries agreed + to by Miss Mellicent with silent submission, and let us go on to the close + of the ceremony—the reading of the Rules which settle the questions + of Love and Marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha!” said Mr. Hethcote, “we are coming to the difficulties of the + Community at last!” + </p> + <p> + “Are we also coming to Miss Mellicent, sir?” Rufus inquired. “As a citizen + of a free country in which I can love in one State, marry in another, and + be divorced in a third, I am not interested in your Rules—I am + interested in your Lady.” + </p> + <p> + “The two are inseparable in this case,” Amelius answered gravely. “If I am + to speak of Miss Mellicent, I must speak of the Rules; you will soon see + why. Our Community becomes a despotism, gentlemen, in dealing with love + and marriage. For example, it positively prohibits any member afflicted + with hereditary disease from marrying at all; and it reserves to itself, + in the case of every proposed marriage among us, the right of permitting + or forbidding it, in council. We can’t even fall in love with each other, + without being bound, under penalties, to report it to the Elder Brother; + who, in his turn, communicates it to the monthly council; who, in their + turn, decide whether the courtship may go on or not. That’s not the worst + of it, even yet! In some cases—where we haven’t the slightest + intention of falling in love with each other—the governing body + takes the initiative. ‘You two will do well to marry; we see it, if you + don’t. Just think of it, will you?’ You may laugh; some of our happiest + marriages have been made in that way. Our governors in council act on an + established principle: here it is in a nutshell. The results of experience + in the matter of marriage, all over the world, show that a really wise + choice of a husband or a wife is an exception to the rule; and that + husbands and wives in general would be happier together if their marriages + were managed for them by competent advisers on either side. Laws laid down + on such lines as these, and others equally strict, which I have not + mentioned yet, were not put in force, Mr. Hethcote, as you suppose, + without serious difficulties—difficulties which threatened the very + existence of the Community. But that was before my time. When I grew up, I + found the husbands and wives about me content to acknowledge that the + Rules fulfilled the purpose with which they had been made—the + greatest happiness of the greatest number. It all looks very absurd, I + dare say, from your point of view. But these queer regulations of ours + answer the Christian test—by their fruits ye shall know them. Our + married people don’t live on separate sides of the house; our children are + all healthy; wife-beating is unknown among us; and the practice in our + divorce court wouldn’t keep the most moderate lawyer on bread and cheese. + Can you say as much for the success of the marriage laws in Europe? I + leave you, gentlemen, to form your own opinions.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote declined to express an opinion. Rufus declined to resign his + interest in the lady. “And what did Miss Mellicent say to it?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “She said something that startled us all,” Amelius replied. “When the + Elder Brother began to read the first words relating to love and marriage + in the Book of Rules, she turned deadly pale; and rose up in her place + with a sudden burst of courage or desperation—I don’t know which. + ‘Must you read that to me?’ she asked. ‘I have nothing to do with love or + marriage.’ The Elder Brother laid aside his Book of Rules. ‘If you are + afflicted with an hereditary malady,’ he said, ‘the doctor from the town + will examine you, and report to us.’ She answered, ‘I have no hereditary + malady.’ The Elder Brother took up his book again. ‘In due course of time, + my dear, the Council will decide for you whether you are to love and marry + or not.’ And he read the Rules. She sat down again, and hid her face in + her hands, and never moved or spoke until he had done. The regular + questions followed. Had she anything to say, in the way of objection? + Nothing! In that case, would she sign the Rules? Yes! When the time came + for supper, she excused herself, just like a child. ‘I feel very tired; + may I go to bed?’ The unmarried women in the same dormitory with her + anticipated some romantic confession when she grew used to her new + friends. They proved to be wrong. ‘My life has been one long + disappointment,’ was all she said. ‘You will do me a kindness if you will + take me as I am, and not ask me to talk about myself.’ There was nothing + sulky or ungracious in the expression of her wish to keep her own secret. + A kinder and sweeter woman—never thinking of herself, always + considerate of others—never lived. An accidental discovery made me + her chief friend, among the men: it turned out that her childhood had been + passed, where my childhood had been passed, at Shedfield Heath, in + Buckinghamshire. She was never weary of consulting my boyish + recollections, and comparing them with her own. ‘I love the place,’ she + used to say; ‘the only happy time of my life was the time passed there.’ + On my sacred word of honour, this was the sort of talk that passed between + us, for week after week. What other talk could pass between a man whose + one and twentieth birthday was then near at hand, and a woman who was + close on forty? What could I do, when the poor, broken, disappointed + creature met me on the hill or by the river, and said, ‘You are going out + for a walk; may I come with you?’ I never attempted to intrude myself into + her confidence; I never even asked her why she had joined the Community. + You see what is coming, don’t you? <i>I</i> never saw it. I didn’t know + what it meant, when some of the younger women, meeting us together, looked + at me (not at her), and smiled maliciously. My stupid eyes were opened at + last by the woman who slept in the next bed to her in the dormitory—a + woman old enough to be my mother, who took care of me when I was a child + at Tadmor. She stopped me one morning, on my way to fish in the river. + ‘Amelius,’ she said, ‘don’t go to the fishing-house; Mellicent is waiting + for you.’ I stared at her in astonishment. She held up her finger at me: + ‘Take care, you foolish boy! You are drifting into a false position as + fast as you can. Have you no suspicion of what is going on?’ I looked all + round me, in search of what was going on. Nothing out of the common was to + be seen anywhere. ‘What can you possibly mean?’ I asked. ‘You will only + laugh at me, if I tell you,’ she said. I promised not to laugh. She too + looked all round her, as if she was afraid of somebody being near enough + to hear us; and then she let out the secret. ‘Amelius, ask for a holiday—and + leave us for a while. Mellicent is in love with you.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4 + </h2> + <p> + Amelius looked at his companions, in some doubt whether they would + preserve their gravity at this critical point in his story. They both + showed him that his apprehensions were well founded. He was a little hurt, + and he instantly revealed it. “I own to my shame that I burst out laughing + myself,” he said. “But you two gentlemen are older and wiser than I am. I + didn’t expect to find you just as ready to laugh at poor Miss Mellicent as + I was.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote declined to be reminded of his duties as a middle-aged + gentleman in this backhanded manner. “Gently, Amelius! You can’t expect to + persuade us that a laughable thing is not a thing to be laughed at. A + woman close on forty who falls in love with a young fellow of twenty-one—” + </p> + <p> + “Is a laughable circumstance,” Rufus interposed. “Whereas a man of forty + who fancies a young woman of twenty-one is all in the order of Nature. The + men have settled it so. But why the women are to give up so much sooner + than the men is a question, sir, on which I have long wished to hear the + sentiments of the women themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote dismissed the sentiments of the women with a wave of his + hand. “Let us hear the rest of it, Amelius. Of course you went on to the + fishing-house? And of course you found Miss Mellicent there?” + </p> + <p> + “She came to the door to meet me, much as usual,” Amelius resumed, “and + suddenly checked herself in the act of shaking hands with me. I can only + suppose she saw something in my face that startled her. How it happened, I + can’t say; but I felt my good spirits forsake me the moment I found myself + in her presence. I doubt if she had ever seen me so serious before. ‘Have + I offended you?’ she asked. Of course, I denied it; but I failed to + satisfy her. She began to tremble. ‘Has somebody said something against + me? Are you weary of my company?’ Those were the next questions. It was + useless to say No. Some perverse distrust of me, or some despair of + herself, overpowered her on a sudden. She sank down on the floor of the + fishing-house, and began to cry—not a good hearty burst of tears; a + silent, miserable, resigned sort of crying, as if she had lost all claim + to be pitied, and all right to feel wounded or hurt. I was so distressed, + that I thought of nothing but consoling her. I meant well, and I acted + like a fool. A sensible man would have lifted her up, I suppose, and left + her to herself. I lifted her up, and put my arm round her waist. She + looked at me as I did it. For just a moment, I declare she became twenty + years younger! She blushed as I have never seen a woman blush before or + since—the colour flowed all over her neck as well as her face. + Before I could say a word, she caught hold of my hand, and (of all the + confusing things in the world!) kissed it. ‘No!’ she cried, ‘don’t despise + me! don’t laugh at me! Wait, and hear what my life has been, and then you + will understand why a little kindness overpowers me.’ She looked round the + corner of the fishing-house suspiciously. ‘I don’t want anybody else to + hear us,’ she said, ‘all the pride isn’t beaten out of me yet. Come to the + lake, and row me about in the boat.’ I took her out in the boat. Nobody + could hear us certainly; but she forgot, and I forgot, that anybody might + see us, and that appearances on the lake might lead to false conclusions + on shore.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote and Rufus exchanged significant looks. They had not forgotten + the Rules of the Community, when two of its members showed a preference + for each other’s society. + </p> + <p> + Amelius proceeded. “Well, there we were on the lake. I paddled with the + oars, and she opened her whole heart to me. Her troubles had begun, in a + very common way, with her mother’s death and her father’s second marriage. + She had a brother and a sister—the sister married a German merchant, + settled in New York; the brother comfortably established as a sheep-farmer + in Australia. So, you see, she was alone at home, at the mercy of the + step-mother. I don’t understand these cases myself, but people who do, + tell me that there are generally faults on both sides. To make matters + worse, they were a poor family; the one rich relative being a sister of + the first wife, who disapproved of the widower marrying again, and never + entered the house afterwards. Well, the step-mother had a sharp tongue, + and Mellicent was the first person to feel the sting of it. She was + reproached with being an encumbrance on her father, when she ought to be + doing something for herself. There was no need to repeat those harsh + words. The next day she answered an advertisement. Before the week was + over, she was earning her bread as a daily governess.” + </p> + <p> + Here Rufus stopped the narrative, having an interesting question to put. + “Might I inquire, sir, what her salary was?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty pounds a year,” Amelius replied. “She was out teaching from nine + o’clock to two—and then went home again.” + </p> + <p> + “There seems to be nothing to complain of in that, as salaries go,” Mr. + Hethcote remarked. + </p> + <p> + “She made no complaint,” Amelius rejoined. “She was satisfied with her + salary; but she wasn’t satisfied with her life. The meek little woman grew + downright angry when she spoke of it. ‘I had no reason to complain of my + employers,’ she said. ‘I was civilly treated and punctually paid; but I + never made friends of them. I tried to make friends of the children; and + sometimes I thought I had succeeded—but, oh dear, when they were + idle, and I was obliged to keep them to their lessons, I soon found how + little hold I had on the love that I wanted them to give me. We see + children in books who are perfect little angels; never envious or greedy + or sulky or deceitful; always the same sweet, pious, tender, grateful, + innocent creatures—and it has been my misfortune never to meet with + them, go where I might! It is a hard world, Amelius, the world that I have + lived in. I don’t think there are such miserable lives anywhere as the + lives led by the poor middle classes in England. From year’s end to year’s + end, the one dreadful struggle to keep up appearances, and the + heart-breaking monotony of an existence without change. We lived in the + back street of a cheap suburb. I declare to you we had but one amusement + in the whole long weary year—the annual concert the clergyman got + up, in aid of his schools. The rest of the year it was all teaching for + the first half of the day, and needlework for the young family for the + other half. My father had religious scruples; he prohibited theatres, he + prohibited dancing and light reading; he even prohibited looking in at the + shop-windows, because we had no money to spare and they tempted us to buy. + He went to business in the morning, and came back at night, and fell + asleep after dinner, and woke up and read prayers—and next day to + business and back, and sleeping and waking and reading prayers—and + no break in it, week after week, month after month, except on Sunday, + which was always the same Sunday; the same church, the same service, the + same dinner, the same book of sermons in the evening. Even when we had a + fortnight once a year at the seaside, we always went to the same place and + lodged in the same cheap house. The few friends we had led just the same + lives, and were beaten down flat by just the same monotony. All the women + seemed to submit to it contentedly except my miserable self. I wanted so + little! Only a change now and then; only a little sympathy when I was + weary and sick at heart; only somebody whom I could love and serve, and be + rewarded with a smile and a kind word in return. Mothers shook their + heads, and daughters laughed at me. Have we time to be sentimental? + Haven’t we enough to do, darning and mending, and turning our dresses, and + making the joint last as long as possible, and keeping the children clean, + and doing the washing at home—and tea and sugar rising, and my + husband grumbling every week when I have to ask him for the house-money. + Oh, no more of it! no more of it! People meant for better things all + ground down to the same sordid and selfish level—is that a pleasant + sight to contemplate? I shudder when I think of the last twenty years of + my life!’ That’s what she complained of, Mr. Hethcote, in the solitary + middle of the lake, with nobody but me to hear her.” + </p> + <p> + “In my country, sir,” Rufus remarked, “the Lecture Bureau would have + provided for her amusement, on economical terms. And I reckon, if a + married life would fix her, she might have tried it among Us by way of a + change.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the saddest part of the story,” said Amelius. “There came a time, + only two years ago, when her prospects changed for the better. Her rich + aunt (her mother’s sister) died; and—what do you think?—left + her a legacy of six thousand pounds. There was a gleam of sunshine in her + life! The poor teacher was an heiress in a small way, with her fortune at + her own disposal. They had something like a festival at home, for the + first time; presents to everybody, and kissings and congratulations, and + new dresses at last. And, more than that, another wonderful event happened + before long. A gentleman made his appearance in the family circle, with an + interesting object in view—a gentleman, who had called at the house + in which she happened to be employed as teacher at the time, and had seen + her occupied with her pupils. He had kept it to himself to be sure, but he + had secretly admired her from that moment—and now it had come out! + She had never had a lover before; mind that. And he was a remarkably + handsome man: dressed beautifully, and sang and played, and was so humble + and devoted with it all. Do you think it wonderful that she said Yes, when + he proposed to marry her? I don’t think it wonderful at all. For the first + few weeks of the courtship, the sunshine was brighter than ever. Then the + clouds began to rise. Anonymous letters came, describing the handsome + gentleman (seen under his fair surface) as nothing less than a scoundrel. + She tore up the letters indignantly—she was too delicate even to + show them to him. Signed letters came next, addressed to her father by an + uncle and an aunt, both containing one and the same warning: ‘If your + daughter insists on having him, tell her to take care of her money.’ A few + days later, a visitor arrived—a brother, who spoke out more plainly + still. As an honourable man, he could not hear of what was going on, + without making the painful confession that his brother was forbidden to + enter his house. That said, he washed his hands of all further + responsibility. You two know the world, you will guess how it ended. + Quarrels in the household; the poor middle-aged woman, living in her + fool’s paradise, blindly true to her lover; convinced that he was foully + wronged; frantic when he declared that he would not connect himself with a + family which suspected him. Ah, I have no patience when I think of it, and + I almost wish I had never begun to tell the story! Do you know what he + did? She was free of course, at her age, to decide for herself; there was + no controlling her. The wedding day was fixed. Her father had declared he + would not sanction it; and her step-mother kept him to his word. She went + alone to the church, to meet her promised husband. He never appeared; he + deserted her, mercilessly deserted her—after she had sacrificed her + own relations to him—on her wedding-day. She was taken home + insensible, and had a brain fever. The doctors declined to answer for her + life. Her father thought it time to look to her banker’s pass-book. Out of + her six thousand pounds she had privately given no less than four thousand + to the scoundrel who had deceived and forsaken her! Not a month afterwards + he married a young girl—with a fortune of course. We read of such + things in newspapers and books. But to have them brought home to one, + after living one’s own life among honest people—I tell you it + stupefied me!” + </p> + <p> + He said no more. Below them in the cabin, voices were laughing and + talking, to a cheerful accompaniment of clattering knives and forks. + Around them spread the exultant glory of sea and sky. All that they heard, + all that they saw, was cruelty out of harmony with the miserable story + which had just reached its end. With one accord the three men rose and + paced the deck, feeling physically the same need of some movement to + lighten their spirits. With one accord they waited a little, before the + narrative was resumed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5 + </h2> + <h3> + Mr. Hethcote was the first to speak again. + </h3> + <p> + “I can understand the poor creature’s motive in joining your Community,” + he said. “To a person of any sensibility her position, among such + relatives as you describe, must have been simply unendurable after what + had happened. How did she hear of Tadmor and the Socialists?” + </p> + <p> + “She had read one of our books,” Amelius answered; “and she had her + married sister at New York to go to. There were moments, after her + recovery (she confessed it to me frankly), when the thought of suicide was + in her mind. Her religious scruples saved her. She was kindly received by + her sister and her sister’s husband. They proposed to keep her with them + to teach their children. No! the new life offered to her was too like the + old life—she was broken in body and mind; she had no courage to face + it. We have a resident agent in New York; and he arranged for her journey + to Tadmor. There is a gleam of brightness, at any rate, in this part of + her story. She blessed the day, poor soul, when she joined us. Never + before had she found herself among such kind-hearted, unselfish, simple + people. Never before—” he abruptly checked himself, and looked a + little confused. + </p> + <p> + Obliging Rufus finished the sentence for him. “Never before had she known + a young man with such natural gifts of fascination as C.A.G. Don’t you be + too modest, sir; it doesn’t pay, I assure you, in the nineteenth century.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius was not as ready with his laugh as usual. “I wish I could drop it + at the point we have reached now,” he said. “But she has left Tadmor; and, + in justice to her (after the scandals in the newspaper), I must tell you + how she left it, and why. The mischief began when I was helping her out of + the boat. Two of our young women met us on the bank of the lake, and asked + me how I got on with my fishing. They didn’t mean any harm—they were + only in their customary good spirits. Still, there was no mistaking their + looks and tones when they put the question. Miss Mellicent, in her + confusion, made matters worse. She coloured up, and snatched her hand out + of mine, and ran back to the house by herself. The girls, enjoying their + own foolish joke, congratulated me on my prospects. I must have been out + of sorts in some way—upset, perhaps, by what I had heard in the + boat. Anyhow, I lost my temper, and <i>I</i> made matters worse, next. I + said some angry words, and left them. The same evening I found a letter in + my room. ‘For your sake, I must not be seen alone with you again. It is + hard to lose the comfort of your sympathy, but I must submit. Think of me + as kindly as I think of you. It has done me good to open my heart to you.’ + Only those lines, signed by Mellicent’s initials. I was rash enough to + keep the letter, instead of destroying it. All might have ended well, + nevertheless, if she had only held to her resolution. But, unluckily, my + twenty-first birthday was close at hand; and there was talk of keeping it + as a festival in the Community. I was up with sunrise when the day came; + having some farming work to look after, and wanting to get it over in good + time. My shortest way back to breakfast was through a wood. In the wood I + met her.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” Mr. Hethcote asked. + </p> + <p> + Rufus expressed his opinion of the wisdom of putting this question with + his customary plainness of language. “When there’s a rash thing to be done + by a man and a woman together, sir, philosophers have remarked that it’s + always the woman who leads the way. Of course she was alone.” + </p> + <p> + “She had a little present for me on my birthday,” Amelius explained—“a + purse of her own making. And she was afraid of the ridicule of the young + women, if she gave it to me openly. ‘You have my heart’s dearest wishes + for your happiness; think of me sometimes, Amelius, when you open your + purse.’ If you had been in my place, could you have told her to go away, + when she said that, and put her gift into your hand? Not if she had been + looking at you at the moment—I’ll swear you couldn’t have done it!” + </p> + <p> + The lean yellow face of Rufus Dingwell relaxed for the first time into a + broad grin. “There are further particulars, sir, stated in the newspaper,” + he said slily. + </p> + <p> + “Damn the newspaper!” Amelius answered. + </p> + <p> + Rufus bowed, serenely courteous, with the air of a man who accepted a + British oath as an unwilling compliment paid by the old country to the + American press. “The newspaper report states, sir, that she kissed you.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a lie!” Amelius shouted. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it’s an error of the press,” Rufus persisted. “Perhaps, <i>you</i> + kissed <i>her?”</i> + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what I did,” said Amelius savagely. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote felt it necessary to interfere. He addressed Rufus in his + most magnificent manner. “In England, Mr. Dingwell, a gentleman is not in + the habit of disclosing these—er—these—er, er—” + </p> + <p> + “These kissings in a wood?” suggested Rufus. “In my country, sir, we do + not regard kissing, in or out of a wood, in the light of a shameful + proceeding. Quite the contrary, I do assure you.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius recovered his temper. The discussion was becoming too ridiculous + to be endured by the unfortunate person who was the object of it. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let us make mountains out of molehills,” he said. “I did kiss her—there! + A woman pressing the prettiest little purse you ever saw into your hand, + and wishing you many happy returns of the day with the tears in her eyes; + I should like to know what else was to be done but to kiss her. Ah, yes, + smooth out your newspaper report, and have another look at it! She <i>did</i> + rest her head on my shoulder, poor soul, and she <i>did</i> say, ‘Oh, + Amelius, I thought my heart was turned to stone; feel how you have made it + beat!’ When I remembered what she had told me in the boat, I declare to + God I almost burst out crying myself—it was so innocent and so + pitiful.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus held out his hand with true American cordiality. “I do assure you, + sir, I meant no harm,” he said. “The right grit is in you, and no mistake—and + there goes the newspaper!” He rolled up the slip, and flung it overboard. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hethcote nodded his entire approval of this proceeding. Amelius went + on with his story. + </p> + <p> + “I’m near the end now,” he said. “If I had known it would have taken so + long to tell—never mind! We got out of the wood at last, Mr. Rufus; + and left it without a suspicion that we had been watched. I was prudent + enough (when it was too late, you will say) to suggest to her that we had + better be careful for the future. Instead of taking it seriously, she + laughed. ‘Have you altered your mind, since you wrote to me?’ I asked. ‘To + be sure I have,’ she said. ‘When I wrote to you I forgot the difference + between your age and mine. Nothing that <i>we</i> do will be taken + seriously. I am afraid of their laughing at me, Amelius; but I am afraid + of nothing else.’ I did my best to undeceive her. I told her plainly that + people unequally matched in years—women older than men, as well as + men older than women—were not uncommonly married among us. The + council only looked to their being well suited in other ways, and declined + to trouble itself about the question of age. I don’t think I produced much + effect; she seemed, for once in her life, poor thing, to be too happy to + look beyond the passing moment. Besides, there was the birthday festival + to keep her mind from dwelling on doubts and fears that were not agreeable + to her. And the next day there was another event to occupy our attention—the + arrival of the lawyer’s letter from London, with the announcement of my + inheritance on coming of age. It was settled, as you know, that I was to + go out into the world, and to judge for myself; but the date of my + departure was not fixed. Two days later, the storm that had been gathering + for weeks past burst on us—we were cited to appear before the + council to answer for an infraction of the Rules. Everything that I have + confessed to you, and some things besides that I have kept to myself, lay + formally inscribed on a sheet of paper placed on the council table—and + pinned to the sheet of paper was Mellicent’s letter to me, found in my + room. I took the whole blame on myself, and insisted on being confronted + with the unknown person who had informed against us. The council met this + by a question:—‘Is the information, in any particular, false?’ + Neither of us could deny that it was, in every particular, true. Hearing + this, the council decided that there was no need, on our own showing, to + confront us with the informer. From that day to this, I have never known + who the spy was. Neither Mellicent nor I had an enemy in the Community. + The girls who had seen us on the lake, and some other members who had met + us together, only gave their evidence on compulsion—and even then + they prevaricated, they were so fond of us and so sorry for us. After + waiting a day, the governing body pronounced their judgment. Their duty + was prescribed to them by the Rules. We were sentenced to six months’ + absence from the Community; to return or not as we pleased. A hard + sentence, gentlemen—whatever <i>we</i> may think of it—to + homeless and friendless people, to the Fallen Leaves that had drifted to + Tadmor. In my case it had been already arranged that I was to leave. After + what had happened, my departure was made compulsory in four-and-twenty + hours; and I was forbidden to return, until the date of my sentence had + expired. In Mellicent’s case they were still more strict. They would not + trust her to travel by herself. A female member of the Community was + appointed to accompany her to the house of her married sister at New York: + she was ordered to be ready for the journey by sunrise the next morning. + We both understood, of course, that the object of this was to prevent our + travelling together. They might have saved themselves the trouble of + putting obstacles in our way.” + </p> + <p> + “So far as You were concerned, I suppose?” said Mr. Hethcote. + </p> + <p> + “So far as She was concerned also,” Amelius answered. + </p> + <p> + “How did she take it, sir?” Rufus inquired. + </p> + <p> + “With a composure that astonished us all,” said Amelius. “We had + anticipated tears and entreaties for mercy. She stood up perfectly calm, + far calmer than I was, with her head turned towards me, and her eyes + resting quietly on my face. If you can imagine a woman whose whole being + was absorbed in looking into the future; seeing what no mortal creature + about her saw; sustained by hopes that no mortal creature about her could + share—you may see her as I did, when she heard her sentence + pronounced. The members of the Community, accustomed to take leave of an + erring brother or sister with loving and merciful words, were all more or + less distressed as they bade her farewell. Most of the women were in tears + as they kissed her. They said the same kind words to her over and over + again. ‘We are heartily sorry for you, dear; we shall all be glad to + welcome you back.’ They sang our customary hymn at parting—and broke + down before they got to the end. It was <i>she</i> who consoled <i>them!</i> + Not once, through all that melancholy ceremony, did she lose her strange + composure, her rapt mysterious look. I was the last to say farewell; and I + own I couldn’t trust myself to speak. She held my hand in hers. For a + moment, her face lighted up softly with a radiant smile—then the + strange preoccupied expression flowed over her again, like shadow over a + light. Her eyes, still looking into mine, seemed to look beyond me. She + spoke low, in sad steady tones. ‘Be comforted, Amelius; the end is not + yet.’ She put her hands on my head, and drew it down to her. ‘You will + come back to me,’ she whispered—and kissed me on the forehead, + before them all. When I looked up again, she was gone. I have neither seen + her nor heard from her since. It’s all told, gentlemen—and some of + it has distressed me in the telling. Let me go away for a minute by + myself, and look at the sea.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK THE SECOND. AMELIUS IN LONDON + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1 + </h2> + <p> + Oh, Rufus Dingwell, it is such a rainy day! And the London street which I + look out on from my hotel window presents such a dirty and such a + miserable view! Do you know, I hardly feel like the same Amelius who + promised to write to you when you left the steamer at Queenstown. My + spirits are sinking; I begin to feel old. Am I in the right state of mind + to tell you what are my first impressions of London? Perhaps I may alter + my opinion. At present (this is between ourselves), I don’t like London or + London people—excepting two ladies, who, in very different ways, + have interested and charmed me. + </p> + <p> + Who are the ladies? I must tell you what I heard about them from Mr. + Hethcote, before I present them to you on my own responsibility. + </p> + <p> + After you left us, I found the last day of the voyage to Liverpool dull + enough. Mr. Hethcote did not seem to feel it in the same way: on the + contrary, he grew more familiar and confidential in his talk with me. He + has some of the English stiffness, you see, and your American pace was a + little too fast for him. On our last night on board, we had some more + conversation about the Farnabys. You were not interested enough in the + subject to attend to what he said about them while you were with us; but + if you are to be introduced to the ladies, you must be interested now. Let + me first inform you that Mr. and Mrs. Farnaby have no children; and let me + add that they have adopted the daughter and orphan child of Mrs. Farnaby’s + sister. This sister, it seems, died many years ago, surviving her husband + for a few months only. To complete the story of the past, death has also + taken old Mr. Ronald, the founder of the stationer’s business, and his + wife, Mrs. Farnaby’s mother. Dry facts these—I don’t deny it; but + there is something more interesting to follow. I have next to tell you how + Mr. Hethcote first became acquainted with Mrs. Farnaby. Now, Rufus, we are + coming to something romantic at last! + </p> + <p> + It is some time since Mr. Hethcote ceased to perform his clerical duties, + owing to a malady in the throat, which made it painful for him to take his + place in the reading-desk or the pulpit. His last curacy attached him to a + church at the West-end of London; and here, one Sunday evening, after he + had preached the sermon, a lady in trouble came to him in the vestry for + spiritual advice and consolation. She was a regular attendant at the + church, and something which he had said in that evening’s sermon had + deeply affected her. Mr. Hethcote spoke with her afterwards on many + occasions at home. He felt a sincere interest in her, but he disliked her + husband; and, when he gave up his curacy, he ceased to pay visits to the + house. As to what Mrs. Farnaby’s troubles were, I can tell you nothing. + Mr. Hethcote spoke very gravely and sadly when he told me that the subject + of his conversations with her must be kept a secret. “I doubt whether you + and Mr. Farnaby will get on well together,” he said to me; “but I shall be + astonished if you are not favourably impressed by his wife and her niece.” + </p> + <p> + This was all I knew when I presented my letter of introduction to Mr. + Farnaby at his place of business. + </p> + <p> + It was a grand stone building, with great plate-glass windows—all + renewed and improved, they told me, since old Mr. Ronald’s time. My letter + and my card went into an office at the back, and I followed them after a + while. A lean, hard, middle-aged man, buttoned up tight in a black + frock-coat, received me, holding my written introduction open in his hand. + He had a ruddy complexion not commonly seen in Londoners, so far as my + experience goes. His iron-gray hair and whiskers (especially the whiskers) + were in wonderfully fine order—as carefully oiled and combed as if + he had just come out of a barber’s shop. I had been in the morning to the + Zoological Gardens; his eyes, when he lifted them from the letter to me, + reminded me of the eyes of the eagles—glassy and cruel. I have a + fault that I can’t cure myself of. I like people, or dislike them, at + first sight, without knowing, in either case, whether they deserve it or + not. In the one moment when our eyes met, I felt the devil in me. In plain + English, I hated Mr. Farnaby! + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, sir,” he began, in a loud, harsh, rasping voice. “The + letter you bring me takes me by surprise.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought the writer was an old friend of yours,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “An old friend of mine,” Mr. Farnaby answered, “whose errors I deplore. + When he joined your Community, I looked upon him as a lost man. I am + surprised at his writing to me.” + </p> + <p> + It is quite likely I was wrong, knowing nothing of the usages of society + in England. I thought this reception of me downright rude. I had laid my + hat on a chair; I took it up in my hand again, and delivered a parting + shot at the brute with the oily whiskers. + </p> + <p> + “If I had known what you now tell me,” I said, “I should not have troubled + you by presenting that letter. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + This didn’t in the least offend him. A curious smile broke out on his + face; it widened his eyes, and it twitched up his mouth at one corner. He + held out his hand to stop me. I waited, in case he felt bound to make an + apology. He did nothing of the sort—he only made a remark. + </p> + <p> + “You are young and hasty,” he said. “I may lament my friend’s + extravagances, without failing on that account in what is due to an old + friendship. You are probably not aware that we have no sympathy in England + with Socialists.” + </p> + <p> + I hit him back again. “In that case, sir, a little Socialism in England + would do you no harm. We consider it a part of our duty as Christians to + feel sympathy with all men who are honest in their convictions—no + matter how mistaken (in our opinion) the convictions may be.” I rather + thought I had him there; and I took up my hat again, to get off with the + honours of victory while I had the chance. + </p> + <p> + I am sincerely ashamed of myself, Rufus, in telling you all this. I ought + to have given him back “the soft answer that turneth away wrath”—my + conduct was a disgrace to my Community. What evil influence was at work in + me? Was it the air of London? or was it a possession of the devil? + </p> + <p> + He stopped me for the second time—not in the least disconcerted by + what I had said to him. His inbred conviction of his own superiority to a + young adventurer like me was really something magnificent to witness. He + did me justice—the Philistine-Pharisee did me justice! Will you + believe it? He made his remarks next on my good points, as if I had been a + young bull at a prize cattle show. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me for noticing it,” he said. “Your manners are perfectly + gentlemanlike, and you speak English without any accent. And yet you have + been brought up in America. What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + I grew worse and worse—I got downright sulky now. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it means,” I answered, “that some of us, in America, cultivate + ourselves as well as our land. We have our books and music, though you + seem to think we only have our axes and spades. Englishmen don’t claim a + monopoly of good manners at Tadmor. We see no difference between an + American gentleman and an English gentleman. And as for speaking English + with an accent, the Americans accuse <i>us</i> of doing that.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled again. “How very absurd!” he said, with a superb compassion for + the benighted Americans. By this time, I suspect he began to feel that he + had had enough of me. He got rid of me with an invitation. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be glad to receive you at my private residence, and introduce you + to my wife and her niece—our adopted daughter. There is the address. + We have a few friends to dinner on Saturday next, at seven. Will you give + us the pleasure of your company?” + </p> + <p> + We are all aware that there is a distinction between civility and + cordiality; but I myself never knew how wide that distinction might be, + until Mr. Farnaby invited me to dinner. If I had not been curious (after + what Mr. Hethcote had told me) to see Mrs. Farnaby and her niece, I should + certainly have slipped out of the engagement. As it was, I promised to + dine with Oily-Whiskers. + </p> + <p> + He put his hand into mine at parting. It felt as moistly cold as a dead + fish. After getting out again into the street, I turned into the first + tavern I passed, and ordered a drink. Shall I tell you what else I did? I + went into the lavatory, and washed Mr. Farnaby off my hand. (N.B.—If + I had behaved in this way at Tadmor, I should have been punished with the + lighter penalty—taking my meals by myself, and being forbidden to + enter the Common Room for eight and forty hours.) I feel I am getting + wickeder and wickeder in London—I have half a mind to join you in + Ireland. What does Tom Moore say of his countrymen—he ought to know, + I suppose? “For though they love women and golden store: Sir Knight, they + love honour and virtue more!” They must have been all Socialists in Tom + Moore’s time. Just the place for me. + </p> + <p> + I have been obliged to wait a little. A dense fog has descended on us by + way of variety. With a stinking coal fire, with the gas lit and the + curtains drawn at half-past eleven in the forenoon, I feel that I am in my + own country again at last. Patience, my friend—patience! I am coming + to the ladies. + </p> + <p> + Entering Mr. Farnaby’s private residence on the appointed day, I became + acquainted with one more of the innumerable insincerities of modern + English life. When a man asks you to dine with him at seven o’clock, in + other countries, he means what he says. In England, he means half-past + seven, and sometimes a quarter to eight. At seven o’clock I was the only + person in Mr. Farnaby’s drawing-room. At ten minutes past seven, Mr. + Farnaby made his appearance. I had a good mind to take his place in the + middle of the hearth-rug, and say, “Farnaby, I am glad to see you.” But I + looked at his whiskers; and <i>they</i> said to me, as plainly as words + could speak, “Better not!” + </p> + <p> + In five minutes more, Mrs. Farnaby joined us. + </p> + <p> + I wish I was a practised author—or, no, I would rather, for the + moment, be a competent portrait-painter, and send you Mrs. Farnaby’s + likeness enclosed. How I am to describe her in words, I really don’t know. + My dear fellow, she almost frightened me. I never before saw such a woman; + I never expect to see such a woman again. There was nothing in her figure, + or in her way of moving, that produced this impression on me—she is + little and fat, and walks with a firm, heavy step, like the step of a man. + Her face is what I want to make you see as plainly as I saw it myself: it + was her face that startled me. + </p> + <p> + So far as I can pretend to judge, she must have been pretty, in a healthy + way, when she was young. I declare I hardly know whether she is not pretty + now. She certainly has no marks or wrinkles; her hair either has no gray + in it, or is too light to show the gray. She has preserved her fair + complexion; perhaps with art to assist it—I can’t say. As for her + lips—I am not speaking disrespectfully, I am only describing them + truly, when I say that they invite kisses in spite of her. In two words, + though she has been married (as I know from what one of the guests told me + after dinner) for sixteen years, she would be still an irresistible little + woman, but for the one startling drawback of her eyes. Don’t mistake me. + In themselves, they are large, well-opened blue eyes, and may at one time + have been the chief attraction in her face. But now there is an expression + of suffering in them—long, unsolaced suffering, as I believe—so + despairing and so dreadful, that she really made my heart ache when I + looked at her. I will swear to it, that woman lives in some secret hell of + her own making, and longs for the release of death; and is so inveterately + full of bodily life and strength, that she may carry her burden with her + to the utmost verge of life. I am digging the pen into the paper, I feel + this so strongly, and I am so wretchedly incompetent to express my + feeling. Can you imagine a diseased mind, imprisoned in a healthy body? I + don’t care what doctors or books may say—it is that, and nothing + else. Nothing else will solve the mystery of the smooth face, the fleshy + figure, the firm step, the muscular grip of her hand when she gives it to + you—and the soul in torment that looks at you all the while out of + her eyes. It is useless to tell me that such a contradiction as this + cannot exist. I have seen the woman; and she does exist. + </p> + <p> + Oh yes! I can fancy you grinning over my letter—I can hear you + saying to yourself, “Where did he pick up his experience, I wonder?” I + have no experience—I only have something that serves me instead of + it, and I don’t know what. The Elder Brother, at Tadmor, used to say it + was sympathy. But <i>he</i> is a sentimentalist. + </p> + <p> + Well, Mr. Farnaby presented me to his wife—and then walked away as + if he was sick of us both, and looked out of the window. + </p> + <p> + For some reason or other, Mrs. Farnaby seemed to be surprised, for the + moment, by my personal appearance. Her husband had, very likely, not told + her how young I was. She got over her momentary astonishment, and, signing + to me to sit by her on the sofa, said the necessary words of welcome—evidently + thinking something else all the time. The strange miserable eyes looked + over my shoulder, instead of looking at me. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Farnaby tells me you have been living in America.” + </p> + <p> + The tone in which she spoke was curiously quiet and monotonous. I have + heard such tones, in the Far West, from lonely settlers without a + neighbouring soul to speak to. Has Mrs. Farnaby no neighbouring soul to + speak to, except at dinner parties? + </p> + <p> + “You are an Englishman, are you not?” she went on. + </p> + <p> + I said Yes, and cast about in my mind for something to say to her. She + saved me the trouble by making me the victim of a complete series of + questions. This, as I afterwards discovered, was <i>her</i> way of finding + conversation for strangers. Have you ever met with absent-minded people to + whom it is a relief to ask questions mechanically, without feeling the + slightest interest in the answers? + </p> + <p> + She began. “Where did you live in America?” + </p> + <p> + “At Tadmor, in the State of Illinois.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of place is Tadmor?” + </p> + <p> + I described the place as well as I could, under the circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “What made you go to Tadmor?” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to reply to this, without speaking of the Community. + Feeling that the subject was not in the least likely to interest her, I + spoke as briefly as I could. To my astonishment, I evidently began to + interest her from that moment. The series of questions went on—but + now she not only listened, she was eager for the answers. + </p> + <p> + “Are there any women among you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly as many women as men.” + </p> + <p> + Another change! Over the weary misery of her eyes there flashed a bright + look of interest which completely transformed them. Her articulation even + quickened when she put her next question. + </p> + <p> + “Are any of the women friendless creatures, who came to you from England?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, some of them.” + </p> + <p> + I thought of Mellicent as I spoke. Was this new interest that I had so + innocently aroused, an interest in Mellicent? Her next question only added + to my perplexity. Her next question proved that my guess had completely + failed to hit the mark. + </p> + <p> + “Are there any <i>young</i> women among them?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Farnaby, standing with his back to us thus far, suddenly turned and + looked at her, when she inquired if there were “young” women among us. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” I said. “Mere girls.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed so near to me that her knees touched mine. “How old?” she + asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Farnaby left the window, walked close up to the sofa, and deliberately + interrupted us. + </p> + <p> + “Nasty muggy weather, isn’t it?” he said. “I suppose the climate of + America—” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby deliberately interrupted her husband. “How old?” she + repeated, in a louder tone. + </p> + <p> + I was bound, of course, to answer the lady of the house. “Some girls from + eighteen to twenty. And some younger.” + </p> + <p> + “How much younger?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, from sixteen to seventeen.” + </p> + <p> + She grew more and more excited; she positively laid her hand on my arm in + her eagerness to secure my attention all to herself. “American girls or + English?” she resumed, her fat, firm fingers closing on me with a + tremulous grasp. + </p> + <p> + “Shall you be in town in November?” said Mr. Farnaby, purposely + interrupting us again. “If you would like to see the Lord Mayor’s Show—” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby impatiently shook me by the arm. “American girls or English?” + she reiterated, more obstinately than ever. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Farnaby gave her one look. If he could have put her on the blazing + fire and have burnt her up in an instant by an effort of will, I believe + he would have made the effort. He saw that I was observing him, and turned + quickly from his wife to me. His ruddy face was pale with suppressed rage. + My early arrival had given Mrs. Farnaby an opportunity of speaking to me, + which he had not anticipated in inviting me to dinner. “Come and see my + pictures,” he said. + </p> + <p> + His wife still held me fast. Whether he liked it or not, I had again no + choice but to answer her. “Some American girls, and some English,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes opened wider and wider in unutterable expectation. She suddenly + advanced her face so close to mine, that I felt her hot breath on my + cheeks as the next words burst their way through her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Born in England?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Born at Tadmor.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped my arm. The light died out of her eyes in an instant. In some + inconceivable way, I had utterly destroyed some secret expectation that + she had fixed on me. She actually left me on the sofa, and took a chair on + the opposite side of the fireplace. Mr. Farnaby, turning paler and paler, + stepped up to her as she changed her place. I rose to look at the pictures + on the wall nearest to me. You remarked the extraordinary keenness of my + sense of hearing, while we were fellow passengers on the steamship. When + he stooped over her, and whispered in her ear, I heard him—though + nearly the whole breadth of the room was between us. “You hell-cat!”—that + was what Mr. Farnaby said to his wife. + </p> + <p> + The clock on the mantelpiece struck the half-hour after seven. In quick + succession, the guests at the dinner now entered the room. + </p> + <p> + I was so staggered by the extraordinary scene of married life which I had + just witnessed, that the guests produced only a very faint impression upon + me. My mind was absorbed in trying to find the true meaning of what I had + seen and heard. Was Mrs. Farnaby a little mad? I dismissed that idea as + soon as it occurred to me; nothing that I had observed in her justified + it. The truer conclusion appeared to be, that she was deeply interested in + some absent (and possibly lost) young creature; whose age, judging by + actions and tones which had sufficiently revealed that part of the secret + to me, could not be more than sixteen or seventeen years. How long had she + cherished the hope of seeing the girl, or hearing of her? It must have + been, anyhow, a hope very deeply rooted, for she had been perfectly + incapable of controlling herself when I had accidentally roused it. As for + her husband, there could be no doubt that the subject was not merely + distasteful to him, but so absolutely infuriating that he could not even + keep his temper, in the presence of a third person invited to his house. + Had he injured the girl in any way? Was he responsible for her + disappearance? Did his wife know it, or only suspect it? Who <i>was</i> + the girl? What was the secret of Mrs. Farnaby’s extraordinary interest in + her—Mrs. Farnaby, whose marriage was childless; whose interest one + would have thought should be naturally concentrated on her adopted + daughter, her sister’s orphan child? In conjectures such as these, I + completely lost myself. Let me hear what your ingenuity can make of the + puzzle; and let me return to Mr. Farnaby’s dinner, waiting on Mr. + Farnaby’s table. + </p> + <p> + The servant threw open the drawing-room door, and the most honoured guest + present led Mrs. Farnaby to the dining-room. I roused myself to some + observation of what was going on about me. No ladies had been invited; and + the men were all of a certain age. I looked in vain for the charming + niece. Was she not well enough to appear at the dinner-party? I ventured + on putting the question to Mr. Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + “You will find her at the tea-table, when we return to the drawing-room. + Girls are out of place at dinner-parties.” So he answered me—not + very graciously. + </p> + <p> + As I stepped out on the landing, I looked up; I don’t know why, unless I + was the unconscious object of magnetic attraction. Anyhow, I had my + reward. A bright young face peeped over the balusters of the upper + staircase, and modestly withdrew itself again in a violent hurry. + Everybody but Mr. Farnaby and myself had disappeared in the dining-room. + Was she having a peep at the young Socialist? + </p> + <p> + Another interruption to my letter, caused by another change in the + weather. The fog has vanished; the waiter is turning off the gas, and + letting in the drab-coloured daylight. I ask him if it is still raining. + He smiles, and rubs his hands, and says, “It looks like clearing up soon, + sir.” This man’s head is gray; he has been all his life a waiter in London—and + he can still see the cheerful side of things. What native strength of mind + cast away on a vocation that is unworthy of it! + </p> + <p> + Well—and now about the Farnaby dinner. I feel a tightness in the + lower part of my waistcoat, Rufus, when I think of the dinner; there was + such a quantity of it, and Mr. Farnaby was so tyrannically resolute in + forcing his luxuries down the throats of his guests. His eye was on me, if + I let my plate go away before it was empty—his eye said “I have paid + for this magnificent dinner, and I mean to see you eat it.” Our printed + list of the dishes, as they succeeded each other, also informed us of the + varieties of wine which it was imperatively necessary to drink with each + dish. I got into difficulties early in the proceedings. The taste of + sherry, for instance, is absolutely nauseous to me; and Rhine wine turns + into vinegar ten minutes after it has passed my lips. I asked for the wine + that I could drink, out of its turn. You should have seen Mr. Farnaby’s + face, when I violated the rules of his dinner-table! It was the one + amusing incident of the feast—the one thing that alleviated the + dreary and mysterious spectacle of Mrs. Farnaby. There she sat, with her + mind hundreds of miles away from everything that was going on about her, + entangling the two guests, on her right hand and on her left, in a network + of vacant questions, just as she had entangled me. I discovered that one + of these gentlemen was a barrister and the other a ship-owner, by the + answers which Mrs. Farnaby absently extracted from them on the subject of + their respective vocations in life. And while she questioned incessantly, + she ate incessantly. Her vigorous body insisted on being fed. She would + have emptied her wineglass (I suspect) as readily as she plied her knife + and fork—but I discovered that a certain system of restraint was + established in the matter of wine. At intervals, Mr. Farnaby just looked + at the butler—and the butler and his bottle, on those occasions, + deliberately passed her by. Not the slightest visible change was produced + in her by the eating and drinking; she was equal to any demands that any + dinner could make on her. There was no flush in her face, no change in her + spirits, when she rose, in obedience to English custom, and retired to the + drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + Left together over their wine, the men began to talk politics. + </p> + <p> + I listened at the outset, expecting to get some information. Our readings + in modern history at Tadmor had informed us of the dominant political + position of the middle classes in England, since the time of the first + Reform Bill. Mr. Farnaby’s guests represented the respectable mediocrity + of social position, the professional and commercial average of the nation. + They all talked glibly enough—I and an old gentleman who sat next to + me being the only listeners. I had spent the morning lazily in the + smoking-room of the hotel, reading the day’s newspapers. And what did I + hear now, when the politicians set in for their discussion? I heard the + leading articles of the day’s newspapers translated into bald chat, and + coolly addressed by one man to another, as if they were his own individual + views on public affairs! This absurd imposture positively went the round + of the table, received and respected by everybody with a stolid solemnity + of make-believe which it was downright shameful to see. Not a man present + said, “I saw that today in the <i>Times</i> or the <i>Telegraph.”</i> Not + a man present had an opinion of his own; or, if he had an opinion, + ventured to express it; or, if he knew nothing of the subject, was honest + enough to say so. One enormous Sham, and everybody in a conspiracy to take + it for the real thing: that is an accurate description of the state of + political feeling among the representative men at Mr. Farnaby’s dinner. I + am not judging rashly by one example only; I have been taken to clubs and + public festivals, only to hear over and over again what I heard in Mr. + Farnaby’s dining-room. Does it need any great foresight to see that such a + state of things as this cannot last much longer, in a country which has + not done with reforming itself yet? The time is coming, in England, when + the people who <i>have</i> opinions of their own will be heard, and when + Parliament will be forced to open the door to them. + </p> + <p> + This is a nice outbreak of republican freedom! What does my long-suffering + friend think of it—waiting all the time to be presented to Mr. + Farnaby’s niece? Everything in its place, Rufus. The niece followed the + politics, at the time; and she shall follow them now. + </p> + <p> + You shall hear first what my next neighbour said of her—a quaint old + fellow, a retired doctor, if I remember correctly. He seemed to be as + weary of the second-hand newspaper talk as I was; he quite sparkled and + cheered up when I introduced the subject of Miss Regina. Have I mentioned + her name yet? If not, here it is for you in full:—Miss Regina + Mildmay. + </p> + <p> + “I call her the brown girl,” said the old gentleman. “Brown hair, brown + eyes, and a brown skin. No, not a brunette; not dark enough for that—a + warm, delicate brown; wait till you see it! Takes after her father, I + should tell you. He was a fine-looking man in his time; foreign blood in + his veins, by his mother’s side. Miss Regina gets her queer name by being + christened after his mother. Never mind her name; she’s a charming person. + Let’s drink her health.” + </p> + <p> + We drank her health. Remembering that he had called her “the brown girl,” + I said I supposed she was still quite young. + </p> + <p> + “Better than young,” the doctor answered; “in the prime of life. I call + her a girl, by habit. Wait till you see her!” + </p> + <p> + “Has she a good figure, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! you’re like the Turks, are you? A nice-looking woman doesn’t content + you—you must have her well-made too. We can accommodate you, sir; we + are slim and tall, with a swing of our hips, and we walk like a goddess. + Wait and see how her head is put on her shoulders—I say no more. + Proud? Not she! A simple, unaffected, kind-hearted creature. Always the + same; I never saw her out of temper in my life; I never heard her speak + ill of anybody. The man who gets her will be a man to be envied, I can + tell you!” + </p> + <p> + “Is she engaged to be married?” + </p> + <p> + “No. She has had plenty of offers; but she doesn’t seem to care for + anything of that sort—so far. Devotes herself to Mrs. Farnaby, and + keeps up her school-friendships. A splendid creature, with the vital + thermometer at temperate heart—a calm, meditative, equable person. + Pass me the olives. Only think! the man who discovered olives is unknown; + no statue of him erected in any part of the civilized earth. I know few + more remarkable instances of human ingratitude.” + </p> + <p> + I risked a bold question—but not on the subject of olives. “Isn’t + Miss Regina’s life rather a dull one in this house?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor cautiously lowered his voice. “It would be dull enough to some + women. Regina’s early life has been a hard one. Her mother was Mr. + Ronald’s eldest daughter. The old brute never forgave her for marrying + against his wishes. Mrs. Ronald did all she could, secretly, to help the + young wife in disgrace. But old Ronald had sole command of the money, and + kept it to himself. From Regina’s earliest childhood there was always + distress at home. Her father harassed by creditors, trying one scheme + after another, and failing in all; her mother and herself, half starved—with + their very bedclothes sometimes at the pawnbrokers. I attended them in + their illnesses, and though they hid their wretchedness from everybody + else (proud as Lucifer, both of them!), they couldn’t hide it from me. + Fancy the change to this house! I don’t say that living here in clover is + enough for such a person as Regina; I only say it has its influence. She + is one of those young women, sir, who delight in sacrificing themselves to + others—she is devoted, for instance, to Mrs. Farnaby. I only hope + Mrs. Farnaby is worthy of it! Not that it matters to Regina. What she + does, she does out of her own sweetness of disposition. She brightens this + household, I can tell you! Farnaby did a wise thing, in his own domestic + interests, when he adopted her as his daughter. She thinks she can never + be grateful enough to him—the good creature!—though she has + repaid him a hundredfold. He’ll find that out, one of these days, when a + husband takes her away. Don’t suppose that I want to disparage our host—he’s + an old friend of mine; but he’s a little too apt to take the good things + that fall to his lot as if they were nothing but a just recognition of his + own merits. I have told him that to his face, often enough to have a right + to say it of him when he doesn’t hear me. Do you smoke? I wish they would + drop their politics, and take to tobacco. I say Farnaby! I want a cigar.” + </p> + <p> + This broad hint produced an adjournment to the smoking-room, the doctor + leading the way. I began to wonder how much longer my introduction to Miss + Regina was to be delayed. It was not to come until I had seen a new side + of my host’s character, and had found myself promoted to a place of my own + in Mr. Farnaby’s estimation. + </p> + <p> + As we rose from table one of the guests spoke to me of a visit that he had + recently paid to the part of Buckinghamshire which I come from. “I was + shown a remarkably picturesque old house on the heath,” he said. “They + told me it had been inhabited for centuries by the family of the + Goldenhearts. Are you in any way related to them?” I answered that I was + very nearly related, having been born in the house—and there, as I + suppose, the matter ended. Being the youngest man of the party, I waited, + of course, until the rest of the gentlemen had passed out to the + smoking-room. Mr. Farnaby and I were left together. To my astonishment, he + put his arm cordially into mine, and led me out of the dining-room with + the genial familiarity of an old friend! + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give you such a cigar,” he said, “as you can’t buy for money in all + London. You have enjoyed yourself, I hope? Now we know what wine you like, + you won’t have to ask the butler for it next time. Drop in any day, and + take pot-luck with us.” He came to a standstill in the hall; his brassy + rasping voice assumed a new tone—a sort of parody of respect. “Have + you been to your family place,” he asked, “since your return to England?” + </p> + <p> + He had evidently heard the few words exchanged between his friend and + myself. It seemed odd that he should take any interest in a place + belonging to people who were strangers to him. However, his question was + easily answered. I had only to inform him that my father had sold the + house when he left England. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that!” he said. “Those old family places ought + to be kept up. The greatness of England, sir, strikes its roots in the old + families of England. They may be rich, or they may be poor—that + don’t matter. An old family <i>is</i> an old family; it’s sad to see their + hearths and homes sold to wealthy manufacturers who don’t know who their + own grandfathers were. Would you allow me to ask what is the family motto + of the Goldenhearts?” + </p> + <p> + Shall I own the truth? The bottles circulated freely at Mr. Farnaby’s + table—I began to wonder whether he was quite sober. I said I was + sorry to disappoint him, but I really did not know what my family motto + was. + </p> + <p> + He was unaffectedly shocked. “I think I saw a ring on your finger,” he + said, as soon as he recovered himself. He lifted my left hand in his own + cold-fishy paw. The one ring I wear is of plain gold; it belonged to my + father and it has his initials inscribed on the signet. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious, you haven’t got your coat-of-arms on your seal!” cried Mr. + Farnaby. “My dear sir, I am old enough to be your father, and I must take + the freedom of remonstrating with you. Your coat-of-arms and your motto + are no doubt at the Heralds’ Office—why don’t you apply for them? + Shall I go there for you? I will do it with pleasure. You shouldn’t be + careless about these things—you shouldn’t indeed.” + </p> + <p> + I listened in speechless astonishment. Was he ironically expressing his + contempt for old families? We got into the smoking-room at last; and my + friend the doctor enlightened me privately in a corner. Every word Mr. + Farnaby had said had been spoken in earnest. This man, who owes his rise + from the lowest social position entirely to himself—who, judging by + his own experience, has every reason to despise the poor pride of ancestry—actually + feels a sincerely servile admiration for the accident of birth! “Oh, poor + human nature!” as Somebody says. How cordially I agree with Somebody! + </p> + <p> + We went up to the drawing-room; and I was introduced to “the brown girl” + at last. What impression did she produce on me? + </p> + <p> + Do you know, Rufus, there is some perverse reluctance in me to go on with + this inordinately long letter just when I have arrived at the most + interesting part of it. I can’t account for my own state of mind; I only + know that it is so. The difficulty of describing the young lady doesn’t + perplex me like the difficulty of describing Mrs. Farnaby. I can see her + now, as vividly as if she was present in the room. I even remember (and + this is astonishing in a man) the dress that she wore. And yet I shrink + from writing about her, as if there was something wrong in it. Do me a + kindness, good friend, and let me send off all these sheets of paper, the + idle work of an idle morning, just as they are. When I write next, I + promise to be ashamed of my own capricious state of mind, and to paint the + portrait of Miss Regina at full length. + </p> + <p> + In the mean while, don’t run away with the idea that she has made a + disagreeable impression upon me. Good heavens! it is far from that. You + have had the old doctor’s opinion of her. Very well. Multiply this opinion + by ten—and you have mine. + </p> + <p> + [NOTE:—A strange indorsement appears on this letter, dated several + months after the period at which it was received:—<i>“Ah, poor + Amelius! He had better have gone back to Miss Mellicent, and put up with + the little drawback of her age. What a bright, lovable fellow he was! + Goodbye to Goldenheart!”</i> + </p> + <p> + These lines are not signed. They are known, however, to be in the + handwriting of Rufus Dingwell.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2 + </h2> + <p> + I particularly want you to come and lunch with us, dearest Cecilia, the + day after tomorrow. Don’t say to yourself, “The Farnaby’s house is dull, + and Regina is too slow for me,” and don’t think about the long drive for + the horses, from your place to London. This letter has an interest of its + own, my dear—I have got something new for you. What do you think of + a young man, who is clever and handsome and agreeable—and, wonder of + wonders, quite unlike any other young Englishman you ever saw in your + life? You are to meet him at luncheon; and you are to get used to his + strange name beforehand. For which purpose I enclose his card. + </p> + <p> + He made his first appearance at our house, at dinner yesterday evening. + </p> + <p> + When he was presented to me at the tea-table, he was not to be put off + with a bow—he insisted on shaking hands. “Where I have been,” he + explained, “we help a first introduction with a little cordiality.” He + looked into his tea-cup, after he said that, with the air of a man who + could say something more, if he had a little encouragement. Of course, I + encouraged him. “I suppose shaking hands is much the same form in America + that bowing is in England?” I said, as suggestively as I could. + </p> + <p> + He looked up directly, and shook his head. “We have too many forms in this + country,” he said. “The virtue of hospitality, for instance, seems to have + become a form in England. In America, when a new acquaintance says, ‘Come + and see me,’ he means it. When he says it here, in nine cases out of ten + he looks unaffectedly astonished if you are fool enough to take him at his + word. I hate insincerity, Miss Regina—and now I have returned to my + own country, I find insincerity one of the established institutions of + English Society. ‘Can we do anything for you?’ Ask them to do something + for you—and you will see what it means. ‘Thank you for such a + pleasant evening!’ Get into the carriage with them when they go home—and + you will find that it means, ‘What a bore!’ ‘Ah, Mr. So-and-so, allow me + to congratulate you on your new appointment.’ Mr. So-and-so passes out of + hearing—and you discover what the congratulations mean. ‘Corrupt old + brute! he has got the price of his vote at the last division.’ ‘Oh, Mr. + Blank, what a charming book you have written!’ Mr. Blank passes out of + hearing—and you ask what his book is about. ‘To tell you the truth, + I haven’t read it. Hush! he’s received at Court; one must say these + things.’ The other day a friend took me to a grand dinner at the Lord + Mayor’s. I accompanied him first to his club; many distinguished guests + met there before going to the dinner. Heavens, how they spoke of the Lord + Mayor! One of them didn’t know his name, and didn’t want to know it; + another wasn’t certain whether he was a tallow-chandler or a button-maker; + a third, who had met with him somewhere, described him as a damned ass; a + fourth said, ‘Oh, don’t be hard on him; he’s only a vulgar old Cockney, + without an <i>h</i> in his whole composition.’ A chorus of general + agreement followed, as the dinner-hour approached: ‘What a bore!’ I + whispered to my friend, ‘Why do they go?’ He answered, ‘You see, one must + do this sort of thing.’ And when we got to the Mansion House, they did + that sort of thing with a vengeance! When the speech-making set in, these + very men who had been all expressing their profound contempt for the Lord + Mayor behind his back, now flattered him to his face in such a shamelessly + servile way, with such a meanly complete insensibility to their own + baseness, that I did really and literally turn sick. I slipped out into + the fresh air, and fumigated myself, after the company I had kept, with a + cigar. No, no! it’s useless to excuse these things (I could quote dozens + of other instances that have come under my own observation) by saying that + they are trifles. When trifles make themselves habits of yours or of mine, + they become a part of your character or mine. We have an inveterately + false and vicious system of society in England. If you want to trace one + of the causes, look back to the little organized insincerities of English + life.” + </p> + <p> + Of course you understand, Cecilia, that this was not all said at one + burst, as I have written it here. Some of it came out in the way of + answers to my inquiries, and some of it was spoken in the intervals of + laughing, talking, and tea-drinking. But I want to show you how very + different this young man is from the young men whom we are in the habit of + meeting, and so I huddle his talk together in one sample, as Papa Farnaby + would call it. + </p> + <p> + My dear, he is decidedly handsome (I mean our delightful Amelius); his + face has a bright, eager look, indescribably refreshing as a contrast to + the stolid composure of the ordinary young Englishman. His smile is + charming; he moves as gracefully—with as little self-consciousness—as + my Italian greyhound. He has been brought up among the strangest people in + America; and (would you believe it?) he is actually a Socialist. Don’t be + alarmed. He shocked us all dreadfully by declaring that his Socialism was + entirely learnt out of the New Testament. I have looked at the New + Testament, since he mentioned some of his principles to me; and, do you + know, I declare it is true! + </p> + <p> + Oh, I forgot—the young Socialist plays and sings! When we asked him + to go to the piano, he got up and began directly. “I don’t do it well + enough,” he said, “to want a great deal of pressing.” He sang old English + songs, with great taste and sweetness. One of the gentlemen of our party, + evidently disliking him, spoke rather rudely, I thought. “A Socialist who + sings and plays,” he said, “is a harmless Socialist indeed. I begin to + feel that my balance is safe at my banker’s, and that London won’t be set + on fire with petroleum this time.” He got his answer, I can tell you. “Why + should we set London on fire? London takes a regular percentage of your + income from you, sir, whether you like it or not, on sound Socialist + principles. You are the man who has got the money, and Socialism says:—You + must and shall help the man who has got none. That is exactly what your + own Poor Law says to you, every time the collector leaves the paper at + your house.” Wasn’t it clever?—and it was doubly severe, because it + was good-humouredly said. + </p> + <p> + Between ourselves, Cecilia, I think he is struck with me. When I walked + about the room, his bright eyes followed me everywhere. And, when I took a + chair by somebody else, not feeling it quite right to keep him all to + myself, he invariably contrived to find a seat on the other side of me. + His voice, too, had a certain tone, addressed to me, and to no other + person in the room. Judge for yourself when you come here; but don’t jump + to conclusions, if you please. Oh no—I am not going to fall in love + with him! It isn’t in me to fall in love with anybody. Do you remember + what the last man whom I refused said of me? “She has a machine on the + left side of her that pumps blood through her body, but she has no heart.” + I pity the woman who marries <i>that</i> man! + </p> + <p> + One thing more, my dear. This curious Amelius seems to notice trifles + which escape men in general, just as <i>we</i> do. Towards the close of + the evening, poor Mamma Farnaby fell into one of her vacant states; half + asleep and half awake on the sofa in the back drawing-room. “Your aunt + interests me,” he whispered. “She must have suffered some terrible sorrow, + at some past time in her life.” Fancy a man seeing that! He dropped some + hints, which showed that he was puzzling his brains to discover how I got + on with her, and whether I was in her confidence or not: he even went the + length of asking what sort of life I led with the uncle and aunt who have + adopted me. My dear, it was done so delicately, with such irresistible + sympathy and such a charming air of respect, that I was quite startled + when I remembered, in the wakeful hours of the night, how freely I had + spoken to him. Not that I have betrayed any secrets; for, as you know, I + am as ignorant as everybody else of what the early troubles of my poor + dear aunt may have been. But I did tell him how I came into the house a + helpless little orphan girl; and how generously these two good relatives + adopted me; and how happy it made me to find that I could really do + something to cheer their sad childless lives. “I wish I was half as good + as you are,” he said. “I can’t understand how you became fond of Mrs. + Farnaby. Perhaps it began in sympathy and compassion?” Just think of that, + from a young Englishman! He went on confessing his perplexities, as if we + had known one another from childhood. “I am a little surprised to see Mrs. + Farnaby present at parties of this sort; I should have thought she would + have stayed in her own room.” “That’s just what she objects to do,” I + answered; “She says people will report that her husband is ashamed of her, + or that she is not fit to be seen in society, if she doesn’t appear at the + parties—and she is determined not to be misrepresented in that way.” + Can you understand my talking to him with so little reserve? It is a + specimen, Cecilia, of the odd manner in which my impulses carry me away, + in this man’s company. He is so nice and gentle—and yet so manly. I + shall be curious to see if you can resist him, with your superior firmness + and knowledge of the world. + </p> + <p> + But the strangest incident of all I have not told you yet—feeling + some hesitation about the best way of describing it, so as to interest you + in what has deeply interested me. I must tell it as plainly as I can, and + leave it to speak for itself. + </p> + <p> + Who do you think has invited Amelius Goldenheart to luncheon? Not Papa + Farnaby, who only invites him to dinner. Not I, it is needless to say. Who + is it, then? Mamma Farnaby herself. He has actually so interested her that + she has been thinking of him, and dreaming of him, in his absence! + </p> + <p> + I heard her last night, poor thing, talking and grinding her teeth in her + sleep; and I went into her room to try if I could quiet her, in the usual + way, by putting my cool hand on her forehead, and pressing it gently. (The + old doctor says it’s magnetism, which is ridiculous.) Well, it didn’t + succeed this time; she went on muttering, and making that dreadful sound + with her teeth. Occasionally a word was spoken clearly enough to be + intelligible. I could make no connected sense of what I heard; but I could + positively discover this—that she was dreaming of our guest from + America! + </p> + <p> + I said nothing about it, of course, when I went upstairs with her cup of + tea this morning. What do you think was the first thing she asked for? + Pen, ink, and paper. Her next request was that I would write Mr. + Goldenheart’s address on an envelope. “Are you going to write to him?” I + asked. “Yes,” she said, “I want to speak to him, while John is out of the + way at business,” “Secrets?” I said, turning it off with a laugh. She + answered, speaking gravely and earnestly. “Yes; secrets.” The letter was + written, and sent to his hotel, inviting him to lunch with us on the first + day when he was disengaged. He has replied, appointing the day after + tomorrow. By way of trying to penetrate the mystery, I inquired if she + wished me to appear at the luncheon. She considered with herself, before + she answered that. “I want him to be amused, and put in a good humour,” + she said, “before I speak to him. You must lunch with us—and ask + Cecilia.” She stopped, and considered once more. “Mind one thing,” she + went on. “Your uncle is to know nothing about it. If you tell him, I will + never speak to you again.” + </p> + <p> + Is this not extraordinary? Whatever her dream may have been, it has + evidently produced a strong impression on her. I firmly believe she means + to take him away with her to her own room, when the luncheon is over. + Dearest Cecilia, you must help me to stop this! I have never been trusted + with her secrets; they may, for all I know, be innocent secrets enough, + poor soul! But it is surely in the highest degree undesirable that she + should take into her confidence a young man who is only an acquaintance of + ours: she will either make herself ridiculous, or do something worse. If + Mr. Farnaby finds it out, I really tremble for what may happen. + </p> + <p> + For the sake of old friendship, don’t leave me to face this difficulty by + myself. A line, only one line, dearest, to say that you will not fail me. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK THE THIRD. MRS. FARNABY’S FOOT + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1 + </h2> + <p> + It is an afternoon concert; and modern German music was largely + represented on the programme. The patient English people sat in + closely-packed rows, listening to the pretentious instrumental noises + which were impudently offered to them as a substitute for melody. While + these docile victims of the worst of all quackeries (musical quackery) + were still toiling through their first hour of endurance, a passing ripple + of interest stirred the stagnant surface of the audience caused by the + sudden rising of a lady overcome by the heat. She was quickly led out of + the concert-room (after whispering a word of explanation to two young + ladies seated at her side) by a gentleman who made a fourth member of the + party. Left by themselves, the young ladies looked at each other, + whispered to each other, half rose from their places, became confusedly + conscious that the wandering attention of the audience was fixed on them, + and decided at last on following their companions out of the hall. + </p> + <p> + But the lady who had preceded them had some reason of her own for not + waiting to recover herself in the vestibule. When the gentleman in charge + of her asked if he should get a glass of water, she answered sharply, “Get + a cab—and be quick about it.” + </p> + <p> + The cab was found in a moment; the gentleman got in after her, by the + lady’s invitation. “Are you better now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have never had anything the matter with me,” she replied, quietly; + “tell the man to drive faster.” + </p> + <p> + Having obeyed his instructions, the gentleman (otherwise Amelius) began to + look a little puzzled. The lady (Mrs. Farnaby herself) perceived his + condition of mind, and favoured him with an explanation. + </p> + <p> + “I had my own motive for asking you to luncheon today,” she began, in that + steady downright way of speaking that was peculiar to her. “I wanted to + have a word with you privately. My niece Regina—don’t be surprised + at my calling her my niece, when you have heard Mr. Farnaby call her his + daughter. She <i>is</i> my niece. Adopting her is a mere phrase. It + doesn’t alter facts; it doesn’t make her Mr. Farnaby’s child or mine, does + it?” + </p> + <p> + She had ended with a question, but she seemed to want no answer to it. Her + face was turned towards the cab-window, instead of towards Amelius. He was + one of those rare people who are capable of remaining silent when they + have nothing to say. Mrs. Farnaby went on. + </p> + <p> + “My niece Regina is a good creature in her way; but she suspects people. + She has some reason of her own for trying to prevent me from taking you + into my confidence; and her friend Cecilia is helping her. Yes, yes; the + concert was the obstacle which they had arranged to put in my way. You + were obliged to go, after telling them you wanted to hear the music; and I + couldn’t complain, because they had got a fourth ticket for me. I made up + my mind what to do; and I have done it. Nothing wonderful in my being + taken ill with the heat; nothing wonderful in your doing your duty as a + gentleman and looking after me—and what is the consequence? Here we + are together, on our way to my room, in spite of them. Not so bad for a + poor helpless creature like me, is it?” + </p> + <p> + Inwardly wondering what it all meant, and what she could possibly want + with him, Amelius suggested that the young ladies might leave the + concert-room, and, not finding them in the vestibule, might follow them + back to the house. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby turned her head from the window, and looked him in the face + for the first time. “I have been a match for them so far,” she said; + “leave it to me, and you will find I can be a match for them still.” + </p> + <p> + After saying this, she watched the puzzled face of Amelius with a moment’s + steady scrutiny. Her full lips relaxed into a faint smile; her head sank + slowly on her bosom. “I wonder whether he thinks I am a little crazy?” she + said quietly to herself. “Some women in my place would have gone mad years + ago. Perhaps it might have been better for <i>me?”</i> She looked up again + at Amelius. “I believe you are a good-tempered fellow,” she went on. “Are + you in your usual temper now? Did you enjoy your lunch? Has the lively + company of the young ladies put you in a good humour with women generally? + I want you to be in a particularly good humour with me.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke quite gravely. Amelius, a little to his own astonishment, found + himself answering gravely on his side; assuring her, in the most + conventional terms, that he was entirely at her service. Something in her + manner affected him disagreeably. If he had followed his impulse, he would + have jumped out of the cab, and have recovered his liberty and his + light-heartedness at one and the same moment, by running away at the top + of his speed. + </p> + <p> + The driver turned into the street in which Mr. Farnaby’s house was + situated. Mrs. Farnaby stopped him, and got out at some little distance + from the door. “You think the young ones will follow us back,” she said to + Amelius. “It doesn’t matter, the servants will have nothing to tell them + if they do.” She checked him in the act of knocking, when they reached the + house door. “It’s tea-time downstairs,” she whispered, looking at her + watch. “You and I are going into the house, without letting the servants + know anything about it. <i>Now</i> do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + She produced from her pocket a steel ring, with several keys attached to + it. “A duplicate of Mr. Farnaby’s key,” she explained, as she chose one, + and opened the street door. “Sometimes, when I find myself waking in the + small hours of the morning, I can’t endure my bed; I must go out and walk. + My key lets me in again, just as it lets us in now, without disturbing + anybody. You had better say nothing about it to Mr. Farnaby. Not that it + matters much; for I should refuse to give up my key if he asked me. But + you’re a good-natured fellow—and you don’t want to make bad blood + between man and wife, do you? Step softly, and follow me.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius hesitated. There was something repellent to him in entering + another man’s house under these clandestine conditions. “All right!” + whispered Mrs. Farnaby, perfectly understanding him. “Consult your + dignity; go out again, and knock at the door, and ask if I am at home. I + only wanted to prevent a fuss and an interruption when Regina comes back. + If the servants don’t know we are here, they will tell her we haven’t + returned—don’t you see?” + </p> + <p> + It would have been absurd to contest the matter, after this. Amelius + followed her submissively to the farther end of the hall. There, she + opened the door of a long narrow room, built out at the back of the house. + </p> + <p> + “This is my den,” she said, signing to Amelius to pass in. “While we are + here, nobody will disturb us.” She laid aside her bonnet and shawl, and + pointed to a box of cigars on the table. “Take one,” she resumed. “I smoke + too, when nobody sees me. That’s one of the reasons, I dare say, why + Regina wished to keep you out of my room. I find smoking composes me. What + do <i>you</i> say?” + </p> + <p> + She lit a cigar, and handed the matches to Amelius. Finding that he stood + fairly committed to the adventure, he resigned himself to circumstances + with his customary facility. He too lit a cigar, and took a chair by the + fire, and looked about him with an impenetrable composure worthy of Rufus + Dingwell himself. + </p> + <p> + The room bore no sort of resemblance to a boudoir. A faded old turkey + carpet was spread on the floor. The common mahogany table had no covering; + the chintz on the chairs was of a truly venerable age. Some of the + furniture made the place look like a room occupied by a man. Dumb-bells + and clubs of the sort used in athletic exercises hung over the bare + mantelpiece; a large ugly oaken structure with closed doors, something + between a cabinet and a wardrobe, rose on one side to the ceiling; a + turning lathe stood against the opposite wall. Above the lathe were hung + in a row four prints, in dingy old frames of black wood, which especially + attracted the attention of Amelius. Mostly foreign prints, they were all + discoloured by time, and they all strangely represented different aspects + of the same subject—infants parted from their parents by desertion + or robbery. The young Moses was there, in his ark of bulrushes, on the + river bank. Good St. Francis appeared next, roaming the streets, and + rescuing forsaken children in the wintry night. A third print showed the + foundling hospital of old Paris, with the turning cage in the wall, and + the bell to ring when the infant was placed in it. The next and last + subject was the stealing of a child from the lap of its slumbering nurse + by a gipsy woman. These sadly suggestive subjects were the only ornaments + on the walls. No traces of books or music were visible; no needlework of + any sort was to be seen; no elegant trifles; no china or flowers or + delicate lacework or sparkling jewelry—nothing, absolutely nothing, + suggestive of a woman’s presence appeared in any part of Mrs. Farnaby’s + room. + </p> + <p> + “I have got several things to say to you,” she began; “but one thing must + be settled first. Give me your sacred word of honour that you will not + repeat to any mortal creature what I am going to tell you now.” She + reclined in her chair, and drew in a mouthful of smoke and puffed it out + again, and waited for his reply. + </p> + <p> + Young and unsuspicious as he was, this unscrupulous method of taking his + confidence by storm startled Amelius. His natural tact and good sense told + him plainly that Mrs. Farnaby was asking too much. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be angry with me, ma’am,” he said; “I must remind you that you are + going to tell me your secrets, without any wish to intrude on them on my + part—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted him there. “What does that matter?” she asked coolly. + </p> + <p> + Amelius was obstinate; he went on with what he had to say. “I should like + to know,” he proceeded, “that I am doing no wrong to anybody, before I + give you my promise?” + </p> + <p> + “You will be doing a kindness to a miserable creature,” she answered, as + quietly as ever; “and you will be doing no wrong to yourself or to anybody + else, if you promise. That is all I can say. Your cigar is out. Take a + light.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius took a light, with the dog-like docility of a man in a state of + blank amazement. She waited, watching him composedly until his cigar was + in working order again. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she asked. “Will you promise now?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius gave her his promise. + </p> + <p> + “On your sacred word of honour?” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + Amelius repeated the formula. She reclined in her chair once more. “I want + to speak to you as if I was speaking to an old friend,” she explained. “I + suppose I may call you Amelius?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Amelius, I must tell you first that I committed a sin, many long + years ago. I have suffered the punishment; I am suffering it still. Ever + since I was a young woman, I have had a heavy burden of misery on my + heart. I am not reconciled to it, I cannot submit to it, yet. I never + shall be reconciled to it, I never shall submit to it, if I live to be a + hundred. Do you wish me to enter into particulars? or will you have mercy + on me, and be satisfied with what I have told you so far?” + </p> + <p> + It was not said entreatingly, or tenderly, or humbly: she spoke with a + savage self-contained resignation in her manner and in her voice. Amelius + forgot his cigar again—and again she reminded him of it. He answered + her as his own generous impulsive temperament urged him; he said, “Tell me + nothing that causes you a moment’s pain; tell me only how I can help you.” + She handed him the box of matches; she said, “Your cigar is out again.” + </p> + <p> + He laid down his cigar. In his brief span of life he had seen no human + misery that expressed itself in this way. “Excuse me,” he answered; “I + won’t smoke just now.” + </p> + <p> + She laid her cigar aside like Amelius, and crossed her arms over her + bosom, and looked at him, with the first softening gleam of tenderness + that he had seen in her face. “My friend,” she said, “yours will be a sad + life—I pity you. The world will wound that sensitive heart of yours; + the world will trample on that generous nature. One of these days, + perhaps, you will be a wretch like me. No more of that. Get up; I have + something to show you.” + </p> + <p> + Rising herself, she led the way to the large oaken press, and took her + bunch of keys out of her pocket again. + </p> + <p> + “About this old sorrow of mine,” she resumed. “Do me justice, Amelius, at + the outset. I haven’t treated it as some women treat their sorrows—I + haven’t nursed it and petted it and made the most of it to myself and to + others. No! I have tried every means of relief, every possible pursuit + that could occupy my mind. One example of what I say will do as well as a + hundred. See it for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + She put the key in the lock. It resisted her first efforts to open it. + With a contemptuous burst of impatience and a sudden exertion of her rare + strength, she tore open the two doors of the press. Behind the door on the + left appeared a row of open shelves. The opposite compartment, behind the + door on the right, was filled by drawers with brass handles. She shut the + left door; angrily banging it to, as if the opening of it had disclosed + something which she did not wish to be seen. By the merest chance, Amelius + had looked that way first. In the one instant in which it was possible to + see anything, he had noticed, carefully laid out on one of the shelves, a + baby’s long linen frock and cap, turned yellow by the lapse of time. + </p> + <p> + The half-told story of the past was more than half told now. The treasured + relics of the infant threw their little glimmer of light on the motive + which had chosen the subjects of the prints on the wall. A child deserted + and lost! A child who, by bare possibility, might be living still! + </p> + <p> + She turned towards Amelius suddenly, “There is nothing to interest you on + <i>that</i> side,” she said. “Look at the drawers here; open them for + yourself.” She drew back as she spoke, and pointed to the uppermost of the + row of drawers. A narrow slip of paper was pasted on it, bearing this + inscription:—<i>“Dead Consolations.”</i> + </p> + <p> + Amelius opened the drawer; it was full of books. “Look at them,” she said. + Amelius, obeying her, discovered dictionaries, grammars, exercises, poems, + novels, and histories—all in the German language. + </p> + <p> + “A foreign language tried as a relief,” said Mrs. Farnaby, speaking + quietly behind him. “Month after month of hard study—all forgotten + now. The old sorrow came back in spite of it. A dead consolation! Open the + next drawer.” + </p> + <p> + The next drawer revealed water-colours and drawing materials huddled + together in a corner, and a heap of poor little conventional landscapes + filling up the rest of the space. As works of art, they were wretched in + the last degree; monuments of industry and application miserably and + completely thrown away. + </p> + <p> + “I had no talent for that pursuit, as you see,” said Mrs. Farnaby. “But I + persevered with it, week after week, month after month. I thought to + myself, ‘I hate it so, it costs me such dreadful trouble, it so worries + and persecutes and humiliates me, that <i>this</i> surely must keep my + mind occupied and my thoughts away from myself!’ No; the old sorrow stared + me in the face again on the paper that I was spoiling, through the colours + that I couldn’t learn to use. Another dead consolation! Shut it up.” + </p> + <p> + She herself opened a third and a fourth drawer. In one there appeared a + copy of Euclid, and a slate with the problems still traced on it; the + other contained a microscope, and the treatises relating to its use. + “Always the same effort,” she said, shutting the door of the press as she + spoke; “and always the same result. You have had enough of it, and so have + I.” She turned, and pointed to the lathe in the corner, and to the clubs + and dumb-bells over the mantelpiece. “I can look at <i>them</i> + patiently,” she went on; “they give me bodily relief. I work at the lathe + till my back aches; I swing the clubs till I’m ready to drop with fatigue. + And then I lie down on the rug there, and sleep it off, and forget myself + for an hour or two. Come back to the fire again. You have seen my dead + consolations; you must hear about my living consolation next. In justice + to Mr. Farnaby—ah, how I hate him!” + </p> + <p> + She spoke those last vehement words to herself, but with such intense + bitterness of contempt that the tones were quite loud enough to be heard. + Amelius looked furtively towards the door. Was there no hope that Regina + and her friend might return and interrupt them? After what he had seen and + heard, could <i>he</i> hope to console Mrs. Farnaby? He could only wonder + what object she could possibly have in view in taking him into her + confidence. “Am I always to be in a mess with women?” he thought to + himself. “First poor Mellicent, and now this one. What next?” He lit his + cigar again. The brotherhood of smokers, and they alone, will understand + what a refuge it was to him at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a light,” said Mrs. Farnaby, recalled to the remembrance of her + own cigar. “I want to know one thing before I go on. Amelius, I watched + those bright eyes of yours at luncheon-time. Did they tell me the truth? + You’re not in love with my niece, are you?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius took his cigar out of his mouth, and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “Out with it boldly!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Amelius let it out, to a certain extent. “I admire her very much,” he + answered. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” Mrs. Farnaby remarked, “you don’t know her as well as I do.” + </p> + <p> + The disdainful indifference of her tone irritated Amelius. He was still + young enough to believe in the existence of gratitude; and Mrs. Farnaby + had spoken ungratefully. Besides, he was fond enough of Regina already to + feel offended when she was referred to slightingly. + </p> + <p> + “I am surprised to hear what you say of her,” he burst out. “She is quite + devoted to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” said Mrs. Farnaby, carelessly. “She is devoted to me, of course—she + is the living consolation I told you of just now. That was Mr. Farnaby’s + notion in adopting her. Mr. Farnaby thought to himself, ‘Here’s a + ready-made daughter for my wife—that’s all this tiresome woman wants + to comfort her: now we shall do.’ Do you know what I call that? I call it + reasoning like an idiot. A man may be very clever at his business—and + may be a contemptible fool in other respects. Another woman’s child a + consolation to <i>me!</i> Pah! it makes me sick to think of it. I have one + merit, Amelius, I don’t cant. It’s my duty to take care of my sister’s + child; and I do my duty willingly. Regina’s a good sort of creature—I + don’t dispute it. But she’s like all those tall darkish women: there’s no + backbone in her, no dash; a kind, feeble, goody-goody, sugarish + disposition; and a deal of quiet obstinacy at the bottom of it, I can tell + you. Oh yes, I do her justice; I don’t deny that she’s devoted to me, as + you say. But I am making a clean breast of it now. And you ought to know, + and you shall know, that Mr. Farnaby’s living consolation is no more a + consolation to me than the things you have seen in the drawers. There! now + we’ve done with Regina. No: there’s one thing more to be cleared up. When + you say you admire her, what do you mean? Do you mean to marry her?” + </p> + <p> + For once in his life Amelius stood on his dignity. “I have too much + respect for the young lady to answer your question,” he said loftily. + </p> + <p> + “Because, if you do,” Mrs. Farnaby proceeded, “I mean to put every + possible obstacle in your way. In short, I mean to prevent it.” + </p> + <p> + This plain declaration staggered Amelius. He confessed the truth by + implication in one word. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little, and recover your temper,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. They sat, on either side of the fireplace, and eyed + each other attentively. + </p> + <p> + “Now are you ready?” Mrs. Farnaby resumed. “Here is my reason. If you + marry Regina, or marry anybody, you will settle down somewhere, and lead a + dull life.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Amelius; “and why not, if I like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I want you to remain a roving bachelor; here today and gone + tomorrow—travelling all over the world, and seeing everything and + everybody.” + </p> + <p> + “What good will that do to <i>you,</i> Mrs. Farnaby?” + </p> + <p> + She rose from her own side of the fireplace, crossed to the side on which + Amelius was sitting, and, standing before him, placed her hands heavily on + his shoulders. Her eyes grew radiant with a sudden interest and animation + as they looked down on him, riveted on his face. + </p> + <p> + “I am still waiting, my friend, for the living consolation that may yet + come to me,” she said. “And, hear this, Amelius! After all the years that + have passed, you may be the man who brings it to me.” + </p> + <p> + In the momentary silence that followed, they heard a double knock at the + house-door. + </p> + <p> + “Regina!” said Mrs. Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + As the name passed her lips, she sprang to the door of the room, and + turned the key in the lock. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2 + </h2> + <h3> + Amelius rose impulsively from his chair. + </h3> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby turned at the same moment, and signed to him to resume his + seat. “You have given me your promise,” she whispered. “All I ask of you + is to be silent.” She softly drew the key out of the door, and showed it + to him. “You can’t get out,” she said, “unless you take the key from me by + force!” + </p> + <p> + Whatever Amelius might think of the situation in which he now found + himself, the one thing that he could honourably do was to say nothing, and + submit to it. He remained quietly by the fire. No imaginable consideration + (he mentally resolved) should induce him to consent to a second + confidential interview in Mrs. Farnaby’s room. + </p> + <p> + The servant opened the house-door. Regina’s voice was heard in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Has my aunt come in?” + </p> + <p> + “No, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard nothing of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Has Mr. Goldenheart been here?” + </p> + <p> + “No, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Very extraordinary! What can have become of them, Cecilia?” + </p> + <p> + The voice of the other lady was heard in answer. “We have probably missed + them, on leaving the concert room. Don’t alarm yourself, Regina. I must go + back, under any circumstances; the carriage will be waiting for me. If I + see anything of your aunt, I will say that you are expecting her at home.” + </p> + <p> + “One moment, Cecilia! (Thomas, you needn’t wait.) Is it really true that + you don’t like Mr. Goldenheart?” + </p> + <p> + “What! has it come to that, already? I’ll try to like him, Regina. Goodbye + again.” + </p> + <p> + The closing of the street door told that the ladies had separated. The + sound was followed, in another moment, by the opening and closing of the + dining-room door. Mrs. Farnaby returned to her chair at the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Regina has gone into the dining-room to wait for us,” she said. “I see + you don’t like your position here; and I won’t keep you more than a few + minutes longer. You are of course at a loss to understand what I was + saying to you, when the knock at the door interrupted us. Sit down again + for five minutes; it fidgets me to see you standing there, looking at your + boots. I told you I had one consolation still possibly left. Judge for + yourself what the hope of it is to me, when I own to you that I should + long since have put an end to my life, without it. Don’t think I am + talking nonsense; I mean what I say. It is one of my misfortunes that I + have no religious scruples to restrain me. There was a time when I + believed that religion might comfort me. I once opened my heart to a + clergyman—a worthy person, who did his best to help me. All useless! + My heart was too hard, I suppose. It doesn’t matter—except to give + you one more proof that I am thoroughly in earnest. Patience! patience! I + am coming to the point. I asked you some odd questions, on the day when + you first dined here? You have forgotten all about them, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember them perfectly well,” Amelius answered. + </p> + <p> + “You remember them? That looks as if you had thought about them + afterwards. Come! tell me plainly what you did think?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius told her plainly. She became more and more interested, more and + more excited, as he went on. + </p> + <p> + “Quite right!” she exclaimed, starting to her feet and walking swiftly + backwards and forwards in the room. “There <i>is</i> a lost girl whom I + want to find; and she is between sixteen and seventeen years old, as you + thought. Mind! I have no reason—not the shadow of a reason—for + believing that she is still a living creature. I have only my own stupid + obstinate conviction; rooted here,” she pressed both hands fiercely on her + heart, “so that nothing can tear it out of me! I have lived in that belief—Oh, + don’t ask me how long! it is so far, so miserably far, to look back!” She + stopped in the middle of the room. Her breath came and went in quick heavy + gasps; the first tears that had softened the hard wretchedness in her eyes + rose in them now, and transfigured them with the divine beauty of maternal + love. “I won’t distress you,” she said, stamping on the floor, as she + struggled with the hysterical passion that was raging in her. “Give me a + minute, and I’ll force it down again.” + </p> + <p> + She dropped into a chair, threw her arms heavily on the table, and laid + her head on them. Amelius thought of the child’s frock and cap hidden in + the cabinet. All that was manly and noble in his nature felt for the + unhappy woman, whose secret was dimly revealed to him now. The little + selfish sense of annoyance at the awkward situation in which she had + placed him, vanished to return no more. He approached her, and put his + hand gently on her shoulder. “I am truly sorry for you,” he said. “Tell me + how I can help you, and I will do it with all my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really mean that?” She roughly dashed the tears from her eyes, and + rose as she put the question. Holding him with one hand, she parted the + hair back from his forehead with the other. “I must see your whole face,” + she said—“your face will tell me. Yes: you do mean it. The world + hasn’t spoilt you, yet. Do you believe in dreams?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked at her, startled by the sudden transition. She deliberately + repeated her question. + </p> + <p> + “I ask you seriously,” she said; “do you believe in dreams?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius answered seriously, on his side, “I can’t honestly say that I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she exclaimed, “like me. I don’t believe in dreams, either—I + wish I did! But it’s not in me to believe in superstitions; I’m too hard—and + I’m sorry for it. I have seen people who were comforted by their + superstitions; happy people, possessed of faith. Don’t you even believe + that dreams are sometimes fulfilled by chance?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody can deny that,” Amelius replied; “the instances of it are too + many. But for one dream fulfilled by a coincidence, there are—” + </p> + <p> + “A hundred at least that are <i>not</i> fulfilled,” Mrs. Farnaby + interposed. “Very well. I calculate on that. See how little hope can live + on! There is just the barest possibility that what I dreamed of you the + other night may come to pass. It’s a poor chance; but it has encouraged me + to take you into my confidence, and ask you to help me.” + </p> + <p> + This strange confession—this sad revelation of despair still + unconsciously deceiving itself under the disguise of hope—only + strengthened the compassionate sympathy which Amelius already felt for + her. “What did you dream about me?” he asked gently. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothing to tell,” she replied. “I was in a room that was quite + strange to me; and the door opened, and you came in leading a young girl + by the hand. You said, ‘Be happy at last; here she is.’ My heart knew her + instantly, though my eyes had never seen her since the first days of her + life. And I woke myself, crying for joy. Wait! it’s not all told yet. I + went to sleep again, and dreamed it again, and woke, and lay awake for + awhile, and slept once more, and dreamed it for the third time. Ah, if I + could only feel some people’s confidence in three times! No; it produced + an impression on me—and that was all. I got as far as thinking to + myself, there is just a chance; I haven’t a creature in the world to help + me; I may as well speak to him. O, you needn’t remind me that there is a + rational explanation of my dream. I have read it all up, in the + Encyclopaedia in the library. One of the ideas of wise men is that we + think of something, consciously or unconsciously, in the daytime, and then + reproduce it in a dream. That’s my case, I daresay. When you were first + introduced to me, and when I heard where you had been brought up, I + thought directly that <i>she</i> might have been one among the many + forlorn creatures who had drifted to your Community, and that I might find + her through you. Say that thought went to my bed with me—and we have + the explanation of my dream. Never mind! There is my one poor chance in a + hundred still left. You will remember me, Amelius, if you <i>should</i> + meet with her, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + The implied confession of her own intractable character, without religious + faith to ennoble it, without even imagination to refine it—the + unconscious disclosure of the one tender and loving instinct in her nature + still piteously struggling for existence, with no sympathy to sustain it, + with no light to guide it—would have touched the heart of any man + not incurably depraved. Amelius spoke with the fervour of his young + enthusiasm. “I would go to the uttermost ends of the earth, if I thought I + could do you any good. But, oh, it sounds so hopeless!” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, and smiled faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say that! You are free, you have money, you will travel about in + the world and amuse yourself. In a week you will see more than + stay-at-home people see in a year. How do we know what the future has in + store for us? I have my own idea. She may be lost in the labyrinth of + London, or she may be hundreds of thousands of miles away. Amuse yourself, + Amelius—amuse yourself. Tomorrow or ten years hence, you might meet + with her!” + </p> + <p> + In sheer mercy to the poor creature, Amelius refused to encourage her + delusion. “Even supposing such a thing could happen,” he objected, “how am + I to know the lost girl? You can’t describe her to me; you have not seen + her since she was a child. Do you know anything of what happened at the + time—I mean at the time when she was lost?” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you never felt a suspicion of how it happened?” + </p> + <p> + Her face changed: she frowned as she looked at him. “Not till weeks and + months had passed,” she said, “not till it was too late. I was ill at the + time. When my mind got clear again, I began to suspect one particular + person—little by little, you know; noticing trifles, and thinking + about them afterwards.” She stopped, evidently restraining herself on the + point of saying more. + </p> + <p> + Amelius tried to lead her on. “Did you suspect the person—?” he + began. + </p> + <p> + “I suspected him of casting the child helpless on the world!” Mrs. Farnaby + interposed, with a sudden burst of fury. “Don’t ask me any more about it, + or I shall break out and shock you!” She clenched her fists as she said + the words. “It’s well for that man,” she muttered between her teeth, “that + I have never got beyond suspecting, and never found out the truth! Why did + you turn my mind that way? You shouldn’t have done it. Help me back again + to what we were saying a minute ago. You made some objection; you said—?” + </p> + <p> + “I said,” Amelius reminded her, “that, even if I did meet with the missing + girl, I couldn’t possibly know it. And I must say more than that—I + don’t see how you yourself could be sure of recognizing her, if she stood + before you at this moment.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke very gently, fearing to irritate her. She showed no sign of + irritation—she looked at him, and listened to him, attentively. + </p> + <p> + “Are you setting a trap for me?” she asked. “No!” she cried, before + Amelius could answer, “I am not mean enough to distrust you—I forgot + myself. You have innocently said something that rankles in my mind. I + can’t leave it where you have left it; I don’t like to be told that I + shouldn’t recognize her. Give me time to think. I must clear this up.” + </p> + <p> + She consulted her own thoughts, keeping her eyes fixed on Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to speak plainly,” she announced, with a sudden appearance of + resolution. “Listen to this. When I banged to the door of that big + cupboard of mine, it was because I didn’t want you to see something on the + shelves. Did you see anything in spite of me?” + </p> + <p> + The question was not an easy one to answer. Amelius hesitated. Mrs. + Farnaby insisted on a reply. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see anything?” she reiterated + </p> + <p> + Amelius owned that he had seen something. + </p> + <p> + She turned away from him, and looked into the fire. Her firm full tones + sank so low, when she spoke next, that he could barely hear them. + </p> + <p> + “Was it something belonging to a child?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it a baby’s frock and cap? Answer me. We have gone too far to go + back. I don’t want apologies or explanations—I want, Yes or No.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + There was an interval of silence. She never moved; she still looked into + fire—looked, as if all her past life was pictured there in the + burning coals. + </p> + <p> + “Do you despise me?” she asked at last, very quietly. + </p> + <p> + “As God hears me, I am only sorry for you!” Amelius answered. + </p> + <p> + Another woman would have melted into tears. This woman still looked into + the fire—and that was all. “What a good fellow!” she said to + herself, “what a good fellow he is!” + </p> + <p> + There was another pause. She turned towards him again as abruptly as she + had turned away. + </p> + <p> + “I had hoped to spare you, and to spare myself,” she said. “If the + miserable truth has come out, it is through no curiosity of yours, and + (God knows!) against every wish of mine. I don’t know if you really felt + like a friend towards me before—you must be my friend now. Don’t + speak! I know I can trust you. One last word, Amelius, about my lost + child. You doubt whether I should recognize her, if she stood before me + now. That might be quite true, if I had only my own poor hopes and + anxieties to guide me. But I have something else to guide me—and, + after what has passed between us, you may as well know what it is: it + might even, by accident, guide you. Don’t alarm yourself; it’s nothing + distressing this time. How can I explain it?” she went on; pausing, and + speaking in some perplexity to herself. “It would be easier to show it—and + why not?” She addressed herself to Amelius once more. “I’m a strange + creature,” she resumed. “First, I worry you about my own affairs—then + I puzzle you—then I make you sorry for me—and now (would you + think it?) I am going to amuse you! Amelius, are you an admirer of pretty + feet?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius had heard of men (in books) who had found reason to doubt whether + their own ears were not deceiving them. For the first time, he began to + understand those men, and to sympathize with them. He admitted, in a + certain bewildered way, that he was an admirer of pretty feet—and + waited for what was to come next. + </p> + <p> + “When a woman has a pretty hand,” Mrs. Farnaby proceeded; “she is ready + enough to show it. When she goes out to a ball, she favours you with a + view of her bosom, and a part of her back. Now tell me! If there is no + impropriety in a naked bosom—where is the impropriety in a naked + foot?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius agreed, like a man in a dream. + </p> + <p> + “Where, indeed!” he remarked—and waited again for what was to come + next. + </p> + <p> + “Look out of the window,” said Mrs. Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + Amelius obeyed. The window had been opened for a few inches at the top, no + doubt to ventilate the room. The dull view of the courtyard was varied by + the stables at the farther end, and by the kitchen skylight rising in the + middle of the open space. As Amelius looked out, he observed that some + person at that moment in the kitchen required apparently a large supply of + fresh air. The swinging window, on the side of the skylight which was + nearest to him, was invisibly and noiselessly pulled open from below; the + similar window, on the other side, being already wide open also. Judging + by appearance, the inhabitants of the kitchen possessed a merit which is + exceedingly rare among domestic servants—they understood the laws of + ventilation, and appreciated the blessing of fresh air. + </p> + <p> + “That will do,” said Mrs. Farnaby. “You can turn round now.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius turned. Mrs. Farnaby’s boots and stockings were on the hearthrug, + and one of Mrs. Farnaby’s feet was placed, ready for inspection, on the + chair which he had just left. “Look at my right foot first,” she said, + speaking gravely and composedly in her ordinary tone. + </p> + <p> + It was well worth looking at—a foot equally beautiful in form and in + colour: the instep arched and high, the ankle at once delicate and strong, + the toes tinged with rose-colour at the tips. In brief, it was a foot to + be photographed, to be cast in plaster, to be fondled and kissed. Amelius + attempted to express his admiration, but was not allowed to get beyond the + first two or three words. “No,” Mrs. Farnaby explained, “this is not + vanity—simply information. You have seen my right foot; and you have + noticed that there is nothing the matter with it. Very well. Now look at + my left foot.” + </p> + <p> + She put her left foot up on the chair. “Look between the third toe and the + fourth,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Following his instructions, Amelius discovered that the beauty of the foot + was spoilt, in this case, by a singular defect. The two toes were bound + together by a flexible web, or membrane, which held them to each other as + high as the insertion of the nail on either side. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wonder,” Mrs. Farnaby asked, “why I show you the fault in my foot? + Amelius! my poor darling was born with my deformity—and I want you + to know exactly what it is, because neither you nor I can say what reason + for remembering it there may not be in the future.” She stopped, as if to + give him an opportunity of speaking. A man shallow and flippant by nature + might have seen the disclosure in a grotesque aspect. Amelius was sad and + silent. “I like you better and better,” she went on. “You are not like the + common run of men. Nine out of ten of them would have turned what I have + just told you into a joke—nine out of ten would have said, ‘Am I to + ask every girl I meet to show me her left foot?’ You are above that; you + understand me. Have I no means of recognizing my own child, now?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, and took her foot off the chair—then, after a moment’s + thought, she pointed to it again. + </p> + <p> + “Keep this as strictly secret as you keep everything else,” she said. “In + the past days, when I used to employ people privately to help me to find + her, it was my only defence against being imposed upon. Rogues and + vagabonds thought of other marks and signs—but not one of them could + guess at such a mark as that. Have you got your pocket-book, Amelius? In + case we are separated at some later time, I want to write the name and + address in it of a person whom we can trust. I persist, you see, in + providing for the future. There’s the one chance in a hundred that my + dream may come true—and you have so many years before you, and so + many girls to meet with in that time!” + </p> + <p> + She handed back the pocket-book, which Amelius had given to her, after + having inscribed a man’s name and address on one of the blank leaves. + </p> + <p> + “He was my father’s lawyer,” she explained; “and he and his son are both + men to be trusted. Suppose I am ill, for instance—no, that’s absurd; + I never had a day’s illness in my life. Suppose I am dead (killed perhaps + by some accident, or perhaps by my own hand), the lawyers have my written + instructions, in the case of my child being found. Then again—I am + such an unaccountable woman—I may go away somewhere, all by myself. + Never mind! The lawyers shall have my address, and my positive orders + (though they keep it a secret from all the world besides) to tell it to + you. I don’t ask your pardon, Amelius, for troubling you. The chances are + so terribly against me; it is all but impossible that I shall ever see you—as + I saw you in my dream—coming into the room, leading my girl by the + hand. Odd, isn’t it? This is how I veer about between hope and despair. + Well, it may amuse you to remember it, one of these days. Years hence, + when I am at rest in mother earth, and when you are a middle aged married + man, you may tell your wife how strangely you once became the forlorn hope + of the most wretched woman that ever lived—and you may say to each + other, as you sit by your snug fireside, ‘Perhaps that poor lost daughter + is still living somewhere, and wondering who her mother was.’ No! I won’t + let you see the tears in my eyes again—I’ll let you go at last.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way to the door—a creature to be pitied, if ever there + was a pitiable creature yet: a woman whose whole nature was maternal, who + was nothing if not a mother; and who had lived through sixteen years of + barren life, in the hopeless anticipation of recovering her lost child! + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye, and thank you,” she said. “I want to be left by myself, my dear, + with that little frock and cap which you found out in spite of me. Go, and + tell my niece it’s all right—and don’t be stupid enough to fall in + love with a girl who has no love to give you in return.” She pushed + Amelius into the hall. “Here he is, Regina!” she called out; “I have done + with him.” + </p> + <p> + Before Amelius could speak, she had shut herself into her room. He + advanced along the hall, and met Regina at the door of the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3 + </h2> + <h3> + The young lady spoke first. + </h3> + <p> + “Mr. Goldenheart,” she said, with the coldest possible politeness, + “perhaps you will be good enough to explain what this means?” + </p> + <p> + She turned back into the dining-room. Amelius followed her in silence. + “Here I am, in another scrape with a woman!” he thought to himself. “Are + men in general as unlucky as I am, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t close the door,” said Regina maliciously. “Everybody in the + house is welcome to hear what <i>I</i> have to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius made a mistake at the outset—he tried what a little humility + would do to help him. There is probably no instance on record in which + humility on the part of a man has ever really found its way to the + indulgence of an irritated woman. The best and the worst of them alike + have at least one virtue in common—they secretly despise a man who + is not bold enough to defend himself when they are angry with him. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I have not offended you?” Amelius ventured to say. + </p> + <p> + She tossed her head contemptuously. “Oh dear, no! I am not offended. Only + a little surprised at your being so very ready to oblige my aunt.” + </p> + <p> + In the short experience of her which had fallen to the lot of Amelius, she + had never looked so charmingly as she looked now. The nervous irritability + under which she was suffering brightened her face with the animation which + was wanting in it at ordinary times. Her soft brown eyes sparkled; her + smooth dusky cheeks glowed with a warm red flush; her tall supple figure + asserted its full dignity, robed in a superb dress of silken purple and + black lace, which set off her personal attractions to the utmost + advantage. She not only roused the admiration of Amelius—she + unconsciously gave him back the self-possession which he had, for the + moment, completely lost. He was man enough to feel the humiliation of + being despised by the one woman in the world whose love he longed to win; + and he answered with a sudden firmness of tone and look that startled her. + </p> + <p> + “You had better speak more plainly still, Miss Regina,” he said. “You may + as well blame me at once for the misfortune of being a man.” + </p> + <p> + She drew back a step. “I don’t understand you,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Do I owe no forbearance to a woman who asks a favour of me?” Amelius went + on. “If a man had asked me to steal into the house on tiptoe, I should + have said—well! I should have said something I had better not + repeat. If a man had stood between me and the door when you came back, I + should have taken him by the collar and pulled him out of my way. Could I + do that, if you please, with Mrs. Farnaby?” + </p> + <p> + Regina saw the weak point of this defence with a woman’s quickness of + perception. “I can’t offer any opinion,” she said; “especially when you + lay all the blame on my aunt.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius opened his lips to protest—and thought better of it. He + wisely went straight on with what he had still to say. + </p> + <p> + “If you will let me finish,” he resumed, “you will understand me a little + better than that. Whatever blame there may be, Miss Regina, I am quite + ready to take on myself. I merely wanted to remind you that I was put in + an awkward position, and that I couldn’t civilly find a way out of it. As + for your aunt, I will only say this: I know of hardly any sacrifice that I + would not submit to, if I could be of the smallest service to her. After + what I heard, while I was in her room—” + </p> + <p> + Regina interrupted him at that point. “I suppose it’s a secret between + you?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it’s a secret,” Amelius proceeded, “as you say. But one thing I may + tell you, without breaking my promise. Mrs. Farnaby has—well! has + filled me with kindly feeling towards her. She has a claim, poor soul, to + my truest sympathy. And I shall remember her claim. And I shall be + faithful to what I feel towards her as long as I live!” + </p> + <p> + It was not very elegantly expressed; but the tone was the tone of true + feeling in his voice trembled, his colour rose. He stood before her, + speaking with perfect simplicity straight from his heart—and the + woman’s heart felt it instantly. This was the man whose ridicule she had + dreaded, if her aunt’s rash confidence struck him in an absurd light! She + sat down in silence, with a grave sad face, reproaching herself for the + wrong which her too ready distrust had inflicted on him; longing to ask + his pardon, and yet hesitating to say the simple words. + </p> + <p> + He approached her chair, and, placing his hand on the back of it, said + gently, “do you think a little better of me now?” + </p> + <p> + She had taken off her gloves: she silently folded and refolded them in her + lap. + </p> + <p> + “Your good opinion is very precious to me,” Amelius pleaded, bending a + little nearer to her. “I can’t tell you how sorry I should be—” He + stopped, and put it more strongly. “I shall never have courage enough to + enter the house again, if I have made you think meanly of me.” + </p> + <p> + A woman who cared nothing for him would have easily answered this. The + calm heart of Regina began to flutter: something warned her not to trust + herself to speak. Little as he suspected it, Amelius had troubled the + tranquil temperament of this woman. He had found his way to those secret + reserves of tenderness—placid and deep—of which she was hardly + conscious herself, until his influence had enlightened her. She was afraid + to look up at him; her eyes would have told him the truth. She lifted her + long, finely shaped, dusky hand, and offered it to him as the best answer + that she could make. + </p> + <p> + Amelius took it, looked at it, and ventured on his first familiarity with + her—he kissed it. She only said, “Don’t!” very faintly. + </p> + <p> + “The Queen would let me kiss her hand if I went to Court,” Amelius + reminded her, with a pleasant inner conviction of his wonderful readiness + at finding an excuse. + </p> + <p> + She smiled in spite of herself. “Would the Queen let you hold it?” she + asked, gently releasing her hand, and looking at him as she drew it away. + The peace was made without another word of explanation. Amelius took a + chair at her side. “I’m quite happy now you have forgiven me,” he said. + “You don’t know how I admire you—and how anxious I am to please you, + if I only knew how!” + </p> + <p> + He drew his chair a little nearer; his eyes told her plainly that his + language would soon become warmer still, if she gave him the smallest + encouragement. This was one reason for changing the subject. But there was + another reason, more cogent still. Her first painful sense of having + treated him unjustly had ceased to make itself keenly felt; the lower + emotions had their opportunity of asserting themselves. Curiosity, + irresistible curiosity, took possession of her mind, and urged her to + penetrate the mystery of the interview between Amelius and her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Will you think me very indiscreet,” she began slyly, “if I made a little + confession to you?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius was only too eager to hear the confession: it would pave the way + for something of the same sort on his part. + </p> + <p> + “I understand my aunt making the heat in the concert-room a pretence for + taking you away with her,” Regina proceeded; “but what astonishes me is + that she should have admitted you to her confidence after so short an + acquaintance. You are still—what shall I say?—you are still a + new friend of ours.” + </p> + <p> + “How long will it be before I become an old friend?” Amelius asked. “I + mean,” he added, with artful emphasis, “an old friend of <i>yours?”</i> + </p> + <p> + Confused by the question, Regina passed it over without notice. “I am Mrs. + Farnaby’s adopted daughter,” she resumed. “I have been with her since I + was a little girl—and yet she has never told me any of her secrets. + Pray don’t suppose that I am tempting you to break faith with my aunt! I + am quite incapable of such conduct as that.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius saw his way to a thoroughly commonplace compliment which possessed + the charm of complete novelty so far as his experience was concerned. He + would actually have told her that she was incapable of doing anything + which was not perfectly becoming to a charming person, if she had only + given him time! She was too eager in the pursuit of her own object to give + him time. “I <i>should</i> like to know,” she went on, “whether my aunt + has been influenced in any way by a dream that she had about you.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius started. “Has she told you of her dream?” he asked, with some + appearance of alarm. + </p> + <p> + Regina blushed and hesitated, “My room is next to my aunt’s,” she + explained. “We keep the door between us open. I am often in and out when + she is disturbed in her sleep. She was talking in her sleep, and I heard + your name—nothing more. Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned it? + Perhaps I ought not to expect you to answer me?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no harm in my answering you,” said Amelius. “The dream really + had something to do with her trusting me. You may not think quite so + unfavourably of her conduct now you know that.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Regina replied constrainedly. “If my + aunt’s secrets have interested you—what right have I to object? I am + sure I shall say nothing. Though I am not in my aunt’s confidence, nor in + your confidence, you will find I can keep a secret.” + </p> + <p> + She folded up her gloves for the twentieth time at least, and gave Amelius + his opportunity of retiring by rising from her chair. He made a last + effort to recover the ground that he had lost, without betraying Mrs. + Farnaby’s trust in him. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you can keep a secret,” he said. “I should like to give you one + of my secrets to keep—only I mustn’t take the liberty, I suppose, + just yet?” + </p> + <p> + She new perfectly well what he wanted to say. Her heart began to quicken + its beat; she was at a loss how to answer. After an awkward silence, she + made an attempt to dismiss him. “Don’t let me detain you,” she said, “if + you have any engagement.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius silently looked round him for his hat. On a table behind him a + monthly magazine lay open, exhibiting one of those melancholy modern + “illustrations” which present the English art of our day in its laziest + and lowest state of degradation. A vacuous young giant, in flowing + trousers, stood in a garden, and stared at a plump young giantess with + enormous eyes and rotund hips, vacantly boring holes in the grass with the + point of her parasol. Perfectly incapable of explaining itself, this + imbecile production put its trust in the printer, whose charitable types + helped it, at the bottom of the page, with the title of “Love at First + Sight.” On those remarkable words Amelius seized, with the desperation of + the drowning man, catching at the proverbial straw. They offered him a + chance of pleading his cause, this time, with a happy indirectness of + allusion at which not even a young lady’s susceptibility could take + offence. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe in that?” he said, pointing to the illustration. + </p> + <p> + Regina declined to understand him. “In what?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “In love at first sight.” + </p> + <p> + It would be speaking with inexcusable rudeness to say plainly that she + told him a lie. Let the milder form of expression be, that she modestly + concealed the truth. “I don’t know anything about it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + <i>“I</i> do,” Amelius remarked smartly. + </p> + <p> + She persisted in looking at the illustration. Was there an infection of + imbecility in that fatal work? She was too simple to understand him, even + yet! “You do—what?” she inquired innocently. + </p> + <p> + “I know what love at first sight is,” Amelius burst out. + </p> + <p> + Regina turned over the leaves of the magazine. “Ah,” she said, “you have + read the story.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t read the story,” Amelius answered. “I know what I felt myself—on + being introduced to a young lady.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him with a sly smile. “A young lady in America?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “In England, Miss Regina.” He tried to take her hand—but she kept it + out of his reach. “In London,” he went on, drifting back into his + customary plainness of speech. “In this very street,” he resumed, seizing + her hand before she was aware of him. Too much bewildered to know what + else to do, Regina took refuge desperately in shaking hands with him. + “Goodbye, Mr. Goldenheart,” she said—and gave him his dismissal for + the second time. + </p> + <p> + Amelius submitted to his fate; there was something in her eyes which + warned him that he had ventured far enough for that day. + </p> + <p> + “May I call again, soon?” he asked piteously. + </p> + <p> + “No!” answered a voice at the door which they both recognized—the + voice of Mrs. Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” Regina whispered to him, as her aunt entered the room. Mrs. + Farnaby’s interference, following on the earlier events of the day, had + touched the young lady’s usually placable temper in a tender place—and + Amelius reaped the benefit of it. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby walked straight up to him, put her hand in his arm, and led + him out into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “I had my suspicions,” she said; “and I find they have not misled me. + Twice already, I have warned you to let my niece alone. For the third, and + last time, I tell you that she is as cold as ice. She will trifle with you + as long as it flatters her vanity; and she will throw you over, as she has + thrown other men over. Have your fling, you foolish fellow, before you + marry anybody. Pay no more visits to this house, unless they are visits to + me. I shall expect to hear from you.” She paused, and pointed to a statue + which was one of the ornaments in the hall. “Look at that bronze woman + with the clock in her hand. That’s Regina. Be off with you—goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius found himself in the street. Regina was looking out at the + dining-room window. He kissed his hand to her: she smiled and bowed. “Damn + the other men!” Amelius said to himself. “I’ll call on her tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4 + </h2> + <p> + Returning to his hotel, he found three letters waiting for him on the + sitting-room table. + </p> + <p> + The first letter that he opened was from his landlord, and contained his + bill for the past week. As he looked at the sum total, Amelius presented + to perfection the aspect of a serious young man. He took pen, ink, and + paper, and made some elaborate calculations. Money that he had too + generously lent, or too freely given away, appeared in his statement of + expenses, as well as money that he had spent on himself. The result may be + plainly stated in his own words: “Goodbye to the hotel; I must go into + lodgings.” + </p> + <p> + Having arrived at this wise decision, he opened the second letter. It + proved to be written by the lawyers who had already communicated with him + at Tadmor, on the subject of his inheritance. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR SIR, + </p> + <p> + “The enclosed, insufficiently addressed as you will perceive, only reached + us this day. We beg to remain, etc.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius opened the letter enclosed, and turned to the signature for + information. The name instantly took him back to the Community: the writer + was Mellicent. + </p> + <p> + Her letter began abruptly, in these terms: + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember what I said to you when we parted at Tadmor? I said, ‘Be + comforted, Amelius, the end is not yet.’ And I said again, ‘You will come + back to me.’ + </p> + <p> + “I remind you of this, my friend—directing to your lawyers, whose + names I remember when their letter to you was publicly read in the Common + Room. Once or twice a year I shall continue to remind you of those parting + words of mine: there will be a time perhaps when you will thank me for + doing so. + </p> + <p> + “In the mean while, light your pipe with my letters; my letters don’t + matter. If I can comfort you, and reconcile you to your life—years + hence, when you, too, my Amelius, may be one of the Fallen Leaves like me—then + I shall not have lived and suffered in vain; my last days on earth will be + the happiest days that I have ever seen. + </p> + <p> + “Be pleased not to answer these lines, or any other written words of mine + that may follow, so long as you are prosperous and happy. With <i>that</i> + part of your life I have nothing to do. You will find friends wherever you + go—among the women especially. Your generous nature shows itself + frankly in your face; your manly gentleness and sweetness speak in every + tone of your voice; we poor women feel drawn towards you by an attraction + which we are not able to resist. Have you fallen in love already with some + beautiful English girl? Oh, be careful and prudent! Be sure, before you + set your heart on her, that she is worthy of you! So many women are cruel + and deceitful. Some of them will make you believe you have won their love, + when you have only flattered their vanity; and some are poor weak + creatures whose minds are set on their own interests, and who may let bad + advisers guide them, when you are not by. For your own sake, take care! + </p> + <p> + “I am living with my sister, at New York. The days and weeks glide by me + quietly; you are in my thoughts and my prayers; I have nothing to complain + of; I wait and hope. When the time of my banishment from the Community has + expired, I shall go back to Tadmor; and there you will find me, Amelius, + the first to welcome you when your spirits are sinking under the burden of + life, and your heart turns again to the friends of your early days. + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye, my dear—goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius laid the letter aside, touched and saddened by the artless + devotion to him which it expressed. He was conscious also of a feeling of + uneasy surprise, when he read the lines which referred to his possible + entanglement with some beautiful English girl. Here, with widely different + motives, was Mrs. Farnaby’s warning repeated, by a stranger writing from + another quarter of the globe! It was an odd coincidence, to say the least + of it. After thinking for a while, he turned abruptly to the third letter + that was waiting for him. He was not at ease; his mind felt the need of + relief. + </p> + <p> + The third letter was from Rufus Dingwell; announcing the close of his tour + in Ireland, and his intention of shortly joining Amelius in London. The + excellent American expressed, with his customary absence of reserve, his + fervent admiration of Irish hospitality, Irish beauty, and Irish whisky. + “Green Erin wants but one thing more,” Rufus predicted, “to be a Paradise + on earth—it wants the day to come when we shall send an American + minister to the Irish Republic.” Laughing over this quaint outbreak, + Amelius turned from the first page to the second. As his eyes fell on the + next paragraph, a sudden change passed over him; he let the letter drop on + the floor. + </p> + <p> + “One last word,” the American wrote, “about that nice long bright letter + of yours. I have read it with strict attention, and thought over it + considerably afterwards. Don’t be riled, friend Amelius, if I tell you in + plain words, that your account of the Farnabys doesn’t make me happy—quite + the contrary, I do assure you. My back is set up, sir, against that + family. You will do well to drop them; and, above all things, mind what + you are about with the brown miss, who has found her way to your + favourable opinion in such an almighty hurry. Do me a favour, my good boy. + Just wait till I have seen her, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby, Mellicent, Rufus—all three strangers to each other; + and all three agreed nevertheless in trying to part him from the beautiful + young Englishwoman! “I don’t care,” Amelius thought to himself “They may + say what they please—I’ll marry Regina, if she will have me!” + </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 THE FOURTH. LOVE AND MONEY + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1 + </h2> + <p> + In an interval of no more than three weeks what events may not present + themselves? what changes may not take place? Behold Amelius, on the first + drizzling day of November, established in respectable lodgings, at a + moderate weekly rent. He stands before his small fireside, and warms his + back with an Englishman’s severe sense of enjoyment. The cheap + looking-glass on the mantelpiece reflects the head and shoulders of a new + Amelius. His habits are changed; his social position is in course of + development. Already, he is a strict economist. Before long, he expects to + become a married man. + </p> + <p> + It is good to be economical: it is, perhaps, better still to be the + accepted husband of a handsome young woman. But, for all that, a man in a + state of moral improvement, with prospects which his less favoured fellow + creatures may reasonably envy, is still a man subject to the mischievous + mercy of circumstances, and capable of feeling it keenly. The face of the + new Amelius wore an expression of anxiety, and, more remarkable yet, the + temper of the new Amelius was out of order. + </p> + <p> + For the first time in his life he found himself considering trivial + questions of sixpences, and small favours of discount for cash payments—an + irritating state of things in itself. There were more serious anxieties, + however, to trouble him than these. He had no reason to complain of the + beloved object herself. Not twelve hours since he had said to Regina, with + a voice that faltered, and a heart that beat wildly, “Are you fond enough + of me to let me marry you?” And she had answered placidly, with a heart + that would have satisfied the most exacting stethoscope in the medical + profession, “Yes, if you like.” There was a moment of rapture, when she + submitted for the first time to be kissed, and when she consented, on + being gently reminded that it was expected of her, to return the kiss—once, + and no more. But there was also an attendant train of serious + considerations which followed on the heels of Amelius when the kissing was + over, and when he had said goodbye for the day. + </p> + <p> + He had two women for enemies, both resolutely against him in the matter of + his marriage. + </p> + <p> + Regina’s correspondent and bosom friend, Cecilia, who had begun by + disliking him, without knowing why, persisted in maintaining her + unfavourable opinion of the new friend of the Farnabys. She was a young + married woman; and she had an influence over Regina which promised, when + the fit opportunity came, to make itself felt. The second, and by far the + more powerful hostile influence, was the influence of Mrs. Farnaby. + Nothing could exceed the half sisterly, half motherly, goodwill with which + she received Amelius on those rare occasions when they happened to meet, + unembarrassed by the presence of a third person in the room. Without + actually reverting to what had passed between them during their memorable + interview, Mrs. Farnaby asked questions, plainly showing that the forlorn + hope which she associated with Amelius was a hope still firmly rooted in + her mind. “Have you been much about London lately?” “Have you met with any + girls who have taken your fancy?” “Are you getting tired of staying in the + same place, and are you going to travel soon?” Inquiries such as these she + was, sooner or later, sure to make when they were alone. But if Regina + happened to enter the room, or if Amelius contrived to find his way to her + in some other part of the house, Mrs. Farnaby deliberately shortened the + interview and silenced the lovers—still as resolute as ever to keep + Amelius exposed to the adventurous freedom of a bachelor’s life. For the + last week, his only opportunities of speaking to Regina had been obtained + for him secretly by the well-rewarded devotion of her maid. And he had now + the prospect before him of asking Mr. Farnaby for the hand of his adopted + daughter, with the certainty of the influence of two women being used + against him—even if he succeeded in obtaining a favourable reception + for his proposal from the master of the house. + </p> + <p> + Under such circumstances as these—alone, on a rainy November day, in + a lodging on the dreary eastward side of the Tottenham Court Road—even + Amelius bore the aspect of a melancholy man. He was angry with his cigar + because it refused to light freely. He was angry with the poor deaf + servant-of-all-work, who entered the room, after one thumping knock at the + door, and made, in muffled tones, the barbarous announcement, “Here’s + somebody a-wantin’ to see yer.” + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil is Somebody?” Amelius shouted. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody is a citizen of the United States,” answered Rufus, quietly + entering the room. “And he’s sorry to find Claude A. Goldenheart’s + temperature at boiling-point already!” + </p> + <p> + He had not altered in the slightest degree since he had left the steamship + at Queenstown. Irish hospitality had not fattened him; the change from sea + to land had not suggested to him the slightest alteration in his dress. He + still wore the huge felt hat in which he had first presented himself to + notice on the deck of the vessel. The maid-of-all-work raised her eyes to + the face of the long lean stranger, overshadowed by the broadbrimmed hat, + in reverent amazement. “My love to you, miss,” said Rufus, with his + customary grave cordiality; <i>“I’ll</i> shut the door.” Having dismissed + the maid with that gentle hint, he shook hands heartily with Amelius. + “Well, I call this a juicy morning,” he said, just as if they had met at + the cabin breakfast-table as usual. + </p> + <p> + For the moment, at least, Amelius brightened at the sight of his + fellow-traveller. “I am really glad to see you,” he said. “It’s lonely in + these new quarters, before one gets used to them.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus relieved himself of his hat and great coat, and silently looked + about the room. “I’m big in the bones,” he remarked, surveying the rickety + lodging-house furniture with some suspicion; “and I’m a trifle heavier + than I look. I shan’t break one of these chairs if I sit down on it, shall + I?” Passing round the table (littered with books and letters) in search of + the nearest chair, he accidentally brushed against a sheet of paper with + writing on it. “Memorandum of friends in London, to be informed of my + change of address,” he read, looking at the paper, as he picked it up, + with the friendly freedom that characterized him. “You have made pretty + good use of your time, my son, since I took my leave of you in Queenstown + harbour. I call this a reasonable long list of acquaintances made by a + young stranger in London.” + </p> + <p> + “I met with an old friend of my family at the hotel,” Amelius explained. + “He was a great loss to my poor father, when he got an appointment in + India; and, now he has returned, he has been equally kind to me. I am + indebted to his introduction for most of the names on that list.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Rufus, in the interrogative tone of a man who was waiting to + hear more. “I’m listening, though I may not look like it. Git along.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked at his visitor, wondering in what precise direction he was + to “git along.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m no friend to partial information,” Rufus proceeded; “I like to round + it off complete, as it were, in my own mind. There are names on this list + that you haven’t accounted for yet. Who provided you, sir, with the + balance of your new friends?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius answered, not very willingly, “I met them at Mr. Farnaby’s house.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus looked up from the list with the air of a man surprised by + disagreeable information, and unwilling to receive it too readily. “How?” + he exclaimed, using the old English equivalent (often heard in America) + for the modern “What?” + </p> + <p> + “I met them at Mr. Farnaby’s,” Amelius repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Did you happen to receive a letter of my writing, dated Dublin?” Rufus + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you set any particular value on my advice?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” + </p> + <p> + “And you cultivate social relations with Farnaby and family, + notwithstanding?” + </p> + <p> + “I have motives for being friendly with them, which—which I haven’t + had time to explain to you yet.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus stretched out his long legs on the floor, and fixed his shrewd grave + eyes steadily on Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” he said, quietly, “in respect of personal appearance and + pleasing elasticity of spirits, I find you altered for the worse, I do. It + may be Liver, or it may be Love. I reckon, now I think of it, you’re too + young yet for Liver. It’s the brown miss—that’s what ‘tis. I hate + that girl, sir, by instinct.” + </p> + <p> + “A nice way of talking of a young lady you never saw!” Amelius broke out. + </p> + <p> + Rufus smiled grimly. “Go ahead!” he said. “If you can get vent in + quarrelling with me, go ahead, my son.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round the room again, with his hands in his pockets, whistling. + Descending to the table in due course of time, his quick eye detected a + photograph placed on the open writing desk which Amelius had been using + earlier in the day. Before it was possible to stop him, the photograph was + in his hand. “I believe I’ve got her likeness,” he announced. “I do assure + you I take pleasure in making her acquaintance in this sort of way. Well, + now, I declare she’s a columnar creature! Yes, sir; I do justice to your + native produce—your fine fleshy beef-fed English girl. But I tell + you this: after a child or two, that sort runs to fat, and you find you + have married more of her than you bargained for. To what lengths may you + have proceeded, Amelius, with this splendid and spanking person?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius was just on the verge of taking offence. “Speak of her + respectfully,” he said, “if you expect me to answer you.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus stared in astonishment. “I’m paying her all manner of compliments,” + he protested, “and you’re not satisfied yet. My friend, I still find + something about you, on this occasion, which reminds me of meat cut + against the grain. You’re almost nasty—you are! The air of London, I + reckon, isn’t at all the thing for you. Well, it don’t matter to me; I + like you. Afloat or ashore, I like you. Do you want to know what I should + do, in your place, if I found myself steering a little too nigh to the + brown miss? I should—well, to put it in one word, I should scatter. + Where’s the harm, I’ll ask you, if you try another girl or two, before you + make your mind up. I shall be proud to introduce you to our slim and snaky + sort at Coolspring. Yes. I mean what I say; and I’ll go back with you + across the pond.” Referring in this disrespectful manner to the Atlantic + Ocean, Rufus offered his hand in token of unalterable devotion and + goodwill. + </p> + <p> + Who could resist such a man as this? Amelius, always in extremes, wrung + his hand, with an impetuous sense of shame. “I’ve been sulky,” he said, + “I’ve been rude, I ought to be ashamed of myself—and I am. There’s + only one excuse for me, Rufus. I love her with all my heart and soul; and + I’m engaged to be married to her. And yet, if you understand my way of + putting it, I’m—in short, I’m in a mess.” + </p> + <p> + With this characteristic preface, he described his position as exactly as + he could; having due regard to the necessary reserve on the subject of + Mrs. Farnaby. Rufus listened, with the closest attention, from beginning + to end; making no attempt to disguise the unfavourable impression which + the announcement of the marriage-engagement had made on him. When he spoke + next, instead of looking at Amelius as usual, he held his head down, and + looked gloomily at his boots. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “you’ve gone ahead this time, and that’s a fact. She + didn’t raise any difficulties that a man could ride off on—did she?” + </p> + <p> + “She was all that was sweet and kind!” Amelius answered, with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “She was all that was sweet and kind,” Rufus absently repeated, still + intent on the solid spectacle of his own boots. “And how about uncle + Farnaby? Perhaps he’s sweet and kind likewise, or perhaps he cuts up + rough? Possible—is it not, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know; I haven’t spoken to him yet.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus suddenly looked up. A faint gleam of hope irradiated his long lank + face. “Mercy be praised! there’s a last chance for you,” he remarked. + “Uncle Farnaby may say No.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter what he says,” Amelius rejoined. “She’s old enough to + choose for herself, he can’t stop the marriage.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus lifted one wiry yellow forefinger, in a state of perpendicular + protest. “He cannot stop the marriage,” the sagacious New Englander + admitted; “but he can stop the money, my son. Find out how you stand with + him before another day is over your head.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t go to him this evening.” said Amelius; “he dines out.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he now?” + </p> + <p> + “At his place of business.” + </p> + <p> + “Fix him at his place of business. Right away!” cried Rufus, springing + with sudden energy to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think he would like it,” Amelius objected. “He’s not a very + pleasant fellow, anywhere; but he’s particularly disagreeable at his place + of business.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus walked to the window, and looked out. The objections to Mr. Farnaby + appeared to fail, so far, in interesting him. + </p> + <p> + “To put it plainly,” Amelius went on, “there’s something about him that I + can’t endure. And—though he’s very civil to me, in his way—I + don’t think he has ever got over the discovery that I am a Christian + Socialist.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus abruptly turned round from the window, and became attentive again. + “So you told him that—did you?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” Amelius rejoined, sharply. “Do you suppose I am ashamed of + the principles in which I have been brought up?” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t care, I reckon, if all the world knows your principles, + persisted Rufus, deliberately leading him on. + </p> + <p> + “Care?” Amelius reiterated. “I only wish I had all the world to listen to + me. They should hear of my principles, with no bated breath, I promise + you!” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Rufus turned back again to the window. “When Farnaby’s + at home, where does he live?” he asked suddenly—still keeping his + face towards the street. + </p> + <p> + Amelius mentioned the address. “You don’t mean that you are going to call + there?” he inquired, with some anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckoned I might catch him before dinner-time. You seem to be + sort of feared to speak to him yourself. I’m your friend, Amelius—and + I’ll speak for you.” + </p> + <p> + The bare idea of the interview struck Amelius with terror. “No, no!” he + said. “I’m much obliged to you, Rufus. But in a matter of this sort, I + shouldn’t like to transfer the responsibility to my friend. I’ll speak to + Mr. Farnaby in a day or two.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus was evidently not satisfied with this. “I do suppose, now,” he + suggested, “you’re not the only man moving in this metropolis who fancies + Miss Regina. Query, my son: if you put off Farnaby much longer—” He + paused and looked at Amelius. “Ah,” he said, “I reckon I needn’t enlarge + further: there <i>is</i> another man. Well, it’s the same in my country; I + don’t know what he does, with You: he always turns up, with Us, just at + the time when you least want to see him.” + </p> + <p> + There <i>was</i> another man—an older and a richer man than Amelius; + equally assiduous in his attentions to the aunt and to the niece; + submissively polite to his favoured young rival. He was the sort of + person, in age and in temperament, who would be perfectly capable of + advancing his own interests by means of the hostile influence of Mrs. + Farnaby. Who could say what the result might be if, by some unlucky + accident, he made the attempt before Amelius had secured for himself the + support of the master of the house? In his present condition of nervous + irritability, he was ready to believe in any coincidence of the disastrous + sort. The wealthy rival was a man of business, a near city neighbour of + Mr. Farnaby. They might be together at that moment; and Regina’s fidelity + to her lover might be put to a harder test than she was prepared to + endure. Amelius remembered the gentle conciliatory smile (too gentle by + half) with which his placid mistress had received his first kisses—and, + without stopping to weigh conclusions, snatched up his hat. “Wait here for + me, Rufus, like a good fellow. I’m off to the stationer’s shop.” With + those parting words, he hurried out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Left by himself, Rufus began to rummage the pockets of his frockcoat—a + long, loose, and dingy garment which had become friendly and comfortable + to him by dint of ancient use. Producing a handful of correspondence, he + selected the largest envelope of all; shook out on the table several + smaller letters enclosed; picked one out of the number; and read the + concluding paragraph only, with the closest attention. + </p> + <p> + “I enclose letters of introduction to the secretaries of literary + institutions in London, and in some of the principal cities of England. If + you feel disposed to lecture yourself, or if you can persuade friends and + citizens known to you to do so, I believe it may be in your power to + advance in this way the interests of our Bureau. Please take notice that + the more advanced institutions, which are ready to countenance and welcome + free thought in religion, politics, and morals, are marked on the + envelopes with a cross in red ink. The envelopes without a mark are + addressed to platforms on which the customary British prejudices remain + rampant, and in which the charge for places reaches a higher figure than + can be as yet obtained in the sanctuaries of free thought.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus laid down the letter, and, choosing one among the envelopes marked + in red ink, looked at the introduction enclosed. “If the right sort of + invitation reached Amelius from this institution,” he thought, “the boy + would lecture on Christian Socialism with all his heart and soul. I wonder + what the brown miss and her uncle would say to that?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled to himself, and put the letter back in the envelope, and + considered the subject for a while. Below the odd rough surface, he was a + man in ten thousand; no more single-hearted and more affectionate creature + ever breathed the breath of life. He had not been understood in his own + little circle; there had been a want of sympathy with him, and even a want + of knowledge of him, at home. Amelius, popular with everybody, had touched + the great heart of this man. He perceived the peril that lay hidden under + the strange and lonely position of his fellow-voyager—so innocent in + the ways of the world, so young and so easily impressed His fondness for + Amelius, it is hardly too much to say, was the fondness of a father for a + son. With a sigh, he shook his head, and gathered up his letters, and put + them back in his pockets. “No, not yet,” he decided. “The poor boy really + loves her; and the girl may be good enough to make the happiness of his + life.” He got up and walked about the room. Suddenly he stopped, struck by + a new idea. “Why shouldn’t I judge for myself?” he thought. “I’ve got the + address—I reckon I’ll look in on the Farnabys, in a friendly way.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down at the desk, and wrote a line, in the event of Amelius being + the first to return to the lodgings: + </p> + <p> + DEAR BOY, + </p> + <p> + “I don’t find her photograph tells me quite so much as I want to know. I + have a mind to see the living original. Being your friend, you know, it’s + only civil to pay my respects to the family. Expect my unbiased opinion + when I come back. + </p> + <p> + “Yours, + </p> + <p> + “RUFUS.” + </p> + <p> + Having enclosed and addressed these lines, he took up his greatcoat—and + checked himself in the act of putting it on. The brown miss was a British + miss. A strange New Englander had better be careful of his personal + appearance, before he ventured into her presence. Urged by this cautious + motive, he approached the looking-glass, and surveyed himself critically. + </p> + <p> + “I doubt I might be the better,” it occurred to him, “if I brushed my + hair, and smelt a little of perfume. Yes. I’ll make a toilet. Where’s the + boy’s bedroom, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + He observed a second door in the sitting-room, and opened it at hazard. + Fortune had befriended him, so far: he found himself in his young friend’s + bedchamber. + </p> + <p> + The toilet of Amelius, simple as it was, had its mysteries for Rufus. He + was at a loss among the perfumes. They were all contained in a modest + little dressing case, without labels of any sort to describe the contents + of the pots and bottles. He examined them one after another, and stopped + at some recently invented French shaving-cream. “It smells lovely,” he + said, assuming it to be some rare pomatum. “Just what I want, it seems, + for my head.” He rubbed the shaving cream into his bristly iron-gray hair, + until his arms ached. When he had next sprinkled his handkerchief and + himself profusely, first with rose water, and then (to make quite sure) + with eau-de-cologne used as a climax, he felt that he was in a position to + appeal agreeably to the senses of the softer sex. In five minutes more, he + was on his way to Mr. Farnaby’s private residence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2 + </h2> + <p> + The rain that had begun with the morning still poured on steadily in the + afternoon. After one look out of the window, Regina decided on passing the + rest of the day luxuriously, in the company of a novel, by her own + fireside. With her feet on the tender, and her head on the soft cushion of + her favourite easy-chair, she opened the book. Having read the first + chapter and part of the second, she was just lazily turning over the + leaves in search of a love scene, when her languid interest in the novel + was suddenly diverted to an incident in real life. The sitting-room door + was gently opened, and her maid appeared in a state of modest confusion. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, miss, here’s a strange gentleman who comes from Mr. + Goldenheart. He wishes particularly to say—” + </p> + <p> + She paused, and looked behind her. A faint and curious smell of mingled + soap and scent entered the room, followed closely by a tall, calm, + shabbily-dressed man, who laid a wiry yellow hand on the maid’s shoulder, + and stopped her effectually before she could say a word more. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think of troubling yourself to git through with it, my dear; + I’m here, and I’ll finish for you.” Addressing the maid in these + encouraging terms, the stranger advanced to Regina, and actually attempted + to shake hands with her! Regina rose—and looked at him. It was a + look that ought to have daunted the boldest man living; it produced no + sort of effect on <i>this</i> man. He still held out his hand; his lean + face broadened with a pleasant smile. “My name is Rufus Dingwell,” he + said. “I come from Coolspring, Mass.; and Amelius is my introduction to + yourself and family.” + </p> + <p> + Regina silently acknowledged this information by a frigid bow, and + addressed herself to the maid, waiting at the door: “Don’t leave the room, + Phoebe.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus, inwardly wondering what Phoebe was wanted for, proceeded to express + the cordial sentiments proper to the occasion. “I have heard about you, + miss; and I take pleasure in making your acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + The unwritten laws of politeness obliged Regina to say something. “I have + not heard Mr. Goldenheart mention your name,” she remarked. “Are you an + old friend of his?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus explained with genial alacrity. “We crossed the Pond together, miss. + I like the boy; he’s bright and spry; he refreshes me—he does. We go + ahead with most things in my country; and friendship’s one of them. How <i>do</i> + you find yourself? Won’t you shake hands?” He took her hand, without + waiting to be repelled this time, and shook it with the heartiest + good-will. + </p> + <p> + Regina shuddered faintly: she summoned assistance in case of further + familiarity. “Phoebe, tell my aunt.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus added a message on his own account. “And say this, my dear. I + sincerely desire to make the acquaintance of Miss Regina’s aunt, and any + other members of the family circle.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe left the room, smiling. Such an amusing visitor as this was a rare + person in Mr. Farnaby’s house. Rufus looked after her, with unconcealed + approval. The maid appeared to be more to his taste than the mistress. + “Well, that’s a pretty creature, I do declare,” he said to Regina. + “Reminds me of our American girls—slim in the waist, and carries her + head nicely. How old may she be, now?” + </p> + <p> + Regina expressed her opinion of this familiar question by pointing, with + silent dignity, to a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, miss; not that one,” said Rufus. “You see, I’m long in the + legs, and if I once got down as low as that, I reckon I should have to + restore the balance by putting my feet up on the grate; and that’s not + manners in Great Britain—and quite right too.” + </p> + <p> + He picked out the highest chair he could find, and admired the workmanship + as he drew it up to the fireplace. “Most sumptuous and elegant,” he said. + “The style of the Re<i>nay</i>sance, as they call it.” Regina observed + with dismay that he had not got his hat in his hand like other visitors. + He had left it no doubt in the hall; he looked as if he had dropped in to + spend the day, and stay to dinner. + </p> + <p> + “Well, miss, I’ve seen your photograph,” he resumed; “and I don’t much + approve of it, now I see You. My sentiments are not altogether favourable + to that art. I delivered a lecture on photographic portraiture at + Coolspring; and I described it briefly as justice without mercy. The + audience took the idea; they larfed, they did. Larfin’ reminds me of + Amelius. Do you object to his being a Christian Socialist, miss?” + </p> + <p> + The young lady’s look, when she answered the question, was not lost on + Rufus. He registered it, mentally, in case of need. “Amelius will soon get + over all that nonsense,” she said, “when he has been a little longer in + London.” + </p> + <p> + “Possible,” Rufus admitted. “The boy is fond of you. Yes: he loves you. I + have noticed him, and I can certify to that. I may also remark that he + wants a deal of love in return. No doubt, miss, you have observed that + circumstance yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Regina resented this last inquiry as an outrage on propriety. “What next + will he say?” she thought to herself. “I must put this presuming man in + his proper place.” She darted another annihilating look at him, as she + spoke in her turn. “May I ask, Mr.—Mr.——?” + </p> + <p> + “Dingwell,” said Rufus, prompting her. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask, Mr. Dingwell, if you have favoured me by calling here at the + request of Mr. Goldenheart?” + </p> + <p> + Genial and simple-minded as he was, eagerly as he desired to appreciate at + her full value the young lady who was one day to be the wife of Amelius, + Rufus felt the tone in which those words were spoken. It was not easy to + stimulate his modest sense of what was fairly due to him into asserting + itself, but the cold distrust, the deliberate distance of Regina’s manner, + exhausted the long-suffering indulgence of this singularly patient man. + “The Lord, in his mercy, preserve Amelius from marrying You,” he thought, + as he rose from his chair, and advanced with a certain simple dignity to + take leave of her. + </p> + <p> + “It did not occur to me, miss, to pay my respects to you, till Amelius and + I had parted company,” he said. “Please to excuse me. I should have been + welcome, in my country, with no better introduction than being (as I may + say) his friend and well-wisher. If I have made a mistake—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. Regina had suddenly changed colour. Instead of looking at him, + she was looking over his shoulder, apparently at something behind him. He + turned to see what it was. A lady, short and stout, with strange wild + sorrowful eyes, had noiselessly entered the room while he was speaking: + she was waiting, as it seemed, until he had finished what he had to say. + When they confronted each other, she moved to meet him, with a firm heavy + step, and with her hand held out in token of welcome. + </p> + <p> + “You may feel equally sure, sir, of a friendly reception here,” she said, + in her steady self-possessed way. “I am this young lady’s aunt; and I am + glad to see the friend of Amelius in my house.” Before Rufus could answer, + she turned to Regina. “I waited,” she went on, “to give you an opportunity + of explaining yourself to this gentleman. I am afraid he has mistaken your + coldness of manner for intentional rudeness.” + </p> + <p> + The colour rushed back into Regina’s face—she vibrated for a moment + between anger and tears. But the better nature in her broke its way + through the constitutional shyness and restraint which habitually kept it + down. “I meant no harm, sir,” she said, raising her large beautiful eyes + submissively to Rufus; “I am not used to receiving strangers. And you did + ask me some very strange questions,” she added, with a sudden burst of + self-assertion. “Strangers are not in the habit of saying such things in + England.” She looked at Mrs. Farnaby, listening with impenetrable + composure, and stopped in confusion. Her aunt would not scruple to speak + to the stranger about Amelius in her presence—there was no knowing + what she might not have to endure. She turned again to Rufus. “Excuse me,” + she said, “if I leave you with my aunt—I have an engagement.” With + that trivial apology, she made her escape from the room. + </p> + <p> + “She has no engagement,” Mrs. Farnaby briefly remarked as the door closed. + “Sit down, sir.” + </p> + <p> + For once, even Rufus was not as his ease. “I can hit it off, ma’am, with + most people,” he said. “I wonder what I’ve done to offend your niece?” + </p> + <p> + “My niece (with many good qualities) is a narrow-minded young woman,” Mrs. + Farnaby explained. “You are not like the men she is accustomed to see. She + doesn’t understand you—you are not a commonplace gentleman. For + instance,” Mrs. Farnaby continued, with the matter-of-fact gravity of a + woman innately inaccessible to a sense of humour, “you have got something + strange on your hair. It seems to be melting, and it smells like soap. No: + it’s no use taking out your handkerchief—your handkerchief won’t mop + it up. I’ll get a towel.” She opened an inner door, which disclosed a + little passage, and a bath-room beyond it. “I’m the strongest person in + the house,” she resumed, returning with a towel in her hand, as gravely as + ever. “Sit still, and don’t make apologies. If any of us can rub you dry, + I’m the woman.” She set to work with the towel, as if she had been Rufus’s + mother, making him presentable in the days of his boyhood. Giddy under the + violence of the rubbing, staggered by the contrast between the cold + reception accorded to him by the niece, and the more than friendly welcome + offered by the aunt, Rufus submitted to circumstances in docile and silent + bewilderment. “There; you’ll do till you get home—nobody can laugh + at you now,” Mrs. Farnaby announced. “You’re an absent-minded man, I + suppose? You wanted to wash your head, and you forgot the warm water and + the towel. Was that how it happened, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you with all my heart, ma’am; I took it for pomatum,” Rufus + answered. “Would you object to shaking hands again? This cordial welcome + of yours reminds me, I do assure you, of home. Since I left New England, + I’ve never met with the like of you. I do suppose now it was my hair that + set Miss Regina’s back up? I’m not quite easy in my mind, ma’am, about + your niece. I’m sort of feared of what she may say of me to Amelius. I + meant no harm, Lord knows.” + </p> + <p> + The secret of Mrs. Farnaby’s extraordinary alacrity in the use of the + towel began slowly to show itself now. The tone of her American guest had + already become the friendly and familiar tone which it had been her object + to establish. With a little management, he might be made an invaluable + ally in the great work of hindering the marriage of Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “You are very fond of your young friend?” she began quietly. + </p> + <p> + “That is so, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “And he has told you that he has taken a liking to my niece?” + </p> + <p> + “And shown me her likeness,” Rufus added. + </p> + <p> + “And shown you her likeness. And you thought you would come here, and see + for yourself what sort of girl she was?” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally,” Rufus admitted. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby revealed, without further hesitation, the object that she had + in view. “Amelius is little more than a lad, still,” she said. “He has got + all his life before him. It would be a sad thing, if he married a girl who + didn’t make him happy.” She turned in her chair, and pointed to the door + by which Regina had left them. “Between ourselves,” she resumed, dropping + her voice to a whisper, “do you believe my niece will make him happy?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I’m above family prejudices,” Mrs. Farnaby proceeded. “You needn’t be + afraid of offending me. Speak out.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus would have spoken out to any other woman in the universe. <i>This</i> + woman had preserved him from ridicule—<i>this</i> woman had rubbed + his head dry. He prevaricated. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t suppose I understand the ladies in this country,” he said. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Farnaby was not to be trifled with. “If Amelius was your son, and + if he asked you to consent to his marriage with my niece,” she rejoined, + “would you say Yes?” + </p> + <p> + This was too much for Rufus. “Not if he went down on both his knees to ask + me,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby was satisfied at last, and owned it without reserve. “My own + opinion,” she said, “exactly expressed! don’t be surprised. Didn’t I tell + you I had no family prejudices? Do you know if he has spoken to my + husband, yet?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus looked at his watch. “I reckon he’s just about done it by this + time.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby paused, and reflected for a moment. She had already attempted + to prejudice her husband against Amelius, and had received an answer which + Mr. Farnaby considered to be final. “Mr. Goldenheart honours us if he + seeks our alliance; he is the representative of an old English family.” + Under these circumstances, it was quite possible that the proposals of + Amelius had been accepted. Mrs. Farnaby was not the less determined that + the marriage should never take place, and not the less eager to secure the + assistance of her new ally. “When will Amelius tell you about it?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “When I go back to his lodgings, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Go back at once—and bear this in mind as you go. If you can find + out any likely way of parting these two young people (in their own best + interests), depend on one thing—if I can help you, I will. I’m as + fond of Amelius as you are. Ask him if I haven’t done my best to keep him + away from my niece. Ask him if I haven’t expressed my opinion, that she’s + not the right wife for him. Come and see me again as soon as you like. I’m + fond of Americans. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus attempted to express his sense of gratitude, in his own briefly + eloquent way. He was not allowed a hearing. With one and the same action, + Mrs. Farnaby patted him on the shoulder, and pushed him out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “If that woman was an American citizen,” Rufus reflected, on his way + through the streets, “she’d be the first female President of the United + States!” His admiration of Mrs. Farnaby’s energy and resolution, expressed + in these strong terms, acknowledged but one limit. Highly as he approved + of her, there was nevertheless an unfathomable something in the woman’s + eyes that disturbed and daunted him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3 + </h2> + <p> + Rufus found his friend at the lodgings, prostrate on the sofa, smoking + furiously. Before a word had passed between them, it was plain to the New + Englander that something had gone wrong. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he asked; “and what does Farnaby say?” + </p> + <p> + “Damn Farnaby!” + </p> + <p> + Rufus was secretly conscious of an immense sense of relief. “I call that a + stiff way of putting it,” he quietly remarked; “but the meaning’s clear. + Farnaby has said No.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius jumped off the sofa, and planted himself defiantly on the + hearthrug. + </p> + <p> + “You’re wrong for once,” he said, with a bitter laugh. “The exasperating + part of it is that Farnaby has said neither Yes nor No. The oily-whiskered + brute—you haven’t seen him yet, have you?—began by saying Yes. + ‘A man like me, the heir of a fine old English family, honoured him by + making proposals; he could wish no more brilliant prospect for his dear + adopted child. She would fill the high position that was offered to her, + and fill it worthily.’ That was the fawning way in which he talked to me + at first! He squeezed my hand in his horrid cold shiny paw till, I give + you my word of honour, I felt as if I was going to be sick. Wait a little; + you haven’t heard the worst of it yet. He soon altered his tone—it + began with his asking me, if I had ‘considered the question of + settlements’. I didn’t know what he meant. He had to put it in plain + English; he wanted to hear what my property was. ‘Oh, that’s soon + settled,’ I said. ‘I’ve got five hundred a year; and Regina is welcome to + every farthing of it.’ He fell back in his chair as if I had shot him; he + turned—it was worse than pale, he positively turned green. At first + he wouldn’t believe me; he declared I must be joking. I set him right + about that immediately. His next change was a proud impudence. ‘Have you + not observed, sir, in what style Regina is accustomed to live in my house? + Five hundred a year? Good heavens! With strict economy, five hundred a + year might pay her milliner’s bill and the keep of her horse and carriage. + Who is to pay for everything else—the establishment, the + dinner-parties and balls, the tour abroad, the children, the nurses, the + doctor? I tell you this, Mr. Goldenheart, I’m willing to make a sacrifice + to you, as a born gentleman, which I would certainly not consent to in the + case of any self-made man. Enlarge your income, sir, to no more than four + times five hundred pounds, and I guarantee a yearly allowance to Regina of + half as much again, besides the fortune which she will inherit at my + death. That will make your income three thousand a year to start with. I + know something of domestic expenses, and I tell you positively, you can’t + do it on a farthing less.’ That was his language, Rufus. The insolence of + his tone I can’t attempt to describe. If I hadn’t thought of Regina, I + should have behaved in a manner unworthy of a Christian—I believe I + should have taken my walking-cane, and given him a sound thrashing.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus neither expressed surprise nor offered advice. He was lost in + meditation on the wealth of Mr. Farnaby. “A stationer’s business seems to + eventuate in a lively profit, in this country,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “A stationer’s business?” Amelius repeated disdainfully. “Farnaby has half + a dozen irons in the fire besides that. He’s got a newspaper, and a patent + medicine, and a new bank, and I don’t know what else. One of his own + friends said to me, ‘Nobody knows whether Farnaby is rich or poor; he is + going to do one of two things—he is going to die worth millions, or + to die bankrupt.’ Oh, if I can only live to see the day when Socialism + will put that sort of man in his right place!” + </p> + <p> + “Try a republic, on our model, first,” said Rufus. “When Farnaby talks of + the style his young woman is accustomed to live in, what does he mean?” + </p> + <p> + “He means,” Amelius answered smartly, “a carriage to drive out in, + champagne on the table, and a footman to answer the door.” + </p> + <p> + “Farnaby’s ideas, sir, have crossed the water and landed in New York,” + Rufus remarked. “Well, and what did you say to him, on your side?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave it to him, I can tell you! ‘That’s all ostentation,’ I said. ‘Why + can’t Regina and I begin life modestly? What do we want with a carriage to + drive out in, and champagne on the table, and a footman to answer the + door? We want to love each other and be happy. There are thousands of as + good gentlemen as I am, in England, with wives and families, who would ask + for nothing better than an income of five hundred a year. The fact is, Mr. + Farnaby, you’re positively saturated with the love of money. Get your New + Testament and read what Christ says of rich people.’ What do you think he + did, when I put it in that unanswerable way? He held up his hand, and + looked horrified. ‘I can’t allow profanity in my office,’ says he. ‘I have + my New Testament read to me in church, sir, every Sunday.’ That’s the sort + of Christian, Rufus, who is the average product of modern times! He was as + obstinate as a mule; he wouldn’t give way a single inch. His adopted + daughter, he said, was accustomed to live in a certain style. In that same + style she should live when she was married, so long as he had a voice in + the matter. Of course, if she chose to set his wishes and feelings at + defiance, in return for all that he had done for her, she was old enough + to take her own way. In that case, he would tell me as plainly as he meant + to tell her, that she must not look to a single farthing of his money to + help her, and not expect to find her name down in his will. He felt the + honour of a family alliance with me as sincerely as ever. But he must + abide by the conditions that he had stated. On those terms, he would be + proud to give me the hand of Regina at the altar, and proud to feel that + he had done his duty by his adopted child. I let him go on till he had run + himself out—and then I asked quietly, if he could tell me the way to + increase my income to two thousand a year. How do you think he answered + me?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he offered to utilise your capital in his business,” Rufus + guessed. + </p> + <p> + “Not he! He considered business quite beneath me; my duty to myself, as a + gentleman, was to adopt a profession. On reflection, it turned out that + there was but one likely profession to try, in my case—the Law. I + might be called to the Bar, and (with luck) I might get remunerative work + to do, in eight or ten years’ time. That, I declare to you, was the + prospect he set before me, if I chose to take his advice. I asked if he + was joking. Certainly not! I was only one-and-twenty years old (he + reminded me); I had plenty of time to spare—I should still marry + young if I married at thirty. I took up my hat, and gave him a bit of my + mind at parting. ‘If you really mean anything,’ I said, ‘you mean that + Regina is to pine and fade and be a middle-aged woman, and that I am to + resist the temptations that beset a young man in London, and lead the life + of a monk for the next ten years—and all for what? For a carriage to + ride out in, champagne on the table, and a footman to answer the door! + Keep your money, Mr. Farnaby; Regina and I will do without it.’—What + are you laughing at? I don’t think you could have put it more strongly + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus suddenly recovered his gravity. “I tell you this, Amelius,” he + replied; “you afford (as we say in my country) meaty fruit for reflection—you + do.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reckon you remember when we were aboard the boat. You gave us a + narrative of what happened in that Community of yours, which I can truly + cha<i>rac</i>terise as a combination of native eloquence and chastening + good sense. I put the question to myself, sir, what has become of that + well-informed and discreet young Christian, now he has changed the sphere + to England and mixed with the Farnabys? It’s not to be denied that I see + him before me in the flesh when I look across the table here; but it’s + equally true that I miss him altogether, in the spirit.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius sat down again on the sofa. “In plain words,” he said, “you think + I have behaved like a fool in this matter?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus crossed his long legs, and nodded his head in silent approval. + Instead of taking offence, Amelius considered a little. + </p> + <p> + “It didn’t strike me before,” he said. “But, now you mention it, I can + understand that I appear to be a simple sort of fellow in what is called + Society here; and the reason, I suspect, is that it’s not the society in + which I have been accustomed to mix. The Farnabys are new to me, Rufus. + When it comes to a question of my life at Tadmor, of what I saw and learnt + and felt in the Community—then, I can think and speak like a + reasonable being, because I am thinking and speaking of what I know + thoroughly well. Hang it, make some allowance for the difference of + circumstances! Besides, I’m in love, and that alters a man—and, I + have heard some people say, not always for the better. Anyhow, I’ve done + it with Farnaby, and it can’t be undone. There will be no peace for me + now, till I have spoken to Regina. I have read the note you left for me. + Did you see her, when you called at the house?” + </p> + <p> + The quiet tone in which the question was put surprised Rufus. He had fully + expected, after Regina’s reception of him, to be called to account for the + liberty that he had taken. Amelius was too completely absorbed by his + present anxieties to consider trivial questions of etiquette. Hearing that + Rufus had seen Regina, he never even asked for his friend’s opinion of + her. His mind was full of the obstacles that might be interposed to his + seeing her again. + </p> + <p> + “Farnaby is sure, after what has passed between us, to keep her out of my + way if he can,” Amelius said. “And Mrs. Farnaby, to my certain knowledge, + will help him. They don’t suspect <i>you.</i> Couldn’t you call again—you’re + old enough to be her father—and make some excuse to take her out + with you for a walk?” + </p> + <p> + The answer of Rufus to this was Roman in its brevity. He pointed to the + window, and said, “Look at the rain.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must try her maid once more,” said Amelius, resignedly. He took + his hat and umbrella. “Don’t leave me, old fellow,” he resumed as he + opened the door. “This is the turning-point of my life. I’m sorely in need + of a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think she will marry you against the will of her uncle and aunt?” + Rufus asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am certain of it,” Amelius answered. With that he left the room. + </p> + <p> + Rufus looked after him sadly. Sympathy and sorrow were expressed in every + line of his rugged face. “My poor boy! how will he bear it, if she says + No? What will become of him, if she says Yes?” He rubbed his hand + irritably across his forehead, like a man whose own thoughts were + repellent to him. In a moment more, he plunged into his pockets, and drew + out again the letters introducing him to the secretaries of public + institutions. “If there’s salvation for Amelius,” he said, “I reckon I + shall find it here.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4 + </h2> + <p> + The medium of correspondence between Amelius and Regina’s maid was an old + woman who kept a shop for the sale of newspapers and periodicals, in a + by-street not far from Mr. Farnaby’s house. From this place his letters + were delivered to the maid, under cover of the morning newspapers—and + here he found the answers waiting for him later in the day. “If Rufus + could only have taken her out for a walk, I might have seen Regina this + afternoon,” thought Amelius. “As it is, I may have to wait till to-morrow, + or later still. And then, there’s the sovereign to Phoebe.” He sighed as + he thought of the fee. Sovereigns were becoming scarce in our young + Socialist’s purse. + </p> + <p> + Arriving in sight of the newsvendor’s shop, Amelius noticed a man leaving + it, who walked away towards the farther end of the street. When he entered + the shop himself a minute afterwards, the woman took up a letter from the + counter. “A young man has just left this for you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Amelius recognised the maid’s handwriting on the address. The man whom he + had seen leaving the shop was Phoebe’s messenger. + </p> + <p> + He opened the letter. Her mistress, Phoebe explained, was too much + flurried to be able to write. The master had astonished the whole + household by appearing among them at least three hours before the time at + which he was accustomed to leave his place of business. He had found “Mrs. + Ormond” (otherwise Regina’s friend and correspondent, Cecilia) paying a + visit to his niece, and had asked to speak with her in private, before she + took leave. The result was an invitation to Regina, from Mrs. Ormond, to + stay for a little while at her house in the neighbourhood of Harrow. The + ladies were to leave London together, in Mrs. Ormond’s carriage, that + afternoon. Under stress of strong persuasion, on the part of her uncle and + aunt as well as her friend, Regina had ended in giving way. But she had + not forgotten the interests of Amelius. She was willing to see him + privately on the next day, provided he left London by the train which + reached Harrow soon after eleven in the forenoon. If it happened to rain, + then he must put off his journey until the first fine day, arriving in any + case at the same hour. The place at which he was to wait was described to + him; and with these instructions the letter ended. + </p> + <p> + The rapidity with which Mr. Farnaby had carried out his resolution to + separate the lovers placed the weakness of Regina’s character before + Amelius in a new and startling light. Why had she not stood on her + privileges, as a woman who had arrived at years of discretion, and refused + to leave London until she had first heard what her lover had to say? + Amelius had left his American friend, feeling sure that Regina’s decision + would be in his favour, when she was called upon to choose between the man + who was ready to marry her, and the man who was nothing but her uncle by + courtesy. For the first time, he now felt that his own confident + anticipations might, by bare possibility, deceive him. He returned to his + lodgings, in such a state of depression, that compassionate Rufus insisted + on taking him out to dinner, and hurried him off afterwards to the play. + Thoroughly prostrated, Amelius submitted to the genial influence of his + friend. He had not even energy enough to feel surprised when Rufus + stopped, on their way to the tavern, at a dingy building adorned with a + Grecian portico, and left a letter and a card in charge of a servant at + the side-door. + </p> + <p> + The next day, by a happy interposition of Fortune, proved to be a day + without rain. Amelius followed his instructions to the letter. A little + watery sunshine showed itself as he left the station at Harrow. His mind + was still in such a state of doubt and disturbance that it drew from + superstition a faint encouragement to hope. He hailed the feeble November + sunlight as a good omen. + </p> + <p> + Mr. and Mrs. Ormond’s place of residence stood alone, surrounded by its + own grounds. A wooden fence separated the property, on one side, from a + muddy little by-road, leading to a neighbouring farm. At a wicket-gate in + this fence, giving admission to a shrubbery situated at some distance from + the house, Amelius now waited for the appearance of the maid. + </p> + <p> + After a delay of a few minutes only, the faithful Phoebe approached the + gate with a key in her hand. “Where is she?” Amelius asked, as the girl + opened the gate for him. + </p> + <p> + “Waiting for you in the shrubbery. Stop, sir; I have something to say to + you first.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius took out his purse, and produced the fee. Even he had observed + that Phoebe was perhaps a little too eager to get her money! + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir. Please to look at your watch. You mustn’t be with Miss + Regina a moment longer than a quarter of an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “This is the time, sir, when Mrs. Ormond is engaged every day with her + cook and housekeeper. In a quarter of an hour the orders will be given—and + Mrs. Ormond will join Miss Regina for a walk in the grounds. You will be + the ruin of me, sir, if she finds you here.” With that warning, the maid + led the way along the winding paths of the shrubbery. + </p> + <p> + “I must thank you for your letter, Phoebe,” said Amelius, as he followed + her. “By-the-by, who was your messenger?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe’s answer was no answer at all. “Only a young man, sir,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “In plain words, your sweetheart, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe’s expressive silence was her only reply. She turned a corner, and + pointed to her mistress standing alone before the entrance of a damp and + deserted summer-house. + </p> + <p> + Regina put her handkerchief to her eyes, when the maid had discreetly + retired. “Oh,” she said softly, “I am afraid this is very wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius removed the handkerchief by the exercise of a little gentle force, + and administered comfort under the form of a kiss. Having opened the + proceedings in this way, he put his first question, “Why did you leave + London?” + </p> + <p> + “How could I help it!” said Regina, feebly. “They were all against me. + What else could I do?” + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Amelius that she might, at her age, have asserted a will of + her own. He kept his idea, however, to himself, and, giving her his arm, + led her slowly along the path of the shrubbery. “You have heard, I + suppose, what Mr. Farnaby expects of me?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“I</i> call it worse than mercenary—I call it downright brutal.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Amelius, don’t talk so!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius came suddenly to a standstill. “Does that mean you agree with + him?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be angry with me, dear. I only meant there was some excuse for + him.” + </p> + <p> + “What excuse?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, he has a high idea of your family, and he thought you were + rich people. And—I know you didn’t mean it, Amelius—but, + still, you did disappoint him.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius dropped her arm. This mildly-persistent defence of Mr. Farnaby + exasperated him. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I have disappointed <i>you?”</i> he said. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, no, no! Oh, how cruel you are!” The ready tears showed themselves +again in her magnificent eyes—gentle considerate tears that raised +no storm in her bosom, and produced no unbecoming results in her face. +“Don’t be hard on me!” she said, appealing to him helplessly, like a +charming overgrown child. +</pre> + <p> + Some men might have still resisted her; but Amelius was not one of them. + He took her hand, and pressed it tenderly. + </p> + <p> + “Regina,” he said, “do you love me?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I do!” + </p> + <p> + He put his arm round her waist, he concentrated the passion that was in + him into a look, and poured the look into her eyes. “Do you love me as + dearly as I love you?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + She felt it with all the little passion that was in her. After a moment of + hesitation, she put one arm timidly round his neck, and, bending her grand + head, laid it on his bosom. Her finely-rounded, supple, muscular figure + trembled, as if she had been the most fragile woman living. “Dear + Amelius!” she murmured inaudibly. He tried to speak to her—his voice + failed him. She had, in perfect innocence, fired his young blood. He drew + her closer and closer to him: he lifted her head, with a masterful + resolution which she was not able to resist, and pressed his kisses in hot + and breathless succession on her lips. His vehemence frightened her. She + tore herself out of his arms with a sudden exertion of strength that took + him completely by surprise. “I didn’t think you would have been rude to + me!” With that mild reproach, she turned away, and took the path which led + from the shrubbery to the house. Amelius followed her, entreating that she + would accept his excuses and grant him a few minutes more. He modestly + laid all the blame on her beauty—lamented that he had not resolution + enough to resist the charm of it. When did that commonplace compliment + ever fail to produce its effect? Regina smiled with the weakly complacent + good-nature, which was only saved from being contemptible by its + association with her personal attractions. “Will you promise to behave?” + she stipulated. And Amelius, not very eagerly, promised. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go into the summer-house?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very damp at this time of year,” Regina answered, with placid good + sense. “Perhaps we might catch cold—we had better walk about.” + </p> + <p> + They walked accordingly. “I wanted to speak to you about our marriage,” + Amelius resumed. + </p> + <p> + She sighed softly. “We have some time to wait,” she said, “before we can + think of that.” + </p> + <p> + He passed this reply over without notice. “You know,” he went on, “that I + have an income of five hundred a year?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “There are hundreds of thousands of respectable artisans, Regina, (with + large families), who live comfortably on less than half my income.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “And many gentlemen are not better off. Curates, for instance. Do you see + what I am coming to, my darling?” + </p> + <p> + “No, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Could you live with me in a cottage in the country, with a nice garden, + and one little maid to wait on us, and two or three new dresses in a + year?” + </p> + <p> + Regina lifted her fine eyes in sober ecstasy to the sky. “It sounds very + tempting,” she remarked, in the sweetest tones of her voice. + </p> + <p> + “And it could all be done,” Amelius proceeded, “on five hundred a year.” + </p> + <p> + “Could it, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I have calculated it—allowing the necessary margin—and I am + sure of what I say. And I have done something else; I have asked about the + Marriage License. I can easily find lodgings in the neighbourhood. We + might be married at Harrow in a fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + Regina started: her eyes opened widely, and rested on Amelius with an + expression of incredulous wonder. “Married in a fortnight?” she repeated. + “What would my uncle and aunt say?” + </p> + <p> + “My angel, our happiness doesn’t depend on your uncle and aunt—our + happiness depends on ourselves. Nobody has any power to control us. I am a + man, and you are a woman; and we have a right to be married whenever we + like.” Amelius pronounced this last oracular sentence with his head held + high, and a pleasant inner persuasion of the convincing manner in which he + had stated his case. + </p> + <p> + “Without my uncle to give me away!” Regina exclaimed. “Without my aunt! + With no bridesmaids, and no friends, and no wedding-breakfast! Oh, + Amelius, what <i>can</i> you be thinking of?” She drew back a step, and + looked at him in helpless consternation. + </p> + <p> + For the moment, and the moment only, Amelius lost all patience with her. + “If you really loved me,” he said bitterly, “you wouldn’t think of the + bridesmaids and the breakfast!” Regina had her answer ready in her pocket—she + took out her handkerchief. Before she could lift it to her eyes, Amelius + recovered himself. “No, no,” he said, “I didn’t mean that—I am sure + you love me—take my arm again. Do you know, Regina, I doubt whether + your uncle has told you everything that passed between us. Are you really + aware of the hard terms that he insists on? He expects me to increase my + five hundred a year to two thousand, before he will sanction our + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear, he told me that.” + </p> + <p> + “I have as much chance of earning fifteen hundred a year, Regina, as I + have of being made King of England. Did he tell you <i>that?”</i> + </p> + <p> + “He doesn’t agree with you, dear—he thinks you might earn it (with + your abilities) in ten years.” + </p> + <p> + This time it was the turn of Amelius to look at Regina in helpless + consternation. “Ten years?” he repeated. “Do you coolly contemplate + waiting ten years before we are married? Good heavens! is it possible that + you are thinking of the money? that <i>you</i> can’t live without + carriages and footmen, and ostentation and grandeur—?” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. For once, even Regina showed that she had spirit enough to be + angry. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself to speak to me in that way!” + she broke out indignantly. “If you have no better opinion of me than that, + I won’t marry you at all—no, not if you had fifty thousand a year, + sir, to-morrow! Am I to have no sense of duty to my uncle—to the + good man who has been a second father to me? Do you think I am ungrateful + enough to set his wishes at defiance? Oh yes, I know you don’t like him! I + know that a great many people don’t like him. That doesn’t make any + difference to Me! But for dear uncle Farnaby, I might have gone to the + workhouse, I might have been a starving needlewoman, a poor persecuted + maid-of-all-work. Am I to forget that, because you have no patience, and + only think of yourself? Oh, I wish I had never met with you! I wish I had + never been fool enough to be as fond of you as I am!” With that + confession, she turned her back on him, and took refuge in her + handkerchief once more. + </p> + <p> + Amelius stood looking at her in silent despair. After the tone in which + she had spoken of her obligations to her uncle, it was useless to + anticipate any satisfactory result from the exertion of his influence over + Regina. Recalling what he had seen and heard, in Mrs. Farnaby’s room, + Amelius could not doubt that the motive of pacifying his wife was the + motive which had first led Farnaby to receive Regina into his house. Was + it unreasonable or unjust to infer, that the orphan child must have been + mainly indebted to Mrs. Farnaby’s sense of duty to the memory of her + sister for the parental protection afforded to her, from that time forth? + It would have been useless, and worse than useless, to place before Regina + such considerations as these. Her exaggerated idea of the gratitude that + she owed to her uncle was beyond the limited reach of reason. Nothing was + to be gained by opposition; and no sensible course was left but to say + some peace-making words and submit. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Regina, if I have offended you. You have sadly + disappointed me. I haven’t deliberately misjudged you; I can say no more.” + </p> + <p> + She turned round quickly, and looked at him. There was an ominous change + to resignation in his voice, there was a dogged submission in his manner, + that alarmed her. She had never yet seen him under the perilously-patient + aspect in which he now presented himself, after his apology had been made. + </p> + <p> + “I forgive you, Amelius, with all my heart,” she said—and timidly + held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + He took it, raised it silently to his lips, and dropped it again. + </p> + <p> + She suddenly turned pale. All the love that she had in her to give to a + man, she had given to Amelius. Her heart sank; she asked herself, in blank + terror, if she had lost him. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid it is <i>I</i> who have offended <i>you,”</i> she said. + “Don’t be angry with me, Amelius! don’t make me more unhappy than I am!” + </p> + <p> + “I am not in the least angry,” he answered, still in the quiet subdued way + that terrified her. “You can’t expect me, Regina, to contemplate a ten + years’ engagement cheerfully.” + </p> + <p> + She took his hand, and held it in both her own hands—held it, as if + his love for her was there and she was determined not to let it go. + </p> + <p> + “If you will only leave it to me,” she pleaded, “the engagement shan’t be + so long as that. Try my uncle with a little kindness and respect, Amelius, + instead of saying hard words to him. Or let <i>me</i> try him, if you are + too proud to give way. May I say that you had no intention of offending + him, and that you are willing to leave the future to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Amelius, “if you think it will be of the slightest use.” + His tone added plainly, “I don’t believe in your uncle, mind, as you do.” + </p> + <p> + She still persisted. “It will be of the greatest use,” she went on. “He + will let me go home again, and he will not object to your coming to see + me. He doesn’t like to be despised and set at defiance—who does? Be + patient, Amelius; and I will persuade him to expect less money from you—only + what you may earn, dear, with your talents, long before ten years have + passed.” She waited for a word of reply which might show that she had + encouraged him a little. He only smiled. “You talk of loving me,” she + said, drawing back from him with a look of reproach; “and you don’t even + believe what I say to you.” She stopped, and looked behind her with a + faint cry of alarm. Hurried footsteps were audible on the other side of + the evergreens that screened them. Amelius stepped back to a turn in the + path, and discovered Phoebe. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t stay a moment longer, sir!” cried the girl. “I’ve been to the house—and + Mrs. Ormond isn’t there—and nobody knows where she is. Get out by + the gate, sir, while you have the chance.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius returned to Regina. “I mustn’t get the girl into a scrape,” he + said. “You know where to write to me. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Regina made a sign to the maid to retire. Amelius had never taken leave of + her as he was taking leave of her now. She forgot the fervent embrace and + the daring kisses—she was desperate at the bare idea of losing him. + “Oh, Amelius, don’t doubt that I love you! Say you believe I love you! + Kiss me before you go!” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her—but, ah, not as he had kissed her before. He said the + words she wanted him to say—but only to please her, not with all his + heart. She let him go; reproaches would be wasted at that moment. + </p> + <p> + Phoebe found her pale and immovable, rooted to the spot on which they had + parted. “Dear, dear me, miss, what’s gone wrong?” + </p> + <p> + And her mistress answered wildly, in words that had never before passed + her placid lips, “O Phoebe, I wish I was dead!” + </p> + <p> + Such was the impression left on the mind of Regina by the interview in the + shrubbery. + </p> + <p> + The impression left on the mind of Amelius was stated in equally strong + language, later in the day. His American friend asked innocently for news, + and was answered in these terms: + </p> + <p> + “Find something to occupy my mind, Rufus, or I shall throw the whole thing + over and go to the devil.” + </p> + <p> + The wise man from New England was too wise to trouble Amelius with + questions, under these circumstances. “Is that so?” was all he said. Then + he put his hand in his pocket, and, producing a letter, laid it quietly on + the table. + </p> + <p> + “For me?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + “You wanted something to occupy your mind,” the wily Rufus answered. + “There ‘tis.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius read the letter. It was dated, “Hampden Institution.” The + secretary invited Amelius, in highly complimentary terms, to lecture, in + the hall of the Institution, on Christian Socialism as taught and + practised in the Community at Tadmor. He was offered two-thirds of the + profits derived from the sale of places, and was left free to appoint his + own evening (at a week’s notice) and to issue his own advertisements. + Minor details were reserved to be discussed with the secretary, when the + lecturer had consented to the arrangement proposed to him. + </p> + <p> + Having finished the letter, Amelius looked at his friend. “This is your + doing,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Rufus admitted it, with his customary candour. He had a letter of + introduction to the secretary, and he had called by appointment that + morning. The Institution wanted something new to attract the members and + the public. Having no present intention of lecturing himself, he had + thought of Amelius, and had spoken his thought. “I mentioned,” Rufus added + slyly, “that I didn’t reckon you would mount the platform. But he’s a + sanguine creature, that secretary—and he said he’d try.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I say No?” Amelius asked, a little irritably. “The secretary + pays me a compliment, and offers me an opportunity of spreading our + principles. Perhaps,” he added, more quietly, after a moment’s reflection, + “you thought I might not be equal to the occasion—and, in that case, + I don’t say you were wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus shook his head. “If you had passed your life in this decrepit little + island,” he replied, “I might have doubted you, likely enough. But + Tadmor’s situated in the United States. If they don’t practise the boys in + the art of orating, don’t you tell me there’s an American citizen with a + voice in <i>that</i> society. Guess again, my son. You won’t? Well, then, + ‘twas uncle Farnaby I had in my mind. I said to myself—not to the + secretary—Amelius is bound to consider uncle Farnaby. Oh, my! what + would uncle Farnaby say?” + </p> + <p> + The hot temper of Amelius took fire instantly. “What the devil do I care + for Farnaby’s opinions?” he burst out. “If there’s a man in England who + wants the principles of Christian Socialism beaten into his thick head, + it’s Farnaby. Are you going to see the secretary again?” + </p> + <p> + “I might look in,” Rufus answered, “in the course of the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him I’ll give the lecture—with my compliments and thanks. If I + can only succeed,” pursued Amelius, hearing himself with the new idea, “I + may make a name as a lecturer, and a name means money, and money means + beating Farnaby with his own weapons. It’s an opening for me, Rufus, at + the crisis of my life.” + </p> + <p> + “That is so,” Rufus admitted. “I may as well look up the secretary.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t I go with you?” Amelius suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” Rufus agreed. + </p> + <p> + They left the house together. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK THE FIFTH. THE FATAL LECTURE + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1 + </h2> + <p> + Late that night Amelius sat alone in his room, making notes for the + lecture which he had now formally engaged himself to deliver in a week’s + time. + </p> + <p> + Thanks to his American education (as Rufus had supposed), he had not been + without practice in the art of public speaking. He had learnt to face his + fellow-creatures in the act of oratory, and to hear the sound of his own + voice in a silent assembly, without trembling from head to foot. English + newspapers were regularly sent to Tadmor, and English politics were + frequently discussed in the little parliament of the Community. The + prospect of addressing a new audience, with their sympathies probably + against him at the outset, had its terrors undoubtedly. But the more + formidable consideration, to the mind of Amelius, was presented by the + limits imposed on him in the matter of time. The lecture was to be + succeeded (at the request of a clerical member of the Institution) by a + public discussion; and the secretary’s experience suggested that the + lecturer would do well to reduce his address within the compass of an + hour. “Socialism is a large subject to be squeezed into that small space,” + Amelius had objected. And the secretary sighed, and answered, “They won’t + listen any longer.” + </p> + <p> + Making notes, from time to time, of the points on which it was most + desirable to insist, and on the relative positions which they should + occupy in his lecture, the memory of Amelius became more and more absorbed + in recalling the scenes in which his early life had been passed. + </p> + <p> + He laid down his pen, as the clock of the nearest church struck the first + dark hour of the morning, and let his thoughts take him back again, + without interruption or restraint, to the hills and vales of Tadmor. Once + more the kind old Elder Brother taught him the noble lessons of + Christianity as they came from the inspired Teacher’s own lips; once more + he took his turn of healthy work in the garden and the field; once more + the voices of his companions joined with him in the evening songs, and the + timid little figure of Mellicent stood at his side, content to hold the + music-book and listen. How poor, how corrupt, did the life look that he + was leading now, by comparison with the life that he had led in those + earlier and happier days! How shamefully he had forgotten the simple + precepts of Christian humility, Christian sympathy, and Christian + self-restraint, in which his teachers had trusted as the safeguards that + were to preserve him from the foul contact of the world! Within the last + two days only, he had refused to make merciful allowance for the errors of + a man, whose life had been wasted in the sordid struggle upward from + poverty to wealth. And, worse yet, he had cruelly distressed the poor girl + who loved him, at the prompting of those selfish passions which it was his + first and foremost duty to restrain. The bare remembrance of it was + unendurable to him, in his present frame of mind. With his customary + impetuosity, he snatched up the pen, to make atonement before he went to + rest that night. He wrote in few words to Mr. Farnaby, declaring that he + regretted having spoken impatiently and contemptuously at the interview + between them, and expressing the hope that their experience of each other, + in the time to come, might perhaps lead to acceptable concessions on + either side. His letter to Regina was written, it is needless to say, in + warmer terms and at much greater length: it was the honest outpouring of + his love and his penitence. When the letters were safe in their envelopes + he was not satisfied, even yet. No matter what the hour might be, there + was no ease of mind for Amelius, until he had actually posted his letters. + He stole downstairs, and softly unbolted the door, and hurried away to the + nearest letter-box. When he had let himself in again with his latch-key, + his mind was relieved at last. “Now,” he thought, as he lit his bed-room + candle, “I can go to sleep!” + </p> + <p> + A visit from Rufus was the first event of the day. + </p> + <p> + The two set to work together to draw out the necessary advertisement of + the lecture. It was well calculated to attract attention in certain + quarters. The announcement addressed itself, in capital letters, to all + honest people who were poor and discontented. “Come, and hear the remedy + which Christian Socialism provides for your troubles, explained to you by + a friend and a brother; and pay no more than sixpence for the place that + you occupy.” The necessary information as to time and place followed this + appeal; including the offer of reserved seats at higher prices. By advice + of the secretary, the advertisement was not sent to any journal having its + circulation among the wealthier classes of society. It appeared + prominently in one daily paper and in two weekly papers; the three + possessing an aggregate sale of four hundred thousand copies. “Assume only + five readers to each copy,” cried sanguine Amelius, “and we appeal to an + audience of two millions. What a magnificent publicity!” + </p> + <p> + There was one inevitable result of magnificent publicity which Amelius + failed to consider. His advertisements were certain to bring people + together, who might otherwise never have met in the great world of London, + under one roof. All over England, Scotland, and Ireland, he invited + unknown guests to pass the evening with him. In such circumstances, + recognitions may take place between persons who have lost sight of each + other for years; conversations may be held, which might otherwise never + have been exchanged; and results may follow, for which the hero of the + evening may be innocently responsible, because two or three among his + audience happen to be sitting to hear him on the same bench. A man who + opens his doors, and invites the public indiscriminately to come in, runs + the risk of playing with inflammable materials, and can never be sure at + what time or in what direction they may explode. + </p> + <p> + Rufus himself took the fair copies of the advertisement to the nearest + agent. Amelius stayed at home to think over his lecture. + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Farnaby’s answer to his letter. + The man of the oily whiskers wrote courteously and guardedly. He was + evidently flattered and pleased by the advance that had been made to him; + and he was quite willing “under the circumstances” to give the lovers + opportunities of meeting at his house. At the same time, he limited the + number of the opportunities. “Once a week, for the present, my dear sir. + Regina will doubtless write to you, when she returns to London.” + </p> + <p> + Regina wrote, by return of post. The next morning Amelius received a + letter from her which enchanted him. She had never loved him as she loved + him now; she longed to see him again; she had prevailed on Mrs. Ormond to + let her shorten her visit, and to intercede for her with the authorities + at home. They were to return together to London on the afternoon of the + next day. Amelius would be sure to find her, if he arranged to call in + time for five-o’clock tea. + </p> + <p> + Towards four o’clock on the next day, while Amelius was putting the + finishing touches to his dress, he was informed that “a young person + wished to see him.” The visitor proved to be Phoebe, with her handkerchief + to her eyes; indulging in grief, in humble imitation of her young + mistress’s gentle method of proceeding on similar occasions. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” cried Amelius, “has anything happened to Regina?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” Phoebe murmured behind the handkerchief. “Miss Regina is at + home, and well.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what are you crying about?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe forgot her mistress’s gentle method. She answered, with an + explosion of sobs, “I’m ruined, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by being ruined? Who’s done it?” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve done it, sir!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius started. His relations with Phoebe had been purely and entirely of + the pecuniary sort. She was a showy, pretty girl, with a smart little + figure—but with some undeniably bad lines, which only observant + physiognomists remarked, about her eyebrows and her mouth. Amelius was not + a physiognomist; but he was in love with Regina, which at his age implied + faithful love. It is only men over forty who can court the mistress, with + reserves of admiration to spare for the maid. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” said Amelius; “and tell me in two words what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe sat down, and dried her eyes. “I have been infamously treated, sir, + by Mrs. Farnaby,” she began—and stopped, overpowered by the bare + remembrance of her wrongs. She was angry enough, at that moment, to be off + her guard. The vindictive nature that was in the girl found its way + outward, and showed itself in her face. Amelius perceived the change, and + began to doubt whether Phoebe was quite worthy of the place which she had + hitherto held in his estimation. + </p> + <p> + “Surely there must be some mistake,” he said. “What opportunity has Mrs. + Farnaby had of ill-treating you? You have only just got back to London.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir, we got back sooner than we expected. Mrs. Ormond + had business in town: and she left Miss Regina at her own door, nearly two + hours since.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I had hardly taken off my bonnet and shawl, when I was sent + for by Mrs. Farnaby. ‘Have you unpacked your box yet?’ says she. I told + her I hadn’t had time to do so. ‘You needn’t trouble yourself to unpack,’ + says she. ‘You are no longer in Miss Regina’s service. There are your + wages—with a month’s wages besides, in place of the customary + warning.’ I’m only a poor girl, sir, but I up and spoke to her as plain as + she spoke to me. ‘I want to know,’ I says, ‘why I am sent away in this + uncivil manner?’ I couldn’t possibly repeat what she said. My blood boils + when I think of it,” Phoebe declared, with melodramatic vehemence. + “Somebody has found us out, sir. Somebody has told Mrs. Farnaby of your + private meeting with Miss Regina in the shrubbery, and the money you + kindly gave me. I believe Mrs. Ormond is at the bottom of it; you remember + nobody knew where she was, when I thought she was in the house speaking to + the cook. That’s guess-work, I allow, so far. What is certain is, that I + have been spoken to as if I was the lowest creature that walks the + streets. Mrs. Farnaby refuses to give me a character, sir. She actually + said she would call in the police, if I didn’t leave the house in half an + hour. How am I to get another place, without a character? I’m a ruined + girl, that’s what I am—and all through You!” + </p> + <p> + Threatened at this point with an illustrative outburst of sobbing Amelius + was simple enough to try the consoling influence of a sovereign. “Why + don’t you speak to Miss Regina?” he asked. “You know she will help you.” + </p> + <p> + “She has done all she can, sir. I have nothing to say against Miss Regina—she’s + a good creature. She came into the room, and begged, and prayed, and took + all the blame on herself. Mrs. Farnaby wouldn’t hear a word. ‘I’m mistress + here,’ she says; ‘you had better go back to your room.’ Ah, Mr. Amelius, I + can tell you Mrs. Farnaby is your enemy as well as mine! you’ll never + marry her niece if <i>she</i> can stop it. Mark my words, sir, that’s the + secret of the vile manner in which she has used me. My conscience is + clear, thank God. I’ve tried to serve the cause of true love—and I’m + not ashamed of it. Never mind! my turn is to come. I’m only a poor + servant, sent adrift in the world without a character. Wait a little! you + see if I am not even (and better than even) with Mrs. Farnaby, before + long! <i>I know what I know.</i> I am not going to say any more than that. + She shall rue the day,” cried Phoebe, relapsing into melodrama again, + “when she turned me out of the house like a thief!” + </p> + <p> + “Come! come!” said Amelius, sharply, “you mustn’t speak in that way.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe had got her money: she could afford to be independent. She rose + from her chair. The insolence which is the almost invariable accompaniment + of a sense of injury among Englishwomen of her class expressed itself in + her answer to Amelius. “I speak as I think, sir. I have some spirit in me; + I am not a woman to be trodden underfoot—and so Mrs. Farnaby shall + find, before she is many days older.” + </p> + <p> + “Phoebe! Phoebe! you are talking like a heathen. If Mrs. Farnaby has + behaved to you with unjust severity, set her an example of moderation on + your side. It’s your duty as a Christian to forgive injuries.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe burst out laughing. “Hee-hee-hee! Thank you, sir, for a sermon as + well as a sovereign. You have been most kind, indeed!” She changed + suddenly from irony to anger. “I never was called a heathen before! + Considering what I have done for you, I think you might at least have been + civil. Good afternoon, sir.” She lifted her saucy little snub-nose, and + walked with dignity out of the room. + </p> + <p> + For the moment, Amelius was amused. As he heard the house-door closed, he + turned laughing to the window, for a last look at Phoebe in the character + of an injured Christian. In an instant the smile left his lips—he + drew back from the window with a start. + </p> + <p> + A man had been waiting for Phoebe, in the street. At the moment when + Amelius looked out, she had just taken his arm. He glanced back at the + house, as they walked away together. Amelius immediately recognised, in + Phoebe’s companion (and sweetheart), a vagabond Irishman, nicknamed Jervy, + whose face he had last seen at Tadmor. Employed as one of the agents of + the Community in transacting their business with the neighbouring town, he + had been dismissed for misconduct, and had been unwisely taken back again, + at the intercession of a respectable person who believed in his promises + of amendment. Amelius had suspected this man of being the spy who + officiously informed against Mellicent and himself, but having discovered + no evidence to justify his suspicions, he had remained silent on the + subject. It was now quite plain to him that Jervy’s appearance in London + could only be attributed to a second dismissal from the service of the + Community, for some offence sufficiently serious to oblige him to take + refuge in England. A more disreputable person it was hardly possible for + Phoebe to have become acquainted with. In her present vindictive mood, he + would be emphatically a dangerous companion and counsellor. Amelius felt + this so strongly, that he determined to follow them, on the chance of + finding out where Jervy lived. Unhappily, he had only arrived at this + resolution after a lapse of a minute or two. He ran into the street but it + was too late; not a trace of them was to be discovered. Pursuing his way + to Mr. Farnaby’s house, he decided on mentioning what had happened to + Regina. Her aunt had not acted wisely in refusing to let the maid refer to + her for a character. She would do well to set herself right with Phoebe, + in this particular, before it was too late. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2 + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby stood at the door of her own room, and looked at her niece + with an air of contemptuous curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Well? You and your lover have had a fine time of it together, I suppose? + What do you want here?” + </p> + <p> + “Amelius wishes particularly to speak to you, aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him to save himself the trouble. He may reconcile your uncle to his + marriage—he won’t reconcile Me.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not about that, aunt; it’s about Phoebe.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he want me to take Phoebe back again?” + </p> + <p> + At that moment Amelius appeared in the hall, and answered the question + himself. “I want to give you a word of warning,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby smiled grimly. “That excites my curiosity,” she replied. + “Come in. I don’t want <i>you,”</i> she added, dismissing her niece at the + door. “So you’re willing to wait ten years for Regina?” she continued, + when Amelius was alone with her. “I’m disappointed in you; you’re a poor + weak creature, after all. What about that young hussy, Phoebe?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius told her unreservedly all that had passed between the discarded + maid and himself, not forgetting, before he concluded, to caution her on + the subject of the maid’s companion. “I don’t know what that man may not + do to mislead Phoebe,” he said. “If I were you, I wouldn’t drive her into + a corner.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby eyed him scornfully from head to foot. “You used to have the + spirit of a man in you,” she answered. “Keeping company with Regina has + made you a milksop already. If you want to know what I think of Phoebe and + her sweetheart—” she stopped, and snapped her fingers. “There!” she + said, “that’s what I think! Now go back to Regina. I can tell you one + thing—she will never be your wife.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked at her in quiet surprise. “It seems odd,” he remarked, + “that you should treat me as you do, after what you said to me, the last + time I was in this room. You expect me to help you in the dearest wish of + your life—and you do everything you can to thwart the dearest wish + of <i>my</i> life. A man can’t keep his temper under continual + provocation. Suppose I refuse to help you?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby looked at him with the most exasperating composure. “I defy + you to do it,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “You defy me to do it!” Amelius exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Do you take me for a fool?” Mrs. Farnaby went on. “Do you think I don’t + know you better than you know yourself?” She stepped up close to him; her + voice sank suddenly to low and tender tones. “If that last unlikely chance + should turn out in my favour,” she went on; “if you really did meet with + my poor girl, one of these days, and knew that you had met with her—do + you mean to say you could be cruel enough, no matter how badly I behaved + to you, to tell me nothing about it? Is <i>that</i> the heart I can feel + beating under my hand? Is <i>that</i> the Christianity you learnt at + Tadmor? Pooh, pooh, you foolish boy! Go back to Regina; and tell her you + have tried to frighten me, and you find it won’t do.” + </p> + <p> + The next day was Saturday. The advertisement of the lecture appeared in + the newspapers. Rufus confessed that he had been extravagant enough, in + the case of the two weekly journals, to occupy half a page. “The public,” + he explained, “have got a nasty way of overlooking advertisements of a + modest and retiring character. Hit ‘em in the eyes when they open the + paper, or you don’t hit ‘em at all.” + </p> + <p> + Among the members of the public attracted by the new announcement, Mrs. + Farnaby was one. She honoured Amelius with a visit at his lodgings. “I + called you a poor weak creature yesterday” (these were her first words on + entering the room); “I talked like a fool. You’re a splendid fellow; I + respect your courage, and I shall attend your lecture. Never mind what Mr. + Farnaby and Regina say. Regina’s poor little conventional soul is shaken, + I dare say; you needn’t expect to have my niece among your audience. But + Farnaby is a humbug, as usual. He affects to be horrified; he talks big + about breaking off the match. In his own self, he’s bursting with + curiosity to know how you will get through with it. I tell you this—he + will sneak into the hall and stand at the back where nobody can see him. I + shall go with him; and, when you’re on the platform, I’ll hold up my + handkerchief like this. Then you’ll know he’s there. Hit him hard, Amelius—hit + him hard! Where is your friend Rufus? just gone away? I like that + American. Give him my love, and tell him to come and see me.” She left the + room as abruptly as she had entered it. Amelius looked after her in + amazement. Mrs. Farnaby was not like herself; Mrs. Farnaby was in good + spirits! + </p> + <p> + Regina’s opinion of the lecture arrived by post. + </p> + <p> + Every other word in her letter was underlined; half the sentences began + with “Oh!”; Regina was shocked, astonished, ashamed, alarmed. What would + Amelius do next? Why had he deceived her, and left her to find it out in + the papers? He had undone all the good effect of those charming letters to + her father and herself. He had no idea of the disgust and abhorrence which + respectable people would feel at his odious Socialism. Was she never to + know another happy moment? and was Amelius to be the cause of it? and so + on, and so on. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Farnaby’s protest followed, delivered by Mr. Farnaby himself. He kept + his gloves on when he called; he was solemn and pathetic; he remonstrated, + in the character of one of the ancestors of Amelius; he pitied the ancient + family “mouldering in the silent grave,” he would abstain from deciding in + a hurry, but his daughter’s feelings were outraged, and he feared it might + be his duty to break off the match. Amelius, with perfect good temper, + offered him a free admission, and asked him to hear the lecture and decide + for himself whether there was any harm in it. Mr. Farnaby turned his head + away from the ticket as if it was something indecent. “Sad! sad!” That was + his only farewell to the gentleman-Socialist. + </p> + <p> + On the Sunday (being the only day in London on which a man can use his + brains without being interrupted by street music), Amelius rehearsed his + lecture. On the Monday, he paid his weekly visit to Regina. + </p> + <p> + She was reported—whether truly or not it was impossible for him to + discover—to have gone out in the carriage with Mrs. Ormond. Amelius + wrote to her in soothing and affectionate terms, suggesting, as he had + suggested to her father, that she should wait to hear the lecture before + she condemned it. In the mean time, he entreated her to remember that they + had promised to be true to one another, in time and eternity—Socialism + notwithstanding. + </p> + <p> + The answer came back by private messenger. The tone was serious. Regina’s + principles forbade her to attend a Socialist lecture. She hoped Amelius + was in earnest in writing as he did about time and eternity. The subject + was very awful to a rightly-constituted mind. On the next page, some + mitigation of this severity followed in a postscript. Regina would wait at + home to see Amelius, the day after his “regrettable appearance in public.” + </p> + <p> + The evening of Tuesday was the evening of the lecture. + </p> + <p> + Rufus posted himself at the ticket-taker’s office, in the interests of + Amelius. “Even sixpences do sometimes stick to a man’s fingers, on their + way from the public to the money-box,” he remarked. The sixpences did + indeed flow in rapidly; the advertisements had, so far, produced their + effect. But the reserved seats sold very slowly. The members of the + Institution, who were admitted for nothing, arrived in large numbers, and + secured the best places. Towards eight o’clock (the hour at which the + lecture was to begin), the sixpenny audience was still pouring in. Rufus + recognised Phoebe among the late arrivals, escorted by a person in the + dress of a gentleman, who was palpably a blackguard nevertheless. A short + stout lady followed, who warily shook hands with Rufus, and said, “Let me + introduce you to Mr. Farnaby.” Mr. Farnaby’s mouth and chin were shrouded + in a wrapper; his hat was over his eyebrows. Rufus observed that he looked + as if he was ashamed of himself. A gaunt, dirty, savage old woman, + miserably dressed, offered her sixpence to the moneytaker, while the two + gentlemen were shaking hands; the example, it is needless to say, being + set by Rufus. The old woman looked attentively at all that was visible of + Mr. Farnaby—that is to say, at his eyes and his whiskers—by + the gas-lamp hanging in the corridor. She instantly drew back, though she + had got her ticket; waited until Mr. Farnaby had paid for his wife and + himself, and then followed close behind them, into the hall. + </p> + <p> + And why not? The advertisements addressed this wretched old creature as + one of the poor and discontented public. Sixteen years ago, John Farnaby + had put his own child into that woman’s hands at Ramsgate, and had never + seen either of them since. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3 + </h2> + <p> + Entering the hall, Mr. Farnaby discovered without difficulty the position + of modest retirement of which he was in search. + </p> + <p> + The cheap seats were situated, as usual, on that part of the floor of the + building which was farthest from the platform. A gallery at this end of + the hall threw its shadow over the hindermost benches and the gangway by + which they were approached. In the sheltering obscurity thus produced, Mr. + Farnaby took his place; standing in the corner formed by the angle it + which the two walls of the building met, with his dutiful wife at his + side. + </p> + <p> + Still following them, unnoticed in the crowd, the old woman stopped at the + extremity of the hindermost bench, looked close at a smartly-dressed young + man who occupied the last seat at the end, and who paid marked attention + to a pretty girl sitting by him, and whispered in his ear, “Now then, + Jervy! can’t you make room for Mother Sowler?” + </p> + <p> + The man started and looked round. “You here?” he exclaimed, with an oath. + </p> + <p> + Before he could say more, Phoebe whispered to him on the other side, “What + a horrid old creature! How did you ever come to know her?” + </p> + <p> + At the same moment, Mrs. Sowler reiterated her request in more peremptory + language. “Do you hear, Jervy—do you hear? Sit a little closer.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy apparently had his reasons for treating the expression of Mrs. + Sowler’s wishes with deference, shabby as she was. Making abundant + apologies, he asked his neighbours to favour him by sitting a little + nearer to each other, and so contrive to leave a morsel of vacant space at + the edge of the bench. + </p> + <p> + Phoebe, making room under protest, began to whisper again. “What does she + mean by calling you Jervy? She looks like a beggar. Tell her your name is + Jervis.” + </p> + <p> + The reply she received did not encourage her to say more. “Hold your + tongue; I have reasons for being civil to her—you be civil too.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Mrs. Sowler, with the readiest submission to circumstances. + Under the surface of his showy looks and his vulgar facility of manner, + there lay hidden a substance of callous villainy and impenetrable cunning. + He had in him the materials out of which the clever murderers are made, + who baffle the police. If he could have done it with impunity, he would + have destroyed without remorse the squalid old creature who sat by him, + and who knew enough of his past career in England to send him to penal + servitude for life. As it was, he spoke to her with a spurious + condescension and good humour. “Why, it must be ten years, Mrs. Sowler, + since I last saw you! What have you been doing?” + </p> + <p> + The woman frowned at him as she answered. “Can’t you look at me, and see? + Starving!” She eyed his gaudy watch and chain greedily. “Money don’t seem + to be scarce with you. Have you made your fortune in America?” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand on her arm, and pressed it warningly. “Hush!” he said, + under his breath. “We’ll talk about that, after the lecture.” His bright + shifty black eyes turned furtively towards Phoebe—and Mrs. Sowler + noticed it. The girl’s savings in service had paid for his jewelry and his + fine clothes. She silently resented his rudeness in telling her to “hold + her tongue”; sitting, sullen, with her impudent little nose in the air. + Jervy tried to include her indirectly in his conversation with his shabby + old friend. “This young lady,” he said, “knows Mr. Goldenheart. She feels + sure he’ll break down; and we’ve come here to see the fun. I don’t hold + with Socialism myself—I am for, what my favourite newspaper calls, + the Altar and the Throne. In short, my politics are Conservative.” + </p> + <p> + “Your politics are in your girl’s pocket,” muttered Mrs. Sowler. “How long + will her money last?” + </p> + <p> + Jervy turned a deaf ear to the interruption. “And what has brought you + here?” he went on, in his most ingratiating way. “Did you see the + advertisement in the papers?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler answered loud enough to be heard above the hum of talking in + the sixpenny places. “I was having a drop of gin, and I saw the paper at + the public-house. I’m one of the discontented poor. I hate rich people; + and I’m ready to pay my sixpence to hear them abused.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear, hear!” said a man near, who looked like a shoemaker. + </p> + <p> + “I hope he’ll give it to the aristocracy,” added one of the shoemaker’s + neighbours, apparently a groom out of place. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sick of the aristocracy,” cried a woman with a fiery face and a + crushed bonnet. “It’s them as swallows up the money. What business have + they with their palaces and their parks, when my husband’s out of work, + and my children hungry at home?” + </p> + <p> + The acquiescent shoemaker listened with admiration. “Very well put,” he + said; “very well put.” + </p> + <p> + These expressions of popular feeling reached the respectable ears of Mr. + Farnaby. “Do you hear those wretches?” he said to his wife. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby seized the welcome opportunity of irritating him. “Poor + things!” she answered. “In their place, we should talk as they do.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better go into the reserved seats,” rejoined her husband, turning + from her with a look of disgust. “There’s plenty of room. Why do you stop + here?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t think of leaving you, my dear! How did you like my American + friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I am astonished at your taking the liberty of introducing him to me. You + knew perfectly well that I was here incognito. What do I care about a + wandering American?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby persisted as maliciously as ever. “Ah, but you see, I like + him. The wandering American is my ally.” + </p> + <p> + “Your ally! What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, how dull you are! don’t you know that I object to my + niece’s marriage engagement? I was quite delighted when I heard of this + lecture, because it’s an obstacle in the way. It disgusts Regina, and it + disgusts You—and my dear American is the man who first brought it + about. Hush! here’s Amelius. How well he looks! So graceful and so + gentlemanlike,” cried Mrs. Farnaby, signalling with her handkerchief to + show Amelius their position in the hall. “I declare I’m ready to become a + Socialist before he opens his lips!” + </p> + <p> + The personal appearance of Amelius took the audience completely by + surprise. A man who is young and handsome is not the order of man who is + habitually associated in the popular mind with the idea of a lecture. + After a moment of silence, there was a spontaneous burst of applause. It + was renewed when Amelius, first placing on his table a little book, + announced his intention of delivering the lecture extempore. The absence + of the inevitable manuscript was in itself an act of mercy that cheered + the public at starting. + </p> + <p> + The orator of the evening began. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen, thoughtful people accustomed to watch the signs of + the times in this country, and among the other nations of Europe, are (so + far as I know) agreed in the conclusion, that serious changes are likely + to take place in present forms of government, and in existing systems of + society, before the century in which we live has reached its end. In plain + words, the next revolution is not so unlikely, and not so far off, as it + pleases the higher and wealthier classes among European populations to + suppose. I am one of those who believe that the coming convulsion will + take the form, this time, of a social revolution, and that the man at the + head of it will not be a military or a political man—but a Great + Citizen, sprung from the people, and devoted heart and soul to the + people’s cause. Within the limits assigned to me to-night, it is + impossible that I should speak to you of government and society among + other nations, even if I possessed the necessary knowledge and experience + to venture on so vast a subject. All that I can now attempt to do is + (first) to point out some of the causes which are paving the way for a + coming change in the social and political condition of this country; and + (secondly) to satisfy you that the only trustworthy remedy for existing + abuses is to be found in the system which Christian Socialism extracts + from this little book on my table—the book which you all know under + the name of The New Testament. Before, however, I enter on my task, I feel + it a duty to say one preliminary word on the subject of my claim to + address you, such as it is. I am most unwilling to speak of myself—but + my position here forces me to do so. I am a stranger to all of you; and I + am a very young man. Let me tell you, then, briefly, what my life has + been, and where I have been brought up—and then decide for + yourselves whether it is worth your while to favour me with your + attention, or not.” + </p> + <p> + “A very good opening,” remarked the shoemaker. + </p> + <p> + “A nice-looking fellow,” said the fiery-faced woman, “I should like to + kiss him.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s too civil by half,” grumbled Mrs. Sowler; “I wish I had my sixpence + back in my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Give him time.” whispered Jervy, “and he’ll warm up. I say, Phoebe, he + doesn’t begin like a man who is going to break down. I don’t expect there + will be much to laugh at to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “What an admirable speaker!” said Mrs. Farnaby to her husband. “Fancy such + a man as that, being married to such an idiot as Regina!” + </p> + <p> + “There’s always a chance for him,” returned Mr. Farnaby, savagely, “as + long as he’s not married to such a woman as You!” + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, Amelius had claimed national kindred with his audience + as an Englishman, and had rapidly sketched his life at Tadmor, in its most + noteworthy points. This done, he put the question whether they would hear + him. His frankness and freshness had already won the public: they answered + by a general shout of applause. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” Amelius proceeded, “now let us get on. Suppose we take a + glance (we have no time to do more) at the present state of our religious + system, first. What is the public aspect of the thing called Christianity, + in the England of our day? A hundred different sects all at variance with + each other. An established church, rent in every direction by incessant + wrangling—disputes about black gowns or white; about having + candlesticks on tables, or off tables; about bowing to the east or bowing + to the west; about which doctrine collects the most respectable support + and possesses the largest sum of money, the doctrine in my church, or the + doctrine in your church, or the doctrine in the church over the way. Look + up, if you like, from this multitudinous and incessant squabbling among + the rank and file, to the high regions in which the right reverend + representatives of state religion sit apart. Are they Christians? If they + are, show me the Bishop who dare assert his Christianity in the House of + Lords, when the ministry of the day happens to see its advantage in + engaging in a war! Where is that Bishop, and how many supporters does he + count among his own order? Do you blame me for using intemperate language—language + which I cannot justify? Take a fair test, and try me by that. The result + of the Christianity of the New Testament is to make men true, humane, + gentle, modest, strictly scrupulous and strictly considerate in their + dealings with their neighbours. Does the Christianity of the churches and + the sects produce these results among us? Look at the staple of the + country, at the occupation which employs the largest number of Englishmen + of all degrees—Look at our Commerce. What is its social aspect, + judged by the morality which is in this book in my hand? Let those + organised systems of imposture, masquerading under the disguise of banks + and companies, answer the question—there is no need for me to answer + it. You know what respectable names are associated, year after year, with + the shameless falsification of accounts, and the merciless ruin of + thousands on thousands of victims. You know how our poor Indian customer + finds his cotton-print dress a sham that falls to pieces; how the savage + who deals honestly with us for his weapon finds his gun a delusion that + bursts; how the half-starved needlewoman who buys her reel of thread finds + printed on the label a false statement of the number of yards that she + buys; you know that, in the markets of Europe, foreign goods are fast + taking the place of English goods, because the foreigner is the most + honest manufacturer of the two—and, lastly, you know, what is worse + than all, that these cruel and wicked deceptions, and many more like them, + are regarded, on the highest commercial authority, as ‘forms of + competition’ and justifiable proceedings in trade. Do you believe in the + honourable accumulation of wealth by men who hold such opinions and + perpetrate such impostures as these? I don’t! Do you find any brighter and + purer prospect when you look down from the man who deceives you and me on + the great scale, to the man who deceives us on the small? I don’t! + Everything we eat, drink, and wear is a more or less adulterated + commodity; and that very adulteration is sold to us by the tradesmen at + such outrageous prices, that we are obliged to protect ourselves on the + Socialist principle, by setting up cooperative shops of our own. Wait! and + hear me out, before you applaud. Don’t mistake the plain purpose of what I + am saying to you; and don’t suppose that I am blind to the brighter side + of the dark picture that I have drawn. Look within the limits of private + life, and you will find true Christians, thank God, among clergymen and + laymen alike; you will find men and women who deserve to be called, in the + highest sense of the word, disciples of Christ. But my business is not + with private life—my business is with the present public aspect of + the religion, morals, and politics of this country; and again I say it, + that aspect presents one wide field of corruption and abuse, and reveals a + callous and shocking insensibility on the part of the nation at large to + the spectacle of its own demoralisation and disgrace.” + </p> + <p> + There Amelius paused, and took his first drink of water. + </p> + <p> + Reserved seats at public performances seem, by some curious affinity, to + be occupied by reserved persons. The select public, seated nearest to the + orator, preserved discreet silence. But the hearty applause from the + sixpenny places made ample amends. There was enough of the lecturer’s own + vehemence and impetuosity in this opening attack—sustained as it + undeniably was by a sound foundation of truth—to appeal strongly to + the majority of his audience. Mrs. Sowler began to think that her sixpence + had been well laid out, after all; and Mrs. Farnaby pointed the direct + application to her husband of all the hardest hits at commerce, by nodding + her head at him as they were delivered. + </p> + <p> + Amelius went on. + </p> + <p> + “The next thing we have to discover is this: Will our present system of + government supply us with peaceable means for the reform of the abuses + which I have already noticed? not forgetting that other enormous abuse, + represented by our intolerable national expenditure, increasing with every + year. Unless you insist on it, I do not propose to waste our precious time + by saying anything about the House of Lords, for three good reasons. In + the first place, that assembly is not elected by the people, and it has + therefore no right of existence in a really free country. In the second + place, out of its four hundred and eighty-five members, no less than one + hundred and eighty-four directly profit by the expenditure of the public + money; being in the annual receipt, under one pretence or another, of more + than half a million sterling. In the third place, if the assembly of the + Commons has in it the will, as well as the capacity, to lead the way in + the needful reforms, the assembly of the Lords has no alternative but to + follow, or to raise the revolution which it only escaped, by a + hair’s-breadth, some forty years since. What do you say? Shall we waste + our time in speaking of the House of Lords?” + </p> + <p> + Loud cries from the sixpenny benches answered No; the ostler and the + fiery-faced woman being the most vociferous of all. Here and there, + certain dissentient individuals raised a little hiss—led by Jervy, + in the interests of “the Altar and the Throne.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius resumed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, will the House of Commons help us to get purer Christianity, and + cheaper government, by lawful and sufficient process of reform? Let me + again remind you that this assembly has the power—if it has the + will. Is it so constituted at present as to have the will? There is the + question! The number of members is a little over six hundred and fifty. + Out of this muster, one fifth only represent (or pretend to represent) the + trading interests of the country. As for the members charged with the + interests of the working class, they are more easily counted still—they + are two in number! Then, in heaven’s name (you will ask), what interest + does the majority of members in this assembly represent? There is but one + answer—the military and aristocratic interest. In these days of the + decay of representative institutions, the House of Commons has become a + complete misnomer. The Commons are not represented; modern members belong + to classes of the community which have really no interest in providing for + popular needs and lightening popular burdens. In one word, there is no + sort of hope for us in the House of Commons. And whose fault is this? I + own it with shame and sorrow—it is emphatically the fault of the + people. Yes, I say to you plainly, it is the disgrace and the peril of + England that the people themselves have elected the representative + assembly which ignores the people’s wants! You voters, in town and county + alike, have had every conceivable freedom and encouragement secured to you + in the exercise of your sacred trust—and there is the modern House + of Commons to prove that you are thoroughly unworthy of it!” + </p> + <p> + These bold words produced an outbreak of disapprobation from the audience, + which, for the moment, completely overpowered the speaker’s voice. They + were prepared to listen with inexhaustible patience to the enumeration of + their virtues and their wrongs—but they had not paid sixpence each + to be informed of the vicious and contemptible part which they play in + modern politics. They yelled and groaned and hissed—and felt that + their handsome young lecturer had insulted them! + </p> + <p> + Amelius waited quietly until the disturbance had worn itself out. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I have made you angry with me,” he said, smiling. “The blame + for this little disturbance really rests with the public speakers who are + afraid of you and who flatter you—especially if you belong to the + working classes. You are not accustomed to have the truth told you to your + faces. Why, my good friends, the people in this country, who are unworthy + of the great trust which the wise and generous English constitution places + in their hands, are so numerous that they can be divided into distinct + classes! There is the highly-educated class which despairs, and holds + aloof. There is the class beneath—without self-respect, and + therefore without public spirit—which can be bribed indirectly, by + the gift of a place, by the concession of a lease, even by an invitation + to a party at a great house which includes the wives and the daughters. + And there is the lower class still—mercenary, corrupt, shameless to + the marrow of its bones—which sells itself and its liberties for + money and drink. When I began this discourse, and adverted to great + changes that are to come, I spoke of them as revolutionary changes. Am I + an alarmist? Do I unjustly ignore the capacity for peaceable reformation + which has preserved modern England from revolutions, thus far? God forbid + that I should deny the truth, or that I should alarm you without need! But + history tells me, if I look no farther back than to the first French + Revolution, that there are social and political corruptions, which strike + their roots in a nation so widely and so deeply, that no force short of + the force of a revolutionary convulsion can tear them up and cast them + away. And I do personally fear (and older and wiser men than I agree with + me), that the corruptions at which I have only been able to hint, in this + brief address, are fast extending themselves—in England, as well as + in Europe generally—beyond the reach of that lawful and bloodless + reform which has served us so well in past years. Whether I am mistaken in + this view (and I hope with all my heart it may be so), or whether events + yet in the future will prove that I am right, the remedy in either case, + the one sure foundation on which a permanent, complete, and worthy + reformation can be built—whether it prevents a convulsion or whether + it follows a convulsion—is only to be found within the covers of + this book. Do not, I entreat you, suffer yourselves to be persuaded by + those purblind philosophers who assert that the divine virtue of + Christianity is a virtue which is wearing out with the lapse of time. It + is the abuse and corruption of Christianity that is wearing out—as + all falsities and all impostures must and do wear out. Never, since Christ + and his apostles first showed men the way to be better and happier, have + the nations stood in sorer need of a return to that teaching, in its + pristine purity and simplicity, than now! Never, more certainly than at + this critical time, was it the interest as well as the duty of mankind to + turn a deaf ear to the turmoil of false teachers, and to trust in that + all-wise and all-merciful Voice which only ceased to exalt, console, and + purify humanity, when it expired in darkness under the torture of the + cross! Are these the wild words of an enthusiast? Is this the dream of an + earthly Paradise in which it is sheer folly to believe? I can tell you of + one existing community (one among others) which numbers some hundreds of + persons; and which has found prosperity and happiness, by reducing the + whole art and mystery of government to the simple solution set forth in + the New Testament—fear God, and love thy neighbour as thyself.” + </p> + <p> + By these gradations Amelius arrived at the second of the two parts into + which he had divided his address. + </p> + <p> + He now repeated, at greater length and with a more careful choice of + language, the statement of the religious and social principles of the + Community at Tadmor, which he had already addressed to his two + fellow-travellers on the voyage to England. While he confined himself to + plain narrative, describing a mode of life which was entirely new to his + hearers, he held the attention of the audience. But when he began to argue + the question of applying Christian Socialism to the government of large + populations as well as small—when he inquired logically whether what + he had proved to be good for some hundreds of persons was not also good + for some thousands, and, conceding that, for some hundreds of thousands, + and so on until he had arrived, by dint of sheer argument, at the + conclusion that what had succeeded at Tadmor must necessarily succeed on a + fair trial in London—then the public interest began to flag. People + remembered their coughs and colds, and talked in whispers, and looked + about them with a vague feeling of relief in staring at each other. Mrs. + Sowler, hitherto content with furtively glancing at Mr. Farnaby from time + to time, now began to look at him more boldly, as he stood in his corner + with his eyes fixed sternly on the platform at the other end of the hall. + He too began to feel that the lecture was changing its tone. It was no + longer the daring outbreak which he had come to hear, as his sufficient + justification (if necessary) for forbidding Amelius to enter his house. “I + have had enough of it,” he said, suddenly turning to his wife, “let us + go.” + </p> + <p> + If Mrs. Farnaby could have been forewarned that she was standing in that + assembly of strangers, not as one of themselves, but as a woman with a + formidable danger hanging over her head—or if she had only happened + to look towards Phoebe, and had felt a passing reluctance to submit + herself to the possibly insolent notice of a discharged servant—she + might have gone out with her husband, and might have so escaped the peril + that had been lying in wait for her, from the fatal moment when she first + entered the hall. As it was she refused to move. “You forget the public + discussion,” she said. “Wait and see what sort of fight Amelius makes of + it when the lecture is over.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke loud enough to be heard by some of the people seated nearest to + her. Phoebe, critically examining the dresses of the few ladies in the + reserved seats, twisted round on the bench, and noticed for the first time + the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Farnaby in their dim corner. “Look!” she + whispered to Jervy, “there’s the wretch who turned me out of her house + without a character, and her husband with her.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy looked round, in his turn, a little doubtful of the accuracy of his + sweetheart’s information. “Surely they wouldn’t come to the sixpenny + places,” he said. “Are you certain it’s Mr. and Mrs. Farnaby?” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in cautiously-lowered tones; but Mrs. Sowler had seen him look + back at the lady and gentleman in the corner, and was listening + attentively to catch the first words that fell from his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Which is Mr. Farnaby?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The man in the corner there, with the white silk wrapper over his mouth, + and his hat down to his eyebrows.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler looked round for a moment—to make sure that Jervy’s man + and her man were one and the same. + </p> + <p> + “Farnaby?” she muttered to herself, in the tone of a person who heard the + name for the first time. She considered a little, and leaning across + Jervy, addressed herself to his companion. “My dear,” she whispered, “did + that gentleman ever go by the name of Morgan, and have his letters + addressed to the George and Dragon, in Tooley-street?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe lifted her eyebrows with a look of contemptuous surprise, which was + an answer in itself. “Fancy the great Mr. Farnaby going by an assumed + name, and having his letters addressed to a public-house!” she said to + Jervy. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler asked no more questions. She relapsed into muttering to + herself, under her breath. “His whiskers have turned gray, to be sure—but + I know his eyes again; I’ll take my oath to it, there’s no mistaking <i>his</i> + eyes!” She suddenly appealed to Jervy. “Is Mr. Farnaby rich?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Rolling in riches!” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Where does he live?” + </p> + <p> + Jervy was cautious how he replied to that; he consulted Phoebe. “Shall I + tell her?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe answered petulantly, “I’m turned out of the house; I don’t care + what you tell her!” + </p> + <p> + Jervy again addressed the old woman, still keeping his information in + reserve. “Why do you want to know where he lives?” + </p> + <p> + “He owes me money,” said Mrs. Sowler. + </p> + <p> + Jervy looked hard at her, and emitted a long low whistle, expressive of + blank amazement. The persons near, annoyed by the incessant whispering, + looked round irritably, and insisted on silence. Jervy ventured + nevertheless on a last interruption. “You seem to be tired of this,” he + remarked to Phoebe; “let’s go and get some oysters.” She rose directly. + Jervy tapped Mrs. Sowler on the shoulder, as they passed her. “Come and + have some supper,” he said; “I’ll stand treat.” + </p> + <p> + The three were necessarily noticed by their neighbours as they passed out. + Mrs. Farnaby discovered Phoebe—when it was too late. Mr. Farnaby + happened to look first at the old woman. Sixteen years of squalid poverty + effectually disguised her, in that dim light. He only looked away again, + and said to his wife impatiently, “Let us go too!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby was still obstinate. “You can go if you like,” she said; “I + shall stay here.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4 + </h2> + <p> + “Three dozen oysters, bread-and-butter, and bottled stout; a private room + and a good fire.” Issuing these instructions, on his arrival at the + tavern, Jervy was surprised by a sudden act of interference on the part of + his venerable guest. Mrs. Sowler actually took it on herself to order her + own supper! + </p> + <p> + “Nothing cold to eat or drink for me,” she said. “Morning and night, + waking and sleeping, I can’t keep myself warm. See for yourself, Jervy, + how I’ve lost flesh since you first knew me! A steak, broiling hot from + the gridiron, and gin-and-water, hotter still—that’s the supper for + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Take the order, waiter,” said Jervy, resignedly; “and let us see the + private room.” + </p> + <p> + The tavern was of the old-fashioned English sort, which scorns to learn a + lesson of brightness and elegance from France. The private room can only + be described as a museum for the exhibition of dirt in all its varieties. + Behind the bars of the rusty little grate a dying fire was drawing its + last breath. Mrs. Sowler clamoured for wood and coals; revived the fire + with her own hands; and seated herself shivering as close to the fender as + the chair would go. After a while, the composing effect of the heat began + to make its influence felt: the head of the half-starved wretch sank: a + species of stupor overcame her—half faintness, and half sleep. + </p> + <p> + Phoebe and her sweetheart sat together, waiting the appearance of the + supper, on a little sofa at the other end of the room. Having certain + objects to gain, Jervy put his arm round her waist, and looked and spoke + in his most insinuating manner. + </p> + <p> + “Try and put up with Mother Sowler for an hour or two,” he said. “My sweet + girl, I know she isn’t fit company for you! But how can I turn my back on + an old friend?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just what surprises me,” Phoebe answered. “I don’t understand such + a person being a friend of yours.” + </p> + <p> + Always ready with the necessary lie, whenever the occasion called for it, + Jervy invented a pathetic little story, in two short parts. First part: + Mrs. Sowler, rich and respected; a widow inhabiting a villa-residence, and + riding in her carriage. Second part: a villainous lawyer; misplaced + confidence; reckless investments; death of the villain; ruin of Mrs. + Sowler. “Don’t talk about her misfortunes when she wakes,” Jervy + concluded, “or she’ll burst out crying, to a dead certainty. Only tell me, + dear Phoebe, would <i>you</i> turn your back on a forlorn old creature + because she has outlived all her other friends, and hasn’t a farthing left + in the world? Poor as I am, I can help her to a supper, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe expressed her admiration of these noble sentiments by an + inexpensive ebullition of tenderness, which failed to fulfill Jervy’s + private anticipations. He had aimed straight at her purse—and he had + only hit her heart! He tried a broad hint next. “I wonder whether I shall + have a shilling or two left to give Mrs. Sowler, when I have paid for the + supper?” He sighed, and pulled out some small change, and looked at it in + eloquent silence. Phoebe was hit in the right place at last. She handed + him her purse. “What is mine will be yours, when we are married,” she + said; “why not now?” Jervy expressed his sense of obligation with the + promptitude of a grateful man; he repeated those precious words, “My sweet + girl!” Phoebe laid her head on his shoulder—and let him kiss her, + and enjoyed it in silent ecstasy with half-closed eyes. The scoundrel + waited and watched her, until she was completely under his influence. + Then, and not till then, he risked the gradual revelation of the purpose + which had induced him to withdraw from the hall, before the proceedings of + the evening had reached their end. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear what Mrs. Sowler said to me, just before we left the + lecture?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember that she asked me to tell her Farnaby’s address?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! And she wanted to know if he had ever gone by the name of Morgan. + Ridiculous—wasn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so sure of that, my dear. She told me, in so many words, that + Farnaby owed her money. He didn’t make his fortune all at once, I suppose. + How do we know what he might have done in his young days, or how he might + have humbugged a feeble woman. Wait till our friend there at the fire has + warmed her old bones with some hot grog—and I’ll find out something + more about Farnaby’s debt.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, dear? What is it to you?” + </p> + <p> + Jervy reflected for a moment, and decided that the time had come to speak + more plainly. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place,” he said, “it would only be an act of common + humanity, on my part, to help Mrs. Sowler to get her money. You see that, + don’t you? Very well. Now, I am no Socialist, as you are aware; quite the + contrary. At the same time, I am a remarkably just man; and I own I was + struck by what Mr. Goldenheart said about the uses to which wealthy people + are put, by the Rules at Tadmor. ‘The man who has got the money is bound, + by the express law of Christian morality, to use it in assisting the man + who has got none.’ Those were his words, as nearly as I can remember them. + He put it still more strongly afterwards; he said, ‘A man who hoards up a + large fortune, from a purely selfish motive—either because he is a + miser, or because he looks only to the aggrandisement of his own family + after his death—is, in either case, an essentially unchristian + person, who stands in manifest need of enlightenment and control by + Christian law.’ And then, if you remember, some of the people murmured; + and Mr. Goldenheart stopped them by reading a line from the New Testament, + which said exactly what he had been saying—only in fewer words. Now, + my dear girl, Farnaby seems to me to be one of the many people pointed at + in this young gentleman’s lecture. Judging by looks, I should say he was a + hard man.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just what he is—hard as iron! Looks at his servants as if + they were dirt under his feet; and never speaks a kind word to them from + one year’s end to another.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I guess again? He’s not particularly free-handed with his money—is + he?” + </p> + <p> + “He! He will spend anything on himself and his grandeur; but he never gave + away a halfpenny in his life.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy pointed to the fireplace, with a burst of virtuous indignation. “And + there’s that poor old soul starving for want of the money he owes her! + Damn it, I agree with the Socialists; it’s a virtue to make that sort of + man bleed. Look at you and me! We are the very people he ought to help—we + might be married at once, if we only knew where to find a little money. + I’ve seen a deal of the world, Phoebe; and my experience tells me there’s + something about that debt of Farnaby’s which he doesn’t want to have + known. Why shouldn’t we screw a few five-pound notes for ourselves out of + the rich miser’s fears?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe was cautious. “It’s against the law—ain’t it?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Trust me to keep clear of the law,” Jervy answered. “I won’t stir in the + matter till I know for certain that he daren’t take the police into his + confidence. It will be all easy enough when we are once sure of that. You + have been long enough in the family to find out Farnaby’s weak side. Would + it do, if we got at him, to begin with, through his wife?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe suddenly reddened to the roots of her hair. “Don’t talk to me about + his wife!” she broke out fiercely; “I’ve got a day of reckoning to come + with that lady—” She looked at Jervy and checked herself. He was + watching her with an eager curiosity, which not even his ready cunning was + quick enough to conceal. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t intrude on your little secrets, darling, for the world!” he + said, in his most persuasive tones. “But, if you want advice, you know + that I am heart and soul at your service.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe looked across the room at Mrs. Sowler, still nodding over the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind now,” she said; “I don’t think it’s a matter for a man to + advise about—it’s between Mrs. Farnaby and me. Do what you like with + her husband; I don’t care; he’s a brute, and I hate him. But there’s one + thing I insist on—I won’t have Miss Regina frightened or annoyed; + mind that! She’s a good creature. There, read the letter she wrote to me + yesterday, and judge for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy looked at the letter. It was not very long. He resignedly took upon + himself the burden of reading it. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR PHOEBE, + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be downhearted. I am your friend always, and I will help you to get + another place. I am sorry to say that it was indeed Mrs. Ormond who found + us out that day. She had her suspicions, and she watched us, and told my + aunt. This she owned to me with her own lips. She said, ‘I would do + anything, my dear, to save you from an ill-assorted marriage.’ I am very + wretched about it, because I can never look on her as my friend again. My + aunt, as you know, is of Mrs. Ormond’s way of thinking. You must make + allowances for her hot temper. Remember, out of your kindness towards me, + you had been secretly helping forward the very thing which she was most + anxious to prevent. That made her very angry; but, never fear, she will + come round in time. If you don’t want to spend your little savings, while + you are waiting for another situation, let me know. A share of my + pocket-money is always at your service. + </p> + <p> + “Your friend, + </p> + <p> + “REGINA.” + </p> + <p> + “Very nice indeed,” said Jervy, handing the letter back, and yawning as he + did it. “And convenient, too, if we run short of money. Ah, here’s the + waiter with the supper, at last! Now, Mrs. Sowler, there’s a time for + everything—it’s time to wake up.” + </p> + <p> + He lifted the old woman off her chair, and settled her before the table, + like a child. The sight of the hot food and drink roused her to a tigerish + activity. She devoured the meat with her eyes as well as her teeth; she + drank the hot gin-and-water in fierce gulps, and set down the glass with + audible gasps of relief. “Another one,” she cried, “and I shall begin to + feel warm again!” + </p> + <p> + Jervy, watching her from the opposite side of the table, with Phoebe close + by him as usual, had his own motives for encouraging her to talk, by the + easy means of encouraging her to drink. He sent for another glass of the + hot grog. Phoebe, daintily picking up her oysters with her fork, affected + to be shocked at Mrs. Sowler’s coarse method of eating and drinking. She + kept her eyes on her plate, and only consented to taste malt liquor under + modest protest. When Jervy lit a cigar, after finishing his supper, she + reminded him, in an impressively genteel manner, of the consideration + which he owed to the presence of an elderly lady. “I like it myself, + dear,” she said mincingly; “but perhaps Mrs. Sowler objects to the smell?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler burst into a hoarse laugh. “Do I look as if I was likely to be + squeamish about smells?” she asked, with the savage contempt for her own + poverty, which was one of the dangerous elements in her character. “See + the place I live in, young woman, and then talk about smells if you like!” + </p> + <p> + This was indelicate. Phoebe picked a last oyster out of its shell, and + kept her eyes modestly fixed on her plate. Observing that the second glass + of gin-and-water was fast becoming empty, Jervy risked the first advances, + on his way to Mrs. Sowler’s confidence. + </p> + <p> + “About that debt of Farnaby’s?” he began. “Is it a debt of long standing?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler was on her guard. In other words, Mrs. Sowler’s head was only + assailable by hot grog, when hot grog was administered in large + quantities. She said it was a debt of long standing, and she said no more. + </p> + <p> + “Has it been standing seven years?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler emptied her glass, and looked hard at Jervy across the table. + “My memory isn’t good for much, at my time of life.” She gave him that + answer, and she gave him no more. + </p> + <p> + Jervy yielded with his best grace. “Try a third glass,” he said; “there’s + luck, you know, in odd numbers.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler met this advance in the spirit in which it was made. She was + obliging enough to consult her memory, even before the third glass made + its appearance. “Seven years, did you say?” she repeated. “More than twice + seven years, Jervy! What do you think of that?” + </p> + <p> + Jervy wasted no time in thinking. He went on with his questions. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure that the man I pointed out to you, at the lecture, is + the same man who went by the name of Morgan, and had his letters addressed + to the public-house?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure. I’d swear to him anywhere—only by his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you never yet asked him to pay the debt?” + </p> + <p> + “How could I ask him, when I never knew what his name was till you told me + to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “What amount of money does he owe you?” + </p> + <p> + Whether Mrs. Sowler had her mind prophetically fixed on a fourth glass of + grog, or whether she thought it time to begin asking questions on her own + account, is not easy to say. Whatever her motive might be, she slyly shook + her head, and winked at Jervy. “The money’s my business,” she remarked. + “You tell me where he lives—and I’ll make him pay me.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy was equal to the occasion. “You won’t do anything of the sort,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler laughed defiantly. “So you think, my fine fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think at all, old lady—I’m certain. In the first place, + Farnaby don’t owe you the debt by law, after seven years. In the second + place, just look at yourself in the glass there. Do you think the servants + will let you in, when you knock at Farnaby’s door? You want a clever + fellow to help you—or you’ll never recover that debt.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler was accessible to reason (even half-way through her third + glass of grog), when reason was presented to her in convincing terms. She + came to the point at once. “How much do you want?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” Jervy answered; “I don’t look to <i>you</i> to pay my + commission.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler reflected a little—and understood him. “Say that again,” + she insisted, “in the presence of your young woman as witness.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy touched his young woman’s hand under the table, warning her to make + no objection, and to leave it to him. Having declared for the second time + that he would not take a farthing from Mrs. Sowler, he went on with his + inquiries. + </p> + <p> + “I’m acting in your interests, Mother Sowler,” he said; “and you’ll be the + loser, if you don’t answer my questions patiently, and tell me the truth. + I want to go back to the debt. What is it for?” + </p> + <p> + “For six weeks’ keep of a child, at ten shillings a week.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe looked up from her plate. + </p> + <p> + “Whose child?” Jervy asked, noticing the sudden movement. + </p> + <p> + “Morgan’s child—the same man you said was Farnaby.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who the mother was?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I did! I should have got the money out of her long ago.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy stole a look at Phoebe. She had turned pale; she was listening, with + her eyes riveted on Mrs. Sowler’s ugly face. + </p> + <p> + “How long ago was it?” Jervy went on. + </p> + <p> + “Better than sixteen years.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Farnaby himself give you the child?” + </p> + <p> + “With his own hands, over the garden-paling of a house at Ramsgate. He saw + me and the child into the train for London. I had ten pounds from him, and + no more. He promised to see me, and settle everything, in a month’s time. + I have never set eyes on him from that day, till I saw him paying his + money this evening at the door of the hall.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy stole another look at Phoebe. She was still perfectly unconscious + that he was observing her. Her attention was completely absorbed by Mrs. + Sowler’s replies. Speculating on the possible result, Jervy abandoned the + question of the debt, and devoted his next inquiries to the subject of the + child. + </p> + <p> + “I promise you every farthing of your money, Mother Sowler,” he said, + “with interest added to it. How old was the child when Farnaby gave it to + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Old? Not a week old, I should say!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a week old?” Jervy repeated, with his eye on Phoebe. “Dear, dear me, + a newborn baby, one may say!” + </p> + <p> + The girl’s excitement was fast getting beyond control. She leaned across + the table, in her eagerness to hear more. + </p> + <p> + “And how long was this poor child under your care?” Jervy went on. + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell you, at this distance of time? For some months, I should + say. This I’m certain of—I kept it for six good weeks after the ten + pounds he gave me were spent. And then—” she stopped, and looked at + Phoebe. + </p> + <p> + “And then you got rid of it?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler felt for Jervy’s foot under the table, and gave it a + significant kick. “I have done nothing to be ashamed of, miss,” she said, + addressing her answer defiantly to Phoebe. “Being too poor to keep the + little dear myself, I placed it under the care of a good lady, who adopted + it.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe could restrain herself no longer. She burst out with the next + question, before Jervy could open his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where the lady is now?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Sowler shortly; “I don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where to find the child?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler slowly stirred up the remains of her grog. “I know no more + than you do. Any more questions, miss?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe’s excitement completely blinded her to the evident signs of a + change in Mrs. Sowler’s temper for the worse. She went on headlong. + </p> + <p> + “Have you never seen the child since you gave her to the lady?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler set down her glass, just as she was raising it to her lips. + Jervy paused, thunderstruck, in the act of lighting a second cigar. + </p> + <p> + <i>“Her?”</i> Mrs. Sowler repeated slowly, her eyes fixed on Phoebe with a + lowering expression of suspicion and surprise. “Her?” She turned to Jervy. + “Did you ask me if the child was a girl or a boy?” + </p> + <p> + “I never even thought of it,” Jervy replied. + </p> + <p> + “Did I happen to say it myself, without being asked?” + </p> + <p> + Jervy deliberately abandoned Phoebe to the implacable old wretch, before + whom she had betrayed herself. It was the only likely way of forcing the + girl to confess everything. “No,” he answered; “you never said it without + being asked.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler turned once more to Phoebe. “How do you know the child was a + girl?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + Phoebe trembled, and said nothing. She sat with her head down, and her + hands, fast clasped together, resting on her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Might I ask, if you please,” Mrs. Sowler proceeded, with a ferocious + assumption of courtesy, “how old you are, miss? You’re young enough and + pretty enough not to mind answering to your age, I’m sure.” + </p> + <p> + Even Jervy’s villainous experience of the world failed to forewarn him of + what was coming. Phoebe, it is needless to say, instantly fell into the + trap. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-four,” she replied, “next birthday.” + </p> + <p> + “And the child was put into my hands, sixteen years ago,” said Mrs. + Sowler. “Take sixteen from twenty-four, and eight remains. I’m more + surprised than ever, miss, at your knowing it to be a girl. It couldn’t + have been your child—could it?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe started to her feet, in a state of fury. “Do you hear that?” she + cried, appealing to Jervy. “How dare you bring me here to be insulted by + that drunken wretch?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler rose, on her side. The old savage snatched up her empty glass—intending + to throw it at Phoebe. At the same moment, the ready Jervy caught her by + the arm, dragged her out of the room, and shut the door behind them. + </p> + <p> + There was a bench on the landing outside. He pushed Mrs. Sowler down on + the bench with one hand, and took Phoebe’s purse out of his pocket with + the other. “Here’s a pound,” he said, “towards the recovery of that debt + of yours. Go home quietly, and meet me at the door of this house tomorrow + evening, at six.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler, opening her lips to protest, suddenly closed them again, + fascinated by the sight of the gold. She clutched the coin, and became + friendly and familiar in a moment. “Help me downstairs, deary,” she said, + “and put me into a cab. I’m afraid of the night air.” + </p> + <p> + “One word more, before I put you into a cab,” said Jervy. “What did you + really do with the child?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler grinned hideously, and whispered her reply, in the strictest + confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Sold her to Moll Davies, for five-and-sixpence.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was Moll Davis?” + </p> + <p> + “A cadger.” + </p> + <p> + “And you really know nothing now of Moll Davis or the child?” + </p> + <p> + “Should I want you to help me if I did?” Mrs. Sowler asked contemptuously. + “They may be both dead and buried, for all I know to the contrary.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy put her into the cab, without further delay. “Now for the other + one!” he said to himself, as he hurried back to the private room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5 + </h2> + <p> + Some men would have found it no easy task to console Phoebe, under the + circumstances. Jervy had the immense advantage of not feeling the + slightest sympathy for her: he was in full command of his large resources + of fluent assurance and ready flattery. In less than five minutes, + Phoebe’s tears were dried, and her lover had his arm round her waist + again, in the character of a cherished and forgiven man. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my angel!” he said (Phoebe sighed tenderly; he had never called her + his angel before), “tell me all about it in confidence. Only let me know + the facts, and I shall see my way to protecting you against any annoyance + from Mrs. Sowler in the future. You have made a very extraordinary + discovery. Come closer to me, my dear girl. Did it happen in Farnaby’s + house?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard it in the kitchen,” said Phoebe. + </p> + <p> + Jervy started. “Did any one else hear it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No. They were all in the housekeeper’s room, looking at the Indian + curiosities which her son in Canada had sent to her. I had left my bird on + the dresser—and I ran into the kitchen to put the cage in a safe + place, being afraid of the cat. One of the swinging windows in the + skylight was open; and I heard voices in the back room above, which is + Mrs. Farnaby’s room.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose voices did you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Farnaby’s voice, and Mr. Goldenheart’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Farnaby?” Jervy repeated, in surprise. “Are you sure it was <i>Mrs.?”</i> + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am! Do you think I don’t know that horrid woman’s voice? She + was saying a most extraordinary thing when I first heard her—she was + asking if there was anything wrong in showing her naked foot. And a man + answered, and the voice was Mr. Goldenheart’s. You would have felt curious + to hear more, if you had been in my place, wouldn’t you? I opened the + second window in the kitchen, so as to make sure of not missing anything. + And what do you think I heard her say?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Mrs. Farnaby?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I heard her say, ‘Look at my right foot—you see there’s + nothing the matter with it.’ And then, after a while, she said, ‘Look at + my left foot—look between the third toe and the fourth.’ Did you + ever hear of such a audacious thing for a married woman to say to a young + man?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on! go on! What did <i>he</i> say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; I suppose he was looking at her foot.” + </p> + <p> + “Her left foot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Her left foot was nothing to be proud of, I can tell you! By her own + account, she has some horrid deformity in it, between the third toe and + the fourth. No; I didn’t hear her say what the deformity was. I only heard + her call it so—and she said her ‘poor darling’ was born with the + same fault, and that was her defence against being imposed upon by rogues—I + remember the very words—‘in the past days when I employed people to + find her.’ Yes! she said <i>‘her.‘</i> I heard it plainly. And she talked + afterwards of her ‘poor lost daughter’, who might be still living + somewhere, and wondering who her mother was. Naturally enough, when I + heard that hateful old drunkard talking about a child given to her by Mr. + Farnaby, I put two and two together. Dear me, how strangely you look! + What’s wrong with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m only very much interested—that’s all. But there’s one thing I + don’t understand. What had Mr. Goldenheart to do with all this?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I tell you now. Mrs. Farnaby is not only a heartless wretch, + who turns a poor girl out of her situation, and refuses to give her a + character—she’s a fool besides. That precious exhibition of her + nasty foot was to inform Mr. Goldenheart of something she wanted him to + know. If he happened to meet with a girl, in his walks or his travels, and + if he found that she had the same deformity in the same foot, then he + might know for certain—” + </p> + <p> + “All right! I understand. But why Mr. Goldenheart?” + </p> + <p> + “Because she had a dream that Mr. Goldenheart had found the lost girl, and + because she thought there was one chance in a hundred that her dream might + come true! Did you ever hear of such a fool before? From what I could make + out, I believe she actually cried about it. And that same woman turns me + into the street to be ruined, for all she knows or cares. Mind this! I + would have kept her secret—it was no business of mine, after all—if + she had behaved decently to me. As it is, I mean to be even with her; and + what I heard down in the kitchen is more than enough to help me to it. + I’ll expose her somehow—I don’t quite know how; but that will come + with time. You will keep the secret, dear, I’m sure. We are soon to have + all our secrets in common, when we are man and wife, ain’t we? Why, you’re + not listening to me! What <i>is</i> the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + Jervy suddenly looked up. His soft insinuating manner had vanished; he + spoke roughly and impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know something. Has Farnaby’s wife got money of her own?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe’s mind was still disturbed by the change in her lover. “You speak + as if you were angry with me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Jervy recovered his insinuating tones, with some difficulty. “My dear + girl, I love you! How can I be angry with you? You’ve set me thinking—and + it bothers me a little, that’s all. Do you happen to know if Mrs. Farnaby + has got money of her own?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe answered this time. “I’ve heard Miss Regina say that Mrs. Farnaby’s + father was a rich man,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What was his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Ronald.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know when he died?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy fell into thought again, biting his nails in great perplexity. After + a moment or two, an idea came to him. “The tombstone will tell me!” he + exclaimed, speaking to himself. He turned to Phoebe, before she could + express her surprise, and asked if she knew where Mr. Ronald was buried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Phoebe, “I’ve heard that. In Highgate cemetery. But why do you + want to know?” + </p> + <p> + Jervy looked at his watch. “It’s getting late,” he said; “I’ll see you + safe home.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to know—” + </p> + <p> + “Put on your bonnet, and wait till we are out in the street.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy paid the bill, with all needful remembrance of the waiter. He was + generous, he was polite; but he was apparently in no hurry to favour + Phoebe with the explanation that he had promised. They had left the tavern + for some minutes—and he was still rude enough to remain absorbed in + his own reflections. Phoebe’s patience gave way. + </p> + <p> + “I have told you everything,” she said reproachfully; “I don’t call it + fair dealing to keep me in the dark after that.” + </p> + <p> + He roused himself directly. “My dear girl, you entirely mistake me!” + </p> + <p> + The reply was as ready as usual; but it was spoken rather absently. Only + that moment, he had decided on informing Phoebe (to some extent, at least) + of the purpose which he was then meditating. He would infinitely have + preferred using Mrs. Sowler as his sole accomplice. But he knew the girl + too well to run that risk. If he refused to satisfy her curiosity, she + would be deterred by no scruples of delicacy from privately watching him; + and she might say something (either by word of month or by writing) to the + kind young mistress who was in correspondence with her, which might lead + to disastrous results. It was of the last importance to him, so far to + associate Phoebe with his projected enterprise, as to give her an interest + of her own in keeping his secrets. + </p> + <p> + “I have not the least wish,” he resumed, “to conceal any thing from you. + So far as I can see my way at present, you shall see it too.” Reserving in + this dexterous manner the freedom of lying, whenever he found it necessary + to depart from the truth, he smiled encouragingly, and waited to be + questioned. + </p> + <p> + Phoebe repeated the inquiry she had made at the tavern. “Why do you want + to know where Mr. Ronald is buried?” she asked bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ronald’s tombstone, my dear, will tell me the date of Mr. Ronald’s + death,” Jervy rejoined. “When I have got the date, I shall go to a place + near St. Paul’s, called Doctors’ Commons; I shall pay a shilling fee, and + I shall have the privilege of looking at Mr. Ronald’s will.” + </p> + <p> + “And what good will that do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Very properly put, Phoebe! Even shillings are not to be wasted, in our + position. But my shilling will buy two sixpennyworths of information. I + shall find out what sum of money Mr. Ronald has left to his daughter; and + I shall know for certain whether Mrs. Farnaby’s husband has any power over + it, or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Phoebe, not much interested so far—“and what then?” + </p> + <p> + Jervy looked about him. They were in a crowded thoroughfare at the time. + He preserved a discreet silence, until they had arrived at the first + turning which led down a quiet street. + </p> + <p> + “What I have to tell you,” he said, “must not be accidentally heard by + anybody. Here, my dear, we are all but out of the world—and here I + can speak to you safely. I promise you two good things. You shall bring + Mrs. Farnaby to that day of reckoning; and we will find money enough to + marry on comfortably as soon as you like.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe’s languid interest in the subject began to revive: she insisted on + having a clearer explanation than this. “Do you mean to get the money out + of Mr. Farnaby?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I will have nothing to do with Mr. Farnaby—unless I find that his + wife’s money is not at her own disposal. What you heard in the kitchen has + altered all my plans. Wait a minute—and you will see what I am + driving at. How much do you think Mrs. Farnaby would give me, if I found + that lost daughter of hers?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe suddenly stood still, and looked at the sordid scoundrel who was + tempting her in blank amazement. + </p> + <p> + “But nobody knows where the daughter is,” she objected. + </p> + <p> + “You and I know that the daughter has a deformity in her left foot,” Jervy + replied; “and you and I know exactly in what part of the foot it is. + There’s not only money to be made out of that knowledge—but money + made easily, without the slightest risk. Suppose I managed the matter by + correspondence, without appearing in it personally? Don’t you think Mrs. + Farnaby would open her purse beforehand, if I mentioned the exact position + of that little deformity, as a proof that I was to be depended on?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe was unable, or unwilling, to draw the obvious conclusion, even now. + </p> + <p> + “But, what would you do,” she said, “when Mrs. Farnaby insisted on seeing + her daughter?” + </p> + <p> + There was something in the girl’s tone—half fearful, half suspicious—which + warned Jervy that he was treading on dangerous ground. He knew perfectly + well what he proposed to do, in the case that had been so plainly put him. + It was the simplest thing in the world. He had only to make an appointment + with Mrs. Farnaby for a meeting on a future day, and to take to flight in + the interval; leaving a polite note behind him to say that it was all a + mistake, and that he regretted being too poor to return the money. Having + thus far acknowledged the design he had in view, could he still venture on + answering his companion without reserve? Phoebe was vain, Phoebe was + vindictive; and, more promising still, Phoebe was a fool. But she was not + yet capable of consenting to an act of the vilest infamy, in cold blood. + Jervy looked at her—and saw that the foreseen necessity for lying + had come at last. + </p> + <p> + “That’s just the difficulty,” he said; “that’s just where I don’t see my + way plainly yet. Can you advise me?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe started, and drew back from him. <i>“I</i> advise you!” she + exclaimed. “It frightens me to think of it. If you make her believe she is + going to see her daughter, and if she finds out that you have robbed and + deceived her, I can tell you this—with her furious temper—you + would drive her mad.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy’s reply was a model of well-acted indignation. “Don’t talk of + anything so horrible,” he exclaimed. “If you believe me capable of such + cruelty as that, go to Mrs. Farnaby, and warn her at once!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s too bad to speak to me in that way!” Phoebe rejoined, with the frank + impetuosity of an offended woman. “You know I would die, rather than get + you into trouble. Beg my pardon directly—or I won’t walk another + step with you!” + </p> + <p> + Jervy made the necessary apologies, with all possible humility. He had + gained his end—he could now postpone any further discussion of the + subject, without arousing Phoebe’s distrust. “Let us say no more about it, + for the present,” he suggested; “we will think it over, and talk of + pleasanter things in the mean time. Kiss me, my dear girl; there’s nobody + looking.” + </p> + <p> + So he made peace with his sweetheart, and secured to himself, at the same + time, the full liberty of future action of which he stood in need. If + Phoebe asked any more questions, the necessary answer was obvious to the + meanest capacity. He had merely to say, “The matter is beset with + difficulties which I didn’t see at first—I have given it up.” + </p> + <p> + Their nearest way back to Phoebe’s lodgings took them through the street + which led to the Hampden Institution. Passing along the opposite side of + the road, they saw the private door opened. Two men stepped out. A third + man, inside, called after one of them. “Mr. Goldenheart! you have left the + statement of receipts in the waiting-room.” “Never mind,” Amelius + answered; “the night’s receipts are so small that I would rather not be + reminded of them again.” “In my country,” a third voice remarked, “if he + had lectured as he has lectured to-night, I reckon I’d have given him + three hundred dollars, gold (sixty pounds, English currency), and have + made my own profit by the transaction. The British nation has lost its + taste, sir, for intellectual recreation. I wish you good evening.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy hurried Phoebe out of the way, just as the two gentlemen were + crossing the street. He had not forgotten events at Tadmor—and he + was by no means eager to renew his former acquaintance with Amelius. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6 + </h2> + <p> + Rufus and his young friend walked together silently as far as a large + square. Here they stopped, having reached the point at which it was + necessary to take different directions on their way home. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve a word of advice, my son, for your private ear,” said the New + Englander. “The barometer behind your waistcoat points to a downhearted + state of the moral atmosphere. Come along to home with me—you want a + whisky cocktail badly.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, my dear fellow,” Amelius answered a little sadly. “I own + I’m downhearted, as you say. You see, I expected this lecture to be a new + opening for me. Personally, as you know, I don’t care two straws about + money. But my marriage depends on my adding to my income; and the first + attempt I’ve made to do it has ended in a total failure. I’m all abroad + again, when I look to the future—and I’m afraid I’m fool enough to + let it weigh on my spirits. No, the cocktail isn’t the right remedy for + me. I don’t get the exercise and fresh air, here, that I used to get at + Tadmor. My head burns after all that talking to-night. A good long walk + will put me right, and nothing else will.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus at once offered to accompany him. Amelius shook his head. “Did you + ever walk a mile in your life, when you could ride?” he asked + good-humouredly. “I mean to be on my legs for four or five hours; I should + only have to send you home in a cab. Thank you, old fellow, for the + brotherly interest you take in me. I’ll breakfast with you to-morrow, at + your hotel. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + Some curious prevision of evil seemed to trouble the mind of the good New + Englander. He held Amelius fast by the hand: he said, very earnestly, “It + goes against the grit with me to see you wandering off by yourself at this + time of night—it does, I tell you! Do me a favour for once, my + bright boy—go right away to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius laughed, and released his hand. “I shouldn’t sleep, if I did go to + bed. Breakfast to-morrow, at ten o’clock. Goodnight, again!” + </p> + <p> + He started on his walk, at a pace which set pursuit on the part of Rufus + at defiance. The American stood watching him, until he was lost to sight + in the darkness. “What a grip that young fellow has got on me, in no more + than a few months!” Rufus thought, as he slowly turned away in the + direction of his hotel. “Lord send the poor boy may keep clear of mischief + this night!” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Amelius walked on swiftly, straight before him, careless in + what direction he turned his steps, so long as he felt the cool air and + kept moving. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts were not at first occupied with the doubtful question of his + marriage; the lecture was still the uppermost subject in his mind. He had + reserved for the conclusion of his address the justification of his view + of the future, afforded by the widespread and frightful poverty among the + millions of the population of London alone. On this melancholy theme he + had spoken with the eloquence of true feeling, and had produced a strong + impression, even on those members of the audience who were most resolutely + opposed to the opinions which he advocated. Without any undue exercise of + self-esteem, he could look back on the close of his lecture with the + conviction that he had really done justice to himself and to his cause. + The retrospect of the public discussion that had followed failed to give + him the same pleasure. His warm temper, his vehemently sincere belief in + the truth of his own convictions, placed him at a serious disadvantage + towards the more self-restrained speakers (all older than himself) who + rose, one after another, to combat his views. More than once he had lost + his temper, and had been obliged to make his apologies. More than once he + had been indebted to the ready help of Rufus, who had taken part in the + battle of words, with the generous purpose of covering his retreat. “No!” + he thought to himself, with bitter humility, “I’m not fit for public + discussions. If they put me into Parliament tomorrow, I should only get + called to order and do nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He reached the bank of the Thames, at the eastward end of the Strand. + </p> + <p> + Walking straight on, as absently as ever, he crossed Waterloo Bridge, and + followed the broad street that lay before him on the other side. He was + thinking of the future again: Regina was in his mind now. The one prospect + that he could see of a tranquil and happy life—with duties as well + as pleasures; duties that might rouse him to find the vocation for which + he was fit—was the prospect of his marriage. What was the obstacle + that stood in his way? The vile obstacle of money; the contemptible spirit + of ostentation which forbade him to live humbly on his own sufficient + little income, and insisted that he should purchase domestic happiness at + the price of the tawdry splendour of a rich tradesman and his friends. And + Regina, who was free to follow her own better impulses—Regina, whose + heart acknowledged him as its master—bowed before the golden image + which was the tutelary deity of her uncle’s household, and said + resignedly, Love must wait! + </p> + <p> + Still walking blindly on, he was roused on a sudden to a sense of passing + events. Crossing a side-street at the moment, a man caught him roughly by + the arm, and saved him from being run over. The man had a broom in his + hand; he was a crossing-sweeper. “I think I’ve earned my penny, sir!” he + said. + </p> + <p> + Amelius gave him half-a-crown. The man shouldered his broom, and tossed up + the money, in a transport of delight. “Here’s something to go home with!” + he cried, as he caught the half-crown again. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got a family at home?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + “Only one, sir,” said the man. “The others are all dead. She’s as good a + girl and as pretty a girl as ever put on a petticoat—though I say it + that shouldn’t. Thank you kindly, sir. Good night!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked after the poor fellow, happy at least for that night! “If I + had only been lucky enough to fall in love with the crossing-sweeper’s + daughter,” he thought bitterly, <i>“she</i> would have married me when I + asked her.” + </p> + <p> + He looked along the street. It curved away in the distance, with no + visible limit to it. Arrived at the next side-street on his left, Amelius + turned down it, weary of walking longer in the same direction. Whither it + might lead him he neither knew nor cared. In his present humour it was a + pleasurable sensation to feel himself lost in London. + </p> + <p> + The short street suddenly widened; a blaze of flaring gaslight dazzled his + eyes; he heard all round him the shouting of innumerable voices. For the + first time since he had been in London, he found himself in one of the + street-markets of the poor. + </p> + <p> + On either side of the road, the barrows of the costermongers—the + wandering tradesmen of the highway—were drawn up in rows; and every + man was advertising his wares, by means of the cheap publicity of his own + voice. Fish and vegetables; pottery and writing-paper; looking-glasses, + saucepans, and coloured prints—all appealed together to the scantily + filled purses of the crowds who thronged the pavement. One lusty vagabond + stood up in a rickety donkey-cart, knee-deep in apples, selling a great + wooden measure full for a penny, and yelling louder than all the rest. + “Never was such apples sold in the public streets before! Sweet as + flowers, and sound as a bell. Who says the poor ain’t looked after,” cried + the fellow, with ferocious irony, “when they can have such apple-sauce as + this to their loin of pork? Here’s nobby apples; here’s a penn’orth for + your money. Sold again! Hullo, you! you look hungry. Catch! there’s an + apple for nothing, just to taste. Be in time, be in time before they’re + all sold!” Amelius moved forward a few steps, and was half deafened by + rival butchers, shouting, “Buy, buy, buy!” to audiences of ragged women, + who fingered the meat doubtfully, with longing eyes. A little farther—and + there was a blind man selling staylaces, and singing a Psalm; and, beyond + him again, a broken-down soldier playing “God save the Queen” on a tin + flageolet. The one silent person in this sordid carnival was a Lascar + beggar, with a printed placard round his neck, addressed to “The + Charitable Public.” He held a tallow candle to illuminate the copious + narrative of his misfortunes; and the one reader he obtained was a fat + man, who scratched his head, and remarked to Amelius that he didn’t like + foreigners. Starving boys and girls lurked among the costermongers’ + barrows, and begged piteously on pretence of selling cigar-lights and + comic songs. Furious women stood at the doors of public-houses, and railed + on their drunken husbands for spending the house-money in gin. A thicker + crowd, towards the middle of the street, poured in and out at the door of + a cookshop. Here the people presented a less terrible spectacle—they + were even touching to see. These were the patient poor, who bought hot + morsels of sheep’s heart and liver at a penny an ounce, with lamentable + little mouthfuls of peas-pudding, greens, and potatoes at a halfpenny + each. Pale children in corners supped on penny basins of soup, and looked + with hungry admiration at their enviable neighbours who could afford to + buy stewed eels for twopence. Everywhere there was the same noble + resignation to their hard fate, in old and young alike. No impatience, no + complaints. In this wretched place, the language of true gratitude was + still to be heard, thanking the good-natured cook for a little spoonful of + gravy thrown in for nothing—and here, humble mercy that had its one + superfluous halfpenny to spare gave that halfpenny to utter destitution, + and gave it with right good-will. Amelius spent all his shillings and + sixpences, in doubling and trebling the poor little pennyworths of food—and + left the place with tears in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + He was near the end of the street by this time. The sight of the misery + about him, and the sense of his own utter inability to remedy it, weighed + heavily on his spirits. He thought of the peaceful and prosperous life at + Tadmor. Were his happy brethren of the Community and these miserable + people about him creatures of the same all-merciful God? The terrible + doubts which come to all thinking men—the doubts which are not to be + stifled by crying “Oh, fie!” in a pulpit—rose darkly in his mind. He + quickened his pace. “Let me let out of it,” he said to himself, “let me + get out of it!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK THE SIXTH. FILIA DOLOROSA + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1 + </h2> + <p> + Amelius found it no easy matter to pass quickly through the people + loitering and gossiping about him. There was greater freedom for a rapid + walker in the road. He was on the point of stepping off the pavement, when + a voice behind him—a sweet soft voice, though it spoke very faintly—said, + “Are you good-natured, sir?” + </p> + <p> + He turned, and found himself face to face with one of the saddest + sisterhood on earth—the sisterhood of the streets. + </p> + <p> + His heart ached as he looked at her, she was so poor and so young. The + lost creature had, to all appearance, barely passed the boundary between + childhood and girlhood—she could hardly be more than fifteen or + sixteen years old. Her eyes, of the purest and loveliest blue, rested on + Amelius with a vacantly patient look, like the eyes of a suffering child. + The soft oval outline of her face would have been perfect if the cheeks + had been filled out; they were wasted and hollow, and sadly pale. Her + delicate lips had none of the rosy colour of youth; and her finely + modelled chin was disfigured by a piece of plaster covering some injury. + She was little and thin; her worn and scanty clothing showed her frail + youthful figure still waiting for its perfection of growth. Her pretty + little bare hands were reddened by the raw night air. She trembled as + Amelius looked at her in silence, with compassionate wonder. But for the + words in which she had accosted him, it would have been impossible to + associate her with the lamentable life that she led. The appearance of the + girl was artlessly virginal and innocent; she looked as if she had passed + through the contamination of the streets without being touched by it, + without fearing it, or feeling it, or understanding it. Robed in pure + white, with her gentle blue eyes raised to heaven, a painter might have + shown her on his canvas as a saint or an angel; and the critical world + would have said, Here is the true ideal—Raphael himself might have + painted this! + </p> + <p> + “You look very pale,” said Amelius. “Are you ill?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir—only hungry.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes half closed; she reeled from sheer weakness as she said the + words. Amelius held her up, and looked round him. They were close to a + stall at which coffee and slices of bread-and-butter were sold. He ordered + some coffee to be poured out, and offered her the food. She thanked him + and tried to eat. “I can’t help it, sir,” she said faintly. The bread + dropped from her hand; her weary head sank on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Two young women—older members of the sad sisterhood—were + passing at the moment. “She’s too far gone, sir, to eat,” said one of + them. “I know what would do her good, if you don’t mind going into a + public-house.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is it?” said Amelius. “Be quick!” + </p> + <p> + One of the women led the way. The other helped Amelius to support the + girl. They entered the crowded public-house. In less than a minute, the + first woman had forced her way through the drunken customers at the bar, + and had returned with a glass of port-wine and cloves. The girl revived as + the stimulant passed her lips. She opened her innocent blue eyes again, in + vague surprise. “I shan’t die this time,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + A corner of the place was not occupied; a small empty cask stood there. + Amelius made the poor creature sit down and rest a little. He had only + gold in his purse; and, when the woman had paid for the wine, he offered + her some of the change. She declined to take it. “I’ve got a shilling or + two, sir,” she said; “and I can take care of myself. Give it to Simple + Sally.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll save her a beating, sir, for one night at least,” said the other + woman. “We call her Simple Sally, because she’s a little soft, poor soul—hasn’t + grown up, you know, in her mind, since she was a child. Give her some of + your change, sir, and you’ll be doing a kind thing.” + </p> + <p> + All that is most unselfish, all that is most divinely compassionate and + self-sacrificing in a woman’s nature, was as beautiful and as undefiled as + ever in these women—the outcasts of the hard highway! + </p> + <p> + Amelius turned to the girl. Her head had sunk on her bosom; she was half + asleep. She looked up as he approached her. + </p> + <p> + “Would you have been beaten to-night,” he asked, “if you had not met with + me?” + </p> + <p> + “Father always beats me, sir,” said Simple Sally, “if I don’t bring money + home. He threw a knife at me last night. It didn’t hurt much—it only + cut me here,” said the girl, pointing to the plaster on her chin. + </p> + <p> + One of the women touched Amelius on the shoulder, and whispered to him. + “He’s no more her father, sir, than I am. She’s a helpless creature—and + he takes advantage of her. If I only had a place to take her to, he should + never set eyes on her again. Show the gentleman your bosom, Sally.” + </p> + <p> + She opened her poor threadbare little shawl. Over the lovely girlish + breast, still only growing to the rounded beauty of womanhood, there was a + hideous blue-black bruise. Simple Sally smiled, and said, “That <i>did</i> + hurt me, sir. I’d rather have the knife.” + </p> + <p> + Some of the nearest drinkers at the bar looked round and laughed. Amelius + tenderly drew the shawl over the girl’s cold bosom. “For God’s sake, let + us get away from this place!” he said. + </p> + <p> + The influence of the cool night air completed Simple Sally’s recovery. She + was able to eat now. Amelius proposed retracing his steps to the + provision-shop, and giving her the best food that the place afforded. She + preferred the bread-and-butter at the coffee-stall. Those thick slices, + piled up on the plate, tempted her as a luxury. On trying the luxury, one + slice satisfied her. “I thought I was hungry enough to eat the whole + plateful,” said the girl, turning away from the stall, in the vacantly + submissive manner which it saddened Amelius to see. He bought more of the + bread-and-butter, on the chance that her appetite might revive. While he + was wrapping it in a morsel of paper, one of her elder companions touched + him and whispered, “There he is, sir!” Amelius looked at her. “The brute + who calls himself her father,” the woman explained impatiently. + </p> + <p> + Amelius turned, and saw Simple Sally with her arm in the grasp of a + half-drunken ruffian; one of the swarming wild beasts of Low London, + dirtied down from head to foot to the colour of the street mud—the + living danger and disgrace of English civilization. As Amelius eyed him, + he drew the girl away a step or two. “You’ve got a gentleman this time,” + he said to her; “I shall expect gold to-night, or else—!” He + finished the sentence by lifting his monstrous fist, and shaking it in her + face. Cautiously as he had lowered his tones in speaking, the words had + reached the keenly sensitive ears of Amelius. Urged by his hot temper, he + sprang forward. In another moment, he would have knocked the brute down—but + for the timely interference of the arm of the law, clad in a policeman’s + great-coat. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, sir,” said the man + good-humouredly. “Now, you Hell-fire (that’s the nice name they know him + by, sir, in these parts), be off with you!” The wild beast on two legs + cowered at the voice of authority, like the wild beast on four: he was + lost to sight, at the dark end of the street, in a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I saw him threaten her with his fist,” said Amelius, his eyes still + aflame with indignation. “He has bruised her frightfully on the breast. Is + there no protection for the poor creature?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” the policeman answered, “you can summon him if you like. I + dare say he’d get a month’s hard labour. But, don’t you see, it would be + all the worse for her when he came out of prison.” + </p> + <p> + The policeman’s view of the girl’s position was beyond dispute. Amelius + turned to her gently; she was shivering with cold or terror, perhaps with + both. “Tell me,” he said, “is that man really your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless you, sir!” interposed the policeman, astonished at the + gentleman’s simplicity, “Simple Sally hasn’t got father or mother—have + you, my girl?” + </p> + <p> + She paid no heed to the policeman. The sorrow and sympathy, plainly + visible in Amelius, filled her with a childish interest and surprise. She + dimly understood that it was sorrow and sympathy for <i>her.</i> The bare + idea of distressing this new friend, so unimaginably kind and considerate, + seemed to frighten her. “Don’t fret about <i>me,</i> sir,” she said + timidly; “I don’t mind having no father nor mother; I don’t mind being + beaten.” She appealed to the nearest of her two women-friends. “We get + used to everything, don’t we, Jenny?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius could bear no more. “It’s enough to break one’s heart to hear you, + and see you!” he burst out—and suddenly turned his head aside. His + generous nature was touched to the quick; he could only control himself by + an effort of resolution that shook him, body and soul. “I can’t and won’t + let that unfortunate creature go back to be beaten and starved!” he said, + passionately addressing himself to the policeman. “Oh, look at her! How + helpless, and how young!” + </p> + <p> + The policeman stared. These were strange words to him. But all true + emotion carries with it, among all true people, its own title to respect. + He spoke to Amelius with marked respect. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a hard case, sir, no doubt,” he said. “The girl’s a quiet, + well-disposed creature—and the other two there are the same. They’re + of the sort that keep to themselves, and don’t drink. They all of them do + well enough, as long as they don’t let the liquor overcome them. Half the + time it’s the men’s fault when they do drink. Perhaps the workhouse might + take her in for the night. What’s this you’ve got girl, in your hand? + Money?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius hastened to say that he had given her the money. “The workhouse!” + he repeated. “The very sound of it is horrible.” + </p> + <p> + “Make your mind easy, sir,” said the policeman; “they won’t take her in at + the workhouse, with money in her hand.” + </p> + <p> + In sheer despair, Amelius asked helplessly if there was no hotel near. The + policeman pointed to Simple Sally’s threadbare and scanty clothes, and + left them to answer the question for themselves. “There’s a place they + call a coffee-house,” he said, with the air of a man who thought he had + better provoke as little further inquiry on that subject as possible. + </p> + <p> + Too completely pre-occupied, or too innocent in the ways of London, to + understand the man, Amelius decided on trying the coffee-house. A + suspicious old woman met them at the door, and spied the policeman in the + background. Without waiting for any inquiries, she said, “All full for + to-night,”—and shut the door in their faces. + </p> + <p> + “Is there no other place?” said Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a lodging-house,” the policeman answered, more doubtfully than + ever. “It’s getting late, sir; and I’m afraid you’ll find ‘em packed like + herrings in a barrel. Come, and see for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way into a wretchedly lighted by-street, and knocked with his + foot on a trap-door in the pavement. The door was pushed open from below, + by a sturdy boy with a dirty night-cap on his head. + </p> + <p> + “Any of ‘em wanted to-night, sir?” asked the sturdy boy, the moment he saw + the policeman. + </p> + <p> + “What does he mean?” said Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a sprinkling of thieves among them, sir,” the policeman + explained. “Stand out of the way, Jacob, and let the gentleman look in.” + </p> + <p> + He produced his lantern, and directed the light downwards, as he spoke. + Amelius looked in. The policeman’s figure of speech, likening the lodgers + to “herrings in a barrel,” accurately described the scene. On the floor of + a kitchen, men, women, and children lay all huddled together in closely + packed rows. Ghastly faces rose terrified out of the seething obscurity, + when the light of the lantern fell on them. The stench drove Amelius back, + sickened and shuddering. + </p> + <p> + “How’s the sore place on your head, Jacob?” the policeman inquired. “This + is a civil boy,” he explained to Amelius, “and I like to encourage him.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m getting better, sir, as fast as I can,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Jacob.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, sir.” The trap-door fell—and the lodging-house + disappeared like the vision of a frightful dream. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment of silence among the little group on the pavement. It + was not easy to solve the question of what to do next. “There seems to be + some difficulty,” the policeman remarked, “about housing this girl for the + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t we take her along with us?” one of the women suggested. + “She won’t mind sleeping three in a bed, I know.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking of?” the other woman remonstrated. “When he finds + she don’t come home, our place will be the first place he looks for her + in.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius settled the difficulty, in his own headlong way, “I’ll take care + of her for the night,” he said. “Sally, will you trust yourself with me?” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand in his, with the air of a child who was ready to go home. + Her wan face brightened for the first time. “Thank you, sir,” she said; + “I’ll go anywhere along with you.” + </p> + <p> + The policeman smiled. The two women looked thunderstruck. Before they had + recovered themselves, Amelius forced them to take some money from him, and + cordially shook hands with them. “You’re good creatures,” he said, in his + eager, hearty way; “I’m sincerely sorry for you. Now, Mr. Policeman, show + me where to find a cab—and take that for the trouble I am giving + you. You’re a humane man, and a credit to the force.” + </p> + <p> + In five minutes more, Amelius was on the way to his lodgings, with Simple + Sally by his side. The act of reckless imprudence which he was committing + was nothing but an act of Christian duty, to his mind. Not the slightest + misgiving troubled him. “I shall provide for her in some way!” he thought + to himself cheerfully. He looked at her. The weary outcast was asleep + already in her corner of the cab. From time to time she still shivered, + even in her sleep. Amelius took off his great-coat, and covered her with + it. How some of his friends at the club would have laughed, if they had + seen him at that moment! + </p> + <p> + He was obliged to wake her when the cab stopped. His key admitted them to + the house. He lit his candle in the hall, and led her up the stairs. + “You’ll soon be asleep again, Sally,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + She looked round the little sitting-room with drowsy admiration. “What a + pretty place to live in!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hungry again?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, and took off her shabby bonnet; her pretty light-brown + hair fell about her face and her shoulders. “I think I’m too tired, sir, + to be hungry. Might I take the sofa-pillow, and lay down on the + hearth-rug?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius opened the door of his bedroom. “You are to pass the night more + comfortably than that,” he answered. “There is a bed for you here.” + </p> + <p> + She followed him in, and looked round the bedroom, with renewed admiration + of everything that she saw. At the sight of the hairbrushes and the comb, + she clapped her hands in ecstasy. “Oh, how different from mine!” she + exclaimed. “Is the comb tortoise-shell, sir, like one sees in the + shop-windows?” The bath and the towels attracted her next; she stood, + looking at them with longing eyes, completely forgetful of the wonderful + comb. “I’ve often peeped into the ironmongers’ shops,” she said, “and + thought I should be the happiest girl in the world, if I had such a bath + as that. A little pitcher is all I have got of my own, and they swear at + me when I want it filled more than once. In all my life, I have never had + as much water as I should like.” She paused, and thought for a moment. The + forlorn, vacant look appeared again, and dimmed the beauty of her blue + eyes. “It will be hard to go back, after seeing all these pretty things,” + she said to herself—and sighed, with that inborn submission to her + fate so melancholy to see in a creature so young. + </p> + <p> + “You shall never go back again to that dreadful life,” Amelius interposed. + “Never speak of it, never think of it any more. Oh, don’t look at me like + that!” + </p> + <p> + She was listening with an expression of pain, and with both her hands + lifted to her head. There was something so wonderful in the idea which he + had suggested to her, that her mind was not able to take it all in at + once. “You make my head giddy,” she said. “I’m such a poor stupid girl—I + feel out of myself, like, when a gentleman like you sets me thinking of + new things. Would you mind saying it again, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll say it to-morrow morning,” Amelius rejoined kindly. “You are tired, + Sally—go to rest.” + </p> + <p> + She roused herself, and looked at the bed. “Is that your bed, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s your bed to-night,” said Amelius. “I shall sleep on the sofa, in the + next room.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes rested on him, for a moment, in speechless surprise; she looked + back again at the bed. “Are you going to leave me by myself?” she asked + wonderingly. Not the faintest suggestion of immodesty—nothing that + the most profligate man living could have interpreted impurely—showed + itself in her look or manner, as she said those words. + </p> + <p> + Amelius thought of what one of her women-friends had told him. “She hasn’t + grown up, you know, in her mind, since she was a child.” There were other + senses in the poor victim that were still undeveloped, besides the mental + sense. He was at a loss how to answer her, with the respect which was due + to that all-atoning ignorance. His silence amazed and frightened her. + </p> + <p> + “Have I said anything to make you angry with me?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Amelius hesitated no longer. “My poor girl,” he said, “I pity you from the + bottom of my heart! Sleep well, Simple Sally—sleep well.” He left + her hurriedly, and shut the door between them. + </p> + <p> + She followed him as far as the closed door; and stood there alone, trying + to understand him, and trying all in vain! After a while, she found + courage enough to whisper through the door. “If you please, sir—” + She stopped, startled by her own boldness. He never heard her; he was + standing at the window, looking out thoughtfully at the night; feeling + less confident of the future already. She still stood at the door, + wretched in the firm persuasion that she had offended him. Once she lifted + her hand to knock at the door, and let it drop again at her side. A second + time she made the effort, and desperately summoned the resolution to + knock. He opened the door directly. + </p> + <p> + “I’m very sorry if I said anything wrong,” she began faintly, her breath + coming and going in quick hysteric gasps. “Please forgive me, and wish me + good night.” Amelius took her hand; he said good night with the utmost + gentleness, but he said it sorrowfully. She was not quite comforted yet. + “Would you mind, sir—?” She paused awkwardly, afraid to go on. There + was something so completely childlike in the artless perplexity of her + eyes, that Amelius smiled. The change in his expression gave her back her + courage in an instant; her pale delicate lips reflected his smile + prettily. “Would you mind giving me a kiss, sir?” she said. Amelius kissed + her. Let the man who can honestly say he would have done otherwise, blame + him. He shut the door between them once more. She was quite happy now. He + heard her singing to herself as she got ready for bed. + </p> + <p> + Once, in the wakeful watches of the night, she startled him. He heard a + cry of pain or terror in the bedroom. “What is it?” he asked through the + door; “what has frightened you?” There was no answer. After a minute or + two, the cry was repeated. He opened the door, and looked in. She was + sleeping, and dreaming as she slept. One little thin white arm was lifted + in the air, and waved restlessly to and fro over her head. “Don’t kill + me!” she murmured, in low moaning tones—“oh, don’t kill me!” Amelius + took her arm gently, and laid it back on the coverlet of the bed. His + touch seemed to exercise some calming influence over her: she sighed, and + turned her head on the pillow; a faint flush rose on her wasted cheeks, + and passed away again—she sank quietly into dreamless sleep. + </p> + <p> + Amelius returned to his sofa, and fell into a broken slumber. The hours of + the night passed. The sad light of the November morning dawned mistily + through the uncurtained window, and woke him. + </p> + <p> + He started up, and looked at the bedroom door. “Now what is to be done?” + That was his first thought, on waking: he was beginning to feel his + responsibilities at last. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2 + </h2> + <h3> + The landlady of the lodgings decided what was to be done. + </h3> + <p> + “You will be so good, sir, as to leave my apartments immediately,” she + said to Amelius. “I make no claim to the week’s rent, in consideration of + the short notice. This is a respectable house, and it shall be kept + respectable at any sacrifice.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius explained and protested; he appealed to the landlady’s sense of + justice and sense of duty, as a Christian woman. + </p> + <p> + The reasoning which would have been irresistible at Tadmor was reasoning + completely thrown away in London. The landlady remained as impenetrable as + the Egyptian Sphinx. “If that creature in the bedroom is not out of my + house in an hour’s time, I shall send for the police.” Having answered her + lodger’s arguments in those terms, she left the room, and banged the door + after her. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir, for being so kind to me. I’ll go away directly—and + then, perhaps, the lady will forgive you.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked round. Simple Sally had heard it all. She was dressed in + her wretched clothes, and was standing at the open bedroom door, crying, + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little,” said Amelius, wiping her eyes with his own handkerchief; + “and we will go away together. I want to get you some better clothes; and + I don’t exactly know how to set about it. Don’t cry, my dear—don’t + cry.” + </p> + <p> + The deaf maid-of-all-work came in, as he spoke. She too was in tears. + Amelius had been good to her, in many little ways—and she was the + guilty person who had led to the discovery in the bedroom. “If you had + only told me, sir,” she said pentitently, “I’d have kep’ it secret. But, + there, I went in with your ‘ot water, as usual, and, O Lor’, I was that + startled I dropped the jug, and run downstairs again—!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius stopped the further progress of the apology. “I don’t blame you, + Maria,” he said; “I’m in a difficulty. Help me out of it; and you will do + me a kindness.” + </p> + <p> + Maria partially heard him, and no more. Afraid of reaching the landlady’s + ears, as well as the maid’s ears, if he raised his voice, he asked if she + could read writing. Yes, she could read writing, if it was plain. Amelius + immediately reduced the expression of his necessities to writing, in large + text. Maria was delighted. She knew the nearest shop at which ready-made + outer clothing for women could be obtained, and nothing was wanted, as a + certain guide to an ignorant man, but two pieces of string. With one + piece, she measured Simple Sally’s height, and with the other she took the + slender girth of the girl’s waist—while Amelius opened his + writing-desk, and supplied himself with the last sum of spare money that + he possessed. He had just closed the desk again, when the voice of the + merciless landlady was heard, calling imperatively for Maria. + </p> + <p> + The maid-of-all-work handed the two indicative strings to Amelius. + “They’ll ‘elp you at the shop,” she said—and shuffled out of the + room. + </p> + <p> + Amelius turned to Simple Sally. “I am going to get you some new clothes,” + he began. + </p> + <p> + The girl stopped him there: she was incapable of listening to a word more. + Every trace of sorrow vanished from her face in an instant. She clapped + her hands. “Oh!” she cried, “new clothes! clean clothes! Let me go with + you.” + </p> + <p> + Even Amelius saw that it was impossible to take her out in the streets + with him in broad daylight, dressed as she was then. “No, no,” he said, + “wait here till you get your new things. I won’t be half an hour gone. + Lock yourself in if you’re afraid, and open the door to nobody till I come + back!” + </p> + <p> + Sally hesitated; she began to look frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Think of the new dress, and the pretty bonnet,” suggested Amelius, + speaking unconsciously in the tone in which he might have promised a toy + to a child. + </p> + <p> + He had taken the right way with her. Her face brightened again. “I’ll do + anything you tell me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He put the key in her hand, and was out in the street directly. + </p> + <p> + Amelius possessed one valuable moral quality which is exceedingly rare + among Englishmen. He was not in the least ashamed of putting himself in a + ridiculous position, when he was conscious that his own motives justified + him. The smiling and tittering of the shop-women, when he stated the + nature of his errand, and produced his two pieces of string, failed to + annoy him in the smallest degree. He laughed too. “Funny, isn’t it,” he + said, “a man like me buying gowns and the rest of it? She can’t come + herself—and you’ll advise me, like good creatures, won’t you?” They + advised their handsome young customer to such good purpose, that he was in + possession of a gray walking costume, a black cloth jacket, a plain + lavender-coloured bonnet, a pair of black gloves, and a paper of pins, in + little more than ten minutes’ time. The nearest trunk-maker supplied a + travelling-box to hold all these treasures; and a passing cab took Amelius + back to his lodgings, just as the half-hour was out. But one event had + happened during his absence. The landlady had knocked at the door, had + called through it in a terrible voice, “Half an hour more!” and had + retired again without waiting for an answer. + </p> + <p> + Amelius carried the box into the bedroom. “Be as quick as you can, Sally,” + he said—and left her alone, to enjoy the full rapture of discovering + the new clothes. + </p> + <p> + When she opened the door and showed herself, the change was so wonderful + that Amelius was literally unable to speak to her. Joy flushed her pale + cheeks, and diffused its tender radiance over her pure blue eyes. A more + charming little creature, in that momentary transfiguration of pride and + delight, no man’s eyes ever looked on. She ran across the room to Amelius, + and threw her arms round his neck. “Let me be your servant!” she cried; “I + want to live with you all my life. Jump me up! I’m wild—I want to + fly through the window.” She caught sight of herself in the looking-glass, + and suddenly became composed and serious. “Oh,” she said, with the + quaintest mixture of awe and astonishment, “was there ever such another + bonnet as this? Do look at it—do please look at it!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius good-naturedly approached to look at it. At the same moment the + sitting-room door was opened, without any preliminary ceremony of knocking—and + Rufus walked into the room. “It’s half after ten,” he said, “and the + breakfast is spoiling as fast as it can.” + </p> + <p> + Before Amelius could make his excuses for having completely forgotten his + engagement, Rufus discovered Sally. No woman, young or old, high in rank + or low in rank, ever found the New Englander unprepared with his own + characteristic acknowledgment of the debt of courtesy which he owed to the + sex. With his customary vast strides, he marched up to Sally and insisted + on shaking hands with her. “How do you find yourself, miss? I take + pleasure in making your acquaintance.” The girl turned to Amelius with + wide-eyed wonder and doubt. “Go into the next room, Sally, for a minute or + two,” he said. “This gentleman is a friend of mine, and I have something + to say to him.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s an <i>active</i> little girl,” said Rufus, looking after her as + she ran to the friendly shelter of the bedroom. “Reminds me of one of our + girls at Coolspring—she does. Well, now, and who may Sally be?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius answered the question, as usual, without the slightest reserve. + Rufus waited in impenetrable silence until he had completed his narrative—then + took him gently by the arm, and led him to the window. With his hands in + his pockets and his long legs planted wide apart on his big feet, the + American carefully studied the face of his young friend under the + strongest light that could fall on it. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Rufus, speaking quietly to himself, “the boy is not raving mad, + so far as I can see. He has every appearance on him of meaning what he + says. And this is what comes of the Community of Tadmor, is it? Well, + civil and religious liberty is dearly purchased sometimes in the United + States—and that’s a fact.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius turned away to pack his portmanteau. “I don’t understand you,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t suppose you do,” Rufus remarked. “I am at a similar loss myself + to understand <i>you.</i> My store of sensible remarks is copious on most + occasions—but I’m darned if I ain’t dried up in the face of this! + Might I venture to ask what that venerable Chief Christian at Tadmor would + say to the predicament in which I find my young Socialist this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “What would he say?” Amelius repeated. “Just what he said when Mellicent + first came among us. ‘Ah, dear me! Another of the Fallen Leaves!’ I wish I + had the dear old man here to help me. <i>He</i> would know how to restore + that poor starved, outraged, beaten creature to the happy place on God’s + earth which God intended her to fill!” + </p> + <p> + Rufus abruptly took him by the hand. “You mean that?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What else could I mean?” Amelius rejoined sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Bring her right away to breakfast at the hotel!” cried Rufus, with every + appearance of feeling infinitely relieved. “I don’t say I can supply you + with the venerable Chief Christian—but I can find a woman to fix + you, who is as nigh to being an angel, barring the wings, as any + she-creature since the time of mother Eve.” He knocked at the bedroom + door, turning a deaf ear to every appeal for further information which + Amelius could address to him. “Breakfast is waiting, miss!” he called out; + “and I’m bound to tell you that the temper of the cook at our hotel is a + long way on the wrong side of uncertain. Well, Amelius, this is the age of + exhibition. If there’s ever an exhibition of ignorance in the business of + packing a portmanteau, you run for the Gold Medal—and a unanimous + jury will vote it, I reckon, to a young man from Tadmor. Clear out, will + you, and leave it to me.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled off his coat, and conquered the difficulties of packing in a + hurry, as if he had done nothing else all his life. The landlady herself, + appearing with pitiless punctuality exactly at the expiration of the hour, + “smoothed her horrid front” in the polite and placable presence of Rufus. + He insisted on shaking hands with her; he took pleasure in making her + acquaintance; she reminded him, he did assure her, of the lady of the + captain-general of the Coolspring Branch of the St. Vitus Commandery; and + he would take the liberty to inquire whether they were related or not. + Under cover of this fashionable conversation, Simple Sally was taken out + of the room by Amelius without attracting notice. She insisted on carrying + her threadbare old clothes away with her in the box which had contained + the new dress. “I want to look at them sometimes,” she said, “and think + how much better off I am now.” Rufus was the last to take his departure; + he persisted in talking to the landlady all the way down the stairs and + out to the street door. + </p> + <p> + While Amelius was waiting for his friend on the house-steps, a young man + driving by in a cab leaned out and looked at him. The young man was Jervy, + on his way from Mr. Ronald’s tombstone to Doctors’ Commons. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3 + </h2> + <p> + With a rapid succession of events the morning had begun. With a rapid + succession of events the day went on. + </p> + <p> + The breakfast being over, rooms at the hotel were engaged by Rufus for his + “two young friends.” After this, the next thing to be done was to provide + Simple Sally with certain necessary, but invisible, articles of clothing, + which Amelius had never thought of. A note to the nearest shop produced + the speedy arrival of a smart lady, accompanied by a boy and a large + basket. There was some difficulty in persuading Sally to trust herself + alone in her room with the stranger. She was afraid, poor soul, of + everybody but Amelius. Even the good American failed to win her + confidence. The distrust implanted in her feeble mind by the terrible life + that she had led, was the instinctive distrust of a wild animal. “Why must + I go among other people?” she whispered piteously to Amelius. “I only want + to be with You!” It was as completely useless to reason with her as it + would have been to explain the advantages of a comfortable cage to a newly + caught bird. There was but one way of inducing her to submit to the most + gently exerted interference. Amelius had only to say, “Do it, Sally, to + please me.” And Sally sighed, and did it. + </p> + <p> + In her absence Amelius reiterated his inquiries, in relation to that + unknown friend whom Rufus had not scrupled to describe as “an angel—barring + the wings.” + </p> + <p> + The lady in question, the American briefly explained, was an Englishwoman—the + wife of one of his countrymen, established in London as a merchant. He had + known them both intimately before their departure from the United States; + and the old friendship had been cordially renewed on his arrival in + England. Associated with many other charitable institutions, Mrs. Payson + was one of the managing committee of a “Home for Friendless Women,” + especially adapted to receive poor girls in Sally’s melancholy position. + Rufus offered to write a note to Mrs. Payson; inquiring at what hour she + could receive his friend and himself, and obtain permission for them to + see the “Home.” Amelius, after some hesitation, accepted the proposal. The + messenger had not been long despatched with the note before the smart + person from the shop made her appearance once more, reporting that “the + young lady’s outfit had been perfectly arranged,” and presenting the + inevitable result in the shape of a bill. The last farthing of ready money + in the possession of Amelius proved to be insufficient to discharge the + debt. He accepted a loan from Rufus, until he could give his bankers the + necessary order to sell out some of his money invested in the Funds. His + answer, when Rufus protested against this course, was characteristic of + the teaching which he owed to the Community. “My dear fellow, I am bound + to return the money you have lent to me—in the interests of our poor + brethren. The next friend who borrows of you may not have the means of + paying you back.” + </p> + <p> + After waiting for the return of Simple Sally, and waiting in vain, Amelius + sent a chambermaid to her room, with a message to her. Rufus disapproved + of this hasty proceeding. “Why disturb the girl at her looking-glass?” + asked the old bachelor, with his quaintly humorous smile. + </p> + <p> + Sally came in with no bright pleasure in her eyes this time; the girl + looked worn and haggard. She drew Amelius away into a corner, and + whispered to him. “I get a pain sometimes where the bruise is,” she said; + “and I’ve got it bad, now.” She glanced, with an odd furtive jealousy, at + Rufus. “I kept away from you,” she explained, “because I didn’t want <i>him</i> + to know.” She stopped, and put her hand on her bosom, and clenched her + teeth fast. “Never mind,” she said cheerfully, as the pang passed away + again; “I can bear it.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius, acting on impulse, as usual, instantly ordered the most + comfortable carriage that the hotel possessed. He had heard terrible + stories of the possible result of an injury to a woman’s bosom. “I shall + take her to the best doctor in London,” he announced. Sally whispered to + him again—still with her eye on Rufus. “Is <i>he</i> going with us?” + she asked. “No,” said Amelius; “one of us must stay here to receive a + message.” Rufus looked after them very gravely, as the two left the room + together. + </p> + <p> + Applying for information to the mistress of the hotel, Amelius obtained + the address of a consulting surgeon of great celebrity, while Sally was + getting ready to go out. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you like my good friend upstairs?” he said to the girl as they + drove away from the house. The answer came swift and straight from the + heart of the daughter of Eve. “Because <i>you</i> like him!” Amelius + changed the subject: he asked if she was still in pain. She shook her head + impatiently. Pain or no pain, the uppermost idea in her mind was still + that idea of being his servant, which had already found expression in + words before they left the lodgings. “Will you let me keep my beautiful + new dress for going out on Sundays?” she asked. “The shabby old things + will do when I am your servant. I can black your boots, and brush your + clothes, and keep your room tidy—and I will try hard to learn, if + you will have me taught to cook.” Amelius attempted to change the subject + again. He might as well have talked to her in an unknown tongue. The + glorious prospect of being his servant absorbed the whole of her + attention. “I’m little and I’m stupid,” she went on; “but I do think I + could learn to cook, if I knew I was doing it for <i>You.”</i> She paused, + and looked at him anxiously. “Do let me try!” she pleaded; “I haven’t had + much pleasure in my life—and I should like it so!” It was impossible + to resist this. “You shall be as happy as I can make you, Sally,” Amelius + answered; “God knows it isn’t much you ask for!” + </p> + <p> + Something in those compassionate words set her thinking in another + direction. It was sad to see how slowly and painfully she realized the + idea that had been suggested to her. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder whether you <i>can</i> make me happy?” she said. “I suppose I + have been happy before this—but I don’t know when. I don’t remember + a time when I was not hungry or cold. Wait a bit. I do think I <i>was</i> + happy once. It was a long while ago, and it took me a weary time to do it—but + I did learn at last to play a tune on the fiddle. The old man and his wife + took it in turns to teach me. Somebody gave me to the old man and his + wife; I don’t know who it was, and I don’t remember their names. They were + musicians. In the fine streets they sang hymns, and in the poor streets + they sang comic songs. It was cold, to be sure, standing barefoot on the + pavement—but I got plenty of halfpence. The people said I was so + little it was a shame to send me out, and so I got halfpence. I had bread + and apples for supper, and a nice little corner under the staircase, to + sleep in. Do you know, I do think I did enjoy myself at that time,” she + concluded, still a little doubtful whether those faint and far-off + remembrances were really to be relied on. + </p> + <p> + Amelius tried to lead her to other recollections. He asked her how old she + was when she played the fiddle. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she answered; “I don’t know how old I am now. I don’t + remember anything before the fiddle. I can’t call to mind how long it was + first—but there came a time when the old man and his wife got into + trouble. They went to prison, and I never saw them afterwards. I ran away + with the fiddle; to get the halfpence, you know, all to myself. I think I + should have got a deal of money, if it hadn’t been for the boys. They’re + so cruel, the boys are. They broke my fiddle. I tried selling pencils + after that; but people didn’t seem to want pencils. They found me out + begging. I got took up, and brought before the what-do-you-call-him—the + gentleman who sits in a high place, you know, behind a desk. Oh, but I was + frightened, when they took me before the gentleman! He looked very much + puzzled. He says, ‘Bring her up here; she’s so small I can hardly see + her.’ He says, ‘Good God! what am I to do with this unfortunate child?’ + There was plenty of people about. One of them says, ‘The workhouse ought + to take her.’ And a lady came in, and she says, ‘I’ll take her, sir, if + you’ll let me.’ And he knew her, and he let her. She took me to a place + they called a Refuge—for wandering children, you know. It was very + strict at the Refuge. They did give us plenty to eat, to be sure, and they + taught us lessons. They told us about Our Father up in Heaven. I said a + wrong thing—I said, ‘I don’t want him up in Heaven; I want him down + here.’ They were very much ashamed of me when I said that. I was a bad + girl; I turned ungrateful. After a time, I ran away. You see, it was so + strict, and I was so used to the streets. I met with a Scotchman in the + streets. He wore a kilt, and played the pipes; he taught me to dance, and + dressed me up like a Scotch girl. He had a curious wife, a sort of + half-black woman. She used to dance too—on a bit of carpet, you + know, so as not to spoil her fine shoes. They taught me songs; he taught + me a Scotch song. And one day his wife said <i>she</i> was English (I + don’t know how that was, being a half-black woman), and I should learn an + English song. And they quarrelled about it. And she had her way. She + taught me ‘Sally in our Alley’. That’s how I come to be called Sally. I + hadn’t any name of my own—I always had nicknames. Sally was the last + of them, and Sally has stuck to me. I hope it isn’t too common a name to + please you? Oh, what a fine house! Are we really going in? Will they let + <i>me</i> in? How stupid I am! I forgot my beautiful clothes. You won’t + tell them, will you, if they take me for a lady?” + </p> + <p> + The carriage had stopped at the great surgeon’s house: the waiting-room + was full of patients. Some of them were trying to read the books and + newspapers on the table; and some of them were looking at each other, not + only without the slightest sympathy, but occasionally even with downright + distrust and dislike. Amelius took up a newspaper, and gave Sally an + illustrated book to amuse her, while they waited to see the Surgeon in + their turn. + </p> + <p> + Two long hours passed, before the servant summoned Amelius to the + consulting-room. Sally was wearily asleep in her chair. He left her + undisturbed, having questions to put relating to the imperfectly developed + state of her mind, which could not be asked in her presence. The surgeon + listened, with no ordinary interest, to the young stranger’s simple and + straightforward narrative of what had happened on the previous night. “You + are very unlike other young men,” he said; “may I ask how you have been + brought up?” The reply surprised him. “This opens quite a new view of + Socialism,” he said. “I thought your conduct highly imprudent at first—it + seems to be the natural result of your teaching now. Let me see what I can + do to help you.” + </p> + <p> + He was very grave and very gentle, when Sally was presented to him. His + opinion of the injury to her bosom relieved the anxiety of Amelius: there + might be pain for some little time to come, but there were no serious + consequences to fear. Having written his prescription, and having put + several questions to Sally, the surgeon sent her back, with marked + kindness of manner, to wait for Amelius in the patients’ room. + </p> + <p> + “I have young daughters of my own,” he said, when the door was closed; + “and I cannot but feel for that unhappy creature, when I contrast her life + with theirs. So far as I can see it, the natural growth of her senses—her + higher and her lower senses alike—has been stunted, like the natural + growth of her body, by starvation, terror, exposure to cold, and other + influences inherent in the life that she has led. With nourishing food, + pure air, and above all kind and careful treatment, I see no reason, at + her age, why she should not develop into an intelligent and healthy young + woman. Pardon me if I venture on giving you a word of advice. At your time + of life, you will do well to place her at once under competent and proper + care. You may live to regret it, if you are too confident in your own good + motives in such a case as this. Come to me again, if I can be of any use + to you. No,” he continued, refusing to take his fee; “my help to that poor + lost girl is help given freely.” He shook hands with Amelius—a + worthy member of the noble order to which he belonged. + </p> + <p> + The surgeon’s parting advice, following on the quaint protest of Rufus, + had its effect on Amelius. He was silent and thoughtful when he got into + the carriage again. + </p> + <p> + Simple Sally looked at him with a vague sense of alarm. Her heart beat + fast, under the perpetually recurring fear that she had done something or + said something to offend him. “Was it bad behaviour in me,” she asked, “to + fall asleep in the chair?” Reassured, so far, she was still as anxious as + ever to get at the truth. After long hesitation, and long previous + thought, she ventured to try another question. “The gentleman sent me out + of the room—did he say anything to set you against me?” + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman said everything that was kind of you,” Amelius replied, + “and everything to make me hope that you will live to be a happy girl.” + </p> + <p> + She said nothing to that; vague assurances were no assurances to her—she + only looked at him with the dumb fidelity of a dog. Suddenly, she dropped + on her knees in the carriage, hid her face in her hands, and cried + silently. Surprised and distressed, he attempted to raise her and console + her. “No!” she said obstinately. “Something has happened to vex you, and + you won’t tell me what it is. Do, do, do tell me what it is!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” said Amelius, “I was only thinking anxiously about you, + in the time to come.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him quickly. “What! have you forgotten already?” she + exclaimed. “I’m to be your servant in the time to come.” She dried her + eyes, and took her place again joyously by his side. “You did frighten + me,” she said, “and all for nothing. But you didn’t mean it, did you?” + </p> + <p> + An older man might have had the courage to undeceive her: Amelius shrank + from it. He tried to lead her back to the melancholy story—so common + and so terrible; so pitiable in its utter absence of sentiment or romance—the + story of her past life. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, with that quick insight where her feelings were + concerned, which was the only quick insight that she possessed. “I don’t + like making you sorry; and you did look sorry—you did—when I + talked about it before. The streets, the streets, the streets; little + girl, or big girl, it’s only the streets; and always being hungry or cold; + and cruel men when it isn’t cruel boys. I want to be happy! I want to + enjoy my new clothes! You tell me about your own self. What makes you so + kind? I can’t make it out; try as I may, I can’t make it out.” + </p> + <p> + Some time elapsed before they got back to the hotel. Amelius drove as far + as the City, to give the necessary instructions to his bankers. + </p> + <p> + On returning to the sitting-room at last, he discovered that his American + friend was not alone. A gray-haired lady with a bright benevolent face was + talking earnestly to Rufus. The instant Sally discovered the stranger, she + started back, fled to the shelter of her bedchamber, and locked herself + in. Amelius, entering the room after a little hesitation, was presented to + Mrs. Payson. + </p> + <p> + “There was something in my old friend’s note,” said the lady, smiling and + turning to Rufus, “which suggested to me that I should do well to answer + it personally. I am not too old yet to follow the impulse of the moment, + sometimes; and I am very glad that I did so. I have heard what is, to me, + a very interesting story. Mr. Goldenheart, I respect you! And I will prove + it by helping you, with all my heart and soul, to save that poor little + girl who has just run away from me. Pray don’t make excuses for her; I + should have run away too, at her age. We have arranged,” she continued, + looking again at Rufus, “that I shall take you both to the Home, this + afternoon. If we can prevail on Sally to go with us, one serious obstacle + in our way will be overcome. Tell me the number of her room. I want to try + if I can’t make friends with her. I have had some experience; and I don’t + despair of bringing her back here, hand in hand with the terrible person + who has frightened her.” + </p> + <p> + The two men were left together. Amelius attempted to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Keep it down,” said Rufus; “no premature outbreak of opinion, if you + please, yet awhile. Wait till she has fixed Sally, and shown us the + Paradise of the poor girls. It’s within the London postal district, and + that’s all I know about it. Well, now, and did you go to the doctor? + Thunder! what’s come to the boy? Seems as though he had left his + complexion in the carriage! He looks, I do declare, as if he wanted + medical tinkering himself.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius explained that his past night had been a wakeful one, and that the + events of the day had not allowed him any opportunities of repose. “Since + the morning,” he said, “things have hurried so, one on the top of the + other, that I am beginning to feel a little dazed and weary.” Without a + word of remark, Rufus produced the remedy. The materials were ready on the + sideboard—he made a cocktail. + </p> + <p> + “Another?” asked the New Englander, after a reasonable lapse of time. + </p> + <p> + Amelius declined taking another. He stretched himself on the sofa; his + good friend considerately took up a newspaper. For the first time that + day, he had now the prospect of a quiet interval for rest and thought. In + less than a minute the delusive prospect vanished. He started to his feet + again, disturbed by a new anxiety. Having leisure to think, he had thought + of Regina. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed; “she’s waiting to see me—and + I never remembered it till this moment!” He looked at his watch: it was + five o’clock. “What am I to do?” he said helplessly. + </p> + <p> + Rufus laid down the newspaper, and considered the new difficulty in its + various aspects. + </p> + <p> + “We are bound to go with Mrs. Payson to the Home,” he said; “and, I tell + you this, Amelius, the matter of Sally is not a matter to be played with; + it’s a thing that’s got to be done. In your place I should write politely + to Miss Regina, and put it off till to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a man who took Rufus for his + counsellor was a man who acted wisely in every sense of the word. Events, + however, of which Amelius and his friend were both ignorant alike, had so + ordered it, that the American’s well-meant advice, in this one exceptional + case, was the very worst advice that could have been given. In an hour + more, Jervy and Mrs. Sowler were to meet at the tavern door. The one last + hope of protecting Mrs. Farnaby from the abominable conspiracy of which + she was the destined victim, rested solely on the fulfilment by Amelius of + his engagement with Regina for that day. Always ready to interfere with + the progress of the courtship, Mrs. Farnaby would be especially eager to + seize the first opportunity of speaking to her young Socialist friend on + the subject of his lecture. In the course of the talk between them, the + idea which, in the present disturbed state of his mind, had not struck him + yet—the idea that the outcast of the streets might, by the barest + conceivable possibility, be identified with the lost daughter—would, + in one way or another, be almost infallibly suggested to Amelius; and, at + the eleventh hour, the conspiracy would be foiled. If, on the other hand, + the American’s fatal advice was followed, the next morning’s post might + bring a letter from Jervy to Mrs. Farnaby—with this disastrous + result. At the first words spoken by Amelius, she would put an end to all + further interest in the subject on his part, by telling him that the lost + girl had been found, and found by another person. + </p> + <p> + Rufus pointed to the writing-materials on a side table, which he had + himself used earlier in the day. The needful excuse was, unhappily, quite + easy to find. A misunderstanding with his landlady had obliged Amelius to + leave his lodgings at an hour’s notice, and had occupied him in trying to + find a new residence for the rest of the day. The note was written. Rufus, + who was nearest to the bell, stretched out his hand to ring for the + messenger. Amelius suddenly stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t like me to disappoint her,” he said. “I needn’t stay long—I + might get there and back in half an hour, in a fast cab.” + </p> + <p> + His conscience was not quite easy. The sense of having forgotten Regina—no + matter how naturally and excusably—oppressed him with a feeling of + self-reproach. Rufus raised no objection; the hesitation of Amelius was + unquestionably creditable to him. “If you must do it, my son,” he said, + “do it right away—and we’ll wait for you.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius took up his hat. The door opened as he approached it, and Mrs. + Payson entered the room, leading Simple Sally by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “We are all going together,” said the genial old lady, “to see my large + family of daughters at the Home. We can have our talk in the carriage. + It’s an hour’s drive from this place—and I must be back again to + dinner at half-past seven.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius and Rufus looked at each other. Amelius thought of pleading an + engagement, and asking to be excused. Under the circumstances, it was + assuredly not a very gracious thing to do. Before he could make up his + mind, one way or the other, Sally stole to his side, and put her hand on + his arm. Mrs. Payson had done wonders in conquering the girl’s inveterate + distrust of strangers, and, to a certain extent at least, winning her + confidence. But no early influence could shake Sally’s dog-like devotion + to Amelius. Her jealous instinct discovered something suspicious in his + sudden silence. “You must go with us,” she said, “I won’t go without you.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” Mrs. Payson added; “I promised her that, of course, + beforehand.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus rang the bell, and despatched the messenger to Regina. “That’s the + one way out of it, my son,” he whispered to Amelius, as they followed Mrs. + Payson and Sally down the stairs of the hotel. + </p> + <p> + They had just driven up to the gates of the Home, when Jervy and his + accomplice met at the tavern, and entered on their consultation in a + private room. + </p> + <p> + In spite of her poverty-stricken appearance, Mrs. Sowler was not + absolutely destitute. In various underhand and wicked ways, she contrived + to put a few shillings in her pocket from week to week. If she was half + starved, it was for the very ordinary reason, among persons of her vicious + class, that she preferred spending her money on drink. Stating his + business with her, as reservedly and as cunningly as usual, Jervy found, + to his astonishment, that even this squalid old creature presumed to + bargain with him. The two wretches were on the point of a quarrel which + might have delayed the execution of the plot against Mrs. Farnaby, but for + the vile self-control which made Jervy one of the most formidable + criminals living. He gave way on the question of money—and, from + that moment, he had Mrs. Sowler absolutely at his disposal. + </p> + <p> + “Meet me to-morrow morning, to receive your instructions,” he said. “The + time is ten sharp; and the place is the powder-magazine in Hyde Park. And + mind this! You must be decently dressed—you know where to hire the + things. If I smell you of spirits to-morrow morning, I shall employ + somebody else. No; not a farthing now. You will have your money—first + instalment only, mind!—to-morrow at ten.” + </p> + <p> + Left by himself, Jervy sent for pen, ink, and paper. Using his left hand, + which was just as serviceable to him as his right, he traced these lines:— + </p> + <p> + “You are informed, by an unknown friend, that a certain lost young lady is + now living in a foreign country, and may be restored to her afflicted + mother on receipt of a sufficient sum to pay expenses, and to reward the + writer of this letter, who is undeservedly, in distressed circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “Are you, madam, the mother? I ask the question in the strictest + confidence, knowing nothing certainly but that your husband was the person + who put the young lady out to nurse in her infancy. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t address your husband, because his inhuman desertion of the poor + baby does not incline me to trust him. I run the risk of trusting you—to + a certain extent—at starting. Shall I drop a hint which may help you + to identify the child, in your own mind? It would be inexcusably foolish + on my part to speak too plainly, just yet. The hint must be a vague one. + Suppose I use a poetical expression, and say that the young lady is + enveloped in mystery from head to foot—especially the foot? + </p> + <p> + “In the event of my addressing the right person, I beg to offer a + suggestion for a preliminary interview. + </p> + <p> + “If you will take a walk on the bridge over the Serpentine River, on + Kensington Gardens side, at half-past ten o’clock to-morrow morning, + holding a white handkerchief in your left hand, you will meet the + much-injured woman, who was deceived into taking charge of the infant + child at Ramsgate, and will be satisfied so far that you are giving your + confidence to persons who really deserve it.” + </p> + <p> + Jervy addressed this infamous letter to Mrs. Farnaby, in an ordinary + envelope, marked “Private.” He posted it, that night, with his own hand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4 + </h2> + <h3> + “Rufus! I don’t quite like the way you look at me. You seem to think—” + </h3> + <p> + “Give it tongue, my son. What do I seem to think?” + </p> + <p> + “You think I’m forgetting Regina. You don’t believe I’m just as fond of + her as ever. The fact is, you’re an old bachelor.” + </p> + <p> + “That is so. Where’s the harm, Amelius?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand—” + </p> + <p> + “You’re out there, my bright boy. I reckon I understand more than you + think for. The wisest thing you ever did in your life is what you did this + evening, when you committed Sally to the care of those ladies at the + Home.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Rufus. We shall quarrel if I stay here any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Amelius. We shan’t quarrel, stay here as long as you like.” + </p> + <p> + The good deed had been done; the sacrifice—already a painful + sacrifice—had been made. Mrs. Payson was old enough to speak + plainly, as well as seriously, to Amelius of the absolute necessity of + separating himself from Simple Sally, without any needless delay. “You + have seen for yourself,” she said, “that the plan on which this little + household is ruled is the unvarying plan of patience and kindness. So far + as Sally is concerned, you can be quite sure that she will never hear a + harsh word, never meet with a hard look, while she is under our care. The + lamentable neglect under which the poor creature has suffered, will be + tenderly remembered and atoned for, here. If we can’t make her happy among + us, I promise that she shall leave the Home, if she wishes it, in six + weeks’ time. As to yourself, consider your position if you persist in + taking her back with you. Our good friend Rufus has told me that you are + engaged to be married. Think of the misinterpretations, to say the least + of it, to which you would subject yourself—think of the reports + which would sooner or later find their way to the young lady’s ears, and + of the deplorable consequences that would follow. I believe implicitly in + the purity of your motives. But remember Who taught us to pray that we may + not be led into temptation—and complete the good work that you have + begun, by leaving Sally among friends and sisters in this house.” + </p> + <p> + To any honourable man, these were unanswerable words. Coming after what + Rufus and the surgeon had already said to him, they left Amelius no + alternative but to yield. He pleaded for leave to write to Sally, and to + see her, at a later interval, when she might be reconciled to her new + life. Mrs. Payson had just consented to both requests, Rufus had just + heartily congratulated him on his decision—when the door was thrown + violently open. Simple Sally ran into the room, followed by one of the + women-attendants in a state of breathless surprise. + </p> + <p> + “She showed me a bedroom,” cried Sally, pointing indignantly to the woman; + “and she asked if I should like to sleep there.” She turned to Amelius, + and caught him by the hand to lead him away. The ineradicable instinct of + distrust had been once more roused in her by the too zealous attendant. + “I’m not going to stay here,” she said; “I’m going away with You!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius glanced at Mrs. Payson. Sally tried to drag him to the door. He + did his best to reassure her by a smile; he spoke confusedly some + composing words. But his honest face, always accustomed to tell the truth, + told the truth now. The poor lost creature, whose feeble intelligence was + so slow to discern, so inapt to reflect, looked at him with the heart’s + instantaneous perception, and saw her doom. She let go of his hand. Her + head sank. Without word or cry, she dropped on the floor at his feet. + </p> + <p> + The attendant instantly raised her, and placed her on a sofa. Mrs. Payson + saw how resolutely Amelius struggled to control himself, and felt for him + with all her heart. Turning aside for a moment, she hastily wrote a few + lines, and returned to him. “Go, before we revive her,” she whispered; + “and give what I have written to the coachman. You shall suffer no anxiety + that I can spare you,” said the excellent woman; “I will stay here myself + to-night, and reconcile her to the new life.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand; Amelius kissed it in silence. Rufus led him out. + Not a word dropped from his lips on the long drive back to London. + </p> + <p> + His mind was disturbed by other subjects besides the subject of Sally. He + thought of his future, darkened by the doubtful marriage-engagement that + was before him. Alone with Rufus, for the rest of the evening, he + petulantly misunderstood the sympathy with which the kindly American + regarded him. Their bedrooms were next to each other. Rufus heard him + walking restlessly to and fro, and now and then talking to himself. After + a while, these sounds ceased. He was evidently worn out, and was getting + the rest that he needed, at last. + </p> + <p> + The next morning he received a few lines from Mrs. Payson, giving a + favourable account of Sally, and promising further particulars in a day or + two. + </p> + <p> + Encouraged by this good news, revived by a long night’s sleep, he went + towards noon to pay his postponed visit to Regina. At that early hour, he + could feel sure that his interview with her would not be interrupted by + visitors. She received him quietly and seriously, pressing his hand with a + warmer fondness than usual. He had anticipated some complaint of his + absence on the previous day, and some severe allusion to his appearance in + the capacity of a Socialist lecturer. Regina’s indulgence, or Regina’s + interest in circumstances of more pressing importance, preserved a + merciful silence on both subjects. + </p> + <p> + “It is a comfort to me to see you, Amelius,” she said; “I am in trouble + about my uncle, and I am weary of my own anxious thoughts. Something + unpleasant has happened in Mr. Farnaby’s business. He goes to the City + earlier, and he returns much later, than usual. When he does come back, he + doesn’t speak to me—he locks himself into his room; and he looks + worn and haggard when I make his breakfast for him in the morning. You + know that he is one of the directors of the new bank? There was something + about the bank in the newspaper yesterday which upset him dreadfully; he + put down his cup of coffee—and went away to the City, without eating + his breakfast. I don’t like to worry you about it, Amelius. But my aunt + seems to take no interest in her husband’s affairs—and it is really + a relief to me to talk of my troubles to you. I have kept the newspaper; + do look at what it says about the bank, and tell me if you understand it!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius read the passage pointed out to him. He knew as little of banking + business as Regina. “So far as I can make it out,” he said, “they’re + paying away money to their shareholders which they haven’t earned. How do + they do that, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + Regina changed the subject in despair. She asked Amelius if he had found + new lodgings. Hearing that he had not yet succeeded in the search for a + residence, she opened a drawer of her work-table, and took out a card. + </p> + <p> + “The brother of one of my schoolfellows is going to be married,” she said. + “He has a pretty bachelor cottage in the neighbourhood of the Regent’s + Park—and he wants to sell it, with the furniture, just as it is. I + don’t know whether you care to encumber yourself with a little house of + your own. His sister has asked me to distribute some of his cards, with + the address and the particulars. It might be worth your while, perhaps, to + look at the cottage when you pass that way.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius took the card. The small feminine restraints and gentlenesses of + Regina, her quiet even voice, her serene grace of movement, had a + pleasantly soothing effect on his mind after the anxieties of the last + four and twenty hours. He looked at her bending over her embroidery, + deftly and gracefully industrious—and drew his chair closer to her. + She smiled softly over her work, conscious that he was admiring her, and + placidly pleased to receive the tribute. + </p> + <p> + “I would buy the cottage at once,” said Amelius, “if I thought you would + come and live in it with me.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up gravely, with her needle suspended in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let us return to that,” she answered, and went on again with her + embroidery. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + She persisted in working, as industriously as if she had been a poor + needlewoman, with serious reasons for being eager to get her money. “It is + useless,” she replied, “to speak of what cannot be for some time to come.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius stopped the progress of the embroidery by taking her hand. Her + devotion to her work irritated him. + </p> + <p> + “Look at me, Regina,” he said, steadily controlling himself. “I want to + propose that we shall give way a little on both sides. I won’t hurry you; + I will wait a reasonable time. If I promise that, surely you may yield a + little in return. Money seems to be a hard taskmaster, my darling, after + what you have told me about your uncle. See how he suffers because he is + bent on being rich; and ask yourself if it isn’t a warning to us not to + follow his example! Would you like to see <i>me</i> too wretched to speak + to you, or to eat my breakfast—and all for the sake of a little + outward show? Come, come! let us think of ourselves. Why should we waste + the best days of our life apart, when we are both free to be happy + together? I have another good friend besides Rufus—the good friend + of my father before me. He knows all sorts of great people, and he will + help me to some employment. In six months’ time I might have a little + salary to add to my income. Say the sweetest words, my darling, that ever + fell from your lips—say you will marry me in six months!” + </p> + <p> + It was not in a woman’s nature to be insensible to such pleading as this. + She all but yielded. “I should like to say it, dear!” she answered, with a + little fluttering sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Say it, then!” Amelius suggested tenderly. + </p> + <p> + She took refuge again in her embroidery. “If you would only give me a + little time,” she suggested, “I might say it.” + </p> + <p> + “Time for what, my own love?” + </p> + <p> + “Time to wait, dear, till my uncle is not quite so anxious as he is now.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk of your uncle, Regina! You know as well as I do what he would + say. Good heavens! why can’t you decide for yourself? No! I don’t want to + hear over again about what you owe to Mr. Farnaby—I heard enough of + it on that day in the shrubbery. Oh, my dear girl, do have some feeling + for me! do for once have a will of your own!” + </p> + <p> + Those last words were an offence to her self-esteem. “I think it’s very + rude to tell me I have no will of my own,” she said, “and very hard to + press in this way when you know I am in trouble.” The inevitable + handkerchief appeared, adding emphasis to the protest—and the + becoming tears showed themselves modestly in Regina’s magnificent eyes. + </p> + <p> + Amelius started out of his chair, and walked away to the window. That last + reference to Mr. Farnaby’s pecuniary cares was more than he had patience + to endure. “She can’t even forget her uncle and his bank,” he thought, + “when I am speaking to her of our marriage!” + </p> + <p> + He kept his face hidden from her, at the window. By some subtle process of + association which he was unable to trace, the image of Simple Sally rose + in his mind. An irresistible influence forced him to think of her—not + as the poor, starved, degraded, half-witted creature of the streets, but + as the grateful girl who had asked for no happier future than to be his + servant, who had dropped senseless at his feet at the bare prospect of + parting with him. His sense of self-respect, his loyalty to his betrothed + wife, resolutely resisted the unworthy conclusion to which his own + thoughts were leading him. He turned back again to Regina; he spoke so + loudly and so vehemently that the gathering flow of her tears was + suspended in surprise. “You’re right, you’re quite right, my dear! I ought + to give you time, of course. I try to control my hasty temper, but I don’t + always succeed—just at first. Pray forgive me; it shall be exactly + as you wish.” + </p> + <p> + Regina forgave him, with a gentle and ladylike astonishment at the + excitable manner in which he made his excuses. She even neglected her + embroidery, and put her face up to him to be kissed. “You are so nice, + dear,” she said, “when you are not violent and unreasonable. It is such a + pity you were brought up in America. Won’t you stay to lunch?” + </p> + <p> + Happily for Amelius, the footman appeared at this critical moment with a + message: “My mistress wishes particularly to see you, sir, before you go.” + </p> + <p> + This was the first occasion, in the experience of the lovers, on which + Mrs. Farnaby had expressed her wishes through the medium of a servant, + instead of appearing personally. The curiosity of Regina was mildly + excited. “What a very odd message!” she said; “what does it mean? My aunt + went out earlier than usual this morning, and I have not seen her since. I + wonder whether she is going to consult you about my uncle’s affairs?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go and see,” said Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “And stay to lunch?” Regina reiterated. + </p> + <p> + “Not to-day, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to-morrow.” So he escaped. As he opened the door, he looked back, + and kissed his hand. Regina raised her head for a moment, and smiled + charmingly. She was hard at work again over her embroidery. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5 + </h2> + <p> + The door of Mrs. Farnaby’s ground-floor room, at the back of the house, + was partially open. She was on the watch for Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “Come in!” she cried, the moment he appeared in the hall. She pulled him + into the room, and shut the door with a bang. Her face was flushed, her + eyes were wild. “I have something to tell you, you dear good fellow,” she + burst out excitedly—“Something in confidence, between you and me!” + She paused, and looked at him with sudden anxiety and alarm. “What’s the + matter with you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The sight of the room, the reference to a secret, the prospect of another + private conference, forced back the mind of Amelius, in one breathless + instant, to his first memorable interview with Mrs. Farnaby. The mother’s + piteously hopeful words, in speaking of her lost daughter, rang in his + ears again as if they had just fallen from her lips. “She may be lost in + the labyrinth of London.... To-morrow, or ten years hence, you <i>might</i> + meet with her.” There were a hundred chances against it—a thousand, + ten thousand chances against it. The startling possibility flashed across + his brain, nevertheless, like a sudden flow of daylight across the dark. + <i>“Have</i> I met with her, at the first chance?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” he cried; “I have something to say before you speak to me. Don’t + deceive yourself with vain hopes. Promise me that, before I begin.” + </p> + <p> + She waved her hand derisively. “Hopes?” she repeated; “I have done with + hopes, I have done with fears—I have got to certainties, at last!” + </p> + <p> + He was too eager to heed anything that she said to him; his whole soul was + absorbed in the coming disclosure. “Two nights since,” he went on, “I was + wandering about London, and I met—” + </p> + <p> + She burst out laughing. “Go on!” she cried, with a wild derisive gaiety. + </p> + <p> + Amelius stopped, perplexed and startled. “What are you laughing at?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” she repeated. “I defy you to surprise me. Out with it! Whom did + you meet?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius proceeded doubtfully, by a word at a time. “I met a poor girl in + the streets,” he said, steadily watching her. + </p> + <p> + She changed completely at those words; she looked at him with an aspect of + stern reproach. “No more of it,” she interposed; “I have not waited all + these miserable years for such a horrible end as that.” Her face suddenly + brightened; a radiant effusion of tenderness and triumph flowed over it, + and made it young and happy again. “Amelius!” she said, “listen to this. + My dream has come true—my girl is found! Thanks to you, though you + don’t know it.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked at her. Was she speaking of something that had really + happened? or had she been dreaming again? + </p> + <p> + Absorbed in her own happiness, she made no remark on his silence. “I have + seen the woman,” she went on. “This bright blessed morning I have seen the + woman who took her away in the first days of her poor little life. The + wretch swears she was not to blame. I tried to forgive her. Perhaps I + almost did forgive her, in the joy of hearing what she had to tell me. I + should never have heard it, Amelius, if you had not given that glorious + lecture. The woman was one of your audience. She would never have spoken + of those past days; she would never have thought of me—” + </p> + <p> + At those words, Mrs. Farnaby abruptly stopped, and turned her face away + from Amelius. After waiting a little, finding her still silent, still + immovable, he ventured on putting a question. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you are not deceived?” he asked. “I remember you told me + that rogues had tried to impose on you, in past times when you employed + people to find her.” + </p> + <p> + “I have proof that I am not being imposed upon,” Mrs. Farnaby answered, + still keeping her face hidden from him. “One of them knows of the fault in + her foot.” + </p> + <p> + “One of them?” Amelius repeated. “How many of them are there?” + </p> + <p> + “Two. The old woman, and a young man.” + </p> + <p> + “What are their names?” + </p> + <p> + “They won’t tell me their names yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that a little suspicious?” + </p> + <p> + “One of them knows,” Mrs. Farnaby reiterated, “of the fault in her foot.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask which of them knows? The old woman, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No, the young man.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s strange, isn’t it? Have you seen the young man?” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing of him, except the little that the woman told me. He has + written me a letter.” + </p> + <p> + “May I look at it?” + </p> + <p> + “I daren’t let you look at it!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius said no more. If he had felt the smallest suspicion that the + disclosure volunteered by Mrs. Farnaby, at their first interview, had been + overheard by the unknown person who had opened the swinging window in the + kitchen, he might have recalled Phoebe’s vindictive language at his + lodgings, and the doubts suggested to him by his discovery of the vagabond + waiting for her in the street. As it was, he was simply puzzled. The one + plain conclusion to his mind was, unhappily, the natural conclusion after + what he had heard—that Mrs. Farnaby had no sort of interest in the + discovery of Simple Sally, and that he need trouble himself with no + further anxiety in that matter. Strange as Mrs. Farnaby’s mysterious + revelation seemed, her correspondent’s knowledge of the fault in the foot + was circumstance in his favour, beyond dispute. Amelius still wondered + inwardly how it was that the woman who had taken charge of the child had + failed to discover what appeared to be known to another person. If he had + been aware that Mrs. Sowler’s occupation at the time was the occupation of + a “baby-farmer,” and that she had many other deserted children pining + under her charge, he might have easily understood that she was the last + person in the world to trouble herself with a minute examination of any + one of the unfortunate little creatures abandoned to her drunken and + merciless neglect. Jervy had satisfied himself, before he trusted her with + his instructions, that she knew no more than the veriest stranger of any + peculiarity in one or the other of the child’s feet. + </p> + <p> + Interpreting Mrs. Farnaby’s last reply to him as an intimation that their + interview was at an end, Amelius took up his hat to go. + </p> + <p> + “I hope with all my heart,” he said, “that what has begun so well will end + well. If there is any service that I can do for you—” + </p> + <p> + She drew nearer to him, and put her hand gently on his shoulder. “Don’t + think that I distrust you,” she said very earnestly; “I am unwilling to + shock you—that is all. Even this great joy has a dark side to it; my + miserable married life casts its shadow on everything that happens to me. + Keep secret from everybody the little that I have told you—you will + ruin me if you say one word of it to any living creature. I ought not to + have opened my heart to you—but how could I help it, when the + happiness that is coming to me has come through you? When you say good-bye + to me to-day, Amelius, you say good-bye to me for the last time in this + house. I am going away. Don’t ask me why—that is one more among the + things which I daren’t tell you! You shall hear from me, or see me—I + promise that. Give me some safe address to write to; some place where + there are no inquisitive women who may open my letter in your absence.” + </p> + <p> + She handed him her pocket-book. Amelius wrote down in it the address of + his club. + </p> + <p> + She took his hand. “Think of me kindly,” she said. “And, once more, don’t + be afraid of my being deceived. There is a hard part of me still left + which keeps me on my guard. The old woman tried, this morning, to make me + talk to her about that little fault we know of in my child’s foot. But I + thought to myself, ‘If you had taken a proper interest in my poor baby + while she was with you, you must sooner or later have found it out.’ Not a + word passed my lips. No, no, don’t be anxious when you think of me. I am + as sharp as they are; I mean to find out how the man who wrote to me + discovered what he knows; he shall satisfy me, I promise you, when I see + him or hear from him next. All this is between ourselves strictly, + sacredly between ourselves. Say nothing—I know I can trust you. + Good-bye, and forgive me for having been so often in your way with Regina. + I shall never be in your way again. Marry her, if you think she is good + enough for you; I have no more interest now in your being a roving + bachelor, meeting with girls here, there, and everywhere. You shall know + how it goes on. Oh, I am so happy!” + </p> + <p> + She burst into tears, and signed to Amelius with a wild gesture of treaty + to leave her. + </p> + <p> + He pressed her hand in silence, and went out. + </p> + <p> + Almost as the door closed on him, the variable woman changed again. For a + while she walked rapidly to and fro, talking to herself. The course of her + tears ceased. Her lips closed firmly; her eyes assumed an expression of + savage resolve. She sat down at the table and opened her desk. “I’ll read + it once more,” she said to herself, “before I seal it up.” + </p> + <p> + She took from her desk a letter of her own writing, and spread it out + before her. With her elbows on the table, and her hands clasped fiercely + in her hair, she read these lines addressed to her husband:— + </p> + <p> + JOHN FARNABY,—I have always suspected that you had something to do + with the disappearance of our child. I know for certain now that you + deliberately cast your infant daughter on the mercy of the world, and + condemned your wife to a life of wretchedness. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t suppose that I have been deceived! I have spoken with the woman who + waited by the garden-paling at Ramsgate, and who took the child from your + hands. She saw you with me at the lecture; and she is absolutely sure that + you are the man. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks to the meeting at the lecture-hall, I am at last on the trace of + my lost daughter. This morning I heard the woman’s story. She kept the + child, on the chance of its being reclaimed, until she could afford to + keep it no longer. She met with a person who was willing to adopt it, and + who took it away with her to a foreign country, not mentioned to me yet. + In that country my daughter is still living, and will be restored to me on + conditions which will be communicated in a few days’ time. + </p> + <p> + “Some of this story may be true, and some of it may be false; the woman + may be lying to serve her own interests with me. Of one thing I am sure—my + girl is identified, by means known to me of which there can be no doubt. + And she must be still living, because the interest of the persons treating + with me is an interest in her life. + </p> + <p> + “When you receive this letter, on your return from business to-night, I + shall have left you, and left you for ever. The bare thought of even + looking at you again fills me with horror. I have my own income, and I + mean to take my own way. In your best interests I warn you, make no + attempt to trace me. I declare solemnly that, rather than let your + deserted daughter be polluted by the sight of you, I would kill you with + my own hand, and die for it on the scaffold. If she ever asks for her + father, I will do you one service. For the honour of human nature, I will + tell her that her father is dead. It will not be all a falsehood. I + repudiate you and your name—you are dead to me from this time forth. + </p> + <p> + “I sign myself by my father’s name— + </p> + <p> + “EMMA RONALD.” + </p> + <p> + She had said herself that she was unwilling to shock Amelius. This was the + reason. + </p> + <p> + After thinking a little, she sealed and directed the letter. This done, + she unlocked the wooden press which had once contained the baby’s frock + and cap, and those other memorials of the past which she called her “dead + consolations.” After satisfying herself that the press was empty, she + wrote on a card, “To be called for by a messenger from my bankers”—and + tied the card to a tin box in a corner, secured by a padlock. She lifted + the box, and placed it in front of the press, so that it might be easily + visible to any one entering the room. The safe keeping of her treasures + provided for, she took the sealed letter, and, ascending the stairs, + placed it on the table in her husband’s dressing-room. She hurried out + again, the instant after, as if the sight of the place were intolerable to + her. + </p> + <p> + Passing to the other end of the corridor, she entered her own bedchamber, + and put on her bonnet and cloak. A leather handbag was on the bed. She + took it up, and looked round the large luxurious room with a shudder of + disgust. What she had suffered, within those four walls, no human creature + knew but herself. She hurried out, as she had hurried out of her husband’s + dressing-room. + </p> + <p> + Her niece was still in the drawing-room. As she reached the door, she + hesitated, and stopped. The girl was a good girl, in her own dull placid + way—and her sister’s daughter, too. A last little act of kindness + would perhaps be a welcome act to remember. She opened the door so + suddenly that Regina started, with a small cry of alarm. “Oh, aunt, how + you frighten one! Are you going out?” “Yes; I’m going out,” was the short + answer. “Come here. Give me a kiss.” Regina looked up in wide-eyed + astonishment. Mrs. Farnaby stamped impatiently on the floor. Regina rose, + gracefully bewildered. “My dear aunt, how very odd!” she said—and + gave the kiss demanded, with a serenely surprised elevation of her finely + shaped eyebrows. “Yes,” said Mrs. Farnaby; “that’s it—one of my + oddities. Go back to your work. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + She left the room, as abruptly as she had entered it. With her firm heavy + step she descended to the hall, passed out at the house door, and closed + it behind her—never to return to it again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6 + </h2> + <p> + Amelius left Mrs. Farnaby, troubled by emotions of confusion and alarm, + which he was the last man living to endure patiently. Her extraordinary + story of the discovered daughter, the still more startling assertion of + her solution to leave the house, the absence of any plain explanation, the + burden of secrecy imposed on him—all combined together to irritate + his sensitive nerves. “I hate mysteries,” he thought; “and ever since I + landed in England, I seem fated to be mixed up in them. Does she really + mean to leave her husband and her niece? What will Farnaby do? What will + become of Regina?” + </p> + <p> + To think of Regina was to think of the new repulse of which he had been + made the subject. Again he had appealed to her love for him, and again she + had refused to marry him at his own time. + </p> + <p> + He was especially perplexed and angry, when he reflected on the + unassailably strong influence which her uncle appeared to have over her. + All Regina’s sympathy was with Mr. Farnaby and his troubles. Amelius might + have understood her a little better, if she had told him what had passed + between her uncle and herself on the night of Mr. Farnaby’s return, in a + state of indignation, from the lecture. In terror of the engagement being + broken off, she had been forced to confess that she was too fond of + Amelius to prevail on herself to part with him. If he attempted a second + exposition of his Socialist principles on the platform, she owned that it + might be impossible to receive him again as a suitor. But she pleaded hard + for the granting of a pardon to the first offence, in the interests of her + own tranquillity, if not in mercy to Amelius. Mr. Farnaby, already + troubled by his commercial anxieties, had listened more amiably, and also + more absently, than usual; and had granted her petition with the ready + indulgence of a preoccupied man. It had been decided between them that the + offence of the lecture should be passed over in discreet silence. Regina’s + gratitude for this concession inspired her sympathy with her uncle in his + present state of suspense. She had been sorely tempted to tell Amelius + what had happened. But the natural reserve of her character—fortified, + in this instance, by the defensive pride which makes a woman unwilling, + before marriage, to confess her weakness unreservedly to the man who has + caused it—had sealed her lips. “When he is a little less violent and + a little more humble,” she thought, “perhaps I may tell him.” + </p> + <p> + So it fell out that Amelius took his way through the streets, a mystified + and an angry man. + </p> + <p> + Arrived in sight of the hotel, he stopped, and looked about him. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to disguise from himself that a lurking sense of regret + was making itself felt, in his present frame of mind, when he thought of + Simple Sally. In all probability, he would have quarrelled with any man + who had accused him of actually lamenting the girl’s absence, and wanting + her back again. He happened to recollect her artless blue eyes, with their + vague patient look, and her quaint childish questions put so openly in so + sweet a voice—and that was all. Was there anything reprehensible, if + you please, in an act of remembrance? Comforting himself with these + considerations, he moved on again a step or two—and stopped once + more. In his present humour, he shrank from facing Rufus. The American + read him like a book; the American would ask irritating questions. He + turned his back on the hotel, and looked at his watch. As he took it out, + his finger and thumb touched something else in his waistcoat-pocket. It + was the card that Regina had given to him—the card of the cottage to + let. He had nothing to do, and nowhere to go. Why not look at the cottage? + If it proved to be not worth seeing, the Zoological Gardens were in the + neighbourhood—and there are periods in a man’s life when he finds + the society that walks on four feet a welcome relief from the society that + walks on two. + </p> + <p> + It was a fairly fine day. He turned northward towards the Regent’s Park. + </p> + <p> + The cottage was in a by-road, just outside the park: a cottage in the + strictest sense of the word. A sitting-room, a library, and a bedroom—all + of small proportions—and, under them a kitchen and two more rooms, + represented the whole of the little dwelling from top to bottom. It was + simply and prettily furnished; and it was completely surrounded by its own + tiny plot of garden-ground. The library especially was a perfect little + retreat, looking out on the back garden; peaceful and shady, and adorned + with bookcases of old carved oak. + </p> + <p> + Amelius had hardly looked round the room, before his inflammable brain was + on fire with a new idea. Other idle men in trouble had found the solace + and the occupation of their lives in books. Why should he not be one of + them? Why not plunge into study in this delightful retirement—and + perhaps, one day, astonish Regina and Mr. Farnaby by bursting on the world + as the writer of a famous book? Exactly as Amelius, two days since, had + seen himself in the future, a public lecturer in receipt of glorious fees—so + he now saw himself the celebrated scholar and writer of a new era to come. + The woman who showed the cottage happened to mention that a gentleman had + already looked over it that morning, and had seemed to like it. Amelius + instantly gave her a shilling, and said, “I take it on the spot.” The + wondering woman referred him to the house-agent’s address, and kept at a + safe distance from the excitable stranger as she let him out. In less than + another hour, Amelius had taken the cottage, and had returned to the hotel + with a new interest in life and a new surprise for Rufus. + </p> + <p> + As usual, in cases of emergency, the American wasted no time in talking. + He went out at once to see the cottage, and to make his own inquiries of + the agent. The result amply proved that Amelius had not been imposed upon. + If he repented of his bargain, the gentleman who had first seen the + cottage was ready to take it off his hands, at a moment’s notice. + </p> + <p> + Going back to the Hotel, Rufus found Amelius resolute to move into his new + abode, and eager for the coming life of study and retirement. Knowing + perfectly well before-hand how this latter project would end, the American + tried the efficacy of a little worldly temptation. He had arranged, he + said, “to have a good time of it in Paris”; and he proposed that Amelius + should be his companion. The suggestion produced not the slightest effect; + Amelius talked as if he was a confirmed recluse, in the decline of life. + “Thank you,” he said, with the most amazing gravity; “I prefer the company + of my books, and the seclusion of my study.” This declaration was followed + by more selling-out of money in the Funds, and by a visit to a bookseller, + which left a handsome pecuniary result inscribed on the right side of the + ledger. + </p> + <p> + On the next day, Amelius presented himself towards two o’clock at Mr. + Farnaby’s house. He was not so selfishly absorbed in his own projects as + to forget Mrs. Farnaby. On the contrary, he was honestly anxious for news + of her. + </p> + <p> + A certain middle-aged man of business has been briefly referred to, in + these pages, as one of Regina’s faithful admirers, patiently submitting to + the triumph of his favoured young rival. This gentleman, issuing from his + carriage with his card-case ready in his hand, met Amelius at the door, + with a face which announced plainly that a catastrophe had happened. “You + have heard the sad news, no doubt?” he said, in a rich bass voice attuned + to sadly courteous tones. The servant opened the door before Amelius could + answer. After a contest of politeness, the middle-aged gentleman consented + to make his inquiries first. “How is Mr. Farnaby? No better? And Miss + Regina? Very poorly, oh? Dear, dear me! Say I called, if you please.” He + handed in two cards, with a severe enjoyment of the melancholy occasion + and the rich bass sounds of his own voice. “Very sad, is it not?” he said, + addressing his youthful rival with an air of paternal indulgence. “Good + morning.” He bowed with melancholy grace, and got into his carriage. + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked after the prosperous merchant, as the prancing horses drew + him away. “After all,” he thought bitterly, “she might be happier with + that rich prig than she could be with me.” He stepped into the hall, and + spoke to the servant. The man had his message ready. Miss Regina would see + Mr. Goldenheart, if he would be so good as to wait in the dinning-room. + </p> + <p> + Regina appeared, pale and scared; her eyes inflamed with weeping. “Oh, + Amelius, can you tell me what this dreadful misfortune means? Why has she + left us? When she sent for you yesterday, what did she say?” + </p> + <p> + In his position, Amelius could make but one answer. “Your aunt said she + thought of going away. But,” he added, with perfect truth, “she refused to + tell me why, or where she was going. I am quite as much at a loss to + understand her as you are. What does your uncle propose to do?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Farnaby’s conduct, as described by Regina, thickened the mystery—he + proposed to do nothing. + </p> + <p> + He had been found on the hearth-rug in his dressing-room; having + apparently been seized with a fit, in the act of burning some paper. The + ashes were discovered close by him, just inside the fender. On his + recovery, his first anxiety was to know if a letter had been burnt. + Satisfied on this point, he had ordered the servants to assemble round his + bed, and had peremptorily forbidden them to open the door to their + mistress, if she ever returned at any future time to the house. Regina’s + questions and remonstrances, when she was left alone with him, were + answered, once for all, in these pitiless terms:—“If you wish to + deserve the fatherly interest that I take in you, do as I do: forget that + such a person as your aunt ever existed. We shall quarrel, if you ever + mention her name in my hearing again.” This said, he had instantly changed + the subject; instructing Regina to write an excuse to “Mr. Melton” + (otherwise, the middle-aged rival), with whom he had been engaged to dine + that evening. Relating this latter event, Regina’s ever-ready gratitude + overflowed in the direction of Mr. Melton. “He was so kind! he left his + guests in the evening, and came and sat with my uncle for nearly an hour.” + Amelius made no remark on this; he led the conversation back to the + subject of Mrs. Farnaby. “She once spoke to me of her lawyers,” he said. + “Do <i>they</i> know nothing about her?” + </p> + <p> + The answer to this question showed that the sternly final decision of Mr. + Farnaby was matched by equal resolution on the part of his wife. + </p> + <p> + One of the partners in the legal firm had called that morning, to see + Regina on a matter of business. Mrs. Farnaby had appeared at the office on + the previous day, and had briefly expressed her wish to make a small + annual provision for her niece, in case of future need. Declining to enter + into any explanation, she had waited until the necessary document had been + drawn out; had requested that Regina might be informed of the + circumstance; and had then taken her departure in absolute silence. + Hearing that she had left her husband, the lawyer, like every one else, + was completely at a loss to understand what it meant. + </p> + <p> + “And what does the doctor say?” Amelius asked next. + </p> + <p> + “My uncle is to be kept perfectly quiet,” Regina answered; “and is not to + return to business for some time to come. Mr. Melton, with his usual + kindness, has undertaken to look after his affairs for him. Otherwise, my + uncle, in his present state of anxiety about the bank, would never have + consented to obey the doctor’s orders. When he can safely travel, he is + recommended to go abroad for the winter, and get well again in some warmer + climate. He refuses to leave his business—and the doctor refuses to + take the responsibility. There is to be a consultation of physicians + tomorrow. Oh, Amelius, I was really fond of my aunt—I am + heart-broken at this dreadful change!” + </p> + <p> + There was a momentary silence. If Mr. Melton had been present, he would + have said a few neatly sympathetic words. Amelius knew no more than a + savage of the art of conventional consolation. Tadmor had made him + familiar with the social and political questions of the time, and had + taught him to speak in public. But Tadmor, rich in books and newspapers, + was a powerless training institution in the matter of small talk. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose Mr. Farnaby is obliged to go abroad,” he suggested, after waiting + a little, “what will you do?” + </p> + <p> + Regina looked at him, with an air of melancholy surprise. “I shall do my + duty, of course,” she answered gravely. “I shall accompany my dear uncle, + if he wishes it.” She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “It is time + he took his medicine,” she resumed; “you will excuse me, I am sure.” She + shook hands, not very warmly—and hastened out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Amelius left the house, with a conviction which disheartened him—the + conviction that he had never understood Regina, and that he was not likely + to understand her in the future. He turned for relief to the consideration + of Mr. Farnaby’s strange conduct, under the domestic disaster which had + befallen him. + </p> + <p> + Recalling what he had observed for himself, and what he had heard from + Mrs. Farnaby when she had first taken him into her confidence, he inferred + that the subject of the lost child had not only been a subject of + estrangement between the husband and wife, but that the husband was, in + some way, the person blamable for it. Assuming this theory to be the right + one, there would be serious obstacles to the meeting of the mother and + child, in the mother’s home. The departure of Mrs. Farnaby was, in that + case, no longer unintelligible—and Mr. Farnaby’s otherwise + inexplicable conduct had the light of a motive thrown on it, which might + not unnaturally influence a hard-hearted man weary alike of his wife and + his wife’s troubles. Arriving at this conclusion by a far shorter process + than is here indicated, Amelius pursued the subject no further. At the + time when he had first visited the Farnabys, Rufus had advised him to + withdraw from closer intercourse with them, while he had the chance. In + his present mood, he was almost in danger of acknowledging to himself that + Rufus had proved to be right. + </p> + <p> + He lunched with his American friend at the hotel. Before the meal was over + Mrs. Payson called, to say a few cheering words about Sally. + </p> + <p> + It was not to be denied that the girl remained persistently silent and + reserved. In other respects the report was highly favourable. She was + obedient to the rules of the house; she was always ready with any little + services that she could render to her companions; and she was so eager to + improve herself, by means of her reading-lessons and writing-lessons, that + it was not easy to induce her to lay aside her book and her slate. When + the teacher offered her some small reward for her good conduct, and asked + what she would like, the sad little face brightened, and the faithful + creature’s answer was always the same—“I should like to know what he + is doing now.” (Alas for Sally!—“he” meant Amelius.) + </p> + <p> + “You must wait a little longer before you write to her,” Mrs. Payson + concluded, “and you must not think of seeing her for some time to come. I + know you will help us by consenting to this—for Sally’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius bowed in silence. He would not have confessed what he felt, at + that moment, to any living soul—it is doubtful if he even confessed + it to himself. Mrs. Payson, observing him with a woman’s keen sympathy, + relented a little. “I might give her a message,” the good lady suggested—“just + to say you are glad to hear she is behaving so well.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you give her this?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + He took from his pocket a little photograph of the cottage, which he had + noticed on the house-agent’s desk, and had taken away with him. “It is <i>my</i> + cottage now,” he explained, in tones that faltered a little; “I am going + to live there; Sally might like to see it.” + </p> + <p> + “Sally <i>shall</i> see it,” Mrs. Payson agreed—“if you will only + let me take this away first.” She pointed to the address of the cottage, + printed under the photograph. Past experience in the Home made her + reluctant to trust Sally with the address in London at which Amelius was + to be found. + </p> + <p> + Rufus produced a huge complex knife, out of the depths of which a pair of + scissors burst on touching a spring. Mrs. Payson cut off the address, and + placed the photograph in her pocket-book. “Now,” she said, “Sally will be + happy, and no harm can come of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve known you, ma’am, nigh on twenty years,” Rufus remarked. “I do + assure you that’s the first rash observation I ever heard from your lips.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK THE SEVENTH. THE VANISHING HOPES + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1 + </h2> + <h3> + Two days later, Amelius moved into his cottage. + </h3> + <p> + He had provided himself with a new servant, as easily as he had provided + himself with a new abode. A foreign waiter at the hotel—a + gray-haired Frenchman of the old school, reputed to be the most + ill-tempered servant in the house—had felt the genial influence of + Amelius with the receptive readiness of his race. Here was a young + Englishman, who spoke to him as easily and pleasantly as if he was + speaking to a friend—who heard him relate his little grievances, and + never took advantage of that circumstance to turn him into ridicule—who + said kindly, “I hope you don’t mind my calling you by your nickname,” when + he ventured to explain that his Christian name was “Theophile,” and that + his English fellow servants had facetiously altered and shortened it to + “Toff,” to suit their insular convenience. “For the first time, sir,” he + had hastened to add, “I feel it an honour to be Toff, when <i>you</i> + speak to me.” Asking everybody whom he met if they could recommend a + servant to him, Amelius had put the question, when Toff came in one + morning with the hot water. The old Frenchman made a low bow, expressive + of devotion. “I know of but one man, sir, whom I can safely recommend,” he + answered—“take me.” Amelius was delighted; he had only one objection + to make. “I don’t want to keep two servants,” he said, while Toff was + helping him on with his dressing-gown. “Why should you keep two servants, + sir?” the Frenchman inquired. Amelius answered, “I can’t ask you to make + the beds.” “Why not?” said Toff—and made the bed, then and there, in + five minutes. He ran out of the room, and came back with one of the + chambermaid’s brooms. “Judge for yourself, sir—can I sweep a + carpet?” He placed a chair for Amelius. “Permit me to save you the trouble + of shaving yourself. Are you satisfied? Very good. I am equally capable of + cutting your hair, and attending to your corns (if you suffer, sir, from + that inconvenience). Will you allow me to propose something which you have + not had yet for your breakfast?” In half an hour more, he brought in the + new dish. “Oeufs a la Tripe. An elementary specimen, sir, of what I can do + for you as a cook. Be pleased to taste it.” Amelius ate it all up on the + spot; and Toff applied the moral, with the neatest choice of language. + “Thank you, sir, for a gratifying expression of approval. One more + specimen of my poor capabilities, and I have done. It is barely possible—God + forbid!—that you may fall ill. Honour me by reading that document.” + He handed a written paper to Amelius, dated some years since in Paris, and + signed in an English name. “I testify with gratitude and pleasure that + Theophile Leblond has nursed me through a long illness, with an + intelligence and devotion which I cannot too highly praise.” “May you + never employ me, sir, in that capacity,” said Toff. “I have only to add + that I am not so old as I look, and that my political opinions have + changed, in later life, from red-republican to moderate-liberal. I also + confess, if necessary, that I still have an ardent admiration for the fair + sex.” He laid his hand on his heart, and waited to be engaged. + </p> + <p> + So the household at the cottage was modestly limited to Amelius and Toff. + </p> + <p> + Rufus remained for another week in London, to watch the new experiment. He + had made careful inquiries into the Frenchman’s character, and had found + that the complaints of his temper really amounted to this—that “he + gave himself the airs of a gentleman, and didn’t understand a joke.” On + the question of honesty and sobriety, the testimony of the proprietor of + the hotel left Rufus nothing to desire. Greatly to his surprise, Amelius + showed no disposition to grow weary of his quiet life, or to take refuge + in perilous amusements from the sober society of his books. He was regular + in his inquiries at Mr. Farnaby’s house; he took long walks by himself; he + never mentioned Sally’s name; he lost his interest in going to the + theatre, and he never appeared in the smoking-room of the club. Some men, + observing the remarkable change which had passed over his excitable + temperament, would have hailed it as a good sign for the future. The New + Englander looked below the surface, and was not so easily deceived. “My + bright boy’s soul is discouraged and cast down,” was the conclusion that + he drew. “There’s darkness in him where there once was light; and, what’s + worse than all, he caves in, and keeps it to himself.” After vainly trying + to induce Amelius to open his heart, Rufus at last went to Paris, with a + mind that was ill at ease. + </p> + <p> + On the day of the American’s departure, the march of events was resumed; + and the unnaturally quiet life of Amelius began to be disturbed again. + </p> + <p> + Making his customary inquiries in the forenoon at Mr. Farnaby’s door, he + found the household in a state of agitation. A second council of + physicians had been held, in consequence of the appearance of some + alarming symptoms in the case of the patient. On this occasion, the + medical men told him plainly that he would sacrifice his life to his + obstinacy, if he persisted in remaining in London and returning to his + business. By good fortune, the affairs of the bank had greatly benefited, + through the powerful interposition of Mr. Melton. With the improved + prospects, Mr. Farnaby (at his niece’s entreaty) submitted to the doctor’s + advice. He was to start on the first stage of his journey the next + morning; and, at his own earnest desire, Regina was to go with him. “I + hate strangers and foreigners; and I don’t like being alone. If you don’t + go with me, I shall stay where I am—and die.” So Mr. Farnaby put it + to his adopted daughter, in his rasping voice and with his hard frown. + </p> + <p> + “I am grieved, dear Amelius, to go away from you,” Regina said; “but what + can I do? It would have been so nice if you could have gone with us. I did + hint something of the sort; but—” + </p> + <p> + Her downcast face finished the sentence. Amelius felt the bare idea of + being Mr. Farnaby’s travelling companion make his blood run cold. And Mr. + Farnaby, on his side, reciprocated the sentiment. “I will write + constantly, dear,” Regina resumed; “and you will write back, won’t you? + Say you love me; and promise to come tomorrow morning, before we go.” + </p> + <p> + She kissed him affectionately—and, the instant after, checked the + responsive outburst of tenderness in Amelius, by that utter want of tact + which (in spite of the popular delusion to the contrary) is so much more + common in women than in men, “My uncle is so particular about packing his + linen,” she said; “nobody can please him but me; I must ask you to let me + run upstairs again.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius went out into the street, with his head down and his lips fast + closed. He was not far from Mrs. Payson’s house. “Why shouldn’t I call?” + he thought to himself. His conscience added, “And hear some news of + Sally.” + </p> + <p> + There was good news. The girl was brightening mentally and physically—she + was in a fair way, if she only remained in the Home, to be “Simple” Sally + no longer. Amelius asked if she had got the photograph of the cottage. + Mrs. Payson laughed. “Sleeps with it under her pillow, poor child,” she + said, “and looks at it fifty times a day.” Thirty years since, with + infinitely less experience to guide her, the worthy matron would have + followed her instincts, and would have hesitated to tell Amelius quite so + much about the photograph. But some of a woman’s finer sensibilities do + get blunted with the advance of age and the accumulation of wisdom. + </p> + <p> + Instead of pursuing the subject of Sally’s progress, Amelius, to Mrs. + Payson’s surprise, made a clumsy excuse, and abruptly took his leave. + </p> + <p> + He felt the need of being alone; he was conscious of a vague distrust of + himself, which degraded him in his own estimation. Was he, like characters + he had read of in books, the victim of a fatality? The slightest + circumstances conspired to heighten his interest in Sally—just at + the time when Regina had once more disappointed him. He was as firmly + convinced, as if he had been the strictest moralist living, that it was an + insult to Regina, and an insult to his own self-respect, to set the lost + creature whom he had rescued in any light of comparison with the young + lady who was one day to be his wife. And yet, try as he might to drive her + out, Sally kept her place in his thoughts. There was, apparently, some + innate depravity in him. If a looking-glass had been handed to him at that + moment, he would have been ashamed to look himself in the face. + </p> + <p> + After walking until he was weary, he went to his club. + </p> + <p> + The porter gave him a letter as he crossed the hall. Mrs. Farnaby had kept + her promise, and had written to him. The smoking-room was deserted at that + time of day. He opened his letter in solitude, looked at it, crumpled it + up impatiently, and put it into his pocket. Not even Mrs. Farnaby could + interest him at that critical moment. His own affairs absorbed him. The + one idea in his mind, after what he had heard about Sally, was the idea of + making a last effort to hasten the date of his marriage before Mr. Farnaby + left England. “If I can only feel sure of Regina—” + </p> + <p> + His thoughts went no further than that. He walked up and down the empty + smoking-room, anxious and irritable, dissatisfied with himself, despairing + of the future. “I can but try it!” he suddenly decided—and turned at + once to the table to write a letter. + </p> + <p> + Death had been busy with the members of his family in the long interval + that had passed since he and his father left England. His nearest + surviving relative was his uncle—his father’s younger brother—who + occupied a post of high importance in the Foreign Office. To this + gentleman he now wrote, announcing his arrival in England, and his anxiety + to qualify himself for employment in a Government office. “Be so good as + to grant me an interview,” he concluded; “and I hope to satisfy you that I + am not unworthy of your kindness, if you will exert your influence in my + favour.” + </p> + <p> + He sent away his letter at once by a private messenger, with instructions + to wait for an answer. + </p> + <p> + It was not without doubt, and even pain, that he had opened communication + with a man whose harsh treatment of his father it was impossible for him + to forget. What could the son expect? There was but one hope. Time might + have inclined the younger brother to make atonement to the memory of the + elder, by a favourable reception of his nephew’s request. + </p> + <p> + His father’s last words of caution, his own boyish promise not to claim + kindred with his relations in England, were vividly present to the mind of + Amelius, while he waited for the return of the messenger. His one + justification was in the motives that animated him. Circumstances, which + his father had never anticipated, rendered it an act of duty towards + himself to make the trial at least of what his family interest could do + for him. There could be no sort of doubt that a man of Mr. Farnaby’s + character would yield, if Amelius could announce that he had the promise + of an appointment under Government—with the powerful influence of a + near relation to accelerate his promotion. He sat, idly drawing lines on + the blotting-paper; at one moment regretting that he had sent his letter; + at another, comforting himself in the belief that, if his father had been + living to advise him, his father would have approved of the course that he + had taken. + </p> + <p> + The messenger returned with these lines of reply:— + </p> + <p> + “Under any ordinary circumstances, I should have used my influence to help + you on in the world. But, when you not only hold the most abominable + political opinions, but actually proclaim those opinions in public, I am + amazed at your audacity in writing to me. There must be no more + communication between us. While you are a Socialist, you are a stranger to + me.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius accepted this new rebuff with ominous composure. He sat quietly + smoking in the deserted room, with his uncle’s letter in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Among the other disastrous results of the lecture, some of the newspapers + had briefly reported it. Preoccupied by his anxieties, Amelius had + forgotten this when he wrote to his relative. “Just like me!” he thought, + as he threw the letter into the fire. His last hopes floated up the + chimney, with the tiny puff of smoke from the burnt paper. There was now + no other chance of shortening the marriage engagement left to try. He had + already applied to the good friend whom he had mentioned to Regina. The + answer, kindly written in this case, had not been very encouraging:— + </p> + <p> + “I have other claims to consider. All that I can do, I will do. Don’t be + disheartened—I only ask you to wait.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius rose to go home—and sat down again. His natural energy + seemed to have deserted him—it required an effort to leave the club. + He took up the newspapers, and threw them aside, one after another. Not + one of the unfortunate writers and reporters could please him on that + inauspicious day. It was only while he was lighting his second cigar that + he remembered Mrs. Farnaby’s unread letter to him. By this time, he was + more than weary of his own affairs. He read the letter. + </p> + <p> + “I find the people who have my happiness at their mercy both dilatory and + greedy.” (Mrs. Farnaby wrote); “but the little that I can persuade them to + tell me is very favourable to my hopes. I am still, to my annoyance, only + in personal communication with the hateful old woman. The young man either + sends messages, or writes to me through the post. By this latter means he + has accurately described, not only in which of my child’s feet the fault + exists, but the exact position which it occupies. Here, you will agree + with me, is positive evidence that he is speaking the truth, whoever he + is. + </p> + <p> + “But for this reassuring circumstance, I should feel inclined to be + suspicious of some things—of the obstinate manner, for instance, in + which the young man keeps himself concealed; also, of his privately + warning me not to trust the woman who is his own messenger, and not to + tell her on any account of the information which his letters convey to me. + I feel that I ought to be cautious with him on the question of money—and + yet, in my eagerness to see my darling, I am ready to give him all that he + asks for. In this uncertain state of mind, I am restrained, strangely + enough, by the old woman herself. She warns me that he is the sort of man, + if he once gets the money, to spare himself the trouble of earning it. It + is the one hold I have over him (she says)—so I control the burning + impatience that consumes me as well as I can. + </p> + <p> + “No! I must not attempt to describe my own state of mind. When I tell you + that I am actually afraid of dying before I can give my sweet love the + first kiss, you will understand and pity me. When night comes, I feel + sometimes half mad. + </p> + <p> + “I send you my present address, in the hope that you will write and cheer + me a little. I must not ask you to come and see me yet. I am not fit for + it—and, besides, I am under a promise, in the present state of the + negotiations, to shut the door on my friends. It is easy enough to do + that; I have no friend, Amelius, but you. + </p> + <p> + “Try to feel compassionately towards me, my kind-hearted boy. For so many + long years, my heart has had nothing to feed on but the one hope that is + now being realized at last. No sympathy between my husband and me (on the + contrary, a horrid unacknowledged enmity, which has always kept us apart); + my father and mother, in their time both wretched about my marriage, and + with good reason; my only sister dying in poverty—what a life for a + childless woman! don’t let us dwell on it any longer. + </p> + <p> + “Goodbye for the present, Amelius. I beg you will not think I am always + wretched. When I want to be happy, I look to the coming time.” + </p> + <p> + This melancholy letter added to the depression that weighed on the spirits + of Amelius. It inspired him with vague fears for Mrs. Farnaby. In her own + interests, he would have felt himself tempted to consult Rufus (without + mentioning names), if the American had been in London. As things were, he + put the letter back in his pocket with a sigh. Even Mrs. Farnaby, in her + sad moments, had a consoling prospect to contemplate. “Everybody but me!” + Amelius thought. + </p> + <p> + His reflections were interrupted by the appearance of an idle young member + of the club, with whom he was acquainted. The new-comer remarked that he + looked out of spirits, and suggested that they should dine together and + amuse themselves somewhere in the evening. Amelius accepted the proposal: + any man who offered him a refuge from himself was a friend to him on that + day. Departing from his temperate habits, he deliberately drank more than + usual. The wine excited him for the time, and then left him more depressed + than ever; and the amusements of the evening produced the same result. He + returned to his cottage so completely disheartened, that he regretted the + day when he had left Tadmor. + </p> + <p> + But he kept his appointment, the next morning, to take leave of Regina. + </p> + <p> + The carriage was at the door, with a luggage-laden cab waiting behind it. + Mr. Farnaby’s ill-temper vented itself in predictions that they would be + too late to catch the train. His harsh voice, alternating with Regina’s + meek remonstrances, reached the ears of Amelius from the breakfast-room. + “I’m not going to wait for the gentleman-Socialist,” Mr. Farnaby + announced, with his hardest sarcasm of tone. “Dear uncle, we have a + quarter of an hour to spare!” “We have nothing of the sort; we want all + that time to register the luggage.” The servant’s voice was heard next. + “Mr. Goldenheart, miss.” Mr. Farnaby instantly stepped into the hall. + “Goodbye!” he called to Amelius, through the open door of the dining-room—and + passed straight on to the carriage. “I shan’t wait, Regina!” he shouted, + from the doorstep. “Let him go by himself!” said Amelius indignantly, as + Regina hurried into the room. “Oh, hush, hush, dear! Suppose he heard you? + No week shall pass without my writing to you; promise you will write back, + Amelius. One more kiss! Oh, my dear!” The servant interposed, keeping + discreetly out of sight. “I beg your pardon, miss, my master wishes to + know whether you are going with him or not.” Regina waited to hear no + more. She gave her lover a farewell look to remember her by, and ran out. + </p> + <p> + That innate depravity which Amelius had lately discovered in his own + nature, let the forbidden thoughts loose in him again as he watched the + departing carriage from the door. “If poor little Sally had been in her + place—!” He made an effort of virtuous resolution, and stopped + there. “What a blackguard a man may be,” he penitently reflected, “without + suspecting it himself!” + </p> + <p> + He descended the house-steps. The discreet servant wished him good + morning, with a certain cheery respect—the man was delighted to have + seen the last of his hard master for some months to come. Amelius stopped + and turned round, smiling grimly. He was in such a reckless humour, that + he was even ready to divert his mind by astonishing a footman. “Richard,” + he said, “are you engaged to be married?” Richard stared in blank surprise + at the strange question—and modestly admitted that he was engaged to + marry the housemaid next door. “Soon?” asked Amelius, swinging his stick. + “As soon as I have saved a little more money, sir.” “Damn the money!” + cried Amelius—and struck his stick on the pavement, and walked away + with a last look at the house as if he hated the sight of it. Richard + watched the departing young gentleman, and shook his head ominously as he + shut the door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2 + </h2> + <p> + Amelius went straight back to the cottage, with the one desperate purpose + of reverting to the old plan, and burying himself in his books. Surveying + his well-filled shelves with an impatience unworthy of a scholar, Hume’s + “History of England” unhappily caught his eye. He took down the first + volume. In less than half an hour he discovered that Hume could do nothing + for him. Wisely inspired, he turned to the truer history next, which men + call fiction. The writings of the one supreme genius, who soars above all + other novelists as Shakespeare soars above all other dramatists—the + writings of Walter Scott—had their place of honour in his library. + The collection of the Waverley Novels at Tadmor had not been complete. + Enviable Amelius had still to read <i>Rob Roy.</i> He opened the book. For + the rest of the day he was in love with Diana Vernon; and when he looked + out once or twice at the garden to rest his eyes, he saw “Andrew + Fairservice” busy over the flowerbeds. + </p> + <p> + He closed the last page of the noble story as Toff came in to lay the + cloth for dinner. + </p> + <p> + The master at table and the servant behind his chair were accustomed to + gossip pleasantly during meals. Amelius did his best to carry on the talk + as usual. But he was no longer in the delightful world of illusion which + Scott had opened to him. The hard realities of his own everyday life had + gathered round him again. Observing him with unobtrusive attention, the + Frenchman soon perceived the absence of the easy humour and the excellent + appetite which distinguished his young master at other times. + </p> + <p> + “May I venture to make a remark, sir?” Toff inquired, after a long pause + in the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “And may I take the liberty of expressing my sentiments freely?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you may.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear sir, you have a pretty little simple dinner to-day,” Toff began. + “Forgive me for praising myself, I am influenced by the natural pride of + having cooked the dinner. For soup, you have Croute au pot; for meat, you + have Tourne-dos a la sauce poivrade; for pudding, you have Pommes au + beurre. All so nice—and you hardly eat anything, and your amiable + conversation falls into a melancholy silence which fills me with regret. + Is it you who are to blame for this? No, sir! it is the life you lead. I + call it the life of a monk; I call it the life of a hermit—I say + boldly it is the life of all others which is most unsympathetic to a young + man like you. Pardon the warmth of my expressions; I am eager to make my + language the language of utmost delicacy. May I quote a little song? It is + in an old, old, old French piece, long since forgotten, called ‘Les Maris + Garcons’. There are two lines in that song (I have often heard my good + father sing them) which I will venture to apply to your case; ‘Amour, + delicatesse, et gaite; D’un bon Francais c’est la devise!’ Sir, you have + naturally delicatesse and gaite—but the last has, for some days, + been under a cloud. What is wanted to remove that cloud? L’Amour! Love, as + you say in English. Where is the charming woman, who is the only ornament + wanting to this sweet cottage? Why is she still invisible? Remedy that + unhappy oversight, sir. You are here in a suburban Paradise. I consult my + long experience; and I implore you to invite Eve.—Ha! you smile; + your lost gaiety returns, and you feel it as I do. Might I propose another + glass of claret, and the reappearance on the table of the Tourne-dos a la + poivrade?” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to be melancholy in this man’s company. Amelius + sanctioned the return of the Tourne-dos, and tried the other glass of + claret. “My good friend,” he said, with something like a return of his old + easy way, “you talk about charming women, and your long experience. Let’s + hear what your experience has been.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time Toff began to look a little confused. + </p> + <p> + “You have honoured me, sir, by calling me your good friend,” he said. + “After that, I am sure you will not send me away if I own the truth. No! + My heart tells me I shall not appeal to your indulgence in vain. Dear sir, + in the holidays which you kindly give me, I provide competent persons to + take care of the house in my absence, don’t I? One person, if you + remember, was a most handsome engaging young man. He is, if you please, my + son by my first wife—now an angel in heaven. Another person, who + took care of the house, on the next occasion, was a little black-eyed boy; + a miracle of discretion for his age. He is my son by my second wife—now + another angel in heaven. Forgive me, I have not done yet. Some few days + since, you thought you heard an infant crying downstairs. Like a miserable + wretch, I lied; I declared it was the infant in the next house. Ah, sir, + it was my own cherubim baby by my third wife—an angel close by in + the Edgeware Road, established in a small milliner shop, which will expand + to great things by-and-by. The intervals between my marriages are not + worthy of your notice. Fugitive caprices, sir—fugitive caprices! To + sum it all up (as you say in England), it is not in me to resist the + enchanting sex. If my third angel dies, I shall tear my hair—but I + shall none the less take a fourth.” + </p> + <p> + “Take a dozen if you like,” said Amelius. “Why should you have kept all + this from my knowledge?” + </p> + <p> + Toff hung his head. “I think it was one of my foreign mistakes,” he + pleaded. “The servants’ advertisements in your English newspapers frighten + me. How does the most meritorious manservant announce himself when he + wants the best possible place? He says he is ‘without encumbrances.’ + Gracious heaven, what a dreadful word to describe the poor pretty harmless + children! I was afraid, sir, you might have some English objection to <i>my</i> + ‘encumbrances.’ A young man, a boy, and a cherubim-baby; not to speak of + the sacred memories of two women, and the charming occasional society of a + third; all inextricably enveloped in the life of one amorous-meritorious + French person—surely there was reason for hesitation here? No + matter; I bless my stars I know better now, and I withdraw myself from + further notice. Permit me to recall your attention to the Roquefort + cheese, and a mouthful of potato-salad to correct the richness of him.” + </p> + <p> + The dinner was over at last. Amelius was alone again. + </p> + <p> + It was a still evening. Not a breath of wind stirred among the trees in + the garden; no vehicles passed along the by-road in which the cottage + stood. Now and then, Toff was audible downstairs, singing French songs in + a high cracked voice, while he washed the plates and dishes, and set + everything in order for the night. Amelius looked at his bookshelves—and + felt that, after <i>Rob Roy,</i> there was no more reading for him that + evening. The slow minutes followed one another wearily; the deadly + depression of the earlier hours of the day was stealthily fastening its + hold on him again. How might he best resist it? His healthy out-of-door + habits at Tadmor suggested the only remedy that he could think of. Be his + troubles what they might, his one simple method of resisting them, at all + other times, was his simple method now. He went out for a walk. + </p> + <p> + For two hours he rambled about the great north-western suburb of London. + Perhaps he felt the heavy oppressive weather, or perhaps his good dinner + had not agreed with him. Any way, he was so thoroughly worn out, that he + was obliged to return to the cottage in a cab. + </p> + <p> + Toff opened the door—but not with his customary alacrity. Amelius + was too completely fatigued to notice any trifling circumstance. + Otherwise, he would certainly have perceived something odd in the old + Frenchman’s withered face. He looked at his master, as he relieved him of + his hat and coat, with the strangest expression of interest and anxiety; + modified by a certain sardonic sense of amusement underlying the more + serious emotions. “A nasty dull evening,” Amelius said wearily. And Toff, + always eager to talk at other times, only answered, “Yes, sir”—and + retreated at once to the kitchen regions. + </p> + <p> + The fire was bright; the curtains were drawn; the reading-lamp, with its + ample green shade, was on the table—a more comfortable room no man + could have found to receive him after a long walk. Reclining at his ease + in his chair, Amelius thought of ringing for some restorative + brandy-and-water. While he was thinking, he fell asleep; and, while he + slept, he dreamed. + </p> + <p> + Was it a dream? + </p> + <p> + He certainly saw the library—not fantastically transformed, but just + like what the room really was. So far, he might have been wide awake, + looking at the familiar objects round him. But, after a while, an event + happened which set the laws of reality at defiance. Simple Sally, miles + away in the Home, made her appearance in the library, nevertheless. He saw + the drawn curtains over the window parted from behind; he saw the girl + step out from them, and stop, looking at him timidly. She was clothed in + the plain dress that he had bought for her; and she looked more charming + in it than ever. The beauty of health claimed kindred now, in her pretty + face, with the beauty of youth: the wan cheeks had begun to fill out, and + the pale lips were delicately suffused with their natural rosy red. Little + by little her first fears seemed to subside. She smiled, and softly + crossed the room, and stood at his side. After looking at him with a rapt + expression of tenderness and delight, she laid her hands on the arm of the + chair, and said, in the quaintly quiet way which he remembered so well, “I + want to kiss you.” She bent over him, and kissed him with the innocent + freedom of a child. Then she raised herself again, and looked backwards + and forwards between Amelius and the lamp. “The firelight is the best,” + she said. Darkness fell over the room as she spoke; he saw her no more; he + heard her no more. A blank interval followed; there flowed over him the + oblivion of perfect sleep. His next conscious sensation was a feeling of + cold—he shivered, and woke. + </p> + <p> + The impression of the dream was in his mind at the moment of waking. He + started as he raised himself in the chair. Was he dreaming still? No; he + was certainly awake. And, as certainly, the room was dark! + </p> + <p> + He looked and looked. It was not to be denied, or explained away. There + was the fire burning low, and leaving the room chilly—and there, + just visible on the table, in the flicker of the dying flame, was the + extinguished lamp! + </p> + <p> + He mended the fire, and put his hand on the bell to ring for Toff, and + thought better of it. What need had he of the lamplight? He was too weary + for reading; he preferred going to sleep again, and dreaming again of + Sally. Where was the harm in dreaming of the poor little soul, so far away + from him? The happiest part of his life now was the part of it that was + passed in sleep. + </p> + <p> + As the fresh coals began to kindle feebly, he looked again at the lamp. It + was odd, to say the least of it, that the light should have accidentally + gone out, exactly at the right time to realize the fanciful extinction of + it in his dream. How was it there was no smell of a burnt-out lamp? He was + too lazy, or too tired, to pursue the question. Let the mystery remain a + mystery—and let him rest in peace! He settled himself fretfully in + his chair. What a fool he was to bother his head about a lamp, instead of + closing his eyes and going to sleep again! + </p> + <p> + The room began to recover its pleasant temperature. He shifted the cushion + in the chair, so that it supported his head in perfect comfort, and + composed himself to rest. But the capricious influences of sleep had + deserted him: he tried one position after another, and all in vain. It was + a mere mockery even to shut his eyes. He resigned himself to + circumstances, and stretched out his legs, and looked at the companionable + fire. + </p> + <p> + Of late he had thought more frequently than usual of his past days in the + Community. His mind went back again now to that bygone time. The clock on + the mantelpiece struck nine. They were all at supper, at Tadmor—talking + over the events of the day. He saw himself again at the long wooden table, + with shy little Mellicent in the chair next to him, and his favourite dog + at his feet waiting to be fed. Where was Mellicent now? It was a sad + letter that she had written to him, with the strange fixed idea that he + was to return to her one day. There was something very winning and lovable + about the poor creature who had lived such a hard life at home, and had + suffered so keenly. It was a comfort to think that she would go back to + the Community. What happier destiny could she hope for? Would she take + care of his dog for him when she went back? They had all promised to be + kind to his pet animals in his absence; but the dog was fond of Mellicent; + he would be happier with Mellicent than with the rest of them. And his + little tame fawn, and his birds—how were they doing? He had not even + written to inquire after them; he had been cruelly forgetful of those + harmless dumb loving friends. In his present solitude, in his dreary + doubts of the future, what would he not give to feel the dog nestling in + his bosom, and the fawn’s little rough tongue licking his hand! His heart + ached as he thought of it: a choking hysterical sensation oppressed his + breathing. He tried to rise, and ring for lights, and rouse his manhood to + endure and resist. It was not to be done. Where was his courage? where was + the cheerfulness which had never failed him at other time? He sank back in + the chair, and hid his face in his hands for shame at his own weakness, + and burst out crying. + </p> + <p> + The touch of soft persuasive fingers suddenly thrilled through him. + </p> + <p> + His hands were gently drawn away from his face; a familiar voice, sweet + and low, said, “Oh, don’t cry!” Dimly through his tears he saw the + well-remembered little figure standing between him and the fire. In his + unendurable loneliness, he had longed for his dog, he had longed for his + fawn. There was the martyred creature from the streets, whom he had + rescued from nameless horror, waiting to be his companion, servant, + friend! There was the child-victim of cold and hunger, still only feeling + her way to womanhood; innocent of all other aspirations, so long as she + might fill the place which had once been occupied by the dog and the fawn! + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked at her with a momentary doubt whether he was waking or + sleeping. “Good God!” he cried, “am I dreaming again?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, simply. “You are awake this time. Let me dry your eyes; I + know where you put your handkerchief.” She perched on his knee, and wiped + away the tears, and smoothed his hair over his forehead. “I was frightened + to show myself till I heard you crying,” she confessed. “Then I thought, + ‘Come! he can’t be angry with me now’—and I crept out from behind + the curtains there. The old man let me in. I can’t live without seeing + you; I’ve tried till I could try no longer. I owned it to the old man when + he opened the door. I said, ‘I only want to look at him; won’t you let me + in?’ And he says, ‘God bless me, here’s Eve come already!’ I don’t know + what he meant—he let me in, that’s all I care about. He’s a funny + old foreigner. Send him away; I’m to be your servant now. Why were you + crying? I’ve cried often enough about You. No; that can’t be—I can’t + expect you to cry about <i>me;</i> I can only expect you to scold me. I + know I’m a bad girl.” + </p> + <p> + She cast one doubtful look at him, and hung her head—waiting to be + scolded. Amelius lost all control over himself. He took her in his arms + and kissed her again and again. “You are a dear good grateful little + creature!” he burst out—and suddenly stopped, aware too late of the + act of imprudence which he had committed. He put her away from him; he + tried to ask severe questions, and to administer merited reproof. Even if + he had succeeded, Sally was too happy to listen to him. “It’s all right + now,” she cried. “I’m never, never, never to go back to the Home! Oh, I’m + so happy! Let’s light the lamp again!” + </p> + <p> + She found the matchbox on the chimneypiece. In a minute more the room was + bright. Amelius sat looking at her, perfectly incapable of deciding what + he ought to say or do next. To complete his bewilderment, the voice of the + attentive old Frenchman made itself heard through the door, in discreetly + confidential tones. + </p> + <p> + “I have prepared an appetising little supper, sir,” said Toff. “Be pleased + to ring when you and the young lady are ready.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3 + </h2> + <p> + Toff’s interference proved to have its use. The announcement of the little + supper—plainly implying Simple Sally’s reception at the cottage—reminded + Amelius of his responsibilities. He at once stepped out into the passage, + and closed the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + The old Frenchman was waiting to be reprimanded or thanked, as the case + might be, with his head down, his shoulders shrugged up to his ears, and + the palms of his hands spread out appealingly on either side of him—a + model of mute resignation to circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that you have put me in a very awkward position?” Amelius + began. + </p> + <p> + Toff lifted one of his hands to his heart. “You are aware of my weakness, + sir. When that charming little creature presented herself at the door, + sinking with fatigue, I could no more resist her than I could take a + hop-skip-and-jump over the roof of this cottage. If I have done wrong, + take no account of the proud fidelity with which I have served you—tell + me to pack up and go; but don’t ask me to assume a position of severity + towards that enchanting Miss. It is not in my heart to do it,” said Toff, + lifting his eyes with tearful solemnity to an imaginary heaven. “On my + sacred word of honour as a Frenchman, I would die rather than do it!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk nonsense,” Amelius rejoined a little impatiently. “I don’t + blame you—but you have got me into a scrape, for all that. If I did + my duty, I should send for a cab, and take her back.” + </p> + <p> + Toff opened his twinkling old eyes in a perfect transport of astonishment. + “What!” he cried, “take her back? Without rest, without supper? And you + call that duty? How inconceivably ugly does duty look when it assumes an + inhospitable aspect towards a woman! Pardon me, sir; I must express my + sentiments or I shall burst. You will say perhaps that I have no + conception of duty? Pardon me again—my conception of duty is <i>here!”</i> + </p> + <p> + He threw open the door of the sitting-room. In spite of his anxiety, + Amelius burst out laughing. The Frenchman’s inexhaustible contrivances had + transformed the sitting-room into a bedroom for Sally. The sofa had become + a snug little white bed; a hairbrush and comb, and a bottle of + eau-de-cologne, were on the table; a bath stood near the fire, with cans + of hot and cold water, and a railway rug placed under them to save the + carpet. “I dare not presume to contradict you, sir,” said Toff, “but there + is <i>my</i> conception of duty! In the kitchen, I have another + conception, keeping warm; you can smell it up the stairs. Salmi of + partridge, with the littlest possible dash of garlic in the sauce. Oh, + sir, let that angel rest and refresh herself! Virtuous severity, believe + me, is a most horribly unbecoming virtue at your age!” He spoke quite + seriously, with the air of a profound moralist, asserting principles that + did equal honour to his head and his heart. + </p> + <p> + Amelius went back to the library. + </p> + <p> + Sally was resting in the easy-chair; her position showed plainly that she + was suffering from fatigue. “I have had a long, long walk,” she said; “and + I don’t know which aches worst, my back or my feet. I don’t care—I’m + quite happy now I’m here.” She nestled herself comfortably in the chair. + “Do you mind my looking at you?” she asked. “Oh, it’s so long since I saw + you!” + </p> + <p> + There was a new undertone of tenderness in her voice—innocent + tenderness that openly avowed itself. The reviving influences of the life + at the Home had done much—and had much yet left to do. Her wasted + face and figure were filling out, her cheeks and lips were regaining their + lovely natural colour, as Amelius had seen in his dream. But her eyes, in + repose, still resumed their vacantly patient look; and her manner, with a + perceptible increase of composure and confidence, had not lost its quaint + childish charm. Her growth from girl to woman was a growth of fine + gradations, guided by the unerring deliberation of Nature and Time. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think they will follow you here, from the Home?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + She looked at the clock. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. “It’s hours + since I slipped out by the back door. They have very strict rules about + runaway girls—even when their friends bring them back. If <i>you</i> + send me back—” she stopped, and looked thoughtfully into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “What will you do, if I send you back?” + </p> + <p> + “What one of our girls did, before they took her in at the Home. She + jumped into the river. ‘Made a hole in the water’; that’s how she calls + it. She’s a big strong girl; and they got her out, and saved her. She says + it wasn’t painful, till they brought her to again. I’m little and weak—I + don’t think they could bring <i>me</i> to life, if they tried.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius made a futile attempt to reason with her. He even got so far as to + tell her that she had done very wrong to leave the Home. Sally’s answer + set all further expostulation at defiance. Instead of attempting to defend + herself, she sighed wearily, and said, “I had no money; I walked all the + way here.” + </p> + <p> + The well-intended remonstrances of Amelius were lost in compassionate + surprise. “You poor little soul!” he exclaimed, “it must be seven or eight + miles at least!” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say,” said Sally. “It don’t matter, now I’ve found you.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you find me? Who told you where I lived?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, and took from her bosom the photograph of the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “But Mrs. Payson cut off the address!” cried Amelius, bursting out with + the truth in the impulse of the moment. + </p> + <p> + Sally turned over the photograph, and pointed to the back of the card, on + which the photographer’s name and address were printed. “Mrs. Payson + didn’t think of this,” she said shyly. + </p> + <p> + “Did <i>you</i> think of it?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + Sally shook her head. “I’m too stupid,” she replied. “The girl who made + the hole in the water put me up to it. ‘Have you made up your mind to run + away?’ she says. And I said, ‘Yes.’ ‘You go to the man who did the + picture,’ she says; ‘he knows where the place is, I’ll be bound.’ I asked + my way till I found him. And he did know. And he told me. He was a good + sort; he gave me a glass of beer, he said I looked so tired. I said we’d + go and have our portraits taken some day—you, and your servant. May + I tell the funny old foreigner that he is to go away now I have come to + you?” The complete simplicity with which she betrayed her jealousy of Toff + made Amelius smile. Sally, watching every change in his face, instantly + drew her own conclusion. “Ah!” she said cheerfully, “I’ll keep your room + cleaner than he keeps it! I smelt dust on the curtains when I was hiding + from you.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius thought of his dream. “Did you come out while I was asleep?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I wasn’t frightened of you, when you were asleep. I had a good look + at you; and I gave you a kiss.” She made that confession without the + slightest sign of confusion; her calm blue eyes looked him straight in the + face. “You got restless,” she went on; “and I got frightened again. I put + out the lamp. I says to myself, ‘If he does scold me, I can bear it better + in the dark.’” + </p> + <p> + Amelius listened, wondering. Had he seen drowsily what he thought he had + dreamed, or was there some mysterious sympathy between Sally and himself? + The occult speculations were interrupted by Sally. “May I take off my + bonnet, and make myself tidy?” she asked. Some men might have said No. + Amelius was not one of them. + </p> + <p> + The library possessed a door of communication with the sitting-room; the + bedchamber occupied by Amelius being on the other side of the cottage. + When Sally saw Toff’s reconstructed room, she stood at the door, in + speechless admiration of the vision of luxury revealed to her. From time + to time Amelius, alone in the library, heard her dabbling in her bath, and + humming the artless old English song from which she had taken her name. + Once she knocked at the closed door, and made a request through it—“There + is scent on the table; may I have some?” And once Toff knocked at the + other door, opening into the passage, and asked when “pretty young Miss” + would be ready for supper. Events went on in the little household as if + Sally had become an integral part of it already. “What <i>am</i> I to do?” + Amelius asked himself. And Toff, entering at the moment to lay the cloth, + answered respectfully, “Hurry the young person, sir, or the salmi will be + spoilt.” + </p> + <p> + She came out from her room, walking delicately on her sore feet—so + fresh and charming, that Toff, absorbed in admiration, made a mistake in + folding a napkin for the first time in his life. “Champagne, of course, + sir?” he said in confidence to Amelius. The salmi of partridge appeared; + the inspiriting wine sparkled in the glasses; Toff surpassed himself in + all the qualities which made a servant invaluable at a supper table. Sally + forgot the Home, forgot the cruel streets, and laughed and chattered as + gaily as the happiest girl living. Amelius, expanding in the joyous + atmosphere of youth and good spirits, shook off his sense of + responsibility, and became once more the delightful companion who won + everybody’s love. The effervescent gaiety of the evening was at its + climax; the awful forms of duty, propriety, and good sense had been long + since laughed out of the room—when Nemesis, goddess of retribution, + announced her arrival outside, by a crashing of carriage-wheels and a + peremptory ring at the cottage bell. + </p> + <p> + There was dead silence; Amelius and Sally looked at each other. The + experienced Toff at once guessed what had happened. “Is it her father or + mother?” he asked of Amelius, a little anxiously. Hearing that she had + never even seen her father or mother, he snapped his fingers joyously, and + led the way on tiptoe into the hall. “I have my idea,” he whispered. “Let + us listen.” + </p> + <p> + A woman’s voice, high, clear, and resolute, speaking apparently to the + coachman, was the next audible sound. “Say I come from Mrs. Payson, and + must see Mr. Goldenheart directly.” Sally trembled and turned pale. “The + matron!” she said faintly. “Oh, don’t let her in!” Amelius took the + terrified girl back to the library. Toff followed them, respectfully + asking to be told what a “matron” was. Receiving the necessary + explanation, he expressed his contempt for matrons bent on carrying + charming persons into captivity, by opening the library door and spitting + into the hall. Having relieved his mind in this way, he returned to his + master and laid a lank skinny forefinger cunningly along the side of his + nose. “I suppose, sir, you don’t want to see this furious woman?” he said. + Before it was possible to say anything in reply, another ring at the bell + announced that the furious woman wanted to see Amelius. Toff read his + master’s wishes in his master’s face. Not even this emergency could find + him unprepared: he was as ready to circumvent a matron as to cook a + dinner. “The shutters are up, and the curtains are drawn,” he reminded + Amelius. “Not a morsel of light is visible outside. Let them ring—we + have all gone to bed.” He turned to Sally, grinning with impish enjoyment + of his own stratagem. “Ha, Miss! what do you think of that?” There was a + third pull at the bell as he spoke. “Ring away, Missess Matrone!” he + cried. “We are fast asleep—wake us if you can.” The fourth ring was + the last. A sharp crack revealed the breaking of the bellwire, and was + followed by the shrill fall of the iron handle on the pavement before the + garden gate. The gate, like the palings, was protected at the top from + invading cats. “Compose yourself, Miss,” said Toff, “if she tries to get + over the gate, she will stick on the spikes.” In another moment, the sound + of retiring carriage-wheels announced the defeat of the matron, and + settled the serious question of receiving Sally for the night. + </p> + <p> + She sat silent by the window, when Toff had left the room, holding back + the curtains and looking out at the murky sky. + </p> + <p> + “What are you looking for?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + “I was looking for the stars.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius joined her at the window. “There are no stars to be seen tonight.” + </p> + <p> + She let the curtain fall to again. “I was thinking of night-time at the + Home,” she said. “You see, I got on pretty well, in the day, with my + reading and writing. I wanted so to improve myself. My mind was troubled + with the fear of your despising such an ignorant creature as I am; so I + kept on at my lessons. I thought I might surprise you by writing you a + pretty letter some day. One of the teachers (she’s gone away ill) was very + good to me. I used to talk to her; and, when I said a wrong word, she took + me up, and told me the right one. She said you would think better of me + when you heard me speak properly—and I do speak better, don’t I? All + this was in the day. It was the night that was the hard time to get + through—when the other girls were all asleep, and I had nothing to + think of but how far away I was from you. I used to get up, and put the + counterpane round me, and stand at the window. On fine nights the stars + were company to me. There were two stars, near together, that I got to + know. Don’t laugh at me—I used to think one of them was you, and one + of them me. I wondered whether you would die, or I should die, before I + saw you again. And, most always, it was my star that went out first. Lord, + how I used to cry! It got into my poor stupid head that I should never see + you again. I do believe I ran away because of that. You won’t tell + anybody, will you? It was so foolish, I am ashamed of it now. I wanted to + see your star and my star tonight. I don’t know why. Oh, I’m so fond of + you!” She dropped on her knees, and took his hand, and put it on her head. + “It’s burning hot,” she said, “and your kind hand cools it.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius raised her gently, and led her to the door of her room. “My poor + Sally, you are quite worn out. You want rest and sleep. Let us say good + night.” + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything you tell me,” she answered. “If Mrs. Payson comes + tomorrow, you won’t let her take me away? Thank you. Goodnight.” She put + her hands on his shoulders, with innocent familiarity, and lifted herself + to him on tiptoe, and kissed him as a sister might have kissed him. + </p> + <p> + Long after Sally was asleep in her bed, Amelius sat by the library fire, + thinking. + </p> + <p> + The revival of the crushed feeling and fancy in the girl’s nature, so + artlessly revealed in her sad little story of the stars that were “company + to her,” not only touched and interested him, but clouded his view of the + future with doubts and anxieties which had never troubled him until that + moment. The mysterious influences under which the girl’s development was + advancing were working morally and physically together. Weeks might pass + harmlessly, months might pass harmlessly—but the time must come when + the innocent relations between them would be beset by peril. Unable, as + yet, fully to realize these truths, Amelius nevertheless felt them + vaguely. His face was troubled, as he lit the candle at last to go to his + bed. “I don’t see my way as clearly as I could wish,” he reflected. “How + will it end?” + </p> + <p> + How indeed! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4 + </h2> + <p> + At eight o’clock the next morning, Amelius was awakened by Toff. A letter + had arrived, marked “Immediate,” and the messenger was waiting for an + answer. + </p> + <p> + The letter was from Mrs. Payson. She wrote briefly, and in formal terms. + After referring to the matron’s fruitless visit to the cottage on the + previous night, Mrs. Payson proceeded in these words:—“I request you + will immediately let me know whether Sally has taken refuge with you, and + has passed the night under your roof. If I am right in believing that she + has done so, I have only to inform you that the doors of the Home are + henceforth closed to her, in conformity with our rules. If I am wrong, it + will be my painful duty to lose no time in placing the matter in the hands + of the police.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius began his reply, acting on impulse as usual. He wrote, vehemently + remonstrating with Mrs. Payson on the unforgiving and unchristian nature + of the rules at the Home. Before he was halfway through his composition, + the person who had brought the letter sent a message to say that he was + expected back immediately, and that he hoped Mr. Goldenheart would not get + a poor man into trouble by keeping him much longer. Checked in the full + flow of his eloquence, Amelius angrily tore up the unfinished + remonstrance, and matched Mrs. Payson’s briefly business-like language by + an answer in one line:—“I beg to inform you that you are quite + right.” On reflection, he felt that the second letter was not only + discourteous as a reply to a lady, but also ungrateful as addressed to + Mrs. Payson personally. At the third attempt, he wrote becomingly as well + as briefly. “Sally has passed the night here, as my guest. She was + suffering from severe fatigue; it would have been an act of downright + inhumanity to send her away. I regret your decision, but of course I + submit to it. You once said, you believed implicitly in the purity of my + motives. Do me the justice, however you may blame my conduct, to believe + in me still.” + </p> + <p> + Having despatched these lines, the mind of Amelius was at ease again, He + went into the library, and listened to hear if Sally was moving. The + perfect silence on the other side of the door informed him that the weary + girl was still fast asleep. He gave directions that she was on no account + to be disturbed, and sat down to breakfast by himself. + </p> + <p> + While he was still at table, Toff appeared, with profound mystery in his + manner, and discreet confidence in the tones of his voice. “Here’s another + one, sir!” the Frenchman announced, in his master’s ear. + </p> + <p> + “Another one?” Amelius repeated. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “She is not like the sweet little sleeping Miss.” Toff explained. “This + time, sir, it’s the beauty of the devil himself, as we say in France. She + refuses to confide in me; and she appears to be agitated—both bad + signs. Shall I get rid of her before the other Miss wakes?” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn’t she got a name?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + Toff answered, in his foreign accent, “One name only—Faybay.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Phoebe?” + </p> + <p> + “Have I not said it, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Show her in directly.” + </p> + <p> + Toff glanced at the door of Sally’s room, shrugged his shoulders, and + obeyed his instructions. + </p> + <p> + Phoebe appeared, looking pale and anxious. Her customary assurance of + manner had completely deserted her: she stopped in the doorway, as if she + was afraid to enter the room. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, and sit down,” said Amelius. “What’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m troubled in my mind, sir,” Phoebe answered. “I know it’s taking a + liberty to come to you. But I went yesterday to ask Miss Regina’s advice, + and found she had gone abroad with her uncle. I have something to say + about Mrs. Farnaby, sir; and there’s no time to be lost in saying it. I + know of nobody but you that I can speak to, now Miss Regina is away. The + footman told me where you lived.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, evidently in the greatest embarrassment. Amelius tried to + encourage her. “If I can be of any use to Mrs. Farnaby,” he said, “tell me + at once what to do.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe’s eyes dropped before his straightforward look as he spoke to her. + </p> + <p> + “I must ask you to please excuse my mentioning names, sir,” she resumed + confusedly. “There’s a person I’m interested in, whom I wouldn’t get into + trouble for the whole world. He’s been misled—I’m sure he’s been + misled by another person—a wicked drunken old woman, who ought to be + in prison if she had her deserts. I’m not free from blame myself—I + know I’m not. I listened, sir, to what I oughtn’t to have heard; and I + told it again (I’m sure in the strictest confidence, and not meaning + anything wrong) to the person I’ve mentioned. Not the old women—I + mean the person I’m interested in. I hope you understand me, sir? I wish + to speak openly, excepting the names, on account of Mrs. Farnaby.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius thought of Phoebe’s vindictive language the last time he had seen + her. He looked towards a cabinet in a corner of the room, in which he had + placed Mrs. Farnaby’s letter. An instinctive distrust of his visitor began + to rise in his mind. His manner altered—he turned to his plate, and + went on with his breakfast. “Can’t you speak to me plainly?” he said. “Is + Mrs. Farnaby in any trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And can I do anything to help her out of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you can, sir—if you only know where to find her.” + </p> + <p> + “I do know where to find her. She has written to tell me. The last time I + saw you, you expressed yourself very improperly about Mrs. Farnaby; you + spoke as if you meant some harm to her.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean nothing but good to her now, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. Can’t you go and speak to her yourself, if I give you + the address?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe’s pale face flushed a little. “I couldn’t do that, sir,” she + answered, “after the way Mrs. Farnaby has treated me. Besides, if she knew + that I had listened to what passed between her and you—” She stopped + again, more painfully embarrassed than ever. + </p> + <p> + Amelius laid down his knife and fork. “Look here!” he said; “this sort of + thing is not in my way. If you can’t make a clean breast of it, let’s talk + of something else. I’m very much afraid,” he went on, with his customary + absence of all concealment, “you’re not the harmless sort of girl I once + took you for. What do you mean by ‘what passed between Mrs. Farnaby and + me’?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe put her handkerchief to her eyes. “It’s very hard to speak to me so + harshly,” she said, “when I’m sorry for what I’ve done, and am only + anxious to prevent harm coming of it.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“What</i> have you done?” cried honest Amelius, weary of the woman’s + inveterately indirect way of explaining herself to him. + </p> + <p> + The flash of his quick temper in his eyes, as he put that straightforward + question, roused a responsive temper in Phoebe which stung her into + speaking openly at last. She told Amelius what she had heard in the + kitchen as plainly as she had told it to Jervy—with this one + difference, that she spoke without insolence when she referred to Mrs. + Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + Listening in silence until she had done, Amelius started to his feet, and + opening the cabinet, took from it Mrs. Farnaby’s letter. He read the + letter, keeping his back towards Phoebe—waited a moment thinking—and + suddenly turned on the woman with a look that made her shrink in her + chair. “You wretch!” he said; “you detestable wretch!” + </p> + <p> + In the terror of the moment, Phoebe attempted to leave the room. Amelius + stopped her instantly. “Sit down again,” he said; “I mean to have the + whole truth out of you, now.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe recovered her courage. “You have had the whole truth, sir; I could + tell you no more if I was on my deathbed.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius refused to believe her. “There is a vile conspiracy against Mrs. + Farnaby,” he said. “Do you mean to tell me you are not in it?” + </p> + <p> + “So help me God, sir, I never even heard of it till yesterday!” + </p> + <p> + The tone in which she spoke shook the conviction of Amelius; the + indescribable ring of truth was in it. + </p> + <p> + “There are two people who are cruelly deluding and plundering this poor + lady,” he went on. “Who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “I told you, if you remember, that I couldn’t mention names, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked again at the letter. After what he had heard, there was no + difficulty in identifying the invisible “young man,” alluded to by Mrs. + Farnaby, with the unnamed “person” in whom Phoebe was interested. Who was + he? As the question passed through his mind, Amelius remembered the + vagabond whom he had recognized with Phoebe, in the street. There was no + doubt of it now—the man who was directing the conspiracy in the dark + was Jervy! Amelius would unquestionably have been rash enough to reveal + this discovery, if Phoebe had not stopped him. His renewed reference to + Mrs. Farnaby’s letter and his sudden silence after looking at it roused + the woman’s suspicions. “If you’re planning to get my friend into + trouble,” she burst out, “not another word shall pass my lips!” + </p> + <p> + Even Amelius profited by the warning which that threat unintentionally + conveyed to him. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your own secrets,” he said; “I only want to spare Mrs. Farnaby a + dreadful disappointment. But I must know what I am talking about when I go + to her. Can’t you tell me how you found out this abominable swindle?” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe was perfectly willing to tell him. Interpreting her long involved + narrative into plain English, with the names added, these were the facts + related:—Mrs. Sowler, bearing in mind some talk which had passed + between them on the occasion of a supper, had called at Phoebe’s lodgings + on the previous day, and had tried to entrap her into communicating what + she knew of Mrs. Farnaby’s secrets. The trap failing, Mrs. Sowler had + tried bribery next; had promised Phoebe a large sum of money, to be + equally divided between them, if she would only speak; had declared that + Jervy was perfectly capable of breaking his promise of marriage, and + “leaving them both in the lurch, if he once got the money into his own + pocket” and had thus informed Phoebe, that the conspiracy, which she + supposed to have been abandoned, was really in full progress, without her + knowledge. She had temporised with Mrs. Sowler, being afraid to set such a + person openly at defiance; and had hurried away at once, to have an + explanation with Jervy. He was reported to be “not at home.” Her fruitless + visit to Regina had followed—and there, so far as facts were + concerned, was an end of the story. + </p> + <p> + Amelius asked her no questions, and spoke as briefly as possible when she + had done. “I will go to Mrs. Farnaby this morning,” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + “Would you please let me hear how it ends?” Phoebe asked. + </p> + <p> + Amelius pushed his pocket-book and pencil across the table to her, + pointing to a blank leaf on which she could write her address. While she + was thus employed the attentive Toff came in, and (with his eye on Phoebe) + whispered in his master’s ear. He had heard Sally moving about. Would it + be more convenient, under the circumstances, if she had her breakfast in + her own room? Toff’s astonishment was a sight to see when Amelius + answered, “Certainly not. Let her breakfast here.” + </p> + <p> + Phoebe rose to go. Her parting words revealed the double-sided nature that + was in her; the good and evil in perpetual conflict which should be + uppermost. + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t mention me, sir, to Mrs. Farnaby,” she said. “I don’t + forgive her for what she’s done to me; I don’t say I won’t be even with + her yet. But not in <i>that</i> way! I won’t have her death laid at my + door. Oh, but I know her temper—and I say it’s as likely as not to + kill her or drive her mad, if she isn’t warned about it in time. Never + mind her losing her money. If it’s lost, it’s lost, and she’s got plenty + more. She may be robbed a dozen times over for all I care. But don’t let + her set her heart on seeing her child, and then find it’s all a swindle. I + hate her; but I can’t and won’t, let <i>that</i> go on. Good-morning, + sir.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius was relieved by her departure. For a minute or two, he sat + absently stirring his coffee, and considering how he might most safely + perform the terrible duty of putting Mrs. Farnaby on her guard. Toff + interrupted his meditations by preparing the table for Sally’s breakfast; + and, almost at the same moment, Sally herself, fresh and rosy, opened her + door a little way, and looked in. + </p> + <p> + “You have had a fine long sleep,” said Amelius. “Have you quite got over + your walk yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” she answered gaily; “I only feel my long walk now in my feet. It + hurts me to put my boots on. Can you lend me a pair of slippers?” + </p> + <p> + “A pair of my slippers? Why, Sally, you would be lost in them! What’s the + matter with your feet?” + </p> + <p> + “They’re both sore. And I think one of them has got a blister on it.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in, and let’s have a look at it?” + </p> + <p> + She came limping in, with her feet bare. “Don’t scold me,” she pleaded, “I + couldn’t put my stockings on again, without washing them; and they’re not + dry yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll get you new stockings and slippers,” said Amelius. “Which is the + foot with the blister?” + </p> + <p> + “The left foot,” she answered, pointing to it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5 + </h2> + <h3> + “Let me see the blister,” said Amelius. + </h3> + <p> + Sally looked longingly at the fire. + </p> + <p> + “May I warm my feet first?” she asked; “they are so cold.” + </p> + <p> + In those words she innocently deferred the discovery which, if it had been + made at the moment, might have altered the whole after-course of events. + Amelius only thought now of preventing her from catching cold. He sent + Toff for a pair of the warmest socks that he possessed, and asked if he + should put them on for her. She smiled, and shook her head, and put them + on for herself. + </p> + <p> + When they had done laughing at the absurd appearance of the little feet in + the large socks, they only drifted farther and farther away from the + subject of the blistered foot. Sally remembered the terrible matron, and + asked if anything had been heard of her that morning. Being told that Mrs. + Payson had written, and that the doors of the institution were closed to + her, she recovered her spirits, and began to wonder whether the offended + authorities would let her have her clothes. Toff offered to go and make + the inquiry, later in the day; suggesting the purchase of slippers and + stockings, in the mean time, while Sally was having her breakfast. Amelius + approved of the suggestion; and Toff set off on his errand, with one of + Sally’s boots for a pattern. + </p> + <p> + The morning had, by that time, advanced to ten o’clock. + </p> + <p> + Amelius stood before the fire talking, while Sally had her breakfast. + Having first explained the reasons which made it impossible that she + should live at the cottage in the capacity of his servant, he astonished + her by announcing that he meant to undertake the superintendence of her + education himself. They were to be master and pupil, while the lessons + were in progress; and brother and sister at other times—and they + were to see how they got on together, on this plan, without indulging in + any needless anxiety about the future. Amelius believed with perfect + sincerity that he had hit on the only sensible arrangement, under the + circumstances; and Sally cried joyously, “Oh, how good you are to me; the + happy life has come at last!” At the hour when those words passed the + daughter’s lips, the discovery of the conspiracy burst upon the mother in + all its baseness and in all its horror. + </p> + <p> + The suspicion of her infamous employer, which had induced Mrs. Sowler to + attempt to intrude herself into Phoebe’s confidence, led her to make a + visit of investigation at Jervy’s lodgings later in the day. Informed, as + Phoebe had been informed, that he was not at home, she called again some + hours afterwards. By that time, the landlord had discovered that Jervy’s + luggage had been secretly conveyed away, and that his tenant had left him, + in debt for rent of the two best rooms in the house. + </p> + <p> + No longer in any doubt of what had happened, Mrs. Sowler employed the + remaining hours of the evening in making inquiries after the missing man. + Not a trace of him had been discovered up to eight o’clock on the next + morning. + </p> + <p> + Shortly after nine o’clock—that is to say, towards the hour at which + Phoebe paid her visit to Amelius—Mrs. Sowler, resolute to know the + worst, made her appearance at the apartments occupied by Mrs. Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to speak to you,” she began abruptly, “about that young man we + both know of. Have you seen anything of him lately?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby, steadily on her guard, deferred answering the question. “Why + do you want to know?” she said. + </p> + <p> + The reply was instantly ready. “Because I have reason to believe he has + bolted, with your money in his pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “He has done nothing of the sort,” Mrs. Farnaby rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “Has he got your money?” Mrs. Sowler persisted. “Tell me the truth—and + I’ll do the same by you. He has cheated me. If you’re cheated too, it’s + your own interest to lose no time in finding him. The police may catch him + yet. <i>Has</i> he got your money?” + </p> + <p> + The woman was in earnest—in terrible earnest—her eyes and her + voice both bore witness to it. She stood there, the living impersonation + of those doubts and fears which Mrs. Farnaby had confessed, in writing to + Amelius. Her position, at that moment, was essentially a position of + command. Mrs. Farnaby felt it in spite of herself. She acknowledged that + Jervy had got the money. + </p> + <p> + “Did you sent it to him, or give it to him?” Mrs. Sowler asked. + </p> + <p> + “I gave it to him.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday evening.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler clenched her fists, and shook them in impotent rage. “He’s the + biggest scoundrel living,” she exclaimed furiously; “and you’re the + biggest fool! Put on your bonnet and come to the police. If you get your + money back again before he’s spent it all, don’t forget it was through + me.” + </p> + <p> + The audacity of the woman’s language roused Mrs. Farnaby. She pointed to + the door. “You are an insolent creature,” she said; “I have nothing more + to do with you.” + </p> + <p> + “You have nothing more to do with me?” Mrs. Sowler repeated. “You and the + young man have settled it all between you, I suppose.” She laughed + scornfully. “I dare say now you expect to see him again?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby was irritated into answering this. “I expect to see him this + morning,” she said, “at ten o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “And the lost young lady with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Say nothing about my lost daughter! I won’t even hear you speak of her.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler sat down. “Look at your watch,” she said. “It must be nigh on + ten o’clock by this time. You’ll make a disturbance in the house if you + try to turn me out. I mean to wait here till ten o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + On the point of answering angrily, Mrs. Farnaby restrained herself. “You + are trying to force a quarrel on me,” she said; “you shan’t spoil the + happiest morning of my life. Wait here by yourself.” + </p> + <p> + She opened the door that led into her bedchamber, and shut herself in. + Perfectly impenetrable to any repulse that could be offered to her, Mrs. + Sowler looked at the closed door with a sardonic smile, and waited. + </p> + <p> + The clock in the hall struck ten. Mrs. Farnaby returned again to the + sitting-room, walked straight to the window, and looked out. + </p> + <p> + “Any sign of him?” said Mrs. Sowler. + </p> + <p> + There were no signs of him. Mrs. Farnaby drew a chair to the window, and + sat down. Her hands turned icy cold. She still looked out into the street. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to guess what’s happened,” Mrs. Sowler resumed. “I’m a sociable + creature, you know, and I must talk about something. About the money, now? + Has the young man had his travelling expenses of you? To go to foreign + parts, and bring your girl back with him, eh? I expect that’s how it was. + You see, I know him so well. And what happened, if you please, yesterday + evening? Did he tell you he’d brought her back, and got her at his own + place? And did he say he wouldn’t let you see her till you paid him his + reward as well as his travelling expenses? And did you forget my warning + to you not to trust him? I’m a good one at guessing when I try. I see you + think so yourself. Any signs of him yet?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Farnaby looked round from the window. Her manner was completely + changed; she was nervously civil to the wretch who was torturing her. “I + beg your pardon, ma’am, if I have offended you,” she said faintly. “I am a + little upset—I am so anxious about my poor child. Perhaps you are a + mother yourself? You oughtn’t to frighten me; you ought to feel for me.” + She paused, and put her hand to her head. “He told me yesterday evening,” + she went on slowly and vacantly, “that my poor darling was at his + lodgings; he said she was so worn out with the long journey from abroad, + that she must have a night’s rest before she could come to me. I asked him + to tell me where he lived, and let me go to her. He said she was asleep + and must not be disturbed. I promised to go in on tiptoe, and only look at + her; I offered him more money, double the money to tell me where she was. + He was very hard on me. He only said, wait till ten tomorrow morning—and + wished me goodnight. I ran out to follow him, and fell on the stairs, and + hurt myself. The people of the house were very kind to me.” She turned her + head back towards the window, and looked out into the street again. “I + must be patient,” she said; “he’s only a little late.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler rose, and tapped her smartly on the shoulder. “Lies!” she + burst out. “He knows no more where your daughter is than I do—and + he’s off with your money!” + </p> + <p> + The woman’s hateful touch struck out a spark of the old fire in Mrs. + Farnaby. Her natural force of character asserted itself once more. <i>“You</i> + lie!” she rejoined. “Leave the room!” + </p> + <p> + The door was opened, while she spoke. A respectable woman-servant came in + with a letter. Mrs. Farnaby took it mechanically, and looked at the + address. Jervy’s feigned handwriting was familiar to her. In the instant + when she recognized it, the life seemed to go out of her like an + extinguished light. She stood pale and still and silent, with the unopened + letter in her hand. + </p> + <p> + Watching her with malicious curiosity, Mrs. Sowler coolly possessed + herself of the letter, looked at it, and recognized the writing in her + turn. “Stop!” she cried, as the servant was on the point of going out. + “There’s no stamp on this letter. Was it brought by hand? Is the messenger + waiting?” + </p> + <p> + The respectable servant showed her opinion of Mrs. Sowler plainly in her + face. She replied as briefly and as ungraciously as possible:—“No.” + </p> + <p> + “Man or woman?” was the next question. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to answer this person, ma’am?” said the servant, looking at Mrs. + Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + “Answer me instantly,” Mrs. Sowler interposed—“in Mrs. Farnaby’s own + interests. Don’t you see she can’t speak to you herself?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said the servant, “it was a man.” + </p> + <p> + “A man with a squint?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Which way did he go?” + </p> + <p> + “Towards the square.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sowler tossed the letter on the table, and hurried out of the room. + The servant approached Mrs. Farnaby. “You haven’t opened your letter yet, + ma’am,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Farnaby vacantly, “I haven’t opened it yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid it’s bad news, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I think it’s bad news.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you. Yes; one thing. Open my letter for me, please.” + </p> + <p> + It was a strange request to make. The servant wondered, and obeyed. She + was a kind-hearted woman; she really felt for the poor lady. But the + familiar household devil, whose name is Curiosity, and whose opportunities + are innumerable, prompted her next words when she had taken the letter out + of the envelope:—“Shall I read it to you, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Put it down on the table, please. I’ll ring when I want you.” + </p> + <p> + The mother was alone—alone, with her death-warrant waiting for her + on the table. + </p> + <p> + The clock downstairs struck the half hour after ten. She moved, for the + first time since she had received the letter. Once more she went to the + window, and looked out. It was only for a moment. She turned away again, + with a sudden contempt for herself. “What a fool I am!” she said—and + took up the open letter. + </p> + <p> + She looked at it, and put it down again. “Why should I read it,” she asked + herself, “when I know what is in it, without reading?” + </p> + <p> + Some framed woodcuts from the illustrated newspapers were hung on the + walls. One of them represented a scene of rescue from shipwreck. A mother + embracing her daughter, saved by the lifeboat, was among the foreground + groups. The print was entitled, “The Mercy of Providence.” Mrs. Farnaby + looked at it with a moment’s steady attention. “Providence has its + favourites,” she said; “I am not one of them.” + </p> + <p> + After thinking a little, she went into her bedroom, and took two papers + out of her dressing-case. They were medical prescriptions. + </p> + <p> + She turned next to the chimneypiece. Two medicine-bottles were placed on + it. She took one of them down—a bottle of the ordinary size, known + among chemists as a six-ounce bottle. It contained a colourless liquid. + The label stated the dose to be “two table-spoonfuls,” and bore, as usual, + a number corresponding with a number placed on the prescription. She took + up the prescription. It was a mixture of bi-carbonate of soda and prussic + acid, intended for the relief of indigestion. She looked at the date, and + was at once reminded of one of the very rare occasions on which she had + required the services of a medical man. There had been a serious accident + at a dinner-party, given by some friends. She had eaten sparingly of a + certain dish, from which some of the other guests had suffered severely. + It was discovered that the food had been cooked in an old copper saucepan. + In her case, the trifling result had been a disturbance of digestion, and + nothing more. The doctor had prescribed accordingly. She had taken but one + dose: with her healthy constitution she despised physic. The remainder of + the mixture was still in the bottle. + </p> + <p> + She considered again with herself—then went back to the + chimneypiece, and took down the second bottle. + </p> + <p> + It contained a colourless liquid also; but it was only half the size of + the first bottle, and not a drop had been taken. She waited, observing the + difference between the two bottles with extraordinary attention. In this + case also, the prescription was in her possession—but it was not the + original. A line at the top stated that it was a copy made by the chemist, + at the request of a customer. It bore the date of more than three years + since. A morsel of paper was pinned to the prescription, containing some + lines in a woman’s handwriting:—“With your enviable health and + strength, my dear, I should have thought you were the last person in the + world to want a tonic. However, here is my prescription, if you must have + it. Be very careful to take the right dose, because there’s poison in it.” + The prescription contained three ingredients, strychnine, quinine, and + nitro-hydrochloric acid; and the dose was fifteen drops in water. Mrs. + Farnaby lit a match, and burnt the lines of her friend’s writing. “As long + ago as that,” she reflected, “I thought of killing myself. Why didn’t I do + it?” + </p> + <p> + The paper having been destroyed, she put back the prescription for + indigestion in her dressing-case; hesitated for a moment; and opened the + bedroom window. It looked into a lonely little courtyard. She threw the + dangerous contents of the second and smaller bottle out into the yard—and + then put it back empty on the chimneypiece. After another moment of + hesitation, she returned to the sitting-room, with the bottle of mixture, + and the copied prescription for the tonic strychnine drops, in her hand. + </p> + <p> + She put the bottle on the table, and advanced to the fireplace to ring the + bell. Warm as the room was, she began to shiver. Did the eager life in her + feel the fatal purpose that she was meditating, and shrink from it? + Instead of ringing the bell, she bent over the fire, trying to warm + herself. + </p> + <p> + “Other women would get relief in crying,” she thought. “I wish I was like + other women!” + </p> + <p> + The whole sad truth about herself was in that melancholy aspiration. No + relief in tears, no merciful oblivion in a fainting-fit, for <i>her.</i> + The terrible strength of the vital organization in this woman knew no + yielding to the unutterable misery that wrung her to the soul. It roused + its glorious forces to resist: it held her in a stony quiet, with a grip + of iron. + </p> + <p> + She turned away from the fire wondering at herself. “What baseness is + there in me that fears death? What have I got to live for <i>now?”</i> The + open letter on the table caught her eye. “This will do it!” she said—and + snatched it up, and read it at last. + </p> + <p> + “The least I can do for you is to act like a gentleman, and spare you + unnecessary suspense. You will not see me this morning at ten, for the + simple reason that I really don’t know, and never did know, where to find + your daughter. I wish I was rich enough to return the money. Not being + able to do that, I will give you a word of advice instead. The next time + you confide any secrets of yours to Mr. Goldenheart, take better care that + no third person hears you.” + </p> + <p> + She read those atrocious lines, without any visible disturbance of the + dreadful composure that possessed her. Her mind made no effort to discover + the person who had listened and betrayed her. To all ordinary curiosities, + to all ordinary emotions, she was morally dead already. + </p> + <p> + The one thought in her was a thought that might have occurred to a man. + “If I only had my hands on his throat, how I could wring the life out of + him! As it is—” Instead of pursuing the reflection, she threw the + letter into the fire, and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Take this at once to the nearest chemist’s,” she said, giving the + strychnine prescription to the servant; “and wait, please, and bring it + back with you.” + </p> + <p> + She opened her desk, when she was alone, and tore up the letters and + papers in it. This done, she took her pen, and wrote a letter. It was + addressed to Amelius. + </p> + <p> + When the servant entered the room again, bringing with her the + prescription made up, the clock downstairs struck eleven. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6 + </h2> + <h3> + Toff returned to the cottage, with the slippers and the stockings. + </h3> + <p> + “What a time you have been gone!” said Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “It is not my fault, sir,” Toff explained. “The stockings I obtained + without difficulty. But the nearest shoe shop in this neighbourhood sold + only coarse manufactures, and all too large. I had to go to my wife, and + get her to take me to the right place. See!” he exclaimed, producing a + pair of quilted silk slippers with blue rosettes, “here is a design, that + is really worthy of pretty feet. Try them on, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + Sally’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the slippers. She rose at once, and + limped away to her room. Amelius, observing that she still walked in pain, + called her back. “I had forgotten the blister,” he said. “Before you put + on the new stockings, Sally, let me see your foot.” He turned to Toff. + “You’re always ready with everything,” he went on; “I wonder whether you + have got a needle and a bit of worsted thread?” + </p> + <p> + The old Frenchman answered, with an air of respectful reproach. “Knowing + me, sir, as you do,” he said, “could you doubt for a moment that I mend my + own clothes and darn my own stockings?” He withdrew to his bedroom below, + and returned with a leather roll. “When you are ready, sir?” he said, + opening the roll at the table, and threading the needle, while Sally + removed the sock from her left foot. + </p> + <p> + She took a chair near the window, at the suggestion of Amelius. He knelt + down so as to raise her foot to his knee. “Turn a little more towards the + light,” he said. He took the foot in his hand, lifted it, looked at it—and + suddenly let it drop back on the floor. + </p> + <p> + A cry of alarm from Sally instantly brought Toff to the window. “Oh, + look!” she cried; “he’s ill!” Toff lifted Amelius to a chair. “For God’s + sake, sir,” cried the terrified old man, “what’s the matter?” Amelius had + turned to the strange ashy paleness which is only seen in men of his + florid complexion, overwhelmed by sudden emotion. He stammered when he + tried to speak. “Fetch the brandy!” said Toff, pointing to the + liqueur-case on the sideboard. Sally brought it at once; the strong + stimulant steadied Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry to have frightened you,” he said faintly. “Sally!—Dear, + dear little Sally, go in, and get your things on directly. You must come + out with me; I’ll tell you why afterwards. My God! why didn’t I find this + out before?” He noticed Toff, wondering and trembling. “Good old fellow! + don’t alarm yourself—you shall know about it, too. Go! run! get the + first cab you can find!” + </p> + <p> + Left alone for a few minutes, he had time to compose himself. He did his + best to take advantage of the time; he tried to prepare his mind for the + coming interview with Mrs. Farnaby. “I must be careful of what I do,” he + thought, conscious of the overwhelming effect of the discovery on himself; + “She doesn’t expect <i>me</i> to bring her daughter to her.” + </p> + <p> + Sally returned to him, ready to go out. She seemed to be afraid of him, + when he approached her, and took her hand. “Have I done anything wrong?” + she asked, in her childish way. “Are you going to take me to some other + Home?” The tone and look with which she put the question burst through the + restraints which Amelius had imposed on himself for her sake. “My dear + child!” he said, “can you bear a great surprise? I’m dying to tell you the + truth—and I hardly dare do it.” He took her in his arms. She + trembled piteously. Instead of answering him, she reiterated her question, + “Are you going to take me to some other Home?” He could endure it no + longer. “This is the happiest day of your life, Sally!” he cried; “I am + going to take you to your mother.” + </p> + <p> + He held her close to him, and looked at her in dread of having spoken too + plainly. + </p> + <p> + She slowly lifted her eyes to him in vacant fear and surprise; she burst + into no expression of delight; no overwhelming emotion made her sink + fainting in his arms. The sacred associations which gather round the mere + name of Mother were associations unknown to her; the man who held her to + him so tenderly, the hero who had pitied and saved her, was father and + mother both to her simple mind. She dropped her head on his breast; her + faltering voice told him that she was crying. “Will my mother take me away + from you?” she asked. “Oh, do promise to bring me back with you to the + cottage!” + </p> + <p> + For the moment, and the moment only, Amelius was disappointed in her. The + generous sympathies in his nature guided him unerringly to the truer view. + He remembered what her life had been. Inexpressible pity for her filled + his heart. “Oh, my poor Sally, the time is coming when you will not think + as you think now! I will do nothing to distress you. You mustn’t cry—you + must be happy, and loving and true to your mother.” She dried her eyes, + “I’ll do anything you tell me,” she said, “as long as you bring me back + with you.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius sighed, and said no more. He took her out with him gravely and + silently, when the cab was announced to be ready. “Double your fare,” he + said, when he gave the driver his instructions, “if you get there in a + quarter of an hour.” It wanted twenty-five minutes to twelve when the cab + left the cottage. + </p> + <p> + At that moment, the contrast of feeling between the two could hardly have + been more strongly marked. In proportion as Amelius became more and more + agitated, so Sally recovered the composure and confidence that she had + lost. The first question she put to him related, not to her mother, but to + his strange behaviour when he had knelt down to look at her foot. He + answered, explaining to her briefly and plainly what his conduct meant. + The description of what had passed between her mother and Amelius + interested and yet perplexed her. “How can she be so fond of me, without + knowing anything about me for all those years?” she asked. “Is my mother a + lady? Don’t tell her where you found me; she might be ashamed of me.” She + paused, and looked at Amelius anxiously. “Are you vexed about something? + May I take hold of your hand?” Amelius gave her his hand; and Sally was + satisfied. + </p> + <p> + As the cab drew up at the house, the door was opened from within. A + gentleman, dressed in black, hurriedly came out; looked at Amelius; and + spoke to him as he stepped from the cab to the pavement. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir. May I ask if you are any relative of the lady who + lives in this house?” + </p> + <p> + “No relative,” Amelius answered. “Only a friend, who brings good news to + her.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger’s grave face suddenly became compassionate as well as grave. + “I must speak with you before you go upstairs,” he said, lowering his + voice as he looked at Sally, still seated in the cab. “You will perhaps + excuse the liberty I am taking, when I tell you that I am a medical man. + Come into the hall for a moment—and don’t bring the young lady with + you.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius told Sally to wait in the cab. She saw his altered looks, and + entreated him not to leave her. He promised to keep the house door open so + that she could see him while he was away from her, and hastened into the + hall. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to say I have bad, very bad, news for you,” the doctor began. + “Time is of serious importance—I must speak plainly. You have heard + of mistakes made by taking the wrong bottle of medicine? The poor lady + upstairs is, I fear, in a dying state, from an accident of that sort. Try + to compose yourself. You may really be of use to me, if you are firm + enough to take my place while I am away.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius steadied himself instantly. “What I can do, I will do,” he + answered. + </p> + <p> + The doctor looked at him. “I believe you,” he said. “Now listen. In this + case, a dose limited to fifteen drops has been confounded with a dose of + two table-spoonsful; and the drug taken by mistake is strychnine. One + grain of the poison has been known to prove fatal—she has taken + three. The convulsion fits have begun. Antidotes are out of the question—the + poor creature can swallow nothing. I have heard of opium as a possible + means of relief; and I am going to get the instrument for injecting it + under the skin. Not that I have much belief in the remedy; but I must try + something. Have you courage enough to hold her, if another of the + convulsions comes on in my absence?” + </p> + <p> + “Will it relieve her, if I hold her?” Amelius, asked. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I promise to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Mind! you must do it thoroughly. There are only two women upstairs; both + perfectly useless in this emergency. If she shrieks to you to be held, + exert your strength—take her with a firm grasp. If you only touch + her (I can’t explain it, but it is so), you will make matters worse.” + </p> + <p> + The servant ran downstairs, while he was speaking. “Don’t leave us, sir—I’m + afraid it’s coming on again.” + </p> + <p> + “This gentleman will help you, while I am away,” said the doctor. “One + word more,” he went on, addressing Amelius. “In the intervals between the + fits, she is perfectly conscious; able to listen, and even to speak. If + she has any last wishes to communicate, make good use of the time. She may + die of exhaustion, at any moment. I will be back directly.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Take my cab,” said Amelius, “and save time.” + </p> + <p> + “But the young lady—” + </p> + <p> + “Leave her to me.” He opened the cab door, and gave his hand to Sally. It + was done in a moment. The doctor drove off. + </p> + <p> + Amelius saw the servant waiting for them in the hall. He spoke to Sally, + telling her, considerately and gently, what he had heard, before he took + her into the house. “I had such good hopes for you,” he said; “and it has + come to this dreadful end! Have you courage to go through with it, if I + take you to her bedside? You will be glad one day, my dear, to remember + that you cheered your mother’s last moments on earth.” + </p> + <p> + Sally put her hand in his. “I will go anywhere,” she said softly, “with + You.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius led her into the house. The servant, in pity for her youth, + ventured on a word of remonstrance. “Oh, sir, you’re not going to let the + poor young lady see that dreadful sight upstairs!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean well,” Amelius answered; “and I thank you. If you knew what I + know, you would take her upstairs, too. Show the way.” + </p> + <p> + Sally looked at him in silent awe as they followed the servant together. + He was not like the same man. His brows were knit; his lips were fast set; + he held the girl’s hand in a grip that hurt her. The latent strength of + will in him—that reserved resolution, so finely and firmly entwined + in the natures of sensitively organized men—was rousing itself to + meet the coming trial. The doctor would have doubly believed in him, if + the doctor had seen him at that moment. + </p> + <p> + They reached the first-floor landing. + </p> + <p> + Before the servant could open the drawing-room door, a shriek rang + frightfully through the silence of the house. The servant drew back, and + crouched trembling on the upper stairs. At the same moment, the door was + flung open, and another woman ran out, wild with terror. “I can’t bear + it!” she cried, and rushed up the stairs, blind to the presence of + strangers in the panic that possessed her. Amelius entered the + drawing-room, with his arm round Sally, holding her up. As he placed her + in a chair, the dreadful cry was renewed. He only waited to rouse and + encourage her by a word and a look—and ran into the bedroom. + </p> + <p> + For an instant, and an instant only, he stood horror-struck in the + presence of the poisoned woman. + </p> + <p> + The fell action of the strychnine wrung every muscle in her with the + torture of convulsion. Her hands were fast clenched; her head was bent + back: her body, rigid as a bar of iron, was arched upwards from the bed, + resting on the two extremities of the head and the heels: the staring + eyes, the dusky face, the twisted lips, the clenched teeth, were frightful + to see. He faced it. After the one instant of hesitation, he faced it. + </p> + <p> + Before she could cry out again, his hands were on her. The whole exertion + of his strength was barely enough to keep the frenzied throbs of the + convulsion, as it reached its climax, from throwing her off the bed. + Through the worst of it, he was still equal to the trust that had been + placed in him, still faithful to the work of mercy. Little by little, he + felt the lessening resistance of the rigid body, as the paroxysm began to + subside. He saw the ghastly stare die out of her eyes, and the twisted + lips relax from their dreadful grin. The tortured body sank, and rested; + the perspiration broke out on her face; her languid hands fell gently over + on the bed. For a while, the heavy eyelids closed—then opened again + feebly. She looked at him. “Do you know me?” he asked, bending over her. + And she answered in a faint whisper, “Amelius!” + </p> + <p> + He knelt down by her, and kissed her hand. “Can you listen, if I tell you + something?” + </p> + <p> + She breathed heavily; her bosom heaved under the suffocating oppression + that weighed upon it. As he took her in his arms to raise her in the bed, + Sally’s voice reached him, in low imploring tones, from the next room. + “Oh, let me come to you! I’m so frightened here by myself.” + </p> + <p> + He waited, before he told her to come in, looking for a moment at the face + that was resting on his breast. A gray shadow was stealing over it; a cold + and clammy moisture struck a chill through him as he put his hand on her + forehead. He turned towards the next room. The girl had ventured as far as + the door; he beckoned to her. She came in timidly, and stood by him, and + looked at her mother. Amelius signed to her to take his place. “Put your + arms round her,” he whispered. “Oh, Sally, tell her who you are in a + kiss!” The girl’s tears fell fast as she pressed her lips on her mother’s + cheek. The dying woman looked at her, with a glance of helpless inquiry—then + looked at Amelius. The doubt in her eyes was too dreadful to be endured. + Arranging the pillows so that she could keep her raised position in the + bed, he signed to Sally to approach him, and removed the slipper from her + left foot. As he took it off, he looked again at the bed—looked and + shuddered. In a moment more, it might be too late. With his knife he + ripped up the stocking, and, lifting her on the bed, put her bare foot on + her mother’s lap. “Your child! your child!” he cried; “I’ve found your own + darling! For God’s sake, rouse yourself! Look!” + </p> + <p> + She heard him. She lifted her feebly declining head. She looked. She knew. + </p> + <p> + For one awful moment, the sinking vital forces rallied, and hurled back + the hold of Death. Her eyes shone radiant with the divine light of + maternal love; an exulting cry of rapture burst from her. Slowly, very + slowly, she bent forward, until her face rested on her daughter’s foot. + With a faint sigh of ecstasy she kissed it. The moments passed—and + the bent head was raised no more. The last beat of the heart was a beat of + joy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK THE EIGHTH. DAME NATURE DECIDES + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1 + </h2> + <p> + The day which had united the mother and daughter, only to part them again + in this world for ever, had advanced to evening. + </p> + <p> + Amelius and Sally were together again in the cottage, sitting by the + library fire. The silence in the room was uninterrupted. On the open desk, + near Amelius, lay the letter which Mrs. Farnaby had written to him on the + morning of her death. + </p> + <p> + He had found the letter—with the envelope unfastened—on the + floor of the bedchamber, and had fortunately secured it before the + landlady and the servant had ventured back to the room. The doctor, + returning a few minutes afterwards, had warned the two women that a + coroner’s inquest would be held in the house, and had vainly cautioned + them to be careful of what they said or did in the interval. Not only the + subject of the death, but a discovery which had followed, revealing the + name of the ill-fated woman marked on her linen, and showing that she had + used an assumed name in taking the lodgings as Mrs. Ronald, became the + gossip of the neighbourhood in a few hours. Under these circumstances, the + catastrophe was made the subject of a paragraph in the evening journals; + the name being added for the information of any surviving relatives who + might be ignorant of the sad event. If the landlady had found the letter, + that circumstance also would in all probability, have formed part of the + statement in the newspapers, and the secret of Mrs. Farnaby’s life and + death would have been revealed to the public view. + </p> + <p> + “I can trust you, and you only,” she wrote to Amelius, “to fulfil the last + wishes of a dying woman. You know me, and you know how I looked forward to + the prospect of a happy life in retirement with my child. The one hope + that I lived for has proved to be a cruel delusion. I have only this + morning discovered, beyond the possibility of doubt, that I have been made + the victim of wretches who have deliberately lied to me from first to + last. If I had been a happier woman, I might have had other interests to + sustain me under this frightful disaster. Such as I am, Death is my one + refuge left. + </p> + <p> + “My suicide will be known to no creature but yourself. Some years since, + the idea of self destruction—concealed under the disguise of a + common mistake—presented itself to my mind. I kept the means, very + simple means, by me, thinking I might end in that way after all. When you + read this I shall be at rest for ever. You will do what I have yet to ask + of you, in merciful remembrance of me—I am sure of that. + </p> + <p> + “You have a long life before you, Amelius. My foolish fancy about you and + my lost girl still lingers in my mind; I still think it may be just + possible that you may meet with her, in the course of years. + </p> + <p> + “If this does happen, I implore you, by the tenderness and pity that you + once felt for me, to tell no human creature that she is my daughter; and, + if John Farnaby is living at the time, I forbid you, with the authority of + a dying friend, to let her see him, or to let her know even that such a + person exists. Are you at a loss to account for my motives? I may make the + shameful confession which will enlighten you, now I know that we shall + never meet again. My child was born before my marriage; and the man who + afterwards became my husband—a man of low origin, I should tell you—was + the father. He had calculated on this disgraceful circumstance to force my + parents to make his fortune, by making me his wife. I now know, what I + only vaguely suspected before, that he deliberately abandoned his child, + as a likely cause of hindrance and scandal in the way of his prosperous + career in life. Do you now think I am asking too much, when I entreat you + never even to speak to my lost darling of this unnatural wretch? As for my + own fair fame, I am not thinking of myself. With Death close at my side, I + think of my poor mother, and of all that she suffered and sacrificed to + save me from the disgrace that I had deserved. For her sake, not for mine, + keep silence to friends and enemies alike if they ask you who my girl is—with + the one exception of my lawyer. Years since, I left in his care the means + of making a small provision for my child, on the chance that she might + live to claim it. You can show him this letter as your authority, in case + of need. + </p> + <p> + “Try not to forget me, Amelius—but don’t grieve about me. I go to my + death as you go to your sleep when you are tired. I leave you my grateful + love—you have always been good to me. There is no more to write; I + hear the servant returning from the chemist’s, bringing with her only + release from the hard burden of life without hope. May you be happier than + I have been! Goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + So she parted from him for ever. But the fatal association of the unhappy + woman’s sorrows with the life and fortune of Amelius was not at an end + yet. + </p> + <p> + He had neither hesitation nor misgiving in resolving to show a natural + respect to the wishes of the dead. Now that the miserable story of the + past had been unreservedly disclosed to him, he would have felt himself + bound in honour, even without instructions to guide him, to keep the + discovery of the daughter a secret, for the mother’s sake. With that + conviction, he had read the distressing letter. With that conviction, he + now rose to provide for the safe keeping of it under lock and key. + </p> + <p> + Just as he had secured the letter in a private drawer of his desk, Toff + came in with a card, and announced that a gentleman wished to see him. + Amelius, looking at the card, was surprised to find on it the name of “Mr. + Melton.” Some lines were written on it in pencil: “I have called to speak + with you on a matter of serious importance.” Wondering what his + middle-aged rival could want with him, Amelius instructed Toff to admit + the visitor. + </p> + <p> + Sally started to her feet, with her customary distrust of strangers. “May + I run away before he comes in?” she asked. “If you like,” Amelius answered + quietly. She ran to the door of her room, at the moment when Toff appeared + again, announcing the visitor. Mr. Melton entered just before she + disappeared: he saw the flutter of her dress as the door closed behind + her. + </p> + <p> + “I fear I am disturbing you?” he said, looking hard at the door. + </p> + <p> + He was perfectly dressed: his hat and gloves were models of what such + things ought to be; he was melancholy and courteous; blandly distrustful + of the flying skirts which he had seen at the door. When Amelius offered + him a chair, he took it with a mysterious sigh; mournfully resigned to the + sad necessity of sitting down. “I won’t prolong my intrusion on you,” he + resumed. “You have no doubt seen the melancholy news in the evening + papers?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t seen the evening papers,” Amelius answered; “what news do you + mean?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Melton leaned back in his chair, and expressed emotions of sorrow and + surprise, in a perfect state of training, by gently raising his smooth + white hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, dear! this is very sad. I had hoped to find you in full + possession of the particulars—reconciled, as we must all be, to the + inscrutable ways of Providence. Permit me to break it to you as gently as + possible. I came here to inquire if you had heard yet from Miss Regina. + Understand my motive! there must be no misapprehension between us on that + subject. There is a very serious necessity—pray follow me carefully—I + say, a very serious necessity for my communicating immediately with Miss + Regina’s uncle; and I know of nobody who is so likely to hear from the + travellers, so soon after their departure, as yourself. You are, in a + certain sense, a member of the family—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop a minute,” said Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon?” said Mr. Melton politely, at a loss to understand the + interruption. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t at first know what you meant,” Amelius explained. “You put it, + if you will forgive me for saying so, in rather a roundabout way. If you + are alluding, all this time, to Mrs. Farnaby’s death, I must honestly tell + you that I know of it already.” + </p> + <p> + The bland self-possession of Mr. Melton’s face began to show signs of + being ruffled. He had been in a manner deluded into exhibiting his + conventionally fluent eloquence, in the choicest modulations of his + sonorous voice—and it wounded his self esteem to be placed in his + present position. “I understood you to say,” he remarked stiffly, “that + you had not seen the evening newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right,” Amelius rejoined; “I have not seen them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then may I inquire,” Mr. Melton proceeded, “how you became informed of + Mrs. Farnaby’s death?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius replied with his customary frankness. “I went to call on the poor + lady this morning,” he said, “knowing nothing of what had happened. I met + the doctor at the door; and I was present at her death.” + </p> + <p> + Even Mr. Melton’s carefully-trained composure was not proof against the + revelation that now opened before him. He burst out with an exclamation of + astonishment, like an ordinary man. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, what does this mean!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius took it as a question addressed to himself. “I’m sure I don’t + know,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Melton, misunderstanding Amelius on his side, interpreted those + innocent words as an outbreak of vulgar interruption. “Pardon me,” he said + coldly. “I was about to explain myself. You will presently understand my + surprise. After seeing the evening paper, I went at once to make inquiries + at the address mentioned. In Mr. Farnaby’s absence, I felt bound to do + this as his old friend. I saw the landlady, and, with her assistance, the + doctor also. Both these persons spoke of a gentleman who had called that + morning, accompanied by a young lady; and who had insisted on taking the + young lady upstairs with him. Until you mentioned just now that you were + present at the death, I had no suspicion that you were ‘the gentleman’. + Surprise on my part was, I think, only natural. I could hardly be expected + to know that you were in Mrs. Farnaby’s confidence about the place of her + retreat. And with regard to the young lady, I am still quite at a loss to + understand—” + </p> + <p> + “If you understand that the people at the house told you the truth, so far + as I am concerned,” Amelius interposed, “I hope that will be enough. With + regard to the young lady, I must beg you to excuse me for speaking + plainly. I have nothing to say about her, to you or to anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Melton rose with the utmost dignity and the fullest possession of his + vocal resources. + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to assure you,” he said, with frigidly fluent politeness, “that + I have no wish to force myself into your confidence. One remark I will + venture to make. It is easy enough, no doubt, to keep your own secrets, + when you are speaking to <i>me.</i> You will find some difficulty, I fear, + in pursuing the same course, when you are called upon to give evidence + before the coroner. I presume you know that you will be summoned as a + witness at the inquest?” + </p> + <p> + “I left my name and address with the doctor for that purpose,” Amelius + rejoined as composedly as ever; “and I am ready to bear witness to what I + saw at poor Mrs. Farnaby’s bedside. But if all the coroners in England + questioned me about anything else, I should say to them just what I have + said to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Melton smiled with well bred irony. “We shall see,” he said. “In the + mean time, I presume I may ask you, in the interests of the family, to + send me the address on the letter, as soon as you hear from Miss Regina. I + have no other means of communicating with Mr. Farnaby. In respect to the + melancholy event, I may add that I have undertaken to provide for the + funeral, and to pay any little outstanding debts, and so forth. As Mr. + Farnaby’s old friend and representative—” + </p> + <p> + The conclusion of the sentence was interrupted by the entrance of Toff + with a note, and an apology for his intrusion. “I beg your pardon, sir; + the person is waiting. She says it’s only a receipt to sign. The box is in + the hall.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius examined the enclosure. It was a formal document, acknowledging + the receipt of Sally’s clothes, returned to her by the authorities at the + Home. As he took a pen to sign the receipt he looked towards the door of + Sally’s room. Mr. Melton, observing the look, prepared to retire. “I am + only interrupting you,” he said. “You have my address on my card. Good + evening.” + </p> + <p> + On his way out, he passed an elderly woman, waiting in the hall. Toff, + hastening before him to open the garden gate, was saluted by the gruff + voice of a cabman, outside. “The lady whom he had driven to the cottage + had not paid him his right fare; he meant to have the money, or the lady’s + name and address, and summon her.” Quietly crossing the road, Mr. Melton + heard the woman’s voice next: she had got her receipt, and had followed + him out. In the dispute about fares and distances that ensued, the + contending parties more than once mentioned the name of the Home and of + the locality in which it was situated. Possessing this information, Mr. + Melton looked in at his club; consulted a directory, under the heading of + “Charitable Institutions;” and solved the mystery of the vanishing + petticoats at the door. He had discovered an inmate of an asylum for lost + women, in the house of the man to whom Regina was engaged to be married! + </p> + <p> + The next morning’s post brought to Amelius a letter from Regina. It was + dated from an hotel in Paris. Her “dear uncle” had over estimated his + strength. He had refused to stay and rest for the night at Boulogne; and + had suffered so severely from the fatigue of the long journey that he had + been confined to his bed since his arrival. The English physician + consulted had declined to say when he would be strong enough to travel + again; the constitution of the patient must have received some serious + shock; he was brought very low. Having carefully reported the new medical + opinion, Regina was at liberty to indulge herself, next, in expressions of + affection, and to assure Amelius of her anxiety to hear from him as soon + as possible. But, in this case again, the “dear uncle’s” convenience was + still the first consideration. She reverted to Mr. Farnaby, in making her + excuses for a hurriedly written letter. The poor invalid suffered from + depression of spirits; his great consolation in his illness was to hear + his niece read to him: he was calling for her, indeed, at that moment. The + inevitable postscript warmed into a mild effusion of fondness, “How I wish + you could be with us. But, alas, it cannot be!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius copied the address on the letter, and sent it to Mr. Melton + immediately. + </p> + <p> + It was then the twenty-fourth day of the month. The tidal train did not + leave London early that morning; and the inquest was deferred, to suit + other pressing engagements of the coroner, until the twenty-sixth. Mr. + Melton decided, after his interview with Amelius, that the emergency was + sufficiently serious to justify him in following his telegram to Paris. It + was clearly his duty, as an old friend, to mention to Mr. Farnaby what he + had discovered at the cottage, as well as what he had heard from the + landlady and the doctor; leaving it to the uncle’s discretion to act as he + thought right in the interests of the niece. Whether that course of action + might not also serve the interests of Mr. Melton himself, in the character + of an unsuccessful suitor for Regina’s hand, he did not stop to inquire. + Beyond his duty it was, for the present at least, not his business to + look. + </p> + <p> + That night, the two gentlemen held a private consultation in Paris; the + doctor having previously certified that his patient was incapable of + supporting the journey back to London, under any circumstances. + </p> + <p> + The question of the formal proceedings rendered necessary by Mrs. + Farnaby’s death having been discussed and disposed of, Mr. Melton next + entered on the narrative which the obligations of friendship imperatively + demanded from him. To his astonishment and alarm, Mr. Farnaby started up + in the bed like a man panic-stricken. “Did you say,” he stammered, as soon + as he could speak, “you mean to make inquiries about that—that + girl?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly thought it desirable, bearing in mind Mr. Goldenheart’s + position in your family.” + </p> + <p> + “Do nothing of the sort! Say nothing to Regina or to any living creature. + Wait till I get well again—and leave me to deal with it. I am the + proper person to take it in hand. Don’t you see that for yourself? And, + look here! there may be questions asked at the inquest. Some impudent + scoundrel on the jury may want to pry into what doesn’t concern him. The + moment you’re back in London, get a lawyer to represent us—the + sharpest fellow that can be had for money. Tell him to stop all prying + questions. Who the girl is, and what made that cursed young Socialist + Goldenheart take her upstairs with him—all that sort of thing has + nothing to do with the manner in which my wife met her death. You + understand? I look to you, Melton, to see yourself that this is done. The + less said at the infernal inquest, the better. In my position, it’s an + exposure that my enemies will make the most of, as it is. I’m too ill to + go into the thing any further. No: I don’t want Regina. Go to her in the + sitting room, and tell the courier to get you something to eat and drink. + And, I say! For God’s sake don’t be late for the Boulogne train tomorrow + morning.” + </p> + <p> + Left by himself, he gave full vent to his fury; he cursed Amelius with + oaths that are not to be written. + </p> + <p> + He had burnt the letter which Mrs. Farnaby had written to him, on leaving + him forever; but he had not burnt out of his memory the words which that + letter contained. With his wife’s language vividly present to his mind, he + could arrive at but one conclusion, after what Mr. Melton had told him. + Amelius was concerned in the discovery of his deserted daughter; Amelius + had taken the girl to her dying mother’s bedside. With his idiotic + Socialist notions, he would be perfectly capable of owning the truth, if + inquiries were made. The unblemished reputation which John Farnaby had + built up by the self-seeking hypocrisy of a lifetime was at the mercy of a + visionary young fool, who believed that rich men were created for the + benefit of the poor, and who proposed to regenerate society by reviving + the obsolete morality of the Primitive Christians. Was it possible for him + to come to terms with such a person as this? There was not an inch of + common ground on which they could meet. He dropped back on his pillow in + despair, and lay for a while frowning and biting his nails. Suddenly he + sat up again in the bed, and wiped his moist forehead, and heaved a heavy + breath of relief. Had his illness obscured his intelligence? How was it he + had not seen at once the perfectly easy way out of the difficulty which + was presented by the facts themselves? Here is a man, engaged to marry my + niece, who has been discovered keeping a girl at his cottage—who + even had the audacity to take her upstairs with him when he made a call on + my wife. Charge him with it in plain words; break off the engagement + publicly in the face of society; and, if the profligate scoundrel tries to + defend himself by telling the truth, who will believe him—when the + girl was seen running out of his room? and when he refused, on the + question being put to him, to say who she was? + </p> + <p> + So, in ignorance of his wife’s last instructions to Amelius—in equal + ignorance of the compassionate silence which an honourable man preserves + when a woman’s reputation is at his mercy—the wretch needlessly + plotted and planned to save his usurped reputation; seeing all things, as + such men invariably do, through the foul light of his own inbred baseness + and cruelty. He was troubled by no retributive emotions of shame or + remorse, in contemplating this second sacrifice to his own interests of + the daughter whom he had deserted in her infancy. If he felt any + misgivings, they related wholly to himself. His head was throbbing, his + tongue was dry; a dread of increasing his illness shook him suddenly. He + drank some of the lemonade at his bedside, and lay down to compose himself + to sleep. + </p> + <p> + It was not to be done; there was a burning in his eyeballs, there was a + wild irregular beating at his heart, which kept him awake. In some degree, + at least, retribution seemed to be on the way to him already. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Melton, delicately administering sympathy and consolation to Regina—whose + affectionate nature felt keenly the calamity of her aunt’s death—Mr. + Melton, making himself modestly useful, by reading aloud certain + devotional poems much prized by Regina, was called out of the room by the + courier. + </p> + <p> + “I have just looked in at Mr. Farnaby, sir,” said the man; “and I am + afraid he is worse.” + </p> + <p> + The physician was sent for. He thought so seriously of the change in the + patient, that he obliged Regina to accept the services of a professed + nurse. When Mr. Melton started on his return journey the next morning, he + left his friend in a high fever. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2 + </h2> + <p> + The inquiry into the circumstances under which Mrs. Farnaby had died was + held in the forenoon of the next day. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Melton surprised Amelius by calling for him, and taking him to the + inquest. The carriage stopped on the way, and a gentleman joined them, who + was introduced as Mr. Melton’s legal adviser. He spoke to Amelius about + the inquest; stating, as his excuse for asking certain discreet questions, + that his object was to suppress any painful disclosures. On reaching the + house, Mr. Melton and his lawyer said a few words to the coroner + downstairs, while the jury were assembling on the floor above. + </p> + <p> + The first witness examined was the landlady. + </p> + <p> + After deposing to the date at which the late Mrs. Farnaby had hired her + lodgings, and verifying the statements which had appeared in the + newspapers, she was questioned about the life and habits of the deceased. + She described her late lodger as a respectable lady, punctual in her + payments, and quiet and orderly in her way of life: she received letters, + but saw no friends. On several occasions, an old woman was admitted to + speak with her; and these visits seemed to be anything but agreeable to + the deceased. Asked if she knew anything of the old woman, or of what had + passed at the interviews described, the witness answered both questions in + the negative. When the woman called, she always told the servant to + announce her as “the nurse.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Melton was next examined, to prove the identity of the deceased. + </p> + <p> + He declared that he was quite unable to explain why she had left her + husband’s house under an assumed name. Asked if Mr. and Mrs. Farnaby had + lived together on affectionate terms, he acknowledged that he had heard, + at various times, of a want of harmony between them, but was not + acquainted with the cause. Mr. Farnaby’s high character and position in + the commercial world spoke for themselves: the restraints of a gentleman + guided him in his relations with his wife. The medical certificate of his + illness in Paris was then put in; and Mr. Melton’s examination came to an + end. + </p> + <p> + The chemist who had made up the prescription was the third witness. He + knew the woman who brought it to his shop to be in the service of the + first witness examined; an old customer of his, and a highly respected + resident in the neighbourhood. He made up all prescriptions himself in + which poisons were conspicuous ingredients; and he had affixed to the + bottle a slip of paper, bearing the word “Poison,” printed in large + letters. The bottle was produced and identified; and the directions in the + prescription were shown to have been accurately copied on the label. + </p> + <p> + A general sensation of interest was excited by the appearance of the next + witness—the woman servant. It was anticipated that her evidence + would explain how the fatal mistake about the medicine had occurred. After + replying to the formal inquiries, she proceeded as follows: + </p> + <p> + “When I answered the bell, at the time I have mentioned, I found the + deceased standing at the fireplace. There was a bottle of medicine on the + table, by her writing desk. It was a much larger bottle than that which + the last witness identified, and it was more than three parts full of some + colourless medicine. The deceased gave me a prescription to take to the + chemist’s, with instructions to wait, and bring back the physic. She said, + ‘I don’t feel at all well this morning; I thought of trying some of this + medicine,’ pointing to the bottle by her desk; ‘but I am not sure it is + the right thing for me. I think I want a tonic. The prescription I have + given you is a tonic.’ I went out at once to our chemist and got it. I + found her writing a letter when I came back, but she finished it + immediately, and pushed it away from her. When I put the bottle I had + brought from the chemist on the table, she looked at the other larger + bottle which she had by her; and she said, ‘You will think me very + undecided; I have been doubting, since I sent you to the chemist, whether + I had not better begin with this medicine here, before I try the tonic. + It’s a medicine for the stomach; and I fancy it’s only indigestion that’s + the matter with me, after all.’ I said, ‘You eat but a poor breakfast, + ma’am, this morning. It isn’t for me to advise; but, as you seem to be in + doubt about yourself, wouldn’t it be better to send for a doctor?’ She + shook her head, and said she didn’t want to have a doctor if she could + possibly help it. ‘I’ll try the medicine for indigestion first,’ she says; + ‘and if it doesn’t relieve me, we will see what is to be done, later in + the day.’ While we were talking, the tonic was left in its sealed paper + cover, just as I had brought it from the shop. She took up the bottle + containing the stomach medicine, and read the directions on it: ‘Two + tablespoonsful by measure-glass twice a day.’ I asked if she had a + measure-glass; and she said, Yes, and sent me to her bedroom to look for + it. I couldn’t find it. While I was looking, I heard her cry out, and ran + back to the drawing-room to see what was the matter. ‘Oh!’ she says, ‘how + clumsy I am! I’ve broken the bottle.’ She held up the bottle of the + stomach medicine and showed it to me, broken just below the neck. ‘Go back + to the bedroom,’ she says, ‘and see if you can find an empty bottle; I + don’t want to waste the medicine if I can help it.’ There was only one + empty bottle in the bedroom, a bottle on the chimney-piece. I took it to + her immediately. She gave me the broken bottle; and while I poured the + medicine into the bottle which I had found in the bedroom, she opened the + paper which covered the tonic I had brought from the chemist. When I had + done, and the two bottles were together on the table—the bottle that + I had filled, and the bottle that I had brought front the chemist—I + noticed that they were both of the same size, and that both had a label + pasted on them, marked ‘Poison.’ I said to her, ‘You must take care, + ma’am, you don’t make any mistake, the two bottles are so exactly alike.’ + ‘I can easily prevent that,’ she says, and dipped her pen in the ink, and + copied the directions on the broken bottle, on to the label of the bottle + that I had just filled. ‘There!’ she said. ‘Now I hope your mind’s at + ease?’ She spoke cheerfully, as if she was joking with me. And then she + said, ‘But where’s the measure-glass?’ I went back to the bedroom to look + for it, and couldn’t find it again. She changed all at once, upon that—she + became quite angry; and walked up and down in a fume, abusing me for my + stupidity. It was very unlike her. On all other occasions she was a most + considerate lady. I made allowances for her. She had been very much upset + earlier in the morning, when she had received a letter, which she told me + herself contained bad news. Yes; another person was present at the time—the + same woman that my mistress told you of. The woman looked at the address + on the letter, and seemed to know who it was from. I told her a + squint-eyed man had brought it to the house—and then she left + directly. I don’t know where she went, or the address at which she lives, + or who the messenger was who brought the letter. As I have said, I made + allowances for the deceased lady. I went downstairs, without answering, + and got a tumbler and a tablespoon to serve instead of the measure-glass. + When I came back with the things, she was still walking about in a temper. + She took no notice of me. I left the room again quietly, seeing she was + not in a state to be spoken to. I saw nothing more of her, until we were + alarmed by hearing her scream. We found the poor lady on the floor in a + kind of fit. I ran out and fetched the nearest doctor. This is the whole + truth, on my oath; and this is all I know about it.” + </p> + <p> + The landlady was recalled at the request of the jury, and questioned again + about the old woman. She could give no information. Being asked next if + any letters or papers belonging to, or written by, the deceased lady had + been found, she declared that, after the strictest search, nothing had + been discovered but two medical prescriptions. The writing desk was empty. + </p> + <p> + The doctor was the next witness. + </p> + <p> + He described the state in which he found the patient, on being called to + the house. The symptoms were those of poisoning by strychnine. Examination + of the prescriptions and the bottles, aided by the servant’s information, + convinced him that a fatal mistake had been made by the deceased; the + nature of which he explained to the jury as he had already explained it to + Amelius. Having mentioned the meeting with Amelius at the house-door, and + the events which had followed, he closed his evidence by stating the + result of the postmortem examination, proving that the death was caused by + the poison called strychnine. + </p> + <p> + The landlady and the servant were examined again. They were instructed to + inform the jury exactly of the time that had elapsed, from the moment when + the servant had left the deceased alone in the drawing-room, to the time + when the screams were first heard. Having both given the same evidence, on + this point, they were next asked whether any person, besides the old + woman, had visited the deceased lady—or had on any pretence obtained + access to her in the interval. Both swore positively that there had not + even been a knock at the house-door in the interval, and that the + area-gate was locked, and the key in the possession of the landlady. This + evidence placed it beyond the possibility of doubt that the deceased had + herself taken the poison. The question whether she had taken it by + accident was the only question left to decide, when Amelius was called as + the next witness. + </p> + <p> + The lawyer retained by Mr. Melton, to watch the case on behalf of Mr. + Farnaby, had hitherto not interfered. It was observed that he paid the + closest attention to the inquiry, at the stage which it had now reached. + </p> + <p> + Amelius was nervous at the outset. The early training in America, which + had hardened him to face an audience and speak with self-possession on + social and political subjects had not prepared him for the very difficult + ordeal of a first appearance as a witness. Having answered the customary + inquiries, he was so painfully agitated in describing Mrs. Farnaby’s + sufferings, that the coroner suspended the examination for a few minutes, + to give him time to control himself. He failed, however, to recover his + composure, until the narrative part of his evidence had come to an end. + When the critical questions, bearing on his relations with Mrs. Farnaby, + began, the audience noticed that he lifted his head, and looked and spoke, + for the first time, like a man with a settled resolution in him, sure of + himself. + </p> + <p> + The questions proceeded: + </p> + <p> + Was he in Mrs. Farnaby’s confidence, on the subject of her domestic + differences with her husband? Did those differences lead to her + withdrawing herself from her husband’s roof? Did Mrs. Farnaby inform him + of the place of her retreat? To these three questions the witness, + speaking quite readily in each case, answered Yes. Asked next, what the + nature of the ‘domestic differences’ had been; whether they were likely to + affect Mrs. Farnaby’s mind seriously; why she had passed under an assumed + name, and why she had confided the troubles of her married life to a young + man like himself, only introduced to her a few months since, the witness + simply declined to reply to the inquiries addressed to him. “The + confidence Mrs. Farnaby placed in me,” he said to the coroner, “was a + confidence which I gave her my word of honour to respect. When I have said + that, I hope the jury will understand that I owe it to the memory of the + dead to say no more.” + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of approval among the audience, instantly checked by + the coroner. The foreman of the jury rose, and remarked that scruples of + honour were out of place at a serious inquiry of that sort. Hearing this, + the lawyer saw his opportunity, and got on his legs. “I represent the + husband of the deceased lady,” he said. “Mr. Goldenheart has appealed to + the law of honour to justify him in keeping silence. I am astonished that + there is a man to be found in this assembly who fails to sympathize with + him. But as there appears to be such a person present, I ask permission, + sir, to put a question to the witness. It may, or may not, satisfy the + foreman of the jury; but it will certainly assist the object of the + present inquiry.” + </p> + <p> + The coroner, after a glance at Mr. Melton, permitted the lawyer to put his + question in these terms:— + </p> + <p> + “Did your knowledge of Mrs. Farnaby’s domestic troubles give you any + reason to apprehend that they might urge her to commit suicide? + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” Amelius answered. “When I called on her, on the morning + of her death, I had no apprehension whatever of her committing suicide. I + went to the house as the bearer of good news; and I said so to the doctor, + when he first spoke to me.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor confirmed this. The foreman was silenced, if not convinced. One + of his brother-jurymen, however, feeling the force of example, interrupted + the proceedings, by assailing Amelius with another question:—“We + have heard that you were accompanied by a young lady at the time you have + mentioned, and that you took her upstairs with you. We want to know what + business the young lady had in the house?” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer interfered again. “I object to that question,” he said. “The + purpose of the inquest is to ascertain how Mrs. Farnaby met with her + death. What has the young lady to do with it? The doctor’s evidence has + already told us that she was not at the house, until after he had been + called in, and the deadly action of the poison had begun. I appeal, sir, + to the law of evidence, and to you, as the presiding authority, to enforce + it. Mr. Goldenheart, who is acquainted with the circumstances of the + deceased lady’s life, has declared on his oath that there was nothing in + those circumstances to inspire him with any apprehension of her committing + suicide. The evidence of the servant at the lodgings points plainly to the + conclusion already arrived at by the medical witness, that the death was + the result of a lamentable mistake, and of that alone. Is our time to be + wasted in irrelevant questions, and are the feelings of the surviving + relatives to be cruelly lacerated to no purpose, to satisfy the curiosity + of strangers?” + </p> + <p> + A strong expression of approval from the audience followed this. The + lawyer whispered to Mr. Melton, “It’s all right!” + </p> + <p> + Order being restored, the coroner ruled that the juryman’s question was + not admissible, and that the servant’s evidence, taken with the statements + of the doctor and the chemist, was the only evidence for the consideration + of the jury. Summing up to this effect, he recalled Amelius, at the + request of the foreman, to inquire if the witness knew anything of the old + woman who had been frequently alluded to in the course of the proceedings. + Amelius could answer this question as honestly as he had answered the + questions preceding it. He neither knew the woman’s name, nor where she + was to be found. The coroner inquired, with a touch of irony, if the jury + wished the inquest to be adjourned, under existing circumstances. + </p> + <p> + For the sake of appearances, the jury consulted together. But the + luncheon-hour was approaching; the servant’s evidence was undeniably clear + and conclusive; the coroner, in summing up, had requested them not to + forget that the deceased had lost her temper with the servant, and that an + angry woman might well make a mistake which would be unlikely in her + cooler moments. All these influences led the jury irrepressibly, over the + obstacles of obstinacy, on the way to submission. After a needless delay, + they returned a verdict of “death by misadventure.” The secret of Mrs. + Farnaby’s suicide remained inviolate; the reputation of her vile husband + stood as high as ever; and the future life of Amelius was, from that fatal + moment, turned irrevocably into a new course. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3 + </h2> + <p> + On the conclusion of the proceedings, Mr. Melton, having no further need + of Amelius or the lawyer, drove away by himself. But he was too + inveterately polite to omit making his excuses for leaving them in a + hurry; he expected, he said, to find a telegram from Paris waiting at his + house. Amelius only delayed his departure to ask the landlady if the day + of the funeral was settled. Hearing that it was arranged for the next + morning, he thanked her, and returned at once to the cottage. + </p> + <p> + Sally was waiting his arrival to complete some purchases of mourning for + her unhappy mother; Toff’s wife being in attendance to take care of her. + She was curious to know how the inquest had ended. In answering her + question, Amelius was careful to warn her, if her companion made any + inquiries, only to say that she had lost her mother under very sad + circumstances. The two having left the cottage, he instructed Toff to let + in a stranger, who was to call by previous appointment, and to close the + door to every one else. In a few minutes, the expected person, a young + man, who gave the name of Morcross, made his appearance, and sorely + puzzled the old Frenchman. He was well dressed; his manner was quiet and + self-possessed—and yet he did not look like a gentleman. In fact, he + was a policeman of the higher order, in plain clothes. + </p> + <p> + Being introduced to the library, he spread out on the table some sheets of + manuscript, in the handwriting of Amelius, with notes in red ink on the + margin, made by himself. + </p> + <p> + “I understand, sir,” he began, “that you have reasons for not bringing + this case to trial in a court of law?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to say,” Amelius answered, “that I dare not consent to the + exposure of a public trial, for the sake of persons living and dead. For + the same reason, I have written the account of the conspiracy with certain + reserves. I hope I have not thrown any needless difficulties in your way?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, sir. But I should wish to ask, what you propose to do, in + case I discover the people concerned in the conspiracy?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius owned, very reluctantly, that he could do nothing with the old + woman who had been the accomplice. “Unless,” he added, “I can induce her + to assist me in bringing the man to justice for other crimes which I + believe him to have committed.” + </p> + <p> + “Meaning the man named Jervy, sir, in this statement?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have reason to believe that he has been obliged to leave the + United States, after committing some serious offence—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon for interrupting you, sir. Is it serious enough to + charge him with, under the treaty between the two countries?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t doubt it’s serious enough. I have telegraphed to the persons who + formerly employed him, for the particulars. Mind this! I will stick at no + sacrifice to make that scoundrel suffer for what he has done.” + </p> + <p> + In those plain words Amelius revealed, as frankly as usual, the purpose + that was in him. The terrible remembrances associated with Mrs. Farnaby’s + last moments had kindled, in his just and generous nature, a burning sense + of the wrong inflicted on the poor heart-broken creature who had trusted + and loved him. The unendurable thought that the wretch who had tortured + her, robbed her, and driven her to her death had escaped with impunity, + literally haunted him night and day. Eager to provide for Sally’s future, + he had followed Mrs. Farnaby’s instructions, and had seen the lawyer + privately, during the period that had elapsed between the death and the + inquest. Hearing that there were formalities to be complied with, which + would probably cause some delay, he had at once announced his + determination to employ the interval in attempting the pursuit of Jervy. + The lawyer—after vainly pointing out the serious objections to the + course proposed—so far yielded to the irresistible earnestness and + good faith of Amelius as to recommend him to a competent man, who could be + trusted not to deceive him. The same day the man had received a written + statement of the case; and he had now arrived to report the result of his + first proceedings to his employer. + </p> + <p> + “One thing I want to know, before you tell me anything else,” Amelius + resumed. “Is my written description of Jervy plain enough to help you to + find him?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s so plain, sir, that some of the older men in our office have + recognized him by it—under another name than the name you give him.” + </p> + <p> + “Does that add to the difficulty of tracing him?” + </p> + <p> + “He has been a long time away from England, sir; and it’s by no means easy + to trace him, on that account. I have been to the young woman, named + Phoebe in your statement, to find out what she can tell me about him. + She’s ready enough, in the intervals of crying, to help us to lay our + hands on the man who has deserted her. It’s the old story of a fellow + getting at a girl’s secrets and a girl’s money, under pretence of marrying + her. At one time, she’s furious with him, and at another she’s ready to + cry her eyes out. I got some information from her; it’s not much, but it + may help us. The name of the old woman, who has been the go-between in the + business, is Mrs. Sowler—known to the police as an inveterate + drunkard, and worse. I don’t think there will be much difficulty in + tracing Mrs. Sowler. As to Jervy, if the young woman is to be believed, + and I think she is, there’s little doubt that he has got the money from + the lady mentioned in my instructions here, and that he has bolted with + the sum about him. Wait a bit, sir, I haven’t done with my discoveries + yet. I asked the young woman, of course, if she had his photograph. He’s a + sharp fellow; she had it, but he got it away from her, on pretence of + giving her a better one, before he took himself off. Having missed this + chance, I asked next if she knew where he lived last. She directed me to + the place; and I have had a talk with the landlord. He tells me of a + squint-eyed man, who was a good deal about the house, doing Jervy’s dirty + work for him. If I am not misled by the description, I think I know the + man. I have my own notion of what he’s capable of doing, if he gets the + chance—and I propose to begin by finding our way to him, and using + him as a means of tracing Jervy. It’s only right to tell you that it may + take some time to do this—for which reason I have to propose, in the + mean while, trying a shorter way to the end in view. Do you object, sir, + to the expense of sending a copy of your description of Jervy to every + police-station in London?” + </p> + <p> + “I object to nothing which may help to find him. Do you think the police + have got him anywhere?” + </p> + <p> + “You forget, sir, that the police have no orders to take him. What I’m + speculating on is the chance that he has got the money about him—say + in small banknotes, for convenience of changing them, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, the people he lives among—the squint-eyed man, for + instance!—don’t stick at trifles. If any of them have found out that + Jervy’s purse is worth having—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean they would rob him?” + </p> + <p> + “And murder him too, sir, if he tried to resist.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius started to his feet. “Send round to the police-stations without + losing another minute,” he said. “And let me hear what the answer is, the + instant you receive it.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I get the answer late at night, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care when you get it, night or day. Dead or living, I will + undertake to identify him. Here’s a duplicate key of the garden gate. Come + this way, and I’ll show you where my bedroom is. If we are all in bed, tap + at the window—and I will be ready for you at a moment’s notice.” + </p> + <p> + On that understanding Morcross left the cottage. + </p> + <p> + The day when the mortal remains of Mrs. Farnaby were laid at rest was a + day of heavy rain. Mr. Melton, and two or three other old friends, were + the attendants at the funeral. When the coffin was borne into the damp and + reeking burial ground, a young man and a woman were the only persons, + beside the sexton and his assistants, who stood by the open grave. Mr. + Melton, recognizing Amelius, was at a loss to understand who his companion + could be. It was impossible to suppose that he would profane that solemn + ceremony by bringing to it the lost woman at the cottage. The thick black + veil of the person with him hid her face from view. No visible expressions + of grief escaped her. When the last sublime words of the burial service + had been read, those two mourners were left, after the others had all + departed, still standing together by the grave. Mr. Melton decided on + mentioning the circumstance confidentially when he wrote to his friend in + Paris. Telegrams from Regina, in reply to his telegrams from London, had + informed him that Mr. Farnaby had felt the benefit of the remedies + employed, and was slowly on the way to recovery. It seemed likely that he + would, in no long time, take the right course for the protection of his + niece. For the enlightenment which might, or might not, come with that + time, Mr. Melton was resigned to wait, with the disciplined patience to + which he had been mainly indebted for his success in life. + </p> + <p> + “Always remember your mother tenderly, my child,” said Amelius, as they + left the burial ground. “She was sorely tried, poor thing, in her life + time, and she loved you very dearly.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know anything of my father?” Sally asked timidly. “Is he still + living?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you will never see your father. I must be all that the kindest + father and mother could have been to you, now. Oh, my poor little girl!” + </p> + <p> + She pressed his arm to her as she held it. “Why should you pity me?” she + said. “Haven’t I got You?” + </p> + <p> + They passed the day together quietly at the cottage. Amelius took down + some of his books, and pleased Sally by giving her his first lessons. Soon + after ten o’clock she withdrew, at the usual early hour, to her room. In + her absence, he sent for Toff, intending to warn him not to be alarmed if + he heard footsteps in the garden, after they had all gone to bed. The old + servant had barely entered the library, when he was called away by the + bell at the outer gate. Amelius, looking into the hall, discovered + Morcross, and signed to him eagerly to come in. The police-officer closed + the door cautiously behind him. He had arrived with news that Jervy was + found. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4 + </h2> + <h3> + “Where has he been found?” Amelius asked, snatching up his hat. + </h3> + <p> + “There’s no hurry, sir,” Morcross answered quietly. “When I had the honour + of seeing you yesterday, you said you meant to make Jervy suffer for what + he had done. Somebody else has saved you the trouble. He was found this + evening in the river.” + </p> + <p> + “Drowned?” + </p> + <p> + “Stabbed in three places, sir; and put out of the way in the river—that’s + the surgeon’s report. Robbed of everything he possessed—that’s the + police report, after searching his pockets.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius was silent. It had not entered into his calculations that crime + breeds crime, and that the criminal might escape him under that law. For + the moment, he was conscious of a sense of disappointment, revealing + plainly that the desire for vengeance had mingled with the higher motives + which animated him. He felt uneasy and ashamed, and longed as usual to + take refuge in action from his own unwelcome thoughts. “Are you sure it is + the man?” he asked. “My description may have misled the police—I + should like to see him myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir. While we are about it, if you feel any curiosity to trace + Jervy’s ill-gotten money, there’s a chance (from what I have heard) of + finding the man with the squint. The people at our place think it’s likely + he may have been concerned in the robbery, if he hasn’t committed the + murder.” + </p> + <p> + In an hour after, under the guidance of Morcross, Amelius passed through + the dreary doors of a deadhouse, situated on the southern bank of the + Thames, and saw the body of Jervy stretched out on a stone slab. The + guardian who held the lantern, inured to such horrible sights, declared + that the corpse could not have been in the water more than two days. To + any one who had seen the murdered man, the face, undisfigured by injury of + any kind, was perfectly recognizable. Amelius knew him again, dead, as + certainly as he had known him again, living, when he was waiting for + Phoebe in the street. + </p> + <p> + “If you’re satisfied, sir,” said Morcross, “the inspector at the + police-station is sending a sergeant to look after ‘Wall-Eyes’—the + name they give hereabouts to the man suspected of the robbery. We can take + the sergeant with us in the cab, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + Still keeping on the southern bank of the river, they drove for a quarter + of an hour in a westerly direction, and stopped at a public-house. The + sergeant of police went in by himself to make the first inquiries. + </p> + <p> + “We are a day too late, sir,” he said to Amelius, on returning to the cab. + “Wall-Eyes was here last night, and Mother Sowler with him, judging by the + description. Both of them drunk—and the woman the worse of the two. + The landlord knew nothing more about it; but there’s a man at the bar + tells me he heard of them this morning (still drinking) at the Dairy.” + </p> + <p> + “The Dairy?” Amelius repeated. + </p> + <p> + Morcross interposed with the necessary explanation. “An old house, sir, + which once stood by itself in the fields. It was a dairy a hundred years + ago; and it has kept the name ever since, though it’s nothing but a low + lodging house now.” + </p> + <p> + “One of the worst places on this side of the river,” the sergeant added, + “The landlord’s a returned convict. Sly as he is we shall have him again + yet, for receiving stolen goods. There’s every sort of thief among his + lodgers, from a pickpocket to a housebreaker. It’s my duty to continue the + inquiry, sir; but a gentleman like you will be better, I should say, out + of such a place as that.” + </p> + <p> + Still disquieted by the sight that he had seen in the deadhouse, and by + the associations which that sight had recalled, Amelius was ready for any + adventure which might relieve his mind. Even the prospect of a visit to a + thieves’ lodging house was more welcome to him than the prospect of going + home alone. “If there’s no serious objection to it,” he said, “I own I + should like to see the place.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be safe enough with us,” the sergeant replied. “If you don’t mind + filthy people and bad language—all right, sir! Cabman, drive to the + Dairy.” + </p> + <p> + Their direction was now towards the south, through a perfect labyrinth of + mean and dirty streets. Twice the driver was obliged to ask his way. On + the second occasion the sergeant, putting his head out of the window to + stop the cab, cried, “Hullo! there’s something up.” + </p> + <p> + They got out in front of a long low rambling house, a complete contrast to + the modern buildings about it. Late as the hour was, a mob had assembled + in front of the door. The police were on the spot keeping the people in + order. + </p> + <p> + Morcross and the sergeant pushed their way through the crowd, leading + Amelius between them. “Something wrong, sir, in the back kitchen,” said + one of the policemen answering the sergeant while he opened the street + door. A few yards down the passage there was a second door, with a man on + the watch by it. “There’s a nice to-do downstairs,” the man announced, + recognizing the sergeant, and unlocking the door with a key which he took + from his pocket. “The landlord at the Dairy knows his lodgers, sir,” + Morcross whispered to Amelius; “the place is kept like a prison.” As they + passed through the second door, a frantic voice startled them, shouting in + fury from below. An old man came hobbling up the kitchen stairs, his eyes + wild with fear, his long grey hair all tumbled over his face. “Oh, Lord, + have you got the tools for breaking open the door?” he asked, wringing his + dirty hands in an agony of supplication. “She’ll set the house on fire! + she’ll kill my wife and daughter!” The sergeant pushed him contemptuously + out of the way, and looked round for Amelius. “It’s only the landlord, + sir; keep near Morcross, and follow me.” + </p> + <p> + They descended the kitchen stairs, the frantic cries below growing louder + and louder at every step they took; and made their way through the thieves + and vagabonds crowding together in the passage. Passing on their right + hand a solid old oaken door fast closed, they reached an open wicket-gate + of iron which led into a stone-paved yard. A heavily barred window was now + visible in the back wall of the house, raised three or four feet from the + pavement of the yard. The room within was illuminated by a blaze of + gaslight. More policemen were here, keeping back more inquisitive lodgers. + Among the spectators was a man with a hideous outward squint, holding by + the window-bars in a state of drunken terror. The sergeant looked at him, + and beckoned to one of the policemen. “Take him to the station; I shall + have something to say to Wall-Eyes when he’s sober. Now then! stand back + all of you, and let’s see what’s going on in the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + He took Amelius by the arm, and led him to the window. Even the sergeant + started when the scene inside met his view. “By God!” he cried, “it’s + Mother Sowler herself.” + </p> + <p> + It <i>was</i> Mother Sowler. The horrible woman was tramping round and + round in the middle of the kitchen, like a beast in a cage; raving in the + dreadful drink-madness called delirium tremens. In the farthest corner of + the room, barricaded behind the table, the landlord’s wife and daughter + crouched in terror of their lives. The gas, turned full on, blazed high + enough to blacken the ceiling, and showed the heavy bolts shot at the top + and bottom of the solid door. Nothing less than a battering-ram could have + burst that door in from the outer side; an hour’s work with the file would + have failed to break a passage through the bars over the window. “How did + she get there?” the sergeant asked. “Run downstairs, and bolted herself + in, while the missus and the young ‘un were cooking”—was the + answering cry from the people in the yard. As they spoke, another vain + attempt was made to break in the door from the passage. The noise of the + heavy blows redoubled the frenzy of the terrible creature in the kitchen, + still tramping round and round under the blazing gaslight. Suddenly, she + made a dart at the window, and confronted the men looking in from the + yard. Her staring eyes were bloodshot; a purple-red flush was over her + face; her hair waved wildly about her, torn away in places by her own + hands. “Cats!” she screamed, glaring out of the window, “millions of cats! + all their months wide open spitting at me! Fire! fire to scare away the + cats!” She searched furiously in her pocket, and tore out a handful of + loose papers. One of them escaped, and fluttered downward to a wooden + press under the window. Amelius was nearest, and saw it plainly as it + fell, “Good heavens!” he exclaimed, “it’s a bank-note!” “Wall-Eyes’ + money!” shouted the thieves in the yard; “She’s going to burn Wall-Eyes’ + money!” The madwoman turned back to the middle of the kitchen, leapt up at + the gas-burner, and set fire to the bank-notes. She scattered them flaming + all round her on the kitchen floor. “Away with you!” she shouted, shaking + her fists at the visionary multitude of cats. “Away with you, up the + chimney! Away with you, out of the window!” She sprang back to the window, + with her crooked fingers twisted in her hair! “The snakes!” she shrieked; + “the snakes are hissing again in my hair! the beetles are crawling over my + face!” She tore at her hair; she scraped her face with long black nails + that lacerated the flesh. Amelius turned away, unable to endure the sight + of her. Morcross took his place, eyed her steadily for a moment, and saw + the way to end it. “A quarter of gin!” he shouted. “Quick! before she + leaves the window!” In a minute he had the pewter measure in his hand, and + tapped at the window. “Gin, Mother Sowler! Break the window, and have a + drop of gin!” For a moment, the drunkard mastered her own dreadful visions + at the sight of the liquor. She broke a pane of glass with her clenched + fist. “The door!” cried Morcross, to the panic-stricken women, barricaded + behind the table. “The door!” he reiterated, as he handed the gin in + through the bars. The elder woman was too terrified to understand him; her + bolder daughter crawled under the table, rushed across the kitchen, and + drew the bolts. As the madwoman turned to attack her, the room was filled + with men, headed by the sergeant. Three of them were barely enough to + control the frantic wretch, and bind her hand and foot. When Amelius + entered the kitchen, after she had been conveyed to the hospital, a + five-pound note on the press (secured by one of the police), and a few + frail black ashes scattered thinly on the kitchen floor, were the only + relics left of the ill-gotten money. + </p> + <p> + After-inquiry, patiently pursued in more than one direction, failed to + throw any light on the mystery of Jervy’s death. Morcross’s report to + Amelius, towards the close of the investigation, was little more than + ingenious guess-work. + </p> + <p> + “It seems pretty clear, sir, in the first place, that Mother Sowler must + have overtaken Wall-Eyes, after he had left the letter at Mrs. Farnaby’s + lodgings. In the second place, we are justified (as I shall show you + directly) in assuming that she told him of the money in Jervy’s + possession, and that the two succeeded in discovering Jervy—no doubt + through Wall-Eyes’ superior knowledge of his master’s movements. The + evidence concerning the bank-notes proves this. We know, by the + examination of the people at the Dairy, that Wall-Eyes took from his + pocket a handful of notes, when they refused to send for liquor without + having the money first. We are also informed, that the breaking-out of the + drink-madness in Mother Sowler showed itself in her snatching the notes + out of his hand, and trying to strangle him—before she ran down into + the kitchen and bolted herself in. Lastly, Mrs. Farnaby’s bankers have + identified the note saved from the burning, as one of forty five-pound + notes paid to her cheque. So much for the tracing of the money. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could give an equally satisfactory account of the tracing of the + crime. We can make nothing of Wall-Eyes. He declares that he didn’t even + know Jervy was dead, till we told him; and he swears he found the money + dropped in the street. It is needless to say that this last assertion is a + lie. Opinions are divided among us as to whether he is answerable for the + murder as well as the robbery, or whether there was a third person + concerned in it. My own belief is that Jervy was drugged by the old woman + (with a young woman very likely used as a decoy), in some house by the + riverside, and then murdered by Wall-Eyes in cold blood. We have done our + best to clear the matter up, and we have not succeeded. The doctors give + us no hope of any assistance from Mother Sowler. If she gets over the + attack (which is doubtful), they say she will die to a certainty of liver + disease. In short, my own fear is that this will prove to be one more of + those murders which are mysteries to the police as well as the public.” + </p> + <p> + The report of the case excited some interest, published in the newspapers + in conspicuous type. Meddlesome readers wrote letters, offering + complacently stupid suggestions to the police. After a while, another + crime attracted general attention; and the murder of Jervy disappeared + from the public memory, among other forgotten murders of modern times. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5 + </h2> + <h3> + The last dreary days of November came to their end. + </h3> + <p> + No longer darkened by the shadows of crime and torment and death, the life + of Amelius glided insensibly into the peaceful byways of seclusion, + brightened by the companionship of Sally. The winter days followed one + another in a happy uniformity of occupations and amusements. There were + lessons to fill up the morning, and walks to occupy the afternoon—and, + in the evenings, sometimes reading, sometimes singing, sometimes nothing + but the lazy luxury of talk. In the vast world of London, with its + monstrous extremes of wealth and poverty, and its all-permeating malady of + life at fever-heat, there was one supremely innocent and supremely happy + creature. Sally had heard of Heaven, attainable on the hard condition of + first paying the debt of death. “I have found a kinder Heaven,” she said, + one day. “It is here in the cottage; and Amelius has shown me the way to + it.” + </p> + <p> + Their social isolation was at this time complete: they were two friendless + people, perfectly insensible to all that was perilous and pitiable in + their own position. They parted with a kiss at night, and they met again + with a kiss in the morning—and they were as happily free from all + mistrust of the future as a pair of birds. No visitors came to the house; + the few friends and acquaintances of Amelius, forgotten by him, forgot him + in return. Now and then, Toff’s wife came to the cottage, and exhibited + the “cherubim-baby.” Now and then, Toff himself (a musician among his + other accomplishments) brought his fiddle upstairs; and, saying modestly, + “A little music helps to pass the time,” played to the young master and + mistress the cheerful tinkling tunes of the old vaudevilles of France. + They were pleased with these small interruptions when they came; and they + were not disappointed when the days passed, and the baby and the + vaudevilles were hushed in absence and silence. So the happy winter time + went by; and the howling winds brought no rheumatism with them, and even + the tax-gatherer himself, looking in at this earthly paradise, departed + without a curse when he left his little paper behind him. + </p> + <p> + Now and then, at long intervals, the outer world intruded itself in the + form of a letter. + </p> + <p> + Regina wrote, always with the same placid affection; always entering into + the same minute narrative of the slow progress of “dear uncle’s” return to + health. He was forbidden to exert himself in any way. His nerves were in a + state of lamentable irritability. “I dare not even mention your name to + him, dear Amelius; it seems, I cannot think why, to make him—oh, so + unreasonably angry. I can only submit, and pray that he may soon be + himself again.” Amelius wrote back, always in the same considerate and + gentle tone; always laying the blame of his dull letters on the studious + uniformity of his life. He preserved, with a perfectly easy conscience, + the most absolute silence on the subject of Sally. While he was faithful + to Regina, what reason had he to reproach himself with the protection that + he offered to a poor motherless girl? When he was married, he might + mention the circumstances under which he had met with Sally, and leave the + rest to his wife’s sympathy. + </p> + <p> + One morning, the letters with the Paris post-mark were varied by a few + lines from Rufus. + </p> + <p> + “Every morning, my bright boy, I get up and say to myself, ‘Well! I reckon + it’s about time to take the route for London;’ and every morning, if + you’ll believe me, I put it off till next day. Whether it’s in the good + feeding (expensive, I admit; but when your cook helps you to digest + instead of hindering you, a man of my dyspeptic nation is too grateful to + complain)—or whether it’s in the air, which reminds me, I do assure + you, of our native atmosphere at Coolspring, Mass., is more than I can + tell, with a hard steel pen on a leaf of flimsy paper. You have heard the + saying, ‘When a good American dies, he goes to Paris’. Maybe, sometimes, + he’s smart enough to discount his own death, and rationally enjoy the + future time in the present. This you see is a poetic light. But, mercy be + praised, the moral of my residence in Paris is plain:—If I can’t go + to Amelius, Amelius must come to me. Note the address Grand Hotel; and + pack up, like a good boy, on receipt of this. Memorandum: The brown Miss + is here. I saw her taking the air in a carriage, and raised my hat. She + looked the other way. + </p> + <p> + “British—eminently British! But, there, I bear no malice; I am her + most obedient servant, and yours affectionately, RUFUS.—Postscript: + I want you to see some of our girls at this hotel. The genuine American + material, sir, perfected by Worth.” + </p> + <p> + Another morning brought with it a few sad lines from Phoebe. “After what + had happened, she was quite unable to face her friends; she had no heart + to seek employment in her own country—her present life was too + dreary and too hopeless to be endured. A benevolent lady had made her an + offer to accompany a party of emigrants to New Zealand; and she had + accepted the proposal. Perhaps, among the new people, she might recover + her self-respect and her spirits, and live to be a better woman. + Meanwhile, she bade Mr. Goldenheart farewell; and asked his pardon for + taking the liberty of wishing him happy with Miss Regina.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius wrote a few kind lines to Phoebe, and a cordial reply to Rufus, + making the pursuit of his studies his excuse for remaining in London. + After this, there was no further correspondence. The mornings succeeded + each other, and the postman brought no more news from the world outside. + </p> + <p> + But the lessons went on; and the teacher and pupil were as inconsiderately + happy as ever in each other’s society. Observing with inexhaustible + interest the progress of the mental development of Sally, Amelius was slow + to perceive the physical development which was unobtrusively keeping pace + with it. He was absolutely ignorant of the part which his own influence + was taking in the gradual and delicate process of change. Ere long, the + first forewarnings of the coming disturbance in their harmless relations + towards each other, began to show themselves. Ere long, there were signs + of a troubled mind in Sally, which were mysteries to Amelius, and subjects + of wonderment, sometimes even trials of temper, to the girl herself. + </p> + <p> + One day, she looked in from the door of her room, in her white + dressing-gown, and asked to be forgiven if she kept the lessons of the + morning waiting for a little while. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said Amelius, “and tell me why.” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. “You won’t think me lazy, if you see me in my + dressing-gown?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not! Your dressing-gown, my dear, is as good as any other gown. + A young girl like you looks best in white.” + </p> + <p> + She came in with her work-basket, and her indoor dress over her arm. + </p> + <p> + Amelius laughed. “Why haven’t you put it on?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She sat down in a corner, and looked at her work-basket, instead of + looking at Amelius. “It doesn’t fit me so well as it did,” she answered. + “I am obliged to alter it.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked at her—at the charming youthful figure that had + filled out, at the softly-rounded outline of the face with no angles and + hollows in it now. “Is it the dressmaker’s fault?” he asked slyly. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were still on the basket. “It’s my fault,” she said. “You + remember what a poor little skinny creature I was, when you first saw me. + I—you won’t like me the worse for it, will you?—I am getting + fat. I don’t know why. They say happy people get fat. Perhaps that’s why. + I’m never hungry, and never frightened, and never miserable now—” + She stopped; her dress slipped from her lap to the floor. “Don’t look at + me!” she said—and suddenly put her hands over her face. + </p> + <p> + Amelius saw the tears finding their way through the pretty plump fingers, + which he remembered so shapeless and so thin. He crossed the room, and + touched her gently on the shoulder. “My dear child! have I said anything + to distress you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why are you crying?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” She hesitated; looked at him; and made a desperate effort + to tell him what was in her mind. “I’m afraid you’ll get tired of me. + There’s nothing about me to make you pity me now. You seem to be—not + quite the same—no! it isn’t that—I don’t know what’s come to + me—I’m a greater fool than ever. Give me my lesson, Amelius! please + give me my lesson!” + </p> + <p> + Amelius produced the books, in some little surprise at Sally’s + extraordinary anxiety to begin her lessons, while the unaltered dress lay + neglected on the carpet at her feet. A discreet abstract of the history of + England, published for the use of young persons, happened to be at the top + of the books. The system of education under Amelius recognized the laws of + chance: they began with the history, because it turned up first. Sally + read aloud; and Sally’s master explained obscure passages, and corrected + occasional errors of pronunciation, as she went on. On that particular + morning, there was little to explain and nothing to correct. “Am I doing + it well today?” Sally inquired, on reaching the end of her task. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + She shut the book, and looked at her teacher. “I wonder how it is,” she + resumed, “that I get on so much better with my lessons here than I did at + the Home? And yet it’s foolish of me to wonder. I get on better, because + you are teaching me, of course. But I don’t feel satisfied with myself. + I’m the same helpless creature—I feel your kindness, and can’t make + any return to you—for all my learning. I should like—” She + left the thought in her unexpressed, and opened her copy-book. “I’ll do my + writing now,” she said, in a quiet resigned way. “Perhaps I may improve + enough, some day, to keep your accounts for you.” She chose her pen a + little absently, and began to write. Amelius looked over her shoulder, and + laughed; she was writing his name. He pointed to the copper-plate copy on + the top line, presenting an undeniable moral maxim, in characters beyond + the reach of criticism:—Change Is A Law Of Nature. “There, my dear, + you are to copy that till you’re tired of it,” said the easy master; “and + then we’ll try overleaf, another copy beginning with letter D.” + </p> + <p> + Sally laid down her pen. “I don’t like ‘Change is a law of Nature’,” she + said, knitting her pretty eyebrows into a frown. “I looked at those words + yesterday, and they made me miserable at night. I was foolish enough to + think that we should always go on together as we go on now, till I saw + that copy. I hate the copy! It came to my mind when I was awake in the + dark, and it seemed to tell me that <i>we</i> were going to change some + day. That’s the worst of learning—one knows too much, and then + there’s an end of one’s happiness. Thoughts come to you, when you don’t + want them. I thought of the young lady we saw last week in the park.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke gravely and sadly. The bright contentment which had given a new + charm to her eyes since she had been at the cottage, died out of them as + Amelius looked at her. What had become of her childish manner and her + artless smile? He drew his chair nearer to her. “What young lady do you + mean?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Sally shook her head, and traced lines with her pen on the blotting paper. + “Oh, you can’t have forgotten her! A young lady, riding on a grand white + horse. All the people were admiring her. I wonder you cared to look at me, + after that beautiful creature had gone by. Ah, she knows all sorts of + things that I don’t—<i>she</i> doesn’t sound a note at a time on the + piano, and as often as not the wrong one; <i>she</i> can say her + multiplication table, and knows all the cities in the world. I dare say + she’s almost as learned as you are. If you had her living here with you, + wouldn’t you like it better than only having me!” She dropped her arms on + the table, and laid her head on them wearily. “The dreadful streets!” she + murmured, in low tones of despair. “Why did I think of the dreadful + streets, and the night I met with you—after I had seen the young + lady? Oh, Amelius, are you tired of me? are you ashamed of me?” She lifted + her head again, before he could answer, and controlled herself by a sudden + effort of resolution. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me this + morning,” she said, looking at him with a pleading fear in her eyes. + “Never mind my nonsense—I’ll do the copy!” She began to write the + unendurable assertion that change is a law of Nature, with trembling + fingers and fast heaving breath. Amelius took the pen gently out of her + hand. His voice faltered as he spoke to her. + </p> + <p> + “We will give up the lessons for today, Sally. You have had a bad night’s + rest, my dear, and you are feeling it—that’s all. Do you think you + are well enough to come out with me, and try if the air will revive you a + little?” + </p> + <p> + She rose, and took his hand, and kissed it. “I believe, if I was dying, I + should get well enough to go out with you! May I ask one little favour? Do + you mind if we don’t go into the park today?” + </p> + <p> + “What has made you take a dislike to the park, Sally?” + </p> + <p> + “We might meet the beautiful young lady again,” she answered, with her + head down. “I don’t want to do that.” + </p> + <p> + “We will go wherever you like, my child. You shall decide—not I.” + </p> + <p> + She gathered up her dress from the floor, and hurried away to her room—without + looking back at him as usual when she opened the door. + </p> + <p> + Left by himself, Amelius sat at the table, mechanically turning over the + lesson-books. Sally had perplexed and even distressed him. His capacity to + preserve the harmless relations between them, depended mainly on the mute + appeal which the girl’s ignorant innocence unconsciously addressed to him. + He felt this vaguely, without absolutely realizing it. By some mysterious + process of association which he was unable to follow, a saying of the wise + Elder Brother at Tadmor revived in his memory, while he was trying to see + his way through the difficulties that beset him. “You will meet with many + temptations, Amelius, when you leave our Community,” the old man had said + at parting; “and most of them will come to you through women. Be + especially on your guard, my son, if you meet with a woman who makes you + feel truly sorry for her. She is on the high-road to your passions, + through the open door of your sympathies—and all the more certainly + if she is not aware of it herself.” Amelius felt the truth expressed in + those words as he had never felt it yet. There had been signs of a + changing nature in Sally for some little time past. But they had expressed + themselves too delicately to attract the attention of a man unprepared to + be on the watch. Only on that morning, they had been marked enough to + force themselves on his notice. Only on that morning, she had looked at + him, and spoken to him, as she had never looked or spoken before. He began + dimly to see the danger for both of them, to which he had shut his eyes + thus far. Where was the remedy? what ought he to do? Those questions came + naturally into his mind—and yet, his mind shrank from pursuing them. + </p> + <p> + He got up impatiently, and busied himself in putting away the lesson-books—a + small duty hitherto always left to Toff. + </p> + <p> + It was useless; his mind dwelt persistently on Sally. + </p> + <p> + While he moved about the room, he still saw the look in her eyes, he still + heard the tone of her voice, when she spoke of the young lady in the park. + The words of the good physician whom he had consulted about her recurred + to his memory now. “The natural growth of her senses has been stunted, + like the natural growth of her body, by starvation, terror, exposure to + cold, and other influences inherent in the life that she has led.” And + then the doctor had spoken of nourishing food, pure air, and careful + treatment—of the life, in short, which she had led at the cottage—and + had predicted that she would develop into “an intelligent and healthy + young woman.” Again he asked himself, “What ought I to do?” + </p> + <p> + He turned aside to the window, and looked out. An idea occurred to him. + How would it be, if he summoned courage enough to tell her that he was + engaged to be married? + </p> + <p> + No! Setting aside his natural dread of the shock that he might inflict on + the poor grateful girl who had only known happiness under his care, the + detestable obstacle of Mr. Farnaby stood immovably in his way. Sally would + be sure to ask questions about his engagement, and would never rest until + they were answered. It had been necessarily impossible to conceal her + mother’s name from her. The discovery of her father, if she heard of + Regina and Regina’s uncle, would be simply a question of time. What might + such a man be not capable of doing, what new act of treachery might he not + commit, if he found himself claimed by the daughter whom he had deserted? + Even if the expression of Mrs. Farnaby’s last wishes had not been sacred + to Amelius, this consideration alone would have kept him silent, for + Sally’s sake. + </p> + <p> + He now doubted for the first time if he had calculated wisely in planning + to trust Sally’s sad story, after his marriage, to the sympathies of his + wife. The jealousy that she might naturally feel of a young girl, who was + an object of interest to her husband, did not present the worst difficulty + to contend with. She believed in her uncle’s integrity as she believed in + her religion. What would she say, what would she do, if the innocent + witness to Farnaby’s infamy was presented to her; if Amelius asked the + protection for Sally which her own father had refused to her in her + infancy; and if he said, as he must say, “Your uncle is the man”? + </p> + <p> + And yet, what prospect could he see but the prospect of making the + disclosure when he looked to his own interests next, and thought of his + wedding day? Again the sinister figure of Farnaby confronted him. How + could he receive the wretch whom Regina would innocently welcome to the + house? There would be no longer a choice left; it would be his duty to + himself to tell his wife the terrible truth. And what would be the result? + He recalled the whole course of his courtship, and saw Farnaby always on a + level with himself in Regina’s estimation. In spite of his natural + cheerfulness, in spite of his inbred courage, his heart failed him, when + he thought of the time to come. + </p> + <p> + As he turned away from the window, Sally’s door opened: she joined him, + ready for the walk. Her spirits had rallied, assisted by the cheering + influence of dressing to go out. Her charming smile brightened her face. + In sheer desperation, reckless of what he did or said, Amelius held out + both hands to welcome her. “That’s right, Sally!” he cried. “Look pleased + and pretty, my dear; let’s be happy while we can—and let the future + take care of itself!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6 + </h2> + <p> + The capricious influences which combine to make us happy are never so + certain to be absent influences as when we are foolish enough to talk + about them. Amelius had talked about them. When he and Sally left the + cottage, the road which led them away from the park was also the road + which led them past a church. The influences of happiness left them at the + church door. + </p> + <p> + Rows of carriages were in waiting; hundreds of idle people were assembled + about the church steps; the thunderous music of the organ rolled out + through the open doors—a grand wedding, with choral service, was in + course of celebration. Sally begged Amelius to take her in to see it. They + tried the front entrance, and found it impossible to get through the + crowd. A side entrance, and a fee to a verger, succeeded better. They + obtained space enough to stand on, with a view of the altar. + </p> + <p> + The bride was a tall buxom girl, splendidly dressed: she performed her + part in the ceremony with the most unruffled composure. The bridegroom + exhibited an instructive spectacle of aged Nature, sustained by Art. His + hair, his complexion, his teeth, his breast, his shoulders, and his legs, + showed what the wig-maker, the valet, the dentist, the tailor, and the + hosier can do for a rich old man, who wishes to present a juvenile + appearance while he is buying a young wife. No less than three clergymen + were present, conducting the sale. The demeanour of the rich congregation + was worthy of the glorious bygone days of the Golden Calf. So far as could + be judged by appearances, one old lady, in a pew close to the place at + which Amelius and Sally were standing, seemed to be the only person + present who was not favourably impressed by the ceremony. + </p> + <p> + “I call it disgraceful,” the old lady remarked to a charming young person + seated next to her. + </p> + <p> + But the charming young person—being the legitimate product of the + present time—had no more sympathy with questions of sentiment than a + Hottentot. “How can you talk so, grandmamma!” she rejoined. “He has twenty + thousand a year—and that lucky girl will be mistress of the most + splendid house in London.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care,” the old lady persisted; “it’s not the less a disgrace to + everybody concerned in it. There is many a poor friendless creature, + driven by hunger to the streets, who has a better claim to our sympathy + than that shameless girl, selling herself in the house of God! I’ll wait + for you in the carriage—I won’t see any more of it.” + </p> + <p> + Sally touched Amelius. “Take me out!” she whispered faintly. + </p> + <p> + He supposed that the heat in the church had been too much for her. “Are + you better now?” he asked, when they got into the open air. + </p> + <p> + She held fast by his arm. “Let’s get farther away,” she said. “That lady + is coming after us—I don’t want her to see me again. I am one of the + creatures she talked about. Is the mark of the streets on me, after all + you have done to rub it out?” + </p> + <p> + The wild misery in her words presented another development in her + character which was entirely new to Amelius. “My dear child,” he + remonstrated, “you distress me when you talk in that way. God knows the + life you are leading now.” + </p> + <p> + But Sally’s mind was still full of its own acutely painful sense of what + the lady had said. “I saw her,” she burst out—“I saw her look at me + while she spoke!” + </p> + <p> + “And she thought you better worth looking at than the bride—and + quite right, too!” Amelius rejoined. “Come, come, Sally, be like yourself. + You don’t want to make me unhappy about you, I am sure?” + </p> + <p> + He had taken the right way with her: she felt that simple appeal, and + asked his pardon with all the old charm in her manner and her voice. For + the moment, she was “Simple Sally” again. They walked on in silence. When + they had lost sight of the church, Amelius felt her hand beginning to + tremble on his arm. A mingled expression of tenderness and anxiety showed + itself in her blue eyes as they looked up at him. “I am thinking of + something else now,” she said; “I am thinking of You. May I ask you + something?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius smiled. The smile was not reflected as usual in Sally’s face. + “It’s nothing particular,” she explained in an odd hurried way; “the + church put it into my head. You—” She hesitated, and tried it under + another form. “Will you be married yourself, Amelius, one of these days?” + </p> + <p> + He did his best to evade the question. “I am not rich, Sally, like the old + gentleman we have just seen.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes turned away from him; she sighed softly to herself. “You will be + married some day,” she said. “Will you do one kind thing more for me, + Amelius, when I die? You remember my reading in the newspaper of the new + invention for burning the dead—and my asking you about it. You said + you thought it was better than burying, and you had a good mind to leave + directions to be burnt instead of buried, when your time came. When <i>my</i> + time has come, will you leave other directions about yourself, if I ask + you?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you are talking in a very strange way! If you will have it that + I am to be married some day, what has that to do with your death?” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter, Amelius. When I have nothing left to live for, I + suppose it’s as likely as not I may die. Will you tell them to bury me in + some quiet place, away from London, where there are very few graves? And + when you leave your directions, don’t say you are to be burnt. Say—when + you have lived a long, long life, and enjoyed all the happiness you have + deserved so well—say you are to be buried, and your grave is to be + near mine. I should like to think of the same trees shading us, and the + same flowers growing over us. No! don’t tell me I’m talking strangely + again—I can’t bear it; I want you to humour me and be kind to me + about this. Do you mind going home? I’m feeling a little tired—and I + know I’m poor company for you today.” + </p> + <p> + The talk flagged at dinner-time, though Toff did his best to keep it + going. + </p> + <p> + In the evening, the excellent Frenchman made an effort to cheer the two + dull young people. He came in confidentially with his fiddle, and said he + had a favour to ask. “I possess some knowledge, sir, of the delightful art + of dancing. Might I teach young Miss to dance? You see, if I may venture + to say so, the other lessons—oh, most useful, most important, the + other lessons! but they are just a little serious. Something to relieve + her mind, sir—if you will forgive me for mentioning it. I plead for + innocent gaiety—let us dance!” + </p> + <p> + He played a few notes on the fiddle, and placed his right foot in + position, and waited amiably to begin. Sally thanked him, and made the + excuse that she was tired. She wished Amelius good night, without waiting + until they were alone together—and, for the first time, without + giving him the customary kiss. + </p> + <p> + Toff waited until she had gone, and approached his master on tiptoe, with + a low bow. + </p> + <p> + “May I take the liberty of expressing an opinion, sir. A young girl who + rejects the remedy of the fiddle presents a case of extreme gravity. Don’t + despair, sir! It is my pride and pleasure to be never at a loss, where + your interests are concerned. This is, I think, a matter for the + ministrations of a woman. If you have confidence in my wife, I venture to + suggest a visit from Madame Toff.” + </p> + <p> + He discreetly retired, and left his master to think about it. + </p> + <p> + The time passed—and Amelius was still thinking, and still as far as + ever from arriving at a conclusion, when he heard a door opened behind + him. Sally crossed the room before he could rise from his chair: her + cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, her hair fell loose over her + shoulders—she dropped at his feet, and hid her face on his knees. + “I’m an ungrateful wretch!” she burst out; “I never kissed you when I said + good night.” + </p> + <p> + With the best intentions, Amelius took the worst possible way of composing + her—he treated her trouble lightly. “Perhaps you forgot it?” he + said. + </p> + <p> + She lifted her head, and looked at him, with the tears in her eyes. “I’m + bad enough,” she answered; “but not so bad as that. Oh, don’t laugh! + there’s nothing to laugh at. Have you done with liking me? Are you angry + with me for behaving so badly all day, and bidding you good night as if + you were Toff? You shan’t be angry with me!” She jumped up, and sat on his + knee, and put her arms round his neck. “I haven’t been to bed,” she + whispered; “I was too miserable to go to sleep. I don’t know what’s been + the matter with me today. I seem to be losing the little sense I ever had. + Oh, if I could only make you understand how fond I am of you! And yet I’ve + had bitter thoughts, as if I was a burden to you, and I had done a wrong + thing in coming here—and you would have told me so, only you pitied + the poor wretch who had nowhere else to go.” She tightened her hold round + his neck, and laid her burning cheek against his face. “Oh, Amelius, my + heart is sore! Kiss me, and say, ‘Good night, Sally!’” + </p> + <p> + He was young—he was a man—for a moment he lost his self + control; he kissed her as he had never kissed her yet. + </p> + <p> + Then, he remembered; he recovered himself; he put her gently away from + him, and led her to the door of her room, and closed it on her in silence. + For a little while, he waited alone. The interval over, he rang for Toff. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think your wife would take Miss Sally as an apprentice?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Toff looked astonished. “Whatever you wish, sir, my wife will do. Her + knowledge of the art of dressmaking is—” Words failed him to express + his wife’s immense capacity as a dressmaker. He kissed his hand in mute + enthusiasm, and blew the kiss in the direction of Madame Toff’s + establishment. “However,” he proceeded, “I ought to tell you one thing, + sir; the business is small, small, very small. But we are all in the hands + of Providence—the business will improve, one day.” He lifted his + shoulders and lifted his eyebrows, and looked perfectly satisfied with his + wife’s prospects. + </p> + <p> + “I will go and speak to Madame Toff myself, tomorrow morning,” Amelius + resumed. “It’s quite possible that I may be obliged to leave London for a + little while—and I must provide in some way for Miss Sally. Don’t + say a word about it to her yet, Toff, and don’t look miserable. If I go + away, I shall take you with me. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + Toff, with his handkerchief halfway to his eyes, recovered his native + cheerfulness. “I am invariably sick at sea, sir,” he said; “but, no + matter, I will attend you to the uttermost ends of the earth.” + </p> + <p> + So honest Amelius planned his way of escape from the critical position in + which he found himself. He went to his bed, troubled by anxieties which + kept him waking for many weary hours. Where was he to go to, when he left + Sally? If he could have known what had happened, on that very day, on the + other side of the Channel, he might have decided (in spite of the obstacle + of Mr. Farnaby) on surprising Regina by a visit to Paris. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7 + </h2> + <p> + On the morning when Amelius and Sally (in London) entered the church to + look at the wedding. Rufus (in Paris) went to the Champs Elysees to take a + walk. + </p> + <p> + He had advanced half-way up the magnificent avenue, when he saw Regina for + the second time, taking her daily drive, with an elderly woman in + attendance on her. Rufus took off his hat again, perfectly impenetrable to + the cold reception which he had already experienced. Greatly to his + surprise, Regina not only returned his salute, but stopped the carriage + and beckoned to him to speak to her. Looking at her more closely, he + perceived signs of suffering in her face which completely altered her + expression as he remembered it. Her magnificent eyes were dim and red; she + had lost her rich colour; her voice trembled as she spoke to him. + </p> + <p> + “Have you a few minutes to spare?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The whole day, if you like, Miss,” Rufus answered. + </p> + <p> + She turned to the woman who accompanied her. “Wait here for me, Elizabeth; + I have something to say to this gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + With those words, she got out of the carriage. Rufus offered her his arm. + She put her hand in it as readily as if they had been old friends. “Let us + take one of the side paths,” she said; “they are almost deserted at this + time of day. I am afraid I surprise you very much. I can only trust to + your kindness to forgive me for passing you without notice the last time + we met. Perhaps it may be some excuse for me that I am in great trouble. + It is just possible you may be able to relieve my mind. I believe you know + I am engaged to be married?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus looked at her with a sudden expression of interest. “Is this about + Amelius?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She answered him almost inaudibly—“Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus still kept his eyes fixed on her. “I don’t wish to say anything, + Miss,” he explained; “but, if you have any complaint to make of Amelius, I + should take it as a favour if you would look me straight in the face, and + mention it plainly.” + </p> + <p> + In the embarrassment which troubled Regina at that moment, he had + preferred the two requests of all others with which it was most impossible + for her to comply. She still looked obstinately on the ground; and, + instead of speaking of Amelius, she diverged to the subject of Mr. + Farnaby’s illness. + </p> + <p> + “I am staying in Paris with my uncle,” she said. “He has had a long + illness; but he is strong enough now to speak to me of things that have + been on his mind for some time past. He has so surprised me; he has made + me so miserable about Amelius—” She paused, and put her handkerchief + to her eyes. Rufus said nothing to console her—he waited doggedly + until she was ready to go on. “You know Amelius well,” she resumed; “you + are fond of him; you believe in him, don’t you? Do you think he is capable + of behaving basely to any person who trusts him? Is it likely, is it + possible, he could be false and cruel to Me?” + </p> + <p> + The mere question roused the indignation of Rufus. “Whoever said that of + him, Miss, told you a lie! I answer for my boy as I answer for myself.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him at last, with a sudden expression of relief. “I said so + too,” she rejoined; “I said some enemy had slandered him. My uncle won’t + tell me who it is. He positively forbids me to write to Amelius; he tells + me I must never see Amelius again—he is going to write and break off + the engagement. Oh, it’s too cruel! too cruel!” + </p> + <p> + Thus far they had been walking on slowly. But now Rufus stopped, + determined to make her speak plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Take a word of advice from me, Miss,” he said. “Never trust anybody by + halves. There’s nothing I’m not ready to do, to set this matter right; but + I must know what I’m about first. What’s said against Amelius? Out with + it, no matter what ‘tis! I’m old enough to be your father; and I feel for + you accordingly—I do.” + </p> + <p> + The thorough sincerity of tone and manner which accompanied those words + had its effect. Regina blushed and trembled—but she spoke out. + </p> + <p> + “My uncle says Amelius has disgraced himself, and insulted me; my uncle + says there is a person—a girl living with him—” She stopped, + with a faint cry of alarm. Her hand, still testing on the arm of Rufus, + felt him start as the allusion to the girl passed her lips. “You have + heard of it!” she cried. “Oh, God help me, it’s true!” + </p> + <p> + “True?” Rufus repeated, with stern contempt. “What’s come to you? Haven’t + I told you already, it’s a lie? I’ll answer to it, Amelius is true to you. + Will that do? No? You’re an obstinate one, Miss—that you are. Well! + it’s due to the boy that I should set him right with you, if words will do + it. You know how he’s been brought up at Tadmor? Bear that in mind—and + now you shall have the truth of it, on the word of an honest man.” + </p> + <p> + Without further preface, he told her how Amelius had met with Sally, + insisting strongly on the motives of pure humanity by which his friend had + been actuated. Regina listened with an obstinate expression of distrust + which would have discouraged most men. Rufus persisted, nevertheless; and, + to some extent at least, succeeded in producing the right impression. When + he reached the close of the narrative—when he asserted that he had + himself seen Amelius confide the girl unreservedly to the care of a lady + who was a dear and valued friend of his own; and when he declared that + there had been no after-meeting between them and no written correspondence—then, + at last, Regina owned that he had not encouraged her to trust in the + honour of Amelius, without reason to justify him. But, even under these + circumstances, there was a residue of suspicion still left in her mind. + She asked for the name of the lady to whose benevolent assistance Amelius + had been indebted. Rufus took out one of his cards, and wrote Mrs. + Payson’s name and address on it. + </p> + <p> + “Your nature, my dear, is not quite so confiding as I could have wished to + see it,” he said, quietly handing her the card. “But we can’t change our + natures—can we? And you’re not bound to believe a man like me, + without witnesses to back him. Write to Mrs. Payson, and make your mind + easy. And, while we are about it, tell me where I can telegraph to you + tomorrow—I’m off to London by the night mail.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean, you are going to see Amelius? + </p> + <p> + “That is so. I’m too fond of Amelius to let this trouble rest where ‘tis + now. I’ve been away from him, here in Paris, for some little time—and + you may tell me (and quite right, too) I can’t answer for what may have + been going on in my absence. No! now we are about it, we’ll have it out. I + mean to see Amelius and see Mrs. Payson, tomorrow morning. Just tell your + uncle to hold his hand, before he breaks off your marriage, and wait for a + telegram from me. Well? and this is your address, is it? I know the hotel. + A nice look-out on the Twillery Gardens—but a bad cellar of wine, as + I hear. I’m at the Grand Hotel myself, if there’s anything else that + troubles you before evening. Now I look at you again, I reckon there’s + something more to be said, if you’ll only let it find its way to your + tongue. No; it ain’t thanks. We’ll take the gratitude for granted, and get + to what’s behind it. There’s your carriage—and the good lady looks + tired of waiting. Well, now?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s only one thing,” Regina acknowledged, with her eyes on the ground + again. “Perhaps, when you go to London, you may see the—” + </p> + <p> + “The girl?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not likely. Say I do see her—what then?” + </p> + <p> + Regina’s colour began to show itself again. “If you do see her,” she said, + “I beg and entreat you won’t speak of <i>me</i> in her hearing. I should + die of the shame of it, if she thought herself asked to give him up out of + pity for me. Promise I am not to be brought forward; promise you won’t + even mention my having spoken to you about it. On your word of honour!” + </p> + <p> + Rufus gave her his promise, without showing any hesitation, or making any + remark. But when she shook hands with him, on returning to the carriage, + he held her hand for a moment. “Please to excuse me, Miss, if I ask one + question,” he said, in tones too low to be heard by any other person. “Are + you really fond of Amelius?” + </p> + <p> + “I am surprised you should doubt it,” she answered; “I am more—much + more than fond of him!” + </p> + <p> + Rufus handed her silently into the carriage, “Fond of him, are you?” he + thought, as he walked away by himself. “I reckon it’s a sort of fondness + that don’t wear well, and won’t stand washing.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 8 + </h2> + <h3> + Early the next morning, Rufus rang at the cottage gate. + </h3> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Frenchman, and how do <i>you</i> git along? And how’s Amelius?” + </p> + <p> + Toff, standing before the gate, answered with the utmost respect, but + showed no inclination to let the visitor in. + </p> + <p> + “Amelius has his intervals of laziness,” Rufus proceeded; “I bet he’s in + bed!” + </p> + <p> + “My young master was up and dressed an hour ago, sir—he has just + gone out.” + </p> + <p> + “That is so, is it? Well, I’ll wait till he comes back.” He pushed by + Toff, and walked into the cottage. “Your foreign ceremonies are clean + thrown away on me,” he said, as Toff tried to stop him in the hall. “I’m + the American savage; and I’m used up with travelling all night. Here’s a + little order for you: whisky, bitters, lemon, and ice—I’ll take a + cocktail in the library.” + </p> + <p> + Toff made a last desperate effort to get between the visitor and the door. + “I beg your pardon, sir, a thousand times; I must most respectfully + entreat you to wait—” + </p> + <p> + Before he could explain himself, Rufus, with the most perfect good humour, + pulled the old man out of his way. “What’s troubling this venerable + creature’s mind—” he inquired of himself, “does he think I don’t + know my way in?” + </p> + <p> + He opened the library door—and found himself face to face with + Sally. She had risen from her chair, hearing voices outside, and + hesitating whether to leave the room or not. They confronted each other, + on either side of the table, in silent dismay. For once Rufus was so + completely bewildered, that he took refuge in his customary form of + greeting before he was aware of it himself. + </p> + <p> + “How do you find yourself, Miss? I take pleasure in renewing our + acquaintance,—Thunder! that’s not it; I reckon I’m off my head. Do + me the favour, young woman, to forget every word I’ve said to you. If any + mortal creature had told me I should find you here, I should have said + ‘twas a lie—and I should have been the liar. That makes a man feel + bad, I can tell you. No! don’t slide off, if you please, into the next + room—<i>that</i> won’t set things right, nohow. Sit you down again. + Now I’m here, I have something to say. I’ll speak first to Mr. Frenchman. + Listen to this, old sir. If I happen to want a witness standing in the + doorway, I’ll ring the bell; for the present I can do without you. Bong + Shewer, as we say in your country.” He proceeded to shut the door on Toff + and his remonstrances. + </p> + <p> + “I protest, sir, against acts of violence, unworthy of a gentleman!” cried + Toff, struggling to get back again. + </p> + <p> + “Be as angry as you please in the kitchen,” Rufus answered, persisting in + closing the door; “I won’t have a noise up here. If you know where your + master is, go and fetch him—and the sooner the better.” He turned + back to Sally, and surveyed her for a while in terrible silence. She was + afraid to look at him; her eyes were on the book which she had been + reading when he came in. “You look to me,” Rufus remarked, “as if you had + been settled here for a time. Never mind your book now; you can go back to + your reading after we’ve had a word or two together first.” He reached out + his long arm, and pulled the book to his own side of the table. Sally + innocently silenced him for the second time. He opened the book, and + discovered—the New Testament. + </p> + <p> + “It’s my lesson, if you please, sir. I’m to learn it where the pencil mark + is, before Amelius comes back.” She offered her poor little explanation, + trembling with terror. In spite of himself, Rufus began to look at her + less sternly. + </p> + <p> + “So you call him ‘Amelius’, do you?” he said. “I note that, Miss, as an + unfavourable sign to begin with. How long, if you please, has Amelius + turned schoolmarm, for your young ladyship’s benefit? Don’t you + understand? Well, you’re not the only inhabitant of Great Britain who + don’t understand the English language. I’ll put it plainer. When I last + saw Amelius, you were learning your lessons at the Home. What ill wind, + Miss, blew you in here? Did Amelius fetch you, or did you come of your own + accord, without waiting to be whistled for?” He spoke coarsely but not + ill-humouredly. Sally’s pretty downcast face was pleading with him for + mercy, and (as he felt, with supreme contempt for himself) was not + altogether pleading in vain. “If I guessed that you ran away from the + home,” he resumed, “should I guess right?” + </p> + <p> + She answered with a sudden accession of confidence. “Don’t blame Amelius,” + she said; “I did run away. I couldn’t live without him.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know how you can live, young one, till you’ve tried the + experiment. Well, and what did they do at the Home? Did they send after + you, to fetch you back?” + </p> + <p> + “They wouldn’t take me back—they sent my clothes here after me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, those were the rules, I reckon. I begin to see my way to the end of + it now. Amelius gave you house-room?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him proudly. “He gave me a room of my own,” she said. + </p> + <p> + His next question was the exact repetition of the question which he had + put to Regina in Paris. The only variety was in the answer that he + received. + </p> + <p> + “Are you fond of Amelius?” + </p> + <p> + “I would die for him!” + </p> + <p> + Rufus had hitherto spoken, standing. He now took a chair. + </p> + <p> + “If Amelius had not been brought up at Tadmor,” he said, “I should take my + hat, and wish you good morning. As things are, a word more may be a word + in season. Your lessons here seem to have agreed with you, Miss. You’re a + different sort of girl to what you were when I last saw you.” + </p> + <p> + She surprised him by receiving that remark in silence. The colour left her + face. She sighed bitterly. The sigh puzzled Rufus: he held his opinion of + her in suspense, until he had heard more. + </p> + <p> + “You said just now you would die for Amelius,” he went on, eyeing her + attentively. “I take that to be a woman’s hysterical way of mentioning + that she feels interest in Amelius. Are you fond enough of him to leave + him, if you could only be persuaded that leaving him was for his good?” + </p> + <p> + She abruptly left the table, and went to the window. When her back was + turned to Rufus, she spoke. “Am I a disgrace to him?” she asked, in tones + so faint that he could barely hear them. “I have had my fears of it, + before now.” + </p> + <p> + If he had been less fond of Amelius, his natural kindness of heart might + have kept him silent. Even as it was, he made no direct reply. “You + remember how you were living when Amelius first met with you?” was all he + said. + </p> + <p> + The sad blue eyes looked at him in patient sorrow; the low sweet voice + answered—“Yes.” Only a look and a word—only the influence of + an instant—and, in that instant, Rufus’s last doubts of her + vanished! + </p> + <p> + “Don’t think I say it reproachfully, my child! I know it was not your + fault; I know you are to be pitied, and not blamed.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her face towards him—pale, quiet, and resigned. “Pitied, + and not blamed,” she repeated. “Am I to be forgiven?” + </p> + <p> + He shrank from answering her. There was silence. + </p> + <p> + “You said just now,” she went on, “that I looked like a different girl, + since you last saw me. I <i>am</i> a different girl. I think of things + that I never thought of before—some change, I don’t know what, has + come over me. Oh, my heart does hunger so to be good! I do so long to + deserve what Amelius has done for me! You have got my book there—Amelius + gave it to me; we read in it every day. If Christ had been on earth now, + is it wrong to think that Christ would have forgiven me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear; it’s right to think so.” + </p> + <p> + “And, while I live, if I do my best to lead a good life, and if my last + prayer to God is to take me to heaven, shall I be heard?” + </p> + <p> + “You will be heard, my child, I don’t doubt it. But, you see, you have got + the world about you to reckon with—and the world has invented a + religion of its own. There’s no use looking for it in this book of yours. + It’s a religion with the pride of property at the bottom of it, and a + veneer of benevolent sentiment at the top. It will be very sorry for you, + and very charitable towards you: in short, it will do everything for you + except taking you back again.” + </p> + <p> + She had her answer to that. “Amelius has taken me back again,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Amelius has taken you back again,” Rufus agreed. “But there’s one thing + he’s forgotten to do; he has forgotten to count the cost. It seems to be + left to me to do that. Look here, my girl! I own I doubted you when I + first came into this room; and I’m sorry for it, and I beg your pardon. I + do believe you’re a good girl—I couldn’t say why if I was asked, but + I do believe it for all that. I wish there was no more to be said—but + there is more; and neither you nor I must shirk it. Public opinion won’t + deal as tenderly with you as I do; public opinion will make the worst of + you, and the worst of Amelius. While you’re living here with him—there’s + no disguising it—you’re innocently in the way of the boy’s prospects + in life. I don’t know whether you understand me?” + </p> + <p> + She had turned away from him; she was looking out of the window once more. + </p> + <p> + “I understand you,” she answered. “On the night when Amelius met with me, + he did wrong to take me away with him. He ought to have left me where I + was.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a bit! that’s as far from my meaning as far can be. There’s a + look-out for everybody; and, if you’ll trust me, I’ll find a look-out for + <i>you.”</i> + </p> + <p> + She paid no heed to what he said: her next words showed that she was + pursuing her own train of thought. + </p> + <p> + “I am in the way of his prospects in life,” she resumed. “You mean that he + might be married some day, but for me?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus admitted it cautiously. “The thing might happen,” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + “And his friends might come and see him,” she went on; her face still + turned away, and her voice sinking into dull subdued tones. “Nobody comes + here now. You see I understand you. When shall I go away? I had better not + say good-bye, I suppose?—it would only distress him. I could slip + out of the house, couldn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus began to feel uneasy. He was prepared for tears—but not for + such resignation as this. After a little hesitation, he joined her at the + window. She never turned towards him; she still looked out straight before + her; her bright young face had turned pitiably rigid and pale. He spoke to + her very gently; advising her to think of what he had said, and to do + nothing in a hurry. She knew the hotel at which he stayed when he was in + London; and she could write to him there. If she decided to begin a new + life in another country, he was wholly and truly at her service. He would + provide a passage for her in the same ship that took him back to America. + At his age, and known as he was in his own neighbourhood, there would be + no scandal to fear. He could get her reputably and profitably employed, in + work which a young girl might undertake. “I’ll be as good as a father to + you, my poor child,” he said, “don’t think you’re going to be friendless, + if you leave Amelius. I’ll see to that! You shall have honest people about + you—and innocent pleasure in your new life.” + </p> + <p> + She thanked him, still with the same dull tearless resignation. “What will + the honest people say,” she asked, “when they know who I am?” + </p> + <p> + “They have no business to know who you are—and they shan’t know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it comes back to the same thing,” she said. “You must deceive the + honest people, or you can do nothing for me. Amelius had better have left + me where I was! I disgraced nobody, I was a burden to nobody, <i>there.</i> + Cold and hunger and ill-treatment can sometimes be merciful friends, in + their way. If I had been left to them, they would have laid me at rest by + this time.” She turned to Rufus, before he could speak to her. “I’m not + ungrateful, sir; I’ll think of it, as you say; and I’ll do all that a poor + foolish creature can do, to be worthy of the interest you take in me.” She + lifted her hand to her head, with a momentary expression of pain. “I’ve + got a dull kind of aching here,” she said; “it reminds me of my old life, + when I was sometimes beaten on the head. May I go and lie down a little, + by myself?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus took her hand, and pressed it in silence. She looked back at him as + she opened the door of her room. “Don’t distress Amelius,” she said; “I + can bear anything but that.” + </p> + <p> + Left alone in the library, Rufus walked restlessly to and fro, driven by a + troubled mind. “I was bound to do it,” he thought; “and I ought to be + satisfied with myself. I’m not satisfied. The world is hard on women—and + the rights of property is a darned bad reason for it!” + </p> + <p> + The door from the hall was suddenly thrown open. Amelius entered the room. + He looked flushed and angry—he refused to take the hand that Rufus + offered to him. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this I hear from Toff? It seems that you forced your way in when + Sally was here. There are limits to the liberties that a man may take in + his friend’s house.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true,” said Rufus quietly. “But when a man hasn’t taken liberties, + there don’t seem much to be said. Sally was at the Home, when I last saw + you—and nobody told me I should find her in this room.” + </p> + <p> + “You might have left the room, when you found her here. You have been + talking to her. If you have said anything about Regina—” + </p> + <p> + “I have said nothing about Miss Regina. You have a hot temper of your own, + Amelius. Wait a bit, and let it cool.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind my temper. I want to know what you have been saying to Sally. + Stop! I’ll ask Sally herself.” He crossed the room to the inner door, and + knocked. “Come in here, my dear; I want to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + The answer reached him faintly through the door. “I have got a bad + headache, Amelius. Please let me rest a little.” He turned back to Rufus, + and lowered his voice. But his eyes flashed; he was more angry than ever. + </p> + <p> + “You had better go,” he said. “I can guess how you have been talking to + her—I know what her headache means. Any man who distresses that dear + little affectionate creature is a man whom I hold as my enemy. I spit upon + all the worldly considerations which pass muster with people like you! No + sweeter girl than poor Sally ever breathed the breath of life. Her + happiness is more precious to me than words can say. She is sacred to me! + And I have just proved it—I have just come from a good woman, who + will teach her an honest way of earning her bread. Not a breath of scandal + shall blow on her. If you, or any people like you, think I will consent to + cast her adrift on the world, or consign her to a prison under the name of + a Home, you little know my nature and my principles. Here”—he + snatched up the New Testament from the table, and shook it at Rufus—“here + are my principles, and I’m not ashamed of them!” + </p> + <p> + Rufus took up his hat. + </p> + <p> + “There’s one thing you’ll be ashamed of, my son, when you’re cool enough + to think about it,” he said; “you’ll be ashamed of the words you have + spoken to a friend who loves you. I’m not a bit angry myself. You remind + me of that time on board the steamer, when the quarter-master was going to + shoot the bird. You made it up with him—and you’ll come to my hotel + and make it up with me. And then we’ll shake hands, and talk about Sally. + If it’s not taking another liberty, I’ll trouble you for a light.” He + helped himself to a match from the box on the chimney-piece, lit his + cigar, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + He had not been gone half an hour, before the better nature of Amelius + urged him to follow Rufus and make his apologies. But he was too anxious + about Sally to leave the cottage, until he had seen her first. The tone in + which she had answered him, when he knocked at her door, suggested, to his + sensitive apprehension, that there was something more serious the matter + with her than a mere headache. For another hour, he waited patiently, on + the chance that he might hear her moving in her room. Nothing happened. No + sound reached his ears, except the occasional rolling of carriage-wheels + on the road outside. + </p> + <p> + His patience began to fail him, as the second hour moved on. He went to + the door, and listened, and still heard nothing. A sudden dread struck him + that she might have fainted. He opened the door a few inches, and spoke to + her. There was no answer. He looked in. The room was empty. + </p> + <p> + He ran into the hall, and called to Toff. Was she, by any chance, + downstairs? No. Or out in the garden? No. Master and man looked at each + other in silence. Sally was gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 9 + </h2> + <h3> + Toff was the first who recovered himself. + </h3> + <p> + “Courage, sir!” he said. “With a little thinking, we shall see the way to + find her. That rude American man, who talked with her this morning, may be + the person who has brought this misfortune on us.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius waited to hear no more. There was the chance, at least, that + something might have been said which had induced her to take refuge with + Rufus. He ran back to the library to get his hat. + </p> + <p> + Toff followed his master, with another suggestion. “One word more, sir, + before you go. If the American man cannot help us, we must be ready to try + another way. Permit me to accompany you as far as my wife’s shop. I + propose that she shall come back here with me, and examine poor little + Miss’s bedroom. We will wait, of course, for your return, before anything + is done. In the mean time, I entreat you not to despair. It is at least + possible that the means of discovery may be found in the bedroom.” + </p> + <p> + They went out together, taking the first cab that passed them. Amelius + proceeded alone to the hotel. + </p> + <p> + Rufus was in his room. “What’s gone wrong?” he asked, the moment Amelius + opened the door. “Shake hands, my son, and smother up that little trouble + between us in silence. Your face alarms me—it does! What of Sally?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius started at the question. “Isn’t she here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Rufus drew back. The mere action said, No, before he answered in words. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen nothing of her? heard nothing of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Steady, now! Meet it like a man; and tell me what has happened.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius told him in two words. “Don’t suppose I’m going to break out again + as I did this morning,” he went on; “I’m too wretched and too anxious to + be angry. Only tell me, Rufus, have you said anything to her—?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus held up his hand. “I see what you’re driving at. It will be more to + the purpose to tell you what she said to me. From first to last, Amelius, + I spoke kindly to her, and I did her justice. Give me a minute to rummage + my memory.” After brief consideration, he carefully repeated the substance + of what had passed between Sally and himself, during the latter part of + the interview between them. “Have you looked about in her room?” he + inquired, when he had done. “There might be a trifling something to help + you, left behind her there.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius told him of Toff’s suggestion. They returned together at once to + the cottage. Madame Toff was waiting to begin the search. + </p> + <p> + The first discovery was easily made. Sally had taken off one or two little + trinkets—presents from Amelius, which she was in the habit of + wearing—and had left them, wrapped up in paper, on the + dressing-table. No such thing as a farewell letter was found near them. + The examination of the wardrobe came next—and here a startling + circumstance revealed itself. Every one of the dresses which Amelius had + presented to her was hanging in its place. They were not many; and they + had all, on previous occasions, been passed in review by Toff’s wife. She + was absolutely certain that the complete number of the dresses was there + in the bedroom. Sally must have worn something, in place of her new + clothes. What had she put on? + </p> + <p> + Looking round the room, Amelius noticed in a corner the box in which he + had placed the first new dress that he had purchased for Sally, on the + morning after they had met. He tried to open the box: it was locked—and + the key was not to be found. The ever-ready Toff fetched a skewer from the + kitchen, and picked the lock in two minutes. On lifting the cover, the box + proved to be empty. + </p> + <p> + The one person present who understood what this meant was Amelius. + </p> + <p> + He remembered that Sally had taken her old threadbare clothes away with + her in the box, when the angry landlady had insisted on his leaving the + house. “I want to look at them sometimes,” the poor girl had said, “and + think how much better off I am now.” In those miserable rags she had fled + from the cottage, after hearing the cruel truth. “He had better have left + me where I was,” she had said. “Cold and hunger and ill-treatment would + have laid me at rest by this time.” Amelius fell on his knees before the + empty box, in helpless despair. The conclusion that now forced itself on + his mind completely unmanned him. She had gone back, in the old dress, to + die under the cold, the hunger, and the horror of the old life. + </p> + <p> + Rufus took his hand, and spoke to him kindly. He rallied, and dashed the + tears from his eyes, and rose to his feet. “I know where to look for her,” + was all he said; “and I must do it alone.” He refused to enter into any + explanation, or to be assisted by any companion. “This is my secret and + hers,” he answered, “Go back to your hotel, Rufus—and pray that I + may not bring news which will make a wretched man of you for the rest of + your life.” With that he left them. + </p> + <p> + In another hour he stood once more on the spot at which he and Sally had + met. + </p> + <p> + The wild bustle and uproar of the costermongers’ night market no longer + rioted round him: the street by daylight was in a state of dreary repose. + Slowly pacing up and down, from one end to another, he waited with but one + hope to sustain him—the hope that she might have taken refuge with + the two women who had been her only friends in the dark days of her life. + Ignorant of the place in which they lived, he had no choice but to wait + for the appearance of one or other of them in the street. He was quiet and + resolved. For the rest of the day, and for the whole of the night if need + be, his mind was made up to keep steadfastly on the watch. + </p> + <p> + When he could walk no longer, he obtained rest and refreshment in the + cookshop which he remembered so well; sitting on a stool near the window, + from which he could still command a view of the street. The gas-lamps were + alight, and the long winter’s night was beginning to set in, when he + resumed his weary march from end to end of the pavement. As the darkness + became complete, his patience was rewarded at last. Passing the door of a + pawnbroker’s shop, he met one of the women face to face, walking rapidly, + with a little parcel under her arm. + </p> + <p> + She recognized him with a cry of joyful surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir, how glad I am to see you, to be sure! You’ve come to look after + Sally, haven’t you? Yes, yes; she’s safe in our poor place—but in + such a dreadful state. Off her head! clean off her head! Talks of nothing + but you. ‘I’m in the way of his prospects in life.’ Over and over and over + again, she keeps on saying that. Don’t be afraid; Jenny’s at home, taking + care of her. She wants to go out. Hot and wild, with a kind of fever on + her, she wants to go out. She asked if it rained. ‘The rain may kill me in + these ragged clothes,’ she says; ‘and then I shan’t be in the way of his + prospects in life.’ We tried to quiet her by telling her it didn’t rain—but + it was no use; she was as eager as ever to go out. ‘I may get another blow + on the bosom,’ she says; ‘and, maybe, it will fall on the right place this + time.’ No! there’s no fear of the brute who used to beat her—he’s in + prison. Don’t ask to see her just yet, sir; please don’t! I’m afraid you + would only make her worse, if I took you to her now; I wouldn’t dare to + risk it. You see, we can’t get her to sleep; and we thought of buying + something to quiet her at the chemist’s. Yes, sir, it would be better to + get a doctor to her. But I wasn’t going to the doctor. If I must tell you, + I was obliged to take the sheets off the bed, to raise a little money—I + was going to the pawnbroker’s.” She looked at the parcel under her arm, + and smiled. “I may take the sheets back again, now I’ve met with you; and + there’s a good doctor lives close by—I can show you the way to him. + Oh how pale you do look! Are you very much tired? It’s only a little way + to the doctor. I’ve got an arm at your service—but you mightn’t like + to be seen waiting with such a person as me.” + </p> + <p> + Mentally and physically, Amelius was completely prostrated. The woman’s + melancholy narrative had overwhelmed him: he could neither speak nor act. + He mechanically put his purse in her hand, and went with her to the house + of the nearest medical man. + </p> + <p> + The doctor was at home, mixing drugs in his little surgery. After one + sharp look at Amelius, he ran into a back parlour, and returned with a + glass of spirits. “Drink this, sir,” he said—“unless you want to + find yourself on the floor in a fainting fit. And don’t presume again on + your youth and strength to treat your heart as if it was made of + cast-iron.” He signed to Amelius to sit down and rest himself, and turned + to the woman to hear what was wanted of him. After a few questions, he + said she might go; promising to follow her in a few minutes, when the + gentleman would be sufficiently recovered to accompany him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, are you beginning to feel like yourself again?” He was mixing + a composing draught, while he addressed Amelius in those terms. “You may + trust that poor wretch, who has just left us, to take care of the sick + girl,” he went on, in the quaintly familiar manner which seemed to be + habitual with him. “I don’t ask how you got into her company—it’s no + business of mine. But I am pretty well acquainted with the people in my + neighbourhood; and I can tell you one thing, in case you’re anxious. The + woman who brought you here, barring the one misfortune of her life, is as + good a creature as ever breathed; and the other one who lives with her is + the same. When I think of what they’re exposed to—well! I take to my + pipe, and compose my mind in that way. My early days were all passed as a + ship’s surgeon. I could get them both respectable employment in Australia, + if I only had the money to fit them out. They’ll die in the hospital, like + the rest, if something isn’t done for them. In my hopeful moments, I + sometimes think of a subscription. What do you say? Will you put down a + few shillings to set the example?” + </p> + <p> + “I will do more than that,” Amelius answered. “I have reasons for wishing + to befriend both those two poor women; and I will gladly engage to find + the outfit.” + </p> + <p> + The familiar old doctor held out his hand over the counter. “You’re a good + fellow, if ever there was one yet!” he burst out. “I can show references + which will satisfy you that I am not a rogue. In the mean time, let’s see + what is the matter with this little girl; you can tell me about her as we + go along.” He put his bottle of medicine in his pocket, and his arm in the + arm of Amelius—and so led the way out. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the wretched lodging-house in which the women lived, he + suggested that his companion would do well to wait at the door. “I’m used + to sad sights: it would only distress you to see the place. I won’t keep + you long waiting.” + </p> + <p> + He was as good as his word. In little more than ten minutes, he joined + Amelius again in the street. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t alarm yourself,” he said. “The case is not so serious as it looks. + The poor child is suffering under a severe shock to the brain and nervous + system, caused by that sudden and violent distress you hinted at. My + medicine will give her the one thing she wants to begin with—a good + night’s sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius asked when she would be well enough to see him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my young friend, it’s not so easy to say, just yet! I could answer + you to better purpose tomorrow. Won’t that do? Must I venture on a rash + opinion? She ought to be composed enough to see you in three or four days. + And, when that time comes, it’s my belief you will do more than I can do + to set her right again.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius was relieved, but not quite satisfied yet. He inquired if it was + not possible to remove her from that miserable place. + </p> + <p> + “Quite impossible—without doing her serious injury. They have got + money to go on with; and I have told you already, she will be well taken + care of. I will look after her myself tomorrow morning. Go home, and get + to bed, and eat a bit of supper first, and make your mind easy. Come to my + house at twelve o’clock, noon, and you will find me ready with my + references, and my report of the patient. Surgeon Pinfold, Blackacre + Buildings; there’s the address. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 10 + </h2> + <p> + After Amelius had left him, Rufus remembered his promise to communicate + with Regina by telegraph. + </p> + <p> + With his strict regard for truth, it was no easy matter to decide on what + message he should send. To inspire Regina, if possible, with his own + unshaken belief in the good faith of Amelius, appeared, on reflection, to + be all that he could honestly do, under present circumstances. With an + anxious and foreboding mind, he despatched his telegram to Paris in these + terms:—“Be patient for a while, and do justice to A. He deserves + it.” + </p> + <p> + Having completed his business at the telegraph-office, Rufus went next to + pay his visit to Mrs. Payson. + </p> + <p> + The good lady received him with a grave face and a distant manner, in + startling contrast to the customary warmth of her welcome. “I used to + think you were a man in a thousand,” she began abruptly; “and I find you + are no better than the rest of them. If you have come to speak to me about + that blackguard young Socialist, understand, if you please, that I am not + so easily imposed upon as Miss Regina. I have done my duty; I have opened + her eyes to the truth, poor thing. Ah, you ought to be ashamed of + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus kept his temper, with his habitual self-command. “It’s possible you + may be right,” he said quietly; “but the biggest rascal living has a claim + to an explanation, when a lady puzzles him. Have you any particular + objection, old friend, to tell me what you mean?” + </p> + <p> + The explanation was not of a nature to set his mind at ease. + </p> + <p> + Regina had written, by the mail which took Rufus to England, repeating to + Mrs. Payson what had passed at the interview in the Champs Elysees, and + appealing to her sympathy for information and advice. Receiving the letter + that morning, Mrs. Payson, acting on her own generous and compassionate + impulses, had already answered it, and sent it to the post. Her experience + of the unfortunate persons received at the Home was far from inclining her + to believe in the innocence of a runaway girl, placed under circumstances + of temptation. As an act of justice towards Regina, she enclosed to her + the letter in which Amelius had acknowledged that Sally had passed the + night under his roof. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I am only telling you the shameful truth,” Mrs. Payson had + written, “when I add that the girl has been an inmate of Mr. Goldenheart’s + cottage ever since. If you can reconcile this disgraceful state of things, + with Mr. Rufus Dingwell’s assertion of his friend’s fidelity to his + marriage-engagement, I have no right, and no wish, to make any attempt to + alter your opinion. But you have asked for my advice, and I must not + shrink from giving it. I am bound as an honest woman, to tell you that + your uncle’s resolution to break off the engagement represents the course + that I should have taken myself, if a daughter of my own had been placed + in your painful and humiliating position.” + </p> + <p> + There was still ample time to modify this strong expression of opinion by + the day’s post. Rufus appealed vainly to Mrs. Payson to reconsider the + conclusion at which she had arrived. A more charitable and considerate + woman, within the limits of her own daily routine, it would not be + possible to find. But the largeness of mind which, having long and + trustworthy experience of a rule, can nevertheless understand that other + minds may have equal experience of the exception to the rule, was one of + the qualities which had not been included in the moral composition of Mrs. + Payson. She held firmly to her own narrowly conscientious sense of her + duty; stimulated by a natural indignation against Amelius, who had + bitterly disappointed her—against Rufus, who had not scrupled to + take up his defence. The two old friends parted in coldness, for the first + time in their lives. + </p> + <p> + Rufus returned to his hotel, to wait there for news from Amelius. + </p> + <p> + The day passed—and the one visitor who enlivened his solitude was an + American friend and correspondent, connected with the agency which managed + his affairs in England. The errand of this gentleman was to give his + client the soundest and speediest advice, relating to the investment of + money. Having indicated the safe and solid speculation, the visitor added + a warning word, relating to the plausible and dangerous investments of the + day. “For instance,” he said, “there’s that bank started by Farnaby—” + </p> + <p> + “No need to warn me against Farnaby,” Rufus interposed; “I wouldn’t take + shares in his bank if he made me a present of them.” + </p> + <p> + The American friend looked surprised. “Surely,” he exclaimed, “you can’t + have heard the news already! They don’t even know it yet on the Stock + Exchange.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus explained that he had only spoken under the influence of personal + prejudice against Mr. Farnaby. + </p> + <p> + “What’s in the wind now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + He was confidentially informed that a coming storm was in the wind: in + other words, that a serious discovery had been made at the bank. Some time + since, the directors had advanced a large sum of money to a man in trade, + under Mr. Farnaby’s own guarantee. The man had just died; and examination + of his affairs showed that he had only received a few hundred pounds, on + condition of holding his tongue. The bulk of the money had been traced to + Mr. Farnaby himself, and had all been swallowed up by his newspaper, his + patent medicine, and his other rotten speculations, apart from his own + proper business. “You may not know it,” the American friend concluded, + “but the fact is, Farnaby rose from the dregs. His bankruptcy is only a + question of time—he will drop back to the dregs; and, quite + possibly, make his appearance to answer a criminal charge in a court of + law. I hear that Melton, whose credit has held up the bank lately, is off + to see his friend in Paris. They say Farnaby’s niece is a handsome girl, + and Melton is sweet on her. Awkward for Melton.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus listened attentively. In signing the order for his investments, he + privately decided to stir no further, for the present, in the matter of + his young friend’s marriage-engagement. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of the day and evening, he still waited for Amelius, and + waited in vain. It was drawing near to midnight, when Toff made his + appearance with a message from his master. Amelius had discovered Sally, + and had returned in such a state of fatigue that he was only fit to take + some refreshment, and to go to his bed. He would be away from home again, + on the next morning; but he hoped to call at the hotel in the course of + the day. Observing Toff’s face with grave and steady scrutiny, Rufus tried + to extract some further information from him. But the old Frenchman stood + on his dignity, in a state of immovable reserve. + </p> + <p> + “You took me by the shoulder this morning, sir, and spun me round,” he + said; “I do not desire to be treated a second time like a teetotum. For + the rest, it is not my habit to intrude myself into my master’s secrets.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not <i>my</i> habit,” Rufus coolly rejoined, “to bear malice. I beg + to apologise sincerely, sir, for treating you like a teetotum; and I offer + you my hand.” + </p> + <p> + Toff had got as far as the door. He instantly returned, with the dignity + which a Frenchman can always command in the serious emergencies of his + life. “You appeal to my heart and my honour, sir,” he said. “I bury the + events of the morning in oblivion; and I do myself the honour of taking + your hand.” + </p> + <p> + As the door closed on him, Rufus smiled grimly. “You’re not in the habit + of intruding yourself into your master’s secrets,” he repeated. “If + Amelius reads your face as I read it, he’ll look over his shoulder when he + goes out tomorrow—and, ten to one, he’ll see you behind him in the + distance!” + </p> + <p> + Late on the next day, Amelius presented himself at the hotel. In speaking + of Sally, he was unusually reserved, merely saying that she was ill, and + under medical care, and then changing the subject. Struck by the depressed + and anxious expression of his face, Rufus asked if he had heard from + Regina. No: a longer time than usual had passed since Regina had written + to him. “I don’t understand it,” he said sadly. “I suppose you didn’t see + anything of her in Paris?” + </p> + <p> + Rufus had kept his promise not to mention Regina’s name in Sally’s + presence. But it was impossible for him to look at Amelius, without + plainly answering the question put to him, for the sake of the friend whom + he loved. “I’m afraid there’s trouble coming to you, my son, from that + quarter.” With those warning words, he described all that had passed + between Regina and himself. “Some unknown enemy of yours has spoken + against you to her uncle,” he concluded. “I suppose you have made enemies, + my poor old boy, since you have been in London?” + </p> + <p> + “I know the man,” Amelius answered. “He wanted to marry Regina before I + met with her. His name is Melton.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus started. “I heard only yesterday, he was in Paris with Farnaby. And + that’s not the worst of it, Amelius. There’s another of them making + mischief—a good friend of mine who has shown a twist in her temper, + that has taken me by surprise after twenty years’ experience of her. I + reckon there’s a drop of malice in the composition of the best woman that + ever lived—and the men only discover it when another woman steps in, + and stirs it up. Wait a bit!” he went on, when he had related the result + of his visit to Mrs. Payson. “I have telegraphed to Miss Regina to be + patient, and to trust you. Don’t you write to defend yourself, till you + hear how you stand in her estimation, after my message. Tomorrow’s post + may tell.” + </p> + <p> + Tomorrow’s post did tell. + </p> + <p> + Two letters reached Amelius from Paris. One from Mr. Farnaby, curt and + insolent, breaking off the marriage-engagement. The other, from Regina, + expressed with great severity of language. Her weak nature, like all weak + natures, ran easily into extremes, and, once roused into asserting itself, + took refuge in violence as a shy person takes refuge in audacity. Only a + woman of larger and firmer mind would have written of her wrongs in a more + just and more moderate tone. + </p> + <p> + Regina began without any preliminary form of address. She had no heart to + upbraid Amelius, and no wish to speak of what she was suffering, to a man + who had but too plainly shown that he had no respect for himself, and + neither love, nor pity even, for her. In justice to herself, she released + him from his promise, and returned his letters and his presents. Her own + letters might be sent in a sealed packet, addressed to her at her uncle’s + place of business in London. She would pray that he might be brought to a + sense of the sin that he had committed, and that he might yet live to be a + worthy and a happy man. For the rest, her decision was irrevocable. His + own letter to Mrs. Payson condemned him—and the testimony of an old + and honoured friend of her uncle proved that his wickedness was no mere + act of impulse, but a deliberate course of infamy and falsehood, continued + over many weeks. From the moment when she made that discovery, he was a + stranger to her—and she now bade him farewell. + </p> + <p> + “Have you written to her?” Rufus asked, when he had seen the letters. + </p> + <p> + Amelius reddened with indignation. He was not aware of it himself—but + his look and manner plainly revealed that Regina had lost her last hold on + him. Her letter had inflicted an insult—not a wound: he was outraged + and revolted; the deeper and gentler feelings, the emotions of a grieved + and humiliated lover, had been killed in him by her stern words of + dismissal and farewell. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I would allow myself to be treated in that way, without a + word of protest?” he said to Rufus. “I have written, refusing to take back + my promise. ‘I declare, on my word of honour, that I have been faithful to + you and to my engagement’—that was how I put it—‘and I scorn + the vile construction which your uncle and his friend have placed upon an + act of Christian mercy on my part.’ I wrote more tenderly, before I + finished my letter; feeling for her distress, and being anxious above all + things not to add to it. We shall see if she has love enough left for me + to trust my faith and honour, instead of trusting false appearances. I + will give her time.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus considerately abstained from expressing any opinion. He waited until + the morning when a reply might be expected from Paris; and then he called + at the cottage. + </p> + <p> + Without a word of comment, Amelius put a letter into his friend’s hand. It + was his own letter to Regina returned to him. On the back of it, there was + a line in Mr. Farnaby’s handwriting:—“If you send any more letters + they will be burnt unopened.” In those insolent terms the wretch wrote + with bankruptcy and exposure hanging over his head. + </p> + <p> + Rufus spoke plainly upon this. “There’s an end of it now,” he said. “That + girl would never have made the right wife for you, Amelius: you’re well + out of it. Forget that you ever knew these people; and let us talk of + something else. How is Sally?” + </p> + <p> + At that ill-timed inquiry, Amelius showed his temper again. He was in a + state of nervous irritability which made him apt to take offence, where no + offence was intended. “Oh, you needn’t be alarmed!” he answered + petulantly; “there’s no fear of the poor child coming back to live with + me. She is still under the doctor’s care.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus passed over the angry reply without notice, and patted him on the + shoulder. “I spoke of the girl,” he said, “because I wanted to help her; + and I can help her, if you will let me. Before long, my son, I shall be + going back to the United States. I wish you would go with me!” + </p> + <p> + “And desert Sally!” cried Amelius. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort! Before we go, I’ll see that Sally is provided for to + your satisfaction. Will you think of it, to please me?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius relented. “Anything, to please you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Rufus noticed his hat and gloves on the table, and left him without saying + more. “The trouble with Amelius,” he thought, as he closed the cottage + gate, “is not over yet.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 11 + </h2> + <p> + The day on which worthy old Surgeon Pinfold had predicted that Sally would + be in a fair way of recovery had come and gone; and still the medical + report to Amelius was the same:—“You must be patient, sir; she is + not well enough to see you yet.” + </p> + <p> + Toff, watching his young master anxiously, was alarmed by the steadily + progressive change in him for the worse, which showed itself at this time. + Now sad and silent, and now again bitter and irritable, he had + deteriorated physically as well as morally, until he really looked like + the shadow of his former self. He never exchanged a word with his faithful + old servant, except when he said mechanically, “good morning” or “good + night.” Toff could endure it no longer. At the risk of being roughly + misinterpreted, he followed his own kindly impulse, and spoke. “May I own + to you, sir,” he said, with perfect gentleness and respect, “that I am + indeed heartily sorry to see you so ill?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked up at him sharply. “You servants always make a fuss about + trifles. I am a little out of sorts; and I want a change—that’s all. + Perhaps I may go to America. You won’t like that; I shan’t complain if you + look out for another situation.” + </p> + <p> + The tears came into the old man’s eyes. “Never!” he answered fervently. + “My last service, sir, if you send me away, shall be my dearly loved + service here.” + </p> + <p> + All that was most tender in the nature of Amelius was touched to the + quick. “Forgive me, Toff,” he said; “I am lonely and wretched, and more + anxious about Sally than words can tell. There can be no change in my + life, until my mind is easy about that poor little girl. But if it does + end in my going to America, you shall go with me—I wouldn’t lose + you, my good friend, for the world.” + </p> + <p> + Toff still remained in the room, as if he had something left to say. + Entirely ignorant of the marriage engagement between Amelius and Regina, + and of the rupture in which it had ended, he vaguely suspected + nevertheless that his master might have fallen into an entanglement with + some lady unknown. The opportunity of putting the question was now before + him. He risked it in a studiously modest form. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to America to be married, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius eyed him with a momentary suspicion. “What has put that in your + head?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, sir,” Toff answered humbly—“unless it was my own + vivid imagination. Would there be anything very wonderful in a gentleman + of your age and appearance conducting some charming person to the altar?” + </p> + <p> + Amelius was conquered once more; he smiled faintly. “Enough of your + nonsense, Toff! I shall never be married—understand that.” + </p> + <p> + Toff’s withered old face brightened slyly. He turned away to withdraw; + hesitated; and suddenly went back to his master. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any occasion for my services, sir, for an hour or two?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “No. Be back before I go out, myself—be back at three o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir. My little boy is below, if you want anything in my + absence.” + </p> + <p> + The little boy dutifully attending Toff to the gate, observed with grave + surprise that his father snapped his fingers gaily at starting, and hummed + the first bars of the Marseillaise. “Something is going to happen,” said + Toff’s boy, on his way back to the house. + </p> + <p> + From the Regent’s Park to Blackacre Buildings is almost a journey from one + end of London to the other. Assisted for part of the way by an omnibus, + Toff made the journey, and arrived at the residence of Surgeon Pinfold, + with the easy confidence of a man who knew thoroughly well where he was + going, and what he was about. The sagacity of Rufus had correctly + penetrated his intentions; he had privately followed his master, and had + introduced himself to the notice of the surgeon—with a mixture of + motives, in which pure devotion to the interests of Amelius played the + chief part. His experience of the world told him that Sally’s departure + was only the beginning of more trouble to come. “What is the use of me to + my master,” he had argued, “except to spare him trouble, in spite of + himself?” + </p> + <p> + Surgeon Pinfold was prescribing for a row of sick people, seated before + him on a bench. “You’re not ill, are you?” he said sharply to Toff. “Very + well, then, go into the parlour and wait.” + </p> + <p> + The patients being dismissed, Toff attempted to explain the object of his + visit. But the old naval surgeon insisted on clearing the ground by means + of a plain question first. “Has your master sent you here—or is this + another private interview, like the last?” + </p> + <p> + “It is all that is most private,” Toff answered; “my poor master is + wasting away in unrelieved wretchedness and suspense. Something must be + done for him. Oh, dear and good sir, help me in this most miserable state + of things! Tell me the truth about Miss Sally!” + </p> + <p> + Old Pinfold put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the parlour + wall, looking at the Frenchman with a complicated expression, in which + genuine sympathy mingled oddly with a quaint sense of amusement. “You’re a + worthy chap,” he said; “and you shall have the truth. I have been obliged + to deceive your master about this troublesome young Sally; I have stuck to + it that she is too ill to see him, or to answer his letters. Both lies. + There’s nothing the matter with her now, but a disease that I can’t cure, + the disease of a troubled mind. She’s got it into her head that she has + everlastingly degraded herself in his estimation by leaving him and coming + here. It’s no use telling her—what, mind you, is perfectly true—that + she was all but out of her senses, and not in the least responsible for + what she did at the time when she did it. She holds to her own opinion, + nevertheless. ‘What can he think of me, but that I have gone back + willingly to the disgrace of my old life? I should throw myself out of the + window, if he came into the room!’ That’s how she answers me—and, + what makes matters worse still, she’s breaking her heart about him all the + time. The poor wretch is so eager for any little word of news about his + health and his doings, that it’s downright pitiable to see her. I don’t + think her fevered little brain will bear it much longer—and hang me + if I can tell what to do next to set things right! The two women, her + friends, have no sort of influence over her. When I saw her this morning, + she was ungrateful enough to say, ‘Why didn’t you let me die?’ How your + master got among these unfortunate people is more than I know, and is no + business of mine; I only wish he had been a different sort of man. Before + I knew him as well as I know him now, I predicted, like a fool, that he + would be just the person to help us in managing the girl. I have altered + my opinion. He’s such a glorious fellow—so impulsive and so + tender-hearted—that he would be certain, in her present excited + state, to do her more harm than good. Do you know if he is going to be + married?” + </p> + <p> + Toff, listening thus far in silent distress, suddenly looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask me, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an idle question, I dare say,” old Pinfold remarked. “Sally persists + in telling us she’s in the way of his prospects in life—and it’s got + somehow into her perverse little head that his prospects in life mean his + marriage, and she’s in the way of <i>that.</i>—Hullo! are you going + already?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to go to Miss Sally, sir. I believe I can say something to comfort + her. Do you think she will see me?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you the man who has got the nickname of Toff? She sometimes talks + about Toff.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, yes! I am Theophile Leblond, otherwise Toff. Where can I find + her?” + </p> + <p> + Surgeon Pinfold rang a bell. “My errand-boy is going past the house, to + deliver some medicine,” he answered. “It’s a poor place; but you’ll find + it neat and nice enough—thanks to your good master. He’s helping the + two women to begin life again out of this country; and, while they’re + waiting their turn to get a passage, they’ve taken an extra room and hired + some decent furniture, by your master’s own wish. Oh, here’s the boy; + he’ll show you the way. One word before you go. What do you think of + saying to Sally?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell her, for one thing, sir, that my master is miserable for + want of her.” + </p> + <p> + Surgeon Pinfold shook his head. “That won’t take you very far on the way + to persuading her. You will make <i>her</i> miserable too—and + there’s about all you will get by it.” + </p> + <p> + Toff lifted his indicative forefinger to the side of his nose. “Suppose I + tell her something else, sir? Suppose I tell her my master is not going to + be married to anybody?” + </p> + <p> + “She won’t believe you know anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “She will believe, for this reason,” said Toff, gravely; “I put the + question to my master before I came here; and I have it from his own lips + that there is no young lady in the way, and that he is not—positively + not—going to be married. If I tell Miss Sally this, sir, how do you + say it will end? Will you bet me a shilling it has no effect on her?” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t bet a farthing! Follow the boy—and tell young Sally I have + sent her a better doctor than I am.” + </p> + <p> + While Toff was on his way to Sally, Toff’s boy was disturbing Amelius by + the announcement of a visitor. The card sent in bore this inscription: + “Brother Bawkwell, from Tadmor.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius looked at the card; and ran into the hall to receive the visitor, + with both hands held out in hearty welcome. “Oh, I am so glad to see you!” + he cried. “Come in, and tell me all about Tadmor!” + </p> + <p> + Brother Bawkwell acknowledged the enthusiastic reception offered to him by + a stare of grim surprise. He was a dry, hard old man, with a scrubby white + beard, a narrow wrinkled forehead, and an obstinate lipless mouth; fitted + neither by age nor temperament to be the intimate friend of any of his + younger brethren among the Community. But, at that saddest time of his + life, the heart of Amelius warmed to any one who reminded him of his + tranquil and happy days at Tadmor. Even this frozen old Socialist now + appeared to him, for the first time, under the borrowed aspect of a + welcome friend. + </p> + <p> + Brother Bawkwell took the chair offered to him, and opened the + proceedings, in solemn silence, by looking at his watch. “Twenty-five + minutes past two,” he said to himself—and put the watch back again. + </p> + <p> + “Are you pressed for time?” Amelius asked. + </p> + <p> + “Much may be done in ten minutes,” Brother Bawkwell answered, in a Scotch + accent which had survived the test of half a lifetime in America. “I would + have you know I am in England on a mission from the Community, with a list + of twenty-seven persons in all, whom I am appointed to confer with on + matters of varying importance. Yours, friend Amelius, is a matter of minor + importance. I can give you ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + He opened a big black pocket-book, stuffed with a mass of letters; and, + placing two of them on the table before him, addressed Amelius as if he + was making a speech at a public meeting. + </p> + <p> + “I have to request your attention to certain proceedings of the Council at + Tadmor, bearing date the third of December last; and referring to a person + under sentence of temporary separation from the Community, along with + yourself—” + </p> + <p> + “Mellicent!” Amelius exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “We have no time for interruptions,” Brother Bawkwell remarked. “The + person <i>is</i> Sister Mellicent; and the business before the Council was + to consider a letter, under her signature, received December second. Said + letter,” he proceeded, taking up one of his papers, “is abridged as + follows by the Secretary to the Council. In substance, the writer states + (first): ‘That the married sister under whose protection she has been + living at New York is about to settle in England with her husband, + appointed to manage the branch of his business established in London. + (Second): That she, meaning Sister Mellicent, has serious reasons for not + accompanying her relatives to England, and has no other friends to take + charge of her welfare, if she remains in New York. (Third): That she + appeals to the mercy of the Council, under these circumstances, to accept + the expression of her sincere repentance for the offence of violating a + Rule, and to permit a friendless and penitent creature to return to the + only home left to her, her home at Tadmor.’ No, friend Amelius—we + have no time for expressions of sympathy; the first half of the ten + minutes has nearly expired. I have further to notify you that the question + was put to the vote, in this form: ‘Is it consistent with the serious + responsibility which rests on the Council, to consider the remission of + any sentence justly pronounced under the Book of Rules?’ The result was + very remarkable; the votes for and against being equally divided. In this + event, as you know, our laws provide that the decision rests with the + Elder Brother—who gave his vote thereupon for considering the + remission of the sentence; and moved the next resolution that the sentence + be remitted accordingly. Carried by a small majority. Whereupon, Sister + Mellicent was received again at Tadmor.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the dear old Elder Brother,” cried Amelius—“always on the side + of mercy!” + </p> + <p> + Brother Bawkwell held up his hand in protest. “You seem to have no idea,” + he said, “of the value of time. Do be quiet! As travelling representative + of the Council, I am further instructed to say, that the sentence + pronounced against yourself stands duly remitted, in consequence of the + remission of the sentence against Sister Mellicent. You likewise are free + to return to Tadmor, at your own will and pleasure. But—attend to + what is coming, friend Amelius!—the Council holds to its resolution + that your choice between us and the world shall be absolutely unbiased. In + the fear of exercising even an indirect influence, we have purposely + abstained from corresponding with you. With the same motive we now say, + that if you do return to us, it must be with no interference on our part. + We inform you of an event that has happened in your absence—and we + do no more.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and looked again at his watch. Time proverbially works wonders. + Time closed his lips. + </p> + <p> + Amelius replied with a heavy heart. The message from the Council had + recalled him from the remembrance of Mellicent to the sense of his own + position. “My experience of the world has been a very hard one,” he said. + “I would gladly go back to Tadmor this very day, but for one consideration—” + He hesitated; the image of Sally was before him. The tears rose in his + eyes; he said no more. + </p> + <p> + Brother Bawkwell, driven hard by time, got on his legs, and handed to + Amelius the second of the two papers which he had taken out of his + pocket-book. + </p> + <p> + “Here is a purely informal document,” he said; “being a few lines from + Sister Mellicent, which I was charged to deliver to you. Be pleased to + read it as quickly as you can, and tell me if there is any reply.” + </p> + <p> + There was not much to read:—“The good people here, Amelius, have + forgiven me and let me return to them. I am living happily now, dear, in + my remembrances of you. I take the walks that we once took together—and + sometimes I go out in the boat on the lake, and think of the time when I + told you my sad story. Your poor little pet creatures are under my care; + the dog, and the fawn, and the birds—all well, and waiting for you, + with me. My belief that you will come back to me remains the same unshaken + belief that it has been from the first. Once more I say it—you will + find me the first to welcome you, when your spirits are sinking under the + burden of life, and your heart turns again to the friends of your early + days. Until that time comes, think of me now and then. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “I am waiting,” said Brother Bawkwell, taking his hat in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Amelius answered with an effort. “Thank her kindly in my name,” he said: + “that is all.” His head drooped while he spoke; he fell into thought as if + he had been alone in the room. + </p> + <p> + But the emissary from Tadmor, warned by the minute-hand on the watch, + recalled his attention to passing events. “You would do me a kindness,” + said Brother Bawkwell, producing a list of names and addresses, “if you + could put me in the way of finding the person named, eighth from the top. + It’s getting on towards twenty minutes to three.” + </p> + <p> + The address thus pointed out was at no great distance, on the northern + side of the Regent’s Park. Amelius, still silent and thoughtful, acted + willingly as a guide. “Please thank the Council for their kindness to me,” + he said, when they reached their destination. Brother Bawkwell looked at + friend Amelius with a calm inquiring eye. “I think you’ll end in coming + back to us,” he said. “I’ll take the opportunity, when I see you at + Tadmor, of making a few needful remarks on the value of time.” + </p> + <p> + Amelius went back to the cottage, to see if Toff had returned, in his + absence, before he paid his daily visit to Surgeon Pinfold. He called down + the kitchen stairs, “Are you there, Toff?” And Toff answered briskly, “At + your service, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The sky had become cloudy, and threatened rain. Not finding his umbrella + in the hall, Amelius went into the library to look for it. As he closed + the door behind him, Toff and his boy appeared on the kitchen stairs; both + walking on tiptoe, and both evidently on the watch for something. + </p> + <p> + Amelius found his umbrella. But it was characteristic of the melancholy + change in him that he dropped languidly into the nearest chair, instead of + going out at once with the easy activity of happier days. Sally was in his + mind again; he was rousing his resolution to set the doctor’s commands at + defiance, and to insist on seeing her, come what might of it. + </p> + <p> + He suddenly looked up. A slight sound had startled him. + </p> + <p> + It was a faint rustling sound; and it came from the sadly silent room + which had once been Sally’s. + </p> + <p> + He listened, and heard it again. He sprang to his feet—his heart + beat wildly—he opened the door of the room. + </p> + <p> + She was there. + </p> + <p> + Her hands were clasped over her fast-heaving breast. She was powerless to + look at him, powerless to speak to him—powerless to move towards + him, until he opened his arms to her. Then, all the love and all the + sorrow in the tender little heart flowed outward to him in a low murmuring + cry. She hid her blushing face on his bosom. The rosy colour softly tinged + her neck—the unspoken confession of all she feared, and all she + hoped. + </p> + <p> + It was a time beyond words. They were silent in each other’s arms. + </p> + <p> + But under them, on the floor below, the stillness in the cottage was + merrily broken by an outburst of dance-music—with a rhythmical + thump-thump of feet, keeping time to the cheerful tune. Toff was playing + his fiddle; and Toff’s boy was dancing to his father’s music. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 12 + </h2> + <p> + After waiting a day or two for news from Amelius, and hearing nothing, + Rufus went to make inquiries at the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “My master has gone out of town, sir,” said Toff, opening the door. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Anybody with him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Any news of Sally?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus stepped into the hall. “Look here, Mr. Frenchman, three times is + enough. I have already apologized for treating you like a teetotum, on a + former occasion. I’m afraid I shall do it again, sir, if I don’t get an + answer to my next question—my hands are itching to be at you, they + are! When is Amelius expected back?” + </p> + <p> + “Your question is positive, sir,” said Toff, with dignity. “I am happy to + be able to meet it with a positive reply. My master is expected back in + three weeks’ time.” + </p> + <p> + Having obtained some information at last, Rufus debated with himself what + he should do next. He decided that “the boy was worth waiting for,” and + that his wisest course (as a good American) would be to go back, and wait + in Paris. + </p> + <p> + Passing through the Garden of the Tuileries, two or three days later, and + crossing to the Rue de Rivoli, the name of one of the hotels in that + quarter reminded him of Regina. He yielded to the prompting of curiosity, + and inquired if Mr. Farnaby and his niece were still in Paris. + </p> + <p> + The manager of the hotel was in the porter’s lodge at the time. So far as + he knew, he said, Mr. Farnaby and his niece, and an English gentleman with + them, were now on their travels. They had left the hotel with an + appearance of mystery. The courier had been discharged; and the coachman + of the hired carriage which took them away had been told to drive straight + forward until further orders. In short, as the manager put it, the + departure resembled a flight. Remembering what his American agent had told + him, Rufus received this information without surprise. Even the apparently + incomprehensible devotion of Mr. Melton to the interests of such a man as + Farnaby, failed to present itself to him as a perplexing circumstance. To + his mind, Mr. Melton’s conduct was plainly attributable to a reward in + prospect; and the name of that reward was—Miss Regina. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the three weeks, Rufus returned to London. + </p> + <p> + Once again, he and Toff confronted each other on the threshold of the + door. This time, the genial old man presented an appearance that was + little less than dazzling. From head to foot he was arrayed in new + clothes; and he exhibited an immense rosette of white ribbon in his + button-hole. + </p> + <p> + “Thunder!” cried Rufus. “Here’s Mr. Frenchman going to be married!” + </p> + <p> + Toff declined to humour the joke. He stood on his dignity as stiffly as + ever. “Pardon me, sir, I possess a wife and family already.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you, now? Well—none of your know-nothing answers this time. Has + Amelius come back?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And what’s the news of Sally?” + </p> + <p> + “Good news, sir. Miss Sally has come back too.” + </p> + <p> + “You call that good news, do you? I’ll say a word to Amelius. What are you + standing there for? Let me by.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me once more, sir. My master and Miss Sally do not receive + visitors today.” + </p> + <p> + “Your master and Miss Sally?” Rufus repeated. “Has this old creature been + liquoring up a little too freely? What do you mean,” he burst out, with a + sudden change of tone to stern surprise—“what do you mean by putting + your master and Sally together?” + </p> + <p> + Toff shot his bolt at last. “They will be together, sir, for the rest of + their lives. They were married this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Rufus received the blow in dead silence. He turned about, and went back to + his hotel. + </p> + <p> + Reaching his room, he opened the despatch box in which he kept his + correspondence, and picked out the long letter containing the description + by Amelius of his introduction to the ladies of the Farnaby family. He + took up the pen, and wrote the indorsement which has been quoted as an + integral part of the letter itself, in the Second Book of this narrative:— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, poor Amelius! He had better have gone back to Miss Mellicent, and put + up with the little drawback of her age. What a bright lovable fellow he + was! Goodbye to Goldenheart!” + </p> + <p> + Were the forebodings of Rufus destined to be fulfilled? This question will + be answered, it is hoped, in a Second Series of The Fallen Leaves. The + narrative of the married life of Amelius presents a subject too important + to be treated within the limits of the present story—and the First + Series necessarily finds its end in the culminating event of his life, + thus far. + </p> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fallen Leaves, by Wilkie Collins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FALLEN LEAVES *** + +***** This file should be named 7894-h.htm or 7894-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/9/7894/ + +Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger + + +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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