diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 8135-8.txt | 16254 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 8135-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 311284 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 8135-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 329312 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 8135-h/8135-h.htm | 16290 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 8135-h/images/sonore.png | bin | 0 -> 12953 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 8135.txt | 16254 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 8135.zip | bin | 0 -> 311243 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
10 files changed, 48814 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8135-8.txt b/8135-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..681c59d --- /dev/null +++ b/8135-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16254 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cathedral, by Sir Hugh Walpole + +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/license + + +Title: The Cathedral + +Author: Sir Hugh Walpole + +Posting Date: March 15, 2012 [EBook #8135] +Release Date: May, 2005 +[This file was first posted on June 17, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CATHEDRAL *** + + + + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +THE CATHEDRAL + +_A Novel_ + +by HUGH WALPOLE + +Author of _The Young Enchanted_, _The Captives_, +_Jeremy_, _The Secret City_, _The Green Mirror_, etc. + + + + +TO +JESSIE AND JOSEPH CONRAD +WITH MUCH LOVE + + +[Illustration: Sonore sans dureto] + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK I: Prelude + + I. Brandons + II. Ronders + III. One of Joan's Days + IV. The Impertinent Elephan + V. Mrs. Brandon Goes Out to Tea + VI. Seatown Mist and Cathedral Dust + VII. Ronder's Day +VIII. Son--Father + + +BOOK II: The Whispering Gallery + + I. Five O'Clock--The Green Cloud + II. Souls on Sunday + III. The May-Day Prologue + IV. The Genial Heart + V. Falk by the River + VI. Falk's Flight + VII. Brandon Puts On His Armour +VIII. The Wind Flies Over the House + IX. The Quarrel + + +Book III: The Jubilee + + I. June 17, Thursday: Anticipation + II. Friday, June 18: Shadow Meets Shadow + III. Saturday, June 19: The Ball + IV. Sunday, June 20: In the Bedroom + V. Tuesday, June 22: I. The Cathedral + VI. Tuesday, June 22: II. The Fair + VII. Tuesday, June 22: III. Torchlight + + +Book IV: The Last Stand + + I. In Ronder's House: Ronder, Wistons + II. Two in the House + III. Prelude to Battle + IV. The Last Tournament + + + + +Book I + +Prelude + + + +"Thou shalt have none other gods but Me." + + + + +Chapter I + +Brandons + + + +Adam Brandon was born at Little Empton in Kent in 1839. He was educated at +the King's School, Canterbury, and at Pembroke College, Cambridge. +Ordained in 1863, he was first curate at St. Martin's, Portsmouth, then +Chaplain to the Bishop of Worcester; in the year 1875 he accepted the +living of Pomfret in Wiltshire and was there for twelve years. It was in +1887 that he came to our town; he was first Canon and afterwards +Archdeacon. Ten years later he had, by personal influence and strength of +character, acquired so striking a position amongst us that he was often +alluded to as "the King of Polchester." His power was the greater because +both our Bishop (Bishop Purcell) and our Dean (Dean Sampson) during that +period were men of retiring habits of life. A better man, a greater saint +than Bishop Purcell has never lived, but in 1896 he was eighty-six years +of age and preferred study and the sanctity of his wonderful library at +Carpledon to the publicity and turmoil of a public career; Dean Sampson, +gentle and amiable as he was, was not intended by nature for a moulder of +men. He was, however, one of the best botanists in the County and his +little book on "Glebshire Ferns" is, I believe, an authority in its own +line. + +Archdeacon Brandon was, of course, greatly helped by his magnificent +physical presence. "Magnificent" is not, I think, too strong a word. Six +feet two or three in height, he had the figure of an athlete, light blue +eyes, and his hair was still, when he was fifty-eight years of age, thick +and fair and curly like that of a boy. He looked, indeed, marvellously +young, and his energy and grace of movement might indeed have belonged to +a youth still in his teens. It is not difficult to imagine how startling +an effect his first appearance in Polchester created. Many of the +Polchester ladies thought that he was like "a Greek God" (the fact that +they had never seen one gave them the greater confidence), and Miss +Dobell, who was the best read of all the ladies in our town, called him +"the Viking." This stuck to him, being an easy and emphatic word and +pleasantly cultured. + +Indeed, had Brandon come to Polchester as a single man there might have +been many broken hearts; however, in 1875 he had married Amy Broughton, +then a young girl of twenty. He had by her two children, a boy, Falcon, +now twenty-one years of age, and a girl, Joan, just eighteen. Brandon +therefore was safe from the feminine Polchester world; our town is famous +among Cathedral cities for the morality of its upper classes. + +It would not have been possible during all these years for Brandon to have +remained unconscious of the remarkable splendour of his good looks. He was +very well aware of it, but any one who called him conceited (and every one +has his enemies) did him a grave injustice. He was not conceited at all-- +he simply regarded himself as a completely exceptional person. He was not +elated that he was exceptional, he did not flatter himself because it was +so; God had seen fit (in a moment of boredom, perhaps, at the number of +insignificant and misshaped human beings He was forced to create) to fling +into the world, for once, a truly Fine Specimen, Fine in Body, Fine in +Soul, Fine in Intellect. Brandon had none of the sublime egoism of Sir +Willoughby Patterne--he thought of others and was kindly and often +unselfish--but he did, like Sir Willoughby, believe himself to be of quite +another clay from the rest of mankind. He was intended to rule, God had +put him into the world for that purpose, and rule he would--to the glory +of God and a little, if it must be so, to the glory of himself. He was a +very simple person, as indeed were most of the men and women in the +Polchester of 1897. He did not analyse motives, whether his own or any one +else's; he was aware that he had "weaknesses" (his ungovernable temper was +a source of real distress to him at times--at other times he felt that it +had its uses). On the whole, however, he was satisfied with himself, his +appearance, his abilities, his wife, his family, and, above all, his +position in Polchester. This last was very splendid. + +His position in the Cathedral, in the Precincts, in the Chapter, in the +Town, was unshakable. + +He trusted in God, of course, but, like a wise man, he trusted also in +himself. + +It happened that on a certain wild and stormy afternoon in October 1896 +Brandon was filled with a great exultation. As he stood, for a moment, at +the door of his house in the Precincts before crossing the Green to the +Cathedral, he looked up at the sky obscured with flying wrack of cloud, +felt the rain drive across his face, heard the elms in the neighbouring +garden creaking and groaning, saw the lights of the town far beneath the +low wall that bounded the Precincts sway and blink in the storm, his heart +beat with such pride and happiness that it threatened to burst the body +that contained it. There had not been, perhaps, that day anything +especially magnificent to elate him; he had won, at the Chapter Meeting +that morning, a cheap and easy victory over Canon Foster, the only Canon +in Polchester who still showed, at times, a wretched pugnacious resistance +to his opinion; he had met Mrs. Combermere afterwards in the High Street +and, on the strength of his Chapter victory, had dealt with her haughtily; +he had received an especially kind note from Lady St. Leath asking him to +dinner early next month; but all these events were of too usual a nature +to excite his triumph. + +No, there had descended upon him this afternoon that especial ecstasy that +is surrendered once and again by the gods to men to lead them, maybe, into +some especial blunder or to sharpen, for Olympian humour, the contrast of +some swiftly approaching anguish. + +Brandon stood for a moment, his head raised, his chest out, his soul in +flight, feeling the sharp sting of the raindrops upon his cheek; then, +with a little breath of pleasure and happiness, he crossed the Green to +the little dark door of Saint Margaret's Chapel. + +The Cathedral hung over him, as he stood, feeling in his pocket for his +key, a huge black shadow, vast indeed to-day, as it mingled with the grey +sky and seemed to be taking part in the directing of the wildness of the +storm. Two little gargoyles, perched on the porch of Saint Margaret's +door, leered down upon the Archdeacon. The rain trickled down over their +naked twisted bodies, running in rivulets behind their outstanding ears, +lodging for a moment on the projection of their hideous nether lips. They +grinned down upon the Archdeacon, amused that he should have difficulty, +there in the rain, in finding his key. "Pah!" they heard him mutter, and +then, perhaps, something worse. The key was found, and he had then to bend +his great height to squeeze through the little door. Once inside, he was +at the corner of the Saint Margaret Chapel and could see, in the faint +half-light, the rosy colours of the beautiful Saint Margaret window that +glimmered ever so dimly upon the rows of cane-bottomed chairs, the dingy +red hassocks, and the brass tablets upon the grey stone walls. He walked +through, picking his way carefully in the dusk, saw for an instant the +high, vast expanse of the nave with its few twinkling lights that blew in +the windy air, then turned to the left into the Vestry, closing the door +behind him. Even as he closed the door he could hear high, high up above +him the ringing of the bell for Evensong. + +In the Vestry he found Canon Dobell and Canon Rogers. Dobell, the Minor +Canon who was singing the service, was a short, round, chubby clergyman, +thirty-eight years of age, whose great aim in life was to have an easy +time and agree with every one. He lived with a sister in a little house in +the Precincts and gave excellent dinners. Very different was Canon Rogers, +a thin esthetic man with black bushy eyebrows, a slight stoop and thin +brown hair. He took life with grim seriousness. He was a stupid man but +obstinate, dogmatic, and given to the condemnation of his fellow-men. He +hated innovations as strongly as the Archdeacon himself, but with his +clinging to old forms and rituals there went no self-exaltation. He was a +cold-blooded man, although his obstinacy seemed sometimes to point to a +fiery fanaticism. But he was not a fanatic any more than a mule is one +when he plants his feet four-square and refuses to go forward. No +compliments nor threats could move him; he would have lived, had he had a +spark of asceticism, a hermit far from the haunts of men, but even that +withdrawal would have implied devotion. He was devoted to no one, to no +cause, to no religion, to no ambition. He spent his days in maintaining +things as they were, not because he loved them, simply because he was +obstinate. Brandon quite frankly hated him. + +In the farther room the choir-boys were standing in their surplices, +whispering and giggling. The sound of the bell was suddenly emphatic. +Canon Rogers stood, his hands folded motionless, gazing in front of him. +Dobell, smiling so that a dimple appeared in each cheek, said in his +chuckling whisper to Brandon: + +"Ronder comes to-day, doesn't he?" + +"Ronder?" Brandon repeated, coming abruptly out of his secret exultation. + +"Yes...Hart-Smith's successor." + +"Oh, yes--I believe he does...." + +Cobbett, the Verger, with his gold staff, appeared in the Vestry door. A +tall handsome man, he had been in the service of the Cathedral as man and +boy for fifty years. He had his private ambitions, the main one being that +old Lawrence, the head Verger, in his opinion a silly old fool, should die +and permit his own legitimate succession. Another ambition was that he +should save enough money to buy another three cottages down in Seatown. He +owned already six there. But no one observing his magnificent impassivity +(he was famous for this throughout ecclesiastical Glebeshire) would have +supposed that he had any thought other than those connected with ceremony. +As he appeared the organ began its voluntary, the music stealing through +the thick grey walls, creeping past the stout grey pillars that had +listened, with so impervious an immobility, to an endless succession of +voluntaries. The Archdeacon prayed, the choir responded with a long Amen, +and the procession filed out, the boys with faces pious and wistful, the +choir-men moving with nonchalance, their restless eyes wandering over the +scene so absolutely known to them. Then came Rogers like a martyr; Dobell +gaily as though he were enjoying some little joke of his own; last of all, +Brandon, superb in carriage, in dignity, in his magnificent recognition of +the value of ceremony. + +Because to-day was simply an ordinary afternoon with an ordinary Anthem +and an ordinary service (Martin in F) the congregation was small, the +gates of the great screen closed with a clang behind the choir, and the +nave, purple grey under the soft light of the candle-lit choir, was shut +out into twilight. In the high carved seats behind and beyond the choir +the congregation was sitting; Miss Dobell, who never missed a service that +her brother was singing, with her pinched white face and funny old- +fashioned bonnet, lost between the huge arms of her seat; Mrs. Combermere, +with a friend, stiff and majestic; Mrs. Cole and her sister-in-law, Amy +Cole; a few tourists; a man or two; Major Drake, who liked to join in the +psalms with his deep bass; and little Mr. Thompson, one of the masters at +the School who loved music and always came to Evensong when he could. + +There they were then, and the Archdeacon, looking at them from his stall, +could not but feel that they were rather a poor lot. Not that he exactly +despised them; he felt kindly towards them and would have done no single +one of them an injury, but he knew them all so well--Mrs. Combermere, Miss +Dobell, Mrs. Cole, Drake, Thompson. They were shadows before him. If he +looked hard at them, they seemed to disappear.... + +The exultation that he had felt as he stood outside his house-door +increased with every moment that passed. It was strange, but he had never, +perhaps, in all his life been so happy as he was at that hour. He was +driven by the sense of it to that, with him, rarest of all things, +introspection. Why should he feel like this? Why did his heart beat +thickly, why were his cheeks flushed with a triumphant heat? It could not +but be that he was realising to-day how everything was well with him. And +why should he not realise it? Looking up to the high vaulted roofs above +him, he greeted God, greeted Him as an equal, and thanked Him as a fellow- +companion who had helped him through a difficult and dusty journey. He +thanked Him for his health, for his bodily vigour and strength, for his +beauty, for his good brain, for his successful married life, for his wife +(poor Amy), for his house and furniture, for his garden and tennis-lawn, +for his carriage and horses, for his son, for his position in the town, +his dominance in the Chapter, his authority on the School Council, his +importance in the district.... For all these things he thanked God, and he +greeted Him with an outstretched hand. + +"As one power to another," his soul cried, "greetings! You have been a +true and loyal friend to me. Anything that I can do for You I will do...." + +The time came for him to read the First Lesson. He crossed to the Lectern +and was conscious that the tourists were whispering together about him. He +read aloud, in his splendid voice, something about battles and vengeance, +plagues and punishment, God's anger and the trembling Israelites. He might +himself have been an avenging God as he read. He was uplifted with the +glory of power and the exultation of personal dominion... + +He crossed back to his seat, and, as they began the "Magnificat," his eye +alighted on the tomb of the Black Bishop. In the volume on Polchester in +Chimes' Cathedral Series (4th edition, 1910), page 52, you will find this +description of the Black Bishop's Tomb: "It stands between the pillars at +the far east end of the choir in the eighth bay from the choir screen. The +stone screen which surrounds the tomb is of most elaborate workmanship, +and it has, in certain lights, the effect of delicate lace; the canopy +over the tomb has pinnacles which rise high above the level of the choir- +stalls. The tomb itself is made from a solid block of a dark blue stone. +The figure of the bishop, carved in black marble, lies with his hands +folded across his breast, clothed in his Episcopal robes and mitre, and +crozier on his shoulder. At his feet are a vizor and a pair of gauntlets, +these also carved in black marble. On one finger of his right hand is a +ring carved from some green stone. His head is raised by angels and at his +feet beyond the vizor and gauntlets are tiny figures of four knights fully +armed. A small arcade runs round the tomb with a series of shields in the +spaces, and these shields have his motto, 'God giveth Strength,' and the +arms of the See of Polchester. His epitaph in brass round the edge of the +tomb has thus been translated: + +"'Here, having surrendered himself back to God, lies Henry of Arden. His +life, which was distinguished for its great piety, its unfailing +generosity, its noble statesmanship, was rudely taken in the nave of this +Cathedral by men who feared neither the punishment of their fellows nor +the just vengeance of an irate God. + +"'He died, bravely defending this great house of Prayer, and is now, in +eternal happiness, fulfilling the reward of all good and faithful +servants, at his Master's side.'" + +It has been often remarked by visitors to the Cathedral how curiously this +tomb catches light from all sides of the building, but this is undoubtedly +in the main due to the fact that the blue stone of which it is chiefly +composed responds immediately to the purple and violet lights that fall +from the great East window. On a summer day the blue of the tomb seems +almost opaque as though it were made of blue glass, and the gilt on the +background of the screen and the brasses of the groins glitter and sparkle +like fire. + +Brandon to-day, wrapped in his strange mood of almost mystical triumph, +felt as though he were, indeed, a reincarnation of the great Bishop. + +As the "Magnificat" proceeded, he seemed to enter into the very tomb and +share in the Bishop's dust. "I stood beside you," he might almost have +cried, "when in the last savage encounter you faced them on the very steps +of the altar, striking down two of them with your fists, falling at last, +bleeding from a hundred wounds, but crying at the very end, 'God is my +right!'" + +As he stared across at the tomb, he seemed to see the great figure, +deserted by all his terrified adherents, lying in his blood in the now +deserted Cathedral; he saw the coloured dusk creep forward and cover him. +And then, in the darkness of the night, the two faithful servants who +crept in and carried away his body to keep it in safety until his day +should come again. + +Born in 1100, Henry of Arden had been the first Bishop to give Polchester +dignity and power. What William of Wykeham was to Winchester, that Henry +of Arden was to the See of Polchester. Through all the wild days of the +quarrel between Stephen and Matilda he had stood triumphant, yielding at +last only to the mad overwhelming attacks of his private enemies. Of those +he had had many. It had been said of him that "he thought himself God--the +proudest prelate on earth." Proud he may have been, but he had loved his +Bishopric. It was in his time that the Saint Margaret's Chapel had been +built, through his energy that the two great Western Towers had risen, +because of him that Polchester now could boast one of the richest revenues +of any Cathedral in Europe. Men said that he had plundered, stolen the +land of powerless men, himself headed forays against neighbouring villages +and even castles. He had done it for the greater glory of God. They had +been troublous times. It had been every man for himself.... + +He had told his people that he was God's chief servant; it was even said +that he had once, in the plenitude of his power, cried that he was God +Himself.... + +His figure remained to this very day dominating Polchester, vast in +stature, black-bearded, rejoicing in his physical strength. He could kill, +they used to say, an ox with his fist.... + +The "Gloria" rang triumphantly up into the shadows of the nave. Brandon +moved once more across to the Lectern. He read of the casting of the +money-changers out of the Temple. + +His voice quivered with pride and exultation so that Cobbett, who had +acquired, after many years' practice, the gift of sleeping during the +Lessons and Sermon with his eyes open, woke up with a start and wondered +what was the matter. + +Brandon's mood, when he was back in his own drawing-room, did not leave +him; it was rather intensified by the cosiness and security of his home. +Lying back in his large arm-chair in front of the fire, his long legs +stretched out before him, he could hear the rain beating on the window- +panes and beyond that the murmur of the organ (Brockett, the organist, was +practising, as he often did after Evensong). + +The drawing-room was a long narrow one with many windows; it was furnished +in excellent taste. The carpet and the curtains and the dark blue +coverings to the chairs were all a little faded, but this only gave them +an additional dignity and repose. There were two large portraits of +himself and Mrs. Brandon painted at the time of their marriage, some low +white book-shelves, a large copy of "Christ in the Temple"--plenty of +space, flowers, light. + +Mrs. Brandon was, at this time, a woman of forty-two, but she looked very +much less than that. She was slight, dark, pale, quite undistinguished. +She had large grey eyes that looked on to the ground when you spoke to +her. She was considered a very shy woman, negative in every way. She +agreed with everything that was said to her and seemed to have no opinions +of her own. She was simply "the wife of the Archdeacon." Mrs. Combermere +considered her a "poor little fool." She had no real friends in +Polchester, and it made little difference to any gathering whether she +were there or not. She had been only once known to lose her temper in +public--once in the market-place she had seen a farmer beat his horse over +the eyes. She had actually gone up to him and struck him. Afterwards she +had said that "she did not like to see animals ill-treated." The +Archdeacon had apologised for her, and no more had been said about it. The +farmer had borne her no grudge. + +She sat now at the little tea-table, her eyes screwed up over the serious +question of giving the Archdeacon his tea exactly as he wanted it. Her +whole mind was apparently engaged on this problem, and the Archdeacon did +not care to-day that she did not answer his questions and support his +comments because he was very, very happy, the whole of his being thrilling +with security and success and innocent pride. + +Joan Brandon came in. In appearance she was, as Mrs. Sampson said, +"insignificant." You would not look at her twice any more than you would +have looked at her mother twice. Her figure was slight and her legs (she +was wearing long skirts this year for the first time) too long. Her hair +was dark brown and her eyes dark brown. She had nice rosy cheeks, but they +were inclined to freckle. She smiled a good deal and laughed, when in +company, more noisily than was proper. "A bit of a tomboy, I'm afraid," +was what one used to hear about her. But she was not really a tomboy; she +moved quietly, and her own bedroom was always neat and tidy. She had very +little pocket-money and only seldom new clothes, not because the +Archdeacon was mean, but because Joan was so often forgotten and left out +of the scheme of things. It was surprising that the only girl in the house +should be so often forgotten, but the Archdeacon did not care for girls, +and Mrs. Brandon did not appear to think very often of any one except the +Archdeacon. Falk, Joan's brother, now at Oxford, when he was at home had +other things to do than consider Joan. She had gone, ever since she was +twelve, to the Polchester High School for Girls, and there she was +popular, and might have made many friends, had it not been that she could +not invite her companions to her home. Her father did not like "noise in +the house." She had been Captain of the Hockey team; the small girls in +the school had all adored her. She had left the place six months ago and +had come home to "help her mother." She had had, in honest fact, six +months' loneliness, although no one knew that except herself. Her mother +had not wanted her help. There had been nothing for her to do, and she had +felt herself too young to venture into the company of older girls in the +town. She had been rather "blue" and had looked back on Seafield House, +the High School, with longing, and then suddenly, one morning, for no very +clear reason she had taken a new view of life. Everything seemed +delightful and even thrilling, commonplace things that she had known all +her days, the High Street, keeping her rooms tidy, spending or saving the +minute monthly allowance, the Cathedral, the river. She was all in a +moment aware that something very delightful would shortly occur. What it +was she did not know, and she laughed at herself for imagining that +anything extraordinary could ever happen to any one so commonplace as +herself, but there the strange feeling was and it would not go away. + +To-day, as always when her father was there, she came in very quietly, sat +down near her mother, saw that she made no sort of interruption to the +Archdeacon's flow of conversation. She found that he was in a good humour +to-day, and she was glad of that because it would please her mother. She +herself had a great interest in all that he said. She thought him a most +wonderful man, and secretly was swollen with pride that she was his +daughter. It did not hurt her at all that he never took any notice of her. +Why should he? Nor did she ever feel jealous of Falk, her father's +favourite. That seemed to her quite natural. She had the idea, now most +thoroughly exploded but then universally held in Polchester, that women +were greatly inferior to men. She did not read the more advanced novels +written by Mme. Sarah Grand and Mrs. Lynn Linton. I am ashamed to say that +her favourite authors were Miss Alcott and Miss Charlotte Mary Yonge. +Moreover, she herself admired Falk extremely. He seemed to her a hero and +always right in everything that he did. + +Her father continued to talk, and behind the reverberation of his deep +voice the roll of the organ like an approving echo could faintly be heard. + +"There was a moment when I thought Foster was going to interfere. I've +been against the garden-roller from the first--they've got one and what do +they want another for? And, anyway, he thinks I meddle with the School's +affairs too much. Who wants to meddle with the School's affairs? I'm sure +they're nothing but a nuisance, but some one's got to prevent the place +from going to wrack and ruin, and if they all leave it to me I can't very +well refuse it, can I? Hey?" + +"No, dear." + +"You see what I mean?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"Well, then--" (As though Mrs. Brandon had just been overcome in an +argument in which she'd shown the greatest obstinacy.) "There you are. It +would be false modesty to deny that I've got the Chapter more or less in +my pocket And why shouldn't I have? Has any one worked harder for this +place and the Cathedral than I have?" + +"No, dear." + +"Well, then.... There's this new fellow Ronder coming to-day. Don't know +much about him, but he won't give much trouble, I expect--trouble in the +way of delaying things, I mean. What we want is work done expeditiously. +I've just about got that Chapter moving at last. Ten years' hard work. +Deserve a V.C. or something. Hey?" + +"Yes, dear, I'm sure you do." + +The Archdeacon gave one of his well-known roars of laughter--a laugh +famous throughout the county, a laugh described by his admirers as +"Homeric," by his enemies as "ear-splitting." There was, however, enemies +or no enemies, something sympathetic in that laugh, something boyish and +simple and honest. + +He suddenly pulled himself up, bringing his long legs close against his +broad chest. + +"No letter from Falk to-day, was there?" + +"No, dear." + +"Humph. That's three weeks we haven't heard. Hope there's nothing wrong." + +"What could there be wrong, dear?" + +"Nothing, of course.... Well, Joan, and what have you been doing with +yourself all day?" + +It was only in his most happy and resplendent moods that the Archdeacon +held jocular conversations with his daughter. These conversations had +been, in the past, moments of agony and terror to her, but since that +morning when she had suddenly woken to a realisation of the marvellous +possibilities in life her terror had left her. There were other people in +the world besides her father.... + +Nevertheless, a little, her agitation was still with her. She looked up at +him, smiling. + +"Oh, I don't know, father.... I went to the Library this morning to change +the books for mother--" + +"Novels, I suppose. No one ever reads anything but trash nowadays." + +"They hadn't anything that mother put down. They never have. Miss Milton +sits on the new novels and keeps them for Mrs. Sampson and Mrs. +Combermere." + +"Sits on them?" + +"Yes--really sits on them. I saw her take one from under her skirt the +other day when Mrs. Sampson asked for it. It was one that mother has +wanted a long time." + +The Archdeacon was angry. "I never heard anything so scandalous. I'll just +see to that. What's the use of being on the Library Committee if that kind +of thing happens? That woman shall go." + +"Oh no! father!..." + +"Of course she shall go. I never heard anything so dishonest in my +life!..." + +Joan remembered that little conversation until the end of her life. And +with reason. + +The door was flung open. Some one came hurriedly in, then stopped, with a +sudden arrested impulse, looking at them. It was Falk. + +Falk was a very good-looking man--fair hair, light blue eyes like his +father's, slim and straight and quite obviously fearless. It was that +quality of courage that struck every one who saw him; it was not only that +he feared, it seemed, no one and nothing, but that he went a step further +than that, spending his life in defying every one and everything, as a +practised dueller might challenge every one he met in order to keep his +play in practice. "I don't like young Brandon," Mrs. Sampson said. "He +snorts contempt at you...." + +He was only twenty-one, a contemptuous age. He looked as though he had +been living in that house for weeks, although, as a fact, he had just +driven up, after a long and tiresome journey, in an ancient cab through +the pouring rain. The Archdeacon gazed at his son in a bewildered, +confused amaze, as though he, a convinced sceptic, were suddenly +confronted, in broad daylight, with an undoubted ghost. + +"What's the matter?" he said at last. "Why are you here?" + +"I've been sent down," said Falk. + +It was characteristic of the relationship in that family that, at that +statement, Mrs. Brandon and Joan did not look at Falk but at the +Archdeacon. + +"Sent down!" + +"Yes, for ragging! They wanted to do it last term." + +"Sent down!" The Archdeacon shot to his feet; his voice suddenly lifted +into a cry. "And you have the impertinence to come here and tell me! You +walk in as though nothing had happened! You walk in!..." + +"You're angry," said Falk, smiling. "Of course I knew you would be. You +might hear me out first. But I'll come along when I've unpacked and you're +a bit cooler. I wanted some tea, but I suppose that will have to wait. You +just listen, father, and you'll find it isn't so bad. Oxford's a rotten +place for any one who wants to be on his own, and, anyway, you won't have +to pay my bills any more." + +Falk turned and went. + +The Archdeacon, as he stood there, felt a dim mysterious pain as though an +adversary whom he completely despised had found suddenly with his weapon a +joint in his armour. + + + + +Chapter II + +Ronders + + + +The train that brought Falk Brandon back to Polchester brought also the +Ronders--Frederick Ronder, newly Canon of Polchester, and his aunt, Miss +Alice Ronder. About them the station gathered in a black cloud, dirty, +obscure, lit by flashes of light and flame, shaken with screams, +rumblings, the crashing of carriage against carriage, the rattle of cab- +wheels on the cobbles outside. To-day also there was the hiss and scatter +of the rain upon the glass roof. The Ronders stood, not bewildered, for +that they never were, but thinking what would be best. The new Canon was a +round man, round-shouldered, round-faced, round-stomached, round legged. A +fair height, he was not ludicrous, but it seemed that if you laid him down +he would roll naturally, still smiling, to the farthest end of the +station. He wore large, very round spectacles. His black clerical coat and +trousers and hat were scrupulously clean and smartly cut. He was not a +dandy, but he was not shabby. He smiled a great deal, not nervously as +curates are supposed to smile, not effusively, but simply with geniality. +His aunt was a contrast, thin, straight, stiff white collar, little black +bow-tie, coat like a man's, skirt with no nonsense about it. No nonsense +about her anywhere. She was not unamiable, perhaps, but business came +first. + +"Well, what do we do?" he asked. + +"We collect our bags and find the cab," she answered briskly. + +They found their bags, and there were a great many of them; Miss Ronder, +having seen that they were all there and that there was no nonsense about +the porter, moved off to the barrier followed by her nephew. + +As they came into the station square, all smelling of hay and the rain, +the deluge slowly withdrew its forces, recalling them gradually so that +the drops whispered now, patter-patter--pit-pat. A pigeon hovered down and +pecked at the cobbles. Faint colour threaded the thick blotting-paper +grey. + +Old Fawcett himself had come to the station to meet them. Why had he felt +it to be an occasion? God only knows. A new Canon was nothing to him. He +very seldom now, being over eighty, with a strange "wormy" pain in his +left ear, took his horses out himself. He saved his money and counted it +over by his fireside to see that his old woman didn't get any of it. He +hated his old woman, and in a vaguely superstitious, thoroughly Glebeshire +fashion half-believed that she had cast a spell over him and was really +responsible for his "wormy" ear. + +Why had he come? He didn't himself know. Perhaps Ronder was going to be of +importance in the place, he had come from London and they all had money in +London. He licked his purple protruding lips greedily as he saw the +generous man. Yes, kindly and generous he looked.... + +They got into the musty cab and rattled away over the cobbles. + +"I hope Mrs. Clay got the telegram all right." Miss Ronder's thin bosom +was a little agitated beneath its white waistcoat. "You'll never forgive +me if things aren't looking as though we'd lived in the place for months." + +Alice Ronder was over sixty and as active as a woman of forty. Ronder +looked at her and laughed. + +"Never forgive you! What words! Do I ever cherish grievances? Never... +but I do like to be comfortable." + +"Well, everything was all right a week ago. I've slaved at the place, as +you know, and Mrs. Clay's a jewel--but she complains of the Polchester +maids--says there isn't one that's any good. Oh, I want my tea, I want my +tea!" + +They were climbing up from the market-place into the High Street. Ronder +looked about him with genial curiosity. + +"Very nice," he said; "I believe I can be comfortable here." + +"If you aren't comfortable you certainly won't stay," she answered him +sharply. + +"Then I _must_ be comfortable," he replied, laughing. + +He laughed a great deal, but absent-mindedly, as though his thoughts were +elsewhere. It would have been interesting to a student of human nature to +have been there and watched him as he sat back in the cab, looking through +the window, indeed, but seeing apparently nothing. He seemed to be gazing +through his round spectacles very short-sightedly, his eyes screwed up and +dim. His fat soft hands were planted solidly on his thick knees. + +The observer would have been interested because he would soon have +realised that Ronder saw everything; nothing, however insignificant, +escaped him, but he seemed to see with his brain as though he had learnt +the trick of forcing it to some new function that did not properly belong +to it. The broad white forehead under the soft black clerical hat was +smooth, unwrinkled, mild and calm.... He had trained it to be so. + +The High Street was like any High Street of a small Cathedral town in the +early evening. The pavements were sleek and shiny after the rain; people +were walking with the air of being unusually pleased with the world, +always the human expression when the storms have withdrawn and there is +peace and colour in the sky. There were lights behind the solemn panes of +Bennett's the bookseller's, that fine shop whose first master had seen Sir +Walter Scott in London and spoken to Byron. In his window were rows of the +classics in calf and first editions of the Surtees books and _Dr. +Syntax_. At the very top of the High Street was Mellock's the pastry- +cook's, gay with its gas, rich with its famous saffron buns, its still +more famous ginger-bread cake, and, most famous of all, its lemon +biscuits. Even as the Ronders' cab paused for a moment before it turned to +pass under the dark Arden Gate on to the asphalt of the Precincts, the +great Mrs. Mellock herself, round and rubicund, came to the door and +looked about her at the weather. An errand-boy passed, whistling, down the +hill, a stiff military-looking gentleman with white moustaches mounted +majestically the steps of the Conservative Club; then they rattled under +the black archway, echoed for a moment on the noisy cobbles, then slipped +into the quiet solemnity of the Precincts asphalt. It was Brandon who had +insisted on the asphalt. Old residents had complained that to take away +the cobbles would be to rid the Precincts of all its atmosphere. + +"I don't care about atmosphere," said the Archdeacon, "I want to sleep at +night." + +Very quiet here; not a sound penetrated. The Cathedral was a huge shadow +above its darkened lawns; not a human soul was to be seen. + +The cab stopped with a jerk at Number Eight. The bell was rung by old +Fawcett, who stood on the top step looking down at Ronder and wondering +how much he dared to ask him. Ask him too much now and perhaps he would +not deal with him in the future. Moreover, although the man wore large +spectacles and was fat he was probably not a fool.... Fawcett could not +tell why he was so sure, but there was something.... + +Mrs. Clay was at the door, smiling and ordering a small frightened girl to +"hurry up now." Miss Ronder disappeared into the house. Ronder stood for a +moment looking about him as though he were a spy in enemy country and must +let nothing escape him. + +"Whose is that big place there?" he asked Fawcett, pointing to a house +that stood by itself at the farther corner of the Precincts. + +"Archdeacon Brandon's, sir." + +"Oh!..." Ronder mounted the steps. "Good night," he said to Fawcett. "Mrs. +Clay, pay the cabman, please." + +The Ronders had taken this house a month ago; for two months before that +it had stood desolate, wisps of paper and straw blowing about it, its "To +let" notice creaking and screaming in every wind. The Hon. Mrs. +Pentecoste, an eccentric old lady, had lived there for many years, and had +died in the middle of a game of patience; her worn and tattered furniture +had been sold at auction, and the house had remained unlet for a +considerable period because people in the town said that the ghost of Mrs. +Pentecoste's cat (a famous blue Persian) walked there. The Ronders cared +nothing for ghosts; the house was exactly what they wanted. It had two +panelled rooms, two powder-closets, and a little walled garden at the back +with fruit trees. + +It was quite wonderful what Miss Ronder had done in a month; she had +abandoned Eaton Square for a week, worked in the Polchester house like a +slave, then retired back to Eaton Square again, leaving Mrs. Clay, her +aide-de-camp, to manage the rest. Mrs. Clay had managed very well. She +would not have been in the service of the Ronders for nearly fifteen years +had she not had a gift for managing.... + +Ronder, washed and brushed, came down to tea, looked about him, and saw +that all was good. + +"I congratulate you, Aunt Alice," he said--"excellent!" + +Miss Ronder very slightly flushed. + +"There are a lot of things still to be done," she said; nevertheless she +was immensely pleased. + +The drawing-room was charming. The stencilled walls, the cushions of the +chairs, the cover of a gate-legged table, the curtains of the mullioned +windows were of a warm dark blue. And whatever in the room was not blue +seemed to be white, or wood in its natural colour, or polished brass. +Books ran round the room in low white book-cases. In one corner a pure +white Hermes stood on a pedestal with tiny wings outspread. There was only +one picture, an excellent copy of "Rembrandt's mother." The windows looked +out to the garden, now veiled by the dusk of evening. Tea was on a little +table close to the white tiled fireplace. A little square brass clock +chimed the half-hour as Ronder came in. + +"I suppose Ellen will be over," Ronder said. He drank in the details of +the room with a quite sensual pleasure. He went over to the Hermes and +lifted it, holding it for a moment in his podgy hands. + +"You beauty!" he whispered aloud. He put it back, turned round to his +aunt. + +"Of course Ellen will be over," he repeated. + +"Of course," Miss Ronder repeated, picking up the old square black lacquer +tea-caddy and peering into it. + +He picked up the books on the table--two novels, _Sentimental Tommy_, +by J. M. Barrie, and _Sir George Tressady_, by Mrs. Humphry Ward, Mr. +Swinburne's _Tale of Balen_, and _The Works of Max Beerbohm_. +Last of all Leslie Stephen's _Social Rights and Duties_. + +He looked at them all, with their light yellow Mudie labels, their fresh +bindings, then, slowly and very carefully, put them back on the table. + +He always handled books as though they were human beings. + +He came and sat down by the fire. + +"I won't see over the place until to-morrow," he said. "What have you done +about the other books?" + +"The book-cases are in. It's the best room in the house. Looks over the +river and gets most of the light. The books are as you packed them. I +haven't dared touch them. In fact, I've left that room entirely for you to +arrange." + +"Well," he said, "if you've done the rest of this house as well as this +room, you'll do. It's jolly--it really is. I'm going to like this place." + +"And you hated the very idea of it." + +"I hated the discomfort there'd be before we settled in. But the settling +in is going to be easier than I thought. Of course we don't know yet how +the land lies. Ellen will tell us." + +They were silent for a little. Then he looked at her with a puzzled, half- +humorous, half-ironical glance. + +"It's a bit of a blow to you, Aunt Alice, burying yourself down here. +London was the breath of your nostrils. What did you come for? Love of +me?" + +She looked steadily back at him. + +"Not love exactly. Curiosity, perhaps. I want to see at first hand what +you'll do. You're the most interesting human being I've ever met, and that +isn't prejudice. Aunts do not, as a rule, find their nephews interesting. +And what have you come here for? I assure you I haven't the least idea." + +The door was opened by Mrs. Clay. + +"Miss Stiles," she said. + +Miss Stiles, who came in, was not handsome. She was large and fat, with a +round red face like a sun, and she wore colours too bright for her size. +She had a slow soft voice like the melancholy moo of a cow. She was not a +bad woman, but, temperamentally, was made unhappy by the success or good +fortune of others. Were you in distress, she would love you, cherish you, +never abandon you. She would share her last penny with you, run to the end +of the world for you, defend you before the whole of humanity. Were you, +however, in robust health, she would hint to every one of a possible +cancer; were you popular, it would worry her terribly and she would +discover a thousand faults in your character; were you successful in your +work, she would pray for your approaching failure lest you should become +arrogant. She gossiped without cessation, and always, as it were, to +restore the proper balance of the world, to pull down the mighty from +their high places, to lift the humble only that they in their turn might +be pulled down. She played fluently and execrably on the piano. She spent +her day in running from house to house. + +She had independent means, lived four months of the year in Polchester +(she had been born there and her family had been known there for many +generations before her), four months in London, and the rest of the year +abroad. She had met Alice Ronder in London and attached herself to her. +She liked the Ronders because they never boasted of their successes, +because Alice had a weak heart, because Ronder, who knew her character, +half-humorously deprecated his talents, which were, as he knew well +enough, no mean ones. She bored Alice Ronder, but Ronder found her useful. +She told him a great deal that he wanted to know, and although she was +never accurate in her information, he could separate the wheat from the +chaff. She was a walking mischief-maker, but meant no harm to a living +soul. She prided herself on her honesty, on saying exactly what she +thought to every one. She was kindness itself to her servants, who adored +her, as did railway-porters, cabmen and newspaper men. She overtipped +wherever she went because "she could not bear not to be liked." In our +Polchester world she was an important factor. She was always the first to +hear any piece of news in our town, and she gave it a wrong twist just as +fast as she could. + +She was really delighted to see the Ronders, and told them so with many +assurances of affection, but she was a little distressed to find the room +so neat and settled. She would have preferred them to be "in a thorough +mess" and badly in need of her help. + +"My dear Alice, how quick you've been! How clever you are! At the same +time I think you'll find there's a good deal to arrange still. The +Polchester girls are so slow and always breaking things. I suppose some +things have been smashed in the move--nothing very valuable, I hope." + +"Lots of things, Ellen," said Ronder, laughing. "We've had the most awful +time and badly need your help. It's only this room that Aunt Alice got +straight--just to have something to show, you know. And our journey down! +I can't tell you what it was, hardly room to breathe and coming up here in +the rain!" + +"Oh, you poor things! What a welcome to Polchester! You must simply have +hated the look of the whole place. _Such_ a bad introduction, and +everything looking as gloomy and depressing as possible. I expect you +wished yourselves well out of it. I don't wonder you're depressed. I hope +you're not feeling your heart, Alice dear." + +"Well, I am a little," acknowledged Miss Ronder. "But I shall go to bed +early and get a good night." + +"You poor dear! I was afraid you'd be absolutely done up. Now, you're +_not_ to get up in the morning and I'll run about and do your +shopping for you. I _insist_. How's Mrs. Clay?" + +"A little grumpy at having so much to do," said Ronder, "but she'll get +over it." + +"I'm afraid she's a little ill-tempered at times," said Miss Stiles with +satisfaction. "I thought when I came in that she looked out of sorts. +Troubles never come singly, of course." + +All was well now and Miss Stiles completely satisfied. She admired the +room and the Hermes, and prophesied that, after a week or two, they would +probably find things not so bad after all. She drank several cups of tea +and passed on to general conversation. It was obvious, very soon, that she +was bursting with a piece of news. + +"I can see, Ellen," said Ronder, humorously observing her, "that you're +longing to tell us something." + +"Well, it is interesting. What do you think? Falk Brandon has been sent +down from Oxford for misbehaviour." + +"And who is Falk Brandon?" asked Ronder. + +"The Archdeacon's son. His only boy. I've told you about Archdeacon +Brandon many times. He thinks he runs the town and has been terribly above +himself for a long while. This will pull him down a little. I must say, +although I don't want to be uncharitable, that I'm glad of it. It's too +absurd the way that he's been having everything his own way here. All the +Canons are over ninety and simply give in to him about everything." + +"When did this happen?" + +"Oh, it's only just happened. He arrived by your train. I saw young George +Lascelles as I was on my way up to you. He met him at the station--Falk, I +mean--and he didn't pretend to disguise it. George said 'Hullo, Brandon, +what are you doing here?' and Falk said 'Oh, I've been sent down'--just +like that. Didn't pretend to disguise it. He's always been as brazen as +anything. He'll give his father a lot of trouble before he's done." + +"There's nothing very terrible," said Ronder, laughing, "in being sent +down from Oxford. I've known plenty of good fellows who were." + +Miss Stiles looked annoyed. "Oh, but you don't know. It will be terrible +for his father. He's the proudest man in England. Some people call it +conceit, but, however that may be, he thinks there's nothing like his +family. Even poor Mrs. Brandon he's proud of when she isn't there. It will +be awful for him that every one should know." + +Ronder said nothing. + +"You know," said Miss Stiles, who felt that her news had fallen flat, +"you'll have to fight him or give in to him. There's no other way here. I +hope you'll fight him." + +"I?" said Ronder. "Why, I never fight anybody. I'm much too lazy." + +"Then you'll never be comfortable here, that's all. He can't bear being +crossed. He must have his way about everything. If the Bishop weren't so +old and the Dean so stupid.... What we want here is a little life in the +place." + +"You needn't look to us for that, Ellen," said Ronder. "We've come here to +rest----" + +"Peace, perfect peace...." + +"I don't believe you," said Miss Stiles, tossing her head. "I'd be +disappointed to think it of you." + +Alice Ronder gave her nephew a curious look, half of amusement, half of +expectation. + +"It's quite true, Ellen," she said. "Now, if you've finished your tea, +come and look at the rest of the house." + + + + +Chapter III + +One of Joan's Days + + + +I find it difficult now to realise how apart from the life of the world +Polchester was in those days. Even now, when the War has shaken up and +jostled together every small village in Great Britain, Polchester still +has some shreds of its isolation left to it; but then--why, it might have +been a walled-in fortress of mediaeval times, for all its connection with +the outside world! + +This isolation was quite deliberately maintained. I don't mean, of course, +that Mrs. Combermere and Brandon and old Bentinck-Major and Mrs. Sampson +said to themselves in so many words, "We will keep this to ourselves and +defend its walls against every new invader, every new idea, new custom, +new impulse. We will all be butchered rather than allow one old form, +tradition, superstition to go!" It was not as conscious as that, but in +effect it was that that it came to. And they were wonderfully assisted by +circumstances. It is true that the main line ran through Polchester from +Drymouth, but its travellers were hurrying south, and only a few trippers, +a few Americans, a few sentimentalists stayed to see the Cathedral; and +those who stayed found "The Bull" an impossibly inconvenient and +uncomfortable hostelry and did not come again. It is true that even then, +in 1897, there were many agitations by sharp business men like Crosbie and +John Allen, Croppet and Fred Barnstaple, to make the place more widely +known, more commercially attractive. It was not until later that the golf +course was laid out and the St. Leath Hotel rose on Pol Hill. But other +things were tried--steamers on the Pol, char-à-bancs to various places of +local interest, and so on--but, at this time, all these efforts failed. +The Cathedral was too strong for them, above all Brandon and Mrs. +Combermere were too strong for them. Nothing was done to encourage +strangers; I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Combermere didn't pay old Jolliffe +of "The Bull" so much a year to keep his hotel inconvenient and +insanitary. The men on the Town Council were for the most part like the +Canons, aged and conservative. It is true that it was in 1897 that +Barnstaple was elected Mayor, but without Ronder I doubt whether even he +would have been able to do very much. + +The town then revolved, so to speak, entirely on its own axis; it revolved +between the two great events of the year, the summer Polchester Fair, the +winter County Ball, and those two great affairs were conducted, in every +detail and particular, as they had been conducted a hundred years before. +I find it strange, writing from the angle of to-day, to conceive it +possible that so short a time ago anything in England could have been so +conservative. I myself was only thirteen years of age when Ronder came to +our town, and saw all grown figures with the exaggerated colour and +romance that local inquisitive age bestows. About my own contemporaries, +young Jeremy Cole for instance, there was no colour at all, but the older +figures were strange--gigantic, almost mythological. Mrs. Combermere, the +Dean, the Archdeacon, Mrs. Sampson, Canon Ronder, moved about the town, to +my young eyes, like gods and goddesses, and it was not until after my +return to Polchester at the end of my first Cambridge year that I saw +clearly how small a town it was and how tiny the figures in it. + +Joan Brandon thought her father a marvellous man, as I have already said, +but she had seen him too often lose his temper, too often snub her mother, +too often be upset by trivial and unimportant details, to conceive him +romantically. Falk, her brother, was romantic to her because she had seen +so much less of him; her father she knew too well. For some time after +Falk's return from Oxford nothing happened. Joan did not know what exactly +she had expected to happen, but she had an uneasy sense that more was +going on behind the scenes than she knew. + +The Archdeacon did not speak to Falk unless he were compelled, but Falk +did not seem to mind this in the least. His handsome defiant face flashed +scorn at the whole family. + +He was out of the house most of the day, came down to breakfast when every +one else had finished, and often was not present at dinner in the evening. +The Archdeacon had said that breakfast was not to be kept for him, but +nevertheless breakfast was there, on the table, however late he was. The +cook and, indeed, all the servants adored him because, I suppose, he had +no sense of class-difference at all and laughed and joked with any one if +he was in a good temper. All these first days he spoke scarcely one word +to Joan; it was as though the whole family were in his black books for +some disgraceful act--they were the guilty ones and not he. + +Joan blamed herself for feeling so light-hearted and gay during this +family crisis, but she could not help it. A very short time ago the +knowledge that battle was engaged in the very heart of the house would +have made her miserable and apprehensive, but now it seemed to be all +outside her and unconnected with her as though she had a life of her own +that no one could touch. Her courage seemed to grow with every half-hour +of her life. Some months passed, and then one morning she came into the +drawing-room and found her mother rather bewildered and distressed. + +"Oh dear, I really don't know what to do!" said her mother. + +It was so seldom that Joan was appealed to for advice that her heart now +beat with pride. + +"What's the matter, mother?" she asked, trying to look dignified and +unconcerned. + +Mrs. Brandon looked at her with a frightened and startled look as though +she had been speaking to herself and had not wished to be overheard. + +"Oh, Joan!...I didn't know that you were there!" + +"What's the matter? Is it anything I can help about?" + +"'No, dear, nothing...really I didn't know that you were there." + +"No, but you must let me help, mother." Joan marvelled at her own boldness +as she spoke. + +"It's nothing you can do, dear." + +"But it's sure to be something I can do. Do you know that I've been home +for months and months simply with the idea of helping you, and I'm never +allowed to do anything?" + +"Really, Joan--I don't think that's quite the way to speak." + +"No, but, mother, it's true. I _want_ to help. I'm grown up. I'm +going to dinner at the Castle, and I _must_ help you, or--or--I shall +go away and earn my own living!" + +This last was so startling and fantastic that both Joan and her mother +stared at one another in a kind of horrified amazement. + +"No, I didn't mean that, of course," Joan said, hurriedly recovering +herself. "But you must see that I must have some work to do." + +"I don't know what your father would say," said Mrs. Brandon, still +bewildered. + +"Oh, never mind father," said Joan quickly; "this is a matter just between +you and me. I'm here to help you, and you must let me do something. Now, +what's the trouble to-day?" + +"I don't know, dear. There's no trouble exactly. Things are so difficult +just now. The fact is that I promised to go to tea with Miss Burnett this +afternoon and now your father wants me to go with him to the Deanery. So +provoking! Miss Burnett caught me in the street, where it's always so +difficult to think of excuses." + +"Let me go to Miss Burnett's instead," said Joan. "It's quite time I took +on some of the calling for you. I've never seen Mr. Morris, and I hear +he's very nice." + +"Very well, dear," said Mrs. Brandon, suddenly beginning, as her way was +when there was any real opposition, to capitulate on all sides at once. +"Suppose you do go, dear. I'm sure it's very kind of you. And you might +take those books back to the Circulating Library as well. It's Market-Day. +Are you sure you won't mind the horses and cows and dogs?" + +Joan laughed. "I believe you think I'm still five years old, mother. +That's splendid. I'll start off after lunch." + +Joan went up to her room, elated. Truly, this was a great step forward. It +occurred to her on further reflection that something very serious indeed +must be going on behind the scenes to cause her mother to give in so +quickly. She sat on her old faded rocking-chair, her hands crossed behind +her head, thinking it all out. Did she once begin calling on her own +account she was grown-up indeed. What would these Morrises be like? + +She found now that she was beginning to be a little frightened. Mr. Morris +was the new Rector of St. James', the little church over by the cattle +market. He had not been in Polchester very long and was said to be a shy +timid man, but a good preacher. He was a widower, and his sister-in-law +kept house for him. Joan considered further on the great importance of +these concessions; it made all the difference to everything. She was now +to have a life of her own, and every kind of adventure and romance was +possible for her. She was suddenly so happy that she sprang up and did a +little dance round her room, a sort of polka, that became so vehement that +the pictures and the little rickety table rattled. + +"I'll be so grown-up at the Morrises' this afternoon that they'll think +I've been calling for years," she said to herself. + +She had need of all her courage and optimism at luncheon, for it was a +gloomy meal. Only her father and mother were present. They were all very +silent. + +After lunch she went upstairs, put on her hat and coat, picked up the +three Library books, and started off. It was a sunny day, with shadows +chasing one another across the Cathedral green. There was, as there so +often is in Polchester, a smell of the sea in the air, cold and +invigorating. She paused for a moment and looked across at the Cathedral. +She did not know why, but she had been always afraid of the Cathedral. She +had never loved it, and had always wished that they could go on Sundays to +some little church like St. James'. + +For most of her conscious life the Cathedral had hung over her with its +dark menacing shadow, forbidding her, as it seemed to her, to be gay or +happy or careless. To-day the thought suddenly came to her, "That place is +going to do us harm. I hate it," and for a moment she was depressed and +uneasy; but when she came out from the Arden Gate and saw the High Street +all shining with the sun, running down the hill into glittering distance, +she was gloriously cheerful once more. There the second wonderful thing +that day happened to her. She had taken scarcely a step down the hill when +she came upon Mrs. Sampson. There was nothing wonderful about that; Mrs. +Sampson, being the wife of a Dean who was much more retiring than he +should be, was to be seen in public at all times and seasons, having to +do, as it were, the work of two rather than one. No, the wonderful thing +was that Joan suddenly realised that her terror of Mrs. Sampson--a terror +that had always been a real thorn in her flesh--was completely gone. It +was as though a charm, an Abracadabra, had been whispered over Mrs. +Sampson and she had been changed immediately into a rabbit. It had never +been Mrs. Sampson's fault that she was alarming to the young. She was a +good woman, but she was cursed with two sad burdens--a desperate shyness +and a series, unrelenting, unmitigating, mysterious, desperate, of nervous +headaches. + +Her headaches were a feature of Polchester life, and those who were old +enough to understand pitied her and offered her many remedies. But the +young cannot be expected to realise that there can be anything physically +wrong with the old, and Mrs. Sampson's sharpness of manner, her terrifying +habit of rapping out a "Yes" or a "No," her gloomy view of boisterous +habits and healthy appetites, made her one most truly to be avoided. +Before to-day Joan would have willingly walked a mile out of her way to +escape her; to-day she only saw a nervous, pale-faced little woman in an +ill-fitting blue dress, for whom she could not be anything but sorry. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Sampson." + +"Good morning, Joan." + +"Isn't it a nice day?" + +"It's cold, I think. Is your mother well?" + +"Very well, thank you." + +"Give her my love." + +"I will, Mrs. Sampson." + +"Good-bye." + +"Good-bye." + +Mrs. Sampson's nose, that would take on a blue colour on a cold day, +quivered, her thin mouth shut with a snap, and she was gone. + +"But I wasn't afraid of her!" She was almost frightened at this new spirit +that had come to her, and, feeling rather that in another moment she would +be punished for her piratical audacity, she turned up the steps into the +Circulating Library. + +It was the custom in those days that far away from the dust of the grimy +shelves, in the very middle of the room, there was a table with all the +latest works of fiction in their gaudy bindings, a few volumes of poetry +and a few memoirs. Close to this table Miss Milton sat, wrapped, in the +warmest weather, in a thick shawl and knitting endless stockings. She +hated children, myself in particular. She was also a Snob of the Snobs, +and thanked God on her knees every night for Lady St. Leath, Mrs. +Combermere and Mrs. Sampson, by whose graces she was left in her present +position. + +Joan was still too near childhood to be considered very seriously, and it +was well known that her father did not take her very seriously either. She +was always, therefore, on the rare occasions when she entered the Library, +snubbed by Miss Milton. It must be confessed that to-day, in spite of her +success with Mrs. Sampson, she was nervous. She was nervous partly because +she hated Miss Milton's red-rimmed eyes, and never looked at them if she +could help it, but, in the main, because she knew that her mother was +returning the Library books too quickly, and had, moreover, insisted that +she should ask for Mr. Barrie's _Sentimental Tommy_ and Mr. Seton +Merriman's _The Sowers_, both of them books that had been asked for +for weeks and as steadily and persistently refused. + +Joan knew what Miss Milton would say, "That they might be in next week, +but that she couldn't be sure." Was Joan strong enough now, in her new- +found glory, to fight for them? She did not know. + +She advanced to the table smiling. Miss Milton did not look up, but +continued to knit one of her horrible stockings. + +"Good-morning, Miss Milton. Mother has sent back these books. They were +not quite what she wanted." + +"I'm sorry for that." Miss Milton took the books into her chilblained +protection. "It's a little difficult, I must say, to know what Mrs. +Brandon prefers." + +"Well, there's _Sentimental Tommy_," began Joan. + +But Miss Milton was an old general. + +"Oh, that's out, I'm afraid. Now, here's a sweetly pretty book--_Roger +Varibrugh's Wife_, by Adeline Sergeant. It'a only just out...." + +"Or there's _The Sowers,"_ said Joan, caught against her will by the +red-rimmed eyes and staring at them. + +"Oh, that's out, I'm afraid. There are several books here--" + +"You promised mother," said Joan, "that she should have _Sentimental +Tommy_ this week. You promised her a month ago. It's about time that +mother had a book that she cares for." + +"Really," said Miss Milton, wide-eyed at Joan's audacity. "You seem to be +charging me with some remissness, Miss Brandon. If you have any complaint, +I'm sure the Library Committee will attend to it. It's to them I have to +answer. When the book is in you shall have it. I can promise no more. I am +only human." + +"You have said that now for three months," said Joan, beginning, to her +own surprised delight, to be angry. "Surely the last reader hasn't been +three months over it. I thought subscribers were only allowed to keep a +book a week." + +Miss Milton's crimson colouring turned to a deep purple. + +"The book is out," she said. "Both books are out. They are in great +demand. I have no more to say." + +The Library door opened, and a young man came in. Joan was still too young +to wish for scenes in public. She must give up the battle for to-day. +When, however, she saw who it was she blushed. It was young Lord St. Leath +--Johnny St. Leath, as he was known to his familiars, who were many and of +all sorts and conditions. Joan hated herself for blushing, especially +before the odious Miss Milton, but there was a reason. One day in last +October after morning service Joan and her mother had waited in the +Cloisters to avoid a shower of rain. St. Leath had also waited and very +pleasantly had talked to them both. There was nothing very alarming in +this, but as the rain cleared and Mrs. Brandon had moved forward across +the Green, he had suddenly, with a confusion that had seemed to her +charming, asked Joan whether one day they mightn't meet again. He had +given her one look straight in the eyes, tried to say something more, +failed, and turned away down the Cloisters. + +Joan had never before been asked by any young man to meet him again. She +had told herself that this was nothing but the merest, most obvious +politeness; nevertheless the look that he had given her remained. + +Now, as she saw him advancing towards her, there was the thought, was it +not on that very morning that her new courage and self-confidence had come +to her? The thought was so absurd that she flung it at Miss Milton. But +the blush remained. + +Johnny was an ungainly young man, with a red face, freckles, a large +mouth, and a bull-terrier--a conventional British type, I suppose, saved, +nevertheless, from conventionality by his affection for his three plain +sisters, his determination to see things as they were, and his sense of +humour, the last of these something quite his own, and always appearing in +unexpected places. The bull-terrier, in spite of the notice on the Library +door that no dogs were admitted, advanced breathlessly and dribbling with +excitement for Miss Milton's large black felt slippers. + +"Here, Andrew, old man. Heel! Heel!" said Johnny. Andrew, however, quite +naturally concluded that this was only an approval of his intentions, and +there might have followed an awkward scene had his master not caught him +by the collar and held him suspended in mid-air, to his own indignant +surprise and astonishment. + +Joan laughed, and Miss Milton, quivering between indignation, fear and +snobbery, dropped the stocking that she was knitting. + +Andrew burst from his master's clutches, rushed the stocking into the +farthest recesses of the Library, and proceeded there to enjoy it. + +Johnny apologised. + +"Oh, it's quite all right, Lord St. Leath," said Miss Milton. "What a fine +animal!" + +"Yes, he is," said Johnny, rescuing the stocking. "He's as strong as +Lucifer. Here, Andrew, you devil, I'll break every bone in your body." + +During this little scene Johnny had smiled at Joan, and in so pleasant a +way that she was compelled to smile back at him. + +"How do you do, Miss Brandon?" He had recalled Andrew now, and the dog was +slobbering happily at his feet. "Jolly day, isn't it?" + +"Yes," said Joan, and stood there awkwardly, feeling that she ought to go +but not knowing quite how to do so. He also seemed embarrassed, and turned +abruptly to Miss Milton. + +"I say, look here.... Mother asked me to come in and get that book you +promised her. What's the name of the thing?...I've got it written down." + +He fumbled in his pocket and produced a bit of paper. + +"Here it is. _Sentimental Tommy_, by a man called Barrie. Silly name, +but mother's always reading the most awful stuff." + +Joan turned towards Miss Milton. + +"How funny!" she said. "That's the book I've just been asking for. It's +out." + +Miss Milton's face was a curious purple. + +"Well, that's odd," said Johnny. "Mother told me that you'd sent her a +line to say it was in whenever she sent for it." + +"It's been out three months," said Joan, staring now straight into Miss +Milton's angry eyes. + +"I've been keeping..." said Miss Milton. "That is, there's a special +copy.... Lady St. Leath specially asked----" + +"Is it in, or isn't it?" asked Johnny. + +"There _is_ a copy, Lord St. Leath----" With confused fingers Miss +Milton searched in a drawer. She produced the book. + +"You told me," said Joan, forgetting now in her anger St. Leath and all +the world, "that there wouldn't he a copy for weeks. If you'd told me you +were keeping one for St. Leath, that would have been different. You +shouldn't have told me a lie." + +"Do you mean to say," said Johnny, opening his eyes very widely indeed, +"that you refused this copy to Miss Brandon?" + +"Certainly," said Miss Milton, breathing very hard as though she had been +running a long distance. "I was keeping it for your mother." + +"Well, I'm damned," said Johnny. "I beg your pardon, Miss Brandon,...but +I never heard such a thing. Does my mother pay a larger subscription than +other people?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Then what right had you to tell Miss Brandon a lie?" + +Miss Milton, in spite of long training in the kind of warfare attaching, +of necessity, to Circulating Libraries, was very near to tears--also +murder. She would have been delighted to pierce Joan's heart with a bright +stiletto, had such a weapon been handy. She saw the softest, easiest, +idlest job in the world slipping out of her fingers; she saw herself, a +desolate and haggard virgin, begging her bread on the Polchester streets. +She saw...but never mind her visions. They were terrible ones. She had +recourse to her only defence. + +"If I have misunderstood my duty," she said in a trembling voice, "there +is the Library Committee." + +"Oh, never mind," said Joan whose anger had disappeared. "It doesn't +matter a bit. We'll have the book after Lady St. Leath." + +"Indeed you won't," said Johnny, seizing the volume and forcing it upon +Joan. "Mother can wait. I never heard of such a thing." He turned fiercely +upon Miss Milton. "My mother shall know exactly what has happened. I'm +sure she'd be horrified if she understood that you were keeping books from +other subscribers in order that she might have them.... Good afternoon." + +He strode from the room. At the door he paused. + +"Can I--Shall we--Are you going down the High Street, Miss Brandon?" + +"Yes," said Joan. They went out of the room and down the Library steps +together. + +In the shiny, sunny street they paused. The dark cobwebs of the Library +hung behind Joan's consciousness like the sudden breaking of a mischievous +spell. + +She was so happy that she could have embraced Andrew, who was, however, +already occupied with the distant aura of a white poodle on the other side +of the street. + +Johnny was driven by the impulse of his indignation down the hill. Joan, +rather breathlessly, followed him. + +"I say!" said Johnny. "Did you ever hear of such a woman! She ought to be +poisoned. She ought indeed. No, poisoning's too good for her. Hung, drawn +and quartered. That's what she ought to be. She'll get into trouble over +that." + +"Oh no," said Joan. "Please, Lord St. Leath, don't say any more about it. +She has a difficult time, I expect, everybody wanting the same books. +After all a promise is a promise." + +"But she'd promised your mother----" + +"No, she never really did. She always said that it would be in in a day or +two. She never properly promised. I expect we'd have had it next." + +"The snob, the rotten snob!" Johnny paused and raised his stick. "I hate +women like that. No, she's not doing her job properly. She oughtn't to be +there." + +So swift had been their descent that they arrived in a moment at the +market. + +Because to-day was market-day there was a fine noise, confusion and +splendour--carts rattling in and out, sheep and cows driven hither and +thither, the wooden stalls bright with flowers and vegetables, the dim +arcades looming behind the square filled with mysterious riches. They +could not talk very much here, and Joan was glad. She was too deeply +excited to talk. At one moment St. Leath took her arm to guide her past a +confused mob of bewildered sheep. The Glebeshire peasant on marketing-day +has plenty of conversation. Old wrinkled women, stout red-faced farmers, +boys and girls all shouted together, and above the scene the light driving +clouds flung their transparent shadows, like weaving shuttles across the +sun. + +"Oh, do let's stop here a moment," said Joan, peering into one of the +arcades. "I've always loved this one all my life. I've never been able to +resist it." + +This was the Toy Arcade, now, I'm afraid, gone the way of so many other +romantic things. It had been to all of us the most wonderful spot in +Polchester from the very earliest days, this partly because of the toys +themselves, partly because it was the densest and darkest of all the +Arcades, never utterly to be pierced by our youthful eyes, partly because +only two doors away were the sinister rooms of Mr. Dawson, the dentist. +Here not only was there every kind of toy--dolls, soldiers, horses, carts, +games, tops, hoops, dogs, elephants--but also sweets--chocolates, jujubes, +caramels, and the best sweet in the whole world, the Polchester Bull's- +eye. + +They went in together. Mrs. Magnet, now with God, an old woman like a +berry, always in a bonnet with green flowers, smiled and bobbed. The +colours of the toys jumbled against the dark walls were like patterns in a +carpet. + +"What do you say, Miss Brandon?" said Johnny. "If I give you a toy will +you give me one?" + +"Yes," said Joan, afraid a little of Mrs. Magnet's piercing black eye. + +"You're not to see what I get. Turn your back a moment." + +Joan turned around. As she waited she could hear the "Hie!...Hie! Woah!" +of the market-cries, the bleating of the sheep, the lowing of a cow. + +"Here you are, then." She turned. He presented her with a Japanese doll, +gay in a pink cotton frock, his waist girdled with a sash of gold tissue. + +"Now you turn your back," she said. + +In a kind of happy desperation she seized a nigger with bold red checks, a +white jacket and crimson trousers. + +Mrs. Magnet wrapped the presents up. They paid, and walked out into the +sun again. + +"I'll keep that doll," said Johnny, "just as long as you keep yours." + +"Good-bye," said Joan hurriedly. "I've got to call at a house on the other +side of the market.... Good-bye." + +She felt the pressure of his hand on hers, then, clutching her parcel, +hurried, almost ran, indeed, through the market-stalls. She did not look +back. + +When she had crossed the Square she turned down into a little side street. +The plan of Polchester is very simple. It is built, as it were, on the +side of a rock, running finally to a flat top, on which is the Cathedral. +Down the side of the rock there are broad ledges, and it is on one of +these that the market-place is built. At the bottom of the rock lies the +jumble of cottages known most erroneously as Seatown, and round the rock +runs the river Pol, slipping away at last through woods and hills and +valleys into the sea. At high tide you can go all the way by river to the +sea, and in the summer, this makes a pleasant and beautiful excursion. It +is because of this that Seatown has, perhaps, some right to its name, +because in one way and another sailors collect in the cottages and at the +"Dog and Pilchard," that pleasant and democratic hostelry of which, in +1897, Samuel Hogg was landlord. Many visitors have been known to declare +that Seatown was "too sweet for anything," and that "it would be really +wicked to knock down the ducks of cottages," but "the ducks of cottages" +were the foulest and most insanitary dwelling-places in the south of +England, and it has always been to me amazing that the Polchester Town +Council allowed them to stand so long as they did. In 1902, as all the +Glebeshire world knows, there was the great battle of Seatown, ending in +the cottages' destruction. In 1897 those evil dwelling-places gloried in +their full magnificence of sweet corruption, nor did the periodical +attacks of typhoid alarm in the least the citizens of the Upper Town. Once +and again gentlemen from other parts paid mysterious official visits, but +we had ways, in old times, of dealing with inquisitive meddlers from the +outside world. + +Because the market-place was half-way down the Rock, and because the +Rectory of St. James' was just below the market-place, the upper windows +of that house commanded a wonderful view both of the hill, High Street and +Cathedral above it, and of Seatown, river and woods below it. It was said +that it was up this very rocky street from the river, through the market, +and up the High Street that the armed enemies of the Black Bishop had +fought their way to the Cathedral on that great day when the Bishop had +gone to meet his God, and a piece of rock is still shown to innocent +visitors as the place whence some of his enemies, in full armour, were +flung down, many thousand feet, to the waters of the Pol. + +Joan had often longed to see the view from the windows of St. James' +Rectory, but she had not known old Dr. Burroughs, the former Rector, a +cross man with gout and rheumatism. She walked up some steps and found the +house the last of three all squeezed together on the edge of the hill. The +Rectory, because it was the last, stood square to all the winds of heaven, +and Joan fancied what it must be in wild wintry weather. Soon she was in +the drawing-room shaking hands with Miss Burnett, who was Mr. Morris' +sister-in-law, and kept house for him. + +Miss Burnett was a stout negative woman, whose whole mind was absorbed in +the business of housekeeping, prices of food, wickedness and ingratitude +of servants, maliciousness of shopkeepers and so on. The house, with all +her managing, was neither tidy nor clean, as Joan quickly saw; Miss +Burnett was not, by temperament, methodical, nor had she ever received any +education. Her mind, so far as a perception of the outside world and its +history went, was some way behind that of a Hottentot or a South Sea +Islander. She had, from the day of her birth, been told by every one +around her that she was stupid, and, after a faint struggle, she had +acquiesced in that judgment. She knew that her younger sister, afterwards +Mrs. Morris, was pretty and accomplished, and that she would never be +either of those things. She was not angry nor jealous at this. The note of +her character was acquiescence, and when Agatha had died of pleurisy it +had seemed the natural thing for her to come and keep house for the +distressed widower. If Mr. Morris had since regretted the arrangement he +had, at any rate, never said so. + +Miss Burnett's method of conversation was to say something about the +weather and then to lapse into a surprised and distressed stare. If her +visitor made some statement she crowned it with, "Well, now, that was just +was I was going to say." + +Her nose, when she talked, twinkled at the nostrils apprehensively, and +many of her visitors found this fascinating, so that they suddenly, with +hot confusion, realised that they too had been staring in a most offensive +manner. Joan had not been out in the world long enough to enable her to +save a difficult situation by brilliant talk, and she very quickly found +herself staring at Miss Burnett's nose and longing to say something about +it, as, for instance, "What a stronge nose you've got, Miss Burnett--see +how it twitches!" or, "If you'll allow me, Miss Burnett, I'd just like to +study your nose for a minute." When she realised this horrible desire in +herself she blushed crimson and gazed about the untidy and entangled +drawing-room in real desperation. She could see nothing in the room that +was likely to save her. She was about to rise and depart, although she had +only been there five minutes, when Mr. Morris came in. + +Joan realised at once that this man was quite different from any one whom +she had ever known. He was a stranger to her Polchester world in body, +soul and spirit, as though, a foreigner from some far-distant country, he +had been shipwrecked and cast upon an inhospitable shore. So strangely did +she feel this that she was quite surprised when he did not speak with a +foreign accent. "Oh, he must be a poet!" was her second thought about Mr. +Morris, not because he dressed oddly or had long hair. She could not tell +whence the impression came, unless it were in his strange, bewildered, +lost blue eyes. Lost, bewildered--yes, that was what he was! With every +movement of his slim, straight body, the impulse with which he brushed +back his untidy fair hair from his forehead, he seemed like a man only +just awake, a man needing care and protection, because he simply would not +be able to look after himself. So ridiculously did she have this +impression that she almost cried "Look out!" when he moved forward, as +though he would certainly knock himself against a chair or a table. + +"How strange," she thought, "that this man should live with Miss Burnett! +What does he think of her?" She was excited by her discovery of him, but +that meant very little, because just now she was being excited by +everything. She found at once that talking to him was the easiest thing in +the world. Mr. Morris did not say very much; he smiled gently, and when +Miss Burnett, awaking suddenly from her torpor, said, "You'll have some +tea, Miss Brandon, won't you?" he, smiling, softly repeated the +invitation. + +"Thank you," said Joan. "I will. How strange it is," she went on, "that +you are so close to the market and, even on market-day, you don't hear a +sound!" + +And it was strange! as though the house were bewitched and had suddenly, +even as Joan entered it, gathered around it a dark wood for its +protection. + +"Yes," said Mr. Morris. "We found it strange at first. But it's because we +are the last house, and the three others protect us. We get the wind and +rain, though. You should hear this place in a storm. But the house is +strong enough; it's very stoutly built; not a board creaks in the wildest +weather. Only the windows rattle and the wind comes roaring down the +chimneys." + +"How long have you been here?" asked Joan. + +"Nearly a year--and we still feel strangers. We were near Ashford in Kent +for twelve years, and the Glebeshire people are very different." + +"Well," said Joan, who was a little irritated because she felt that his +voice was a little sadder than it ought to be, "I think you'll like +Polchester. I'm _sure_ you will. And you've come in a good year, too. +There's sure to be a lot going on this year because of the Jubilee." + +Mr. Morris did not seem to be as thrilled as he should be by the thought +of the Jubilee, so Joan went on: + +"It's so lucky for us that it comes just at the Polchester Feast time. We +always have a tremendous week at the Feast--the Horticultural Show and a +Ball in the Assembly Rooms, and all sorts of things. It's going to be my +first ball this year, although I've really come out already." She laughed. +"Festivities start to-morrow with the arrival of Marquis." + +"Marquis?" repeated Mr. Morris politely. + +"Oh, don't you know Marquis? His is the greatest Circus in England. He +comes to Polchester every year, and they have a procession through the +town--elephants and camels, and Britannia in her chariot, and sometimes a +cage with the lions and the tigers. Last year they had the sweetest little +ponies--four of them, no higher than St. Bernards--and there are the +clowns too, and a band." + +She was suddenly afraid that she was talking too much--silly too, in her +childish enthusiasms. She remembered that she was in reality deputising +for her mother, who would never have talked about the Circus. Fortunately +at that moment the tea came in; it was brought by a flushed and +contemptuous maid, who put the tray down on a little table with a bang, +tossed her head as though she despised them all, and slammed the door +behind her. + +Miss Burnett was upset by this, and her nose twitched more violently than +ever. Joan saw that her hand trembled as she poured out the tea, and she +was at once sorry for her. + +Mr. Morris talked about Kent and London, and tea was drunk and the saffron +cake praised, and Joan thought it was time to go. At the last, however, +she turned to Mr. Morris and said: + +"Do you like the Cathedral?" + +"It's wonderful," he answered. "You should see it from our window +upstairs." + +"Oh, I hate it--" said Joan. + +"Why?" Morris asked her. + +There was a curious challenge in his voice. They were both standing facing +one another. + +"I suppose that's a silly thing to say. Only you don't live as close to it +as we do, and you haven't lived here so long as we have. It seems to hang +right over you, and it never changes, and I hate to think it will go on +just the same, years after we're dead." + +"Have you seen the view from our window?" Morris asked her. + +"No," said Joan, "I was never in this house before." + +"Come and see it," he said. + +"I'm sure," said Miss Burnett heavily, "Miss Brandon doesn't want to be +bothered--when she's seen the Cathedral all her life, too." + +"Of course I'd love to see it," said Joan, laughing. "To tell you the +truth, that's what I've always wanted. I looked at this house again and +again when old Canon Burroughs was here, and thought there must be a +wonderful view." + +She said good-bye to Miss Burnett. + +"My mother does hope you will soon come and see us," she said. + +"I have just met Mrs. Brandon for a moment at Mrs. Combermere's," said Mr. +Morris. "We'll be very glad to come." + +She went out with him. + +"It's up these stairs," he said. "Two flights. I hope you don't mind." + +They climbed on to the second landing. At the end of the passage there was +a window. The evening was grey and only little faint wisps of blue still +lingered above the dusk, but the white sky threw up the Cathedral towers, +now black and sharp-edged in magnificent relief. Truly it _was_ a +view! + +The window was in such a position that through it you gazed behind the +neighbouring houses, above some low roofs, straight up the twisting High +Street to the Cathedral. The great building seemed to be perched on the +very edge of the rock, almost, you felt, swinging in mid-air, and that so +precariously that with one push of the finger you might send it staggering +into space. Joan had never seen it so dominating, so commanding, so fierce +in its disregard of the tiny clustered world beneath it, so near to the +stars, so majestic and alone. + +"Yes--it's wonderful," she said. + +"Oh, but you should see it," he cried, "as it can be. It's dull to-day, +the sky's grey and there's no sunset,--but when it's flaming red with all +the windows shining, or when all the stars are out or in moonlight... +it's like a great ship sometimes, and sometimes like a cloud, and +sometimes like a fiery palace. Sometimes it's in mist and you can only see +just the top of the towers...." + +"I don't like it," said Joan, turning away. "It doesn't care what happens +to us." + +"Why should it?" he answered. "Think of all it's seen--the battles and the +fights and the plunder--and it doesn't care! We can do what we like and it +will remain just the same." + +"People could come and knock it down," Joan said. + +"I believe it would still be there if they did. The rock would be there +and the spirit of the Cathedral.... What do people matter beside a thing +like that? Why, we're ants...!" + +He stopped suddenly. + +"You'll think me foolish, Miss Brandon," he said. "You have known the +Cathedral so long----" He paused. "I think I know what you mean about +fearing it----" + +He saw her to the door. + +"Good-bye," he said, smiling. "Come again." + +"I like him," she thought as she walked away. What a splendid day she had +had! + + + + +Chapter IV + +The Impertinent Elephant + + + +Archdeacon Brandon had surmounted with surprising celerity the shock of +Falk's unexpected return. He was helped to this firstly by his confident +belief in a God who had him especially in His eye and would, on no +account, do him any harm. As God had decided that Falk had better leave +Oxford, it was foolish to argue that it would have been wiser for him to +stay there. Secondly, he was helped by his own love for, and pride in, his +son. The independence and scorn that were so large a part of Falk's nature +were after his own heart. He might fight and oppose them (he often did), +but always behind the contest there was appreciation and approbation. That +was the way for a son of his to treat the world--to snap his fingers at +it! The natural thing to do, the good old world being as stupid as it was. +Thirdly, he was helped by his family pride. It took him only a night's +reflection to arrive at the decision that Falk had been entirely right in +this affair and Oxford entirely in the wrong. Two days after Falk's return +he wrote (without saying anything to the boy) Falk's tutor a very warm +letter, pointing out that he was sure the tutor would agree with him that +a little more tact and diplomacy might have prevented so unfortunate an +issue. It was not for him, Brandon, to suggest that the authorities in +Oxford were perhaps a little behind the times, a little out of the world. +Nevertheless it was probably true that long residence in Oxford had +hindered the aforesaid authorities from realising the trend of the day, +from appreciating the new spirit of independence that was growing up in +our younger generation. It seemed obvious to him, Archdeacon Brandon, that +you could no longer treat men of Falk's age and character as mere boys +and, although he was quite sure that the authorities at Oxford had done +their best, he nevertheless hoped that this unfortunate episode would +enable them to see that we were not now living in the Middle Ages, but +rather in the last years of the nineteenth century. It may seem to some a +little ironical that the Archdeacon, who was the most conservative soul +alive, should write thus to one of the most conservative of our +institutions, but--"Before Oxford the Brandons were...." + +What the tutor remarked when he read this letter is not recorded. Brandon +said nothing to Falk about all this. Indeed, during the first weeks after +Falk's return he preserved a stern and dignified silence. After all, the +boy must learn that authority was authority, and he prided himself that he +knew, better than any number of Oxford Dons, how to train and educate the +young. Nevertheless light broke through. Some of Falk's jokes were so good +that his father, who had a real sense of fun if only a slight sense of +humour, was bound to laugh. Very soon father and son resumed their old +relations of sudden tempers and mutual admiration, and a strange, rather +pathetic, quite uneloquent love that was none the less real because it +was, on either side, completely selfish. + +But there was a fourth reason why Falk's return caused so slight a storm. +That reason was that the Archdeacon was now girding up his loins before he +entered upon one of his famous campaigns. There had been many campaigns in +the past. Campaigns were indeed as truly the breath of the Archdeacon's +nostrils as they had been once of the great Napoleon's--and in every one +of them had the Archdeacon been victorious. + +This one was to be the greatest of them all, and was to set the sign and +seal upon the whole of his career. + +It happened that, three miles out of Polchester, there was a little +village known as Pybus St. Anthony. A very beautiful village it was, with +orchards and a stream and old-world cottages and a fine Norman church. But +not for its orchards nor its stream nor its church was it famous. It was +famous because for many years its listing had been regarded as one of the +most important in the whole diocese of Polchester. It was the tradition +that the man who went to Pybus St. Anthony had the world in front of him. +When likely men for preferment were looked for it was to Pybus St. Anthony +that men looked. Heaven alone knows how many Canons and Archdeacons had +made their first bow there to the Glebeshire world! Three Deans and a +Bishop had, at different times, made it their first stepping-stone to +fame. Canon Morrison (Honorary Canon of the Cathedral) was its present +incumbent. Less intellectual than some of the earlier incumbents, he was +nevertheless a fine fellow. He had been there only three years when +symptoms of cancer of the throat had appeared. He had been operated on in +London, and at first it had seemed that he would recover. Then the dreaded +signs had reappeared; he had wished, poor man, to surrender the living, +but because there was yet hope the Chapter, in whose gift the living was, +had insisted on his remaining. + +A week ago, however, he had collapsed. It was feared now that at any +moment he might die. The Archdeacon was very sorry for Morrison. He liked +him, and was deeply touched by his tragedy; nevertheless one must face +facts; it was probable that at any moment now the Chapter would be forced +to make a new appointment. + +He had been aware--he did not disguise it from himself in the least--for +some time now of the way that the appointment must go. There was a young +man, the Rev. Rex Forsyth by name, who, in his judgment, could be the only +possible man. Young Forsyth was, at the present moment, chaplain to the +Bishop of St. Minworth. St. Minworth was only a Suffragan Bishopric, and +it could not honestly be said that there was a great deal for Mr. Forsyth +to do there. But it was not because the Archdeacon thought that the young +man ought to have more to do that he wished to move him to Pybus St. +Anthony. Far from it! The Archdeacon, in the deep secrecy of his own +heart, could not honestly admit that young Forsyth was a very hard worker +--he liked hunting and whist and a good bottle of wine...he was that +kind of man. + +Where, then, were his qualifications as Canon Morrison's successor? Well, +quite honestly--and the Archdeacon was one of the honestest men alive--his +qualifications belonged more especially to his ancestors rather than to +himself. In the Archdeacon's opinion there had been too many _clever_ +men of Pybus. Time now for a _normal_ man. Morrison was normal and +Forsyth would be more normal still. + +He was in fact first cousin to young Johnny St. Leath and therefore a very +near relation of the Countess herself. His father was the fourth son of +the Earl of Trewithen, and, as every one knows, the Trewithens and the St. +Leaths are, for all practical purposes, one and the same family, and +divide Glebeshire between them. No one ever quite knew what young Rex +Forsyth became a parson for. Some people said he did it for a wager; but +however true that might be, he was not very happy with dear old Bishop +Clematis and very ready for preferment. + +Now the Archdeacon was no snob; he believed in men and women who had long +and elaborate family-trees simply because he believed in institutions and +because it had always seemed to him a quite obvious fact that the longer +any one or anything remained in a place the more chance there was of +things being done as they always had been done. It was not in the least +because she was a Countess that he thought the old Lady St. Leath a +wonderful woman; not wonderful for her looks certainly--no one could call +her a beautiful woman--and not wonderful for her intelligence; the +Archdeacon had frequently been compelled to admit to himself that she was +a little on the stupid side--but wonderful for her capacity for staying +where she was like a rock and allowing nothing whatever to move her. In +these dangerous days--and what dangerous days they were!--the safety of +the country simply depended on a few such figures as the Countess. Queen +Victoria was another of them, and for her the Archdeacon had a real and +very touching devotion. Thank God he would be able to show a little of it +in the prominent part he intended to play in the Polchester Jubilee +festivals this year! + +Any one could see then that to have young Rex Forsyth close at hand at +Pybus St. Anthony was the very best possible thing for the good of +Polchester. Lady St. Leath saw it, Mrs. Combermere saw it, Mrs. Sampson +saw it, and young Forsyth himself saw it. The Archdeacon entirely failed +to understand how there could be any one who did not see it. However, he +was afraid that there were one or two in Polchester.... People said that +young Forsyth was stupid! Perhaps he was not very bright; all the easier +then to direct him in the way that he should go, and throw his forces into +the right direction. People said that he cared more for his hunting and +his whist than for his work--well, he was young and, at any rate, there +was none of the canting hypocrite about him. The Archdeacon hated canting +hypocrites! + +There had been signs, once and again, of certain anarchists and devilish +fellows, who crept up and down the streets of Polchester spreading their +wicked mischief, their lying and disintegrating ideas. The Archdeacon was +determined to fight them to the very last breath in his body, even as the +Black Bishop before him had fought _his_ enemies. And the Archdeacon +had no fear of his victory. + +Rex Forsyth at Pybus St. Anthony would be a fine step forward. Have one of +these irreligious radicals there, and Heaven alone knew what harm he might +wreak. No, Polchester must be saved. Let the rest of the world go to +pieces, Polchester would be preserved. + +On how many earlier occasions had the Archdeacon surveyed the Chapter, +considered it in all its details and weighed up judiciously the elements, +good and bad, that composed it. How well he knew them all! First the Dean, +mild and polite and amiable, his mind generally busy with his beloved +flora and fauna, his flowers and his butterflies, very easy indeed to deal +with. Then Archdeacon Witheram, most nobly conscientious, a really devout +man, taking his work with a seriousness that was simply admirable, but +glued to the details of his own half of the diocese, so that broader and +larger questions did not concern him very closely. Bentinck-Major next. +The Archdeacon flattered himself that he knew Bentinck-Major through and +through--his snobbery, his vanity, his childish pleasure in his position +and his cook, his vanity in his own smart appearance! It would be +difficult to find words adequate for the scorn with which the Archdeacon +regarded that elegant little man. Then Byle, the Precentor. He was, to +some extent, an unknown quantity. His chief characteristic perhaps was his +hatred of quarrels--he would say or do anything if only he might not be +drawn into a "row." "Peace at any price" was his motto, and this, of +course, as with the famous Vicar of Bray, involved a good deal of +insincerity. The Archdeacon knew that he could not trust him, but a +masterful policy of terrorism had always been very successful. Ryle was +frankly frightened by the Archdeacon, and a very good thing too! Might he +long remain so! Lastly there was Foster, the Diocesan Missioner. Let it be +said at once that the Archdeacon hated Foster. Foster had been a thorn in +the Archdeacon's side ever since his arrival in Polchester--a thin, +shambly-kneed, untidy, pale-faced prig, that was what Foster was! The +Archdeacon hated everything about him--his grey hair, his large protruding +ears, the pimple on the end of his nose, the baggy knees to his trousers, +his thick heavy hands that never seemed to be properly washed. + +Nevertheless beneath that hatred the Archdeacon was compelled to a +reluctant admiration. The man was fearless, a fanatic if you please, but +devoted to his religion, believing in it with a fervour and sincerity that +nothing could shake. An able man too, the best preacher in the diocese, +better read in every kind of theology than any clergyman in Glebeshire. It +was especially for his open mind about new religious ideas that the +Archdeacon mistrusted him. No opinion, however heterodox, shocked him. He +welcomed new thought and had himself written a book, _Christ and the +Gospels_, that for its learning and broad-mindedness had created a +considerable stir. But he was a dull dog, never laughed, never even +smiled, lived by himself and kept to himself. He had, in the past, opposed +every plan of the Archdeacon's, and opposed it relentlessly, but he was +always, thanks to the Archdeacon's efforts, in a minority. The other +Canons disliked him; the old Bishop, safely tucked away in his Palace at +Carpledon, was, except for his satellite Rogers, his only friend in +Polchester. + +So much for the Chapter. There was now only one unknown element in the +situation--Ronder. Ronder's position was important because he was +Treasurer to the Cathedral. His predecessor, Hart-Smith, now promoted to +the Deanery of Norwich, had been an able man, but one of the old school, a +great friend of Brandon's, seeing eye to eye with him in everything. The +Archdeacon then had had his finger very closely upon the Cathedral purse, +and Hart-Smith's departure had been a very serious blow. The appointment +of the new Canon had been in the hands of the Crown, and Brandon had, of +course, had nothing to say to it. However, one glance at Ronder--he had +seen him and spoken to him at the Dean's a few days after his arrival--had +reassured him. Here, surely, was a man whom he need not fear--an easy, +good-natured, rather stupid fellow by the look of him. Brandon hoped to +have his finger on the Cathedral purse as tightly in a few weeks' time as +he had had it before. + +And all this was in no sort of fashion for the Archdeacon's personal +advancement or ambition. He was contented with Polchester, and quite +prepared to live there for the rest of his days and be buried, with proper +ceremonies, when his end came. With all his soul he loved the Cathedral, +and if he regarded himself as the principal factor in its good governance +and order he did so with a sort of divine fatalism--no credit to him that +it was so. Let credit be given to the Lord God who had seen fit to make +him what he was and to place in his hands that great charge. + +His fault in the matter was, perhaps, that he took it all too simply, that +he regarded these men and the other figures in Polchester exactly as he +saw them, did not believe that they could ever be anything else. As God +had created the world, so did Brandon create Polchester as nearly in his +own likeness as might be--there they all were and there, please God, they +would all be for ever! + +Bending his mind then to this new campaign, he thought that he would go +and see the Dean. He knew by this time, he fancied, exactly how to prepare +the Dean's mind for the proper reception of an idea, although, in truth, +he was as simple over his plots and plans as a child brick-building in its +nursery. + +About three o'clock one afternoon he prepared to sally forth. The Dean's +house was on the other side of the Cathedral, and you had to go down the +High Street and then to the left up Orange Street to get to it, an +irrational roundabout proceeding that always irritated the Archdeacon. +Very splendid he looked, his top-hat shining, his fine high white collar, +his spotless black clothes, his boots shapely and smart. (He and Bentinck- +Major were, I suppose, the only two clergymen in Polchester who used boot- +trees.) But his smartness was in no way an essential with him. Clothed in +rags he would still have the grand air. "I often think of him," Miss +Dobell once said, "as one of those glorious gondoliers in Venice. How +grand he would look!" + +However that might be, it is beyond question that the ridiculous clothes +that a clergyman of the Church of England is compelled to wear did not +make him absurd, nor did he look an over-dressed fop like Bentinck-Major. + +Miss Dobell's gondolier was, on this present occasion, in an excellent +temper; and meeting his daughter Joan, he felt very genial towards her. +Joan had observed, several days before, that the family crisis might be +said to be past, and very thankful she was. + +She had, at this time, her own happy dreams, so that father and daughter, +moved by some genial impulse, stopped and kissed. + +"There! my dear!" said the Archdeacon. "And what are you doing this +afternoon, Joan?" + +"I'm going with mother," she said, "to see Miss Ronder. It's time we +called, you know." + +"I suppose it is." Brandon patted her cheek. "Everything you want?" + +"Yes, father, thank you." + +"That's right." + +He left the house, humming a little tune. On the second step he paused, as +he was in the habit of doing, and surveyed the Precincts--the houses with +their shining knockers, their old-fashioned bow-windows and overhanging +portals, the Cathedral Green, and the towering front of the Cathedral +itself. He was, for a moment, a kind of presiding deity over all this. He +loved it and believed in it and trusted it exactly as though it had been +the work of his own hands. Halfway towards the Arden Gate he overtook poor +old shambling Canon Morphew, who really ought, in the Archdeacon's +opinion, to have died long ago. However, as he hadn't died the Archdeacon +felt kindly towards him, and he had, when he talked to the old man, a +sense of beneficence and charity very warming to the heart. + +"Well, Morphew, enjoying the sun?" + +Canon Morphew always started when any one spoke to him, being sunk all day +deep in dreams of his own, dreams that had their birth somewhere in the +heart of the misty dirty rooms where his books were piled ceiling-high and +papers blew about the floor. + +"Good afternoon...good afternoon, Archdeacon. Pray forgive me. You came +upon me unawares." + +Brandon moderated his manly stride to the other's shuffling steps. + +"Hope you've had none of that tiresome rheumatism troubling you again." + +"Rheumatism? Just a twinge--just a twinge.... It belongs to my time of +life." + +"Oh, don't say that!" The Archdeacon laughed his hearty laugh. "You've +many years in front of you yet." + +"No, I haven't--and you don't mean it, Archdeacon--you know you don't. A +few months perhaps--that's all. The Lord's will be done. But there's a +piece of work...a piece of work...." + +He ran off into incoherent mumblings. Suddenly, just as they reached the +dark shadows of the Arden Gate, he seemed to wake up. His voice was quite +vigorous, his eyes, tired and worn as they were, bravely scanned Brandon's +health and vigour. + +"We all come to it, you know. Yes, we do. The very strongest of us. You're +a young man, Archdeacon, by my years, and I hope you may long live to +continue your good work in this place. All the same, you'll be old +yourself one day. No one escapes.... No one escapes...." + +"Well, good-day to you," said the Archdeacon hurriedly. "Good-day to +you.... Hope this bright weather continues," and started rather +precipitately down the hill, leaving Morphew to find his way by himself. + +His impetuosity was soon restrained. He tumbled immediately into a crowd, +and pulling himself up abruptly and looking down the High Street he saw +that the pavement on both sides of the street was black with people. He +was not a man who liked to be jostled, and he was the more uncomfortable +in that he discovered that his immediate neighbour was Samuel Hogg, the +stout and rubicund landlord of the "Dog and Pilchard" of Seatown. With him +was his pretty daughter Annie. Near to them were Mr. John Curtis and Mr. +Samuel Croppet, two of the Town Councillors. With none of these gentlemen +did the Archdeacon wish to begin a conversation. + +And yet it was difficult to know what to do. The High Street pavements +were narrow, and the crowd seemed continually to increase. There was a +good deal of pushing and laughter and boisterous good-humour. To return up +the street again seemed to have something ignominious about it. Brandon +decided to satisfy his curiosity, support his dignity and indulge his +amiability by staying where he was. + +"Good afternoon, Hogg," he said. "What's the disturbance for?" + +"Markisses Circus, sir," Hogg lifted his face like a large round sun. +"Surely you'd 'eard of it, Archdeacon?" + +"Well, I didn't know," said Brandon in his most gracious manner, "that it +was this afternoon.... Of course, how stupid of me!" + +He smiled round good-naturedly upon them all, and they all smiled back +upon him. He was a popular figure in the town; it was felt that his +handsome face and splendid presence did the town credit. Also, he always +knew his own mind. _And_ he was no coward. + +He nodded to Curtis and Croppet and then stared in front of him, a fixed +genial smile on his face, his fine figure triumphant in the sun. He looked +as though he were enjoying himself and was happy because he liked to see +his fellow-creatures happy; in reality he was wondering how he could have +been so foolish as to forget Marquis' Circus. Why had not Joan said +something to him about it? Very careless of her to place him in this +unfortunate position. + +He looked around him, but he could see no other dignitary of the Church +close at hand. How tiresome--really, how tiresome! Moreover, as the timed +moment of the procession arrived the crowd increased, and he was now most +uncomfortably pressed against other people. He felt a sharp little dig in +his stomach, then, turning, found close beside him the flushed anxious, +meagre little face of Samuel Bond, the Clerk of the Chapter. Bond's +struggle to reach his dignified position in the town had been a severe +one, and had only succeeded because of a multitude of self-submissions and +abnegations, humilities and contempts, flatteries and sycophancies that +would have tired and defeated a less determined soul. But, in the +background, there were the figures of Mrs. Bond and four little Bonds to +spur him forward. He adored his family. "Whatever I am, I'm a family man," +was one of his favourite sayings. In so worthy a cause much sycophancy may +be forgiven him. To no one, however, was he so completely sycophantic as +to the Archdeacon. He was terrified of the Archdeacon; he would wake up in +the middle of the night and think of him, then tremble and cower under the +warm protection of Mrs. Bond until sleep rescued him once more. + +It was natural, therefore, that however numerous the people in Polchester +might be whom the Archdeacon despised, he despised little Bond most of +all. And here was little Bond pressed up against him, with the large +circumference of the cheerful Mr. Samuel Hogg near by, and the ironical +town smartness of Messrs. Curtis and Croppet close at hand. Truly a +horrible position. + +"Ah, Archdeacon! I didn't see you--indeed I didn't!" The little breathless +voice was like a child's penny whistle blown ignorantly. "Just fancy!-- +meeting you like this! Hot, isn't it, although it's only February. Yes.... +Hot indeed. I didn't know you cared for processions, Archdeacon----" + +"I don't," said Brandon. "I hadn't realised that there was a procession. +Stupidly, I had forgotten----" + +"Well, well," came the good-natured voice of Mr. Hogg. "It'll do us no +harm, Archdeacon--no harm at all. I forget whether you rightly know my +little girl. This is Annie--come out to see the procession with her +father." + +The Archdeacon was compelled to shake hands. He did it very graciously. +She was certainly a fine girl--tall, strong, full-breasted, with dark +colour and raven black hair; curious, her eyes, very large and bright. +They stared full at you, but past you, as though they had decided that you +were of insufficient interest. + +Annie thus gazed at the Archdeacon and said no word. Any further +intimacies were prevented by approach of the procession. To the present +generation Marquis' Circus would not appear, I suppose, very wonderful. To +many of us, thirty years ago, it seemed the final expression of Oriental +splendour and display. + +There were murmurs and cries of "Here they come! Here they come! 'Ere they +be!" Every one pressed forward; Mr. Bond was nearly thrown off his feet +and caught at the lapel of the Archdeacon's coat to save himself. Only the +huge black eyes of Annie Hogg displayed no interest. The procession had +started from the meadows beyond the Cathedral and, after discreetly +avoiding the Precincts, was to plunge down the High Street, pass through +the Market-place and vanish up Orange Street--to follow, in fact, the very +path that the Archdeacon intended to pursue. + +A band could be heard, there was an astounded hush (the whole of the High +Street holding its breath), then the herald appeared. + +He was, perhaps, a rather shabby fellow, wearing the tarnished red and +gold of many a procession, but he walked confidently, holding in his hand +a tall wooden truncheon gay with paper-gilt, having his round cap of cloth +of gold set rakishly on one side of his head. After him came the band, +also in tarnished cloth of gold and looking as though they would have been +a trifle ashamed of themselves had they not been deeply involved in the +intricacies of their music. After the band came four rather shabby riders +on horseback, then some men dressed apparently in admiring imitation of +Charles II.; then, to the wonder and whispered incredulity of the crowd, +Britannia on her triumphal car. The car--an elaborate cart, with gilt +wheels and strange cardboard figures of dolphins and Father Neptune--had +in its centre a high seat painted white and perched on a kind of box. +Seated on this throne was Britannia herself--a large, full-bosomed, +flaxen-haired lady in white flowing robes, and having a very anxious +expression of countenance, as, indeed, poor thing, was natural enough, +because the cart rocked the box and the box yet more violently rocked the +chair. At any moment, it seemed, might she be precipitated, a fallen +goddess, among the crowd, and the fact that the High Street was on a slope +of considerable sharpness did not add to her ease and comfort. Two stout +gentlemen, perspiration bedewing their foreheads, strove to restrain the +ponies, and their classic clothing, that turned them into rather tattered +Bacchuses, did not make them less incongruous. + +Britannia and her agony, however, were soon forgotten in the ferocious +excitements that followed her. Here were two camels, tired and dusty, with +that look of bored and indifferent superiority that belongs to their +tribe, two elephants, two clowns, and last, but of course the climax of +the whole affair, a cage in which there could be seen behind the iron bars +a lion and a lioness, jolted haplessly from side to side, but too deeply +shamed and indignant to do more than reproach the crowd with their burning +eyes. Finally, another clown bearing a sandwich-board on which was printed +in large red letters "Marquis' Circus--the Finest in the World--Renowned +through Europe--Come to the Church Meadows and see the Fun"--and so on. + +As this glorious procession passed down the High Street the crowd +expressed its admiration in silent whispering. There was no loud applause; +nevertheless, Mr. Marquis, were he present, must have felt the air +electric with praise. It was murmured that Britannia was Mrs. Marquis, +and, if that were true, she must have given her spouse afterwards, in the +sanctity of their privacy, a very grateful account of her reception. + +When the band had passed a little way down the street and their somewhat +raucous notes were modified by distance, the sun came out in especial +glory, as though to take his own peep at the show, the gilt and cloth of +gold shone and gleamed, the chair of Britannia rocked as though it were +bursting with pride, and the Cathedral bells, as though they too wished to +lend their dignified blessing to the scene, began to ring for Evensong. A +sentimental observer, had he been present, might have imagined that the +old town was glad to have once again an excuse for some display, and +preened itself and showed forth its richest and warmest colours and +wondered, perhaps, whether after all the drab and interesting citizens of +to-day were not minded to return to the gayer and happier old times. Quite +a noise, too, of chatter and trumpets and bells and laughter. Even the +Archdeacon forgot his official smile and laughed like a boy. + +It was then that the terrible thing happened. Somewhere at the lower end +of the High Street the procession was held up and the chariot had suddenly +to pull itself back upon its wheels, and the band were able to breathe +freely for a minute, to gaze about them and to wipe the sweat from their +brows; even in February blowing and thumping "all round the town" was a +warm business. + +Now, just opposite the Archdeacon were the two elephants, checked by the +sudden pause. Behind them was the cage with the lions, who, now that the +jolting had ceased, could collect their scattered indignities and roar a +little in exasperated protest. The elephants, too, perhaps felt the +humility of their position, accustomed though they might be to it by many +years of sordid slavery. It may be, too, that the sight of that +patronising and ignorant crowd, the crush and pack of the High Street, the +silly sniggering, the triumphant jangle of the Cathedral bells, thrust +through their slow and heavy brains some vision long faded now, but for an +instant revived, of their green jungles, their hot suns, their ancient +royalty and might. They realised perhaps a sudden instinct of their power, +that they could with one lifting of the hoof crush these midgets that +hemmed them in back to the pulp whence they came, and so go roaming and +bellowing their freedom through the streets and ways of the city. The +larger of the two suddenly raised his head and trumpeted; with his dim +uplifted eyes he caught sight of the Archdeacon's rich and gleaming top- +hat shining, as an emblem of the city's majesty, above the crowd. It +gleamed in the sun, and he hated it. He trumpeted again and yet again, +then, with a heavy lurching movement, stumbled towards the pavement, and +with little fierce eyes and uplifted trunk heaved towards his enemies. + +The crowd, with screams and cries, fell back in agitated confusion. The +Archdeacon, caught by surprise, scarcely realising what had occurred, +blinded a little by the sun, stood where he was. In another movement his +top-hat was snatched from his head and tossed into air.... + +He felt the animal's hot breath upon his face, heard the shouts and cries +around him, and, in very natural alarm, started back, caught at anything +for safety (he had tumbled upon the broad and protective chest of Samuel +Hogg), and had a general impression of whirling figures, of suns and roofs +and shining faces and, finally, the high winds of heaven blowing upon his +bare head. + +In another moment the incident was closed. The courtier of Charles II. had +rushed up; the elephant was pulled and hustled and kicked; for him swiftly +the vision of power and glory and vengeance was over, and once again he +was the tied and governed prisoner of modern civilisation. The top-hat +lay, a battered and hapless remnant, beneath the feet of the now advancing +procession. + +Once the crowd realised that the danger was over a roar of laughter went +up to heaven. There were shouts and cries. The Archdeacon tried to smile. +He heard in dim confusion the cheery laugh of Samuel Hogg, he caught the +comment of Croppet and the rest. + +With only one thought that he must hide himself, indignation, humiliation, +amazement that such a thing could be in his heart, he backed, turned, +almost ran, finding at last sudden refuge in Bennett's book-shop. How +wonderful was the dark rich security of that enclosure! The shop was +always in a half-dusk and the gas burnt in its dim globes during most of +the day. All the richer and handsomer gleamed the rows of volumes, the +morocco and the leather and the cloth. Old Mr. Bennett himself, the son of +the famous man who had known Scott and Byron, was now a prodigious age (in +the town his nickname was Methusalem), but he still liked to sit in the +shop in a high chair, his white beard in bright contrast with the chaste +selection of the newest works arranged in front of him. He might himself +have been the Spirit of Select Literature summoned out of the vasty deep +by the Cultured Spirits of Polchester. + +Into this splendid temple of letters the Archdeacon came, halted, +breathless, bewildered, tumbled. He saw at first only dimly. He was aware +that old Mr. Bennett, with an exclamation of surprise, rose in his chair. +Then he perceived that two others were in the shop; finally, that these +two were the Dean and Ronder, the men of all others in Polchester whom he +least wished to find there. + +"Archdeacon!" cried the Dean. + +"Yes--om--ah--an extraordinary thing has occurred--I really--oh, thank +you, Mr. Wilton...." + +Mr. Frank Wilton, the young assistant, had offered a chair. + +"You'll scarcely believe me--really, I can hardly believe myself." Here +the Archdeacon tried to laugh. "As a matter of fact, I was coming out to +see you...on my way...and the elephant..." + +"The elephant?" repeated the Dean, who, in the way that he had, was +nervously rubbing one gaitered leg against the other. + +"Yes--I'm a little incoherent, I'm afraid. You must forgive me... +breathless too.... It's too absurd. So many people..." + +"A little glass of water, Mr. Archdeacon?" said young Wilton, who had a +slight cast in one eye, and therefore gave the impression that he was +watching round the corner to see that no one ran off with the books. + +"No, thank you, Wilton.... No, thank you.... Very good of you, I'm sure. +But really it was a monstrous thing. I was coming to see you, as I've just +said, Dean, having forgotten all about this ridiculous procession. I was +held up by the crowd just below the shop here. Then suddenly, as the +animals were passing, the elephant made a lurch towards me--positively, +I'm not exaggerating--seized my hat and--ran off with it!" + +The Archdeacon had, as I have already said, a sense of fun. He saw, for +the first time, the humour of the thing. He began to laugh; he laughed +more loudly; laughter overtook him altogether, and he roared and roared +again, sitting there, his hands on his knees, until the tears ran down his +cheek. + +"Oh dear...my hat...an elephant...Did you ever hear----? My best hat...!" +The Dean was compelled to laugh too, although, being a shy and hesitating +man, he was not able to do it very heartily. Young Mr. Wilton laughed, +but in such a way as to show that he knew his place and was ready to be +serious at once if his superiors wished it. Even old Mr. Bennett laughed +as distantly and gently as befitted his great age. + +Brandon was conscious of Ronder. He had, in fact, been conscious of him +from the very instant of his first perception of him. He was giving +himself away before their new Canon; he thought that the new Canon, +although he was smiling pleasantly and was standing with becoming modesty +in the background, looked superior.... + +The Archdeacon pulled himself up with a jerk. After all, it was nothing of +a joke. A multitude of townspeople had seen him in a most ludicrous +position, had seen him start back in terror before a tame elephant, had +seen him frightened and hatless. No, there was nothing to laugh about. + +"An elephant?" repeated the Dean, still gently laughing. + +"Yes, an elephant," answered Brandon rather testily. That was enough of +the affair, quite enough. "Well, I must be getting back. See you to- +morrow, Dean." + +"Anything important you wanted to see me about?" asked the Dean, +perceiving that he had laughed just a little longer than was truly +necessary. + +"No, no...nothing. Only about poor Morrison. He's very bad, they tell +me...a week at most." + +"Dear, dear--is that so?" said the Dean. "Poor fellow, poor fellow!" + +Brandon was now acutely conscious of Ronder. Why didn't the fellow say +something instead of standing silently there with that superior look +behind his glasses? In the ordinary way he would have greeted him with his +usual hearty patronage. Now he was irritated. It was really most +unfortunate that Ronder should have witnessed his humiliation. He rose, +abruptly turning his back upon him. The fellow was laughing at him--he was +sure of it. + +"Well--good-day, good-day." As he advanced to the door and looked out into +the street he was aware of the ludicrousness of going even a few steps up +the street without a hat. + +Confound Ronder! + +But there was scarcely any one about now. The street was almost deserted. +He peered up and down. + +In the middle of the road was a small, shapeless, black object. + +...His hat! + + + + +Chapter V + +Mrs. Brandon Goes Out to Tea + + + +Mrs. Brandon hated her husband. No one in Polchester had the slightest +suspicion of this; certainly her husband least of all. She herself had +been first aware of it one summer afternoon some five or six years ago +when, very pleasantly and in the kindest way, he had told her that she +knew nothing about primroses. They had been having tea at the Dean's, and, +as was often the case then, the conversation had concerned itself with +flowers and ferns. Mrs. Brandon was quite ready to admit that she knew +nothing about primroses--there were for her yellow ones and other ones, +and that was all. The Archdeacon had often before told her that she was +ignorant, and she had acquiesced without a murmur. Upon this afternoon, +just as Mrs. Sampson was asking her whether she liked sugar, revelation +came to her. That little scene was often afterwards vividly in front of +her--the Archdeacon, with his magnificent legs spread apart in front of +the fireplace; Miss Dobell trying to look with wisdom upon a little bundle +of primulas that the Dean was showing to her; the sunlight upon the lawn +beyond the window; the rooks in the high elms busy with their nests; the +May warmth striking through the misty air--all was painted for ever +afterwards upon her mind. + +"My dear, you may as well admit at once that you know nothing whatever +about primroses." + +"No, I'm afraid I don't--thank you, Mrs. Sampson. One lump, please." + +She had been coming to it. Of course, a very long time before this--very, +very far away, now an incredible memory, seemed the days when she had +loved him so passionately that she almost died with anxiety if he left her +for a single night. Almost too passionate it had been, perhaps. He himself +was not capable of passionate love, or, at any rate, had been quite +satisfied to be _not_ passionately in love with _her_. He pursued +other things--his career, his religion, his simple beneficence, his +health, his vigour. His love for his son was the most passionately +personal thing in him, and over that they might have met had he been able +to conceive her as a passionate being. Her ignorance of life--almost +complete when he had met her--had been but little diminished by her time +with him. She knew now, after all those years, little more of the world +and its terrors and blessings than she had known then. But she did know +that nothing in her had been satisfied. She knew now of what she was +capable, and it was perhaps the thought that he had, by taking her, +prevented her fulfilment and complete experience that caused her, more +than anything else, to hate him. + +She very quickly discovered that he had married her for certain things--to +have children, to have a companion. He had soon found that the latter of +these he was not to obtain. She had in her none of the qualities that he +needed in a companion, and so he had, with complete good-nature and +kindliness, ceased to consider her. He should have married a bold +ambitious woman who would have wanted the things, that he wanted--a woman +something like Falk, his son. On the rare occasions when he analysed the +situation he realised this. He did not in any way vent his disappointment +upon, her--he was only slightly disappointed. He treated her with real +kindness save on the occasions of his violent loss of temper, and gave her +anything that she wanted. He had, on the whole, a great contempt for women +save when, as for instance with Mrs. Combermere, they were really men. + +It was to her most humiliating of all, that nothing in their relations +worried him. He was perfectly at ease about it all, and fancied that she +was the same. Meanwhile her real life was not dead, only dormant. For some +years she tried to change the situation; she made little appeals to him, +endeavoured timidly to force him to need her, even on one occasion +threatened to sleep in a separate room. The memory of _that_ little +episode still terrified her. His incredulity had only been equalled by his +anger. It was just as though some one had threatened to deprive him of his +morning tub.... + +Then, when she saw that this was of no avail, she had concentrated herself +upon her children, and especially upon Falk. For a while she had fancied +that she was satisfied. Suddenly--and the discovery was awful--she was +aware that Falk's affection all turned towards his father rather than +towards her. Her son despised her and disregarded her as his father had +done. She did not love Falk the less, but she ceased to expect anything +from him--and this new loss she put down to her husband's account. + +It was shortly after she made this discovery that the affair of the +primroses occurred. + +Many a woman now would have shown her hostility, but Mrs. Brandon was, by +nature, a woman who showed nothing. She did not even show anything to +herself, but all the deeper, because it found no expression, did her +hatred penetrate. She scored now little marks against him for everything +that he did. She did not say to herself that a day of vengeance was +coming, she did not think of anything so melodramatic, she expected +nothing of her future at all--but the marks were there. + +The situation was developed by Falk's return from Oxford. When he was away +her love for him seemed to her simply all in the world that she possessed. +He wrote to her very seldom, but she made her Sunday letters to him the +centre of her week, and wrote as though they were a passionately devoted +mother and son. She allowed herself this little gentle deception--it was +her only one. + +But when he returned and was in the house it was more difficult to cheat +herself. She saw at once that he had something on his mind, that he was +engaged in some pursuit that he kept from every one. She discovered, too, +that she was the one of whom he was afraid, and rightly so, the Archdeacon +being incapable of discovering any one's pursuits so long as he was +engaged on one of his own. Falk's fear of her perception brought about a +new situation between them. He was not now oblivious of her presence as he +had been. He tried to discover whether she knew anything. She found him +often watching her, half in fear and half in defiance. + +The thought that he might be engaged now upon some plan of his own in +which she might share excited her and gave her something new to live for. +She did not care what his plan might be; however dangerous, however +wicked, she would assist him. Her moral sense had never been very deeply +developed in her. Her whole character was based on her relations with +individuals; for any one she loved she would commit murder, theft or +blasphemy. She had never had any one to love except Falk. + +She despised the Archdeacon the more because he now perceived nothing. +Under his very nose the thing was, and he was sublimely contented. How she +hated that content, and how she despised it! + +About a week after the affair of the elephants, Mrs. Combermere asked her +to tea. She disliked Mrs. Combermere, but she went to tea there because it +was easier than not going. She disliked Mrs. Combermere especially because +it was in her house that she heard silly, feminine praise of her husband. +It amused her, however, to think of the amazed sensation there would be, +did she one day burst out before them all and tell them what she really +thought of the Archdeacon. + +Of course she would never do that, but she had often outlined the speech +in her mind. + +Mrs. Combermere also lived in the Precincts, so that Mrs. Brandon had not +far to go. Before she arrived there a little conversation took place +between the lady of the house, Miss Stiles, Miss Dobell and Dr. Puddifoot, +that her presence would most certainly have hindered. Mrs. Combermere was +once described by some one as "constructed in concrete"; and that was not +a bad description of her, so solid, so square and so unshakable and +unbeatable was she. She wore stiff white collars like a man's, broad thick +boots, short skirts and a belt at her waist. Her black hair was brushed +straight back from her forehead, she had rather small brown eyes, a large +nose and a large mouth. Her voice was a deep bass. She had some hair on +her upper lip, and thick, strong, very white hands. She liked to walk down +the High Street, a silver-topped cane in her hand, a company of barking +dogs at her heels, and a hat, with large hat-pins, set a little on one +side of her head. She had a hearty laugh, rather like the Archdeacon's. +Dr. Puddifoot was our doctor for many years and brought many of my +generation into the world. He was a tall, broad, loose-set man, who always +wore tweeds of a bright colour. + +Mrs. Combermere cared nothing for her surroundings, and her house was +never very tidy. She bullied her servants, but they liked her because she +gave good wages and fulfilled her promises. She was the first woman in +Polchester to smoke cigarettes. It was even said that she smoked cigars, +but no one, I think, ever saw her do this. + +On this afternoon she subjected Miss Stiles to a magisterial inquiry; Miss +Stiles had on the preceding evening given a little supper party, and no +one in Polchester did anything of the kind without having to render +account to Mrs. Combermere afterwards. They all sat round the fire, +because it was a cold day. Mrs. Combermere sat on a straight-backed chair, +tilting it forward, her skirt drawn up to her knees, lier thick-stockinged +legs and big boots for all the world to see. + +"Well, Ellen, whom did you have?" + +"Ronder and his aunt, the Bentinck-Majors, Charlotte Ryle and Major +Drake." + +"Sorry I couldn't have been there. What did you give them?" + +"Soup, fish salad, cutlets, chocolate soufflé, sardines on toast." + +"What drink?" + +"Sherry, claret, lemonade for Charlotte, whisky." + +"Any catastrophes?" + +"No, I don't think so. Bentinck-Major sang afterwards." + +"Hum--not sorry I missed _that_. When was it over?" + +"About eleven." + +"What did you ask them for?" + +"For the Ronders." + +Mrs. Combermere, raising one foot, kicked a coal into blaze. + +"Tea will be in in a minute.... Now, I'll tell you for your good, my dear +Ellen, that I don't like your Ronder." + +Miss Stiles laughed. "Oh, you needn't mind me, Betsy. You never have. Why +don't you?" + +"In the first place, he's stupid." + +Miss Stiles laughed again. + +"Never wronger in your life. I thought you were smarter than that." + +Mrs. Combermere smacked her knee. "I may be wrong. I often am. I take +prejudices, I know. Secondly, he's fat and soft--too like the typical +parson." + +"It's an assumed disguise--however, go on." + +"Third, I hear he agrees with everything one says." + +"You hear? You've not talked to him yourself, then?" + +Mrs. Combermere raised her head as the door opened and the tea came in. + +"No. I've only seen him in Cathedral. But I've called, and he's coming to- +day." + +Miss Stiles smiled in her own dark and mysterious way. + +"Well, Betsy, my dear, I leave you to find it all out for yourself.... I +keep my secrets." + +"If you do," said Mrs. Combermere, getting up and going to the tea-table, +"it's the first time you ever have. _And_ Ellen," she went on, "I've +a bone to pick. I won't have you laughing at my dear Archdeacon." + +"Laughing at your Archdeacon?" Miss Stiles' voice was softer and slower +than any complaining cow's. + +"Yes. I hear you've all been laughing about the elephant. That was a thing +that might have happened to any one." + +Puddifoot laughed. "The point is, though, that it happened to Brandon. +That's the joke. _And_ his new top hat." + +"Well, I won't have it. Milk, doctor? Miss Dobell and I agree that it's a +shame." + +Miss Dobell, who was in appearance like one of those neat silk umbrellas +with the head of a parrot for a handle, and whose voice was like the +running brook both for melody and monotony, thus suddenly appealed to, +blushed, stammered, and finally admitted that the Archdeacon was, in her +opinion, a hero. + +"That's not exactly the point, dear Mary," said Miss Stiles. "The point +is, surely, that an elephant straight from the desert ate our best +Archdeacon's best hat in the High Street. You must admit that that's a +laughable circumstance in this the sixtieth year of our good Queen's +reign. I, for one, intend to laugh." + +"No, you don't, Ellen," and, to every one's surprise, Mrs. Combermere's +voice was serious. "I mean what I say. I'm not joking at all. Brandon may +have his faults, but this town and everything decent in it hangs by him. +Take him away and the place drops to pieces. I suppose you think you're +going to introduce your Ronders as up-to-date rivals. We prefer things as +they are, thank you." + +Miss Stiles' already bright colouring was a little brighter. She knew her +Betsy Combermere, but she resented rebukes before Puddifoot. + +"Then," she said, "if he means all that to the place, he'd better look +after his son more efficiently." + +"_And_ exactly what do you mean by that?" asked Mrs. Combermere. + +"Oh, everybody knows," said Miss Stiles, looking round to Miss Dobell and +the doctor for support, "that young Brandon is spending the whole of his +time down in Seatown, and that Miss Annie Hogg is not entirely unconnected +with his visits." + +"Really, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, bringing her fist down upon the +table, "you're a disgusting woman. Yes, you are, and I won't take it back, +however much you ask me to. All the worst scandal in this place comes from +you. If it weren't for you we shouldn't be so exactly like every +novelist's Cathedral town. But I warn you, I won't have you talking about +Brandon. His son's only a boy, and the handsomest male in the place by the +way--present company, of course, excepted. He's only been home a few +months, and you're after him already with your stories. I won't have +it----" + +Miss Stiles rose, her fingers trembling as she drew on her gloves. + +"Well, I won't stay here to be insulted, anyway. You may have known me a +number of years, Betsy, but that doesn't allow you _all_ the +privileges. The only matter with me is that I say what I think. You +started the business, I believe, by insulting my friends." + +"Sit down, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, laughing. "Don't be a fool. Who's +insulting your friends? You'd insult them yourself if they were only +successful enough. You can have your Ronder." + +The door opened and the maid announced: "Canon Ronder." + +Every one was conscious of the dramatic fitness of this, and no one more +so than Mrs. Combermere. Ronder entered the room, however, quite unaware +of anything apparently, except that he was feeling very well and expected +amusement from his company. He presented precisely the picture of a nice +contented clergyman who might be baffled by a school treat but was +thoroughly "up" to afternoon tea. He seemed a little stouter than when he +had first come to Polchester, and his large spectacles were as round as +two young moons. + +"How do you do, Mrs. Combernere? I do hope you will forgive my aunt, but +she has a bad headache. She finds Polchester a little relaxing." + +Mrs. Combermere did not get up, but stared at him from, behind her tea- +table. That was a stare that has frightened many people in its time, and +to-day it was especially challenging. She was annoyed with Ellen Stiles, +and here, in front of her, was the cause of her annoyance. + +They faced one another, and the room behind them was aware that Mrs. +Combermere, at any rate, had declared battle. Of what Ronder was aware no +one knew. + +"How do you do, Canon Ronder? I'm delighted that you've honoured my poor +little house. I hear that you're a busy man. I'm all the more proud that +you can spare me half an hour." + +She kept him standing there, hoping, perhaps, that he would be consciously +awkward and embarrassed. He was completely at his ease. + +"Oh, no, I'm not busy. I'm a very lazy man." He looked down at her, +smiling, aware, apparently, of no one else in the room. "I'm always +meaning to pull myself up. But I'm too old for improvement" + +"We're all busy people here, although you mayn't think it, Canon Ronder. +But I'm afraid you're giving a false account of yourself. I've heard of +you." + +"Nothing but good, I hope." + +"Well, I don't know. That depends. I expect you're going to shake us all +up and teach us improvement." + +"Dear me, no! I come to you for instruction. I haven't an idea in the +world." + +"Too much modesty is a dangerous thing. Nobody's modest in Polchester." + +"Then I shall be Polchester's first modest man. But I'm not modest. I +simply speak the truth." + +Mrs. Combermere smiled grimly. "There, too, you will be the exception. We +none of us speak the truth here." + +"Really, Mrs. Combermere, you're giving Polchester a dreadful character." +He laughed, but did not take his eyes away from her. "I hope that you've +been here so long that you've forgotten what the place is like. I believe +in first impressions." + +"So do I," she said, very grimly indeed. + +"Well, in a year's time we shall see which of us is right. I'll be quite +willing to admit defeat." + +"Oh, a year's time!" She laughed more pleasantly. "A great deal can happen +in a year. You may be a bishop by then, Canon Ronder," + +"Ah, that would be more than I deserve," he answered quite gravely. + +The little duel was over. She turned around, introduced him to Miss Dobell +and Puddifoot, both of whom, however, he had already met. He sat down, +very happily, near the fire and listened to Miss Dobell's shrill +proclamation of her adoration of Browning. Conversation became general, +and was concerned first with the Jubilee and the preparations for it, +afterwards with the state of South Africa, Lord Penrhyn's quarries, and +bicycling. Every one had a good deal to say about this last topic, and the +strange costumes which ladies, so the papers said, were wearing in +Battersea Park when out on their morning ride. + +Miss Dobell said that "it was too disgraceful," to which Mrs. Combermere +replied "Fudge! As though every one didn't know by this time that women +had legs!" + +Everything, in fact, went very well, although Ellen Stiles observed to +herself with a certain malicious pleasure that their hostess was not +entirely at her ease, was "a little ruffled, about something." + +Soon two more visitors arrived--first Mr. Morris, then Mrs. Brandon. They +came close upon one another's heels, and it was at once evident that they +would, neither of them, alter very considerably the room's atmosphere. No +one ever paid any attention to Mrs. Brandon in Polchester, and although +Mr. Morris had been some time now in the town, he was so shy and retiring +and quiet that no one was, as yet, very distinctly aware of him. Mrs. +Combermere was occupied with her own thoughts and the others were talking +very happily beside the fire, so it soon happened that Morris and Mrs. +Brandon were sitting by themselves in the window. + +There occurred then a revelation.... That is perhaps a portentous word, +but what else can one call it? It is a platitude, of course, to say that +there is probably no one alive who does not remember some occasion of a +sudden communion with another human being that was so beautiful, so +touching, so transcendentally above human affairs that a revelation was +the only definition for it. Afterwards, when analysis plays its part, one +may talk about physical attractions, about common intellectual interests, +about spiritual bonds, about what you please, but one knows that the +essence of that meeting is undefined. + +It may be quite enough to say about Morris and Mrs. Brandon, that they +were both very lonely people. You may say, too, that there was in both of +them an utterly unsatisfied longing to have some one to protect and care +for. Not her husband nor Falk nor Joan needed Mrs. Brandon in the least-- +and the Archdeacon did not approve of dogs in the house. Or you may say, +if you like, that these two liked the look of one another, and leave it at +that. Still the revelation remains--and all the tragedy and unhappiness +and bitterness that that revelation involved remains too.... + +This was, of course, not the first time that they had met. Once before at +Mrs. Combermere's they had been introduced and talked together for a +moment; but on that occasion there had been no revelation. + +They did not say very much now. Mrs. Brandon asked Morris whether he liked +Polchester and he said yes. They talked about the Cathedral and the coming +Jubilee. Morris said that he had met Falk. Mrs. Brandon, colouring a +little, asked was he not handsome? She said that he was a remarkable boy, +very independent, that was why he had not got on very well at Oxford.... +He was a tremendous comfort to her, she said. When he went away...but +she stopped suddenly. + +Not looking at him, she said that sometimes one felt lonely even though +there was a great deal to do, as there always was in a town like +Polchester. + +Yes, Morris said that he knew that. And that was really all. There were +long pauses in their conversation, pauses that were like the little wooden +hammerings on the stage before the curtain rises. + +Mrs. Brandon said that she hoped that he would come and see her, and he +said that he would. Their hands touched, and they both felt as though the +room had suddenly closed in upon them and become very dim, blotting the +other people out. + +Then Mrs. Brandon got up to go. Afterwards, when she looked back to this, +she remembered that she had looked, for some unknown reason, especially at +Canon Ronder, as she stood there saying good-bye. + +She decided that she did not like him. Then she went away, and Mrs. +Combermere was glad that she had gone. + +Of all the dull women.... + + + + +Chapter VI + +Seatown Mist and Cathedral Dust + + + +Falk Brandon knew quite well that his mother was watching him. + +It was a strange truth that until this return of his from Oxford he had +never considered his mother at all. It was not that he had grown to +disregard her, as do many sons, because of the monotonous regularity of +her presence. Nor was it that he despised her because he seemed so vastly +to have outgrown her. He had not been unkind nor patronising nor +contemptuous--he had simply not yet thought about her. The circumstances +of his recent return, however, had forced him to consider every one in the +house. He had his secret preoccupation that seemed so absorbing and +devastating to him that he could not believe that every one around him +would not guess it. He soon discovered that his father was too cock-sure +and his sister too innocent to guess anything. Now he was not himself a +perceptive man; he had, after all, seen as yet very little of the world, +and he had a great deal of his father's self-confidence; nevertheless, he +was just perceptive enough to perceive that his mother was thinking about +him, was watching him, was waiting to see what he would do.... + +His secret was quite simply that, for the last year, he had been +devastated by the consciousness of Annie Hogg, the daughter of the +landlord of "The Dog and Pilchard." Yes. devastated was the word. It would +not be true to say that he was in love with her or, indeed, had any +analysed emotion for her--he was aware of her always, was disturbed by her +always, could not keep away from her, wanted something in connection with +her far deeper than mere love-making-- + +What he wanted he did not know. He could not keep away from her, and yet +when he was with her nothing occurred. She did not apparently care for +him; he was not even sure that he wanted her to. At Oxford during his last +term he had thought of her--incessantly, a hot pain at his heart. He had +not invited the disturbance that had sent him down, but he had welcomed +it. + +Every day he went to "The Dog and Pilchard." He drank but little and +talked to no one. He just leaned up against the wall and looked at her. +Sometimes he had a word with her. He knew that they must all be speaking +of it. Maybe the whole town was chattering. He could not think of that. He +had no plans, no determination, no resolve--and he was desperately +unhappy.... + +Into this strange dark confusion the thought of his mother drove itself. +He had from the very beginning been aware of his father in this +connection. In his own selfish way he loved his father, and he shared in +his pride and self-content. He was proud of his father for being what he +was, for his good-natured contempt of other people, for his handsome body +and his dominance of the town. He could understand that his father should +feel as he did, and he did honestly consider him a magnificent man and far +above every one else in the place. But that did not mean that he ever +listened to anything that his father said. He pleased himself in what he +did, and laughed at his father's temper. + +He had perceived from the first that this connection of his with Annie +Hogg might do his father very much harm, and he did not want to harm him. +The thought of this did not mean that for a moment he contemplated +dropping the affair because of his father--no, indeed--but the thought of +the old man, as he termed him, added dimly to his general unhappiness. He +appreciated the way that his father had taken his return from Oxford. The +old man was a sportsman. It was a great pity that he should have to make +him unhappy over this business. But there it was--you couldn't alter +things. + +It was this fatalistic philosophy that finally ruled everything with him. +"What must be must." If things went wrong he had his courage, and he was +helped too by his contempt for the world.... + +He knew his father, but he was aware now that he knew nothing at all about +his mother. + +"What's _she_ thinking about?" he asked himself. + +One afternoon he was about to go to Seatown when, in the passage outside +his bedroom, he met his mother. They both stopped as though they had +something to say to one another. He did not look at all like her son, so +fair, tall and aloof, as though even in his own house he must be on his +guard, prepared to challenge any one who threatened his private plans. + +"She's like a little mouse," he thought to himself, as though he were +seeing her for the first time, "preparing to run off into the wainscot" He +was conscious, too, of her quiet clothes and shy preoccupied timidity--all +of it he seemed to see for the first time, a disguise for some purpose as +secret, perhaps, as his own. + +"Oh, Falk," she said, and stopped, and then went on with the question that +she so often asked him: + +"Is there anything you want?" + +"No, mother, thank you. I'm just going out." + +"Oh, yes...." She still stayed there nervously looking up at him. + +"I was wondering----Are you going into the town?" + +"Yes, mother. Is there anything I can do for you?" + +"No, thank you." Still she did not move. + +"Joan's out," she said. Then she went on quickly, "I wish you'd tell me if +there were anything----" + +"Why, of course." He laughed. "What exactly do you mean?" + +"Nothing, dear. Only I like to know about your plans." + +"Plans? I haven't any." + +"No, but I always think you may be going away suddenly. Perhaps I could +help you. I know it isn't very much that I can do, but anything you told +me I think I could help you about.... I'd like to help you." + +He could see that she had been resolving for some time to speak to him, +and that this little appeal was the result of a desperate determination. +He was touched. + +"That's all right, mother. I suppose father and you think I oughtn't to be +hanging around here doing nothing." + +"Oh, your father hasn't said anything to me. I don't know what he thinks. +But I should miss you if you went. It is nice for us having you, although, +of course, it must seem slow to you here." + +He stood back against the wall, looking past her out through the window +that showed the grey sky of a misty day. + +"Well, it's true that I've got to settle about doing something soon. I +can't be home like this for ever. There's a man I know in London wants me +to go in for a thing with him...." + +"What kind of a thing, dear?" + +"It's to do with the export trade. Travelling about. I should like that. +I'm a bit restless, I'm afraid. I should want to put some money into it, +of course, but the governor will let me have something.... He wants me to +go into Parliament." + +"Parliament?" + +"Yes," Falk laughed. "That's his latest idea. He was talking about it the +other night. Of course, that's foolishness. It's not my line at all. I +told him so." + +"I wouldn't like you to go away altogether," she repeated. "It would make +a great difference to me." + +"Would it really?" He had a strange mysterious impulse to speak to her +about Annie Hogg. The thought of his mother and Annie Hogg together showed +him at once how impossible that was. They were in separate worlds. He was +suddenly angry at the difficulties that life was making for him without +his own wish. "Oh, I'll be here some time yet, mother," he said. "Well, I +must get along now. I've got an appointment with a fellow." + +She smiled and disappeared into her room. + +All the way into Seatown he was baffled and irritated by this little +conversation. It seemed that you could not disregard people by simply +determining to disregard them. All the time behind you and them some force +was insisting on places being taken, connections being formed. One was +simply a bally pawn...a bally pawn.... + +But what was his mother thinking? Had some one been talking to her? +Perhaps already she knew about Annie. But what could she know? Girls like +Annie were outside her ken. What could his mother know about life? The day +did not help his dissatisfaction. The fog had not descended upon the town, +but it had sent as its forerunner a wet sea mist, dim and intangible, +depressing because it removed all beauty and did not leave even +challenging ugliness in its place. + +On the best of days Seatown was not beautiful. I have read in books +romantic descriptions of Glebeshire coves, Glebeshire towns with the +romantic Inn, the sanded floor, fishermen with gold rings in their ears +and strange oaths upon their lips. In one book I remember there was a fine +picture of such a place, with beautiful girls dancing and mysterious old +men telling mysterious tales about ghosts and goblins, and, of course, +somewhere in the distance some one was singing a chanty, and the moon was +rising, and there was a nice little piece of Glebeshire dialect thrown in. +All very pretty.... Seatown cannot claim such prettiness. Perhaps once +long ago, when there were only the Cathedral, the Castle, the Rock, and a +few cottages down by the river, when, at night-tide, strange foreign ships +came up from the sea, when the woods were wild forest and the downs were +bare and savage, Seatown had its romance, but that was long ago. Seatown, +in these latter days, was a place of bad drainage, bad drinking, bad +living and bad dying. The men who haunted its dirty, narrow little streets +were loafers and idlers and castaways. The women were, most of them, no +better than they should be, and the children were the most slatternly and +ill-bred in the whole of Glebeshire. Small credit to the Canons and the +Town Councillors and the prosperous farmers that it was so, but in their +defence it might be urged that it needed a very valiant Canon and the most +fearless of Town Councillors to disturb that little nest. And the time +came when it was disturbed.... + +Even the Pol, a handsome river enough out beyond the town in the reaches +of the woods, was no pretty sight at low tide when there was nothing to +see but a thin, sluggish grey stream filtering through banks of mud to its +destination, the sea. At high tide the river beat up against the crazy +stone wall that bordered Pennicent Street; and on the further side there +were green fields and a rising hill with a feathery wood to crown it. From +the river, coming up through the green banks, Seatown looked picturesque, +with its disordered cottages scrambling in confusion at the tail of the +rock and the Cathedral and Castle nobly dominating it. That distant view +is the best thing to be said for Seatown. + +To-day, in the drizzling mist, the place was horribly depressing. Falk +plunged down into Bridge Street as into a damp stuffy well. Here some of +the houses had once been fine; there were porticoes and deep-set doors and +bow-windows, making them poor relations of the handsome benevolent +Georgian houses in Orange Street. The street, top-tilting down to the +river, was slovenly with dirt and carelessness. Many of the windows were +broken, their panes stuffed with paper; washing hung from house to house. +The windows that were not broken were hermetically sealed and filled with +grimy plants and ferns, and here and there a photograph of an embarrassed +sailor or a smiling married couple or an overdressed young woman placed +face outward to the street. Bridge Street tumbled with a dirty absent- +mindedness into Pennicent Street. This, the main thoroughfare of Seatown, +must have been once a handsome cobbled walk by the river-side. The houses, +more than in Bridge Street, showed by their pillared doorways and their +faded red brick that they had once been gentlemen's residences, with +gardens, perhaps, running to the river's edge and a fine view of the +meadows and woods beyond. To-day all was shrouded in a mist that was never +stationary, that seemed alive in its shifting movement, revealing here a +window, there a door, now a chimney-pot, now steps that seemed to lead +into air, and the river, now at full tide and lapping the stone wall, +seemed its drunken bewildered voice. + +"Bally pawns, that's what we are," Falk muttered again. It seemed to be +the logical conclusion of the thoughts that had worried him, like flies, +during his walk. Some one lurched against him as he stayed for a moment to +search for the inn. A hot spasm of anger rose in him, so sudden and fierce +that he was frightened by it, as though he had seen his own face in a +mirror. But he said nothing. "Sorry," said a voice, and shadow faded into +shadow. + +He found the "Dog and Pilchard" easily enough. Just beyond it the river +was caught into a kind of waterfall by a ridge of stone that projected +almost into mid-stream. At high tide it tumbled over this obstruction with +an astonished splash and gurgle. Even when the river was at its lowest +there was a dim chattering struggle at this point. Falk always connected +this noise with the inn and the power or enchantment of the inn that held +him--"Black Enchantment," perhaps. He was to hear that struggling chatter +of the river until his dying day. + +He pushed through the passage and turned to the right into the bar. A damp +day like this always served Hogg's trade. The gas was lit and sizzled +overhead with a noise as though it commented ironically on the fatuity of +the human beings beneath it. The room was full, but most of the men-- +seamen, loafers, a country man or two--crowded up to the bar. Falk crossed +to a table in the corner near the window, his accustomed seat. No one +seemed to notice him, but soon Hogg, stout and smiling, came over to him. +No one had ever seen Samuel Hogg out of temper--no, never, not even when +there had been fighting in the place and he had been compelled to eject +men, by force of arms, through the doors and windows. There had not been +many fights there. Men were afraid of him, in spite of his imperturbable +good temper. Men said of him that he would stick at nothing, although what +exactly was meant by that no one knew. + +He had a good word for every one; no crime or human failing could shock +him. He laughed at everything. And yet men feared him. Perhaps for that +very reason. The worst sinner has some kind of standard of right and +wrong. Himself he may not keep it, but he likes to see it there. "Oh, he's +deep," was Seatown's verdict on Samuel Hogg, and it is certain that the +late Mrs. Hogg had not been, in spite of her husband's good temper, a +happy woman. + +He came up to Falk now,--smiling, and asked him what he would have. "Nasty +day," he said. Falk ordered his drink. Dimly through the mist and +thickened air the Cathedral chimes recorded the hour. Funny how you could +hear them in every nook and corner of Polchester. + +"Likely turn to rain before night," Hogg said, as he turned back to the +bar. Falk sat there watching. Some of the men he knew, some he did not, +but to-day they were all shadows to him. Strange how, from the moment that +he crossed the threshold of that place, hot, burning excitement and +expectation lapped him about, swimming up to him, engulfing him, swamping +him body and soul. He sat there drowned in it, not stirring, his eyes +fixed upon the door. There was a good deal of noise, laughter, swearing, +voices raised and dropped, forming a kind of skyline, and above this a +voice telling an interminable tale. + +Annie Hogg came in, and at once Falk's throat contracted and his heart +hammered in the palms of his hands. She moved about, talking to the men, +fetching drinks, unconcerned and aloof as she always was. Seen there in +the mist of the overcrowded and evil-smelling room, there was nothing very +remarkable about her. Stalwart and resolute and self-possessed she looked; +sometimes she was beautiful, but not now. She was a woman at whom most men +would have looked twice. Her expression was not sullen nor disdainful; in +that, perhaps, there was something fine, because there was life, of its +own kind, in her eyes, and independence in the carriage of her head. + +Falk never took his eyes from her. At that moment she came down the room +and saw him. She did not come over to him at once, but stopped and talked +to some one at another table. At last she was beside him, standing up +against his table and looking over his head at the window behind him. + +"Nasty weather, Mr. Brandon," she said. Her voice was low and not +unpleasant; although she rolled her r's her Glebeshire accent was not very +strong, and she spoke slowly, as though she were trying to choose her +words. + +"Yes," Falk answered. "Good for your trade, though." + +"Dirty weather always brings them in," she said. + +He did not look at her. + +"Been busy to-day?" + +"Nothing much this morning," she answered. "I've been away at my aunt's, +out to Borheddon, these last two days." + +"Yes. I saw you were not here," he said. "Did you have a good time?" + +"Middling," she answered. "My aunt's been terrible bad with bronchitis +this winter. Poor soul, it'll carry her off one of these days, I reckon." + +"What's Borheddon like?" he asked. + +"Nothing much. Nothing to do, you know. But I like a bit of quiet just for +a day or two. How've you been keeping, Mr. Brandon?" + +"Oh, I'm all right. I shall be off to London to look for a job one of +these days." + +He looked up at her suddenly, sharply, as though he wanted to catch her +interest. But she showed no emotion. + +"Well, I expect this is slow for you, a little place like this. Plenty +going on in London, I expect." + +"Yes. Do you ever think you'd like to go there?" + +"Daresay I shall one of these days. Never know your luck. But I'm not +terrible anxious.... Well, I must be getting on." + +He caught her eyes and held them. + +"Come back for a moment when you're less busy. I've got something I want +to say to you." + +Very slightly the colour rose in her dark cheek. + +"All right," she said. + +When she had gone he drew a deep breath, as though he had surmounted some +great and sudden danger. He felt that if she had refused to come he would +have risen and broken everything in the place. Now, as though he had, by +that little conversation with her, reassured himself about her, he looked +around the room. His attention was at once attracted by a man who was +sitting in the further corner, his back against the wall, opposite to him. + +This was a man remarkable for his extreme thinness, for the wild lock of +black hair that fell over his forehead and almost into his eyes, and for a +certain sort of threadbare and dissolute distinction which hung about him. +Falk knew him slightly. His name was Edmund Davray, and he had lived in +Polchester now for a considerable number of years. He was an artist, and +had arrived in the town one summer on a walking tour through Glebeshire. +He had attracted attention at once by the quality of his painting, by the +volubility of his manner, and by his general air of being a person of +considerable distinction. His surname was French, but no one knew anything +with any certainty about him. Something attracted him in Polchester, and +he stayed. He soon gave it out that it was the Cathedral that fascinated +him; he painted a number of remarkable sketches of the nave, the choir, +Saint Margaret's Chapel, the Black Bishop's Tomb. He had a "show" in +London and was supposed to have done very well out of it. He disappeared +for a little, but soon returned, and was to be found in the Cathedral most +days of the week. + +At first he had a little studio at the top of Orange Street. At this time +he was rather popular in Polchester society. Mrs. Combermere took him up +and found him audacious and amusing. His French name gave a kind of +piquancy to his audacity; he was unusual; he was striking. It was right +for Polchester to have an artist and to stick him up in the very middle of +the town as an emblem of taste and culture. Soon, however, he began to +decline. It was whispered that he drank, that his morals were "only what +you'd expect of an artist," and that he was really "too queer about the +Cathedral." One day he told Miss Dobell that the amount that she knew +about literature would go inside a very small pea, and he was certainly +"the worse for liquor" at one of Mrs. Combermere's tea-parties. He did +not, however, give them time to drop him; he dropped himself, gave up his +Orange Street studio, lived, no one knew where, neglected his appearance, +and drank quite freely whenever he could get anything to drink. He now cut +everybody, rather than allowed himself to be cut. + +He was in the Cathedral as often as ever, and Lawrence and Cobbett, the +Vergers, longed to have an excuse for expelling him, but he always behaved +himself there and was in nobody's way. He was finally regarded as "quite +mad," and was seen to talk aloud to himself as he walked about the +streets. + +"An unhappy example," Miss Dobell said, "of the artistic temperament, that +wonderful gift, gone wrong." + +Falk had seen him often before at the "Dog and Pilchard," and had wondered +at first whether Annie Hogg was the attraction. It was soon clear, +however, that there was nothing in that. He never looked at the girl nor, +indeed, at any one else in the place. He simply sat there moodily staring +in front of him and drinking. + +To-day it was clear that Falk had caught his attention. He looked across +the room at him with a queer defiant glance, something like Falk's own. +Once it seemed that he had made up his mind to come over and speak to him. + +He half rose in his seat, then sank back again. But his eyes came round +again and again to the corner where Falk was sitting. + +The Cathedral chimes had whispered twice in the room before Annie +returned. + +"What is it you're wanting?" she asked. + +"Come outside and speak to me." + +"No, I can't do that. Father's watching." + +"Well, will you meet me one evening and have a talk?" + +"What about?" + +"Several things." + +"It isn't right, Mr. Brandon. What's a gentleman like you want with a girl +like me?" + +"I only want us to get away a little from all this noise and filth." + +Suddenly she smiled. + +"Well, I don't mind if I do. After supper's a good time. Father goes up +the town to play billiards. After eight." + +"When?" + +"What about to-morrow evening?" + +"All right. Where?" + +"Up to the Mill. Five minutes up from here." + +"I'll be there," he said. + +"Don't let father catch 'ee--that's all," she smiled down at him. "You'm a +fule, Mr. Brandon, to bother with such as I." He said nothing and she +walked away. Very shortly after, Davray got up from his seat and came over +to Falk's corner. It was obvious that he had been drinking rather heavily. +He was a little unsteady on his feet. + +"You're young Brandon, aren't you?" he asked. + +In ordinary times Falk would have told him to go to the devil, and there +would have been a row, but to-day he was caught away so absolutely into +his own world that any one could speak to him, any one laugh at him, any +one insult him, and he would not care. He had been meditating for weeks +the advance that he had just taken; always when one meditates for long +over a risk it swells into gigantic proportions. So this had been; that +simple sentence asking her to come out and talk to him had seemed an +impossible challenge to every kind of fate, and now, in a moment, the gulf +had been jumped...so easy, so strangely easy.... + +From a great distance Davray's words came to him, and in the dialogue that +followed he spoke like a somnambulist. + +"Yes," he said, "my name's Brandon." + +"I knew, of course," said Davray. "I've seen you about." He spoke with +great swiftness, the words tumbling over one another, not with eagerness, +but rather with a kind of supercilious carelessness. "Beastly hole, isn't +this? Wonder why one comes here. Must do something in this rotten town. +I've drunk enough of this filthy beer. What do you say to moving out?" + +Falk looked up at him. + +"What do you say?" he asked. + +"Let's move out of this. If you're walking up the town I'll go with you." + +Falk was not conscious of the man, but it was quite true that he wanted to +get out of the place now that his job in it was done. He got up without a +word and began to push through the room. He was met near the door by Hogg. + +"Goin', Mr. Brandon? Like to settle now or leave it to another day?" + +"What's that?" said Falk, stopping as though some one had touched him on +the shoulder. He seemed to see the large smiling man suddenly in front of +him outlined against a shifting wall of mist. + +"Payin' now or leavin' it? Please yourself, Mr. Brandon." + +"Oh--paying!" He fumbled in his pocket, produced half-a-crown, gave it to +Hogg without looking at him and went out. Davray followed, slouching +through the room and passage with the conceited over-careful walk of a man +a little tipsy. + +Outside, as they went down the street still obscured with the wet mist, +Davray poured out a flow of words to which he seemed to want no answer. + +"I hope you didn't mind my speaking to you like that--a bit +unceremonious. But to tell you the truth I'm lonely sometimes. Also, if +you want to know the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I'm a bit +tipsy too. Generally am. This air makes one feel queer after that stinking +hole, doesn't it? If you can call this air. I've seen you there a lot +lately and often thought I'd like to talk to you. You're the only decent- +looking fellow in the whole of this town, if you'll forgive my saying so. +Isn't it a bloody hole? But of course you think so too. I can see it in +your face. I suppose you go to that pub after that girl. I saw you talking +to her. Well, each man to his taste. I'd never interfere with any man's +pleasure. I loathe women myself, always have. They never appealed to me a +little bit. In Paris the men used to wonder what I was after. I was after +Ambition in those days. Funny thing, but I thought I was going to be a +great painter once. Queer what one can trick oneself into believing--so I +might have been if I hadn't come to this beastly town. Hope I'm not boring +you...." + +He stopped as though he had suddenly realised that his companion had not +said a word. They were pushing now up the hill into the market-place and +the mist was now so thick that they could scarcely see one another's face. +Falk was thinking. "To-morrow evening.... What do I want? What's going to +happen? What do I want?" + +The silence made him conscious of his companion. + +"What do you say?" he asked. + +"Hope I'm not boring you." + +"No, that's all right. Where are we?" + +"Just coming into the market." + +"Oh, yes." + +"If I talk a lot it's because I haven't had any one to talk to for weeks. +Not that I want to talk to any one. I despise the lot of them. Conceited +set of ignorant parrots.... Whole place run by women and what can you +expect? You're not staying here, I suppose. I heard you'd had enough of +Oxford and I don't wonder. No place for a man, beautiful enough but spoilt +by the people. _Damn_ people--always coming along and spoiling +places. Now there's the Cathedral, most wonderful thing in England, but +does any one know it? Not a bit of it. You'd think they fancied that the +Cathedral _owes_ them something--about as much sense of beauty as a +cockroach." + +They were pressing up the High Street now. There was no one about. It was +a town of ghosts. By the Arden Gate Falk realised where he was and halted. + +"Hullo! we're nearly home.... Well...good afternoon, Mr. Davray." + +"Come into the Cathedral for a moment," Davray seemed to be urgent about +this. "Have you ever been up into the King Harry Tower? I bet you +haven't." + +"King Harry Tower?..." Falk stared at the man. What did the fellow want +him to do? Go into the Cathedral? Well, why not? Stupid to go home just +now--nothing to do there but think, and people would interrupt.... Think +better out of doors. But what was there to think about? He was not +thinking, simply going round and round.... Who was this fellow anyway? + +"As you like," he said. + +They crossed the Precincts and went through the West door into the +Cathedral. The nave was full of dusky light and very still. Candles +glimmered behind the great choir-screen and there were lamps by the West +door. Seen thus, in its half-dark, the nave bore full witness to the fact +that Polchester has the largest Cathedral in Northern Europe. It is +certainly true that no other building in England gives the same +overwhelming sense of length. + +In full daylight the nave perhaps, as is the case with all English +Cathedrals, lacks colour and seems cold and deserted. In the dark of this +spring evening it was full of mystery, and the great columns of the nave's +ten bays, rising unbroken to the roof groining, sprang, it seemed, out of +air, superbly, intolerably inhuman. + +The colours from the tombs and the brasses glimmered against the grey, and +the great rose-coloured circle of the West window flung pale lights across +the cold dark of the flags and pillars. + +The two men were held by the mysterious majesty of the place. Falk was +lifted right out of his own preoccupied thoughts. + +He had never considered the Cathedral except as a place to which he was +dragged for services against his will, but to-night, perhaps because of +his own crisis, he seemed to see it all for the first time. He was +conscious now of Davray and was aware that he did not like him and wished +to be rid of him--"an awful-looking tout" he thought him, "with his greasy +long hair and his white long face and his spindle legs." + +"Now we'll go up into King Harry," Davray said. But at that moment old +Lawrence came bustling along. Lawrence, over seventy years of age, had +grown stout and white-haired in the Cathedral's service. He was a fine +figure in his purple gown, broad-shouldered, his chest and stomach of a +grand protuberance, his broad white flowing beard a true emblem of his +ancient dignity. He was the most autocratic of Vergers and had been +allowed now for many years to do as he pleased. The only thorn in his +flesh was Cobbett, the junior Verger, who, as he very well realised, was +longing for him to die, that he might step into his shoes. "I do believe," +he was accustomed to say to Mrs. Lawrence, a little be-bullied woman, +"that that man will poison me one of these fine days." + +His autocracy had grown on him with the size and the whiteness of his +beard, and there were many complaints--rude to strangers, sycophantic to +the aristocracy, greedy of tips, insolent and conceited, he was an +excellent example of the proper spirit of the Church Militant. He had, +however, his merits. He loved small children and would have allowed them +to run riot on the Cathedral greens had he not been checked, and he had a +pride in the Cathedral that would drive him to any sacrifice in his +defence of it. + +It was natural enough that he should hate the very sight of Davray, and +when that gentleman appeared he hung about in the background hoping that +he might catch him in some crime. At first he thought him alone. + +"Oh, Verger," Davray said, as though he were speaking to a beggar who had +asked of him alms. "I want to go up into King Harry. You have the key, I +think." + +"Well, you can't, sir," said Lawrence, with considerable satisfaction. +"'Tis after hours." Then he saw Falk. + +"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Brandon, sir. I didn't realise. Do you want to +go up the Tower, sir?" + +"We may as well," said Falk. + +"Of course for you, sir, it's different. Strangers have to keep certain +hours. This way, sir." + +They followed the pompous old man across the nave, up the side aisle, past +"tombs and monuments and gilded knights," until they came to the King +Harry Chapel. This was to the right of the choir, and before the screen +that railed it off from the rest of the church there was a notice saying +that this Chapel had been put aside for private prayer and it was hoped +that no one would talk or make any noise, were some one meditating or +praying there. The little place was infinitely quiet, with a special air +of peace and beauty as though all the prayers and meditations that had +been offered there had deeply sanctified it; Lawrence pushed open the door +of the screen and they crossed the flagged floor. Suddenly into the heart +of the hush there broke the Cathedral chimes, almost, as it seemed, +directly above their heads, booming, echoing, dying with lingering music +back into the silence. At the corner of the Chapel there was a little +wooden door; Lawrence unlocked it and pushed it open. "Mind how you go, +sir," he said, speaking to Falk as though Davray did not exist. "'Tis a +bit difficult with the winding stair." + +The two men went forward into the black darkness, leaving the dusky light +behind them. Davray led the way and Falk followed, feeling with his arms +the black walls on either side of him, knocking with his legs against the +steps above him. Here there was utter darkness and no sound. He had +suddenly a half-alarmed, half-humorous suspicion that Davray was suddenly +going to turn round upon him and push him down the stair or stick a knife +into him--the fear of the dark. "After all, what am I doing with this +fellow?" he thought. "I don't know him. I don't like him. I don't want to +be with him." + +"That's better," he heard Davray say. There was a glimmer, then a shadow +of grey light, finally they had stepped out into what was known as the +Whispering Gallery, a narrow railed platform that ran the length of the +Chapel and beyond to the opposite Tower. They did not stop there. They +pushed up again by more winding stairs, black for a space, then lit by a +window, then black again. At last, after what had seemed a long journey, +they were in a little, spare, empty room with a wooden floor. One side of +this little room was open and railed in. Looking down, the floor of the +nave seemed a vast distance below. You seemed here to be flying in glory. +The dim haze of the candles just touched the misty depth with golden +colour. Above them the great roof seemed close and menacing. Everywhere +pillars and buttresses rose out of space. The great architect of the +building seemed here to have his true kingdom, so vast was the depth and +the height and the grandeur. The walls and the roof and the pillars that +supported it were alive with their own greatness, scornful of little men +and their little loves. The hush was filled with movement and stir and a +vast business.... + +The two men leaned on the rails and looked down. Far below, the white +figured altar, the brass of the Black Bishop's tomb, the glitter of Saint +Margaret's screen struck in little points of dull gold like stars upon a +grey inverted sky. + +Davray turned suddenly upon his companion. "And it's men like your +father," he said, "who think that this place is theirs.... Theirs! +Presumption! But they'll get it in the neck for that. This place can bide +its time. Just when you think you're its master it turns and stamps you +out." + +Falk said nothing. Davray seemed irritated by his silence. "You wait and +see," he said. "It amuses me to see your governor walking up the choir on +Sundays as though he owned the place. Owned it! Why, he doesn't realise a +stone of it! Well, he'll get it. They all have who've tried his game. +Owned it!" + +"Look here," said Falk, "don't you say anything about my father--that's +none of your business. He's all right. I don't know what the devil I came +up here for--thinking of other things." + +Davray too was thinking of other things. + +"You wonderful place!" he whispered. "You beautiful place! You've ruined +me, but I don't care. You can do what you like with me. You wonder! You +wonder!" + +Falk looked at him. The man was mad. He was holding on to the railing, +leaning forward, staring.... + +"Look here, it isn't safe to lean like that. You'll be tumbling over and +breaking your neck if you're not careful." + +But Davray did not hear him. He was lost in his own dreams. Falk despised +dreams although just now he was himself in the grip of one. Besides the +fellow was drunk. + +A sudden disgust of his companion overtook him. + +"Well, so long," he said. "I must be getting home!" + +He wondered for a moment whether it were safe to leave the fellow there. +"It's his own look-out," he thought, and as Davray said no more he left +him. + +Back once more in the King Harry Chapel, he looked up. But he could see no +one and could hear no sound. + + + + +Chapter VII + +Ronder's Day + + + +Ronder had now spent several months in Polchester and was able to come to +an opinion about it, and the opinion that he had come to was that he could +be very comfortable there. His aunt, who, in spite of her sharpness, never +was sure how he would take anything, was a little surprised when he told +her this. But then she was never certain what were the secret springs from +which he derived that sense of comfort that was the centre of his life. +She should have known by now that he derived it from two things--luxury +and the possibility of intrigue. + +Polchester could not have appeared to any casual observer a luxurious +town, but it had for Ronder exactly that combination of beauty and mystery +that obtained for him his sensation. + +He did not analyse it as yet further than that--he knew that those two +things were there; he might investigate them at his leisure. + +In that easy, smiling fashion that he had developed from his earliest days +as the surest protection for his own security and ease, he arranged +everything around him to assure his tranquillity. Everything was not as +yet arranged; it might take him six months, a year, two years for that +arrangement...but he knew now that it would be done. + +The second element in his comfort, his love of intrigue, would be +satisfied here simply because everything was not, as yet, as he would have +it. He would have hated to have tumbled into the place and found it just +as he required it. + +He liked to have things to move, to adjust, to arrange, just as when he +entered a room he always, if he had the power, at once altered the chairs, +the cushions. It was towards this final adjustment that his power of +intrigue always worked. Once everything was adjusted he sank back +luxuriously and surveyed it--and then, in all probability, was quickly +tired of it and looked for new fields to conquer. + +He could not remember a time when he had not been impelled to alter things +for his comfort. He did not wish to be selfish about this, he was quite +willing for every one else to do the same--indeed, he watched them with +geniality and wondered why on earth they didn't. As a small boy at Harrow +he had, with an imperturbable smile and a sense of humour that, in spite +of his rotund youth and a general sense amongst his elders that he was +"cheeky," won him popularity, worked always for his own comfort. + +He secured it and, first as fag and afterwards as House-prefect, finally +as School-prefect, did exactly what he wanted with everybody. + +He did it by being, quite frankly, all things to all men, although never +with sycophancy nor apparent falseness. He amused the bored, was +confidential with the wicked, upright with the upright, and sympathetic +with the unfortunate. + +He was quite genuine in all these things. He was deeply interested in +humanity, not for humanity's sake but his own. He bore no man any grudge, +but if any one was in his way he worked hard until they were elsewhere. +That removal attained, he wished them all the luck in the world. + +He was ordained because he thought he could deal more easily with men as a +parson. "Men always take clergymen for fools," he told his aunt, "and so +they sometimes are...but not always." He knew he was not a fool, but he +was not conceited. He simply thought that he had hit upon the one secret +of life and could not understand why others had not done the same. Why do +people worry so? was the amused speculation. "Deep emotions are simply not +worth while," he decided on his coming of age. He liked women but his +sense of humour prevented him from falling in love. He really did +understand the sensual habits and desires of men and women but watched +them from a distance through books and pictures and other men's stories. +He was shocked by nothing--nor did he despise mankind. He thought that +mankind did on the whole very well considering its difficulties. He was +kind and often generous; he bore no man alive or dead any grudge. He +refused absolutely to quarrel--"waste of time and temper." + +His one danger was lest that passion for intrigue should go deeper than he +allowed anything to go. Playing chess with mankind was to him, he +declared, simply a means to an end. Perhaps once it had been so. But, as +he grew older, there was a danger that the end should be swallowed by the +means. + +This danger he did not perceive; it was his one blindness. Finally he +believed with La Rochefoucauld that "Pity is a passion which is wholly +useless to a well-constituted mind." + +At any rate he discovered that there was in Polchester a situation exactly +suited to his powers. The town, or the Cathedral part of it, was dominated +by one man, and that man a stupid, autocratic, retrogressive, good-natured +child. He bore that child not the slightest ill-will, but it must go or, +at any rate, its authority must be removed. He did, indeed, like Brandon, +and through most of this affair he did not cease to like him, but he, +Ronder, would never be comfortable so long as Brandon was there, he would +never be free to take the steps that seemed to him good, he would be +interfered with and patronised. He was greatly amused by Brandon's +patronage, but it really was not a thing that could be allowed to remain. + +If he saw, as he made his plans, that the man's heart and soul, his life, +physical and spiritual, were involved--well he was sorry. It simply proved +how foolish it was to allow your heart and soul to be concerned in +anything. + +He very quickly perceived that the first thing to be done was to establish +relations with the men who composed the Chapter. He watched, he listened, +he observed, then, at the end of some months, he began to move. + +Many men would have considered him lazy. He never took exercise if he +could avoid it, and it was Polchester's only fault that it had so many +hills. He always had breakfast in bed, read the papers there and smoked a +cigarette. Every morning he had a bath as hot as he could bear it--and he +could bear it very hot indeed. Much of his best thinking was done there. + +When he came downstairs he reserved the first hour for his own reading, +reading, that is, that had nothing to do with any kind of work, that was +purely for his own pleasure. He allowed nothing whatever to interfere with +this--Gautier and Flaubert, La Bruyère and Montaigne were his favourite +authors, but he read a great deal of English, Italian, and Spanish, and +had a marvelous memory. He enjoyed, too, erotic literature and had a fine +collection of erotic books and prints shut away in a cabinet in his study. +He found great fascination in theological books: he laughed at many of +them, but kept an open mind--atheistic and materialistic dogmas seemed to +him as absurd as orthodox ones. He read too a great deal of philosophy +but, on the whole, he despised men who gave themselves up to philosophy +more than any other human beings. He felt that they lost their sense of +humour so quickly, and made life unpleasant for themselves. + +After his hour of reading he gave himself up to the work of the day. He +was the most methodical of men: the desk in his study was full of little +drawers and contrivances for keeping things in order. He had a thin vase +of blue glass filled with flowers, a small Chinese image of green jade, a +photograph of the Blind Homer from the Naples Museum in a silver frame, +and a little gold clock; all these things had to be in their exactly +correct positions. Nothing worried him so much as dust or any kind of +disorder. He would sometimes stop in the middle of his work and cross the +room, in the soft slippers of brown kid that he always wore in his study, +and put some picture straight or move some ornament from one position to +another. The books that stretched along one wall from floor to ceiling +were arranged most carefully according to their subjects. He disliked to +see some books projecting further from the shelf than others, and, with a +little smile of protest, as though he were giving them a kindly scolding, +he would push them into their right places. + +Let it not be supposed, however, that he was idle during these hours. He +could accomplish an astonishing amount of work in a short time, and he was +never idle except by deliberate intention. + +When luncheon time arrived he was ready to be charming to his aunt, and +charming to her he was. Their relations were excellent. She understood him +so well that she left his schemes alone. If she did not entirely approve +of him--and she entirely approved of nobody--she loved him for his good +company, his humour, and his common-sense. She liked it too that he did +not mind when she chose to allow her irony to play upon him. He cared +nothing for any irony. + +At luncheon they felt a very agreeable intimacy. There was no need for +explanations; half allusions were enough. They could enjoy their joke +without emphasising it and sometimes even without expressing it. Miss +Ronder knew that her nephew liked to hear all the gossip. He collected it, +tied it into little packets, and put them away in the little mechanical +contrivances with which his mind was filled. She told him first what she +heard, then her authorities, finally her own opinions. He thoroughly +enjoyed his meal. + +He had, by now, very thoroughly mastered the Cathedral finances. They were +not complicated and were in good order, because Hart-Smith had been a man +of an orderly mind. Ronder very quickly discovered that Brandon had had +his fingers considerably in the old pie. "And now there'll be a new pie," +he said to himself, "baked by me."...He traced a number of stupid and +conservative decisions to Brandon's agency. There was no doubt but that +many things needed a new urgency and activity. + +People had had to fight desperately for money when they should have been +given it at once; on the other hand, the Cathedral had been well looked +after--it was rather dependent bodies like the School, the Almshouses, and +various livings in the Chapter grant that had suffered. + +Anything that could possibly be considered a novelty had been fought and +generally defeated. "There will be a lot of novelties before I've finished +with them," Ronder said to himself. + +He started his investigations by paying calls on Bentinck-Major and Canon +Foster. Bentinck-Major lived at the top of Orange Street, in a fine house +with a garden, and Foster lived in one of four tumble-down buildings +behind the Cathedral, known from time immemorial as Canon's Yard. + +The afternoon of his visit was about three days after a dinner-party at +the Castle. He had seen and heard enough at that dinner to amuse him for +many a day; he considered it to have been one of the most entertaining +dinners at which he had ever been present. It had been here that he had +heard for the first time of the Pybus St. Anthony living. Brandon had been +present, and he observed Brandon's nervousness, and gathered enough to +realise that this would be a matter of considerable seriousness. He was to +know a great deal more about it before the afternoon was over. + +As he walked through the town on the way to Orange Street he came upon +Ryle, the Precentor. Ryle looked the typical clergyman, tall but not too +tall, here a smile and there a smile, with his soft black hat, his +trousers too baggy at the knees, his boots and his gold watch-chain both +too large. + +He cared, with serious devotion, for the Cathedral music and sang the +services beautifully, but he would have been able to give more time to his +work were he not so continuously worrying as to whether people were vexed +with him or no. His idea of Paradise was a place where he could chant +eternal services and where everybody liked him. He was a good man, but +weak, and therefore driven again and again into insincerity. It was as +though there was for ever in front of him the consciousness of some secret +in his past life that must on no account be discovered; but, poor man, he +had no secret at all. + +"Well, Precentor, and how are you?" said Ronder, beaming at him over his +spectacles. + +Ryle started. Ronder had come behind him. He liked the look of Ronder. He +always preferred fat men to thin; they were much less malicious, he +thought. + +"Oh, thank you, Canon Ronder--very well, thank you. I didn't see you. +Quite spring weather. Are you going my way?" + +"I'm off to see Bentinck-Major." + +"Oh, yes, Bentinck-Major...." + +Ryle's first thought was--"Now is Bentinck-Major likely to have anything +to say against me this afternoon?" + +"I'm going up Orange Street too. It's the High School Governors' meeting, +you know." + +"Oh, yes, of course." + +The two men started up the hill together. Ronder surveyed the scene around +him with pleasure. Orange Street always satisfied his aesthetic sense. It +was the street of the doctors, the solicitors, the dentists, the bankers, +and the wealthier old maids of Polchester. The grey stone was of a +charming age, the houses with their bow-windows, their pillared porches, +their deep-set doors, their gleaming old-fashioned knockers, spoke +eloquently of the day when the great Jane's Elizabeths and D'Arcys, Mrs. +Morrises and Misses Bates found the world in a tea-cup, when passions were +solved by matrimony and ambitions by the possession of a carriage and a +fine pair of bays. But more than this was the way that the gardens and +lawns and orchards ran unchecked in and out, up and down, here breaking +into the street, there crowding a church with apple-trees, seeming to +speak, at every step, of leisure and sunny days and lives free of care. + +Ronder had never seen anything so pretty; something seemed to tell him +that he would never see anything so pretty again. + +Ryle was not a good conversationalist, because he had always before him +the fear that some one might twist what he said into something really +unpleasant, but, indeed, he found Ronder so agreeable that, as he told +Mrs. Ryle when he got home, he "never noticed the hill at all." + +"I hope you won't think me impertinent," said Ronder, "but I must tell you +how charmed I was with the way that you sang the service on Sunday. You +must have been complimented often enough before, but a stranger always has +the right, I think, to say something. I'm a little critical, too, of that +kind of thing, although, of course, an amateur...but--well, it was +delightful." + +Ryle flushed with pleasure to the very tips of his over-large ears. + +"Oh, really, Canon...But indeed I hardly know what to say. You're too +good. I do my poor best, but I can't help feeling that there is danger of +one's becoming stale. I've been here a great many years now and I think +some one fresh...." + +"Well, often," said Ronder, "that _is_ a danger. I know several cases +where a change would be all for the better, but in your case there wasn't +a trace of staleness. I do hope you won't think me presumptuous in saying +this. I couldn't help myself. I must congratulate you, too, on the choir. +How do you find Brockett as an organist?" + +"Not quite all one would wish," said Ryle eagerly--and then, as though he +remembered that some one might repeat this to Brockett, he added +hurriedly, "Not that he doesn't do his best. He's an excellent fellow. +Every one has their faults. It's only that he's a _little_ too fond +of adventures on his own account, likes to add things on the spur of the +moment...a little _fantastic_ sometimes." + +"Quite so," said Ronder gravely. "That's rather what I'd thought myself. +I noticed it once or twice last Sunday. But that's a fault on the right +side. The boys behave admirably. I never saw better behaviour." + +Ryle was now in his element. He let himself go, explaining this, defending +that, apologising for one thing, hoping for another. Before he knew where +he was he found himself at the turning above the monument that led to the +High School. + +"Here we part," he said. + +"Why, so we do," cried Ronder. + +"I do hope," said Ryle nervously, "that you'll come and see us soon. Mrs. +Ryle will be delighted...." + +"Why, of course I will," said Ronder. "Any day you like. Good-bye. Good- +bye," and he went to Bentinck-Major's. + +One look at Bentinck-Major's garden told a great deal about Bentinck- +Major. The flower-beds, the trim over-green lawn, the neat paths, the +trees in their fitting places, all spoke not only of a belief in material +things but a desire also to demonstrate that one so believed.... + +One expected indeed to see the Bentinck-Major arms over the front-door. +They were there in spirit if not in fact. + +"Is the Canon in?" Ronder asked of a small and gaping page-boy. + +He was in, it appeared. Would he see Canon Ronder? The page-boy +disappeared and Ronder was able to observe three family trees framed in +oak, a large china bowl with visiting-cards, and a huge round-faced clock +that, even as he waited there, pompously announced that half-hour. +Presently the Canon, like a shining Ganymede, came flying into the hall. + +"My dear Ronder! But this is delightful. A little early for tea, perhaps. +Indeed, my wife is, for the moment, out. What do you say to the library?" + +Ronder had nothing to say against the library, and into it they went. A +fine room with books in leather bindings, high windows, an oil painting of +the Canon as a smart young curate, a magnificent writing-table, _The +Spectator_ and _The Church Times_ near the fireplace, and two deep +leather arm-chairs. Into these last two the clergymen sank. + +Bentinck-Major put his fingers together, crossed his admirable legs, and +looked interrogatively at his visitor. + +"I'm lucky to catch you at home," said Ronder. "This isn't quite the time +to call, I'm afraid. But the fact is that I want some advice." + +"Quite so," said his host. + +"I'm not a very modest man," said Ronder, laughing. "In fact, to tell you +the truth, I don't believe very much in modesty. But there _are_ +times when it's just as well to admit one's incompetence. This is one of +them--" + +"Why, really, Canon," said Bentinck-Major, wishing to give the poor man +encouragement. + +"No, but I mean what I say. I don't consider myself a stupid man, but when +one comes fresh into a place like this there are many things that one +_can't_ know, and that one must learn from some one wiser than +oneself if one's to do any good." + +"Oh, really, Canon," Bentinck-Major repeated. "If there's anything I can +do--". + +"There is. It isn't so much about the actual details of the work that I +want your advice. Hart-Smith has left things in excellent condition, and I +only hope that I shall be able to keep everything as straight as he has +done. What I really want from you is some sort of bird's-eye view as to +the whole situation. The Chapter, for instance. Of course, I've been here +for some months now and have a little idea as to the people in the place, +but you've been here so long that there are many things that you can tell +me." + +"Now, for instance," said Bentinck-Major, looking very wise and serious. +"What kind of things?" + +"I don't want you to tell me any secrets," said Ronder. "I only want your +opinion, as a man of the world, as to how things stand--what really wants +doing, who, Beside yourself, are the leading men here and in what +directions they work. I needn't say that this conversation is +confidential." + +"Oh, of course, of course." + +"Now, I don't know if I'm wrong, but it seems from what I've seen during +the short time that I've been here that the general point of view is +inclined to be a little too local. I believe you rather feel that +yourself, although I may be prejudiced, coming straight as I have from +London." + +"It's odd that you should mention that, Canon," said Bentinck-Major. +"You've put your finger on the weak spot at once. You're only saying what +I've been crying aloud for the last ever so many years. A voice in the +wilderness I've been, I'm afraid--a voice in the wilderness, although +perhaps I _have_ managed to do a little something. But there's no doubt +that the men here, excellent though they are, are a _little_ provincial. +What else can you expect? They've been here for years. They have not had, +most of them, the advantage of mingling with the great world. That I +should have had a little more of that opportunity than my fellows here is +nothing to my credit, but it does, beyond question, give one a wider view +--a wider view. There's our dear Bishop for instance--a saint, if ever +there was one. A saint, Ronder, I assure you. But there he is, hidden away +at Carpledon--out of things, I'm afraid, although of course he does his +best. Then there's Sampson. Well, I hardly need to tell you that he's not +quite the man to make things hum. _Not_ by his own fault I assure +you. He does his best, but we are as we're made...yes. We can only use +the gifts that God has given us, and God has not, undoubtedly, given the +Dean _quite_ the gifts that we need here." + +He paused and waited. He was a cautious man and weighed his words. + +"Then there's Brandon," said Ronder smiling. "There, if I may say so, is a +splendid character, a man who gives his whole life and energy for the good +of the place--who spares himself nothing." + +There was a little pause. Bentinck-Major took advantage of it to look +graver than ever. + +"He strikes you like that, does he?" he said at last. "Well, in many ways +I think you're right. Brandon is a good friend of mine--I may say that he +thoroughly appreciates what I've done for this place. But he is-- +_quite_ between ourselves--how shall I put it?--just a _little_ +autocratic. Perhaps that's too strong a word, but he _is_, some +think, a little too inclined to fancy that he runs the Cathedral! That, +mind you, is only the opinion of some here, and I don't know that I should +entirely associate myself with it, but perhaps there is _something_ +in it. He is, as you can see, a man of strong will and, again between +ourselves, of a considerable temper. This will not, I'm sure, go further +than ourselves?" + +"Absolutely not," said Ronder. + +"Things have been a little slack here for several years, and although I've +done my own little best, what is one against so many, if you understand +what I mean?" + +"Quite," said Ronder. + +"Well, nobody could call Brandon an unenergetic man--quite the reverse. +And, to put it frankly, to oppose him one needs courage. Now I may say +that I've opposed him on a number of occasions but have had no backing. +Brandon, when he's angry, is no light opponent, and the result has been +that he's had, I'm afraid, a great deal of his own way." + +"You're afraid?" said Ronder. + +Bentinck-Major seemed a little nervous at being caught up so quickly. He +looked at Ronder suspiciously. His voice was sharper than it had been. + +"Oh, I like Brandon--don't make any mistake about that. He and I together +have done some excellent things here. In many ways he's admirable. I don't +know what I'd have done sometimes without his backing. All I mean is that +he is perhaps a little hasty sometimes." + +"Quite," said Ronder. "I can't tell you how you've helped me by what +you've told me. I'm sure you're right in everything you've said. If you +were to give me a tip then, you'd say that I couldn't do better than +follow Brandon. I'll remember that." + +"Well, no," said Bentinck-Major rather hastily. "I don't know that I'd +quite say that either. Brandon is often wrong. I'm not sure either that he +has quite the influence he had. That silly little incident of the elephant +the other day--you heard that, didn't you?--well, a trivial thing, but one +saw by the way that the town took it that the Archdeacon isn't +_quite_ where he was. I agree with him entirely in his policy--to +keep things as they always have been. That's the only way to save our +Church, in my opinion. As soon as they tell me an idea's new, that's +enough for me...I'm down on it at once. But what I _do_ think is +that his diplomacy is often faulty. He rushes at things like a bull-- +exactly like a bull. A little too confident always. No, if you won't think +me conceited--and I believe I'm a modest man--you couldn't do better than +come to me--talk things over with me, you know. I'm sure we'll see alike +about many things." + +"I'm sure we will," said Ronder. "Thank you very much. As you've been so +kind I'm sure you won't mind my asking you a few questions. I hope I'm not +keeping you from anything." + +"Not at all. Not at all," said Bentinck-Major very graciously, and +stretching his plump little body back into the arm-chair. "Ask as many +questions as you like and I'll do my best to answer them." + +Ronder did then, during the next half-hour, ask a great many questions, +and he received a great many answers. The answers may not have told him +overmuch about the things that he wanted to know, but they did tell him a +great deal about Bentinck-Major. + +The clock struck four. + +Ronder got up. + +"You don't know how you've helped me," he said. "You've told me exactly +what I wanted to know. Thank you so very much." + +Bentinck-Major looked gratified. He had, in fact, thoroughly enjoyed +himself. + +"Oh, but you'll stay and have some tea, won't you?" + +"I'm afraid I can't do that. I've got a pretty busy afternoon still in +front of me." + +"My wife will be so disappointed." + +"You'll let me come another day, won't you?" + +"Of course. Of course." + +The Canon himself accompanied his guest into the hall and opened the front +door for him. + +"Any time--any time--that I can help you." + +"Thank you so very much. Good-bye." + +"Good-bye. Good-bye." + +So far so good, but Ronder was aware that his next visit would be quite +another affair--and so indeed it proved. + +To reach Canon's Yard from Orange Street, Ronder had to go down through +Green Lane past the Orchards, and up by a steep path into Bodger's Street +and the small houses that have clustered for many years behind the +Cathedral. Here once was Saint Margaret's Monastery utterly swept away, +until not a stone remained, by Henry VIII.'s servants. Saint Margaret's +only memory lingers in the Saint Margaret's Hostel for Women at the top of +Bodger's Street, and even that has now a worn and desolate air as though +it also were on the edge of departure. In truth, this part of Polchester +is neglected and forgotten; it has not sunk like Seatown into dirt and +degradation, it has still an air of romance and colour, but the life is +gone from it. + +Canon's Yard is behind the Hostel and is a little square, shut-in, cobbled +place with tall thin houses closing it in and the Cathedral towers +overhanging it. Rooks and bells and the rattle of carts upon the cobbles +make a perpetual clatter here, and its atmosphere is stuffy and begrimed. +When the Cathedral chimes ring they echo from house to house, from wall to +wall, so that it seems as though the bells of a hundred Cathedrals were +ringing here. Nevertheless from the high windows of the Yard there is a +fine view of orchards and hills and distant woods--a view not to be +despised. + +The house in which Canon Foster had his rooms is one of the oldest of all +the houses. The house was kept by one Mrs. Maddis, who had "run" rooms for +the clergy ever since her first marriage, when she was a pretty blushing +girl of twenty. She was now a hideous old woman of eighty, and the house +was managed by her married daughter, Mrs. Crumpleton. There were three +floors and there should have been three clergymen, but for some time the +bottom floor had been empty and the middle apartments were let to +transient tenants. They were at this moment inhabited by a retired sea- +captain. + +Foster reigned on the top floor and was quite oblivious of neighbours, +landladies, tidiness, and the view--he cared, by nature, for none of these +things. Ronder climbed up the dirty dark staircase and knocked on the old +oak door that had upon it a dirty visiting card with Foster's name. When +he ceased his climb and the noise of his footsteps fell away there was a +great silence. Not a sound could be heard. The bells were not chiming, the +rooks were not cawing (it was not as yet their time) nor was the voice of +Mrs. Crumpleton to be heard, shrill and defiant, as was too often the +case. The house was dead; the town was dead; had the world itself suddenly +died, like a candle whose light is put out, Foster would not have cared. + +Ronder knocked three times with the knob of his walking-stick. The man +must be out. He was about to turn away and go when the door suddenly +opened, as though by a secret life of its own, and the pale face and +untidy person of the Canon, like the apparition of a surprised and +indignant _revenant_, was apparent. + +"May I come in for a moment?" said Ronder. "I won't keep you long." + +Foster stared at his visitor, said nothing, opened the door a little +wider, and stood aside. Ronder accepted this as an invitation and came in. + +"You'd better come into the other room," said Foster, looking about him as +though he had been just ruthlessly awakened from an important dream. They +passed through a little passage and an untidy sitting-room into the study. +This was a place piled high with books and its only furniture was a deal +table and two straw-bottomed chairs. At the table Foster had obviously +been working. Books lay about it and papers, and there was also a pile of +manuscript. Foster looked around him, caught his large ears in his fingers +and cracked them, and then suddenly said: + +"You'd better sit down. What can I do for you?" + +Ronder sat down. It was at once apparent that, whatever the state of the +rooms might be, his reluctant host was suddenly very wide awake indeed. He +felt, what he had known from the very first meeting, that he was in +contact here with a man of brain, of independence, of character. His +capacity for amused admiration that was one of the strongest things in +him, was roused to the full. Another thing that he had also by now +perceived was that Foster was not that type, by now so familiar to us in +the pages of French and English fiction, of the lost and bewildered old +clergyman whose long nose has been for so many years buried in dusty books +that he is unable to smell the real world. Foster was neither lost nor +bewildered. He was very much all there. + +What could he do for Ronder? Ronder was, for a moment, uncertain. Here, he +was happy to think, he must go with the greatest care. He did not smile as +he had smiled upon Bentinck-Major. He spoke to Foster as to an equal. + +"I can see you're busy," he said. "All the same I'm not going to apologise +for coming. I'll tell you frankly that I want your help. At the same time +I'll tell you that I don't care whether you give it me or no." + +"In what way can I help you?" asked Foster coldly. + +"There's to be a Chapter Meeting in a few days' time, isn't there? +Honestly I haven't been here quite long enough yet to know how things +stand. Questions may come up, although there's nothing very important this +time, I believe. But there may be important things brewing. Now you've +been here a great many years and you have your opinion of how things +should go. I want your idea of some of the conditions." + +"You've come to spy out the land, in fact?" + +"Put it that way if you like," said Ronder seriously, "although I don't +think spying is exactly the word. You're perfectly at liberty, I mean, to +tell anybody that I've been to see you and to repeat to anybody what I +say. It simply is that I don't care to take on all the work that's being +shoved on to my shoulders without getting the views of those who know the +place well." + +"Oh, if it's my views you want," cried Foster, suddenly raising his voice +and almost shouting, "they're easy enough to discover. They are simply +that everything here is abominable, going to wrack and ruin...Now you +know what _I_ think." + +He looked down at his manuscript as much as to say, "Well, good +afternoon." + +"Going to ruin in what way?" asked Ronder. + +"In the way that the country is going to ruin--because it has turned its +back upon God." + +There was a pause. Suddenly Foster flung out, "Do you believe in God, +Canon Ronder?" + +"I think," said Ronder, "the fact that I'm in the position I'm in----" + +"Nonsense," interrupted Foster. "That's anybody's answer. You don't look +like a spiritual man." + +"I'm fat, if that's what you mean," said Ronder smiling. "That's my +misfortune." + +"If I've been rude," said Foster more mildly, "forgive me. I _am_ +rude these days. I've given up trying not to be. The truth is that I'm +sick to the heart with all their worldliness, shams, lies, selfishness, +idleness. You may be better than they. You may not. I don't know. If +you've come here determined to wake them all up and improve things, then I +wish you God-speed. But you won't do it. You needn't think you will. If +you've come like the rest to get what you can out of it, then I don't +think you'll find my company good for you." + +"I certainly haven't come to wake them up," said Ronder. "I don't believe +that to be my duty. I'm not made that way. Nor can I honestly believe +things to be as bad as you say. But I do intend, with God's help, to do my +best. If that's not good enough for you, then you must abandon me to my +fate." + +Foster seemed to appreciate that. He nodded his head. + +"That's honest at any rate," he said. "It's the first honest thing I've +heard here for a long time except from the Bishop. To tell you the truth, +I had thought you were going to work in with Brandon. One more of his +sheep. If that were to be so the less we saw of one another the better." + +"I have not been here long enough," said Ronder, "to think of working in +with anybody. And I don't wish to take sides. There's my duty to the +Cathedral. I shall work for that and let the rest go." + +"There's your duty to God," said Foster vehemently. "That's the thing that +everybody here's forgotten. But you don't sound as though you'd go +Brandon's way. That's something in your favour." + +"Why should one go Brandon's way?" Ronder asked. + +"Why? Why? Why? Why do sheep huddle together when the dog barks at their +heels?...But I respect him. Don't you mistake me. He's a man to be +respected. He's got courage. He cares for the Cathedral. He's a hundred +years behind, that's all. He's read nothing, he knows nothing, he's a +child--and does infinite harm...." He looked up at Ronder and said quite +mildly, "Is there anything more you want to know?" + +"There's talk," said Ronder, "about the living at Pybus St. Anthony. It's +apparently an important place, and when there's an appointment I should +like to be able to form an opinion about the best man----" + +"What! is Morrison dead?" said Foster eagerly. + +"No, but very ill, I believe." + +"Well, there's only one possible appointment for that place, and that is +Wistons." + +"Wistons?" repeated Ronder. + +"Yes, yes," said Foster impatiently, "the author of _The New +Apocalypse_--the rector of St. Edward's, Hawston." + +Ronder remembered. "A stranger?" he said. "I thought that it would have to +be some one in the diocese." + +Foster did not hear him. "I've been waiting for this--to get Wistons here +--for years," he said. "A wonderful man--a great man. He'll wake the place +up. We _must_ have him. As to local men, the more strangers we let in +here the better." + +"Brandon said something about a man called Forsyth--Rex Forsyth?" + +Foster smiled grimly. "Yes--he would," he said, "that's just his kind of +appointment. Well, if he tries to pull that through there'll be such a +battle as this place has never seen." + +Ronder said slowly. "I like your idea of Wistons. That sounds +interesting." + +Foster looked at him with a new intensity. + +"Would you help me about that?" he asked. + +"I don't know quite where I am yet," said Ronder, "but I think you'll find +me a friend rather than an enemy, Foster." + +"I don't care what you are," said Foster. "So far as my feelings or +happiness go, nothing matters. But to have Wistons here--in this place.... +Oh, what we could do! What we could do!" + +He seemed to be lost in a dream. Five minutes later he roused himself to +say good-bye. Ronder once more at the top of the stairs felt about him +again the strange stillness of the house. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +Son--Father + + + +Falk Brandon was still, in reality, a boy. He, of course, did not know +this and would have been very indignant had any one told him so; it was +nevertheless the truth. + +There is a kind of confidence of youth that has great charm, a sort of +assumption of grown-up manners and worldly ways that is accompanied with +an ingenuous belief in human nature, a naïve trust in human goodness. One +sees it sometimes in books, in stories that are like a charade acted by +children dressed in their elders' clothes, and although these tales are +nothing but fairy stories in their actual relation to life, the sincerity +of their belief in life, and a kind of freshness that come from ignorance, +give them a power of their own. + +Falk had some of this charm and power just as his father had, but whereas +his father would keep it all his days, Falk would certainly lose it as he +learnt more and went more into the world. But as yet he had not lost it. + +This emotion that had now gained such control over him was the first real +emotion of his life, and he did not know in the least how to deal with it. +He was like a man caught in a baffling fog. He did not know in the least +whether he were in love with this girl, he did not know what he wanted to +do with her, he sometimes fancied that he hated her, he could not see her +clearly either mentally or physically; he only knew that he could not keep +away from her, and that with every meeting he approached more nearly the +moment when he would commit some desperate action that he would probably +regret for the rest of his life. + +But although he could not see her clearly he could see sharply enough the +other side of the situation--the practical, home, filial side. It was +strange how, as the affair advanced, he was more and more conscious of his +father. It was as though he were an outsider, a friend of his father's, +but no relation to the family, who watched a calamity approach ever more +closely and was powerless to stop it. Although he was only a boy he +realised very sufficiently his father's love for him and pride in him. He +realized, too, his father's dependence upon his dignity and position in +the town, and, last and most important of all, his father's passionate +devotion to the Cathedral. All these things would be bruised were he, +Falk, involved in any local scandal. Here he saw into himself and, with a +bitterness and humility that were quite new to him, despised himself. He +knew, as though he saw future events passing in procession before him, +that if such a scandal did break out he would not be able to stay in the +place and face it--not because he himself feared any human being alive, +but because he could not see his father suffer under it. + +Well, then, since he saw so clearly, why not abandon it all? Why not run +away, obtain some kind of work in London and leave Polchester until the +madness had passed away from him? + +He could not go. + +He would have been one of the first to scorn another man in such a +position, to mock his weakness and despise him. Well, let that be so. He +despised himself but--he could not go. + +He was always telling himself that soon the situation would clear and that +he would then know how to act. Until that happened he must see her, must +talk to her, must be with her, must watch her. They had had, by now, a +number of meetings, always in the evening by the river, when her father +was away, up in the town. + +He had kissed her twice. She had been quite passive on each occasion, +watching him ironically with a sort of dry amusement. She had given him no +sign that she cared for him, and their conversation had always been bare +and unsatisfactory. Once she had said to him with sudden passion: + +"I want to get away out of this." He had asked her where she wanted to go. + +"Anywhere--London." He had asked her whether she would go with him. + +"I would go with any one," she had said. Afterwards she added: "But you +won't take me." + +"Why not?" he had asked. + +"Because I'm not in love with you." + +"You may be--yet." + +"I'd be anything to get away," she had replied. + +On a lovely evening he went down to see her, determined that this time he +would give himself some definite answer. Just before he turned down to the +river he passed Samuel Hogg. That large and smiling gentleman, a fat cigar +between his lips, was sauntering, with a friend, on his way to Murdock's +billiard tables. + +"Evenin', Mr. Brandon." + +"Good evening, Hogg." + +"Lovely weather." + +"Lovely." + +The shadows, faintly pink on the rise of the hill, engulfed his fat body. +Falk wondered as he had before now done many times, How much does he know? +What's he thinking? What's he want?...The river, at high tide, very +gently lapped the side of the old wall. Its colour to-night was pure +crystal green, the banks and the hills smoky grey behind it. Tiny pink +clouds ran in little fleets across the sky, chasing one another in and out +between the streamers of smoke that rose from the tranquil chimneys. +Seatown was at rest this evening, scarcely a sound came from the old +houses; the birds could be heard calling from the meadows beyond the +river. The pink clouds faded into a rosy shadow, then that in its turn +gave way to a sky faintly green and pointed with stars. Grey mist +enveloped the meadows and the river, and the birds cried no longer. There +was a smell of onions and rank seaweed in the air. + +Falk's love-story pursued at first its usual realistic course. She was +there near the waterfall waiting for him; they had very little to say to +one another. She was depressed to-night, and he fancied that she had been +crying. She was not so attractive to him in such a mood. He liked her best +when she was intolerant, scornful, aloof. To-night, although she showed no +signs of caring for him, she surrendered herself absolutely. He could do +what he liked with her. But he did not want to do anything with her. + +She leaned over the Seatown wall looking desolately in front of her. + +At last she turned round to him and asked him what she had asked him +before: + +"What do you come after me for?" + +"I don't know," he said. + +"It isn't because you love me." + +"I don't know." + +"_I_ know--there's no mistakin' it when it's there. I've lain awake a +lot o' nights wondering what you're after. You must have your reasons. You +take a deal o' trouble." + +Then she put her hand on his. It was the first time that she had ever, of +her own accord, touched him. + +"I'm gettin' to like you," she said. "Seein' so much of you, I suppose. +You're only a boy when all's said. And then, somehow or another, men don't +go after me. You're the only one that ever has. They say I'm stuck up... +Oh, man, but I'm unhappy here at home!" + +"Well, then--you'd better come away with me--to London." + +Even as he said it he would have caught the words back. What use for them +to go? Nothing to live on, no true companionship ...there could be only +one end to that. + +But she shook her head. + +"No--if you cared for me enough, mebbe I'd go. But I don't know that we'd +be together long if we did. I want my own life, my own, own, own life! I +can look after myself all right...I'll be off by myself alone one day." + +Then suddenly he wanted her as urgently as he had ever done. + +"No, you must never do that," he said. "If you go it must be with me. You +must have some one to look after you. You don't know what London's like." + +He caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately, and she seemed to +him a new woman altogether, created by her threat that she would go away +alone. + +She passively let him kiss her, then with a little turn in his arms and a +little sigh she very gently kissed him of her own will. + +"I believe I could care for 'ee," she said softly. "And I want to care for +some one terrible bad." + +They were nearer in spirit than they had ever been before; an emotion of +simple human companionship had crept into the unsettled disturbance and +quieted it and deepened it. She wore in his eyes a new aspect, something +wise and reasonable and comfortable. She would never be quite so +mysterious to him again, but her hold on him now was firmer. He was +suddenly sorry for her as well as for himself. + +For the first time he left her that night with a sense that comradeship +might grow between them. + +But as he went back up the hill he was terribly depressed and humiliated. +He hated and despised himself for longing after something that he did not +really want. He had always, he fancied, done that, as though there would +never be time enough in life for all the things that he would wish to test +and to reject. + +When he went to bed that night he was in rebellion with all the world, but +before he fell asleep Annie Hogg seemed to come to him, a gentler, kinder +spirit, and to say to him, "It'll be all right.... I'll look after 'ee.... +I'll look after 'ee," and he seemed to sink to sleep in her arms. + +Next morning Falk and Joan had breakfast alone with their father, a +headache having laid Mrs. Brandon low. Falk was often late for breakfast, +but to-day had woken very early, had got up and gone out and walked +through the grey mist, turning his own particular trouble over and over in +his mind. To-day Annie had faded back from him again; that tenderness that +he had felt for her last night seemed to have vanished, and he was aware +only of a savage longing to shake himself free of his burden. He had +visions this morning of going up to London and looking for work.... + +Joan saw that to-day was a "Chapter morning" day. She always knew by her +father's appearance when there was to be a Chapter Meeting. He had then an +extra gloss, an added splendour, and also an added importance. He really +was the smartest old thing, she thought, looking at him this morning with +affectionate pride. He looked as though he spent his time in springing in +and out of cold baths. + +The importance was there too. He had the _Glebshire Morning News_ +propped up in front of him, and every now and then he would poke his fine +head up over it and look at his children and the breakfast-table and give +them a little of the world's news. In former days it had been only at the +risk of their little lives that they had spoken to one another. Now, +although restrictions had broken down, they would always hear, if their +voices were loud: + +"Come, children...come, come. Mayn't your father read the newspaper in +quiet? Plenty of time to chatter during the rest of the day." + +He would break forth into little sentences and exclamations as he read. +"Well, that's settled Burnett's hash.--Serve him right, too.... Dear, +dear, five shillings a hundred now. Phillpott's going to St. Lummen! What +an appointment!..." and so on. + +Sometimes he would grow so deeply agitated that he would push the paper +away from him and wave vaguely about the table with his hands as though he +were learning to swim, letting out at the same time little snorts of +indignation and wonder: + +"The fools! The idiots! Savage, of all men! Fancy listening to him! Well, +they'll only get what they deserve for their weakness. I wrote to Benson, +too--might as well have written to a rhinoceros. Toast, please, Joan!-- +Toast, toast. Didn't you hear me? Savage! What can they be thinking of? +Yes, and butter.... Of course I said butter." + +But on "Chapter Days" it was difficult for the newspaper to disturb him. +His mind was filled with thoughts for the plan and policy of the morning. +It was unfortunately impossible for him ever to grasp two things at the +same time, and this made his reasoning and the development of any plan +that he had rather slow. When the Chapter was to be an important one he +would not look at the newspaper at all and would eat scarcely any +breakfast. To-day, because the Chapter was a little one, he allowed +himself to consider the outside world. That really was the beginning of +his misfortune, because the paper this morning contained a very vivid +picture of the loss of the _Drummond Castle_. That was an old story +by this time, but here was some especial account that provided new details +and circumstances, giving a fresh vivid horror to the scene even at this +distance of time. + +Brandon tried not to read the thing. He made it a rule that he would not +distress himself with the thought of evils that he could not cure. That is +what he told himself, but indeed his whole life was spent in warding off +and shutting out and refusing to listen. + +He had told himself many years ago that it was a perfect world and that +God had made it and that God was good. To maintain this belief it was +necessary that one should not be "Presumptuous." It was "Presumptuous" to +imagine for a moment about any single thing that it was a "mistake." If +anything _were_ evil or painful it was there to "try and test" us.... +A kind of spring-board over the waters of salvation. + +Once, some years ago, a wicked atheist had written an article in a +magazine manifesting how evil nature was, how the animals preyed upon one +another, how everything from the tiniest insect to the largest elephant +suffered and suffered and suffered. How even the vegetation lived a short +life of agony and frustration, and then fell into foul decay.... Brandon +had read the article against his will, and had then hated the writer of it +with so deep a hatred that he would have had him horse-whipped, had he had +the power. The article upset him for days, and it was only by asserting to +himself again and again that it was untrue, by watching kittens at play +and birds singing on the branches and roses bursting from bud to bloom, +that he could reassure himself. + +Now to-day here was the old distress back again. There was no doubt but +that those men and women on the _Drummond Castle_ had suffered in +order to win quite securely for themselves a crown of glory. He ought to +envy them, to regret that he had not been given the same chance, and yet-- +and yet---- + +He pushed the paper impatiently away from him. It was good that there was +nothing important to be discussed at Chapter this morning, because really +he was not in the mood to fight battles. He sighed. Why was it always he +that had to fight battles? He had indeed the burden of the whole town upon +his shoulders. And at that secretly he felt a great joy. He was glad--yes, +he was glad that he had.... + +As he looked over at Joan and Folk he felt tenderly towards them. His +reading then about the _Drummond Castle_ made him anxious that they +should have a good time and be happy. It might be better for them that +they should suffer; nevertheless, if they _could_ be sure of heaven +and at the same time not suffer too badly he would be glad. + +Suddenly then, across the breakfast-table, a picture drove itself in front +of him--a picture of Joan with her baby-face, struggling in the water.... +She screamed; she tried to catch on to the side of a boat with her hand. +Some one struck her.... + +With a shudder of disgust he drove it from him. + +"Pah!" he cried aloud, getting up from the table. + +"What is it, father?" Joan asked. + +"People oughtn't to be allowed to write such things," he said, and went to +his study. + +When an hour later he sallied forth to the Chapter Meeting he had +recovered his equanimity. His mind now was nailed to the business on hand. +Most innocently as he crossed the Cathedral Green he strutted, his head +up, his brow stern, his hands crossed behind his back. The choristers +coming in from the choir-school practice in the Cathedral passed him in a +ragged line. They all touched their mortar-boards and he smiled benignly +upon them, reserving a rather stern glance for Brockett, the organist, of +whose musical eccentricities he did not at all approve. + +Little remained now of the original Chapter House which had once been a +continuation of Saint Margaret's Chapel. Some extremely fine Early Norman +arches which were once part of the Chapter House are still there and may +be seen at the southern end of the Cloisters. Here, too, are traces of the +dormitory and infirmary which formerly stood there. The present Chapter +House consists of two rooms adjoining the Cloisters, once a hall used by +the monks as a large refectory. There is still a timber roof of late +thirteenth century work, and this is supposed to have been once part of +the old pilgrims' or strangers' hall. The larger of the two rooms is +reserved for the Chapter Meetings, the smaller being used for minor +meetings and informal discussions. + +The Archdeacon was a little late as, I am afraid, he liked to be when he +was sure that others would be punctual. Nothing, however, annoyed him more +than to find others late when he himself was in time. There they all were +and how exactly he knew how they would all be! + +There was the long oak table, blotting paper and writing materials neatly +placed before each seat, there the fine walls in which he always took so +great a pride, with the portraits of the Polchester Bishops in grand +succession upon them. At the head of the table was the Dean, nervously +with anxious smiles looking about him. On the right was Brandon's seat; on +the left Witheram, seriously approaching the business of the day as though +his very life depended upon it; then Bentinck-Major, his hands looking as +though they had been manicured; next to him Ryle, laughing obsequiously at +some fashionable joke that Bentinck-Major had delivered to him; opposite +to him Foster, looking as though he had not had a meal for a week and +badly shaved with a cut on his chin; and next to _him_ Ronder. + +At the bottom of the table was little Bond, the Chapter Clerk, sucking his +pencil. + +Brandon took his place with dignified apologies for his late arrival. + +"Let us ask God for His blessing on our work to-day," said the Dean. + +A prayer followed, then general rustling and shuffling, blowing of noses, +coughing and even, from the surprised and consternated Ryle, a sneeze-- +then the business of the day began. The minutes of the last meeting were +read, and there was a little amiable discussion. At once Brandon was +conscious of Ronder. Why? He could not tell and was the more +uncomfortable. The man said nothing. He had not been present at the last +meeting and could therefore have nothing to say to this part of the +business. He sat there, his spectacles catching the light from the +opposite windows so that he seemed to have no eyes. His chubby body, the +position in which he was sitting, hunched up, leaning forward on his arms, +spoke of perfect and almost sleepy content. His round face and fat cheeks +gave him the air of a man to whom business was a tiresome and unnecessary +interference with the pleasures of life. + +Nevertheless, Brandon was so deeply aware of Ronder that again and again, +against his will, his eyes wandered in his direction. Once or twice +Brandon said something, not because he had anything really to say, but +because he wanted to impress himself upon Ronder. All agreed with him in +the complacent and contented way that they had always agreed.... + +Then his consciousness of Ronder extended and gave him a new consciousness +of the other men. He had known for so long exactly how they looked and the +words that they would say, that they were, to him, rather like the stone +images of the Twelve Apostles in the niches round the West Door. Today +they jumped in a moment into new life. Yesterday he could have calculated +to a nicety the attitude that they would have; now they seemed to have +been blown askew with a new wind. Because he noticed these things it does +not mean that he was generally perceptive. He had always been very sharp +to perceive anything that concerned his own position. + +Business proceeded and every one displayed his own especial +characteristics. Nothing arose that concerned Ronder. Every one's personal +opinion about every one else was clearly apparent. It was a fine thing, +for instance, to observe Foster's scorn and contempt whilst Bentinck-Major +explained his little idea about certain little improvements that he, as +Chancellor, might naturally suggest, or Ryle's attitude of goodwill to all +and sundry as he apologised for certain of Brockett's voluntaries and +assured Brandon on one side that "something should be done about it," and +agreed with Bentinck-Major on the other that it was indeed agreeable to +hear sometimes music a little more advanced and original than one usually +found in Cathedrals. + +Brandon sniffed something of incipient rebellion in Bentinck-Major's +attitude and looked across the table severely. Bentinck-Major blinked and +nervously examined his nails. + +"Of course," said the Archdeacon in his most solemn manner, "there may be +people who wish to turn the Cathedral into a music-hall. I don't say there +_are_, but there _may_ be. In these strange times nothing would +astonish me. In my own humble opinion what was good enough for our fathers +is good enough for us. However, don't let my opinion influence any one." + +"I assure you, Archdeacon," said Bentinck-Major. Witheram earnestly +assured every one that he was certain there need be no alarm. They could +trust the Precentor to see.... There was a general murmur. Yes, they +_could_ trust the Precentor. + +This little matter being settled, the meeting was very near an agreeable +conclusion and the Dean was beginning to congratulate himself on the early +return to his botany--when, unfortunately, there cropped up the question +of the garden-roller. + +This matter of the garden-roller was a simple one enough. The Cathedral +School had some months ago requested the Chapter to allow it to purchase +for itself a new garden-roller. Such an article was seriously needed for +the new cricket-field. It was true that the School already possessed two +garden-rollers, but one of these was very small--"quite a baby one," +Dennison, the headmaster, explained pathetically--and the other could not +possibly cover all the work that it had to do. The School grounds were +large ones. + +The matter, which was one that mainly concerned the Treasury side of the +Chapter, had been discussed at the last meeting, and there had been a good +deal of argument about it. + +Brandon had then vetoed it, not because he cared in the least whether or +no the School had a garden-roller, but because, Hart-Smith having left and +Ronder being not yet with them, he was in charge, for the moment, of the +Cathedral funds. He liked to feel his power, and so he refused as many +things as possible. Had it not been only a temporary glory--had he been +permanent Treasurer--he would in all probability have acted in exactly the +opposite way and allowed everybody to have everything. + +"There's the question of the garden-roller," said Witheram, just as the +Dean was about to propose that they should close with a prayer. + +"I've got it here on the minutes," said the Chapter Clerk severely. + +"Oh, dear, yes," said the Dean, looking about him rather piteously. "Now +what shall we do about it?" + +"Let 'em have it," said Foster, glaring across at Brandon and shutting his +mouth like a trap. + +This was a direct challenge. Brandon felt his breast charged with the +noble anger that always filled it when Foster said anything. + +"I must confess," he said, covering, as he always did when he intended +something to be final, the Dean with his eye, "that I thought that this +was quite definitely settled at last Chapter; I understood--I may of +course have been mistaken--that we considered that we could not afford the +thing and that the School must wait." + +"Well, Archdeacon," said the Dean nervously (he knew of old the danger- +signals in Brandon's flashing eyes), "I must confess that I hadn't thought +it _quite_ so definite as that. Certainly we discussed the expense of +the affair." + +"I think the Archdeacon's right," said Bentinck-Major, who wanted to win +his way back to favour after the little mistake about the music. "It was +settled, I think." + +"Nothing of the kind," said Foster fiercely. "We settled nothing." + +"How does it read on the minutes?" asked the Dean nervously. + +"Postponed until the next meeting," said the Clerk. + +"At any rate," said Brandon, feeling that this absurd discussion had gone +on quite long enough, "the matter is simple enough. It can be settled +immediately. Any one who has gone into the matter at all closely will have +discovered first that the School doesn't _need_ a roller--they've +enough already--secondly, that the Treasury cannot possibly at the present +moment afford to buy a new one." + +"I really must protest, Archdeacon," said Foster, "this is going too far. +In the first place, have you yourself gone into the case?" + +Brandon paused before he answered. He felt that all eyes were upon him. He +also felt that Foster had been stirred to a new strength of hostility by +some one--he fancied he knew by whom. Moreover, _had_ he gone into +it? He was aware with a stirring of impatience that he had not. He had +intended to do so, but time had been short, the matter had not seemed of +sufficient importance.... + +"I certainly have gone into it," he said, "quite as far as the case +deserves. The facts are clear." + +"The facts are _not_ clear," said Foster angrily. "I say that the +School should have this roller and that we are behaving with abominable +meanness in preventing it"; and he banged his fist upon the table. + +"If that charge of meanness is intended personally,..." said Brandon +angrily. + +"I assure you, Archdeacon,..." said Ryle. The Dean raised a hand in +protest. + +"I don't think," he said, "that anything here is ever intended personally. +We must never forget that we are in God's House. Of course, this is an +affair that really should be in the hands of the Treasury. But I'm afraid +that Canon Ronder can hardly be expected in the short time that he's been +with us to have investigated this little matter." + +Every one looked at Ronder. There was a pleasant sense of drama in the +affair. Brandon was gazing at the portraits above the table and pretending +to be outside the whole business; in reality, his heart beat angrily. His +word should have been enough, in earlier days _would_ have been. +Everything now was topsy-turvy. + +"As a matter of fact," said Ronder, "I _have_ gone into the matter. I +saw that it was one of the most urgent questions on the Agenda. +Unimportant though it may sound, I believe that the School cricket will be +entirely held up this summer if they don't secure their roller. They +intend, I believe, to get a roller by private subscription if we refuse it +to them, and that, gentlemen, would be, I cannot help feeling, rather +ignominious for us. I have been into the question of prices and have +examined some catalogues. I find that the expense of a good garden-roller +is really _not_ a very great one. One that I think the Treasury could +sustain without serious inconvenience...." + +"You think then, Canon, that we should allow the roller?" said the Dean. + +"I certainly do," said Ronder. + +Brandon felt the impression that had been created. He knew that they were +all thinking amongst themselves: "Well, _here's_ an efficient man!" + +He burst out: + +"I'm afraid that I cannot agree with Canon Ronder. If he will allow me to +say so, he has not been, as yet, long enough in the place to know how +things really stand. I have nothing to say against Dennison, but he has +obviously put his case very plausibly, but those who have known the School +and its methods for many years have perhaps a prior right of judgment over +Canon Ronder, who's known it for so short a time." + +"Absurd. Absurd," cried Foster. "It isn't a case of knowing the School. +It's simply a question of whether the Chapter can afford it. Canon Ronder, +who is Treasurer, says that it can. That ought to be enough for anybody." + +The atmosphere was now very warm indeed. There was every likelihood of +several gentlemen speaking at once. Witheram looked anxious, Bentinck- +Major malicious, Ryle nervous, Foster triumphant, and Brandon furious. +Only Ronder seemed unconcerned. + +The Dean, distress in his heart, raised his hand. + +"As there seems to be some difference of opinion in this matter," he said, +"I think we had better vote upon it. Those in favour of the roller being +granted to the School please signify." + +Ronder, Foster and Witheram raised their hands. + +"And those against?" said the Dean. + +Brandon, Ryle and Bentinck-Major were against. + +"I'm afraid," said the Dean, smiling anxiously, "that it will be for me to +give the casting vote." He paused for a moment. Then, looking straight +across the table at the Clerk, he said: + +"I think I must decide _for_ the roller. Canon Ronder seems to me to +have proved his case." + +Every one, except possibly Ronder, was aware that this was the first +occasion for many years that any motion of Brandon's had been defeated.... + +Without waiting for any further business the Archdeacon gathered together +his papers and, looking neither to right nor left, strode from the room. + + + + + +Book II + +The Whispering Gallery + + + + +Chapter I + +Five O'Clock--The Green Cloud + + + +The cloud seemed to creep like smoke from the funnel of the Cathedral +tower. The sun was setting in a fiery wreath of bubbling haze, shading in +rosy mist the mountains of grey stone. The little cloud, at first in the +shadowy air light green and shaped like a ring, twisted spirally, then, +spreading, washed out and lay like a pool of water against the smoking +sunset. + +Green like the Black Bishop's ring.... Lying there, afterwards, until the +orange had faded and the sky, deserted by the sun, was milk-white. The +mists descended. The Cathedral chimes struck five. February night, cold, +smoke-misted, enwrapped the town. + + * * * * * + +At a quarter to five Evensong was over and Cobbett was putting out the +candles in the choir. Two figures slowly passed down the darkening nave. + +Outside the west door they paused, gazing at the splendour of the fiery +sky. + +"It's cold, but there'll be stars," Ronder said. + +Stars. Cold. Brandon shivered. Something was wrong with him. His heart had +clap-clapped during the Anthem as though a cart with heavy wheels had +rumbled there. He looked suspiciously at Ronder. He did not like the man, +confidently standing there addressing the sky as though he owned it. He +would have liked the sunset for himself. + +"Well, good-night, Canon," brusquely. He moved away. + +But Ronder followed him. + +"One moment, Archdeacon.... Excuse me.... I have been wanting an +opportunity...." + +Brandon paused. The man was nervous. Brandon liked that. + +"Yes?" he said. + +The rosy light was fading. Strange that little green cloud rising like +smoke from the tower.... + +"At the last Chapter we were on opposite sides. I want to say how greatly +I've regretted that. I feel that we don't know one another as we should. I +wonder if you would allow me..." + +The light was fading--Ronder's spectacles shone, his body in shadow. + +"...to see something more of you--to have a real talk with you?" + +Brandon smiled grimly to himself in the dusk. This fool! He was afraid +then. He saw himself hatless in Bennett's shop; outside, the jeering +crowd. + +"I'm afraid, Canon Ronder, that we shall never see eye to eye here about +many things. If you will allow me to say so, you have perhaps not been +here quite long enough to understand the real needs of this diocese. You +must go slowly here--more slowly than perhaps you are prepared for. We are +not Modernists here." + +The spectacles, alone visible, answered: "Well, let us discuss it then. +Let us talk things over. Let me ask you at once, Have you something +against me, something that I have done unwittingly? I have fancied lately +a personal note.... I am absurdly sensitive, but if there _is_ +anything that I have done, please let me apologise for it. I want you to +tell me." + +Anything that he had done? The Archdeacon smiled grimly to himself in the +dusk. + +"I really don't think, Canon, that talking things over will help us. There +is really nothing to discuss.... Good-night." + +The green cloud was gone. Ronder, invisible now, remained in the shadow of +the great door. + + +II + +Beside the river, above the mill, a woman's body was black against the +gold-crested water. She leaned over the little bridge, her body strong, +confident in its physical strength, her hands clasped, her eyes +meditative. + +No need for secrecy to-night. Her father was in Drymouth for two days. +Quarter to five. The chimes struck out clear across the town. Hearing them +she looked back and saw the sky a flood of red behind the Cathedral. She +longed for Falk to-night, a new longing. He was better than she had +supposed, far, far better. A good boy, tender and warm-hearted. To be +trusted. Her friend. At first he had stood to her only for a means of +freedom. Freedom from this horrible place, from this horrible man, her +father, more horrible than any others knew. Her mother had known. She +shivered, seeing that body, heavy-breasted, dull white, as, stripped to +the waist, he bent over the bed to strike. Her mother's cry, a little +moan.... She shivered again, staring into the sunset for Falk.... + +He was with her. They leant over the bridge together, his arm around her. +They said very little. + +She looked back. + +"See that strange cloud? Green. Ever seen a green cloud before? Ah, it's +peaceful here." + +She turned and looked into his face. As the dusk came down she stroked his +hair. He put his arm round her and held her close to him. + + +III + + The lamps in the High Street suddenly flaring beat out the sky. There +above the street itself the fiery sunset had not extended; the fair watery +space was pale egg-blue; as the chimes so near at hand struck a quarter to +five the pale colour began slowly to drain away, leaving ashen china +shades behind it, and up to these shades the orange street-lights +extended, patronising, flaunting. + +But Joan, pausing for a moment under the Arden Gate before she turned +home, saw the full glory of the sunset. She heard, contending with the +chimes, the last roll of the organ playing the worshippers out of that +mountain of sacrificial stone. + +She looked up and saw a green cloud, faintly green like early spring +leafage, curl from the tower smoke-wise; and there, lifting his hat, +pausing at her side, was Johnny St. Leath. + +She would have hurried on; she was not happy. Things were _not_ right +at home. Something wrong with father, with mother, with Falk. Something +wrong, too, with herself. She had heard in the town the talk about this +girl who was coming to the Castle for the Jubilee time, coming to marry +Johnny. Coming to marry him because she was rich and handsome. Lovely. +Lady St. Leath was determined.... + +So she would hurry on, murmuring "Good evening." But he stopped her. His +face was flushed. Andrew heaved eagerly, hungrily, at his side. + +"Miss Brandon. Just a moment. I want to speak to you. Lovely evening, +isn't it?...You cut me the other day. Yes, you did. In Orange Street." + +"Why?" + +She tried to speak coldly. + +"We're friends. You know we are. Only in this beastly town no one can be +free.... I only want to tell you if I go away--suddenly--I'm coming back. +Mind that. You're not to believe anything they say--anything that any one +says. I'm coming back. Remember that. We're friends. You must trust me. Do +you hear?" + +And he was gone, striding off towards the Cathedral, Andrew panting at his +heels. + +The light was gone too--going, going, gone. + +She stayed for a moment. As she reached her door the wind rose, sifting +through the grass, rising to her chin. + + +IV + +The two figures met, unconsciously, without spoken arrangement, pushed +towards one another by destiny, as they had been meeting now continuously +during the last weeks. + +Almost always at this hour; almost always at this place. On the sandy path +in the green hollow below the Cathedral, above the stream, the hollow +under the opposite hill, the hill where the field was, the field where +they had the Fair. + +Down into this green depth the sunset could not strike, and the chimes, +telling over so slowly and so sweetly the three-quarters, filtered down +like a memory, a reiteration of an old promise, a melody almost forgotten. +But above her head the woman, looking up, could see the rose change to +orange and could watch the cloud, like a pool of green water, extend and +rest, lying like a sheet of glass behind which the orange gleamed. + +They met always thus, she coming from the town as though turning upwards +through the tangled path to her home in the Precincts, he sauntering +slowly, his hands behind his back, as though he had been wandering there +to think out some problem.... + +Sometimes he did not come, sometimes she could not. They never stayed more +than ten minutes there together. No one from month to month at that hour +crossed that desolate path. + +To-day he began impetuously. "If you hadn't come to-night, I think I would +have gone to find you. I had to see you. No, I had nothing to say. Only to +see you. But I am so lonely in that house. I always knew I was lonely-- +never more than when I was married--but now.... If I hadn't these ten +minutes most days I'd die, I think...." + +They didn't touch one another, but stood opposite gazing, face into face. + +"What are we to do?" he said. "It can't be wicked just to meet like this +and to talk a little." + +"I'd like you to know," she answered, "that you and my son--you are all I +have in the world. The two of you. And my son has some secret from me. + +"I have been so lonely too. But I don't feel lonely any more. Your +friendship for me...." + +"Yes, I am your friend. Think of me like that. Your friend from the first +moment I saw you--you so quiet and gentle and unhappy. I realized your +unhappiness instantly. No one else in this place seemed to notice it. I +believe God meant us to be friends, meant me to bring you happiness--a +little...." + +"Happiness?" she shivered. "Isn't it cold to-night? Do you see that +strange green cloud? Ah, now it is gone. All the light is going.... Do you +believe in God?" + +He came closer to her. His hand touched her arm. + +"Yes," he answered fiercely. "And He means me to care for you." His hand, +trembling, stroked her arm. She did not move. His hand, shaking, touched +her neck. He bent forward and kissed her neck, her mouth, then her eyes. + +She leant her head wearily for an instant on his shoulder, then, +whispering good-night, she turned and went quietly up the path. + + + + +Chapter II + +Souls on Sunday + + + +I must have been thirteen or fourteen years of age--it may have been +indeed in this very year '97--when I first read Stevenson's story of +_Treasure Island_. It is the fashion, I believe, now with the Clever +Solemn Ones to despise Stevenson as a writer of romantic Tushery, + +All the same, if it's realism they want I'm still waiting to see something +more realistic than Pew or Long John Silver. Realism may depend as truly +on a blind man's tap with his stick upon the ground as on any number of +adulteries. + +In those young years, thank God, I knew nothing about realism and read the +tale for what it was worth. And it was worth three hundred bags of gold. +Now, on looking back, it seems to me that the spirit that overtook our +town just at this time was very like the spirit that seized upon Dr. +Livesey, young Hawkins and the rest when they discovered the dead +Buccaneer's map. This is no forced parallel. It was with a real sense of +adventure that the Whispering began about the Brandons and Ronder and the +Pybus St. Anthony living and the rest of it. Where did the Whispering +start? Who can ever tell? + +Our Polchester Whispering was carried on and fostered very largely by our +servants. As in every village and town in Glebeshire, the intermarrying +that had been going on for generations was astonishing. Every servant- +maid, every errand-boy, every gardener and coachman in Polchester was +cousin, brother or sister to every other servant-maid, errand-boy, +gardener and coachman. They made, these people, a perfect net about our +town. + +The things that they carried from house to house, however, were never the +actual things; they were simply the material from which the actual things +were made. Nor was the construction of the actual tale positively +malicious; it was only that our eyes were caught by the drama of life and +we could not help but exclaim with little gasps and cries at the wonderful +excitement of the history that we saw. Our treasure-hunting was simply for +the fun of the thrill of the chase, not at all that we wished harm to a +soul in the world. If, on occasion, a slight hint of maliciousness did +find its place with us, it was only because in this insecure world it is +delightful to reaffirm our own security as we watch our neighbours topple +over. We do not wish them to "topple," but if somebody has got to fall we +would rather it were not ourselves. + +Brandon had been for so long so remarkable a figure in our world that the +slightest stir of the colours in his picture was immediately noticeable. +From the moment of Falk's return from Oxford it was expected that +something "would happen." + +It often occurs that a situation between a number of people is vague and +indefinite, until a certain moment, often quite undramatic and negative in +itself, arrives, when the situation suddenly fixes itself and stands +forward, set full square to the world, as a definite concrete fact. There +was a certain Sunday in the April of this year that became for the +Archdeacon and a number of other people such a definite crisis--and yet it +might quite reasonably have been said at the end of it that nothing very +much had occurred. + +Everything seemed to happen in Polchester on Sundays. For one thing more +talking was done on Sunday than on all the other days of the week +together. Then the Cathedral itself came into its full glory on that day. +Every one gathered there, every one talked to every one else before +parting, and the long spaces and silences and pauses of the day allowed +the comments and the questions and the surmises to grow and swell and +distend into gigantic images before night took every one and stretched +them upon their backs to dream. + +What the Archdeacon liked was an "off" Sunday, when he had nothing to do +save to walk majestically into his place in the choir stall, to read, +perhaps, a Lesson, to talk gravely to people who came to have tea with him +after the Sunday Evensong, to reflect lazily, after Sunday supper, his +long legs stretched out in front of him, a pipe in his mouth, upon the +goodness and happiness and splendour of the Cathedral and the world and +his own place in it. Such a Sunday was a perfect thing--and such a Sunday +April 18 ought to have been...alas! it was not so. + +It began very early, somewhere about seven in the morning, with a horrible +incident. The rule on Sundays was that the maid knocked at half-past six +on the door and gave the Archdeacon and his wife their tea. The Archdeacon +lay luxuriously drinking it until exactly a quarter to seven, then he +sprang out of bed, had his cold bath, performed his exercises, and shaved +in his little dressing-room. At about a quarter past seven, nearly +dressed, he returned into the bedroom, to find Mrs. Brandon also nearly +dressed. On this particular day while he drank his tea his wife appeared +to be sleeping; that did not make him bound out of bed any the less +noisily-after twenty years of married life you do not worry about such +things; moreover it was quite time that his wife bestirred herself. At a +quarter past seven he came into the bedroom in his shirt and trousers, +humming "Onward, Christian Soldiers." It was a fine spring morning, so he +flung up the window and looked out into the Precinct, fresh and dewy in +the morning sun, silent save for the inquisitive reiteration of an early +jackdaw. Then he turned back, and, to his amazement, saw that his wife was +lying, her eyes wide open, staring in front of her. + +"My dear!" he cried. "Aren't you well?" + +"I'm perfectly well," she answered him, her eyes maintaining their fixed +stare. The tone in which she said these words was quite new--it was not +submissive, it was not defensive, it was indifferent. + +She must be ill. He came close to the bed. + +"Do you realise the time?" he asked. "Twenty minutes past seven. I'm sure +you don't want to keep me waiting." + +She didn't answer him. Certainly she must be ill. There was something +strange about her eyes. + +"You _must_ be ill," he repeated. "You look ill. Why didn't you say +so? Have you got a headache?" + +"I'm not ill. I haven't got a headache, and I'm not coming to Early +Service." + +"You're not ill, and you're not coming..." he stammered in his amazement. +"You've forgotten. There isn't late Celebration." + +She gave him no answer, but turned on her side, closing her eyes. + +He came right up to the bed, frowning down upon her. + +"Amy--what does this mean? You're not ill, and yet you're not coming to +Celebration? Why? I insist upon an answer." + +She said nothing. + +He felt that anger, of which he had tried now for many years to beware, +flooding his throat. + +With tremendous self-control he said quietly: "What is the matter with +you, Amy? You must tell me at once." + +She did not open her eyes but said in a voice so low that he scarcely +caught the words: + +"There is nothing the matter. I am not ill, and I'm not coming to Early +Service." + +"Why?" + +"Because I don't wish to go." + +For a moment he thought that he was going to bend down and lift her bodily +out of bed. His limbs felt as though they were prepared for such an +action. + +But to his own surprised amazement he did nothing, he said nothing. He +looked at the bed, at the hollow where his head had been, at her head with +her black hair scattered on the pillow, at her closed eyes, then he went +away into his dressing-room. When he had finished dressing he came back +into the bedroom, looked across at her, motionless, her eyes still closed, +lying on her side, felt the silence of the room, the house, the Precincts +broken only by the impertinent jackdaw. + +He went downstairs. + +Throughout the Early Celebration he remained in a condition of amazed +bewilderment. From his position just above the altar-rails he could see +very clearly the Bishop's Tomb; the morning sun reflected in purple +colours from the East window played upon its blue stone. It caught the +green ring and flashed splashes of fire from its heart. His mind went back +to that day, not so very long ago, when, with triumphant happiness, he had +seemed to share in the Bishop's spirit, to be dust of his dust, and bone +of his bone. That had been the very day, he remembered, of Falk's return +from Oxford. Since that day everything had gone wrong for him--Falk, the +Elephant, Ronder, Foster, the Chapter. And now his wife! Never in all the +years of his married life had she spoken to him as she had done that +morning. She must be on the edge of a serious illness, a very serious +illness. Strangely a new concern for her, a concern that he had never felt +in his life before, arose in his heart. Poor Amy--and how tiresome if she +were ill, the house all at sixes and sevens! With a shock he realised that +his mind was not devotional. He swung himself back to the service, looking +down benevolently upon the two rows of people waiting patiently to come in +their turn to the altar steps. + +At breakfast, however, there Mrs. Brandon was, looking quite her usual +self, in the Sunday dress of grey silk, making the tea, quiet as she +always was, answering questions submissively, patiently, "as the wife of +an Archdeacon should." He tried to show her by his manner that he had been +deeply shocked, but, unfortunately, he had been shocked, annoyed, +indignant on so many occasions when there had been no real need for it, +that to-day, when there was the occasion, he felt that he made no +impression. + +The bells pealed for morning service, the sun shone; as half-past ten +approached, little groups of people crossed the Precincts and vanished +into the mouth of the great West door. Now were Lawrence and Cobbett in +their true glory--Lawrence was in his fine purple robe, the Sunday silk +one. He stood at the far end of the nave, just under the choir-screen, +waiting for the aristocracy, for whom the front seats were guarded with +cords which only he might untie. How deeply pleased he was when some +unfortunate stranger, ignorant in the ways of the Cathedral, walked, with +startling clatter, up the whole length of the shining nave and endeavoured +to penetrate one of these sacred defences! Majestically--staff in hand, he +came forward, shook his snow-white head, looking down upon the intrusive +one more in sorrow than in anger, spoke no word, but motioned the audacity +back down the nave again to the place where Cobbett officiated. Back, +clatter, clatter, blushing and confused, the stranger retreated, watched, +as it seemed to him, by a thousand sarcastic and cynical eyes. The bells +slipped from their jangling peal into a solemn single note. The Mere +People were in their places at the back of the nave, the Great Ones +leaving their entrance until the very last moment. There was a light in +the organ-loft; very softly Brockett began his voluntary--clatter, +clatter, clatter, and the School arrived, the small boys, swallowed by +their Eton collars, first, filing into their places to the right of the +screen, then the middle boys, a little indifferent and careless, then the +Fifth and Sixth in their "stick-up" collars, haughty and indifferent +indeed. + +Dimly, on the other side of the screen, the School boys in their surplices +could be seen settling into their places between the choir and the altar. + +A rustling of skirts, and the aristocracy entered in ones and twos from +the side doors that opened out of the Cloisters. For some of them--for a +very few--Lawrence had his confidential smile. For Mrs. Sampson, for +instance--for Mrs. Combermere, for Mrs. Ryle and Mrs. Brandon. + +A very special one for Mrs. Brandon because of his high opinion of her +husband. She was nothing very much--"a mean little woman," he thought her +--but the Archdeacon had married her. That was enough. + +Joan was with her, conscious that every one must be noticing her--the +D'Arcy girls and Cynthia Ryle and Gladys Sampson, they would all be +looking and criticising. Hustle, rustle, rustle--here was an event indeed! +Lady St. Leath was come, and with her in attendance Johnny and Hetty. +Lawrence hurried forward, disregarding Mrs. Brandon, who was compelled to +undo her cord for herself. He led Lady St. Leath forward with a ceremony, +a dignity, that was marvellous to see. She moved behind him as though she +owned the Cathedral, or rather could have owned it had she thought it +worth her while. All the little boys in the Upper Third and Lower Fourth +turned their necks in their Eton collars and watched. What a bonnet she +was wearing! All the colours of the rainbow, odd, indeed, perched there on +the top of her untidy white hair! + +Every one settled down; the voluntary was louder, the single note of the +bell suddenly more urgent. Ladies looked about them. Ellen Stiles saw Miss +Dobell--smile, smile. Joan saw Cynthia Ryle--smile, smile. Lawrence, with +the expression of the Angel Gabriel waiting to admit into heaven a new +troop of repentant sinners, stood expectant. The sun filtered in dusty +ladders of coloured light and fell in squares upon the empty spaces of the +nave. + +The bell suddenly ceased, a long melodious and melancholy "Amen" came from +somewhere far away in the purple shadow. Every one moved; a noise like a +little uncertain breeze blew through the Cathedral as the congregation +rose; then the choir filed through, the boys, the men, the Precentor, old +Canon Morphew and older Canon Batholomew, Canon Rogers, his face bitter +and discontented, Canon Foster, Bentinck-Major, last of all, Archdeacon +Brandon. They had filed into their places in the choir, they were +kneeling, the Precentor's voice rang out.... + +The familiar sound of Canon Ryle's voice recalled Mrs. Brandon to time and +place. She was kneeling, her gloved hands pressed close to her face. She +was looking into thick dense darkness, a darkness penetrated with the +strong scent of Russia leather and the faint musty smell that always +seemed to rise from the Cathedral hassocks and the woodwork upon which she +leant. Until Ryle's voice roused her she had been swimming in space and +eternity; behind her, like a little boat bobbing distressfully in her +track, was the scene of that early morning with which that day had opened. +She saw herself, as it were, the body of some quite other woman, lying in +that so familiar bedroom and saying "No"--saying it again and again and +again. "No. No. No." + +Why had she said "No," and was it not in reality another woman who had +said it, and why had he been so quiet? It was not his way. There had been +no storm. She shivered a little behind her gloves. + +"Dearly beloved brethren," began the Precentor, pleading, impersonal. + +Slowly her brain, like a little dark fish striking up from deep green +waters, rose to the surface of her consciousness. What she was then most +surely aware of was that she was on the very edge of something; it was a +quite physical sensation, as though she had been walking over mist-soaked +downs and had suddenly hesitated, to find herself looking down along the +precipitances of jagged black rock. It was "jagged black rock" over which +she was now peering. + +The two sides of the choir were now rivalling one another over the psalms, +hurling verses at one another with breathless speed, as though they said: +"Here's the ball. Catch. Oh, you _are_ slow!" + +In just that way across the field of Amy Brandon's consciousness two +voices were shouting at one another. + +One cried: "See what she's in for, the foolish woman! She's not up to it. +It will finish her." + +And the other answered: "Well, she is in for it! So it's no use warning +her any longer. She wants it. She's going to have it." + +And the first repeated: "It never pays! It never pays! It never pays!" + +And the second replied: "No, but nothing can stop her now. Nothing!" + +Could nothing stop her? Behind the intricacies of one of Smart's most +elaborate "Te Deums," with clenched hands and little shivers of +apprehension, she fought a poor little battle. + +"We praise Thee, O God. We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord...." + +"The goodly fellowship of the prophets praise Thee...." A boy's voice +rose, "Thou did'st not abhor the Virgin's womb...." + +Let her step back now while there was yet time. She had her children. She +had Falk. Falk! She looked around her, almost expecting him to be at her +side, although she well knew that he had long ago abandoned the Cathedral +services. Ah, it wasn't fair! If only he loved her, if only any one loved +her, any one whom she herself could love. If any one wanted her! + +Lawrence was waiting, his back turned to the nave. As the last words of +the "Te Deum" rose into a shout of triumphant confidence he turned and +solemnly, his staff raised, advanced, Archdeacon Brandon behind him. Now, +as always, a little giggle of appreciation ran down the nave as the +Archdeacon marched forward to the Lectern. The tourists whispered and +asked one another who that fine-looking man was. They craned their necks +into the aisle. And he _did_ look fine, his head up, his shoulders +back, his grave dignity graciously at their service. At their service and +God's. + +The sight of her husband inflamed Mrs. Brandon. She stared at him as +though she were seeing him for the first time, but in reality she was not +seeing him as he was now, but rather as he had been that morning bending +over her bed in his shirt and trousers. That movement that he had made as +though he would lift her bodily out of the bed. + +She closed her eyes. His fine rich voice came to her from a long way off. +Let him boom as loudly as he pleased, he could not touch her any more. She +had escaped, and for ever. She saw, then, Morris as she had seen him at +that tea-party months ago. She recovered that strange sense that she had +had (and that he had had too, as she knew) of being carried out right away +from one's body into an atmosphere of fire and heat and sudden cold. They +had no more been able to avoid that look that they had exchanged than they +had been able to escape being born. Let it then stay at that. She wanted +nothing more than that. Only that look must be exchanged again. She was +hungry, starving for it. She _must_ see him often, continually. She +must be able to look at him, touch the sleeve of his coat, hear his voice. +She must be able to do things for him, little simple things that no one +else could do. She wanted no more than that. Only to be near to him and to +see that he was cared for...looked after. Surely that was not wrong. No +one could say.... + +Little shivers ran continually about her body, and her hands, clenched +tightly, were damp within her gloves. + +The Precentor gave out the words of the Anthem, "Little children, love one +another." + +Every one rose--save Lady St. Leath, who settled herself magnificently in +her seat and looked about her as though she challenged anybody to tell her +that she was wrong to do so. + +Yes, that was all Amy Brandon wanted. Who could say that she was wrong to +want it? The little battle was concluded. + +Old Canon Foster was preaching to-day. Always at the conclusion of the +Anthem certain ruffians, visitors, tourists, clattered out. No sermon for +them. They did not matter very greatly because they were far away at the +back of the nave, and nobody need look at them; but on Foster's preaching +days certain of the aristocracy also retired, and this was disconcerting +because their seats were prominent ones and their dresses were of silk. +Often Lady St. Leath was one of these, but to-day she was sunk into a kind +of stupor and did not move. Mrs. Combermere, Ellen Stiles and Mrs. Sampson +were the guilty ones. + +Rustle of their dresses, the heavy flop of the side Cloister door as it +closed behind them, and then silence once more and the thin angry voice of +Canon Foster, "Let us pray." + +Out in the grey Cloisters it was charming. The mild April sun flooded the +square of grass that lay in the middle of the thick rounded pillars like a +floor of bright green glass. + +The ladies stood for a moment looking out into the sunny silence. The +Cathedral was hushed behind them; Ellen Stiles was looking very gay and +very hideous in a large hat stifled with flowers, set sideways on her +head, and a bright purple silk dress pulled in tightly at the waist, +rising to high puffed shoulders. Her figure was not suited to the fashion +of the day. + +Mrs. Sampson explained that she was suffering from one of the worst of her +nervous headaches and that she could not have endured the service another +moment. Miss Stiles was all eager solicitude. + +"I _am_ so sorry. I know how you are when you get one of those +things. Nothing does it any good, does it? I know you've tried everything, +and it simply goes on for days and days, getting worse and worse. And the +really terrible part of them is that, with you, they seem to be +constitutional. No doctors can do anything--when they're constitutional. +There you are for the rest of your days!" + +Mrs. Sampson gave a little shiver. + +"I must say, Dr. Puddifoot seems to be very little use," she moaned. + +"Oh! Puddifoot!" Miss Stiles was contemptuous. "He's past his work. That's +one comfort about this place. If any one's ill he dies. No false hopes. At +least, we know where we are." + +They walked through the Martyr's Passage out into the full sunlight of the +Precincts. + +"What a jolly day!" said Mrs. Combermere, "I shall take my dogs for a +walk. By the way, Ellen," she turned round to her friend, "how did Miss +Burnett's tea-party go? I haven't seen you since." + +"Oh, it was too funny!" Miss Stiles giggled. "You never saw such a +mixture, and I don't think Miss Burnett knew who any one was. Not that she +had much time to think, poor dear, she was so worried with the tea. Such a +maid as she had you never saw!" + +"A mixture?" asked Mrs. Combermere. "Who were they?" + +"Oh, Canon Ronder and Bentinck-Major and Mrs. Brandon and--Oh, yes! +actually Falk Brandon!" + +"Falk Brandon there?" + +"Yes, wasn't it the strangest thing. I shouldn't have thought he'd have +had time--However, you told me not to, so I won't--" + +"Who did you talk to?" + +"I talked to Miss Burnett most of the time. I tried to cheer her up. No +one else paid the least attention to her." + +"She's a very stupid person, it seems to me," Mrs. Sampson murmured. "But +of course I know her very slightly." + +"Stupid!" Miss Stiles laughed. "Why, she hasn't an idea in her head. I +don't believe that she knows it's Jubilee Year. Positively!" + +A little wind blew sportively around Miss Stiles' large hat. They all +moved forward. + +"The funny thing was--" Miss Stiles paused and looked apprehensively at +Mrs. Combermere. "I know you don't like scandal, but of course this isn't +scandal--there's nothing in it--" + +"Come on, Ellen. Out with it," said Mrs. Combermere. + +"Well, Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris. I caught the oddest look between +them." + +"Look! What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Combermere sharply. Mrs. Sampson +stood still, her mouth a little open, forgetting her neuralgia. + +"Of course it was nothing. All the same, they were standing at the window +saying something, looking at one another, well, positively as though they +had known one another intimately for years. I assure you--" + +Mrs. Combermere turned upon her. "Of all the nasty minds in this town, +Ellen, you have the nastiest. I've told you so before. People can't even +look at one another now. Why, you might as well say that I'd been gazing +at your Ronder when he came to tea the other day." + +"Perhaps I shall," said Miss Stiles, laughing. "It would be a delightful +story to spread. Seriously, why not make a match of it? You'd just suit +one another." + +"Once is enough for me in a life-time," said Mrs. Combermere grimly. "Now, +Ellen, come along. No more mischief. Leave poor little Morris alone." + +"Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris!" repeated Mrs. Sampson, her eyes wide open. +"Well, I do declare." + +The ladies separated, and the Precincts was abandoned for a time to its +beautiful Sunday peace and calm. + + + + +Chapter III + +The May-day Prologue + + + +May is the finest month of all the year in Glebeshire. The days are warm +but not too hot; the sky is blue but not too blue, the air is soft but +with a touch of sharpness The valleys are pressed down and overflowing +with flowers; the cuckoo cries across the glassy waters of blue harbours, +and the gorse is honey-scented among the rocks. + +May-day in Polchester this year was warm and bright, with a persistent +cuckoo somewhere in the Dean's garden, and a very shrill-voiced canary in +Miss Dobell's open window. The citizens of Polchester were suddenly aware +that summer was close upon them. Doors were flung open and the gardens +sinuously watered, summer clothes were dragged from their long confinement +and anxiously overlooked, Mr. Martin, the stationer, hung a row of his +coloured Polchester views along a string across his window, the dark, +covered ways of the market-place quivered and shone with pots of spring +flowers, and old Simon's water-cart made its first trembling and shaking +appearance down the High Street. + +All this was well enough and customary enough, but what marked this spring +from any other spring that had ever been was that it was Jubilee Year. It +was on this warm May-day that Polchester people realised suddenly that the +Jubilee was not far away. The event had not quite the excitement and +novelty that the Jubilee of 1887 had had; there was, perhaps, in London +and the larger towns, something of a sense of repetition. But Polchester +was far from the general highway and, although the picture of the +wonderful old lady, now nearly eighty years of age, was strong before +every one's vision, there was a deep determination to make this year's +celebration a great Polchester affair, to make it the celebration of +Polchester men and Polchester history and Polchester progress. + +The programme had been long arranged--the great Service in the Cathedral, +the Ball in the Assembly Rooms, the Flower Show in the St. Leath Castle +grounds, the Torchlight Procession, the Croquet Tournament, the School- +children's Tea and the School Cricket-match. A fine programme, and the +Jubilee Committee, with the Bishop, the Mayor, and the Countess of St. +Leath for its presidents, had already held several meetings. + +Nevertheless, Glebeshire has a rather languishing climate. Polchester has +been called by its critics "a lazy town," and it must be confessed that +everything in connection with the Jubilee had been jogging along very +sleepily until of a sudden this warm May-day arrived, and every one sprang +into action. The Mayor called a meeting of the town branch of the +Committee, and the Bishop out at Carpledon summoned his ecclesiastics, and +Joan found a note from Gladys Sampson beckoning her to the Sampson house +to do her share of the glorious work. It had been decided by the Higher +Powers that it would be a charming thing for some of the younger +Polchester ladies to have in charge the working of two of the flags that +were to decorate the Assembly Room walls on the night of the Ball. Gladys +Sampson, who, unlike her mother, never suffered from headaches, and was a +strong, determined, rather masculine girl, soon had the affair in hand, +and the party was summoned. + +I would not like to say that Polchester had a more snobbish spirit than +other Cathedral towns, but there is no doubt that, thirty years ago, the +lines were drawn very clearly indeed between the "Cathedral" and the +"Others." + +"Cathedral" included not only the daughters of the Canons and what Mr. +Martin, in his little town guide-book, called "General Ecclesiastical +Phenomena," but also the two daughters of Puddifoot's sister, Grace and +Annie Trudon; the three daughters of Roger McKenzie, the town lawyer; +little Betty Callender, the only child of old, red-faced Major Callender; +Mary and Amy Forrester, daughters of old Admiral Forrester; and, of +course, the St. Leath girls. + +When Joan arrived, then, in the Deanery dining-room there was a fine +gathering. Very unsophisticated they would all have been considered by the +present generation. Lady Rose and Lady Mary, who were both of them nearer +forty than thirty, had of course had some experience of London, and had +been even to Paris and Rome. Of the "Others," at this time, only Betty +Callender, who had been born in India, and the Forresters had been +farther, in all their lives, than Drymouth. Their lives were bound, and +happily bound, by the Polchester horizon. They lived in and for and by the +local excitements, talks, croquet, bicycling (under proper guardianship), +Rafiel or Buquay or Clinton in the summer, and the occasional (very, very +occasional) performances of amateur theatricals in the Assembly Rooms. + +Moreover, they were happy and contented and healthy. For many of them +_Jane Eyre_ was still a forbidden book and a railway train a +remarkable adventure. + +Polchester was the world and the world was Polchester. They were at least +a century nearer to Jane Austen's day than they were to George the +Fifth's. + +Joan saw, with relief, so soon as she entered the room, that the St. Leath +women were absent. They overawed her and were so much older than the +others there that they brought constraint with them and embarrassment. + +Any stranger, coming suddenly into the room, must have felt its light and +gaiety and happiness. The high wide dining-room windows were open and +looked, over sloping lawns, down to the Pol and up again to the woods +beyond. The trees were faintly purple in the spring sun, daffodils were +nodding on the lawn and little gossamer clouds of pale orange floated like +feathers across the sky. The large dining-room table was cleared for +action, and Gladys Sampson, very serious and important, stood at the far +end of the room under a very bad oil-painting of her father, directing +operations. The girls were dressed for the most part in white muslin +frocks, high in the shoulders and pulled in at the waist and tight round +the neck--only the McKenzie girls, who rode to hounds and played tennis +beautifully and had, all three of them, faces of glazed red brick, were +clad in the heavy Harris tweeds that were just then beginning to be so +fashionable. + +Joan, who only a month or two ago would have been devoured with shyness at +penetrating the fastnesses of the Sampson dining-room, now felt no shyness +whatever but nodded quite casually to Gladys, smiled at the McKenzies, and +found a place between Cynthia Ryle and Jane D'Arcy. + +They all sat, bathed in the sunshine, and looked at Gladys Sampson. She +cleared her throat and said in her pounding heavy voice--her voice was +created for Committees: "Now all of you know what we're here for. We're +here to make two banners for the Assembly Rooms and we've got to do our +very best. We haven't got a great deal of time between now and June the +Twentieth, so we must work, and I propose that we come here every Tuesday +and Friday afternoon, and when I say _here_ I mean somebody or +other's house, because of course it won't be always here. There's cutting +up to do and sewing and plenty of work really for everybody, because when +the banners are done there are the flags for the school-children. Now if +any one has any suggestions to make I shall be very glad to hear them." + +There was at first no reply to this and every one smiled and looked at the +portrait of the Dean. Then one of the McKenzie girls remarked in a deep +bass voice: + +"That's all right, Gladys. But who's going to decide who does what? Very +decent of you to ask us but we're not much in the sewing line--never have +been." + +"Oh," said Gladys, "I've got people's names down for the different things +they're to do and any one whom it doesn't suit has only got to speak up." + +Soon the material was distributed and groups were formed round the room. A +chatter arose like the murmur of bees. The sun as it sank lower behind the +woods turned them to dark crimson and the river pale grey. The sun fell +now in burning patches and squares across the room and the dim yellow +blinds were pulled half-way across the windows. With this the room was +shaded into a strong coloured twilight and the white frocks shone as +though seen through glass. The air grew cold beyond the open windows, but +the room was warm with the heat that the walls had stolen and stored from +the sun. + +Joan sat with Jane D'Arcy and Betty Callender. She was very happy to be at +rest there; she felt secure and safe. Because in truth during these last +weeks life had been increasingly difficult--difficult not only because it +had become, of late, so new and so strange, but also because she could not +tell what was happening. Family life had indeed become of late a mystery, +and behind the mystery there was a dim sense of apprehension, apprehension +that she had never felt in all her days before. As she sank into the +tranquillity of the golden afternoon glow, with the soft white silk +passing to and fro in her bands, she tried to realise for herself what had +been occurring. Her father was, on the whole, simple enough. He was +beginning to suffer yet again from one of his awful obsessions. Since the +hour of her earliest childhood she had watched these obsessions and +dreaded them. + +There had been so many, big ones and little ones. Now the Government, now +the Dean, now the Town Council, now the Chapter, now the Choir, now some +rude letter, now some impertinent article in a paper. Like wild fierce +animals these things had from their dark thickets leapt out upon him, and +he had proceeded to wrestle with them in the full presence of his family. +Always, at last, he had been, victorious over them, the triumph had been +publicly announced, "Te Deums" sung, and for a time there had been peace. +It was some while since the last obsession, some ridiculous action about +drainage on the part of the Town Council. But the new one threatened to +make up in full for the length of that interval. + +Only just before Falk's unexpected return from Oxford Joan had been +congratulating herself on her father's happiness and peace of mind. She +might have known the omens of that dangerous quiet. On the very day of +Falk's arrival Canon Ronder had arrived too. + +Canon Ronder! How Joan was beginning to detest the very sound of the name! +She had hated the man himself as soon as she had set eyes upon him. She +had scented, in some instinctive way, the trouble that lay behind those +large round glasses and that broad indulgent smile. But now! Now they were +having the name "Ronder" with their breakfast, their dinner, and their +tea. Into everything apparently his fat fingers were inserted; her father +saw his rounded shadow behind every door, his rosy cheeks at every window. + +And yet it was very difficult to discover what exactly it was that he had +done! Now, whatever it might be that went wrong in the Brandon house, in +the Cathedral, in the town, her father was certain that Ronder was +responsible,--but proof. Well, there wasn't any. And it was precisely +this absence of proof that built up the obsession. + +Everywhere that Ronder went he spoke enthusiastically about the +Archdeacon. These compliments came back to Joan again and again. "If +there's one man in this town I admire----" "What would this town be +without----" "We're lucky, indeed, to have the Archdeacon----" And yet was +there not behind all these things a laugh, a jest, a mocking tone, +something that belonged in spirit to that horrible day when the elephant +had trodden upon her father's hat? + +She loved her father, and she loved him twice as dearly since one night +when on driving up to the Castle he had held her hand. But now the +obsession had killed the possibility of any tenderness between them; she +longed to be able to do something that would show him how strongly she was +his partisan, to insult Canon Ronder in the market-place, to turn her back +when he spoke to her--and, at the same time, intermingled with this hot +championship was irritation that her father should allow himself to be +obsessed by this. He who was so far greater than a million Ronders! + +The situation in the Brandon family had not been made any easier by Falk's +strange liking for the man. Joan did not pretend that she understood her +brother or had ever been in any way close to him. When she had been little +he had seemed to be so infinitely above her as to be in another world, and +now that they seemed almost of an age he was strange to her like some one +of foreign blood. She knew that she did not count in his scheme of life at +all, that he never thought of her nor wanted her. She did not mind that, +and even now she would have been tranquil about him had it not been for +her mother's anxiety. She could not but see how during the last weeks her +mother had watched every step that Falk took, her eyes always searching +his face as though he were keeping some secret from her. To Joan, who +never believed that people could plot and plan and lead double lives, this +all seemed unnatural and exaggerated. + +But she knew well enough that her mother had never attempted to give her +any of her confidence. Everything at home, in short, was difficult and +confused. Nobody was happy, nobody was natural. Even her own private +history, if she looked into it too closely, did not show her any very +optimistic colours. She had not seen Johnny St. Leath now for a fortnight, +nor heard from him, and those precious words under the Arden Gate one +evening were beginning already to appear a dim unsubstantial dream. +However, if there was one quality that Joan Brandon possessed in excess of +all others, it was a simple fidelity to the cause or person in front of +her. + +Her doubts came simply from the wonder as to whether she had not concluded +too much from his words and built upon them too fairy-like a castle. + +With a gesture she flung all her wonders and troubles out upon the gold- +swept lawn and trained all her attention to the chatter among the girls +around her. She admired Jane D'Arcy very much; she was so "elegant." +Everything that Jane wore became her slim straight body, and her pale +pointed face was always a little languid in expression, as though daily +life were an exhausting affair and not intended for superior persons. She +had been told, from a very early day, that her voice was "low and +musical," so she always spoke in whispers which gave her thoughts an +importance that they might not otherwise have possessed. Very different +was little Betty Callender, round and rosy like an apple, with freckles on +her nose and bright blue eyes. She laughed a great deal and liked to agree +with everything that any one said. + +"If you ask me," said Jane in her fascinating whisper, "there's a lot of +nonsense about this old Jubilee." + +"Oh, do you think so?" said Joan. + +"Yes. Old Victoria's been on the throne long enough, 'Tis time we had +somebody else." + +Joan was very much shocked by this and said so. + +"I don't think we ought to be governed by _old_ people," said Jane. +"Every one over seventy ought to be buried whether they wish it or no." + +Joan laughed aloud. + +"Of course they wouldn't wish it," she said. + +Laughter came, now here, now there, from different parts of the room. +Every one was very gay from the triple sense that they were the elect of +Polchester, that they were doing important work, and that summer was +coming. + +Jane D'Arcy tossed her head. + +"Father says that perhaps he'll be taking us to London for it," she +whispered. + +"I wouldn't go if any one offered me," said Joan. "It's Polchester I want +to see it at, not London. Of course I'd love to see the Queen, but it +would probably be only for a moment, and all the rest would be horrible +crowds with nobody knowing you. While here! Oh! it will be lovely!" + +Jane smiled. "Poor child. Of course you know nothing about London. How +should you? Give me a week in London and you can have your old Polchester +for ever. What ever happens in Polchester? Silly old croquet parties and a +dance in the Assembly Rooms. And _never_ any one new." + +"Well, there _is_ some one new," said Betty Callender, "I saw her +this morning." + +"Her? Who?" asked Jane, with the scorn of one who has already made up her +mind to despise. + +"I was with mother going through the market and Lady St. Leath came by in +an open carriage. She was with her. Mother says she's a Miss Daubeney from +London--and oh! she's perfectly lovely! and mother says she's to marry +Lord St. Leath----" + +"Oh! I heard she was coming," said Jane, still scornfully. "How silly you +are, Betty! You think any one lovely if she comes from London." + +"No, but she was," insisted Betty, "mother said so too, and she had a blue +silk parasol, and she was just sweet. Lord St. Leath was in the carriage +with them." + +"Poor Johnny!" said Jane. "He always has to do just what that horrible old +mother of his tells him." + +Joan had listened to this little dialogue with what bravery she could. +Doom then had been pronounced? Sentence had fallen? Miss Daubeney had +arrived. She could hear the old Countess' voice again. "Claire Daubeney- +Monteagle's daughter--such, a nice girl--Johnny's friend-----" + +Johnny's friend! Of course she was. Nothing could show to Joan more +clearly the difference between Joan's world and the St. Leath world than +the arrival of this lovely stranger. Although Mme. Sarah Grand and others +were at this very moment forcing that strange figure, the New Woman, upon +a reluctant world, Joan belonged most distinctly to the earlier +generation. She trembled at the thought of any publicity, of any thrusting +herself forward, of any, even momentary, rebellion against her position. +Of course Johnny belonged to this beautiful creature; she had always +known, in her heart, that her dream was an impossible one. Nevertheless +the room, the sunlight, the white dresses, the long shining table, the +coloured silks and ribbons, swam in confusion around her. She was suddenly +miserable. Her hands shook and her upper lip trembled. She had a strange +illogical desire to go out and find Miss Daubeney and snatch her blue +parasol from her startled hands and stamp upon it. + +"Well," said Jane, "I don't envy any one who marries Johnny--to be shut up +in that house with all those old women!" + +Betty shook her head very solemnly and tried to look older than her years. + +The afternoon was drawing on. Gladys came across and closed the windows. + +"I think that's about enough to-day," she said. "Now we'll have tea." + +Joan's great desire was to slip away and go home. She put her work on the +table, fetched her coat from the other end of the room. + +Gladys stopped her. "Don't go, Joan. You must have tea." + +"I promised mother-----" she said. + +The door opened. She turned and found herself close to the Dean and Canon +Ronder. + +The Dean came forward, nervously rubbing his hands together as was his +custom. "Well, children," he said, blinking at them. Ronder stood, +smiling, in the doorway. At the sight of him Joan was filled with hatred-- +vehement, indignant hatred; she had never hated any one before, unless +possibly it was Miss St. Clair, the French mistress. Now, from what source +she did not know, fear and passion flowed into her. Nothing could have +been more amiable and genial than the figure that he presented. + +As always, his clothes were beautifully neat and correct, his linen +spotless white, his black boots gleaming. + +He beamed upon them all, and Joan felt, behind her, the response that the +whole room made to him. They liked him; she knew it. He was becoming +popular. + +He had towards them all precisely the right attitude; he was not amiable +and childish like the Dean, nor pompous like Bentinck-Major, nor +sycophantic like Ryle. He did not advance to them but became, as it were, +himself one of them, understanding exactly the way that they wanted him. + +And Joan hated him; she hated his red face and his neatness and his broad +chest and his stout legs--everything, everything! She also feared him. She +had never before, although for long now she had been conscious of his +power, been so deeply aware of his connection with herself. It was as +though his round shadow had, on this lovely afternoon, crept forward a +little and touched with its dim grey for the first time the Brandon house. + +"Canon Ronder," Gladys Sampson cried, "come and see what we've done." + +He moved forward and patted little Betty Callender on the head as he +passed. "Are you all right, my dear, and your father?" + +It appeared that Betty was delighted. Suddenly he saw Joan. + +"Oh, good evening, Miss Brandon." He altered his tone for her, speaking as +though she were an equal. + +Joan looked at him; colour flamed in her cheeks. She did not reply, and +then feeling as though in an instant she would do something quite +disgraceful, she slipped from the room. + +Soon, after gently smiling at the parlourmaid, who was an old friend of +hers because she had once been in service at the Brandons, she found +herself standing, a little lost and bewildered, at the corner of Green +Lane and Orange Street. Lost and bewildered because one emotion after +another seemed suddenly to have seized upon her and taken her captive. +Lost and bewildered almost as though she had been bewitched, carried off +through the shining skies by her captor and then dropped, deserted, left, +in some unknown country. + +Green Lane in the evening light had a fairy air. The stumpy trees on +either side with the bright new green of the spring seemed to be +concealing lamps within their branches. So thick a glow suffused the air +that it was as though strangely coloured fruit, purple and orange and +amethyst, hung glittering against the pale yellow sky, and the road +running up the hill was like pale wax. + +On the other side Orange Street tumbled pell-mell into the roofs of the +town. The monument of the fierce Georgian citizen near which Joan was +standing guarded with a benevolent devotion the little city whose lights, +stealing now upon the air, sprinkled the evening sky with a jewelled haze. +No sound broke the peace; no one came nor went; only the trees of the Lane +moved and stirred very faintly as though assuring the girl of their +friendly company. + +Never before had she so passionately loved her town. It seemed to-night +when she was disturbed by her new love, her new fear, her new worldly +knowledge, to be eager to assure her that it was with her in all her +troubles, that it understood that she must pass into new experiences, that +it knew, none better indeed, how strange and terrifying that first +realisation of real life could be, that it had itself suffered when new +streets had been thrust upon it and old loved houses pulled down and the +river choked and the hills despoiled, but that everything passes and love +remains and homeliness and friends. + +Joan felt more her own response to the town than the town's reassurance to +her, but she was a little comforted and she felt a little safer. + +She argued as she walked home through the Market Place and up the High +Street and under the Arden Gate into the quiet sheltered Precincts, why +should she think that Ronder mattered? After all might not he be the good +fat clergyman that he appeared? It was more perhaps a kind of jealousy +because of her father that she felt. She put aside her own little troubles +in a sudden rush of tenderness for her family. She wanted to protect them +all and make them happy. But how could she make them happy if they would +tell her nothing? They still treated her as a child but she was a woman +now. Her love for Johnny. She had admitted that to herself. She stopped on +the path outside the decorous strait-laced houses and put her cool gloved +hand up to her burning cheek. + +She had known for a long time that she loved him, but she had not told +herself. She must conquer that, stamp upon it. It was foolish, +hopeless.... She ran up the steps of their house as though something +pursued her. + +She let herself in and found the hall dusky and obscure. The lamp had not +yet been lit. She heard a voice: + +"Who's that?" + +She looked up and saw her mother, a little, slender figure, standing at +the turn of the stairs holding in her hand a lighted candle. + +"It's I, mother, Joan. I've just come from Gladys Sampson's." + +"Oh! I thought it would be Falk. You didn't pass Falk on your way?" + +"No, mother dear." + +She went across to the little cupboard where the coats were hung. As she +poked her head into the little, dark, musty place, she could feel that her +mother was still standing there, listening. + + + + +Chapter IV + +The Genial Heart + + + +Ronder was never happier than when he was wishing well to all mankind. + +He could neither force nor falsify this emotion. If he did not feel it he +did not feel it, and himself was the loser. But it sometimes occurred that +the weather was bright, that his digestion was functioning admirably, that +he liked his surroundings, that he had agreeable work, that his prospects +were happy--then he literally beamed upon mankind and in his fancy +showered upon the poor and humble largesse of glittering coin. In such a +mood he loved every one, would pat children on the back, help old men +along the road, listen to the long winnings of the reluctant poor. Utterly +genuine he was; he meant every word that he spoke and every smile that he +bestowed. + +Now, early in May and in Polchester he was in such a mood. Soon after his +arrival he had discovered that he liked the place and that it promised to +suit him well, but he had never supposed that it could develop into such +perfection. Success already was his, but it was not success of so swift a +kind that plots and plans were not needed. They were very much needed. He +could remember no time in his past life when he had had so admirable a +combination of difficulties to overcome. And they were difficulties of the +right kind. They centred around a figure whom he could really like and +admire. It would have been very unpleasant had he hated Brandon or +despised him. Those were uncomfortable emotions in which he indulged as +seldom as possible. + +What he liked, above everything, was a fight, when he need have no +temptation towards anger or bitterness. Who could be angry with poor +Brandon? Nor could he despise him. In his simple blind confidence and +self-esteem there was an element of truth, of strength, even of nobility. + +Far from despising or hating Brandon, he liked him immensely--and he was +on his way utterly to destroy him. + +Then, as he approached nearer the centre of his drama, he noticed, as he +had often noticed before, how strangely everything played into his hands. +Without undue presumption it seemed that so soon as he determined that +something ought to occur and began to work in a certain direction, God +also decided that it was wise and pushed everything into its right place. +This consciousness of Divine partnership gave Ronder a sense that his +opponents were the merest pawns in a game whose issue was already decided. + +Poor things, they were helpless indeed! This only added to his kindly +feelings towards them, his sense of humour, too, was deeply stirred by +their own unawareness of their fate--and he always liked any one who +stirred his sense of humour. + +Never before had he known everything to play so immediately into his hands +as in this present case. Brandon, for instance, had just that stupid +obstinacy that was required, the town had just that ignorance of the outer +world and cleaving to old traditions. + +And now, how strange that the boy Falk had on several occasions stopped to +speak to him and had at last asked whether he might come and see him! + +How lucky that Brandon should be making this mistake about the Pybus St. +Anthony living! + +Finally, although he was completely frank with himself and knew that he +was working, first and last, for his own future comfort, it did seem to +him that he was also doing real benefit to the town. The times were +changing. Men of Brandon's type were anachronistic; the town had been +under Brandon's domination too long. New life was coming--a new world--a +new civilisation. + +Ronder, although no one believed less in Utopias than he, did believe in +the Zeitgeist--simply for comfort's sake if for no stronger reason. Well, +the Zeitgeist was descending upon Polchester, and Ronder was its agent. +Progress? No, Ronder did not believe in Progress. But in the House of Life +there are many rooms; once and again the furniture is changed. + +One afternoon early in May he was suddenly aware that everything was +moving more swiftly upon its appointed course than he, sharp though he +was, had been aware. Crossing the Cathedral Green he encountered Dr. +Puddifoot. He knew that the Doctor had at first disliked him but was +quickly coming over to his side and was beginning to consider him as +"broad-minded for a parson and knowing a lot more about life than you +would suppose." He saw precisely into Puddifoot's brain and watched the +thoughts dart to and fro as though they had been so many goldfish in a +glass bowl. He also liked Puddifoot for himself; he always liked stout, +big, red-faced men; they were easier to deal with than the thin severe +ones. He knew that the time would very shortly arrive when Puddifoot would +tell him one of his improper stories. That would sanctify the friendship. + +"Ha! Canon!" said Puddifoot, puffing like a seal. "Jolly day!" + +They stood and talked, then, as they were both going into the town, they +turned and walked towards the Arden Gate. Puddifoot talked about his +health; like many doctors he was very timid about himself and eager to +reassure himself in public. "How are you, Canon? But I needn't ask-- +looking splendid. I'm all right myself--never felt better really. Just a +twinge of rheumatics last night, but it's nothing. Must expect something +at my age, you know--getting on for seventy." + +"You look as though you'll live for ever," said Ronder, beaming upon him. + +"You can't always tell from us big fellows. There's Brandon now, for +instance--the Archdeacon." + +"Surely there isn't a healthier man in the kingdom," said Ronder, pushing +his spectacles back into the bridge of his nose. + +"Think so, wouldn't you? But you'd be wrong. A sudden shock, and that man +would be nowhere. Given to fits of anger, always tried his system too +hard, never learnt control. Might have a stroke any day for all he looks +so strong!" + +"Really, really! Dear me!" said Ronder. + +"Course these are medical secrets in a way. Know it won't go any farther. +But it's curious, isn't it? Appearances are deceptive--damned deceptive. +That's what they are. Brandon's brain's never been his strong point. Might +go any moment." + +"Dear me, dear me," said Ronder. "I'm sorry to hear that." + +"Oh, I don't mean," said Puddifoot, puffing and blowing out his cheeks +like a cherub in a picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds, "that he'll die to- +morrow, you know--or have a stroke either. But he ain't as secure as he +looks. And he don't take care of himself as he should." + +Outside the Library Ronder paused. + +"Going in here for a book, doctor. See you later." + +"Yes, yes," said Puddifoot, his eyes staring up and down the street, as +though they would burst out of his head. "Very good--very good. See you +later then," and so went blowing down the hill. + +Ronder passed under the gloomy portals of the Library and found his way, +through faith rather than vision, up the stone stairs that smelt of mildew +and blotting-paper, into the high dingy room. He had had a sudden desire +the night before to read an old story by Bage that he had not seen since +he was a boy--the violent and melancholy _Hermsprong_. + +It had come to him, as it were, in his dreams--a vision of himself rocking +in a hammock in his uncle's garden on a wonderful summer afternoon, eating +apples and reading _Hermsprong_, the book discovered, he knew not by +what chance, in the dusty depths of his uncle's library. He would like to +read it again. _Hermsprong_! the very scent of the skin of the apple, +the blue-necked tapestry of light between the high boughs came back to +him. He was a boy again.... He was brought up sharply by meeting the +little red-rimmed eyes of Miss Milton. Red-rimmed to-day, surely, with +recent weeping. She sat humped up on her chair, glaring out into the room. + +"It's all right, Miss Milton," he said, smiling at her. "It's an old book +I want. I won't bother you. I'll look for myself." + +He passed into the further dim secrecies of the Library, whither so few +penetrated. Here was an old ladder, and, mounted upon it, he confronted +the vanished masterpieces of Holcroft and Radcliffe, Lewis and Jane +Porter, Clara Reeve and MacKenzie, old calf-bound ghosts who threw up +little clouds of sighing dust as he touched them with his fingers. He was +happily preoccupied with his search, balancing his stout body precariously +on the trembling ladder, when he fancied that he heard a sigh. + +He stopped and listened; this time there could be no mistake. It was a +sigh of prodigious intent and meaning, and it came from Miss Milton. +Impatiently he turned back to his books; he would find his Bage as quickly +as possible and go. He was not at all in the mood for lamentations from +Miss Milton. Ah! there was _Barham Downs. Hermsprong_ could not be +far away. Then suddenly there came to him quite unmistakably a sob, then +another, then two more, finally something that horribly resembled +hysterics. He came down from his ladder and crossed the room. + +"My dear Miss Milton!" he exclaimed. "Is there anything I can do?" + +She presented a strange and unpoetic appearance, huddled up in her wooden +arm-chair, one fat leg crooked under her, her head sinking into her ample +bosom, her whole figure shaking with convulsive grief, the chair creaking +sympathetically with her. + +Ronder, seeing that she was in real distress, hurried up to her. + +"My dear Miss Milton, what is it?" + +For a while she could not speak; then raised a face of mottled purple and +white, and, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief not of the cleanest, +choked out between her sobs: + +"My last week--Saturday--Saturday I go--disgrace--ugh, ugh--dismissed-- +Archdeacon." + +"But I don't understand," said Ronder, "who goes? Who's disgraced?" + +"I go!" cried Miss Milton, suddenly uncurling her body and her sobs +checked by her anger. "I shouldn't have given way like this, and before +you, Canon Ronder. But I'm ruined--ruined!--and for doing my duty!" + +Her change from the sobbing, broken woman to the impassioned avenger of +justice was so immediate that Ronder was confused. "I still don't +understand, Miss Milton," he said. "Do you say you are dismissed, and, if +so, by whom?" + +"I _am_ dismissed! I _am_ dismissed!" cried Miss Milton. "I +leave here on Saturday. I have been librarian to this Library, Canon +Ronder, for more than twenty years. Yes, twenty years. And now I'm +dismissed like a dog with a month's notice." + +She had collected her tears and, with a marvellous rapidity, packed them +away. Her eyes, although red, were dry and glittering; her cheeks were of +a pasty white marked with small red spots of indignation. Ronder, looking +at her and her dirty hands, thought that he had never seen a woman whom he +disliked more. + +"But, Miss Milton," he said, "if you'll forgive me, I still don't +understand. Under whom do you hold this appointment? Who have the right to +dismiss you? and, whoever it was, they must have given some reason." + +Miss Milton, was now the practical woman, speaking calmly, although her +bosom still heaved and her fingers plucked confusedly with papers on the +table in front of her. She spoke quietly, but behind her words there were +so vehement a hatred, bitterness and malice that Ronder observed her with +a new interest. + +"There is a Library Committee, Canon Ronder," she said. "Lady St. Leath is +the president. It has in its hands the appointment of the librarian. It +appointed me more than twenty years ago. It has now dismissed me with a +month's notice for what it calls--what it _calls_, Canon Ronder-- +'abuse and neglect of my duties.' Abuse! Neglect! Me! about whom there has +never been a word of complaint until--until----" + +Here again Miss Milton's passions seemed to threaten to overwhelm her. She +gathered herself together with a great effort. + +"I know my enemy, Canon Ronder. Make no mistake about that. I know my +enemy. Although, what I have ever done to him I cannot imagine. A more +inoffensive person----" + +"Yes.--But," said Canon Ronder gently, "tell me, if you can, exactly with +what they charge you. Perhaps I can help you. Is it Lady St. Leath +who----" + +"No, it is _not_ Lady St. Leath," broke in Miss Milton vehemently. "I +owe Lady St. Leath much in the past. If she has been a little imperious at +times, that after all is her right. Lady St. Leath is a perfect lady. What +occurred was simply this: Some months ago I was keeping a book for Lady +St. Leath that she especially wished to read. Miss Brandon, the daughter +of the Archdeacon, came in and tried to take the book from me, saying that +her mother wished to read it. I explained to her that it was being kept +for Lady St. Leath; nevertheless, she persisted and complained to Lord St. +Leath, who happened to be in the Library at the time; he, being a perfect +gentleman, could of course do nothing but say that she was to have the +book. + +"She went home and complained, and it was the Archdeacon who brought up +the affair at a Committee meeting and insisted on my dismissal. Yes, Canon +Ronder, I know my enemy and I shall not forget it." + +"Dear me," said Canon Ronder benevolently, "I'm more than sorry. Certainly +it sounds a little hasty, although the Archdeacon is the most honourable +of men." + +"Honourable! Honourable!" Miss Milton rose in her chair. "Honourable! He's +so swollen with pride that he doesn't know what he is. Oh! I don't measure +my words. Canon Ronder, nor do I see any reason why I should. + +"He has ruined my life. What have I now at my age to go to? A little +secretarial work, and less and less of that. But it's not _that_ of +which I complain. I am hurt in the very depths of my being, Canon Ronder. +In my pride and my honour. Stains, wounds that I can never forget!" + +It was so exactly as though Miss Milton had just been reading +_Hermsprong_ and was quoting from it that Ronder looked about him, +almost expecting to see the dusty volume. + +"Well, Miss Milton, perhaps I can put a little work in your way." + +"You're very kind, sir," she said. "There's more than I in this town, sir, +who're glad that you've come among us, and hope that perhaps your presence +may lead to a change some day amongst those in high authority." + +"Where are you living, Miss Milton?" he asked. + +"Three St. James' Lane," she answered. "Just behind the Market and St. +James' Church. Opposite the Rectory. Two little rooms, my windows looking +on to Mr. Morris'." + +"Very well, I'll remember." + +"Thank you, sir, I'm sure. I'm afraid I've forgotten myself this morning, +but there's nothing like a sense of injustice for making you lose your +self-control. I don't care who hears me. I shall not forgive the +Archdeacon." + +"Come, come, Miss Milton," said Ronder. "We must all forgive and forget." + +Her eyes narrowed until they almost disappeared. + +"I don't wish to be unfair, Canon Ronder," she said. "But I've worked for +more than twenty years like an honourable woman, and to be turned out.-- +Not that I bear Mrs. Brandon any grudge, coming down to see Mr. Morris so +often as she does. I daresay she doesn't have too happy a time if all were +known." + +"Now, now," said Ronder. "This won't do, Miss Milton. You won't make your +case better by talking scandal, you know. I have your address. If I can +help you I will. Good afternoon." + +Forgetting _Hermsprong_, having now more important things to +consider, he found his way down the steps and out into the air. + +On every side now it seemed that the Archdeacon was making some blunder. +Little unimportant blunders perhaps, but nevertheless cumulative in their +effect! The balance had shifted. The Powers of the Air, bored perhaps with +the too-extended spectacle of an Archdeacon successful and triumphant, had +made a sign.... + +Ronder, as he stood in the spring sunlight, glancing up and down the High +Street, so full of colour and movement, had an impulse as though it were +almost a duty to go and warn the Archdeacon. "Look out! Look out! There's +a storm coming!" Warn the Archdeacon! He smiled. He could imagine to +himself the scene and the reception his advice would have. Nevertheless, +how sad that undoubtedly you cannot make an omelette without first +breaking the eggs! And this omelette positively must be made! + +He had intended to do a little shopping, an occupation in which he +delighted because of the personal victories to be won, but suddenly now, +moved by what impulse he could not tell, he turned back towards the +Cathedral. He crossed the Green, and almost before he knew it he had +pushed back the heavy West door and was in the dark, dimly coloured +shadow. The air was chill. The nave was scattered with lozenges of purple +and green light. He moved up the side aisle, thinking that now he was here +he would exchange a word or two with old Lawrence. No harm would be done +by a little casual amiability in that direction. + +Before he realised, he was close to the Black Bishop's Tomb. The dark grim +face seemed to-day to wear a triumphant smile beneath the black beard. A +shaft of sunlight played upon the marble like a searchlight upon water; +the gold of the ironwork and the green ring and the tracery on the +scrolled borders jumped under the sunlight like living things. + +Ronder, moved as always by beauty, smiled as though in answer to the dead +Bishop. + +"Why! you're the most alive thing in this Cathedral," he thought to +himself. + +"Pretty good bit of work, isn't it?" he heard at his elbow. He turned and +saw Davray, the painter. The man had been pointed out to him in the +street; he knew his reputation. He was inclined to be interested in the +man, in any one who had a wider, broader view of life than the citizens of +the town. Davray had not been drinking for several weeks; and always +towards the end of one of his sober bouts he was gentle, melancholy, the +true artist in him rising for one last view of the beauty that there was +in the world before the inevitable submerging. + +He had, on this occasion, been sober for a longer period than usual; he +felt weak and faint, as though he had been without food, and his favourite +vice, that had been approaching closer and closer to him during these last +days, now leered at him, leaning towards him from the other side of the +gilded scrolls of the tomb. + +"Yes, it's a very fine thing." He cleared his throat. "You're Canon +Ronder, are you not?" + +"Yes, I am." + +"My name's Davray. You probably heard of me as a drunkard who hangs about +the town doing no good. I'm quite sure you don't want to speak to me or +know me, but in here, where it's so quiet and so beautiful, one may know +people whom it wouldn't be nice to know outside." + +Ronder looked at him. The man's face, worn now and pinched and sharp, must +once have had its fineness. + +"You do yourself an injustice, Mr. Davray," Ronder said. "I'm very glad +indeed to know you." + +"Well, of course, you parsons have got to know everybody, haven't you? And +the sinners especially. That's your job. But I'm not a sinner to-day. I +haven't drunk anything for weeks, although don't congratulate me, because +I'm certainly not going to hold out much longer. There's no hope of +redeeming me, Canon Ronder, even if you have time for the job." + +Ronder smiled. + +"I'm not going to preach to you," he said, "you needn't be afraid." + +"Well, let's forget all that. This Cathedral is the very place, if you +clergymen had any sense of proportion, where you should be ashamed to +preach. It laughs at you." + +"At any rate the Bishop does," said Ronder, looking down at the tomb. + +"No, but all of it," said Davray. Instinctively they both looked up. High +above them, in the very heart of the great Cathedral tower, a mist, +reflected above the windows until it was coloured a very faint rose, +trembled like a sea about the black rafters and rounded pillars. Even as +they looked some bird flew twittering from corner to corner. + +"When I'm worked up," said Davray, "which I'm not to-day, I just long to +clear all you officials out of it. I laugh sometimes to think how +important you think yourselves and how unimportant you really are. The +Cathedral laughs too, and once and again stretches out a great lazy finger +and just flicks you away as it would a spider's web. I hope you don't +think me impertinent." + +"Not in the least," said Ronder; "some of us even may feel just as you do +about it." + +"Brandon doesn't." Davray moved away. "I sometimes think that when I'm +properly drunk one day I'll murder that man. His self-sufficiency and +conceit are an insult to the Cathedral. But the Cathedral knows. It bides +its time." + +Ronder looked gravely at the melancholy, ineffective figure with the pale +pointed beard, and the weak hands. "You speak very confidently, Mr. +Davray," he said. "As with all of us, you judge others by yourself. When +you know what the Cathedral's attitude to yourself is, you'll be able to +see more clearly." + +"To myself!" Davray answered excitedly. "It has none! To myself? Why, I'm +nobody, nothing. It doesn't have to begin to consider me. I'm less than +the dung the birds drop from the height of the tower. But I'm humble +before it. I would let its meanest stone crush the life out of my body, +and be glad enough. At least I know its power, its beauty. And I adore it! +I adore it!" + +He looked up as he spoke; his eyes seemed to be eagerly searching for some +expected face. + +Ronder disliked both melodrama and sentimentality. Both were here. + +"Take my advice," he said smiling. "Don't think too much about the +place...I'm glad that we met. Good afternoon." + +Davray did not seem to have noticed him; he was staring down again at the +Bishop's Tomb. Ronder walked away. A strange man! A strange day! How +different people were! Neither better nor worse, but just different. As +many varieties as there were particles of sand on the seashore. + +How impossible to be bored with life. Nevertheless, entering his own home +he was instantly bored. He found there, having tea with his aunt and +sitting beneath the Hermes, so that the contrast made her doubly +ridiculous, Julia Preston. Julia Preston was to him the most boring woman +in Polchester. To herself she was the most important. She was a widow and +lived in a little green house with a little green garden in the Polchester +outskirts. She was as pretty as she had been twenty years before, exactly +the same, save that what nature had, twenty years ago, done for the +asking, it now did under compulsion. She believed the whole world in love +with her and was therefore a thoroughly happy woman. She had a healthy +interest in the affairs of her neighbours, however small they might be, +and believed in "Truth, Beauty, and the Improvement of the Lower Classes." + +"Dear Canon Ronder, how nice this is!" she exclaimed. "You've been hard at +work all the afternoon, I know, and want your tea. How splendid work is! I +often think what would life be without it'." + +Ronder, who took trouble with everybody, smiled, sat down near to her and +looked as though he loved her. + +"Well, to be quite honest, I haven't been working very hard. Just seeing a +few people." + +"Just seeing a few people!" Mrs. Preston used a laugh that was a favourite +of hers because she had once been told that it was like "a tinkling bell." +"Listen to him! As though that weren't the hardest thing in the world. +Giving out! Giving out! What is so exhausting, and yet what so worth while +in the end? Unselfishness! I really sometimes feel that is the true secret +of life." + +"Have one of those little cakes, Julia," said Miss Ronder drily. She, +unlike her nephew, bothered about very few people indeed. "Make a good +tea." + +"I will, as you want me to, dear Alice," said Mrs. Preston. "Oh, thank +you, Canon Ronder! How good of you; ah, there! I've dropped my little bag. +It's under that table. Thank you a thousand times! And isn't it strange +about Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris?" + +"Isn't what strange?" asked Miss Ronder, regarding her guest with grim +cynicism. + +"Oh well--nothing really, except that every one's asking what they can +find in common. They're always together. Last Monday Aggie Combermere met +her coming out of the Rectory, then Ellen Stiles saw them in the Precincts +last Sunday afternoon, and I saw them myself this morning in the High +Street." + +"My dear Mrs. Preston," said Ronder, "why _shouldn't_ they go about +together?" + +"No reason at all," said Mrs. Preston, blushing very prettily, as she +always did when she fancied that any one was attacking her. "I'm sure that +I'm only too glad that poor Mrs. Brandon has found a friend. My motto in +life is, 'Let us all contribute to the happiness of one another to the +best of our strength.' + +"Truly, that's a thing we can _all_ do, isn't it? Life isn't too +bright for some people, I can't help thinking. And courage is the thing. +After all, it isn't life that is important but simply how brave you are. + +"At least that's my poor little idea of it. But it does seem a little odd +about Mrs. Brandon. She's always kept so much to herself until now." + +"You worry too much about others, dear Julia," said Miss Ronder. + +"Yes, I really believe I do. Why, there's my bag gone again! Oh, how good +of you, Canon! It's under that chair. Yes. I do. But one can't help one's +nature, can one? I often tell myself that it's really no credit to me +being unselfish. I was simply born that way. Poor Jack used to say that he +wished I _would_ think of myself more! I think we were meant to share +one another's burdens. I really do. And what Mrs. Brandon can see in Mr. +Morris is so odd, because _really_ he isn't an interesting man." + +"Let me get you some more tea," said Ronder. + +"No, thank you. I really must be going. I've been here an unconscionable +time. Oh! there's my handkerchief. How silly of me! Thank you so much!" + +She got up and prepared to depart, looking so pretty and so helpless that +it was really astonishing that the Hermes did not appreciate her. + +"Good-bye, dear Canon. No, I forbid you to come out. Oh, well, if you +will. I hear everywhere of the splendid work you're doing. Don't think it +flattery, but I do think we needed you here. What we have wanted is a +message--something to lift us all up a little. It's so easy to see nothing +but the dreary round, isn't it? And all the time the stars are shining.... +At least that's how it seems to me." + +The door closed; the room was suddenly silent. Miss Ronder sat without +moving, her eyes staring in front of her. + +Soon Ronder returned. + +Miss Ronder said nothing. She was the one human being who had power to +embarrass him. She was embarrassing him now. + +"Aren't things strange?" he said. "I've seen four different people this +afternoon. They have all of their own accord instantly talked about +Brandon, and abused him. Brandon is in the air. He's in danger." + +Miss Ronder looked her nephew straight between the eyes. + +"Frederick," she said, "how much have you had to do with this?" + +"To do with this? To do with what?" + +"All this talk about the Brandons." + +"I! Nothing at all." + +"Nonsense. Don't tell me. Ever since you set foot in this town you've been +determined that Brandon should go. Are you playing fair?" + +He got up, stood opposite her, legs apart, his hands crossed behind his +broad back. + +"Fair? Absolutely." + +Her eyes were full of distress. "Through all these years," she said, "I've +never truly known you. All I know is that you've always got what you +wanted. You're going to get what you want now. Do it decently." + +"You needn't be afraid," he said. + +"I _am_ afraid," she said. "I love you, Fred; I have always loved +you. I'd hate to lose that love. It's one of my most precious +possessions." + +He answered her slowly, as though he were thinking things out. "I've +always told you the truth," he said; "I'm telling you the truth now. Of +course I want Brandon to go, and of course he's going. But I haven't to +move a finger in the matter. It's all advancing without my agency. Brandon +is ruining himself. Even if he weren't, I'm quite square with him. I +fought him openly at the Chapter Meeting the other day. He hates me for +it." + +"And you hate _him_." + +"_Hate_ him? Not the least in the world. I admire and like him. If +only he were in a less powerful position and were not in my way, I'd be +his best friend. He's a fine fellow--stupid, blind, conceited, but finer +made than I am. I like him better than any man in the town." + +"I don't understand you"; she dropped her eyes from his face. "You're +extraordinary." + +He sat down again as though he recognised that the little contest was +closed. + +"Is there anything in this, do you think? This chatter about Mrs. Brandon +and Morris." + +"I don't know. There's a lot of talk beginning. Ellen Stiles is largely +responsible, I fancy." + +"Mrs. Brandon and Morris! Good Lord! Have you ever heard of a man called +Davray?" + +"Yes, a drunken painter, isn't he? Why?" + +"I talked to him in the Cathedral this afternoon. He has a grudge against +Brandon too...Well, I'm going up to the study." + +He bent over, kissed her forehead tenderly and left the room. + +Throughout that evening he was uncomfortable, and when he was +uncomfortable he was a strange being. His impulses, his motives, his +intentions were like a sheaf of corn bound tightly about by his sense of +comfort and well-being. When that sense was disturbed everything fell +apart and he seemed to be facing a new world full of elements that he +always denied. His aunt had a greater power of disturbing him than had any +other human being. He knew that she spoke what she believed to be the +truth; he felt that, in spite of her denials, she knew him. He was often +surprised at the eagerness with which he wanted her approval. + +As he sat back in his chair that evening in Bentinck-Major's comfortable +library and watched the other, this sense of discomfort persisted so +strongly that he found it very difficult to let his mind bite into the +discussion. And yet this meeting was immensely important to him. It was +the first obvious result of the manoeuvring of the last months. This was +definitely a meeting of Conspirators, and all of those engaged in it, with +one exception, knew that that was so. Bentinck-Major knew it, and Foster +and Ryle and Rogers. The exception was Martin, a young Minor Canon, who +had the living of St. Joseph's-in-the-Fields, a slum parish in the lower +part of the town. + +Martin had been invited because he was the best clergyman in Polchester. +Young though he was, every one was already aware of his strength, +integrity, power with the men of the town, sense of humour and +intelligence. There was, perhaps, no man in the whole of Polchester whom +Ronder was so anxious to have on his side. + +He was a man with a scorn of any intrigue, deeply religious, but human and +impatient of humbug. + +Ronder knew that he was the Polchester clergyman beyond all others who +would in later years come to great power, although at present he had +nothing save his Minor Canonry and small living. He was not perhaps a +deeply read man, he was of no especial family nor school and had graduated +at Durham University. In appearance he was common-place, thin, tall, with +light sandy hair and mild good-tempered eyes. It had been Ronder's +intention that he should be invited. Foster, who was more responsible for +the meeting than any one, had protested. + +"Martin--what's the point of Martin?" + +"You'll see in five years' time," Ronder had answered. + +Now, as Ronder looked round at them all, he moved restlessly in his chair. + +Was it true that his aunt was changing her opinion of him? Would he have +to deal, during the coming months, with persistent disapproval and +opposition from her? And it was so unfair. He had meant absolutely what he +said, that he liked Brandon and wished him no harm. He _did_ believe +that it was for the good of the town that Brandon should go.... + +He was pulled up by Foster, who was asking him to tell them exactly what +it was that they were to discuss. Instinctively he looked at Martin as he +spoke. As always, with the first word there came over him a sense of +mastery and happiness, a desire to move people like pawns, a readiness to +twist any principle, moral and ethical, if he might bend it to his +purpose. Instinctively he pitched his voice, formed his mouth, spread his +hands upon the broad arms of his chair exactly as an actor fills in his +part. + +"I object a little," he said, laughing, "to Foster's suggestion that I am +responsible for our talking here. I've no right to be responsible for +anything when I've been in the place so short a time. All the same, I +don't want to pretend to any false modesty. I've been in Polchester long +enough to be fond of it, and I'm going to be fonder of it still before +I've done. I don't want to pretend to any sentimentality either, but there +are broader issues than merely the fortunes of this Cathedral in danger. + +"Because I feel the danger, I intend to speak out about it, and get any +one on my side I can. When I find that Canon Foster who has been here so +long and loves the Cathedral so passionately and so honestly, if I may say +so, feels as I do, then I'm only strengthened in my determination. I don't +care who says that I've no right to push myself forward about this. I'm +not pushing myself forward. + +"As soon as some one else will take the cause in hand I'll step back, but +I'm not going to see the battle lost simply because I'm afraid of what +people will say of me.... Well, this is all fine words. The point simply +is that, as every one knows, poor Morrison is desperately ill and the +living of Pybus St. Anthony may fall vacant at any moment. The appointment +is a Chapter appointment. The living isn't anything very tremendous in +itself, but it has been looked upon for years as _the_ jumping-off +place for preferment in the diocese. Time after time the man who has gone +there has become the most important influence here. Men are generally +chosen, as I understand it, with that in view. These are, of course, all +commonplaces to you, but I'm recapitulating them because it makes my point +the stronger. Morrison with all his merits was not out of the way +intellectually. This time we want an exceptional man. + +"I've only been here a few months, but I've noticed many things, and I +will definitely say that the Cathedral is at a crisis in its history. +Perhaps the mere fact that this is Jubilee Year makes us all more ready to +take stock than we would otherwise have been. But it is not only that. The +Church is being attacked from all sides. I don't believe that there has +ever been a time when the west of England needed new blood, new thought, +new energy more than it does at this time. The vacancy at Pybus will offer +a most wonderful opportunity to bring that force among us. I should have +thought every one would realise that. + +"It happens, however, that I have discovered on first-hand evidence that +there is a strong resolve on the part of most important persons in this +town (I will mention no names) to fill the living with the most +unsatisfactory, worthless and conservative influence that could possibly +be found anywhere. If that influence succeeds I don't believe I'm +exaggerating when I say that the progress of the religious life here is +flung back fifty years. One of the greatest opportunities the Chapter can +ever have had will have been missed. I don't think we can regard the +crisis as too serious." + +Foster broke in: "Why _not_ mention names, Canon? We've no time to +waste. It's all humbug pretending we don't know whom you mean. It's +Brandon who wants to put young Forsyth into Pybus whom we're fighting. +Let's be honest." + +"No. I won't allow that," Ronder said quickly. "We're fighting no +personalities. Speaking for myself, there's no one I admire more in this +town than Brandon. I think him reactionary and opposed to new ideas, and a +dangerous influence here, but there's no personal feeling in any of this. +We've got to keep personalities out of this. There's something bigger than +our own likes and dislikes in this." + +"Words! Words," said Foster angrily. "I hate Brandon. You hate him, +Ronder, for all you're so circumspect. It's true enough that we don't want +young Forsyth at Pybus, but it's truer still that we want to bring the +Archdeacon's pride down. And we're going to." + +The atmosphere was electric. Rogers' thin and bony features were flushed +with pleasure at Foster's denunciation. Bentinck-Major rubbed his soft +hands one against the other and closed his eyes as though he were +determined to be a gentleman to the last; Martin sat upright in his chair, +his face puzzled, his gaze fixed upon Ronder; Ryle, the picture of nervous +embarrassment, glanced from one face to another, as though imploring every +one not to be angry with him--all these sharp words were certainly not his +fault. + +Ronder was vexed with himself. He was certainly not at his best to-night. +He had realised the personalities that were around him, and yet had not +steered his boat among them with the dexterous skill that was usually his. + +In his heart he cursed Foster for a meddling, cantankerous fanatic. + +Rogers broke in. "I must say," he exclaimed in a strange shrill voice like +a peacock's, "that I associate myself with every word of Canon Foster's. +Whatever we may pretend in public, the great desire of our hearts is to +drive Brandon out of the place. The sooner we do it the better. It should +have been done long ago." + +Martin spoke. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I had known that this meeting was +to be a personal attack on the Archdeacon, I never would have come. I +don't think the diocese has a finer servant than Archdeacon Brandon. I +admire him immensely. He has made mistakes. So do we all of course. But I +have the highest opinion of his character, his work and his importance +here, and I would like every one in the room to know that before we go any +further." + +"That's right. That's right," said Ryle, smiling around nervously upon +every one. "Canon Martin is right, don't you think? I hope nobody here +will say that I have any ill feeling against the Archdeacon. I haven't, +indeed, and I shouldn't like any one to charge me with it." + +Ronder struck in then, and his voice was so strong, so filled with +authority, that every one looked up as though some new figure had entered +the room. + +"I should like to emphasise at once," he said, "so that no one here or +anywhere else can be under the slightest misapprehension, that I will take +part in nothing that has any personal animus towards anybody. Surely this +is a question of Pybus and Forsyth and of nothing else at all. I have not +even anything against Mr. Forsyth; I have never seen him--I wish him all +the luck in life. But we are fighting a battle for the Pybus living and +for nothing more nor less than that. + +"If my own brother wanted that living and was not the right man for it I +would fight him. The Archdeacon does not see the thing at present as we +do; it is possible that very shortly he may. As soon as he does I'm behind +him." + +Foster shook his head. "Have it your own way," he said. "Everything's the +same here--always compromise. Compromise! Compromise! I'm sick of the +cowardly word. We'll say no more of Brandon for the moment then. He'll +come up again, never fear. He's not the sort of man to avoid spoiling his +own soup." + +"Very good," said Bentinck-Major in his most patronising manner. "Now we +are all agreed, I think. You will have noticed that I've been waiting for +this moment to suggest that we should come to business. Our business, I +believe, is to obtain what support we can against the gift of the living +to Mr. Forsyth and to suggest some other candidate...hum, haw...yes, +other candidate." + +"There's only one possible candidate," Foster brought out, banging his +lean fist down upon the table near to him. "And that's Wistons of Hawston. +It's been the wish of my heart for years back to bring Wistons here. We +don't know, of course, if he would come, but I think he could be +persuaded. And then--then there'd be hope once more! God would be served! +His Church would be a fitting Tabernacle!..." + +He broke off. Amazing to see the rapt devotion that now lighted up his +ugly face until it shone with saintly beauty. The harsh lines were +softened, the eyes were gentle, the mouth tender. "Then indeed," he almost +whispered, "I might say my 'Nunc Dimittis' and go." + +It was not he alone who was stirred. Martin spoke eagerly: "Is that the +Wistons of the _Four Creeds_?--the man who wrote _The New Apocalypse_?" + +Foster smiled. "There's only one Wistons," he said, pride ringing in his +voice as though he were speaking of his favourite son, "for all the +world." + +"Why, that would be magnificent," Martin said, "if he'd come. But would +he? I should think that very doubtful." + +"I think he would," said Foster softly, still as though he were speaking +to himself. + +"Why, that, of course, is wonderful!" Martin looked round upon them all, +his eyes glowing. "There isn't a man in England----" He broke off. "But +surely if there's a _real_ chance of getting Wistons nobody on the +Chapter would dream of proposing a man like Forsyth. It's incredible!" + +"Incredible!" burst in Foster. "Not a bit of it! Do you suppose Brandon--I +beg pardon for mentioning his name, as we're all so particular--do you +suppose Brandon wouldn't fight just such a man? He regards him as +dangerous, modern, subversive, heretical, anything you please. Wistons! +Why, he'd make Brandon's hair stand on end!" + +"Well," said Martin gravely, "if there's any real chance of getting +Wistons into this diocese I'll work for it with my coat off." + +"Good," said Bentinck-Major, tapping with a little gold pencil that he had +been fingering, on the table. "Now we are all agreed. The next question +is, what steps are we to take?" + +They all looked instinctively at Ronder. He felt their glances. He was +happy, assured, comfortable once more. He was master of them. They lay in +his hand for him to do as he would with them. His brain now moved clearly, +smoothly, like a beautiful shining machine. His eyes glowed. + +"Now, it's occurred to me----" he said. They all drew their chairs closer. + + + + +Chapter V + +Falk by the River + + + +Upon that same evening when the conspirators met in Bentinck-Major's +handsome study Mrs. Brandon had a ridiculous fit of hysterics. + +She had never had hysterics before; the fit came upon her now when she was +sitting in front of her glass brushing her hair. She was dressing for +dinner and could see her reflection, white and thin, in the mirror before +her. Suddenly the face in the glass began to smile and it became at that +same instant another face that she had never seen before. + +It was a horrid smile and broke suddenly into laughter. It was as though +the face had been hit by something and cracked then into a thousand +pieces. + +She laughed until the tears poured down her cheeks, but her eyes +protested, looking piteously and in dismay from the studied glass. She +knew that she was laughing with shrill high cries, and behind her horror +at her collapse there was a desperate protesting attempt to calm herself, +driven, above all, upon her agitated heart by the fear lest her husband +should come in and discover her. + +The laughter ceased quite suddenly and was followed by a rush of tears. +She cried as though her heart would break, then, with trembling steps, +crossed to her bed and lay down. Very shortly she must control herself +because the dinner-bell would ring and she must go. To stay and send the +conventional excuse of a headache would bring her husband up to her, and +although he was so full of his own affairs that the questions that he +would ask her would be perfunctory and absent-minded, she felt that she +could not endure, just now, to be alone with him. + +She lay on her bed shivering and wondering what malign power it was that +had seized her. Malign it was, she did not for an instant doubt. She had +asked, did ask, for so little. Only to see Morris for a moment every day. +To see him anywhere in as public a place as you please, but to see him, to +hear his voice, to look into his eyes, to touch his hand (soft and gentle +like a woman's hand)--that had been now for months an absolute necessity. +She did not ask more than that, and yet she was aware that there was no +pause in the accumulating force of the passion that was seizing her. She +was being drawn along by two opposite powers--the tenderness of protective +maternal love and the ruthlessness of the lust for possession. + +She wanted to care for him, to watch over him, to guard him, to do +everything for him, and also she wanted to feel her hold over him, to see +him move, almost as though he were hypnotised, towards her. + +The thought of him, the perpetual incessant thought of him, ruled out the +thought of every one else in the world--save only Falk. She scarcely now +considered her husband at all; she never for an instant wondered whether +people in the town were talking. She saw only Morris and her future with +Morris--only that and Falk. + +Upon Falk now everything hung. She had made a kind of bargain. If Falk +stayed and loved her and cared for her she would resist the power that was +drawing her towards Morris. Now, a million times more than before she had +met Morris, she must have some one for whom she could care. It was as +though a lamp had been lit and flung a great track of light over those +dark, empty earlier years. How could she ever have lived as she did? The +hunger, the desperate, eager, greedy hunger was roused in her. Falk could +satisfy it, but, if he would not, then she would hesitate no longer. + +She would seize Morris as a tiger seizes its prey. She did not disguise +that from herself. As she lay now, trembling, upon her bed, she never +hesitated to admit to herself that the thought of her domination over +Morris was her great glory. She had never dominated any one before. He +followed her like a man in a dream, and she was not young, she was not +beautiful, she was not clever.... + +It was her own personal, personal, personal triumph. And then, on that, +there swept over her the flood of her tenderness for him, how she longed +to be good to him, to care for him, to mend and sew and cook and wash for +him, to perform the humblest tasks for him, to nurse him and protect him. +She knew that the end of this might be social ruin for both of them!... +Ah, well, then, he would only need her the more! She was quieter now--the +trembling ceased. How strange the way that during these months they had +been meeting, so often without their own direct agency at all! She +recalled every moment, every gesture, every word. He seemed already to be +part of herself, moving within herself. + +She sat up on her bed; moved back to her glass. She bathed her face, +slipped on her dress, and went downstairs. + +They were a family party at dinner, but, of course, without Falk. He was +always out in the evening now. + +Joan talked, chattered on. The meal was soon over. The Archdeacon went to +his study, and the two women sat in the drawing-room, Joan by the window, +Mrs. Brandon, hidden in a high arm-chair, near the fireplace. The clock +ticked on and the Cathedral bells struck the quarters. Joan's white dress, +beyond the circle of lamp-light was a dim shadow. Mrs. Brandon turned the +pages of her book, her ears straining for the sound of Falk's return. + +As she sat there, so inattentively turning the pages of her book, the +foreboding sense of some approaching drama flooded the room. For how many +years had she lived from day to day and nothing had occurred--so long that +life had been unconscious, doped, inert. Now it had sprung into vitality +again with the sudden frantic impertinence of a Jack-in-the-Box. For +twenty years you are dry on the banks, half-asleep, stretching out lazy +fingers for food, slumbering, waking, slumbering again. Suddenly a wave +comes and you are swept off--swept off into what disastrous sea? + +She did not think in pictures, it was not her way, but to-night, half- +terrified, half-exultant, in the long dim room she waited, the pressure of +her heart beating up into her throat, listening, watching Joan furtively, +seeing Morris, his eternal shadow, itching with its long tapering fingers +to draw her away with him beyond the house. No, she would be true with +herself. It was he who would be drawn away. The power was in her, not in +him.... + +She looked wearily across at Joan. The child was irritating to her as she +had always been. She had never, in any case, cared for her own sex, and +now, as so frequently with women who are about to plunge into some +passionate situation, she regarded every one she saw as a potential +interferer. She despised women as most women in their secret hearts do, +and especially she despised Joan. + +"You'd better go up to bed, dear. It's half-past ten." + +Without a word Joan got up, came across the room, kissed her mother, went +to the door. Then she paused. + +"Mother," she said, hesitating, and then speaking timidly, "is father all +right?" + +"All right, dear?" + +"Yes. He doesn't look well. His forehead is all flushed, and I overheard +some one at the Sampsons' say the other day that he wasn't well really, +that he must take great care of himself. Ought he to?" + +"Ought he what?" + +"To take great care of himself." + +"What nonsense!" Mrs. Brandon turned back to her book impatiently. "There +never was any one so strong and healthy." + +"He's always worrying about something. It's his nature." + +"Yes, I suppose so." + +Joan vanished. Mrs. Brandon sat, staring before her, her mind running with +the clock--tick-tick-tick-tick--and then suddenly jumping at the mellow +liquid gurgle that it sometimes gave. Would her husband come in and say +good-night? + +How she had grown, during these last weeks, to loathe his kiss! He would +stand behind her chair, bending his great body over her, his red face +would come down, then the whiff of tobacco, then the rough pressure on her +cheek, the hard, unmeaning contact of his lips and hers. His beautiful +eyes would stare beyond her, absently into the room. Beautiful! Why, yes, +they were famous eyes, famous the diocese through. How well she remembered +those years, long ago, when they had seemed to speak to her of every +conceivable tenderness and sweetness, and how, when he thus had bent over +her, she had stretched up her hand and found the buttons of his waistcoat +and pushed her fingers in, stroking his shirt and feeling his heart thump, +thump, and so warm beneath her touch. + +Life! Life! What a cheat! What a cheat! She jumped from her chair, letting +the book drop upon the floor, and began to pace the room. And why should +not this, too, cheat her once again? With the tenderness, the poignancy +with which she now looked upon Morris so once she had looked upon Brandon. +Yes, that might be. She would cheat herself no longer. But she was older +now. This was the last chance to live--definitely, positively the last. It +was not the desire to be loved, this time, that drove her forward so +urgently as the desire to love. She knew that, because Falk would do. If +Falk would stay, would let her care for him and mother him and be with +him, she would drive Morris from her heart and brain. + +Yes, she almost cried aloud in the dark room. "Give me Falk and I will +leave the other. Give me my own son. That's my right--every mother's +right. If I am refused it, it is just that I should take what I can get +instead." + +"Give him to me! Give him to me!" One thing at least was certain. She +could never return to the old lethargy. That first meeting with Morris had +fired her into life. She could not go back and she was glad that she could +not.... + +She stopped in the middle of the room to listen. The hall-door closed +softly; suddenly the line of light below the door vanished. Some one had +turned down the hall-lamp. She went to the drawing-room door, opened it, +looked out, crying softly: + +"Falk! Falk!" + +"Yes, mother." He came across to her. He was holding a lighted candle in +his hand. "Are you still up?" + +"Yes, it isn't very late. Barely eleven. Come into the drawing-room." + +They went back into the room. He closed the door behind him, then put the +candle down on to a small round table; they sat in the candle-light, one +on either side of the table. + +He looked at her and thought how small and fragile she looked and how +little, anyway, she meant to him. + +How much most mothers meant to their sons, and how little she had ever +meant to him! He had always taken his father's view of her, that it was +necessary for her to be there, that she naturally did her best, but that +she did not expect you to think about her. + +"You ought to be in bed," he said, wishing that she would release him. + +For the first time in her life she spoke to him spontaneously, losing +entirely the sense that she had always had, that both he and his father +would go away and leave her if she were tiresome. + +To-night he would _not_ go away--not until she had struck her bargain +with him. + +"What have you been up to all these weeks, Falk?" she asked. + +"Up to?" he repeated. Her challenge was unexpected. + +"Yes; of course I know you're up to something, and you _know_ that I +know. You must tell me. I'm your mother and I ought to be told." + +He knew at once as soon as she spoke that she was the very last person in +the world to whom he wished to tell anything. He was tired, dead tired, +and wanted to go to bed, but he was arrested by the urgency in her voice. +What was the matter with her? So intent had he been, for the past months, +on his own affairs that he had not thought of his mother at all. He looked +across the table at her--a little insignificant woman, colourless, with no +personality. And yet to-night something was happening to her. He felt all +the impatience of a man who is closely occupied with his own drama but is +forced, quite against his will, to consider some one else. + +"There isn't anything to tell you, mother. Really there is not. I've just +been kicking my heels round this blasted town for the last few months and +I'm restless. I'll be going up to London very shortly." + +"Why need you?" she asked him. The candle flame seemed to jump with the +sharpness of her voice. + +"Why need I? But of course I must. I ask you, is this a place for _any +one_ to settle down in?" + +"I don't know why it shouldn't be. I should have thought you could be very +happy here. There are so many things you could do." + +"What, for instance?" + +"You could be a solicitor, or go into business, or--or--why, you'd soon +find something." + +He got up, taking the candle in his hand. + +"Well, if that's your idea, mother, I'm sorry, but you can just put it out +of your head once and for all. I'd rather be buried alive than stay in +this hole. I _would_ be buried alive if I stayed." + +She looked up at him. He was so tall, so handsome, _and so distant_-- +some one who had no connection with her at all. She too got up, putting +her little hand on his arm. + +"Then are we, all of us, to count for nothing at all?" + +"Of course you count," he answered impatiently, irritated by the pressure +of her fingers on his coat. "You'll see plenty of me. But you can't +possibly expect me to live here. I've completely wasted my beautiful young +life so far--now apparently you want me to waste the rest of it." + +"Then," she said, coming nearer to him and dropping her voice, "take me +with you." + +"Take you with me!" He stepped back from her. He could not believe that he +had heard her correctly. "Take _you_ with me?" + +"Yes." + +"Take you with me?" + +"Yes, yes, yes." + +It was the greatest surprise of his life. He stared at her in his +amazement, putting the candle back upon the table. + +"But why?" + +"Why?...Why do you think?...Because I love you and want to be with you." + +"Be with me? Leave this? Leave Polchester?...Leave father?" + +"Yes, why not? Your father doesn't need me any longer. Nobody wants me +here. Why shouldn't I go?" + +He came close to her, giving her now all his attention, staring at her as +though he were seeing her for the first time in his life. + +"Mother, aren't you well?...Aren't you happy?" + +She laughed. "Happy? Oh, yes, so happy that I'd drown myself to-night if +that would do any good." + +"Here, sit down." He almost pushed her back into her chair. "We've got to +have this out. I don't know what you're talking about. You're unhappy? +Why, what's the matter?" + +"The matter? Oh, nothing!" she answered. "Nothing at all, except for the +last ten years I've hated this place, hated this house, hated your +father." + +"Hated father?" + +He stared at her as though she had in a moment gone completely mad. + +"Yes, why not?" she answered quietly. "What has he ever done that I should +feel otherwise? What attention has he ever paid to me? When has he ever +considered me except as a sort of convenient housekeeper and mistress whom +he pays to keep near him? Why shouldn't I hate him? You're very young, +Falk, and it would probably surprise you to know how many quiet stay-at- +home wives there are who hate their good, honest, well-meaning husbands." + +He drew a deep breath. + +"What's father ever done," he said, "to make you hate him?" + +She should have realised then, from the sound in his voice, that she was, +in her preoccupation with her own affairs, forgetting one of the principal +elements in the whole case, his love for his father. + +"It isn't what he's done," she answered. "It's what he hasn't done. Whom +has he ever considered but himself? Isn't his conceit so big that he can't +see any one but himself. Why should we go on pretending that he's so great +and wonderful? Do you suppose that any one can live for twenty years and +more with your father and not see how small and selfish and mean he is? +How he----" + +"You're not to say that," Falk interrupted her angrily. "Father may have +his faults--so has every one--but we've got worse ones. He isn't mean and +he isn't small. He may seem conceited, but that's only because he cares so +for the Cathedral and knows what he's done for it. He's the finest man I +know anywhere. He doesn't see things as I do--I don't suppose that father +and son ever do see alike--but that needn't prevent me from admiring him. +Why, mother, what's come over you? You can't be well. Leave father! Why, +it would be terrible! Think of the talk there'd be! Why, it would ruin +father here. He'd never get over it." + +She saw then the mistake that she had made. She looked across at him +beseechingly. + +"You're right, Falk. I didn't mean that, I don't mean that. But I'm so +unhappy that I don't know what I'm saying. All I want is to be with you. +It wouldn't hurt father if I went up to London with you for a little. What +I really want is a holiday. I could come back after a month or two +refreshed. I'm tired." + +Suddenly while she was speaking the ironical contrast hit him. Here was he +amazed at his mother for daring to contemplate a step that would do his +father harm, while he, he who professed to love his father, was about to +do something that would cause the whole town to talk for a year. But that +was different. Surely it was different. He was young and must make his own +life. He must be allowed to marry whom he would. It was not as though he +were intending to ruin the girl.... + +Nevertheless, this sudden comparison bewildered and shocked him. + +He leant across the table to her. "You must never leave father--never," he +said. "You mustn't think of it. He wants you badly. He mayn't show it +exactly as you want it. Men aren't demonstrative as women are, but he'd be +miserable if you went away. He loves you in his own fashion, which is just +as good as yours, only different. You must _never_ leave him, mother, +do you hear?" + +She saw that she was defeated, entirely and completely. She cried to the +Powers: + +"You've refused me what I ask. I go my own way, then." + +She got up, kissed him on the forehead and said: "I daresay you're right, +Falk. Forget what I've said. I didn't mean most of it. Good-night, dear." + +She went out, quietly closing the door behind her. + + Falk did not sleep at all that night. This was only one of many sleepless +nights, but it was the worst of them. The night was warm, and a faint dim +colour lingered behind the treetops of the garden beyond his open window. +First he lay under the clothes, then upon the top of his bed, then +stripped, plunging his head into a basin of water, then naked save for his +soft bedroom slippers, paced his room...His head was a flaming fire. The +pale light seemed for an instant to vanish, and the world was dark and +silent. Then, at the striking of the Cathedral clock, as though it were a +signal upon some stage, the light slowly crept back again, growing ever +stronger and stronger. The birds began to twitter; a cock crew. A bar of +golden light broken by the squares and patterns of the dark trees struck +the air. + +The shock of his mother's announcement had been terrific. It was not only +the surprise of it, it was the sudden light that it flung upon his own +case. He had gone, during these last weeks, so far with Annie Hogg that it +was hard indeed to see how there could be any stepping back. They had +achieved a strange relationship together: one not of comradeship, nor of +lust, nor of desire, nor of affection, having a little of all these things +but not much of any of them, and finally resembling the case of two +strangers, shipwrecked, hanging on to a floating spar of wood that might +bring them into safety. + +She was miserable; he was miserable; whether she cared for him he could +not tell, nor whether he cared for her. The excitement that she created in +him was intense, all-devouring, but it was not an excitement of lust. He +had never done more than kiss her, and he was quite ready that it should +remain so. He intended, perhaps, to marry her, but of that he could not be +sure. + +But he could not leave her; he could not keep away from her although he +was seldom happy when he was with her. Slowly, gradually, through their +meetings there had grown a bond. He was more naturally himself with her +than with any other human being. Although she excited him she also +tranquillised him. Increasingly he admired and respected her--her honesty, +independence, reserve, pride. Perhaps it was upon that that their alliance +was really based--upon mutual respect and admiration. There had been +never, from the very first moment, any deception between them. He had +never been so honest with any one before--certainly not with himself. His +desire, beyond everything else in life, was to be honest: to pretend to no +emotion that he did not truly feel, to see exactly how he felt about life, +and to stand up before it unafraid and uncowed. Honesty seemed to him the +greatest quality in life; that was why he had been attracted to Ronder. +And yet life seemed to be for ever driving him into false positions. Even +now he was contemplating running away with this girl. Until to-night he +had fancied that he was only contemplating it, but his conversation with +his mother had shown him how near he was to a decision. Nevertheless, he +would talk to Ronder and to his father, not, of course, telling them +everything, but catching perhaps from them some advice that would seem to +him so true that it would guide him. + +Finally, when the gold bar appeared behind the trees he forced himself +into honesty with his father. How could he have meant so sincerely that +his mother must not hurt his father when he himself was about to hurt him? + +And this discovery had not lessened his determination to take the step. +Was he, then, utterly hypocritical? He knew he was not. + +He could look ahead of his own affair and see that in the end his father +would admit that it had been best for him. They all knew--even his mother +must in her heart have known--that he was not going to live in Polchester +for ever. His departure for London was inevitable, and it simply was that +he would take Annie with him. That would be for a moment a blow to his +father, but it would not be so for long. And in the town his father would +win sympathy; he, Falk, would be condemned and despised. They would say: +"Ah, that young Brandon. He never was any good. His father did all he +could, but it was no use...." And then in a little time there would come +the news that he was doing well in London, and all would be right. + +He looked to his talk with Ronder. Ronder would advise well. Ronder knew +life. He was not provincial like these others.... + +Suddenly he was cold. He went back to bed and slept dreamlessly. + + * * * * * + +Next evening, as half-past eight was striking, he was at his customary +post by the river, above the "Dog and Pilchard." + +A heavy storm was mounting up behind the Cathedral, black clouds being +piled tier on tier as though some gigantic shopman were shooting out rolls +of carpet for the benefit of some celestial purchaser. The Cathedral shone +in the last flash of the fleeing light with a strange phantasmal silver +sheen; once more it was a ship sailing high before the tempest. + +Down by the river the dusk was grey and sodden. The river, flowing +sullenly, was a lighter dark between the line of houses and the bending +fields. The air was so heavy that men seemed to walk with bending backs as +though the burden was more than they could sustain. This section of the +river had become now to Falk something that was part of himself. The old +mill, the group of trees beside it, the low dam over which the water fell +with its own peculiar drunken gurgle, the pathway with its gritty stony +surface, so that it seemed to grind its teeth in protest at every step +that you took, on the left the town piled high behind you with the +Cathedral winged and dominant and supreme, the cool sloping fields beyond +the river, the dark bend of the wood cutting the horizon--these things +were his history and he was theirs. + +There were many other places to which they might have gone, other times +that they might have chosen, but circumstances and accident had found for +them always this same background. He had long ago ceased to consider +whether any one was watching them or talking about them. They were, +neither of them, cowards, although to Annie her father was a figure of +sinister power and evil desire. She hated her father, believed him capable +of infinite wickedness, but did not fear him enough to hesitate to face +him. Nevertheless, it was from him that she was chiefly escaping, and she +gave to Falk a curious consciousness of the depths of malice and vice that +lay hidden behind that smiling face, in the secret places of that fat +jolly body. Falk was certain now that Hogg knew of their meetings; he +suspected that he had known of them from the first. Hogg had his faults +but they did not frighten Falk, who was, indeed, afraid of no man alive +save only himself. + +The other element in the affair that increased as the week passed was +Falk's consciousness of the strange spirit of nobility that there was in +Annie. Although she stirred him so deeply she did not blind him as to her +character. He saw her exactly for what she was--uneducated, ignorant, +limited in all her outlook, common in many ways, sometimes surly, often +superstitious; but through all these things that strain of nobility ran, +showing itself in many unexpected places, calling to him like an echo from +some high, far-distant source. Because of it he was beginning to wonder +whether after all the alliance that was beginning to spring up between +them might not be something more permanent and durable than at first he +had ever supposed it could be. He was beginning to wonder whether he had +not been fortunate far beyond his deserts.... + +On this thunder-night they met like old friends who had known one another +for many years and between whom there had never been anything but +comradeship. They did not kiss, but simply touched hands and moved up +through the gathering dark to the little bridge below the mill. From here +they felt the impact of the chattering water rising to them and falling +again like a comment on their talk. + +"It'll not be many more times," Annie said, "we'll be coming here." + +"Why?" Falk asked. + +"Because I'm going up to London whether you come or no--and _soon_ +I'm going." + +He admired nothing in her more than the clear-cut decision of her mind, +which moved quietly from point to point, asking no advice, allowing no +regrets when the decision was once made. + +"What has happened since last time?" + +"Happened? Nothing. Only father and the 'Dog,' and drink. I'm through with +it." + +"And what would you do in London if you went up alone?" + +She flung up her head suddenly, laughing. "You think I'm helpless, don't +you? Well, I'm not." + +"No, I don't--but you don't know London." + +"A fearsome place, mebbe, but not more disgustin' than father." + +There was irritation in his voice as he said: + +"Then it doesn't matter to you whether I come with you or not?" + +Her reply was soft. She suddenly put out her hand and took his. + +"Of course it matters. We're friends. The best friend I'm likely to find, +I reckon. What would I be meeting you for all these months if I didn't +care for you? Just to be admiring the scenery?--shouldn't like." + +She laughed softly. + +She went on: "I'm ready to go with you or without you. If we go together +I'm independent, just as though I went without you. I'm independent of +every one--father and you and all. I'll marry you if you want me, or I'll +live with you without marrying, or I'll live without you and never see you +again. I won't say that leaving you wouldn't hurt. It would, after being +with you all these weeks; but I'd rather be hurt than be dependent." + +He held her hand tightly between his two. + +"Folks 'ud say," she went on, "that I had no right to be talkin' of going +away with you--that I'd be ruining your future and making people look down +on you, and all that. Well, that's for you to say. If you think it harms +your prospects being with me you needn't see me. I've my own prospects to +think of. I'm not going to have any man ashamed of me." + +"You're right to speak of it, and we're right to think of it," said Falk. +"It isn't my prospects that I've got to think about, but it's my father I +wouldn't like to hurt. If we go away together there'll be a great deal of +talk here, and it will all fall on my father." + +"Well, then," she said, tossing her head and taking her hand away from +his, "don't come. _I'm_ not asking you. As for your father, he's that +proud----" She stopped suddenly. "No. I'm saying nothing about that. You +care for him, and you're right to. As far as that goes, we needn't go +together; you can come up later and join me." + +When she said that, he knew that he couldn't bear the thought of her going +alone, and that he had all along been determined in his thought that she +should not go alone. + +"If you'd say you loved me," he said, suddenly bending towards her, "I'd +never let you out of my sight again." + +"Oh, yes, you would," she said; "you don't know whether you _do_ love +me. Many's the time you think you don't. And I don't know whether I love +you. Sometimes I think I do. What's love, anyway? I dunno. I think +sometimes I'm not made to feel that way towards any one. But what I really +meant to say to-night is, that I'm dead sick of this hanging-on. I'm going +up to a cousin I've got Blackheath way a week from to-night. If you're +coming, I'm glad. If you're not--well, I reckon I'll get over it." + +"A week from to-day--" He looked out over the water. + +"Aye. That's settled." + +Then, unexpected, as she so often was, she put her arms round his neck and +drew his head down to her bosom and let her hand rest on his hair. + +"I like to feel you there," she said. "It's more a mother I feel to you +than a lover." + +She would not let him kiss her, but suddenly moved away from him, into the +dark, leaving him where he stood. + +When he was half-way home the storm that had been slowly, during the last +hour and a half, climbing up above the town, broke. As he was crossing the +market-place the rain came down in torrents, dancing upon the uneven +cobbles with a kind of excited frenzy, and thickening the air with a +curtain of mist. He climbed the High Street, his head down, feeling a +physical satisfaction in the fierce soaking that the storm was giving him. +The town was shining and deserted. Not a soul about. No sound except the +hissing, sneering, chattering whisper of the deluge. He went up to his +room and changed, putting on a dinner jacket, and came down to his +father's study. It was too late for dinner, but he was not hungry; he did +not know how long it was since he had felt hungry last. + +He knocked and went in. He felt a desperate urgency that he must somehow +reconcile the interests and happiness of the two people who were then +filling all his thoughts--his father and Annie. There must _be_ a +way. He could feel still the touch of Annie's hand upon his head; he was +more deeply bound to her by that evening's conversation than he had ever +been before, but he longed to be able to reassure himself by some contact +with his father that he was not going to hurt the old man, that he would +be able to prove to him that his loyalty was true and his affection deep. + +Small causes produce lasting results, and the lives of many people would +have been changed had Falk caught his father that night in another mood. + +The Archdeacon did not look up at the sound of the closing door. He was +sitting at his big table writing letters, the expression of his face being +that of a boy who has been kept in on a fine afternoon to write out the +first fifty lines of the _Iliad_. His curly hair was ruffled, his +mouth was twisted with disgust, and he pushed his big body about in his +chair, kicked out his legs and drew them in as though beneath his +concentration on his letters he was longing to spring up, catch his enemy +by the throat, roll him over on to the ground and kick him. + +"Hullo, governor!" Falk said, and settled down into one of the big leather +arm-chairs, produced a pipe from his pocket and slowly filled it. + +The Archdeacon went on writing, muttering to himself, biting the end of +his quill pen. He had not apparently been aware of his son's entrance, but +suddenly he sprang up, pushed back his chair until it nearly fell over, +and began to stride up and down the room. He was a fine figure then, +throwing up his head, flinging out his arms, apostrophising the world. + +"Gratitude! They don't know what it means. Do you think I'll go on working +for them, wearing myself to a shadow, staying up all night--getting up at +seven in the morning, and then to have this sort of return? I'll leave the +place. I'll let them make their own mistakes and see how they like that. +I'll teach them gratitude. Here am I; for ten years I've done nothing but +slave for the town and the Cathedral. Who's worked for them as I have?" + +"What's the matter, father?" Falk asked, watching him from the chair. +Every one knows the irritation of coming to some one with matters so +urgent that they occupy the whole of your mind, and then discovering that +your audience has its own determined preoccupation. "Always thinking of +himself," Falk continued. "Fusses about nothing." + +"The matter?" His father turned round upon him. "Everything's the matter. +Everything! Here's this Jubilee business coming on and everything going to +ruin. Here am I, who know more about the Cathedral and what's been done in +the Cathedral for the last ten years than any one, and they are letting +Ryle have a free hand over all the Jubilee Week services without another +word to anybody." + +"Well, Ryle is the Precentor, isn't he?" said Falk. + +"Of course he is," the Archdeacon answered angrily. "And what a Precentor! +Every one knows he isn't capable of settling anything by himself. That's +been proved again and again. But that's only one thing. It's the same all +the way round. Opposition everywhere. It'll soon come to it that I'll have +to ask permission from the Chapter to walk down the High Street." + +"All the same, father," Falk said, "you can't be expected to have the +whole of the Jubilee on your shoulders. It's more than any one man can +possibly do." + +"I know that. Of course I know that. Ryle's case is only one small +instance of the way the wind's blowing. Every one's got to do their share, +of course. But in the last three months the place is changed--the +Chapter's disorganised, there's rebellion in the Choir, among the Vergers, +everywhere. The Cathedral is in pieces. And why? Who's changed everything? +Why is nothing as it was three months ago?" + +"Oh, Lord! what a bore the old man is!" thought Falk. He was in the last +possible mood to enter into any of his father's complaints. They seemed +now, as he looked across at him, to be miles apart. He felt, suddenly, as +though he did not care what happened to his father, nor whether his +feelings were hurt or no---- + +"Well, tell me!" said the Archdeacon, spreading his legs out, putting his +hands behind his back and standing over his son. "Who's responsible for +the change?" + +"Oh, I don't know!" said Falk impatiently. + +"You don't know? No, of course you don't know, because you've taken no +interest in the Cathedral nor in anything to do with it. All the same, I +should have thought it impossible for any one to be in this town half an +hour and _not_ know who's responsible. There's only one man, and that +man is Ronder." + +Unfortunately Falk liked Ronder. "I think Ronder's rather a good sort," he +said. "A clever fellow, too." + +The Archdeacon stared at him. + +"You like him?" + +"Yes, father, I do." + +"And of course it matters nothing to you that he should be your father's +persistent enemy and do his best to hinder him in everything and every way +possible." + +Falk smiled, one of those confident, superior smiles that are so justly +irritating to any parent. + +"Oh, come, father," he said. "Aren't you rather exaggerating?" + +"Exaggerating? Yes, of course you would take the other side. And what do +you know about it? There you are, lolling about in your chair, idling week +after week, until all the town talks about it----" + +Falk sprang up. + +"And whose fault is it if I do idle? What have I been wanting except to go +off and make a decent living? Whose fault----?" + +"Oh, mine, of course!" the Archdeacon shouted. "Put it all down to me! Say +that I begged you to leave Oxford, that I want you to laze the rest of +your life away. Why shouldn't you, when you have a mother and sister to +support you?" + +"Stop that, father." Falk also was shouting. "You'd better look out what +you're saying, or I'll take you at your word and leave you altogether." + +"You can, for all I care," the Archdeacon shouted back. They stood there +facing one another, both of them red in the face, a curious family +likeness suddenly apparent between them. + +"Well, I will then," Falk cried, and rushed from the room, banging the +door behind him. + + + + +Chapter VI + +Falk's Flight + + + +Ronder sat in his study waiting for young Falk Brandon. The books smiled +down upon him from their white shelves; because the spring evening was +chill a fire glittered and sparkled and the deep blue curtains were drawn. +Ronder was wearing brown kid slippers and a dark velvet smoking-jacket. As +he lay back in the deep arm-chair, smoking an old and familiar briar, his +chubby face was deeply contented. His eyes were almost closed; he was the +very symbol of satisfied happy and kind-hearted prosperity. + +He was really touched by young Falk's approach towards friendship. He had +in him a very pleasant and happy vein of sentiment which he was only too +delighted to exercise so long as no urgent demands were made upon it. Once +or twice women and men younger than himself _had_ made such urgent +demands; with what a hurry, a scurry and a scamper had he then run from +them! + +But the more tranquil, easy and unexacting aspects of sentiment he +enjoyed. He liked his heart to be warmed, he liked to feel that the +pressure of his hand, the welcome of the eye, the smile of the lip were +genuine in him and natural; he liked to put his hand through the arm of a +young eager human being who was full of vitality and physical strength. He +disliked so deeply sickness and decay; he despised them. + +Falk was young, handsome and eager, something of a rebel--the greater +compliment then that he should seek out Ronder. He was certainly the most +attractive young man in Polchester and, although that was not perhaps +saying very much, after all Ronder lived in Polchester and wished to share +in the best of every side of its life. + +There were, however, further, more actual reasons that Ronder should +anticipate Falk's visit with deep interest. He had heard, of course, many +rumours of Falk's indiscretions, rumours that naturally gained greatly in +the telling, of how he had formed some disgraceful attachment for the +daughter of a publican down in the river slums, that he drank, that he +gambled, that he was the wickedest young man in Polchester, and that he +would certainly break his father's heart. + +It was this relation of the boy to his father that interested him most of +all. He continued to remark to the little god who looked after his affairs +and kept an eye upon him that the last thing that he wanted was to +interfere in Brandon's family business, and yet to the same little god he +could not but comment on the curious persistency with which that same +business would thrust itself upon his interest. "If Brandon's wife, son, +and general _ménage_ will persist in involving themselves in absurd +situations it's not my fault," he would say. But he was not exactly sorry +that they should. + +Indeed, to-night, in the warm security of his room, with all his plans +advancing towards fulfillment, and life developing just as he would have +it, he felt so kindly a pity towards Brandon that he was warm with the +desire to do something for him, make him a present, or flatter his vanity, +or give way publicly to him about some contested point that was of no +particular importance. + +When young Falk was ushered in by the maid-servant, Ronder, looking up at +him, thought him the handsomest boy he'd ever seen. He felt ready to give +him all the advice in the world, and it was with the most genuine warmth +of heart that he jumped up, put his hand on his shoulder, found him +tobacco, whisky and soda, and the easiest chair in the room. + +It was apparent at once that the boy was worked up to the extremity of his +possible endurance. Ronder felt instantly the drama that he brought with +him, filling the room with it, charging every word and every movement with +the implication of it. + +He turned about in his chair, struck many matches, pulled desperately at +his pipe, stared at Ronder with a curious mixture of shyness and eagerness +that betrayed his youth and his sense of Ronder's importance. Ronder began +by talking easily about nothing at all, a diversion for which he had an +especial talent. Falk suddenly broke upon him: + +"Look here. You don't care about that stuff--nor do I. I didn't come round +to you for that. I want you to help me." + +"I'll be very glad to," Ronder said, smiling. "If I can." + +"Perhaps you can--perhaps you can't. I don't know you really, of course--I +only have my idea of you. But you seem to me much older than I am. Do you +know what I mean? Father's as young or younger and so are so many of the +others. But you must have made your mind up about life. I want to know +what you think of it." + +"That's a tall order," said Ronder, smiling. "What one thinks of life! +Well, one can't say all in a moment, you know." + +And then, as though he had suddenly decided to take his companion +seriously, his face was grave and his round shining eyes wide open. + +Falk coloured. "Perhaps you think me impertinent," he said. "But I don't +care a damn if you do. After all, isn't it an absurd thing that there +isn't another soul in this town you could ask such a question of? And yet +there's nothing else so important. A fellow's thought an impossible prig +if he mentions such a thing. I expect I seem in a hurry too, but I can +tell you I've been irritated for years by not being able to get at it--the +truth, you know. Why we're here at all, whether there is some kind of a +God somewhere or no. Of course you've got to pretend you think there is, +but I want to know what you _really_ think and I promise it shan't go +a step farther. But most of all I want to know whether you don't think +we're meant all of us to be free, and why being free should be the hardest +thing of all." + +"You must tell me one thing," said Ronder. "Is the impulse that brought +you in to see me simply a general one, just because you are interested in +life, or is there some immediate crisis that you have to settle? I ask +that," he added, smiling gently, "because I've noticed that people don't +as a rule worry very urgently about life unless they have to make up their +minds about which turn in the road they're going to take." + +Falk hesitated; then he said, speaking slowly, "Yes, there is something. +It's what you'd call a crisis in my life, I suppose. It's been piling up +for months--for years if you like. But I don't see why I need bother you +with that--it's nobody's business but my own. Although I won't deny that +things you say may influence me. You see, I felt the first moment I met +you that you'd speak the truth, and speaking the truth seems to me more +important than anything else in the world." + +"But," said Ronder, "I don't want to influence you blindly. You've no +right to ask me to advise you when I don't know what it is I am advising +you about." + +"Well, then," said Falk, "it's simply this--that I want to go up to London +and live my own life. But I love my father--it would all be easy enough if +I didn't--and he doesn't see things as I do. There are other things too-- +it's all very complicated. But I don't want you to tell me about my own +affairs! I just want you to say what you think this is all about, what +we're here for anyway. You must have thought it all through and come out +the other side. You look as though you had." + +Ronder hesitated. He really wished that this had not occurred. He could +defeat Brandon without being given this extra weapon. His impulse was to +put the boy off with some evasion and so to dismiss him. But the +temptation that was always so strong in him to manipulate the power placed +in his hands was urging him; moreover, why should he not say what he +thought about life? It was sincere enough. He had no shame of it.... + +"I couldn't advise you against your father's wishes," he said. "I'm very +fond of your father. I have the highest opinion of him." + +Falk moved uneasily in his chair: "You needn't advise me against him," he +said; "you can't have a higher opinion of him than I have. I'm fonder of +him than of any one in the world; I wouldn't be hesitating at all +otherwise. And I tell you I don't want you to advise me on my particular +case. It just interests me to know whether you believe in a God and +whether you think life means anything. As soon as I saw you I said to +myself, 'Now I'd like to know what _he_ thinks.' That's all." + +"Of course I believe in a God," said Ronder, "I wouldn't be a clergyman +otherwise." + +"Then if there's a God," said Falk quickly, "why does He let us down, make +us feel that we must be free, and then make us feel that it's wrong to be +free because, if we are, we hurt the people we're fond of? Do we live for +ourselves or for others? Why isn't it easier to see what the right thing +is?" + +"If you want to know what I think about life," said Ronder, "it's just +this--that we mustn't take ourselves too seriously, that we must work our +utmost at the thing we're in, and give as little trouble to others as +possible." + +Falk nodded his head. "Yes, that's very simple. If you'll forgive my +saying so, that's the sort of thing any one says to cover up what he +really feels. That's not what _you_ really feel. Anyway it accounts +for simply nothing at all. If that's all there is in life----" + +"I don't say that's all there is in life," interrupted Ronder softly, "I +only say that that does for a start--for one's daily conduct I mean. But +you've got to rid your head of illusions. Don't expect poetry and magic +for ever round the corner. Don't dream of Utopias--they'll never come. +Mind your own daily business." + +"Play for safety, in fact," said Falk. + +Ronder coloured a little. "Not at all. Take every kind of risk if you +think your happiness depends upon it. You're going to serve the world best +by getting what you want and resting contented in it. It's the +discontented and disappointed who hang things up." + +Falk smiled. "You're pushing on to me the kind of philosophy that I'd like +to follow," he said. "I don't believe in it for a moment nor do I believe +it's what you really think, but I think I'm ready to cheat myself if you +give me encouragement enough. I don't want to do any one any harm, but I +must come to a conclusion about life and then follow it so closely that I +can never have any doubt about any course of action again. When I was a +small boy the Cathedral used to terrify me and dominate me too. I believed +in God then, of course, and I used to creep in and listen, expecting to +hear Him speak. That tomb of the Black Bishop seemed to me the place where +He'd most likely be, and I used to fancy sometimes that He did speak from +the heart of that stone. But I daresay it was the old Bishop himself. + +"Anyway, I determined long ago that the Cathedral has a life of its own, +quite apart from any of us. It has more immortality in one stone of its +nave than we have in all our bodies." + +"Don't be too sure of that," Ronder said. "We have our immortality--a tiny +flame, but I believe that it never dies. Beauty comes from it and dwells +in it. We increase it or diminish it as we live." + +"And yet," said Falk eagerly, "you were urging, just now, a doctrine of +what, if you'll forgive my saying so, was nothing but selfishness. How do +you reconcile that with immortality?" + +Ronder laughed. "There have only been four doctrines in the history of the +world," he answered, "and they are all Pursuits. One is the pursuit of +Unselfishness. 'Little children, love one another. He that seeks to save +his soul shall lose it.' The second is the opposite of the first-- +Individualism. 'I am I. That is all I know, and I will seek out my own +good always because that at least I can understand.' The third is the +pursuit of God and Mysticism. 'Neither I matter nor my neighbour. I give +up the world and every one and everything in it to find God.' And the +fourth is the pursuit of Beauty. 'Beauty is Truth and Truth Beauty. That +is all we need to know.' Every man and woman alive or dead has chosen one +of those four or a mixture of them. I would say that there is something in +all of them, Charity, Individualism, Worship, Beauty. But finally, when +all is said and done, we remain ourselves. It is our own life that we must +lead, our own goal for which we are searching. At the end of everything we +remain alone, of ourselves, by ourselves, for ourselves. Life is, finally, +a lonely journey to a lonely bourne, let us cheat ourselves as we may." + +Ronder sat back in his chair, his eyes half closed. There was nothing that +he enjoyed more than delivering his opinions about life to a fit audience +--and by fit he meant intelligent and responsive. He liked to be truthful +without taking risks, and he was always the audience rather than the +speaker in company that might be dangerous. He almost loved Falk as he +looked across at him and saw the effect that his words had made upon him. +There was, Heaven knew, nothing very original in what he had said, but it +had been apparently what the boy had wanted to hear. + +He jumped up from his chair: "You're right," he said. "We've got to lead +our own lives. I've known it all along. When I've shown them what I can +do, then I'll come back to them. I love my father, you know, sir; I +suppose some people here think him tiresome and self-opinionated, but he's +like a boy, you always know where you are with him. He's no idea what +deceit means. He looks on this Cathedral as his own idea, as though he'd +built it almost, and of course that's dangerous. He'll have a shock one of +these days and see that he's gone too far, just as the Black Bishop did. +But he's a fine man; I don't believe any one knows how proud I am of him. +And it's much better I should go my own way and earn my own living than +hang around him, doing nothing--isn't it?" + +At that direct appeal, at the eager gaze that Falk fixed upon him, +something deep within Ronder stirred. + +Should he not even now advise the boy to stay? One word just then might +effect much. Falk trusted him. He was the only human being in Polchester +to whom the boy perhaps had come. Years afterwards he was to look back to +that moment, see it crystallised in memory, see the books, piled row upon +row, gleam down upon him, see the blue curtain and hear the crackling +fire...a crisis perhaps to himself as well as to Falk. + +He went across to the boy and put his hands on his shoulders. + +"Yes," he said, "I think it's better for you to go." + +"And about God and Beauty?" Falk said, staring for a moment into Ronder's +eyes, smiling shyly, and then turning away. "It's a long search, isn't it? +But as long as there's something there, beyond life, and I know there is, +the search is worth it." + +He looked rather wistfully at Ronder as though he expected him to confirm +him again. But Ronder said nothing. + +Falk went to the door: "Well, I must go. I'll show them that I was right +to go my own way. I want father to be proud of me. This will shock him for +a moment, but soon he'll see. I think you'll like to know, sir," he said, +suddenly turning and holding out his hand, "that this little talk has +meant a lot to me. It's just helped me to make up my mind." + +When he had gone Ronder sat in his chair, motionless, for a while; he +jumped up, went to the shelves, and found a book. Before he sat down again +he said aloud, as though he were answering some accuser, "Well, I told him +nothing, anyway." + +Falk had, from the moment he left Ronder's door, his mind made up, and now +that it _was_ made up he wished to act as speedily as possible. And +instantly there followed an appeal of the Town, so urgent and so poignant +that he was taken by surprise. He had lived there most of his days and +never seen it until now, but every step that he took soon haunted him. He +made his plans decisively, irrevocably, but he found himself lingering at +doors and at windows, peering over walls, hanging over the Pol bridge, +waiting suddenly as though he expected some message was about to be given +to him. + +The town was humming with life those days. The May weather was lovely, +softly blue with cool airs and little white clouds like swollen pin- +cushions drifting lazily from point to point. The gardens were dazzling +with their flowers, the Cathedral Green shone like glass, and every door- +knob and brass knocker in the Precincts glittered under the sun. + +The town was humming with the approaching Jubilee. It seemed itself to +take an active part in the preparations, the old houses smiling to one +another at the plans that they overheard, and the birds, of whom there +were a vast number, flying from wall to wall, from garden to garden, from +chimney to chimney, with the exciting news that they had gathered. + +Every shop in the High Street seemed to whisper to Falk as he passed: +"Surely you are not going to leave us. We can offer you such charming +things. We've never been so gay in our lives before as we are going to be +now." + +Even the human beings in the place seemed to be nicer to him than they had +ever been before. They had never, perhaps, been very nice to him, +regarding him with a quite definite disapproval even when he was a little +boy, because he would go his own way and showed them that he didn't care +what they thought of him. + +Now, suddenly, they were making up to him. Mrs. Combermere, surrounded +with dogs, stopped him in the High Street and, in a deep bass voice, asked +him why it was so long since he had been to see her, and then slapped him +on the shoulder with her heavy gloved hand. That silly woman, Julia +Preston, met him in Bennett's book shop and asked him to help her to +choose a book of poems for a friend. + +"Something that shall be both True and Beautiful, Mr. Brandon," she said. +"There's so little real Beauty in our lives, don't you think?" Little +Betty Callender caught him up in Orange Street and chattered to him about +her painting, and that pompous Bentinck-Major insisted on his going into +the Conservative Club with him, where he met old McKenzie and older +Forrester, and had to listen to their golfing achievements. + +It may have been simply that every one in the town was beside and above +himself over the Jubilee excitements--but it made it very hard for Falk. +Nothing to the hardness of everything at home. Here at the last moment, +when it was too late to change or alter anything, every room, every old +piece of furniture seemed to appeal to him with some especial claim. For +ten years he had had the same bedroom, an old low-ceilinged room with +queer bulges in the wall, a crooked fireplace and a slanting floor. For +years now he had had a wall-paper with an ever-recurrent scene of a church +tower, a snowy hill, and a large crimson robin. The robins were faded, and +the snowy hill a dingy yellow. There were School groups and Oxford groups +on the walls, and the book-case near the door had his old school prizes +and Henty and a set of the Waverley Novels with dark red covers and paper +labels. + +Hardest of all to leave was the view from the window overlooking the +Cathedral Green and the Cathedral. That window had been connected with +every incident of his childhood. He had leant out of it when he had felt +sick from eating too much, he had gone to it when his eyes were brimming +with hot rebellious tears after some scene with his father, he had known +ecstatic joys gazing from it on the first day of his return from school, +he had thrown things out of it on the heads of unsuspecting strangers, he +had gone to it in strange moods of poetry and romance, and watched the +moon like a plate of dull and beaten gold sail above the Cathedral towers, +he had sat behind it listening to the organ like a muffled giant +whispering to be liberated from grey, confining walls, he had looked out +of it on a still golden evening when the stars were silver buttons in the +sky after a meeting with Annie; he went to it and gazed, heart-sick, +across the Green now when he was about to bid fare-well to it for ever. + +Heart-sick but resolved, it seemed strange to him that after months of +irresolution his mind should now be so firmly composed. He seemed even, +prophetically, to foretell the future. What had reassured him he did not +know, but for himself he knew that he was taking the right step. For +himself and for Annie--outside that, it was as though a dark cloud was +coming up enveloping all that he was leaving behind. He could not tell how +he knew, but he felt as though he were fleeing from the city of +Polchester, and were being driven forward on his flight by powers far +stronger than he could control. + +He fancied, as he looked out of his window, that the Cathedral also was +aware and, aloof, immortal, waited the inevitable hour. + +Coming straight upon his final arrangements with Annie, his reconciliation +with his father was ironic. So deeply here were his real affections +stirred that he could not consider deliberately his approaching treachery; +nevertheless he did not for a moment contemplate withdrawal from it. It +was as though two personalities were now in active movement within him, +the one old, belonging to the town, to his father, to his own youth, the +other new, belonging to Annie, to the future, to ambition, to the +challenge of life itself. With every hour the first was moving away from +him, reluctantly, stirring the other self by his withdrawal but inevitably +moving, never, never to return. + +He came, late in the afternoon, into the study and found his father, +balanced on the top of a small ladder, putting straight "Christ's Entry +into Jerusalem," a rather faded copy of Benjamin Haydon's picture that had +irritated Falk since his earliest youth by a kind of false theatricality +that inhabited it. + +Falk paused at the door, caught up by a sudden admiration of his father. +He had his coat off, and as he bent forward to adjust the cord the vigour +and symmetry of his body was magnificently emphasized. The thick strong +legs pressed against the black cloth of his trousers, the fine rounded +thighs, the broad back almost bursting the shiny stuff of the waistcoat, +the fine neck and the round curly head, these denied age and decay. He was +growing perhaps a little stout, the neck was a little too thick for the +collar, but the balance and energy and strength of the figure belonged to +a man as young as Falk himself.... + +At the sound of the door closing he turned, and at once the lined +forehead, the mouth a little slack, gave the man his age, but Falk was to +remember that first picture for the rest of his life with a strange +poignancy and deeply affectionate pathos. + +They had not met alone since their quarrel; their British horror of any +scene forbade the slightest allusion to it. Brandon climbed down from his +ladder and came, smiling, across to his son. + +At his happy times, when he was at ease with himself and the world, he had +the confident gaiety of a child; he was at ease now. He put his hand +through Falk's arm and drew him across to the table by the window. + +"I've had a headache," he said, rather as a child might complain to his +elder, "for two days, and now it's suddenly gone. I never used to have +headaches. But I've been irritated lately by some of the tomfoolery that's +been going on. Don't tell your mother; I haven't said a word to her; but +what do you take when you have a headache?" + +"I don't think I ever have them," said Falk. + +"I'm not going to stuff myself up with all their medicines and things. +I've never taken medicine in my life if I was strong enough to prevent +them giving it to me, and I'm not going to start it now." + +"Father," Falk said very earnestly, "don't let yourself get so easily +irritated. You usedn't to be. Everybody finds things go badly sometimes. +It's bad for you to allow yourself to be worried. Everything's all right +and going to be all right." (The hypocrite that he felt himself as he said +this!) + +"You know that every one thinks the world of you here. Don't take things +too seriously." + +Brandon nodded his head. + +"You're quite right, Falk. It's very sensible of you to mention it, my +boy. I usedn't to lose my temper as I do. I must keep control of myself +better. But when a lot of chattering idiots start gabbling about things +that they understand as much about as----" + +"Yes, I know," said Falk, putting his hand upon his father's arm. "But let +them talk. They'll soon find their level." + +"Yes, and then there's your mother," went on Brandon. "I'm bothered about +her. Have you noticed anything odd about her this last week or two?" + +That his father should begin to worry about his mother was certainly +astonishing enough! Certainly the first time in all these years that +Brandon had spoken of her. + +"Mother? No; in what way?" + +"She's not herself. She's not happy. She's worrying about something." + +"_You're_ worrying, father," Falk said, "that's what's the matter. +_She's_ just the same. You've been allowing yourself to worry about +everything. Mother's all right." And didn't he know, in his own secret +heart, that she wasn't? + +Brandon shook his head. "You may he right. All the same----" + +Falk said slowly: "Father, what would you say if I went up to London?" +This was a close approach to the subject of their quarrel of the other +evening. + +"When? What for?" + +"Oh, at once--to get something to do." + +"No, not now. After the summer we might talk of it." + +He spoke with utter decision, as he had always done to Falk, as though he +were five years old and could naturally know nothing about life. + +"But, father--don't you think it's bad for me, hanging round here doing +nothing?" + +Brandon got up, went across to the little ladder, hesitated a moment, then +climbed up. + +"I've had this picture twenty years," he said, "and it's never hung +straight yet." + +"No, but, father," said Falk, coming across to him, "I'm a man now, not a +boy. I can't hang about any longer--I can't really." + +"We'll talk about it in the autumn," said Brandon, humming "Onward, +Christian Soldiers," as he always did, a little out of tune. + +"I've got to earn my own living, haven't I?" said Falk. + +"There!" said Brandon, stepping back a little, so that he nearly +overbalanced. "_That's_ better. But it won't stay like that for five +minutes. It never does." + +He climbed down again, his face rosy with his exertions. "You leave it to +me, Falk," he said, nodding his head. "I've got plans for you." + +A sudden sense of the contrast between Ronder and his father smote Falk. +His father! What an infant! How helpless against that other! Moved by the +strangest mixture of tenderness, regret, pity, he did what he had never in +all his life before dreamed of doing, what he would have died of shame for +doing, had any one else been there--put his hands on his father's +shoulders and kissed him lightly on his cheek. + +He laughed as he did so, to carry off his embarrassment. + +"I don't hold myself bound, you know, father," he said. "I shall go off +just when I want to." + +But Brandon was too deeply confused by his son's action to hear the words. +He felt a strange, most idiotic impulse to hug his son; to place himself +well out of danger, he moved back to the window, humming "Onward, +Christian Soldiers." + +He looked out upon the Green. "There are two of those choir-boys on the +grass again," he said. "If Ryle doesn't keep them in better order, I'll +let him know what I think of him. He's always promising and never does +anything." + +The last talk of their lives alone together was ended. + + * * * * * + +He had made all his plans. He had decided that on the day of escape he +would walk over to Salis Coombe station, a matter of some two miles; there +he would be joined by Annie, whose aunt lived near there, and to whom she +could go on a visit the evening before. They would catch the slow four +o'clock train to Drymouth and then meet the express that reached London at +midnight. He would go to an Oxford friend who lived in St. John's Wood, +and he and Annie would be married as soon as possible. Beyond everything +else he wanted this marriage to take place quickly; once that was done he +was Annie's protector, so long as she should need him. She should be free +as she pleased, but she would have some one to whom she might go, some one +who could legally provide for her and would see that she came to no harm. + +The thing that he feared most was lest any ill should come to her through +the fact of his caring for her; he felt that he could let her go for ever +the very day after his marriage, so that he knew that she would never come +to harm. A certain defiant courage in her, mingled with her ignorance and +simplicity, made his protection of her the first thing in his life. As to +living, his Oxford friend was concerned with various literary projects, +having a little money of his own, and much self-confidence and ambition. + +He and Falk had already, at Oxford, edited a little paper together, and +Falk had been promised some reader's work in connection with one of the +younger publishing houses. In after years he looked back in amazement that +he should have ventured on the great London attack with so slender a +supply of ammunition--but now, looking forward in Polchester, that +question of future livelihood seemed the very smallest of his problems. + +Perhaps, deepest of all, something fiercely democratic in him longed for +the moment when he might make his public proclamation of his defiance of +class. + +He meant to set off, simply as he was; they could send his things after +him. If he indulged in any pictures of the future, he did, perhaps, see +himself returning to Polchester in a year's time or so, as the editor of +the most remarkable of London's new periodicals, received by his father +with enthusiasm, and even Annie admitted into the family with approval. Of +course, they could not return here to live...it would be only a +visit.... At that sudden vision of Annie and his father face to face, that +vision faded; no, this was the end of the old life. He must face that, set +his shoulders square to it, steel his heart to it.... + +That last luncheon was the strangest meal that he had ever known. So +strange because it was so usual--so ordinary! Roast chicken and apple +tart; his mother sitting at the end of the table, watching, as she had +watched through so many years, that everything went right, her little, +tight, expressionless face, the mouth set to give the right answers to the +right questions, her eyes veiled.... His mind flew back to that strange +talk in the dark room across the candle-lit table. She had been hysterical +that night, over-tired, had not known what she was saying. Well, she could +never leave his father now, now when he was gone. His flight settled that. + +"What are you doing this afternoon, Falk?" + +"Why, mother?" + +"I only wondered. I have to go to the Deanery about this Jubilee +committee. I thought you might walk up there with me. About four." + +"I don't think I'll be back in time, mother; I'm going out Salis Coombe +way to see a fellow." + +He saw Joan, looking so pretty, sitting opposite to him. How she had grown +lately! Putting her hair up made her seem almost a woman. But what a child +in the grown-up dress with the high puffed sleeves, her baby-face laughing +at him over the high stiff collar; a pretty dress, though, that dark blue +stuff with the white stripes.... Why had he never considered Joan? She had +never meant anything to him at all. Now, when he was going, it seemed to +him suddenly that he might have made a friend of her during all these +years. She was a good girl, kind, good-natured, jolly. + +She, too, was talking about the Jubilee--about some committee that she was +on and some flags that they were making. How exciting to them all the +Jubilee was, and how unimportant to him! + +Some book she was talking about. "...the new woman at the Library is so +nice. She let me have it at once. It's _The Massarenes_, mother, +darling, by Ouida. The girls say it's lovely." + +"I've heard of it, dear. Mrs. Sampson was talking about it. She says it's +not a nice book at all. I don't think father would like you to read it." + +"Oh, you don't mind, father, do you?" + +"What's that?" + +The Archdeacon was in a good humour. He loved apple tart. + +"_The Massarenes_, by Ouida." + +"Trashy novels. Why don't you girls ever read anything but novels?" and so +on. + +The little china clock with the blue mandarin on the mantelpiece struck +half past two. He must be going. He threw a last look round the room as +though he were desperately committing everything to memory--the shabby, +comfortable chairs, the Landseer "Dignity and Impudence," the warm, blue +carpet, the round silver biscuit-tin on the sideboard. + +"Well, I must be getting along." + +"You'll be back to dinner, Falk dear, won't you? It's early to-night. +Quarter past seven. Father has a meeting." + +He looked at them all. His father was sitting back in his chair, a +satisfied man. + +"Yes, I'll be back," he said, and went out. + +It seemed to him incredible that departure should be so simple. When you +are taking the most momentous step of your life, surely there should be +dragons in the way! Here were no dragons. As he went down the High Street +people smiled at him and waved hands. The town sparkled under the +afternoon sun. It was market-day, and the old fruit-woman under the green +umbrella, the toy-man with the clockwork monkeys, the flower-stalls and +the vegetable-sellers, all these were here; in the centre of the square, +sheep and pigs were penned. Dogs were barking, stout farmers in corduroy +breeches walked about arguing and expectorating, and suddenly, above all +the clamour and bustle, the Cathedral chimes struck the hour. + +He hastened then, striding up Orange Street, past the church and the +monument on the hill, through hedges thick with flowers, until he struck +off into the Drymouth Road. With every step that he took he stirred child +memories. He reached the signpost that pointed to Drymouth, to Clinton St. +Mary, to Polchester. This was the landmark that he used to reach with his +nurse on his walks. Further than this she, a stout, puffing woman, would +never go. He had known that a little way on there was Rocket Wood, a place +beloved by him ever since they had driven there for a picnic in the +jingle, and he had found it all spotted gold under the fir-trees, thick +with moss and yellow with primroses. How many fights with his nurse he had +had over that! he clinging to the signpost and screaming that he +_would_ go on to the Wood, she picking him up at last and carrying +him back down the road. + +He went on into the wood now and found it again spotted with gold, +although it was too late for primroses. It was all soft and dark with +pillars of purple light that struck through the fretted blue, and the dark +shadows of the leaves. All hushed and no living thing--save the hesitating +patter of some bird among the fir-cones. He struck through the wood and +came out on to the Common. You could smell the sea finely here--a true +Glebeshire smell, fresh and salt, full of sea-pinks and the westerly +gales. On the top of the Common he paused and looked back. He knew that +from here you had your last view of the Cathedral. + +Often in his school holidays he had walked out here to get that view. He +had it now in its full glory. When he was a boy it had seemed to him that +the Cathedral was like a giant lying down behind the hill and leaning his +face on the hill-side. So it looked now, its towers like ears, the great +East window shining, a stupendous eye, out over the bending wind-driven +country. The sun flashed upon it, and the towers rose grey and pearl- +coloured to heaven. Mightily it looked across the expanse of the moor, +staring away and beyond Falk's little body into some vast distance, +wrapped in its own great dream, secure in its mighty memories, intent upon +its secret purposes. + +Indifferent to man, strong upon its rock, hiding in its heart the answer +to all the questions that tortured man's existence--and yet, perhaps, +aware of man's immortality, scornful of him for making so slight a use of +that--but admiring him, too, for the tenacity of his courage and the +undying resurgence of his hope. + +Falk, a black dot against the sweep of sky and the curve of the dark soil, +vanished from the horizon. + + + + +Chapter VII + +Brandon Puts on His Armour + + + +Brandon was not surprised when, on the morning after Falk's escape, his +son was not present at family prayers. That was not a ceremony that Falk +had ever appreciated. Joan was there, of course, and just as the +Archdeacon began the second prayer Mrs. Brandon slipped in and took her +place. + +After the servants had filed out and the three were alone, Mrs. Brandon, +with a curious little catch in her voice, said: + +"Falk has been out all night; his bed has not been slept in." + +Brandon's immediate impulse, before he had even caught the import of his +wife's words, was: "There's reason for emotion coming; see that you show +none." + +He sat down at the table, slowly unfolding the _Glebeshire Morning +News_ that always waited, neatly, beside his plate. His hand did not +tremble, although his heart was beating with a strange, muffled agitation. + +"I suppose he went off somewhere," he said. "He never tells us, of course. +He's getting too selfish for anything." + +He put down his newspaper and picked up his letters. For a moment he felt +as though he could not look at them in the presence of his wife. He +glanced quickly at the envelopes. There was nothing there from Falk. His +heart gave a little clap of relief. + +"At any rate, he hasn't written," he said. "He can't be far away." + +"There's another post at ten-thirty," she answered. + +He was angry with her for that. How like her! Why could she not allow +things to be pleasant as long as possible? + +She went on: "He's taken nothing with him. Not even a hand-bag. He hasn't +been back in the house since luncheon yesterday." + +"Oh! he'll turn up!" Brandon went back to his paper. "Mustard, Joan, +please." Breakfast over, he went into his study and sat at the long +writing-table, pretending to be about his morning correspondence. He could +not settle to that; he had never been one to whom it was easy to control +his mind, and now his heart and soul were filled with foreboding. + +It seemed to him that for weeks past he had been dreading some +catastrophe. What catastrophe? What could occur? + +He almost spoke aloud. "Never before have I dreaded...." + +Meanwhile he would not think of Falk. He would not. His mind flew round +and round that name like a moth round the candle-light. He heard half-past +ten strike, first in the dining-room, then slowly on his own mantelpiece. +A moment later, through his study door that was ajar, he heard the letters +fall with a soft stir into the box, then the sharp ring of the bell. He +sat at his table, his hands clenched. + +"Why doesn't that girl bring the letters? Why doesn't that girl bring the +letters?" he was repeating to himself unconsciously again and again. + +She knocked on the door, came in and put the letters on his table. There +were only three. He saw immediately that one was in Falk's handwriting. He +tore the envelope across, pulled out the letter, his fingers trembling now +so that he could scarcely hold it, his heart making a noise as of tramping +waves in his ears. + +The letter was as follows: + + NORTH ROAD STATION, DRYMOUTH, + _May_ 23, 1897. + +MY DEAR FATHER--I am writing this in the waiting-room at North Road before +catching the London train. I suppose that I have done a cowardly thing in +writing like this when I am away from you, and I can't hope to make you +believe that it's because I can't bear to hurt you that I'm acting like a +coward. You'll say, justly enough, that it looks as though I wanted to +hurt you by what I'm doing. But, father, truly, I've looked at it from +every point of view, and I can't see that there's anything else for it but +this. The first part of this, my going up to London to earn my living, I +can't feel guilty about. + +It seems to me, truly, the only thing to do. I have tried to speak to you +about it on several occasions, but you have always put me off, and, as far +as I can see, you don't feel that there's anything ignominious in my +hanging about a little town like Polchester, doing nothing at all for the +rest of my life. I think my being sent down from Oxford as I was gave you +the idea that I was useless and would never be any good. I'm going to +prove to you you're wrong, and I know I'm right to take it into my own +hands as I'm doing. Give me a little time and you'll see that I'm right. +The other thing is more difficult. I can't expect you to forgive me just +yet, but perhaps, later on, you'll see that it isn't too bad. Annie Hogg, +the daughter of Hogg down in Seatown, is with me, and next week I shall +marry her. + +I have so far done nothing that you need be ashamed of. I love her, but am +not her lover, and she will stay with relations away from me until I marry +her. I know this will seem horrible to you, father, but it is a matter for +my own conscience. I have tried to leave her and could not, but even if I +could I have made her, through my talk, determined to go to London and try +her luck there. She loathes her father and is unhappy at home. I cannot +let her go up to London without any protection, and the only way I can +protect her is by marrying her. + +She is a fine woman, father, fine and honourable and brave. Try to think +of her apart from her father and her surroundings. She does not belong to +them, truly she does not. In all these months she has not tried to +persuade me to a mean and shabby thing. She is incapable of any meanness. +In all this business my chief trouble is the unhappiness that this will +bring you. You will think that this is easy to say when it has made no +difference to what I have done. But all the same it is true, and perhaps +later on, when you have got past a little of your anger with me, you will +give me a chance to prove it. I have the promise of some literary work +that should give me enough to live on. I have taken nothing with me; +perhaps mother will pack up my things and send them to me at 5 Parker +Street, St. John's Wood. + +Father, give me a chance to show you that I will make this right.--Your +loving son, + + FALK BRANDON. + + * * * * * + +In the little morning-room to the right at the top of the stairs Joan and +her mother were waiting. Joan was pretending to sew, but her fingers +scarcely moved. Mrs. Brandon was sitting at her writing-table; her ears +were straining for every sound. The sun flooded the room with a fierce +rush of colour, and through the wide-open windows the noises of the town, +cries and children's voices, and the passing of feet on the cobbles came +up. As half-past ten struck the Cathedral bells began to ring for morning +service. + +"Oh, I can't bear those bells," Mrs. Brandon cried. "Shut the windows, +Joan." + +Joan went across and closed them. The bells were suddenly removed, but +seemed to be the more insistent in their urgency because they were shut +away. + +The door was suddenly flung open, and Brandon stood there. + +"Oh, what is it?" Mrs. Brandon cried, starting to her feet. + +He was a man convulsed with anger; she had seen him in these rages before, +when his blue eyes stared with an emptiness of vision and his whole body +seemed to be twisted as though he were trying to climb to some height +whence he might hurl himself down and destroy utterly that upon which he +fell. + +The letter tumbled from his hand. He caught the handle of the door as +though he would tear it from its socket, but his voice, when at last it +came, was quiet, almost his ordinary voice. + +"His name is never to be mentioned in this house again." + +"What has he done?" + +"That's enough. What I say. His name is never to be mentioned again." + +The two women stared at him. He seemed to come down from a great height, +turned and went, very carefully closing the door behind him. + +He had left the letter on the floor. Mrs. Brandon went and picked it up. + +"Oh, mother, what has Falk done?" Joan asked. + +The bells danced all over the room. + +Brandon went downstairs, back into his study, closing his door, shutting +himself in. He stayed in the middle of the room, saying aloud: + +"Never his name again.... Never his name again." The actual sound of the +words echoing back to him lifted him up as though out of very deep water. +Then he was aware, as one is in the first clear moment after a great +shock, of a number of things at the same time. He hated his son because +his son had disgraced him and his name for ever. He loved his son, never +before so deeply and so dearly as now. He was his only son, and there was +none other. His son had gone off with the daughter of the worst publican +in the place, and so had shamed him before them all. Falk (he arrived in +his mind suddenly at the name with a little shiver that hurt horribly) +would never be there any more, would never be about the house, would never +laugh and be angry and be funny any more. (Behind this thought was a long +train of pictures of Falk as a boy, as a baby, as a child, pictures that +he kept back with a great gesture of the will.) In the town they would all +be talking, they were talking already. They must be stopped from talking; +they must not know. He must lie; they must all lie. But how could they be +stopped from knowing when he had gone off with the publican's daughter? +They would all know.... They would laugh...They would laugh. He would +not be able to go down the street without their laughter. + +Dimly on that came a larger question. What had happened lately so that his +whole life had changed? He had been feeling it now for weeks, long before +this terrible blow had fallen, as though he were surrounded by enemies and +mockers and men who wished him ill. Men who wished him ill! Wished HIM +ill! He who had never done any one harm in all his life, who had only +wanted the happiness of others and the good of the place in which he was, +and the Glory of God! God!...His thoughts leapt across a vast gulf. What +was God about, to allow this disaster to fall upon him? When he had served +God so faithfully and had had no thought but for His grandeur? He was in a +new world now, where the rivers, the mountains, the roads, the cities were +new. For years everything had gone well with him, and then, suddenly, at +the lifting of a finger, all had been ill.... + +Through the mist of his thoughts, gradually, like the sun in his strength, +his anger had been rising. Now it flamed forth. At the first it had been +personal anger because his son had betrayed and deceived him--but now, for +a time, Falk was almost forgotten. + +He would show them. They would laugh at him, would they? They would point +at him, would they, as the man whose son had run away with an innkeeper's +daughter? Well, let them point. They would plot to take the power from his +hands, to reduce him to impotence, to make him of no account in the place +where he had ruled for years. He had no doubt, now that he saw farther +into it, that they had persuaded Falk to run away with that girl. It was +the sort of weapon that they would be likely to use, the sort of weapon +that that man, Ronder.... + +At the sudden ringing of that now hated name in his ears he was calm. Yes, +to fight that enemy he needed all his control. How that man would rejoice +at this that had happened! What a victory to him it would seem to be! +Well, it should not be a victory. He began to stride up and down his +study, his head up, his chest out. It was almost as though he were a great +warrior of old, having his armour put on before he went out to the fight-- +the greaves, the breastplate, the helmet, the sword.... + +He would fight to the last drop of blood in his body and beat the pack of +them, and if they thought that this would cause him to hang his head or +hide or go secretly, they should soon see their mistake. + +He suddenly stopped. The pain that sometimes came to his head attacked him +now. For a moment it was so sharp, of so acute an agony, that he almost +staggered and fell. He stood there, his body taut, his hands clenched. It +was like knives driving through his brain; his eyes were filled with blood +so that he could not see. It passed, but he was weak, his knees shook so +that he was compelled to sit down, holding his hands on his knees. Now it +was gone. He could see clearly again. What was it? Imagination, perhaps. +Only the hammering of his heart told him that anything was the matter. He +was a long while there. At last he got up, went into the hall, found his +hat and went out. He crossed the Green and passed through the Cathedral +door. + +He went out instinctively, without any deliberate thought, to the +Cathedral as to the place that would most readily soothe and comfort him. +Always when things went wrong he crossed over to the Cathedral and walked +about there. Matins were just concluded and people were coming out of the +great West door. He went in by the Saint Margaret door, crossed through +the Vestry where Rogers, who had been taking the service, was disrobing, +and climbed the little crooked stairs into the Lucifer Room. A glimpse of +Rogers' saturnine countenance (he knew well enough that Rogers hated him) +stirred some voice to whisper within: "He knows and he's glad." + +The Lucifer Room was a favourite resort of his, favourite because there +was a long bare floor across which he could walk with no furniture to +interrupt him, and because, too, no one ever came there. It was a room in +the Bishop's Tower that had once, many hundreds of years ago, been used by +the monks as a small refectory. Many years had passed now since it had +seen any sort of occupation save that of bats, owls and mice. There was a +fireplace at the far end that had long been blocked up, but that still +showed curious carving, the heads of monkeys and rabbits, winged birds, a +twisting dragon with a long tail, and the figure of a saint holding up a +crucifix. Over the door was an old clock that had long ceased to tell the +hours; this had a strangely carved wood canopy. Two little windows with +faint stained glass gave an obscure light. The subjects of these windows +were confused, but the old colours, deep reds and blues, blended with a +rich glow that no modern glass could obtain. The ribs and bosses of the +vaulting of the room were in faded colours and dull gold. In one corner of +the room was an old, dusty, long-neglected harmonium. Against the wall +were hanging some wooden figures, large life-sized saints, two male and +two female, once outside the building, painted on the wood in faded +crimson and yellow and gold. Much of the colour had been worn away with +rain and wind, but two of the faces were still bright and stared with a +gentle fixed gaze out into the dim air. Two old banners, torn and thin, +flapped from one of the vaultings. The floor was worn, and creaked with +every step. As Brandon pushed back the heavy door and entered, some bird +in a distant corner flew with a frightened stir across to the window. +Occasionally some one urged that steps should be taken to renovate the +place and make some use of it, but nothing was ever done. Stories +connected with it had faded away; no one now could tell why it was called +the Lucifer Room--and no one cared. + +Its dimness and shadowed coloured light suited Brandon to-day. He wanted +to be where no one could see him, where he could gather together the +resistance with which to meet the world. He paced up and down, his hands +behind his back; he fancied that the old saints looked at him with kindly +affection. + +And now, for a moment, all his pride and anger were gone, and he could +think of nothing but his love for his son. He had an impulse that almost +moved him to hurry home, to take the next train up to London, to find +Falk, to take him in his arms and forgive him. He saw again and again that +last meeting that they had had, when Falk had kissed him. He knew now what +that had meant. After all, the boy was right. He had been in the wrong to +have kept him here, doing nothing. It was fine of the boy to take things +into his own hands, to show his independence and to fight for his own +individuality. It was what he himself would have done if--then the thought +of Annie Hogg cut across his tenderness and behind Annie her father, that +fat, smiling, red-faced scoundrel, the worst villain in the town. At the +sudden realisation that there was now a link between himself and that man, +and that that link had been forged by his own son, tenderness and +affection fled. He could only entertain one emotion at a time, and +immediately he was swept into such a fury that he stopped in his walk, +lifted his head, and cursed Falk. For that he would never forgive him, for +the public shame and disgrace that he had brought upon the Brandon name, +upon his mother and his sister, upon the Cathedral, upon all authority and +discipline and seemliness in the town. + +He suffered then the deepest agony that perhaps in all his life he had +ever known. There was no one there to see. He sank down upon the wooden +coping that protruded from the old wall and hid his face in his hands as +though he were too deeply ashamed to encounter even the dim faces of the +old wooden figures. + +There was a stir in the room; the little door opened and closed; the bird, +with a flutter of wings, flew back to its corner. Brandon looked up and +saw a faint shadow of a man. He rose and took some steps towards the door, +then he stopped because be saw that the man was Davray the painter. + +He had never spoken to this man, but be had hated everything that he had +ever heard about him. In the first place, to be an artist was, in the +Archdeacon's mind, synonymous with being a loose liver and an atheist. +Then this fellow was, as all the town knew, a drunkard, an idler, a +dissolute waster who had brought nothing upon Polchester but disgrace. Had +Brandon had his way he would, long ago, have had him publicly expelled and +forbidden ever to return. The thought that this man should be in the +Cathedral at all was shocking to him and, in his present mood, quite +intolerable. He saw, dim though the light was, that the man was drunk now. + +Davray lurched forward a step, then said huskily: + +"Well, so your fine son's run away with Hogg's pretty daughter." + +The sense that he had had already that his son's action, had suddenly +bound him into company with all the powers of evil and destruction rose to +its full height at the sound of the man's voice; but with it rose, too, +his self-command. The very disgust with which Davray filled him +contributed to his own control and dignity. + +"You should feel ashamed, sir," he said quietly, standing still where be +was, "to be in that condition in this building. Or are you too drunk to +know where you are?" + +"That's all right, Archdeacon," Davray said, laughing. "Of course I'm +drunk. I generally am--and that's my affair. But I'm not so drunk as not +to know where I am and not to know who you are and what's happened to you. +I know all those things, I'm glad to say. Perhaps I am a little ahead of +yourself in that. Perhaps you don't know yet what your young hopeful has +been doing." + +Brandon was as still as one of the old wooden saints. + +"Then if you are sober enough to know where you are, leave this place and +do not return to it until you are in a fit state." + +"Fit! I like that." The sense that he was alone now for the first time in +his life with the man whom he had so long hated infuriated Davray. "Fit? +Let me tell you this, old cock, I'm twice as fit to be here as you're ever +likely to be. Though I have been drinking and letting myself go, I'm +fitter to be here than you are, you stuck-up, pompous fool." + +Brandon did not stir. + +"Go home!" he said; "go home! Recover your senses and ask God's +forgiveness." + +"God's forgiveness!" Davray moved a step forward as though he would +strike. Brandon made no movement. "That's like your damned cheek. Who +wants forgiveness as you do? Ask this Cathedral--ask it whether I have not +loved it, adored it, worshipped it as I've worshipped no woman. Ask it +whether I have not been faithful, drunkard and sot as I am. And ask it +what it thinks of you--of your patronage and pomposity and conceit. When +have you thought of the Cathedral and its beauty, and not always of +yourself and your grandeur?...Why, man, we're sick of you, all of us +from the top man in the place to the smallest boy. And the Cathedral is +sick of you and your damned conceit, and is going to get rid of you, too, +if you won't go of yourself. And this is the first step. Your son's gone +with a whore to London, and all the town's laughing at you." + +Brandon did not flinch. The man was close to him; he could smell his +drunken breath--but behind his words, drunken though they might be, was a +hatred so intense, so deep, so real, that it was like a fierce physical +blow. Hatred of himself. He had never conceived in all his life that any +one hated him--and this man had hated him for years, a man to whom he had +never spoken before to-day. + +Davray, as was often his manner, seemed suddenly to sober. He stood aside +and spoke more quietly, almost without passion. + +"I've been waiting for this moment for years," he said; "you don't know +how I've watched you Sunday after Sunday strutting about this lovely +place, happy in your own conceit. Your very pride has been an insult to +the God you pretend to serve. I don't know whether there's a God or no-- +there can't be, or things wouldn't happen as they do--but there _is_ +this place, alive, wonderful, beautiful, triumphant, and you've dared to +put yourself above it.... + +"I could have shouted for joy last night when I heard what your young +hopeful had done. 'That's right,' I said; 'that'll bring him down a bit. +That'll teach him modesty.' I had an extra drink on the strength of it. +I've been hanging about all the morning to get a chance of speaking to +you. I followed you up here. You're one of us now, Archdeacon. You're down +on the ground at last, but not so low as you will be before the Cathedral +has finished with you." + +"Go," said Brandon, "or, House of God though this is, I'll throw you out." + +"I'll go. I've said my say for the moment. But we'll meet again, never +fear. You're one of us now--one of us. Good-night." + +He passed through the door, and the dusky room was still again as though +no one had been there.... + +There is an old German tale, by De la Motte Fouqué, I fancy, of a young +traveller who asks his way to a certain castle, his destination. He is +given his directions, and his guide tells him that the journey will be +easy enough until he reaches a small wood through which he must pass. This +wood will be dark and tangled and bewildering, but more sinister than +those obstacles will be the inhabitants of it who, evil, malign, foul and +bestial, devote their lives to the destruction of all travellers who +endeavour to reach the castle on the hill beyond. And the tale tells how +the young traveller, proud of his youth and strength, confident in the +security of his armour, nevertheless, when he crosses the dark border of +the wood, feels as though his whole world has changed, as though +everything in which he formerly trusted is of no value, as though the very +weapons that were his chief defence now made him most defenceless. He has +in the heart of that wood many perilous adventures, but worst of them all, +when he is almost at the end of his strength, is the sudden conviction +that he has himself changed, and is himself become one of the foul, +gibbering, half-visioned monsters by whom he is surrounded. + +As Brandon left the Cathedral there was something of that strange sense +with him, a sense that had come to him first, perhaps, in its dimmest and +most distant form, on the day of the circus and the elephant, and that +now, in all its horrible vigour and confidence, was there close at his +elbow. He had always held himself immaculate; he had come down to his +fellow-men, loving them, indeed, but feeling that they were of some other +clay than his own, and that through no especial virtue of his, but simply +because God has so wished it. And now he had stood, and a drunken wastrel +had cursed him and told him that he was detested by all men and that they +waited for his downfall. + +It was those last words of Davray's that rang in his ears: "You're one of +us now. You're one of us." Drunkard and wastrel though the man was, those +words could not be forgotten, would never be forgotten again. + +With his head up, his shoulders back, he returned to his house. + +The maid met him in the hall. "There's a man waiting for you in the study, +sir." + +"Who is it?" + +"Mr. Samuel Hogg, sir." + +Brandon looked at the girl fixedly, but not unkindly. + +"Why did you let him in, Gladys?" + +"He wouldn't take no denial, sir. Mrs. Brandon was out and Miss Joan. He +said you were expecting him and 'e knew you'd soon be back." + +"You should never let any one wait, Gladys, unless I have told you +beforehand." + +"No, sir." + +"Remember that in future, will you?" + +"Yes, sir. I'm sure I'm sorry, sir, but----" + +Brandon went into his study. + +Hogg was standing beside the window, a faded bowler in his hand. He turned +when he heard the opening of the door; he presented to the Archdeacon a +face of smiling and genial, if coarsened, amiability. + +He was wearing rough country clothes, brown knickerbockers and gaiters, +and looked something like a stout and seedy gamekeeper fond of the bottle. + +"I'm sure you'll forgive this liberty I've taken, Archdeacon," he said, +opening his mouth very wide as he smiled--"waiting for you like this; but +the matter's a bit urgent." + +"Yes?" said Brandon, not moving from the door. + +"I've come in a friendly spirit, although there are men who might have +come otherwise. You won't deny that, considering the circumstances of the +case." + +"I'll be grateful to you if you'll explain," said Brandon, "as quickly as +possibly your business." + +"Why, of course," said Hogg, coming away from the window. "Why, of course, +Archdeacon. Now, whoever would have thought that we, you and me, would be +in the same box? And that's putting it a bit mild considering that it's my +daughter that your son has run away with." + +Brandon said nothing, not, however, removing his eyes from Hogg's face. + +Hogg was all amiable geniality. "I know it must be against the grain, +Archdeacon, having to deal with the likes of me. You've always counted +yourself a strike above us country-folk, haven't you, and quite natural +too. But, again, in the course of nature we've both of us had children and +that, as it turns out, is where we finds our common ground, so to speak-- +you a boy and me a lovely girl. _Such_ a lovely girl, Archdeacon, as +it's natural enough your son should want to run away with." + +Brandon went across to his writing-table and sat down. + +"Mr. Hogg," he said, "it is true that I had a letter from my son this +morning telling me that he had gone up to London with your daughter and +was intending to marry her as soon as possible. You will not expect that I +should approve of that step. My first impulse was, naturally enough, to go +at once to London and to prevent his action at all costs. On thinking it +over, however, I felt that as he had run away with the girl the least that +he could now do was to marry her. + +"I'm sure you will understand my feeling when I say that in taking this +step I consider that he has disgraced himself and his family. He has cut +himself off from his family irremediably. I think that really that is all +that I have to say." + +Behind Hogg's strange little half-closed eyes some gleam of anger and +hatred passed. There was no sign of it in the geniality of his open smile. + +"Why, certainly, Archdeacon, I can understand that you wouldn't care for +what he has done. But boys will be boys, won't they? We've both been boys +in our time, I daresay. You've looked at it from your point of view, and +that's natural enough. But human nature's human nature, and you must +forgive me if I look at it from mine. She's my only girl, and a good girl +she's been to me, keepin' herself _to_ herself and doing her work and +helping me wonderful. Well, your Young spark comes along, likes the look +of her and ruins her...." + +The Archdeacon made some movement---- + +"Oh, you may say what you like, Archdeacon, and he may tell you what +_he_ likes, but you and I know what happens when two young things +with hot blood gets together and there's nobody by. They may _mean_ +to be straight enough, but before they knows where they are, nature's took +hold of them, and there they are.... But even supposin' that 'asn't +happened, I don't know as I'm much better off. That girl was the very prop +of my business; she's gone, never to return, accordin' to her own account. +As to this marryin' business, that may seem to you, Archdeacon, to improve +things, but I'm not so sure that it does after all. You may be all very +'igh and mighty in your way, but I'm thinkin' of myself and the business. +What good does my girl marryin' your son do to me? That's what I want to +know." + +Brandon's hands were clenched upon the table. Nevertheless he still spoke +quietly. + +"I don't think, Mr. Hogg," he said, "that there's anything to be gained by +our discussing this just now. I have only this morning heard of it. You +may be assured that justice will be done, absolute justice, to your +daughter and yourself." + +Hogg moved to the door. + +"Why, certainly, Archdeacon. It is a bit early to discuss things. I +daresay we shall be havin' many a talk about it all before it's over. I'm +sure I only want to be friendly in the matter. As I said before, we're in +the same box, you and me, so to speak. That ought to make us tender +towards one another, oughtn't it? One losing his son and the other his +daughter. + +"Such a good girl as she was too. Certainly I'll be going, Archdeacon; +leave you to think it over a bit. I daresay you'll see my point of view in +time." + +"I think, Mr. Hogg, there's nothing to be gained by your coming here. You +shall hear from me." + +"Well, as to that, Archdeacon," Hogg turned from the half-opened door, +smiling, "that's as may be. One can get further sometimes in a little talk +than in a dozen letters. And I'm really not much of a letter-writer. But +we'll see 'ow things go on. Good-evenin'." + +The talk had lasted but five minutes, and every piece of furniture in the +room, the chairs, the table, the carpet, the pictures, seemed to have upon +it some new stain of disfigurement. Even the windows were dimmed. + +Brandon sat staring in front of him. The door opened again and his wife +came in. + +"That was Samuel Hogg who has just left you?" + +"Yes," he said. + +He looked across the room at her and was instantly surprised by the +strangest feeling. He was not, in his daily life, conscious of "feelings" +of any sort--that was not his way. But the events of the past two days +seemed to bring him suddenly into a new contact with real life, as though, +having lived in a balloon all this time, he had been suddenly bumped out +of it with a jerk and found Mother Earth with a terrible bang. He would +have told you a week ago that there was nothing about his wife that he did +not know and nothing about his own feelings towards her--and yet, after +all, the most that he had known was to have no especial feelings towards +her of any kind. + +But to-day had been beyond possible question the most horrible day he had +ever known, and it might be that the very horror of it was to force him to +look upon everything on earth with new eyes. It had at least the immediate +effect now of showing his wife to him as part of himself, as some one, +therefore, hurt as he was, smirched and soiled and abused as he, needing +care and kindness as he had never known her to need it before. It was a +new feeling for him, a new tenderness. + +He greeted and welcomed it as a relief after the horror of Hogg's +presence. Poor Amy! She was in as bad a way as he now--they were at last +in the same box. + +"Yes," he said, "that was Hogg." + +Looking at her now in this new way, he was also able to see that she +herself was changed. She figured definitely as an actor now with an odd +white intensity in her face, with some mysterious purpose in her eyes, +with a resolve in the whole poise of her body that seemed to add to her +height. + +"Well," she said, "what train are you taking up to London?" + +"What train?" he repeated after her. + +"Yes, to see Falk." + +"I am not going to see Falk." + +"You're not going up to him?" + +"Why should I go?" + +"Why should you go? _You_ can ask me that?...To stop this terrible +marriage." + +"I don't intend to stop it." + +There was a pause. She seemed to summon every nerve in her body to her +control. + +The twitching of her fingers against her dress was her only movement. + +"Would you please tell me what you mean to do? After all, I am his +mother." + +The tenderness that he had felt at first sight of her was increasing so +strangely that it was all he could do not to go over to her. But his +horror of any demonstration kept him where he was. + +"Amy, dear," he said, "I've had a dreadful day--in every way a terrible +day. I haven't had time, as things have gone, to think things out. I want +to be fair. I want to do the right thing. I do indeed. I don't think +there's anything to be gained by going up to London. One thing only now +I'm clear about. He's got to marry the girl now he's gone off with her. To +do him justice he intends to do that. He says that he has done her no +harm, and we must take his word for that. Falk has been many things-- +careless, reckless, selfish, but never in all his life dishonourable. If I +went up now we should quarrel, and perhaps something irreparable would +occur. Even though he was persuaded to return, the mischief is done. He +must be just to the girl. Every one in the town knows by now that she went +with him--her father has been busy proclaiming the news even though there +has been no one else." + +Mrs. Brandon said nothing. She had made in herself the horrible discovery, +after reading Falk's letter, that her thoughts were not upon Falk at all, +but upon Morris. Falk had flouted her; not only had he not wanted her, but +he had gone off with a common girl of the town. She had suddenly no +tenderness for him, no anger against him, no thought of him except that +his action had removed the last link that held her. + +She was gazing now at Morris with all her eyes. Her brain was fastened +upon him with an intensity sufficient almost to draw him, hypnotised, +there to her feet. Her husband, her home, Polchester, these things were +like dim shadows. + +"So you will do nothing?" she said. + +"I must wait," he said, "I know that when I act hastily I act badly...." +He paused, looked at her doubtfully, then with great hesitation went on: +"We are together in this, Amy. I've been--I've been--thinking of myself +and my work perhaps too much in the past. We've got to see this through +together." + +"Yes," she answered, "together." But she was thinking of Morris. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +The Wind Flies Over the House + + + +Later, that day, she went from the house. It was a strange evening. Two +different weathers seemed to have met over the Polchester streets. First +there was the deep serene beauty of the May day, pale blue faintly fading +into the palest yellow, the world lying like an enchanted spirit asleep +within a glass bell, reflecting the light from the shining surface that +enfolded it. In this light houses, grass, cobbles lay as though stained by +a painter's brush, bright colours like the dazzling pigment of a wooden +toy, glittering under the shining sky. + +This was a normal enough evening for the Polchester May, but across it, +shivering it into fragments, broke a stormy and blustering wind, a wind +that belonged to stormy January days, cold and violent, with the hint of +rain in its murmuring voice. It tore through the town, sometimes carrying +hurried and, as it seemed, terrified clouds with it; for a while the May +light would be hidden, the air would be chill, a few drops like flashes of +glass would fall, gleaming against the bright colours--then suddenly the +sky would be again unchallenged blue, there would be no cloud on the +horizon, only the pavements would glitter as though reflecting a glassy +dome. Sometimes it would be more than one cloud that the wind would carry +on its track--a company of clouds; they would appear suddenly above the +horizon, like white-faced giants peering over the world's rim, then in a +huddled confusion they would gather together, then start their flight, +separating, joining, merging, dwindling and expanding, swallowing up the +blue, threatening to encompass the pale saffron of the lower sky, then +vanishing with incredible swiftness, leaving warmth and colour in their +train. + +Amy Brandon did not see the enchanted town. She heard, as she left the +house, the clocks striking half-past six. Some regular subconscious self, +working with its accustomed daily duty, murmured to her that to-night her +husband was dining at the Conservative Club and Joan was staying on to +supper at the Sampsons' after the opening tennis party of the season. No +one would need her--as so often in the past no one had needed her. But it +was her unconscious self that whispered this to her; in the wild stream +into whose current during these last strange months she had flung herself +she was carried along she knew not, she cared not, whither. + +Enough for her that she was free now to encompass her desire, the only +dominating, devastating desire that she had ever known in all her dead, +well-ordered life. But it was not even with so active a consciousness as +this that she thought this out. She thought out nothing save that she must +see Morris, be with Morris, catch from Morris that sense of appeasement +from the torture of hunger unsatisfied that never now left her. + +In the last weeks she had grown so regardless of the town's opinion that +she did not care how many people saw her pass Morris' door. She had, +perhaps, been always regardless, only in the dull security of her life +there had been no need to regard them. She despised them all; she had +always despised them, for the deference and admiration that they paid her +husband if for no other reason. Despised them too, it might be, because +they had not seen more in herself, had thought her the dull, lifeless +nonentity in whose soul no fires had ever burned. + +She had never chattered nor gossiped with them, did not consider gossip a +factor in any one's day; she had never had the least curiosity about any +one else, whether about life or character or motive. + +There is no egoist in the world so complete as the disappointed woman +without imagination. + +She hurried through the town as though she were on a business of the +utmost urgency; she saw nothing and she heard nothing. She did not even +see Miss Milton sitting at her half-opened window enjoying the evening +air. + +Morris himself opened the door. He was surprised when he saw her; when he +had closed the door and helped her off with her coat he said as they +walked into the drawing-room: + +"Is there anything the matter?" + +She saw at once that the room was cheerless and deserted. + +"Is Miss Burnett here?" she asked. + +"No. She went off to Rafiel for a week's holiday. I'm being looked after +by the cook." + +"It's cold." She drew her shoulders and arms together, shivering. + +"Yes. It _is_ cold. It's these showers. Shall I light the fire?" + +"Yes, do." + +He bent down, putting a match to the paper; then when the fire blazed he +pushed the sofa forwards. + +"Now sit down and tell me what's the matter." + +She could see that he was extremely nervous. + +"Have you heard nothing?" + +"No." + +She laughed bitterly. "I thought all the town knew by this time." + +"Knew what?" + +"Falk has run away to London with the daughter of Samuel Hogg." + +"Samuel Hogg?" + +"Yes, the man of the 'Dog and Pilchard' down in Seatown." + +"Run away with her?" + +"Yesterday. He sent us a letter saying that he had gone up to London to +earn his own living, had taken this girl with him, and would marry her +next week." + +Morris was horrified. + +"Without a word of warning? Without speaking to you? Horrible! The +daughter of that man.... I know something about him...the worst man in the +place." + +Then followed a long silence. The effect on Morris was as it had been on +Mrs. Brandon--the actual deed was almost lost sight of in the sudden light +that it threw on his passion. From the very first the most appealing +element of her attraction to him had been her loneliness, the neglect from +which she suffered, the need she had of comfort. + +He saw her as a woman who, for twenty years, had had no love, although in +her very nature she had hungered for it; and if she had not been treated +with actual cruelty, at least she had been so basely neglected that +cruelty was not far away. It was not true to say that during these months +he had grown to hate Brandon, but he had come, more and more, to despise +and condemn him. The effeminacy in his own nature had from the first both +shrunk from and been attracted by the masculinity in Brandon. + +He could have loved that man, but as the situation had forbidden that, his +feeling now was very near to hate. + +Then, as the weeks had gone by, Mrs. Brandon had made it clear enough to +him that Falk was all that she had left to her--not very much to her even +there, perhaps, but something to keep her starved heart from dying. And +now Falk was gone, gone in the most brutal, callous way. She had no one in +the world left to her but himself. The rush of tenderness and longing to +be good to her that now overwhelmed him was so strong and so sudden that +it was with the utmost difficulty that he had held himself from going to +the sofa beside her. + +She looked so weak there, so helpless, so gentle. + +"Amy," he said, "I will do anything in the world that is in my power." + +She was trembling, partly with genuine emotion, partly with cold, partly +with the drama of the situation. + +"No," she said, "I don't want to do a thing that's going to involve you. +You must be left out of this. It is something that I must carry through by +myself. It was wrong of me, I suppose, to come to you, but my first +thought was that I must have companionship. I was selfish----" + +"No," he broke in, "you were not selfish. I am prouder that you came to me +than I can possibly say. That is what I'm here for. I'm your friend. You +know, after all these months, that I am. And what is a friend for?" Then, +as though he felt that he was advancing too dangerously close to emotion, +he went on more quietly: + +"Tell me--if it isn't impertinent of me to ask--what is your husband doing +about it?" + +"Doing? Nothing." + +"Nothing?" + +"No. I thought that he would go up to London and see Falk, but he doesn't +feel that that is necessary. He says that, as Falk has run away with the +girl, the most decent thing that he can do is to marry her. He seems very +little upset by it. He is a most curious man. After all these years, I +don't understand him at all." + +Morris went on hesitatingly. "I feel guilty myself. Weeks ago I overheard +gossip about your son and some girl. I wondered then whether I ought to +say something to you. But it's so difficult in these cases to know what +one ought to do. There's so much gossip in these little Cathedral towns. I +thought about it a good deal. Finally, I decided that it wasn't my place +to meddle." + +"I heard nothing," she answered. "It's always the family that hears the +talk last. Perhaps my husband's right. Perhaps there is nothing to be +done. I see now that Falk never cared anything for any of us. I cheated +myself. I had to cheat myself, otherwise I don't know what I'd have done. +And now his doing this has made me suspicious of everything and of every +one. Yes, even of a friendship like ours--the greatest thing in my life-- +now--the only thing in my life." + +Her voice trembled and dropped. But still he would not let himself pass on +to that other ground. "Is there _nothing_ I can do?" he asked. "I +suppose it would do no good if I were to go up to London and see him? I +knew him a little--" + +Vehemently she shook her head. + +"You're not to be involved in this. At least I can do that much--keep you +out of it." + +"How is he going to live, then?" + +"He talks about writing. He's utterly confident, of course. He always has +been. Looking back now, I despise myself for ever imagining that _I_ +was of any use to him. I see now that he never needed me--never at all." + +Suddenly she looked across at him sharply. + +"How is your sister-in-law?" His colour rose. + +"My sister-in-law?" + +"Yes." + +"She isn't well." + +"What--?" + +"It's hard to say. The doctor looked at her and said she needed quiet and +must go to the sea. It's her nerves." + +"Her nerves?" + +"Yes, they got very queer. She's been sleeping badly." + +"You quarrelled." + +"She and I?--yes." + +"What about?" + +"Oh, I don't know. She's getting a little too much for me, I think." + +She looked him in the face. + +"No, you know it isn't that. You quarrelled about me." + +He said nothing. + +"You quarrelled about me," she repeated. "She always disliked me from the +beginning." + +"No." + +"Oh, yes, she did. Of course I saw that. She was jealous of me. She saw, +more quickly than any one else, how much--how much we were going to mean +to one another. Speak the truth. You know that is the best." + +"She didn't understand," Morris answered slowly. "She's stupid in some +things." + +"So I've been the cause of your quarrelling, of your losing the only +friend you had in your life?" + +"No, not of my losing it. I haven't lost her. Our relationship has +shifted, that's all." + +"No. No. I know it is so. I've taken away the only person near you." + +And suddenly turning from him to the back of the sofa, hiding her face in +her hands, she broke into passionate crying. + +He stood for a moment, taut, controlled, as though he was fighting his +last little desperate battle. Then he was beaten. He knelt down on the +floor beside the sofa. He touched her hair, then her cheek. She made a +little movement towards him. He put his arms around her. + +"Don't cry. Don't cry. I can't bear that. You mustn't say that you've +taken anything from me. It isn't true. You've given me everything... +everything. Why should we struggle any longer? Why shouldn't we take what +has been given to us? Your husband doesn't care. I haven't anybody. Has +God given me so much that I should miss this? And has He put it in our +hearts if He didn't mean us to take it? I love you. I've loved you since +first I set eyes on you. I can't keep away from you any longer. It's +keeping away from myself. We're one. We are one another--not alone, +either of us--any more...." + +She turned towards him. He drew her closer and closer to him. With a +little sigh of happiness and comfort she yielded to him. + + * * * * * + +There was only one cloud in the dim green sky, a cloud orange and crimson, +shaped like a ship. As the sun was setting, a little wind stirred, the +faint aftermath of the storm of the day, and the cloud, now all crimson, +passed over the town and died in fading ribbons of gold and orange in the +white sky of the far horizon. + +Only Miss Milton, perhaps, among all the citizens of the town, waiting +patiently behind her open window, watched its career. + + + + +Chapter IX + +The Quarrel + + + +Every one has known, at one time or another in life, that strange +unexpected calm that always falls like sudden snow on a storm-tossed +country, after some great crisis or upheaval. The blow has seemed so +catastrophic that the world must be changed with the force of its fall-- +but the world is _not_ changed; hours pass and days go by, and no one +seems to be aware that anything has occurred...it is only when months +have gone, and perhaps years, that one looks back and sees that it was, +after all, on such and such a day that life was altered, values shifted, +the face of the world turned to a new angle. + +This is platitudinous, but platitudes are not platitudes when we first +make our personal experience of them. There seemed nothing platitudinous +to Brandon in his present experiences. The day on which he had received +Falk's letter had seemed to fling him neck and crop into a new world--a +world dim and obscure and peopled with new and terrifying devils. The +morning after, he was clear again, and it was almost as though nothing at +all had occurred. He went about the town, and everybody behaved in a +normal manner. No sign of those strange menacing figures, the drunken +painter, the sinister, smiling Hogg; every one as usual. + +Ryle complacent and obedient; Bentinck-Major officious but subservient; +Mrs. Combermere jolly; even, as he fancied, Foster a little more amiable +than usual. It was for this open, outside world that he had now for many +years been living; it was not difficult to tell himself that things here +were unchanged. Because he was no psychologist, he took people as he found +them; when they smiled they were pleased and when they frowned they were +angry. + +Because there was a great deal of pressing business he pushed aside Falk's +problem. It was there, it was waiting for him, but perhaps time would +solve it. + +He concentrated himself with a new energy, a new self-confidence, upon +the Cathedral, the Jubilee, the public life of the town. + +Nevertheless, that horrible day had had its effect upon him. Three days +after Falk's escape he was having breakfast alone with Joan. + +"Mother has a headache," Joan said. "She's not coming down." + +He nodded, scarcely looking up from his paper. + +In a little while she said: "What are you doing to-day, daddy? I'm very +sorry to bother you, but I'm housekeeping to-day, and I have to arrange +about meals----" + +"I'm lunching at Carpledon," he said, putting his paper down. + +"With the Bishop? How nice! I wish I were. He's an old dear." + +"He wants to consult me about some of the Jubilee services," Brandon said +in his public voice. + +"Won't Canon Ryle mind that?" + +"I don't care if he does. It's his own fault, for not managing things +better." + +"I think the Bishop must be very lonely out there. He hardly ever comes +into Polchester now. It's because of his rheumatism, I suppose. Why +doesn't he resign, daddy?" + +"He's wanted to, a number of times. But he's very popular. People don't +want him to go." + +"I don't wonder." Joan's eyes sparkled. "Even if one never saw him at all +it would be better than somebody else. He's _such_ an old darling." + +"Well, I don't believe myself in men going on when they're past their +work. However, I hear he's going to insist on resigning at the end of this +year." + +"How old is he, daddy?" + +"Eighty-seven." + +There was always a tinge of patronage in the Archdeacon's voice when he +spoke of his Bishop. He knew that he was a saint, a man whose life had +been of so absolute a purity, a simplicity, an unfaltering faith and +courage, that there were no flaws to be found in him anywhere. It was +possibly this very simplicity that stirred Brandon's patronage. After all, +we were living in a workaday world, and the Bishop's confidence in every +man's word and trust in every man's honour had been at times a little +ludicrous. Nevertheless, did any one dare to attack the Bishop, he was +immediately his most ardent and ferocious defender. + +It was only when the Bishop was praised that he felt that a word or two of +caution was necessary. + +However, he was just now not thinking of the Bishop; he was thinking of +his daughter. As he looked across the table at her he wondered. What had +Falk's betrayal of the family meant to her? Had she been fond of him? She +had given no sign at all as to how it had affected her. She had her +friends and her life in the town, and her family pride like the rest of +them. How pretty she looked this morning! He was suddenly aware of the +love and devotion that she had given him for years and the small return +that he had made. Not that he had been a bad father--he hurriedly +reassured himself; no one could accuse him of that. But he had been busy, +preoccupied, had not noticed her as he might have done. She was a woman +now, with a new independence and self-assurance! And yet such a child at +the same time! He recalled the evening in the cab when she had held his +hand. How few demands she ever made upon him; how little she was ever in +the way! + +He went back to his paper, but found that he could not fix his attention +upon it. When he had finished his breakfast he went across to her. She +looked up at him, smiling. He put his hand on her shoulder. + +"Um--yes.... And what are you going to do to-day, dear?" + +"I've heaps to do. There's the Jubilee work-party in the morning. Then +there are one or two things in the town to get for mother." She paused. + +He hesitated, then said: + +"Has any one--have your friends in the town--said anything about Falk?" + +She looked up at him. + +"No, daddy--not a word." + +Then she added, as though to herself, with a little sigh, "Poor Falk!" + +He took his hand from her shoulder. + +"So you're sorry for him, are you?" he said angrily. + +"Not sorry, exactly," she answered slowly. "But--you will forgive him, +won't you?" + +"You can be sure," Brandon said, "that I shall do what is right." + +She sprang up and faced him. + +"Daddy, now that Falk is gone, it's more necessary than ever for you to +realise _me_." + +"Realise you?" he said, looking at her. + +"Yes, that I'm a woman now and not a child any longer. You don't realise +it a bit. I said it to mother months ago, and told her that now I could do +all sorts of things for her. She _has_ let me do a few things, but +she hasn't changed to me, not been any different, or wanted me any more +than she did before. But you must. You _must_, daddy. I can help you +in lots of ways. I can----" + +"What ways?" he asked her, smiling. + +"I don't know. You must find them out. What I mean is that you've got to +count on me as an element in the family now. You can't disregard me any +more." + +"Have I disregarded you?" + +"Of course you have," she answered, laughing. + +"Well, we'll see," he said. He bent down and kissed her, then left the +room. + +He left to catch the train to Carpledon in a self-satisfied mind. He was +tired, certainly, and had felt ever since the shock of three days back a +certain "warning" sensation that hovered over him rather like hot air, +suggesting that sudden agonizing pain...but so long as the pain did not +come...He had thought, half derisively, of seeing old Puddifoot, even of +having himself overhauled--but Puddifoot was an ass. How could a man who +talked the nonsense Puddifoot did in the Conservative Club be anything of +a doctor? Besides, the man was old. There was a young man now, Newton. But +Brandon distrusted young men. + +He was amused and pleased at the station. He strode up and down the +platform, his hands behind his broad back, his head up, his top-hat +shining, his gaiters fitting superbly his splendid calves. The station- +master touched his hat, smiled, and stayed for a word or two. Very +deferential. Good fellow, Curtis. Knew his business. The little, stout, +rosy-faced fellow who guarded the book-stall touched his hat. Brandon +stopped and looked at the papers. Advertisements already of special +Jubilee supplements--"Life of the Good Queen," "History of the Empire, +1837-1897." Piles of that trashy novel Joan had been talking about, _The +Massarenes_, by Ouida. Pah! Stuff and nonsense. How did people have +time for such things? "Yes, Mr. Waller. Fine day. Very fine May we're +having. Ought to be fine for the Jubilee. Hope so, I'm sure. Disappoint +many people if it's wet...." + +He bought the _Church Times_ and crossed to the side-line. No one +here but a farmer, a country-woman and her little boy. The farmer's side- +face reminded him suddenly of some one. Who was it? That fat cheek, the +faint sandy hair beneath the shabby bowler. He was struck as though, +standing on a tight-rope in mid-air, he felt it quiver beneath him. +Hogg.... He turned abruptly and faced the empty line and the dusty +neglected boarding of a railway-shed. He must not think of that man, must +not allow him to seize his thoughts. Hogg--Davray. Had he dreamt that +horrible scene in the Cathedral? Could that have been? He lifted his hand +and, as it were, tore the scene into pieces and scattered it on the line. +He had command of his thoughts, shutting down one little tight shutter +after another upon the things he did not want to see. _That_ he did +not want to see, did not want to know. + +The little train drew in, slowly, regretfully. Brandon got into the +solitary first-class carriage and buried himself in his paper. Soon, +thanks to his happy gift of attending only to one question at a time, the +subjects that that paper brought up for discussion completely absorbed +him. Anything more absurd than such an argument!--as though the validity +of Baptism did not absolutely depend... + +He was happily lost; the little train steamed out. He saw nothing of the +beautiful country through which they passed--country, on this May +morning, so beautiful in its rich luxuriant security, the fields bending +and dipping to the tree-haunted streams, the hedges running in lines of +blue and dark purple like ribbons to the sky, that, blue-flecked, caught +in light and shadow a myriad pattern as a complement to its own sun-warmed +clouds. Rich and English so utterly that it was almost scornful in its +resentment of foreign interference. In spite of the clouds the air was now +in its mid-day splendour, and the cows, in clusters of brown, dark and +clay-red, sought the cool grey shadows of the hedges. + +The peace of centuries lay upon this land, and the sun with loving hands +caressed its warm flanks as though here, at least, was some one of whom it +might be sure, some one known from old time. + +The little station at Carpledon was merely a wooden shed. Woods running +down the hill threatened to overwhelm it; at its very edge beyond the +line, thick green fields slipped to the shining level waters of the Pol. +Brandon walked up the hill through the wood, past the hedge and on through +the Park to the Palace drive. The sight of that old, red, thick-set +building with its square comfortable windows, its bell-tower, its +dovecots, its graceful, stolid, happy lines, its high old doorway, its +tiled roof rosy-red with age, respectability and comfort, its square +solemn chimneys behind and between whose self-possession the broad +branches of the oaks, older and wiser than the house itself, uplifted +their clustered leaves with the protection of their conscious dignity-- +this house thrilled all that was deepest and most superstitious in his +soul. + +To this building he would bow, to this house surrender. Here was something +that would command all his reverence, a worthy adjunct to the Cathedral +that he loved; without undue pride he must acknowledge to himself that, +had fate so willed it, he would himself have occupied this place with a +worthy and fitting appropriateness. It seemed, indeed, as he pulled the +iron bell and heard its clang deep within the house, that he understood +what it needed so well that it must sigh with a dignified relief when it +saw him approach. + +Appleford the butler, who opened the door, was an old friend of his--an +aged, white-locked man, but dignity itself. + +"His lordship will be down in a moment," he said, showing him into the +library. Some one else was there, his back to the door. He turned round; +it was Ronder. + +When Brandon saw him he had again that sense that came now to him so +frequently, that some plot was in process against him and gradually, step +by step, hedging him in. That is a dangerous sense for any human being to +acquire, but most especially for a man of Brandon's simplicity, almost +naïveté of character. + +Ronder! The very last man whom Brandon could bear to see in that place and +at that time! Brandon's visit to-day was not entirely unengineered. To be +honest, he had not spoken quite the truth to his daughter when he had said +that the Bishop had asked him out there for consultation. Himself had +written to the Bishop a very strong letter, emphasising the inadequacy +with which his Jubilee services were being prepared, saying something +about the suitability of Forsyth for the Pybus living, and hinting at +certain carelessnesses in the Chapter "due to new and regrettable +influences." It was in answer to this letter that Ponting, the Resident +Chaplain, had written saying that the Bishop would like to give Brandon +luncheon. It may be said, therefore, that Brandon wished to consult the +Bishop rather than the Bishop Brandon. The Archdeacon had pictured to +himself a cosy _tête-à-tête_ with the Bishop lasting for an hour or +two, and entirely uninterrupted. He flattered himself that he knew his +dear Bishop well enough by this time to deal with him exactly as he ought +to be dealt with. But, for that dealing, privacy was absolutely essential. +Any third person would have been, to the last extent, provoking. Ronder +was disastrous. He instantly persuaded himself, as he looked at that +rubicund and smiling figure, that Ronder had heard of his visit and +determined to be one of the party. He could only have heard of it through +Ponting.... The Archdeacon's fingers twisted within one another as he +considered how pleasant it would be to wring Ponting's long, white and +ecclesiastical neck. + +And, of course, behind all this immediate situation was his sense of the +pleasure and satisfaction that Ronder must be feeling about Falk's +scandal. Licking his thick red lips about it, he must be, watching with +his little fat eyes for the moment when, with his round fat fingers, he +might probe that wound. + +Nevertheless the Archdeacon knew, by this time, Ronder's character and +abilities too well not to realise that he must dissemble. Dissembling was +the hardest thing of all that a man of the Archdeacon's character could be +called upon to perform, but dissemble he must. + +His smile was of a grim kind. + +"Ha! Ronder; didn't expect to see you here." + +"No," said Ronder, coming forward and smiling with the utmost geniality. +"To tell you the truth, I didn't expect to find myself here. It was only +last evening that I got a note from the Bishop asking me to come out to +luncheon to-day. He said that you would be here." + +Oh, so Ponting was not to blame. It was the Bishop himself. Poor old man! +Cowardice obviously, afraid of some of the home-truths that Brandon might +find it his duty to deliver. A coward in his old age.... + +"Very fine day," said Brandon. + +"Beautiful," said Ronder. "Really, looks as though we are going to have +good weather for the Jubilee." + +"Hope we do," said Brandon. "Very hard on thousands of people if it's +wet." + +"Very," said Ronder. "I hope Mrs. Brandon is well." + +"To-day she has a little headache," said Brandon. "But it's really +nothing." + +"Well," said Ronder. "I've been wondering whether there isn't some thunder +in the air. I've been feeling it oppressive myself." + +"It does get oppressive," said Brandon, "this time of the year in +Glebeshire--especially South Glebeshire. I've often noticed it." + +"What we want," said Ronder, "is a good thunderstorm to clear the air." + +"Just what we're not likely to get," said Brandon. "It hangs on for days +and days without breaking." + +"I wonder why that is," said Ronder; "there are no hills round about to +keep it. There's hardly a hill of any size in the whole of South +Glebeshire." + +"Of course, Polchester's in a hollow," said Brandon. "Except for the +Cathedral, of course. I always envy Lady St. Leath her elevation." + +"A fine site, the Castle," said Ronder. "They must get a continual breeze +up there." + +"They do," said Brandon. "Whenever I'm up there there's a wind." + +This most edifying conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the +Reverend Charles Ponting. Mr. Ponting was very long, very thin and very +black, his cadaverous cheeks resembling in their colour nothing so much as +good fountain-pen ink. He spoke always in a high, melancholy and chanting +voice. He was undoubtedly effeminate in his movements, and he had an air +of superior secrecy about the affairs of the Bishop that people sometimes +found very trying. But he was a good man and a zealous, and entirely +devoted to his lord and master. + +"Ha! Archdeacon.... Ha! Canon. His lordship will be down in one moment. He +has asked me to make his apologies for not being here to receive you. He +is just finishing something of rather especial importance." + +The Bishop, however, entered a moment later. He was a little, frail man, +walking with the aid of a stick. He had snow-white hair, rather thick and +long, pale cheeks and eyes of a bright china-blue. He had that quality, +given to only a few in this world of happy mediocrities, of filling, at +once, any room into which he entered with the strength and fragrance of +his spirit. So strong, fearless and beautiful was his soul that it shone +through the frail compass of his body with an unfaltering light. No one +had ever doubted the goodness and splendour of the man's character. Men +might call his body old and feeble and past the work that it was still +called upon to perform. They might speak of him as guileless, as too +innocent of this world's slippery ways, as trusting where no child of six +years of age would have trusted; these things might have been, and were, +said, but no man, woman, nor child, looking upon him, hesitated to realise +that here was some one who had walked and talked with God and in whom +there was no shadow of deceit nor evil thought. Old Glasgow Parmiter, the +lawyer, the wickedest old man Polchester had ever known, said once of him, +"If there's a hell, I suppose I'm going to it, and I'm sure I don't care. +There may be one and there may not. I know there's a heaven. Purcell lives +there." + +His voice, which was soft and strong, had at its heart a tiny stammer +which came out now and then with a hesitating, almost childish, charm. As +he stood there, leaning on his stick, smiling at them, there did seem a +great deal of the child about him, and Brandon, Ponting and Ronder +suddenly seemed old, wicked and soiled in the world's ways. + +"Please forgive me," he said, "for not being down when you came. I move +slowly now.... Luncheon is ready, I know. Shall we go in?" + +The four men crossed the stone-flagged hall into the diningroom where +Appleford stood, devoutly, as one about to perform a solemn rite. The +dining-room was high-ceilinged with a fireplace of old red brick fronted +with black oak beams. The walls were plain whitewash, and they carried +only one picture, a large copy of Dürer's "Knight and the Devil." The +high, broad windows looked out on to the sloping lawn whose green now +danced and sparkled under the sun. The trees that closed it in were purple +shadowed. + +They sat, clustered together, at the end of a long oak refectory table. +The Bishop himself was a teetotaler, but there was good claret and, at the +end, excellent port. The only piece of colour on the table was a bowl of +dark-blue glass piled with fruit. The only ornament in the room was a +beautifully carved silver crucifix on the black oak mantelpiece. The sun +danced across the stained floor with every pattern and form of light. + +Brandon could not remember a more unpleasant meal in that room; he could +not, indeed, remember ever having had an unpleasant meal there before. The +Bishop talked, as he always did, in a most pleasant and easy fashion. He +talked about the nectarines and plums that were soon to glorify his garden +walls, about the pears and apples in his orchard, about the jokes that old +Puddifoot made when he came over and examined his rheumatic limbs. He +gently chaffed Ponting about his punctuality, neatness and general dislike +of violent noises, and he bade Appleford to tell the housekeeper, Mrs. +Brenton, how especially good to-day was the fish soufflé. All this was all +it had ever been; nothing could have been easier and more happy. But on +other days it had always been Brandon who had thrown back the ball for the +Bishop to catch. Whoever the other guest might be, it was always Brandon +who took the lead, and although he might be a little ponderous and slow in +movement, he supplied the Bishop's conversational needs quite adequately. + +And to-day it was Ronder; from the first, without any ostentation or +presumption, with the utmost naturalness, he led the field. To understand +the full truth of this occasion it must be known that Mr. Ponting had, for +a considerable number of years past, cherished a deep but private +detestation of the Archdeacon. It was hard to say wherein that hatred had +had it inception--probably in some old, long-forgotten piece of cheerful +patronage on Brandon's part; Mr. Ponting was of those who consider and +dwell and dwell again, and he had, by this time, dwelt upon the Archdeacon +so long and so thoroughly that he knew and resented the colour of every +one of the Archdeacon's waistcoat buttons. He was, perhaps, quick to +perceive to-day that a mightier than the Archdeacon was here; or it may +have been that he was well aware of what had been happening in Polchester +during the last weeks, and was even informed of the incidents of the last +three days. + +However that may be, he did from the first pay an almost exaggerated +deference to Ronder's opinion, drew him into the conversation at every +possible opportunity, with such, interjections as "How true! How very +true! Don't you think so, Canon Ronder?" or "What has been your experience +in such a case, Canon Ronder?" or "I think, my lord, that Canon Ronder +told me that he knows that place well," and disregarding entirely any +remarks that Brandon might happen to make. + +No one could have responded more brilliantly to this opportunity than did +Ronder; indeed the Bishop, who was his host at the Palace to-day for the +first time, said after his departure, "That's a most able man, most able. +Lucky indeed for the diocese that it has secured him...a delightful +fellow." + +No one in the world could have been richer in anecdotes than Ronder, +anecdotes of precisely the kind for the Bishop's taste, not too worldly, +not too clerical, amusing without being broad, light and airy, but showing +often a fine scholarship and a wise and thoughtful experience of foreign +countries. The Bishop had not laughed so heartily for many a day. "Oh, +dear! Oh, dear!" he cried at the anecdote of the two American ladies in +Siena. "That's good, indeed...that's very good. Did you get that, +Ponting? Dear me, that's perfectly delightful!" A little tear of shining +pleasure trickled down his cheek. "Really, Canon, I've never heard +anything better." + +Brandon thought Ronder's manners outrageous. Poor Bishop! He was indeed +failing that he could laugh so heartily at such pitiful humour. He tried, +to show his sense of it all by grimly pursuing his food and refusing even +the ghost of a chuckle, but no one was perceiving him, as he very bitterly +saw. The Bishop, it may be, saw it too, for at last he turned to Brandon +and said: + +"But come, Archdeacon. I was forgetting. You wrote to me s-something about +that Jubilee-music in the Cathedral. You find that Ryle is making rather a +m-mess of things, don't you?" + +Brandon was deeply offended. Of what was the Bishop thinking that he could +so idly drag forward the substance of an entirely private letter, without +asking permission, into the public air? Moreover, the last thing that he +wanted was that Ronder should know that he had been working behind Ryle's +back. Not that he was in the least ashamed of what he had done, but here +was precisely the thing that Ronder would like to use and make something +of. In any case, it was the principle of the thing. Was Ronder henceforth +to be privy to everything that passed between himself and the Bishop? + +He never found it easy to veil his feelings, and he looked now, as Ponting +delightedly perceived, like an overgrown, sulky schoolboy. + +"No, no, my lord," he said, looking across at Ponting, as though he would +love to set his heel upon that pale but eager visage. "You have me wrong +there. I was making no complaint. The Precentor knows his own business +best." + +"You certainly said something in your letter," said the Bishop vaguely. +"There was s-something, Ponting, was there not?" + +"Yes, my lord," said Ponting. "There was. But I expect the Archdeacon did +not mean it very seriously." + +"Do you mean that you find the Precentor inefficient?" said the Bishop, +looking at the coffee with longing and then shaking his head. "Not to-day, +Appleford, alas--not to-day." + +"Oh, no," said Brandon, colouring. "Of course not. Our tastes differ a +little as to the choice of music, that's all. I've no doubt that I am old- +fashioned." + +"How do you find the Cathedral music, Canon?" he asked, turning to Ronder. + +"Oh, I know very little about it," said Ronder, smiling. '"Nothing in +comparison with the Archdeacon. I'm sure he's right in liking the old +music that people have grown used to and are fond of. At the same time, I +must confess that I haven't thought Ryle too venturesome. But then I'm +very ignorant, having been here so short a time." + +"That's right, then," said the Bishop comfortably. "There doesn't seem +much wrong." + +At that moment Appleford, who had been absent from the room for a minute, +returned with a note which he gave to the Bishop. + +"From Pybus, my lord," he said; "some one has ridden over with it." + +At the word "Pybus" there was an electric silence in the room. The Bishop +tore open the letter and read it. He half started from his chair with a +little exclamation of distress and grief. + +"Please excuse me," he said, turning to them. "I must leave you for a +moment and speak to the bearer of this note. Poor Morrison...at last... +he's gone!--Pybus!..." + +The Archdeacon, in spite of himself, half rose and stared across at +Ronder. Pybus! The living at last was vacant. + +A moment later he felt deeply ashamed. In that sunlit room the bright +green of the outside world quivering in pools of colour upon the pure +space of the white walls spoke of life and beauty and the immortality of +beauty. + +It was hard to think of death there in such a place, but one must think of +it and consider, too, Morrison, who had been so good a fellow and loved +the world, and all the things in it, and had thought of heaven also in the +spare moments that his energy left him. + +A great sportsman he had been, with a famous breed of bull-terrier, and +anxious to revive the South Glebeshire Hunt; very fine, too, in that last +terrible year when the worst of all mortal diseases had leapt upon his +throat and shaken him with agony and the imminent prospect of death-- +shaken him but never terrified him. Brandon summoned before him that +broad, jolly, laughing figure, summoned it, bowed to its fortitude and +optimism, then, as all men must, at such a moment, considered his own end; +then, having paid his due to Morrison, returned to the great business of +the--Living. + +They were gathered together in the hall now. The Bishop had known Morrison +well and greatly liked him, and he could think of nothing but the man +himself. The question of the succession could not come near him that day, +and as he stood, a little white-haired figure, tottering on his stick in +the flagged hall, he seemed already to be far from the others, to be +caught already half-way along the road that Morrison was now travelling. + +Both Brandon and Ronder felt that it was right for them to go, although on +a normal day they would have stayed walking in the garden and talking for +another three-quarters of an hour until it was time to catch the three- +thirty train from Carpledon. Mr. Ponting settled the situation. + +"His lordship," he said, "hopes that you will let Bassett drive you into +Polchester. There is the little wagonette; Bassett must go, in any case, +to get some things. It is no trouble, no trouble at all." + +They, of course, agreed, although for Brandon at any rate there would be +many things in the world pleasanter than sitting with Ronder in a small +wagonette for more than an hour. He also had no liking for Bassett, the +Bishop's coachman for the last twenty years, a native of South Glebeshire, +with all the obstinacy, pride and independence that that definition +includes. + +There was, however, no other course, and, a quarter of an hour later, the +two clergymen found themselves opposite one another in a wagonette that +was indeed so small that it seemed inevitable that Ronder's knees must +meet Brandon's and Brandon's ankles glide against Ronder's. + +The Archdeacon's temper was, by this time, at its worst. Everything had +been ruined by Ronder's presence. The original grievances were bad enough +--the way in which his letter had been flouted, the fashion in which his +conversation had been disregarded at luncheon, the sanctified pleasure +that Ponting's angular countenance had expressed at every check that he +had received; but all these things mattered nothing compared with the fact +that Ronder was present at the news of Morrison's death. + +Had he been alone with the Bishop then, what an opportunity he would have +had! How exactly he would have known how to comfort the Bishop, how +tactful and right he would have been in the words that he used, and what +an opportunity finally for turning the Bishop's mind in the way it should +go, namely, towards Rex Forsyth! + +As his knees, place them where he would, bumped against Ronder's, wrath +bubbled in his heart like boiling water in a kettle. The very immobility +of Bassett's broad back added to the irritation. + +"It's remarkably small for a wagonette," said Ronder at last, when some +minutes had passed in silence. "Further north this would not, I should +think, be called a wagonette at all, but in Glebeshire there are special +names for everything. And then, of course, we are both big men." + +This comparison was most unfortunate. Ronder's body was soft and plump, +most unmistakably fat. Brandon's was apparently in magnificent condition. +It is well known that a large man in good athletic condition has a deep, +overwhelming contempt for men who are fat and soft. Brandon made no reply. +Ronder was determined to be pleasant. + +"Very difficult to keep thin in this part of the world, isn't it? Every +morning when I look at myself in the glass I find myself fatter than I was +the day before. Then I say to myself, 'I'll give up bread and potatoes and +drink hot water.' Hot water! Loathsome stuff. Moreover, have you noticed, +Archdeacon, that a man who diets himself is a perfect nuisance to all his +friends and neighbours? The moment he refuses potatoes his hostess says to +him, 'Why, Mr. Smith, not one of our potatoes! Out of our own garden!' And +then he explains to her that he is dieting, whereupon every one at the +table hurriedly recites long and dreary histories of how they have dieted +at one time or another with this or that success. The meal is ruined for +yourself and every one else. Now, isn't it so? What do you do for yourself +when you are putting on flesh?" + +"I am not aware," said Brandon in his most haughty manner, "that I +_am_ putting on flesh." + +"Of course I don't mean just now," answered Ronder, smiling. "In any case, +the jolting of this wagonette is certain to reduce one. Anyway, I agree +with you. It's a tiresome subject. There's no escaping fate. We stout men +are doomed, I fancy." + +There was a long silence. After Brandon had moved his legs about in every +possible direction and found it impossible to escape Ronder's knees, he +said: + +"Excuse my knocking into you so often, Canon." + +"Oh, that's all right," said Ronder, laughing. "This drive comes worse on +you than myself, I fancy. You're bonier.... What a splendid figure the +Bishop is! A great man--really, a great man. There's something about a man +of that simplicity and purity of character that we lesser men lack. +Something out of our grasp altogether." + +"You haven't known him very long, I think," said Brandon, who considered +himself in no way a lesser man than the Bishop. + +"No, I have not," said Ronder, pleasantly amused at the incredible ease +with which he was able to make the Archdeacon rise. "I've never been to +Carpledon before to-day. I especially appreciated his inviting me when he +was having so old a friend as yourself." + +Another silence. Ronder looked about him; the afternoon was hot, and +little beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. One trickled down his +forehead, another into his eye. The road, early in the year though it was, +was already dusty, and the high Glebeshire hedges hid the view. The +irritation of the heat, the dust and the sense that they were enclosed and +would for the rest of their lives jog along, thus, knee to knee, down an +eternal road, made Ronder uncomfortable; when he was uncomfortable he was +dangerous. He looked at the fixed obstinacy of the Archdeacon's face and +said: + +"Poor Morrison! So he's gone. I never knew him, but he must have been a +fine fellow. And the Pybus living is vacant." + +Brandon said nothing. + +"An important decision that will be--I beg your pardon. That's my knee +again. + +"It's to be hoped that they will find a good man." + +"There can be only one possible choice," said Brandon, planting his hands +flat on his knees. + +"Really!" said Ronder, looking at the Archdeacon with an air of innocent +interest. "Do tell me, if it isn't a secret, who that is." + +"It's no secret," said Brandon in a voice of level defiance. "Rex Forsyth +is the obvious man." + +"Really!" said Ronder. "That is interesting. I haven't heard him +mentioned. I'm afraid I know very little about him." + +"Know very little about him!" said Brandon indignantly. "Why, his name has +been in every one's mouth for months!" + +"Indeed!" said Ronder mildly. "But then I am, in many ways, sadly out of +things. Do tell me about him." + +"It's not for me to tell you," said Brandon, looking at Ronder with great +severity. "You can find out anything you like from the smallest boy in the +town." This was not polite, but Ronder did not mind. There was a little +pause, then he said very amiably: + +"I have heard some mention of that man Wistons." + +"What!" cried Brandon in a voice not very far from a shout. "The fellow +who wrote that abnominable book, _The Four Creeds_?" + +"I suppose it's the same," said Ronder gently, rubbing his knee a little. + +"That man!" The Archdeacon bounced in his seat. "That atheist! The leading +enemy of the Church, the man above any who would destroy every institution +that the Church possesses!" + +"Come, come! Is it as bad as that?" + +"As bad as that? Worse! Much worse! I take it that you have not read any +of his books." + +"Well, I have read one or two!" + +"You _have_ read them and you can mention his name with patience?" + +"There are several ways of looking at these things----" + +"Several ways of looking at atheism? Thank you, Canon. Thank you very much +indeed. I am delighted to have your opinion given so frankly." + +("What an ass the man is!" thought Ronder. "He's going to lose his temper +here in the middle of the road with that coachman listening to every +word.") + +"You must not take me too literally, Archdeacon," said Ronder. "What I +meant was that the question whether Wistons is an atheist can be argued +from many points of view." + +"It can not! It can not!" cried Brandon, now shaking with anger. "There +can be no two points of view. 'He that is not with me is against me'----" + +"Very well, then," said Ronder. "It can not. There is no more to be said." + +"There _is_ more to be said. There is indeed. I am glad, Canon, that +at last you have come out into the open. I have been wondering for a long +time past when that happy event was to take place. Ever since you came +into this town, you have been subverting doctrine, upsetting institutions, +destroying the good work that the Cathedral has been doing for many years +past. I feel it my duty to tell you this, a duty that no one else is +courageous enough to perform----" + +"Really, is this quite the place?" said Ronder, motioning with his hand +towards Bassett's broad back, and the massive sterns of the two horses +that rose and fell, like tubs on a rocking sea. + +But Brandon was past caution, past wisdom, past discipline. He could see +nothing now but Ronder's two rosy cheeks and the round gleaming spectacles +that seemed to catch his words disdainfully and suspend them there in +indifference. "Excuse me. It is time indeed. It is long past the time. If +you think that you can come here, a complete stranger, and do what you +like with the institutions here, you are mistaken, and thoroughly +mistaken. There are those here who have the interests of the place at +heart and guard and protect them. Your conceit has blinded you, allow me +to tell you, and it's time that you had a more modest estimate of yourself +and doings." + +"This really isn't the place," murmured Ronder, struggling to avoid +Brandon's knees. + +"Yes, atheism is nothing to you!" shouted the Archdeacon. "Nothing at all! +You had better be careful! I warn you!" + +"_You_ had better be careful," said Ronder, smiling in spite of +himself, "or you will be out of the carriage." + +That smile was the final insult. Brandon, jumped up, rocking on his feet. +"Very well, then. You may laugh as you please. You may think it all a very +good joke. I tell you it is not. We are enemies, enemies from this moment. +You have never been anything _but_ my enemy." + +"Do take care, Archdeacon, or you really _will_ be out of the +carriage." + +"Very well. I will get out of it. I refuse to drive with you another step. +I refuse. I refuse." + +"But you can't walk. It's six miles." + +"I will walk! I will walk! Stop and let me get out! Stop, I say!" + +But Bassett who, according to his back, was as innocent of any dispute as +the small birds on the neighbouring tree, drove on. + +"Stop, I say. Can't you hear?" The Archdeacon plunged forward and pulled +Bassett by the collar. "Stop! Stop!" The wagonette abruptly stopped. + +Bassett's amazed face, two wide eyes in a creased and crumpled surface, +peered round. + +"It's war, I tell you. War!" Brandon climbed out. + +"But listen, Archdeacon! You can't!" + +"Drive on! Drive on!" cried Brandon, standing in the road and shaking his +umbrella. + +The wagonette drove on. It disappeared over the ledge of the hill. + +There was a sudden silence. Brandon's anger pounded up into his head in +great waves of constricting passion. These gradually faded. His knees were +trembling beneath him. There were new sounds--birds singing, a tiny breeze +rustling the hedges. No living soul in sight. He had suddenly a strange +impulse to shed tears. What had he been saying? What had he been doing? He +did not know what he had said. Another of his tempers.... + +The pain attacked his head--like a sword, like a sword. + +He found a stone and sat down upon it. The pain invaded him like an active +personal enemy. Down the road it seemed to him figures were moving--Hogg, +Davray--that other world--the dust rose in little clouds. + +What had he been doing? His head! Where did this pain come from? + +He felt old and sick and weak. He wanted to be at home. Slowly he began to +climb the hill. An enemy, silent and triumphant, seemed to step behind +him. + + + + + +Book III + +Jubilee + + + + +Chapter I + +June 17, Thursday: Anticipation + + + +It must certainly be difficult for chroniclers of contemporary history to +determine significant dates to define the beginning and end of succeeding +periods. But I fancy that any fellow-citizen of mine, if he thinks for a +moment, will agree with me that that Jubilee Summer of 1897 was the last +manifestation in our town of the separate individual Polchester spirit, of +the old spirit that had dwelt in its streets and informed its walls and +roofs for hundreds of years past, something as separate and distinct as +the smells of Seatown, the chime of the Cathedral bells, the cawing of the +Cathedral rooks in the Precinct Elms. + +An interesting and, to one reader at least, a pathetic history might be +written of the decline and death of that same spirit--not in Polchester +alone, but in many another small English town. From the Boer War of 1899 +to the Great War of 1914 stretches that destructive period; the agents of +that destruction, the new moneyed classes, the telephone, the telegram, +the motor, and last of all, the cinema. + +Destruction? That is, perhaps, too strong a word. We know that that is +simply the stepping from one stage to another of the eternal, the immortal +cycle. The little hamlet embowered in its protecting trees, defended by +its beloved hills, the Rock rising gaunt and naked in its midst; then the +Cathedral, the Monks, the Baron's Castle, the feudal rule; then the mighty +Bishops and the vast all-encircling power of the Church; then the new +merchant age, the Elizabethan salt of adventure; then the cosy seventeenth +and eighteenth centuries, with their domesticities, their little cultures, +their comfortable religion, their stay-at-home unimaginative festivities. + +Throughout the nineteenth century that spirit lingers, gently repulsing +the outside world, reproving new doctrine, repressing new movement...and +the Rock and the Cathedral wait their hours, watching the great sea that, +far on the horizon, is bathing its dykes and flooding the distant fields, +knowing that the waves are rising higher and higher, and will at last, +with full volume, leap upon these little pastures, these green-clad +valleys, these tiny hills. And in that day only the Cathedral and the Rock +will stand out above the flood. + +And this was a Polchester Jubilee. There may have been some consciousness +of that little old woman driving in her carriage through the London +streets, but in the main the Town suddenly took possession, cried aloud +that these festivities were for Herself, that for a week at least the Town +would assert Herself, bringing into Her celebration the Cathedral that was +her chief glory, but of whom, nevertheless, she was afraid; the Rock upon +which she was built, that never changed, the country that surrounded and +supported her, the wild men who had belonged to her from time immemorial, +the River that encircled her. + +That week seemed to many, on looking back, a strangely mad time, days +informed with a wildness for which there was no discernible reason--men +and women and children were seized that week with some licence that they +loved while it lasted, but that they looked back upon with fear when it +was over. What had come over them? Who had been grinning at them? + +The strange things that occurred that week seemed to have no individual +agent. No one was responsible. But life, after that week, was for many +people in the town never quite the same again. + +On the afternoon of Thursday, June 17, Ronder stood at the window of his +study and looked down upon the little orchard, the blazing flowers, the +red garden-wall, and the tree-tops on the descending hill, all glazed and +sparkling under the hot afternoon sun. As he looked down, seeing nothing, +sunk deeply in his own thoughts, he was aware of extreme moral and +spiritual discomfort. He moved back from the window, making with his +fingers a little gesture of discontent and irritation. He paced his room, +stopping absent-mindedly once and again to push in a book that protruded +from the shelves, staying to finger things on his writing-table, jolting +against a chair with his foot as he moved. At last he flung himself into +his deep leather chair and stared fixedly at an old faded silk fire-guard, +with its shadowy flowers and dim purple silk, seeing it not at all. + +He was angry, and of all things in the world that he hated, he hated most +to be that. He had been angry now for several weeks, and, as though it had +been a heavy cold that had descended upon him, he woke up every morning +expecting to find that his anger had departed--but it had not departed; it +showed no signs whatever of departing. + +As he sat there he was not thinking of the Jubilee, the one thought at +that time of every living soul in Polchester, man, woman and child--he was +thinking of no one but Brandon, with whom, to his own deep disgust, he was +at last implacably, remorselessly, angry. How many years ago now he had +decided that anger and hatred were emotions that every wise man, at all +cost to his pride, his impatience, his self-confidence, avoided. +Everything could be better achieved without these weaknesses, and for many +years he had tutored and trained himself until, at last, he had reached +this fine height of superiority. From that height he had suddenly fallen. + +It was now three weeks since that luncheon at Carpledon, and in one way or +another the quarrel on the road home--the absurd and ludicrous quarrel-- +had become known to the whole town. Had Brandon revealed it? Or possibly +the coachman? Whoever it was, every one now knew and laughed. Laughed! It +was that for which Ronder would never forgive Brandon. The man with his +childish temper and monstrous conceit had made him into a ludicrous +figure. It was true that they were laughing, it seemed, more at Brandon +than at himself, but the whole scene was farcical. But beyond this, that +incident, trivial though it might be in itself, had thrown the +relationship of the two men into dazzling prominence. It was as though +they had been publicly announced as antagonists, and now, stripped and +prepared, ringed in by the breathless Town, must vulgarly afford the +roughs of the place the fistic exhibition of their lives. It was the +publicity that Ronder detested. He had not disliked Brandon--he had merely +despised him, and he had taken an infinite pleasure in furthering schemes +and ambitions, a little underground maybe, but all for the final benefit +of the Town. + +And now the blundering fool had brought this blaze down upon them, was +indeed rushing round and screaming at his antagonist, shouting to any one +who would hear that Ronder was a blackguard and a public menace. It had +been whispered--from what source again Ronder did not know--that it was +through Ronder's influence that young Falk Brandon had run off to Town +with Hogg's daughter. The boy thought the world of Ronder, it was said, +and had been to see him and ask his advice. Ronder knew that Brandon had +heard this story and was publicly declaring that Ronder had ruined his +son. + +Finally the two men were brought into sharp rivalry over the Pybus living. +Over that, too, the town, or at any rate the Cathedral section of it, was +in two camps. Here, too, Brandon's vociferous publicity had made privacy +impossible. + +Ronder was ashamed, as though his rotund body had been suddenly exposed in +all its obese nakedness before the assembled citizens of Polchester. In +this public quarrel he was not in his element; forces were rising in him +that he distrusted and feared. + +People were laughing...for that he would never forgive Brandon so long +as he lived. + +On this particular afternoon he was about to close the window and try to +work at his sermon when some one knocked at his door. + +"Come in," he said impatiently. The maid appeared. + +"Please, sir, there's some one would like to speak to you." + +"Who is it?" + +"She gave her name as Miss Milton, sir." + +He paused, looking down at his papers. "She said she wouldn't keep you +more than a moment, sir." + +"Very well. I'll see her." + +Fate pushing him again. Why should this woman come to him? How could any +one say that any of the steps that he had taken in this affair had been +his fault? Why, he had had nothing whatever to do with them! + +The sight of Miss Milton in his doorway filled him with the same vague +disgust that he had known on the earlier occasions at the Library. To-day +she was wearing a white cotton dress, rather faded and crumpled, and grey +silk gloves; in one of the fingers there was a hole. She carried a pink +parasol, and wore a large straw hat overtrimmed with roses. Her face with +its little red-rimmed eyes, freckled and flushed complexion, her clumsy +thick-set figure, fitted ill with her youthful dress. + +It was obvious enough that fate had not treated her well since her +departure from the Library; she was running to seed very swiftly, and was +herself bitterly conscious of the fact. + +Ronder, looking at her, was aware that it was her own fault that it was +so. She was incompetent, utterly incompetent. He had, as he had promised, +given her some work to do during these last weeks, some copying, some +arranging of letters, and she had mismanaged it all. She was a muddle- +headed, ill-educated, careless, conceited and self-opinionated woman, and +it did not make it any the pleasanter for Ronder to be aware, as he now +was, that Brandon had been quite right to dismiss her from her Library +post which she had retained far too long. + +She looked across the room at him with an expression of mingled obstinacy +and false humility. Her eyes were nearly closed. + +"Good-afternoon, Canon Ronder," she said. "It is very good of you to see +me. I shall not detain you very long." + +"Well, what is it, Miss Milton?" he said, looking over his shoulder at +her. "I am very busy, as a matter of fact. All these Jubilee affairs-- +however, if I can help you." + +"You can help me, sir. It is a most serious matter, and I need your +advice." + +"Well, sit down there and tell me about it." + +The sun was beating into the room. He went across and pulled down the +blind, partly because it was hot and partly because Miss Milton was less +unpleasant in shadow. + +Miss Milton seemed to find it hard to begin. She gulped in her throat and +rubbed her silk gloves nervously against one another. + +"I daresay I've done wrong in this matter," she began--"many would think +so. But I haven't come here to excuse myself. If I've done wrong, there +are others who have done more wrong--yes, indeed." + +"Please come to the point," said Ronder impatiently. + +"I will, sir. That is my desire. Well, you must know, sir, that after my +most unjust dismissal from the Library I took a couple of rooms with Mrs. +Bassett who lets rooms, as perhaps you know, sir, just opposite St. James' +Rectory, Mr. Morris's." + +"Well?" said Ronder. + +"Well, sir, I had not been there very long before Mrs. Bassett herself, +who is the least interfering and muddling of women, drew my attention to a +curious fact, a most curious fact." + +Miss Milton paused, looking down at her lap and at a little shabby black +bag that lay upon it. + +"Well?" said Ronder again. + +"This fact was that Mrs. Brandon, the wife of Archdeacon Brandon, was in +the habit of coming every day to see Mr. Morris!" + +Ronder got up from his chair. + +"Now, Miss Milton," he said, "let me make myself perfectly clear. If you +have come here to give me a lot of scandal about some person, or persons, +in this town, I do not wish to hear it. You have come to the wrong place. +I wonder, indeed, that you should care to acknowledge to any one that you +have been spying at your window on the movements of some people here. That +is a disgraceful action. I do not think there is any need for this +conversation to continue." + +"Excuse me, Canon Ronder, there _is_ need." Miss Milton showed no +intention whatever of moving from her chair. "I was aware that you would, +in all probability, rebuke me for what I have done. I expected that. At +the same time I may say that I was _not_ spying in any sense of the +word. I could not help it if the windows of my sitting-room looked down +upon Mr. Morris's house. You could not expect me, in this summer weather, +not to sit at my window. + +"At the same time, if these visits of Mrs. Brandon's were all that had +occurred I should certainly not have come and taken up your valuable time +with an account of them; I hope that I know what is due to a gentleman of +your position better than that. It is on a matter of real importance that +I have come to you to ask your advice. Some one's advice I must have, and +if you feel that you cannot give it me, I must go elsewhere. I cannot but +feel that it is better for every one concerned that you should have this +piece of information rather than any one else." + +He noticed how she had grown in firmness and resolve since she had begun +to speak. She now saw her way to the carrying out of her plan. There was a +definite threat in the words of her last sentence, and as she looked at +him across the shadowy light he felt as though he saw down into her mean +little soul, filled now with hatred and obstinacy and jealous +determination. + +"Of course," he said severely, "I cannot refuse your confidence if you are +determined to give it me." + +"Yes," she said, nodding her head. "You have always been very kind to me, +Canon Ronder, as you have been to many others in this place. Thank you." +She looked at him almost as severely as he had looked at her. "I will be +as brief as possible. I will not hide from you that I have never forgiven +Archdeacon Brandon for his cruel treatment of me. That, I think, is +natural. When your livelihood is taken away from you for no reason at all, +you are not likely to forget it--if you are human. And I do not pretend to +be more nor less than human. I will not deny that I saw these visits of +Mrs. Brandon's with considerable curiosity. There was something hurried +and secret in Mrs. Brandon's manner that seemed to me odd. I became then, +quite by chance, the friend of Mr. Morris's cook-housekeeper, Mrs. Baker, +a very nice woman. That, I think, was quite natural as we were neighbours, +so to speak, and Mrs. Baker was herself a friend of Mrs. Bassett's. + +"I asked no indiscreet questions, but at last Mrs. Baker confessed to both +Mrs. Bassett and myself that she did not like what was going on in Mr. +Morris's house, and that she thought of giving notice. When we asked her +what she meant she said that Mrs. Brandon was the trouble, that she was +always coming to the house, and that she and the reverend gentleman were +shut up for hours together by themselves. She told us, too, that Mr. +Morris's sister-in-law, Miss Burnett, had also made objections. We advised +Mrs. Baker that it was her duty to stay, at any rate for the present." + +Miss Milton paused. Ronder said nothing. + +"Well, sir, things got so bad that Miss Burnett went away to the sea. +During her absence Mrs. Brandon came to the house quite regularly, and +Mrs. Baker told us that they scarcely seemed to mind who saw them." + +As Ronder looked at her he realised how little he knew about women. He +hated to realise this, as he hated to realise any ignorance or weakness in +himself, but in the face of the woman opposite to him there was a mixture +of motives--of greed, revenge, yes, and strangely enough, of a virgin's +outraged propriety--that was utterly alien to his experience. He felt his +essential, his almost inhuman, celibacy more at that moment, perhaps, than +he had ever felt it before. + +"Well, sir, this went on for some weeks. Miss Burnett returned, but, as +Mrs. Baker said, the situation remained very strained. To come to my +point, four days ago I was in one evening paying Mrs. Baker a visit. Every +one was out, although Mr. Morris was expected home for his dinner. There +was a ring at the bell and Mrs. Baker said, 'You go, my dear.' She was +busy at the moment with the cooking. I went and opened the hall-door and +there was Mrs. Brandon's parlourmaid that I knew by sight. 'I have a note +for Mr. Morris,' she said. 'You can give it to me,' I said. She seemed to +hesitate, but I told her if she didn't give it to me she might as well +take it away again, because there was no one else in the house. That +seemed to settle her, so telling me it was something special, and was to +be given to Mr. Morris as soon as possible, she left it with me and went. +She'd never seen me before, I daresay, and didn't know I didn't belong to +the house." She paused, then opening her little eyes wide and staring at +Ronder as though she were seeing him for the first time in her life she +said softly, "I have the note here." + +She opened her black bag slowly, peered into it, produced a piece of paper +out of it, and shut it with a sharp little click. + +"You've kept it?" asked Ronder. + +"I've kept it," she repeated, nodding her head. "I know many would say I +was wrong. But was I? That's the question. In any case that is another +matter between myself and my Maker." + +"Please read this, sir?" She held out the paper to him, He took it and +after a moment's hesitation read it. It had neither date nor address. It +ran as follows: + + DEAREST--I am sending this by a safe hand to tell you that I cannot + possibly get down to-night. I am so sorry and most dreadfully + disappointed, but I will explain everything when we meet to-morrow. + This is to prevent your waiting on when I'm not coming. + +There was no signature. + +"You had no right to keep this," he said to her angrily. As he spoke he +looked at the piece of paper and felt again how strange and foreign to him +the whole nature of woman was. The risks that they would take! The foolish +mad things that they would do to satisfy some caprice or whim! + +"How do you know that this was written by Mrs. Brandon?" he asked. + +"Of course I know her handwriting very well," Miss Milton answered. "She +often wrote to me when I was at the Library." + +He was silent. He was seeing those two in the new light of this letter. So +they were really lovers, the drab, unromantic, plain, dull, middle-aged +souls! What had they seen in one another? What had they felt, to drive +them to deeds so desperate, yes, and so absurd? Was there then a world +right outside his ken, a world from which he had been since his birth +excluded? + +Absent-mindedly he had put the letter down on his table. Quickly she +stretched out her gloved hand and took it. The bag clicked over it. + +"Why have you brought this to me?" he asked, looking at her with a disgust +that he did not attempt to conceal. + +"You are the first person to whom I have spoken about the matter," she +answered. "I have not said anything even to Mrs. Baker. I have had the +letter for several days and have not known what is right to do about it." + +"There is only one thing that is right to do about it," he answered +sharply. "Burn it." + +"And say nothing to anybody about it? Oh, Canon Ronder, surely that would +not be right. I should not like people to think that you had given me such +advice. To allow the Rector of St. James' to continue in his position, +with so many looking up to him, and he committing such sins. Oh, no, sir, +I cannot feel that to be right!" + +"It is not our business," he answered angrily. "It is not our affair." + +"Very well, sir." She got up. "It's good of you to give me your opinion. +It is not our affair. Quite so. But it is Archdeacon Brandon's affair. He +should see this letter. I thought that perhaps you yourself might like to +speak to him----" she paused. + +"I will have nothing to do with it," he answered, getting up and standing +over her. "You did very wrong to keep the letter. You are cherishing evil +passions in your heart, Miss Milton, that will bring you nothing but harm +and sorrow in the end. You have come to me for advice, you say. Well, I +give it to you. Burn that letter and forget what you know." + +Her complexion had changed to a strange muddy grey as he spoke. + +"There are others in this town, Canon Ronder," she said, "who are +cherishing much the same passions as myself, although they may not realise +it. I thought it wise to tell you what I know. As you will not help me, I +know now what to do. I am grateful for your advice--which, however, I do +not think you wish me to follow." + +With one last look at him she moved softly to the door and was gone. She +seemed to him to leave some muddy impression of her personality upon the +walls and furniture of the room. He flung up the window, walked about +rubbing his hands against one another behind his back, hating everything +around him. + +The words of the note repeated themselves again and again in his head. + +"Dearest...safe hand...dreadfully disappointed.... Dearest." + +Those two! He saw Morris, with his weak face, his mild eyes, his rather +shabby clothes, his hesitating manner, his thinning hair--and Mrs. +Brandon, so mediocre that no one ever noticed her, never noticed anything +about her--what she wore, what she said, what she did, anything! + +Those two! Ghosts! and in love so that they would risk loss of everything +--reputation, possessions, family--that they might obtain their desire! In +love as he had never been in all his life! + +His thoughts turned, with a little shudder, to Miss Milton. She had come +to him because she thought that he would like to share in her revenge. +That, more than anything, hurt him, bringing him down to her base, sordid +level, making him fellow-conspirator with her, plotting...ugh! How +cruelly unfair that he, upright, generous, should be involved like this so +meanly. + +He washed his hands in the little dressing-room near the study, scrubbing +them as though the contact with Miss Milton still lingered there. Hating +his own company, he went downstairs, where he found Ellen Stiles, having +had a very happy tea with his aunt, preparing to depart. + +"Going, Ellen?" he asked. + +She was in the highest spirits and a hat of vivid green. + +"Yes, I must go. I've been here ever so long. We've had a perfectly lovely +time, talking all about poor Mrs. Maynard and her consumption. There's +simply no hope for her, I'm afraid; it's such a shame when she has four +small children; but as I told her yesterday, it's really best to make up +one's mind to the worst, and there'll be no money for the poor little +things after she's gone. I don't know what they'll do." + +"You must have cheered her up," said Ronder. + +"Well, I don't know about that. Like all consumptives she will persist in +thinking that she's going to get well. Of course, if she had money enough +to go to Davos or somewhere...but she hasn't, so there's simply no hope +at all." + +"If you are going along I'll walk part of the way with you," said Ronder. + +"That _will_ be nice." Ellen kissed Miss Ronder very affectionately. +"Good-bye, you darling. I have had a nice time. Won't it be awful if it's +wet next week? Simply everything will be ruined. I don't see much chance +of its being fine myself. Still you never can tell." + +They went out together. The Precincts was quiet and deserted; a bell, +below in the sunny town, was ringing for Evensong. "Morris's church, +perhaps," thought Ronder. The light was stretched like a screen of +coloured silk across the bright green of the Cathedral square; the great +Church itself was in shadow, misty behind the sun, and shifting from shade +to shade as though it were under water. + +When they had walked a little way Ellen said: "What's the matter?" + +"The matter?" Ronder echoed. + +"Yes. You're looking worried, and that's so rare with you that when it +happens one's interested." + +He hesitated, looking at her and almost stopping in his walk. An infernal +nuisance if Ellen Stiles were to choose this moment for the exercise of +her unfortunate curiosity! He had intended to go down High Street with her +and then to go by way of Orange Street to Foster's rooms; but one could +reach Foster more easily by the little crooked street behind the +Cathedral. He would say good-bye to her here.... Then another thought +struck him. He would go on with her. + +"Isn't your curiosity terrible, Ellen!" he said, laughing. "If you didn't +happen to have a kind heart hidden somewhere about you, you'd be a +perfectly impossible woman. As it is, I'm not sure that you're not." + +"I think perhaps I am," Ellen answered, laughing. "I do take a great +interest in other people's affairs. Well, why not? It prevents me from +being bored." + +"But not from being a bore," said Ronder. "I hate to be unpleasant, but +there's nothing more tiresome than being asked why one's in a certain +mood. However, leave me alone and I will repay your curiosity by some of +my own. Tell me, how much are people talking about Mrs. Brandon and +Morris?" + +This time she was genuinely surprised. On so many occasions he had checked +her love of gossip and scandal and now he was deliberately provoking it. +It was as though he had often lectured her about drinking too much and +then had been discovered by her, secretly tippling. + +"Oh, everybody's talking, of course," she said. "Although you pretend +never to talk scandal you must know enough about the town to know that. +They happen to be talking less just at the moment because nobody's +thinking of anything but the Jubilee." + +"What I want to know," said Ronder, "is how much Brandon is supposed to be +aware of--and does he mind?" + +"He's aware of nothing," said Ellen decisively. "Nothing at all. He's +always looked upon his wife as a piece of furniture, neither very +ornamental nor very useful, but still his property, and therefore to be +reckoned on as stable and submissive. I don't think that in any case he +would ever dream that she could disobey him in anything, but, as it +happens, his son's flight to London and his own quarrel with you entirely +possess his mind. He talks, eats, thinks, dreams nothing else." + +"What would he do, do you think," pursued Ronder, "if he were to discover +that there really _was_ something wrong, that she had been +unfaithful?" + +"Why, is there proof?" asked Ellen Stiles, eagerly, pausing for a moment +in her excitement. + +The sharp note of eagerness in her voice checked him. + +"No--nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. Of course not. And how should I +know if there were?" + +"You're just the person who would know," answered Ellen decisively. +"However many other people you've hoodwinked, you haven't taken _me_ +in all these years. But I'll tell you this as from one friend to another, +that you've made the first mistake in your life by allowing this quarrel +with Brandon to become so public." + +He marvelled again, as he had often marvelled before, at her unerring +genius for discovering just the thing to say to her friends that would +hurt them most. And yet with that she had a kind heart, as he had had +reason often enough to know. Queer things, women! + +"It's not my fault if the quarrel's become public," he said. They were +turning down the High Street now and he could not show all the vexation +that he felt. "It's Brandon's own idiotic character and the love of gossip +displayed by this town." + +"Well, then," she said, delighted that she had annoyed him and that he was +showing his annoyance, "that simply means that you've been defeated by +circumstances. For once they've been too strong for you. If you like that +explanation you'd better take it." + +"Now, Ellen," he said, "you're trying to make me lose my temper in revenge +for my not satisfying your curiosity; give up. You've tried before and +you've always failed." + +She laughed, putting her hand through his arm. + +"Yes, don't let's quarrel," she said. "Isn't it delightful to-night with +the sunlight and the excitement and every one out enjoying themselves? I +love to see them happy, poor things. It's only the successful and the +self-important and the patronising that I want to pull down a little. As +soon as I find myself wanting to dig at somebody, I know it's because +they're getting above themselves. You'd better be careful. I'm not at all +sure that success isn't going to your head." + +"Success?" he asked. + +"Yes. Don't look so innocent. You've been here only a few months and +already you're the only man here who counts. You've beaten Brandon in the +very first round, and it's absurd of you to pretend to an old friend like +myself that you don't know that you have. But be careful." + +The street was shining, wine-coloured, against the black walls that hemmed +it in, black walls scattered with sheets of glass, absurd curtains of +muslin, brown, shabby, self-ashamed backs of looking-glasses, door-knobs, +flower-pots, and collections of furniture, books and haberdashery. + +"Suppose you leave me alone for a moment, Ellen," said Ronder, "and think, +of somebody else. What I really want to know is, how intimate are you with +Mrs. Brandon?" + +"Intimate?" + +"Yes. I mean--could you speak to her? Tell her, in some way, to be more +careful, that she's in danger. Women know how to do these things. I want +to find somebody." + +He paused. _Did_ he want to find somebody? Why this strange +tenderness towards Mrs. Brandon of which he was quite suddenly conscious? +Was it his disgust of Miss Milton, so that he could not bear to think of +any one in the power of such a woman? + +"Warn her?" said Ellen. "Then she _is_ in danger." + +"Only if, as you say, every one is talking. I'm sorry for her." + +They had come to the parting of their ways. "No. I don't know her well +enough for that. She wouldn't take it from me. She wouldn't take it from +anybody. She's prouder than you'd think. And it's my belief she doesn't +care if she is in danger. She'd rather welcome it. That's my belief." + +"Good-bye then. I won't ask you to keep our talk quiet. I don't suppose +you could if you wanted to. But I will ask you to be kind." + +"Why should I be kind? And you know you don't want me to be, really." + +"I do want you to be." + +"No, it's part of the game you're playing. Or if it isn't, you're changing +more than you've ever changed before. Look out! Perhaps it's you that's in +danger!" + +As he turned up Orange Street he wondered again what impulse it was that +was making him sorry for Mrs. Brandon. He always wished people to be +happy--life was easier so--but had he, even yesterday, been told that he +would ever feel concern for Mrs. Brandon, that supreme symbol of feminine +colourless mediocrity, he would have laughed derisively. + +Then the beauty of the hour drove everything else from him. The street +climbed straight into the sky, a broad flat sheet of gold, and on its +height the monument, perched against the quivering air, was a purple +shaft, its gesture proud, haughty, exultant. Suddenly he saw in front of +him, moving with quick, excited steps, Mrs. Brandon, an absurdly +insignificant figure against that splendour. + +He felt as though his thoughts had evoked her out of space, and as though +she was there against her will. Then he felt that he, too, was there +against his will, and that he had nothing to do with either the time or +the place. + +He caught her up. She started nervously when he said, "Good evening, Mrs. +Brandon," and raised her little mouse-face with its mild, hesitating, +grey eyes to his. He knew her only slightly and was conscious that she did +not like him. That was not his affair; she had become something quite new +to him since he had gained this knowledge of her--she was provocative, +suggestive, even romantic. + +"Good evening, Canon Ronder." She did not smile nor slacken her steps. + +"Isn't this a lovely evening?" he said. "If we have this weather next week +we shall be lucky indeed." + +"Yes, shan't we--shan't we?" she said nervously, not considering him, but +staring straight at the street in front of her. + +"I think all the preparations are made," Ronder went on in the genial easy +voice that he always adopted with children and nervous women. "There +should be a tremendous crowd if the weather's fine. People already are +pouring in from every part of the country, they tell me--sleeping +anywhere, in the fields and the hedges. This old town will be proud of +herself." + +"Yes, yes," Mrs. Brandon looked about her as though she were trying to +find a way of escape. "I'm so glad you think that the weather will be +fine. I'm so glad. I think it will myself. I hope Miss Ronder is well." + +"Very well, thank you." What _could_ Morris see in her, with her ill- +fitting clothes, her skirt trailing a little in the dust, her hat too big +and heavy for her head, her hair escaping in little untidy wisps from +under it? She looked hot, too, and her nose was shiny. + +"You're coming to the Ball of course," he went on, relieved that now they +were near the top of the little hill. "It's to be the best Ball the +Assembly Rooms have seen since--since Jane Austen." + +"Jane Austen?" asked Mrs. Brandon vaguely. + +"Well, her time, you know, when dancing was all the rage. We ought to have +more dances here, I think, now that there are so many young people about." + +"Yes, I agree with you. My daughter is coming out at the Ball." + +"Oh, is she? I'm sure she'll have a good time. She's so pretty. Every +one's fond of her." + +He waited, but apparently Mrs. Brandon had nothing more to say. There was +a pause, then Mrs. Brandon, as though she had been suddenly pushed to it +by some one behind her, held out her hand.... + +"Good evening, Canon Ronder." + +He said good-bye and watched her for a moment as she went up past the neat +little villas, her dress trailing behind her, her hat bobbing with every +step. He looked up at the absurd figure on the top of the monument, the +gentleman in frock-coat and tall hat commemorated there. The light had +left him. He was not purple now but a dull grey. He, too, had doubtless +had his romance, blood and tears, anger and agony for somebody. How hard +to keep out of such things, and yet one must if one is to achieve +anything. Keep out of it, detached, observant, comfortable. Strange that +in life comfort should be so difficult to attain! + +Climbing Green Lane he was surprised to feel how hot it was. The trees +that clustered over his head seemed to have gathered together all the heat +of the day. Everything conspired to annoy him! Bodger's Street, when he +turned into it, was, from his point of view, at its very worst, crowded +and smelly and rocking with noise. The fields behind Bodger's Street and +Canon's Yard sloped down the hill then up again out into the country +beyond. + +It was here on this farther hill that the gipsies had been allowed to +pitch their caravans, and that the Fair was already preparing its +splendours. It was through these gates that the countrymen would penetrate +the town's defences, just as on the other side, low down in Seatown on the +Pol's banks, the seafaring men, fishermen and sailors and merchantmen, +were gathering. Bodger's Street was already alive with the anticipation of +the coming week's festivities. Gas-jets were flaming behind hucksters' +booths, all the population of the place was out on the street enjoying the +fine summer evening, shouting, laughing, singing, quarrelling. The effect +of the street illumined by these uncertain flares that leapt unnaturally +against the white shadow of the summer sky was of something mediaeval, and +that impression was deepened by the overhanging structure of the Cathedral +that covered the faint blue and its little pink clouds like a swinging +spider's web. + +Ronder, however, was not now thinking of the town. His mind was fixed upon +his approaching interview with Foster. Foster had just paid a visit, quite +unofficial and on a private personal basis, to Wistons, to sound him about +the Pybus living and his action if he were offered it. + +Ronder understood men very much better than he understood women. He +understood Foster so long as ambition and religion were his motives, but +there was something else in play that he did not understand. It was not +only that Foster did not like him--he doubted whether Foster liked anybody +except the Bishop--it was rather perhaps that Foster did not like himself. +Now it is the first rule of fanaticism that you should be so lost in the +impulse of your inspiration that you should have no power left with which +to consider yourself at all. Foster was undoubtedly a fanatic, but he did +consider himself and even despised himself. Ronder distrusted self- +contempt in a man simply because nothing made him so uncomfortable as +those moments of his own when he wondered whether he were all that he +thought himself. Those moments did not last long, but he hated them so +bitterly that he could not bear to see them at work in other people. +Foster was the kind of fanatic who might at any minute decide to put peas +in his shoes and walk to Jerusalem; did he so decide, he would abandon, +for that decision, all the purposes for which he might at the time be +working. Ronder would certainly never walk to Jerusalem. + +The silence and peace of Canon's Yard when he left Bodger's Street was +almost dramatic. All that penetrated there was a subdued buzz with an +occasional shrill note as it might be on a penny whistle. The Yard was +dark, lit only by a single lamp, and the cobbles uneven. Lights here and +there set in the crooked old windows were secret and uncommunicative: the +Cathedral towers seemed immensely tall against the dusk. It would not be +dark for another hour and a half, but in those old rooms with their small +casements light was thin and uncertain. + +He climbed the rickety stairs to Foster's rooms. As always, something made +him pause outside Foster's door and listen. All the sounds of the old +building seemed to come up to him; not human voices and movements, but the +life of the old house itself, the creaking protests of stairways, the +sighs of reluctant doors, the harping groans of ill-mannered window- +frames, the coughs and wheezes of trembling walls, the shudders of ill- +boding banisters. + +"This house will collapse, the first gale," he thought, and suddenly the +Cathedral chimes, striking the half-hour, crashed through the wall, +knocking and echoing as though their clatter belonged to that very house. + +The echo died, and the old place recommenced its murmuring. + +Foster, blinking like an old owl, came to the door and, without a word, +led the way into his untidy room. He cleared a chair of papers and books +and Ronder sat down. + +"Well?" said Ronder. + +Foster was in a state of overpowering excitement, but he looked to Ronder +older and more worn than a week ago. There were dark pouches under his +eyes, his cheeks were drawn, and his untidy grey hair seemed thin and +ragged--here too long, there showing the skull gaunt and white beneath +it. His eyes burnt with a splendid flame; in them there was the light of +eternal life. + +"Well?" said Ronder again, as Foster did not answer his first question. + +"He's coming," Foster cried, striding about the room, his shabby slippers +giving a ghostly tip-tap behind him. "He's coming! Of course I had never +doubted it, but I hadn't expected that he would be so eager as he is. He +let himself go to me at once. Of course he knew that I wasn't official, +that I had no backing at all. He's quite prepared for things to go the +other way, although I told him that I thought there would be little chance +of that if we all worked together. He didn't ask many questions. He knows +all the conditions well. Since I saw him last he's gained in every way-- +wiser, better disciplined, more sure of himself--everything that I have +never been...." Foster paused, then went on. "I think never in all my life +have I felt affection so go out to another human being. He is a man after +my own heart--a child of God, an inheritor of Eternal Life, a leader of +men----" + +Ronder interrupted him. + +"Yes, but as to detail. Did you discuss that? He knew of the opposition?" + +Foster waved his hand contemptuously. "Brandon? What does that amount to? +Why, even in the week that I have been away his power has lessened. The +hand of God is against him. Everything is going wrong with him. I loathe +scandal, but there is actually talk going on in the town about his wife. I +could feel pity for the man were he not so dangerous." + +"You are wrong there, Foster," Ronder said eagerly. "Brandon isn't +finished yet--by no manner of means. He still has most of the town behind +him and a big majority with the Cathedral people. He stands for what they +think or _don't_ think--old ideas, conservatism, every established +dogma you can put your hand on, bad music, traditionalism, superstition +and carelessness. It is not Brandon himself we are fighting, but what he +stands for." + +Foster stopped and looked down at Ronder. "You'll forgive me if I speak my +mind," he said. "I'm an older man than you are, and in any case it's my +way to say what I think. You know that by this time. You've made a mistake +in allowing this quarrel with Brandon to become so personal a matter." + +Ronder flushed angrily. + +"Allowing!" he retorted. "As though that were not the very thing that I've +tried to prevent it from becoming. But the old fool has rushed out and +shouted his grievances to everybody. I suppose you've heard of the +ridiculous quarrel we had coming away from Carpledon. The whole town knows +of it. There never was a more ridiculous scene. He stood in the middle of +the road and screamed like a madman. It's my belief he _is_ going +mad! A precious lot I had to do with that. I was as amiable as possible. +But you can't deal with him. His conceit and his obstinacy are monstrous." + +Nothing was more irritating in Foster than the way that he had of not +listening to excuses; he always brushed them aside as though they were +beneath notice. + +"You shouldn't have made it a personal thing," he repeated. "People will +take sides--are already doing so. It oughtn't to be between you two at +all." + +"I tell you it is not!" Ronder answered angrily. Then with a great effort +he pulled himself in. "I don't know what has been happening to me lately," +he said with a smile. "I've always prided myself on keeping out of +quarrels, and in any case I'm not going to quarrel with you. I'm sure +you're right. It _is_ a pity that the thing's become personal. I'll +see what I can do." + +But Foster paid as little attention to apologies as to excuses. + +"That's been a mistake," he said; "and there have been other mistakes. You +are too personally ambitious, Ronder. We are working for the glory of God +and for no private interests whatever." + +Ronder smiled. "You're hard on me," he said; "but you shall think what you +like. I won't allow that I've been personally ambitious, but it's +difficult sometimes when you're putting all your energies into a certain +direction not to seem to be serving your own ends. I like power--who +doesn't? But I would gladly sacrifice any personal success if that were +needed to win the main battle." + +"Win!" Foster cried. "Win! But we've got to win! There's never been such a +chance for us! If Brandon wins now our opportunity is gone for another +generation. What Wistons can do here if he comes! The power that he will +be!" + +Suddenly there came into Ronder's mind for the first time the thought that +was to recur to him very often in the future. Was it wise of him to work +for the coming of a man who might threaten his own power? He shook that +from him. He would deal with that when the time came. For the present +Brandon was enough.... + +"Now as to detail..." Ronder said. + +They sat down at the paper-littered table. For another hour and a half +they stayed there, and it would have been curious for an observer to see +how, in this business, Ronder obtained an absolute mastery. Foster, the +fire dead in his eyes, the light gone, followed him blindly, agreeing to +everything, wondering at the clearness, order and discipline of his plans. +An hour ago, treading the soil of his own country, he had feared no man, +and his feeling for Ronder had been one half-contempt, half-suspicion. Now +he was in the other's hands. This was a world into which he had never won +right of entry. + +The Cathedral chimes struck nine. Ronder got up and put his papers away +with a little sigh of satisfaction. He knew that his work had been good. + +"There's nothing that we've forgotten. Bentinck-Major will be caught +before he knows where he is. Ryle too. Let us get through this next week +safely and the battle's won." + +Foster blinked. + +"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly. "Yes, yes. Good-night, good-night," and +almost pushed Ronder from the room. + +"I don't believe he's taken in a word of it," Ronder thought, as he went +down the creaking stairs. + +At the top of Badger's Street he paused. The street was still; the sky was +pale green on the horizon, purple overhead. The light was still strong, +but, to the left beyond the sloping fields, the woods were banked black +and sombre. From the meadow in front of the woods came the sounds of an +encampment--women shouting, horses neighing, dogs barking. A few lights +gleamed like red eyes. The dusky forms of caravans with their thick-set +chimneys, ebony-coloured against the green sky, crouched like animals +barking. A woman was singing, men's voices took her up, and the song came +rippling across the little valley. + +All the stir of an invading world was there. + + + + +Chapter II + +Friday, June 18: Shadow Meets Shadow + + + +On that Friday evening, about half-past six o'clock, Archdeacon Brandon, +just as he reached the top of the High Street, saw God. + +There was nothing either strange or unusual about this. Having had all his +life the conviction that he and God were on the most intimate of terms, +that God knew and understood himself and his wants better than any other +friend that he had, that just as God had definitely deputed him to work +out certain plans on this earth, so, at times, He needed his own help and +advice, having never wavered for an instant in the very simplest tenets of +his creed, and believing in every word of the New Testament as though the +events there recorded had only a week ago happened in his own town under +his own eyes--all this being so, it was not strange that he should +sometimes come into close and actual contact with his Master. + +It may be said that it was this very sense of contact, continued through +long years of labour and success, that was the original foundation of the +Archdeacon's pride. If of late years that pride had grown from the seeds +of the Archdeacon's own self-confidence and appreciation, who can blame +him? + +We translate more easily than we know our gratitude to God into our +admiration of ourselves. + +Over and over again in the past, when he had been labouring with especial +fervour, he was aware that, in the simplest sense of the word, God was +"walking with him." He was conscious of a new light and heat, of a fresh +companionship; he could almost translate into physical form that +comradeship of which he was so tenderly aware. How could it be but that +after such an hour he should look down from those glorious heights upon +his other less favoured fellow-companions? No merit of his own that he had +been chosen, but the choice had been made. + +On this evening he was in sad need of comfort. Never in all his past years +had life gone so hardly with him as it was going now. It was as though, +about three or four months back, he had, without knowing it, stepped into +some new and terrible country. One feature after another had changed, old +familiar faces wore new unfamiliar disguises, every step that he took now +seemed to be dangerous, misfortune after misfortune had come to him, at +first slight and even ludicrous, at last with Falk's escape, serious and +bewildering. Bewildering! That was the true word to describe his case! He +was like a man moving through familiar country and overtaken suddenly by a +dense fog. Through it all, examine it as minutely as he might, he could +not see that he had committed the slightest fault. + +He had been as he had always been, and yet the very face of the town was +changed to him, his son had left him, even his wife, to whom he had been +married for twenty years, was altered. Was it not natural, therefore, that +he should attribute all of this to the only new element that had been +introduced into his life during these last months, to the one human being +alive who was his declared enemy, to the one man who had openly, in the +public road, before witnesses, insulted him, to the man who, from the +first moment of his coming to Polchester, had laughed at him and mocked +and derided him? + +To Ronder! To Ronder! The name was never out of his brain now, lying +there, stirring, twisting in his very sleep, sneering, laughing even in +the heart of his private prayers. + +He was truly in need of God that evening, and there, at the top of the +High Street, he saw Him framed in all the colour and glow and sparkling +sunlight of the summer evening, filling him with warmth and new courage, +surrounding him, enveloping him in love and tenderness. + +Cynics might say that it was because the Archdeacon, no longer so young as +he had been, was blown by his climb of the High Street and stood, +breathing hard for a moment before he passed into the Precincts, lights +dancing before his eyes as they will when one is out of breath, the ground +swaying a little under the pressure of the heart, the noise of the town +rocking in the ears. + +That is for the cynics to say. Brandon knew; his experiences had been in +the past too frequent for him, even now, to make a mistake. + +Running down the hill went the High Street, decorated now with flags and +banners in honour of the great event; cutting the sky, stretching from +Brent's the haberdasher's across to Adams' the hairdresser's, was a vast +banner of bright yellow silk stamped in red letters with "Sixty Years Our +Queen. God Bless Her!" + +Just beside the Archdeacon, above the door of the bookshop where he had +once so ignominiously taken refuge, was a flag of red, white and blue, and +opposite the bookseller's, at Gummridge's the stationer's, was a little +festoon of flags and a blue message stamped on a white ground: "God Bless +Our Queen: Long May She Reign!" + +All down the street flags and streamers were fluttering in the little +summer breeze that stole about the houses and windows and doors as though +anxiously enquiring whether people were not finding the evening just a +little too warm. + +People were not finding it at all too warm. Every one was out and +strolling up and down, laughing and whistling and chattering, dressed, +although it was only Friday, in nearly their Sunday best. The shops were +closing, one by one, and the throng was growing thicker and thicker. So +little traffic was passing that young men and women were already marching +four abreast, arm-in-arm, along the middle of the street. It was a long +time--ten years, in fact--since Polchester had seen such gaiety. + +This was behind the Archdeacon; in front of him was the dark archway in +which the grass of the Cathedral square was framed like the mirrored +reflection of evening light where the pale blue and pearl white are +shadowed with slanting green. The peace was profound--nothing stirred. +There in the archway God stood, smiling upon His faithful servant, only as +Brandon approached Him passing into shadow and sunlight and the intense +blue of the overhanging sky. + +Brandon tried then, as he had often tried before, to keep that contact +close to himself, but the ecstatic moment had passed; it had lasted, it +seemed, on this occasion a shorter time than ever before. He bowed his +head, stood for a moment under the arch offering a prayer as simple and +innocent as a child offers at its mother's knee, then with an +instantaneous change that in a more complex nature could have meant only +hypocrisy, but that with him was perfectly sincere, he was in a moment the +hot, angry, mundane priest again, doing battle with his enemies and +defying them to destroy him. + +Nevertheless the transition to-night was not quite so complete as usual. +He was unhappy, lonely, and in spite of himself afraid, afraid of he knew +not what, as a child might be when its candle is blown out. And with this +unhappiness his thoughts turned to home. Falk's departure had caused him +to consider his wife more seriously than he had ever done in all their +married life before. She had loved Falk; she must be lonely without him, +and during these weeks he had been groping in a clumsy baffled kind of way +towards some expression to her of the kindness and sympathy that he was +feeling. + +But those emotions do not come easily after many years of disuse; he was +always embarrassed and self-conscious when he expressed affection. He was +afraid of her, too, thought that if he showed too much kindness she might +suddenly become emotional, fling her arms around him and cover his face +with kisses--something of that kind. + +Then of late she had been very strange; ever since that Sunday morning +when she had refused to go to Communion.... Strange! Women are strange! As +different from men as Frenchmen are from Englishmen! + +But he would like to-night to come closer to her. Dimly, far within him, +something was stirring that told him that it had been his own fault that +during all these years she had drifted away from him. He must win her +back! A thing easily done. In the Archdeacon's view of life any man had +only got to whistle and fast the woman came running! + +But to-night he wanted some one to care for him and to tell him that all +was well and that the many troubles that seemed to be crowding about him +were but imaginary after all. + +When he reached the house he found that he had only just time to dress for +dinner. He ran upstairs, and then, when his door was closed and he was +safely inside his bedroom, he had to pause and stand, his hand upon his +heart. How it was hammering! like a beast struggling to escape its cage. +His knees, too, were trembling. He was forced to sit down. After all, he +was not so young as he had been. + +These recent months had been trying for him. But how humiliating! He was +glad that there had been no one there to see him. He would need all his +strength for the battle that was in front of him. Yes, he was glad that +there had been no one to see him. He would ask old Puddifoot to look at +him, although the man _was_ an ass. He drank a glass of water, then +slowly dressed. + +He came downstairs and went into the drawing-room. His wife was there, +standing in the shadow by the window, staring out into the Precincts. He +came across the room softly to her, then gently put his hand on her +shoulder. + +She had not heard his approach. She turned round with a sharp cry and then +faced him, staring, her eyes terrified. He, on his side, was so deeply +startled by her alarm that he could only stare back at her, himself +frightened and feeling a strange clumsy foolishness at her alarm. + +Broken sentences came from her: "What did you--? Who--? You shouldn't have +done that. You frightened me." + +Her voice was sharply angry, and in all their long married life together +he had never before felt her so completely a stranger; he felt as though +he had accosted some unknown woman in the street and been attacked by her +for his familiarity. He took refuge, as he always did when he was +confused, in pomposity. + +"Really, my dear, you'd think I was a burglar. Hum--yes. You shouldn't be +so easily startled." + +She was still staring at him as though even now she did not realise his +identity. Her hands were clenched and her breath came in little hurried +gasps as though she had been running. + +"No--you shouldn't...silly...coming across the room like that." + +"Very well, very well," he answered testily. "Why isn't dinner ready? It's +ten minutes past the time." + +She moved across the room, not answering him. + +Suddenly his pomposity was gone. He moved over to her, standing before her +like an overgrown schoolboy, looking at her and smiling uneasily. + +"The truth is, my dear," he said, "that I can't conceive my entering a +room without everybody hearing it. No, I can't indeed," he laughed +boisterously. "You tell anybody that I crossed a room without your hearing +it, and they won't believe you. No, they wont." + +He bent down and kissed her. His touch tickled her cheek, but she made no +movement. He felt, as his hand rested on her shoulder, that she was still +trembling. + +"Your nerves must be in a bad way," he said. "Why, you're trembling still! +Why don't you see Puddifoot?" + +"No--no," she answered hurriedly. "It was silly of me----" Making a great +effort, she smiled up at him. + +"Well, how's everything going?" + +"Going?" + +"Yes, for the great day. Is everything settled?" + +He began to tell her in the old familiar, so boring way, every detail of +the events of the last few hours. + +"I was just by Sharps' when I remembered that I'd said nothing to Nixon +about those extra seats at the back off the nave, so I had to go all the +way round----" + +Joan came in. His especial need of some one that night, rejected as it had +been at once by his wife, turned to his daughter. How pretty she was, he +thought, as she came across the room sunlit with the deep evening gold +that struck in long paths of light into the darkest shadows and corners. + +That moment seemed suddenly the culmination of the advance that they had +been making towards one another during the last six months. When she came +close to him, he, usually so unobservant, noticed that she, too, was in +distress. + +She was smiling but she was unhappy, and he suddenly felt that he had been +neglecting her and letting her fight her battles alone, and that she +needed his love as urgently as he needed hers. He put his arm around her +and drew her to him. The movement was so unlike him and so unexpected that +she hesitated a little, then happily came closer to him, resting her head +on his shoulder. They had both, for a moment, forgotten Mrs. Brandon. + +"Tired?" he asked Joan. + +"Yes. I've been working at those silly old flags all the afternoon. Two of +them are not finished now. We've got to go again to-morrow morning." + +"Everything ready for the Ball?" + +"Yes, my dress is lovely. Oh, mummy, Mrs. Sampson says will you let two +relations of theirs sit in our seat on Sunday morning? She hadn't known +that they were coming, and she's very bothered about it, and I'll tell her +whether they can in the morning." + +They both turned and saw Mrs. Brandon, who had gone back to the window and +again was looking at the Cathedral, now in deep black shadow. + +"Yes, dear. There'll be room. There's only you and I----" + +Joan had in the pocket of her dress a letter. As they went in to dinner +she could hear its paper very faintly crackle against her hand. It was +from Falk and was as follows: + + DEAR JOAN--I have written to father but he hasn't answered. Would you + find out what he thought about my letter and what he intends to do? I + don't mind owning to you that I miss him terribly, and I would give + anything just to see him for five minutes. I believe that if he saw me + I could win him over. Otherwise I am very happy indeed. We are married + and live in two little rooms just off Baker Street. You don't know + where that is, do you? Well, it's a very good place to be, near the + park, and lots of good shops and not very expensive. Our landlady is a + jolly woman, as kind as anything, and I'm getting quite enough work to + keep the wolf from the door. I know more than ever now that I've done + the right thing, and father will recognise it, too, one day. How is + he? Of course my going like that was a great shock to him, but it was + the only way to do it. When you write tell me about his health. He + didn't seem so well just before I left. Now, Joan, write and tell me + everything. One thing is that he's got so much to do that he won't + have much time to think about me.--Your affectionate brother, + + FALK. + +This letter, which had arrived that morning, had given Joan a great deal +to think about. It had touched her very deeply. Until now Falk had never +shown that he had thought about her at all, and now here he was depending +on her and needing her help. At the same time, she had not the slightest +guide as to her father's attitude. Falk's name had not been mentioned in +the house during these last weeks, and, although she realised that a new +relationship was springing up between herself and her father, she was +still shy of him and conscious of a deep gulf between them. She had, too, +her own troubles, and, try as she might to beat them under, they came up +again and again, confronting her and demanding that she should answer +them. + +Now she put the whole of that aside and concentrated on her father. +Watching him during dinner, he seemed to her suddenly to have become +older; there was a glow in her heart as she thought that at last he really +needed her. After all, if through life she were destined to be an old +maid--and that, in the tragic moment of her youth that was now upon her, +seemed her inevitable destiny--here was some one for whom at last she +could care. + +She had felt before she came down to dinner that she was old and ugly and +desperately unattractive. Across the dinner-table she flung away, as she +imagined for ever, all hopes for beauty and charm; she would love her +father and he should love her, and every other man in the world might +vanish for all that she cared. And had she only known it, she had never +before looked so pretty as she did that night. This also she did not know, +that her mother, catching a sudden picture of her under the candle-light, +felt a deep pang of almost agonising envy. She, making her last desperate +bid for love, was old and haggard; the years for her could only add to +that age. Her gambler's throw was foredoomed before she had made it. + +After dinner, Brandon, as always, retired into the deepest chair in the +drawing-room and buried himself in yesterday's _Times_. He read a +little, but the words meant nothing to him. Jubilee! Jubilee! Jubilee! He +was sick of the word. Surely they were overdoing it. When the great day +itself came every one would be so tired.... + +He pushed the paper aside and picked up _Punch_. Here, again, that +eternal word--"How to see the Procession. By one who has thought it out. +Of course you must be out early. As the traffic...." + +JOKE--Jinks: Don't meet you 'ere so often as we used to, Binks, eh? + +Binks: Well--no. It don't run to Hopera Box _this_ Season, because, +you see, we've took a Window for this 'ere Jubilee. + +Then, on one page, "The Walrus and the Carpenter: Jubilee Version." "In +Anticipation of the Naval Review." "Two Jubilees?" On the next page an +illustration of the Jubilee Walrus. On the next--"Oh, the Jubilee!" On the +next, Toby M.P.'s "Essence of Parliament," with a "Reed" drawing of "A +Naval Field Battery for the Jubilee." + +The paper fell from his hand. During these last days he had had no time to +read the paper, and he had fancied, as perhaps every Polcastrian was just +then fancying, that the Jubilee was a private affair for Polchester's own +private benefit. He felt suddenly that Polchester was a small out-of-the- +way place of no account; was there any one in the world who cared whether +Polchester celebrated the Jubilee or not? Nobody.... + +He got up and walked across to the window, pulling the curtains aside and +looking out at the deep purple dusk that stained the air like wine. The +clock behind him struck a quarter past nine. Two tiny stars, like +inquisitive mocking eyes, winked at him above the high Western tower. +Moved by an impulse that was too immediate and peremptory to be +investigated, he went into the hall, found his hat and stick, opened +softly the door as though he were afraid that some one would try to stop +him, and was soon on the grass in front of the Cathedral, staring about +him as though he had awakened from a bewildering dream. + +He went across to the little side-door, found his key, and entered the +Cathedral, leaving the gargoyle to grin after him, growing more alive, and +more malicious too, with every fading moment of the light. + +Within the Cathedral there was a strange shadowy glow as though behind the +thick cold pillars lights were burning. He found his way, stumbling over +the cane-bottomed chairs that were piled in measured heaps in the side +aisle, into the nave. Even he, used to it as he had been for so many +years, was thrilled to-night. There was a movement of preparation abroad; +through all the stillness there was the stir of life. It seemed to him +that the armoured knights and the high-bosomed ladies, and the little +cupids with their pursed lips and puffing cheeks, and the angels with +their too solid wings were watching him and breathing round him as he +passed. Late though it was, a dim light from the great East window fell in +broad slabs of purple and green shadow across the grey; everything was +indistinct; only the white marble of the Reredos was like a figured sheet +hanging from wall to wall, and the gilded trumpets of the angels on the +choir-screen stood out dimly like spider pattern. He felt a longing that +the place should return his love and tenderness. The passion of his life +was here; he knew to-night, as he had never before, the life of its own +that this place had, and as he stayed there, motionless in the centre of +the nave, some doubt stole into his heart as to whether, after all, he and +it were one and indivisible, as for so long he had believed. Take this +away, and what was left to him? His son had gone, his wife and daughter +were strange to him; if this, too, went.... + +The sudden chill sense of loneliness was awful to him. All those naked and +sightless eyes staring from those embossed tombs were menacing, scornful, +deriding. + +He had never known such a mood, and he wondered suddenly whether these +last months had affected his brain. + +He had never doubted during the last ten years his power over this and its +gratitude to him for what he had done: now, in this chill and green-hued +air, it seemed not to care for him at all. + +He moved up into the choir and sat down in his familiar stall; all that he +could see--his eyes seemed to be drawn by some will stronger than his own +--was the Black Bishop's Tomb. The blue stone was black behind the gilded +grating, the figure was like a moulded shell holding some hidden form. The +light died; the purple and green faded from the nave--the East window was +dark--only the white altar and the whiter shadows above it hovered, +thinner light against deeper grey. As the light was withdrawn the +Cathedral seemed to grow in height until Brandon felt himself minute, and +the pillars sprang from the floor beneath him into unseen canopied +distance. He was cold; he longed suddenly, with a strange terror quite new +to him, for human company, and stumbled up and hurried down the choir, +almost falling over the stone steps, almost running through the long, +dark, deserted nave. He fancied that other steps echoed his own, that +voices whispered, and that figures thronged beneath the pillars to watch +him go. It was as though he were expelled. + +Out in the evening air he was in his own world again. He was almost +tempted to return into the Cathedral to rid himself of the strange fancies +that he had had, so that they might not linger with him. He found himself +now on the farther side of the Cathedral, and after walking a little way +he was on the little narrow path that curved down through the green banks +to the river. Behind him was the Cathedral, to his right Bodger's Street +and Canon's Yard, in front of him the bending hill, the river, and then +the farther slips where the lights of the gipsy encampment sparkled and +shone. Here the air was lovely, cool and soft, and the stars were crowding +into the summer sky in their myriads. But his depression did not leave +him, nor his loneliness. He longed for Falk with a great longing. He could +not hold out against the boy for very much longer; but even then, were the +quarrel made up, things would not now he the same. Falk did not need him +any more. He had new life, new friends, new work. + +"It's my nerves," thought Brandon. "I will go and see Puddifoot." It +seemed to him that some one, and perhaps more than one, had followed him +from the Cathedral. He turned sharply round as though he would catch +somebody creeping upon him. He turned round and saw Samuel Hogg standing +there. + +"Evening, Archdeacon," said Hogg. + +Brandon said, his voice shaking with anger: "What are you following me +for?" + +"Following you, Archdeacon?" + +"Yes, following me. I have noticed it often lately. If you have anything +to say to me write to me." + +"Following you? Lord, no! What makes you think of such a thing, +Archdeacon? Can't a feller enjoy the evenin' air on such a lovely night as +this without being accused of following a gentleman?" + +"You know that you are trying to annoy me." Brandon, had pulled himself +up, but his hatred of that grinning face with its purple veins, its +piercing eyes, was working strongly upon his nerves, so that his hands +seemed to move towards it without his own impulsion. "You have been trying +to annoy me for weeks now. I'll stand you no longer. If I have any more of +this nuisance I'll put it into the hands of the police." + +Hogg spat out complacently over the grass. "Now, that _is_ an absurd +thing," he said, smiling. "Because a man's tired and wants some air after +his day's work he's accused of being a nuisance. It's a bit thick, that's +what it is. Now, tell, Archdeacon, do you happen to have bought this 'ere +town, because if so I should be glad to know it--and so would a number of +others too." + +"Very well, then," said Brandon, moving away. "If you won't go, I will." + +"There's no need for temper that I can see," said Hogg. "No call for it at +all, especially that we're a sort of relation now. Almost brothers, seeing +as how your son has married my daughter." + +Lower and lower! Lower and lower! + +He was moving in a world now where figures, horrible, obscene and foul, +could claim him, could touch him, had their right to follow him. + +"You will get nothing from me," Brandon answered. "You are wasting your +time." + +"Wasting my time?" Hogg laughed. "Not me! I'm enjoying myself. I don't +want anything from you except just to see you sometimes and have a little +chat. That's quite enough for me! I've taken quite a liking to you, +Archdeacon, which is as it should be between relations, and, often enough, +it isn't so. I like to see a proud gentleman like yourself mixing with +such as me. It's good for both of us, as you might say." + +Brandon's anger--always dangerously uncontrolled--rose until it seemed to +have the whole of his body in his grasp, swaying it, ebbing and flowing +with swift powerful current through his heart into his brain. Now he could +only see the flushed, taunting face, the little eyes.... + +But Hogg's hour was not yet. He suddenly touched his cap, smiling. + +"Well, good evening, Archdeacon. We'll be meeting again,"--and he was +gone. + +As swiftly as the anger had flowed now it ebbed, leaving him trembling, +shaking, that strange sharp pain cutting his brain, his heart seeming to +leap into his head, to beat there like a drum, and to fall back with heavy +thud into his chest again. He stood waiting for calm. He was humiliated, +desperately, shamefully. He could not go on here; he must leave the place. +Leave it? Be driven away by that scoundrel? Never! He would face them all +and show them that he was above and beyond their power. + +But the peace of the evening and the glory of the stars gradually stole +into his heart. He had been wrong, terribly wrong. His pride, his conceit, +had been destroying him. With a sudden flash of revelation he saw it. He +had trusted in his own power, put himself on a level with the God whom he +served. A rush of deep and sincere humility overwhelmed him. He bowed his +head and prayed. + + * * * * * + +Some while later he turned up the path towards home. The whole sky now +burnt with stars; fires were a dull glow across the soft gulf of grey, the +gipsy fires. Once and again a distant voice could be heard singing. As he +reached the corner of the Cathedral, and was about to turn up towards the +Precincts, a strange sound reached his ears. He stood where he was and +listened. At first he could not define what he heard--then suddenly he +realised. Quite close to him a man was sobbing. + +There is something about the sounds of a man's grief that is almost +indecent. This sobbing was pitiful in its abandonment and in its effort to +control and stifle. + +Brandon, looking more closely, saw the dark shadow of a man's body pressed +against the inside buttress of the corner of the Cathedral wall. The +shadow crouched, the body all drawn together as though folding in upon +itself to hide its own agony. + +Brandon endeavoured to move softly up the path, but his step crunched on +some twigs, and at the sharp noise the sobbing suddenly ceased. The figure +turned. + +It was Morris. The two men looked at one another for an instant, then +Morris, still like a shadow, vanished swiftly into the dusk. + + + + +Chapter III + +Saturday, June 19: The Ball + + + +Joan was in her hedroom preparing for the Ball. It was now only half-past +six and the Ball was not until half-past nine, but Mr. Mumphit, the +be-curled, the be-scented young assistant from the hairdresser's in the +High Street had paid his visit very early because he had so many other +heads of so many other young ladies to dress in Polchester that evening. +So Joan sat in front of the long looking-glass, a towel still over her +shoulders, looking at herself in a state of ecstasy and delight. + +It was wrong of her, perhaps, to feel so happy--she felt that deep in her +consciousness; wrong, with all the trouble in the house, Falk gone in +disgrace, her father unhappy, her mother so strange; but to-night she +could not help herself. The excitement was spluttering and crackling all +over the town, the wonderful week upon which the whole country was +entering, the Ball, her own coming-out Ball, and the consciousness that He +would be there, and, even though He did love another, would be sure to +give her at least one dance; these things were all too strong for her--she +was happy, happy, happy--her eyes danced, her toes danced, her very soul +danced for sheer delirious joy. Had any one been behind her to look over +her shoulder into the glass, he would have seen the reflection in that +mirror of one of the prettiest children the wide world could show; +especially childish she looked to-night with her dark hair piled high on +her head, her eyes wide with wonder, her neck and shoulders so delicately +white and soft. Behind her, on the bed, was the dress, on the dingy carpet +a pair of shoes of silver tissue, the loveliest things she had ever had. +They were reflected in the mirror, little blobs of silver, and as she saw +them the colour mounted still higher in her cheeks. She had no right to +them; she had not paid for them. They were the first things that she had +ever, in all her life, bought on credit. Neither her father nor her mother +knew anything about them, but she had seen them in Harriott's shop-window +and had simply not been able to resist them. + +If, after all, she was to dance with Him, that made anything right. Were +she sent to prison because she could not pay for them it would not matter. +She had done the only possible thing. + +And so she looked into the mirror and saw the dark glitter in her hair and +the red in her cheeks and the whiteness of her shoulders and the silver +blobs of the little shoes, and she was happy--happy with an almost fearful +ecstasy. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Brandon also was in her bedroom. She was sitting on a high stiff- +backed chair, staring in front of her. She had been sitting there now for +a long time without making any movement at all. She might have been a dead +woman. Her thin hands, with the sharply marked blue veins, were clasped +tightly on her lap. She was feeding, feverishly, eagerly feeding upon the +thought of Morris. + +She would see him that evening, they would talk together, dance together, +their hands would burn as they touched; they would say very little to one +another; they would long, agonize for one another, to be alone together, +to be far, far away from everybody, and they would be desperately unhappy. + +She wondered, in her strange kind of mouse-in-the-trap trance, about that +unhappiness. Was there to be no happiness, for her anywhere? Was she +always to want more than she got, was all this passion now too late? Was +it real at all? Was it not a fever, a phantom, a hallucination? Did she +see Morris? Did she not rather see something that she must seize to slake +her burning feverish thirst? For one moment she had known happiness, when +her arms had gone around him and she had been able to console and comfort +him. But comfort him for how long? Was he not as unhappy as she, and would +they not always be unhappy? Was he not weighed down by the sin that he had +committed, that he, as he thought, had caused her to commit?...At that +she sprang up from the chair and paced the room, murmuring aloud: "No, no, +I did it. My sin, not his. I will care for him, watch over him--watch over +him, care for him. He must be glad."...She sank down by the bed, burying +her face in her hands. + + * * * * * + +Brandon was in his study finishing his letters. But behind his application +to the notes that he was writing his brain was moving like an animal +steathily investigating an unlighted house. He was thinking of his wife-- +and of himself. Even as he was writing "And therefore it seems to me, my +dear Ryle, that with regard to the actual hour of the service, eight +o'clock----" his inner consciousness was whispering to him. "How you miss +Falk! How lonely the house seems without him! You thought you could get +along without love, didn't you? or, at least, you were not aware that it +played any very great part in your life. But now that the one person whom +you most sincerely loved is gone, you see that it was not to be so simply +taken for granted, do you not? Love must be worked for, sacrificed for, +cared for, nourished and cherished. You want some one to cherish now, and +you are surprised that you should so want...yes, there is your wife-- +Amy...Amy.... You had taken her also for granted. But she is still with +you. There is time." + +His wife was illuminated with tenderness. He put down his pen and stared +in front of him. What he wanted and what she wanted was a holiday. They +had been too long here in this place. That was what he needed, that was +the explanation of his headaches, of his tempers, of his obsession about +Ronder. + +As soon as this Pybus St. Anthony affair was settled he would take his +wife abroad. Just the two of them. Another honeymoon after all these +years. Greece, Italy...and who knows? Perhaps he would see Falk on his +way through London returning...Falk.... + +He had forgotten his letters, staring in front of him, tapping the table +with his pen. + +There was a knock on the door. The maid said, "A lady to see you, sir. She +says it's important"--and, before he could ask her name, some one else was +in the room with him and the door was closed behind her. + +He was puzzled for a moment as to her identity, a rather seedy, down-at- +heels-looking woman. She was wearing a rather crumpled white cotton dress. +She carried a pink parasol, and on her head was a large straw hat +overburdened with bright red roses. Ah, yes! Of course! Miss Milton--who +was the Librarian. Shabby she looked. Come down in the world. He had +always disliked her. He resented now the way in which she had almost +forced her way into his room. + +She looked across at him through her funny half-closed eyes. + +"I beg your pardon, Archdeacon Brandon," she said, "for entering like this +at what must be, I fear, an unseemly time. My only excuse must be the +urgency of my business." + +"I am very sorry, Miss Milton," he said sternly; "it is quite impossible +for me to see you just now on any business whatever. If you will make an +appointment with me in writing, I will see what can be done." + +At the sound of his voice her eyes closed still further. "I'm very sorry, +Archdeacon," she said. "I think you would do well to listen to what I am +going to tell you." + +He raised his head and looked at her. At those words of hers he had once +again the sensation of being pushed down by strong heavy hands into some +deep mire where he must have company with filthy crawling animals--Hogg, +Davray, and now this woman.... + +"What do you mean?" he asked, disgust thickening his voice. "What can +_you_ have to tell _me_?" + +She smiled. She crossed the floor and came close to his desk. Her fingers +were on the shabby bag that hung over her arm. + +"I was greatly puzzled," she said, "as to what was the right thing to do. +I am a good and honest woman, Archdeacon, although I was ejected from my +position most wrongfully by those that ought to have known better. I have +come down in the world through no fault of my own, and there are some who +should be ashamed in their hearts of the way they've treated me. However, +it's not of them I've to speak to-day." She paused. + +Brandon drew back into his chair. "Please tell me, Miss Milton, your +business as soon as possible. I have much to do." + +"I will." She breathed hard and continued. "Certain information was placed +in my hands, and I found it very difficult to decide on the justice of my +course. After some hesitation I went to Canon Ronder, knowing him to be a +just man." + +At the name "Ronder" the Archdeacon's lips moved, but he said nothing. + +"I showed him the information I had obtained. I asked him what I should +do. He gave me advice which I followed." + +"He advised you to come to me." + +Miss Milton saw at once that a lie here would serve her well. "He advised +me to come to you and give you this letter which in the true sense of the +word belongs to you." + +She fumbled with her bag, opened it, took out a piece of paper. + +"I must tell you," she continued, her eyes never for an instant leaving +the Archdeacon's face, "that this letter came into my hands by an +accident. I was in Mr. Morris's house at the time and the letter was +delivered to me by mistake." + +"Mr. Morris?" Brandon repeated. "What has he to do with this affair?" + +Miss Milton rubbed her gloved hands together. "Mrs. Brandon," she said, +"has been very friendly with Mr. Morris for a long time past. The whole +town has been talking of it." + +The clock suddenly began to strike the hour. No word was spoken. + +Then Brandon said very quietly, "Leave this house, Miss Milton, and never +enter it again. If I have any further trouble with you, the police will be +informed." + +"Before I go, Archdeacon," said Miss Milton, also very quietly, "you +should see this letter. I can assure you that I have not come here for +mere words. I have my conscience to satisfy like any other person. I am +not asking for anything in return for this information, although I should +be perfectly justified in such an action, considering how monstrously I +have been treated. I give you this letter and you can destroy it at once. +My conscience will be satisfied. If, on the other hand, you don't read it +--well, there are others in the town who must see it." + +He took the letter from her. + +DEAREST--I am sending this by a safe hand to tell you that I cannot +possibly get down to-night. I am so sorry and most dreadfully +disappointed, but I will explain everything when we meet to-morrow. This +is to prevent your waiting on when I'm not coming. + +It was in his wife's handwriting. + +"Dearest...cannot possibly get down tonight...." In his wife's +handwriting. Certainly. Yes. His wife's. And Ronder had seen it. + +He looked across at Miss Milton. "This is not my wife's handwriting," he +said. "You realise, I hope, in what a serious matter you have become +involved--by your hasty action," he added. + +"Not hasty," she said, moistening her lips with her tongue. "Not hasty, +Archdeacon. I have taken much thought. I don't know if I have already told +you that I took the letter myself at the door from the hand of your own +maid. She has been to the Library with books. She is well known to me." + +He must exercise enormous, superhuman, self-control. That was his only +thought. The tide of anger was rising in him so terribly that it pressed +against the skin of his forehead, drawn tight, and threatened to split it. +What he wanted to do was to rise and assault the woman standing in front +of him. His hands longed to take her! They seemed to have life and +volition of their own and to move across the table of their own accord. + +He was aware, too, once more, of some huge plot developing around him, +some supernatural plot in which all the elements too were involved--earth, +sun and sky, and also every one in the town, down to the smallest child +there. + +He seemed to see behind him, just out of his sight, a tall massive figure +directing the plot, a figure something like himself, only with a heavy +black beard, cloudy, without form.... + +They would catch him in their plot as in a net, but he would escape them, +and he would escape them by wonderful calm, and self-control, and the +absence of all emotion. + +So that, although his voice shook a little, it was quietly that he +repeated: + +"This is not in my wife's handwriting. You know the penalties for +forgery." Then, looking her full in the face, he added, "Penal servitude." + +She smiled back at him. + +"I am sure, Archdeacon, that all I require is a full investigation. These +wickednesses are going on in this town, and those principally concerned +should know. I have only done what I consider my duty." + +Her eyes lingered on his face. She savoured now during these moments the +revenge for which, in all these months, she had ceaselessly longed. He had +moved but little, he had not raised his voice, but, watching his face, she +had seen the agony pass, like an entering guest, behind his eyes. That +guest would remain. She was satisfied. + +"I have done my duty, Archdeacon, and now I will wish you good-evening." + +She gave a little bow and retired from the room, softly closing the door +behind her. + +He sat there, looking at the letter.... + + * * * * * + +The Assembly Rooms seemed to move like a ship on a sunset sea. Hanging +from the ceiling were the two great silver candelabra, in some ways the +most famous treasure that the town possessed. Fitted now with gas, they +were nevertheless so shaded that the light was soft and mellow. Round the +room, beneath the portraits of the town's celebrities in their heavy gold +frames, the lights were hidden with shields of gold. The walls were ivory +white. From the Minstrels' Gallery flags with the arms of the Town, of the +Cathedral, of the St. Leath family fluttered once and again faintly. In +the Minstrels' Gallery the band was playing just as it had played a +hundred years ago. The shining floor was covered with moving figures. +Every one was there. Under the Gallery, surveying the world like Boadicea +her faithful Britons, was Lady St. Leath, her white hair piled high above +her pink baby face, that had the inquiring haughty expression of a +cockatoo wondering whether it is being offered a lump of sugar or an +insult. On either side of her sat two of her daughters, Lady Rose and Lady +Mary, plain and patient. + +Near her, in a complacent chattering row, were some of the more important +of the Cathedral and County set. There were the Marriotts from Maple +Durham, fat, sixty, and amiable; old Colonel Wotherston, who had fought in +the Crimea; Sir Henry Byles with his large purple nose; little Major +Garnet, the kindest bachelor in the County; the Marquesas, who had more +pedigree than pennies; Mrs. Sampson in bright lilac, and an especially bad +attack of neuralgia; Mrs. Combermere, sheathed in cloth of gold and very +jolly; Mrs. Ryle, humble in grey silk; Ellen Stiles in cherry colour; Mrs. +Trudon, Mrs. Forrester and Mrs. D'Arcy, their chins nearly touching over +eager confidences; Dr. Puddifoot, still breathless from his last dance; +Bentinick-Major, tapping with his patent-leather toe the floor, eager to +be at it again; Branston the Mayor and Mrs. Branston, uncomfortable in a +kind of dog-collar of diamonds; Mrs. Preston, searching for nobility; +Canon Martin; Dennison, the head-master of the School; and many others. + +It was just then a Polka, and the tune was so alluring, so entrancing, +that the whole world rose and fell with its rhythm. + +And where was Joan? Joan was dancing with the Reverend Rex Forsyth, the +proposed incumbent of Pybus St. Anthony. Had any one told her a week ago +that she would dance with the elegant Mr. Forsyth before a gathering of +all the most notable people of Polchester and Southern Glebeshire, and +would so dance without a tremor, she would have derided her informant. But +what cannot excitement and happiness do? + +She knew that she was looking nice, she knew that she was dancing as well +as any one else in the room--and Johnny St. Leath had asked her for two +dances and _then_ wanted more, and wanted these with the beautiful +Claire Daubeney, all radiant in silver, standing close beside him. What, +then, could all the Forsyths in the world matter? Nevertheless he +_was_ elegant. Very smart indeed. Rather like a handsome young horse, +groomed for a show. His voice had a little neigh in it; as he talked over +her shoulder he gave a little whinny of pleasure. She found it very +difficult to think of him as a clergyman at all. + + You should SEE me DANCE the POLKA, + Ta-ram-te-tum-te-TA. + +Yes, she should. And _he_ should. And he was very pleasant when he +did not talk. + +"You dance--very well--Miss Brandon." + +"Thank you. This is my first Ball." + +"Who would--think that? Ta-ram-te-tum-te-TA.... Jolly tu-une!" + +She caught glimpses of every one as they went round. Mrs. Combermere's +cloth of gold, Lady St. Leath's white hair. Poor Lady Mary--such a pity +that they could not do something for her complexion. Spotty. Joan liked +her. She did much good to the poor in Seatown, and it must be agony to +her, poor thing, to go down there, because she was so terribly shy. Her +next dance was with Johnny. She called him Johnny. And why should she not, +secretly to herself? Ah, there was mother, all alone. And there was Mr. +Morris coming up to speak to her. Kind of him. But he _was_ a kind +man. She liked him. Very shy, though. All the nicest people seemed to be +shy--except Johnny, who wasn't shy at all. + +The music stopped and, breathless, they stayed for a moment before finding +two chairs. Now was coming the time that she so greatly disliked. Whatever +to say to Mr. Forsyth? + +They sat down in the long passage outside the ballroom. The floor ran like +a ribbon from under their feet into dim shining distance. Or rather, Joan +thought, it was like a stream, and on either side the dancers were +sitting, dabbling their toes and looking self-conscious. + +"Do you like it where you are?" Joan asked of the shining black silk +waistcoat that gleamed beside her. + +"Oh, you know...." neighed Mr. Forsyth. "It's all right, you know. The old +Bishop's kind enough." + +"Bishop Clematis?" said Joan. + +"Yes. There ain't enough to do, you know. But I don't expect I'll be there +long. No, I don't.... Pity poor Morrison at Pybus dying like that." + +Joan of course at once understood the allusion. She also understood that +Mr. Forsyth was begging her to bestow upon him any little piece of news +that she might have obtained. But that seemed to her mean--spying--spying +on her own father. So she only said: + +"You're very fond of riding, aren't you?" + +"Love it," said Mr. Forsyth, whinnying so exactly like a happy pony that +Joan jumped. "Don't you?" + +"I've never been on horseback in my life," said Joan. "I'd like to try." + +"Never in your life?" Mr. Forsyth stared. "Why, I was on a pony before I +was three. Fact. Good for a clergyman, riding----" + +"I think it's nearly time for the next dance," said Joan. "Would you +kindly take me back to my mother?" + +She was conscious, as they plunged down-stream, of all the burning +glances. She held her head high. Her eyes flashed. She was going to dance +with Johnny, and they could look as much as they liked. + +Mr. Forsyth delivered her to her mother and went cantering off. Joan sat +down, smoothed her dress and stared at the vast shiny lake of amber in +which the silver candelabra were reflected like little islands. She looked +at her mother and was suddenly sorry for her. It must be dull, when you +were as old as mother, coming to these dances--and especially when you had +so few friends. Her mother had never made many friends. + +"Wasn't that Mr. Morris who was talking to you just now?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"I like him. He looks kind." + +"Yes, dear." + +"And where's father?" + +"Over there, talking to Lady St. Leath." + +She looked across, and there he was, so big and tall and fine, so splendid +in his grand clothes. Her heart swelled with pride. + +"Isn't he splendid, mother, dear?" + +"Who?" + +"Father!" + +"Splendid?" + +"Yes; doesn't he look splendid to-night? Better looking than all the rest +of the room put together?" (Johnny wasn't _good-looking_. Better than +_good-looking_.) + +"Oh--look splendid. Yes. He's a very handsome man." + +Joan felt once again that little chill with which she was so often +familiar when she talked with her mother--a sudden withdrawal of sympathy, +a pushing Joan away with her hand. + +But never mind--there was the music again, and here, oh, here, was Johnny! +Someone had once called him Tubby in her hearing, and how indignant she +had been! He was perhaps a little on the fat side, but strong with it.... +She went off with him. The waltz began. + +She sank into sweet delicious waters--waters that rocked and cradled her, +hugged her and caressed her. She was conscious of his arm. She did not +speak nor did he. Years of utter happiness passed.... + +He did not take her, as Mr. Forsyth had done, into the public glare of the +passage, but up a crooked staircase behind the Minstrels' Gallery into a +little room, cool and shaded, where, in easy-chairs, they were quite +alone. + +He was shy, fingering his gloves. She said (just to make conversation): + +"How beautiful Miss Daubeney is looking!" + +"Do you think so?" said Johnny. "I don't. I'm sick of that girl. She's the +most awful bore. Mother's always shoving her at my head. She's been +staying with us for months. She wants me to marry her because she's rich. +But we've got plenty, and I wouldn't marry her anyway, not if we hadn't a +penny. Because she's a bore, and because"--his voice became suddenly loud +and commanding--"I'm going to marry you." + +Something--some lovely bird of Paradise, some splendid coloured breeze, +some carpet of magic pattern--came and swung Joan up to a high tree loaded +with golden apples. There she swung--singing her heart out. Johnny's voice +came up to her. + +"Because I'm going to marry you." + +"What?" she called down to him. + +"I'm going to marry you. I knew it from the very first second I saw you, +that day after Cathedral--from the very first moment I knew it. I wanted +to ask you right away at once, but I thought I'd do the thing properly, so +I went away, and I've been in Paris and Rome and all over the place, and +I've thought of you the _whole_ time--every minute. Then mother made +a fuss about this Daubeney girl--my not being here and all that--so I +thought I'd come home and tell you I was going to marry you." + +"Oh, but you can't." Joan swung down from her appletree. "You and me? Why, +what _would_ your mother say?" + +"It isn't a case of _would_ but _will_" Johnny said. "Mother +will be very angry--and for a considerable time. But that makes no +difference. Mother's mother and I'm myself." + +"It's impossible," said Joan quickly, "from every point of view. Do you +know what my brother has done? I'm proud of Falk and love him; but you're +Lord St. Leath, and Falk has married the daughter of Hogg, the man who +keeps a public-house down in Seatown." + +"I heard of that," said Johnny. "But what does that matter? Do you know +what I did last year? I crossed the Atlantic as a stoker in a Cunard boat. +Mother never knew until I got back, and _wasn't_ she furious! But the +world's changing. There isn't going to be any class difference soon--none +at all. You take my word. Look at the Americans! They're the people! We'll +be like them one day.... But what's all this?" he suddenly said. "I'm +going to marry you and you're going to marry me. You love me, don't you?" + +"Yes," said Joan faintly. + +"Well, then. I knew you did. I'm going to kiss you." He put his arms +around her and kissed her very gently. + +"Oh, how I love you!" he said, "and how good I'll be to you!" + +"But we must be practical," said Joan wildly. "How can we marry? +Everything's against it. I've no money. I'm nobody. Your mother----" + +"Now you just leave my mother alone. Leave me to manage her--I know all +about that----" + +"I won't be engaged to you," Joan said firmly, "not for ages and ages--not +for a year anyway." + +"That's all right," said Johnny indifferently. "You can settle it any way +you please--but no one's going to marry you but me, and no one's going to +marry me but you." + +He would have kissed her again, but Mrs. Preston and a young man came in. + +"Now you shall come and speak to my mother," he said to her as they went +out. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Just say 'Bo' to her as you would +to a goose, and she'll answer all right." + +"You won't say anything----" began Joan. + +"About us? All right. That's a secret for the present; but we shall meet +_every_ day, and if there's a day we don't meet you've got to write. +Do you agree?" + +Whether she agreed or no was uncertain, because they were now in a cloud +of people, and, a moment later, were face to face with the old Countess. + +She was pleased, it at once appeared. She was in a gracious mood; people +had been pleasant enough--that is, they had been obsequious and +flattering. Also her digestion was behaving properly; those new pills that +old Puddifoot had given her were excellent. She therefore received Joan +very graciously, congratulated her on her appearance, and asked her where +her elder sister was. When Joan explained that she had no sister Lady St. +Leath appeared vexed with her, as though it had been a piece of obvious +impertinence on her part not to produce a sister instantly when she had +asked for one. However, Lady Mary was kind and friendly and made Joan sit +beside her for a little. Joan thought, "I'd like to have you for a sister +one day, if--if--ever----" and allowed her thoughts to go no farther. + +Thence she passed into the company of Mrs. Combermere and Ellen Stiles. It +seemd to her--but it was probably her fancy--that as she came to them they +were discussing something that was not for her ears. It seemed to her that +they swiftly changed the conversation and greeted her with quite an +unusual warmth of affection. For the first time that evening a sudden +little chill of foreboding, whence she knew not, seemed to touch her and +shade, for an instant, her marvellous happiness. + +Mrs. Combermere was very sweet to her indeed, quite as though she had +been, but now, recovering from an alarming illness. Her bass voice, strong +thick hands and stiff wiry hair went so incongruously with her cloth of +gold that Joan could not help smiling. + +"You look very happy, my dear," Mrs. Combermere said. + +"Of course I am," said Joan. "How can I help it, my first Ball?" + +Mrs. Combermere kicked her trailing garments with her foot, just like a +dame in a pantomime. "Well, enjoy yourself as long as you can. You're +looking very pretty. The prettiest girl in the room. I've just been saying +so to Ellen--haven't I, Ellen?" + +Ellen Stiles was at that moment making herself agreeable to the Mayoress, +who was sitting lonely and uncomfortable (weighed down with longing for +sleep) on a little gilt chair. + +"I was just saying to Mrs. Branston," Miss Stiles said, turning round, +"that the time one has to be careful with children after whooping-cough is +when they seem practically well. Her little boy has just been ill with it, +and she says he's recovered; but that's the time, as I tell her, when nine +out of ten children die--just when you think you're safe." + +"Oh dear," said Mrs. Branston, turning towards them her full anxious eyes. +"You _do_ alarm me, Miss Stiles! And I've been letting Tommy quite +loose, as you may say, these last few days--with his appetite back and +all, there seemed no danger." + +"Well, if you find him feverish when you get home tonight," said Ellen, +"don't he surprised. All the excitement of the Jubilee too will be very +bad for him." + +At that moment Canon Ronder came up. Joan looked and at once, at the sight +of the round gleaming spectacles, the smiling mouth, the full cheeks +puffed out as though he were blowing perpetual bubbles for his own +amusement, felt her old instinct of repulsion. This man was her father's +enemy, and so hers. All the town knew now that he was trying to ruin her +father so that he might take his place, that he laughed at him and mocked +him. + +So fierce did she feel that she could have scratched his cheeks. He was +smiling at them all, and at once was engaged in a wordy duel with Mrs. +Combermere and Miss Stiles. _They_ liked him; every one in the town +liked him. She heard his praises sung by every one. Well, she would never +sing them. She hated him. + +And now he was actually speaking to her. He had the impertinence to ask +her for a dance. + +"I'm afraid I'm engaged for the next and for the one after that, Canon +Ronder," she said. + +"Well, later on then," he said, smiling. "What about an extra?" + +Her dark eyes scorned him. + +"We are going home early," she said. She pretended to examine her +programme. "I'm afraid I have not one before we go." + +She spoke as coldly as she dared. She felt the eyes of Mrs. Combermere and +Ellen Stiles upon her. How stupid of her! She had shown them what her +feelings were, and now they would chatter the more and laugh about her +fighting her father's battles. Why had she not shown her indifference, her +complete indifference? + +He was smiling still--not discomfited by her rudeness. He said something-- +something polite and outrageously kind--and then young Charles D'Arcy came +up to carry her off for the Lancers. + + * * * * * + +An hour later her cup of happiness was completely filled. She had danced, +during that hour, four times with Johnny; every one must be talking. Lady +St. Leath must be furious (she did not know that Boadicea had been playing +whist with old Colonel Wotherston and Sir Henry Byles for the last ever so +long). + +She would perhaps never have such an hour in all her life again. This +thing that he so wildly proposed was impossible--utterly, completely +impossible; but what was _not_ impossible, what was indeed certain +and sure and beyond any sort of question, was that she loved Johnny St. +Leath with all her heart and soul, and would so love him until the day of +her death. Life could never be purposeless nor mean nor empty for her +again, while she had that treasure to carry about with her in her heart. +Meanwhile she could not look at him and doubt but that, for the moment at +any rate, he loved her--and there was something simple and direct about +Johnny as there was about his dog Andrew, that made his words, few and +clumsy though they might be, most strangely convincing. + +So, almost dizzy with happiness, she climbed the stair behind the Gallery +and thought that she would escape for a moment into the little room where +Johnny had proposed to her, and sit there and grow calm. She looked in. +Some one was there. A man sitting by himself and staring in front of him. +She saw at once that he was in some great trouble. His hands were +clenched, his face puckered and set with pain. Then she saw that it was +her father. + +He did not move; he might have been a block of stone shining in the +dimness. Terrified, she stood, herself not moving. Then she came forward. +She put her hand on his shoulder. + +"Oh, father--father, what is it?" She felt his body trembling beneath her +touch--he, the proudest, finest man in the country. She put her arm round +his neck. She kissed him. His forehead was damp with sweat. His body was +shaking from head to foot. She kissed him again and again, kneeling beside +him. + +Then she remembered where they were. Some one might come. No one must see +him like that. + +She whispered to him, took his hands between hers. + +"Let's go home, Joan," he said. "I want to go home." + +She put her arm through his, and together they went down the little +stairs. + + + + +Chapter IV + +Sunday, June 20: In the Bedroom + + + +Brandon had been talking to the Precentor at the far end of the ballroom, +when suddenly Ronder had appeared in their midst. Appeared the only word! +And Brandon, armoured, he had thought, for every terror that that night +might bring to him, had been suddenly seized with the lust of murder. A +lust as dominating as any other, that swept upon him in a hot flaming +tide, lapped him from head to foot. It was no matter, this time, of words, +of senses, of thoughts, but of his possession by some other man who filled +his brain, his eyes, his mouth, his stomach, his heart; one second more +and he would have flung himself upon that smiling face, those rounded +limbs; he would have caught that white throat and squeezed it-- +squeezed...squeezed.... + +The room literally swam in a tide of impulse that carried him against +Ronder's body and left him there, breast beating against breast.... + +He turned without a word and almost ran from the place. He passed through +the passages, seeing no one, conscious of neither voices nor eyes, +climbing stairs that he did not feel, sheltering in that lonely little +room, sitting there, his hands to his face, shuddering. The lust slowly +withdrew from him, leaving him icy cold. Then he lifted his eyes and saw +his daughter and clung to her--as just then he would have clung to +anybody--for safety. + +Had it come to this then, that he was mad? All that night, lying on his +bed, he surveyed himself. That was the way that men murdered. No longer +could he claim control or mastery of his body. God had deserted him and +given him over to devils. + +His son, his wife, and now God. His loneliness was terrible. And he could +not think. He must think about this letter and what he should do. He could +not think at all. He was given over to devils. + +After Matins in the Cathedral next day one thought came to him. He would +go and see the Bishop. The Bishop had come in from Carpledon for the +Jubilee celebrations and was staying at the Deanery. Brandon spoke to him +for a moment after Matins and asked him whether he might see him for half +an hour in the afternoon on a matter of great urgency. The Bishop asked +him to come at three o'clock. + +Seated in the Dean's library, with its old-fashioned cosiness--its book- +shelves and the familiar books, the cases, between the high windows, of +his precious butterflies--Brandon felt, for the first time for many days, +a certain calm descend upon him. The Bishop, looking very frail and small +in the big arm-chair, received him with so warm an affection that he felt, +in spite of his own age, like the old man's son. + +"My lord," he began with difficulty, moving his big limbs in his chair +like a restless schoolboy, "it isn't easy for me to come to-day. There's +no one in the world I could speak to except yourself. I find it difficult +even to do that." + +"My son," said the Bishop gently, "I am a very, very old man. I cannot +have many more months to live. When one is as near to death as I am, one +loves everything and everybody, because one is going so soon. You needn't +be afraid." + +And in his heart he must have wondered at the change in this man who, +through so many years now, had come to him with so much self-confidence +and assurance. + +"I have had much trouble lately," Brandon went on. "But I would not have +bothered you with that, knowing as I do all that you have to consider just +now, were it not that for the first time in my life I seem to have lost +control and to be heading toward some great disaster that may bring +scandal not only on myself but on the Church as well." + +"Tell me your trouble," said the Bishop. + +"Nine months ago I seemed to be at the very height of my powers, my +happiness, my usefulness." Brandon paused. Was it really only nine months +back, that other time? "I had no troubles. I was confident in myself, my +health was good, my family were happy. I seemed to have many friends.... +Then suddenly everything changed. I don't want to seem false, my lord, in +anything that I may say, but it was literally as though in the course of a +night all my happiness forsook me. + +"It began with my boy being sent down from Oxford. I have only one boy, as +I think your lordship knows. He was--he is, in spite of what has happened +--very dear to me." Brandon paused. + +"Yes, I know," said the Bishop. + +"After that everything began to go wrong. Little things, little tiny +things--one after another. Some one came to this town who almost at once +seemed to put himself into opposition to me." Brandon paused once more. + +The Bishop said again: "Yes, I know." + +"At first," Brandon went on, "I didn't realise this. I was preoccupied +with my work. It had never, at any time in my life, seemed to me healthy +to consider about other people's minds, what they were thinking or +imagining. There is quite enough work to do in the world without that. But +soon I was forced to consider this man's opposition to me. It came before +me in a thousand little ways. The attitude of the Chapter changed to me-- +especially noticeable at one of the Chapter meetings. I don't want to make +my story so long, my lord, that it will tire you. To cut it short--a day +came when my boy ran off to London with a town girl, the daughter of the +landlord of one of the more disreputable public-houses. That was a +terrible, devastating blow to me. I have quite literally not been the same +man since. I was determined not to allow it to turn me from my proper +work. I still loved the boy; he had not behaved dishonourably to the girl. +He has now married her and is earning his living in London. If that had +been the only blow----" He stopped, cleared his throat, and, turning +excitedly towards the Bishop, almost shouted: + +"But it is not! It is not, my lord! My enemy has never ceased his plots +for one instant. It was he who advised my boy to run off with this girl. +He has turned the whole town against me; they laugh at me and mock me! And +now he...now he..." He could not for a moment find breath. He exercised +an impulse of almost superhuman self-control, bringing his body visibly +back into bounds again. He went on more quietly: + +"We are in opposite camps over this matter of the Pybus living--we are in +opposition over almost every question that arises here. He is an able man. +I must do him that justice. He can plot...he can scheme...whereas I..." +Brandon beat his hands desperately on his knees. + +"It is not only this man!" he cried, "not only this! It is as though there +were some larger conspiracy, something from Heaven itself. God has turned +His face away from me when I have served Him faithfully all my days. No +one has served Him more whole-heartedly than I. He has been my only +thought, His glory my only purpose. Nine months ago I had health, I had +friends, I had honour. I had my family--now my health is going, my friends +have forsaken me, I am mocked at by the lowest men in the town, my son has +left me, my--my..." + +He broke off, bending his face in his hands. + +The Bishop said: "My dear friend, you are not alone in this. We have all +been tried, like this--tested----" + +"Tested!" Brandon broke out. "Why should I be tested? What have I done in +all my life that is not acceptable to God? What sin have I committed! What +disloyalty have I shown? But there is something more that I must tell you, +my lord--the reason why I have come to you to-day. Canon Ronder and I--you +must have known of whom I have been speaking--had a violent quarrel one +afternoon on the way home after luncheon with you at Carpledon. This +quarrel became, in one way or another, the town's property. Ronder +affected to like me, but it was impossible now for him to hide his real +intentions towards me. This thing began to be an obsession with me. I +tried to prevent this. I knew what the danger of such obsessions can be. +But there was something else. My wife--" he paused--went on. "My wife and +I, my lord, have lived together in perfect happiness for twenty years. At +least it had seemed to me to be perfect happiness. She began to behave +strangely. She was not herself. Undoubtedly the affair of our son +disturbed her desperately. She seemed to avoid me, to escape from me when +she could. This, coming with my other troubles, made me feel as though I +were in some horrible dream, as though the very furniture of our home and +the appearance of the streets were changing. I began to be afraid +sometimes that I might be going mad. I have had bad headaches that have +made it difficult for me to think. Then, only last night, a woman brought +me a letter. I wish you most earnestly to believe, my lord, that I believe +my wife to be absolutely loyal to me--loyal in every possible sense of the +word. The letter purported to be in her handwriting. And in this matter +also Canon Ronder had had some hand. The woman admitted that she had been +first to Canon Ronder and that he had advised her to bring it to me." + +The Bishop made a movement. + +"You will, of course, say nothing of this, my lord, to Canon Ronder. I +have come privately to ask your prayers for me and to have your counsel. I +am making no complaint against Canon Ronder. I must see this thing through +by myself. But last night, when my mind was filled with this letter, I +found myself suddenly next to Canon Ronder, and I had a murderous impulse +that was so fierce and sudden in its power that I--" he broke off, +shuddering. Then cried, suddenly stretching out his hands: + +"Oh, my lord, pray for me, pray for me! Help me! I don't know what I do--I +am given over to the powers of Hell!" + +A long silence followed. Then the Bishop said: + +"You have asked me to say nothing to Canon Ronder, and of course I must +respect your confidence. But the first thing that I would say to you is +that I think that what you feared has happened--that you have allowed this +thought of him to become an obsession to you. The ways of God are +mysterious and past our finding out; but all of us, in our lives, have +known that time when everything was suddenly turned against us--our work, +those whom we love, our health, even our belief in God Himself. My dear, +dear friend, I myself have known that several times in my own life. Once, +when I was a young man, I lost an appointment on which my whole heart was +set, and lost it, as it seemed, through an extreme injustice. It turned +out afterwards that my losing that was one of the most fortunate things +for me. Once my dear wife and I seemed to lose all our love for one +another, and I was assailed with most desperate temptation--and the end of +that was that we loved and understood one another as we had never done +before. Once--and this was the most terrible period of my life, and it +continued over a long time--I lost, as it seemed, completely all my faith +in God. I came out of that believing only in the beauty of Christ's life, +clinging to that, and saying to myself, 'Such a friend have I--then life +is not all lost to me'--and slowly, gradually, I came back into touch with +Him and knew Him as I had never known Him before, and, through Him, once +again God the Father. And now, even in my old age, temptation is still +with me. I long to die. I am tempted often to look upon men and women as +shadows that have no longer any connection with me. I am very weak and +feeble and I wish to sleep.... But the love of God continues, and through +Jesus Christ, the love of men. It is the only truth--love of God, love of +man--the rest is fantasy and unreality. Look up, my son, bear this with +patience. God is standing at your shoulder and will be with you to the +end. This is training for you. To show you, perhaps, that all through life +you have missed the most important thing. You are learning through this +trouble your need of others, your need to love them, and that they should +love you--the only lesson worth learning in life...." + +The Bishop came over to Brandon and put his hand on his head. Strange +peace came into Brandon's heart, not from the old man's words, but from +the contact with him, the touch of his thin trembling hand. The room was +filled with peace. Ronder was suddenly of little importance. The Cathedral +faded. For a time he rested. + +For the rest of that day, until evening, that peace stayed with him. With +it still in his heart he came, late that night, into their bedroom. Mrs. +Brandon was in bed, awake, staring in front of her, not moving. He sat +down in the chair beside the bed, stretched out his hand, and took hers. + +"Amy, dear," he said, "I want us to have a little talk." + +Her little hand lay still and hot in his large cool one. + +"I've been very unhappy," he went on with difficulty, "lately about you--I +have seen that you yourself are not happy. I want you to be. I will do +anything that is in my power to make you so!" + +"You would not," she said, without looking at him, "have troubled to think +of me had not your own private affairs gone wrong and--had not Falk left +us!" + +The sound of her hostility irritated him against his will; he beat the +irritation down. He felt suddenly very tired, quite exhausted. He had an +almost irresistible temptation to go down into his dressing-room, lie on +his sofa there, and go instantly to sleep. + +"That's not quite fair, Amy," he said. "But we won't dispute about that. I +want to know why, after our being happy for twenty years, something now +has come in between us or seems to have done so; I want to clear that away +if I can, so that we can be as we were before." + +Be as they were before! At the strange, ludicrous irony of that phrase she +turned on her elbow and looked at him, stared at him as though she could +not see enough of him. + +"Why do you think that there is anything the matter?" she asked softly, +almost gently. + +"Why, of course I can see," he said, holding her hand more tightly as +though the sudden gentleness in her voice had touched him. "When one has +lived with some one a long time," he went on rather awkwardly, "one +notices things. Of course I've seen that you were not happy. And Falk +leaving us in that way must have made you very miserable. It made me +miserable too," he added, suddenly stroking her hand a little. + +She could not bear that and very quietly withdrew her hand. + +"Did it really hurt you, Falk's going?" she asked, still staring at him. + +"Hurt me?" he cried, staring back at her in utter astonishment. "Hurt me? +Why--why----" + +"Then why," she went on, "didn't you go up to London after him?" + +The question was so entirely unexpected that he could only repeat: + +"Why?..." + +"Oh, well, it doesn't matter now," she said, wearily turning away. + +"Perhaps I did wrong. I think perhaps I've done wrong in many ways during +these last years. I am seeing many things for the first time. The truth is +I have been so absorbed in my work that I've thought of nothing else. I +took it too much for granted that you were happy because I was happy. And +now I want to make it right. I do indeed, Amy. Tell me what's the matter." + +She said nothing. He waited for a long time. Her immobility always angered +him. He said at last more impatiently. + +"Please tell me, Amy, what you have against me." + +"I have nothing against you." + +"Then why are things wrong between us?" + +"Are things wrong?" + +"You know they are--ever since that morning when you wouldn't come to Holy +Communion." + +"I was tired that morning." + +"It is more than tiredness," he said, with sudden impatience, beating upon +the counterpane with his fist. "Amy--you're not behaving fairly. You must +talk to me. I insist on it." + +She turned once more towards him. + +"What is it you want me to say?" + +"Why you're unhappy." + +"But if I am not unhappy?" + +"You are." + +"But suppose I say that I am not?" + +"You are. You are. You are!" he shouted at her. + +"Very well, then, I am." + +"Why are you?" + +"Who _is_ happy really? At any rate for more than a moment. Only very +thoughtless and silly people." + +"You're putting me off." He took her hand again. "I'm to blame, Amy--to +blame in many ways. But people are talking." + +She snatched her hand away. + +"People talking? Who?...But as though that mattered." + +"It _does_ matter. It has gone far--much farther than I thought." + +She looked at him then, quickly, and turned her face away again. + +"Who's talking? And what are they saying?" + +"They are saying----" He broke off. What _were_ they saying? Until +the arrival of that horrible letter he had not realised that they were +saying anything at all. + +"Don't think for a single moment, Amy, that I pay the slightest attention +to any of their talk. I would not have bothered you with any of this had +it not been for something else--of which I'll speak in a moment. If +everything is right between us--between you and me--then it doesn't matter +if the whole world talks until it's blue in the face." + +"Leave it alone, then," she said. "Let them talk." + +Her indifference stung him. She didn't care, then, whether things were +right between himself and her or no? It was the same to her. She cared so +little for him.... That sudden realisation struck him so sharply that it +was as though some one had hit him in the back. For so many years he had +taken it for granted...taken something for granted that was not to be so +taken. Very dimly some one was approaching him--that dark, misty, gigantic +figure--blotting out the light from the windows. That figure was becoming +day by day more closely his companion. + +Looking at her now more intently, and with a new urgency, he said: + +"Some one brought me a letter, Amy. They said it was a letter of yours." + +She did not move nor stir. Then, after a long silence, she said, "Let me +see it." + +He felt in his pocket and produced it. She stretched out her hand and took +it. She read it through slowly. "You think that I wrote this?" she asked. + +"No, I know that you did not." + +"To whom was it supposed to be written?" + +"To 'Morris of St. James'." + +She nodded her head. "Ah, yes. We're friends. That's why they chose him. +Of course it's a forgery," she added--"a very clever one." + +"What I don't understand," he said eagerly, at his heart the strangest +relief that he did not dare to stop to analyse, "is why any one should +have troubled to do this--the risk, the danger----" + +"You have enemies," she said. "Of course you know that. People who are +jealous." + +"One enemy," he answered fiercely. "Ronder. The woman had been to him with +this letter before she came to me." + +"The woman! What woman? + +"The woman who brought it to me was a Miss Milton--a wretched creature who +was once at the Library." + +"And she had been with this to Canon Ronder before she came to you?" + +"Yes." + +"Ah!" + +Then she said very quietly: + +"And what do you mean to do about the letter?" + +"I will do whatever you wish me to do. What I would like to do is to leave +no step untaken to bring the authors of this forgery to justice. No step. +I will----" + +"No," she broke in quickly. "It is much better to leave it alone. What +good can it do to follow it up? It only tells every one about it. We +should despise it. The thing is so obviously false. Why you can see," +suddenly holding the letter towards him, "it isn't even like my writing. +My s's, my m's--they're not like that----" + +"No, no," he said eagerly. "I see that they are not. I saw that at once." + +"You knew at once that it was a forgery?" + +"I knew at once. I never doubted for an instant." + +She sighed; then settled back into the pillow with a little shudder. + +"This town," she said; "the things they do. Oh! to get away from it, to +get away!" + +"And we will!" he cried eagerly. "That's what we need, both of us--a +holiday. I've been thinking it over. We're both tired. When this Jubilee +is over we'll go abroad--Italy, Greece. We'll have a second honeymoon. Oh, +Amy, we'll begin life again. I've been much to blame--much to blame. Give +me that letter. I'll destroy it. I know my enemy, but I'll not think of +him or of any one but our two selves. I'll be good to you now if you'll +let me." + +She gave him the letter. + +"Look at it before you tear it up," she said, staring at him as though she +would not miss any change in his features. "You're sure that it is a +forgery?" + +"Why, of course." + +"It's nothing like my handwriting?" + +"Nothing at all." + +"You know that I am devoted to you, that I would never be untrue to you in +thought, word or deed?" + +"Why, of course, of course. As though I didn't know----" + +"And that I'll love to come abroad with you?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"And that we'll have a second honeymoon?" + +"Yes, yes. Indeed, Amy, we will." + +"Look well at that letter. You are wrong. It is not a forgery. I did write +it." + +He did not answer her, but stayed staring at the letter like a boy +detected in a theft. She repeated: + +"The woman was quite right. I did write that letter." + +Brandon said, staring at her, "Don't laugh at me. This is too serious." + +"I'm not laughing. I wrote it. I sent it down by Gladys. If you recall the +day to her she'll remember." + +She watched his face. It had turned suddenly grey, as though some one had +slipped a grey mask over the original features. + +She thought, "Now perhaps he'll kill me. I'm not sorry." + +He whispered, leaning quite close to her as though he were afraid she +would not hear. + +"You wrote that letter to Morris?" + +"I did." Then suddenly springing up, half out of bed, she cried, "You're +not to touch him. Do you hear? You're not to touch him! It's not his +fault. He's had nothing to do with this. He's only my friend. I love him, +but he doesn't love me. Do you hear? He's had nothing to do with this!" + +"You love him!" whispered Brandon. + +"I've loved him since the first moment I saw him. I've wanted some one to +love for years--years and years and years. You didn't love me, so then I +hoped Falk would, and Falk didn't, so then I found the first person--any +one who would be kind to me. And he was kind--he _is_ kind--the +kindest man in the world. And he saw that I was lonely, so he let me talk +to him and go to him--but none of this is his doing. He's only been kind. +He--" + +"Your letter says 'Dearest'," said Brandon. "If you wrote that letter it +says 'Dearest'." + +"That was my foolishness. It was wrong of me. He told me that I mustn't +say anything affectionate. He's good and I'm bad. And I'm bad because +you've made me." + +Brandon took the letter and tore it into little pieces; they scattered +upon the counterpane. + +"You've been unfaithful to me?" he said, bending over her. + +She did not shrink back, although that strange, unknown, grey face was +very close to her. "Yes. At first he wouldn't. He refused anything. But I +would.... I wanted to be. I hate you. I've hated you for years." + +"Why?" His hand closed on her shoulder. + +"Because of your conceit and pride. Because you've never thought of me. +Because I've always been a piece of furniture to you--less than that. +Because you've been so pleased with yourself and well-satisfied and +stupid. Yes. Yes. Most because you're so stupid. So stupid. Never seeing +anything, never knowing anything and always--so satisfied. And when the +town was pleased with you and said you were so fine I've laughed, knowing +what you were, and I thought to myself, 'There'll come a time when they'll +find him out'--and now they have. They know what you are at last. And I'm +glad! I'm glad! I'm glad!" She stopped, her breast rising and falling +beneath her nightdress, her voice shrill, almost a scream. + +He put his hands on her thin bony shoulders and pushed her back into the +bed. His hands moved to her throat. His whole weight, he now kneeling on +the bed, was on top of her. + +"Kill me! Kill me!" she whispered. "I'll be glad." + +All the while their eyes stared at one another inquisitively, as though +they were strangers meeting for the first time. + +His hands met round her throat. His knees were over her. He felt her thin +throat between his hands and a voice in his ear whispered, "That's right, +squeeze tighter. Splendid! Splendid!" + +Suddenly his eyes recognised hers. His hands dropped. He crawled from the +bed. Then he felt his way, blindly, out of the room. + + + + +Chapter V + +Tuesday, June 22: I. The Cathedral + + + +The Great Day arrived, escorted sumptuously with skies of burning blue. +How many heads looked out of how many windows, the country over, that +morning! In Polchester it was considered as only another proof of the +esteem in which that city was held by the Almighty. The Old Lady might +deserve and did unquestionably obtain divinely condescending weather for +her various excursions, but it was nothing to that which the Old Town got +and deserved. + +Deserved or no, the town rose to the occasion. The High Street was +swimming in flags and bunting; even in Seatown most of the grimy windows +showed those little cheap flags that during the past week hawkers had been +so industriously selling. From quite early in the morning the squeak and +scream of the roundabouts in the Fair could be heard dimly penetrating the +sanctities and privacies of the Precincts. But it was the Cathedral bells, +pealing, crashing, echoing, rocking, as early as nine o'clock in the +morning, that first awoke the consciousness of most of the Polcastrians to +the glories of the day. + +I suppose that nearly all souls that morning subconsciously divided the +order of the festival into three periods; in the morning the Cathedral and +its service, in the afternoon the social, friendly, man-to-man +celebration, and in the evening, torch-light, bonfire, skies ablaze, drink +and love. + +Certain it is that many eyes turned towards the Cathedral accustomed for +many years to look in quite other directions. There was to be a grand +service, they said, with "trumpets and shawms" and the big drum, and the +old Bishop preaching, making, in all probability, his very last public +appearance. Up from the dark mysteries of Seatown, down from the chaste +proprieties of the villas above Orange Street, from the purlieus of the +market, from the shops of the High Street, sailors and merchantmen, +traders and sea-captains and, from the wild fastness of the Fair, gipsies +with silver rings in their ears and, perhaps, who can tell? bells on their +dusky toes. + +Very early were Lawrence and Cobbett about their duties. This was, in all +probability, Lawrence's last Great Day before the final and all-judging +one, and well both he and Cobbett were aware of it. Cobbett could see +himself that morning almost stepping into the old man's shoes, and the old +man himself was not well this morning--not well at all. Rheumatism, gout, +what hadn't he got?--and, above all, that strange, mysterious pain +somewhere in his very vitals, a pain that was not precisely a pain, too +dull and homely for that, but a warning, a foreboding. + +On an ordinary day, in spite of his dislike of allowing Cobbett any of +those duties that were so properly his own, he would have stayed in bed, +but to-day?--no, thank you! On such a day as this he would defy the Devil +himself and all his red-hot pincers! So there he was in his long purple +gown, with his lovely snow-white beard, and his gold-topped staff, +patronising Mrs. Muffit (who superintended the cleaning) and her ancient +servitors, seeing that the places for the Band (just under the choir- +screen) and for the extra members of the choir were all in order, and, +above all, that the Bishop's Throne up by the altar was guiltless of a +speck of dust, of a shadow of a shadow of disorder. Cobbett saw, beyond +any question or doubt, death in the old man's face, and suddenly, to his +own amazement, was sorry. For years now he had been waiting for the day +when he should succeed the tiresome old fool, for years he had cursed him +for a thousand pomposities, blunders, tedious garrulities, and now, +suddenly, he was sorry. What had come over him? But he wasn't a bad old +man; plucky, too; you could see how he was suffering. They had, after all, +been companions together for so many years.... + +Quite early in the morning arrivals began--visitors from the country most +likely, sitting there at the back of the nave, bathed in the great silence +and the dim light, just looking and wondering and expecting. Some of them +wanted to move about and examine the brasses and the tombs and the +windows--yes, move about with their families, and their bags of +sandwiches, and their oranges. But not this morning, oh, dear, no! They +could come in or go out, but if they came in they must stay quiet. Did +they but subterraneously giggle, Cobbet was on their tracks in no time. + +The light flooded in, throwing great splashes and lakes of blue and gold +and purple on to flag and pillar. Great in its strength, magnificent in +its beauty, the Cathedral prepared.... + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Combermere walked rather solemnly that morning from her house to the +Cathedral. In spite of the lovely morning she was feeling suddenly old. +Things like Jubilees do date you--no doubt about it. Nearly fifty. Three- +quarters of life behind her and what had she to show for it? An unlucky +marriage, much physical health and fun, some friends--but, at the last, +lonely--lonely as perhaps every human being in this queer world was. That +old woman now preparing to ride in fantastic procession before her +worshipping subjects, she was lonely too. Poor, little, lonely, old woman! +Well, then, Charity to all and sundry--Charity, kindliness, the one and +only thing. Aggie Combermere was not a sentimental woman, nor did she see +life falsely, but she was suddenly aware, walking under the blazing blue +sky, that she had been unkind, for amusement's sake, more often than she +need.... Well, why not? She was ready to allow people to have a shy at +herself--any one who liked.... "'Ere you are! Old Aunt Sally! Three shies +a penny!" And she _was_ an Aunt Sally, a ludicrous creature, caring +for her dogs more than for any living creature, shovelling food into her +mouth for no particular purpose, doing physical exercises in the morning, +and _nearly_ fifty! + +She found then, just as she reached the Arden Gate, that, to her own +immense surprise, it was not of herself that, all this time, she had been +thinking, but rather of Brandon and the Brandon family. The Brandons! What +an extraordinary affair! The Town was now bursting its fat sides with +excitement over it all! The Town was now generally aware (but how it was +aware no one quite knew) that there was a mysterious letter that Mrs. +Brandon had written to Morris, and that Miss Milton, librarian who was, +had obtained this letter and had taken it to Ronder. And the next move, +the next! the next! Oh, tell us! Tell us! The Town stands on tiptoe; its +hair on end. Let us see! Let us see! Let us not miss the tiniest detail of +this extraordinary affair! + +And really how extraordinary! First the boy runs off with that girl; then +Mrs. Brandon, the quietest, dullest woman for years and years, throws her +cap over the mill and behaves like a madwoman; and Johnny St. Leath, they +say, is in love with the daughter, and his old mother is furious; and +Brandon, they say, wants to cut Ronder's throat. Ronder! Mrs. Combermere +paused, partly to get her breath, partly to enjoy for an instant the +shining, glittering grass, dotted with figures, stretching like a carpet +from the vast greyness of the Cathedral. Ronder! There was a remarkable +man! Mrs. Combermere was conquered by him, in spite of herself. How, in +seven short months, he had conquered everybody! What an amusing talker, +what a good preacher, what a clever business head! And yet she did not +really like him. His praises now were in every one's mouth, but she did +not _really_ like him. Old Brandon was still her favourite, her old +friend of ten years; but there was no doubt that he _was_ behind the +times, Ronder had shown them that! No use living in the 'Eighties any +longer. But she was fond of him, she did not want him to be unhappy--and +unhappy he was, that any one could see. Most of all, she did not want him +to do anything foolish--and he might, his temper was strange, he was not +so strong as he looked; he had felt his son's escapade terribly--and now +his wife! + +"Well, if I had a wife like that," was Mrs. Combermere's conclusion before +she joined Ellen Stiles and Julia Preston, "I'd let her go off with any +one! Pay any one to take her!" + +Ellen was, of course, full of it all. "My dear, _what_ do you think +is the latest! They say that the Archdeacon threatens to poison the whole +of the Chapter if they don't let Forsyth have Pybus, and that Boadicea has +ordered Johnny to take a voyage to the Canary Islands for his health, and +that he says he'll see her shot first! And Miss Milton is selling the +letter for a thousand pounds to the first comer!" + +Mrs. Combermere stopped her sharply--"Mind your own business, Ellen. The +whole thing now is past a joke. And as to Johnny St. Leath, he shows his +good taste. There isn't a sweeter, prettier girl in England than Joan +Brandon, and he's lucky if he gets her." + +"I don't want to be ill-natured," said Ellen Stiles rather plaintively, +"but that family would test anybody's reticence. We'd better go in or old +Lawrence will be letting some one have our seats." + + * * * * * + +Joan came with her mother slowly across the grass. In her dress was this +letter: + + Dearest, dearest, _dearest_ Joan--The first thing you have + thoroughly to realise is that it doesn't matter _what_ you say or + what mother says or what any one says. Mother's angry. Of course she + is. She's been angry a thousand million times before and will be a + thousand million times again. But it doesn't _mean_ anything. + Mother likes to be angry, it does her good, and the longer she's + angry with you the better she'll like you, if you understand what I + mean. What I want to get into your head is that you can't alter + anything. Of course if you didn't love me it would be another matter, + and you tried to tell me you didn't love me yesterday just for my + good, but you did it so badly that you had to admit yourself that it + was a failure. Don't talk about your brother; he's a fine fellow, and + I'm going to look him up when I'm in London next month. Don't talk + about not seeing me, because you can't help seeing me if I'm right in + front of you. I'm no silph. (The way he spelt it.) I'm quite ready to + wait for a certain time anyway. But marry we will, and happy we'll be + for ever and ever!--Your adoring + + JOHNNY. + +And what was she to do about it? She was certainly very unmodern and +inexperienced by the standards of to-day--on the other hand, she was a +very long way indeed from the Lily Dales and Eleanor Hardings of Mr. +Trollope. She had not told her father--that she was resolved to do so soon +as he seemed a little less worried by his affairs; but say that she did +not love Johnny she had found that she could not, and as to damaging him +by marrying him, his love for her had strengthened her own pride in +herself. She did not understand his love, it was astounding to her after +the indifference with which her own family had always treated her. But +there it was: he, with all his experience of life, loved her more than any +one else in the world, so there _must_ be something in her. And she +knew there was; privately she had always known it. As to his mother--well, +so long as Johnny loved her she could face anybody. + +So this wonderful morning she was radiantly happy. Child as she was, she +adored this excitement. It was splendid of it to be this glorious time +just when she was having her own glorious time! Splendid of the weather to +be so beautiful, of the bells to clash, of every one to wear their best +clothes, of the Jubilee to arrange itself so exactly at the right moment! +And could it be only last Saturday that he had spoken to her? And it +seemed centuries, centuries ago! + +She chattered eagerly, smiling at Betty Callender, and then at the D'Arcy +girls, and then at Mrs. Bentinck-Major. She supposed that they were all +talking about her. Well, let them. There was nothing to be ashamed of. +Quite the contrary. She did not notice her mother's silence. But she +_had_ noticed, before they left the house, how ill her mother was +looking. A very bad night--another of her dreadful headaches. Her father +had not come in to breakfast at all. Everything had been wrong at home +since that day when Falk had been sent down from Oxford. She longed to put +her arms around her father's neck and hug him. Behind her own happiness, +ever since the night of the Ball, there had been a longing, an aching +urgent longing to pet him, comfort him, make love to him. And she would, +too--as soon as all these festivities were over. + +And then suddenly there were Johnny and his mother and his sisters walking +towards the West door! What a situation! And then there was Johnny +breaking away from his own family and hurrying towards them, lifting his +hat, smiling! + +How splendid he looked and how happy! And how happy she also was looking +had she only known it! + +"Good morning, Mrs. Brandon." + +Mrs. Brandon didn't appear to remember him at all. Then suddenly, as +though she had picked her conscience out of her pocket: + +"Oh, good morning, Lord St. Leath." + +Joan, out of the corner, saw Boadicea, her head with its absurd bonnet +high, striding indignantly ahead. + +"What lovely weather, is it not?" + +"Yes, aren't we lucky? Good morning, Joan." + +"Good morning." + +"Isn't it a lovely day?" + +"Oh, yes, it is." + +"Are you going to see the Torchlight Procession to-night?" + +"They come through the Precincts, you know." + +"Of course they do. We're going to have five bonfires all around us. +Mother's afraid they'll set the Castle on fire." + +They both laughed--much too happy to know what they were laughing at. + +Mrs. Sampson joined them. Johnny and Joan walked ahead. Only two steps and +they would be in the Cathedral. + +"Did you get my letter?" + +"Yes." + +"I love you, I love you, I love you." This in a hoarse whisper. + +"Johnny--you mustn't--you know--we can't--you know I oughtn't----" + +They passed through into the Cathedral. + +Mrs. Bentinck-Major came with Miss Ronder, slowly, across the grass. It +was not necessary for them to hurry because they knew that their seats +were reserved for them. Mrs. Bentinck-Major thought Miss Ronder "queer" +because of the clever things that she said and of the odd fashion in which +she always dressed. To say anything clever was, with Mrs. Bentinck-Major, +at once to be classed as "queer." + +"It _is_ hot!" + +Miss Ronder, thin and piky above her stiff white collar, looked +immaculately cool. "A lovely day," she said, sniffing the colour and the +warmth, and loving it. + +Mrs. Bentinck-Major was thinking of the Brandon scandal, but it was one of +her habits never to let her left-hand voice know what her right-hand brain +was doing. Secretly she often wondered about sexual things--what people +_really_ did, whether they enjoyed what they did, and whether she +would have enjoyed the same things had life gone that way with her instead +of leading her to Bentinck-Major. + +But she never, never spoke of such things. She was thinking now of Mrs. +Brandon and Morris. They said that some one had found a letter, a +disgraceful letter. How _extraordinary_! + +"It's loneliness," suddenly said Miss Ronder, "that drives people to do +the things they do." + +Mrs. Bentinck-Major started as though some one had struck her in the small +of her back. Was the woman a witch? How amazing! + +"I beg your pardon," she said nervously. + +"I was speaking," said Miss Ronder in her clear incisive voice, "of one of +our maids, who has suddenly engaged herself to the most unpleasing-looking +butcher's assistant you can imagine--all spots and stammer. Quite a pretty +girl, too. But it's fear of loneliness that does it. Wanting affection." + +Dear me! Mrs. Bentinck-Major had never had very much affection from Mr. +Bentinck-Major, and had not very consciously missed it, but then she had a +dog, a spaniel, whom she loved most dearly. + +"We're all lonely--all of us--to the very end," said Miss Ronder, as +though she was thinking of some one in especial. And she was. She was +thinking of her nephew. "I shouldn't wonder if the Queen isn't feeling +more lonely to-day than she has ever felt in all her life before." + +And then they saw that dreadful man, Davray, lurching along. _He_ was +lonely, but then he deserved to be, with his _drink_ and all. +_Wicked_ man! Mrs. Bentinck-Major shivered. She didn't know how he +dared to go to church. He shouldn't be allowed. On such a day, too. What +would the Queen herself think, did she know? + +The two ladies and Davray passed through the door at the same time. + + * * * * * + +And now every one was inside. The great bell dropped notes like heavy +weights into a liquid well. For the cup of the Cathedral swam in colour, +the light pouring through the great Rose window, and that multitude of +persons seeming to sway like shadows beneath a sheet of water from amber +to purple, from purple to crimson, from crimson to darkest green. + +Individuality was lost. The Cathedral, thinking nothing of Kings and +Queens, of history, of movement forward and retrograde, but only of itself +and of the life that it had been given, that it now claimed for its own, +with haughty confidence assumed its Power...the Power of its own +Immortality that is neither man's nor God's. + +The trumpets began. They rang out the Psalm that had been given them, and +transformed it into a cry of exultant triumph. Their notes rose, were +caught by the pillars, acclaimed, tossed higher, caught again in the eaves +and corners of the great building, swinging backwards and forwards.... + +"Now listen to My greatness! You created Me for the Worship of your God! + +"And now I am your God! Out of your forms and ceremonies you have made a +new God! And I, thy God, am a jealous God...." + +Ronder read the First Lesson. + +"That's Ronder," the town-people whispered, "the new Canon. Oh! he's +clever. You should hear him preach!" + +"Reads _beautiful!_" Gladys, the Brandons' maid, whispered to Annie, +the kitchen-maid. "I do like a bit of fine reading." + +By those accustomed to observe it was noticed that Ronder read with very +much more assurance than he had done three months ago. It was as though he +knew now where he was, as though he were settled down now and had his +place--and it would take some very strong people to shift him from that +place. Oh, yes. It would! + +And Brandon read the Second Lesson. As usual, when he stepped down from +the choir, slowly, impressively, pausing for a moment before he turned to +the Lectern, strangers whispered to one another, "That's a handsome +parson, that is." He seemed to hesitate again before going up as though he +had stumbled over a step. Very slowly he read the opening words; slowly he +continued. + +Puddifoot, looking up across from his seat in the side aisle, thought, +"There's something the matter with him." Suddenly he paused, looked about +him, stared over the congregation as though he were searching for +somebody, then slowly again went on and finished: + +"Here endeth--the Second Lesson." + +Then, instead of turning, he leaned forward, gripping the Lectern with +both hands, and seemed again to be searching for some one. + +"Looks as though he were going to have a stroke," thought Puddifoot. Then +very carefully, as though he were moving in darkness, he turned and groped +his way downwards. With bent head he walked back into the choir. + +Soon they were scattered--every one according to his or her own +individuality--the prayers had broken them up, too many of them, too long, +and the wooden kneelers so hard. Minds flew like birds about the +Cathedral--ideas, gold and silver, black and grey, soapy and soft, hard as +iron. The men yawned behind their trumpets, the School played Noughts and +Crosses--the Old Lady and her Triumph stepped away into limbo. + +And then suddenly it was time for the Bishop's sermon. Every one hoped +that it would not be long; passing clouds veiled the light behind the East +window and the Roses faded to ashes. The organ rumbled in its crotchety +voice as the old man slowly disentangled himself from his throne, and +slowly, slowly, slowly advanced down the choir. When he appeared above the +nave, and paused for an instant to make sure of the step, all the minds in +the Cathedral suddenly concentrated again, the birds flew back, the air +was still. At the sight of that very old man, that little bag of shaking +bones, all the brief history of the world was suddenly apparent. Greater +than Alexander, more beautiful than Helen of Troy, wiser than Gamaliel, +more powerful than Artaxerxes, he made the secret of immortal life visible +to all. + +His hair was white, and his face was ashen grey, and his hands were like +bird's claws. Like a child finding its way across its nursery floor he +climbed to the pulpit, being now so far distant in heaven that earth was +dark to him. + +"The Lord be with you." + +"And with Thy Spirit." + +His voice was clear and could be heard by all. He spoke for a very short +time. He told them about the Queen, and that she had been good to her +people for sixty years, and that she had feared God; he told them that +that goodness was the only secret of happiness; he told them that Jesus +Christ came nearer and nearer, and ever more near, did one but ask Him. + +He said, "I suppose that I shall never speak to you in this place again. I +am very old. Some of you have thought, perhaps, that I was too old to do +my work here--others have wanted me to stay. I have loved you all very +much, and it is lonely to go away from you. Our great and good Queen also +is old now, and perhaps she, too, in the middle of her triumph, is feeling +lonely. So pray for her, and then pray for me a little, that when I meet +God He may forgive me my sins and help me to do better work than I have +done here. Life is sad sometimes, and often it is dark, but at the end it +is beautiful and wonderful, for which we must thank God." + +He knelt down and prayed, and every one, Davray and Mrs. Combermere, Ellen +Stiles and Morris, Lady St. Leath and Mrs. Brandon, Joan and Lawrence, +Ronder and Foster, prayed too. + +And then they all, all for a moment utterly united in soul and body and +spirit, knelt down and the old man blessed them from the pulpit. + +Then they sang "Now Thank We All Our God." + +Afterwards came the Benediction. + + + + +Chapter VI + +Tuesday, June 22: II. The Fair + + + +As Brandon left the Cathedral Ronder came up to him. Brandon, with bowed +head, had turned into the Cloisters, although that was not the quickest +way to his home. The two men were alone in the greyness lit from without +by the brilliant sun as though it had been a stage setting. + +"I beg your pardon, Archdeacon, I must speak to you." + +Brandon raised his head. He stared at Ronder, then said: + +"I have nothing to say to you. I do not wish to speak to you." + +"I know that you do not." Ronder's face was really troubled; there was an +expression in his eyes that his aunt had never seen. + +Brandon moved on, looking neither to right nor left. + +Ronder continued: "I know how you feel about me. But to-day--somehow--this +service--I feel that I can't allow our quarrel to continue without +speaking. It isn't easy for me----" He broke off. + +Brandon's voice shook. + +"I have nothing to say to you. I do not wish to say anything to you. You +have been my enemy since you first came to this town. My work--my +family----" + +"I am not your enemy. Indeed, indeed I am not. I won't deny that when I +came here I found that you, who were the most important man in the place, +thought differently from myself on every important question. You, +yourself, who are an honest man, would not have had me back out from what +I believed to be my duty. I could do no other. But this personal quarrel +between us was most truly not of my own seeking. I have liked and admired +you from the beginning. Such a matter as the Pybus living has forced us +into opposition, but I am convinced that there are many views that we have +in common, that we could be friends working together--" + +Brandon stopped. + +"Did my son, or did he not, come to see you before he went up to London?" + +Ronder hesitated. + +"Yes," he said, "he did. But--" + +"Did he, or did he not, ask your advice?" + +"Yes, he did. But--" + +"Did you advise him to take the course which he afterwards followed?" + +"No, on my honour, Archdeacon, I did not. I did not know what his personal +trouble was. I did not ask him and he did not tell me. We talked of +generalities--" + +"Had you heard, before he came to you, gossip about my son?" + +"I had heard some silly talk--" + +"Very well, then." + +"But you _shall_ listen to me, Archdeacon. I scarcely knew your son. +I had met him only once before, at some one's house, and talked to him +then only for five minutes. He himself asked to come and see me. I could +not refuse him when he asked me. I did not, of course, wish to refuse him. +I liked the look of him, and simply for his own sake wished to know him +better. When he came he was not with me for very long and our talk was +entirely about religion, belief, faith in God, the meaning of life, +nothing more particular than such things." + +"Did he say, when he left you, that what you had told him had helped him +to make up his mind?" + +"Yes." + +"Were you, when he talked to you, quite unconscious that he was my son, +and that any action that he took would at once affect my life, my +happiness?" + +"Of course I was aware that he was your son. But----" + +"There is another question that I wish to ask you, Canon Ronder. Did some +one come to you not long ago with a letter that purported to be written by +my wife?" + +Again Ronder hesitated. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Did she show you that letter?" + +"She did." + +"Did she ask your advice as to what she should do with it?" + +"She did--I told her----" + +"Did you tell her to come with it to me?" + +"No. On my life, Archdeacon, no. I told her to destroy it and that she was +behaving with the utmost wickedness." + +"Did you believe that that letter was written by my wife." + +"No." + +"Then why, if you believed that this woman was going about the town with a +forged letter directed against my happiness and my family's happiness, did +you not come to me and tell me of it?" + +"You must remember, Archdeacon, that we were not on good terms. We had had +a ridiculous quarrel that had, by some means or another, become public +property throughout the whole town. I will not deny that I felt sore about +that. I did not know what sort of reception I might get if I came to you." + +"Very well. There is a further question that I wish to ask you. Will you +deny that from the moment that you set foot in this town you have been +plotting against me in respect to the Pybus living? You found out on which +side I was standing and at once took the other. From that moment you went +about the town, having secret interviews with every sort of person, +working them by flattery and suggestion round to your side. Will you deny +that?" + +Against his will and his absolute determination Ronder's anger began to +rise: "That I have been plotting as you call it," he said, "I absolutely +and utterly deny. That is an insulting word. That I have been against you +in the matter of Pybus from the first has, of course, been known to every +one here. I have been against you because of what I believe to be the +future good of our Church and of our work here. There has been nothing +personal in that matter at all." + +"You lie," said Brandon, suddenly raising his voice. "Every word that you +have spoken to me this morning has been a lie. You are an enemy of myself +and of my Church, and with God's help your plots and falsehoods shall yet +be defeated. You may take from me my wife and my children, you may ruin my +career here that has been built up through ten years of unfaltering +loyalty and work, but God Himself is stronger than your inventions--and +God will see to it. I am your enemy, Canon Ronder, to the end, as you are +mine. You had better look to yourself. You have been concerned in certain +things that the Law may have something to say about. Look to yourself! +Look to yourself!" + +He strode off down the Cloisters. + +People came to luncheon; there had been an invitation of some weeks +before. He scarcely recognised them; one was Mr. Martin, another Dr. +Trudon, an old Mrs. Purley, a well-established widow, an ancient resident, +a Miss Barrester. He scarcely recognised them although he talked so +exactly in his accustomed way that no one noticed anything at all. Mrs. +Brandon also talked in her accustomed way; that is, she scarcely spoke. +Only that afternoon, at tea at the Dean's, Dr. Trudon confided to Julia +Preston that he could assure her that all the rumours were false; the +Archdeacon had never seemed better...funny for him afterwards to +remember! + +Shadows of a shade! When they left Brandon it was as though they had never +been; the echo of their voices died away into the ticking of the clock, +the movement of plates, the shifting of chairs. + +He shut himself into his study. Here was his stronghold, his fortress. He +settled into his chair and the things in the room gathered around him with +friendly consoling gestures. + +"We are still here, we are your old friends. We know you for what you +truly are. We do not change like the world." + +He fell into a deep sleep; he was desperately tired; he had not slept at +all last night. He was sunk into deep fathomless unconsciousness. Then he +rose from that, climbing up, up, seeing before him a high, black, snow- +tipped mountain. The ascent of this he must achieve, his life depended +upon it. He seemed to be naked, the wind lashing his body, icy cold, so +cold that his breath stabbed him. He climbed, the rocks cut his knees and +hands; then, on every side his enemies appeared, Bentinck-Major and +Foster, the Bishop's Chaplain, women, even children, laughing, and behind +them Hogg and that drunken painter. Their hands were on him, they pulled +at his flesh, they beat on his face--then, suddenly, rising like a full +moon behind the hill--Ronder! + +He woke with a cry; the sun was flooding the room, and at the joy of that +great light and of finding himself alone he could have burst into tears of +relief. + +His thoughts came to him quickly, his brain had been clarified by that +sleep, horrible though it had been. He thought steadily now, the facts all +arranged before him. His wife had told him, almost with vindictive pride, +that she had been guilty of adultery. He did not at present think of +Morris at all. + +To him adultery was an awful, a terrible sin. He himself had been +physically faithful to his wife, although he had perhaps never, in the +true sense of the word, loved her. Because he had been a man of splendid +physique and great animal spirits he had, of course, and especially in his +earlier days, known what physical temptation was, but the extreme +preoccupation of his time with every kind of business had saved him from +that acutest lure that idleness brings. Nevertheless, it may confidently +be said that, had temptation been of the sharpest and the most +aggravating, he would never have, even for a moment, dwelt upon the +possibility of yielding to it. To him this was the "sin against the Holy +Ghost." + +He had not indeed the purity of the Saint to whom these sins are simply +not realisable; he had the confidence of one who had made his vows to God +and, having made them, could not conceive that they should be broken. + +And yet, strangely enough, with all the horror that his wife's confession +had raised in him there was mingled, against his will, the strangest fear +for her. She had lived with him during all these years, he had been her +guard, protector, husband. + +Her immortal soul now was lost unless in some way he could save it for +her. And it was he who should save it. She had suddenly a new poignant +importance for him that she had never had before. Her danger was as deadly +and as imminent to him as though she had been in peril from wild beasts. + +In peril? But she had fallen. He could not save her. Nothing that he could +do now could prevent her sin. At that realisation utter despair seized +him; he moaned aloud, shutting out the light from his eyes with his hands. + +There followed then wild disbelief; what she had told him was untrue, she +had said it to anger him, to spite him. He sprang from his chair and moved +towards the door. He would find her and tell her that he knew that she had +been lying to him, that he did not believe---- + +Mid-way he stopped. He knew that she had spoken the truth, that last +moment when they had looked at one another had been compounded, built up, +of truth. Both a glass and a wall--a glass to reveal absolutely, a wall to +divide them, the one from the other, for ever. + +His brain, active now like a snake coiling and uncoiling within the +flaming spaces of his mind, darted upon Morris. He must find Morris at +once--no delay--at once--at once. What to do? He did not know. But he must +be face to face with him and deal with him--that wretched, miserable, +whining, crying fool. That he--!--HE!...But the picture stopped there. +He saw now neither Morris nor his wife. Only a clerical hat, a high white +collar like a wall, a sniggering laugh, a door closing. + +And his headache was upon him again, his heart pounding and leaping. No +matter. He must find Morris. Nothing else. He went to the door, opened it, +and walked cautiously into the hall as though he had intruded into some +one else's house and was there to rob. + +As he came into the hall Mrs. Brandon was crossing it, also furtively. +They saw one another and stood staring. She would have spoken, but +something in his face terrified her, terrified her so desperately that she +suddenly turned and stumbled upstairs, repeating some words over and over +to herself. He did not move, but stayed there watching until she had gone. + +Something made him change his clothes. He put on trousers and an old +overcoat and a shabby old clerical hat. He was a long time in his +dressing-room, and he was a while before his looking-glass in his shirt +and drawers, staring as though he were trying to find himself. + +While he looked he fancied that some one was behind him, and he searched +for his shadow in the glass, but could find nothing. He moved cautiously +out of the house, closing the heavy hall-door very softly behind him; the +afternoon was advanced, and the faint fair shadows of the summer evening +were stealing from place to place. + +He had intended to go at once to Morris's house, but his head was now +aching so violently that he thought he would walk a little first so that +he might have more control. That was what he wanted, self-control! self- +control! That was their plot, to make him lose command of himself, so that +he should show to every one that he was unfit to hold his position. He +must have perfect control of everything--his voice, his body, his +thoughts. And that was why, just now, he must walk in the darker places, +in the smaller streets, until soon he would be, outwardly, himself again. +So he chose for his walk the little dark winding path that runs steeply +from the Cathedral, along behind Canon's Yard and Bodger's Street, down to +the Pol. It was dark here, even on this lovely summer evening, and no one +was about, but sounds broke through, cries and bells and the distant bray +of bands, and from the hill opposite the clash of the Fair. + +At the bottom of the path he stood for a while looking down the bank to +the river; here the Pol runs very quietly and sweetly, like a little +country river. He crossed it and, still moving like a man in a dream, +started up the hill on the other side. He was not, now, consciously +thinking of anything at all; he was aware only of a great pain at his +heart and a terrible loneliness. Loneliness! What an agony! No one near +him, no one to speak to him, every eye mocking him--God as well, far, far +away from him, hidden by walls and hills. + +As he climbed upward the Fair came nearer to him. He did not notice it. He +crossed a path and was at a turnstile. A man asked him for money. He paid +a shilling and moved forward. He liked crowds; he wanted crowds now. +Either crowds or no one. Crowds where he would be lost and not noticed. + +So many thousands were there, but nevertheless he was noticed. That was +the Archdeacon. Who would have thought that he would come to the Fair? Too +grand. But there he was. Yes, that was the Archdeacon. That tall man in +the soft black hat. Yes, some noticed him. But many thousands did not. The +Fair was packed; strangers from all the county over, sailors and gipsies +and farmers and tramps, women no better than they should be, and shop- +girls and decent farmers' wives, and village girls--all sorts! Thousands, +of course, to whom the Archdeacon meant nothing. + +And that _was_ a Fair, the most wonderful our town had ever seen, the +most wonderful it ever was to see! As with many other things, that Jubilee +Fair marked a period. No Fairs again like the good old Fairs--general +education has seen to that. + +It was a Fair, as there are still some to remember, that had in it a +strange element of fantasy. All the accustomed accompaniments of Fairs +were there--The Two Fat Sisters (outside whose booth a notice was posted +begging the public not to prod with umbrellas to discover whether the Fat +were Fat or Wadding); Trixie, the little lady with neither arms nor legs, +sews and writes with her teeth; the Great Albert, the strongest man in +Europe, who will lift weights against all comers; Battling Edwardes, the +Champion Boxer of the Southern Counties; Hippo's World Circus, with six +monkeys, two lions, three tigers and a rhino; all the pistol-firing, ball- +throwing, coconut contrivances conceivable, and roundabouts at every turn. + +All these were there, but behind them, on the outskirts of them and yet in +the very heart of them, there were other unaccustomed things. + +Some said that a ship from the East had arrived at Drymouth, and that +certain jugglers and Chinese and foreign merchants, instead of going on to +London as they had intended, turned to Polchester. How do I know at this +time of day? How do we, any of us, know how anything gets here, and what +does it matter? But there is at this very moment, living in the +magnificently renovated Seatown, an old Chinaman, who came in Jubilee +Year, and has been there ever since, doing washing and behaving with +admirable propriety, no sign of opium about him anywhere. One element that +they introduced was Colour. Our modern Fairs are not very strong in the +element of Colour. It is true that one of the roundabouts was ablaze with +gilt and tinsel, and in the centre of it, whence comes the music, there +were women with brazen faces and bosoms of gold. It is true also that +outside the Circus and the Fat Sisters and Battling Edwardes there were +flaming pictures with reds and yellows thrown about like temperance +tracts, but the modern figures in these pictures spoilt the colour, the +photography spoilt it--too much reality where there should have been +mystery, too much mystery where realism was needed. + +But here, only two yards from the Circus, was a booth hung with strange +cloths, purple and yellow and crimson, and behind the wooden boards a man +and a woman with brown faces and busy, twirling, twisting, brown hands, +were making strange sweets which they wrapped into coloured packets, and +on the other side of the Fat Sisters there was a tent with Li Hung above +it in letters of gold and red, and inside the tents, boards on trestles, +and on the boards a long purple cloth, and on the cloth little toys and +figures and images, all of the gayest colours and the strangest shapes, +and all as cheap as nothing. + +Farther down the lane of booths was the tent of Hayakawa the Juggler. A +little boy in primrose-coloured tights turned, on a board outside the +tent, round and round and round on his head like a teetotum, and inside, +once every half-hour, Hayakawa, in a lovely jacket of gold and silver, +gave his entertainment, eating fire, piercing himself with silver swords, +finding white mice in his toes, and pulling ribbons of crimson and scarlet +out of his ears. + +Farther away again there were the Brothers Gomez, Spaniards perhaps, dark, +magnificent in figure, running on one wire across the air, balancing +sunshades on their noses, leaping, jumping, standing pyramid-high, their +muscles gleaming like billiard-balls. + +And behind and before and in and out there were strange figures moving +through the Fair, strange voices raised against the evening sky, strange +smells of cooking, strange songs suddenly rising, dying as soon as heard. + +Only a breath away the English fields were quietly lying safe behind their +hedges and the English sky changed from blue to green and from green to +mother-of-pearl, and from mother-of-pearl to ivory, and stars stabbed, +like silver nails, the great canopy of heaven, and the Cathedral bells +rang peal after peal above the slowly lighting town. + +Brandon was conscious of little of this as he moved on. Even the thought +of Morris had faded from him. He could not think consecutively. His mind +was broken up like a mirror that had been smashed into a thousand pieces. +He was most truly in a dream. Soon he would wake up, out of this noise, +away from these cries and lights, and would find it all as he had for so +many years known it. He would be sitting in his drawing-room, his legs +stretched out, his wife and daughter near to him, the rumble of the organ +coming through the wall to them, thinking perhaps of to-morrow's duties, +the town quiet all around them, friends and well-wishers everywhere, no +terrible pain in his head, happily arranging how everything should be... +happy...happy.... Ah! how happy that real life was! When he awoke from +his dream he would realise that and thank God for it. When he awoke.... He +stumbled over something, and looking up realised that he was in a very +crowded part of the Fair, a fire was blazing somewhere near, gas-jets, +although the evening was bright and clear, were naming, screams and cries +seemed to make the very sky rock above his head. + +Where was he? What was he doing here? Why had he come? He would go home. +He turned. + +He turned to face the fire that leapt close at his heel. It was burning at +the back of a caravan, in a dark cul-de-sac away from the main +thoroughfare; to its blazing light the bare boards and ugly plankings of +the booth, splashed here and there with torn paper that rustled a little +in the evening breeze, were all that offered themselves. Near by a horse, +untethered, was quietly nosing at the trodden soil. + +Behind the caravan the field ran down to a ditch and thick hedging. + +Brandon stared at the fire as though absorbed by its light. What did he +see there? Visions perhaps? Did he see the Cathedral, the Precincts, the +quiet circle of demure old houses, his own door, his own bedroom? Did he +see his wife moving hurriedly about the room, opening drawers and shutting +them, pausing for a moment to listen, then coming out, closing the door, +listening again, then stepping downstairs, pausing for a moment in the +hall to lay something on the table, then stepping out into the green +wavering evening light? Or did the flames make pictures for him of the +deserted railway-station, the long platform, lit only by one lamp, two +figures meeting, exchanging almost no word, pacing for a little in silence +the dreary spaces, stepping back as the London express rolled in--such a +safe night to choose for escape--then burying themselves in it like +rabbits in their burrow? + +Did his vision lead him back to the deserted house, silent save for its +ticking clocks, black in that ring of lights and bells and shouting +voices? + +Or was he conscious only of the warmth and the life of the fire, of some +sudden companionship with the woman bending over it to stir the sticks and +lift some pot from the heart of the flame? He was feeling, perhaps, a +sudden peace here and a silence, and was aware of the stars breaking into +beauty one by one above his head. + +But his peace, if for a moment he had found it, was soon interrupted. A +voice that he knew came across to him from the other side of the fire. + +"Why, Archdeacon, who would have thought to find you here?" + +He looked up and saw, through the fire, the face of Davray the painter. + +He turned to go, and at once Davray was at his side. + +"No. Don't go. You're in my country now, Archdeacon, not your own. You're +not cock of _this_ walk, you know. Last time we met you thought you +owned the place. Well, you can't think you own this. Fight it out, Mr. +Archdeacon, fight it out." + +Brandon answered: + +"I have no quarrel with you, Mr. Davray. Nor have I anything to say to +you." + +"No quarrel? I like that. I'd knock your face in for two-pence, you +blasted hypocrite. And I will too. All free ground here." + +Davray's voice was shrill. He was swaying on his legs. The woman looked up +from the fire and watched them. + +Brandon turned his back to him and saw, facing him, Samuel Hogg and some +men behind him. + +"Why, good evening, Mr. Archdeacon," said Hogg, taking off his hat and +bowing. "What a delightful place for a meeting!" + +Brandon said quietly, "Is there anything you want with me?" He realised at +once that Hogg was drunk. + +"Nothing," said Hogg, "except to give you a damned good hiding. I've been +waiting for that these many weeks. See him, boys," he continued, turning +to the men behind him. "'Ere's this parson who ruined my daughter--as fine +a girl as ever you've seen--ruined 'er, he did--him and his blasted son. +What d'you say, boys? Is it right for him to be paradin' round here as +proud as a peacock and nobody touchin' him? What d'you say to givin' him a +damned good hiding?" + +The men smiled and pressed forward. Davray from the other side suddenly +lurched into Brandon. Brandon struck out, and Davray fell and lay where he +fell. + +Hogg cried, "Now for 'im, boys----", and at once they were upon him. +Hogg's face rose before Brandon's, extended, magnified in all its details. +Brandon hit out and then was conscious of blows upon his face, of some one +kicking him in the back, of himself hitting wildly, of the fire leaping +mountains-high behind him, of a woman's cry, of something trickling down +into his eye, of sudden contact with warm, naked, sweating flesh, of a +small pinched face, the eyes almost closed, rising before him and falling +again, of a shout, then sudden silence and himself on his knees groping in +darkness for his hat, of his voice far from him murmuring to him, "It's +all right.... It's my hat...it's my hat I must find." + +He wiped his forehead. The back of his hand was covered with blood. + +He saw once again the fire, low now and darkly illumined by some more +distant light, heard the scream of the merry-go-round, stared about him +and saw no living soul, climbed to his feet and saw the stars, then very +slowly, like a blind man in the dark, felt his way to the field's edge, +found a gate, passed through and collapsed, shuddering in the hedge's +darkness. + + + + +Chapter VII + +Tuesday, June 22: III. Torchlight + + + +Joan came home about seven o'clock that evening. Dinner was at half-past +seven, and after dinner she was going to the Deanery to watch the +Torchlight Procession from the Deanery garden. She had had the most +wonderful afternoon. Mrs. Combermere, who had been very kind to her +lately, had taken her up to the Flower Show in the Castle grounds, and +there she had had the most marvellous and beautiful talk with Johnny. They +had talked right under his mother's nose, so to speak, and had settled +everything. Yes--simply everything! They had told one another that their +love was immortal, that nothing could touch it, nor lessen it, nor twist +it--nothing! + +Joan, on her side, had stated that she would never be engaged to Johnny +until his mother consented, and that until they were engaged they must +behave exactly as though they were not engaged, that is, never see one +another alone, never write letters that might not be read by any one; but +she had also asserted that no representations on the part of anybody that +she was ruining Johnny, or that she was a nasty little intriguer, or that +nice girls didn't behave "so," would make the slightest difference to her; +that she knew what she was and Johnny knew what _he_ was, and that +was enough for both of them. + +Johnny on his side had said that he would be patient for a time under this +arrangement, but that the time would not be a very long one, and that she +couldn't object to accepting a little ring that he had bought for her, +that she needn't wear it, but just keep it beside her to remind her of +him. + +But Joan had said that to take the ring would be as good as to be engaged, +and that therefore she would not take it, but that he could keep it ready +for the day of their betrothal. + +She had come home, through the lovely evening, in such a state of +happiness that she was forced to tell Mrs. Combermere all about it, and +Mrs. Combermere had been a darling and assured her that she was quite +right in all that she had done, and that it made her, Mrs. Combermere, +feel quite young again, and that she would help them in every way that she +could, and parting at the Arden Gate, she had kissed Joan just as though +she were her very own daughter. + +So Joan, shining with happiness, came back to the house. It seemed very +quiet after the sun and glitter and laughter of the Flower Show. She went +straight up to her room at the top of the house, washed her face and +hands, brushed her hair and put on her white frock. + +As she came downstairs the clock struck half-past seven. In the hall she +met Gladys. + +"Please, miss," said Gladys, "is dinner to be kept back?" + +"Why," said Joan, "isn't mother in?" + +"No, miss, she went out about six o'clock and she hasn't come in." + +"Isn't father in?" + +"No, miss." + +"Did she say that she'd be late?" + +"No, miss." + +"Oh, well--we must wait until mother comes in." + +"Yes, miss." + +She saw then a letter on the hall-table. She picked it up. It was +addressed to her father, a note left by somebody. She thought nothing of +that--notes were so often left; the hand-writing was exactly like her +mother's, but of course it could not be hers. She went into the drawing- +room. + +Here the silence was oppressive. She walked up and down, looking out of +the long windows at the violet dusk. Gladys came in to draw the blinds. + +"Didn't mother say _anything_ about when she'd be in?" + +"No, miss." + +"She left no message for me?" + +"No, miss. Your mother seemed in a hurry like." + +"She didn't ask where I was?" + +"No, miss." + +"Did she go out with father?" + +"No, miss--your father went out a quarter of an hour earlier." + +Gladys coughed. "Please, miss, Cook and me's wanting to go out and see the +Procession." + +"Oh, of course you must. But that won't be until half-past nine. They come +past here, you know." + +"Yes, miss." + +Joan picked up the new number of the _Cornhill Magazine_ and tried to +settle down. But she was restless. Her own happiness made her so. And then +the house was "queer." It had the sense of itself waiting for some effort, +and holding its breath in expectation. + +As Joan sat there trying to read the _Cornhill_ serial, and most +sadly failing, it seemed to her stranger and stranger that her mother was +not in. She had not been well lately; Joan had noticed how white she had +looked; she had always a "headache" when you asked her how she was. Joan +had fancied that she had never been the same since Falk had been away. She +had a letter in her dress now from Falk. She took it out and read it over +again. As to himself it had only good news; he was well and happy, Annie +was "splendid." His work went on finely. His only sadness was his breach +with his father; again and again he broke out about this, and begged, +implored Joan to do something. If she did not, he said, he would soon come +down himself and risk a row. There was one sentence towards the end of the +letter which read oddly to Joan just now. "I suppose the old man's in his +proper element over all the Jubilee celebrations. I can see him strutting +up and down the Cathedral as though he owned every stone in it, bless his +old heart! I tell you, Joan, I just ache to see him. I do really. Annie's +father hasn't been near us since we came up here. Funny! I'd have thought +he'd have bothered me long before this. I'm ready for him if he comes. By +the way, if mother shows any signs of wanting to come up to town just now, +do your best to prevent her. Father needs her, and it's her place to look +after him. I've special reasons for saying this...." + +What a funny thing for Falk to say! and the only allusion to his mother in +the whole of the letter. + +Joan smiled to herself as she read it. What did Falk think her power was? +Why, her mother and father had never listened to her for a single moment, +nor had he, Falk, when he had been at home. She had never counted at all-- +to any one save Johnny. She put down the letter and tried to lose herself +in the happy country of her own love, but she could not. Her honesty +prevented her; its silence was now oppressive and heavy-weighted. Where +could her mother be? And dinner already half an hour late in that so +utterly punctual house! What had Falk meant about mother going to London? +Of course she would not go to London--at any rate without father. How +could Falk imagine such a thing? More than an hour passed. + +She began to walk about the room, wondering what she should do about the +dinner. She must give up the Sampsons, and she was very hungry. She had +had no tea at the Flower Show and very little luncheon. + +She was about to go and speak to Gladys when she heard the hall door open. +It closed. Something--some unexpressed fear or foreboding--kept her where +she was. Steps were in the hall, but they were not her father's; he always +moved with determined stride to his study or the stairs. These steps +hesitated and faltered as though some one were there who did not know the +house. + +At last she went into the hall and saw that it was indeed her father now +going slowly upstairs. + +"Father!" she cried; "I'm so glad you're in. Dinner's been waiting for +hours. Shall I tell them to send it up?" + +He did not answer nor look back. She went to the bottom of the stairs and +said again: + +"Shall I, father?" + +But still he did not answer. She heard him close his door behind him. + +She went back into the drawing-room terribly frightened. There was +something in the bowed head and slow steps that terrified her, and +suddenly she was aware that she had been frightened for many weeks past, +but that she had never owned to herself that it was so. + +She waited for a long time wondering what she should do. At last, calling +her courage, she climbed the stairs, waited, and then, as though compelled +by the overhanging silence of the house, knocked on his dressing-room +door. + +"Father, what shall we do about dinner? Mother hasn't come in yet." There +was no answer. + +"Will you have dinner now?" she asked again. + +A voice suddenly answered her as though he were listening on the other +side of the door. "No, no. I want no dinner." + +She went down again, told Gladys that she would eat something, then sat in +the lonely dining-room swallowing her soup and cutlet in the utmost haste. + +Something was terribly wrong. Her father was covering all the rest of her +view--the Jubilee, her mother, even Johnny. He was in great trouble, and +she must help him, but she felt desperately her youth, her inexperience, +her inadequacy. + +She waited again, when she had finished her meal, wondering what she had +better do. Oh! how stupid not to know instantly the right thing and to +feel this fear when it was her own father! + +She went half-way upstairs, and then stood listening. No sound. Again she +waited outside his door. With trembling hand she turned the handle. He +faced her, staring at her. On his left temple was a big black bruise, on +his forehead a cut, and on his left cheek a thin red mark that looked like +a scratch. + +"Father, you're hurt!" + +"Yes, I fell down--stumbled over something, coming up from the river." He +looked at her impatiently. "Well, well, what is it?" + +"Nothing, father--only they're still keeping some dinner--" + +"I don't want anything. Where is your mother?" + +"She hasn't come back." + +"Not come back? Why, where did she go to?" + +"I don't know. Gladys says she went out about six." + +He pushed past her into the passage. He went down into the hall; she +followed him timidly. From the bottom of the stairs he saw the letter on +the table, and he went straight to it. He tore open the envelope and read: + + * * * * * + +I have left you for ever. All that I told you on Sunday night was true, +and you may use that information as you please. Whatever may come to me, +at least I know that I am never to live under the same roof with you +again, and that is happiness enough for me, whatever other misery there +may be in store for me. Now, at last, perhaps, you will realise that +loneliness is worse than any other hell, and that's the hell you've made +me suffer for twenty years. Look around you and see what your selfishness +has done for you. It will be useless to try to persuade me to return to +you. I hope to God that I shall never see you again. + +AMY. + + * * * * * + +He turned and said in his ordinary voice, "Your mother has left me." + +He came across to her, suddenly caught her by the shoulders, and said: +"Now, _you'd_ better go, do you hear? They've all left me, your +mother, Falk, all of them. They've fallen on me and beaten me. They've +kicked me. They've spied on me and mocked me. Well, then, you join them. +Do you hear? What do you stay for? Why do you remain with me? Do you hear? +Do you hear?" + +She understood nothing. Her terror caught her like the wind. She crouched +back against the bannisters, covering her face with her hand. + +"Don't hit me, father. Please, please don't hit me." + +He stood over her, staring down at her. + +"It's a plot, and you must be in it with the others.... Well, go and tell +them they've won. Tell them to come and kick me again. I'm down now. I'm +beaten; go and tell them to come in--to come and take my house and my +clothes. Your mother's gone--follow her to London, then." + +He turned. She heard him go into the drawing-room. + +Suddenly, although she still did not understand what had happened, she +knew that she must follow him and care for him. He had pulled the curtains +aside and thrown up the windows. + +"Let them come in! Let them come in! I--I----" + +Suddenly he turned towards her and held out his arms. + +"I can't--I can't bear any more." He fell on his knees, burying his face +in the shoulder of the chair. Then he cried: + +"Oh, God, spare me now, spare me! I cannot bear any more. Thou hast +chastised me enough. Oh, God, don't take my sanity from me--leave me that. +Oh, God, leave me that! Thou hast taken everything else. I have been +beaten and betrayed and deserted. I confess my wickedness, my arrogance, +my pride, but it was in Thy service. Leave me my mind. Oh, God, spare me, +spare me, and forgive her who has sinned so grievously against Thy laws. +Oh, God, God, save me from madness, save me from madness." + +In that moment Joan became a woman. Her love, her own life, she threw +everything away. + +She went over to him, put her arms around his neck, kissed tim, fondled +him, pressing her cheek against his. + +"Dear, dear father. I love you so. I love you so. No one shall hurt you. +Father dear, father darling." + +Suddenly the room was blazing with light. The Torchlight Procession +tumbled into the Precincts. The Cathedral sprang into light; on all the +hills the bonfires were blazing. + +Black figures scattered like dwarfs, pigmies, giants about the grass. The +torches tossed and whirled and danced. + +The Cathedral rose from the darkness, triumphant in gold and fire. + + + + + +Book IV + +The Last Stand + + + + +Chapter I + +In Ronder's House: Ronder, Wistons + + + +Every one has, at one time or another, known the experience of watching +some friend or acquaintance moved suddenly from the ordinary atmosphere of +every day into some dramatic region of crisis where he becomes, for a +moment, far more than life-size in his struggle against the elements; he +is lifted, like Siegmund in _The Valkyrie_, into the clouds for his +last and most desperate duel. + +There was something of this feeling in the attitude taken in our town +after the Jubilee towards Archdeacon Brandon. As Miss Stiles said (not +meaning it at all unkindly), it really was very fortunate for everybody +that the town had the excitement of the Pybus appointment to follow +immediately the Jubilee drama; had it not been so, how flat would every +one have been! And by the Pybus appointment she meant, of course, the +Decline and Fall of Archdeacon Brandon, and the issue of his contest with +delightful, clever Canon Ronder. + +The disappearance of Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris would have been +excitement enough quite by itself for any one year. As every one said, the +wives of Archdeacons simply did _not_ run away with the clergymen of +their town. It was not done. It had never, within any one's living memory, +been done before, whether in Polchester or anywhere else. + +Clergymen were, of course, only human like any one else, and so were their +wives, but at least they did not make a public declaration of their +failings; they remembered their positions, who they were and what they +were. + +In one sense there had been no public declaration. Mrs. Brandon had gone +up to London to see about some business, and Mr. Morris also happened to +be away, and his sister-in-law was living on in the Rectory exactly as +though nothing had occurred. However, that disguise could not hold for +long, and every one knew exactly what had happened--well, if not exactly, +every one had a very good individual version of the whole story. + +And through it all, above it, behind it and beyond it, towered the figure +of the Archdeacon. _He_ was the question, he the centre of the drama. +There were a hundred different stories running around the town as to what +exactly had happened to him during those Jubilee days. Was it true that he +had taken Miss Milton by the scruff of her long neck and thrown her out of +the house? Was it true that he had taken his coat off in the Cloisters and +given Ronder two black eyes? (The only drawback to this story was that +Ronder showed no sign of bruises.) Had he and Mrs. Brandon fought up and +down the house for the whole of a night, Joan assisting? And, above all, +_what_ occurred at the Jubilee Fair? _Had_ Brandon been set upon +by a lot of ruffians? Was it true that Samuel Hogg had revenged himself +for his daughter's abduction? No one knew. No one knew anything at all. +The only certain thing was that the Archdeacon had a bruise on his temple +and a scratch on his cheek, and that he was "queer," oh, yes, very queer +indeed! + +It was finally about this "queerness" that the gossip of the town most +persistently clung. Many people said that they had watched him "going +queer" for a long while back, entirely forgetting that only a year ago he +had been the most vigorous, healthiest, sanest man in the place. Old +Puddifoot, with all sorts of nods, winks and murmurs, alluded to +mysterious medical secrets, and "how much he could tell an' he would," and +that "he had said years ago about Brandon...." Well, never mind what he +had said, but it was all turning out exactly as, for years, he had +expected. + +Nothing is stranger (and perhaps more fortunate) than the speed with which +the past is forgotten. Brandon might have been all his days the odd, +muttering, eye-wandering figure that he now appeared. Where was the Viking +now? Where the finest specimen of physical health in all Glebeshire? Where +the King and Crowned Monarch of Polchester? + +In the dust and debris of the broken past. "Poor old Archdeacon." "A bit +queer in the upper storey." "Not to be wondered at after all the trouble +he's had." "They break up quickly, those strong-looking men." "Bit too +pleased with himself, he was." "Ah, well, he's served his time; what we +need are more modern men. You can't deny that he was old-fashioned." + +People were not altogether to be blamed for this sudden sense that they +were stepping into a new period, out of one room into another, so to +speak. The Jubilee was responsible for that. It _did_ mark a period, +and looking back now after all these years one can see that that +impression was a true one. The Jubilee of '97, the Boer War, the death of +Queen Victoria--the end of the Victorian Era for Church as well as for +State. + +And there were other places beside Polchester that could show their +typical figures doomed, as it were, to die for their Period--no mean nor +unworthy death after all. + +But no Polcastrian in '97 knew that that service in the Cathedral, that +scratch on the Archdeacon's cheek, that visit of Mrs. Brandon to London-- +that these things were for them the Writing on the Wall. June 1897 and +August 1914 were not, happily for them, linked together in immortal +significance--their eyes were set on the personal history of the men and +women who were moving before them. Had Brandon in the pride of his heart +not claimed God as his ally, would men have died at Ypres? Can any bounds +be placed to one act of love and unselfishness, to a single deed of mean +heart and malicious tongue? + +It was enough for our town that "Brandon and his ways" were out-of-date, +and it was a lucky thing that as modern a man as Ronder had come amongst +us. + +And yet not altogether. Brandon in prosperity was one thing, Brandon in +misfortune quite another. He had been abominably treated. What had he ever +done that was not actuated absolutely by zeal for the town and the +Cathedral? + +And, after all, had that man Ronder acted straight? He was fair and genial +enough outwardly, but who could tell what went on behind those round +spectacles? There were strange stories of intrigue about. Had he not +determined to push Brandon out of the place from the first moment of his +arrival? And as far as this Pybus living went, it was all very well to be +modern and advanced, but wasn't Ronder advocating for the appointment a +man who laughed at the Gospels and said that there were no such things as +snakes and apples in the Garden of Eden? After all, he was a foreigner, +and Brandon belonged to them. Poor old Brandon! + +Ronder was in his study, waiting for Wistons. Wistons had come to +Polchester for a night to see his friend Foster. It was an entirely +private visit, unknown to anybody save two or three of his friends among +the clergy. He had asked whether Ronder could spare him half an hour. +Ronder was delighted to spare it.... + +Ronder was in the liveliest spirits. He hummed a little chant to himself +as he paced his study, stopping, as was his habit, to touch something on +his table, to push back a book more neatly into its row on the shelf, to +stare for an instant out of the window into the green garden drenched with +the afternoon sun. + +Yes, he was in admirable spirits. He had known some weeks of acute +discomfort. That phase was over, his talk with Brandon in the Cloisters +after the Cathedral service had closed it. On that occasion he had put +himself entirely in the right, having been before that, under the eye of +his aunt and certain critics in the town, ever so slightly in the wrong. +Now he was justified. He had humbled himself before Brandon (when really +there was no reason to do so), apologised (when truly there was not the +slightest need for it)--Brandon had utterly rejected his apology, turned +on him as though he were a thief and a robber--he had done all that he +could, more, far more, than his case demanded. + +So his comfort, his dear consoling comfort, had returned to him +completely. And with it had returned all his affection, his tenderness for +Brandon. Poor man, deserted by his wife, past his work, showing as he so +obviously did in the Jubilee week that his brain (never very agile) was +now quite inert, poor man, poor, poor man! Ronder, as he walked his study, +simply longed to do something for Brandon--to give him something, make him +a generous present, to go to London and persuade his poor weak wife to +return to him, anything, anything to make him happy again. + +Too sad to see the poor man's pale face, restless eyes, to watch his +hurried, uneasy walk, as though he were suspicious of every man. +Everywhere now Ronder sang Brandon's praises--what fine work he had done +in the past, how much the Church owed him; where would Polchester have +been in the past without him? + +"I assure you," Ronder said to Mrs. Preston, meeting her in the High +Street, "the Archdeacon's work may be over, but when I think of what the +Church owes him----" + +To which Mrs. Preston had said: "Ah, Canon, how you search for the Beauty +in human life! You are a lesson to all of us. After all, to find Beauty in +even the meanest and most disappointing, that is our task!" + +There was no doubt but that Ronder had come magnificently through the +Jubilee week. It had in every way strengthened and confirmed his already +strong position. He had been everywhere; had added gaiety and sunshine to +the Flower Show; had preached a most wonderful sermon at the evening +service on the Tuesday; had addressed, from the steps of his house, the +Torchlight Procession in exactly the right words; had patted all the +children on the head at the Mayor's tea for the townspeople; had enchanted +everywhere. That for which he had worked had been accomplished, and +accomplished with wonderful speed. + +He was firmly established as the leading Churchman in Polchester; only now +let the Pybus living go in the right direction (as it must do), and he +would have nothing more to wish for. + +He loved the place. As he looked down into the garden and thought of the +years of pleasant comfort and happiness now stretching in front of him, +his heart swelled with love of his fellow human beings. He longed, here +and now, to do something for some one, to give some children pennies, some +poor old men a good meal, to lend some one his pounds, to speak a good +word in public for some one maligned, to------ + +"Mr. Wistons, sir," said the maid. When he turned round only his exceeding +politeness prevented him from a whistle of astonishment. He had never seen +a photograph of Wistons, and the man had never been described to him. + +From all that he had heard and read of him, he had pictured him a tall, +lean ascetic, a kind of Dante and Savonarola in one, a magnificent figure +of protest and abjuration. This man who now came towards him was little, +thin, indeed, but almost deformed, seeming to have one shoulder higher +than the other, and to halt ever so slightly on one foot. His face was +positively ugly, redeemed only, as Ronder, who was no mean observer, at +once perceived, by large and penetrating eyes. The eyes, indeed, were +beautiful, of a wonderful softness and intelligence. + +His hair was jet black and thick; his hand, as it gripped Ronder's, strong +and bony. + +"I'm very glad to meet you, Canon Ronder," he said. "I've heard so much +about you." His voice, as Mrs. Combermere long afterwards remarked, "has a +twinkle in it." It was a jolly voice, humorous, generous but incisive, and +exceedingly clear. It had a very slight accent, so slight that no one +could ever decide on its origin. The books said that Wistons had been born +in London, and that his father had been Rector of Lambeth for many years; +it was also quickly discovered by penetrating Polcastrians that he had a +not very distant French ancestry. Was it Cockney? "I expect," said Miss +Stiles, "that he played with the little Lambeth children when he was +small"--but no one really knew... + +The two men sat down facing one another, and Wistons looked strange indeed +with his shoulders hunched up, his thin little legs like two cross-bones, +one over the other, his black hair and pale face. + +"I feel rather like a thief in the night," he said, "stealing down here. +But Foster wanted me to come, and I confess to a certain curiosity +myself." + +"You would like to come to Pybus if things go that way?" Ronder asked him. + +"I shall be quite glad to come. On the other hand, I shall not be at all +sorry to stay where I am. Does it matter very much where one is?" + +"Except that the Pybus living is generally considered a very important +step in Church preferment. It leads, as a rule, to great things." + +"Great things? Yes..." Wistons seemed to be talking to himself. "One thing +is much like another. The more power one seems to have outwardly, the less +very often one has in reality. However, if I'm called I'll come. But I +wanted to see you, Canon Ronder, for a special purpose." + +"Yes?" asked Ronder. + +"Of course I haven't enquired in any way into the probabilities of the +Pybus appointment. But I understand that there is very strong opposition +to myself; naturally there would be. I also understand that, with the +exception of my friend Foster, you are my strongest supporter in this +matter. May I ask you why?" + +"Why?" repeated Ronder. + +"Yes, why? You may say, and quite justly, that I have no right at all to +ask you that question. It should be enough for me, I know, to realise that +there are certain people here who want me to come. It ought to be enough. +But it isn't. It _isn't_. I won't--I can't come here under false +pretences." + +"False pretences!" cried Ronder. "I assure you, dear Mr. Wistons--" + +"Oh, yes, I know. I know what you will naturally tell me. But I have +caught enough of the talk here--Foster in his impetuosity has been perhaps +indiscreet--to realise that there has been, that there still is, a battle +here between the older, more conservative body of opinion and the more +modern school. It seems to me that I have been made the figure-head of +this battle. To that I have no objection. It is not for the first time. +But what I want to ask you, Canon Ronder, with the utmost seriousness, is +just this: + +"Have you supported my appointment because you honestly felt that I was +the best man for this particular job, or because--I know you will forgive +me if this question sounds impertinent--you wished to score a point over +some personal adversary?" + +The question _was_ impertinent. There could be no doubt of it. Ronder +ought at once to resent any imputation on his honesty. What right had this +man to dip down into Ronder's motives? The Canon stared from behind his +glasses into those very bright and insistent eyes, and even as he stared +there came once again that cold little wind of discomfort, that +questioning, irritating wind, that had been laid so effectively, he +thought, for ever to rest. What was this man about, attacking him like +this, attacking him before, even, he had been appointed? Was it, after +all, quite wise that Wistons should come here? Would that same comfort, so +rightly valued by Ronder, be quite assured in the future if Wistons were +at Pybus? Wouldn't some nincompoop like Forsyth be perhaps, after all, his +best choice? + +Ronder suddenly ceased to wish to give pennies to little children or a +present to Brandon. He was, very justly, irritated. + +"Do forgive me if I am impertinent," said Wistons quietly, "but I have to +know this." + +"But of course," said Ronder, "I consider you the best man for this +appointment. I should not have stirred a finger in your support +otherwise." (Why, something murmured to him, are people always attributing +to you unworthy motives, first your aunt, then Foster, now this man?) "You +are quite correct in saying that there is strong opposition to your +appointment here. But that is quite natural; you have only to consider +some of your published works to understand that. A battle is being fought +with the more conservative elements in the place. You have heard probably +that the Archdeacon is their principal leader, but I think I may say that +our victory is already assured. There was never any real doubt of the +issue. Archdeacon Brandon is a splendid fellow, and has done great work +for the Church here, but he is behind the times, out-of-date, and too +obstinate to change. Then certain, family misfortunes have hit him hard +lately, and his health is not, I fear, what it was. His opposition is as +good as over." + +"That's a swift decline," said Wistons. "I remember only some six months +ago hearing of him as by far the strongest man in this place." + +"Yes, it has been swift," said Ronder, shaking his head regretfully, "but +I think that his position here was largely based on the fact that there +was no one else here strong enough to take the lead against him. + +"My coming into the diocese--some one, however feeble, you understand, +coming in from outside--made an already strong modern feeling yet +stronger." + +"I will tell you one thing," said Wistons, suddenly shooting up his +shoulders and darting forward his head. "I think all this Cathedral +intrigue disgusting. No, I don't blame you. You came into the middle of +it, and were doubtless forced to take the part you did. But I'll have no +lot or hold in it. If I am to understand that I gain the Pybus appointment +only through a lot of backstairs intrigue and cabal, I'll let it be known +at once that I would not accept that living though it were offered me a +thousand times." + +"No, no," cried Ronder eagerly. "I assure you that that is not so. There +has been intrigue here owing to the old politics of the party who governed +the Cathedral. But that is, I hope and pray, over and done with. It is +because so many of us want to have no more of it that we are asking you to +come here. Believe me, believe me, that is so." + +"I should not have said what I did," continued Wistons quietly. "It was +arrogant and conceited. Perhaps you cannot avoid intrigue and party +feeling among the community of any Cathedral body. That is why I want you +to understand, Canon Ronder, the kind of man I am, before you propose me +for this post. I am afraid that you may afterwards regret your advocacy. +If I were invited to a Canonry, or any post immediately connected with the +Cathedral, I would not accept it for an instant. I come, if I come at all, +to fight the Cathedral--that is to fight everything in it, round and about +it, that prevents men from seeing clearly the figure of Christ. + +"I believe, Canon Ronder, that before many years are out it will become +clear to the whole world that there are now two religions--the religion of +authority, and the religion of the spirit--and if in such a division I +must choose, I am for the religion of the spirit every time." + +The religion of the spirit! Ronder stirred, a little restlessly, his fat +thighs. What had that to do with it? They were discussing the Pybus +appointment. The religion of the spirit! Well, who wasn't for that? As to +dogma, Ronder had never laid very great stress upon it. A matter of words +very largely. He looked out to the garden, where a tree, scooped now like +a great green fan against the blue-white sky, was shading the sun's rays. +Lovely! Lovely! Lovely like the Hermes downstairs, lovely like the piece +of red amber on his writing-table, like the Blind Homer...like a scallop +of green glass holding water that washed a little from side to side, the +sheen on its surface changing from dark shadow to faintest dusk. Lovely! +He stared, transported, his comfort flowing full-tide now into his soul. + +"Exactly!" he said, suddenly turning his eyes full on Wistons. "The +Christian Church has made a golden calf of its dogmas. The Calf is +worshipped, the Cathedral enshrines it." + +Wistons gave a swift curious stab of a glance. Ronder caught it; he +flushed. "You think it strange of me to say that?" he asked. "I can see +that you do. Let me be frank with you. It has been my trouble all my life +that I can see every side of a question. I am with the modernists, but at +the same time I can understand how dangerous it must seem to the +dogmatists to abandon even an inch of the country that Paul conquered for +them. I'm afraid, Wistons, that I see life in terms of men and women +rather than of creeds. I want men to be happy and at peace with one +another. And if to form a new creed or to abandon an old one leads to +men's deeper religious happiness, well, then...." He waved his hands. + +Wistons, speaking again as it were to himself, answered, "I care only for +Jesus Christ. He is overshadowed now by all the great buildings that men +have raised for Him. He is lost to our view; we must recover Him. Him! +Him! Only Him! To serve Him, to be near Him, almost to feel the touch of +His hand on one's head, that is the whole of life to me. And now He is +hard to come to, harder every year...." He got up. "I didn't come to say +more than that. + +"It's the Cathedral, Ronder, that I fear. Don't you yourself sometimes +feel that it has, by now, a spirit of its own, a life, a force that all +the past years and all the worship that it has had have given it? Don't +you even feel that? That it has become a god demanding his own rites and +worshippers? That it uses men for its own purposes, and not for Christ's? +That almost it hates Christ? It is so beautiful, so lovely, so haughty, so +jealous! + +"For I, thy God, am a jealous God.'..." He broke off. "I could love Christ +better in that garden than in the Cathedral. Tear it down and build it up +again!" He turned restlessly, almost savagely, to Ronder. "Can you be +happy and comfortable and at ease, when you see what Christ might be to +human beings and what He is? Who thinks of Him, who cares for Him, who +loves His sweetness and charity and tenderness? Why is something always in +the way, always, always, always? Love! Charity! Doesn't such a place as +this Cathedral breed hatred and malice and pride and jealousy? And isn't +its very beauty a contempt?...And now what right have you to help my +appointment to Pybus?" + +Ronder smiled. + +"You are what we need here," he said. "You shall shake some of our comfort +from us--make a new life here for us." + +Wistons was suddenly almost timid. He spoke as though he were waking from +some dream. + +"Good-bye.... Good-bye. No, don't come down. Thank you so much. Thank you. +Very kind of you. Good-bye." + +But Ronder insisted on coming down. They shook hands at his door. The +figure was lost in the evening sun. + +Ronder stood there for a moment gazing at the bright grass, the little +houses with their shining knockers, the purple shadow of the Cathedral. + +Had he done right? Was Wistons the man? Might he not be more dangerous +than...? No, no, too late now. The fight with Brandon must move to its +appointed end. Poor Brandon! Poor dear Brandon! + +He looked across at the house as on the evening of his arrival from that +same step he had looked. + +Poor Brandon! He would like to do something for him, some little kindly +unexpected act! + +He closed the door and softly padded upstairs, humming happily to himself +that little chant. + + + + +Chapter II + +Two in the House + + + +A letter from Falk to Joan. + + Dear Joan--Mother has been here. I could get nothing out of her. I had +only one thing to say--that she must go back to father. That was the one +thing that she asserted, over and over again, that she never would. Joan, +she was tragic. I felt that I had never seen her before, never known her. +She was thinking of nothing but Morris. She seemed to see him all the time +that she was in the room with me. She is going abroad with Morris at the +end of this week--to South America, I believe. Mother doesn't seem now to +care what happens, except that she will not go back to father. + +She said an odd thing to me at the end--that she had had her time, her +wonderful time, and that she could never be as unhappy or as lonely as she +was, and that she would love him always (Morris, I suppose), and that he +would love her. + +The skunk that Morris is! And yet I don't know. Haven't I been a skunk +too? And yet I don't feel a skunk. If only father would be happy! Then +things would be better than they've ever been. You don't know how good +Annie is, Joan. How fine and simple and true! Why are we all such +mixtures? Why can't you ever do what's right for yourself without hurting +other people? But I'm not going to wait much longer. If things aren't +better soon I'm coming down whether he'll see me or no. We _must_ +make him happy. We're all that he has now. Once this Pybus thing is +settled I'll come down. Write to me. Tell me everything. You're a brick, +Joan, to take all this as you do. Why did we go all these years without +knowing one another?--Your loving brother, + +FALK. + +A letter from Joan to Falk. + +DEAREST FALK--I'm answering you by return because I'm so frightened. If I +send you a telegram, come down at once. Mr. Morris's sister-in-law is +telling everybody that he only went up to London on business. But she's +not going to stay here, I think. But I can't think much even of mother. I +can think of no one but father. Oh, Falk, it's been terrible these last +three days, and I don't know _what's_ going to happen. + +I'll try and tell you how it's been. It's two months now since mother went +away. That night it was dreadful. He walked up and down his room all +night. Indeed he's been doing that ever since she went. And yet I don't +think it's of her that he's thinking most. I'm not sure even that he's +thinking of her at all. + +He's concentrating everything now on the Pybus appointment. He talks to +himself. (You can see by that how changed he is.) He is hurrying round to +see people and asking them to the house, and he's so odd with them, +looking at them suddenly, suspiciously, as though he expected that they +were laughing at him. There's always something in the back of his mind-- +not mother, I'm sure. Something happened to him that last day of the +Jubilee. He's always talking about some one who struck him, and he puts +his hand up to feel his forehead, where there was a bruise. He told me +that day that he had fallen down, but I'm sure now that he had a fight +with somebody. + +He's always talking, too, about a "conspiracy" against him--not only Canon +Ronder, but something more general. Poor dear, the worst of it all is, how +bewildered he is. You know how direct he used to be, the way he went +straight to his point and wasn't afraid of anybody. Now he's always +hesitating. He hesitates before he goes out, before he goes upstairs, +before he comes into my room. It's just as though he was for ever +expecting that there's some one behind the door waiting for him with a +hammer. It's so strange how I've changed my feeling about him. I used to +think him so strong that he could beat down anybody, and now I feel he +wants looking after all the time. Perhaps he never was really strong at +all, but it was all on the outside. All the same he's very brave too. He +knows all the town's been talking about him, but I think he'd face a whole +world of Polchesters if he could only beat Canon Ronder over the Pybus +appointment. If Mr. Forsyth isn't appointed to that I think he'll go to +pieces altogether. You see, a year ago there wouldn't have been any +question about it at all. Of course he would have had his way. + +But what makes me so frightened, Falk, is of something happening in the +house. Father is so suspicious that it makes me suspicious too. It doesn't +seem like the house it was at all, but as though there were some one +hiding in it, and at night it is awful. I lie awake listening, and I can +hear father walking up and down, his room's next to mine, you know. And +then if I listen hard enough, I can hear footsteps all over the house-- +you know how you do in the middle of the night. And there's always some +one coming upstairs. This will sound silly to you up in London, but it +doesn't seem silly here, I assure you. All the servants feel it, and +Gladys is going at the end of the month. + +And oh, Falk! I'm so sorry for him! It does seem so strange that +everything should have changed for him as it has. I feel his own +bewilderment. A year ago he seemed so strong and safe and secure as though +he would go on like that for ever, and hadn't an enemy in the world. How +could he have? He's never meant harm to any one. Your going away I can +understand, but mother, I feel as though I never could speak to her again. +To be so cruel to father and to write him such a letter! (Of course I +didn't see the letter, but the effect of it on father was terrible.) + +He's so lonely now. He scarcely realises me half the time, and you see he +never did think very much about me before, so it's very difficult for him +to begin now. I'm so inexperienced. It's hard enough running the house +now, and having to get another servant instead of Gladys--and I daresay +the others will go too now, but that's nothing to waiting all the time for +something to happen and watching father every minute. We _must_ make +him happy again, Falk. You're quite right. It's the only thing that +matters. Everything else is less important than that. If only this Pybus +affair were over! Canon Ronder is so powerful now. I'm so afraid of him. I +do hate him so! The Cathedral, and the town, everything seems to have +changed since he came. A year ago they were like father, settled for ever. +And now every one's talking about new people and being out-of-date, and +changing the Cathedral music and everything! But none of that matters in +comparison with father. + +I've written a terribly long letter, but it's done me ever so much good. +I'm sometimes so tempted to telegraph to you at once. I'm almost sure +father would be glad to see you. You were always the one he loved most. +But perhaps we'd better wait a little: if things get worse in any way I'll +telegraph at once. + +I'm so glad you're well, and happy. You haven't in your letters told me +anything about the Jubilee in London. Was it very fine? Did you see the +Queen? Did she look very happy? Were the crowds very big? Much love from +your loving sister, + + JOAN. + + * * * * * + +Joan, waiting in the shadowy drawing-room for Johnny St. Leath, wondered +whether her father had come in or no. + +It wouldn't matter if he had, he wouldn't come into the drawing-room. He +would go directly into his study. She knew exactly what he would do. He +would shut the door, then a minute later would open it, look into the hall +and listen, then close it again very cautiously. He always now did that. +And in any case if he did come into the drawing-room and saw Johnny it +wouldn't matter. His mind was entirely centred on Pybus, and Johnny had +nothing to do with Pybus. Johnny's mother, yes. Had that stout white- +haired cockatoo suddenly appeared, she would be clutched, absorbed, +utilised to her last white feather. But she didn't appear. She stayed up +in her Castle, serene and supreme. + +Joan was very nervous. She stood, a little grey shadow in the grey room, +her hands twisting and untwisting. She was nervous because she was going +to say good-bye to Johnny, perhaps for ever, and she wasn't sure that +she'd have the strength to do it. + +Suddenly he was there with her in the room, big and clumsy and cheerful, +quite unaware apparently that he was never, after this, to see Joan again. + +He tried to kiss her but she prevented him. "No, you must sit over there," +she said, "and we must never, at least not probably for years and years, +kiss one another again." + +He was aware, as she spoke, of quite a new, a different Joan; he had been +conscious of this new Joan on many occasions during these last weeks. When +he had first known her she had been a child and he had loved her for her +childishness; now he must meet the woman and the child together, and +instinctively he was himself more serious in his attitude to her. + +"We could talk much better, Joan dear," he said, "if we were close +together." + +"No," she said; "then I couldn't talk at all. We mustn't meet alone again +after to-day, and we mustn't write, and we mustn't consider ourselves +engaged." + +"Why, please?" + +"Can't you see that it's all impossible? We've tried it now for weeks and +it becomes more impossible every day. Your mother's absolutely against it +and always will be--and now at home--here--my mother----" + +She broke off. He couldn't leave her like that; he sprang up, went across +to her, put his arms around her, and kissed her. She didn't resist him nor +move from him, but when she spoke again her voice was firmer and more +resolved than before. + +"No, Johnny, I mean it, I can think of nothing now but father. So long as +he's alive I must stay with him. He's quite alone now, he has nobody. I +can't even think about you so long as he's like this, so unwell and so +unhappy. It isn't as though I were very clever or old or anything. I've +never until lately been allowed to do anything all my life, not the +tiniest bit of housekeeping, and now suddenly it has all come. And if I +were thinking of you, wanting to see you, having letters from you, I +shouldn't attend to this; I shouldn't be able to think of it----" + +"Do you still love me?" + +"Why, of course. I shall never change." + +"And do you think that I still love you?" + +"Yes." + +"And do you think I'll change?" + +"You may. But I don't want to think so." + +"Well, then, the main question is settled. It doesn't matter how long we +wait." + +"But it _does_ matter. It may be for years and years. You've got to +marry, you can't just stay unmarried because one day you may marry me." + +"Can't I? You wait and see whether I can't." + +"But you oughtn't to, Johnny. Think of your family. Think of your mother. +You're the only son." + +"Mother can just think of me for once. It will be a bit of a change for +her. It will do her good. I've told her whom I want to marry, and she must +just get used to it. She admits herself that she can't have anything +against you personally, except that you're too young. I asked her whether +she wanted me to marry a Dowager of sixty." + +Joan moved away. She walked to the window and looked out at the grey mist +sweeping like an army of ghostly messengers across the Cathedral Green. +She turned round to him. + +"No, Johnny, this time it isn't a joke. I mean absolutely what I say. +We're not to meet alone or to write until--father doesn't need me any +more. I can't think, I mustn't think, of anything but father now. Nothing +that you can say, or any one can say, will make me change my mind about +that now.... And please go, Johnny, because it's so hard while you're +here. And we _must_ do it. I'll never change, but you're free to, and +you _ought_ to. It's your duty to find some one more satisfactory +than me." + +But Johnny appeared not to have heard her last words. He had been looking +about him, at the walls, the windows, the ceiling--rather as a young dog +sniffs some place new to him. + +"Joan, tell me. Are you all right here? You oughtn't to be all alone here +like this, just with your father. Can't you get some one to come and +stay?" + +"No," she answered bravely. "Of course it's all right. I've got Gladys, +who's been with us for years." + +"There's something funny," he said, still looking about him. "It feels +queer to me--sort of unhappy." + +"Never mind that," she said, hurriedly moving towards the door, as though +she had heard footsteps. "You must go, Johnny. Kiss me once, the last +time. And then no letters, no anything, until--until--father's happy +again." + +She rested in his arms, suddenly tranquil, safe, at peace. Her hands were +round his neck. She kissed his eyes. They clung together, suddenly two +children, utterly confident in one another and in their mutual faith. + +A hand was on the door. They separated. The Archdeacon came in. He peered +into the dusky room. + +"Joan! Joan! Are you there?" + +She came across to him. "Yes, father, here I am. And this is Lord St. +Leath." + +"How do you do, sir?" said Johnny. + +"How do you do? I hope your mother is well." + +"Very well, thank you, sir." + +"That's good, that's good. I have some business to discuss with her. +Rather important business; I may come and see her to-morrow afternoon if +she is disengaged; Will you kindly tell her?" + +"Indeed I will, sir." + +"Thank you. Thank you. This room is very dark. Why are there no lights? +Joan, you should have lights. There's no one else here, is there?" + +"No, father." + +Johnny heard their voices echoing in the empty hall as he let himself out. + +Brandon shut his study door and looked about him. The lamp on his table +was lit, his study had a warm and pleasant air with the books gleaming in +their shelves and the fire crackling. (You needed a fire on these late +summer evenings.) Nevertheless, although the room looked comfortable, he +did not at once move into it. He stood there beside the door, as though he +was waiting for something. He listened. The house was intensely quiet. He +opened the door and looked into the passage. There was no one there. The +gas hissed ever so slightly, like a whispering importunate voice. He came +back into his room, closing the door very carefully behind him, went +across softly to his writing-table, sat down, and took up his pen. His +eyes were fixed on the door, and then suddenly he would jerk round in his +chair as though he expected to catch some one who was standing just behind +him. + +Then began that fight that always now must be waged whenever he sat down +at his desk, the fight to drive his thoughts, like sheep, into the only +pen that they must occupy. He must think now only of one thing; there were +others--pictures, ideas, memories, fears, horrors even--crowding, hovering +close about him, and afterwards--after Pybus--he would attend to them. +Only one thing mattered now. "Yes, you gibbering idiots, do your worst; +knock me down. Come on four to one like the cowards that you are, strike +me in the back, take my wife from me, and ruin my house. I will attend to +all of you shortly, but first--Pybus." + +His lips were moving as he turned over the papers. _Was_ there some +one in the room with him? His head was aching so badly that it was +difficult to think. And his heart! How strangely that behaved in these +days! Five heavy slow beats, then a little skip and jump, then almost as +though it had stopped beating altogether. + +Another thing that made it difficult to work in that room was that the +Cathedral seemed so close. It was not close really, although you could, so +often, hear the organ, but now Brandon had the strange fancy that it had +drawn closer during these last weeks, and was leaning forward with its ear +to his house, listening just as a man might! Funny how Brandon now was +always thinking of the Cathedral as a person! Stones and bricks and mortar +and bits of glass, that's what the Cathedral was, and yet lately it had +seemed to move and have a being of its own. + +Fancies! Fancies! Really Brandon must attend to his business, this +business of Pybus and Forsyth, which in a week now was to be settled. He +talked to himself as he turned the papers over. He had seen the Bishop, +and Ryle (more or less persuaded), and Bentinck-Major (dark horse, never +could be sure of him), Foster, Rogers...Foster? Foster? Had he seen +Foster? Why did the mention of that name suddenly commence the unveiling +for him of a scene upon which, he must not look? The crossing the bridge, +up the hill, at the turnstile, paying your shilling...no, no, no +farther. And Bentinck-Major! That man laughed at him! Positively he dared, +when a year ago he would have bent down and wiped the dust off his shoes! +Positively! + +That man! That worm! That mean, sycophantic...He was beginning to get +angry. He must not get angry. That's what Puddifoot had said, that had +been the one thing that old Puddifoot had said correctly. He must not get +angry, not even with--Ronder. + +At the mention of that name something seemed to stir in the room, some one +to move closer. Brandon's heart began to race round like a pony in a +paddock. Very bad. Must keep quiet. Never get excited. Then for a moment +his thoughts did range, roaming over that now so familiar ground of +bewilderment. Why? Why? Why? + +Why a year ago _that_, and now _this_? When he had done no one +in the world any harm and had served God so faithfully? Why? Why? Why? + +Back, back to Pybus. This wasn't work. He had much to do and no time to +lose. That enemy of his was working, you could be sure of that. Only a +week! Only a week! + +Was that some one moving in the room? Was there some one stealing behind +him, as they had done once, as...? He turned sharply round, rising in his +chair. No one there. He got up and began stealthily to pace the floor. The +worst of it was that however carefully you went you could never be quite +sure that some one was not just behind you, some one very clever, +measuring his steps by yours. You could never be sure. How still the house +was! He stopped by his door, after a moment's hesitation opened it and +looked out. No one there, only the gas whispering. + +What was he doing, staring into the hall? He should be working, making +sure of his work. He went back to his table. He began hurriedly to write a +letter: + + DEAR FOSTER--I cannot help feeling that I did not make myself quite + clear when I was speaking to you yesterday about Forsyth as the best + incumbent of the Pybus living. When I say best, I mean, of course, most + suitable. + +When he said _best_ did he mean _most suitable? Suitable_ was +not perhaps exactly the word for Forsyth. It was something other than a +question of mere suitability. It was a keeping out of the _bad_, as +well as a bringing in of the _good_. _Suitable_ was not the word +that he wanted. What did he want? The words began to jump about on the +paper, and suddenly out of the centre of his table there stretched and +extended the figure of Miss Milton. Yes, there she was in her shabby +clothes and hat, smirking.... He dashed his hand at her and she vanished. +He sprang up. This was too bad. He must not let these fancies get hold of +him. He went into the hall. + +He called out loudly, his voice echoing through the house, "Joan! Joan!" + +Almost at once she came. Strange the relief that he felt! But he wouldn't +show it. She must notice nothing at all out of the ordinary. + +She sat close to him at their evening meal and talked to him about +everything that came into her young head. Sometimes he wished that she +wouldn't talk so much; she hadn't talked so much in earlier days, had she? +But he couldn't remember what she had done in earlier days. + +He was very particular now about his food. Always he had eaten whatever +was put in front of him with hearty and eager appreciation; now he seemed +to have very little appetite. He was always complaining about the cooking. +The potatoes were hard, the beef was underdone, the pastry was heavy. And +sometimes he would forget altogether that he was eating, and would sit +staring in front of him, his food neglected on his plate. + +It was not easy for Joan. Not easy to choose topics that were not +dangerous. And so often he was not listening to her at all. Perhaps at no +other time did she pity him so much, and love him so much, as when she saw +him staring in front of him, his eyes puzzled, bewildered, piteous, like +those of an animal caught in a trap. All her old fear of him was gone, but +a new fear had come in its place. Sometimes, in quite the old way, he +would rap out suddenly, "Nonsense--stuff and nonsense!...As though +_he_ knew anything about it!" or would once again take the whole +place, town and Cathedral and all of them, into his charge with something +like, "I knew how to manage the thing. What they would have done without-- +" But these defiances never lasted. + +They would fade away into bewilderment and silence. + +He would complain continually of his head, putting his hand suddenly up to +it, and saying, like a little child: + +"My head's so bad. Such a headache!" But he would refuse to see Puddifoot; +had seen him once, and had immediately quarrelled with him, and told him +that he was a silly old fool and knew nothing about anything, and this +when Puddifoot had come with the noblest motives, intending to patronise +and condole. + +After dinner to-night Joan and he went into the drawing-room. Often, after +dinner, he vanished into the study "to work"--but to-night he was "tired, +very tired--my dear. So much effort in connection with this Pybus +business. What'a come to the town I don't know. A year ago the matter +would have been simple enough...anything so obvious...." + +He sat in his old arm-chair, whence for so many years he had delivered his +decisive judgments. No decisive judgments tonight! He was really tired, +lying back, his eyes closed, his hands twitching ever so slightly on his +knees. + +Joan sat near to him, struggling to overcome her fear. She felt that if +only she could grasp that fear, like a nettle, and hold it tightly in her +hand it would seem so slight and unimportant. But she could not grasp it. +It was compounded of so many things, of the silence and the dulness, of +the Precincts and the Cathedral, of whispering trees and steps on the +stairs, of her father and something strange that now inhabited him like a +new guest in their house, of her loneliness and of her longing for some +friend with whom she could talk, of her ache for Johnny and his +comforting, loving smile, but most of all, strangely, of her own love for +her father, and her desire, her poignant desire, that he should be happy +again. She scarcely missed her mother, she did not want her to come back; +but she ached and ached to see once again that happy flush return to her +father's cheek, that determined ring to his voice, that buoyant confident +movement to his walk. + +To-night she could not be sure whether he slept or no. She watched him, +and the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Suddenly an absurd fancy +seized her. She fought against it for a time, sitting there, her hands +tightly clenched. Then suddenly it overcame her. Some one was listening +outside the window; she fancied that she could see him--tall, dark, lean, +his face pressed against the pane. + +She rose very softly and stole across the floor, very gently drew back one +of the curtains and looked out. It was dark and she could see nothing-- +only the Cathedral like a grey web against a sky black as ink. A lamp, +across the Green, threw a splash of orange in the middle distance--no +other light. The Cathedral seemed to be very close to the house. + +She closed the curtain and then heard her father call her. + +"Joan! Joan! Where are you?" + +She came back and stood by his chair. "I was only looking out to see what +sort of a night it was, father dear," she said. + +He suddenly smiled. "I had a pleasant little nap then," he said; "my +head's better. There. Sit down close to me. Bring your chair nearer. We're +all alone here now, you and I. We must make a lot of one another." + +He had paid so little attention to her hitherto that she suddenly realised +now that her loneliness had, during these last weeks, been the hardest +thing of all to bear. She drew her chair close to his and he took her +hand. + +"Yes, yes, it's quite true. I don't know what I should have done without +you during these last weeks. You've been very good to your poor, stupid, +old father!" + +She murmured something, and he burst out, "Oh, yes, they do! That's what +they say! I know how they talk. They want to get me out of the way and +change the place--put in unbelievers and atheists. But they shan't--not +while I have any breath in my body--" He went on more gently, "Why just +think, my dear, they actually want to have that man Wistons here. An +atheist! A denier of Christ's divinity! Here worshipping in the Cathedral! +And when I try to stop it they say I'm mad. Oh, yes! They do! I've heard +them. Mad. Out-of-date. They've laughed at me--ever since--ever since... +that elephant, you know, dear...that began it...the Circus...." + +She leaned over him. + +"Father dear, you mustn't pay so much attention to what they say. You +imagine so much just because you aren't very well and have those +headaches--and--and--because of other things. You imagine things that +aren't true. So many people here love you----" + +"Love me!" he burst out suddenly, starting up in his chair. "When they set +upon me, five of them, from behind and beat me! There in public with the +lights and the singing." He caught her hand, gripping it. "There's a +conspiracy, Joan. I know it. I've seen it a long time. And I know who +started it and who paid them to follow me. Everywhere I go, there they +are, following me. + +"That old woman with her silly hat, she followed me into my own house. +Yes, she did! 'I'll read you a letter,' she said. 'I hate you, and I'll +make you cry out over this.' They're all in it. He's setting them on. But +he shan't have his way. I'll fight him yet. Even my own son----" His voice +broke. + +Joan knelt at his feet, looking up into his face. "Father! Falk wants to +come and see you! I've had a letter from him. He wants to come and ask +your forgiveness--he loves you so much." + +He got up from his chair, almost pushing her away from him. "Falk! Falk! I +don't know any one called that. I haven't got a son----" + +He turned, looking at her. Then suddenly put his arms around her and +kissed her, holding her tight to his breast. + +"You're a good girl," he said. "Dear Joan! I'm glad you've not left me +too. I love you, Joan, and I've not been good enough to you. Oh, no, I +haven't! Many things I might have done, and now it's too late...too +late..." + +He kissed her again and again, stroking her hair, then he said that he was +tired, very tired--he'd sleep to-night. He went slowly upstairs. + +He undressed rapidly, flinging off his clothes as though they hurt him. As +though some one else had unexpectedly come into the room, he saw himself +standing before the long glass in the dressing-room, naked save for his +vest. He looked at himself and laughed. + +How funny he looked only in his vest--how funny were he to walk down the +High Street like that! They would say he was mad. And yet he wouldn't be +mad. He would be just as he was now. He pulled the vest off over his head +and continued to stare at himself. It was as though he were looking at +some one else's body. The long toes, the strong legs, the thick thighs, +the broad hairless chest, the stout red neck--and then those eyes, surely +not his, those strange ironical eyes! He passed his hand down his side and +felt the cool strong marble of his flesh. Then suddenly he was cold and he +hurried into his night-shirt and his dressing-gown. + +He sat on his bed. Something deep down in him was struggling to come up. +Some thought...some feeling...some name. Falk! It was as though a bell +were ringing, at a great distance, in the sleeping town--but ringing only +for him. Falk! The pain, the urgent pain, crept closer. Falk! He got up +from his bed, opened his door, looked out into the dark and silent house, +stepped forward, carefully, softly, his old red dressing-gown close about +him, stumbling a little on the stairs, feeling the way to his study door. + +He sat in his arm-chair huddled up. "Falk! Falk! Oh, my boy, my boy, come +back, come back! I want you, I want to be with you, to see you, to touch +you, to hear your voice! I want to love you! + +"Love--Love! I never wanted love before, but now I want it, desperately, +desperately, some one to love me, some one for me to love, some one to be +kind to. Falk, my boy. I'm so lonely. It's so dark. I can't see things as +I did. It's getting darker. + +"Falk, come back and help me...." + + + + +Chapter III + +Prelude to Battle + + + +That night he slept well and soundly, and in the morning woke tranquil and +refreshed. His life seemed suddenly to have taken a new turn. As he lay +there and watched the sunlight run through the lattices like strands of +pale-coloured silk, it seemed to him that he was through the worst. He did +what he had not done for many days, allowed the thought of his wife to +come and dwell with him. + +He went over many of their past years together, and, nodding his head, +decided that he had been often to blame. Then the further thought of what +she had done, of her adultery, of her last letter, these like foul black +water came sweeping up and darkened his mind.... No more. No more. He must +do as he had done. Think only of Pybus. Fight that, win his victory, and +then turn to what lay behind. But the sunlight no longer danced for him, +he closed his eyes, turned on his side, and prayed to God out of his +bewilderment. + +After breakfast he started out. A restless urgency drove him forth. The +Chapter Meeting at which the new incumbent of Pybus was to be chosen was +now only three days distant, and all the work in connection with that was +completed--but Brandon could not be still. Some members of the Chapter he +had seen over and over again during the last months, and had pressed Rex +Forsyth's claims upon them without ceasing, but this thing had become a +symbol to him now--a symbol of his fight with Ronder, of his battle for +the Cathedral, of his championship, behind that, of the whole cause of +Christ's Church. + +It seemed to him that if he were defeated now in this thing it would mean +that God Himself had deserted him. At the mere thought of defeat his heart +began to leap in his breast and the flags of the pavement to run before +his eyes. But it could not be. He had been tested; like Job, every plague +had been given to him to prove him true, but this last would shout to the +world that his power was gone and that the Cathedral that he loved had no +longer a place for him. And then--and then----- + +He would not, he must not, look. At the top of the High Street he met Ryle +the Precentor. There had been a time when Ryle was terrified by the +Archdeacon; that time was not far distant, but it was gone. Nevertheless, +even though the Archdeacon were suddenly old and sick and unimportant, you +never could tell but that he might say something to somebody that it would +be unpleasant to have said. "Politeness all the way round" was Ryle's +motto, and a very safe one too. Moreover, Ryle, when he could rise above +his alarm for the safety of his own position, was a kindly man, and it +really _was_ sad to see the poor Archdeacon so pale and tired, the +scratch on his cheek, even now not healed, giving him a strangely battered +appearance. + +And how would Ryle have liked Mrs. Ryle to leave him? And how would he +feel if his son, Anthony (aged at present five), ran away with the +daughter of a publican? And how, above all, would he feel did he know that +the whole town was talking about him and saying "Poor Precentor!"? But +perhaps the Archdeacon did _not_ know. Strange the things that people +did not know about themselves!--and at that thought the Precentor went +goose-fleshy all over, because of the things that at that very moment +people might be saying about _him_ and he knowing none of them! + +All this passed very swiftly through Ryle's mind, and was quickly +strangled by hearing Brandon utter in quite his old knock-you-down-if-you- +don't-get-out-of-my-way voice, "Ha! Ryle! Out early this morning! I hope +you're not planning any more new-fangled musical schemes for us!" + +Oh, well! if the Archdeacon were going to take that sort of tone with him, +Ryle simply wasn't going to stand it! Why should he? To-day isn't six +months ago. + +"That's all right, Archdeacon," he said stiffly. "Ronder and I go through +a good deal of the music together now. He's very musical, you know. Every +one seems quite satisfied." _That_ ought to get him--my mention of +Ronder's name.... At the same time Ryle didn't wish to seem to have gone +over to the other camp altogether, and he was just about to say something +gently deprecatory of Ronder when, to his astonishment, he perceived that +Brandon simply hadn't heard him at all! And then the Archdeacon took his +arm and marched with him down the High Street. + +"With regard to this Pybus business, Precentor," he was saying, "the +matter now will be settled in another three days. I hope every one +realises the extreme seriousness of this audacious plot to push a heretic +like this man Wistons into the place. I'm sure that every one _does_ +realise it. There can be no two opinions about it, of course. At the same +time----" + +How very uncomfortable! There had been a time when the Precentor would +have been proud indeed to walk down the High Street arm-in-arm with the +Archdeacon. But that time was past. The High Street was crowded. Any one +might see them. They would take it for granted that the Precentor was of +the Archdeacon's party. And to be seen thus affectionately linked with the +Archdeacon just now, when his family affairs were in so strange a +disorder, when he himself was behaving so oddly, when, as it was +whispered, at the Jubilee Fair he had engaged in a scuffle of a most +disreputable kind. The word "Drink" was mentioned. + +Ryle tried, every so gently, to disengage his arm. Brandon's hand was of +steel. + +"This seems to me," the Archdeacon was continuing, "a most critical moment +in our Cathedral's history. If we don't stand together now we--we--" + +The Archdeacon's hand relaxed. His eyes wandered. Ryle detached his arm. +How strange the man was! Why, there was Samuel Hogg on the other side of +the street! + +He had taken his hat off and was smiling. How uncomfortable! How +unpleasant to be mixed in this kind of encounter! How Mrs. Ryle, would +dislike it if she knew! + +But his mind was speedily taken off his own affairs. He was conscious of +the Archdeacon, standing at his full height, his eyes, as he afterwards +described it a thousand times, "bursting from his head." Then, "before you +could count two," the Archdeacon was striding across the street. + +It was a sunny morning, people going about their ordinary business, every +one smiling and happy. Suddenly Ryle saw the Archdeacon stop in front of +Hogg; himself started across the street, urged he knew not by what +impulse, saw Hogg's ugly sneering face, saw the Archdeacon's arm shoot +out, catch Hogg one, two terrific blows in the face, saw Hogg topple over +like a heap of clothes falling from their peg, was in time to hear the +Archdeacon crying out, "You dirty spy! You'd set upon me from behind, +would you? Afraid to meet me face to face, are you? Take that, then, and +that!" And then shout, "It's daylight! It's daylight now! Stand up and +face me, you coward!" + +The next thing of which the terrified Ryle was conscious was that people +were running up from all sides. They seemed to spring from nowhere. He +saw, too, how Hogg, the blood streaming from his face, lay there on his +back, not attempting to move. Some were bending down behind him, holding +his head, others had their hands about Brandon, holding him back. Errand- +boys were running, people were hurrying from the shops, voices raised on +every side--a Constable slowly crossed the street--Ryle slipped away-- + +Joan had gone out at once after breakfast that morning to the little shop, +Miss Milligan's, in the little street behind the Precincts, to see whether +she could not get some of that really fresh fruit that only Miss Milligan +seemed able to obtain. She was for some little time in the shop, because +Miss Milligan always had a great deal to say about her little nephew +Benjie, who was at the School as a day-boy and was likely to get a +scholarship, and was just now suffering from boils. Joan was a good +listener and a patient, so that it was quite late--after ten o'clock--as +she hurried back. + +Just by the Arden Gate Ellen Stiles met her. + +"Oh, you poor child!" she cried; "aren't you at home? I was just hurrying +up to see whether I could be of any sort of help to you!" + +"Any help?" echoed Joan, seeing at once, in the nodding blue plume in +Ellen's hat, forebodings of horrible disaster. + +"What, haven't you heard?" cried Ellen, pitying from the bottom of her +heart the child's white face and terrified eyes. + +"No! What? Oh, tell me quickly! What has happened? To father--" + +"I don't know exactly myself," said Ellen. "That's what I was hurrying up +to find out.... Your father...he's had some sort of fight with that +horrible man Hogg in the High Street.... No, I don't know...But wait a +minute...." + +Joan was gone, scurrying through the Precincts, the paper bag with the +fruit clutched tightly to her. + +Ellen Stiles stared after her; her eyes were dim with kindness. There was +nothing now that she would not do for that girl and her poor father! +Knocked down to the ground they were, and Ellen championed them wherever +she went. And now this! Drink or madness--perhaps both! Poor man! Poor +man! And that child, scarcely out of the cradle, with all this on her +shoulders! Ellen would do anything for them! She would go round later in +the day and see how she could be useful. + +She turned away. It was Ronder now who was "up"...and a little pulling- +down would do him no sort of harm. There were a few little things she was +longing, herself, to tell him. A few home-truths. Then, half-way down the +High Street, she met Julia Preston, and didn't they have a lot to say +about it all! + +Meanwhile Joan, in another moment, was at her door. What had happened? Oh, +what had happened? Had he been brought back dying and bleeding? Had that +horrible man set upon him, there in the High Street, while every one was +about? Was the doctor there, Mr. Puddifoot? Would there perhaps have to be +an operation? This would kill her father. The disgrace.... She let herself +in with her latch-key and stood in the familiar hall. Everything was just +as it had always been, the clocks ticking. She could hear the Cathedral +organ faintly through the wall. The drawing-room windows were open, and +she could hear the birds, singing at the sun, out there in the Precincts. +Everything as it always was. She could not understand. Gladys appeared +from the kitchen. + +"Oh, Gladys, here is the fruit.... Has father come in?" + +"I don't know, miss." + +"You haven't heard him?" + +"No, miss. I've been upstairs, 'elping with the beds." + +"Oh--thank you, Gladys." + +The terror slipped away from her. Then it was all right. Ellen Stiles had, +as usual, exaggerated. After all, she had not been there. She had heard it +only at second-hand. She hesitated for a moment, then went to the study +door. Outside she hesitated again, then she went in. + +To her amazement her father was sitting, just as he had always sat, at his +table. He looked up when she entered, there was no sign upon him of any +trouble. His face was very white, stone-white, and it seemed to her that +for months past the colour had been draining from it, and now at last all +colour was gone. A man wearing a mask. She could fancy that he would put +up his hands and suddenly slip it from him and lay it down upon the table. +The eyes stared through it, alive, coloured, restless. + +"Well, Joan, what is it?" + +She stammered, "Nothing, father. I only wanted to see--whether--that--" + +"Yes? Is any one wanting to see me?" + +"No--only some one told me that you...I thought--" + +"You heard that I chastised a ruffian in the town? You heard correctly. I +did. He deserved what I gave him." + +A little shiver shook her. + +"Is that all you want to know?" + +"Isn't there anything, father, I can do?" + +"Nothing--except leave me just now. I'm very busy. I have letters to +write." + +She went out. She stood in the hall, her hands clasped together. What was +she to do? The worst that she had ever feared had occurred. He was mad. + +She went into the drawing-room, where the sun was blazing as though it +would set the carpet on fire. What _was_ she to do? What _ought_ +she to do? Should she fetch Puddifoot or some older woman like Mrs. +Combermere, who would be able to advise her? Oh, no. She wanted no one +there who would pity him. She felt a longing, urgent desire to keep him +always with her now, away from the world, in some corner where she could +cherish and love him and allow no one to insult and hurt him. But madness! +To her girlish inexperience this morning's acts could be nothing but +madness. There in the middle of the High Street, with every one about, to +do such a thing! The disgrace of it! Why, now, they could never stay in +Polchester.... This was worse than everything that had gone before. How +they would all talk, Canon Ronder and all of them, and how pleased they +would be! + +At that she clenched her hands and drew herself up as though she were +defying the whole of Polchester. They should not laugh at him, they should +not dare!... + +But meanwhile what immediately was she to do? It wasn't safe to leave him +alone. Now that he had gone so far as to knock some one down in the +principal street, what might he not do? What would happen if he met Canon +Ronder? Oh! why had this come? What had they done to deserve this? + +What had _he_ done when he had always been so good? + +She seemed for a little distracted. She could not think. Her thoughts +would not come clearly. She waited, staring into the sun and the colour. +Quietness came to her. Her life was now his. Nothing counted in her life +but that. If they must leave Polchester she would go with him wherever he +must go, and care for him. Johnny! For one terrible instant he seemed to +stand, a figure of flame, outside there on the sun-drenched grass. + +Outside! Yes, always outside, until her father did not need her any more. +Then, suddenly she wanted Johnny so badly that she crumpled up into one of +the old arm-chairs and cried and cried and cried. She was very young. Life +ahead of her seemed very long. Yes, she cried her heart out, and then she +went upstairs and washed her face and wrote to Falk. She would not +telegraph until she was quite sure that she could not manage it by +herself. + +The wonderful morning changed to a storm of wind and rain. Such a storm! +Down in the basement Cook could scarcely hear herself speak! As she said +to Gladys, it was what you must expect now. They were slipping into +Autumn, and before you knew, why, there would be Winter! Nothing odder +than the sudden way the Seasons took you! But Cook didn't like storms in +that house. "Them Precincts 'ouses, they're that old, they'd fall on top +of you as soon as whistle Trefusis! For her part she'd always thought this +'ouse queer, and it wasn't any the less queer since all these things had +been going on in it." It was at this point that the grocery "boy" arrived +and supposed they'd 'eard all about it by that time. All about what? Why, +the Archdeacon knocking Samuel 'Ogg down in the 'Igh Street that very +morning! Then, indeed, you could have knocked Cook down, as she said, with +a whisper. Collapsed her so, that she had to sit down and take a cup of +tea, the kettle being luckily on the boil. Gladys had to sit down and take +one too, and there they sat, the grocer's boy dismissed, in the darkening +kitchen, their heads close together, and starting at every hiss of the +rain upon the coals. The house hung heavy and dark above them. Mad, that's +what he must be, and going mad these past ever so many months. And such a +fine man too! But knocking people down in the street, and 'im such a man +for his own dignity! 'Im an Archdeacon too. 'Ad any one ever heard in +their lives of an Archdeacon doing such a thing? Well, that settled Cook. +She'd been in the house ten solid years, but at the end of the month she'd +be off. To sit in the house with a madman! Not she! Adultery and all the +talk had been enough, but she had risked her good name and all, just for +the sake of that poor young thing upstairs, but madness!--no, that was +another pair of shoes. + +Now Gladys was peculiar. She'd given her notice, but hearing this, she +suddenly determined to stay. That poor Miss Joan! Poor little worm! So +young and innocent--shut up all alone with her mad father. Gladys would +see her through-- + +"Why, Gladys," cried Cook, "what will your young feller you're walkin' +with say?" + +"If 'e don't like it 'e can lump it," said Gladys. "Lord, 'ow this house +does rattle!" + +All the afternoon of that day Brandon sat, never moving from his study- +table. He sat exultant. Some of the shame had been wiped away. He could +feel again the riotous happiness that had surged up in him as he struck +that face, felt it yield before him, saw it fade away into dust and +nothingness. That face that had for all these months been haunting him, at +last he had banished it, and with it had gone those other leering faces +that had for so long kept him company. His room was dark, and it was +always in the dark that they came to him--Hogg's, the drunken painter's, +that old woman's in the dirty dress. + +And to-day they did not come. If they came he would treat them as he had +treated Hogg. That was the way to deal with them! + +His heart was bad, fluttering, stampeding, pounding and then dying away. +He walked about the room that he might think less of it. Never mind his +heart! Destroy his enemies, that's what he had to do--these men and women +who were the enemies of himself, his town and his Cathedral. + +Suddenly he thought that he would go out. He got his hat and his coat and +went into the rain. He crossed the Green and let himself into the +Cathedral by the Saint Margaret Chapel door, as he had so often done +before. + +The Cathedral was very dark, and he stumbled about, knocking against +pillars and hassocks. He was strange here. It was as though he didn't know +the place. He got into the middle of the nave, and positively he didn't +know where he was. A faint green light glimmered in the East end. There +were chairs in his way. He stood still, listening. + +He was lost. He would never find his way out again. _His_ Cathedral, +and he was lost! Figures were moving everywhere. They jostled him and said +nothing. The air was thick and hard to breathe. Here was the Black +Bishop's Tomb. He let his fingers run along the metal work. How cold it +was! His hand touched the cold icy beard! His hand stayed there. He could +not remove it. His fingers stuck. + +He tried to cry out, and he could say nothing. An icy hand, gauntleted, +descended upon his and held it. He tried to scream. He could not. + +He shouted. His voice was a whisper. He sank upon his knees. He fainted, +slipping to the ground like a man tired out. + +There, half an hour later, Lawrence found him. + + + + +Chapter IV + +The Last Tournament + + + +On the morning of the Chapter Meeting Ronder went in through the West +door, intending to cross the nave by the Cloisters. Just as he closed the +heavy door behind him there sprang up, close to him, as though from +nowhere at all, that horrible man Davray. Horrible always to Ronder, but +more horrible now because of the dreadful way in which he had, during the +last few months, gone tumbling downhill. There had been, until lately, a +certain austerity and even nobility in the man's face. That was at last +completely swept away. This morning he looked as though he had been +sleeping out all night, his face yellow, his eyes bloodshot, his hair +tangled and unkempt, pieces of grass clinging to his well-worn grey +flannel suit. + +"Good morning, Canon Ronder," he said. + +"Good morning," Ronder replied severely, and tried to pass on. But the man +stood in his way. + +"I'm not going to keep you," he said. "I know what your business is this +morning. I wouldn't keep you from it for a single moment. I know what +you're going to do. You're going to get rid of that damned Archdeacon. +Finish him for once and all. Stamp on him so that he can never raise up +his beautiful head again. I know. It's fine work you've been doing ever +since you came here, Canon Ronder. But it isn't you that's been doing it. +It's the Cathedral." + +"Please let me pass," said Ronder. "I haven't any time just now to spare." + +"Ah, that hurts your pride. You like to think it's you who's been the +mighty fine fellow all this time. Well, it isn't you at all. It's the +Cathedral. The Cathedral's jealous, you know--don't like its servants +taking all the credit to themselves. Pride's dangerous, Canon Ronder. In a +year or two's time, when you're feeling pretty pleased with yourself, you +just look back on the Archdeacon's history for a moment and consider it. +It may have a lesson for you. Good morning, Canon Ronder. Pleased to have +met you." + +The wretched creature went slithering up the aisle, chuckling to himself. +How miserable to be drunk at that early hour of the morning! Ronder +shrugged his shoulders as though he would like to shake off from them +something unpleasant that was sticking to them. He was not in a good mood +this morning. He was assured of victory--he had no doubt about it at all-- +and unquestionably when the affair was settled he would feel more tranquil +about it. But ever since his talk with Wistons he had been unsure of the +fellow. Was it altogether wise that he should come here? His perfect +content seemed to be as far away as ever. Was it always to be so? + +And then this horrible affair in the High Street three days ago, how +distressing! The Archdeacon's brain was going, and that was the very last +thing that Ronder had desired. What he had originally seen was the +pleasant picture of Brandon retiring with his wife and family to a nice +Rectory in the diocese and ending his days--many years hence it is to be +hoped--in a charming old garden with an oak-tree on the lawn and pigeons +cooing in the sunny air. + +But this! Oh, no! not this! Ronder was a practical man of straight common- +sense, but it did seem to him as though there had been through all the +movement of the last six months some spirit far more vindictive than +himself had ever been. He had never, from the first moment to the last, +been vindictive. With his hand on his heart he could say that. He did not +like the Cathedral that morning, it seemed to him cold, hostile, ugly. The +thick stone pillars were scornful, the glass of the East window was dead +and dull. A little wind seemed to whistle in the roof so far, so far above +his head. + +He hurried on, his great-coat hugged about him. All that he could say was +that he did hope that Brandon would not be there this morning. His +presence could alter nothing, the voting could go only one way. It would +be very painful were he there. Surely after the High Street affair he +would not come. + +Ronder saw with relief when he came into the Chapter House that Brandon +was not present. They were standing about the room, looking out into the +Cloisters, talking in little groups--the Dean, Bentinck-Major, Ryle, +Foster, and Bond, the Clerk, a little apart from the others as social +decency demanded. When Ronder entered, two things at once were plain--one, +how greatly during these last months he had grown in importance with all +of them and, secondly, how nervous they were all feeling. They all turned +towards him. + +"Ah, Ronder," said the Dean, "that's right. I was afraid lest something +should keep you." + +"No--no--what a cold damp day! Autumn is really upon us." + +They discussed the weather, once and again eyeing the door apprehensively. +Bentinck-Major took Ronder aside: + +"My wife and I have been wondering whether you'd honour us by dining with +us on the 25th," he said. "A cousin of my wife's, Lady Caroline Holmesby, +is to be staying with us just then. It would give us such great pleasure +if you and Miss Ronder would join us that evening. My wife is, of course, +writing to Miss Ronder." + +"So far as I know, my aunt and I are both free and will be delighted to +come," said Ronder. + +"Delightful! That will be delightful! As a matter of fact we were thinking +of having that evening a little Shakespeare reading. We thought of _King +Lear_." + +"Ah! That's another matter," said Ronder, laughing. "I'll be delighted to +listen, but as to taking part--" + +"But you must! You must!" said Bentinck-Major, catching hold of one of the +buttons on Ronder's waistcoat, a habit that Ronder most especially +disliked. "More culture is what our town needs--several of us have been +thinking so. It is really time, I think, to start a little Shakespeare +reading amongst ourselves--strictly amongst ourselves, of course. The +trouble with Shakespeare is that he is so often a little--a little bold, +for mixed reading--and that restricts us. Nevertheless, we hope...I do +trust that you will join us, Canon Ronder." + +"I make no promises," said Ronder. "If you knew how badly I read, you'd +hesitate before asking me." + +"We are past our time," said the Dean, looking at his watch. "We are all +here, I think, but Brandon and Witheram. Witheram is away at Drymouth. He +has written to me. How long we should wait----" + +"I can hardly believe," said Byle nervously, "that Archdeacon Brandon will +be present. He is extremely unwell. I don't know whether you are aware +that three nights ago he was found by Lawrence the Verger here in the +Cathedral in a fainting fit. He is very unwell, I'm afraid." + +The whole group was immensely interested. They had heard.... Fainting? +Here in the Cathedral? Yes, by the Bishop's Tomb. He was better yesterday, +but it is hardly likely that he will come this morning. + +"Poor man!" said the Dean, gently distressed. "I heard something...That +was the result, I'm afraid, of his fracas that morning in the High Street; +he must be most seriously unwell." + +"Poor man, poor man!" was echoed by everybody; it was evident also that +general relief was felt. He could not now be expected to be present. + +The door opened, and he came in. He came hurriedly, a number of papers in +one hand, wearing just the old anxious look of important care that they +knew so well. And yet how changed he was! Instead of moving at once to his +place at the long table he hesitated, looked at Bentinck-Major, at Foster, +then at Bond, half-puzzled, as though he had never seen them before. + +"I must apologise, gentlemen," he said, "for being late. My watch, I'm +afraid, was slow." + +The Dean then showed quite unexpected qualities. + +"Will you sit here on my right, Archdeacon?" he said in a firm and almost +casual voice. "We are a little late, I fear, but no matter--no matter. We +are all present, I think, save Archdeacon Witheram, who is at Drymouth, +and from whom I have received a letter." They all found their places. +Ronder was as usual exactly opposite to Brandon. Foster slouched into his +seat with his customary air of absentmindedness. Ryle tried not to look at +Brandon, but his eyes were fascinated and seemed to swim in their watery +fashion like fish fascinated by a bait. + +"Shall we open with a prayer," said the Dean, "and ask God's blessing on +this morning's work?" + +They prayed with bent heads. Brandon's head was bent longer than the +others. + +When he looked up he stared about him as though completely bewildered. + +"As you all know," the Dean said in his softly urgent voice, as though he +were pressing them to give him flowers for his collection, "our meeting +this morning is of the first urgency. I will, with your approval, postpone +general business until the more ordinary meeting of next week. That is if +no one has any objection to such a course?" + +No one had any objections. + +"Very well, then. As you know, our business this morning is to appoint a +successor to poor Morrison at Pybus St. Anthony. Now in ordinary cases, +such an appointment is not of the first importance, but in the matter of +Pybus, as you all know, there is a difference. Whether rightly or wrongly, +it has been a tradition in the Diocese that the Pybus living should be +given only to exceptional men. It has been fortunate in having a +succession of exceptional men in its service--men who, for the most part, +have come to great position in the Church afterwards. I want you to +remember that, gentlemen, when you are making your decision this morning. +At the same time you must remember that it has been largely tradition that +has given this importance to Pybus, and that the living has been vacant +already too long." + +He paused. Then he picked up a piece of paper in front of him. + +"There have been several meetings with regard to this living already," he +said, "and certain names have been very thoroughly discussed among us. I +think we were last week agreed that two names stood out from the others. +If to-day we cannot agree on one of those two names, we must then consider +a third. That will not, I hope, be necessary. The two names most +favourably considered by us are those of the Rev. Rex Forsyth, Chaplain to +Bishop Clematis, and the Rev. Ambrose Wistons of St. Edward's Hawston. The +first of these two gentlemen is known to all of us personally, the second +we know chiefly through his writings. We will first, I think, consider Mr. +Wistons. You, Canon Foster, are, I know, a personal friend of his, and can +tell us why, in your opinion, his would be a suitable appointment." + +"It depends on what you want," said Foster, frowning around upon every one +present; and then suddenly selecting little Bond as apparently his most +dangerous enemy and scowling at him with great hostility, "if you want to +let the religious life of this place, nearly dead already, pass right +away, choose a man like Forsyth. But I don't wish to be contentious; +there's been contention enough in this place during these last months, and +I'm sick and ashamed of the share I've had in it. I won't say more than +this--that if you want an honest, God-fearing man here, who lives only for +God and is in his most secret chamber as he is before men, then Wistons is +your man. I understand that some of you are afraid of his books. There'll +be worse books than his you'll have to face before you're much older. +_That_ I can tell you! I said to myself before I came here that I +wouldn't speak this morning. I should not have said even what I have, +because I know that in this last year I have grievously sinned, fighting +against God when I thought that I was fighting for Him. The weapons are +taken out of my hands. I believe that Wistons is the man for this place +and for the religious life here. I believe that you will none of you +regret it if you bring him to this appointment. I can say nothing more." + +What had happened to Foster? They had, one and all, expected a fighting +speech. The discomfort and uneasiness that was already in the room was now +greatly increased. + +The Dean asked Ronder to say something. Ronder leaned forward, pushing his +spectacles back with his fingers. He leaned forward that he might not see +Brandon's face. + +By chance he had not seen Brandon for more than a fortnight. He was +horrified and frightened by the change. The grey-white face, the restless, +beseeching, bewildered eyes belonging apparently to some one else, to whom +they were searching to return, the long white fingers ceaselessly moving +among the papers and tapping the table, were those of a stranger, and in +the eyes of the men in that room it was he who had produced him. Yes, and +in the eyes of how many others in that town? You might say that had +Brandon been a man of real spiritual and moral strength, not Ronder, not +even God Himself, could have brought Brandon to this. But was that so? +Which of us knows until he is tried? His wife, his son, his body, all had +failed him. And now this too.... And if Ronder had not come to that town +would it have been so? Had it not been a duel between them from the moment +that Ronder first set his foot in that place? And had not Ronder +deliberately willed it so? What had Ronder said to Brandon's son and to +the woman who would ruin Brandon's wife? + +All this passed in the flash of a dream through Ronder's brain, perhaps +never entirely to leave him again. In that long duel there had been +perhaps more than one defeat. He knew that they were waiting for him to +speak, but the thoughts would not come. Wistons? Forsyth?...Forsyth? +Wistons? Who were they? What had they to do with this personal relation of +his with the man opposite? + +He flushed. He must say something. He began to speak, and soon his brain, +so beautifully ordered, began to reel out the words in soft and steady +sequence. But his soul watched Brandon's soul. + +"My friend, Canon Foster, knows Mr. Wistons so much better than I do," he +said, "that it is absurd for me to try and tell you what he should tell +you. + +"I do regard him as the right man for this place, because I think our +Cathedral, that we all so deeply love, is waiting for just such a man. +Against his character no one, I suppose, has anything to say. He is known +before all the world as a God-fearing Christian. He is no youth; he has +had much experience; he is, every one witnesses, lovable and of strong +personal charm. It is not his character, but his ideas, that people have +criticised. He is a modernist, of course, a man of an enquiring, +penetrating mind, who must himself be satisfied of the truth for which he +is searching. Can that do us here any harm? I believe not. I think that +some of us, if I may say so, are too easily frightened of the modern +spirit of enquiry. I believe that we Churchmen should step forward ready +to face any challenge, whether of scientists, psychologists or any one +else--I think that before long, whether we like it or no, we shall have to +do so. Mr. Wistons is, I believe, just the man to help us in such a +crisis. His opinions are not precisely the same as those of some of us in +this diocese, and I've no doubt that if he came here there would be some +disputes from time to time, but I believe those same disputes would do us +a world of good. God did not mean us to sit down twiddling our thumbs and +never using our brains. He gave us our intelligences, and therefore I +presume that He meant us to make some use of them. + +"In these matters Mr. Wistons is exactly what we want here. He is a much- +travelled man, widely experienced in affairs, excellent at business. No +one who has ever met him would deny his sweetness and personal charm. I +think myself that we are very fortunate to have a chance of seeing him +here--" + +Ronder ceased. He felt as though he had been beating thin air with weak +ineffective hands. They had, none of them, been listening to him or +thinking of him; they had not even been thinking of Wistons. Their minds +had been absorbed, held, dominated by the tall broad figure who sat in +their midst, but was not one of them. + +Brandon, in fact, began to speak almost before Ronder had finished. He did +not look up, but stared at his long nervous fingers. He spoke at first +almost in a whisper, so that they did not catch the first few words. +"...Horrified..." they heard him say. "Horrified.... So calmly.... These +present.... + +"Cannot understand...." Then his words were clearer. He looked up, staring +across at Ronder. + +"Horrified at this eager acceptance of a man who is a declared atheist +before God." Then suddenly he flung his head back in his old challenging +way and, looking round upon them all, went on, his voice now clear, +although weak and sometimes faltering: + +"Gentlemen, this is perhaps my last appearance at these Chapter Meetings. +I have not been very well of late and, as you all know, I have had +trouble. You will forgive me if I do not, this morning, express myself so +clearly or carefully as I should like. + +"But the first thing that I wish to say is that when you are deciding this +question this morning you should do your best, before God, to put my own +personality out of your minds. I have learnt many things, under God's +hand, in the last six months. He has shown me some weaknesses and +failings, and I know now that, because of those weaknesses, there are some +in this town who would act against anything that I proposed, simply +because they would wish me to be defeated. I do implore you this morning +not to think of me, but to think only of what will be best--best--best---- +" He looked around him for a moment bewildered, frowning in puzzled +fashion at Ronder, then continued again, "best for God and the work of His +Church. + +"I'm not very well, gentlemen; my thoughts are not coming very clearly +this morning, and that is sad, because I've looked forward to this morning +for months past, wishing to fight my very best...." His voice changed. +"Yes, fight!" he cried. "There should be no fight necessary in such a +matter. But what has happened to us all in the last year? + +"A year ago there was not one of us who would have considered such an +appointment as I am now disputing. Have you read this man's books? Have +you read in the papers his acknowledged utterances? Do you know that he +questions the Divinity of Christ Himself----" + +"No, Archdeacon," Foster broke in, "that is not true. You can have no +evidence of that." + +Brandon seemed to be entirely bewildered by the interruption. He looked at +Foster, opened his mouth as though he would speak, then suddenly put his +hand to his head. + +"If you will give me time," he said. "Give me time. I will prove +everything, I will indeed. I beg you," he said, suddenly turning to the +Dean, "that you will have this appointment postponed for a month. It is so +serious a matter that to decide hastily----" + +"Not hastily," said the Dean very gently. "Morrison died some months ago, +and I'm afraid it is imperative that we should fill the vacancy this +morning." + +"Then consider what you do," Brandon cried, now half-rising from his +chair. "This man is breaking in upon the cherished beliefs of our Church. +Give him a little and he will take everything. We must all stand firm upon +the true and Christian ground that the Church has given us, or where shall +we be? This man may be good and devout, but he does not believe what we +believe. Our Church-that we love--that we love----" He broke off again. + +"You are against me. Every man's hand now is against me. Nevertheless +what-I say is right and true. What am I? What are you, any of you here in +this room, beside God's truth? I have seen God, I have walked with God, I +shall walk with Him again. He will lead me out of these sore distresses +and take me into green pastures----" + +He flushed. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I am taking your time. I must +say something for Mr. Forsyth. He is young; he knows this place and loves +it; he cares for and will preserve its most ancient traditions.... + +"He cares for the things for which we should care. I do commend him to +your attention----" + +There was a long silence. The rain that had begun a thick drizzle dripped +on the panes. The room was so dark that the Dean asked Bond to light the +gas. They all waited while this was being done. At last the Dean spoke: + +"We are all very grateful to you, Archdeacon, for helping us as you have +done. I think, gentlemen, that unless there is some other name definitely +to be proposed we had better now vote on these two names. + +"Is there any further name suggested?" + +No one spoke. + +"Very well, then. I think this morning, contrary to our usual custom, we +will record our votes on paper. I have Archdeacon Witheram's letter here +advising me of his wishes in this matter." + +Paper and pens were before every one. The votes were recorded and sent up +to the Dean. He opened the little pieces of paper slowly. + +At last he said: + +"One vote has been recorded in favour of Mr. Forsyth, the rest for Mr. +Wistons. Mr. Wistons is therefore appointed to the living of Pybus St. +Anthony." + +Brandon was on his feet. His body trembled like a tree tottering. He flung +out his hands. + +"No.... No.... Stop one moment. You must. You--all of you---- + +"Mr. Dean--all of you.... Oh, God, help me now!...You have been +influenced by your feelings about myself. Forget me, turn me away, send me +from the town, anything, anything.... I beseech you to think only of the +good of the Cathedral in this affair. If you admit this man it is the +beginning of the end. Slowly it will all be undermined. Belief in Christ, +belief in God Himself.... Think of the future and your responsibility to +the unborn children when they come to you and say: 'Where is our faith? +Why did you take it from us? Give it back to us!' Oh, stop for a moment! +Postpone this for only a little while. Don't do this thing!...Gentlemen!" + +They could see that he was ill. His body swayed as though it were beyond +his control. His hands were waving, turning, beseeching.... + +Suddenly tears were running down his cheeks. + +"Not this shame!" he cried. "Not this shame!--kill me--but save the +Cathedral!" + +They were on their feet. Foster and Ryle had come round to him. +"Archdeacon, sit down." "You're ill." "Rest a moment" With a great heave +of his shoulders he flung them off, a chair falling to the ground with the +movement. + +He saw Ronder. + +"You!...my enemy. Are you satisfied now?" he whispered. He held out his +quivering hand. "Take my hand. You've done your worst." + +He turned round as though he would go from the room. Stumbling, he caught +Foster by the shoulder as though he would save himself. He bent forward, +staring into Foster's face. + +"God is love, though," he said. "You betray Him again and again, but He +comes back." + +He gripped Foster's shoulder more tightly. "Don't do this thing, man," he +said. "Don't do it. Because Ronder's beaten me is no reason for you to +betray your God.... Give me a chair. I'm ill." + +He fell upon his knees. + +"This...Death," he whispered. Then, looking up again at Foster, "My +heart. That fails me too." + +And, bowing his head, he died. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cathedral, by Sir Hugh Walpole + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CATHEDRAL *** + +***** This file should be named 8135-8.txt or 8135-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/3/8135/ + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/8135-8.zip b/8135-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c1d439d --- /dev/null +++ b/8135-8.zip diff --git a/8135-h.zip b/8135-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6aab9ff --- /dev/null +++ b/8135-h.zip diff --git a/8135-h/8135-h.htm b/8135-h/8135-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a95c8a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/8135-h/8135-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16290 @@ +<!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" xml:lang="en"> + <head> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cathedral, by Hugh Walpole</title> +<meta http-equiv="content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"/> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent: 3%;} +.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold;font-variant:small-caps;} + h1 { margin-top: 2em; } + img { border-style: none; } +.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cathedral, by Sir Hugh Walpole + +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/license + + +Title: The Cathedral + +Author: Sir Hugh Walpole + +Posting Date: March 15, 2012 [EBook #8135] +Release Date: May, 2005 +[This file was first posted on June 17, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CATHEDRAL *** + + + + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>The Cathedral</h1> + +<p class="c"><i>A Novel</i></p> + +<p class="c"><small>BY</small></p> + +<h2>Hugh Walpole</h2> + +<h4>Author of <i>The Young Enchanted</i>, <i>The Captives</i>,<br /> +<i>Jeremy</i>, <i>The Secret City</i>,<br /> +<i>The Green Mirror</i>, etc.</h4> + + + +<h5>To<br /> +Jessie and Joseph Conrad<br /> +With Much Love</h5> + +<p class="c"><img src="images/sonore.png" alt="Sonore sans dureto" +width="75%" /></p> + + + +<h1>Contents</h1> + +<blockquote><p><a href="#bo_01">Book I: Prelude</a></p></blockquote> + +<ol style="list-style-type: upper-roman"> +<li><a href="#ch_01">Brandons</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_02">Ronders</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_03">One of Joan's Days</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_04">The Impertinent Elephan</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_05">Mrs. Brandon Goes Out to Tea</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_06">Seatown Mist and Cathedral Dust</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_07">Ronder's Day</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_08">Son--Father</a></li> +</ol> + + +<blockquote><p><a href="#bo_02">Book II: The Whispering Gallery</a></p></blockquote> + +<ol style="list-style-type: upper-roman"> +<li><a href="#ch_09">Five O'Clock--The Green Cloud</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_10">Souls on Sunday</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_11">The May-Day Prologue</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_12">The Genial Heart</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_13">Falk by the River</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_14">Falk's Flight</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_15">Brandon Puts On His Armour</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_16">The Wind Flies Over the House</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_17">The Quarrel</a></li> +</ol> + +<blockquote><p><a href="#bo_03">Book III: The Jubilee</a></p></blockquote> + +<ol style='list-style-type: upper-roman'> +<li><a href="#ch_18">June 17, Thursday: Anticipation</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_19">Friday, June 18: Shadow Meets Shadow</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_20">Saturday, June 19: The Ball</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_21">Sunday, June 20: In the Bedroom</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_22">Tuesday, June 22: I. The Cathedral</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_23">Tuesday, June 22: II. The Fair</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_24">Tuesday, June 22: III. Torchlight</a></li> +</ol> + + +<blockquote><p><a href="#bo_04">Book IV: The Last Stand</a></p></blockquote> + +<ol style="list-style-type: upper-roman"> +<li><a href="#ch_25">In Ronder's House: Ronder, Wistons</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_26">Two in the House</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_27">Prelude to Battle</a></li> +<li><a href="#ch_28">The Last Tournament</a></li> +</ol> + + + + +<h1><a name="bo_01"></a>Book I</h1> +<h2>Prelude</h2> + + + +<p class="c">"Thou shalt have none other gods but Me."</p> + + + +<h1><a name="ch_01"></a>Chapter I</h1> +<h2>Brandons</h2> + + + +<p>Adam Brandon was born at Little Empton in Kent in 1839. He was educated at +the King's School, Canterbury, and at Pembroke College, Cambridge. +Ordained in 1863, he was first curate at St. Martin's, Portsmouth, then +Chaplain to the Bishop of Worcester; in the year 1875 he accepted the +living of Pomfret in Wiltshire and was there for twelve years. It was in +1887 that he came to our town; he was first Canon and afterwards +Archdeacon. Ten years later he had, by personal influence and strength of +character, acquired so striking a position amongst us that he was often +alluded to as "the King of Polchester." His power was the greater because +both our Bishop (Bishop Purcell) and our Dean (Dean Sampson) during that +period were men of retiring habits of life. A better man, a greater saint +than Bishop Purcell has never lived, but in 1896 he was eighty-six years +of age and preferred study and the sanctity of his wonderful library at +Carpledon to the publicity and turmoil of a public career; Dean Sampson, +gentle and amiable as he was, was not intended by nature for a moulder of +men. He was, however, one of the best botanists in the County and his +little book on "Glebshire Ferns" is, I believe, an authority in its own +line.</p> + +<p>Archdeacon Brandon was, of course, greatly helped by his magnificent +physical presence. "Magnificent" is not, I think, too strong a word. Six +feet two or three in height, he had the figure of an athlete, light blue +eyes, and his hair was still, when he was fifty-eight years of age, thick +and fair and curly like that of a boy. He looked, indeed, marvellously +young, and his energy and grace of movement might indeed have belonged to +a youth still in his teens. It is not difficult to imagine how startling +an effect his first appearance in Polchester created. Many of the +Polchester ladies thought that he was like "a Greek God" (the fact that +they had never seen one gave them the greater confidence), and Miss +Dobell, who was the best read of all the ladies in our town, called him +"the Viking." This stuck to him, being an easy and emphatic word and +pleasantly cultured.</p> + +<p>Indeed, had Brandon come to Polchester as a single man there might have +been many broken hearts; however, in 1875 he had married Amy Broughton, +then a young girl of twenty. He had by her two children, a boy, Falcon, +now twenty-one years of age, and a girl, Joan, just eighteen. Brandon +therefore was safe from the feminine Polchester world; our town is famous +among Cathedral cities for the morality of its upper classes.</p> + +<p>It would not have been possible during all these years for Brandon to have +remained unconscious of the remarkable splendour of his good looks. He was +very well aware of it, but any one who called him conceited (and every one +has his enemies) did him a grave injustice. He was not conceited at all-- +he simply regarded himself as a completely exceptional person. He was not +elated that he was exceptional, he did not flatter himself because it was +so; God had seen fit (in a moment of boredom, perhaps, at the number of +insignificant and misshaped human beings He was forced to create) to fling +into the world, for once, a truly Fine Specimen, Fine in Body, Fine in +Soul, Fine in Intellect. Brandon had none of the sublime egoism of Sir +Willoughby Patterne--he thought of others and was kindly and often +unselfish--but he did, like Sir Willoughby, believe himself to be of quite +another clay from the rest of mankind. He was intended to rule, God had +put him into the world for that purpose, and rule he would--to the glory +of God and a little, if it must be so, to the glory of himself. He was a +very simple person, as indeed were most of the men and women in the +Polchester of 1897. He did not analyse motives, whether his own or any one +else's; he was aware that he had "weaknesses" (his ungovernable temper was +a source of real distress to him at times--at other times he felt that it +had its uses). On the whole, however, he was satisfied with himself, his +appearance, his abilities, his wife, his family, and, above all, his +position in Polchester. This last was very splendid.</p> + +<p>His position in the Cathedral, in the Precincts, in the Chapter, in the +Town, was unshakable.</p> + +<p>He trusted in God, of course, but, like a wise man, he trusted also in +himself.</p> + +<p>It happened that on a certain wild and stormy afternoon in October 1896 +Brandon was filled with a great exultation. As he stood, for a moment, at +the door of his house in the Precincts before crossing the Green to the +Cathedral, he looked up at the sky obscured with flying wrack of cloud, +felt the rain drive across his face, heard the elms in the neighbouring +garden creaking and groaning, saw the lights of the town far beneath the +low wall that bounded the Precincts sway and blink in the storm, his heart +beat with such pride and happiness that it threatened to burst the body +that contained it. There had not been, perhaps, that day anything +especially magnificent to elate him; he had won, at the Chapter Meeting +that morning, a cheap and easy victory over Canon Foster, the only Canon +in Polchester who still showed, at times, a wretched pugnacious resistance +to his opinion; he had met Mrs. Combermere afterwards in the High Street +and, on the strength of his Chapter victory, had dealt with her haughtily; +he had received an especially kind note from Lady St. Leath asking him to +dinner early next month; but all these events were of too usual a nature +to excite his triumph.</p> + +<p>No, there had descended upon him this afternoon that especial ecstasy that +is surrendered once and again by the gods to men to lead them, maybe, into +some especial blunder or to sharpen, for Olympian humour, the contrast of +some swiftly approaching anguish.</p> + +<p>Brandon stood for a moment, his head raised, his chest out, his soul in +flight, feeling the sharp sting of the raindrops upon his cheek; then, +with a little breath of pleasure and happiness, he crossed the Green to +the little dark door of Saint Margaret's Chapel.</p> + +<p>The Cathedral hung over him, as he stood, feeling in his pocket for his +key, a huge black shadow, vast indeed to-day, as it mingled with the grey +sky and seemed to be taking part in the directing of the wildness of the +storm. Two little gargoyles, perched on the porch of Saint Margaret's +door, leered down upon the Archdeacon. The rain trickled down over their +naked twisted bodies, running in rivulets behind their outstanding ears, +lodging for a moment on the projection of their hideous nether lips. They +grinned down upon the Archdeacon, amused that he should have difficulty, +there in the rain, in finding his key. "Pah!" they heard him mutter, and +then, perhaps, something worse. The key was found, and he had then to bend +his great height to squeeze through the little door. Once inside, he was +at the corner of the Saint Margaret Chapel and could see, in the faint +half-light, the rosy colours of the beautiful Saint Margaret window that +glimmered ever so dimly upon the rows of cane-bottomed chairs, the dingy +red hassocks, and the brass tablets upon the grey stone walls. He walked +through, picking his way carefully in the dusk, saw for an instant the +high, vast expanse of the nave with its few twinkling lights that blew in +the windy air, then turned to the left into the Vestry, closing the door +behind him. Even as he closed the door he could hear high, high up above +him the ringing of the bell for Evensong.</p> + +<p>In the Vestry he found Canon Dobell and Canon Rogers. Dobell, the Minor +Canon who was singing the service, was a short, round, chubby clergyman, +thirty-eight years of age, whose great aim in life was to have an easy +time and agree with every one. He lived with a sister in a little house in +the Precincts and gave excellent dinners. Very different was Canon Rogers, +a thin esthetic man with black bushy eyebrows, a slight stoop and thin +brown hair. He took life with grim seriousness. He was a stupid man but +obstinate, dogmatic, and given to the condemnation of his fellow-men. He +hated innovations as strongly as the Archdeacon himself, but with his +clinging to old forms and rituals there went no self-exaltation. He was a +cold-blooded man, although his obstinacy seemed sometimes to point to a +fiery fanaticism. But he was not a fanatic any more than a mule is one +when he plants his feet four-square and refuses to go forward. No +compliments nor threats could move him; he would have lived, had he had a +spark of asceticism, a hermit far from the haunts of men, but even that +withdrawal would have implied devotion. He was devoted to no one, to no +cause, to no religion, to no ambition. He spent his days in maintaining +things as they were, not because he loved them, simply because he was +obstinate. Brandon quite frankly hated him.</p> + +<p>In the farther room the choir-boys were standing in their surplices, +whispering and giggling. The sound of the bell was suddenly emphatic. +Canon Rogers stood, his hands folded motionless, gazing in front of him. +Dobell, smiling so that a dimple appeared in each cheek, said in his +chuckling whisper to Brandon:</p> + +<p>"Ronder comes to-day, doesn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Ronder?" Brandon repeated, coming abruptly out of his secret exultation.</p> + +<p>"Yes...Hart-Smith's successor."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes--I believe he does...."</p> + +<p>Cobbett, the Verger, with his gold staff, appeared in the Vestry door. A +tall handsome man, he had been in the service of the Cathedral as man and +boy for fifty years. He had his private ambitions, the main one being that +old Lawrence, the head Verger, in his opinion a silly old fool, should die +and permit his own legitimate succession. Another ambition was that he +should save enough money to buy another three cottages down in Seatown. He +owned already six there. But no one observing his magnificent impassivity +(he was famous for this throughout ecclesiastical Glebeshire) would have +supposed that he had any thought other than those connected with ceremony. +As he appeared the organ began its voluntary, the music stealing through +the thick grey walls, creeping past the stout grey pillars that had +listened, with so impervious an immobility, to an endless succession of +voluntaries. The Archdeacon prayed, the choir responded with a long Amen, +and the procession filed out, the boys with faces pious and wistful, the +choir-men moving with nonchalance, their restless eyes wandering over the +scene so absolutely known to them. Then came Rogers like a martyr; Dobell +gaily as though he were enjoying some little joke of his own; last of all, +Brandon, superb in carriage, in dignity, in his magnificent recognition of +the value of ceremony.</p> + +<p>Because to-day was simply an ordinary afternoon with an ordinary Anthem +and an ordinary service (Martin in F) the congregation was small, the +gates of the great screen closed with a clang behind the choir, and the +nave, purple grey under the soft light of the candle-lit choir, was shut +out into twilight. In the high carved seats behind and beyond the choir +the congregation was sitting; Miss Dobell, who never missed a service that +her brother was singing, with her pinched white face and funny old- +fashioned bonnet, lost between the huge arms of her seat; Mrs. Combermere, +with a friend, stiff and majestic; Mrs. Cole and her sister-in-law, Amy +Cole; a few tourists; a man or two; Major Drake, who liked to join in the +psalms with his deep bass; and little Mr. Thompson, one of the masters at +the School who loved music and always came to Evensong when he could.</p> + +<p>There they were then, and the Archdeacon, looking at them from his stall, +could not but feel that they were rather a poor lot. Not that he exactly +despised them; he felt kindly towards them and would have done no single +one of them an injury, but he knew them all so well--Mrs. Combermere, Miss +Dobell, Mrs. Cole, Drake, Thompson. They were shadows before him. If he +looked hard at them, they seemed to disappear....</p> + +<p>The exultation that he had felt as he stood outside his house-door +increased with every moment that passed. It was strange, but he had never, +perhaps, in all his life been so happy as he was at that hour. He was +driven by the sense of it to that, with him, rarest of all things, +introspection. Why should he feel like this? Why did his heart beat +thickly, why were his cheeks flushed with a triumphant heat? It could not +but be that he was realising to-day how everything was well with him. And +why should he not realise it? Looking up to the high vaulted roofs above +him, he greeted God, greeted Him as an equal, and thanked Him as a fellow- +companion who had helped him through a difficult and dusty journey. He +thanked Him for his health, for his bodily vigour and strength, for his +beauty, for his good brain, for his successful married life, for his wife +(poor Amy), for his house and furniture, for his garden and tennis-lawn, +for his carriage and horses, for his son, for his position in the town, +his dominance in the Chapter, his authority on the School Council, his +importance in the district.... For all these things he thanked God, and he +greeted Him with an outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>"As one power to another," his soul cried, "greetings! You have been a +true and loyal friend to me. Anything that I can do for You I will do...."</p> + +<p>The time came for him to read the First Lesson. He crossed to the Lectern +and was conscious that the tourists were whispering together about him. He +read aloud, in his splendid voice, something about battles and vengeance, +plagues and punishment, God's anger and the trembling Israelites. He might +himself have been an avenging God as he read. He was uplifted with the +glory of power and the exultation of personal dominion...</p> + +<p>He crossed back to his seat, and, as they began the "Magnificat," his eye +alighted on the tomb of the Black Bishop. In the volume on Polchester in +Chimes' Cathedral Series (4th edition, 1910), page 52, you will find this +description of the Black Bishop's Tomb: "It stands between the pillars at +the far east end of the choir in the eighth bay from the choir screen. The +stone screen which surrounds the tomb is of most elaborate workmanship, +and it has, in certain lights, the effect of delicate lace; the canopy +over the tomb has pinnacles which rise high above the level of the choir- +stalls. The tomb itself is made from a solid block of a dark blue stone. +The figure of the bishop, carved in black marble, lies with his hands +folded across his breast, clothed in his Episcopal robes and mitre, and +crozier on his shoulder. At his feet are a vizor and a pair of gauntlets, +these also carved in black marble. On one finger of his right hand is a +ring carved from some green stone. His head is raised by angels and at his +feet beyond the vizor and gauntlets are tiny figures of four knights fully +armed. A small arcade runs round the tomb with a series of shields in the +spaces, and these shields have his motto, 'God giveth Strength,' and the +arms of the See of Polchester. His epitaph in brass round the edge of the +tomb has thus been translated:</p> + +<p>"'Here, having surrendered himself back to God, lies Henry of Arden. His +life, which was distinguished for its great piety, its unfailing +generosity, its noble statesmanship, was rudely taken in the nave of this +Cathedral by men who feared neither the punishment of their fellows nor +the just vengeance of an irate God.</p> + +<p>"'He died, bravely defending this great house of Prayer, and is now, in +eternal happiness, fulfilling the reward of all good and faithful +servants, at his Master's side.'"</p> + +<p>It has been often remarked by visitors to the Cathedral how curiously this +tomb catches light from all sides of the building, but this is undoubtedly +in the main due to the fact that the blue stone of which it is chiefly +composed responds immediately to the purple and violet lights that fall +from the great East window. On a summer day the blue of the tomb seems +almost opaque as though it were made of blue glass, and the gilt on the +background of the screen and the brasses of the groins glitter and sparkle +like fire.</p> + +<p>Brandon to-day, wrapped in his strange mood of almost mystical triumph, +felt as though he were, indeed, a reincarnation of the great Bishop.</p> + +<p>As the "Magnificat" proceeded, he seemed to enter into the very tomb and +share in the Bishop's dust. "I stood beside you," he might almost have +cried, "when in the last savage encounter you faced them on the very steps +of the altar, striking down two of them with your fists, falling at last, +bleeding from a hundred wounds, but crying at the very end, 'God is my +right!'"</p> + +<p>As he stared across at the tomb, he seemed to see the great figure, +deserted by all his terrified adherents, lying in his blood in the now +deserted Cathedral; he saw the coloured dusk creep forward and cover him. +And then, in the darkness of the night, the two faithful servants who +crept in and carried away his body to keep it in safety until his day +should come again.</p> + +<p>Born in 1100, Henry of Arden had been the first Bishop to give Polchester +dignity and power. What William of Wykeham was to Winchester, that Henry +of Arden was to the See of Polchester. Through all the wild days of the +quarrel between Stephen and Matilda he had stood triumphant, yielding at +last only to the mad overwhelming attacks of his private enemies. Of those +he had had many. It had been said of him that "he thought himself God--the +proudest prelate on earth." Proud he may have been, but he had loved his +Bishopric. It was in his time that the Saint Margaret's Chapel had been +built, through his energy that the two great Western Towers had risen, +because of him that Polchester now could boast one of the richest revenues +of any Cathedral in Europe. Men said that he had plundered, stolen the +land of powerless men, himself headed forays against neighbouring villages +and even castles. He had done it for the greater glory of God. They had +been troublous times. It had been every man for himself....</p> + +<p>He had told his people that he was God's chief servant; it was even said +that he had once, in the plenitude of his power, cried that he was God +Himself....</p> + +<p>His figure remained to this very day dominating Polchester, vast in +stature, black-bearded, rejoicing in his physical strength. He could kill, +they used to say, an ox with his fist....</p> + +<p>The "Gloria" rang triumphantly up into the shadows of the nave. Brandon +moved once more across to the Lectern. He read of the casting of the +money-changers out of the Temple.</p> + +<p>His voice quivered with pride and exultation so that Cobbett, who had +acquired, after many years' practice, the gift of sleeping during the +Lessons and Sermon with his eyes open, woke up with a start and wondered +what was the matter.</p> + +<p>Brandon's mood, when he was back in his own drawing-room, did not leave +him; it was rather intensified by the cosiness and security of his home. +Lying back in his large arm-chair in front of the fire, his long legs +stretched out before him, he could hear the rain beating on the window- +panes and beyond that the murmur of the organ (Brockett, the organist, was +practising, as he often did after Evensong).</p> + +<p>The drawing-room was a long narrow one with many windows; it was furnished +in excellent taste. The carpet and the curtains and the dark blue +coverings to the chairs were all a little faded, but this only gave them +an additional dignity and repose. There were two large portraits of +himself and Mrs. Brandon painted at the time of their marriage, some low +white book-shelves, a large copy of "Christ in the Temple"--plenty of +space, flowers, light.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brandon was, at this time, a woman of forty-two, but she looked very +much less than that. She was slight, dark, pale, quite undistinguished. +She had large grey eyes that looked on to the ground when you spoke to +her. She was considered a very shy woman, negative in every way. She +agreed with everything that was said to her and seemed to have no opinions +of her own. She was simply "the wife of the Archdeacon." Mrs. Combermere +considered her a "poor little fool." She had no real friends in +Polchester, and it made little difference to any gathering whether she +were there or not. She had been only once known to lose her temper in +public--once in the market-place she had seen a farmer beat his horse over +the eyes. She had actually gone up to him and struck him. Afterwards she +had said that "she did not like to see animals ill-treated." The +Archdeacon had apologised for her, and no more had been said about it. The +farmer had borne her no grudge.</p> + +<p>She sat now at the little tea-table, her eyes screwed up over the serious +question of giving the Archdeacon his tea exactly as he wanted it. Her +whole mind was apparently engaged on this problem, and the Archdeacon did +not care to-day that she did not answer his questions and support his +comments because he was very, very happy, the whole of his being thrilling +with security and success and innocent pride.</p> + +<p>Joan Brandon came in. In appearance she was, as Mrs. Sampson said, +"insignificant." You would not look at her twice any more than you would +have looked at her mother twice. Her figure was slight and her legs (she +was wearing long skirts this year for the first time) too long. Her hair +was dark brown and her eyes dark brown. She had nice rosy cheeks, but they +were inclined to freckle. She smiled a good deal and laughed, when in +company, more noisily than was proper. "A bit of a tomboy, I'm afraid," +was what one used to hear about her. But she was not really a tomboy; she +moved quietly, and her own bedroom was always neat and tidy. She had very +little pocket-money and only seldom new clothes, not because the +Archdeacon was mean, but because Joan was so often forgotten and left out +of the scheme of things. It was surprising that the only girl in the house +should be so often forgotten, but the Archdeacon did not care for girls, +and Mrs. Brandon did not appear to think very often of any one except the +Archdeacon. Falk, Joan's brother, now at Oxford, when he was at home had +other things to do than consider Joan. She had gone, ever since she was +twelve, to the Polchester High School for Girls, and there she was +popular, and might have made many friends, had it not been that she could +not invite her companions to her home. Her father did not like "noise in +the house." She had been Captain of the Hockey team; the small girls in +the school had all adored her. She had left the place six months ago and +had come home to "help her mother." She had had, in honest fact, six +months' loneliness, although no one knew that except herself. Her mother +had not wanted her help. There had been nothing for her to do, and she had +felt herself too young to venture into the company of older girls in the +town. She had been rather "blue" and had looked back on Seafield House, +the High School, with longing, and then suddenly, one morning, for no very +clear reason she had taken a new view of life. Everything seemed +delightful and even thrilling, commonplace things that she had known all +her days, the High Street, keeping her rooms tidy, spending or saving the +minute monthly allowance, the Cathedral, the river. She was all in a +moment aware that something very delightful would shortly occur. What it +was she did not know, and she laughed at herself for imagining that +anything extraordinary could ever happen to any one so commonplace as +herself, but there the strange feeling was and it would not go away.</p> + +<p>To-day, as always when her father was there, she came in very quietly, sat +down near her mother, saw that she made no sort of interruption to the +Archdeacon's flow of conversation. She found that he was in a good humour +to-day, and she was glad of that because it would please her mother. She +herself had a great interest in all that he said. She thought him a most +wonderful man, and secretly was swollen with pride that she was his +daughter. It did not hurt her at all that he never took any notice of her. +Why should he? Nor did she ever feel jealous of Falk, her father's +favourite. That seemed to her quite natural. She had the idea, now most +thoroughly exploded but then universally held in Polchester, that women +were greatly inferior to men. She did not read the more advanced novels +written by Mme. Sarah Grand and Mrs. Lynn Linton. I am ashamed to say that +her favourite authors were Miss Alcott and Miss Charlotte Mary Yonge. +Moreover, she herself admired Falk extremely. He seemed to her a hero and +always right in everything that he did.</p> + +<p>Her father continued to talk, and behind the reverberation of his deep +voice the roll of the organ like an approving echo could faintly be heard.</p> + +<p>"There was a moment when I thought Foster was going to interfere. I've +been against the garden-roller from the first--they've got one and what do +they want another for? And, anyway, he thinks I meddle with the School's +affairs too much. Who wants to meddle with the School's affairs? I'm sure +they're nothing but a nuisance, but some one's got to prevent the place +from going to wrack and ruin, and if they all leave it to me I can't very +well refuse it, can I? Hey?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear."</p> + +<p>"You see what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear."</p> + +<p>"Well, then--" (As though Mrs. Brandon had just been overcome in an +argument in which she'd shown the greatest obstinacy.) "There you are. It +would be false modesty to deny that I've got the Chapter more or less in +my pocket And why shouldn't I have? Has any one worked harder for this +place and the Cathedral than I have?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear."</p> + +<p>"Well, then.... There's this new fellow Ronder coming to-day. Don't know +much about him, but he won't give much trouble, I expect--trouble in the +way of delaying things, I mean. What we want is work done expeditiously. +I've just about got that Chapter moving at last. Ten years' hard work. +Deserve a V.C. or something. Hey?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, I'm sure you do."</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon gave one of his well-known roars of laughter--a laugh +famous throughout the county, a laugh described by his admirers as +"Homeric," by his enemies as "ear-splitting." There was, however, enemies +or no enemies, something sympathetic in that laugh, something boyish and +simple and honest.</p> + +<p>He suddenly pulled himself up, bringing his long legs close against his +broad chest.</p> + +<p>"No letter from Falk to-day, was there?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear."</p> + +<p>"Humph. That's three weeks we haven't heard. Hope there's nothing wrong."</p> + +<p>"What could there be wrong, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, of course.... Well, Joan, and what have you been doing with +yourself all day?"</p> + +<p>It was only in his most happy and resplendent moods that the Archdeacon +held jocular conversations with his daughter. These conversations had +been, in the past, moments of agony and terror to her, but since that +morning when she had suddenly woken to a realisation of the marvellous +possibilities in life her terror had left her. There were other people in +the world besides her father....</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, a little, her agitation was still with her. She looked up at +him, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know, father.... I went to the Library this morning to change +the books for mother--"</p> + +<p>"Novels, I suppose. No one ever reads anything but trash nowadays."</p> + +<p>"They hadn't anything that mother put down. They never have. Miss Milton +sits on the new novels and keeps them for Mrs. Sampson and Mrs. +Combermere."</p> + +<p>"Sits on them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes--really sits on them. I saw her take one from under her skirt the +other day when Mrs. Sampson asked for it. It was one that mother has +wanted a long time."</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon was angry. "I never heard anything so scandalous. I'll just +see to that. What's the use of being on the Library Committee if that kind +of thing happens? That woman shall go."</p> + +<p>"Oh no! father!..."</p> + +<p>"Of course she shall go. I never heard anything so dishonest in my +life!..."</p> + +<p>Joan remembered that little conversation until the end of her life. And +with reason.</p> + +<p>The door was flung open. Some one came hurriedly in, then stopped, with a +sudden arrested impulse, looking at them. It was Falk.</p> + +<p>Falk was a very good-looking man--fair hair, light blue eyes like his +father's, slim and straight and quite obviously fearless. It was that +quality of courage that struck every one who saw him; it was not only that +he feared, it seemed, no one and nothing, but that he went a step further +than that, spending his life in defying every one and everything, as a +practised dueller might challenge every one he met in order to keep his +play in practice. "I don't like young Brandon," Mrs. Sampson said. "He +snorts contempt at you...."</p> + +<p>He was only twenty-one, a contemptuous age. He looked as though he had +been living in that house for weeks, although, as a fact, he had just +driven up, after a long and tiresome journey, in an ancient cab through +the pouring rain. The Archdeacon gazed at his son in a bewildered, +confused amaze, as though he, a convinced sceptic, were suddenly +confronted, in broad daylight, with an undoubted ghost.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" he said at last. "Why are you here?"</p> + +<p>"I've been sent down," said Falk.</p> + +<p>It was characteristic of the relationship in that family that, at that +statement, Mrs. Brandon and Joan did not look at Falk but at the +Archdeacon.</p> + +<p>"Sent down!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, for ragging! They wanted to do it last term."</p> + +<p>"Sent down!" The Archdeacon shot to his feet; his voice suddenly lifted +into a cry. "And you have the impertinence to come here and tell me! You +walk in as though nothing had happened! You walk in!..."</p> + +<p>"You're angry," said Falk, smiling. "Of course I knew you would be. You +might hear me out first. But I'll come along when I've unpacked and you're +a bit cooler. I wanted some tea, but I suppose that will have to wait. You +just listen, father, and you'll find it isn't so bad. Oxford's a rotten +place for any one who wants to be on his own, and, anyway, you won't have +to pay my bills any more."</p> + +<p>Falk turned and went.</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon, as he stood there, felt a dim mysterious pain as though an +adversary whom he completely despised had found suddenly with his weapon a +joint in his armour.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_02"></a>Chapter II</h1> +<h2>Ronders</h2> + + +<p>The train that brought Falk Brandon back to Polchester brought also the +Ronders--Frederick Ronder, newly Canon of Polchester, and his aunt, Miss +Alice Ronder. About them the station gathered in a black cloud, dirty, +obscure, lit by flashes of light and flame, shaken with screams, +rumblings, the crashing of carriage against carriage, the rattle of cab- +wheels on the cobbles outside. To-day also there was the hiss and scatter +of the rain upon the glass roof. The Ronders stood, not bewildered, for +that they never were, but thinking what would be best. The new Canon was a +round man, round-shouldered, round-faced, round-stomached, round legged. A +fair height, he was not ludicrous, but it seemed that if you laid him down +he would roll naturally, still smiling, to the farthest end of the +station. He wore large, very round spectacles. His black clerical coat and +trousers and hat were scrupulously clean and smartly cut. He was not a +dandy, but he was not shabby. He smiled a great deal, not nervously as +curates are supposed to smile, not effusively, but simply with geniality. +His aunt was a contrast, thin, straight, stiff white collar, little black +bow-tie, coat like a man's, skirt with no nonsense about it. No nonsense +about her anywhere. She was not unamiable, perhaps, but business came +first.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do we do?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"We collect our bags and find the cab," she answered briskly.</p> + +<p>They found their bags, and there were a great many of them; Miss Ronder, +having seen that they were all there and that there was no nonsense about +the porter, moved off to the barrier followed by her nephew.</p> + +<p>As they came into the station square, all smelling of hay and the rain, +the deluge slowly withdrew its forces, recalling them gradually so that +the drops whispered now, patter-patter--pit-pat. A pigeon hovered down and +pecked at the cobbles. Faint colour threaded the thick blotting-paper +grey.</p> + +<p>Old Fawcett himself had come to the station to meet them. Why had he felt +it to be an occasion? God only knows. A new Canon was nothing to him. He +very seldom now, being over eighty, with a strange "wormy" pain in his +left ear, took his horses out himself. He saved his money and counted it +over by his fireside to see that his old woman didn't get any of it. He +hated his old woman, and in a vaguely superstitious, thoroughly Glebeshire +fashion half-believed that she had cast a spell over him and was really +responsible for his "wormy" ear.</p> + +<p>Why had he come? He didn't himself know. Perhaps Ronder was going to be of +importance in the place, he had come from London and they all had money in +London. He licked his purple protruding lips greedily as he saw the +generous man. Yes, kindly and generous he looked....</p> + +<p>They got into the musty cab and rattled away over the cobbles.</p> + +<p>"I hope Mrs. Clay got the telegram all right." Miss Ronder's thin bosom +was a little agitated beneath its white waistcoat. "You'll never forgive +me if things aren't looking as though we'd lived in the place for months."</p> + +<p>Alice Ronder was over sixty and as active as a woman of forty. Ronder +looked at her and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Never forgive you! What words! Do I ever cherish grievances? Never... +but I do like to be comfortable."</p> + +<p>"Well, everything was all right a week ago. I've slaved at the place, as +you know, and Mrs. Clay's a jewel--but she complains of the Polchester +maids--says there isn't one that's any good. Oh, I want my tea, I want my +tea!"</p> + +<p>They were climbing up from the market-place into the High Street. Ronder +looked about him with genial curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Very nice," he said; "I believe I can be comfortable here."</p> + +<p>"If you aren't comfortable you certainly won't stay," she answered him +sharply.</p> + +<p>"Then I <i>must</i> be comfortable," he replied, laughing.</p> + +<p>He laughed a great deal, but absent-mindedly, as though his thoughts were +elsewhere. It would have been interesting to a student of human nature to +have been there and watched him as he sat back in the cab, looking through +the window, indeed, but seeing apparently nothing. He seemed to be gazing +through his round spectacles very short-sightedly, his eyes screwed up and +dim. His fat soft hands were planted solidly on his thick knees.</p> + +<p>The observer would have been interested because he would soon have +realised that Ronder saw everything; nothing, however insignificant, +escaped him, but he seemed to see with his brain as though he had learnt +the trick of forcing it to some new function that did not properly belong +to it. The broad white forehead under the soft black clerical hat was +smooth, unwrinkled, mild and calm.... He had trained it to be so.</p> + +<p>The High Street was like any High Street of a small Cathedral town in the +early evening. The pavements were sleek and shiny after the rain; people +were walking with the air of being unusually pleased with the world, +always the human expression when the storms have withdrawn and there is +peace and colour in the sky. There were lights behind the solemn panes of +Bennett's the bookseller's, that fine shop whose first master had seen Sir +Walter Scott in London and spoken to Byron. In his window were rows of the +classics in calf and first editions of the Surtees books and <i>Dr. +Syntax</i>. At the very top of the High Street was Mellock's the pastry- +cook's, gay with its gas, rich with its famous saffron buns, its still +more famous ginger-bread cake, and, most famous of all, its lemon +biscuits. Even as the Ronders' cab paused for a moment before it turned to +pass under the dark Arden Gate on to the asphalt of the Precincts, the +great Mrs. Mellock herself, round and rubicund, came to the door and +looked about her at the weather. An errand-boy passed, whistling, down the +hill, a stiff military-looking gentleman with white moustaches mounted +majestically the steps of the Conservative Club; then they rattled under +the black archway, echoed for a moment on the noisy cobbles, then slipped +into the quiet solemnity of the Precincts asphalt. It was Brandon who had +insisted on the asphalt. Old residents had complained that to take away +the cobbles would be to rid the Precincts of all its atmosphere.</p> + +<p>"I don't care about atmosphere," said the Archdeacon, "I want to sleep at +night."</p> + +<p>Very quiet here; not a sound penetrated. The Cathedral was a huge shadow +above its darkened lawns; not a human soul was to be seen.</p> + +<p>The cab stopped with a jerk at Number Eight. The bell was rung by old +Fawcett, who stood on the top step looking down at Ronder and wondering +how much he dared to ask him. Ask him too much now and perhaps he would +not deal with him in the future. Moreover, although the man wore large +spectacles and was fat he was probably not a fool.... Fawcett could not +tell why he was so sure, but there was something....</p> + +<p>Mrs. Clay was at the door, smiling and ordering a small frightened girl to +"hurry up now." Miss Ronder disappeared into the house. Ronder stood for a +moment looking about him as though he were a spy in enemy country and must +let nothing escape him.</p> + +<p>"Whose is that big place there?" he asked Fawcett, pointing to a house +that stood by itself at the farther corner of the Precincts.</p> + +<p>"Archdeacon Brandon's, sir."</p> + +<p>"Oh!..." Ronder mounted the steps. "Good night," he said to Fawcett. "Mrs. +Clay, pay the cabman, please."</p> + +<p>The Ronders had taken this house a month ago; for two months before that +it had stood desolate, wisps of paper and straw blowing about it, its "To +let" notice creaking and screaming in every wind. The Hon. Mrs. +Pentecoste, an eccentric old lady, had lived there for many years, and had +died in the middle of a game of patience; her worn and tattered furniture +had been sold at auction, and the house had remained unlet for a +considerable period because people in the town said that the ghost of Mrs. +Pentecoste's cat (a famous blue Persian) walked there. The Ronders cared +nothing for ghosts; the house was exactly what they wanted. It had two +panelled rooms, two powder-closets, and a little walled garden at the back +with fruit trees.</p> + +<p>It was quite wonderful what Miss Ronder had done in a month; she had +abandoned Eaton Square for a week, worked in the Polchester house like a +slave, then retired back to Eaton Square again, leaving Mrs. Clay, her +aide-de-camp, to manage the rest. Mrs. Clay had managed very well. She +would not have been in the service of the Ronders for nearly fifteen years +had she not had a gift for managing....</p> + +<p>Ronder, washed and brushed, came down to tea, looked about him, and saw +that all was good.</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you, Aunt Alice," he said--"excellent!"</p> + +<p>Miss Ronder very slightly flushed.</p> + +<p>"There are a lot of things still to be done," she said; nevertheless she +was immensely pleased.</p> + +<p>The drawing-room was charming. The stencilled walls, the cushions of the +chairs, the cover of a gate-legged table, the curtains of the mullioned +windows were of a warm dark blue. And whatever in the room was not blue +seemed to be white, or wood in its natural colour, or polished brass. +Books ran round the room in low white book-cases. In one corner a pure +white Hermes stood on a pedestal with tiny wings outspread. There was only +one picture, an excellent copy of "Rembrandt's mother." The windows looked +out to the garden, now veiled by the dusk of evening. Tea was on a little +table close to the white tiled fireplace. A little square brass clock +chimed the half-hour as Ronder came in.</p> + +<p>"I suppose Ellen will be over," Ronder said. He drank in the details of +the room with a quite sensual pleasure. He went over to the Hermes and +lifted it, holding it for a moment in his podgy hands.</p> + +<p>"You beauty!" he whispered aloud. He put it back, turned round to his +aunt.</p> + +<p>"Of course Ellen will be over," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"Of course," Miss Ronder repeated, picking up the old square black lacquer +tea-caddy and peering into it.</p> + +<p>He picked up the books on the table--two novels, <i>Sentimental Tommy</i>, +by J. M. Barrie, and <i>Sir George Tressady</i>, by Mrs. Humphry Ward, Mr. +Swinburne's <i>Tale of Balen</i>, and <i>The Works of Max Beerbohm</i>. +Last of all Leslie Stephen's <i>Social Rights and Duties</i>.</p> + +<p>He looked at them all, with their light yellow Mudie labels, their fresh +bindings, then, slowly and very carefully, put them back on the table.</p> + +<p>He always handled books as though they were human beings.</p> + +<p>He came and sat down by the fire.</p> + +<p>"I won't see over the place until to-morrow," he said. "What have you done +about the other books?"</p> + +<p>"The book-cases are in. It's the best room in the house. Looks over the +river and gets most of the light. The books are as you packed them. I +haven't dared touch them. In fact, I've left that room entirely for you to +arrange."</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "if you've done the rest of this house as well as this +room, you'll do. It's jolly--it really is. I'm going to like this place."</p> + +<p>"And you hated the very idea of it."</p> + +<p>"I hated the discomfort there'd be before we settled in. But the settling +in is going to be easier than I thought. Of course we don't know yet how +the land lies. Ellen will tell us."</p> + +<p>They were silent for a little. Then he looked at her with a puzzled, half- +humorous, half-ironical glance.</p> + +<p>"It's a bit of a blow to you, Aunt Alice, burying yourself down here. +London was the breath of your nostrils. What did you come for? Love of +me?"</p> + +<p>She looked steadily back at him.</p> + +<p>"Not love exactly. Curiosity, perhaps. I want to see at first hand what +you'll do. You're the most interesting human being I've ever met, and that +isn't prejudice. Aunts do not, as a rule, find their nephews interesting. +And what have you come here for? I assure you I haven't the least idea."</p> + +<p>The door was opened by Mrs. Clay.</p> + +<p>"Miss Stiles," she said.</p> + +<p>Miss Stiles, who came in, was not handsome. She was large and fat, with a +round red face like a sun, and she wore colours too bright for her size. +She had a slow soft voice like the melancholy moo of a cow. She was not a +bad woman, but, temperamentally, was made unhappy by the success or good +fortune of others. Were you in distress, she would love you, cherish you, +never abandon you. She would share her last penny with you, run to the end +of the world for you, defend you before the whole of humanity. Were you, +however, in robust health, she would hint to every one of a possible +cancer; were you popular, it would worry her terribly and she would +discover a thousand faults in your character; were you successful in your +work, she would pray for your approaching failure lest you should become +arrogant. She gossiped without cessation, and always, as it were, to +restore the proper balance of the world, to pull down the mighty from +their high places, to lift the humble only that they in their turn might +be pulled down. She played fluently and execrably on the piano. She spent +her day in running from house to house.</p> + +<p>She had independent means, lived four months of the year in Polchester +(she had been born there and her family had been known there for many +generations before her), four months in London, and the rest of the year +abroad. She had met Alice Ronder in London and attached herself to her. +She liked the Ronders because they never boasted of their successes, +because Alice had a weak heart, because Ronder, who knew her character, +half-humorously deprecated his talents, which were, as he knew well +enough, no mean ones. She bored Alice Ronder, but Ronder found her useful. +She told him a great deal that he wanted to know, and although she was +never accurate in her information, he could separate the wheat from the +chaff. She was a walking mischief-maker, but meant no harm to a living +soul. She prided herself on her honesty, on saying exactly what she +thought to every one. She was kindness itself to her servants, who adored +her, as did railway-porters, cabmen and newspaper men. She overtipped +wherever she went because "she could not bear not to be liked." In our +Polchester world she was an important factor. She was always the first to +hear any piece of news in our town, and she gave it a wrong twist just as +fast as she could.</p> + +<p>She was really delighted to see the Ronders, and told them so with many +assurances of affection, but she was a little distressed to find the room +so neat and settled. She would have preferred them to be "in a thorough +mess" and badly in need of her help.</p> + +<p>"My dear Alice, how quick you've been! How clever you are! At the same +time I think you'll find there's a good deal to arrange still. The +Polchester girls are so slow and always breaking things. I suppose some +things have been smashed in the move--nothing very valuable, I hope."</p> + +<p>"Lots of things, Ellen," said Ronder, laughing. "We've had the most awful +time and badly need your help. It's only this room that Aunt Alice got +straight--just to have something to show, you know. And our journey down! +I can't tell you what it was, hardly room to breathe and coming up here in +the rain!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you poor things! What a welcome to Polchester! You must simply have +hated the look of the whole place. <i>Such</i> a bad introduction, and +everything looking as gloomy and depressing as possible. I expect you +wished yourselves well out of it. I don't wonder you're depressed. I hope +you're not feeling your heart, Alice dear."</p> + +<p>"Well, I am a little," acknowledged Miss Ronder. "But I shall go to bed +early and get a good night."</p> + +<p>"You poor dear! I was afraid you'd be absolutely done up. Now, you're +<i>not</i> to get up in the morning and I'll run about and do your +shopping for you. I <i>insist</i>. How's Mrs. Clay?"</p> + +<p>"A little grumpy at having so much to do," said Ronder, "but she'll get +over it."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid she's a little ill-tempered at times," said Miss Stiles with +satisfaction. "I thought when I came in that she looked out of sorts. +Troubles never come singly, of course."</p> + +<p>All was well now and Miss Stiles completely satisfied. She admired the +room and the Hermes, and prophesied that, after a week or two, they would +probably find things not so bad after all. She drank several cups of tea +and passed on to general conversation. It was obvious, very soon, that she +was bursting with a piece of news.</p> + +<p>"I can see, Ellen," said Ronder, humorously observing her, "that you're +longing to tell us something."</p> + +<p>"Well, it is interesting. What do you think? Falk Brandon has been sent +down from Oxford for misbehaviour."</p> + +<p>"And who is Falk Brandon?" asked Ronder.</p> + +<p>"The Archdeacon's son. His only boy. I've told you about Archdeacon +Brandon many times. He thinks he runs the town and has been terribly above +himself for a long while. This will pull him down a little. I must say, +although I don't want to be uncharitable, that I'm glad of it. It's too +absurd the way that he's been having everything his own way here. All the +Canons are over ninety and simply give in to him about everything."</p> + +<p>"When did this happen?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's only just happened. He arrived by your train. I saw young George +Lascelles as I was on my way up to you. He met him at the station--Falk, I +mean--and he didn't pretend to disguise it. George said 'Hullo, Brandon, +what are you doing here?' and Falk said 'Oh, I've been sent down'--just +like that. Didn't pretend to disguise it. He's always been as brazen as +anything. He'll give his father a lot of trouble before he's done."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing very terrible," said Ronder, laughing, "in being sent +down from Oxford. I've known plenty of good fellows who were."</p> + +<p>Miss Stiles looked annoyed. "Oh, but you don't know. It will be terrible +for his father. He's the proudest man in England. Some people call it +conceit, but, however that may be, he thinks there's nothing like his +family. Even poor Mrs. Brandon he's proud of when she isn't there. It will +be awful for him that every one should know."</p> + +<p>Ronder said nothing.</p> + +<p>"You know," said Miss Stiles, who felt that her news had fallen flat, +"you'll have to fight him or give in to him. There's no other way here. I +hope you'll fight him."</p> + +<p>"I?" said Ronder. "Why, I never fight anybody. I'm much too lazy."</p> + +<p>"Then you'll never be comfortable here, that's all. He can't bear being +crossed. He must have his way about everything. If the Bishop weren't so +old and the Dean so stupid.... What we want here is a little life in the +place."</p> + +<p>"You needn't look to us for that, Ellen," said Ronder. "We've come here to +rest----"</p> + +<p>"Peace, perfect peace...."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you," said Miss Stiles, tossing her head. "I'd be +disappointed to think it of you."</p> + +<p>Alice Ronder gave her nephew a curious look, half of amusement, half of +expectation.</p> + +<p>"It's quite true, Ellen," she said. "Now, if you've finished your tea, +come and look at the rest of the house."</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_03"></a>Chapter III</h1> +<h2>One of Joan's Days</h2> + + + +<p>I find it difficult now to realise how apart from the life of the world +Polchester was in those days. Even now, when the War has shaken up and +jostled together every small village in Great Britain, Polchester still +has some shreds of its isolation left to it; but then--why, it might have +been a walled-in fortress of mediaeval times, for all its connection with +the outside world!</p> + +<p>This isolation was quite deliberately maintained. I don't mean, of course, +that Mrs. Combermere and Brandon and old Bentinck-Major and Mrs. Sampson +said to themselves in so many words, "We will keep this to ourselves and +defend its walls against every new invader, every new idea, new custom, +new impulse. We will all be butchered rather than allow one old form, +tradition, superstition to go!" It was not as conscious as that, but in +effect it was that that it came to. And they were wonderfully assisted by +circumstances. It is true that the main line ran through Polchester from +Drymouth, but its travellers were hurrying south, and only a few trippers, +a few Americans, a few sentimentalists stayed to see the Cathedral; and +those who stayed found "The Bull" an impossibly inconvenient and +uncomfortable hostelry and did not come again. It is true that even then, +in 1897, there were many agitations by sharp business men like Crosbie and +John Allen, Croppet and Fred Barnstaple, to make the place more widely +known, more commercially attractive. It was not until later that the golf +course was laid out and the St. Leath Hotel rose on Pol Hill. But other +things were tried--steamers on the Pol, char-à-bancs to various places of +local interest, and so on--but, at this time, all these efforts failed. +The Cathedral was too strong for them, above all Brandon and Mrs. +Combermere were too strong for them. Nothing was done to encourage +strangers; I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Combermere didn't pay old Jolliffe +of "The Bull" so much a year to keep his hotel inconvenient and +insanitary. The men on the Town Council were for the most part like the +Canons, aged and conservative. It is true that it was in 1897 that +Barnstaple was elected Mayor, but without Ronder I doubt whether even he +would have been able to do very much. + +The town then revolved, so to speak, entirely on its own axis; it revolved +between the two great events of the year, the summer Polchester Fair, the +winter County Ball, and those two great affairs were conducted, in every +detail and particular, as they had been conducted a hundred years before. +I find it strange, writing from the angle of to-day, to conceive it +possible that so short a time ago anything in England could have been so +conservative. I myself was only thirteen years of age when Ronder came to +our town, and saw all grown figures with the exaggerated colour and +romance that local inquisitive age bestows. About my own contemporaries, +young Jeremy Cole for instance, there was no colour at all, but the older +figures were strange--gigantic, almost mythological. Mrs. Combermere, the +Dean, the Archdeacon, Mrs. Sampson, Canon Ronder, moved about the town, to +my young eyes, like gods and goddesses, and it was not until after my +return to Polchester at the end of my first Cambridge year that I saw +clearly how small a town it was and how tiny the figures in it.</p> + +<p>Joan Brandon thought her father a marvellous man, as I have already said, +but she had seen him too often lose his temper, too often snub her mother, +too often be upset by trivial and unimportant details, to conceive him +romantically. Falk, her brother, was romantic to her because she had seen +so much less of him; her father she knew too well. For some time after +Falk's return from Oxford nothing happened. Joan did not know what exactly +she had expected to happen, but she had an uneasy sense that more was +going on behind the scenes than she knew.</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon did not speak to Falk unless he were compelled, but Falk +did not seem to mind this in the least. His handsome defiant face flashed +scorn at the whole family.</p> + +<p>He was out of the house most of the day, came down to breakfast when every +one else had finished, and often was not present at dinner in the evening. +The Archdeacon had said that breakfast was not to be kept for him, but +nevertheless breakfast was there, on the table, however late he was. The +cook and, indeed, all the servants adored him because, I suppose, he had +no sense of class-difference at all and laughed and joked with any one if +he was in a good temper. All these first days he spoke scarcely one word +to Joan; it was as though the whole family were in his black books for +some disgraceful act--they were the guilty ones and not he.</p> + +<p>Joan blamed herself for feeling so light-hearted and gay during this +family crisis, but she could not help it. A very short time ago the +knowledge that battle was engaged in the very heart of the house would +have made her miserable and apprehensive, but now it seemed to be all +outside her and unconnected with her as though she had a life of her own +that no one could touch. Her courage seemed to grow with every half-hour +of her life. Some months passed, and then one morning she came into the +drawing-room and found her mother rather bewildered and distressed.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, I really don't know what to do!" said her mother.</p> + +<p>It was so seldom that Joan was appealed to for advice that her heart now +beat with pride.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, mother?" she asked, trying to look dignified and +unconcerned.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brandon looked at her with a frightened and startled look as though +she had been speaking to herself and had not wished to be overheard.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Joan!...I didn't know that you were there!"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter? Is it anything I can help about?"</p> + +<p>"'No, dear, nothing...really I didn't know that you were there."</p> + +<p>"No, but you must let me help, mother." Joan marvelled at her own boldness +as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing you can do, dear."</p> + +<p>"But it's sure to be something I can do. Do you know that I've been home +for months and months simply with the idea of helping you, and I'm never +allowed to do anything?"</p> + +<p>"Really, Joan--I don't think that's quite the way to speak."</p> + +<p>"No, but, mother, it's true. I <i>want</i> to help. I'm grown up. I'm +going to dinner at the Castle, and I <i>must</i> help you, or--or--I shall +go away and earn my own living!"</p> + +<p>This last was so startling and fantastic that both Joan and her mother +stared at one another in a kind of horrified amazement.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't mean that, of course," Joan said, hurriedly recovering +herself. "But you must see that I must have some work to do."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what your father would say," said Mrs. Brandon, still +bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind father," said Joan quickly; "this is a matter just between +you and me. I'm here to help you, and you must let me do something. Now, +what's the trouble to-day?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, dear. There's no trouble exactly. Things are so difficult +just now. The fact is that I promised to go to tea with Miss Burnett this +afternoon and now your father wants me to go with him to the Deanery. So +provoking! Miss Burnett caught me in the street, where it's always so +difficult to think of excuses."</p> + +<p>"Let me go to Miss Burnett's instead," said Joan. "It's quite time I took +on some of the calling for you. I've never seen Mr. Morris, and I hear +he's very nice."</p> + +<p>"Very well, dear," said Mrs. Brandon, suddenly beginning, as her way was +when there was any real opposition, to capitulate on all sides at once. +"Suppose you do go, dear. I'm sure it's very kind of you. And you might +take those books back to the Circulating Library as well. It's Market-Day. +Are you sure you won't mind the horses and cows and dogs?"</p> + +<p>Joan laughed. "I believe you think I'm still five years old, mother. +That's splendid. I'll start off after lunch."</p> + +<p>Joan went up to her room, elated. Truly, this was a great step forward. It +occurred to her on further reflection that something very serious indeed +must be going on behind the scenes to cause her mother to give in so +quickly. She sat on her old faded rocking-chair, her hands crossed behind +her head, thinking it all out. Did she once begin calling on her own +account she was grown-up indeed. What would these Morrises be like?</p> + +<p>She found now that she was beginning to be a little frightened. Mr. Morris +was the new Rector of St. James', the little church over by the cattle +market. He had not been in Polchester very long and was said to be a shy +timid man, but a good preacher. He was a widower, and his sister-in-law +kept house for him. Joan considered further on the great importance of +these concessions; it made all the difference to everything. She was now +to have a life of her own, and every kind of adventure and romance was +possible for her. She was suddenly so happy that she sprang up and did a +little dance round her room, a sort of polka, that became so vehement that +the pictures and the little rickety table rattled.</p> + +<p>"I'll be so grown-up at the Morrises' this afternoon that they'll think +I've been calling for years," she said to herself.</p> + +<p>She had need of all her courage and optimism at luncheon, for it was a +gloomy meal. Only her father and mother were present. They were all very +silent.</p> + +<p>After lunch she went upstairs, put on her hat and coat, picked up the +three Library books, and started off. It was a sunny day, with shadows +chasing one another across the Cathedral green. There was, as there so +often is in Polchester, a smell of the sea in the air, cold and +invigorating. She paused for a moment and looked across at the Cathedral. +She did not know why, but she had been always afraid of the Cathedral. She +had never loved it, and had always wished that they could go on Sundays to +some little church like St. James'.</p> + +<p>For most of her conscious life the Cathedral had hung over her with its +dark menacing shadow, forbidding her, as it seemed to her, to be gay or +happy or careless. To-day the thought suddenly came to her, "That place is +going to do us harm. I hate it," and for a moment she was depressed and +uneasy; but when she came out from the Arden Gate and saw the High Street +all shining with the sun, running down the hill into glittering distance, +she was gloriously cheerful once more. There the second wonderful thing +that day happened to her. She had taken scarcely a step down the hill when +she came upon Mrs. Sampson. There was nothing wonderful about that; Mrs. +Sampson, being the wife of a Dean who was much more retiring than he +should be, was to be seen in public at all times and seasons, having to +do, as it were, the work of two rather than one. No, the wonderful thing +was that Joan suddenly realised that her terror of Mrs. Sampson--a terror +that had always been a real thorn in her flesh--was completely gone. It +was as though a charm, an Abracadabra, had been whispered over Mrs. +Sampson and she had been changed immediately into a rabbit. It had never +been Mrs. Sampson's fault that she was alarming to the young. She was a +good woman, but she was cursed with two sad burdens--a desperate shyness +and a series, unrelenting, unmitigating, mysterious, desperate, of nervous +headaches.</p> + +<p>Her headaches were a feature of Polchester life, and those who were old +enough to understand pitied her and offered her many remedies. But the +young cannot be expected to realise that there can be anything physically +wrong with the old, and Mrs. Sampson's sharpness of manner, her terrifying +habit of rapping out a "Yes" or a "No," her gloomy view of boisterous +habits and healthy appetites, made her one most truly to be avoided. +Before to-day Joan would have willingly walked a mile out of her way to +escape her; to-day she only saw a nervous, pale-faced little woman in an +ill-fitting blue dress, for whom she could not be anything but sorry.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Sampson."</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Joan."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it a nice day?"</p> + +<p>"It's cold, I think. Is your mother well?"</p> + +<p>"Very well, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Give her my love."</p> + +<p>"I will, Mrs. Sampson."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sampson's nose, that would take on a blue colour on a cold day, +quivered, her thin mouth shut with a snap, and she was gone.</p> + +<p>"But I wasn't afraid of her!" She was almost frightened at this new spirit +that had come to her, and, feeling rather that in another moment she would +be punished for her piratical audacity, she turned up the steps into the +Circulating Library.</p> + +<p>It was the custom in those days that far away from the dust of the grimy +shelves, in the very middle of the room, there was a table with all the +latest works of fiction in their gaudy bindings, a few volumes of poetry +and a few memoirs. Close to this table Miss Milton sat, wrapped, in the +warmest weather, in a thick shawl and knitting endless stockings. She +hated children, myself in particular. She was also a Snob of the Snobs, +and thanked God on her knees every night for Lady St. Leath, Mrs. +Combermere and Mrs. Sampson, by whose graces she was left in her present +position.</p> + +<p>Joan was still too near childhood to be considered very seriously, and it +was well known that her father did not take her very seriously either. She +was always, therefore, on the rare occasions when she entered the Library, +snubbed by Miss Milton. It must be confessed that to-day, in spite of her +success with Mrs. Sampson, she was nervous. She was nervous partly because +she hated Miss Milton's red-rimmed eyes, and never looked at them if she +could help it, but, in the main, because she knew that her mother was +returning the Library books too quickly, and had, moreover, insisted that +she should ask for Mr. Barrie's <i>Sentimental Tommy</i> and Mr. Seton +Merriman's <i>The Sowers</i>, both of them books that had been asked for +for weeks and as steadily and persistently refused.</p> + +<p>Joan knew what Miss Milton would say, "That they might be in next week, +but that she couldn't be sure." Was Joan strong enough now, in her new- +found glory, to fight for them? She did not know.</p> + +<p>She advanced to the table smiling. Miss Milton did not look up, but +continued to knit one of her horrible stockings.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, Miss Milton. Mother has sent back these books. They were +not quite what she wanted."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry for that." Miss Milton took the books into her chilblained +protection. "It's a little difficult, I must say, to know what Mrs. +Brandon prefers."</p> + +<p>"Well, there's <i>Sentimental Tommy</i>," began Joan.</p> + +<p>But Miss Milton was an old general.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's out, I'm afraid. Now, here's a sweetly pretty book--<i>Roger +Varibrugh's Wife</i>, by Adeline Sergeant. It'a only just out...."</p> + +<p>"Or there's <i>The Sowers,"</i> said Joan, caught against her will by the +red-rimmed eyes and staring at them.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's out, I'm afraid. There are several books here--"</p> + +<p>"You promised mother," said Joan, "that she should have <i>Sentimental +Tommy</i> this week. You promised her a month ago. It's about time that +mother had a book that she cares for."</p> + +<p>"Really," said Miss Milton, wide-eyed at Joan's audacity. "You seem to be +charging me with some remissness, Miss Brandon. If you have any complaint, +I'm sure the Library Committee will attend to it. It's to them I have to +answer. When the book is in you shall have it. I can promise no more. I am +only human."</p> + +<p>"You have said that now for three months," said Joan, beginning, to her +own surprised delight, to be angry. "Surely the last reader hasn't been +three months over it. I thought subscribers were only allowed to keep a +book a week."</p> + +<p>Miss Milton's crimson colouring turned to a deep purple.</p> + +<p>"The book is out," she said. "Both books are out. They are in great +demand. I have no more to say."</p> + +<p>The Library door opened, and a young man came in. Joan was still too young +to wish for scenes in public. She must give up the battle for to-day. +When, however, she saw who it was she blushed. It was young Lord St. Leath +--Johnny St. Leath, as he was known to his familiars, who were many and of +all sorts and conditions. Joan hated herself for blushing, especially +before the odious Miss Milton, but there was a reason. One day in last +October after morning service Joan and her mother had waited in the +Cloisters to avoid a shower of rain. St. Leath had also waited and very +pleasantly had talked to them both. There was nothing very alarming in +this, but as the rain cleared and Mrs. Brandon had moved forward across +the Green, he had suddenly, with a confusion that had seemed to her +charming, asked Joan whether one day they mightn't meet again. He had +given her one look straight in the eyes, tried to say something more, +failed, and turned away down the Cloisters.</p> + +<p>Joan had never before been asked by any young man to meet him again. She +had told herself that this was nothing but the merest, most obvious +politeness; nevertheless the look that he had given her remained.</p> + +<p>Now, as she saw him advancing towards her, there was the thought, was it +not on that very morning that her new courage and self-confidence had come +to her? The thought was so absurd that she flung it at Miss Milton. But +the blush remained.</p> + +<p>Johnny was an ungainly young man, with a red face, freckles, a large +mouth, and a bull-terrier--a conventional British type, I suppose, saved, +nevertheless, from conventionality by his affection for his three plain +sisters, his determination to see things as they were, and his sense of +humour, the last of these something quite his own, and always appearing in +unexpected places. The bull-terrier, in spite of the notice on the Library +door that no dogs were admitted, advanced breathlessly and dribbling with +excitement for Miss Milton's large black felt slippers.</p> + +<p>"Here, Andrew, old man. Heel! Heel!" said Johnny. Andrew, however, quite +naturally concluded that this was only an approval of his intentions, and +there might have followed an awkward scene had his master not caught him +by the collar and held him suspended in mid-air, to his own indignant +surprise and astonishment.</p> + +<p>Joan laughed, and Miss Milton, quivering between indignation, fear and +snobbery, dropped the stocking that she was knitting.</p> + +<p>Andrew burst from his master's clutches, rushed the stocking into the +farthest recesses of the Library, and proceeded there to enjoy it.</p> + +<p>Johnny apologised.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's quite all right, Lord St. Leath," said Miss Milton. "What a fine +animal!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is," said Johnny, rescuing the stocking. "He's as strong as +Lucifer. Here, Andrew, you devil, I'll break every bone in your body."</p> + +<p>During this little scene Johnny had smiled at Joan, and in so pleasant a +way that she was compelled to smile back at him.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Miss Brandon?" He had recalled Andrew now, and the dog was +slobbering happily at his feet. "Jolly day, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Joan, and stood there awkwardly, feeling that she ought to go +but not knowing quite how to do so. He also seemed embarrassed, and turned +abruptly to Miss Milton.</p> + +<p>"I say, look here.... Mother asked me to come in and get that book you +promised her. What's the name of the thing?...I've got it written down."</p> + +<p>He fumbled in his pocket and produced a bit of paper.</p> + +<p>"Here it is. <i>Sentimental Tommy</i>, by a man called Barrie. Silly name, +but mother's always reading the most awful stuff."</p> + +<p>Joan turned towards Miss Milton.</p> + +<p>"How funny!" she said. "That's the book I've just been asking for. It's +out."</p> + +<p>Miss Milton's face was a curious purple.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's odd," said Johnny. "Mother told me that you'd sent her a +line to say it was in whenever she sent for it."</p> + +<p>"It's been out three months," said Joan, staring now straight into Miss +Milton's angry eyes.</p> + +<p>"I've been keeping..." said Miss Milton. "That is, there's a special +copy.... Lady St. Leath specially asked----"</p> + +<p>"Is it in, or isn't it?" asked Johnny.</p> + +<p>"There <i>is</i> a copy, Lord St. Leath----" With confused fingers Miss +Milton searched in a drawer. She produced the book.</p> + +<p>"You told me," said Joan, forgetting now in her anger St. Leath and all +the world, "that there wouldn't he a copy for weeks. If you'd told me you +were keeping one for St. Leath, that would have been different. You +shouldn't have told me a lie."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say," said Johnny, opening his eyes very widely indeed, +"that you refused this copy to Miss Brandon?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Miss Milton, breathing very hard as though she had been +running a long distance. "I was keeping it for your mother."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm damned," said Johnny. "I beg your pardon, Miss Brandon,...but +I never heard such a thing. Does my mother pay a larger subscription than +other people?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Then what right had you to tell Miss Brandon a lie?"</p> + +<p>Miss Milton, in spite of long training in the kind of warfare attaching, +of necessity, to Circulating Libraries, was very near to tears--also +murder. She would have been delighted to pierce Joan's heart with a bright +stiletto, had such a weapon been handy. She saw the softest, easiest, +idlest job in the world slipping out of her fingers; she saw herself, a +desolate and haggard virgin, begging her bread on the Polchester streets. +She saw...but never mind her visions. They were terrible ones. She had +recourse to her only defence.</p> + +<p>"If I have misunderstood my duty," she said in a trembling voice, "there +is the Library Committee."</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind," said Joan whose anger had disappeared. "It doesn't +matter a bit. We'll have the book after Lady St. Leath."</p> + +<p>"Indeed you won't," said Johnny, seizing the volume and forcing it upon +Joan. "Mother can wait. I never heard of such a thing." He turned fiercely +upon Miss Milton. "My mother shall know exactly what has happened. I'm +sure she'd be horrified if she understood that you were keeping books from +other subscribers in order that she might have them.... Good afternoon."</p> + +<p>He strode from the room. At the door he paused.</p> + +<p>"Can I--Shall we--Are you going down the High Street, Miss Brandon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Joan. They went out of the room and down the Library steps +together.</p> + +<p>In the shiny, sunny street they paused. The dark cobwebs of the Library +hung behind Joan's consciousness like the sudden breaking of a mischievous +spell.</p> + +<p>She was so happy that she could have embraced Andrew, who was, however, +already occupied with the distant aura of a white poodle on the other side +of the street.</p> + +<p>Johnny was driven by the impulse of his indignation down the hill. Joan, +rather breathlessly, followed him.</p> + +<p>"I say!" said Johnny. "Did you ever hear of such a woman! She ought to be +poisoned. She ought indeed. No, poisoning's too good for her. Hung, drawn +and quartered. That's what she ought to be. She'll get into trouble over +that."</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Joan. "Please, Lord St. Leath, don't say any more about it. +She has a difficult time, I expect, everybody wanting the same books. +After all a promise is a promise."</p> + +<p>"But she'd promised your mother----"</p> + +<p>"No, she never really did. She always said that it would be in in a day or +two. She never properly promised. I expect we'd have had it next."</p> + +<p>"The snob, the rotten snob!" Johnny paused and raised his stick. "I hate +women like that. No, she's not doing her job properly. She oughtn't to be +there."</p> + +<p>So swift had been their descent that they arrived in a moment at the +market.</p> + +<p>Because to-day was market-day there was a fine noise, confusion and +splendour--carts rattling in and out, sheep and cows driven hither and +thither, the wooden stalls bright with flowers and vegetables, the dim +arcades looming behind the square filled with mysterious riches. They +could not talk very much here, and Joan was glad. She was too deeply +excited to talk. At one moment St. Leath took her arm to guide her past a +confused mob of bewildered sheep. The Glebeshire peasant on marketing-day +has plenty of conversation. Old wrinkled women, stout red-faced farmers, +boys and girls all shouted together, and above the scene the light driving +clouds flung their transparent shadows, like weaving shuttles across the +sun.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do let's stop here a moment," said Joan, peering into one of the +arcades. "I've always loved this one all my life. I've never been able to +resist it."</p> + +<p>This was the Toy Arcade, now, I'm afraid, gone the way of so many other +romantic things. It had been to all of us the most wonderful spot in +Polchester from the very earliest days, this partly because of the toys +themselves, partly because it was the densest and darkest of all the +Arcades, never utterly to be pierced by our youthful eyes, partly because +only two doors away were the sinister rooms of Mr. Dawson, the dentist. +Here not only was there every kind of toy--dolls, soldiers, horses, carts, +games, tops, hoops, dogs, elephants--but also sweets--chocolates, jujubes, +caramels, and the best sweet in the whole world, the Polchester Bull's- +eye.</p> + +<p>They went in together. Mrs. Magnet, now with God, an old woman like a +berry, always in a bonnet with green flowers, smiled and bobbed. The +colours of the toys jumbled against the dark walls were like patterns in a +carpet.</p> + +<p>"What do you say, Miss Brandon?" said Johnny. "If I give you a toy will +you give me one?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Joan, afraid a little of Mrs. Magnet's piercing black eye.</p> + +<p>"You're not to see what I get. Turn your back a moment."</p> + +<p>Joan turned around. As she waited she could hear the "Hie!...Hie! Woah!" +of the market-cries, the bleating of the sheep, the lowing of a cow.</p> + +<p>"Here you are, then." She turned. He presented her with a Japanese doll, +gay in a pink cotton frock, his waist girdled with a sash of gold tissue.</p> + +<p>"Now you turn your back," she said.</p> + +<p>In a kind of happy desperation she seized a nigger with bold red checks, a +white jacket and crimson trousers.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Magnet wrapped the presents up. They paid, and walked out into the +sun again.</p> + +<p>"I'll keep that doll," said Johnny, "just as long as you keep yours."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said Joan hurriedly. "I've got to call at a house on the other +side of the market.... Good-bye."</p> + +<p>She felt the pressure of his hand on hers, then, clutching her parcel, +hurried, almost ran, indeed, through the market-stalls. She did not look +back.</p> + +<p>When she had crossed the Square she turned down into a little side street. +The plan of Polchester is very simple. It is built, as it were, on the +side of a rock, running finally to a flat top, on which is the Cathedral. +Down the side of the rock there are broad ledges, and it is on one of +these that the market-place is built. At the bottom of the rock lies the +jumble of cottages known most erroneously as Seatown, and round the rock +runs the river Pol, slipping away at last through woods and hills and +valleys into the sea. At high tide you can go all the way by river to the +sea, and in the summer, this makes a pleasant and beautiful excursion. It +is because of this that Seatown has, perhaps, some right to its name, +because in one way and another sailors collect in the cottages and at the +"Dog and Pilchard," that pleasant and democratic hostelry of which, in +1897, Samuel Hogg was landlord. Many visitors have been known to declare +that Seatown was "too sweet for anything," and that "it would be really +wicked to knock down the ducks of cottages," but "the ducks of cottages" +were the foulest and most insanitary dwelling-places in the south of +England, and it has always been to me amazing that the Polchester Town +Council allowed them to stand so long as they did. In 1902, as all the +Glebeshire world knows, there was the great battle of Seatown, ending in +the cottages' destruction. In 1897 those evil dwelling-places gloried in +their full magnificence of sweet corruption, nor did the periodical +attacks of typhoid alarm in the least the citizens of the Upper Town. Once +and again gentlemen from other parts paid mysterious official visits, but +we had ways, in old times, of dealing with inquisitive meddlers from the +outside world.</p> + +<p>Because the market-place was half-way down the Rock, and because the +Rectory of St. James' was just below the market-place, the upper windows +of that house commanded a wonderful view both of the hill, High Street and +Cathedral above it, and of Seatown, river and woods below it. It was said +that it was up this very rocky street from the river, through the market, +and up the High Street that the armed enemies of the Black Bishop had +fought their way to the Cathedral on that great day when the Bishop had +gone to meet his God, and a piece of rock is still shown to innocent +visitors as the place whence some of his enemies, in full armour, were +flung down, many thousand feet, to the waters of the Pol.</p> + +<p>Joan had often longed to see the view from the windows of St. James' +Rectory, but she had not known old Dr. Burroughs, the former Rector, a +cross man with gout and rheumatism. She walked up some steps and found the +house the last of three all squeezed together on the edge of the hill. The +Rectory, because it was the last, stood square to all the winds of heaven, +and Joan fancied what it must be in wild wintry weather. Soon she was in +the drawing-room shaking hands with Miss Burnett, who was Mr. Morris' +sister-in-law, and kept house for him.</p> + +<p>Miss Burnett was a stout negative woman, whose whole mind was absorbed in +the business of housekeeping, prices of food, wickedness and ingratitude +of servants, maliciousness of shopkeepers and so on. The house, with all +her managing, was neither tidy nor clean, as Joan quickly saw; Miss +Burnett was not, by temperament, methodical, nor had she ever received any +education. Her mind, so far as a perception of the outside world and its +history went, was some way behind that of a Hottentot or a South Sea +Islander. She had, from the day of her birth, been told by every one +around her that she was stupid, and, after a faint struggle, she had +acquiesced in that judgment. She knew that her younger sister, afterwards +Mrs. Morris, was pretty and accomplished, and that she would never be +either of those things. She was not angry nor jealous at this. The note of +her character was acquiescence, and when Agatha had died of pleurisy it +had seemed the natural thing for her to come and keep house for the +distressed widower. If Mr. Morris had since regretted the arrangement he +had, at any rate, never said so.</p> + +<p>Miss Burnett's method of conversation was to say something about the +weather and then to lapse into a surprised and distressed stare. If her +visitor made some statement she crowned it with, "Well, now, that was just +was I was going to say."</p> + +<p>Her nose, when she talked, twinkled at the nostrils apprehensively, and +many of her visitors found this fascinating, so that they suddenly, with +hot confusion, realised that they too had been staring in a most offensive +manner. Joan had not been out in the world long enough to enable her to +save a difficult situation by brilliant talk, and she very quickly found +herself staring at Miss Burnett's nose and longing to say something about +it, as, for instance, "What a stronge nose you've got, Miss Burnett--see +how it twitches!" or, "If you'll allow me, Miss Burnett, I'd just like to +study your nose for a minute." When she realised this horrible desire in +herself she blushed crimson and gazed about the untidy and entangled +drawing-room in real desperation. She could see nothing in the room that +was likely to save her. She was about to rise and depart, although she had +only been there five minutes, when Mr. Morris came in.</p> + +<p>Joan realised at once that this man was quite different from any one whom +she had ever known. He was a stranger to her Polchester world in body, +soul and spirit, as though, a foreigner from some far-distant country, he +had been shipwrecked and cast upon an inhospitable shore. So strangely did +she feel this that she was quite surprised when he did not speak with a +foreign accent. "Oh, he must be a poet!" was her second thought about Mr. +Morris, not because he dressed oddly or had long hair. She could not tell +whence the impression came, unless it were in his strange, bewildered, +lost blue eyes. Lost, bewildered--yes, that was what he was! With every +movement of his slim, straight body, the impulse with which he brushed +back his untidy fair hair from his forehead, he seemed like a man only +just awake, a man needing care and protection, because he simply would not +be able to look after himself. So ridiculously did she have this +impression that she almost cried "Look out!" when he moved forward, as +though he would certainly knock himself against a chair or a table.</p> + +<p>"How strange," she thought, "that this man should live with Miss Burnett! +What does he think of her?" She was excited by her discovery of him, but +that meant very little, because just now she was being excited by +everything. She found at once that talking to him was the easiest thing in +the world. Mr. Morris did not say very much; he smiled gently, and when +Miss Burnett, awaking suddenly from her torpor, said, "You'll have some +tea, Miss Brandon, won't you?" he, smiling, softly repeated the +invitation.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Joan. "I will. How strange it is," she went on, "that +you are so close to the market and, even on market-day, you don't hear a +sound!"</p> + +<p>And it was strange! as though the house were bewitched and had suddenly, +even as Joan entered it, gathered around it a dark wood for its +protection.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Morris. "We found it strange at first. But it's because we +are the last house, and the three others protect us. We get the wind and +rain, though. You should hear this place in a storm. But the house is +strong enough; it's very stoutly built; not a board creaks in the wildest +weather. Only the windows rattle and the wind comes roaring down the +chimneys."</p> + +<p>"How long have you been here?" asked Joan.</p> + +<p>"Nearly a year--and we still feel strangers. We were near Ashford in Kent +for twelve years, and the Glebeshire people are very different."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Joan, who was a little irritated because she felt that his +voice was a little sadder than it ought to be, "I think you'll like +Polchester. I'm <i>sure</i> you will. And you've come in a good year, too. +There's sure to be a lot going on this year because of the Jubilee."</p> + +<p>Mr. Morris did not seem to be as thrilled as he should be by the thought +of the Jubilee, so Joan went on:</p> + +<p>"It's so lucky for us that it comes just at the Polchester Feast time. We +always have a tremendous week at the Feast--the Horticultural Show and a +Ball in the Assembly Rooms, and all sorts of things. It's going to be my +first ball this year, although I've really come out already." She laughed. +"Festivities start to-morrow with the arrival of Marquis."</p> + +<p>"Marquis?" repeated Mr. Morris politely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't you know Marquis? His is the greatest Circus in England. He +comes to Polchester every year, and they have a procession through the +town--elephants and camels, and Britannia in her chariot, and sometimes a +cage with the lions and the tigers. Last year they had the sweetest little +ponies--four of them, no higher than St. Bernards--and there are the +clowns too, and a band."</p> + +<p>She was suddenly afraid that she was talking too much--silly too, in her +childish enthusiasms. She remembered that she was in reality deputising +for her mother, who would never have talked about the Circus. Fortunately +at that moment the tea came in; it was brought by a flushed and +contemptuous maid, who put the tray down on a little table with a bang, +tossed her head as though she despised them all, and slammed the door +behind her.</p> + +<p>Miss Burnett was upset by this, and her nose twitched more violently than +ever. Joan saw that her hand trembled as she poured out the tea, and she +was at once sorry for her.</p> + +<p>Mr. Morris talked about Kent and London, and tea was drunk and the saffron +cake praised, and Joan thought it was time to go. At the last, however, +she turned to Mr. Morris and said:</p> + +<p>"Do you like the Cathedral?"</p> + +<p>"It's wonderful," he answered. "You should see it from our window +upstairs."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hate it--" said Joan.</p> + +<p>"Why?" Morris asked her.</p> + +<p>There was a curious challenge in his voice. They were both standing facing +one another.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that's a silly thing to say. Only you don't live as close to it +as we do, and you haven't lived here so long as we have. It seems to hang +right over you, and it never changes, and I hate to think it will go on +just the same, years after we're dead."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen the view from our window?" Morris asked her.</p> + +<p>"No," said Joan, "I was never in this house before."</p> + +<p>"Come and see it," he said.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure," said Miss Burnett heavily, "Miss Brandon doesn't want to be +bothered--when she's seen the Cathedral all her life, too."</p> + +<p>"Of course I'd love to see it," said Joan, laughing. "To tell you the +truth, that's what I've always wanted. I looked at this house again and +again when old Canon Burroughs was here, and thought there must be a +wonderful view."</p> + +<p>She said good-bye to Miss Burnett.</p> + +<p>"My mother does hope you will soon come and see us," she said.</p> + +<p>"I have just met Mrs. Brandon for a moment at Mrs. Combermere's," said Mr. +Morris. "We'll be very glad to come."</p> + +<p>She went out with him.</p> + +<p>"It's up these stairs," he said. "Two flights. I hope you don't mind."</p> + +<p>They climbed on to the second landing. At the end of the passage there was +a window. The evening was grey and only little faint wisps of blue still +lingered above the dusk, but the white sky threw up the Cathedral towers, +now black and sharp-edged in magnificent relief. Truly it <i>was</i> a +view!</p> + +<p>The window was in such a position that through it you gazed behind the +neighbouring houses, above some low roofs, straight up the twisting High +Street to the Cathedral. The great building seemed to be perched on the +very edge of the rock, almost, you felt, swinging in mid-air, and that so +precariously that with one push of the finger you might send it staggering +into space. Joan had never seen it so dominating, so commanding, so fierce +in its disregard of the tiny clustered world beneath it, so near to the +stars, so majestic and alone.</p> + +<p>"Yes--it's wonderful," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you should see it," he cried, "as it can be. It's dull to-day, +the sky's grey and there's no sunset,--but when it's flaming red with all +the windows shining, or when all the stars are out or in moonlight... +it's like a great ship sometimes, and sometimes like a cloud, and +sometimes like a fiery palace. Sometimes it's in mist and you can only see +just the top of the towers...."</p> + +<p>"I don't like it," said Joan, turning away. "It doesn't care what happens +to us."</p> + +<p>"Why should it?" he answered. "Think of all it's seen--the battles and the +fights and the plunder--and it doesn't care! We can do what we like and it +will remain just the same."</p> + +<p>"People could come and knock it down," Joan said.</p> + +<p>"I believe it would still be there if they did. The rock would be there +and the spirit of the Cathedral.... What do people matter beside a thing +like that? Why, we're ants...!"</p> + +<p>He stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>"You'll think me foolish, Miss Brandon," he said. "You have known the +Cathedral so long----" He paused. "I think I know what you mean about +fearing it----"</p> + +<p>He saw her to the door.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said, smiling. "Come again."</p> + +<p>"I like him," she thought as she walked away. What a splendid day she had +had!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_04"></a>Chapter IV</h1> +<h2>The Impertinent Elephant</h2> + +<p>Archdeacon Brandon had surmounted with surprising celerity the shock of +Falk's unexpected return. He was helped to this firstly by his confident +belief in a God who had him especially in His eye and would, on no +account, do him any harm. As God had decided that Falk had better leave +Oxford, it was foolish to argue that it would have been wiser for him to +stay there. Secondly, he was helped by his own love for, and pride in, his +son. The independence and scorn that were so large a part of Falk's nature +were after his own heart. He might fight and oppose them (he often did), +but always behind the contest there was appreciation and approbation. That +was the way for a son of his to treat the world--to snap his fingers at +it! The natural thing to do, the good old world being as stupid as it was. +Thirdly, he was helped by his family pride. It took him only a night's +reflection to arrive at the decision that Falk had been entirely right in +this affair and Oxford entirely in the wrong. Two days after Falk's return +he wrote (without saying anything to the boy) Falk's tutor a very warm +letter, pointing out that he was sure the tutor would agree with him that +a little more tact and diplomacy might have prevented so unfortunate an +issue. It was not for him, Brandon, to suggest that the authorities in +Oxford were perhaps a little behind the times, a little out of the world. +Nevertheless it was probably true that long residence in Oxford had +hindered the aforesaid authorities from realising the trend of the day, +from appreciating the new spirit of independence that was growing up in +our younger generation. It seemed obvious to him, Archdeacon Brandon, that +you could no longer treat men of Falk's age and character as mere boys +and, although he was quite sure that the authorities at Oxford had done +their best, he nevertheless hoped that this unfortunate episode would +enable them to see that we were not now living in the Middle Ages, but +rather in the last years of the nineteenth century. It may seem to some a +little ironical that the Archdeacon, who was the most conservative soul +alive, should write thus to one of the most conservative of our +institutions, but--"Before Oxford the Brandons were...."</p> + +<p>What the tutor remarked when he read this letter is not recorded. Brandon +said nothing to Falk about all this. Indeed, during the first weeks after +Falk's return he preserved a stern and dignified silence. After all, the +boy must learn that authority was authority, and he prided himself that he +knew, better than any number of Oxford Dons, how to train and educate the +young. Nevertheless light broke through. Some of Falk's jokes were so good +that his father, who had a real sense of fun if only a slight sense of +humour, was bound to laugh. Very soon father and son resumed their old +relations of sudden tempers and mutual admiration, and a strange, rather +pathetic, quite uneloquent love that was none the less real because it +was, on either side, completely selfish.</p> + +<p>But there was a fourth reason why Falk's return caused so slight a storm. +That reason was that the Archdeacon was now girding up his loins before he +entered upon one of his famous campaigns. There had been many campaigns in +the past. Campaigns were indeed as truly the breath of the Archdeacon's +nostrils as they had been once of the great Napoleon's--and in every one +of them had the Archdeacon been victorious.</p> + +<p>This one was to be the greatest of them all, and was to set the sign and +seal upon the whole of his career.</p> + +<p>It happened that, three miles out of Polchester, there was a little +village known as Pybus St. Anthony. A very beautiful village it was, with +orchards and a stream and old-world cottages and a fine Norman church. But +not for its orchards nor its stream nor its church was it famous. It was +famous because for many years its listing had been regarded as one of the +most important in the whole diocese of Polchester. It was the tradition +that the man who went to Pybus St. Anthony had the world in front of him. +When likely men for preferment were looked for it was to Pybus St. Anthony +that men looked. Heaven alone knows how many Canons and Archdeacons had +made their first bow there to the Glebeshire world! Three Deans and a +Bishop had, at different times, made it their first stepping-stone to +fame. Canon Morrison (Honorary Canon of the Cathedral) was its present +incumbent. Less intellectual than some of the earlier incumbents, he was +nevertheless a fine fellow. He had been there only three years when +symptoms of cancer of the throat had appeared. He had been operated on in +London, and at first it had seemed that he would recover. Then the dreaded +signs had reappeared; he had wished, poor man, to surrender the living, +but because there was yet hope the Chapter, in whose gift the living was, +had insisted on his remaining.</p> + +<p>A week ago, however, he had collapsed. It was feared now that at any +moment he might die. The Archdeacon was very sorry for Morrison. He liked +him, and was deeply touched by his tragedy; nevertheless one must face +facts; it was probable that at any moment now the Chapter would be forced +to make a new appointment.</p> + +<p>He had been aware--he did not disguise it from himself in the least--for +some time now of the way that the appointment must go. There was a young +man, the Rev. Rex Forsyth by name, who, in his judgment, could be the only +possible man. Young Forsyth was, at the present moment, chaplain to the +Bishop of St. Minworth. St. Minworth was only a Suffragan Bishopric, and +it could not honestly be said that there was a great deal for Mr. Forsyth +to do there. But it was not because the Archdeacon thought that the young +man ought to have more to do that he wished to move him to Pybus St. +Anthony. Far from it! The Archdeacon, in the deep secrecy of his own +heart, could not honestly admit that young Forsyth was a very hard worker +--he liked hunting and whist and a good bottle of wine...he was that +kind of man.</p> + +<p>Where, then, were his qualifications as Canon Morrison's successor? Well, +quite honestly--and the Archdeacon was one of the honestest men alive--his +qualifications belonged more especially to his ancestors rather than to +himself. In the Archdeacon's opinion there had been too many <i>clever</i> +men of Pybus. Time now for a <i>normal</i> man. Morrison was normal and +Forsyth would be more normal still.</p> + +<p>He was in fact first cousin to young Johnny St. Leath and therefore a very +near relation of the Countess herself. His father was the fourth son of +the Earl of Trewithen, and, as every one knows, the Trewithens and the St. +Leaths are, for all practical purposes, one and the same family, and +divide Glebeshire between them. No one ever quite knew what young Rex +Forsyth became a parson for. Some people said he did it for a wager; but +however true that might be, he was not very happy with dear old Bishop +Clematis and very ready for preferment.</p> + +<p>Now the Archdeacon was no snob; he believed in men and women who had long +and elaborate family-trees simply because he believed in institutions and +because it had always seemed to him a quite obvious fact that the longer +any one or anything remained in a place the more chance there was of +things being done as they always had been done. It was not in the least +because she was a Countess that he thought the old Lady St. Leath a +wonderful woman; not wonderful for her looks certainly--no one could call +her a beautiful woman--and not wonderful for her intelligence; the +Archdeacon had frequently been compelled to admit to himself that she was +a little on the stupid side--but wonderful for her capacity for staying +where she was like a rock and allowing nothing whatever to move her. In +these dangerous days--and what dangerous days they were!--the safety of +the country simply depended on a few such figures as the Countess. Queen +Victoria was another of them, and for her the Archdeacon had a real and +very touching devotion. Thank God he would be able to show a little of it +in the prominent part he intended to play in the Polchester Jubilee +festivals this year!</p> + +<p>Any one could see then that to have young Rex Forsyth close at hand at +Pybus St. Anthony was the very best possible thing for the good of +Polchester. Lady St. Leath saw it, Mrs. Combermere saw it, Mrs. Sampson +saw it, and young Forsyth himself saw it. The Archdeacon entirely failed +to understand how there could be any one who did not see it. However, he +was afraid that there were one or two in Polchester.... People said that +young Forsyth was stupid! Perhaps he was not very bright; all the easier +then to direct him in the way that he should go, and throw his forces into +the right direction. People said that he cared more for his hunting and +his whist than for his work--well, he was young and, at any rate, there +was none of the canting hypocrite about him. The Archdeacon hated canting +hypocrites!</p> + +<p>There had been signs, once and again, of certain anarchists and devilish +fellows, who crept up and down the streets of Polchester spreading their +wicked mischief, their lying and disintegrating ideas. The Archdeacon was +determined to fight them to the very last breath in his body, even as the +Black Bishop before him had fought <i>his</i> enemies. And the Archdeacon +had no fear of his victory.</p> + +<p>Rex Forsyth at Pybus St. Anthony would be a fine step forward. Have one of +these irreligious radicals there, and Heaven alone knew what harm he might +wreak. No, Polchester must be saved. Let the rest of the world go to +pieces, Polchester would be preserved.</p> + +<p>On how many earlier occasions had the Archdeacon surveyed the Chapter, +considered it in all its details and weighed up judiciously the elements, +good and bad, that composed it. How well he knew them all! First the Dean, +mild and polite and amiable, his mind generally busy with his beloved +flora and fauna, his flowers and his butterflies, very easy indeed to deal +with. Then Archdeacon Witheram, most nobly conscientious, a really devout +man, taking his work with a seriousness that was simply admirable, but +glued to the details of his own half of the diocese, so that broader and +larger questions did not concern him very closely. Bentinck-Major next. +The Archdeacon flattered himself that he knew Bentinck-Major through and +through--his snobbery, his vanity, his childish pleasure in his position +and his cook, his vanity in his own smart appearance! It would be +difficult to find words adequate for the scorn with which the Archdeacon +regarded that elegant little man. Then Byle, the Precentor. He was, to +some extent, an unknown quantity. His chief characteristic perhaps was his +hatred of quarrels--he would say or do anything if only he might not be +drawn into a "row." "Peace at any price" was his motto, and this, of +course, as with the famous Vicar of Bray, involved a good deal of +insincerity. The Archdeacon knew that he could not trust him, but a +masterful policy of terrorism had always been very successful. Ryle was +frankly frightened by the Archdeacon, and a very good thing too! Might he +long remain so! Lastly there was Foster, the Diocesan Missioner. Let it be +said at once that the Archdeacon hated Foster. Foster had been a thorn in +the Archdeacon's side ever since his arrival in Polchester--a thin, +shambly-kneed, untidy, pale-faced prig, that was what Foster was! The +Archdeacon hated everything about him--his grey hair, his large protruding +ears, the pimple on the end of his nose, the baggy knees to his trousers, +his thick heavy hands that never seemed to be properly washed.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless beneath that hatred the Archdeacon was compelled to a +reluctant admiration. The man was fearless, a fanatic if you please, but +devoted to his religion, believing in it with a fervour and sincerity that +nothing could shake. An able man too, the best preacher in the diocese, +better read in every kind of theology than any clergyman in Glebeshire. It +was especially for his open mind about new religious ideas that the +Archdeacon mistrusted him. No opinion, however heterodox, shocked him. He +welcomed new thought and had himself written a book, <i>Christ and the +Gospels</i>, that for its learning and broad-mindedness had created a +considerable stir. But he was a dull dog, never laughed, never even +smiled, lived by himself and kept to himself. He had, in the past, opposed +every plan of the Archdeacon's, and opposed it relentlessly, but he was +always, thanks to the Archdeacon's efforts, in a minority. The other +Canons disliked him; the old Bishop, safely tucked away in his Palace at +Carpledon, was, except for his satellite Rogers, his only friend in +Polchester.</p> + +<p>So much for the Chapter. There was now only one unknown element in the +situation--Ronder. Ronder's position was important because he was +Treasurer to the Cathedral. His predecessor, Hart-Smith, now promoted to +the Deanery of Norwich, had been an able man, but one of the old school, a +great friend of Brandon's, seeing eye to eye with him in everything. The +Archdeacon then had had his finger very closely upon the Cathedral purse, +and Hart-Smith's departure had been a very serious blow. The appointment +of the new Canon had been in the hands of the Crown, and Brandon had, of +course, had nothing to say to it. However, one glance at Ronder--he had +seen him and spoken to him at the Dean's a few days after his arrival--had +reassured him. Here, surely, was a man whom he need not fear--an easy, +good-natured, rather stupid fellow by the look of him. Brandon hoped to +have his finger on the Cathedral purse as tightly in a few weeks' time as +he had had it before.</p> + +<p>And all this was in no sort of fashion for the Archdeacon's personal +advancement or ambition. He was contented with Polchester, and quite +prepared to live there for the rest of his days and be buried, with proper +ceremonies, when his end came. With all his soul he loved the Cathedral, +and if he regarded himself as the principal factor in its good governance +and order he did so with a sort of divine fatalism--no credit to him that +it was so. Let credit be given to the Lord God who had seen fit to make +him what he was and to place in his hands that great charge.</p> + +<p>His fault in the matter was, perhaps, that he took it all too simply, that +he regarded these men and the other figures in Polchester exactly as he +saw them, did not believe that they could ever be anything else. As God +had created the world, so did Brandon create Polchester as nearly in his +own likeness as might be--there they all were and there, please God, they +would all be for ever!</p> + +<p>Bending his mind then to this new campaign, he thought that he would go +and see the Dean. He knew by this time, he fancied, exactly how to prepare +the Dean's mind for the proper reception of an idea, although, in truth, +he was as simple over his plots and plans as a child brick-building in its +nursery.</p> + +<p>About three o'clock one afternoon he prepared to sally forth. The Dean's +house was on the other side of the Cathedral, and you had to go down the +High Street and then to the left up Orange Street to get to it, an +irrational roundabout proceeding that always irritated the Archdeacon. +Very splendid he looked, his top-hat shining, his fine high white collar, +his spotless black clothes, his boots shapely and smart. (He and Bentinck- +Major were, I suppose, the only two clergymen in Polchester who used boot- +trees.) But his smartness was in no way an essential with him. Clothed in +rags he would still have the grand air. "I often think of him," Miss +Dobell once said, "as one of those glorious gondoliers in Venice. How +grand he would look!"</p> + +<p>However that might be, it is beyond question that the ridiculous clothes +that a clergyman of the Church of England is compelled to wear did not +make him absurd, nor did he look an over-dressed fop like Bentinck-Major.</p> + +<p>Miss Dobell's gondolier was, on this present occasion, in an excellent +temper; and meeting his daughter Joan, he felt very genial towards her. +Joan had observed, several days before, that the family crisis might be +said to be past, and very thankful she was.</p> + +<p>She had, at this time, her own happy dreams, so that father and daughter, +moved by some genial impulse, stopped and kissed.</p> + +<p>"There! my dear!" said the Archdeacon. "And what are you doing this +afternoon, Joan?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going with mother," she said, "to see Miss Ronder. It's time we +called, you know."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is." Brandon patted her cheek. "Everything you want?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father, thank you."</p> + +<p>"That's right."</p> + +<p>He left the house, humming a little tune. On the second step he paused, as +he was in the habit of doing, and surveyed the Precincts--the houses with +their shining knockers, their old-fashioned bow-windows and overhanging +portals, the Cathedral Green, and the towering front of the Cathedral +itself. He was, for a moment, a kind of presiding deity over all this. He +loved it and believed in it and trusted it exactly as though it had been +the work of his own hands. Halfway towards the Arden Gate he overtook poor +old shambling Canon Morphew, who really ought, in the Archdeacon's +opinion, to have died long ago. However, as he hadn't died the Archdeacon +felt kindly towards him, and he had, when he talked to the old man, a +sense of beneficence and charity very warming to the heart.</p> + +<p>"Well, Morphew, enjoying the sun?"</p> + +<p>Canon Morphew always started when any one spoke to him, being sunk all day +deep in dreams of his own, dreams that had their birth somewhere in the +heart of the misty dirty rooms where his books were piled ceiling-high and +papers blew about the floor.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon...good afternoon, Archdeacon. Pray forgive me. You came +upon me unawares."</p> + +<p>Brandon moderated his manly stride to the other's shuffling steps.</p> + +<p>"Hope you've had none of that tiresome rheumatism troubling you again."</p> + +<p>"Rheumatism? Just a twinge--just a twinge.... It belongs to my time of +life."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't say that!" The Archdeacon laughed his hearty laugh. "You've +many years in front of you yet."</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't--and you don't mean it, Archdeacon--you know you don't. A +few months perhaps--that's all. The Lord's will be done. But there's a +piece of work...a piece of work...."</p> + +<p>He ran off into incoherent mumblings. Suddenly, just as they reached the +dark shadows of the Arden Gate, he seemed to wake up. His voice was quite +vigorous, his eyes, tired and worn as they were, bravely scanned Brandon's +health and vigour.</p> + +<p>"We all come to it, you know. Yes, we do. The very strongest of us. You're +a young man, Archdeacon, by my years, and I hope you may long live to +continue your good work in this place. All the same, you'll be old +yourself one day. No one escapes.... No one escapes...."</p> + +<p>"Well, good-day to you," said the Archdeacon hurriedly. "Good-day to +you.... Hope this bright weather continues," and started rather +precipitately down the hill, leaving Morphew to find his way by himself.</p> + +<p>His impetuosity was soon restrained. He tumbled immediately into a crowd, +and pulling himself up abruptly and looking down the High Street he saw +that the pavement on both sides of the street was black with people. He +was not a man who liked to be jostled, and he was the more uncomfortable +in that he discovered that his immediate neighbour was Samuel Hogg, the +stout and rubicund landlord of the "Dog and Pilchard" of Seatown. With him +was his pretty daughter Annie. Near to them were Mr. John Curtis and Mr. +Samuel Croppet, two of the Town Councillors. With none of these gentlemen +did the Archdeacon wish to begin a conversation.</p> + +<p>And yet it was difficult to know what to do. The High Street pavements +were narrow, and the crowd seemed continually to increase. There was a +good deal of pushing and laughter and boisterous good-humour. To return up +the street again seemed to have something ignominious about it. Brandon +decided to satisfy his curiosity, support his dignity and indulge his +amiability by staying where he was.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, Hogg," he said. "What's the disturbance for?"</p> + +<p>"Markisses Circus, sir," Hogg lifted his face like a large round sun. +"Surely you'd 'eard of it, Archdeacon?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't know," said Brandon in his most gracious manner, "that it +was this afternoon.... Of course, how stupid of me!"</p> + +<p>He smiled round good-naturedly upon them all, and they all smiled back +upon him. He was a popular figure in the town; it was felt that his +handsome face and splendid presence did the town credit. Also, he always +knew his own mind. <i>And</i> he was no coward.</p> + +<p>He nodded to Curtis and Croppet and then stared in front of him, a fixed +genial smile on his face, his fine figure triumphant in the sun. He looked +as though he were enjoying himself and was happy because he liked to see +his fellow-creatures happy; in reality he was wondering how he could have +been so foolish as to forget Marquis' Circus. Why had not Joan said +something to him about it? Very careless of her to place him in this +unfortunate position.</p> + +<p>He looked around him, but he could see no other dignitary of the Church +close at hand. How tiresome--really, how tiresome! Moreover, as the timed +moment of the procession arrived the crowd increased, and he was now most +uncomfortably pressed against other people. He felt a sharp little dig in +his stomach, then, turning, found close beside him the flushed anxious, +meagre little face of Samuel Bond, the Clerk of the Chapter. Bond's +struggle to reach his dignified position in the town had been a severe +one, and had only succeeded because of a multitude of self-submissions and +abnegations, humilities and contempts, flatteries and sycophancies that +would have tired and defeated a less determined soul. But, in the +background, there were the figures of Mrs. Bond and four little Bonds to +spur him forward. He adored his family. "Whatever I am, I'm a family man," +was one of his favourite sayings. In so worthy a cause much sycophancy may +be forgiven him. To no one, however, was he so completely sycophantic as +to the Archdeacon. He was terrified of the Archdeacon; he would wake up in +the middle of the night and think of him, then tremble and cower under the +warm protection of Mrs. Bond until sleep rescued him once more.</p> + +<p>It was natural, therefore, that however numerous the people in Polchester +might be whom the Archdeacon despised, he despised little Bond most of +all. And here was little Bond pressed up against him, with the large +circumference of the cheerful Mr. Samuel Hogg near by, and the ironical +town smartness of Messrs. Curtis and Croppet close at hand. Truly a +horrible position.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Archdeacon! I didn't see you--indeed I didn't!" The little breathless +voice was like a child's penny whistle blown ignorantly. "Just fancy!-- +meeting you like this! Hot, isn't it, although it's only February. Yes.... +Hot indeed. I didn't know you cared for processions, Archdeacon----"</p> + +<p>"I don't," said Brandon. "I hadn't realised that there was a procession. +Stupidly, I had forgotten----"</p> + +<p>"Well, well," came the good-natured voice of Mr. Hogg. "It'll do us no +harm, Archdeacon--no harm at all. I forget whether you rightly know my +little girl. This is Annie--come out to see the procession with her +father."</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon was compelled to shake hands. He did it very graciously. +She was certainly a fine girl--tall, strong, full-breasted, with dark +colour and raven black hair; curious, her eyes, very large and bright. +They stared full at you, but past you, as though they had decided that you +were of insufficient interest.</p> + +<p>Annie thus gazed at the Archdeacon and said no word. Any further +intimacies were prevented by approach of the procession. To the present +generation Marquis' Circus would not appear, I suppose, very wonderful. To +many of us, thirty years ago, it seemed the final expression of Oriental +splendour and display.</p> + +<p>There were murmurs and cries of "Here they come! Here they come! 'Ere they +be!" Every one pressed forward; Mr. Bond was nearly thrown off his feet +and caught at the lapel of the Archdeacon's coat to save himself. Only the +huge black eyes of Annie Hogg displayed no interest. The procession had +started from the meadows beyond the Cathedral and, after discreetly +avoiding the Precincts, was to plunge down the High Street, pass through +the Market-place and vanish up Orange Street--to follow, in fact, the very +path that the Archdeacon intended to pursue.</p> + +<p>A band could be heard, there was an astounded hush (the whole of the High +Street holding its breath), then the herald appeared.</p> + +<p>He was, perhaps, a rather shabby fellow, wearing the tarnished red and +gold of many a procession, but he walked confidently, holding in his hand +a tall wooden truncheon gay with paper-gilt, having his round cap of cloth +of gold set rakishly on one side of his head. After him came the band, +also in tarnished cloth of gold and looking as though they would have been +a trifle ashamed of themselves had they not been deeply involved in the +intricacies of their music. After the band came four rather shabby riders +on horseback, then some men dressed apparently in admiring imitation of +Charles II.; then, to the wonder and whispered incredulity of the crowd, +Britannia on her triumphal car. The car--an elaborate cart, with gilt +wheels and strange cardboard figures of dolphins and Father Neptune--had +in its centre a high seat painted white and perched on a kind of box. +Seated on this throne was Britannia herself--a large, full-bosomed, +flaxen-haired lady in white flowing robes, and having a very anxious +expression of countenance, as, indeed, poor thing, was natural enough, +because the cart rocked the box and the box yet more violently rocked the +chair. At any moment, it seemed, might she be precipitated, a fallen +goddess, among the crowd, and the fact that the High Street was on a slope +of considerable sharpness did not add to her ease and comfort. Two stout +gentlemen, perspiration bedewing their foreheads, strove to restrain the +ponies, and their classic clothing, that turned them into rather tattered +Bacchuses, did not make them less incongruous.</p> + +<p>Britannia and her agony, however, were soon forgotten in the ferocious +excitements that followed her. Here were two camels, tired and dusty, with +that look of bored and indifferent superiority that belongs to their +tribe, two elephants, two clowns, and last, but of course the climax of +the whole affair, a cage in which there could be seen behind the iron bars +a lion and a lioness, jolted haplessly from side to side, but too deeply +shamed and indignant to do more than reproach the crowd with their burning +eyes. Finally, another clown bearing a sandwich-board on which was printed +in large red letters "Marquis' Circus--the Finest in the World--Renowned +through Europe--Come to the Church Meadows and see the Fun"--and so on.</p> + +<p>As this glorious procession passed down the High Street the crowd +expressed its admiration in silent whispering. There was no loud applause; +nevertheless, Mr. Marquis, were he present, must have felt the air +electric with praise. It was murmured that Britannia was Mrs. Marquis, +and, if that were true, she must have given her spouse afterwards, in the +sanctity of their privacy, a very grateful account of her reception.</p> + +<p>When the band had passed a little way down the street and their somewhat +raucous notes were modified by distance, the sun came out in especial +glory, as though to take his own peep at the show, the gilt and cloth of +gold shone and gleamed, the chair of Britannia rocked as though it were +bursting with pride, and the Cathedral bells, as though they too wished to +lend their dignified blessing to the scene, began to ring for Evensong. A +sentimental observer, had he been present, might have imagined that the +old town was glad to have once again an excuse for some display, and +preened itself and showed forth its richest and warmest colours and +wondered, perhaps, whether after all the drab and interesting citizens of +to-day were not minded to return to the gayer and happier old times. Quite +a noise, too, of chatter and trumpets and bells and laughter. Even the +Archdeacon forgot his official smile and laughed like a boy.</p> + +<p>It was then that the terrible thing happened. Somewhere at the lower end +of the High Street the procession was held up and the chariot had suddenly +to pull itself back upon its wheels, and the band were able to breathe +freely for a minute, to gaze about them and to wipe the sweat from their +brows; even in February blowing and thumping "all round the town" was a +warm business.</p> + +<p>Now, just opposite the Archdeacon were the two elephants, checked by the +sudden pause. Behind them was the cage with the lions, who, now that the +jolting had ceased, could collect their scattered indignities and roar a +little in exasperated protest. The elephants, too, perhaps felt the +humility of their position, accustomed though they might be to it by many +years of sordid slavery. It may be, too, that the sight of that +patronising and ignorant crowd, the crush and pack of the High Street, the +silly sniggering, the triumphant jangle of the Cathedral bells, thrust +through their slow and heavy brains some vision long faded now, but for an +instant revived, of their green jungles, their hot suns, their ancient +royalty and might. They realised perhaps a sudden instinct of their power, +that they could with one lifting of the hoof crush these midgets that +hemmed them in back to the pulp whence they came, and so go roaming and +bellowing their freedom through the streets and ways of the city. The +larger of the two suddenly raised his head and trumpeted; with his dim +uplifted eyes he caught sight of the Archdeacon's rich and gleaming top- +hat shining, as an emblem of the city's majesty, above the crowd. It +gleamed in the sun, and he hated it. He trumpeted again and yet again, +then, with a heavy lurching movement, stumbled towards the pavement, and +with little fierce eyes and uplifted trunk heaved towards his enemies.</p> + +<p>The crowd, with screams and cries, fell back in agitated confusion. The +Archdeacon, caught by surprise, scarcely realising what had occurred, +blinded a little by the sun, stood where he was. In another movement his +top-hat was snatched from his head and tossed into air....</p> + +<p>He felt the animal's hot breath upon his face, heard the shouts and cries +around him, and, in very natural alarm, started back, caught at anything +for safety (he had tumbled upon the broad and protective chest of Samuel +Hogg), and had a general impression of whirling figures, of suns and roofs +and shining faces and, finally, the high winds of heaven blowing upon his +bare head.</p> + +<p>In another moment the incident was closed. The courtier of Charles II. had +rushed up; the elephant was pulled and hustled and kicked; for him swiftly +the vision of power and glory and vengeance was over, and once again he +was the tied and governed prisoner of modern civilisation. The top-hat +lay, a battered and hapless remnant, beneath the feet of the now advancing +procession.</p> + +<p>Once the crowd realised that the danger was over a roar of laughter went +up to heaven. There were shouts and cries. The Archdeacon tried to smile. +He heard in dim confusion the cheery laugh of Samuel Hogg, he caught the +comment of Croppet and the rest.</p> + +<p>With only one thought that he must hide himself, indignation, humiliation, +amazement that such a thing could be in his heart, he backed, turned, +almost ran, finding at last sudden refuge in Bennett's book-shop. How +wonderful was the dark rich security of that enclosure! The shop was +always in a half-dusk and the gas burnt in its dim globes during most of +the day. All the richer and handsomer gleamed the rows of volumes, the +morocco and the leather and the cloth. Old Mr. Bennett himself, the son of +the famous man who had known Scott and Byron, was now a prodigious age (in +the town his nickname was Methusalem), but he still liked to sit in the +shop in a high chair, his white beard in bright contrast with the chaste +selection of the newest works arranged in front of him. He might himself +have been the Spirit of Select Literature summoned out of the vasty deep +by the Cultured Spirits of Polchester.</p> + +<p>Into this splendid temple of letters the Archdeacon came, halted, +breathless, bewildered, tumbled. He saw at first only dimly. He was aware +that old Mr. Bennett, with an exclamation of surprise, rose in his chair. +Then he perceived that two others were in the shop; finally, that these +two were the Dean and Ronder, the men of all others in Polchester whom he +least wished to find there.</p> + +<p>"Archdeacon!" cried the Dean.</p> + +<p>"Yes--om--ah--an extraordinary thing has occurred--I really--oh, thank +you, Mr. Wilton...."</p> + +<p>Mr. Frank Wilton, the young assistant, had offered a chair.</p> + +<p>"You'll scarcely believe me--really, I can hardly believe myself." Here +the Archdeacon tried to laugh. "As a matter of fact, I was coming out to +see you...on my way...and the elephant..."</p> + +<p>"The elephant?" repeated the Dean, who, in the way that he had, was +nervously rubbing one gaitered leg against the other.</p> + +<p>"Yes--I'm a little incoherent, I'm afraid. You must forgive me... +breathless too.... It's too absurd. So many people..."</p> + +<p>"A little glass of water, Mr. Archdeacon?" said young Wilton, who had a +slight cast in one eye, and therefore gave the impression that he was +watching round the corner to see that no one ran off with the books.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, Wilton.... No, thank you.... Very good of you, I'm sure. +But really it was a monstrous thing. I was coming to see you, as I've just +said, Dean, having forgotten all about this ridiculous procession. I was +held up by the crowd just below the shop here. Then suddenly, as the +animals were passing, the elephant made a lurch towards me--positively, +I'm not exaggerating--seized my hat and--ran off with it!"</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon had, as I have already said, a sense of fun. He saw, for +the first time, the humour of the thing. He began to laugh; he laughed +more loudly; laughter overtook him altogether, and he roared and roared +again, sitting there, his hands on his knees, until the tears ran down his +cheek.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear...my hat...an elephant...Did you ever hear----? My best hat...!" +The Dean was compelled to laugh too, although, being a shy and hesitating +man, he was not able to do it very heartily. Young Mr. Wilton laughed, +but in such a way as to show that he knew his place and was ready to be +serious at once if his superiors wished it. Even old Mr. Bennett laughed +as distantly and gently as befitted his great age.</p> + +<p>Brandon was conscious of Ronder. He had, in fact, been conscious of him +from the very instant of his first perception of him. He was giving +himself away before their new Canon; he thought that the new Canon, +although he was smiling pleasantly and was standing with becoming modesty +in the background, looked superior....</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon pulled himself up with a jerk. After all, it was nothing of +a joke. A multitude of townspeople had seen him in a most ludicrous +position, had seen him start back in terror before a tame elephant, had +seen him frightened and hatless. No, there was nothing to laugh about.</p> + +<p>"An elephant?" repeated the Dean, still gently laughing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, an elephant," answered Brandon rather testily. That was enough of +the affair, quite enough. "Well, I must be getting back. See you to- +morrow, Dean."</p> + +<p>"Anything important you wanted to see me about?" asked the Dean, +perceiving that he had laughed just a little longer than was truly +necessary.</p> + +<p>"No, no...nothing. Only about poor Morrison. He's very bad, they tell +me...a week at most."</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear--is that so?" said the Dean. "Poor fellow, poor fellow!"</p> + +<p>Brandon was now acutely conscious of Ronder. Why didn't the fellow say +something instead of standing silently there with that superior look +behind his glasses? In the ordinary way he would have greeted him with his +usual hearty patronage. Now he was irritated. It was really most +unfortunate that Ronder should have witnessed his humiliation. He rose, +abruptly turning his back upon him. The fellow was laughing at him--he was +sure of it.</p> + +<p>"Well--good-day, good-day." As he advanced to the door and looked out into +the street he was aware of the ludicrousness of going even a few steps up +the street without a hat.</p> + +<p>Confound Ronder!</p> + +<p>But there was scarcely any one about now. The street was almost deserted. +He peered up and down.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the road was a small, shapeless, black object.</p> + +<p>...His hat!</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_05"></a>Chapter V</h1> + +<h2>Mrs. Brandon Goes Out to Tea</h2> + + + +<p>Mrs. Brandon hated her husband. No one in Polchester had the slightest +suspicion of this; certainly her husband least of all. She herself had +been first aware of it one summer afternoon some five or six years ago +when, very pleasantly and in the kindest way, he had told her that she +knew nothing about primroses. They had been having tea at the Dean's, and, +as was often the case then, the conversation had concerned itself with +flowers and ferns. Mrs. Brandon was quite ready to admit that she knew +nothing about primroses--there were for her yellow ones and other ones, +and that was all. The Archdeacon had often before told her that she was +ignorant, and she had acquiesced without a murmur. Upon this afternoon, +just as Mrs. Sampson was asking her whether she liked sugar, revelation +came to her. That little scene was often afterwards vividly in front of +her--the Archdeacon, with his magnificent legs spread apart in front of +the fireplace; Miss Dobell trying to look with wisdom upon a little bundle +of primulas that the Dean was showing to her; the sunlight upon the lawn +beyond the window; the rooks in the high elms busy with their nests; the +May warmth striking through the misty air--all was painted for ever +afterwards upon her mind.</p> + +<p>"My dear, you may as well admit at once that you know nothing whatever +about primroses."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm afraid I don't--thank you, Mrs. Sampson. One lump, please."</p> + +<p>She had been coming to it. Of course, a very long time before this--very, +very far away, now an incredible memory, seemed the days when she had +loved him so passionately that she almost died with anxiety if he left her +for a single night. Almost too passionate it had been, perhaps. He himself +was not capable of passionate love, or, at any rate, had been quite +satisfied to be <i>not</i> passionately in love with <i>her</i>. He pursued +other things--his career, his religion, his simple beneficence, his +health, his vigour. His love for his son was the most passionately +personal thing in him, and over that they might have met had he been able +to conceive her as a passionate being. Her ignorance of life--almost +complete when he had met her--had been but little diminished by her time +with him. She knew now, after all those years, little more of the world +and its terrors and blessings than she had known then. But she did know +that nothing in her had been satisfied. She knew now of what she was +capable, and it was perhaps the thought that he had, by taking her, +prevented her fulfilment and complete experience that caused her, more +than anything else, to hate him.</p> + +<p>She very quickly discovered that he had married her for certain things--to +have children, to have a companion. He had soon found that the latter of +these he was not to obtain. She had in her none of the qualities that he +needed in a companion, and so he had, with complete good-nature and +kindliness, ceased to consider her. He should have married a bold +ambitious woman who would have wanted the things, that he wanted--a woman +something like Falk, his son. On the rare occasions when he analysed the +situation he realised this. He did not in any way vent his disappointment +upon, her--he was only slightly disappointed. He treated her with real +kindness save on the occasions of his violent loss of temper, and gave her +anything that she wanted. He had, on the whole, a great contempt for women +save when, as for instance with Mrs. Combermere, they were really men.</p> + +<p>It was to her most humiliating of all, that nothing in their relations +worried him. He was perfectly at ease about it all, and fancied that she +was the same. Meanwhile her real life was not dead, only dormant. For some +years she tried to change the situation; she made little appeals to him, +endeavoured timidly to force him to need her, even on one occasion +threatened to sleep in a separate room. The memory of <i>that</i> little +episode still terrified her. His incredulity had only been equalled by his +anger. It was just as though some one had threatened to deprive him of his +morning tub....</p> + +<p>Then, when she saw that this was of no avail, she had concentrated herself +upon her children, and especially upon Falk. For a while she had fancied +that she was satisfied. Suddenly--and the discovery was awful--she was +aware that Falk's affection all turned towards his father rather than +towards her. Her son despised her and disregarded her as his father had +done. She did not love Falk the less, but she ceased to expect anything +from him--and this new loss she put down to her husband's account.</p> + +<p>It was shortly after she made this discovery that the affair of the +primroses occurred.</p> + +<p>Many a woman now would have shown her hostility, but Mrs. Brandon was, by +nature, a woman who showed nothing. She did not even show anything to +herself, but all the deeper, because it found no expression, did her +hatred penetrate. She scored now little marks against him for everything +that he did. She did not say to herself that a day of vengeance was +coming, she did not think of anything so melodramatic, she expected +nothing of her future at all--but the marks were there.</p> + +<p>The situation was developed by Falk's return from Oxford. When he was away +her love for him seemed to her simply all in the world that she possessed. +He wrote to her very seldom, but she made her Sunday letters to him the +centre of her week, and wrote as though they were a passionately devoted +mother and son. She allowed herself this little gentle deception--it was +her only one.</p> + +<p>But when he returned and was in the house it was more difficult to cheat +herself. She saw at once that he had something on his mind, that he was +engaged in some pursuit that he kept from every one. She discovered, too, +that she was the one of whom he was afraid, and rightly so, the Archdeacon +being incapable of discovering any one's pursuits so long as he was +engaged on one of his own. Falk's fear of her perception brought about a +new situation between them. He was not now oblivious of her presence as he +had been. He tried to discover whether she knew anything. She found him +often watching her, half in fear and half in defiance.</p> + +<p>The thought that he might be engaged now upon some plan of his own in +which she might share excited her and gave her something new to live for. +She did not care what his plan might be; however dangerous, however +wicked, she would assist him. Her moral sense had never been very deeply +developed in her. Her whole character was based on her relations with +individuals; for any one she loved she would commit murder, theft or +blasphemy. She had never had any one to love except Falk.</p> + +<p>She despised the Archdeacon the more because he now perceived nothing. +Under his very nose the thing was, and he was sublimely contented. How she +hated that content, and how she despised it!</p> + +<p>About a week after the affair of the elephants, Mrs. Combermere asked her +to tea. She disliked Mrs. Combermere, but she went to tea there because it +was easier than not going. She disliked Mrs. Combermere especially because +it was in her house that she heard silly, feminine praise of her husband. +It amused her, however, to think of the amazed sensation there would be, +did she one day burst out before them all and tell them what she really +thought of the Archdeacon.</p> + +<p>Of course she would never do that, but she had often outlined the speech +in her mind.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere also lived in the Precincts, so that Mrs. Brandon had not +far to go. Before she arrived there a little conversation took place +between the lady of the house, Miss Stiles, Miss Dobell and Dr. Puddifoot, +that her presence would most certainly have hindered. Mrs. Combermere was +once described by some one as "constructed in concrete"; and that was not +a bad description of her, so solid, so square and so unshakable and +unbeatable was she. She wore stiff white collars like a man's, broad thick +boots, short skirts and a belt at her waist. Her black hair was brushed +straight back from her forehead, she had rather small brown eyes, a large +nose and a large mouth. Her voice was a deep bass. She had some hair on +her upper lip, and thick, strong, very white hands. She liked to walk down +the High Street, a silver-topped cane in her hand, a company of barking +dogs at her heels, and a hat, with large hat-pins, set a little on one +side of her head. She had a hearty laugh, rather like the Archdeacon's. +Dr. Puddifoot was our doctor for many years and brought many of my +generation into the world. He was a tall, broad, loose-set man, who always +wore tweeds of a bright colour.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere cared nothing for her surroundings, and her house was +never very tidy. She bullied her servants, but they liked her because she +gave good wages and fulfilled her promises. She was the first woman in +Polchester to smoke cigarettes. It was even said that she smoked cigars, +but no one, I think, ever saw her do this.</p> + +<p>On this afternoon she subjected Miss Stiles to a magisterial inquiry; Miss +Stiles had on the preceding evening given a little supper party, and no +one in Polchester did anything of the kind without having to render +account to Mrs. Combermere afterwards. They all sat round the fire, +because it was a cold day. Mrs. Combermere sat on a straight-backed chair, +tilting it forward, her skirt drawn up to her knees, lier thick-stockinged +legs and big boots for all the world to see.</p> + +<p>"Well, Ellen, whom did you have?"</p> + +<p>"Ronder and his aunt, the Bentinck-Majors, Charlotte Ryle and Major +Drake."</p> + +<p>"Sorry I couldn't have been there. What did you give them?"</p> + +<p>"Soup, fish salad, cutlets, chocolate soufflé, sardines on toast."</p> + +<p>"What drink?"</p> + +<p>"Sherry, claret, lemonade for Charlotte, whisky."</p> + +<p>"Any catastrophes?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think so. Bentinck-Major sang afterwards."</p> + +<p>"Hum--not sorry I missed <i>that</i>. When was it over?"</p> + +<p>"About eleven."</p> + +<p>"What did you ask them for?"</p> + +<p>"For the Ronders."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere, raising one foot, kicked a coal into blaze.</p> + +<p>"Tea will be in in a minute.... Now, I'll tell you for your good, my dear +Ellen, that I don't like your Ronder."</p> + +<p>Miss Stiles laughed. "Oh, you needn't mind me, Betsy. You never have. Why +don't you?"</p> + +<p>"In the first place, he's stupid."</p> + +<p>Miss Stiles laughed again.</p> + +<p>"Never wronger in your life. I thought you were smarter than that."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere smacked her knee. "I may be wrong. I often am. I take +prejudices, I know. Secondly, he's fat and soft--too like the typical +parson."</p> + +<p>"It's an assumed disguise--however, go on."</p> + +<p>"Third, I hear he agrees with everything one says."</p> + +<p>"You hear? You've not talked to him yourself, then?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere raised her head as the door opened and the tea came in.</p> + +<p>"No. I've only seen him in Cathedral. But I've called, and he's coming to- +day."</p> + +<p>Miss Stiles smiled in her own dark and mysterious way.</p> + +<p>"Well, Betsy, my dear, I leave you to find it all out for yourself.... I +keep my secrets."</p> + +<p>"If you do," said Mrs. Combermere, getting up and going to the tea-table, +"it's the first time you ever have. <i>And</i> Ellen," she went on, "I've +a bone to pick. I won't have you laughing at my dear Archdeacon."</p> + +<p>"Laughing at your Archdeacon?" Miss Stiles' voice was softer and slower +than any complaining cow's.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I hear you've all been laughing about the elephant. That was a thing +that might have happened to any one."</p> + +<p>Puddifoot laughed. "The point is, though, that it happened to Brandon. +That's the joke. <i>And</i> his new top hat."</p> + +<p>"Well, I won't have it. Milk, doctor? Miss Dobell and I agree that it's a +shame."</p> + +<p>Miss Dobell, who was in appearance like one of those neat silk umbrellas +with the head of a parrot for a handle, and whose voice was like the +running brook both for melody and monotony, thus suddenly appealed to, +blushed, stammered, and finally admitted that the Archdeacon was, in her +opinion, a hero.</p> + +<p>"That's not exactly the point, dear Mary," said Miss Stiles. "The point +is, surely, that an elephant straight from the desert ate our best +Archdeacon's best hat in the High Street. You must admit that that's a +laughable circumstance in this the sixtieth year of our good Queen's +reign. I, for one, intend to laugh."</p> + +<p>"No, you don't, Ellen," and, to every one's surprise, Mrs. Combermere's +voice was serious. "I mean what I say. I'm not joking at all. Brandon may +have his faults, but this town and everything decent in it hangs by him. +Take him away and the place drops to pieces. I suppose you think you're +going to introduce your Ronders as up-to-date rivals. We prefer things as +they are, thank you."</p> + +<p>Miss Stiles' already bright colouring was a little brighter. She knew her +Betsy Combermere, but she resented rebukes before Puddifoot.</p> + +<p>"Then," she said, "if he means all that to the place, he'd better look +after his son more efficiently."</p> + +<p>"<i>And</i> exactly what do you mean by that?" asked Mrs. Combermere.</p> + +<p>"Oh, everybody knows," said Miss Stiles, looking round to Miss Dobell and +the doctor for support, "that young Brandon is spending the whole of his +time down in Seatown, and that Miss Annie Hogg is not entirely unconnected +with his visits."</p> + +<p>"Really, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, bringing her fist down upon the +table, "you're a disgusting woman. Yes, you are, and I won't take it back, +however much you ask me to. All the worst scandal in this place comes from +you. If it weren't for you we shouldn't be so exactly like every +novelist's Cathedral town. But I warn you, I won't have you talking about +Brandon. His son's only a boy, and the handsomest male in the place by the +way--present company, of course, excepted. He's only been home a few +months, and you're after him already with your stories. I won't have +it----"</p> + +<p>Miss Stiles rose, her fingers trembling as she drew on her gloves.</p> + +<p>"Well, I won't stay here to be insulted, anyway. You may have known me a +number of years, Betsy, but that doesn't allow you <i>all</i> the +privileges. The only matter with me is that I say what I think. You +started the business, I believe, by insulting my friends."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, laughing. "Don't be a fool. Who's +insulting your friends? You'd insult them yourself if they were only +successful enough. You can have your Ronder."</p> + +<p>The door opened and the maid announced: "Canon Ronder."</p> + +<p>Every one was conscious of the dramatic fitness of this, and no one more +so than Mrs. Combermere. Ronder entered the room, however, quite unaware +of anything apparently, except that he was feeling very well and expected +amusement from his company. He presented precisely the picture of a nice +contented clergyman who might be baffled by a school treat but was +thoroughly "up" to afternoon tea. He seemed a little stouter than when he +had first come to Polchester, and his large spectacles were as round as +two young moons.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Mrs. Combernere? I do hope you will forgive my aunt, but +she has a bad headache. She finds Polchester a little relaxing."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere did not get up, but stared at him from, behind her tea- +table. That was a stare that has frightened many people in its time, and +to-day it was especially challenging. She was annoyed with Ellen Stiles, +and here, in front of her, was the cause of her annoyance.</p> + +<p>They faced one another, and the room behind them was aware that Mrs. +Combermere, at any rate, had declared battle. Of what Ronder was aware no +one knew.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Canon Ronder? I'm delighted that you've honoured my poor +little house. I hear that you're a busy man. I'm all the more proud that +you can spare me half an hour."</p> + +<p>She kept him standing there, hoping, perhaps, that he would be consciously +awkward and embarrassed. He was completely at his ease.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I'm not busy. I'm a very lazy man." He looked down at her, +smiling, aware, apparently, of no one else in the room. "I'm always +meaning to pull myself up. But I'm too old for improvement"</p> + +<p>"We're all busy people here, although you mayn't think it, Canon Ronder. +But I'm afraid you're giving a false account of yourself. I've heard of +you."</p> + +<p>"Nothing but good, I hope."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know. That depends. I expect you're going to shake us all +up and teach us improvement."</p> + +<p>"Dear me, no! I come to you for instruction. I haven't an idea in the +world." + +"Too much modesty is a dangerous thing. Nobody's modest in Polchester."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall be Polchester's first modest man. But I'm not modest. I +simply speak the truth."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere smiled grimly. "There, too, you will be the exception. We +none of us speak the truth here."</p> + +<p>"Really, Mrs. Combermere, you're giving Polchester a dreadful character." +He laughed, but did not take his eyes away from her. "I hope that you've +been here so long that you've forgotten what the place is like. I believe +in first impressions."</p> + +<p>"So do I," she said, very grimly indeed.</p> + +<p>"Well, in a year's time we shall see which of us is right. I'll be quite +willing to admit defeat."</p> + +<p>"Oh, a year's time!" She laughed more pleasantly. "A great deal can happen +in a year. You may be a bishop by then, Canon Ronder,"</p> + +<p>"Ah, that would be more than I deserve," he answered quite gravely.</p> + +<p>The little duel was over. She turned around, introduced him to Miss Dobell +and Puddifoot, both of whom, however, he had already met. He sat down, +very happily, near the fire and listened to Miss Dobell's shrill +proclamation of her adoration of Browning. Conversation became general, +and was concerned first with the Jubilee and the preparations for it, +afterwards with the state of South Africa, Lord Penrhyn's quarries, and +bicycling. Every one had a good deal to say about this last topic, and the +strange costumes which ladies, so the papers said, were wearing in +Battersea Park when out on their morning ride.</p> + +<p>Miss Dobell said that "it was too disgraceful," to which Mrs. Combermere +replied "Fudge! As though every one didn't know by this time that women +had legs!"</p> + +<p>Everything, in fact, went very well, although Ellen Stiles observed to +herself with a certain malicious pleasure that their hostess was not +entirely at her ease, was "a little ruffled, about something."</p> + +<p>Soon two more visitors arrived--first Mr. Morris, then Mrs. Brandon. They +came close upon one another's heels, and it was at once evident that they +would, neither of them, alter very considerably the room's atmosphere. No +one ever paid any attention to Mrs. Brandon in Polchester, and although +Mr. Morris had been some time now in the town, he was so shy and retiring +and quiet that no one was, as yet, very distinctly aware of him. Mrs. +Combermere was occupied with her own thoughts and the others were talking +very happily beside the fire, so it soon happened that Morris and Mrs. +Brandon were sitting by themselves in the window.</p> + +<p>There occurred then a revelation.... That is perhaps a portentous word, +but what else can one call it? It is a platitude, of course, to say that +there is probably no one alive who does not remember some occasion of a +sudden communion with another human being that was so beautiful, so +touching, so transcendentally above human affairs that a revelation was +the only definition for it. Afterwards, when analysis plays its part, one +may talk about physical attractions, about common intellectual interests, +about spiritual bonds, about what you please, but one knows that the +essence of that meeting is undefined.</p> + +<p>It may be quite enough to say about Morris and Mrs. Brandon, that they +were both very lonely people. You may say, too, that there was in both of +them an utterly unsatisfied longing to have some one to protect and care +for. Not her husband nor Falk nor Joan needed Mrs. Brandon in the least-- +and the Archdeacon did not approve of dogs in the house. Or you may say, +if you like, that these two liked the look of one another, and leave it at +that. Still the revelation remains--and all the tragedy and unhappiness +and bitterness that that revelation involved remains too....</p> + +<p>This was, of course, not the first time that they had met. Once before at +Mrs. Combermere's they had been introduced and talked together for a +moment; but on that occasion there had been no revelation.</p> + +<p>They did not say very much now. Mrs. Brandon asked Morris whether he liked +Polchester and he said yes. They talked about the Cathedral and the coming +Jubilee. Morris said that he had met Falk. Mrs. Brandon, colouring a +little, asked was he not handsome? She said that he was a remarkable boy, +very independent, that was why he had not got on very well at Oxford.... +He was a tremendous comfort to her, she said. When he went away...but +she stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>Not looking at him, she said that sometimes one felt lonely even though +there was a great deal to do, as there always was in a town like +Polchester.</p> + +<p>Yes, Morris said that he knew that. And that was really all. There were +long pauses in their conversation, pauses that were like the little wooden +hammerings on the stage before the curtain rises.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brandon said that she hoped that he would come and see her, and he +said that he would. Their hands touched, and they both felt as though the +room had suddenly closed in upon them and become very dim, blotting the +other people out.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Brandon got up to go. Afterwards, when she looked back to this, +she remembered that she had looked, for some unknown reason, especially at +Canon Ronder, as she stood there saying good-bye.</p> + +<p>She decided that she did not like him. Then she went away, and Mrs. +Combermere was glad that she had gone.</p> + +<p>Of all the dull women....</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_06"></a>Chapter VI</h1> + +<h2>Seatown Mist and Cathedral Dust</h2> + + + +<p>Falk Brandon knew quite well that his mother was watching him.</p> + +<p>It was a strange truth that until this return of his from Oxford he had +never considered his mother at all. It was not that he had grown to +disregard her, as do many sons, because of the monotonous regularity of +her presence. Nor was it that he despised her because he seemed so vastly +to have outgrown her. He had not been unkind nor patronising nor +contemptuous--he had simply not yet thought about her. The circumstances +of his recent return, however, had forced him to consider every one in the +house. He had his secret preoccupation that seemed so absorbing and +devastating to him that he could not believe that every one around him +would not guess it. He soon discovered that his father was too cock-sure +and his sister too innocent to guess anything. Now he was not himself a +perceptive man; he had, after all, seen as yet very little of the world, +and he had a great deal of his father's self-confidence; nevertheless, he +was just perceptive enough to perceive that his mother was thinking about +him, was watching him, was waiting to see what he would do....</p> + +<p>His secret was quite simply that, for the last year, he had been +devastated by the consciousness of Annie Hogg, the daughter of the +landlord of "The Dog and Pilchard." Yes. devastated was the word. It would +not be true to say that he was in love with her or, indeed, had any +analysed emotion for her--he was aware of her always, was disturbed by her +always, could not keep away from her, wanted something in connection with +her far deeper than mere love-making--</p> + +<p>What he wanted he did not know. He could not keep away from her, and yet +when he was with her nothing occurred. She did not apparently care for +him; he was not even sure that he wanted her to. At Oxford during his last +term he had thought of her--incessantly, a hot pain at his heart. He had +not invited the disturbance that had sent him down, but he had welcomed +it.</p> + +<p>Every day he went to "The Dog and Pilchard." He drank but little and +talked to no one. He just leaned up against the wall and looked at her. +Sometimes he had a word with her. He knew that they must all be speaking +of it. Maybe the whole town was chattering. He could not think of that. He +had no plans, no determination, no resolve--and he was desperately +unhappy....</p> + +<p>Into this strange dark confusion the thought of his mother drove itself. +He had from the very beginning been aware of his father in this +connection. In his own selfish way he loved his father, and he shared in +his pride and self-content. He was proud of his father for being what he +was, for his good-natured contempt of other people, for his handsome body +and his dominance of the town. He could understand that his father should +feel as he did, and he did honestly consider him a magnificent man and far +above every one else in the place. But that did not mean that he ever +listened to anything that his father said. He pleased himself in what he +did, and laughed at his father's temper.</p> + +<p>He had perceived from the first that this connection of his with Annie +Hogg might do his father very much harm, and he did not want to harm him. +The thought of this did not mean that for a moment he contemplated +dropping the affair because of his father--no, indeed--but the thought of +the old man, as he termed him, added dimly to his general unhappiness. He +appreciated the way that his father had taken his return from Oxford. The +old man was a sportsman. It was a great pity that he should have to make +him unhappy over this business. But there it was--you couldn't alter +things.</p> + +<p>It was this fatalistic philosophy that finally ruled everything with him. +"What must be must." If things went wrong he had his courage, and he was +helped too by his contempt for the world....</p> + +<p>He knew his father, but he was aware now that he knew nothing at all about +his mother.</p> + +<p>"What's <i>she</i> thinking about?" he asked himself.</p> + +<p>One afternoon he was about to go to Seatown when, in the passage outside +his bedroom, he met his mother. They both stopped as though they had +something to say to one another. He did not look at all like her son, so +fair, tall and aloof, as though even in his own house he must be on his +guard, prepared to challenge any one who threatened his private plans.</p> + +<p>"She's like a little mouse," he thought to himself, as though he were +seeing her for the first time, "preparing to run off into the wainscot" He +was conscious, too, of her quiet clothes and shy preoccupied timidity--all +of it he seemed to see for the first time, a disguise for some purpose as +secret, perhaps, as his own.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Falk," she said, and stopped, and then went on with the question that +she so often asked him:</p> + +<p>"Is there anything you want?"</p> + +<p>"No, mother, thank you. I'm just going out."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes...." She still stayed there nervously looking up at him.</p> + +<p>"I was wondering----Are you going into the town?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother. Is there anything I can do for you?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you." Still she did not move.</p> + +<p>"Joan's out," she said. Then she went on quickly, "I wish you'd tell me if +there were anything----"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course." He laughed. "What exactly do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, dear. Only I like to know about your plans."</p> + +<p>"Plans? I haven't any."</p> + +<p>"No, but I always think you may be going away suddenly. Perhaps I could +help you. I know it isn't very much that I can do, but anything you told +me I think I could help you about.... I'd like to help you."</p> + +<p>He could see that she had been resolving for some time to speak to him, +and that this little appeal was the result of a desperate determination. +He was touched.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, mother. I suppose father and you think I oughtn't to be +hanging around here doing nothing." + +"Oh, your father hasn't said anything to me. I don't know what he thinks. +But I should miss you if you went. It is nice for us having you, although, +of course, it must seem slow to you here."</p> + +<p>He stood back against the wall, looking past her out through the window +that showed the grey sky of a misty day.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's true that I've got to settle about doing something soon. I +can't be home like this for ever. There's a man I know in London wants me +to go in for a thing with him...."</p> + +<p>"What kind of a thing, dear?"</p> + +<p>"It's to do with the export trade. Travelling about. I should like that. +I'm a bit restless, I'm afraid. I should want to put some money into it, +of course, but the governor will let me have something.... He wants me to +go into Parliament."</p> + +<p>"Parliament?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Falk laughed. "That's his latest idea. He was talking about it the +other night. Of course, that's foolishness. It's not my line at all. I +told him so."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't like you to go away altogether," she repeated. "It would make +a great difference to me."</p> + +<p>"Would it really?" He had a strange mysterious impulse to speak to her +about Annie Hogg. The thought of his mother and Annie Hogg together showed +him at once how impossible that was. They were in separate worlds. He was +suddenly angry at the difficulties that life was making for him without +his own wish. "Oh, I'll be here some time yet, mother," he said. "Well, I +must get along now. I've got an appointment with a fellow."</p> + +<p>She smiled and disappeared into her room.</p> + +<p>All the way into Seatown he was baffled and irritated by this little +conversation. It seemed that you could not disregard people by simply +determining to disregard them. All the time behind you and them some force +was insisting on places being taken, connections being formed. One was +simply a bally pawn...a bally pawn....</p> + +<p>But what was his mother thinking? Had some one been talking to her? +Perhaps already she knew about Annie. But what could she know? Girls like +Annie were outside her ken. What could his mother know about life? The day +did not help his dissatisfaction. The fog had not descended upon the town, +but it had sent as its forerunner a wet sea mist, dim and intangible, +depressing because it removed all beauty and did not leave even +challenging ugliness in its place.</p> + +<p>On the best of days Seatown was not beautiful. I have read in books +romantic descriptions of Glebeshire coves, Glebeshire towns with the +romantic Inn, the sanded floor, fishermen with gold rings in their ears +and strange oaths upon their lips. In one book I remember there was a fine +picture of such a place, with beautiful girls dancing and mysterious old +men telling mysterious tales about ghosts and goblins, and, of course, +somewhere in the distance some one was singing a chanty, and the moon was +rising, and there was a nice little piece of Glebeshire dialect thrown in. +All very pretty.... Seatown cannot claim such prettiness. Perhaps once +long ago, when there were only the Cathedral, the Castle, the Rock, and a +few cottages down by the river, when, at night-tide, strange foreign ships +came up from the sea, when the woods were wild forest and the downs were +bare and savage, Seatown had its romance, but that was long ago. Seatown, +in these latter days, was a place of bad drainage, bad drinking, bad +living and bad dying. The men who haunted its dirty, narrow little streets +were loafers and idlers and castaways. The women were, most of them, no +better than they should be, and the children were the most slatternly and +ill-bred in the whole of Glebeshire. Small credit to the Canons and the +Town Councillors and the prosperous farmers that it was so, but in their +defence it might be urged that it needed a very valiant Canon and the most +fearless of Town Councillors to disturb that little nest. And the time +came when it was disturbed....</p> + +<p>Even the Pol, a handsome river enough out beyond the town in the reaches +of the woods, was no pretty sight at low tide when there was nothing to +see but a thin, sluggish grey stream filtering through banks of mud to its +destination, the sea. At high tide the river beat up against the crazy +stone wall that bordered Pennicent Street; and on the further side there +were green fields and a rising hill with a feathery wood to crown it. From +the river, coming up through the green banks, Seatown looked picturesque, +with its disordered cottages scrambling in confusion at the tail of the +rock and the Cathedral and Castle nobly dominating it. That distant view +is the best thing to be said for Seatown.</p> + +<p>To-day, in the drizzling mist, the place was horribly depressing. Falk +plunged down into Bridge Street as into a damp stuffy well. Here some of +the houses had once been fine; there were porticoes and deep-set doors and +bow-windows, making them poor relations of the handsome benevolent +Georgian houses in Orange Street. The street, top-tilting down to the +river, was slovenly with dirt and carelessness. Many of the windows were +broken, their panes stuffed with paper; washing hung from house to house. +The windows that were not broken were hermetically sealed and filled with +grimy plants and ferns, and here and there a photograph of an embarrassed +sailor or a smiling married couple or an overdressed young woman placed +face outward to the street. Bridge Street tumbled with a dirty absent- +mindedness into Pennicent Street. This, the main thoroughfare of Seatown, +must have been once a handsome cobbled walk by the river-side. The houses, +more than in Bridge Street, showed by their pillared doorways and their +faded red brick that they had once been gentlemen's residences, with +gardens, perhaps, running to the river's edge and a fine view of the +meadows and woods beyond. To-day all was shrouded in a mist that was never +stationary, that seemed alive in its shifting movement, revealing here a +window, there a door, now a chimney-pot, now steps that seemed to lead +into air, and the river, now at full tide and lapping the stone wall, +seemed its drunken bewildered voice.</p> + +<p>"Bally pawns, that's what we are," Falk muttered again. It seemed to be +the logical conclusion of the thoughts that had worried him, like flies, +during his walk. Some one lurched against him as he stayed for a moment to +search for the inn. A hot spasm of anger rose in him, so sudden and fierce +that he was frightened by it, as though he had seen his own face in a +mirror. But he said nothing. "Sorry," said a voice, and shadow faded into +shadow.</p> + +<p>He found the "Dog and Pilchard" easily enough. Just beyond it the river +was caught into a kind of waterfall by a ridge of stone that projected +almost into mid-stream. At high tide it tumbled over this obstruction with +an astonished splash and gurgle. Even when the river was at its lowest +there was a dim chattering struggle at this point. Falk always connected +this noise with the inn and the power or enchantment of the inn that held +him--"Black Enchantment," perhaps. He was to hear that struggling chatter +of the river until his dying day.</p> + +<p>He pushed through the passage and turned to the right into the bar. A damp +day like this always served Hogg's trade. The gas was lit and sizzled +overhead with a noise as though it commented ironically on the fatuity of +the human beings beneath it. The room was full, but most of the men-- +seamen, loafers, a country man or two--crowded up to the bar. Falk crossed +to a table in the corner near the window, his accustomed seat. No one +seemed to notice him, but soon Hogg, stout and smiling, came over to him. +No one had ever seen Samuel Hogg out of temper--no, never, not even when +there had been fighting in the place and he had been compelled to eject +men, by force of arms, through the doors and windows. There had not been +many fights there. Men were afraid of him, in spite of his imperturbable +good temper. Men said of him that he would stick at nothing, although what +exactly was meant by that no one knew.</p> + +<p>He had a good word for every one; no crime or human failing could shock +him. He laughed at everything. And yet men feared him. Perhaps for that +very reason. The worst sinner has some kind of standard of right and +wrong. Himself he may not keep it, but he likes to see it there. "Oh, he's +deep," was Seatown's verdict on Samuel Hogg, and it is certain that the +late Mrs. Hogg had not been, in spite of her husband's good temper, a +happy woman.</p> + +<p>He came up to Falk now,--smiling, and asked him what he would have. "Nasty +day," he said. Falk ordered his drink. Dimly through the mist and +thickened air the Cathedral chimes recorded the hour. Funny how you could +hear them in every nook and corner of Polchester.</p> + +<p>"Likely turn to rain before night," Hogg said, as he turned back to the +bar. Falk sat there watching. Some of the men he knew, some he did not, +but to-day they were all shadows to him. Strange how, from the moment that +he crossed the threshold of that place, hot, burning excitement and +expectation lapped him about, swimming up to him, engulfing him, swamping +him body and soul. He sat there drowned in it, not stirring, his eyes +fixed upon the door. There was a good deal of noise, laughter, swearing, +voices raised and dropped, forming a kind of skyline, and above this a +voice telling an interminable tale.</p> + +<p>Annie Hogg came in, and at once Falk's throat contracted and his heart +hammered in the palms of his hands. She moved about, talking to the men, +fetching drinks, unconcerned and aloof as she always was. Seen there in +the mist of the overcrowded and evil-smelling room, there was nothing very +remarkable about her. Stalwart and resolute and self-possessed she looked; +sometimes she was beautiful, but not now. She was a woman at whom most men +would have looked twice. Her expression was not sullen nor disdainful; in +that, perhaps, there was something fine, because there was life, of its +own kind, in her eyes, and independence in the carriage of her head.</p> + +<p>Falk never took his eyes from her. At that moment she came down the room +and saw him. She did not come over to him at once, but stopped and talked +to some one at another table. At last she was beside him, standing up +against his table and looking over his head at the window behind him.</p> + +<p>"Nasty weather, Mr. Brandon," she said. Her voice was low and not +unpleasant; although she rolled her r's her Glebeshire accent was not very +strong, and she spoke slowly, as though she were trying to choose her +words.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Falk answered. "Good for your trade, though."</p> + +<p>"Dirty weather always brings them in," she said.</p> + +<p>He did not look at her.</p> + +<p>"Been busy to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing much this morning," she answered. "I've been away at my aunt's, +out to Borheddon, these last two days."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I saw you were not here," he said. "Did you have a good time?"</p> + +<p>"Middling," she answered. "My aunt's been terrible bad with bronchitis +this winter. Poor soul, it'll carry her off one of these days, I reckon."</p> + +<p>"What's Borheddon like?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Nothing much. Nothing to do, you know. But I like a bit of quiet just for +a day or two. How've you been keeping, Mr. Brandon?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm all right. I shall be off to London to look for a job one of +these days."</p> + +<p>He looked up at her suddenly, sharply, as though he wanted to catch her +interest. But she showed no emotion.</p> + +<p>"Well, I expect this is slow for you, a little place like this. Plenty +going on in London, I expect."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Do you ever think you'd like to go there?"</p> + +<p>"Daresay I shall one of these days. Never know your luck. But I'm not +terrible anxious.... Well, I must be getting on."</p> + +<p>He caught her eyes and held them.</p> + +<p>"Come back for a moment when you're less busy. I've got something I want +to say to you."</p> + +<p>Very slightly the colour rose in her dark cheek.</p> + +<p>"All right," she said.</p> + +<p>When she had gone he drew a deep breath, as though he had surmounted some +great and sudden danger. He felt that if she had refused to come he would +have risen and broken everything in the place. Now, as though he had, by +that little conversation with her, reassured himself about her, he looked +around the room. His attention was at once attracted by a man who was +sitting in the further corner, his back against the wall, opposite to him.</p> + +<p>This was a man remarkable for his extreme thinness, for the wild lock of +black hair that fell over his forehead and almost into his eyes, and for a +certain sort of threadbare and dissolute distinction which hung about him. +Falk knew him slightly. His name was Edmund Davray, and he had lived in +Polchester now for a considerable number of years. He was an artist, and +had arrived in the town one summer on a walking tour through Glebeshire. +He had attracted attention at once by the quality of his painting, by the +volubility of his manner, and by his general air of being a person of +considerable distinction. His surname was French, but no one knew anything +with any certainty about him. Something attracted him in Polchester, and +he stayed. He soon gave it out that it was the Cathedral that fascinated +him; he painted a number of remarkable sketches of the nave, the choir, +Saint Margaret's Chapel, the Black Bishop's Tomb. He had a "show" in +London and was supposed to have done very well out of it. He disappeared +for a little, but soon returned, and was to be found in the Cathedral most +days of the week.</p> + +<p>At first he had a little studio at the top of Orange Street. At this time +he was rather popular in Polchester society. Mrs. Combermere took him up +and found him audacious and amusing. His French name gave a kind of +piquancy to his audacity; he was unusual; he was striking. It was right +for Polchester to have an artist and to stick him up in the very middle of +the town as an emblem of taste and culture. Soon, however, he began to +decline. It was whispered that he drank, that his morals were "only what +you'd expect of an artist," and that he was really "too queer about the +Cathedral." One day he told Miss Dobell that the amount that she knew +about literature would go inside a very small pea, and he was certainly +"the worse for liquor" at one of Mrs. Combermere's tea-parties. He did +not, however, give them time to drop him; he dropped himself, gave up his +Orange Street studio, lived, no one knew where, neglected his appearance, +and drank quite freely whenever he could get anything to drink. He now cut +everybody, rather than allowed himself to be cut.</p> + +<p>He was in the Cathedral as often as ever, and Lawrence and Cobbett, the +Vergers, longed to have an excuse for expelling him, but he always behaved +himself there and was in nobody's way. He was finally regarded as "quite +mad," and was seen to talk aloud to himself as he walked about the +streets.</p> + +<p>"An unhappy example," Miss Dobell said, "of the artistic temperament, that +wonderful gift, gone wrong."</p> + +<p>Falk had seen him often before at the "Dog and Pilchard," and had wondered +at first whether Annie Hogg was the attraction. It was soon clear, +however, that there was nothing in that. He never looked at the girl nor, +indeed, at any one else in the place. He simply sat there moodily staring +in front of him and drinking.</p> + +<p>To-day it was clear that Falk had caught his attention. He looked across +the room at him with a queer defiant glance, something like Falk's own. +Once it seemed that he had made up his mind to come over and speak to him.</p> + +<p>He half rose in his seat, then sank back again. But his eyes came round +again and again to the corner where Falk was sitting.</p> + +<p>The Cathedral chimes had whispered twice in the room before Annie +returned.</p> + +<p>"What is it you're wanting?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Come outside and speak to me."</p> + +<p>"No, I can't do that. Father's watching."</p> + +<p>"Well, will you meet me one evening and have a talk?"</p> + +<p>"What about?"</p> + +<p>"Several things."</p> + +<p>"It isn't right, Mr. Brandon. What's a gentleman like you want with a girl +like me?"</p> + +<p>"I only want us to get away a little from all this noise and filth."</p> + +<p>Suddenly she smiled.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't mind if I do. After supper's a good time. Father goes up +the town to play billiards. After eight."</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"What about to-morrow evening?"</p> + +<p>"All right. Where?"</p> + +<p>"Up to the Mill. Five minutes up from here."</p> + +<p>"I'll be there," he said.</p> + +<p>"Don't let father catch 'ee--that's all," she smiled down at him. "You'm a +fule, Mr. Brandon, to bother with such as I." He said nothing and she +walked away. Very shortly after, Davray got up from his seat and came over +to Falk's corner. It was obvious that he had been drinking rather heavily. +He was a little unsteady on his feet.</p> + +<p>"You're young Brandon, aren't you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>In ordinary times Falk would have told him to go to the devil, and there +would have been a row, but to-day he was caught away so absolutely into +his own world that any one could speak to him, any one laugh at him, any +one insult him, and he would not care. He had been meditating for weeks +the advance that he had just taken; always when one meditates for long +over a risk it swells into gigantic proportions. So this had been; that +simple sentence asking her to come out and talk to him had seemed an +impossible challenge to every kind of fate, and now, in a moment, the gulf +had been jumped...so easy, so strangely easy....</p> + +<p>From a great distance Davray's words came to him, and in the dialogue that +followed he spoke like a somnambulist.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "my name's Brandon."</p> + +<p>"I knew, of course," said Davray. "I've seen you about." He spoke with +great swiftness, the words tumbling over one another, not with eagerness, +but rather with a kind of supercilious carelessness. "Beastly hole, isn't +this? Wonder why one comes here. Must do something in this rotten town. +I've drunk enough of this filthy beer. What do you say to moving out?"</p> + +<p>Falk looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"What do you say?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Let's move out of this. If you're walking up the town I'll go with you."</p> + +<p>Falk was not conscious of the man, but it was quite true that he wanted to +get out of the place now that his job in it was done. He got up without a +word and began to push through the room. He was met near the door by Hogg.</p> + +<p>"Goin', Mr. Brandon? Like to settle now or leave it to another day?"</p> + +<p>"What's that?" said Falk, stopping as though some one had touched him on +the shoulder. He seemed to see the large smiling man suddenly in front of +him outlined against a shifting wall of mist.</p> + +<p>"Payin' now or leavin' it? Please yourself, Mr. Brandon."</p> + +<p>"Oh--paying!" He fumbled in his pocket, produced half-a-crown, gave it to +Hogg without looking at him and went out. Davray followed, slouching +through the room and passage with the conceited over-careful walk of a man +a little tipsy.</p> + +<p>Outside, as they went down the street still obscured with the wet mist, +Davray poured out a flow of words to which he seemed to want no answer.</p> + +<p>"I hope you didn't mind my speaking to you like that--a bit +unceremonious. But to tell you the truth I'm lonely sometimes. Also, if +you want to know the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I'm a bit +tipsy too. Generally am. This air makes one feel queer after that stinking +hole, doesn't it? If you can call this air. I've seen you there a lot +lately and often thought I'd like to talk to you. You're the only decent- +looking fellow in the whole of this town, if you'll forgive my saying so. +Isn't it a bloody hole? But of course you think so too. I can see it in +your face. I suppose you go to that pub after that girl. I saw you talking +to her. Well, each man to his taste. I'd never interfere with any man's +pleasure. I loathe women myself, always have. They never appealed to me a +little bit. In Paris the men used to wonder what I was after. I was after +Ambition in those days. Funny thing, but I thought I was going to be a +great painter once. Queer what one can trick oneself into believing--so I +might have been if I hadn't come to this beastly town. Hope I'm not boring +you...."</p> + +<p>He stopped as though he had suddenly realised that his companion had not +said a word. They were pushing now up the hill into the market-place and +the mist was now so thick that they could scarcely see one another's face. +Falk was thinking. "To-morrow evening.... What do I want? What's going to +happen? What do I want?"</p> + +<p>The silence made him conscious of his companion.</p> + +<p>"What do you say?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Hope I'm not boring you."</p> + +<p>"No, that's all right. Where are we?"</p> + +<p>"Just coming into the market."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"If I talk a lot it's because I haven't had any one to talk to for weeks. +Not that I want to talk to any one. I despise the lot of them. Conceited +set of ignorant parrots.... Whole place run by women and what can you +expect? You're not staying here, I suppose. I heard you'd had enough of +Oxford and I don't wonder. No place for a man, beautiful enough but spoilt +by the people. <i>Damn</i> people--always coming along and spoiling +places. Now there's the Cathedral, most wonderful thing in England, but +does any one know it? Not a bit of it. You'd think they fancied that the +Cathedral <i>owes</i> them something--about as much sense of beauty as a +cockroach."</p> + +<p>They were pressing up the High Street now. There was no one about. It was +a town of ghosts. By the Arden Gate Falk realised where he was and halted.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! we're nearly home.... Well...good afternoon, Mr. Davray."</p> + +<p>"Come into the Cathedral for a moment," Davray seemed to be urgent about +this. "Have you ever been up into the King Harry Tower? I bet you +haven't."</p> + +<p>"King Harry Tower?..." Falk stared at the man. What did the fellow want +him to do? Go into the Cathedral? Well, why not? Stupid to go home just +now--nothing to do there but think, and people would interrupt.... Think +better out of doors. But what was there to think about? He was not +thinking, simply going round and round.... Who was this fellow anyway?</p> + +<p>"As you like," he said.</p> + +<p>They crossed the Precincts and went through the West door into the +Cathedral. The nave was full of dusky light and very still. Candles +glimmered behind the great choir-screen and there were lamps by the West +door. Seen thus, in its half-dark, the nave bore full witness to the fact +that Polchester has the largest Cathedral in Northern Europe. It is +certainly true that no other building in England gives the same +overwhelming sense of length.</p> + +<p>In full daylight the nave perhaps, as is the case with all English +Cathedrals, lacks colour and seems cold and deserted. In the dark of this +spring evening it was full of mystery, and the great columns of the nave's +ten bays, rising unbroken to the roof groining, sprang, it seemed, out of +air, superbly, intolerably inhuman.</p> + +<p>The colours from the tombs and the brasses glimmered against the grey, and +the great rose-coloured circle of the West window flung pale lights across +the cold dark of the flags and pillars.</p> + +<p>The two men were held by the mysterious majesty of the place. Falk was +lifted right out of his own preoccupied thoughts.</p> + +<p>He had never considered the Cathedral except as a place to which he was +dragged for services against his will, but to-night, perhaps because of +his own crisis, he seemed to see it all for the first time. He was +conscious now of Davray and was aware that he did not like him and wished +to be rid of him--"an awful-looking tout" he thought him, "with his greasy +long hair and his white long face and his spindle legs."</p> + +<p>"Now we'll go up into King Harry," Davray said. But at that moment old +Lawrence came bustling along. Lawrence, over seventy years of age, had +grown stout and white-haired in the Cathedral's service. He was a fine +figure in his purple gown, broad-shouldered, his chest and stomach of a +grand protuberance, his broad white flowing beard a true emblem of his +ancient dignity. He was the most autocratic of Vergers and had been +allowed now for many years to do as he pleased. The only thorn in his +flesh was Cobbett, the junior Verger, who, as he very well realised, was +longing for him to die, that he might step into his shoes. "I do believe," +he was accustomed to say to Mrs. Lawrence, a little be-bullied woman, +"that that man will poison me one of these fine days."</p> + +<p>His autocracy had grown on him with the size and the whiteness of his +beard, and there were many complaints--rude to strangers, sycophantic to +the aristocracy, greedy of tips, insolent and conceited, he was an +excellent example of the proper spirit of the Church Militant. He had, +however, his merits. He loved small children and would have allowed them +to run riot on the Cathedral greens had he not been checked, and he had a +pride in the Cathedral that would drive him to any sacrifice in his +defence of it.</p> + +<p>It was natural enough that he should hate the very sight of Davray, and +when that gentleman appeared he hung about in the background hoping that +he might catch him in some crime. At first he thought him alone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Verger," Davray said, as though he were speaking to a beggar who had +asked of him alms. "I want to go up into King Harry. You have the key, I +think."</p> + +<p>"Well, you can't, sir," said Lawrence, with considerable satisfaction. +"'Tis after hours." Then he saw Falk.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Brandon, sir. I didn't realise. Do you want to +go up the Tower, sir?" + +"We may as well," said Falk.</p> + +<p>"Of course for you, sir, it's different. Strangers have to keep certain +hours. This way, sir."</p> + +<p>They followed the pompous old man across the nave, up the side aisle, past +"tombs and monuments and gilded knights," until they came to the King +Harry Chapel. This was to the right of the choir, and before the screen +that railed it off from the rest of the church there was a notice saying +that this Chapel had been put aside for private prayer and it was hoped +that no one would talk or make any noise, were some one meditating or +praying there. The little place was infinitely quiet, with a special air +of peace and beauty as though all the prayers and meditations that had +been offered there had deeply sanctified it; Lawrence pushed open the door +of the screen and they crossed the flagged floor. Suddenly into the heart +of the hush there broke the Cathedral chimes, almost, as it seemed, +directly above their heads, booming, echoing, dying with lingering music +back into the silence. At the corner of the Chapel there was a little +wooden door; Lawrence unlocked it and pushed it open. "Mind how you go, +sir," he said, speaking to Falk as though Davray did not exist. "'Tis a +bit difficult with the winding stair."</p> + +<p>The two men went forward into the black darkness, leaving the dusky light +behind them. Davray led the way and Falk followed, feeling with his arms +the black walls on either side of him, knocking with his legs against the +steps above him. Here there was utter darkness and no sound. He had +suddenly a half-alarmed, half-humorous suspicion that Davray was suddenly +going to turn round upon him and push him down the stair or stick a knife +into him--the fear of the dark. "After all, what am I doing with this +fellow?" he thought. "I don't know him. I don't like him. I don't want to +be with him."</p> + +<p>"That's better," he heard Davray say. There was a glimmer, then a shadow +of grey light, finally they had stepped out into what was known as the +Whispering Gallery, a narrow railed platform that ran the length of the +Chapel and beyond to the opposite Tower. They did not stop there. They +pushed up again by more winding stairs, black for a space, then lit by a +window, then black again. At last, after what had seemed a long journey, +they were in a little, spare, empty room with a wooden floor. One side of +this little room was open and railed in. Looking down, the floor of the +nave seemed a vast distance below. You seemed here to be flying in glory. +The dim haze of the candles just touched the misty depth with golden +colour. Above them the great roof seemed close and menacing. Everywhere +pillars and buttresses rose out of space. The great architect of the +building seemed here to have his true kingdom, so vast was the depth and +the height and the grandeur. The walls and the roof and the pillars that +supported it were alive with their own greatness, scornful of little men +and their little loves. The hush was filled with movement and stir and a +vast business....</p> + +<p>The two men leaned on the rails and looked down. Far below, the white +figured altar, the brass of the Black Bishop's tomb, the glitter of Saint +Margaret's screen struck in little points of dull gold like stars upon a +grey inverted sky.</p> + +<p>Davray turned suddenly upon his companion. "And it's men like your +father," he said, "who think that this place is theirs.... Theirs! +Presumption! But they'll get it in the neck for that. This place can bide +its time. Just when you think you're its master it turns and stamps you +out."</p> + +<p>Falk said nothing. Davray seemed irritated by his silence. "You wait and +see," he said. "It amuses me to see your governor walking up the choir on +Sundays as though he owned the place. Owned it! Why, he doesn't realise a +stone of it! Well, he'll get it. They all have who've tried his game. +Owned it!"</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Falk, "don't you say anything about my father--that's +none of your business. He's all right. I don't know what the devil I came +up here for--thinking of other things."</p> + +<p>Davray too was thinking of other things.</p> + +<p>"You wonderful place!" he whispered. "You beautiful place! You've ruined +me, but I don't care. You can do what you like with me. You wonder! You +wonder!"</p> + +<p>Falk looked at him. The man was mad. He was holding on to the railing, +leaning forward, staring....</p> + +<p>"Look here, it isn't safe to lean like that. You'll be tumbling over and +breaking your neck if you're not careful."</p> + +<p>But Davray did not hear him. He was lost in his own dreams. Falk despised +dreams although just now he was himself in the grip of one. Besides the +fellow was drunk.</p> + +<p>A sudden disgust of his companion overtook him.</p> + +<p>"Well, so long," he said. "I must be getting home!"</p> + +<p>He wondered for a moment whether it were safe to leave the fellow there. +"It's his own look-out," he thought, and as Davray said no more he left +him.</p> + +<p>Back once more in the King Harry Chapel, he looked up. But he could see no +one and could hear no sound.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_07"></a>Chapter VII</h1> + +<h2>Ronder's Day</h2> + + + +<p>Ronder had now spent several months in Polchester and was able to come to +an opinion about it, and the opinion that he had come to was that he could +be very comfortable there. His aunt, who, in spite of her sharpness, never +was sure how he would take anything, was a little surprised when he told +her this. But then she was never certain what were the secret springs from +which he derived that sense of comfort that was the centre of his life. +She should have known by now that he derived it from two things--luxury +and the possibility of intrigue.</p> + +<p>Polchester could not have appeared to any casual observer a luxurious +town, but it had for Ronder exactly that combination of beauty and mystery +that obtained for him his sensation.</p> + +<p>He did not analyse it as yet further than that--he knew that those two +things were there; he might investigate them at his leisure.</p> + +<p>In that easy, smiling fashion that he had developed from his earliest days +as the surest protection for his own security and ease, he arranged +everything around him to assure his tranquillity. Everything was not as +yet arranged; it might take him six months, a year, two years for that +arrangement...but he knew now that it would be done.</p> + +<p>The second element in his comfort, his love of intrigue, would be +satisfied here simply because everything was not, as yet, as he would have +it. He would have hated to have tumbled into the place and found it just +as he required it.</p> + +<p>He liked to have things to move, to adjust, to arrange, just as when he +entered a room he always, if he had the power, at once altered the chairs, +the cushions. It was towards this final adjustment that his power of +intrigue always worked. Once everything was adjusted he sank back +luxuriously and surveyed it--and then, in all probability, was quickly +tired of it and looked for new fields to conquer.</p> + +<p>He could not remember a time when he had not been impelled to alter things +for his comfort. He did not wish to be selfish about this, he was quite +willing for every one else to do the same--indeed, he watched them with +geniality and wondered why on earth they didn't. As a small boy at Harrow +he had, with an imperturbable smile and a sense of humour that, in spite +of his rotund youth and a general sense amongst his elders that he was +"cheeky," won him popularity, worked always for his own comfort.</p> + +<p>He secured it and, first as fag and afterwards as House-prefect, finally +as School-prefect, did exactly what he wanted with everybody.</p> + +<p>He did it by being, quite frankly, all things to all men, although never +with sycophancy nor apparent falseness. He amused the bored, was +confidential with the wicked, upright with the upright, and sympathetic +with the unfortunate.</p> + +<p>He was quite genuine in all these things. He was deeply interested in +humanity, not for humanity's sake but his own. He bore no man any grudge, +but if any one was in his way he worked hard until they were elsewhere. +That removal attained, he wished them all the luck in the world.</p> + +<p>He was ordained because he thought he could deal more easily with men as a +parson. "Men always take clergymen for fools," he told his aunt, "and so +they sometimes are...but not always." He knew he was not a fool, but he +was not conceited. He simply thought that he had hit upon the one secret +of life and could not understand why others had not done the same. Why do +people worry so? was the amused speculation. "Deep emotions are simply not +worth while," he decided on his coming of age. He liked women but his +sense of humour prevented him from falling in love. He really did +understand the sensual habits and desires of men and women but watched +them from a distance through books and pictures and other men's stories. +He was shocked by nothing--nor did he despise mankind. He thought that +mankind did on the whole very well considering its difficulties. He was +kind and often generous; he bore no man alive or dead any grudge. He +refused absolutely to quarrel--"waste of time and temper."</p> + +<p>His one danger was lest that passion for intrigue should go deeper than he +allowed anything to go. Playing chess with mankind was to him, he +declared, simply a means to an end. Perhaps once it had been so. But, as +he grew older, there was a danger that the end should be swallowed by the +means.</p> + +<p>This danger he did not perceive; it was his one blindness. Finally he +believed with La Rochefoucauld that "Pity is a passion which is wholly +useless to a well-constituted mind."</p> + +<p>At any rate he discovered that there was in Polchester a situation exactly +suited to his powers. The town, or the Cathedral part of it, was dominated +by one man, and that man a stupid, autocratic, retrogressive, good-natured +child. He bore that child not the slightest ill-will, but it must go or, +at any rate, its authority must be removed. He did, indeed, like Brandon, +and through most of this affair he did not cease to like him, but he, +Ronder, would never be comfortable so long as Brandon was there, he would +never be free to take the steps that seemed to him good, he would be +interfered with and patronised. He was greatly amused by Brandon's +patronage, but it really was not a thing that could be allowed to remain.</p> + +<p>If he saw, as he made his plans, that the man's heart and soul, his life, +physical and spiritual, were involved--well he was sorry. It simply proved +how foolish it was to allow your heart and soul to be concerned in +anything.</p> + +<p>He very quickly perceived that the first thing to be done was to establish +relations with the men who composed the Chapter. He watched, he listened, +he observed, then, at the end of some months, he began to move.</p> + +<p>Many men would have considered him lazy. He never took exercise if he +could avoid it, and it was Polchester's only fault that it had so many +hills. He always had breakfast in bed, read the papers there and smoked a +cigarette. Every morning he had a bath as hot as he could bear it--and he +could bear it very hot indeed. Much of his best thinking was done there.</p> + +<p>When he came downstairs he reserved the first hour for his own reading, +reading, that is, that had nothing to do with any kind of work, that was +purely for his own pleasure. He allowed nothing whatever to interfere with +this--Gautier and Flaubert, La Bruyère and Montaigne were his favourite +authors, but he read a great deal of English, Italian, and Spanish, and +had a marvelous memory. He enjoyed, too, erotic literature and had a fine +collection of erotic books and prints shut away in a cabinet in his study. +He found great fascination in theological books: he laughed at many of +them, but kept an open mind--atheistic and materialistic dogmas seemed to +him as absurd as orthodox ones. He read too a great deal of philosophy +but, on the whole, he despised men who gave themselves up to philosophy +more than any other human beings. He felt that they lost their sense of +humour so quickly, and made life unpleasant for themselves.</p> + +<p>After his hour of reading he gave himself up to the work of the day. He +was the most methodical of men: the desk in his study was full of little +drawers and contrivances for keeping things in order. He had a thin vase +of blue glass filled with flowers, a small Chinese image of green jade, a +photograph of the Blind Homer from the Naples Museum in a silver frame, +and a little gold clock; all these things had to be in their exactly +correct positions. Nothing worried him so much as dust or any kind of +disorder. He would sometimes stop in the middle of his work and cross the +room, in the soft slippers of brown kid that he always wore in his study, +and put some picture straight or move some ornament from one position to +another. The books that stretched along one wall from floor to ceiling +were arranged most carefully according to their subjects. He disliked to +see some books projecting further from the shelf than others, and, with a +little smile of protest, as though he were giving them a kindly scolding, +he would push them into their right places.</p> + +<p>Let it not be supposed, however, that he was idle during these hours. He +could accomplish an astonishing amount of work in a short time, and he was +never idle except by deliberate intention.</p> + +<p>When luncheon time arrived he was ready to be charming to his aunt, and +charming to her he was. Their relations were excellent. She understood him +so well that she left his schemes alone. If she did not entirely approve +of him--and she entirely approved of nobody--she loved him for his good +company, his humour, and his common-sense. She liked it too that he did +not mind when she chose to allow her irony to play upon him. He cared +nothing for any irony.</p> + +<p>At luncheon they felt a very agreeable intimacy. There was no need for +explanations; half allusions were enough. They could enjoy their joke +without emphasising it and sometimes even without expressing it. Miss +Ronder knew that her nephew liked to hear all the gossip. He collected it, +tied it into little packets, and put them away in the little mechanical +contrivances with which his mind was filled. She told him first what she +heard, then her authorities, finally her own opinions. He thoroughly +enjoyed his meal.</p> + +<p>He had, by now, very thoroughly mastered the Cathedral finances. They were +not complicated and were in good order, because Hart-Smith had been a man +of an orderly mind. Ronder very quickly discovered that Brandon had had +his fingers considerably in the old pie. "And now there'll be a new pie," +he said to himself, "baked by me."...He traced a number of stupid and +conservative decisions to Brandon's agency. There was no doubt but that +many things needed a new urgency and activity.</p> + +<p>People had had to fight desperately for money when they should have been +given it at once; on the other hand, the Cathedral had been well looked +after--it was rather dependent bodies like the School, the Almshouses, and +various livings in the Chapter grant that had suffered.</p> + +<p>Anything that could possibly be considered a novelty had been fought and +generally defeated. "There will be a lot of novelties before I've finished +with them," Ronder said to himself.</p> + +<p>He started his investigations by paying calls on Bentinck-Major and Canon +Foster. Bentinck-Major lived at the top of Orange Street, in a fine house +with a garden, and Foster lived in one of four tumble-down buildings +behind the Cathedral, known from time immemorial as Canon's Yard.</p> + +<p>The afternoon of his visit was about three days after a dinner-party at +the Castle. He had seen and heard enough at that dinner to amuse him for +many a day; he considered it to have been one of the most entertaining +dinners at which he had ever been present. It had been here that he had +heard for the first time of the Pybus St. Anthony living. Brandon had been +present, and he observed Brandon's nervousness, and gathered enough to +realise that this would be a matter of considerable seriousness. He was to +know a great deal more about it before the afternoon was over.</p> + +<p>As he walked through the town on the way to Orange Street he came upon +Ryle, the Precentor. Ryle looked the typical clergyman, tall but not too +tall, here a smile and there a smile, with his soft black hat, his +trousers too baggy at the knees, his boots and his gold watch-chain both +too large.</p> + +<p>He cared, with serious devotion, for the Cathedral music and sang the +services beautifully, but he would have been able to give more time to his +work were he not so continuously worrying as to whether people were vexed +with him or no. His idea of Paradise was a place where he could chant +eternal services and where everybody liked him. He was a good man, but +weak, and therefore driven again and again into insincerity. It was as +though there was for ever in front of him the consciousness of some secret +in his past life that must on no account be discovered; but, poor man, he +had no secret at all.</p> + +<p>"Well, Precentor, and how are you?" said Ronder, beaming at him over his +spectacles.</p> + +<p>Ryle started. Ronder had come behind him. He liked the look of Ronder. He +always preferred fat men to thin; they were much less malicious, he +thought.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, Canon Ronder--very well, thank you. I didn't see you. +Quite spring weather. Are you going my way?"</p> + +<p>"I'm off to see Bentinck-Major."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Bentinck-Major...."</p> + +<p>Ryle's first thought was--"Now is Bentinck-Major likely to have anything +to say against me this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going up Orange Street too. It's the High School Governors' meeting, +you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, of course."</p> + +<p>The two men started up the hill together. Ronder surveyed the scene around +him with pleasure. Orange Street always satisfied his aesthetic sense. It +was the street of the doctors, the solicitors, the dentists, the bankers, +and the wealthier old maids of Polchester. The grey stone was of a +charming age, the houses with their bow-windows, their pillared porches, +their deep-set doors, their gleaming old-fashioned knockers, spoke +eloquently of the day when the great Jane's Elizabeths and D'Arcys, Mrs. +Morrises and Misses Bates found the world in a tea-cup, when passions were +solved by matrimony and ambitions by the possession of a carriage and a +fine pair of bays. But more than this was the way that the gardens and +lawns and orchards ran unchecked in and out, up and down, here breaking +into the street, there crowding a church with apple-trees, seeming to +speak, at every step, of leisure and sunny days and lives free of care.</p> + +<p>Ronder had never seen anything so pretty; something seemed to tell him +that he would never see anything so pretty again.</p> + +<p>Ryle was not a good conversationalist, because he had always before him +the fear that some one might twist what he said into something really +unpleasant, but, indeed, he found Ronder so agreeable that, as he told +Mrs. Ryle when he got home, he "never noticed the hill at all."</p> + +<p>"I hope you won't think me impertinent," said Ronder, "but I must tell you +how charmed I was with the way that you sang the service on Sunday. You +must have been complimented often enough before, but a stranger always has +the right, I think, to say something. I'm a little critical, too, of that +kind of thing, although, of course, an amateur...but--well, it was +delightful."</p> + +<p>Ryle flushed with pleasure to the very tips of his over-large ears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, really, Canon...But indeed I hardly know what to say. You're too +good. I do my poor best, but I can't help feeling that there is danger of +one's becoming stale. I've been here a great many years now and I think +some one fresh...."</p> + +<p>"Well, often," said Ronder, "that <i>is</i> a danger. I know several cases +where a change would be all for the better, but in your case there wasn't +a trace of staleness. I do hope you won't think me presumptuous in saying +this. I couldn't help myself. I must congratulate you, too, on the choir. +How do you find Brockett as an organist?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite all one would wish," said Ryle eagerly--and then, as though he +remembered that some one might repeat this to Brockett, he added +hurriedly, "Not that he doesn't do his best. He's an excellent fellow. +Every one has their faults. It's only that he's a <i>little</i> too fond +of adventures on his own account, likes to add things on the spur of the +moment...a little <i>fantastic</i> sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," said Ronder gravely. "That's rather what I'd thought myself. +I noticed it once or twice last Sunday. But that's a fault on the right +side. The boys behave admirably. I never saw better behaviour."</p> + +<p>Ryle was now in his element. He let himself go, explaining this, defending +that, apologising for one thing, hoping for another. Before he knew where +he was he found himself at the turning above the monument that led to the +High School.</p> + +<p>"Here we part," he said.</p> + +<p>"Why, so we do," cried Ronder.</p> + +<p>"I do hope," said Ryle nervously, "that you'll come and see us soon. Mrs. +Ryle will be delighted...."</p> + +<p>"Why, of course I will," said Ronder. "Any day you like. Good-bye. Good- +bye," and he went to Bentinck-Major's.</p> + +<p>One look at Bentinck-Major's garden told a great deal about Bentinck- +Major. The flower-beds, the trim over-green lawn, the neat paths, the +trees in their fitting places, all spoke not only of a belief in material +things but a desire also to demonstrate that one so believed....</p> + +<p>One expected indeed to see the Bentinck-Major arms over the front-door. +They were there in spirit if not in fact.</p> + +<p>"Is the Canon in?" Ronder asked of a small and gaping page-boy.</p> + +<p>He was in, it appeared. Would he see Canon Ronder? The page-boy +disappeared and Ronder was able to observe three family trees framed in +oak, a large china bowl with visiting-cards, and a huge round-faced clock +that, even as he waited there, pompously announced that half-hour. +Presently the Canon, like a shining Ganymede, came flying into the hall.</p> + +<p>"My dear Ronder! But this is delightful. A little early for tea, perhaps. +Indeed, my wife is, for the moment, out. What do you say to the library?"</p> + +<p>Ronder had nothing to say against the library, and into it they went. A +fine room with books in leather bindings, high windows, an oil painting of +the Canon as a smart young curate, a magnificent writing-table, <i>The +Spectator</i> and <i>The Church Times</i> near the fireplace, and two deep +leather arm-chairs. Into these last two the clergymen sank.</p> + +<p>Bentinck-Major put his fingers together, crossed his admirable legs, and +looked interrogatively at his visitor.</p> + +<p>"I'm lucky to catch you at home," said Ronder. "This isn't quite the time +to call, I'm afraid. But the fact is that I want some advice."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," said his host.</p> + +<p>"I'm not a very modest man," said Ronder, laughing. "In fact, to tell you +the truth, I don't believe very much in modesty. But there <i>are</i> +times when it's just as well to admit one's incompetence. This is one of +them--"</p> + +<p>"Why, really, Canon," said Bentinck-Major, wishing to give the poor man +encouragement.</p> + +<p>"No, but I mean what I say. I don't consider myself a stupid man, but when +one comes fresh into a place like this there are many things that one +<i>can't</i> know, and that one must learn from some one wiser than +oneself if one's to do any good."</p> + +<p>"Oh, really, Canon," Bentinck-Major repeated. "If there's anything I can +do--".</p> + +<p>"There is. It isn't so much about the actual details of the work that I +want your advice. Hart-Smith has left things in excellent condition, and I +only hope that I shall be able to keep everything as straight as he has +done. What I really want from you is some sort of bird's-eye view as to +the whole situation. The Chapter, for instance. Of course, I've been here +for some months now and have a little idea as to the people in the place, +but you've been here so long that there are many things that you can tell +me."</p> + +<p>"Now, for instance," said Bentinck-Major, looking very wise and serious. +"What kind of things?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to tell me any secrets," said Ronder. "I only want your +opinion, as a man of the world, as to how things stand--what really wants +doing, who, Beside yourself, are the leading men here and in what +directions they work. I needn't say that this conversation is +confidential."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course, of course."</p> + +<p>"Now, I don't know if I'm wrong, but it seems from what I've seen during +the short time that I've been here that the general point of view is +inclined to be a little too local. I believe you rather feel that +yourself, although I may be prejudiced, coming straight as I have from +London."</p> + +<p>"It's odd that you should mention that, Canon," said Bentinck-Major. +"You've put your finger on the weak spot at once. You're only saying what +I've been crying aloud for the last ever so many years. A voice in the +wilderness I've been, I'm afraid--a voice in the wilderness, although +perhaps I _have_ managed to do a little something. But there's no doubt +that the men here, excellent though they are, are a _little_ provincial. +What else can you expect? They've been here for years. They have not had, +most of them, the advantage of mingling with the great world. That I +should have had a little more of that opportunity than my fellows here is +nothing to my credit, but it does, beyond question, give one a wider view +--a wider view. There's our dear Bishop for instance--a saint, if ever +there was one. A saint, Ronder, I assure you. But there he is, hidden away +at Carpledon--out of things, I'm afraid, although of course he does his +best. Then there's Sampson. Well, I hardly need to tell you that he's not +quite the man to make things hum. <i>Not</i> by his own fault I assure +you. He does his best, but we are as we're made...yes. We can only use +the gifts that God has given us, and God has not, undoubtedly, given the +Dean <i>quite</i> the gifts that we need here."</p> + +<p>He paused and waited. He was a cautious man and weighed his words.</p> + +<p>"Then there's Brandon," said Ronder smiling. "There, if I may say so, is a +splendid character, a man who gives his whole life and energy for the good +of the place--who spares himself nothing."</p> + +<p>There was a little pause. Bentinck-Major took advantage of it to look +graver than ever.</p> + +<p>"He strikes you like that, does he?" he said at last. "Well, in many ways +I think you're right. Brandon is a good friend of mine--I may say that he +thoroughly appreciates what I've done for this place. But he is-- +<i>quite</i> between ourselves--how shall I put it?--just a <i>little</i> +autocratic. Perhaps that's too strong a word, but he <i>is</i>, some +think, a little too inclined to fancy that he runs the Cathedral! That, +mind you, is only the opinion of some here, and I don't know that I should +entirely associate myself with it, but perhaps there is <i>something</i> +in it. He is, as you can see, a man of strong will and, again between +ourselves, of a considerable temper. This will not, I'm sure, go further +than ourselves?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely not," said Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Things have been a little slack here for several years, and although I've +done my own little best, what is one against so many, if you understand +what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Well, nobody could call Brandon an unenergetic man--quite the reverse. +And, to put it frankly, to oppose him one needs courage. Now I may say +that I've opposed him on a number of occasions but have had no backing. +Brandon, when he's angry, is no light opponent, and the result has been +that he's had, I'm afraid, a great deal of his own way."</p> + +<p>"You're afraid?" said Ronder.</p> + +<p>Bentinck-Major seemed a little nervous at being caught up so quickly. He +looked at Ronder suspiciously. His voice was sharper than it had been.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I like Brandon--don't make any mistake about that. He and I together +have done some excellent things here. In many ways he's admirable. I don't +know what I'd have done sometimes without his backing. All I mean is that +he is perhaps a little hasty sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Ronder. "I can't tell you how you've helped me by what +you've told me. I'm sure you're right in everything you've said. If you +were to give me a tip then, you'd say that I couldn't do better than +follow Brandon. I'll remember that."</p> + +<p>"Well, no," said Bentinck-Major rather hastily. "I don't know that I'd +quite say that either. Brandon is often wrong. I'm not sure either that he +has quite the influence he had. That silly little incident of the elephant +the other day--you heard that, didn't you?--well, a trivial thing, but one +saw by the way that the town took it that the Archdeacon isn't +<i>quite</i> where he was. I agree with him entirely in his policy--to +keep things as they always have been. That's the only way to save our +Church, in my opinion. As soon as they tell me an idea's new, that's +enough for me...I'm down on it at once. But what I <i>do</i> think is +that his diplomacy is often faulty. He rushes at things like a bull-- +exactly like a bull. A little too confident always. No, if you won't think +me conceited--and I believe I'm a modest man--you couldn't do better than +come to me--talk things over with me, you know. I'm sure we'll see alike +about many things."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure we will," said Ronder. "Thank you very much. As you've been so +kind I'm sure you won't mind my asking you a few questions. I hope I'm not +keeping you from anything."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. Not at all," said Bentinck-Major very graciously, and +stretching his plump little body back into the arm-chair. "Ask as many +questions as you like and I'll do my best to answer them."</p> + +<p>Ronder did then, during the next half-hour, ask a great many questions, +and he received a great many answers. The answers may not have told him +overmuch about the things that he wanted to know, but they did tell him a +great deal about Bentinck-Major.</p> + +<p>The clock struck four.</p> + +<p>Ronder got up.</p> + +<p>"You don't know how you've helped me," he said. "You've told me exactly +what I wanted to know. Thank you so very much."</p> + +<p>Bentinck-Major looked gratified. He had, in fact, thoroughly enjoyed +himself.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you'll stay and have some tea, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't do that. I've got a pretty busy afternoon still in +front of me."</p> + +<p>"My wife will be so disappointed."</p> + +<p>"You'll let me come another day, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. Of course."</p> + +<p>The Canon himself accompanied his guest into the hall and opened the front +door for him.</p> + +<p>"Any time--any time--that I can help you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you so very much. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>So far so good, but Ronder was aware that his next visit would be quite +another affair--and so indeed it proved.</p> + +<p>To reach Canon's Yard from Orange Street, Ronder had to go down through +Green Lane past the Orchards, and up by a steep path into Bodger's Street +and the small houses that have clustered for many years behind the +Cathedral. Here once was Saint Margaret's Monastery utterly swept away, +until not a stone remained, by Henry VIII.'s servants. Saint Margaret's +only memory lingers in the Saint Margaret's Hostel for Women at the top of +Bodger's Street, and even that has now a worn and desolate air as though +it also were on the edge of departure. In truth, this part of Polchester +is neglected and forgotten; it has not sunk like Seatown into dirt and +degradation, it has still an air of romance and colour, but the life is +gone from it.</p> + +<p>Canon's Yard is behind the Hostel and is a little square, shut-in, cobbled +place with tall thin houses closing it in and the Cathedral towers +overhanging it. Rooks and bells and the rattle of carts upon the cobbles +make a perpetual clatter here, and its atmosphere is stuffy and begrimed. +When the Cathedral chimes ring they echo from house to house, from wall to +wall, so that it seems as though the bells of a hundred Cathedrals were +ringing here. Nevertheless from the high windows of the Yard there is a +fine view of orchards and hills and distant woods--a view not to be +despised.</p> + +<p>The house in which Canon Foster had his rooms is one of the oldest of all +the houses. The house was kept by one Mrs. Maddis, who had "run" rooms for +the clergy ever since her first marriage, when she was a pretty blushing +girl of twenty. She was now a hideous old woman of eighty, and the house +was managed by her married daughter, Mrs. Crumpleton. There were three +floors and there should have been three clergymen, but for some time the +bottom floor had been empty and the middle apartments were let to +transient tenants. They were at this moment inhabited by a retired sea- +captain.</p> + +<p>Foster reigned on the top floor and was quite oblivious of neighbours, +landladies, tidiness, and the view--he cared, by nature, for none of these +things. Ronder climbed up the dirty dark staircase and knocked on the old +oak door that had upon it a dirty visiting card with Foster's name. When +he ceased his climb and the noise of his footsteps fell away there was a +great silence. Not a sound could be heard. The bells were not chiming, the +rooks were not cawing (it was not as yet their time) nor was the voice of +Mrs. Crumpleton to be heard, shrill and defiant, as was too often the +case. The house was dead; the town was dead; had the world itself suddenly +died, like a candle whose light is put out, Foster would not have cared.</p> + +<p>Ronder knocked three times with the knob of his walking-stick. The man +must be out. He was about to turn away and go when the door suddenly +opened, as though by a secret life of its own, and the pale face and +untidy person of the Canon, like the apparition of a surprised and +indignant <i>revenant</i>, was apparent.</p> + +<p>"May I come in for a moment?" said Ronder. "I won't keep you long."</p> + +<p>Foster stared at his visitor, said nothing, opened the door a little +wider, and stood aside. Ronder accepted this as an invitation and came in.</p> + +<p>"You'd better come into the other room," said Foster, looking about him as +though he had been just ruthlessly awakened from an important dream. They +passed through a little passage and an untidy sitting-room into the study. +This was a place piled high with books and its only furniture was a deal +table and two straw-bottomed chairs. At the table Foster had obviously +been working. Books lay about it and papers, and there was also a pile of +manuscript. Foster looked around him, caught his large ears in his fingers +and cracked them, and then suddenly said:</p> + +<p>"You'd better sit down. What can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>Ronder sat down. It was at once apparent that, whatever the state of the +rooms might be, his reluctant host was suddenly very wide awake indeed. He +felt, what he had known from the very first meeting, that he was in +contact here with a man of brain, of independence, of character. His +capacity for amused admiration that was one of the strongest things in +him, was roused to the full. Another thing that he had also by now +perceived was that Foster was not that type, by now so familiar to us in +the pages of French and English fiction, of the lost and bewildered old +clergyman whose long nose has been for so many years buried in dusty books +that he is unable to smell the real world. Foster was neither lost nor +bewildered. He was very much all there.</p> + +<p>What could he do for Ronder? Ronder was, for a moment, uncertain. Here, he +was happy to think, he must go with the greatest care. He did not smile as +he had smiled upon Bentinck-Major. He spoke to Foster as to an equal.</p> + +<p>"I can see you're busy," he said. "All the same I'm not going to apologise +for coming. I'll tell you frankly that I want your help. At the same time +I'll tell you that I don't care whether you give it me or no."</p> + +<p>"In what way can I help you?" asked Foster coldly.</p> + +<p>"There's to be a Chapter Meeting in a few days' time, isn't there? +Honestly I haven't been here quite long enough yet to know how things +stand. Questions may come up, although there's nothing very important this +time, I believe. But there may be important things brewing. Now you've +been here a great many years and you have your opinion of how things +should go. I want your idea of some of the conditions."</p> + +<p>"You've come to spy out the land, in fact?"</p> + +<p>"Put it that way if you like," said Ronder seriously, "although I don't +think spying is exactly the word. You're perfectly at liberty, I mean, to +tell anybody that I've been to see you and to repeat to anybody what I +say. It simply is that I don't care to take on all the work that's being +shoved on to my shoulders without getting the views of those who know the +place well."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if it's my views you want," cried Foster, suddenly raising his voice +and almost shouting, "they're easy enough to discover. They are simply +that everything here is abominable, going to wrack and ruin...Now you +know what <i>I</i> think."</p> + +<p>He looked down at his manuscript as much as to say, "Well, good +afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Going to ruin in what way?" asked Ronder.</p> + +<p>"In the way that the country is going to ruin--because it has turned its +back upon God."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Suddenly Foster flung out, "Do you believe in God, +Canon Ronder?"</p> + +<p>"I think," said Ronder, "the fact that I'm in the position I'm in----"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," interrupted Foster. "That's anybody's answer. You don't look +like a spiritual man."</p> + +<p>"I'm fat, if that's what you mean," said Ronder smiling. "That's my +misfortune."</p> + +<p>"If I've been rude," said Foster more mildly, "forgive me. I <i>am</i> +rude these days. I've given up trying not to be. The truth is that I'm +sick to the heart with all their worldliness, shams, lies, selfishness, +idleness. You may be better than they. You may not. I don't know. If +you've come here determined to wake them all up and improve things, then I +wish you God-speed. But you won't do it. You needn't think you will. If +you've come like the rest to get what you can out of it, then I don't +think you'll find my company good for you."</p> + +<p>"I certainly haven't come to wake them up," said Ronder. "I don't believe +that to be my duty. I'm not made that way. Nor can I honestly believe +things to be as bad as you say. But I do intend, with God's help, to do my +best. If that's not good enough for you, then you must abandon me to my +fate."</p> + +<p>Foster seemed to appreciate that. He nodded his head.</p> + +<p>"That's honest at any rate," he said. "It's the first honest thing I've +heard here for a long time except from the Bishop. To tell you the truth, +I had thought you were going to work in with Brandon. One more of his +sheep. If that were to be so the less we saw of one another the better."</p> + +<p>"I have not been here long enough," said Ronder, "to think of working in +with anybody. And I don't wish to take sides. There's my duty to the +Cathedral. I shall work for that and let the rest go."</p> + +<p>"There's your duty to God," said Foster vehemently. "That's the thing that +everybody here's forgotten. But you don't sound as though you'd go +Brandon's way. That's something in your favour."</p> + +<p>"Why should one go Brandon's way?" Ronder asked.</p> + +<p>"Why? Why? Why? Why do sheep huddle together when the dog barks at their +heels?...But I respect him. Don't you mistake me. He's a man to be +respected. He's got courage. He cares for the Cathedral. He's a hundred +years behind, that's all. He's read nothing, he knows nothing, he's a +child--and does infinite harm...." He looked up at Ronder and said quite +mildly, "Is there anything more you want to know?"</p> + +<p>"There's talk," said Ronder, "about the living at Pybus St. Anthony. It's +apparently an important place, and when there's an appointment I should +like to be able to form an opinion about the best man----"</p> + +<p>"What! is Morrison dead?" said Foster eagerly.</p> + +<p>"No, but very ill, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Well, there's only one possible appointment for that place, and that is +Wistons."</p> + +<p>"Wistons?" repeated Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Foster impatiently, "the author of <i>The New +Apocalypse</i>--the rector of St. Edward's, Hawston."</p> + +<p>Ronder remembered. "A stranger?" he said. "I thought that it would have to +be some one in the diocese."</p> + +<p>Foster did not hear him. "I've been waiting for this--to get Wistons here +--for years," he said. "A wonderful man--a great man. He'll wake the place +up. We <i>must</i> have him. As to local men, the more strangers we let in +here the better."</p> + +<p>"Brandon said something about a man called Forsyth--Rex Forsyth?"</p> + +<p>Foster smiled grimly. "Yes--he would," he said, "that's just his kind of +appointment. Well, if he tries to pull that through there'll be such a +battle as this place has never seen."</p> + +<p>Ronder said slowly. "I like your idea of Wistons. That sounds +interesting."</p> + +<p>Foster looked at him with a new intensity.</p> + +<p>"Would you help me about that?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know quite where I am yet," said Ronder, "but I think you'll find +me a friend rather than an enemy, Foster."</p> + +<p>"I don't care what you are," said Foster. "So far as my feelings or +happiness go, nothing matters. But to have Wistons here--in this place.... +Oh, what we could do! What we could do!"</p> + +<p>He seemed to be lost in a dream. Five minutes later he roused himself to +say good-bye. Ronder once more at the top of the stairs felt about him +again the strange stillness of the house.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_08"></a>Chapter VIII</h1> + +<h2>Son--Father</h2> + + + +<p>Falk Brandon was still, in reality, a boy. He, of course, did not know +this and would have been very indignant had any one told him so; it was +nevertheless the truth.</p> + +<p>There is a kind of confidence of youth that has great charm, a sort of +assumption of grown-up manners and worldly ways that is accompanied with +an ingenuous belief in human nature, a naïve trust in human goodness. One +sees it sometimes in books, in stories that are like a charade acted by +children dressed in their elders' clothes, and although these tales are +nothing but fairy stories in their actual relation to life, the sincerity +of their belief in life, and a kind of freshness that come from ignorance, +give them a power of their own.</p> + +<p>Falk had some of this charm and power just as his father had, but whereas +his father would keep it all his days, Falk would certainly lose it as he +learnt more and went more into the world. But as yet he had not lost it.</p> + +<p>This emotion that had now gained such control over him was the first real +emotion of his life, and he did not know in the least how to deal with it. +He was like a man caught in a baffling fog. He did not know in the least +whether he were in love with this girl, he did not know what he wanted to +do with her, he sometimes fancied that he hated her, he could not see her +clearly either mentally or physically; he only knew that he could not keep +away from her, and that with every meeting he approached more nearly the +moment when he would commit some desperate action that he would probably +regret for the rest of his life.</p> + +<p>But although he could not see her clearly he could see sharply enough the +other side of the situation--the practical, home, filial side. It was +strange how, as the affair advanced, he was more and more conscious of his +father. It was as though he were an outsider, a friend of his father's, +but no relation to the family, who watched a calamity approach ever more +closely and was powerless to stop it. Although he was only a boy he +realised very sufficiently his father's love for him and pride in him. He +realized, too, his father's dependence upon his dignity and position in +the town, and, last and most important of all, his father's passionate +devotion to the Cathedral. All these things would be bruised were he, +Falk, involved in any local scandal. Here he saw into himself and, with a +bitterness and humility that were quite new to him, despised himself. He +knew, as though he saw future events passing in procession before him, +that if such a scandal did break out he would not be able to stay in the +place and face it--not because he himself feared any human being alive, +but because he could not see his father suffer under it.</p> + +<p>Well, then, since he saw so clearly, why not abandon it all? Why not run +away, obtain some kind of work in London and leave Polchester until the +madness had passed away from him?</p> + +<p>He could not go.</p> + +<p>He would have been one of the first to scorn another man in such a +position, to mock his weakness and despise him. Well, let that be so. He +despised himself but--he could not go.</p> + +<p>He was always telling himself that soon the situation would clear and that +he would then know how to act. Until that happened he must see her, must +talk to her, must be with her, must watch her. They had had, by now, a +number of meetings, always in the evening by the river, when her father +was away, up in the town.</p> + +<p>He had kissed her twice. She had been quite passive on each occasion, +watching him ironically with a sort of dry amusement. She had given him no +sign that she cared for him, and their conversation had always been bare +and unsatisfactory. Once she had said to him with sudden passion:</p> + +<p>"I want to get away out of this." He had asked her where she wanted to go.</p> + +<p>"Anywhere--London." He had asked her whether she would go with him.</p> + +<p>"I would go with any one," she had said. Afterwards she added: "But you +won't take me."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he had asked.</p> + +<p>"Because I'm not in love with you."</p> + +<p>"You may be--yet."</p> + +<p>"I'd be anything to get away," she had replied.</p> + +<p>On a lovely evening he went down to see her, determined that this time he +would give himself some definite answer. Just before he turned down to the +river he passed Samuel Hogg. That large and smiling gentleman, a fat cigar +between his lips, was sauntering, with a friend, on his way to Murdock's +billiard tables.</p> + +<p>"Evenin', Mr. Brandon."</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Hogg."</p> + +<p>"Lovely weather."</p> + +<p>"Lovely."</p> + +<p>The shadows, faintly pink on the rise of the hill, engulfed his fat body. +Falk wondered as he had before now done many times, How much does he know? +What's he thinking? What's he want?...The river, at high tide, very +gently lapped the side of the old wall. Its colour to-night was pure +crystal green, the banks and the hills smoky grey behind it. Tiny pink +clouds ran in little fleets across the sky, chasing one another in and out +between the streamers of smoke that rose from the tranquil chimneys. +Seatown was at rest this evening, scarcely a sound came from the old +houses; the birds could be heard calling from the meadows beyond the +river. The pink clouds faded into a rosy shadow, then that in its turn +gave way to a sky faintly green and pointed with stars. Grey mist +enveloped the meadows and the river, and the birds cried no longer. There +was a smell of onions and rank seaweed in the air.</p> + +<p>Falk's love-story pursued at first its usual realistic course. She was +there near the waterfall waiting for him; they had very little to say to +one another. She was depressed to-night, and he fancied that she had been +crying. She was not so attractive to him in such a mood. He liked her best +when she was intolerant, scornful, aloof. To-night, although she showed no +signs of caring for him, she surrendered herself absolutely. He could do +what he liked with her. But he did not want to do anything with her.</p> + +<p>She leaned over the Seatown wall looking desolately in front of her.</p> + +<p>At last she turned round to him and asked him what she had asked him +before:</p> + +<p>"What do you come after me for?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he said.</p> + +<p>"It isn't because you love me."</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> know--there's no mistakin' it when it's there. I've lain awake a +lot o' nights wondering what you're after. You must have your reasons. You +take a deal o' trouble."</p> + +<p>Then she put her hand on his. It was the first time that she had ever, of +her own accord, touched him.</p> + +<p>"I'm gettin' to like you," she said. "Seein' so much of you, I suppose. +You're only a boy when all's said. And then, somehow or another, men don't +go after me. You're the only one that ever has. They say I'm stuck up... +Oh, man, but I'm unhappy here at home!"</p> + +<p>"Well, then--you'd better come away with me--to London."</p> + +<p>Even as he said it he would have caught the words back. What use for them +to go? Nothing to live on, no true companionship ...there could be only +one end to that.</p> + +<p>But she shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No--if you cared for me enough, mebbe I'd go. But I don't know that we'd +be together long if we did. I want my own life, my own, own, own life! I +can look after myself all right...I'll be off by myself alone one day."</p> + +<p>Then suddenly he wanted her as urgently as he had ever done.</p> + +<p>"No, you must never do that," he said. "If you go it must be with me. You +must have some one to look after you. You don't know what London's like."</p> + +<p>He caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately, and she seemed to +him a new woman altogether, created by her threat that she would go away +alone.</p> + +<p>She passively let him kiss her, then with a little turn in his arms and a +little sigh she very gently kissed him of her own will.</p> + +<p>"I believe I could care for 'ee," she said softly. "And I want to care for +some one terrible bad."</p> + +<p>They were nearer in spirit than they had ever been before; an emotion of +simple human companionship had crept into the unsettled disturbance and +quieted it and deepened it. She wore in his eyes a new aspect, something +wise and reasonable and comfortable. She would never be quite so +mysterious to him again, but her hold on him now was firmer. He was +suddenly sorry for her as well as for himself.</p> + +<p>For the first time he left her that night with a sense that comradeship +might grow between them.</p> + +<p>But as he went back up the hill he was terribly depressed and humiliated. +He hated and despised himself for longing after something that he did not +really want. He had always, he fancied, done that, as though there would +never be time enough in life for all the things that he would wish to test +and to reject.</p> + +<p>When he went to bed that night he was in rebellion with all the world, but +before he fell asleep Annie Hogg seemed to come to him, a gentler, kinder +spirit, and to say to him, "It'll be all right.... I'll look after 'ee.... +I'll look after 'ee," and he seemed to sink to sleep in her arms.</p> + +<p>Next morning Falk and Joan had breakfast alone with their father, a +headache having laid Mrs. Brandon low. Falk was often late for breakfast, +but to-day had woken very early, had got up and gone out and walked +through the grey mist, turning his own particular trouble over and over in +his mind. To-day Annie had faded back from him again; that tenderness that +he had felt for her last night seemed to have vanished, and he was aware +only of a savage longing to shake himself free of his burden. He had +visions this morning of going up to London and looking for work....</p> + +<p>Joan saw that to-day was a "Chapter morning" day. She always knew by her +father's appearance when there was to be a Chapter Meeting. He had then an +extra gloss, an added splendour, and also an added importance. He really +was the smartest old thing, she thought, looking at him this morning with +affectionate pride. He looked as though he spent his time in springing in +and out of cold baths.</p> + +<p>The importance was there too. He had the <i>Glebshire Morning News</i> +propped up in front of him, and every now and then he would poke his fine +head up over it and look at his children and the breakfast-table and give +them a little of the world's news. In former days it had been only at the +risk of their little lives that they had spoken to one another. Now, +although restrictions had broken down, they would always hear, if their +voices were loud:</p> + +<p>"Come, children...come, come. Mayn't your father read the newspaper in +quiet? Plenty of time to chatter during the rest of the day."</p> + +<p>He would break forth into little sentences and exclamations as he read. +"Well, that's settled Burnett's hash.--Serve him right, too.... Dear, +dear, five shillings a hundred now. Phillpott's going to St. Lummen! What +an appointment!..." and so on.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he would grow so deeply agitated that he would push the paper +away from him and wave vaguely about the table with his hands as though he +were learning to swim, letting out at the same time little snorts of +indignation and wonder:</p> + +<p>"The fools! The idiots! Savage, of all men! Fancy listening to him! Well, +they'll only get what they deserve for their weakness. I wrote to Benson, +too--might as well have written to a rhinoceros. Toast, please, Joan!-- +Toast, toast. Didn't you hear me? Savage! What can they be thinking of? +Yes, and butter.... Of course I said butter."</p> + +<p>But on "Chapter Days" it was difficult for the newspaper to disturb him. +His mind was filled with thoughts for the plan and policy of the morning. +It was unfortunately impossible for him ever to grasp two things at the +same time, and this made his reasoning and the development of any plan +that he had rather slow. When the Chapter was to be an important one he +would not look at the newspaper at all and would eat scarcely any +breakfast. To-day, because the Chapter was a little one, he allowed +himself to consider the outside world. That really was the beginning of +his misfortune, because the paper this morning contained a very vivid +picture of the loss of the <i>Drummond Castle</i>. That was an old story +by this time, but here was some especial account that provided new details +and circumstances, giving a fresh vivid horror to the scene even at this +distance of time.</p> + +<p>Brandon tried not to read the thing. He made it a rule that he would not +distress himself with the thought of evils that he could not cure. That is +what he told himself, but indeed his whole life was spent in warding off +and shutting out and refusing to listen.</p> + +<p>He had told himself many years ago that it was a perfect world and that +God had made it and that God was good. To maintain this belief it was +necessary that one should not be "Presumptuous." It was "Presumptuous" to +imagine for a moment about any single thing that it was a "mistake." If +anything <i>were</i> evil or painful it was there to "try and test" us.... +A kind of spring-board over the waters of salvation.</p> + +<p>Once, some years ago, a wicked atheist had written an article in a +magazine manifesting how evil nature was, how the animals preyed upon one +another, how everything from the tiniest insect to the largest elephant +suffered and suffered and suffered. How even the vegetation lived a short +life of agony and frustration, and then fell into foul decay.... Brandon +had read the article against his will, and had then hated the writer of it +with so deep a hatred that he would have had him horse-whipped, had he had +the power. The article upset him for days, and it was only by asserting to +himself again and again that it was untrue, by watching kittens at play +and birds singing on the branches and roses bursting from bud to bloom, +that he could reassure himself.</p> + +<p>Now to-day here was the old distress back again. There was no doubt but +that those men and women on the <i>Drummond Castle</i> had suffered in +order to win quite securely for themselves a crown of glory. He ought to +envy them, to regret that he had not been given the same chance, and yet-- +and yet----</p> + +<p>He pushed the paper impatiently away from him. It was good that there was +nothing important to be discussed at Chapter this morning, because really +he was not in the mood to fight battles. He sighed. Why was it always he +that had to fight battles? He had indeed the burden of the whole town upon +his shoulders. And at that secretly he felt a great joy. He was glad--yes, +he was glad that he had....</p> + +<p>As he looked over at Joan and Folk he felt tenderly towards them. His +reading then about the <i>Drummond Castle</i> made him anxious that they +should have a good time and be happy. It might be better for them that +they should suffer; nevertheless, if they <i>could</i> be sure of heaven +and at the same time not suffer too badly he would be glad.</p> + +<p>Suddenly then, across the breakfast-table, a picture drove itself in front +of him--a picture of Joan with her baby-face, struggling in the water.... +She screamed; she tried to catch on to the side of a boat with her hand. +Some one struck her....</p> + +<p>With a shudder of disgust he drove it from him.</p> + +<p>"Pah!" he cried aloud, getting up from the table.</p> + +<p>"What is it, father?" Joan asked.</p> + +<p>"People oughtn't to be allowed to write such things," he said, and went to +his study.</p> + +<p>When an hour later he sallied forth to the Chapter Meeting he had +recovered his equanimity. His mind now was nailed to the business on hand. +Most innocently as he crossed the Cathedral Green he strutted, his head +up, his brow stern, his hands crossed behind his back. The choristers +coming in from the choir-school practice in the Cathedral passed him in a +ragged line. They all touched their mortar-boards and he smiled benignly +upon them, reserving a rather stern glance for Brockett, the organist, of +whose musical eccentricities he did not at all approve.</p> + +<p>Little remained now of the original Chapter House which had once been a +continuation of Saint Margaret's Chapel. Some extremely fine Early Norman +arches which were once part of the Chapter House are still there and may +be seen at the southern end of the Cloisters. Here, too, are traces of the +dormitory and infirmary which formerly stood there. The present Chapter +House consists of two rooms adjoining the Cloisters, once a hall used by +the monks as a large refectory. There is still a timber roof of late +thirteenth century work, and this is supposed to have been once part of +the old pilgrims' or strangers' hall. The larger of the two rooms is +reserved for the Chapter Meetings, the smaller being used for minor +meetings and informal discussions.</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon was a little late as, I am afraid, he liked to be when he +was sure that others would be punctual. Nothing, however, annoyed him more +than to find others late when he himself was in time. There they all were +and how exactly he knew how they would all be!</p> + +<p>There was the long oak table, blotting paper and writing materials neatly +placed before each seat, there the fine walls in which he always took so +great a pride, with the portraits of the Polchester Bishops in grand +succession upon them. At the head of the table was the Dean, nervously +with anxious smiles looking about him. On the right was Brandon's seat; on +the left Witheram, seriously approaching the business of the day as though +his very life depended upon it; then Bentinck-Major, his hands looking as +though they had been manicured; next to him Ryle, laughing obsequiously at +some fashionable joke that Bentinck-Major had delivered to him; opposite +to him Foster, looking as though he had not had a meal for a week and +badly shaved with a cut on his chin; and next to <i>him</i> Ronder.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of the table was little Bond, the Chapter Clerk, sucking his +pencil.</p> + +<p>Brandon took his place with dignified apologies for his late arrival.</p> + +<p>"Let us ask God for His blessing on our work to-day," said the Dean.</p> + +<p>A prayer followed, then general rustling and shuffling, blowing of noses, +coughing and even, from the surprised and consternated Ryle, a sneeze-- +then the business of the day began. The minutes of the last meeting were +read, and there was a little amiable discussion. At once Brandon was +conscious of Ronder. Why? He could not tell and was the more +uncomfortable. The man said nothing. He had not been present at the last +meeting and could therefore have nothing to say to this part of the +business. He sat there, his spectacles catching the light from the +opposite windows so that he seemed to have no eyes. His chubby body, the +position in which he was sitting, hunched up, leaning forward on his arms, +spoke of perfect and almost sleepy content. His round face and fat cheeks +gave him the air of a man to whom business was a tiresome and unnecessary +interference with the pleasures of life.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Brandon was so deeply aware of Ronder that again and again, +against his will, his eyes wandered in his direction. Once or twice +Brandon said something, not because he had anything really to say, but +because he wanted to impress himself upon Ronder. All agreed with him in +the complacent and contented way that they had always agreed....</p> + +<p>Then his consciousness of Ronder extended and gave him a new consciousness +of the other men. He had known for so long exactly how they looked and the +words that they would say, that they were, to him, rather like the stone +images of the Twelve Apostles in the niches round the West Door. Today +they jumped in a moment into new life. Yesterday he could have calculated +to a nicety the attitude that they would have; now they seemed to have +been blown askew with a new wind. Because he noticed these things it does +not mean that he was generally perceptive. He had always been very sharp +to perceive anything that concerned his own position.</p> + +<p>Business proceeded and every one displayed his own especial +characteristics. Nothing arose that concerned Ronder. Every one's personal +opinion about every one else was clearly apparent. It was a fine thing, +for instance, to observe Foster's scorn and contempt whilst Bentinck-Major +explained his little idea about certain little improvements that he, as +Chancellor, might naturally suggest, or Ryle's attitude of goodwill to all +and sundry as he apologised for certain of Brockett's voluntaries and +assured Brandon on one side that "something should be done about it," and +agreed with Bentinck-Major on the other that it was indeed agreeable to +hear sometimes music a little more advanced and original than one usually +found in Cathedrals.</p> + +<p>Brandon sniffed something of incipient rebellion in Bentinck-Major's +attitude and looked across the table severely. Bentinck-Major blinked and +nervously examined his nails.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said the Archdeacon in his most solemn manner, "there may be +people who wish to turn the Cathedral into a music-hall. I don't say there +<i>are</i>, but there <i>may</i> be. In these strange times nothing would +astonish me. In my own humble opinion what was good enough for our fathers +is good enough for us. However, don't let my opinion influence any one."</p> + +<p>"I assure you, Archdeacon," said Bentinck-Major. Witheram earnestly +assured every one that he was certain there need be no alarm. They could +trust the Precentor to see.... There was a general murmur. Yes, they +<i>could</i> trust the Precentor.</p> + +<p>This little matter being settled, the meeting was very near an agreeable +conclusion and the Dean was beginning to congratulate himself on the early +return to his botany--when, unfortunately, there cropped up the question +of the garden-roller.</p> + +<p>This matter of the garden-roller was a simple one enough. The Cathedral +School had some months ago requested the Chapter to allow it to purchase +for itself a new garden-roller. Such an article was seriously needed for +the new cricket-field. It was true that the School already possessed two +garden-rollers, but one of these was very small--"quite a baby one," +Dennison, the headmaster, explained pathetically--and the other could not +possibly cover all the work that it had to do. The School grounds were +large ones.</p> + +<p>The matter, which was one that mainly concerned the Treasury side of the +Chapter, had been discussed at the last meeting, and there had been a good +deal of argument about it.</p> + +<p>Brandon had then vetoed it, not because he cared in the least whether or +no the School had a garden-roller, but because, Hart-Smith having left and +Ronder being not yet with them, he was in charge, for the moment, of the +Cathedral funds. He liked to feel his power, and so he refused as many +things as possible. Had it not been only a temporary glory--had he been +permanent Treasurer--he would in all probability have acted in exactly the +opposite way and allowed everybody to have everything.</p> + +<p>"There's the question of the garden-roller," said Witheram, just as the +Dean was about to propose that they should close with a prayer.</p> + +<p>"I've got it here on the minutes," said the Chapter Clerk severely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, yes," said the Dean, looking about him rather piteously. "Now +what shall we do about it?"</p> + +<p>"Let 'em have it," said Foster, glaring across at Brandon and shutting his +mouth like a trap.</p> + +<p>This was a direct challenge. Brandon felt his breast charged with the +noble anger that always filled it when Foster said anything.</p> + +<p>"I must confess," he said, covering, as he always did when he intended +something to be final, the Dean with his eye, "that I thought that this +was quite definitely settled at last Chapter; I understood--I may of +course have been mistaken--that we considered that we could not afford the +thing and that the School must wait."</p> + +<p>"Well, Archdeacon," said the Dean nervously (he knew of old the danger- +signals in Brandon's flashing eyes), "I must confess that I hadn't thought +it <i>quite</i> so definite as that. Certainly we discussed the expense of +the affair."</p> + +<p>"I think the Archdeacon's right," said Bentinck-Major, who wanted to win +his way back to favour after the little mistake about the music. "It was +settled, I think."</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the kind," said Foster fiercely. "We settled nothing."</p> + +<p>"How does it read on the minutes?" asked the Dean nervously.</p> + +<p>"Postponed until the next meeting," said the Clerk.</p> + +<p>"At any rate," said Brandon, feeling that this absurd discussion had gone +on quite long enough, "the matter is simple enough. It can be settled +immediately. Any one who has gone into the matter at all closely will have +discovered first that the School doesn't <i>need</i> a roller--they've +enough already--secondly, that the Treasury cannot possibly at the present +moment afford to buy a new one."</p> + +<p>"I really must protest, Archdeacon," said Foster, "this is going too far. +In the first place, have you yourself gone into the case?"</p> + +<p>Brandon paused before he answered. He felt that all eyes were upon him. He +also felt that Foster had been stirred to a new strength of hostility by +some one--he fancied he knew by whom. Moreover, <i>had</i> he gone into +it? He was aware with a stirring of impatience that he had not. He had +intended to do so, but time had been short, the matter had not seemed of +sufficient importance....</p> + +<p>"I certainly have gone into it," he said, "quite as far as the case +deserves. The facts are clear."</p> + +<p>"The facts are <i>not</i> clear," said Foster angrily. "I say that the +School should have this roller and that we are behaving with abominable +meanness in preventing it"; and he banged his fist upon the table.</p> + +<p>"If that charge of meanness is intended personally,..." said Brandon +angrily.</p> + +<p>"I assure you, Archdeacon,..." said Ryle. The Dean raised a hand in +protest.</p> + +<p>"I don't think," he said, "that anything here is ever intended personally. +We must never forget that we are in God's House. Of course, this is an +affair that really should be in the hands of the Treasury. But I'm afraid +that Canon Ronder can hardly be expected in the short time that he's been +with us to have investigated this little matter."</p> + +<p>Every one looked at Ronder. There was a pleasant sense of drama in the +affair. Brandon was gazing at the portraits above the table and pretending +to be outside the whole business; in reality, his heart beat angrily. His +word should have been enough, in earlier days <i>would</i> have been. +Everything now was topsy-turvy.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact," said Ronder, "I <i>have</i> gone into the matter. I +saw that it was one of the most urgent questions on the Agenda. +Unimportant though it may sound, I believe that the School cricket will be +entirely held up this summer if they don't secure their roller. They +intend, I believe, to get a roller by private subscription if we refuse it +to them, and that, gentlemen, would be, I cannot help feeling, rather +ignominious for us. I have been into the question of prices and have +examined some catalogues. I find that the expense of a good garden-roller +is really <i>not</i> a very great one. One that I think the Treasury could +sustain without serious inconvenience...."</p> + +<p>"You think then, Canon, that we should allow the roller?" said the Dean.</p> + +<p>"I certainly do," said Ronder.</p> + +<p>Brandon felt the impression that had been created. He knew that they were +all thinking amongst themselves: "Well, <i>here's</i> an efficient man!"</p> + +<p>He burst out:</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that I cannot agree with Canon Ronder. If he will allow me to +say so, he has not been, as yet, long enough in the place to know how +things really stand. I have nothing to say against Dennison, but he has +obviously put his case very plausibly, but those who have known the School +and its methods for many years have perhaps a prior right of judgment over +Canon Ronder, who's known it for so short a time."</p> + +<p>"Absurd. Absurd," cried Foster. "It isn't a case of knowing the School. +It's simply a question of whether the Chapter can afford it. Canon Ronder, +who is Treasurer, says that it can. That ought to be enough for anybody."</p> + +<p>The atmosphere was now very warm indeed. There was every likelihood of +several gentlemen speaking at once. Witheram looked anxious, Bentinck- +Major malicious, Ryle nervous, Foster triumphant, and Brandon furious. +Only Ronder seemed unconcerned.</p> + +<p>The Dean, distress in his heart, raised his hand.</p> + +<p>"As there seems to be some difference of opinion in this matter," he said, +"I think we had better vote upon it. Those in favour of the roller being +granted to the School please signify."</p> + +<p>Ronder, Foster and Witheram raised their hands.</p> + +<p>"And those against?" said the Dean.</p> + +<p>Brandon, Ryle and Bentinck-Major were against.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid," said the Dean, smiling anxiously, "that it will be for me to +give the casting vote." He paused for a moment. Then, looking straight +across the table at the Clerk, he said:</p> + +<p>"I think I must decide <i>for</i> the roller. Canon Ronder seems to me to +have proved his case."</p> + +<p>Every one, except possibly Ronder, was aware that this was the first +occasion for many years that any motion of Brandon's had been defeated....</p> + +<p>Without waiting for any further business the Archdeacon gathered together +his papers and, looking neither to right nor left, strode from the room.</p> + + + + + +<h1><a name="bo_02"></a>Book II</h1> + +<h2>The Whispering Gallery</h2> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_09"></a>Chapter I</h1> + +<h2>Five O'Clock--The Green Cloud</h2> + + + +<p>The cloud seemed to creep like smoke from the funnel of the Cathedral +tower. The sun was setting in a fiery wreath of bubbling haze, shading in +rosy mist the mountains of grey stone. The little cloud, at first in the +shadowy air light green and shaped like a ring, twisted spirally, then, +spreading, washed out and lay like a pool of water against the smoking +sunset.</p> + +<p>Green like the Black Bishop's ring.... Lying there, afterwards, until the +orange had faded and the sky, deserted by the sun, was milk-white. The +mists descended. The Cathedral chimes struck five. February night, cold, +smoke-misted, enwrapped the town.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>At a quarter to five Evensong was over and Cobbett was putting out the +candles in the choir. Two figures slowly passed down the darkening nave.</p> + +<p>Outside the west door they paused, gazing at the splendour of the fiery +sky.</p> + +<p>"It's cold, but there'll be stars," Ronder said.</p> + +<p>Stars. Cold. Brandon shivered. Something was wrong with him. His heart had +clap-clapped during the Anthem as though a cart with heavy wheels had +rumbled there. He looked suspiciously at Ronder. He did not like the man, +confidently standing there addressing the sky as though he owned it. He +would have liked the sunset for himself.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-night, Canon," brusquely. He moved away.</p> + +<p>But Ronder followed him.</p> + +<p>"One moment, Archdeacon.... Excuse me.... I have been wanting an +opportunity...."</p> + +<p>Brandon paused. The man was nervous. Brandon liked that.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" he said.</p> + +<p>The rosy light was fading. Strange that little green cloud rising like +smoke from the tower....</p> + +<p>"At the last Chapter we were on opposite sides. I want to say how greatly +I've regretted that. I feel that we don't know one another as we should. I +wonder if you would allow me..."</p> + +<p>The light was fading--Ronder's spectacles shone, his body in shadow.</p> + +<p>"...to see something more of you--to have a real talk with you?"</p> + +<p>Brandon smiled grimly to himself in the dusk. This fool! He was afraid +then. He saw himself hatless in Bennett's shop; outside, the jeering +crowd.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid, Canon Ronder, that we shall never see eye to eye here about +many things. If you will allow me to say so, you have perhaps not been +here quite long enough to understand the real needs of this diocese. You +must go slowly here--more slowly than perhaps you are prepared for. We are +not Modernists here."</p> + +<p>The spectacles, alone visible, answered: "Well, let us discuss it then. +Let us talk things over. Let me ask you at once, Have you something +against me, something that I have done unwittingly? I have fancied lately +a personal note.... I am absurdly sensitive, but if there <i>is</i> +anything that I have done, please let me apologise for it. I want you to +tell me."</p> + +<p>Anything that he had done? The Archdeacon smiled grimly to himself in the +dusk.</p> + +<p>"I really don't think, Canon, that talking things over will help us. There +is really nothing to discuss.... Good-night."</p> + +<p>The green cloud was gone. Ronder, invisible now, remained in the shadow of +the great door.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Beside the river, above the mill, a woman's body was black against the +gold-crested water. She leaned over the little bridge, her body strong, +confident in its physical strength, her hands clasped, her eyes +meditative.</p> + +<p>No need for secrecy to-night. Her father was in Drymouth for two days. +Quarter to five. The chimes struck out clear across the town. Hearing them +she looked back and saw the sky a flood of red behind the Cathedral. She +longed for Falk to-night, a new longing. He was better than she had +supposed, far, far better. A good boy, tender and warm-hearted. To be +trusted. Her friend. At first he had stood to her only for a means of +freedom. Freedom from this horrible place, from this horrible man, her +father, more horrible than any others knew. Her mother had known. She +shivered, seeing that body, heavy-breasted, dull white, as, stripped to +the waist, he bent over the bed to strike. Her mother's cry, a little +moan.... She shivered again, staring into the sunset for Falk....</p> + +<p>He was with her. They leant over the bridge together, his arm around her. +They said very little.</p> + +<p>She looked back.</p> + +<p>"See that strange cloud? Green. Ever seen a green cloud before? Ah, it's +peaceful here."</p> + +<p>She turned and looked into his face. As the dusk came down she stroked his +hair. He put his arm round her and held her close to him.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p> The lamps in the High Street suddenly flaring beat out the sky. There +above the street itself the fiery sunset had not extended; the fair watery +space was pale egg-blue; as the chimes so near at hand struck a quarter to +five the pale colour began slowly to drain away, leaving ashen china +shades behind it, and up to these shades the orange street-lights +extended, patronising, flaunting.</p> + +<p>But Joan, pausing for a moment under the Arden Gate before she turned +home, saw the full glory of the sunset. She heard, contending with the +chimes, the last roll of the organ playing the worshippers out of that +mountain of sacrificial stone.</p> + +<p>She looked up and saw a green cloud, faintly green like early spring +leafage, curl from the tower smoke-wise; and there, lifting his hat, +pausing at her side, was Johnny St. Leath.</p> + +<p>She would have hurried on; she was not happy. Things were <i>not</i> right +at home. Something wrong with father, with mother, with Falk. Something +wrong, too, with herself. She had heard in the town the talk about this +girl who was coming to the Castle for the Jubilee time, coming to marry +Johnny. Coming to marry him because she was rich and handsome. Lovely. +Lady St. Leath was determined....</p> + +<p>So she would hurry on, murmuring "Good evening." But he stopped her. His +face was flushed. Andrew heaved eagerly, hungrily, at his side.</p> + +<p>"Miss Brandon. Just a moment. I want to speak to you. Lovely evening, +isn't it?...You cut me the other day. Yes, you did. In Orange Street."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>She tried to speak coldly.</p> + +<p>"We're friends. You know we are. Only in this beastly town no one can be +free.... I only want to tell you if I go away--suddenly--I'm coming back. +Mind that. You're not to believe anything they say--anything that any one +says. I'm coming back. Remember that. We're friends. You must trust me. Do +you hear?"</p> + +<p>And he was gone, striding off towards the Cathedral, Andrew panting at his +heels.</p> + +<p>The light was gone too--going, going, gone.</p> + +<p>She stayed for a moment. As she reached her door the wind rose, sifting +through the grass, rising to her chin.</p> + + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p>The two figures met, unconsciously, without spoken arrangement, pushed +towards one another by destiny, as they had been meeting now continuously +during the last weeks.</p> + +<p>Almost always at this hour; almost always at this place. On the sandy path +in the green hollow below the Cathedral, above the stream, the hollow +under the opposite hill, the hill where the field was, the field where +they had the Fair.</p> + +<p>Down into this green depth the sunset could not strike, and the chimes, +telling over so slowly and so sweetly the three-quarters, filtered down +like a memory, a reiteration of an old promise, a melody almost forgotten. +But above her head the woman, looking up, could see the rose change to +orange and could watch the cloud, like a pool of green water, extend and +rest, lying like a sheet of glass behind which the orange gleamed.</p> + +<p>They met always thus, she coming from the town as though turning upwards +through the tangled path to her home in the Precincts, he sauntering +slowly, his hands behind his back, as though he had been wandering there +to think out some problem....</p> + +<p>Sometimes he did not come, sometimes she could not. They never stayed more +than ten minutes there together. No one from month to month at that hour +crossed that desolate path.</p> + +<p>To-day he began impetuously. "If you hadn't come to-night, I think I would +have gone to find you. I had to see you. No, I had nothing to say. Only to +see you. But I am so lonely in that house. I always knew I was lonely-- +never more than when I was married--but now.... If I hadn't these ten +minutes most days I'd die, I think...."</p> + +<p>They didn't touch one another, but stood opposite gazing, face into face.</p> + +<p>"What are we to do?" he said. "It can't be wicked just to meet like this +and to talk a little."</p> + +<p>"I'd like you to know," she answered, "that you and my son--you are all I +have in the world. The two of you. And my son has some secret from me.</p> + +<p>"I have been so lonely too. But I don't feel lonely any more. Your +friendship for me...."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am your friend. Think of me like that. Your friend from the first +moment I saw you--you so quiet and gentle and unhappy. I realized your +unhappiness instantly. No one else in this place seemed to notice it. I +believe God meant us to be friends, meant me to bring you happiness--a +little...."</p> + +<p>"Happiness?" she shivered. "Isn't it cold to-night? Do you see that +strange green cloud? Ah, now it is gone. All the light is going.... Do you +believe in God?"</p> + +<p>He came closer to her. His hand touched her arm.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered fiercely. "And He means me to care for you." His hand, +trembling, stroked her arm. She did not move. His hand, shaking, touched +her neck. He bent forward and kissed her neck, her mouth, then her eyes.</p> + +<p>She leant her head wearily for an instant on his shoulder, then, +whispering good-night, she turned and went quietly up the path.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_10"></a>Chapter II</h1> + +<h2>Souls on Sunday</h2> + + + +<p>I must have been thirteen or fourteen years of age--it may have been +indeed in this very year '97--when I first read Stevenson's story of +<i>Treasure Island</i>. It is the fashion, I believe, now with the Clever +Solemn Ones to despise Stevenson as a writer of romantic Tushery,</p> + +<p>All the same, if it's realism they want I'm still waiting to see something +more realistic than Pew or Long John Silver. Realism may depend as truly +on a blind man's tap with his stick upon the ground as on any number of +adulteries.</p> + +<p>In those young years, thank God, I knew nothing about realism and read the +tale for what it was worth. And it was worth three hundred bags of gold. +Now, on looking back, it seems to me that the spirit that overtook our +town just at this time was very like the spirit that seized upon Dr. +Livesey, young Hawkins and the rest when they discovered the dead +Buccaneer's map. This is no forced parallel. It was with a real sense of +adventure that the Whispering began about the Brandons and Ronder and the +Pybus St. Anthony living and the rest of it. Where did the Whispering +start? Who can ever tell?</p> + +<p>Our Polchester Whispering was carried on and fostered very largely by our +servants. As in every village and town in Glebeshire, the intermarrying +that had been going on for generations was astonishing. Every servant- +maid, every errand-boy, every gardener and coachman in Polchester was +cousin, brother or sister to every other servant-maid, errand-boy, +gardener and coachman. They made, these people, a perfect net about our +town.</p> + +<p>The things that they carried from house to house, however, were never the +actual things; they were simply the material from which the actual things +were made. Nor was the construction of the actual tale positively +malicious; it was only that our eyes were caught by the drama of life and +we could not help but exclaim with little gasps and cries at the wonderful +excitement of the history that we saw. Our treasure-hunting was simply for +the fun of the thrill of the chase, not at all that we wished harm to a +soul in the world. If, on occasion, a slight hint of maliciousness did +find its place with us, it was only because in this insecure world it is +delightful to reaffirm our own security as we watch our neighbours topple +over. We do not wish them to "topple," but if somebody has got to fall we +would rather it were not ourselves.</p> + +<p>Brandon had been for so long so remarkable a figure in our world that the +slightest stir of the colours in his picture was immediately noticeable. +From the moment of Falk's return from Oxford it was expected that +something "would happen."</p> + +<p>It often occurs that a situation between a number of people is vague and +indefinite, until a certain moment, often quite undramatic and negative in +itself, arrives, when the situation suddenly fixes itself and stands +forward, set full square to the world, as a definite concrete fact. There +was a certain Sunday in the April of this year that became for the +Archdeacon and a number of other people such a definite crisis--and yet it +might quite reasonably have been said at the end of it that nothing very +much had occurred.</p> + +<p>Everything seemed to happen in Polchester on Sundays. For one thing more +talking was done on Sunday than on all the other days of the week +together. Then the Cathedral itself came into its full glory on that day. +Every one gathered there, every one talked to every one else before +parting, and the long spaces and silences and pauses of the day allowed +the comments and the questions and the surmises to grow and swell and +distend into gigantic images before night took every one and stretched +them upon their backs to dream.</p> + +<p>What the Archdeacon liked was an "off" Sunday, when he had nothing to do +save to walk majestically into his place in the choir stall, to read, +perhaps, a Lesson, to talk gravely to people who came to have tea with him +after the Sunday Evensong, to reflect lazily, after Sunday supper, his +long legs stretched out in front of him, a pipe in his mouth, upon the +goodness and happiness and splendour of the Cathedral and the world and +his own place in it. Such a Sunday was a perfect thing--and such a Sunday +April 18 ought to have been...alas! it was not so.</p> + +<p>It began very early, somewhere about seven in the morning, with a horrible +incident. The rule on Sundays was that the maid knocked at half-past six +on the door and gave the Archdeacon and his wife their tea. The Archdeacon +lay luxuriously drinking it until exactly a quarter to seven, then he +sprang out of bed, had his cold bath, performed his exercises, and shaved +in his little dressing-room. At about a quarter past seven, nearly +dressed, he returned into the bedroom, to find Mrs. Brandon also nearly +dressed. On this particular day while he drank his tea his wife appeared +to be sleeping; that did not make him bound out of bed any the less +noisily-after twenty years of married life you do not worry about such +things; moreover it was quite time that his wife bestirred herself. At a +quarter past seven he came into the bedroom in his shirt and trousers, +humming "Onward, Christian Soldiers." It was a fine spring morning, so he +flung up the window and looked out into the Precinct, fresh and dewy in +the morning sun, silent save for the inquisitive reiteration of an early +jackdaw. Then he turned back, and, to his amazement, saw that his wife was +lying, her eyes wide open, staring in front of her.</p> + +<p>"My dear!" he cried. "Aren't you well?"</p> + +<p>"I'm perfectly well," she answered him, her eyes maintaining their fixed +stare. The tone in which she said these words was quite new--it was not +submissive, it was not defensive, it was indifferent.</p> + +<p>She must be ill. He came close to the bed.</p> + +<p>"Do you realise the time?" he asked. "Twenty minutes past seven. I'm sure +you don't want to keep me waiting."</p> + +<p>She didn't answer him. Certainly she must be ill. There was something +strange about her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i> be ill," he repeated. "You look ill. Why didn't you say +so? Have you got a headache?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not ill. I haven't got a headache, and I'm not coming to Early +Service."</p> + +<p>"You're not ill, and you're not coming..." he stammered in his amazement. +"You've forgotten. There isn't late Celebration."</p> + +<p>She gave him no answer, but turned on her side, closing her eyes.</p> + +<p>He came right up to the bed, frowning down upon her.</p> + +<p>"Amy--what does this mean? You're not ill, and yet you're not coming to +Celebration? Why? I insist upon an answer."</p> + +<p>She said nothing.</p> + +<p>He felt that anger, of which he had tried now for many years to beware, +flooding his throat.</p> + +<p>With tremendous self-control he said quietly: "What is the matter with +you, Amy? You must tell me at once."</p> + +<p>She did not open her eyes but said in a voice so low that he scarcely +caught the words:</p> + +<p>"There is nothing the matter. I am not ill, and I'm not coming to Early +Service."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because I don't wish to go."</p> + +<p>For a moment he thought that he was going to bend down and lift her bodily +out of bed. His limbs felt as though they were prepared for such an +action.</p> + +<p>But to his own surprised amazement he did nothing, he said nothing. He +looked at the bed, at the hollow where his head had been, at her head with +her black hair scattered on the pillow, at her closed eyes, then he went +away into his dressing-room. When he had finished dressing he came back +into the bedroom, looked across at her, motionless, her eyes still closed, +lying on her side, felt the silence of the room, the house, the Precincts +broken only by the impertinent jackdaw.</p> + +<p>He went downstairs.</p> + +<p>Throughout the Early Celebration he remained in a condition of amazed +bewilderment. From his position just above the altar-rails he could see +very clearly the Bishop's Tomb; the morning sun reflected in purple +colours from the East window played upon its blue stone. It caught the +green ring and flashed splashes of fire from its heart. His mind went back +to that day, not so very long ago, when, with triumphant happiness, he had +seemed to share in the Bishop's spirit, to be dust of his dust, and bone +of his bone. That had been the very day, he remembered, of Falk's return +from Oxford. Since that day everything had gone wrong for him--Falk, the +Elephant, Ronder, Foster, the Chapter. And now his wife! Never in all the +years of his married life had she spoken to him as she had done that +morning. She must be on the edge of a serious illness, a very serious +illness. Strangely a new concern for her, a concern that he had never felt +in his life before, arose in his heart. Poor Amy--and how tiresome if she +were ill, the house all at sixes and sevens! With a shock he realised that +his mind was not devotional. He swung himself back to the service, looking +down benevolently upon the two rows of people waiting patiently to come in +their turn to the altar steps.</p> + +<p>At breakfast, however, there Mrs. Brandon was, looking quite her usual +self, in the Sunday dress of grey silk, making the tea, quiet as she +always was, answering questions submissively, patiently, "as the wife of +an Archdeacon should." He tried to show her by his manner that he had been +deeply shocked, but, unfortunately, he had been shocked, annoyed, +indignant on so many occasions when there had been no real need for it, +that to-day, when there was the occasion, he felt that he made no +impression.</p> + +<p>The bells pealed for morning service, the sun shone; as half-past ten +approached, little groups of people crossed the Precincts and vanished +into the mouth of the great West door. Now were Lawrence and Cobbett in +their true glory--Lawrence was in his fine purple robe, the Sunday silk +one. He stood at the far end of the nave, just under the choir-screen, +waiting for the aristocracy, for whom the front seats were guarded with +cords which only he might untie. How deeply pleased he was when some +unfortunate stranger, ignorant in the ways of the Cathedral, walked, with +startling clatter, up the whole length of the shining nave and endeavoured +to penetrate one of these sacred defences! Majestically--staff in hand, he +came forward, shook his snow-white head, looking down upon the intrusive +one more in sorrow than in anger, spoke no word, but motioned the audacity +back down the nave again to the place where Cobbett officiated. Back, +clatter, clatter, blushing and confused, the stranger retreated, watched, +as it seemed to him, by a thousand sarcastic and cynical eyes. The bells +slipped from their jangling peal into a solemn single note. The Mere +People were in their places at the back of the nave, the Great Ones +leaving their entrance until the very last moment. There was a light in +the organ-loft; very softly Brockett began his voluntary--clatter, +clatter, clatter, and the School arrived, the small boys, swallowed by +their Eton collars, first, filing into their places to the right of the +screen, then the middle boys, a little indifferent and careless, then the +Fifth and Sixth in their "stick-up" collars, haughty and indifferent +indeed.</p> + +<p>Dimly, on the other side of the screen, the School boys in their surplices +could be seen settling into their places between the choir and the altar.</p> + +<p>A rustling of skirts, and the aristocracy entered in ones and twos from +the side doors that opened out of the Cloisters. For some of them--for a +very few--Lawrence had his confidential smile. For Mrs. Sampson, for +instance--for Mrs. Combermere, for Mrs. Ryle and Mrs. Brandon.</p> + +<p>A very special one for Mrs. Brandon because of his high opinion of her +husband. She was nothing very much--"a mean little woman," he thought her +--but the Archdeacon had married her. That was enough.</p> + +<p>Joan was with her, conscious that every one must be noticing her—the +D'Arcy girls and Cynthia Ryle and Gladys Sampson, they would all be +looking and criticising. Hustle, rustle, rustle--here was an event indeed! +Lady St. Leath was come, and with her in attendance Johnny and Hetty. +Lawrence hurried forward, disregarding Mrs. Brandon, who was compelled to +undo her cord for herself. He led Lady St. Leath forward with a ceremony, +a dignity, that was marvellous to see. She moved behind him as though she +owned the Cathedral, or rather could have owned it had she thought it +worth her while. All the little boys in the Upper Third and Lower Fourth +turned their necks in their Eton collars and watched. What a bonnet she +was wearing! All the colours of the rainbow, odd, indeed, perched there on +the top of her untidy white hair!</p> + +<p>Every one settled down; the voluntary was louder, the single note of the +bell suddenly more urgent. Ladies looked about them. Ellen Stiles saw Miss +Dobell--smile, smile. Joan saw Cynthia Ryle--smile, smile. Lawrence, with +the expression of the Angel Gabriel waiting to admit into heaven a new +troop of repentant sinners, stood expectant. The sun filtered in dusty +ladders of coloured light and fell in squares upon the empty spaces of the +nave.</p> + +<p>The bell suddenly ceased, a long melodious and melancholy "Amen" came from +somewhere far away in the purple shadow. Every one moved; a noise like a +little uncertain breeze blew through the Cathedral as the congregation +rose; then the choir filed through, the boys, the men, the Precentor, old +Canon Morphew and older Canon Batholomew, Canon Rogers, his face bitter +and discontented, Canon Foster, Bentinck-Major, last of all, Archdeacon +Brandon. They had filed into their places in the choir, they were +kneeling, the Precentor's voice rang out....</p> + +<p>The familiar sound of Canon Ryle's voice recalled Mrs. Brandon to time and +place. She was kneeling, her gloved hands pressed close to her face. She +was looking into thick dense darkness, a darkness penetrated with the +strong scent of Russia leather and the faint musty smell that always +seemed to rise from the Cathedral hassocks and the woodwork upon which she +leant. Until Ryle's voice roused her she had been swimming in space and +eternity; behind her, like a little boat bobbing distressfully in her +track, was the scene of that early morning with which that day had opened. +She saw herself, as it were, the body of some quite other woman, lying in +that so familiar bedroom and saying "No"--saying it again and again and +again. "No. No. No."</p> + +<p>Why had she said "No," and was it not in reality another woman who had +said it, and why had he been so quiet? It was not his way. There had been +no storm. She shivered a little behind her gloves.</p> + +<p>"Dearly beloved brethren," began the Precentor, pleading, impersonal.</p> + +<p>Slowly her brain, like a little dark fish striking up from deep green +waters, rose to the surface of her consciousness. What she was then most +surely aware of was that she was on the very edge of something; it was a +quite physical sensation, as though she had been walking over mist-soaked +downs and had suddenly hesitated, to find herself looking down along the +precipitances of jagged black rock. It was "jagged black rock" over which +she was now peering.</p> + +<p>The two sides of the choir were now rivalling one another over the psalms, +hurling verses at one another with breathless speed, as though they said: +"Here's the ball. Catch. Oh, you <i>are</i> slow!"</p> + +<p>In just that way across the field of Amy Brandon's consciousness two +voices were shouting at one another.</p> + +<p>One cried: "See what she's in for, the foolish woman! She's not up to it. +It will finish her."</p> + +<p>And the other answered: "Well, she is in for it! So it's no use warning +her any longer. She wants it. She's going to have it."</p> + +<p>And the first repeated: "It never pays! It never pays! It never pays!"</p> + +<p>And the second replied: "No, but nothing can stop her now. Nothing!"</p> + +<p>Could nothing stop her? Behind the intricacies of one of Smart's most +elaborate "Te Deums," with clenched hands and little shivers of +apprehension, she fought a poor little battle.</p> + +<p>"We praise Thee, O God. We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord...."</p> + +<p>"The goodly fellowship of the prophets praise Thee...." A boy's voice +rose, "Thou did'st not abhor the Virgin's womb...."</p> + +<p>Let her step back now while there was yet time. She had her children. She +had Falk. Falk! She looked around her, almost expecting him to be at her +side, although she well knew that he had long ago abandoned the Cathedral +services. Ah, it wasn't fair! If only he loved her, if only any one loved +her, any one whom she herself could love. If any one wanted her!</p> + +<p>Lawrence was waiting, his back turned to the nave. As the last words of +the "Te Deum" rose into a shout of triumphant confidence he turned and +solemnly, his staff raised, advanced, Archdeacon Brandon behind him. Now, +as always, a little giggle of appreciation ran down the nave as the +Archdeacon marched forward to the Lectern. The tourists whispered and +asked one another who that fine-looking man was. They craned their necks +into the aisle. And he <i>did</i> look fine, his head up, his shoulders +back, his grave dignity graciously at their service. At their service and +God's.</p> + +<p>The sight of her husband inflamed Mrs. Brandon. She stared at him as +though she were seeing him for the first time, but in reality she was not +seeing him as he was now, but rather as he had been that morning bending +over her bed in his shirt and trousers. That movement that he had made as +though he would lift her bodily out of the bed.</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes. His fine rich voice came to her from a long way off. +Let him boom as loudly as he pleased, he could not touch her any more. She +had escaped, and for ever. She saw, then, Morris as she had seen him at +that tea-party months ago. She recovered that strange sense that she had +had (and that he had had too, as she knew) of being carried out right away +from one's body into an atmosphere of fire and heat and sudden cold. They +had no more been able to avoid that look that they had exchanged than they +had been able to escape being born. Let it then stay at that. She wanted +nothing more than that. Only that look must be exchanged again. She was +hungry, starving for it. She <i>must</i> see him often, continually. She +must be able to look at him, touch the sleeve of his coat, hear his voice. +She must be able to do things for him, little simple things that no one +else could do. She wanted no more than that. Only to be near to him and to +see that he was cared for...looked after. Surely that was not wrong. No +one could say....</p> + +<p>Little shivers ran continually about her body, and her hands, clenched +tightly, were damp within her gloves.</p> + +<p>The Precentor gave out the words of the Anthem, "Little children, love one +another."</p> + +<p>Every one rose--save Lady St. Leath, who settled herself magnificently in +her seat and looked about her as though she challenged anybody to tell her +that she was wrong to do so.</p> + +<p>Yes, that was all Amy Brandon wanted. Who could say that she was wrong to +want it? The little battle was concluded.</p> + +<p>Old Canon Foster was preaching to-day. Always at the conclusion of the +Anthem certain ruffians, visitors, tourists, clattered out. No sermon for +them. They did not matter very greatly because they were far away at the +back of the nave, and nobody need look at them; but on Foster's preaching +days certain of the aristocracy also retired, and this was disconcerting +because their seats were prominent ones and their dresses were of silk. +Often Lady St. Leath was one of these, but to-day she was sunk into a kind +of stupor and did not move. Mrs. Combermere, Ellen Stiles and Mrs. Sampson +were the guilty ones.</p> + +<p>Rustle of their dresses, the heavy flop of the side Cloister door as it +closed behind them, and then silence once more and the thin angry voice of +Canon Foster, "Let us pray."</p> + +<p>Out in the grey Cloisters it was charming. The mild April sun flooded the +square of grass that lay in the middle of the thick rounded pillars like a +floor of bright green glass.</p> + +<p>The ladies stood for a moment looking out into the sunny silence. The +Cathedral was hushed behind them; Ellen Stiles was looking very gay and +very hideous in a large hat stifled with flowers, set sideways on her +head, and a bright purple silk dress pulled in tightly at the waist, +rising to high puffed shoulders. Her figure was not suited to the fashion +of the day.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sampson explained that she was suffering from one of the worst of her +nervous headaches and that she could not have endured the service another +moment. Miss Stiles was all eager solicitude.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> so sorry. I know how you are when you get one of those +things. Nothing does it any good, does it? I know you've tried everything, +and it simply goes on for days and days, getting worse and worse. And the +really terrible part of them is that, with you, they seem to be +constitutional. No doctors can do anything--when they're constitutional. +There you are for the rest of your days!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sampson gave a little shiver.</p> + +<p>"I must say, Dr. Puddifoot seems to be very little use," she moaned.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Puddifoot!" Miss Stiles was contemptuous. "He's past his work. That's +one comfort about this place. If any one's ill he dies. No false hopes. At +least, we know where we are."</p> + +<p>They walked through the Martyr's Passage out into the full sunlight of the +Precincts.</p> + +<p>"What a jolly day!" said Mrs. Combermere, "I shall take my dogs for a +walk. By the way, Ellen," she turned round to her friend, "how did Miss +Burnett's tea-party go? I haven't seen you since."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was too funny!" Miss Stiles giggled. "You never saw such a +mixture, and I don't think Miss Burnett knew who any one was. Not that she +had much time to think, poor dear, she was so worried with the tea. Such a +maid as she had you never saw!"</p> + +<p>"A mixture?" asked Mrs. Combermere. "Who were they?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Canon Ronder and Bentinck-Major and Mrs. Brandon and--Oh, yes! +actually Falk Brandon!"</p> + +<p>"Falk Brandon there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, wasn't it the strangest thing. I shouldn't have thought he'd have +had time--However, you told me not to, so I won't--"</p> + +<p>"Who did you talk to?"</p> + +<p>"I talked to Miss Burnett most of the time. I tried to cheer her up. No +one else paid the least attention to her."</p> + +<p>"She's a very stupid person, it seems to me," Mrs. Sampson murmured. "But +of course I know her very slightly."</p> + +<p>"Stupid!" Miss Stiles laughed. "Why, she hasn't an idea in her head. I +don't believe that she knows it's Jubilee Year. Positively!"</p> + +<p>A little wind blew sportively around Miss Stiles' large hat. They all +moved forward.</p> + +<p>"The funny thing was--" Miss Stiles paused and looked apprehensively at +Mrs. Combermere. "I know you don't like scandal, but of course this isn't +scandal--there's nothing in it--"</p> + +<p>"Come on, Ellen. Out with it," said Mrs. Combermere.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris. I caught the oddest look between +them."</p> + +<p>"Look! What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Combermere sharply. Mrs. Sampson +stood still, her mouth a little open, forgetting her neuralgia.</p> + +<p>"Of course it was nothing. All the same, they were standing at the window +saying something, looking at one another, well, positively as though they +had known one another intimately for years. I assure you--"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere turned upon her. "Of all the nasty minds in this town, +Ellen, you have the nastiest. I've told you so before. People can't even +look at one another now. Why, you might as well say that I'd been gazing +at your Ronder when he came to tea the other day."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I shall," said Miss Stiles, laughing. "It would be a delightful +story to spread. Seriously, why not make a match of it? You'd just suit +one another."</p> + +<p>"Once is enough for me in a life-time," said Mrs. Combermere grimly. "Now, +Ellen, come along. No more mischief. Leave poor little Morris alone."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris!" repeated Mrs. Sampson, her eyes wide open. +"Well, I do declare."</p> + +<p>The ladies separated, and the Precincts was abandoned for a time to its +beautiful Sunday peace and calm.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_11"></a>Chapter III</h1> + +<h2>The May-day Prologue</h2> + + + +<p>May is the finest month of all the year in Glebeshire. The days are warm +but not too hot; the sky is blue but not too blue, the air is soft but +with a touch of sharpness The valleys are pressed down and overflowing +with flowers; the cuckoo cries across the glassy waters of blue harbours, +and the gorse is honey-scented among the rocks.</p> + +<p>May-day in Polchester this year was warm and bright, with a persistent +cuckoo somewhere in the Dean's garden, and a very shrill-voiced canary in +Miss Dobell's open window. The citizens of Polchester were suddenly aware +that summer was close upon them. Doors were flung open and the gardens +sinuously watered, summer clothes were dragged from their long confinement +and anxiously overlooked, Mr. Martin, the stationer, hung a row of his +coloured Polchester views along a string across his window, the dark, +covered ways of the market-place quivered and shone with pots of spring +flowers, and old Simon's water-cart made its first trembling and shaking +appearance down the High Street.</p> + +<p>All this was well enough and customary enough, but what marked this spring +from any other spring that had ever been was that it was Jubilee Year. It +was on this warm May-day that Polchester people realised suddenly that the +Jubilee was not far away. The event had not quite the excitement and +novelty that the Jubilee of 1887 had had; there was, perhaps, in London +and the larger towns, something of a sense of repetition. But Polchester +was far from the general highway and, although the picture of the +wonderful old lady, now nearly eighty years of age, was strong before +every one's vision, there was a deep determination to make this year's +celebration a great Polchester affair, to make it the celebration of +Polchester men and Polchester history and Polchester progress.</p> + +<p>The programme had been long arranged--the great Service in the Cathedral, +the Ball in the Assembly Rooms, the Flower Show in the St. Leath Castle +grounds, the Torchlight Procession, the Croquet Tournament, the School- +children's Tea and the School Cricket-match. A fine programme, and the +Jubilee Committee, with the Bishop, the Mayor, and the Countess of St. +Leath for its presidents, had already held several meetings.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Glebeshire has a rather languishing climate. Polchester has +been called by its critics "a lazy town," and it must be confessed that +everything in connection with the Jubilee had been jogging along very +sleepily until of a sudden this warm May-day arrived, and every one sprang +into action. The Mayor called a meeting of the town branch of the +Committee, and the Bishop out at Carpledon summoned his ecclesiastics, and +Joan found a note from Gladys Sampson beckoning her to the Sampson house +to do her share of the glorious work. It had been decided by the Higher +Powers that it would be a charming thing for some of the younger +Polchester ladies to have in charge the working of two of the flags that +were to decorate the Assembly Room walls on the night of the Ball. Gladys +Sampson, who, unlike her mother, never suffered from headaches, and was a +strong, determined, rather masculine girl, soon had the affair in hand, +and the party was summoned.</p> + +<p>I would not like to say that Polchester had a more snobbish spirit than +other Cathedral towns, but there is no doubt that, thirty years ago, the +lines were drawn very clearly indeed between the "Cathedral" and the +"Others."</p> + +<p>"Cathedral" included not only the daughters of the Canons and what Mr. +Martin, in his little town guide-book, called "General Ecclesiastical +Phenomena," but also the two daughters of Puddifoot's sister, Grace and +Annie Trudon; the three daughters of Roger McKenzie, the town lawyer; +little Betty Callender, the only child of old, red-faced Major Callender; +Mary and Amy Forrester, daughters of old Admiral Forrester; and, of +course, the St. Leath girls.</p> + +<p>When Joan arrived, then, in the Deanery dining-room there was a fine +gathering. Very unsophisticated they would all have been considered by the +present generation. Lady Rose and Lady Mary, who were both of them nearer +forty than thirty, had of course had some experience of London, and had +been even to Paris and Rome. Of the "Others," at this time, only Betty +Callender, who had been born in India, and the Forresters had been +farther, in all their lives, than Drymouth. Their lives were bound, and +happily bound, by the Polchester horizon. They lived in and for and by the +local excitements, talks, croquet, bicycling (under proper guardianship), +Rafiel or Buquay or Clinton in the summer, and the occasional (very, very +occasional) performances of amateur theatricals in the Assembly Rooms.</p> + +<p>Moreover, they were happy and contented and healthy. For many of them +<i>Jane Eyre</i> was still a forbidden book and a railway train a +remarkable adventure.</p> + +<p>Polchester was the world and the world was Polchester. They were at least +a century nearer to Jane Austen's day than they were to George the +Fifth's.</p> + +<p>Joan saw, with relief, so soon as she entered the room, that the St. Leath +women were absent. They overawed her and were so much older than the +others there that they brought constraint with them and embarrassment.</p> + +<p>Any stranger, coming suddenly into the room, must have felt its light and +gaiety and happiness. The high wide dining-room windows were open and +looked, over sloping lawns, down to the Pol and up again to the woods +beyond. The trees were faintly purple in the spring sun, daffodils were +nodding on the lawn and little gossamer clouds of pale orange floated like +feathers across the sky. The large dining-room table was cleared for +action, and Gladys Sampson, very serious and important, stood at the far +end of the room under a very bad oil-painting of her father, directing +operations. The girls were dressed for the most part in white muslin +frocks, high in the shoulders and pulled in at the waist and tight round +the neck--only the McKenzie girls, who rode to hounds and played tennis +beautifully and had, all three of them, faces of glazed red brick, were +clad in the heavy Harris tweeds that were just then beginning to be so +fashionable.</p> + +<p>Joan, who only a month or two ago would have been devoured with shyness at +penetrating the fastnesses of the Sampson dining-room, now felt no shyness +whatever but nodded quite casually to Gladys, smiled at the McKenzies, and +found a place between Cynthia Ryle and Jane D'Arcy.</p> + +<p>They all sat, bathed in the sunshine, and looked at Gladys Sampson. She +cleared her throat and said in her pounding heavy voice--her voice was +created for Committees: "Now all of you know what we're here for. We're +here to make two banners for the Assembly Rooms and we've got to do our +very best. We haven't got a great deal of time between now and June the +Twentieth, so we must work, and I propose that we come here every Tuesday +and Friday afternoon, and when I say <i>here</i> I mean somebody or +other's house, because of course it won't be always here. There's cutting +up to do and sewing and plenty of work really for everybody, because when +the banners are done there are the flags for the school-children. Now if +any one has any suggestions to make I shall be very glad to hear them."</p> + +<p>There was at first no reply to this and every one smiled and looked at the +portrait of the Dean. Then one of the McKenzie girls remarked in a deep +bass voice:</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Gladys. But who's going to decide who does what? Very +decent of you to ask us but we're not much in the sewing line--never have +been."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Gladys, "I've got people's names down for the different things +they're to do and any one whom it doesn't suit has only got to speak up."</p> + +<p>Soon the material was distributed and groups were formed round the room. A +chatter arose like the murmur of bees. The sun as it sank lower behind the +woods turned them to dark crimson and the river pale grey. The sun fell +now in burning patches and squares across the room and the dim yellow +blinds were pulled half-way across the windows. With this the room was +shaded into a strong coloured twilight and the white frocks shone as +though seen through glass. The air grew cold beyond the open windows, but +the room was warm with the heat that the walls had stolen and stored from +the sun.</p> + +<p>Joan sat with Jane D'Arcy and Betty Callender. She was very happy to be at +rest there; she felt secure and safe. Because in truth during these last +weeks life had been increasingly difficult--difficult not only because it +had become, of late, so new and so strange, but also because she could not +tell what was happening. Family life had indeed become of late a mystery, +and behind the mystery there was a dim sense of apprehension, apprehension +that she had never felt in all her days before. As she sank into the +tranquillity of the golden afternoon glow, with the soft white silk +passing to and fro in her bands, she tried to realise for herself what had +been occurring. Her father was, on the whole, simple enough. He was +beginning to suffer yet again from one of his awful obsessions. Since the +hour of her earliest childhood she had watched these obsessions and +dreaded them.</p> + +<p>There had been so many, big ones and little ones. Now the Government, now +the Dean, now the Town Council, now the Chapter, now the Choir, now some +rude letter, now some impertinent article in a paper. Like wild fierce +animals these things had from their dark thickets leapt out upon him, and +he had proceeded to wrestle with them in the full presence of his family. +Always, at last, he had been, victorious over them, the triumph had been +publicly announced, "Te Deums" sung, and for a time there had been peace. +It was some while since the last obsession, some ridiculous action about +drainage on the part of the Town Council. But the new one threatened to +make up in full for the length of that interval.</p> + +<p>Only just before Falk's unexpected return from Oxford Joan had been +congratulating herself on her father's happiness and peace of mind. She +might have known the omens of that dangerous quiet. On the very day of +Falk's arrival Canon Ronder had arrived too.</p> + +<p>Canon Ronder! How Joan was beginning to detest the very sound of the name! +She had hated the man himself as soon as she had set eyes upon him. She +had scented, in some instinctive way, the trouble that lay behind those +large round glasses and that broad indulgent smile. But now! Now they were +having the name "Ronder" with their breakfast, their dinner, and their +tea. Into everything apparently his fat fingers were inserted; her father +saw his rounded shadow behind every door, his rosy cheeks at every window.</p> + +<p>And yet it was very difficult to discover what exactly it was that he had +done! Now, whatever it might be that went wrong in the Brandon house, in +the Cathedral, in the town, her father was certain that Ronder was +responsible,--but proof. Well, there wasn't any. And it was precisely +this absence of proof that built up the obsession.</p> + +<p>Everywhere that Ronder went he spoke enthusiastically about the +Archdeacon. These compliments came back to Joan again and again. "If +there's one man in this town I admire----" "What would this town be +without----" "We're lucky, indeed, to have the Archdeacon----" And yet was +there not behind all these things a laugh, a jest, a mocking tone, +something that belonged in spirit to that horrible day when the elephant +had trodden upon her father's hat?</p> + +<p>She loved her father, and she loved him twice as dearly since one night +when on driving up to the Castle he had held her hand. But now the +obsession had killed the possibility of any tenderness between them; she +longed to be able to do something that would show him how strongly she was +his partisan, to insult Canon Ronder in the market-place, to turn her back +when he spoke to her--and, at the same time, intermingled with this hot +championship was irritation that her father should allow himself to be +obsessed by this. He who was so far greater than a million Ronders!</p> + +<p>The situation in the Brandon family had not been made any easier by Falk's +strange liking for the man. Joan did not pretend that she understood her +brother or had ever been in any way close to him. When she had been little +he had seemed to be so infinitely above her as to be in another world, and +now that they seemed almost of an age he was strange to her like some one +of foreign blood. She knew that she did not count in his scheme of life at +all, that he never thought of her nor wanted her. She did not mind that, +and even now she would have been tranquil about him had it not been for +her mother's anxiety. She could not but see how during the last weeks her +mother had watched every step that Falk took, her eyes always searching +his face as though he were keeping some secret from her. To Joan, who +never believed that people could plot and plan and lead double lives, this +all seemed unnatural and exaggerated.</p> + +<p>But she knew well enough that her mother had never attempted to give her +any of her confidence. Everything at home, in short, was difficult and +confused. Nobody was happy, nobody was natural. Even her own private +history, if she looked into it too closely, did not show her any very +optimistic colours. She had not seen Johnny St. Leath now for a fortnight, +nor heard from him, and those precious words under the Arden Gate one +evening were beginning already to appear a dim unsubstantial dream. +However, if there was one quality that Joan Brandon possessed in excess of +all others, it was a simple fidelity to the cause or person in front of +her.</p> + +<p>Her doubts came simply from the wonder as to whether she had not concluded +too much from his words and built upon them too fairy-like a castle.</p> + +<p>With a gesture she flung all her wonders and troubles out upon the gold- +swept lawn and trained all her attention to the chatter among the girls +around her. She admired Jane D'Arcy very much; she was so "elegant." +Everything that Jane wore became her slim straight body, and her pale +pointed face was always a little languid in expression, as though daily +life were an exhausting affair and not intended for superior persons. She +had been told, from a very early day, that her voice was "low and +musical," so she always spoke in whispers which gave her thoughts an +importance that they might not otherwise have possessed. Very different +was little Betty Callender, round and rosy like an apple, with freckles on +her nose and bright blue eyes. She laughed a great deal and liked to agree +with everything that any one said.</p> + +<p>"If you ask me," said Jane in her fascinating whisper, "there's a lot of +nonsense about this old Jubilee."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you think so?" said Joan.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Old Victoria's been on the throne long enough, 'Tis time we had +somebody else."</p> + +<p>Joan was very much shocked by this and said so.</p> + +<p>"I don't think we ought to be governed by <i>old</i> people," said Jane. +"Every one over seventy ought to be buried whether they wish it or no."</p> + +<p>Joan laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>"Of course they wouldn't wish it," she said.</p> + +<p>Laughter came, now here, now there, from different parts of the room. +Every one was very gay from the triple sense that they were the elect of +Polchester, that they were doing important work, and that summer was +coming.</p> + +<p>Jane D'Arcy tossed her head.</p> + +<p>"Father says that perhaps he'll be taking us to London for it," she +whispered.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't go if any one offered me," said Joan. "It's Polchester I want +to see it at, not London. Of course I'd love to see the Queen, but it +would probably be only for a moment, and all the rest would be horrible +crowds with nobody knowing you. While here! Oh! it will be lovely!"</p> + +<p>Jane smiled. "Poor child. Of course you know nothing about London. How +should you? Give me a week in London and you can have your old Polchester +for ever. What ever happens in Polchester? Silly old croquet parties and a +dance in the Assembly Rooms. And <i>never</i> any one new."</p> + +<p>"Well, there <i>is</i> some one new," said Betty Callender, "I saw her +this morning."</p> + +<p>"Her? Who?" asked Jane, with the scorn of one who has already made up her +mind to despise.</p> + +<p>"I was with mother going through the market and Lady St. Leath came by in +an open carriage. She was with her. Mother says she's a Miss Daubeney from +London--and oh! she's perfectly lovely! and mother says she's to marry +Lord St. Leath----"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I heard she was coming," said Jane, still scornfully. "How silly you +are, Betty! You think any one lovely if she comes from London."</p> + +<p>"No, but she was," insisted Betty, "mother said so too, and she had a blue +silk parasol, and she was just sweet. Lord St. Leath was in the carriage +with them."</p> + +<p>"Poor Johnny!" said Jane. "He always has to do just what that horrible old +mother of his tells him."</p> + +<p>Joan had listened to this little dialogue with what bravery she could. +Doom then had been pronounced? Sentence had fallen? Miss Daubeney had +arrived. She could hear the old Countess' voice again. "Claire Daubeney- +Monteagle's daughter--such, a nice girl--Johnny's friend-----"</p> + +<p>Johnny's friend! Of course she was. Nothing could show to Joan more +clearly the difference between Joan's world and the St. Leath world than +the arrival of this lovely stranger. Although Mme. Sarah Grand and others +were at this very moment forcing that strange figure, the New Woman, upon +a reluctant world, Joan belonged most distinctly to the earlier +generation. She trembled at the thought of any publicity, of any thrusting +herself forward, of any, even momentary, rebellion against her position. +Of course Johnny belonged to this beautiful creature; she had always +known, in her heart, that her dream was an impossible one. Nevertheless +the room, the sunlight, the white dresses, the long shining table, the +coloured silks and ribbons, swam in confusion around her. She was suddenly +miserable. Her hands shook and her upper lip trembled. She had a strange +illogical desire to go out and find Miss Daubeney and snatch her blue +parasol from her startled hands and stamp upon it.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Jane, "I don't envy any one who marries Johnny--to be shut up +in that house with all those old women!"</p> + +<p>Betty shook her head very solemnly and tried to look older than her years.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was drawing on. Gladys came across and closed the windows.</p> + +<p>"I think that's about enough to-day," she said. "Now we'll have tea."</p> + +<p>Joan's great desire was to slip away and go home. She put her work on the +table, fetched her coat from the other end of the room.</p> + +<p>Gladys stopped her. "Don't go, Joan. You must have tea."</p> + +<p>"I promised mother-----" she said.</p> + +<p>The door opened. She turned and found herself close to the Dean and Canon +Ronder.</p> + +<p>The Dean came forward, nervously rubbing his hands together as was his +custom. "Well, children," he said, blinking at them. Ronder stood, +smiling, in the doorway. At the sight of him Joan was filled with hatred-- +vehement, indignant hatred; she had never hated any one before, unless +possibly it was Miss St. Clair, the French mistress. Now, from what source +she did not know, fear and passion flowed into her. Nothing could have +been more amiable and genial than the figure that he presented.</p> + +<p>As always, his clothes were beautifully neat and correct, his linen +spotless white, his black boots gleaming.</p> + +<p>He beamed upon them all, and Joan felt, behind her, the response that the +whole room made to him. They liked him; she knew it. He was becoming +popular.</p> + +<p>He had towards them all precisely the right attitude; he was not amiable +and childish like the Dean, nor pompous like Bentinck-Major, nor +sycophantic like Ryle. He did not advance to them but became, as it were, +himself one of them, understanding exactly the way that they wanted him.</p> + +<p>And Joan hated him; she hated his red face and his neatness and his broad +chest and his stout legs--everything, everything! She also feared him. She +had never before, although for long now she had been conscious of his +power, been so deeply aware of his connection with herself. It was as +though his round shadow had, on this lovely afternoon, crept forward a +little and touched with its dim grey for the first time the Brandon house.</p> + +<p>"Canon Ronder," Gladys Sampson cried, "come and see what we've done."</p> + +<p>He moved forward and patted little Betty Callender on the head as he +passed. "Are you all right, my dear, and your father?"</p> + +<p>It appeared that Betty was delighted. Suddenly he saw Joan.</p> + +<p>"Oh, good evening, Miss Brandon." He altered his tone for her, speaking as +though she were an equal.</p> + +<p>Joan looked at him; colour flamed in her cheeks. She did not reply, and +then feeling as though in an instant she would do something quite +disgraceful, she slipped from the room.</p> + +<p>Soon, after gently smiling at the parlourmaid, who was an old friend of +hers because she had once been in service at the Brandons, she found +herself standing, a little lost and bewildered, at the corner of Green +Lane and Orange Street. Lost and bewildered because one emotion after +another seemed suddenly to have seized upon her and taken her captive. +Lost and bewildered almost as though she had been bewitched, carried off +through the shining skies by her captor and then dropped, deserted, left, +in some unknown country.</p> + +<p>Green Lane in the evening light had a fairy air. The stumpy trees on +either side with the bright new green of the spring seemed to be +concealing lamps within their branches. So thick a glow suffused the air +that it was as though strangely coloured fruit, purple and orange and +amethyst, hung glittering against the pale yellow sky, and the road +running up the hill was like pale wax.</p> + +<p>On the other side Orange Street tumbled pell-mell into the roofs of the +town. The monument of the fierce Georgian citizen near which Joan was +standing guarded with a benevolent devotion the little city whose lights, +stealing now upon the air, sprinkled the evening sky with a jewelled haze. +No sound broke the peace; no one came nor went; only the trees of the Lane +moved and stirred very faintly as though assuring the girl of their +friendly company.</p> + +<p>Never before had she so passionately loved her town. It seemed to-night +when she was disturbed by her new love, her new fear, her new worldly +knowledge, to be eager to assure her that it was with her in all her +troubles, that it understood that she must pass into new experiences, that +it knew, none better indeed, how strange and terrifying that first +realisation of real life could be, that it had itself suffered when new +streets had been thrust upon it and old loved houses pulled down and the +river choked and the hills despoiled, but that everything passes and love +remains and homeliness and friends.</p> + +<p>Joan felt more her own response to the town than the town's reassurance to +her, but she was a little comforted and she felt a little safer.</p> + +<p>She argued as she walked home through the Market Place and up the High +Street and under the Arden Gate into the quiet sheltered Precincts, why +should she think that Ronder mattered? After all might not he be the good +fat clergyman that he appeared? It was more perhaps a kind of jealousy +because of her father that she felt. She put aside her own little troubles +in a sudden rush of tenderness for her family. She wanted to protect them +all and make them happy. But how could she make them happy if they would +tell her nothing? They still treated her as a child but she was a woman +now. Her love for Johnny. She had admitted that to herself. She stopped on +the path outside the decorous strait-laced houses and put her cool gloved +hand up to her burning cheek.</p> + +<p>She had known for a long time that she loved him, but she had not told +herself. She must conquer that, stamp upon it. It was foolish, +hopeless.... She ran up the steps of their house as though something +pursued her.</p> + +<p>She let herself in and found the hall dusky and obscure. The lamp had not +yet been lit. She heard a voice:</p> + +<p>"Who's that?"</p> + +<p>She looked up and saw her mother, a little, slender figure, standing at +the turn of the stairs holding in her hand a lighted candle.</p> + +<p>"It's I, mother, Joan. I've just come from Gladys Sampson's."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I thought it would be Falk. You didn't pass Falk on your way?"</p> + +<p>"No, mother dear."</p> + +<p>She went across to the little cupboard where the coats were hung. As she +poked her head into the little, dark, musty place, she could feel that her +mother was still standing there, listening.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_12"></a>Chapter IV</h1> + +<h2>The Genial Heart</h2> + + + +<p>Ronder was never happier than when he was wishing well to all mankind.</p> + +<p>He could neither force nor falsify this emotion. If he did not feel it he +did not feel it, and himself was the loser. But it sometimes occurred that +the weather was bright, that his digestion was functioning admirably, that +he liked his surroundings, that he had agreeable work, that his prospects +were happy--then he literally beamed upon mankind and in his fancy +showered upon the poor and humble largesse of glittering coin. In such a +mood he loved every one, would pat children on the back, help old men +along the road, listen to the long winnings of the reluctant poor. Utterly +genuine he was; he meant every word that he spoke and every smile that he +bestowed.</p> + +<p>Now, early in May and in Polchester he was in such a mood. Soon after his +arrival he had discovered that he liked the place and that it promised to +suit him well, but he had never supposed that it could develop into such +perfection. Success already was his, but it was not success of so swift a +kind that plots and plans were not needed. They were very much needed. He +could remember no time in his past life when he had had so admirable a +combination of difficulties to overcome. And they were difficulties of the +right kind. They centred around a figure whom he could really like and +admire. It would have been very unpleasant had he hated Brandon or +despised him. Those were uncomfortable emotions in which he indulged as +seldom as possible.</p> + +<p>What he liked, above everything, was a fight, when he need have no +temptation towards anger or bitterness. Who could be angry with poor +Brandon? Nor could he despise him. In his simple blind confidence and +self-esteem there was an element of truth, of strength, even of nobility.</p> + +<p>Far from despising or hating Brandon, he liked him immensely--and he was +on his way utterly to destroy him.</p> + +<p>Then, as he approached nearer the centre of his drama, he noticed, as he +had often noticed before, how strangely everything played into his hands. +Without undue presumption it seemed that so soon as he determined that +something ought to occur and began to work in a certain direction, God +also decided that it was wise and pushed everything into its right place. +This consciousness of Divine partnership gave Ronder a sense that his +opponents were the merest pawns in a game whose issue was already decided.</p> + +<p>Poor things, they were helpless indeed! This only added to his kindly +feelings towards them, his sense of humour, too, was deeply stirred by +their own unawareness of their fate--and he always liked any one who +stirred his sense of humour.</p> + +<p>Never before had he known everything to play so immediately into his hands +as in this present case. Brandon, for instance, had just that stupid +obstinacy that was required, the town had just that ignorance of the outer +world and cleaving to old traditions. + +And now, how strange that the boy Falk had on several occasions stopped to +speak to him and had at last asked whether he might come and see him!</p> + +<p>How lucky that Brandon should be making this mistake about the Pybus St. +Anthony living!</p> + +<p>Finally, although he was completely frank with himself and knew that he +was working, first and last, for his own future comfort, it did seem to +him that he was also doing real benefit to the town. The times were +changing. Men of Brandon's type were anachronistic; the town had been +under Brandon's domination too long. New life was coming--a new world--a +new civilisation.</p> + +<p>Ronder, although no one believed less in Utopias than he, did believe in +the Zeitgeist--simply for comfort's sake if for no stronger reason. Well, +the Zeitgeist was descending upon Polchester, and Ronder was its agent. +Progress? No, Ronder did not believe in Progress. But in the House of Life +there are many rooms; once and again the furniture is changed.</p> + +<p>One afternoon early in May he was suddenly aware that everything was +moving more swiftly upon its appointed course than he, sharp though he +was, had been aware. Crossing the Cathedral Green he encountered Dr. +Puddifoot. He knew that the Doctor had at first disliked him but was +quickly coming over to his side and was beginning to consider him as +"broad-minded for a parson and knowing a lot more about life than you +would suppose." He saw precisely into Puddifoot's brain and watched the +thoughts dart to and fro as though they had been so many goldfish in a +glass bowl. He also liked Puddifoot for himself; he always liked stout, +big, red-faced men; they were easier to deal with than the thin severe +ones. He knew that the time would very shortly arrive when Puddifoot would +tell him one of his improper stories. That would sanctify the friendship.</p> + +<p>"Ha! Canon!" said Puddifoot, puffing like a seal. "Jolly day!"</p> + +<p>They stood and talked, then, as they were both going into the town, they +turned and walked towards the Arden Gate. Puddifoot talked about his +health; like many doctors he was very timid about himself and eager to +reassure himself in public. "How are you, Canon? But I needn't ask-- +looking splendid. I'm all right myself--never felt better really. Just a +twinge of rheumatics last night, but it's nothing. Must expect something +at my age, you know--getting on for seventy."</p> + +<p>"You look as though you'll live for ever," said Ronder, beaming upon him.</p> + +<p>"You can't always tell from us big fellows. There's Brandon now, for +instance--the Archdeacon."</p> + +<p>"Surely there isn't a healthier man in the kingdom," said Ronder, pushing +his spectacles back into the bridge of his nose.</p> + +<p>"Think so, wouldn't you? But you'd be wrong. A sudden shock, and that man +would be nowhere. Given to fits of anger, always tried his system too +hard, never learnt control. Might have a stroke any day for all he looks +so strong!"</p> + +<p>"Really, really! Dear me!" said Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Course these are medical secrets in a way. Know it won't go any farther. +But it's curious, isn't it? Appearances are deceptive--damned deceptive. +That's what they are. Brandon's brain's never been his strong point. Might +go any moment."</p> + +<p>"Dear me, dear me," said Ronder. "I'm sorry to hear that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mean," said Puddifoot, puffing and blowing out his cheeks +like a cherub in a picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds, "that he'll die to- +morrow, you know--or have a stroke either. But he ain't as secure as he +looks. And he don't take care of himself as he should."</p> + +<p>Outside the Library Ronder paused.</p> + +<p>"Going in here for a book, doctor. See you later."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Puddifoot, his eyes staring up and down the street, as +though they would burst out of his head. "Very good--very good. See you +later then," and so went blowing down the hill.</p> + +<p>Ronder passed under the gloomy portals of the Library and found his way, +through faith rather than vision, up the stone stairs that smelt of mildew +and blotting-paper, into the high dingy room. He had had a sudden desire +the night before to read an old story by Bage that he had not seen since +he was a boy--the violent and melancholy <i>Hermsprong</i>.</p> + +<p>It had come to him, as it were, in his dreams--a vision of himself rocking +in a hammock in his uncle's garden on a wonderful summer afternoon, eating +apples and reading <i>Hermsprong</i>, the book discovered, he knew not by +what chance, in the dusty depths of his uncle's library. He would like to +read it again. <i>Hermsprong</i>! the very scent of the skin of the apple, +the blue-necked tapestry of light between the high boughs came back to +him. He was a boy again.... He was brought up sharply by meeting the +little red-rimmed eyes of Miss Milton. Red-rimmed to-day, surely, with +recent weeping. She sat humped up on her chair, glaring out into the room.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Miss Milton," he said, smiling at her. "It's an old book +I want. I won't bother you. I'll look for myself."</p> + +<p>He passed into the further dim secrecies of the Library, whither so few +penetrated. Here was an old ladder, and, mounted upon it, he confronted +the vanished masterpieces of Holcroft and Radcliffe, Lewis and Jane +Porter, Clara Reeve and MacKenzie, old calf-bound ghosts who threw up +little clouds of sighing dust as he touched them with his fingers. He was +happily preoccupied with his search, balancing his stout body precariously +on the trembling ladder, when he fancied that he heard a sigh.</p> + +<p>He stopped and listened; this time there could be no mistake. It was a +sigh of prodigious intent and meaning, and it came from Miss Milton. +Impatiently he turned back to his books; he would find his Bage as quickly +as possible and go. He was not at all in the mood for lamentations from +Miss Milton. Ah! there was <i>Barham Downs. Hermsprong</i> could not be +far away. Then suddenly there came to him quite unmistakably a sob, then +another, then two more, finally something that horribly resembled +hysterics. He came down from his ladder and crossed the room.</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Milton!" he exclaimed. "Is there anything I can do?"</p> + +<p>She presented a strange and unpoetic appearance, huddled up in her wooden +arm-chair, one fat leg crooked under her, her head sinking into her ample +bosom, her whole figure shaking with convulsive grief, the chair creaking +sympathetically with her.</p> + +<p>Ronder, seeing that she was in real distress, hurried up to her.</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Milton, what is it?"</p> + +<p>For a while she could not speak; then raised a face of mottled purple and +white, and, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief not of the cleanest, +choked out between her sobs:</p> + +<p>"My last week--Saturday--Saturday I go--disgrace--ugh, ugh--dismissed-- +Archdeacon."</p> + +<p>"But I don't understand," said Ronder, "who goes? Who's disgraced?"</p> + +<p>"I go!" cried Miss Milton, suddenly uncurling her body and her sobs +checked by her anger. "I shouldn't have given way like this, and before +you, Canon Ronder. But I'm ruined--ruined!--and for doing my duty!"</p> + +<p>Her change from the sobbing, broken woman to the impassioned avenger of +justice was so immediate that Ronder was confused. "I still don't +understand, Miss Milton," he said. "Do you say you are dismissed, and, if +so, by whom?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> dismissed! I <i>am</i> dismissed!" cried Miss Milton. "I +leave here on Saturday. I have been librarian to this Library, Canon +Ronder, for more than twenty years. Yes, twenty years. And now I'm +dismissed like a dog with a month's notice."</p> + +<p>She had collected her tears and, with a marvellous rapidity, packed them +away. Her eyes, although red, were dry and glittering; her cheeks were of +a pasty white marked with small red spots of indignation. Ronder, looking +at her and her dirty hands, thought that he had never seen a woman whom he +disliked more.</p> + +<p>"But, Miss Milton," he said, "if you'll forgive me, I still don't +understand. Under whom do you hold this appointment? Who have the right to +dismiss you? and, whoever it was, they must have given some reason."</p> + +<p>Miss Milton, was now the practical woman, speaking calmly, although her +bosom still heaved and her fingers plucked confusedly with papers on the +table in front of her. She spoke quietly, but behind her words there were +so vehement a hatred, bitterness and malice that Ronder observed her with +a new interest.</p> + +<p>"There is a Library Committee, Canon Ronder," she said. "Lady St. Leath is +the president. It has in its hands the appointment of the librarian. It +appointed me more than twenty years ago. It has now dismissed me with a +month's notice for what it calls--what it <i>calls</i>, Canon Ronder-- +'abuse and neglect of my duties.' Abuse! Neglect! Me! about whom there has +never been a word of complaint until--until----"</p> + +<p>Here again Miss Milton's passions seemed to threaten to overwhelm her. She +gathered herself together with a great effort.</p> + +<p>"I know my enemy, Canon Ronder. Make no mistake about that. I know my +enemy. Although, what I have ever done to him I cannot imagine. A more +inoffensive person----"</p> + +<p>"Yes.--But," said Canon Ronder gently, "tell me, if you can, exactly with +what they charge you. Perhaps I can help you. Is it Lady St. Leath +who----"</p> + +<p>"No, it is <i>not</i> Lady St. Leath," broke in Miss Milton vehemently. "I +owe Lady St. Leath much in the past. If she has been a little imperious at +times, that after all is her right. Lady St. Leath is a perfect lady. What +occurred was simply this: Some months ago I was keeping a book for Lady +St. Leath that she especially wished to read. Miss Brandon, the daughter +of the Archdeacon, came in and tried to take the book from me, saying that +her mother wished to read it. I explained to her that it was being kept +for Lady St. Leath; nevertheless, she persisted and complained to Lord St. +Leath, who happened to be in the Library at the time; he, being a perfect +gentleman, could of course do nothing but say that she was to have the +book.</p> + +<p>"She went home and complained, and it was the Archdeacon who brought up +the affair at a Committee meeting and insisted on my dismissal. Yes, Canon +Ronder, I know my enemy and I shall not forget it."</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said Canon Ronder benevolently, "I'm more than sorry. Certainly +it sounds a little hasty, although the Archdeacon is the most honourable +of men."</p> + +<p>"Honourable! Honourable!" Miss Milton rose in her chair. "Honourable! He's +so swollen with pride that he doesn't know what he is. Oh! I don't measure +my words. Canon Ronder, nor do I see any reason why I should.</p> + +<p>"He has ruined my life. What have I now at my age to go to? A little +secretarial work, and less and less of that. But it's not <i>that</i> of +which I complain. I am hurt in the very depths of my being, Canon Ronder. +In my pride and my honour. Stains, wounds that I can never forget!"</p> + +<p>It was so exactly as though Miss Milton had just been reading +<i>Hermsprong</i> and was quoting from it that Ronder looked about him, +almost expecting to see the dusty volume.</p> + +<p>"Well, Miss Milton, perhaps I can put a little work in your way."</p> + +<p>"You're very kind, sir," she said. "There's more than I in this town, sir, +who're glad that you've come among us, and hope that perhaps your presence +may lead to a change some day amongst those in high authority."</p> + +<p>"Where are you living, Miss Milton?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Three St. James' Lane," she answered. "Just behind the Market and St. +James' Church. Opposite the Rectory. Two little rooms, my windows looking +on to Mr. Morris'."</p> + +<p>"Very well, I'll remember."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir, I'm sure. I'm afraid I've forgotten myself this morning, +but there's nothing like a sense of injustice for making you lose your +self-control. I don't care who hears me. I shall not forgive the +Archdeacon."</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Miss Milton," said Ronder. "We must all forgive and forget."</p> + +<p>Her eyes narrowed until they almost disappeared.</p> + +<p>"I don't wish to be unfair, Canon Ronder," she said. "But I've worked for +more than twenty years like an honourable woman, and to be turned out.-- +Not that I bear Mrs. Brandon any grudge, coming down to see Mr. Morris so +often as she does. I daresay she doesn't have too happy a time if all were +known."</p> + +<p>"Now, now," said Ronder. "This won't do, Miss Milton. You won't make your +case better by talking scandal, you know. I have your address. If I can +help you I will. Good afternoon."</p> + +<p>Forgetting <i>Hermsprong</i>, having now more important things to +consider, he found his way down the steps and out into the air.</p> + +<p>On every side now it seemed that the Archdeacon was making some blunder. +Little unimportant blunders perhaps, but nevertheless cumulative in their +effect! The balance had shifted. The Powers of the Air, bored perhaps with +the too-extended spectacle of an Archdeacon successful and triumphant, had +made a sign....</p> + +<p>Ronder, as he stood in the spring sunlight, glancing up and down the High +Street, so full of colour and movement, had an impulse as though it were +almost a duty to go and warn the Archdeacon. "Look out! Look out! There's +a storm coming!" Warn the Archdeacon! He smiled. He could imagine to +himself the scene and the reception his advice would have. Nevertheless, +how sad that undoubtedly you cannot make an omelette without first +breaking the eggs! And this omelette positively must be made!</p> + +<p>He had intended to do a little shopping, an occupation in which he +delighted because of the personal victories to be won, but suddenly now, +moved by what impulse he could not tell, he turned back towards the +Cathedral. He crossed the Green, and almost before he knew it he had +pushed back the heavy West door and was in the dark, dimly coloured +shadow. The air was chill. The nave was scattered with lozenges of purple +and green light. He moved up the side aisle, thinking that now he was here +he would exchange a word or two with old Lawrence. No harm would be done +by a little casual amiability in that direction.</p> + +<p>Before he realised, he was close to the Black Bishop's Tomb. The dark grim +face seemed to-day to wear a triumphant smile beneath the black beard. A +shaft of sunlight played upon the marble like a searchlight upon water; +the gold of the ironwork and the green ring and the tracery on the +scrolled borders jumped under the sunlight like living things.</p> + +<p>Ronder, moved as always by beauty, smiled as though in answer to the dead +Bishop.</p> + +<p>"Why! you're the most alive thing in this Cathedral," he thought to +himself.</p> + +<p>"Pretty good bit of work, isn't it?" he heard at his elbow. He turned and +saw Davray, the painter. The man had been pointed out to him in the +street; he knew his reputation. He was inclined to be interested in the +man, in any one who had a wider, broader view of life than the citizens of +the town. Davray had not been drinking for several weeks; and always +towards the end of one of his sober bouts he was gentle, melancholy, the +true artist in him rising for one last view of the beauty that there was +in the world before the inevitable submerging.</p> + +<p>He had, on this occasion, been sober for a longer period than usual; he +felt weak and faint, as though he had been without food, and his favourite +vice, that had been approaching closer and closer to him during these last +days, now leered at him, leaning towards him from the other side of the +gilded scrolls of the tomb.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a very fine thing." He cleared his throat. "You're Canon +Ronder, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am."</p> + +<p>"My name's Davray. You probably heard of me as a drunkard who hangs about +the town doing no good. I'm quite sure you don't want to speak to me or +know me, but in here, where it's so quiet and so beautiful, one may know +people whom it wouldn't be nice to know outside."</p> + +<p>Ronder looked at him. The man's face, worn now and pinched and sharp, must +once have had its fineness.</p> + +<p>"You do yourself an injustice, Mr. Davray," Ronder said. "I'm very glad +indeed to know you."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, you parsons have got to know everybody, haven't you? And +the sinners especially. That's your job. But I'm not a sinner to-day. I +haven't drunk anything for weeks, although don't congratulate me, because +I'm certainly not going to hold out much longer. There's no hope of +redeeming me, Canon Ronder, even if you have time for the job."</p> + +<p>Ronder smiled.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to preach to you," he said, "you needn't be afraid."</p> + +<p>"Well, let's forget all that. This Cathedral is the very place, if you +clergymen had any sense of proportion, where you should be ashamed to +preach. It laughs at you."</p> + +<p>"At any rate the Bishop does," said Ronder, looking down at the tomb.</p> + +<p>"No, but all of it," said Davray. Instinctively they both looked up. High +above them, in the very heart of the great Cathedral tower, a mist, +reflected above the windows until it was coloured a very faint rose, +trembled like a sea about the black rafters and rounded pillars. Even as +they looked some bird flew twittering from corner to corner.</p> + +<p>"When I'm worked up," said Davray, "which I'm not to-day, I just long to +clear all you officials out of it. I laugh sometimes to think how +important you think yourselves and how unimportant you really are. The +Cathedral laughs too, and once and again stretches out a great lazy finger +and just flicks you away as it would a spider's web. I hope you don't +think me impertinent."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," said Ronder; "some of us even may feel just as you do +about it."</p> + +<p>"Brandon doesn't." Davray moved away. "I sometimes think that when I'm +properly drunk one day I'll murder that man. His self-sufficiency and +conceit are an insult to the Cathedral. But the Cathedral knows. It bides +its time."</p> + +<p>Ronder looked gravely at the melancholy, ineffective figure with the pale +pointed beard, and the weak hands. "You speak very confidently, Mr. +Davray," he said. "As with all of us, you judge others by yourself. When +you know what the Cathedral's attitude to yourself is, you'll be able to +see more clearly."</p> + +<p>"To myself!" Davray answered excitedly. "It has none! To myself? Why, I'm +nobody, nothing. It doesn't have to begin to consider me. I'm less than +the dung the birds drop from the height of the tower. But I'm humble +before it. I would let its meanest stone crush the life out of my body, +and be glad enough. At least I know its power, its beauty. And I adore it! +I adore it!"</p> + +<p>He looked up as he spoke; his eyes seemed to be eagerly searching for some +expected face.</p> + +<p>Ronder disliked both melodrama and sentimentality. Both were here.</p> + +<p>"Take my advice," he said smiling. "Don't think too much about the +place...I'm glad that we met. Good afternoon."</p> + +<p>Davray did not seem to have noticed him; he was staring down again at the +Bishop's Tomb. Ronder walked away. A strange man! A strange day! How +different people were! Neither better nor worse, but just different. As +many varieties as there were particles of sand on the seashore.</p> + +<p>How impossible to be bored with life. Nevertheless, entering his own home +he was instantly bored. He found there, having tea with his aunt and +sitting beneath the Hermes, so that the contrast made her doubly +ridiculous, Julia Preston. Julia Preston was to him the most boring woman +in Polchester. To herself she was the most important. She was a widow and +lived in a little green house with a little green garden in the Polchester +outskirts. She was as pretty as she had been twenty years before, exactly +the same, save that what nature had, twenty years ago, done for the +asking, it now did under compulsion. She believed the whole world in love +with her and was therefore a thoroughly happy woman. She had a healthy +interest in the affairs of her neighbours, however small they might be, +and believed in "Truth, Beauty, and the Improvement of the Lower Classes."</p> + +<p>"Dear Canon Ronder, how nice this is!" she exclaimed. "You've been hard at +work all the afternoon, I know, and want your tea. How splendid work is! I +often think what would life be without it'."</p> + +<p>Ronder, who took trouble with everybody, smiled, sat down near to her and +looked as though he loved her.</p> + +<p>"Well, to be quite honest, I haven't been working very hard. Just seeing a +few people."</p> + +<p>"Just seeing a few people!" Mrs. Preston used a laugh that was a favourite +of hers because she had once been told that it was like "a tinkling bell." +"Listen to him! As though that weren't the hardest thing in the world. +Giving out! Giving out! What is so exhausting, and yet what so worth while +in the end? Unselfishness! I really sometimes feel that is the true secret +of life."</p> + +<p>"Have one of those little cakes, Julia," said Miss Ronder drily. She, +unlike her nephew, bothered about very few people indeed. "Make a good +tea."</p> + +<p>"I will, as you want me to, dear Alice," said Mrs. Preston. "Oh, thank +you, Canon Ronder! How good of you; ah, there! I've dropped my little bag. +It's under that table. Thank you a thousand times! And isn't it strange +about Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't what strange?" asked Miss Ronder, regarding her guest with grim +cynicism.</p> + +<p>"Oh well--nothing really, except that every one's asking what they can +find in common. They're always together. Last Monday Aggie Combermere met +her coming out of the Rectory, then Ellen Stiles saw them in the Precincts +last Sunday afternoon, and I saw them myself this morning in the High +Street."</p> + +<p>"My dear Mrs. Preston," said Ronder, "why <i>shouldn't</i> they go about +together?"</p> + +<p>"No reason at all," said Mrs. Preston, blushing very prettily, as she +always did when she fancied that any one was attacking her. "I'm sure that +I'm only too glad that poor Mrs. Brandon has found a friend. My motto in +life is, 'Let us all contribute to the happiness of one another to the +best of our strength.'</p> + +<p>"Truly, that's a thing we can <i>all</i> do, isn't it? Life isn't too +bright for some people, I can't help thinking. And courage is the thing. +After all, it isn't life that is important but simply how brave you are.</p> + +<p>"At least that's my poor little idea of it. But it does seem a little odd +about Mrs. Brandon. She's always kept so much to herself until now."</p> + +<p>"You worry too much about others, dear Julia," said Miss Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I really believe I do. Why, there's my bag gone again! Oh, how good +of you, Canon! It's under that chair. Yes. I do. But one can't help one's +nature, can one? I often tell myself that it's really no credit to me +being unselfish. I was simply born that way. Poor Jack used to say that he +wished I <i>would</i> think of myself more! I think we were meant to share +one another's burdens. I really do. And what Mrs. Brandon can see in Mr. +Morris is so odd, because <i>really</i> he isn't an interesting man."</p> + +<p>"Let me get you some more tea," said Ronder.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I really must be going. I've been here an unconscionable +time. Oh! there's my handkerchief. How silly of me! Thank you so much!"</p> + +<p>She got up and prepared to depart, looking so pretty and so helpless that +it was really astonishing that the Hermes did not appreciate her.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, dear Canon. No, I forbid you to come out. Oh, well, if you +will. I hear everywhere of the splendid work you're doing. Don't think it +flattery, but I do think we needed you here. What we have wanted is a +message--something to lift us all up a little. It's so easy to see nothing +but the dreary round, isn't it? And all the time the stars are shining.... +At least that's how it seems to me."</p> + +<p>The door closed; the room was suddenly silent. Miss Ronder sat without +moving, her eyes staring in front of her.</p> + +<p>Soon Ronder returned.</p> + +<p>Miss Ronder said nothing. She was the one human being who had power to +embarrass him. She was embarrassing him now.</p> + +<p>"Aren't things strange?" he said. "I've seen four different people this +afternoon. They have all of their own accord instantly talked about +Brandon, and abused him. Brandon is in the air. He's in danger."</p> + +<p>Miss Ronder looked her nephew straight between the eyes.</p> + +<p>"Frederick," she said, "how much have you had to do with this?"</p> + +<p>"To do with this? To do with what?"</p> + +<p>"All this talk about the Brandons."</p> + +<p>"I! Nothing at all."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense. Don't tell me. Ever since you set foot in this town you've been +determined that Brandon should go. Are you playing fair?"</p> + +<p>He got up, stood opposite her, legs apart, his hands crossed behind his +broad back.</p> + +<p>"Fair? Absolutely."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were full of distress. "Through all these years," she said, "I've +never truly known you. All I know is that you've always got what you +wanted. You're going to get what you want now. Do it decently."</p> + +<p>"You needn't be afraid," he said.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> afraid," she said. "I love you, Fred; I have always loved +you. I'd hate to lose that love. It's one of my most precious +possessions."</p> + +<p>He answered her slowly, as though he were thinking things out. "I've +always told you the truth," he said; "I'm telling you the truth now. Of +course I want Brandon to go, and of course he's going. But I haven't to +move a finger in the matter. It's all advancing without my agency. Brandon +is ruining himself. Even if he weren't, I'm quite square with him. I +fought him openly at the Chapter Meeting the other day. He hates me for +it."</p> + +<p>"And you hate <i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>"<i>Hate</i> him? Not the least in the world. I admire and like him. If +only he were in a less powerful position and were not in my way, I'd be +his best friend. He's a fine fellow--stupid, blind, conceited, but finer +made than I am. I like him better than any man in the town."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you"; she dropped her eyes from his face. "You're +extraordinary."</p> + +<p>He sat down again as though he recognised that the little contest was +closed.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything in this, do you think? This chatter about Mrs. Brandon +and Morris."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. There's a lot of talk beginning. Ellen Stiles is largely +responsible, I fancy."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Brandon and Morris! Good Lord! Have you ever heard of a man called +Davray?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a drunken painter, isn't he? Why?"</p> + +<p>"I talked to him in the Cathedral this afternoon. He has a grudge against +Brandon too...Well, I'm going up to the study."</p> + +<p>He bent over, kissed her forehead tenderly and left the room.</p> + +<p>Throughout that evening he was uncomfortable, and when he was +uncomfortable he was a strange being. His impulses, his motives, his +intentions were like a sheaf of corn bound tightly about by his sense of +comfort and well-being. When that sense was disturbed everything fell +apart and he seemed to be facing a new world full of elements that he +always denied. His aunt had a greater power of disturbing him than had any +other human being. He knew that she spoke what she believed to be the +truth; he felt that, in spite of her denials, she knew him. He was often +surprised at the eagerness with which he wanted her approval.</p> + +<p>As he sat back in his chair that evening in Bentinck-Major's comfortable +library and watched the other, this sense of discomfort persisted so +strongly that he found it very difficult to let his mind bite into the +discussion. And yet this meeting was immensely important to him. It was +the first obvious result of the manoeuvring of the last months. This was +definitely a meeting of Conspirators, and all of those engaged in it, with +one exception, knew that that was so. Bentinck-Major knew it, and Foster +and Ryle and Rogers. The exception was Martin, a young Minor Canon, who +had the living of St. Joseph's-in-the-Fields, a slum parish in the lower +part of the town.</p> + +<p>Martin had been invited because he was the best clergyman in Polchester. +Young though he was, every one was already aware of his strength, +integrity, power with the men of the town, sense of humour and +intelligence. There was, perhaps, no man in the whole of Polchester whom +Ronder was so anxious to have on his side.</p> + +<p>He was a man with a scorn of any intrigue, deeply religious, but human and +impatient of humbug.</p> + +<p>Ronder knew that he was the Polchester clergyman beyond all others who +would in later years come to great power, although at present he had +nothing save his Minor Canonry and small living. He was not perhaps a +deeply read man, he was of no especial family nor school and had graduated +at Durham University. In appearance he was common-place, thin, tall, with +light sandy hair and mild good-tempered eyes. It had been Ronder's +intention that he should be invited. Foster, who was more responsible for +the meeting than any one, had protested.</p> + +<p>"Martin--what's the point of Martin?"</p> + +<p>"You'll see in five years' time," Ronder had answered.</p> + +<p>Now, as Ronder looked round at them all, he moved restlessly in his chair.</p> + +<p>Was it true that his aunt was changing her opinion of him? Would he have +to deal, during the coming months, with persistent disapproval and +opposition from her? And it was so unfair. He had meant absolutely what he +said, that he liked Brandon and wished him no harm. He <i>did</i> believe +that it was for the good of the town that Brandon should go....</p> + +<p>He was pulled up by Foster, who was asking him to tell them exactly what +it was that they were to discuss. Instinctively he looked at Martin as he +spoke. As always, with the first word there came over him a sense of +mastery and happiness, a desire to move people like pawns, a readiness to +twist any principle, moral and ethical, if he might bend it to his +purpose. Instinctively he pitched his voice, formed his mouth, spread his +hands upon the broad arms of his chair exactly as an actor fills in his +part.</p> + +<p>"I object a little," he said, laughing, "to Foster's suggestion that I am +responsible for our talking here. I've no right to be responsible for +anything when I've been in the place so short a time. All the same, I +don't want to pretend to any false modesty. I've been in Polchester long +enough to be fond of it, and I'm going to be fonder of it still before +I've done. I don't want to pretend to any sentimentality either, but there +are broader issues than merely the fortunes of this Cathedral in danger.</p> + +<p>"Because I feel the danger, I intend to speak out about it, and get any +one on my side I can. When I find that Canon Foster who has been here so +long and loves the Cathedral so passionately and so honestly, if I may say +so, feels as I do, then I'm only strengthened in my determination. I don't +care who says that I've no right to push myself forward about this. I'm +not pushing myself forward.</p> + +<p>"As soon as some one else will take the cause in hand I'll step back, but +I'm not going to see the battle lost simply because I'm afraid of what +people will say of me.... Well, this is all fine words. The point simply +is that, as every one knows, poor Morrison is desperately ill and the +living of Pybus St. Anthony may fall vacant at any moment. The appointment +is a Chapter appointment. The living isn't anything very tremendous in +itself, but it has been looked upon for years as <i>the</i> jumping-off +place for preferment in the diocese. Time after time the man who has gone +there has become the most important influence here. Men are generally +chosen, as I understand it, with that in view. These are, of course, all +commonplaces to you, but I'm recapitulating them because it makes my point +the stronger. Morrison with all his merits was not out of the way +intellectually. This time we want an exceptional man.</p> + +<p>"I've only been here a few months, but I've noticed many things, and I +will definitely say that the Cathedral is at a crisis in its history. +Perhaps the mere fact that this is Jubilee Year makes us all more ready to +take stock than we would otherwise have been. But it is not only that. The +Church is being attacked from all sides. I don't believe that there has +ever been a time when the west of England needed new blood, new thought, +new energy more than it does at this time. The vacancy at Pybus will offer +a most wonderful opportunity to bring that force among us. I should have +thought every one would realise that.</p> + +<p>"It happens, however, that I have discovered on first-hand evidence that +there is a strong resolve on the part of most important persons in this +town (I will mention no names) to fill the living with the most +unsatisfactory, worthless and conservative influence that could possibly +be found anywhere. If that influence succeeds I don't believe I'm +exaggerating when I say that the progress of the religious life here is +flung back fifty years. One of the greatest opportunities the Chapter can +ever have had will have been missed. I don't think we can regard the +crisis as too serious."</p> + +<p>Foster broke in: "Why <i>not</i> mention names, Canon? We've no time to +waste. It's all humbug pretending we don't know whom you mean. It's +Brandon who wants to put young Forsyth into Pybus whom we're fighting. +Let's be honest."</p> + +<p>"No. I won't allow that," Ronder said quickly. "We're fighting no +personalities. Speaking for myself, there's no one I admire more in this +town than Brandon. I think him reactionary and opposed to new ideas, and a +dangerous influence here, but there's no personal feeling in any of this. +We've got to keep personalities out of this. There's something bigger than +our own likes and dislikes in this."</p> + +<p>"Words! Words," said Foster angrily. "I hate Brandon. You hate him, +Ronder, for all you're so circumspect. It's true enough that we don't want +young Forsyth at Pybus, but it's truer still that we want to bring the +Archdeacon's pride down. And we're going to."</p> + +<p>The atmosphere was electric. Rogers' thin and bony features were flushed +with pleasure at Foster's denunciation. Bentinck-Major rubbed his soft +hands one against the other and closed his eyes as though he were +determined to be a gentleman to the last; Martin sat upright in his chair, +his face puzzled, his gaze fixed upon Ronder; Ryle, the picture of nervous +embarrassment, glanced from one face to another, as though imploring every +one not to be angry with him--all these sharp words were certainly not his +fault.</p> + +<p>Ronder was vexed with himself. He was certainly not at his best to-night. +He had realised the personalities that were around him, and yet had not +steered his boat among them with the dexterous skill that was usually his.</p> + +<p>In his heart he cursed Foster for a meddling, cantankerous fanatic.</p> + +<p>Rogers broke in. "I must say," he exclaimed in a strange shrill voice like +a peacock's, "that I associate myself with every word of Canon Foster's. +Whatever we may pretend in public, the great desire of our hearts is to +drive Brandon out of the place. The sooner we do it the better. It should +have been done long ago."</p> + +<p>Martin spoke. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I had known that this meeting was +to be a personal attack on the Archdeacon, I never would have come. I +don't think the diocese has a finer servant than Archdeacon Brandon. I +admire him immensely. He has made mistakes. So do we all of course. But I +have the highest opinion of his character, his work and his importance +here, and I would like every one in the room to know that before we go any +further."</p> + +<p>"That's right. That's right," said Ryle, smiling around nervously upon +every one. "Canon Martin is right, don't you think? I hope nobody here +will say that I have any ill feeling against the Archdeacon. I haven't, +indeed, and I shouldn't like any one to charge me with it."</p> + +<p>Ronder struck in then, and his voice was so strong, so filled with +authority, that every one looked up as though some new figure had entered +the room.</p> + +<p>"I should like to emphasise at once," he said, "so that no one here or +anywhere else can be under the slightest misapprehension, that I will take +part in nothing that has any personal animus towards anybody. Surely this +is a question of Pybus and Forsyth and of nothing else at all. I have not +even anything against Mr. Forsyth; I have never seen him--I wish him all +the luck in life. But we are fighting a battle for the Pybus living and +for nothing more nor less than that.</p> + +<p>"If my own brother wanted that living and was not the right man for it I +would fight him. The Archdeacon does not see the thing at present as we +do; it is possible that very shortly he may. As soon as he does I'm behind +him."</p> + +<p>Foster shook his head. "Have it your own way," he said. "Everything's the +same here--always compromise. Compromise! Compromise! I'm sick of the +cowardly word. We'll say no more of Brandon for the moment then. He'll +come up again, never fear. He's not the sort of man to avoid spoiling his +own soup."</p> + +<p>"Very good," said Bentinck-Major in his most patronising manner. "Now we +are all agreed, I think. You will have noticed that I've been waiting for +this moment to suggest that we should come to business. Our business, I +believe, is to obtain what support we can against the gift of the living +to Mr. Forsyth and to suggest some other candidate...hum, haw...yes, +other candidate."</p> + +<p>"There's only one possible candidate," Foster brought out, banging his +lean fist down upon the table near to him. "And that's Wistons of Hawston. +It's been the wish of my heart for years back to bring Wistons here. We +don't know, of course, if he would come, but I think he could be +persuaded. And then--then there'd be hope once more! God would be served! +His Church would be a fitting Tabernacle!..."</p> + +<p>He broke off. Amazing to see the rapt devotion that now lighted up his +ugly face until it shone with saintly beauty. The harsh lines were +softened, the eyes were gentle, the mouth tender. "Then indeed," he almost +whispered, "I might say my 'Nunc Dimittis' and go."</p> + +<p>It was not he alone who was stirred. Martin spoke eagerly: "Is that the +Wistons of the <i>Four Creeds</i>?--the man who wrote <i>The New Apocalypse</i>?"</p> + +<p>Foster smiled. "There's only one Wistons," he said, pride ringing in his +voice as though he were speaking of his favourite son, "for all the +world."</p> + +<p>"Why, that would be magnificent," Martin said, "if he'd come. But would +he? I should think that very doubtful."</p> + +<p>"I think he would," said Foster softly, still as though he were speaking +to himself.</p> + +<p>"Why, that, of course, is wonderful!" Martin looked round upon them all, +his eyes glowing. "There isn't a man in England----" He broke off. "But +surely if there's a <i>real</i> chance of getting Wistons nobody on the +Chapter would dream of proposing a man like Forsyth. It's incredible!"</p> + +<p>"Incredible!" burst in Foster. "Not a bit of it! Do you suppose Brandon--I +beg pardon for mentioning his name, as we're all so particular--do you +suppose Brandon wouldn't fight just such a man? He regards him as +dangerous, modern, subversive, heretical, anything you please. Wistons! +Why, he'd make Brandon's hair stand on end!"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Martin gravely, "if there's any real chance of getting +Wistons into this diocese I'll work for it with my coat off."</p> + +<p>"Good," said Bentinck-Major, tapping with a little gold pencil that he had +been fingering, on the table. "Now we are all agreed. The next question +is, what steps are we to take?"</p> + +<p>They all looked instinctively at Ronder. He felt their glances. He was +happy, assured, comfortable once more. He was master of them. They lay in +his hand for him to do as he would with them. His brain now moved clearly, +smoothly, like a beautiful shining machine. His eyes glowed.</p> + +<p>"Now, it's occurred to me----" he said. They all drew their chairs closer.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_13"></a>Chapter V</h1> + +<h2>Falk by the River</h2> + + + +<p>Upon that same evening when the conspirators met in Bentinck-Major's +handsome study Mrs. Brandon had a ridiculous fit of hysterics.</p> + +<p>She had never had hysterics before; the fit came upon her now when she was +sitting in front of her glass brushing her hair. She was dressing for +dinner and could see her reflection, white and thin, in the mirror before +her. Suddenly the face in the glass began to smile and it became at that +same instant another face that she had never seen before.</p> + +<p>It was a horrid smile and broke suddenly into laughter. It was as though +the face had been hit by something and cracked then into a thousand +pieces.</p> + +<p>She laughed until the tears poured down her cheeks, but her eyes +protested, looking piteously and in dismay from the studied glass. She +knew that she was laughing with shrill high cries, and behind her horror +at her collapse there was a desperate protesting attempt to calm herself, +driven, above all, upon her agitated heart by the fear lest her husband +should come in and discover her.</p> + +<p>The laughter ceased quite suddenly and was followed by a rush of tears. +She cried as though her heart would break, then, with trembling steps, +crossed to her bed and lay down. Very shortly she must control herself +because the dinner-bell would ring and she must go. To stay and send the +conventional excuse of a headache would bring her husband up to her, and +although he was so full of his own affairs that the questions that he +would ask her would be perfunctory and absent-minded, she felt that she +could not endure, just now, to be alone with him.</p> + +<p>She lay on her bed shivering and wondering what malign power it was that +had seized her. Malign it was, she did not for an instant doubt. She had +asked, did ask, for so little. Only to see Morris for a moment every day. +To see him anywhere in as public a place as you please, but to see him, to +hear his voice, to look into his eyes, to touch his hand (soft and gentle +like a woman's hand)--that had been now for months an absolute necessity. +She did not ask more than that, and yet she was aware that there was no +pause in the accumulating force of the passion that was seizing her. She +was being drawn along by two opposite powers--the tenderness of protective +maternal love and the ruthlessness of the lust for possession.</p> + +<p>She wanted to care for him, to watch over him, to guard him, to do +everything for him, and also she wanted to feel her hold over him, to see +him move, almost as though he were hypnotised, towards her.</p> + +<p>The thought of him, the perpetual incessant thought of him, ruled out the +thought of every one else in the world--save only Falk. She scarcely now +considered her husband at all; she never for an instant wondered whether +people in the town were talking. She saw only Morris and her future with +Morris--only that and Falk.</p> + +<p>Upon Falk now everything hung. She had made a kind of bargain. If Falk +stayed and loved her and cared for her she would resist the power that was +drawing her towards Morris. Now, a million times more than before she had +met Morris, she must have some one for whom she could care. It was as +though a lamp had been lit and flung a great track of light over those +dark, empty earlier years. How could she ever have lived as she did? The +hunger, the desperate, eager, greedy hunger was roused in her. Falk could +satisfy it, but, if he would not, then she would hesitate no longer.</p> + +<p>She would seize Morris as a tiger seizes its prey. She did not disguise +that from herself. As she lay now, trembling, upon her bed, she never +hesitated to admit to herself that the thought of her domination over +Morris was her great glory. She had never dominated any one before. He +followed her like a man in a dream, and she was not young, she was not +beautiful, she was not clever....</p> + +<p>It was her own personal, personal, personal triumph. And then, on that, +there swept over her the flood of her tenderness for him, how she longed +to be good to him, to care for him, to mend and sew and cook and wash for +him, to perform the humblest tasks for him, to nurse him and protect him. +She knew that the end of this might be social ruin for both of them!... +Ah, well, then, he would only need her the more! She was quieter now--the +trembling ceased. How strange the way that during these months they had +been meeting, so often without their own direct agency at all! She +recalled every moment, every gesture, every word. He seemed already to be +part of herself, moving within herself.</p> + +<p>She sat up on her bed; moved back to her glass. She bathed her face, +slipped on her dress, and went downstairs.</p> + +<p>They were a family party at dinner, but, of course, without Falk. He was +always out in the evening now.</p> + +<p>Joan talked, chattered on. The meal was soon over. The Archdeacon went to +his study, and the two women sat in the drawing-room, Joan by the window, +Mrs. Brandon, hidden in a high arm-chair, near the fireplace. The clock +ticked on and the Cathedral bells struck the quarters. Joan's white dress, +beyond the circle of lamp-light was a dim shadow. Mrs. Brandon turned the +pages of her book, her ears straining for the sound of Falk's return.</p> + +<p>As she sat there, so inattentively turning the pages of her book, the +foreboding sense of some approaching drama flooded the room. For how many +years had she lived from day to day and nothing had occurred--so long that +life had been unconscious, doped, inert. Now it had sprung into vitality +again with the sudden frantic impertinence of a Jack-in-the-Box. For +twenty years you are dry on the banks, half-asleep, stretching out lazy +fingers for food, slumbering, waking, slumbering again. Suddenly a wave +comes and you are swept off--swept off into what disastrous sea?</p> + +<p>She did not think in pictures, it was not her way, but to-night, half- +terrified, half-exultant, in the long dim room she waited, the pressure of +her heart beating up into her throat, listening, watching Joan furtively, +seeing Morris, his eternal shadow, itching with its long tapering fingers +to draw her away with him beyond the house. No, she would be true with +herself. It was he who would be drawn away. The power was in her, not in +him....</p> + +<p>She looked wearily across at Joan. The child was irritating to her as she +had always been. She had never, in any case, cared for her own sex, and +now, as so frequently with women who are about to plunge into some +passionate situation, she regarded every one she saw as a potential +interferer. She despised women as most women in their secret hearts do, +and especially she despised Joan.</p> + +<p>"You'd better go up to bed, dear. It's half-past ten."</p> + +<p>Without a word Joan got up, came across the room, kissed her mother, went +to the door. Then she paused.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she said, hesitating, and then speaking timidly, "is father all +right?"</p> + +<p>"All right, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He doesn't look well. His forehead is all flushed, and I overheard +some one at the Sampsons' say the other day that he wasn't well really, +that he must take great care of himself. Ought he to?"</p> + +<p>"Ought he what?"</p> + +<p>"To take great care of himself."</p> + +<p>"What nonsense!" Mrs. Brandon turned back to her book impatiently. "There +never was any one so strong and healthy."</p> + +<p>"He's always worrying about something. It's his nature."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so."</p> + +<p>Joan vanished. Mrs. Brandon sat, staring before her, her mind running with +the clock--tick-tick-tick-tick--and then suddenly jumping at the mellow +liquid gurgle that it sometimes gave. Would her husband come in and say +good-night?</p> + +<p>How she had grown, during these last weeks, to loathe his kiss! He would +stand behind her chair, bending his great body over her, his red face +would come down, then the whiff of tobacco, then the rough pressure on her +cheek, the hard, unmeaning contact of his lips and hers. His beautiful +eyes would stare beyond her, absently into the room. Beautiful! Why, yes, +they were famous eyes, famous the diocese through. How well she remembered +those years, long ago, when they had seemed to speak to her of every +conceivable tenderness and sweetness, and how, when he thus had bent over +her, she had stretched up her hand and found the buttons of his waistcoat +and pushed her fingers in, stroking his shirt and feeling his heart thump, +thump, and so warm beneath her touch.</p> + +<p>Life! Life! What a cheat! What a cheat! She jumped from her chair, letting +the book drop upon the floor, and began to pace the room. And why should +not this, too, cheat her once again? With the tenderness, the poignancy +with which she now looked upon Morris so once she had looked upon Brandon. +Yes, that might be. She would cheat herself no longer. But she was older +now. This was the last chance to live--definitely, positively the last. It +was not the desire to be loved, this time, that drove her forward so +urgently as the desire to love. She knew that, because Falk would do. If +Falk would stay, would let her care for him and mother him and be with +him, she would drive Morris from her heart and brain.</p> + +<p>Yes, she almost cried aloud in the dark room. "Give me Falk and I will +leave the other. Give me my own son. That's my right--every mother's +right. If I am refused it, it is just that I should take what I can get +instead."</p> + +<p>"Give him to me! Give him to me!" One thing at least was certain. She +could never return to the old lethargy. That first meeting with Morris had +fired her into life. She could not go back and she was glad that she could +not....</p> + +<p>She stopped in the middle of the room to listen. The hall-door closed +softly; suddenly the line of light below the door vanished. Some one had +turned down the hall-lamp. She went to the drawing-room door, opened it, +looked out, crying softly:</p> + +<p>"Falk! Falk!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother." He came across to her. He was holding a lighted candle in +his hand. "Are you still up?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it isn't very late. Barely eleven. Come into the drawing-room."</p> + +<p>They went back into the room. He closed the door behind him, then put the +candle down on to a small round table; they sat in the candle-light, one +on either side of the table.</p> + +<p>He looked at her and thought how small and fragile she looked and how +little, anyway, she meant to him.</p> + +<p>How much most mothers meant to their sons, and how little she had ever +meant to him! He had always taken his father's view of her, that it was +necessary for her to be there, that she naturally did her best, but that +she did not expect you to think about her.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be in bed," he said, wishing that she would release him.</p> + +<p>For the first time in her life she spoke to him spontaneously, losing +entirely the sense that she had always had, that both he and his father +would go away and leave her if she were tiresome. + +To-night he would <i>not</i> go away--not until she had struck her bargain +with him.</p> + +<p>"What have you been up to all these weeks, Falk?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Up to?" he repeated. Her challenge was unexpected.</p> + +<p>"Yes; of course I know you're up to something, and you <i>know</i> that I +know. You must tell me. I'm your mother and I ought to be told."</p> + +<p>He knew at once as soon as she spoke that she was the very last person in +the world to whom he wished to tell anything. He was tired, dead tired, +and wanted to go to bed, but he was arrested by the urgency in her voice. +What was the matter with her? So intent had he been, for the past months, +on his own affairs that he had not thought of his mother at all. He looked +across the table at her--a little insignificant woman, colourless, with no +personality. And yet to-night something was happening to her. He felt all +the impatience of a man who is closely occupied with his own drama but is +forced, quite against his will, to consider some one else.</p> + +<p>"There isn't anything to tell you, mother. Really there is not. I've just +been kicking my heels round this blasted town for the last few months and +I'm restless. I'll be going up to London very shortly."</p> + +<p>"Why need you?" she asked him. The candle flame seemed to jump with the +sharpness of her voice.</p> + +<p>"Why need I? But of course I must. I ask you, is this a place for <i>any +one</i> to settle down in?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know why it shouldn't be. I should have thought you could be very +happy here. There are so many things you could do."</p> + +<p>"What, for instance?"</p> + +<p>"You could be a solicitor, or go into business, or--or--why, you'd soon +find something."</p> + +<p>He got up, taking the candle in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Well, if that's your idea, mother, I'm sorry, but you can just put it out +of your head once and for all. I'd rather be buried alive than stay in +this hole. I <i>would</i> be buried alive if I stayed."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him. He was so tall, so handsome, <i>and so distant</i>-- +some one who had no connection with her at all. She too got up, putting +her little hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Then are we, all of us, to count for nothing at all?"</p> + +<p>"Of course you count," he answered impatiently, irritated by the pressure +of her fingers on his coat. "You'll see plenty of me. But you can't +possibly expect me to live here. I've completely wasted my beautiful young +life so far--now apparently you want me to waste the rest of it."</p> + +<p>"Then," she said, coming nearer to him and dropping her voice, "take me +with you."</p> + +<p>"Take you with me!" He stepped back from her. He could not believe that he +had heard her correctly. "Take <i>you</i> with me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Take you with me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, yes."</p> + +<p>It was the greatest surprise of his life. He stared at her in his +amazement, putting the candle back upon the table.</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>"Why?...Why do you think?...Because I love you and want to be with you."</p> + +<p>"Be with me? Leave this? Leave Polchester?...Leave father?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, why not? Your father doesn't need me any longer. Nobody wants me +here. Why shouldn't I go?"</p> + +<p>He came close to her, giving her now all his attention, staring at her as +though he were seeing her for the first time in his life.</p> + +<p>"Mother, aren't you well?...Aren't you happy?"</p> + +<p>She laughed. "Happy? Oh, yes, so happy that I'd drown myself to-night if +that would do any good."</p> + +<p>"Here, sit down." He almost pushed her back into her chair. "We've got to +have this out. I don't know what you're talking about. You're unhappy? +Why, what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"The matter? Oh, nothing!" she answered. "Nothing at all, except for the +last ten years I've hated this place, hated this house, hated your +father."</p> + +<p>"Hated father?"</p> + +<p>He stared at her as though she had in a moment gone completely mad.</p> + +<p>"Yes, why not?" she answered quietly. "What has he ever done that I should +feel otherwise? What attention has he ever paid to me? When has he ever +considered me except as a sort of convenient housekeeper and mistress whom +he pays to keep near him? Why shouldn't I hate him? You're very young, +Falk, and it would probably surprise you to know how many quiet stay-at- +home wives there are who hate their good, honest, well-meaning husbands."</p> + +<p>He drew a deep breath.</p> + +<p>"What's father ever done," he said, "to make you hate him?"</p> + +<p>She should have realised then, from the sound in his voice, that she was, +in her preoccupation with her own affairs, forgetting one of the principal +elements in the whole case, his love for his father.</p> + +<p>"It isn't what he's done," she answered. "It's what he hasn't done. Whom +has he ever considered but himself? Isn't his conceit so big that he can't +see any one but himself. Why should we go on pretending that he's so great +and wonderful? Do you suppose that any one can live for twenty years and +more with your father and not see how small and selfish and mean he is? +How he----"</p> + +<p>"You're not to say that," Falk interrupted her angrily. "Father may have +his faults--so has every one--but we've got worse ones. He isn't mean and +he isn't small. He may seem conceited, but that's only because he cares so +for the Cathedral and knows what he's done for it. He's the finest man I +know anywhere. He doesn't see things as I do--I don't suppose that father +and son ever do see alike--but that needn't prevent me from admiring him. +Why, mother, what's come over you? You can't be well. Leave father! Why, +it would be terrible! Think of the talk there'd be! Why, it would ruin +father here. He'd never get over it."</p> + +<p>She saw then the mistake that she had made. She looked across at him +beseechingly.</p> + +<p>"You're right, Falk. I didn't mean that, I don't mean that. But I'm so +unhappy that I don't know what I'm saying. All I want is to be with you. +It wouldn't hurt father if I went up to London with you for a little. What +I really want is a holiday. I could come back after a month or two +refreshed. I'm tired."</p> + +<p>Suddenly while she was speaking the ironical contrast hit him. Here was he +amazed at his mother for daring to contemplate a step that would do his +father harm, while he, he who professed to love his father, was about to +do something that would cause the whole town to talk for a year. But that +was different. Surely it was different. He was young and must make his own +life. He must be allowed to marry whom he would. It was not as though he +were intending to ruin the girl....</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, this sudden comparison bewildered and shocked him.</p> + +<p>He leant across the table to her. "You must never leave father--never," he +said. "You mustn't think of it. He wants you badly. He mayn't show it +exactly as you want it. Men aren't demonstrative as women are, but he'd be +miserable if you went away. He loves you in his own fashion, which is just +as good as yours, only different. You must <i>never</i> leave him, mother, +do you hear?"</p> + +<p>She saw that she was defeated, entirely and completely. She cried to the +Powers:</p> + +<p>"You've refused me what I ask. I go my own way, then."</p> + +<p>She got up, kissed him on the forehead and said: "I daresay you're right, +Falk. Forget what I've said. I didn't mean most of it. Good-night, dear."</p> + +<p>She went out, quietly closing the door behind her.</p> + +<p> Falk did not sleep at all that night. This was only one of many sleepless +nights, but it was the worst of them. The night was warm, and a faint dim +colour lingered behind the treetops of the garden beyond his open window. +First he lay under the clothes, then upon the top of his bed, then +stripped, plunging his head into a basin of water, then naked save for his +soft bedroom slippers, paced his room...His head was a flaming fire. The +pale light seemed for an instant to vanish, and the world was dark and +silent. Then, at the striking of the Cathedral clock, as though it were a +signal upon some stage, the light slowly crept back again, growing ever +stronger and stronger. The birds began to twitter; a cock crew. A bar of +golden light broken by the squares and patterns of the dark trees struck +the air.</p> + +<p>The shock of his mother's announcement had been terrific. It was not only +the surprise of it, it was the sudden light that it flung upon his own +case. He had gone, during these last weeks, so far with Annie Hogg that it +was hard indeed to see how there could be any stepping back. They had +achieved a strange relationship together: one not of comradeship, nor of +lust, nor of desire, nor of affection, having a little of all these things +but not much of any of them, and finally resembling the case of two +strangers, shipwrecked, hanging on to a floating spar of wood that might +bring them into safety.</p> + +<p>She was miserable; he was miserable; whether she cared for him he could +not tell, nor whether he cared for her. The excitement that she created in +him was intense, all-devouring, but it was not an excitement of lust. He +had never done more than kiss her, and he was quite ready that it should +remain so. He intended, perhaps, to marry her, but of that he could not be +sure.</p> + +<p>But he could not leave her; he could not keep away from her although he +was seldom happy when he was with her. Slowly, gradually, through their +meetings there had grown a bond. He was more naturally himself with her +than with any other human being. Although she excited him she also +tranquillised him. Increasingly he admired and respected her--her honesty, +independence, reserve, pride. Perhaps it was upon that that their alliance +was really based--upon mutual respect and admiration. There had been +never, from the very first moment, any deception between them. He had +never been so honest with any one before--certainly not with himself. His +desire, beyond everything else in life, was to be honest: to pretend to no +emotion that he did not truly feel, to see exactly how he felt about life, +and to stand up before it unafraid and uncowed. Honesty seemed to him the +greatest quality in life; that was why he had been attracted to Ronder. +And yet life seemed to be for ever driving him into false positions. Even +now he was contemplating running away with this girl. Until to-night he +had fancied that he was only contemplating it, but his conversation with +his mother had shown him how near he was to a decision. Nevertheless, he +would talk to Ronder and to his father, not, of course, telling them +everything, but catching perhaps from them some advice that would seem to +him so true that it would guide him.</p> + +<p>Finally, when the gold bar appeared behind the trees he forced himself +into honesty with his father. How could he have meant so sincerely that +his mother must not hurt his father when he himself was about to hurt him?</p> + +<p>And this discovery had not lessened his determination to take the step. +Was he, then, utterly hypocritical? He knew he was not.</p> + +<p>He could look ahead of his own affair and see that in the end his father +would admit that it had been best for him. They all knew--even his mother +must in her heart have known--that he was not going to live in Polchester +for ever. His departure for London was inevitable, and it simply was that +he would take Annie with him. That would be for a moment a blow to his +father, but it would not be so for long. And in the town his father would +win sympathy; he, Falk, would be condemned and despised. They would say: +"Ah, that young Brandon. He never was any good. His father did all he +could, but it was no use...." And then in a little time there would come +the news that he was doing well in London, and all would be right.</p> + +<p>He looked to his talk with Ronder. Ronder would advise well. Ronder knew +life. He was not provincial like these others....</p> + +<p>Suddenly he was cold. He went back to bed and slept dreamlessly.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>Next evening, as half-past eight was striking, he was at his customary +post by the river, above the "Dog and Pilchard."</p> + +<p>A heavy storm was mounting up behind the Cathedral, black clouds being +piled tier on tier as though some gigantic shopman were shooting out rolls +of carpet for the benefit of some celestial purchaser. The Cathedral shone +in the last flash of the fleeing light with a strange phantasmal silver +sheen; once more it was a ship sailing high before the tempest.</p> + +<p>Down by the river the dusk was grey and sodden. The river, flowing +sullenly, was a lighter dark between the line of houses and the bending +fields. The air was so heavy that men seemed to walk with bending backs as +though the burden was more than they could sustain. This section of the +river had become now to Falk something that was part of himself. The old +mill, the group of trees beside it, the low dam over which the water fell +with its own peculiar drunken gurgle, the pathway with its gritty stony +surface, so that it seemed to grind its teeth in protest at every step +that you took, on the left the town piled high behind you with the +Cathedral winged and dominant and supreme, the cool sloping fields beyond +the river, the dark bend of the wood cutting the horizon--these things +were his history and he was theirs.</p> + +<p>There were many other places to which they might have gone, other times +that they might have chosen, but circumstances and accident had found for +them always this same background. He had long ago ceased to consider +whether any one was watching them or talking about them. They were, +neither of them, cowards, although to Annie her father was a figure of +sinister power and evil desire. She hated her father, believed him capable +of infinite wickedness, but did not fear him enough to hesitate to face +him. Nevertheless, it was from him that she was chiefly escaping, and she +gave to Falk a curious consciousness of the depths of malice and vice that +lay hidden behind that smiling face, in the secret places of that fat +jolly body. Falk was certain now that Hogg knew of their meetings; he +suspected that he had known of them from the first. Hogg had his faults +but they did not frighten Falk, who was, indeed, afraid of no man alive +save only himself.</p> + +<p>The other element in the affair that increased as the week passed was +Falk's consciousness of the strange spirit of nobility that there was in +Annie. Although she stirred him so deeply she did not blind him as to her +character. He saw her exactly for what she was--uneducated, ignorant, +limited in all her outlook, common in many ways, sometimes surly, often +superstitious; but through all these things that strain of nobility ran, +showing itself in many unexpected places, calling to him like an echo from +some high, far-distant source. Because of it he was beginning to wonder +whether after all the alliance that was beginning to spring up between +them might not be something more permanent and durable than at first he +had ever supposed it could be. He was beginning to wonder whether he had +not been fortunate far beyond his deserts....</p> + +<p>On this thunder-night they met like old friends who had known one another +for many years and between whom there had never been anything but +comradeship. They did not kiss, but simply touched hands and moved up +through the gathering dark to the little bridge below the mill. From here +they felt the impact of the chattering water rising to them and falling +again like a comment on their talk.</p> + +<p>"It'll not be many more times," Annie said, "we'll be coming here."</p> + +<p>"Why?" Falk asked.</p> + +<p>"Because I'm going up to London whether you come or no--and <i>soon</i> +I'm going."</p> + +<p>He admired nothing in her more than the clear-cut decision of her mind, +which moved quietly from point to point, asking no advice, allowing no +regrets when the decision was once made.</p> + +<p>"What has happened since last time?"</p> + +<p>"Happened? Nothing. Only father and the 'Dog,' and drink. I'm through with +it."</p> + +<p>"And what would you do in London if you went up alone?"</p> + +<p>She flung up her head suddenly, laughing. "You think I'm helpless, don't +you? Well, I'm not."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't--but you don't know London."</p> + +<p>"A fearsome place, mebbe, but not more disgustin' than father."</p> + +<p>There was irritation in his voice as he said:</p> + +<p>"Then it doesn't matter to you whether I come with you or not?"</p> + +<p>Her reply was soft. She suddenly put out her hand and took his.</p> + +<p>"Of course it matters. We're friends. The best friend I'm likely to find, +I reckon. What would I be meeting you for all these months if I didn't +care for you? Just to be admiring the scenery?--shouldn't like."</p> + +<p>She laughed softly.</p> + +<p>She went on: "I'm ready to go with you or without you. If we go together +I'm independent, just as though I went without you. I'm independent of +every one--father and you and all. I'll marry you if you want me, or I'll +live with you without marrying, or I'll live without you and never see you +again. I won't say that leaving you wouldn't hurt. It would, after being +with you all these weeks; but I'd rather be hurt than be dependent."</p> + +<p>He held her hand tightly between his two.</p> + +<p>"Folks 'ud say," she went on, "that I had no right to be talkin' of going +away with you--that I'd be ruining your future and making people look down +on you, and all that. Well, that's for you to say. If you think it harms +your prospects being with me you needn't see me. I've my own prospects to +think of. I'm not going to have any man ashamed of me."</p> + +<p>"You're right to speak of it, and we're right to think of it," said Falk. +"It isn't my prospects that I've got to think about, but it's my father I +wouldn't like to hurt. If we go away together there'll be a great deal of +talk here, and it will all fall on my father."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," she said, tossing her head and taking her hand away from +his, "don't come. <i>I'm</i> not asking you. As for your father, he's that +proud----" She stopped suddenly. "No. I'm saying nothing about that. You +care for him, and you're right to. As far as that goes, we needn't go +together; you can come up later and join me."</p> + +<p>When she said that, he knew that he couldn't bear the thought of her going +alone, and that he had all along been determined in his thought that she +should not go alone.</p> + +<p>"If you'd say you loved me," he said, suddenly bending towards her, "I'd +never let you out of my sight again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you would," she said; "you don't know whether you <i>do</i> love +me. Many's the time you think you don't. And I don't know whether I love +you. Sometimes I think I do. What's love, anyway? I dunno. I think +sometimes I'm not made to feel that way towards any one. But what I really +meant to say to-night is, that I'm dead sick of this hanging-on. I'm going +up to a cousin I've got Blackheath way a week from to-night. If you're +coming, I'm glad. If you're not--well, I reckon I'll get over it."</p> + +<p>"A week from to-day--" He looked out over the water.</p> + +<p>"Aye. That's settled."</p> + +<p>Then, unexpected, as she so often was, she put her arms round his neck and +drew his head down to her bosom and let her hand rest on his hair.</p> + +<p>"I like to feel you there," she said. "It's more a mother I feel to you +than a lover."</p> + +<p>She would not let him kiss her, but suddenly moved away from him, into the +dark, leaving him where he stood.</p> + +<p>When he was half-way home the storm that had been slowly, during the last +hour and a half, climbing up above the town, broke. As he was crossing the +market-place the rain came down in torrents, dancing upon the uneven +cobbles with a kind of excited frenzy, and thickening the air with a +curtain of mist. He climbed the High Street, his head down, feeling a +physical satisfaction in the fierce soaking that the storm was giving him. +The town was shining and deserted. Not a soul about. No sound except the +hissing, sneering, chattering whisper of the deluge. He went up to his +room and changed, putting on a dinner jacket, and came down to his +father's study. It was too late for dinner, but he was not hungry; he did +not know how long it was since he had felt hungry last.</p> + +<p>He knocked and went in. He felt a desperate urgency that he must somehow +reconcile the interests and happiness of the two people who were then +filling all his thoughts--his father and Annie. There must <i>be</i> a +way. He could feel still the touch of Annie's hand upon his head; he was +more deeply bound to her by that evening's conversation than he had ever +been before, but he longed to be able to reassure himself by some contact +with his father that he was not going to hurt the old man, that he would +be able to prove to him that his loyalty was true and his affection deep.</p> + +<p>Small causes produce lasting results, and the lives of many people would +have been changed had Falk caught his father that night in another mood.</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon did not look up at the sound of the closing door. He was +sitting at his big table writing letters, the expression of his face being +that of a boy who has been kept in on a fine afternoon to write out the +first fifty lines of the <i>Iliad</i>. His curly hair was ruffled, his +mouth was twisted with disgust, and he pushed his big body about in his +chair, kicked out his legs and drew them in as though beneath his +concentration on his letters he was longing to spring up, catch his enemy +by the throat, roll him over on to the ground and kick him.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, governor!" Falk said, and settled down into one of the big leather +arm-chairs, produced a pipe from his pocket and slowly filled it.</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon went on writing, muttering to himself, biting the end of +his quill pen. He had not apparently been aware of his son's entrance, but +suddenly he sprang up, pushed back his chair until it nearly fell over, +and began to stride up and down the room. He was a fine figure then, +throwing up his head, flinging out his arms, apostrophising the world.</p> + +<p>"Gratitude! They don't know what it means. Do you think I'll go on working +for them, wearing myself to a shadow, staying up all night--getting up at +seven in the morning, and then to have this sort of return? I'll leave the +place. I'll let them make their own mistakes and see how they like that. +I'll teach them gratitude. Here am I; for ten years I've done nothing but +slave for the town and the Cathedral. Who's worked for them as I have?"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, father?" Falk asked, watching him from the chair. +Every one knows the irritation of coming to some one with matters so +urgent that they occupy the whole of your mind, and then discovering that +your audience has its own determined preoccupation. "Always thinking of +himself," Falk continued. "Fusses about nothing."</p> + +<p>"The matter?" His father turned round upon him. "Everything's the matter. +Everything! Here's this Jubilee business coming on and everything going to +ruin. Here am I, who know more about the Cathedral and what's been done in +the Cathedral for the last ten years than any one, and they are letting +Ryle have a free hand over all the Jubilee Week services without another +word to anybody."</p> + +<p>"Well, Ryle is the Precentor, isn't he?" said Falk.</p> + +<p>"Of course he is," the Archdeacon answered angrily. "And what a Precentor! +Every one knows he isn't capable of settling anything by himself. That's +been proved again and again. But that's only one thing. It's the same all +the way round. Opposition everywhere. It'll soon come to it that I'll have +to ask permission from the Chapter to walk down the High Street."</p> + +<p>"All the same, father," Falk said, "you can't be expected to have the +whole of the Jubilee on your shoulders. It's more than any one man can +possibly do."</p> + +<p>"I know that. Of course I know that. Ryle's case is only one small +instance of the way the wind's blowing. Every one's got to do their share, +of course. But in the last three months the place is changed--the +Chapter's disorganised, there's rebellion in the Choir, among the Vergers, +everywhere. The Cathedral is in pieces. And why? Who's changed everything? +Why is nothing as it was three months ago?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord! what a bore the old man is!" thought Falk. He was in the last +possible mood to enter into any of his father's complaints. They seemed +now, as he looked across at him, to be miles apart. He felt, suddenly, as +though he did not care what happened to his father, nor whether his +feelings were hurt or no----</p> + +<p>"Well, tell me!" said the Archdeacon, spreading his legs out, putting his +hands behind his back and standing over his son. "Who's responsible for +the change?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know!" said Falk impatiently.</p> + +<p>"You don't know? No, of course you don't know, because you've taken no +interest in the Cathedral nor in anything to do with it. All the same, I +should have thought it impossible for any one to be in this town half an +hour and <i>not</i> know who's responsible. There's only one man, and that +man is Ronder."</p> + +<p>Unfortunately Falk liked Ronder. "I think Ronder's rather a good sort," he +said. "A clever fellow, too."</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon stared at him.</p> + +<p>"You like him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father, I do."</p> + +<p>"And of course it matters nothing to you that he should be your father's +persistent enemy and do his best to hinder him in everything and every way +possible."</p> + +<p>Falk smiled, one of those confident, superior smiles that are so justly +irritating to any parent.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, father," he said. "Aren't you rather exaggerating?"</p> + +<p>"Exaggerating? Yes, of course you would take the other side. And what do +you know about it? There you are, lolling about in your chair, idling week +after week, until all the town talks about it----"</p> + +<p>Falk sprang up.</p> + +<p>"And whose fault is it if I do idle? What have I been wanting except to go +off and make a decent living? Whose fault----?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, mine, of course!" the Archdeacon shouted. "Put it all down to me! Say +that I begged you to leave Oxford, that I want you to laze the rest of +your life away. Why shouldn't you, when you have a mother and sister to +support you?"</p> + +<p>"Stop that, father." Falk also was shouting. "You'd better look out what +you're saying, or I'll take you at your word and leave you altogether."</p> + +<p>"You can, for all I care," the Archdeacon shouted back. They stood there +facing one another, both of them red in the face, a curious family +likeness suddenly apparent between them.</p> + +<p>"Well, I will then," Falk cried, and rushed from the room, banging the +door behind him.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_14"></a>Chapter VI</h1> + +<h2>Falk's Flight</h2> + + + +<p>Ronder sat in his study waiting for young Falk Brandon. The books smiled +down upon him from their white shelves; because the spring evening was +chill a fire glittered and sparkled and the deep blue curtains were drawn. +Ronder was wearing brown kid slippers and a dark velvet smoking-jacket. As +he lay back in the deep arm-chair, smoking an old and familiar briar, his +chubby face was deeply contented. His eyes were almost closed; he was the +very symbol of satisfied happy and kind-hearted prosperity.</p> + +<p>He was really touched by young Falk's approach towards friendship. He had +in him a very pleasant and happy vein of sentiment which he was only too +delighted to exercise so long as no urgent demands were made upon it. Once +or twice women and men younger than himself <i>had</i> made such urgent +demands; with what a hurry, a scurry and a scamper had he then run from +them!</p> + +<p>But the more tranquil, easy and unexacting aspects of sentiment he +enjoyed. He liked his heart to be warmed, he liked to feel that the +pressure of his hand, the welcome of the eye, the smile of the lip were +genuine in him and natural; he liked to put his hand through the arm of a +young eager human being who was full of vitality and physical strength. He +disliked so deeply sickness and decay; he despised them.</p> + +<p>Falk was young, handsome and eager, something of a rebel--the greater +compliment then that he should seek out Ronder. He was certainly the most +attractive young man in Polchester and, although that was not perhaps +saying very much, after all Ronder lived in Polchester and wished to share +in the best of every side of its life.</p> + +<p>There were, however, further, more actual reasons that Ronder should +anticipate Falk's visit with deep interest. He had heard, of course, many +rumours of Falk's indiscretions, rumours that naturally gained greatly in +the telling, of how he had formed some disgraceful attachment for the +daughter of a publican down in the river slums, that he drank, that he +gambled, that he was the wickedest young man in Polchester, and that he +would certainly break his father's heart.</p> + +<p>It was this relation of the boy to his father that interested him most of +all. He continued to remark to the little god who looked after his affairs +and kept an eye upon him that the last thing that he wanted was to +interfere in Brandon's family business, and yet to the same little god he +could not but comment on the curious persistency with which that same +business would thrust itself upon his interest. "If Brandon's wife, son, +and general <i>ménage</i> will persist in involving themselves in absurd +situations it's not my fault," he would say. But he was not exactly sorry +that they should.</p> + +<p>Indeed, to-night, in the warm security of his room, with all his plans +advancing towards fulfillment, and life developing just as he would have +it, he felt so kindly a pity towards Brandon that he was warm with the +desire to do something for him, make him a present, or flatter his vanity, +or give way publicly to him about some contested point that was of no +particular importance.</p> + +<p>When young Falk was ushered in by the maid-servant, Ronder, looking up at +him, thought him the handsomest boy he'd ever seen. He felt ready to give +him all the advice in the world, and it was with the most genuine warmth +of heart that he jumped up, put his hand on his shoulder, found him +tobacco, whisky and soda, and the easiest chair in the room.</p> + +<p>It was apparent at once that the boy was worked up to the extremity of his +possible endurance. Ronder felt instantly the drama that he brought with +him, filling the room with it, charging every word and every movement with +the implication of it.</p> + +<p>He turned about in his chair, struck many matches, pulled desperately at +his pipe, stared at Ronder with a curious mixture of shyness and eagerness +that betrayed his youth and his sense of Ronder's importance. Ronder began +by talking easily about nothing at all, a diversion for which he had an +especial talent. Falk suddenly broke upon him:</p> + +<p>"Look here. You don't care about that stuff--nor do I. I didn't come round +to you for that. I want you to help me."</p> + +<p>"I'll be very glad to," Ronder said, smiling. "If I can."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you can--perhaps you can't. I don't know you really, of course--I +only have my idea of you. But you seem to me much older than I am. Do you +know what I mean? Father's as young or younger and so are so many of the +others. But you must have made your mind up about life. I want to know +what you think of it."</p> + +<p>"That's a tall order," said Ronder, smiling. "What one thinks of life! +Well, one can't say all in a moment, you know."</p> + +<p>And then, as though he had suddenly decided to take his companion +seriously, his face was grave and his round shining eyes wide open.</p> + +<p>Falk coloured. "Perhaps you think me impertinent," he said. "But I don't +care a damn if you do. After all, isn't it an absurd thing that there +isn't another soul in this town you could ask such a question of? And yet +there's nothing else so important. A fellow's thought an impossible prig +if he mentions such a thing. I expect I seem in a hurry too, but I can +tell you I've been irritated for years by not being able to get at it--the +truth, you know. Why we're here at all, whether there is some kind of a +God somewhere or no. Of course you've got to pretend you think there is, +but I want to know what you <i>really</i> think and I promise it shan't go +a step farther. But most of all I want to know whether you don't think +we're meant all of us to be free, and why being free should be the hardest +thing of all."</p> + +<p>"You must tell me one thing," said Ronder. "Is the impulse that brought +you in to see me simply a general one, just because you are interested in +life, or is there some immediate crisis that you have to settle? I ask +that," he added, smiling gently, "because I've noticed that people don't +as a rule worry very urgently about life unless they have to make up their +minds about which turn in the road they're going to take."</p> + +<p>Falk hesitated; then he said, speaking slowly, "Yes, there is something. +It's what you'd call a crisis in my life, I suppose. It's been piling up +for months--for years if you like. But I don't see why I need bother you +with that--it's nobody's business but my own. Although I won't deny that +things you say may influence me. You see, I felt the first moment I met +you that you'd speak the truth, and speaking the truth seems to me more +important than anything else in the world."</p> + +<p>"But," said Ronder, "I don't want to influence you blindly. You've no +right to ask me to advise you when I don't know what it is I am advising +you about."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Falk, "it's simply this--that I want to go up to London +and live my own life. But I love my father--it would all be easy enough if +I didn't--and he doesn't see things as I do. There are other things too-- +it's all very complicated. But I don't want you to tell me about my own +affairs! I just want you to say what you think this is all about, what +we're here for anyway. You must have thought it all through and come out +the other side. You look as though you had."</p> + +<p>Ronder hesitated. He really wished that this had not occurred. He could +defeat Brandon without being given this extra weapon. His impulse was to +put the boy off with some evasion and so to dismiss him. But the +temptation that was always so strong in him to manipulate the power placed +in his hands was urging him; moreover, why should he not say what he +thought about life? It was sincere enough. He had no shame of it....</p> + +<p>"I couldn't advise you against your father's wishes," he said. "I'm very +fond of your father. I have the highest opinion of him."</p> + +<p>Falk moved uneasily in his chair: "You needn't advise me against him," he +said; "you can't have a higher opinion of him than I have. I'm fonder of +him than of any one in the world; I wouldn't be hesitating at all +otherwise. And I tell you I don't want you to advise me on my particular +case. It just interests me to know whether you believe in a God and +whether you think life means anything. As soon as I saw you I said to +myself, 'Now I'd like to know what <i>he</i> thinks.' That's all."</p> + +<p>"Of course I believe in a God," said Ronder, "I wouldn't be a clergyman +otherwise."</p> + +<p>"Then if there's a God," said Falk quickly, "why does He let us down, make +us feel that we must be free, and then make us feel that it's wrong to be +free because, if we are, we hurt the people we're fond of? Do we live for +ourselves or for others? Why isn't it easier to see what the right thing +is?"</p> + +<p>"If you want to know what I think about life," said Ronder, "it's just +this--that we mustn't take ourselves too seriously, that we must work our +utmost at the thing we're in, and give as little trouble to others as +possible."</p> + +<p>Falk nodded his head. "Yes, that's very simple. If you'll forgive my +saying so, that's the sort of thing any one says to cover up what he +really feels. That's not what <i>you</i> really feel. Anyway it accounts +for simply nothing at all. If that's all there is in life----"</p> + +<p>"I don't say that's all there is in life," interrupted Ronder softly, "I +only say that that does for a start--for one's daily conduct I mean. But +you've got to rid your head of illusions. Don't expect poetry and magic +for ever round the corner. Don't dream of Utopias--they'll never come. +Mind your own daily business."</p> + +<p>"Play for safety, in fact," said Falk.</p> + +<p>Ronder coloured a little. "Not at all. Take every kind of risk if you +think your happiness depends upon it. You're going to serve the world best +by getting what you want and resting contented in it. It's the +discontented and disappointed who hang things up."</p> + +<p>Falk smiled. "You're pushing on to me the kind of philosophy that I'd like +to follow," he said. "I don't believe in it for a moment nor do I believe +it's what you really think, but I think I'm ready to cheat myself if you +give me encouragement enough. I don't want to do any one any harm, but I +must come to a conclusion about life and then follow it so closely that I +can never have any doubt about any course of action again. When I was a +small boy the Cathedral used to terrify me and dominate me too. I believed +in God then, of course, and I used to creep in and listen, expecting to +hear Him speak. That tomb of the Black Bishop seemed to me the place where +He'd most likely be, and I used to fancy sometimes that He did speak from +the heart of that stone. But I daresay it was the old Bishop himself.</p> + +<p>"Anyway, I determined long ago that the Cathedral has a life of its own, +quite apart from any of us. It has more immortality in one stone of its +nave than we have in all our bodies."</p> + +<p>"Don't be too sure of that," Ronder said. "We have our immortality--a tiny +flame, but I believe that it never dies. Beauty comes from it and dwells +in it. We increase it or diminish it as we live."</p> + +<p>"And yet," said Falk eagerly, "you were urging, just now, a doctrine of +what, if you'll forgive my saying so, was nothing but selfishness. How do +you reconcile that with immortality?"</p> + +<p>Ronder laughed. "There have only been four doctrines in the history of the +world," he answered, "and they are all Pursuits. One is the pursuit of +Unselfishness. 'Little children, love one another. He that seeks to save +his soul shall lose it.' The second is the opposite of the first-- +Individualism. 'I am I. That is all I know, and I will seek out my own +good always because that at least I can understand.' The third is the +pursuit of God and Mysticism. 'Neither I matter nor my neighbour. I give +up the world and every one and everything in it to find God.' And the +fourth is the pursuit of Beauty. 'Beauty is Truth and Truth Beauty. That +is all we need to know.' Every man and woman alive or dead has chosen one +of those four or a mixture of them. I would say that there is something in +all of them, Charity, Individualism, Worship, Beauty. But finally, when +all is said and done, we remain ourselves. It is our own life that we must +lead, our own goal for which we are searching. At the end of everything we +remain alone, of ourselves, by ourselves, for ourselves. Life is, finally, +a lonely journey to a lonely bourne, let us cheat ourselves as we may."</p> + +<p>Ronder sat back in his chair, his eyes half closed. There was nothing that +he enjoyed more than delivering his opinions about life to a fit audience +--and by fit he meant intelligent and responsive. He liked to be truthful +without taking risks, and he was always the audience rather than the +speaker in company that might be dangerous. He almost loved Falk as he +looked across at him and saw the effect that his words had made upon him. +There was, Heaven knew, nothing very original in what he had said, but it +had been apparently what the boy had wanted to hear.</p> + +<p>He jumped up from his chair: "You're right," he said. "We've got to lead +our own lives. I've known it all along. When I've shown them what I can +do, then I'll come back to them. I love my father, you know, sir; I +suppose some people here think him tiresome and self-opinionated, but he's +like a boy, you always know where you are with him. He's no idea what +deceit means. He looks on this Cathedral as his own idea, as though he'd +built it almost, and of course that's dangerous. He'll have a shock one of +these days and see that he's gone too far, just as the Black Bishop did. +But he's a fine man; I don't believe any one knows how proud I am of him. +And it's much better I should go my own way and earn my own living than +hang around him, doing nothing--isn't it?"</p> + +<p>At that direct appeal, at the eager gaze that Falk fixed upon him, +something deep within Ronder stirred.</p> + +<p>Should he not even now advise the boy to stay? One word just then might +effect much. Falk trusted him. He was the only human being in Polchester +to whom the boy perhaps had come. Years afterwards he was to look back to +that moment, see it crystallised in memory, see the books, piled row upon +row, gleam down upon him, see the blue curtain and hear the crackling +fire...a crisis perhaps to himself as well as to Falk.</p> + +<p>He went across to the boy and put his hands on his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I think it's better for you to go."</p> + +<p>"And about God and Beauty?" Falk said, staring for a moment into Ronder's +eyes, smiling shyly, and then turning away. "It's a long search, isn't it? +But as long as there's something there, beyond life, and I know there is, +the search is worth it." + +He looked rather wistfully at Ronder as though he expected him to confirm +him again. But Ronder said nothing.</p> + +<p>Falk went to the door: "Well, I must go. I'll show them that I was right +to go my own way. I want father to be proud of me. This will shock him for +a moment, but soon he'll see. I think you'll like to know, sir," he said, +suddenly turning and holding out his hand, "that this little talk has +meant a lot to me. It's just helped me to make up my mind."</p> + +<p>When he had gone Ronder sat in his chair, motionless, for a while; he +jumped up, went to the shelves, and found a book. Before he sat down again +he said aloud, as though he were answering some accuser, "Well, I told him +nothing, anyway."</p> + +<p>Falk had, from the moment he left Ronder's door, his mind made up, and now +that it <i>was</i> made up he wished to act as speedily as possible. And +instantly there followed an appeal of the Town, so urgent and so poignant +that he was taken by surprise. He had lived there most of his days and +never seen it until now, but every step that he took soon haunted him. He +made his plans decisively, irrevocably, but he found himself lingering at +doors and at windows, peering over walls, hanging over the Pol bridge, +waiting suddenly as though he expected some message was about to be given +to him.</p> + +<p>The town was humming with life those days. The May weather was lovely, +softly blue with cool airs and little white clouds like swollen pin- +cushions drifting lazily from point to point. The gardens were dazzling +with their flowers, the Cathedral Green shone like glass, and every door- +knob and brass knocker in the Precincts glittered under the sun.</p> + +<p>The town was humming with the approaching Jubilee. It seemed itself to +take an active part in the preparations, the old houses smiling to one +another at the plans that they overheard, and the birds, of whom there +were a vast number, flying from wall to wall, from garden to garden, from +chimney to chimney, with the exciting news that they had gathered.</p> + +<p>Every shop in the High Street seemed to whisper to Falk as he passed: +"Surely you are not going to leave us. We can offer you such charming +things. We've never been so gay in our lives before as we are going to be +now."</p> + +<p>Even the human beings in the place seemed to be nicer to him than they had +ever been before. They had never, perhaps, been very nice to him, +regarding him with a quite definite disapproval even when he was a little +boy, because he would go his own way and showed them that he didn't care +what they thought of him.</p> + +<p>Now, suddenly, they were making up to him. Mrs. Combermere, surrounded +with dogs, stopped him in the High Street and, in a deep bass voice, asked +him why it was so long since he had been to see her, and then slapped him +on the shoulder with her heavy gloved hand. That silly woman, Julia +Preston, met him in Bennett's book shop and asked him to help her to +choose a book of poems for a friend.</p> + +<p>"Something that shall be both True and Beautiful, Mr. Brandon," she said. +"There's so little real Beauty in our lives, don't you think?" Little +Betty Callender caught him up in Orange Street and chattered to him about +her painting, and that pompous Bentinck-Major insisted on his going into +the Conservative Club with him, where he met old McKenzie and older +Forrester, and had to listen to their golfing achievements.</p> + +<p>It may have been simply that every one in the town was beside and above +himself over the Jubilee excitements--but it made it very hard for Falk. +Nothing to the hardness of everything at home. Here at the last moment, +when it was too late to change or alter anything, every room, every old +piece of furniture seemed to appeal to him with some especial claim. For +ten years he had had the same bedroom, an old low-ceilinged room with +queer bulges in the wall, a crooked fireplace and a slanting floor. For +years now he had had a wall-paper with an ever-recurrent scene of a church +tower, a snowy hill, and a large crimson robin. The robins were faded, and +the snowy hill a dingy yellow. There were School groups and Oxford groups +on the walls, and the book-case near the door had his old school prizes +and Henty and a set of the Waverley Novels with dark red covers and paper +labels.</p> + +<p>Hardest of all to leave was the view from the window overlooking the +Cathedral Green and the Cathedral. That window had been connected with +every incident of his childhood. He had leant out of it when he had felt +sick from eating too much, he had gone to it when his eyes were brimming +with hot rebellious tears after some scene with his father, he had known +ecstatic joys gazing from it on the first day of his return from school, +he had thrown things out of it on the heads of unsuspecting strangers, he +had gone to it in strange moods of poetry and romance, and watched the +moon like a plate of dull and beaten gold sail above the Cathedral towers, +he had sat behind it listening to the organ like a muffled giant +whispering to be liberated from grey, confining walls, he had looked out +of it on a still golden evening when the stars were silver buttons in the +sky after a meeting with Annie; he went to it and gazed, heart-sick, +across the Green now when he was about to bid fare-well to it for ever.</p> + +<p>Heart-sick but resolved, it seemed strange to him that after months of +irresolution his mind should now be so firmly composed. He seemed even, +prophetically, to foretell the future. What had reassured him he did not +know, but for himself he knew that he was taking the right step. For +himself and for Annie--outside that, it was as though a dark cloud was +coming up enveloping all that he was leaving behind. He could not tell how +he knew, but he felt as though he were fleeing from the city of +Polchester, and were being driven forward on his flight by powers far +stronger than he could control.</p> + +<p>He fancied, as he looked out of his window, that the Cathedral also was +aware and, aloof, immortal, waited the inevitable hour.</p> + +<p>Coming straight upon his final arrangements with Annie, his reconciliation +with his father was ironic. So deeply here were his real affections +stirred that he could not consider deliberately his approaching treachery; +nevertheless he did not for a moment contemplate withdrawal from it. It +was as though two personalities were now in active movement within him, +the one old, belonging to the town, to his father, to his own youth, the +other new, belonging to Annie, to the future, to ambition, to the +challenge of life itself. With every hour the first was moving away from +him, reluctantly, stirring the other self by his withdrawal but inevitably +moving, never, never to return.</p> + +<p>He came, late in the afternoon, into the study and found his father, +balanced on the top of a small ladder, putting straight "Christ's Entry +into Jerusalem," a rather faded copy of Benjamin Haydon's picture that had +irritated Falk since his earliest youth by a kind of false theatricality +that inhabited it.</p> + +<p>Falk paused at the door, caught up by a sudden admiration of his father. +He had his coat off, and as he bent forward to adjust the cord the vigour +and symmetry of his body was magnificently emphasized. The thick strong +legs pressed against the black cloth of his trousers, the fine rounded +thighs, the broad back almost bursting the shiny stuff of the waistcoat, +the fine neck and the round curly head, these denied age and decay. He was +growing perhaps a little stout, the neck was a little too thick for the +collar, but the balance and energy and strength of the figure belonged to +a man as young as Falk himself....</p> + +<p>At the sound of the door closing he turned, and at once the lined +forehead, the mouth a little slack, gave the man his age, but Falk was to +remember that first picture for the rest of his life with a strange +poignancy and deeply affectionate pathos.</p> + +<p>They had not met alone since their quarrel; their British horror of any +scene forbade the slightest allusion to it. Brandon climbed down from his +ladder and came, smiling, across to his son.</p> + +<p>At his happy times, when he was at ease with himself and the world, he had +the confident gaiety of a child; he was at ease now. He put his hand +through Falk's arm and drew him across to the table by the window.</p> + +<p>"I've had a headache," he said, rather as a child might complain to his +elder, "for two days, and now it's suddenly gone. I never used to have +headaches. But I've been irritated lately by some of the tomfoolery that's +been going on. Don't tell your mother; I haven't said a word to her; but +what do you take when you have a headache?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I ever have them," said Falk.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to stuff myself up with all their medicines and things. +I've never taken medicine in my life if I was strong enough to prevent +them giving it to me, and I'm not going to start it now."</p> + +<p>"Father," Falk said very earnestly, "don't let yourself get so easily +irritated. You usedn't to be. Everybody finds things go badly sometimes. +It's bad for you to allow yourself to be worried. Everything's all right +and going to be all right." (The hypocrite that he felt himself as he said +this!)</p> + +<p>"You know that every one thinks the world of you here. Don't take things +too seriously."</p> + +<p>Brandon nodded his head.</p> + +<p>"You're quite right, Falk. It's very sensible of you to mention it, my +boy. I usedn't to lose my temper as I do. I must keep control of myself +better. But when a lot of chattering idiots start gabbling about things +that they understand as much about as----"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Falk, putting his hand upon his father's arm. "But let +them talk. They'll soon find their level."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and then there's your mother," went on Brandon. "I'm bothered about +her. Have you noticed anything odd about her this last week or two?"</p> + +<p>That his father should begin to worry about his mother was certainly +astonishing enough! Certainly the first time in all these years that +Brandon had spoken of her.</p> + +<p>"Mother? No; in what way?"</p> + +<p>"She's not herself. She's not happy. She's worrying about something."</p> + +<p>"<i>You're</i> worrying, father," Falk said, "that's what's the matter. +<i>She's</i> just the same. You've been allowing yourself to worry about +everything. Mother's all right." And didn't he know, in his own secret +heart, that she wasn't?</p> + +<p>Brandon shook his head. "You may he right. All the same----"</p> + +<p>Falk said slowly: "Father, what would you say if I went up to London?" +This was a close approach to the subject of their quarrel of the other +evening.</p> + +<p>"When? What for?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, at once--to get something to do."</p> + +<p>"No, not now. After the summer we might talk of it."</p> + +<p>He spoke with utter decision, as he had always done to Falk, as though he +were five years old and could naturally know nothing about life.</p> + +<p>"But, father--don't you think it's bad for me, hanging round here doing +nothing?"</p> + +<p>Brandon got up, went across to the little ladder, hesitated a moment, then +climbed up.</p> + +<p>"I've had this picture twenty years," he said, "and it's never hung +straight yet."</p> + +<p>"No, but, father," said Falk, coming across to him, "I'm a man now, not a +boy. I can't hang about any longer--I can't really."</p> + +<p>"We'll talk about it in the autumn," said Brandon, humming "Onward, +Christian Soldiers," as he always did, a little out of tune.</p> + +<p>"I've got to earn my own living, haven't I?" said Falk.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Brandon, stepping back a little, so that he nearly +overbalanced. "<i>That's</i> better. But it won't stay like that for five +minutes. It never does."</p> + +<p>He climbed down again, his face rosy with his exertions. "You leave it to +me, Falk," he said, nodding his head. "I've got plans for you."</p> + +<p>A sudden sense of the contrast between Ronder and his father smote Falk. +His father! What an infant! How helpless against that other! Moved by the +strangest mixture of tenderness, regret, pity, he did what he had never in +all his life before dreamed of doing, what he would have died of shame for +doing, had any one else been there--put his hands on his father's +shoulders and kissed him lightly on his cheek.</p> + +<p>He laughed as he did so, to carry off his embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"I don't hold myself bound, you know, father," he said. "I shall go off +just when I want to."</p> + +<p>But Brandon was too deeply confused by his son's action to hear the words. +He felt a strange, most idiotic impulse to hug his son; to place himself +well out of danger, he moved back to the window, humming "Onward, +Christian Soldiers."</p> + +<p>He looked out upon the Green. "There are two of those choir-boys on the +grass again," he said. "If Ryle doesn't keep them in better order, I'll +let him know what I think of him. He's always promising and never does +anything."</p> + +<p>The last talk of their lives alone together was ended.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>He had made all his plans. He had decided that on the day of escape he +would walk over to Salis Coombe station, a matter of some two miles; there +he would be joined by Annie, whose aunt lived near there, and to whom she +could go on a visit the evening before. They would catch the slow four +o'clock train to Drymouth and then meet the express that reached London at +midnight. He would go to an Oxford friend who lived in St. John's Wood, +and he and Annie would be married as soon as possible. Beyond everything +else he wanted this marriage to take place quickly; once that was done he +was Annie's protector, so long as she should need him. She should be free +as she pleased, but she would have some one to whom she might go, some one +who could legally provide for her and would see that she came to no harm.</p> + +<p>The thing that he feared most was lest any ill should come to her through +the fact of his caring for her; he felt that he could let her go for ever +the very day after his marriage, so that he knew that she would never come +to harm. A certain defiant courage in her, mingled with her ignorance and +simplicity, made his protection of her the first thing in his life. As to +living, his Oxford friend was concerned with various literary projects, +having a little money of his own, and much self-confidence and ambition.</p> + +<p>He and Falk had already, at Oxford, edited a little paper together, and +Falk had been promised some reader's work in connection with one of the +younger publishing houses. In after years he looked back in amazement that +he should have ventured on the great London attack with so slender a +supply of ammunition--but now, looking forward in Polchester, that +question of future livelihood seemed the very smallest of his problems.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, deepest of all, something fiercely democratic in him longed for +the moment when he might make his public proclamation of his defiance of +class.</p> + +<p>He meant to set off, simply as he was; they could send his things after +him. If he indulged in any pictures of the future, he did, perhaps, see +himself returning to Polchester in a year's time or so, as the editor of +the most remarkable of London's new periodicals, received by his father +with enthusiasm, and even Annie admitted into the family with approval. Of +course, they could not return here to live...it would be only a +visit.... At that sudden vision of Annie and his father face to face, that +vision faded; no, this was the end of the old life. He must face that, set +his shoulders square to it, steel his heart to it....</p> + +<p>That last luncheon was the strangest meal that he had ever known. So +strange because it was so usual--so ordinary! Roast chicken and apple +tart; his mother sitting at the end of the table, watching, as she had +watched through so many years, that everything went right, her little, +tight, expressionless face, the mouth set to give the right answers to the +right questions, her eyes veiled.... His mind flew back to that strange +talk in the dark room across the candle-lit table. She had been hysterical +that night, over-tired, had not known what she was saying. Well, she could +never leave his father now, now when he was gone. His flight settled that.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing this afternoon, Falk?"</p> + +<p>"Why, mother?"</p> + +<p>"I only wondered. I have to go to the Deanery about this Jubilee +committee. I thought you might walk up there with me. About four."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I'll be back in time, mother; I'm going out Salis Coombe +way to see a fellow."</p> + +<p>He saw Joan, looking so pretty, sitting opposite to him. How she had grown +lately! Putting her hair up made her seem almost a woman. But what a child +in the grown-up dress with the high puffed sleeves, her baby-face laughing +at him over the high stiff collar; a pretty dress, though, that dark blue +stuff with the white stripes.... Why had he never considered Joan? She had +never meant anything to him at all. Now, when he was going, it seemed to +him suddenly that he might have made a friend of her during all these +years. She was a good girl, kind, good-natured, jolly.</p> + +<p>She, too, was talking about the Jubilee--about some committee that she was +on and some flags that they were making. How exciting to them all the +Jubilee was, and how unimportant to him!</p> + +<p>Some book she was talking about. "...the new woman at the Library is so +nice. She let me have it at once. It's <i>The Massarenes</i>, mother, +darling, by Ouida. The girls say it's lovely."</p> + +<p>"I've heard of it, dear. Mrs. Sampson was talking about it. She says it's +not a nice book at all. I don't think father would like you to read it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't mind, father, do you?"</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon was in a good humour. He loved apple tart.</p> + +<p>"<i>The Massarenes</i>, by Ouida."</p> + +<p>"Trashy novels. Why don't you girls ever read anything but novels?" and so +on.</p> + +<p>The little china clock with the blue mandarin on the mantelpiece struck +half past two. He must be going. He threw a last look round the room as +though he were desperately committing everything to memory--the shabby, +comfortable chairs, the Landseer "Dignity and Impudence," the warm, blue +carpet, the round silver biscuit-tin on the sideboard.</p> + +<p>"Well, I must be getting along."</p> + +<p>"You'll be back to dinner, Falk dear, won't you? It's early to-night. +Quarter past seven. Father has a meeting."</p> + +<p>He looked at them all. His father was sitting back in his chair, a +satisfied man.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll be back," he said, and went out.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him incredible that departure should be so simple. When you +are taking the most momentous step of your life, surely there should be +dragons in the way! Here were no dragons. As he went down the High Street +people smiled at him and waved hands. The town sparkled under the +afternoon sun. It was market-day, and the old fruit-woman under the green +umbrella, the toy-man with the clockwork monkeys, the flower-stalls and +the vegetable-sellers, all these were here; in the centre of the square, +sheep and pigs were penned. Dogs were barking, stout farmers in corduroy +breeches walked about arguing and expectorating, and suddenly, above all +the clamour and bustle, the Cathedral chimes struck the hour.</p> + +<p>He hastened then, striding up Orange Street, past the church and the +monument on the hill, through hedges thick with flowers, until he struck +off into the Drymouth Road. With every step that he took he stirred child +memories. He reached the signpost that pointed to Drymouth, to Clinton St. +Mary, to Polchester. This was the landmark that he used to reach with his +nurse on his walks. Further than this she, a stout, puffing woman, would +never go. He had known that a little way on there was Rocket Wood, a place +beloved by him ever since they had driven there for a picnic in the +jingle, and he had found it all spotted gold under the fir-trees, thick +with moss and yellow with primroses. How many fights with his nurse he had +had over that! he clinging to the signpost and screaming that he +<i>would</i> go on to the Wood, she picking him up at last and carrying +him back down the road.</p> + +<p>He went on into the wood now and found it again spotted with gold, +although it was too late for primroses. It was all soft and dark with +pillars of purple light that struck through the fretted blue, and the dark +shadows of the leaves. All hushed and no living thing--save the hesitating +patter of some bird among the fir-cones. He struck through the wood and +came out on to the Common. You could smell the sea finely here--a true +Glebeshire smell, fresh and salt, full of sea-pinks and the westerly +gales. On the top of the Common he paused and looked back. He knew that +from here you had your last view of the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>Often in his school holidays he had walked out here to get that view. He +had it now in its full glory. When he was a boy it had seemed to him that +the Cathedral was like a giant lying down behind the hill and leaning his +face on the hill-side. So it looked now, its towers like ears, the great +East window shining, a stupendous eye, out over the bending wind-driven +country. The sun flashed upon it, and the towers rose grey and pearl- +coloured to heaven. Mightily it looked across the expanse of the moor, +staring away and beyond Falk's little body into some vast distance, +wrapped in its own great dream, secure in its mighty memories, intent upon +its secret purposes.</p> + +<p>Indifferent to man, strong upon its rock, hiding in its heart the answer +to all the questions that tortured man's existence--and yet, perhaps, +aware of man's immortality, scornful of him for making so slight a use of +that--but admiring him, too, for the tenacity of his courage and the +undying resurgence of his hope.</p> + +<p>Falk, a black dot against the sweep of sky and the curve of the dark soil, +vanished from the horizon.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_15"></a>Chapter VII</h1> + +<h2>Brandon Puts on His Armour</h2> + + + +<p>Brandon was not surprised when, on the morning after Falk's escape, his +son was not present at family prayers. That was not a ceremony that Falk +had ever appreciated. Joan was there, of course, and just as the +Archdeacon began the second prayer Mrs. Brandon slipped in and took her +place.</p> + +<p>After the servants had filed out and the three were alone, Mrs. Brandon, +with a curious little catch in her voice, said:</p> + +<p>"Falk has been out all night; his bed has not been slept in."</p> + +<p>Brandon's immediate impulse, before he had even caught the import of his +wife's words, was: "There's reason for emotion coming; see that you show +none."</p> + +<p>He sat down at the table, slowly unfolding the <i>Glebeshire Morning +News</i> that always waited, neatly, beside his plate. His hand did not +tremble, although his heart was beating with a strange, muffled agitation.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he went off somewhere," he said. "He never tells us, of course. +He's getting too selfish for anything."</p> + +<p>He put down his newspaper and picked up his letters. For a moment he felt +as though he could not look at them in the presence of his wife. He +glanced quickly at the envelopes. There was nothing there from Falk. His +heart gave a little clap of relief.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, he hasn't written," he said. "He can't be far away."</p> + +<p>"There's another post at ten-thirty," she answered.</p> + +<p>He was angry with her for that. How like her! Why could she not allow +things to be pleasant as long as possible?</p> + +<p>She went on: "He's taken nothing with him. Not even a hand-bag. He hasn't +been back in the house since luncheon yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Oh! he'll turn up!" Brandon went back to his paper. "Mustard, Joan, +please." Breakfast over, he went into his study and sat at the long +writing-table, pretending to be about his morning correspondence. He could +not settle to that; he had never been one to whom it was easy to control +his mind, and now his heart and soul were filled with foreboding.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that for weeks past he had been dreading some +catastrophe. What catastrophe? What could occur?</p> + +<p>He almost spoke aloud. "Never before have I dreaded...."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile he would not think of Falk. He would not. His mind flew round +and round that name like a moth round the candle-light. He heard half-past +ten strike, first in the dining-room, then slowly on his own mantelpiece. +A moment later, through his study door that was ajar, he heard the letters +fall with a soft stir into the box, then the sharp ring of the bell. He +sat at his table, his hands clenched.</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't that girl bring the letters? Why doesn't that girl bring the +letters?" he was repeating to himself unconsciously again and again.</p> + +<p>She knocked on the door, came in and put the letters on his table. There +were only three. He saw immediately that one was in Falk's handwriting. He +tore the envelope across, pulled out the letter, his fingers trembling now +so that he could scarcely hold it, his heart making a noise as of tramping +waves in his ears.</p> + +<p>The letter was as follows:</p> + +<p class="r">N<small>ORTH</small> R<small>OAD</small> S<small>TATION</small>, D<small>RYMOUTH</small>,<br /> + <i>May</i> 23, 1897.</p> + +<p>M<small>Y</small> D<small>EAR</small> F<small>ATHER</small>--I am writing this in the waiting-room at North Road before +catching the London train. I suppose that I have done a cowardly thing in +writing like this when I am away from you, and I can't hope to make you +believe that it's because I can't bear to hurt you that I'm acting like a +coward. You'll say, justly enough, that it looks as though I wanted to +hurt you by what I'm doing. But, father, truly, I've looked at it from +every point of view, and I can't see that there's anything else for it but +this. The first part of this, my going up to London to earn my living, I +can't feel guilty about.</p> + +<p>It seems to me, truly, the only thing to do. I have tried to speak to you +about it on several occasions, but you have always put me off, and, as far +as I can see, you don't feel that there's anything ignominious in my +hanging about a little town like Polchester, doing nothing at all for the +rest of my life. I think my being sent down from Oxford as I was gave you +the idea that I was useless and would never be any good. I'm going to +prove to you you're wrong, and I know I'm right to take it into my own +hands as I'm doing. Give me a little time and you'll see that I'm right. +The other thing is more difficult. I can't expect you to forgive me just +yet, but perhaps, later on, you'll see that it isn't too bad. Annie Hogg, +the daughter of Hogg down in Seatown, is with me, and next week I shall +marry her.</p> + +<p>I have so far done nothing that you need be ashamed of. I love her, but am +not her lover, and she will stay with relations away from me until I marry +her. I know this will seem horrible to you, father, but it is a matter for +my own conscience. I have tried to leave her and could not, but even if I +could I have made her, through my talk, determined to go to London and try +her luck there. She loathes her father and is unhappy at home. I cannot +let her go up to London without any protection, and the only way I can +protect her is by marrying her.</p> + +<p>She is a fine woman, father, fine and honourable and brave. Try to think +of her apart from her father and her surroundings. She does not belong to +them, truly she does not. In all these months she has not tried to +persuade me to a mean and shabby thing. She is incapable of any meanness. +In all this business my chief trouble is the unhappiness that this will +bring you. You will think that this is easy to say when it has made no +difference to what I have done. But all the same it is true, and perhaps +later on, when you have got past a little of your anger with me, you will +give me a chance to prove it. I have the promise of some literary work +that should give me enough to live on. I have taken nothing with me; +perhaps mother will pack up my things and send them to me at 5 Parker +Street, St. John's Wood.</p> + +<p>Father, give me a chance to show you that I will make this right.--Your +loving son,</p> + +<p class="r"> FALK BRANDON.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>In the little morning-room to the right at the top of the stairs Joan and +her mother were waiting. Joan was pretending to sew, but her fingers +scarcely moved. Mrs. Brandon was sitting at her writing-table; her ears +were straining for every sound. The sun flooded the room with a fierce +rush of colour, and through the wide-open windows the noises of the town, +cries and children's voices, and the passing of feet on the cobbles came +up. As half-past ten struck the Cathedral bells began to ring for morning +service.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't bear those bells," Mrs. Brandon cried. "Shut the windows, +Joan."</p> + +<p>Joan went across and closed them. The bells were suddenly removed, but +seemed to be the more insistent in their urgency because they were shut +away.</p> + +<p>The door was suddenly flung open, and Brandon stood there.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what is it?" Mrs. Brandon cried, starting to her feet.</p> + +<p>He was a man convulsed with anger; she had seen him in these rages before, +when his blue eyes stared with an emptiness of vision and his whole body +seemed to be twisted as though he were trying to climb to some height +whence he might hurl himself down and destroy utterly that upon which he +fell.</p> + +<p>The letter tumbled from his hand. He caught the handle of the door as +though he would tear it from its socket, but his voice, when at last it +came, was quiet, almost his ordinary voice.</p> + +<p>"His name is never to be mentioned in this house again."</p> + +<p>"What has he done?"</p> + +<p>"That's enough. What I say. His name is never to be mentioned again."</p> + +<p>The two women stared at him. He seemed to come down from a great height, +turned and went, very carefully closing the door behind him.</p> + +<p>He had left the letter on the floor. Mrs. Brandon went and picked it up.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, what has Falk done?" Joan asked.</p> + +<p>The bells danced all over the room.</p> + +<p>Brandon went downstairs, back into his study, closing his door, shutting +himself in. He stayed in the middle of the room, saying aloud:</p> + +<p>"Never his name again.... Never his name again." The actual sound of the +words echoing back to him lifted him up as though out of very deep water. +Then he was aware, as one is in the first clear moment after a great +shock, of a number of things at the same time. He hated his son because +his son had disgraced him and his name for ever. He loved his son, never +before so deeply and so dearly as now. He was his only son, and there was +none other. His son had gone off with the daughter of the worst publican +in the place, and so had shamed him before them all. Falk (he arrived in +his mind suddenly at the name with a little shiver that hurt horribly) +would never be there any more, would never be about the house, would never +laugh and be angry and be funny any more. (Behind this thought was a long +train of pictures of Falk as a boy, as a baby, as a child, pictures that +he kept back with a great gesture of the will.) In the town they would all +be talking, they were talking already. They must be stopped from talking; +they must not know. He must lie; they must all lie. But how could they be +stopped from knowing when he had gone off with the publican's daughter? +They would all know.... They would laugh...They would laugh. He would +not be able to go down the street without their laughter.</p> + +<p>Dimly on that came a larger question. What had happened lately so that his +whole life had changed? He had been feeling it now for weeks, long before +this terrible blow had fallen, as though he were surrounded by enemies and +mockers and men who wished him ill. Men who wished him ill! Wished HIM +ill! He who had never done any one harm in all his life, who had only +wanted the happiness of others and the good of the place in which he was, +and the Glory of God! God!...His thoughts leapt across a vast gulf. What +was God about, to allow this disaster to fall upon him? When he had served +God so faithfully and had had no thought but for His grandeur? He was in a +new world now, where the rivers, the mountains, the roads, the cities were +new. For years everything had gone well with him, and then, suddenly, at +the lifting of a finger, all had been ill....</p> + +<p>Through the mist of his thoughts, gradually, like the sun in his strength, +his anger had been rising. Now it flamed forth. At the first it had been +personal anger because his son had betrayed and deceived him--but now, for +a time, Falk was almost forgotten.</p> + +<p>He would show them. They would laugh at him, would they? They would point +at him, would they, as the man whose son had run away with an innkeeper's +daughter? Well, let them point. They would plot to take the power from his +hands, to reduce him to impotence, to make him of no account in the place +where he had ruled for years. He had no doubt, now that he saw farther +into it, that they had persuaded Falk to run away with that girl. It was +the sort of weapon that they would be likely to use, the sort of weapon +that that man, Ronder....</p> + +<p>At the sudden ringing of that now hated name in his ears he was calm. Yes, +to fight that enemy he needed all his control. How that man would rejoice +at this that had happened! What a victory to him it would seem to be! +Well, it should not be a victory. He began to stride up and down his +study, his head up, his chest out. It was almost as though he were a great +warrior of old, having his armour put on before he went out to the fight-- +the greaves, the breastplate, the helmet, the sword....</p> + +<p>He would fight to the last drop of blood in his body and beat the pack of +them, and if they thought that this would cause him to hang his head or +hide or go secretly, they should soon see their mistake.</p> + +<p>He suddenly stopped. The pain that sometimes came to his head attacked him +now. For a moment it was so sharp, of so acute an agony, that he almost +staggered and fell. He stood there, his body taut, his hands clenched. It +was like knives driving through his brain; his eyes were filled with blood +so that he could not see. It passed, but he was weak, his knees shook so +that he was compelled to sit down, holding his hands on his knees. Now it +was gone. He could see clearly again. What was it? Imagination, perhaps. +Only the hammering of his heart told him that anything was the matter. He +was a long while there. At last he got up, went into the hall, found his +hat and went out. He crossed the Green and passed through the Cathedral +door.</p> + +<p>He went out instinctively, without any deliberate thought, to the +Cathedral as to the place that would most readily soothe and comfort him. +Always when things went wrong he crossed over to the Cathedral and walked +about there. Matins were just concluded and people were coming out of the +great West door. He went in by the Saint Margaret door, crossed through +the Vestry where Rogers, who had been taking the service, was disrobing, +and climbed the little crooked stairs into the Lucifer Room. A glimpse of +Rogers' saturnine countenance (he knew well enough that Rogers hated him) +stirred some voice to whisper within: "He knows and he's glad."</p> + +<p>The Lucifer Room was a favourite resort of his, favourite because there +was a long bare floor across which he could walk with no furniture to +interrupt him, and because, too, no one ever came there. It was a room in +the Bishop's Tower that had once, many hundreds of years ago, been used by +the monks as a small refectory. Many years had passed now since it had +seen any sort of occupation save that of bats, owls and mice. There was a +fireplace at the far end that had long been blocked up, but that still +showed curious carving, the heads of monkeys and rabbits, winged birds, a +twisting dragon with a long tail, and the figure of a saint holding up a +crucifix. Over the door was an old clock that had long ceased to tell the +hours; this had a strangely carved wood canopy. Two little windows with +faint stained glass gave an obscure light. The subjects of these windows +were confused, but the old colours, deep reds and blues, blended with a +rich glow that no modern glass could obtain. The ribs and bosses of the +vaulting of the room were in faded colours and dull gold. In one corner of +the room was an old, dusty, long-neglected harmonium. Against the wall +were hanging some wooden figures, large life-sized saints, two male and +two female, once outside the building, painted on the wood in faded +crimson and yellow and gold. Much of the colour had been worn away with +rain and wind, but two of the faces were still bright and stared with a +gentle fixed gaze out into the dim air. Two old banners, torn and thin, +flapped from one of the vaultings. The floor was worn, and creaked with +every step. As Brandon pushed back the heavy door and entered, some bird +in a distant corner flew with a frightened stir across to the window. +Occasionally some one urged that steps should be taken to renovate the +place and make some use of it, but nothing was ever done. Stories +connected with it had faded away; no one now could tell why it was called +the Lucifer Room--and no one cared.</p> + +<p>Its dimness and shadowed coloured light suited Brandon to-day. He wanted +to be where no one could see him, where he could gather together the +resistance with which to meet the world. He paced up and down, his hands +behind his back; he fancied that the old saints looked at him with kindly +affection.</p> + +<p>And now, for a moment, all his pride and anger were gone, and he could +think of nothing but his love for his son. He had an impulse that almost +moved him to hurry home, to take the next train up to London, to find +Falk, to take him in his arms and forgive him. He saw again and again that +last meeting that they had had, when Falk had kissed him. He knew now what +that had meant. After all, the boy was right. He had been in the wrong to +have kept him here, doing nothing. It was fine of the boy to take things +into his own hands, to show his independence and to fight for his own +individuality. It was what he himself would have done if--then the thought +of Annie Hogg cut across his tenderness and behind Annie her father, that +fat, smiling, red-faced scoundrel, the worst villain in the town. At the +sudden realisation that there was now a link between himself and that man, +and that that link had been forged by his own son, tenderness and +affection fled. He could only entertain one emotion at a time, and +immediately he was swept into such a fury that he stopped in his walk, +lifted his head, and cursed Falk. For that he would never forgive him, for +the public shame and disgrace that he had brought upon the Brandon name, +upon his mother and his sister, upon the Cathedral, upon all authority and +discipline and seemliness in the town.</p> + +<p>He suffered then the deepest agony that perhaps in all his life he had +ever known. There was no one there to see. He sank down upon the wooden +coping that protruded from the old wall and hid his face in his hands as +though he were too deeply ashamed to encounter even the dim faces of the +old wooden figures.</p> + +<p>There was a stir in the room; the little door opened and closed; the bird, +with a flutter of wings, flew back to its corner. Brandon looked up and +saw a faint shadow of a man. He rose and took some steps towards the door, +then he stopped because be saw that the man was Davray the painter.</p> + +<p>He had never spoken to this man, but be had hated everything that he had +ever heard about him. In the first place, to be an artist was, in the +Archdeacon's mind, synonymous with being a loose liver and an atheist. +Then this fellow was, as all the town knew, a drunkard, an idler, a +dissolute waster who had brought nothing upon Polchester but disgrace. Had +Brandon had his way he would, long ago, have had him publicly expelled and +forbidden ever to return. The thought that this man should be in the +Cathedral at all was shocking to him and, in his present mood, quite +intolerable. He saw, dim though the light was, that the man was drunk now.</p> + +<p>Davray lurched forward a step, then said huskily:</p> + +<p>"Well, so your fine son's run away with Hogg's pretty daughter."</p> + +<p>The sense that he had had already that his son's action, had suddenly +bound him into company with all the powers of evil and destruction rose to +its full height at the sound of the man's voice; but with it rose, too, +his self-command. The very disgust with which Davray filled him +contributed to his own control and dignity.</p> + +<p>"You should feel ashamed, sir," he said quietly, standing still where be +was, "to be in that condition in this building. Or are you too drunk to +know where you are?"</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Archdeacon," Davray said, laughing. "Of course I'm +drunk. I generally am--and that's my affair. But I'm not so drunk as not +to know where I am and not to know who you are and what's happened to you. +I know all those things, I'm glad to say. Perhaps I am a little ahead of +yourself in that. Perhaps you don't know yet what your young hopeful has +been doing."</p> + +<p>Brandon was as still as one of the old wooden saints.</p> + +<p>"Then if you are sober enough to know where you are, leave this place and +do not return to it until you are in a fit state."</p> + +<p>"Fit! I like that." The sense that he was alone now for the first time in +his life with the man whom he had so long hated infuriated Davray. "Fit? +Let me tell you this, old cock, I'm twice as fit to be here as you're ever +likely to be. Though I have been drinking and letting myself go, I'm +fitter to be here than you are, you stuck-up, pompous fool."</p> + +<p>Brandon did not stir.</p> + +<p>"Go home!" he said; "go home! Recover your senses and ask God's +forgiveness."</p> + +<p>"God's forgiveness!" Davray moved a step forward as though he would +strike. Brandon made no movement. "That's like your damned cheek. Who +wants forgiveness as you do? Ask this Cathedral--ask it whether I have not +loved it, adored it, worshipped it as I've worshipped no woman. Ask it +whether I have not been faithful, drunkard and sot as I am. And ask it +what it thinks of you--of your patronage and pomposity and conceit. When +have you thought of the Cathedral and its beauty, and not always of +yourself and your grandeur?...Why, man, we're sick of you, all of us +from the top man in the place to the smallest boy. And the Cathedral is +sick of you and your damned conceit, and is going to get rid of you, too, +if you won't go of yourself. And this is the first step. Your son's gone +with a whore to London, and all the town's laughing at you."</p> + +<p>Brandon did not flinch. The man was close to him; he could smell his +drunken breath--but behind his words, drunken though they might be, was a +hatred so intense, so deep, so real, that it was like a fierce physical +blow. Hatred of himself. He had never conceived in all his life that any +one hated him--and this man had hated him for years, a man to whom he had +never spoken before to-day.</p> + +<p>Davray, as was often his manner, seemed suddenly to sober. He stood aside +and spoke more quietly, almost without passion.</p> + +<p>"I've been waiting for this moment for years," he said; "you don't know +how I've watched you Sunday after Sunday strutting about this lovely +place, happy in your own conceit. Your very pride has been an insult to +the God you pretend to serve. I don't know whether there's a God or no-- +there can't be, or things wouldn't happen as they do--but there <i>is</i> +this place, alive, wonderful, beautiful, triumphant, and you've dared to +put yourself above it....</p> + +<p>"I could have shouted for joy last night when I heard what your young +hopeful had done. 'That's right,' I said; 'that'll bring him down a bit. +That'll teach him modesty.' I had an extra drink on the strength of it. +I've been hanging about all the morning to get a chance of speaking to +you. I followed you up here. You're one of us now, Archdeacon. You're down +on the ground at last, but not so low as you will be before the Cathedral +has finished with you."</p> + +<p>"Go," said Brandon, "or, House of God though this is, I'll throw you out."</p> + +<p>"I'll go. I've said my say for the moment. But we'll meet again, never +fear. You're one of us now--one of us. Good-night."</p> + +<p>He passed through the door, and the dusky room was still again as though +no one had been there....</p> + +<p>There is an old German tale, by De la Motte Fouqué, I fancy, of a young +traveller who asks his way to a certain castle, his destination. He is +given his directions, and his guide tells him that the journey will be +easy enough until he reaches a small wood through which he must pass. This +wood will be dark and tangled and bewildering, but more sinister than +those obstacles will be the inhabitants of it who, evil, malign, foul and +bestial, devote their lives to the destruction of all travellers who +endeavour to reach the castle on the hill beyond. And the tale tells how +the young traveller, proud of his youth and strength, confident in the +security of his armour, nevertheless, when he crosses the dark border of +the wood, feels as though his whole world has changed, as though +everything in which he formerly trusted is of no value, as though the very +weapons that were his chief defence now made him most defenceless. He has +in the heart of that wood many perilous adventures, but worst of them all, +when he is almost at the end of his strength, is the sudden conviction +that he has himself changed, and is himself become one of the foul, +gibbering, half-visioned monsters by whom he is surrounded.</p> + +<p>As Brandon left the Cathedral there was something of that strange sense +with him, a sense that had come to him first, perhaps, in its dimmest and +most distant form, on the day of the circus and the elephant, and that +now, in all its horrible vigour and confidence, was there close at his +elbow. He had always held himself immaculate; he had come down to his +fellow-men, loving them, indeed, but feeling that they were of some other +clay than his own, and that through no especial virtue of his, but simply +because God has so wished it. And now he had stood, and a drunken wastrel +had cursed him and told him that he was detested by all men and that they +waited for his downfall.</p> + +<p>It was those last words of Davray's that rang in his ears: "You're one of +us now. You're one of us." Drunkard and wastrel though the man was, those +words could not be forgotten, would never be forgotten again.</p> + +<p>With his head up, his shoulders back, he returned to his house.</p> + +<p>The maid met him in the hall. "There's a man waiting for you in the study, +sir."</p> + +<p>"Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Samuel Hogg, sir."</p> + +<p>Brandon looked at the girl fixedly, but not unkindly.</p> + +<p>"Why did you let him in, Gladys?"</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't take no denial, sir. Mrs. Brandon was out and Miss Joan. He +said you were expecting him and 'e knew you'd soon be back."</p> + +<p>"You should never let any one wait, Gladys, unless I have told you +beforehand."</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Remember that in future, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I'm sure I'm sorry, sir, but----"</p> + +<p>Brandon went into his study.</p> + +<p>Hogg was standing beside the window, a faded bowler in his hand. He turned +when he heard the opening of the door; he presented to the Archdeacon a +face of smiling and genial, if coarsened, amiability.</p> + +<p>He was wearing rough country clothes, brown knickerbockers and gaiters, +and looked something like a stout and seedy gamekeeper fond of the bottle.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you'll forgive this liberty I've taken, Archdeacon," he said, +opening his mouth very wide as he smiled--"waiting for you like this; but +the matter's a bit urgent."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" said Brandon, not moving from the door.</p> + +<p>"I've come in a friendly spirit, although there are men who might have +come otherwise. You won't deny that, considering the circumstances of the +case."</p> + +<p>"I'll be grateful to you if you'll explain," said Brandon, "as quickly as +possibly your business."</p> + +<p>"Why, of course," said Hogg, coming away from the window. "Why, of course, +Archdeacon. Now, whoever would have thought that we, you and me, would be +in the same box? And that's putting it a bit mild considering that it's my +daughter that your son has run away with."</p> + +<p>Brandon said nothing, not, however, removing his eyes from Hogg's face.</p> + +<p>Hogg was all amiable geniality. "I know it must be against the grain, +Archdeacon, having to deal with the likes of me. You've always counted +yourself a strike above us country-folk, haven't you, and quite natural +too. But, again, in the course of nature we've both of us had children and +that, as it turns out, is where we finds our common ground, so to speak-- +you a boy and me a lovely girl. <i>Such</i> a lovely girl, Archdeacon, as +it's natural enough your son should want to run away with."</p> + +<p>Brandon went across to his writing-table and sat down.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hogg," he said, "it is true that I had a letter from my son this +morning telling me that he had gone up to London with your daughter and +was intending to marry her as soon as possible. You will not expect that I +should approve of that step. My first impulse was, naturally enough, to go +at once to London and to prevent his action at all costs. On thinking it +over, however, I felt that as he had run away with the girl the least that +he could now do was to marry her.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you will understand my feeling when I say that in taking this +step I consider that he has disgraced himself and his family. He has cut +himself off from his family irremediably. I think that really that is all +that I have to say."</p> + +<p>Behind Hogg's strange little half-closed eyes some gleam of anger and +hatred passed. There was no sign of it in the geniality of his open smile.</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly, Archdeacon, I can understand that you wouldn't care for +what he has done. But boys will be boys, won't they? We've both been boys +in our time, I daresay. You've looked at it from your point of view, and +that's natural enough. But human nature's human nature, and you must +forgive me if I look at it from mine. She's my only girl, and a good girl +she's been to me, keepin' herself <i>to</i> herself and doing her work and +helping me wonderful. Well, your Young spark comes along, likes the look +of her and ruins her...."</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon made some movement----</p> + +<p>"Oh, you may say what you like, Archdeacon, and he may tell you what +<i>he</i> likes, but you and I know what happens when two young things +with hot blood gets together and there's nobody by. They may <i>mean</i> +to be straight enough, but before they knows where they are, nature's took +hold of them, and there they are.... But even supposin' that 'asn't +happened, I don't know as I'm much better off. That girl was the very prop +of my business; she's gone, never to return, accordin' to her own account. +As to this marryin' business, that may seem to you, Archdeacon, to improve +things, but I'm not so sure that it does after all. You may be all very +'igh and mighty in your way, but I'm thinkin' of myself and the business. +What good does my girl marryin' your son do to me? That's what I want to +know."</p> + +<p>Brandon's hands were clenched upon the table. Nevertheless he still spoke +quietly.</p> + +<p>"I don't think, Mr. Hogg," he said, "that there's anything to be gained by +our discussing this just now. I have only this morning heard of it. You +may be assured that justice will be done, absolute justice, to your +daughter and yourself."</p> + +<p>Hogg moved to the door.</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly, Archdeacon. It is a bit early to discuss things. I +daresay we shall be havin' many a talk about it all before it's over. I'm +sure I only want to be friendly in the matter. As I said before, we're in +the same box, you and me, so to speak. That ought to make us tender +towards one another, oughtn't it? One losing his son and the other his +daughter.</p> + +<p>"Such a good girl as she was too. Certainly I'll be going, Archdeacon; +leave you to think it over a bit. I daresay you'll see my point of view in +time."</p> + +<p>"I think, Mr. Hogg, there's nothing to be gained by your coming here. You +shall hear from me."</p> + +<p>"Well, as to that, Archdeacon," Hogg turned from the half-opened door, +smiling, "that's as may be. One can get further sometimes in a little talk +than in a dozen letters. And I'm really not much of a letter-writer. But +we'll see 'ow things go on. Good-evenin'."</p> + +<p>The talk had lasted but five minutes, and every piece of furniture in the +room, the chairs, the table, the carpet, the pictures, seemed to have upon +it some new stain of disfigurement. Even the windows were dimmed.</p> + +<p>Brandon sat staring in front of him. The door opened again and his wife +came in.</p> + +<p>"That was Samuel Hogg who has just left you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said.</p> + +<p>He looked across the room at her and was instantly surprised by the +strangest feeling. He was not, in his daily life, conscious of "feelings" +of any sort--that was not his way. But the events of the past two days +seemed to bring him suddenly into a new contact with real life, as though, +having lived in a balloon all this time, he had been suddenly bumped out +of it with a jerk and found Mother Earth with a terrible bang. He would +have told you a week ago that there was nothing about his wife that he did +not know and nothing about his own feelings towards her--and yet, after +all, the most that he had known was to have no especial feelings towards +her of any kind.</p> + +<p>But to-day had been beyond possible question the most horrible day he had +ever known, and it might be that the very horror of it was to force him to +look upon everything on earth with new eyes. It had at least the immediate +effect now of showing his wife to him as part of himself, as some one, +therefore, hurt as he was, smirched and soiled and abused as he, needing +care and kindness as he had never known her to need it before. It was a +new feeling for him, a new tenderness.</p> + +<p>He greeted and welcomed it as a relief after the horror of Hogg's +presence. Poor Amy! She was in as bad a way as he now--they were at last +in the same box.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "that was Hogg."</p> + +<p>Looking at her now in this new way, he was also able to see that she +herself was changed. She figured definitely as an actor now with an odd +white intensity in her face, with some mysterious purpose in her eyes, +with a resolve in the whole poise of her body that seemed to add to her +height.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "what train are you taking up to London?"</p> + +<p>"What train?" he repeated after her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, to see Falk."</p> + +<p>"I am not going to see Falk."</p> + +<p>"You're not going up to him?"</p> + +<p>"Why should I go?"</p> + +<p>"Why should you go? <i>You</i> can ask me that?...To stop this terrible +marriage."</p> + +<p>"I don't intend to stop it."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. She seemed to summon every nerve in her body to her +control.</p> + +<p>The twitching of her fingers against her dress was her only movement.</p> + +<p>"Would you please tell me what you mean to do? After all, I am his +mother."</p> + +<p>The tenderness that he had felt at first sight of her was increasing so +strangely that it was all he could do not to go over to her. But his +horror of any demonstration kept him where he was. + +"Amy, dear," he said, "I've had a dreadful day--in every way a terrible +day. I haven't had time, as things have gone, to think things out. I want +to be fair. I want to do the right thing. I do indeed. I don't think +there's anything to be gained by going up to London. One thing only now +I'm clear about. He's got to marry the girl now he's gone off with her. To +do him justice he intends to do that. He says that he has done her no +harm, and we must take his word for that. Falk has been many things-- +careless, reckless, selfish, but never in all his life dishonourable. If I +went up now we should quarrel, and perhaps something irreparable would +occur. Even though he was persuaded to return, the mischief is done. He +must be just to the girl. Every one in the town knows by now that she went +with him--her father has been busy proclaiming the news even though there +has been no one else."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brandon said nothing. She had made in herself the horrible discovery, +after reading Falk's letter, that her thoughts were not upon Falk at all, +but upon Morris. Falk had flouted her; not only had he not wanted her, but +he had gone off with a common girl of the town. She had suddenly no +tenderness for him, no anger against him, no thought of him except that +his action had removed the last link that held her.</p> + +<p>She was gazing now at Morris with all her eyes. Her brain was fastened +upon him with an intensity sufficient almost to draw him, hypnotised, +there to her feet. Her husband, her home, Polchester, these things were +like dim shadows.</p> + +<p>"So you will do nothing?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I must wait," he said, "I know that when I act hastily I act badly...." +He paused, looked at her doubtfully, then with great hesitation went on: +"We are together in this, Amy. I've been--I've been--thinking of myself +and my work perhaps too much in the past. We've got to see this through +together."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, "together." But she was thinking of Morris.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_16"></a>Chapter VIII</h1> + +<h2>The Wind Flies Over the House</h2> + + + +<p>Later, that day, she went from the house. It was a strange evening. Two +different weathers seemed to have met over the Polchester streets. First +there was the deep serene beauty of the May day, pale blue faintly fading +into the palest yellow, the world lying like an enchanted spirit asleep +within a glass bell, reflecting the light from the shining surface that +enfolded it. In this light houses, grass, cobbles lay as though stained by +a painter's brush, bright colours like the dazzling pigment of a wooden +toy, glittering under the shining sky.</p> + +<p>This was a normal enough evening for the Polchester May, but across it, +shivering it into fragments, broke a stormy and blustering wind, a wind +that belonged to stormy January days, cold and violent, with the hint of +rain in its murmuring voice. It tore through the town, sometimes carrying +hurried and, as it seemed, terrified clouds with it; for a while the May +light would be hidden, the air would be chill, a few drops like flashes of +glass would fall, gleaming against the bright colours--then suddenly the +sky would be again unchallenged blue, there would be no cloud on the +horizon, only the pavements would glitter as though reflecting a glassy +dome. Sometimes it would be more than one cloud that the wind would carry +on its track--a company of clouds; they would appear suddenly above the +horizon, like white-faced giants peering over the world's rim, then in a +huddled confusion they would gather together, then start their flight, +separating, joining, merging, dwindling and expanding, swallowing up the +blue, threatening to encompass the pale saffron of the lower sky, then +vanishing with incredible swiftness, leaving warmth and colour in their +train.</p> + +<p>Amy Brandon did not see the enchanted town. She heard, as she left the +house, the clocks striking half-past six. Some regular subconscious self, +working with its accustomed daily duty, murmured to her that to-night her +husband was dining at the Conservative Club and Joan was staying on to +supper at the Sampsons' after the opening tennis party of the season. No +one would need her--as so often in the past no one had needed her. But it +was her unconscious self that whispered this to her; in the wild stream +into whose current during these last strange months she had flung herself +she was carried along she knew not, she cared not, whither.</p> + +<p>Enough for her that she was free now to encompass her desire, the only +dominating, devastating desire that she had ever known in all her dead, +well-ordered life. But it was not even with so active a consciousness as +this that she thought this out. She thought out nothing save that she must +see Morris, be with Morris, catch from Morris that sense of appeasement +from the torture of hunger unsatisfied that never now left her.</p> + +<p>In the last weeks she had grown so regardless of the town's opinion that +she did not care how many people saw her pass Morris' door. She had, +perhaps, been always regardless, only in the dull security of her life +there had been no need to regard them. She despised them all; she had +always despised them, for the deference and admiration that they paid her +husband if for no other reason. Despised them too, it might be, because +they had not seen more in herself, had thought her the dull, lifeless +nonentity in whose soul no fires had ever burned.</p> + +<p>She had never chattered nor gossiped with them, did not consider gossip a +factor in any one's day; she had never had the least curiosity about any +one else, whether about life or character or motive.</p> + +<p>There is no egoist in the world so complete as the disappointed woman +without imagination.</p> + +<p>She hurried through the town as though she were on a business of the +utmost urgency; she saw nothing and she heard nothing. She did not even +see Miss Milton sitting at her half-opened window enjoying the evening +air.</p> + +<p>Morris himself opened the door. He was surprised when he saw her; when he +had closed the door and helped her off with her coat he said as they +walked into the drawing-room:</p> + +<p>"Is there anything the matter?"</p> + +<p>She saw at once that the room was cheerless and deserted.</p> + +<p>"Is Miss Burnett here?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No. She went off to Rafiel for a week's holiday. I'm being looked after +by the cook."</p> + +<p>"It's cold." She drew her shoulders and arms together, shivering.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It <i>is</i> cold. It's these showers. Shall I light the fire?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, do."</p> + +<p>He bent down, putting a match to the paper; then when the fire blazed he +pushed the sofa forwards.</p> + +<p>"Now sit down and tell me what's the matter."</p> + +<p>She could see that he was extremely nervous.</p> + +<p>"Have you heard nothing?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>She laughed bitterly. "I thought all the town knew by this time."</p> + +<p>"Knew what?"</p> + +<p>"Falk has run away to London with the daughter of Samuel Hogg."</p> + +<p>"Samuel Hogg?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the man of the 'Dog and Pilchard' down in Seatown."</p> + +<p>"Run away with her?"</p> + +<p>"Yesterday. He sent us a letter saying that he had gone up to London to +earn his own living, had taken this girl with him, and would marry her +next week."</p> + +<p>Morris was horrified.</p> + +<p>"Without a word of warning? Without speaking to you? Horrible! The +daughter of that man.... I know something about him...the worst man in the +place."</p> + +<p>Then followed a long silence. The effect on Morris was as it had been on +Mrs. Brandon--the actual deed was almost lost sight of in the sudden light +that it threw on his passion. From the very first the most appealing +element of her attraction to him had been her loneliness, the neglect from +which she suffered, the need she had of comfort.</p> + +<p>He saw her as a woman who, for twenty years, had had no love, although in +her very nature she had hungered for it; and if she had not been treated +with actual cruelty, at least she had been so basely neglected that +cruelty was not far away. It was not true to say that during these months +he had grown to hate Brandon, but he had come, more and more, to despise +and condemn him. The effeminacy in his own nature had from the first both +shrunk from and been attracted by the masculinity in Brandon.</p> + +<p>He could have loved that man, but as the situation had forbidden that, his +feeling now was very near to hate.</p> + +<p>Then, as the weeks had gone by, Mrs. Brandon had made it clear enough to +him that Falk was all that she had left to her--not very much to her even +there, perhaps, but something to keep her starved heart from dying. And +now Falk was gone, gone in the most brutal, callous way. She had no one in +the world left to her but himself. The rush of tenderness and longing to +be good to her that now overwhelmed him was so strong and so sudden that +it was with the utmost difficulty that he had held himself from going to +the sofa beside her.</p> + +<p>She looked so weak there, so helpless, so gentle.</p> + +<p>"Amy," he said, "I will do anything in the world that is in my power."</p> + +<p>She was trembling, partly with genuine emotion, partly with cold, partly +with the drama of the situation.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "I don't want to do a thing that's going to involve you. +You must be left out of this. It is something that I must carry through by +myself. It was wrong of me, I suppose, to come to you, but my first +thought was that I must have companionship. I was selfish----"</p> + +<p>"No," he broke in, "you were not selfish. I am prouder that you came to me +than I can possibly say. That is what I'm here for. I'm your friend. You +know, after all these months, that I am. And what is a friend for?" Then, +as though he felt that he was advancing too dangerously close to emotion, +he went on more quietly:</p> + +<p>"Tell me--if it isn't impertinent of me to ask--what is your husband doing +about it?"</p> + +<p>"Doing? Nothing."</p> + +<p>"Nothing?"</p> + +<p>"No. I thought that he would go up to London and see Falk, but he doesn't +feel that that is necessary. He says that, as Falk has run away with the +girl, the most decent thing that he can do is to marry her. He seems very +little upset by it. He is a most curious man. After all these years, I +don't understand him at all."</p> + +<p>Morris went on hesitatingly. "I feel guilty myself. Weeks ago I overheard +gossip about your son and some girl. I wondered then whether I ought to +say something to you. But it's so difficult in these cases to know what +one ought to do. There's so much gossip in these little Cathedral towns. I +thought about it a good deal. Finally, I decided that it wasn't my place +to meddle."</p> + +<p>"I heard nothing," she answered. "It's always the family that hears the +talk last. Perhaps my husband's right. Perhaps there is nothing to be +done. I see now that Falk never cared anything for any of us. I cheated +myself. I had to cheat myself, otherwise I don't know what I'd have done. +And now his doing this has made me suspicious of everything and of every +one. Yes, even of a friendship like ours--the greatest thing in my life-- +now--the only thing in my life."</p> + +<p>Her voice trembled and dropped. But still he would not let himself pass on +to that other ground. "Is there <i>nothing</i> I can do?" he asked. "I +suppose it would do no good if I were to go up to London and see him? I +knew him a little--"</p> + +<p>Vehemently she shook her head.</p> + +<p>"You're not to be involved in this. At least I can do that much--keep you +out of it."</p> + +<p>"How is he going to live, then?"</p> + +<p>"He talks about writing. He's utterly confident, of course. He always has +been. Looking back now, I despise myself for ever imagining that <i>I</i> +was of any use to him. I see now that he never needed me--never at all."</p> + +<p>Suddenly she looked across at him sharply.</p> + +<p>"How is your sister-in-law?" His colour rose.</p> + +<p>"My sister-in-law?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"She isn't well."</p> + +<p>"What--?"</p> + +<p>"It's hard to say. The doctor looked at her and said she needed quiet and +must go to the sea. It's her nerves."</p> + +<p>"Her nerves?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they got very queer. She's been sleeping badly."</p> + +<p>"You quarrelled."</p> + +<p>"She and I?--yes."</p> + +<p>"What about?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. She's getting a little too much for me, I think."</p> + +<p>She looked him in the face.</p> + +<p>"No, you know it isn't that. You quarrelled about me."</p> + +<p>He said nothing.</p> + +<p>"You quarrelled about me," she repeated. "She always disliked me from the +beginning."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, she did. Of course I saw that. She was jealous of me. She saw, +more quickly than any one else, how much--how much we were going to mean +to one another. Speak the truth. You know that is the best."</p> + +<p>"She didn't understand," Morris answered slowly. "She's stupid in some +things."</p> + +<p>"So I've been the cause of your quarrelling, of your losing the only +friend you had in your life?"</p> + +<p>"No, not of my losing it. I haven't lost her. Our relationship has +shifted, that's all."</p> + +<p>"No. No. I know it is so. I've taken away the only person near you."</p> + +<p>And suddenly turning from him to the back of the sofa, hiding her face in +her hands, she broke into passionate crying.</p> + +<p>He stood for a moment, taut, controlled, as though he was fighting his +last little desperate battle. Then he was beaten. He knelt down on the +floor beside the sofa. He touched her hair, then her cheek. She made a +little movement towards him. He put his arms around her.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry. Don't cry. I can't bear that. You mustn't say that you've +taken anything from me. It isn't true. You've given me everything... +everything. Why should we struggle any longer? Why shouldn't we take what +has been given to us? Your husband doesn't care. I haven't anybody. Has +God given me so much that I should miss this? And has He put it in our +hearts if He didn't mean us to take it? I love you. I've loved you since +first I set eyes on you. I can't keep away from you any longer. It's +keeping away from myself. We're one. We are one another--not alone, +either of us--any more...."</p> + +<p>She turned towards him. He drew her closer and closer to him. With a +little sigh of happiness and comfort she yielded to him.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>There was only one cloud in the dim green sky, a cloud orange and crimson, +shaped like a ship. As the sun was setting, a little wind stirred, the +faint aftermath of the storm of the day, and the cloud, now all crimson, +passed over the town and died in fading ribbons of gold and orange in the +white sky of the far horizon.</p> + +<p>Only Miss Milton, perhaps, among all the citizens of the town, waiting +patiently behind her open window, watched its career.</p> + + + +<h1><a name="ch_17"></a>Chapter IX</h1> + +<h2>The Quarrel</h2> + + + +<p>Every one has known, at one time or another in life, that strange +unexpected calm that always falls like sudden snow on a storm-tossed +country, after some great crisis or upheaval. The blow has seemed so +catastrophic that the world must be changed with the force of its fall-- +but the world is <i>not</i> changed; hours pass and days go by, and no one +seems to be aware that anything has occurred...it is only when months +have gone, and perhaps years, that one looks back and sees that it was, +after all, on such and such a day that life was altered, values shifted, +the face of the world turned to a new angle.</p> + +<p>This is platitudinous, but platitudes are not platitudes when we first +make our personal experience of them. There seemed nothing platitudinous +to Brandon in his present experiences. The day on which he had received +Falk's letter had seemed to fling him neck and crop into a new world--a +world dim and obscure and peopled with new and terrifying devils. The +morning after, he was clear again, and it was almost as though nothing at +all had occurred. He went about the town, and everybody behaved in a +normal manner. No sign of those strange menacing figures, the drunken +painter, the sinister, smiling Hogg; every one as usual.</p> + +<p>Ryle complacent and obedient; Bentinck-Major officious but subservient; +Mrs. Combermere jolly; even, as he fancied, Foster a little more amiable +than usual. It was for this open, outside world that he had now for many +years been living; it was not difficult to tell himself that things here +were unchanged. Because he was no psychologist, he took people as he found +them; when they smiled they were pleased and when they frowned they were +angry.</p> + +<p>Because there was a great deal of pressing business he pushed aside Falk's +problem. It was there, it was waiting for him, but perhaps time would +solve it.</p> + +<p>He concentrated himself with a new energy, a new self-confidence, upon +the Cathedral, the Jubilee, the public life of the town.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, that horrible day had had its effect upon him. Three days +after Falk's escape he was having breakfast alone with Joan.</p> + +<p>"Mother has a headache," Joan said. "She's not coming down."</p> + +<p>He nodded, scarcely looking up from his paper.</p> + +<p>In a little while she said: "What are you doing to-day, daddy? I'm very +sorry to bother you, but I'm housekeeping to-day, and I have to arrange +about meals----"</p> + +<p>"I'm lunching at Carpledon," he said, putting his paper down.</p> + +<p>"With the Bishop? How nice! I wish I were. He's an old dear."</p> + +<p>"He wants to consult me about some of the Jubilee services," Brandon said +in his public voice.</p> + +<p>"Won't Canon Ryle mind that?"</p> + +<p>"I don't care if he does. It's his own fault, for not managing things +better."</p> + +<p>"I think the Bishop must be very lonely out there. He hardly ever comes +into Polchester now. It's because of his rheumatism, I suppose. Why +doesn't he resign, daddy?"</p> + +<p>"He's wanted to, a number of times. But he's very popular. People don't +want him to go."</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder." Joan's eyes sparkled. "Even if one never saw him at all +it would be better than somebody else. He's <i>such</i> an old darling."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't believe myself in men going on when they're past their +work. However, I hear he's going to insist on resigning at the end of this +year."</p> + +<p>"How old is he, daddy?"</p> + +<p>"Eighty-seven."</p> + +<p>There was always a tinge of patronage in the Archdeacon's voice when he +spoke of his Bishop. He knew that he was a saint, a man whose life had +been of so absolute a purity, a simplicity, an unfaltering faith and +courage, that there were no flaws to be found in him anywhere. It was +possibly this very simplicity that stirred Brandon's patronage. After all, +we were living in a workaday world, and the Bishop's confidence in every +man's word and trust in every man's honour had been at times a little +ludicrous. Nevertheless, did any one dare to attack the Bishop, he was +immediately his most ardent and ferocious defender.</p> + +<p>It was only when the Bishop was praised that he felt that a word or two of +caution was necessary.</p> + +<p>However, he was just now not thinking of the Bishop; he was thinking of +his daughter. As he looked across the table at her he wondered. What had +Falk's betrayal of the family meant to her? Had she been fond of him? She +had given no sign at all as to how it had affected her. She had her +friends and her life in the town, and her family pride like the rest of +them. How pretty she looked this morning! He was suddenly aware of the +love and devotion that she had given him for years and the small return +that he had made. Not that he had been a bad father--he hurriedly +reassured himself; no one could accuse him of that. But he had been busy, +preoccupied, had not noticed her as he might have done. She was a woman +now, with a new independence and self-assurance! And yet such a child at +the same time! He recalled the evening in the cab when she had held his +hand. How few demands she ever made upon him; how little she was ever in +the way!</p> + +<p>He went back to his paper, but found that he could not fix his attention +upon it. When he had finished his breakfast he went across to her. She +looked up at him, smiling. He put his hand on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Um--yes.... And what are you going to do to-day, dear?"</p> + +<p>"I've heaps to do. There's the Jubilee work-party in the morning. Then +there are one or two things in the town to get for mother." She paused.</p> + +<p>He hesitated, then said:</p> + +<p>"Has any one--have your friends in the town--said anything about Falk?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"No, daddy--not a word."</p> + +<p>Then she added, as though to herself, with a little sigh, "Poor Falk!"</p> + +<p>He took his hand from her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"So you're sorry for him, are you?" he said angrily.</p> + +<p>"Not sorry, exactly," she answered slowly. "But--you will forgive him, +won't you?"</p> + +<p>"You can be sure," Brandon said, "that I shall do what is right."</p> + +<p>She sprang up and faced him.</p> + +<p>"Daddy, now that Falk is gone, it's more necessary than ever for you to +realise <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Realise you?" he said, looking at her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that I'm a woman now and not a child any longer. You don't realise +it a bit. I said it to mother months ago, and told her that now I could do +all sorts of things for her. She <i>has</i> let me do a few things, but +she hasn't changed to me, not been any different, or wanted me any more +than she did before. But you must. You <i>must</i>, daddy. I can help you +in lots of ways. I can----"</p> + +<p>"What ways?" he asked her, smiling.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. You must find them out. What I mean is that you've got to +count on me as an element in the family now. You can't disregard me any +more."</p> + +<p>"Have I disregarded you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course you have," she answered, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll see," he said. He bent down and kissed her, then left the +room.</p> + +<p>He left to catch the train to Carpledon in a self-satisfied mind. He was +tired, certainly, and had felt ever since the shock of three days back a +certain "warning" sensation that hovered over him rather like hot air, +suggesting that sudden agonizing pain...but so long as the pain did not +come...He had thought, half derisively, of seeing old Puddifoot, even of +having himself overhauled--but Puddifoot was an ass. How could a man who +talked the nonsense Puddifoot did in the Conservative Club be anything of +a doctor? Besides, the man was old. There was a young man now, Newton. But +Brandon distrusted young men.</p> + +<p>He was amused and pleased at the station. He strode up and down the +platform, his hands behind his broad back, his head up, his top-hat +shining, his gaiters fitting superbly his splendid calves. The station- +master touched his hat, smiled, and stayed for a word or two. Very +deferential. Good fellow, Curtis. Knew his business. The little, stout, +rosy-faced fellow who guarded the book-stall touched his hat. Brandon +stopped and looked at the papers. Advertisements already of special +Jubilee supplements--"Life of the Good Queen," "History of the Empire, +1837-1897." Piles of that trashy novel Joan had been talking about, <i>The +Massarenes</i>, by Ouida. Pah! Stuff and nonsense. How did people have +time for such things? "Yes, Mr. Waller. Fine day. Very fine May we're +having. Ought to be fine for the Jubilee. Hope so, I'm sure. Disappoint +many people if it's wet...."</p> + +<p>He bought the <i>Church Times</i> and crossed to the side-line. No one +here but a farmer, a country-woman and her little boy. The farmer's side- +face reminded him suddenly of some one. Who was it? That fat cheek, the +faint sandy hair beneath the shabby bowler. He was struck as though, +standing on a tight-rope in mid-air, he felt it quiver beneath him. +Hogg.... He turned abruptly and faced the empty line and the dusty +neglected boarding of a railway-shed. He must not think of that man, must +not allow him to seize his thoughts. Hogg--Davray. Had he dreamt that +horrible scene in the Cathedral? Could that have been? He lifted his hand +and, as it were, tore the scene into pieces and scattered it on the line. +He had command of his thoughts, shutting down one little tight shutter +after another upon the things he did not want to see. <i>That</i> he did +not want to see, did not want to know.</p> + +<p>The little train drew in, slowly, regretfully. Brandon got into the +solitary first-class carriage and buried himself in his paper. Soon, +thanks to his happy gift of attending only to one question at a time, the +subjects that that paper brought up for discussion completely absorbed +him. Anything more absurd than such an argument!--as though the validity +of Baptism did not absolutely depend...</p> + +<p>He was happily lost; the little train steamed out. He saw nothing of the +beautiful country through which they passed--country, on this May +morning, so beautiful in its rich luxuriant security, the fields bending +and dipping to the tree-haunted streams, the hedges running in lines of +blue and dark purple like ribbons to the sky, that, blue-flecked, caught +in light and shadow a myriad pattern as a complement to its own sun-warmed +clouds. Rich and English so utterly that it was almost scornful in its +resentment of foreign interference. In spite of the clouds the air was now +in its mid-day splendour, and the cows, in clusters of brown, dark and +clay-red, sought the cool grey shadows of the hedges.</p> + +<p>The peace of centuries lay upon this land, and the sun with loving hands +caressed its warm flanks as though here, at least, was some one of whom it +might be sure, some one known from old time.</p> + +<p>The little station at Carpledon was merely a wooden shed. Woods running +down the hill threatened to overwhelm it; at its very edge beyond the +line, thick green fields slipped to the shining level waters of the Pol. +Brandon walked up the hill through the wood, past the hedge and on through +the Park to the Palace drive. The sight of that old, red, thick-set +building with its square comfortable windows, its bell-tower, its +dovecots, its graceful, stolid, happy lines, its high old doorway, its +tiled roof rosy-red with age, respectability and comfort, its square +solemn chimneys behind and between whose self-possession the broad +branches of the oaks, older and wiser than the house itself, uplifted +their clustered leaves with the protection of their conscious dignity-- +this house thrilled all that was deepest and most superstitious in his +soul.</p> + +<p>To this building he would bow, to this house surrender. Here was something +that would command all his reverence, a worthy adjunct to the Cathedral +that he loved; without undue pride he must acknowledge to himself that, +had fate so willed it, he would himself have occupied this place with a +worthy and fitting appropriateness. It seemed, indeed, as he pulled the +iron bell and heard its clang deep within the house, that he understood +what it needed so well that it must sigh with a dignified relief when it +saw him approach.</p> + +<p>Appleford the butler, who opened the door, was an old friend of his--an +aged, white-locked man, but dignity itself.</p> + +<p>"His lordship will be down in a moment," he said, showing him into the +library. Some one else was there, his back to the door. He turned round; +it was Ronder.</p> + +<p>When Brandon saw him he had again that sense that came now to him so +frequently, that some plot was in process against him and gradually, step +by step, hedging him in. That is a dangerous sense for any human being to +acquire, but most especially for a man of Brandon's simplicity, almost +naïveté of character.</p> + +<p>Ronder! The very last man whom Brandon could bear to see in that place and +at that time! Brandon's visit to-day was not entirely unengineered. To be +honest, he had not spoken quite the truth to his daughter when he had said +that the Bishop had asked him out there for consultation. Himself had +written to the Bishop a very strong letter, emphasising the inadequacy +with which his Jubilee services were being prepared, saying something +about the suitability of Forsyth for the Pybus living, and hinting at +certain carelessnesses in the Chapter "due to new and regrettable +influences." It was in answer to this letter that Ponting, the Resident +Chaplain, had written saying that the Bishop would like to give Brandon +luncheon. It may be said, therefore, that Brandon wished to consult the +Bishop rather than the Bishop Brandon. The Archdeacon had pictured to +himself a cosy <i>tête-à-tête</i> with the Bishop lasting for an hour or +two, and entirely uninterrupted. He flattered himself that he knew his +dear Bishop well enough by this time to deal with him exactly as he ought +to be dealt with. But, for that dealing, privacy was absolutely essential. +Any third person would have been, to the last extent, provoking. Ronder +was disastrous. He instantly persuaded himself, as he looked at that +rubicund and smiling figure, that Ronder had heard of his visit and +determined to be one of the party. He could only have heard of it through +Ponting.... The Archdeacon's fingers twisted within one another as he +considered how pleasant it would be to wring Ponting's long, white and +ecclesiastical neck.</p> + +<p>And, of course, behind all this immediate situation was his sense of the +pleasure and satisfaction that Ronder must be feeling about Falk's +scandal. Licking his thick red lips about it, he must be, watching with +his little fat eyes for the moment when, with his round fat fingers, he +might probe that wound.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless the Archdeacon knew, by this time, Ronder's character and +abilities too well not to realise that he must dissemble. Dissembling was +the hardest thing of all that a man of the Archdeacon's character could be +called upon to perform, but dissemble he must.</p> + +<p>His smile was of a grim kind.</p> + +<p>"Ha! Ronder; didn't expect to see you here."</p> + +<p>"No," said Ronder, coming forward and smiling with the utmost geniality. +"To tell you the truth, I didn't expect to find myself here. It was only +last evening that I got a note from the Bishop asking me to come out to +luncheon to-day. He said that you would be here."</p> + +<p>Oh, so Ponting was not to blame. It was the Bishop himself. Poor old man! +Cowardice obviously, afraid of some of the home-truths that Brandon might +find it his duty to deliver. A coward in his old age....</p> + +<p>"Very fine day," said Brandon.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful," said Ronder. "Really, looks as though we are going to have +good weather for the Jubilee."</p> + +<p>"Hope we do," said Brandon. "Very hard on thousands of people if it's +wet."</p> + +<p>"Very," said Ronder. "I hope Mrs. Brandon is well."</p> + +<p>"To-day she has a little headache," said Brandon. "But it's really +nothing."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ronder. "I've been wondering whether there isn't some thunder +in the air. I've been feeling it oppressive myself."</p> + +<p>"It does get oppressive," said Brandon, "this time of the year in +Glebeshire--especially South Glebeshire. I've often noticed it."</p> + +<p>"What we want," said Ronder, "is a good thunderstorm to clear the air."</p> + +<p>"Just what we're not likely to get," said Brandon. "It hangs on for days +and days without breaking."</p> + +<p>"I wonder why that is," said Ronder; "there are no hills round about to +keep it. There's hardly a hill of any size in the whole of South +Glebeshire."</p> + +<p>"Of course, Polchester's in a hollow," said Brandon. "Except for the +Cathedral, of course. I always envy Lady St. Leath her elevation."</p> + +<p>"A fine site, the Castle," said Ronder. "They must get a continual breeze +up there."</p> + +<p>"They do," said Brandon. "Whenever I'm up there there's a wind."</p> + +<p>This most edifying conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the +Reverend Charles Ponting. Mr. Ponting was very long, very thin and very +black, his cadaverous cheeks resembling in their colour nothing so much as +good fountain-pen ink. He spoke always in a high, melancholy and chanting +voice. He was undoubtedly effeminate in his movements, and he had an air +of superior secrecy about the affairs of the Bishop that people sometimes +found very trying. But he was a good man and a zealous, and entirely +devoted to his lord and master.</p> + +<p>"Ha! Archdeacon.... Ha! Canon. His lordship will be down in one moment. He +has asked me to make his apologies for not being here to receive you. He +is just finishing something of rather especial importance."</p> + +<p>The Bishop, however, entered a moment later. He was a little, frail man, +walking with the aid of a stick. He had snow-white hair, rather thick and +long, pale cheeks and eyes of a bright china-blue. He had that quality, +given to only a few in this world of happy mediocrities, of filling, at +once, any room into which he entered with the strength and fragrance of +his spirit. So strong, fearless and beautiful was his soul that it shone +through the frail compass of his body with an unfaltering light. No one +had ever doubted the goodness and splendour of the man's character. Men +might call his body old and feeble and past the work that it was still +called upon to perform. They might speak of him as guileless, as too +innocent of this world's slippery ways, as trusting where no child of six +years of age would have trusted; these things might have been, and were, +said, but no man, woman, nor child, looking upon him, hesitated to realise +that here was some one who had walked and talked with God and in whom +there was no shadow of deceit nor evil thought. Old Glasgow Parmiter, the +lawyer, the wickedest old man Polchester had ever known, said once of him, +"If there's a hell, I suppose I'm going to it, and I'm sure I don't care. +There may be one and there may not. I know there's a heaven. Purcell lives +there."</p> + +<p>His voice, which was soft and strong, had at its heart a tiny stammer +which came out now and then with a hesitating, almost childish, charm. As +he stood there, leaning on his stick, smiling at them, there did seem a +great deal of the child about him, and Brandon, Ponting and Ronder +suddenly seemed old, wicked and soiled in the world's ways.</p> + +<p>"Please forgive me," he said, "for not being down when you came. I move +slowly now.... Luncheon is ready, I know. Shall we go in?"</p> + +<p>The four men crossed the stone-flagged hall into the diningroom where +Appleford stood, devoutly, as one about to perform a solemn rite. The +dining-room was high-ceilinged with a fireplace of old red brick fronted +with black oak beams. The walls were plain whitewash, and they carried +only one picture, a large copy of Dürer's "Knight and the Devil." The +high, broad windows looked out on to the sloping lawn whose green now +danced and sparkled under the sun. The trees that closed it in were purple +shadowed.</p> + +<p>They sat, clustered together, at the end of a long oak refectory table. +The Bishop himself was a teetotaler, but there was good claret and, at the +end, excellent port. The only piece of colour on the table was a bowl of +dark-blue glass piled with fruit. The only ornament in the room was a +beautifully carved silver crucifix on the black oak mantelpiece. The sun +danced across the stained floor with every pattern and form of light.</p> + +<p>Brandon could not remember a more unpleasant meal in that room; he could +not, indeed, remember ever having had an unpleasant meal there before. The +Bishop talked, as he always did, in a most pleasant and easy fashion. He +talked about the nectarines and plums that were soon to glorify his garden +walls, about the pears and apples in his orchard, about the jokes that old +Puddifoot made when he came over and examined his rheumatic limbs. He +gently chaffed Ponting about his punctuality, neatness and general dislike +of violent noises, and he bade Appleford to tell the housekeeper, Mrs. +Brenton, how especially good to-day was the fish soufflé. All this was all +it had ever been; nothing could have been easier and more happy. But on +other days it had always been Brandon who had thrown back the ball for the +Bishop to catch. Whoever the other guest might be, it was always Brandon +who took the lead, and although he might be a little ponderous and slow in +movement, he supplied the Bishop's conversational needs quite adequately.</p> + +<p>And to-day it was Ronder; from the first, without any ostentation or +presumption, with the utmost naturalness, he led the field. To understand +the full truth of this occasion it must be known that Mr. Ponting had, for +a considerable number of years past, cherished a deep but private +detestation of the Archdeacon. It was hard to say wherein that hatred had +had it inception--probably in some old, long-forgotten piece of cheerful +patronage on Brandon's part; Mr. Ponting was of those who consider and +dwell and dwell again, and he had, by this time, dwelt upon the Archdeacon +so long and so thoroughly that he knew and resented the colour of every +one of the Archdeacon's waistcoat buttons. He was, perhaps, quick to +perceive to-day that a mightier than the Archdeacon was here; or it may +have been that he was well aware of what had been happening in Polchester +during the last weeks, and was even informed of the incidents of the last +three days.</p> + +<p>However that may be, he did from the first pay an almost exaggerated +deference to Ronder's opinion, drew him into the conversation at every +possible opportunity, with such, interjections as "How true! How very +true! Don't you think so, Canon Ronder?" or "What has been your experience +in such a case, Canon Ronder?" or "I think, my lord, that Canon Ronder +told me that he knows that place well," and disregarding entirely any +remarks that Brandon might happen to make.</p> + +<p>No one could have responded more brilliantly to this opportunity than did +Ronder; indeed the Bishop, who was his host at the Palace to-day for the +first time, said after his departure, "That's a most able man, most able. +Lucky indeed for the diocese that it has secured him...a delightful +fellow."</p> + +<p>No one in the world could have been richer in anecdotes than Ronder, +anecdotes of precisely the kind for the Bishop's taste, not too worldly, +not too clerical, amusing without being broad, light and airy, but showing +often a fine scholarship and a wise and thoughtful experience of foreign +countries. The Bishop had not laughed so heartily for many a day. "Oh, +dear! Oh, dear!" he cried at the anecdote of the two American ladies in +Siena. "That's good, indeed...that's very good. Did you get that, +Ponting? Dear me, that's perfectly delightful!" A little tear of shining +pleasure trickled down his cheek. "Really, Canon, I've never heard +anything better."</p> + +<p>Brandon thought Ronder's manners outrageous. Poor Bishop! He was indeed +failing that he could laugh so heartily at such pitiful humour. He tried, +to show his sense of it all by grimly pursuing his food and refusing even +the ghost of a chuckle, but no one was perceiving him, as he very bitterly +saw. The Bishop, it may be, saw it too, for at last he turned to Brandon +and said:</p> + +<p>"But come, Archdeacon. I was forgetting. You wrote to me s-something about +that Jubilee-music in the Cathedral. You find that Ryle is making rather a +m-mess of things, don't you?"</p> + +<p>Brandon was deeply offended. Of what was the Bishop thinking that he could +so idly drag forward the substance of an entirely private letter, without +asking permission, into the public air? Moreover, the last thing that he +wanted was that Ronder should know that he had been working behind Ryle's +back. Not that he was in the least ashamed of what he had done, but here +was precisely the thing that Ronder would like to use and make something +of. In any case, it was the principle of the thing. Was Ronder henceforth +to be privy to everything that passed between himself and the Bishop?</p> + +<p>He never found it easy to veil his feelings, and he looked now, as Ponting +delightedly perceived, like an overgrown, sulky schoolboy.</p> + +<p>"No, no, my lord," he said, looking across at Ponting, as though he would +love to set his heel upon that pale but eager visage. "You have me wrong +there. I was making no complaint. The Precentor knows his own business +best."</p> + +<p>"You certainly said something in your letter," said the Bishop vaguely. +"There was s-something, Ponting, was there not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord," said Ponting. "There was. But I expect the Archdeacon did +not mean it very seriously."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you find the Precentor inefficient?" said the Bishop, +looking at the coffee with longing and then shaking his head. "Not to-day, +Appleford, alas--not to-day."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Brandon, colouring. "Of course not. Our tastes differ a +little as to the choice of music, that's all. I've no doubt that I am old- +fashioned."</p> + +<p>"How do you find the Cathedral music, Canon?" he asked, turning to Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know very little about it," said Ronder, smiling. '"Nothing in +comparison with the Archdeacon. I'm sure he's right in liking the old +music that people have grown used to and are fond of. At the same time, I +must confess that I haven't thought Ryle too venturesome. But then I'm +very ignorant, having been here so short a time."</p> + +<p>"That's right, then," said the Bishop comfortably. "There doesn't seem +much wrong."</p> + +<p>At that moment Appleford, who had been absent from the room for a minute, +returned with a note which he gave to the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"From Pybus, my lord," he said; "some one has ridden over with it."</p> + +<p>At the word "Pybus" there was an electric silence in the room. The Bishop +tore open the letter and read it. He half started from his chair with a +little exclamation of distress and grief.</p> + +<p>"Please excuse me," he said, turning to them. "I must leave you for a +moment and speak to the bearer of this note. Poor Morrison...at last... +he's gone!--Pybus!..."</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon, in spite of himself, half rose and stared across at +Ronder. Pybus! The living at last was vacant.</p> + +<p>A moment later he felt deeply ashamed. In that sunlit room the bright +green of the outside world quivering in pools of colour upon the pure +space of the white walls spoke of life and beauty and the immortality of +beauty.</p> + +<p>It was hard to think of death there in such a place, but one must think of +it and consider, too, Morrison, who had been so good a fellow and loved +the world, and all the things in it, and had thought of heaven also in the +spare moments that his energy left him.</p> + +<p>A great sportsman he had been, with a famous breed of bull-terrier, and +anxious to revive the South Glebeshire Hunt; very fine, too, in that last +terrible year when the worst of all mortal diseases had leapt upon his +throat and shaken him with agony and the imminent prospect of death-- +shaken him but never terrified him. Brandon summoned before him that +broad, jolly, laughing figure, summoned it, bowed to its fortitude and +optimism, then, as all men must, at such a moment, considered his own end; +then, having paid his due to Morrison, returned to the great business of +the--Living.</p> + +<p>They were gathered together in the hall now. The Bishop had known Morrison +well and greatly liked him, and he could think of nothing but the man +himself. The question of the succession could not come near him that day, +and as he stood, a little white-haired figure, tottering on his stick in +the flagged hall, he seemed already to be far from the others, to be +caught already half-way along the road that Morrison was now travelling.</p> + +<p>Both Brandon and Ronder felt that it was right for them to go, although on +a normal day they would have stayed walking in the garden and talking for +another three-quarters of an hour until it was time to catch the three- +thirty train from Carpledon. Mr. Ponting settled the situation.</p> + +<p>"His lordship," he said, "hopes that you will let Bassett drive you into +Polchester. There is the little wagonette; Bassett must go, in any case, +to get some things. It is no trouble, no trouble at all."</p> + +<p>They, of course, agreed, although for Brandon at any rate there would be +many things in the world pleasanter than sitting with Ronder in a small +wagonette for more than an hour. He also had no liking for Bassett, the +Bishop's coachman for the last twenty years, a native of South Glebeshire, +with all the obstinacy, pride and independence that that definition +includes.</p> + +<p>There was, however, no other course, and, a quarter of an hour later, the +two clergymen found themselves opposite one another in a wagonette that +was indeed so small that it seemed inevitable that Ronder's knees must +meet Brandon's and Brandon's ankles glide against Ronder's.</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon's temper was, by this time, at its worst. Everything had +been ruined by Ronder's presence. The original grievances were bad enough +--the way in which his letter had been flouted, the fashion in which his +conversation had been disregarded at luncheon, the sanctified pleasure +that Ponting's angular countenance had expressed at every check that he +had received; but all these things mattered nothing compared with the fact +that Ronder was present at the news of Morrison's death.</p> + +<p>Had he been alone with the Bishop then, what an opportunity he would have +had! How exactly he would have known how to comfort the Bishop, how +tactful and right he would have been in the words that he used, and what +an opportunity finally for turning the Bishop's mind in the way it should +go, namely, towards Rex Forsyth!</p> + +<p>As his knees, place them where he would, bumped against Ronder's, wrath +bubbled in his heart like boiling water in a kettle. The very immobility +of Bassett's broad back added to the irritation. + +"It's remarkably small for a wagonette," said Ronder at last, when some +minutes had passed in silence. "Further north this would not, I should +think, be called a wagonette at all, but in Glebeshire there are special +names for everything. And then, of course, we are both big men."</p> + +<p>This comparison was most unfortunate. Ronder's body was soft and plump, +most unmistakably fat. Brandon's was apparently in magnificent condition. +It is well known that a large man in good athletic condition has a deep, +overwhelming contempt for men who are fat and soft. Brandon made no reply. +Ronder was determined to be pleasant.</p> + +<p>"Very difficult to keep thin in this part of the world, isn't it? Every +morning when I look at myself in the glass I find myself fatter than I was +the day before. Then I say to myself, 'I'll give up bread and potatoes and +drink hot water.' Hot water! Loathsome stuff. Moreover, have you noticed, +Archdeacon, that a man who diets himself is a perfect nuisance to all his +friends and neighbours? The moment he refuses potatoes his hostess says to +him, 'Why, Mr. Smith, not one of our potatoes! Out of our own garden!' And +then he explains to her that he is dieting, whereupon every one at the +table hurriedly recites long and dreary histories of how they have dieted +at one time or another with this or that success. The meal is ruined for +yourself and every one else. Now, isn't it so? What do you do for yourself +when you are putting on flesh?"</p> + +<p>"I am not aware," said Brandon in his most haughty manner, "that I +<i>am</i> putting on flesh."</p> + +<p>"Of course I don't mean just now," answered Ronder, smiling. "In any case, +the jolting of this wagonette is certain to reduce one. Anyway, I agree +with you. It's a tiresome subject. There's no escaping fate. We stout men +are doomed, I fancy."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. After Brandon had moved his legs about in every +possible direction and found it impossible to escape Ronder's knees, he +said:</p> + +<p>"Excuse my knocking into you so often, Canon."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," said Ronder, laughing. "This drive comes worse on +you than myself, I fancy. You're bonier.... What a splendid figure the +Bishop is! A great man--really, a great man. There's something about a man +of that simplicity and purity of character that we lesser men lack. +Something out of our grasp altogether."</p> + +<p>"You haven't known him very long, I think," said Brandon, who considered +himself in no way a lesser man than the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"No, I have not," said Ronder, pleasantly amused at the incredible ease +with which he was able to make the Archdeacon rise. "I've never been to +Carpledon before to-day. I especially appreciated his inviting me when he +was having so old a friend as yourself."</p> + +<p>Another silence. Ronder looked about him; the afternoon was hot, and +little beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. One trickled down his +forehead, another into his eye. The road, early in the year though it was, +was already dusty, and the high Glebeshire hedges hid the view. The +irritation of the heat, the dust and the sense that they were enclosed and +would for the rest of their lives jog along, thus, knee to knee, down an +eternal road, made Ronder uncomfortable; when he was uncomfortable he was +dangerous. He looked at the fixed obstinacy of the Archdeacon's face and +said:</p> + +<p>"Poor Morrison! So he's gone. I never knew him, but he must have been a +fine fellow. And the Pybus living is vacant."</p> + +<p>Brandon said nothing.</p> + +<p>"An important decision that will be--I beg your pardon. That's my knee +again.</p> + +<p>"It's to be hoped that they will find a good man."</p> + +<p>"There can be only one possible choice," said Brandon, planting his hands +flat on his knees.</p> + +<p>"Really!" said Ronder, looking at the Archdeacon with an air of innocent +interest. "Do tell me, if it isn't a secret, who that is."</p> + +<p>"It's no secret," said Brandon in a voice of level defiance. "Rex Forsyth +is the obvious man."</p> + +<p>"Really!" said Ronder. "That is interesting. I haven't heard him +mentioned. I'm afraid I know very little about him."</p> + +<p>"Know very little about him!" said Brandon indignantly. "Why, his name has +been in every one's mouth for months!"</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Ronder mildly. "But then I am, in many ways, sadly out of +things. Do tell me about him."</p> + +<p>"It's not for me to tell you," said Brandon, looking at Ronder with great +severity. "You can find out anything you like from the smallest boy in the +town." This was not polite, but Ronder did not mind. There was a little +pause, then he said very amiably:</p> + +<p>"I have heard some mention of that man Wistons."</p> + +<p>"What!" cried Brandon in a voice not very far from a shout. "The fellow +who wrote that abnominable book, <i>The Four Creeds</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's the same," said Ronder gently, rubbing his knee a little.</p> + +<p>"That man!" The Archdeacon bounced in his seat. "That atheist! The leading +enemy of the Church, the man above any who would destroy every institution +that the Church possesses!"</p> + +<p>"Come, come! Is it as bad as that?"</p> + +<p>"As bad as that? Worse! Much worse! I take it that you have not read any +of his books."</p> + +<p>"Well, I have read one or two!"</p> + +<p>"You <i>have</i> read them and you can mention his name with patience?"</p> + +<p>"There are several ways of looking at these things----"</p> + +<p>"Several ways of looking at atheism? Thank you, Canon. Thank you very much +indeed. I am delighted to have your opinion given so frankly."</p> + +<p>("What an ass the man is!" thought Ronder. "He's going to lose his temper +here in the middle of the road with that coachman listening to every +word.")</p> + +<p>"You must not take me too literally, Archdeacon," said Ronder. "What I +meant was that the question whether Wistons is an atheist can be argued +from many points of view."</p> + +<p>"It can not! It can not!" cried Brandon, now shaking with anger. "There +can be no two points of view. 'He that is not with me is against me'----"</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," said Ronder. "It can not. There is no more to be said."</p> + +<p>"There <i>is</i> more to be said. There is indeed. I am glad, Canon, that +at last you have come out into the open. I have been wondering for a long +time past when that happy event was to take place. Ever since you came +into this town, you have been subverting doctrine, upsetting institutions, +destroying the good work that the Cathedral has been doing for many years +past. I feel it my duty to tell you this, a duty that no one else is +courageous enough to perform----"</p> + +<p>"Really, is this quite the place?" said Ronder, motioning with his hand +towards Bassett's broad back, and the massive sterns of the two horses +that rose and fell, like tubs on a rocking sea.</p> + +<p>But Brandon was past caution, past wisdom, past discipline. He could see +nothing now but Ronder's two rosy cheeks and the round gleaming spectacles +that seemed to catch his words disdainfully and suspend them there in +indifference. "Excuse me. It is time indeed. It is long past the time. If +you think that you can come here, a complete stranger, and do what you +like with the institutions here, you are mistaken, and thoroughly +mistaken. There are those here who have the interests of the place at +heart and guard and protect them. Your conceit has blinded you, allow me +to tell you, and it's time that you had a more modest estimate of yourself +and doings."</p> + +<p>"This really isn't the place," murmured Ronder, struggling to avoid +Brandon's knees.</p> + +<p>"Yes, atheism is nothing to you!" shouted the Archdeacon. "Nothing at all! +You had better be careful! I warn you!"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> had better be careful," said Ronder, smiling in spite of +himself, "or you will be out of the carriage."</p> + +<p>That smile was the final insult. Brandon, jumped up, rocking on his feet. +"Very well, then. You may laugh as you please. You may think it all a very +good joke. I tell you it is not. We are enemies, enemies from this moment. +You have never been anything <i>but</i> my enemy."</p> + +<p>"Do take care, Archdeacon, or you really <i>will</i> be out of the +carriage."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I will get out of it. I refuse to drive with you another step. +I refuse. I refuse."</p> + +<p>"But you can't walk. It's six miles."</p> + +<p>"I will walk! I will walk! Stop and let me get out! Stop, I say!"</p> + +<p>But Bassett who, according to his back, was as innocent of any dispute as +the small birds on the neighbouring tree, drove on.</p> + +<p>"Stop, I say. Can't you hear?" The Archdeacon plunged forward and pulled +Bassett by the collar. "Stop! Stop!" The wagonette abruptly stopped.</p> + +<p>Bassett's amazed face, two wide eyes in a creased and crumpled surface, +peered round.</p> + +<p>"It's war, I tell you. War!" Brandon climbed out. + +"But listen, Archdeacon! You can't!"</p> + +<p>"Drive on! Drive on!" cried Brandon, standing in the road and shaking his +umbrella.</p> + +<p>The wagonette drove on. It disappeared over the ledge of the hill.</p> + +<p>There was a sudden silence. Brandon's anger pounded up into his head in +great waves of constricting passion. These gradually faded. His knees were +trembling beneath him. There were new sounds--birds singing, a tiny breeze +rustling the hedges. No living soul in sight. He had suddenly a strange +impulse to shed tears. What had he been saying? What had he been doing? He +did not know what he had said. Another of his tempers....</p> + +<p>The pain attacked his head--like a sword, like a sword.</p> + +<p>He found a stone and sat down upon it. The pain invaded him like an active +personal enemy. Down the road it seemed to him figures were moving--Hogg, +Davray--that other world--the dust rose in little clouds.</p> + +<p>What had he been doing? His head! Where did this pain come from?</p> + +<p>He felt old and sick and weak. He wanted to be at home. Slowly he began to +climb the hill. An enemy, silent and triumphant, seemed to step behind +him.</p> + + + + + +<h1><a name="bo_03"></a>Book III</h1> + +<h2>Jubilee</h2> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_18"></a>Chapter I</h1> + +<h2>June 17, Thursday: Anticipation</h2> + + + +<p>It must certainly be difficult for chroniclers of contemporary history to +determine significant dates to define the beginning and end of succeeding +periods. But I fancy that any fellow-citizen of mine, if he thinks for a +moment, will agree with me that that Jubilee Summer of 1897 was the last +manifestation in our town of the separate individual Polchester spirit, of +the old spirit that had dwelt in its streets and informed its walls and +roofs for hundreds of years past, something as separate and distinct as +the smells of Seatown, the chime of the Cathedral bells, the cawing of the +Cathedral rooks in the Precinct Elms.</p> + +<p>An interesting and, to one reader at least, a pathetic history might be +written of the decline and death of that same spirit--not in Polchester +alone, but in many another small English town. From the Boer War of 1899 +to the Great War of 1914 stretches that destructive period; the agents of +that destruction, the new moneyed classes, the telephone, the telegram, +the motor, and last of all, the cinema.</p> + +<p>Destruction? That is, perhaps, too strong a word. We know that that is +simply the stepping from one stage to another of the eternal, the immortal +cycle. The little hamlet embowered in its protecting trees, defended by +its beloved hills, the Rock rising gaunt and naked in its midst; then the +Cathedral, the Monks, the Baron's Castle, the feudal rule; then the mighty +Bishops and the vast all-encircling power of the Church; then the new +merchant age, the Elizabethan salt of adventure; then the cosy seventeenth +and eighteenth centuries, with their domesticities, their little cultures, +their comfortable religion, their stay-at-home unimaginative festivities.</p> + +<p>Throughout the nineteenth century that spirit lingers, gently repulsing +the outside world, reproving new doctrine, repressing new movement...and +the Rock and the Cathedral wait their hours, watching the great sea that, +far on the horizon, is bathing its dykes and flooding the distant fields, +knowing that the waves are rising higher and higher, and will at last, +with full volume, leap upon these little pastures, these green-clad +valleys, these tiny hills. And in that day only the Cathedral and the Rock +will stand out above the flood.</p> + +<p>And this was a Polchester Jubilee. There may have been some consciousness +of that little old woman driving in her carriage through the London +streets, but in the main the Town suddenly took possession, cried aloud +that these festivities were for Herself, that for a week at least the Town +would assert Herself, bringing into Her celebration the Cathedral that was +her chief glory, but of whom, nevertheless, she was afraid; the Rock upon +which she was built, that never changed, the country that surrounded and +supported her, the wild men who had belonged to her from time immemorial, +the River that encircled her.</p> + +<p>That week seemed to many, on looking back, a strangely mad time, days +informed with a wildness for which there was no discernible reason--men +and women and children were seized that week with some licence that they +loved while it lasted, but that they looked back upon with fear when it +was over. What had come over them? Who had been grinning at them?</p> + +<p>The strange things that occurred that week seemed to have no individual +agent. No one was responsible. But life, after that week, was for many +people in the town never quite the same again.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon of Thursday, June 17, Ronder stood at the window of his +study and looked down upon the little orchard, the blazing flowers, the +red garden-wall, and the tree-tops on the descending hill, all glazed and +sparkling under the hot afternoon sun. As he looked down, seeing nothing, +sunk deeply in his own thoughts, he was aware of extreme moral and +spiritual discomfort. He moved back from the window, making with his +fingers a little gesture of discontent and irritation. He paced his room, +stopping absent-mindedly once and again to push in a book that protruded +from the shelves, staying to finger things on his writing-table, jolting +against a chair with his foot as he moved. At last he flung himself into +his deep leather chair and stared fixedly at an old faded silk fire-guard, +with its shadowy flowers and dim purple silk, seeing it not at all.</p> + +<p>He was angry, and of all things in the world that he hated, he hated most +to be that. He had been angry now for several weeks, and, as though it had +been a heavy cold that had descended upon him, he woke up every morning +expecting to find that his anger had departed--but it had not departed; it +showed no signs whatever of departing.</p> + +<p>As he sat there he was not thinking of the Jubilee, the one thought at +that time of every living soul in Polchester, man, woman and child--he was +thinking of no one but Brandon, with whom, to his own deep disgust, he was +at last implacably, remorselessly, angry. How many years ago now he had +decided that anger and hatred were emotions that every wise man, at all +cost to his pride, his impatience, his self-confidence, avoided. +Everything could be better achieved without these weaknesses, and for many +years he had tutored and trained himself until, at last, he had reached +this fine height of superiority. From that height he had suddenly fallen.</p> + +<p>It was now three weeks since that luncheon at Carpledon, and in one way or +another the quarrel on the road home--the absurd and ludicrous quarrel-- +had become known to the whole town. Had Brandon revealed it? Or possibly +the coachman? Whoever it was, every one now knew and laughed. Laughed! It +was that for which Ronder would never forgive Brandon. The man with his +childish temper and monstrous conceit had made him into a ludicrous +figure. It was true that they were laughing, it seemed, more at Brandon +than at himself, but the whole scene was farcical. But beyond this, that +incident, trivial though it might be in itself, had thrown the +relationship of the two men into dazzling prominence. It was as though +they had been publicly announced as antagonists, and now, stripped and +prepared, ringed in by the breathless Town, must vulgarly afford the +roughs of the place the fistic exhibition of their lives. It was the +publicity that Ronder detested. He had not disliked Brandon--he had merely +despised him, and he had taken an infinite pleasure in furthering schemes +and ambitions, a little underground maybe, but all for the final benefit +of the Town.</p> + +<p>And now the blundering fool had brought this blaze down upon them, was +indeed rushing round and screaming at his antagonist, shouting to any one +who would hear that Ronder was a blackguard and a public menace. It had +been whispered--from what source again Ronder did not know--that it was +through Ronder's influence that young Falk Brandon had run off to Town +with Hogg's daughter. The boy thought the world of Ronder, it was said, +and had been to see him and ask his advice. Ronder knew that Brandon had +heard this story and was publicly declaring that Ronder had ruined his +son.</p> + +<p>Finally the two men were brought into sharp rivalry over the Pybus living. +Over that, too, the town, or at any rate the Cathedral section of it, was +in two camps. Here, too, Brandon's vociferous publicity had made privacy +impossible.</p> + +<p>Ronder was ashamed, as though his rotund body had been suddenly exposed in +all its obese nakedness before the assembled citizens of Polchester. In +this public quarrel he was not in his element; forces were rising in him +that he distrusted and feared.</p> + +<p>People were laughing...for that he would never forgive Brandon so long +as he lived.</p> + +<p>On this particular afternoon he was about to close the window and try to +work at his sermon when some one knocked at his door.</p> + +<p>"Come in," he said impatiently. The maid appeared.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, there's some one would like to speak to you."</p> + +<p>"Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"She gave her name as Miss Milton, sir."</p> + +<p>He paused, looking down at his papers. "She said she wouldn't keep you +more than a moment, sir."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I'll see her."</p> + +<p>Fate pushing him again. Why should this woman come to him? How could any +one say that any of the steps that he had taken in this affair had been +his fault? Why, he had had nothing whatever to do with them!</p> + +<p>The sight of Miss Milton in his doorway filled him with the same vague +disgust that he had known on the earlier occasions at the Library. To-day +she was wearing a white cotton dress, rather faded and crumpled, and grey +silk gloves; in one of the fingers there was a hole. She carried a pink +parasol, and wore a large straw hat overtrimmed with roses. Her face with +its little red-rimmed eyes, freckled and flushed complexion, her clumsy +thick-set figure, fitted ill with her youthful dress.</p> + +<p>It was obvious enough that fate had not treated her well since her +departure from the Library; she was running to seed very swiftly, and was +herself bitterly conscious of the fact.</p> + +<p>Ronder, looking at her, was aware that it was her own fault that it was +so. She was incompetent, utterly incompetent. He had, as he had promised, +given her some work to do during these last weeks, some copying, some +arranging of letters, and she had mismanaged it all. She was a muddle- +headed, ill-educated, careless, conceited and self-opinionated woman, and +it did not make it any the pleasanter for Ronder to be aware, as he now +was, that Brandon had been quite right to dismiss her from her Library +post which she had retained far too long.</p> + +<p>She looked across the room at him with an expression of mingled obstinacy +and false humility. Her eyes were nearly closed.</p> + +<p>"Good-afternoon, Canon Ronder," she said. "It is very good of you to see +me. I shall not detain you very long."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it, Miss Milton?" he said, looking over his shoulder at +her. "I am very busy, as a matter of fact. All these Jubilee affairs-- +however, if I can help you."</p> + +<p>"You can help me, sir. It is a most serious matter, and I need your +advice."</p> + +<p>"Well, sit down there and tell me about it."</p> + +<p>The sun was beating into the room. He went across and pulled down the +blind, partly because it was hot and partly because Miss Milton was less +unpleasant in shadow.</p> + +<p>Miss Milton seemed to find it hard to begin. She gulped in her throat and +rubbed her silk gloves nervously against one another.</p> + +<p>"I daresay I've done wrong in this matter," she began--"many would think +so. But I haven't come here to excuse myself. If I've done wrong, there +are others who have done more wrong--yes, indeed."</p> + +<p>"Please come to the point," said Ronder impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I will, sir. That is my desire. Well, you must know, sir, that after my +most unjust dismissal from the Library I took a couple of rooms with Mrs. +Bassett who lets rooms, as perhaps you know, sir, just opposite St. James' +Rectory, Mr. Morris's."</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I had not been there very long before Mrs. Bassett herself, +who is the least interfering and muddling of women, drew my attention to a +curious fact, a most curious fact."</p> + +<p>Miss Milton paused, looking down at her lap and at a little shabby black +bag that lay upon it.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Ronder again.</p> + +<p>"This fact was that Mrs. Brandon, the wife of Archdeacon Brandon, was in +the habit of coming every day to see Mr. Morris!"</p> + +<p>Ronder got up from his chair.</p> + +<p>"Now, Miss Milton," he said, "let me make myself perfectly clear. If you +have come here to give me a lot of scandal about some person, or persons, +in this town, I do not wish to hear it. You have come to the wrong place. +I wonder, indeed, that you should care to acknowledge to any one that you +have been spying at your window on the movements of some people here. That +is a disgraceful action. I do not think there is any need for this +conversation to continue."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Canon Ronder, there <i>is</i> need." Miss Milton showed no +intention whatever of moving from her chair. "I was aware that you would, +in all probability, rebuke me for what I have done. I expected that. At +the same time I may say that I was <i>not</i> spying in any sense of the +word. I could not help it if the windows of my sitting-room looked down +upon Mr. Morris's house. You could not expect me, in this summer weather, +not to sit at my window.</p> + +<p>"At the same time, if these visits of Mrs. Brandon's were all that had +occurred I should certainly not have come and taken up your valuable time +with an account of them; I hope that I know what is due to a gentleman of +your position better than that. It is on a matter of real importance that +I have come to you to ask your advice. Some one's advice I must have, and +if you feel that you cannot give it me, I must go elsewhere. I cannot but +feel that it is better for every one concerned that you should have this +piece of information rather than any one else."</p> + +<p>He noticed how she had grown in firmness and resolve since she had begun +to speak. She now saw her way to the carrying out of her plan. There was a +definite threat in the words of her last sentence, and as she looked at +him across the shadowy light he felt as though he saw down into her mean +little soul, filled now with hatred and obstinacy and jealous +determination.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he said severely, "I cannot refuse your confidence if you are +determined to give it me."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, nodding her head. "You have always been very kind to me, +Canon Ronder, as you have been to many others in this place. Thank you." +She looked at him almost as severely as he had looked at her. "I will be +as brief as possible. I will not hide from you that I have never forgiven +Archdeacon Brandon for his cruel treatment of me. That, I think, is +natural. When your livelihood is taken away from you for no reason at all, +you are not likely to forget it--if you are human. And I do not pretend to +be more nor less than human. I will not deny that I saw these visits of +Mrs. Brandon's with considerable curiosity. There was something hurried +and secret in Mrs. Brandon's manner that seemed to me odd. I became then, +quite by chance, the friend of Mr. Morris's cook-housekeeper, Mrs. Baker, +a very nice woman. That, I think, was quite natural as we were neighbours, +so to speak, and Mrs. Baker was herself a friend of Mrs. Bassett's.</p> + +<p>"I asked no indiscreet questions, but at last Mrs. Baker confessed to both +Mrs. Bassett and myself that she did not like what was going on in Mr. +Morris's house, and that she thought of giving notice. When we asked her +what she meant she said that Mrs. Brandon was the trouble, that she was +always coming to the house, and that she and the reverend gentleman were +shut up for hours together by themselves. She told us, too, that Mr. +Morris's sister-in-law, Miss Burnett, had also made objections. We advised +Mrs. Baker that it was her duty to stay, at any rate for the present."</p> + +<p>Miss Milton paused. Ronder said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, things got so bad that Miss Burnett went away to the sea. +During her absence Mrs. Brandon came to the house quite regularly, and +Mrs. Baker told us that they scarcely seemed to mind who saw them."</p> + +<p>As Ronder looked at her he realised how little he knew about women. He +hated to realise this, as he hated to realise any ignorance or weakness in +himself, but in the face of the woman opposite to him there was a mixture +of motives--of greed, revenge, yes, and strangely enough, of a virgin's +outraged propriety--that was utterly alien to his experience. He felt his +essential, his almost inhuman, celibacy more at that moment, perhaps, than +he had ever felt it before.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, this went on for some weeks. Miss Burnett returned, but, as +Mrs. Baker said, the situation remained very strained. To come to my +point, four days ago I was in one evening paying Mrs. Baker a visit. Every +one was out, although Mr. Morris was expected home for his dinner. There +was a ring at the bell and Mrs. Baker said, 'You go, my dear.' She was +busy at the moment with the cooking. I went and opened the hall-door and +there was Mrs. Brandon's parlourmaid that I knew by sight. 'I have a note +for Mr. Morris,' she said. 'You can give it to me,' I said. She seemed to +hesitate, but I told her if she didn't give it to me she might as well +take it away again, because there was no one else in the house. That +seemed to settle her, so telling me it was something special, and was to +be given to Mr. Morris as soon as possible, she left it with me and went. +She'd never seen me before, I daresay, and didn't know I didn't belong to +the house." She paused, then opening her little eyes wide and staring at +Ronder as though she were seeing him for the first time in her life she +said softly, "I have the note here."</p> + +<p>She opened her black bag slowly, peered into it, produced a piece of paper +out of it, and shut it with a sharp little click.</p> + +<p>"You've kept it?" asked Ronder.</p> + +<p>"I've kept it," she repeated, nodding her head. "I know many would say I +was wrong. But was I? That's the question. In any case that is another +matter between myself and my Maker."</p> + +<p>"Please read this, sir?" She held out the paper to him, He took it and +after a moment's hesitation read it. It had neither date nor address. It +ran as follows:</p> + +<blockquote> <p>D<small>EAREST</small>--I am sending this by a safe hand to tell you that I cannot + possibly get down to-night. I am so sorry and most dreadfully + disappointed, but I will explain everything when we meet to-morrow. + This is to prevent your waiting on when I'm not coming.</p></blockquote> + +<p>There was no signature.</p> + +<p>"You had no right to keep this," he said to her angrily. As he spoke he +looked at the piece of paper and felt again how strange and foreign to him +the whole nature of woman was. The risks that they would take! The foolish +mad things that they would do to satisfy some caprice or whim!</p> + +<p>"How do you know that this was written by Mrs. Brandon?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course I know her handwriting very well," Miss Milton answered. "She +often wrote to me when I was at the Library."</p> + +<p>He was silent. He was seeing those two in the new light of this letter. So +they were really lovers, the drab, unromantic, plain, dull, middle-aged +souls! What had they seen in one another? What had they felt, to drive +them to deeds so desperate, yes, and so absurd? Was there then a world +right outside his ken, a world from which he had been since his birth +excluded? + +Absent-mindedly he had put the letter down on his table. Quickly she +stretched out her gloved hand and took it. The bag clicked over it.</p> + +<p>"Why have you brought this to me?" he asked, looking at her with a disgust +that he did not attempt to conceal. + +"You are the first person to whom I have spoken about the matter," she +answered. "I have not said anything even to Mrs. Baker. I have had the +letter for several days and have not known what is right to do about it."</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing that is right to do about it," he answered +sharply. "Burn it."</p> + +<p>"And say nothing to anybody about it? Oh, Canon Ronder, surely that would +not be right. I should not like people to think that you had given me such +advice. To allow the Rector of St. James' to continue in his position, +with so many looking up to him, and he committing such sins. Oh, no, sir, +I cannot feel that to be right!"</p> + +<p>"It is not our business," he answered angrily. "It is not our affair."</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir." She got up. "It's good of you to give me your opinion. +It is not our affair. Quite so. But it is Archdeacon Brandon's affair. He +should see this letter. I thought that perhaps you yourself might like to +speak to him----" she paused.</p> + +<p>"I will have nothing to do with it," he answered, getting up and standing +over her. "You did very wrong to keep the letter. You are cherishing evil +passions in your heart, Miss Milton, that will bring you nothing but harm +and sorrow in the end. You have come to me for advice, you say. Well, I +give it to you. Burn that letter and forget what you know."</p> + +<p>Her complexion had changed to a strange muddy grey as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"There are others in this town, Canon Ronder," she said, "who are +cherishing much the same passions as myself, although they may not realise +it. I thought it wise to tell you what I know. As you will not help me, I +know now what to do. I am grateful for your advice--which, however, I do +not think you wish me to follow."</p> + +<p>With one last look at him she moved softly to the door and was gone. She +seemed to him to leave some muddy impression of her personality upon the +walls and furniture of the room. He flung up the window, walked about +rubbing his hands against one another behind his back, hating everything +around him.</p> + +<p>The words of the note repeated themselves again and again in his head.</p> + +<p>"Dearest...safe hand...dreadfully disappointed.... Dearest."</p> + +<p>Those two! He saw Morris, with his weak face, his mild eyes, his rather +shabby clothes, his hesitating manner, his thinning hair--and Mrs. +Brandon, so mediocre that no one ever noticed her, never noticed anything +about her--what she wore, what she said, what she did, anything!</p> + +<p>Those two! Ghosts! and in love so that they would risk loss of everything +--reputation, possessions, family--that they might obtain their desire! In +love as he had never been in all his life!</p> + +<p>His thoughts turned, with a little shudder, to Miss Milton. She had come +to him because she thought that he would like to share in her revenge. +That, more than anything, hurt him, bringing him down to her base, sordid +level, making him fellow-conspirator with her, plotting...ugh! How +cruelly unfair that he, upright, generous, should be involved like this so +meanly.</p> + +<p>He washed his hands in the little dressing-room near the study, scrubbing +them as though the contact with Miss Milton still lingered there. Hating +his own company, he went downstairs, where he found Ellen Stiles, having +had a very happy tea with his aunt, preparing to depart.</p> + +<p>"Going, Ellen?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She was in the highest spirits and a hat of vivid green.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I must go. I've been here ever so long. We've had a perfectly lovely +time, talking all about poor Mrs. Maynard and her consumption. There's +simply no hope for her, I'm afraid; it's such a shame when she has four +small children; but as I told her yesterday, it's really best to make up +one's mind to the worst, and there'll be no money for the poor little +things after she's gone. I don't know what they'll do."</p> + +<p>"You must have cheered her up," said Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know about that. Like all consumptives she will persist in +thinking that she's going to get well. Of course, if she had money enough +to go to Davos or somewhere...but she hasn't, so there's simply no hope +at all."</p> + +<p>"If you are going along I'll walk part of the way with you," said Ronder.</p> + +<p>"That <i>will</i> be nice." Ellen kissed Miss Ronder very affectionately. +"Good-bye, you darling. I have had a nice time. Won't it be awful if it's +wet next week? Simply everything will be ruined. I don't see much chance +of its being fine myself. Still you never can tell."</p> + +<p>They went out together. The Precincts was quiet and deserted; a bell, +below in the sunny town, was ringing for Evensong. "Morris's church, +perhaps," thought Ronder. The light was stretched like a screen of +coloured silk across the bright green of the Cathedral square; the great +Church itself was in shadow, misty behind the sun, and shifting from shade +to shade as though it were under water.</p> + +<p>When they had walked a little way Ellen said: "What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"The matter?" Ronder echoed.</p> + +<p>"Yes. You're looking worried, and that's so rare with you that when it +happens one's interested."</p> + +<p>He hesitated, looking at her and almost stopping in his walk. An infernal +nuisance if Ellen Stiles were to choose this moment for the exercise of +her unfortunate curiosity! He had intended to go down High Street with her +and then to go by way of Orange Street to Foster's rooms; but one could +reach Foster more easily by the little crooked street behind the +Cathedral. He would say good-bye to her here.... Then another thought +struck him. He would go on with her.</p> + +<p>"Isn't your curiosity terrible, Ellen!" he said, laughing. "If you didn't +happen to have a kind heart hidden somewhere about you, you'd be a +perfectly impossible woman. As it is, I'm not sure that you're not."</p> + +<p>"I think perhaps I am," Ellen answered, laughing. "I do take a great +interest in other people's affairs. Well, why not? It prevents me from +being bored."</p> + +<p>"But not from being a bore," said Ronder. "I hate to be unpleasant, but +there's nothing more tiresome than being asked why one's in a certain +mood. However, leave me alone and I will repay your curiosity by some of +my own. Tell me, how much are people talking about Mrs. Brandon and +Morris?"</p> + +<p>This time she was genuinely surprised. On so many occasions he had checked +her love of gossip and scandal and now he was deliberately provoking it. +It was as though he had often lectured her about drinking too much and +then had been discovered by her, secretly tippling.</p> + +<p>"Oh, everybody's talking, of course," she said. "Although you pretend +never to talk scandal you must know enough about the town to know that. +They happen to be talking less just at the moment because nobody's +thinking of anything but the Jubilee."</p> + +<p>"What I want to know," said Ronder, "is how much Brandon is supposed to be +aware of--and does he mind?"</p> + +<p>"He's aware of nothing," said Ellen decisively. "Nothing at all. He's +always looked upon his wife as a piece of furniture, neither very +ornamental nor very useful, but still his property, and therefore to be +reckoned on as stable and submissive. I don't think that in any case he +would ever dream that she could disobey him in anything, but, as it +happens, his son's flight to London and his own quarrel with you entirely +possess his mind. He talks, eats, thinks, dreams nothing else."</p> + +<p>"What would he do, do you think," pursued Ronder, "if he were to discover +that there really <i>was</i> something wrong, that she had been +unfaithful?"</p> + +<p>"Why, is there proof?" asked Ellen Stiles, eagerly, pausing for a moment +in her excitement.</p> + +<p>The sharp note of eagerness in her voice checked him.</p> + +<p>"No--nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. Of course not. And how should I +know if there were?"</p> + +<p>"You're just the person who would know," answered Ellen decisively. +"However many other people you've hoodwinked, you haven't taken <i>me</i> +in all these years. But I'll tell you this as from one friend to another, +that you've made the first mistake in your life by allowing this quarrel +with Brandon to become so public."</p> + +<p>He marvelled again, as he had often marvelled before, at her unerring +genius for discovering just the thing to say to her friends that would +hurt them most. And yet with that she had a kind heart, as he had had +reason often enough to know. Queer things, women!</p> + +<p>"It's not my fault if the quarrel's become public," he said. They were +turning down the High Street now and he could not show all the vexation +that he felt. "It's Brandon's own idiotic character and the love of gossip +displayed by this town."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," she said, delighted that she had annoyed him and that he was +showing his annoyance, "that simply means that you've been defeated by +circumstances. For once they've been too strong for you. If you like that +explanation you'd better take it."</p> + +<p>"Now, Ellen," he said, "you're trying to make me lose my temper in revenge +for my not satisfying your curiosity; give up. You've tried before and +you've always failed."</p> + +<p>She laughed, putting her hand through his arm.</p> + +<p>"Yes, don't let's quarrel," she said. "Isn't it delightful to-night with +the sunlight and the excitement and every one out enjoying themselves? I +love to see them happy, poor things. It's only the successful and the +self-important and the patronising that I want to pull down a little. As +soon as I find myself wanting to dig at somebody, I know it's because +they're getting above themselves. You'd better be careful. I'm not at all +sure that success isn't going to your head."</p> + +<p>"Success?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Don't look so innocent. You've been here only a few months and +already you're the only man here who counts. You've beaten Brandon in the +very first round, and it's absurd of you to pretend to an old friend like +myself that you don't know that you have. But be careful."</p> + +<p>The street was shining, wine-coloured, against the black walls that hemmed +it in, black walls scattered with sheets of glass, absurd curtains of +muslin, brown, shabby, self-ashamed backs of looking-glasses, door-knobs, +flower-pots, and collections of furniture, books and haberdashery.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you leave me alone for a moment, Ellen," said Ronder, "and think, +of somebody else. What I really want to know is, how intimate are you with +Mrs. Brandon?"</p> + +<p>"Intimate?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I mean--could you speak to her? Tell her, in some way, to be more +careful, that she's in danger. Women know how to do these things. I want +to find somebody."</p> + +<p>He paused. <i>Did</i> he want to find somebody? Why this strange +tenderness towards Mrs. Brandon of which he was quite suddenly conscious? +Was it his disgust of Miss Milton, so that he could not bear to think of +any one in the power of such a woman?</p> + +<p>"Warn her?" said Ellen. "Then she <i>is</i> in danger."</p> + +<p>"Only if, as you say, every one is talking. I'm sorry for her."</p> + +<p>They had come to the parting of their ways. "No. I don't know her well +enough for that. She wouldn't take it from me. She wouldn't take it from +anybody. She's prouder than you'd think. And it's my belief she doesn't +care if she is in danger. She'd rather welcome it. That's my belief."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye then. I won't ask you to keep our talk quiet. I don't suppose +you could if you wanted to. But I will ask you to be kind."</p> + +<p>"Why should I be kind? And you know you don't want me to be, really."</p> + +<p>"I do want you to be."</p> + +<p>"No, it's part of the game you're playing. Or if it isn't, you're changing +more than you've ever changed before. Look out! Perhaps it's you that's in +danger!"</p> + +<p>As he turned up Orange Street he wondered again what impulse it was that +was making him sorry for Mrs. Brandon. He always wished people to be +happy--life was easier so--but had he, even yesterday, been told that he +would ever feel concern for Mrs. Brandon, that supreme symbol of feminine +colourless mediocrity, he would have laughed derisively.</p> + +<p>Then the beauty of the hour drove everything else from him. The street +climbed straight into the sky, a broad flat sheet of gold, and on its +height the monument, perched against the quivering air, was a purple +shaft, its gesture proud, haughty, exultant. Suddenly he saw in front of +him, moving with quick, excited steps, Mrs. Brandon, an absurdly +insignificant figure against that splendour.</p> + +<p>He felt as though his thoughts had evoked her out of space, and as though +she was there against her will. Then he felt that he, too, was there +against his will, and that he had nothing to do with either the time or +the place.</p> + +<p>He caught her up. She started nervously when he said, "Good evening, Mrs. +Brandon," and raised her little mouse-face with its mild, hesitating, +grey eyes to his. He knew her only slightly and was conscious that she did +not like him. That was not his affair; she had become something quite new +to him since he had gained this knowledge of her--she was provocative, +suggestive, even romantic.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Canon Ronder." She did not smile nor slacken her steps.</p> + +<p>"Isn't this a lovely evening?" he said. "If we have this weather next week +we shall be lucky indeed."</p> + +<p>"Yes, shan't we--shan't we?" she said nervously, not considering him, but +staring straight at the street in front of her.</p> + +<p>"I think all the preparations are made," Ronder went on in the genial easy +voice that he always adopted with children and nervous women. "There +should be a tremendous crowd if the weather's fine. People already are +pouring in from every part of the country, they tell me--sleeping +anywhere, in the fields and the hedges. This old town will be proud of +herself."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," Mrs. Brandon looked about her as though she were trying to +find a way of escape. "I'm so glad you think that the weather will be +fine. I'm so glad. I think it will myself. I hope Miss Ronder is well."</p> + +<p>"Very well, thank you." What <i>could</i> Morris see in her, with her ill- +fitting clothes, her skirt trailing a little in the dust, her hat too big +and heavy for her head, her hair escaping in little untidy wisps from +under it? She looked hot, too, and her nose was shiny.</p> + +<p>"You're coming to the Ball of course," he went on, relieved that now they +were near the top of the little hill. "It's to be the best Ball the +Assembly Rooms have seen since--since Jane Austen."</p> + +<p>"Jane Austen?" asked Mrs. Brandon vaguely.</p> + +<p>"Well, her time, you know, when dancing was all the rage. We ought to have +more dances here, I think, now that there are so many young people about."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I agree with you. My daughter is coming out at the Ball."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is she? I'm sure she'll have a good time. She's so pretty. Every +one's fond of her."</p> + +<p>He waited, but apparently Mrs. Brandon had nothing more to say. There was +a pause, then Mrs. Brandon, as though she had been suddenly pushed to it +by some one behind her, held out her hand....</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Canon Ronder."</p> + +<p>He said good-bye and watched her for a moment as she went up past the neat +little villas, her dress trailing behind her, her hat bobbing with every +step. He looked up at the absurd figure on the top of the monument, the +gentleman in frock-coat and tall hat commemorated there. The light had +left him. He was not purple now but a dull grey. He, too, had doubtless +had his romance, blood and tears, anger and agony for somebody. How hard +to keep out of such things, and yet one must if one is to achieve +anything. Keep out of it, detached, observant, comfortable. Strange that +in life comfort should be so difficult to attain!</p> + +<p>Climbing Green Lane he was surprised to feel how hot it was. The trees +that clustered over his head seemed to have gathered together all the heat +of the day. Everything conspired to annoy him! Bodger's Street, when he +turned into it, was, from his point of view, at its very worst, crowded +and smelly and rocking with noise. The fields behind Bodger's Street and +Canon's Yard sloped down the hill then up again out into the country +beyond.</p> + +<p>It was here on this farther hill that the gipsies had been allowed to +pitch their caravans, and that the Fair was already preparing its +splendours. It was through these gates that the countrymen would penetrate +the town's defences, just as on the other side, low down in Seatown on the +Pol's banks, the seafaring men, fishermen and sailors and merchantmen, +were gathering. Bodger's Street was already alive with the anticipation of +the coming week's festivities. Gas-jets were flaming behind hucksters' +booths, all the population of the place was out on the street enjoying the +fine summer evening, shouting, laughing, singing, quarrelling. The effect +of the street illumined by these uncertain flares that leapt unnaturally +against the white shadow of the summer sky was of something mediaeval, and +that impression was deepened by the overhanging structure of the Cathedral +that covered the faint blue and its little pink clouds like a swinging +spider's web.</p> + +<p>Ronder, however, was not now thinking of the town. His mind was fixed upon +his approaching interview with Foster. Foster had just paid a visit, quite +unofficial and on a private personal basis, to Wistons, to sound him about +the Pybus living and his action if he were offered it.</p> + +<p>Ronder understood men very much better than he understood women. He +understood Foster so long as ambition and religion were his motives, but +there was something else in play that he did not understand. It was not +only that Foster did not like him--he doubted whether Foster liked anybody +except the Bishop--it was rather perhaps that Foster did not like himself. +Now it is the first rule of fanaticism that you should be so lost in the +impulse of your inspiration that you should have no power left with which +to consider yourself at all. Foster was undoubtedly a fanatic, but he did +consider himself and even despised himself. Ronder distrusted self- +contempt in a man simply because nothing made him so uncomfortable as +those moments of his own when he wondered whether he were all that he +thought himself. Those moments did not last long, but he hated them so +bitterly that he could not bear to see them at work in other people. +Foster was the kind of fanatic who might at any minute decide to put peas +in his shoes and walk to Jerusalem; did he so decide, he would abandon, +for that decision, all the purposes for which he might at the time be +working. Ronder would certainly never walk to Jerusalem.</p> + +<p>The silence and peace of Canon's Yard when he left Bodger's Street was +almost dramatic. All that penetrated there was a subdued buzz with an +occasional shrill note as it might be on a penny whistle. The Yard was +dark, lit only by a single lamp, and the cobbles uneven. Lights here and +there set in the crooked old windows were secret and uncommunicative: the +Cathedral towers seemed immensely tall against the dusk. It would not be +dark for another hour and a half, but in those old rooms with their small +casements light was thin and uncertain.</p> + +<p>He climbed the rickety stairs to Foster's rooms. As always, something made +him pause outside Foster's door and listen. All the sounds of the old +building seemed to come up to him; not human voices and movements, but the +life of the old house itself, the creaking protests of stairways, the +sighs of reluctant doors, the harping groans of ill-mannered window- +frames, the coughs and wheezes of trembling walls, the shudders of ill- +boding banisters.</p> + +<p>"This house will collapse, the first gale," he thought, and suddenly the +Cathedral chimes, striking the half-hour, crashed through the wall, +knocking and echoing as though their clatter belonged to that very house.</p> + +<p>The echo died, and the old place recommenced its murmuring.</p> + +<p>Foster, blinking like an old owl, came to the door and, without a word, +led the way into his untidy room. He cleared a chair of papers and books +and Ronder sat down.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Ronder.</p> + +<p>Foster was in a state of overpowering excitement, but he looked to Ronder +older and more worn than a week ago. There were dark pouches under his +eyes, his cheeks were drawn, and his untidy grey hair seemed thin and +ragged--here too long, there showing the skull gaunt and white beneath +it. His eyes burnt with a splendid flame; in them there was the light of +eternal life.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Ronder again, as Foster did not answer his first question.</p> + +<p>"He's coming," Foster cried, striding about the room, his shabby slippers +giving a ghostly tip-tap behind him. "He's coming! Of course I had never +doubted it, but I hadn't expected that he would be so eager as he is. He +let himself go to me at once. Of course he knew that I wasn't official, +that I had no backing at all. He's quite prepared for things to go the +other way, although I told him that I thought there would be little chance +of that if we all worked together. He didn't ask many questions. He knows +all the conditions well. Since I saw him last he's gained in every way-- +wiser, better disciplined, more sure of himself--everything that I have +never been...." Foster paused, then went on. "I think never in all my life +have I felt affection so go out to another human being. He is a man after +my own heart--a child of God, an inheritor of Eternal Life, a leader of +men----"</p> + +<p>Ronder interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but as to detail. Did you discuss that? He knew of the opposition?"</p> + +<p>Foster waved his hand contemptuously. "Brandon? What does that amount to? +Why, even in the week that I have been away his power has lessened. The +hand of God is against him. Everything is going wrong with him. I loathe +scandal, but there is actually talk going on in the town about his wife. I +could feel pity for the man were he not so dangerous."</p> + +<p>"You are wrong there, Foster," Ronder said eagerly. "Brandon isn't +finished yet--by no manner of means. He still has most of the town behind +him and a big majority with the Cathedral people. He stands for what they +think or <i>don't</i> think--old ideas, conservatism, every established +dogma you can put your hand on, bad music, traditionalism, superstition +and carelessness. It is not Brandon himself we are fighting, but what he +stands for."</p> + +<p>Foster stopped and looked down at Ronder. "You'll forgive me if I speak my +mind," he said. "I'm an older man than you are, and in any case it's my +way to say what I think. You know that by this time. You've made a mistake +in allowing this quarrel with Brandon to become so personal a matter."</p> + +<p>Ronder flushed angrily.</p> + +<p>"Allowing!" he retorted. "As though that were not the very thing that I've +tried to prevent it from becoming. But the old fool has rushed out and +shouted his grievances to everybody. I suppose you've heard of the +ridiculous quarrel we had coming away from Carpledon. The whole town knows +of it. There never was a more ridiculous scene. He stood in the middle of +the road and screamed like a madman. It's my belief he <i>is</i> going +mad! A precious lot I had to do with that. I was as amiable as possible. +But you can't deal with him. His conceit and his obstinacy are monstrous."</p> + +<p>Nothing was more irritating in Foster than the way that he had of not +listening to excuses; he always brushed them aside as though they were +beneath notice.</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't have made it a personal thing," he repeated. "People will +take sides--are already doing so. It oughtn't to be between you two at +all."</p> + +<p>"I tell you it is not!" Ronder answered angrily. Then with a great effort +he pulled himself in. "I don't know what has been happening to me lately," +he said with a smile. "I've always prided myself on keeping out of +quarrels, and in any case I'm not going to quarrel with you. I'm sure +you're right. It <i>is</i> a pity that the thing's become personal. I'll +see what I can do."</p> + +<p>But Foster paid as little attention to apologies as to excuses.</p> + +<p>"That's been a mistake," he said; "and there have been other mistakes. You +are too personally ambitious, Ronder. We are working for the glory of God +and for no private interests whatever."</p> + +<p>Ronder smiled. "You're hard on me," he said; "but you shall think what you +like. I won't allow that I've been personally ambitious, but it's +difficult sometimes when you're putting all your energies into a certain +direction not to seem to be serving your own ends. I like power--who +doesn't? But I would gladly sacrifice any personal success if that were +needed to win the main battle."</p> + +<p>"Win!" Foster cried. "Win! But we've got to win! There's never been such a +chance for us! If Brandon wins now our opportunity is gone for another +generation. What Wistons can do here if he comes! The power that he will +be!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly there came into Ronder's mind for the first time the thought that +was to recur to him very often in the future. Was it wise of him to work +for the coming of a man who might threaten his own power? He shook that +from him. He would deal with that when the time came. For the present +Brandon was enough....</p> + +<p>"Now as to detail..." Ronder said.</p> + +<p>They sat down at the paper-littered table. For another hour and a half +they stayed there, and it would have been curious for an observer to see +how, in this business, Ronder obtained an absolute mastery. Foster, the +fire dead in his eyes, the light gone, followed him blindly, agreeing to +everything, wondering at the clearness, order and discipline of his plans. +An hour ago, treading the soil of his own country, he had feared no man, +and his feeling for Ronder had been one half-contempt, half-suspicion. Now +he was in the other's hands. This was a world into which he had never won +right of entry.</p> + +<p>The Cathedral chimes struck nine. Ronder got up and put his papers away +with a little sigh of satisfaction. He knew that his work had been good.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing that we've forgotten. Bentinck-Major will be caught +before he knows where he is. Ryle too. Let us get through this next week +safely and the battle's won."</p> + +<p>Foster blinked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly. "Yes, yes. Good-night, good-night," and +almost pushed Ronder from the room.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe he's taken in a word of it," Ronder thought, as he went +down the creaking stairs.</p> + +<p>At the top of Badger's Street he paused. The street was still; the sky was +pale green on the horizon, purple overhead. The light was still strong, +but, to the left beyond the sloping fields, the woods were banked black +and sombre. From the meadow in front of the woods came the sounds of an +encampment--women shouting, horses neighing, dogs barking. A few lights +gleamed like red eyes. The dusky forms of caravans with their thick-set +chimneys, ebony-coloured against the green sky, crouched like animals +barking. A woman was singing, men's voices took her up, and the song came +rippling across the little valley.</p> + +<p>All the stir of an invading world was there.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_19"></a>Chapter II</h1> + +<h2>Friday, June 18: Shadow Meets Shadow</h2> + + + +<p>On that Friday evening, about half-past six o'clock, Archdeacon Brandon, +just as he reached the top of the High Street, saw God.</p> + +<p>There was nothing either strange or unusual about this. Having had all his +life the conviction that he and God were on the most intimate of terms, +that God knew and understood himself and his wants better than any other +friend that he had, that just as God had definitely deputed him to work +out certain plans on this earth, so, at times, He needed his own help and +advice, having never wavered for an instant in the very simplest tenets of +his creed, and believing in every word of the New Testament as though the +events there recorded had only a week ago happened in his own town under +his own eyes--all this being so, it was not strange that he should +sometimes come into close and actual contact with his Master.</p> + +<p>It may be said that it was this very sense of contact, continued through +long years of labour and success, that was the original foundation of the +Archdeacon's pride. If of late years that pride had grown from the seeds +of the Archdeacon's own self-confidence and appreciation, who can blame +him?</p> + +<p>We translate more easily than we know our gratitude to God into our +admiration of ourselves.</p> + +<p>Over and over again in the past, when he had been labouring with especial +fervour, he was aware that, in the simplest sense of the word, God was +"walking with him." He was conscious of a new light and heat, of a fresh +companionship; he could almost translate into physical form that +comradeship of which he was so tenderly aware. How could it be but that +after such an hour he should look down from those glorious heights upon +his other less favoured fellow-companions? No merit of his own that he had +been chosen, but the choice had been made.</p> + +<p>On this evening he was in sad need of comfort. Never in all his past years +had life gone so hardly with him as it was going now. It was as though, +about three or four months back, he had, without knowing it, stepped into +some new and terrible country. One feature after another had changed, old +familiar faces wore new unfamiliar disguises, every step that he took now +seemed to be dangerous, misfortune after misfortune had come to him, at +first slight and even ludicrous, at last with Falk's escape, serious and +bewildering. Bewildering! That was the true word to describe his case! He +was like a man moving through familiar country and overtaken suddenly by a +dense fog. Through it all, examine it as minutely as he might, he could +not see that he had committed the slightest fault.</p> + +<p>He had been as he had always been, and yet the very face of the town was +changed to him, his son had left him, even his wife, to whom he had been +married for twenty years, was altered. Was it not natural, therefore, that +he should attribute all of this to the only new element that had been +introduced into his life during these last months, to the one human being +alive who was his declared enemy, to the one man who had openly, in the +public road, before witnesses, insulted him, to the man who, from the +first moment of his coming to Polchester, had laughed at him and mocked +and derided him?</p> + +<p>To Ronder! To Ronder! The name was never out of his brain now, lying +there, stirring, twisting in his very sleep, sneering, laughing even in +the heart of his private prayers.</p> + +<p>He was truly in need of God that evening, and there, at the top of the +High Street, he saw Him framed in all the colour and glow and sparkling +sunlight of the summer evening, filling him with warmth and new courage, +surrounding him, enveloping him in love and tenderness.</p> + +<p>Cynics might say that it was because the Archdeacon, no longer so young as +he had been, was blown by his climb of the High Street and stood, +breathing hard for a moment before he passed into the Precincts, lights +dancing before his eyes as they will when one is out of breath, the ground +swaying a little under the pressure of the heart, the noise of the town +rocking in the ears.</p> + +<p>That is for the cynics to say. Brandon knew; his experiences had been in +the past too frequent for him, even now, to make a mistake.</p> + +<p>Running down the hill went the High Street, decorated now with flags and +banners in honour of the great event; cutting the sky, stretching from +Brent's the haberdasher's across to Adams' the hairdresser's, was a vast +banner of bright yellow silk stamped in red letters with "Sixty Years Our +Queen. God Bless Her!"</p> + +<p>Just beside the Archdeacon, above the door of the bookshop where he had +once so ignominiously taken refuge, was a flag of red, white and blue, and +opposite the bookseller's, at Gummridge's the stationer's, was a little +festoon of flags and a blue message stamped on a white ground: "God Bless +Our Queen: Long May She Reign!"</p> + +<p>All down the street flags and streamers were fluttering in the little +summer breeze that stole about the houses and windows and doors as though +anxiously enquiring whether people were not finding the evening just a +little too warm.</p> + +<p>People were not finding it at all too warm. Every one was out and +strolling up and down, laughing and whistling and chattering, dressed, +although it was only Friday, in nearly their Sunday best. The shops were +closing, one by one, and the throng was growing thicker and thicker. So +little traffic was passing that young men and women were already marching +four abreast, arm-in-arm, along the middle of the street. It was a long +time--ten years, in fact--since Polchester had seen such gaiety.</p> + +<p>This was behind the Archdeacon; in front of him was the dark archway in +which the grass of the Cathedral square was framed like the mirrored +reflection of evening light where the pale blue and pearl white are +shadowed with slanting green. The peace was profound--nothing stirred. +There in the archway God stood, smiling upon His faithful servant, only as +Brandon approached Him passing into shadow and sunlight and the intense +blue of the overhanging sky.</p> + +<p>Brandon tried then, as he had often tried before, to keep that contact +close to himself, but the ecstatic moment had passed; it had lasted, it +seemed, on this occasion a shorter time than ever before. He bowed his +head, stood for a moment under the arch offering a prayer as simple and +innocent as a child offers at its mother's knee, then with an +instantaneous change that in a more complex nature could have meant only +hypocrisy, but that with him was perfectly sincere, he was in a moment the +hot, angry, mundane priest again, doing battle with his enemies and +defying them to destroy him.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless the transition to-night was not quite so complete as usual. +He was unhappy, lonely, and in spite of himself afraid, afraid of he knew +not what, as a child might be when its candle is blown out. And with this +unhappiness his thoughts turned to home. Falk's departure had caused him +to consider his wife more seriously than he had ever done in all their +married life before. She had loved Falk; she must be lonely without him, +and during these weeks he had been groping in a clumsy baffled kind of way +towards some expression to her of the kindness and sympathy that he was +feeling.</p> + +<p>But those emotions do not come easily after many years of disuse; he was +always embarrassed and self-conscious when he expressed affection. He was +afraid of her, too, thought that if he showed too much kindness she might +suddenly become emotional, fling her arms around him and cover his face +with kisses--something of that kind.</p> + +<p>Then of late she had been very strange; ever since that Sunday morning +when she had refused to go to Communion.... Strange! Women are strange! As +different from men as Frenchmen are from Englishmen!</p> + +<p>But he would like to-night to come closer to her. Dimly, far within him, +something was stirring that told him that it had been his own fault that +during all these years she had drifted away from him. He must win her +back! A thing easily done. In the Archdeacon's view of life any man had +only got to whistle and fast the woman came running!</p> + +<p>But to-night he wanted some one to care for him and to tell him that all +was well and that the many troubles that seemed to be crowding about him +were but imaginary after all.</p> + +<p>When he reached the house he found that he had only just time to dress for +dinner. He ran upstairs, and then, when his door was closed and he was +safely inside his bedroom, he had to pause and stand, his hand upon his +heart. How it was hammering! like a beast struggling to escape its cage. +His knees, too, were trembling. He was forced to sit down. After all, he +was not so young as he had been.</p> + +<p>These recent months had been trying for him. But how humiliating! He was +glad that there had been no one there to see him. He would need all his +strength for the battle that was in front of him. Yes, he was glad that +there had been no one to see him. He would ask old Puddifoot to look at +him, although the man <i>was</i> an ass. He drank a glass of water, then +slowly dressed.</p> + +<p>He came downstairs and went into the drawing-room. His wife was there, +standing in the shadow by the window, staring out into the Precincts. He +came across the room softly to her, then gently put his hand on her +shoulder.</p> + +<p>She had not heard his approach. She turned round with a sharp cry and then +faced him, staring, her eyes terrified. He, on his side, was so deeply +startled by her alarm that he could only stare back at her, himself +frightened and feeling a strange clumsy foolishness at her alarm.</p> + +<p>Broken sentences came from her: "What did you--? Who--? You shouldn't have +done that. You frightened me."</p> + +<p>Her voice was sharply angry, and in all their long married life together +he had never before felt her so completely a stranger; he felt as though +he had accosted some unknown woman in the street and been attacked by her +for his familiarity. He took refuge, as he always did when he was +confused, in pomposity.</p> + +<p>"Really, my dear, you'd think I was a burglar. Hum--yes. You shouldn't be +so easily startled."</p> + +<p>She was still staring at him as though even now she did not realise his +identity. Her hands were clenched and her breath came in little hurried +gasps as though she had been running.</p> + +<p>"No--you shouldn't...silly...coming across the room like that."</p> + +<p>"Very well, very well," he answered testily. "Why isn't dinner ready? It's +ten minutes past the time."</p> + +<p>She moved across the room, not answering him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly his pomposity was gone. He moved over to her, standing before her +like an overgrown schoolboy, looking at her and smiling uneasily.</p> + +<p>"The truth is, my dear," he said, "that I can't conceive my entering a +room without everybody hearing it. No, I can't indeed," he laughed +boisterously. "You tell anybody that I crossed a room without your hearing +it, and they won't believe you. No, they wont."</p> + +<p>He bent down and kissed her. His touch tickled her cheek, but she made no +movement. He felt, as his hand rested on her shoulder, that she was still +trembling.</p> + +<p>"Your nerves must be in a bad way," he said. "Why, you're trembling still! +Why don't you see Puddifoot?"</p> + +<p>"No--no," she answered hurriedly. "It was silly of me----" Making a great +effort, she smiled up at him.</p> + +<p>"Well, how's everything going?"</p> + +<p>"Going?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, for the great day. Is everything settled?"</p> + +<p>He began to tell her in the old familiar, so boring way, every detail of +the events of the last few hours.</p> + +<p>"I was just by Sharps' when I remembered that I'd said nothing to Nixon +about those extra seats at the back off the nave, so I had to go all the +way round----"</p> + +<p>Joan came in. His especial need of some one that night, rejected as it had +been at once by his wife, turned to his daughter. How pretty she was, he +thought, as she came across the room sunlit with the deep evening gold +that struck in long paths of light into the darkest shadows and corners.</p> + +<p>That moment seemed suddenly the culmination of the advance that they had +been making towards one another during the last six months. When she came +close to him, he, usually so unobservant, noticed that she, too, was in +distress.</p> + +<p>She was smiling but she was unhappy, and he suddenly felt that he had been +neglecting her and letting her fight her battles alone, and that she +needed his love as urgently as he needed hers. He put his arm around her +and drew her to him. The movement was so unlike him and so unexpected that +she hesitated a little, then happily came closer to him, resting her head +on his shoulder. They had both, for a moment, forgotten Mrs. Brandon.</p> + +<p>"Tired?" he asked Joan.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I've been working at those silly old flags all the afternoon. Two of +them are not finished now. We've got to go again to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"Everything ready for the Ball?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dress is lovely. Oh, mummy, Mrs. Sampson says will you let two +relations of theirs sit in our seat on Sunday morning? She hadn't known +that they were coming, and she's very bothered about it, and I'll tell her +whether they can in the morning."</p> + +<p>They both turned and saw Mrs. Brandon, who had gone back to the window and +again was looking at the Cathedral, now in deep black shadow.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear. There'll be room. There's only you and I----"</p> + +<p>Joan had in the pocket of her dress a letter. As they went in to dinner +she could hear its paper very faintly crackle against her hand. It was +from Falk and was as follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p>D<small>EAR</small> J<small>OAN-</small>-I have written to father but he hasn't answered. Would you + find out what he thought about my letter and what he intends to do? I + don't mind owning to you that I miss him terribly, and I would give + anything just to see him for five minutes. I believe that if he saw me + I could win him over. Otherwise I am very happy indeed. We are married + and live in two little rooms just off Baker Street. You don't know + where that is, do you? Well, it's a very good place to be, near the + park, and lots of good shops and not very expensive. Our landlady is a + jolly woman, as kind as anything, and I'm getting quite enough work to + keep the wolf from the door. I know more than ever now that I've done + the right thing, and father will recognise it, too, one day. How is + he? Of course my going like that was a great shock to him, but it was + the only way to do it. When you write tell me about his health. He + didn't seem so well just before I left. Now, Joan, write and tell me + everything. One thing is that he's got so much to do that he won't + have much time to think about me.--Your affectionate brother,</p></blockquote> + +<p class="r">F<small>ALK</small>.</p> + +<p>This letter, which had arrived that morning, had given Joan a great deal +to think about. It had touched her very deeply. Until now Falk had never +shown that he had thought about her at all, and now here he was depending +on her and needing her help. At the same time, she had not the slightest +guide as to her father's attitude. Falk's name had not been mentioned in +the house during these last weeks, and, although she realised that a new +relationship was springing up between herself and her father, she was +still shy of him and conscious of a deep gulf between them. She had, too, +her own troubles, and, try as she might to beat them under, they came up +again and again, confronting her and demanding that she should answer +them.</p> + +<p>Now she put the whole of that aside and concentrated on her father. +Watching him during dinner, he seemed to her suddenly to have become +older; there was a glow in her heart as she thought that at last he really +needed her. After all, if through life she were destined to be an old +maid--and that, in the tragic moment of her youth that was now upon her, +seemed her inevitable destiny--here was some one for whom at last she +could care. + +She had felt before she came down to dinner that she was old and ugly and +desperately unattractive. Across the dinner-table she flung away, as she +imagined for ever, all hopes for beauty and charm; she would love her +father and he should love her, and every other man in the world might +vanish for all that she cared. And had she only known it, she had never +before looked so pretty as she did that night. This also she did not know, +that her mother, catching a sudden picture of her under the candle-light, +felt a deep pang of almost agonising envy. She, making her last desperate +bid for love, was old and haggard; the years for her could only add to +that age. Her gambler's throw was foredoomed before she had made it.</p> + +<p>After dinner, Brandon, as always, retired into the deepest chair in the +drawing-room and buried himself in yesterday's <i>Times</i>. He read a +little, but the words meant nothing to him. Jubilee! Jubilee! Jubilee! He +was sick of the word. Surely they were overdoing it. When the great day +itself came every one would be so tired....</p> + +<p>He pushed the paper aside and picked up <i>Punch</i>. Here, again, that +eternal word--"How to see the Procession. By one who has thought it out. +Of course you must be out early. As the traffic...."</p> + +<p>JOKE--Jinks: Don't meet you 'ere so often as we used to, Binks, eh?</p> + +<p>Binks: Well--no. It don't run to Hopera Box <i>this</i> Season, because, +you see, we've took a Window for this 'ere Jubilee.</p> + +<p>Then, on one page, "The Walrus and the Carpenter: Jubilee Version." "In +Anticipation of the Naval Review." "Two Jubilees?" On the next page an +illustration of the Jubilee Walrus. On the next--"Oh, the Jubilee!" On the +next, Toby M.P.'s "Essence of Parliament," with a "Reed" drawing of "A +Naval Field Battery for the Jubilee."</p> + +<p>The paper fell from his hand. During these last days he had had no time to +read the paper, and he had fancied, as perhaps every Polcastrian was just +then fancying, that the Jubilee was a private affair for Polchester's own +private benefit. He felt suddenly that Polchester was a small out-of-the- +way place of no account; was there any one in the world who cared whether +Polchester celebrated the Jubilee or not? Nobody....</p> + +<p>He got up and walked across to the window, pulling the curtains aside and +looking out at the deep purple dusk that stained the air like wine. The +clock behind him struck a quarter past nine. Two tiny stars, like +inquisitive mocking eyes, winked at him above the high Western tower. +Moved by an impulse that was too immediate and peremptory to be +investigated, he went into the hall, found his hat and stick, opened +softly the door as though he were afraid that some one would try to stop +him, and was soon on the grass in front of the Cathedral, staring about +him as though he had awakened from a bewildering dream.</p> + +<p>He went across to the little side-door, found his key, and entered the +Cathedral, leaving the gargoyle to grin after him, growing more alive, and +more malicious too, with every fading moment of the light.</p> + +<p>Within the Cathedral there was a strange shadowy glow as though behind the +thick cold pillars lights were burning. He found his way, stumbling over +the cane-bottomed chairs that were piled in measured heaps in the side +aisle, into the nave. Even he, used to it as he had been for so many +years, was thrilled to-night. There was a movement of preparation abroad; +through all the stillness there was the stir of life. It seemed to him +that the armoured knights and the high-bosomed ladies, and the little +cupids with their pursed lips and puffing cheeks, and the angels with +their too solid wings were watching him and breathing round him as he +passed. Late though it was, a dim light from the great East window fell in +broad slabs of purple and green shadow across the grey; everything was +indistinct; only the white marble of the Reredos was like a figured sheet +hanging from wall to wall, and the gilded trumpets of the angels on the +choir-screen stood out dimly like spider pattern. He felt a longing that +the place should return his love and tenderness. The passion of his life +was here; he knew to-night, as he had never before, the life of its own +that this place had, and as he stayed there, motionless in the centre of +the nave, some doubt stole into his heart as to whether, after all, he and +it were one and indivisible, as for so long he had believed. Take this +away, and what was left to him? His son had gone, his wife and daughter +were strange to him; if this, too, went....</p> + +<p>The sudden chill sense of loneliness was awful to him. All those naked and +sightless eyes staring from those embossed tombs were menacing, scornful, +deriding.</p> + +<p>He had never known such a mood, and he wondered suddenly whether these +last months had affected his brain.</p> + +<p>He had never doubted during the last ten years his power over this and its +gratitude to him for what he had done: now, in this chill and green-hued +air, it seemed not to care for him at all.</p> + +<p>He moved up into the choir and sat down in his familiar stall; all that he +could see--his eyes seemed to be drawn by some will stronger than his own +--was the Black Bishop's Tomb. The blue stone was black behind the gilded +grating, the figure was like a moulded shell holding some hidden form. The +light died; the purple and green faded from the nave--the East window was +dark--only the white altar and the whiter shadows above it hovered, +thinner light against deeper grey. As the light was withdrawn the +Cathedral seemed to grow in height until Brandon felt himself minute, and +the pillars sprang from the floor beneath him into unseen canopied +distance. He was cold; he longed suddenly, with a strange terror quite new +to him, for human company, and stumbled up and hurried down the choir, +almost falling over the stone steps, almost running through the long, +dark, deserted nave. He fancied that other steps echoed his own, that +voices whispered, and that figures thronged beneath the pillars to watch +him go. It was as though he were expelled.</p> + +<p>Out in the evening air he was in his own world again. He was almost +tempted to return into the Cathedral to rid himself of the strange fancies +that he had had, so that they might not linger with him. He found himself +now on the farther side of the Cathedral, and after walking a little way +he was on the little narrow path that curved down through the green banks +to the river. Behind him was the Cathedral, to his right Bodger's Street +and Canon's Yard, in front of him the bending hill, the river, and then +the farther slips where the lights of the gipsy encampment sparkled and +shone. Here the air was lovely, cool and soft, and the stars were crowding +into the summer sky in their myriads. But his depression did not leave +him, nor his loneliness. He longed for Falk with a great longing. He could +not hold out against the boy for very much longer; but even then, were the +quarrel made up, things would not now he the same. Falk did not need him +any more. He had new life, new friends, new work.</p> + +<p>"It's my nerves," thought Brandon. "I will go and see Puddifoot." It +seemed to him that some one, and perhaps more than one, had followed him +from the Cathedral. He turned sharply round as though he would catch +somebody creeping upon him. He turned round and saw Samuel Hogg standing +there.</p> + +<p>"Evening, Archdeacon," said Hogg.</p> + +<p>Brandon said, his voice shaking with anger: "What are you following me +for?"</p> + +<p>"Following you, Archdeacon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, following me. I have noticed it often lately. If you have anything +to say to me write to me."</p> + +<p>"Following you? Lord, no! What makes you think of such a thing, +Archdeacon? Can't a feller enjoy the evenin' air on such a lovely night as +this without being accused of following a gentleman?"</p> + +<p>"You know that you are trying to annoy me." Brandon, had pulled himself +up, but his hatred of that grinning face with its purple veins, its +piercing eyes, was working strongly upon his nerves, so that his hands +seemed to move towards it without his own impulsion. "You have been trying +to annoy me for weeks now. I'll stand you no longer. If I have any more of +this nuisance I'll put it into the hands of the police."</p> + +<p>Hogg spat out complacently over the grass. "Now, that <i>is</i> an absurd +thing," he said, smiling. "Because a man's tired and wants some air after +his day's work he's accused of being a nuisance. It's a bit thick, that's +what it is. Now, tell, Archdeacon, do you happen to have bought this 'ere +town, because if so I should be glad to know it--and so would a number of +others too."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," said Brandon, moving away. "If you won't go, I will."</p> + +<p>"There's no need for temper that I can see," said Hogg. "No call for it at +all, especially that we're a sort of relation now. Almost brothers, seeing +as how your son has married my daughter."</p> + +<p>Lower and lower! Lower and lower!</p> + +<p>He was moving in a world now where figures, horrible, obscene and foul, +could claim him, could touch him, had their right to follow him.</p> + +<p>"You will get nothing from me," Brandon answered. "You are wasting your +time."</p> + +<p>"Wasting my time?" Hogg laughed. "Not me! I'm enjoying myself. I don't +want anything from you except just to see you sometimes and have a little +chat. That's quite enough for me! I've taken quite a liking to you, +Archdeacon, which is as it should be between relations, and, often enough, +it isn't so. I like to see a proud gentleman like yourself mixing with +such as me. It's good for both of us, as you might say."</p> + +<p>Brandon's anger--always dangerously uncontrolled--rose until it seemed to +have the whole of his body in his grasp, swaying it, ebbing and flowing +with swift powerful current through his heart into his brain. Now he could +only see the flushed, taunting face, the little eyes....</p> + +<p>But Hogg's hour was not yet. He suddenly touched his cap, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Well, good evening, Archdeacon. We'll be meeting again,"--and he was +gone.</p> + +<p>As swiftly as the anger had flowed now it ebbed, leaving him trembling, +shaking, that strange sharp pain cutting his brain, his heart seeming to +leap into his head, to beat there like a drum, and to fall back with heavy +thud into his chest again. He stood waiting for calm. He was humiliated, +desperately, shamefully. He could not go on here; he must leave the place. +Leave it? Be driven away by that scoundrel? Never! He would face them all +and show them that he was above and beyond their power.</p> + +<p>But the peace of the evening and the glory of the stars gradually stole +into his heart. He had been wrong, terribly wrong. His pride, his conceit, +had been destroying him. With a sudden flash of revelation he saw it. He +had trusted in his own power, put himself on a level with the God whom he +served. A rush of deep and sincere humility overwhelmed him. He bowed his +head and prayed.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>Some while later he turned up the path towards home. The whole sky now +burnt with stars; fires were a dull glow across the soft gulf of grey, the +gipsy fires. Once and again a distant voice could be heard singing. As he +reached the corner of the Cathedral, and was about to turn up towards the +Precincts, a strange sound reached his ears. He stood where he was and +listened. At first he could not define what he heard--then suddenly he +realised. Quite close to him a man was sobbing.</p> + +<p>There is something about the sounds of a man's grief that is almost +indecent. This sobbing was pitiful in its abandonment and in its effort to +control and stifle.</p> + +<p>Brandon, looking more closely, saw the dark shadow of a man's body pressed +against the inside buttress of the corner of the Cathedral wall. The +shadow crouched, the body all drawn together as though folding in upon +itself to hide its own agony.</p> + +<p>Brandon endeavoured to move softly up the path, but his step crunched on +some twigs, and at the sharp noise the sobbing suddenly ceased. The figure +turned.</p> + +<p>It was Morris. The two men looked at one another for an instant, then +Morris, still like a shadow, vanished swiftly into the dusk.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_20"></a>Chapter III</h1> + +<h2>Saturday, June 19: The Ball</h2> + + + +<p>Joan was in her hedroom preparing for the Ball. It was now only half-past +six and the Ball was not until half-past nine, but Mr. Mumphit, the +be-curled, the be-scented young assistant from the hairdresser's in the +High Street had paid his visit very early because he had so many other +heads of so many other young ladies to dress in Polchester that evening. +So Joan sat in front of the long looking-glass, a towel still over her +shoulders, looking at herself in a state of ecstasy and delight.</p> + +<p>It was wrong of her, perhaps, to feel so happy--she felt that deep in her +consciousness; wrong, with all the trouble in the house, Falk gone in +disgrace, her father unhappy, her mother so strange; but to-night she +could not help herself. The excitement was spluttering and crackling all +over the town, the wonderful week upon which the whole country was +entering, the Ball, her own coming-out Ball, and the consciousness that He +would be there, and, even though He did love another, would be sure to +give her at least one dance; these things were all too strong for her--she +was happy, happy, happy--her eyes danced, her toes danced, her very soul +danced for sheer delirious joy. Had any one been behind her to look over +her shoulder into the glass, he would have seen the reflection in that +mirror of one of the prettiest children the wide world could show; +especially childish she looked to-night with her dark hair piled high on +her head, her eyes wide with wonder, her neck and shoulders so delicately +white and soft. Behind her, on the bed, was the dress, on the dingy carpet +a pair of shoes of silver tissue, the loveliest things she had ever had. +They were reflected in the mirror, little blobs of silver, and as she saw +them the colour mounted still higher in her cheeks. She had no right to +them; she had not paid for them. They were the first things that she had +ever, in all her life, bought on credit. Neither her father nor her mother +knew anything about them, but she had seen them in Harriott's shop-window +and had simply not been able to resist them.</p> + +<p>If, after all, she was to dance with Him, that made anything right. Were +she sent to prison because she could not pay for them it would not matter. +She had done the only possible thing.</p> + +<p>And so she looked into the mirror and saw the dark glitter in her hair and +the red in her cheeks and the whiteness of her shoulders and the silver +blobs of the little shoes, and she was happy--happy with an almost fearful +ecstasy.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>Mrs. Brandon also was in her bedroom. She was sitting on a high stiff- +backed chair, staring in front of her. She had been sitting there now for +a long time without making any movement at all. She might have been a dead +woman. Her thin hands, with the sharply marked blue veins, were clasped +tightly on her lap. She was feeding, feverishly, eagerly feeding upon the +thought of Morris.</p> + +<p>She would see him that evening, they would talk together, dance together, +their hands would burn as they touched; they would say very little to one +another; they would long, agonize for one another, to be alone together, +to be far, far away from everybody, and they would be desperately unhappy.</p> + +<p>She wondered, in her strange kind of mouse-in-the-trap trance, about that +unhappiness. Was there to be no happiness, for her anywhere? Was she +always to want more than she got, was all this passion now too late? Was +it real at all? Was it not a fever, a phantom, a hallucination? Did she +see Morris? Did she not rather see something that she must seize to slake +her burning feverish thirst? For one moment she had known happiness, when +her arms had gone around him and she had been able to console and comfort +him. But comfort him for how long? Was he not as unhappy as she, and would +they not always be unhappy? Was he not weighed down by the sin that he had +committed, that he, as he thought, had caused her to commit?...At that +she sprang up from the chair and paced the room, murmuring aloud: "No, no, +I did it. My sin, not his. I will care for him, watch over him--watch over +him, care for him. He must be glad."...She sank down by the bed, burying +her face in her hands.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>Brandon was in his study finishing his letters. But behind his application +to the notes that he was writing his brain was moving like an animal +steathily investigating an unlighted house. He was thinking of his wife-- +and of himself. Even as he was writing "And therefore it seems to me, my +dear Ryle, that with regard to the actual hour of the service, eight +o'clock----" his inner consciousness was whispering to him. "How you miss +Falk! How lonely the house seems without him! You thought you could get +along without love, didn't you? or, at least, you were not aware that it +played any very great part in your life. But now that the one person whom +you most sincerely loved is gone, you see that it was not to be so simply +taken for granted, do you not? Love must be worked for, sacrificed for, +cared for, nourished and cherished. You want some one to cherish now, and +you are surprised that you should so want...yes, there is your wife-- +Amy...Amy.... You had taken her also for granted. But she is still with +you. There is time."</p> + +<p>His wife was illuminated with tenderness. He put down his pen and stared +in front of him. What he wanted and what she wanted was a holiday. They +had been too long here in this place. That was what he needed, that was +the explanation of his headaches, of his tempers, of his obsession about +Ronder.</p> + +<p>As soon as this Pybus St. Anthony affair was settled he would take his +wife abroad. Just the two of them. Another honeymoon after all these +years. Greece, Italy...and who knows? Perhaps he would see Falk on his +way through London returning...Falk....</p> + +<p>He had forgotten his letters, staring in front of him, tapping the table +with his pen.</p> + +<p>There was a knock on the door. The maid said, "A lady to see you, sir. She +says it's important"--and, before he could ask her name, some one else was +in the room with him and the door was closed behind her.</p> + +<p>He was puzzled for a moment as to her identity, a rather seedy, down-at- +heels-looking woman. She was wearing a rather crumpled white cotton dress. +She carried a pink parasol, and on her head was a large straw hat +overburdened with bright red roses. Ah, yes! Of course! Miss Milton--who +was the Librarian. Shabby she looked. Come down in the world. He had +always disliked her. He resented now the way in which she had almost +forced her way into his room.</p> + +<p>She looked across at him through her funny half-closed eyes.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Archdeacon Brandon," she said, "for entering like this +at what must be, I fear, an unseemly time. My only excuse must be the +urgency of my business."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, Miss Milton," he said sternly; "it is quite impossible +for me to see you just now on any business whatever. If you will make an +appointment with me in writing, I will see what can be done."</p> + +<p>At the sound of his voice her eyes closed still further. "I'm very sorry, +Archdeacon," she said. "I think you would do well to listen to what I am +going to tell you."</p> + +<p>He raised his head and looked at her. At those words of hers he had once +again the sensation of being pushed down by strong heavy hands into some +deep mire where he must have company with filthy crawling animals--Hogg, +Davray, and now this woman....</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he asked, disgust thickening his voice. "What can +<i>you</i> have to tell <i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>She smiled. She crossed the floor and came close to his desk. Her fingers +were on the shabby bag that hung over her arm.</p> + +<p>"I was greatly puzzled," she said, "as to what was the right thing to do. +I am a good and honest woman, Archdeacon, although I was ejected from my +position most wrongfully by those that ought to have known better. I have +come down in the world through no fault of my own, and there are some who +should be ashamed in their hearts of the way they've treated me. However, +it's not of them I've to speak to-day." She paused.</p> + +<p>Brandon drew back into his chair. "Please tell me, Miss Milton, your +business as soon as possible. I have much to do."</p> + +<p>"I will." She breathed hard and continued. "Certain information was placed +in my hands, and I found it very difficult to decide on the justice of my +course. After some hesitation I went to Canon Ronder, knowing him to be a +just man."</p> + +<p>At the name "Ronder" the Archdeacon's lips moved, but he said nothing.</p> + +<p>"I showed him the information I had obtained. I asked him what I should +do. He gave me advice which I followed."</p> + +<p>"He advised you to come to me."</p> + +<p>Miss Milton saw at once that a lie here would serve her well. "He advised +me to come to you and give you this letter which in the true sense of the +word belongs to you."</p> + +<p>She fumbled with her bag, opened it, took out a piece of paper.</p> + +<p>"I must tell you," she continued, her eyes never for an instant leaving +the Archdeacon's face, "that this letter came into my hands by an +accident. I was in Mr. Morris's house at the time and the letter was +delivered to me by mistake."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Morris?" Brandon repeated. "What has he to do with this affair?"</p> + +<p>Miss Milton rubbed her gloved hands together. "Mrs. Brandon," she said, +"has been very friendly with Mr. Morris for a long time past. The whole +town has been talking of it."</p> + +<p>The clock suddenly began to strike the hour. No word was spoken.</p> + +<p>Then Brandon said very quietly, "Leave this house, Miss Milton, and never +enter it again. If I have any further trouble with you, the police will be +informed."</p> + +<p>"Before I go, Archdeacon," said Miss Milton, also very quietly, "you +should see this letter. I can assure you that I have not come here for +mere words. I have my conscience to satisfy like any other person. I am +not asking for anything in return for this information, although I should +be perfectly justified in such an action, considering how monstrously I +have been treated. I give you this letter and you can destroy it at once. +My conscience will be satisfied. If, on the other hand, you don't read it +--well, there are others in the town who must see it."</p> + +<p>He took the letter from her.</p> + +<p>DEAREST--I am sending this by a safe hand to tell you that I cannot +possibly get down to-night. I am so sorry and most dreadfully +disappointed, but I will explain everything when we meet to-morrow. This +is to prevent your waiting on when I'm not coming.</p> + +<p>It was in his wife's handwriting.</p> + +<p>"Dearest...cannot possibly get down tonight...." In his wife's +handwriting. Certainly. Yes. His wife's. And Ronder had seen it.</p> + +<p>He looked across at Miss Milton. "This is not my wife's handwriting," he +said. "You realise, I hope, in what a serious matter you have become +involved--by your hasty action," he added.</p> + +<p>"Not hasty," she said, moistening her lips with her tongue. "Not hasty, +Archdeacon. I have taken much thought. I don't know if I have already told +you that I took the letter myself at the door from the hand of your own +maid. She has been to the Library with books. She is well known to me."</p> + +<p>He must exercise enormous, superhuman, self-control. That was his only +thought. The tide of anger was rising in him so terribly that it pressed +against the skin of his forehead, drawn tight, and threatened to split it. +What he wanted to do was to rise and assault the woman standing in front +of him. His hands longed to take her! They seemed to have life and +volition of their own and to move across the table of their own accord.</p> + +<p>He was aware, too, once more, of some huge plot developing around him, +some supernatural plot in which all the elements too were involved--earth, +sun and sky, and also every one in the town, down to the smallest child +there.</p> + +<p>He seemed to see behind him, just out of his sight, a tall massive figure +directing the plot, a figure something like himself, only with a heavy +black beard, cloudy, without form....</p> + +<p>They would catch him in their plot as in a net, but he would escape them, +and he would escape them by wonderful calm, and self-control, and the +absence of all emotion.</p> + +<p>So that, although his voice shook a little, it was quietly that he +repeated:</p> + +<p>"This is not in my wife's handwriting. You know the penalties for +forgery." Then, looking her full in the face, he added, "Penal servitude."</p> + +<p>She smiled back at him.</p> + +<p>"I am sure, Archdeacon, that all I require is a full investigation. These +wickednesses are going on in this town, and those principally concerned +should know. I have only done what I consider my duty."</p> + +<p>Her eyes lingered on his face. She savoured now during these moments the +revenge for which, in all these months, she had ceaselessly longed. He had +moved but little, he had not raised his voice, but, watching his face, she +had seen the agony pass, like an entering guest, behind his eyes. That +guest would remain. She was satisfied.</p> + +<p>"I have done my duty, Archdeacon, and now I will wish you good-evening."</p> + +<p>She gave a little bow and retired from the room, softly closing the door +behind her.</p> + +<p>He sat there, looking at the letter....</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>The Assembly Rooms seemed to move like a ship on a sunset sea. Hanging +from the ceiling were the two great silver candelabra, in some ways the +most famous treasure that the town possessed. Fitted now with gas, they +were nevertheless so shaded that the light was soft and mellow. Round the +room, beneath the portraits of the town's celebrities in their heavy gold +frames, the lights were hidden with shields of gold. The walls were ivory +white. From the Minstrels' Gallery flags with the arms of the Town, of the +Cathedral, of the St. Leath family fluttered once and again faintly. In +the Minstrels' Gallery the band was playing just as it had played a +hundred years ago. The shining floor was covered with moving figures. +Every one was there. Under the Gallery, surveying the world like Boadicea +her faithful Britons, was Lady St. Leath, her white hair piled high above +her pink baby face, that had the inquiring haughty expression of a +cockatoo wondering whether it is being offered a lump of sugar or an +insult. On either side of her sat two of her daughters, Lady Rose and Lady +Mary, plain and patient.</p> + +<p>Near her, in a complacent chattering row, were some of the more important +of the Cathedral and County set. There were the Marriotts from Maple +Durham, fat, sixty, and amiable; old Colonel Wotherston, who had fought in +the Crimea; Sir Henry Byles with his large purple nose; little Major +Garnet, the kindest bachelor in the County; the Marquesas, who had more +pedigree than pennies; Mrs. Sampson in bright lilac, and an especially bad +attack of neuralgia; Mrs. Combermere, sheathed in cloth of gold and very +jolly; Mrs. Ryle, humble in grey silk; Ellen Stiles in cherry colour; Mrs. +Trudon, Mrs. Forrester and Mrs. D'Arcy, their chins nearly touching over +eager confidences; Dr. Puddifoot, still breathless from his last dance; +Bentinick-Major, tapping with his patent-leather toe the floor, eager to +be at it again; Branston the Mayor and Mrs. Branston, uncomfortable in a +kind of dog-collar of diamonds; Mrs. Preston, searching for nobility; +Canon Martin; Dennison, the head-master of the School; and many others.</p> + +<p>It was just then a Polka, and the tune was so alluring, so entrancing, +that the whole world rose and fell with its rhythm.</p> + +<p>And where was Joan? Joan was dancing with the Reverend Rex Forsyth, the +proposed incumbent of Pybus St. Anthony. Had any one told her a week ago +that she would dance with the elegant Mr. Forsyth before a gathering of +all the most notable people of Polchester and Southern Glebeshire, and +would so dance without a tremor, she would have derided her informant. But +what cannot excitement and happiness do?</p> + +<p>She knew that she was looking nice, she knew that she was dancing as well +as any one else in the room--and Johnny St. Leath had asked her for two +dances and <i>then</i> wanted more, and wanted these with the beautiful +Claire Daubeney, all radiant in silver, standing close beside him. What, +then, could all the Forsyths in the world matter? Nevertheless he +<i>was</i> elegant. Very smart indeed. Rather like a handsome young horse, +groomed for a show. His voice had a little neigh in it; as he talked over +her shoulder he gave a little whinny of pleasure. She found it very +difficult to think of him as a clergyman at all.</p> + +<blockquote><p> You should SEE me DANCE the POLKA,<br /> + Ta-ram-te-tum-te-TA.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Yes, she should. And <i>he</i> should. And he was very pleasant when he +did not talk.</p> + +<p>"You dance--very well--Miss Brandon."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. This is my first Ball."</p> + +<p>"Who would--think that? Ta-ram-te-tum-te-TA.... Jolly tu-une!"</p> + +<p>She caught glimpses of every one as they went round. Mrs. Combermere's +cloth of gold, Lady St. Leath's white hair. Poor Lady Mary--such a pity +that they could not do something for her complexion. Spotty. Joan liked +her. She did much good to the poor in Seatown, and it must be agony to +her, poor thing, to go down there, because she was so terribly shy. Her +next dance was with Johnny. She called him Johnny. And why should she not, +secretly to herself? Ah, there was mother, all alone. And there was Mr. +Morris coming up to speak to her. Kind of him. But he <i>was</i> a kind +man. She liked him. Very shy, though. All the nicest people seemed to be +shy--except Johnny, who wasn't shy at all.</p> + +<p>The music stopped and, breathless, they stayed for a moment before finding +two chairs. Now was coming the time that she so greatly disliked. Whatever +to say to Mr. Forsyth?</p> + +<p>They sat down in the long passage outside the ballroom. The floor ran like +a ribbon from under their feet into dim shining distance. Or rather, Joan +thought, it was like a stream, and on either side the dancers were +sitting, dabbling their toes and looking self-conscious.</p> + +<p>"Do you like it where you are?" Joan asked of the shining black silk +waistcoat that gleamed beside her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you know...." neighed Mr. Forsyth. "It's all right, you know. The old +Bishop's kind enough."</p> + +<p>"Bishop Clematis?" said Joan.</p> + +<p>"Yes. There ain't enough to do, you know. But I don't expect I'll be there +long. No, I don't.... Pity poor Morrison at Pybus dying like that."</p> + +<p>Joan of course at once understood the allusion. She also understood that +Mr. Forsyth was begging her to bestow upon him any little piece of news +that she might have obtained. But that seemed to her mean--spying--spying +on her own father. So she only said:</p> + +<p>"You're very fond of riding, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Love it," said Mr. Forsyth, whinnying so exactly like a happy pony that +Joan jumped. "Don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I've never been on horseback in my life," said Joan. "I'd like to try."</p> + +<p>"Never in your life?" Mr. Forsyth stared. "Why, I was on a pony before I +was three. Fact. Good for a clergyman, riding----"</p> + +<p>"I think it's nearly time for the next dance," said Joan. "Would you +kindly take me back to my mother?"</p> + +<p>She was conscious, as they plunged down-stream, of all the burning +glances. She held her head high. Her eyes flashed. She was going to dance +with Johnny, and they could look as much as they liked.</p> + +<p>Mr. Forsyth delivered her to her mother and went cantering off. Joan sat +down, smoothed her dress and stared at the vast shiny lake of amber in +which the silver candelabra were reflected like little islands. She looked +at her mother and was suddenly sorry for her. It must be dull, when you +were as old as mother, coming to these dances--and especially when you had +so few friends. Her mother had never made many friends.</p> + +<p>"Wasn't that Mr. Morris who was talking to you just now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear."</p> + +<p>"I like him. He looks kind."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear."</p> + +<p>"And where's father?"</p> + +<p>"Over there, talking to Lady St. Leath."</p> + +<p>She looked across, and there he was, so big and tall and fine, so splendid +in his grand clothes. Her heart swelled with pride.</p> + +<p>"Isn't he splendid, mother, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Father!"</p> + +<p>"Splendid?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; doesn't he look splendid to-night? Better looking than all the rest +of the room put together?" (Johnny wasn't <i>good-looking</i>. Better than +<i>good-looking</i>.)</p> + +<p>"Oh--look splendid. Yes. He's a very handsome man."</p> + +<p>Joan felt once again that little chill with which she was so often +familiar when she talked with her mother--a sudden withdrawal of sympathy, +a pushing Joan away with her hand.</p> + +<p>But never mind--there was the music again, and here, oh, here, was Johnny! +Someone had once called him Tubby in her hearing, and how indignant she +had been! He was perhaps a little on the fat side, but strong with it.... +She went off with him. The waltz began.</p> + +<p>She sank into sweet delicious waters--waters that rocked and cradled her, +hugged her and caressed her. She was conscious of his arm. She did not +speak nor did he. Years of utter happiness passed....</p> + +<p>He did not take her, as Mr. Forsyth had done, into the public glare of the +passage, but up a crooked staircase behind the Minstrels' Gallery into a +little room, cool and shaded, where, in easy-chairs, they were quite +alone.</p> + +<p>He was shy, fingering his gloves. She said (just to make conversation):</p> + +<p>"How beautiful Miss Daubeney is looking!"</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" said Johnny. "I don't. I'm sick of that girl. She's the +most awful bore. Mother's always shoving her at my head. She's been +staying with us for months. She wants me to marry her because she's rich. +But we've got plenty, and I wouldn't marry her anyway, not if we hadn't a +penny. Because she's a bore, and because"--his voice became suddenly loud +and commanding--"I'm going to marry you."</p> + +<p>Something--some lovely bird of Paradise, some splendid coloured breeze, +some carpet of magic pattern--came and swung Joan up to a high tree loaded +with golden apples. There she swung--singing her heart out. Johnny's voice +came up to her.</p> + +<p>"Because I'm going to marry you."</p> + +<p>"What?" she called down to him.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to marry you. I knew it from the very first second I saw you, +that day after Cathedral--from the very first moment I knew it. I wanted +to ask you right away at once, but I thought I'd do the thing properly, so +I went away, and I've been in Paris and Rome and all over the place, and +I've thought of you the <i>whole</i> time--every minute. Then mother made +a fuss about this Daubeney girl--my not being here and all that--so I +thought I'd come home and tell you I was going to marry you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you can't." Joan swung down from her appletree. "You and me? Why, +what <i>would</i> your mother say?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't a case of <i>would</i> but <i>will</i>" Johnny said. "Mother +will be very angry--and for a considerable time. But that makes no +difference. Mother's mother and I'm myself."</p> + +<p>"It's impossible," said Joan quickly, "from every point of view. Do you +know what my brother has done? I'm proud of Falk and love him; but you're +Lord St. Leath, and Falk has married the daughter of Hogg, the man who +keeps a public-house down in Seatown."</p> + +<p>"I heard of that," said Johnny. "But what does that matter? Do you know +what I did last year? I crossed the Atlantic as a stoker in a Cunard boat. +Mother never knew until I got back, and <i>wasn't</i> she furious! But the +world's changing. There isn't going to be any class difference soon--none +at all. You take my word. Look at the Americans! They're the people! We'll +be like them one day.... But what's all this?" he suddenly said. "I'm +going to marry you and you're going to marry me. You love me, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Joan faintly.</p> + +<p>"Well, then. I knew you did. I'm going to kiss you." He put his arms +around her and kissed her very gently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how I love you!" he said, "and how good I'll be to you!"</p> + +<p>"But we must be practical," said Joan wildly. "How can we marry? +Everything's against it. I've no money. I'm nobody. Your mother----"</p> + +<p>"Now you just leave my mother alone. Leave me to manage her--I know all +about that----"</p> + +<p>"I won't be engaged to you," Joan said firmly, "not for ages and ages--not +for a year anyway."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Johnny indifferently. "You can settle it any way +you please--but no one's going to marry you but me, and no one's going to +marry me but you."</p> + +<p>He would have kissed her again, but Mrs. Preston and a young man came in.</p> + +<p>"Now you shall come and speak to my mother," he said to her as they went +out. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Just say 'Bo' to her as you would +to a goose, and she'll answer all right."</p> + +<p>"You won't say anything----" began Joan.</p> + +<p>"About us? All right. That's a secret for the present; but we shall meet +<i>every</i> day, and if there's a day we don't meet you've got to write. +Do you agree?"</p> + +<p>Whether she agreed or no was uncertain, because they were now in a cloud +of people, and, a moment later, were face to face with the old Countess.</p> + +<p>She was pleased, it at once appeared. She was in a gracious mood; people +had been pleasant enough--that is, they had been obsequious and +flattering. Also her digestion was behaving properly; those new pills that +old Puddifoot had given her were excellent. She therefore received Joan +very graciously, congratulated her on her appearance, and asked her where +her elder sister was. When Joan explained that she had no sister Lady St. +Leath appeared vexed with her, as though it had been a piece of obvious +impertinence on her part not to produce a sister instantly when she had +asked for one. However, Lady Mary was kind and friendly and made Joan sit +beside her for a little. Joan thought, "I'd like to have you for a sister +one day, if--if--ever----" and allowed her thoughts to go no farther.</p> + +<p>Thence she passed into the company of Mrs. Combermere and Ellen Stiles. It +seemd to her--but it was probably her fancy--that as she came to them they +were discussing something that was not for her ears. It seemed to her that +they swiftly changed the conversation and greeted her with quite an +unusual warmth of affection. For the first time that evening a sudden +little chill of foreboding, whence she knew not, seemed to touch her and +shade, for an instant, her marvellous happiness.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere was very sweet to her indeed, quite as though she had +been, but now, recovering from an alarming illness. Her bass voice, strong +thick hands and stiff wiry hair went so incongruously with her cloth of +gold that Joan could not help smiling.</p> + +<p>"You look very happy, my dear," Mrs. Combermere said.</p> + +<p>"Of course I am," said Joan. "How can I help it, my first Ball?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere kicked her trailing garments with her foot, just like a +dame in a pantomime. "Well, enjoy yourself as long as you can. You're +looking very pretty. The prettiest girl in the room. I've just been saying +so to Ellen--haven't I, Ellen?"</p> + +<p>Ellen Stiles was at that moment making herself agreeable to the Mayoress, +who was sitting lonely and uncomfortable (weighed down with longing for +sleep) on a little gilt chair.</p> + +<p>"I was just saying to Mrs. Branston," Miss Stiles said, turning round, +"that the time one has to be careful with children after whooping-cough is +when they seem practically well. Her little boy has just been ill with it, +and she says he's recovered; but that's the time, as I tell her, when nine +out of ten children die--just when you think you're safe."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear," said Mrs. Branston, turning towards them her full anxious eyes. +"You <i>do</i> alarm me, Miss Stiles! And I've been letting Tommy quite +loose, as you may say, these last few days--with his appetite back and +all, there seemed no danger."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you find him feverish when you get home tonight," said Ellen, +"don't he surprised. All the excitement of the Jubilee too will be very +bad for him."</p> + +<p>At that moment Canon Ronder came up. Joan looked and at once, at the sight +of the round gleaming spectacles, the smiling mouth, the full cheeks +puffed out as though he were blowing perpetual bubbles for his own +amusement, felt her old instinct of repulsion. This man was her father's +enemy, and so hers. All the town knew now that he was trying to ruin her +father so that he might take his place, that he laughed at him and mocked +him.</p> + +<p>So fierce did she feel that she could have scratched his cheeks. He was +smiling at them all, and at once was engaged in a wordy duel with Mrs. +Combermere and Miss Stiles. <i>They</i> liked him; every one in the town +liked him. She heard his praises sung by every one. Well, she would never +sing them. She hated him.</p> + +<p>And now he was actually speaking to her. He had the impertinence to ask +her for a dance.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I'm engaged for the next and for the one after that, Canon +Ronder," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well, later on then," he said, smiling. "What about an extra?"</p> + +<p>Her dark eyes scorned him.</p> + +<p>"We are going home early," she said. She pretended to examine her +programme. "I'm afraid I have not one before we go."</p> + +<p>She spoke as coldly as she dared. She felt the eyes of Mrs. Combermere and +Ellen Stiles upon her. How stupid of her! She had shown them what her +feelings were, and now they would chatter the more and laugh about her +fighting her father's battles. Why had she not shown her indifference, her +complete indifference?</p> + +<p>He was smiling still--not discomfited by her rudeness. He said something-- +something polite and outrageously kind--and then young Charles D'Arcy came +up to carry her off for the Lancers.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>An hour later her cup of happiness was completely filled. She had danced, +during that hour, four times with Johnny; every one must be talking. Lady +St. Leath must be furious (she did not know that Boadicea had been playing +whist with old Colonel Wotherston and Sir Henry Byles for the last ever so +long).</p> + +<p>She would perhaps never have such an hour in all her life again. This +thing that he so wildly proposed was impossible--utterly, completely +impossible; but what was <i>not</i> impossible, what was indeed certain +and sure and beyond any sort of question, was that she loved Johnny St. +Leath with all her heart and soul, and would so love him until the day of +her death. Life could never be purposeless nor mean nor empty for her +again, while she had that treasure to carry about with her in her heart. +Meanwhile she could not look at him and doubt but that, for the moment at +any rate, he loved her--and there was something simple and direct about +Johnny as there was about his dog Andrew, that made his words, few and +clumsy though they might be, most strangely convincing.</p> + +<p>So, almost dizzy with happiness, she climbed the stair behind the Gallery +and thought that she would escape for a moment into the little room where +Johnny had proposed to her, and sit there and grow calm. She looked in. +Some one was there. A man sitting by himself and staring in front of him. +She saw at once that he was in some great trouble. His hands were +clenched, his face puckered and set with pain. Then she saw that it was +her father.</p> + +<p>He did not move; he might have been a block of stone shining in the +dimness. Terrified, she stood, herself not moving. Then she came forward. +She put her hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father--father, what is it?" She felt his body trembling beneath her +touch--he, the proudest, finest man in the country. She put her arm round +his neck. She kissed him. His forehead was damp with sweat. His body was +shaking from head to foot. She kissed him again and again, kneeling beside +him.</p> + +<p>Then she remembered where they were. Some one might come. No one must see +him like that.</p> + +<p>She whispered to him, took his hands between hers.</p> + +<p>"Let's go home, Joan," he said. "I want to go home."</p> + +<p>She put her arm through his, and together they went down the little +stairs.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_21"></a>Chapter IV</h1> + +<h2>Sunday, June 20: In the Bedroom</h2> + + + +<p>Brandon had been talking to the Precentor at the far end of the ballroom, +when suddenly Ronder had appeared in their midst. Appeared the only word! +And Brandon, armoured, he had thought, for every terror that that night +might bring to him, had been suddenly seized with the lust of murder. A +lust as dominating as any other, that swept upon him in a hot flaming +tide, lapped him from head to foot. It was no matter, this time, of words, +of senses, of thoughts, but of his possession by some other man who filled +his brain, his eyes, his mouth, his stomach, his heart; one second more +and he would have flung himself upon that smiling face, those rounded +limbs; he would have caught that white throat and squeezed it-- +squeezed...squeezed....</p> + +<p>The room literally swam in a tide of impulse that carried him against +Ronder's body and left him there, breast beating against breast....</p> + +<p>He turned without a word and almost ran from the place. He passed through +the passages, seeing no one, conscious of neither voices nor eyes, +climbing stairs that he did not feel, sheltering in that lonely little +room, sitting there, his hands to his face, shuddering. The lust slowly +withdrew from him, leaving him icy cold. Then he lifted his eyes and saw +his daughter and clung to her--as just then he would have clung to +anybody--for safety.</p> + +<p>Had it come to this then, that he was mad? All that night, lying on his +bed, he surveyed himself. That was the way that men murdered. No longer +could he claim control or mastery of his body. God had deserted him and +given him over to devils.</p> + +<p>His son, his wife, and now God. His loneliness was terrible. And he could +not think. He must think about this letter and what he should do. He could +not think at all. He was given over to devils.</p> + +<p>After Matins in the Cathedral next day one thought came to him. He would +go and see the Bishop. The Bishop had come in from Carpledon for the +Jubilee celebrations and was staying at the Deanery. Brandon spoke to him +for a moment after Matins and asked him whether he might see him for half +an hour in the afternoon on a matter of great urgency. The Bishop asked +him to come at three o'clock.</p> + +<p>Seated in the Dean's library, with its old-fashioned cosiness--its book- +shelves and the familiar books, the cases, between the high windows, of +his precious butterflies--Brandon felt, for the first time for many days, +a certain calm descend upon him. The Bishop, looking very frail and small +in the big arm-chair, received him with so warm an affection that he felt, +in spite of his own age, like the old man's son.</p> + +<p>"My lord," he began with difficulty, moving his big limbs in his chair +like a restless schoolboy, "it isn't easy for me to come to-day. There's +no one in the world I could speak to except yourself. I find it difficult +even to do that."</p> + +<p>"My son," said the Bishop gently, "I am a very, very old man. I cannot +have many more months to live. When one is as near to death as I am, one +loves everything and everybody, because one is going so soon. You needn't +be afraid."</p> + +<p>And in his heart he must have wondered at the change in this man who, +through so many years now, had come to him with so much self-confidence +and assurance.</p> + +<p>"I have had much trouble lately," Brandon went on. "But I would not have +bothered you with that, knowing as I do all that you have to consider just +now, were it not that for the first time in my life I seem to have lost +control and to be heading toward some great disaster that may bring +scandal not only on myself but on the Church as well."</p> + +<p>"Tell me your trouble," said the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"Nine months ago I seemed to be at the very height of my powers, my +happiness, my usefulness." Brandon paused. Was it really only nine months +back, that other time? "I had no troubles. I was confident in myself, my +health was good, my family were happy. I seemed to have many friends.... +Then suddenly everything changed. I don't want to seem false, my lord, in +anything that I may say, but it was literally as though in the course of a +night all my happiness forsook me.</p> + +<p>"It began with my boy being sent down from Oxford. I have only one boy, as +I think your lordship knows. He was--he is, in spite of what has happened +--very dear to me." Brandon paused.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"After that everything began to go wrong. Little things, little tiny +things--one after another. Some one came to this town who almost at once +seemed to put himself into opposition to me." Brandon paused once more.</p> + +<p>The Bishop said again: "Yes, I know."</p> + +<p>"At first," Brandon went on, "I didn't realise this. I was preoccupied +with my work. It had never, at any time in my life, seemed to me healthy +to consider about other people's minds, what they were thinking or +imagining. There is quite enough work to do in the world without that. But +soon I was forced to consider this man's opposition to me. It came before +me in a thousand little ways. The attitude of the Chapter changed to me-- +especially noticeable at one of the Chapter meetings. I don't want to make +my story so long, my lord, that it will tire you. To cut it short--a day +came when my boy ran off to London with a town girl, the daughter of the +landlord of one of the more disreputable public-houses. That was a +terrible, devastating blow to me. I have quite literally not been the same +man since. I was determined not to allow it to turn me from my proper +work. I still loved the boy; he had not behaved dishonourably to the girl. +He has now married her and is earning his living in London. If that had +been the only blow----" He stopped, cleared his throat, and, turning +excitedly towards the Bishop, almost shouted:</p> + +<p>"But it is not! It is not, my lord! My enemy has never ceased his plots +for one instant. It was he who advised my boy to run off with this girl. +He has turned the whole town against me; they laugh at me and mock me! And +now he...now he..." He could not for a moment find breath. He exercised +an impulse of almost superhuman self-control, bringing his body visibly +back into bounds again. He went on more quietly:</p> + +<p>"We are in opposite camps over this matter of the Pybus living--we are in +opposition over almost every question that arises here. He is an able man. +I must do him that justice. He can plot...he can scheme...whereas I..." +Brandon beat his hands desperately on his knees.</p> + +<p>"It is not only this man!" he cried, "not only this! It is as though there +were some larger conspiracy, something from Heaven itself. God has turned +His face away from me when I have served Him faithfully all my days. No +one has served Him more whole-heartedly than I. He has been my only +thought, His glory my only purpose. Nine months ago I had health, I had +friends, I had honour. I had my family--now my health is going, my friends +have forsaken me, I am mocked at by the lowest men in the town, my son has +left me, my--my..."</p> + +<p>He broke off, bending his face in his hands.</p> + +<p>The Bishop said: "My dear friend, you are not alone in this. We have all +been tried, like this--tested----"</p> + +<p>"Tested!" Brandon broke out. "Why should I be tested? What have I done in +all my life that is not acceptable to God? What sin have I committed! What +disloyalty have I shown? But there is something more that I must tell you, +my lord--the reason why I have come to you to-day. Canon Ronder and I--you +must have known of whom I have been speaking--had a violent quarrel one +afternoon on the way home after luncheon with you at Carpledon. This +quarrel became, in one way or another, the town's property. Ronder +affected to like me, but it was impossible now for him to hide his real +intentions towards me. This thing began to be an obsession with me. I +tried to prevent this. I knew what the danger of such obsessions can be. +But there was something else. My wife--" he paused--went on. "My wife and +I, my lord, have lived together in perfect happiness for twenty years. At +least it had seemed to me to be perfect happiness. She began to behave +strangely. She was not herself. Undoubtedly the affair of our son +disturbed her desperately. She seemed to avoid me, to escape from me when +she could. This, coming with my other troubles, made me feel as though I +were in some horrible dream, as though the very furniture of our home and +the appearance of the streets were changing. I began to be afraid +sometimes that I might be going mad. I have had bad headaches that have +made it difficult for me to think. Then, only last night, a woman brought +me a letter. I wish you most earnestly to believe, my lord, that I believe +my wife to be absolutely loyal to me--loyal in every possible sense of the +word. The letter purported to be in her handwriting. And in this matter +also Canon Ronder had had some hand. The woman admitted that she had been +first to Canon Ronder and that he had advised her to bring it to me."</p> + +<p>The Bishop made a movement.</p> + +<p>"You will, of course, say nothing of this, my lord, to Canon Ronder. I +have come privately to ask your prayers for me and to have your counsel. I +am making no complaint against Canon Ronder. I must see this thing through +by myself. But last night, when my mind was filled with this letter, I +found myself suddenly next to Canon Ronder, and I had a murderous impulse +that was so fierce and sudden in its power that I--" he broke off, +shuddering. Then cried, suddenly stretching out his hands:</p> + +<p>"Oh, my lord, pray for me, pray for me! Help me! I don't know what I do--I +am given over to the powers of Hell!"</p> + +<p>A long silence followed. Then the Bishop said:</p> + +<p>"You have asked me to say nothing to Canon Ronder, and of course I must +respect your confidence. But the first thing that I would say to you is +that I think that what you feared has happened--that you have allowed this +thought of him to become an obsession to you. The ways of God are +mysterious and past our finding out; but all of us, in our lives, have +known that time when everything was suddenly turned against us--our work, +those whom we love, our health, even our belief in God Himself. My dear, +dear friend, I myself have known that several times in my own life. Once, +when I was a young man, I lost an appointment on which my whole heart was +set, and lost it, as it seemed, through an extreme injustice. It turned +out afterwards that my losing that was one of the most fortunate things +for me. Once my dear wife and I seemed to lose all our love for one +another, and I was assailed with most desperate temptation--and the end of +that was that we loved and understood one another as we had never done +before. Once--and this was the most terrible period of my life, and it +continued over a long time--I lost, as it seemed, completely all my faith +in God. I came out of that believing only in the beauty of Christ's life, +clinging to that, and saying to myself, 'Such a friend have I--then life +is not all lost to me'--and slowly, gradually, I came back into touch with +Him and knew Him as I had never known Him before, and, through Him, once +again God the Father. And now, even in my old age, temptation is still +with me. I long to die. I am tempted often to look upon men and women as +shadows that have no longer any connection with me. I am very weak and +feeble and I wish to sleep.... But the love of God continues, and through +Jesus Christ, the love of men. It is the only truth--love of God, love of +man--the rest is fantasy and unreality. Look up, my son, bear this with +patience. God is standing at your shoulder and will be with you to the +end. This is training for you. To show you, perhaps, that all through life +you have missed the most important thing. You are learning through this +trouble your need of others, your need to love them, and that they should +love you--the only lesson worth learning in life...."</p> + +<p>The Bishop came over to Brandon and put his hand on his head. Strange +peace came into Brandon's heart, not from the old man's words, but from +the contact with him, the touch of his thin trembling hand. The room was +filled with peace. Ronder was suddenly of little importance. The Cathedral +faded. For a time he rested.</p> + +<p>For the rest of that day, until evening, that peace stayed with him. With +it still in his heart he came, late that night, into their bedroom. Mrs. +Brandon was in bed, awake, staring in front of her, not moving. He sat +down in the chair beside the bed, stretched out his hand, and took hers.</p> + +<p>"Amy, dear," he said, "I want us to have a little talk."</p> + +<p>Her little hand lay still and hot in his large cool one.</p> + +<p>"I've been very unhappy," he went on with difficulty, "lately about you--I +have seen that you yourself are not happy. I want you to be. I will do +anything that is in my power to make you so!"</p> + +<p>"You would not," she said, without looking at him, "have troubled to think +of me had not your own private affairs gone wrong and--had not Falk left +us!"</p> + +<p>The sound of her hostility irritated him against his will; he beat the +irritation down. He felt suddenly very tired, quite exhausted. He had an +almost irresistible temptation to go down into his dressing-room, lie on +his sofa there, and go instantly to sleep.</p> + +<p>"That's not quite fair, Amy," he said. "But we won't dispute about that. I +want to know why, after our being happy for twenty years, something now +has come in between us or seems to have done so; I want to clear that away +if I can, so that we can be as we were before."</p> + +<p>Be as they were before! At the strange, ludicrous irony of that phrase she +turned on her elbow and looked at him, stared at him as though she could +not see enough of him.</p> + +<p>"Why do you think that there is anything the matter?" she asked softly, +almost gently.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course I can see," he said, holding her hand more tightly as +though the sudden gentleness in her voice had touched him. "When one has +lived with some one a long time," he went on rather awkwardly, "one +notices things. Of course I've seen that you were not happy. And Falk +leaving us in that way must have made you very miserable. It made me +miserable too," he added, suddenly stroking her hand a little.</p> + +<p>She could not bear that and very quietly withdrew her hand.</p> + +<p>"Did it really hurt you, Falk's going?" she asked, still staring at him.</p> + +<p>"Hurt me?" he cried, staring back at her in utter astonishment. "Hurt me? +Why--why----"</p> + +<p>"Then why," she went on, "didn't you go up to London after him?"</p> + +<p>The question was so entirely unexpected that he could only repeat:</p> + +<p>"Why?..."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, it doesn't matter now," she said, wearily turning away.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I did wrong. I think perhaps I've done wrong in many ways during +these last years. I am seeing many things for the first time. The truth is +I have been so absorbed in my work that I've thought of nothing else. I +took it too much for granted that you were happy because I was happy. And +now I want to make it right. I do indeed, Amy. Tell me what's the matter."</p> + +<p>She said nothing. He waited for a long time. Her immobility always angered +him. He said at last more impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Please tell me, Amy, what you have against me."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing against you."</p> + +<p>"Then why are things wrong between us?"</p> + +<p>"Are things wrong?"</p> + +<p>"You know they are--ever since that morning when you wouldn't come to Holy +Communion."</p> + +<p>"I was tired that morning."</p> + +<p>"It is more than tiredness," he said, with sudden impatience, beating upon +the counterpane with his fist. "Amy--you're not behaving fairly. You must +talk to me. I insist on it."</p> + +<p>She turned once more towards him.</p> + +<p>"What is it you want me to say?"</p> + +<p>"Why you're unhappy."</p> + +<p>"But if I am not unhappy?"</p> + +<p>"You are."</p> + +<p>"But suppose I say that I am not?"</p> + +<p>"You are. You are. You are!" he shouted at her.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then, I am."</p> + +<p>"Why are you?"</p> + +<p>"Who <i>is</i> happy really? At any rate for more than a moment. Only very +thoughtless and silly people."</p> + +<p>"You're putting me off." He took her hand again. "I'm to blame, Amy--to +blame in many ways. But people are talking."</p> + +<p>She snatched her hand away.</p> + +<p>"People talking? Who?...But as though that mattered."</p> + +<p>"It <i>does</i> matter. It has gone far--much farther than I thought."</p> + +<p>She looked at him then, quickly, and turned her face away again.</p> + +<p>"Who's talking? And what are they saying?"</p> + +<p>"They are saying----" He broke off. What <i>were</i> they saying? Until +the arrival of that horrible letter he had not realised that they were +saying anything at all.</p> + +<p>"Don't think for a single moment, Amy, that I pay the slightest attention +to any of their talk. I would not have bothered you with any of this had +it not been for something else--of which I'll speak in a moment. If +everything is right between us--between you and me--then it doesn't matter +if the whole world talks until it's blue in the face."</p> + +<p>"Leave it alone, then," she said. "Let them talk."</p> + +<p>Her indifference stung him. She didn't care, then, whether things were +right between himself and her or no? It was the same to her. She cared so +little for him.... That sudden realisation struck him so sharply that it +was as though some one had hit him in the back. For so many years he had +taken it for granted...taken something for granted that was not to be so +taken. Very dimly some one was approaching him--that dark, misty, gigantic +figure--blotting out the light from the windows. That figure was becoming +day by day more closely his companion.</p> + +<p>Looking at her now more intently, and with a new urgency, he said:</p> + +<p>"Some one brought me a letter, Amy. They said it was a letter of yours."</p> + +<p>She did not move nor stir. Then, after a long silence, she said, "Let me +see it."</p> + +<p>He felt in his pocket and produced it. She stretched out her hand and took +it. She read it through slowly. "You think that I wrote this?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I know that you did not."</p> + +<p>"To whom was it supposed to be written?"</p> + +<p>"To 'Morris of St. James'."</p> + +<p>She nodded her head. "Ah, yes. We're friends. That's why they chose him. +Of course it's a forgery," she added--"a very clever one."</p> + +<p>"What I don't understand," he said eagerly, at his heart the strangest +relief that he did not dare to stop to analyse, "is why any one should +have troubled to do this--the risk, the danger----"</p> + +<p>"You have enemies," she said. "Of course you know that. People who are +jealous."</p> + +<p>"One enemy," he answered fiercely. "Ronder. The woman had been to him with +this letter before she came to me."</p> + +<p>"The woman! What woman?</p> + +<p>"The woman who brought it to me was a Miss Milton--a wretched creature who +was once at the Library."</p> + +<p>"And she had been with this to Canon Ronder before she came to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>Then she said very quietly:</p> + +<p>"And what do you mean to do about the letter?"</p> + +<p>"I will do whatever you wish me to do. What I would like to do is to leave +no step untaken to bring the authors of this forgery to justice. No step. +I will----"</p> + +<p>"No," she broke in quickly. "It is much better to leave it alone. What +good can it do to follow it up? It only tells every one about it. We +should despise it. The thing is so obviously false. Why you can see," +suddenly holding the letter towards him, "it isn't even like my writing. +My s's, my m's--they're not like that----"</p> + +<p>"No, no," he said eagerly. "I see that they are not. I saw that at once."</p> + +<p>"You knew at once that it was a forgery?"</p> + +<p>"I knew at once. I never doubted for an instant."</p> + +<p>She sighed; then settled back into the pillow with a little shudder.</p> + +<p>"This town," she said; "the things they do. Oh! to get away from it, to +get away!"</p> + +<p>"And we will!" he cried eagerly. "That's what we need, both of us--a +holiday. I've been thinking it over. We're both tired. When this Jubilee +is over we'll go abroad--Italy, Greece. We'll have a second honeymoon. Oh, +Amy, we'll begin life again. I've been much to blame--much to blame. Give +me that letter. I'll destroy it. I know my enemy, but I'll not think of +him or of any one but our two selves. I'll be good to you now if you'll +let me."</p> + +<p>She gave him the letter.</p> + +<p>"Look at it before you tear it up," she said, staring at him as though she +would not miss any change in his features. "You're sure that it is a +forgery?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course."</p> + +<p>"It's nothing like my handwriting?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing at all."</p> + +<p>"You know that I am devoted to you, that I would never be untrue to you in +thought, word or deed?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course, of course. As though I didn't know----"</p> + +<p>"And that I'll love to come abroad with you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes."</p> + +<p>"And that we'll have a second honeymoon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. Indeed, Amy, we will."</p> + +<p>"Look well at that letter. You are wrong. It is not a forgery. I did write +it."</p> + +<p>He did not answer her, but stayed staring at the letter like a boy +detected in a theft. She repeated:</p> + +<p>"The woman was quite right. I did write that letter."</p> + +<p>Brandon said, staring at her, "Don't laugh at me. This is too serious."</p> + +<p>"I'm not laughing. I wrote it. I sent it down by Gladys. If you recall the +day to her she'll remember."</p> + +<p>She watched his face. It had turned suddenly grey, as though some one had +slipped a grey mask over the original features.</p> + +<p>She thought, "Now perhaps he'll kill me. I'm not sorry."</p> + +<p>He whispered, leaning quite close to her as though he were afraid she +would not hear.</p> + +<p>"You wrote that letter to Morris?"</p> + +<p>"I did." Then suddenly springing up, half out of bed, she cried, "You're +not to touch him. Do you hear? You're not to touch him! It's not his +fault. He's had nothing to do with this. He's only my friend. I love him, +but he doesn't love me. Do you hear? He's had nothing to do with this!"</p> + +<p>"You love him!" whispered Brandon.</p> + +<p>"I've loved him since the first moment I saw him. I've wanted some one to +love for years--years and years and years. You didn't love me, so then I +hoped Falk would, and Falk didn't, so then I found the first person--any +one who would be kind to me. And he was kind--he <i>is</i> kind--the +kindest man in the world. And he saw that I was lonely, so he let me talk +to him and go to him--but none of this is his doing. He's only been kind. +He--"</p> + +<p>"Your letter says 'Dearest'," said Brandon. "If you wrote that letter it +says 'Dearest'."</p> + +<p>"That was my foolishness. It was wrong of me. He told me that I mustn't +say anything affectionate. He's good and I'm bad. And I'm bad because +you've made me."</p> + +<p>Brandon took the letter and tore it into little pieces; they scattered +upon the counterpane.</p> + +<p>"You've been unfaithful to me?" he said, bending over her.</p> + +<p>She did not shrink back, although that strange, unknown, grey face was +very close to her. "Yes. At first he wouldn't. He refused anything. But I +would.... I wanted to be. I hate you. I've hated you for years."</p> + +<p>"Why?" His hand closed on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Because of your conceit and pride. Because you've never thought of me. +Because I've always been a piece of furniture to you--less than that. +Because you've been so pleased with yourself and well-satisfied and +stupid. Yes. Yes. Most because you're so stupid. So stupid. Never seeing +anything, never knowing anything and always--so satisfied. And when the +town was pleased with you and said you were so fine I've laughed, knowing +what you were, and I thought to myself, 'There'll come a time when they'll +find him out'--and now they have. They know what you are at last. And I'm +glad! I'm glad! I'm glad!" She stopped, her breast rising and falling +beneath her nightdress, her voice shrill, almost a scream.</p> + +<p>He put his hands on her thin bony shoulders and pushed her back into the +bed. His hands moved to her throat. His whole weight, he now kneeling on +the bed, was on top of her.</p> + +<p>"Kill me! Kill me!" she whispered. "I'll be glad."</p> + +<p>All the while their eyes stared at one another inquisitively, as though +they were strangers meeting for the first time.</p> + +<p>His hands met round her throat. His knees were over her. He felt her thin +throat between his hands and a voice in his ear whispered, "That's right, +squeeze tighter. Splendid! Splendid!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly his eyes recognised hers. His hands dropped. He crawled from the +bed. Then he felt his way, blindly, out of the room.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_22"></a>Chapter V</h1> + +<h2>Tuesday, June 22: I. The Cathedral</h2> + + + +<p>The Great Day arrived, escorted sumptuously with skies of burning blue. +How many heads looked out of how many windows, the country over, that +morning! In Polchester it was considered as only another proof of the +esteem in which that city was held by the Almighty. The Old Lady might +deserve and did unquestionably obtain divinely condescending weather for +her various excursions, but it was nothing to that which the Old Town got +and deserved.</p> + +<p>Deserved or no, the town rose to the occasion. The High Street was +swimming in flags and bunting; even in Seatown most of the grimy windows +showed those little cheap flags that during the past week hawkers had been +so industriously selling. From quite early in the morning the squeak and +scream of the roundabouts in the Fair could be heard dimly penetrating the +sanctities and privacies of the Precincts. But it was the Cathedral bells, +pealing, crashing, echoing, rocking, as early as nine o'clock in the +morning, that first awoke the consciousness of most of the Polcastrians to +the glories of the day.</p> + +<p>I suppose that nearly all souls that morning subconsciously divided the +order of the festival into three periods; in the morning the Cathedral and +its service, in the afternoon the social, friendly, man-to-man +celebration, and in the evening, torch-light, bonfire, skies ablaze, drink +and love. + +Certain it is that many eyes turned towards the Cathedral accustomed for +many years to look in quite other directions. There was to be a grand +service, they said, with "trumpets and shawms" and the big drum, and the +old Bishop preaching, making, in all probability, his very last public +appearance. Up from the dark mysteries of Seatown, down from the chaste +proprieties of the villas above Orange Street, from the purlieus of the +market, from the shops of the High Street, sailors and merchantmen, +traders and sea-captains and, from the wild fastness of the Fair, gipsies +with silver rings in their ears and, perhaps, who can tell? bells on their +dusky toes.</p> + +<p>Very early were Lawrence and Cobbett about their duties. This was, in all +probability, Lawrence's last Great Day before the final and all-judging +one, and well both he and Cobbett were aware of it. Cobbett could see +himself that morning almost stepping into the old man's shoes, and the old +man himself was not well this morning--not well at all. Rheumatism, gout, +what hadn't he got?--and, above all, that strange, mysterious pain +somewhere in his very vitals, a pain that was not precisely a pain, too +dull and homely for that, but a warning, a foreboding.</p> + +<p>On an ordinary day, in spite of his dislike of allowing Cobbett any of +those duties that were so properly his own, he would have stayed in bed, +but to-day?--no, thank you! On such a day as this he would defy the Devil +himself and all his red-hot pincers! So there he was in his long purple +gown, with his lovely snow-white beard, and his gold-topped staff, +patronising Mrs. Muffit (who superintended the cleaning) and her ancient +servitors, seeing that the places for the Band (just under the choir- +screen) and for the extra members of the choir were all in order, and, +above all, that the Bishop's Throne up by the altar was guiltless of a +speck of dust, of a shadow of a shadow of disorder. Cobbett saw, beyond +any question or doubt, death in the old man's face, and suddenly, to his +own amazement, was sorry. For years now he had been waiting for the day +when he should succeed the tiresome old fool, for years he had cursed him +for a thousand pomposities, blunders, tedious garrulities, and now, +suddenly, he was sorry. What had come over him? But he wasn't a bad old +man; plucky, too; you could see how he was suffering. They had, after all, +been companions together for so many years....</p> + +<p>Quite early in the morning arrivals began--visitors from the country most +likely, sitting there at the back of the nave, bathed in the great silence +and the dim light, just looking and wondering and expecting. Some of them +wanted to move about and examine the brasses and the tombs and the +windows--yes, move about with their families, and their bags of +sandwiches, and their oranges. But not this morning, oh, dear, no! They +could come in or go out, but if they came in they must stay quiet. Did +they but subterraneously giggle, Cobbet was on their tracks in no time.</p> + +<p>The light flooded in, throwing great splashes and lakes of blue and gold +and purple on to flag and pillar. Great in its strength, magnificent in +its beauty, the Cathedral prepared....</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere walked rather solemnly that morning from her house to the +Cathedral. In spite of the lovely morning she was feeling suddenly old. +Things like Jubilees do date you--no doubt about it. Nearly fifty. Three- +quarters of life behind her and what had she to show for it? An unlucky +marriage, much physical health and fun, some friends--but, at the last, +lonely--lonely as perhaps every human being in this queer world was. That +old woman now preparing to ride in fantastic procession before her +worshipping subjects, she was lonely too. Poor, little, lonely, old woman! +Well, then, Charity to all and sundry--Charity, kindliness, the one and +only thing. Aggie Combermere was not a sentimental woman, nor did she see +life falsely, but she was suddenly aware, walking under the blazing blue +sky, that she had been unkind, for amusement's sake, more often than she +need.... Well, why not? She was ready to allow people to have a shy at +herself--any one who liked.... "'Ere you are! Old Aunt Sally! Three shies +a penny!" And she <i>was</i> an Aunt Sally, a ludicrous creature, caring +for her dogs more than for any living creature, shovelling food into her +mouth for no particular purpose, doing physical exercises in the morning, +and <i>nearly</i> fifty!</p> + +<p>She found then, just as she reached the Arden Gate, that, to her own +immense surprise, it was not of herself that, all this time, she had been +thinking, but rather of Brandon and the Brandon family. The Brandons! What +an extraordinary affair! The Town was now bursting its fat sides with +excitement over it all! The Town was now generally aware (but how it was +aware no one quite knew) that there was a mysterious letter that Mrs. +Brandon had written to Morris, and that Miss Milton, librarian who was, +had obtained this letter and had taken it to Ronder. And the next move, +the next! the next! Oh, tell us! Tell us! The Town stands on tiptoe; its +hair on end. Let us see! Let us see! Let us not miss the tiniest detail of +this extraordinary affair!</p> + +<p>And really how extraordinary! First the boy runs off with that girl; then +Mrs. Brandon, the quietest, dullest woman for years and years, throws her +cap over the mill and behaves like a madwoman; and Johnny St. Leath, they +say, is in love with the daughter, and his old mother is furious; and +Brandon, they say, wants to cut Ronder's throat. Ronder! Mrs. Combermere +paused, partly to get her breath, partly to enjoy for an instant the +shining, glittering grass, dotted with figures, stretching like a carpet +from the vast greyness of the Cathedral. Ronder! There was a remarkable +man! Mrs. Combermere was conquered by him, in spite of herself. How, in +seven short months, he had conquered everybody! What an amusing talker, +what a good preacher, what a clever business head! And yet she did not +really like him. His praises now were in every one's mouth, but she did +not <i>really</i> like him. Old Brandon was still her favourite, her old +friend of ten years; but there was no doubt that he <i>was</i> behind the +times, Ronder had shown them that! No use living in the 'Eighties any +longer. But she was fond of him, she did not want him to be unhappy--and +unhappy he was, that any one could see. Most of all, she did not want him +to do anything foolish--and he might, his temper was strange, he was not +so strong as he looked; he had felt his son's escapade terribly--and now +his wife!</p> + +<p>"Well, if I had a wife like that," was Mrs. Combermere's conclusion before +she joined Ellen Stiles and Julia Preston, "I'd let her go off with any +one! Pay any one to take her!"</p> + +<p>Ellen was, of course, full of it all. "My dear, <i>what</i> do you think +is the latest! They say that the Archdeacon threatens to poison the whole +of the Chapter if they don't let Forsyth have Pybus, and that Boadicea has +ordered Johnny to take a voyage to the Canary Islands for his health, and +that he says he'll see her shot first! And Miss Milton is selling the +letter for a thousand pounds to the first comer!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Combermere stopped her sharply--"Mind your own business, Ellen. The +whole thing now is past a joke. And as to Johnny St. Leath, he shows his +good taste. There isn't a sweeter, prettier girl in England than Joan +Brandon, and he's lucky if he gets her."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be ill-natured," said Ellen Stiles rather plaintively, +"but that family would test anybody's reticence. We'd better go in or old +Lawrence will be letting some one have our seats."</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>Joan came with her mother slowly across the grass. In her dress was this +letter:</p> + +<blockquote><p> Dearest, dearest, <i>dearest</i> Joan--The first thing you have + thoroughly to realise is that it doesn't matter <i>what</i> you say or + what mother says or what any one says. Mother's angry. Of course she + is. She's been angry a thousand million times before and will be a + thousand million times again. But it doesn't <i>mean</i> anything. + Mother likes to be angry, it does her good, and the longer she's + angry with you the better she'll like you, if you understand what I + mean. What I want to get into your head is that you can't alter + anything. Of course if you didn't love me it would be another matter, + and you tried to tell me you didn't love me yesterday just for my + good, but you did it so badly that you had to admit yourself that it + was a failure. Don't talk about your brother; he's a fine fellow, and + I'm going to look him up when I'm in London next month. Don't talk + about not seeing me, because you can't help seeing me if I'm right in + front of you. I'm no silph. (The way he spelt it.) I'm quite ready to + wait for a certain time anyway. But marry we will, and happy we'll be + for ever and ever!--Your adoring</p></blockquote> + +<p class="r">J<small>OHNNY</small>.</p> + +<p>And what was she to do about it? She was certainly very unmodern and +inexperienced by the standards of to-day--on the other hand, she was a +very long way indeed from the Lily Dales and Eleanor Hardings of Mr. +Trollope. She had not told her father--that she was resolved to do so soon +as he seemed a little less worried by his affairs; but say that she did +not love Johnny she had found that she could not, and as to damaging him +by marrying him, his love for her had strengthened her own pride in +herself. She did not understand his love, it was astounding to her after +the indifference with which her own family had always treated her. But +there it was: he, with all his experience of life, loved her more than any +one else in the world, so there <i>must</i> be something in her. And she +knew there was; privately she had always known it. As to his mother--well, +so long as Johnny loved her she could face anybody.</p> + +<p>So this wonderful morning she was radiantly happy. Child as she was, she +adored this excitement. It was splendid of it to be this glorious time +just when she was having her own glorious time! Splendid of the weather to +be so beautiful, of the bells to clash, of every one to wear their best +clothes, of the Jubilee to arrange itself so exactly at the right moment! +And could it be only last Saturday that he had spoken to her? And it +seemed centuries, centuries ago!</p> + +<p>She chattered eagerly, smiling at Betty Callender, and then at the D'Arcy +girls, and then at Mrs. Bentinck-Major. She supposed that they were all +talking about her. Well, let them. There was nothing to be ashamed of. +Quite the contrary. She did not notice her mother's silence. But she +<i>had</i> noticed, before they left the house, how ill her mother was +looking. A very bad night--another of her dreadful headaches. Her father +had not come in to breakfast at all. Everything had been wrong at home +since that day when Falk had been sent down from Oxford. She longed to put +her arms around her father's neck and hug him. Behind her own happiness, +ever since the night of the Ball, there had been a longing, an aching +urgent longing to pet him, comfort him, make love to him. And she would, +too--as soon as all these festivities were over.</p> + +<p>And then suddenly there were Johnny and his mother and his sisters walking +towards the West door! What a situation! And then there was Johnny +breaking away from his own family and hurrying towards them, lifting his +hat, smiling!</p> + +<p>How splendid he looked and how happy! And how happy she also was looking +had she only known it!</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mrs. Brandon."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Brandon didn't appear to remember him at all. Then suddenly, as +though she had picked her conscience out of her pocket:</p> + +<p>"Oh, good morning, Lord St. Leath."</p> + +<p>Joan, out of the corner, saw Boadicea, her head with its absurd bonnet +high, striding indignantly ahead.</p> + +<p>"What lovely weather, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, aren't we lucky? Good morning, Joan."</p> + +<p>"Good morning."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it a lovely day?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it is."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to see the Torchlight Procession to-night?"</p> + +<p>"They come through the Precincts, you know."</p> + +<p>"Of course they do. We're going to have five bonfires all around us. +Mother's afraid they'll set the Castle on fire."</p> + +<p>They both laughed--much too happy to know what they were laughing at.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sampson joined them. Johnny and Joan walked ahead. Only two steps and +they would be in the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>"Did you get my letter?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I love you, I love you, I love you." This in a hoarse whisper.</p> + +<p>"Johnny--you mustn't--you know--we can't--you know I oughtn't----"</p> + +<p>They passed through into the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bentinck-Major came with Miss Ronder, slowly, across the grass. It +was not necessary for them to hurry because they knew that their seats +were reserved for them. Mrs. Bentinck-Major thought Miss Ronder "queer" +because of the clever things that she said and of the odd fashion in which +she always dressed. To say anything clever was, with Mrs. Bentinck-Major, +at once to be classed as "queer."</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> hot!"</p> + +<p>Miss Ronder, thin and piky above her stiff white collar, looked +immaculately cool. "A lovely day," she said, sniffing the colour and the +warmth, and loving it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bentinck-Major was thinking of the Brandon scandal, but it was one of +her habits never to let her left-hand voice know what her right-hand brain +was doing. Secretly she often wondered about sexual things--what people +<i>really</i> did, whether they enjoyed what they did, and whether she +would have enjoyed the same things had life gone that way with her instead +of leading her to Bentinck-Major.</p> + +<p>But she never, never spoke of such things. She was thinking now of Mrs. +Brandon and Morris. They said that some one had found a letter, a +disgraceful letter. How <i>extraordinary</i>!</p> + +<p>"It's loneliness," suddenly said Miss Ronder, "that drives people to do +the things they do."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bentinck-Major started as though some one had struck her in the small +of her back. Was the woman a witch? How amazing!</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," she said nervously.</p> + +<p>"I was speaking," said Miss Ronder in her clear incisive voice, "of one of +our maids, who has suddenly engaged herself to the most unpleasing-looking +butcher's assistant you can imagine--all spots and stammer. Quite a pretty +girl, too. But it's fear of loneliness that does it. Wanting affection."</p> + +<p>Dear me! Mrs. Bentinck-Major had never had very much affection from Mr. +Bentinck-Major, and had not very consciously missed it, but then she had a +dog, a spaniel, whom she loved most dearly.</p> + +<p>"We're all lonely--all of us--to the very end," said Miss Ronder, as +though she was thinking of some one in especial. And she was. She was +thinking of her nephew. "I shouldn't wonder if the Queen isn't feeling +more lonely to-day than she has ever felt in all her life before."</p> + +<p>And then they saw that dreadful man, Davray, lurching along. <i>He</i> was +lonely, but then he deserved to be, with his <i>drink</i> and all. +<i>Wicked</i> man! Mrs. Bentinck-Major shivered. She didn't know how he +dared to go to church. He shouldn't be allowed. On such a day, too. What +would the Queen herself think, did she know?</p> + +<p>The two ladies and Davray passed through the door at the same time.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>And now every one was inside. The great bell dropped notes like heavy +weights into a liquid well. For the cup of the Cathedral swam in colour, +the light pouring through the great Rose window, and that multitude of +persons seeming to sway like shadows beneath a sheet of water from amber +to purple, from purple to crimson, from crimson to darkest green.</p> + +<p>Individuality was lost. The Cathedral, thinking nothing of Kings and +Queens, of history, of movement forward and retrograde, but only of itself +and of the life that it had been given, that it now claimed for its own, +with haughty confidence assumed its Power...the Power of its own +Immortality that is neither man's nor God's.</p> + +<p>The trumpets began. They rang out the Psalm that had been given them, and +transformed it into a cry of exultant triumph. Their notes rose, were +caught by the pillars, acclaimed, tossed higher, caught again in the eaves +and corners of the great building, swinging backwards and forwards....</p> + +<p>"Now listen to My greatness! You created Me for the Worship of your God!</p> + +<p>"And now I am your God! Out of your forms and ceremonies you have made a +new God! And I, thy God, am a jealous God...."</p> + +<p>Ronder read the First Lesson.</p> + +<p>"That's Ronder," the town-people whispered, "the new Canon. Oh! he's +clever. You should hear him preach!"</p> + +<p>"Reads <i>beautiful!</i>" Gladys, the Brandons' maid, whispered to Annie, +the kitchen-maid. "I do like a bit of fine reading."</p> + +<p>By those accustomed to observe it was noticed that Ronder read with very +much more assurance than he had done three months ago. It was as though he +knew now where he was, as though he were settled down now and had his +place--and it would take some very strong people to shift him from that +place. Oh, yes. It would!</p> + +<p>And Brandon read the Second Lesson. As usual, when he stepped down from +the choir, slowly, impressively, pausing for a moment before he turned to +the Lectern, strangers whispered to one another, "That's a handsome +parson, that is." He seemed to hesitate again before going up as though he +had stumbled over a step. Very slowly he read the opening words; slowly he +continued.</p> + +<p>Puddifoot, looking up across from his seat in the side aisle, thought, +"There's something the matter with him." Suddenly he paused, looked about +him, stared over the congregation as though he were searching for +somebody, then slowly again went on and finished:</p> + +<p>"Here endeth--the Second Lesson."</p> + +<p>Then, instead of turning, he leaned forward, gripping the Lectern with +both hands, and seemed again to be searching for some one.</p> + +<p>"Looks as though he were going to have a stroke," thought Puddifoot. Then +very carefully, as though he were moving in darkness, he turned and groped +his way downwards. With bent head he walked back into the choir.</p> + +<p>Soon they were scattered--every one according to his or her own +individuality--the prayers had broken them up, too many of them, too long, +and the wooden kneelers so hard. Minds flew like birds about the +Cathedral--ideas, gold and silver, black and grey, soapy and soft, hard as +iron. The men yawned behind their trumpets, the School played Noughts and +Crosses--the Old Lady and her Triumph stepped away into limbo.</p> + +<p>And then suddenly it was time for the Bishop's sermon. Every one hoped +that it would not be long; passing clouds veiled the light behind the East +window and the Roses faded to ashes. The organ rumbled in its crotchety +voice as the old man slowly disentangled himself from his throne, and +slowly, slowly, slowly advanced down the choir. When he appeared above the +nave, and paused for an instant to make sure of the step, all the minds in +the Cathedral suddenly concentrated again, the birds flew back, the air +was still. At the sight of that very old man, that little bag of shaking +bones, all the brief history of the world was suddenly apparent. Greater +than Alexander, more beautiful than Helen of Troy, wiser than Gamaliel, +more powerful than Artaxerxes, he made the secret of immortal life visible +to all.</p> + +<p>His hair was white, and his face was ashen grey, and his hands were like +bird's claws. Like a child finding its way across its nursery floor he +climbed to the pulpit, being now so far distant in heaven that earth was +dark to him.</p> + +<p>"The Lord be with you."</p> + +<p>"And with Thy Spirit."</p> + +<p>His voice was clear and could be heard by all. He spoke for a very short +time. He told them about the Queen, and that she had been good to her +people for sixty years, and that she had feared God; he told them that +that goodness was the only secret of happiness; he told them that Jesus +Christ came nearer and nearer, and ever more near, did one but ask Him.</p> + +<p>He said, "I suppose that I shall never speak to you in this place again. I +am very old. Some of you have thought, perhaps, that I was too old to do +my work here--others have wanted me to stay. I have loved you all very +much, and it is lonely to go away from you. Our great and good Queen also +is old now, and perhaps she, too, in the middle of her triumph, is feeling +lonely. So pray for her, and then pray for me a little, that when I meet +God He may forgive me my sins and help me to do better work than I have +done here. Life is sad sometimes, and often it is dark, but at the end it +is beautiful and wonderful, for which we must thank God."</p> + +<p>He knelt down and prayed, and every one, Davray and Mrs. Combermere, Ellen +Stiles and Morris, Lady St. Leath and Mrs. Brandon, Joan and Lawrence, +Ronder and Foster, prayed too.</p> + +<p>And then they all, all for a moment utterly united in soul and body and +spirit, knelt down and the old man blessed them from the pulpit.</p> + +<p>Then they sang "Now Thank We All Our God."</p> + +<p>Afterwards came the Benediction.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_23"></a>Chapter VI</h1> + +<h2>Tuesday, June 22: II. The Fair</h2> + + + +<p>As Brandon left the Cathedral Ronder came up to him. Brandon, with bowed +head, had turned into the Cloisters, although that was not the quickest +way to his home. The two men were alone in the greyness lit from without +by the brilliant sun as though it had been a stage setting.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Archdeacon, I must speak to you."</p> + +<p>Brandon raised his head. He stared at Ronder, then said:</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to say to you. I do not wish to speak to you."</p> + +<p>"I know that you do not." Ronder's face was really troubled; there was an +expression in his eyes that his aunt had never seen.</p> + +<p>Brandon moved on, looking neither to right nor left.</p> + +<p>Ronder continued: "I know how you feel about me. But to-day--somehow--this +service--I feel that I can't allow our quarrel to continue without +speaking. It isn't easy for me----" He broke off.</p> + +<p>Brandon's voice shook.</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to say to you. I do not wish to say anything to you. You +have been my enemy since you first came to this town. My work--my +family----"</p> + +<p>"I am not your enemy. Indeed, indeed I am not. I won't deny that when I +came here I found that you, who were the most important man in the place, +thought differently from myself on every important question. You, +yourself, who are an honest man, would not have had me back out from what +I believed to be my duty. I could do no other. But this personal quarrel +between us was most truly not of my own seeking. I have liked and admired +you from the beginning. Such a matter as the Pybus living has forced us +into opposition, but I am convinced that there are many views that we have +in common, that we could be friends working together--"</p> + +<p>Brandon stopped.</p> + +<p>"Did my son, or did he not, come to see you before he went up to London?"</p> + +<p>Ronder hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "he did. But--"</p> + +<p>"Did he, or did he not, ask your advice?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he did. But--"</p> + +<p>"Did you advise him to take the course which he afterwards followed?"</p> + +<p>"No, on my honour, Archdeacon, I did not. I did not know what his personal +trouble was. I did not ask him and he did not tell me. We talked of +generalities--"</p> + +<p>"Had you heard, before he came to you, gossip about my son?"</p> + +<p>"I had heard some silly talk--"</p> + +<p>"Very well, then."</p> + +<p>"But you <i>shall</i> listen to me, Archdeacon. I scarcely knew your son. +I had met him only once before, at some one's house, and talked to him +then only for five minutes. He himself asked to come and see me. I could +not refuse him when he asked me. I did not, of course, wish to refuse him. +I liked the look of him, and simply for his own sake wished to know him +better. When he came he was not with me for very long and our talk was +entirely about religion, belief, faith in God, the meaning of life, +nothing more particular than such things."</p> + +<p>"Did he say, when he left you, that what you had told him had helped him +to make up his mind?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Were you, when he talked to you, quite unconscious that he was my son, +and that any action that he took would at once affect my life, my +happiness?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I was aware that he was your son. But----"</p> + +<p>"There is another question that I wish to ask you, Canon Ronder. Did some +one come to you not long ago with a letter that purported to be written by +my wife?"</p> + +<p>Again Ronder hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said.</p> + +<p>"Did she show you that letter?"</p> + +<p>"She did."</p> + +<p>"Did she ask your advice as to what she should do with it?"</p> + +<p>"She did--I told her----"</p> + +<p>"Did you tell her to come with it to me?"</p> + +<p>"No. On my life, Archdeacon, no. I told her to destroy it and that she was +behaving with the utmost wickedness."</p> + +<p>"Did you believe that that letter was written by my wife."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then why, if you believed that this woman was going about the town with a +forged letter directed against my happiness and my family's happiness, did +you not come to me and tell me of it?"</p> + +<p>"You must remember, Archdeacon, that we were not on good terms. We had had +a ridiculous quarrel that had, by some means or another, become public +property throughout the whole town. I will not deny that I felt sore about +that. I did not know what sort of reception I might get if I came to you."</p> + +<p>"Very well. There is a further question that I wish to ask you. Will you +deny that from the moment that you set foot in this town you have been +plotting against me in respect to the Pybus living? You found out on which +side I was standing and at once took the other. From that moment you went +about the town, having secret interviews with every sort of person, +working them by flattery and suggestion round to your side. Will you deny +that?"</p> + +<p>Against his will and his absolute determination Ronder's anger began to +rise: "That I have been plotting as you call it," he said, "I absolutely +and utterly deny. That is an insulting word. That I have been against you +in the matter of Pybus from the first has, of course, been known to every +one here. I have been against you because of what I believe to be the +future good of our Church and of our work here. There has been nothing +personal in that matter at all."</p> + +<p>"You lie," said Brandon, suddenly raising his voice. "Every word that you +have spoken to me this morning has been a lie. You are an enemy of myself +and of my Church, and with God's help your plots and falsehoods shall yet +be defeated. You may take from me my wife and my children, you may ruin my +career here that has been built up through ten years of unfaltering +loyalty and work, but God Himself is stronger than your inventions--and +God will see to it. I am your enemy, Canon Ronder, to the end, as you are +mine. You had better look to yourself. You have been concerned in certain +things that the Law may have something to say about. Look to yourself! +Look to yourself!"</p> + +<p>He strode off down the Cloisters.</p> + +<p>People came to luncheon; there had been an invitation of some weeks +before. He scarcely recognised them; one was Mr. Martin, another Dr. +Trudon, an old Mrs. Purley, a well-established widow, an ancient resident, +a Miss Barrester. He scarcely recognised them although he talked so +exactly in his accustomed way that no one noticed anything at all. Mrs. +Brandon also talked in her accustomed way; that is, she scarcely spoke. +Only that afternoon, at tea at the Dean's, Dr. Trudon confided to Julia +Preston that he could assure her that all the rumours were false; the +Archdeacon had never seemed better...funny for him afterwards to +remember!</p> + +<p>Shadows of a shade! When they left Brandon it was as though they had never +been; the echo of their voices died away into the ticking of the clock, +the movement of plates, the shifting of chairs.</p> + +<p>He shut himself into his study. Here was his stronghold, his fortress. He +settled into his chair and the things in the room gathered around him with +friendly consoling gestures.</p> + +<p>"We are still here, we are your old friends. We know you for what you +truly are. We do not change like the world."</p> + +<p>He fell into a deep sleep; he was desperately tired; he had not slept at +all last night. He was sunk into deep fathomless unconsciousness. Then he +rose from that, climbing up, up, seeing before him a high, black, snow- +tipped mountain. The ascent of this he must achieve, his life depended +upon it. He seemed to be naked, the wind lashing his body, icy cold, so +cold that his breath stabbed him. He climbed, the rocks cut his knees and +hands; then, on every side his enemies appeared, Bentinck-Major and +Foster, the Bishop's Chaplain, women, even children, laughing, and behind +them Hogg and that drunken painter. Their hands were on him, they pulled +at his flesh, they beat on his face--then, suddenly, rising like a full +moon behind the hill--Ronder!</p> + +<p>He woke with a cry; the sun was flooding the room, and at the joy of that +great light and of finding himself alone he could have burst into tears of +relief.</p> + +<p>His thoughts came to him quickly, his brain had been clarified by that +sleep, horrible though it had been. He thought steadily now, the facts all +arranged before him. His wife had told him, almost with vindictive pride, +that she had been guilty of adultery. He did not at present think of +Morris at all.</p> + +<p>To him adultery was an awful, a terrible sin. He himself had been +physically faithful to his wife, although he had perhaps never, in the +true sense of the word, loved her. Because he had been a man of splendid +physique and great animal spirits he had, of course, and especially in his +earlier days, known what physical temptation was, but the extreme +preoccupation of his time with every kind of business had saved him from +that acutest lure that idleness brings. Nevertheless, it may confidently +be said that, had temptation been of the sharpest and the most +aggravating, he would never have, even for a moment, dwelt upon the +possibility of yielding to it. To him this was the "sin against the Holy +Ghost."</p> + +<p>He had not indeed the purity of the Saint to whom these sins are simply +not realisable; he had the confidence of one who had made his vows to God +and, having made them, could not conceive that they should be broken.</p> + +<p>And yet, strangely enough, with all the horror that his wife's confession +had raised in him there was mingled, against his will, the strangest fear +for her. She had lived with him during all these years, he had been her +guard, protector, husband.</p> + +<p>Her immortal soul now was lost unless in some way he could save it for +her. And it was he who should save it. She had suddenly a new poignant +importance for him that she had never had before. Her danger was as deadly +and as imminent to him as though she had been in peril from wild beasts.</p> + +<p>In peril? But she had fallen. He could not save her. Nothing that he could +do now could prevent her sin. At that realisation utter despair seized +him; he moaned aloud, shutting out the light from his eyes with his hands.</p> + +<p>There followed then wild disbelief; what she had told him was untrue, she +had said it to anger him, to spite him. He sprang from his chair and moved +towards the door. He would find her and tell her that he knew that she had +been lying to him, that he did not believe----</p> + +<p>Mid-way he stopped. He knew that she had spoken the truth, that last +moment when they had looked at one another had been compounded, built up, +of truth. Both a glass and a wall--a glass to reveal absolutely, a wall to +divide them, the one from the other, for ever.</p> + +<p>His brain, active now like a snake coiling and uncoiling within the +flaming spaces of his mind, darted upon Morris. He must find Morris at +once--no delay--at once--at once. What to do? He did not know. But he must +be face to face with him and deal with him--that wretched, miserable, +whining, crying fool. That he--!--HE!...But the picture stopped there. +He saw now neither Morris nor his wife. Only a clerical hat, a high white +collar like a wall, a sniggering laugh, a door closing.</p> + +<p>And his headache was upon him again, his heart pounding and leaping. No +matter. He must find Morris. Nothing else. He went to the door, opened it, +and walked cautiously into the hall as though he had intruded into some +one else's house and was there to rob.</p> + +<p>As he came into the hall Mrs. Brandon was crossing it, also furtively. +They saw one another and stood staring. She would have spoken, but +something in his face terrified her, terrified her so desperately that she +suddenly turned and stumbled upstairs, repeating some words over and over +to herself. He did not move, but stayed there watching until she had gone.</p> + +<p>Something made him change his clothes. He put on trousers and an old +overcoat and a shabby old clerical hat. He was a long time in his +dressing-room, and he was a while before his looking-glass in his shirt +and drawers, staring as though he were trying to find himself.</p> + +<p>While he looked he fancied that some one was behind him, and he searched +for his shadow in the glass, but could find nothing. He moved cautiously +out of the house, closing the heavy hall-door very softly behind him; the +afternoon was advanced, and the faint fair shadows of the summer evening +were stealing from place to place.</p> + +<p>He had intended to go at once to Morris's house, but his head was now +aching so violently that he thought he would walk a little first so that +he might have more control. That was what he wanted, self-control! self- +control! That was their plot, to make him lose command of himself, so that +he should show to every one that he was unfit to hold his position. He +must have perfect control of everything--his voice, his body, his +thoughts. And that was why, just now, he must walk in the darker places, +in the smaller streets, until soon he would be, outwardly, himself again. +So he chose for his walk the little dark winding path that runs steeply +from the Cathedral, along behind Canon's Yard and Bodger's Street, down to +the Pol. It was dark here, even on this lovely summer evening, and no one +was about, but sounds broke through, cries and bells and the distant bray +of bands, and from the hill opposite the clash of the Fair.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of the path he stood for a while looking down the bank to +the river; here the Pol runs very quietly and sweetly, like a little +country river. He crossed it and, still moving like a man in a dream, +started up the hill on the other side. He was not, now, consciously +thinking of anything at all; he was aware only of a great pain at his +heart and a terrible loneliness. Loneliness! What an agony! No one near +him, no one to speak to him, every eye mocking him--God as well, far, far +away from him, hidden by walls and hills.</p> + +<p>As he climbed upward the Fair came nearer to him. He did not notice it. He +crossed a path and was at a turnstile. A man asked him for money. He paid +a shilling and moved forward. He liked crowds; he wanted crowds now. +Either crowds or no one. Crowds where he would be lost and not noticed.</p> + +<p>So many thousands were there, but nevertheless he was noticed. That was +the Archdeacon. Who would have thought that he would come to the Fair? Too +grand. But there he was. Yes, that was the Archdeacon. That tall man in +the soft black hat. Yes, some noticed him. But many thousands did not. The +Fair was packed; strangers from all the county over, sailors and gipsies +and farmers and tramps, women no better than they should be, and shop- +girls and decent farmers' wives, and village girls--all sorts! Thousands, +of course, to whom the Archdeacon meant nothing.</p> + +<p>And that <i>was</i> a Fair, the most wonderful our town had ever seen, the +most wonderful it ever was to see! As with many other things, that Jubilee +Fair marked a period. No Fairs again like the good old Fairs--general +education has seen to that.</p> + +<p>It was a Fair, as there are still some to remember, that had in it a +strange element of fantasy. All the accustomed accompaniments of Fairs +were there--The Two Fat Sisters (outside whose booth a notice was posted +begging the public not to prod with umbrellas to discover whether the Fat +were Fat or Wadding); Trixie, the little lady with neither arms nor legs, +sews and writes with her teeth; the Great Albert, the strongest man in +Europe, who will lift weights against all comers; Battling Edwardes, the +Champion Boxer of the Southern Counties; Hippo's World Circus, with six +monkeys, two lions, three tigers and a rhino; all the pistol-firing, ball- +throwing, coconut contrivances conceivable, and roundabouts at every turn.</p> + +<p>All these were there, but behind them, on the outskirts of them and yet in +the very heart of them, there were other unaccustomed things.</p> + +<p>Some said that a ship from the East had arrived at Drymouth, and that +certain jugglers and Chinese and foreign merchants, instead of going on to +London as they had intended, turned to Polchester. How do I know at this +time of day? How do we, any of us, know how anything gets here, and what +does it matter? But there is at this very moment, living in the +magnificently renovated Seatown, an old Chinaman, who came in Jubilee +Year, and has been there ever since, doing washing and behaving with +admirable propriety, no sign of opium about him anywhere. One element that +they introduced was Colour. Our modern Fairs are not very strong in the +element of Colour. It is true that one of the roundabouts was ablaze with +gilt and tinsel, and in the centre of it, whence comes the music, there +were women with brazen faces and bosoms of gold. It is true also that +outside the Circus and the Fat Sisters and Battling Edwardes there were +flaming pictures with reds and yellows thrown about like temperance +tracts, but the modern figures in these pictures spoilt the colour, the +photography spoilt it--too much reality where there should have been +mystery, too much mystery where realism was needed.</p> + +<p>But here, only two yards from the Circus, was a booth hung with strange +cloths, purple and yellow and crimson, and behind the wooden boards a man +and a woman with brown faces and busy, twirling, twisting, brown hands, +were making strange sweets which they wrapped into coloured packets, and +on the other side of the Fat Sisters there was a tent with Li Hung above +it in letters of gold and red, and inside the tents, boards on trestles, +and on the boards a long purple cloth, and on the cloth little toys and +figures and images, all of the gayest colours and the strangest shapes, +and all as cheap as nothing.</p> + +<p>Farther down the lane of booths was the tent of Hayakawa the Juggler. A +little boy in primrose-coloured tights turned, on a board outside the +tent, round and round and round on his head like a teetotum, and inside, +once every half-hour, Hayakawa, in a lovely jacket of gold and silver, +gave his entertainment, eating fire, piercing himself with silver swords, +finding white mice in his toes, and pulling ribbons of crimson and scarlet +out of his ears.</p> + +<p>Farther away again there were the Brothers Gomez, Spaniards perhaps, dark, +magnificent in figure, running on one wire across the air, balancing +sunshades on their noses, leaping, jumping, standing pyramid-high, their +muscles gleaming like billiard-balls.</p> + +<p>And behind and before and in and out there were strange figures moving +through the Fair, strange voices raised against the evening sky, strange +smells of cooking, strange songs suddenly rising, dying as soon as heard.</p> + +<p>Only a breath away the English fields were quietly lying safe behind their +hedges and the English sky changed from blue to green and from green to +mother-of-pearl, and from mother-of-pearl to ivory, and stars stabbed, +like silver nails, the great canopy of heaven, and the Cathedral bells +rang peal after peal above the slowly lighting town.</p> + +<p>Brandon was conscious of little of this as he moved on. Even the thought +of Morris had faded from him. He could not think consecutively. His mind +was broken up like a mirror that had been smashed into a thousand pieces. +He was most truly in a dream. Soon he would wake up, out of this noise, +away from these cries and lights, and would find it all as he had for so +many years known it. He would be sitting in his drawing-room, his legs +stretched out, his wife and daughter near to him, the rumble of the organ +coming through the wall to them, thinking perhaps of to-morrow's duties, +the town quiet all around them, friends and well-wishers everywhere, no +terrible pain in his head, happily arranging how everything should be... +happy...happy.... Ah! how happy that real life was! When he awoke from +his dream he would realise that and thank God for it. When he awoke.... He +stumbled over something, and looking up realised that he was in a very +crowded part of the Fair, a fire was blazing somewhere near, gas-jets, +although the evening was bright and clear, were naming, screams and cries +seemed to make the very sky rock above his head.</p> + +<p>Where was he? What was he doing here? Why had he come? He would go home. +He turned.</p> + +<p>He turned to face the fire that leapt close at his heel. It was burning at +the back of a caravan, in a dark cul-de-sac away from the main +thoroughfare; to its blazing light the bare boards and ugly plankings of +the booth, splashed here and there with torn paper that rustled a little +in the evening breeze, were all that offered themselves. Near by a horse, +untethered, was quietly nosing at the trodden soil.</p> + +<p>Behind the caravan the field ran down to a ditch and thick hedging.</p> + +<p>Brandon stared at the fire as though absorbed by its light. What did he +see there? Visions perhaps? Did he see the Cathedral, the Precincts, the +quiet circle of demure old houses, his own door, his own bedroom? Did he +see his wife moving hurriedly about the room, opening drawers and shutting +them, pausing for a moment to listen, then coming out, closing the door, +listening again, then stepping downstairs, pausing for a moment in the +hall to lay something on the table, then stepping out into the green +wavering evening light? Or did the flames make pictures for him of the +deserted railway-station, the long platform, lit only by one lamp, two +figures meeting, exchanging almost no word, pacing for a little in silence +the dreary spaces, stepping back as the London express rolled in--such a +safe night to choose for escape--then burying themselves in it like +rabbits in their burrow?</p> + +<p>Did his vision lead him back to the deserted house, silent save for its +ticking clocks, black in that ring of lights and bells and shouting +voices?</p> + +<p>Or was he conscious only of the warmth and the life of the fire, of some +sudden companionship with the woman bending over it to stir the sticks and +lift some pot from the heart of the flame? He was feeling, perhaps, a +sudden peace here and a silence, and was aware of the stars breaking into +beauty one by one above his head.</p> + +<p>But his peace, if for a moment he had found it, was soon interrupted. A +voice that he knew came across to him from the other side of the fire.</p> + +<p>"Why, Archdeacon, who would have thought to find you here?"</p> + +<p>He looked up and saw, through the fire, the face of Davray the painter.</p> + +<p>He turned to go, and at once Davray was at his side.</p> + +<p>"No. Don't go. You're in my country now, Archdeacon, not your own. You're +not cock of <i>this</i> walk, you know. Last time we met you thought you +owned the place. Well, you can't think you own this. Fight it out, Mr. +Archdeacon, fight it out."</p> + +<p>Brandon answered:</p> + +<p>"I have no quarrel with you, Mr. Davray. Nor have I anything to say to +you."</p> + +<p>"No quarrel? I like that. I'd knock your face in for two-pence, you +blasted hypocrite. And I will too. All free ground here."</p> + +<p>Davray's voice was shrill. He was swaying on his legs. The woman looked up +from the fire and watched them.</p> + +<p>Brandon turned his back to him and saw, facing him, Samuel Hogg and some +men behind him.</p> + +<p>"Why, good evening, Mr. Archdeacon," said Hogg, taking off his hat and +bowing. "What a delightful place for a meeting!"</p> + +<p>Brandon said quietly, "Is there anything you want with me?" He realised at +once that Hogg was drunk.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Hogg, "except to give you a damned good hiding. I've been +waiting for that these many weeks. See him, boys," he continued, turning +to the men behind him. "'Ere's this parson who ruined my daughter--as fine +a girl as ever you've seen--ruined 'er, he did--him and his blasted son. +What d'you say, boys? Is it right for him to be paradin' round here as +proud as a peacock and nobody touchin' him? What d'you say to givin' him a +damned good hiding?"</p> + +<p>The men smiled and pressed forward. Davray from the other side suddenly +lurched into Brandon. Brandon struck out, and Davray fell and lay where he +fell.</p> + +<p>Hogg cried, "Now for 'im, boys----", and at once they were upon him. +Hogg's face rose before Brandon's, extended, magnified in all its details. +Brandon hit out and then was conscious of blows upon his face, of some one +kicking him in the back, of himself hitting wildly, of the fire leaping +mountains-high behind him, of a woman's cry, of something trickling down +into his eye, of sudden contact with warm, naked, sweating flesh, of a +small pinched face, the eyes almost closed, rising before him and falling +again, of a shout, then sudden silence and himself on his knees groping in +darkness for his hat, of his voice far from him murmuring to him, "It's +all right.... It's my hat...it's my hat I must find."</p> + +<p>He wiped his forehead. The back of his hand was covered with blood.</p> + +<p>He saw once again the fire, low now and darkly illumined by some more +distant light, heard the scream of the merry-go-round, stared about him +and saw no living soul, climbed to his feet and saw the stars, then very +slowly, like a blind man in the dark, felt his way to the field's edge, +found a gate, passed through and collapsed, shuddering in the hedge's +darkness.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_24"></a>Chapter VII</h1> + +<h2>Tuesday, June 22: III. Torchlight</h2> + + + +<p>Joan came home about seven o'clock that evening. Dinner was at half-past +seven, and after dinner she was going to the Deanery to watch the +Torchlight Procession from the Deanery garden. She had had the most +wonderful afternoon. Mrs. Combermere, who had been very kind to her +lately, had taken her up to the Flower Show in the Castle grounds, and +there she had had the most marvellous and beautiful talk with Johnny. They +had talked right under his mother's nose, so to speak, and had settled +everything. Yes--simply everything! They had told one another that their +love was immortal, that nothing could touch it, nor lessen it, nor twist +it--nothing!</p> + +<p>Joan, on her side, had stated that she would never be engaged to Johnny +until his mother consented, and that until they were engaged they must +behave exactly as though they were not engaged, that is, never see one +another alone, never write letters that might not be read by any one; but +she had also asserted that no representations on the part of anybody that +she was ruining Johnny, or that she was a nasty little intriguer, or that +nice girls didn't behave "so," would make the slightest difference to her; +that she knew what she was and Johnny knew what <i>he</i> was, and that +was enough for both of them.</p> + +<p>Johnny on his side had said that he would be patient for a time under this +arrangement, but that the time would not be a very long one, and that she +couldn't object to accepting a little ring that he had bought for her, +that she needn't wear it, but just keep it beside her to remind her of +him.</p> + +<p>But Joan had said that to take the ring would be as good as to be engaged, +and that therefore she would not take it, but that he could keep it ready +for the day of their betrothal.</p> + +<p>She had come home, through the lovely evening, in such a state of +happiness that she was forced to tell Mrs. Combermere all about it, and +Mrs. Combermere had been a darling and assured her that she was quite +right in all that she had done, and that it made her, Mrs. Combermere, +feel quite young again, and that she would help them in every way that she +could, and parting at the Arden Gate, she had kissed Joan just as though +she were her very own daughter.</p> + +<p>So Joan, shining with happiness, came back to the house. It seemed very +quiet after the sun and glitter and laughter of the Flower Show. She went +straight up to her room at the top of the house, washed her face and +hands, brushed her hair and put on her white frock.</p> + +<p>As she came downstairs the clock struck half-past seven. In the hall she +met Gladys.</p> + +<p>"Please, miss," said Gladys, "is dinner to be kept back?"</p> + +<p>"Why," said Joan, "isn't mother in?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss, she went out about six o'clock and she hasn't come in."</p> + +<p>"Isn't father in?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss."</p> + +<p>"Did she say that she'd be late?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well--we must wait until mother comes in."</p> + +<p>"Yes, miss."</p> + +<p>She saw then a letter on the hall-table. She picked it up. It was +addressed to her father, a note left by somebody. She thought nothing of +that--notes were so often left; the hand-writing was exactly like her +mother's, but of course it could not be hers. She went into the drawing- +room.</p> + +<p>Here the silence was oppressive. She walked up and down, looking out of +the long windows at the violet dusk. Gladys came in to draw the blinds.</p> + +<p>"Didn't mother say <i>anything</i> about when she'd be in?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss."</p> + +<p>"She left no message for me?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss. Your mother seemed in a hurry like."</p> + +<p>"She didn't ask where I was?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss."</p> + +<p>"Did she go out with father?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss--your father went out a quarter of an hour earlier."</p> + +<p>Gladys coughed. "Please, miss, Cook and me's wanting to go out and see the +Procession."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course you must. But that won't be until half-past nine. They come +past here, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, miss."</p> + +<p>Joan picked up the new number of the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i> and tried to +settle down. But she was restless. Her own happiness made her so. And then +the house was "queer." It had the sense of itself waiting for some effort, +and holding its breath in expectation.</p> + +<p>As Joan sat there trying to read the <i>Cornhill</i> serial, and most +sadly failing, it seemed to her stranger and stranger that her mother was +not in. She had not been well lately; Joan had noticed how white she had +looked; she had always a "headache" when you asked her how she was. Joan +had fancied that she had never been the same since Falk had been away. She +had a letter in her dress now from Falk. She took it out and read it over +again. As to himself it had only good news; he was well and happy, Annie +was "splendid." His work went on finely. His only sadness was his breach +with his father; again and again he broke out about this, and begged, +implored Joan to do something. If she did not, he said, he would soon come +down himself and risk a row. There was one sentence towards the end of the +letter which read oddly to Joan just now. "I suppose the old man's in his +proper element over all the Jubilee celebrations. I can see him strutting +up and down the Cathedral as though he owned every stone in it, bless his +old heart! I tell you, Joan, I just ache to see him. I do really. Annie's +father hasn't been near us since we came up here. Funny! I'd have thought +he'd have bothered me long before this. I'm ready for him if he comes. By +the way, if mother shows any signs of wanting to come up to town just now, +do your best to prevent her. Father needs her, and it's her place to look +after him. I've special reasons for saying this...."</p> + +<p>What a funny thing for Falk to say! and the only allusion to his mother in +the whole of the letter.</p> + +<p>Joan smiled to herself as she read it. What did Falk think her power was? +Why, her mother and father had never listened to her for a single moment, +nor had he, Falk, when he had been at home. She had never counted at all-- +to any one save Johnny. She put down the letter and tried to lose herself +in the happy country of her own love, but she could not. Her honesty +prevented her; its silence was now oppressive and heavy-weighted. Where +could her mother be? And dinner already half an hour late in that so +utterly punctual house! What had Falk meant about mother going to London? +Of course she would not go to London--at any rate without father. How +could Falk imagine such a thing? More than an hour passed.</p> + +<p>She began to walk about the room, wondering what she should do about the +dinner. She must give up the Sampsons, and she was very hungry. She had +had no tea at the Flower Show and very little luncheon.</p> + +<p>She was about to go and speak to Gladys when she heard the hall door open. +It closed. Something--some unexpressed fear or foreboding--kept her where +she was. Steps were in the hall, but they were not her father's; he always +moved with determined stride to his study or the stairs. These steps +hesitated and faltered as though some one were there who did not know the +house.</p> + +<p>At last she went into the hall and saw that it was indeed her father now +going slowly upstairs.</p> + +<p>"Father!" she cried; "I'm so glad you're in. Dinner's been waiting for +hours. Shall I tell them to send it up?"</p> + +<p>He did not answer nor look back. She went to the bottom of the stairs and +said again:</p> + +<p>"Shall I, father?"</p> + +<p>But still he did not answer. She heard him close his door behind him.</p> + +<p>She went back into the drawing-room terribly frightened. There was +something in the bowed head and slow steps that terrified her, and +suddenly she was aware that she had been frightened for many weeks past, +but that she had never owned to herself that it was so.</p> + +<p>She waited for a long time wondering what she should do. At last, calling +her courage, she climbed the stairs, waited, and then, as though compelled +by the overhanging silence of the house, knocked on his dressing-room +door.</p> + +<p>"Father, what shall we do about dinner? Mother hasn't come in yet." There +was no answer.</p> + +<p>"Will you have dinner now?" she asked again.</p> + +<p>A voice suddenly answered her as though he were listening on the other +side of the door. "No, no. I want no dinner."</p> + +<p>She went down again, told Gladys that she would eat something, then sat in +the lonely dining-room swallowing her soup and cutlet in the utmost haste.</p> + +<p>Something was terribly wrong. Her father was covering all the rest of her +view--the Jubilee, her mother, even Johnny. He was in great trouble, and +she must help him, but she felt desperately her youth, her inexperience, +her inadequacy.</p> + +<p>She waited again, when she had finished her meal, wondering what she had +better do. Oh! how stupid not to know instantly the right thing and to +feel this fear when it was her own father!</p> + +<p>She went half-way upstairs, and then stood listening. No sound. Again she +waited outside his door. With trembling hand she turned the handle. He +faced her, staring at her. On his left temple was a big black bruise, on +his forehead a cut, and on his left cheek a thin red mark that looked like +a scratch.</p> + +<p>"Father, you're hurt!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I fell down--stumbled over something, coming up from the river." He +looked at her impatiently. "Well, well, what is it?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, father--only they're still keeping some dinner--"</p> + +<p>"I don't want anything. Where is your mother?"</p> + +<p>"She hasn't come back."</p> + +<p>"Not come back? Why, where did she go to?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Gladys says she went out about six."</p> + +<p>He pushed past her into the passage. He went down into the hall; she +followed him timidly. From the bottom of the stairs he saw the letter on +the table, and he went straight to it. He tore open the envelope and read:</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>I have left you for ever. All that I told you on Sunday night was true, +and you may use that information as you please. Whatever may come to me, +at least I know that I am never to live under the same roof with you +again, and that is happiness enough for me, whatever other misery there +may be in store for me. Now, at last, perhaps, you will realise that +loneliness is worse than any other hell, and that's the hell you've made +me suffer for twenty years. Look around you and see what your selfishness +has done for you. It will be useless to try to persuade me to return to +you. I hope to God that I shall never see you again.</p> + +<p class="r">A<small>MY</small>.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>He turned and said in his ordinary voice, "Your mother has left me."</p> + +<p>He came across to her, suddenly caught her by the shoulders, and said: +"Now, <i>you'd</i> better go, do you hear? They've all left me, your +mother, Falk, all of them. They've fallen on me and beaten me. They've +kicked me. They've spied on me and mocked me. Well, then, you join them. +Do you hear? What do you stay for? Why do you remain with me? Do you hear? +Do you hear?"</p> + +<p>She understood nothing. Her terror caught her like the wind. She crouched +back against the bannisters, covering her face with her hand.</p> + +<p>"Don't hit me, father. Please, please don't hit me."</p> + +<p>He stood over her, staring down at her.</p> + +<p>"It's a plot, and you must be in it with the others.... Well, go and tell +them they've won. Tell them to come and kick me again. I'm down now. I'm +beaten; go and tell them to come in--to come and take my house and my +clothes. Your mother's gone--follow her to London, then."</p> + +<p>He turned. She heard him go into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, although she still did not understand what had happened, she +knew that she must follow him and care for him. He had pulled the curtains +aside and thrown up the windows.</p> + +<p>"Let them come in! Let them come in! I--I----"</p> + +<p>Suddenly he turned towards her and held out his arms.</p> + +<p>"I can't--I can't bear any more." He fell on his knees, burying his face +in the shoulder of the chair. Then he cried:</p> + +<p>"Oh, God, spare me now, spare me! I cannot bear any more. Thou hast +chastised me enough. Oh, God, don't take my sanity from me--leave me that. +Oh, God, leave me that! Thou hast taken everything else. I have been +beaten and betrayed and deserted. I confess my wickedness, my arrogance, +my pride, but it was in Thy service. Leave me my mind. Oh, God, spare me, +spare me, and forgive her who has sinned so grievously against Thy laws. +Oh, God, God, save me from madness, save me from madness."</p> + +<p>In that moment Joan became a woman. Her love, her own life, she threw +everything away.</p> + +<p>She went over to him, put her arms around his neck, kissed tim, fondled +him, pressing her cheek against his.</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear father. I love you so. I love you so. No one shall hurt you. +Father dear, father darling."</p> + +<p>Suddenly the room was blazing with light. The Torchlight Procession +tumbled into the Precincts. The Cathedral sprang into light; on all the +hills the bonfires were blazing.</p> + +<p>Black figures scattered like dwarfs, pigmies, giants about the grass. The +torches tossed and whirled and danced.</p> + +<p>The Cathedral rose from the darkness, triumphant in gold and fire.</p> + + + + + +<h1><a name="bo_04"></a>Book IV</h1> + +<h2>The Last Stand</h2> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_25"></a>Chapter I</h1> + +<h2>In Ronder's House: Ronder, Wistons</h2> + + + +<p>Every one has, at one time or another, known the experience of watching +some friend or acquaintance moved suddenly from the ordinary atmosphere of +every day into some dramatic region of crisis where he becomes, for a +moment, far more than life-size in his struggle against the elements; he +is lifted, like Siegmund in <i>The Valkyrie</i>, into the clouds for his +last and most desperate duel.</p> + +<p>There was something of this feeling in the attitude taken in our town +after the Jubilee towards Archdeacon Brandon. As Miss Stiles said (not +meaning it at all unkindly), it really was very fortunate for everybody +that the town had the excitement of the Pybus appointment to follow +immediately the Jubilee drama; had it not been so, how flat would every +one have been! And by the Pybus appointment she meant, of course, the +Decline and Fall of Archdeacon Brandon, and the issue of his contest with +delightful, clever Canon Ronder.</p> + +<p>The disappearance of Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris would have been +excitement enough quite by itself for any one year. As every one said, the +wives of Archdeacons simply did <i>not</i> run away with the clergymen of +their town. It was not done. It had never, within any one's living memory, +been done before, whether in Polchester or anywhere else.</p> + +<p>Clergymen were, of course, only human like any one else, and so were their +wives, but at least they did not make a public declaration of their +failings; they remembered their positions, who they were and what they +were.</p> + +<p>In one sense there had been no public declaration. Mrs. Brandon had gone +up to London to see about some business, and Mr. Morris also happened to +be away, and his sister-in-law was living on in the Rectory exactly as +though nothing had occurred. However, that disguise could not hold for +long, and every one knew exactly what had happened--well, if not exactly, +every one had a very good individual version of the whole story.</p> + +<p>And through it all, above it, behind it and beyond it, towered the figure +of the Archdeacon. <i>He</i> was the question, he the centre of the drama. +There were a hundred different stories running around the town as to what +exactly had happened to him during those Jubilee days. Was it true that he +had taken Miss Milton by the scruff of her long neck and thrown her out of +the house? Was it true that he had taken his coat off in the Cloisters and +given Ronder two black eyes? (The only drawback to this story was that +Ronder showed no sign of bruises.) Had he and Mrs. Brandon fought up and +down the house for the whole of a night, Joan assisting? And, above all, +<i>what</i> occurred at the Jubilee Fair? <i>Had</i> Brandon been set upon +by a lot of ruffians? Was it true that Samuel Hogg had revenged himself +for his daughter's abduction? No one knew. No one knew anything at all. +The only certain thing was that the Archdeacon had a bruise on his temple +and a scratch on his cheek, and that he was "queer," oh, yes, very queer +indeed!</p> + +<p>It was finally about this "queerness" that the gossip of the town most +persistently clung. Many people said that they had watched him "going +queer" for a long while back, entirely forgetting that only a year ago he +had been the most vigorous, healthiest, sanest man in the place. Old +Puddifoot, with all sorts of nods, winks and murmurs, alluded to +mysterious medical secrets, and "how much he could tell an' he would," and +that "he had said years ago about Brandon...." Well, never mind what he +had said, but it was all turning out exactly as, for years, he had +expected.</p> + +<p>Nothing is stranger (and perhaps more fortunate) than the speed with which +the past is forgotten. Brandon might have been all his days the odd, +muttering, eye-wandering figure that he now appeared. Where was the Viking +now? Where the finest specimen of physical health in all Glebeshire? Where +the King and Crowned Monarch of Polchester?</p> + +<p>In the dust and debris of the broken past. "Poor old Archdeacon." "A bit +queer in the upper storey." "Not to be wondered at after all the trouble +he's had." "They break up quickly, those strong-looking men." "Bit too +pleased with himself, he was." "Ah, well, he's served his time; what we +need are more modern men. You can't deny that he was old-fashioned."</p> + +<p>People were not altogether to be blamed for this sudden sense that they +were stepping into a new period, out of one room into another, so to +speak. The Jubilee was responsible for that. It <i>did</i> mark a period, +and looking back now after all these years one can see that that +impression was a true one. The Jubilee of '97, the Boer War, the death of +Queen Victoria--the end of the Victorian Era for Church as well as for +State.</p> + +<p>And there were other places beside Polchester that could show their +typical figures doomed, as it were, to die for their Period--no mean nor +unworthy death after all.</p> + +<p>But no Polcastrian in '97 knew that that service in the Cathedral, that +scratch on the Archdeacon's cheek, that visit of Mrs. Brandon to London-- +that these things were for them the Writing on the Wall. June 1897 and +August 1914 were not, happily for them, linked together in immortal +significance--their eyes were set on the personal history of the men and +women who were moving before them. Had Brandon in the pride of his heart +not claimed God as his ally, would men have died at Ypres? Can any bounds +be placed to one act of love and unselfishness, to a single deed of mean +heart and malicious tongue?</p> + +<p>It was enough for our town that "Brandon and his ways" were out-of-date, +and it was a lucky thing that as modern a man as Ronder had come amongst +us.</p> + +<p>And yet not altogether. Brandon in prosperity was one thing, Brandon in +misfortune quite another. He had been abominably treated. What had he ever +done that was not actuated absolutely by zeal for the town and the +Cathedral?</p> + +<p>And, after all, had that man Ronder acted straight? He was fair and genial +enough outwardly, but who could tell what went on behind those round +spectacles? There were strange stories of intrigue about. Had he not +determined to push Brandon out of the place from the first moment of his +arrival? And as far as this Pybus living went, it was all very well to be +modern and advanced, but wasn't Ronder advocating for the appointment a +man who laughed at the Gospels and said that there were no such things as +snakes and apples in the Garden of Eden? After all, he was a foreigner, +and Brandon belonged to them. Poor old Brandon!</p> + +<p>Ronder was in his study, waiting for Wistons. Wistons had come to +Polchester for a night to see his friend Foster. It was an entirely +private visit, unknown to anybody save two or three of his friends among +the clergy. He had asked whether Ronder could spare him half an hour. +Ronder was delighted to spare it....</p> + +<p>Ronder was in the liveliest spirits. He hummed a little chant to himself +as he paced his study, stopping, as was his habit, to touch something on +his table, to push back a book more neatly into its row on the shelf, to +stare for an instant out of the window into the green garden drenched with +the afternoon sun.</p> + +<p>Yes, he was in admirable spirits. He had known some weeks of acute +discomfort. That phase was over, his talk with Brandon in the Cloisters +after the Cathedral service had closed it. On that occasion he had put +himself entirely in the right, having been before that, under the eye of +his aunt and certain critics in the town, ever so slightly in the wrong. +Now he was justified. He had humbled himself before Brandon (when really +there was no reason to do so), apologised (when truly there was not the +slightest need for it)--Brandon had utterly rejected his apology, turned +on him as though he were a thief and a robber--he had done all that he +could, more, far more, than his case demanded.</p> + +<p>So his comfort, his dear consoling comfort, had returned to him +completely. And with it had returned all his affection, his tenderness for +Brandon. Poor man, deserted by his wife, past his work, showing as he so +obviously did in the Jubilee week that his brain (never very agile) was +now quite inert, poor man, poor, poor man! Ronder, as he walked his study, +simply longed to do something for Brandon--to give him something, make him +a generous present, to go to London and persuade his poor weak wife to +return to him, anything, anything to make him happy again.</p> + +<p>Too sad to see the poor man's pale face, restless eyes, to watch his +hurried, uneasy walk, as though he were suspicious of every man. +Everywhere now Ronder sang Brandon's praises--what fine work he had done +in the past, how much the Church owed him; where would Polchester have +been in the past without him?</p> + +<p>"I assure you," Ronder said to Mrs. Preston, meeting her in the High +Street, "the Archdeacon's work may be over, but when I think of what the +Church owes him----"</p> + +<p>To which Mrs. Preston had said: "Ah, Canon, how you search for the Beauty +in human life! You are a lesson to all of us. After all, to find Beauty in +even the meanest and most disappointing, that is our task!"</p> + +<p>There was no doubt but that Ronder had come magnificently through the +Jubilee week. It had in every way strengthened and confirmed his already +strong position. He had been everywhere; had added gaiety and sunshine to +the Flower Show; had preached a most wonderful sermon at the evening +service on the Tuesday; had addressed, from the steps of his house, the +Torchlight Procession in exactly the right words; had patted all the +children on the head at the Mayor's tea for the townspeople; had enchanted +everywhere. That for which he had worked had been accomplished, and +accomplished with wonderful speed.</p> + +<p>He was firmly established as the leading Churchman in Polchester; only now +let the Pybus living go in the right direction (as it must do), and he +would have nothing more to wish for.</p> + +<p>He loved the place. As he looked down into the garden and thought of the +years of pleasant comfort and happiness now stretching in front of him, +his heart swelled with love of his fellow human beings. He longed, here +and now, to do something for some one, to give some children pennies, some +poor old men a good meal, to lend some one his pounds, to speak a good +word in public for some one maligned, to------</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wistons, sir," said the maid. When he turned round only his exceeding +politeness prevented him from a whistle of astonishment. He had never seen +a photograph of Wistons, and the man had never been described to him.</p> + +<p>From all that he had heard and read of him, he had pictured him a tall, +lean ascetic, a kind of Dante and Savonarola in one, a magnificent figure +of protest and abjuration. This man who now came towards him was little, +thin, indeed, but almost deformed, seeming to have one shoulder higher +than the other, and to halt ever so slightly on one foot. His face was +positively ugly, redeemed only, as Ronder, who was no mean observer, at +once perceived, by large and penetrating eyes. The eyes, indeed, were +beautiful, of a wonderful softness and intelligence.</p> + +<p>His hair was jet black and thick; his hand, as it gripped Ronder's, strong +and bony.</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad to meet you, Canon Ronder," he said. "I've heard so much +about you." His voice, as Mrs. Combermere long afterwards remarked, "has a +twinkle in it." It was a jolly voice, humorous, generous but incisive, and +exceedingly clear. It had a very slight accent, so slight that no one +could ever decide on its origin. The books said that Wistons had been born +in London, and that his father had been Rector of Lambeth for many years; +it was also quickly discovered by penetrating Polcastrians that he had a +not very distant French ancestry. Was it Cockney? "I expect," said Miss +Stiles, "that he played with the little Lambeth children when he was +small"--but no one really knew...</p> + +<p>The two men sat down facing one another, and Wistons looked strange indeed +with his shoulders hunched up, his thin little legs like two cross-bones, +one over the other, his black hair and pale face.</p> + +<p>"I feel rather like a thief in the night," he said, "stealing down here. +But Foster wanted me to come, and I confess to a certain curiosity +myself."</p> + +<p>"You would like to come to Pybus if things go that way?" Ronder asked him.</p> + +<p>"I shall be quite glad to come. On the other hand, I shall not be at all +sorry to stay where I am. Does it matter very much where one is?"</p> + +<p>"Except that the Pybus living is generally considered a very important +step in Church preferment. It leads, as a rule, to great things."</p> + +<p>"Great things? Yes..." Wistons seemed to be talking to himself. "One thing +is much like another. The more power one seems to have outwardly, the less +very often one has in reality. However, if I'm called I'll come. But I +wanted to see you, Canon Ronder, for a special purpose."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" asked Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Of course I haven't enquired in any way into the probabilities of the +Pybus appointment. But I understand that there is very strong opposition +to myself; naturally there would be. I also understand that, with the +exception of my friend Foster, you are my strongest supporter in this +matter. May I ask you why?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" repeated Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Yes, why? You may say, and quite justly, that I have no right at all to +ask you that question. It should be enough for me, I know, to realise that +there are certain people here who want me to come. It ought to be enough. +But it isn't. It <i>isn't</i>. I won't--I can't come here under false +pretences."</p> + +<p>"False pretences!" cried Ronder. "I assure you, dear Mr. Wistons--"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I know. I know what you will naturally tell me. But I have +caught enough of the talk here--Foster in his impetuosity has been perhaps +indiscreet--to realise that there has been, that there still is, a battle +here between the older, more conservative body of opinion and the more +modern school. It seems to me that I have been made the figure-head of +this battle. To that I have no objection. It is not for the first time. +But what I want to ask you, Canon Ronder, with the utmost seriousness, is +just this:</p> + +<p>"Have you supported my appointment because you honestly felt that I was +the best man for this particular job, or because--I know you will forgive +me if this question sounds impertinent--you wished to score a point over +some personal adversary?"</p> + +<p>The question <i>was</i> impertinent. There could be no doubt of it. Ronder +ought at once to resent any imputation on his honesty. What right had this +man to dip down into Ronder's motives? The Canon stared from behind his +glasses into those very bright and insistent eyes, and even as he stared +there came once again that cold little wind of discomfort, that +questioning, irritating wind, that had been laid so effectively, he +thought, for ever to rest. What was this man about, attacking him like +this, attacking him before, even, he had been appointed? Was it, after +all, quite wise that Wistons should come here? Would that same comfort, so +rightly valued by Ronder, be quite assured in the future if Wistons were +at Pybus? Wouldn't some nincompoop like Forsyth be perhaps, after all, his +best choice?</p> + +<p>Ronder suddenly ceased to wish to give pennies to little children or a +present to Brandon. He was, very justly, irritated.</p> + +<p>"Do forgive me if I am impertinent," said Wistons quietly, "but I have to +know this."</p> + +<p>"But of course," said Ronder, "I consider you the best man for this +appointment. I should not have stirred a finger in your support +otherwise." (Why, something murmured to him, are people always attributing +to you unworthy motives, first your aunt, then Foster, now this man?) "You +are quite correct in saying that there is strong opposition to your +appointment here. But that is quite natural; you have only to consider +some of your published works to understand that. A battle is being fought +with the more conservative elements in the place. You have heard probably +that the Archdeacon is their principal leader, but I think I may say that +our victory is already assured. There was never any real doubt of the +issue. Archdeacon Brandon is a splendid fellow, and has done great work +for the Church here, but he is behind the times, out-of-date, and too +obstinate to change. Then certain, family misfortunes have hit him hard +lately, and his health is not, I fear, what it was. His opposition is as +good as over."</p> + +<p>"That's a swift decline," said Wistons. "I remember only some six months +ago hearing of him as by far the strongest man in this place."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it has been swift," said Ronder, shaking his head regretfully, "but +I think that his position here was largely based on the fact that there +was no one else here strong enough to take the lead against him.</p> + +<p>"My coming into the diocese--some one, however feeble, you understand, +coming in from outside--made an already strong modern feeling yet +stronger."</p> + +<p>"I will tell you one thing," said Wistons, suddenly shooting up his +shoulders and darting forward his head. "I think all this Cathedral +intrigue disgusting. No, I don't blame you. You came into the middle of +it, and were doubtless forced to take the part you did. But I'll have no +lot or hold in it. If I am to understand that I gain the Pybus appointment +only through a lot of backstairs intrigue and cabal, I'll let it be known +at once that I would not accept that living though it were offered me a +thousand times."</p> + +<p>"No, no," cried Ronder eagerly. "I assure you that that is not so. There +has been intrigue here owing to the old politics of the party who governed +the Cathedral. But that is, I hope and pray, over and done with. It is +because so many of us want to have no more of it that we are asking you to +come here. Believe me, believe me, that is so."</p> + +<p>"I should not have said what I did," continued Wistons quietly. "It was +arrogant and conceited. Perhaps you cannot avoid intrigue and party +feeling among the community of any Cathedral body. That is why I want you +to understand, Canon Ronder, the kind of man I am, before you propose me +for this post. I am afraid that you may afterwards regret your advocacy. +If I were invited to a Canonry, or any post immediately connected with the +Cathedral, I would not accept it for an instant. I come, if I come at all, +to fight the Cathedral--that is to fight everything in it, round and about +it, that prevents men from seeing clearly the figure of Christ.</p> + +<p>"I believe, Canon Ronder, that before many years are out it will become +clear to the whole world that there are now two religions--the religion of +authority, and the religion of the spirit--and if in such a division I +must choose, I am for the religion of the spirit every time."</p> + +<p>The religion of the spirit! Ronder stirred, a little restlessly, his fat +thighs. What had that to do with it? They were discussing the Pybus +appointment. The religion of the spirit! Well, who wasn't for that? As to +dogma, Ronder had never laid very great stress upon it. A matter of words +very largely. He looked out to the garden, where a tree, scooped now like +a great green fan against the blue-white sky, was shading the sun's rays. +Lovely! Lovely! Lovely like the Hermes downstairs, lovely like the piece +of red amber on his writing-table, like the Blind Homer...like a scallop +of green glass holding water that washed a little from side to side, the +sheen on its surface changing from dark shadow to faintest dusk. Lovely! +He stared, transported, his comfort flowing full-tide now into his soul.</p> + +<p>"Exactly!" he said, suddenly turning his eyes full on Wistons. "The +Christian Church has made a golden calf of its dogmas. The Calf is +worshipped, the Cathedral enshrines it."</p> + +<p>Wistons gave a swift curious stab of a glance. Ronder caught it; he +flushed. "You think it strange of me to say that?" he asked. "I can see +that you do. Let me be frank with you. It has been my trouble all my life +that I can see every side of a question. I am with the modernists, but at +the same time I can understand how dangerous it must seem to the +dogmatists to abandon even an inch of the country that Paul conquered for +them. I'm afraid, Wistons, that I see life in terms of men and women +rather than of creeds. I want men to be happy and at peace with one +another. And if to form a new creed or to abandon an old one leads to +men's deeper religious happiness, well, then...." He waved his hands.</p> + +<p>Wistons, speaking again as it were to himself, answered, "I care only for +Jesus Christ. He is overshadowed now by all the great buildings that men +have raised for Him. He is lost to our view; we must recover Him. Him! +Him! Only Him! To serve Him, to be near Him, almost to feel the touch of +His hand on one's head, that is the whole of life to me. And now He is +hard to come to, harder every year...." He got up. "I didn't come to say +more than that.</p> + +<p>"It's the Cathedral, Ronder, that I fear. Don't you yourself sometimes +feel that it has, by now, a spirit of its own, a life, a force that all +the past years and all the worship that it has had have given it? Don't +you even feel that? That it has become a god demanding his own rites and +worshippers? That it uses men for its own purposes, and not for Christ's? +That almost it hates Christ? It is so beautiful, so lovely, so haughty, so +jealous!</p> + +<p>"For I, thy God, am a jealous God.'..." He broke off. "I could love Christ +better in that garden than in the Cathedral. Tear it down and build it up +again!" He turned restlessly, almost savagely, to Ronder. "Can you be +happy and comfortable and at ease, when you see what Christ might be to +human beings and what He is? Who thinks of Him, who cares for Him, who +loves His sweetness and charity and tenderness? Why is something always in +the way, always, always, always? Love! Charity! Doesn't such a place as +this Cathedral breed hatred and malice and pride and jealousy? And isn't +its very beauty a contempt?...And now what right have you to help my +appointment to Pybus?"</p> + +<p>Ronder smiled.</p> + +<p>"You are what we need here," he said. "You shall shake some of our comfort +from us--make a new life here for us."</p> + +<p>Wistons was suddenly almost timid. He spoke as though he were waking from +some dream.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye.... Good-bye. No, don't come down. Thank you so much. Thank you. +Very kind of you. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>But Ronder insisted on coming down. They shook hands at his door. The +figure was lost in the evening sun.</p> + +<p>Ronder stood there for a moment gazing at the bright grass, the little +houses with their shining knockers, the purple shadow of the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>Had he done right? Was Wistons the man? Might he not be more dangerous +than...? No, no, too late now. The fight with Brandon must move to its +appointed end. Poor Brandon! Poor dear Brandon!</p> + +<p>He looked across at the house as on the evening of his arrival from that +same step he had looked.</p> + +<p>Poor Brandon! He would like to do something for him, some little kindly +unexpected act!</p> + +<p>He closed the door and softly padded upstairs, humming happily to himself +that little chant.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_26"></a>Chapter II</h1> + +<h2>Two in the House</h2> + + + +<p>A letter from Falk to Joan.</p> + +<p>Dear Joan--Mother has been here. I could get nothing out of her. I had +only one thing to say--that she must go back to father. That was the one +thing that she asserted, over and over again, that she never would. Joan, +she was tragic. I felt that I had never seen her before, never known her. +She was thinking of nothing but Morris. She seemed to see him all the time +that she was in the room with me. She is going abroad with Morris at the +end of this week--to South America, I believe. Mother doesn't seem now to +care what happens, except that she will not go back to father.</p> + +<p>She said an odd thing to me at the end--that she had had her time, her +wonderful time, and that she could never be as unhappy or as lonely as she +was, and that she would love him always (Morris, I suppose), and that he +would love her.</p> + +<p>The skunk that Morris is! And yet I don't know. Haven't I been a skunk +too? And yet I don't feel a skunk. If only father would be happy! Then +things would be better than they've ever been. You don't know how good +Annie is, Joan. How fine and simple and true! Why are we all such +mixtures? Why can't you ever do what's right for yourself without hurting +other people? But I'm not going to wait much longer. If things aren't +better soon I'm coming down whether he'll see me or no. We <i>must</i> +make him happy. We're all that he has now. Once this Pybus thing is +settled I'll come down. Write to me. Tell me everything. You're a brick, +Joan, to take all this as you do. Why did we go all these years without +knowing one another?--Your loving brother,</p> + +<p>FALK.</p> + +<p>A letter from Joan to Falk.</p> + +<p>DEAREST FALK--I'm answering you by return because I'm so frightened. If I +send you a telegram, come down at once. Mr. Morris's sister-in-law is +telling everybody that he only went up to London on business. But she's +not going to stay here, I think. But I can't think much even of mother. I +can think of no one but father. Oh, Falk, it's been terrible these last +three days, and I don't know <i>what's</i> going to happen.</p> + +<p>I'll try and tell you how it's been. It's two months now since mother went +away. That night it was dreadful. He walked up and down his room all +night. Indeed he's been doing that ever since she went. And yet I don't +think it's of her that he's thinking most. I'm not sure even that he's +thinking of her at all.</p> + +<p>He's concentrating everything now on the Pybus appointment. He talks to +himself. (You can see by that how changed he is.) He is hurrying round to +see people and asking them to the house, and he's so odd with them, +looking at them suddenly, suspiciously, as though he expected that they +were laughing at him. There's always something in the back of his mind-- +not mother, I'm sure. Something happened to him that last day of the +Jubilee. He's always talking about some one who struck him, and he puts +his hand up to feel his forehead, where there was a bruise. He told me +that day that he had fallen down, but I'm sure now that he had a fight +with somebody.</p> + +<p>He's always talking, too, about a "conspiracy" against him--not only Canon +Ronder, but something more general. Poor dear, the worst of it all is, how +bewildered he is. You know how direct he used to be, the way he went +straight to his point and wasn't afraid of anybody. Now he's always +hesitating. He hesitates before he goes out, before he goes upstairs, +before he comes into my room. It's just as though he was for ever +expecting that there's some one behind the door waiting for him with a +hammer. It's so strange how I've changed my feeling about him. I used to +think him so strong that he could beat down anybody, and now I feel he +wants looking after all the time. Perhaps he never was really strong at +all, but it was all on the outside. All the same he's very brave too. He +knows all the town's been talking about him, but I think he'd face a whole +world of Polchesters if he could only beat Canon Ronder over the Pybus +appointment. If Mr. Forsyth isn't appointed to that I think he'll go to +pieces altogether. You see, a year ago there wouldn't have been any +question about it at all. Of course he would have had his way.</p> + +<p>But what makes me so frightened, Falk, is of something happening in the +house. Father is so suspicious that it makes me suspicious too. It doesn't +seem like the house it was at all, but as though there were some one +hiding in it, and at night it is awful. I lie awake listening, and I can +hear father walking up and down, his room's next to mine, you know. And +then if I listen hard enough, I can hear footsteps all over the house-- +you know how you do in the middle of the night. And there's always some +one coming upstairs. This will sound silly to you up in London, but it +doesn't seem silly here, I assure you. All the servants feel it, and +Gladys is going at the end of the month.</p> + +<p>And oh, Falk! I'm so sorry for him! It does seem so strange that +everything should have changed for him as it has. I feel his own +bewilderment. A year ago he seemed so strong and safe and secure as though +he would go on like that for ever, and hadn't an enemy in the world. How +could he have? He's never meant harm to any one. Your going away I can +understand, but mother, I feel as though I never could speak to her again. +To be so cruel to father and to write him such a letter! (Of course I +didn't see the letter, but the effect of it on father was terrible.)</p> + +<p>He's so lonely now. He scarcely realises me half the time, and you see he +never did think very much about me before, so it's very difficult for him +to begin now. I'm so inexperienced. It's hard enough running the house +now, and having to get another servant instead of Gladys--and I daresay +the others will go too now, but that's nothing to waiting all the time for +something to happen and watching father every minute. We <i>must</i> make +him happy again, Falk. You're quite right. It's the only thing that +matters. Everything else is less important than that. If only this Pybus +affair were over! Canon Ronder is so powerful now. I'm so afraid of him. I +do hate him so! The Cathedral, and the town, everything seems to have +changed since he came. A year ago they were like father, settled for ever. +And now every one's talking about new people and being out-of-date, and +changing the Cathedral music and everything! But none of that matters in +comparison with father.</p> + +<p>I've written a terribly long letter, but it's done me ever so much good. +I'm sometimes so tempted to telegraph to you at once. I'm almost sure +father would be glad to see you. You were always the one he loved most. +But perhaps we'd better wait a little: if things get worse in any way I'll +telegraph at once.</p> + +<p>I'm so glad you're well, and happy. You haven't in your letters told me +anything about the Jubilee in London. Was it very fine? Did you see the +Queen? Did she look very happy? Were the crowds very big? Much love from +your loving sister,</p> + +<p class="r"> JOAN.</p> + +<hr style="width:75%;" /> + +<p>Joan, waiting in the shadowy drawing-room for Johnny St. Leath, wondered +whether her father had come in or no.</p> + +<p>It wouldn't matter if he had, he wouldn't come into the drawing-room. He +would go directly into his study. She knew exactly what he would do. He +would shut the door, then a minute later would open it, look into the hall +and listen, then close it again very cautiously. He always now did that. +And in any case if he did come into the drawing-room and saw Johnny it +wouldn't matter. His mind was entirely centred on Pybus, and Johnny had +nothing to do with Pybus. Johnny's mother, yes. Had that stout white- +haired cockatoo suddenly appeared, she would be clutched, absorbed, +utilised to her last white feather. But she didn't appear. She stayed up +in her Castle, serene and supreme.</p> + +<p>Joan was very nervous. She stood, a little grey shadow in the grey room, +her hands twisting and untwisting. She was nervous because she was going +to say good-bye to Johnny, perhaps for ever, and she wasn't sure that +she'd have the strength to do it.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he was there with her in the room, big and clumsy and cheerful, +quite unaware apparently that he was never, after this, to see Joan again.</p> + +<p>He tried to kiss her but she prevented him. "No, you must sit over there," +she said, "and we must never, at least not probably for years and years, +kiss one another again."</p> + +<p>He was aware, as she spoke, of quite a new, a different Joan; he had been +conscious of this new Joan on many occasions during these last weeks. When +he had first known her she had been a child and he had loved her for her +childishness; now he must meet the woman and the child together, and +instinctively he was himself more serious in his attitude to her.</p> + +<p>"We could talk much better, Joan dear," he said, "if we were close +together."</p> + +<p>"No," she said; "then I couldn't talk at all. We mustn't meet alone again +after to-day, and we mustn't write, and we mustn't consider ourselves +engaged."</p> + +<p>"Why, please?"</p> + +<p>"Can't you see that it's all impossible? We've tried it now for weeks and +it becomes more impossible every day. Your mother's absolutely against it +and always will be--and now at home--here--my mother----"</p> + +<p>She broke off. He couldn't leave her like that; he sprang up, went across +to her, put his arms around her, and kissed her. She didn't resist him nor +move from him, but when she spoke again her voice was firmer and more +resolved than before.</p> + +<p>"No, Johnny, I mean it, I can think of nothing now but father. So long as +he's alive I must stay with him. He's quite alone now, he has nobody. I +can't even think about you so long as he's like this, so unwell and so +unhappy. It isn't as though I were very clever or old or anything. I've +never until lately been allowed to do anything all my life, not the +tiniest bit of housekeeping, and now suddenly it has all come. And if I +were thinking of you, wanting to see you, having letters from you, I +shouldn't attend to this; I shouldn't be able to think of it----"</p> + +<p>"Do you still love me?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course. I shall never change."</p> + +<p>"And do you think that I still love you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And do you think I'll change?"</p> + +<p>"You may. But I don't want to think so."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, the main question is settled. It doesn't matter how long we +wait."</p> + +<p>"But it <i>does</i> matter. It may be for years and years. You've got to +marry, you can't just stay unmarried because one day you may marry me."</p> + +<p>"Can't I? You wait and see whether I can't."</p> + +<p>"But you oughtn't to, Johnny. Think of your family. Think of your mother. +You're the only son."</p> + +<p>"Mother can just think of me for once. It will be a bit of a change for +her. It will do her good. I've told her whom I want to marry, and she must +just get used to it. She admits herself that she can't have anything +against you personally, except that you're too young. I asked her whether +she wanted me to marry a Dowager of sixty."</p> + +<p>Joan moved away. She walked to the window and looked out at the grey mist +sweeping like an army of ghostly messengers across the Cathedral Green. +She turned round to him.</p> + +<p>"No, Johnny, this time it isn't a joke. I mean absolutely what I say. +We're not to meet alone or to write until--father doesn't need me any +more. I can't think, I mustn't think, of anything but father now. Nothing +that you can say, or any one can say, will make me change my mind about +that now.... And please go, Johnny, because it's so hard while you're +here. And we <i>must</i> do it. I'll never change, but you're free to, and +you <i>ought</i> to. It's your duty to find some one more satisfactory +than me."</p> + +<p>But Johnny appeared not to have heard her last words. He had been looking +about him, at the walls, the windows, the ceiling--rather as a young dog +sniffs some place new to him.</p> + +<p>"Joan, tell me. Are you all right here? You oughtn't to be all alone here +like this, just with your father. Can't you get some one to come and +stay?"</p> + +<p>"No," she answered bravely. "Of course it's all right. I've got Gladys, +who's been with us for years."</p> + +<p>"There's something funny," he said, still looking about him. "It feels +queer to me--sort of unhappy."</p> + +<p>"Never mind that," she said, hurriedly moving towards the door, as though +she had heard footsteps. "You must go, Johnny. Kiss me once, the last +time. And then no letters, no anything, until--until--father's happy +again."</p> + +<p>She rested in his arms, suddenly tranquil, safe, at peace. Her hands were +round his neck. She kissed his eyes. They clung together, suddenly two +children, utterly confident in one another and in their mutual faith.</p> + +<p>A hand was on the door. They separated. The Archdeacon came in. He peered +into the dusky room.</p> + +<p>"Joan! Joan! Are you there?"</p> + +<p>She came across to him. "Yes, father, here I am. And this is Lord St. +Leath."</p> + +<p>"How do you do, sir?" said Johnny.</p> + +<p>"How do you do? I hope your mother is well."</p> + +<p>"Very well, thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's good, that's good. I have some business to discuss with her. +Rather important business; I may come and see her to-morrow afternoon if +she is disengaged; Will you kindly tell her?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I will, sir."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Thank you. This room is very dark. Why are there no lights? +Joan, you should have lights. There's no one else here, is there?"</p> + +<p>"No, father."</p> + +<p>Johnny heard their voices echoing in the empty hall as he let himself out.</p> + +<p>Brandon shut his study door and looked about him. The lamp on his table +was lit, his study had a warm and pleasant air with the books gleaming in +their shelves and the fire crackling. (You needed a fire on these late +summer evenings.) Nevertheless, although the room looked comfortable, he +did not at once move into it. He stood there beside the door, as though he +was waiting for something. He listened. The house was intensely quiet. He +opened the door and looked into the passage. There was no one there. The +gas hissed ever so slightly, like a whispering importunate voice. He came +back into his room, closing the door very carefully behind him, went +across softly to his writing-table, sat down, and took up his pen. His +eyes were fixed on the door, and then suddenly he would jerk round in his +chair as though he expected to catch some one who was standing just behind +him.</p> + +<p>Then began that fight that always now must be waged whenever he sat down +at his desk, the fight to drive his thoughts, like sheep, into the only +pen that they must occupy. He must think now only of one thing; there were +others--pictures, ideas, memories, fears, horrors even--crowding, hovering +close about him, and afterwards--after Pybus--he would attend to them. +Only one thing mattered now. "Yes, you gibbering idiots, do your worst; +knock me down. Come on four to one like the cowards that you are, strike +me in the back, take my wife from me, and ruin my house. I will attend to +all of you shortly, but first--Pybus."</p> + +<p>His lips were moving as he turned over the papers. <i>Was</i> there some +one in the room with him? His head was aching so badly that it was +difficult to think. And his heart! How strangely that behaved in these +days! Five heavy slow beats, then a little skip and jump, then almost as +though it had stopped beating altogether.</p> + +<p>Another thing that made it difficult to work in that room was that the +Cathedral seemed so close. It was not close really, although you could, so +often, hear the organ, but now Brandon had the strange fancy that it had +drawn closer during these last weeks, and was leaning forward with its ear +to his house, listening just as a man might! Funny how Brandon now was +always thinking of the Cathedral as a person! Stones and bricks and mortar +and bits of glass, that's what the Cathedral was, and yet lately it had +seemed to move and have a being of its own.</p> + +<p>Fancies! Fancies! Really Brandon must attend to his business, this +business of Pybus and Forsyth, which in a week now was to be settled. He +talked to himself as he turned the papers over. He had seen the Bishop, +and Ryle (more or less persuaded), and Bentinck-Major (dark horse, never +could be sure of him), Foster, Rogers...Foster? Foster? Had he seen +Foster? Why did the mention of that name suddenly commence the unveiling +for him of a scene upon which, he must not look? The crossing the bridge, +up the hill, at the turnstile, paying your shilling...no, no, no +farther. And Bentinck-Major! That man laughed at him! Positively he dared, +when a year ago he would have bent down and wiped the dust off his shoes! +Positively!</p> + +<p>That man! That worm! That mean, sycophantic...He was beginning to get +angry. He must not get angry. That's what Puddifoot had said, that had +been the one thing that old Puddifoot had said correctly. He must not get +angry, not even with--Ronder.</p> + +<p>At the mention of that name something seemed to stir in the room, some one +to move closer. Brandon's heart began to race round like a pony in a +paddock. Very bad. Must keep quiet. Never get excited. Then for a moment +his thoughts did range, roaming over that now so familiar ground of +bewilderment. Why? Why? Why?</p> + +<p>Why a year ago <i>that</i>, and now <i>this</i>? When he had done no one +in the world any harm and had served God so faithfully? Why? Why? Why?</p> + +<p>Back, back to Pybus. This wasn't work. He had much to do and no time to +lose. That enemy of his was working, you could be sure of that. Only a +week! Only a week!</p> + +<p>Was that some one moving in the room? Was there some one stealing behind +him, as they had done once, as...? He turned sharply round, rising in his +chair. No one there. He got up and began stealthily to pace the floor. The +worst of it was that however carefully you went you could never be quite +sure that some one was not just behind you, some one very clever, +measuring his steps by yours. You could never be sure. How still the house +was! He stopped by his door, after a moment's hesitation opened it and +looked out. No one there, only the gas whispering.</p> + +<p>What was he doing, staring into the hall? He should be working, making +sure of his work. He went back to his table. He began hurriedly to write a +letter:</p> + +<blockquote><p>D<small>EAR</small> F<small>OSTER</small>--I cannot help feeling that I did not make myself quite + clear when I was speaking to you yesterday about Forsyth as the best + incumbent of the Pybus living. When I say best, I mean, of course, most + suitable.</p></blockquote> + +<p>When he said <i>best</i> did he mean <i>most suitable? Suitable</i> was +not perhaps exactly the word for Forsyth. It was something other than a +question of mere suitability. It was a keeping out of the <i>bad</i>, as +well as a bringing in of the <i>good</i>. <i>Suitable</i> was not the word +that he wanted. What did he want? The words began to jump about on the +paper, and suddenly out of the centre of his table there stretched and +extended the figure of Miss Milton. Yes, there she was in her shabby +clothes and hat, smirking.... He dashed his hand at her and she vanished. +He sprang up. This was too bad. He must not let these fancies get hold of +him. He went into the hall.</p> + +<p>He called out loudly, his voice echoing through the house, "Joan! Joan!"</p> + +<p>Almost at once she came. Strange the relief that he felt! But he wouldn't +show it. She must notice nothing at all out of the ordinary.</p> + +<p>She sat close to him at their evening meal and talked to him about +everything that came into her young head. Sometimes he wished that she +wouldn't talk so much; she hadn't talked so much in earlier days, had she? +But he couldn't remember what she had done in earlier days.</p> + +<p>He was very particular now about his food. Always he had eaten whatever +was put in front of him with hearty and eager appreciation; now he seemed +to have very little appetite. He was always complaining about the cooking. +The potatoes were hard, the beef was underdone, the pastry was heavy. And +sometimes he would forget altogether that he was eating, and would sit +staring in front of him, his food neglected on his plate.</p> + +<p>It was not easy for Joan. Not easy to choose topics that were not +dangerous. And so often he was not listening to her at all. Perhaps at no +other time did she pity him so much, and love him so much, as when she saw +him staring in front of him, his eyes puzzled, bewildered, piteous, like +those of an animal caught in a trap. All her old fear of him was gone, but +a new fear had come in its place. Sometimes, in quite the old way, he +would rap out suddenly, "Nonsense--stuff and nonsense!...As though +<i>he</i> knew anything about it!" or would once again take the whole +place, town and Cathedral and all of them, into his charge with something +like, "I knew how to manage the thing. What they would have done without-- +" But these defiances never lasted.</p> + +<p>They would fade away into bewilderment and silence.</p> + +<p>He would complain continually of his head, putting his hand suddenly up to +it, and saying, like a little child:</p> + +<p>"My head's so bad. Such a headache!" But he would refuse to see Puddifoot; +had seen him once, and had immediately quarrelled with him, and told him +that he was a silly old fool and knew nothing about anything, and this +when Puddifoot had come with the noblest motives, intending to patronise +and condole.</p> + +<p>After dinner to-night Joan and he went into the drawing-room. Often, after +dinner, he vanished into the study "to work"--but to-night he was "tired, +very tired--my dear. So much effort in connection with this Pybus +business. What'a come to the town I don't know. A year ago the matter +would have been simple enough...anything so obvious...."</p> + +<p>He sat in his old arm-chair, whence for so many years he had delivered his +decisive judgments. No decisive judgments tonight! He was really tired, +lying back, his eyes closed, his hands twitching ever so slightly on his +knees.</p> + +<p>Joan sat near to him, struggling to overcome her fear. She felt that if +only she could grasp that fear, like a nettle, and hold it tightly in her +hand it would seem so slight and unimportant. But she could not grasp it. +It was compounded of so many things, of the silence and the dulness, of +the Precincts and the Cathedral, of whispering trees and steps on the +stairs, of her father and something strange that now inhabited him like a +new guest in their house, of her loneliness and of her longing for some +friend with whom she could talk, of her ache for Johnny and his +comforting, loving smile, but most of all, strangely, of her own love for +her father, and her desire, her poignant desire, that he should be happy +again. She scarcely missed her mother, she did not want her to come back; +but she ached and ached to see once again that happy flush return to her +father's cheek, that determined ring to his voice, that buoyant confident +movement to his walk.</p> + +<p>To-night she could not be sure whether he slept or no. She watched him, +and the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Suddenly an absurd fancy +seized her. She fought against it for a time, sitting there, her hands +tightly clenched. Then suddenly it overcame her. Some one was listening +outside the window; she fancied that she could see him--tall, dark, lean, +his face pressed against the pane.</p> + +<p>She rose very softly and stole across the floor, very gently drew back one +of the curtains and looked out. It was dark and she could see nothing-- +only the Cathedral like a grey web against a sky black as ink. A lamp, +across the Green, threw a splash of orange in the middle distance--no +other light. The Cathedral seemed to be very close to the house.</p> + +<p>She closed the curtain and then heard her father call her.</p> + +<p>"Joan! Joan! Where are you?"</p> + +<p>She came back and stood by his chair. "I was only looking out to see what +sort of a night it was, father dear," she said.</p> + +<p>He suddenly smiled. "I had a pleasant little nap then," he said; "my +head's better. There. Sit down close to me. Bring your chair nearer. We're +all alone here now, you and I. We must make a lot of one another."</p> + +<p>He had paid so little attention to her hitherto that she suddenly realised +now that her loneliness had, during these last weeks, been the hardest +thing of all to bear. She drew her chair close to his and he took her +hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, it's quite true. I don't know what I should have done without +you during these last weeks. You've been very good to your poor, stupid, +old father!"</p> + +<p>She murmured something, and he burst out, "Oh, yes, they do! That's what +they say! I know how they talk. They want to get me out of the way and +change the place--put in unbelievers and atheists. But they shan't--not +while I have any breath in my body--" He went on more gently, "Why just +think, my dear, they actually want to have that man Wistons here. An +atheist! A denier of Christ's divinity! Here worshipping in the Cathedral! +And when I try to stop it they say I'm mad. Oh, yes! They do! I've heard +them. Mad. Out-of-date. They've laughed at me--ever since--ever since... +that elephant, you know, dear...that began it...the Circus...."</p> + +<p>She leaned over him.</p> + +<p>"Father dear, you mustn't pay so much attention to what they say. You +imagine so much just because you aren't very well and have those +headaches--and--and--because of other things. You imagine things that +aren't true. So many people here love you----"</p> + +<p>"Love me!" he burst out suddenly, starting up in his chair. "When they set +upon me, five of them, from behind and beat me! There in public with the +lights and the singing." He caught her hand, gripping it. "There's a +conspiracy, Joan. I know it. I've seen it a long time. And I know who +started it and who paid them to follow me. Everywhere I go, there they +are, following me.</p> + +<p>"That old woman with her silly hat, she followed me into my own house. +Yes, she did! 'I'll read you a letter,' she said. 'I hate you, and I'll +make you cry out over this.' They're all in it. He's setting them on. But +he shan't have his way. I'll fight him yet. Even my own son----" His voice +broke.</p> + +<p>Joan knelt at his feet, looking up into his face. "Father! Falk wants to +come and see you! I've had a letter from him. He wants to come and ask +your forgiveness--he loves you so much."</p> + +<p>He got up from his chair, almost pushing her away from him. "Falk! Falk! I +don't know any one called that. I haven't got a son----"</p> + +<p>He turned, looking at her. Then suddenly put his arms around her and +kissed her, holding her tight to his breast.</p> + +<p>"You're a good girl," he said. "Dear Joan! I'm glad you've not left me +too. I love you, Joan, and I've not been good enough to you. Oh, no, I +haven't! Many things I might have done, and now it's too late...too +late..."</p> + +<p>He kissed her again and again, stroking her hair, then he said that he was +tired, very tired--he'd sleep to-night. He went slowly upstairs.</p> + +<p>He undressed rapidly, flinging off his clothes as though they hurt him. As +though some one else had unexpectedly come into the room, he saw himself +standing before the long glass in the dressing-room, naked save for his +vest. He looked at himself and laughed.</p> + +<p>How funny he looked only in his vest--how funny were he to walk down the +High Street like that! They would say he was mad. And yet he wouldn't be +mad. He would be just as he was now. He pulled the vest off over his head +and continued to stare at himself. It was as though he were looking at +some one else's body. The long toes, the strong legs, the thick thighs, +the broad hairless chest, the stout red neck--and then those eyes, surely +not his, those strange ironical eyes! He passed his hand down his side and +felt the cool strong marble of his flesh. Then suddenly he was cold and he +hurried into his night-shirt and his dressing-gown.</p> + +<p>He sat on his bed. Something deep down in him was struggling to come up. +Some thought...some feeling...some name. Falk! It was as though a bell +were ringing, at a great distance, in the sleeping town--but ringing only +for him. Falk! The pain, the urgent pain, crept closer. Falk! He got up +from his bed, opened his door, looked out into the dark and silent house, +stepped forward, carefully, softly, his old red dressing-gown close about +him, stumbling a little on the stairs, feeling the way to his study door.</p> + +<p>He sat in his arm-chair huddled up. "Falk! Falk! Oh, my boy, my boy, come +back, come back! I want you, I want to be with you, to see you, to touch +you, to hear your voice! I want to love you!</p> + +<p>"Love--Love! I never wanted love before, but now I want it, desperately, +desperately, some one to love me, some one for me to love, some one to be +kind to. Falk, my boy. I'm so lonely. It's so dark. I can't see things as +I did. It's getting darker.</p> + +<p>"Falk, come back and help me...."</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_27"></a>Chapter III</h1> + +<h2>Prelude to Battle</h2> + + + +<p>That night he slept well and soundly, and in the morning woke tranquil and +refreshed. His life seemed suddenly to have taken a new turn. As he lay +there and watched the sunlight run through the lattices like strands of +pale-coloured silk, it seemed to him that he was through the worst. He did +what he had not done for many days, allowed the thought of his wife to +come and dwell with him.</p> + +<p>He went over many of their past years together, and, nodding his head, +decided that he had been often to blame. Then the further thought of what +she had done, of her adultery, of her last letter, these like foul black +water came sweeping up and darkened his mind.... No more. No more. He must +do as he had done. Think only of Pybus. Fight that, win his victory, and +then turn to what lay behind. But the sunlight no longer danced for him, +he closed his eyes, turned on his side, and prayed to God out of his +bewilderment.</p> + +<p>After breakfast he started out. A restless urgency drove him forth. The +Chapter Meeting at which the new incumbent of Pybus was to be chosen was +now only three days distant, and all the work in connection with that was +completed--but Brandon could not be still. Some members of the Chapter he +had seen over and over again during the last months, and had pressed Rex +Forsyth's claims upon them without ceasing, but this thing had become a +symbol to him now--a symbol of his fight with Ronder, of his battle for +the Cathedral, of his championship, behind that, of the whole cause of +Christ's Church.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that if he were defeated now in this thing it would mean +that God Himself had deserted him. At the mere thought of defeat his heart +began to leap in his breast and the flags of the pavement to run before +his eyes. But it could not be. He had been tested; like Job, every plague +had been given to him to prove him true, but this last would shout to the +world that his power was gone and that the Cathedral that he loved had no +longer a place for him. And then--and then-----</p> + +<p>He would not, he must not, look. At the top of the High Street he met Ryle +the Precentor. There had been a time when Ryle was terrified by the +Archdeacon; that time was not far distant, but it was gone. Nevertheless, +even though the Archdeacon were suddenly old and sick and unimportant, you +never could tell but that he might say something to somebody that it would +be unpleasant to have said. "Politeness all the way round" was Ryle's +motto, and a very safe one too. Moreover, Ryle, when he could rise above +his alarm for the safety of his own position, was a kindly man, and it +really <i>was</i> sad to see the poor Archdeacon so pale and tired, the +scratch on his cheek, even now not healed, giving him a strangely battered +appearance.</p> + +<p>And how would Ryle have liked Mrs. Ryle to leave him? And how would he +feel if his son, Anthony (aged at present five), ran away with the +daughter of a publican? And how, above all, would he feel did he know that +the whole town was talking about him and saying "Poor Precentor!"? But +perhaps the Archdeacon did <i>not</i> know. Strange the things that people +did not know about themselves!--and at that thought the Precentor went +goose-fleshy all over, because of the things that at that very moment +people might be saying about <i>him</i> and he knowing none of them!</p> + +<p>All this passed very swiftly through Ryle's mind, and was quickly +strangled by hearing Brandon utter in quite his old knock-you-down-if-you- +don't-get-out-of-my-way voice, "Ha! Ryle! Out early this morning! I hope +you're not planning any more new-fangled musical schemes for us!"</p> + +<p>Oh, well! if the Archdeacon were going to take that sort of tone with him, +Ryle simply wasn't going to stand it! Why should he? To-day isn't six +months ago.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, Archdeacon," he said stiffly. "Ronder and I go through +a good deal of the music together now. He's very musical, you know. Every +one seems quite satisfied." <i>That</i> ought to get him--my mention of +Ronder's name.... At the same time Ryle didn't wish to seem to have gone +over to the other camp altogether, and he was just about to say something +gently deprecatory of Ronder when, to his astonishment, he perceived that +Brandon simply hadn't heard him at all! And then the Archdeacon took his +arm and marched with him down the High Street.</p> + +<p>"With regard to this Pybus business, Precentor," he was saying, "the +matter now will be settled in another three days. I hope every one +realises the extreme seriousness of this audacious plot to push a heretic +like this man Wistons into the place. I'm sure that every one <i>does</i> +realise it. There can be no two opinions about it, of course. At the same +time----"</p> + +<p>How very uncomfortable! There had been a time when the Precentor would +have been proud indeed to walk down the High Street arm-in-arm with the +Archdeacon. But that time was past. The High Street was crowded. Any one +might see them. They would take it for granted that the Precentor was of +the Archdeacon's party. And to be seen thus affectionately linked with the +Archdeacon just now, when his family affairs were in so strange a +disorder, when he himself was behaving so oddly, when, as it was +whispered, at the Jubilee Fair he had engaged in a scuffle of a most +disreputable kind. The word "Drink" was mentioned.</p> + +<p>Ryle tried, every so gently, to disengage his arm. Brandon's hand was of +steel.</p> + +<p>"This seems to me," the Archdeacon was continuing, "a most critical moment +in our Cathedral's history. If we don't stand together now we--we--"</p> + +<p>The Archdeacon's hand relaxed. His eyes wandered. Ryle detached his arm. +How strange the man was! Why, there was Samuel Hogg on the other side of +the street!</p> + +<p>He had taken his hat off and was smiling. How uncomfortable! How +unpleasant to be mixed in this kind of encounter! How Mrs. Ryle, would +dislike it if she knew!</p> + +<p>But his mind was speedily taken off his own affairs. He was conscious of +the Archdeacon, standing at his full height, his eyes, as he afterwards +described it a thousand times, "bursting from his head." Then, "before you +could count two," the Archdeacon was striding across the street.</p> + +<p>It was a sunny morning, people going about their ordinary business, every +one smiling and happy. Suddenly Ryle saw the Archdeacon stop in front of +Hogg; himself started across the street, urged he knew not by what +impulse, saw Hogg's ugly sneering face, saw the Archdeacon's arm shoot +out, catch Hogg one, two terrific blows in the face, saw Hogg topple over +like a heap of clothes falling from their peg, was in time to hear the +Archdeacon crying out, "You dirty spy! You'd set upon me from behind, +would you? Afraid to meet me face to face, are you? Take that, then, and +that!" And then shout, "It's daylight! It's daylight now! Stand up and +face me, you coward!"</p> + +<p>The next thing of which the terrified Ryle was conscious was that people +were running up from all sides. They seemed to spring from nowhere. He +saw, too, how Hogg, the blood streaming from his face, lay there on his +back, not attempting to move. Some were bending down behind him, holding +his head, others had their hands about Brandon, holding him back. Errand- +boys were running, people were hurrying from the shops, voices raised on +every side--a Constable slowly crossed the street--Ryle slipped away--</p> + +<p>Joan had gone out at once after breakfast that morning to the little shop, +Miss Milligan's, in the little street behind the Precincts, to see whether +she could not get some of that really fresh fruit that only Miss Milligan +seemed able to obtain. She was for some little time in the shop, because +Miss Milligan always had a great deal to say about her little nephew +Benjie, who was at the School as a day-boy and was likely to get a +scholarship, and was just now suffering from boils. Joan was a good +listener and a patient, so that it was quite late--after ten o'clock--as +she hurried back.</p> + +<p>Just by the Arden Gate Ellen Stiles met her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you poor child!" she cried; "aren't you at home? I was just hurrying +up to see whether I could be of any sort of help to you!"</p> + +<p>"Any help?" echoed Joan, seeing at once, in the nodding blue plume in +Ellen's hat, forebodings of horrible disaster.</p> + +<p>"What, haven't you heard?" cried Ellen, pitying from the bottom of her +heart the child's white face and terrified eyes.</p> + +<p>"No! What? Oh, tell me quickly! What has happened? To father--"</p> + +<p>"I don't know exactly myself," said Ellen. "That's what I was hurrying up +to find out.... Your father...he's had some sort of fight with that +horrible man Hogg in the High Street.... No, I don't know...But wait a +minute...."</p> + +<p>Joan was gone, scurrying through the Precincts, the paper bag with the +fruit clutched tightly to her.</p> + +<p>Ellen Stiles stared after her; her eyes were dim with kindness. There was +nothing now that she would not do for that girl and her poor father! +Knocked down to the ground they were, and Ellen championed them wherever +she went. And now this! Drink or madness--perhaps both! Poor man! Poor +man! And that child, scarcely out of the cradle, with all this on her +shoulders! Ellen would do anything for them! She would go round later in +the day and see how she could be useful.</p> + +<p>She turned away. It was Ronder now who was "up"...and a little pulling- +down would do him no sort of harm. There were a few little things she was +longing, herself, to tell him. A few home-truths. Then, half-way down the +High Street, she met Julia Preston, and didn't they have a lot to say +about it all!</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Joan, in another moment, was at her door. What had happened? Oh, +what had happened? Had he been brought back dying and bleeding? Had that +horrible man set upon him, there in the High Street, while every one was +about? Was the doctor there, Mr. Puddifoot? Would there perhaps have to be +an operation? This would kill her father. The disgrace.... She let herself +in with her latch-key and stood in the familiar hall. Everything was just +as it had always been, the clocks ticking. She could hear the Cathedral +organ faintly through the wall. The drawing-room windows were open, and +she could hear the birds, singing at the sun, out there in the Precincts. +Everything as it always was. She could not understand. Gladys appeared +from the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gladys, here is the fruit.... Has father come in?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, miss."</p> + +<p>"You haven't heard him?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss. I've been upstairs, 'elping with the beds."</p> + +<p>"Oh--thank you, Gladys."</p> + +<p>The terror slipped away from her. Then it was all right. Ellen Stiles had, +as usual, exaggerated. After all, she had not been there. She had heard it +only at second-hand. She hesitated for a moment, then went to the study +door. Outside she hesitated again, then she went in.</p> + +<p>To her amazement her father was sitting, just as he had always sat, at his +table. He looked up when she entered, there was no sign upon him of any +trouble. His face was very white, stone-white, and it seemed to her that +for months past the colour had been draining from it, and now at last all +colour was gone. A man wearing a mask. She could fancy that he would put +up his hands and suddenly slip it from him and lay it down upon the table. +The eyes stared through it, alive, coloured, restless.</p> + +<p>"Well, Joan, what is it?"</p> + +<p>She stammered, "Nothing, father. I only wanted to see--whether--that--"</p> + +<p>"Yes? Is any one wanting to see me?"</p> + +<p>"No--only some one told me that you...I thought--"</p> + +<p>"You heard that I chastised a ruffian in the town? You heard correctly. I +did. He deserved what I gave him."</p> + +<p>A little shiver shook her.</p> + +<p>"Is that all you want to know?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't there anything, father, I can do?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing--except leave me just now. I'm very busy. I have letters to +write."</p> + +<p>She went out. She stood in the hall, her hands clasped together. What was +she to do? The worst that she had ever feared had occurred. He was mad.</p> + +<p>She went into the drawing-room, where the sun was blazing as though it +would set the carpet on fire. What <i>was</i> she to do? What <i>ought</i> +she to do? Should she fetch Puddifoot or some older woman like Mrs. +Combermere, who would be able to advise her? Oh, no. She wanted no one +there who would pity him. She felt a longing, urgent desire to keep him +always with her now, away from the world, in some corner where she could +cherish and love him and allow no one to insult and hurt him. But madness! +To her girlish inexperience this morning's acts could be nothing but +madness. There in the middle of the High Street, with every one about, to +do such a thing! The disgrace of it! Why, now, they could never stay in +Polchester.... This was worse than everything that had gone before. How +they would all talk, Canon Ronder and all of them, and how pleased they +would be!</p> + +<p>At that she clenched her hands and drew herself up as though she were +defying the whole of Polchester. They should not laugh at him, they should +not dare!...</p> + +<p>But meanwhile what immediately was she to do? It wasn't safe to leave him +alone. Now that he had gone so far as to knock some one down in the +principal street, what might he not do? What would happen if he met Canon +Ronder? Oh! why had this come? What had they done to deserve this?</p> + +<p>What had <i>he</i> done when he had always been so good?</p> + +<p>She seemed for a little distracted. She could not think. Her thoughts +would not come clearly. She waited, staring into the sun and the colour. +Quietness came to her. Her life was now his. Nothing counted in her life +but that. If they must leave Polchester she would go with him wherever he +must go, and care for him. Johnny! For one terrible instant he seemed to +stand, a figure of flame, outside there on the sun-drenched grass.</p> + +<p>Outside! Yes, always outside, until her father did not need her any more. +Then, suddenly she wanted Johnny so badly that she crumpled up into one of +the old arm-chairs and cried and cried and cried. She was very young. Life +ahead of her seemed very long. Yes, she cried her heart out, and then she +went upstairs and washed her face and wrote to Falk. She would not +telegraph until she was quite sure that she could not manage it by +herself.</p> + +<p>The wonderful morning changed to a storm of wind and rain. Such a storm! +Down in the basement Cook could scarcely hear herself speak! As she said +to Gladys, it was what you must expect now. They were slipping into +Autumn, and before you knew, why, there would be Winter! Nothing odder +than the sudden way the Seasons took you! But Cook didn't like storms in +that house. "Them Precincts 'ouses, they're that old, they'd fall on top +of you as soon as whistle Trefusis! For her part she'd always thought this +'ouse queer, and it wasn't any the less queer since all these things had +been going on in it." It was at this point that the grocery "boy" arrived +and supposed they'd 'eard all about it by that time. All about what? Why, +the Archdeacon knocking Samuel 'Ogg down in the 'Igh Street that very +morning! Then, indeed, you could have knocked Cook down, as she said, with +a whisper. Collapsed her so, that she had to sit down and take a cup of +tea, the kettle being luckily on the boil. Gladys had to sit down and take +one too, and there they sat, the grocer's boy dismissed, in the darkening +kitchen, their heads close together, and starting at every hiss of the +rain upon the coals. The house hung heavy and dark above them. Mad, that's +what he must be, and going mad these past ever so many months. And such a +fine man too! But knocking people down in the street, and 'im such a man +for his own dignity! 'Im an Archdeacon too. 'Ad any one ever heard in +their lives of an Archdeacon doing such a thing? Well, that settled Cook. +She'd been in the house ten solid years, but at the end of the month she'd +be off. To sit in the house with a madman! Not she! Adultery and all the +talk had been enough, but she had risked her good name and all, just for +the sake of that poor young thing upstairs, but madness!--no, that was +another pair of shoes.</p> + +<p>Now Gladys was peculiar. She'd given her notice, but hearing this, she +suddenly determined to stay. That poor Miss Joan! Poor little worm! So +young and innocent--shut up all alone with her mad father. Gladys would +see her through--</p> + +<p>"Why, Gladys," cried Cook, "what will your young feller you're walkin' +with say?"</p> + +<p>"If 'e don't like it 'e can lump it," said Gladys. "Lord, 'ow this house +does rattle!"</p> + +<p>All the afternoon of that day Brandon sat, never moving from his study- +table. He sat exultant. Some of the shame had been wiped away. He could +feel again the riotous happiness that had surged up in him as he struck +that face, felt it yield before him, saw it fade away into dust and +nothingness. That face that had for all these months been haunting him, at +last he had banished it, and with it had gone those other leering faces +that had for so long kept him company. His room was dark, and it was +always in the dark that they came to him--Hogg's, the drunken painter's, +that old woman's in the dirty dress.</p> + +<p>And to-day they did not come. If they came he would treat them as he had +treated Hogg. That was the way to deal with them!</p> + +<p>His heart was bad, fluttering, stampeding, pounding and then dying away. +He walked about the room that he might think less of it. Never mind his +heart! Destroy his enemies, that's what he had to do--these men and women +who were the enemies of himself, his town and his Cathedral.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he thought that he would go out. He got his hat and his coat and +went into the rain. He crossed the Green and let himself into the +Cathedral by the Saint Margaret Chapel door, as he had so often done +before.</p> + +<p>The Cathedral was very dark, and he stumbled about, knocking against +pillars and hassocks. He was strange here. It was as though he didn't know +the place. He got into the middle of the nave, and positively he didn't +know where he was. A faint green light glimmered in the East end. There +were chairs in his way. He stood still, listening.</p> + +<p>He was lost. He would never find his way out again. <i>His</i> Cathedral, +and he was lost! Figures were moving everywhere. They jostled him and said +nothing. The air was thick and hard to breathe. Here was the Black +Bishop's Tomb. He let his fingers run along the metal work. How cold it +was! His hand touched the cold icy beard! His hand stayed there. He could +not remove it. His fingers stuck.</p> + +<p>He tried to cry out, and he could say nothing. An icy hand, gauntleted, +descended upon his and held it. He tried to scream. He could not.</p> + +<p>He shouted. His voice was a whisper. He sank upon his knees. He fainted, +slipping to the ground like a man tired out.</p> + +<p>There, half an hour later, Lawrence found him.</p> + + + + +<h1><a name="ch_28"></a>Chapter IV</h1> + +<h2>The Last Tournament</h2> + + + +<p>On the morning of the Chapter Meeting Ronder went in through the West +door, intending to cross the nave by the Cloisters. Just as he closed the +heavy door behind him there sprang up, close to him, as though from +nowhere at all, that horrible man Davray. Horrible always to Ronder, but +more horrible now because of the dreadful way in which he had, during the +last few months, gone tumbling downhill. There had been, until lately, a +certain austerity and even nobility in the man's face. That was at last +completely swept away. This morning he looked as though he had been +sleeping out all night, his face yellow, his eyes bloodshot, his hair +tangled and unkempt, pieces of grass clinging to his well-worn grey +flannel suit.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Canon Ronder," he said.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," Ronder replied severely, and tried to pass on. But the man +stood in his way.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to keep you," he said. "I know what your business is this +morning. I wouldn't keep you from it for a single moment. I know what +you're going to do. You're going to get rid of that damned Archdeacon. +Finish him for once and all. Stamp on him so that he can never raise up +his beautiful head again. I know. It's fine work you've been doing ever +since you came here, Canon Ronder. But it isn't you that's been doing it. +It's the Cathedral."</p> + +<p>"Please let me pass," said Ronder. "I haven't any time just now to spare."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that hurts your pride. You like to think it's you who's been the +mighty fine fellow all this time. Well, it isn't you at all. It's the +Cathedral. The Cathedral's jealous, you know--don't like its servants +taking all the credit to themselves. Pride's dangerous, Canon Ronder. In a +year or two's time, when you're feeling pretty pleased with yourself, you +just look back on the Archdeacon's history for a moment and consider it. +It may have a lesson for you. Good morning, Canon Ronder. Pleased to have +met you."</p> + +<p>The wretched creature went slithering up the aisle, chuckling to himself. +How miserable to be drunk at that early hour of the morning! Ronder +shrugged his shoulders as though he would like to shake off from them +something unpleasant that was sticking to them. He was not in a good mood +this morning. He was assured of victory--he had no doubt about it at all-- +and unquestionably when the affair was settled he would feel more tranquil +about it. But ever since his talk with Wistons he had been unsure of the +fellow. Was it altogether wise that he should come here? His perfect +content seemed to be as far away as ever. Was it always to be so?</p> + +<p>And then this horrible affair in the High Street three days ago, how +distressing! The Archdeacon's brain was going, and that was the very last +thing that Ronder had desired. What he had originally seen was the +pleasant picture of Brandon retiring with his wife and family to a nice +Rectory in the diocese and ending his days--many years hence it is to be +hoped--in a charming old garden with an oak-tree on the lawn and pigeons +cooing in the sunny air.</p> + +<p>But this! Oh, no! not this! Ronder was a practical man of straight common- +sense, but it did seem to him as though there had been through all the +movement of the last six months some spirit far more vindictive than +himself had ever been. He had never, from the first moment to the last, +been vindictive. With his hand on his heart he could say that. He did not +like the Cathedral that morning, it seemed to him cold, hostile, ugly. The +thick stone pillars were scornful, the glass of the East window was dead +and dull. A little wind seemed to whistle in the roof so far, so far above +his head.</p> + +<p>He hurried on, his great-coat hugged about him. All that he could say was +that he did hope that Brandon would not be there this morning. His +presence could alter nothing, the voting could go only one way. It would +be very painful were he there. Surely after the High Street affair he +would not come.</p> + +<p>Ronder saw with relief when he came into the Chapter House that Brandon +was not present. They were standing about the room, looking out into the +Cloisters, talking in little groups--the Dean, Bentinck-Major, Ryle, +Foster, and Bond, the Clerk, a little apart from the others as social +decency demanded. When Ronder entered, two things at once were plain--one, +how greatly during these last months he had grown in importance with all +of them and, secondly, how nervous they were all feeling. They all turned +towards him.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Ronder," said the Dean, "that's right. I was afraid lest something +should keep you."</p> + +<p>"No--no--what a cold damp day! Autumn is really upon us."</p> + +<p>They discussed the weather, once and again eyeing the door apprehensively. +Bentinck-Major took Ronder aside:</p> + +<p>"My wife and I have been wondering whether you'd honour us by dining with +us on the 25th," he said. "A cousin of my wife's, Lady Caroline Holmesby, +is to be staying with us just then. It would give us such great pleasure +if you and Miss Ronder would join us that evening. My wife is, of course, +writing to Miss Ronder."</p> + +<p>"So far as I know, my aunt and I are both free and will be delighted to +come," said Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Delightful! That will be delightful! As a matter of fact we were thinking +of having that evening a little Shakespeare reading. We thought of <i>King +Lear</i>."</p> + +<p>"Ah! That's another matter," said Ronder, laughing. "I'll be delighted to +listen, but as to taking part--"</p> + +<p>"But you must! You must!" said Bentinck-Major, catching hold of one of the +buttons on Ronder's waistcoat, a habit that Ronder most especially +disliked. "More culture is what our town needs--several of us have been +thinking so. It is really time, I think, to start a little Shakespeare +reading amongst ourselves--strictly amongst ourselves, of course. The +trouble with Shakespeare is that he is so often a little--a little bold, +for mixed reading--and that restricts us. Nevertheless, we hope...I do +trust that you will join us, Canon Ronder."</p> + +<p>"I make no promises," said Ronder. "If you knew how badly I read, you'd +hesitate before asking me."</p> + +<p>"We are past our time," said the Dean, looking at his watch. "We are all +here, I think, but Brandon and Witheram. Witheram is away at Drymouth. He +has written to me. How long we should wait----"</p> + +<p>"I can hardly believe," said Byle nervously, "that Archdeacon Brandon will +be present. He is extremely unwell. I don't know whether you are aware +that three nights ago he was found by Lawrence the Verger here in the +Cathedral in a fainting fit. He is very unwell, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>The whole group was immensely interested. They had heard.... Fainting? +Here in the Cathedral? Yes, by the Bishop's Tomb. He was better yesterday, +but it is hardly likely that he will come this morning.</p> + +<p>"Poor man!" said the Dean, gently distressed. "I heard something...That +was the result, I'm afraid, of his fracas that morning in the High Street; +he must be most seriously unwell."</p> + +<p>"Poor man, poor man!" was echoed by everybody; it was evident also that +general relief was felt. He could not now be expected to be present.</p> + +<p>The door opened, and he came in. He came hurriedly, a number of papers in +one hand, wearing just the old anxious look of important care that they +knew so well. And yet how changed he was! Instead of moving at once to his +place at the long table he hesitated, looked at Bentinck-Major, at Foster, +then at Bond, half-puzzled, as though he had never seen them before.</p> + +<p>"I must apologise, gentlemen," he said, "for being late. My watch, I'm +afraid, was slow."</p> + +<p>The Dean then showed quite unexpected qualities.</p> + +<p>"Will you sit here on my right, Archdeacon?" he said in a firm and almost +casual voice. "We are a little late, I fear, but no matter--no matter. We +are all present, I think, save Archdeacon Witheram, who is at Drymouth, +and from whom I have received a letter." They all found their places. +Ronder was as usual exactly opposite to Brandon. Foster slouched into his +seat with his customary air of absentmindedness. Ryle tried not to look at +Brandon, but his eyes were fascinated and seemed to swim in their watery +fashion like fish fascinated by a bait.</p> + +<p>"Shall we open with a prayer," said the Dean, "and ask God's blessing on +this morning's work?"</p> + +<p>They prayed with bent heads. Brandon's head was bent longer than the +others.</p> + +<p>When he looked up he stared about him as though completely bewildered.</p> + +<p>"As you all know," the Dean said in his softly urgent voice, as though he +were pressing them to give him flowers for his collection, "our meeting +this morning is of the first urgency. I will, with your approval, postpone +general business until the more ordinary meeting of next week. That is if +no one has any objection to such a course?"</p> + +<p>No one had any objections.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then. As you know, our business this morning is to appoint a +successor to poor Morrison at Pybus St. Anthony. Now in ordinary cases, +such an appointment is not of the first importance, but in the matter of +Pybus, as you all know, there is a difference. Whether rightly or wrongly, +it has been a tradition in the Diocese that the Pybus living should be +given only to exceptional men. It has been fortunate in having a +succession of exceptional men in its service--men who, for the most part, +have come to great position in the Church afterwards. I want you to +remember that, gentlemen, when you are making your decision this morning. +At the same time you must remember that it has been largely tradition that +has given this importance to Pybus, and that the living has been vacant +already too long."</p> + +<p>He paused. Then he picked up a piece of paper in front of him.</p> + +<p>"There have been several meetings with regard to this living already," he +said, "and certain names have been very thoroughly discussed among us. I +think we were last week agreed that two names stood out from the others. +If to-day we cannot agree on one of those two names, we must then consider +a third. That will not, I hope, be necessary. The two names most +favourably considered by us are those of the Rev. Rex Forsyth, Chaplain to +Bishop Clematis, and the Rev. Ambrose Wistons of St. Edward's Hawston. The +first of these two gentlemen is known to all of us personally, the second +we know chiefly through his writings. We will first, I think, consider Mr. +Wistons. You, Canon Foster, are, I know, a personal friend of his, and can +tell us why, in your opinion, his would be a suitable appointment."</p> + +<p>"It depends on what you want," said Foster, frowning around upon every one +present; and then suddenly selecting little Bond as apparently his most +dangerous enemy and scowling at him with great hostility, "if you want to +let the religious life of this place, nearly dead already, pass right +away, choose a man like Forsyth. But I don't wish to be contentious; +there's been contention enough in this place during these last months, and +I'm sick and ashamed of the share I've had in it. I won't say more than +this--that if you want an honest, God-fearing man here, who lives only for +God and is in his most secret chamber as he is before men, then Wistons is +your man. I understand that some of you are afraid of his books. There'll +be worse books than his you'll have to face before you're much older. +<i>That</i> I can tell you! I said to myself before I came here that I +wouldn't speak this morning. I should not have said even what I have, +because I know that in this last year I have grievously sinned, fighting +against God when I thought that I was fighting for Him. The weapons are +taken out of my hands. I believe that Wistons is the man for this place +and for the religious life here. I believe that you will none of you +regret it if you bring him to this appointment. I can say nothing more."</p> + +<p>What had happened to Foster? They had, one and all, expected a fighting +speech. The discomfort and uneasiness that was already in the room was now +greatly increased.</p> + +<p>The Dean asked Ronder to say something. Ronder leaned forward, pushing his +spectacles back with his fingers. He leaned forward that he might not see +Brandon's face.</p> + +<p>By chance he had not seen Brandon for more than a fortnight. He was +horrified and frightened by the change. The grey-white face, the restless, +beseeching, bewildered eyes belonging apparently to some one else, to whom +they were searching to return, the long white fingers ceaselessly moving +among the papers and tapping the table, were those of a stranger, and in +the eyes of the men in that room it was he who had produced him. Yes, and +in the eyes of how many others in that town? You might say that had +Brandon been a man of real spiritual and moral strength, not Ronder, not +even God Himself, could have brought Brandon to this. But was that so? +Which of us knows until he is tried? His wife, his son, his body, all had +failed him. And now this too.... And if Ronder had not come to that town +would it have been so? Had it not been a duel between them from the moment +that Ronder first set his foot in that place? And had not Ronder +deliberately willed it so? What had Ronder said to Brandon's son and to +the woman who would ruin Brandon's wife?</p> + +<p>All this passed in the flash of a dream through Ronder's brain, perhaps +never entirely to leave him again. In that long duel there had been +perhaps more than one defeat. He knew that they were waiting for him to +speak, but the thoughts would not come. Wistons? Forsyth?...Forsyth? +Wistons? Who were they? What had they to do with this personal relation of +his with the man opposite?</p> + +<p>He flushed. He must say something. He began to speak, and soon his brain, +so beautifully ordered, began to reel out the words in soft and steady +sequence. But his soul watched Brandon's soul.</p> + +<p>"My friend, Canon Foster, knows Mr. Wistons so much better than I do," he +said, "that it is absurd for me to try and tell you what he should tell +you.</p> + +<p>"I do regard him as the right man for this place, because I think our +Cathedral, that we all so deeply love, is waiting for just such a man. +Against his character no one, I suppose, has anything to say. He is known +before all the world as a God-fearing Christian. He is no youth; he has +had much experience; he is, every one witnesses, lovable and of strong +personal charm. It is not his character, but his ideas, that people have +criticised. He is a modernist, of course, a man of an enquiring, +penetrating mind, who must himself be satisfied of the truth for which he +is searching. Can that do us here any harm? I believe not. I think that +some of us, if I may say so, are too easily frightened of the modern +spirit of enquiry. I believe that we Churchmen should step forward ready +to face any challenge, whether of scientists, psychologists or any one +else--I think that before long, whether we like it or no, we shall have to +do so. Mr. Wistons is, I believe, just the man to help us in such a +crisis. His opinions are not precisely the same as those of some of us in +this diocese, and I've no doubt that if he came here there would be some +disputes from time to time, but I believe those same disputes would do us +a world of good. God did not mean us to sit down twiddling our thumbs and +never using our brains. He gave us our intelligences, and therefore I +presume that He meant us to make some use of them.</p> + +<p>"In these matters Mr. Wistons is exactly what we want here. He is a much- +travelled man, widely experienced in affairs, excellent at business. No +one who has ever met him would deny his sweetness and personal charm. I +think myself that we are very fortunate to have a chance of seeing him +here--"</p> + +<p>Ronder ceased. He felt as though he had been beating thin air with weak +ineffective hands. They had, none of them, been listening to him or +thinking of him; they had not even been thinking of Wistons. Their minds +had been absorbed, held, dominated by the tall broad figure who sat in +their midst, but was not one of them.</p> + +<p>Brandon, in fact, began to speak almost before Ronder had finished. He did +not look up, but stared at his long nervous fingers. He spoke at first +almost in a whisper, so that they did not catch the first few words. +"...Horrified..." they heard him say. "Horrified.... So calmly.... These +present....</p> + +<p>"Cannot understand...." Then his words were clearer. He looked up, staring +across at Ronder.</p> + +<p>"Horrified at this eager acceptance of a man who is a declared atheist +before God." Then suddenly he flung his head back in his old challenging +way and, looking round upon them all, went on, his voice now clear, +although weak and sometimes faltering:</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen, this is perhaps my last appearance at these Chapter Meetings. +I have not been very well of late and, as you all know, I have had +trouble. You will forgive me if I do not, this morning, express myself so +clearly or carefully as I should like.</p> + +<p>"But the first thing that I wish to say is that when you are deciding this +question this morning you should do your best, before God, to put my own +personality out of your minds. I have learnt many things, under God's +hand, in the last six months. He has shown me some weaknesses and +failings, and I know now that, because of those weaknesses, there are some +in this town who would act against anything that I proposed, simply +because they would wish me to be defeated. I do implore you this morning +not to think of me, but to think only of what will be best--best--best---- +" He looked around him for a moment bewildered, frowning in puzzled +fashion at Ronder, then continued again, "best for God and the work of His +Church.</p> + +<p>"I'm not very well, gentlemen; my thoughts are not coming very clearly +this morning, and that is sad, because I've looked forward to this morning +for months past, wishing to fight my very best...." His voice changed. +"Yes, fight!" he cried. "There should be no fight necessary in such a +matter. But what has happened to us all in the last year?</p> + +<p>"A year ago there was not one of us who would have considered such an +appointment as I am now disputing. Have you read this man's books? Have +you read in the papers his acknowledged utterances? Do you know that he +questions the Divinity of Christ Himself----"</p> + +<p>"No, Archdeacon," Foster broke in, "that is not true. You can have no +evidence of that."</p> + +<p>Brandon seemed to be entirely bewildered by the interruption. He looked at +Foster, opened his mouth as though he would speak, then suddenly put his +hand to his head.</p> + +<p>"If you will give me time," he said. "Give me time. I will prove +everything, I will indeed. I beg you," he said, suddenly turning to the +Dean, "that you will have this appointment postponed for a month. It is so +serious a matter that to decide hastily----"</p> + +<p>"Not hastily," said the Dean very gently. "Morrison died some months ago, +and I'm afraid it is imperative that we should fill the vacancy this +morning."</p> + +<p>"Then consider what you do," Brandon cried, now half-rising from his +chair. "This man is breaking in upon the cherished beliefs of our Church. +Give him a little and he will take everything. We must all stand firm upon +the true and Christian ground that the Church has given us, or where shall +we be? This man may be good and devout, but he does not believe what we +believe. Our Church-that we love--that we love----" He broke off again.</p> + +<p>"You are against me. Every man's hand now is against me. Nevertheless +what-I say is right and true. What am I? What are you, any of you here in +this room, beside God's truth? I have seen God, I have walked with God, I +shall walk with Him again. He will lead me out of these sore distresses +and take me into green pastures----"</p> + +<p>He flushed. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I am taking your time. I must +say something for Mr. Forsyth. He is young; he knows this place and loves +it; he cares for and will preserve its most ancient traditions....</p> + +<p>"He cares for the things for which we should care. I do commend him to +your attention----"</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. The rain that had begun a thick drizzle dripped +on the panes. The room was so dark that the Dean asked Bond to light the +gas. They all waited while this was being done. At last the Dean spoke:</p> + +<p>"We are all very grateful to you, Archdeacon, for helping us as you have +done. I think, gentlemen, that unless there is some other name definitely +to be proposed we had better now vote on these two names.</p> + +<p>"Is there any further name suggested?"</p> + +<p>No one spoke.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then. I think this morning, contrary to our usual custom, we +will record our votes on paper. I have Archdeacon Witheram's letter here +advising me of his wishes in this matter."</p> + +<p>Paper and pens were before every one. The votes were recorded and sent up +to the Dean. He opened the little pieces of paper slowly.</p> + +<p>At last he said:</p> + +<p>"One vote has been recorded in favour of Mr. Forsyth, the rest for Mr. +Wistons. Mr. Wistons is therefore appointed to the living of Pybus St. +Anthony."</p> + +<p>Brandon was on his feet. His body trembled like a tree tottering. He flung +out his hands.</p> + +<p>"No.... No.... Stop one moment. You must. You--all of you----</p> + +<p>"Mr. Dean--all of you.... Oh, God, help me now!...You have been +influenced by your feelings about myself. Forget me, turn me away, send me +from the town, anything, anything.... I beseech you to think only of the +good of the Cathedral in this affair. If you admit this man it is the +beginning of the end. Slowly it will all be undermined. Belief in Christ, +belief in God Himself.... Think of the future and your responsibility to +the unborn children when they come to you and say: 'Where is our faith? +Why did you take it from us? Give it back to us!' Oh, stop for a moment! +Postpone this for only a little while. Don't do this thing!...Gentlemen!"</p> + +<p>They could see that he was ill. His body swayed as though it were beyond +his control. His hands were waving, turning, beseeching....</p> + +<p>Suddenly tears were running down his cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Not this shame!" he cried. "Not this shame!--kill me--but save the +Cathedral!"</p> + +<p>They were on their feet. Foster and Ryle had come round to him. +"Archdeacon, sit down." "You're ill." "Rest a moment" With a great heave +of his shoulders he flung them off, a chair falling to the ground with the +movement.</p> + +<p>He saw Ronder.</p> + +<p>"You!...my enemy. Are you satisfied now?" he whispered. He held out his +quivering hand. "Take my hand. You've done your worst."</p> + +<p>He turned round as though he would go from the room. Stumbling, he caught +Foster by the shoulder as though he would save himself. He bent forward, +staring into Foster's face.</p> + +<p>"God is love, though," he said. "You betray Him again and again, but He +comes back."</p> + +<p>He gripped Foster's shoulder more tightly. "Don't do this thing, man," he +said. "Don't do it. Because Ronder's beaten me is no reason for you to +betray your God.... Give me a chair. I'm ill."</p> + +<p>He fell upon his knees.</p> + +<p>"This...Death," he whispered. Then, looking up again at Foster, "My +heart. That fails me too."</p> + +<p>And, bowing his head, he died.</p> + + +<p> </p> + +<p class="c"><b><small>THE END</small></b></p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cathedral, by Sir Hugh Walpole + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CATHEDRAL *** + +***** This file should be named 8135-h.htm or 8135-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/3/8135/ + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/8135-h/images/sonore.png b/8135-h/images/sonore.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ecb8411 --- /dev/null +++ b/8135-h/images/sonore.png diff --git a/8135.txt b/8135.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2296a77 --- /dev/null +++ b/8135.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16254 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cathedral, by Sir Hugh Walpole + +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/license + + +Title: The Cathedral + +Author: Sir Hugh Walpole + +Posting Date: March 15, 2012 [EBook #8135] +Release Date: May, 2005 +[This file was first posted on June 17, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CATHEDRAL *** + + + + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +THE CATHEDRAL + +_A Novel_ + +by HUGH WALPOLE + +Author of _The Young Enchanted_, _The Captives_, +_Jeremy_, _The Secret City_, _The Green Mirror_, etc. + + + + +TO +JESSIE AND JOSEPH CONRAD +WITH MUCH LOVE + + +[Illustration: Sonore sans dureto] + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK I: Prelude + + I. Brandons + II. Ronders + III. One of Joan's Days + IV. The Impertinent Elephan + V. Mrs. Brandon Goes Out to Tea + VI. Seatown Mist and Cathedral Dust + VII. Ronder's Day +VIII. Son--Father + + +BOOK II: The Whispering Gallery + + I. Five O'Clock--The Green Cloud + II. Souls on Sunday + III. The May-Day Prologue + IV. The Genial Heart + V. Falk by the River + VI. Falk's Flight + VII. Brandon Puts On His Armour +VIII. The Wind Flies Over the House + IX. The Quarrel + + +Book III: The Jubilee + + I. June 17, Thursday: Anticipation + II. Friday, June 18: Shadow Meets Shadow + III. Saturday, June 19: The Ball + IV. Sunday, June 20: In the Bedroom + V. Tuesday, June 22: I. The Cathedral + VI. Tuesday, June 22: II. The Fair + VII. Tuesday, June 22: III. Torchlight + + +Book IV: The Last Stand + + I. In Ronder's House: Ronder, Wistons + II. Two in the House + III. Prelude to Battle + IV. The Last Tournament + + + + +Book I + +Prelude + + + +"Thou shalt have none other gods but Me." + + + + +Chapter I + +Brandons + + + +Adam Brandon was born at Little Empton in Kent in 1839. He was educated at +the King's School, Canterbury, and at Pembroke College, Cambridge. +Ordained in 1863, he was first curate at St. Martin's, Portsmouth, then +Chaplain to the Bishop of Worcester; in the year 1875 he accepted the +living of Pomfret in Wiltshire and was there for twelve years. It was in +1887 that he came to our town; he was first Canon and afterwards +Archdeacon. Ten years later he had, by personal influence and strength of +character, acquired so striking a position amongst us that he was often +alluded to as "the King of Polchester." His power was the greater because +both our Bishop (Bishop Purcell) and our Dean (Dean Sampson) during that +period were men of retiring habits of life. A better man, a greater saint +than Bishop Purcell has never lived, but in 1896 he was eighty-six years +of age and preferred study and the sanctity of his wonderful library at +Carpledon to the publicity and turmoil of a public career; Dean Sampson, +gentle and amiable as he was, was not intended by nature for a moulder of +men. He was, however, one of the best botanists in the County and his +little book on "Glebshire Ferns" is, I believe, an authority in its own +line. + +Archdeacon Brandon was, of course, greatly helped by his magnificent +physical presence. "Magnificent" is not, I think, too strong a word. Six +feet two or three in height, he had the figure of an athlete, light blue +eyes, and his hair was still, when he was fifty-eight years of age, thick +and fair and curly like that of a boy. He looked, indeed, marvellously +young, and his energy and grace of movement might indeed have belonged to +a youth still in his teens. It is not difficult to imagine how startling +an effect his first appearance in Polchester created. Many of the +Polchester ladies thought that he was like "a Greek God" (the fact that +they had never seen one gave them the greater confidence), and Miss +Dobell, who was the best read of all the ladies in our town, called him +"the Viking." This stuck to him, being an easy and emphatic word and +pleasantly cultured. + +Indeed, had Brandon come to Polchester as a single man there might have +been many broken hearts; however, in 1875 he had married Amy Broughton, +then a young girl of twenty. He had by her two children, a boy, Falcon, +now twenty-one years of age, and a girl, Joan, just eighteen. Brandon +therefore was safe from the feminine Polchester world; our town is famous +among Cathedral cities for the morality of its upper classes. + +It would not have been possible during all these years for Brandon to have +remained unconscious of the remarkable splendour of his good looks. He was +very well aware of it, but any one who called him conceited (and every one +has his enemies) did him a grave injustice. He was not conceited at all-- +he simply regarded himself as a completely exceptional person. He was not +elated that he was exceptional, he did not flatter himself because it was +so; God had seen fit (in a moment of boredom, perhaps, at the number of +insignificant and misshaped human beings He was forced to create) to fling +into the world, for once, a truly Fine Specimen, Fine in Body, Fine in +Soul, Fine in Intellect. Brandon had none of the sublime egoism of Sir +Willoughby Patterne--he thought of others and was kindly and often +unselfish--but he did, like Sir Willoughby, believe himself to be of quite +another clay from the rest of mankind. He was intended to rule, God had +put him into the world for that purpose, and rule he would--to the glory +of God and a little, if it must be so, to the glory of himself. He was a +very simple person, as indeed were most of the men and women in the +Polchester of 1897. He did not analyse motives, whether his own or any one +else's; he was aware that he had "weaknesses" (his ungovernable temper was +a source of real distress to him at times--at other times he felt that it +had its uses). On the whole, however, he was satisfied with himself, his +appearance, his abilities, his wife, his family, and, above all, his +position in Polchester. This last was very splendid. + +His position in the Cathedral, in the Precincts, in the Chapter, in the +Town, was unshakable. + +He trusted in God, of course, but, like a wise man, he trusted also in +himself. + +It happened that on a certain wild and stormy afternoon in October 1896 +Brandon was filled with a great exultation. As he stood, for a moment, at +the door of his house in the Precincts before crossing the Green to the +Cathedral, he looked up at the sky obscured with flying wrack of cloud, +felt the rain drive across his face, heard the elms in the neighbouring +garden creaking and groaning, saw the lights of the town far beneath the +low wall that bounded the Precincts sway and blink in the storm, his heart +beat with such pride and happiness that it threatened to burst the body +that contained it. There had not been, perhaps, that day anything +especially magnificent to elate him; he had won, at the Chapter Meeting +that morning, a cheap and easy victory over Canon Foster, the only Canon +in Polchester who still showed, at times, a wretched pugnacious resistance +to his opinion; he had met Mrs. Combermere afterwards in the High Street +and, on the strength of his Chapter victory, had dealt with her haughtily; +he had received an especially kind note from Lady St. Leath asking him to +dinner early next month; but all these events were of too usual a nature +to excite his triumph. + +No, there had descended upon him this afternoon that especial ecstasy that +is surrendered once and again by the gods to men to lead them, maybe, into +some especial blunder or to sharpen, for Olympian humour, the contrast of +some swiftly approaching anguish. + +Brandon stood for a moment, his head raised, his chest out, his soul in +flight, feeling the sharp sting of the raindrops upon his cheek; then, +with a little breath of pleasure and happiness, he crossed the Green to +the little dark door of Saint Margaret's Chapel. + +The Cathedral hung over him, as he stood, feeling in his pocket for his +key, a huge black shadow, vast indeed to-day, as it mingled with the grey +sky and seemed to be taking part in the directing of the wildness of the +storm. Two little gargoyles, perched on the porch of Saint Margaret's +door, leered down upon the Archdeacon. The rain trickled down over their +naked twisted bodies, running in rivulets behind their outstanding ears, +lodging for a moment on the projection of their hideous nether lips. They +grinned down upon the Archdeacon, amused that he should have difficulty, +there in the rain, in finding his key. "Pah!" they heard him mutter, and +then, perhaps, something worse. The key was found, and he had then to bend +his great height to squeeze through the little door. Once inside, he was +at the corner of the Saint Margaret Chapel and could see, in the faint +half-light, the rosy colours of the beautiful Saint Margaret window that +glimmered ever so dimly upon the rows of cane-bottomed chairs, the dingy +red hassocks, and the brass tablets upon the grey stone walls. He walked +through, picking his way carefully in the dusk, saw for an instant the +high, vast expanse of the nave with its few twinkling lights that blew in +the windy air, then turned to the left into the Vestry, closing the door +behind him. Even as he closed the door he could hear high, high up above +him the ringing of the bell for Evensong. + +In the Vestry he found Canon Dobell and Canon Rogers. Dobell, the Minor +Canon who was singing the service, was a short, round, chubby clergyman, +thirty-eight years of age, whose great aim in life was to have an easy +time and agree with every one. He lived with a sister in a little house in +the Precincts and gave excellent dinners. Very different was Canon Rogers, +a thin esthetic man with black bushy eyebrows, a slight stoop and thin +brown hair. He took life with grim seriousness. He was a stupid man but +obstinate, dogmatic, and given to the condemnation of his fellow-men. He +hated innovations as strongly as the Archdeacon himself, but with his +clinging to old forms and rituals there went no self-exaltation. He was a +cold-blooded man, although his obstinacy seemed sometimes to point to a +fiery fanaticism. But he was not a fanatic any more than a mule is one +when he plants his feet four-square and refuses to go forward. No +compliments nor threats could move him; he would have lived, had he had a +spark of asceticism, a hermit far from the haunts of men, but even that +withdrawal would have implied devotion. He was devoted to no one, to no +cause, to no religion, to no ambition. He spent his days in maintaining +things as they were, not because he loved them, simply because he was +obstinate. Brandon quite frankly hated him. + +In the farther room the choir-boys were standing in their surplices, +whispering and giggling. The sound of the bell was suddenly emphatic. +Canon Rogers stood, his hands folded motionless, gazing in front of him. +Dobell, smiling so that a dimple appeared in each cheek, said in his +chuckling whisper to Brandon: + +"Ronder comes to-day, doesn't he?" + +"Ronder?" Brandon repeated, coming abruptly out of his secret exultation. + +"Yes...Hart-Smith's successor." + +"Oh, yes--I believe he does...." + +Cobbett, the Verger, with his gold staff, appeared in the Vestry door. A +tall handsome man, he had been in the service of the Cathedral as man and +boy for fifty years. He had his private ambitions, the main one being that +old Lawrence, the head Verger, in his opinion a silly old fool, should die +and permit his own legitimate succession. Another ambition was that he +should save enough money to buy another three cottages down in Seatown. He +owned already six there. But no one observing his magnificent impassivity +(he was famous for this throughout ecclesiastical Glebeshire) would have +supposed that he had any thought other than those connected with ceremony. +As he appeared the organ began its voluntary, the music stealing through +the thick grey walls, creeping past the stout grey pillars that had +listened, with so impervious an immobility, to an endless succession of +voluntaries. The Archdeacon prayed, the choir responded with a long Amen, +and the procession filed out, the boys with faces pious and wistful, the +choir-men moving with nonchalance, their restless eyes wandering over the +scene so absolutely known to them. Then came Rogers like a martyr; Dobell +gaily as though he were enjoying some little joke of his own; last of all, +Brandon, superb in carriage, in dignity, in his magnificent recognition of +the value of ceremony. + +Because to-day was simply an ordinary afternoon with an ordinary Anthem +and an ordinary service (Martin in F) the congregation was small, the +gates of the great screen closed with a clang behind the choir, and the +nave, purple grey under the soft light of the candle-lit choir, was shut +out into twilight. In the high carved seats behind and beyond the choir +the congregation was sitting; Miss Dobell, who never missed a service that +her brother was singing, with her pinched white face and funny old- +fashioned bonnet, lost between the huge arms of her seat; Mrs. Combermere, +with a friend, stiff and majestic; Mrs. Cole and her sister-in-law, Amy +Cole; a few tourists; a man or two; Major Drake, who liked to join in the +psalms with his deep bass; and little Mr. Thompson, one of the masters at +the School who loved music and always came to Evensong when he could. + +There they were then, and the Archdeacon, looking at them from his stall, +could not but feel that they were rather a poor lot. Not that he exactly +despised them; he felt kindly towards them and would have done no single +one of them an injury, but he knew them all so well--Mrs. Combermere, Miss +Dobell, Mrs. Cole, Drake, Thompson. They were shadows before him. If he +looked hard at them, they seemed to disappear.... + +The exultation that he had felt as he stood outside his house-door +increased with every moment that passed. It was strange, but he had never, +perhaps, in all his life been so happy as he was at that hour. He was +driven by the sense of it to that, with him, rarest of all things, +introspection. Why should he feel like this? Why did his heart beat +thickly, why were his cheeks flushed with a triumphant heat? It could not +but be that he was realising to-day how everything was well with him. And +why should he not realise it? Looking up to the high vaulted roofs above +him, he greeted God, greeted Him as an equal, and thanked Him as a fellow- +companion who had helped him through a difficult and dusty journey. He +thanked Him for his health, for his bodily vigour and strength, for his +beauty, for his good brain, for his successful married life, for his wife +(poor Amy), for his house and furniture, for his garden and tennis-lawn, +for his carriage and horses, for his son, for his position in the town, +his dominance in the Chapter, his authority on the School Council, his +importance in the district.... For all these things he thanked God, and he +greeted Him with an outstretched hand. + +"As one power to another," his soul cried, "greetings! You have been a +true and loyal friend to me. Anything that I can do for You I will do...." + +The time came for him to read the First Lesson. He crossed to the Lectern +and was conscious that the tourists were whispering together about him. He +read aloud, in his splendid voice, something about battles and vengeance, +plagues and punishment, God's anger and the trembling Israelites. He might +himself have been an avenging God as he read. He was uplifted with the +glory of power and the exultation of personal dominion... + +He crossed back to his seat, and, as they began the "Magnificat," his eye +alighted on the tomb of the Black Bishop. In the volume on Polchester in +Chimes' Cathedral Series (4th edition, 1910), page 52, you will find this +description of the Black Bishop's Tomb: "It stands between the pillars at +the far east end of the choir in the eighth bay from the choir screen. The +stone screen which surrounds the tomb is of most elaborate workmanship, +and it has, in certain lights, the effect of delicate lace; the canopy +over the tomb has pinnacles which rise high above the level of the choir- +stalls. The tomb itself is made from a solid block of a dark blue stone. +The figure of the bishop, carved in black marble, lies with his hands +folded across his breast, clothed in his Episcopal robes and mitre, and +crozier on his shoulder. At his feet are a vizor and a pair of gauntlets, +these also carved in black marble. On one finger of his right hand is a +ring carved from some green stone. His head is raised by angels and at his +feet beyond the vizor and gauntlets are tiny figures of four knights fully +armed. A small arcade runs round the tomb with a series of shields in the +spaces, and these shields have his motto, 'God giveth Strength,' and the +arms of the See of Polchester. His epitaph in brass round the edge of the +tomb has thus been translated: + +"'Here, having surrendered himself back to God, lies Henry of Arden. His +life, which was distinguished for its great piety, its unfailing +generosity, its noble statesmanship, was rudely taken in the nave of this +Cathedral by men who feared neither the punishment of their fellows nor +the just vengeance of an irate God. + +"'He died, bravely defending this great house of Prayer, and is now, in +eternal happiness, fulfilling the reward of all good and faithful +servants, at his Master's side.'" + +It has been often remarked by visitors to the Cathedral how curiously this +tomb catches light from all sides of the building, but this is undoubtedly +in the main due to the fact that the blue stone of which it is chiefly +composed responds immediately to the purple and violet lights that fall +from the great East window. On a summer day the blue of the tomb seems +almost opaque as though it were made of blue glass, and the gilt on the +background of the screen and the brasses of the groins glitter and sparkle +like fire. + +Brandon to-day, wrapped in his strange mood of almost mystical triumph, +felt as though he were, indeed, a reincarnation of the great Bishop. + +As the "Magnificat" proceeded, he seemed to enter into the very tomb and +share in the Bishop's dust. "I stood beside you," he might almost have +cried, "when in the last savage encounter you faced them on the very steps +of the altar, striking down two of them with your fists, falling at last, +bleeding from a hundred wounds, but crying at the very end, 'God is my +right!'" + +As he stared across at the tomb, he seemed to see the great figure, +deserted by all his terrified adherents, lying in his blood in the now +deserted Cathedral; he saw the coloured dusk creep forward and cover him. +And then, in the darkness of the night, the two faithful servants who +crept in and carried away his body to keep it in safety until his day +should come again. + +Born in 1100, Henry of Arden had been the first Bishop to give Polchester +dignity and power. What William of Wykeham was to Winchester, that Henry +of Arden was to the See of Polchester. Through all the wild days of the +quarrel between Stephen and Matilda he had stood triumphant, yielding at +last only to the mad overwhelming attacks of his private enemies. Of those +he had had many. It had been said of him that "he thought himself God--the +proudest prelate on earth." Proud he may have been, but he had loved his +Bishopric. It was in his time that the Saint Margaret's Chapel had been +built, through his energy that the two great Western Towers had risen, +because of him that Polchester now could boast one of the richest revenues +of any Cathedral in Europe. Men said that he had plundered, stolen the +land of powerless men, himself headed forays against neighbouring villages +and even castles. He had done it for the greater glory of God. They had +been troublous times. It had been every man for himself.... + +He had told his people that he was God's chief servant; it was even said +that he had once, in the plenitude of his power, cried that he was God +Himself.... + +His figure remained to this very day dominating Polchester, vast in +stature, black-bearded, rejoicing in his physical strength. He could kill, +they used to say, an ox with his fist.... + +The "Gloria" rang triumphantly up into the shadows of the nave. Brandon +moved once more across to the Lectern. He read of the casting of the +money-changers out of the Temple. + +His voice quivered with pride and exultation so that Cobbett, who had +acquired, after many years' practice, the gift of sleeping during the +Lessons and Sermon with his eyes open, woke up with a start and wondered +what was the matter. + +Brandon's mood, when he was back in his own drawing-room, did not leave +him; it was rather intensified by the cosiness and security of his home. +Lying back in his large arm-chair in front of the fire, his long legs +stretched out before him, he could hear the rain beating on the window- +panes and beyond that the murmur of the organ (Brockett, the organist, was +practising, as he often did after Evensong). + +The drawing-room was a long narrow one with many windows; it was furnished +in excellent taste. The carpet and the curtains and the dark blue +coverings to the chairs were all a little faded, but this only gave them +an additional dignity and repose. There were two large portraits of +himself and Mrs. Brandon painted at the time of their marriage, some low +white book-shelves, a large copy of "Christ in the Temple"--plenty of +space, flowers, light. + +Mrs. Brandon was, at this time, a woman of forty-two, but she looked very +much less than that. She was slight, dark, pale, quite undistinguished. +She had large grey eyes that looked on to the ground when you spoke to +her. She was considered a very shy woman, negative in every way. She +agreed with everything that was said to her and seemed to have no opinions +of her own. She was simply "the wife of the Archdeacon." Mrs. Combermere +considered her a "poor little fool." She had no real friends in +Polchester, and it made little difference to any gathering whether she +were there or not. She had been only once known to lose her temper in +public--once in the market-place she had seen a farmer beat his horse over +the eyes. She had actually gone up to him and struck him. Afterwards she +had said that "she did not like to see animals ill-treated." The +Archdeacon had apologised for her, and no more had been said about it. The +farmer had borne her no grudge. + +She sat now at the little tea-table, her eyes screwed up over the serious +question of giving the Archdeacon his tea exactly as he wanted it. Her +whole mind was apparently engaged on this problem, and the Archdeacon did +not care to-day that she did not answer his questions and support his +comments because he was very, very happy, the whole of his being thrilling +with security and success and innocent pride. + +Joan Brandon came in. In appearance she was, as Mrs. Sampson said, +"insignificant." You would not look at her twice any more than you would +have looked at her mother twice. Her figure was slight and her legs (she +was wearing long skirts this year for the first time) too long. Her hair +was dark brown and her eyes dark brown. She had nice rosy cheeks, but they +were inclined to freckle. She smiled a good deal and laughed, when in +company, more noisily than was proper. "A bit of a tomboy, I'm afraid," +was what one used to hear about her. But she was not really a tomboy; she +moved quietly, and her own bedroom was always neat and tidy. She had very +little pocket-money and only seldom new clothes, not because the +Archdeacon was mean, but because Joan was so often forgotten and left out +of the scheme of things. It was surprising that the only girl in the house +should be so often forgotten, but the Archdeacon did not care for girls, +and Mrs. Brandon did not appear to think very often of any one except the +Archdeacon. Falk, Joan's brother, now at Oxford, when he was at home had +other things to do than consider Joan. She had gone, ever since she was +twelve, to the Polchester High School for Girls, and there she was +popular, and might have made many friends, had it not been that she could +not invite her companions to her home. Her father did not like "noise in +the house." She had been Captain of the Hockey team; the small girls in +the school had all adored her. She had left the place six months ago and +had come home to "help her mother." She had had, in honest fact, six +months' loneliness, although no one knew that except herself. Her mother +had not wanted her help. There had been nothing for her to do, and she had +felt herself too young to venture into the company of older girls in the +town. She had been rather "blue" and had looked back on Seafield House, +the High School, with longing, and then suddenly, one morning, for no very +clear reason she had taken a new view of life. Everything seemed +delightful and even thrilling, commonplace things that she had known all +her days, the High Street, keeping her rooms tidy, spending or saving the +minute monthly allowance, the Cathedral, the river. She was all in a +moment aware that something very delightful would shortly occur. What it +was she did not know, and she laughed at herself for imagining that +anything extraordinary could ever happen to any one so commonplace as +herself, but there the strange feeling was and it would not go away. + +To-day, as always when her father was there, she came in very quietly, sat +down near her mother, saw that she made no sort of interruption to the +Archdeacon's flow of conversation. She found that he was in a good humour +to-day, and she was glad of that because it would please her mother. She +herself had a great interest in all that he said. She thought him a most +wonderful man, and secretly was swollen with pride that she was his +daughter. It did not hurt her at all that he never took any notice of her. +Why should he? Nor did she ever feel jealous of Falk, her father's +favourite. That seemed to her quite natural. She had the idea, now most +thoroughly exploded but then universally held in Polchester, that women +were greatly inferior to men. She did not read the more advanced novels +written by Mme. Sarah Grand and Mrs. Lynn Linton. I am ashamed to say that +her favourite authors were Miss Alcott and Miss Charlotte Mary Yonge. +Moreover, she herself admired Falk extremely. He seemed to her a hero and +always right in everything that he did. + +Her father continued to talk, and behind the reverberation of his deep +voice the roll of the organ like an approving echo could faintly be heard. + +"There was a moment when I thought Foster was going to interfere. I've +been against the garden-roller from the first--they've got one and what do +they want another for? And, anyway, he thinks I meddle with the School's +affairs too much. Who wants to meddle with the School's affairs? I'm sure +they're nothing but a nuisance, but some one's got to prevent the place +from going to wrack and ruin, and if they all leave it to me I can't very +well refuse it, can I? Hey?" + +"No, dear." + +"You see what I mean?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"Well, then--" (As though Mrs. Brandon had just been overcome in an +argument in which she'd shown the greatest obstinacy.) "There you are. It +would be false modesty to deny that I've got the Chapter more or less in +my pocket And why shouldn't I have? Has any one worked harder for this +place and the Cathedral than I have?" + +"No, dear." + +"Well, then.... There's this new fellow Ronder coming to-day. Don't know +much about him, but he won't give much trouble, I expect--trouble in the +way of delaying things, I mean. What we want is work done expeditiously. +I've just about got that Chapter moving at last. Ten years' hard work. +Deserve a V.C. or something. Hey?" + +"Yes, dear, I'm sure you do." + +The Archdeacon gave one of his well-known roars of laughter--a laugh +famous throughout the county, a laugh described by his admirers as +"Homeric," by his enemies as "ear-splitting." There was, however, enemies +or no enemies, something sympathetic in that laugh, something boyish and +simple and honest. + +He suddenly pulled himself up, bringing his long legs close against his +broad chest. + +"No letter from Falk to-day, was there?" + +"No, dear." + +"Humph. That's three weeks we haven't heard. Hope there's nothing wrong." + +"What could there be wrong, dear?" + +"Nothing, of course.... Well, Joan, and what have you been doing with +yourself all day?" + +It was only in his most happy and resplendent moods that the Archdeacon +held jocular conversations with his daughter. These conversations had +been, in the past, moments of agony and terror to her, but since that +morning when she had suddenly woken to a realisation of the marvellous +possibilities in life her terror had left her. There were other people in +the world besides her father.... + +Nevertheless, a little, her agitation was still with her. She looked up at +him, smiling. + +"Oh, I don't know, father.... I went to the Library this morning to change +the books for mother--" + +"Novels, I suppose. No one ever reads anything but trash nowadays." + +"They hadn't anything that mother put down. They never have. Miss Milton +sits on the new novels and keeps them for Mrs. Sampson and Mrs. +Combermere." + +"Sits on them?" + +"Yes--really sits on them. I saw her take one from under her skirt the +other day when Mrs. Sampson asked for it. It was one that mother has +wanted a long time." + +The Archdeacon was angry. "I never heard anything so scandalous. I'll just +see to that. What's the use of being on the Library Committee if that kind +of thing happens? That woman shall go." + +"Oh no! father!..." + +"Of course she shall go. I never heard anything so dishonest in my +life!..." + +Joan remembered that little conversation until the end of her life. And +with reason. + +The door was flung open. Some one came hurriedly in, then stopped, with a +sudden arrested impulse, looking at them. It was Falk. + +Falk was a very good-looking man--fair hair, light blue eyes like his +father's, slim and straight and quite obviously fearless. It was that +quality of courage that struck every one who saw him; it was not only that +he feared, it seemed, no one and nothing, but that he went a step further +than that, spending his life in defying every one and everything, as a +practised dueller might challenge every one he met in order to keep his +play in practice. "I don't like young Brandon," Mrs. Sampson said. "He +snorts contempt at you...." + +He was only twenty-one, a contemptuous age. He looked as though he had +been living in that house for weeks, although, as a fact, he had just +driven up, after a long and tiresome journey, in an ancient cab through +the pouring rain. The Archdeacon gazed at his son in a bewildered, +confused amaze, as though he, a convinced sceptic, were suddenly +confronted, in broad daylight, with an undoubted ghost. + +"What's the matter?" he said at last. "Why are you here?" + +"I've been sent down," said Falk. + +It was characteristic of the relationship in that family that, at that +statement, Mrs. Brandon and Joan did not look at Falk but at the +Archdeacon. + +"Sent down!" + +"Yes, for ragging! They wanted to do it last term." + +"Sent down!" The Archdeacon shot to his feet; his voice suddenly lifted +into a cry. "And you have the impertinence to come here and tell me! You +walk in as though nothing had happened! You walk in!..." + +"You're angry," said Falk, smiling. "Of course I knew you would be. You +might hear me out first. But I'll come along when I've unpacked and you're +a bit cooler. I wanted some tea, but I suppose that will have to wait. You +just listen, father, and you'll find it isn't so bad. Oxford's a rotten +place for any one who wants to be on his own, and, anyway, you won't have +to pay my bills any more." + +Falk turned and went. + +The Archdeacon, as he stood there, felt a dim mysterious pain as though an +adversary whom he completely despised had found suddenly with his weapon a +joint in his armour. + + + + +Chapter II + +Ronders + + + +The train that brought Falk Brandon back to Polchester brought also the +Ronders--Frederick Ronder, newly Canon of Polchester, and his aunt, Miss +Alice Ronder. About them the station gathered in a black cloud, dirty, +obscure, lit by flashes of light and flame, shaken with screams, +rumblings, the crashing of carriage against carriage, the rattle of cab- +wheels on the cobbles outside. To-day also there was the hiss and scatter +of the rain upon the glass roof. The Ronders stood, not bewildered, for +that they never were, but thinking what would be best. The new Canon was a +round man, round-shouldered, round-faced, round-stomached, round legged. A +fair height, he was not ludicrous, but it seemed that if you laid him down +he would roll naturally, still smiling, to the farthest end of the +station. He wore large, very round spectacles. His black clerical coat and +trousers and hat were scrupulously clean and smartly cut. He was not a +dandy, but he was not shabby. He smiled a great deal, not nervously as +curates are supposed to smile, not effusively, but simply with geniality. +His aunt was a contrast, thin, straight, stiff white collar, little black +bow-tie, coat like a man's, skirt with no nonsense about it. No nonsense +about her anywhere. She was not unamiable, perhaps, but business came +first. + +"Well, what do we do?" he asked. + +"We collect our bags and find the cab," she answered briskly. + +They found their bags, and there were a great many of them; Miss Ronder, +having seen that they were all there and that there was no nonsense about +the porter, moved off to the barrier followed by her nephew. + +As they came into the station square, all smelling of hay and the rain, +the deluge slowly withdrew its forces, recalling them gradually so that +the drops whispered now, patter-patter--pit-pat. A pigeon hovered down and +pecked at the cobbles. Faint colour threaded the thick blotting-paper +grey. + +Old Fawcett himself had come to the station to meet them. Why had he felt +it to be an occasion? God only knows. A new Canon was nothing to him. He +very seldom now, being over eighty, with a strange "wormy" pain in his +left ear, took his horses out himself. He saved his money and counted it +over by his fireside to see that his old woman didn't get any of it. He +hated his old woman, and in a vaguely superstitious, thoroughly Glebeshire +fashion half-believed that she had cast a spell over him and was really +responsible for his "wormy" ear. + +Why had he come? He didn't himself know. Perhaps Ronder was going to be of +importance in the place, he had come from London and they all had money in +London. He licked his purple protruding lips greedily as he saw the +generous man. Yes, kindly and generous he looked.... + +They got into the musty cab and rattled away over the cobbles. + +"I hope Mrs. Clay got the telegram all right." Miss Ronder's thin bosom +was a little agitated beneath its white waistcoat. "You'll never forgive +me if things aren't looking as though we'd lived in the place for months." + +Alice Ronder was over sixty and as active as a woman of forty. Ronder +looked at her and laughed. + +"Never forgive you! What words! Do I ever cherish grievances? Never... +but I do like to be comfortable." + +"Well, everything was all right a week ago. I've slaved at the place, as +you know, and Mrs. Clay's a jewel--but she complains of the Polchester +maids--says there isn't one that's any good. Oh, I want my tea, I want my +tea!" + +They were climbing up from the market-place into the High Street. Ronder +looked about him with genial curiosity. + +"Very nice," he said; "I believe I can be comfortable here." + +"If you aren't comfortable you certainly won't stay," she answered him +sharply. + +"Then I _must_ be comfortable," he replied, laughing. + +He laughed a great deal, but absent-mindedly, as though his thoughts were +elsewhere. It would have been interesting to a student of human nature to +have been there and watched him as he sat back in the cab, looking through +the window, indeed, but seeing apparently nothing. He seemed to be gazing +through his round spectacles very short-sightedly, his eyes screwed up and +dim. His fat soft hands were planted solidly on his thick knees. + +The observer would have been interested because he would soon have +realised that Ronder saw everything; nothing, however insignificant, +escaped him, but he seemed to see with his brain as though he had learnt +the trick of forcing it to some new function that did not properly belong +to it. The broad white forehead under the soft black clerical hat was +smooth, unwrinkled, mild and calm.... He had trained it to be so. + +The High Street was like any High Street of a small Cathedral town in the +early evening. The pavements were sleek and shiny after the rain; people +were walking with the air of being unusually pleased with the world, +always the human expression when the storms have withdrawn and there is +peace and colour in the sky. There were lights behind the solemn panes of +Bennett's the bookseller's, that fine shop whose first master had seen Sir +Walter Scott in London and spoken to Byron. In his window were rows of the +classics in calf and first editions of the Surtees books and _Dr. +Syntax_. At the very top of the High Street was Mellock's the pastry- +cook's, gay with its gas, rich with its famous saffron buns, its still +more famous ginger-bread cake, and, most famous of all, its lemon +biscuits. Even as the Ronders' cab paused for a moment before it turned to +pass under the dark Arden Gate on to the asphalt of the Precincts, the +great Mrs. Mellock herself, round and rubicund, came to the door and +looked about her at the weather. An errand-boy passed, whistling, down the +hill, a stiff military-looking gentleman with white moustaches mounted +majestically the steps of the Conservative Club; then they rattled under +the black archway, echoed for a moment on the noisy cobbles, then slipped +into the quiet solemnity of the Precincts asphalt. It was Brandon who had +insisted on the asphalt. Old residents had complained that to take away +the cobbles would be to rid the Precincts of all its atmosphere. + +"I don't care about atmosphere," said the Archdeacon, "I want to sleep at +night." + +Very quiet here; not a sound penetrated. The Cathedral was a huge shadow +above its darkened lawns; not a human soul was to be seen. + +The cab stopped with a jerk at Number Eight. The bell was rung by old +Fawcett, who stood on the top step looking down at Ronder and wondering +how much he dared to ask him. Ask him too much now and perhaps he would +not deal with him in the future. Moreover, although the man wore large +spectacles and was fat he was probably not a fool.... Fawcett could not +tell why he was so sure, but there was something.... + +Mrs. Clay was at the door, smiling and ordering a small frightened girl to +"hurry up now." Miss Ronder disappeared into the house. Ronder stood for a +moment looking about him as though he were a spy in enemy country and must +let nothing escape him. + +"Whose is that big place there?" he asked Fawcett, pointing to a house +that stood by itself at the farther corner of the Precincts. + +"Archdeacon Brandon's, sir." + +"Oh!..." Ronder mounted the steps. "Good night," he said to Fawcett. "Mrs. +Clay, pay the cabman, please." + +The Ronders had taken this house a month ago; for two months before that +it had stood desolate, wisps of paper and straw blowing about it, its "To +let" notice creaking and screaming in every wind. The Hon. Mrs. +Pentecoste, an eccentric old lady, had lived there for many years, and had +died in the middle of a game of patience; her worn and tattered furniture +had been sold at auction, and the house had remained unlet for a +considerable period because people in the town said that the ghost of Mrs. +Pentecoste's cat (a famous blue Persian) walked there. The Ronders cared +nothing for ghosts; the house was exactly what they wanted. It had two +panelled rooms, two powder-closets, and a little walled garden at the back +with fruit trees. + +It was quite wonderful what Miss Ronder had done in a month; she had +abandoned Eaton Square for a week, worked in the Polchester house like a +slave, then retired back to Eaton Square again, leaving Mrs. Clay, her +aide-de-camp, to manage the rest. Mrs. Clay had managed very well. She +would not have been in the service of the Ronders for nearly fifteen years +had she not had a gift for managing.... + +Ronder, washed and brushed, came down to tea, looked about him, and saw +that all was good. + +"I congratulate you, Aunt Alice," he said--"excellent!" + +Miss Ronder very slightly flushed. + +"There are a lot of things still to be done," she said; nevertheless she +was immensely pleased. + +The drawing-room was charming. The stencilled walls, the cushions of the +chairs, the cover of a gate-legged table, the curtains of the mullioned +windows were of a warm dark blue. And whatever in the room was not blue +seemed to be white, or wood in its natural colour, or polished brass. +Books ran round the room in low white book-cases. In one corner a pure +white Hermes stood on a pedestal with tiny wings outspread. There was only +one picture, an excellent copy of "Rembrandt's mother." The windows looked +out to the garden, now veiled by the dusk of evening. Tea was on a little +table close to the white tiled fireplace. A little square brass clock +chimed the half-hour as Ronder came in. + +"I suppose Ellen will be over," Ronder said. He drank in the details of +the room with a quite sensual pleasure. He went over to the Hermes and +lifted it, holding it for a moment in his podgy hands. + +"You beauty!" he whispered aloud. He put it back, turned round to his +aunt. + +"Of course Ellen will be over," he repeated. + +"Of course," Miss Ronder repeated, picking up the old square black lacquer +tea-caddy and peering into it. + +He picked up the books on the table--two novels, _Sentimental Tommy_, +by J. M. Barrie, and _Sir George Tressady_, by Mrs. Humphry Ward, Mr. +Swinburne's _Tale of Balen_, and _The Works of Max Beerbohm_. +Last of all Leslie Stephen's _Social Rights and Duties_. + +He looked at them all, with their light yellow Mudie labels, their fresh +bindings, then, slowly and very carefully, put them back on the table. + +He always handled books as though they were human beings. + +He came and sat down by the fire. + +"I won't see over the place until to-morrow," he said. "What have you done +about the other books?" + +"The book-cases are in. It's the best room in the house. Looks over the +river and gets most of the light. The books are as you packed them. I +haven't dared touch them. In fact, I've left that room entirely for you to +arrange." + +"Well," he said, "if you've done the rest of this house as well as this +room, you'll do. It's jolly--it really is. I'm going to like this place." + +"And you hated the very idea of it." + +"I hated the discomfort there'd be before we settled in. But the settling +in is going to be easier than I thought. Of course we don't know yet how +the land lies. Ellen will tell us." + +They were silent for a little. Then he looked at her with a puzzled, half- +humorous, half-ironical glance. + +"It's a bit of a blow to you, Aunt Alice, burying yourself down here. +London was the breath of your nostrils. What did you come for? Love of +me?" + +She looked steadily back at him. + +"Not love exactly. Curiosity, perhaps. I want to see at first hand what +you'll do. You're the most interesting human being I've ever met, and that +isn't prejudice. Aunts do not, as a rule, find their nephews interesting. +And what have you come here for? I assure you I haven't the least idea." + +The door was opened by Mrs. Clay. + +"Miss Stiles," she said. + +Miss Stiles, who came in, was not handsome. She was large and fat, with a +round red face like a sun, and she wore colours too bright for her size. +She had a slow soft voice like the melancholy moo of a cow. She was not a +bad woman, but, temperamentally, was made unhappy by the success or good +fortune of others. Were you in distress, she would love you, cherish you, +never abandon you. She would share her last penny with you, run to the end +of the world for you, defend you before the whole of humanity. Were you, +however, in robust health, she would hint to every one of a possible +cancer; were you popular, it would worry her terribly and she would +discover a thousand faults in your character; were you successful in your +work, she would pray for your approaching failure lest you should become +arrogant. She gossiped without cessation, and always, as it were, to +restore the proper balance of the world, to pull down the mighty from +their high places, to lift the humble only that they in their turn might +be pulled down. She played fluently and execrably on the piano. She spent +her day in running from house to house. + +She had independent means, lived four months of the year in Polchester +(she had been born there and her family had been known there for many +generations before her), four months in London, and the rest of the year +abroad. She had met Alice Ronder in London and attached herself to her. +She liked the Ronders because they never boasted of their successes, +because Alice had a weak heart, because Ronder, who knew her character, +half-humorously deprecated his talents, which were, as he knew well +enough, no mean ones. She bored Alice Ronder, but Ronder found her useful. +She told him a great deal that he wanted to know, and although she was +never accurate in her information, he could separate the wheat from the +chaff. She was a walking mischief-maker, but meant no harm to a living +soul. She prided herself on her honesty, on saying exactly what she +thought to every one. She was kindness itself to her servants, who adored +her, as did railway-porters, cabmen and newspaper men. She overtipped +wherever she went because "she could not bear not to be liked." In our +Polchester world she was an important factor. She was always the first to +hear any piece of news in our town, and she gave it a wrong twist just as +fast as she could. + +She was really delighted to see the Ronders, and told them so with many +assurances of affection, but she was a little distressed to find the room +so neat and settled. She would have preferred them to be "in a thorough +mess" and badly in need of her help. + +"My dear Alice, how quick you've been! How clever you are! At the same +time I think you'll find there's a good deal to arrange still. The +Polchester girls are so slow and always breaking things. I suppose some +things have been smashed in the move--nothing very valuable, I hope." + +"Lots of things, Ellen," said Ronder, laughing. "We've had the most awful +time and badly need your help. It's only this room that Aunt Alice got +straight--just to have something to show, you know. And our journey down! +I can't tell you what it was, hardly room to breathe and coming up here in +the rain!" + +"Oh, you poor things! What a welcome to Polchester! You must simply have +hated the look of the whole place. _Such_ a bad introduction, and +everything looking as gloomy and depressing as possible. I expect you +wished yourselves well out of it. I don't wonder you're depressed. I hope +you're not feeling your heart, Alice dear." + +"Well, I am a little," acknowledged Miss Ronder. "But I shall go to bed +early and get a good night." + +"You poor dear! I was afraid you'd be absolutely done up. Now, you're +_not_ to get up in the morning and I'll run about and do your +shopping for you. I _insist_. How's Mrs. Clay?" + +"A little grumpy at having so much to do," said Ronder, "but she'll get +over it." + +"I'm afraid she's a little ill-tempered at times," said Miss Stiles with +satisfaction. "I thought when I came in that she looked out of sorts. +Troubles never come singly, of course." + +All was well now and Miss Stiles completely satisfied. She admired the +room and the Hermes, and prophesied that, after a week or two, they would +probably find things not so bad after all. She drank several cups of tea +and passed on to general conversation. It was obvious, very soon, that she +was bursting with a piece of news. + +"I can see, Ellen," said Ronder, humorously observing her, "that you're +longing to tell us something." + +"Well, it is interesting. What do you think? Falk Brandon has been sent +down from Oxford for misbehaviour." + +"And who is Falk Brandon?" asked Ronder. + +"The Archdeacon's son. His only boy. I've told you about Archdeacon +Brandon many times. He thinks he runs the town and has been terribly above +himself for a long while. This will pull him down a little. I must say, +although I don't want to be uncharitable, that I'm glad of it. It's too +absurd the way that he's been having everything his own way here. All the +Canons are over ninety and simply give in to him about everything." + +"When did this happen?" + +"Oh, it's only just happened. He arrived by your train. I saw young George +Lascelles as I was on my way up to you. He met him at the station--Falk, I +mean--and he didn't pretend to disguise it. George said 'Hullo, Brandon, +what are you doing here?' and Falk said 'Oh, I've been sent down'--just +like that. Didn't pretend to disguise it. He's always been as brazen as +anything. He'll give his father a lot of trouble before he's done." + +"There's nothing very terrible," said Ronder, laughing, "in being sent +down from Oxford. I've known plenty of good fellows who were." + +Miss Stiles looked annoyed. "Oh, but you don't know. It will be terrible +for his father. He's the proudest man in England. Some people call it +conceit, but, however that may be, he thinks there's nothing like his +family. Even poor Mrs. Brandon he's proud of when she isn't there. It will +be awful for him that every one should know." + +Ronder said nothing. + +"You know," said Miss Stiles, who felt that her news had fallen flat, +"you'll have to fight him or give in to him. There's no other way here. I +hope you'll fight him." + +"I?" said Ronder. "Why, I never fight anybody. I'm much too lazy." + +"Then you'll never be comfortable here, that's all. He can't bear being +crossed. He must have his way about everything. If the Bishop weren't so +old and the Dean so stupid.... What we want here is a little life in the +place." + +"You needn't look to us for that, Ellen," said Ronder. "We've come here to +rest----" + +"Peace, perfect peace...." + +"I don't believe you," said Miss Stiles, tossing her head. "I'd be +disappointed to think it of you." + +Alice Ronder gave her nephew a curious look, half of amusement, half of +expectation. + +"It's quite true, Ellen," she said. "Now, if you've finished your tea, +come and look at the rest of the house." + + + + +Chapter III + +One of Joan's Days + + + +I find it difficult now to realise how apart from the life of the world +Polchester was in those days. Even now, when the War has shaken up and +jostled together every small village in Great Britain, Polchester still +has some shreds of its isolation left to it; but then--why, it might have +been a walled-in fortress of mediaeval times, for all its connection with +the outside world! + +This isolation was quite deliberately maintained. I don't mean, of course, +that Mrs. Combermere and Brandon and old Bentinck-Major and Mrs. Sampson +said to themselves in so many words, "We will keep this to ourselves and +defend its walls against every new invader, every new idea, new custom, +new impulse. We will all be butchered rather than allow one old form, +tradition, superstition to go!" It was not as conscious as that, but in +effect it was that that it came to. And they were wonderfully assisted by +circumstances. It is true that the main line ran through Polchester from +Drymouth, but its travellers were hurrying south, and only a few trippers, +a few Americans, a few sentimentalists stayed to see the Cathedral; and +those who stayed found "The Bull" an impossibly inconvenient and +uncomfortable hostelry and did not come again. It is true that even then, +in 1897, there were many agitations by sharp business men like Crosbie and +John Allen, Croppet and Fred Barnstaple, to make the place more widely +known, more commercially attractive. It was not until later that the golf +course was laid out and the St. Leath Hotel rose on Pol Hill. But other +things were tried--steamers on the Pol, char-a-bancs to various places of +local interest, and so on--but, at this time, all these efforts failed. +The Cathedral was too strong for them, above all Brandon and Mrs. +Combermere were too strong for them. Nothing was done to encourage +strangers; I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Combermere didn't pay old Jolliffe +of "The Bull" so much a year to keep his hotel inconvenient and +insanitary. The men on the Town Council were for the most part like the +Canons, aged and conservative. It is true that it was in 1897 that +Barnstaple was elected Mayor, but without Ronder I doubt whether even he +would have been able to do very much. + +The town then revolved, so to speak, entirely on its own axis; it revolved +between the two great events of the year, the summer Polchester Fair, the +winter County Ball, and those two great affairs were conducted, in every +detail and particular, as they had been conducted a hundred years before. +I find it strange, writing from the angle of to-day, to conceive it +possible that so short a time ago anything in England could have been so +conservative. I myself was only thirteen years of age when Ronder came to +our town, and saw all grown figures with the exaggerated colour and +romance that local inquisitive age bestows. About my own contemporaries, +young Jeremy Cole for instance, there was no colour at all, but the older +figures were strange--gigantic, almost mythological. Mrs. Combermere, the +Dean, the Archdeacon, Mrs. Sampson, Canon Ronder, moved about the town, to +my young eyes, like gods and goddesses, and it was not until after my +return to Polchester at the end of my first Cambridge year that I saw +clearly how small a town it was and how tiny the figures in it. + +Joan Brandon thought her father a marvellous man, as I have already said, +but she had seen him too often lose his temper, too often snub her mother, +too often be upset by trivial and unimportant details, to conceive him +romantically. Falk, her brother, was romantic to her because she had seen +so much less of him; her father she knew too well. For some time after +Falk's return from Oxford nothing happened. Joan did not know what exactly +she had expected to happen, but she had an uneasy sense that more was +going on behind the scenes than she knew. + +The Archdeacon did not speak to Falk unless he were compelled, but Falk +did not seem to mind this in the least. His handsome defiant face flashed +scorn at the whole family. + +He was out of the house most of the day, came down to breakfast when every +one else had finished, and often was not present at dinner in the evening. +The Archdeacon had said that breakfast was not to be kept for him, but +nevertheless breakfast was there, on the table, however late he was. The +cook and, indeed, all the servants adored him because, I suppose, he had +no sense of class-difference at all and laughed and joked with any one if +he was in a good temper. All these first days he spoke scarcely one word +to Joan; it was as though the whole family were in his black books for +some disgraceful act--they were the guilty ones and not he. + +Joan blamed herself for feeling so light-hearted and gay during this +family crisis, but she could not help it. A very short time ago the +knowledge that battle was engaged in the very heart of the house would +have made her miserable and apprehensive, but now it seemed to be all +outside her and unconnected with her as though she had a life of her own +that no one could touch. Her courage seemed to grow with every half-hour +of her life. Some months passed, and then one morning she came into the +drawing-room and found her mother rather bewildered and distressed. + +"Oh dear, I really don't know what to do!" said her mother. + +It was so seldom that Joan was appealed to for advice that her heart now +beat with pride. + +"What's the matter, mother?" she asked, trying to look dignified and +unconcerned. + +Mrs. Brandon looked at her with a frightened and startled look as though +she had been speaking to herself and had not wished to be overheard. + +"Oh, Joan!...I didn't know that you were there!" + +"What's the matter? Is it anything I can help about?" + +"'No, dear, nothing...really I didn't know that you were there." + +"No, but you must let me help, mother." Joan marvelled at her own boldness +as she spoke. + +"It's nothing you can do, dear." + +"But it's sure to be something I can do. Do you know that I've been home +for months and months simply with the idea of helping you, and I'm never +allowed to do anything?" + +"Really, Joan--I don't think that's quite the way to speak." + +"No, but, mother, it's true. I _want_ to help. I'm grown up. I'm +going to dinner at the Castle, and I _must_ help you, or--or--I shall +go away and earn my own living!" + +This last was so startling and fantastic that both Joan and her mother +stared at one another in a kind of horrified amazement. + +"No, I didn't mean that, of course," Joan said, hurriedly recovering +herself. "But you must see that I must have some work to do." + +"I don't know what your father would say," said Mrs. Brandon, still +bewildered. + +"Oh, never mind father," said Joan quickly; "this is a matter just between +you and me. I'm here to help you, and you must let me do something. Now, +what's the trouble to-day?" + +"I don't know, dear. There's no trouble exactly. Things are so difficult +just now. The fact is that I promised to go to tea with Miss Burnett this +afternoon and now your father wants me to go with him to the Deanery. So +provoking! Miss Burnett caught me in the street, where it's always so +difficult to think of excuses." + +"Let me go to Miss Burnett's instead," said Joan. "It's quite time I took +on some of the calling for you. I've never seen Mr. Morris, and I hear +he's very nice." + +"Very well, dear," said Mrs. Brandon, suddenly beginning, as her way was +when there was any real opposition, to capitulate on all sides at once. +"Suppose you do go, dear. I'm sure it's very kind of you. And you might +take those books back to the Circulating Library as well. It's Market-Day. +Are you sure you won't mind the horses and cows and dogs?" + +Joan laughed. "I believe you think I'm still five years old, mother. +That's splendid. I'll start off after lunch." + +Joan went up to her room, elated. Truly, this was a great step forward. It +occurred to her on further reflection that something very serious indeed +must be going on behind the scenes to cause her mother to give in so +quickly. She sat on her old faded rocking-chair, her hands crossed behind +her head, thinking it all out. Did she once begin calling on her own +account she was grown-up indeed. What would these Morrises be like? + +She found now that she was beginning to be a little frightened. Mr. Morris +was the new Rector of St. James', the little church over by the cattle +market. He had not been in Polchester very long and was said to be a shy +timid man, but a good preacher. He was a widower, and his sister-in-law +kept house for him. Joan considered further on the great importance of +these concessions; it made all the difference to everything. She was now +to have a life of her own, and every kind of adventure and romance was +possible for her. She was suddenly so happy that she sprang up and did a +little dance round her room, a sort of polka, that became so vehement that +the pictures and the little rickety table rattled. + +"I'll be so grown-up at the Morrises' this afternoon that they'll think +I've been calling for years," she said to herself. + +She had need of all her courage and optimism at luncheon, for it was a +gloomy meal. Only her father and mother were present. They were all very +silent. + +After lunch she went upstairs, put on her hat and coat, picked up the +three Library books, and started off. It was a sunny day, with shadows +chasing one another across the Cathedral green. There was, as there so +often is in Polchester, a smell of the sea in the air, cold and +invigorating. She paused for a moment and looked across at the Cathedral. +She did not know why, but she had been always afraid of the Cathedral. She +had never loved it, and had always wished that they could go on Sundays to +some little church like St. James'. + +For most of her conscious life the Cathedral had hung over her with its +dark menacing shadow, forbidding her, as it seemed to her, to be gay or +happy or careless. To-day the thought suddenly came to her, "That place is +going to do us harm. I hate it," and for a moment she was depressed and +uneasy; but when she came out from the Arden Gate and saw the High Street +all shining with the sun, running down the hill into glittering distance, +she was gloriously cheerful once more. There the second wonderful thing +that day happened to her. She had taken scarcely a step down the hill when +she came upon Mrs. Sampson. There was nothing wonderful about that; Mrs. +Sampson, being the wife of a Dean who was much more retiring than he +should be, was to be seen in public at all times and seasons, having to +do, as it were, the work of two rather than one. No, the wonderful thing +was that Joan suddenly realised that her terror of Mrs. Sampson--a terror +that had always been a real thorn in her flesh--was completely gone. It +was as though a charm, an Abracadabra, had been whispered over Mrs. +Sampson and she had been changed immediately into a rabbit. It had never +been Mrs. Sampson's fault that she was alarming to the young. She was a +good woman, but she was cursed with two sad burdens--a desperate shyness +and a series, unrelenting, unmitigating, mysterious, desperate, of nervous +headaches. + +Her headaches were a feature of Polchester life, and those who were old +enough to understand pitied her and offered her many remedies. But the +young cannot be expected to realise that there can be anything physically +wrong with the old, and Mrs. Sampson's sharpness of manner, her terrifying +habit of rapping out a "Yes" or a "No," her gloomy view of boisterous +habits and healthy appetites, made her one most truly to be avoided. +Before to-day Joan would have willingly walked a mile out of her way to +escape her; to-day she only saw a nervous, pale-faced little woman in an +ill-fitting blue dress, for whom she could not be anything but sorry. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Sampson." + +"Good morning, Joan." + +"Isn't it a nice day?" + +"It's cold, I think. Is your mother well?" + +"Very well, thank you." + +"Give her my love." + +"I will, Mrs. Sampson." + +"Good-bye." + +"Good-bye." + +Mrs. Sampson's nose, that would take on a blue colour on a cold day, +quivered, her thin mouth shut with a snap, and she was gone. + +"But I wasn't afraid of her!" She was almost frightened at this new spirit +that had come to her, and, feeling rather that in another moment she would +be punished for her piratical audacity, she turned up the steps into the +Circulating Library. + +It was the custom in those days that far away from the dust of the grimy +shelves, in the very middle of the room, there was a table with all the +latest works of fiction in their gaudy bindings, a few volumes of poetry +and a few memoirs. Close to this table Miss Milton sat, wrapped, in the +warmest weather, in a thick shawl and knitting endless stockings. She +hated children, myself in particular. She was also a Snob of the Snobs, +and thanked God on her knees every night for Lady St. Leath, Mrs. +Combermere and Mrs. Sampson, by whose graces she was left in her present +position. + +Joan was still too near childhood to be considered very seriously, and it +was well known that her father did not take her very seriously either. She +was always, therefore, on the rare occasions when she entered the Library, +snubbed by Miss Milton. It must be confessed that to-day, in spite of her +success with Mrs. Sampson, she was nervous. She was nervous partly because +she hated Miss Milton's red-rimmed eyes, and never looked at them if she +could help it, but, in the main, because she knew that her mother was +returning the Library books too quickly, and had, moreover, insisted that +she should ask for Mr. Barrie's _Sentimental Tommy_ and Mr. Seton +Merriman's _The Sowers_, both of them books that had been asked for +for weeks and as steadily and persistently refused. + +Joan knew what Miss Milton would say, "That they might be in next week, +but that she couldn't be sure." Was Joan strong enough now, in her new- +found glory, to fight for them? She did not know. + +She advanced to the table smiling. Miss Milton did not look up, but +continued to knit one of her horrible stockings. + +"Good-morning, Miss Milton. Mother has sent back these books. They were +not quite what she wanted." + +"I'm sorry for that." Miss Milton took the books into her chilblained +protection. "It's a little difficult, I must say, to know what Mrs. +Brandon prefers." + +"Well, there's _Sentimental Tommy_," began Joan. + +But Miss Milton was an old general. + +"Oh, that's out, I'm afraid. Now, here's a sweetly pretty book--_Roger +Varibrugh's Wife_, by Adeline Sergeant. It'a only just out...." + +"Or there's _The Sowers,"_ said Joan, caught against her will by the +red-rimmed eyes and staring at them. + +"Oh, that's out, I'm afraid. There are several books here--" + +"You promised mother," said Joan, "that she should have _Sentimental +Tommy_ this week. You promised her a month ago. It's about time that +mother had a book that she cares for." + +"Really," said Miss Milton, wide-eyed at Joan's audacity. "You seem to be +charging me with some remissness, Miss Brandon. If you have any complaint, +I'm sure the Library Committee will attend to it. It's to them I have to +answer. When the book is in you shall have it. I can promise no more. I am +only human." + +"You have said that now for three months," said Joan, beginning, to her +own surprised delight, to be angry. "Surely the last reader hasn't been +three months over it. I thought subscribers were only allowed to keep a +book a week." + +Miss Milton's crimson colouring turned to a deep purple. + +"The book is out," she said. "Both books are out. They are in great +demand. I have no more to say." + +The Library door opened, and a young man came in. Joan was still too young +to wish for scenes in public. She must give up the battle for to-day. +When, however, she saw who it was she blushed. It was young Lord St. Leath +--Johnny St. Leath, as he was known to his familiars, who were many and of +all sorts and conditions. Joan hated herself for blushing, especially +before the odious Miss Milton, but there was a reason. One day in last +October after morning service Joan and her mother had waited in the +Cloisters to avoid a shower of rain. St. Leath had also waited and very +pleasantly had talked to them both. There was nothing very alarming in +this, but as the rain cleared and Mrs. Brandon had moved forward across +the Green, he had suddenly, with a confusion that had seemed to her +charming, asked Joan whether one day they mightn't meet again. He had +given her one look straight in the eyes, tried to say something more, +failed, and turned away down the Cloisters. + +Joan had never before been asked by any young man to meet him again. She +had told herself that this was nothing but the merest, most obvious +politeness; nevertheless the look that he had given her remained. + +Now, as she saw him advancing towards her, there was the thought, was it +not on that very morning that her new courage and self-confidence had come +to her? The thought was so absurd that she flung it at Miss Milton. But +the blush remained. + +Johnny was an ungainly young man, with a red face, freckles, a large +mouth, and a bull-terrier--a conventional British type, I suppose, saved, +nevertheless, from conventionality by his affection for his three plain +sisters, his determination to see things as they were, and his sense of +humour, the last of these something quite his own, and always appearing in +unexpected places. The bull-terrier, in spite of the notice on the Library +door that no dogs were admitted, advanced breathlessly and dribbling with +excitement for Miss Milton's large black felt slippers. + +"Here, Andrew, old man. Heel! Heel!" said Johnny. Andrew, however, quite +naturally concluded that this was only an approval of his intentions, and +there might have followed an awkward scene had his master not caught him +by the collar and held him suspended in mid-air, to his own indignant +surprise and astonishment. + +Joan laughed, and Miss Milton, quivering between indignation, fear and +snobbery, dropped the stocking that she was knitting. + +Andrew burst from his master's clutches, rushed the stocking into the +farthest recesses of the Library, and proceeded there to enjoy it. + +Johnny apologised. + +"Oh, it's quite all right, Lord St. Leath," said Miss Milton. "What a fine +animal!" + +"Yes, he is," said Johnny, rescuing the stocking. "He's as strong as +Lucifer. Here, Andrew, you devil, I'll break every bone in your body." + +During this little scene Johnny had smiled at Joan, and in so pleasant a +way that she was compelled to smile back at him. + +"How do you do, Miss Brandon?" He had recalled Andrew now, and the dog was +slobbering happily at his feet. "Jolly day, isn't it?" + +"Yes," said Joan, and stood there awkwardly, feeling that she ought to go +but not knowing quite how to do so. He also seemed embarrassed, and turned +abruptly to Miss Milton. + +"I say, look here.... Mother asked me to come in and get that book you +promised her. What's the name of the thing?...I've got it written down." + +He fumbled in his pocket and produced a bit of paper. + +"Here it is. _Sentimental Tommy_, by a man called Barrie. Silly name, +but mother's always reading the most awful stuff." + +Joan turned towards Miss Milton. + +"How funny!" she said. "That's the book I've just been asking for. It's +out." + +Miss Milton's face was a curious purple. + +"Well, that's odd," said Johnny. "Mother told me that you'd sent her a +line to say it was in whenever she sent for it." + +"It's been out three months," said Joan, staring now straight into Miss +Milton's angry eyes. + +"I've been keeping..." said Miss Milton. "That is, there's a special +copy.... Lady St. Leath specially asked----" + +"Is it in, or isn't it?" asked Johnny. + +"There _is_ a copy, Lord St. Leath----" With confused fingers Miss +Milton searched in a drawer. She produced the book. + +"You told me," said Joan, forgetting now in her anger St. Leath and all +the world, "that there wouldn't he a copy for weeks. If you'd told me you +were keeping one for St. Leath, that would have been different. You +shouldn't have told me a lie." + +"Do you mean to say," said Johnny, opening his eyes very widely indeed, +"that you refused this copy to Miss Brandon?" + +"Certainly," said Miss Milton, breathing very hard as though she had been +running a long distance. "I was keeping it for your mother." + +"Well, I'm damned," said Johnny. "I beg your pardon, Miss Brandon,...but +I never heard such a thing. Does my mother pay a larger subscription than +other people?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Then what right had you to tell Miss Brandon a lie?" + +Miss Milton, in spite of long training in the kind of warfare attaching, +of necessity, to Circulating Libraries, was very near to tears--also +murder. She would have been delighted to pierce Joan's heart with a bright +stiletto, had such a weapon been handy. She saw the softest, easiest, +idlest job in the world slipping out of her fingers; she saw herself, a +desolate and haggard virgin, begging her bread on the Polchester streets. +She saw...but never mind her visions. They were terrible ones. She had +recourse to her only defence. + +"If I have misunderstood my duty," she said in a trembling voice, "there +is the Library Committee." + +"Oh, never mind," said Joan whose anger had disappeared. "It doesn't +matter a bit. We'll have the book after Lady St. Leath." + +"Indeed you won't," said Johnny, seizing the volume and forcing it upon +Joan. "Mother can wait. I never heard of such a thing." He turned fiercely +upon Miss Milton. "My mother shall know exactly what has happened. I'm +sure she'd be horrified if she understood that you were keeping books from +other subscribers in order that she might have them.... Good afternoon." + +He strode from the room. At the door he paused. + +"Can I--Shall we--Are you going down the High Street, Miss Brandon?" + +"Yes," said Joan. They went out of the room and down the Library steps +together. + +In the shiny, sunny street they paused. The dark cobwebs of the Library +hung behind Joan's consciousness like the sudden breaking of a mischievous +spell. + +She was so happy that she could have embraced Andrew, who was, however, +already occupied with the distant aura of a white poodle on the other side +of the street. + +Johnny was driven by the impulse of his indignation down the hill. Joan, +rather breathlessly, followed him. + +"I say!" said Johnny. "Did you ever hear of such a woman! She ought to be +poisoned. She ought indeed. No, poisoning's too good for her. Hung, drawn +and quartered. That's what she ought to be. She'll get into trouble over +that." + +"Oh no," said Joan. "Please, Lord St. Leath, don't say any more about it. +She has a difficult time, I expect, everybody wanting the same books. +After all a promise is a promise." + +"But she'd promised your mother----" + +"No, she never really did. She always said that it would be in in a day or +two. She never properly promised. I expect we'd have had it next." + +"The snob, the rotten snob!" Johnny paused and raised his stick. "I hate +women like that. No, she's not doing her job properly. She oughtn't to be +there." + +So swift had been their descent that they arrived in a moment at the +market. + +Because to-day was market-day there was a fine noise, confusion and +splendour--carts rattling in and out, sheep and cows driven hither and +thither, the wooden stalls bright with flowers and vegetables, the dim +arcades looming behind the square filled with mysterious riches. They +could not talk very much here, and Joan was glad. She was too deeply +excited to talk. At one moment St. Leath took her arm to guide her past a +confused mob of bewildered sheep. The Glebeshire peasant on marketing-day +has plenty of conversation. Old wrinkled women, stout red-faced farmers, +boys and girls all shouted together, and above the scene the light driving +clouds flung their transparent shadows, like weaving shuttles across the +sun. + +"Oh, do let's stop here a moment," said Joan, peering into one of the +arcades. "I've always loved this one all my life. I've never been able to +resist it." + +This was the Toy Arcade, now, I'm afraid, gone the way of so many other +romantic things. It had been to all of us the most wonderful spot in +Polchester from the very earliest days, this partly because of the toys +themselves, partly because it was the densest and darkest of all the +Arcades, never utterly to be pierced by our youthful eyes, partly because +only two doors away were the sinister rooms of Mr. Dawson, the dentist. +Here not only was there every kind of toy--dolls, soldiers, horses, carts, +games, tops, hoops, dogs, elephants--but also sweets--chocolates, jujubes, +caramels, and the best sweet in the whole world, the Polchester Bull's- +eye. + +They went in together. Mrs. Magnet, now with God, an old woman like a +berry, always in a bonnet with green flowers, smiled and bobbed. The +colours of the toys jumbled against the dark walls were like patterns in a +carpet. + +"What do you say, Miss Brandon?" said Johnny. "If I give you a toy will +you give me one?" + +"Yes," said Joan, afraid a little of Mrs. Magnet's piercing black eye. + +"You're not to see what I get. Turn your back a moment." + +Joan turned around. As she waited she could hear the "Hie!...Hie! Woah!" +of the market-cries, the bleating of the sheep, the lowing of a cow. + +"Here you are, then." She turned. He presented her with a Japanese doll, +gay in a pink cotton frock, his waist girdled with a sash of gold tissue. + +"Now you turn your back," she said. + +In a kind of happy desperation she seized a nigger with bold red checks, a +white jacket and crimson trousers. + +Mrs. Magnet wrapped the presents up. They paid, and walked out into the +sun again. + +"I'll keep that doll," said Johnny, "just as long as you keep yours." + +"Good-bye," said Joan hurriedly. "I've got to call at a house on the other +side of the market.... Good-bye." + +She felt the pressure of his hand on hers, then, clutching her parcel, +hurried, almost ran, indeed, through the market-stalls. She did not look +back. + +When she had crossed the Square she turned down into a little side street. +The plan of Polchester is very simple. It is built, as it were, on the +side of a rock, running finally to a flat top, on which is the Cathedral. +Down the side of the rock there are broad ledges, and it is on one of +these that the market-place is built. At the bottom of the rock lies the +jumble of cottages known most erroneously as Seatown, and round the rock +runs the river Pol, slipping away at last through woods and hills and +valleys into the sea. At high tide you can go all the way by river to the +sea, and in the summer, this makes a pleasant and beautiful excursion. It +is because of this that Seatown has, perhaps, some right to its name, +because in one way and another sailors collect in the cottages and at the +"Dog and Pilchard," that pleasant and democratic hostelry of which, in +1897, Samuel Hogg was landlord. Many visitors have been known to declare +that Seatown was "too sweet for anything," and that "it would be really +wicked to knock down the ducks of cottages," but "the ducks of cottages" +were the foulest and most insanitary dwelling-places in the south of +England, and it has always been to me amazing that the Polchester Town +Council allowed them to stand so long as they did. In 1902, as all the +Glebeshire world knows, there was the great battle of Seatown, ending in +the cottages' destruction. In 1897 those evil dwelling-places gloried in +their full magnificence of sweet corruption, nor did the periodical +attacks of typhoid alarm in the least the citizens of the Upper Town. Once +and again gentlemen from other parts paid mysterious official visits, but +we had ways, in old times, of dealing with inquisitive meddlers from the +outside world. + +Because the market-place was half-way down the Rock, and because the +Rectory of St. James' was just below the market-place, the upper windows +of that house commanded a wonderful view both of the hill, High Street and +Cathedral above it, and of Seatown, river and woods below it. It was said +that it was up this very rocky street from the river, through the market, +and up the High Street that the armed enemies of the Black Bishop had +fought their way to the Cathedral on that great day when the Bishop had +gone to meet his God, and a piece of rock is still shown to innocent +visitors as the place whence some of his enemies, in full armour, were +flung down, many thousand feet, to the waters of the Pol. + +Joan had often longed to see the view from the windows of St. James' +Rectory, but she had not known old Dr. Burroughs, the former Rector, a +cross man with gout and rheumatism. She walked up some steps and found the +house the last of three all squeezed together on the edge of the hill. The +Rectory, because it was the last, stood square to all the winds of heaven, +and Joan fancied what it must be in wild wintry weather. Soon she was in +the drawing-room shaking hands with Miss Burnett, who was Mr. Morris' +sister-in-law, and kept house for him. + +Miss Burnett was a stout negative woman, whose whole mind was absorbed in +the business of housekeeping, prices of food, wickedness and ingratitude +of servants, maliciousness of shopkeepers and so on. The house, with all +her managing, was neither tidy nor clean, as Joan quickly saw; Miss +Burnett was not, by temperament, methodical, nor had she ever received any +education. Her mind, so far as a perception of the outside world and its +history went, was some way behind that of a Hottentot or a South Sea +Islander. She had, from the day of her birth, been told by every one +around her that she was stupid, and, after a faint struggle, she had +acquiesced in that judgment. She knew that her younger sister, afterwards +Mrs. Morris, was pretty and accomplished, and that she would never be +either of those things. She was not angry nor jealous at this. The note of +her character was acquiescence, and when Agatha had died of pleurisy it +had seemed the natural thing for her to come and keep house for the +distressed widower. If Mr. Morris had since regretted the arrangement he +had, at any rate, never said so. + +Miss Burnett's method of conversation was to say something about the +weather and then to lapse into a surprised and distressed stare. If her +visitor made some statement she crowned it with, "Well, now, that was just +was I was going to say." + +Her nose, when she talked, twinkled at the nostrils apprehensively, and +many of her visitors found this fascinating, so that they suddenly, with +hot confusion, realised that they too had been staring in a most offensive +manner. Joan had not been out in the world long enough to enable her to +save a difficult situation by brilliant talk, and she very quickly found +herself staring at Miss Burnett's nose and longing to say something about +it, as, for instance, "What a stronge nose you've got, Miss Burnett--see +how it twitches!" or, "If you'll allow me, Miss Burnett, I'd just like to +study your nose for a minute." When she realised this horrible desire in +herself she blushed crimson and gazed about the untidy and entangled +drawing-room in real desperation. She could see nothing in the room that +was likely to save her. She was about to rise and depart, although she had +only been there five minutes, when Mr. Morris came in. + +Joan realised at once that this man was quite different from any one whom +she had ever known. He was a stranger to her Polchester world in body, +soul and spirit, as though, a foreigner from some far-distant country, he +had been shipwrecked and cast upon an inhospitable shore. So strangely did +she feel this that she was quite surprised when he did not speak with a +foreign accent. "Oh, he must be a poet!" was her second thought about Mr. +Morris, not because he dressed oddly or had long hair. She could not tell +whence the impression came, unless it were in his strange, bewildered, +lost blue eyes. Lost, bewildered--yes, that was what he was! With every +movement of his slim, straight body, the impulse with which he brushed +back his untidy fair hair from his forehead, he seemed like a man only +just awake, a man needing care and protection, because he simply would not +be able to look after himself. So ridiculously did she have this +impression that she almost cried "Look out!" when he moved forward, as +though he would certainly knock himself against a chair or a table. + +"How strange," she thought, "that this man should live with Miss Burnett! +What does he think of her?" She was excited by her discovery of him, but +that meant very little, because just now she was being excited by +everything. She found at once that talking to him was the easiest thing in +the world. Mr. Morris did not say very much; he smiled gently, and when +Miss Burnett, awaking suddenly from her torpor, said, "You'll have some +tea, Miss Brandon, won't you?" he, smiling, softly repeated the +invitation. + +"Thank you," said Joan. "I will. How strange it is," she went on, "that +you are so close to the market and, even on market-day, you don't hear a +sound!" + +And it was strange! as though the house were bewitched and had suddenly, +even as Joan entered it, gathered around it a dark wood for its +protection. + +"Yes," said Mr. Morris. "We found it strange at first. But it's because we +are the last house, and the three others protect us. We get the wind and +rain, though. You should hear this place in a storm. But the house is +strong enough; it's very stoutly built; not a board creaks in the wildest +weather. Only the windows rattle and the wind comes roaring down the +chimneys." + +"How long have you been here?" asked Joan. + +"Nearly a year--and we still feel strangers. We were near Ashford in Kent +for twelve years, and the Glebeshire people are very different." + +"Well," said Joan, who was a little irritated because she felt that his +voice was a little sadder than it ought to be, "I think you'll like +Polchester. I'm _sure_ you will. And you've come in a good year, too. +There's sure to be a lot going on this year because of the Jubilee." + +Mr. Morris did not seem to be as thrilled as he should be by the thought +of the Jubilee, so Joan went on: + +"It's so lucky for us that it comes just at the Polchester Feast time. We +always have a tremendous week at the Feast--the Horticultural Show and a +Ball in the Assembly Rooms, and all sorts of things. It's going to be my +first ball this year, although I've really come out already." She laughed. +"Festivities start to-morrow with the arrival of Marquis." + +"Marquis?" repeated Mr. Morris politely. + +"Oh, don't you know Marquis? His is the greatest Circus in England. He +comes to Polchester every year, and they have a procession through the +town--elephants and camels, and Britannia in her chariot, and sometimes a +cage with the lions and the tigers. Last year they had the sweetest little +ponies--four of them, no higher than St. Bernards--and there are the +clowns too, and a band." + +She was suddenly afraid that she was talking too much--silly too, in her +childish enthusiasms. She remembered that she was in reality deputising +for her mother, who would never have talked about the Circus. Fortunately +at that moment the tea came in; it was brought by a flushed and +contemptuous maid, who put the tray down on a little table with a bang, +tossed her head as though she despised them all, and slammed the door +behind her. + +Miss Burnett was upset by this, and her nose twitched more violently than +ever. Joan saw that her hand trembled as she poured out the tea, and she +was at once sorry for her. + +Mr. Morris talked about Kent and London, and tea was drunk and the saffron +cake praised, and Joan thought it was time to go. At the last, however, +she turned to Mr. Morris and said: + +"Do you like the Cathedral?" + +"It's wonderful," he answered. "You should see it from our window +upstairs." + +"Oh, I hate it--" said Joan. + +"Why?" Morris asked her. + +There was a curious challenge in his voice. They were both standing facing +one another. + +"I suppose that's a silly thing to say. Only you don't live as close to it +as we do, and you haven't lived here so long as we have. It seems to hang +right over you, and it never changes, and I hate to think it will go on +just the same, years after we're dead." + +"Have you seen the view from our window?" Morris asked her. + +"No," said Joan, "I was never in this house before." + +"Come and see it," he said. + +"I'm sure," said Miss Burnett heavily, "Miss Brandon doesn't want to be +bothered--when she's seen the Cathedral all her life, too." + +"Of course I'd love to see it," said Joan, laughing. "To tell you the +truth, that's what I've always wanted. I looked at this house again and +again when old Canon Burroughs was here, and thought there must be a +wonderful view." + +She said good-bye to Miss Burnett. + +"My mother does hope you will soon come and see us," she said. + +"I have just met Mrs. Brandon for a moment at Mrs. Combermere's," said Mr. +Morris. "We'll be very glad to come." + +She went out with him. + +"It's up these stairs," he said. "Two flights. I hope you don't mind." + +They climbed on to the second landing. At the end of the passage there was +a window. The evening was grey and only little faint wisps of blue still +lingered above the dusk, but the white sky threw up the Cathedral towers, +now black and sharp-edged in magnificent relief. Truly it _was_ a +view! + +The window was in such a position that through it you gazed behind the +neighbouring houses, above some low roofs, straight up the twisting High +Street to the Cathedral. The great building seemed to be perched on the +very edge of the rock, almost, you felt, swinging in mid-air, and that so +precariously that with one push of the finger you might send it staggering +into space. Joan had never seen it so dominating, so commanding, so fierce +in its disregard of the tiny clustered world beneath it, so near to the +stars, so majestic and alone. + +"Yes--it's wonderful," she said. + +"Oh, but you should see it," he cried, "as it can be. It's dull to-day, +the sky's grey and there's no sunset,--but when it's flaming red with all +the windows shining, or when all the stars are out or in moonlight... +it's like a great ship sometimes, and sometimes like a cloud, and +sometimes like a fiery palace. Sometimes it's in mist and you can only see +just the top of the towers...." + +"I don't like it," said Joan, turning away. "It doesn't care what happens +to us." + +"Why should it?" he answered. "Think of all it's seen--the battles and the +fights and the plunder--and it doesn't care! We can do what we like and it +will remain just the same." + +"People could come and knock it down," Joan said. + +"I believe it would still be there if they did. The rock would be there +and the spirit of the Cathedral.... What do people matter beside a thing +like that? Why, we're ants...!" + +He stopped suddenly. + +"You'll think me foolish, Miss Brandon," he said. "You have known the +Cathedral so long----" He paused. "I think I know what you mean about +fearing it----" + +He saw her to the door. + +"Good-bye," he said, smiling. "Come again." + +"I like him," she thought as she walked away. What a splendid day she had +had! + + + + +Chapter IV + +The Impertinent Elephant + + + +Archdeacon Brandon had surmounted with surprising celerity the shock of +Falk's unexpected return. He was helped to this firstly by his confident +belief in a God who had him especially in His eye and would, on no +account, do him any harm. As God had decided that Falk had better leave +Oxford, it was foolish to argue that it would have been wiser for him to +stay there. Secondly, he was helped by his own love for, and pride in, his +son. The independence and scorn that were so large a part of Falk's nature +were after his own heart. He might fight and oppose them (he often did), +but always behind the contest there was appreciation and approbation. That +was the way for a son of his to treat the world--to snap his fingers at +it! The natural thing to do, the good old world being as stupid as it was. +Thirdly, he was helped by his family pride. It took him only a night's +reflection to arrive at the decision that Falk had been entirely right in +this affair and Oxford entirely in the wrong. Two days after Falk's return +he wrote (without saying anything to the boy) Falk's tutor a very warm +letter, pointing out that he was sure the tutor would agree with him that +a little more tact and diplomacy might have prevented so unfortunate an +issue. It was not for him, Brandon, to suggest that the authorities in +Oxford were perhaps a little behind the times, a little out of the world. +Nevertheless it was probably true that long residence in Oxford had +hindered the aforesaid authorities from realising the trend of the day, +from appreciating the new spirit of independence that was growing up in +our younger generation. It seemed obvious to him, Archdeacon Brandon, that +you could no longer treat men of Falk's age and character as mere boys +and, although he was quite sure that the authorities at Oxford had done +their best, he nevertheless hoped that this unfortunate episode would +enable them to see that we were not now living in the Middle Ages, but +rather in the last years of the nineteenth century. It may seem to some a +little ironical that the Archdeacon, who was the most conservative soul +alive, should write thus to one of the most conservative of our +institutions, but--"Before Oxford the Brandons were...." + +What the tutor remarked when he read this letter is not recorded. Brandon +said nothing to Falk about all this. Indeed, during the first weeks after +Falk's return he preserved a stern and dignified silence. After all, the +boy must learn that authority was authority, and he prided himself that he +knew, better than any number of Oxford Dons, how to train and educate the +young. Nevertheless light broke through. Some of Falk's jokes were so good +that his father, who had a real sense of fun if only a slight sense of +humour, was bound to laugh. Very soon father and son resumed their old +relations of sudden tempers and mutual admiration, and a strange, rather +pathetic, quite uneloquent love that was none the less real because it +was, on either side, completely selfish. + +But there was a fourth reason why Falk's return caused so slight a storm. +That reason was that the Archdeacon was now girding up his loins before he +entered upon one of his famous campaigns. There had been many campaigns in +the past. Campaigns were indeed as truly the breath of the Archdeacon's +nostrils as they had been once of the great Napoleon's--and in every one +of them had the Archdeacon been victorious. + +This one was to be the greatest of them all, and was to set the sign and +seal upon the whole of his career. + +It happened that, three miles out of Polchester, there was a little +village known as Pybus St. Anthony. A very beautiful village it was, with +orchards and a stream and old-world cottages and a fine Norman church. But +not for its orchards nor its stream nor its church was it famous. It was +famous because for many years its listing had been regarded as one of the +most important in the whole diocese of Polchester. It was the tradition +that the man who went to Pybus St. Anthony had the world in front of him. +When likely men for preferment were looked for it was to Pybus St. Anthony +that men looked. Heaven alone knows how many Canons and Archdeacons had +made their first bow there to the Glebeshire world! Three Deans and a +Bishop had, at different times, made it their first stepping-stone to +fame. Canon Morrison (Honorary Canon of the Cathedral) was its present +incumbent. Less intellectual than some of the earlier incumbents, he was +nevertheless a fine fellow. He had been there only three years when +symptoms of cancer of the throat had appeared. He had been operated on in +London, and at first it had seemed that he would recover. Then the dreaded +signs had reappeared; he had wished, poor man, to surrender the living, +but because there was yet hope the Chapter, in whose gift the living was, +had insisted on his remaining. + +A week ago, however, he had collapsed. It was feared now that at any +moment he might die. The Archdeacon was very sorry for Morrison. He liked +him, and was deeply touched by his tragedy; nevertheless one must face +facts; it was probable that at any moment now the Chapter would be forced +to make a new appointment. + +He had been aware--he did not disguise it from himself in the least--for +some time now of the way that the appointment must go. There was a young +man, the Rev. Rex Forsyth by name, who, in his judgment, could be the only +possible man. Young Forsyth was, at the present moment, chaplain to the +Bishop of St. Minworth. St. Minworth was only a Suffragan Bishopric, and +it could not honestly be said that there was a great deal for Mr. Forsyth +to do there. But it was not because the Archdeacon thought that the young +man ought to have more to do that he wished to move him to Pybus St. +Anthony. Far from it! The Archdeacon, in the deep secrecy of his own +heart, could not honestly admit that young Forsyth was a very hard worker +--he liked hunting and whist and a good bottle of wine...he was that +kind of man. + +Where, then, were his qualifications as Canon Morrison's successor? Well, +quite honestly--and the Archdeacon was one of the honestest men alive--his +qualifications belonged more especially to his ancestors rather than to +himself. In the Archdeacon's opinion there had been too many _clever_ +men of Pybus. Time now for a _normal_ man. Morrison was normal and +Forsyth would be more normal still. + +He was in fact first cousin to young Johnny St. Leath and therefore a very +near relation of the Countess herself. His father was the fourth son of +the Earl of Trewithen, and, as every one knows, the Trewithens and the St. +Leaths are, for all practical purposes, one and the same family, and +divide Glebeshire between them. No one ever quite knew what young Rex +Forsyth became a parson for. Some people said he did it for a wager; but +however true that might be, he was not very happy with dear old Bishop +Clematis and very ready for preferment. + +Now the Archdeacon was no snob; he believed in men and women who had long +and elaborate family-trees simply because he believed in institutions and +because it had always seemed to him a quite obvious fact that the longer +any one or anything remained in a place the more chance there was of +things being done as they always had been done. It was not in the least +because she was a Countess that he thought the old Lady St. Leath a +wonderful woman; not wonderful for her looks certainly--no one could call +her a beautiful woman--and not wonderful for her intelligence; the +Archdeacon had frequently been compelled to admit to himself that she was +a little on the stupid side--but wonderful for her capacity for staying +where she was like a rock and allowing nothing whatever to move her. In +these dangerous days--and what dangerous days they were!--the safety of +the country simply depended on a few such figures as the Countess. Queen +Victoria was another of them, and for her the Archdeacon had a real and +very touching devotion. Thank God he would be able to show a little of it +in the prominent part he intended to play in the Polchester Jubilee +festivals this year! + +Any one could see then that to have young Rex Forsyth close at hand at +Pybus St. Anthony was the very best possible thing for the good of +Polchester. Lady St. Leath saw it, Mrs. Combermere saw it, Mrs. Sampson +saw it, and young Forsyth himself saw it. The Archdeacon entirely failed +to understand how there could be any one who did not see it. However, he +was afraid that there were one or two in Polchester.... People said that +young Forsyth was stupid! Perhaps he was not very bright; all the easier +then to direct him in the way that he should go, and throw his forces into +the right direction. People said that he cared more for his hunting and +his whist than for his work--well, he was young and, at any rate, there +was none of the canting hypocrite about him. The Archdeacon hated canting +hypocrites! + +There had been signs, once and again, of certain anarchists and devilish +fellows, who crept up and down the streets of Polchester spreading their +wicked mischief, their lying and disintegrating ideas. The Archdeacon was +determined to fight them to the very last breath in his body, even as the +Black Bishop before him had fought _his_ enemies. And the Archdeacon +had no fear of his victory. + +Rex Forsyth at Pybus St. Anthony would be a fine step forward. Have one of +these irreligious radicals there, and Heaven alone knew what harm he might +wreak. No, Polchester must be saved. Let the rest of the world go to +pieces, Polchester would be preserved. + +On how many earlier occasions had the Archdeacon surveyed the Chapter, +considered it in all its details and weighed up judiciously the elements, +good and bad, that composed it. How well he knew them all! First the Dean, +mild and polite and amiable, his mind generally busy with his beloved +flora and fauna, his flowers and his butterflies, very easy indeed to deal +with. Then Archdeacon Witheram, most nobly conscientious, a really devout +man, taking his work with a seriousness that was simply admirable, but +glued to the details of his own half of the diocese, so that broader and +larger questions did not concern him very closely. Bentinck-Major next. +The Archdeacon flattered himself that he knew Bentinck-Major through and +through--his snobbery, his vanity, his childish pleasure in his position +and his cook, his vanity in his own smart appearance! It would be +difficult to find words adequate for the scorn with which the Archdeacon +regarded that elegant little man. Then Byle, the Precentor. He was, to +some extent, an unknown quantity. His chief characteristic perhaps was his +hatred of quarrels--he would say or do anything if only he might not be +drawn into a "row." "Peace at any price" was his motto, and this, of +course, as with the famous Vicar of Bray, involved a good deal of +insincerity. The Archdeacon knew that he could not trust him, but a +masterful policy of terrorism had always been very successful. Ryle was +frankly frightened by the Archdeacon, and a very good thing too! Might he +long remain so! Lastly there was Foster, the Diocesan Missioner. Let it be +said at once that the Archdeacon hated Foster. Foster had been a thorn in +the Archdeacon's side ever since his arrival in Polchester--a thin, +shambly-kneed, untidy, pale-faced prig, that was what Foster was! The +Archdeacon hated everything about him--his grey hair, his large protruding +ears, the pimple on the end of his nose, the baggy knees to his trousers, +his thick heavy hands that never seemed to be properly washed. + +Nevertheless beneath that hatred the Archdeacon was compelled to a +reluctant admiration. The man was fearless, a fanatic if you please, but +devoted to his religion, believing in it with a fervour and sincerity that +nothing could shake. An able man too, the best preacher in the diocese, +better read in every kind of theology than any clergyman in Glebeshire. It +was especially for his open mind about new religious ideas that the +Archdeacon mistrusted him. No opinion, however heterodox, shocked him. He +welcomed new thought and had himself written a book, _Christ and the +Gospels_, that for its learning and broad-mindedness had created a +considerable stir. But he was a dull dog, never laughed, never even +smiled, lived by himself and kept to himself. He had, in the past, opposed +every plan of the Archdeacon's, and opposed it relentlessly, but he was +always, thanks to the Archdeacon's efforts, in a minority. The other +Canons disliked him; the old Bishop, safely tucked away in his Palace at +Carpledon, was, except for his satellite Rogers, his only friend in +Polchester. + +So much for the Chapter. There was now only one unknown element in the +situation--Ronder. Ronder's position was important because he was +Treasurer to the Cathedral. His predecessor, Hart-Smith, now promoted to +the Deanery of Norwich, had been an able man, but one of the old school, a +great friend of Brandon's, seeing eye to eye with him in everything. The +Archdeacon then had had his finger very closely upon the Cathedral purse, +and Hart-Smith's departure had been a very serious blow. The appointment +of the new Canon had been in the hands of the Crown, and Brandon had, of +course, had nothing to say to it. However, one glance at Ronder--he had +seen him and spoken to him at the Dean's a few days after his arrival--had +reassured him. Here, surely, was a man whom he need not fear--an easy, +good-natured, rather stupid fellow by the look of him. Brandon hoped to +have his finger on the Cathedral purse as tightly in a few weeks' time as +he had had it before. + +And all this was in no sort of fashion for the Archdeacon's personal +advancement or ambition. He was contented with Polchester, and quite +prepared to live there for the rest of his days and be buried, with proper +ceremonies, when his end came. With all his soul he loved the Cathedral, +and if he regarded himself as the principal factor in its good governance +and order he did so with a sort of divine fatalism--no credit to him that +it was so. Let credit be given to the Lord God who had seen fit to make +him what he was and to place in his hands that great charge. + +His fault in the matter was, perhaps, that he took it all too simply, that +he regarded these men and the other figures in Polchester exactly as he +saw them, did not believe that they could ever be anything else. As God +had created the world, so did Brandon create Polchester as nearly in his +own likeness as might be--there they all were and there, please God, they +would all be for ever! + +Bending his mind then to this new campaign, he thought that he would go +and see the Dean. He knew by this time, he fancied, exactly how to prepare +the Dean's mind for the proper reception of an idea, although, in truth, +he was as simple over his plots and plans as a child brick-building in its +nursery. + +About three o'clock one afternoon he prepared to sally forth. The Dean's +house was on the other side of the Cathedral, and you had to go down the +High Street and then to the left up Orange Street to get to it, an +irrational roundabout proceeding that always irritated the Archdeacon. +Very splendid he looked, his top-hat shining, his fine high white collar, +his spotless black clothes, his boots shapely and smart. (He and Bentinck- +Major were, I suppose, the only two clergymen in Polchester who used boot- +trees.) But his smartness was in no way an essential with him. Clothed in +rags he would still have the grand air. "I often think of him," Miss +Dobell once said, "as one of those glorious gondoliers in Venice. How +grand he would look!" + +However that might be, it is beyond question that the ridiculous clothes +that a clergyman of the Church of England is compelled to wear did not +make him absurd, nor did he look an over-dressed fop like Bentinck-Major. + +Miss Dobell's gondolier was, on this present occasion, in an excellent +temper; and meeting his daughter Joan, he felt very genial towards her. +Joan had observed, several days before, that the family crisis might be +said to be past, and very thankful she was. + +She had, at this time, her own happy dreams, so that father and daughter, +moved by some genial impulse, stopped and kissed. + +"There! my dear!" said the Archdeacon. "And what are you doing this +afternoon, Joan?" + +"I'm going with mother," she said, "to see Miss Ronder. It's time we +called, you know." + +"I suppose it is." Brandon patted her cheek. "Everything you want?" + +"Yes, father, thank you." + +"That's right." + +He left the house, humming a little tune. On the second step he paused, as +he was in the habit of doing, and surveyed the Precincts--the houses with +their shining knockers, their old-fashioned bow-windows and overhanging +portals, the Cathedral Green, and the towering front of the Cathedral +itself. He was, for a moment, a kind of presiding deity over all this. He +loved it and believed in it and trusted it exactly as though it had been +the work of his own hands. Halfway towards the Arden Gate he overtook poor +old shambling Canon Morphew, who really ought, in the Archdeacon's +opinion, to have died long ago. However, as he hadn't died the Archdeacon +felt kindly towards him, and he had, when he talked to the old man, a +sense of beneficence and charity very warming to the heart. + +"Well, Morphew, enjoying the sun?" + +Canon Morphew always started when any one spoke to him, being sunk all day +deep in dreams of his own, dreams that had their birth somewhere in the +heart of the misty dirty rooms where his books were piled ceiling-high and +papers blew about the floor. + +"Good afternoon...good afternoon, Archdeacon. Pray forgive me. You came +upon me unawares." + +Brandon moderated his manly stride to the other's shuffling steps. + +"Hope you've had none of that tiresome rheumatism troubling you again." + +"Rheumatism? Just a twinge--just a twinge.... It belongs to my time of +life." + +"Oh, don't say that!" The Archdeacon laughed his hearty laugh. "You've +many years in front of you yet." + +"No, I haven't--and you don't mean it, Archdeacon--you know you don't. A +few months perhaps--that's all. The Lord's will be done. But there's a +piece of work...a piece of work...." + +He ran off into incoherent mumblings. Suddenly, just as they reached the +dark shadows of the Arden Gate, he seemed to wake up. His voice was quite +vigorous, his eyes, tired and worn as they were, bravely scanned Brandon's +health and vigour. + +"We all come to it, you know. Yes, we do. The very strongest of us. You're +a young man, Archdeacon, by my years, and I hope you may long live to +continue your good work in this place. All the same, you'll be old +yourself one day. No one escapes.... No one escapes...." + +"Well, good-day to you," said the Archdeacon hurriedly. "Good-day to +you.... Hope this bright weather continues," and started rather +precipitately down the hill, leaving Morphew to find his way by himself. + +His impetuosity was soon restrained. He tumbled immediately into a crowd, +and pulling himself up abruptly and looking down the High Street he saw +that the pavement on both sides of the street was black with people. He +was not a man who liked to be jostled, and he was the more uncomfortable +in that he discovered that his immediate neighbour was Samuel Hogg, the +stout and rubicund landlord of the "Dog and Pilchard" of Seatown. With him +was his pretty daughter Annie. Near to them were Mr. John Curtis and Mr. +Samuel Croppet, two of the Town Councillors. With none of these gentlemen +did the Archdeacon wish to begin a conversation. + +And yet it was difficult to know what to do. The High Street pavements +were narrow, and the crowd seemed continually to increase. There was a +good deal of pushing and laughter and boisterous good-humour. To return up +the street again seemed to have something ignominious about it. Brandon +decided to satisfy his curiosity, support his dignity and indulge his +amiability by staying where he was. + +"Good afternoon, Hogg," he said. "What's the disturbance for?" + +"Markisses Circus, sir," Hogg lifted his face like a large round sun. +"Surely you'd 'eard of it, Archdeacon?" + +"Well, I didn't know," said Brandon in his most gracious manner, "that it +was this afternoon.... Of course, how stupid of me!" + +He smiled round good-naturedly upon them all, and they all smiled back +upon him. He was a popular figure in the town; it was felt that his +handsome face and splendid presence did the town credit. Also, he always +knew his own mind. _And_ he was no coward. + +He nodded to Curtis and Croppet and then stared in front of him, a fixed +genial smile on his face, his fine figure triumphant in the sun. He looked +as though he were enjoying himself and was happy because he liked to see +his fellow-creatures happy; in reality he was wondering how he could have +been so foolish as to forget Marquis' Circus. Why had not Joan said +something to him about it? Very careless of her to place him in this +unfortunate position. + +He looked around him, but he could see no other dignitary of the Church +close at hand. How tiresome--really, how tiresome! Moreover, as the timed +moment of the procession arrived the crowd increased, and he was now most +uncomfortably pressed against other people. He felt a sharp little dig in +his stomach, then, turning, found close beside him the flushed anxious, +meagre little face of Samuel Bond, the Clerk of the Chapter. Bond's +struggle to reach his dignified position in the town had been a severe +one, and had only succeeded because of a multitude of self-submissions and +abnegations, humilities and contempts, flatteries and sycophancies that +would have tired and defeated a less determined soul. But, in the +background, there were the figures of Mrs. Bond and four little Bonds to +spur him forward. He adored his family. "Whatever I am, I'm a family man," +was one of his favourite sayings. In so worthy a cause much sycophancy may +be forgiven him. To no one, however, was he so completely sycophantic as +to the Archdeacon. He was terrified of the Archdeacon; he would wake up in +the middle of the night and think of him, then tremble and cower under the +warm protection of Mrs. Bond until sleep rescued him once more. + +It was natural, therefore, that however numerous the people in Polchester +might be whom the Archdeacon despised, he despised little Bond most of +all. And here was little Bond pressed up against him, with the large +circumference of the cheerful Mr. Samuel Hogg near by, and the ironical +town smartness of Messrs. Curtis and Croppet close at hand. Truly a +horrible position. + +"Ah, Archdeacon! I didn't see you--indeed I didn't!" The little breathless +voice was like a child's penny whistle blown ignorantly. "Just fancy!-- +meeting you like this! Hot, isn't it, although it's only February. Yes.... +Hot indeed. I didn't know you cared for processions, Archdeacon----" + +"I don't," said Brandon. "I hadn't realised that there was a procession. +Stupidly, I had forgotten----" + +"Well, well," came the good-natured voice of Mr. Hogg. "It'll do us no +harm, Archdeacon--no harm at all. I forget whether you rightly know my +little girl. This is Annie--come out to see the procession with her +father." + +The Archdeacon was compelled to shake hands. He did it very graciously. +She was certainly a fine girl--tall, strong, full-breasted, with dark +colour and raven black hair; curious, her eyes, very large and bright. +They stared full at you, but past you, as though they had decided that you +were of insufficient interest. + +Annie thus gazed at the Archdeacon and said no word. Any further +intimacies were prevented by approach of the procession. To the present +generation Marquis' Circus would not appear, I suppose, very wonderful. To +many of us, thirty years ago, it seemed the final expression of Oriental +splendour and display. + +There were murmurs and cries of "Here they come! Here they come! 'Ere they +be!" Every one pressed forward; Mr. Bond was nearly thrown off his feet +and caught at the lapel of the Archdeacon's coat to save himself. Only the +huge black eyes of Annie Hogg displayed no interest. The procession had +started from the meadows beyond the Cathedral and, after discreetly +avoiding the Precincts, was to plunge down the High Street, pass through +the Market-place and vanish up Orange Street--to follow, in fact, the very +path that the Archdeacon intended to pursue. + +A band could be heard, there was an astounded hush (the whole of the High +Street holding its breath), then the herald appeared. + +He was, perhaps, a rather shabby fellow, wearing the tarnished red and +gold of many a procession, but he walked confidently, holding in his hand +a tall wooden truncheon gay with paper-gilt, having his round cap of cloth +of gold set rakishly on one side of his head. After him came the band, +also in tarnished cloth of gold and looking as though they would have been +a trifle ashamed of themselves had they not been deeply involved in the +intricacies of their music. After the band came four rather shabby riders +on horseback, then some men dressed apparently in admiring imitation of +Charles II.; then, to the wonder and whispered incredulity of the crowd, +Britannia on her triumphal car. The car--an elaborate cart, with gilt +wheels and strange cardboard figures of dolphins and Father Neptune--had +in its centre a high seat painted white and perched on a kind of box. +Seated on this throne was Britannia herself--a large, full-bosomed, +flaxen-haired lady in white flowing robes, and having a very anxious +expression of countenance, as, indeed, poor thing, was natural enough, +because the cart rocked the box and the box yet more violently rocked the +chair. At any moment, it seemed, might she be precipitated, a fallen +goddess, among the crowd, and the fact that the High Street was on a slope +of considerable sharpness did not add to her ease and comfort. Two stout +gentlemen, perspiration bedewing their foreheads, strove to restrain the +ponies, and their classic clothing, that turned them into rather tattered +Bacchuses, did not make them less incongruous. + +Britannia and her agony, however, were soon forgotten in the ferocious +excitements that followed her. Here were two camels, tired and dusty, with +that look of bored and indifferent superiority that belongs to their +tribe, two elephants, two clowns, and last, but of course the climax of +the whole affair, a cage in which there could be seen behind the iron bars +a lion and a lioness, jolted haplessly from side to side, but too deeply +shamed and indignant to do more than reproach the crowd with their burning +eyes. Finally, another clown bearing a sandwich-board on which was printed +in large red letters "Marquis' Circus--the Finest in the World--Renowned +through Europe--Come to the Church Meadows and see the Fun"--and so on. + +As this glorious procession passed down the High Street the crowd +expressed its admiration in silent whispering. There was no loud applause; +nevertheless, Mr. Marquis, were he present, must have felt the air +electric with praise. It was murmured that Britannia was Mrs. Marquis, +and, if that were true, she must have given her spouse afterwards, in the +sanctity of their privacy, a very grateful account of her reception. + +When the band had passed a little way down the street and their somewhat +raucous notes were modified by distance, the sun came out in especial +glory, as though to take his own peep at the show, the gilt and cloth of +gold shone and gleamed, the chair of Britannia rocked as though it were +bursting with pride, and the Cathedral bells, as though they too wished to +lend their dignified blessing to the scene, began to ring for Evensong. A +sentimental observer, had he been present, might have imagined that the +old town was glad to have once again an excuse for some display, and +preened itself and showed forth its richest and warmest colours and +wondered, perhaps, whether after all the drab and interesting citizens of +to-day were not minded to return to the gayer and happier old times. Quite +a noise, too, of chatter and trumpets and bells and laughter. Even the +Archdeacon forgot his official smile and laughed like a boy. + +It was then that the terrible thing happened. Somewhere at the lower end +of the High Street the procession was held up and the chariot had suddenly +to pull itself back upon its wheels, and the band were able to breathe +freely for a minute, to gaze about them and to wipe the sweat from their +brows; even in February blowing and thumping "all round the town" was a +warm business. + +Now, just opposite the Archdeacon were the two elephants, checked by the +sudden pause. Behind them was the cage with the lions, who, now that the +jolting had ceased, could collect their scattered indignities and roar a +little in exasperated protest. The elephants, too, perhaps felt the +humility of their position, accustomed though they might be to it by many +years of sordid slavery. It may be, too, that the sight of that +patronising and ignorant crowd, the crush and pack of the High Street, the +silly sniggering, the triumphant jangle of the Cathedral bells, thrust +through their slow and heavy brains some vision long faded now, but for an +instant revived, of their green jungles, their hot suns, their ancient +royalty and might. They realised perhaps a sudden instinct of their power, +that they could with one lifting of the hoof crush these midgets that +hemmed them in back to the pulp whence they came, and so go roaming and +bellowing their freedom through the streets and ways of the city. The +larger of the two suddenly raised his head and trumpeted; with his dim +uplifted eyes he caught sight of the Archdeacon's rich and gleaming top- +hat shining, as an emblem of the city's majesty, above the crowd. It +gleamed in the sun, and he hated it. He trumpeted again and yet again, +then, with a heavy lurching movement, stumbled towards the pavement, and +with little fierce eyes and uplifted trunk heaved towards his enemies. + +The crowd, with screams and cries, fell back in agitated confusion. The +Archdeacon, caught by surprise, scarcely realising what had occurred, +blinded a little by the sun, stood where he was. In another movement his +top-hat was snatched from his head and tossed into air.... + +He felt the animal's hot breath upon his face, heard the shouts and cries +around him, and, in very natural alarm, started back, caught at anything +for safety (he had tumbled upon the broad and protective chest of Samuel +Hogg), and had a general impression of whirling figures, of suns and roofs +and shining faces and, finally, the high winds of heaven blowing upon his +bare head. + +In another moment the incident was closed. The courtier of Charles II. had +rushed up; the elephant was pulled and hustled and kicked; for him swiftly +the vision of power and glory and vengeance was over, and once again he +was the tied and governed prisoner of modern civilisation. The top-hat +lay, a battered and hapless remnant, beneath the feet of the now advancing +procession. + +Once the crowd realised that the danger was over a roar of laughter went +up to heaven. There were shouts and cries. The Archdeacon tried to smile. +He heard in dim confusion the cheery laugh of Samuel Hogg, he caught the +comment of Croppet and the rest. + +With only one thought that he must hide himself, indignation, humiliation, +amazement that such a thing could be in his heart, he backed, turned, +almost ran, finding at last sudden refuge in Bennett's book-shop. How +wonderful was the dark rich security of that enclosure! The shop was +always in a half-dusk and the gas burnt in its dim globes during most of +the day. All the richer and handsomer gleamed the rows of volumes, the +morocco and the leather and the cloth. Old Mr. Bennett himself, the son of +the famous man who had known Scott and Byron, was now a prodigious age (in +the town his nickname was Methusalem), but he still liked to sit in the +shop in a high chair, his white beard in bright contrast with the chaste +selection of the newest works arranged in front of him. He might himself +have been the Spirit of Select Literature summoned out of the vasty deep +by the Cultured Spirits of Polchester. + +Into this splendid temple of letters the Archdeacon came, halted, +breathless, bewildered, tumbled. He saw at first only dimly. He was aware +that old Mr. Bennett, with an exclamation of surprise, rose in his chair. +Then he perceived that two others were in the shop; finally, that these +two were the Dean and Ronder, the men of all others in Polchester whom he +least wished to find there. + +"Archdeacon!" cried the Dean. + +"Yes--om--ah--an extraordinary thing has occurred--I really--oh, thank +you, Mr. Wilton...." + +Mr. Frank Wilton, the young assistant, had offered a chair. + +"You'll scarcely believe me--really, I can hardly believe myself." Here +the Archdeacon tried to laugh. "As a matter of fact, I was coming out to +see you...on my way...and the elephant..." + +"The elephant?" repeated the Dean, who, in the way that he had, was +nervously rubbing one gaitered leg against the other. + +"Yes--I'm a little incoherent, I'm afraid. You must forgive me... +breathless too.... It's too absurd. So many people..." + +"A little glass of water, Mr. Archdeacon?" said young Wilton, who had a +slight cast in one eye, and therefore gave the impression that he was +watching round the corner to see that no one ran off with the books. + +"No, thank you, Wilton.... No, thank you.... Very good of you, I'm sure. +But really it was a monstrous thing. I was coming to see you, as I've just +said, Dean, having forgotten all about this ridiculous procession. I was +held up by the crowd just below the shop here. Then suddenly, as the +animals were passing, the elephant made a lurch towards me--positively, +I'm not exaggerating--seized my hat and--ran off with it!" + +The Archdeacon had, as I have already said, a sense of fun. He saw, for +the first time, the humour of the thing. He began to laugh; he laughed +more loudly; laughter overtook him altogether, and he roared and roared +again, sitting there, his hands on his knees, until the tears ran down his +cheek. + +"Oh dear...my hat...an elephant...Did you ever hear----? My best hat...!" +The Dean was compelled to laugh too, although, being a shy and hesitating +man, he was not able to do it very heartily. Young Mr. Wilton laughed, +but in such a way as to show that he knew his place and was ready to be +serious at once if his superiors wished it. Even old Mr. Bennett laughed +as distantly and gently as befitted his great age. + +Brandon was conscious of Ronder. He had, in fact, been conscious of him +from the very instant of his first perception of him. He was giving +himself away before their new Canon; he thought that the new Canon, +although he was smiling pleasantly and was standing with becoming modesty +in the background, looked superior.... + +The Archdeacon pulled himself up with a jerk. After all, it was nothing of +a joke. A multitude of townspeople had seen him in a most ludicrous +position, had seen him start back in terror before a tame elephant, had +seen him frightened and hatless. No, there was nothing to laugh about. + +"An elephant?" repeated the Dean, still gently laughing. + +"Yes, an elephant," answered Brandon rather testily. That was enough of +the affair, quite enough. "Well, I must be getting back. See you to- +morrow, Dean." + +"Anything important you wanted to see me about?" asked the Dean, +perceiving that he had laughed just a little longer than was truly +necessary. + +"No, no...nothing. Only about poor Morrison. He's very bad, they tell +me...a week at most." + +"Dear, dear--is that so?" said the Dean. "Poor fellow, poor fellow!" + +Brandon was now acutely conscious of Ronder. Why didn't the fellow say +something instead of standing silently there with that superior look +behind his glasses? In the ordinary way he would have greeted him with his +usual hearty patronage. Now he was irritated. It was really most +unfortunate that Ronder should have witnessed his humiliation. He rose, +abruptly turning his back upon him. The fellow was laughing at him--he was +sure of it. + +"Well--good-day, good-day." As he advanced to the door and looked out into +the street he was aware of the ludicrousness of going even a few steps up +the street without a hat. + +Confound Ronder! + +But there was scarcely any one about now. The street was almost deserted. +He peered up and down. + +In the middle of the road was a small, shapeless, black object. + +...His hat! + + + + +Chapter V + +Mrs. Brandon Goes Out to Tea + + + +Mrs. Brandon hated her husband. No one in Polchester had the slightest +suspicion of this; certainly her husband least of all. She herself had +been first aware of it one summer afternoon some five or six years ago +when, very pleasantly and in the kindest way, he had told her that she +knew nothing about primroses. They had been having tea at the Dean's, and, +as was often the case then, the conversation had concerned itself with +flowers and ferns. Mrs. Brandon was quite ready to admit that she knew +nothing about primroses--there were for her yellow ones and other ones, +and that was all. The Archdeacon had often before told her that she was +ignorant, and she had acquiesced without a murmur. Upon this afternoon, +just as Mrs. Sampson was asking her whether she liked sugar, revelation +came to her. That little scene was often afterwards vividly in front of +her--the Archdeacon, with his magnificent legs spread apart in front of +the fireplace; Miss Dobell trying to look with wisdom upon a little bundle +of primulas that the Dean was showing to her; the sunlight upon the lawn +beyond the window; the rooks in the high elms busy with their nests; the +May warmth striking through the misty air--all was painted for ever +afterwards upon her mind. + +"My dear, you may as well admit at once that you know nothing whatever +about primroses." + +"No, I'm afraid I don't--thank you, Mrs. Sampson. One lump, please." + +She had been coming to it. Of course, a very long time before this--very, +very far away, now an incredible memory, seemed the days when she had +loved him so passionately that she almost died with anxiety if he left her +for a single night. Almost too passionate it had been, perhaps. He himself +was not capable of passionate love, or, at any rate, had been quite +satisfied to be _not_ passionately in love with _her_. He pursued +other things--his career, his religion, his simple beneficence, his +health, his vigour. His love for his son was the most passionately +personal thing in him, and over that they might have met had he been able +to conceive her as a passionate being. Her ignorance of life--almost +complete when he had met her--had been but little diminished by her time +with him. She knew now, after all those years, little more of the world +and its terrors and blessings than she had known then. But she did know +that nothing in her had been satisfied. She knew now of what she was +capable, and it was perhaps the thought that he had, by taking her, +prevented her fulfilment and complete experience that caused her, more +than anything else, to hate him. + +She very quickly discovered that he had married her for certain things--to +have children, to have a companion. He had soon found that the latter of +these he was not to obtain. She had in her none of the qualities that he +needed in a companion, and so he had, with complete good-nature and +kindliness, ceased to consider her. He should have married a bold +ambitious woman who would have wanted the things, that he wanted--a woman +something like Falk, his son. On the rare occasions when he analysed the +situation he realised this. He did not in any way vent his disappointment +upon, her--he was only slightly disappointed. He treated her with real +kindness save on the occasions of his violent loss of temper, and gave her +anything that she wanted. He had, on the whole, a great contempt for women +save when, as for instance with Mrs. Combermere, they were really men. + +It was to her most humiliating of all, that nothing in their relations +worried him. He was perfectly at ease about it all, and fancied that she +was the same. Meanwhile her real life was not dead, only dormant. For some +years she tried to change the situation; she made little appeals to him, +endeavoured timidly to force him to need her, even on one occasion +threatened to sleep in a separate room. The memory of _that_ little +episode still terrified her. His incredulity had only been equalled by his +anger. It was just as though some one had threatened to deprive him of his +morning tub.... + +Then, when she saw that this was of no avail, she had concentrated herself +upon her children, and especially upon Falk. For a while she had fancied +that she was satisfied. Suddenly--and the discovery was awful--she was +aware that Falk's affection all turned towards his father rather than +towards her. Her son despised her and disregarded her as his father had +done. She did not love Falk the less, but she ceased to expect anything +from him--and this new loss she put down to her husband's account. + +It was shortly after she made this discovery that the affair of the +primroses occurred. + +Many a woman now would have shown her hostility, but Mrs. Brandon was, by +nature, a woman who showed nothing. She did not even show anything to +herself, but all the deeper, because it found no expression, did her +hatred penetrate. She scored now little marks against him for everything +that he did. She did not say to herself that a day of vengeance was +coming, she did not think of anything so melodramatic, she expected +nothing of her future at all--but the marks were there. + +The situation was developed by Falk's return from Oxford. When he was away +her love for him seemed to her simply all in the world that she possessed. +He wrote to her very seldom, but she made her Sunday letters to him the +centre of her week, and wrote as though they were a passionately devoted +mother and son. She allowed herself this little gentle deception--it was +her only one. + +But when he returned and was in the house it was more difficult to cheat +herself. She saw at once that he had something on his mind, that he was +engaged in some pursuit that he kept from every one. She discovered, too, +that she was the one of whom he was afraid, and rightly so, the Archdeacon +being incapable of discovering any one's pursuits so long as he was +engaged on one of his own. Falk's fear of her perception brought about a +new situation between them. He was not now oblivious of her presence as he +had been. He tried to discover whether she knew anything. She found him +often watching her, half in fear and half in defiance. + +The thought that he might be engaged now upon some plan of his own in +which she might share excited her and gave her something new to live for. +She did not care what his plan might be; however dangerous, however +wicked, she would assist him. Her moral sense had never been very deeply +developed in her. Her whole character was based on her relations with +individuals; for any one she loved she would commit murder, theft or +blasphemy. She had never had any one to love except Falk. + +She despised the Archdeacon the more because he now perceived nothing. +Under his very nose the thing was, and he was sublimely contented. How she +hated that content, and how she despised it! + +About a week after the affair of the elephants, Mrs. Combermere asked her +to tea. She disliked Mrs. Combermere, but she went to tea there because it +was easier than not going. She disliked Mrs. Combermere especially because +it was in her house that she heard silly, feminine praise of her husband. +It amused her, however, to think of the amazed sensation there would be, +did she one day burst out before them all and tell them what she really +thought of the Archdeacon. + +Of course she would never do that, but she had often outlined the speech +in her mind. + +Mrs. Combermere also lived in the Precincts, so that Mrs. Brandon had not +far to go. Before she arrived there a little conversation took place +between the lady of the house, Miss Stiles, Miss Dobell and Dr. Puddifoot, +that her presence would most certainly have hindered. Mrs. Combermere was +once described by some one as "constructed in concrete"; and that was not +a bad description of her, so solid, so square and so unshakable and +unbeatable was she. She wore stiff white collars like a man's, broad thick +boots, short skirts and a belt at her waist. Her black hair was brushed +straight back from her forehead, she had rather small brown eyes, a large +nose and a large mouth. Her voice was a deep bass. She had some hair on +her upper lip, and thick, strong, very white hands. She liked to walk down +the High Street, a silver-topped cane in her hand, a company of barking +dogs at her heels, and a hat, with large hat-pins, set a little on one +side of her head. She had a hearty laugh, rather like the Archdeacon's. +Dr. Puddifoot was our doctor for many years and brought many of my +generation into the world. He was a tall, broad, loose-set man, who always +wore tweeds of a bright colour. + +Mrs. Combermere cared nothing for her surroundings, and her house was +never very tidy. She bullied her servants, but they liked her because she +gave good wages and fulfilled her promises. She was the first woman in +Polchester to smoke cigarettes. It was even said that she smoked cigars, +but no one, I think, ever saw her do this. + +On this afternoon she subjected Miss Stiles to a magisterial inquiry; Miss +Stiles had on the preceding evening given a little supper party, and no +one in Polchester did anything of the kind without having to render +account to Mrs. Combermere afterwards. They all sat round the fire, +because it was a cold day. Mrs. Combermere sat on a straight-backed chair, +tilting it forward, her skirt drawn up to her knees, lier thick-stockinged +legs and big boots for all the world to see. + +"Well, Ellen, whom did you have?" + +"Ronder and his aunt, the Bentinck-Majors, Charlotte Ryle and Major +Drake." + +"Sorry I couldn't have been there. What did you give them?" + +"Soup, fish salad, cutlets, chocolate souffle, sardines on toast." + +"What drink?" + +"Sherry, claret, lemonade for Charlotte, whisky." + +"Any catastrophes?" + +"No, I don't think so. Bentinck-Major sang afterwards." + +"Hum--not sorry I missed _that_. When was it over?" + +"About eleven." + +"What did you ask them for?" + +"For the Ronders." + +Mrs. Combermere, raising one foot, kicked a coal into blaze. + +"Tea will be in in a minute.... Now, I'll tell you for your good, my dear +Ellen, that I don't like your Ronder." + +Miss Stiles laughed. "Oh, you needn't mind me, Betsy. You never have. Why +don't you?" + +"In the first place, he's stupid." + +Miss Stiles laughed again. + +"Never wronger in your life. I thought you were smarter than that." + +Mrs. Combermere smacked her knee. "I may be wrong. I often am. I take +prejudices, I know. Secondly, he's fat and soft--too like the typical +parson." + +"It's an assumed disguise--however, go on." + +"Third, I hear he agrees with everything one says." + +"You hear? You've not talked to him yourself, then?" + +Mrs. Combermere raised her head as the door opened and the tea came in. + +"No. I've only seen him in Cathedral. But I've called, and he's coming to- +day." + +Miss Stiles smiled in her own dark and mysterious way. + +"Well, Betsy, my dear, I leave you to find it all out for yourself.... I +keep my secrets." + +"If you do," said Mrs. Combermere, getting up and going to the tea-table, +"it's the first time you ever have. _And_ Ellen," she went on, "I've +a bone to pick. I won't have you laughing at my dear Archdeacon." + +"Laughing at your Archdeacon?" Miss Stiles' voice was softer and slower +than any complaining cow's. + +"Yes. I hear you've all been laughing about the elephant. That was a thing +that might have happened to any one." + +Puddifoot laughed. "The point is, though, that it happened to Brandon. +That's the joke. _And_ his new top hat." + +"Well, I won't have it. Milk, doctor? Miss Dobell and I agree that it's a +shame." + +Miss Dobell, who was in appearance like one of those neat silk umbrellas +with the head of a parrot for a handle, and whose voice was like the +running brook both for melody and monotony, thus suddenly appealed to, +blushed, stammered, and finally admitted that the Archdeacon was, in her +opinion, a hero. + +"That's not exactly the point, dear Mary," said Miss Stiles. "The point +is, surely, that an elephant straight from the desert ate our best +Archdeacon's best hat in the High Street. You must admit that that's a +laughable circumstance in this the sixtieth year of our good Queen's +reign. I, for one, intend to laugh." + +"No, you don't, Ellen," and, to every one's surprise, Mrs. Combermere's +voice was serious. "I mean what I say. I'm not joking at all. Brandon may +have his faults, but this town and everything decent in it hangs by him. +Take him away and the place drops to pieces. I suppose you think you're +going to introduce your Ronders as up-to-date rivals. We prefer things as +they are, thank you." + +Miss Stiles' already bright colouring was a little brighter. She knew her +Betsy Combermere, but she resented rebukes before Puddifoot. + +"Then," she said, "if he means all that to the place, he'd better look +after his son more efficiently." + +"_And_ exactly what do you mean by that?" asked Mrs. Combermere. + +"Oh, everybody knows," said Miss Stiles, looking round to Miss Dobell and +the doctor for support, "that young Brandon is spending the whole of his +time down in Seatown, and that Miss Annie Hogg is not entirely unconnected +with his visits." + +"Really, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, bringing her fist down upon the +table, "you're a disgusting woman. Yes, you are, and I won't take it back, +however much you ask me to. All the worst scandal in this place comes from +you. If it weren't for you we shouldn't be so exactly like every +novelist's Cathedral town. But I warn you, I won't have you talking about +Brandon. His son's only a boy, and the handsomest male in the place by the +way--present company, of course, excepted. He's only been home a few +months, and you're after him already with your stories. I won't have +it----" + +Miss Stiles rose, her fingers trembling as she drew on her gloves. + +"Well, I won't stay here to be insulted, anyway. You may have known me a +number of years, Betsy, but that doesn't allow you _all_ the +privileges. The only matter with me is that I say what I think. You +started the business, I believe, by insulting my friends." + +"Sit down, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, laughing. "Don't be a fool. Who's +insulting your friends? You'd insult them yourself if they were only +successful enough. You can have your Ronder." + +The door opened and the maid announced: "Canon Ronder." + +Every one was conscious of the dramatic fitness of this, and no one more +so than Mrs. Combermere. Ronder entered the room, however, quite unaware +of anything apparently, except that he was feeling very well and expected +amusement from his company. He presented precisely the picture of a nice +contented clergyman who might be baffled by a school treat but was +thoroughly "up" to afternoon tea. He seemed a little stouter than when he +had first come to Polchester, and his large spectacles were as round as +two young moons. + +"How do you do, Mrs. Combernere? I do hope you will forgive my aunt, but +she has a bad headache. She finds Polchester a little relaxing." + +Mrs. Combermere did not get up, but stared at him from, behind her tea- +table. That was a stare that has frightened many people in its time, and +to-day it was especially challenging. She was annoyed with Ellen Stiles, +and here, in front of her, was the cause of her annoyance. + +They faced one another, and the room behind them was aware that Mrs. +Combermere, at any rate, had declared battle. Of what Ronder was aware no +one knew. + +"How do you do, Canon Ronder? I'm delighted that you've honoured my poor +little house. I hear that you're a busy man. I'm all the more proud that +you can spare me half an hour." + +She kept him standing there, hoping, perhaps, that he would be consciously +awkward and embarrassed. He was completely at his ease. + +"Oh, no, I'm not busy. I'm a very lazy man." He looked down at her, +smiling, aware, apparently, of no one else in the room. "I'm always +meaning to pull myself up. But I'm too old for improvement" + +"We're all busy people here, although you mayn't think it, Canon Ronder. +But I'm afraid you're giving a false account of yourself. I've heard of +you." + +"Nothing but good, I hope." + +"Well, I don't know. That depends. I expect you're going to shake us all +up and teach us improvement." + +"Dear me, no! I come to you for instruction. I haven't an idea in the +world." + +"Too much modesty is a dangerous thing. Nobody's modest in Polchester." + +"Then I shall be Polchester's first modest man. But I'm not modest. I +simply speak the truth." + +Mrs. Combermere smiled grimly. "There, too, you will be the exception. We +none of us speak the truth here." + +"Really, Mrs. Combermere, you're giving Polchester a dreadful character." +He laughed, but did not take his eyes away from her. "I hope that you've +been here so long that you've forgotten what the place is like. I believe +in first impressions." + +"So do I," she said, very grimly indeed. + +"Well, in a year's time we shall see which of us is right. I'll be quite +willing to admit defeat." + +"Oh, a year's time!" She laughed more pleasantly. "A great deal can happen +in a year. You may be a bishop by then, Canon Ronder," + +"Ah, that would be more than I deserve," he answered quite gravely. + +The little duel was over. She turned around, introduced him to Miss Dobell +and Puddifoot, both of whom, however, he had already met. He sat down, +very happily, near the fire and listened to Miss Dobell's shrill +proclamation of her adoration of Browning. Conversation became general, +and was concerned first with the Jubilee and the preparations for it, +afterwards with the state of South Africa, Lord Penrhyn's quarries, and +bicycling. Every one had a good deal to say about this last topic, and the +strange costumes which ladies, so the papers said, were wearing in +Battersea Park when out on their morning ride. + +Miss Dobell said that "it was too disgraceful," to which Mrs. Combermere +replied "Fudge! As though every one didn't know by this time that women +had legs!" + +Everything, in fact, went very well, although Ellen Stiles observed to +herself with a certain malicious pleasure that their hostess was not +entirely at her ease, was "a little ruffled, about something." + +Soon two more visitors arrived--first Mr. Morris, then Mrs. Brandon. They +came close upon one another's heels, and it was at once evident that they +would, neither of them, alter very considerably the room's atmosphere. No +one ever paid any attention to Mrs. Brandon in Polchester, and although +Mr. Morris had been some time now in the town, he was so shy and retiring +and quiet that no one was, as yet, very distinctly aware of him. Mrs. +Combermere was occupied with her own thoughts and the others were talking +very happily beside the fire, so it soon happened that Morris and Mrs. +Brandon were sitting by themselves in the window. + +There occurred then a revelation.... That is perhaps a portentous word, +but what else can one call it? It is a platitude, of course, to say that +there is probably no one alive who does not remember some occasion of a +sudden communion with another human being that was so beautiful, so +touching, so transcendentally above human affairs that a revelation was +the only definition for it. Afterwards, when analysis plays its part, one +may talk about physical attractions, about common intellectual interests, +about spiritual bonds, about what you please, but one knows that the +essence of that meeting is undefined. + +It may be quite enough to say about Morris and Mrs. Brandon, that they +were both very lonely people. You may say, too, that there was in both of +them an utterly unsatisfied longing to have some one to protect and care +for. Not her husband nor Falk nor Joan needed Mrs. Brandon in the least-- +and the Archdeacon did not approve of dogs in the house. Or you may say, +if you like, that these two liked the look of one another, and leave it at +that. Still the revelation remains--and all the tragedy and unhappiness +and bitterness that that revelation involved remains too.... + +This was, of course, not the first time that they had met. Once before at +Mrs. Combermere's they had been introduced and talked together for a +moment; but on that occasion there had been no revelation. + +They did not say very much now. Mrs. Brandon asked Morris whether he liked +Polchester and he said yes. They talked about the Cathedral and the coming +Jubilee. Morris said that he had met Falk. Mrs. Brandon, colouring a +little, asked was he not handsome? She said that he was a remarkable boy, +very independent, that was why he had not got on very well at Oxford.... +He was a tremendous comfort to her, she said. When he went away...but +she stopped suddenly. + +Not looking at him, she said that sometimes one felt lonely even though +there was a great deal to do, as there always was in a town like +Polchester. + +Yes, Morris said that he knew that. And that was really all. There were +long pauses in their conversation, pauses that were like the little wooden +hammerings on the stage before the curtain rises. + +Mrs. Brandon said that she hoped that he would come and see her, and he +said that he would. Their hands touched, and they both felt as though the +room had suddenly closed in upon them and become very dim, blotting the +other people out. + +Then Mrs. Brandon got up to go. Afterwards, when she looked back to this, +she remembered that she had looked, for some unknown reason, especially at +Canon Ronder, as she stood there saying good-bye. + +She decided that she did not like him. Then she went away, and Mrs. +Combermere was glad that she had gone. + +Of all the dull women.... + + + + +Chapter VI + +Seatown Mist and Cathedral Dust + + + +Falk Brandon knew quite well that his mother was watching him. + +It was a strange truth that until this return of his from Oxford he had +never considered his mother at all. It was not that he had grown to +disregard her, as do many sons, because of the monotonous regularity of +her presence. Nor was it that he despised her because he seemed so vastly +to have outgrown her. He had not been unkind nor patronising nor +contemptuous--he had simply not yet thought about her. The circumstances +of his recent return, however, had forced him to consider every one in the +house. He had his secret preoccupation that seemed so absorbing and +devastating to him that he could not believe that every one around him +would not guess it. He soon discovered that his father was too cock-sure +and his sister too innocent to guess anything. Now he was not himself a +perceptive man; he had, after all, seen as yet very little of the world, +and he had a great deal of his father's self-confidence; nevertheless, he +was just perceptive enough to perceive that his mother was thinking about +him, was watching him, was waiting to see what he would do.... + +His secret was quite simply that, for the last year, he had been +devastated by the consciousness of Annie Hogg, the daughter of the +landlord of "The Dog and Pilchard." Yes. devastated was the word. It would +not be true to say that he was in love with her or, indeed, had any +analysed emotion for her--he was aware of her always, was disturbed by her +always, could not keep away from her, wanted something in connection with +her far deeper than mere love-making-- + +What he wanted he did not know. He could not keep away from her, and yet +when he was with her nothing occurred. She did not apparently care for +him; he was not even sure that he wanted her to. At Oxford during his last +term he had thought of her--incessantly, a hot pain at his heart. He had +not invited the disturbance that had sent him down, but he had welcomed +it. + +Every day he went to "The Dog and Pilchard." He drank but little and +talked to no one. He just leaned up against the wall and looked at her. +Sometimes he had a word with her. He knew that they must all be speaking +of it. Maybe the whole town was chattering. He could not think of that. He +had no plans, no determination, no resolve--and he was desperately +unhappy.... + +Into this strange dark confusion the thought of his mother drove itself. +He had from the very beginning been aware of his father in this +connection. In his own selfish way he loved his father, and he shared in +his pride and self-content. He was proud of his father for being what he +was, for his good-natured contempt of other people, for his handsome body +and his dominance of the town. He could understand that his father should +feel as he did, and he did honestly consider him a magnificent man and far +above every one else in the place. But that did not mean that he ever +listened to anything that his father said. He pleased himself in what he +did, and laughed at his father's temper. + +He had perceived from the first that this connection of his with Annie +Hogg might do his father very much harm, and he did not want to harm him. +The thought of this did not mean that for a moment he contemplated +dropping the affair because of his father--no, indeed--but the thought of +the old man, as he termed him, added dimly to his general unhappiness. He +appreciated the way that his father had taken his return from Oxford. The +old man was a sportsman. It was a great pity that he should have to make +him unhappy over this business. But there it was--you couldn't alter +things. + +It was this fatalistic philosophy that finally ruled everything with him. +"What must be must." If things went wrong he had his courage, and he was +helped too by his contempt for the world.... + +He knew his father, but he was aware now that he knew nothing at all about +his mother. + +"What's _she_ thinking about?" he asked himself. + +One afternoon he was about to go to Seatown when, in the passage outside +his bedroom, he met his mother. They both stopped as though they had +something to say to one another. He did not look at all like her son, so +fair, tall and aloof, as though even in his own house he must be on his +guard, prepared to challenge any one who threatened his private plans. + +"She's like a little mouse," he thought to himself, as though he were +seeing her for the first time, "preparing to run off into the wainscot" He +was conscious, too, of her quiet clothes and shy preoccupied timidity--all +of it he seemed to see for the first time, a disguise for some purpose as +secret, perhaps, as his own. + +"Oh, Falk," she said, and stopped, and then went on with the question that +she so often asked him: + +"Is there anything you want?" + +"No, mother, thank you. I'm just going out." + +"Oh, yes...." She still stayed there nervously looking up at him. + +"I was wondering----Are you going into the town?" + +"Yes, mother. Is there anything I can do for you?" + +"No, thank you." Still she did not move. + +"Joan's out," she said. Then she went on quickly, "I wish you'd tell me if +there were anything----" + +"Why, of course." He laughed. "What exactly do you mean?" + +"Nothing, dear. Only I like to know about your plans." + +"Plans? I haven't any." + +"No, but I always think you may be going away suddenly. Perhaps I could +help you. I know it isn't very much that I can do, but anything you told +me I think I could help you about.... I'd like to help you." + +He could see that she had been resolving for some time to speak to him, +and that this little appeal was the result of a desperate determination. +He was touched. + +"That's all right, mother. I suppose father and you think I oughtn't to be +hanging around here doing nothing." + +"Oh, your father hasn't said anything to me. I don't know what he thinks. +But I should miss you if you went. It is nice for us having you, although, +of course, it must seem slow to you here." + +He stood back against the wall, looking past her out through the window +that showed the grey sky of a misty day. + +"Well, it's true that I've got to settle about doing something soon. I +can't be home like this for ever. There's a man I know in London wants me +to go in for a thing with him...." + +"What kind of a thing, dear?" + +"It's to do with the export trade. Travelling about. I should like that. +I'm a bit restless, I'm afraid. I should want to put some money into it, +of course, but the governor will let me have something.... He wants me to +go into Parliament." + +"Parliament?" + +"Yes," Falk laughed. "That's his latest idea. He was talking about it the +other night. Of course, that's foolishness. It's not my line at all. I +told him so." + +"I wouldn't like you to go away altogether," she repeated. "It would make +a great difference to me." + +"Would it really?" He had a strange mysterious impulse to speak to her +about Annie Hogg. The thought of his mother and Annie Hogg together showed +him at once how impossible that was. They were in separate worlds. He was +suddenly angry at the difficulties that life was making for him without +his own wish. "Oh, I'll be here some time yet, mother," he said. "Well, I +must get along now. I've got an appointment with a fellow." + +She smiled and disappeared into her room. + +All the way into Seatown he was baffled and irritated by this little +conversation. It seemed that you could not disregard people by simply +determining to disregard them. All the time behind you and them some force +was insisting on places being taken, connections being formed. One was +simply a bally pawn...a bally pawn.... + +But what was his mother thinking? Had some one been talking to her? +Perhaps already she knew about Annie. But what could she know? Girls like +Annie were outside her ken. What could his mother know about life? The day +did not help his dissatisfaction. The fog had not descended upon the town, +but it had sent as its forerunner a wet sea mist, dim and intangible, +depressing because it removed all beauty and did not leave even +challenging ugliness in its place. + +On the best of days Seatown was not beautiful. I have read in books +romantic descriptions of Glebeshire coves, Glebeshire towns with the +romantic Inn, the sanded floor, fishermen with gold rings in their ears +and strange oaths upon their lips. In one book I remember there was a fine +picture of such a place, with beautiful girls dancing and mysterious old +men telling mysterious tales about ghosts and goblins, and, of course, +somewhere in the distance some one was singing a chanty, and the moon was +rising, and there was a nice little piece of Glebeshire dialect thrown in. +All very pretty.... Seatown cannot claim such prettiness. Perhaps once +long ago, when there were only the Cathedral, the Castle, the Rock, and a +few cottages down by the river, when, at night-tide, strange foreign ships +came up from the sea, when the woods were wild forest and the downs were +bare and savage, Seatown had its romance, but that was long ago. Seatown, +in these latter days, was a place of bad drainage, bad drinking, bad +living and bad dying. The men who haunted its dirty, narrow little streets +were loafers and idlers and castaways. The women were, most of them, no +better than they should be, and the children were the most slatternly and +ill-bred in the whole of Glebeshire. Small credit to the Canons and the +Town Councillors and the prosperous farmers that it was so, but in their +defence it might be urged that it needed a very valiant Canon and the most +fearless of Town Councillors to disturb that little nest. And the time +came when it was disturbed.... + +Even the Pol, a handsome river enough out beyond the town in the reaches +of the woods, was no pretty sight at low tide when there was nothing to +see but a thin, sluggish grey stream filtering through banks of mud to its +destination, the sea. At high tide the river beat up against the crazy +stone wall that bordered Pennicent Street; and on the further side there +were green fields and a rising hill with a feathery wood to crown it. From +the river, coming up through the green banks, Seatown looked picturesque, +with its disordered cottages scrambling in confusion at the tail of the +rock and the Cathedral and Castle nobly dominating it. That distant view +is the best thing to be said for Seatown. + +To-day, in the drizzling mist, the place was horribly depressing. Falk +plunged down into Bridge Street as into a damp stuffy well. Here some of +the houses had once been fine; there were porticoes and deep-set doors and +bow-windows, making them poor relations of the handsome benevolent +Georgian houses in Orange Street. The street, top-tilting down to the +river, was slovenly with dirt and carelessness. Many of the windows were +broken, their panes stuffed with paper; washing hung from house to house. +The windows that were not broken were hermetically sealed and filled with +grimy plants and ferns, and here and there a photograph of an embarrassed +sailor or a smiling married couple or an overdressed young woman placed +face outward to the street. Bridge Street tumbled with a dirty absent- +mindedness into Pennicent Street. This, the main thoroughfare of Seatown, +must have been once a handsome cobbled walk by the river-side. The houses, +more than in Bridge Street, showed by their pillared doorways and their +faded red brick that they had once been gentlemen's residences, with +gardens, perhaps, running to the river's edge and a fine view of the +meadows and woods beyond. To-day all was shrouded in a mist that was never +stationary, that seemed alive in its shifting movement, revealing here a +window, there a door, now a chimney-pot, now steps that seemed to lead +into air, and the river, now at full tide and lapping the stone wall, +seemed its drunken bewildered voice. + +"Bally pawns, that's what we are," Falk muttered again. It seemed to be +the logical conclusion of the thoughts that had worried him, like flies, +during his walk. Some one lurched against him as he stayed for a moment to +search for the inn. A hot spasm of anger rose in him, so sudden and fierce +that he was frightened by it, as though he had seen his own face in a +mirror. But he said nothing. "Sorry," said a voice, and shadow faded into +shadow. + +He found the "Dog and Pilchard" easily enough. Just beyond it the river +was caught into a kind of waterfall by a ridge of stone that projected +almost into mid-stream. At high tide it tumbled over this obstruction with +an astonished splash and gurgle. Even when the river was at its lowest +there was a dim chattering struggle at this point. Falk always connected +this noise with the inn and the power or enchantment of the inn that held +him--"Black Enchantment," perhaps. He was to hear that struggling chatter +of the river until his dying day. + +He pushed through the passage and turned to the right into the bar. A damp +day like this always served Hogg's trade. The gas was lit and sizzled +overhead with a noise as though it commented ironically on the fatuity of +the human beings beneath it. The room was full, but most of the men-- +seamen, loafers, a country man or two--crowded up to the bar. Falk crossed +to a table in the corner near the window, his accustomed seat. No one +seemed to notice him, but soon Hogg, stout and smiling, came over to him. +No one had ever seen Samuel Hogg out of temper--no, never, not even when +there had been fighting in the place and he had been compelled to eject +men, by force of arms, through the doors and windows. There had not been +many fights there. Men were afraid of him, in spite of his imperturbable +good temper. Men said of him that he would stick at nothing, although what +exactly was meant by that no one knew. + +He had a good word for every one; no crime or human failing could shock +him. He laughed at everything. And yet men feared him. Perhaps for that +very reason. The worst sinner has some kind of standard of right and +wrong. Himself he may not keep it, but he likes to see it there. "Oh, he's +deep," was Seatown's verdict on Samuel Hogg, and it is certain that the +late Mrs. Hogg had not been, in spite of her husband's good temper, a +happy woman. + +He came up to Falk now,--smiling, and asked him what he would have. "Nasty +day," he said. Falk ordered his drink. Dimly through the mist and +thickened air the Cathedral chimes recorded the hour. Funny how you could +hear them in every nook and corner of Polchester. + +"Likely turn to rain before night," Hogg said, as he turned back to the +bar. Falk sat there watching. Some of the men he knew, some he did not, +but to-day they were all shadows to him. Strange how, from the moment that +he crossed the threshold of that place, hot, burning excitement and +expectation lapped him about, swimming up to him, engulfing him, swamping +him body and soul. He sat there drowned in it, not stirring, his eyes +fixed upon the door. There was a good deal of noise, laughter, swearing, +voices raised and dropped, forming a kind of skyline, and above this a +voice telling an interminable tale. + +Annie Hogg came in, and at once Falk's throat contracted and his heart +hammered in the palms of his hands. She moved about, talking to the men, +fetching drinks, unconcerned and aloof as she always was. Seen there in +the mist of the overcrowded and evil-smelling room, there was nothing very +remarkable about her. Stalwart and resolute and self-possessed she looked; +sometimes she was beautiful, but not now. She was a woman at whom most men +would have looked twice. Her expression was not sullen nor disdainful; in +that, perhaps, there was something fine, because there was life, of its +own kind, in her eyes, and independence in the carriage of her head. + +Falk never took his eyes from her. At that moment she came down the room +and saw him. She did not come over to him at once, but stopped and talked +to some one at another table. At last she was beside him, standing up +against his table and looking over his head at the window behind him. + +"Nasty weather, Mr. Brandon," she said. Her voice was low and not +unpleasant; although she rolled her r's her Glebeshire accent was not very +strong, and she spoke slowly, as though she were trying to choose her +words. + +"Yes," Falk answered. "Good for your trade, though." + +"Dirty weather always brings them in," she said. + +He did not look at her. + +"Been busy to-day?" + +"Nothing much this morning," she answered. "I've been away at my aunt's, +out to Borheddon, these last two days." + +"Yes. I saw you were not here," he said. "Did you have a good time?" + +"Middling," she answered. "My aunt's been terrible bad with bronchitis +this winter. Poor soul, it'll carry her off one of these days, I reckon." + +"What's Borheddon like?" he asked. + +"Nothing much. Nothing to do, you know. But I like a bit of quiet just for +a day or two. How've you been keeping, Mr. Brandon?" + +"Oh, I'm all right. I shall be off to London to look for a job one of +these days." + +He looked up at her suddenly, sharply, as though he wanted to catch her +interest. But she showed no emotion. + +"Well, I expect this is slow for you, a little place like this. Plenty +going on in London, I expect." + +"Yes. Do you ever think you'd like to go there?" + +"Daresay I shall one of these days. Never know your luck. But I'm not +terrible anxious.... Well, I must be getting on." + +He caught her eyes and held them. + +"Come back for a moment when you're less busy. I've got something I want +to say to you." + +Very slightly the colour rose in her dark cheek. + +"All right," she said. + +When she had gone he drew a deep breath, as though he had surmounted some +great and sudden danger. He felt that if she had refused to come he would +have risen and broken everything in the place. Now, as though he had, by +that little conversation with her, reassured himself about her, he looked +around the room. His attention was at once attracted by a man who was +sitting in the further corner, his back against the wall, opposite to him. + +This was a man remarkable for his extreme thinness, for the wild lock of +black hair that fell over his forehead and almost into his eyes, and for a +certain sort of threadbare and dissolute distinction which hung about him. +Falk knew him slightly. His name was Edmund Davray, and he had lived in +Polchester now for a considerable number of years. He was an artist, and +had arrived in the town one summer on a walking tour through Glebeshire. +He had attracted attention at once by the quality of his painting, by the +volubility of his manner, and by his general air of being a person of +considerable distinction. His surname was French, but no one knew anything +with any certainty about him. Something attracted him in Polchester, and +he stayed. He soon gave it out that it was the Cathedral that fascinated +him; he painted a number of remarkable sketches of the nave, the choir, +Saint Margaret's Chapel, the Black Bishop's Tomb. He had a "show" in +London and was supposed to have done very well out of it. He disappeared +for a little, but soon returned, and was to be found in the Cathedral most +days of the week. + +At first he had a little studio at the top of Orange Street. At this time +he was rather popular in Polchester society. Mrs. Combermere took him up +and found him audacious and amusing. His French name gave a kind of +piquancy to his audacity; he was unusual; he was striking. It was right +for Polchester to have an artist and to stick him up in the very middle of +the town as an emblem of taste and culture. Soon, however, he began to +decline. It was whispered that he drank, that his morals were "only what +you'd expect of an artist," and that he was really "too queer about the +Cathedral." One day he told Miss Dobell that the amount that she knew +about literature would go inside a very small pea, and he was certainly +"the worse for liquor" at one of Mrs. Combermere's tea-parties. He did +not, however, give them time to drop him; he dropped himself, gave up his +Orange Street studio, lived, no one knew where, neglected his appearance, +and drank quite freely whenever he could get anything to drink. He now cut +everybody, rather than allowed himself to be cut. + +He was in the Cathedral as often as ever, and Lawrence and Cobbett, the +Vergers, longed to have an excuse for expelling him, but he always behaved +himself there and was in nobody's way. He was finally regarded as "quite +mad," and was seen to talk aloud to himself as he walked about the +streets. + +"An unhappy example," Miss Dobell said, "of the artistic temperament, that +wonderful gift, gone wrong." + +Falk had seen him often before at the "Dog and Pilchard," and had wondered +at first whether Annie Hogg was the attraction. It was soon clear, +however, that there was nothing in that. He never looked at the girl nor, +indeed, at any one else in the place. He simply sat there moodily staring +in front of him and drinking. + +To-day it was clear that Falk had caught his attention. He looked across +the room at him with a queer defiant glance, something like Falk's own. +Once it seemed that he had made up his mind to come over and speak to him. + +He half rose in his seat, then sank back again. But his eyes came round +again and again to the corner where Falk was sitting. + +The Cathedral chimes had whispered twice in the room before Annie +returned. + +"What is it you're wanting?" she asked. + +"Come outside and speak to me." + +"No, I can't do that. Father's watching." + +"Well, will you meet me one evening and have a talk?" + +"What about?" + +"Several things." + +"It isn't right, Mr. Brandon. What's a gentleman like you want with a girl +like me?" + +"I only want us to get away a little from all this noise and filth." + +Suddenly she smiled. + +"Well, I don't mind if I do. After supper's a good time. Father goes up +the town to play billiards. After eight." + +"When?" + +"What about to-morrow evening?" + +"All right. Where?" + +"Up to the Mill. Five minutes up from here." + +"I'll be there," he said. + +"Don't let father catch 'ee--that's all," she smiled down at him. "You'm a +fule, Mr. Brandon, to bother with such as I." He said nothing and she +walked away. Very shortly after, Davray got up from his seat and came over +to Falk's corner. It was obvious that he had been drinking rather heavily. +He was a little unsteady on his feet. + +"You're young Brandon, aren't you?" he asked. + +In ordinary times Falk would have told him to go to the devil, and there +would have been a row, but to-day he was caught away so absolutely into +his own world that any one could speak to him, any one laugh at him, any +one insult him, and he would not care. He had been meditating for weeks +the advance that he had just taken; always when one meditates for long +over a risk it swells into gigantic proportions. So this had been; that +simple sentence asking her to come out and talk to him had seemed an +impossible challenge to every kind of fate, and now, in a moment, the gulf +had been jumped...so easy, so strangely easy.... + +From a great distance Davray's words came to him, and in the dialogue that +followed he spoke like a somnambulist. + +"Yes," he said, "my name's Brandon." + +"I knew, of course," said Davray. "I've seen you about." He spoke with +great swiftness, the words tumbling over one another, not with eagerness, +but rather with a kind of supercilious carelessness. "Beastly hole, isn't +this? Wonder why one comes here. Must do something in this rotten town. +I've drunk enough of this filthy beer. What do you say to moving out?" + +Falk looked up at him. + +"What do you say?" he asked. + +"Let's move out of this. If you're walking up the town I'll go with you." + +Falk was not conscious of the man, but it was quite true that he wanted to +get out of the place now that his job in it was done. He got up without a +word and began to push through the room. He was met near the door by Hogg. + +"Goin', Mr. Brandon? Like to settle now or leave it to another day?" + +"What's that?" said Falk, stopping as though some one had touched him on +the shoulder. He seemed to see the large smiling man suddenly in front of +him outlined against a shifting wall of mist. + +"Payin' now or leavin' it? Please yourself, Mr. Brandon." + +"Oh--paying!" He fumbled in his pocket, produced half-a-crown, gave it to +Hogg without looking at him and went out. Davray followed, slouching +through the room and passage with the conceited over-careful walk of a man +a little tipsy. + +Outside, as they went down the street still obscured with the wet mist, +Davray poured out a flow of words to which he seemed to want no answer. + +"I hope you didn't mind my speaking to you like that--a bit +unceremonious. But to tell you the truth I'm lonely sometimes. Also, if +you want to know the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I'm a bit +tipsy too. Generally am. This air makes one feel queer after that stinking +hole, doesn't it? If you can call this air. I've seen you there a lot +lately and often thought I'd like to talk to you. You're the only decent- +looking fellow in the whole of this town, if you'll forgive my saying so. +Isn't it a bloody hole? But of course you think so too. I can see it in +your face. I suppose you go to that pub after that girl. I saw you talking +to her. Well, each man to his taste. I'd never interfere with any man's +pleasure. I loathe women myself, always have. They never appealed to me a +little bit. In Paris the men used to wonder what I was after. I was after +Ambition in those days. Funny thing, but I thought I was going to be a +great painter once. Queer what one can trick oneself into believing--so I +might have been if I hadn't come to this beastly town. Hope I'm not boring +you...." + +He stopped as though he had suddenly realised that his companion had not +said a word. They were pushing now up the hill into the market-place and +the mist was now so thick that they could scarcely see one another's face. +Falk was thinking. "To-morrow evening.... What do I want? What's going to +happen? What do I want?" + +The silence made him conscious of his companion. + +"What do you say?" he asked. + +"Hope I'm not boring you." + +"No, that's all right. Where are we?" + +"Just coming into the market." + +"Oh, yes." + +"If I talk a lot it's because I haven't had any one to talk to for weeks. +Not that I want to talk to any one. I despise the lot of them. Conceited +set of ignorant parrots.... Whole place run by women and what can you +expect? You're not staying here, I suppose. I heard you'd had enough of +Oxford and I don't wonder. No place for a man, beautiful enough but spoilt +by the people. _Damn_ people--always coming along and spoiling +places. Now there's the Cathedral, most wonderful thing in England, but +does any one know it? Not a bit of it. You'd think they fancied that the +Cathedral _owes_ them something--about as much sense of beauty as a +cockroach." + +They were pressing up the High Street now. There was no one about. It was +a town of ghosts. By the Arden Gate Falk realised where he was and halted. + +"Hullo! we're nearly home.... Well...good afternoon, Mr. Davray." + +"Come into the Cathedral for a moment," Davray seemed to be urgent about +this. "Have you ever been up into the King Harry Tower? I bet you +haven't." + +"King Harry Tower?..." Falk stared at the man. What did the fellow want +him to do? Go into the Cathedral? Well, why not? Stupid to go home just +now--nothing to do there but think, and people would interrupt.... Think +better out of doors. But what was there to think about? He was not +thinking, simply going round and round.... Who was this fellow anyway? + +"As you like," he said. + +They crossed the Precincts and went through the West door into the +Cathedral. The nave was full of dusky light and very still. Candles +glimmered behind the great choir-screen and there were lamps by the West +door. Seen thus, in its half-dark, the nave bore full witness to the fact +that Polchester has the largest Cathedral in Northern Europe. It is +certainly true that no other building in England gives the same +overwhelming sense of length. + +In full daylight the nave perhaps, as is the case with all English +Cathedrals, lacks colour and seems cold and deserted. In the dark of this +spring evening it was full of mystery, and the great columns of the nave's +ten bays, rising unbroken to the roof groining, sprang, it seemed, out of +air, superbly, intolerably inhuman. + +The colours from the tombs and the brasses glimmered against the grey, and +the great rose-coloured circle of the West window flung pale lights across +the cold dark of the flags and pillars. + +The two men were held by the mysterious majesty of the place. Falk was +lifted right out of his own preoccupied thoughts. + +He had never considered the Cathedral except as a place to which he was +dragged for services against his will, but to-night, perhaps because of +his own crisis, he seemed to see it all for the first time. He was +conscious now of Davray and was aware that he did not like him and wished +to be rid of him--"an awful-looking tout" he thought him, "with his greasy +long hair and his white long face and his spindle legs." + +"Now we'll go up into King Harry," Davray said. But at that moment old +Lawrence came bustling along. Lawrence, over seventy years of age, had +grown stout and white-haired in the Cathedral's service. He was a fine +figure in his purple gown, broad-shouldered, his chest and stomach of a +grand protuberance, his broad white flowing beard a true emblem of his +ancient dignity. He was the most autocratic of Vergers and had been +allowed now for many years to do as he pleased. The only thorn in his +flesh was Cobbett, the junior Verger, who, as he very well realised, was +longing for him to die, that he might step into his shoes. "I do believe," +he was accustomed to say to Mrs. Lawrence, a little be-bullied woman, +"that that man will poison me one of these fine days." + +His autocracy had grown on him with the size and the whiteness of his +beard, and there were many complaints--rude to strangers, sycophantic to +the aristocracy, greedy of tips, insolent and conceited, he was an +excellent example of the proper spirit of the Church Militant. He had, +however, his merits. He loved small children and would have allowed them +to run riot on the Cathedral greens had he not been checked, and he had a +pride in the Cathedral that would drive him to any sacrifice in his +defence of it. + +It was natural enough that he should hate the very sight of Davray, and +when that gentleman appeared he hung about in the background hoping that +he might catch him in some crime. At first he thought him alone. + +"Oh, Verger," Davray said, as though he were speaking to a beggar who had +asked of him alms. "I want to go up into King Harry. You have the key, I +think." + +"Well, you can't, sir," said Lawrence, with considerable satisfaction. +"'Tis after hours." Then he saw Falk. + +"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Brandon, sir. I didn't realise. Do you want to +go up the Tower, sir?" + +"We may as well," said Falk. + +"Of course for you, sir, it's different. Strangers have to keep certain +hours. This way, sir." + +They followed the pompous old man across the nave, up the side aisle, past +"tombs and monuments and gilded knights," until they came to the King +Harry Chapel. This was to the right of the choir, and before the screen +that railed it off from the rest of the church there was a notice saying +that this Chapel had been put aside for private prayer and it was hoped +that no one would talk or make any noise, were some one meditating or +praying there. The little place was infinitely quiet, with a special air +of peace and beauty as though all the prayers and meditations that had +been offered there had deeply sanctified it; Lawrence pushed open the door +of the screen and they crossed the flagged floor. Suddenly into the heart +of the hush there broke the Cathedral chimes, almost, as it seemed, +directly above their heads, booming, echoing, dying with lingering music +back into the silence. At the corner of the Chapel there was a little +wooden door; Lawrence unlocked it and pushed it open. "Mind how you go, +sir," he said, speaking to Falk as though Davray did not exist. "'Tis a +bit difficult with the winding stair." + +The two men went forward into the black darkness, leaving the dusky light +behind them. Davray led the way and Falk followed, feeling with his arms +the black walls on either side of him, knocking with his legs against the +steps above him. Here there was utter darkness and no sound. He had +suddenly a half-alarmed, half-humorous suspicion that Davray was suddenly +going to turn round upon him and push him down the stair or stick a knife +into him--the fear of the dark. "After all, what am I doing with this +fellow?" he thought. "I don't know him. I don't like him. I don't want to +be with him." + +"That's better," he heard Davray say. There was a glimmer, then a shadow +of grey light, finally they had stepped out into what was known as the +Whispering Gallery, a narrow railed platform that ran the length of the +Chapel and beyond to the opposite Tower. They did not stop there. They +pushed up again by more winding stairs, black for a space, then lit by a +window, then black again. At last, after what had seemed a long journey, +they were in a little, spare, empty room with a wooden floor. One side of +this little room was open and railed in. Looking down, the floor of the +nave seemed a vast distance below. You seemed here to be flying in glory. +The dim haze of the candles just touched the misty depth with golden +colour. Above them the great roof seemed close and menacing. Everywhere +pillars and buttresses rose out of space. The great architect of the +building seemed here to have his true kingdom, so vast was the depth and +the height and the grandeur. The walls and the roof and the pillars that +supported it were alive with their own greatness, scornful of little men +and their little loves. The hush was filled with movement and stir and a +vast business.... + +The two men leaned on the rails and looked down. Far below, the white +figured altar, the brass of the Black Bishop's tomb, the glitter of Saint +Margaret's screen struck in little points of dull gold like stars upon a +grey inverted sky. + +Davray turned suddenly upon his companion. "And it's men like your +father," he said, "who think that this place is theirs.... Theirs! +Presumption! But they'll get it in the neck for that. This place can bide +its time. Just when you think you're its master it turns and stamps you +out." + +Falk said nothing. Davray seemed irritated by his silence. "You wait and +see," he said. "It amuses me to see your governor walking up the choir on +Sundays as though he owned the place. Owned it! Why, he doesn't realise a +stone of it! Well, he'll get it. They all have who've tried his game. +Owned it!" + +"Look here," said Falk, "don't you say anything about my father--that's +none of your business. He's all right. I don't know what the devil I came +up here for--thinking of other things." + +Davray too was thinking of other things. + +"You wonderful place!" he whispered. "You beautiful place! You've ruined +me, but I don't care. You can do what you like with me. You wonder! You +wonder!" + +Falk looked at him. The man was mad. He was holding on to the railing, +leaning forward, staring.... + +"Look here, it isn't safe to lean like that. You'll be tumbling over and +breaking your neck if you're not careful." + +But Davray did not hear him. He was lost in his own dreams. Falk despised +dreams although just now he was himself in the grip of one. Besides the +fellow was drunk. + +A sudden disgust of his companion overtook him. + +"Well, so long," he said. "I must be getting home!" + +He wondered for a moment whether it were safe to leave the fellow there. +"It's his own look-out," he thought, and as Davray said no more he left +him. + +Back once more in the King Harry Chapel, he looked up. But he could see no +one and could hear no sound. + + + + +Chapter VII + +Ronder's Day + + + +Ronder had now spent several months in Polchester and was able to come to +an opinion about it, and the opinion that he had come to was that he could +be very comfortable there. His aunt, who, in spite of her sharpness, never +was sure how he would take anything, was a little surprised when he told +her this. But then she was never certain what were the secret springs from +which he derived that sense of comfort that was the centre of his life. +She should have known by now that he derived it from two things--luxury +and the possibility of intrigue. + +Polchester could not have appeared to any casual observer a luxurious +town, but it had for Ronder exactly that combination of beauty and mystery +that obtained for him his sensation. + +He did not analyse it as yet further than that--he knew that those two +things were there; he might investigate them at his leisure. + +In that easy, smiling fashion that he had developed from his earliest days +as the surest protection for his own security and ease, he arranged +everything around him to assure his tranquillity. Everything was not as +yet arranged; it might take him six months, a year, two years for that +arrangement...but he knew now that it would be done. + +The second element in his comfort, his love of intrigue, would be +satisfied here simply because everything was not, as yet, as he would have +it. He would have hated to have tumbled into the place and found it just +as he required it. + +He liked to have things to move, to adjust, to arrange, just as when he +entered a room he always, if he had the power, at once altered the chairs, +the cushions. It was towards this final adjustment that his power of +intrigue always worked. Once everything was adjusted he sank back +luxuriously and surveyed it--and then, in all probability, was quickly +tired of it and looked for new fields to conquer. + +He could not remember a time when he had not been impelled to alter things +for his comfort. He did not wish to be selfish about this, he was quite +willing for every one else to do the same--indeed, he watched them with +geniality and wondered why on earth they didn't. As a small boy at Harrow +he had, with an imperturbable smile and a sense of humour that, in spite +of his rotund youth and a general sense amongst his elders that he was +"cheeky," won him popularity, worked always for his own comfort. + +He secured it and, first as fag and afterwards as House-prefect, finally +as School-prefect, did exactly what he wanted with everybody. + +He did it by being, quite frankly, all things to all men, although never +with sycophancy nor apparent falseness. He amused the bored, was +confidential with the wicked, upright with the upright, and sympathetic +with the unfortunate. + +He was quite genuine in all these things. He was deeply interested in +humanity, not for humanity's sake but his own. He bore no man any grudge, +but if any one was in his way he worked hard until they were elsewhere. +That removal attained, he wished them all the luck in the world. + +He was ordained because he thought he could deal more easily with men as a +parson. "Men always take clergymen for fools," he told his aunt, "and so +they sometimes are...but not always." He knew he was not a fool, but he +was not conceited. He simply thought that he had hit upon the one secret +of life and could not understand why others had not done the same. Why do +people worry so? was the amused speculation. "Deep emotions are simply not +worth while," he decided on his coming of age. He liked women but his +sense of humour prevented him from falling in love. He really did +understand the sensual habits and desires of men and women but watched +them from a distance through books and pictures and other men's stories. +He was shocked by nothing--nor did he despise mankind. He thought that +mankind did on the whole very well considering its difficulties. He was +kind and often generous; he bore no man alive or dead any grudge. He +refused absolutely to quarrel--"waste of time and temper." + +His one danger was lest that passion for intrigue should go deeper than he +allowed anything to go. Playing chess with mankind was to him, he +declared, simply a means to an end. Perhaps once it had been so. But, as +he grew older, there was a danger that the end should be swallowed by the +means. + +This danger he did not perceive; it was his one blindness. Finally he +believed with La Rochefoucauld that "Pity is a passion which is wholly +useless to a well-constituted mind." + +At any rate he discovered that there was in Polchester a situation exactly +suited to his powers. The town, or the Cathedral part of it, was dominated +by one man, and that man a stupid, autocratic, retrogressive, good-natured +child. He bore that child not the slightest ill-will, but it must go or, +at any rate, its authority must be removed. He did, indeed, like Brandon, +and through most of this affair he did not cease to like him, but he, +Ronder, would never be comfortable so long as Brandon was there, he would +never be free to take the steps that seemed to him good, he would be +interfered with and patronised. He was greatly amused by Brandon's +patronage, but it really was not a thing that could be allowed to remain. + +If he saw, as he made his plans, that the man's heart and soul, his life, +physical and spiritual, were involved--well he was sorry. It simply proved +how foolish it was to allow your heart and soul to be concerned in +anything. + +He very quickly perceived that the first thing to be done was to establish +relations with the men who composed the Chapter. He watched, he listened, +he observed, then, at the end of some months, he began to move. + +Many men would have considered him lazy. He never took exercise if he +could avoid it, and it was Polchester's only fault that it had so many +hills. He always had breakfast in bed, read the papers there and smoked a +cigarette. Every morning he had a bath as hot as he could bear it--and he +could bear it very hot indeed. Much of his best thinking was done there. + +When he came downstairs he reserved the first hour for his own reading, +reading, that is, that had nothing to do with any kind of work, that was +purely for his own pleasure. He allowed nothing whatever to interfere with +this--Gautier and Flaubert, La Bruyere and Montaigne were his favourite +authors, but he read a great deal of English, Italian, and Spanish, and +had a marvelous memory. He enjoyed, too, erotic literature and had a fine +collection of erotic books and prints shut away in a cabinet in his study. +He found great fascination in theological books: he laughed at many of +them, but kept an open mind--atheistic and materialistic dogmas seemed to +him as absurd as orthodox ones. He read too a great deal of philosophy +but, on the whole, he despised men who gave themselves up to philosophy +more than any other human beings. He felt that they lost their sense of +humour so quickly, and made life unpleasant for themselves. + +After his hour of reading he gave himself up to the work of the day. He +was the most methodical of men: the desk in his study was full of little +drawers and contrivances for keeping things in order. He had a thin vase +of blue glass filled with flowers, a small Chinese image of green jade, a +photograph of the Blind Homer from the Naples Museum in a silver frame, +and a little gold clock; all these things had to be in their exactly +correct positions. Nothing worried him so much as dust or any kind of +disorder. He would sometimes stop in the middle of his work and cross the +room, in the soft slippers of brown kid that he always wore in his study, +and put some picture straight or move some ornament from one position to +another. The books that stretched along one wall from floor to ceiling +were arranged most carefully according to their subjects. He disliked to +see some books projecting further from the shelf than others, and, with a +little smile of protest, as though he were giving them a kindly scolding, +he would push them into their right places. + +Let it not be supposed, however, that he was idle during these hours. He +could accomplish an astonishing amount of work in a short time, and he was +never idle except by deliberate intention. + +When luncheon time arrived he was ready to be charming to his aunt, and +charming to her he was. Their relations were excellent. She understood him +so well that she left his schemes alone. If she did not entirely approve +of him--and she entirely approved of nobody--she loved him for his good +company, his humour, and his common-sense. She liked it too that he did +not mind when she chose to allow her irony to play upon him. He cared +nothing for any irony. + +At luncheon they felt a very agreeable intimacy. There was no need for +explanations; half allusions were enough. They could enjoy their joke +without emphasising it and sometimes even without expressing it. Miss +Ronder knew that her nephew liked to hear all the gossip. He collected it, +tied it into little packets, and put them away in the little mechanical +contrivances with which his mind was filled. She told him first what she +heard, then her authorities, finally her own opinions. He thoroughly +enjoyed his meal. + +He had, by now, very thoroughly mastered the Cathedral finances. They were +not complicated and were in good order, because Hart-Smith had been a man +of an orderly mind. Ronder very quickly discovered that Brandon had had +his fingers considerably in the old pie. "And now there'll be a new pie," +he said to himself, "baked by me."...He traced a number of stupid and +conservative decisions to Brandon's agency. There was no doubt but that +many things needed a new urgency and activity. + +People had had to fight desperately for money when they should have been +given it at once; on the other hand, the Cathedral had been well looked +after--it was rather dependent bodies like the School, the Almshouses, and +various livings in the Chapter grant that had suffered. + +Anything that could possibly be considered a novelty had been fought and +generally defeated. "There will be a lot of novelties before I've finished +with them," Ronder said to himself. + +He started his investigations by paying calls on Bentinck-Major and Canon +Foster. Bentinck-Major lived at the top of Orange Street, in a fine house +with a garden, and Foster lived in one of four tumble-down buildings +behind the Cathedral, known from time immemorial as Canon's Yard. + +The afternoon of his visit was about three days after a dinner-party at +the Castle. He had seen and heard enough at that dinner to amuse him for +many a day; he considered it to have been one of the most entertaining +dinners at which he had ever been present. It had been here that he had +heard for the first time of the Pybus St. Anthony living. Brandon had been +present, and he observed Brandon's nervousness, and gathered enough to +realise that this would be a matter of considerable seriousness. He was to +know a great deal more about it before the afternoon was over. + +As he walked through the town on the way to Orange Street he came upon +Ryle, the Precentor. Ryle looked the typical clergyman, tall but not too +tall, here a smile and there a smile, with his soft black hat, his +trousers too baggy at the knees, his boots and his gold watch-chain both +too large. + +He cared, with serious devotion, for the Cathedral music and sang the +services beautifully, but he would have been able to give more time to his +work were he not so continuously worrying as to whether people were vexed +with him or no. His idea of Paradise was a place where he could chant +eternal services and where everybody liked him. He was a good man, but +weak, and therefore driven again and again into insincerity. It was as +though there was for ever in front of him the consciousness of some secret +in his past life that must on no account be discovered; but, poor man, he +had no secret at all. + +"Well, Precentor, and how are you?" said Ronder, beaming at him over his +spectacles. + +Ryle started. Ronder had come behind him. He liked the look of Ronder. He +always preferred fat men to thin; they were much less malicious, he +thought. + +"Oh, thank you, Canon Ronder--very well, thank you. I didn't see you. +Quite spring weather. Are you going my way?" + +"I'm off to see Bentinck-Major." + +"Oh, yes, Bentinck-Major...." + +Ryle's first thought was--"Now is Bentinck-Major likely to have anything +to say against me this afternoon?" + +"I'm going up Orange Street too. It's the High School Governors' meeting, +you know." + +"Oh, yes, of course." + +The two men started up the hill together. Ronder surveyed the scene around +him with pleasure. Orange Street always satisfied his aesthetic sense. It +was the street of the doctors, the solicitors, the dentists, the bankers, +and the wealthier old maids of Polchester. The grey stone was of a +charming age, the houses with their bow-windows, their pillared porches, +their deep-set doors, their gleaming old-fashioned knockers, spoke +eloquently of the day when the great Jane's Elizabeths and D'Arcys, Mrs. +Morrises and Misses Bates found the world in a tea-cup, when passions were +solved by matrimony and ambitions by the possession of a carriage and a +fine pair of bays. But more than this was the way that the gardens and +lawns and orchards ran unchecked in and out, up and down, here breaking +into the street, there crowding a church with apple-trees, seeming to +speak, at every step, of leisure and sunny days and lives free of care. + +Ronder had never seen anything so pretty; something seemed to tell him +that he would never see anything so pretty again. + +Ryle was not a good conversationalist, because he had always before him +the fear that some one might twist what he said into something really +unpleasant, but, indeed, he found Ronder so agreeable that, as he told +Mrs. Ryle when he got home, he "never noticed the hill at all." + +"I hope you won't think me impertinent," said Ronder, "but I must tell you +how charmed I was with the way that you sang the service on Sunday. You +must have been complimented often enough before, but a stranger always has +the right, I think, to say something. I'm a little critical, too, of that +kind of thing, although, of course, an amateur...but--well, it was +delightful." + +Ryle flushed with pleasure to the very tips of his over-large ears. + +"Oh, really, Canon...But indeed I hardly know what to say. You're too +good. I do my poor best, but I can't help feeling that there is danger of +one's becoming stale. I've been here a great many years now and I think +some one fresh...." + +"Well, often," said Ronder, "that _is_ a danger. I know several cases +where a change would be all for the better, but in your case there wasn't +a trace of staleness. I do hope you won't think me presumptuous in saying +this. I couldn't help myself. I must congratulate you, too, on the choir. +How do you find Brockett as an organist?" + +"Not quite all one would wish," said Ryle eagerly--and then, as though he +remembered that some one might repeat this to Brockett, he added +hurriedly, "Not that he doesn't do his best. He's an excellent fellow. +Every one has their faults. It's only that he's a _little_ too fond +of adventures on his own account, likes to add things on the spur of the +moment...a little _fantastic_ sometimes." + +"Quite so," said Ronder gravely. "That's rather what I'd thought myself. +I noticed it once or twice last Sunday. But that's a fault on the right +side. The boys behave admirably. I never saw better behaviour." + +Ryle was now in his element. He let himself go, explaining this, defending +that, apologising for one thing, hoping for another. Before he knew where +he was he found himself at the turning above the monument that led to the +High School. + +"Here we part," he said. + +"Why, so we do," cried Ronder. + +"I do hope," said Ryle nervously, "that you'll come and see us soon. Mrs. +Ryle will be delighted...." + +"Why, of course I will," said Ronder. "Any day you like. Good-bye. Good- +bye," and he went to Bentinck-Major's. + +One look at Bentinck-Major's garden told a great deal about Bentinck- +Major. The flower-beds, the trim over-green lawn, the neat paths, the +trees in their fitting places, all spoke not only of a belief in material +things but a desire also to demonstrate that one so believed.... + +One expected indeed to see the Bentinck-Major arms over the front-door. +They were there in spirit if not in fact. + +"Is the Canon in?" Ronder asked of a small and gaping page-boy. + +He was in, it appeared. Would he see Canon Ronder? The page-boy +disappeared and Ronder was able to observe three family trees framed in +oak, a large china bowl with visiting-cards, and a huge round-faced clock +that, even as he waited there, pompously announced that half-hour. +Presently the Canon, like a shining Ganymede, came flying into the hall. + +"My dear Ronder! But this is delightful. A little early for tea, perhaps. +Indeed, my wife is, for the moment, out. What do you say to the library?" + +Ronder had nothing to say against the library, and into it they went. A +fine room with books in leather bindings, high windows, an oil painting of +the Canon as a smart young curate, a magnificent writing-table, _The +Spectator_ and _The Church Times_ near the fireplace, and two deep +leather arm-chairs. Into these last two the clergymen sank. + +Bentinck-Major put his fingers together, crossed his admirable legs, and +looked interrogatively at his visitor. + +"I'm lucky to catch you at home," said Ronder. "This isn't quite the time +to call, I'm afraid. But the fact is that I want some advice." + +"Quite so," said his host. + +"I'm not a very modest man," said Ronder, laughing. "In fact, to tell you +the truth, I don't believe very much in modesty. But there _are_ +times when it's just as well to admit one's incompetence. This is one of +them--" + +"Why, really, Canon," said Bentinck-Major, wishing to give the poor man +encouragement. + +"No, but I mean what I say. I don't consider myself a stupid man, but when +one comes fresh into a place like this there are many things that one +_can't_ know, and that one must learn from some one wiser than +oneself if one's to do any good." + +"Oh, really, Canon," Bentinck-Major repeated. "If there's anything I can +do--". + +"There is. It isn't so much about the actual details of the work that I +want your advice. Hart-Smith has left things in excellent condition, and I +only hope that I shall be able to keep everything as straight as he has +done. What I really want from you is some sort of bird's-eye view as to +the whole situation. The Chapter, for instance. Of course, I've been here +for some months now and have a little idea as to the people in the place, +but you've been here so long that there are many things that you can tell +me." + +"Now, for instance," said Bentinck-Major, looking very wise and serious. +"What kind of things?" + +"I don't want you to tell me any secrets," said Ronder. "I only want your +opinion, as a man of the world, as to how things stand--what really wants +doing, who, Beside yourself, are the leading men here and in what +directions they work. I needn't say that this conversation is +confidential." + +"Oh, of course, of course." + +"Now, I don't know if I'm wrong, but it seems from what I've seen during +the short time that I've been here that the general point of view is +inclined to be a little too local. I believe you rather feel that +yourself, although I may be prejudiced, coming straight as I have from +London." + +"It's odd that you should mention that, Canon," said Bentinck-Major. +"You've put your finger on the weak spot at once. You're only saying what +I've been crying aloud for the last ever so many years. A voice in the +wilderness I've been, I'm afraid--a voice in the wilderness, although +perhaps I _have_ managed to do a little something. But there's no doubt +that the men here, excellent though they are, are a _little_ provincial. +What else can you expect? They've been here for years. They have not had, +most of them, the advantage of mingling with the great world. That I +should have had a little more of that opportunity than my fellows here is +nothing to my credit, but it does, beyond question, give one a wider view +--a wider view. There's our dear Bishop for instance--a saint, if ever +there was one. A saint, Ronder, I assure you. But there he is, hidden away +at Carpledon--out of things, I'm afraid, although of course he does his +best. Then there's Sampson. Well, I hardly need to tell you that he's not +quite the man to make things hum. _Not_ by his own fault I assure +you. He does his best, but we are as we're made...yes. We can only use +the gifts that God has given us, and God has not, undoubtedly, given the +Dean _quite_ the gifts that we need here." + +He paused and waited. He was a cautious man and weighed his words. + +"Then there's Brandon," said Ronder smiling. "There, if I may say so, is a +splendid character, a man who gives his whole life and energy for the good +of the place--who spares himself nothing." + +There was a little pause. Bentinck-Major took advantage of it to look +graver than ever. + +"He strikes you like that, does he?" he said at last. "Well, in many ways +I think you're right. Brandon is a good friend of mine--I may say that he +thoroughly appreciates what I've done for this place. But he is-- +_quite_ between ourselves--how shall I put it?--just a _little_ +autocratic. Perhaps that's too strong a word, but he _is_, some +think, a little too inclined to fancy that he runs the Cathedral! That, +mind you, is only the opinion of some here, and I don't know that I should +entirely associate myself with it, but perhaps there is _something_ +in it. He is, as you can see, a man of strong will and, again between +ourselves, of a considerable temper. This will not, I'm sure, go further +than ourselves?" + +"Absolutely not," said Ronder. + +"Things have been a little slack here for several years, and although I've +done my own little best, what is one against so many, if you understand +what I mean?" + +"Quite," said Ronder. + +"Well, nobody could call Brandon an unenergetic man--quite the reverse. +And, to put it frankly, to oppose him one needs courage. Now I may say +that I've opposed him on a number of occasions but have had no backing. +Brandon, when he's angry, is no light opponent, and the result has been +that he's had, I'm afraid, a great deal of his own way." + +"You're afraid?" said Ronder. + +Bentinck-Major seemed a little nervous at being caught up so quickly. He +looked at Ronder suspiciously. His voice was sharper than it had been. + +"Oh, I like Brandon--don't make any mistake about that. He and I together +have done some excellent things here. In many ways he's admirable. I don't +know what I'd have done sometimes without his backing. All I mean is that +he is perhaps a little hasty sometimes." + +"Quite," said Ronder. "I can't tell you how you've helped me by what +you've told me. I'm sure you're right in everything you've said. If you +were to give me a tip then, you'd say that I couldn't do better than +follow Brandon. I'll remember that." + +"Well, no," said Bentinck-Major rather hastily. "I don't know that I'd +quite say that either. Brandon is often wrong. I'm not sure either that he +has quite the influence he had. That silly little incident of the elephant +the other day--you heard that, didn't you?--well, a trivial thing, but one +saw by the way that the town took it that the Archdeacon isn't +_quite_ where he was. I agree with him entirely in his policy--to +keep things as they always have been. That's the only way to save our +Church, in my opinion. As soon as they tell me an idea's new, that's +enough for me...I'm down on it at once. But what I _do_ think is +that his diplomacy is often faulty. He rushes at things like a bull-- +exactly like a bull. A little too confident always. No, if you won't think +me conceited--and I believe I'm a modest man--you couldn't do better than +come to me--talk things over with me, you know. I'm sure we'll see alike +about many things." + +"I'm sure we will," said Ronder. "Thank you very much. As you've been so +kind I'm sure you won't mind my asking you a few questions. I hope I'm not +keeping you from anything." + +"Not at all. Not at all," said Bentinck-Major very graciously, and +stretching his plump little body back into the arm-chair. "Ask as many +questions as you like and I'll do my best to answer them." + +Ronder did then, during the next half-hour, ask a great many questions, +and he received a great many answers. The answers may not have told him +overmuch about the things that he wanted to know, but they did tell him a +great deal about Bentinck-Major. + +The clock struck four. + +Ronder got up. + +"You don't know how you've helped me," he said. "You've told me exactly +what I wanted to know. Thank you so very much." + +Bentinck-Major looked gratified. He had, in fact, thoroughly enjoyed +himself. + +"Oh, but you'll stay and have some tea, won't you?" + +"I'm afraid I can't do that. I've got a pretty busy afternoon still in +front of me." + +"My wife will be so disappointed." + +"You'll let me come another day, won't you?" + +"Of course. Of course." + +The Canon himself accompanied his guest into the hall and opened the front +door for him. + +"Any time--any time--that I can help you." + +"Thank you so very much. Good-bye." + +"Good-bye. Good-bye." + +So far so good, but Ronder was aware that his next visit would be quite +another affair--and so indeed it proved. + +To reach Canon's Yard from Orange Street, Ronder had to go down through +Green Lane past the Orchards, and up by a steep path into Bodger's Street +and the small houses that have clustered for many years behind the +Cathedral. Here once was Saint Margaret's Monastery utterly swept away, +until not a stone remained, by Henry VIII.'s servants. Saint Margaret's +only memory lingers in the Saint Margaret's Hostel for Women at the top of +Bodger's Street, and even that has now a worn and desolate air as though +it also were on the edge of departure. In truth, this part of Polchester +is neglected and forgotten; it has not sunk like Seatown into dirt and +degradation, it has still an air of romance and colour, but the life is +gone from it. + +Canon's Yard is behind the Hostel and is a little square, shut-in, cobbled +place with tall thin houses closing it in and the Cathedral towers +overhanging it. Rooks and bells and the rattle of carts upon the cobbles +make a perpetual clatter here, and its atmosphere is stuffy and begrimed. +When the Cathedral chimes ring they echo from house to house, from wall to +wall, so that it seems as though the bells of a hundred Cathedrals were +ringing here. Nevertheless from the high windows of the Yard there is a +fine view of orchards and hills and distant woods--a view not to be +despised. + +The house in which Canon Foster had his rooms is one of the oldest of all +the houses. The house was kept by one Mrs. Maddis, who had "run" rooms for +the clergy ever since her first marriage, when she was a pretty blushing +girl of twenty. She was now a hideous old woman of eighty, and the house +was managed by her married daughter, Mrs. Crumpleton. There were three +floors and there should have been three clergymen, but for some time the +bottom floor had been empty and the middle apartments were let to +transient tenants. They were at this moment inhabited by a retired sea- +captain. + +Foster reigned on the top floor and was quite oblivious of neighbours, +landladies, tidiness, and the view--he cared, by nature, for none of these +things. Ronder climbed up the dirty dark staircase and knocked on the old +oak door that had upon it a dirty visiting card with Foster's name. When +he ceased his climb and the noise of his footsteps fell away there was a +great silence. Not a sound could be heard. The bells were not chiming, the +rooks were not cawing (it was not as yet their time) nor was the voice of +Mrs. Crumpleton to be heard, shrill and defiant, as was too often the +case. The house was dead; the town was dead; had the world itself suddenly +died, like a candle whose light is put out, Foster would not have cared. + +Ronder knocked three times with the knob of his walking-stick. The man +must be out. He was about to turn away and go when the door suddenly +opened, as though by a secret life of its own, and the pale face and +untidy person of the Canon, like the apparition of a surprised and +indignant _revenant_, was apparent. + +"May I come in for a moment?" said Ronder. "I won't keep you long." + +Foster stared at his visitor, said nothing, opened the door a little +wider, and stood aside. Ronder accepted this as an invitation and came in. + +"You'd better come into the other room," said Foster, looking about him as +though he had been just ruthlessly awakened from an important dream. They +passed through a little passage and an untidy sitting-room into the study. +This was a place piled high with books and its only furniture was a deal +table and two straw-bottomed chairs. At the table Foster had obviously +been working. Books lay about it and papers, and there was also a pile of +manuscript. Foster looked around him, caught his large ears in his fingers +and cracked them, and then suddenly said: + +"You'd better sit down. What can I do for you?" + +Ronder sat down. It was at once apparent that, whatever the state of the +rooms might be, his reluctant host was suddenly very wide awake indeed. He +felt, what he had known from the very first meeting, that he was in +contact here with a man of brain, of independence, of character. His +capacity for amused admiration that was one of the strongest things in +him, was roused to the full. Another thing that he had also by now +perceived was that Foster was not that type, by now so familiar to us in +the pages of French and English fiction, of the lost and bewildered old +clergyman whose long nose has been for so many years buried in dusty books +that he is unable to smell the real world. Foster was neither lost nor +bewildered. He was very much all there. + +What could he do for Ronder? Ronder was, for a moment, uncertain. Here, he +was happy to think, he must go with the greatest care. He did not smile as +he had smiled upon Bentinck-Major. He spoke to Foster as to an equal. + +"I can see you're busy," he said. "All the same I'm not going to apologise +for coming. I'll tell you frankly that I want your help. At the same time +I'll tell you that I don't care whether you give it me or no." + +"In what way can I help you?" asked Foster coldly. + +"There's to be a Chapter Meeting in a few days' time, isn't there? +Honestly I haven't been here quite long enough yet to know how things +stand. Questions may come up, although there's nothing very important this +time, I believe. But there may be important things brewing. Now you've +been here a great many years and you have your opinion of how things +should go. I want your idea of some of the conditions." + +"You've come to spy out the land, in fact?" + +"Put it that way if you like," said Ronder seriously, "although I don't +think spying is exactly the word. You're perfectly at liberty, I mean, to +tell anybody that I've been to see you and to repeat to anybody what I +say. It simply is that I don't care to take on all the work that's being +shoved on to my shoulders without getting the views of those who know the +place well." + +"Oh, if it's my views you want," cried Foster, suddenly raising his voice +and almost shouting, "they're easy enough to discover. They are simply +that everything here is abominable, going to wrack and ruin...Now you +know what _I_ think." + +He looked down at his manuscript as much as to say, "Well, good +afternoon." + +"Going to ruin in what way?" asked Ronder. + +"In the way that the country is going to ruin--because it has turned its +back upon God." + +There was a pause. Suddenly Foster flung out, "Do you believe in God, +Canon Ronder?" + +"I think," said Ronder, "the fact that I'm in the position I'm in----" + +"Nonsense," interrupted Foster. "That's anybody's answer. You don't look +like a spiritual man." + +"I'm fat, if that's what you mean," said Ronder smiling. "That's my +misfortune." + +"If I've been rude," said Foster more mildly, "forgive me. I _am_ +rude these days. I've given up trying not to be. The truth is that I'm +sick to the heart with all their worldliness, shams, lies, selfishness, +idleness. You may be better than they. You may not. I don't know. If +you've come here determined to wake them all up and improve things, then I +wish you God-speed. But you won't do it. You needn't think you will. If +you've come like the rest to get what you can out of it, then I don't +think you'll find my company good for you." + +"I certainly haven't come to wake them up," said Ronder. "I don't believe +that to be my duty. I'm not made that way. Nor can I honestly believe +things to be as bad as you say. But I do intend, with God's help, to do my +best. If that's not good enough for you, then you must abandon me to my +fate." + +Foster seemed to appreciate that. He nodded his head. + +"That's honest at any rate," he said. "It's the first honest thing I've +heard here for a long time except from the Bishop. To tell you the truth, +I had thought you were going to work in with Brandon. One more of his +sheep. If that were to be so the less we saw of one another the better." + +"I have not been here long enough," said Ronder, "to think of working in +with anybody. And I don't wish to take sides. There's my duty to the +Cathedral. I shall work for that and let the rest go." + +"There's your duty to God," said Foster vehemently. "That's the thing that +everybody here's forgotten. But you don't sound as though you'd go +Brandon's way. That's something in your favour." + +"Why should one go Brandon's way?" Ronder asked. + +"Why? Why? Why? Why do sheep huddle together when the dog barks at their +heels?...But I respect him. Don't you mistake me. He's a man to be +respected. He's got courage. He cares for the Cathedral. He's a hundred +years behind, that's all. He's read nothing, he knows nothing, he's a +child--and does infinite harm...." He looked up at Ronder and said quite +mildly, "Is there anything more you want to know?" + +"There's talk," said Ronder, "about the living at Pybus St. Anthony. It's +apparently an important place, and when there's an appointment I should +like to be able to form an opinion about the best man----" + +"What! is Morrison dead?" said Foster eagerly. + +"No, but very ill, I believe." + +"Well, there's only one possible appointment for that place, and that is +Wistons." + +"Wistons?" repeated Ronder. + +"Yes, yes," said Foster impatiently, "the author of _The New +Apocalypse_--the rector of St. Edward's, Hawston." + +Ronder remembered. "A stranger?" he said. "I thought that it would have to +be some one in the diocese." + +Foster did not hear him. "I've been waiting for this--to get Wistons here +--for years," he said. "A wonderful man--a great man. He'll wake the place +up. We _must_ have him. As to local men, the more strangers we let in +here the better." + +"Brandon said something about a man called Forsyth--Rex Forsyth?" + +Foster smiled grimly. "Yes--he would," he said, "that's just his kind of +appointment. Well, if he tries to pull that through there'll be such a +battle as this place has never seen." + +Ronder said slowly. "I like your idea of Wistons. That sounds +interesting." + +Foster looked at him with a new intensity. + +"Would you help me about that?" he asked. + +"I don't know quite where I am yet," said Ronder, "but I think you'll find +me a friend rather than an enemy, Foster." + +"I don't care what you are," said Foster. "So far as my feelings or +happiness go, nothing matters. But to have Wistons here--in this place.... +Oh, what we could do! What we could do!" + +He seemed to be lost in a dream. Five minutes later he roused himself to +say good-bye. Ronder once more at the top of the stairs felt about him +again the strange stillness of the house. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +Son--Father + + + +Falk Brandon was still, in reality, a boy. He, of course, did not know +this and would have been very indignant had any one told him so; it was +nevertheless the truth. + +There is a kind of confidence of youth that has great charm, a sort of +assumption of grown-up manners and worldly ways that is accompanied with +an ingenuous belief in human nature, a naive trust in human goodness. One +sees it sometimes in books, in stories that are like a charade acted by +children dressed in their elders' clothes, and although these tales are +nothing but fairy stories in their actual relation to life, the sincerity +of their belief in life, and a kind of freshness that come from ignorance, +give them a power of their own. + +Falk had some of this charm and power just as his father had, but whereas +his father would keep it all his days, Falk would certainly lose it as he +learnt more and went more into the world. But as yet he had not lost it. + +This emotion that had now gained such control over him was the first real +emotion of his life, and he did not know in the least how to deal with it. +He was like a man caught in a baffling fog. He did not know in the least +whether he were in love with this girl, he did not know what he wanted to +do with her, he sometimes fancied that he hated her, he could not see her +clearly either mentally or physically; he only knew that he could not keep +away from her, and that with every meeting he approached more nearly the +moment when he would commit some desperate action that he would probably +regret for the rest of his life. + +But although he could not see her clearly he could see sharply enough the +other side of the situation--the practical, home, filial side. It was +strange how, as the affair advanced, he was more and more conscious of his +father. It was as though he were an outsider, a friend of his father's, +but no relation to the family, who watched a calamity approach ever more +closely and was powerless to stop it. Although he was only a boy he +realised very sufficiently his father's love for him and pride in him. He +realized, too, his father's dependence upon his dignity and position in +the town, and, last and most important of all, his father's passionate +devotion to the Cathedral. All these things would be bruised were he, +Falk, involved in any local scandal. Here he saw into himself and, with a +bitterness and humility that were quite new to him, despised himself. He +knew, as though he saw future events passing in procession before him, +that if such a scandal did break out he would not be able to stay in the +place and face it--not because he himself feared any human being alive, +but because he could not see his father suffer under it. + +Well, then, since he saw so clearly, why not abandon it all? Why not run +away, obtain some kind of work in London and leave Polchester until the +madness had passed away from him? + +He could not go. + +He would have been one of the first to scorn another man in such a +position, to mock his weakness and despise him. Well, let that be so. He +despised himself but--he could not go. + +He was always telling himself that soon the situation would clear and that +he would then know how to act. Until that happened he must see her, must +talk to her, must be with her, must watch her. They had had, by now, a +number of meetings, always in the evening by the river, when her father +was away, up in the town. + +He had kissed her twice. She had been quite passive on each occasion, +watching him ironically with a sort of dry amusement. She had given him no +sign that she cared for him, and their conversation had always been bare +and unsatisfactory. Once she had said to him with sudden passion: + +"I want to get away out of this." He had asked her where she wanted to go. + +"Anywhere--London." He had asked her whether she would go with him. + +"I would go with any one," she had said. Afterwards she added: "But you +won't take me." + +"Why not?" he had asked. + +"Because I'm not in love with you." + +"You may be--yet." + +"I'd be anything to get away," she had replied. + +On a lovely evening he went down to see her, determined that this time he +would give himself some definite answer. Just before he turned down to the +river he passed Samuel Hogg. That large and smiling gentleman, a fat cigar +between his lips, was sauntering, with a friend, on his way to Murdock's +billiard tables. + +"Evenin', Mr. Brandon." + +"Good evening, Hogg." + +"Lovely weather." + +"Lovely." + +The shadows, faintly pink on the rise of the hill, engulfed his fat body. +Falk wondered as he had before now done many times, How much does he know? +What's he thinking? What's he want?...The river, at high tide, very +gently lapped the side of the old wall. Its colour to-night was pure +crystal green, the banks and the hills smoky grey behind it. Tiny pink +clouds ran in little fleets across the sky, chasing one another in and out +between the streamers of smoke that rose from the tranquil chimneys. +Seatown was at rest this evening, scarcely a sound came from the old +houses; the birds could be heard calling from the meadows beyond the +river. The pink clouds faded into a rosy shadow, then that in its turn +gave way to a sky faintly green and pointed with stars. Grey mist +enveloped the meadows and the river, and the birds cried no longer. There +was a smell of onions and rank seaweed in the air. + +Falk's love-story pursued at first its usual realistic course. She was +there near the waterfall waiting for him; they had very little to say to +one another. She was depressed to-night, and he fancied that she had been +crying. She was not so attractive to him in such a mood. He liked her best +when she was intolerant, scornful, aloof. To-night, although she showed no +signs of caring for him, she surrendered herself absolutely. He could do +what he liked with her. But he did not want to do anything with her. + +She leaned over the Seatown wall looking desolately in front of her. + +At last she turned round to him and asked him what she had asked him +before: + +"What do you come after me for?" + +"I don't know," he said. + +"It isn't because you love me." + +"I don't know." + +"_I_ know--there's no mistakin' it when it's there. I've lain awake a +lot o' nights wondering what you're after. You must have your reasons. You +take a deal o' trouble." + +Then she put her hand on his. It was the first time that she had ever, of +her own accord, touched him. + +"I'm gettin' to like you," she said. "Seein' so much of you, I suppose. +You're only a boy when all's said. And then, somehow or another, men don't +go after me. You're the only one that ever has. They say I'm stuck up... +Oh, man, but I'm unhappy here at home!" + +"Well, then--you'd better come away with me--to London." + +Even as he said it he would have caught the words back. What use for them +to go? Nothing to live on, no true companionship ...there could be only +one end to that. + +But she shook her head. + +"No--if you cared for me enough, mebbe I'd go. But I don't know that we'd +be together long if we did. I want my own life, my own, own, own life! I +can look after myself all right...I'll be off by myself alone one day." + +Then suddenly he wanted her as urgently as he had ever done. + +"No, you must never do that," he said. "If you go it must be with me. You +must have some one to look after you. You don't know what London's like." + +He caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately, and she seemed to +him a new woman altogether, created by her threat that she would go away +alone. + +She passively let him kiss her, then with a little turn in his arms and a +little sigh she very gently kissed him of her own will. + +"I believe I could care for 'ee," she said softly. "And I want to care for +some one terrible bad." + +They were nearer in spirit than they had ever been before; an emotion of +simple human companionship had crept into the unsettled disturbance and +quieted it and deepened it. She wore in his eyes a new aspect, something +wise and reasonable and comfortable. She would never be quite so +mysterious to him again, but her hold on him now was firmer. He was +suddenly sorry for her as well as for himself. + +For the first time he left her that night with a sense that comradeship +might grow between them. + +But as he went back up the hill he was terribly depressed and humiliated. +He hated and despised himself for longing after something that he did not +really want. He had always, he fancied, done that, as though there would +never be time enough in life for all the things that he would wish to test +and to reject. + +When he went to bed that night he was in rebellion with all the world, but +before he fell asleep Annie Hogg seemed to come to him, a gentler, kinder +spirit, and to say to him, "It'll be all right.... I'll look after 'ee.... +I'll look after 'ee," and he seemed to sink to sleep in her arms. + +Next morning Falk and Joan had breakfast alone with their father, a +headache having laid Mrs. Brandon low. Falk was often late for breakfast, +but to-day had woken very early, had got up and gone out and walked +through the grey mist, turning his own particular trouble over and over in +his mind. To-day Annie had faded back from him again; that tenderness that +he had felt for her last night seemed to have vanished, and he was aware +only of a savage longing to shake himself free of his burden. He had +visions this morning of going up to London and looking for work.... + +Joan saw that to-day was a "Chapter morning" day. She always knew by her +father's appearance when there was to be a Chapter Meeting. He had then an +extra gloss, an added splendour, and also an added importance. He really +was the smartest old thing, she thought, looking at him this morning with +affectionate pride. He looked as though he spent his time in springing in +and out of cold baths. + +The importance was there too. He had the _Glebshire Morning News_ +propped up in front of him, and every now and then he would poke his fine +head up over it and look at his children and the breakfast-table and give +them a little of the world's news. In former days it had been only at the +risk of their little lives that they had spoken to one another. Now, +although restrictions had broken down, they would always hear, if their +voices were loud: + +"Come, children...come, come. Mayn't your father read the newspaper in +quiet? Plenty of time to chatter during the rest of the day." + +He would break forth into little sentences and exclamations as he read. +"Well, that's settled Burnett's hash.--Serve him right, too.... Dear, +dear, five shillings a hundred now. Phillpott's going to St. Lummen! What +an appointment!..." and so on. + +Sometimes he would grow so deeply agitated that he would push the paper +away from him and wave vaguely about the table with his hands as though he +were learning to swim, letting out at the same time little snorts of +indignation and wonder: + +"The fools! The idiots! Savage, of all men! Fancy listening to him! Well, +they'll only get what they deserve for their weakness. I wrote to Benson, +too--might as well have written to a rhinoceros. Toast, please, Joan!-- +Toast, toast. Didn't you hear me? Savage! What can they be thinking of? +Yes, and butter.... Of course I said butter." + +But on "Chapter Days" it was difficult for the newspaper to disturb him. +His mind was filled with thoughts for the plan and policy of the morning. +It was unfortunately impossible for him ever to grasp two things at the +same time, and this made his reasoning and the development of any plan +that he had rather slow. When the Chapter was to be an important one he +would not look at the newspaper at all and would eat scarcely any +breakfast. To-day, because the Chapter was a little one, he allowed +himself to consider the outside world. That really was the beginning of +his misfortune, because the paper this morning contained a very vivid +picture of the loss of the _Drummond Castle_. That was an old story +by this time, but here was some especial account that provided new details +and circumstances, giving a fresh vivid horror to the scene even at this +distance of time. + +Brandon tried not to read the thing. He made it a rule that he would not +distress himself with the thought of evils that he could not cure. That is +what he told himself, but indeed his whole life was spent in warding off +and shutting out and refusing to listen. + +He had told himself many years ago that it was a perfect world and that +God had made it and that God was good. To maintain this belief it was +necessary that one should not be "Presumptuous." It was "Presumptuous" to +imagine for a moment about any single thing that it was a "mistake." If +anything _were_ evil or painful it was there to "try and test" us.... +A kind of spring-board over the waters of salvation. + +Once, some years ago, a wicked atheist had written an article in a +magazine manifesting how evil nature was, how the animals preyed upon one +another, how everything from the tiniest insect to the largest elephant +suffered and suffered and suffered. How even the vegetation lived a short +life of agony and frustration, and then fell into foul decay.... Brandon +had read the article against his will, and had then hated the writer of it +with so deep a hatred that he would have had him horse-whipped, had he had +the power. The article upset him for days, and it was only by asserting to +himself again and again that it was untrue, by watching kittens at play +and birds singing on the branches and roses bursting from bud to bloom, +that he could reassure himself. + +Now to-day here was the old distress back again. There was no doubt but +that those men and women on the _Drummond Castle_ had suffered in +order to win quite securely for themselves a crown of glory. He ought to +envy them, to regret that he had not been given the same chance, and yet-- +and yet---- + +He pushed the paper impatiently away from him. It was good that there was +nothing important to be discussed at Chapter this morning, because really +he was not in the mood to fight battles. He sighed. Why was it always he +that had to fight battles? He had indeed the burden of the whole town upon +his shoulders. And at that secretly he felt a great joy. He was glad--yes, +he was glad that he had.... + +As he looked over at Joan and Folk he felt tenderly towards them. His +reading then about the _Drummond Castle_ made him anxious that they +should have a good time and be happy. It might be better for them that +they should suffer; nevertheless, if they _could_ be sure of heaven +and at the same time not suffer too badly he would be glad. + +Suddenly then, across the breakfast-table, a picture drove itself in front +of him--a picture of Joan with her baby-face, struggling in the water.... +She screamed; she tried to catch on to the side of a boat with her hand. +Some one struck her.... + +With a shudder of disgust he drove it from him. + +"Pah!" he cried aloud, getting up from the table. + +"What is it, father?" Joan asked. + +"People oughtn't to be allowed to write such things," he said, and went to +his study. + +When an hour later he sallied forth to the Chapter Meeting he had +recovered his equanimity. His mind now was nailed to the business on hand. +Most innocently as he crossed the Cathedral Green he strutted, his head +up, his brow stern, his hands crossed behind his back. The choristers +coming in from the choir-school practice in the Cathedral passed him in a +ragged line. They all touched their mortar-boards and he smiled benignly +upon them, reserving a rather stern glance for Brockett, the organist, of +whose musical eccentricities he did not at all approve. + +Little remained now of the original Chapter House which had once been a +continuation of Saint Margaret's Chapel. Some extremely fine Early Norman +arches which were once part of the Chapter House are still there and may +be seen at the southern end of the Cloisters. Here, too, are traces of the +dormitory and infirmary which formerly stood there. The present Chapter +House consists of two rooms adjoining the Cloisters, once a hall used by +the monks as a large refectory. There is still a timber roof of late +thirteenth century work, and this is supposed to have been once part of +the old pilgrims' or strangers' hall. The larger of the two rooms is +reserved for the Chapter Meetings, the smaller being used for minor +meetings and informal discussions. + +The Archdeacon was a little late as, I am afraid, he liked to be when he +was sure that others would be punctual. Nothing, however, annoyed him more +than to find others late when he himself was in time. There they all were +and how exactly he knew how they would all be! + +There was the long oak table, blotting paper and writing materials neatly +placed before each seat, there the fine walls in which he always took so +great a pride, with the portraits of the Polchester Bishops in grand +succession upon them. At the head of the table was the Dean, nervously +with anxious smiles looking about him. On the right was Brandon's seat; on +the left Witheram, seriously approaching the business of the day as though +his very life depended upon it; then Bentinck-Major, his hands looking as +though they had been manicured; next to him Ryle, laughing obsequiously at +some fashionable joke that Bentinck-Major had delivered to him; opposite +to him Foster, looking as though he had not had a meal for a week and +badly shaved with a cut on his chin; and next to _him_ Ronder. + +At the bottom of the table was little Bond, the Chapter Clerk, sucking his +pencil. + +Brandon took his place with dignified apologies for his late arrival. + +"Let us ask God for His blessing on our work to-day," said the Dean. + +A prayer followed, then general rustling and shuffling, blowing of noses, +coughing and even, from the surprised and consternated Ryle, a sneeze-- +then the business of the day began. The minutes of the last meeting were +read, and there was a little amiable discussion. At once Brandon was +conscious of Ronder. Why? He could not tell and was the more +uncomfortable. The man said nothing. He had not been present at the last +meeting and could therefore have nothing to say to this part of the +business. He sat there, his spectacles catching the light from the +opposite windows so that he seemed to have no eyes. His chubby body, the +position in which he was sitting, hunched up, leaning forward on his arms, +spoke of perfect and almost sleepy content. His round face and fat cheeks +gave him the air of a man to whom business was a tiresome and unnecessary +interference with the pleasures of life. + +Nevertheless, Brandon was so deeply aware of Ronder that again and again, +against his will, his eyes wandered in his direction. Once or twice +Brandon said something, not because he had anything really to say, but +because he wanted to impress himself upon Ronder. All agreed with him in +the complacent and contented way that they had always agreed.... + +Then his consciousness of Ronder extended and gave him a new consciousness +of the other men. He had known for so long exactly how they looked and the +words that they would say, that they were, to him, rather like the stone +images of the Twelve Apostles in the niches round the West Door. Today +they jumped in a moment into new life. Yesterday he could have calculated +to a nicety the attitude that they would have; now they seemed to have +been blown askew with a new wind. Because he noticed these things it does +not mean that he was generally perceptive. He had always been very sharp +to perceive anything that concerned his own position. + +Business proceeded and every one displayed his own especial +characteristics. Nothing arose that concerned Ronder. Every one's personal +opinion about every one else was clearly apparent. It was a fine thing, +for instance, to observe Foster's scorn and contempt whilst Bentinck-Major +explained his little idea about certain little improvements that he, as +Chancellor, might naturally suggest, or Ryle's attitude of goodwill to all +and sundry as he apologised for certain of Brockett's voluntaries and +assured Brandon on one side that "something should be done about it," and +agreed with Bentinck-Major on the other that it was indeed agreeable to +hear sometimes music a little more advanced and original than one usually +found in Cathedrals. + +Brandon sniffed something of incipient rebellion in Bentinck-Major's +attitude and looked across the table severely. Bentinck-Major blinked and +nervously examined his nails. + +"Of course," said the Archdeacon in his most solemn manner, "there may be +people who wish to turn the Cathedral into a music-hall. I don't say there +_are_, but there _may_ be. In these strange times nothing would +astonish me. In my own humble opinion what was good enough for our fathers +is good enough for us. However, don't let my opinion influence any one." + +"I assure you, Archdeacon," said Bentinck-Major. Witheram earnestly +assured every one that he was certain there need be no alarm. They could +trust the Precentor to see.... There was a general murmur. Yes, they +_could_ trust the Precentor. + +This little matter being settled, the meeting was very near an agreeable +conclusion and the Dean was beginning to congratulate himself on the early +return to his botany--when, unfortunately, there cropped up the question +of the garden-roller. + +This matter of the garden-roller was a simple one enough. The Cathedral +School had some months ago requested the Chapter to allow it to purchase +for itself a new garden-roller. Such an article was seriously needed for +the new cricket-field. It was true that the School already possessed two +garden-rollers, but one of these was very small--"quite a baby one," +Dennison, the headmaster, explained pathetically--and the other could not +possibly cover all the work that it had to do. The School grounds were +large ones. + +The matter, which was one that mainly concerned the Treasury side of the +Chapter, had been discussed at the last meeting, and there had been a good +deal of argument about it. + +Brandon had then vetoed it, not because he cared in the least whether or +no the School had a garden-roller, but because, Hart-Smith having left and +Ronder being not yet with them, he was in charge, for the moment, of the +Cathedral funds. He liked to feel his power, and so he refused as many +things as possible. Had it not been only a temporary glory--had he been +permanent Treasurer--he would in all probability have acted in exactly the +opposite way and allowed everybody to have everything. + +"There's the question of the garden-roller," said Witheram, just as the +Dean was about to propose that they should close with a prayer. + +"I've got it here on the minutes," said the Chapter Clerk severely. + +"Oh, dear, yes," said the Dean, looking about him rather piteously. "Now +what shall we do about it?" + +"Let 'em have it," said Foster, glaring across at Brandon and shutting his +mouth like a trap. + +This was a direct challenge. Brandon felt his breast charged with the +noble anger that always filled it when Foster said anything. + +"I must confess," he said, covering, as he always did when he intended +something to be final, the Dean with his eye, "that I thought that this +was quite definitely settled at last Chapter; I understood--I may of +course have been mistaken--that we considered that we could not afford the +thing and that the School must wait." + +"Well, Archdeacon," said the Dean nervously (he knew of old the danger- +signals in Brandon's flashing eyes), "I must confess that I hadn't thought +it _quite_ so definite as that. Certainly we discussed the expense of +the affair." + +"I think the Archdeacon's right," said Bentinck-Major, who wanted to win +his way back to favour after the little mistake about the music. "It was +settled, I think." + +"Nothing of the kind," said Foster fiercely. "We settled nothing." + +"How does it read on the minutes?" asked the Dean nervously. + +"Postponed until the next meeting," said the Clerk. + +"At any rate," said Brandon, feeling that this absurd discussion had gone +on quite long enough, "the matter is simple enough. It can be settled +immediately. Any one who has gone into the matter at all closely will have +discovered first that the School doesn't _need_ a roller--they've +enough already--secondly, that the Treasury cannot possibly at the present +moment afford to buy a new one." + +"I really must protest, Archdeacon," said Foster, "this is going too far. +In the first place, have you yourself gone into the case?" + +Brandon paused before he answered. He felt that all eyes were upon him. He +also felt that Foster had been stirred to a new strength of hostility by +some one--he fancied he knew by whom. Moreover, _had_ he gone into +it? He was aware with a stirring of impatience that he had not. He had +intended to do so, but time had been short, the matter had not seemed of +sufficient importance.... + +"I certainly have gone into it," he said, "quite as far as the case +deserves. The facts are clear." + +"The facts are _not_ clear," said Foster angrily. "I say that the +School should have this roller and that we are behaving with abominable +meanness in preventing it"; and he banged his fist upon the table. + +"If that charge of meanness is intended personally,..." said Brandon +angrily. + +"I assure you, Archdeacon,..." said Ryle. The Dean raised a hand in +protest. + +"I don't think," he said, "that anything here is ever intended personally. +We must never forget that we are in God's House. Of course, this is an +affair that really should be in the hands of the Treasury. But I'm afraid +that Canon Ronder can hardly be expected in the short time that he's been +with us to have investigated this little matter." + +Every one looked at Ronder. There was a pleasant sense of drama in the +affair. Brandon was gazing at the portraits above the table and pretending +to be outside the whole business; in reality, his heart beat angrily. His +word should have been enough, in earlier days _would_ have been. +Everything now was topsy-turvy. + +"As a matter of fact," said Ronder, "I _have_ gone into the matter. I +saw that it was one of the most urgent questions on the Agenda. +Unimportant though it may sound, I believe that the School cricket will be +entirely held up this summer if they don't secure their roller. They +intend, I believe, to get a roller by private subscription if we refuse it +to them, and that, gentlemen, would be, I cannot help feeling, rather +ignominious for us. I have been into the question of prices and have +examined some catalogues. I find that the expense of a good garden-roller +is really _not_ a very great one. One that I think the Treasury could +sustain without serious inconvenience...." + +"You think then, Canon, that we should allow the roller?" said the Dean. + +"I certainly do," said Ronder. + +Brandon felt the impression that had been created. He knew that they were +all thinking amongst themselves: "Well, _here's_ an efficient man!" + +He burst out: + +"I'm afraid that I cannot agree with Canon Ronder. If he will allow me to +say so, he has not been, as yet, long enough in the place to know how +things really stand. I have nothing to say against Dennison, but he has +obviously put his case very plausibly, but those who have known the School +and its methods for many years have perhaps a prior right of judgment over +Canon Ronder, who's known it for so short a time." + +"Absurd. Absurd," cried Foster. "It isn't a case of knowing the School. +It's simply a question of whether the Chapter can afford it. Canon Ronder, +who is Treasurer, says that it can. That ought to be enough for anybody." + +The atmosphere was now very warm indeed. There was every likelihood of +several gentlemen speaking at once. Witheram looked anxious, Bentinck- +Major malicious, Ryle nervous, Foster triumphant, and Brandon furious. +Only Ronder seemed unconcerned. + +The Dean, distress in his heart, raised his hand. + +"As there seems to be some difference of opinion in this matter," he said, +"I think we had better vote upon it. Those in favour of the roller being +granted to the School please signify." + +Ronder, Foster and Witheram raised their hands. + +"And those against?" said the Dean. + +Brandon, Ryle and Bentinck-Major were against. + +"I'm afraid," said the Dean, smiling anxiously, "that it will be for me to +give the casting vote." He paused for a moment. Then, looking straight +across the table at the Clerk, he said: + +"I think I must decide _for_ the roller. Canon Ronder seems to me to +have proved his case." + +Every one, except possibly Ronder, was aware that this was the first +occasion for many years that any motion of Brandon's had been defeated.... + +Without waiting for any further business the Archdeacon gathered together +his papers and, looking neither to right nor left, strode from the room. + + + + + +Book II + +The Whispering Gallery + + + + +Chapter I + +Five O'Clock--The Green Cloud + + + +The cloud seemed to creep like smoke from the funnel of the Cathedral +tower. The sun was setting in a fiery wreath of bubbling haze, shading in +rosy mist the mountains of grey stone. The little cloud, at first in the +shadowy air light green and shaped like a ring, twisted spirally, then, +spreading, washed out and lay like a pool of water against the smoking +sunset. + +Green like the Black Bishop's ring.... Lying there, afterwards, until the +orange had faded and the sky, deserted by the sun, was milk-white. The +mists descended. The Cathedral chimes struck five. February night, cold, +smoke-misted, enwrapped the town. + + * * * * * + +At a quarter to five Evensong was over and Cobbett was putting out the +candles in the choir. Two figures slowly passed down the darkening nave. + +Outside the west door they paused, gazing at the splendour of the fiery +sky. + +"It's cold, but there'll be stars," Ronder said. + +Stars. Cold. Brandon shivered. Something was wrong with him. His heart had +clap-clapped during the Anthem as though a cart with heavy wheels had +rumbled there. He looked suspiciously at Ronder. He did not like the man, +confidently standing there addressing the sky as though he owned it. He +would have liked the sunset for himself. + +"Well, good-night, Canon," brusquely. He moved away. + +But Ronder followed him. + +"One moment, Archdeacon.... Excuse me.... I have been wanting an +opportunity...." + +Brandon paused. The man was nervous. Brandon liked that. + +"Yes?" he said. + +The rosy light was fading. Strange that little green cloud rising like +smoke from the tower.... + +"At the last Chapter we were on opposite sides. I want to say how greatly +I've regretted that. I feel that we don't know one another as we should. I +wonder if you would allow me..." + +The light was fading--Ronder's spectacles shone, his body in shadow. + +"...to see something more of you--to have a real talk with you?" + +Brandon smiled grimly to himself in the dusk. This fool! He was afraid +then. He saw himself hatless in Bennett's shop; outside, the jeering +crowd. + +"I'm afraid, Canon Ronder, that we shall never see eye to eye here about +many things. If you will allow me to say so, you have perhaps not been +here quite long enough to understand the real needs of this diocese. You +must go slowly here--more slowly than perhaps you are prepared for. We are +not Modernists here." + +The spectacles, alone visible, answered: "Well, let us discuss it then. +Let us talk things over. Let me ask you at once, Have you something +against me, something that I have done unwittingly? I have fancied lately +a personal note.... I am absurdly sensitive, but if there _is_ +anything that I have done, please let me apologise for it. I want you to +tell me." + +Anything that he had done? The Archdeacon smiled grimly to himself in the +dusk. + +"I really don't think, Canon, that talking things over will help us. There +is really nothing to discuss.... Good-night." + +The green cloud was gone. Ronder, invisible now, remained in the shadow of +the great door. + + +II + +Beside the river, above the mill, a woman's body was black against the +gold-crested water. She leaned over the little bridge, her body strong, +confident in its physical strength, her hands clasped, her eyes +meditative. + +No need for secrecy to-night. Her father was in Drymouth for two days. +Quarter to five. The chimes struck out clear across the town. Hearing them +she looked back and saw the sky a flood of red behind the Cathedral. She +longed for Falk to-night, a new longing. He was better than she had +supposed, far, far better. A good boy, tender and warm-hearted. To be +trusted. Her friend. At first he had stood to her only for a means of +freedom. Freedom from this horrible place, from this horrible man, her +father, more horrible than any others knew. Her mother had known. She +shivered, seeing that body, heavy-breasted, dull white, as, stripped to +the waist, he bent over the bed to strike. Her mother's cry, a little +moan.... She shivered again, staring into the sunset for Falk.... + +He was with her. They leant over the bridge together, his arm around her. +They said very little. + +She looked back. + +"See that strange cloud? Green. Ever seen a green cloud before? Ah, it's +peaceful here." + +She turned and looked into his face. As the dusk came down she stroked his +hair. He put his arm round her and held her close to him. + + +III + + The lamps in the High Street suddenly flaring beat out the sky. There +above the street itself the fiery sunset had not extended; the fair watery +space was pale egg-blue; as the chimes so near at hand struck a quarter to +five the pale colour began slowly to drain away, leaving ashen china +shades behind it, and up to these shades the orange street-lights +extended, patronising, flaunting. + +But Joan, pausing for a moment under the Arden Gate before she turned +home, saw the full glory of the sunset. She heard, contending with the +chimes, the last roll of the organ playing the worshippers out of that +mountain of sacrificial stone. + +She looked up and saw a green cloud, faintly green like early spring +leafage, curl from the tower smoke-wise; and there, lifting his hat, +pausing at her side, was Johnny St. Leath. + +She would have hurried on; she was not happy. Things were _not_ right +at home. Something wrong with father, with mother, with Falk. Something +wrong, too, with herself. She had heard in the town the talk about this +girl who was coming to the Castle for the Jubilee time, coming to marry +Johnny. Coming to marry him because she was rich and handsome. Lovely. +Lady St. Leath was determined.... + +So she would hurry on, murmuring "Good evening." But he stopped her. His +face was flushed. Andrew heaved eagerly, hungrily, at his side. + +"Miss Brandon. Just a moment. I want to speak to you. Lovely evening, +isn't it?...You cut me the other day. Yes, you did. In Orange Street." + +"Why?" + +She tried to speak coldly. + +"We're friends. You know we are. Only in this beastly town no one can be +free.... I only want to tell you if I go away--suddenly--I'm coming back. +Mind that. You're not to believe anything they say--anything that any one +says. I'm coming back. Remember that. We're friends. You must trust me. Do +you hear?" + +And he was gone, striding off towards the Cathedral, Andrew panting at his +heels. + +The light was gone too--going, going, gone. + +She stayed for a moment. As she reached her door the wind rose, sifting +through the grass, rising to her chin. + + +IV + +The two figures met, unconsciously, without spoken arrangement, pushed +towards one another by destiny, as they had been meeting now continuously +during the last weeks. + +Almost always at this hour; almost always at this place. On the sandy path +in the green hollow below the Cathedral, above the stream, the hollow +under the opposite hill, the hill where the field was, the field where +they had the Fair. + +Down into this green depth the sunset could not strike, and the chimes, +telling over so slowly and so sweetly the three-quarters, filtered down +like a memory, a reiteration of an old promise, a melody almost forgotten. +But above her head the woman, looking up, could see the rose change to +orange and could watch the cloud, like a pool of green water, extend and +rest, lying like a sheet of glass behind which the orange gleamed. + +They met always thus, she coming from the town as though turning upwards +through the tangled path to her home in the Precincts, he sauntering +slowly, his hands behind his back, as though he had been wandering there +to think out some problem.... + +Sometimes he did not come, sometimes she could not. They never stayed more +than ten minutes there together. No one from month to month at that hour +crossed that desolate path. + +To-day he began impetuously. "If you hadn't come to-night, I think I would +have gone to find you. I had to see you. No, I had nothing to say. Only to +see you. But I am so lonely in that house. I always knew I was lonely-- +never more than when I was married--but now.... If I hadn't these ten +minutes most days I'd die, I think...." + +They didn't touch one another, but stood opposite gazing, face into face. + +"What are we to do?" he said. "It can't be wicked just to meet like this +and to talk a little." + +"I'd like you to know," she answered, "that you and my son--you are all I +have in the world. The two of you. And my son has some secret from me. + +"I have been so lonely too. But I don't feel lonely any more. Your +friendship for me...." + +"Yes, I am your friend. Think of me like that. Your friend from the first +moment I saw you--you so quiet and gentle and unhappy. I realized your +unhappiness instantly. No one else in this place seemed to notice it. I +believe God meant us to be friends, meant me to bring you happiness--a +little...." + +"Happiness?" she shivered. "Isn't it cold to-night? Do you see that +strange green cloud? Ah, now it is gone. All the light is going.... Do you +believe in God?" + +He came closer to her. His hand touched her arm. + +"Yes," he answered fiercely. "And He means me to care for you." His hand, +trembling, stroked her arm. She did not move. His hand, shaking, touched +her neck. He bent forward and kissed her neck, her mouth, then her eyes. + +She leant her head wearily for an instant on his shoulder, then, +whispering good-night, she turned and went quietly up the path. + + + + +Chapter II + +Souls on Sunday + + + +I must have been thirteen or fourteen years of age--it may have been +indeed in this very year '97--when I first read Stevenson's story of +_Treasure Island_. It is the fashion, I believe, now with the Clever +Solemn Ones to despise Stevenson as a writer of romantic Tushery, + +All the same, if it's realism they want I'm still waiting to see something +more realistic than Pew or Long John Silver. Realism may depend as truly +on a blind man's tap with his stick upon the ground as on any number of +adulteries. + +In those young years, thank God, I knew nothing about realism and read the +tale for what it was worth. And it was worth three hundred bags of gold. +Now, on looking back, it seems to me that the spirit that overtook our +town just at this time was very like the spirit that seized upon Dr. +Livesey, young Hawkins and the rest when they discovered the dead +Buccaneer's map. This is no forced parallel. It was with a real sense of +adventure that the Whispering began about the Brandons and Ronder and the +Pybus St. Anthony living and the rest of it. Where did the Whispering +start? Who can ever tell? + +Our Polchester Whispering was carried on and fostered very largely by our +servants. As in every village and town in Glebeshire, the intermarrying +that had been going on for generations was astonishing. Every servant- +maid, every errand-boy, every gardener and coachman in Polchester was +cousin, brother or sister to every other servant-maid, errand-boy, +gardener and coachman. They made, these people, a perfect net about our +town. + +The things that they carried from house to house, however, were never the +actual things; they were simply the material from which the actual things +were made. Nor was the construction of the actual tale positively +malicious; it was only that our eyes were caught by the drama of life and +we could not help but exclaim with little gasps and cries at the wonderful +excitement of the history that we saw. Our treasure-hunting was simply for +the fun of the thrill of the chase, not at all that we wished harm to a +soul in the world. If, on occasion, a slight hint of maliciousness did +find its place with us, it was only because in this insecure world it is +delightful to reaffirm our own security as we watch our neighbours topple +over. We do not wish them to "topple," but if somebody has got to fall we +would rather it were not ourselves. + +Brandon had been for so long so remarkable a figure in our world that the +slightest stir of the colours in his picture was immediately noticeable. +From the moment of Falk's return from Oxford it was expected that +something "would happen." + +It often occurs that a situation between a number of people is vague and +indefinite, until a certain moment, often quite undramatic and negative in +itself, arrives, when the situation suddenly fixes itself and stands +forward, set full square to the world, as a definite concrete fact. There +was a certain Sunday in the April of this year that became for the +Archdeacon and a number of other people such a definite crisis--and yet it +might quite reasonably have been said at the end of it that nothing very +much had occurred. + +Everything seemed to happen in Polchester on Sundays. For one thing more +talking was done on Sunday than on all the other days of the week +together. Then the Cathedral itself came into its full glory on that day. +Every one gathered there, every one talked to every one else before +parting, and the long spaces and silences and pauses of the day allowed +the comments and the questions and the surmises to grow and swell and +distend into gigantic images before night took every one and stretched +them upon their backs to dream. + +What the Archdeacon liked was an "off" Sunday, when he had nothing to do +save to walk majestically into his place in the choir stall, to read, +perhaps, a Lesson, to talk gravely to people who came to have tea with him +after the Sunday Evensong, to reflect lazily, after Sunday supper, his +long legs stretched out in front of him, a pipe in his mouth, upon the +goodness and happiness and splendour of the Cathedral and the world and +his own place in it. Such a Sunday was a perfect thing--and such a Sunday +April 18 ought to have been...alas! it was not so. + +It began very early, somewhere about seven in the morning, with a horrible +incident. The rule on Sundays was that the maid knocked at half-past six +on the door and gave the Archdeacon and his wife their tea. The Archdeacon +lay luxuriously drinking it until exactly a quarter to seven, then he +sprang out of bed, had his cold bath, performed his exercises, and shaved +in his little dressing-room. At about a quarter past seven, nearly +dressed, he returned into the bedroom, to find Mrs. Brandon also nearly +dressed. On this particular day while he drank his tea his wife appeared +to be sleeping; that did not make him bound out of bed any the less +noisily-after twenty years of married life you do not worry about such +things; moreover it was quite time that his wife bestirred herself. At a +quarter past seven he came into the bedroom in his shirt and trousers, +humming "Onward, Christian Soldiers." It was a fine spring morning, so he +flung up the window and looked out into the Precinct, fresh and dewy in +the morning sun, silent save for the inquisitive reiteration of an early +jackdaw. Then he turned back, and, to his amazement, saw that his wife was +lying, her eyes wide open, staring in front of her. + +"My dear!" he cried. "Aren't you well?" + +"I'm perfectly well," she answered him, her eyes maintaining their fixed +stare. The tone in which she said these words was quite new--it was not +submissive, it was not defensive, it was indifferent. + +She must be ill. He came close to the bed. + +"Do you realise the time?" he asked. "Twenty minutes past seven. I'm sure +you don't want to keep me waiting." + +She didn't answer him. Certainly she must be ill. There was something +strange about her eyes. + +"You _must_ be ill," he repeated. "You look ill. Why didn't you say +so? Have you got a headache?" + +"I'm not ill. I haven't got a headache, and I'm not coming to Early +Service." + +"You're not ill, and you're not coming..." he stammered in his amazement. +"You've forgotten. There isn't late Celebration." + +She gave him no answer, but turned on her side, closing her eyes. + +He came right up to the bed, frowning down upon her. + +"Amy--what does this mean? You're not ill, and yet you're not coming to +Celebration? Why? I insist upon an answer." + +She said nothing. + +He felt that anger, of which he had tried now for many years to beware, +flooding his throat. + +With tremendous self-control he said quietly: "What is the matter with +you, Amy? You must tell me at once." + +She did not open her eyes but said in a voice so low that he scarcely +caught the words: + +"There is nothing the matter. I am not ill, and I'm not coming to Early +Service." + +"Why?" + +"Because I don't wish to go." + +For a moment he thought that he was going to bend down and lift her bodily +out of bed. His limbs felt as though they were prepared for such an +action. + +But to his own surprised amazement he did nothing, he said nothing. He +looked at the bed, at the hollow where his head had been, at her head with +her black hair scattered on the pillow, at her closed eyes, then he went +away into his dressing-room. When he had finished dressing he came back +into the bedroom, looked across at her, motionless, her eyes still closed, +lying on her side, felt the silence of the room, the house, the Precincts +broken only by the impertinent jackdaw. + +He went downstairs. + +Throughout the Early Celebration he remained in a condition of amazed +bewilderment. From his position just above the altar-rails he could see +very clearly the Bishop's Tomb; the morning sun reflected in purple +colours from the East window played upon its blue stone. It caught the +green ring and flashed splashes of fire from its heart. His mind went back +to that day, not so very long ago, when, with triumphant happiness, he had +seemed to share in the Bishop's spirit, to be dust of his dust, and bone +of his bone. That had been the very day, he remembered, of Falk's return +from Oxford. Since that day everything had gone wrong for him--Falk, the +Elephant, Ronder, Foster, the Chapter. And now his wife! Never in all the +years of his married life had she spoken to him as she had done that +morning. She must be on the edge of a serious illness, a very serious +illness. Strangely a new concern for her, a concern that he had never felt +in his life before, arose in his heart. Poor Amy--and how tiresome if she +were ill, the house all at sixes and sevens! With a shock he realised that +his mind was not devotional. He swung himself back to the service, looking +down benevolently upon the two rows of people waiting patiently to come in +their turn to the altar steps. + +At breakfast, however, there Mrs. Brandon was, looking quite her usual +self, in the Sunday dress of grey silk, making the tea, quiet as she +always was, answering questions submissively, patiently, "as the wife of +an Archdeacon should." He tried to show her by his manner that he had been +deeply shocked, but, unfortunately, he had been shocked, annoyed, +indignant on so many occasions when there had been no real need for it, +that to-day, when there was the occasion, he felt that he made no +impression. + +The bells pealed for morning service, the sun shone; as half-past ten +approached, little groups of people crossed the Precincts and vanished +into the mouth of the great West door. Now were Lawrence and Cobbett in +their true glory--Lawrence was in his fine purple robe, the Sunday silk +one. He stood at the far end of the nave, just under the choir-screen, +waiting for the aristocracy, for whom the front seats were guarded with +cords which only he might untie. How deeply pleased he was when some +unfortunate stranger, ignorant in the ways of the Cathedral, walked, with +startling clatter, up the whole length of the shining nave and endeavoured +to penetrate one of these sacred defences! Majestically--staff in hand, he +came forward, shook his snow-white head, looking down upon the intrusive +one more in sorrow than in anger, spoke no word, but motioned the audacity +back down the nave again to the place where Cobbett officiated. Back, +clatter, clatter, blushing and confused, the stranger retreated, watched, +as it seemed to him, by a thousand sarcastic and cynical eyes. The bells +slipped from their jangling peal into a solemn single note. The Mere +People were in their places at the back of the nave, the Great Ones +leaving their entrance until the very last moment. There was a light in +the organ-loft; very softly Brockett began his voluntary--clatter, +clatter, clatter, and the School arrived, the small boys, swallowed by +their Eton collars, first, filing into their places to the right of the +screen, then the middle boys, a little indifferent and careless, then the +Fifth and Sixth in their "stick-up" collars, haughty and indifferent +indeed. + +Dimly, on the other side of the screen, the School boys in their surplices +could be seen settling into their places between the choir and the altar. + +A rustling of skirts, and the aristocracy entered in ones and twos from +the side doors that opened out of the Cloisters. For some of them--for a +very few--Lawrence had his confidential smile. For Mrs. Sampson, for +instance--for Mrs. Combermere, for Mrs. Ryle and Mrs. Brandon. + +A very special one for Mrs. Brandon because of his high opinion of her +husband. She was nothing very much--"a mean little woman," he thought her +--but the Archdeacon had married her. That was enough. + +Joan was with her, conscious that every one must be noticing her--the +D'Arcy girls and Cynthia Ryle and Gladys Sampson, they would all be +looking and criticising. Hustle, rustle, rustle--here was an event indeed! +Lady St. Leath was come, and with her in attendance Johnny and Hetty. +Lawrence hurried forward, disregarding Mrs. Brandon, who was compelled to +undo her cord for herself. He led Lady St. Leath forward with a ceremony, +a dignity, that was marvellous to see. She moved behind him as though she +owned the Cathedral, or rather could have owned it had she thought it +worth her while. All the little boys in the Upper Third and Lower Fourth +turned their necks in their Eton collars and watched. What a bonnet she +was wearing! All the colours of the rainbow, odd, indeed, perched there on +the top of her untidy white hair! + +Every one settled down; the voluntary was louder, the single note of the +bell suddenly more urgent. Ladies looked about them. Ellen Stiles saw Miss +Dobell--smile, smile. Joan saw Cynthia Ryle--smile, smile. Lawrence, with +the expression of the Angel Gabriel waiting to admit into heaven a new +troop of repentant sinners, stood expectant. The sun filtered in dusty +ladders of coloured light and fell in squares upon the empty spaces of the +nave. + +The bell suddenly ceased, a long melodious and melancholy "Amen" came from +somewhere far away in the purple shadow. Every one moved; a noise like a +little uncertain breeze blew through the Cathedral as the congregation +rose; then the choir filed through, the boys, the men, the Precentor, old +Canon Morphew and older Canon Batholomew, Canon Rogers, his face bitter +and discontented, Canon Foster, Bentinck-Major, last of all, Archdeacon +Brandon. They had filed into their places in the choir, they were +kneeling, the Precentor's voice rang out.... + +The familiar sound of Canon Ryle's voice recalled Mrs. Brandon to time and +place. She was kneeling, her gloved hands pressed close to her face. She +was looking into thick dense darkness, a darkness penetrated with the +strong scent of Russia leather and the faint musty smell that always +seemed to rise from the Cathedral hassocks and the woodwork upon which she +leant. Until Ryle's voice roused her she had been swimming in space and +eternity; behind her, like a little boat bobbing distressfully in her +track, was the scene of that early morning with which that day had opened. +She saw herself, as it were, the body of some quite other woman, lying in +that so familiar bedroom and saying "No"--saying it again and again and +again. "No. No. No." + +Why had she said "No," and was it not in reality another woman who had +said it, and why had he been so quiet? It was not his way. There had been +no storm. She shivered a little behind her gloves. + +"Dearly beloved brethren," began the Precentor, pleading, impersonal. + +Slowly her brain, like a little dark fish striking up from deep green +waters, rose to the surface of her consciousness. What she was then most +surely aware of was that she was on the very edge of something; it was a +quite physical sensation, as though she had been walking over mist-soaked +downs and had suddenly hesitated, to find herself looking down along the +precipitances of jagged black rock. It was "jagged black rock" over which +she was now peering. + +The two sides of the choir were now rivalling one another over the psalms, +hurling verses at one another with breathless speed, as though they said: +"Here's the ball. Catch. Oh, you _are_ slow!" + +In just that way across the field of Amy Brandon's consciousness two +voices were shouting at one another. + +One cried: "See what she's in for, the foolish woman! She's not up to it. +It will finish her." + +And the other answered: "Well, she is in for it! So it's no use warning +her any longer. She wants it. She's going to have it." + +And the first repeated: "It never pays! It never pays! It never pays!" + +And the second replied: "No, but nothing can stop her now. Nothing!" + +Could nothing stop her? Behind the intricacies of one of Smart's most +elaborate "Te Deums," with clenched hands and little shivers of +apprehension, she fought a poor little battle. + +"We praise Thee, O God. We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord...." + +"The goodly fellowship of the prophets praise Thee...." A boy's voice +rose, "Thou did'st not abhor the Virgin's womb...." + +Let her step back now while there was yet time. She had her children. She +had Falk. Falk! She looked around her, almost expecting him to be at her +side, although she well knew that he had long ago abandoned the Cathedral +services. Ah, it wasn't fair! If only he loved her, if only any one loved +her, any one whom she herself could love. If any one wanted her! + +Lawrence was waiting, his back turned to the nave. As the last words of +the "Te Deum" rose into a shout of triumphant confidence he turned and +solemnly, his staff raised, advanced, Archdeacon Brandon behind him. Now, +as always, a little giggle of appreciation ran down the nave as the +Archdeacon marched forward to the Lectern. The tourists whispered and +asked one another who that fine-looking man was. They craned their necks +into the aisle. And he _did_ look fine, his head up, his shoulders +back, his grave dignity graciously at their service. At their service and +God's. + +The sight of her husband inflamed Mrs. Brandon. She stared at him as +though she were seeing him for the first time, but in reality she was not +seeing him as he was now, but rather as he had been that morning bending +over her bed in his shirt and trousers. That movement that he had made as +though he would lift her bodily out of the bed. + +She closed her eyes. His fine rich voice came to her from a long way off. +Let him boom as loudly as he pleased, he could not touch her any more. She +had escaped, and for ever. She saw, then, Morris as she had seen him at +that tea-party months ago. She recovered that strange sense that she had +had (and that he had had too, as she knew) of being carried out right away +from one's body into an atmosphere of fire and heat and sudden cold. They +had no more been able to avoid that look that they had exchanged than they +had been able to escape being born. Let it then stay at that. She wanted +nothing more than that. Only that look must be exchanged again. She was +hungry, starving for it. She _must_ see him often, continually. She +must be able to look at him, touch the sleeve of his coat, hear his voice. +She must be able to do things for him, little simple things that no one +else could do. She wanted no more than that. Only to be near to him and to +see that he was cared for...looked after. Surely that was not wrong. No +one could say.... + +Little shivers ran continually about her body, and her hands, clenched +tightly, were damp within her gloves. + +The Precentor gave out the words of the Anthem, "Little children, love one +another." + +Every one rose--save Lady St. Leath, who settled herself magnificently in +her seat and looked about her as though she challenged anybody to tell her +that she was wrong to do so. + +Yes, that was all Amy Brandon wanted. Who could say that she was wrong to +want it? The little battle was concluded. + +Old Canon Foster was preaching to-day. Always at the conclusion of the +Anthem certain ruffians, visitors, tourists, clattered out. No sermon for +them. They did not matter very greatly because they were far away at the +back of the nave, and nobody need look at them; but on Foster's preaching +days certain of the aristocracy also retired, and this was disconcerting +because their seats were prominent ones and their dresses were of silk. +Often Lady St. Leath was one of these, but to-day she was sunk into a kind +of stupor and did not move. Mrs. Combermere, Ellen Stiles and Mrs. Sampson +were the guilty ones. + +Rustle of their dresses, the heavy flop of the side Cloister door as it +closed behind them, and then silence once more and the thin angry voice of +Canon Foster, "Let us pray." + +Out in the grey Cloisters it was charming. The mild April sun flooded the +square of grass that lay in the middle of the thick rounded pillars like a +floor of bright green glass. + +The ladies stood for a moment looking out into the sunny silence. The +Cathedral was hushed behind them; Ellen Stiles was looking very gay and +very hideous in a large hat stifled with flowers, set sideways on her +head, and a bright purple silk dress pulled in tightly at the waist, +rising to high puffed shoulders. Her figure was not suited to the fashion +of the day. + +Mrs. Sampson explained that she was suffering from one of the worst of her +nervous headaches and that she could not have endured the service another +moment. Miss Stiles was all eager solicitude. + +"I _am_ so sorry. I know how you are when you get one of those +things. Nothing does it any good, does it? I know you've tried everything, +and it simply goes on for days and days, getting worse and worse. And the +really terrible part of them is that, with you, they seem to be +constitutional. No doctors can do anything--when they're constitutional. +There you are for the rest of your days!" + +Mrs. Sampson gave a little shiver. + +"I must say, Dr. Puddifoot seems to be very little use," she moaned. + +"Oh! Puddifoot!" Miss Stiles was contemptuous. "He's past his work. That's +one comfort about this place. If any one's ill he dies. No false hopes. At +least, we know where we are." + +They walked through the Martyr's Passage out into the full sunlight of the +Precincts. + +"What a jolly day!" said Mrs. Combermere, "I shall take my dogs for a +walk. By the way, Ellen," she turned round to her friend, "how did Miss +Burnett's tea-party go? I haven't seen you since." + +"Oh, it was too funny!" Miss Stiles giggled. "You never saw such a +mixture, and I don't think Miss Burnett knew who any one was. Not that she +had much time to think, poor dear, she was so worried with the tea. Such a +maid as she had you never saw!" + +"A mixture?" asked Mrs. Combermere. "Who were they?" + +"Oh, Canon Ronder and Bentinck-Major and Mrs. Brandon and--Oh, yes! +actually Falk Brandon!" + +"Falk Brandon there?" + +"Yes, wasn't it the strangest thing. I shouldn't have thought he'd have +had time--However, you told me not to, so I won't--" + +"Who did you talk to?" + +"I talked to Miss Burnett most of the time. I tried to cheer her up. No +one else paid the least attention to her." + +"She's a very stupid person, it seems to me," Mrs. Sampson murmured. "But +of course I know her very slightly." + +"Stupid!" Miss Stiles laughed. "Why, she hasn't an idea in her head. I +don't believe that she knows it's Jubilee Year. Positively!" + +A little wind blew sportively around Miss Stiles' large hat. They all +moved forward. + +"The funny thing was--" Miss Stiles paused and looked apprehensively at +Mrs. Combermere. "I know you don't like scandal, but of course this isn't +scandal--there's nothing in it--" + +"Come on, Ellen. Out with it," said Mrs. Combermere. + +"Well, Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris. I caught the oddest look between +them." + +"Look! What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Combermere sharply. Mrs. Sampson +stood still, her mouth a little open, forgetting her neuralgia. + +"Of course it was nothing. All the same, they were standing at the window +saying something, looking at one another, well, positively as though they +had known one another intimately for years. I assure you--" + +Mrs. Combermere turned upon her. "Of all the nasty minds in this town, +Ellen, you have the nastiest. I've told you so before. People can't even +look at one another now. Why, you might as well say that I'd been gazing +at your Ronder when he came to tea the other day." + +"Perhaps I shall," said Miss Stiles, laughing. "It would be a delightful +story to spread. Seriously, why not make a match of it? You'd just suit +one another." + +"Once is enough for me in a life-time," said Mrs. Combermere grimly. "Now, +Ellen, come along. No more mischief. Leave poor little Morris alone." + +"Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris!" repeated Mrs. Sampson, her eyes wide open. +"Well, I do declare." + +The ladies separated, and the Precincts was abandoned for a time to its +beautiful Sunday peace and calm. + + + + +Chapter III + +The May-day Prologue + + + +May is the finest month of all the year in Glebeshire. The days are warm +but not too hot; the sky is blue but not too blue, the air is soft but +with a touch of sharpness The valleys are pressed down and overflowing +with flowers; the cuckoo cries across the glassy waters of blue harbours, +and the gorse is honey-scented among the rocks. + +May-day in Polchester this year was warm and bright, with a persistent +cuckoo somewhere in the Dean's garden, and a very shrill-voiced canary in +Miss Dobell's open window. The citizens of Polchester were suddenly aware +that summer was close upon them. Doors were flung open and the gardens +sinuously watered, summer clothes were dragged from their long confinement +and anxiously overlooked, Mr. Martin, the stationer, hung a row of his +coloured Polchester views along a string across his window, the dark, +covered ways of the market-place quivered and shone with pots of spring +flowers, and old Simon's water-cart made its first trembling and shaking +appearance down the High Street. + +All this was well enough and customary enough, but what marked this spring +from any other spring that had ever been was that it was Jubilee Year. It +was on this warm May-day that Polchester people realised suddenly that the +Jubilee was not far away. The event had not quite the excitement and +novelty that the Jubilee of 1887 had had; there was, perhaps, in London +and the larger towns, something of a sense of repetition. But Polchester +was far from the general highway and, although the picture of the +wonderful old lady, now nearly eighty years of age, was strong before +every one's vision, there was a deep determination to make this year's +celebration a great Polchester affair, to make it the celebration of +Polchester men and Polchester history and Polchester progress. + +The programme had been long arranged--the great Service in the Cathedral, +the Ball in the Assembly Rooms, the Flower Show in the St. Leath Castle +grounds, the Torchlight Procession, the Croquet Tournament, the School- +children's Tea and the School Cricket-match. A fine programme, and the +Jubilee Committee, with the Bishop, the Mayor, and the Countess of St. +Leath for its presidents, had already held several meetings. + +Nevertheless, Glebeshire has a rather languishing climate. Polchester has +been called by its critics "a lazy town," and it must be confessed that +everything in connection with the Jubilee had been jogging along very +sleepily until of a sudden this warm May-day arrived, and every one sprang +into action. The Mayor called a meeting of the town branch of the +Committee, and the Bishop out at Carpledon summoned his ecclesiastics, and +Joan found a note from Gladys Sampson beckoning her to the Sampson house +to do her share of the glorious work. It had been decided by the Higher +Powers that it would be a charming thing for some of the younger +Polchester ladies to have in charge the working of two of the flags that +were to decorate the Assembly Room walls on the night of the Ball. Gladys +Sampson, who, unlike her mother, never suffered from headaches, and was a +strong, determined, rather masculine girl, soon had the affair in hand, +and the party was summoned. + +I would not like to say that Polchester had a more snobbish spirit than +other Cathedral towns, but there is no doubt that, thirty years ago, the +lines were drawn very clearly indeed between the "Cathedral" and the +"Others." + +"Cathedral" included not only the daughters of the Canons and what Mr. +Martin, in his little town guide-book, called "General Ecclesiastical +Phenomena," but also the two daughters of Puddifoot's sister, Grace and +Annie Trudon; the three daughters of Roger McKenzie, the town lawyer; +little Betty Callender, the only child of old, red-faced Major Callender; +Mary and Amy Forrester, daughters of old Admiral Forrester; and, of +course, the St. Leath girls. + +When Joan arrived, then, in the Deanery dining-room there was a fine +gathering. Very unsophisticated they would all have been considered by the +present generation. Lady Rose and Lady Mary, who were both of them nearer +forty than thirty, had of course had some experience of London, and had +been even to Paris and Rome. Of the "Others," at this time, only Betty +Callender, who had been born in India, and the Forresters had been +farther, in all their lives, than Drymouth. Their lives were bound, and +happily bound, by the Polchester horizon. They lived in and for and by the +local excitements, talks, croquet, bicycling (under proper guardianship), +Rafiel or Buquay or Clinton in the summer, and the occasional (very, very +occasional) performances of amateur theatricals in the Assembly Rooms. + +Moreover, they were happy and contented and healthy. For many of them +_Jane Eyre_ was still a forbidden book and a railway train a +remarkable adventure. + +Polchester was the world and the world was Polchester. They were at least +a century nearer to Jane Austen's day than they were to George the +Fifth's. + +Joan saw, with relief, so soon as she entered the room, that the St. Leath +women were absent. They overawed her and were so much older than the +others there that they brought constraint with them and embarrassment. + +Any stranger, coming suddenly into the room, must have felt its light and +gaiety and happiness. The high wide dining-room windows were open and +looked, over sloping lawns, down to the Pol and up again to the woods +beyond. The trees were faintly purple in the spring sun, daffodils were +nodding on the lawn and little gossamer clouds of pale orange floated like +feathers across the sky. The large dining-room table was cleared for +action, and Gladys Sampson, very serious and important, stood at the far +end of the room under a very bad oil-painting of her father, directing +operations. The girls were dressed for the most part in white muslin +frocks, high in the shoulders and pulled in at the waist and tight round +the neck--only the McKenzie girls, who rode to hounds and played tennis +beautifully and had, all three of them, faces of glazed red brick, were +clad in the heavy Harris tweeds that were just then beginning to be so +fashionable. + +Joan, who only a month or two ago would have been devoured with shyness at +penetrating the fastnesses of the Sampson dining-room, now felt no shyness +whatever but nodded quite casually to Gladys, smiled at the McKenzies, and +found a place between Cynthia Ryle and Jane D'Arcy. + +They all sat, bathed in the sunshine, and looked at Gladys Sampson. She +cleared her throat and said in her pounding heavy voice--her voice was +created for Committees: "Now all of you know what we're here for. We're +here to make two banners for the Assembly Rooms and we've got to do our +very best. We haven't got a great deal of time between now and June the +Twentieth, so we must work, and I propose that we come here every Tuesday +and Friday afternoon, and when I say _here_ I mean somebody or +other's house, because of course it won't be always here. There's cutting +up to do and sewing and plenty of work really for everybody, because when +the banners are done there are the flags for the school-children. Now if +any one has any suggestions to make I shall be very glad to hear them." + +There was at first no reply to this and every one smiled and looked at the +portrait of the Dean. Then one of the McKenzie girls remarked in a deep +bass voice: + +"That's all right, Gladys. But who's going to decide who does what? Very +decent of you to ask us but we're not much in the sewing line--never have +been." + +"Oh," said Gladys, "I've got people's names down for the different things +they're to do and any one whom it doesn't suit has only got to speak up." + +Soon the material was distributed and groups were formed round the room. A +chatter arose like the murmur of bees. The sun as it sank lower behind the +woods turned them to dark crimson and the river pale grey. The sun fell +now in burning patches and squares across the room and the dim yellow +blinds were pulled half-way across the windows. With this the room was +shaded into a strong coloured twilight and the white frocks shone as +though seen through glass. The air grew cold beyond the open windows, but +the room was warm with the heat that the walls had stolen and stored from +the sun. + +Joan sat with Jane D'Arcy and Betty Callender. She was very happy to be at +rest there; she felt secure and safe. Because in truth during these last +weeks life had been increasingly difficult--difficult not only because it +had become, of late, so new and so strange, but also because she could not +tell what was happening. Family life had indeed become of late a mystery, +and behind the mystery there was a dim sense of apprehension, apprehension +that she had never felt in all her days before. As she sank into the +tranquillity of the golden afternoon glow, with the soft white silk +passing to and fro in her bands, she tried to realise for herself what had +been occurring. Her father was, on the whole, simple enough. He was +beginning to suffer yet again from one of his awful obsessions. Since the +hour of her earliest childhood she had watched these obsessions and +dreaded them. + +There had been so many, big ones and little ones. Now the Government, now +the Dean, now the Town Council, now the Chapter, now the Choir, now some +rude letter, now some impertinent article in a paper. Like wild fierce +animals these things had from their dark thickets leapt out upon him, and +he had proceeded to wrestle with them in the full presence of his family. +Always, at last, he had been, victorious over them, the triumph had been +publicly announced, "Te Deums" sung, and for a time there had been peace. +It was some while since the last obsession, some ridiculous action about +drainage on the part of the Town Council. But the new one threatened to +make up in full for the length of that interval. + +Only just before Falk's unexpected return from Oxford Joan had been +congratulating herself on her father's happiness and peace of mind. She +might have known the omens of that dangerous quiet. On the very day of +Falk's arrival Canon Ronder had arrived too. + +Canon Ronder! How Joan was beginning to detest the very sound of the name! +She had hated the man himself as soon as she had set eyes upon him. She +had scented, in some instinctive way, the trouble that lay behind those +large round glasses and that broad indulgent smile. But now! Now they were +having the name "Ronder" with their breakfast, their dinner, and their +tea. Into everything apparently his fat fingers were inserted; her father +saw his rounded shadow behind every door, his rosy cheeks at every window. + +And yet it was very difficult to discover what exactly it was that he had +done! Now, whatever it might be that went wrong in the Brandon house, in +the Cathedral, in the town, her father was certain that Ronder was +responsible,--but proof. Well, there wasn't any. And it was precisely +this absence of proof that built up the obsession. + +Everywhere that Ronder went he spoke enthusiastically about the +Archdeacon. These compliments came back to Joan again and again. "If +there's one man in this town I admire----" "What would this town be +without----" "We're lucky, indeed, to have the Archdeacon----" And yet was +there not behind all these things a laugh, a jest, a mocking tone, +something that belonged in spirit to that horrible day when the elephant +had trodden upon her father's hat? + +She loved her father, and she loved him twice as dearly since one night +when on driving up to the Castle he had held her hand. But now the +obsession had killed the possibility of any tenderness between them; she +longed to be able to do something that would show him how strongly she was +his partisan, to insult Canon Ronder in the market-place, to turn her back +when he spoke to her--and, at the same time, intermingled with this hot +championship was irritation that her father should allow himself to be +obsessed by this. He who was so far greater than a million Ronders! + +The situation in the Brandon family had not been made any easier by Falk's +strange liking for the man. Joan did not pretend that she understood her +brother or had ever been in any way close to him. When she had been little +he had seemed to be so infinitely above her as to be in another world, and +now that they seemed almost of an age he was strange to her like some one +of foreign blood. She knew that she did not count in his scheme of life at +all, that he never thought of her nor wanted her. She did not mind that, +and even now she would have been tranquil about him had it not been for +her mother's anxiety. She could not but see how during the last weeks her +mother had watched every step that Falk took, her eyes always searching +his face as though he were keeping some secret from her. To Joan, who +never believed that people could plot and plan and lead double lives, this +all seemed unnatural and exaggerated. + +But she knew well enough that her mother had never attempted to give her +any of her confidence. Everything at home, in short, was difficult and +confused. Nobody was happy, nobody was natural. Even her own private +history, if she looked into it too closely, did not show her any very +optimistic colours. She had not seen Johnny St. Leath now for a fortnight, +nor heard from him, and those precious words under the Arden Gate one +evening were beginning already to appear a dim unsubstantial dream. +However, if there was one quality that Joan Brandon possessed in excess of +all others, it was a simple fidelity to the cause or person in front of +her. + +Her doubts came simply from the wonder as to whether she had not concluded +too much from his words and built upon them too fairy-like a castle. + +With a gesture she flung all her wonders and troubles out upon the gold- +swept lawn and trained all her attention to the chatter among the girls +around her. She admired Jane D'Arcy very much; she was so "elegant." +Everything that Jane wore became her slim straight body, and her pale +pointed face was always a little languid in expression, as though daily +life were an exhausting affair and not intended for superior persons. She +had been told, from a very early day, that her voice was "low and +musical," so she always spoke in whispers which gave her thoughts an +importance that they might not otherwise have possessed. Very different +was little Betty Callender, round and rosy like an apple, with freckles on +her nose and bright blue eyes. She laughed a great deal and liked to agree +with everything that any one said. + +"If you ask me," said Jane in her fascinating whisper, "there's a lot of +nonsense about this old Jubilee." + +"Oh, do you think so?" said Joan. + +"Yes. Old Victoria's been on the throne long enough, 'Tis time we had +somebody else." + +Joan was very much shocked by this and said so. + +"I don't think we ought to be governed by _old_ people," said Jane. +"Every one over seventy ought to be buried whether they wish it or no." + +Joan laughed aloud. + +"Of course they wouldn't wish it," she said. + +Laughter came, now here, now there, from different parts of the room. +Every one was very gay from the triple sense that they were the elect of +Polchester, that they were doing important work, and that summer was +coming. + +Jane D'Arcy tossed her head. + +"Father says that perhaps he'll be taking us to London for it," she +whispered. + +"I wouldn't go if any one offered me," said Joan. "It's Polchester I want +to see it at, not London. Of course I'd love to see the Queen, but it +would probably be only for a moment, and all the rest would be horrible +crowds with nobody knowing you. While here! Oh! it will be lovely!" + +Jane smiled. "Poor child. Of course you know nothing about London. How +should you? Give me a week in London and you can have your old Polchester +for ever. What ever happens in Polchester? Silly old croquet parties and a +dance in the Assembly Rooms. And _never_ any one new." + +"Well, there _is_ some one new," said Betty Callender, "I saw her +this morning." + +"Her? Who?" asked Jane, with the scorn of one who has already made up her +mind to despise. + +"I was with mother going through the market and Lady St. Leath came by in +an open carriage. She was with her. Mother says she's a Miss Daubeney from +London--and oh! she's perfectly lovely! and mother says she's to marry +Lord St. Leath----" + +"Oh! I heard she was coming," said Jane, still scornfully. "How silly you +are, Betty! You think any one lovely if she comes from London." + +"No, but she was," insisted Betty, "mother said so too, and she had a blue +silk parasol, and she was just sweet. Lord St. Leath was in the carriage +with them." + +"Poor Johnny!" said Jane. "He always has to do just what that horrible old +mother of his tells him." + +Joan had listened to this little dialogue with what bravery she could. +Doom then had been pronounced? Sentence had fallen? Miss Daubeney had +arrived. She could hear the old Countess' voice again. "Claire Daubeney- +Monteagle's daughter--such, a nice girl--Johnny's friend-----" + +Johnny's friend! Of course she was. Nothing could show to Joan more +clearly the difference between Joan's world and the St. Leath world than +the arrival of this lovely stranger. Although Mme. Sarah Grand and others +were at this very moment forcing that strange figure, the New Woman, upon +a reluctant world, Joan belonged most distinctly to the earlier +generation. She trembled at the thought of any publicity, of any thrusting +herself forward, of any, even momentary, rebellion against her position. +Of course Johnny belonged to this beautiful creature; she had always +known, in her heart, that her dream was an impossible one. Nevertheless +the room, the sunlight, the white dresses, the long shining table, the +coloured silks and ribbons, swam in confusion around her. She was suddenly +miserable. Her hands shook and her upper lip trembled. She had a strange +illogical desire to go out and find Miss Daubeney and snatch her blue +parasol from her startled hands and stamp upon it. + +"Well," said Jane, "I don't envy any one who marries Johnny--to be shut up +in that house with all those old women!" + +Betty shook her head very solemnly and tried to look older than her years. + +The afternoon was drawing on. Gladys came across and closed the windows. + +"I think that's about enough to-day," she said. "Now we'll have tea." + +Joan's great desire was to slip away and go home. She put her work on the +table, fetched her coat from the other end of the room. + +Gladys stopped her. "Don't go, Joan. You must have tea." + +"I promised mother-----" she said. + +The door opened. She turned and found herself close to the Dean and Canon +Ronder. + +The Dean came forward, nervously rubbing his hands together as was his +custom. "Well, children," he said, blinking at them. Ronder stood, +smiling, in the doorway. At the sight of him Joan was filled with hatred-- +vehement, indignant hatred; she had never hated any one before, unless +possibly it was Miss St. Clair, the French mistress. Now, from what source +she did not know, fear and passion flowed into her. Nothing could have +been more amiable and genial than the figure that he presented. + +As always, his clothes were beautifully neat and correct, his linen +spotless white, his black boots gleaming. + +He beamed upon them all, and Joan felt, behind her, the response that the +whole room made to him. They liked him; she knew it. He was becoming +popular. + +He had towards them all precisely the right attitude; he was not amiable +and childish like the Dean, nor pompous like Bentinck-Major, nor +sycophantic like Ryle. He did not advance to them but became, as it were, +himself one of them, understanding exactly the way that they wanted him. + +And Joan hated him; she hated his red face and his neatness and his broad +chest and his stout legs--everything, everything! She also feared him. She +had never before, although for long now she had been conscious of his +power, been so deeply aware of his connection with herself. It was as +though his round shadow had, on this lovely afternoon, crept forward a +little and touched with its dim grey for the first time the Brandon house. + +"Canon Ronder," Gladys Sampson cried, "come and see what we've done." + +He moved forward and patted little Betty Callender on the head as he +passed. "Are you all right, my dear, and your father?" + +It appeared that Betty was delighted. Suddenly he saw Joan. + +"Oh, good evening, Miss Brandon." He altered his tone for her, speaking as +though she were an equal. + +Joan looked at him; colour flamed in her cheeks. She did not reply, and +then feeling as though in an instant she would do something quite +disgraceful, she slipped from the room. + +Soon, after gently smiling at the parlourmaid, who was an old friend of +hers because she had once been in service at the Brandons, she found +herself standing, a little lost and bewildered, at the corner of Green +Lane and Orange Street. Lost and bewildered because one emotion after +another seemed suddenly to have seized upon her and taken her captive. +Lost and bewildered almost as though she had been bewitched, carried off +through the shining skies by her captor and then dropped, deserted, left, +in some unknown country. + +Green Lane in the evening light had a fairy air. The stumpy trees on +either side with the bright new green of the spring seemed to be +concealing lamps within their branches. So thick a glow suffused the air +that it was as though strangely coloured fruit, purple and orange and +amethyst, hung glittering against the pale yellow sky, and the road +running up the hill was like pale wax. + +On the other side Orange Street tumbled pell-mell into the roofs of the +town. The monument of the fierce Georgian citizen near which Joan was +standing guarded with a benevolent devotion the little city whose lights, +stealing now upon the air, sprinkled the evening sky with a jewelled haze. +No sound broke the peace; no one came nor went; only the trees of the Lane +moved and stirred very faintly as though assuring the girl of their +friendly company. + +Never before had she so passionately loved her town. It seemed to-night +when she was disturbed by her new love, her new fear, her new worldly +knowledge, to be eager to assure her that it was with her in all her +troubles, that it understood that she must pass into new experiences, that +it knew, none better indeed, how strange and terrifying that first +realisation of real life could be, that it had itself suffered when new +streets had been thrust upon it and old loved houses pulled down and the +river choked and the hills despoiled, but that everything passes and love +remains and homeliness and friends. + +Joan felt more her own response to the town than the town's reassurance to +her, but she was a little comforted and she felt a little safer. + +She argued as she walked home through the Market Place and up the High +Street and under the Arden Gate into the quiet sheltered Precincts, why +should she think that Ronder mattered? After all might not he be the good +fat clergyman that he appeared? It was more perhaps a kind of jealousy +because of her father that she felt. She put aside her own little troubles +in a sudden rush of tenderness for her family. She wanted to protect them +all and make them happy. But how could she make them happy if they would +tell her nothing? They still treated her as a child but she was a woman +now. Her love for Johnny. She had admitted that to herself. She stopped on +the path outside the decorous strait-laced houses and put her cool gloved +hand up to her burning cheek. + +She had known for a long time that she loved him, but she had not told +herself. She must conquer that, stamp upon it. It was foolish, +hopeless.... She ran up the steps of their house as though something +pursued her. + +She let herself in and found the hall dusky and obscure. The lamp had not +yet been lit. She heard a voice: + +"Who's that?" + +She looked up and saw her mother, a little, slender figure, standing at +the turn of the stairs holding in her hand a lighted candle. + +"It's I, mother, Joan. I've just come from Gladys Sampson's." + +"Oh! I thought it would be Falk. You didn't pass Falk on your way?" + +"No, mother dear." + +She went across to the little cupboard where the coats were hung. As she +poked her head into the little, dark, musty place, she could feel that her +mother was still standing there, listening. + + + + +Chapter IV + +The Genial Heart + + + +Ronder was never happier than when he was wishing well to all mankind. + +He could neither force nor falsify this emotion. If he did not feel it he +did not feel it, and himself was the loser. But it sometimes occurred that +the weather was bright, that his digestion was functioning admirably, that +he liked his surroundings, that he had agreeable work, that his prospects +were happy--then he literally beamed upon mankind and in his fancy +showered upon the poor and humble largesse of glittering coin. In such a +mood he loved every one, would pat children on the back, help old men +along the road, listen to the long winnings of the reluctant poor. Utterly +genuine he was; he meant every word that he spoke and every smile that he +bestowed. + +Now, early in May and in Polchester he was in such a mood. Soon after his +arrival he had discovered that he liked the place and that it promised to +suit him well, but he had never supposed that it could develop into such +perfection. Success already was his, but it was not success of so swift a +kind that plots and plans were not needed. They were very much needed. He +could remember no time in his past life when he had had so admirable a +combination of difficulties to overcome. And they were difficulties of the +right kind. They centred around a figure whom he could really like and +admire. It would have been very unpleasant had he hated Brandon or +despised him. Those were uncomfortable emotions in which he indulged as +seldom as possible. + +What he liked, above everything, was a fight, when he need have no +temptation towards anger or bitterness. Who could be angry with poor +Brandon? Nor could he despise him. In his simple blind confidence and +self-esteem there was an element of truth, of strength, even of nobility. + +Far from despising or hating Brandon, he liked him immensely--and he was +on his way utterly to destroy him. + +Then, as he approached nearer the centre of his drama, he noticed, as he +had often noticed before, how strangely everything played into his hands. +Without undue presumption it seemed that so soon as he determined that +something ought to occur and began to work in a certain direction, God +also decided that it was wise and pushed everything into its right place. +This consciousness of Divine partnership gave Ronder a sense that his +opponents were the merest pawns in a game whose issue was already decided. + +Poor things, they were helpless indeed! This only added to his kindly +feelings towards them, his sense of humour, too, was deeply stirred by +their own unawareness of their fate--and he always liked any one who +stirred his sense of humour. + +Never before had he known everything to play so immediately into his hands +as in this present case. Brandon, for instance, had just that stupid +obstinacy that was required, the town had just that ignorance of the outer +world and cleaving to old traditions. + +And now, how strange that the boy Falk had on several occasions stopped to +speak to him and had at last asked whether he might come and see him! + +How lucky that Brandon should be making this mistake about the Pybus St. +Anthony living! + +Finally, although he was completely frank with himself and knew that he +was working, first and last, for his own future comfort, it did seem to +him that he was also doing real benefit to the town. The times were +changing. Men of Brandon's type were anachronistic; the town had been +under Brandon's domination too long. New life was coming--a new world--a +new civilisation. + +Ronder, although no one believed less in Utopias than he, did believe in +the Zeitgeist--simply for comfort's sake if for no stronger reason. Well, +the Zeitgeist was descending upon Polchester, and Ronder was its agent. +Progress? No, Ronder did not believe in Progress. But in the House of Life +there are many rooms; once and again the furniture is changed. + +One afternoon early in May he was suddenly aware that everything was +moving more swiftly upon its appointed course than he, sharp though he +was, had been aware. Crossing the Cathedral Green he encountered Dr. +Puddifoot. He knew that the Doctor had at first disliked him but was +quickly coming over to his side and was beginning to consider him as +"broad-minded for a parson and knowing a lot more about life than you +would suppose." He saw precisely into Puddifoot's brain and watched the +thoughts dart to and fro as though they had been so many goldfish in a +glass bowl. He also liked Puddifoot for himself; he always liked stout, +big, red-faced men; they were easier to deal with than the thin severe +ones. He knew that the time would very shortly arrive when Puddifoot would +tell him one of his improper stories. That would sanctify the friendship. + +"Ha! Canon!" said Puddifoot, puffing like a seal. "Jolly day!" + +They stood and talked, then, as they were both going into the town, they +turned and walked towards the Arden Gate. Puddifoot talked about his +health; like many doctors he was very timid about himself and eager to +reassure himself in public. "How are you, Canon? But I needn't ask-- +looking splendid. I'm all right myself--never felt better really. Just a +twinge of rheumatics last night, but it's nothing. Must expect something +at my age, you know--getting on for seventy." + +"You look as though you'll live for ever," said Ronder, beaming upon him. + +"You can't always tell from us big fellows. There's Brandon now, for +instance--the Archdeacon." + +"Surely there isn't a healthier man in the kingdom," said Ronder, pushing +his spectacles back into the bridge of his nose. + +"Think so, wouldn't you? But you'd be wrong. A sudden shock, and that man +would be nowhere. Given to fits of anger, always tried his system too +hard, never learnt control. Might have a stroke any day for all he looks +so strong!" + +"Really, really! Dear me!" said Ronder. + +"Course these are medical secrets in a way. Know it won't go any farther. +But it's curious, isn't it? Appearances are deceptive--damned deceptive. +That's what they are. Brandon's brain's never been his strong point. Might +go any moment." + +"Dear me, dear me," said Ronder. "I'm sorry to hear that." + +"Oh, I don't mean," said Puddifoot, puffing and blowing out his cheeks +like a cherub in a picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds, "that he'll die to- +morrow, you know--or have a stroke either. But he ain't as secure as he +looks. And he don't take care of himself as he should." + +Outside the Library Ronder paused. + +"Going in here for a book, doctor. See you later." + +"Yes, yes," said Puddifoot, his eyes staring up and down the street, as +though they would burst out of his head. "Very good--very good. See you +later then," and so went blowing down the hill. + +Ronder passed under the gloomy portals of the Library and found his way, +through faith rather than vision, up the stone stairs that smelt of mildew +and blotting-paper, into the high dingy room. He had had a sudden desire +the night before to read an old story by Bage that he had not seen since +he was a boy--the violent and melancholy _Hermsprong_. + +It had come to him, as it were, in his dreams--a vision of himself rocking +in a hammock in his uncle's garden on a wonderful summer afternoon, eating +apples and reading _Hermsprong_, the book discovered, he knew not by +what chance, in the dusty depths of his uncle's library. He would like to +read it again. _Hermsprong_! the very scent of the skin of the apple, +the blue-necked tapestry of light between the high boughs came back to +him. He was a boy again.... He was brought up sharply by meeting the +little red-rimmed eyes of Miss Milton. Red-rimmed to-day, surely, with +recent weeping. She sat humped up on her chair, glaring out into the room. + +"It's all right, Miss Milton," he said, smiling at her. "It's an old book +I want. I won't bother you. I'll look for myself." + +He passed into the further dim secrecies of the Library, whither so few +penetrated. Here was an old ladder, and, mounted upon it, he confronted +the vanished masterpieces of Holcroft and Radcliffe, Lewis and Jane +Porter, Clara Reeve and MacKenzie, old calf-bound ghosts who threw up +little clouds of sighing dust as he touched them with his fingers. He was +happily preoccupied with his search, balancing his stout body precariously +on the trembling ladder, when he fancied that he heard a sigh. + +He stopped and listened; this time there could be no mistake. It was a +sigh of prodigious intent and meaning, and it came from Miss Milton. +Impatiently he turned back to his books; he would find his Bage as quickly +as possible and go. He was not at all in the mood for lamentations from +Miss Milton. Ah! there was _Barham Downs. Hermsprong_ could not be +far away. Then suddenly there came to him quite unmistakably a sob, then +another, then two more, finally something that horribly resembled +hysterics. He came down from his ladder and crossed the room. + +"My dear Miss Milton!" he exclaimed. "Is there anything I can do?" + +She presented a strange and unpoetic appearance, huddled up in her wooden +arm-chair, one fat leg crooked under her, her head sinking into her ample +bosom, her whole figure shaking with convulsive grief, the chair creaking +sympathetically with her. + +Ronder, seeing that she was in real distress, hurried up to her. + +"My dear Miss Milton, what is it?" + +For a while she could not speak; then raised a face of mottled purple and +white, and, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief not of the cleanest, +choked out between her sobs: + +"My last week--Saturday--Saturday I go--disgrace--ugh, ugh--dismissed-- +Archdeacon." + +"But I don't understand," said Ronder, "who goes? Who's disgraced?" + +"I go!" cried Miss Milton, suddenly uncurling her body and her sobs +checked by her anger. "I shouldn't have given way like this, and before +you, Canon Ronder. But I'm ruined--ruined!--and for doing my duty!" + +Her change from the sobbing, broken woman to the impassioned avenger of +justice was so immediate that Ronder was confused. "I still don't +understand, Miss Milton," he said. "Do you say you are dismissed, and, if +so, by whom?" + +"I _am_ dismissed! I _am_ dismissed!" cried Miss Milton. "I +leave here on Saturday. I have been librarian to this Library, Canon +Ronder, for more than twenty years. Yes, twenty years. And now I'm +dismissed like a dog with a month's notice." + +She had collected her tears and, with a marvellous rapidity, packed them +away. Her eyes, although red, were dry and glittering; her cheeks were of +a pasty white marked with small red spots of indignation. Ronder, looking +at her and her dirty hands, thought that he had never seen a woman whom he +disliked more. + +"But, Miss Milton," he said, "if you'll forgive me, I still don't +understand. Under whom do you hold this appointment? Who have the right to +dismiss you? and, whoever it was, they must have given some reason." + +Miss Milton, was now the practical woman, speaking calmly, although her +bosom still heaved and her fingers plucked confusedly with papers on the +table in front of her. She spoke quietly, but behind her words there were +so vehement a hatred, bitterness and malice that Ronder observed her with +a new interest. + +"There is a Library Committee, Canon Ronder," she said. "Lady St. Leath is +the president. It has in its hands the appointment of the librarian. It +appointed me more than twenty years ago. It has now dismissed me with a +month's notice for what it calls--what it _calls_, Canon Ronder-- +'abuse and neglect of my duties.' Abuse! Neglect! Me! about whom there has +never been a word of complaint until--until----" + +Here again Miss Milton's passions seemed to threaten to overwhelm her. She +gathered herself together with a great effort. + +"I know my enemy, Canon Ronder. Make no mistake about that. I know my +enemy. Although, what I have ever done to him I cannot imagine. A more +inoffensive person----" + +"Yes.--But," said Canon Ronder gently, "tell me, if you can, exactly with +what they charge you. Perhaps I can help you. Is it Lady St. Leath +who----" + +"No, it is _not_ Lady St. Leath," broke in Miss Milton vehemently. "I +owe Lady St. Leath much in the past. If she has been a little imperious at +times, that after all is her right. Lady St. Leath is a perfect lady. What +occurred was simply this: Some months ago I was keeping a book for Lady +St. Leath that she especially wished to read. Miss Brandon, the daughter +of the Archdeacon, came in and tried to take the book from me, saying that +her mother wished to read it. I explained to her that it was being kept +for Lady St. Leath; nevertheless, she persisted and complained to Lord St. +Leath, who happened to be in the Library at the time; he, being a perfect +gentleman, could of course do nothing but say that she was to have the +book. + +"She went home and complained, and it was the Archdeacon who brought up +the affair at a Committee meeting and insisted on my dismissal. Yes, Canon +Ronder, I know my enemy and I shall not forget it." + +"Dear me," said Canon Ronder benevolently, "I'm more than sorry. Certainly +it sounds a little hasty, although the Archdeacon is the most honourable +of men." + +"Honourable! Honourable!" Miss Milton rose in her chair. "Honourable! He's +so swollen with pride that he doesn't know what he is. Oh! I don't measure +my words. Canon Ronder, nor do I see any reason why I should. + +"He has ruined my life. What have I now at my age to go to? A little +secretarial work, and less and less of that. But it's not _that_ of +which I complain. I am hurt in the very depths of my being, Canon Ronder. +In my pride and my honour. Stains, wounds that I can never forget!" + +It was so exactly as though Miss Milton had just been reading +_Hermsprong_ and was quoting from it that Ronder looked about him, +almost expecting to see the dusty volume. + +"Well, Miss Milton, perhaps I can put a little work in your way." + +"You're very kind, sir," she said. "There's more than I in this town, sir, +who're glad that you've come among us, and hope that perhaps your presence +may lead to a change some day amongst those in high authority." + +"Where are you living, Miss Milton?" he asked. + +"Three St. James' Lane," she answered. "Just behind the Market and St. +James' Church. Opposite the Rectory. Two little rooms, my windows looking +on to Mr. Morris'." + +"Very well, I'll remember." + +"Thank you, sir, I'm sure. I'm afraid I've forgotten myself this morning, +but there's nothing like a sense of injustice for making you lose your +self-control. I don't care who hears me. I shall not forgive the +Archdeacon." + +"Come, come, Miss Milton," said Ronder. "We must all forgive and forget." + +Her eyes narrowed until they almost disappeared. + +"I don't wish to be unfair, Canon Ronder," she said. "But I've worked for +more than twenty years like an honourable woman, and to be turned out.-- +Not that I bear Mrs. Brandon any grudge, coming down to see Mr. Morris so +often as she does. I daresay she doesn't have too happy a time if all were +known." + +"Now, now," said Ronder. "This won't do, Miss Milton. You won't make your +case better by talking scandal, you know. I have your address. If I can +help you I will. Good afternoon." + +Forgetting _Hermsprong_, having now more important things to +consider, he found his way down the steps and out into the air. + +On every side now it seemed that the Archdeacon was making some blunder. +Little unimportant blunders perhaps, but nevertheless cumulative in their +effect! The balance had shifted. The Powers of the Air, bored perhaps with +the too-extended spectacle of an Archdeacon successful and triumphant, had +made a sign.... + +Ronder, as he stood in the spring sunlight, glancing up and down the High +Street, so full of colour and movement, had an impulse as though it were +almost a duty to go and warn the Archdeacon. "Look out! Look out! There's +a storm coming!" Warn the Archdeacon! He smiled. He could imagine to +himself the scene and the reception his advice would have. Nevertheless, +how sad that undoubtedly you cannot make an omelette without first +breaking the eggs! And this omelette positively must be made! + +He had intended to do a little shopping, an occupation in which he +delighted because of the personal victories to be won, but suddenly now, +moved by what impulse he could not tell, he turned back towards the +Cathedral. He crossed the Green, and almost before he knew it he had +pushed back the heavy West door and was in the dark, dimly coloured +shadow. The air was chill. The nave was scattered with lozenges of purple +and green light. He moved up the side aisle, thinking that now he was here +he would exchange a word or two with old Lawrence. No harm would be done +by a little casual amiability in that direction. + +Before he realised, he was close to the Black Bishop's Tomb. The dark grim +face seemed to-day to wear a triumphant smile beneath the black beard. A +shaft of sunlight played upon the marble like a searchlight upon water; +the gold of the ironwork and the green ring and the tracery on the +scrolled borders jumped under the sunlight like living things. + +Ronder, moved as always by beauty, smiled as though in answer to the dead +Bishop. + +"Why! you're the most alive thing in this Cathedral," he thought to +himself. + +"Pretty good bit of work, isn't it?" he heard at his elbow. He turned and +saw Davray, the painter. The man had been pointed out to him in the +street; he knew his reputation. He was inclined to be interested in the +man, in any one who had a wider, broader view of life than the citizens of +the town. Davray had not been drinking for several weeks; and always +towards the end of one of his sober bouts he was gentle, melancholy, the +true artist in him rising for one last view of the beauty that there was +in the world before the inevitable submerging. + +He had, on this occasion, been sober for a longer period than usual; he +felt weak and faint, as though he had been without food, and his favourite +vice, that had been approaching closer and closer to him during these last +days, now leered at him, leaning towards him from the other side of the +gilded scrolls of the tomb. + +"Yes, it's a very fine thing." He cleared his throat. "You're Canon +Ronder, are you not?" + +"Yes, I am." + +"My name's Davray. You probably heard of me as a drunkard who hangs about +the town doing no good. I'm quite sure you don't want to speak to me or +know me, but in here, where it's so quiet and so beautiful, one may know +people whom it wouldn't be nice to know outside." + +Ronder looked at him. The man's face, worn now and pinched and sharp, must +once have had its fineness. + +"You do yourself an injustice, Mr. Davray," Ronder said. "I'm very glad +indeed to know you." + +"Well, of course, you parsons have got to know everybody, haven't you? And +the sinners especially. That's your job. But I'm not a sinner to-day. I +haven't drunk anything for weeks, although don't congratulate me, because +I'm certainly not going to hold out much longer. There's no hope of +redeeming me, Canon Ronder, even if you have time for the job." + +Ronder smiled. + +"I'm not going to preach to you," he said, "you needn't be afraid." + +"Well, let's forget all that. This Cathedral is the very place, if you +clergymen had any sense of proportion, where you should be ashamed to +preach. It laughs at you." + +"At any rate the Bishop does," said Ronder, looking down at the tomb. + +"No, but all of it," said Davray. Instinctively they both looked up. High +above them, in the very heart of the great Cathedral tower, a mist, +reflected above the windows until it was coloured a very faint rose, +trembled like a sea about the black rafters and rounded pillars. Even as +they looked some bird flew twittering from corner to corner. + +"When I'm worked up," said Davray, "which I'm not to-day, I just long to +clear all you officials out of it. I laugh sometimes to think how +important you think yourselves and how unimportant you really are. The +Cathedral laughs too, and once and again stretches out a great lazy finger +and just flicks you away as it would a spider's web. I hope you don't +think me impertinent." + +"Not in the least," said Ronder; "some of us even may feel just as you do +about it." + +"Brandon doesn't." Davray moved away. "I sometimes think that when I'm +properly drunk one day I'll murder that man. His self-sufficiency and +conceit are an insult to the Cathedral. But the Cathedral knows. It bides +its time." + +Ronder looked gravely at the melancholy, ineffective figure with the pale +pointed beard, and the weak hands. "You speak very confidently, Mr. +Davray," he said. "As with all of us, you judge others by yourself. When +you know what the Cathedral's attitude to yourself is, you'll be able to +see more clearly." + +"To myself!" Davray answered excitedly. "It has none! To myself? Why, I'm +nobody, nothing. It doesn't have to begin to consider me. I'm less than +the dung the birds drop from the height of the tower. But I'm humble +before it. I would let its meanest stone crush the life out of my body, +and be glad enough. At least I know its power, its beauty. And I adore it! +I adore it!" + +He looked up as he spoke; his eyes seemed to be eagerly searching for some +expected face. + +Ronder disliked both melodrama and sentimentality. Both were here. + +"Take my advice," he said smiling. "Don't think too much about the +place...I'm glad that we met. Good afternoon." + +Davray did not seem to have noticed him; he was staring down again at the +Bishop's Tomb. Ronder walked away. A strange man! A strange day! How +different people were! Neither better nor worse, but just different. As +many varieties as there were particles of sand on the seashore. + +How impossible to be bored with life. Nevertheless, entering his own home +he was instantly bored. He found there, having tea with his aunt and +sitting beneath the Hermes, so that the contrast made her doubly +ridiculous, Julia Preston. Julia Preston was to him the most boring woman +in Polchester. To herself she was the most important. She was a widow and +lived in a little green house with a little green garden in the Polchester +outskirts. She was as pretty as she had been twenty years before, exactly +the same, save that what nature had, twenty years ago, done for the +asking, it now did under compulsion. She believed the whole world in love +with her and was therefore a thoroughly happy woman. She had a healthy +interest in the affairs of her neighbours, however small they might be, +and believed in "Truth, Beauty, and the Improvement of the Lower Classes." + +"Dear Canon Ronder, how nice this is!" she exclaimed. "You've been hard at +work all the afternoon, I know, and want your tea. How splendid work is! I +often think what would life be without it'." + +Ronder, who took trouble with everybody, smiled, sat down near to her and +looked as though he loved her. + +"Well, to be quite honest, I haven't been working very hard. Just seeing a +few people." + +"Just seeing a few people!" Mrs. Preston used a laugh that was a favourite +of hers because she had once been told that it was like "a tinkling bell." +"Listen to him! As though that weren't the hardest thing in the world. +Giving out! Giving out! What is so exhausting, and yet what so worth while +in the end? Unselfishness! I really sometimes feel that is the true secret +of life." + +"Have one of those little cakes, Julia," said Miss Ronder drily. She, +unlike her nephew, bothered about very few people indeed. "Make a good +tea." + +"I will, as you want me to, dear Alice," said Mrs. Preston. "Oh, thank +you, Canon Ronder! How good of you; ah, there! I've dropped my little bag. +It's under that table. Thank you a thousand times! And isn't it strange +about Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris?" + +"Isn't what strange?" asked Miss Ronder, regarding her guest with grim +cynicism. + +"Oh well--nothing really, except that every one's asking what they can +find in common. They're always together. Last Monday Aggie Combermere met +her coming out of the Rectory, then Ellen Stiles saw them in the Precincts +last Sunday afternoon, and I saw them myself this morning in the High +Street." + +"My dear Mrs. Preston," said Ronder, "why _shouldn't_ they go about +together?" + +"No reason at all," said Mrs. Preston, blushing very prettily, as she +always did when she fancied that any one was attacking her. "I'm sure that +I'm only too glad that poor Mrs. Brandon has found a friend. My motto in +life is, 'Let us all contribute to the happiness of one another to the +best of our strength.' + +"Truly, that's a thing we can _all_ do, isn't it? Life isn't too +bright for some people, I can't help thinking. And courage is the thing. +After all, it isn't life that is important but simply how brave you are. + +"At least that's my poor little idea of it. But it does seem a little odd +about Mrs. Brandon. She's always kept so much to herself until now." + +"You worry too much about others, dear Julia," said Miss Ronder. + +"Yes, I really believe I do. Why, there's my bag gone again! Oh, how good +of you, Canon! It's under that chair. Yes. I do. But one can't help one's +nature, can one? I often tell myself that it's really no credit to me +being unselfish. I was simply born that way. Poor Jack used to say that he +wished I _would_ think of myself more! I think we were meant to share +one another's burdens. I really do. And what Mrs. Brandon can see in Mr. +Morris is so odd, because _really_ he isn't an interesting man." + +"Let me get you some more tea," said Ronder. + +"No, thank you. I really must be going. I've been here an unconscionable +time. Oh! there's my handkerchief. How silly of me! Thank you so much!" + +She got up and prepared to depart, looking so pretty and so helpless that +it was really astonishing that the Hermes did not appreciate her. + +"Good-bye, dear Canon. No, I forbid you to come out. Oh, well, if you +will. I hear everywhere of the splendid work you're doing. Don't think it +flattery, but I do think we needed you here. What we have wanted is a +message--something to lift us all up a little. It's so easy to see nothing +but the dreary round, isn't it? And all the time the stars are shining.... +At least that's how it seems to me." + +The door closed; the room was suddenly silent. Miss Ronder sat without +moving, her eyes staring in front of her. + +Soon Ronder returned. + +Miss Ronder said nothing. She was the one human being who had power to +embarrass him. She was embarrassing him now. + +"Aren't things strange?" he said. "I've seen four different people this +afternoon. They have all of their own accord instantly talked about +Brandon, and abused him. Brandon is in the air. He's in danger." + +Miss Ronder looked her nephew straight between the eyes. + +"Frederick," she said, "how much have you had to do with this?" + +"To do with this? To do with what?" + +"All this talk about the Brandons." + +"I! Nothing at all." + +"Nonsense. Don't tell me. Ever since you set foot in this town you've been +determined that Brandon should go. Are you playing fair?" + +He got up, stood opposite her, legs apart, his hands crossed behind his +broad back. + +"Fair? Absolutely." + +Her eyes were full of distress. "Through all these years," she said, "I've +never truly known you. All I know is that you've always got what you +wanted. You're going to get what you want now. Do it decently." + +"You needn't be afraid," he said. + +"I _am_ afraid," she said. "I love you, Fred; I have always loved +you. I'd hate to lose that love. It's one of my most precious +possessions." + +He answered her slowly, as though he were thinking things out. "I've +always told you the truth," he said; "I'm telling you the truth now. Of +course I want Brandon to go, and of course he's going. But I haven't to +move a finger in the matter. It's all advancing without my agency. Brandon +is ruining himself. Even if he weren't, I'm quite square with him. I +fought him openly at the Chapter Meeting the other day. He hates me for +it." + +"And you hate _him_." + +"_Hate_ him? Not the least in the world. I admire and like him. If +only he were in a less powerful position and were not in my way, I'd be +his best friend. He's a fine fellow--stupid, blind, conceited, but finer +made than I am. I like him better than any man in the town." + +"I don't understand you"; she dropped her eyes from his face. "You're +extraordinary." + +He sat down again as though he recognised that the little contest was +closed. + +"Is there anything in this, do you think? This chatter about Mrs. Brandon +and Morris." + +"I don't know. There's a lot of talk beginning. Ellen Stiles is largely +responsible, I fancy." + +"Mrs. Brandon and Morris! Good Lord! Have you ever heard of a man called +Davray?" + +"Yes, a drunken painter, isn't he? Why?" + +"I talked to him in the Cathedral this afternoon. He has a grudge against +Brandon too...Well, I'm going up to the study." + +He bent over, kissed her forehead tenderly and left the room. + +Throughout that evening he was uncomfortable, and when he was +uncomfortable he was a strange being. His impulses, his motives, his +intentions were like a sheaf of corn bound tightly about by his sense of +comfort and well-being. When that sense was disturbed everything fell +apart and he seemed to be facing a new world full of elements that he +always denied. His aunt had a greater power of disturbing him than had any +other human being. He knew that she spoke what she believed to be the +truth; he felt that, in spite of her denials, she knew him. He was often +surprised at the eagerness with which he wanted her approval. + +As he sat back in his chair that evening in Bentinck-Major's comfortable +library and watched the other, this sense of discomfort persisted so +strongly that he found it very difficult to let his mind bite into the +discussion. And yet this meeting was immensely important to him. It was +the first obvious result of the manoeuvring of the last months. This was +definitely a meeting of Conspirators, and all of those engaged in it, with +one exception, knew that that was so. Bentinck-Major knew it, and Foster +and Ryle and Rogers. The exception was Martin, a young Minor Canon, who +had the living of St. Joseph's-in-the-Fields, a slum parish in the lower +part of the town. + +Martin had been invited because he was the best clergyman in Polchester. +Young though he was, every one was already aware of his strength, +integrity, power with the men of the town, sense of humour and +intelligence. There was, perhaps, no man in the whole of Polchester whom +Ronder was so anxious to have on his side. + +He was a man with a scorn of any intrigue, deeply religious, but human and +impatient of humbug. + +Ronder knew that he was the Polchester clergyman beyond all others who +would in later years come to great power, although at present he had +nothing save his Minor Canonry and small living. He was not perhaps a +deeply read man, he was of no especial family nor school and had graduated +at Durham University. In appearance he was common-place, thin, tall, with +light sandy hair and mild good-tempered eyes. It had been Ronder's +intention that he should be invited. Foster, who was more responsible for +the meeting than any one, had protested. + +"Martin--what's the point of Martin?" + +"You'll see in five years' time," Ronder had answered. + +Now, as Ronder looked round at them all, he moved restlessly in his chair. + +Was it true that his aunt was changing her opinion of him? Would he have +to deal, during the coming months, with persistent disapproval and +opposition from her? And it was so unfair. He had meant absolutely what he +said, that he liked Brandon and wished him no harm. He _did_ believe +that it was for the good of the town that Brandon should go.... + +He was pulled up by Foster, who was asking him to tell them exactly what +it was that they were to discuss. Instinctively he looked at Martin as he +spoke. As always, with the first word there came over him a sense of +mastery and happiness, a desire to move people like pawns, a readiness to +twist any principle, moral and ethical, if he might bend it to his +purpose. Instinctively he pitched his voice, formed his mouth, spread his +hands upon the broad arms of his chair exactly as an actor fills in his +part. + +"I object a little," he said, laughing, "to Foster's suggestion that I am +responsible for our talking here. I've no right to be responsible for +anything when I've been in the place so short a time. All the same, I +don't want to pretend to any false modesty. I've been in Polchester long +enough to be fond of it, and I'm going to be fonder of it still before +I've done. I don't want to pretend to any sentimentality either, but there +are broader issues than merely the fortunes of this Cathedral in danger. + +"Because I feel the danger, I intend to speak out about it, and get any +one on my side I can. When I find that Canon Foster who has been here so +long and loves the Cathedral so passionately and so honestly, if I may say +so, feels as I do, then I'm only strengthened in my determination. I don't +care who says that I've no right to push myself forward about this. I'm +not pushing myself forward. + +"As soon as some one else will take the cause in hand I'll step back, but +I'm not going to see the battle lost simply because I'm afraid of what +people will say of me.... Well, this is all fine words. The point simply +is that, as every one knows, poor Morrison is desperately ill and the +living of Pybus St. Anthony may fall vacant at any moment. The appointment +is a Chapter appointment. The living isn't anything very tremendous in +itself, but it has been looked upon for years as _the_ jumping-off +place for preferment in the diocese. Time after time the man who has gone +there has become the most important influence here. Men are generally +chosen, as I understand it, with that in view. These are, of course, all +commonplaces to you, but I'm recapitulating them because it makes my point +the stronger. Morrison with all his merits was not out of the way +intellectually. This time we want an exceptional man. + +"I've only been here a few months, but I've noticed many things, and I +will definitely say that the Cathedral is at a crisis in its history. +Perhaps the mere fact that this is Jubilee Year makes us all more ready to +take stock than we would otherwise have been. But it is not only that. The +Church is being attacked from all sides. I don't believe that there has +ever been a time when the west of England needed new blood, new thought, +new energy more than it does at this time. The vacancy at Pybus will offer +a most wonderful opportunity to bring that force among us. I should have +thought every one would realise that. + +"It happens, however, that I have discovered on first-hand evidence that +there is a strong resolve on the part of most important persons in this +town (I will mention no names) to fill the living with the most +unsatisfactory, worthless and conservative influence that could possibly +be found anywhere. If that influence succeeds I don't believe I'm +exaggerating when I say that the progress of the religious life here is +flung back fifty years. One of the greatest opportunities the Chapter can +ever have had will have been missed. I don't think we can regard the +crisis as too serious." + +Foster broke in: "Why _not_ mention names, Canon? We've no time to +waste. It's all humbug pretending we don't know whom you mean. It's +Brandon who wants to put young Forsyth into Pybus whom we're fighting. +Let's be honest." + +"No. I won't allow that," Ronder said quickly. "We're fighting no +personalities. Speaking for myself, there's no one I admire more in this +town than Brandon. I think him reactionary and opposed to new ideas, and a +dangerous influence here, but there's no personal feeling in any of this. +We've got to keep personalities out of this. There's something bigger than +our own likes and dislikes in this." + +"Words! Words," said Foster angrily. "I hate Brandon. You hate him, +Ronder, for all you're so circumspect. It's true enough that we don't want +young Forsyth at Pybus, but it's truer still that we want to bring the +Archdeacon's pride down. And we're going to." + +The atmosphere was electric. Rogers' thin and bony features were flushed +with pleasure at Foster's denunciation. Bentinck-Major rubbed his soft +hands one against the other and closed his eyes as though he were +determined to be a gentleman to the last; Martin sat upright in his chair, +his face puzzled, his gaze fixed upon Ronder; Ryle, the picture of nervous +embarrassment, glanced from one face to another, as though imploring every +one not to be angry with him--all these sharp words were certainly not his +fault. + +Ronder was vexed with himself. He was certainly not at his best to-night. +He had realised the personalities that were around him, and yet had not +steered his boat among them with the dexterous skill that was usually his. + +In his heart he cursed Foster for a meddling, cantankerous fanatic. + +Rogers broke in. "I must say," he exclaimed in a strange shrill voice like +a peacock's, "that I associate myself with every word of Canon Foster's. +Whatever we may pretend in public, the great desire of our hearts is to +drive Brandon out of the place. The sooner we do it the better. It should +have been done long ago." + +Martin spoke. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I had known that this meeting was +to be a personal attack on the Archdeacon, I never would have come. I +don't think the diocese has a finer servant than Archdeacon Brandon. I +admire him immensely. He has made mistakes. So do we all of course. But I +have the highest opinion of his character, his work and his importance +here, and I would like every one in the room to know that before we go any +further." + +"That's right. That's right," said Ryle, smiling around nervously upon +every one. "Canon Martin is right, don't you think? I hope nobody here +will say that I have any ill feeling against the Archdeacon. I haven't, +indeed, and I shouldn't like any one to charge me with it." + +Ronder struck in then, and his voice was so strong, so filled with +authority, that every one looked up as though some new figure had entered +the room. + +"I should like to emphasise at once," he said, "so that no one here or +anywhere else can be under the slightest misapprehension, that I will take +part in nothing that has any personal animus towards anybody. Surely this +is a question of Pybus and Forsyth and of nothing else at all. I have not +even anything against Mr. Forsyth; I have never seen him--I wish him all +the luck in life. But we are fighting a battle for the Pybus living and +for nothing more nor less than that. + +"If my own brother wanted that living and was not the right man for it I +would fight him. The Archdeacon does not see the thing at present as we +do; it is possible that very shortly he may. As soon as he does I'm behind +him." + +Foster shook his head. "Have it your own way," he said. "Everything's the +same here--always compromise. Compromise! Compromise! I'm sick of the +cowardly word. We'll say no more of Brandon for the moment then. He'll +come up again, never fear. He's not the sort of man to avoid spoiling his +own soup." + +"Very good," said Bentinck-Major in his most patronising manner. "Now we +are all agreed, I think. You will have noticed that I've been waiting for +this moment to suggest that we should come to business. Our business, I +believe, is to obtain what support we can against the gift of the living +to Mr. Forsyth and to suggest some other candidate...hum, haw...yes, +other candidate." + +"There's only one possible candidate," Foster brought out, banging his +lean fist down upon the table near to him. "And that's Wistons of Hawston. +It's been the wish of my heart for years back to bring Wistons here. We +don't know, of course, if he would come, but I think he could be +persuaded. And then--then there'd be hope once more! God would be served! +His Church would be a fitting Tabernacle!..." + +He broke off. Amazing to see the rapt devotion that now lighted up his +ugly face until it shone with saintly beauty. The harsh lines were +softened, the eyes were gentle, the mouth tender. "Then indeed," he almost +whispered, "I might say my 'Nunc Dimittis' and go." + +It was not he alone who was stirred. Martin spoke eagerly: "Is that the +Wistons of the _Four Creeds_?--the man who wrote _The New Apocalypse_?" + +Foster smiled. "There's only one Wistons," he said, pride ringing in his +voice as though he were speaking of his favourite son, "for all the +world." + +"Why, that would be magnificent," Martin said, "if he'd come. But would +he? I should think that very doubtful." + +"I think he would," said Foster softly, still as though he were speaking +to himself. + +"Why, that, of course, is wonderful!" Martin looked round upon them all, +his eyes glowing. "There isn't a man in England----" He broke off. "But +surely if there's a _real_ chance of getting Wistons nobody on the +Chapter would dream of proposing a man like Forsyth. It's incredible!" + +"Incredible!" burst in Foster. "Not a bit of it! Do you suppose Brandon--I +beg pardon for mentioning his name, as we're all so particular--do you +suppose Brandon wouldn't fight just such a man? He regards him as +dangerous, modern, subversive, heretical, anything you please. Wistons! +Why, he'd make Brandon's hair stand on end!" + +"Well," said Martin gravely, "if there's any real chance of getting +Wistons into this diocese I'll work for it with my coat off." + +"Good," said Bentinck-Major, tapping with a little gold pencil that he had +been fingering, on the table. "Now we are all agreed. The next question +is, what steps are we to take?" + +They all looked instinctively at Ronder. He felt their glances. He was +happy, assured, comfortable once more. He was master of them. They lay in +his hand for him to do as he would with them. His brain now moved clearly, +smoothly, like a beautiful shining machine. His eyes glowed. + +"Now, it's occurred to me----" he said. They all drew their chairs closer. + + + + +Chapter V + +Falk by the River + + + +Upon that same evening when the conspirators met in Bentinck-Major's +handsome study Mrs. Brandon had a ridiculous fit of hysterics. + +She had never had hysterics before; the fit came upon her now when she was +sitting in front of her glass brushing her hair. She was dressing for +dinner and could see her reflection, white and thin, in the mirror before +her. Suddenly the face in the glass began to smile and it became at that +same instant another face that she had never seen before. + +It was a horrid smile and broke suddenly into laughter. It was as though +the face had been hit by something and cracked then into a thousand +pieces. + +She laughed until the tears poured down her cheeks, but her eyes +protested, looking piteously and in dismay from the studied glass. She +knew that she was laughing with shrill high cries, and behind her horror +at her collapse there was a desperate protesting attempt to calm herself, +driven, above all, upon her agitated heart by the fear lest her husband +should come in and discover her. + +The laughter ceased quite suddenly and was followed by a rush of tears. +She cried as though her heart would break, then, with trembling steps, +crossed to her bed and lay down. Very shortly she must control herself +because the dinner-bell would ring and she must go. To stay and send the +conventional excuse of a headache would bring her husband up to her, and +although he was so full of his own affairs that the questions that he +would ask her would be perfunctory and absent-minded, she felt that she +could not endure, just now, to be alone with him. + +She lay on her bed shivering and wondering what malign power it was that +had seized her. Malign it was, she did not for an instant doubt. She had +asked, did ask, for so little. Only to see Morris for a moment every day. +To see him anywhere in as public a place as you please, but to see him, to +hear his voice, to look into his eyes, to touch his hand (soft and gentle +like a woman's hand)--that had been now for months an absolute necessity. +She did not ask more than that, and yet she was aware that there was no +pause in the accumulating force of the passion that was seizing her. She +was being drawn along by two opposite powers--the tenderness of protective +maternal love and the ruthlessness of the lust for possession. + +She wanted to care for him, to watch over him, to guard him, to do +everything for him, and also she wanted to feel her hold over him, to see +him move, almost as though he were hypnotised, towards her. + +The thought of him, the perpetual incessant thought of him, ruled out the +thought of every one else in the world--save only Falk. She scarcely now +considered her husband at all; she never for an instant wondered whether +people in the town were talking. She saw only Morris and her future with +Morris--only that and Falk. + +Upon Falk now everything hung. She had made a kind of bargain. If Falk +stayed and loved her and cared for her she would resist the power that was +drawing her towards Morris. Now, a million times more than before she had +met Morris, she must have some one for whom she could care. It was as +though a lamp had been lit and flung a great track of light over those +dark, empty earlier years. How could she ever have lived as she did? The +hunger, the desperate, eager, greedy hunger was roused in her. Falk could +satisfy it, but, if he would not, then she would hesitate no longer. + +She would seize Morris as a tiger seizes its prey. She did not disguise +that from herself. As she lay now, trembling, upon her bed, she never +hesitated to admit to herself that the thought of her domination over +Morris was her great glory. She had never dominated any one before. He +followed her like a man in a dream, and she was not young, she was not +beautiful, she was not clever.... + +It was her own personal, personal, personal triumph. And then, on that, +there swept over her the flood of her tenderness for him, how she longed +to be good to him, to care for him, to mend and sew and cook and wash for +him, to perform the humblest tasks for him, to nurse him and protect him. +She knew that the end of this might be social ruin for both of them!... +Ah, well, then, he would only need her the more! She was quieter now--the +trembling ceased. How strange the way that during these months they had +been meeting, so often without their own direct agency at all! She +recalled every moment, every gesture, every word. He seemed already to be +part of herself, moving within herself. + +She sat up on her bed; moved back to her glass. She bathed her face, +slipped on her dress, and went downstairs. + +They were a family party at dinner, but, of course, without Falk. He was +always out in the evening now. + +Joan talked, chattered on. The meal was soon over. The Archdeacon went to +his study, and the two women sat in the drawing-room, Joan by the window, +Mrs. Brandon, hidden in a high arm-chair, near the fireplace. The clock +ticked on and the Cathedral bells struck the quarters. Joan's white dress, +beyond the circle of lamp-light was a dim shadow. Mrs. Brandon turned the +pages of her book, her ears straining for the sound of Falk's return. + +As she sat there, so inattentively turning the pages of her book, the +foreboding sense of some approaching drama flooded the room. For how many +years had she lived from day to day and nothing had occurred--so long that +life had been unconscious, doped, inert. Now it had sprung into vitality +again with the sudden frantic impertinence of a Jack-in-the-Box. For +twenty years you are dry on the banks, half-asleep, stretching out lazy +fingers for food, slumbering, waking, slumbering again. Suddenly a wave +comes and you are swept off--swept off into what disastrous sea? + +She did not think in pictures, it was not her way, but to-night, half- +terrified, half-exultant, in the long dim room she waited, the pressure of +her heart beating up into her throat, listening, watching Joan furtively, +seeing Morris, his eternal shadow, itching with its long tapering fingers +to draw her away with him beyond the house. No, she would be true with +herself. It was he who would be drawn away. The power was in her, not in +him.... + +She looked wearily across at Joan. The child was irritating to her as she +had always been. She had never, in any case, cared for her own sex, and +now, as so frequently with women who are about to plunge into some +passionate situation, she regarded every one she saw as a potential +interferer. She despised women as most women in their secret hearts do, +and especially she despised Joan. + +"You'd better go up to bed, dear. It's half-past ten." + +Without a word Joan got up, came across the room, kissed her mother, went +to the door. Then she paused. + +"Mother," she said, hesitating, and then speaking timidly, "is father all +right?" + +"All right, dear?" + +"Yes. He doesn't look well. His forehead is all flushed, and I overheard +some one at the Sampsons' say the other day that he wasn't well really, +that he must take great care of himself. Ought he to?" + +"Ought he what?" + +"To take great care of himself." + +"What nonsense!" Mrs. Brandon turned back to her book impatiently. "There +never was any one so strong and healthy." + +"He's always worrying about something. It's his nature." + +"Yes, I suppose so." + +Joan vanished. Mrs. Brandon sat, staring before her, her mind running with +the clock--tick-tick-tick-tick--and then suddenly jumping at the mellow +liquid gurgle that it sometimes gave. Would her husband come in and say +good-night? + +How she had grown, during these last weeks, to loathe his kiss! He would +stand behind her chair, bending his great body over her, his red face +would come down, then the whiff of tobacco, then the rough pressure on her +cheek, the hard, unmeaning contact of his lips and hers. His beautiful +eyes would stare beyond her, absently into the room. Beautiful! Why, yes, +they were famous eyes, famous the diocese through. How well she remembered +those years, long ago, when they had seemed to speak to her of every +conceivable tenderness and sweetness, and how, when he thus had bent over +her, she had stretched up her hand and found the buttons of his waistcoat +and pushed her fingers in, stroking his shirt and feeling his heart thump, +thump, and so warm beneath her touch. + +Life! Life! What a cheat! What a cheat! She jumped from her chair, letting +the book drop upon the floor, and began to pace the room. And why should +not this, too, cheat her once again? With the tenderness, the poignancy +with which she now looked upon Morris so once she had looked upon Brandon. +Yes, that might be. She would cheat herself no longer. But she was older +now. This was the last chance to live--definitely, positively the last. It +was not the desire to be loved, this time, that drove her forward so +urgently as the desire to love. She knew that, because Falk would do. If +Falk would stay, would let her care for him and mother him and be with +him, she would drive Morris from her heart and brain. + +Yes, she almost cried aloud in the dark room. "Give me Falk and I will +leave the other. Give me my own son. That's my right--every mother's +right. If I am refused it, it is just that I should take what I can get +instead." + +"Give him to me! Give him to me!" One thing at least was certain. She +could never return to the old lethargy. That first meeting with Morris had +fired her into life. She could not go back and she was glad that she could +not.... + +She stopped in the middle of the room to listen. The hall-door closed +softly; suddenly the line of light below the door vanished. Some one had +turned down the hall-lamp. She went to the drawing-room door, opened it, +looked out, crying softly: + +"Falk! Falk!" + +"Yes, mother." He came across to her. He was holding a lighted candle in +his hand. "Are you still up?" + +"Yes, it isn't very late. Barely eleven. Come into the drawing-room." + +They went back into the room. He closed the door behind him, then put the +candle down on to a small round table; they sat in the candle-light, one +on either side of the table. + +He looked at her and thought how small and fragile she looked and how +little, anyway, she meant to him. + +How much most mothers meant to their sons, and how little she had ever +meant to him! He had always taken his father's view of her, that it was +necessary for her to be there, that she naturally did her best, but that +she did not expect you to think about her. + +"You ought to be in bed," he said, wishing that she would release him. + +For the first time in her life she spoke to him spontaneously, losing +entirely the sense that she had always had, that both he and his father +would go away and leave her if she were tiresome. + +To-night he would _not_ go away--not until she had struck her bargain +with him. + +"What have you been up to all these weeks, Falk?" she asked. + +"Up to?" he repeated. Her challenge was unexpected. + +"Yes; of course I know you're up to something, and you _know_ that I +know. You must tell me. I'm your mother and I ought to be told." + +He knew at once as soon as she spoke that she was the very last person in +the world to whom he wished to tell anything. He was tired, dead tired, +and wanted to go to bed, but he was arrested by the urgency in her voice. +What was the matter with her? So intent had he been, for the past months, +on his own affairs that he had not thought of his mother at all. He looked +across the table at her--a little insignificant woman, colourless, with no +personality. And yet to-night something was happening to her. He felt all +the impatience of a man who is closely occupied with his own drama but is +forced, quite against his will, to consider some one else. + +"There isn't anything to tell you, mother. Really there is not. I've just +been kicking my heels round this blasted town for the last few months and +I'm restless. I'll be going up to London very shortly." + +"Why need you?" she asked him. The candle flame seemed to jump with the +sharpness of her voice. + +"Why need I? But of course I must. I ask you, is this a place for _any +one_ to settle down in?" + +"I don't know why it shouldn't be. I should have thought you could be very +happy here. There are so many things you could do." + +"What, for instance?" + +"You could be a solicitor, or go into business, or--or--why, you'd soon +find something." + +He got up, taking the candle in his hand. + +"Well, if that's your idea, mother, I'm sorry, but you can just put it out +of your head once and for all. I'd rather be buried alive than stay in +this hole. I _would_ be buried alive if I stayed." + +She looked up at him. He was so tall, so handsome, _and so distant_-- +some one who had no connection with her at all. She too got up, putting +her little hand on his arm. + +"Then are we, all of us, to count for nothing at all?" + +"Of course you count," he answered impatiently, irritated by the pressure +of her fingers on his coat. "You'll see plenty of me. But you can't +possibly expect me to live here. I've completely wasted my beautiful young +life so far--now apparently you want me to waste the rest of it." + +"Then," she said, coming nearer to him and dropping her voice, "take me +with you." + +"Take you with me!" He stepped back from her. He could not believe that he +had heard her correctly. "Take _you_ with me?" + +"Yes." + +"Take you with me?" + +"Yes, yes, yes." + +It was the greatest surprise of his life. He stared at her in his +amazement, putting the candle back upon the table. + +"But why?" + +"Why?...Why do you think?...Because I love you and want to be with you." + +"Be with me? Leave this? Leave Polchester?...Leave father?" + +"Yes, why not? Your father doesn't need me any longer. Nobody wants me +here. Why shouldn't I go?" + +He came close to her, giving her now all his attention, staring at her as +though he were seeing her for the first time in his life. + +"Mother, aren't you well?...Aren't you happy?" + +She laughed. "Happy? Oh, yes, so happy that I'd drown myself to-night if +that would do any good." + +"Here, sit down." He almost pushed her back into her chair. "We've got to +have this out. I don't know what you're talking about. You're unhappy? +Why, what's the matter?" + +"The matter? Oh, nothing!" she answered. "Nothing at all, except for the +last ten years I've hated this place, hated this house, hated your +father." + +"Hated father?" + +He stared at her as though she had in a moment gone completely mad. + +"Yes, why not?" she answered quietly. "What has he ever done that I should +feel otherwise? What attention has he ever paid to me? When has he ever +considered me except as a sort of convenient housekeeper and mistress whom +he pays to keep near him? Why shouldn't I hate him? You're very young, +Falk, and it would probably surprise you to know how many quiet stay-at- +home wives there are who hate their good, honest, well-meaning husbands." + +He drew a deep breath. + +"What's father ever done," he said, "to make you hate him?" + +She should have realised then, from the sound in his voice, that she was, +in her preoccupation with her own affairs, forgetting one of the principal +elements in the whole case, his love for his father. + +"It isn't what he's done," she answered. "It's what he hasn't done. Whom +has he ever considered but himself? Isn't his conceit so big that he can't +see any one but himself. Why should we go on pretending that he's so great +and wonderful? Do you suppose that any one can live for twenty years and +more with your father and not see how small and selfish and mean he is? +How he----" + +"You're not to say that," Falk interrupted her angrily. "Father may have +his faults--so has every one--but we've got worse ones. He isn't mean and +he isn't small. He may seem conceited, but that's only because he cares so +for the Cathedral and knows what he's done for it. He's the finest man I +know anywhere. He doesn't see things as I do--I don't suppose that father +and son ever do see alike--but that needn't prevent me from admiring him. +Why, mother, what's come over you? You can't be well. Leave father! Why, +it would be terrible! Think of the talk there'd be! Why, it would ruin +father here. He'd never get over it." + +She saw then the mistake that she had made. She looked across at him +beseechingly. + +"You're right, Falk. I didn't mean that, I don't mean that. But I'm so +unhappy that I don't know what I'm saying. All I want is to be with you. +It wouldn't hurt father if I went up to London with you for a little. What +I really want is a holiday. I could come back after a month or two +refreshed. I'm tired." + +Suddenly while she was speaking the ironical contrast hit him. Here was he +amazed at his mother for daring to contemplate a step that would do his +father harm, while he, he who professed to love his father, was about to +do something that would cause the whole town to talk for a year. But that +was different. Surely it was different. He was young and must make his own +life. He must be allowed to marry whom he would. It was not as though he +were intending to ruin the girl.... + +Nevertheless, this sudden comparison bewildered and shocked him. + +He leant across the table to her. "You must never leave father--never," he +said. "You mustn't think of it. He wants you badly. He mayn't show it +exactly as you want it. Men aren't demonstrative as women are, but he'd be +miserable if you went away. He loves you in his own fashion, which is just +as good as yours, only different. You must _never_ leave him, mother, +do you hear?" + +She saw that she was defeated, entirely and completely. She cried to the +Powers: + +"You've refused me what I ask. I go my own way, then." + +She got up, kissed him on the forehead and said: "I daresay you're right, +Falk. Forget what I've said. I didn't mean most of it. Good-night, dear." + +She went out, quietly closing the door behind her. + + Falk did not sleep at all that night. This was only one of many sleepless +nights, but it was the worst of them. The night was warm, and a faint dim +colour lingered behind the treetops of the garden beyond his open window. +First he lay under the clothes, then upon the top of his bed, then +stripped, plunging his head into a basin of water, then naked save for his +soft bedroom slippers, paced his room...His head was a flaming fire. The +pale light seemed for an instant to vanish, and the world was dark and +silent. Then, at the striking of the Cathedral clock, as though it were a +signal upon some stage, the light slowly crept back again, growing ever +stronger and stronger. The birds began to twitter; a cock crew. A bar of +golden light broken by the squares and patterns of the dark trees struck +the air. + +The shock of his mother's announcement had been terrific. It was not only +the surprise of it, it was the sudden light that it flung upon his own +case. He had gone, during these last weeks, so far with Annie Hogg that it +was hard indeed to see how there could be any stepping back. They had +achieved a strange relationship together: one not of comradeship, nor of +lust, nor of desire, nor of affection, having a little of all these things +but not much of any of them, and finally resembling the case of two +strangers, shipwrecked, hanging on to a floating spar of wood that might +bring them into safety. + +She was miserable; he was miserable; whether she cared for him he could +not tell, nor whether he cared for her. The excitement that she created in +him was intense, all-devouring, but it was not an excitement of lust. He +had never done more than kiss her, and he was quite ready that it should +remain so. He intended, perhaps, to marry her, but of that he could not be +sure. + +But he could not leave her; he could not keep away from her although he +was seldom happy when he was with her. Slowly, gradually, through their +meetings there had grown a bond. He was more naturally himself with her +than with any other human being. Although she excited him she also +tranquillised him. Increasingly he admired and respected her--her honesty, +independence, reserve, pride. Perhaps it was upon that that their alliance +was really based--upon mutual respect and admiration. There had been +never, from the very first moment, any deception between them. He had +never been so honest with any one before--certainly not with himself. His +desire, beyond everything else in life, was to be honest: to pretend to no +emotion that he did not truly feel, to see exactly how he felt about life, +and to stand up before it unafraid and uncowed. Honesty seemed to him the +greatest quality in life; that was why he had been attracted to Ronder. +And yet life seemed to be for ever driving him into false positions. Even +now he was contemplating running away with this girl. Until to-night he +had fancied that he was only contemplating it, but his conversation with +his mother had shown him how near he was to a decision. Nevertheless, he +would talk to Ronder and to his father, not, of course, telling them +everything, but catching perhaps from them some advice that would seem to +him so true that it would guide him. + +Finally, when the gold bar appeared behind the trees he forced himself +into honesty with his father. How could he have meant so sincerely that +his mother must not hurt his father when he himself was about to hurt him? + +And this discovery had not lessened his determination to take the step. +Was he, then, utterly hypocritical? He knew he was not. + +He could look ahead of his own affair and see that in the end his father +would admit that it had been best for him. They all knew--even his mother +must in her heart have known--that he was not going to live in Polchester +for ever. His departure for London was inevitable, and it simply was that +he would take Annie with him. That would be for a moment a blow to his +father, but it would not be so for long. And in the town his father would +win sympathy; he, Falk, would be condemned and despised. They would say: +"Ah, that young Brandon. He never was any good. His father did all he +could, but it was no use...." And then in a little time there would come +the news that he was doing well in London, and all would be right. + +He looked to his talk with Ronder. Ronder would advise well. Ronder knew +life. He was not provincial like these others.... + +Suddenly he was cold. He went back to bed and slept dreamlessly. + + * * * * * + +Next evening, as half-past eight was striking, he was at his customary +post by the river, above the "Dog and Pilchard." + +A heavy storm was mounting up behind the Cathedral, black clouds being +piled tier on tier as though some gigantic shopman were shooting out rolls +of carpet for the benefit of some celestial purchaser. The Cathedral shone +in the last flash of the fleeing light with a strange phantasmal silver +sheen; once more it was a ship sailing high before the tempest. + +Down by the river the dusk was grey and sodden. The river, flowing +sullenly, was a lighter dark between the line of houses and the bending +fields. The air was so heavy that men seemed to walk with bending backs as +though the burden was more than they could sustain. This section of the +river had become now to Falk something that was part of himself. The old +mill, the group of trees beside it, the low dam over which the water fell +with its own peculiar drunken gurgle, the pathway with its gritty stony +surface, so that it seemed to grind its teeth in protest at every step +that you took, on the left the town piled high behind you with the +Cathedral winged and dominant and supreme, the cool sloping fields beyond +the river, the dark bend of the wood cutting the horizon--these things +were his history and he was theirs. + +There were many other places to which they might have gone, other times +that they might have chosen, but circumstances and accident had found for +them always this same background. He had long ago ceased to consider +whether any one was watching them or talking about them. They were, +neither of them, cowards, although to Annie her father was a figure of +sinister power and evil desire. She hated her father, believed him capable +of infinite wickedness, but did not fear him enough to hesitate to face +him. Nevertheless, it was from him that she was chiefly escaping, and she +gave to Falk a curious consciousness of the depths of malice and vice that +lay hidden behind that smiling face, in the secret places of that fat +jolly body. Falk was certain now that Hogg knew of their meetings; he +suspected that he had known of them from the first. Hogg had his faults +but they did not frighten Falk, who was, indeed, afraid of no man alive +save only himself. + +The other element in the affair that increased as the week passed was +Falk's consciousness of the strange spirit of nobility that there was in +Annie. Although she stirred him so deeply she did not blind him as to her +character. He saw her exactly for what she was--uneducated, ignorant, +limited in all her outlook, common in many ways, sometimes surly, often +superstitious; but through all these things that strain of nobility ran, +showing itself in many unexpected places, calling to him like an echo from +some high, far-distant source. Because of it he was beginning to wonder +whether after all the alliance that was beginning to spring up between +them might not be something more permanent and durable than at first he +had ever supposed it could be. He was beginning to wonder whether he had +not been fortunate far beyond his deserts.... + +On this thunder-night they met like old friends who had known one another +for many years and between whom there had never been anything but +comradeship. They did not kiss, but simply touched hands and moved up +through the gathering dark to the little bridge below the mill. From here +they felt the impact of the chattering water rising to them and falling +again like a comment on their talk. + +"It'll not be many more times," Annie said, "we'll be coming here." + +"Why?" Falk asked. + +"Because I'm going up to London whether you come or no--and _soon_ +I'm going." + +He admired nothing in her more than the clear-cut decision of her mind, +which moved quietly from point to point, asking no advice, allowing no +regrets when the decision was once made. + +"What has happened since last time?" + +"Happened? Nothing. Only father and the 'Dog,' and drink. I'm through with +it." + +"And what would you do in London if you went up alone?" + +She flung up her head suddenly, laughing. "You think I'm helpless, don't +you? Well, I'm not." + +"No, I don't--but you don't know London." + +"A fearsome place, mebbe, but not more disgustin' than father." + +There was irritation in his voice as he said: + +"Then it doesn't matter to you whether I come with you or not?" + +Her reply was soft. She suddenly put out her hand and took his. + +"Of course it matters. We're friends. The best friend I'm likely to find, +I reckon. What would I be meeting you for all these months if I didn't +care for you? Just to be admiring the scenery?--shouldn't like." + +She laughed softly. + +She went on: "I'm ready to go with you or without you. If we go together +I'm independent, just as though I went without you. I'm independent of +every one--father and you and all. I'll marry you if you want me, or I'll +live with you without marrying, or I'll live without you and never see you +again. I won't say that leaving you wouldn't hurt. It would, after being +with you all these weeks; but I'd rather be hurt than be dependent." + +He held her hand tightly between his two. + +"Folks 'ud say," she went on, "that I had no right to be talkin' of going +away with you--that I'd be ruining your future and making people look down +on you, and all that. Well, that's for you to say. If you think it harms +your prospects being with me you needn't see me. I've my own prospects to +think of. I'm not going to have any man ashamed of me." + +"You're right to speak of it, and we're right to think of it," said Falk. +"It isn't my prospects that I've got to think about, but it's my father I +wouldn't like to hurt. If we go away together there'll be a great deal of +talk here, and it will all fall on my father." + +"Well, then," she said, tossing her head and taking her hand away from +his, "don't come. _I'm_ not asking you. As for your father, he's that +proud----" She stopped suddenly. "No. I'm saying nothing about that. You +care for him, and you're right to. As far as that goes, we needn't go +together; you can come up later and join me." + +When she said that, he knew that he couldn't bear the thought of her going +alone, and that he had all along been determined in his thought that she +should not go alone. + +"If you'd say you loved me," he said, suddenly bending towards her, "I'd +never let you out of my sight again." + +"Oh, yes, you would," she said; "you don't know whether you _do_ love +me. Many's the time you think you don't. And I don't know whether I love +you. Sometimes I think I do. What's love, anyway? I dunno. I think +sometimes I'm not made to feel that way towards any one. But what I really +meant to say to-night is, that I'm dead sick of this hanging-on. I'm going +up to a cousin I've got Blackheath way a week from to-night. If you're +coming, I'm glad. If you're not--well, I reckon I'll get over it." + +"A week from to-day--" He looked out over the water. + +"Aye. That's settled." + +Then, unexpected, as she so often was, she put her arms round his neck and +drew his head down to her bosom and let her hand rest on his hair. + +"I like to feel you there," she said. "It's more a mother I feel to you +than a lover." + +She would not let him kiss her, but suddenly moved away from him, into the +dark, leaving him where he stood. + +When he was half-way home the storm that had been slowly, during the last +hour and a half, climbing up above the town, broke. As he was crossing the +market-place the rain came down in torrents, dancing upon the uneven +cobbles with a kind of excited frenzy, and thickening the air with a +curtain of mist. He climbed the High Street, his head down, feeling a +physical satisfaction in the fierce soaking that the storm was giving him. +The town was shining and deserted. Not a soul about. No sound except the +hissing, sneering, chattering whisper of the deluge. He went up to his +room and changed, putting on a dinner jacket, and came down to his +father's study. It was too late for dinner, but he was not hungry; he did +not know how long it was since he had felt hungry last. + +He knocked and went in. He felt a desperate urgency that he must somehow +reconcile the interests and happiness of the two people who were then +filling all his thoughts--his father and Annie. There must _be_ a +way. He could feel still the touch of Annie's hand upon his head; he was +more deeply bound to her by that evening's conversation than he had ever +been before, but he longed to be able to reassure himself by some contact +with his father that he was not going to hurt the old man, that he would +be able to prove to him that his loyalty was true and his affection deep. + +Small causes produce lasting results, and the lives of many people would +have been changed had Falk caught his father that night in another mood. + +The Archdeacon did not look up at the sound of the closing door. He was +sitting at his big table writing letters, the expression of his face being +that of a boy who has been kept in on a fine afternoon to write out the +first fifty lines of the _Iliad_. His curly hair was ruffled, his +mouth was twisted with disgust, and he pushed his big body about in his +chair, kicked out his legs and drew them in as though beneath his +concentration on his letters he was longing to spring up, catch his enemy +by the throat, roll him over on to the ground and kick him. + +"Hullo, governor!" Falk said, and settled down into one of the big leather +arm-chairs, produced a pipe from his pocket and slowly filled it. + +The Archdeacon went on writing, muttering to himself, biting the end of +his quill pen. He had not apparently been aware of his son's entrance, but +suddenly he sprang up, pushed back his chair until it nearly fell over, +and began to stride up and down the room. He was a fine figure then, +throwing up his head, flinging out his arms, apostrophising the world. + +"Gratitude! They don't know what it means. Do you think I'll go on working +for them, wearing myself to a shadow, staying up all night--getting up at +seven in the morning, and then to have this sort of return? I'll leave the +place. I'll let them make their own mistakes and see how they like that. +I'll teach them gratitude. Here am I; for ten years I've done nothing but +slave for the town and the Cathedral. Who's worked for them as I have?" + +"What's the matter, father?" Falk asked, watching him from the chair. +Every one knows the irritation of coming to some one with matters so +urgent that they occupy the whole of your mind, and then discovering that +your audience has its own determined preoccupation. "Always thinking of +himself," Falk continued. "Fusses about nothing." + +"The matter?" His father turned round upon him. "Everything's the matter. +Everything! Here's this Jubilee business coming on and everything going to +ruin. Here am I, who know more about the Cathedral and what's been done in +the Cathedral for the last ten years than any one, and they are letting +Ryle have a free hand over all the Jubilee Week services without another +word to anybody." + +"Well, Ryle is the Precentor, isn't he?" said Falk. + +"Of course he is," the Archdeacon answered angrily. "And what a Precentor! +Every one knows he isn't capable of settling anything by himself. That's +been proved again and again. But that's only one thing. It's the same all +the way round. Opposition everywhere. It'll soon come to it that I'll have +to ask permission from the Chapter to walk down the High Street." + +"All the same, father," Falk said, "you can't be expected to have the +whole of the Jubilee on your shoulders. It's more than any one man can +possibly do." + +"I know that. Of course I know that. Ryle's case is only one small +instance of the way the wind's blowing. Every one's got to do their share, +of course. But in the last three months the place is changed--the +Chapter's disorganised, there's rebellion in the Choir, among the Vergers, +everywhere. The Cathedral is in pieces. And why? Who's changed everything? +Why is nothing as it was three months ago?" + +"Oh, Lord! what a bore the old man is!" thought Falk. He was in the last +possible mood to enter into any of his father's complaints. They seemed +now, as he looked across at him, to be miles apart. He felt, suddenly, as +though he did not care what happened to his father, nor whether his +feelings were hurt or no---- + +"Well, tell me!" said the Archdeacon, spreading his legs out, putting his +hands behind his back and standing over his son. "Who's responsible for +the change?" + +"Oh, I don't know!" said Falk impatiently. + +"You don't know? No, of course you don't know, because you've taken no +interest in the Cathedral nor in anything to do with it. All the same, I +should have thought it impossible for any one to be in this town half an +hour and _not_ know who's responsible. There's only one man, and that +man is Ronder." + +Unfortunately Falk liked Ronder. "I think Ronder's rather a good sort," he +said. "A clever fellow, too." + +The Archdeacon stared at him. + +"You like him?" + +"Yes, father, I do." + +"And of course it matters nothing to you that he should be your father's +persistent enemy and do his best to hinder him in everything and every way +possible." + +Falk smiled, one of those confident, superior smiles that are so justly +irritating to any parent. + +"Oh, come, father," he said. "Aren't you rather exaggerating?" + +"Exaggerating? Yes, of course you would take the other side. And what do +you know about it? There you are, lolling about in your chair, idling week +after week, until all the town talks about it----" + +Falk sprang up. + +"And whose fault is it if I do idle? What have I been wanting except to go +off and make a decent living? Whose fault----?" + +"Oh, mine, of course!" the Archdeacon shouted. "Put it all down to me! Say +that I begged you to leave Oxford, that I want you to laze the rest of +your life away. Why shouldn't you, when you have a mother and sister to +support you?" + +"Stop that, father." Falk also was shouting. "You'd better look out what +you're saying, or I'll take you at your word and leave you altogether." + +"You can, for all I care," the Archdeacon shouted back. They stood there +facing one another, both of them red in the face, a curious family +likeness suddenly apparent between them. + +"Well, I will then," Falk cried, and rushed from the room, banging the +door behind him. + + + + +Chapter VI + +Falk's Flight + + + +Ronder sat in his study waiting for young Falk Brandon. The books smiled +down upon him from their white shelves; because the spring evening was +chill a fire glittered and sparkled and the deep blue curtains were drawn. +Ronder was wearing brown kid slippers and a dark velvet smoking-jacket. As +he lay back in the deep arm-chair, smoking an old and familiar briar, his +chubby face was deeply contented. His eyes were almost closed; he was the +very symbol of satisfied happy and kind-hearted prosperity. + +He was really touched by young Falk's approach towards friendship. He had +in him a very pleasant and happy vein of sentiment which he was only too +delighted to exercise so long as no urgent demands were made upon it. Once +or twice women and men younger than himself _had_ made such urgent +demands; with what a hurry, a scurry and a scamper had he then run from +them! + +But the more tranquil, easy and unexacting aspects of sentiment he +enjoyed. He liked his heart to be warmed, he liked to feel that the +pressure of his hand, the welcome of the eye, the smile of the lip were +genuine in him and natural; he liked to put his hand through the arm of a +young eager human being who was full of vitality and physical strength. He +disliked so deeply sickness and decay; he despised them. + +Falk was young, handsome and eager, something of a rebel--the greater +compliment then that he should seek out Ronder. He was certainly the most +attractive young man in Polchester and, although that was not perhaps +saying very much, after all Ronder lived in Polchester and wished to share +in the best of every side of its life. + +There were, however, further, more actual reasons that Ronder should +anticipate Falk's visit with deep interest. He had heard, of course, many +rumours of Falk's indiscretions, rumours that naturally gained greatly in +the telling, of how he had formed some disgraceful attachment for the +daughter of a publican down in the river slums, that he drank, that he +gambled, that he was the wickedest young man in Polchester, and that he +would certainly break his father's heart. + +It was this relation of the boy to his father that interested him most of +all. He continued to remark to the little god who looked after his affairs +and kept an eye upon him that the last thing that he wanted was to +interfere in Brandon's family business, and yet to the same little god he +could not but comment on the curious persistency with which that same +business would thrust itself upon his interest. "If Brandon's wife, son, +and general _menage_ will persist in involving themselves in absurd +situations it's not my fault," he would say. But he was not exactly sorry +that they should. + +Indeed, to-night, in the warm security of his room, with all his plans +advancing towards fulfillment, and life developing just as he would have +it, he felt so kindly a pity towards Brandon that he was warm with the +desire to do something for him, make him a present, or flatter his vanity, +or give way publicly to him about some contested point that was of no +particular importance. + +When young Falk was ushered in by the maid-servant, Ronder, looking up at +him, thought him the handsomest boy he'd ever seen. He felt ready to give +him all the advice in the world, and it was with the most genuine warmth +of heart that he jumped up, put his hand on his shoulder, found him +tobacco, whisky and soda, and the easiest chair in the room. + +It was apparent at once that the boy was worked up to the extremity of his +possible endurance. Ronder felt instantly the drama that he brought with +him, filling the room with it, charging every word and every movement with +the implication of it. + +He turned about in his chair, struck many matches, pulled desperately at +his pipe, stared at Ronder with a curious mixture of shyness and eagerness +that betrayed his youth and his sense of Ronder's importance. Ronder began +by talking easily about nothing at all, a diversion for which he had an +especial talent. Falk suddenly broke upon him: + +"Look here. You don't care about that stuff--nor do I. I didn't come round +to you for that. I want you to help me." + +"I'll be very glad to," Ronder said, smiling. "If I can." + +"Perhaps you can--perhaps you can't. I don't know you really, of course--I +only have my idea of you. But you seem to me much older than I am. Do you +know what I mean? Father's as young or younger and so are so many of the +others. But you must have made your mind up about life. I want to know +what you think of it." + +"That's a tall order," said Ronder, smiling. "What one thinks of life! +Well, one can't say all in a moment, you know." + +And then, as though he had suddenly decided to take his companion +seriously, his face was grave and his round shining eyes wide open. + +Falk coloured. "Perhaps you think me impertinent," he said. "But I don't +care a damn if you do. After all, isn't it an absurd thing that there +isn't another soul in this town you could ask such a question of? And yet +there's nothing else so important. A fellow's thought an impossible prig +if he mentions such a thing. I expect I seem in a hurry too, but I can +tell you I've been irritated for years by not being able to get at it--the +truth, you know. Why we're here at all, whether there is some kind of a +God somewhere or no. Of course you've got to pretend you think there is, +but I want to know what you _really_ think and I promise it shan't go +a step farther. But most of all I want to know whether you don't think +we're meant all of us to be free, and why being free should be the hardest +thing of all." + +"You must tell me one thing," said Ronder. "Is the impulse that brought +you in to see me simply a general one, just because you are interested in +life, or is there some immediate crisis that you have to settle? I ask +that," he added, smiling gently, "because I've noticed that people don't +as a rule worry very urgently about life unless they have to make up their +minds about which turn in the road they're going to take." + +Falk hesitated; then he said, speaking slowly, "Yes, there is something. +It's what you'd call a crisis in my life, I suppose. It's been piling up +for months--for years if you like. But I don't see why I need bother you +with that--it's nobody's business but my own. Although I won't deny that +things you say may influence me. You see, I felt the first moment I met +you that you'd speak the truth, and speaking the truth seems to me more +important than anything else in the world." + +"But," said Ronder, "I don't want to influence you blindly. You've no +right to ask me to advise you when I don't know what it is I am advising +you about." + +"Well, then," said Falk, "it's simply this--that I want to go up to London +and live my own life. But I love my father--it would all be easy enough if +I didn't--and he doesn't see things as I do. There are other things too-- +it's all very complicated. But I don't want you to tell me about my own +affairs! I just want you to say what you think this is all about, what +we're here for anyway. You must have thought it all through and come out +the other side. You look as though you had." + +Ronder hesitated. He really wished that this had not occurred. He could +defeat Brandon without being given this extra weapon. His impulse was to +put the boy off with some evasion and so to dismiss him. But the +temptation that was always so strong in him to manipulate the power placed +in his hands was urging him; moreover, why should he not say what he +thought about life? It was sincere enough. He had no shame of it.... + +"I couldn't advise you against your father's wishes," he said. "I'm very +fond of your father. I have the highest opinion of him." + +Falk moved uneasily in his chair: "You needn't advise me against him," he +said; "you can't have a higher opinion of him than I have. I'm fonder of +him than of any one in the world; I wouldn't be hesitating at all +otherwise. And I tell you I don't want you to advise me on my particular +case. It just interests me to know whether you believe in a God and +whether you think life means anything. As soon as I saw you I said to +myself, 'Now I'd like to know what _he_ thinks.' That's all." + +"Of course I believe in a God," said Ronder, "I wouldn't be a clergyman +otherwise." + +"Then if there's a God," said Falk quickly, "why does He let us down, make +us feel that we must be free, and then make us feel that it's wrong to be +free because, if we are, we hurt the people we're fond of? Do we live for +ourselves or for others? Why isn't it easier to see what the right thing +is?" + +"If you want to know what I think about life," said Ronder, "it's just +this--that we mustn't take ourselves too seriously, that we must work our +utmost at the thing we're in, and give as little trouble to others as +possible." + +Falk nodded his head. "Yes, that's very simple. If you'll forgive my +saying so, that's the sort of thing any one says to cover up what he +really feels. That's not what _you_ really feel. Anyway it accounts +for simply nothing at all. If that's all there is in life----" + +"I don't say that's all there is in life," interrupted Ronder softly, "I +only say that that does for a start--for one's daily conduct I mean. But +you've got to rid your head of illusions. Don't expect poetry and magic +for ever round the corner. Don't dream of Utopias--they'll never come. +Mind your own daily business." + +"Play for safety, in fact," said Falk. + +Ronder coloured a little. "Not at all. Take every kind of risk if you +think your happiness depends upon it. You're going to serve the world best +by getting what you want and resting contented in it. It's the +discontented and disappointed who hang things up." + +Falk smiled. "You're pushing on to me the kind of philosophy that I'd like +to follow," he said. "I don't believe in it for a moment nor do I believe +it's what you really think, but I think I'm ready to cheat myself if you +give me encouragement enough. I don't want to do any one any harm, but I +must come to a conclusion about life and then follow it so closely that I +can never have any doubt about any course of action again. When I was a +small boy the Cathedral used to terrify me and dominate me too. I believed +in God then, of course, and I used to creep in and listen, expecting to +hear Him speak. That tomb of the Black Bishop seemed to me the place where +He'd most likely be, and I used to fancy sometimes that He did speak from +the heart of that stone. But I daresay it was the old Bishop himself. + +"Anyway, I determined long ago that the Cathedral has a life of its own, +quite apart from any of us. It has more immortality in one stone of its +nave than we have in all our bodies." + +"Don't be too sure of that," Ronder said. "We have our immortality--a tiny +flame, but I believe that it never dies. Beauty comes from it and dwells +in it. We increase it or diminish it as we live." + +"And yet," said Falk eagerly, "you were urging, just now, a doctrine of +what, if you'll forgive my saying so, was nothing but selfishness. How do +you reconcile that with immortality?" + +Ronder laughed. "There have only been four doctrines in the history of the +world," he answered, "and they are all Pursuits. One is the pursuit of +Unselfishness. 'Little children, love one another. He that seeks to save +his soul shall lose it.' The second is the opposite of the first-- +Individualism. 'I am I. That is all I know, and I will seek out my own +good always because that at least I can understand.' The third is the +pursuit of God and Mysticism. 'Neither I matter nor my neighbour. I give +up the world and every one and everything in it to find God.' And the +fourth is the pursuit of Beauty. 'Beauty is Truth and Truth Beauty. That +is all we need to know.' Every man and woman alive or dead has chosen one +of those four or a mixture of them. I would say that there is something in +all of them, Charity, Individualism, Worship, Beauty. But finally, when +all is said and done, we remain ourselves. It is our own life that we must +lead, our own goal for which we are searching. At the end of everything we +remain alone, of ourselves, by ourselves, for ourselves. Life is, finally, +a lonely journey to a lonely bourne, let us cheat ourselves as we may." + +Ronder sat back in his chair, his eyes half closed. There was nothing that +he enjoyed more than delivering his opinions about life to a fit audience +--and by fit he meant intelligent and responsive. He liked to be truthful +without taking risks, and he was always the audience rather than the +speaker in company that might be dangerous. He almost loved Falk as he +looked across at him and saw the effect that his words had made upon him. +There was, Heaven knew, nothing very original in what he had said, but it +had been apparently what the boy had wanted to hear. + +He jumped up from his chair: "You're right," he said. "We've got to lead +our own lives. I've known it all along. When I've shown them what I can +do, then I'll come back to them. I love my father, you know, sir; I +suppose some people here think him tiresome and self-opinionated, but he's +like a boy, you always know where you are with him. He's no idea what +deceit means. He looks on this Cathedral as his own idea, as though he'd +built it almost, and of course that's dangerous. He'll have a shock one of +these days and see that he's gone too far, just as the Black Bishop did. +But he's a fine man; I don't believe any one knows how proud I am of him. +And it's much better I should go my own way and earn my own living than +hang around him, doing nothing--isn't it?" + +At that direct appeal, at the eager gaze that Falk fixed upon him, +something deep within Ronder stirred. + +Should he not even now advise the boy to stay? One word just then might +effect much. Falk trusted him. He was the only human being in Polchester +to whom the boy perhaps had come. Years afterwards he was to look back to +that moment, see it crystallised in memory, see the books, piled row upon +row, gleam down upon him, see the blue curtain and hear the crackling +fire...a crisis perhaps to himself as well as to Falk. + +He went across to the boy and put his hands on his shoulders. + +"Yes," he said, "I think it's better for you to go." + +"And about God and Beauty?" Falk said, staring for a moment into Ronder's +eyes, smiling shyly, and then turning away. "It's a long search, isn't it? +But as long as there's something there, beyond life, and I know there is, +the search is worth it." + +He looked rather wistfully at Ronder as though he expected him to confirm +him again. But Ronder said nothing. + +Falk went to the door: "Well, I must go. I'll show them that I was right +to go my own way. I want father to be proud of me. This will shock him for +a moment, but soon he'll see. I think you'll like to know, sir," he said, +suddenly turning and holding out his hand, "that this little talk has +meant a lot to me. It's just helped me to make up my mind." + +When he had gone Ronder sat in his chair, motionless, for a while; he +jumped up, went to the shelves, and found a book. Before he sat down again +he said aloud, as though he were answering some accuser, "Well, I told him +nothing, anyway." + +Falk had, from the moment he left Ronder's door, his mind made up, and now +that it _was_ made up he wished to act as speedily as possible. And +instantly there followed an appeal of the Town, so urgent and so poignant +that he was taken by surprise. He had lived there most of his days and +never seen it until now, but every step that he took soon haunted him. He +made his plans decisively, irrevocably, but he found himself lingering at +doors and at windows, peering over walls, hanging over the Pol bridge, +waiting suddenly as though he expected some message was about to be given +to him. + +The town was humming with life those days. The May weather was lovely, +softly blue with cool airs and little white clouds like swollen pin- +cushions drifting lazily from point to point. The gardens were dazzling +with their flowers, the Cathedral Green shone like glass, and every door- +knob and brass knocker in the Precincts glittered under the sun. + +The town was humming with the approaching Jubilee. It seemed itself to +take an active part in the preparations, the old houses smiling to one +another at the plans that they overheard, and the birds, of whom there +were a vast number, flying from wall to wall, from garden to garden, from +chimney to chimney, with the exciting news that they had gathered. + +Every shop in the High Street seemed to whisper to Falk as he passed: +"Surely you are not going to leave us. We can offer you such charming +things. We've never been so gay in our lives before as we are going to be +now." + +Even the human beings in the place seemed to be nicer to him than they had +ever been before. They had never, perhaps, been very nice to him, +regarding him with a quite definite disapproval even when he was a little +boy, because he would go his own way and showed them that he didn't care +what they thought of him. + +Now, suddenly, they were making up to him. Mrs. Combermere, surrounded +with dogs, stopped him in the High Street and, in a deep bass voice, asked +him why it was so long since he had been to see her, and then slapped him +on the shoulder with her heavy gloved hand. That silly woman, Julia +Preston, met him in Bennett's book shop and asked him to help her to +choose a book of poems for a friend. + +"Something that shall be both True and Beautiful, Mr. Brandon," she said. +"There's so little real Beauty in our lives, don't you think?" Little +Betty Callender caught him up in Orange Street and chattered to him about +her painting, and that pompous Bentinck-Major insisted on his going into +the Conservative Club with him, where he met old McKenzie and older +Forrester, and had to listen to their golfing achievements. + +It may have been simply that every one in the town was beside and above +himself over the Jubilee excitements--but it made it very hard for Falk. +Nothing to the hardness of everything at home. Here at the last moment, +when it was too late to change or alter anything, every room, every old +piece of furniture seemed to appeal to him with some especial claim. For +ten years he had had the same bedroom, an old low-ceilinged room with +queer bulges in the wall, a crooked fireplace and a slanting floor. For +years now he had had a wall-paper with an ever-recurrent scene of a church +tower, a snowy hill, and a large crimson robin. The robins were faded, and +the snowy hill a dingy yellow. There were School groups and Oxford groups +on the walls, and the book-case near the door had his old school prizes +and Henty and a set of the Waverley Novels with dark red covers and paper +labels. + +Hardest of all to leave was the view from the window overlooking the +Cathedral Green and the Cathedral. That window had been connected with +every incident of his childhood. He had leant out of it when he had felt +sick from eating too much, he had gone to it when his eyes were brimming +with hot rebellious tears after some scene with his father, he had known +ecstatic joys gazing from it on the first day of his return from school, +he had thrown things out of it on the heads of unsuspecting strangers, he +had gone to it in strange moods of poetry and romance, and watched the +moon like a plate of dull and beaten gold sail above the Cathedral towers, +he had sat behind it listening to the organ like a muffled giant +whispering to be liberated from grey, confining walls, he had looked out +of it on a still golden evening when the stars were silver buttons in the +sky after a meeting with Annie; he went to it and gazed, heart-sick, +across the Green now when he was about to bid fare-well to it for ever. + +Heart-sick but resolved, it seemed strange to him that after months of +irresolution his mind should now be so firmly composed. He seemed even, +prophetically, to foretell the future. What had reassured him he did not +know, but for himself he knew that he was taking the right step. For +himself and for Annie--outside that, it was as though a dark cloud was +coming up enveloping all that he was leaving behind. He could not tell how +he knew, but he felt as though he were fleeing from the city of +Polchester, and were being driven forward on his flight by powers far +stronger than he could control. + +He fancied, as he looked out of his window, that the Cathedral also was +aware and, aloof, immortal, waited the inevitable hour. + +Coming straight upon his final arrangements with Annie, his reconciliation +with his father was ironic. So deeply here were his real affections +stirred that he could not consider deliberately his approaching treachery; +nevertheless he did not for a moment contemplate withdrawal from it. It +was as though two personalities were now in active movement within him, +the one old, belonging to the town, to his father, to his own youth, the +other new, belonging to Annie, to the future, to ambition, to the +challenge of life itself. With every hour the first was moving away from +him, reluctantly, stirring the other self by his withdrawal but inevitably +moving, never, never to return. + +He came, late in the afternoon, into the study and found his father, +balanced on the top of a small ladder, putting straight "Christ's Entry +into Jerusalem," a rather faded copy of Benjamin Haydon's picture that had +irritated Falk since his earliest youth by a kind of false theatricality +that inhabited it. + +Falk paused at the door, caught up by a sudden admiration of his father. +He had his coat off, and as he bent forward to adjust the cord the vigour +and symmetry of his body was magnificently emphasized. The thick strong +legs pressed against the black cloth of his trousers, the fine rounded +thighs, the broad back almost bursting the shiny stuff of the waistcoat, +the fine neck and the round curly head, these denied age and decay. He was +growing perhaps a little stout, the neck was a little too thick for the +collar, but the balance and energy and strength of the figure belonged to +a man as young as Falk himself.... + +At the sound of the door closing he turned, and at once the lined +forehead, the mouth a little slack, gave the man his age, but Falk was to +remember that first picture for the rest of his life with a strange +poignancy and deeply affectionate pathos. + +They had not met alone since their quarrel; their British horror of any +scene forbade the slightest allusion to it. Brandon climbed down from his +ladder and came, smiling, across to his son. + +At his happy times, when he was at ease with himself and the world, he had +the confident gaiety of a child; he was at ease now. He put his hand +through Falk's arm and drew him across to the table by the window. + +"I've had a headache," he said, rather as a child might complain to his +elder, "for two days, and now it's suddenly gone. I never used to have +headaches. But I've been irritated lately by some of the tomfoolery that's +been going on. Don't tell your mother; I haven't said a word to her; but +what do you take when you have a headache?" + +"I don't think I ever have them," said Falk. + +"I'm not going to stuff myself up with all their medicines and things. +I've never taken medicine in my life if I was strong enough to prevent +them giving it to me, and I'm not going to start it now." + +"Father," Falk said very earnestly, "don't let yourself get so easily +irritated. You usedn't to be. Everybody finds things go badly sometimes. +It's bad for you to allow yourself to be worried. Everything's all right +and going to be all right." (The hypocrite that he felt himself as he said +this!) + +"You know that every one thinks the world of you here. Don't take things +too seriously." + +Brandon nodded his head. + +"You're quite right, Falk. It's very sensible of you to mention it, my +boy. I usedn't to lose my temper as I do. I must keep control of myself +better. But when a lot of chattering idiots start gabbling about things +that they understand as much about as----" + +"Yes, I know," said Falk, putting his hand upon his father's arm. "But let +them talk. They'll soon find their level." + +"Yes, and then there's your mother," went on Brandon. "I'm bothered about +her. Have you noticed anything odd about her this last week or two?" + +That his father should begin to worry about his mother was certainly +astonishing enough! Certainly the first time in all these years that +Brandon had spoken of her. + +"Mother? No; in what way?" + +"She's not herself. She's not happy. She's worrying about something." + +"_You're_ worrying, father," Falk said, "that's what's the matter. +_She's_ just the same. You've been allowing yourself to worry about +everything. Mother's all right." And didn't he know, in his own secret +heart, that she wasn't? + +Brandon shook his head. "You may he right. All the same----" + +Falk said slowly: "Father, what would you say if I went up to London?" +This was a close approach to the subject of their quarrel of the other +evening. + +"When? What for?" + +"Oh, at once--to get something to do." + +"No, not now. After the summer we might talk of it." + +He spoke with utter decision, as he had always done to Falk, as though he +were five years old and could naturally know nothing about life. + +"But, father--don't you think it's bad for me, hanging round here doing +nothing?" + +Brandon got up, went across to the little ladder, hesitated a moment, then +climbed up. + +"I've had this picture twenty years," he said, "and it's never hung +straight yet." + +"No, but, father," said Falk, coming across to him, "I'm a man now, not a +boy. I can't hang about any longer--I can't really." + +"We'll talk about it in the autumn," said Brandon, humming "Onward, +Christian Soldiers," as he always did, a little out of tune. + +"I've got to earn my own living, haven't I?" said Falk. + +"There!" said Brandon, stepping back a little, so that he nearly +overbalanced. "_That's_ better. But it won't stay like that for five +minutes. It never does." + +He climbed down again, his face rosy with his exertions. "You leave it to +me, Falk," he said, nodding his head. "I've got plans for you." + +A sudden sense of the contrast between Ronder and his father smote Falk. +His father! What an infant! How helpless against that other! Moved by the +strangest mixture of tenderness, regret, pity, he did what he had never in +all his life before dreamed of doing, what he would have died of shame for +doing, had any one else been there--put his hands on his father's +shoulders and kissed him lightly on his cheek. + +He laughed as he did so, to carry off his embarrassment. + +"I don't hold myself bound, you know, father," he said. "I shall go off +just when I want to." + +But Brandon was too deeply confused by his son's action to hear the words. +He felt a strange, most idiotic impulse to hug his son; to place himself +well out of danger, he moved back to the window, humming "Onward, +Christian Soldiers." + +He looked out upon the Green. "There are two of those choir-boys on the +grass again," he said. "If Ryle doesn't keep them in better order, I'll +let him know what I think of him. He's always promising and never does +anything." + +The last talk of their lives alone together was ended. + + * * * * * + +He had made all his plans. He had decided that on the day of escape he +would walk over to Salis Coombe station, a matter of some two miles; there +he would be joined by Annie, whose aunt lived near there, and to whom she +could go on a visit the evening before. They would catch the slow four +o'clock train to Drymouth and then meet the express that reached London at +midnight. He would go to an Oxford friend who lived in St. John's Wood, +and he and Annie would be married as soon as possible. Beyond everything +else he wanted this marriage to take place quickly; once that was done he +was Annie's protector, so long as she should need him. She should be free +as she pleased, but she would have some one to whom she might go, some one +who could legally provide for her and would see that she came to no harm. + +The thing that he feared most was lest any ill should come to her through +the fact of his caring for her; he felt that he could let her go for ever +the very day after his marriage, so that he knew that she would never come +to harm. A certain defiant courage in her, mingled with her ignorance and +simplicity, made his protection of her the first thing in his life. As to +living, his Oxford friend was concerned with various literary projects, +having a little money of his own, and much self-confidence and ambition. + +He and Falk had already, at Oxford, edited a little paper together, and +Falk had been promised some reader's work in connection with one of the +younger publishing houses. In after years he looked back in amazement that +he should have ventured on the great London attack with so slender a +supply of ammunition--but now, looking forward in Polchester, that +question of future livelihood seemed the very smallest of his problems. + +Perhaps, deepest of all, something fiercely democratic in him longed for +the moment when he might make his public proclamation of his defiance of +class. + +He meant to set off, simply as he was; they could send his things after +him. If he indulged in any pictures of the future, he did, perhaps, see +himself returning to Polchester in a year's time or so, as the editor of +the most remarkable of London's new periodicals, received by his father +with enthusiasm, and even Annie admitted into the family with approval. Of +course, they could not return here to live...it would be only a +visit.... At that sudden vision of Annie and his father face to face, that +vision faded; no, this was the end of the old life. He must face that, set +his shoulders square to it, steel his heart to it.... + +That last luncheon was the strangest meal that he had ever known. So +strange because it was so usual--so ordinary! Roast chicken and apple +tart; his mother sitting at the end of the table, watching, as she had +watched through so many years, that everything went right, her little, +tight, expressionless face, the mouth set to give the right answers to the +right questions, her eyes veiled.... His mind flew back to that strange +talk in the dark room across the candle-lit table. She had been hysterical +that night, over-tired, had not known what she was saying. Well, she could +never leave his father now, now when he was gone. His flight settled that. + +"What are you doing this afternoon, Falk?" + +"Why, mother?" + +"I only wondered. I have to go to the Deanery about this Jubilee +committee. I thought you might walk up there with me. About four." + +"I don't think I'll be back in time, mother; I'm going out Salis Coombe +way to see a fellow." + +He saw Joan, looking so pretty, sitting opposite to him. How she had grown +lately! Putting her hair up made her seem almost a woman. But what a child +in the grown-up dress with the high puffed sleeves, her baby-face laughing +at him over the high stiff collar; a pretty dress, though, that dark blue +stuff with the white stripes.... Why had he never considered Joan? She had +never meant anything to him at all. Now, when he was going, it seemed to +him suddenly that he might have made a friend of her during all these +years. She was a good girl, kind, good-natured, jolly. + +She, too, was talking about the Jubilee--about some committee that she was +on and some flags that they were making. How exciting to them all the +Jubilee was, and how unimportant to him! + +Some book she was talking about. "...the new woman at the Library is so +nice. She let me have it at once. It's _The Massarenes_, mother, +darling, by Ouida. The girls say it's lovely." + +"I've heard of it, dear. Mrs. Sampson was talking about it. She says it's +not a nice book at all. I don't think father would like you to read it." + +"Oh, you don't mind, father, do you?" + +"What's that?" + +The Archdeacon was in a good humour. He loved apple tart. + +"_The Massarenes_, by Ouida." + +"Trashy novels. Why don't you girls ever read anything but novels?" and so +on. + +The little china clock with the blue mandarin on the mantelpiece struck +half past two. He must be going. He threw a last look round the room as +though he were desperately committing everything to memory--the shabby, +comfortable chairs, the Landseer "Dignity and Impudence," the warm, blue +carpet, the round silver biscuit-tin on the sideboard. + +"Well, I must be getting along." + +"You'll be back to dinner, Falk dear, won't you? It's early to-night. +Quarter past seven. Father has a meeting." + +He looked at them all. His father was sitting back in his chair, a +satisfied man. + +"Yes, I'll be back," he said, and went out. + +It seemed to him incredible that departure should be so simple. When you +are taking the most momentous step of your life, surely there should be +dragons in the way! Here were no dragons. As he went down the High Street +people smiled at him and waved hands. The town sparkled under the +afternoon sun. It was market-day, and the old fruit-woman under the green +umbrella, the toy-man with the clockwork monkeys, the flower-stalls and +the vegetable-sellers, all these were here; in the centre of the square, +sheep and pigs were penned. Dogs were barking, stout farmers in corduroy +breeches walked about arguing and expectorating, and suddenly, above all +the clamour and bustle, the Cathedral chimes struck the hour. + +He hastened then, striding up Orange Street, past the church and the +monument on the hill, through hedges thick with flowers, until he struck +off into the Drymouth Road. With every step that he took he stirred child +memories. He reached the signpost that pointed to Drymouth, to Clinton St. +Mary, to Polchester. This was the landmark that he used to reach with his +nurse on his walks. Further than this she, a stout, puffing woman, would +never go. He had known that a little way on there was Rocket Wood, a place +beloved by him ever since they had driven there for a picnic in the +jingle, and he had found it all spotted gold under the fir-trees, thick +with moss and yellow with primroses. How many fights with his nurse he had +had over that! he clinging to the signpost and screaming that he +_would_ go on to the Wood, she picking him up at last and carrying +him back down the road. + +He went on into the wood now and found it again spotted with gold, +although it was too late for primroses. It was all soft and dark with +pillars of purple light that struck through the fretted blue, and the dark +shadows of the leaves. All hushed and no living thing--save the hesitating +patter of some bird among the fir-cones. He struck through the wood and +came out on to the Common. You could smell the sea finely here--a true +Glebeshire smell, fresh and salt, full of sea-pinks and the westerly +gales. On the top of the Common he paused and looked back. He knew that +from here you had your last view of the Cathedral. + +Often in his school holidays he had walked out here to get that view. He +had it now in its full glory. When he was a boy it had seemed to him that +the Cathedral was like a giant lying down behind the hill and leaning his +face on the hill-side. So it looked now, its towers like ears, the great +East window shining, a stupendous eye, out over the bending wind-driven +country. The sun flashed upon it, and the towers rose grey and pearl- +coloured to heaven. Mightily it looked across the expanse of the moor, +staring away and beyond Falk's little body into some vast distance, +wrapped in its own great dream, secure in its mighty memories, intent upon +its secret purposes. + +Indifferent to man, strong upon its rock, hiding in its heart the answer +to all the questions that tortured man's existence--and yet, perhaps, +aware of man's immortality, scornful of him for making so slight a use of +that--but admiring him, too, for the tenacity of his courage and the +undying resurgence of his hope. + +Falk, a black dot against the sweep of sky and the curve of the dark soil, +vanished from the horizon. + + + + +Chapter VII + +Brandon Puts on His Armour + + + +Brandon was not surprised when, on the morning after Falk's escape, his +son was not present at family prayers. That was not a ceremony that Falk +had ever appreciated. Joan was there, of course, and just as the +Archdeacon began the second prayer Mrs. Brandon slipped in and took her +place. + +After the servants had filed out and the three were alone, Mrs. Brandon, +with a curious little catch in her voice, said: + +"Falk has been out all night; his bed has not been slept in." + +Brandon's immediate impulse, before he had even caught the import of his +wife's words, was: "There's reason for emotion coming; see that you show +none." + +He sat down at the table, slowly unfolding the _Glebeshire Morning +News_ that always waited, neatly, beside his plate. His hand did not +tremble, although his heart was beating with a strange, muffled agitation. + +"I suppose he went off somewhere," he said. "He never tells us, of course. +He's getting too selfish for anything." + +He put down his newspaper and picked up his letters. For a moment he felt +as though he could not look at them in the presence of his wife. He +glanced quickly at the envelopes. There was nothing there from Falk. His +heart gave a little clap of relief. + +"At any rate, he hasn't written," he said. "He can't be far away." + +"There's another post at ten-thirty," she answered. + +He was angry with her for that. How like her! Why could she not allow +things to be pleasant as long as possible? + +She went on: "He's taken nothing with him. Not even a hand-bag. He hasn't +been back in the house since luncheon yesterday." + +"Oh! he'll turn up!" Brandon went back to his paper. "Mustard, Joan, +please." Breakfast over, he went into his study and sat at the long +writing-table, pretending to be about his morning correspondence. He could +not settle to that; he had never been one to whom it was easy to control +his mind, and now his heart and soul were filled with foreboding. + +It seemed to him that for weeks past he had been dreading some +catastrophe. What catastrophe? What could occur? + +He almost spoke aloud. "Never before have I dreaded...." + +Meanwhile he would not think of Falk. He would not. His mind flew round +and round that name like a moth round the candle-light. He heard half-past +ten strike, first in the dining-room, then slowly on his own mantelpiece. +A moment later, through his study door that was ajar, he heard the letters +fall with a soft stir into the box, then the sharp ring of the bell. He +sat at his table, his hands clenched. + +"Why doesn't that girl bring the letters? Why doesn't that girl bring the +letters?" he was repeating to himself unconsciously again and again. + +She knocked on the door, came in and put the letters on his table. There +were only three. He saw immediately that one was in Falk's handwriting. He +tore the envelope across, pulled out the letter, his fingers trembling now +so that he could scarcely hold it, his heart making a noise as of tramping +waves in his ears. + +The letter was as follows: + + NORTH ROAD STATION, DRYMOUTH, + _May_ 23, 1897. + +MY DEAR FATHER--I am writing this in the waiting-room at North Road before +catching the London train. I suppose that I have done a cowardly thing in +writing like this when I am away from you, and I can't hope to make you +believe that it's because I can't bear to hurt you that I'm acting like a +coward. You'll say, justly enough, that it looks as though I wanted to +hurt you by what I'm doing. But, father, truly, I've looked at it from +every point of view, and I can't see that there's anything else for it but +this. The first part of this, my going up to London to earn my living, I +can't feel guilty about. + +It seems to me, truly, the only thing to do. I have tried to speak to you +about it on several occasions, but you have always put me off, and, as far +as I can see, you don't feel that there's anything ignominious in my +hanging about a little town like Polchester, doing nothing at all for the +rest of my life. I think my being sent down from Oxford as I was gave you +the idea that I was useless and would never be any good. I'm going to +prove to you you're wrong, and I know I'm right to take it into my own +hands as I'm doing. Give me a little time and you'll see that I'm right. +The other thing is more difficult. I can't expect you to forgive me just +yet, but perhaps, later on, you'll see that it isn't too bad. Annie Hogg, +the daughter of Hogg down in Seatown, is with me, and next week I shall +marry her. + +I have so far done nothing that you need be ashamed of. I love her, but am +not her lover, and she will stay with relations away from me until I marry +her. I know this will seem horrible to you, father, but it is a matter for +my own conscience. I have tried to leave her and could not, but even if I +could I have made her, through my talk, determined to go to London and try +her luck there. She loathes her father and is unhappy at home. I cannot +let her go up to London without any protection, and the only way I can +protect her is by marrying her. + +She is a fine woman, father, fine and honourable and brave. Try to think +of her apart from her father and her surroundings. She does not belong to +them, truly she does not. In all these months she has not tried to +persuade me to a mean and shabby thing. She is incapable of any meanness. +In all this business my chief trouble is the unhappiness that this will +bring you. You will think that this is easy to say when it has made no +difference to what I have done. But all the same it is true, and perhaps +later on, when you have got past a little of your anger with me, you will +give me a chance to prove it. I have the promise of some literary work +that should give me enough to live on. I have taken nothing with me; +perhaps mother will pack up my things and send them to me at 5 Parker +Street, St. John's Wood. + +Father, give me a chance to show you that I will make this right.--Your +loving son, + + FALK BRANDON. + + * * * * * + +In the little morning-room to the right at the top of the stairs Joan and +her mother were waiting. Joan was pretending to sew, but her fingers +scarcely moved. Mrs. Brandon was sitting at her writing-table; her ears +were straining for every sound. The sun flooded the room with a fierce +rush of colour, and through the wide-open windows the noises of the town, +cries and children's voices, and the passing of feet on the cobbles came +up. As half-past ten struck the Cathedral bells began to ring for morning +service. + +"Oh, I can't bear those bells," Mrs. Brandon cried. "Shut the windows, +Joan." + +Joan went across and closed them. The bells were suddenly removed, but +seemed to be the more insistent in their urgency because they were shut +away. + +The door was suddenly flung open, and Brandon stood there. + +"Oh, what is it?" Mrs. Brandon cried, starting to her feet. + +He was a man convulsed with anger; she had seen him in these rages before, +when his blue eyes stared with an emptiness of vision and his whole body +seemed to be twisted as though he were trying to climb to some height +whence he might hurl himself down and destroy utterly that upon which he +fell. + +The letter tumbled from his hand. He caught the handle of the door as +though he would tear it from its socket, but his voice, when at last it +came, was quiet, almost his ordinary voice. + +"His name is never to be mentioned in this house again." + +"What has he done?" + +"That's enough. What I say. His name is never to be mentioned again." + +The two women stared at him. He seemed to come down from a great height, +turned and went, very carefully closing the door behind him. + +He had left the letter on the floor. Mrs. Brandon went and picked it up. + +"Oh, mother, what has Falk done?" Joan asked. + +The bells danced all over the room. + +Brandon went downstairs, back into his study, closing his door, shutting +himself in. He stayed in the middle of the room, saying aloud: + +"Never his name again.... Never his name again." The actual sound of the +words echoing back to him lifted him up as though out of very deep water. +Then he was aware, as one is in the first clear moment after a great +shock, of a number of things at the same time. He hated his son because +his son had disgraced him and his name for ever. He loved his son, never +before so deeply and so dearly as now. He was his only son, and there was +none other. His son had gone off with the daughter of the worst publican +in the place, and so had shamed him before them all. Falk (he arrived in +his mind suddenly at the name with a little shiver that hurt horribly) +would never be there any more, would never be about the house, would never +laugh and be angry and be funny any more. (Behind this thought was a long +train of pictures of Falk as a boy, as a baby, as a child, pictures that +he kept back with a great gesture of the will.) In the town they would all +be talking, they were talking already. They must be stopped from talking; +they must not know. He must lie; they must all lie. But how could they be +stopped from knowing when he had gone off with the publican's daughter? +They would all know.... They would laugh...They would laugh. He would +not be able to go down the street without their laughter. + +Dimly on that came a larger question. What had happened lately so that his +whole life had changed? He had been feeling it now for weeks, long before +this terrible blow had fallen, as though he were surrounded by enemies and +mockers and men who wished him ill. Men who wished him ill! Wished HIM +ill! He who had never done any one harm in all his life, who had only +wanted the happiness of others and the good of the place in which he was, +and the Glory of God! God!...His thoughts leapt across a vast gulf. What +was God about, to allow this disaster to fall upon him? When he had served +God so faithfully and had had no thought but for His grandeur? He was in a +new world now, where the rivers, the mountains, the roads, the cities were +new. For years everything had gone well with him, and then, suddenly, at +the lifting of a finger, all had been ill.... + +Through the mist of his thoughts, gradually, like the sun in his strength, +his anger had been rising. Now it flamed forth. At the first it had been +personal anger because his son had betrayed and deceived him--but now, for +a time, Falk was almost forgotten. + +He would show them. They would laugh at him, would they? They would point +at him, would they, as the man whose son had run away with an innkeeper's +daughter? Well, let them point. They would plot to take the power from his +hands, to reduce him to impotence, to make him of no account in the place +where he had ruled for years. He had no doubt, now that he saw farther +into it, that they had persuaded Falk to run away with that girl. It was +the sort of weapon that they would be likely to use, the sort of weapon +that that man, Ronder.... + +At the sudden ringing of that now hated name in his ears he was calm. Yes, +to fight that enemy he needed all his control. How that man would rejoice +at this that had happened! What a victory to him it would seem to be! +Well, it should not be a victory. He began to stride up and down his +study, his head up, his chest out. It was almost as though he were a great +warrior of old, having his armour put on before he went out to the fight-- +the greaves, the breastplate, the helmet, the sword.... + +He would fight to the last drop of blood in his body and beat the pack of +them, and if they thought that this would cause him to hang his head or +hide or go secretly, they should soon see their mistake. + +He suddenly stopped. The pain that sometimes came to his head attacked him +now. For a moment it was so sharp, of so acute an agony, that he almost +staggered and fell. He stood there, his body taut, his hands clenched. It +was like knives driving through his brain; his eyes were filled with blood +so that he could not see. It passed, but he was weak, his knees shook so +that he was compelled to sit down, holding his hands on his knees. Now it +was gone. He could see clearly again. What was it? Imagination, perhaps. +Only the hammering of his heart told him that anything was the matter. He +was a long while there. At last he got up, went into the hall, found his +hat and went out. He crossed the Green and passed through the Cathedral +door. + +He went out instinctively, without any deliberate thought, to the +Cathedral as to the place that would most readily soothe and comfort him. +Always when things went wrong he crossed over to the Cathedral and walked +about there. Matins were just concluded and people were coming out of the +great West door. He went in by the Saint Margaret door, crossed through +the Vestry where Rogers, who had been taking the service, was disrobing, +and climbed the little crooked stairs into the Lucifer Room. A glimpse of +Rogers' saturnine countenance (he knew well enough that Rogers hated him) +stirred some voice to whisper within: "He knows and he's glad." + +The Lucifer Room was a favourite resort of his, favourite because there +was a long bare floor across which he could walk with no furniture to +interrupt him, and because, too, no one ever came there. It was a room in +the Bishop's Tower that had once, many hundreds of years ago, been used by +the monks as a small refectory. Many years had passed now since it had +seen any sort of occupation save that of bats, owls and mice. There was a +fireplace at the far end that had long been blocked up, but that still +showed curious carving, the heads of monkeys and rabbits, winged birds, a +twisting dragon with a long tail, and the figure of a saint holding up a +crucifix. Over the door was an old clock that had long ceased to tell the +hours; this had a strangely carved wood canopy. Two little windows with +faint stained glass gave an obscure light. The subjects of these windows +were confused, but the old colours, deep reds and blues, blended with a +rich glow that no modern glass could obtain. The ribs and bosses of the +vaulting of the room were in faded colours and dull gold. In one corner of +the room was an old, dusty, long-neglected harmonium. Against the wall +were hanging some wooden figures, large life-sized saints, two male and +two female, once outside the building, painted on the wood in faded +crimson and yellow and gold. Much of the colour had been worn away with +rain and wind, but two of the faces were still bright and stared with a +gentle fixed gaze out into the dim air. Two old banners, torn and thin, +flapped from one of the vaultings. The floor was worn, and creaked with +every step. As Brandon pushed back the heavy door and entered, some bird +in a distant corner flew with a frightened stir across to the window. +Occasionally some one urged that steps should be taken to renovate the +place and make some use of it, but nothing was ever done. Stories +connected with it had faded away; no one now could tell why it was called +the Lucifer Room--and no one cared. + +Its dimness and shadowed coloured light suited Brandon to-day. He wanted +to be where no one could see him, where he could gather together the +resistance with which to meet the world. He paced up and down, his hands +behind his back; he fancied that the old saints looked at him with kindly +affection. + +And now, for a moment, all his pride and anger were gone, and he could +think of nothing but his love for his son. He had an impulse that almost +moved him to hurry home, to take the next train up to London, to find +Falk, to take him in his arms and forgive him. He saw again and again that +last meeting that they had had, when Falk had kissed him. He knew now what +that had meant. After all, the boy was right. He had been in the wrong to +have kept him here, doing nothing. It was fine of the boy to take things +into his own hands, to show his independence and to fight for his own +individuality. It was what he himself would have done if--then the thought +of Annie Hogg cut across his tenderness and behind Annie her father, that +fat, smiling, red-faced scoundrel, the worst villain in the town. At the +sudden realisation that there was now a link between himself and that man, +and that that link had been forged by his own son, tenderness and +affection fled. He could only entertain one emotion at a time, and +immediately he was swept into such a fury that he stopped in his walk, +lifted his head, and cursed Falk. For that he would never forgive him, for +the public shame and disgrace that he had brought upon the Brandon name, +upon his mother and his sister, upon the Cathedral, upon all authority and +discipline and seemliness in the town. + +He suffered then the deepest agony that perhaps in all his life he had +ever known. There was no one there to see. He sank down upon the wooden +coping that protruded from the old wall and hid his face in his hands as +though he were too deeply ashamed to encounter even the dim faces of the +old wooden figures. + +There was a stir in the room; the little door opened and closed; the bird, +with a flutter of wings, flew back to its corner. Brandon looked up and +saw a faint shadow of a man. He rose and took some steps towards the door, +then he stopped because be saw that the man was Davray the painter. + +He had never spoken to this man, but be had hated everything that he had +ever heard about him. In the first place, to be an artist was, in the +Archdeacon's mind, synonymous with being a loose liver and an atheist. +Then this fellow was, as all the town knew, a drunkard, an idler, a +dissolute waster who had brought nothing upon Polchester but disgrace. Had +Brandon had his way he would, long ago, have had him publicly expelled and +forbidden ever to return. The thought that this man should be in the +Cathedral at all was shocking to him and, in his present mood, quite +intolerable. He saw, dim though the light was, that the man was drunk now. + +Davray lurched forward a step, then said huskily: + +"Well, so your fine son's run away with Hogg's pretty daughter." + +The sense that he had had already that his son's action, had suddenly +bound him into company with all the powers of evil and destruction rose to +its full height at the sound of the man's voice; but with it rose, too, +his self-command. The very disgust with which Davray filled him +contributed to his own control and dignity. + +"You should feel ashamed, sir," he said quietly, standing still where be +was, "to be in that condition in this building. Or are you too drunk to +know where you are?" + +"That's all right, Archdeacon," Davray said, laughing. "Of course I'm +drunk. I generally am--and that's my affair. But I'm not so drunk as not +to know where I am and not to know who you are and what's happened to you. +I know all those things, I'm glad to say. Perhaps I am a little ahead of +yourself in that. Perhaps you don't know yet what your young hopeful has +been doing." + +Brandon was as still as one of the old wooden saints. + +"Then if you are sober enough to know where you are, leave this place and +do not return to it until you are in a fit state." + +"Fit! I like that." The sense that he was alone now for the first time in +his life with the man whom he had so long hated infuriated Davray. "Fit? +Let me tell you this, old cock, I'm twice as fit to be here as you're ever +likely to be. Though I have been drinking and letting myself go, I'm +fitter to be here than you are, you stuck-up, pompous fool." + +Brandon did not stir. + +"Go home!" he said; "go home! Recover your senses and ask God's +forgiveness." + +"God's forgiveness!" Davray moved a step forward as though he would +strike. Brandon made no movement. "That's like your damned cheek. Who +wants forgiveness as you do? Ask this Cathedral--ask it whether I have not +loved it, adored it, worshipped it as I've worshipped no woman. Ask it +whether I have not been faithful, drunkard and sot as I am. And ask it +what it thinks of you--of your patronage and pomposity and conceit. When +have you thought of the Cathedral and its beauty, and not always of +yourself and your grandeur?...Why, man, we're sick of you, all of us +from the top man in the place to the smallest boy. And the Cathedral is +sick of you and your damned conceit, and is going to get rid of you, too, +if you won't go of yourself. And this is the first step. Your son's gone +with a whore to London, and all the town's laughing at you." + +Brandon did not flinch. The man was close to him; he could smell his +drunken breath--but behind his words, drunken though they might be, was a +hatred so intense, so deep, so real, that it was like a fierce physical +blow. Hatred of himself. He had never conceived in all his life that any +one hated him--and this man had hated him for years, a man to whom he had +never spoken before to-day. + +Davray, as was often his manner, seemed suddenly to sober. He stood aside +and spoke more quietly, almost without passion. + +"I've been waiting for this moment for years," he said; "you don't know +how I've watched you Sunday after Sunday strutting about this lovely +place, happy in your own conceit. Your very pride has been an insult to +the God you pretend to serve. I don't know whether there's a God or no-- +there can't be, or things wouldn't happen as they do--but there _is_ +this place, alive, wonderful, beautiful, triumphant, and you've dared to +put yourself above it.... + +"I could have shouted for joy last night when I heard what your young +hopeful had done. 'That's right,' I said; 'that'll bring him down a bit. +That'll teach him modesty.' I had an extra drink on the strength of it. +I've been hanging about all the morning to get a chance of speaking to +you. I followed you up here. You're one of us now, Archdeacon. You're down +on the ground at last, but not so low as you will be before the Cathedral +has finished with you." + +"Go," said Brandon, "or, House of God though this is, I'll throw you out." + +"I'll go. I've said my say for the moment. But we'll meet again, never +fear. You're one of us now--one of us. Good-night." + +He passed through the door, and the dusky room was still again as though +no one had been there.... + +There is an old German tale, by De la Motte Fouque, I fancy, of a young +traveller who asks his way to a certain castle, his destination. He is +given his directions, and his guide tells him that the journey will be +easy enough until he reaches a small wood through which he must pass. This +wood will be dark and tangled and bewildering, but more sinister than +those obstacles will be the inhabitants of it who, evil, malign, foul and +bestial, devote their lives to the destruction of all travellers who +endeavour to reach the castle on the hill beyond. And the tale tells how +the young traveller, proud of his youth and strength, confident in the +security of his armour, nevertheless, when he crosses the dark border of +the wood, feels as though his whole world has changed, as though +everything in which he formerly trusted is of no value, as though the very +weapons that were his chief defence now made him most defenceless. He has +in the heart of that wood many perilous adventures, but worst of them all, +when he is almost at the end of his strength, is the sudden conviction +that he has himself changed, and is himself become one of the foul, +gibbering, half-visioned monsters by whom he is surrounded. + +As Brandon left the Cathedral there was something of that strange sense +with him, a sense that had come to him first, perhaps, in its dimmest and +most distant form, on the day of the circus and the elephant, and that +now, in all its horrible vigour and confidence, was there close at his +elbow. He had always held himself immaculate; he had come down to his +fellow-men, loving them, indeed, but feeling that they were of some other +clay than his own, and that through no especial virtue of his, but simply +because God has so wished it. And now he had stood, and a drunken wastrel +had cursed him and told him that he was detested by all men and that they +waited for his downfall. + +It was those last words of Davray's that rang in his ears: "You're one of +us now. You're one of us." Drunkard and wastrel though the man was, those +words could not be forgotten, would never be forgotten again. + +With his head up, his shoulders back, he returned to his house. + +The maid met him in the hall. "There's a man waiting for you in the study, +sir." + +"Who is it?" + +"Mr. Samuel Hogg, sir." + +Brandon looked at the girl fixedly, but not unkindly. + +"Why did you let him in, Gladys?" + +"He wouldn't take no denial, sir. Mrs. Brandon was out and Miss Joan. He +said you were expecting him and 'e knew you'd soon be back." + +"You should never let any one wait, Gladys, unless I have told you +beforehand." + +"No, sir." + +"Remember that in future, will you?" + +"Yes, sir. I'm sure I'm sorry, sir, but----" + +Brandon went into his study. + +Hogg was standing beside the window, a faded bowler in his hand. He turned +when he heard the opening of the door; he presented to the Archdeacon a +face of smiling and genial, if coarsened, amiability. + +He was wearing rough country clothes, brown knickerbockers and gaiters, +and looked something like a stout and seedy gamekeeper fond of the bottle. + +"I'm sure you'll forgive this liberty I've taken, Archdeacon," he said, +opening his mouth very wide as he smiled--"waiting for you like this; but +the matter's a bit urgent." + +"Yes?" said Brandon, not moving from the door. + +"I've come in a friendly spirit, although there are men who might have +come otherwise. You won't deny that, considering the circumstances of the +case." + +"I'll be grateful to you if you'll explain," said Brandon, "as quickly as +possibly your business." + +"Why, of course," said Hogg, coming away from the window. "Why, of course, +Archdeacon. Now, whoever would have thought that we, you and me, would be +in the same box? And that's putting it a bit mild considering that it's my +daughter that your son has run away with." + +Brandon said nothing, not, however, removing his eyes from Hogg's face. + +Hogg was all amiable geniality. "I know it must be against the grain, +Archdeacon, having to deal with the likes of me. You've always counted +yourself a strike above us country-folk, haven't you, and quite natural +too. But, again, in the course of nature we've both of us had children and +that, as it turns out, is where we finds our common ground, so to speak-- +you a boy and me a lovely girl. _Such_ a lovely girl, Archdeacon, as +it's natural enough your son should want to run away with." + +Brandon went across to his writing-table and sat down. + +"Mr. Hogg," he said, "it is true that I had a letter from my son this +morning telling me that he had gone up to London with your daughter and +was intending to marry her as soon as possible. You will not expect that I +should approve of that step. My first impulse was, naturally enough, to go +at once to London and to prevent his action at all costs. On thinking it +over, however, I felt that as he had run away with the girl the least that +he could now do was to marry her. + +"I'm sure you will understand my feeling when I say that in taking this +step I consider that he has disgraced himself and his family. He has cut +himself off from his family irremediably. I think that really that is all +that I have to say." + +Behind Hogg's strange little half-closed eyes some gleam of anger and +hatred passed. There was no sign of it in the geniality of his open smile. + +"Why, certainly, Archdeacon, I can understand that you wouldn't care for +what he has done. But boys will be boys, won't they? We've both been boys +in our time, I daresay. You've looked at it from your point of view, and +that's natural enough. But human nature's human nature, and you must +forgive me if I look at it from mine. She's my only girl, and a good girl +she's been to me, keepin' herself _to_ herself and doing her work and +helping me wonderful. Well, your Young spark comes along, likes the look +of her and ruins her...." + +The Archdeacon made some movement---- + +"Oh, you may say what you like, Archdeacon, and he may tell you what +_he_ likes, but you and I know what happens when two young things +with hot blood gets together and there's nobody by. They may _mean_ +to be straight enough, but before they knows where they are, nature's took +hold of them, and there they are.... But even supposin' that 'asn't +happened, I don't know as I'm much better off. That girl was the very prop +of my business; she's gone, never to return, accordin' to her own account. +As to this marryin' business, that may seem to you, Archdeacon, to improve +things, but I'm not so sure that it does after all. You may be all very +'igh and mighty in your way, but I'm thinkin' of myself and the business. +What good does my girl marryin' your son do to me? That's what I want to +know." + +Brandon's hands were clenched upon the table. Nevertheless he still spoke +quietly. + +"I don't think, Mr. Hogg," he said, "that there's anything to be gained by +our discussing this just now. I have only this morning heard of it. You +may be assured that justice will be done, absolute justice, to your +daughter and yourself." + +Hogg moved to the door. + +"Why, certainly, Archdeacon. It is a bit early to discuss things. I +daresay we shall be havin' many a talk about it all before it's over. I'm +sure I only want to be friendly in the matter. As I said before, we're in +the same box, you and me, so to speak. That ought to make us tender +towards one another, oughtn't it? One losing his son and the other his +daughter. + +"Such a good girl as she was too. Certainly I'll be going, Archdeacon; +leave you to think it over a bit. I daresay you'll see my point of view in +time." + +"I think, Mr. Hogg, there's nothing to be gained by your coming here. You +shall hear from me." + +"Well, as to that, Archdeacon," Hogg turned from the half-opened door, +smiling, "that's as may be. One can get further sometimes in a little talk +than in a dozen letters. And I'm really not much of a letter-writer. But +we'll see 'ow things go on. Good-evenin'." + +The talk had lasted but five minutes, and every piece of furniture in the +room, the chairs, the table, the carpet, the pictures, seemed to have upon +it some new stain of disfigurement. Even the windows were dimmed. + +Brandon sat staring in front of him. The door opened again and his wife +came in. + +"That was Samuel Hogg who has just left you?" + +"Yes," he said. + +He looked across the room at her and was instantly surprised by the +strangest feeling. He was not, in his daily life, conscious of "feelings" +of any sort--that was not his way. But the events of the past two days +seemed to bring him suddenly into a new contact with real life, as though, +having lived in a balloon all this time, he had been suddenly bumped out +of it with a jerk and found Mother Earth with a terrible bang. He would +have told you a week ago that there was nothing about his wife that he did +not know and nothing about his own feelings towards her--and yet, after +all, the most that he had known was to have no especial feelings towards +her of any kind. + +But to-day had been beyond possible question the most horrible day he had +ever known, and it might be that the very horror of it was to force him to +look upon everything on earth with new eyes. It had at least the immediate +effect now of showing his wife to him as part of himself, as some one, +therefore, hurt as he was, smirched and soiled and abused as he, needing +care and kindness as he had never known her to need it before. It was a +new feeling for him, a new tenderness. + +He greeted and welcomed it as a relief after the horror of Hogg's +presence. Poor Amy! She was in as bad a way as he now--they were at last +in the same box. + +"Yes," he said, "that was Hogg." + +Looking at her now in this new way, he was also able to see that she +herself was changed. She figured definitely as an actor now with an odd +white intensity in her face, with some mysterious purpose in her eyes, +with a resolve in the whole poise of her body that seemed to add to her +height. + +"Well," she said, "what train are you taking up to London?" + +"What train?" he repeated after her. + +"Yes, to see Falk." + +"I am not going to see Falk." + +"You're not going up to him?" + +"Why should I go?" + +"Why should you go? _You_ can ask me that?...To stop this terrible +marriage." + +"I don't intend to stop it." + +There was a pause. She seemed to summon every nerve in her body to her +control. + +The twitching of her fingers against her dress was her only movement. + +"Would you please tell me what you mean to do? After all, I am his +mother." + +The tenderness that he had felt at first sight of her was increasing so +strangely that it was all he could do not to go over to her. But his +horror of any demonstration kept him where he was. + +"Amy, dear," he said, "I've had a dreadful day--in every way a terrible +day. I haven't had time, as things have gone, to think things out. I want +to be fair. I want to do the right thing. I do indeed. I don't think +there's anything to be gained by going up to London. One thing only now +I'm clear about. He's got to marry the girl now he's gone off with her. To +do him justice he intends to do that. He says that he has done her no +harm, and we must take his word for that. Falk has been many things-- +careless, reckless, selfish, but never in all his life dishonourable. If I +went up now we should quarrel, and perhaps something irreparable would +occur. Even though he was persuaded to return, the mischief is done. He +must be just to the girl. Every one in the town knows by now that she went +with him--her father has been busy proclaiming the news even though there +has been no one else." + +Mrs. Brandon said nothing. She had made in herself the horrible discovery, +after reading Falk's letter, that her thoughts were not upon Falk at all, +but upon Morris. Falk had flouted her; not only had he not wanted her, but +he had gone off with a common girl of the town. She had suddenly no +tenderness for him, no anger against him, no thought of him except that +his action had removed the last link that held her. + +She was gazing now at Morris with all her eyes. Her brain was fastened +upon him with an intensity sufficient almost to draw him, hypnotised, +there to her feet. Her husband, her home, Polchester, these things were +like dim shadows. + +"So you will do nothing?" she said. + +"I must wait," he said, "I know that when I act hastily I act badly...." +He paused, looked at her doubtfully, then with great hesitation went on: +"We are together in this, Amy. I've been--I've been--thinking of myself +and my work perhaps too much in the past. We've got to see this through +together." + +"Yes," she answered, "together." But she was thinking of Morris. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +The Wind Flies Over the House + + + +Later, that day, she went from the house. It was a strange evening. Two +different weathers seemed to have met over the Polchester streets. First +there was the deep serene beauty of the May day, pale blue faintly fading +into the palest yellow, the world lying like an enchanted spirit asleep +within a glass bell, reflecting the light from the shining surface that +enfolded it. In this light houses, grass, cobbles lay as though stained by +a painter's brush, bright colours like the dazzling pigment of a wooden +toy, glittering under the shining sky. + +This was a normal enough evening for the Polchester May, but across it, +shivering it into fragments, broke a stormy and blustering wind, a wind +that belonged to stormy January days, cold and violent, with the hint of +rain in its murmuring voice. It tore through the town, sometimes carrying +hurried and, as it seemed, terrified clouds with it; for a while the May +light would be hidden, the air would be chill, a few drops like flashes of +glass would fall, gleaming against the bright colours--then suddenly the +sky would be again unchallenged blue, there would be no cloud on the +horizon, only the pavements would glitter as though reflecting a glassy +dome. Sometimes it would be more than one cloud that the wind would carry +on its track--a company of clouds; they would appear suddenly above the +horizon, like white-faced giants peering over the world's rim, then in a +huddled confusion they would gather together, then start their flight, +separating, joining, merging, dwindling and expanding, swallowing up the +blue, threatening to encompass the pale saffron of the lower sky, then +vanishing with incredible swiftness, leaving warmth and colour in their +train. + +Amy Brandon did not see the enchanted town. She heard, as she left the +house, the clocks striking half-past six. Some regular subconscious self, +working with its accustomed daily duty, murmured to her that to-night her +husband was dining at the Conservative Club and Joan was staying on to +supper at the Sampsons' after the opening tennis party of the season. No +one would need her--as so often in the past no one had needed her. But it +was her unconscious self that whispered this to her; in the wild stream +into whose current during these last strange months she had flung herself +she was carried along she knew not, she cared not, whither. + +Enough for her that she was free now to encompass her desire, the only +dominating, devastating desire that she had ever known in all her dead, +well-ordered life. But it was not even with so active a consciousness as +this that she thought this out. She thought out nothing save that she must +see Morris, be with Morris, catch from Morris that sense of appeasement +from the torture of hunger unsatisfied that never now left her. + +In the last weeks she had grown so regardless of the town's opinion that +she did not care how many people saw her pass Morris' door. She had, +perhaps, been always regardless, only in the dull security of her life +there had been no need to regard them. She despised them all; she had +always despised them, for the deference and admiration that they paid her +husband if for no other reason. Despised them too, it might be, because +they had not seen more in herself, had thought her the dull, lifeless +nonentity in whose soul no fires had ever burned. + +She had never chattered nor gossiped with them, did not consider gossip a +factor in any one's day; she had never had the least curiosity about any +one else, whether about life or character or motive. + +There is no egoist in the world so complete as the disappointed woman +without imagination. + +She hurried through the town as though she were on a business of the +utmost urgency; she saw nothing and she heard nothing. She did not even +see Miss Milton sitting at her half-opened window enjoying the evening +air. + +Morris himself opened the door. He was surprised when he saw her; when he +had closed the door and helped her off with her coat he said as they +walked into the drawing-room: + +"Is there anything the matter?" + +She saw at once that the room was cheerless and deserted. + +"Is Miss Burnett here?" she asked. + +"No. She went off to Rafiel for a week's holiday. I'm being looked after +by the cook." + +"It's cold." She drew her shoulders and arms together, shivering. + +"Yes. It _is_ cold. It's these showers. Shall I light the fire?" + +"Yes, do." + +He bent down, putting a match to the paper; then when the fire blazed he +pushed the sofa forwards. + +"Now sit down and tell me what's the matter." + +She could see that he was extremely nervous. + +"Have you heard nothing?" + +"No." + +She laughed bitterly. "I thought all the town knew by this time." + +"Knew what?" + +"Falk has run away to London with the daughter of Samuel Hogg." + +"Samuel Hogg?" + +"Yes, the man of the 'Dog and Pilchard' down in Seatown." + +"Run away with her?" + +"Yesterday. He sent us a letter saying that he had gone up to London to +earn his own living, had taken this girl with him, and would marry her +next week." + +Morris was horrified. + +"Without a word of warning? Without speaking to you? Horrible! The +daughter of that man.... I know something about him...the worst man in the +place." + +Then followed a long silence. The effect on Morris was as it had been on +Mrs. Brandon--the actual deed was almost lost sight of in the sudden light +that it threw on his passion. From the very first the most appealing +element of her attraction to him had been her loneliness, the neglect from +which she suffered, the need she had of comfort. + +He saw her as a woman who, for twenty years, had had no love, although in +her very nature she had hungered for it; and if she had not been treated +with actual cruelty, at least she had been so basely neglected that +cruelty was not far away. It was not true to say that during these months +he had grown to hate Brandon, but he had come, more and more, to despise +and condemn him. The effeminacy in his own nature had from the first both +shrunk from and been attracted by the masculinity in Brandon. + +He could have loved that man, but as the situation had forbidden that, his +feeling now was very near to hate. + +Then, as the weeks had gone by, Mrs. Brandon had made it clear enough to +him that Falk was all that she had left to her--not very much to her even +there, perhaps, but something to keep her starved heart from dying. And +now Falk was gone, gone in the most brutal, callous way. She had no one in +the world left to her but himself. The rush of tenderness and longing to +be good to her that now overwhelmed him was so strong and so sudden that +it was with the utmost difficulty that he had held himself from going to +the sofa beside her. + +She looked so weak there, so helpless, so gentle. + +"Amy," he said, "I will do anything in the world that is in my power." + +She was trembling, partly with genuine emotion, partly with cold, partly +with the drama of the situation. + +"No," she said, "I don't want to do a thing that's going to involve you. +You must be left out of this. It is something that I must carry through by +myself. It was wrong of me, I suppose, to come to you, but my first +thought was that I must have companionship. I was selfish----" + +"No," he broke in, "you were not selfish. I am prouder that you came to me +than I can possibly say. That is what I'm here for. I'm your friend. You +know, after all these months, that I am. And what is a friend for?" Then, +as though he felt that he was advancing too dangerously close to emotion, +he went on more quietly: + +"Tell me--if it isn't impertinent of me to ask--what is your husband doing +about it?" + +"Doing? Nothing." + +"Nothing?" + +"No. I thought that he would go up to London and see Falk, but he doesn't +feel that that is necessary. He says that, as Falk has run away with the +girl, the most decent thing that he can do is to marry her. He seems very +little upset by it. He is a most curious man. After all these years, I +don't understand him at all." + +Morris went on hesitatingly. "I feel guilty myself. Weeks ago I overheard +gossip about your son and some girl. I wondered then whether I ought to +say something to you. But it's so difficult in these cases to know what +one ought to do. There's so much gossip in these little Cathedral towns. I +thought about it a good deal. Finally, I decided that it wasn't my place +to meddle." + +"I heard nothing," she answered. "It's always the family that hears the +talk last. Perhaps my husband's right. Perhaps there is nothing to be +done. I see now that Falk never cared anything for any of us. I cheated +myself. I had to cheat myself, otherwise I don't know what I'd have done. +And now his doing this has made me suspicious of everything and of every +one. Yes, even of a friendship like ours--the greatest thing in my life-- +now--the only thing in my life." + +Her voice trembled and dropped. But still he would not let himself pass on +to that other ground. "Is there _nothing_ I can do?" he asked. "I +suppose it would do no good if I were to go up to London and see him? I +knew him a little--" + +Vehemently she shook her head. + +"You're not to be involved in this. At least I can do that much--keep you +out of it." + +"How is he going to live, then?" + +"He talks about writing. He's utterly confident, of course. He always has +been. Looking back now, I despise myself for ever imagining that _I_ +was of any use to him. I see now that he never needed me--never at all." + +Suddenly she looked across at him sharply. + +"How is your sister-in-law?" His colour rose. + +"My sister-in-law?" + +"Yes." + +"She isn't well." + +"What--?" + +"It's hard to say. The doctor looked at her and said she needed quiet and +must go to the sea. It's her nerves." + +"Her nerves?" + +"Yes, they got very queer. She's been sleeping badly." + +"You quarrelled." + +"She and I?--yes." + +"What about?" + +"Oh, I don't know. She's getting a little too much for me, I think." + +She looked him in the face. + +"No, you know it isn't that. You quarrelled about me." + +He said nothing. + +"You quarrelled about me," she repeated. "She always disliked me from the +beginning." + +"No." + +"Oh, yes, she did. Of course I saw that. She was jealous of me. She saw, +more quickly than any one else, how much--how much we were going to mean +to one another. Speak the truth. You know that is the best." + +"She didn't understand," Morris answered slowly. "She's stupid in some +things." + +"So I've been the cause of your quarrelling, of your losing the only +friend you had in your life?" + +"No, not of my losing it. I haven't lost her. Our relationship has +shifted, that's all." + +"No. No. I know it is so. I've taken away the only person near you." + +And suddenly turning from him to the back of the sofa, hiding her face in +her hands, she broke into passionate crying. + +He stood for a moment, taut, controlled, as though he was fighting his +last little desperate battle. Then he was beaten. He knelt down on the +floor beside the sofa. He touched her hair, then her cheek. She made a +little movement towards him. He put his arms around her. + +"Don't cry. Don't cry. I can't bear that. You mustn't say that you've +taken anything from me. It isn't true. You've given me everything... +everything. Why should we struggle any longer? Why shouldn't we take what +has been given to us? Your husband doesn't care. I haven't anybody. Has +God given me so much that I should miss this? And has He put it in our +hearts if He didn't mean us to take it? I love you. I've loved you since +first I set eyes on you. I can't keep away from you any longer. It's +keeping away from myself. We're one. We are one another--not alone, +either of us--any more...." + +She turned towards him. He drew her closer and closer to him. With a +little sigh of happiness and comfort she yielded to him. + + * * * * * + +There was only one cloud in the dim green sky, a cloud orange and crimson, +shaped like a ship. As the sun was setting, a little wind stirred, the +faint aftermath of the storm of the day, and the cloud, now all crimson, +passed over the town and died in fading ribbons of gold and orange in the +white sky of the far horizon. + +Only Miss Milton, perhaps, among all the citizens of the town, waiting +patiently behind her open window, watched its career. + + + + +Chapter IX + +The Quarrel + + + +Every one has known, at one time or another in life, that strange +unexpected calm that always falls like sudden snow on a storm-tossed +country, after some great crisis or upheaval. The blow has seemed so +catastrophic that the world must be changed with the force of its fall-- +but the world is _not_ changed; hours pass and days go by, and no one +seems to be aware that anything has occurred...it is only when months +have gone, and perhaps years, that one looks back and sees that it was, +after all, on such and such a day that life was altered, values shifted, +the face of the world turned to a new angle. + +This is platitudinous, but platitudes are not platitudes when we first +make our personal experience of them. There seemed nothing platitudinous +to Brandon in his present experiences. The day on which he had received +Falk's letter had seemed to fling him neck and crop into a new world--a +world dim and obscure and peopled with new and terrifying devils. The +morning after, he was clear again, and it was almost as though nothing at +all had occurred. He went about the town, and everybody behaved in a +normal manner. No sign of those strange menacing figures, the drunken +painter, the sinister, smiling Hogg; every one as usual. + +Ryle complacent and obedient; Bentinck-Major officious but subservient; +Mrs. Combermere jolly; even, as he fancied, Foster a little more amiable +than usual. It was for this open, outside world that he had now for many +years been living; it was not difficult to tell himself that things here +were unchanged. Because he was no psychologist, he took people as he found +them; when they smiled they were pleased and when they frowned they were +angry. + +Because there was a great deal of pressing business he pushed aside Falk's +problem. It was there, it was waiting for him, but perhaps time would +solve it. + +He concentrated himself with a new energy, a new self-confidence, upon +the Cathedral, the Jubilee, the public life of the town. + +Nevertheless, that horrible day had had its effect upon him. Three days +after Falk's escape he was having breakfast alone with Joan. + +"Mother has a headache," Joan said. "She's not coming down." + +He nodded, scarcely looking up from his paper. + +In a little while she said: "What are you doing to-day, daddy? I'm very +sorry to bother you, but I'm housekeeping to-day, and I have to arrange +about meals----" + +"I'm lunching at Carpledon," he said, putting his paper down. + +"With the Bishop? How nice! I wish I were. He's an old dear." + +"He wants to consult me about some of the Jubilee services," Brandon said +in his public voice. + +"Won't Canon Ryle mind that?" + +"I don't care if he does. It's his own fault, for not managing things +better." + +"I think the Bishop must be very lonely out there. He hardly ever comes +into Polchester now. It's because of his rheumatism, I suppose. Why +doesn't he resign, daddy?" + +"He's wanted to, a number of times. But he's very popular. People don't +want him to go." + +"I don't wonder." Joan's eyes sparkled. "Even if one never saw him at all +it would be better than somebody else. He's _such_ an old darling." + +"Well, I don't believe myself in men going on when they're past their +work. However, I hear he's going to insist on resigning at the end of this +year." + +"How old is he, daddy?" + +"Eighty-seven." + +There was always a tinge of patronage in the Archdeacon's voice when he +spoke of his Bishop. He knew that he was a saint, a man whose life had +been of so absolute a purity, a simplicity, an unfaltering faith and +courage, that there were no flaws to be found in him anywhere. It was +possibly this very simplicity that stirred Brandon's patronage. After all, +we were living in a workaday world, and the Bishop's confidence in every +man's word and trust in every man's honour had been at times a little +ludicrous. Nevertheless, did any one dare to attack the Bishop, he was +immediately his most ardent and ferocious defender. + +It was only when the Bishop was praised that he felt that a word or two of +caution was necessary. + +However, he was just now not thinking of the Bishop; he was thinking of +his daughter. As he looked across the table at her he wondered. What had +Falk's betrayal of the family meant to her? Had she been fond of him? She +had given no sign at all as to how it had affected her. She had her +friends and her life in the town, and her family pride like the rest of +them. How pretty she looked this morning! He was suddenly aware of the +love and devotion that she had given him for years and the small return +that he had made. Not that he had been a bad father--he hurriedly +reassured himself; no one could accuse him of that. But he had been busy, +preoccupied, had not noticed her as he might have done. She was a woman +now, with a new independence and self-assurance! And yet such a child at +the same time! He recalled the evening in the cab when she had held his +hand. How few demands she ever made upon him; how little she was ever in +the way! + +He went back to his paper, but found that he could not fix his attention +upon it. When he had finished his breakfast he went across to her. She +looked up at him, smiling. He put his hand on her shoulder. + +"Um--yes.... And what are you going to do to-day, dear?" + +"I've heaps to do. There's the Jubilee work-party in the morning. Then +there are one or two things in the town to get for mother." She paused. + +He hesitated, then said: + +"Has any one--have your friends in the town--said anything about Falk?" + +She looked up at him. + +"No, daddy--not a word." + +Then she added, as though to herself, with a little sigh, "Poor Falk!" + +He took his hand from her shoulder. + +"So you're sorry for him, are you?" he said angrily. + +"Not sorry, exactly," she answered slowly. "But--you will forgive him, +won't you?" + +"You can be sure," Brandon said, "that I shall do what is right." + +She sprang up and faced him. + +"Daddy, now that Falk is gone, it's more necessary than ever for you to +realise _me_." + +"Realise you?" he said, looking at her. + +"Yes, that I'm a woman now and not a child any longer. You don't realise +it a bit. I said it to mother months ago, and told her that now I could do +all sorts of things for her. She _has_ let me do a few things, but +she hasn't changed to me, not been any different, or wanted me any more +than she did before. But you must. You _must_, daddy. I can help you +in lots of ways. I can----" + +"What ways?" he asked her, smiling. + +"I don't know. You must find them out. What I mean is that you've got to +count on me as an element in the family now. You can't disregard me any +more." + +"Have I disregarded you?" + +"Of course you have," she answered, laughing. + +"Well, we'll see," he said. He bent down and kissed her, then left the +room. + +He left to catch the train to Carpledon in a self-satisfied mind. He was +tired, certainly, and had felt ever since the shock of three days back a +certain "warning" sensation that hovered over him rather like hot air, +suggesting that sudden agonizing pain...but so long as the pain did not +come...He had thought, half derisively, of seeing old Puddifoot, even of +having himself overhauled--but Puddifoot was an ass. How could a man who +talked the nonsense Puddifoot did in the Conservative Club be anything of +a doctor? Besides, the man was old. There was a young man now, Newton. But +Brandon distrusted young men. + +He was amused and pleased at the station. He strode up and down the +platform, his hands behind his broad back, his head up, his top-hat +shining, his gaiters fitting superbly his splendid calves. The station- +master touched his hat, smiled, and stayed for a word or two. Very +deferential. Good fellow, Curtis. Knew his business. The little, stout, +rosy-faced fellow who guarded the book-stall touched his hat. Brandon +stopped and looked at the papers. Advertisements already of special +Jubilee supplements--"Life of the Good Queen," "History of the Empire, +1837-1897." Piles of that trashy novel Joan had been talking about, _The +Massarenes_, by Ouida. Pah! Stuff and nonsense. How did people have +time for such things? "Yes, Mr. Waller. Fine day. Very fine May we're +having. Ought to be fine for the Jubilee. Hope so, I'm sure. Disappoint +many people if it's wet...." + +He bought the _Church Times_ and crossed to the side-line. No one +here but a farmer, a country-woman and her little boy. The farmer's side- +face reminded him suddenly of some one. Who was it? That fat cheek, the +faint sandy hair beneath the shabby bowler. He was struck as though, +standing on a tight-rope in mid-air, he felt it quiver beneath him. +Hogg.... He turned abruptly and faced the empty line and the dusty +neglected boarding of a railway-shed. He must not think of that man, must +not allow him to seize his thoughts. Hogg--Davray. Had he dreamt that +horrible scene in the Cathedral? Could that have been? He lifted his hand +and, as it were, tore the scene into pieces and scattered it on the line. +He had command of his thoughts, shutting down one little tight shutter +after another upon the things he did not want to see. _That_ he did +not want to see, did not want to know. + +The little train drew in, slowly, regretfully. Brandon got into the +solitary first-class carriage and buried himself in his paper. Soon, +thanks to his happy gift of attending only to one question at a time, the +subjects that that paper brought up for discussion completely absorbed +him. Anything more absurd than such an argument!--as though the validity +of Baptism did not absolutely depend... + +He was happily lost; the little train steamed out. He saw nothing of the +beautiful country through which they passed--country, on this May +morning, so beautiful in its rich luxuriant security, the fields bending +and dipping to the tree-haunted streams, the hedges running in lines of +blue and dark purple like ribbons to the sky, that, blue-flecked, caught +in light and shadow a myriad pattern as a complement to its own sun-warmed +clouds. Rich and English so utterly that it was almost scornful in its +resentment of foreign interference. In spite of the clouds the air was now +in its mid-day splendour, and the cows, in clusters of brown, dark and +clay-red, sought the cool grey shadows of the hedges. + +The peace of centuries lay upon this land, and the sun with loving hands +caressed its warm flanks as though here, at least, was some one of whom it +might be sure, some one known from old time. + +The little station at Carpledon was merely a wooden shed. Woods running +down the hill threatened to overwhelm it; at its very edge beyond the +line, thick green fields slipped to the shining level waters of the Pol. +Brandon walked up the hill through the wood, past the hedge and on through +the Park to the Palace drive. The sight of that old, red, thick-set +building with its square comfortable windows, its bell-tower, its +dovecots, its graceful, stolid, happy lines, its high old doorway, its +tiled roof rosy-red with age, respectability and comfort, its square +solemn chimneys behind and between whose self-possession the broad +branches of the oaks, older and wiser than the house itself, uplifted +their clustered leaves with the protection of their conscious dignity-- +this house thrilled all that was deepest and most superstitious in his +soul. + +To this building he would bow, to this house surrender. Here was something +that would command all his reverence, a worthy adjunct to the Cathedral +that he loved; without undue pride he must acknowledge to himself that, +had fate so willed it, he would himself have occupied this place with a +worthy and fitting appropriateness. It seemed, indeed, as he pulled the +iron bell and heard its clang deep within the house, that he understood +what it needed so well that it must sigh with a dignified relief when it +saw him approach. + +Appleford the butler, who opened the door, was an old friend of his--an +aged, white-locked man, but dignity itself. + +"His lordship will be down in a moment," he said, showing him into the +library. Some one else was there, his back to the door. He turned round; +it was Ronder. + +When Brandon saw him he had again that sense that came now to him so +frequently, that some plot was in process against him and gradually, step +by step, hedging him in. That is a dangerous sense for any human being to +acquire, but most especially for a man of Brandon's simplicity, almost +naivete of character. + +Ronder! The very last man whom Brandon could bear to see in that place and +at that time! Brandon's visit to-day was not entirely unengineered. To be +honest, he had not spoken quite the truth to his daughter when he had said +that the Bishop had asked him out there for consultation. Himself had +written to the Bishop a very strong letter, emphasising the inadequacy +with which his Jubilee services were being prepared, saying something +about the suitability of Forsyth for the Pybus living, and hinting at +certain carelessnesses in the Chapter "due to new and regrettable +influences." It was in answer to this letter that Ponting, the Resident +Chaplain, had written saying that the Bishop would like to give Brandon +luncheon. It may be said, therefore, that Brandon wished to consult the +Bishop rather than the Bishop Brandon. The Archdeacon had pictured to +himself a cosy _tete-a-tete_ with the Bishop lasting for an hour or +two, and entirely uninterrupted. He flattered himself that he knew his +dear Bishop well enough by this time to deal with him exactly as he ought +to be dealt with. But, for that dealing, privacy was absolutely essential. +Any third person would have been, to the last extent, provoking. Ronder +was disastrous. He instantly persuaded himself, as he looked at that +rubicund and smiling figure, that Ronder had heard of his visit and +determined to be one of the party. He could only have heard of it through +Ponting.... The Archdeacon's fingers twisted within one another as he +considered how pleasant it would be to wring Ponting's long, white and +ecclesiastical neck. + +And, of course, behind all this immediate situation was his sense of the +pleasure and satisfaction that Ronder must be feeling about Falk's +scandal. Licking his thick red lips about it, he must be, watching with +his little fat eyes for the moment when, with his round fat fingers, he +might probe that wound. + +Nevertheless the Archdeacon knew, by this time, Ronder's character and +abilities too well not to realise that he must dissemble. Dissembling was +the hardest thing of all that a man of the Archdeacon's character could be +called upon to perform, but dissemble he must. + +His smile was of a grim kind. + +"Ha! Ronder; didn't expect to see you here." + +"No," said Ronder, coming forward and smiling with the utmost geniality. +"To tell you the truth, I didn't expect to find myself here. It was only +last evening that I got a note from the Bishop asking me to come out to +luncheon to-day. He said that you would be here." + +Oh, so Ponting was not to blame. It was the Bishop himself. Poor old man! +Cowardice obviously, afraid of some of the home-truths that Brandon might +find it his duty to deliver. A coward in his old age.... + +"Very fine day," said Brandon. + +"Beautiful," said Ronder. "Really, looks as though we are going to have +good weather for the Jubilee." + +"Hope we do," said Brandon. "Very hard on thousands of people if it's +wet." + +"Very," said Ronder. "I hope Mrs. Brandon is well." + +"To-day she has a little headache," said Brandon. "But it's really +nothing." + +"Well," said Ronder. "I've been wondering whether there isn't some thunder +in the air. I've been feeling it oppressive myself." + +"It does get oppressive," said Brandon, "this time of the year in +Glebeshire--especially South Glebeshire. I've often noticed it." + +"What we want," said Ronder, "is a good thunderstorm to clear the air." + +"Just what we're not likely to get," said Brandon. "It hangs on for days +and days without breaking." + +"I wonder why that is," said Ronder; "there are no hills round about to +keep it. There's hardly a hill of any size in the whole of South +Glebeshire." + +"Of course, Polchester's in a hollow," said Brandon. "Except for the +Cathedral, of course. I always envy Lady St. Leath her elevation." + +"A fine site, the Castle," said Ronder. "They must get a continual breeze +up there." + +"They do," said Brandon. "Whenever I'm up there there's a wind." + +This most edifying conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the +Reverend Charles Ponting. Mr. Ponting was very long, very thin and very +black, his cadaverous cheeks resembling in their colour nothing so much as +good fountain-pen ink. He spoke always in a high, melancholy and chanting +voice. He was undoubtedly effeminate in his movements, and he had an air +of superior secrecy about the affairs of the Bishop that people sometimes +found very trying. But he was a good man and a zealous, and entirely +devoted to his lord and master. + +"Ha! Archdeacon.... Ha! Canon. His lordship will be down in one moment. He +has asked me to make his apologies for not being here to receive you. He +is just finishing something of rather especial importance." + +The Bishop, however, entered a moment later. He was a little, frail man, +walking with the aid of a stick. He had snow-white hair, rather thick and +long, pale cheeks and eyes of a bright china-blue. He had that quality, +given to only a few in this world of happy mediocrities, of filling, at +once, any room into which he entered with the strength and fragrance of +his spirit. So strong, fearless and beautiful was his soul that it shone +through the frail compass of his body with an unfaltering light. No one +had ever doubted the goodness and splendour of the man's character. Men +might call his body old and feeble and past the work that it was still +called upon to perform. They might speak of him as guileless, as too +innocent of this world's slippery ways, as trusting where no child of six +years of age would have trusted; these things might have been, and were, +said, but no man, woman, nor child, looking upon him, hesitated to realise +that here was some one who had walked and talked with God and in whom +there was no shadow of deceit nor evil thought. Old Glasgow Parmiter, the +lawyer, the wickedest old man Polchester had ever known, said once of him, +"If there's a hell, I suppose I'm going to it, and I'm sure I don't care. +There may be one and there may not. I know there's a heaven. Purcell lives +there." + +His voice, which was soft and strong, had at its heart a tiny stammer +which came out now and then with a hesitating, almost childish, charm. As +he stood there, leaning on his stick, smiling at them, there did seem a +great deal of the child about him, and Brandon, Ponting and Ronder +suddenly seemed old, wicked and soiled in the world's ways. + +"Please forgive me," he said, "for not being down when you came. I move +slowly now.... Luncheon is ready, I know. Shall we go in?" + +The four men crossed the stone-flagged hall into the diningroom where +Appleford stood, devoutly, as one about to perform a solemn rite. The +dining-room was high-ceilinged with a fireplace of old red brick fronted +with black oak beams. The walls were plain whitewash, and they carried +only one picture, a large copy of Duerer's "Knight and the Devil." The +high, broad windows looked out on to the sloping lawn whose green now +danced and sparkled under the sun. The trees that closed it in were purple +shadowed. + +They sat, clustered together, at the end of a long oak refectory table. +The Bishop himself was a teetotaler, but there was good claret and, at the +end, excellent port. The only piece of colour on the table was a bowl of +dark-blue glass piled with fruit. The only ornament in the room was a +beautifully carved silver crucifix on the black oak mantelpiece. The sun +danced across the stained floor with every pattern and form of light. + +Brandon could not remember a more unpleasant meal in that room; he could +not, indeed, remember ever having had an unpleasant meal there before. The +Bishop talked, as he always did, in a most pleasant and easy fashion. He +talked about the nectarines and plums that were soon to glorify his garden +walls, about the pears and apples in his orchard, about the jokes that old +Puddifoot made when he came over and examined his rheumatic limbs. He +gently chaffed Ponting about his punctuality, neatness and general dislike +of violent noises, and he bade Appleford to tell the housekeeper, Mrs. +Brenton, how especially good to-day was the fish souffle. All this was all +it had ever been; nothing could have been easier and more happy. But on +other days it had always been Brandon who had thrown back the ball for the +Bishop to catch. Whoever the other guest might be, it was always Brandon +who took the lead, and although he might be a little ponderous and slow in +movement, he supplied the Bishop's conversational needs quite adequately. + +And to-day it was Ronder; from the first, without any ostentation or +presumption, with the utmost naturalness, he led the field. To understand +the full truth of this occasion it must be known that Mr. Ponting had, for +a considerable number of years past, cherished a deep but private +detestation of the Archdeacon. It was hard to say wherein that hatred had +had it inception--probably in some old, long-forgotten piece of cheerful +patronage on Brandon's part; Mr. Ponting was of those who consider and +dwell and dwell again, and he had, by this time, dwelt upon the Archdeacon +so long and so thoroughly that he knew and resented the colour of every +one of the Archdeacon's waistcoat buttons. He was, perhaps, quick to +perceive to-day that a mightier than the Archdeacon was here; or it may +have been that he was well aware of what had been happening in Polchester +during the last weeks, and was even informed of the incidents of the last +three days. + +However that may be, he did from the first pay an almost exaggerated +deference to Ronder's opinion, drew him into the conversation at every +possible opportunity, with such, interjections as "How true! How very +true! Don't you think so, Canon Ronder?" or "What has been your experience +in such a case, Canon Ronder?" or "I think, my lord, that Canon Ronder +told me that he knows that place well," and disregarding entirely any +remarks that Brandon might happen to make. + +No one could have responded more brilliantly to this opportunity than did +Ronder; indeed the Bishop, who was his host at the Palace to-day for the +first time, said after his departure, "That's a most able man, most able. +Lucky indeed for the diocese that it has secured him...a delightful +fellow." + +No one in the world could have been richer in anecdotes than Ronder, +anecdotes of precisely the kind for the Bishop's taste, not too worldly, +not too clerical, amusing without being broad, light and airy, but showing +often a fine scholarship and a wise and thoughtful experience of foreign +countries. The Bishop had not laughed so heartily for many a day. "Oh, +dear! Oh, dear!" he cried at the anecdote of the two American ladies in +Siena. "That's good, indeed...that's very good. Did you get that, +Ponting? Dear me, that's perfectly delightful!" A little tear of shining +pleasure trickled down his cheek. "Really, Canon, I've never heard +anything better." + +Brandon thought Ronder's manners outrageous. Poor Bishop! He was indeed +failing that he could laugh so heartily at such pitiful humour. He tried, +to show his sense of it all by grimly pursuing his food and refusing even +the ghost of a chuckle, but no one was perceiving him, as he very bitterly +saw. The Bishop, it may be, saw it too, for at last he turned to Brandon +and said: + +"But come, Archdeacon. I was forgetting. You wrote to me s-something about +that Jubilee-music in the Cathedral. You find that Ryle is making rather a +m-mess of things, don't you?" + +Brandon was deeply offended. Of what was the Bishop thinking that he could +so idly drag forward the substance of an entirely private letter, without +asking permission, into the public air? Moreover, the last thing that he +wanted was that Ronder should know that he had been working behind Ryle's +back. Not that he was in the least ashamed of what he had done, but here +was precisely the thing that Ronder would like to use and make something +of. In any case, it was the principle of the thing. Was Ronder henceforth +to be privy to everything that passed between himself and the Bishop? + +He never found it easy to veil his feelings, and he looked now, as Ponting +delightedly perceived, like an overgrown, sulky schoolboy. + +"No, no, my lord," he said, looking across at Ponting, as though he would +love to set his heel upon that pale but eager visage. "You have me wrong +there. I was making no complaint. The Precentor knows his own business +best." + +"You certainly said something in your letter," said the Bishop vaguely. +"There was s-something, Ponting, was there not?" + +"Yes, my lord," said Ponting. "There was. But I expect the Archdeacon did +not mean it very seriously." + +"Do you mean that you find the Precentor inefficient?" said the Bishop, +looking at the coffee with longing and then shaking his head. "Not to-day, +Appleford, alas--not to-day." + +"Oh, no," said Brandon, colouring. "Of course not. Our tastes differ a +little as to the choice of music, that's all. I've no doubt that I am old- +fashioned." + +"How do you find the Cathedral music, Canon?" he asked, turning to Ronder. + +"Oh, I know very little about it," said Ronder, smiling. '"Nothing in +comparison with the Archdeacon. I'm sure he's right in liking the old +music that people have grown used to and are fond of. At the same time, I +must confess that I haven't thought Ryle too venturesome. But then I'm +very ignorant, having been here so short a time." + +"That's right, then," said the Bishop comfortably. "There doesn't seem +much wrong." + +At that moment Appleford, who had been absent from the room for a minute, +returned with a note which he gave to the Bishop. + +"From Pybus, my lord," he said; "some one has ridden over with it." + +At the word "Pybus" there was an electric silence in the room. The Bishop +tore open the letter and read it. He half started from his chair with a +little exclamation of distress and grief. + +"Please excuse me," he said, turning to them. "I must leave you for a +moment and speak to the bearer of this note. Poor Morrison...at last... +he's gone!--Pybus!..." + +The Archdeacon, in spite of himself, half rose and stared across at +Ronder. Pybus! The living at last was vacant. + +A moment later he felt deeply ashamed. In that sunlit room the bright +green of the outside world quivering in pools of colour upon the pure +space of the white walls spoke of life and beauty and the immortality of +beauty. + +It was hard to think of death there in such a place, but one must think of +it and consider, too, Morrison, who had been so good a fellow and loved +the world, and all the things in it, and had thought of heaven also in the +spare moments that his energy left him. + +A great sportsman he had been, with a famous breed of bull-terrier, and +anxious to revive the South Glebeshire Hunt; very fine, too, in that last +terrible year when the worst of all mortal diseases had leapt upon his +throat and shaken him with agony and the imminent prospect of death-- +shaken him but never terrified him. Brandon summoned before him that +broad, jolly, laughing figure, summoned it, bowed to its fortitude and +optimism, then, as all men must, at such a moment, considered his own end; +then, having paid his due to Morrison, returned to the great business of +the--Living. + +They were gathered together in the hall now. The Bishop had known Morrison +well and greatly liked him, and he could think of nothing but the man +himself. The question of the succession could not come near him that day, +and as he stood, a little white-haired figure, tottering on his stick in +the flagged hall, he seemed already to be far from the others, to be +caught already half-way along the road that Morrison was now travelling. + +Both Brandon and Ronder felt that it was right for them to go, although on +a normal day they would have stayed walking in the garden and talking for +another three-quarters of an hour until it was time to catch the three- +thirty train from Carpledon. Mr. Ponting settled the situation. + +"His lordship," he said, "hopes that you will let Bassett drive you into +Polchester. There is the little wagonette; Bassett must go, in any case, +to get some things. It is no trouble, no trouble at all." + +They, of course, agreed, although for Brandon at any rate there would be +many things in the world pleasanter than sitting with Ronder in a small +wagonette for more than an hour. He also had no liking for Bassett, the +Bishop's coachman for the last twenty years, a native of South Glebeshire, +with all the obstinacy, pride and independence that that definition +includes. + +There was, however, no other course, and, a quarter of an hour later, the +two clergymen found themselves opposite one another in a wagonette that +was indeed so small that it seemed inevitable that Ronder's knees must +meet Brandon's and Brandon's ankles glide against Ronder's. + +The Archdeacon's temper was, by this time, at its worst. Everything had +been ruined by Ronder's presence. The original grievances were bad enough +--the way in which his letter had been flouted, the fashion in which his +conversation had been disregarded at luncheon, the sanctified pleasure +that Ponting's angular countenance had expressed at every check that he +had received; but all these things mattered nothing compared with the fact +that Ronder was present at the news of Morrison's death. + +Had he been alone with the Bishop then, what an opportunity he would have +had! How exactly he would have known how to comfort the Bishop, how +tactful and right he would have been in the words that he used, and what +an opportunity finally for turning the Bishop's mind in the way it should +go, namely, towards Rex Forsyth! + +As his knees, place them where he would, bumped against Ronder's, wrath +bubbled in his heart like boiling water in a kettle. The very immobility +of Bassett's broad back added to the irritation. + +"It's remarkably small for a wagonette," said Ronder at last, when some +minutes had passed in silence. "Further north this would not, I should +think, be called a wagonette at all, but in Glebeshire there are special +names for everything. And then, of course, we are both big men." + +This comparison was most unfortunate. Ronder's body was soft and plump, +most unmistakably fat. Brandon's was apparently in magnificent condition. +It is well known that a large man in good athletic condition has a deep, +overwhelming contempt for men who are fat and soft. Brandon made no reply. +Ronder was determined to be pleasant. + +"Very difficult to keep thin in this part of the world, isn't it? Every +morning when I look at myself in the glass I find myself fatter than I was +the day before. Then I say to myself, 'I'll give up bread and potatoes and +drink hot water.' Hot water! Loathsome stuff. Moreover, have you noticed, +Archdeacon, that a man who diets himself is a perfect nuisance to all his +friends and neighbours? The moment he refuses potatoes his hostess says to +him, 'Why, Mr. Smith, not one of our potatoes! Out of our own garden!' And +then he explains to her that he is dieting, whereupon every one at the +table hurriedly recites long and dreary histories of how they have dieted +at one time or another with this or that success. The meal is ruined for +yourself and every one else. Now, isn't it so? What do you do for yourself +when you are putting on flesh?" + +"I am not aware," said Brandon in his most haughty manner, "that I +_am_ putting on flesh." + +"Of course I don't mean just now," answered Ronder, smiling. "In any case, +the jolting of this wagonette is certain to reduce one. Anyway, I agree +with you. It's a tiresome subject. There's no escaping fate. We stout men +are doomed, I fancy." + +There was a long silence. After Brandon had moved his legs about in every +possible direction and found it impossible to escape Ronder's knees, he +said: + +"Excuse my knocking into you so often, Canon." + +"Oh, that's all right," said Ronder, laughing. "This drive comes worse on +you than myself, I fancy. You're bonier.... What a splendid figure the +Bishop is! A great man--really, a great man. There's something about a man +of that simplicity and purity of character that we lesser men lack. +Something out of our grasp altogether." + +"You haven't known him very long, I think," said Brandon, who considered +himself in no way a lesser man than the Bishop. + +"No, I have not," said Ronder, pleasantly amused at the incredible ease +with which he was able to make the Archdeacon rise. "I've never been to +Carpledon before to-day. I especially appreciated his inviting me when he +was having so old a friend as yourself." + +Another silence. Ronder looked about him; the afternoon was hot, and +little beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. One trickled down his +forehead, another into his eye. The road, early in the year though it was, +was already dusty, and the high Glebeshire hedges hid the view. The +irritation of the heat, the dust and the sense that they were enclosed and +would for the rest of their lives jog along, thus, knee to knee, down an +eternal road, made Ronder uncomfortable; when he was uncomfortable he was +dangerous. He looked at the fixed obstinacy of the Archdeacon's face and +said: + +"Poor Morrison! So he's gone. I never knew him, but he must have been a +fine fellow. And the Pybus living is vacant." + +Brandon said nothing. + +"An important decision that will be--I beg your pardon. That's my knee +again. + +"It's to be hoped that they will find a good man." + +"There can be only one possible choice," said Brandon, planting his hands +flat on his knees. + +"Really!" said Ronder, looking at the Archdeacon with an air of innocent +interest. "Do tell me, if it isn't a secret, who that is." + +"It's no secret," said Brandon in a voice of level defiance. "Rex Forsyth +is the obvious man." + +"Really!" said Ronder. "That is interesting. I haven't heard him +mentioned. I'm afraid I know very little about him." + +"Know very little about him!" said Brandon indignantly. "Why, his name has +been in every one's mouth for months!" + +"Indeed!" said Ronder mildly. "But then I am, in many ways, sadly out of +things. Do tell me about him." + +"It's not for me to tell you," said Brandon, looking at Ronder with great +severity. "You can find out anything you like from the smallest boy in the +town." This was not polite, but Ronder did not mind. There was a little +pause, then he said very amiably: + +"I have heard some mention of that man Wistons." + +"What!" cried Brandon in a voice not very far from a shout. "The fellow +who wrote that abnominable book, _The Four Creeds_?" + +"I suppose it's the same," said Ronder gently, rubbing his knee a little. + +"That man!" The Archdeacon bounced in his seat. "That atheist! The leading +enemy of the Church, the man above any who would destroy every institution +that the Church possesses!" + +"Come, come! Is it as bad as that?" + +"As bad as that? Worse! Much worse! I take it that you have not read any +of his books." + +"Well, I have read one or two!" + +"You _have_ read them and you can mention his name with patience?" + +"There are several ways of looking at these things----" + +"Several ways of looking at atheism? Thank you, Canon. Thank you very much +indeed. I am delighted to have your opinion given so frankly." + +("What an ass the man is!" thought Ronder. "He's going to lose his temper +here in the middle of the road with that coachman listening to every +word.") + +"You must not take me too literally, Archdeacon," said Ronder. "What I +meant was that the question whether Wistons is an atheist can be argued +from many points of view." + +"It can not! It can not!" cried Brandon, now shaking with anger. "There +can be no two points of view. 'He that is not with me is against me'----" + +"Very well, then," said Ronder. "It can not. There is no more to be said." + +"There _is_ more to be said. There is indeed. I am glad, Canon, that +at last you have come out into the open. I have been wondering for a long +time past when that happy event was to take place. Ever since you came +into this town, you have been subverting doctrine, upsetting institutions, +destroying the good work that the Cathedral has been doing for many years +past. I feel it my duty to tell you this, a duty that no one else is +courageous enough to perform----" + +"Really, is this quite the place?" said Ronder, motioning with his hand +towards Bassett's broad back, and the massive sterns of the two horses +that rose and fell, like tubs on a rocking sea. + +But Brandon was past caution, past wisdom, past discipline. He could see +nothing now but Ronder's two rosy cheeks and the round gleaming spectacles +that seemed to catch his words disdainfully and suspend them there in +indifference. "Excuse me. It is time indeed. It is long past the time. If +you think that you can come here, a complete stranger, and do what you +like with the institutions here, you are mistaken, and thoroughly +mistaken. There are those here who have the interests of the place at +heart and guard and protect them. Your conceit has blinded you, allow me +to tell you, and it's time that you had a more modest estimate of yourself +and doings." + +"This really isn't the place," murmured Ronder, struggling to avoid +Brandon's knees. + +"Yes, atheism is nothing to you!" shouted the Archdeacon. "Nothing at all! +You had better be careful! I warn you!" + +"_You_ had better be careful," said Ronder, smiling in spite of +himself, "or you will be out of the carriage." + +That smile was the final insult. Brandon, jumped up, rocking on his feet. +"Very well, then. You may laugh as you please. You may think it all a very +good joke. I tell you it is not. We are enemies, enemies from this moment. +You have never been anything _but_ my enemy." + +"Do take care, Archdeacon, or you really _will_ be out of the +carriage." + +"Very well. I will get out of it. I refuse to drive with you another step. +I refuse. I refuse." + +"But you can't walk. It's six miles." + +"I will walk! I will walk! Stop and let me get out! Stop, I say!" + +But Bassett who, according to his back, was as innocent of any dispute as +the small birds on the neighbouring tree, drove on. + +"Stop, I say. Can't you hear?" The Archdeacon plunged forward and pulled +Bassett by the collar. "Stop! Stop!" The wagonette abruptly stopped. + +Bassett's amazed face, two wide eyes in a creased and crumpled surface, +peered round. + +"It's war, I tell you. War!" Brandon climbed out. + +"But listen, Archdeacon! You can't!" + +"Drive on! Drive on!" cried Brandon, standing in the road and shaking his +umbrella. + +The wagonette drove on. It disappeared over the ledge of the hill. + +There was a sudden silence. Brandon's anger pounded up into his head in +great waves of constricting passion. These gradually faded. His knees were +trembling beneath him. There were new sounds--birds singing, a tiny breeze +rustling the hedges. No living soul in sight. He had suddenly a strange +impulse to shed tears. What had he been saying? What had he been doing? He +did not know what he had said. Another of his tempers.... + +The pain attacked his head--like a sword, like a sword. + +He found a stone and sat down upon it. The pain invaded him like an active +personal enemy. Down the road it seemed to him figures were moving--Hogg, +Davray--that other world--the dust rose in little clouds. + +What had he been doing? His head! Where did this pain come from? + +He felt old and sick and weak. He wanted to be at home. Slowly he began to +climb the hill. An enemy, silent and triumphant, seemed to step behind +him. + + + + + +Book III + +Jubilee + + + + +Chapter I + +June 17, Thursday: Anticipation + + + +It must certainly be difficult for chroniclers of contemporary history to +determine significant dates to define the beginning and end of succeeding +periods. But I fancy that any fellow-citizen of mine, if he thinks for a +moment, will agree with me that that Jubilee Summer of 1897 was the last +manifestation in our town of the separate individual Polchester spirit, of +the old spirit that had dwelt in its streets and informed its walls and +roofs for hundreds of years past, something as separate and distinct as +the smells of Seatown, the chime of the Cathedral bells, the cawing of the +Cathedral rooks in the Precinct Elms. + +An interesting and, to one reader at least, a pathetic history might be +written of the decline and death of that same spirit--not in Polchester +alone, but in many another small English town. From the Boer War of 1899 +to the Great War of 1914 stretches that destructive period; the agents of +that destruction, the new moneyed classes, the telephone, the telegram, +the motor, and last of all, the cinema. + +Destruction? That is, perhaps, too strong a word. We know that that is +simply the stepping from one stage to another of the eternal, the immortal +cycle. The little hamlet embowered in its protecting trees, defended by +its beloved hills, the Rock rising gaunt and naked in its midst; then the +Cathedral, the Monks, the Baron's Castle, the feudal rule; then the mighty +Bishops and the vast all-encircling power of the Church; then the new +merchant age, the Elizabethan salt of adventure; then the cosy seventeenth +and eighteenth centuries, with their domesticities, their little cultures, +their comfortable religion, their stay-at-home unimaginative festivities. + +Throughout the nineteenth century that spirit lingers, gently repulsing +the outside world, reproving new doctrine, repressing new movement...and +the Rock and the Cathedral wait their hours, watching the great sea that, +far on the horizon, is bathing its dykes and flooding the distant fields, +knowing that the waves are rising higher and higher, and will at last, +with full volume, leap upon these little pastures, these green-clad +valleys, these tiny hills. And in that day only the Cathedral and the Rock +will stand out above the flood. + +And this was a Polchester Jubilee. There may have been some consciousness +of that little old woman driving in her carriage through the London +streets, but in the main the Town suddenly took possession, cried aloud +that these festivities were for Herself, that for a week at least the Town +would assert Herself, bringing into Her celebration the Cathedral that was +her chief glory, but of whom, nevertheless, she was afraid; the Rock upon +which she was built, that never changed, the country that surrounded and +supported her, the wild men who had belonged to her from time immemorial, +the River that encircled her. + +That week seemed to many, on looking back, a strangely mad time, days +informed with a wildness for which there was no discernible reason--men +and women and children were seized that week with some licence that they +loved while it lasted, but that they looked back upon with fear when it +was over. What had come over them? Who had been grinning at them? + +The strange things that occurred that week seemed to have no individual +agent. No one was responsible. But life, after that week, was for many +people in the town never quite the same again. + +On the afternoon of Thursday, June 17, Ronder stood at the window of his +study and looked down upon the little orchard, the blazing flowers, the +red garden-wall, and the tree-tops on the descending hill, all glazed and +sparkling under the hot afternoon sun. As he looked down, seeing nothing, +sunk deeply in his own thoughts, he was aware of extreme moral and +spiritual discomfort. He moved back from the window, making with his +fingers a little gesture of discontent and irritation. He paced his room, +stopping absent-mindedly once and again to push in a book that protruded +from the shelves, staying to finger things on his writing-table, jolting +against a chair with his foot as he moved. At last he flung himself into +his deep leather chair and stared fixedly at an old faded silk fire-guard, +with its shadowy flowers and dim purple silk, seeing it not at all. + +He was angry, and of all things in the world that he hated, he hated most +to be that. He had been angry now for several weeks, and, as though it had +been a heavy cold that had descended upon him, he woke up every morning +expecting to find that his anger had departed--but it had not departed; it +showed no signs whatever of departing. + +As he sat there he was not thinking of the Jubilee, the one thought at +that time of every living soul in Polchester, man, woman and child--he was +thinking of no one but Brandon, with whom, to his own deep disgust, he was +at last implacably, remorselessly, angry. How many years ago now he had +decided that anger and hatred were emotions that every wise man, at all +cost to his pride, his impatience, his self-confidence, avoided. +Everything could be better achieved without these weaknesses, and for many +years he had tutored and trained himself until, at last, he had reached +this fine height of superiority. From that height he had suddenly fallen. + +It was now three weeks since that luncheon at Carpledon, and in one way or +another the quarrel on the road home--the absurd and ludicrous quarrel-- +had become known to the whole town. Had Brandon revealed it? Or possibly +the coachman? Whoever it was, every one now knew and laughed. Laughed! It +was that for which Ronder would never forgive Brandon. The man with his +childish temper and monstrous conceit had made him into a ludicrous +figure. It was true that they were laughing, it seemed, more at Brandon +than at himself, but the whole scene was farcical. But beyond this, that +incident, trivial though it might be in itself, had thrown the +relationship of the two men into dazzling prominence. It was as though +they had been publicly announced as antagonists, and now, stripped and +prepared, ringed in by the breathless Town, must vulgarly afford the +roughs of the place the fistic exhibition of their lives. It was the +publicity that Ronder detested. He had not disliked Brandon--he had merely +despised him, and he had taken an infinite pleasure in furthering schemes +and ambitions, a little underground maybe, but all for the final benefit +of the Town. + +And now the blundering fool had brought this blaze down upon them, was +indeed rushing round and screaming at his antagonist, shouting to any one +who would hear that Ronder was a blackguard and a public menace. It had +been whispered--from what source again Ronder did not know--that it was +through Ronder's influence that young Falk Brandon had run off to Town +with Hogg's daughter. The boy thought the world of Ronder, it was said, +and had been to see him and ask his advice. Ronder knew that Brandon had +heard this story and was publicly declaring that Ronder had ruined his +son. + +Finally the two men were brought into sharp rivalry over the Pybus living. +Over that, too, the town, or at any rate the Cathedral section of it, was +in two camps. Here, too, Brandon's vociferous publicity had made privacy +impossible. + +Ronder was ashamed, as though his rotund body had been suddenly exposed in +all its obese nakedness before the assembled citizens of Polchester. In +this public quarrel he was not in his element; forces were rising in him +that he distrusted and feared. + +People were laughing...for that he would never forgive Brandon so long +as he lived. + +On this particular afternoon he was about to close the window and try to +work at his sermon when some one knocked at his door. + +"Come in," he said impatiently. The maid appeared. + +"Please, sir, there's some one would like to speak to you." + +"Who is it?" + +"She gave her name as Miss Milton, sir." + +He paused, looking down at his papers. "She said she wouldn't keep you +more than a moment, sir." + +"Very well. I'll see her." + +Fate pushing him again. Why should this woman come to him? How could any +one say that any of the steps that he had taken in this affair had been +his fault? Why, he had had nothing whatever to do with them! + +The sight of Miss Milton in his doorway filled him with the same vague +disgust that he had known on the earlier occasions at the Library. To-day +she was wearing a white cotton dress, rather faded and crumpled, and grey +silk gloves; in one of the fingers there was a hole. She carried a pink +parasol, and wore a large straw hat overtrimmed with roses. Her face with +its little red-rimmed eyes, freckled and flushed complexion, her clumsy +thick-set figure, fitted ill with her youthful dress. + +It was obvious enough that fate had not treated her well since her +departure from the Library; she was running to seed very swiftly, and was +herself bitterly conscious of the fact. + +Ronder, looking at her, was aware that it was her own fault that it was +so. She was incompetent, utterly incompetent. He had, as he had promised, +given her some work to do during these last weeks, some copying, some +arranging of letters, and she had mismanaged it all. She was a muddle- +headed, ill-educated, careless, conceited and self-opinionated woman, and +it did not make it any the pleasanter for Ronder to be aware, as he now +was, that Brandon had been quite right to dismiss her from her Library +post which she had retained far too long. + +She looked across the room at him with an expression of mingled obstinacy +and false humility. Her eyes were nearly closed. + +"Good-afternoon, Canon Ronder," she said. "It is very good of you to see +me. I shall not detain you very long." + +"Well, what is it, Miss Milton?" he said, looking over his shoulder at +her. "I am very busy, as a matter of fact. All these Jubilee affairs-- +however, if I can help you." + +"You can help me, sir. It is a most serious matter, and I need your +advice." + +"Well, sit down there and tell me about it." + +The sun was beating into the room. He went across and pulled down the +blind, partly because it was hot and partly because Miss Milton was less +unpleasant in shadow. + +Miss Milton seemed to find it hard to begin. She gulped in her throat and +rubbed her silk gloves nervously against one another. + +"I daresay I've done wrong in this matter," she began--"many would think +so. But I haven't come here to excuse myself. If I've done wrong, there +are others who have done more wrong--yes, indeed." + +"Please come to the point," said Ronder impatiently. + +"I will, sir. That is my desire. Well, you must know, sir, that after my +most unjust dismissal from the Library I took a couple of rooms with Mrs. +Bassett who lets rooms, as perhaps you know, sir, just opposite St. James' +Rectory, Mr. Morris's." + +"Well?" said Ronder. + +"Well, sir, I had not been there very long before Mrs. Bassett herself, +who is the least interfering and muddling of women, drew my attention to a +curious fact, a most curious fact." + +Miss Milton paused, looking down at her lap and at a little shabby black +bag that lay upon it. + +"Well?" said Ronder again. + +"This fact was that Mrs. Brandon, the wife of Archdeacon Brandon, was in +the habit of coming every day to see Mr. Morris!" + +Ronder got up from his chair. + +"Now, Miss Milton," he said, "let me make myself perfectly clear. If you +have come here to give me a lot of scandal about some person, or persons, +in this town, I do not wish to hear it. You have come to the wrong place. +I wonder, indeed, that you should care to acknowledge to any one that you +have been spying at your window on the movements of some people here. That +is a disgraceful action. I do not think there is any need for this +conversation to continue." + +"Excuse me, Canon Ronder, there _is_ need." Miss Milton showed no +intention whatever of moving from her chair. "I was aware that you would, +in all probability, rebuke me for what I have done. I expected that. At +the same time I may say that I was _not_ spying in any sense of the +word. I could not help it if the windows of my sitting-room looked down +upon Mr. Morris's house. You could not expect me, in this summer weather, +not to sit at my window. + +"At the same time, if these visits of Mrs. Brandon's were all that had +occurred I should certainly not have come and taken up your valuable time +with an account of them; I hope that I know what is due to a gentleman of +your position better than that. It is on a matter of real importance that +I have come to you to ask your advice. Some one's advice I must have, and +if you feel that you cannot give it me, I must go elsewhere. I cannot but +feel that it is better for every one concerned that you should have this +piece of information rather than any one else." + +He noticed how she had grown in firmness and resolve since she had begun +to speak. She now saw her way to the carrying out of her plan. There was a +definite threat in the words of her last sentence, and as she looked at +him across the shadowy light he felt as though he saw down into her mean +little soul, filled now with hatred and obstinacy and jealous +determination. + +"Of course," he said severely, "I cannot refuse your confidence if you are +determined to give it me." + +"Yes," she said, nodding her head. "You have always been very kind to me, +Canon Ronder, as you have been to many others in this place. Thank you." +She looked at him almost as severely as he had looked at her. "I will be +as brief as possible. I will not hide from you that I have never forgiven +Archdeacon Brandon for his cruel treatment of me. That, I think, is +natural. When your livelihood is taken away from you for no reason at all, +you are not likely to forget it--if you are human. And I do not pretend to +be more nor less than human. I will not deny that I saw these visits of +Mrs. Brandon's with considerable curiosity. There was something hurried +and secret in Mrs. Brandon's manner that seemed to me odd. I became then, +quite by chance, the friend of Mr. Morris's cook-housekeeper, Mrs. Baker, +a very nice woman. That, I think, was quite natural as we were neighbours, +so to speak, and Mrs. Baker was herself a friend of Mrs. Bassett's. + +"I asked no indiscreet questions, but at last Mrs. Baker confessed to both +Mrs. Bassett and myself that she did not like what was going on in Mr. +Morris's house, and that she thought of giving notice. When we asked her +what she meant she said that Mrs. Brandon was the trouble, that she was +always coming to the house, and that she and the reverend gentleman were +shut up for hours together by themselves. She told us, too, that Mr. +Morris's sister-in-law, Miss Burnett, had also made objections. We advised +Mrs. Baker that it was her duty to stay, at any rate for the present." + +Miss Milton paused. Ronder said nothing. + +"Well, sir, things got so bad that Miss Burnett went away to the sea. +During her absence Mrs. Brandon came to the house quite regularly, and +Mrs. Baker told us that they scarcely seemed to mind who saw them." + +As Ronder looked at her he realised how little he knew about women. He +hated to realise this, as he hated to realise any ignorance or weakness in +himself, but in the face of the woman opposite to him there was a mixture +of motives--of greed, revenge, yes, and strangely enough, of a virgin's +outraged propriety--that was utterly alien to his experience. He felt his +essential, his almost inhuman, celibacy more at that moment, perhaps, than +he had ever felt it before. + +"Well, sir, this went on for some weeks. Miss Burnett returned, but, as +Mrs. Baker said, the situation remained very strained. To come to my +point, four days ago I was in one evening paying Mrs. Baker a visit. Every +one was out, although Mr. Morris was expected home for his dinner. There +was a ring at the bell and Mrs. Baker said, 'You go, my dear.' She was +busy at the moment with the cooking. I went and opened the hall-door and +there was Mrs. Brandon's parlourmaid that I knew by sight. 'I have a note +for Mr. Morris,' she said. 'You can give it to me,' I said. She seemed to +hesitate, but I told her if she didn't give it to me she might as well +take it away again, because there was no one else in the house. That +seemed to settle her, so telling me it was something special, and was to +be given to Mr. Morris as soon as possible, she left it with me and went. +She'd never seen me before, I daresay, and didn't know I didn't belong to +the house." She paused, then opening her little eyes wide and staring at +Ronder as though she were seeing him for the first time in her life she +said softly, "I have the note here." + +She opened her black bag slowly, peered into it, produced a piece of paper +out of it, and shut it with a sharp little click. + +"You've kept it?" asked Ronder. + +"I've kept it," she repeated, nodding her head. "I know many would say I +was wrong. But was I? That's the question. In any case that is another +matter between myself and my Maker." + +"Please read this, sir?" She held out the paper to him, He took it and +after a moment's hesitation read it. It had neither date nor address. It +ran as follows: + + DEAREST--I am sending this by a safe hand to tell you that I cannot + possibly get down to-night. I am so sorry and most dreadfully + disappointed, but I will explain everything when we meet to-morrow. + This is to prevent your waiting on when I'm not coming. + +There was no signature. + +"You had no right to keep this," he said to her angrily. As he spoke he +looked at the piece of paper and felt again how strange and foreign to him +the whole nature of woman was. The risks that they would take! The foolish +mad things that they would do to satisfy some caprice or whim! + +"How do you know that this was written by Mrs. Brandon?" he asked. + +"Of course I know her handwriting very well," Miss Milton answered. "She +often wrote to me when I was at the Library." + +He was silent. He was seeing those two in the new light of this letter. So +they were really lovers, the drab, unromantic, plain, dull, middle-aged +souls! What had they seen in one another? What had they felt, to drive +them to deeds so desperate, yes, and so absurd? Was there then a world +right outside his ken, a world from which he had been since his birth +excluded? + +Absent-mindedly he had put the letter down on his table. Quickly she +stretched out her gloved hand and took it. The bag clicked over it. + +"Why have you brought this to me?" he asked, looking at her with a disgust +that he did not attempt to conceal. + +"You are the first person to whom I have spoken about the matter," she +answered. "I have not said anything even to Mrs. Baker. I have had the +letter for several days and have not known what is right to do about it." + +"There is only one thing that is right to do about it," he answered +sharply. "Burn it." + +"And say nothing to anybody about it? Oh, Canon Ronder, surely that would +not be right. I should not like people to think that you had given me such +advice. To allow the Rector of St. James' to continue in his position, +with so many looking up to him, and he committing such sins. Oh, no, sir, +I cannot feel that to be right!" + +"It is not our business," he answered angrily. "It is not our affair." + +"Very well, sir." She got up. "It's good of you to give me your opinion. +It is not our affair. Quite so. But it is Archdeacon Brandon's affair. He +should see this letter. I thought that perhaps you yourself might like to +speak to him----" she paused. + +"I will have nothing to do with it," he answered, getting up and standing +over her. "You did very wrong to keep the letter. You are cherishing evil +passions in your heart, Miss Milton, that will bring you nothing but harm +and sorrow in the end. You have come to me for advice, you say. Well, I +give it to you. Burn that letter and forget what you know." + +Her complexion had changed to a strange muddy grey as he spoke. + +"There are others in this town, Canon Ronder," she said, "who are +cherishing much the same passions as myself, although they may not realise +it. I thought it wise to tell you what I know. As you will not help me, I +know now what to do. I am grateful for your advice--which, however, I do +not think you wish me to follow." + +With one last look at him she moved softly to the door and was gone. She +seemed to him to leave some muddy impression of her personality upon the +walls and furniture of the room. He flung up the window, walked about +rubbing his hands against one another behind his back, hating everything +around him. + +The words of the note repeated themselves again and again in his head. + +"Dearest...safe hand...dreadfully disappointed.... Dearest." + +Those two! He saw Morris, with his weak face, his mild eyes, his rather +shabby clothes, his hesitating manner, his thinning hair--and Mrs. +Brandon, so mediocre that no one ever noticed her, never noticed anything +about her--what she wore, what she said, what she did, anything! + +Those two! Ghosts! and in love so that they would risk loss of everything +--reputation, possessions, family--that they might obtain their desire! In +love as he had never been in all his life! + +His thoughts turned, with a little shudder, to Miss Milton. She had come +to him because she thought that he would like to share in her revenge. +That, more than anything, hurt him, bringing him down to her base, sordid +level, making him fellow-conspirator with her, plotting...ugh! How +cruelly unfair that he, upright, generous, should be involved like this so +meanly. + +He washed his hands in the little dressing-room near the study, scrubbing +them as though the contact with Miss Milton still lingered there. Hating +his own company, he went downstairs, where he found Ellen Stiles, having +had a very happy tea with his aunt, preparing to depart. + +"Going, Ellen?" he asked. + +She was in the highest spirits and a hat of vivid green. + +"Yes, I must go. I've been here ever so long. We've had a perfectly lovely +time, talking all about poor Mrs. Maynard and her consumption. There's +simply no hope for her, I'm afraid; it's such a shame when she has four +small children; but as I told her yesterday, it's really best to make up +one's mind to the worst, and there'll be no money for the poor little +things after she's gone. I don't know what they'll do." + +"You must have cheered her up," said Ronder. + +"Well, I don't know about that. Like all consumptives she will persist in +thinking that she's going to get well. Of course, if she had money enough +to go to Davos or somewhere...but she hasn't, so there's simply no hope +at all." + +"If you are going along I'll walk part of the way with you," said Ronder. + +"That _will_ be nice." Ellen kissed Miss Ronder very affectionately. +"Good-bye, you darling. I have had a nice time. Won't it be awful if it's +wet next week? Simply everything will be ruined. I don't see much chance +of its being fine myself. Still you never can tell." + +They went out together. The Precincts was quiet and deserted; a bell, +below in the sunny town, was ringing for Evensong. "Morris's church, +perhaps," thought Ronder. The light was stretched like a screen of +coloured silk across the bright green of the Cathedral square; the great +Church itself was in shadow, misty behind the sun, and shifting from shade +to shade as though it were under water. + +When they had walked a little way Ellen said: "What's the matter?" + +"The matter?" Ronder echoed. + +"Yes. You're looking worried, and that's so rare with you that when it +happens one's interested." + +He hesitated, looking at her and almost stopping in his walk. An infernal +nuisance if Ellen Stiles were to choose this moment for the exercise of +her unfortunate curiosity! He had intended to go down High Street with her +and then to go by way of Orange Street to Foster's rooms; but one could +reach Foster more easily by the little crooked street behind the +Cathedral. He would say good-bye to her here.... Then another thought +struck him. He would go on with her. + +"Isn't your curiosity terrible, Ellen!" he said, laughing. "If you didn't +happen to have a kind heart hidden somewhere about you, you'd be a +perfectly impossible woman. As it is, I'm not sure that you're not." + +"I think perhaps I am," Ellen answered, laughing. "I do take a great +interest in other people's affairs. Well, why not? It prevents me from +being bored." + +"But not from being a bore," said Ronder. "I hate to be unpleasant, but +there's nothing more tiresome than being asked why one's in a certain +mood. However, leave me alone and I will repay your curiosity by some of +my own. Tell me, how much are people talking about Mrs. Brandon and +Morris?" + +This time she was genuinely surprised. On so many occasions he had checked +her love of gossip and scandal and now he was deliberately provoking it. +It was as though he had often lectured her about drinking too much and +then had been discovered by her, secretly tippling. + +"Oh, everybody's talking, of course," she said. "Although you pretend +never to talk scandal you must know enough about the town to know that. +They happen to be talking less just at the moment because nobody's +thinking of anything but the Jubilee." + +"What I want to know," said Ronder, "is how much Brandon is supposed to be +aware of--and does he mind?" + +"He's aware of nothing," said Ellen decisively. "Nothing at all. He's +always looked upon his wife as a piece of furniture, neither very +ornamental nor very useful, but still his property, and therefore to be +reckoned on as stable and submissive. I don't think that in any case he +would ever dream that she could disobey him in anything, but, as it +happens, his son's flight to London and his own quarrel with you entirely +possess his mind. He talks, eats, thinks, dreams nothing else." + +"What would he do, do you think," pursued Ronder, "if he were to discover +that there really _was_ something wrong, that she had been +unfaithful?" + +"Why, is there proof?" asked Ellen Stiles, eagerly, pausing for a moment +in her excitement. + +The sharp note of eagerness in her voice checked him. + +"No--nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. Of course not. And how should I +know if there were?" + +"You're just the person who would know," answered Ellen decisively. +"However many other people you've hoodwinked, you haven't taken _me_ +in all these years. But I'll tell you this as from one friend to another, +that you've made the first mistake in your life by allowing this quarrel +with Brandon to become so public." + +He marvelled again, as he had often marvelled before, at her unerring +genius for discovering just the thing to say to her friends that would +hurt them most. And yet with that she had a kind heart, as he had had +reason often enough to know. Queer things, women! + +"It's not my fault if the quarrel's become public," he said. They were +turning down the High Street now and he could not show all the vexation +that he felt. "It's Brandon's own idiotic character and the love of gossip +displayed by this town." + +"Well, then," she said, delighted that she had annoyed him and that he was +showing his annoyance, "that simply means that you've been defeated by +circumstances. For once they've been too strong for you. If you like that +explanation you'd better take it." + +"Now, Ellen," he said, "you're trying to make me lose my temper in revenge +for my not satisfying your curiosity; give up. You've tried before and +you've always failed." + +She laughed, putting her hand through his arm. + +"Yes, don't let's quarrel," she said. "Isn't it delightful to-night with +the sunlight and the excitement and every one out enjoying themselves? I +love to see them happy, poor things. It's only the successful and the +self-important and the patronising that I want to pull down a little. As +soon as I find myself wanting to dig at somebody, I know it's because +they're getting above themselves. You'd better be careful. I'm not at all +sure that success isn't going to your head." + +"Success?" he asked. + +"Yes. Don't look so innocent. You've been here only a few months and +already you're the only man here who counts. You've beaten Brandon in the +very first round, and it's absurd of you to pretend to an old friend like +myself that you don't know that you have. But be careful." + +The street was shining, wine-coloured, against the black walls that hemmed +it in, black walls scattered with sheets of glass, absurd curtains of +muslin, brown, shabby, self-ashamed backs of looking-glasses, door-knobs, +flower-pots, and collections of furniture, books and haberdashery. + +"Suppose you leave me alone for a moment, Ellen," said Ronder, "and think, +of somebody else. What I really want to know is, how intimate are you with +Mrs. Brandon?" + +"Intimate?" + +"Yes. I mean--could you speak to her? Tell her, in some way, to be more +careful, that she's in danger. Women know how to do these things. I want +to find somebody." + +He paused. _Did_ he want to find somebody? Why this strange +tenderness towards Mrs. Brandon of which he was quite suddenly conscious? +Was it his disgust of Miss Milton, so that he could not bear to think of +any one in the power of such a woman? + +"Warn her?" said Ellen. "Then she _is_ in danger." + +"Only if, as you say, every one is talking. I'm sorry for her." + +They had come to the parting of their ways. "No. I don't know her well +enough for that. She wouldn't take it from me. She wouldn't take it from +anybody. She's prouder than you'd think. And it's my belief she doesn't +care if she is in danger. She'd rather welcome it. That's my belief." + +"Good-bye then. I won't ask you to keep our talk quiet. I don't suppose +you could if you wanted to. But I will ask you to be kind." + +"Why should I be kind? And you know you don't want me to be, really." + +"I do want you to be." + +"No, it's part of the game you're playing. Or if it isn't, you're changing +more than you've ever changed before. Look out! Perhaps it's you that's in +danger!" + +As he turned up Orange Street he wondered again what impulse it was that +was making him sorry for Mrs. Brandon. He always wished people to be +happy--life was easier so--but had he, even yesterday, been told that he +would ever feel concern for Mrs. Brandon, that supreme symbol of feminine +colourless mediocrity, he would have laughed derisively. + +Then the beauty of the hour drove everything else from him. The street +climbed straight into the sky, a broad flat sheet of gold, and on its +height the monument, perched against the quivering air, was a purple +shaft, its gesture proud, haughty, exultant. Suddenly he saw in front of +him, moving with quick, excited steps, Mrs. Brandon, an absurdly +insignificant figure against that splendour. + +He felt as though his thoughts had evoked her out of space, and as though +she was there against her will. Then he felt that he, too, was there +against his will, and that he had nothing to do with either the time or +the place. + +He caught her up. She started nervously when he said, "Good evening, Mrs. +Brandon," and raised her little mouse-face with its mild, hesitating, +grey eyes to his. He knew her only slightly and was conscious that she did +not like him. That was not his affair; she had become something quite new +to him since he had gained this knowledge of her--she was provocative, +suggestive, even romantic. + +"Good evening, Canon Ronder." She did not smile nor slacken her steps. + +"Isn't this a lovely evening?" he said. "If we have this weather next week +we shall be lucky indeed." + +"Yes, shan't we--shan't we?" she said nervously, not considering him, but +staring straight at the street in front of her. + +"I think all the preparations are made," Ronder went on in the genial easy +voice that he always adopted with children and nervous women. "There +should be a tremendous crowd if the weather's fine. People already are +pouring in from every part of the country, they tell me--sleeping +anywhere, in the fields and the hedges. This old town will be proud of +herself." + +"Yes, yes," Mrs. Brandon looked about her as though she were trying to +find a way of escape. "I'm so glad you think that the weather will be +fine. I'm so glad. I think it will myself. I hope Miss Ronder is well." + +"Very well, thank you." What _could_ Morris see in her, with her ill- +fitting clothes, her skirt trailing a little in the dust, her hat too big +and heavy for her head, her hair escaping in little untidy wisps from +under it? She looked hot, too, and her nose was shiny. + +"You're coming to the Ball of course," he went on, relieved that now they +were near the top of the little hill. "It's to be the best Ball the +Assembly Rooms have seen since--since Jane Austen." + +"Jane Austen?" asked Mrs. Brandon vaguely. + +"Well, her time, you know, when dancing was all the rage. We ought to have +more dances here, I think, now that there are so many young people about." + +"Yes, I agree with you. My daughter is coming out at the Ball." + +"Oh, is she? I'm sure she'll have a good time. She's so pretty. Every +one's fond of her." + +He waited, but apparently Mrs. Brandon had nothing more to say. There was +a pause, then Mrs. Brandon, as though she had been suddenly pushed to it +by some one behind her, held out her hand.... + +"Good evening, Canon Ronder." + +He said good-bye and watched her for a moment as she went up past the neat +little villas, her dress trailing behind her, her hat bobbing with every +step. He looked up at the absurd figure on the top of the monument, the +gentleman in frock-coat and tall hat commemorated there. The light had +left him. He was not purple now but a dull grey. He, too, had doubtless +had his romance, blood and tears, anger and agony for somebody. How hard +to keep out of such things, and yet one must if one is to achieve +anything. Keep out of it, detached, observant, comfortable. Strange that +in life comfort should be so difficult to attain! + +Climbing Green Lane he was surprised to feel how hot it was. The trees +that clustered over his head seemed to have gathered together all the heat +of the day. Everything conspired to annoy him! Bodger's Street, when he +turned into it, was, from his point of view, at its very worst, crowded +and smelly and rocking with noise. The fields behind Bodger's Street and +Canon's Yard sloped down the hill then up again out into the country +beyond. + +It was here on this farther hill that the gipsies had been allowed to +pitch their caravans, and that the Fair was already preparing its +splendours. It was through these gates that the countrymen would penetrate +the town's defences, just as on the other side, low down in Seatown on the +Pol's banks, the seafaring men, fishermen and sailors and merchantmen, +were gathering. Bodger's Street was already alive with the anticipation of +the coming week's festivities. Gas-jets were flaming behind hucksters' +booths, all the population of the place was out on the street enjoying the +fine summer evening, shouting, laughing, singing, quarrelling. The effect +of the street illumined by these uncertain flares that leapt unnaturally +against the white shadow of the summer sky was of something mediaeval, and +that impression was deepened by the overhanging structure of the Cathedral +that covered the faint blue and its little pink clouds like a swinging +spider's web. + +Ronder, however, was not now thinking of the town. His mind was fixed upon +his approaching interview with Foster. Foster had just paid a visit, quite +unofficial and on a private personal basis, to Wistons, to sound him about +the Pybus living and his action if he were offered it. + +Ronder understood men very much better than he understood women. He +understood Foster so long as ambition and religion were his motives, but +there was something else in play that he did not understand. It was not +only that Foster did not like him--he doubted whether Foster liked anybody +except the Bishop--it was rather perhaps that Foster did not like himself. +Now it is the first rule of fanaticism that you should be so lost in the +impulse of your inspiration that you should have no power left with which +to consider yourself at all. Foster was undoubtedly a fanatic, but he did +consider himself and even despised himself. Ronder distrusted self- +contempt in a man simply because nothing made him so uncomfortable as +those moments of his own when he wondered whether he were all that he +thought himself. Those moments did not last long, but he hated them so +bitterly that he could not bear to see them at work in other people. +Foster was the kind of fanatic who might at any minute decide to put peas +in his shoes and walk to Jerusalem; did he so decide, he would abandon, +for that decision, all the purposes for which he might at the time be +working. Ronder would certainly never walk to Jerusalem. + +The silence and peace of Canon's Yard when he left Bodger's Street was +almost dramatic. All that penetrated there was a subdued buzz with an +occasional shrill note as it might be on a penny whistle. The Yard was +dark, lit only by a single lamp, and the cobbles uneven. Lights here and +there set in the crooked old windows were secret and uncommunicative: the +Cathedral towers seemed immensely tall against the dusk. It would not be +dark for another hour and a half, but in those old rooms with their small +casements light was thin and uncertain. + +He climbed the rickety stairs to Foster's rooms. As always, something made +him pause outside Foster's door and listen. All the sounds of the old +building seemed to come up to him; not human voices and movements, but the +life of the old house itself, the creaking protests of stairways, the +sighs of reluctant doors, the harping groans of ill-mannered window- +frames, the coughs and wheezes of trembling walls, the shudders of ill- +boding banisters. + +"This house will collapse, the first gale," he thought, and suddenly the +Cathedral chimes, striking the half-hour, crashed through the wall, +knocking and echoing as though their clatter belonged to that very house. + +The echo died, and the old place recommenced its murmuring. + +Foster, blinking like an old owl, came to the door and, without a word, +led the way into his untidy room. He cleared a chair of papers and books +and Ronder sat down. + +"Well?" said Ronder. + +Foster was in a state of overpowering excitement, but he looked to Ronder +older and more worn than a week ago. There were dark pouches under his +eyes, his cheeks were drawn, and his untidy grey hair seemed thin and +ragged--here too long, there showing the skull gaunt and white beneath +it. His eyes burnt with a splendid flame; in them there was the light of +eternal life. + +"Well?" said Ronder again, as Foster did not answer his first question. + +"He's coming," Foster cried, striding about the room, his shabby slippers +giving a ghostly tip-tap behind him. "He's coming! Of course I had never +doubted it, but I hadn't expected that he would be so eager as he is. He +let himself go to me at once. Of course he knew that I wasn't official, +that I had no backing at all. He's quite prepared for things to go the +other way, although I told him that I thought there would be little chance +of that if we all worked together. He didn't ask many questions. He knows +all the conditions well. Since I saw him last he's gained in every way-- +wiser, better disciplined, more sure of himself--everything that I have +never been...." Foster paused, then went on. "I think never in all my life +have I felt affection so go out to another human being. He is a man after +my own heart--a child of God, an inheritor of Eternal Life, a leader of +men----" + +Ronder interrupted him. + +"Yes, but as to detail. Did you discuss that? He knew of the opposition?" + +Foster waved his hand contemptuously. "Brandon? What does that amount to? +Why, even in the week that I have been away his power has lessened. The +hand of God is against him. Everything is going wrong with him. I loathe +scandal, but there is actually talk going on in the town about his wife. I +could feel pity for the man were he not so dangerous." + +"You are wrong there, Foster," Ronder said eagerly. "Brandon isn't +finished yet--by no manner of means. He still has most of the town behind +him and a big majority with the Cathedral people. He stands for what they +think or _don't_ think--old ideas, conservatism, every established +dogma you can put your hand on, bad music, traditionalism, superstition +and carelessness. It is not Brandon himself we are fighting, but what he +stands for." + +Foster stopped and looked down at Ronder. "You'll forgive me if I speak my +mind," he said. "I'm an older man than you are, and in any case it's my +way to say what I think. You know that by this time. You've made a mistake +in allowing this quarrel with Brandon to become so personal a matter." + +Ronder flushed angrily. + +"Allowing!" he retorted. "As though that were not the very thing that I've +tried to prevent it from becoming. But the old fool has rushed out and +shouted his grievances to everybody. I suppose you've heard of the +ridiculous quarrel we had coming away from Carpledon. The whole town knows +of it. There never was a more ridiculous scene. He stood in the middle of +the road and screamed like a madman. It's my belief he _is_ going +mad! A precious lot I had to do with that. I was as amiable as possible. +But you can't deal with him. His conceit and his obstinacy are monstrous." + +Nothing was more irritating in Foster than the way that he had of not +listening to excuses; he always brushed them aside as though they were +beneath notice. + +"You shouldn't have made it a personal thing," he repeated. "People will +take sides--are already doing so. It oughtn't to be between you two at +all." + +"I tell you it is not!" Ronder answered angrily. Then with a great effort +he pulled himself in. "I don't know what has been happening to me lately," +he said with a smile. "I've always prided myself on keeping out of +quarrels, and in any case I'm not going to quarrel with you. I'm sure +you're right. It _is_ a pity that the thing's become personal. I'll +see what I can do." + +But Foster paid as little attention to apologies as to excuses. + +"That's been a mistake," he said; "and there have been other mistakes. You +are too personally ambitious, Ronder. We are working for the glory of God +and for no private interests whatever." + +Ronder smiled. "You're hard on me," he said; "but you shall think what you +like. I won't allow that I've been personally ambitious, but it's +difficult sometimes when you're putting all your energies into a certain +direction not to seem to be serving your own ends. I like power--who +doesn't? But I would gladly sacrifice any personal success if that were +needed to win the main battle." + +"Win!" Foster cried. "Win! But we've got to win! There's never been such a +chance for us! If Brandon wins now our opportunity is gone for another +generation. What Wistons can do here if he comes! The power that he will +be!" + +Suddenly there came into Ronder's mind for the first time the thought that +was to recur to him very often in the future. Was it wise of him to work +for the coming of a man who might threaten his own power? He shook that +from him. He would deal with that when the time came. For the present +Brandon was enough.... + +"Now as to detail..." Ronder said. + +They sat down at the paper-littered table. For another hour and a half +they stayed there, and it would have been curious for an observer to see +how, in this business, Ronder obtained an absolute mastery. Foster, the +fire dead in his eyes, the light gone, followed him blindly, agreeing to +everything, wondering at the clearness, order and discipline of his plans. +An hour ago, treading the soil of his own country, he had feared no man, +and his feeling for Ronder had been one half-contempt, half-suspicion. Now +he was in the other's hands. This was a world into which he had never won +right of entry. + +The Cathedral chimes struck nine. Ronder got up and put his papers away +with a little sigh of satisfaction. He knew that his work had been good. + +"There's nothing that we've forgotten. Bentinck-Major will be caught +before he knows where he is. Ryle too. Let us get through this next week +safely and the battle's won." + +Foster blinked. + +"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly. "Yes, yes. Good-night, good-night," and +almost pushed Ronder from the room. + +"I don't believe he's taken in a word of it," Ronder thought, as he went +down the creaking stairs. + +At the top of Badger's Street he paused. The street was still; the sky was +pale green on the horizon, purple overhead. The light was still strong, +but, to the left beyond the sloping fields, the woods were banked black +and sombre. From the meadow in front of the woods came the sounds of an +encampment--women shouting, horses neighing, dogs barking. A few lights +gleamed like red eyes. The dusky forms of caravans with their thick-set +chimneys, ebony-coloured against the green sky, crouched like animals +barking. A woman was singing, men's voices took her up, and the song came +rippling across the little valley. + +All the stir of an invading world was there. + + + + +Chapter II + +Friday, June 18: Shadow Meets Shadow + + + +On that Friday evening, about half-past six o'clock, Archdeacon Brandon, +just as he reached the top of the High Street, saw God. + +There was nothing either strange or unusual about this. Having had all his +life the conviction that he and God were on the most intimate of terms, +that God knew and understood himself and his wants better than any other +friend that he had, that just as God had definitely deputed him to work +out certain plans on this earth, so, at times, He needed his own help and +advice, having never wavered for an instant in the very simplest tenets of +his creed, and believing in every word of the New Testament as though the +events there recorded had only a week ago happened in his own town under +his own eyes--all this being so, it was not strange that he should +sometimes come into close and actual contact with his Master. + +It may be said that it was this very sense of contact, continued through +long years of labour and success, that was the original foundation of the +Archdeacon's pride. If of late years that pride had grown from the seeds +of the Archdeacon's own self-confidence and appreciation, who can blame +him? + +We translate more easily than we know our gratitude to God into our +admiration of ourselves. + +Over and over again in the past, when he had been labouring with especial +fervour, he was aware that, in the simplest sense of the word, God was +"walking with him." He was conscious of a new light and heat, of a fresh +companionship; he could almost translate into physical form that +comradeship of which he was so tenderly aware. How could it be but that +after such an hour he should look down from those glorious heights upon +his other less favoured fellow-companions? No merit of his own that he had +been chosen, but the choice had been made. + +On this evening he was in sad need of comfort. Never in all his past years +had life gone so hardly with him as it was going now. It was as though, +about three or four months back, he had, without knowing it, stepped into +some new and terrible country. One feature after another had changed, old +familiar faces wore new unfamiliar disguises, every step that he took now +seemed to be dangerous, misfortune after misfortune had come to him, at +first slight and even ludicrous, at last with Falk's escape, serious and +bewildering. Bewildering! That was the true word to describe his case! He +was like a man moving through familiar country and overtaken suddenly by a +dense fog. Through it all, examine it as minutely as he might, he could +not see that he had committed the slightest fault. + +He had been as he had always been, and yet the very face of the town was +changed to him, his son had left him, even his wife, to whom he had been +married for twenty years, was altered. Was it not natural, therefore, that +he should attribute all of this to the only new element that had been +introduced into his life during these last months, to the one human being +alive who was his declared enemy, to the one man who had openly, in the +public road, before witnesses, insulted him, to the man who, from the +first moment of his coming to Polchester, had laughed at him and mocked +and derided him? + +To Ronder! To Ronder! The name was never out of his brain now, lying +there, stirring, twisting in his very sleep, sneering, laughing even in +the heart of his private prayers. + +He was truly in need of God that evening, and there, at the top of the +High Street, he saw Him framed in all the colour and glow and sparkling +sunlight of the summer evening, filling him with warmth and new courage, +surrounding him, enveloping him in love and tenderness. + +Cynics might say that it was because the Archdeacon, no longer so young as +he had been, was blown by his climb of the High Street and stood, +breathing hard for a moment before he passed into the Precincts, lights +dancing before his eyes as they will when one is out of breath, the ground +swaying a little under the pressure of the heart, the noise of the town +rocking in the ears. + +That is for the cynics to say. Brandon knew; his experiences had been in +the past too frequent for him, even now, to make a mistake. + +Running down the hill went the High Street, decorated now with flags and +banners in honour of the great event; cutting the sky, stretching from +Brent's the haberdasher's across to Adams' the hairdresser's, was a vast +banner of bright yellow silk stamped in red letters with "Sixty Years Our +Queen. God Bless Her!" + +Just beside the Archdeacon, above the door of the bookshop where he had +once so ignominiously taken refuge, was a flag of red, white and blue, and +opposite the bookseller's, at Gummridge's the stationer's, was a little +festoon of flags and a blue message stamped on a white ground: "God Bless +Our Queen: Long May She Reign!" + +All down the street flags and streamers were fluttering in the little +summer breeze that stole about the houses and windows and doors as though +anxiously enquiring whether people were not finding the evening just a +little too warm. + +People were not finding it at all too warm. Every one was out and +strolling up and down, laughing and whistling and chattering, dressed, +although it was only Friday, in nearly their Sunday best. The shops were +closing, one by one, and the throng was growing thicker and thicker. So +little traffic was passing that young men and women were already marching +four abreast, arm-in-arm, along the middle of the street. It was a long +time--ten years, in fact--since Polchester had seen such gaiety. + +This was behind the Archdeacon; in front of him was the dark archway in +which the grass of the Cathedral square was framed like the mirrored +reflection of evening light where the pale blue and pearl white are +shadowed with slanting green. The peace was profound--nothing stirred. +There in the archway God stood, smiling upon His faithful servant, only as +Brandon approached Him passing into shadow and sunlight and the intense +blue of the overhanging sky. + +Brandon tried then, as he had often tried before, to keep that contact +close to himself, but the ecstatic moment had passed; it had lasted, it +seemed, on this occasion a shorter time than ever before. He bowed his +head, stood for a moment under the arch offering a prayer as simple and +innocent as a child offers at its mother's knee, then with an +instantaneous change that in a more complex nature could have meant only +hypocrisy, but that with him was perfectly sincere, he was in a moment the +hot, angry, mundane priest again, doing battle with his enemies and +defying them to destroy him. + +Nevertheless the transition to-night was not quite so complete as usual. +He was unhappy, lonely, and in spite of himself afraid, afraid of he knew +not what, as a child might be when its candle is blown out. And with this +unhappiness his thoughts turned to home. Falk's departure had caused him +to consider his wife more seriously than he had ever done in all their +married life before. She had loved Falk; she must be lonely without him, +and during these weeks he had been groping in a clumsy baffled kind of way +towards some expression to her of the kindness and sympathy that he was +feeling. + +But those emotions do not come easily after many years of disuse; he was +always embarrassed and self-conscious when he expressed affection. He was +afraid of her, too, thought that if he showed too much kindness she might +suddenly become emotional, fling her arms around him and cover his face +with kisses--something of that kind. + +Then of late she had been very strange; ever since that Sunday morning +when she had refused to go to Communion.... Strange! Women are strange! As +different from men as Frenchmen are from Englishmen! + +But he would like to-night to come closer to her. Dimly, far within him, +something was stirring that told him that it had been his own fault that +during all these years she had drifted away from him. He must win her +back! A thing easily done. In the Archdeacon's view of life any man had +only got to whistle and fast the woman came running! + +But to-night he wanted some one to care for him and to tell him that all +was well and that the many troubles that seemed to be crowding about him +were but imaginary after all. + +When he reached the house he found that he had only just time to dress for +dinner. He ran upstairs, and then, when his door was closed and he was +safely inside his bedroom, he had to pause and stand, his hand upon his +heart. How it was hammering! like a beast struggling to escape its cage. +His knees, too, were trembling. He was forced to sit down. After all, he +was not so young as he had been. + +These recent months had been trying for him. But how humiliating! He was +glad that there had been no one there to see him. He would need all his +strength for the battle that was in front of him. Yes, he was glad that +there had been no one to see him. He would ask old Puddifoot to look at +him, although the man _was_ an ass. He drank a glass of water, then +slowly dressed. + +He came downstairs and went into the drawing-room. His wife was there, +standing in the shadow by the window, staring out into the Precincts. He +came across the room softly to her, then gently put his hand on her +shoulder. + +She had not heard his approach. She turned round with a sharp cry and then +faced him, staring, her eyes terrified. He, on his side, was so deeply +startled by her alarm that he could only stare back at her, himself +frightened and feeling a strange clumsy foolishness at her alarm. + +Broken sentences came from her: "What did you--? Who--? You shouldn't have +done that. You frightened me." + +Her voice was sharply angry, and in all their long married life together +he had never before felt her so completely a stranger; he felt as though +he had accosted some unknown woman in the street and been attacked by her +for his familiarity. He took refuge, as he always did when he was +confused, in pomposity. + +"Really, my dear, you'd think I was a burglar. Hum--yes. You shouldn't be +so easily startled." + +She was still staring at him as though even now she did not realise his +identity. Her hands were clenched and her breath came in little hurried +gasps as though she had been running. + +"No--you shouldn't...silly...coming across the room like that." + +"Very well, very well," he answered testily. "Why isn't dinner ready? It's +ten minutes past the time." + +She moved across the room, not answering him. + +Suddenly his pomposity was gone. He moved over to her, standing before her +like an overgrown schoolboy, looking at her and smiling uneasily. + +"The truth is, my dear," he said, "that I can't conceive my entering a +room without everybody hearing it. No, I can't indeed," he laughed +boisterously. "You tell anybody that I crossed a room without your hearing +it, and they won't believe you. No, they wont." + +He bent down and kissed her. His touch tickled her cheek, but she made no +movement. He felt, as his hand rested on her shoulder, that she was still +trembling. + +"Your nerves must be in a bad way," he said. "Why, you're trembling still! +Why don't you see Puddifoot?" + +"No--no," she answered hurriedly. "It was silly of me----" Making a great +effort, she smiled up at him. + +"Well, how's everything going?" + +"Going?" + +"Yes, for the great day. Is everything settled?" + +He began to tell her in the old familiar, so boring way, every detail of +the events of the last few hours. + +"I was just by Sharps' when I remembered that I'd said nothing to Nixon +about those extra seats at the back off the nave, so I had to go all the +way round----" + +Joan came in. His especial need of some one that night, rejected as it had +been at once by his wife, turned to his daughter. How pretty she was, he +thought, as she came across the room sunlit with the deep evening gold +that struck in long paths of light into the darkest shadows and corners. + +That moment seemed suddenly the culmination of the advance that they had +been making towards one another during the last six months. When she came +close to him, he, usually so unobservant, noticed that she, too, was in +distress. + +She was smiling but she was unhappy, and he suddenly felt that he had been +neglecting her and letting her fight her battles alone, and that she +needed his love as urgently as he needed hers. He put his arm around her +and drew her to him. The movement was so unlike him and so unexpected that +she hesitated a little, then happily came closer to him, resting her head +on his shoulder. They had both, for a moment, forgotten Mrs. Brandon. + +"Tired?" he asked Joan. + +"Yes. I've been working at those silly old flags all the afternoon. Two of +them are not finished now. We've got to go again to-morrow morning." + +"Everything ready for the Ball?" + +"Yes, my dress is lovely. Oh, mummy, Mrs. Sampson says will you let two +relations of theirs sit in our seat on Sunday morning? She hadn't known +that they were coming, and she's very bothered about it, and I'll tell her +whether they can in the morning." + +They both turned and saw Mrs. Brandon, who had gone back to the window and +again was looking at the Cathedral, now in deep black shadow. + +"Yes, dear. There'll be room. There's only you and I----" + +Joan had in the pocket of her dress a letter. As they went in to dinner +she could hear its paper very faintly crackle against her hand. It was +from Falk and was as follows: + + DEAR JOAN--I have written to father but he hasn't answered. Would you + find out what he thought about my letter and what he intends to do? I + don't mind owning to you that I miss him terribly, and I would give + anything just to see him for five minutes. I believe that if he saw me + I could win him over. Otherwise I am very happy indeed. We are married + and live in two little rooms just off Baker Street. You don't know + where that is, do you? Well, it's a very good place to be, near the + park, and lots of good shops and not very expensive. Our landlady is a + jolly woman, as kind as anything, and I'm getting quite enough work to + keep the wolf from the door. I know more than ever now that I've done + the right thing, and father will recognise it, too, one day. How is + he? Of course my going like that was a great shock to him, but it was + the only way to do it. When you write tell me about his health. He + didn't seem so well just before I left. Now, Joan, write and tell me + everything. One thing is that he's got so much to do that he won't + have much time to think about me.--Your affectionate brother, + + FALK. + +This letter, which had arrived that morning, had given Joan a great deal +to think about. It had touched her very deeply. Until now Falk had never +shown that he had thought about her at all, and now here he was depending +on her and needing her help. At the same time, she had not the slightest +guide as to her father's attitude. Falk's name had not been mentioned in +the house during these last weeks, and, although she realised that a new +relationship was springing up between herself and her father, she was +still shy of him and conscious of a deep gulf between them. She had, too, +her own troubles, and, try as she might to beat them under, they came up +again and again, confronting her and demanding that she should answer +them. + +Now she put the whole of that aside and concentrated on her father. +Watching him during dinner, he seemed to her suddenly to have become +older; there was a glow in her heart as she thought that at last he really +needed her. After all, if through life she were destined to be an old +maid--and that, in the tragic moment of her youth that was now upon her, +seemed her inevitable destiny--here was some one for whom at last she +could care. + +She had felt before she came down to dinner that she was old and ugly and +desperately unattractive. Across the dinner-table she flung away, as she +imagined for ever, all hopes for beauty and charm; she would love her +father and he should love her, and every other man in the world might +vanish for all that she cared. And had she only known it, she had never +before looked so pretty as she did that night. This also she did not know, +that her mother, catching a sudden picture of her under the candle-light, +felt a deep pang of almost agonising envy. She, making her last desperate +bid for love, was old and haggard; the years for her could only add to +that age. Her gambler's throw was foredoomed before she had made it. + +After dinner, Brandon, as always, retired into the deepest chair in the +drawing-room and buried himself in yesterday's _Times_. He read a +little, but the words meant nothing to him. Jubilee! Jubilee! Jubilee! He +was sick of the word. Surely they were overdoing it. When the great day +itself came every one would be so tired.... + +He pushed the paper aside and picked up _Punch_. Here, again, that +eternal word--"How to see the Procession. By one who has thought it out. +Of course you must be out early. As the traffic...." + +JOKE--Jinks: Don't meet you 'ere so often as we used to, Binks, eh? + +Binks: Well--no. It don't run to Hopera Box _this_ Season, because, +you see, we've took a Window for this 'ere Jubilee. + +Then, on one page, "The Walrus and the Carpenter: Jubilee Version." "In +Anticipation of the Naval Review." "Two Jubilees?" On the next page an +illustration of the Jubilee Walrus. On the next--"Oh, the Jubilee!" On the +next, Toby M.P.'s "Essence of Parliament," with a "Reed" drawing of "A +Naval Field Battery for the Jubilee." + +The paper fell from his hand. During these last days he had had no time to +read the paper, and he had fancied, as perhaps every Polcastrian was just +then fancying, that the Jubilee was a private affair for Polchester's own +private benefit. He felt suddenly that Polchester was a small out-of-the- +way place of no account; was there any one in the world who cared whether +Polchester celebrated the Jubilee or not? Nobody.... + +He got up and walked across to the window, pulling the curtains aside and +looking out at the deep purple dusk that stained the air like wine. The +clock behind him struck a quarter past nine. Two tiny stars, like +inquisitive mocking eyes, winked at him above the high Western tower. +Moved by an impulse that was too immediate and peremptory to be +investigated, he went into the hall, found his hat and stick, opened +softly the door as though he were afraid that some one would try to stop +him, and was soon on the grass in front of the Cathedral, staring about +him as though he had awakened from a bewildering dream. + +He went across to the little side-door, found his key, and entered the +Cathedral, leaving the gargoyle to grin after him, growing more alive, and +more malicious too, with every fading moment of the light. + +Within the Cathedral there was a strange shadowy glow as though behind the +thick cold pillars lights were burning. He found his way, stumbling over +the cane-bottomed chairs that were piled in measured heaps in the side +aisle, into the nave. Even he, used to it as he had been for so many +years, was thrilled to-night. There was a movement of preparation abroad; +through all the stillness there was the stir of life. It seemed to him +that the armoured knights and the high-bosomed ladies, and the little +cupids with their pursed lips and puffing cheeks, and the angels with +their too solid wings were watching him and breathing round him as he +passed. Late though it was, a dim light from the great East window fell in +broad slabs of purple and green shadow across the grey; everything was +indistinct; only the white marble of the Reredos was like a figured sheet +hanging from wall to wall, and the gilded trumpets of the angels on the +choir-screen stood out dimly like spider pattern. He felt a longing that +the place should return his love and tenderness. The passion of his life +was here; he knew to-night, as he had never before, the life of its own +that this place had, and as he stayed there, motionless in the centre of +the nave, some doubt stole into his heart as to whether, after all, he and +it were one and indivisible, as for so long he had believed. Take this +away, and what was left to him? His son had gone, his wife and daughter +were strange to him; if this, too, went.... + +The sudden chill sense of loneliness was awful to him. All those naked and +sightless eyes staring from those embossed tombs were menacing, scornful, +deriding. + +He had never known such a mood, and he wondered suddenly whether these +last months had affected his brain. + +He had never doubted during the last ten years his power over this and its +gratitude to him for what he had done: now, in this chill and green-hued +air, it seemed not to care for him at all. + +He moved up into the choir and sat down in his familiar stall; all that he +could see--his eyes seemed to be drawn by some will stronger than his own +--was the Black Bishop's Tomb. The blue stone was black behind the gilded +grating, the figure was like a moulded shell holding some hidden form. The +light died; the purple and green faded from the nave--the East window was +dark--only the white altar and the whiter shadows above it hovered, +thinner light against deeper grey. As the light was withdrawn the +Cathedral seemed to grow in height until Brandon felt himself minute, and +the pillars sprang from the floor beneath him into unseen canopied +distance. He was cold; he longed suddenly, with a strange terror quite new +to him, for human company, and stumbled up and hurried down the choir, +almost falling over the stone steps, almost running through the long, +dark, deserted nave. He fancied that other steps echoed his own, that +voices whispered, and that figures thronged beneath the pillars to watch +him go. It was as though he were expelled. + +Out in the evening air he was in his own world again. He was almost +tempted to return into the Cathedral to rid himself of the strange fancies +that he had had, so that they might not linger with him. He found himself +now on the farther side of the Cathedral, and after walking a little way +he was on the little narrow path that curved down through the green banks +to the river. Behind him was the Cathedral, to his right Bodger's Street +and Canon's Yard, in front of him the bending hill, the river, and then +the farther slips where the lights of the gipsy encampment sparkled and +shone. Here the air was lovely, cool and soft, and the stars were crowding +into the summer sky in their myriads. But his depression did not leave +him, nor his loneliness. He longed for Falk with a great longing. He could +not hold out against the boy for very much longer; but even then, were the +quarrel made up, things would not now he the same. Falk did not need him +any more. He had new life, new friends, new work. + +"It's my nerves," thought Brandon. "I will go and see Puddifoot." It +seemed to him that some one, and perhaps more than one, had followed him +from the Cathedral. He turned sharply round as though he would catch +somebody creeping upon him. He turned round and saw Samuel Hogg standing +there. + +"Evening, Archdeacon," said Hogg. + +Brandon said, his voice shaking with anger: "What are you following me +for?" + +"Following you, Archdeacon?" + +"Yes, following me. I have noticed it often lately. If you have anything +to say to me write to me." + +"Following you? Lord, no! What makes you think of such a thing, +Archdeacon? Can't a feller enjoy the evenin' air on such a lovely night as +this without being accused of following a gentleman?" + +"You know that you are trying to annoy me." Brandon, had pulled himself +up, but his hatred of that grinning face with its purple veins, its +piercing eyes, was working strongly upon his nerves, so that his hands +seemed to move towards it without his own impulsion. "You have been trying +to annoy me for weeks now. I'll stand you no longer. If I have any more of +this nuisance I'll put it into the hands of the police." + +Hogg spat out complacently over the grass. "Now, that _is_ an absurd +thing," he said, smiling. "Because a man's tired and wants some air after +his day's work he's accused of being a nuisance. It's a bit thick, that's +what it is. Now, tell, Archdeacon, do you happen to have bought this 'ere +town, because if so I should be glad to know it--and so would a number of +others too." + +"Very well, then," said Brandon, moving away. "If you won't go, I will." + +"There's no need for temper that I can see," said Hogg. "No call for it at +all, especially that we're a sort of relation now. Almost brothers, seeing +as how your son has married my daughter." + +Lower and lower! Lower and lower! + +He was moving in a world now where figures, horrible, obscene and foul, +could claim him, could touch him, had their right to follow him. + +"You will get nothing from me," Brandon answered. "You are wasting your +time." + +"Wasting my time?" Hogg laughed. "Not me! I'm enjoying myself. I don't +want anything from you except just to see you sometimes and have a little +chat. That's quite enough for me! I've taken quite a liking to you, +Archdeacon, which is as it should be between relations, and, often enough, +it isn't so. I like to see a proud gentleman like yourself mixing with +such as me. It's good for both of us, as you might say." + +Brandon's anger--always dangerously uncontrolled--rose until it seemed to +have the whole of his body in his grasp, swaying it, ebbing and flowing +with swift powerful current through his heart into his brain. Now he could +only see the flushed, taunting face, the little eyes.... + +But Hogg's hour was not yet. He suddenly touched his cap, smiling. + +"Well, good evening, Archdeacon. We'll be meeting again,"--and he was +gone. + +As swiftly as the anger had flowed now it ebbed, leaving him trembling, +shaking, that strange sharp pain cutting his brain, his heart seeming to +leap into his head, to beat there like a drum, and to fall back with heavy +thud into his chest again. He stood waiting for calm. He was humiliated, +desperately, shamefully. He could not go on here; he must leave the place. +Leave it? Be driven away by that scoundrel? Never! He would face them all +and show them that he was above and beyond their power. + +But the peace of the evening and the glory of the stars gradually stole +into his heart. He had been wrong, terribly wrong. His pride, his conceit, +had been destroying him. With a sudden flash of revelation he saw it. He +had trusted in his own power, put himself on a level with the God whom he +served. A rush of deep and sincere humility overwhelmed him. He bowed his +head and prayed. + + * * * * * + +Some while later he turned up the path towards home. The whole sky now +burnt with stars; fires were a dull glow across the soft gulf of grey, the +gipsy fires. Once and again a distant voice could be heard singing. As he +reached the corner of the Cathedral, and was about to turn up towards the +Precincts, a strange sound reached his ears. He stood where he was and +listened. At first he could not define what he heard--then suddenly he +realised. Quite close to him a man was sobbing. + +There is something about the sounds of a man's grief that is almost +indecent. This sobbing was pitiful in its abandonment and in its effort to +control and stifle. + +Brandon, looking more closely, saw the dark shadow of a man's body pressed +against the inside buttress of the corner of the Cathedral wall. The +shadow crouched, the body all drawn together as though folding in upon +itself to hide its own agony. + +Brandon endeavoured to move softly up the path, but his step crunched on +some twigs, and at the sharp noise the sobbing suddenly ceased. The figure +turned. + +It was Morris. The two men looked at one another for an instant, then +Morris, still like a shadow, vanished swiftly into the dusk. + + + + +Chapter III + +Saturday, June 19: The Ball + + + +Joan was in her hedroom preparing for the Ball. It was now only half-past +six and the Ball was not until half-past nine, but Mr. Mumphit, the +be-curled, the be-scented young assistant from the hairdresser's in the +High Street had paid his visit very early because he had so many other +heads of so many other young ladies to dress in Polchester that evening. +So Joan sat in front of the long looking-glass, a towel still over her +shoulders, looking at herself in a state of ecstasy and delight. + +It was wrong of her, perhaps, to feel so happy--she felt that deep in her +consciousness; wrong, with all the trouble in the house, Falk gone in +disgrace, her father unhappy, her mother so strange; but to-night she +could not help herself. The excitement was spluttering and crackling all +over the town, the wonderful week upon which the whole country was +entering, the Ball, her own coming-out Ball, and the consciousness that He +would be there, and, even though He did love another, would be sure to +give her at least one dance; these things were all too strong for her--she +was happy, happy, happy--her eyes danced, her toes danced, her very soul +danced for sheer delirious joy. Had any one been behind her to look over +her shoulder into the glass, he would have seen the reflection in that +mirror of one of the prettiest children the wide world could show; +especially childish she looked to-night with her dark hair piled high on +her head, her eyes wide with wonder, her neck and shoulders so delicately +white and soft. Behind her, on the bed, was the dress, on the dingy carpet +a pair of shoes of silver tissue, the loveliest things she had ever had. +They were reflected in the mirror, little blobs of silver, and as she saw +them the colour mounted still higher in her cheeks. She had no right to +them; she had not paid for them. They were the first things that she had +ever, in all her life, bought on credit. Neither her father nor her mother +knew anything about them, but she had seen them in Harriott's shop-window +and had simply not been able to resist them. + +If, after all, she was to dance with Him, that made anything right. Were +she sent to prison because she could not pay for them it would not matter. +She had done the only possible thing. + +And so she looked into the mirror and saw the dark glitter in her hair and +the red in her cheeks and the whiteness of her shoulders and the silver +blobs of the little shoes, and she was happy--happy with an almost fearful +ecstasy. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Brandon also was in her bedroom. She was sitting on a high stiff- +backed chair, staring in front of her. She had been sitting there now for +a long time without making any movement at all. She might have been a dead +woman. Her thin hands, with the sharply marked blue veins, were clasped +tightly on her lap. She was feeding, feverishly, eagerly feeding upon the +thought of Morris. + +She would see him that evening, they would talk together, dance together, +their hands would burn as they touched; they would say very little to one +another; they would long, agonize for one another, to be alone together, +to be far, far away from everybody, and they would be desperately unhappy. + +She wondered, in her strange kind of mouse-in-the-trap trance, about that +unhappiness. Was there to be no happiness, for her anywhere? Was she +always to want more than she got, was all this passion now too late? Was +it real at all? Was it not a fever, a phantom, a hallucination? Did she +see Morris? Did she not rather see something that she must seize to slake +her burning feverish thirst? For one moment she had known happiness, when +her arms had gone around him and she had been able to console and comfort +him. But comfort him for how long? Was he not as unhappy as she, and would +they not always be unhappy? Was he not weighed down by the sin that he had +committed, that he, as he thought, had caused her to commit?...At that +she sprang up from the chair and paced the room, murmuring aloud: "No, no, +I did it. My sin, not his. I will care for him, watch over him--watch over +him, care for him. He must be glad."...She sank down by the bed, burying +her face in her hands. + + * * * * * + +Brandon was in his study finishing his letters. But behind his application +to the notes that he was writing his brain was moving like an animal +steathily investigating an unlighted house. He was thinking of his wife-- +and of himself. Even as he was writing "And therefore it seems to me, my +dear Ryle, that with regard to the actual hour of the service, eight +o'clock----" his inner consciousness was whispering to him. "How you miss +Falk! How lonely the house seems without him! You thought you could get +along without love, didn't you? or, at least, you were not aware that it +played any very great part in your life. But now that the one person whom +you most sincerely loved is gone, you see that it was not to be so simply +taken for granted, do you not? Love must be worked for, sacrificed for, +cared for, nourished and cherished. You want some one to cherish now, and +you are surprised that you should so want...yes, there is your wife-- +Amy...Amy.... You had taken her also for granted. But she is still with +you. There is time." + +His wife was illuminated with tenderness. He put down his pen and stared +in front of him. What he wanted and what she wanted was a holiday. They +had been too long here in this place. That was what he needed, that was +the explanation of his headaches, of his tempers, of his obsession about +Ronder. + +As soon as this Pybus St. Anthony affair was settled he would take his +wife abroad. Just the two of them. Another honeymoon after all these +years. Greece, Italy...and who knows? Perhaps he would see Falk on his +way through London returning...Falk.... + +He had forgotten his letters, staring in front of him, tapping the table +with his pen. + +There was a knock on the door. The maid said, "A lady to see you, sir. She +says it's important"--and, before he could ask her name, some one else was +in the room with him and the door was closed behind her. + +He was puzzled for a moment as to her identity, a rather seedy, down-at- +heels-looking woman. She was wearing a rather crumpled white cotton dress. +She carried a pink parasol, and on her head was a large straw hat +overburdened with bright red roses. Ah, yes! Of course! Miss Milton--who +was the Librarian. Shabby she looked. Come down in the world. He had +always disliked her. He resented now the way in which she had almost +forced her way into his room. + +She looked across at him through her funny half-closed eyes. + +"I beg your pardon, Archdeacon Brandon," she said, "for entering like this +at what must be, I fear, an unseemly time. My only excuse must be the +urgency of my business." + +"I am very sorry, Miss Milton," he said sternly; "it is quite impossible +for me to see you just now on any business whatever. If you will make an +appointment with me in writing, I will see what can be done." + +At the sound of his voice her eyes closed still further. "I'm very sorry, +Archdeacon," she said. "I think you would do well to listen to what I am +going to tell you." + +He raised his head and looked at her. At those words of hers he had once +again the sensation of being pushed down by strong heavy hands into some +deep mire where he must have company with filthy crawling animals--Hogg, +Davray, and now this woman.... + +"What do you mean?" he asked, disgust thickening his voice. "What can +_you_ have to tell _me_?" + +She smiled. She crossed the floor and came close to his desk. Her fingers +were on the shabby bag that hung over her arm. + +"I was greatly puzzled," she said, "as to what was the right thing to do. +I am a good and honest woman, Archdeacon, although I was ejected from my +position most wrongfully by those that ought to have known better. I have +come down in the world through no fault of my own, and there are some who +should be ashamed in their hearts of the way they've treated me. However, +it's not of them I've to speak to-day." She paused. + +Brandon drew back into his chair. "Please tell me, Miss Milton, your +business as soon as possible. I have much to do." + +"I will." She breathed hard and continued. "Certain information was placed +in my hands, and I found it very difficult to decide on the justice of my +course. After some hesitation I went to Canon Ronder, knowing him to be a +just man." + +At the name "Ronder" the Archdeacon's lips moved, but he said nothing. + +"I showed him the information I had obtained. I asked him what I should +do. He gave me advice which I followed." + +"He advised you to come to me." + +Miss Milton saw at once that a lie here would serve her well. "He advised +me to come to you and give you this letter which in the true sense of the +word belongs to you." + +She fumbled with her bag, opened it, took out a piece of paper. + +"I must tell you," she continued, her eyes never for an instant leaving +the Archdeacon's face, "that this letter came into my hands by an +accident. I was in Mr. Morris's house at the time and the letter was +delivered to me by mistake." + +"Mr. Morris?" Brandon repeated. "What has he to do with this affair?" + +Miss Milton rubbed her gloved hands together. "Mrs. Brandon," she said, +"has been very friendly with Mr. Morris for a long time past. The whole +town has been talking of it." + +The clock suddenly began to strike the hour. No word was spoken. + +Then Brandon said very quietly, "Leave this house, Miss Milton, and never +enter it again. If I have any further trouble with you, the police will be +informed." + +"Before I go, Archdeacon," said Miss Milton, also very quietly, "you +should see this letter. I can assure you that I have not come here for +mere words. I have my conscience to satisfy like any other person. I am +not asking for anything in return for this information, although I should +be perfectly justified in such an action, considering how monstrously I +have been treated. I give you this letter and you can destroy it at once. +My conscience will be satisfied. If, on the other hand, you don't read it +--well, there are others in the town who must see it." + +He took the letter from her. + +DEAREST--I am sending this by a safe hand to tell you that I cannot +possibly get down to-night. I am so sorry and most dreadfully +disappointed, but I will explain everything when we meet to-morrow. This +is to prevent your waiting on when I'm not coming. + +It was in his wife's handwriting. + +"Dearest...cannot possibly get down tonight...." In his wife's +handwriting. Certainly. Yes. His wife's. And Ronder had seen it. + +He looked across at Miss Milton. "This is not my wife's handwriting," he +said. "You realise, I hope, in what a serious matter you have become +involved--by your hasty action," he added. + +"Not hasty," she said, moistening her lips with her tongue. "Not hasty, +Archdeacon. I have taken much thought. I don't know if I have already told +you that I took the letter myself at the door from the hand of your own +maid. She has been to the Library with books. She is well known to me." + +He must exercise enormous, superhuman, self-control. That was his only +thought. The tide of anger was rising in him so terribly that it pressed +against the skin of his forehead, drawn tight, and threatened to split it. +What he wanted to do was to rise and assault the woman standing in front +of him. His hands longed to take her! They seemed to have life and +volition of their own and to move across the table of their own accord. + +He was aware, too, once more, of some huge plot developing around him, +some supernatural plot in which all the elements too were involved--earth, +sun and sky, and also every one in the town, down to the smallest child +there. + +He seemed to see behind him, just out of his sight, a tall massive figure +directing the plot, a figure something like himself, only with a heavy +black beard, cloudy, without form.... + +They would catch him in their plot as in a net, but he would escape them, +and he would escape them by wonderful calm, and self-control, and the +absence of all emotion. + +So that, although his voice shook a little, it was quietly that he +repeated: + +"This is not in my wife's handwriting. You know the penalties for +forgery." Then, looking her full in the face, he added, "Penal servitude." + +She smiled back at him. + +"I am sure, Archdeacon, that all I require is a full investigation. These +wickednesses are going on in this town, and those principally concerned +should know. I have only done what I consider my duty." + +Her eyes lingered on his face. She savoured now during these moments the +revenge for which, in all these months, she had ceaselessly longed. He had +moved but little, he had not raised his voice, but, watching his face, she +had seen the agony pass, like an entering guest, behind his eyes. That +guest would remain. She was satisfied. + +"I have done my duty, Archdeacon, and now I will wish you good-evening." + +She gave a little bow and retired from the room, softly closing the door +behind her. + +He sat there, looking at the letter.... + + * * * * * + +The Assembly Rooms seemed to move like a ship on a sunset sea. Hanging +from the ceiling were the two great silver candelabra, in some ways the +most famous treasure that the town possessed. Fitted now with gas, they +were nevertheless so shaded that the light was soft and mellow. Round the +room, beneath the portraits of the town's celebrities in their heavy gold +frames, the lights were hidden with shields of gold. The walls were ivory +white. From the Minstrels' Gallery flags with the arms of the Town, of the +Cathedral, of the St. Leath family fluttered once and again faintly. In +the Minstrels' Gallery the band was playing just as it had played a +hundred years ago. The shining floor was covered with moving figures. +Every one was there. Under the Gallery, surveying the world like Boadicea +her faithful Britons, was Lady St. Leath, her white hair piled high above +her pink baby face, that had the inquiring haughty expression of a +cockatoo wondering whether it is being offered a lump of sugar or an +insult. On either side of her sat two of her daughters, Lady Rose and Lady +Mary, plain and patient. + +Near her, in a complacent chattering row, were some of the more important +of the Cathedral and County set. There were the Marriotts from Maple +Durham, fat, sixty, and amiable; old Colonel Wotherston, who had fought in +the Crimea; Sir Henry Byles with his large purple nose; little Major +Garnet, the kindest bachelor in the County; the Marquesas, who had more +pedigree than pennies; Mrs. Sampson in bright lilac, and an especially bad +attack of neuralgia; Mrs. Combermere, sheathed in cloth of gold and very +jolly; Mrs. Ryle, humble in grey silk; Ellen Stiles in cherry colour; Mrs. +Trudon, Mrs. Forrester and Mrs. D'Arcy, their chins nearly touching over +eager confidences; Dr. Puddifoot, still breathless from his last dance; +Bentinick-Major, tapping with his patent-leather toe the floor, eager to +be at it again; Branston the Mayor and Mrs. Branston, uncomfortable in a +kind of dog-collar of diamonds; Mrs. Preston, searching for nobility; +Canon Martin; Dennison, the head-master of the School; and many others. + +It was just then a Polka, and the tune was so alluring, so entrancing, +that the whole world rose and fell with its rhythm. + +And where was Joan? Joan was dancing with the Reverend Rex Forsyth, the +proposed incumbent of Pybus St. Anthony. Had any one told her a week ago +that she would dance with the elegant Mr. Forsyth before a gathering of +all the most notable people of Polchester and Southern Glebeshire, and +would so dance without a tremor, she would have derided her informant. But +what cannot excitement and happiness do? + +She knew that she was looking nice, she knew that she was dancing as well +as any one else in the room--and Johnny St. Leath had asked her for two +dances and _then_ wanted more, and wanted these with the beautiful +Claire Daubeney, all radiant in silver, standing close beside him. What, +then, could all the Forsyths in the world matter? Nevertheless he +_was_ elegant. Very smart indeed. Rather like a handsome young horse, +groomed for a show. His voice had a little neigh in it; as he talked over +her shoulder he gave a little whinny of pleasure. She found it very +difficult to think of him as a clergyman at all. + + You should SEE me DANCE the POLKA, + Ta-ram-te-tum-te-TA. + +Yes, she should. And _he_ should. And he was very pleasant when he +did not talk. + +"You dance--very well--Miss Brandon." + +"Thank you. This is my first Ball." + +"Who would--think that? Ta-ram-te-tum-te-TA.... Jolly tu-une!" + +She caught glimpses of every one as they went round. Mrs. Combermere's +cloth of gold, Lady St. Leath's white hair. Poor Lady Mary--such a pity +that they could not do something for her complexion. Spotty. Joan liked +her. She did much good to the poor in Seatown, and it must be agony to +her, poor thing, to go down there, because she was so terribly shy. Her +next dance was with Johnny. She called him Johnny. And why should she not, +secretly to herself? Ah, there was mother, all alone. And there was Mr. +Morris coming up to speak to her. Kind of him. But he _was_ a kind +man. She liked him. Very shy, though. All the nicest people seemed to be +shy--except Johnny, who wasn't shy at all. + +The music stopped and, breathless, they stayed for a moment before finding +two chairs. Now was coming the time that she so greatly disliked. Whatever +to say to Mr. Forsyth? + +They sat down in the long passage outside the ballroom. The floor ran like +a ribbon from under their feet into dim shining distance. Or rather, Joan +thought, it was like a stream, and on either side the dancers were +sitting, dabbling their toes and looking self-conscious. + +"Do you like it where you are?" Joan asked of the shining black silk +waistcoat that gleamed beside her. + +"Oh, you know...." neighed Mr. Forsyth. "It's all right, you know. The old +Bishop's kind enough." + +"Bishop Clematis?" said Joan. + +"Yes. There ain't enough to do, you know. But I don't expect I'll be there +long. No, I don't.... Pity poor Morrison at Pybus dying like that." + +Joan of course at once understood the allusion. She also understood that +Mr. Forsyth was begging her to bestow upon him any little piece of news +that she might have obtained. But that seemed to her mean--spying--spying +on her own father. So she only said: + +"You're very fond of riding, aren't you?" + +"Love it," said Mr. Forsyth, whinnying so exactly like a happy pony that +Joan jumped. "Don't you?" + +"I've never been on horseback in my life," said Joan. "I'd like to try." + +"Never in your life?" Mr. Forsyth stared. "Why, I was on a pony before I +was three. Fact. Good for a clergyman, riding----" + +"I think it's nearly time for the next dance," said Joan. "Would you +kindly take me back to my mother?" + +She was conscious, as they plunged down-stream, of all the burning +glances. She held her head high. Her eyes flashed. She was going to dance +with Johnny, and they could look as much as they liked. + +Mr. Forsyth delivered her to her mother and went cantering off. Joan sat +down, smoothed her dress and stared at the vast shiny lake of amber in +which the silver candelabra were reflected like little islands. She looked +at her mother and was suddenly sorry for her. It must be dull, when you +were as old as mother, coming to these dances--and especially when you had +so few friends. Her mother had never made many friends. + +"Wasn't that Mr. Morris who was talking to you just now?" + +"Yes, dear." + +"I like him. He looks kind." + +"Yes, dear." + +"And where's father?" + +"Over there, talking to Lady St. Leath." + +She looked across, and there he was, so big and tall and fine, so splendid +in his grand clothes. Her heart swelled with pride. + +"Isn't he splendid, mother, dear?" + +"Who?" + +"Father!" + +"Splendid?" + +"Yes; doesn't he look splendid to-night? Better looking than all the rest +of the room put together?" (Johnny wasn't _good-looking_. Better than +_good-looking_.) + +"Oh--look splendid. Yes. He's a very handsome man." + +Joan felt once again that little chill with which she was so often +familiar when she talked with her mother--a sudden withdrawal of sympathy, +a pushing Joan away with her hand. + +But never mind--there was the music again, and here, oh, here, was Johnny! +Someone had once called him Tubby in her hearing, and how indignant she +had been! He was perhaps a little on the fat side, but strong with it.... +She went off with him. The waltz began. + +She sank into sweet delicious waters--waters that rocked and cradled her, +hugged her and caressed her. She was conscious of his arm. She did not +speak nor did he. Years of utter happiness passed.... + +He did not take her, as Mr. Forsyth had done, into the public glare of the +passage, but up a crooked staircase behind the Minstrels' Gallery into a +little room, cool and shaded, where, in easy-chairs, they were quite +alone. + +He was shy, fingering his gloves. She said (just to make conversation): + +"How beautiful Miss Daubeney is looking!" + +"Do you think so?" said Johnny. "I don't. I'm sick of that girl. She's the +most awful bore. Mother's always shoving her at my head. She's been +staying with us for months. She wants me to marry her because she's rich. +But we've got plenty, and I wouldn't marry her anyway, not if we hadn't a +penny. Because she's a bore, and because"--his voice became suddenly loud +and commanding--"I'm going to marry you." + +Something--some lovely bird of Paradise, some splendid coloured breeze, +some carpet of magic pattern--came and swung Joan up to a high tree loaded +with golden apples. There she swung--singing her heart out. Johnny's voice +came up to her. + +"Because I'm going to marry you." + +"What?" she called down to him. + +"I'm going to marry you. I knew it from the very first second I saw you, +that day after Cathedral--from the very first moment I knew it. I wanted +to ask you right away at once, but I thought I'd do the thing properly, so +I went away, and I've been in Paris and Rome and all over the place, and +I've thought of you the _whole_ time--every minute. Then mother made +a fuss about this Daubeney girl--my not being here and all that--so I +thought I'd come home and tell you I was going to marry you." + +"Oh, but you can't." Joan swung down from her appletree. "You and me? Why, +what _would_ your mother say?" + +"It isn't a case of _would_ but _will_" Johnny said. "Mother +will be very angry--and for a considerable time. But that makes no +difference. Mother's mother and I'm myself." + +"It's impossible," said Joan quickly, "from every point of view. Do you +know what my brother has done? I'm proud of Falk and love him; but you're +Lord St. Leath, and Falk has married the daughter of Hogg, the man who +keeps a public-house down in Seatown." + +"I heard of that," said Johnny. "But what does that matter? Do you know +what I did last year? I crossed the Atlantic as a stoker in a Cunard boat. +Mother never knew until I got back, and _wasn't_ she furious! But the +world's changing. There isn't going to be any class difference soon--none +at all. You take my word. Look at the Americans! They're the people! We'll +be like them one day.... But what's all this?" he suddenly said. "I'm +going to marry you and you're going to marry me. You love me, don't you?" + +"Yes," said Joan faintly. + +"Well, then. I knew you did. I'm going to kiss you." He put his arms +around her and kissed her very gently. + +"Oh, how I love you!" he said, "and how good I'll be to you!" + +"But we must be practical," said Joan wildly. "How can we marry? +Everything's against it. I've no money. I'm nobody. Your mother----" + +"Now you just leave my mother alone. Leave me to manage her--I know all +about that----" + +"I won't be engaged to you," Joan said firmly, "not for ages and ages--not +for a year anyway." + +"That's all right," said Johnny indifferently. "You can settle it any way +you please--but no one's going to marry you but me, and no one's going to +marry me but you." + +He would have kissed her again, but Mrs. Preston and a young man came in. + +"Now you shall come and speak to my mother," he said to her as they went +out. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Just say 'Bo' to her as you would +to a goose, and she'll answer all right." + +"You won't say anything----" began Joan. + +"About us? All right. That's a secret for the present; but we shall meet +_every_ day, and if there's a day we don't meet you've got to write. +Do you agree?" + +Whether she agreed or no was uncertain, because they were now in a cloud +of people, and, a moment later, were face to face with the old Countess. + +She was pleased, it at once appeared. She was in a gracious mood; people +had been pleasant enough--that is, they had been obsequious and +flattering. Also her digestion was behaving properly; those new pills that +old Puddifoot had given her were excellent. She therefore received Joan +very graciously, congratulated her on her appearance, and asked her where +her elder sister was. When Joan explained that she had no sister Lady St. +Leath appeared vexed with her, as though it had been a piece of obvious +impertinence on her part not to produce a sister instantly when she had +asked for one. However, Lady Mary was kind and friendly and made Joan sit +beside her for a little. Joan thought, "I'd like to have you for a sister +one day, if--if--ever----" and allowed her thoughts to go no farther. + +Thence she passed into the company of Mrs. Combermere and Ellen Stiles. It +seemd to her--but it was probably her fancy--that as she came to them they +were discussing something that was not for her ears. It seemed to her that +they swiftly changed the conversation and greeted her with quite an +unusual warmth of affection. For the first time that evening a sudden +little chill of foreboding, whence she knew not, seemed to touch her and +shade, for an instant, her marvellous happiness. + +Mrs. Combermere was very sweet to her indeed, quite as though she had +been, but now, recovering from an alarming illness. Her bass voice, strong +thick hands and stiff wiry hair went so incongruously with her cloth of +gold that Joan could not help smiling. + +"You look very happy, my dear," Mrs. Combermere said. + +"Of course I am," said Joan. "How can I help it, my first Ball?" + +Mrs. Combermere kicked her trailing garments with her foot, just like a +dame in a pantomime. "Well, enjoy yourself as long as you can. You're +looking very pretty. The prettiest girl in the room. I've just been saying +so to Ellen--haven't I, Ellen?" + +Ellen Stiles was at that moment making herself agreeable to the Mayoress, +who was sitting lonely and uncomfortable (weighed down with longing for +sleep) on a little gilt chair. + +"I was just saying to Mrs. Branston," Miss Stiles said, turning round, +"that the time one has to be careful with children after whooping-cough is +when they seem practically well. Her little boy has just been ill with it, +and she says he's recovered; but that's the time, as I tell her, when nine +out of ten children die--just when you think you're safe." + +"Oh dear," said Mrs. Branston, turning towards them her full anxious eyes. +"You _do_ alarm me, Miss Stiles! And I've been letting Tommy quite +loose, as you may say, these last few days--with his appetite back and +all, there seemed no danger." + +"Well, if you find him feverish when you get home tonight," said Ellen, +"don't he surprised. All the excitement of the Jubilee too will be very +bad for him." + +At that moment Canon Ronder came up. Joan looked and at once, at the sight +of the round gleaming spectacles, the smiling mouth, the full cheeks +puffed out as though he were blowing perpetual bubbles for his own +amusement, felt her old instinct of repulsion. This man was her father's +enemy, and so hers. All the town knew now that he was trying to ruin her +father so that he might take his place, that he laughed at him and mocked +him. + +So fierce did she feel that she could have scratched his cheeks. He was +smiling at them all, and at once was engaged in a wordy duel with Mrs. +Combermere and Miss Stiles. _They_ liked him; every one in the town +liked him. She heard his praises sung by every one. Well, she would never +sing them. She hated him. + +And now he was actually speaking to her. He had the impertinence to ask +her for a dance. + +"I'm afraid I'm engaged for the next and for the one after that, Canon +Ronder," she said. + +"Well, later on then," he said, smiling. "What about an extra?" + +Her dark eyes scorned him. + +"We are going home early," she said. She pretended to examine her +programme. "I'm afraid I have not one before we go." + +She spoke as coldly as she dared. She felt the eyes of Mrs. Combermere and +Ellen Stiles upon her. How stupid of her! She had shown them what her +feelings were, and now they would chatter the more and laugh about her +fighting her father's battles. Why had she not shown her indifference, her +complete indifference? + +He was smiling still--not discomfited by her rudeness. He said something-- +something polite and outrageously kind--and then young Charles D'Arcy came +up to carry her off for the Lancers. + + * * * * * + +An hour later her cup of happiness was completely filled. She had danced, +during that hour, four times with Johnny; every one must be talking. Lady +St. Leath must be furious (she did not know that Boadicea had been playing +whist with old Colonel Wotherston and Sir Henry Byles for the last ever so +long). + +She would perhaps never have such an hour in all her life again. This +thing that he so wildly proposed was impossible--utterly, completely +impossible; but what was _not_ impossible, what was indeed certain +and sure and beyond any sort of question, was that she loved Johnny St. +Leath with all her heart and soul, and would so love him until the day of +her death. Life could never be purposeless nor mean nor empty for her +again, while she had that treasure to carry about with her in her heart. +Meanwhile she could not look at him and doubt but that, for the moment at +any rate, he loved her--and there was something simple and direct about +Johnny as there was about his dog Andrew, that made his words, few and +clumsy though they might be, most strangely convincing. + +So, almost dizzy with happiness, she climbed the stair behind the Gallery +and thought that she would escape for a moment into the little room where +Johnny had proposed to her, and sit there and grow calm. She looked in. +Some one was there. A man sitting by himself and staring in front of him. +She saw at once that he was in some great trouble. His hands were +clenched, his face puckered and set with pain. Then she saw that it was +her father. + +He did not move; he might have been a block of stone shining in the +dimness. Terrified, she stood, herself not moving. Then she came forward. +She put her hand on his shoulder. + +"Oh, father--father, what is it?" She felt his body trembling beneath her +touch--he, the proudest, finest man in the country. She put her arm round +his neck. She kissed him. His forehead was damp with sweat. His body was +shaking from head to foot. She kissed him again and again, kneeling beside +him. + +Then she remembered where they were. Some one might come. No one must see +him like that. + +She whispered to him, took his hands between hers. + +"Let's go home, Joan," he said. "I want to go home." + +She put her arm through his, and together they went down the little +stairs. + + + + +Chapter IV + +Sunday, June 20: In the Bedroom + + + +Brandon had been talking to the Precentor at the far end of the ballroom, +when suddenly Ronder had appeared in their midst. Appeared the only word! +And Brandon, armoured, he had thought, for every terror that that night +might bring to him, had been suddenly seized with the lust of murder. A +lust as dominating as any other, that swept upon him in a hot flaming +tide, lapped him from head to foot. It was no matter, this time, of words, +of senses, of thoughts, but of his possession by some other man who filled +his brain, his eyes, his mouth, his stomach, his heart; one second more +and he would have flung himself upon that smiling face, those rounded +limbs; he would have caught that white throat and squeezed it-- +squeezed...squeezed.... + +The room literally swam in a tide of impulse that carried him against +Ronder's body and left him there, breast beating against breast.... + +He turned without a word and almost ran from the place. He passed through +the passages, seeing no one, conscious of neither voices nor eyes, +climbing stairs that he did not feel, sheltering in that lonely little +room, sitting there, his hands to his face, shuddering. The lust slowly +withdrew from him, leaving him icy cold. Then he lifted his eyes and saw +his daughter and clung to her--as just then he would have clung to +anybody--for safety. + +Had it come to this then, that he was mad? All that night, lying on his +bed, he surveyed himself. That was the way that men murdered. No longer +could he claim control or mastery of his body. God had deserted him and +given him over to devils. + +His son, his wife, and now God. His loneliness was terrible. And he could +not think. He must think about this letter and what he should do. He could +not think at all. He was given over to devils. + +After Matins in the Cathedral next day one thought came to him. He would +go and see the Bishop. The Bishop had come in from Carpledon for the +Jubilee celebrations and was staying at the Deanery. Brandon spoke to him +for a moment after Matins and asked him whether he might see him for half +an hour in the afternoon on a matter of great urgency. The Bishop asked +him to come at three o'clock. + +Seated in the Dean's library, with its old-fashioned cosiness--its book- +shelves and the familiar books, the cases, between the high windows, of +his precious butterflies--Brandon felt, for the first time for many days, +a certain calm descend upon him. The Bishop, looking very frail and small +in the big arm-chair, received him with so warm an affection that he felt, +in spite of his own age, like the old man's son. + +"My lord," he began with difficulty, moving his big limbs in his chair +like a restless schoolboy, "it isn't easy for me to come to-day. There's +no one in the world I could speak to except yourself. I find it difficult +even to do that." + +"My son," said the Bishop gently, "I am a very, very old man. I cannot +have many more months to live. When one is as near to death as I am, one +loves everything and everybody, because one is going so soon. You needn't +be afraid." + +And in his heart he must have wondered at the change in this man who, +through so many years now, had come to him with so much self-confidence +and assurance. + +"I have had much trouble lately," Brandon went on. "But I would not have +bothered you with that, knowing as I do all that you have to consider just +now, were it not that for the first time in my life I seem to have lost +control and to be heading toward some great disaster that may bring +scandal not only on myself but on the Church as well." + +"Tell me your trouble," said the Bishop. + +"Nine months ago I seemed to be at the very height of my powers, my +happiness, my usefulness." Brandon paused. Was it really only nine months +back, that other time? "I had no troubles. I was confident in myself, my +health was good, my family were happy. I seemed to have many friends.... +Then suddenly everything changed. I don't want to seem false, my lord, in +anything that I may say, but it was literally as though in the course of a +night all my happiness forsook me. + +"It began with my boy being sent down from Oxford. I have only one boy, as +I think your lordship knows. He was--he is, in spite of what has happened +--very dear to me." Brandon paused. + +"Yes, I know," said the Bishop. + +"After that everything began to go wrong. Little things, little tiny +things--one after another. Some one came to this town who almost at once +seemed to put himself into opposition to me." Brandon paused once more. + +The Bishop said again: "Yes, I know." + +"At first," Brandon went on, "I didn't realise this. I was preoccupied +with my work. It had never, at any time in my life, seemed to me healthy +to consider about other people's minds, what they were thinking or +imagining. There is quite enough work to do in the world without that. But +soon I was forced to consider this man's opposition to me. It came before +me in a thousand little ways. The attitude of the Chapter changed to me-- +especially noticeable at one of the Chapter meetings. I don't want to make +my story so long, my lord, that it will tire you. To cut it short--a day +came when my boy ran off to London with a town girl, the daughter of the +landlord of one of the more disreputable public-houses. That was a +terrible, devastating blow to me. I have quite literally not been the same +man since. I was determined not to allow it to turn me from my proper +work. I still loved the boy; he had not behaved dishonourably to the girl. +He has now married her and is earning his living in London. If that had +been the only blow----" He stopped, cleared his throat, and, turning +excitedly towards the Bishop, almost shouted: + +"But it is not! It is not, my lord! My enemy has never ceased his plots +for one instant. It was he who advised my boy to run off with this girl. +He has turned the whole town against me; they laugh at me and mock me! And +now he...now he..." He could not for a moment find breath. He exercised +an impulse of almost superhuman self-control, bringing his body visibly +back into bounds again. He went on more quietly: + +"We are in opposite camps over this matter of the Pybus living--we are in +opposition over almost every question that arises here. He is an able man. +I must do him that justice. He can plot...he can scheme...whereas I..." +Brandon beat his hands desperately on his knees. + +"It is not only this man!" he cried, "not only this! It is as though there +were some larger conspiracy, something from Heaven itself. God has turned +His face away from me when I have served Him faithfully all my days. No +one has served Him more whole-heartedly than I. He has been my only +thought, His glory my only purpose. Nine months ago I had health, I had +friends, I had honour. I had my family--now my health is going, my friends +have forsaken me, I am mocked at by the lowest men in the town, my son has +left me, my--my..." + +He broke off, bending his face in his hands. + +The Bishop said: "My dear friend, you are not alone in this. We have all +been tried, like this--tested----" + +"Tested!" Brandon broke out. "Why should I be tested? What have I done in +all my life that is not acceptable to God? What sin have I committed! What +disloyalty have I shown? But there is something more that I must tell you, +my lord--the reason why I have come to you to-day. Canon Ronder and I--you +must have known of whom I have been speaking--had a violent quarrel one +afternoon on the way home after luncheon with you at Carpledon. This +quarrel became, in one way or another, the town's property. Ronder +affected to like me, but it was impossible now for him to hide his real +intentions towards me. This thing began to be an obsession with me. I +tried to prevent this. I knew what the danger of such obsessions can be. +But there was something else. My wife--" he paused--went on. "My wife and +I, my lord, have lived together in perfect happiness for twenty years. At +least it had seemed to me to be perfect happiness. She began to behave +strangely. She was not herself. Undoubtedly the affair of our son +disturbed her desperately. She seemed to avoid me, to escape from me when +she could. This, coming with my other troubles, made me feel as though I +were in some horrible dream, as though the very furniture of our home and +the appearance of the streets were changing. I began to be afraid +sometimes that I might be going mad. I have had bad headaches that have +made it difficult for me to think. Then, only last night, a woman brought +me a letter. I wish you most earnestly to believe, my lord, that I believe +my wife to be absolutely loyal to me--loyal in every possible sense of the +word. The letter purported to be in her handwriting. And in this matter +also Canon Ronder had had some hand. The woman admitted that she had been +first to Canon Ronder and that he had advised her to bring it to me." + +The Bishop made a movement. + +"You will, of course, say nothing of this, my lord, to Canon Ronder. I +have come privately to ask your prayers for me and to have your counsel. I +am making no complaint against Canon Ronder. I must see this thing through +by myself. But last night, when my mind was filled with this letter, I +found myself suddenly next to Canon Ronder, and I had a murderous impulse +that was so fierce and sudden in its power that I--" he broke off, +shuddering. Then cried, suddenly stretching out his hands: + +"Oh, my lord, pray for me, pray for me! Help me! I don't know what I do--I +am given over to the powers of Hell!" + +A long silence followed. Then the Bishop said: + +"You have asked me to say nothing to Canon Ronder, and of course I must +respect your confidence. But the first thing that I would say to you is +that I think that what you feared has happened--that you have allowed this +thought of him to become an obsession to you. The ways of God are +mysterious and past our finding out; but all of us, in our lives, have +known that time when everything was suddenly turned against us--our work, +those whom we love, our health, even our belief in God Himself. My dear, +dear friend, I myself have known that several times in my own life. Once, +when I was a young man, I lost an appointment on which my whole heart was +set, and lost it, as it seemed, through an extreme injustice. It turned +out afterwards that my losing that was one of the most fortunate things +for me. Once my dear wife and I seemed to lose all our love for one +another, and I was assailed with most desperate temptation--and the end of +that was that we loved and understood one another as we had never done +before. Once--and this was the most terrible period of my life, and it +continued over a long time--I lost, as it seemed, completely all my faith +in God. I came out of that believing only in the beauty of Christ's life, +clinging to that, and saying to myself, 'Such a friend have I--then life +is not all lost to me'--and slowly, gradually, I came back into touch with +Him and knew Him as I had never known Him before, and, through Him, once +again God the Father. And now, even in my old age, temptation is still +with me. I long to die. I am tempted often to look upon men and women as +shadows that have no longer any connection with me. I am very weak and +feeble and I wish to sleep.... But the love of God continues, and through +Jesus Christ, the love of men. It is the only truth--love of God, love of +man--the rest is fantasy and unreality. Look up, my son, bear this with +patience. God is standing at your shoulder and will be with you to the +end. This is training for you. To show you, perhaps, that all through life +you have missed the most important thing. You are learning through this +trouble your need of others, your need to love them, and that they should +love you--the only lesson worth learning in life...." + +The Bishop came over to Brandon and put his hand on his head. Strange +peace came into Brandon's heart, not from the old man's words, but from +the contact with him, the touch of his thin trembling hand. The room was +filled with peace. Ronder was suddenly of little importance. The Cathedral +faded. For a time he rested. + +For the rest of that day, until evening, that peace stayed with him. With +it still in his heart he came, late that night, into their bedroom. Mrs. +Brandon was in bed, awake, staring in front of her, not moving. He sat +down in the chair beside the bed, stretched out his hand, and took hers. + +"Amy, dear," he said, "I want us to have a little talk." + +Her little hand lay still and hot in his large cool one. + +"I've been very unhappy," he went on with difficulty, "lately about you--I +have seen that you yourself are not happy. I want you to be. I will do +anything that is in my power to make you so!" + +"You would not," she said, without looking at him, "have troubled to think +of me had not your own private affairs gone wrong and--had not Falk left +us!" + +The sound of her hostility irritated him against his will; he beat the +irritation down. He felt suddenly very tired, quite exhausted. He had an +almost irresistible temptation to go down into his dressing-room, lie on +his sofa there, and go instantly to sleep. + +"That's not quite fair, Amy," he said. "But we won't dispute about that. I +want to know why, after our being happy for twenty years, something now +has come in between us or seems to have done so; I want to clear that away +if I can, so that we can be as we were before." + +Be as they were before! At the strange, ludicrous irony of that phrase she +turned on her elbow and looked at him, stared at him as though she could +not see enough of him. + +"Why do you think that there is anything the matter?" she asked softly, +almost gently. + +"Why, of course I can see," he said, holding her hand more tightly as +though the sudden gentleness in her voice had touched him. "When one has +lived with some one a long time," he went on rather awkwardly, "one +notices things. Of course I've seen that you were not happy. And Falk +leaving us in that way must have made you very miserable. It made me +miserable too," he added, suddenly stroking her hand a little. + +She could not bear that and very quietly withdrew her hand. + +"Did it really hurt you, Falk's going?" she asked, still staring at him. + +"Hurt me?" he cried, staring back at her in utter astonishment. "Hurt me? +Why--why----" + +"Then why," she went on, "didn't you go up to London after him?" + +The question was so entirely unexpected that he could only repeat: + +"Why?..." + +"Oh, well, it doesn't matter now," she said, wearily turning away. + +"Perhaps I did wrong. I think perhaps I've done wrong in many ways during +these last years. I am seeing many things for the first time. The truth is +I have been so absorbed in my work that I've thought of nothing else. I +took it too much for granted that you were happy because I was happy. And +now I want to make it right. I do indeed, Amy. Tell me what's the matter." + +She said nothing. He waited for a long time. Her immobility always angered +him. He said at last more impatiently. + +"Please tell me, Amy, what you have against me." + +"I have nothing against you." + +"Then why are things wrong between us?" + +"Are things wrong?" + +"You know they are--ever since that morning when you wouldn't come to Holy +Communion." + +"I was tired that morning." + +"It is more than tiredness," he said, with sudden impatience, beating upon +the counterpane with his fist. "Amy--you're not behaving fairly. You must +talk to me. I insist on it." + +She turned once more towards him. + +"What is it you want me to say?" + +"Why you're unhappy." + +"But if I am not unhappy?" + +"You are." + +"But suppose I say that I am not?" + +"You are. You are. You are!" he shouted at her. + +"Very well, then, I am." + +"Why are you?" + +"Who _is_ happy really? At any rate for more than a moment. Only very +thoughtless and silly people." + +"You're putting me off." He took her hand again. "I'm to blame, Amy--to +blame in many ways. But people are talking." + +She snatched her hand away. + +"People talking? Who?...But as though that mattered." + +"It _does_ matter. It has gone far--much farther than I thought." + +She looked at him then, quickly, and turned her face away again. + +"Who's talking? And what are they saying?" + +"They are saying----" He broke off. What _were_ they saying? Until +the arrival of that horrible letter he had not realised that they were +saying anything at all. + +"Don't think for a single moment, Amy, that I pay the slightest attention +to any of their talk. I would not have bothered you with any of this had +it not been for something else--of which I'll speak in a moment. If +everything is right between us--between you and me--then it doesn't matter +if the whole world talks until it's blue in the face." + +"Leave it alone, then," she said. "Let them talk." + +Her indifference stung him. She didn't care, then, whether things were +right between himself and her or no? It was the same to her. She cared so +little for him.... That sudden realisation struck him so sharply that it +was as though some one had hit him in the back. For so many years he had +taken it for granted...taken something for granted that was not to be so +taken. Very dimly some one was approaching him--that dark, misty, gigantic +figure--blotting out the light from the windows. That figure was becoming +day by day more closely his companion. + +Looking at her now more intently, and with a new urgency, he said: + +"Some one brought me a letter, Amy. They said it was a letter of yours." + +She did not move nor stir. Then, after a long silence, she said, "Let me +see it." + +He felt in his pocket and produced it. She stretched out her hand and took +it. She read it through slowly. "You think that I wrote this?" she asked. + +"No, I know that you did not." + +"To whom was it supposed to be written?" + +"To 'Morris of St. James'." + +She nodded her head. "Ah, yes. We're friends. That's why they chose him. +Of course it's a forgery," she added--"a very clever one." + +"What I don't understand," he said eagerly, at his heart the strangest +relief that he did not dare to stop to analyse, "is why any one should +have troubled to do this--the risk, the danger----" + +"You have enemies," she said. "Of course you know that. People who are +jealous." + +"One enemy," he answered fiercely. "Ronder. The woman had been to him with +this letter before she came to me." + +"The woman! What woman? + +"The woman who brought it to me was a Miss Milton--a wretched creature who +was once at the Library." + +"And she had been with this to Canon Ronder before she came to you?" + +"Yes." + +"Ah!" + +Then she said very quietly: + +"And what do you mean to do about the letter?" + +"I will do whatever you wish me to do. What I would like to do is to leave +no step untaken to bring the authors of this forgery to justice. No step. +I will----" + +"No," she broke in quickly. "It is much better to leave it alone. What +good can it do to follow it up? It only tells every one about it. We +should despise it. The thing is so obviously false. Why you can see," +suddenly holding the letter towards him, "it isn't even like my writing. +My s's, my m's--they're not like that----" + +"No, no," he said eagerly. "I see that they are not. I saw that at once." + +"You knew at once that it was a forgery?" + +"I knew at once. I never doubted for an instant." + +She sighed; then settled back into the pillow with a little shudder. + +"This town," she said; "the things they do. Oh! to get away from it, to +get away!" + +"And we will!" he cried eagerly. "That's what we need, both of us--a +holiday. I've been thinking it over. We're both tired. When this Jubilee +is over we'll go abroad--Italy, Greece. We'll have a second honeymoon. Oh, +Amy, we'll begin life again. I've been much to blame--much to blame. Give +me that letter. I'll destroy it. I know my enemy, but I'll not think of +him or of any one but our two selves. I'll be good to you now if you'll +let me." + +She gave him the letter. + +"Look at it before you tear it up," she said, staring at him as though she +would not miss any change in his features. "You're sure that it is a +forgery?" + +"Why, of course." + +"It's nothing like my handwriting?" + +"Nothing at all." + +"You know that I am devoted to you, that I would never be untrue to you in +thought, word or deed?" + +"Why, of course, of course. As though I didn't know----" + +"And that I'll love to come abroad with you?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"And that we'll have a second honeymoon?" + +"Yes, yes. Indeed, Amy, we will." + +"Look well at that letter. You are wrong. It is not a forgery. I did write +it." + +He did not answer her, but stayed staring at the letter like a boy +detected in a theft. She repeated: + +"The woman was quite right. I did write that letter." + +Brandon said, staring at her, "Don't laugh at me. This is too serious." + +"I'm not laughing. I wrote it. I sent it down by Gladys. If you recall the +day to her she'll remember." + +She watched his face. It had turned suddenly grey, as though some one had +slipped a grey mask over the original features. + +She thought, "Now perhaps he'll kill me. I'm not sorry." + +He whispered, leaning quite close to her as though he were afraid she +would not hear. + +"You wrote that letter to Morris?" + +"I did." Then suddenly springing up, half out of bed, she cried, "You're +not to touch him. Do you hear? You're not to touch him! It's not his +fault. He's had nothing to do with this. He's only my friend. I love him, +but he doesn't love me. Do you hear? He's had nothing to do with this!" + +"You love him!" whispered Brandon. + +"I've loved him since the first moment I saw him. I've wanted some one to +love for years--years and years and years. You didn't love me, so then I +hoped Falk would, and Falk didn't, so then I found the first person--any +one who would be kind to me. And he was kind--he _is_ kind--the +kindest man in the world. And he saw that I was lonely, so he let me talk +to him and go to him--but none of this is his doing. He's only been kind. +He--" + +"Your letter says 'Dearest'," said Brandon. "If you wrote that letter it +says 'Dearest'." + +"That was my foolishness. It was wrong of me. He told me that I mustn't +say anything affectionate. He's good and I'm bad. And I'm bad because +you've made me." + +Brandon took the letter and tore it into little pieces; they scattered +upon the counterpane. + +"You've been unfaithful to me?" he said, bending over her. + +She did not shrink back, although that strange, unknown, grey face was +very close to her. "Yes. At first he wouldn't. He refused anything. But I +would.... I wanted to be. I hate you. I've hated you for years." + +"Why?" His hand closed on her shoulder. + +"Because of your conceit and pride. Because you've never thought of me. +Because I've always been a piece of furniture to you--less than that. +Because you've been so pleased with yourself and well-satisfied and +stupid. Yes. Yes. Most because you're so stupid. So stupid. Never seeing +anything, never knowing anything and always--so satisfied. And when the +town was pleased with you and said you were so fine I've laughed, knowing +what you were, and I thought to myself, 'There'll come a time when they'll +find him out'--and now they have. They know what you are at last. And I'm +glad! I'm glad! I'm glad!" She stopped, her breast rising and falling +beneath her nightdress, her voice shrill, almost a scream. + +He put his hands on her thin bony shoulders and pushed her back into the +bed. His hands moved to her throat. His whole weight, he now kneeling on +the bed, was on top of her. + +"Kill me! Kill me!" she whispered. "I'll be glad." + +All the while their eyes stared at one another inquisitively, as though +they were strangers meeting for the first time. + +His hands met round her throat. His knees were over her. He felt her thin +throat between his hands and a voice in his ear whispered, "That's right, +squeeze tighter. Splendid! Splendid!" + +Suddenly his eyes recognised hers. His hands dropped. He crawled from the +bed. Then he felt his way, blindly, out of the room. + + + + +Chapter V + +Tuesday, June 22: I. The Cathedral + + + +The Great Day arrived, escorted sumptuously with skies of burning blue. +How many heads looked out of how many windows, the country over, that +morning! In Polchester it was considered as only another proof of the +esteem in which that city was held by the Almighty. The Old Lady might +deserve and did unquestionably obtain divinely condescending weather for +her various excursions, but it was nothing to that which the Old Town got +and deserved. + +Deserved or no, the town rose to the occasion. The High Street was +swimming in flags and bunting; even in Seatown most of the grimy windows +showed those little cheap flags that during the past week hawkers had been +so industriously selling. From quite early in the morning the squeak and +scream of the roundabouts in the Fair could be heard dimly penetrating the +sanctities and privacies of the Precincts. But it was the Cathedral bells, +pealing, crashing, echoing, rocking, as early as nine o'clock in the +morning, that first awoke the consciousness of most of the Polcastrians to +the glories of the day. + +I suppose that nearly all souls that morning subconsciously divided the +order of the festival into three periods; in the morning the Cathedral and +its service, in the afternoon the social, friendly, man-to-man +celebration, and in the evening, torch-light, bonfire, skies ablaze, drink +and love. + +Certain it is that many eyes turned towards the Cathedral accustomed for +many years to look in quite other directions. There was to be a grand +service, they said, with "trumpets and shawms" and the big drum, and the +old Bishop preaching, making, in all probability, his very last public +appearance. Up from the dark mysteries of Seatown, down from the chaste +proprieties of the villas above Orange Street, from the purlieus of the +market, from the shops of the High Street, sailors and merchantmen, +traders and sea-captains and, from the wild fastness of the Fair, gipsies +with silver rings in their ears and, perhaps, who can tell? bells on their +dusky toes. + +Very early were Lawrence and Cobbett about their duties. This was, in all +probability, Lawrence's last Great Day before the final and all-judging +one, and well both he and Cobbett were aware of it. Cobbett could see +himself that morning almost stepping into the old man's shoes, and the old +man himself was not well this morning--not well at all. Rheumatism, gout, +what hadn't he got?--and, above all, that strange, mysterious pain +somewhere in his very vitals, a pain that was not precisely a pain, too +dull and homely for that, but a warning, a foreboding. + +On an ordinary day, in spite of his dislike of allowing Cobbett any of +those duties that were so properly his own, he would have stayed in bed, +but to-day?--no, thank you! On such a day as this he would defy the Devil +himself and all his red-hot pincers! So there he was in his long purple +gown, with his lovely snow-white beard, and his gold-topped staff, +patronising Mrs. Muffit (who superintended the cleaning) and her ancient +servitors, seeing that the places for the Band (just under the choir- +screen) and for the extra members of the choir were all in order, and, +above all, that the Bishop's Throne up by the altar was guiltless of a +speck of dust, of a shadow of a shadow of disorder. Cobbett saw, beyond +any question or doubt, death in the old man's face, and suddenly, to his +own amazement, was sorry. For years now he had been waiting for the day +when he should succeed the tiresome old fool, for years he had cursed him +for a thousand pomposities, blunders, tedious garrulities, and now, +suddenly, he was sorry. What had come over him? But he wasn't a bad old +man; plucky, too; you could see how he was suffering. They had, after all, +been companions together for so many years.... + +Quite early in the morning arrivals began--visitors from the country most +likely, sitting there at the back of the nave, bathed in the great silence +and the dim light, just looking and wondering and expecting. Some of them +wanted to move about and examine the brasses and the tombs and the +windows--yes, move about with their families, and their bags of +sandwiches, and their oranges. But not this morning, oh, dear, no! They +could come in or go out, but if they came in they must stay quiet. Did +they but subterraneously giggle, Cobbet was on their tracks in no time. + +The light flooded in, throwing great splashes and lakes of blue and gold +and purple on to flag and pillar. Great in its strength, magnificent in +its beauty, the Cathedral prepared.... + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Combermere walked rather solemnly that morning from her house to the +Cathedral. In spite of the lovely morning she was feeling suddenly old. +Things like Jubilees do date you--no doubt about it. Nearly fifty. Three- +quarters of life behind her and what had she to show for it? An unlucky +marriage, much physical health and fun, some friends--but, at the last, +lonely--lonely as perhaps every human being in this queer world was. That +old woman now preparing to ride in fantastic procession before her +worshipping subjects, she was lonely too. Poor, little, lonely, old woman! +Well, then, Charity to all and sundry--Charity, kindliness, the one and +only thing. Aggie Combermere was not a sentimental woman, nor did she see +life falsely, but she was suddenly aware, walking under the blazing blue +sky, that she had been unkind, for amusement's sake, more often than she +need.... Well, why not? She was ready to allow people to have a shy at +herself--any one who liked.... "'Ere you are! Old Aunt Sally! Three shies +a penny!" And she _was_ an Aunt Sally, a ludicrous creature, caring +for her dogs more than for any living creature, shovelling food into her +mouth for no particular purpose, doing physical exercises in the morning, +and _nearly_ fifty! + +She found then, just as she reached the Arden Gate, that, to her own +immense surprise, it was not of herself that, all this time, she had been +thinking, but rather of Brandon and the Brandon family. The Brandons! What +an extraordinary affair! The Town was now bursting its fat sides with +excitement over it all! The Town was now generally aware (but how it was +aware no one quite knew) that there was a mysterious letter that Mrs. +Brandon had written to Morris, and that Miss Milton, librarian who was, +had obtained this letter and had taken it to Ronder. And the next move, +the next! the next! Oh, tell us! Tell us! The Town stands on tiptoe; its +hair on end. Let us see! Let us see! Let us not miss the tiniest detail of +this extraordinary affair! + +And really how extraordinary! First the boy runs off with that girl; then +Mrs. Brandon, the quietest, dullest woman for years and years, throws her +cap over the mill and behaves like a madwoman; and Johnny St. Leath, they +say, is in love with the daughter, and his old mother is furious; and +Brandon, they say, wants to cut Ronder's throat. Ronder! Mrs. Combermere +paused, partly to get her breath, partly to enjoy for an instant the +shining, glittering grass, dotted with figures, stretching like a carpet +from the vast greyness of the Cathedral. Ronder! There was a remarkable +man! Mrs. Combermere was conquered by him, in spite of herself. How, in +seven short months, he had conquered everybody! What an amusing talker, +what a good preacher, what a clever business head! And yet she did not +really like him. His praises now were in every one's mouth, but she did +not _really_ like him. Old Brandon was still her favourite, her old +friend of ten years; but there was no doubt that he _was_ behind the +times, Ronder had shown them that! No use living in the 'Eighties any +longer. But she was fond of him, she did not want him to be unhappy--and +unhappy he was, that any one could see. Most of all, she did not want him +to do anything foolish--and he might, his temper was strange, he was not +so strong as he looked; he had felt his son's escapade terribly--and now +his wife! + +"Well, if I had a wife like that," was Mrs. Combermere's conclusion before +she joined Ellen Stiles and Julia Preston, "I'd let her go off with any +one! Pay any one to take her!" + +Ellen was, of course, full of it all. "My dear, _what_ do you think +is the latest! They say that the Archdeacon threatens to poison the whole +of the Chapter if they don't let Forsyth have Pybus, and that Boadicea has +ordered Johnny to take a voyage to the Canary Islands for his health, and +that he says he'll see her shot first! And Miss Milton is selling the +letter for a thousand pounds to the first comer!" + +Mrs. Combermere stopped her sharply--"Mind your own business, Ellen. The +whole thing now is past a joke. And as to Johnny St. Leath, he shows his +good taste. There isn't a sweeter, prettier girl in England than Joan +Brandon, and he's lucky if he gets her." + +"I don't want to be ill-natured," said Ellen Stiles rather plaintively, +"but that family would test anybody's reticence. We'd better go in or old +Lawrence will be letting some one have our seats." + + * * * * * + +Joan came with her mother slowly across the grass. In her dress was this +letter: + + Dearest, dearest, _dearest_ Joan--The first thing you have + thoroughly to realise is that it doesn't matter _what_ you say or + what mother says or what any one says. Mother's angry. Of course she + is. She's been angry a thousand million times before and will be a + thousand million times again. But it doesn't _mean_ anything. + Mother likes to be angry, it does her good, and the longer she's + angry with you the better she'll like you, if you understand what I + mean. What I want to get into your head is that you can't alter + anything. Of course if you didn't love me it would be another matter, + and you tried to tell me you didn't love me yesterday just for my + good, but you did it so badly that you had to admit yourself that it + was a failure. Don't talk about your brother; he's a fine fellow, and + I'm going to look him up when I'm in London next month. Don't talk + about not seeing me, because you can't help seeing me if I'm right in + front of you. I'm no silph. (The way he spelt it.) I'm quite ready to + wait for a certain time anyway. But marry we will, and happy we'll be + for ever and ever!--Your adoring + + JOHNNY. + +And what was she to do about it? She was certainly very unmodern and +inexperienced by the standards of to-day--on the other hand, she was a +very long way indeed from the Lily Dales and Eleanor Hardings of Mr. +Trollope. She had not told her father--that she was resolved to do so soon +as he seemed a little less worried by his affairs; but say that she did +not love Johnny she had found that she could not, and as to damaging him +by marrying him, his love for her had strengthened her own pride in +herself. She did not understand his love, it was astounding to her after +the indifference with which her own family had always treated her. But +there it was: he, with all his experience of life, loved her more than any +one else in the world, so there _must_ be something in her. And she +knew there was; privately she had always known it. As to his mother--well, +so long as Johnny loved her she could face anybody. + +So this wonderful morning she was radiantly happy. Child as she was, she +adored this excitement. It was splendid of it to be this glorious time +just when she was having her own glorious time! Splendid of the weather to +be so beautiful, of the bells to clash, of every one to wear their best +clothes, of the Jubilee to arrange itself so exactly at the right moment! +And could it be only last Saturday that he had spoken to her? And it +seemed centuries, centuries ago! + +She chattered eagerly, smiling at Betty Callender, and then at the D'Arcy +girls, and then at Mrs. Bentinck-Major. She supposed that they were all +talking about her. Well, let them. There was nothing to be ashamed of. +Quite the contrary. She did not notice her mother's silence. But she +_had_ noticed, before they left the house, how ill her mother was +looking. A very bad night--another of her dreadful headaches. Her father +had not come in to breakfast at all. Everything had been wrong at home +since that day when Falk had been sent down from Oxford. She longed to put +her arms around her father's neck and hug him. Behind her own happiness, +ever since the night of the Ball, there had been a longing, an aching +urgent longing to pet him, comfort him, make love to him. And she would, +too--as soon as all these festivities were over. + +And then suddenly there were Johnny and his mother and his sisters walking +towards the West door! What a situation! And then there was Johnny +breaking away from his own family and hurrying towards them, lifting his +hat, smiling! + +How splendid he looked and how happy! And how happy she also was looking +had she only known it! + +"Good morning, Mrs. Brandon." + +Mrs. Brandon didn't appear to remember him at all. Then suddenly, as +though she had picked her conscience out of her pocket: + +"Oh, good morning, Lord St. Leath." + +Joan, out of the corner, saw Boadicea, her head with its absurd bonnet +high, striding indignantly ahead. + +"What lovely weather, is it not?" + +"Yes, aren't we lucky? Good morning, Joan." + +"Good morning." + +"Isn't it a lovely day?" + +"Oh, yes, it is." + +"Are you going to see the Torchlight Procession to-night?" + +"They come through the Precincts, you know." + +"Of course they do. We're going to have five bonfires all around us. +Mother's afraid they'll set the Castle on fire." + +They both laughed--much too happy to know what they were laughing at. + +Mrs. Sampson joined them. Johnny and Joan walked ahead. Only two steps and +they would be in the Cathedral. + +"Did you get my letter?" + +"Yes." + +"I love you, I love you, I love you." This in a hoarse whisper. + +"Johnny--you mustn't--you know--we can't--you know I oughtn't----" + +They passed through into the Cathedral. + +Mrs. Bentinck-Major came with Miss Ronder, slowly, across the grass. It +was not necessary for them to hurry because they knew that their seats +were reserved for them. Mrs. Bentinck-Major thought Miss Ronder "queer" +because of the clever things that she said and of the odd fashion in which +she always dressed. To say anything clever was, with Mrs. Bentinck-Major, +at once to be classed as "queer." + +"It _is_ hot!" + +Miss Ronder, thin and piky above her stiff white collar, looked +immaculately cool. "A lovely day," she said, sniffing the colour and the +warmth, and loving it. + +Mrs. Bentinck-Major was thinking of the Brandon scandal, but it was one of +her habits never to let her left-hand voice know what her right-hand brain +was doing. Secretly she often wondered about sexual things--what people +_really_ did, whether they enjoyed what they did, and whether she +would have enjoyed the same things had life gone that way with her instead +of leading her to Bentinck-Major. + +But she never, never spoke of such things. She was thinking now of Mrs. +Brandon and Morris. They said that some one had found a letter, a +disgraceful letter. How _extraordinary_! + +"It's loneliness," suddenly said Miss Ronder, "that drives people to do +the things they do." + +Mrs. Bentinck-Major started as though some one had struck her in the small +of her back. Was the woman a witch? How amazing! + +"I beg your pardon," she said nervously. + +"I was speaking," said Miss Ronder in her clear incisive voice, "of one of +our maids, who has suddenly engaged herself to the most unpleasing-looking +butcher's assistant you can imagine--all spots and stammer. Quite a pretty +girl, too. But it's fear of loneliness that does it. Wanting affection." + +Dear me! Mrs. Bentinck-Major had never had very much affection from Mr. +Bentinck-Major, and had not very consciously missed it, but then she had a +dog, a spaniel, whom she loved most dearly. + +"We're all lonely--all of us--to the very end," said Miss Ronder, as +though she was thinking of some one in especial. And she was. She was +thinking of her nephew. "I shouldn't wonder if the Queen isn't feeling +more lonely to-day than she has ever felt in all her life before." + +And then they saw that dreadful man, Davray, lurching along. _He_ was +lonely, but then he deserved to be, with his _drink_ and all. +_Wicked_ man! Mrs. Bentinck-Major shivered. She didn't know how he +dared to go to church. He shouldn't be allowed. On such a day, too. What +would the Queen herself think, did she know? + +The two ladies and Davray passed through the door at the same time. + + * * * * * + +And now every one was inside. The great bell dropped notes like heavy +weights into a liquid well. For the cup of the Cathedral swam in colour, +the light pouring through the great Rose window, and that multitude of +persons seeming to sway like shadows beneath a sheet of water from amber +to purple, from purple to crimson, from crimson to darkest green. + +Individuality was lost. The Cathedral, thinking nothing of Kings and +Queens, of history, of movement forward and retrograde, but only of itself +and of the life that it had been given, that it now claimed for its own, +with haughty confidence assumed its Power...the Power of its own +Immortality that is neither man's nor God's. + +The trumpets began. They rang out the Psalm that had been given them, and +transformed it into a cry of exultant triumph. Their notes rose, were +caught by the pillars, acclaimed, tossed higher, caught again in the eaves +and corners of the great building, swinging backwards and forwards.... + +"Now listen to My greatness! You created Me for the Worship of your God! + +"And now I am your God! Out of your forms and ceremonies you have made a +new God! And I, thy God, am a jealous God...." + +Ronder read the First Lesson. + +"That's Ronder," the town-people whispered, "the new Canon. Oh! he's +clever. You should hear him preach!" + +"Reads _beautiful!_" Gladys, the Brandons' maid, whispered to Annie, +the kitchen-maid. "I do like a bit of fine reading." + +By those accustomed to observe it was noticed that Ronder read with very +much more assurance than he had done three months ago. It was as though he +knew now where he was, as though he were settled down now and had his +place--and it would take some very strong people to shift him from that +place. Oh, yes. It would! + +And Brandon read the Second Lesson. As usual, when he stepped down from +the choir, slowly, impressively, pausing for a moment before he turned to +the Lectern, strangers whispered to one another, "That's a handsome +parson, that is." He seemed to hesitate again before going up as though he +had stumbled over a step. Very slowly he read the opening words; slowly he +continued. + +Puddifoot, looking up across from his seat in the side aisle, thought, +"There's something the matter with him." Suddenly he paused, looked about +him, stared over the congregation as though he were searching for +somebody, then slowly again went on and finished: + +"Here endeth--the Second Lesson." + +Then, instead of turning, he leaned forward, gripping the Lectern with +both hands, and seemed again to be searching for some one. + +"Looks as though he were going to have a stroke," thought Puddifoot. Then +very carefully, as though he were moving in darkness, he turned and groped +his way downwards. With bent head he walked back into the choir. + +Soon they were scattered--every one according to his or her own +individuality--the prayers had broken them up, too many of them, too long, +and the wooden kneelers so hard. Minds flew like birds about the +Cathedral--ideas, gold and silver, black and grey, soapy and soft, hard as +iron. The men yawned behind their trumpets, the School played Noughts and +Crosses--the Old Lady and her Triumph stepped away into limbo. + +And then suddenly it was time for the Bishop's sermon. Every one hoped +that it would not be long; passing clouds veiled the light behind the East +window and the Roses faded to ashes. The organ rumbled in its crotchety +voice as the old man slowly disentangled himself from his throne, and +slowly, slowly, slowly advanced down the choir. When he appeared above the +nave, and paused for an instant to make sure of the step, all the minds in +the Cathedral suddenly concentrated again, the birds flew back, the air +was still. At the sight of that very old man, that little bag of shaking +bones, all the brief history of the world was suddenly apparent. Greater +than Alexander, more beautiful than Helen of Troy, wiser than Gamaliel, +more powerful than Artaxerxes, he made the secret of immortal life visible +to all. + +His hair was white, and his face was ashen grey, and his hands were like +bird's claws. Like a child finding its way across its nursery floor he +climbed to the pulpit, being now so far distant in heaven that earth was +dark to him. + +"The Lord be with you." + +"And with Thy Spirit." + +His voice was clear and could be heard by all. He spoke for a very short +time. He told them about the Queen, and that she had been good to her +people for sixty years, and that she had feared God; he told them that +that goodness was the only secret of happiness; he told them that Jesus +Christ came nearer and nearer, and ever more near, did one but ask Him. + +He said, "I suppose that I shall never speak to you in this place again. I +am very old. Some of you have thought, perhaps, that I was too old to do +my work here--others have wanted me to stay. I have loved you all very +much, and it is lonely to go away from you. Our great and good Queen also +is old now, and perhaps she, too, in the middle of her triumph, is feeling +lonely. So pray for her, and then pray for me a little, that when I meet +God He may forgive me my sins and help me to do better work than I have +done here. Life is sad sometimes, and often it is dark, but at the end it +is beautiful and wonderful, for which we must thank God." + +He knelt down and prayed, and every one, Davray and Mrs. Combermere, Ellen +Stiles and Morris, Lady St. Leath and Mrs. Brandon, Joan and Lawrence, +Ronder and Foster, prayed too. + +And then they all, all for a moment utterly united in soul and body and +spirit, knelt down and the old man blessed them from the pulpit. + +Then they sang "Now Thank We All Our God." + +Afterwards came the Benediction. + + + + +Chapter VI + +Tuesday, June 22: II. The Fair + + + +As Brandon left the Cathedral Ronder came up to him. Brandon, with bowed +head, had turned into the Cloisters, although that was not the quickest +way to his home. The two men were alone in the greyness lit from without +by the brilliant sun as though it had been a stage setting. + +"I beg your pardon, Archdeacon, I must speak to you." + +Brandon raised his head. He stared at Ronder, then said: + +"I have nothing to say to you. I do not wish to speak to you." + +"I know that you do not." Ronder's face was really troubled; there was an +expression in his eyes that his aunt had never seen. + +Brandon moved on, looking neither to right nor left. + +Ronder continued: "I know how you feel about me. But to-day--somehow--this +service--I feel that I can't allow our quarrel to continue without +speaking. It isn't easy for me----" He broke off. + +Brandon's voice shook. + +"I have nothing to say to you. I do not wish to say anything to you. You +have been my enemy since you first came to this town. My work--my +family----" + +"I am not your enemy. Indeed, indeed I am not. I won't deny that when I +came here I found that you, who were the most important man in the place, +thought differently from myself on every important question. You, +yourself, who are an honest man, would not have had me back out from what +I believed to be my duty. I could do no other. But this personal quarrel +between us was most truly not of my own seeking. I have liked and admired +you from the beginning. Such a matter as the Pybus living has forced us +into opposition, but I am convinced that there are many views that we have +in common, that we could be friends working together--" + +Brandon stopped. + +"Did my son, or did he not, come to see you before he went up to London?" + +Ronder hesitated. + +"Yes," he said, "he did. But--" + +"Did he, or did he not, ask your advice?" + +"Yes, he did. But--" + +"Did you advise him to take the course which he afterwards followed?" + +"No, on my honour, Archdeacon, I did not. I did not know what his personal +trouble was. I did not ask him and he did not tell me. We talked of +generalities--" + +"Had you heard, before he came to you, gossip about my son?" + +"I had heard some silly talk--" + +"Very well, then." + +"But you _shall_ listen to me, Archdeacon. I scarcely knew your son. +I had met him only once before, at some one's house, and talked to him +then only for five minutes. He himself asked to come and see me. I could +not refuse him when he asked me. I did not, of course, wish to refuse him. +I liked the look of him, and simply for his own sake wished to know him +better. When he came he was not with me for very long and our talk was +entirely about religion, belief, faith in God, the meaning of life, +nothing more particular than such things." + +"Did he say, when he left you, that what you had told him had helped him +to make up his mind?" + +"Yes." + +"Were you, when he talked to you, quite unconscious that he was my son, +and that any action that he took would at once affect my life, my +happiness?" + +"Of course I was aware that he was your son. But----" + +"There is another question that I wish to ask you, Canon Ronder. Did some +one come to you not long ago with a letter that purported to be written by +my wife?" + +Again Ronder hesitated. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Did she show you that letter?" + +"She did." + +"Did she ask your advice as to what she should do with it?" + +"She did--I told her----" + +"Did you tell her to come with it to me?" + +"No. On my life, Archdeacon, no. I told her to destroy it and that she was +behaving with the utmost wickedness." + +"Did you believe that that letter was written by my wife." + +"No." + +"Then why, if you believed that this woman was going about the town with a +forged letter directed against my happiness and my family's happiness, did +you not come to me and tell me of it?" + +"You must remember, Archdeacon, that we were not on good terms. We had had +a ridiculous quarrel that had, by some means or another, become public +property throughout the whole town. I will not deny that I felt sore about +that. I did not know what sort of reception I might get if I came to you." + +"Very well. There is a further question that I wish to ask you. Will you +deny that from the moment that you set foot in this town you have been +plotting against me in respect to the Pybus living? You found out on which +side I was standing and at once took the other. From that moment you went +about the town, having secret interviews with every sort of person, +working them by flattery and suggestion round to your side. Will you deny +that?" + +Against his will and his absolute determination Ronder's anger began to +rise: "That I have been plotting as you call it," he said, "I absolutely +and utterly deny. That is an insulting word. That I have been against you +in the matter of Pybus from the first has, of course, been known to every +one here. I have been against you because of what I believe to be the +future good of our Church and of our work here. There has been nothing +personal in that matter at all." + +"You lie," said Brandon, suddenly raising his voice. "Every word that you +have spoken to me this morning has been a lie. You are an enemy of myself +and of my Church, and with God's help your plots and falsehoods shall yet +be defeated. You may take from me my wife and my children, you may ruin my +career here that has been built up through ten years of unfaltering +loyalty and work, but God Himself is stronger than your inventions--and +God will see to it. I am your enemy, Canon Ronder, to the end, as you are +mine. You had better look to yourself. You have been concerned in certain +things that the Law may have something to say about. Look to yourself! +Look to yourself!" + +He strode off down the Cloisters. + +People came to luncheon; there had been an invitation of some weeks +before. He scarcely recognised them; one was Mr. Martin, another Dr. +Trudon, an old Mrs. Purley, a well-established widow, an ancient resident, +a Miss Barrester. He scarcely recognised them although he talked so +exactly in his accustomed way that no one noticed anything at all. Mrs. +Brandon also talked in her accustomed way; that is, she scarcely spoke. +Only that afternoon, at tea at the Dean's, Dr. Trudon confided to Julia +Preston that he could assure her that all the rumours were false; the +Archdeacon had never seemed better...funny for him afterwards to +remember! + +Shadows of a shade! When they left Brandon it was as though they had never +been; the echo of their voices died away into the ticking of the clock, +the movement of plates, the shifting of chairs. + +He shut himself into his study. Here was his stronghold, his fortress. He +settled into his chair and the things in the room gathered around him with +friendly consoling gestures. + +"We are still here, we are your old friends. We know you for what you +truly are. We do not change like the world." + +He fell into a deep sleep; he was desperately tired; he had not slept at +all last night. He was sunk into deep fathomless unconsciousness. Then he +rose from that, climbing up, up, seeing before him a high, black, snow- +tipped mountain. The ascent of this he must achieve, his life depended +upon it. He seemed to be naked, the wind lashing his body, icy cold, so +cold that his breath stabbed him. He climbed, the rocks cut his knees and +hands; then, on every side his enemies appeared, Bentinck-Major and +Foster, the Bishop's Chaplain, women, even children, laughing, and behind +them Hogg and that drunken painter. Their hands were on him, they pulled +at his flesh, they beat on his face--then, suddenly, rising like a full +moon behind the hill--Ronder! + +He woke with a cry; the sun was flooding the room, and at the joy of that +great light and of finding himself alone he could have burst into tears of +relief. + +His thoughts came to him quickly, his brain had been clarified by that +sleep, horrible though it had been. He thought steadily now, the facts all +arranged before him. His wife had told him, almost with vindictive pride, +that she had been guilty of adultery. He did not at present think of +Morris at all. + +To him adultery was an awful, a terrible sin. He himself had been +physically faithful to his wife, although he had perhaps never, in the +true sense of the word, loved her. Because he had been a man of splendid +physique and great animal spirits he had, of course, and especially in his +earlier days, known what physical temptation was, but the extreme +preoccupation of his time with every kind of business had saved him from +that acutest lure that idleness brings. Nevertheless, it may confidently +be said that, had temptation been of the sharpest and the most +aggravating, he would never have, even for a moment, dwelt upon the +possibility of yielding to it. To him this was the "sin against the Holy +Ghost." + +He had not indeed the purity of the Saint to whom these sins are simply +not realisable; he had the confidence of one who had made his vows to God +and, having made them, could not conceive that they should be broken. + +And yet, strangely enough, with all the horror that his wife's confession +had raised in him there was mingled, against his will, the strangest fear +for her. She had lived with him during all these years, he had been her +guard, protector, husband. + +Her immortal soul now was lost unless in some way he could save it for +her. And it was he who should save it. She had suddenly a new poignant +importance for him that she had never had before. Her danger was as deadly +and as imminent to him as though she had been in peril from wild beasts. + +In peril? But she had fallen. He could not save her. Nothing that he could +do now could prevent her sin. At that realisation utter despair seized +him; he moaned aloud, shutting out the light from his eyes with his hands. + +There followed then wild disbelief; what she had told him was untrue, she +had said it to anger him, to spite him. He sprang from his chair and moved +towards the door. He would find her and tell her that he knew that she had +been lying to him, that he did not believe---- + +Mid-way he stopped. He knew that she had spoken the truth, that last +moment when they had looked at one another had been compounded, built up, +of truth. Both a glass and a wall--a glass to reveal absolutely, a wall to +divide them, the one from the other, for ever. + +His brain, active now like a snake coiling and uncoiling within the +flaming spaces of his mind, darted upon Morris. He must find Morris at +once--no delay--at once--at once. What to do? He did not know. But he must +be face to face with him and deal with him--that wretched, miserable, +whining, crying fool. That he--!--HE!...But the picture stopped there. +He saw now neither Morris nor his wife. Only a clerical hat, a high white +collar like a wall, a sniggering laugh, a door closing. + +And his headache was upon him again, his heart pounding and leaping. No +matter. He must find Morris. Nothing else. He went to the door, opened it, +and walked cautiously into the hall as though he had intruded into some +one else's house and was there to rob. + +As he came into the hall Mrs. Brandon was crossing it, also furtively. +They saw one another and stood staring. She would have spoken, but +something in his face terrified her, terrified her so desperately that she +suddenly turned and stumbled upstairs, repeating some words over and over +to herself. He did not move, but stayed there watching until she had gone. + +Something made him change his clothes. He put on trousers and an old +overcoat and a shabby old clerical hat. He was a long time in his +dressing-room, and he was a while before his looking-glass in his shirt +and drawers, staring as though he were trying to find himself. + +While he looked he fancied that some one was behind him, and he searched +for his shadow in the glass, but could find nothing. He moved cautiously +out of the house, closing the heavy hall-door very softly behind him; the +afternoon was advanced, and the faint fair shadows of the summer evening +were stealing from place to place. + +He had intended to go at once to Morris's house, but his head was now +aching so violently that he thought he would walk a little first so that +he might have more control. That was what he wanted, self-control! self- +control! That was their plot, to make him lose command of himself, so that +he should show to every one that he was unfit to hold his position. He +must have perfect control of everything--his voice, his body, his +thoughts. And that was why, just now, he must walk in the darker places, +in the smaller streets, until soon he would be, outwardly, himself again. +So he chose for his walk the little dark winding path that runs steeply +from the Cathedral, along behind Canon's Yard and Bodger's Street, down to +the Pol. It was dark here, even on this lovely summer evening, and no one +was about, but sounds broke through, cries and bells and the distant bray +of bands, and from the hill opposite the clash of the Fair. + +At the bottom of the path he stood for a while looking down the bank to +the river; here the Pol runs very quietly and sweetly, like a little +country river. He crossed it and, still moving like a man in a dream, +started up the hill on the other side. He was not, now, consciously +thinking of anything at all; he was aware only of a great pain at his +heart and a terrible loneliness. Loneliness! What an agony! No one near +him, no one to speak to him, every eye mocking him--God as well, far, far +away from him, hidden by walls and hills. + +As he climbed upward the Fair came nearer to him. He did not notice it. He +crossed a path and was at a turnstile. A man asked him for money. He paid +a shilling and moved forward. He liked crowds; he wanted crowds now. +Either crowds or no one. Crowds where he would be lost and not noticed. + +So many thousands were there, but nevertheless he was noticed. That was +the Archdeacon. Who would have thought that he would come to the Fair? Too +grand. But there he was. Yes, that was the Archdeacon. That tall man in +the soft black hat. Yes, some noticed him. But many thousands did not. The +Fair was packed; strangers from all the county over, sailors and gipsies +and farmers and tramps, women no better than they should be, and shop- +girls and decent farmers' wives, and village girls--all sorts! Thousands, +of course, to whom the Archdeacon meant nothing. + +And that _was_ a Fair, the most wonderful our town had ever seen, the +most wonderful it ever was to see! As with many other things, that Jubilee +Fair marked a period. No Fairs again like the good old Fairs--general +education has seen to that. + +It was a Fair, as there are still some to remember, that had in it a +strange element of fantasy. All the accustomed accompaniments of Fairs +were there--The Two Fat Sisters (outside whose booth a notice was posted +begging the public not to prod with umbrellas to discover whether the Fat +were Fat or Wadding); Trixie, the little lady with neither arms nor legs, +sews and writes with her teeth; the Great Albert, the strongest man in +Europe, who will lift weights against all comers; Battling Edwardes, the +Champion Boxer of the Southern Counties; Hippo's World Circus, with six +monkeys, two lions, three tigers and a rhino; all the pistol-firing, ball- +throwing, coconut contrivances conceivable, and roundabouts at every turn. + +All these were there, but behind them, on the outskirts of them and yet in +the very heart of them, there were other unaccustomed things. + +Some said that a ship from the East had arrived at Drymouth, and that +certain jugglers and Chinese and foreign merchants, instead of going on to +London as they had intended, turned to Polchester. How do I know at this +time of day? How do we, any of us, know how anything gets here, and what +does it matter? But there is at this very moment, living in the +magnificently renovated Seatown, an old Chinaman, who came in Jubilee +Year, and has been there ever since, doing washing and behaving with +admirable propriety, no sign of opium about him anywhere. One element that +they introduced was Colour. Our modern Fairs are not very strong in the +element of Colour. It is true that one of the roundabouts was ablaze with +gilt and tinsel, and in the centre of it, whence comes the music, there +were women with brazen faces and bosoms of gold. It is true also that +outside the Circus and the Fat Sisters and Battling Edwardes there were +flaming pictures with reds and yellows thrown about like temperance +tracts, but the modern figures in these pictures spoilt the colour, the +photography spoilt it--too much reality where there should have been +mystery, too much mystery where realism was needed. + +But here, only two yards from the Circus, was a booth hung with strange +cloths, purple and yellow and crimson, and behind the wooden boards a man +and a woman with brown faces and busy, twirling, twisting, brown hands, +were making strange sweets which they wrapped into coloured packets, and +on the other side of the Fat Sisters there was a tent with Li Hung above +it in letters of gold and red, and inside the tents, boards on trestles, +and on the boards a long purple cloth, and on the cloth little toys and +figures and images, all of the gayest colours and the strangest shapes, +and all as cheap as nothing. + +Farther down the lane of booths was the tent of Hayakawa the Juggler. A +little boy in primrose-coloured tights turned, on a board outside the +tent, round and round and round on his head like a teetotum, and inside, +once every half-hour, Hayakawa, in a lovely jacket of gold and silver, +gave his entertainment, eating fire, piercing himself with silver swords, +finding white mice in his toes, and pulling ribbons of crimson and scarlet +out of his ears. + +Farther away again there were the Brothers Gomez, Spaniards perhaps, dark, +magnificent in figure, running on one wire across the air, balancing +sunshades on their noses, leaping, jumping, standing pyramid-high, their +muscles gleaming like billiard-balls. + +And behind and before and in and out there were strange figures moving +through the Fair, strange voices raised against the evening sky, strange +smells of cooking, strange songs suddenly rising, dying as soon as heard. + +Only a breath away the English fields were quietly lying safe behind their +hedges and the English sky changed from blue to green and from green to +mother-of-pearl, and from mother-of-pearl to ivory, and stars stabbed, +like silver nails, the great canopy of heaven, and the Cathedral bells +rang peal after peal above the slowly lighting town. + +Brandon was conscious of little of this as he moved on. Even the thought +of Morris had faded from him. He could not think consecutively. His mind +was broken up like a mirror that had been smashed into a thousand pieces. +He was most truly in a dream. Soon he would wake up, out of this noise, +away from these cries and lights, and would find it all as he had for so +many years known it. He would be sitting in his drawing-room, his legs +stretched out, his wife and daughter near to him, the rumble of the organ +coming through the wall to them, thinking perhaps of to-morrow's duties, +the town quiet all around them, friends and well-wishers everywhere, no +terrible pain in his head, happily arranging how everything should be... +happy...happy.... Ah! how happy that real life was! When he awoke from +his dream he would realise that and thank God for it. When he awoke.... He +stumbled over something, and looking up realised that he was in a very +crowded part of the Fair, a fire was blazing somewhere near, gas-jets, +although the evening was bright and clear, were naming, screams and cries +seemed to make the very sky rock above his head. + +Where was he? What was he doing here? Why had he come? He would go home. +He turned. + +He turned to face the fire that leapt close at his heel. It was burning at +the back of a caravan, in a dark cul-de-sac away from the main +thoroughfare; to its blazing light the bare boards and ugly plankings of +the booth, splashed here and there with torn paper that rustled a little +in the evening breeze, were all that offered themselves. Near by a horse, +untethered, was quietly nosing at the trodden soil. + +Behind the caravan the field ran down to a ditch and thick hedging. + +Brandon stared at the fire as though absorbed by its light. What did he +see there? Visions perhaps? Did he see the Cathedral, the Precincts, the +quiet circle of demure old houses, his own door, his own bedroom? Did he +see his wife moving hurriedly about the room, opening drawers and shutting +them, pausing for a moment to listen, then coming out, closing the door, +listening again, then stepping downstairs, pausing for a moment in the +hall to lay something on the table, then stepping out into the green +wavering evening light? Or did the flames make pictures for him of the +deserted railway-station, the long platform, lit only by one lamp, two +figures meeting, exchanging almost no word, pacing for a little in silence +the dreary spaces, stepping back as the London express rolled in--such a +safe night to choose for escape--then burying themselves in it like +rabbits in their burrow? + +Did his vision lead him back to the deserted house, silent save for its +ticking clocks, black in that ring of lights and bells and shouting +voices? + +Or was he conscious only of the warmth and the life of the fire, of some +sudden companionship with the woman bending over it to stir the sticks and +lift some pot from the heart of the flame? He was feeling, perhaps, a +sudden peace here and a silence, and was aware of the stars breaking into +beauty one by one above his head. + +But his peace, if for a moment he had found it, was soon interrupted. A +voice that he knew came across to him from the other side of the fire. + +"Why, Archdeacon, who would have thought to find you here?" + +He looked up and saw, through the fire, the face of Davray the painter. + +He turned to go, and at once Davray was at his side. + +"No. Don't go. You're in my country now, Archdeacon, not your own. You're +not cock of _this_ walk, you know. Last time we met you thought you +owned the place. Well, you can't think you own this. Fight it out, Mr. +Archdeacon, fight it out." + +Brandon answered: + +"I have no quarrel with you, Mr. Davray. Nor have I anything to say to +you." + +"No quarrel? I like that. I'd knock your face in for two-pence, you +blasted hypocrite. And I will too. All free ground here." + +Davray's voice was shrill. He was swaying on his legs. The woman looked up +from the fire and watched them. + +Brandon turned his back to him and saw, facing him, Samuel Hogg and some +men behind him. + +"Why, good evening, Mr. Archdeacon," said Hogg, taking off his hat and +bowing. "What a delightful place for a meeting!" + +Brandon said quietly, "Is there anything you want with me?" He realised at +once that Hogg was drunk. + +"Nothing," said Hogg, "except to give you a damned good hiding. I've been +waiting for that these many weeks. See him, boys," he continued, turning +to the men behind him. "'Ere's this parson who ruined my daughter--as fine +a girl as ever you've seen--ruined 'er, he did--him and his blasted son. +What d'you say, boys? Is it right for him to be paradin' round here as +proud as a peacock and nobody touchin' him? What d'you say to givin' him a +damned good hiding?" + +The men smiled and pressed forward. Davray from the other side suddenly +lurched into Brandon. Brandon struck out, and Davray fell and lay where he +fell. + +Hogg cried, "Now for 'im, boys----", and at once they were upon him. +Hogg's face rose before Brandon's, extended, magnified in all its details. +Brandon hit out and then was conscious of blows upon his face, of some one +kicking him in the back, of himself hitting wildly, of the fire leaping +mountains-high behind him, of a woman's cry, of something trickling down +into his eye, of sudden contact with warm, naked, sweating flesh, of a +small pinched face, the eyes almost closed, rising before him and falling +again, of a shout, then sudden silence and himself on his knees groping in +darkness for his hat, of his voice far from him murmuring to him, "It's +all right.... It's my hat...it's my hat I must find." + +He wiped his forehead. The back of his hand was covered with blood. + +He saw once again the fire, low now and darkly illumined by some more +distant light, heard the scream of the merry-go-round, stared about him +and saw no living soul, climbed to his feet and saw the stars, then very +slowly, like a blind man in the dark, felt his way to the field's edge, +found a gate, passed through and collapsed, shuddering in the hedge's +darkness. + + + + +Chapter VII + +Tuesday, June 22: III. Torchlight + + + +Joan came home about seven o'clock that evening. Dinner was at half-past +seven, and after dinner she was going to the Deanery to watch the +Torchlight Procession from the Deanery garden. She had had the most +wonderful afternoon. Mrs. Combermere, who had been very kind to her +lately, had taken her up to the Flower Show in the Castle grounds, and +there she had had the most marvellous and beautiful talk with Johnny. They +had talked right under his mother's nose, so to speak, and had settled +everything. Yes--simply everything! They had told one another that their +love was immortal, that nothing could touch it, nor lessen it, nor twist +it--nothing! + +Joan, on her side, had stated that she would never be engaged to Johnny +until his mother consented, and that until they were engaged they must +behave exactly as though they were not engaged, that is, never see one +another alone, never write letters that might not be read by any one; but +she had also asserted that no representations on the part of anybody that +she was ruining Johnny, or that she was a nasty little intriguer, or that +nice girls didn't behave "so," would make the slightest difference to her; +that she knew what she was and Johnny knew what _he_ was, and that +was enough for both of them. + +Johnny on his side had said that he would be patient for a time under this +arrangement, but that the time would not be a very long one, and that she +couldn't object to accepting a little ring that he had bought for her, +that she needn't wear it, but just keep it beside her to remind her of +him. + +But Joan had said that to take the ring would be as good as to be engaged, +and that therefore she would not take it, but that he could keep it ready +for the day of their betrothal. + +She had come home, through the lovely evening, in such a state of +happiness that she was forced to tell Mrs. Combermere all about it, and +Mrs. Combermere had been a darling and assured her that she was quite +right in all that she had done, and that it made her, Mrs. Combermere, +feel quite young again, and that she would help them in every way that she +could, and parting at the Arden Gate, she had kissed Joan just as though +she were her very own daughter. + +So Joan, shining with happiness, came back to the house. It seemed very +quiet after the sun and glitter and laughter of the Flower Show. She went +straight up to her room at the top of the house, washed her face and +hands, brushed her hair and put on her white frock. + +As she came downstairs the clock struck half-past seven. In the hall she +met Gladys. + +"Please, miss," said Gladys, "is dinner to be kept back?" + +"Why," said Joan, "isn't mother in?" + +"No, miss, she went out about six o'clock and she hasn't come in." + +"Isn't father in?" + +"No, miss." + +"Did she say that she'd be late?" + +"No, miss." + +"Oh, well--we must wait until mother comes in." + +"Yes, miss." + +She saw then a letter on the hall-table. She picked it up. It was +addressed to her father, a note left by somebody. She thought nothing of +that--notes were so often left; the hand-writing was exactly like her +mother's, but of course it could not be hers. She went into the drawing- +room. + +Here the silence was oppressive. She walked up and down, looking out of +the long windows at the violet dusk. Gladys came in to draw the blinds. + +"Didn't mother say _anything_ about when she'd be in?" + +"No, miss." + +"She left no message for me?" + +"No, miss. Your mother seemed in a hurry like." + +"She didn't ask where I was?" + +"No, miss." + +"Did she go out with father?" + +"No, miss--your father went out a quarter of an hour earlier." + +Gladys coughed. "Please, miss, Cook and me's wanting to go out and see the +Procession." + +"Oh, of course you must. But that won't be until half-past nine. They come +past here, you know." + +"Yes, miss." + +Joan picked up the new number of the _Cornhill Magazine_ and tried to +settle down. But she was restless. Her own happiness made her so. And then +the house was "queer." It had the sense of itself waiting for some effort, +and holding its breath in expectation. + +As Joan sat there trying to read the _Cornhill_ serial, and most +sadly failing, it seemed to her stranger and stranger that her mother was +not in. She had not been well lately; Joan had noticed how white she had +looked; she had always a "headache" when you asked her how she was. Joan +had fancied that she had never been the same since Falk had been away. She +had a letter in her dress now from Falk. She took it out and read it over +again. As to himself it had only good news; he was well and happy, Annie +was "splendid." His work went on finely. His only sadness was his breach +with his father; again and again he broke out about this, and begged, +implored Joan to do something. If she did not, he said, he would soon come +down himself and risk a row. There was one sentence towards the end of the +letter which read oddly to Joan just now. "I suppose the old man's in his +proper element over all the Jubilee celebrations. I can see him strutting +up and down the Cathedral as though he owned every stone in it, bless his +old heart! I tell you, Joan, I just ache to see him. I do really. Annie's +father hasn't been near us since we came up here. Funny! I'd have thought +he'd have bothered me long before this. I'm ready for him if he comes. By +the way, if mother shows any signs of wanting to come up to town just now, +do your best to prevent her. Father needs her, and it's her place to look +after him. I've special reasons for saying this...." + +What a funny thing for Falk to say! and the only allusion to his mother in +the whole of the letter. + +Joan smiled to herself as she read it. What did Falk think her power was? +Why, her mother and father had never listened to her for a single moment, +nor had he, Falk, when he had been at home. She had never counted at all-- +to any one save Johnny. She put down the letter and tried to lose herself +in the happy country of her own love, but she could not. Her honesty +prevented her; its silence was now oppressive and heavy-weighted. Where +could her mother be? And dinner already half an hour late in that so +utterly punctual house! What had Falk meant about mother going to London? +Of course she would not go to London--at any rate without father. How +could Falk imagine such a thing? More than an hour passed. + +She began to walk about the room, wondering what she should do about the +dinner. She must give up the Sampsons, and she was very hungry. She had +had no tea at the Flower Show and very little luncheon. + +She was about to go and speak to Gladys when she heard the hall door open. +It closed. Something--some unexpressed fear or foreboding--kept her where +she was. Steps were in the hall, but they were not her father's; he always +moved with determined stride to his study or the stairs. These steps +hesitated and faltered as though some one were there who did not know the +house. + +At last she went into the hall and saw that it was indeed her father now +going slowly upstairs. + +"Father!" she cried; "I'm so glad you're in. Dinner's been waiting for +hours. Shall I tell them to send it up?" + +He did not answer nor look back. She went to the bottom of the stairs and +said again: + +"Shall I, father?" + +But still he did not answer. She heard him close his door behind him. + +She went back into the drawing-room terribly frightened. There was +something in the bowed head and slow steps that terrified her, and +suddenly she was aware that she had been frightened for many weeks past, +but that she had never owned to herself that it was so. + +She waited for a long time wondering what she should do. At last, calling +her courage, she climbed the stairs, waited, and then, as though compelled +by the overhanging silence of the house, knocked on his dressing-room +door. + +"Father, what shall we do about dinner? Mother hasn't come in yet." There +was no answer. + +"Will you have dinner now?" she asked again. + +A voice suddenly answered her as though he were listening on the other +side of the door. "No, no. I want no dinner." + +She went down again, told Gladys that she would eat something, then sat in +the lonely dining-room swallowing her soup and cutlet in the utmost haste. + +Something was terribly wrong. Her father was covering all the rest of her +view--the Jubilee, her mother, even Johnny. He was in great trouble, and +she must help him, but she felt desperately her youth, her inexperience, +her inadequacy. + +She waited again, when she had finished her meal, wondering what she had +better do. Oh! how stupid not to know instantly the right thing and to +feel this fear when it was her own father! + +She went half-way upstairs, and then stood listening. No sound. Again she +waited outside his door. With trembling hand she turned the handle. He +faced her, staring at her. On his left temple was a big black bruise, on +his forehead a cut, and on his left cheek a thin red mark that looked like +a scratch. + +"Father, you're hurt!" + +"Yes, I fell down--stumbled over something, coming up from the river." He +looked at her impatiently. "Well, well, what is it?" + +"Nothing, father--only they're still keeping some dinner--" + +"I don't want anything. Where is your mother?" + +"She hasn't come back." + +"Not come back? Why, where did she go to?" + +"I don't know. Gladys says she went out about six." + +He pushed past her into the passage. He went down into the hall; she +followed him timidly. From the bottom of the stairs he saw the letter on +the table, and he went straight to it. He tore open the envelope and read: + + * * * * * + +I have left you for ever. All that I told you on Sunday night was true, +and you may use that information as you please. Whatever may come to me, +at least I know that I am never to live under the same roof with you +again, and that is happiness enough for me, whatever other misery there +may be in store for me. Now, at last, perhaps, you will realise that +loneliness is worse than any other hell, and that's the hell you've made +me suffer for twenty years. Look around you and see what your selfishness +has done for you. It will be useless to try to persuade me to return to +you. I hope to God that I shall never see you again. + +AMY. + + * * * * * + +He turned and said in his ordinary voice, "Your mother has left me." + +He came across to her, suddenly caught her by the shoulders, and said: +"Now, _you'd_ better go, do you hear? They've all left me, your +mother, Falk, all of them. They've fallen on me and beaten me. They've +kicked me. They've spied on me and mocked me. Well, then, you join them. +Do you hear? What do you stay for? Why do you remain with me? Do you hear? +Do you hear?" + +She understood nothing. Her terror caught her like the wind. She crouched +back against the bannisters, covering her face with her hand. + +"Don't hit me, father. Please, please don't hit me." + +He stood over her, staring down at her. + +"It's a plot, and you must be in it with the others.... Well, go and tell +them they've won. Tell them to come and kick me again. I'm down now. I'm +beaten; go and tell them to come in--to come and take my house and my +clothes. Your mother's gone--follow her to London, then." + +He turned. She heard him go into the drawing-room. + +Suddenly, although she still did not understand what had happened, she +knew that she must follow him and care for him. He had pulled the curtains +aside and thrown up the windows. + +"Let them come in! Let them come in! I--I----" + +Suddenly he turned towards her and held out his arms. + +"I can't--I can't bear any more." He fell on his knees, burying his face +in the shoulder of the chair. Then he cried: + +"Oh, God, spare me now, spare me! I cannot bear any more. Thou hast +chastised me enough. Oh, God, don't take my sanity from me--leave me that. +Oh, God, leave me that! Thou hast taken everything else. I have been +beaten and betrayed and deserted. I confess my wickedness, my arrogance, +my pride, but it was in Thy service. Leave me my mind. Oh, God, spare me, +spare me, and forgive her who has sinned so grievously against Thy laws. +Oh, God, God, save me from madness, save me from madness." + +In that moment Joan became a woman. Her love, her own life, she threw +everything away. + +She went over to him, put her arms around his neck, kissed tim, fondled +him, pressing her cheek against his. + +"Dear, dear father. I love you so. I love you so. No one shall hurt you. +Father dear, father darling." + +Suddenly the room was blazing with light. The Torchlight Procession +tumbled into the Precincts. The Cathedral sprang into light; on all the +hills the bonfires were blazing. + +Black figures scattered like dwarfs, pigmies, giants about the grass. The +torches tossed and whirled and danced. + +The Cathedral rose from the darkness, triumphant in gold and fire. + + + + + +Book IV + +The Last Stand + + + + +Chapter I + +In Ronder's House: Ronder, Wistons + + + +Every one has, at one time or another, known the experience of watching +some friend or acquaintance moved suddenly from the ordinary atmosphere of +every day into some dramatic region of crisis where he becomes, for a +moment, far more than life-size in his struggle against the elements; he +is lifted, like Siegmund in _The Valkyrie_, into the clouds for his +last and most desperate duel. + +There was something of this feeling in the attitude taken in our town +after the Jubilee towards Archdeacon Brandon. As Miss Stiles said (not +meaning it at all unkindly), it really was very fortunate for everybody +that the town had the excitement of the Pybus appointment to follow +immediately the Jubilee drama; had it not been so, how flat would every +one have been! And by the Pybus appointment she meant, of course, the +Decline and Fall of Archdeacon Brandon, and the issue of his contest with +delightful, clever Canon Ronder. + +The disappearance of Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Morris would have been +excitement enough quite by itself for any one year. As every one said, the +wives of Archdeacons simply did _not_ run away with the clergymen of +their town. It was not done. It had never, within any one's living memory, +been done before, whether in Polchester or anywhere else. + +Clergymen were, of course, only human like any one else, and so were their +wives, but at least they did not make a public declaration of their +failings; they remembered their positions, who they were and what they +were. + +In one sense there had been no public declaration. Mrs. Brandon had gone +up to London to see about some business, and Mr. Morris also happened to +be away, and his sister-in-law was living on in the Rectory exactly as +though nothing had occurred. However, that disguise could not hold for +long, and every one knew exactly what had happened--well, if not exactly, +every one had a very good individual version of the whole story. + +And through it all, above it, behind it and beyond it, towered the figure +of the Archdeacon. _He_ was the question, he the centre of the drama. +There were a hundred different stories running around the town as to what +exactly had happened to him during those Jubilee days. Was it true that he +had taken Miss Milton by the scruff of her long neck and thrown her out of +the house? Was it true that he had taken his coat off in the Cloisters and +given Ronder two black eyes? (The only drawback to this story was that +Ronder showed no sign of bruises.) Had he and Mrs. Brandon fought up and +down the house for the whole of a night, Joan assisting? And, above all, +_what_ occurred at the Jubilee Fair? _Had_ Brandon been set upon +by a lot of ruffians? Was it true that Samuel Hogg had revenged himself +for his daughter's abduction? No one knew. No one knew anything at all. +The only certain thing was that the Archdeacon had a bruise on his temple +and a scratch on his cheek, and that he was "queer," oh, yes, very queer +indeed! + +It was finally about this "queerness" that the gossip of the town most +persistently clung. Many people said that they had watched him "going +queer" for a long while back, entirely forgetting that only a year ago he +had been the most vigorous, healthiest, sanest man in the place. Old +Puddifoot, with all sorts of nods, winks and murmurs, alluded to +mysterious medical secrets, and "how much he could tell an' he would," and +that "he had said years ago about Brandon...." Well, never mind what he +had said, but it was all turning out exactly as, for years, he had +expected. + +Nothing is stranger (and perhaps more fortunate) than the speed with which +the past is forgotten. Brandon might have been all his days the odd, +muttering, eye-wandering figure that he now appeared. Where was the Viking +now? Where the finest specimen of physical health in all Glebeshire? Where +the King and Crowned Monarch of Polchester? + +In the dust and debris of the broken past. "Poor old Archdeacon." "A bit +queer in the upper storey." "Not to be wondered at after all the trouble +he's had." "They break up quickly, those strong-looking men." "Bit too +pleased with himself, he was." "Ah, well, he's served his time; what we +need are more modern men. You can't deny that he was old-fashioned." + +People were not altogether to be blamed for this sudden sense that they +were stepping into a new period, out of one room into another, so to +speak. The Jubilee was responsible for that. It _did_ mark a period, +and looking back now after all these years one can see that that +impression was a true one. The Jubilee of '97, the Boer War, the death of +Queen Victoria--the end of the Victorian Era for Church as well as for +State. + +And there were other places beside Polchester that could show their +typical figures doomed, as it were, to die for their Period--no mean nor +unworthy death after all. + +But no Polcastrian in '97 knew that that service in the Cathedral, that +scratch on the Archdeacon's cheek, that visit of Mrs. Brandon to London-- +that these things were for them the Writing on the Wall. June 1897 and +August 1914 were not, happily for them, linked together in immortal +significance--their eyes were set on the personal history of the men and +women who were moving before them. Had Brandon in the pride of his heart +not claimed God as his ally, would men have died at Ypres? Can any bounds +be placed to one act of love and unselfishness, to a single deed of mean +heart and malicious tongue? + +It was enough for our town that "Brandon and his ways" were out-of-date, +and it was a lucky thing that as modern a man as Ronder had come amongst +us. + +And yet not altogether. Brandon in prosperity was one thing, Brandon in +misfortune quite another. He had been abominably treated. What had he ever +done that was not actuated absolutely by zeal for the town and the +Cathedral? + +And, after all, had that man Ronder acted straight? He was fair and genial +enough outwardly, but who could tell what went on behind those round +spectacles? There were strange stories of intrigue about. Had he not +determined to push Brandon out of the place from the first moment of his +arrival? And as far as this Pybus living went, it was all very well to be +modern and advanced, but wasn't Ronder advocating for the appointment a +man who laughed at the Gospels and said that there were no such things as +snakes and apples in the Garden of Eden? After all, he was a foreigner, +and Brandon belonged to them. Poor old Brandon! + +Ronder was in his study, waiting for Wistons. Wistons had come to +Polchester for a night to see his friend Foster. It was an entirely +private visit, unknown to anybody save two or three of his friends among +the clergy. He had asked whether Ronder could spare him half an hour. +Ronder was delighted to spare it.... + +Ronder was in the liveliest spirits. He hummed a little chant to himself +as he paced his study, stopping, as was his habit, to touch something on +his table, to push back a book more neatly into its row on the shelf, to +stare for an instant out of the window into the green garden drenched with +the afternoon sun. + +Yes, he was in admirable spirits. He had known some weeks of acute +discomfort. That phase was over, his talk with Brandon in the Cloisters +after the Cathedral service had closed it. On that occasion he had put +himself entirely in the right, having been before that, under the eye of +his aunt and certain critics in the town, ever so slightly in the wrong. +Now he was justified. He had humbled himself before Brandon (when really +there was no reason to do so), apologised (when truly there was not the +slightest need for it)--Brandon had utterly rejected his apology, turned +on him as though he were a thief and a robber--he had done all that he +could, more, far more, than his case demanded. + +So his comfort, his dear consoling comfort, had returned to him +completely. And with it had returned all his affection, his tenderness for +Brandon. Poor man, deserted by his wife, past his work, showing as he so +obviously did in the Jubilee week that his brain (never very agile) was +now quite inert, poor man, poor, poor man! Ronder, as he walked his study, +simply longed to do something for Brandon--to give him something, make him +a generous present, to go to London and persuade his poor weak wife to +return to him, anything, anything to make him happy again. + +Too sad to see the poor man's pale face, restless eyes, to watch his +hurried, uneasy walk, as though he were suspicious of every man. +Everywhere now Ronder sang Brandon's praises--what fine work he had done +in the past, how much the Church owed him; where would Polchester have +been in the past without him? + +"I assure you," Ronder said to Mrs. Preston, meeting her in the High +Street, "the Archdeacon's work may be over, but when I think of what the +Church owes him----" + +To which Mrs. Preston had said: "Ah, Canon, how you search for the Beauty +in human life! You are a lesson to all of us. After all, to find Beauty in +even the meanest and most disappointing, that is our task!" + +There was no doubt but that Ronder had come magnificently through the +Jubilee week. It had in every way strengthened and confirmed his already +strong position. He had been everywhere; had added gaiety and sunshine to +the Flower Show; had preached a most wonderful sermon at the evening +service on the Tuesday; had addressed, from the steps of his house, the +Torchlight Procession in exactly the right words; had patted all the +children on the head at the Mayor's tea for the townspeople; had enchanted +everywhere. That for which he had worked had been accomplished, and +accomplished with wonderful speed. + +He was firmly established as the leading Churchman in Polchester; only now +let the Pybus living go in the right direction (as it must do), and he +would have nothing more to wish for. + +He loved the place. As he looked down into the garden and thought of the +years of pleasant comfort and happiness now stretching in front of him, +his heart swelled with love of his fellow human beings. He longed, here +and now, to do something for some one, to give some children pennies, some +poor old men a good meal, to lend some one his pounds, to speak a good +word in public for some one maligned, to------ + +"Mr. Wistons, sir," said the maid. When he turned round only his exceeding +politeness prevented him from a whistle of astonishment. He had never seen +a photograph of Wistons, and the man had never been described to him. + +From all that he had heard and read of him, he had pictured him a tall, +lean ascetic, a kind of Dante and Savonarola in one, a magnificent figure +of protest and abjuration. This man who now came towards him was little, +thin, indeed, but almost deformed, seeming to have one shoulder higher +than the other, and to halt ever so slightly on one foot. His face was +positively ugly, redeemed only, as Ronder, who was no mean observer, at +once perceived, by large and penetrating eyes. The eyes, indeed, were +beautiful, of a wonderful softness and intelligence. + +His hair was jet black and thick; his hand, as it gripped Ronder's, strong +and bony. + +"I'm very glad to meet you, Canon Ronder," he said. "I've heard so much +about you." His voice, as Mrs. Combermere long afterwards remarked, "has a +twinkle in it." It was a jolly voice, humorous, generous but incisive, and +exceedingly clear. It had a very slight accent, so slight that no one +could ever decide on its origin. The books said that Wistons had been born +in London, and that his father had been Rector of Lambeth for many years; +it was also quickly discovered by penetrating Polcastrians that he had a +not very distant French ancestry. Was it Cockney? "I expect," said Miss +Stiles, "that he played with the little Lambeth children when he was +small"--but no one really knew... + +The two men sat down facing one another, and Wistons looked strange indeed +with his shoulders hunched up, his thin little legs like two cross-bones, +one over the other, his black hair and pale face. + +"I feel rather like a thief in the night," he said, "stealing down here. +But Foster wanted me to come, and I confess to a certain curiosity +myself." + +"You would like to come to Pybus if things go that way?" Ronder asked him. + +"I shall be quite glad to come. On the other hand, I shall not be at all +sorry to stay where I am. Does it matter very much where one is?" + +"Except that the Pybus living is generally considered a very important +step in Church preferment. It leads, as a rule, to great things." + +"Great things? Yes..." Wistons seemed to be talking to himself. "One thing +is much like another. The more power one seems to have outwardly, the less +very often one has in reality. However, if I'm called I'll come. But I +wanted to see you, Canon Ronder, for a special purpose." + +"Yes?" asked Ronder. + +"Of course I haven't enquired in any way into the probabilities of the +Pybus appointment. But I understand that there is very strong opposition +to myself; naturally there would be. I also understand that, with the +exception of my friend Foster, you are my strongest supporter in this +matter. May I ask you why?" + +"Why?" repeated Ronder. + +"Yes, why? You may say, and quite justly, that I have no right at all to +ask you that question. It should be enough for me, I know, to realise that +there are certain people here who want me to come. It ought to be enough. +But it isn't. It _isn't_. I won't--I can't come here under false +pretences." + +"False pretences!" cried Ronder. "I assure you, dear Mr. Wistons--" + +"Oh, yes, I know. I know what you will naturally tell me. But I have +caught enough of the talk here--Foster in his impetuosity has been perhaps +indiscreet--to realise that there has been, that there still is, a battle +here between the older, more conservative body of opinion and the more +modern school. It seems to me that I have been made the figure-head of +this battle. To that I have no objection. It is not for the first time. +But what I want to ask you, Canon Ronder, with the utmost seriousness, is +just this: + +"Have you supported my appointment because you honestly felt that I was +the best man for this particular job, or because--I know you will forgive +me if this question sounds impertinent--you wished to score a point over +some personal adversary?" + +The question _was_ impertinent. There could be no doubt of it. Ronder +ought at once to resent any imputation on his honesty. What right had this +man to dip down into Ronder's motives? The Canon stared from behind his +glasses into those very bright and insistent eyes, and even as he stared +there came once again that cold little wind of discomfort, that +questioning, irritating wind, that had been laid so effectively, he +thought, for ever to rest. What was this man about, attacking him like +this, attacking him before, even, he had been appointed? Was it, after +all, quite wise that Wistons should come here? Would that same comfort, so +rightly valued by Ronder, be quite assured in the future if Wistons were +at Pybus? Wouldn't some nincompoop like Forsyth be perhaps, after all, his +best choice? + +Ronder suddenly ceased to wish to give pennies to little children or a +present to Brandon. He was, very justly, irritated. + +"Do forgive me if I am impertinent," said Wistons quietly, "but I have to +know this." + +"But of course," said Ronder, "I consider you the best man for this +appointment. I should not have stirred a finger in your support +otherwise." (Why, something murmured to him, are people always attributing +to you unworthy motives, first your aunt, then Foster, now this man?) "You +are quite correct in saying that there is strong opposition to your +appointment here. But that is quite natural; you have only to consider +some of your published works to understand that. A battle is being fought +with the more conservative elements in the place. You have heard probably +that the Archdeacon is their principal leader, but I think I may say that +our victory is already assured. There was never any real doubt of the +issue. Archdeacon Brandon is a splendid fellow, and has done great work +for the Church here, but he is behind the times, out-of-date, and too +obstinate to change. Then certain, family misfortunes have hit him hard +lately, and his health is not, I fear, what it was. His opposition is as +good as over." + +"That's a swift decline," said Wistons. "I remember only some six months +ago hearing of him as by far the strongest man in this place." + +"Yes, it has been swift," said Ronder, shaking his head regretfully, "but +I think that his position here was largely based on the fact that there +was no one else here strong enough to take the lead against him. + +"My coming into the diocese--some one, however feeble, you understand, +coming in from outside--made an already strong modern feeling yet +stronger." + +"I will tell you one thing," said Wistons, suddenly shooting up his +shoulders and darting forward his head. "I think all this Cathedral +intrigue disgusting. No, I don't blame you. You came into the middle of +it, and were doubtless forced to take the part you did. But I'll have no +lot or hold in it. If I am to understand that I gain the Pybus appointment +only through a lot of backstairs intrigue and cabal, I'll let it be known +at once that I would not accept that living though it were offered me a +thousand times." + +"No, no," cried Ronder eagerly. "I assure you that that is not so. There +has been intrigue here owing to the old politics of the party who governed +the Cathedral. But that is, I hope and pray, over and done with. It is +because so many of us want to have no more of it that we are asking you to +come here. Believe me, believe me, that is so." + +"I should not have said what I did," continued Wistons quietly. "It was +arrogant and conceited. Perhaps you cannot avoid intrigue and party +feeling among the community of any Cathedral body. That is why I want you +to understand, Canon Ronder, the kind of man I am, before you propose me +for this post. I am afraid that you may afterwards regret your advocacy. +If I were invited to a Canonry, or any post immediately connected with the +Cathedral, I would not accept it for an instant. I come, if I come at all, +to fight the Cathedral--that is to fight everything in it, round and about +it, that prevents men from seeing clearly the figure of Christ. + +"I believe, Canon Ronder, that before many years are out it will become +clear to the whole world that there are now two religions--the religion of +authority, and the religion of the spirit--and if in such a division I +must choose, I am for the religion of the spirit every time." + +The religion of the spirit! Ronder stirred, a little restlessly, his fat +thighs. What had that to do with it? They were discussing the Pybus +appointment. The religion of the spirit! Well, who wasn't for that? As to +dogma, Ronder had never laid very great stress upon it. A matter of words +very largely. He looked out to the garden, where a tree, scooped now like +a great green fan against the blue-white sky, was shading the sun's rays. +Lovely! Lovely! Lovely like the Hermes downstairs, lovely like the piece +of red amber on his writing-table, like the Blind Homer...like a scallop +of green glass holding water that washed a little from side to side, the +sheen on its surface changing from dark shadow to faintest dusk. Lovely! +He stared, transported, his comfort flowing full-tide now into his soul. + +"Exactly!" he said, suddenly turning his eyes full on Wistons. "The +Christian Church has made a golden calf of its dogmas. The Calf is +worshipped, the Cathedral enshrines it." + +Wistons gave a swift curious stab of a glance. Ronder caught it; he +flushed. "You think it strange of me to say that?" he asked. "I can see +that you do. Let me be frank with you. It has been my trouble all my life +that I can see every side of a question. I am with the modernists, but at +the same time I can understand how dangerous it must seem to the +dogmatists to abandon even an inch of the country that Paul conquered for +them. I'm afraid, Wistons, that I see life in terms of men and women +rather than of creeds. I want men to be happy and at peace with one +another. And if to form a new creed or to abandon an old one leads to +men's deeper religious happiness, well, then...." He waved his hands. + +Wistons, speaking again as it were to himself, answered, "I care only for +Jesus Christ. He is overshadowed now by all the great buildings that men +have raised for Him. He is lost to our view; we must recover Him. Him! +Him! Only Him! To serve Him, to be near Him, almost to feel the touch of +His hand on one's head, that is the whole of life to me. And now He is +hard to come to, harder every year...." He got up. "I didn't come to say +more than that. + +"It's the Cathedral, Ronder, that I fear. Don't you yourself sometimes +feel that it has, by now, a spirit of its own, a life, a force that all +the past years and all the worship that it has had have given it? Don't +you even feel that? That it has become a god demanding his own rites and +worshippers? That it uses men for its own purposes, and not for Christ's? +That almost it hates Christ? It is so beautiful, so lovely, so haughty, so +jealous! + +"For I, thy God, am a jealous God.'..." He broke off. "I could love Christ +better in that garden than in the Cathedral. Tear it down and build it up +again!" He turned restlessly, almost savagely, to Ronder. "Can you be +happy and comfortable and at ease, when you see what Christ might be to +human beings and what He is? Who thinks of Him, who cares for Him, who +loves His sweetness and charity and tenderness? Why is something always in +the way, always, always, always? Love! Charity! Doesn't such a place as +this Cathedral breed hatred and malice and pride and jealousy? And isn't +its very beauty a contempt?...And now what right have you to help my +appointment to Pybus?" + +Ronder smiled. + +"You are what we need here," he said. "You shall shake some of our comfort +from us--make a new life here for us." + +Wistons was suddenly almost timid. He spoke as though he were waking from +some dream. + +"Good-bye.... Good-bye. No, don't come down. Thank you so much. Thank you. +Very kind of you. Good-bye." + +But Ronder insisted on coming down. They shook hands at his door. The +figure was lost in the evening sun. + +Ronder stood there for a moment gazing at the bright grass, the little +houses with their shining knockers, the purple shadow of the Cathedral. + +Had he done right? Was Wistons the man? Might he not be more dangerous +than...? No, no, too late now. The fight with Brandon must move to its +appointed end. Poor Brandon! Poor dear Brandon! + +He looked across at the house as on the evening of his arrival from that +same step he had looked. + +Poor Brandon! He would like to do something for him, some little kindly +unexpected act! + +He closed the door and softly padded upstairs, humming happily to himself +that little chant. + + + + +Chapter II + +Two in the House + + + +A letter from Falk to Joan. + + Dear Joan--Mother has been here. I could get nothing out of her. I had +only one thing to say--that she must go back to father. That was the one +thing that she asserted, over and over again, that she never would. Joan, +she was tragic. I felt that I had never seen her before, never known her. +She was thinking of nothing but Morris. She seemed to see him all the time +that she was in the room with me. She is going abroad with Morris at the +end of this week--to South America, I believe. Mother doesn't seem now to +care what happens, except that she will not go back to father. + +She said an odd thing to me at the end--that she had had her time, her +wonderful time, and that she could never be as unhappy or as lonely as she +was, and that she would love him always (Morris, I suppose), and that he +would love her. + +The skunk that Morris is! And yet I don't know. Haven't I been a skunk +too? And yet I don't feel a skunk. If only father would be happy! Then +things would be better than they've ever been. You don't know how good +Annie is, Joan. How fine and simple and true! Why are we all such +mixtures? Why can't you ever do what's right for yourself without hurting +other people? But I'm not going to wait much longer. If things aren't +better soon I'm coming down whether he'll see me or no. We _must_ +make him happy. We're all that he has now. Once this Pybus thing is +settled I'll come down. Write to me. Tell me everything. You're a brick, +Joan, to take all this as you do. Why did we go all these years without +knowing one another?--Your loving brother, + +FALK. + +A letter from Joan to Falk. + +DEAREST FALK--I'm answering you by return because I'm so frightened. If I +send you a telegram, come down at once. Mr. Morris's sister-in-law is +telling everybody that he only went up to London on business. But she's +not going to stay here, I think. But I can't think much even of mother. I +can think of no one but father. Oh, Falk, it's been terrible these last +three days, and I don't know _what's_ going to happen. + +I'll try and tell you how it's been. It's two months now since mother went +away. That night it was dreadful. He walked up and down his room all +night. Indeed he's been doing that ever since she went. And yet I don't +think it's of her that he's thinking most. I'm not sure even that he's +thinking of her at all. + +He's concentrating everything now on the Pybus appointment. He talks to +himself. (You can see by that how changed he is.) He is hurrying round to +see people and asking them to the house, and he's so odd with them, +looking at them suddenly, suspiciously, as though he expected that they +were laughing at him. There's always something in the back of his mind-- +not mother, I'm sure. Something happened to him that last day of the +Jubilee. He's always talking about some one who struck him, and he puts +his hand up to feel his forehead, where there was a bruise. He told me +that day that he had fallen down, but I'm sure now that he had a fight +with somebody. + +He's always talking, too, about a "conspiracy" against him--not only Canon +Ronder, but something more general. Poor dear, the worst of it all is, how +bewildered he is. You know how direct he used to be, the way he went +straight to his point and wasn't afraid of anybody. Now he's always +hesitating. He hesitates before he goes out, before he goes upstairs, +before he comes into my room. It's just as though he was for ever +expecting that there's some one behind the door waiting for him with a +hammer. It's so strange how I've changed my feeling about him. I used to +think him so strong that he could beat down anybody, and now I feel he +wants looking after all the time. Perhaps he never was really strong at +all, but it was all on the outside. All the same he's very brave too. He +knows all the town's been talking about him, but I think he'd face a whole +world of Polchesters if he could only beat Canon Ronder over the Pybus +appointment. If Mr. Forsyth isn't appointed to that I think he'll go to +pieces altogether. You see, a year ago there wouldn't have been any +question about it at all. Of course he would have had his way. + +But what makes me so frightened, Falk, is of something happening in the +house. Father is so suspicious that it makes me suspicious too. It doesn't +seem like the house it was at all, but as though there were some one +hiding in it, and at night it is awful. I lie awake listening, and I can +hear father walking up and down, his room's next to mine, you know. And +then if I listen hard enough, I can hear footsteps all over the house-- +you know how you do in the middle of the night. And there's always some +one coming upstairs. This will sound silly to you up in London, but it +doesn't seem silly here, I assure you. All the servants feel it, and +Gladys is going at the end of the month. + +And oh, Falk! I'm so sorry for him! It does seem so strange that +everything should have changed for him as it has. I feel his own +bewilderment. A year ago he seemed so strong and safe and secure as though +he would go on like that for ever, and hadn't an enemy in the world. How +could he have? He's never meant harm to any one. Your going away I can +understand, but mother, I feel as though I never could speak to her again. +To be so cruel to father and to write him such a letter! (Of course I +didn't see the letter, but the effect of it on father was terrible.) + +He's so lonely now. He scarcely realises me half the time, and you see he +never did think very much about me before, so it's very difficult for him +to begin now. I'm so inexperienced. It's hard enough running the house +now, and having to get another servant instead of Gladys--and I daresay +the others will go too now, but that's nothing to waiting all the time for +something to happen and watching father every minute. We _must_ make +him happy again, Falk. You're quite right. It's the only thing that +matters. Everything else is less important than that. If only this Pybus +affair were over! Canon Ronder is so powerful now. I'm so afraid of him. I +do hate him so! The Cathedral, and the town, everything seems to have +changed since he came. A year ago they were like father, settled for ever. +And now every one's talking about new people and being out-of-date, and +changing the Cathedral music and everything! But none of that matters in +comparison with father. + +I've written a terribly long letter, but it's done me ever so much good. +I'm sometimes so tempted to telegraph to you at once. I'm almost sure +father would be glad to see you. You were always the one he loved most. +But perhaps we'd better wait a little: if things get worse in any way I'll +telegraph at once. + +I'm so glad you're well, and happy. You haven't in your letters told me +anything about the Jubilee in London. Was it very fine? Did you see the +Queen? Did she look very happy? Were the crowds very big? Much love from +your loving sister, + + JOAN. + + * * * * * + +Joan, waiting in the shadowy drawing-room for Johnny St. Leath, wondered +whether her father had come in or no. + +It wouldn't matter if he had, he wouldn't come into the drawing-room. He +would go directly into his study. She knew exactly what he would do. He +would shut the door, then a minute later would open it, look into the hall +and listen, then close it again very cautiously. He always now did that. +And in any case if he did come into the drawing-room and saw Johnny it +wouldn't matter. His mind was entirely centred on Pybus, and Johnny had +nothing to do with Pybus. Johnny's mother, yes. Had that stout white- +haired cockatoo suddenly appeared, she would be clutched, absorbed, +utilised to her last white feather. But she didn't appear. She stayed up +in her Castle, serene and supreme. + +Joan was very nervous. She stood, a little grey shadow in the grey room, +her hands twisting and untwisting. She was nervous because she was going +to say good-bye to Johnny, perhaps for ever, and she wasn't sure that +she'd have the strength to do it. + +Suddenly he was there with her in the room, big and clumsy and cheerful, +quite unaware apparently that he was never, after this, to see Joan again. + +He tried to kiss her but she prevented him. "No, you must sit over there," +she said, "and we must never, at least not probably for years and years, +kiss one another again." + +He was aware, as she spoke, of quite a new, a different Joan; he had been +conscious of this new Joan on many occasions during these last weeks. When +he had first known her she had been a child and he had loved her for her +childishness; now he must meet the woman and the child together, and +instinctively he was himself more serious in his attitude to her. + +"We could talk much better, Joan dear," he said, "if we were close +together." + +"No," she said; "then I couldn't talk at all. We mustn't meet alone again +after to-day, and we mustn't write, and we mustn't consider ourselves +engaged." + +"Why, please?" + +"Can't you see that it's all impossible? We've tried it now for weeks and +it becomes more impossible every day. Your mother's absolutely against it +and always will be--and now at home--here--my mother----" + +She broke off. He couldn't leave her like that; he sprang up, went across +to her, put his arms around her, and kissed her. She didn't resist him nor +move from him, but when she spoke again her voice was firmer and more +resolved than before. + +"No, Johnny, I mean it, I can think of nothing now but father. So long as +he's alive I must stay with him. He's quite alone now, he has nobody. I +can't even think about you so long as he's like this, so unwell and so +unhappy. It isn't as though I were very clever or old or anything. I've +never until lately been allowed to do anything all my life, not the +tiniest bit of housekeeping, and now suddenly it has all come. And if I +were thinking of you, wanting to see you, having letters from you, I +shouldn't attend to this; I shouldn't be able to think of it----" + +"Do you still love me?" + +"Why, of course. I shall never change." + +"And do you think that I still love you?" + +"Yes." + +"And do you think I'll change?" + +"You may. But I don't want to think so." + +"Well, then, the main question is settled. It doesn't matter how long we +wait." + +"But it _does_ matter. It may be for years and years. You've got to +marry, you can't just stay unmarried because one day you may marry me." + +"Can't I? You wait and see whether I can't." + +"But you oughtn't to, Johnny. Think of your family. Think of your mother. +You're the only son." + +"Mother can just think of me for once. It will be a bit of a change for +her. It will do her good. I've told her whom I want to marry, and she must +just get used to it. She admits herself that she can't have anything +against you personally, except that you're too young. I asked her whether +she wanted me to marry a Dowager of sixty." + +Joan moved away. She walked to the window and looked out at the grey mist +sweeping like an army of ghostly messengers across the Cathedral Green. +She turned round to him. + +"No, Johnny, this time it isn't a joke. I mean absolutely what I say. +We're not to meet alone or to write until--father doesn't need me any +more. I can't think, I mustn't think, of anything but father now. Nothing +that you can say, or any one can say, will make me change my mind about +that now.... And please go, Johnny, because it's so hard while you're +here. And we _must_ do it. I'll never change, but you're free to, and +you _ought_ to. It's your duty to find some one more satisfactory +than me." + +But Johnny appeared not to have heard her last words. He had been looking +about him, at the walls, the windows, the ceiling--rather as a young dog +sniffs some place new to him. + +"Joan, tell me. Are you all right here? You oughtn't to be all alone here +like this, just with your father. Can't you get some one to come and +stay?" + +"No," she answered bravely. "Of course it's all right. I've got Gladys, +who's been with us for years." + +"There's something funny," he said, still looking about him. "It feels +queer to me--sort of unhappy." + +"Never mind that," she said, hurriedly moving towards the door, as though +she had heard footsteps. "You must go, Johnny. Kiss me once, the last +time. And then no letters, no anything, until--until--father's happy +again." + +She rested in his arms, suddenly tranquil, safe, at peace. Her hands were +round his neck. She kissed his eyes. They clung together, suddenly two +children, utterly confident in one another and in their mutual faith. + +A hand was on the door. They separated. The Archdeacon came in. He peered +into the dusky room. + +"Joan! Joan! Are you there?" + +She came across to him. "Yes, father, here I am. And this is Lord St. +Leath." + +"How do you do, sir?" said Johnny. + +"How do you do? I hope your mother is well." + +"Very well, thank you, sir." + +"That's good, that's good. I have some business to discuss with her. +Rather important business; I may come and see her to-morrow afternoon if +she is disengaged; Will you kindly tell her?" + +"Indeed I will, sir." + +"Thank you. Thank you. This room is very dark. Why are there no lights? +Joan, you should have lights. There's no one else here, is there?" + +"No, father." + +Johnny heard their voices echoing in the empty hall as he let himself out. + +Brandon shut his study door and looked about him. The lamp on his table +was lit, his study had a warm and pleasant air with the books gleaming in +their shelves and the fire crackling. (You needed a fire on these late +summer evenings.) Nevertheless, although the room looked comfortable, he +did not at once move into it. He stood there beside the door, as though he +was waiting for something. He listened. The house was intensely quiet. He +opened the door and looked into the passage. There was no one there. The +gas hissed ever so slightly, like a whispering importunate voice. He came +back into his room, closing the door very carefully behind him, went +across softly to his writing-table, sat down, and took up his pen. His +eyes were fixed on the door, and then suddenly he would jerk round in his +chair as though he expected to catch some one who was standing just behind +him. + +Then began that fight that always now must be waged whenever he sat down +at his desk, the fight to drive his thoughts, like sheep, into the only +pen that they must occupy. He must think now only of one thing; there were +others--pictures, ideas, memories, fears, horrors even--crowding, hovering +close about him, and afterwards--after Pybus--he would attend to them. +Only one thing mattered now. "Yes, you gibbering idiots, do your worst; +knock me down. Come on four to one like the cowards that you are, strike +me in the back, take my wife from me, and ruin my house. I will attend to +all of you shortly, but first--Pybus." + +His lips were moving as he turned over the papers. _Was_ there some +one in the room with him? His head was aching so badly that it was +difficult to think. And his heart! How strangely that behaved in these +days! Five heavy slow beats, then a little skip and jump, then almost as +though it had stopped beating altogether. + +Another thing that made it difficult to work in that room was that the +Cathedral seemed so close. It was not close really, although you could, so +often, hear the organ, but now Brandon had the strange fancy that it had +drawn closer during these last weeks, and was leaning forward with its ear +to his house, listening just as a man might! Funny how Brandon now was +always thinking of the Cathedral as a person! Stones and bricks and mortar +and bits of glass, that's what the Cathedral was, and yet lately it had +seemed to move and have a being of its own. + +Fancies! Fancies! Really Brandon must attend to his business, this +business of Pybus and Forsyth, which in a week now was to be settled. He +talked to himself as he turned the papers over. He had seen the Bishop, +and Ryle (more or less persuaded), and Bentinck-Major (dark horse, never +could be sure of him), Foster, Rogers...Foster? Foster? Had he seen +Foster? Why did the mention of that name suddenly commence the unveiling +for him of a scene upon which, he must not look? The crossing the bridge, +up the hill, at the turnstile, paying your shilling...no, no, no +farther. And Bentinck-Major! That man laughed at him! Positively he dared, +when a year ago he would have bent down and wiped the dust off his shoes! +Positively! + +That man! That worm! That mean, sycophantic...He was beginning to get +angry. He must not get angry. That's what Puddifoot had said, that had +been the one thing that old Puddifoot had said correctly. He must not get +angry, not even with--Ronder. + +At the mention of that name something seemed to stir in the room, some one +to move closer. Brandon's heart began to race round like a pony in a +paddock. Very bad. Must keep quiet. Never get excited. Then for a moment +his thoughts did range, roaming over that now so familiar ground of +bewilderment. Why? Why? Why? + +Why a year ago _that_, and now _this_? When he had done no one +in the world any harm and had served God so faithfully? Why? Why? Why? + +Back, back to Pybus. This wasn't work. He had much to do and no time to +lose. That enemy of his was working, you could be sure of that. Only a +week! Only a week! + +Was that some one moving in the room? Was there some one stealing behind +him, as they had done once, as...? He turned sharply round, rising in his +chair. No one there. He got up and began stealthily to pace the floor. The +worst of it was that however carefully you went you could never be quite +sure that some one was not just behind you, some one very clever, +measuring his steps by yours. You could never be sure. How still the house +was! He stopped by his door, after a moment's hesitation opened it and +looked out. No one there, only the gas whispering. + +What was he doing, staring into the hall? He should be working, making +sure of his work. He went back to his table. He began hurriedly to write a +letter: + + DEAR FOSTER--I cannot help feeling that I did not make myself quite + clear when I was speaking to you yesterday about Forsyth as the best + incumbent of the Pybus living. When I say best, I mean, of course, most + suitable. + +When he said _best_ did he mean _most suitable? Suitable_ was +not perhaps exactly the word for Forsyth. It was something other than a +question of mere suitability. It was a keeping out of the _bad_, as +well as a bringing in of the _good_. _Suitable_ was not the word +that he wanted. What did he want? The words began to jump about on the +paper, and suddenly out of the centre of his table there stretched and +extended the figure of Miss Milton. Yes, there she was in her shabby +clothes and hat, smirking.... He dashed his hand at her and she vanished. +He sprang up. This was too bad. He must not let these fancies get hold of +him. He went into the hall. + +He called out loudly, his voice echoing through the house, "Joan! Joan!" + +Almost at once she came. Strange the relief that he felt! But he wouldn't +show it. She must notice nothing at all out of the ordinary. + +She sat close to him at their evening meal and talked to him about +everything that came into her young head. Sometimes he wished that she +wouldn't talk so much; she hadn't talked so much in earlier days, had she? +But he couldn't remember what she had done in earlier days. + +He was very particular now about his food. Always he had eaten whatever +was put in front of him with hearty and eager appreciation; now he seemed +to have very little appetite. He was always complaining about the cooking. +The potatoes were hard, the beef was underdone, the pastry was heavy. And +sometimes he would forget altogether that he was eating, and would sit +staring in front of him, his food neglected on his plate. + +It was not easy for Joan. Not easy to choose topics that were not +dangerous. And so often he was not listening to her at all. Perhaps at no +other time did she pity him so much, and love him so much, as when she saw +him staring in front of him, his eyes puzzled, bewildered, piteous, like +those of an animal caught in a trap. All her old fear of him was gone, but +a new fear had come in its place. Sometimes, in quite the old way, he +would rap out suddenly, "Nonsense--stuff and nonsense!...As though +_he_ knew anything about it!" or would once again take the whole +place, town and Cathedral and all of them, into his charge with something +like, "I knew how to manage the thing. What they would have done without-- +" But these defiances never lasted. + +They would fade away into bewilderment and silence. + +He would complain continually of his head, putting his hand suddenly up to +it, and saying, like a little child: + +"My head's so bad. Such a headache!" But he would refuse to see Puddifoot; +had seen him once, and had immediately quarrelled with him, and told him +that he was a silly old fool and knew nothing about anything, and this +when Puddifoot had come with the noblest motives, intending to patronise +and condole. + +After dinner to-night Joan and he went into the drawing-room. Often, after +dinner, he vanished into the study "to work"--but to-night he was "tired, +very tired--my dear. So much effort in connection with this Pybus +business. What'a come to the town I don't know. A year ago the matter +would have been simple enough...anything so obvious...." + +He sat in his old arm-chair, whence for so many years he had delivered his +decisive judgments. No decisive judgments tonight! He was really tired, +lying back, his eyes closed, his hands twitching ever so slightly on his +knees. + +Joan sat near to him, struggling to overcome her fear. She felt that if +only she could grasp that fear, like a nettle, and hold it tightly in her +hand it would seem so slight and unimportant. But she could not grasp it. +It was compounded of so many things, of the silence and the dulness, of +the Precincts and the Cathedral, of whispering trees and steps on the +stairs, of her father and something strange that now inhabited him like a +new guest in their house, of her loneliness and of her longing for some +friend with whom she could talk, of her ache for Johnny and his +comforting, loving smile, but most of all, strangely, of her own love for +her father, and her desire, her poignant desire, that he should be happy +again. She scarcely missed her mother, she did not want her to come back; +but she ached and ached to see once again that happy flush return to her +father's cheek, that determined ring to his voice, that buoyant confident +movement to his walk. + +To-night she could not be sure whether he slept or no. She watched him, +and the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Suddenly an absurd fancy +seized her. She fought against it for a time, sitting there, her hands +tightly clenched. Then suddenly it overcame her. Some one was listening +outside the window; she fancied that she could see him--tall, dark, lean, +his face pressed against the pane. + +She rose very softly and stole across the floor, very gently drew back one +of the curtains and looked out. It was dark and she could see nothing-- +only the Cathedral like a grey web against a sky black as ink. A lamp, +across the Green, threw a splash of orange in the middle distance--no +other light. The Cathedral seemed to be very close to the house. + +She closed the curtain and then heard her father call her. + +"Joan! Joan! Where are you?" + +She came back and stood by his chair. "I was only looking out to see what +sort of a night it was, father dear," she said. + +He suddenly smiled. "I had a pleasant little nap then," he said; "my +head's better. There. Sit down close to me. Bring your chair nearer. We're +all alone here now, you and I. We must make a lot of one another." + +He had paid so little attention to her hitherto that she suddenly realised +now that her loneliness had, during these last weeks, been the hardest +thing of all to bear. She drew her chair close to his and he took her +hand. + +"Yes, yes, it's quite true. I don't know what I should have done without +you during these last weeks. You've been very good to your poor, stupid, +old father!" + +She murmured something, and he burst out, "Oh, yes, they do! That's what +they say! I know how they talk. They want to get me out of the way and +change the place--put in unbelievers and atheists. But they shan't--not +while I have any breath in my body--" He went on more gently, "Why just +think, my dear, they actually want to have that man Wistons here. An +atheist! A denier of Christ's divinity! Here worshipping in the Cathedral! +And when I try to stop it they say I'm mad. Oh, yes! They do! I've heard +them. Mad. Out-of-date. They've laughed at me--ever since--ever since... +that elephant, you know, dear...that began it...the Circus...." + +She leaned over him. + +"Father dear, you mustn't pay so much attention to what they say. You +imagine so much just because you aren't very well and have those +headaches--and--and--because of other things. You imagine things that +aren't true. So many people here love you----" + +"Love me!" he burst out suddenly, starting up in his chair. "When they set +upon me, five of them, from behind and beat me! There in public with the +lights and the singing." He caught her hand, gripping it. "There's a +conspiracy, Joan. I know it. I've seen it a long time. And I know who +started it and who paid them to follow me. Everywhere I go, there they +are, following me. + +"That old woman with her silly hat, she followed me into my own house. +Yes, she did! 'I'll read you a letter,' she said. 'I hate you, and I'll +make you cry out over this.' They're all in it. He's setting them on. But +he shan't have his way. I'll fight him yet. Even my own son----" His voice +broke. + +Joan knelt at his feet, looking up into his face. "Father! Falk wants to +come and see you! I've had a letter from him. He wants to come and ask +your forgiveness--he loves you so much." + +He got up from his chair, almost pushing her away from him. "Falk! Falk! I +don't know any one called that. I haven't got a son----" + +He turned, looking at her. Then suddenly put his arms around her and +kissed her, holding her tight to his breast. + +"You're a good girl," he said. "Dear Joan! I'm glad you've not left me +too. I love you, Joan, and I've not been good enough to you. Oh, no, I +haven't! Many things I might have done, and now it's too late...too +late..." + +He kissed her again and again, stroking her hair, then he said that he was +tired, very tired--he'd sleep to-night. He went slowly upstairs. + +He undressed rapidly, flinging off his clothes as though they hurt him. As +though some one else had unexpectedly come into the room, he saw himself +standing before the long glass in the dressing-room, naked save for his +vest. He looked at himself and laughed. + +How funny he looked only in his vest--how funny were he to walk down the +High Street like that! They would say he was mad. And yet he wouldn't be +mad. He would be just as he was now. He pulled the vest off over his head +and continued to stare at himself. It was as though he were looking at +some one else's body. The long toes, the strong legs, the thick thighs, +the broad hairless chest, the stout red neck--and then those eyes, surely +not his, those strange ironical eyes! He passed his hand down his side and +felt the cool strong marble of his flesh. Then suddenly he was cold and he +hurried into his night-shirt and his dressing-gown. + +He sat on his bed. Something deep down in him was struggling to come up. +Some thought...some feeling...some name. Falk! It was as though a bell +were ringing, at a great distance, in the sleeping town--but ringing only +for him. Falk! The pain, the urgent pain, crept closer. Falk! He got up +from his bed, opened his door, looked out into the dark and silent house, +stepped forward, carefully, softly, his old red dressing-gown close about +him, stumbling a little on the stairs, feeling the way to his study door. + +He sat in his arm-chair huddled up. "Falk! Falk! Oh, my boy, my boy, come +back, come back! I want you, I want to be with you, to see you, to touch +you, to hear your voice! I want to love you! + +"Love--Love! I never wanted love before, but now I want it, desperately, +desperately, some one to love me, some one for me to love, some one to be +kind to. Falk, my boy. I'm so lonely. It's so dark. I can't see things as +I did. It's getting darker. + +"Falk, come back and help me...." + + + + +Chapter III + +Prelude to Battle + + + +That night he slept well and soundly, and in the morning woke tranquil and +refreshed. His life seemed suddenly to have taken a new turn. As he lay +there and watched the sunlight run through the lattices like strands of +pale-coloured silk, it seemed to him that he was through the worst. He did +what he had not done for many days, allowed the thought of his wife to +come and dwell with him. + +He went over many of their past years together, and, nodding his head, +decided that he had been often to blame. Then the further thought of what +she had done, of her adultery, of her last letter, these like foul black +water came sweeping up and darkened his mind.... No more. No more. He must +do as he had done. Think only of Pybus. Fight that, win his victory, and +then turn to what lay behind. But the sunlight no longer danced for him, +he closed his eyes, turned on his side, and prayed to God out of his +bewilderment. + +After breakfast he started out. A restless urgency drove him forth. The +Chapter Meeting at which the new incumbent of Pybus was to be chosen was +now only three days distant, and all the work in connection with that was +completed--but Brandon could not be still. Some members of the Chapter he +had seen over and over again during the last months, and had pressed Rex +Forsyth's claims upon them without ceasing, but this thing had become a +symbol to him now--a symbol of his fight with Ronder, of his battle for +the Cathedral, of his championship, behind that, of the whole cause of +Christ's Church. + +It seemed to him that if he were defeated now in this thing it would mean +that God Himself had deserted him. At the mere thought of defeat his heart +began to leap in his breast and the flags of the pavement to run before +his eyes. But it could not be. He had been tested; like Job, every plague +had been given to him to prove him true, but this last would shout to the +world that his power was gone and that the Cathedral that he loved had no +longer a place for him. And then--and then----- + +He would not, he must not, look. At the top of the High Street he met Ryle +the Precentor. There had been a time when Ryle was terrified by the +Archdeacon; that time was not far distant, but it was gone. Nevertheless, +even though the Archdeacon were suddenly old and sick and unimportant, you +never could tell but that he might say something to somebody that it would +be unpleasant to have said. "Politeness all the way round" was Ryle's +motto, and a very safe one too. Moreover, Ryle, when he could rise above +his alarm for the safety of his own position, was a kindly man, and it +really _was_ sad to see the poor Archdeacon so pale and tired, the +scratch on his cheek, even now not healed, giving him a strangely battered +appearance. + +And how would Ryle have liked Mrs. Ryle to leave him? And how would he +feel if his son, Anthony (aged at present five), ran away with the +daughter of a publican? And how, above all, would he feel did he know that +the whole town was talking about him and saying "Poor Precentor!"? But +perhaps the Archdeacon did _not_ know. Strange the things that people +did not know about themselves!--and at that thought the Precentor went +goose-fleshy all over, because of the things that at that very moment +people might be saying about _him_ and he knowing none of them! + +All this passed very swiftly through Ryle's mind, and was quickly +strangled by hearing Brandon utter in quite his old knock-you-down-if-you- +don't-get-out-of-my-way voice, "Ha! Ryle! Out early this morning! I hope +you're not planning any more new-fangled musical schemes for us!" + +Oh, well! if the Archdeacon were going to take that sort of tone with him, +Ryle simply wasn't going to stand it! Why should he? To-day isn't six +months ago. + +"That's all right, Archdeacon," he said stiffly. "Ronder and I go through +a good deal of the music together now. He's very musical, you know. Every +one seems quite satisfied." _That_ ought to get him--my mention of +Ronder's name.... At the same time Ryle didn't wish to seem to have gone +over to the other camp altogether, and he was just about to say something +gently deprecatory of Ronder when, to his astonishment, he perceived that +Brandon simply hadn't heard him at all! And then the Archdeacon took his +arm and marched with him down the High Street. + +"With regard to this Pybus business, Precentor," he was saying, "the +matter now will be settled in another three days. I hope every one +realises the extreme seriousness of this audacious plot to push a heretic +like this man Wistons into the place. I'm sure that every one _does_ +realise it. There can be no two opinions about it, of course. At the same +time----" + +How very uncomfortable! There had been a time when the Precentor would +have been proud indeed to walk down the High Street arm-in-arm with the +Archdeacon. But that time was past. The High Street was crowded. Any one +might see them. They would take it for granted that the Precentor was of +the Archdeacon's party. And to be seen thus affectionately linked with the +Archdeacon just now, when his family affairs were in so strange a +disorder, when he himself was behaving so oddly, when, as it was +whispered, at the Jubilee Fair he had engaged in a scuffle of a most +disreputable kind. The word "Drink" was mentioned. + +Ryle tried, every so gently, to disengage his arm. Brandon's hand was of +steel. + +"This seems to me," the Archdeacon was continuing, "a most critical moment +in our Cathedral's history. If we don't stand together now we--we--" + +The Archdeacon's hand relaxed. His eyes wandered. Ryle detached his arm. +How strange the man was! Why, there was Samuel Hogg on the other side of +the street! + +He had taken his hat off and was smiling. How uncomfortable! How +unpleasant to be mixed in this kind of encounter! How Mrs. Ryle, would +dislike it if she knew! + +But his mind was speedily taken off his own affairs. He was conscious of +the Archdeacon, standing at his full height, his eyes, as he afterwards +described it a thousand times, "bursting from his head." Then, "before you +could count two," the Archdeacon was striding across the street. + +It was a sunny morning, people going about their ordinary business, every +one smiling and happy. Suddenly Ryle saw the Archdeacon stop in front of +Hogg; himself started across the street, urged he knew not by what +impulse, saw Hogg's ugly sneering face, saw the Archdeacon's arm shoot +out, catch Hogg one, two terrific blows in the face, saw Hogg topple over +like a heap of clothes falling from their peg, was in time to hear the +Archdeacon crying out, "You dirty spy! You'd set upon me from behind, +would you? Afraid to meet me face to face, are you? Take that, then, and +that!" And then shout, "It's daylight! It's daylight now! Stand up and +face me, you coward!" + +The next thing of which the terrified Ryle was conscious was that people +were running up from all sides. They seemed to spring from nowhere. He +saw, too, how Hogg, the blood streaming from his face, lay there on his +back, not attempting to move. Some were bending down behind him, holding +his head, others had their hands about Brandon, holding him back. Errand- +boys were running, people were hurrying from the shops, voices raised on +every side--a Constable slowly crossed the street--Ryle slipped away-- + +Joan had gone out at once after breakfast that morning to the little shop, +Miss Milligan's, in the little street behind the Precincts, to see whether +she could not get some of that really fresh fruit that only Miss Milligan +seemed able to obtain. She was for some little time in the shop, because +Miss Milligan always had a great deal to say about her little nephew +Benjie, who was at the School as a day-boy and was likely to get a +scholarship, and was just now suffering from boils. Joan was a good +listener and a patient, so that it was quite late--after ten o'clock--as +she hurried back. + +Just by the Arden Gate Ellen Stiles met her. + +"Oh, you poor child!" she cried; "aren't you at home? I was just hurrying +up to see whether I could be of any sort of help to you!" + +"Any help?" echoed Joan, seeing at once, in the nodding blue plume in +Ellen's hat, forebodings of horrible disaster. + +"What, haven't you heard?" cried Ellen, pitying from the bottom of her +heart the child's white face and terrified eyes. + +"No! What? Oh, tell me quickly! What has happened? To father--" + +"I don't know exactly myself," said Ellen. "That's what I was hurrying up +to find out.... Your father...he's had some sort of fight with that +horrible man Hogg in the High Street.... No, I don't know...But wait a +minute...." + +Joan was gone, scurrying through the Precincts, the paper bag with the +fruit clutched tightly to her. + +Ellen Stiles stared after her; her eyes were dim with kindness. There was +nothing now that she would not do for that girl and her poor father! +Knocked down to the ground they were, and Ellen championed them wherever +she went. And now this! Drink or madness--perhaps both! Poor man! Poor +man! And that child, scarcely out of the cradle, with all this on her +shoulders! Ellen would do anything for them! She would go round later in +the day and see how she could be useful. + +She turned away. It was Ronder now who was "up"...and a little pulling- +down would do him no sort of harm. There were a few little things she was +longing, herself, to tell him. A few home-truths. Then, half-way down the +High Street, she met Julia Preston, and didn't they have a lot to say +about it all! + +Meanwhile Joan, in another moment, was at her door. What had happened? Oh, +what had happened? Had he been brought back dying and bleeding? Had that +horrible man set upon him, there in the High Street, while every one was +about? Was the doctor there, Mr. Puddifoot? Would there perhaps have to be +an operation? This would kill her father. The disgrace.... She let herself +in with her latch-key and stood in the familiar hall. Everything was just +as it had always been, the clocks ticking. She could hear the Cathedral +organ faintly through the wall. The drawing-room windows were open, and +she could hear the birds, singing at the sun, out there in the Precincts. +Everything as it always was. She could not understand. Gladys appeared +from the kitchen. + +"Oh, Gladys, here is the fruit.... Has father come in?" + +"I don't know, miss." + +"You haven't heard him?" + +"No, miss. I've been upstairs, 'elping with the beds." + +"Oh--thank you, Gladys." + +The terror slipped away from her. Then it was all right. Ellen Stiles had, +as usual, exaggerated. After all, she had not been there. She had heard it +only at second-hand. She hesitated for a moment, then went to the study +door. Outside she hesitated again, then she went in. + +To her amazement her father was sitting, just as he had always sat, at his +table. He looked up when she entered, there was no sign upon him of any +trouble. His face was very white, stone-white, and it seemed to her that +for months past the colour had been draining from it, and now at last all +colour was gone. A man wearing a mask. She could fancy that he would put +up his hands and suddenly slip it from him and lay it down upon the table. +The eyes stared through it, alive, coloured, restless. + +"Well, Joan, what is it?" + +She stammered, "Nothing, father. I only wanted to see--whether--that--" + +"Yes? Is any one wanting to see me?" + +"No--only some one told me that you...I thought--" + +"You heard that I chastised a ruffian in the town? You heard correctly. I +did. He deserved what I gave him." + +A little shiver shook her. + +"Is that all you want to know?" + +"Isn't there anything, father, I can do?" + +"Nothing--except leave me just now. I'm very busy. I have letters to +write." + +She went out. She stood in the hall, her hands clasped together. What was +she to do? The worst that she had ever feared had occurred. He was mad. + +She went into the drawing-room, where the sun was blazing as though it +would set the carpet on fire. What _was_ she to do? What _ought_ +she to do? Should she fetch Puddifoot or some older woman like Mrs. +Combermere, who would be able to advise her? Oh, no. She wanted no one +there who would pity him. She felt a longing, urgent desire to keep him +always with her now, away from the world, in some corner where she could +cherish and love him and allow no one to insult and hurt him. But madness! +To her girlish inexperience this morning's acts could be nothing but +madness. There in the middle of the High Street, with every one about, to +do such a thing! The disgrace of it! Why, now, they could never stay in +Polchester.... This was worse than everything that had gone before. How +they would all talk, Canon Ronder and all of them, and how pleased they +would be! + +At that she clenched her hands and drew herself up as though she were +defying the whole of Polchester. They should not laugh at him, they should +not dare!... + +But meanwhile what immediately was she to do? It wasn't safe to leave him +alone. Now that he had gone so far as to knock some one down in the +principal street, what might he not do? What would happen if he met Canon +Ronder? Oh! why had this come? What had they done to deserve this? + +What had _he_ done when he had always been so good? + +She seemed for a little distracted. She could not think. Her thoughts +would not come clearly. She waited, staring into the sun and the colour. +Quietness came to her. Her life was now his. Nothing counted in her life +but that. If they must leave Polchester she would go with him wherever he +must go, and care for him. Johnny! For one terrible instant he seemed to +stand, a figure of flame, outside there on the sun-drenched grass. + +Outside! Yes, always outside, until her father did not need her any more. +Then, suddenly she wanted Johnny so badly that she crumpled up into one of +the old arm-chairs and cried and cried and cried. She was very young. Life +ahead of her seemed very long. Yes, she cried her heart out, and then she +went upstairs and washed her face and wrote to Falk. She would not +telegraph until she was quite sure that she could not manage it by +herself. + +The wonderful morning changed to a storm of wind and rain. Such a storm! +Down in the basement Cook could scarcely hear herself speak! As she said +to Gladys, it was what you must expect now. They were slipping into +Autumn, and before you knew, why, there would be Winter! Nothing odder +than the sudden way the Seasons took you! But Cook didn't like storms in +that house. "Them Precincts 'ouses, they're that old, they'd fall on top +of you as soon as whistle Trefusis! For her part she'd always thought this +'ouse queer, and it wasn't any the less queer since all these things had +been going on in it." It was at this point that the grocery "boy" arrived +and supposed they'd 'eard all about it by that time. All about what? Why, +the Archdeacon knocking Samuel 'Ogg down in the 'Igh Street that very +morning! Then, indeed, you could have knocked Cook down, as she said, with +a whisper. Collapsed her so, that she had to sit down and take a cup of +tea, the kettle being luckily on the boil. Gladys had to sit down and take +one too, and there they sat, the grocer's boy dismissed, in the darkening +kitchen, their heads close together, and starting at every hiss of the +rain upon the coals. The house hung heavy and dark above them. Mad, that's +what he must be, and going mad these past ever so many months. And such a +fine man too! But knocking people down in the street, and 'im such a man +for his own dignity! 'Im an Archdeacon too. 'Ad any one ever heard in +their lives of an Archdeacon doing such a thing? Well, that settled Cook. +She'd been in the house ten solid years, but at the end of the month she'd +be off. To sit in the house with a madman! Not she! Adultery and all the +talk had been enough, but she had risked her good name and all, just for +the sake of that poor young thing upstairs, but madness!--no, that was +another pair of shoes. + +Now Gladys was peculiar. She'd given her notice, but hearing this, she +suddenly determined to stay. That poor Miss Joan! Poor little worm! So +young and innocent--shut up all alone with her mad father. Gladys would +see her through-- + +"Why, Gladys," cried Cook, "what will your young feller you're walkin' +with say?" + +"If 'e don't like it 'e can lump it," said Gladys. "Lord, 'ow this house +does rattle!" + +All the afternoon of that day Brandon sat, never moving from his study- +table. He sat exultant. Some of the shame had been wiped away. He could +feel again the riotous happiness that had surged up in him as he struck +that face, felt it yield before him, saw it fade away into dust and +nothingness. That face that had for all these months been haunting him, at +last he had banished it, and with it had gone those other leering faces +that had for so long kept him company. His room was dark, and it was +always in the dark that they came to him--Hogg's, the drunken painter's, +that old woman's in the dirty dress. + +And to-day they did not come. If they came he would treat them as he had +treated Hogg. That was the way to deal with them! + +His heart was bad, fluttering, stampeding, pounding and then dying away. +He walked about the room that he might think less of it. Never mind his +heart! Destroy his enemies, that's what he had to do--these men and women +who were the enemies of himself, his town and his Cathedral. + +Suddenly he thought that he would go out. He got his hat and his coat and +went into the rain. He crossed the Green and let himself into the +Cathedral by the Saint Margaret Chapel door, as he had so often done +before. + +The Cathedral was very dark, and he stumbled about, knocking against +pillars and hassocks. He was strange here. It was as though he didn't know +the place. He got into the middle of the nave, and positively he didn't +know where he was. A faint green light glimmered in the East end. There +were chairs in his way. He stood still, listening. + +He was lost. He would never find his way out again. _His_ Cathedral, +and he was lost! Figures were moving everywhere. They jostled him and said +nothing. The air was thick and hard to breathe. Here was the Black +Bishop's Tomb. He let his fingers run along the metal work. How cold it +was! His hand touched the cold icy beard! His hand stayed there. He could +not remove it. His fingers stuck. + +He tried to cry out, and he could say nothing. An icy hand, gauntleted, +descended upon his and held it. He tried to scream. He could not. + +He shouted. His voice was a whisper. He sank upon his knees. He fainted, +slipping to the ground like a man tired out. + +There, half an hour later, Lawrence found him. + + + + +Chapter IV + +The Last Tournament + + + +On the morning of the Chapter Meeting Ronder went in through the West +door, intending to cross the nave by the Cloisters. Just as he closed the +heavy door behind him there sprang up, close to him, as though from +nowhere at all, that horrible man Davray. Horrible always to Ronder, but +more horrible now because of the dreadful way in which he had, during the +last few months, gone tumbling downhill. There had been, until lately, a +certain austerity and even nobility in the man's face. That was at last +completely swept away. This morning he looked as though he had been +sleeping out all night, his face yellow, his eyes bloodshot, his hair +tangled and unkempt, pieces of grass clinging to his well-worn grey +flannel suit. + +"Good morning, Canon Ronder," he said. + +"Good morning," Ronder replied severely, and tried to pass on. But the man +stood in his way. + +"I'm not going to keep you," he said. "I know what your business is this +morning. I wouldn't keep you from it for a single moment. I know what +you're going to do. You're going to get rid of that damned Archdeacon. +Finish him for once and all. Stamp on him so that he can never raise up +his beautiful head again. I know. It's fine work you've been doing ever +since you came here, Canon Ronder. But it isn't you that's been doing it. +It's the Cathedral." + +"Please let me pass," said Ronder. "I haven't any time just now to spare." + +"Ah, that hurts your pride. You like to think it's you who's been the +mighty fine fellow all this time. Well, it isn't you at all. It's the +Cathedral. The Cathedral's jealous, you know--don't like its servants +taking all the credit to themselves. Pride's dangerous, Canon Ronder. In a +year or two's time, when you're feeling pretty pleased with yourself, you +just look back on the Archdeacon's history for a moment and consider it. +It may have a lesson for you. Good morning, Canon Ronder. Pleased to have +met you." + +The wretched creature went slithering up the aisle, chuckling to himself. +How miserable to be drunk at that early hour of the morning! Ronder +shrugged his shoulders as though he would like to shake off from them +something unpleasant that was sticking to them. He was not in a good mood +this morning. He was assured of victory--he had no doubt about it at all-- +and unquestionably when the affair was settled he would feel more tranquil +about it. But ever since his talk with Wistons he had been unsure of the +fellow. Was it altogether wise that he should come here? His perfect +content seemed to be as far away as ever. Was it always to be so? + +And then this horrible affair in the High Street three days ago, how +distressing! The Archdeacon's brain was going, and that was the very last +thing that Ronder had desired. What he had originally seen was the +pleasant picture of Brandon retiring with his wife and family to a nice +Rectory in the diocese and ending his days--many years hence it is to be +hoped--in a charming old garden with an oak-tree on the lawn and pigeons +cooing in the sunny air. + +But this! Oh, no! not this! Ronder was a practical man of straight common- +sense, but it did seem to him as though there had been through all the +movement of the last six months some spirit far more vindictive than +himself had ever been. He had never, from the first moment to the last, +been vindictive. With his hand on his heart he could say that. He did not +like the Cathedral that morning, it seemed to him cold, hostile, ugly. The +thick stone pillars were scornful, the glass of the East window was dead +and dull. A little wind seemed to whistle in the roof so far, so far above +his head. + +He hurried on, his great-coat hugged about him. All that he could say was +that he did hope that Brandon would not be there this morning. His +presence could alter nothing, the voting could go only one way. It would +be very painful were he there. Surely after the High Street affair he +would not come. + +Ronder saw with relief when he came into the Chapter House that Brandon +was not present. They were standing about the room, looking out into the +Cloisters, talking in little groups--the Dean, Bentinck-Major, Ryle, +Foster, and Bond, the Clerk, a little apart from the others as social +decency demanded. When Ronder entered, two things at once were plain--one, +how greatly during these last months he had grown in importance with all +of them and, secondly, how nervous they were all feeling. They all turned +towards him. + +"Ah, Ronder," said the Dean, "that's right. I was afraid lest something +should keep you." + +"No--no--what a cold damp day! Autumn is really upon us." + +They discussed the weather, once and again eyeing the door apprehensively. +Bentinck-Major took Ronder aside: + +"My wife and I have been wondering whether you'd honour us by dining with +us on the 25th," he said. "A cousin of my wife's, Lady Caroline Holmesby, +is to be staying with us just then. It would give us such great pleasure +if you and Miss Ronder would join us that evening. My wife is, of course, +writing to Miss Ronder." + +"So far as I know, my aunt and I are both free and will be delighted to +come," said Ronder. + +"Delightful! That will be delightful! As a matter of fact we were thinking +of having that evening a little Shakespeare reading. We thought of _King +Lear_." + +"Ah! That's another matter," said Ronder, laughing. "I'll be delighted to +listen, but as to taking part--" + +"But you must! You must!" said Bentinck-Major, catching hold of one of the +buttons on Ronder's waistcoat, a habit that Ronder most especially +disliked. "More culture is what our town needs--several of us have been +thinking so. It is really time, I think, to start a little Shakespeare +reading amongst ourselves--strictly amongst ourselves, of course. The +trouble with Shakespeare is that he is so often a little--a little bold, +for mixed reading--and that restricts us. Nevertheless, we hope...I do +trust that you will join us, Canon Ronder." + +"I make no promises," said Ronder. "If you knew how badly I read, you'd +hesitate before asking me." + +"We are past our time," said the Dean, looking at his watch. "We are all +here, I think, but Brandon and Witheram. Witheram is away at Drymouth. He +has written to me. How long we should wait----" + +"I can hardly believe," said Byle nervously, "that Archdeacon Brandon will +be present. He is extremely unwell. I don't know whether you are aware +that three nights ago he was found by Lawrence the Verger here in the +Cathedral in a fainting fit. He is very unwell, I'm afraid." + +The whole group was immensely interested. They had heard.... Fainting? +Here in the Cathedral? Yes, by the Bishop's Tomb. He was better yesterday, +but it is hardly likely that he will come this morning. + +"Poor man!" said the Dean, gently distressed. "I heard something...That +was the result, I'm afraid, of his fracas that morning in the High Street; +he must be most seriously unwell." + +"Poor man, poor man!" was echoed by everybody; it was evident also that +general relief was felt. He could not now be expected to be present. + +The door opened, and he came in. He came hurriedly, a number of papers in +one hand, wearing just the old anxious look of important care that they +knew so well. And yet how changed he was! Instead of moving at once to his +place at the long table he hesitated, looked at Bentinck-Major, at Foster, +then at Bond, half-puzzled, as though he had never seen them before. + +"I must apologise, gentlemen," he said, "for being late. My watch, I'm +afraid, was slow." + +The Dean then showed quite unexpected qualities. + +"Will you sit here on my right, Archdeacon?" he said in a firm and almost +casual voice. "We are a little late, I fear, but no matter--no matter. We +are all present, I think, save Archdeacon Witheram, who is at Drymouth, +and from whom I have received a letter." They all found their places. +Ronder was as usual exactly opposite to Brandon. Foster slouched into his +seat with his customary air of absentmindedness. Ryle tried not to look at +Brandon, but his eyes were fascinated and seemed to swim in their watery +fashion like fish fascinated by a bait. + +"Shall we open with a prayer," said the Dean, "and ask God's blessing on +this morning's work?" + +They prayed with bent heads. Brandon's head was bent longer than the +others. + +When he looked up he stared about him as though completely bewildered. + +"As you all know," the Dean said in his softly urgent voice, as though he +were pressing them to give him flowers for his collection, "our meeting +this morning is of the first urgency. I will, with your approval, postpone +general business until the more ordinary meeting of next week. That is if +no one has any objection to such a course?" + +No one had any objections. + +"Very well, then. As you know, our business this morning is to appoint a +successor to poor Morrison at Pybus St. Anthony. Now in ordinary cases, +such an appointment is not of the first importance, but in the matter of +Pybus, as you all know, there is a difference. Whether rightly or wrongly, +it has been a tradition in the Diocese that the Pybus living should be +given only to exceptional men. It has been fortunate in having a +succession of exceptional men in its service--men who, for the most part, +have come to great position in the Church afterwards. I want you to +remember that, gentlemen, when you are making your decision this morning. +At the same time you must remember that it has been largely tradition that +has given this importance to Pybus, and that the living has been vacant +already too long." + +He paused. Then he picked up a piece of paper in front of him. + +"There have been several meetings with regard to this living already," he +said, "and certain names have been very thoroughly discussed among us. I +think we were last week agreed that two names stood out from the others. +If to-day we cannot agree on one of those two names, we must then consider +a third. That will not, I hope, be necessary. The two names most +favourably considered by us are those of the Rev. Rex Forsyth, Chaplain to +Bishop Clematis, and the Rev. Ambrose Wistons of St. Edward's Hawston. The +first of these two gentlemen is known to all of us personally, the second +we know chiefly through his writings. We will first, I think, consider Mr. +Wistons. You, Canon Foster, are, I know, a personal friend of his, and can +tell us why, in your opinion, his would be a suitable appointment." + +"It depends on what you want," said Foster, frowning around upon every one +present; and then suddenly selecting little Bond as apparently his most +dangerous enemy and scowling at him with great hostility, "if you want to +let the religious life of this place, nearly dead already, pass right +away, choose a man like Forsyth. But I don't wish to be contentious; +there's been contention enough in this place during these last months, and +I'm sick and ashamed of the share I've had in it. I won't say more than +this--that if you want an honest, God-fearing man here, who lives only for +God and is in his most secret chamber as he is before men, then Wistons is +your man. I understand that some of you are afraid of his books. There'll +be worse books than his you'll have to face before you're much older. +_That_ I can tell you! I said to myself before I came here that I +wouldn't speak this morning. I should not have said even what I have, +because I know that in this last year I have grievously sinned, fighting +against God when I thought that I was fighting for Him. The weapons are +taken out of my hands. I believe that Wistons is the man for this place +and for the religious life here. I believe that you will none of you +regret it if you bring him to this appointment. I can say nothing more." + +What had happened to Foster? They had, one and all, expected a fighting +speech. The discomfort and uneasiness that was already in the room was now +greatly increased. + +The Dean asked Ronder to say something. Ronder leaned forward, pushing his +spectacles back with his fingers. He leaned forward that he might not see +Brandon's face. + +By chance he had not seen Brandon for more than a fortnight. He was +horrified and frightened by the change. The grey-white face, the restless, +beseeching, bewildered eyes belonging apparently to some one else, to whom +they were searching to return, the long white fingers ceaselessly moving +among the papers and tapping the table, were those of a stranger, and in +the eyes of the men in that room it was he who had produced him. Yes, and +in the eyes of how many others in that town? You might say that had +Brandon been a man of real spiritual and moral strength, not Ronder, not +even God Himself, could have brought Brandon to this. But was that so? +Which of us knows until he is tried? His wife, his son, his body, all had +failed him. And now this too.... And if Ronder had not come to that town +would it have been so? Had it not been a duel between them from the moment +that Ronder first set his foot in that place? And had not Ronder +deliberately willed it so? What had Ronder said to Brandon's son and to +the woman who would ruin Brandon's wife? + +All this passed in the flash of a dream through Ronder's brain, perhaps +never entirely to leave him again. In that long duel there had been +perhaps more than one defeat. He knew that they were waiting for him to +speak, but the thoughts would not come. Wistons? Forsyth?...Forsyth? +Wistons? Who were they? What had they to do with this personal relation of +his with the man opposite? + +He flushed. He must say something. He began to speak, and soon his brain, +so beautifully ordered, began to reel out the words in soft and steady +sequence. But his soul watched Brandon's soul. + +"My friend, Canon Foster, knows Mr. Wistons so much better than I do," he +said, "that it is absurd for me to try and tell you what he should tell +you. + +"I do regard him as the right man for this place, because I think our +Cathedral, that we all so deeply love, is waiting for just such a man. +Against his character no one, I suppose, has anything to say. He is known +before all the world as a God-fearing Christian. He is no youth; he has +had much experience; he is, every one witnesses, lovable and of strong +personal charm. It is not his character, but his ideas, that people have +criticised. He is a modernist, of course, a man of an enquiring, +penetrating mind, who must himself be satisfied of the truth for which he +is searching. Can that do us here any harm? I believe not. I think that +some of us, if I may say so, are too easily frightened of the modern +spirit of enquiry. I believe that we Churchmen should step forward ready +to face any challenge, whether of scientists, psychologists or any one +else--I think that before long, whether we like it or no, we shall have to +do so. Mr. Wistons is, I believe, just the man to help us in such a +crisis. His opinions are not precisely the same as those of some of us in +this diocese, and I've no doubt that if he came here there would be some +disputes from time to time, but I believe those same disputes would do us +a world of good. God did not mean us to sit down twiddling our thumbs and +never using our brains. He gave us our intelligences, and therefore I +presume that He meant us to make some use of them. + +"In these matters Mr. Wistons is exactly what we want here. He is a much- +travelled man, widely experienced in affairs, excellent at business. No +one who has ever met him would deny his sweetness and personal charm. I +think myself that we are very fortunate to have a chance of seeing him +here--" + +Ronder ceased. He felt as though he had been beating thin air with weak +ineffective hands. They had, none of them, been listening to him or +thinking of him; they had not even been thinking of Wistons. Their minds +had been absorbed, held, dominated by the tall broad figure who sat in +their midst, but was not one of them. + +Brandon, in fact, began to speak almost before Ronder had finished. He did +not look up, but stared at his long nervous fingers. He spoke at first +almost in a whisper, so that they did not catch the first few words. +"...Horrified..." they heard him say. "Horrified.... So calmly.... These +present.... + +"Cannot understand...." Then his words were clearer. He looked up, staring +across at Ronder. + +"Horrified at this eager acceptance of a man who is a declared atheist +before God." Then suddenly he flung his head back in his old challenging +way and, looking round upon them all, went on, his voice now clear, +although weak and sometimes faltering: + +"Gentlemen, this is perhaps my last appearance at these Chapter Meetings. +I have not been very well of late and, as you all know, I have had +trouble. You will forgive me if I do not, this morning, express myself so +clearly or carefully as I should like. + +"But the first thing that I wish to say is that when you are deciding this +question this morning you should do your best, before God, to put my own +personality out of your minds. I have learnt many things, under God's +hand, in the last six months. He has shown me some weaknesses and +failings, and I know now that, because of those weaknesses, there are some +in this town who would act against anything that I proposed, simply +because they would wish me to be defeated. I do implore you this morning +not to think of me, but to think only of what will be best--best--best---- +" He looked around him for a moment bewildered, frowning in puzzled +fashion at Ronder, then continued again, "best for God and the work of His +Church. + +"I'm not very well, gentlemen; my thoughts are not coming very clearly +this morning, and that is sad, because I've looked forward to this morning +for months past, wishing to fight my very best...." His voice changed. +"Yes, fight!" he cried. "There should be no fight necessary in such a +matter. But what has happened to us all in the last year? + +"A year ago there was not one of us who would have considered such an +appointment as I am now disputing. Have you read this man's books? Have +you read in the papers his acknowledged utterances? Do you know that he +questions the Divinity of Christ Himself----" + +"No, Archdeacon," Foster broke in, "that is not true. You can have no +evidence of that." + +Brandon seemed to be entirely bewildered by the interruption. He looked at +Foster, opened his mouth as though he would speak, then suddenly put his +hand to his head. + +"If you will give me time," he said. "Give me time. I will prove +everything, I will indeed. I beg you," he said, suddenly turning to the +Dean, "that you will have this appointment postponed for a month. It is so +serious a matter that to decide hastily----" + +"Not hastily," said the Dean very gently. "Morrison died some months ago, +and I'm afraid it is imperative that we should fill the vacancy this +morning." + +"Then consider what you do," Brandon cried, now half-rising from his +chair. "This man is breaking in upon the cherished beliefs of our Church. +Give him a little and he will take everything. We must all stand firm upon +the true and Christian ground that the Church has given us, or where shall +we be? This man may be good and devout, but he does not believe what we +believe. Our Church-that we love--that we love----" He broke off again. + +"You are against me. Every man's hand now is against me. Nevertheless +what-I say is right and true. What am I? What are you, any of you here in +this room, beside God's truth? I have seen God, I have walked with God, I +shall walk with Him again. He will lead me out of these sore distresses +and take me into green pastures----" + +He flushed. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I am taking your time. I must +say something for Mr. Forsyth. He is young; he knows this place and loves +it; he cares for and will preserve its most ancient traditions.... + +"He cares for the things for which we should care. I do commend him to +your attention----" + +There was a long silence. The rain that had begun a thick drizzle dripped +on the panes. The room was so dark that the Dean asked Bond to light the +gas. They all waited while this was being done. At last the Dean spoke: + +"We are all very grateful to you, Archdeacon, for helping us as you have +done. I think, gentlemen, that unless there is some other name definitely +to be proposed we had better now vote on these two names. + +"Is there any further name suggested?" + +No one spoke. + +"Very well, then. I think this morning, contrary to our usual custom, we +will record our votes on paper. I have Archdeacon Witheram's letter here +advising me of his wishes in this matter." + +Paper and pens were before every one. The votes were recorded and sent up +to the Dean. He opened the little pieces of paper slowly. + +At last he said: + +"One vote has been recorded in favour of Mr. Forsyth, the rest for Mr. +Wistons. Mr. Wistons is therefore appointed to the living of Pybus St. +Anthony." + +Brandon was on his feet. His body trembled like a tree tottering. He flung +out his hands. + +"No.... No.... Stop one moment. You must. You--all of you---- + +"Mr. Dean--all of you.... Oh, God, help me now!...You have been +influenced by your feelings about myself. Forget me, turn me away, send me +from the town, anything, anything.... I beseech you to think only of the +good of the Cathedral in this affair. If you admit this man it is the +beginning of the end. Slowly it will all be undermined. Belief in Christ, +belief in God Himself.... Think of the future and your responsibility to +the unborn children when they come to you and say: 'Where is our faith? +Why did you take it from us? Give it back to us!' Oh, stop for a moment! +Postpone this for only a little while. Don't do this thing!...Gentlemen!" + +They could see that he was ill. His body swayed as though it were beyond +his control. His hands were waving, turning, beseeching.... + +Suddenly tears were running down his cheeks. + +"Not this shame!" he cried. "Not this shame!--kill me--but save the +Cathedral!" + +They were on their feet. Foster and Ryle had come round to him. +"Archdeacon, sit down." "You're ill." "Rest a moment" With a great heave +of his shoulders he flung them off, a chair falling to the ground with the +movement. + +He saw Ronder. + +"You!...my enemy. Are you satisfied now?" he whispered. He held out his +quivering hand. "Take my hand. You've done your worst." + +He turned round as though he would go from the room. Stumbling, he caught +Foster by the shoulder as though he would save himself. He bent forward, +staring into Foster's face. + +"God is love, though," he said. "You betray Him again and again, but He +comes back." + +He gripped Foster's shoulder more tightly. "Don't do this thing, man," he +said. "Don't do it. Because Ronder's beaten me is no reason for you to +betray your God.... Give me a chair. I'm ill." + +He fell upon his knees. + +"This...Death," he whispered. Then, looking up again at Foster, "My +heart. That fails me too." + +And, bowing his head, he died. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cathedral, by Sir Hugh Walpole + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CATHEDRAL *** + +***** This file should be named 8135.txt or 8135.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/3/8135/ + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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/license + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/8135.zip b/8135.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b0fd22 --- /dev/null +++ b/8135.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b12e04f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #8135 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8135) |
