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diff --git a/8879-h/8879-h.htm b/8879-h/8879-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa72c40 --- /dev/null +++ b/8879-h/8879-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,22551 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + There & Back, by George Macdonald + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of There and Back, by George MacDonald + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: There and Back + +Author: George MacDonald + + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8879] +This file was first posted on August 19, 2003 +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THERE AND BACK *** + + + + +Text file produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THERE & BACK + </h1> + <h2> + By George Macdonald + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <i>NOTE.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. <i>FATHER, CHILD, AND NURSE.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. <i>STEPMOTHER AND NURSE.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. <i>THE FLIGHT.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. <i>THE BOOKBINDER AND HIS PUPIL.</i> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. <i>THE MANSONS.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. <i>SIMON ARMOUR</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. <i>COMPARISONS.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. <i>A LOST SHOE.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. <i>A HOLIDAY.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. <i>THE LIBRARY</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. <i>ALICE.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. <i>MORTGRANGE.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. <i>THE BEECH-TREE</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. <i>THE LIBRARY</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. <i>BARBARA WYLDER.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. <i>BARBARA AND RICHARD</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. <i>BARBARA AND OTHERS.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. <i>MRS. WYLDER</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. <i>MRS. WYLDER AND BARBARA.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. <i>BARBARA AND HER CRITICS.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. <i>THE PARSON'S PARABLE.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. <i>THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.</i> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. <i>A HUMAN GADFLY</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. <i>RICHARD AND WINGFOLD</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. <i>WING FOLD AND HIS WIFE</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. <i>RICHARD AND ALICE</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. <i>A SISTER</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. <i>BARBARA AND LADY ANN.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. <i>ALICE AND BARBARA</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. <i>BARBARA THINKS</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. <i>WINGFOLD AND BARBARA</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. <i>THE SHOEING OF MISS BROWN</i>. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. <i>RICHARD AND VIXEN</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. <i>BARBARA'S DUTY</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. <i>THE PARSON'S COUNSEL</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. <i>LADY ANN MEDITATES</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. <i>LADY ANN AND RICHARD</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. <i>RICHARD AND ARTHUR</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. <i>MR., MRS., AND MISS WYLDER</i>. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. <i>IN LONDON</i></a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. <i>NATURE AND SUPERNATURE.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. <i>YET A LOWER DEEP.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. <i>TO BE REDEEMED, ONE MUST REDEEM</i>. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. <i>A DOOR OPENED IN HEAVEN</i>. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV. <i>THE CARRIAGE</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XLVI. <i>RICHARD'S DILEMMA.</i> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XLVII. <i>THE DOORS OF HARMONY AND DEATH</i>. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XLVIII. <i>DEATH THE DELIVERER</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XLIX. <i>THE CAVE IN THE FIRE</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER L. <i>DUCK-FISTS</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER LI <i>BARONET AND BLACKSMITH</i>.</a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER LII. <i>UNCLE-FATHER AND AUNT-MOTHER</i>. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER LIII. <i>MORNING</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER LIV. <i>BARBARA AT HOME</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER LV. <i>MISS BROWN</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER LVI. <i>WINGFOLD AND BARBARA</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0057"> CHAPTER LVII. <i>THE BARONET'S WILL</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0058"> CHAPTER LVIII. <i>THE HEIR</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0059"> CHAPTER LIX. <i>WINGFOLD AND ARTHUR MANSON</i>. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0060"> CHAPTER LX. <i>RICHARD AND HIS FAMILY</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0061"> CHAPTER LXI. <i>HEART TO HEART</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0062"> CHAPTER LXII. <i>THE QUARREL</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0063"> CHAPTER LXIII. <i>BARONET AND BLACKSMITH</i>. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0064"> CHAPTER LXIV. <i>THE BARONET'S FUNERAL</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0065"> CHAPTER LXV. <i>THE PACKET</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0066"> CHAPTER LXVI. <i>BARBARA'S DREAM</i>. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>NOTE.</i> + </h2> + <p> + <i>Some of the readers of this tale will be glad to know that the passage + with which it ends is a real dream; and that, with but three or four + changes almost too slight to require acknowledging, I have given it word + for word as the friend to whom it came set it down for me.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. <i>FATHER, CHILD, AND NURSE.</i> + </h2> + <p> + It would be but stirring a muddy pool to inquire—not what motives + induced, but what forces compelled sir Wilton Lestrange to marry a woman + nobody knew. It is enough to say that these forces were mainly ignoble, as + manifested by their intermittent character and final cessation. The <i>mésalliance</i> + occasioned not a little surprise, and quite as much annoyance, among the + county families,—failing, however, to remind any that certain of + their own grandmothers had been no better known to the small world than + lady Lestrange. It caused yet more surprise, though less annoyance, in the + clubs to which sir Wilton had hitherto been indebted for help to forget + his duties: they set him down as a greater idiot than his friends had + hitherto imagined him. For had he not been dragged to the altar by a woman + whose manners and breeding were hardly on the level of a villa in St. + John's Wood? Did any one know whence she sprang, or even the name which + sir Wilton had displaced with his own? But sir Wilton himself was not + proud of his lady; and if the thing had been any business of theirs, it + would have made no difference to him; he would none the less have let them + pine in their ignorance. Did not his mother, a lady less dignified than + eccentric, out of pure curiosity beg enlightenment concerning her origin, + and receive for answer from the high-minded baronet, “Madam, the woman is + my wife!”—after which the prudent dowager asked no more questions, + but treated her daughter-in-law with neither better nor worse than + civility. Sir Wilton, in fact, soon came to owe his wife a grudge that he + had married her, and none the less that at the time he felt himself of a + generosity more than human in bestowing upon her his name. Creation + itself, had he ever thought of it, would have seemed to him a small thing + beside such a gift! + </p> + <p> + That Robina Armour, after experience of his first advances, should have at + last consented to marry sir Wilton Lestrange, was in no sense in her + favour, although after a fashion she was in love with him—in love, + that is, with the gentleman of her own imagining whom she saw in the + baronet; while the baronet, on his part, was what he called in love with + what he called <i>the woman</i>. As he was overcome by her beauty, so was + she by his rank—an idol at whose clay feet is cast many a spiritual + birthright—and as mean a deity as any of man's device. But the + blacksmith's daughter was in many respects, notwithstanding, a woman of + good sense, with much real refinement, and a genuine regard for rectitude. + Although sir Wilton had never loved her with what was best in him, it was + not in spite of what was best in him that he fell in love with her. Had + his better nature been awake, it would have justified the bond, and been + strengthened by it. + </p> + <p> + Lady Lestrange's father was a good blacksmith, occasionally drunk in his + youth, but persistently sober now in his middle age; a long-headed fellow, + with reach and quality in the prudence which had long ceased to appear to + him the highest of virtues. At one period he had accounted it the prime + duty of existence to take care of oneself; and so much of this belief had + he communicated to his younger daughter, that she deported herself so that + sir Wilton married her—with the result that, when Death knocked at + her door, she welcomed him to her heart. The first cry of her child, it is + true, made her recall the welcome, but she had to go with him, + notwithstanding, when the child was but an hour old. + </p> + <p> + Not one of her husband's family was in the house when she died. Sir Wilton + himself was in town, and had been for the last six months, preferring + London and his club to Mortgrange and his wife. When a telegram informed + him that she was in danger, he did go home, but when he arrived, she had + been an hour gone, and he congratulated himself that he had taken the + second train. + </p> + <p> + There had been betwixt them no approach to union. When what sir Wilton + called love had evaporated, he returned to his mire, with a resentful + feeling that the handsome woman—his superior in everything that + belongs to humanity—had bewitched him to his undoing. The truth was, + she had ceased to charm him. The fault was not in her; it lay in the + dulled eye of the swiftly deteriorating man, which grew less and less + capable of seeing things as they were, and transmitted falser and falser + impressions of them. The light that was in him was darkness. The woman + that might have made a man of him, had there been the stuff, passed from + him an unprized gift, a thing to which he made Hades welcome. + </p> + <p> + It was decent, however, not to parade his relief. He retired to the + library, lit a cigar, and sat down to wish the unpleasant fuss of the + funeral over, and the house rid of a disagreeable presence. Had the woman + died of a disease to which he might himself one day have to succumb, her + death might, as he sat there, have chanced to raise for an instant the + watery ghost of an emotion; but, coming as it did, he had no sympathetic + interest in her death any more than in herself. Lolling in the easiest of + chairs, he revolved the turns of last night's play, until it occurred to + him that he might soon by a second marriage take amends of his neighbours + for their disapprobation of his first. So pleasant was the thought that, + brooding upon it, he fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + He woke, looked, rubbed his eyes, stared, rubbed them again, and stared. A + woman stood in front of him—one he had surely seen!—no, he had + never seen her anywhere! What an odd, inquiring, searching expression in + her two hideous black eyes! And what was that in her arms—something + wrapt in a blanket? + </p> + <p> + The message in the telegram recurred to him: there must have been a child! + The bundle must be the child! Confound the creature! What did it want? + </p> + <p> + “Go away,” he said; “this is not the nursery!” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you might like to look at the baby, sir!” the woman replied. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton stared at the blanket. + </p> + <p> + “It might comfort you, I thought!” she went on, with a look he felt to be + strange. Her eyes were hard and dry, red with recent tears, and glowing + with suppressed fire. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton was courteous to most women, especially such as had no claim + upon him, but cherished respect for none. It was odd therefore that he + should now feel embarrassed. From some cause the machinery of his + self-content had possibly got out of gear; anyhow no answer came ready. He + had not the smallest wish to see the child, but was yet, perhaps, + unwilling to appear brutal. In the meantime, the woman, with gentle, + moth-like touch, was parting and turning back the folds of the blanket, + until from behind it dawned a tiny human face, whose angel was suppliant, + it may be, for the baptism of a father's first gaze. + </p> + <p> + The woman held out the child to sir Wilton, as if expecting him to take + it. He started to his feet, driving the chair a yard behind him, stuck his + hands in his pockets, and, with a face of disgust, cried— + </p> + <p> + “Great God! take the creature away.” + </p> + <p> + But he could not lift his eyes from the face nested in the blanket. It + seemed to fascinate him. The woman's eyes flared, but she did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “Uglier than sin!” he half hissed, half growled. “—I suppose the + animal is mine, but you needn't bring it so close to me! Take it away—and + keep it away. I will send for it when I want it—which won't be in a + hurry! My God! How hideous a thing may be, and yet human!” + </p> + <p> + “He is as God made him!” remarked the nurse, quietly for very wrath. + </p> + <p> + “Or the devil!” suggested his father. + </p> + <p> + Then the woman looked like a tigress. She opened her mouth, but closed it + again with a snap. + </p> + <p> + “I may say what I like of my own!” said the father. “Tell me the goblin is + none of mine, and I will be as respectful to him as you please. Prove it, + and I will give you fifty pounds. He's hideous! He's damnably ugly! Deny + it if you can.” + </p> + <p> + The woman held her peace. She could not, even to herself, call him a child + pleasant to look at. She gazed on him for a moment with pitiful, + protective eyes, then covered his face as if he were dead, but she did not + move. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you go?” said the baronet. + </p> + <p> + Instead of replying, she began, as by a suddenly confirmed resolve, to + remove the coverings at the other end of the bundle, and presently + disclosed the baby's feet. The baronet gazed wondering. To what might not + assurance be about to subject him? She took one of the little feet in a + hard but gentle hand, and spreading out “the pink, five-beaded baby-toes,” + displayed what even the inexperience of the baronet could not but + recognize as remarkable: between every pair of toes was stretched a thin + delicate membrane. She laid the foot down, took up the other, and showed + the same peculiarity. The child was web-footed, as distinctly as any + properly constituted duckling! Then she lifted, one after the other, the + tiny hands, beautiful to any eye that understood, and showed between the + middle and third finger of each, the same sort of membrane rising half-way + to the points of them. + </p> + <p> + “I see!” said the baronet, with a laugh that was not nice, having in it no + merriment, “the creature is a monster!—Well, if you think I am to + blame, I can only protest you are mistaken. <i>I</i> am not web-footed! + The duckness must come from the other side.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will remember, sir Wilton!” + </p> + <p> + “Remember? What do you mean? Take the monster away.” + </p> + <p> + The woman rearranged the coverings of the little crooked legs. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you look at your lady before they put her in her coffin?” she said + when she had done. + </p> + <p> + “What good would that do her? She's past caring!—No, I won't: why + should I? Such sights are not pleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “The coffin's a lonely chamber, sir Wilton; lonely to lie all day and all + night in!” + </p> + <p> + “No lonelier for one than for another!” he replied, with an involuntary + recoil from his own words. For the one thing a man must believe—yet + hardly believes—is, that he shall one day die. “She'll be better + without me, anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + “You are heartless, sir Wilton!” + </p> + <p> + “Mind your own business. If I choose to be heartless, I may have my + reasons. Take the child away.” + </p> + <p> + Still she did not move. The baby, young as he was, had thrown the blanket + from his face, and the father's eyes were fixed on it: while he gazed the + nurse would not stir. He seemed fascinated by its ugliness. Without + absolute deformity, the child was indeed as unsightly as infant well could + be. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” he said again—for he had a trick of crying out as if he + had a God—“the little brute hates me! Take it away, woman. Take it + away before I strangle it! I can't answer for myself if it keeps on + looking at me!” + </p> + <p> + With a glance whose mingled anger and scorn the father did not see, the + nurse turned and went. + </p> + <p> + He kept staring after her till the door shut, then fell back into his + chair, exclaiming once more, “My God!”—What or whom he meant by the + word, it were hard to say. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible,” he said to himself, “that the fine woman I married—for + she <i>was</i> a fine woman, a deuced fine woman!—should have died + to present the world with such a travesty! It's like nothing human! It's + an affront to the family! Ah! the strain <i>will</i> show! They say your + sins will find you out! It was a sin to marry the woman! Damned fool I + was! But she bewitched me! I <i>was</i> bewitched!—Curse the little + monster! I shan't breathe again till I'm out of the house! Where was the + doctor? He ought to have seen to it! Hang it all, I'll go abroad!” + </p> + <p> + Ugly as the child was, however, to many an eye the first thing evident in + him would have been his strong likeness to his father—whose features + were perfect, though at the moment, and at many a moment, their expression + was other than attractive. Sir Wilton disliked children, and the dislike + was mutual. Never did child run to him; never was child unwilling to leave + him. Escaping from his grasp, he would turn and look back, like Christian + emerging from the Valley of the Shadow, as if to weigh the peril he had + been in. + </p> + <p> + As tenderly as if he had been the loveliest of God's children, the woman + bore her charge up staircases, and through corridors and passages, to the + remote nursery, where, in a cradle whose gay furniture contrasted sadly + with the countenance of the child and the fierceness of her own eyes, she + gently laid him down. But long after he was asleep, she continued to bend + over him, as if with difficulty restraining herself from clasping him + again to her bosom. + </p> + <p> + Jane Tuke had been married four or five years, but had no children, and + the lack seemed to have intensified her maternity. Elder sister to lady + Lestrange, she had gone gladly to receive her child in her arms, and had + watched and waited for it with an expectation far stronger than that of + the mother; for so thorough was lady Lestrange's disappointment in her + husband, that she regarded the advent of his child almost with + indifference. Jane had an absolute passion for children. She had married a + quarter for faith, a quarter for love, and a whole half for hope. This + divinely inexplicable child-passion is as unintelligible to those devoid + of it, as its absence is marvellous to those possessed by it. Its presence + is its justification, its being its sole explanation, itself its highest + reason. Surely on those who cherish it, the shadow of the love-creative + God must rest more than on some other women! Unpleasing as was the infant, + to know him her own would have made the world a paradise to Jane. Her + heart burned with divine indignation at the wrongs already heaped upon + him. Hardly born, he was persecuted! Ugly! he was <i>not</i> ugly! Was he + not come straight from the fountain of life, from the Father of children? + That such a father as she had left in the library should repudiate him was + well! She loved to think of his rejection. She brooded with delight, in + the midst of her wrath, on every word of disgust that had fallen from his + unfatherly lips. The more her baby was rejected, the more he was hers! He + belonged to her, and her only, for she only loved him! She could say with + <i>France</i> in <i>King Lear</i>, “Be it lawful I take up what's cast + away!” To her the despised one was the essence of all riches. The joy of a + miser is less than the joy of a mother, as gold is less than a live soul, + as greed is less than love. No vision of jewels ever gave such a longing + as this woman longed with after the child of her dead sister. + </p> + <p> + The body that bore was laid in the earth, the thing born was left upon it. + The mother had but come, exposed her infant on the rough shore of time, + and forsaken him in his nakedness. There he lay, not knowing whence he + came, or whither he was going, urged to live by a hunger and thirst he had + not invented, and did not understand. His mother had helplessly forsaken + him, but the God in another woman had taken him up: there was a soul to + love him, two arms to carry him, and a strong heart to shelter him. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton returned to London, and there enjoyed himself—not much, + but a little the more that no woman sat at Mortgrange with a right to + complain that he took his pleasure without her. He lived the life of the + human animals frequenting the society of their kind from a gregarious + instinct, and for common yet opposing self-ends. He had begun to assume + the staidness, if not dullness, of the animal whose first youth has + departed, but he was only less frolicsome, not more human. He was settling + down to what he had made himself; no virtue could claim a share in the + diminished rampancy of his vices. What a society is that which will regard + as reformed the man whom assuaging fires have left an exhausted slag—a + thing for which as yet no use is known, who suggests no promise of change + or growth, gives no poorest hint of hope concerning his fate! + </p> + <p> + With the first unrecognized sense of approaching age, a certain habit of + his race began to affect him, and the idea of a quieter life, with a woman + whose possession would make him envied, grew mildly attractive. A + brilliant marriage in another county would, besides, avenge him on the + narrow-minded of his own, who had despised his first choice! With judicial + family-eye he surveyed the eligible women of his acquaintance. It was, no + doubt, to his disadvantage that already an heir lay “mewling and puking in + the nurse's arms;” for a woman who might willingly be mother to the + inheritor of such a property as his, might not find attractive the notion + of her first being her husband's second son. But slips between cups and + lips were not always on the wrong side! Such a moon-calf as Robina's son + could not with justice represent the handsomest man and one of the + handsomest women of their time. The heir that fate had palmed upon him + might very well be doomed to go the way so many infants went! + </p> + <p> + He spread the report that the boy was sickly. A notion that he was not + likely to live prevailed about Mortgrange, which, however originated, was + nourished doubtless by the fact that he was so seldom seen. In reality, + however, there was not a healthier child in all England than Richard + Lestrange. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton's relations took as little interest in the heir as himself, and + there was no inducement for any of them to visit Mortgrange; the + aunt-mother, therefore, had her own way with him. She was not liked in the + house. The servants said she cared only for the little toad of a baronet, + and would do nothing for her comfort. They had, however, just a shadow of + respect for her: if she encouraged no familiarity, she did not meddle, and + was independent of their aid. Even the milking of the cow which had been, + through her persistence, set apart for the child, she did herself. She + sought no influence in the house, and was nothing loved and little heeded. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton had not again seen his heir, who was now almost a year old, + when the rumour reached Mortgrange that the baronet was about to be + married. + </p> + <p> + Naturally, the news was disquieting to Jane. The hope, however, was left + her, that the stepmother might care as little for the child as did the + father, and that so, for some years at least, he might be left to her. It + was a terrible thought to the loving woman that they might be parted; a + more terrible thought that her baby might become a man like his father. Of + all horrors to a decent woman, a bad man must be the worst! If by her + death she could have left the child her hatred of evil, Jane would have + willingly died: she loved her husband, but her sister's boy was in danger! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. <i>STEPMOTHER AND NURSE.</i> + </h2> + <p> + The rumour of sir Wilton's marriage was, as rumour seldom is, correct. + Before the year was out, lady Ann Hardy, sister to the earl of Torpavy, + representing an old family with a drop or two of very bad blood in it, + became lady Ann Lestrange How much love there may have been in the affair, + it is unnecessary to inquire, seeing the baronet was what he was, and the + lady understood the <i>what</i> pretty well. She might have preferred a + husband not so much what sir Wilton was, but she was nine-and-twenty, and + her brother was poor. She said to herself, I suppose, that she might as + well as another undertake his reform: some one must! and married him. She + had not much of a trousseau, but was gorgeously attired for the wedding. + It is true she had to return to the earl three-fourths of the jewels she + wore; but they were family jewels, and why should she not have some good + of them? She started with fifty pounds of her own in her pocket, and a + demeanour in her person equal to fifty millions. When they arrived at + Mortgrange, the moon was indeed still in the sky, but the honey-pot, to + judge by the appearance of the twain, was empty: twain they were, and + twain would be. The man wore a look of careless all-rightness, tinged with + an expression of indifferent triumph: he had what he wanted; what his lady + might think of her side of the bargain, he neither thought nor cared. As + to the woman, let her reflections be what they might, not a soul would + come to the knowledge of them. Whatever it was to others, her pale, + handsome face was never false to herself, never betrayed what she was + thinking, never broke the shallow surface of its frozen dignity. Will any + man ever know how a woman of ordinary decency feels after selling herself? + I find the thing hardly safe to ponder. No trace, no shadow of + disappointment clouded the countenance of lady Ann that sultry summer + afternoon as she drove up the treeless avenue. The education she had + received—and education in the worst sense it was! for it had brought + out the worst in her—had rendered her less than human. The form of + her earthly presence had been trained to a fashionable perfection; her + nature had not been left unaided in its reversion toward the vague animal + type from which it was developed: in the curve of her thin lips as they + prepared to smile, one could discern the veiled snarl and bite. Her eyes + were grey, her eyebrows dark; her complexion was a clear fair, her nose + perfect, except for a sharp pinch at the end of the bone; her nostrils + were thin but motionless; her chin was defective, and her throat as + slender as her horrible waist; her hands and feet were large even for “her + tall personage.” + </p> + <p> + After his lady had had a cup of tea, sir Wilton, for something to do, + proposed taking her over the house, which was old, and worthy of + inspection. In their progress they came to a door at the end of a long and + rather tortuous passage. Sir Wilton did not know how the room was + occupied, or he would doubtless have passed it by; but as its windows gave + a fine view of the park, he opened the door, and lady Ann entered. Sudden + displeasure shortened her first step; pride or something worse lengthened + the next, as she bore down on a woman too much occupied with a child on + her knee to look up at the sound of her entrance. When, a moment after, + she did look up, the dreaded stepmother was looking straight down on her + baby. Their eyes encountered. Jane met an icy stare, and lady Ann a gaze + of defiance—an expression by this time almost fixed on the face of + the nurse, for in her spirit she heard every unspoken remark on her child. + Not a word did the lady utter, but to Jane, her eyes, her very breath + seemed to say with scorn, “Is <i>that</i> the heir?” Sir Wilton did not + venture a single look: he was ashamed of his son, and already a little + afraid of his wife, whom he had once seen close her rather large teeth in + a notable way. As she turned toward the window, however, he stole a glance + at his offspring: the creature was not quite so ugly as before—not + quite so repulsive as he had pictured him! But, good heavens! he was on + the lap of the same woman whose fierceness had upset him almost as much as + his child's ugliness! He walked to the window after his wife. She gazed + for a moment, turned with indifference, and left the room. Her husband + followed her. A glance of fear, dislike, and defiance, went after them + from Jane. + </p> + <p> + Stronger contrast than those two women it would be hard to find. Jane's + countenance was almost coarse, but its rugged outline was almost grand. + Her hair grew low down on her forehead, and she had deep-set eyes. Her + complexion was rough, her nose large and thick. Her mouth was large also, + but, when unaffected by her now almost habitual antagonism, the curve of + her lip was sweet, and occasionally humorous. Her chin was strong, and the + total of her face what we call masculine; but when she silently regarded + her child, it grew beautiful with the radiant tenderness of protection. + </p> + <p> + Her visitors left the door open behind them; Jane rose and shut it, sat + down again, and gazed motionless at the infant. Perhaps he vaguely + understood the sorrow and dread of her countenance, for he pulled a long + face of his own, and was about to cry. Jane clasped him to her bosom in an + agony: she felt certain she would not long be permitted to hold him there. + In the silent speech of my lady's mouth, her jealous love saw the doom of + her darling. What precise doom she dared not ask herself; it was more than + enough that she, indubitably his guardian as if sent from heaven to shield + him, must abandon him to his natural enemy, one who looked upon him as the + adversary of her own children. It was a thought not to be thought, an idea + for which there should be no place in her bosom! Unfathomable as the love + between man and woman is the love of woman to child. + </p> + <p> + She spent a wakeful night. From the decree of banishment sure to go forth + against her, there was no appeal! Go she must! Yet her heart cried out + that he was her own. In the same lap his mother had lain before him! She + had carried her by day, and at night folded her in the same arms, herself + but six years old—old enough to remember yet the richness + unspeakable of her new possession. Never had come difference betwixt them + until Robina began to give ear to sir Wilton, whom Jane could not endure. + When she responded, as she did at once, to her sister's cry for her help, + she made her promise that no one should understand who she was, but that + she should in the house be taken for and treated as a hired nurse. Why + Jane stipulated thus, it were hard to say, but so careful were they both, + that no one at Mortgrange suspected the nurse as personally interested in + the ugly heir left in her charge! No one dreamed that the child's aunt had + forsaken her husband to nurse him, and was living <i>for</i> him day and + night. She, in her turn, had promised her sister never to leave him, and + this pledge strengthened the bond of her passion. The only question was <i>how</i> + she was to be faithful to her pledge, <i>how</i> to carry matters when she + was turned away. With those thin, close-pressed lips in her mind's eye, + she could not count on remaining where she was beyond a few days. + </p> + <p> + She was not only a woman capable of making up her mind, but a woman of + resource, with the advantage of having foreseen and often pondered the + possibility of that which was now imminent. The same night, silent above + the sleep of her darling, she sat at work with needle and scissors far + into the morning, remodelling an old print dress. For nights after, she + was similarly occupied, though not a scrap or sign of the labour was + visible in the morning. + </p> + <p> + The crisis anticipated came within a fortnight. Lady Ann did not show + herself a second time in the nursery, but sending for Jane, informed her + that an experienced nurse was on her way from London to take charge of the + child, and her services would not be required after the next morning. + </p> + <p> + “For, of course,” concluded her ladyship, “I could not expect a woman of + your years to take an under-nurse's place!” + </p> + <p> + “Please your ladyship, I will gladly,” said Jane, eager to avoid or at + least postpone the necessity forcing itself upon her. + </p> + <p> + “I intend you to go—and <i>at once</i>,” replied her ladyship; “—that + is, the moment Mrs. Thornycroft arrives. The housekeeper will take care + that you have your month's wages in lieu of warning.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, my lady!—Please, your ladyship, when may I come and see + the child?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. There is no necessity.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, my lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then at least I may ask why you send me away so suddenly!” + </p> + <p> + “I told you that I want a properly qualified nurse to take your place. My + wish is to have the child more immediately under my own eye than would be + agreeable if you kept your place. I hope I speak plainly!” + </p> + <p> + “Quite, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “And let me, for your own sake, recommend you to behave more respectfully + when you find another place.” + </p> + <p> + What she was doing lady Ann was incapable of knowing. A woman + love-brooding over a child is at the gate of heaven; to take her child + from her is to turn her away from more than paradise. + </p> + <p> + Jane went in silence, seeming to accept the inevitable, too proud to wipe + away the tear whose rising she could not help—a tear not for + herself, nor yet for the child, but for the dead mother in whose place she + left such a woman. She walked slowly back to the nursery, where her charge + was asleep, closed the door, sat down by the cot, and sat for a while + without moving. Then her countenance began to change, and slowly went on + changing, until at last, as through a mist of troubled emotion, out upon + the strong, rugged face broke, with strange suggestion of a sunset, the + glow of resolve and justified desire. A maid more friendly than the rest + brought her some tea, but Jane said nothing of what had occurred. When the + child awoke, she fed him, and played with him a long time—till he + was thoroughly tired, when she undressed him, and laying him down, set + about preparing his evening meal. No one could have perceived in her any + difference, except indeed it were a subdued excitement in her glowing + eyes. When it was ready, she went to her box, took from it a small bottle, + and poured a few dark-coloured drops into the food. + </p> + <p> + “God forgive me! it's but this once!” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + The child seemed not quite to relish his supper, but did not refuse it, + and was presently asleep in her arms. She laid him down, took a book, and + began to read. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. <i>THE FLIGHT.</i> + </h2> + <p> + She read until every sound had died in the house, every sound from garret + to cellar, except the ticking of clock, and the tinkling cracks of sinking + fires and cooling grates. In the regnant silence she rose, laid aside her + book, softly opened the door, and stepped as softly into the narrow + passage. A moment or two she listened, then stole on tiptoe to the main + corridor, and again listened. She went next to the head of the great + stair, and once more stood and listened. Then she crept down to the + drawing-room, saw that there was no light in the library, billiard-room, + or smoking-room, and with stealthy feet returned to the nursery. There she + closed the door she had left open, and took the child. He lay in her arms + like one dead. She removed everything he wore, and dressed him in the + garments which for the last fortnight she had been making for him from + clothes of her own. When she had done, he looked like any cottager's + child; there was nothing in his face to contradict his attire. She + regarded the result for a moment with a triumph of satisfaction, laid him + down, and proceeded to put away the clothes he had worn. + </p> + <p> + Over the top of the door was a small cupboard in the wall, into which she + had never looked until the day before, when she opened it and found it + empty. She placed a table under it, and a chair on the table, climbed up, + laid in it everything she had taken off the child, locked the door of it, + put the key in her pocket, and got down. Then she took the cloak and hood + he had hitherto worn out of doors, laid them down beside the wardrobe, and + lifting the end of it with a strength worthy of the blacksmith's daughter, + pushed them with her foot into the hollow between the bottom of the + wardrobe and the floor of the room. This done, she looked at the timepiece + on the mantelshelf, saw it was one o'clock, and sat down to recover her + breath. But the next moment she was on her knees, sobbing. By and by she + rose, wiped the hot tears from her eyes, and went carefully about the + room, gathering up this and that, and putting it into her box. Then having + locked it, she stuffed a number of small pieces of paper into the lock, + using a crochet-needle to get them well among the wards. Lastly, she put + on a dress she had never worn at Mortgrange, took up the child, who was + still in a dead sleep, wrapped him in an old shawl, and stole with him + from the room. + </p> + <p> + Like those of a thief—or murderess rather, her scared eyes looked on + this side and that, as she crept to a narrow stair that led to the + kitchen. She knew every turn and every opening in this part of the house: + for weeks she had been occupied, both intellect and imagination, with the + daring idea she was now carrying into effect. + </p> + <p> + She reached the one door that might yield a safe exit, unlocked it + noiselessly, and stood in a little paved yard with a pump, whence another + door in an ivy-covered wall opened into the kitchen-garden. The moon shone + large and clear, but the shadow of the house protected her. It was the + month of August, warm and still. If only it had been dark! Outside the + door she was still in the shadow. For the first time in her life she loved + the darkness. Along the wall she stole as if clinging to it. Yet another + door led into a shrubbery surrounding the cottage of the head-gardener, + whence a back-road led to a gate, over which she could climb, so to reach + the highway, along whose honest, unshadowed spaces she must walk miles and + miles before she could even hope herself safe. + </p> + <p> + She stood at length in the broad moonlight, on the white, far-reaching + road. Her heart beat so fast as almost to stifle her. She dared not look + down at the child, lest some one should see her and look also! The moon + herself had an aspect of suspicion! Why did she keep staring so? For an + instant she wished herself back in the nursery. But she knew it would only + be to do it all over again: it <i>had</i> to be done! Leave the child of + her sister where he was counted in the way! with those who hated him! + where his helpless life was in danger! She could not! + </p> + <p> + But, while she thought, she did not stand. Softly, with great strides she + went stalking along the road. She knew the country: she was not many miles + from her father's forge, whence at moments she seemed to hear the ring of + his hammer through the still night. + </p> + <p> + She kept to the road for three or four miles, then turned aside on a great + moor stretching far to the south: daybreak was coming fast; she must find + some cottage or natural shelter, lest the light should betray her. When + the sun had made his round, and yielded his place to the friendly night, + she would start afresh! In her bundle she had enough for the baby; for + herself, she could hold out many hours unfed. A few more miles from + Mortgrange, and no one would know her, neither from any possible + description could they be suspected in the garments they wore! Her object + in hiding their usual attire had been, that it might be taken for granted + they had gone away in it. + </p> + <p> + She did not slacken her pace till she had walked five miles more. Then she + stood a moment, and gazed about her. The great heath was all around, + solitary as the heaven out of which the solitary moon, with no child to + comfort her, was enviously watching them. But she would not stop to rest, + save for the briefest breathing space! On and on she went until moorland + miles five more, as near as she could judge, were behind her. Then at + length she sat down upon a stone, and a timid flutter of safety stirred in + her bosom, followed by a gush of love victorious. Her treasure! her + treasure! Not once on the long way had she looked at him. Now she folded + back the shawl, and gazed as not even a lover could have gazed on the + sleeping countenance of his rescued bride. The passion of no other + possession could have equalled the intensity of her conscious <i>having</i>. + Not one created being had a right to the child but herself!—yet any + moment he might be taken from her by a cold-hearted, cruel stepmother, and + given to a hired woman! She started to her feet, and hurried on. The boy + was no light weight, and she had things to carry besides, which her love + said he could not do without; yet before seven o'clock she had cleared + some sixteen miles, in a line from Mortgrange as straight as she could + keep. + </p> + <p> + She thought she must now be near a village whose name she knew; but she + dared not show herself lest some advertisement might reach it after she + was gone, and lead to the discovery of the route she had taken. She turned + aside therefore into an old quarry, there to spend the day, unvisited of + human soul. The child was now awake, but still drowsy. She gave him a + little food, and ate the crust she had saved from her tea the night + before. During the long hours she slept a good deal by fits, and when the + evening came, was quite fit to resume her tramp. To her joy it came + cloudy, giving her courage to enter a little shop she saw on the outskirts + of the village, and buy some milk and some bread. From this point she kept + the road: she might now avail herself of help from cart or wagon. She was + not without money, but feared the railway. + </p> + <p> + It is needless to follow her wanderings, always toward London, where was + her husband, and her home. A weary, but happy, and almost no longer an + anxious woman, she reached at length a certain populous suburb, and was + soon in the arms of her husband. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. <i>THE BOOKBINDER AND HIS PUPIL.</i> + </h2> + <p> + It was the middle of the day before they were missed. Their absence caused + for a time no commotion; the servants said nurse must have taken the child + for his usual walk. But when the nurse from London came, and, after + renewed search and inquiry, nothing was heard of them, their disappearance + could no longer be kept from lady Ann. She sent to inform her husband. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton asked a question or two of her messenger, said the thing must + be seen to, finished his cigar, threw the stump in the fire, and went to + his wife; when at once they began to discuss, not the steps to be taken + for the recovery of the child, but the woman's motive for stealing him. + The lady insisted it was revenge for having been turned away, and that she + would, as soon as she reached a suitable place, put an end to his life: + she had seen murder in her eyes! The father opined there was no such + danger: he remembered, though he did not mention it, the peculiarity of + the woman's behaviour when first he saw her. There was no limit, he said, + to the unnatural fancies of women; some were disgustingly fond of + children, even other women's children. Plain as the infant was, he did not + doubt she had taken a fancy to him, and therefore declined to part with + him. The element of revenge might, he allowed, have a share in the deed; + but that would be satisfied with leaving them in doubt of his fate. For + his part, he made her welcome to him! To this lady Ann gave no answer: she + was not easily shocked, and could, without consternation, have regarded + his disappearance as final. But something must at least appear to be done! + Unpleasant things might be said, and uncertainty was full of annoyance! + </p> + <p> + “You must be careful, sir Wilton,” she remarked. “Nobody thinks you + believe the child your own.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I never had a doubt on the subject. I wish I had: he's not to my credit. + If we never hear of him again, the better for the next!” + </p> + <p> + “That is true!” rejoined lady Ann. “But what if, after we had forgotten + all about him, he were to turn up again?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be unpleasant—and is indeed a reason why we should look + for him. Better find him than live in doubt! Besides, the world would be + uncharitable enough to hint that you had made away with him: it's what + ought to have been done when first he appeared. I give you my word, Ann, + he was a positive monster! The object was actually web-footed!—web-footed + like any frog!” + </p> + <p> + “You must let the police know,” said the lady. + </p> + <p> + “That the child is web-footed? No, I think not!” yawned sir Wilton. + </p> + <p> + He got up, went out, and ordered a groom to ride hard to the village—as + hard as he could go—and let the police understand what had occurred. + Within the hour a constable appeared, come to inquire when last the + fugitives were seen, and what they wore—the answer to which latter + question set the police looking for persons very different in appearance + from Jane and her nursling. Nothing was heard of them, and the inquiry, + never prosecuted with any vigour, was by degrees dropped entirely. + </p> + <p> + John Tuke had grumbled greatly at his wife's desertion of him for grandees + who would never thank her; but he gave in to the prolongation of her + absence with a better grace, when he learned how the motherless baby was + regarded by his own people. The humanity of the man rose in defence of the + injured. He felt also that, in espousing the cause of his wife's nephew, + scorned by his baronet father, he was taking the part of his own + down-trodden class. He was greatly perplexed, however, as to what end the + thing was to have. Must he live without his wife till the boy was sent to + school? + </p> + <p> + He was in bed and fast asleep, when suddenly opening his eyes, he saw + beside him the wife he had not seen for twelve months, with the stolen + child in her arms. When he heard how the stepmother had treated her, and + how the babe was likely to fare among its gentle kin, he was filled with + fresh indignation; but, while thoroughly appreciating and approving his + wife's decision and energy, he saw to what the deed exposed them, and + augured frightful consequences to the discovery that seemed almost + certain. But when he understood the precautions she had taken, and + bethought himself how often the police fail, he had better hopes of + escape. One thing he never dreamed of—and that was, restoring the + child. Often at night he would lie wondering how far, in case of their + being tried for kidnapping, the defence would reach, that his wife was the + child's aunt; and whether the fact that she was none the less a poor woman + standing up against the rich, would not render that or any plea + unavailing. Jane was, and long remained, serenely hopeful. + </p> + <p> + When she left for Mortgrange, they had agreed that her husband should say + she was gone to her father's; and as nobody where they lived knew who or + where her father was, nobody had the end of any clue. For some time after + her return she did not show herself, leaving it to her husband to say she + had come back with her baby. Then she began to appear with the child, and + so managed her references to her absence, that no one dreamed of his not + being her own, or imagined that she had left her husband for other reason + than to be tended at her old home in her confinement. After a few years, + even the fact of his not having been born in that house was forgotten; and + Richard Lestrange grew up as the son of John Tuke, the bookbinder. Not in + any mind was there a doubt as to his parentage. + </p> + <p> + They lived on the very bank of the Thames, in a poor part of a populous, + busy, thriving suburb, far from fashionable, yet not without inhabitants + of refinement. Had not art and literature sent out a few suckers into it, + there would have been no place in it for John Tuke. For, more than liking + his trade, being indeed fond of it, he would not work for the booksellers, + but used his talent to the satisfaction of known customers, of whom he had + now not a few, for his reputation had spread beyond the near + neighbourhood. But while he worked cheaper, quality considered, than many + binders, even carefully superintending that most important yet most + neglected part of the handicraft, the sewing, he never undertook cheap + work. Never, indeed, without persuasion on the part of his employer and + expostulation on his own, did he consent to <i>half-bind</i> a book. Hence + it comes to be confessed, that, when <i>carte blanche</i> was given him, + he would not infrequently expend upon a book an amount of labour and a + value of material quite out of proportion to the importance of the book. + Still, being a thoroughly conscientious workman, who never hurried the + forwarding, never cut from a margin a hair's breadth more than was + necessary, and hated finger-marks on the whiteness of a page, he was well + known as such, and had plenty of work—had often, indeed, to refuse + what was offered him, hence was able to decline all such jobs as would + give him no pleasure, and grew more fastidious as he grew older in regard + to the quality of the work he would undertake. He had never employed a + journeyman, and would never take more than two apprentices at a time. + </p> + <p> + As Richard Lestrange grew, his chief pleasure was to be in the shop with + his uncle, and watch him at his varying work. I think his knowledge of + books as things led him the sooner to desire them as realities, for to + read he learned with avidity. When he was old enough to go to school, his + adopted father spared nothing he could spend to make him fit for his + future; wisely resolved, however, that he should know nothing of his + rights until he was of an age to understand them—except, indeed, sir + Wilton should die before that age arrived, when his cause would be too + much prejudiced by farther postponement of claim. Heartily they hoped that + their secret might remain a secret until their nephew should be capable of + protecting them from any untoward consequence of their well intended + crime. + </p> + <p> + Happily there was in the place, and near enough for the boy to attend it + easily, a good day-school upon an old foundation, whose fees were within + his father's means. Richard proved a fair student and became a great + reader. But he took such an intelligent and practical interest in the work + he saw going on at home, that he began, while yet a mere child, to use + paste and paper of his own accord. First he made manuscript-books for his + work at school, and for the copying of such verses as he took a fancy to + in his reading. Then inside the covers of some of these he would make + pockets for papers; and so advanced to small portfolios and pocket-books, + of which he would make presents to his companions, and sometimes, when + more ambitiously successful, to a master. In their construction he used + bits of coloured paper and scraps of leather, chiefly morocco, which his + father willingly made over to him, watching his progress with an interest + quite paternal, and showing a workman's wisdom in this, that only when he + saw him in a real difficulty would he come to his aid—as, for + instance, when first he struggled with a piece of leather too thick for + the bonds of paste, and must be taught how to pare it to the necessary + flexibility and compliance. + </p> + <p> + To become able to <i>make</i> something is, I think, necessary to thorough + development. I would rather have son of mine a carpenter, a watchmaker, a + wood-carver, a shoemaker, a jeweller, a blacksmith, a bookbinder, than I + would have him earn his bread as a clerk in a counting-house. Not merely + is the cultivation of operant faculty a better education in faculty, but + it brings the man nearer to every thing operant; humanity unfolds itself + to him the readier; its ways and thoughts and modes of being grow the + clearer to both intellect and heart. The poetry of life, the inner side of + that nature which comes from him who, on the Sabbath-days even, “worketh + hitherto,” rises nearer the surface to meet the eyes of the man who <i>makes.</i> + What advantage the carpenter of Nazareth gathered from his bench, is the + inheritance of every workman, in proportion as he does divine, that is, + honest work. + </p> + <p> + Perceiving the faculty of the boy, his father—so let us call John + Tuke for the present—naturally thought it well to make him a gift of + his trade: it would always be a possession! “Whatever turn things may + take,” he would remark to his wife, “the boy will have his bread in his + hands. And say what they will, the man who can gather his food off his own + bench, or screw it out of his own press, must be a freer man than he who + but for his inheritance would have to beg, steal, or die of hunger. And + who knows how long the world may permit idlers to fare of its best!” + </p> + <p> + For, after a fashion of his own, Tuke was a philosopher and a politician. + But his politics were those of the philosopher, not of the politician. + </p> + <p> + Richard, with his great love of reading, and therefore of books, was + delighted to learn the craft which is their attendant and servitor. When + too young yet to wield the hammer without danger both to himself and the + book under it, he began to sew, and in a few weeks was able to bring the + sheets together entirely to the satisfaction of his father. From the first + he set him to do that essential part of the work in the best way, that is, + to sew every sheet round every cord: it is only when one can perfectly + work after the perfect rule, that he may be trusted with variations and + exceptions. + </p> + <p> + He went on teaching him until the boy could, he confessed, do almost + everything better than himself—went on until he had taught him every + delicacy, every secret of the craft. Richard developed a positive genius + for the work, seeming almost to learn it by intuition. A pocket-book, with + which he presented his father on his fiftieth birthday, brought out his + unqualified praise. + </p> + <p> + In the process he gradually revealed a predilection for a rarer use of his + faculty—a use more nice, while less distinguished, and not much + favoured by his father. It had its prime source deeper than the art of + book-binding—in the love of books themselves, not as leaves to be + bound, but as utterances to be heard. Certain dealers in old books have + loved some of them so as to refuse to part with them on any terms; + Richard, unable to possess more than a very few, manifested his veneration + for them in another and nearer fashion, running, as was natural and + healthy, in the lines of his calling. + </p> + <p> + For many months in diligent attendance at certain of the evening-classes + at King's College, he had developed a true insight into and sympathy with + what is best in our literature—chiefly in that of the sixteenth + century: from this grew an almost peculiar regard for old books. With + three or four shillings weekly at his disposal, he laid himself out to + discover and buy such volumes as, in themselves of value, were in so bad a + condition as to be of little worth from the mere bookseller's point of + view: with these for his first patients he opened a hospital, or + angel-asylum, for the lodging, restorative treatment, and systematic + invigoration of decayed volumes. Love and power combined made him look on + the dilapidated, slow-wasting abodes of human thought and delight with a + healing compassion—almost with a passion of healing. The worse + gnawed of the tooth of insect-time, the farther down any choice book in + the steep decline of years, the more intent was Richard on having it. More + and more skillful he grew, not only in rebinding such whose clothing was + past repair, but in restoring the tone of their very constitution; and in + so mending the ancient and beggarly garments of others that they reassumed + a venerable respectability. Through love, he passed from an artisan to an + artist. His reverence for the inner reality, the book itself, in itself + beyond time and decay, had roused in him a child-like regard for its body, + for its broken inclosure and default of manifestation. He would espy the + beauty of an old binding through any amount of abrasion and laceration. To + his eyes almost any old binding was better for its book than any new one. + </p> + <p> + His father came to regard with wonder and admiration the redeeming faculty + of his son, whereby he would reinstate in strength and ripe dignity a + volume which he would have taken to pieces, and redressed like an age-worn + woman in a fashionable gown. So far did his son's superior taste work upon + his, that at length, if he opened a new binding, however sombre, and saw a + time-browned paper and old type within, the sight would give him the shock + of a discord. + </p> + <p> + But Tuke was in many things no other than a man of this world, and sorely + he doubted if such labour would ever have its counterpoise in money. It + paid better, because it was much easier, to reclothe than to restore! to + destroy and replace than to renew! When he had watched many times for + minutes together his son's delicate manipulation—in which he patched + without pauperizing, and subaided without humiliating—and at last + contemplating the finished result, he concluded him possessed of a quite + original faculty for book-healing.—“But alas,” he thought, “genius + seldom gets beyond board-wages!” It did not occur to him that genius least + requires more than board-wages. He encouraged him, nevertheless, though + mildly, in the pursuit of this neglected branch of the binding-art. + </p> + <p> + As the days went on, and their love for their nephew grew with his + deserts, the uncle and aunt shrank more and more from the thought, which + every year compelled them to think the oftener, that the day was drawing + nigh when they must volunteer the confession that he was not their child. + </p> + <p> + When he was about seventeen, Richard settled down to work with his father, + occasionally assisting him, but in general occupied with his own special + branch, in which Tuke, through his long connection with book-lovers + possessing small cherished libraries, was able to bring him almost as many + jobs as he could undertake. The fact that a volume could be so repaired, + stimulated the purchase of shabby books; and part of what was saved on the + price of a good copy was laid out on the amendment of the poor one. But + however much the youth delighted in it, he could not but find the work + fidgety and tiring; whence ensued the advantage that he left it the + oftener for a ramble, or a solitary hour on the river. He had but few + companions, his guardians, wisely or not, being more fastidious about his + associates than if he had been their very son. His uncle, of strong + socialistic opinions, and wont to dilate on human equality—as if the + thing that ought to be, and must one day come, could be furthered by the + assertion of its present existence—was, like the holders of even + higher theories, not a little apt to forget the practice necessarily + involved: this son of a baronet, seeing that he was the son also of his + wife's sister, was not to be brought up like one of the many! + </p> + <p> + Ugliness in infancy is a promise, though perhaps a doubtful one, of beauty + in manhood; and in Richard's case the promise was fulfilled: hardly a hint + was left of the baby-face which had repelled his father. He was now a + handsome well-grown youth, with dark-brown hair, dark-green eyes, broad + shoulders, and a little stoop which made his aunt uneasy: she would have + had him join a volunteer corps, but he declared he had not the time. He + accepted her encouragement, however, to forsake his work as often as he + felt inclined. He had good health; what was better, a good temper; and + what was better still, a willing heart toward his neighbour. A certain + over-hanging of his brows was—especially when he contracted them, + as, in perplexity or endeavour, he not infrequently did—called a + scowl by such as did not love him; but it was of shallow insignificance, + and probably the trick of some ancestor. + </p> + <p> + Before long, his thinking began to take form in verse-making. It matters + little to my narrative whether he produced anything of original value or + not; utterance aids growth, which is the prime necessity of human as of + all other life. Not seldom, bent over his work, he would be evolving some + musical fashion of words—with no relaxation, however, of the sharp + attention and delicate handling required by the nature of that work. It is + the privilege of some kinds of labour, that they are compatible with + thoughts of higher things. At the book-keeper's desk, the clerk must think + of nothing but his work; he is chained to it as the galley-slave to his + oar; the shoemaker may be poet or mystic, or both; the ploughman may turn + a good furrow and a good verse together; Richard could at once use hands + and thoughts. It troubled his protectors that they could not send him to + college, but they comforted themselves that it would not be too late when + he returned to his natural position in society. They had no plan in their + minds, no date settled at which to initiate his restoration. All they had + determined was, that he must at least be a grown man, capable of looking + after his own affairs, when the first step for it was taken. + </p> + <p> + John Tuke was one of those who acknowledge in some measure the claims of + their neighbour, but assert ignorance of any one who must be worshipped. + And in truth, the God presented to him by his teachers was one with little + claim on human devotion. The religious system brought to bear on his youth + had operated but feebly on his conscience, and not at all on his + affections. It had, however, so wrought upon his apprehensions, that, when + afterward persuaded there was no ground for agonizing anticipation, he + welcomed the conviction as in itself a redemption for all men; “for, + surely,” he argued, “fear is the worst of evils!” The very approach of + such a relief predisposed him to receive whatever teaching might follow + from the same source; and soon he believed himself satisfied that the + notion of religion—of duty toward an unseen maker—was but an + old-wives'-fable; and that, as to the hereafter, a mere cessation of + consciousness was the only reasonable expectation. The testimony of his + senses, although negative, he accepted as stronger on that side than any + amount of what could, he said, be but the purest assertion on the other. + Why should he heed an old book? why one more than another? The world was + around him: some things he must believe; other things no man could! One + thing was clear: every man was bound to give his neighbour fair-play! He + would press nothing upon Richard as to God or no God! he would not be + dogmatic! he only wanted to make a man of him! And was he not so far + successful? argued John. Was not Richard growing up a diligent, honest + fellow, loving books, and leading a good life; whereas, had he been left + to his father, he could not have escaped being arrogant and unjust, + despising the poor of his own flesh, and caring only to please himself! In + the midst of such superior causes of satisfaction, it also pleased Tuke to + reflect that the trade he had taught his nephew was a clean one, which, + while it rendered him superior to any shrewd trick fortune might play him, + would not make his hands unlike those of a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + His aunt, however, kept wishing that Richard were better “set up,” and + looked more like his grandfather the blacksmith, whose trade she could not + help regarding as manlier than that of her husband. Hence she had long + cherished the desire that he should spend some time with her father. But + John would not hear of it. He would get working at the forge, he said, and + ruin his hands for the delicate art in which he was now unapproachable. + </p> + <p> + For in certain less socialistic moods, John would insist on regarding + bookbinding, in all and any of its branches, not as a trade, but an art. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. <i>THE MANSONS.</i> + </h2> + <p> + At school, Richard had been friendly with a boy of gentle nature, not many + years older than himself. The boy had stood his friend in more than one + difficulty, and Richard heartily loved him. But he had suddenly + disappeared from the school, and so from Richard's ken: for years he had + not seen him. One evening, as he was carrying home a book, he met this + Arthur Manson, looking worn and sad. He would have avoided Richard, but he + stopped him, and presently the old friendship was dominant. Arthur told + him his story. He had had to leave school because of the sudden cessation, + from what cause he did not know, of a certain annuity his mother had till + then enjoyed—rendering it imperative that he should earn his own + living, and contribute to her support, for although she still had a little + money, it was not nearly enough. His sister was at work with a dressmaker, + but as yet earning next to nothing. His mother was a lady, he said, and + had never done any work. He was himself in a counting-house in the City, + with a salary of forty pounds. He told him where they lived, and Richard + promised to go and see him, which he did the next Sunday. + </p> + <p> + His friend's mother lived in a little house of two floors, one of a long + row lately built. The furniture was much too large, and it was difficult + to move in the tiny drawing-room. It showed a feeble attempt at + decoration, which made it look the poorer. Accustomed to his mother's care + of her things, Richard perceived a difference: these were much finer but + neglected, and looked as if they felt it. At their evening meal, however, + the tea was good, and the bread and butter were of the best. + </p> + <p> + The mother was a handsome middle-aged woman—not so old, Richard + somehow imagined, as she looked. She was stout and florid, with plenty of + black, rather coarse hair, and seemed to Richard to have the carriage of a + lady, but not speech equal to her manners. She was polite to him, but not + apparently interested in her son's friend. Yet several times he found her + gazing at him with an expression that puzzled him. He had, however, too + clear a conscience to be troubled by any scrutiny. All the evening + Arthur's face wore the same look of depression, and Richard wondered what + could be amiss. He learned afterward that the mother was so + self-indulgent, and took so little care to make the money go as far as it + could, that he had not merely to toil from morning to night at uncongenial + labour, but could never have the least recreation, and was always too + tired when he came home to understand any book he attempted to read. + Richard learned also that he had no greatcoat, and went to the City in the + winter with only a shabby comforter in addition to the clothes he had worn + all the summer. But it was not Arthur who told him this. + </p> + <p> + The girl was a graceful little creature, with the same sad look her + brother had, but not the same depression. She seemed more delicate, and + less capable of labour; yet her hours were longer than his, and her + confinement greater. Alice had to sit the whole day plying her needle, + while Arthur was occasionally sent out to collect money. But her mistress + was a kind-hearted woman, and not having a fashionable <i>clientèle</i>, + had not yet become indifferent to the well-being of her work-women. She + even paid a crippled girl a trifle for reading to them, stipulating only + that she should read fast, for she found the rate of their working greatly + influenced by the rate of the reading. Life, if harder, was therefore not + quite so uninteresting to Alice as to Arthur, and that might be why she + seemed to have more vitality. Like her mother she had a quantity of hair, + as dark as hers, but finer; dark eyes, not without meaning; irregular but + very pleasing and delicate features; and an unusually white rather than + pale complexion, with a sort of sallow glow under the diaphanous skin. + There was not a little piquancy in the expression of her countenance, and + Richard felt it strangely attractive. + </p> + <p> + The youths found they had still tastes in common, although Arthur had + neither time nor strength to follow them. Richard spoke of some book he + had been reading. Arthur was interested, but Alice so much that Richard + offered to lend it her: it was the first time she had heard a book spoken + of in such a tone—one of suppressed feeling, almost veneration. + </p> + <p> + The mother did not join in their talk, and left them soon—her + daughter said to go to church. + </p> + <p> + “She always goes by herself,” Alice added. “She sees we are too tired to + go.” + </p> + <p> + They sat a long time with no light but that of the fire. Arthur seemed to + gather courage, and confessed the hopeless monotony of his life. He + complained of no privation, only of want of interest in his work. + </p> + <p> + “Do <i>you</i> like your work?” he asked Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do!” Richard answered. “I would sooner handle an old book than a + bunch of bank-notes!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't doubt it,” returned Arthur. “To me your workshop seems a + paradise.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you take up the trade, then? Come to us and I will teach you. I + do not think my father would object.” + </p> + <p> + “I learn nothing where I am!” continued Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Our boat is not over-manned,” resumed Richard. “Say you will come, and I + will speak to my father.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could! But how are we to live while I am learning?—No; I + must grind away till—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped short, and gave a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Till when, Arty?” asked his sister. + </p> + <p> + “Till death set me free,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't leave me behind, Arty!” said Alice; and rising, she put her + arm round his neck. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't if I could help it,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “It's a cowardly thing to want to die,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I think so sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “There's your mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” responded Arthur, but without emotion. + </p> + <p> + “And how should I get on without you, Arty?” said his sister. + </p> + <p> + “Not very well, Ally. But it wouldn't be for long. We should soon meet.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” said Richard almost rudely. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think we shall know each other afterwards?” asked Arthur, with + an expression of weary rather than sad surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I would be a little surer of it before I talked so coolly of leaving a + sister like that! I only wish <i>I</i> had one to care for!” + </p> + <p> + A faint flush rose on the pale face of the girl, and as swiftly faded. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think, then, that this life is only a dream?” she said, looking up + at Richard with something in her great eyes that he did not understand. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” he answered, “I would bear a good deal rather than run the risk + of going so fast asleep as to stop dreaming it. A man can die any time,” + he continued, “but he can't dream when he pleases! I would wait! One can't + tell when things may take a turn! There are many chances on the cards!” + </p> + <p> + “That's true,” replied Arthur; but plainly the very chances were a + weariness to him. + </p> + <p> + “If Arthur had enough to eat, and time to read, and a little amusement, he + would be as brave as you are, Mr. Tuke!” said Alice. “—But you can't + mean to say there will be no more of anything for us after this world! To + think I should never see Arty again, would make me die before my time! I + should be so miserable I would hardly care to keep him as long as I might. + We must die some day, and what odds whether it be a few days sooner, or a + few days later, if we're never going to meet again?” + </p> + <p> + “The best way is not to think about it,” returned Richard. “Why should + you? Look at the butterflies! They take what comes, and don't grumble at + their sunshine because there's only one day of it.” + </p> + <p> + “But when there's no sunshine that day?” suggested Alice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when they lie crumpled in the rain, they're none the worse that + they didn't think about it beforehand! We must make the best of what we + have!” + </p> + <p> + “It's not worth making the best of,” cried Alice indignantly, “if that's + all!” + </p> + <p> + My reader may well wonder at Richard: how could he be a lover of our best + literature and talk as he did? or rather, talking as he did, how could he + love it? But he had come to love it while yet under the influence of what + his aunt taught him, poor as was her teaching. Then his heart and + imagination were more in the ascendency. Now he had begun to admire the + intellectual qualities of that literature more, and its imaginative less; + for he had begun to think truth attainable through the forces of the + brain, sole and supreme. + </p> + <p> + In matters of conduct, John Tuke and his wife were well agreed; in matters + of opinion, they differed greatly. Jane went to church regularly, listened + without interest, and accepted without question; had her husband gone, he + would have listened with the interest of utter dissent. When Jane learned + that her husband no longer “believed in the Bible,” she was seized with + terror lest he should die without repentance and be lost. Thereupon + followed fear for herself: was not an atheist a horribly wicked man?—and + she could not feel that John was horribly wicked! She tried her hardest, + but could not; and concluded therefore that his unbelief must be affecting + her. She prayed him to say nothing against the Bible to Richard—at + least before he arrived at years of discretion. This John promised; but + subtle effluences are subtle influences. + </p> + <p> + John Tuke did right so far as he knew—at least he thought he did—and + refused to believe in any kind of God; Jane did right, she thought, as far + as she knew—and never imagined God cared about her: let him who has + a mind to it, show the value of the difference! + </p> + <p> + Tuke was a thinking man;—that is, set a going in any direction that + interested him, he could take a few steps forward without assistance. But + he could start in no direction of himself. At a small club to which he + belonged, he had been brought in contact with certain ideas new to him, + and finding himself able to grasp them, felt at once as if they must be + true. Certain other ideas, new to him, coming self-suggested in their + train, he began immediately to imagine himself a thinker, able to generate + notions to which the people around him were unequal. He began to grow + self-confident, and so to despise. Taking courage then to deny things he + had never believed, had only not thought about, and finding he thereby + gave offence, he chose to imagine himself a martyr for the truth. He did + not see that a denial involving no assertion, cannot witness to any truth; + nor did he perceive that denial in his case meant nothing more than + non-acceptance of things asserted. Had he put his position logically, it + would have been this: I never knew such things; I do not like the notion + of them; therefore I deny them: they do not exist. But no man really + denies a thing which he knows only by the words that stand for it. When + John Tuke denied the God in his notion, he denied only a God that could + have no existence. + </p> + <p> + A man will be judged, however, by his truth toward what he professes to + believe; and John was far truer to his perception of the duty of man to + man than are ninety-nine out of the hundred of so-called Christians to the + things they profess to believe. How many men would be immeasurably better, + if they would but truly believe, that is, act upon, the smallest part of + what they untruly profess to believe, even if they cast aside all the + rest. John cast aside an allegiance to God which had never been more than + a mockery, and set about delivering his race from the fear of a person who + did not exist. For, true enough, there was no God of the kind John denied; + only, what if, in delivering his kind from the tyranny of a false God, he + aided in hiding from them the love of a true God—of a God that did + and ought to exist? There are other passions besides fear, and precious as + fear is hateful. If there be a God and one has never sought him, it will + be small consolation to remember that he could not get proof of his + existence. Is a child not to seek his father, because he cannot prove he + is alive? + </p> + <p> + The aunt continued to take the boy to church, and expose him, for it was + little more she did, to a teaching she could not herself either supply or + supplement. It was the business of the church to teach Christianity! her + part was to accept it, and bring the child where he also might listen and + accept! But what she accepted as Christianity, is another question; and + whether the acceptance of anything makes a Christian, is another still. + </p> + <p> + How much of Christianity a child may or may not learn by going to church, + it is impossible to say; but certainly Richard did not learn anything that + drew his heart to Jesus of Nazareth, or caught him in any heavenly breeze, + or even the smallest of celestial whirlwinds! He learned nothing even that + made unwelcome such remarks as his father would now and then let fall + concerning the clergy and the way they followed their trade; while the + grin, full of conscious superiority, with which he unconsciously + accompanied them, found its reflection in the honourable but not yet + humble mind, beginning to be aware of its own faculty, and not aware that + the religion presented in his aunt's church, a religion neither honourable + nor elevating, was but the dullest travesty of the religion of St. Paul. + Richard had, besides, read several books which, had his uncle been <i>careful</i> + of the promise he had given his wife, he would have intentionally removed + instead of unintentionally leaving about. + </p> + <p> + In the position Richard had just taken toward his new friends, he was not + a little influenced by the desire to show himself untrammelled by + prevailing notions, and capable of thinking for himself; but this was far + from all that made him speak as he did. Many young fellows are as ready to + deny as Richard, but not many feel as strongly that life rests upon what + we know, that knowledge must pass into action. The denial of every + falsehood under the sun would not generate one throb of life. + </p> + <p> + Richard told his adoptive parents where he had been, and asked if he might + invite his new friends for the next Sunday. They made no objection, and + when Arthur and Alice came, received them kindly. Richard took Arthur to + the shop, and showed him the job he was engaged upon at the time, lauding + his department as affording more satisfaction than mere binding. + </p> + <p> + “For,” he said, “the thing that is not, may continue not to be; but the + thing that is, should be as it was meant to be. Where it is not such, + there is an evil that wants remedy. It may be that the sole remedy is + binding, but that involves destruction, therefore is a poor thing beside + renovation.” + </p> + <p> + The argument came from a well of human pity in himself, deeper than + Richard knew. But both the pity he felt and the <i>truth</i> in what he + said came from a source eternal of which he yet knew nothing. + </p> + <p> + “It would be much easier,” continued Richard, “to make that volume look + new, but how much more delightful to send it out with a revived assertion + of its ancient self!” + </p> + <p> + Some natures have a better chance of disclosing the original in them, that + they have not been to college, and set to think in other people's grooves, + instead of those grooves that were scored in themselves long before the + glacial era. + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” said Arthur, “I feel like a book that needs to be fresh + printed, not to say fresh bound! I don't feel why I am what I am. I would + part with it all, except just being the same man!” + </p> + <p> + While the youths were having their talk, Alice was in Jane's bedroom, + undergoing an examination, the end and object of which it was impossible + she should suspect. Caught by a certain look in her sweet face, reminding + her of a look that was anything but sweet, Jane had set herself to learn + from her what she might as to her people and history. + </p> + <p> + “Is your father alive, my dear?” she asked, with her keen black eyes on + Alice's face. + </p> + <p> + That grew red, and for a moment the girl did not answer. Jane pursued her + catechizing. + </p> + <p> + “What was his trade or profession?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + The girl said nothing, and the merciless questioner went on. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me something about him, dear. Do you remember him? Or did he die + when you were quite a child?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not remember him,” answered Alice. “I do not know if I ever saw + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Did your mother never tell you what he was like?” + </p> + <p> + “She told me once he was very handsome—the handsomest man she ever + saw—but cruel—so cruel! she said.—I don't want to talk + about him, please, ma'am!” concluded Alice, the tears running down her + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, my dear, to hurt you, but I'm not doing it from curiosity. You + have a look so like a man I once knew,—and your brother has + something of the same!—that in fact I am bound to learn what I can + about you.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort was the man we put you in mind of?” asked Alice, with a feeble + attempt at a smile. “Not a <i>very</i> bad man, I hope!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not very good—as you ask me.—He was what people call a + gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + “Was that all?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought he was a nobleman!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—well, he wasn't that; he was a baronet.” + </p> + <p> + Alice gave a little cry. + </p> + <p> + “Do tell me something about him,” she said. “What do you know about him?” + </p> + <p> + “More than I choose to tell. We will forget him now, if you please!” + </p> + <p> + There was in her voice a tone of displeasure, which Alice took to be with + herself. She was in consequence both troubled and perplexed. Neither made + any more inquiries. Jane took her guest back to the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + The moment her brother came from the workshop, Alice said to him— + </p> + <p> + “Are you ready, Arthur? We had better be moving!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur was a gentle creature, and seldom opposed her; he seemed only + surprised a little, and asked if she was ill. But Richard, who had all the + week been looking forward to a talk with Alice, and wanted to show her his + little library, was much disappointed, and begged her to change her mind. + She insisted, however, and he put on his hat to walk with them. + </p> + <p> + But his aunt called him, and whispered that she would be particularly + obliged to him if he would go to church with her that evening. He + expostulated, saying he did not care to go to church; but as she insisted, + he yielded, though not with the best grace. + </p> + <p> + Before another Sunday, there came, doubtless by his aunt's management, an + invitation to spend a few weeks with his grandfather, the blacksmith. + </p> + <p> + Richard was not altogether pleased, for he did not like leaving his work; + but his aunt again prevailed with him, and he agreed to go. In this, as in + most things, he showed her a deference such as few young men show their + mothers. Her influence came, I presume, through the strong impression of + purpose she had made on him. + </p> + <p> + His uncle objected to his going, and grumbled a good deal. As the brewer + looks down on the baker, so the bookbinder looked down on the blacksmith. + </p> + <p> + He said the people Richard would see about his grandfather, were not fit + company for the heir of Mortgrange! But he knew the necessity of his going + somewhere for a while, and gave in. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. <i>SIMON ARMOUR</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Simon Armour was past only the agility, not the strength of his youth, and + in his feats of might and skill he cherished pride. Without being + offensively conceited, he regarded himself—and well might—as + the superior of any baronet such as his daughter's husband, and desired of + him no recognition of the relationship. All he looked for from any man, + whether he stood above or beneath his own plane, was proper pay for good + work, and natural human respect. Some of the surrounding gentry, possibly + not uninfluenced, in sentiment at least, by the growing radicalism of the + age, enjoyed the free, jolly, but unpresuming carriage of the stalwart old + man, to whom, if indeed on his head the almond-tree was already in + blossom, the grasshopper was certainly not yet a burden: he could still + ply a sledge-hammer in each hand. “My lord,” came from his lips in a + clear, ringing tone of good-fellowship, which the nobleman who + occasionally stopped at his forge to give him some direction about the + shoeing of this or that horse, liked well to hear, and felt the friendlier + for—though I doubt if he would have welcomed it from a younger man. + </p> + <p> + Besides his daughter Jane and her husband, he alone was aware of the real + parentage of the lad who passed as their son; and he knew that, if he + lived long enough, an hour would call him to stand up for the rights of + his grandson. Perhaps it was partly in view of this, that he had for years + been an abstainer from strong drink; but I am inclined to attribute the + fact chiefly to his having found the love of it gaining upon him. “Damn + the drink!” he had been more than once overheard to say, “it shall know + which of us is master!” And when Simon had made up his mind to a thing, + the thing was—not indeed as good, but almost as sure as done. The + smallest of small beer was now his strongest drink. + </p> + <p> + He was a hard-featured, good-looking, white-haired man of sixty, with + piercing eyes of quite cerulean blue, and a rough voice with an undertone + of music in it. There was music, indeed, all through him. In the roughest + part of his history it was his habit to go to church—mainly, I may + say entirely, for the organ, but his behaviour was never other than + reverent. How much he understood, may be left a question somewhat + dependent on how much there may have been to understand; but he had a few + ideas in religion which were very much his own, and which, especially some + with regard to certain of the lessons from the Old Testament, would have + considerably astonished some parsons, and considerably pleased others. He + was a big, broad-shouldered man, with the brawniest arms, and eyes so + bright and scintillant that one might fancy they caught and kept for their + own use the sparks that flew from his hammer. His face was red, with a + great but short white beard, suggesting the sun in a clean morning-fog. + </p> + <p> + A rickety omnibus carried Richard from the railway-station some five miles + to the smithy. When the old man heard it stop, he threw down his hammer, + strode hastily to the door, met his grandson with a gripe that left a + black mark and an ache, and catching up his portmanteau, set it down + inside. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go with you in a moment, lad!” he said, and seizing with a long pair + of pincers the horse-shoe that lay in process on the anvil, he thrust it + into the fire, blew a great roaring blast from the bellows, plucked out + the shoe glowing white, and fell upon it as if it were a devil. Having + thus cowed it a bit, he grew calm, and more deliberately shaped it to an + invisible idea. His grandson was delighted with the mingling of + determination, intent, and power, with certainty of result, manifest in + every blow. In two minutes he had the shoe on the end of a long hooked + rod, and was hanging it beside others on a row of nails in a beam. Then he + turned and said— + </p> + <p> + “There, lad! that's off the anvil—and off my mind! Now I'm for you!” + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” said Richard, “I shouldn't like to have you for an enemy!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not, you rascal! Do you think I would take unfair advantage of you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that I don't! But you've got awful arms and hands!” + </p> + <p> + “They've done a job or two in their day, lad!” he answered; “but I'm + getting old now! I can't do what I thought nothing of once. Well, no man + was made to last for ever—no more than a horse-shoe! There'd be no + work for the Maker if he did!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to see we're of one mind, grandfather!” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why shouldn't we—if so be we're in the right mind!—Yes; + we must be o' one mind if we're o' the right mind! The year or two I may + be ahead o' you in gettin' at it, goes for nothing: I started sooner!—But + what may be the mind you speak of, sonny?” + </p> + <p> + The look of keen question the old man threw on him, woke a doubt in + Richard whether he might not have misunderstood his grandfather. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he answered, “if a man was made to last for ever, the world + would get tired of him. When a horse or a dog has done his work, he's + content—and so is his master.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, but I bean't! I bean't content to lose the old horse as I've shod + mayhap for twenty years—no, not if I bean't his master!” + </p> + <p> + “There's no help for it, though!” + </p> + <p> + “None as I knows on. I'd be main glad to hear any news on the subjec' as + you can supply!—No, I ain't content; I'm sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't the parsons say the old horse'll rise again?” + </p> + <p> + “'Cause the parsons knows nought about it. How should they?” + </p> + <p> + “They say we're going to rise again.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't they? I guess I'll be up as soon as I may! I don't want no + night to lie longer than rest my bones!” + </p> + <p> + “I mistook what you meant, grandfather. I thought, when you said you + weren't made to last for ever, that you meant there was an end of you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so you might, and small blame to you! It's a wrong way of speaking + we all have. But you've set me thinking—whether by mistake or not, + where's the matter! I never thought what come o' the old horse, a'ter all + his four shoes takes to shinin' at oncet! For the old smith when he drops + his hammer—I have thought about <i>him</i>. Lord!—to think o' + that anvil never ringin' no more to this here fist o' mine!” + </p> + <p> + While they talked, the blacksmith had put off his thick apron of hide; and + now, catching up Richard's portmanteau as if it had been a hand-basket, he + led the way to a cottage not far from the forge, in a lane that here + turned out of the high road. It was a humble place enough—one story + and a wide attic. The front was almost covered with jasmine, rising from a + little garden filled with cottage flowers. Behind was a larger garden, + full of cabbages and gooseberry-bushes. + </p> + <p> + A girl came to the door, with a kind, blushing face, and hands as red as + her cheeks—a great-niece of the old smith. He passed her and led the + way into a room half kitchen, half parlour. + </p> + <p> + “Here you are, lad—<i>at</i> home, I hope! Sech as it is, an' as + much as it's mine, it's yours, an' I hope you'll make it so.” + </p> + <p> + He deposited the portmanteau, glanced quickly round, saw that Jessie had + not followed them, and said— + </p> + <p> + “You'll keep your good news till I've turned it over!” + </p> + <p> + “What good news, grandfather?” + </p> + <p> + “The good news that them as is close pared, has no call to look out for + the hoof to grow. I'm not saying you're wrong, lad—not <i>yet</i>; + but everybody mightn't think your news so good as to be worth a special + messenger! So till you're quite sure of it—” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> quite sure of it, grandfather!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not; and having charge of the girl there, I'll ha' no dish served i' + my house as I don't think wholesome!” + </p> + <p> + “You're right there, grandfather! You may trust me!” answered Richard + respectfully. + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith had spoken with a decision that was imperative. His red + face shone out of his white beard, and his eyes sparkled out of his red + face; his head gave a nod, and his jaws a snap. + </p> + <p> + They had tea, with bread and butter and marmalade, and much talk about + John and Jane Tuke, in which the old man said oftener, “your aunt,” and + “your uncle,” than “your father” or “your mother;” but Richard put it down + to the confusion that often accompanies age. When the bookbinding came up, + Richard was surprised to discover that the blacksmith was far from looking + upon their trade as superior to his own. It was plain indeed that he + regarded bookbinding as a quite inferior and scarce manly employment. To + the blacksmith, bookbinding and tailoring were much the same—fit + only for women. Richard did not relish this. He endeavoured to make his + grandfather see the dignity of the work, insisting that its difficulty was + the greater because of the less strength required in it: the strength + itself had, he said, in certain of its operations, to be pared to the + requisite fineness, to be modified with extreme accuracy; while in others, + all the strength a man had was necessary, and especially in a shop like + theirs, where everything was done by hand. But the fine work, he said, + tired one much the most. + </p> + <p> + “Fine work!” echoed the smith with contempt. “There came a gentleman here + to be shod t'other day from the Hall, who was a great traveller; and he + told me he seen in Japan a blacksmith with a sprig of may on the anvil + before him, an' him a-copyin' to the life them blossoms in hard iron with + his one hammer! What say you to that, lad?” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful! But that same man couldn't do the heavy work you think nothing + of, grandfather!” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, for that I don't know. I know I couldn't do his!” + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll allow that fine work may be a manly thing as well as hard + work. But I do wish I could shoe a horse!” + </p> + <p> + “What's to hinder you?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me learn, grandfather?” + </p> + <p> + “Learn! I'll learn you myself. <i>You'll</i> soon learn. It's not as if + you was a bumpkin to teach! The man as can do anything, can do + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Come along then, grandfather! I want to let you see that though my hands + may catch a blister or two, they're not the less fit for hard work that + they can do fine. I'll be safe to shoe a horse before many days are over. + Only you must have a little patience with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, lad, I'll have a great patience with you. Before many days are over, + make the shoe you may, and make it well; but to shoe a horse as the horse + ought to be shod, that comes by God's grace.” + </p> + <p> + They went back to the smithy, and there, the very day of his arrival, more + to Simon's delight than he cared to show, the soft-handed bookbinder began + to wield a hammer, and compel the stubborn iron. So deft and persevering + was he, that, ere they went from the forge that same night, he could not + only bend the iron to a proper curve round the beak of the anvil, but had + punched the holes in half a dozen shoes. At last he confessed himself + weary; and when his grandfather saw the state of his hands, blistered and + swollen so that he could not close them, he was able no longer to restrain + his satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Come!” he cried; “you're a man after all, bookbinder! In six months I + should have you a thorough blacksmith.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't undertake to make a bookbinder of you, grandfather, in the + time!” returned Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Tit for tat, sonny, and it's fair!” said Simon. “I should leave the devil + his mark on your white pages.—How much of them do you rend now, as + you stick them together?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word as I stick them together. But many are brought me to be + doctored and mended up, and from some of them I take part of my pay in + reading them—books, I mean, that I wouldn't otherwise find it easy + to lay my hands upon—scarce books, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You would like to go to Oxford, wouldn't ye, lad—and lay in a stock + to last your life out?” + </p> + <p> + “You might as well think to lay victuals into you for a lifetime, + grandfather! But I should like to lay in a stock of the tools to be got at + Oxford! It would be grand to be able to pick the lock of any door I wanted + to see the other side of.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll put you up to pick any lock you ever saw, or are likely to see,” + returned Armour. “I served my time to a locksmith. We didn't hit it off + always, and so hit one another—as often almost as the anvil. So when + I was out of my time, and couldn't get locksmith's work except in a large + forge, I knew better than take it: for I couldn't help getting into rows, + and was afraid of doing somebody a mischief when my blood was up. So I + started for myself as a general blacksmith-in a small way, of course. But + my right hand 'ain't forgot its cunning in locks! I'll teach you to pick + the cunningest lock in the world—whether made in Italy or in China.” + </p> + <p> + “The lock I was thinking of,” said Richard, “was that of the tree of + knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “I've heerd,” returned Simon, with more humour than accuracy, “as that was + a raither pecooliar lock. How it was kep' red hot all the time without + coal and bellows, I don't seem to see!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Richard, “you mean the flaming sword that turned every way?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I do!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say you believe that story, grandfather?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't say what I believe or what I don't believe. The flamin' iron as + I've had to do with, has both kep' me out o' knowledge, an' led me into + knowledge! I'll turn the tale over again! You see, lad, when I was a boy, + I thought everything my mother said and my father did, old-fashioned, and + a bit ignorant-like; but when I was a man, I saw that, if I had started + right off from where they set me down, I would ha' been farther ahead. To + honour your father an' mother don't mean to stick by their chimbley-corner + all your life, but to start from their front door and go foret. I went by + the back door, like the fool I was, to get into the front road, and had a + long round to make.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan't do so with my father. He don't read much, but he thinks. He's + got a head, my father!” + </p> + <p> + “There was fathers afore yours, lad! You needn't scorn yer gran'ther for + your father!” + </p> + <p> + “Scorn you, grandfather! God forbid!—or, at least,—” + </p> + <p> + “You don't see what I'm drivin' at, sonny!—When an old tale comes to + me from the far-away time, I don't pitch it into the road, any more'n I + would an old key or an old shoe—a horse-shoe, I mean: it was + something once, and it may be something again! I hang the one up, and turn + the other over. An' if you be strong set on throwin' either away, lad, I + misdoubt me you an' me won't blaze together like <i>one</i> flamin' + sword!” + </p> + <p> + Richard held his peace. The old man had already somehow impressed him. If + he had not, like his father, bid good-bye to superstition, there was in + him a power that was not in his father—a power like that he found in + his favourite books. + </p> + <p> + “Mind what he says, and do what he tells you, and you'll get on splendid!” + his mother had said as he came away. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be afraid of him, but speak up: he'll like you the better for it,” + his father had counselled. “I should never have married your mother if I'd + been afraid of him.” + </p> + <p> + Richard, trying to follow both counsels, got on with his grandfather + better than fairly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. <i>COMPARISONS.</i> + </h2> + <p> + All things belong to every man who yields his selfishness, which is his + one impoverishment, and draws near to his wealth, which is humanity—not + humanity in the abstract, but the humanity of friends and neighbours and + all men. Selfishness, I repeat, whether in the form of vanity or greed, is + our poverty. John Tuke, being a clever man without a spark of genius, + worshipped <i>faculty</i> as he called it—worshipped it where he was + most familiar with it—that is, in his own mind and its operations, + in his own hands and their handiwork. His natural atmosphere, however, + was, happily, goodwill and kindliness: else the scorn of helplessness + which sprang from his worship, would have supplied the other pole to his + selfishness. + </p> + <p> + He even cherished unconsciously the feeling that his faculty was a merit. + He took the credit of his individual humanity, as if the good working of + his brain, the thing he most admired, was attributable to his own will and + forethought. The idea had never arisen in that brain, that he was in the + world by no creative intent of his own. Nothing had as yet suggested to + him that, after all, if he was clever, he could not help it. It had not + occurred to him that there was a stage in his history antecedent to his + consciousness—a stage in which his pleasure with regard to the next + could not have been appealed to, or his consent asked—a stage, for + any satisfaction concerning which, his resultant consciousness must repose + on a creative will, answerable to itself for his existence. A man's patent + of manhood is, that he can call upon God—not the God of any + theology, right or wrong, but the God out of whose heart he came, and in + whose heart he is. This is his highest power—that which constitutes + his original likeness to God. Had any one tried to wake this idea in Tuke, + he would have mocked at the sound of it, never seeing it. The words which + represented it he would have thought he understood, but he would never + have laid hold of the idea. He found himself what he found himself, and + was content with the find; therefore asked no questions as to whence he + came—was to himself consequently as if he had come from nowhere—which + made it easy for him to imagine that he was going nowhither. He had never + reflected that he had not made himself, and that therefore there might be + a power somewhere that had called him into being, and had a word to say to + him on the matter. The region where he began to be, had never, in + speculation or mirage any more than in direct vision, lifted itself above + the horizon-line of his consciousness. An ordinarily well-behaved man, + with a vague narrow regard for his moral nature, and an admiration of + intellectual humanity in the abstract, he thought of himself as + exceptionally worthy, and as having neighbours mostly inferior. In + relation to Richard, he was specially pleased with himself: had he not, + for the sake of the youth, put himself in the danger of the law! + </p> + <p> + With not much more introspection than his uncle, but with a keener + conscience and quicker observation, Richard had early remarked that, + notwithstanding her assiduity in church-going, his mother did not seem the + happier for her religion: there was a cloud, or seeming cloud, on her + forehead—a something that implied the lack of clear weather within. + Had he known more he might have attributed it to anxiety about his own + future, and the bearing her deed might have upon it. He might have argued + that she dreaded the opposition she foresaw to the claim of her nephew; + and felt that if her act should have despoiled him of his inheritance, + life would be worthless to her. But in truth the cause of her habitual + gloom was much deeper. She had from her mother inherited a heavy sense of + responsibility, but not the confidence in whose strength her mother had + borne it. She had, that is, an oppressive sense of the claims of a + supernal power, but no feeling of the relationship which gives those + claims, no knowledge of the loving help offered with the presentation of + the claims. Where she might have rejoiced in the correlative claims + bestowed upon her, she nourished only complaint. That God had made her, + she could not sometimes help feeling a liberty he had taken. How could she + help it, not knowing him, or the love that gave him both the power and the + right to create! She had no window to let in the perpendicular light of + heaven; all the light she had was the horizontal light of duty—invaluable, + but, ever accompanied by its own shadow of failure, giving neither joy nor + hope nor strength. Her husband's sense of duty was neither so strong nor + so uneasy. + </p> + <p> + She had not attempted to teach Richard more, in the way of religion, than + the saying of certain prayers, a ceremony of questionable character; but + the boy, dearly loving his mother, and saddened by her lack of spirits, + had put things together—amongst the rest, that she was always + gloomiest on a Sunday—and concluded that religion was the cause of + her misery. This made him ready to welcome the merest hint of its + falsehood. Well might the doctrine be false that made such a good woman + miserable! He had no opportunity of learning what any vital, that is, <i>obedient</i> + believer in the lord of religion, might have to say. Nothing he did hear + would, without the reflex of his mother's unhappiness, have waked in him + interest enough for hate: what was there about the heap of ashes he heard + called the means of grace, to set him searching in it for seeds of truth! + If we consider, then, the dullness of the prophecy, the evident suffering + of his mother, and the equally evident though silent contempt of his + father, we need not wonder that Richard grew up in what seemed to him a + conviction that religion was worse than a thing of nought, was an evil + phantom, with a terrible power to blight; a miasm that had steamed up from + the foul marshes of the world, before man was at home in it, or yet + acquainted with the beneficent laws of Nature. It was not merely a + hopeless task to pray to a power which could not be entreated, because it + did not exist; to believe in what was not, must be ruinous to the nature + that so believed! He would give the lie no quarter! The best thing to do + for his fellow, the first thing to be done before anything else could be + done, was to deliver him from this dragon called Faith—the more + fearful that it had no life, but owed its being and strength to the + falsehood of cowards! Had he known more of the working of what is falsely + called religion, he would have been yet more eager to destroy it. But he + knew something of the tares only; he knew nothing of the wheat among the + tares; knew nothing of the wintry gleams of comfort shed on thousands of + hearts by the most poverty-stricken belief in the merest and faultiest + silhouette of a God. What a mission it would be, he thought, to deliver + human hearts from the vampyre that, sucking away the very essence of life, + kept fanning its unconscious victims with the promise of a dreary + existence beyond the grave, secured by self-immolation on the desolate + altar of an unlovable God, who yet called himself <i>Love</i>! Was it not + a high emprise to rescue men from the incubus of such a misimagined + divinity? + </p> + <p> + From the first dawn of consciousness, the young Lestrange had loved his + kind. He gathered the chief joy of his life from a true relation to the + life around him. Perhaps the cause of the early manifestation of this bent + in him, was the longing of his mother in her loneliness after a love that + grew the move precious as it seemed farther away. She had parted with + those who always loved her, for the love of a man who never loved her! But + left to think and think, she had come at last to see that her loss was her + best gain. For, with the loss of their presence, she began to know and + prize the simplicities of human affection; from lack of love began to lift + up her heart to Love himself, the father of all our loves. + </p> + <p> + Richard's love was not such as makes of another the mirror wherein to + realize self; he loved his kind objectively, and was ready to suffer for + it. At school he was the champion of the oppressed. Almost always one or + other of the little boys would be under his protection; and more than + once, for the sake of a weaker he had got severely beaten. But having set + himself to learn the art of self-defence, his favour alone became shelter; + and successful coverture aroused in him yet more the natural passion of + protection. It became his pride as well as delight to be a saviour to his + kind. His championship now sought extension to his mother, and to all + sufferers from usurping creeds. + </p> + <p> + His grandfather found him, as he said, a chip of the old block; and + rejoiced that Nature had granted his humble blood so potent a part in this + compound of gentle and plebeian; for Richard showed himself a worthy + workman! Simon Armour declared there was nothing the fellow could not do; + and said to himself there never was such a baronet in the old Hall as his + boy Dick would make. If only, he said, all the breeds worn out with + breeding-in, would revert to the old blood of Tubal Cain, they might + recover his lease of life. The day was coming, he said to himself, when + there would be a sight to see at Mortgrange—a baronet that could + shoe a horse better than any smith in the land! If his people then would + not stand up for a landlord able to thrash every man-jack of them, and win + his bread with his own hands, they deserved to become the tenants of a + London grocer or American money-dealer! For his part, the French might + have another try! <i>He</i> would not lift hammer against them! + </p> + <p> + By right of inheritance, Richard's muscles grew sinewy and hard, and + speedily was he capable of handling a hammer and persuading iron to the + full satisfaction of his teacher. When it came to such heavy work as + required power and skill at once, the difference between the two men was + very evident: where the whole strength is tasked, skill finds itself in + the lurch; but Simon understood what could not be at once, as well as what + would be at length. Neither was he disappointed, for, in far less than + half the time an ordinary apprentice would have taken, Richard could hold + alternate swing with the blacksmith or his man, as, blow for blow, they + pierced a block of metal to form the nave of a wheel. In ringing a wheel, + he soon excelled; and his grandfather's smithy being the place for all + kinds of blacksmith-work, Richard had learned the trade before he left. + For, as his fortnight's holiday drew to an end, he heard from his parents + that, as he was doing so well, they would like him to stay longer. + </p> + <p> + One reason for this their wish was, that he might become thoroughly + attached to his grandfather: they desired to secure the prejudice of the + future baronet for his own people. At the same time, by developing in him + the workman, they thought to give him a better chance against further + dishonouring and degrading his race, than his wretched father had ever + had: the breed of Lestranges must, they said, be searched back for + generations to find an honest man in it. A landlord above the selfishness, + and free from the prejudices of his class, would be a new thing in the + county-histories! + </p> + <p> + At the end of six weeks, Richard could shoe a sound horse as well as his + grandfather himself. The old man had taken pains he would not have spent + on an ordinary apprentice: it was worth doing, he said; and the return was + great. Richard had made, not merely wonderful, but wonderfully steady + progress. Not once had he touched the quick in driving those perfect nails + through the rind of the marvellous hoof. From the first he disapproved of + the mode of shoeing in use, and was certain a better must one day be + discovered—one, namely, that would leave the natural motions of hoof + and leg unimpeded; but in the meantime he shod as did other blacksmiths, + and gave thorough satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. <i>A LOST SHOE.</i> + </h2> + <p> + It was now late in the autumn. Several houses in the neighbourhood were + full of visitors, and parties on horseback frequently passed the door of + the smithy—well known to not a few of the horses. + </p> + <p> + One evening, as the sun was going down red and large, with a gorgeous + attendance of clouds, for the day had been wet but cleared in the + afternoon, a small mounted company came pretty fast along the lane, which + was deep in mud. They were no sooner upon the hard road by the smithy, + than one of the ladies discovered her mare had lost a hind shoe. + </p> + <p> + “She couldn't have pulled it off in a more convenient spot!” said a + handsome young fellow, as he dismounted and gave his horse to a groom. + “I'll take you down, Bab! Old Simon will have a shoe on Miss Brown in no + time!” + </p> + <p> + Richard followed his grandfather to the door. A little girl, as she seemed + to him, was sliding, with her hand on the young man's shoulder, from the + back of the huge mare. She was the daintiest little thing, as lovely as + she was tiny, with clear, pale, regular features, under a quantity of + dark-brown hair. But that she was not a child, he saw the moment she was + down; and he soon discovered that, not her beauty, but her heavenly + vivacity, was the more captivating thing in her. At once her very soul + seemed to go out to meet whatever object claimed her attention. She must + know all about everything, and come into relations with every live thing! + As she stood by the side of the great brown creature from which she had + dismounted—huge indeed, but carrying its bulk with a grand grace—her + head reaching but half-way up the slope of its shoulder, she laid her + cheek against it caressingly. So small and so bright, the little lady + looked a very diamond of life. + </p> + <p> + A new shoe had to be forged; those already half-made were for work-horses. + Partly from pride in his skill, Simon left the task to his grandson, and + stood talking to the young man. Little thought Richard, as he turned the + shoe on the anvil's beak, that he was his half-brother! He was a handsome + youth, not so tall as Richard, and with more delicate features. His face + was pale, and wore a rather serious, but self-satisfied look. He talked to + the old blacksmith, however, without the slightest assumption: like others + in the neighbourhood, he regarded him as odd and privileged. There were + more ladies and gentlemen, but Richard, absorbed in his shoe, heeded none + of the company. + </p> + <p> + He was not more absorbed, however, than the girl who stood beside him: she + watched every point in the making of it. Heedless of the flying sparks, + she gazed as if she meant to make the next shoe herself. Had Richard not + been too busy even to glance at her, he might have noticed, now and then, + an involuntary sympathetic motion, imitatively responsive to one of his, + invariably recurrent when he changed the position of the glowing iron. Her + mind seemed working in company with his hands; she was all the time doing + the thing herself; Richard's activity was not merely reflected, but lived + in her. When he carried the half-forged iron, to apply it for one + tentative instant to the mare's hoof, Barbara followed him. The mare + fidgeted. But her little mistress, who, noiseless and swift as a moth, was + already at her head, spoke to her, breathed in her nostril, and in a + moment made her forget what was happening in such a far-off province of + her being as a hind foot. When Richard, back at the forge, was placing the + shoe again in the fire, to his surprise her little gloved hand alighted + beside his own on the lever of the bellows, powerfully helping him to + blow. When once again the shoe was on the anvil, there again she stood + watching—and watched until he had shaped the shoe to his intent. + </p> + <p> + Old Simon did not move to interfere: the hoof required no special + attention. Almost every horse-hoof in a large circuit of miles was known + to him—as well, he would remark, as the nail of his own thumb. + </p> + <p> + When Richard took up the foot, in order to prepare it for the reception of + its new armour, again the mare was fidgety; and again the lady distracted + her attention, comforting and soothing her while Richard trimmed the hoof + a little. + </p> + <p> + “I say, my man,” cried Mr. Lestrange, “mind what you're about there with + your paring! I don't want that mare lamed.—She's much too good for + 'prentice hands to learn upon, Simon!” + </p> + <p> + “Keep your mind easy, sir,” answered the blacksmith. “That lad's ain't + 'prentice hands. He knows what he's about as well as I do myself!” + </p> + <p> + “He's young!” + </p> + <p> + “Younger, perhaps, than you think, sir!—but he knows his work.” + </p> + <p> + It was a pretty picture—the girl peeping round under the neck of the + great creature she was caressing, to see how the smith was getting on, + whose back, alas! hid his hands from her. Just as he finished driving his + second nail, the nervous animal gave her foot a jerk, and the point of the + nail, through the hoof and projecting a little, tore his hand, so that the + blood ran to the ground in a sudden rivulet. + </p> + <p> + “Hey! that don't look much like proper shoeing!” cried the young man. “I + hope to goodness that's not the mare!” + </p> + <p> + “She's all right,” answered Richard, rearranging the animal's foot. + </p> + <p> + But Simon saw the blood, and sprang to his side. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you about, making a fool of me, Dick!” he cried. “Get + out of the way.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my fault,” said the sweetest voice from under the neck of the + mare, to the top of which a tiny hand was trying to reach. “My feather + must have tickled her nose!” + </p> + <p> + She caught a glimpse of the blood, and turned white. + </p> + <p> + “I am so sorry!” she said, almost tearfully. “I hope you're not much hurt, + Richard!” + </p> + <p> + Nothing seemed to escape her; she had already learned his name! + </p> + <p> + “It's not worth being sorry about, miss!” returned Richard, with a laugh. + “The mare meant no harm!” + </p> + <p> + “That I'm sure she didn't—poor Miss Brown!” answered the girl, + patting the mare's neck. “But I wish it had been <i>my</i> hand instead!” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid!” cried Richard. “That <i>would</i> have been a calamity!” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't have been half so great a one. My hand is—well, not of + <i>much</i> use. Yours can shoe a horse!” + </p> + <p> + “Yours would have been spoiled; mine will shoe as well as before!” said + Richard. + </p> + <p> + It did not occur to the lady that the youth spoke better than might have + been expected of a country smith. She was one of the elect few that meet + every one on the common human ground, that never fear and never hurt. Her + childish size and look harmonized with the childlike in her style, but she + affected nothing. She would have spoken in the same way to prince or + poet-laureate, and would have pleased either as much as the blacksmith. At + the same time she did have pleasure in knowing that her frankness pleased. + She could not help being aware that she was a favourite, and she wanted to + be; but she wanted nothing more than to be a favourite. She desired it + with old Betty, sir Wilton's dairymaid, just as much as with Mr. + Lestrange, sir Wilton's heir; and everybody showed her favour, for she + showed everybody grace. + </p> + <p> + The old smith was finishing the shoeing, and the mare, well used to him, + and with more faith in him, stood perfectly quiet. Richard, a little + annoyed, had withdrawn, and scarce thinking what he did, had taken a rod + of iron, thrust it into the fire, and begun to blow. The little lady + approached him softly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm <i>so</i> sorry!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be sorry too, if you think of it any more, miss!” answered + Richard. “Then there will be two sorry where there needn't be one!” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him with a curious, interested, puzzled look, which + seemed to say, “What a nice smith you are!” + </p> + <p> + The youth's manners had a certain—what shall I call it?—not + polish, but rhythm, which came of, or at least was nourished by his love + of the finer elements in literature. His friendly converse with books, and + through them with certain of the dead who still speak, fell in with yet + deeper influences, helping to set him in right atomic position toward + other human atoms. His breed also contributed something. Happily for + Richard, a man is not born only of his father or his grandfather; mothers + have a share in the form of his being; ancestors innumerable, men and + women, leave their traces in him. But what I have ventured to call the + rhythm of his manner came of his love of verse, and of the true material + of verse. + </p> + <p> + His hand kept on bleeding, and for a moment he was tempted, by bravado as + well as kindness, to use the cautery so nigh, and prove to the girl how + little he set by what troubled her; but he saw at once it would shock her, + and took, instead, a handkerchief from his pocket to bind it with. + Instantly the little lady was at his service, and he yielded to her + ministration with a pleasure hitherto unknown to him. She took the + handkerchief from his hand, but immediately gave it him again, saying, “It + is too black!” and drawing her own from her pocket, deftly bound up his + wound with it. Speech abandoned Richard. All present looked on in silence. + Certain of the company had seen her the day before tie up the leg of a + wounded dog, and had admired her for it; but this was different! She was + handling the hand of a human being—man—a workman!—black + and hard with labour! There was no necessity: the man was not in the least + danger! It was nothing but a scratch! She was forgetting what was due to + herself—and to them! Thus they thought, but thus they dared not + speak. They knew her, and feared what she might say in reply. The mare was + shod ere the handkerchief was tied to the lady's mind, and Simon stood, + hammer in hand, looking on like the rest in silence, but with a curious + smile. + </p> + <p> + As she took her hands from his, the young blacksmith looked thankfulness + into her eyes—which sparkled and shone with the pleasure of human + fellowship, and without the least shyness returned his gaze. + </p> + <p> + “There! Good-bye! I am so sorry! I hope your hand will be well soon!” she + said, and at once followed her mare, which the smith's man was leading + with caution through the door of the smithy, rather too low for Miss + Brown. + </p> + <p> + Lestrange helped her to the saddle in silence, and before Richard realized + that she was gone, he heard the merriment of the party mingling with the + clang of their horses' hoofs, as they went swinging down the road. The + fairy had set them all laughing already! + </p> + <p> + The instant they were gone, Simon showed a strange concern over the + insignificant wound: he had been hasty with Richard, and unfair to him! + Had he driven his nail one hair's-breadth too near the quick, Miss Brown + would have made the smithy tight for them! He seemed anxious to show, + without actual confession, that he knew he had spoken angrily, and was + sorry for it. He could not have shod the mare better himself, he said—but + why the deuce did he let her tear his hand! It was not likely to gather, + though, seeing Richard drank water! He must do nothing for a day or two! + To-morrow being Saturday, they would have a holiday together, and leave + the work to George! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. <i>A HOLIDAY.</i> + </h2> + <p> + Richard was willing enough, and it only remained to settle what they would + do with their holiday. Suppressing a chuckle, Simon proposed that they + should have a walk, and a look at Mortgrange: it was a place well worth + seeing! “And then,” he added, giving his grandson a poke, “we can ask + after the mare, and learn how her new shoe fits.” They had known him + there, he said, the last thirty years, and would let them have the run of + the place, for sir Wilton and his lady were from home. Richard had never—to + his knowledge—heard of Mortgrange, for Simon had hitherto avoided + even mentioning the place; but he was ready to go wherever his grandfather + pleased. Jessie would have company of her own, Simon said, with a nod and + a wink: they need not trouble themselves about her! + </p> + <p> + So the next day, as soon us they had had their breakfast, they set out to + walk the four or five miles that, by the road, lay between them and + Mortgrange. It was a fine frosty morning. Not a few yellow leaves were + still hanging, and the sun was warm and bright. It was one of those days + near the death of the year, that make us wonder why the heart of man + should revive and feel strong, while nature is falling into her dreary + trance. Richard was dressed in a tradesman's Sunday clothes, but tradesman + as he was, and was proud to be, he did not altogether look one. He was in + high spirits—for no reason but that his spirits were high. He was + happy because he was happy—“like any other body!” he would have + said: where was the wonder such a fine day, with a pleasant walk before + him, and his jolly grandfather for company! That he could not make one + hair white or black, one hour blessed or miserable, did not occur to him. + Yet he believed that joy or sorrow determined whether life was or was not + worth living! He had never said to himself, “Here I am, and cannot help + being, and yet can order nothing! Even to-day I am happy only because I + cannot help it!” He had indeed begun to learn that a man has his duty to + mind before his happiness, and that was much; but he had not yet been + tried in the matter of doing his duty when unhappy. How would he feel + then? Would he think duty without happiness worth living for? He was happy + now, and that was enough! The putting forth of their strength and skill + doubtless makes many men feel happy—so long as they are in health; + but how when they come to feel that that health is nowise in their power? + While they have it, it seems a part of their being inalienable; when they + have lost it, a thing irrecoverable. Richard took the thing that came, + asked no questions, returned no thanks. He found himself here:—whence + he came he did not care; whither he went he did not inquire. The present + was enough, for the present was good; when the present was no longer good, + why, then,—! + </p> + <p> + There are those to whom the present cannot be good save as a mode of the + infinite. In such their divine origin asserts itself. Once known for what + it is, the poorest present is a phial holding the elixir of life. + </p> + <p> + On their way Simon talked about the place they were going to see, and said + its present owner was an elderly man, not very robust, with a second wife, + who looked as if she had not a drop of warm blood, and yet as if she might + live for ever. + </p> + <p> + “That was their son that came with the little lady,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And the little lady was their daughter, I suppose!” rejoined Richard, + with an odd quiver somewhere near his heart. + </p> + <p> + “She's an Australian, they say,” answered his grandfather; “—no + relation, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Mortgrange a grand place?” asked Richard. + </p> + <p> + “It's a fine house and a great estate,” answered Simon. “More might be + made of it, no doubt; and I hope one day more will be made of it.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that, grandfather?” + </p> + <p> + “That I hope the son will make a better landlord than the father.” + </p> + <p> + They came to a great iron gate, standing open, without any lodge. + </p> + <p> + “We're in luck!” said the blacksmith. “This will save us a long round! + Somebody must have rode out, and been too lazy to shut it! We'd better + leave it as we find it, though! Or say we bring the two halves together + without snapping the locks! I know the locks; I put 'em both on myself.—See + now what a piece of work that gate is! All done with the hand! None o' + your beastly casting there! Up to <i>your</i> work, that, I'm thinking, + lad!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it is! Those gates are worth reducing, for plates to stamp the + covers of a right precious volume with!” + </p> + <p> + Simon misunderstood, and was on the point of flaring up, but what Richard + followed with quieted him. + </p> + <p> + “I could almost give up bookbinding to work a pair of gates like those!” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you, my boy!” returned his grandfather. “Come and live with me, + and you shall!” + </p> + <p> + “But who would buy them when I had worked them?” + </p> + <p> + “If nobody had the sense, we'd put 'em up before the cottage!” + </p> + <p> + “Like a door-lock on a prayer-book!” + </p> + <p> + “No matter! They would be worth the worth of themselves!” + </p> + <p> + “You would have to make the wall so high, there would be no light in the + house!” persisted Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, man! did you never hear of a joke? All I say is, that if you'll come + and work with me—I don't need to slave more than I like; I've got a + few pounds in the bank!—if you'll work, I'll teach you. Leave me to + find a fit place for what comes of it! They do most things at the + foundries now, but there's a market yet for hammer-work—if it be + good enough, and not too dear; for them as knows a good thing when they + sees it, ain't generally got much money to buy things. It's my opinion the + only way to learn the worth of a thing, is to have to go without it.” + </p> + <p> + “Few people fancy iron gates, I fear.” + </p> + <p> + “More might fancy them if they were to be had good,” returned the old man. + </p> + <p> + The gate had admitted them to a long winding road, with clumps of trees + here and there on the borders of it. The road was apparently not much + used, for it was more than sprinkled with grass all over. A ploughed field + was on one side, and a wild heathy expanse, dotted with fir-trees, on the + other. Suddenly on the side of the field, gradually on that of the heath, + the ground changed to the green sward of a park. + </p> + <p> + “A grand place for thinking!” said Richard to himself. + </p> + <p> + But in truth Richard had hardly yet begun to think. He only followed the + things that came to him; he never said to things, <i>Come;</i> neither, + when they came, did he keep them, and make them walk up and down before + him till he saw what they were; he did not search out their pedigree, get + them to give an account of themselves, show what they could do, or, in + short, be themselves to him. He had written a few verses—not bad + verses, but with feeling only, not thought in them. For instance, he had + addressed an ode to the allegorical personage called Liberty, in which he + bepraised her until, had she been indeed a woman, she must have been + ashamed: she was the one essential of life! the one glory of existence! he + was no man who would not die for her! But what was the thing he thus + glorified? Liberty to go where you pleased, do what you liked, say what + you chose!—that was all. Of inward liberty, of freedom from mental + or spiritual oppression, from passion, from prejudice, from envy, from + jealousy, from selfishness, from unfairness, from ambition, from false + admiration, from the power of public opinion, from any motive energy save + that of love and truth—a freedom of which outward freedom is scarce + the shadow—of such liberty, for all the good books he had read, for + all the good poems he had admired, Richard had not yet begun to dream, not + to say <i>think</i>. Then again, he would write about love, and he had + never been in love in his life! All he knew of love was the pleasure of + imagining himself the object of a tall, dark-eyed, long-haired, devoted + woman's admiration. He had never even thought whether he was worthy of + being loved. He was indeed more worthy of love than many to whom it is + freely given; but he knew no more about it, I say, than a chicken in the + shell knows of the blue sky. The shabby spinster, living with her cousin + the baker in the house opposite, knew a hundred times better than he what + the word <i>love</i> meant: she had a history, he had none. + </p> + <p> + I will not describe the house of Mortgrange. It seemed to Richard the + oldest house he had ever seen, and it moved him strangely. He said to + himself the man must be happy who called such a house his own, lived in + it, and did what he liked with it. The road they had taken brought them to + the back of the Hall, as the people on the estate called the house. The + blacksmith went to a side-door, and asked if he and his grandson might + have a look at the place: he had heard the baronet was from home! The man + said he would see; and returning presently, invited them to walk in. + </p> + <p> + Knowing his grandson's passion, Simon's main thought in taking him was to + see him in the library, with its ten thousand volumes: it would be such a + joke to watch him pondering, admiring, coveting his own! As soon, + therefore, as they were in the great hall, he asked the servant whether + they might not see the library. The man left them again, once more to make + inquiry. + </p> + <p> + It was a grand old hall where they stood, fitter for the house of a great + noble than a mere baronet; but then the family was older than any noble + family in the county, and the poor baronetcy, granted to a foolish + ancestor, on carpet considerations, by the needy hand of the dominie-king, + was no great feather in the cap of the Lestranges. The house itself was + older than any baronetcy, for no part of it was later than the time of + Elizabeth. It was of fine stone, and of great size. The hall was nearly + sixty feet in height, with three windows on one side, and a great one at + the end. They were thirty feet from the floor, had round heads, and looked + like church-windows. The other side was blank. Mid-height along the end + opposite the great window ran a gallery. + </p> + <p> + To the sudden terror of Richard, who stood absorbed in the stateliness of + the place, an organ in the gallery burst out playing. He looked up + trembling, but could see only the tops of the pipes. As the sounds rolled + along the roof, reverberated from the solid walls, and crept about the + corners, it seemed to him that the soul of the place was throbbing in his + ears the words of a poem centuries old, which he had read a day or two + before leaving London:— + </p> + <p> + “Erthe owte of erthe es wondirly wroghte, Erthe hase getyn one erthe a + dignyte of noghte, Erthe appone erthe hase sett alle his thoghte, How that + erthe appone erthe may be heghe broghte.” + </p> + <p> + As he listened, his eyes settled upon a suit of armour in position: it + became to him a man benighted, lost, forgotten in the cold; the bones were + all dusted out of him by the wintry winds; only the shell of him was left. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Lestrange is in the library, and will see Mr. Armour,” said the voice + of the servant. + </p> + <p> + An election was at hand, and at such a time certain persons are more + courteous than usual. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. <i>THE LIBRARY</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Simon and Richard followed the man through a narrow door in the thick + wall, across a wide passage, and then along a narrow one. A door was + thrown open, and they stepped into a sombre room. The floor of the hall + was of great echoing slabs of stone, but now their feet sank in the deep + silence of a soft carpet. + </p> + <p> + Here a new awe, dwelling, however, in an air of homeliness, awoke in + Richard. Around him, from floor to ceiling, was ranged a whole army of + books, mostly in fine old bindings; in spite of open window and great fire + and huge chimney, the large lofty room was redolent of them. Their odour, + however, was not altogether pleasing to Richard, whose practised organ + detected in it the signs of a blamable degree of decay. The faint effluvia + of decomposing paper, leather, paste, and glue, were to Richard as the air + of an ill-ventilated ward in the nostrils of a physician. He sniffed and + made an involuntary grimace: he had not seen Mr. Lestrange, who was close + to him, half hidden by a bookcase that stood out from the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Armour!” said Lestrange. “Your young man does not seem to + relish books!” + </p> + <p> + “In a grand place like this, sir,” remarked Richard, taking answer upon + himself, “such a library as I never saw, except, of course, at the British + Museum, it makes a man sorry to discover indications of neglect.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” returned Lestrange in displeasure. + </p> + <p> + Richard's remark was the more offensive that his superior style issued in + a comparatively common tone. Neither was there anything in the appearance + of the place to justify it. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, fearing he had been rude, “but I am a + bookbinder!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” rejoined Lestrange, taking him now for a sneaking tradesman on the + track of a big job. + </p> + <p> + “I know at once the condition of an old book by the smell of it,” pursued + Richard. “The moment I came in, I knew there must be some here in a bad + way—not in their clothes merely, but in their bodies as well—the + paper of them, I mean. Whether a man has what they call a soul or not, a + book certainly has: the paper and print are the body, and the binding is + the clothes. A gentleman I know—but he's a mystic—goes + farther, and says the paper is the body, the print the soul, and the + meaning the spirit.” + </p> + <p> + A pretty fellow to be an atheist! my reader may well think. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lestrange stared. He must be a local preacher, this blacksmith, this + bookbinder, or whatever he was! + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry you think the books hypocrites,” he said. “They look all + right!” he added, casting his eyes over the shelves before him. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind me taking down one or two?” asked Richard. “My hands are + rather black, but the colour is ingrain, as Spenser might say.” + </p> + <p> + “Do so, by all means,” answered Lestrange, curious to see how far the + fellow could support with proof the accuracy of his scent. + </p> + <p> + Richard moved three paces, and took down a volume—one of a set, the + original edition in quarto of “The Decline and Fall,” bound in + russia-leather. + </p> + <p> + “I thought so!” he said; “going!—going!—Look at the joints of + this Gibbon, sir. That's always the way with russia—now-a-days, at + least!—Smell that, grandfather! Isn't it sweet? But there's no stay + in it! Smell that joint! The leather's stone-dead!—It's the rarest + thing to see a volume bound in russia, of which the joints are not broken, + or at least cracking. These joints, you see, are gone to powder! All + russia does—sooner or later, whatever be the cause.—Just put + that joint to your nose, sir! That's part of what you smell so strong in + the room.” + </p> + <p> + He held out the book to him, but Lestrange drew back: it was not fit his + nose should stoop to the request of a tradesman! + </p> + <p> + Richard replaced the book, and took down one after another of the same + set. + </p> + <p> + “Every one, you see, sir,” he said, “going the same way! Dust to dust!” + </p> + <p> + “If they're <i>all</i> going that way,” remarked the young man, “it would + cost every stick on the estate to rebind them!” + </p> + <p> + “I should be sorry to rebind any of them. An old binding is like an old + picture! Just look at this French binding! It's very dingy, and a good + deal broken, but you never see anything like that nowadays—as mellow + as modest, and as rich as roses! Here's one says the same thing as your + grand hall out there, only in a piping voice.” + </p> + <p> + Lestrange was not exactly stuck-up; he had feared the fellow was + bumptious, and felt there was no knowing what he might say next, but by + this time had ceased to imagine his dignity in danger. The young + blacksmith's admiration of the books and of the hall pleased him, and he + became more cordial. + </p> + <p> + “Do you say <i>all</i> russia-leather behaves in the same fashion?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, now. I fancy it did not some years ago. There may be some change in + the preparation of the leather. I don't know. It is a great pity! Russia + is lovely to the eye—and to the nostrils.—May I take a look at + some of the <i>old</i> books, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you call an <i>old</i> book?” + </p> + <p> + “One not later, say, than the time of James the First.—Have you a + first folio, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Lestrange was thinking of his coming baronetcy. + </p> + <p> + “First folio?” he answered absently. “I dare say you will find a good many + first folios on the shelves!” + </p> + <p> + “I mean the folio Shakespeare of 1623. There are, of course, many folios + much scarcer! I saw one the other day that the booksellers themselves gave + eight hundred guineas for!” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” asked Lestrange carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “It was a wonderful copy—unique as to condition—of Gower's <i>Confessio + Amantis;</i>—not a <i>very</i> interesting book, though I do not + doubt Shakespeare was fond of it. You see Shakespeare could hear the + stones preaching!” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, a man may hear the sticks do that any Sunday!” + </p> + <p> + “True enough, sir, ha-ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you read Gower, then?” + </p> + <p> + “A good deal of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it that same precious copy you read him in?” + </p> + <p> + “It was; but I hadn't time for more than about the half. I must finish on + another edition, I fear.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you get hold of a book of such value?” + </p> + <p> + “The booksellers who bought it, asked me to take it into my hospital. It + wanted just a little, a very little patching. The copy in the museum is + not to compare to it.” + </p> + <p> + “You say it was not interesting?” + </p> + <p> + “Not <i>very</i> interesting, I said, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you read so much of it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “When a book is hard to come at, you are the more ready to read it when + you have the chance.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that's why one borrows his neighbour's books and don't read his + own! I seldom take one down from those shelves.” + </p> + <p> + Richard felt as if a wall was broken down between them. + </p> + <p> + All the time they talked, old Simon stood beside, pleased to note how well + his grandson could hold up the ball with the young squire, but saying + nothing. If the matter had been hoof of horse, cow, or ass, he would not + have been silent: he knew hoofs better than Richard knew books. + </p> + <p> + Richard took down a small folio, the back of which looked much too soft + and loose. Opening it, he found what he expected—a wreck. It was + hardly fit to be called any more a book. The clothes had forsaken the + body, or rather the body had decayed away from the clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here!” he said. “Here is Cowley's Poems—in such a state + that I doubt if anything would ever make a book of it again. I thought by + the back all was wrong inside! See how the leaves have come away singly: + the paper itself is rotten! I doubt if there is any way to make paper so + far gone as this hold together. I know a good deal can be done, and I must + learn what is known. I shan't be master of my trade till I know all that + can be done now to stop such a book from crumbling into dust! Then I may + find out something more!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for that one, I don't think it matters: Cowley ain't much!” said + Lestrange, throwing the volume on a table. “I remember once taking down + the book, and trying to read some of it: I could not; it's the dullest + rubbish ever written.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not so bad as that, sir!” answered Richard, and taking up the book + he turned the leaves with light, practiced hand. “He was counted the + greatest poet of his day, and no age loves dullness! Listen a moment, sir; + I will read only one stanza.” + </p> + <p> + He had found the “Hymn to the Light,” and read:— + </p> + <p> + “First born of <i>Chaos</i>, who so fair didst come From the old Negro's + darksome womb! Which when it saw the lovely Child, The melancholy Mass put + on kind looks and smil'd.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see much in that!” said Lestrange, as Richard closed the book, + and glanced up expectant. + </p> + <p> + Richard was silent for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate,” he returned, “it is necessary to the understanding of our + history, that we should know the kind of thing admired and called good at + any given time of it: so our lecturer at King's used to tell us.” + </p> + <p> + “At King's!” cried Lestrange. + </p> + <p> + “King's college, London, I mean,” said Richard. “They have evening classes + there, to which a man can go after his day's work. My father always took + care I should have time for anything I wanted to do. I go still when I am + at home—not always, but when the lecturer takes up any special + subject I want to know more about.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be an author yourself some day, I suppose!” + </p> + <p> + “There's little hope or fear of that, sir! But I can't bear not to know + what's in my very hands. I can't be content with the outsides of the books + I bind. It seems a shame to come so near light and never see it shine. If + I were a tailor, I should learn anatomy. I know one tailor who is as + familiar with the human form as any sculptor in London—more, + perhaps!” + </p> + <p> + Lestrange began to feel uncomfortable. If he let this prodigy go on + talking and asking questions, he would find out how little he knew about + anything! But Richard was no prodigy. He was only a youth capable of + interest in everything, with the stimulus of not finding the fountains of + knowledge at his very door, and the aid of having to work all day at some + pleasant task, nearly associated with higher things that he loved better. + He did know a good deal for his age, but not so very much for his + opportunity, his advantages being great. Most men who learn would learn + more, I suspect, if they had work to do, and difficulty in the way of + learning. Those counted high among Richard's advantages. He was, besides, + considerably attracted by the mechanics of literature—a department + little cultivated by those who have most need of what grows in it. + </p> + <p> + Further talk followed. Lestrange grew interested in the phenomenon of a + blacksmith that bound books and read them. He began to dream of patronage + and responsive devotion. What a thing it would be for him, in after years, + with the cares of property and parliament combining to curtail his + leisure, to have such a man at his beck, able to gather the information he + desired, and to reduce, tabulate, and embody it so as to render his chief + the best-informed man in the House! while at other times he would manage + for him his troublesome tenants, and upon occasion shoe his wife's + favourite horse! He could also depend upon him to provide, from the rich + stores of his memory, suitable quotations when he wished to make a speech! + Lestrange had never thought whether the wish to <i>appear</i> might not + indicate the duty to <i>be</i>; had never seen that, until he <i>was</i>, + to desire to <i>appear</i> was to cherish the soul of a sneak. He had no + notion of anything but the look; no notion that, having made a good + speech, he would deserve an atom the less praise for it that he could not + have made it without his secretary. Did any one think the less of clearing + a five-barred gate, he would have answered, that it could not be done + without a horse? Where was the difference? A man you paid to be your + secretary, still more a man whose education to be your secretary you had + paid for—was he not yours in a way at least analogous to that in + which a horse was yours? He could break away from you more easily, no + doubt, but a man knew better than a horse on which side his bread was + buttered! + </p> + <p> + “I think, squire, I'll go and have a pipe with the coachman!” said the + blacksmith at length. + </p> + <p> + “As you please, Armour,” answered Lestrange. “I will take care of your—nephew, + is he?” + </p> + <p> + “My grandson, sir—from London.” + </p> + <p> + “All right! There's good stuff in the breed, Armour!—I will bring + him to you.” + </p> + <p> + Richard went on taking down book after book, and showing his host how much + they required attention. + </p> + <p> + “And you could set all right for—?—for how much?” asked + Lestrange. + </p> + <p> + “That no one could say. It would, however, cost little more than time and + skill. The material would not come to much. Only, where the paper itself + is in decay, I do not know about that. I have learned nothing in that + department yet.” + </p> + <p> + “For generations none of us have cared about books—that must be why + they have gone so to the bad!—the books, I mean,” he added with a + laugh. “There was a bishop, and I think there was a poet, somewhere in the + family; but my father—hm!—I doubt if he would care to lay out + money on the library!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him,” suggested Richard, “that it is a very valuable library—at + least so it appears to me from the little I have seen of it; but I am sure + of this, that it is rapidly sinking in value. After another twenty years + of neglect it would not fetch half the price it might easily be brought up + to now.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that that would weigh much with him. So long as he sees the + shelves full, and the book-backs all right, he won't want anything better. + He cares only how things look.” + </p> + <p> + “But the whole look of the library is growing worse—gradually, it is + true, and in a measure it can't be helped—but faster than you would + think, and faster than it ought. The backs, which, from a library point of + view, are the faces of the books, may, up to a certain moment, look well, + and after that go much more rapidly. I fear damp is getting at these from + somewhere!” + </p> + <p> + “Would you undertake to set all right, if my father made you a reasonable + offer?” + </p> + <p> + “I would—provided I found no injury beyond the scope of my + experience.” + </p> + <p> + Richard spoke in book-fashion: he was speaking about books, and to a + social superior! he was not really pompous. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if my father should come to see the thing as I do, I will let you + know. Then will be the time for a definite understanding!” + </p> + <p> + “The best way would be that I should come and work for a set time: by the + progress I made, and what I cost, you could judge.” + </p> + <p> + Lestrange rang the bell, and ordered the attendant to take the young man + to his grandfather. + </p> + <p> + The two wandered together over the grounds, and Richard saw much to admire + and wonder at, but nothing to approach the hall or the library. + </p> + <p> + On their way home, Simon, to his grandson's surprise, declared himself in + favour of his working at the Mortgrange library. But the idea tickled his + fancy so much, that Richard wondered at the oddity of his grandfather's + behaviour. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. <i>ALICE.</i> + </h2> + <p> + Soon after his visit to Mortgrange, the young bookbinder went home, + recalled at last by his parents. John Tuke was shocked with the hardness + and blackness of his hands, and called his wife's attention to them. She, + however, perhaps from nearer alliance with the smithy, professed to regard + their condition as by no means a serious matter. She could not, + nevertheless, quite conceal her regret, for she was proud of her boy's + hands. + </p> + <p> + Richard supposed of course that his father's annoyance came only from the + fear that his touch would be no longer sufficiently delicate for certain + parts of his work; and certainly, when he looked at them, he thought the + points of his fingers were broader than before, and was a little anxious + lest they should have lost something of their cunning. He did not know + that mechanical faculty, for fine work as well as rough, goes in general + with square-pointed fingers. Delicately tapered fingers, whatever they may + indicate in the way of artistic invention, are not the fingers of the + painter or the sculptor. The finest fingers of the tapering kind I have + ever seen, were those of a distinguished chemist of the last generation. + Eager to satisfy both his father and himself, that the hands of the + bookmender had not degenerated more than his skill could counteract, + Richard selected, from a few that were waiting his return, the book + worthiest of his labour, set to work, and by a thorough success quickly + effected his purpose. + </p> + <p> + He was now, however, anxious, before doing anything else, to learn all + that was known for the restoration and repair of the insides of books. In + this an old-bookseller, a friend of his father, was able to give him no + little help, putting him up to wrinkles not a few. Richard was surprised + to see how, with a penknife, on a bit of glass, he would pare the edge of + a scrap of paper to half the thickness, in order to place two such edges + together, and join them without a scar. He taught him how to clean + letterpress and engravings from ferruginous, fungous, and other kinds of + spots. He made him acquainted with a process which considerably + strengthened paper that had become weak in its cohesion; and when Richard + would make further experiment, he supplied him with valueless letterpress + to work upon. His time was thus more than ever occupied. For many weeks he + scarcely even read. + </p> + <p> + It was not long, however, before he bethought him that he must see Arthur. + He went the same evening to call on him, but found other people in the + house, who could tell him nothing about the family that had left. His aunt + said she had seen Alice once, and knew they were going, but did not know + where they were gone. Richard would have inquired at the house in the City + where Arthur was employed, but he did not know even the name of the firm. + Once, from the top of an omnibus, he saw him—in the same shabby old + comforter, looking feebler and paler and more depressed than ever; but + when he got down, he had lost sight of him, and though he ran hither and + thither, looking up this street and that, he recovered no glimpse of him. + The selfish mother and the wasting children came back to him vividly as he + walked sadly home. + </p> + <p> + He had counted Alice the nicest girl he had ever seen, but since going to + the country had not thought much about her; and now, since seeing the + fairy-like lady with the big brown mare, he had a higher idea of the + feminine. But although therefore he would not have thought the pale, + sweet-faced dressmaker quite so pleasing as before, he would, because of + the sad look into which her countenance always settled, have felt her + quite as interesting. + </p> + <p> + Richard had not yet arrived at any readiness to fall in love. It is well + when this readiness is delayed until the individuality is sufficiently + developed to have its own demands. I venture to think one cause of + unhappiness in marriages is, that each person's peculiar self, was not, at + the time of engagement, sufficiently grown for a natural selection of the + suitable, that is, the <i>correspondent;</i> and that the development + which follows is in most cases the development of what is reciprocally + non-correspondent, and works for separation and not approximation. The + only thing to overcome this or any other disjunctive power, is development + in the highest sense, that is, development of the highest and deepest in + us—which can come only by doing right. The man who is growing to be + one with his own nature, that is, one with God who is the <i>naturing</i> + nature, is coming nearer and nearer to every one of his fellow-beings. + This may seem a long way round to love, but it is the only road by which + we can arrive at true love of any kind; and he who does not walk in it, + will one day find himself on the verge of a gulf of hate. + </p> + <p> + Individuality, forestalled by indifference, had no chance of keeping sir + Wilton and lady Ann apart, but certainly had done nothing to bring them + together. Where all is selfishness on both sides, what other + correspondences may exist will hardly come into play. The loss of the + unloved heir had perhaps done a little to approximate them; but they + speedily ceased to hold any communication of ideas on the matter. As they + did nothing to recover him, so they seemed to take almost no thought as to + his existence or non-existence. If he were alive, neither father nor + stepmother had the least desire to discover him. Answering honestly, each + would have chosen that he should remain unheard of. As to the possibility + of his dying in want, or being brought up in wickedness, that did not + trouble either of them. His stepmother did not think the more tenderly of + another woman's child that she cared for her own children only because + they were hers. If you could have got the idea into the pinched soul of + lady Ann, that the human race is one family, it would but have enhanced + her general dislike, her feeble enmity to humanity. When she did or said + anything to displease him, sir Wilton would sometimes hint at a new + advertisement, but she did not much heed the threat. On the whole, + however, they had got on better than might have been expected, partly in + virtue of her sharp tongue and her thick skin, which combination of the + offensive and defensive put sir Wilton at a disadvantage: however sharp + his retort might be, she never felt it, but went on; and harping does not + always mean such pleasant music, that you want to keep the harper awake. + She had brought him four children—Arthur, the one whose acquaintance + Richard had made, a younger brother who promised foully, and two girls—the + elder common in feature and slow in wits, but with eyes and a heart; the + younger clever and malicious. + </p> + <p> + One stormy winter night, as Richard was returning from a house in Park + Crescent, to which he had carried home a valuable book restored to + strength and some degree of aged beauty, from one of the narrow openings + on the east side of Regent Street, came a girl, fighting with the wind and + a weak-ribbed umbrella, and ran buffeted against him, notwithstanding his + endeavour to leave her room. The collision was very slight, but she looked + up and begged his pardon. It was Alice. Before he could speak, she gave a + cry, and went from him in blind haste as fast as she could go; but with + the fierce wind, her perturbation, and the unruliness of the umbrella, + which she was vainly trying to close that she might run the better, she + struck full against a lamp-post, and stood like one stunned and on the + point of falling. Richard, however, was close behind her, and put an arm + round her. She did not resist; she was indeed but half-conscious. The same + moment he saw a cab and hailed it. The man heard and came. Richard lifted + her into it, and got in after her. But Alice came to herself, got up, and + leaning out of the cab on the street side, tried to open the door. Richard + caught her, drew her back, and made her sit down again. + </p> + <p> + “Richard! Richard!” she cried, as she yielded to his superior strength, + and burst into tears, “where are you taking me?” + </p> + <p> + “Wherever you like, Alice. You shall tell the cabman yourself. What is the + matter with you? Don't be angry with me. It is not my fault that I have + not been to see you and Arthur. You went away, and nobody could tell me + where to find you! Give the cabman your address, Alice.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going home,” sobbed Alice. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, then? I will go with you. You're not fit to go + anywhere alone! I'm afraid you're badly hurt!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Do let me out. Indeed, indeed, you must!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I won't! You'll drop down and be left to the police! It's + horrible to think of you out in such a night! Come home with me. If you + are in any trouble, my mother will help you.” + </p> + <p> + Here Alice, who had yielded to the pressure with which Richard held her, + broke from him, and pushed him away. Richard put his other arm across, and + laid hold of the door of the cab, telling the man to get up on his box, + and have a little patience. He obeyed, and Richard turned again to Alice. + </p> + <p> + “Richard,” she said, “your mother would kill me!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” he rejoined; “what a fancy! My mother!” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen her since you went. She made me promise—” + </p> + <p> + But there Alice stopped, and Richard could get from her nothing but + entreaties to be let out. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't,” she said at last, growing desperate, “I will scream.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me take you at least, then, a little nearer where you want to go,” + pleaded Richard. + </p> + <p> + “No! no I set me down.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me where you live.” + </p> + <p> + “I daren't.” + </p> + <p> + “I must see my old friend, Arthur! and why shouldn't I see his sister? My + father and mother ain't tyrants! They know what that would make of me! + They let me go where I please, or give a good reason why I should not.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they'll do that fast enough!” returned Alice, in a tone of mingled + despair and scorn. “But,” she added immediately, “the worst of it is, + they'll be in the right. Let me out, Richard, or I shall hate you!” + </p> + <p> + But with the word she dropped her head on his shoulder, and sobbed as if + her heart would sob its last. + </p> + <p> + He made repeated attempts to soothe her, but, as he made them, he felt + them foolish, for he saw that nothing would alter her determination to be + set down. + </p> + <p> + “Must I leave you, then, on this very spot?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes! here—here!” she answered, and rose with apparent + eagerness to get away from him. + </p> + <p> + He got out, and turned to her, but she did not accept his offered help. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you shake hands with me?” he said. “I did not mean to offend you!” + </p> + <p> + She answered nothing, but hurried away a step or two, then turned and + lifted her arms as if to embrace him, but turned again instantly, and fled + away among the shadows of the wildly flickering lamps. By the time he had + paid the cabman, he saw it would be useless to follow, for she was out of + sight. + </p> + <p> + The wide street was almost deserted; its lamps shuddered flaring and + streaming and darkening in the fierce gusts of the wind. A vague army of + evil things seemed to start up and come crowding between him and Alice. He + turned homeward, with a sense of loss and a great sadness at his heart, + unable even to speculate as to the cause of Alice's behaviour. All he knew + was, that his mother had something to do with it. For the first time since + childhood, he felt angry with his mother. + </p> + <p> + “She fancies,” he said to himself, “that I am in love with the girl, and + she thinks her not good enough for me! I'm not in love with her; but <i>any</i> + good girl I cared for, I should count good enough! When my mother's turn + comes, off she goes to the rest of the social tyrants that look down on a + brother because he can do twenty things they can't! If the world went out + of gear, would <i>they</i> make it go! I'll be fair whatever I be! It'll + be my mother's own fault if I fall in love with Alice! She has made me + pity her with all my heart—the poor, white thing!—so thin and + pinched, and such big eyes! It would be just bliss to have a creature like + that to trust you, so that you could comfort her! What can my mother have + said to her? She has made her awfully miserable, anyhow! Perhaps her + mother drinks!—What if she do! Alice don't!” + </p> + <p> + He was determined to have some explanation from his mother. But she foiled + him. The moment she saw what he meant, she turned away, listened in + silence, and spoke with a decision that savoured of anger. + </p> + <p> + “They're not people your father and I will have you know,” she said, + without looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “But why, mother?” asked Richard. + </p> + <p> + “We're not bound to explain everything to you, Richard. It ought to be + enough that we <i>have</i> a good reason.” + </p> + <p> + “If it be a good reason, why shouldn't I know it, mother?” he persisted. + “Good things don't require to be hidden.” + </p> + <p> + “That's very true; they do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why hide this one?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it is not good.” + </p> + <p> + “You said it was a good reason!” + </p> + <p> + “So it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Good and not good! How can that be?” said Richard, with a great lack of + logic. By this time he ought to have been able to see that the worst of + facts may be the best of reasons. + </p> + <p> + His mother held her peace, knowing she was right, but not knowing how to + answer what she thought his cleverness. + </p> + <p> + “I mean to go and see them, mother,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You'll repent it, Richard. The woman is not respectable!” + </p> + <p> + “She won't bite me!” + </p> + <p> + “There's worse than biting!” + </p> + <p> + “I allow,” pursued Richard, “she may take a drop too much; her nose does + look a little suspicious! But if she ain't what she should be, it's hard + lines Arthur and Alice should suffer for the sins of their mother.” + </p> + <p> + “The Bible says the sins of the fathers are visited on the children.” + </p> + <p> + “The Bible! If the Bible says what ain't right, are we to do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Richard, I'll have no such word spoken again in my house!” exclaimed his + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to turn me out, mother, because I say we should not do what + is wrong, whoever tells us to?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Richard! You said the Bible said what was wrong; and that's + blasphemy!” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you say, mother, that the Bible said we ought to visit the sins of + the fathers on the children?” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid!” cried the poor woman, driven almost to distraction; “I said + nothing of the kind! That would be awful! What the Bible says is, that God + does so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if God chooses, we must leave him to do as he chooses—not do + likewise!” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, surely, Richard! If <i>he</i> does it, he knows what he's about, + and we don't.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, mother! Then tell me where Arthur and Alice are gone. I want + to go and see them.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. In fact, I took care not to know, that I mightn't be able + to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind why. I don't know where they are, and couldn't tell you if I + would.” + </p> + <p> + Richard turned angrily away, and went to his room, weary and annoyed. In + the morning his mother said to him— + </p> + <p> + “Richard, I can't bear there should be any misunderstanding between you + and me! The moment you are one and twenty, ask me and I will tell you why + I would not have you knowing those people. Believe me, I was right to stop + it, for fear of what might follow.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are afraid of my falling in love with a girl you don't think good + enough for me, you have taken the wrong way to keep me from thinking about + her, mother. You remember the costermonger whose family quarrelled with + him for marrying beneath him? If a girl be a good girl, she is good for + me, whether she be the daughter of the cats'-meat-man or of a royal duke! + I know that's not the way people who call themselves Christians think! + They want, of course, to keep up the selfishness of the breed!” + </p> + <p> + It was horribly rude, and Jane burst into tears. Richard's heart softened. + It is well our hearts are sometimes in advance of our consciences—we + are so slow to recognize injustice in defence of the right! Richard's + wrong to his mother was a lack of faith in her. Where he did not + understand and she would not explain, he did not even give her the benefit + of the doubt. He treated her just as many of us, calling ourselves + Christians, treat the Father—not in words, perhaps, or even in + definite thoughts, but in feelings and actions. + </p> + <p> + “You will be sorry for this one day, Richard!” she sobbed. “Whatever I do + is from care over you!” + </p> + <p> + “To wrong another for my sake, never can be any good to me. If money + wrong-got be a curse, so is any good wrong-got.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't trust me, Richard! My own father is a blacksmith: why should I + look down upon a dressmaker?” + </p> + <p> + “That's just what I think, mother!—Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't!” returned Mrs. Tuke—and there she paused: another step + might bring her to the edge of the gulf! + </p> + <p> + Richard looked at her moodily for a moment, then turned away to the + workshop; where, after his ill success with his mother, he was hardly less + disinclined to challenge his father than before, for he knew him + inexpugnable. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. <i>MORTGRANGE.</i> + </h2> + <p> + In the spring came a letter from young Lestrange, through Simon Armour, + asking Richard upon what terms he would undertake the work wanted in the + library. + </p> + <p> + He handed the letter to his father, and they held a consultation. + </p> + <p> + “There's this to be considered,” said the bookbinder, “that, if you go + there, you lose your connection here—in a measure, at least. + Therefore you cannot do the work at the same rate as in your own shop.” + </p> + <p> + “On the other hand, I should have my keep.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, and of course is something; but I think it may fairly be + held to do no more than make up for the advantages of living in London—your + classes, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow I must be paid so much a month, and do what I can in the time. I + couldn't charge by the individual job in a man's own house!—The + thing I am afraid of is, that, not knowing the niceties of the work, they + may fancy I don't do enough.” + </p> + <p> + “In the other way they would fancy you charged too much, and that would + come to the same thing!—But they will at least discover that you + keep to your hours and stick to your work!—We must calculate by what + the best hands in the trade get a week!” + </p> + <p> + The terms they concluded to ask appeared to Lestrange reasonable. He + proposed then that Richard should bind himself for not less than a year, + while Lestrange reserved the right of giving him a month's notice; and + these points being willingly assented to by Richard, an agreement was + drawn up and signed—much to the satisfaction of Simon Armour, whose + first thought was that the work would not be too hard for Richard to want + a little exercise at the forge after hours. Richard, however, well as he + liked the anvil, was not so sure about this: there might be books to read + after he had done his day's duty by their garments! He had half laid out + for himself a plan of study in his leisure time, he said. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely evening when he arrived at Mortgrange from his + grandfather's. He was shown to his new quarters in the old mansion by the + housekeeper, an elderly, worthy creature, with the air of a hostess. She + liked the young man; the honest friendliness of his carriage pleased her. + He was handsome too, though not strikingly so, and his expression was + better than any handsomeness, inspiring the honest with confidence, and + giving little hope to the designing. His brave outlook, not bold so much + as fearless, and his ready smile, seemed those of a man more prepared than + eager to do his part in the world. He was well set up, and of good figure, + for the slight roundness of his shoulders had almost disappeared. The + poise of his head, and the proportions of his limbs, left nothing to be + desired. His foster-parents had encouraged him in every manly exercise, + for they were wise enough to have regard to the impression he must make at + first sight: they would have it easy to believe that he might be what they + were about to swear he was. Nor had his sojourn with his grandfather been + the least factor in the result that he sat down to his work as lightly as + a gentleman to his dinner, turned from it as if he had been playing a game + instead of earning his bread, and altogether gave the impression of being + a painter or sculptor rather than a tradesman. There was that in his + bearing which suggested a will rather than necessity to labour. + </p> + <p> + “Here is your room, young man,” said Mrs. Locke. + </p> + <p> + It was a large, rather neglected chamber, at the end of a long passage on + the second floor—the very room out of which one midnight he had been + borne in terror, twenty years before, by the woman he called his mother. + </p> + <p> + “And I hope you will find yourself comfortable,” continued the old lady, + in a tone that implied—“You ought to be!”—“If you want + anything, or have anything to complain of, let me know,” she added. “—I + thought it better not to put you in the servant's quarters!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am,” said Richard. “This is a beautiful room for me! Do you + know, ma'am, where I'm to work?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not been informed,” she answered, as she left the room. “Mr. + Lestrange will see to that.” + </p> + <p> + Richard went to the window. Before him spread an extensive but somewhat + bare park, for the trees in it were rather few. Some of them, however, + were grand ones: many had been cut down, but a few of the finest left. A + sea of grass lay in every direction, with islands of clumps and thickets, + and vague shores of hedge and wood and ploughed field. On the grass were + cattle and sheep and fallow deer. On this side, nothing came between the + park and the house. + </p> + <p> + The day was late in the spring; summer was close at hand. There had been + rain all the morning and afternoon, but the clouds were clearing away as + now the sun went down. Everything was wet, but the undried tears of the + day flashed in the sunset. Nature looked a child whose gladness had come, + but who could not stop crying: so heartily had she gone in for sorrow, + that her mind was shaped to weeping. Most of the clouds, late so dark and + sullen, were putting on garments of light, as if resolved to forgive and + forget, and leave no doubt of it. But the sun did not look satisfied with + his day's work. Slant across the world to Richard's window came the last + of his vanishing rays, blinding him as he brooded, and obliterating all + between them in a throbbing splendour; yet somehow the sun seemed sad, as + if atonement had come too late. The edge extreme of the glory vanished; a + moment's cloud followed; and then, when the radiance of him who was gone + grew rosy and golden above his grave, Richard began to see much that his + presence had been hiding. But the revelation did not linger long. The + clouds closed on the twilight, the world grew almost dismal, and the + sadness crept into Richard; or was it not rather that his own hidden + sadness rose up to meet the sadness of the world? Yet, even as he became + aware of it, something in him recognised it as a thing foreign to the + human heart: “We were not made for this!” he said. “—We are not + here, I mean,” he corrected himself, “—we have not sprung into being + in order to be sad! There is no reason in sadness! There is cause enough, + man at least knows, but essential reason at the heart of its existence + there is none!—Whence, then, comes this mistake, this sadness?” he + went on with himself. “Why should there be so much of it in the world? Is + it that, as for all other good things, a man must put forth his will for + joy? It is plain a man must assert what is highest in him, else he cannot + lay hold of the best: must a man will to be glad, else deserve to be + sorrowful?” He began to whistle. “I will be glad!” he said, “even in the + midst of a world of rain!—Yet again, why should the mere look of a + rainy night make it needful for me to assert joy and resist sadness?—After + all, what is there to be merry about, in this best of possible worlds? I + like going to the theatre; but if I don't like the play, am I to be + pleased all the same, sit it out with smiles, and applaud at the end?—I + don't see what there is to make me miserable, and I don't see what there + is to make me glad!” + </p> + <p> + Would it have cast any light either on Richard's gloom or his perplexity, + had he been told that, in the place where he stood staring out on the + gray, formless twilight, his mother had often sought refuge, and tasted + the comfort of an assuagement of splendour. She had not appropriated the + room, and it was some time before the household knew that she was in the + way of going there: it was awkwardly situated in a remote part of the + house and rarely used—which made its attraction for lady Lestrange. + But the faithful sister did not forget where she had once found her on her + knees weeping, and chose it for herself and her charge when she was gone. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes Richard arrived at the conclusion that he would be all + right as soon as he got among the wine-bins of the library. He did not + reflect how little of a man is he whose sense of well-being is at the + mercy of a Scotch mist or a cloudy twilight. Neither did he put to himself + the question whether the mending of the old leather bottles in which lie + stored the varied wines of the human spirit, ought to be labour and + gladness enough for the soul of a man. It is a poor substitute for food + that helps us to forget the want of it. But how can we wonder when he + would have no father, and claimed the black Negation, the grandmother of + Chaos, as his mother! Yet was it the presence all the time of that father + he refused that made it possible for him to drink the water of any poorest + little well of salvation that sprang in the field of his life; and such a + well was his work among books. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. <i>THE BEECH-TREE</i>. + </h2> + <p> + He went to bed, and after a dreamless night, rose to find the world + overflowed with bliss. The sun was at his best, and every water-drop on + the grass was shining all the colours of the rainbow. Surely the gems that + are dug from the earth have their prototype in the dew-drops that lie on + its surface. One might in a moment of sweet maundering imagine Nature + hiding those sunless dew-drops of the mines in the darkness of a sweet + sorrow that the youth of the morning must be so evanescent. + </p> + <p> + The whole world lay before Richard his inheritance. The sunlight gave it + him, a gift from the height of his heaven. What was it to Richard that the + park, its trees, its grass, its dew-drops, its cattle, its shadows, + belonged to sir Wilton! He never even thought of the fact! He felt them + his own! Was the soft, clear, fresh, damp air, with all the unreachable + soul of it, not his, because it was sir Wilton's? + </p> + <p> + The highest property, as Dante tells us, increases to each by the sharing + of it with others. But the common mind does not care for such property. + Was not the blue, uplifted, hoping sky, that spoke to the sky inside + Richard—was not that sir Wilton's? Yes, indeed; for were it not sir + Wilton's, it could not be Richard's. But sir Wilton did not claim it, + because he did not care for it, heard no sound of the speech it uttered. + Happy would it have been for sir Wilton, that anything he called his, was + his as it was Richard's! He could not prevent Richard from possessing + Mortgrange in a way he himself did not and would not possess it. But + neither yet were they Richard's in the full eternal way. Nature was a + noble lady whose long visit made him glad; she was not yet at her own home + in his house. There were things in the world that might come in and drive + her out. Say rather, there was yet no chamber in that house in which she + could take up her dwelling all night. + </p> + <p> + The setting sun had made Richard sad; his resurrection made him blessed! + He dressed in haste, and went to find his way from the house. + </p> + <p> + Arrived in the park, and walking in cool delight on the wet grass, he + began to think about the men and the races whom the greed of other men and + races had pinched and shouldered and squeezed from the world. He thought + of the men who, by preventing others and refusing to let them share, + imagine to increase the length and breadth and depth of their own + possessing; and thus by degrees he fell into a retributive mood. What + should, what could, what would be done with such men? + </p> + <p> + “As they refuse their neighbours ground to stand upon,” he said to + himself, “as the very cubic space they cannot disrobe them of they + begrudge them because it measures from what they count their land, I + should like to know how high their possession goes! Is there any law that + lays that down? To what point above him can the landowner complain of + trespass in the gliding or hovering balloon? When hawking comes in again, + as it will one day, by the law of revival, at what height will another + man's falcon be an intruder on him who stands gazing up from his corn? + Were I a power in the universe, I would cram the air over the heads of + such incarnate greeds with clouds of souls! The sun should reach them only + through the vapours of other life than theirs, inimical to them because of + their selfishness. I would set the dead burrowing beneath them, so that + the land they boast should heave under their feet with the writhing of the + bodies they drove from the surface into the deeps. They should have but a + carpet, wallowing in the waves of a continuous live earthquake. I know I + am thinking like a fool; but surely at least there ought to be some set + season for Truth and Justice to return to the forsaken earth! Are we for + ever to bear without hope the presence of the cruel, the vulgar + self-souled, the neighbour-crushing rich? Are the wicked the favourites of + Nature, that they flourish like a green bay-tree? Doubtless it is right to + forgive—but how to be able? Nobody has ever done me any harm yet; I + have nothing to complain of; it cannot be revenge in me that longs for + something, call it God, or Nature, or Justice, that will repay!—God + it cannot be; but something sure there must be to which vengeance + belongs!” + </p> + <p> + He might have gone further in his thinking, and perhaps come to ask what + satisfaction there could be in any vengeance, so long as the evil-doer + remained unhumbled by the perception and the shame of his doing, was + neither sorry for it nor turned away from it—in a word, did not + repent; but there came an interruption. + </p> + <p> + He was walking slowly along, unheeding where he went, when he heard a + sound that made him look up. Then he saw that he was under a great beech, + and the sound seemed to come from somewhere in the top of it—a sound + like the pleased cooing of a dove. He looked hard into the branches and + their wilderness of fresh leaves, but could descry nothing. Then came a + little laugh, and with a preparatory rustling and rustling in its passage, + a book—a small folio—fell plump at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Will you please put it in the library!” said a voice he had heard before—long + before, it seemed—but had not forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “I will bring it to you—at least I would, if I could see where you + are!” answered Richard, gazing with yet keener search into the thick mass + of leaf-cloud over his head. + </p> + <p> + “No, no; I don't want more of it. I can't see you, and don't know who you + are; but please take the book, and lay it on the middle table in the + library. It may be hurt, and I don't want to come down just yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, miss!” answered Richard; “I will.—The fall from such a + height, and through all those branches, must have done it quite enough + harm already!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!—I never thought of that!” said the voice. + </p> + <p> + Richard took up the book, and walked away with it, pondering. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible,” he said to himself, “that the little lady, whose big + mare I shod last year, is up there in that tree? It must be her voice!—I + cannot, surely, be mistaken!—But how on earth, or rather how in + heaven, did she get up? Yet why shouldn't she climb as well as any other? + It must be as easy as riding that huge mare. And then she's not like other + ladies! She's not of the ordinary breed of this planet! Which of them + would have spoken to a blacksmith-lad as she spoke to me! Who but herself + would have tied up a scratch in a working man's hand!” + </p> + <p> + He was right so far: she could climb as no other in that county, no other, + perhaps, in England, man or boy or girl, could climb. She was like a + squirrel at climbing; and for the last few mornings, the weather having + grown decidedly summery, had gone before breakfast to say her prayers in + that tree. + </p> + <p> + Richard carried the book to the house—it was Pope's Letters—found + his way to the library, and laid it where she said, hoping she would come + to seek it, and that he might then be present. Would she recognize the + fellow that shod her mare? he wondered. + </p> + <p> + He could do nothing till he knew where he was to work, and therefore, + after breakfast in the servants' hall, he asked one of the men to let him + know when Mr. Lestrange would see him, and went to his room. + </p> + <p> + Richard had not yet become aware of any moral pressure. The duty of + aspiration or self-conquest, had never in any shape been forced upon him, + and his conscience had not made him acquainted with it. What is called a + good conscience is often but a dull one that gives no trouble when it + ought to bark loudest; but Richard's was not of that sort, and yet was + very much at ease. I may say for him that he had done nothing he knew to + be bad at the moment; and very little that he had to be ashamed of + afterwards, either at school or since he left it. Partly through the care + of his parents, he had never got into what is called bad company, had + formed no undesirable intimacies. He had a natural cleanliness, a natural + sense of the becoming, which did much to keep him from evil: he could not + consent to regard himself with disgust, and he would have been easily + disgusted with himself. If he did not, as I have indicated, set himself + with any conscious effort to rise above himself, he did do something + against sinking below himself. The books he chose were almost all of the + better sort. He had instinctively laid aside some in which he recognized a + degrading influence. + </p> + <p> + But here let me remark that it depends partly on the degree of a man's + moral development, whether this or that book will be to him degrading or + otherwise. A book which one man ought to scorn, may be of elevating + tendency to another, because it is a little above his present moral + condition. A book which to enjoy would harm a more delicate mind, may <i>perhaps</i> + benefit the nature that would have chosen a coarser book still. We cannot + determine the operation of energies, when we do not know on what moral + level they are at work. The dead may be left to bury their dead; it would + be sad to see an angel haunting a charnel-house. + </p> + <p> + I have been led into this digression through the desire to give an + approximate idea of the good, rather vacant, unselfish, and yet + self-contented, if not self-satisfied condition of Richard's being. + </p> + <p> + He got out a manuscript-book in which he was in the habit of setting down + whatever came to him, and wrote for some time, happily making more than + one spot of ink on the toilet-cover, which served to open the eyes of Mrs. + Locke to her mistake in thinking a workman would not want a writing-table; + so that before the next evening he found in his chamber everything + comfortable for writing, as well as for sleeping and dressing. + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted by the entrance of a servant with the message that Mr. + Lestrange was in the morning-room, and wished to see him. + </p> + <p> + He followed the man and found Lestrange at the breakfast-table, with a + tall young woman, very ordinary-looking, except for her large, soft, dark + eyes, and the little lady whose mare he had shod, and whose voice he had + that morning heard from the tree-top. + </p> + <p> + He advanced half-way to the table, and stood. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there you are!” said Lestrange, glancing up, and immediately + reverting to his plate. “We've got to set to work, haven't we?” + </p> + <p> + He had, I presume, found the ladies not uninterested in the restoration + that was about to be initiated, and had therefore sent for Richard while + breakfast was going on. + </p> + <p> + The fledgling baronet, except for his too favourable opinion of himself, + in which he was unlike only a very few, and an amount of assumption not + small toward his supposed inferiors, was not a disagreeable human, and now + spoke pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered Richard. “Shall I wait outside until you have done + breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + He feared the servant might have made a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “I sent for you,” replied Lestrange curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sir. I have not yet learned whether the tools I sent on have + been delivered, but there will be plenty to do in the way of preparation.—May + I ask if you have settled where I am to work, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I had not thought of that!” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me, sir, that the library itself would suit best; that is, if + I might have a good-sized kitchen-table in it, and roll up half the + carpet. When I had to beat a book I could take it into the passage, or + just outside the window. Nothing else would make any dust.” + </p> + <p> + Lestrange had been thinking how to have the binder under his eye, and yet + not seem to watch a fellow so much above his notion of a working man; the + family made very little use of the library, and Richard's proposal seemed + just the thing. He would be sure to stick to his work where some one might + any moment be coming in! + </p> + <p> + “I don't see any difficulty,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I should want a little fire for my glue-pot and polishing-iron. There + will be gilding and lettering too, though I hope not much—title-pieces + to replace, and a touch here and there to give to the tooling! No man with + any reverence in him would meddle much with such delicate, lovely old + things as many of these gildings! He would not dare more than just touch + them!” + </p> + <p> + The little lady sat eating her toast, but losing no word that was said. + She knew from his voice the young man was the same to whom she had called + out of the beech-tree; but now she seemed to recognize him as the + blacksmith whose hand she had bound up: what could a blacksmith do in a + library? She was puzzled. + </p> + <p> + Richard noted that she was dressed in some green stuff, which perhaps was + the cause of his having been unable to discover her in the tree! Her great + eyes—they were bigger than those of the tall lady—every now + and then looked up at him with a renewed question, to which they seemed to + find no answer. They were big blue eyes—very dark for blue, and + rather too round for perfection; but their roundness was at one with the + prevailing expression of her face, which was innocent daring, inquiry, and + confidence. The paleness of it was a healthy paleness, with just an + inclination to freckle. Her dark, half-scorched-looking hair was so + abundant and rebellious, that it had to be all over compelled with gold + pins. Its manipulation had neither beginning, middle, nor end. She ate + daintily enough, but as if she meant to have a breakfast that should last + her till luncheon—when plainly the active little furnace of her life + would want fresh fuel. But it was of another kind of fuel she was thinking + now. In the man who stood there, so independent, yet so free from + self-assertion, she saw a prospect of learning something. She was hungry + after knowing, but, though fond of reading, was very ignorant of books. + She thought like a poet, but had never read a real poem. She was full of + imagination, but very imperfectly knew what the word meant. She had never + in her life read a work of genuine imagination—not even <i>Undine</i>, + not even <i>The Ugly Duckling</i>. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. <i>THE LIBRARY</i>. + </h2> + <p> + After some talk, it was settled that Richard should work in the large + oriel of the library. Mrs. Locke was called, and the necessary orders were + given. Employer and workman were both anxious, the one to see, the other + to make a commencement. In a few minutes Richard had looked out as many of + the books in most need of attention as would keep him, turning from the + one to the other, as each required time in the press or to dry, thoroughly + employed. + </p> + <p> + “There is a volume here I should like to know your mind about, sir,” he + said, after looking at one of them a moment or two, “—the first + collected edition of Spenser's works, actually bound up with Sir John + Harrington's translation of Ariosto! If it were a good, or even an old + binding, I should have said nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “It don't seem in a bad way.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but the one book is so unworthy of the other!” + </p> + <p> + “What would you propose?” + </p> + <p> + “I would separate them; put the Spenser in plain calf, and make the + present cover, with a new back, do for Sir John; it is a good enough coat + for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Do as you think best.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to send them both to my father.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have undertaken everything!” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite ready, sir; but in that case these must wait. My faculty is + best laid out on mending, and I must do some good work in that first. I + don't know that I'm quite up to my father in binding. I mentioned him + because if he were to help me with those that must be bound, I should have + the more time for what often takes longer. You may trust my father, sir; + he does not want to make a fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try him then,” answered the cautious heir. “At least I will send + him the books, and learn what he would charge.” + </p> + <p> + He had more of the ordinary tradesman in him than Richard and his uncle + put together. + </p> + <p> + “I will put the prices on them, and engage that my father will charge no + more,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + Lestrange was content on hearing them, and Richard set to work with the + other volumes. + </p> + <p> + The bookbinder, always busy, soon began to be respected in the house, and + before long had gained several indulgences—among the rest, to have a + table for himself in the library, at which, when work-hours were over, he + might read or write when he pleased. As his labours went on, the <i>bookscape</i> + began to revive, and continued slowly putting on an autumnal radiance of + light and colour. Dingy and broken backs gradually disappeared. Pamphlets + and magazines, such as, from knowledge or inquiry, Richard thought worth + the expense, were sent off to his father to be bound. But I must continue + my narrative from a point long before his work began to make much of a + show. + </p> + <p> + A few valuable books, much injured by time and rough usage,—among + the rest a quarto of <i>The Merry Wives</i>—he had pulled apart, and + was treating with certain solutions, in preparation for binding them, when + Lestrange came in one morning, accompanied by the curate of the parish. + His eyes fell on a loose title-page which he happened to know. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you doing?” he cried. “You will destroy that book! By + Jove!—You little know what you're about!” + </p> + <p> + “I do know what I am about, sir. I shall do the book nothing but good,” + answered Richard. “It could not have lasted many years without what I am + doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave it alone,” said Lestrange. “I must ask some one. The treatment is + too dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir; the treatment is by no means dangerous. After this bath, + I shall take it through one of thin size, to help the paper to hold + together. The book has suffered much, both from damp and insects.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter!” answered Lestrange imperiously. “I will not have you meddle + further with that volume.—Would you believe it, Hardy,” he went on, + turning to the curate, “it is that translation of Ovid he is experimenting + upon!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, I am not experimenting,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly think it is such a very rare book!” replied the curate. “I + believe it <i>could</i> be replaced!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you don't know, I see! I thought I had shown you!” returned Lestrange + excitedly. “Look there!” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to the title-page, which was lying on the table. + </p> + <p> + “I see!” said Hardy. “It is a first edition—in black letter—of + Arthur Golding's Ovid!” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't look! Why don't you look? Have you no eyes for that faded + ink just under the title?” + </p> + <p> + “Why! What's this? <i>Gul. Shaksper!</i>—Is it possible!” + </p> + <p> + “You find it hard to believe your eyes, and well you may!—There, + Tuke! I told you you didn't know what you were doing!” + </p> + <p> + “I always examine the title-page of a book,” answered Richard. “You must + allow me to do as I see fit, Mr. Lestrange, or I give up the job.” + </p> + <p> + “You undertook to work for a year, if required!” + </p> + <p> + “I did not undertake to receive orders as to my mode of working. I care + for books far too much for that. Besides, I have my character to see to! I + warn you that if I do not go on with that volume, it will be ruined.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't consider the money you risk!—That name makes the book + worth hundreds at least.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the greatest of names! Only that name was not written by him who + owned it!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about it!” said Lestrange rudely. + </p> + <p> + “Are you an expert?” asked the curate. + </p> + <p> + “By no means,” answered Richard; “but I have been a good deal with old + books, and my impression is you have got there one of the Ireland + forgeries!” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it to be quite genuine!” said Lestrange. + </p> + <p> + “If it be, there is the more reason in what I am doing, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Lestrange turned abruptly to the curate, saying—“Come along, Hardy! + I can't bear to see the butchery!” + </p> + <p> + “Depend on it,” returned the curate laughing, “the surgeon knows his + knife!—You <i>know</i> what you're about, don't you, Mr. Tuke?” + </p> + <p> + “If I did not, sir, I wouldn't meddle with a book like that, forgery or no + forgery! You should see the quantities of old print I've destroyed in + learning how to save such books!—This is no vile body to experiment + upon!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Lestrange, you may trust that man!” said the curate. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. <i>BARBARA WYLDER.</i> + </h2> + <p> + It was the height of the season, and sir Wilton and lady Ann were in + London—I cannot say <i>enjoying themselves</i>, for I doubt if + either of them ever enjoyed self, or anything else. Their daughters were + at home, in the care of the governess. Theodora had been out a year or + two, but preferred Mortgrange to London. She was one of the few girls—perhaps + not very few—who imagine themselves uglier than they are. Miss + Malliver, the governess, was a lady of uncertain age, for whom lady Ann + had an uncertain liking. The younger girl, her pupil, was named Victoria, + but commonly called Vic, and not uncommonly Vixen. The younger boy was at + school, where they were constantly threatening to send him home. He had + been already dismissed from Eton. + </p> + <p> + In their elder son, Arthur, his parents had as perfect a confidence as + such parents could have in any son. + </p> + <p> + The little lady that rode the great mare, and sat in the beech-tree, was + at present their guest—as she often was, in a fluctuating or + intermittent fashion. She lived in the neighbourhood, but was more at + Mortgrange than at home; one consequence of which was, that, as + would-be-clever Miss Malliver phrased it, the house was very much B. + Wyldered. Nor was that the first house the little lady had bewildered, for + she was indeed an importation from a new colony rather startling to sedate + old England. Her father, a younger son, had unexpectedly succeeded to the + family-property, a few miles from Mortgrange. He was supposed to have made + a fortune in New Zealand, where Barbara was born and brought up. They had + been home nearly two years, and she was almost eighteen. Absurd rumours + were abroad concerning their wealth, but there were no great signs of + wealth about the place. Wylder Hall was kept up, and its life went on in + good style, it is true, but mainly because the old servants perpetuated + the customs of the house. + </p> + <p> + The squire was said to have shared in some of the roughest phases of + colonial life. Whether he was better or worse for falling in love with the + money of an older colonist, and marrying his daughter, it is certain that, + for a time at least, he grew a shade or two more respectable. Far from + being a woman of refinement, she had more character and more strength than + he, and brought him, not indeed into the highways of wisdom, but into + certain by-paths of prudence. + </p> + <p> + Upon his return to his native country, they were everywhere received; but + had it not been for their reported wealth, I doubt if the ladies of the + county, after some experience of her manners and speech, which were at + times very rough, would have continued to call on Mrs. Wylder. + </p> + <p> + But everybody liked Barbara; and nobody could think how such a flower + should have come of two such plants. She seemed to regard every one as of + her own family. People were her property—hers to love! And her brain + was as active as her heart, and constantly with it. She wanted to know + what people thought and felt and imagined; what everything was; how a + thing was done, and how it ought to be done. She seemed to understand what + the animals were thinking, and what the flowers were feeling. She had from + infancy spent the greater part of her life, both night and day, in the + open air; and, having no companion, had sought the acquaintance of every + live thing she saw—often to the disgust of her mother, and + occasionally to the annoyance of her father. She was a child of the whole + world, as the naiad is the child of the river, and the oread of the + mountain. She could sit a horse's bare back even better than a saddle, + could guide him almost as well with a halter as with a bridle, and in + general control him without either, though she had ridden more than one + horse with terrible bit and spurs. She did not remember the time when she + could not swim, and she tried her own running against every new horse, to + find what he could do. Some highland girl might perhaps have beaten her, + up hill, but I doubt it. She was so small that she looked fragile, but she + had nerves such as few men can boast, and muscles like steel. It never + occurred to her not to say what she thought, believed, or felt; she would + show favour or dislike with equal readiness; and give the reason for + anything she did as willingly as do the thing. She was a special favourite + at Mortgrange. Not only did she bewitch the <i>blasé</i> man of the world, + sir Wilton, but the cold eye of his lady would gleam a faint gleam at the + thought of her dowry. Her father “prospected” a little for something + higher than a mere baronetcy, but he had in no way interfered. Of herself, + divine little savage, she would never have thought of love until she fell + in love: a flower cannot know its own blossom until it comes. It did not + yet interest her, and until it did, certainly marriage never would. Thus + was she healthier-minded than any one born of society-parents, and brought + up under the influences of nurse-morality, can well be. When she came to + England, it was hard to teach her the ways of the so-called civilized. + Servants would sometimes be out searching for her after midnight, perhaps + to find her strayed beyond the park, out upon the solitary heath. She knew + most of the stars, not by their astronomical names indeed, but by names + she had herself given them. She had tales of her own, fashioned in part + from the wild myths of the aborigines, to account for the special + relations of such as made a group. She would weave the travels of the + planets into the steady history of the motionless stars. Waning and waxing + moons had a special and strange influence upon her. She would dart out of + doors the moment she saw the new moon, and give a wild cry of joy if the + old moon was in her arms. Any moon in a gusty night, with a scud of torn + clouds, would wake in her an ecstasy. Her old nurse, who had come with her—a + strange creature, of what mingled blood no one knew—told of her that + she was sometimes seized with such a longing for the ocean, that she would + lie for hours ere she went to sleep, moaning with the very moan of its + pebble-margined waves. When “in the bush,” she would upon occasion wander + about from morning to night. No trouble able to keep her still had ever + yet laid hold of her. But she had grown neither coarse nor unfeeling + through lack of human intercourse. Nature was to her what she was to + Wordsworth's Lucy, and made her a lady of her own. + </p> + <p> + As to what is commonly called education, she had not had the best. Since + coming to England, she had had governesses, but none fit for the office. + Not merely had no one of them that rare gift, the teaching genius—the + faculty of waking hunger and thirst; that would have mattered little, for + Barbara needed no such rousing; she was eager to know, and yet more eager + to understand; but not one of those teachers knew enough to answer a + quarter of Barbara's questions, or was even capable of perceiving that + those she could not answer, pointed to anything worth knowing. + </p> + <p> + Among fashionable girls, affecting a free and easy, or even rough style, + Barbara was notable for a sweet, unconscious, graceful daring, never for + even a playful rudeness. Nothing she ever did or said or attempted could + be called rough, while yet she would say things to make a vulgar duchess + stare. Had she been affected, she would have drawn fools and repelled men; + real, she charmed alike men and fools. + </p> + <p> + She had read few books worth reading—had read a few which one would + not have chosen she should read, for she grasped at anything a passer-by + might have left. Of books properly so called, she knew nothing, therefore + had not a notion which to read now she might choose. She imagined them all + attractive—but at the first assay turned from the burlesque with a + kind of loathing. This made some of her new acquaintance, not refined + enough to understand the peculiarity, as it seemed to them, set her down + as stupid. + </p> + <p> + As to religion, she had never been taught any. But from before her + earliest recollection she had had the feeling of a Presence. For this + feeling she never thought of attempting to account, neither would have + recognized it as what I have called it. The sky over her head brought it; + a sweep of the earth away from her feet would bring it; any horizon far or + near called it up, perhaps most keenly of all. In England she often sorely + missed her horizon, and in cities was even unhappy for lack of one. If she + could have crystallized, and then formulated her feeling, she would have + said she felt lonely, that something or somebody had gone away. Had she + been a pagan, it would have been her gods that had forsaken her. Without a + horizon she felt as if the wind had forgotten her, the sky did not know + her. Often indeed even the farthest horizon could not prevent her from + feeling that she had come to a dead country; that things here did not mean + anything; that the life was out of them. Was the world so crowded with men + and their works as to shut out from her the Presence? When she went to + church, nothing received her, nothing came near her, nothing brought her + any message. Something was done, she supposed, that ought to be done—something + she had no inclination to dispute, no interest in questioning; a certain + good power called God, required from people, in return for the gift of + existence, the attention of going to church; therefore she went sometimes. + She had no idea of ever having done wrong, no feeling that God was pleased + or displeased with her, or had any occasion to be either. She did not know + that it was God that came near her in her horse, in her dog, in the people + about her who so often disappointed her. He came nearer in a thunderstorm, + a moonlit night, a sweet wind—anything that woke the sense of the + old freedom of her childhood. She felt the presence then, but never knew + it a presence. + </p> + <p> + Neither did she know that there was a place where the very essence, of + that whose loss made her sad was always waiting her—a place called + in a certain old book “thy closet.” She did not know that there opened the + one horizon—infinitely far, yet near as her own heart. But He is + there for them that seek him, not for those who do not look for him. Till + they do, all he can do is to make them feel the want of him. Barbara had + not begun to seek him. She did not know there was anybody to seek: she + only missed him without knowing what she missed. The blind, almost + meaningless reverence for the name of God, which somehow she learned at + church, had not led her in any way to associate him with her sense of loss + and need. + </p> + <p> + Her father's desire was to see her so married as to raise his influence in + the county. He was proud of her—selfishly proud. Was she not his? + Was he not “the author of her being”? If he did not quite imagine he had + created her, he certainly never thought of any one but himself as having + to do with her existence. All the credit in it was his! He forgot even + what share her mother might claim; not to mention what in her might belong + to the Sum of Things, the insensate Pan. A self-glorious man is the + biggest fool in the world. + </p> + <p> + Her mother, too, was proud of her—loved her indeed after a careless + fashion—was even in a sort obliged to her for having come to her. + But she did not care for her enough to interfere with her. Notwithstanding + the mother's coarseness, her outbursts of temper, her intolerance of + opposition, she and her daughter had never yet come into collision. The + reason did not entirely lie in the sweetness of the daughter, but partly + in the fact that the mother had two children besides, one of whom she + loved far more, and the other far less. + </p> + <p> + Barbara had no pride. She spoke in the same tone to lord and tradesman. + She had been the champion of the blacks in her own country, and in England + looked lovingly on the gypsies in their little tents on the windy downs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. <i>BARBARA AND RICHARD</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Hardly had Lestrange left the room, when Barbara entered, noiseless as a + moth, which creature she somehow resembled at times: one observant friend + came to see that she resembled all swift, gay, and gentle creatures in + turn. She was in the same green dress which had favoured her concealment + in the beech, and in which Richard had seen her afterward at the + breakfast-table, but of which he had not since caught a glimmer. Her blue + eyes—at times they seemed black, but they were blue—settled + upon Richard the moment she entered, and resting on him seemed to lead her + up to the table where he was at work. + </p> + <p> + “What have you done to make Arthur so angry?” she said, her manner as if + they had known each other all their lives. + </p> + <p> + “What I am doing now, miss—making this book last a hundred years + longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you, if he doesn't want you to do it? The book is his!” + </p> + <p> + “He will be pleased enough by and by. It's only that he thinks I can't, + and is afraid I shall ruin it.” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't you better leave it then?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be to ruin it. I have gone too far for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you want to make it last so long? They are always printing + books over again, and a new book is much nicer than an old one.” + </p> + <p> + “So some people think; but others would much rather read a book in its + first shape. And then books get so changed by printers and editors, that + it is absolutely necessary to have copies of them as they were at first. + You see this little book, miss? It don't look much, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “It looks miserable—and so dirty!” + </p> + <p> + “By the time I have done with it, it will be worth fifty, perhaps a + hundred pounds—I don't know exactly. It is a play of Shakespeare's + us published in his lifetime.” + </p> + <p> + “But they print better and more correctly now, don't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but us I said, they often change things.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes they will change a word, thinking it ought to be another; + sometimes they will alter a passage because they do not understand it, + putting it all wrong, and throwing aside a great meaning for a small one: + the change of a letter may alter the whole idea. But they often do it just + by blundering. Shall I tell you an instance that came to my knowledge + yesterday? It is but a trifle, yet is worth telling.—Of course you + know the <i>Idylls of the King</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't Why do you say 'of course'?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I thought every English lady read Tennyson.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I was born in New Zealand!—Tell me the blunder, though.” + </p> + <p> + “There was one thing in <i>The Pausing of Arthur</i>—that's the name + of one of the Idylls—which I never could understand:—how sir + Bedivere could throw a sword with both hands, and make it go in the way + Tennyson says it went.” + </p> + <p> + “But who was sir Bedivere?” + </p> + <p> + “You must read the poem to know that, Miss. He was one of the knights of + king Arthur's Round Table.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything about king Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “I will repeat us much of the poem as is necessary to make you understand + about the misprint.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Do—please</i>.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Then quickly rose sir Bedivere, and ran, + And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged + Among the bulrush beds, and clutch'd the sword, + And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand + Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon, + And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch, + Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, + Seen where the moving isles of winter shock + By night, with noises of the northern sea. + So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur.” + </pre> + <p> + “What does <i>the brand Excalibur</i>—is that it?—what does it + mean? They put a brand on the cattle in the bush.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Brand</i> means a sword, and <i>Excalibur</i> was the name of this + sword. They seem to have baptized their swords in those days!” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing about <i>both hands</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “True; that comes a little lower down, where sir Bedivere tells king + Arthur what he has done. He says— + </p> + <p> + “'Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him'. + </p> + <p> + “—Now do you think anybody could do that, and make it go flashing + round and round in an arch?” + </p> + <p> + Barbara thought for a moment, then said— + </p> + <p> + “No, certainly not. To make it go like that, you would have to take it in + one hand, and swing it round your head—and then you couldn't without + a string tied to it. Or perhaps it was a sabre, and he was so strong he + could send it like a boomerang!” + </p> + <p> + “No; it was a straight, big, heavy sword.—How then do you think + Tennyson came to describe the thing so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he didn't know better—or didn't think enough about it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is more than that in it, I fancy: he was misled by a printer's + blunder, I suspect. Some months ago I found the passage which Tennyson + seems to follow, in a cheap reprint of sir Thomas Malory's History of King + Arthur—then just out, and could not make sense of it. Yesterday I + found here this long little book, evidently the edition from which the + other was printed—and printed correctly too. In both issues, this is + what the knight is made to say: + </p> + <p> + “'Then sir Bedivere departed, and went to the sword, and lightly took it + up and went to the water's side, and there he bound the girdle about the + belts. And then he threw the sword into the water as far as he might.'” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Barbara, “you have not made me any wiser! You said the new + one was printed correctly from that old one!” + </p> + <p> + “But I did not say the old one, as you call it, was itself printed + correctly from the much older one! Look here now,” continued Richard—and + mounting the library-steps, he took down another small volume, very like + the former, “—here is another edition, of nearly the same date: let + me read what is printed there:— + </p> + <p> + “'Then sir Bedivere departed, and went to the sword, and lightly took it + up, and went to the water side, and there he bound the girdle about the + hilt. And then he threw the sword into the water as far as he might.' + </p> + <p> + “Now, most likely the copy from which both of these editions were printed, + had the word <i>hilts</i>, for then they always spoke of the <i>hilts</i>, + not <i>hilt</i> of a sword; and the one printer modernized it into <i>hilt</i>, + and the other, perhaps mistaking the dim print, for <i>hilts</i> printed + <i>belts</i>. To tie the girdle about the <i>belts</i> must simply be + nonsense. But to tie the girdle to the hilts of the sword, would just give + the knight what you said he would want—something long to swing it + round his head with, and throw it like a stone, and the sling with it.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You see then how the printer's blunder, which might not appear to matter + much, has come to matter a great deal, for it has, it seems to me, caused + a fault-spot in the loveliest poem!” + </p> + <p> + During this conversation Richard's work had scarcely relaxed; but now that + a pause came it seemed to gather diligence. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you spend your time patching up books?” said Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Because they are worth patching up; and because I earn my bread by + patching them.” + </p> + <p> + “But you seem to care most for what is inside them!” + </p> + <p> + “If I did not, I should never have taken to mending, I should have been + content with binding them. New covers make more show, and are much easier + put on than patches.” + </p> + <p> + Another pause followed. + </p> + <p> + “What a lot you know!” said Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Very little,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Then where am I!” she returned. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps ladies don't need books! I don't know about ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “I think they don't care about them. I never hear them talk as you do—as + if books were their friends. But why should they? Books are only books!” + </p> + <p> + “You would not say that if once you knew them!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would make me know them, then!” + </p> + <p> + “There are books, and you can read, miss!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I can't read as you read! I understand that much! I was born + where there ain't any books. I can shoot and fish and run and ride and + swim, and all that kind of thing. I never had to fight. I think I could + shoe a horse, if any one would give me a lesson or two.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, with pleasure, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you. That will be jolly! But how is it you can do everything?” + </p> + <p> + “I can only do one or two things. I can shoe a horse, but I never had the + chance of riding one.” + </p> + <p> + “Teach me to shoe Miss Brown, and I will teach you to ride her. How is + your hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite well, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather learn to read, though—the right way, I mean—the + way that makes one book talk to another.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be better than shoeing Miss Brown; but I will teach you both, + if you care to learn.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you indeed! When shall we begin?” + </p> + <p> + “When you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Now?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot before six o'clock. I must do first what I am paid to do!—What + kind of reading do you like best?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know any best. I used to read the papers to papa, but now I don't + even do that. I hope I never may.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you live, miss, when you're at home?” asked Richard, all the + time busy with the quarto. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't even know who you are, miss!” + </p> + <p> + “I am Barbara Wylder. I live at Wylder Hall, a few miles from here.—I + don't know the distance exactly, because I always go across country: that + way reminds me a little of home. My father was the third son, and never + expected to have the Hall. He went out to New Zealand, and married my + mother, and made a fortune—at least people say so: he never tells me + anything. They don't care much for me: I'm not a boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any brothers?” + </p> + <p> + “I have one,” she answered sadly. “I had two, but my mother's favourite is + gone, and my father's is left, and mamma can't get over it. They were + twins, but they did not love each other. How could they? My father and + mother don't love each other, so each loved one of the twins and hated the + other.” + </p> + <p> + She mentioned the dismal fact with a strange nonchalance—as if the + thing could no more be helped, and needed no more be wondered at, than a + rainy day. Yet the sigh she gave indicated trouble because of it. + </p> + <p> + Richard held his peace, rather astonished, both that a lady should talk to + him in such an easy way, and that she should tell him the saddest family + secrets. But she seemed quite unaware of doing anything strange, and after + a brief pause resumed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they had long been tired of each other,” she said, us if she had + been reflecting anew on the matter, “but the quarrelling came all of + taking sides about the twins! At least I do not remember any of it before + that. They were both fine children, and they could not agree which was the + finer, but, as the boys grew, quarrelled more and more about them. They + would be at it whole evenings, each asserting the merits of one of the + twins, and neither listening to a word about the other. Each was + determined not to be convinced, and each called the other obstinate.” + </p> + <p> + “Were the twins older or younger than you, miss?” asked Richard. + </p> + <p> + “They were three years younger than me. But when I look back it seems as + if I had been born into the bickering. It always looked as natural as the + grassy slopes outside the door. I thought it was a consequence of twins, + that all parents with twins went on so. When my father's next older + brother fell ill, and there seemed a possibility of his succeeding to the + property, the thing grew worse; now it was which of them should be heir to + it. Waking in the middle of the night, I would hear them going on at it. + Then which was the elder, no one could tell. My mother had again and + again, before they began to quarrel, confessed she did not know. I don't + think I ever saw either of my parents do a kindness to the other, or to + the child favoured by the other. So from the first the boys understood + that they were enemies, and acted accordingly. Each always wanted + everything for himself. They scowled at each other long before they could + talk. Their games, always games of rivalry and strife, would for a minute + or two make them a little less hostile, but the moment the game ceased, + they began to scowl again. They were both kind to me, and I loved them + both, and naturally tried to make them love each other; but it was of no + use. It seemed their calling to rival and obstruct one another. When they + came to blows, as they frequently did, my father and mother would almost + come to blows too, each at once taking the usual side. I would run away + then, put a piece of bread in my pocket, and get on a horse. Nobody ever + missed me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never lose your way?” asked Richard: he must say something, he + felt so embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “My horse always knew the way home. I have often been out all night, + though; and how peaceful it was to be alone with Widow Wind, as I used to + call the night I—I don't know why now; I suppose I once knew.” + </p> + <p> + Something in this way she ran on with her story, but I fail to approach + the charm of her telling. Her narrative was almost childish in its + utterance, but childlike in its insight. What could have moved her so to + confide in a stranger and a workman? In truth, she needed little moving; + her nature was to trust everybody; but there were not many to whom she + could talk. Miss Brown helped her with no response; to her parents she had + no impulse to speak; the young people she met stared at the least allusion + to the wild ways of her past life, making her feel she was not one of + them. Even Arthur Lestrange had more than once looked awkward at a remark + she happened to make! So, instead of confiding in any of them, that is, + letting her heart go in search of theirs, she had taken to amusing them, + and in this succeeded so thoroughly as to be an immense favourite—which, + however, did not make her happy, did not light up the world within her. + Hence it was no great wonder that, being such as she was, she should feel + drawn to Richard. He was the first man she had even begun to respect. In + her humility she found him every way her superior. It was wonderful to her + that he should know so much about books, the way people made them, what + they meant, and how mistakes got into them, and went from one generation + to another: they were his very friends! She thought it was his love for + books that had made him a bookbinder, as indeed it was his love for them + that had made him a book-mender. Her heart and mind were free from many + social prejudices. She knew that people looked down upon men who did + things with their hands; but she had done so many things herself with her + hands, and been so much obliged to others who could do things with their + hands better than she, that she felt the superiority of such whose hands + were their own perfect servants, and ready to help others as well. + </p> + <p> + One of the things by which she wounded the sense of propriety in those + about her was, that she would talk of some things that, in their judgment, + ought to be kept secret. Now Barbara could understand keeping a great joy + secret, but a misery was not a nice thing to cuddle up and hide; of a + misery she must get rid, and if talking about it was any relief, why not + talk? She soon found, however, that it was no relief to talk to Arthur or + his sister; and from the commonplace governess, she recoiled. The + bookbinder was different; he was a man; he was not what people called a + gentleman; he was a man like the men in the Bible, who spoke out what they + meant! The others were empty; Richard was full of man! As regarded her + father and mother, she could betray no secret of theirs; everybody about + them knew the things she talked of; and had they been secrets, neither + would have cared a pin what a working man might know or think of them! Did + they not quarrel in the presence of the very cat! Then Richard was such a + gentlemanly workman! Of course he could not be a gentleman in England, but + there must be, certainly there ought to be somewhere the place in which + Richard, just as he was, would be a gentleman! She was sure he would not + laugh at her behind her back, and she was not sure that Arthur, or + Theodora even, would not. More than all, he was ready to open for her the + door into the rich chamber of his own knowledge! Must a man be a workman + to know about books? What then if a workman was a better and greater kind + of man than a gentleman? In her own country, it did not matter so much + about books, for there one had so many friends! Why read about the + beauties of Nature, where she was at home with her always! What did any + one want with poetry who could be out as long as she pleased with the old + night, and the stars gray with glory, and the wind wandering everywhere + and knowing all things! Here it was different! Here she could not do + without books! Where the things themselves were not, she wanted help to + think about them! And that help was in books, and Richard could teach her + how to get at it! + </p> + <p> + It was indeed amazing that one who had read so little should have so good, + although so imperfect a notion of what books could do. Just so much a few + cheap novels had sufficed to reveal to her! But then Barbara was herself a + world of uncrystallized poetry. What is feeling but poetry in a gaseous + condition? What is fine thought but poetry in a fluid condition? What is + thought solidified, but fine prose; thought crystallized, but verse? + </p> + <p> + “Here,” she would say, but later than the period of which I am now + writing, “where the weather is often so stupid that it won't do anything, + won't be weather at all; will neither blow, nor rain, nor freeze, nor + shine, you need books to make a world inside you—to take you away, + as by the spell of a magician or on the wings of an eagle, from the walls + and the nothingness, into a world where one either finds everything or + wants nothing.” She had yet to learn that books themselves are but weak + ministers, that the spirit dwelling in them must lead back to him who gave + it or die; that they are but windows, which, if they look not out on the + eternal spaces, will themselves be blotted out by the darkness. + </p> + <p> + To end her story, she told Richard that, since their coming to this + country, her mother's favourite had died. She nearly went mad, she said, + and had never been like herself again. For not only had her opposition to + her husband deepened into hate, but—here, to Richard's amusement + when he found on what the reverential change was attendant, Barbara + lowered her voice—she really and actually hated God also. “Isn't it + awful?” Barbara said; but meeting no response in the honest eyes of + Richard, she dropped hers, and went on. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard her say the wildest and wickedest things, careless whether + any one was near. I think she must at times be out of her mind! One day + not long ago I saw her shake her fist as high as she could reach above her + head, looking up with an expression of rage and reproach and defiance that + was terrible. Had we been in New Zealand, I should not have wondered so + much: there are devils going about there. Nobody knows of any here, but it + was here they got into my mother, and made her defy God. She does it + straight out in church. That is why I always sit in the poor seats, and + not in the little gallery that belongs to my father.—Have you ever + been to our church, Mr. Tuke?” + </p> + <p> + Richard told her he never went to church except when his mother wanted him + to go with her. + </p> + <p> + “My mother goes twice every Sunday; but what do you think she is doing all + the time? The gallery has curtains about it, but she never allows those in + front to be drawn, and anybody in the opposite gallery can see into it + quite well, and the clergyman when he is in the pulpit: she lies there on + a couch, in a nest of pillows, reading a novel, a yellow French one + generally, just as if she were in her own room! She knows the clergyman + sees her, and that is why she does it.” + </p> + <p> + “She disapproves of the whole thing!” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “She used to like church well enough.” + </p> + <p> + “She must mean to protest, else why should she go? Has she any quarrel + with the clergyman?” + </p> + <p> + “None that I know of.” + </p> + <p> + “What then do you think she means by going and not joining in? Why is she + present and not taking part?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe she does it just to let God know she is not pleased with him. + She thinks he has treated her cruelly and tyrannically, and she will not + pretend to worship him. She wants to show him how bitterly she feels the + way he has turned against her. She used to say prayers to him; she will do + so no more! and she goes to church that he may see she won't.” + </p> + <p> + The absurdity of the thing struck Richard sharply, but he feared to hurt + the girl and lose her confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Her behaviour is only a kind of insolent prayer!” he said. “—Has + the clergyman ever spoken to her about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think he has. He spoke to me, but when I said he ought to speak + to her, he did not seem to see it. <i>I</i> should speak to her fast + enough if it were <i>my</i> church!” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say he thinks her mind is affected, and fears to make her worse,” + said Richard. “But he might, I think, persuade her that, as she is not on + good terms with the person who lives in the church, she ought to stay + away.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara looked at him with doubtful inquiry, but Richard went on. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a man is the clergyman?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. He seems always thinking about things, and never finding + out. I suppose he is stupid!” + </p> + <p> + “That does not necessarily follow,” said Richard with a smile, reflecting + how hard it would be for the man to answer one of a thousand questions he + might put to him in connection with his trade. “Your poor mother must be + very unhappy!” he added. + </p> + <p> + “She may well be! I am no comfort to her. She never heeds me; or she tells + me to go and amuse myself—she is busy. My father has his twin, and + poor mamma has nobody!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. <i>BARBARA AND OTHERS.</i> + </h2> + <p> + At this point, Barbara's friend came into the room, and they went away + together. + </p> + <p> + Theodora, so named by her mother because she was born on a Sunday, was a + very different girl from Barbara. Nominally friends, neither understood + the other. Theodora was the best of the family, but that did not suffice + to make her interesting. She was short, stout, rather clumsy, with an + honest, thick-featured face, and entirely without guile. Even when she saw + it, she could not believe it there. She had not much sympathy, but was + very kind. She never hesitated to do what she was sure was right; but + then, except for rules, many of them far from right themselves, she would + have been almost always in doubt. Anything in the shape of a rule, she + received as an angel from heaven. If all the rules she obeyed had been + right, and she had seen the right in them, she would have been making + rapid progress; as it was, her progress was very slow. How Barbara and she + managed to entertain each other, I find it hard to think; but all forms of + innocent humanity must have much in common. A contrast, nevertheless, the + two must have presented to any power able to read them. Barbara was like a + heath of thyme and wild roses and sudden winds; Theodora like a Dutch + garden without its flowers. They never quarrelled. I suspect they did not + come near enough to quarrel. + </p> + <p> + Barbara left Richard almost bewitched, and considerably perplexed. He had + never seen anything like her. No more had most people that met her. She + seemed of another nature from his, a sort of sylph or salamander, yet, in + simplest human fashion, she had come quite close to him. She had indeed + brought to bear upon him, without knowing it, that humbling and elevating + power which ideal womankind has always had, and will eternally have upon + genuine manhood. There was an airiness about her, yet a reality, a + lightness, yet a force, a readiness, a life, such as he could never have + imagined. She was a revelation unrevealed—a presence lovely but + incredible, suggesting facts and relations which the commonplace in him + said could not exist. The vision was, to use a favourite but pagan phrase, + “too good to be true.” Richard's knowledge of girls was small indeed, but + he had now enough to make his first comparison: Alice was like China, + Barbara like Venetian glass. He thought there was something in Alice if he + could only get at it: he feared there was nothing in Barbara to get at. + For one thing, how could she have such parents and take it so lightly! + </p> + <p> + There were certainly few things yet in flower in Barbara's garden, but + there was a multitude of precious things on the way to unfold themselves + to any one that might love her enough to give them a true welcome. She was + nearly as far out of Richard's understanding as beyond that of the good + Theodora. The consequence was that he felt himself full beside her + emptiness. He was no coxcomb, neither dreamed of presenting himself for + her admiration; but he pictured the delight of opening the eyes of this + child-woman to the many doors of treasure-houses that stood in her own + wall. + </p> + <p> + Only those who haunt the slopes of literature, know that marvels lie in + the grass for the hand that will gather them. Multitudes who count + themselves readers know no more of the books they read than the crowds + that visit the Academy exhibitions know of the pictures they gaze upon. + Yet are the realms of literature free as air, freer even than those of + music. The man whose literary judgment and sympathy I prized beyond that + of the world beside, was a clerk in the Bank of England. The man who by + the spell of his words can set me in the heart of soft-stealing twilight—nay, + rather, can set the very heart of the dying day in me—was a + Lancashire weaver. And dainty, bird-moth-like Barbara had begun to suspect + the existence of something hers yet beyond her in books, of an unknown + world which lay at her very door. In that same world the bookbinder passed + much of his time, and it was neither in pride nor in presumption that he + desired to share it with Barbara. It is the home-born impulse of every + true heart to give of its best, to infect with its own joy; and the + thought of giving grandly to a woman, to a lady, might well fill the soul + of a working man with a hitherto unnamed ecstasy. Another might have + compared it to the housing of a strayed angel with frozen feathers, lost + on the wintry wilds of this far-out, border world; but Richard did not + believe in those celestial birds; and had he believed, a woman would yet + have been to him, and rightly, more than any angel. What he did think of + was the huntsman and the little lady in The Flight of the Duchess. + </p> + <p> + He began to ponder how to treat her—how to begin to open doors for + her—what door to open first. Should it be of prose or of verse? He + must have more talk with her ere he could tell! He must try her with + something! + </p> + <p> + He had time to ponder, for she did not anew swim into his ken for three + days. He wondered whether he had displeased her, but could think of + nothing he had said or done amiss. He must be very careful not to offend + her with the least roughness in word or manner, lest he should so lose the + chance of helping her! It was the main part of his creed, as gathered from + his adoptive father, that a man must do something for his neighbour: Miss + Wylder was his neighbour; what better thing could he do for her than make + her free of the greatest joy he knew? + </p> + <p> + Barbara had quite as much liberty as was good. Her mother sat in a + darkened room, and took morphia; her father, to occupy his leisure, had + begun to repair an old house on the estate with his own hands. Nobody + heeded Barbara; she did as she pleased, going and coming as in the colony. + A favourite with all about the place, she had never to use authority. + Every one, for very love, was at her service. Whatever preposterous thing, + at whatever unearthly moment, she might have wanted, it would have been + ready—her mare at midnight, her breakfast at noon, a cow in the + library to draw from. There was little regularity in the house; every one + wanted to do what was right in his own eyes; but every one was ready to + see right with the eyes of Barbara. + </p> + <p> + Home was, nevertheless, as one may well believe, a terribly dull place to + her; and as, for some occult reason, Theodora Lestrange had taken a fancy + to her, as sir Wilton was charmed with her, and lady Ann—for reasons—had + little to say against her, she was at Mortgrange as much as she pleased—never + too much even for Arthur, whose propriety, rather insular, a little + provincial, and sometimes pedantic, she would shock twenty times a day; + for he was fascinated by her grace and playfulness, though he declared he + would as soon think of marrying a humming-bird as Barbara. He tried for a + while to throw his net over her, for he would fain have tamed her to come + at his call: but he soon arrived at the conclusion that nothing but the + troubles of life would tame her, and then it would be a pity. She was a + fine creature, he said, but hardly human; and for his part he preferred a + woman to a fay! + </p> + <p> + But such was the report of her riches, that sir Wilton and lady Ann were + both ready to welcome her as a daughter-in-law. Sir Wilton was delighted + with her gaiety and the sharp readiness of her clever retort. All he + regretted in her lack of an English education was that her speech was not + quite that of a lady—on which point sir Wilton had not always been + so fastidious. For the rest, intellectual development was of so little + interest to him that he never suspected Barbara of having more than a + usual share of intellect to develop. She was just the wife for the future + baronet, he was once heard to say—though how he came once to say it + I cannot think, for never before had he betrayed a consciousness that he + would not be the present baronet for ever and ever. So long as he did not + feel the approach of death, he would never think of dying, and then he + would do his best to forget it. He seemed sometimes to grudge his son the + dainty little wife Barbara would make him: “The rascal will be the envy of + the clubs!” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. <i>MRS. WYLDER</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Wylder was lord of the manor, and chief land-owner, though his family + had never been the most influential, in the parish next that in which lay + Mortgrange. He was not much fitted for an English squire. He wished to + stand well with his neighbours, but lacked the geniality which is the very + body, the outside expression of humanity. Proud of his family, he had the + peculiar fault of the Goth—that of arrogance, with its accompanying + incapacity for putting oneself in the place of another. Mr. Wylder + possessed a huge inability of conceiving the manner in which what he did + or said must affect the person to whom he did or said it. So entirely was + he thus disqualified for social interchange, that he remained supremely + satisfied in his consequent isolation, hardly recognized it, and never + doubted himself a perfect gentleman. Had any diffidence enabled him to + perceive the reflection of himself in the mirroring minds of those around + him, his self-opinion might have been troubled; but when he did begin to + discover that the neighbours did not desire his company, he set it down to + stupid prejudice against him because he had been so long absent from the + country. He did not hunt, and when he went out shooting, which was seldom, + he went alone, or with a game-keeper only. In fact he was so careless, + that most men who had once shot with him, ever after gave him a wide berth + when they saw him with a gun in his hand. On one occasion he shot his + wife's twin in the calf of the leg; which, however, made her think no + worse of his shooting, for she could never be persuaded he had not done it + intentionally. + </p> + <p> + For a short time before leaving Australasia, the family had spent money in + one of its larger cities, and had been a good deal followed; but neither + there nor in England did they find that wealth could do everything. A few + other qualities, not by any means of the highest order, are required by + nearly all social agglomerations, and with some of these Mrs. Wylder was + as scantily equipped as her husband with others. + </p> + <p> + Resenting the indifference of his neighbours, and not caring to remove it, + Mr. Wylder betook himself to the exercise of certain constructive + faculties, not unfrequently developed in circumstances in which a man has + to be his own Jack-of-all-trades: finding a certain old manor-house which + he had haunted as a boy, chiefly for the sake of its attendant + goose-berries and apples, unoccupied and fallen into decay, he set about + restoring it with his own hands. But it had not occurred to him that, + although even in England it is not necessary, as they did at Lagado, in + building to begin with the roof, in England especially is it necessary in + repairing to begin with the roof. While the floors were rotting away, he + would be busy panelling the walls, regardless of a drop falling steadily + in the middle of the bench at which he was working. + </p> + <p> + The clergyman of the parish, one Thomas Wingfold, a man who loved his + fellow, and would fain give him of the best he had, a man who was a + Christian first, which means a man, and then a churchman, had now, for + almost three years, often puzzled brain and heart together to find what + could be done for these his new parishioners—from the world's point + of view the first, yet in reality as insignificant as any he had; and not + yet did he know how to get near them. He had not yet seen a glimmer of + religion in the man, and had seen more than a glimmer of something else in + the woman. Between him and either of them their common humanity had not + yet shown a spark. What he had seen of the girl he liked, but he had not + seen much. + </p> + <p> + It was a fine frosty day in February, about twelve o'clock, when Mr. + Wingfold walked up the avenue of Scotch firs to call on Mrs. Wylder. He + was dressed like any country gentleman in a tweed suit, carried a rather + strong stick, and wore a soft felt hat, looking altogether more of a + squire than a clergyman—for which his parishioners mostly liked him + the better. Pious people in general seem to regard religion as a necessary + accompaniment of life; to Wingfold it was life itself; with him religion + must be all, or could be nothing. He did not accept the good news of God; + he strained it to his heart, and was jubilant over it. He was a rather + square-looking man, with projecting brows, and a grizzled beard. The upper + part of his face would look dark while a smile was hovering about his + mouth; at another time his mouth would look solemn, almost severe, while a + radiance, as from some white cloud nobody could see, illuminated his + forehead. He generally walked with his eyes on the ground, but would every + now and then straighten his back, and gaze away to the horizon, as if + looking for the far-off sails of help. He was noted among his farmers for + his common sense, as they called it, and among the gentry for a certain + frankness of speech, which most of them liked. + </p> + <p> + He rang the door-bell of the Hall, and asked if Mrs. Wylder was at home. + The man hesitated, looked in the clergyman's face, and smiling oddly, + answered, “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Only you don't think she will care to see me!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know, sir,—” + </p> + <p> + “I do. Go up, and announce me.” + </p> + <p> + The man led the way, and Mr. Wingfold followed. He opened the door of a + room on the first floor, and announced him. Mr. Wingfold entered + immediately, that there might be no time for words with the man and a + message of refusal. + </p> + <p> + Discouragement encountered him on the threshold. The lady sat by a blazing + fire, with her back to a window through which the frosty sun of February + was sending lovely prophecies of the summer. She was in a gorgeous + dressing-gown, her plentiful black hair twisted carelessly, but with a + show of defiance, round her head. She was almost a young woman still, with + a hardness of expression that belonged neither to youth nor age. She sat + sideways to the door, so that without turning her head she must have seen + the parson enter, but she did not move a visible hair's-breadth. Her feet, + in silk stockings and shabby slippers, continued perched on the fender. + She made no sign of greeting when the parson came in front of her, but a + scowl dark as night settled on her low forehead and black eyebrows, and + her face shortened and spread out. Wingfold approached her with the air of + a man who knew himself unwelcome but did not much mind—for he had + not to care about himself. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mrs. Wylder!” he said. “What a lovely morning it is!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it? I know nothing about it. You have a brutal climate!” + </p> + <p> + He knew she regarded him as the objectionable agent of a more + objectionable Heaven. + </p> + <p> + “You would not dislike it so much if you met it out of doors. A walk on a + day like this, now,—” + </p> + <p> + “Pray who authorized you to come and offer me advice I Have I concealed + from you, Mr. Wingfold, that your presence gives me no pleasure?” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly have not! You have been quite honest with me. I did not + come in the hope of pleasing you—though I wish I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Then perhaps you will explain why you are here!” + </p> + <p> + “There are visits that must be made, even with the certainty of giving + annoyance!” answered Wingfold, rather cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “That means you consider yourself justified in forcing your way into my + room, before I am dressed, with the simple intention of making yourself + disagreeable!” + </p> + <p> + “If I were here on my own business, you might well blame me! But what + would you say to one of your men who told you he dared not go your message + for fear of the lightning?” + </p> + <p> + “I would tell him he was a coward, and to go about his business.” + </p> + <p> + “That, then, is what I don't want to be told!” + </p> + <p> + “And for fear of being told it, you dare me!” + </p> + <p> + “Well—you may put it so;—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like you the worse for your courage. There's more than one man + would face half a dozen bush-rangers rather than a woman I know!” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it. But it makes no extravagant demand on my courage. I am not + afraid of <i>you</i>. I owe you nothing—except any service worth + doing for you!” + </p> + <p> + “Let that blind down: the sun's putting the fire out.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a pity to put the sun out in such a brutal climate. He does the fire + no harm.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell <i>me</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Science says he does not.” + </p> + <p> + “He puts the fire out, I tell you!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think so.” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen it with my own eyes. God knows which is the greater humbug—Science + or Religion!—Are you going to pull that blind down?” Wingfold + lowered the blind. + </p> + <p> + “Now look here!” said Mrs. Wylder. “You're not afraid of me, and I'm not + afraid of you!—It's a low trade, is yours.” + </p> + <p> + “What is my trade?” + </p> + <p> + “What is your trade?—Why, to talk goody! and read goody! and pray + goody! and be goody, goody!—Ugh!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not doing much of that sort at this moment, any way!” rejoined + Wingfold with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You know this is not the place for it!” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind telling me which is the place to read a French novel in?” + </p> + <p> + “Church: there!” + </p> + <p> + “What would you do if I were to insist on reading a chapter of the Bible + here?” + </p> + <p> + “Look!” she answered, and rising, snatched a saloon-pistol from the + chimney-piece, and took deliberate aim at him. + </p> + <p> + Wingfold looked straight down the throat of the thick barrel, and did not + budge. + </p> + <p> + “—I would shoot you with that,” she went on, holding the weapon as I + have said. “It would kill you, for I can shoot, and should hit you in the + eye, not on the head. I shouldn't mind being hanged for it. Nothing + matters now!” + </p> + <p> + She flung the heavy weapon from her, gave a great cry, not like an + hysterical woman, but an enraged animal, stuffed her handkerchief into her + mouth, pulled it out again, and began tearing at it with her teeth. The + pistol fell in the middle of the room. Wingfold went and picked it up. + </p> + <p> + “I should deserve it if I did,” he said quietly, as he laid the pistol on + the table. “—But you don't fight fair, Mrs. Wylder; for you know I + can't take a pistol with me into the pulpit and shoot you. It is cowardly + of you to take advantage of that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! I like the assurance of you! Do I read so as to annoy any one?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do. You daren't read aloud, because you would be put out of the + church if you did; but you annoy as many of the congregation as can see + you, and you annoy me. Why should you behave in that house as if it were + your own, and yet shoot me if I behaved so in yours? Is it fair? Is it + polite? Is it acting like a lady?” + </p> + <p> + “It <i>is</i> my house—at least it is my pew, and I will do in it + what I please.—Look here, Mr. Wingfold: I don't want to lose my + temper with you, but I tell you that pew is mine, as much as the chair + you're not ashamed to sit upon at this moment! And let me tell you, after + the way <i>I</i>'ve been treated, my behaviour don't splash much. When + he's brought a woman to my pass, I don't see God Almighty can complain of + her manners!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, thinking of him as you do, I don't wonder you are rude!” + </p> + <p> + “What! You won't curry favour with him?—You hold by fair play? Come + now! I call that downright pluck!” + </p> + <p> + “I fear you mistake me a little.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do! I might have known that! When you think a parson begins + to speak like a man, you may be sure you mistake him!” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't behave to a friend of your own according to what another + person thought of him, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, by Jove, I wouldn't!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you won't expect me to do so!” + </p> + <p> + “I should think not! Of course you stick by the church!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the church. She's not my mistress, though I am her servant. + God is my master, and I tell you he is as good and fair as goodness and + fairness can be goodness and fairness!” + </p> + <p> + “What! Will you drive me mad! I wish he would serve you as he's done me—then + we should hear another tune—rather! You call it good—you call + it fair, to take from a poor creature he made himself, the one only thing + she cared for?” + </p> + <p> + “Which was the cause of a strife that made of a family in which he wanted + to live, a very hell upon earth!” + </p> + <p> + “You dare!” she cried, starting to her feet. + </p> + <p> + Wingfold did not move. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Wylder,” he said, “<i>dare</i> is a word that needn't be used again + between you and me. If you dare tell God that he is a devil, I may well + dare tell you that you know nothing about him, and that I do!” + </p> + <p> + “Say on your honour, then, if he had treated you as he has done me—taken + from you the light of your eyes, would you count it fair? Speak like the + man you are.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“I know I should.”</i> + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe you. And I won't worship him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, who wants you to worship him? You must be a very different person + before he will care much for your worship! You <i>can't</i> worship him + while you think him what you do. He is something quite different. You + don't know him to love, and you don't know him to worship.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless my soul! ain't it your business—ain't you always making + people say their prayers?” + </p> + <p> + “It is my business to help my brothers and sisters to know God, and + worship him in spirit and in truth—because he is altogether and + perfectly true and loving and fair. Do you think he would have you worship + a being such as you take him to be. If your son is in good company in the + other world, he must be greatly troubled at the way you treat God—at + your unfairness to him. But your bad example may, for anything I know, + have sent him where he has not yet begun to learn anything!” + </p> + <p> + “God have mercy!—will the man tell me to my face that my boy is in + hell?” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have? Would you have him with the being you think so + unjust that you hate him all the week, and openly insult him on Sunday?” + </p> + <p> + “You are a bad man, a hard-hearted brute, a devil, to say such things + about my blessed boy! Oh my God! to think that the very day he was taken + ill, I struck him! Why did he let me do it? To think that that very day he + killed him, when he ought to have killed me!—killed him that I might + never be able to tell him I was sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “If he had not taken him then, would you ever have been sorry you struck + him!” + </p> + <p> + She burst into outcry and weeping, mingled with such imprecation, that + Wingfold thought it one of those cases of possession in which nothing but + prayer is of use. But the soul and the demon were so united, so entirely + of one mind, that there was no room for prayer to get between them. He sat + quiet, lifted up his heart, and waited. By and by there came a lull, and + the redeemable woman appeared, emerging from the smoke of the fury. + </p> + <p> + “Oh my Harry! my Harry!” she cried. “To take him from my very bosom! He + will never love me again! God <i>shall</i> know what I think of it! No + mother could but hate him if he served her so!” + </p> + <p> + “Apparently you don't want the boy back in your bosom again!” + </p> + <p> + “None of your fooling of me now!” she answered, drawing herself up, and + drying her eyes. “I can stand a good deal, but I won't stand that! What's + gone is gone! He's dead, and the dead lie in no bosom but that of the + grave! They go, and return never more!” + </p> + <p> + “But you will die too!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that? You <i>will</i> be talking! As if I didn't know + I'd got to die, one day or another! What's that to me and Harry!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think we're all going to cease and go out, like the clouds that + are carried away and broken up by the wind?” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about it, and I don't care. Nothing's anything to me but + Harry, and I shall never see my Harry again!—Heaven! Bah! What's + heaven without Harry!” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, of course! But don't you ever think of seeing him again?” + </p> + <p> + “What's the use! It's all a mockery! Where's the good of meeting when we + shan't be human beings any more? If we're nothing but ghosts—if he's + never to know me—if I'm never to feel him in my arms—ugh! it's + all humbug! If he ever meant to give me back my Harry, why did he take him + from me? If he didn't mean me to rage at losing him, why did he give him + to me?” + </p> + <p> + “He gave you his brother at the same time, and you refused to love him: + what if he took the one away until you should have learned to love the + other?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't love him; I won't love him! He has his father to love him! He + don't want my love! I haven't got it to give him! Harry took it with him! + I hate Peter!—What are you doing there—laughing in your + sleeve? Did you never see a woman cry?” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen many a woman cry, but never without my heart crying with her. + You come to my church, and behave so badly I can scarce keep from crying + for you. It half choked me last Sunday, to see you lying there with that + horrid book in your hand, and the words of Christ in your ears!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't heed them. It wasn't a horrid book!” + </p> + <p> + “It <i>was</i> a horrid book. You left it behind you, and I took it with + me. I laid it on my study-table, and went out again. When I came home to + dinner, my wife brought it to me and said, 'Oh, Tom, how can you read such + books?' 'My dear,' I answered, 'I don't know what is in the book; I + haven't read a word of it.'” + </p> + <p> + “And then you told her where you found it?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “I said to her, 'If it's a bad book, here goes!' and threw it in the + fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'm not to know the end of the story! But I can send to London for + another copy! I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Wingfold, for destroying my + property!—But you didn't tell her where you found it?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not. She never asked me.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Wylder was silent. She seemed a little ashamed, perhaps a little + softened. Wingfold bade her good-morning. She did not answer him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. <i>MRS. WYLDER AND BARBARA.</i> + </h2> + <p> + To make all this quite credible to a doubting reader, it would be + necessary to tell Mrs. Wylder's history from girlhood. She had had a very + defective education, and what there was of it was all for show. Then she + was married far too young, and to a man unworthy of any good woman. She + indeed was not a good woman, but she was capable of being made worse; and + in the bush, where she passed years not a few, and in cities afterward, + she met women and men more lawless yet than herself or her husband. + Overbearing where her likings were concerned, and full of a certain + generosity where but her interests were in question, the slackness of the + social bonds in the colonies had favoured her abnormal development. It is + difficult to say how much man or woman is the worse for doing, when freed + from restraint, what he or she would have been glad to do before, but for + the restraint. Many who go to the colonies, and there to the dogs, only + show themselves such as they dared not appear at home: they step on a + steeper slope, and arrive, not at the pit, for they were in that already, + but at the bottom of it, so much the faster. There were, however, in Mrs. + Wylder, lovely rudimentary remnants of a good breed. She inherited + feelings which gave her a certain intermittent and fugitive dignity, of + some service to others in her wilder times, and to herself when she came + into contact with an older civilisation. She would occasionally do a right + generous thing—not seldom give with a freedom and judge with a + liberality which were mainly rooted in carelessness. + </p> + <p> + She had much confidence in her daughter; and it said well for the mother + that, with all her experience, she yet had this confidence—and none + the less that she had never taken pains to instruct her in what was + becoming. The most she had done in this way was once to snatch from her + hand and throw in the fire a novel she had herself, a moment before, + finished with unquestioning acceptance. If she had found her behaving like + some of her acquaintance to whose conduct she did not give a second + thought, for her friends might do as they pleased so long as they did not + offend <i>her</i>, she would certainly, in some of her moods at least, + have killed her. + </p> + <p> + While compelled, from lack of service, to employ herself in house affairs, + she neither ate nor drank more than seemed good for her; but as soon as + she had but to live and be served, she began to counterbalance <i>ennui</i> + with self-indulgence, and continued to do so until the death of her boy, + ever after which she had sought refuge from grief in narcotics. Possibly + she would not have behaved as she did in church, but that her nervous + being was a very sponge for morphia. Born to be a strong woman, she was a + slave to her impulses, and, one of the weakest of her kind, went into a + rage at the least show of opposition. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had Mr. Wingfold left the room, when in came Barbara in her + riding-habit, with the glow of joyous motion upon her face, for she had + just ridden from Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, mamma?” she said, but did not come within a couple of + yards of her. “I've had such a ride—as straight as any crow could + fly, between the two stations! I never could hit the line before. But I + got a country-fellow to point me out a landmark or two, and here I am in + just half the time I should have taken by the road! Such jumps!” + </p> + <p> + “You're a madcap!” said her mother. “You'll be brought home on a shutter + some day! Mark my words, Bab! You'll see!—or at least I shall; + you'll be past seeing! But it don't matter; it's what we're made for! Die + or be killed, it's all one! I don't care!” + </p> + <p> + “I do though, mamma! I don't want to be killed just yet—and I don't + mean to be! But I must have a second horse! I begin to suspect Miss Brown + of treating me like a child. She takes care of me! I mean to let her see + what <i>I</i> can do if <i>she's</i> up to it!” + </p> + <p> + “You'll do nothing of the kind! I'll have her shot if you go after any of + your old pranks! And, while I think of it, Bab—your father has set + his heart on your marrying Mr. Lestrange: I can see it perfectly, and I + won't have it! If I hear of anything of that sort between you, I'll set a + heavy foot on it.—How long have you been there this time?” + </p> + <p> + “A week.—But why shouldn't I marry Mr. Lestrange if I like?” + </p> + <p> + “Because your father has set his heart on it, I tell you! Isn't that + enough, you tiresome little wretch? I <i>will not</i> have it—not if + you break your heart over it!—There!” + </p> + <p> + Barbara burst out in a laugh that rang like a bronze bell. + </p> + <p> + “Break my heart for Mr. Lestrange! There's not a man in the world I would + break my little finger for! But my heart! that is too funny! You needn't + be uneasy, mamma; I don't like Arthur Lestrange one bit, and I wouldn't + marry him if you and papa too wanted me. Oh, such a proper young man! He + doesn't think me fit company for his sister!” + </p> + <p> + “He said so! and you didn't give him a cut over the eyes with your whip? + My God!” + </p> + <p> + “Gracious, no! He never says anything half so amusing! He's scorchingly + polite! I would sooner fall in love with the bookbinder!” + </p> + <p> + “The bookbinder? Who's that? You mean the tutor, I suppose! I'm not up to + the slang of this old brute of a country!” + </p> + <p> + “No, mamma; there is a man binding—or mending rather, the books in + the library. He's going to teach me to shoe Miss Brown! Papa wouldn't like + me to marry a blacksmith—I mean a bookbinder—would he?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you would, mamma?” said Bab demurely, with two catherine-wheels of + fun in her downcast eyes. + </p> + <p> + “If you go to do anything mad now, I'll—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't strain your innocent invention, mammy! I think I'll take Mr. + Lestrange! Better anger one than both of you!” + </p> + <p> + “Tease me any more with your nonsense, and I'll set your father on you! Be + off with you!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. <i>BARBARA AND HER CRITICS.</i> + </h2> + <p> + While the two talked in the same pulverous fashion, the words came very + differently from the two mouths. In the speech of the mother was more than + a tone of the vulgarity of a conscious right to lay down the law, of the + rudeness born of feeling above obedience and incapable of error—a + rudeness identical with that of the typical vulgar duchess; the daughter's + tone was playful, but dainty in its playfulness, and not without a certain + unconscious dignity; her lawlessness was the freedom of the bird that + cannot trespass, not that of the quadruped forcing its way. Her almost + baby-like cheeks, her musical voice clear of any strain of sorrow, her + quick relations with the whole world of things, her grace, more child-like + than womanly, whether she stood or sat or moved about, all indicated a + simple, fearless, true and trusting nature. Everybody at Mortgrange liked + her; nearly everybody at Mortgrange had some different fault to find with + her; all agreed that she wanted taming—except sir Wilton, who + allowed the wildness, but would not hear of the taming. The hour of the + morning or the night at which she would not go wandering alone about the + park, or even outside it, had not yet been discovered. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you look better after your friend, Theo?” said her father one + day when Barbara's chair was empty at dinner—with his cold incisive + voice, a little rasping now that the clutch of age's hand was beginning to + close on his throat. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't mind me, papa,” Theodora answered. “Do say something to her, + mamma!” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis not my business to reform other people's children,” lady Ann + returned. + </p> + <p> + “I find her exceedingly original!” remarked the baronet. + </p> + <p> + “In her manners, certainly,” responded his lady. + </p> + <p> + “I find them perfect. Their very audacity renders them faultless. And the + charm is that she does not even suspect herself audacious.” + </p> + <p> + “That is her charm, I confess,” responded Arthur; “but it is a dangerous + one, and may one day cause her to be sadly misunderstood.” + </p> + <p> + “A London drawing-room is your high court of parliament, Arthur!” said his + father. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Wylder, with all her sweetness,” remarked Miss Malliver, “has not an + idea of social distinction. She cannot understand why she should not talk + to any farmer's man or dairymaid she happens to meet! It is not her + talking to them I mind so much as the familiar way she does it. If they + take liberties, it will be her own fault. Any groom might be pardoned for + fancying she thought him as good as herself!” + </p> + <p> + “But she does,” answered Theodora. “Yesterday, I found her talking to the + bookbinder as familiarly as if he had been Arthur!” + </p> + <p> + This was hardly correct, for Barbara talked to the bookbinder with a + deference she never showed Lestrange. + </p> + <p> + “She lacks self-respect!” said lady Ann. “But we must deal with her + gently, and try to do her good. I think myself there is not much amiss + with her beyond love of her own way. Her dislike of restraint certainly + does not befit a communicant!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann was an unfaltering church-goer, rigidly decorous in rendering + what she imagined God, and knew the clergyman expected, and as rank a + mammon-worshipper as any in the land. + </p> + <p> + “But I so far agree with sir Wilton,” she went on, “as to grant that her + manners have in them the germ of possible distinction; and I <i>think</i> + they will come to be all, or nearly all, that could be desired. We ought + at least to give her the advantage of any doubt, and do what we can to + lead her in the right direction.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a fine thing to go to church and have your wits sharpened!” said the + baronet, with an ungenial laugh. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton regarded lady Ann as the coldest-blooded and most selfish woman + in creation, and certainly she was not less selfish and was colder-blooded + than he. Full of his own importance as any Pharisee—as full as he + could be without making himself ridiculous, he resented the slight regard + she showed to that importance. He believed himself wise in human nature, + when in truth he was only quick to read in another what lay within the + limited range of his own consciousness. Of the noble in humanity he knew + next to nothing. To him all men were only selfish. The cause, though by no + means the logical ground of this his belief, was his own ingrained + selfishness. With his hazy yet keen cold eye, he was quick to see in + another, and prompt to lay to his charge, the faults he pardoned in + himself. He had some power over himself, for he very seldom went into a + rage; but he kept his temper like a devil, and was coldly cruel. His wife + had tamed him a good deal, without in the least reforming him. He would + have hated her quite, but for the sort of respect she roused in him by + surpassing him in his own kind. He cringed to her with a sneer. It was + long since he had learned from her society to remember, with the nearest + approach to compunction of which his moth-eaten heart was capable, the + woman who had forsaken her own rank to brave the perils of his, and had + sunk frozen to death by the cold of his contact. For some years he felt + far more friendly to the offspring of the high-born lady than to that of + the blacksmith's daughter; but as time went on, and the memory of the more + plebeian infant's ugliness faded, he began to think how jolly it would be—how + it would serve out her ladyship and her brood of icicles, if after all the + blacksmith's grandson turned up to oust the earl's. He grinned as he lay + awake in the night, picturing to himself how the woman in the next room + would take it. Him and his son together her ladyship might find almost too + much for her! But for many years he had indulged in no allusion to the + possible improbable, allowing her ladyship to refer to Arthur as the heir + without hinting at the uncertainty of his position. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann, from dwelling on what she counted the shame of his origin, had + got so far toward persuading herself that the vanished child was + base-born, that she scarcely doubted the possibility, were he to appear, + of proving his claim false, and originated by conspiracy. Unable to learn + from her husband when and where the baby was baptized, she concluded that + he had never been baptized, and that there was no record of his birth. As + the years went by, and nothing was heard of him, she grew more and more + confident. Now and then a fear would cross her, but she always succeeded + in stifling it—without, however, arriving at such a degree of + certainty, that the thought of the child had no share in her regard for + the wealthy Barbara, her encouragement of her general relations with the + family, and her connivance at her frequent and prolonged visits during the + absence of herself and sir Wilton. + </p> + <p> + She was now returned, and had found everything as she left it, with the + insignificant difference that the bay-window of the library was occupied + by a man at work repairing the books. She had resumed the reins of the + family-coach, and now went on to play the part of a good providence, and + drive the said coach to the top of the hill. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton, I have said, liked Barbara. She amused him, and amusement was + the nearest to sunshine his soul was capable of reaching. All his weather + else was gray, with a touch of the lurid on the western horizon—of + which he was not weather-wise enough to take heed. He had been at school + with Barbara's father, but did not like her any better for that. In youth + they had not been friends, except in a way that brought their <i>interests</i> + too much in collision for their friendship to last. It had ended in a + quiet hate, each knowing too well how much the other knew to dare an open + quarrel. But all that was many years away, and Tom Wylder had been long + abroad and almost forgotten. Sir Wilton, notwithstanding, admired the + forgivingness of his own disposition when he found himself wondering how + Tom Wylder would regard an alliance with his old rival. Doubtless he would + like his daughter to be <i>my lady</i>, but he might be looking for a + loftier title than his son could give her! + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton was incapable, however, of taking any active interest in the + matter. The well-being of his family, when he himself should be out of the + way, did not much affect him. Nothing but his lower nature had ever roused + him to action of any kind. How far the idea of betterment had ever shown + itself to him, God only knows. Apparently, he was a child of the evil one, + whom nothing but the furnace could cleanse. Almost the only thing he could + now imagine giving him vivid pleasure, was to see his wife thoroughly + annoyed. + </p> + <p> + All he had ever had of the manners of a gentleman, remained with him. He + was courteous to ladies, never swore in their presence—except + sometimes in a mutter at his wife, and could upon occasion show a kindness + that cost him nothing. Humanity was not all dead out of him; neither was + there a purely human thought in him. On Barbara he smiled his sweetest + smile: it owed most of its sweetness to the dentist. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. <i>THE PARSON'S PARABLE.</i> + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Wingfold went as he had come, thoughtful even to trouble. What was to + be done for the woman? What was his part, as parson of the parish, with + regard to her behaviour in church? Was it or was it not his part to take + public notice of what she intended, if not as a defiance to God, at least + as an open expression of her bitter resentment of his dealing with her? + The creator's discipline did not suit his creature's taste, and she would + let him know it: whether it suited her necessities, she did not ask or + care; she knew nothing of her necessities—only of her desires. Had + she had a suspicion that she was an eternal creature, poor as well as + miserable, blind and naked as well as bereaved and angry, she might have + allowed some room for God to show himself right. But she was ignorant of + herself as any savage. Was Wingfold to take her insolence in church as a + thing done to himself, which he must endure with patience? or, putting + himself out of the question, and regarding her conduct only as a protest + against the ways of God with her, must he leave reproof as well as + vengeance to the Lord? Was it his business, or was it not, to rebuke her, + and make his rebuke as open as her offence? It troubled him almost beyond + bearing to think that some of his flock might imagine that the great lady + of the parish was allowed to behave herself unseemly, where another would + be exposed to shame. But how abhorrent to him was a public contention in + the church, and on the Lord's day! Mrs. Wylder was just the woman to + challenge forcible expulsion, and make the circumstances of it as flagrant + as possible! She might even use both pistol and whip! What better + opportunity could she find for giving point to her appeal against God! A + man might, in the rage of disappointment, cry out that there could be no + God where baffle met the holiest instinct—that blundering chance + must rule; he might, illogical with grief, declare that as God could treat + him so, he would believe in him no longer; or he might assert that an evil + being, not a good, was at the heart of life—a devil and not a God, + for he was one who created and forgot, or who remembered and did not care—who + quickened exposure but gave no shield! called from the void a being filled + with doorless avenues to pain, and abandoned him to incarnate cruelty, + that he might make him sport with the wildness of his dismay! but here was + a woman who did not say that God was not, or that he was not good, but + with passionate self-party-spirit cried out, “He is against me! he sides + with my husband! He is not my friend, but his: I will let him know how I + resent his unfairness!” Whether God was good or bad she did not care—that + was not a point she was concerned in; all she heeded was how he behaved to + her—whether he took part with her husband or herself. He had torn + from her the desire of her heart and left her desolate: she would worship + him no longer! She had been brought up to believe there was a God, and had + never doubted his existence: with her whole will and passion she opposed + that which she called God. She had never learned to yield when wrong, and + now she was sure she was right. Though hopeless she resisted. She cried + out against God, but believed him by his own act helpless to deliver her, + for what could he do against the grave? Powerless for her as unfriendly + toward her, why should she worship him? Why should she pay court to one + who neither would nor could give her what she wanted? What was he God for? + Was <i>she</i> to go to his house, and carry herself courteously, as if he + were her friend! She would not! And that there might be no mistake as to + how she regarded him, she would sit in her pew and read her novel, while + the friends of God said their prayers to him! If she annoyed them, so much + the better, for the surer she might hope that <i>he</i> was annoyed! + </p> + <p> + It may seem to some incredibly terrible that one should believe in God and + defy him! But do none of us, who say also we believe in God, and who are + far from defying him, ever behave like Mrs. Wylder? It is one thing to + believe in a God; it is quite another to believe in God! Every time we + grumble at our fate, every time we are displeased, hurt, resentful at this + or that which comes to us, every time we do not receive the suffering sent + us, “with both hands,” as William Law says, we are of the same spirit with + this half-crazy woman. In some fashion, and that a real one, she must have + believed in the God against whom she urged her complaint; and it is rather + to her praise that, like Job, she did it openly, and not with mere base + grumblings in her heart at her fireside. It is mean to believe half-way, + to believe in words, and in action deny. One of four gates stands open to + us: to deny the existence of God, and say we can do without him; to + acknowledge his existence, but say he is not good, and act as true men + resisting a tyrant; to say, “I would there were a God,” and be miserable + because there is none; or to say there must be a God, and he must be + perfect in goodness or he could not be, and give ourselves up to him heart + and soul and hands and history. + </p> + <p> + But what was parson Wingfold to do in the matter? Was he to allow the + simple sheep of his flock to think him afraid of the squire's lady? or was + he to venture an uproar in the church on a Sunday morning? His wife and he + had often talked the thing over, but had arrived at no conclusion. He went + to her now, and told her all that had passed. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it time to do something?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I think so—but what?” he answered. “I wish you would show me + what I ought to do! Let me see it, and I will do it.” She was silent for a + moment. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't you preach at her?” she said, with a laugh in which was an odd + mingling of doubt and merriment. + </p> + <p> + “I have always thought that a mean thing, and have never done it—except + by dwelling on broadest principles. That an evil principle has an advocate + present, is no reason for sparing it: what am I there for? But to preach + that the many may turn on the one—that I never could do!” + </p> + <p> + “This case is different from any other. The wrong is done continuously, in + the very eyes of the congregation, and for the sake of its being seen,” + Mrs. Wingfold answered. “Neither would you be the assailant; you would but + accept, not give the challenge. For I don't know how many Sundays, she has + been pitting her position in the pew against yours in the pulpit! + Believing it out of your power to do anything, she flaunts her French + novel in your face; and those that can't see her, see her yellow novel in + your eyes, and think about her and you, instead of the things you are + saying to them! For the sake of the work given you, for the sake of your + influence with the people, you must do something!” + </p> + <p> + “It is God she defies, not me.” + </p> + <p> + “I think she defies you to say an honest word on his behalf. Your silence + must seem to her an acknowledgment that she is right.” + </p> + <p> + “That cannot be, after what I have said to her more than once in her own + house.” + </p> + <p> + “Then at least she must think that either you have no authority to drive + from the little temple one of the cows of Bashan, or are afraid of her + horns.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right, Nelly!” cried the rector; “you are quite right. Only you + don't give me a hint what to do!” + </p> + <p> + “Am I not saying as plain as I can that you must preach at her?” + </p> + <p> + “H'm! I didn't expect that of you!” + </p> + <p> + “No; for if you could have expected it of me, you would have thought of it + yourself! But just think! A public scandal requires public treatment. You + will not be dragging her before the people; she has put herself there! She + is brazen, and must be treated as brazen—set in the full glare of + opinion. And I think, if I were a clergyman, I should know how to do it!” + </p> + <p> + Wingfold was silent. She must be right! Something glimmered before him—something + possible—he could not see plainly what. + </p> + <p> + “It is all very well to make such a clamour about her boy,” continued his + wife, “but every one knows that she quarrelled with him dreadfully—that + for days at a time they would be cat and dog with each other. Her animal + instinct lasted it out, and she did not come to hate him; but I can't help + thinking it must have been in a great measure because her husband favoured + the other that she took up this one with such passion. I have been told + she would abuse him in language not fit to repeat, the little wretch + answering her back, and choking with rage that he could not tear her.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you?” asked the parson. + </p> + <p> + “I would rather not say.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure it is not mere gossip?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite sure. To be gossip, a thing must go through two mouths at least, + and I had it first-mouth. I tell it you because I think it worth your + knowing.” + </p> + <p> + The next Sunday morning, there lay the lady as usual, only her novel was a + red one. When the parson went into the pulpit, he cast one glance on the + gallery to his right, then spoke thus:— + </p> + <p> + “My friends, I will follow the example of our Lord, and speak to you + to-day in a parable. The Lord said there are things better spoken in + parables, because of the eyes that will not see, and the ears that will + not hear. + </p> + <p> + “There was once a mother left alone with her little boy—the only + creature in the world or out of it that she cared for. She was a good + mother to him, as good a mother as you can think, never overbearing or + unkind. She never thought of herself, but always of the desire of her + heart, the apple of her eye, her son born of her own body. It was not + because of any return he could make her that she loved him. It was not to + make him feel how good she was, that she did everything for him. It was + not to give him reasons for loving <i>her</i>, but because she loved <i>him</i>, + and because he needed her. He was a delicate child, requiring every care + she could lavish upon him, and she did lavish it. Oh, how she loved him! + She would sit with the child on her lap from morning till night, gazing on + him; she always went to sleep with him in her bosom—as close to her + as ever he could lie. When she woke in the dark night, her first movement + was to strain him closer, her next to listen if he was breathing—for + he might have died and been lost! When he looked up at her with eyes of + satisfaction, she felt all her care repaid. + </p> + <p> + “The years went on, and the child grew, and the mother loved him more and + more. But he did not love her as she loved him. He soon began to care for + the things she gave him, but he did not learn to love the mother who gave + them. Now the whole good of things is to be the messengers of love—to + carry love from the one heart to the other heart; and when these + messengers are fetched instead of sent, grasped at, that is, by a greedy, + ungiving hand, they never reach the heart, but block up the path of love, + and divide heart from heart; so that the greedy heart forgets the love of + the giving heart more and more, and all by the things it gives. That is + the way generosity fares with the ungenerous. The boy would be very + pleasant to his mother so long as he thought to get something from her; + but when he had got what he wanted, he would forget her until he wanted + something more. + </p> + <p> + “There came at last a day when she said to him, 'Dear boy, I want you to + go and fetch me some medicine, for I feel very poorly, and am afraid I am + going to be ill!' He mounted his pony, and rode away to get the medicine. + Now his mother had told him to be very careful, because the medicine was + dangerous, and he must not open the bottle that held it. But when he had + it, he said to himself, 'I dare say it is something very nice, and mother + does not want me to have any of it!' So he opened the bottle and tasted + what was in it, and it burned him terribly. Then he was furious with his + mother, and said she had told him not to open the bottle just to make him + do it, and vowed he would not go back to her! He threw the bottle from + him, and turned, and rode another way, until he found himself alone in a + wild forest, where was nothing to eat, and nothing to shelter him from the + cold night, and the wind that blew through the trees, and made strange + noises. He dismounted, afraid to ride in the dark, and before he knew, his + pony was gone. Then he began to be miserably frightened, and to wish he + had not run away. But still he blamed his mother, who might have known, he + said, that he would open the bottle. + </p> + <p> + “The mother got very uneasy about her boy, and went out to look for him. + The neighbours too, though he was not a nice boy, and none but his mother + liked him, went out also, for they would gladly find him and take him home + to her; and they came at last to the wood, with their torches and + lanterns. + </p> + <p> + “The boy was lying under a tree, and saw the lights, and heard the voices, + and knew it was his mother come. Then the old wickedness rose up fresh in + his heart, and he said to himself: 'She shall have trouble yet before she + finds me! Am I to come and go as she pleases!' He lay very still; and when + he saw them coming near, crept farther, and again lay still. Thus he went + on doing, and so avoided his saviours. He heard one say there were wolves + in the wood, for that was the sound of them; but he was just the kind of + boy that will not believe, but thinks every one has a purpose of his own + in saying this or that. So he slipped and slipped away until at length all + despaired of finding him, and left the wood. + </p> + <p> + “Suddenly he knew that he was again alone. He gave a great shriek, but no + one heard it. He stood quaking and listening. Presently his pony came + rushing past him, with two or three wolves behind him. He started to his + feet and began to run, wild to get out of the wood. But he could not find + the way, and ran about this way and that until utter despair came down + upon him, and all he could do was to lie still as a mouse lest the wolves + should hear him. + </p> + <p> + “And as he lay he began at last to think that he was a wicked child; that + his mother had done everything to make him good, and he would not be good; + and now he was lost, and the wolves alone would find him! He sank at last + into a stupor, and lay motionless, with death and the wolves after him. + </p> + <p> + “He came to himself in the arms of a strange woman, who had taken him up, + and was carrying him home. + </p> + <p> + “The name of the woman was Sorrow—a wandering woman, a kind of + gypsy, always going about the world, and picking up lost things. Nobody + likes her, hardly anybody is civil to her; but when she has set anybody + down and is gone, there is often a look of affection and wonder and + gratitude sent after her. For all that, however, very few are glad to be + found by her again. + </p> + <p> + “Sorrow carried him weeping home to his mother. His mother came out, and + took him in her arms. Sorrow made her courtesy, and went away. The boy + clung to his mother's neck, and said he was sorry. In the midst of her joy + his mother wept bitterly, for he had nearly broken her heart. She could + not get the wolves out of her mind. + </p> + <p> + “But, alas! the boy forgot all, and was worse than ever. He grew more and + more cruel to his mother, and mocked at every word she said to him; so + that—” + </p> + <p> + There came a cry from the gallery. The congregation started in sudden + terror to their feet. The rector stopped, and turning to the right, stood + gazing. In the front of the squire's pew stood Mrs. Wylder, white, and + speechless with rage. For a moment she stood shaking her fist at the + preacher. Then, in a hoarse broken voice, came the words— + </p> + <p> + “It's a lie. My boy was never cruel to me. It's a wicked lie.” + </p> + <p> + She could say no more, but stood and glared, hate in her fierce eyes, and + torture in her colourless face. + </p> + <p> + “Madam, you have betrayed yourself,” said the rector solemnly. “If your + son behaved well to you, it makes it the worse in you to behave ill to + your Father. From Sunday to Sunday you insult him with rude behaviour. I + tell you so in the face of this congregation, which knows it as well as I. + Hitherto I have held my tongue—from no fear of the rich, from no + desire to spare them deserved disgrace in the eyes of the poor, but + because I shrank from making the house of God a place of contention. + Madam, you have behaved shamefully, and I do my duty in rebuking you.” + </p> + <p> + The whole congregation were on their feet, staring at her. A moment she + stood, and would have brazened out the stare. But she felt the eyes of the + motionless hundreds blazing upon her, and the culprit soul grew naked in + the presence of judging souls. Her nerve gave way; she turned her back, + left the pew, and fled from the church by the squire's door, into the + grounds of Wylder Hall. + </p> + <p> + Happily Barbara was not in the church that morning. + </p> + <p> + The next Sunday the squire's pew was empty. The red volume lay open on its + face upon the floor of it. + </p> + <p> + Wingfold's dear plot had palled. He had rough-hewed his end, but the + divinity had shaped it. When the squire came to know what had taken place, + he made his first call on the rector. He said nothing about his wife, but + plainly wished it understood that he bore him no ill will for what he had + done. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. <i>THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.</i> + </h2> + <p> + The rector had often wished his wife could in some natural way get hold of + Miss Wylder; he suspected something exceptionally fine in her: how else + could she, with such a father and such a mother, have such a countenance? + There must be a third factor in the affair, and one worth knowing—namely + herself! That she seemed to avoid being reckoned among church-goers might + be a point in her favour! What reports reached him of her wild ways, + mingled with exaggerated stories of her lawlessness, did not shock him: + what was true in them might spring from mere exuberance of life, whose joy + was her only law—and yet a real law to her! + </p> + <p> + He had had no opportunity of learning either how peculiar the girl was, or + how capable. She was not yet up to his teaching; she had to have other + water to drink first, and was now approaching a source that might have + caused him anxiety for her, had he ever so little believed in chance. But + a shepherd is none the less a true shepherd that he leaves plenty of + liberty to the lamb to pick its own food. That its best instincts may not + be to the taste either of its natural guardians or the public, is nothing + against those instincts. Without appearing to their guardians both strange + and headstrong, some sheep would never get near the food necessary to keep + them alive. Confined to the provender even their shepherds would have them + contented withal, many would die. Sometimes, to escape from the arid + wastes of “society,” haunted with the cries of its spiritual greengrocers, + and find the pasture on which their souls can live, they have to die, and + climb the grassy slopes of the heavenly hills. + </p> + <p> + Barbara had as yet had no experience of pain—or of more at least + than came from sympathy with suffering—a sympathy which, though + ready, could hardly be deep in one who had never had a headache herself. + To all dumb suffering things, she was very gentle and pitiful; but her + pity was like that of a child over her doll. + </p> + <p> + She was always glad to get away from home. While her father was paying his + long-delayed visit to the rector, she was flying over hedge and ditch and + rail, in a line for that gate of Mortgrange which Simon Armour and his + grandson found open when first the former took the latter to see the + place: Barbara had a key to it. + </p> + <p> + She went with swift gliding step, like that of a red Indian, into the + library. Richard was piecing the broken cords of a great old folio—the + more easily that they were double—in order to re-attach the loosened + sheets and the hanging board, and so get the book ready for a new cover. + She carried in her hand something yet more sorely in need of mending—a + pigeon with a broken wing, which she had seen lying in the park, and had + dismounted to take. It kept opening and shutting its eyes, and she knew + that nothing could be done for it; but the mute appeal of the dying thing + had gone to her heart, and she wanted sympathy, whether for it or for + herself she could hardly have distinguished. How she came to wake a little + more just then, I cannot tell, but the fact is a joint in her history. The + jar to the pigeon's life affected her as a catastrophe. She felt that + there a crisis had come: a living conscious thing could do nothing for its + own life, and lay helpless. Say rather—seemed so to lie. Oh, surely + it is in reason that not a sparrow should fall to the ground without the + Father! To whom but the father of the children that bemoan its fate, + should the children carry his sparrow? But Barbara was carrying her pigeon + where was no help for the heart of either. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, poor thing,” said Richard, “I fear we can do nothing for it! But it + will be at rest soon! It is fast going.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but where?” said Barbara, to whom that moment came the question for + the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “How can that be? If I were going, I should be going somewhere! I couldn't + go nowhere if I tried ever so. I don't like you to say it is going + nowhere! Poor little thing! I won't let you go nowhere!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” returned Richard, a little bewildered, “what would you have me + say? You know what I mean! It is going not to be, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all! How would <i>you</i> like to be told you were going nowhere—going + not to be—that was all?” + </p> + <p> + Richard saw that to declare abruptly his belief that he was himself as + much going nowhere as any pigeon that ever died, would probably be to + close the door between them. At the same time, if he left her to imagine + that he expected life for himself, but not for the animals, she must think + him selfish! Unwilling therefore to answer, he took refuge in his genuine + sympathy with suffering. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not strange,” he said, and would have taken from her hands the + wounded bird, but she would not part with it, “that men should take + pleasure in killing—especially a creature like that, so full of + innocent content? It seems to me the greatest pity to stop such a life!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke there came upon him the dim sense of a foaming reef of + argument ahead—such as this: “Then there ought to be no death! And + what ought not to be, cannot be! But there is death: what then is death? + If it be a stopping of life, then that is which cannot be. But it may be + only a change in the form of life that looks like a stopping, and is not! + If Death be stronger than Life, so that he stops life, how then was Life + able so to flout him, that he, the thing that was not, arose from the + antenatal sepulchre on which Death sat throned in impotent negation of + entity, unable to preclude existence, and yet able to annihilate it? Life + alone is: nothingness is not; Death cannot destroy; he is not the + antagonist, not the opposite of life.” Some such argument Richard, I say, + saw vaguely through the gloom ahead, and began to beat to windward. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever notice,” he said, “in <i>The Rime of the Ancient Mariner</i>, + the point at which the dead bird falls from the neck of the man?” + </p> + <p> + It was a point, however, at which neither he nor Barbara was capable of + seeing the depth of the poem. Richard thought it was the new-born love of + beauty that freed the mariner; he did not see that it was the love of + life, the new-born sympathy with life. + </p> + <p> + “I don't even know what you are talking of,” answered Barbara. “Do tell + me. It sounds like something wonderful! Is it a story?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—a wonderful story.” + </p> + <p> + Richard had not attempted to understand Coleridge's philosophy, taking it + for quite obsolete; and it was but doubtfully that he had made trial of + his poems. Happily choosing <i>Christabel</i>, however, for a + tasting-piece, he was immediately enchanted and absorbed; and never again + had he been so keenly aware of disappointment as when he came to the end, + and found, as an Irishman might say, that it was not there: a lump + gathered in his throat; he flung the book from him, and it was a week + before he could open it again. + </p> + <p> + The next poem he tried was <i>The Rime of the Ancient Mariner</i>, which + he read with almost equal delight, bewitched with many an individual + phrase, with the melody unique of many a stanza, with the strangeness of + its speech, with the loveliness of its real, and the wildness of its + invented pictures. But he had not yet discovered, or even begun to foresee + the marvel of its whole. A man must know something of repentance before he + can understand <i>The Rime of the Ancient Mariner</i>. + </p> + <p> + The volume containing it had come into his hands as one of a set his + father had to bind. It belonged to a worshipper of Coleridge, who had + possessed himself of every edition of every book he had written, or had + had a share in writing. There he read first the final form of <i>The Rime</i> + as it appeared in the <i>Sibylline Leaves</i> of 1817: when he came to + look at that in the <i>Lyrical Ballads</i>, published in 1798, he found + differences many and great between the two. He found also in the set an + edition with a form of the poem differing considerably from the last as + well as the first. He had brought together and compared all these forms of + the poem, noting every minutest variation—a mode of study which, in + the case of a masterpiece, richly repays the student. It was no wonder, + therefore, that Richard had almost every word of it on the very tip of his + tongue. + </p> + <p> + He began to repeat the ballad, and went on, never for a moment + intermitting his work. Without the least attempt at what is called + recitation, of which happily he knew nothing, he made both sense and music + tell, saying it as if he were for the hundredth time reading it aloud for + his own delight. If his pronunciation was cockneyish, it was but a little + so. + </p> + <p> + The very first stanza took hold of Barbara. She sat down by Richard's + table, softly laid the dying bird in her lap, and listened with round eyes + and parted lips, her rapt soul sitting in her ears. + </p> + <p> + But Richard had not gone far before he hesitated, his memory perplexed + between the differing editions. + </p> + <p> + “Have you forgotten it? I am <i>so</i> sorry!” said Barbara. “It <i>is</i> + wonderful—not like anything I ever heard, or saw, or tasted before. + It smells like a New Zealand flower called—” Here she said a word + Richard had never heard, and could never remember. “I don't wonder at your + liking books, if you find things in them of that sort!” + </p> + <p> + “I've not exactly forgotten it,” answered Richard; “but I've copied out + different editions for comparison, and they've got a little mixed in my + head.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely the printers, with all their blunders and changes, can't keep + you from seeing what the author wrote!” + </p> + <p> + “The editions I mean are those of the author himself. He kept making + changes, some of them very great changes. Not many people know the poem as + Coleridge first published it.” + </p> + <p> + “Coleridge! Who was he?” + </p> + <p> + “The man that wrote the poem.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! He altered it afterwards?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he make it better?” + </p> + <p> + “Much better.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why should you care any more for the first way of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Just because it is different. A thing not so good may have a different + goodness. A man may not be so good as another man, and yet have some good + things in him the other has not. That implies that not every change he + made was for the better. And where he has put a better phrase, or passage, + the former may yet be good. So you see a new form may be much better, and + yet the old form remain much too good to be parted with. In any case it is + intensely interesting to see how and why he changed a thing or its shape, + and to ponder wherein it is for the better or the worse. That is to take + it like a study in natural history. In that we learn how an animal grows + different to meet a difference in the supply of its needs; in the varying + editions of a poem we see how it alters to meet a new requirement of the + poet's mind. I don't mean the cases are parallel, but they correspond + somehow. If I were a schoolmaster, I should make my pupils compare + different forms of the same poem, and find out why the poet made the + changes. That would do far more for them, I think, than comparing poets + with each other. The better poets are—that is, the more original + they are—the less there is in them to compare.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to hear the rest of the story. Never mind the differences in + the telling of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I can't get into the current of it now.” + </p> + <p> + “You can look at the book! It must be somewhere among all these!” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. But I haven't time to look for it now.” + </p> + <p> + “It won't take you a minute to find it.” + </p> + <p> + “I must not leave my work.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't cost you more than one tiny minute!” pleaded Barbara like a + child. + </p> + <p> + “Let me explain to you, miss:—I find the only way to be <i>sure</i> + I don't cheat, is to know I haven't stopped an instant to do anything for + myself. Sometimes I have stopped for a while; and then when I wanted to + make up the time, I couldn't be quite sure how much I owed, and that made + me give more than I needed—which I didn't like when I would gladly + have been doing something else. When the time is my own, it is of far more + value to me for the insides than to my employer for the outsides of the + books. So you see, for my own sake as well as his, I cannot stop till my + time is up.” + </p> + <p> + “That <i>is</i> being honest!” + </p> + <p> + “Who can consent to be dishonest! It is the meanest thing to undertake + work and then imagine you show spirit by shirking what you can of it. + There's a lot of fellows like that! I would as soon pick a pocket as + undertake and not do!” + </p> + <p> + Barbara begged no more. + </p> + <p> + “But I can talk while I work, miss,” Richard went on; “and I will try + again to remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, please do.” + </p> + <p> + Richard thought a little, and presently resuming the poem, went on to the + end of the first part. As he finished the last stanza— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God save thee, ancient Mariner, + From the fiends that plague thee thus!— + Why look'st thou so?—With my cross-bow + I shot the <i>Albatross!</i>'”— +</pre> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Barbara, “I see now what made you think of the poem!”—and + she looked down at the throbbing bird in her lap. + </p> + <p> + It opened its dark eyes once more—with a reeling, pitiful look at + her, Barbara thought—quivered a little, and lay still. She burst + into tears. + </p> + <p> + Richard dropped his work, and made a step toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” she said. “One has got to cry <i>so</i> much, and I may as + well cry for the bird! I'm all right now, thank you! Please go on. The + bird is dead, and I'm glad. I will let it lie a little, and then bury it. + If it be anywhere, perhaps it will one day know me, and then it will love + me. Please go on with the poem. It will make me forget. I'm not bound to + remember, am I—where I'm not to blame, I mean, and cannot help?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not!” acquiesced Richard, and began the second part. + </p> + <p> + “I see! I see!” cried Barbara, wiping her eyes. “They were cross with him + for killing the bird, not because they loved the beautiful creature, but + because it was unlucky to kill him! And then when nothing but good came, + they said it was quite right to kill him, and told lies of him, and said + he was a bad bird, and brought the fog and mist!—I wonder what's + coming to them!—That's not the end, is it? It can't be!” + </p> + <p> + “No; it's not nearly done yet. It's only beginning.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad! Do go on.” + </p> + <p> + She was eager as any child. Coleridge could not have desired a better + listener. + </p> + <p> + “I know! <i>I</i> know!” she said presently. “<i>We</i> were caught in a + calm as we came home! My father is fond of the sea, and brought us round + the Cape in a sailing-vessel. It was horrid. It lasted only three days, + but I felt as if I should die. It wasn't long enough, I suppose, to draw + out the creeping things.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it wasn't near enough to the equator for them,” answered Richard, + and went on:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah! well a-day! what evil looks + Had I from old and young; + Instead of the cross, the Albatross + About my neck was hung.” + </pre> + <p> + “Poor man! And in such weather!” exclaimed Barbara. “And such a huge + creature! I see! They thought now the killing of the bird had brought the + calm, and they would have their revenge! A bad set, those sailors! People + that deserve punishment always want to punish. Do go on.” + </p> + <p> + When the skeleton-ship came, her eyes grew with listening like those of + one in a trance. + </p> + <p> + “What a horrid, live dead woman!” she said. “Her whiteness is worse than + any blackness. But I wish he had told us what Death was like!” + </p> + <p> + “In the first edition,” returned Richard, much delighted that she missed + what constructive symmetry required, “there <i>is</i> a description of + Death. I doubt if you would like it, though. You don't like horrid + things?” + </p> + <p> + “I do—if they should be horrid, and are horrid enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Coleridge thought afterwards it was better to leave it out!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell it me, anyhow.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “His bones were black with many a crack, + All black and bare, I ween; + Jet-black and bare, save where with rust, + Of mouldy damps and charnel crust, + They were patched with purple and green. +</pre> + <p> + “—There! What do you think of that?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i> is nothing like so horrid as the woman!” + </p> + <p> + “She is more horrid in the first edition.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “<i>Her</i> lips are red, <i>her</i> looks are free, + <i>Her</i> locks are yellow as gold; + Her skin is as white as leprosy, + And she is far liker Death than he; + Her flesh makes the still air cold.” + </pre> + <p> + “I do think that is worse. Tell me again how the other goes.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Night-Mare <i>Life-in-death</i> was she, + Who thicks man's blood with cold.” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes, the other is worse! I can hardly tell why, except it be that you get + at the sense of it easier. What does the Nightmare Life-in-Death mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I can't quite get at it.” + </p> + <p> + How should he? Richard was too close to the awful phantom to know that + this was her portrait. + </p> + <p> + “There's another dreadful stanza in the first edition,” he went on. “It is + repeated in the second, but left out in the last. I fancy the poet let + himself be overpersuaded to omit it. The poem was not actually printed + without it until after his death: he had only put it in the <i>errata</i>, + to be omitted.—When the woman whistles with joy at having won the + ancient Mariner, + </p> + <p> + “'A gust of wind sterte up behind,' + </p> + <p> + “—as if, like the sailors, she had whistled for it:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'A gust of wind sterte up behind, + And whistled through his bones; + Through the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth, + Half whistles and half groans;' +</pre> + <p> + “and the spectre-bark is blown along by this breath coming out of the + bosom of the skeleton.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it was a great mistake to leave that verse out!” said Barbara. + “There is no nasty horror in it! There <i>is</i> a little in the + description of Death!” + </p> + <p> + “I think with you,” returned Richard, more and more astonished at the + insight of a girl who had read next to nothing. “Our lecturer at King's,” + he went on, “pointed out to us, in this part, what some call a blunder.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I will give you the verses again; and you see if you can pick it out.” + </p> + <p> + “Do, please.” + </p> + <p> + “—Till clombe above the eastern bar The horned Moon, with one bright + star Within the nether tip.” + </p> + <p> + “I never saw a star there! But I see nothing wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is the nearest to us of the heavenly bodies?” + </p> + <p> + “The moon, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly:—how, then, could a star come between us and it? For if + the star were within the tip of the moon, it must be between us and the + dark part of the moon!” + </p> + <p> + “I see! How stupid of me! But let me think!—If the star were just on + the edge of the moon, between the horns, it would almost look as if it + were within the tips—might it not?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the best that can be said for it anyhow,—except indeed that + the poor ignorant sailor might, in the midst of such horrors, well make + the blunder.—By the way, in the first edition it stood as you have + just said: the line was, + </p> + <p> + “'Almost within the tips.'” + </p> + <p> + “What did he change it to?” + </p> + <p> + “He made it— + </p> + <p> + “'Within the nether tip.'” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he change it?” + </p> + <p> + “You would see that at the first glance, if you were used to riming.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a poet, then, as well as a blacksmith and a bookbinder?” + </p> + <p> + “Too much of a poet, I hope, to imagine myself more than a whittler of + reeds!” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + He was not sorry, however, to let Barbara know him for a poor relation of + the high family of poets. In truth, what best enabled him to understand + their work, was the humble work of the same sort he did himself. + </p> + <p> + She did not understand what he meant by a <i>whittler of reeds</i>, but + she rightly took what he said for a humble affirmative. + </p> + <p> + “I begin to be frightened at you!” she rejoined, half meaning it. “Who + knows what else you may not be!” + </p> + <p> + “I am little enough of anything,” answered Richard, “but nothing that I do + not wish to be more of.” + </p> + <p> + A short silence followed. + </p> + <p> + “You have not told me yet why he changed that line!” resumed Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Better wait until I can show it you in the book: then you will see at + once.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, go on then. I don't know anything about the poem yet! I don't + know why it was written!” + </p> + <p> + “You like some dreams, though they have no reason in them, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but then I suppose there is reason in the poem!” + </p> + <p> + “There is, indeed!” said Richard, and went on. + </p> + <p> + But presently she stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “One thing I should like to know before we go further,” she said; “—why + they all fell down except the ancient Mariner.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember that Death and the woman were casting dice?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not very clear, but this is how I understand the thing:—They + diced for the crew, one by one; Death won every one till they came to the + last, the ancient Mariner himself, and the woman, a sort of live Death, + wins him. That is why she cries, 'I've won, I've won!' and whistles thrice—though + she has won only one out of two hundred. I should think she was used to + Death having more than she, else she wouldn't have been so pleased. + Perhaps she seldom got one!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see all that. But things oughtn't to go by the casting of dice. + Money may, for that does not signify, but not the souls and bodies of men. + It should not be the way in a poem any more than in the open world.—Let + me think!—I have it!—They were not good men, those sailors! + They first blamed, and then justified, and then again blamed and cruelly + punished the poor mariner, who had done wrong certainly, but was doubtless + even then sorry for it. He was cruel to a bird he did not know, and they + were cruel to a man they did know! So they are taken, and he is left—to + come well out of it at last, I hope.—Yes, it's all right! Now you + can go on.” + </p> + <p> + She said nothing as he showed her the deck strewn so thick with the dead + bodies, whose cursing eyes all looked one way; but when the heavenly + contrast came:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The moving Moon went up the sky, + And nowhere did abide: + Softly she was going up, + And a star or two beside;— +</pre> + <p> + she gave a deep sigh of delight, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don't I know her, the beauty! Isn't it just many a time she has made + me sick with the love of her, and her peace, and her ways of looking, and + walking, and talking—for talk she does to those that can listen + hard! I dare say, in this old country where she's been about so long, you + will think it silly to make so much of her; but you don't know here what + it is to have her night after night for your one companion! She never + grows a downright friend, though—a friend you've got at the heart + of! She always looks at you as if she were saying—'Yes, yes; I know + what you are thinking! but I have that in me you can never know, and I can + never tell! It will go down with me to the grave of the great universe, + and no one will ever know it! It is so lovely!—and oh, so sad!'” + </p> + <p> + She was silent. Richard could not answer. He saw her far away like the + moon she spoke of. She was growing to him a marvel and a mystery. + Something strange seemed befalling him. Was she weaving a spell about his + soul? Was she fettering him for her slave? Was she one of the wild, + bewildering creatures of ancient lonely belief, that are the souls of the + loveliest things, but can detach themselves from them, and wander out in + garments more immediately their own? Was she salamander or sylph, naiad or + undine, oread or dryad?—But then she had such a head, and they were + all rather silly! + </p> + <p> + When the ballad told how silvery were the sea-snakes in the moonlight, and + how gorgeously varied in the red shadow, Richard looked for her to show + delight in the play of their colours; but, though the sweet strong little + mouth smiled, her brows looked more puzzled than pleased—which was a + thing noteworthy. + </p> + <p> + Any marvel in Nature, however new, Barbara would have welcomed with bare + delight; she would have asked neither the why, nor the how, nor the final + cause of the phenomenon—as if, being natural, it must be right, and + she needed not trouble herself; but here, in this poem, a world born of + the imagination of a man, she wanted to know about everything, whether it + was, or would be, or ought to be just so—whether, in a word, every + fact was souled with a reason, as it ought to be. Perhaps she demanded + such satisfaction too soon; perhaps she ought to have waited for the + whole, and, having found that a harmonious thing, then first have inquired + into the truth of its parts; but so it was: she must know as she went, + that she might know when she arrived! But in this she revealed a genuine + artistic faculty—that she gave herself up to the poet, and allowed + him to inspire her, yet <i>would</i> have reason from him. + </p> + <p> + Richard went on:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “O happy living things! No tongue + Their beauty might declare; + A spring of love gushed from my heart, + And I blessed them unaware! + Sure my kind saint took pity on me, + And I blessed them unaware. +</pre> + <p> + “The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross + fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara jumped up, clapping her hands with delight. + </p> + <p> + “I knew something was going to happen!” she cried. “I knew it was coming + all right!” + </p> + <p> + “You have not heard the end yet! You don't know what may be coming!” + protested Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing <i>can</i> go wrong now! The man's love is awake, and he will be + sorrier and sorrier for what he did! Instead of saying, 'The wrigglesome, + slimy things!' he blesses them; and because he is going to be a friend to + the other creatures in the house, and live on good terms with them, the + body he had killed tumbles from his neck; the bad deed is gone down into + the depth of the great sea, and he is able to say his prayers again;—no, + not that exactly; it must be something better than saying prayers now!”—She + paused a moment, then added, “It must be something I think I don't know + yet!” and sat down. + </p> + <p> + Richard heard and admired: he thought that as she had perceived there was + something better than saying prayers, she would pray no more! + </p> + <p> + “Go on; go on,” she said. “But if you like to stop, I shan't mind. I have + no fear now. It's all going right, and must soon come all right!” + </p> + <p> + “O sleep! It is a gentle thing,” + </p> + <p> + said Richard, going on. + </p> + <p> + “There it is!” she interrupted. “I knew it was all coming right! He can + sleep now!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “O sleep! It is a gentle thing, + Beloved from pole to pole! + To Mary queen the praise be given! + She sent the gentle deep from Heaven, + That slid into my soul.” + </pre> + <p> + Some one was in the room, the door of which had been open all the time. + The sky was so cloudy, and the twilight so far advanced, that neither of + them, Barbara absorbed in the poem and Richard in the last of his day's + work, had heard any one enter. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you ring for a lamp?” said Lestrange. + </p> + <p> + “There is no occasion; I have just done,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot surely see in this light!” said Arthur, who was short-sighted. + “You certainly were not at your work when I came into the room!” + </p> + <p> + He thought Richard had caught up the piece of leather he was paring, in + order to deceive him. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, sir, I was.” + </p> + <p> + “You were not. You were reading!” + </p> + <p> + “I was not reading, sir. I was busy with the last of my day's work.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not tell me you were not reading: I heard you!” + </p> + <p> + “You did hear me, sir; but you did not hear me reading,” rejoined Richard, + growing angry with the tone of the young man, and with his unreadiness to + believe him. + </p> + <p> + Many workmen, having told a lie, would have been more indignant at not + being believed, than was Richard speaking the truth; still, he was growing + angry. + </p> + <p> + “You must have a wonderful memory, then!” said Lestrange. “But, excuse me, + we don't care to hear your voice in the house.” + </p> + <p> + The same moment, he either discovered, or pretended to discover, Barbara's + presence. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Miss Wylder!” he said. “I did not know he was amusing + you! I did not see you were in the room!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” returned Barbara—and it savoured of the savage + Lestrange sometimes called her—“you will be ordering the + nightingales not to sing in <i>your</i> apple-trees next!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you!” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do you understand Mr. Tuke, or you would not speak to him that + way!” + </p> + <p> + She rose and walked to the door, but turned as she went, and added— + </p> + <p> + “He was repeating the loveliest poem I ever heard—<i>The Rime of the + Ancient Mariner</i>.—I didn't know there could be such a poem!” she + added simply. + </p> + <p> + “It is not one I care about. But you need not take it second-hand from + Tuke: I will lend it you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” said Barbara, in a tone which was not of gratitude, and left + the room. + </p> + <p> + Lestrange stood for a moment, but finding nothing suitable to say, turned + and followed her, while Richard bit his lip to keep himself silent. He + knew, if he spoke, there would be an end; and he did not want this to be + his last sight of the wonderful creature! + </p> + <p> + Barbara went to the door with the intention of going to the stables for + Miss Brown and galloping straight home. But she bethought herself that so + she might seem to be ashamed. She was not Arthur's guest! He had been + insolent to her friend, who had done more for her already than ever Arthur + was likely to do, but that was no reason why she should run away from him—just + the contrary! She <i>would</i> like to punish him for it somehow!—not + shoot him, for she would not kill a pigeon, and to kill a man would be + worse, though he wasn't so nice as a pigeon!—but she would like—yes, + she <i>would</i> like to give him just three good cuts across the + shoulders with her new riding-whip! What right had he to speak so to his + superior! By being a <i>true</i> workman, Mr. Tuke was a gentleman! Could + Arthur Lestrange have talked like that? Could he have spoken the poetry + like that? The bookbinder was worth a hundred of him! Could Arthur shoe a + horse? What if the working man were to turn out the real lord of the + creation, and the gentleman have to black his boots! There was something + like it in the gospel! + </p> + <p> + She did not know that in general the working man is as foolish and unfit + as the rich man; that he only wants to be rich, and trample on his own + past. The working man <i>may</i> perish like the two hundred of the crew, + and the rich man <i>may</i> be saved like the Ancient Mariner! + </p> + <p> + It is the poor man that gives the rich man all the pull on him, by + cherishing the same feelings as the rich man concerning riches, by + fancying the rich man because of his riches the greater man, and longing + to be rich like him. A man that can <i>do</i> things is greater than any + man who only <i>has</i> things. True, a rich man can get mighty things + done, but he does not do them. He may be much the greater for willing them + to be done, but he is not the greater for the actual doing of them. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate,” said Barbara to herself, “I like this working man better + than that gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + Richard stood for a while boiling with indignation. He would have cared + less if he had been sure he had answered him properly, but he could not + remember what he had said. + </p> + <p> + The clock struck the hour that ended his workday. Instead of sitting down + to read, he set out for the smithy. It was not a week since he had seen + his grandfather, but he wanted motion, and desired a human face that + belonged to him. It was rather dark when he reached it, but the old man + had not yet dropped work. The sparks were flying wild about his gray head + as Richard drew near. + </p> + <p> + “Can I help you, grandfather?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, lad; your hands are too soft by this time—with your bits of + brass wheels, and scraps of leather, and needles, and paste! No, no, lad;—thou + cannot help the old man to-night.—But you're not in earnest, are + you?” he added, looking up suddenly. “You 'ain't left your place?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but my day's work being over, why shouldn't I help you to get yours + over! When first I came you expected me to do so!” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, lad!—as a man gets older he comes to think more of fair + play, and less of his rights: it seems to me that not your time only, but + your strength as well belongs to the man who hires you; and if you weary + yourself helping me, who have no claim, you cannot do so much or so good + work for your master!—Do you see sense in that?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do! I think you are quite right.” + </p> + <p> + “It is strange,” Simon went on, “how age makes you more particular! The + thing I would have done without thinking when I was young, I think twice + of now. Is that what we were sent here for—to grow honest, I wonder?—Depend + upon it,” he resumed after a moment's silence, “there's a somewhere where + the thing's taken notice of! There's a somebody as thinks about it!” + </p> + <p> + After more talk, and a cup of tea at the cottage, Richard set out for the + lodgeless gate, already mentioned more than once, to which the housekeeper + had lent him a key. + </p> + <p> + He had not got far into the park, when to his surprise he perceived, a + little way off on the grass, a small figure gliding swiftly toward him + through the dusk rather than the light of the moon, which, but just above + the horizon, sent little of her radiance to the spot. It was Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “I have been watching for you ever so long!” she said. “They told me you + had gone out, and I thought you might come home this way.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had known! I wouldn't have kept you waiting,” returned Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I want the rest of the poem,” she said. “It was horrid to have Arthur + interrupt us! He was abominably rude too.” + </p> + <p> + “He certainly had no right to speak to me as he did. And if he had + confessed himself wrong, or merely said he had made a mistake, I should + have thought no more about it. I hope it is not true you are going to + marry him, miss!—because—” + </p> + <p> + “If I thought one of the family said so, I would sleep in the park + to-night. I would not enter the house again. When I marry, it will be a + gentleman; and Mr. Lestrange is not a gentleman—at least he did not + behave like one to-day. Come, tell me the rest of the poem. We have plenty + of time here.” + </p> + <p> + The young bookbinder was perplexed. He had not much knowledge of the + world, but he could not bear the thought of the servants learning that + they were in the park together. At the same time he saw that he must not + even hint at imprudence. Her will was not by him to be scanned! She must + be allowed to know best! A single tone of hesitation would be an insult! + He must take care of her without seeming to do so! If they walked gently, + they would finish the poem as they came near the house: there he would + leave her, and return by the lodge-gate. + </p> + <p> + “Where did we leave off?” he said. + </p> + <p> + His brief silence had seemed to Barbara but a moment spent in recalling. + </p> + <p> + “We left off at the place where the bird fell from his neck—no, just + after that, where he falls asleep, as well he might, after it was gone.” + </p> + <p> + The moon was now peeping, in little spots of light, through the higher + foliage, and casting a doubtful, ghostly sediment of shine around them. + The night was warm. Glow-worms lay here and there, brooding out green + light in the bosom of the thick soft grass. There was no wind save what + the swift wing of a bat, sweeping close to their heads, would now and then + awake. The creature came and vanished like an undefined sense of evil at + hand. But it was only Richard who thought that; nothing such crossed the + starry clearness of Barbara's soul. Her skirt made a buttony noise with + the heads of the rib-grass. Her red cloak was dark in the moonlight. She + threw back the hood, and coming out of its shadow like another moon from a + cloud, walked the earth with bare head. Her hands too were bare, and + glimmered in the night-gleam. He saw the rings on the small fingers + shimmer and shine: she was as fond of colour and flash as lord St. Albans! + Higher and higher rose the moon. Her light on the grass-blades wove them + into a carpet with its weft of faint moonbeams. The small dull mirrors of + the evergreen leaves glinted in the thickets, as the two went by, like the + bits of ill-polished glass in an Indian tapestry. The moon was everywhere, + filling all the hollow over-world, and for ever alighting on their heads. + Far away they saw the house, a remote something, scarce existent in the + dreaming night, the gracious-ghastly poem, and the mingling, harmonizing + moon. It was much too far away to give them an anxious thought, and for + long it seemed, like death, to be coming no nearer; but they were moving + toward it all the time, and it was even growing a move insistent fact. + Thus they walked at once in the two blended worlds of the moonlight and + the tale, while Richard half-chanted the music-speech of the most musical + of poets, telling of the roaring wind that the mariner did not feel, of + the flags of electric light, of the dances of the wan stars, of the + sighing of the sails, of the star-dogged moon, and the torrent-like falls + of the lightning down the mountainous cloud—for so Barbara, who had + seen two or three tropical thunder-storms, explained to Richard the + lightning which + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “fell with never a jag, + A river steep and wide;” + </pre> + <p> + —until that groan arose from the dead men, and the bodies heaved + themselves up on their feet, and began to work the ropes, and worked on + till sunrise, and the mariner knew that not the old souls but angels had + entered into them, by their gathering about the mast, and sending such a + strange lovely hymn through their dead throats up to the sun. + </p> + <p> + When Richard repeated the stanza— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “It ceased; yet still the sails made on + A pleasant noise till noon, + A noise like of a hidden brook + In the leafy month of June, + That to the sleeping woods all night + Singeth a quiet tune;” + </pre> + <p> + Barbara uttered a prolonged “Oh!” and again was silent, listening to the + talk of the elemental spirits, feeling the very wind of home that blew on + the mariner, seeing the lighthouse, and the hill, and the weathercock on + the church-spire, and the white bay, and the shining seraphs with the + crimson shadows, and the sinking ship, and the hermit that made the + mariner tell his story as he was telling it now. + </p> + <p> + But when Richard came to the words— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He prayeth well, who loveth well + Both man and bird and beast. + He prayeth best, who loveth best + All things both great and small, + For the dear God who loveth us, + He made and loveth all,” + </pre> + <p> + she clapped her hands together; and when he ended them, she cried out— + </p> + <p> + “I was sure of it! I knew something would come to tie it all up together + into one bundle! That's it! That's it! The love of everything is the + garden-bed out of which grow the roses of prayer!—But what am I + saying!” she added, checking herself; “I love everything, at least + everything that comes near me, and I never pray!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not! Why should you?” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I not?” + </p> + <p> + “You would if it were reasonable!” + </p> + <p> + “I will, then! To love all the creatures and not have a word to say to the + God that made them for loving them before-hand—is that reasonable?” + </p> + <p> + “No, if a God did make them.” + </p> + <p> + “They could not make themselves!” + </p> + <p> + “No; nothing could make itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then somebody must have made them!” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the one that could and did—who else?” + </p> + <p> + “We know nothing about such a somebody. All we know is, that there they + are, and we have got to love them!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, and looked up into the wide sky, where now the “wandering + moon” was alone, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Like one that had been led astray + Through the heaven's wide pathless way, +</pre> + <p> + and gazed as if she searched for the Somebody. “I should like to see the + one that made that!” she said at last. “Think of knowing the very person + that made that poor pigeon, and has got it now!—and made Miss Brown—and + the wind! I must find him! He can't have made me and not care when I ask + him to speak to me! You say he is nowhere! I don't believe there is any + nowhere, so he can't be there! Some people may be content with things; I + shall get tired of them, I know, if I don't get behind them! A thing is + nothing without what things it! A gift is nothing without what gives it! + Oh, dear! I know what I mean, but I can't say it!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know what you mean, but you do say it!” thought Richard. + </p> + <p> + He was nowise repelled by her enthusiasm, for there was in it nothing + assailant, nothing too absurdly superstitious. He did not care to answer + her. + </p> + <p> + They went walking toward the house and were silent. The moon went on with + her silentness: she never stops being silent. When they felt near the + house, they fell to walking slower, but neither knew it. Barbara spoke + again: + </p> + <p> + “Just fancy!” she said, “—if God were all the time at our backs, + giving us one lovely thing after another, trying to make us look round and + see who it was that was so good to us! Imagine him standing there, and + wondering when his little one would look round, and see him, and burst out + laughing—no, not laughing—yes, laughing—laughing with + delight—or crying, I don't know which! If I had him to love as I + should love one like that, I think I should break my heart with loving him—I + should love him to the killing of me! What! all the colours and all the + shapes, and all the lights, and all the shadows, and the moon, and the + wind, and the water!—and all the creatures—and the people that + one would love so if they would let you!—and all—” + </p> + <p> + “And all the pain, and the dying, and the disease, and the wrongs, and the + cruelty!” interposed Richard. + </p> + <p> + She was silent. After a moment or two she said— + </p> + <p> + “I think I will go in now. I feel rather cold. I think there must be a + fog, though I can't see it.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little shiver. He looked in her face. Was it the moon, or was + it something in her thoughts that made the sweet countenance look so gray? + Could his mere suggestion of the reverse, the wrong side of the web of + creation, have done it? Surely not! + </p> + <p> + “I think I want some one to say <i>must</i> to me!” she said, after + another pause. “I feel as if—” + </p> + <p> + There she stopped. Richard said nothing. Some instinct told him he might + blunder. + </p> + <p> + He stood still. Barbara went on a few steps, then turned and said— + </p> + <p> + “Are you not going in?” + </p> + <p> + “Not just yet,” he answered. “Please to remember that if I can do anything + for you,—” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind. I am much obliged to you. If you know another rime,—But + I think I shall have to give up poetry.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be hard to find another so good,” returned Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, miss!” answered Richard, and walked away, with a loss at his + heart. The poem has already ceased to please her! He had made the lovely + lady more thoughtful, and less happy than before! + </p> + <p> + “She has been taught to believe in a God,” he said to himself. “She is + afraid he will be angry with her, because, in her company, I dared + question his existence! A generous God—isn't he! If he be anywhere, + why don't he let us see him? How can he expect us to believe in him, if he + never shows himself? But if he did, why should I worship him for being, or + for making me? If I didn't want him, and I don't, I certainly shouldn't + worship him because I saw him. I couldn't. If Nature is cruel, as she + certainly is, and he made her, then he is cruel too! There cannot be such + a God, or, if there be, it cannot be right to worship him!” + </p> + <p> + He did not reflect that if he had wanted him, he would not have waited to + see him before he worshipped him. + </p> + <p> + But Barbara was saying to herself— + </p> + <p> + “What if he has shown himself to me some time—one of those nights, + perhaps, when I was out till the sun rose—and I didn't know him!—How + frightful if there should be nobody at all up there—nobody anywhere + all round!” + </p> + <p> + She stared into the milky, star-sapphire-like blue, as if, out of the + sweetly veiled terror-gulf, she would, by very gazing, draw the living + face of God. + </p> + <p> + Verily the God that knows <i>how not</i> to reveal himself, must also know + how <i>best</i> to reveal himself! If there be a calling child, there must + be an answering father! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. <i>A HUMAN GADFLY</i>. + </h2> + <p> + From so early an age had Richard been accustomed to despise a certain form + he called God, which stood in the gallery of his imagination, carved at by + the hands of successive generations of sculptors, some hard, some feeble, + some clever, some stupid, all conventional and devoid of prophetic + imagination, that his antagonism had long taken the shape of an angry + hostility to the notion of any God whatever. Richard could see a thing to + be false, that is, he could deny, but he was not yet capable either of + discovering or receiving what was true, because he had not yet set himself + to know the truth. To oppose, to refuse, to deny, is not <i>to know the + truth</i>, is not <i>to be true</i> any more than it is to be false. + Whatever good may lie in the destroying of the false, the best hammer of + the iconoclast will not serve withal to carve the celestial form of the + Real; and when the iconoclast becomes the bigot of negation, and declares + the non-existence of any form worthy of worship, because he has destroyed + so many unworthy, he passes into a fool. That he has never conceived a + deity such as he could worship, is a poor ground to any but the man + himself for saying such cannot exist; and to him it is but a ground + lightly vaulted over the vacuity self-importance. Such a divine form may + yet stand in the adytum of this or that man whom he and the world count an + idiot. + </p> + <p> + Into the workshop of Richard's mind was now introduced, by this one + disclosure of the mind of Barbara, a new idea of divinity, vague indeed as + new, but one with which he found himself compelled to have some dealing. + One of the best services true man can do a neighbour, is to persuade him—I + speak in a parable—to house his children for a while, that he may + know what they are: the children of another may be the saving of his + children and his whole house. Alas for the man the children of whose brain + are the curse of the household into which they are received! But from + Barbara's house Richard had taken into his a vital protoplasmic idea that + must work, and would never cease to work until the house itself was all + divine—the idea, namely, of a being to call God, who was a delight + to think of, a being concerning whom the great negation was that of + everything Richard had hitherto associated with the word God. The one door + to admit this formal notion was hard to open; and when admitted, the + figure was not easy to set up so that it could be looked at. The human + niche where the idea of a God must stand, was in Richard's house occupied + by the most hideous falsity. On the pedestal crouched the goblin of a + Japanese teapot. + </p> + <p> + It was not pleasant to Richard to imagine any one with rights over him. It + may be that some persist in calling up the false idea of such a one + hitherto presented to them, in order to avoid feeling obligation to + believe in him. For the notion of a God is one from which naturally a + thoughtful man must feel more or less recoil while as yet he knows nothing + of the being himself, or of the nature of his creative rights, the rights + of perfect, self-refusing, devoted fatherhood. It is one thing to seem to + know with the brain, quite another to know with the heart. But even in the + hope-lighted countenance of Barbara, even in the tones in which she + suggested the presence of a soul that meant and was all that the beautiful + world hinted and seemed, Richard could not fail to meet something of the + true idea of a God. + </p> + <p> + Naturally also, his notion of the God in whom he felt that Barbara was at + least ready to believe, assumed something of the look of Barbara who was + being drawn toward him; so that now the graces of the world, all its + lovely impacts upon his senses, began to be mixed up in his mind with + Barbara and her God. Barbara was beginning to infect him with—shall + I call it the superstition of a God? Whatever it may be called, it was + very far from being religion yet. The fact was only this—that the + idea of a God worth believing in, was coming a little nearer to him, was + becoming to him a little more thinkable. + </p> + <p> + He began to feel his heart drawn at times, in some strange, tenderer + fashion, hitherto unknown to him, to the blue of the sky, especially in + the first sweetness of a summer morning. His soul would now and then seem + to go out of him, in a passion of embrace, to the simplest flower: the + flower would be, for a moment, just its self to him. He would spread out + his arms to the wind, now when it met him in its strength, now when it but + kissed his face. He never consented with himself that it was one force in + all the forms that drew him—that perhaps it was the very God, the + All in all about him. Neither did he question much with himself as to how + the development, rather than change, had begun. Whether God did this, or + was this, or it was only the possessing Barbara that cast her light out of + his eyes on the things he saw and felt, he scarcely asked; but fully he + recognised the fact that Nature was more alive than she ever had been to + him who had always loved her. + </p> + <p> + The thought of Barbara went on growing dear to him. He never pondered + anything but the girl herself, cherished no dreams of her becoming more to + him, of her ever being nearer than away there; just to know her was now, + and henceforward ever would be the gladness of his life. If that life was + but for a season; if the very core of life was decay; if life was because + nobody could help its being; if it died because no one could keep it from + dying; yet were there two facts fit almost to embalm the body of this + living death: Barbara, and the world which was the body of Barbara! So + life carried the day, if but the day, and the heart of Richard rejoiced in + the midst of perishings. Only, the night was coming in which no man can + rejoice. + </p> + <p> + Was he then presuming to be in love with Barbara? I do not care to meet + the question. If I knew what the mysterious word, <i>love</i>, meant, I + might be able to answer it, but what should I thus gain or give? I know he + loved her. I know that a divine power of truth and beauty had laid hold + upon him, and was working in him as the powers of God alone can work in + man, for they are the same by which he lives and moves and has his being, + and to life are more than meat and drink, than sun and air. + </p> + <p> + Instead of blaming as a matter of course the person who does not believe + in a God, we should think first whether his notional God is a God that + ought, or a God that ought not to be believed in. Perhaps he only is to be + blamed who, by inattention to duty, has become less able to believe in a + God than he was once: because he did not obey the true voice, whencesoever + it came, God may have to let him taste what it would be to have no God. + For aught I know, a man may have been born of so many generations of + unbelief, that now, at this moment, he cannot believe; that now, at this + moment, he has no notion of a God at all, and cannot care whether there be + a God or not; but he can mind what he knows he ought to mind. That will, + that alone can clear the moral atmosphere, and make it possible for the + true idea of a God to be born into it. + </p> + <p> + For some time Richard saw little of Barbara. + </p> + <p> + The heads of the house did not interfere with him. Lady Ann would now and + then sail through the room like an iceberg; sir Wilton would come in, give + a glance at the shelves and a grin, and walk out again with a more or less + gouty gait; so much was about all their contact. Arthur was a little + ashamed of having spoken to him as he did, and had again become in a + manner friendly. He had seen several decaying masses, among the rest the + Golding of their difference, become books in his hands, and again he had + grown sufficiently interested in the workman to feel in him something more + than the workman. He was on the way to perceive that, in certain + insignificant things, such as imagination, reading, insight, and general + faculty, not to mention conscience, generosity, and goodness of heart, + Richard was out of sight before the ruck of gentlemen. He saw already that + in some things, thought a good deal of at his college, Richard was more + capable than himself. He found in him too what seemed to him a rare notion + of art. In truth Richard's advance in this region was as yet but small, + for he was guided only by his limited efforts in verse; none the less, + however, was he far ahead of Arthur, who saw only what was shown him. In + literature Arthur had already learned something from Richard, and knew it. + He had, indeed, without knowing it, begun to look up to him. + </p> + <p> + Richard also had discovered good in Arthur—among other things a + careful regard to his word, and to his father's tenantry. There was of + course, in a scanty nature like his, a good deal of the lord bountiful + mingled with his behaviour to his social inferiors on the property: he + posed to himself as a condescending landlord. + </p> + <p> + The only one in the house who gave Richard trouble, was the child + Victoria. The way she always took to show her liking, was to annoy its + object. Never was name less fitting than hers: there was no victory in + her. She could but fly about like veriest mosquito. Richard let her come + and go unheeded, except when her proximity to his work made him anxious. + But the little vixen would not consent to be naught any smallest while. + She would rather be abused than remain unnoticed. When she found that her + standing and staring procured no attention from the bookbinder, she would + begin to handle his tools, and ask what this and that was for, giving, + like a woman of fashion, no heed to any answer he accorded her. Learning + thus, that is, by experiment, how to annoy him, she did not let + opportunity lack. When school was over in the morning, and she could go + where she pleased, she went often to the library; and as no one willingly + asked where she was, the chief pleasure of her acquaintance lying in the + assurance that she was nowhere at hand, Richard had to endure many things + from her; and things that do not seem worth enduring, are not unfrequently + the hardest to endure. + </p> + <p> + The behaviour of the child grew worse and worse. She would more than touch + everything, and that thing the most persistently which Richard was most + anxious to have let alone, causing him no little trouble at times to set + right what she had injured. Worst of all was her persecution when she + found him using gold-leaf. She would come behind him and blow the film + away just as he had got it flat on his cushion, or laid on the spot where + his tool was about to fix a portion of it. Her mischief was not even + irradiated by childish laughter; there was never any sign of frolic on her + monkey face, except the steely glitter of her sharp, black bead-eyes, + might be supposed to contain some sprinkle of fun in its malice. + Expostulation was not of the slightest use, and sometimes it was all + Richard could do to keep his hands off her. Now she would look as stolid + as if she did not understand a word he said; now pucker up her face into a + most unpleasant grin of derision and contemptuous defiance. + </p> + <p> + One day when he happened to be using the polishing-iron, Vixen, as her + brothers called her, came in, and began to play with the paste. Richard + turned with the iron in his hand, which he had just taken from the + brasier. He was rubbing it bright and clean, and she noted this, but had + not seen him take it from the fire: she caught at it, to spoil it with her + pasty fingers. As quickly she let it go, but did not cry, though her eyes + filled. Richard saw, and his heart gave way. He caught the little hand so + swift to do evil, and would have soothed its pain. She pulled it from him, + crying, “You nasty man! How dare you!” and ran to the door, where she + turned and made a hideous face at him. The same moment, by a neighbouring + door that opened from another passage, in came Barbara, and before Vixen + was well aware of her presence, had dealt her such a box on the ear that + she burst into a storm of wrathful weeping. + </p> + <p> + “You're a brute, Bab,” she cried. “I'll tell mamma!” + </p> + <p> + “Do, you little wretch!” returned Barbara, whose flushed face looked + lovely childlike in its indignation beside the furious phiz of the + tormenting imp. + </p> + <p> + The monkey-creature left the room, sobbing; and Barbara turned and was + gone before Richard could thank her. + </p> + <p> + He heard no more of the matter, and for some time had no farther trouble + with Victoria. + </p> + <p> + Barbara had the kindest of hearts, but there was nothing <i>soft</i> about + her She held it a sin to spoil any animal, not to say a child. For she had + a strong feeling, initiated possibly by her black nurse, that the animals + went on living after death, whence she counted it a shame not to teach + them; and held that, if a sharp cut would make child or dog behave + properly, the woman was no lover of either who would spare it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. <i>RICHARD AND WINGFOLD</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Barbara had more than once or twice heard Mr. Wingfold preach, but had not + once listened, or oven waked to the fact that she had not listened. + Unaccustomed in childhood to any special regard of the Sunday, she had + neither pleasant nor unpleasant associations with church-going; but she + liked a good many things better, and as she always did as she liked except + she saw reason to the contrary, she had hitherto gone to church rather + seldom. She might perhaps have sooner learned to go regularly but for her + mother's extraordinary behaviour there: certainly she could not sit in the + same pew with her reading her novel. Since Mr. Wingfold had taken the part + of the prophet Nathan, and rebuked her, she had indeed ceased to go to + church, but Barbara, as I have said, was as yet only now and then drawn + thitherward. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wingfold was almost as different from the clergyman of Richard's idea, + as was Richard's imagined God from any believable idea of God. The two men + had never yet met, for what should bring a working-man and the clergyman + of the next parish together? But one morning—he often went for a + walk in the early morning—Richard saw before him, in the middle of a + field-path, seated on a stile and stopping his way, the back of a man in a + gray suit, evidently enjoying, like himself, the hour before sunrise. He + knew somehow that he was not a working-man, but he did not suspect him one + of the obnoxious class which lives by fooling itself and others. Wingfold + heard Richard's step, looked round, knew him at once an artisan of some + sort, and saw in him signs of purpose and character strong for his years. + </p> + <p> + “Jolly morning!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed, sir!” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I like a walk in the morning better than at any other time of the day!” + said Wingfold. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I do so too, though I can't tell why. I've often tried, but I + haven't yet found out what makes the morning so different.” + </p> + <p> + “Come!” thought the clergyman; “here's something I haven't met with too + much of!” + </p> + <p> + Richard remarked to himself that, whoever the gentleman was, he was + certainly not stuck-up. They might have parted late the night before, + instead of meeting now for the first time! + </p> + <p> + “Are you a married man?” asked Wingfold. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” answered Richard, surprised that a stranger should put the + question. + </p> + <p> + “If you had been,” Wingfold went on, “I should have been surer of your + seeing what I mean when I say, that to be out before sunrise is like + looking at your best friend asleep—that is, before her sun, her + thought, namely, is up. Watching her face then, you see it come to life, + grow radiant with sunrise.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” rejoined Richard, “I have seen a person asleep whose face made it + quite evident that thought was awake! It was shining through!” + </p> + <p> + “Shining through, certainly,” said Wingfold, “not up. I doubt indeed if + during any sleep, thought is quite in abeyance.” + </p> + <p> + “Not when we are dead asleep, sir?—so dead that when we wake we + don't remember anything?” + </p> + <p> + “If thought in such a case must be <i>proved,</i> it will have to go for + non-existent. Yet, when you reflect that sometimes you discover that you + must, a few minutes before, wide awake, have done something which you have + no recollection of having done, and which, but for the fact remaining + evident to your sight, you would not believe you had done, you must feel + doubtful as to the loss of consciousness in sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that must give us pause!” + </p> + <p> + “Hamlet!” said the clergyman to himself. “That's good! You may have read + from top to bottom of a page, perhaps,” he went on, “without being able to + recall a word: would you say no thought had passed through your mind in + the process?—that the words had suggested nothing as you read them?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; I should be inclined to say that I forgot as fast as I read; + that, as I read, I seemed to know the thing I read, but the process of + forgetting kept pace for pace alongside the process of reading.” + </p> + <p> + “I quite agree with you.—Now I wonder whether you will agree with me + in what I am going to suggest next!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell that, sir,” said Richard—somewhat unnecessarily; but + Wingfold was pleased to find him cautious. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” the parson continued, “that what I want in order to be able + afterward to recollect a thing, is to be not merely conscious of the thing + when it comes, but at the same moment conscious of myself. To remember, I + must be self-conscious as well as thing-conscious.” + </p> + <p> + “There I cannot quite follow you.” + </p> + <p> + “When I learn the meaning of a word, I know the word; but when I say to + myself, 'I know the word,' there comes a reflection of the word back from + the mirror of my mind, making a second impression, and after that I am at + least not so likely to forget it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can follow you so far,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “When, then,” pursued the parson, “I think about the impression that the + word makes upon me, how it is affecting me with the knowledge of itself, + then I am what I should call self-conscious of the word—conscious + not only that I know the word, but that I know the phenomena of knowing + the word—conscious of what I am as regards my knowing of the word.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand so far, sir—at least I think I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will allow that a word with its reflection and mental impact + thus operated upon by the mind is not so likely to be forgotten as one + understood only in the first immediate way?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—mind I am only suggesting; I am not proclaiming a fact, + still less laying down a law; I am not half sure enough about it for that—so + it is with our dreams. We see, or hear, and are conscious that we do, in + our dreams; our consciousness shines through our sleeping features to the + eyes that love us; but when we wake we have forgotten everything. There + was thought there, but not thought that could be remembered. When, + however, you have once said to yourself in a dream, 'I think I am + dreaming;' you always, I venture to suspect, remember that experience when + you wake from it!” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay you do, sir. But there are many dreams we never suspect to be + dreams while we are dreaming them, which yet we remember all the same when + we come awake!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, surely; and many people have such memories as hold every word and + every fact presented to them. But I was not meaning to discuss the + phenomena of sleep; I only meant to support my simile that to see the + world before the sun is up, is like looking on the sleeping face of a + friend. There is thought in the sleeping face of your friend, and thought + in the twilight face of nature; but the face awake with thought, is the + world awake with sunlight.” + </p> + <p> + “There I cannot go with you, sir,” said Richard, who, for all the + impression Barbara had made upon him, had not yet thought of the world as + in any sense alive; it was to him but an aggregate of laws and results, + the great dissecting-room of creation, the happy hunting ground of the + goddess who calls herself Science, though she can claim to understand as + yet no single fact. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Wingfold. + </p> + <p> + “Because I cannot receive the simile at all. I cannot allow expression of + thought where no thought is.” + </p> + <p> + Here a certain look on the face of the young workman helped the parson + toward understanding the position he meant to take, “Ah!” he answered, “I + see I mistook you! I understand now! Sleep she or wake she, you will not + allow thought on the face of Nature! Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I would say, sir,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “We must look at that!” returned Wingfold. “That would be scanned!—You + would conceive the world as a sort of machine that goes for certain + purposes—like a clock, for instance, whose duty it is to tell the + time of the day?—Do I represent you truly?” + </p> + <p> + “So far, sir. Only one machine may have many uses!” + </p> + <p> + “True! A clock may do more for us than tell the time! It may tell how fast + it is going, and wake solemn thought. But if you came upon a machine that + constantly waked in you—not thoughts only, but the most delicate and + indescribable feelings—what would you say then? Would you allow + thought there?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely not that the machine was thinking!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. But would you allow thought concerned in it? Would you + allow that thought must have preceded and occasioned its existence? Would + you allow that thought therefore must yet be interested in its power to + produce thought, and might, if it chose, minister to the continuance or + enlargement of the power it had originated?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I should be compelled to allow that much in regard to a clock + even!—Are we coming to the Paley-argument, sir?” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” answered Wingfold. “My argument seems to me one of my own. + It is not drawn from design but from operation: where a thing wakes + thought and feeling, I say, must not thought and feeling be somewhere + concerned in its origin?” + </p> + <p> + “Might not the thought and feeling come by association, as in the case of + the clock suggesting the flight of time?” + </p> + <p> + “I think our associations can hardly be so multiform, or so delicate, as + to have a share in bringing to us half of the thoughts and feelings that + nature wakes in us. If they have such a share, they must have reference + either to a fore-existence, or to relations hidden in our being, over + which we have no control; and equally in such case are the thoughts and + feelings waked in us, not by us. I do not want to argue; I am only + suggesting that, if the world moves thought and feeling in those that + regard it, thought and feeling are somehow concerned in the world. Even to + wake old feelings, there must be a likeness to them in what wakes them, + else how could it wake them? In a word, feeling must have put itself into + the shape that awakes feeling. Then there is feeling in the thing that + bears that shape, although itself it does not feel. Therefore I think it + may be said that there is more thought, or, rather, more expression of + thought, in the face of the world when the sun is up, than when he is not—as + there is more thought in a face awake than in a face asleep.—Ah, + there is the sun! and there are things that ought never to be talked about + in their presence! To talk of some things even behind their backs will + keep them away!” + </p> + <p> + Richard neither understood his last words, nor knew that he did not + understand them. But he did understand that it was better to watch the + sunrise than to talk of it. + </p> + <p> + Up came the child of heaven, conquering in the truth, in the might of + essential being. It was no argument, but the presence of God that silenced + the racked heart of Job. The men stood lost in the swift changes of his + attendant colours—from red to gold, from the human to the divine—as + he ran to the horizon from beneath, and came up with a rush, eternally + silent. With a moan of delight Richard turned to his gazing companion, + when he beheld that on his face which made him turn from him again: he had + seen what was not there for human eyes! The radiance of Wingfold's + countenance, the human radiance that met the solar shine, surpassed even + that which the moon and the sky and the sleeping earth brought out that + night upon the face of Barbara! The one was the waking, the other but the + sweetly dreaming world. + </p> + <p> + Richard refused to let any emotion, primary or reflex, influence his + opinions; they must be determined by fact and severe logical outline. + Whatever was not to him definite—that is, was not by him formally + conceivable, must not be put in the category of things to be believed; but + he had not a notion how many things he accepted unquestioning, which were + yet of this order; and not being only a thing that thought, but a thing as + well that was thought, he could not help being more influenced by such a + sight than he would have chosen to be, and the fact that he was so + influenced remained. Happily, the choice whether we shall be influenced is + not given us; happily, too, the choice whether we shall obey an influence + <i>is</i> given us. + </p> + <p> + Without a word, Richard lifted his hat to the stranger, and walked on, + leaving him where he stood, but taking with him a germ of new feeling, + which would enlarge and divide and so multiply. When he got to the next + stile, he looked back, and saw him seated as at first, but now reading. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. <i>WING FOLD AND HIS WIFE</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Thomas Wingfold closed his book, replaced it in his pocket, got down from + the stile, turned his face toward home, crossed field after field, and + arrived just in time to meet his wife as she came down the stair to + breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “Have you had a nice walk, Thomas?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I have!” he answered. “Almost from the first I was right out in + the open.”—His wife knew what he meant.—“Before the sun came + up”, he went on, “I had to go in, and come out at another door; but I was + soon very glad of it. I had met a fellow who, I think, will pluck his feet + out of the mud before long.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you asked him to the rectory?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I write and ask him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my wife. For one thing, you can't: I don't know his name, and I don't + know what he is, or where he lives. But we shall meet again soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have made an appointment with him!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven't. But there's an undertow bringing us on to each other. It + would spoil all if he thought I threw a net for him. I do mean to catch + him if I can, but I will not move till the tide brings him into my arms. + At least, that is how the thing looks to me at present. I believe enough + not to make haste. I don't want to throw salt on any bird's tail, but I do + want the birds to come hopping about me, that I may tell them what I + know!” + </p> + <p> + As near as he could, Wingfold recounted the conversation he had had with + Richard. + </p> + <p> + “He was a fine-looking fellow,” he said, “—not exactly a gentleman, + but not far off it; little would make him one. He looked a man that could + do things, but I did not satisfy myself as to what might be his trade. He + showed no sign of it, or made any allusion to it. But he was more at home + in the workshop of his own mind than is at all usual with fellows of his + age.” + </p> + <p> + “It must,” said Helen, “be old Simon Armour's grandson! I have heard of + him from several quarters; and your description would just fit him. I know + somebody that could tell you about him, but I wish I know anybody that + could tell us about her—I mean Miss Wylder.” + </p> + <p> + “I like the look of that girl!” said the parson warmly, “What makes you + think she could tell us about my new acquaintance?” + </p> + <p> + “Only an impertinent speech of that little simian, Vixen Lestrange. I + forget what she said, but it left the impression of an acquaintance + between Bab, as she called her, and some working fellow the child could + not bear.” + </p> + <p> + “The enmity of that child is praise. I wonder how the Master would have + treated her! He could not have taken her between his knees, and said + whosoever received her received him! A child-mask with a monkey inside it + will only serve a sentimental mother to talk platitudes about!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be too hard on the monkeys, Tom!” said his wife. “You don't know + what they may turn out to be, after all!” + </p> + <p> + “Surely it is not too hard on the monkeys to call them monkeys!” + </p> + <p> + “No; but when the monkey has already begun to be a child!” + </p> + <p> + “There is the whole point! Has the monkey always begun to be a child when + he gets the shape of a child?—Miss Wylder is not quite so seldom in + church now, I think!” + </p> + <p> + “I saw her there last Sunday. But I'm afraid she wasn't thinking much + about what you were saying—she sat with such a stony look in her + eyes! She did seem to come awake for one moment, though!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “I could hardly take my eyes off her, my heart was so drawn to her. There + was a mingling of love and daring, almost defiance, in her look, that + seemed to say, 'If you are worth it—if you are worth it—then + through fire and water!' All at once a flash lighted up her lovely + child-face—and what do you think you were at the moment saying?—that + the flower of a plant was deeper than the root of it: that was what roused + her!” + </p> + <p> + “And I, when I found what I had said, thought within myself what a fool I + was to let out things my congregation could not possibly understand!—But + to reach one is, in the end, to reach all!” + </p> + <p> + “I must in honesty tell you, however,” pursued Mrs. Wingfold, “that the + next minute she looked as far off as before; nor did she shine up once + again that I saw.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be glad, though,” said Wingfold, “because of what you tell me! It + shows there is a window in her house that looks in my direction: some + signal may one day catch her eye! That she has a character of her own, a + real one, I strongly suspect. Her mother more than interests me. She + certainly has a fine nature. How much better is a fury than a fish! You + cannot be downright angry save in virtue of the love possible to you. The + proper person, who always does and says the correct thing—well, I + think that person is almost sure to be a liar. At the same time, the + contradictions in the human individual are bewildering, even appalling!—Now + I must go to my study, and think out a thing that's bothering me!—By + the way,”—he always said that when he was going to make her a + certain kind of present; she knew what was coming—“here's something + for you—if you can read it! I had just scribbled it this morning + when the young man came up. I made it last night. I was hours awake after + we went to bed!” + </p> + <p> + This is what he gave her:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A SONG IN THE NIGHT. + + A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree, + Sang in the moonshine, merrily, + Three little songs, one, two, and three, + A song for his wife, for himself, and me. + + He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high, + Filling the moonlight that filled the sky, + “Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive! + Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!” + + He sang to himself, “What shall I do + With this life that thrills me through and through! + Glad is so glad that it turns to ache! + Out with it, song, or my heart will break!” + + He sang to me, “Man, do not fear + Though the moon goes down, and the dark is near; + Listen my song, and rest thine eyes; + Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!” + + I folded me up in the heart of his tune, + And fell asleep in the sinking moon; + I woke with the day's first golden gleam, + And lo, I had dreamed a precious dream! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. <i>RICHARD AND ALICE</i>. + </h2> + <p> + One evening Richard went to see his grandfather, and asked if he would + allow him to give Miss Wylder a lesson in horseshoeing: she wanted, he + said, to be able to shoe Miss Brown—or indeed any horse. Simon + laughed heartily at the proposal: it was too great an absurdity to admit + of serious objection! + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you don't know Miss Wylder, grandfather!” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not! Never an old man knew anything about a girl! It's only the + young fellows can fathom a woman! Having girls of his own blinds a man to + the nature of them! There's going to be a law passed against growing old! + It's an unfortunate habit the world's got into somehow, and the young + fellows are going to put a stop to it for fear of losing their wisdom!” + </p> + <p> + As the blacksmith spoke, he went on rasping and filing at a house-door + key, fast in a vice on his bench; and his words seemed to Richard to fall + from his mouth like the raspings from his rasp. + </p> + <p> + “Well, grandfather,” said Richard, “if Miss Wylder don't astonish you, + she'll astonish me!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever seen her drive a nail, boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Not once; but I am just as sure she will do it—and better than any + beginner you've seen yet!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, lad! we'll see! we'll see! She's welcome anyhow to come and + have her try! What day shall it be?” + </p> + <p> + “That I can't tell yet.” + </p> + <p> + “It makes me grin to think o' them doll's hands with a great hoof in + them!” + </p> + <p> + “They <i>are</i> little hands—she's little herself—but they + ain't doll's hands, grandfather. You should have seen her box Miss Vixen's + ears for making a face at me! Her ears didn't take them for doll's hands, + I'll be bound! The room rang again!” + </p> + <p> + “Bring her when you like, lad,” said Simon. + </p> + <p> + It was moonlight, and when Richard arrived at the lodgeless gate, he saw + inside it, a few yards away, seated on a stone, the form of a woman. He + thought the first moment, as was natural, of Barbara, but the next, he + knew that this was something strange. She sat in helpless, hopeless + attitude, with her head in her hands. A strange dismay came upon him at + the sight of her; his heart fluttered in a cage of fear. He did not + believe in ghosts. If he saw one, it would but show that sometimes when a + person died there was a shadow left that was like him! There might be + millions of ghosts, and no God the more! What are we all but spectres of + the unknown? What was death but a vanishing of the unknown? What are the + dead but vanishments! Yet he shuddered at the thought that he had actually + come upon one of the dead that are still alive, of whom, once or twice in + a long century, one is met wandering vaguely about the world, unable to + find what used to make it home. He peered through the iron bars as into a + charnel-house: one such wanderer was enough to make the whole vault of + night a gaping tomb. + </p> + <p> + Putting his key in the lock made a sharp little noise. The figure started + up, her face gleaming white in the moon, but dropped again on her stone, + unable to stand. Richard could not take his eyes off her. While closing + the gate he dared not turn his back to her. She sat motionless as before, + her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees. He stood for a moment + staring and trembling, then, with an effort of the will that approached + agony, went toward her. As he drew nearer, he began to feel as if he had + once known her. He must have seen her in London somewhere, he thought. But + why was her shadow sitting there, the lonely hostless guest of the night's + caravansary? + </p> + <p> + He went nearer. The form remained motionless. Something reminded him of + Alice Manson. + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand on the figure. It was a woman to the touch as well as to + the eye. But not yet did she move an inch. He would have raised her face. + Then she resisted. All at once he was sure she was Alice. + </p> + <p> + “Alice!” he cried. “Good God!—sitting in the cold night!” + </p> + <p> + She made him no answer, sat stone-still. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do for you?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” she answered, in a voice that might well have been that of a + spectre. “Leave me,” she added, as if with the last entreaty of despair. + </p> + <p> + “You are in trouble, Alice!” he persisted. “Why are you so far from home? + Where's Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “What right have <i>you</i> to question me?” she returned, almost + fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “None but that I am your brother's friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Friend!” she echoed, in a faint far-away voice. + </p> + <p> + “You forget, Alice, that I did all I could to be your friend, and you + would not let me!” + </p> + <p> + She neither spoke nor moved. Her stillness seemed to say, “Neither will I + now.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” he asked, after a hopeless pause. + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you leave London?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you will tell me!” + </p> + <p> + “I will not.” + </p> + <p> + “You know I would do anything for you!” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay!” + </p> + <p> + “You know I would!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Try me.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice grew more and more faint and forced. Her words and it were very + unlike. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go on like that, Alice. You're not being reasonable,” pleaded + Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do leave me alone!” + </p> + <p> + “I won't leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please! It's nothing to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Alice, why do you speak to me like that? Tell me what's wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything is wrong. Everybody is wrong. The whole world is wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was a little stronger. She raised herself, and looked him in the + face. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it is!” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you?” + </p> + <p> + “To think things were right would be too terrible! I say everything's + wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “What's to be done, then?” sighed Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I must get out of it all.” + </p> + <p> + “But how?” + </p> + <p> + “There is only one way.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody knows.” + </p> + <p> + “Alice,” cried Richard, nearly in despair like herself, “are you out of + your mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty nearly.—Why shouldn't I be? There are plenty of us!” + </p> + <p> + “Alice, if you won't tell me what is the matter with you, if you won't let + me help you, I will sit down by you till the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “What if I drop?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will carry you away. The sooner you drop the better.” Her + resolution seemed to break. + </p> + <p> + “I 'ain't eaten a mouthful to-day,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “My poor girl! Promise me to wait till I come back. Here, put on my coat.” + </p> + <p> + She was past resisting more, and allowed him to button his coat about her. + </p> + <p> + But he was in great perplexity: where was he to get anything for her? And + how was she to live till he brought it! It was terrible to think of! Alice + with nothing to eat, and no refuge but a stone in the moonlight! This was + what her religion had done for Alice! + </p> + <p> + “Miss Wylder's God!” he said to himself with contempt. + </p> + <p> + “He's well enough for the wind and the stars and the moonlight! but for + human beings—for Alice—for creatures dying of hunger, what a + mockery! If he were there, it would be a sickness to talk of him! Beauty + is beauty, but for anything behind it—pooh!” + </p> + <p> + He stood a moment hesitating. Alice swayed on her seat, and would have + fallen. He caught her—and in the act remembered a little cottage, a + hut rather, down a lane a short way off. He took her in his arms and + started for it. + </p> + <p> + She was dreadfully thin, but a strong man cannot walk very fast carrying a + woman, however light she be, and she had half come to herself before he + reached the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “Richard, dear Richard!” she murmured at his ear, “where are you carrying + me? Are you going to kill me, or are you taking me home with you? Do set + me down. Where's Arthur? I will let you be good to me! I will! I can't + hold out for ever!” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to be dreaming—apparently about their meeting in + Regent-street; or perhaps she was delirious from want of food. He walked + on without attempting to answer her. Some great wrong had been done her, + and his heart sank within him; for he believed in no judgment, no final + setting right of wrongs. He knew of nothing better than that the wronged + and the wronger would cease together. Certainly, if his creed represented + fact, the best thing in existence is that it has no essential life in it, + that it cannot continue, that it must cease: the good of living is that we + must die. The hope of death is the inspiration of Buddhism! His heart + ached with pity for the girl. His help, his tenderness expanded, and + folded her in the wings of a shelter that was not empty because his creed + was false. + </p> + <p> + “She belongs to me!” he said to himself. “The world has thrown her off: + 'be it lawful I take up what's cast away!' Here is the one treasure, a + human being! the best thing in the world! I will cherish it. Poor girl! + she shall at least know one man a refuge!” + </p> + <p> + The cottage was a wretched place, but a labourer and his family lived in + it. He knocked many times. A sleepy voice answered at last, and presently + a sleepy-eyed man half opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “What's the deuce of a row?” he grunted. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a young woman half dead with hunger and cold!” said Richard. “You + must take her in or she'll die!” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you take her somewhere else?” + </p> + <p> + “There's nowhere else near enough.—Come, come, let us in! You + wouldn't have her die on your doorstep!” + </p> + <p> + “I don'ow as I see the sense o' bringin' her here!” answered the man + sleepily. “We ain't out o' the hunger-wood ourselves yet!—Wife! + here's a chap as says he's picked up a young 'oman a dyin' o' 'unger!—'tain't + likely, be it, i' this land o' liberty?” + </p> + <p> + “Likely enough, Giles, where the liberty's mainly to starve!” replied a + feminine voice. “Let un bring the poor thing in. There ain't nowhere to + put her, an' there ain't nothin' to give her, but she can't lie out in the + wide world!” + </p> + <p> + “'Ain't you got a drop o' milk?” asked Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Milk!” echoed the woman; “it's weeks an' weeks the childer 'ain't tasted + of it! The wonder to me is that the cows let a poor man milk 'em!” + </p> + <p> + Richard set Alice on her feet, but she could not stand alone; had he taken + his arm from round her, she would have fallen in a heap. But the woman + while she spoke had been getting a light, and now came to the door with a + candle-end. Her husband kept prudently in her shadow. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing! poor thing! she be far gone!” she said, when she saw her. + “Bring her in, sir. There's a chair she can sit upon. I'll get her a drop + o' tea—that'll be better'n milk! There's next to no work, and the + squire he be mad wi' Giles acause o' some rabbit or other they says he + snared—which they did say it was a hare—I don'ow: take the + skin off, an' who's to tell t'one from t'other! I do know I was right glad + on't for the childer! An' if the parson tell me my man 'ill be damned for + hare or rabbit, an' the childer starvin', I'll give him a bit o' my mind.—'No, + sir!' says I; 'God ain't none o' your sort!' says I. 'An' p'r'aps the day + may be at hand when the rich an' the poor 'ill have a turn o' a change + together! Leastways there's somethin' like it somewheres i' the Bible,' + says I. 'An' if it be i' the Bible,' says I, 'it's likely to be true, for + the Bible do take the part o' the rich—mostly!'” + </p> + <p> + She was a woman who liked to hear herself talk, and so spoke as one + listening to herself. Like most people, whether they talk or not, she got + her ideas second-hand; but Richard was nowise inclined to differ with what + she said about the Bible, for he knew little more and no better about it + than she. Had parson Wingfold, who did know the Bible as few parsons know + it, heard her, he would have told her that, by search express and minute, + he had satisfied himself that there was not a word in the Bible against + the poor, although a multitude of words against the rich. The sins of the + poor are not once mentioned in the Bible, the sins of the rich very often. + The rich may think this hard, but I state the fact, and do not much care + what they think. When they come to judge themselves and others fairly, + they will understand that God is no respecter of persons, not favouring + even the poor in his cause. + </p> + <p> + Richard set Alice on the one chair, by the poor little fire the woman was + coaxing to heat the water she had put on it in a saucepan. Alice stared at + the fire, but hardly seemed to see it. The woman tried to comfort her. + Richard looked round the place: the man was in the bed that filled one + corner; a mattress in another was crowded with children; there was no spot + where she could lie down. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be back as soon's ever I can,” he said, and left the cottage. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. <i>A SISTER</i>. + </h2> + <p> + He hurried back over the bare, moon-white road. He had seen Miss Wylder + come that morning, and hoped to reach the house, which was not very far + off, before she should have gone to bed. Of her alone in that house did he + feel he could ask the help he needed. If she had gone home, he would try + the gardener's wife! But he wanted a woman with wit as well as will. He + would help himself from the larder if he could not do better—but + there would be no brandy there! + </p> + <p> + Many were the thoughts that, as now he walked, now ran, passed swiftly + through his mind. It was strange, he said to himself, that this girl, of + whom he had seen so little, yet in whom he felt so great an interest, + should reappear in such dire necessity! When last he saw her, she hurt + herself in frantic escape from him: now she could not escape! + </p> + <p> + “And this is the world,” he went on, “that the priests would have you + believe ruled by the providence of an all powerful and all good being! <i>My</i> + heart is sore for the girl—a good girl, if ever there was one, so + that I would give—yes, I think I would give my life for her! I + certainly would, rather than see her in misery! Of course I would! Any man + would, worth calling a man! When it came to the point, I should not think + twice about it! And there is <i>he</i>, sitting up there in his glory, and + looking down unmoved upon her wretchedness! I will <i>not</i> believe in + any such God!” + </p> + <p> + Of course he was more than right in refusing to believe in such a God! + Were such a being possible, he would not be God. If there were such a + being, and all powerful, he would be <i>the</i> one <i>not</i> to be + worshipped. But was Richard, therefore, to believe in no God altogether + different? May a God only be such as is not to be believed in? Is it not + rather that, to be God, the being must be so good that a man is hardly to + be found able—must I say also, or willing—to believe in him? + Perhaps, if he had been as anxious to do his duty all over, out and out, + as he was where his feelings pointed to it, Richard might have had a “What + if” or two to propose to himself. Might he not for instance have said, + “What if a certain being should even now be putting in my way the honour + and gladness of helping this woman—making me his messenger to her?” + What if his soul was too impatient to listen for the next tick of the + clock of eternity, and was left therefore to declare there was no such + clock going! Ought he not even now to have been capable of thinking that + there might be a being with a design for his creatures yet better than <i>merely</i> + to make them happy? What if, that gained, the other must follow! Here was + a man judging the eternal, who did not even know his own name! + </p> + <p> + As he drew near the house, the question arose in his mind: if Miss Wylder + was gone to her room, what was he to do to find her? He did not know where + her room was! He knew that, when she went up the stair, at the top of it + she turned to the right—and he knew no more. + </p> + <p> + The side-gate at the lodge was yet open; so was the great door of the + house. He entered softly, and going along a wide passage, arrived at the + foot of the great staircase, which ascended with the wide sweep of half an + oval, just in time to see at the top the reflection of a candle + disappearing to the right. There were many chances against its being + Barbara's, but with an almost despairing recklessness he darted up, and + turning, saw again the reflection of the candle from the wall of a passage + that crossed the corridor. He followed as swiftly and lightly as he could, + and at the corner all but overturned an elderly maid, whose fright gave + place to wrath when she saw who had endangered her. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see Miss Wylder!” said Richard hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “You have no call to be in this part of the house,” returned the woman. + </p> + <p> + “I can't stop to explain,” answered Richard. “Please tell me which is her + room.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I will not.” + </p> + <p> + “When she knows my business, she will be glad I came to her.” + </p> + <p> + “You may find it for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you take a message for me then?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not Miss Wylder's maid!” she replied. “Neither is it my place to + wait on my fellow-servants.” + </p> + <p> + She turned away, tossing her head, and rounded the corner into the + corridor. + </p> + <p> + Richard looked down the passage. A light was burning at the other end of + it, and he saw there were not many doors in it. With a sudden resolve to + go straight ahead, he called out clear and plain— + </p> + <p> + “Miss Wylder!” and again, “Miss Wylder!” + </p> + <p> + A door opened and, to his delight, out peeped Barbara's dainty little + head. She saw Richard, gave one glance in the opposite direction, and made + him a sign to come to her. He did so. She was in her dressing-gown: it was + not her candle he had followed, but its light had led him to her! + </p> + <p> + “What is it!” she said hurriedly. “Don't speak loud: lady Ann might hear + you!” + </p> + <p> + “There's a girl all but dying—” began Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Go to the library,” she said. “I will come to you there. I shan't be a + minute!” + </p> + <p> + She went in, and her door closed with scarce a sound. Then first a kind of + scare fell upon Richard: one of those doors might open, and the pale, cold + face of the formidable lady look out Gorgon-like! If it was her candle he + had followed, she could hardly have put it down when he called Miss + Wylder! He ran gliding through passage and corridor, and down the stair, + noiseless and swift as a bat. Arrived in the library, he lighted a candle, + and, lest any one should enter, pretended to be looking out books. Within + five minutes Barbara was at his side. + </p> + <p> + “Now!” she said, and stood silent, waiting. + </p> + <p> + There was a solemn look on her face, and none of the smile with which she + usually greeted him. Their last interview had made her miserable for a + while, and more solemn for ever. For hours the world was black about her, + and she felt as if Richard had struck her. To say there was no God behind + the loveliness of things, was to say there was no loveliness—nothing + but a pretence of loveliness! The world was a painted thing! a toy for a + doll! a phantasm! + </p> + <p> + He told her where and in what state he had found the girl, and to what a + poor place he had been compelled to carry her, saying he feared she would + die before he could get anything for her, except Miss Wylder would help + him. + </p> + <p> + “Brandy!” she said, thinking. “Lady Ann has some in her room. The rest I + can manage!—Wait here; I will be with you in three minutes.” + </p> + <p> + She went, and Richard waited—without anxiety, for whatever Barbara + undertook seemed to those who knew her as good as done. + </p> + <p> + She reappeared in her red cloak, with a basket beneath it. Richard, + wondering, would have taken the basket from her. + </p> + <p> + “Wait till we are out of the house,” she said. “Open that bay window, and + mind you don't make a noise. They mustn't find it undone: we have to get + in that way again.” + </p> + <p> + Richard obeyed scrupulously. It was a French window, and issue was easy. + </p> + <p> + “What if they close the shutters?” he ventured to say. + </p> + <p> + “They don't always. We must take our chance,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + He thought she must mean to go as far as the lodge only. + </p> + <p> + “You won't forget, miss, to fasten the window again?” he whispered, as he + closed it softly behind them. + </p> + <p> + “We must always risk something!” she answered. “Come along!” + </p> + <p> + “Please give me the basket,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + She gave it him; and the next moment he found her leading to the way + through the park toward the lodgeless gate. + </p> + <p> + They had walked a good many minutes, and Barbara had not said a word. + </p> + <p> + “How good of you, miss, to come!” ventured Richard. + </p> + <p> + “To come!” she returned. “What else did you expect? Did you not want me to + come?” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of your coming! I only thought you would get the right + things for me—if you could!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't think I would leave the poor girl to the mercy of a man who + would tell her there was nobody anywhere to help her out of her troubles!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I should have told her that; I might have told her there + was nobody to bring worse trouble upon her!” + </p> + <p> + “What comfort would that be, when the trouble was come—and as strong + as she could bear!” + </p> + <p> + Richard was silent a moment, then in pure self-defence answered— + </p> + <p> + “A man must neither take nor give the comfort of a lie!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me honestly then,” said Barbara, “—for I do believe you are an + honest man—tell me, are you <i>sure</i> there is no God? Have you + gone all through the universe looking for him, and failed to find him? Is + there no possible chance that there may be a God!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe there is.” + </p> + <p> + “But are you sure there is not? Do you know it, so that you have a right + to say it?” + </p> + <p> + Richard hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say,” he answered, “that I know it as I know a proposition in + Euclid, or as I know that I must not do what is wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what right have you to go and make people miserable by saying there + is no God—as if you, being an honest man, knew it, and would not say + it if you did not know it? You take away the only comfort left the + unhappy! Of course you have a right to say you don't believe it—but + only that! And I would think twice before I said even that, where all the + certainty was that it would make people miserable!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anybody it would make miserable,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “It would make me dead miserable,” returned Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “I know many it would redeem from misery,” rejoined Richard. “To believe + in a cruel being ready to pounce upon them is enough to make the strongest + miserable.” + </p> + <p> + “The cruel being that made the world, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—if the world was made.” + </p> + <p> + “If one believes in any God, it must be the same God that made this lovely + night—and the gladness it would give me, if you did not take it from + me!” + </p> + <p> + Richard was silent for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “How can I take it from you?” he said, “if you think what I say is not + true?” + </p> + <p> + “You make me fear lest it should be true; and then farewell to all joy in + life—not only for want of some one to love right heartily, but + because there is no refuge from the evils that are all about us. I have no + quarrel with you if you say these evils are brought upon us by an evil + being, who lives to make men miserable; there you leave room to believe + also in one fighting against him, to whom we can go for help! The God our + parson believes in he calls 'God, our saviour.' To take away the notion of + any kind of God, is to make life too dreary to live!” + </p> + <p> + “Yours is the old doctrine of the Magians,” remarked Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I could accept it easily beside what people believe now.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they believe?” + </p> + <p> + “They believe in the God of the Bible, who makes pets of a few of his + creatures, and sends all the rest into eternal torment. Would you comfort + people with the good news of a God like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Such a God is not to be believed in! Deny him all you can. But because + there cannot be an evil God, what right have you to say there cannot be a + good one? That is to reason backward! The very notion of a night like this + having no meaning in it—no God in it who intends it to look just so, + is enough to make <i>me</i> miserable. But I will <i>not</i> believe it! I + shall hate you if you make me believe it!” + </p> + <p> + “The Bible says there is an evil being behind it!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know much about the Bible, but I don't believe it says that.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it <i>calls</i> him good, but it says he does certain things + which we know to be bad.” + </p> + <p> + “You make too much of the Bible, if it says such things. Throw it out of + the window and have done with it. But how dare you tell me there is nobody + greater than me to account for me! You make of me a creature that was not + worth being made; a mere ooze from nothing, like the scum on the pond, + there because it cannot help it. If I have no God to be my justification, + my being becomes loathsome to me. I don't know how I came to be, where I + came from, or where I am going to; and you say there <i>can</i> be nobody + that knows; you tell me there is no help; that I must die in the dark I + came out of; that there is no love about me knowing what it loves. Even if + I found myself alive and awake and happy after I was dead, what comfort + would there be if there was no God? How should I ever grow better?—how + get rid of the wrong things in myself?—If life has no better thing + for this poor woman, be kind and let her die and have done with it. Why + keep her in such a hopeless existence as you believe in? You can have but + little regard for her surely! I beg of you don't say <i>that thing</i> to + her, for you don't <i>know</i> it.” + </p> + <p> + Richard was again silent for a while; then he said— + </p> + <p> + “I had no intention of saying anything of the sort, but I promise because + you wish it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! thank you!” + </p> + <p> + “I promise too,” added Richard, “that I will not say anything more of that + kind until I have thought a good deal more about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you again heartily!” said Barbara. “I am sure of one thing—that + you cannot have ground for not hoping! Is not hope all we have got? He is + the very butcher of humanity who kills its hope! It is hope we live by!” + </p> + <p> + “But if it be a false hope?” + </p> + <p> + “A false hope cannot do so much harm as a false fear!” + </p> + <p> + “The false fear is just what I oppose. The Bible tells people—” + </p> + <p> + “There you are back to the book you don't believe in! And because you + don't believe in the book that makes people afraid, you insist there can + be no such thing as the gladness my heart cries out for! If you want to + make people happy, why don't you preach a good God instead of no God?” + </p> + <p> + “I will think about what you say,” replied Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Mind,” said Barbara, “I don't pretend to know anything! I only say I have + a right to hope. And for the Bible, I must have a better look at it! A man + who, being a good man, wants to comfort us poor women, whom men knock + about so, by taking from us the idea of a living God that cares for us, + cannot be so wise but that he may be wrong about a book! Have you read it + all through now, Mr. Tuke—so that you are sure it says what you say + it says?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not,” answered Richard; “but everybody knows what it says!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't! Nobody has taken the trouble to tell me, and I haven't + read it.—But I'll just give you a little bit of my life to look at. + I was with my father and mother for a while in Sydney, and there a + terrible lie was told about me, and everybody believed it, and nobody + would speak to me. Somehow people are always ready to believe lies—even + people who would not tell lies! We had to leave Sydney in consequence, and + to this day everybody in Sydney believes me a wicked, ugly girl!—Now + I know I am not! See—I can hold my face to the stars! It was trying + to help a poor creature that nobody would do anything for, that got the + lie said of me. I thought my first business was to take care of my + neighbour, and I did it, and that's what came of it!” + </p> + <p> + “And you believe in a God that would let that come to you for doing what + was good?” said Richard, with an indignation that exploded in all + directions. + </p> + <p> + “Stop! stop! the thing's not over yet! The world is not done with yet! + What if there be a God who loves me, and cares as little what people say + about me, because he knows the truth, as I care about it because <i>I</i> + know the truth!—But that is not what I wanted to say; this is it: if + such lies were told, and believed, about an innocent girl trying to do her + duty, why may not people have told lies about God, and other people + believed them? The same thing may hold with the book. Perhaps it does not + speak such lies about God, but stupid or lying people have said that it + speaks them, and other people have believed those, and said it again. I + hope with all my heart you are saying what is false when you say there is + no God; but that is not nearly so bad as saying there is a God who is not + good. I can't think anybody believing in a God like that, would have been + able to write a book about him that so many good people care to read.” + </p> + <p> + Richard was thoroughly silenced now. I do not mean that he was at all + convinced, but how could he find much to say with that appeal of Barbara + to her own sore experience echoing in his heart! And they were just at the + door of the cottage. He knocked, and receiving no answer, opened the door, + and they went in. + </p> + <p> + There was light enough from the glow of a mere remnant of fire in a + corner, to see, on a stool by its side, the good woman of the house fast + asleep, with her head against the wall. Her husband was snoring in bed. + The children lay still as death on their mattress upon the floor. Alice + sat on the one chair, her head fallen back, and her face as white as human + face could be; but when they listened, they could hear her breathing. + Beside the pale, worn, vanishing girl, Barbara looked the incarnation of + concentrated life and energy. Her cheeks were flushed with the rapid walk, + and her eyes were still flashing with the thoughts that had been rising in + her, and the words that had been going from her. For a moment she stood + radiant with the tender glow of an infinite pity, as she looked down on + the death-like girl; then, with a sigh in which trembled the very luxury + of service, she put her arm under the poor back-fallen head, and lifted it + gently up. With the motion, Alice's eyes opened, like those of certain + wonderful dolls, but they did not seem to have so much life in them. + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” said Barbara; “give me a little brandy in the cup.” + </p> + <p> + Richard made haste, and Barbara put the cup to Alice's lips. + </p> + <p> + “Dear, take a little brandy; it will revive you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Alice came to her windows and looked, and saw the face of an angel bending + over her. She obeyed the heavenly vision, and drank what it offered. It + made her cough, and their hostess started to her feet as if dreading + censure; but a smile and a greeting from Barbara reassured her. She + thanked her for her hospitality as if Alice had been her sister, and + slipping money into her hand, coaxingly begged her to make up the fire a + little, that she might warm some soup. + </p> + <p> + Almost at once upon her tasting the soup, a little colour began to come in + Alice's cheek. Barbara was feeding her, and a feeble smile flickered over + the thin face every time it looked up in Barbara's. Richard stood gazing, + and saw that hope in God could not much have lessened one woman's + tenderness. He had scarcely seen tenderness in his mother; and certainly + he had seen little hope. She was thoroughly kind to him, and he knew she + would have died for her husband; but he had seen no sweetness in their + intercourse, neither could remember any sweetness to himself. The hot + spring of his aunt's love to him was no geyser, and he never knew in this + world how hot it was. Hence was it to Richard more than a gracious sight, + it was a revelation to him, as he watched the electric play of the love + that passed from the strong, tender, child-like girl to the delicate, + weary, starved creature to whom she was ministering. + </p> + <p> + At length Barbara thought it better she should have no more food for the + present, when naturally the question arose, what was to be done next. The + saviours went out into the night to have a free talk, and a little fresh + air—sorely wanted in the cottage. + </p> + <p> + Richard then told Barbara that, if she did not disapprove, he would take + Alice to his grandfather: he was certain he would receive her cordially, + and both he and Jessie would do what they could for her. But he did not + know of any vehicle he could get to carry her, except his grandfather's + pony-cart, and that was four miles away! + </p> + <p> + “All right!” said Barbara. “I will stay with her, in and out, till you + come.” + </p> + <p> + “But how will you get home after?” + </p> + <p> + “As I came, of course. Don't trouble yourself about me; I can look after + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “But if they should have fastened the library-window?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will take refuge with mother Night. There will be room enough in + the park. Perhaps I may go to roost in that beech-tree. Don't you think + about me. I shall come to no harm. Go at once and fetch the pony-cart.” + </p> + <p> + Richard set off running, and came to his grandfather's while it was yet + unreviving night; but he had little difficulty in rousing the old man. He + told him all he knew about Alice, as well as the plight in which he had + found her. Simon looked grave when he heard how his daughter had come + between Richard and his friends. He hurried on his clothes, put the pony + to, and got into the cart: he would himself fetch the girl! In another + moment they were spinning along the gray road. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the hut, there was Barbara standing sentry near the + door. She went and talked to Simon. Richard got down and went in. He found + Alice wide awake, staring into the fire, with a look that brought a great + rush of pity into his heart afresh. Remembering how the girl had shrunk + from him before, he feared himself unfit to help, and knew himself unable + to comfort her. For the first time he vaguely felt that there might be + troubles needing a hand which neither man nor woman could hold out. Their + kind hostess had crept into bed beside her husband, and was snoring as + loud as he. Without a word he wrapped Alice in the blanket he had brought, + and taking her once more in his arms, carried her to the cart. Leaning + down from his perch, the sturdy old man received her in his, placed her + comfortably beside him, put his arm round her, and with a nod to Barbara, + and never a word to his grandson, drove away. Richard knew his rugged + goodness too well to mind how he treated him, and was confident in him for + Alice, as one to do not less but more than he promised. He was thus free + to walk home with Barbara, glad at heart to know Alice in harbour, but a + little anxious until Miss Wylder should be safe shut in her chamber. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. <i>BARBARA AND LADY ANN.</i> + </h2> + <p> + As they went, neither said much. Both seemed to avoid the subject of their + conversation as they came. They talked of poetry and fiction, and did not + differ. Though Barbara there also had precious insights, happily she had + no opinions. + </p> + <p> + When they reached a certain point, Richard drew back, and, from a coign of + vantage, saw Barbara try the study-window and fail. He then followed her + as she went round to the door, and, still covertly, saw her ring the bell. + The door was opened with what seemed to him a portentous celerity, and she + disappeared. He turned away into the park, and wandered about, revolving + many things, till by slow gradations the sky's gray idea unfolded to a + brilliant conviction, and, lo, there was the morning, not to be + controverted! But he took care to let the house not only come awake, but + come to its senses, before he sought admission. When it seemed well astir, + he rang the bell; and when the door, after some delay, was opened, he went + straight to the library, and was fairly at work by five o'clock. + </p> + <p> + He saw nothing of Barbara all day, or indeed of any of the family except + Vixen, who looked in, made a face at him, and went away, leaving the door + open. At eight o'clock he had his breakfast, and at nine he was again in + the library; so that by lunch-time he had been seven of his eight hours at + work, and by half-past two found himself free to go to his grandfather's + and inquire after Alice. + </p> + <p> + On his way to the road through the park, he met Arthur Lestrange. Richard + touched his hat as was his wont, and would have passed, but, with no + friendly expression on his countenance, Arthur stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Tuke?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to my grandfather's, sir,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, but your day's work is not over by many hours yet.” + </p> + <p> + Richard found his temper growing troublesome, but tried hard to keep it in + hand. + </p> + <p> + “If you remember, sir,” he said, “our agreement mentioned no hour for + beginning or leaving off work.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, but you undertook to give me eight hours of your day!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I was at work by five o'clock this morning, and have given you + more than eight hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm!” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite as anxious,” pursued Richard, “to fulfill my engagement, as + you can be to have it fulfilled.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Ask Thomas, who let me in this morning,” resumed Richard, “whether I was + not at work in the library by five o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + It went a good deal against the grain with Richard to appeal to any + witness for corroboration: he was proud of being a man of his word; but + although not greatly anxious to keep his temporary position, he was + anxious the compact should not be broken through anything he did or said. + </p> + <p> + “Let you in?” exclaimed Arthur; “—let you in before five o'clock in + the morning? Then you were out all night!” + </p> + <p> + “I was.” + </p> + <p> + “That cannot be permitted.” + </p> + <p> + “I am surely right in believing that, when my work is over, I am my own + master! I had something to do that must be done. My grandfather knows all + I was about!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I remember! old Simon Armour, the blacksmith!” returned Arthur. + “But,” he went on, plainly softening a little, “you ought not to work for + him while you are in my employment.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, sir; and if I wanted, my grandfather would not let me. While + my work is yours, it is all yours, sir.” + </p> + <p> + With that he turned, and left Arthur where he stood a little relieved, + though now annoyed as well that a man in his employment should not have + waited to be dismissed. Hastening to the smithy, he found his grandfather + putting off his apron to go home for a cup of tea. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there you are!” he said. “I thought we should be catching sight of + you before long!” + </p> + <p> + “How's Alice, grandfather? You might be sure I should want to know!” + </p> + <p> + “She's been asleep all day, the best thing for her!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope, grandfather,” said Richard, for Simon's tone troubled him a + little, “you are not vexed with me! I assure you I had nothing to do with + her coming down here—that I know of. You would not have had me leave + her sitting there, out on that stone in the moonlight, all night long, a + ghost before her time without a grave to go to? She would have been dead + before the morning! She must have been! I am certain <i>you</i> would not + have left her there!” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid, lad! If you thought me out of temper with you, it was a + mistake. I confess the thing does bother me, but I'm not blaming <i>you</i>. + You acted like a Christian.” + </p> + <p> + Richard hardly relished the mode of his grandfather's approbation. A man + ought to do the right thing because he was a man, not because he was + something else than a man! He had yet to learn that a man and a Christian + are precisely and entirely the same thing; that a being who is not a + Christian is not a man. I perfectly know how absurd this must seem to + many, but such do not see what I see. No one, however strong he may feel + his obligations, will ever be man enough to fulfill them except he be a + Christian—that is, one who, like Christ, cares first for the will of + the Father. One who thinks he can meet his obligations now, can have no + idea what is required of him in virtue of his being what he is—no + idea of what his own nature requires of him. So much is required that + nothing more could be required. Let him ask himself whether he is doing + what he requires of himself. If he answer, “I can do it without + Christianity anyway,” I reply, “Do it; try to do it, and I know where the + honest endeavour will bring you. Don't try to do it, and you are not man + enough to be worth reasoning with.” + </p> + <p> + Simon and his grandson had not yet turned the corner, when Richard heard a + snort he knew: there, sure enough, stood Miss Brown, hitched to the + garden-paling, peaceable but impatient. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Wylder here!” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, lad! She's been here an hour and more. Jessie came and told me, but + I knew it: I heard the mare, and knew the sound of my own shoes on her!—I + doubt if she'll stand it much longer though!” he added, as she pawed the + road. “Well, she's a fine creature!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she's a good mare!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean the mare! I mean the mistress!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Wylder is just noble!” said Richard. “But I'm afraid she got into + trouble last night!” + </p> + <p> + “It don't sound much like it!” returned the old man, as Barbara's musical, + bird-like laugh came from the cottage. “She ain't breaking her heart!—Alice, + as you call her, must be doing well, or missie wouldn't be laughing like + that!” + </p> + <p> + As they entered, Barbara came gliding down the perpendicular stair in + front of them, her face yet radiant with the shadow of the laugh they had + heard. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mr. Armour!” she said. “—I did not expect to see you + so soon again, Mr. Tuke. Will you put me up!” + </p> + <p> + Richard released Miss Brown, got her into position, and gave his hand to + Barbara's foot, as he had seen Mr. Lestrange do. But lifting, he nearly + threw her over Miss Brown's back. She burst into her lovely laugh, + clutched at a pommel, and held fast. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not quite ready to go to heaven all at once!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were!” answered Richard. “But indeed I beg your pardon! I + might have known how light you must be!” + </p> + <p> + “I am very heavy for my size!” + </p> + <p> + “May I walk a little way alongside of you, miss?” + </p> + <p> + “You have a right; I have offered you my company more than once,” answered + Barbara. + </p> + <p> + They walked a little way in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Why is there no way to the heaven you believe in, but the terrible gate + of death?” asked Richard at length. “If a God of love, as you say your God + is, made the world, and could not—for want of room, I suppose—let + his creatures live on in it, he would surely have thought of some better + way out of it than such a ghastly one!” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the most surprising thing about Barbara was her readiness. Very + seldom had one to wait for her answer. + </p> + <p> + “This morning,” she said, “for the first time with me on her back at + least, Miss Brown refused a jump—and I grant the place <i>looked</i> + ugly! But I gave her a little sharp persuasion, and she took it + beautifully, coming away as proud of herself as possible.—If there + be a God, he must know as much better than you and I, as I know better + than Miss Brown. One who never did anything we couldn't understand, + couldn't be God. How else could he make things?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if they are made!” + </p> + <p> + “If I were you, I would be quite sure first, before I said they were not. + You won't assert anything you are not sure of; don't deny anything either. + Good-bye.—Go, Miss Brown!” + </p> + <p> + She was more peremptory than usual, but he liked it—rather. He felt + she had some right to speak to him so: positive as he had hitherto been, + he was not really sure of anything! + </p> + <p> + The fact was, Barbara had been irritated that morning, and had got over + the irritation, but not quite over the excitement of it. She thought Miss + Brown should never again set hoof within the gates of Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast, lady Ann had sent for her to her dressing-room, and + Barbara had gone, prepared to hear of something to her disadvantage. The + same woman who had been so uncivil to Richard, had watched and seen them + go out together. She fastened the library window behind them, and went and + told lady Ann, who requested her to mind her own business. + </p> + <p> + When Barbara rang the bell, not caring much—for a night in the park + was of little consequence to her—the door was immediately opened, + but only a little way, by some one without a light, whose face or even + person she could not distinguish, for the door was quite in shadow. It + closed again, and she was left darkling, to find her way to her room as + best she might. She stood for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” she said. + </p> + <p> + No one answered. She heard neither footstep nor sound of garments. + Carefully feeling her way, she got to the foot of the great stair, and in + another minute was in her room. + </p> + <p> + When Barbara entered lady Ann's dressing-room, she greeted her with less + than her usual frigidity. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, my love! You were late last night!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I was rather early,” answered Barbara, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask where you were?” said her ladyship, with her habitual + composure. + </p> + <p> + “About a mile and a half from here, at that little cottage in + Burrow-lane.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you come to be there—and for so long? You were hours away!” + </p> + <p> + Even lady Ann could not prevent a little surprise in her tone as she said + the words. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Tuke came and told me——” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, but do I know Mr. Tuke?” + </p> + <p> + “The bookbinder, at work in the library.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't your mother be rather astonished at your having secrets with a + working-man?” + </p> + <p> + “Secrets, lady Ann!” exclaimed Barbara. “Your ladyship forgets herself!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann looked up with a languid stare in the fresh young face, rosy with + anger. + </p> + <p> + “Was I not in the act,” pursued the girl, “of telling you all about it? + You dare accuse me of such a thing! I only wish you would carry that tale + of me to my mother!” + </p> + <p> + “I am not accustomed to be addressed in this style, Barbara!” drawled lady + Ann, without either raising or quickening her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is time you began, if you are accustomed to speak to girls as you + have just spoken to me! I am not accustomed to be told that I have a + secret with any man—or woman either! I don't know which I should + like worse! I have no secrets. I hate them.” + </p> + <p> + “Compose yourself, my child. You need not be afraid of <i>me</i>!” said + lady Ann. “I am not your enemy.” + </p> + <p> + She thought Barbara's anger came from fear, for she regarded herself as a + formidable person. But for victory she rested mainly on her + imperturbability. + </p> + <p> + “Look me in the face, lady Ann, and tell yourself whether I am afraid of + you!” answered Barbara, the very soul of indignation flashing in her eyes. + “I fear no enemy.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann found she had a new sort of creature to deal with. + </p> + <p> + “That I am your friend, you will not doubt when I tell you it was I who + let you in last night! I did not wish your absence or the hour of your + return to be known. My visitors must not be remarked upon by my servants!” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you not speak to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I wished to give you a lesson.” + </p> + <p> + “You thought to frighten <i>me</i>, as if I were a doughy, half-baked + English girl! Allow me to ask how you were aware I was out.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann was not ready with her answer. She wanted to establish a + protective claim on the girl—to have a secret with, and so a hold + upon her. + </p> + <p> + “If the servants do not know,” Barbara went on, “would you mind saying how + your ladyship came to know? Have the servants up, and I will tell the + whole thing before them all—and prove what I say too.” + </p> + <p> + “Calm yourself, Miss Wylder. You will scarcely do yourself justice in + English society, if you give way to such temper. As you wish the whole + house to know what you were about, pray begin with me, and explain the + thing to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Tuke told me he had found a young woman almost dead with hunger and + cold by the way-side, and carried her to a cottage. I came to you, as you + well remember, and begged a little brandy. Then I went to the larder, and + got some soup. She would certainly have been dead before the morning, if + we had not taken them to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not tell me what you wanted the brandy for?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you would have tried to prevent me from going.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I should have had the poor creature attended to!—I + confess I should have sent a more suitable person.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought myself the most suitable person in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the thing came to me to get done, and I had to go; and because I + knew I should be kinder to her than any one you could send. I know too + well what servants are, to trust them with the poor!” + </p> + <p> + “You may be far too kind to such people!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if one hasn't common sense. But this girl you couldn't be too kind + to.” + </p> + <p> + “It is just as I feared: she has taken you in quite! Those tramps are all + the same!” + </p> + <p> + “The same as other people—yes; that is, as different from each other + as your ladyship and I.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann found Barbara too much for her, and changed her attack. + </p> + <p> + “But how came you to be so long? As you have just said, Burrow-lane can't + be more than a mile and a half from here!” + </p> + <p> + “We could not leave her at the cottage; it was not a fit place for her. + Mr. Tuke had to go to his grandfather's—four miles—and I had + to stay with her till he came back. Old Simon came himself in his + spring-cart, and took her away.” + </p> + <p> + “Was there no woman at the cottage?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but worn out with work and children. Her night's rest was of more + consequence to her than ten nights' waking would be to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Barbara! I was certain I should not prove mistaken in you! But + I hope such a necessity will not often occur.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not; but when it does, I hope I may be at hand.” + </p> + <p> + “I was certain it was some mission of mercy that had led you into the + danger. A girl in your position must beware of being peculiar, even in + goodness. There are more important things in the world than a little + suffering!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; your duty to your neighbour is more important.” + </p> + <p> + “Not than your duty to yourself, Barbara!” said lady Ann, in such a gently + severe tone of righteous reproof, that Barbara's furnace of a heart made + the little pot that held her temper nearly boil over. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Ann,” she said, unconsciously drawing herself up to her full little + height, “I am sorry I gave you the trouble of sitting up to open the door + for me. <i>That</i> at least shall not happen again. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to be annoyed at, Barbara. I am quite pleased with what + you have told me. I say only it was unwise of you not to let me know.” + </p> + <p> + “It may not have been wise for my own sake, but it was for the woman's.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no occasion to say more about the woman; I am quite satisfied + with you, Barbara!” said lady Ann, looking up with an icy smile, her last + Parthian arrow. + </p> + <p> + “But I am not satisfied with you, lady Ann,” rejoined Barbara. “I have + submitted to be catechized because the thing took place while I was your + guest; but if such a thing were to happen again, I should do just the + same; therefore I have no right, understanding perfectly how much it would + displease you, to remain your guest. I ought, perhaps, to have gone home + instead of returning to you, but I thought that would be uncivil, and look + as if I were ashamed. My mother would never have treated me as you have + done! You may think her a strange woman, but her heart is as big as her + head—much bigger when it is full!” + </p> + <p> + It was not right of Barbara to get so angry, and answer lady Ann so + petulantly, for she knew her pretty well by this time, and yet was often + her guest. That it was impossible for such a girl to feel respect for such + a woman, if it accounts for her bearing to her, condemns the familiarity + that gave occasion to that bearing. At the same time, but for lady Ann's + superiority in age, Barbara would have spoken her mind with yet greater + freedom. Her rank made no halo about her in Barbara's eyes. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann took no more trouble to appease her: the foolish girl would, she + judged, be ashamed of herself soon, and accept the favour she knew to be + undeserved! Lady Ann understood Barbara no more than lady Ann understood + the real woman underlying lady Ann. She was not afraid of losing Barbara, + for she believed her parents could not but be strongly in favour of an + alliance with her family. She knew nothing of the personal opposition + between Mr. and Mrs. Wylder: she never opposed sir Wilton except it was + worth her while to do so; and sir Wilton never opposed her at all—openly. + It gave lady Ann no more pleasure to go against her husband, than to + comply with his wishes; and she had anything but an adequate notion of the + pleasure it gave sir Wilton to see any desire of hers frustrated. + </p> + <p> + Barbara went to the stable, where man and boy had always his service in + his right hand ready for her—got Miss Brown saddled, and was away + from Mortgrange before Richard, early as he had begun, was half-way + through his morning's work. + </p> + <p> + She went to see Alice almost every day from that afternoon; and as no one + could resist Barbara, Alice's reserve, buttressed and bastioned as it was + with pain, soon began to yield before the live sympathy that assailed it. + They became fast friends. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. <i>ALICE AND BARBARA</i>. + </h2> + <p> + It was weeks before Alice was able to leave her bed: she had been utterly + exhausted. + </p> + <p> + On a lovely summer morning she woke to a sense of returning health. She + had been lying like a waste shore, at low spring-tide, covered with dry + seaweeds, withered jelly-fishes, and a multitudinous life that gasped for + the ocean: at last, at last, the cool, washing throb of the great sea of + bliss, whose fountain is the heart of God, had stolen upon her + consciousness, and she knew that she lived. She lay in a neat little + curtained bed, in a room with a sloping roof on both sides, covered, not + with tiles or slates, but with warm thatch, thick and sound. Ivy was + creeping through the chinks of the ill-fitting window-frame; but through + the little dormer window itself the sun shone freely, and made shadows of + shivering ivy-leaves upon the deal floor. It was a very humble room, and + Alice had been used to much better furniture—but neither to room nor + furniture so clean. There was a wholesomeness and purity everywhere about + her, very welcome to the lady-eyes with which Alice was born; for it is + God that makes ladies, not stupid society and its mawkish distinctions. + One brief moment she felt as if she had gained the haven of her rest, for + she lay at peace, and nothing gnawed. But suddenly a pang shot through her + heart, and she knew that some harassing thought was at hand: pain was her + portion, and had but to define itself to grow sharp. She rose on her elbow + to receive the enemy. He came; she fell back with a fainting heart and a + writhing will. She had left love and misery behind her to seek help, and + she had not found it! she had but lost sight of those for whom she sought + the help! She could not tell how long it was since she had seen her mother + and Arthur: she lay covered with kindness by people she had never before + seen; and how they were faring, she could but conjecture, and conjecture + had in it no comfort! + </p> + <p> + Alice had little education beyond what life had given her; but life is the + truest of all teachers, however little the results of her teaching may be + valued by school-enthusiasts. She did not put the letter H in its place + except occasionally, but she knew how to send a selfish thought back to + its place. She did not know one creed from another, but she loved what she + saw to be good. She knew nothing of the Norman conquest, but she knew much + of self-conquest. She could make her breakfast off dry bread, that her + mother might have hot coffee and the best of butter. She wore very shabby + frocks, but she would not put bad work into the seams of a rich lady's + dress. She stooped as she walked, and there was a lack of accord between + her big beautiful eyes and the way she put her feet down; but it was the + same thing that made her eyes so large, and her feet so heavy; and if she + could not trip lightly along the street, she could lay very tender hands + on her mother's head when it ached with drinking. She had suffered much at + the hands of great ladies, yet she had but to see Barbara to love her. + </p> + <p> + As she lay with her heart warming in that sunshine in which every heart + must one day flash like the truest of diamonds, she heard the sound of a + horse's hoofs on the road. Her angel came to Alice with no flapping of + great wings, or lighting of soft-poised heavenly feet on wooden floor, but + with the sounds of ringing iron shoes and snorting breath, to be followed + by a girl's feet on the stair, whose herald was the smell, now of rosiest + roses, now of whitest lilies, in the chamber of her sad sister. Well might + Alice have sung, “How beautiful are the feet!” At the music of those + mounting feet, death and fear slunk from the room, and Alice knew there + was salvation in the world. What evil <i>can</i> there be for which there + is <i>no</i> help in another honest human soul! What sorrow is there from + which a man may not be some covert, some shadow! Alas for the true soul + which cannot itself save, when it has no notion where help is to be found! + </p> + <p> + “Well, how are you to-day, little one?” said Barbara, sitting down on the + edge of the bed. + </p> + <p> + Alice was older and taller than Barbara, but Barbara never thought about + height or age: strong herself, she took the maternal relation to all + weakness. + </p> + <p> + “Ever so much better, miss!” answered Alice. + </p> + <p> + “Now, none of that!” returned the little lady, “or I walk out of the room! + My name is Barbara, and we are friends—except you think it cheeky of + me to call you Alice!” + </p> + <p> + Alice stretched out her thin arms, folded them gently around Barbara, and + burst into weeping, which was not all bitter. + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me tell you everything?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “What am I here for?” returned Barbara, deep in her embrace. “Only don't + think I'm asking you to tell me anything. Tell me whatever you like—whatever + will help me to know you—not a thing more.” + </p> + <p> + Alice lay silent for an instant, then said— + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would ask me some question! I don't know how to begin!” + </p> + <p> + Without a moment's hesitation, Barbara said in response— + </p> + <p> + “What do you do all day in London?” + </p> + <p> + “Sew, sew, sit and sew, from morning to night,” answered Alice. “No sooner + one thing out of your hands, than another in them, so that you never feel, + for all you do, that you've done anything! The world is just as greedy of + your work as before. I sometimes wish,” she went on, with a laugh that had + a touch of real merriment in it, “that ladies were made with hair like a + cat, I am so tired of the everlasting bodice and skirt!—Only what + would become of us then! It would only be more hunger for less weariness!—It's + a downright dreary life, miss!” + </p> + <p> + “Have a care!” said Barbara solemnly, and Alice laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” she said, and paused a moment as if trying to say <i>Barbara</i>, + “I'm used to think of ladies as if they were a different creation from us, + and it seems rude to call you—<i>Barbara</i>!” + </p> + <p> + She spoke the name with such a lingering sweetness as made its owner + thrill with a new pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “It seems,” she went on, “like presuming to—to—to stroke an + angel's feathers!” + </p> + <p> + “And much I'd give for the angel,” cried Barbara, “that wouldn't like + having his feathers stroked by a girl like you! He might fly for me, and + go—where he'd have them singed!” + </p> + <p> + “Then I <i>will</i> call you Barbara; and I will answer <i>any</i> + question you like to put to me!” + </p> + <p> + “And your mother, I daresay, is rather trying when you come home?” said + Barbara, resuming her examination, and speaking from experience. “Mothers + are—a good deal!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, miss—Barbara, my mother wasn't used to a hard life + like us, and Artie—that's my brother—and I have to do our best + to keep her from feeling it; but we don't succeed very well—not as + we should like to, that is. Neither of us gets much for our day's work, + and we can't do for her as we would. Poor mamma likes to have things nice; + and now that the money she used to have is gone—I don't know how it + went: she had it in some bank, and somebody speculated with it, I suppose!—anyhow, + it's gone, and the thing can't be done. Artie grows thinner and thinner, + and it's no use! Oh, miss, I know I shall lose him! and when I think of + it, the whole world seems to die and leave me in a brick-field!” + </p> + <p> + She wept a moment, very quietly, but very bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “I know he does his very best,” she resumed, “but she won't see it! She + thinks he might do more for her! and I'm sure he's dying!” + </p> + <p> + “Send him to me,” said Barbara; “I'll make him well for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could, miss—I mean <i>Barbara!</i>—Oh, ain't there a + lot of nice things that can't ever be done!” + </p> + <p> + “Does your mother do nothing to help?” + </p> + <p> + “She don't know how; she 'ain't learned anything like us. She was brought + up a lady. I remember her saying once she ought to 'a' been a real lady, a + lady they say <i>my lady</i> to!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! How was it then that she is not?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. There are things we don't dare ask mamma about. If she had + been proud of them, she would have told us without asking.” + </p> + <p> + “What was your father, Alice?” + </p> + <p> + The girl hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “He was a baronet, Barbara.—But perhaps you would rather I said <i>miss</i> + again!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be foolish, child!” Barbara returned peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose my mother meant that he promised to marry her, but never did. + They say gentlemen think no harm of making such promises—without + even meaning to keep them!—I don't know!—I've got no time to + think about such things,—only—” + </p> + <p> + “Only you're forced!” supplemented Barbara. “I've been forced to think + about them too—just once. They're not nice to think about! but so + long as there's snakes, it's better to know the sort of grass they lie in!—Did + he take your mother's money and spend it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not that! He was a gentleman, a baronet, you know, and they don't + do such things!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't they!” said Barbara. “I don't know what things <i>gentlemen</i> + don't do!—But what happened to the money? There may be some way of + getting it back!” + </p> + <p> + “There's no hope of that! I'll tell you how I think it was: my father + didn't care to marry my mother, for he wanted a great lady; so he said + good-bye to her, and she didn't mind, for he was a selfish man, she said. + So she took the money, for of course she had to bring us up, and couldn't + do it without—and what they call invested it. That means, you know, + that somebody took charge of it. So it's all gone, and she gets no + interest on it, and the shops won't trust us a ha'penny more. We can't + always pay down for the kind of thing she likes, and must take what we can + pay for, or go without; and she thinks we might do better for her if we + would, and we don't know how. The other day—I don't like to tell it + of her, even to you, Barbara, but I'm afraid she had been taking too much, + for she went to Mrs. Harman and took me away, and said I could get much + better wages, and she didn't give me half what my work was worth. I cried, + for I couldn't help it, I was that weak and broken-like, for I had had no + breakfast that morning—at least not to speak of, and I got up to go, + for I couldn't say a word, and wanted my mother out of the place. But Mrs. + Harman—she <i>is</i> a kind woman!—she interfered, and said my + mother had no right to take me away, and I must finish my month. So I sat + down again, and my mother was forced to go. But when she was gone, Mrs. + Harman said to me, 'The best thing after all,' says she, 'that you can do, + Ally, is to let your mother have her way. You just stop at home till she + gets you a place where they'll pay you better than I do! She'll find out + the sooner that there isn't a better place to be had, for it's a slack + time now, and everybody has too many hands! When her pride's come down a + bit, you come and see whether I'm able to take you on again.' Now wasn't + that good of her?” + </p> + <p> + “M-m-m!” said Barbara. “It was a slack time!—So you went home to + your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and it was just as Mrs. Harman said: there wasn't a stitch + wanted! I went from place to place, asking—I nearly killed myself + walking about: walking's harder for one not used to it than sitting ever + so long! So I went back to Mrs. Harman, and told her. She said she + couldn't have me just then, but she'd keep her eye on me. I went home + nearly out of my mind. Artie was growing worse and worse, and I had + nothing to do. It's a mercy it was warm weather; for when you haven't much + to eat, the cold is worse than the heat. Then in summer you can walk on + the shady side, but in winter there ain't no sunny side. At last, one + night as I lay awake, I made up my mind I would go and see whether my + father was as hard-hearted as people said. Perhaps he would help us over a + week or two; and if I hadn't got work by that time, we should at least be + abler to bear the hunger! So the next day, without a word to mother or + Artie, I set out and came down here.” + </p> + <p> + “And you didn't see sir Wilton?” + </p> + <p> + “La, miss! who told you? Did I let out the name?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you didn't; but, though there are a good many baronets, they don't + exactly crowd a neighbourhood! What did he say to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I 'ain't seen him yet, miss,—Barbara, I mean! I went up to the + lodge, and the woman looked me all over, curious like, from head to foot; + and then she said sir Wilton wasn't at home, nor likely to be.” + </p> + <p> + “What a lie!” exclaimed Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “You know him then, Barbara?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but never mind. I must ask all my questions first, and then it will + be your turn. What did you do next?” + </p> + <p> + “I went away, but I don't know what I did. How I came to be sitting on + that stone inside that gate, I can't tell. I think I must have gone + searching for a place to die in. Then Richard came. I tried hard to keep + him from knowing me, but I couldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “You knew that Richard was there?” + </p> + <p> + “Where, miss?” + </p> + <p> + “At the baronet's place—Mortgrange.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, miss! Then they've acknowledged him!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean by that. He's there mending their books.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I oughtn't to have spoken. But it don't matter—to you, + Barbara! No; I knew nothing about him being there, or anywhere else, for + I'd lost sight of him. It was a mere chance he found me. I didn't know him + till he spoke to me. I heard his step, but I didn't look up. When I saw + who it was, I tried to make him leave me—indeed I did, but he would + take me! He carried me all the way to the cottage where you found me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you want him to know you? What have you against him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a thing, miss! He would be a brother to me if I would let him. It's a + strange story, and I'm not quite sure if I ought to tell it.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you bound in any way not to tell it?” + </p> + <p> + “No. <i>She</i> didn't tell me about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I mean his mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I am getting bewildered!” said Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder, miss! You'll be more bewildered yet when I tell you all!” She + was silent. Barbara saw she was feeling faint. + </p> + <p> + “What a brute I am to make you talk!” she cried, and ran to fetch her a + cup of milk, which she made her drink slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I must tell you <i>everything</i>!” said Alice, after lying a moment or + two silent. + </p> + <p> + “You shall to-morrow,” said Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “No; I must now, please! I must tell you about Richard!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you known him a long time?” + </p> + <p> + “I call him Richard,” said Alice, “because my brother does. They were at + school together. But it is only of late—not a year ago, that I began + to know him. He came to see Arthur once, and then I went with Arthur to + see him and his people. But his mother behaved very strangely to me, and + asked me a great many questions that I thought she had no business to ask + me. Before that, I had noticed that she kept looking from Arthur to + Richard, and from Richard to Arthur, in the oddest way; I couldn't make it + out. Then she asked me to go to her bedroom with her, and there she told + me. She was very rough to me, I thought, but I must say the tears were in + her own eyes! She said she could <i>not</i> have Richard keeping company + with us, for she knew what my mother was, and who my father was, and we + were not respectable people, and it would never do. If she heard of + Richard going to our house once again, she would have to do something we + shouldn't like. Then she cried quite, and said she was sorry to hurt me, + for I seemed a good girl, and it wasn't my fault, but she couldn't help + it; the thing would be a mischief. And there she stopped as if she had + said too much already. You may be sure I thought myself ill-used, and + Arthur worse; for we both liked Richard, though my mother didn't think him + at all our equal, or fit to be a companion to Arthur; for Arthur was a + clerk, while Richard worked with his hands. Arthur said he worked with his + hands too, and turned out far poorer work than Richard—stupid + figures instead of beautiful books; and I said I worked with my needle + quite as hard as Richard with his tools; but it had no effect on my + mother: her ways of looking at things are not the same as ours, because + she was born a lady. Why don't a lady <i>have</i> ladies, Barbara?” + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind, Alice! Every good woman will be a lady one day—I am + sure of that! It was cruel to treat you so! How anybody belonging to + Richard could do it, I can't think; he's so gentle and good himself!” + </p> + <p> + “He's the kindest and best of—of men, and I love him,” said Alice + earnestly. “But I must tell you, Barbara—I must make you understand + that I have a right to love him. When I told poor Arthur, as we went home + that night, that he wasn't to see any more of Richard, he could not help + crying. I saw it, though he tried to hide it. Of course I didn't let him + know I saw him cry. Men are ashamed of crying. I ain't a bit. For Richard + was the only schoolfellow ever was a friend to Artie. He once fought a big + fellow that used to torment him! By the time we got home, I was boiling + over with rage, and told mamma all about it. Angry as I was, her anger + frightened mine out of me. 'The insolent woman!' she cried. 'But I'll soon + have a rod in pickle for her! I'll have my revenge of her—that you + shall soon see! My children weren't good enough for her tradesman-fellow, + weren't they! She said that, did she? She ain't the only one has got eyes + in her head! Didn't you see me look at him as sharp as she did at you? If + ever face told tale without meaning to tell it, that's the face of the + young man you call Richard! He's a Lestrange, as sure's there's a God in + heaven! He's got the mark as plain as sir Wilton himself!—not a + feature the same, I grant, but Lestrange is writ in every one of them! + I'll take my oath who was <i>his</i> father!—And there she goes as + mim and as prim—!' 'No, mamma,' I said, 'that she does not. She + looks as fierce as a lioness!' I said. 'What's her name?' asked my mother. + 'Tuke,' I answered. 'Was there ever such a name!' she cried. 'It's fitter + for a dog than a human being! But it's good enough for her anyway. What + was her maiden name? Who was she? There's the point!' 'But if what you + suspect be true, mamma,' I said, 'then she had good reason for wishing us + parted!' 'She ought to have come to me about it!' said my mother. 'She + ought to have left it to me to say what should be done! I'm not married to + a dirty tradesman!' I'm not telling you exactly what she said, miss, + because when she loses her temper, poor mamma don't always speak quite + like a lady, though of course she <i>is</i> one, all the same! I said no + more, but I thought how kindly Richard always looked at me, and my heart + grew big inside me to think that Artie and I had him for our own brother. + Nobody could touch that! He had notions I didn't like—for, do you + know, Barbara, he believes we just go out like a candle that can never + again be lighted any more. He thinks there's no life after this one! He + can't have loved anybody much, I fear, to be able to think that! You don't + agree with him, I'm certain, miss! But I thought, if he was my brother, I + might be able to help change his mind about it. I thought I would be so + good to him that he wouldn't like me to die for ever and ever, and would + come to see things differently. I had no friend, not one, you see, miss—Barbara, + I mean—except Arthur, and he never has much to say about anything, + though he's as true as steel; and I thought it would be bliss to have a + man-friend—I mean a good man for a real friend, and I knew Richard + would be that, though he was a brother! Most brothers are not friends to + poor girls. I know three whose brothers get all they can out of them, and + don't care how they have to slave for it, and then spend it on treats to + other girls! But I was sure Richard was good, though he wasn't religious! + So I said to mamma that, now we knew all about it, there could be no + reason why we shouldn't see as much of each other as ever we liked, seeing + Richard was our brother. But she paid no heed to me; she sat thinking and + thinking; and I read in her face that she was not in a brown study, but + trying to get at something. It was many minutes before she spoke, but she + did at last, and what she told us is my secret, Barbara! But I'm not bound + to keep it from you, for I know you would not hurt Richard, and you have a + right to know whatever I know, for you found my life and wrapped it up in + love and gave it back to me, <i>dear</i> Barbara!—It was not a + pretty story for a mother to tell her children—and it's a sore grief + not to be able to think <i>every</i>thing that's good of your mother; but + it's all past now;—and it ain't our fault—is it, Barbara?” + </p> + <p> + “Your fault!” cried Barbara. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “People treat us as if it were.” + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind. You've got a Father in heaven to see to that!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Barbara! You make me so happy! Now I can tell you all!—'I've + got it!' cried my mother. 'Bless my soul, what an ass I was not to see + through it at once! Now you just listen to me: sir Wilton was married + before he married his present wife. He never thought of getting rid of me + for the first one, you understand, for she wasn't a lady—though they + do say she <i>was</i> a handsome creature! She was that low, you wouldn't + believe!—just nobody at all! Her father was—what do you think?—a + country blacksmith! And though he had me, he <i>would</i> marry her! Oh + the men! the men! they are incomprehensible! It made me mad! To think he + wouldn't marry me, and he would marry her, and I might have had him myself + if I'd only been as hard-hearted and stood out as long! But the fact was, + I was in love with your father! No one could help it, when he laid himself + out to make you! I couldn't anyhow, though I tried hard. But <i>she</i> + could! For all her beauty, she was that cold! ice was nothing to her! He + told me so himself!—Well, when her time came, she died—never + more than just saw the child, and died. I believe myself she died of + fright; for sir Wilton told me he was the ugliest child ever came into + this world! He must, said his father, have come straight from the devil, + for no one else could have made him so ugly! Well, what must your father + go and do next, but marry an earl's daughter!—nobody too good for + him after the blacksmith's!—and within a month or so, what should + his nurse do but walk off with the child! From that day to this, so far as + ever I've heard, there's been no news of him. It's years and years that + all the world has given him up for lost. Now, mark what I say: I feel + morally certain that this Richard, as you call him, is that same child, + and heir to all the Lestrange property! That woman, Tuke—what a + name!—she's the nurse that carried him off; and who knows but the + man married her for the chance of what the child's succession might bring + them! They mean to tell the fellow, when the proper time comes, how they + saved him from being murdered by his stepmother, and carried him off at + the risk of their lives! Well they knew him for a pot of money! You may be + certain they've got all the proofs safe! I hate the ugly devil! What right + has he to come to an estate, and have my children looked down upon by Mrs. + Bookbinder! I'll put a spoke in her wheel, though! I'll have one little + finger in their pie! They shan't burn their mouths with it—no, not + they!' I treasured every word my mother said—I was so glad all the + while to think of Richard as the head of the family. I could not help the + feeling that I belonged to the family, for was not the same blood in + Richard and in us? 'Alice,' my mother said, 'mark my words! That Richard, + as you call him, is heir to the title and estate! But if you speak one + word on the subject until I give you leave, to your Richard or to any live + soul, I'll tear your tongue out—I will!—And you know well that + what I say, I do!' I knew well that poor mamma very seldom did what she + said, and I was not afraid of her; but I grew more and more afraid of + doing anything to interfere with Richard's prospects. I met him one night + in Regent-street, a terrible, stormy night, and was so fluttered at seeing + him, and so frightened lest I should let something out that might injure + him, that I nearly killed myself by running against a lamp-post in my + hurry to get away from him. But to be quite honest with you, Barbara, what + I was most afraid of was, that he would go on falling in love with me; and + that, when he found out what we were to each other, it would break his + heart: I have heard of such a thing! For you see I durst not tell him! And + besides, it mightn't be so, after all! So I had to be cruel to him! He + must have thought me a brute! And now for him to appear, far away from + everywhere, just in time to save me from dying of cold and hunger—ain't + it wonderful?” + </p> + <p> + But Barbara sat silent. It was her turn to sit thinking and thinking. Why + had the strange story come to her ears? There must be something for her to + do in the next chapter of it! + </p> + <p> + “How much do you think Richard may know about the thing?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe he has a suspicion that he is anything but the son of the + bookbinder,” Alice answered. “If Mrs. Tuke did take him, I wonder why it + really was. What do you think, Barbara? To me she does not look at all a + designing woman. She may be a daring one: I could fancy her sticking at + nothing she saw reason for! If she did it she <i>must</i> have done it for + the sake of the child!” + </p> + <p> + “It was much too great a risk to run for any advantage to herself,” + assented Barbara “Then they have had to provide for him all the time! Have + they any children of their own?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think any.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is possible she took such a fancy to the child she was nursing, + that she could not bear to part with him. I have heard of women like that, + out with us.—But what are we to do, Alice? Is it right to leave the + thing so? Ought we not to do anything?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; I can't tell a bit!” answered Alice. “I have thought and + thought, lying alone in the night, but never could make up my mind. + Supposing you were sure it was so, there is yet the danger of interfering + with those who know all about him, and can do the best for him; and + there's the danger of what my mother might be tempted to do the moment any + one moved in the matter. To hasten the thing might spoil all!—Isn't + it strange, Barbara, how much your love for your mother seems independent + of her—her character?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know;—yes, I think you are right. There is my mother, who + has no guile in her, but is ready to burn you to ashes before you know + what she is angry about! When you trust her, and go to her for help, she + is ready to die for you. I love her with all my heart, but I can't say + she's an exemplary woman. I don't think Mr. Wingfold—that's our + clergyman—would say so either, though he professes quite an + admiration of her.” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon Barbara told Alice the story of her mother's behaviour in + church, and how the parson had caught her. + </p> + <p> + “But nobody knows to this day,” she concluded, “whether he intended so to + catch her, or was only teaching his people by a parable, and she caught + herself in its meshes. Caught she was, anyhow, and has never entered the + church since! But she speaks very differently of the clergyman now.” + </p> + <p> + “I feel greatly tempted sometimes,” resumed Alice, “to let Richard know; + for, surely, whatever be the projects of other people concerning him, a + man has the right to know where he came from!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Barbara, “a man must have the right to know what other + people know about him! And yet it would be a pity to ruin the plans of + good people who had all the time been working and caring for him. I wonder + if he was in danger from lady Ann? I have heard out there of terrible + things done to get one's way! She <i>is</i> a death-like woman! His nurse + might well be afraid of what his stepmother might do! I can quite fancy + her making off with him in an agony of terror lost he should be poisoned, + or smothered, or buried alive! But what if they sent him away, with a hint + to the nurse that his absence might as well be permanent? What if any + search they made for him was nothing but a farce? I wish we knew what + ground there is for inquiring whether he may not be the child that was + lost—if indeed there was a child lost! I have not heard at the house + any allusion to such an occurrence.” + </p> + <p> + Much more talk ensued. The girls came to the conclusion that, for the + present, they must do nothing that might let the secret out of their + keeping. They must wait and watch: when the right thing grew plain, they + would do it! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. <i>BARBARA THINKS</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Barbara rode home with strange things in her mind. Here was a romance + brought to her very door! She was nowise hungry after romance, being of + the essence of romance her own lovely self, in the simplicity which + carried her direct to the heart of things. She was life in such relation + to life, that her very existence was natural romance. How should there be + any romance to equal that of pure being, of existence regarded and + encountered face to face, of the voyage forth from the heart of life, and + the toilsome journey, peril-beset, back to the home of that same heart of + hearts! Here was one wrapt in a strange cloud: why should she not pass + through the cloud, and join her fellow-traveller within? + </p> + <p> + Naturally then, from this time, the thoughts of Barbara rested not a + little upon the person and undeveloped history of the man with whose being + she was before linked by a greater indebtedness than any but herself could + understand. Any enlargement of relation to the unseen world—the + world, I mean, of thought and reality, region of recognizable relation, or + force—is an immeasurably more precious gift than any costliest thing + that a mortal may call his own until death, but must then pass on to + another; and Richard had thrown open to Barbara the wealthiest regions of + the literature of her race! She, on her part, had so much influenced him, + that he had at least become far less overbearing in the presentment of his + unbelief. For Barbara's idea, call it, if you will, her imagination of a + God, was one with which none of those things for the hate's sake of which + he had become the champion of a negation, held fellowship; and he carried + himself toward it with so much courtesy that she had begun to hope he was + slowly following her out of the desert places, where, little as she yet + knew about God, she felt life impossible. The strongest bonds were thus in + process of binding them; and Barbara's feeling toward Richard might very + naturally develop into one or other of the million forms to which we give + the common name of love. + </p> + <p> + As for Richard, he was already aware that his feeling toward Barbara could + be no other than love; but he knew love as only the few know it who <i>give</i> + themselves, who cherish no hope, look for no response, dream of no claim. + To expect any return of his devotion would have seemed to Richard the + simplest absurdity. He did not even say to himself that the thing could + not be. Not therefore, however, was he to escape suffering; the seeds of + it were already sown in him plentifully, though its first leaves are not + to be distinguished from those of other plants, and it sometimes takes + long for the flower to appear. Barbara was lovely to Richard as the Luna + of a heavenly sky, descending and talking with him, the Diana of a lower + world, bound by her destiny, and without a choice, to return to her + heaven, and be once more the far, unapproachable Luna. She shone in his + eyes like a lovely mysterious gem which he might wear for an hour, but + which must presently, with its hundred-fold shadow and shine, pass from + his keeping. He knew that love was his, but he did not know that he was + Love's. He knew he loved Barbara, but he did not know that her + exquisiteness was permeating his whole being with an endless possession. + In truth no man good and free could have kept her soul out of his. She was + so delicate, yet so strong; so steady, yet so ready; so original, yet so + infinitely responsive—what could he do but throw his doors wide to + her! what could he do but love her! + </p> + <p> + And now that Barbara believed she knew more about him than he did himself; + now that the road appeared to lie open between them, would she escape + falling in love with such a man whose hands of labour were mastered with a + head full of understanding, and whose head was quickened by a heart in + which dwelt an imagination at once receptive and productive? Could any + true woman despise the love of such a workman? + </p> + <p> + From this time, for some weeks, they saw less of each other. Without + knowing it, Barbara had, since the revelation of Alice, grown a little shy + of Richard. It came of her truthfulness, mainly. As Dante felt ashamed of + the discourteous advantage of alone possessing eyesight in the presence of + the poor souls upon the second cornice of the purgatorial mountain, just + so Barbara, without altogether defining to herself her feeling, regarded + it as unfair to Richard, as indeed taking an advantage of him, to seek his + company knowing about him more than she seemed to know. She felt even + deceitful in appearing to know of him only what he chose to tell her, + while in truth she more than suspected she knew of him what he did not + know himself. She not only knew more than she seemed to know, but she knew + more than Richard himself knew! At the same time she felt that she had no + right to tell him what she almost believed; she ought first to be certain + of it! If the conjecture were untrue, what harm might it not, believed by + him, occasion both to him and his parents! Supposing it true, if those who + had cherished him all his life did not tell him the fact, could it be + right in her, coming by accident upon it, to acquaint him with it? Whether + true or not, it must, if believed by him, change the whole tenor of his + way—might perhaps, seeing he had no faith in God, destroy the very + tone of his life; certainly, if untrue, it would cause endless grief to + the parents whom to believe it would be to repudiate! Richard was indeed, + she allowed, in less danger of being injured by the suggestion than any + other young man she had known; but the risk, a great one, was there. + </p> + <p> + She did not now, therefore, go so often to Mortgrange. Every day she went + out for her gallop—unattended, for, accustomed to the freedom of + hundreds of leagues of wild country, the very notion of a groom behind her + was hateful—and would often find herself making for some point + whence she could see the chimneys of the house when the resolve of the day + was one of abstinence, but that resolve she never broke. If it was not the + drawing-room and Theodora, but the library and Richard; not the hideous + flowers that happily never came alive from lady Ann's needle, but the old + books reviving to autumnal beauty under the patient, healing touch of the + craftsman, that ever drew her all the way, who can wonder! Or who will + blame her but such as lady Ann, whose kind, though slowly, yet surely + vanishes—melting, like the grimy snow of our streets, before the sun + of righteousness, and the coming kingdom. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann and she were now on the same footing as before their + misunderstanding, if indeed their whole relation was anything better than + a misunderstanding; for what lady Ann knew of Barbara she misunderstood, + and what she did not know of Barbara was the best of her; while what + Barbara knew of lady Ann, she also misunderstood, and what she did not + know of lady Ann was the worse of her. But Barbara had told lady Ann that + she was sorry she had spoken to her as she had, and lady Ann had received + the statement as an expected apology. Their quarrel had indeed given lady + Ann no uneasiness. Daughter of one ancient house, and mother in another, a + pillar of society, a live dignity with matronly back flat as any + coffin-lid, she was of course in the right, and could afford to await the + acknowledgment of wrong due and certain from an ill bred and ill educated + chit of the colonies! For how could any one continue indifferent to the + favour of lady Ann! She was incapable of perceiving the merit of Barbara's + apology, or appreciating the sweetness from which it came. For the genial + Barbara could not bear dissension. She had seen enough of it to hate it. + In just defence of a friend she would fight to the last, but in any matter + of her own, she was ready to see, or even imagine herself in the wrong. + Anger in its reaction always made her feel ill, which feeling she was apt + to take for a reminder from conscience, when she would make haste to + apologize. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann's relations with Barbara were therefore not so much restored as + unchanged. The elder lady neither sought nor avoided the younger, gave her + always the same cold welcome and farewell, yet was as much pleased to see + her as ever to see anybody. She regarded her as the merest of butterflies, + with pretty flutter and no stay—a creature of wings and nonsense, + carried hither and thither by slightest puff of inclination: it was the + judgment of a caterpillar upon a humming bird. There was more stuff in + Barbara, with all her seeming volatility, than in a wilderness of lady + Anns. The friendship between such a twain could hardly consist in more + than the absence of active disapproval. + </p> + <p> + When Barbara went into the library, she would always greet Richard as if + she had seen him but the day before, asking what piece of work he was at + now, and showing an interest in it as genuine as her interest in himself. + If there was anything in it she did not quite understand, he must there + and then explain it. So eager was she to know, that he had not seldom to + remind her that his minutes were not his own. But now and then he would + lay aside his work for a time, never forgetting to make up for the + interval afterward, and show her some process from beginning to end. For + Barbara, finding now more time on her hands, had begun to try her + repairing faculty on some of the old books in the house, hoping one day to + surprise Richard with what she had done, and this led to her asking many + and far-reaching questions in the art. + </p> + <p> + But Richard continued to give her his more important aid: he was still her + master in literature, directing her what to read and what to meditate, and + instructing her how to get her mind to rest on things. He was the most + capable of teachers, for he followed simply the results of his own + experience. Having prepared for her, with his father's help, a + manuscript-book of hand-made paper, bound in levant morocco, the edges + gilded in the rough, he made her copy certain poems into it, attending + carefully to every point, and each minutest formality. He would not have + her copy whatever she might choose; she could not yet, he said, choose to + advantage; for she was of such a “keen clear joyance,” that, happy over + what was not the best, she would waste her love. But neither would he + altogether choose for her: from among the poems he had already brought + before her, she must take those she liked best! This, he said, would make + her choice a real one, for it would take place between poems already known + to her, with regard to which therefore she was in a position to determine + her own preference. Then the unavoidable brooding over it caused in the + copying of the one chosen, would make it grow in her mind, and assume + something of the shape it had in the author's. + </p> + <p> + To Arthur Lestrange, who, notwithstanding the unlikeness between him and + Barbara, and notwithstanding the frequent shocks his conventional + propriety received from her divine liberty, had been for some time falling + in love with her, these interviews, which he never hesitated to interrupt + the moment he pleased, could hardly be agreeable. He never supposed that + in them anything passed of which he could have complained had he been the + girl's affianced lover; but he did not relish the thought that she looked + to the workman and not his employer for help in her studies. Nor was it + consolation to him to be aware that he could no more give her what the + workman gave her, than he could teach her his bookbinding—at which + also the eager Barbara grasped. + </p> + <p> + At Wylder Hall no questions were ever asked as to how she had spent the + day. Her mother, although now that her twin was gone, she loved her best + in the world, never troubled her head about what she did with herself. + Although Barbara was now a little more at home than formerly, she and her + mother were scarcely together an hour in a week except at meals. She + thought Arthur Lestrange would make a good enough husband for Bab, and, + having chanced on some sign that her husband cherished hopes of a loftier + alliance, grew rather favourable to a match between them. + </p> + <p> + There was, however, a little betterment in Mrs. Wylder, and her ceasing to + go to church was only one of the indications of it. She had in her a + foundation of genuine simplicity, and was in essence a generous soul. Any + one who wondered at the combination of strange wild charm and honest + strength in the daughter, would have wondered much less had he gained the + least insight into what, beneath the ruin of earthquake and tornado, lay + buried in the soul of her mother. The best of changes is slow in most + natures, and the main question is, perhaps, whether it goes slowly because + of feebleness and instability, and consequent frequency of relapse, or + because of the root-nature, the thoroughness, and the magnitude of what + has been initiated. But Mrs. Wylder was tropical: any real change in her + would soon reach a point where it must become swift as well as + comprehensive. + </p> + <p> + Since returning to the trammels of a more civilized life, Mr. Wylder had + grown self-absorbed, and from a loud, lawless man had become a sombre, + sometimes morose person. One great cause of the change, however, was, that + the remaining twin, his favourite, had for some time shown signs of a + failing constitution. His increasing feebleness weighed heavily on his + father. He had had a tutor ever since they came to England, but now they + did little or no work together, spending their hours mostly in wandering + about the grounds, and in fitful reading of books of any sort in which the + boy could be led to take a passing interest. Barbara's heart yearned after + him, but he was greatly attached to his nurse, and did not care for + Barbara. + </p> + <p> + The dissension between husband and wife about the twins, had its origin + mainly with the mother, but sprang from the generosity of her nature: the + twin she favoured was sickly from infancy. A woman such as Mrs. Wylder + might have been expected to shrink from the puny, suffering creature, and + give her affection and approbation to the other, as did her husband; but + it was just here that the true in her, the pure womanly, came to the + surface and then to the front: the child had an appealing look, which, + when first she saw him, went straight to the heart of the strong mother, + and afterward roused, if not enough of the protective, yet all the + defensive in her. From herself she did not, and from death she could not + save him. He died rather suddenly, and now the strong one seemed slowly + sinking. The mother did not heed him, and the father, for very misery, + could scarcely look at him: he was to him like one dead already, only not + dead enough to be buried. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. <i>WINGFOLD AND BARBARA</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The bickerings between her father and mother had had not a little to do + with the peculiar features of Barbara's life in the colony. As soon as she + saw a cloud rising, having learned by frequent experience what it was sure + to result in, she would creep away, mount one of the many horses at her + choice, and race from the house like a dog in terror, till she was miles + from the spot where her father and mother would by that time be writhing + in fiercest wordy warfare. What the object of their wrangling might be, + she never inquired. It was plain to her almost from the first that nothing + was gained by it beyond the silence of fatigue; and as that silence was + always fruitful of new strife, it brought a comfort known to be but + temporary. Had she not been accustomed to it from earliest childhood, it + would have been terrible to her to see human lives going off in such a + foul smoke of hell! Not a sentence was uttered by the one but was + furiously felt as a wrong by the other—to be remorselessly met by + wrong as flagrant, rousing in its turn the indignation of injury to a pain + unendurable. It is strange that the man who most keenly feels the wrong + done him, should so often be the most insensible to the wrong he does. So + dominant is the unreason of the moment, that the injury he inflicts + appears absolute justice, and the injury he suffers absolute injustice. + Yet such disputes turn seldom upon the main point at issue between the + parties; it may not even once be mentioned, while some new trifle is + fought over with all the bitterness of the alienation that lies gnawing + and biting and burning beneath. War is raging between kingdoms for the + possession of a hovel, which possessed, the quarrel were no nearer + settlement than before! + </p> + <p> + Hence it came that Barbara paid so little regard to her mother's challenge + of the clergyman. Single combat of the sort she seemed to seek was an + experience of Barbara's life too often recurrent to be interesting; the + thunders of its artillery, near or afar, passed over her almost unheeded. + She had indeed sufficient respect for the forms of religion to regret that + her mother should make her behaviour in church the talk of the parish, and + to be rather pleased that the clergyman should have had the best of it in + his joust of arms with her, but further interest in the matter she + scarcely took. + </p> + <p> + On a certain day, Miss Brown wanting at least one pair of new shoes, and + her mistress cherishing the idea of a lesson in shoeing her, for which + lesson arrangement had not even yet been made, Barbara, having been all + the afternoon in the house, went out toward sunset, to have a walk with a + book. + </p> + <p> + She was sauntering along a grassy road which, though within their own + park, belonged to the public, when she almost ran against a man similarly + occupied with herself, for he also was absorbed in the book he carried. I + should like to know what two books brought them thus together! Each + started back with an apology, then both burst into a modest laugh, which + renewed itself with merrier ring, when the first and then the second + attempt to pass, with all space for elbow-room, failed, and they stood + opposite each other in a hopeless mental paralysis. + </p> + <p> + “Fate is opposed to our unneighbourliness!” said Mr. Wingfold. “She will + not allow us to pass, and depart in peace! What do you say, Miss Wylder?—shall + we yield or shall we resist?” As he spoke, he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + Now Barbara was the last person in the world to refuse, without a + painfully good reason, any offered hand. She had never seen cause to + desire the acquaintance of a man because he was a clergyman; but neither + had she any unwillingness, because he was a clergyman, to make his + acquaintance; while to Thomas Wingfold she already felt some attraction: + the strong little hand was in his immediately, and felt comfortable in the + great honest clasp, which it returned heartily. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw you on your own feet before, Miss Wylder!” said the + clergyman. + </p> + <p> + “Nor on anybody else's, I hope!” she returned. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, indeed!—on Miss Brown's many a time!” + </p> + <p> + “You know Miss Brown then? She is my most intimate friend!” + </p> + <p> + “I am well aware of that! Everything worth knowing in the parish, and a + good deal that is not, comes to my ears.” + </p> + <p> + “May I hope you count Miss Brown's affairs worth hearing about, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do! Does not a lady call her friend, whose acquaintance I + have long wished to make! and do I not know that Miss Brown loves her in + return! I cannot help sometimes regretting for a moment that four-footed + friends in general are so short-lived.” + </p> + <p> + “Why only for a moment?” said Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Because I remind myself that it must be best for them and us—best + for the friendship between us, best for us every way. But indeed I have + more to be thankful for in the relation than most people of my + acquaintance, for I sometimes drive a pony yet that is over forty!” + </p> + <p> + “Forty years of age!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see that pony!” + </p> + <p> + “You shall see her, any day you will come to the parsonage. I will gladly + introduce her to you, but it is getting rather late to desire her + acquaintance: she does not see very well, and is not so good-tempered as + she once was. But she will soon be better.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “She has a process to go through out of which she will come ever so much + the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious! you're not going to have an operation performed on her—at + <i>her</i> age?” + </p> + <p> + “She is going to have her body stript off her!” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” cried Barbara again, but with yet greater energy—then + seeing what he meant, laughed at her mistake. + </p> + <p> + “But then,” she said, with eager resumption, “you must believe there is + something to strip her body off? <i>I</i> do! I have always thought so!” + </p> + <p> + “So have I, and so I do indeed!” answered Wingfold. “I can't prove it. I + can't prove anything—to my own satisfaction, that is, though I dare + say I might to the satisfaction of one who did not love the creatures + enough to be anxious about them. I don't think you can prove anything that + is worth being anxious about.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you believe it?” asked Barbara, influenced by the talk of the + century. + </p> + <p> + “Because I <i>can</i>,” answered Wingfold. “To believe and to be able to + prove, have little or nothing to do with each other. To believe and to + convince have much to do with each other.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” persisted Barbara, with Richard in her mind, “how are you to be + sure of a thing you can't prove?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a good question, and this is my answer,” said Wingfold:—“What + you love, you already believe enough to put it to the proof of trial. My + life is such a proving; and the proof is so promising that it fills me + with the happiest hope. To prove with your brains the thing you love, + would be to deck the garments of salvation with a useless fringe. Shall I + search heaven and earth for proof that my wife is a good and lovely woman? + The signs of it are everywhere; the proofs of it nowhere.” + </p> + <p> + They walked along for a while, side by side, in silence. Which had turned + and gone with the other neither knew. Barbara was beginning already to + feel that safety which almost everybody sooner or later came to feel in + Wingfold's company—a safety born of the sense that, in the closest + talk, he never lay in wait for a victory, but took his companion, as one + of his own people, into the end after which he was striving. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Barbara at length, still thinking of Richard, “if you believe + that even the beasts are saved, you must think it very bad of a man not to + believe in a God!” + </p> + <p> + “I should think anyhow that he didn't care much about the beasts—that + he hadn't a heart big enough to take the beasts in!” + </p> + <p> + “But he couldn't, you know, if he didn't believe in God!” + </p> + <p> + “I understand; only, if he loved the poor beasts very much, and thought + what a bad time they have of it in the world, I don't know how he could + help <i>hoping</i> at least, that there was a God somewhere who would + somehow make up to them for it all! For my own part I don't know how to be + content except the beasts themselves, when it is all over and the good + time come, are able to say, 'After all, it is well worth it, bad as it + was!'” + </p> + <p> + “But what if it was just that suffering that made the man think there + could not be a God, or he would put a stop to it?” + </p> + <p> + “That looks to me very close to believing in God.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you make that out?” + </p> + <p> + “If a man believed in a God that did not heed the suffering of the + creation, one who made men and women and beasts knowing that they must + suffer, and suffer only—and went on believing so however you set him + thinking about it, I should say to him, 'You believe in a devil, and so + are in the way to become a devil yourself.' A thousand times rather would + I believe that there was no God, and that the misery came by chance from + which there was no escape. What I do believe is, that there is a God who + is even now doing his best to take all men and all beasts out of the + misery in which they find themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did he let them come into it?” + </p> + <p> + “That the God will tell them, to their satisfaction, so soon as ever they + shall have become capable of understanding it. There must be things so + entirely beyond our capacity, that we cannot now see enough of them to be + able even to say that they are incomprehensible. There must be millions of + truths that have not yet risen above the horizon of what we call the + finite.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you would not think a person so very, very wicked, for not believing + in a God?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on the sort of God he fancied himself asked to believe in. + Would you call a Greek philosopher wicked for not believing in Mercury or + Venus? If a man had the same notion of God that I have, or anything like + it, and did not at least desire that there might be such a God, then I + confess I should have difficulty in understanding how he could be good. + But the God offered him might not be worth believing in, might even be + such that it was a virtuous act to refuse to believe in him.” + </p> + <p> + “One thing more, Mr. Wingfold—and you must not think I am arguing + against you or against God, for if I thought there was no God, I should + just take poison:—tell me, mightn't a man think the idea of such a + God as you believe in, too good to be true?” + </p> + <p> + “I should need to know something of his history, rightly to understand + that. Why should he be able to think anything too good to be true? Why + should a thing not be true because it was good? It seems to me, if a thing + be bad, it cannot possibly be true. If you say the thing is, I answer it + exists because of something under the badness. Badness by itself can have + no life in it. But if the man really thought as you suggest, I would say + to him, 'You cannot <i>know</i> such a being does not exist: is it + possible you should be content that such a being should not exist? If such + a being did exist, would you be content never to find him, but to go on + for ever and ever saying, <i>He can't be! He can't be! He's so good he + can't be!</i> Supposing you find one day that there he is, will your + defence before him be satisfactory to yourself: “There he is after all, + but he was too good to believe in, therefore I did not try to find him”? + Will you say to him—“<i>If you had not been so good, if you had been + a little less good, a little worse, just a trifle bad, I could and would + have believed in you?”</i>'” + </p> + <p> + “But if the man could not believe there was any such being, how could he + have heart to look for him?” + </p> + <p> + “If he believed the idea of him so good, yet did not desire such a being + enough to wish that he might be, enough to feel it worth his while to cry + out, in some fashion or other, after him, then I could not help suspecting + something wrong in his will, or his moral nature somewhere; or, perhaps, + that the words he spoke were but words, and that he did not really and + truly feel that the idea of such a God was too good to be true. In any + such case his maker would not have cause to be satisfied with him. And if + his maker was not satisfied with what he had made, do you think the man + made would have cause to be satisfied with himself?” + </p> + <p> + “But if he was made so?” + </p> + <p> + “Then no good being, not to say a faithful creator, would blame him for + what he could not help. If the God had made his creature incapable of + knowing him, then of course the creature would not feel that he needed to + know him. He would be where we generally imagine the lower animals—unable, + therefore not caring to know who made him.” + </p> + <p> + “But is not that just the point? A man may say truly, 'I don't feel I want + to know anything about God; I do not believe I am made to understand him; + I take no interest in the thought of a God'!” + </p> + <p> + “Before I could answer you concerning such a man, I should want to know + whether he had not been doing as he knew he ought not to do, living as he + knew he ought not to live, and spoiling himself, so spoiling the thing + that God had made that, although naturally he would like to know about + God, yet now, through having by wrong-doing injured his deepest faculty of + understanding, he did not care to know anything concerning him.” + </p> + <p> + “What could be done for such a man?” + </p> + <p> + “God knows—God <i>does</i> know. I think he will make his very life + a terrible burden, so that for pure misery he will cry to him.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose he was a man who tried to do right, who tried to help his + neighbour, who was at least so far a good man as to deny the God that most + people seem to believe in—what would you say then?” + </p> + <p> + “I would say, 'Have patience.' If there be a good God, he cannot be + altogether dissatisfied with such a man. Of course it is something wanting + that makes him like that, and it may be he is to blame, or it may be he + can't help it: I do not know when any man has arrived at the point of + development at which he is capable of believing in God: the child of a + savage may be capable, and a gray-haired man of science incapable. If such + a man says, 'The question of a God is not interesting to me,' I believe + him; but, if he be such a man as you have last described, I believe also + that, as God is taking care of him who is the God of patience, the time + must come when something will make him want to know whether there be a + God, and whether he cannot get near him, so as to be near him.' I would + say, 'He is in God's school; don't be too much troubled about him, as if + God might overlook and forget him. He will see to all that concerns him. + He has made him, and he loves him, and he is doing and will do his very + best for him.'” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am so glad to hear you speak like that!” cried Barbara. “I didn't + know clergymen were like that! I'm sure they don't talk like that in the + pulpit!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know a man can't just chat with his people in the pulpit as he + may when he has one alone to himself! For, you see, there are hundreds + there, and they are all very different, and that must make a difference in + the way he can talk to them. There are multitudes who could not understand + a word of what we have been saying to each, other! But if a clergyman says + anything in the pulpit that differs in essence from what he says out of + it, he is a false prophet, and has no business anywhere but in the realm + of falsehood.” + </p> + <p> + “Why is he in the church, then?” + </p> + <p> + “If there be any such man in the church of England, we have to ask first + how he got into it. I used to think the bishop who ordained him must be to + blame for letting such a man in. But I am told the bishops haven't the + power to keep out any one who passes their examination, provided he is + morally decent; and if that be true, I don't know what is to be done. What + I know is, that I have enough to do with my parish, and that to mind my + work is the best I can do to set the church right.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the bishops—some of them at least—would say, 'If we + do not take the men we can get, how is the work of the church to go on?'” + </p> + <p> + “I presume that even such bishops would allow that the business of the + church is to teach men about God: that they cannot get men who know God, + is a bad argument for employing men who do not know him to teach others + about him. It is founded on utter distrust of God. I believe the only way + to set the thing right is to refuse the bad that there may be room for God + to send the good. By admitting the false they block the way for the true. + But the poor bishops have great difficulties. I am glad I am not a bishop! + My parish is nearly too much for me sometimes!” + </p> + <p> + Barbara could not help thinking how her mother alone had been almost too + much for him. + </p> + <p> + Their talk the rest of the way was lighter and more general; and to her + great joy Barbara discovered that the clergyman loved books the same way + the bookbinder loved them. But she did not mention Richard. + </p> + <p> + The parson took leave of her at a convenient issue from the park. But + before she had gone many steps he came running after her and said— + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Miss Wylder, here are some verses that may please you! We + were talking about our hopes for the animals! I heard the story they are + founded on the other day from my friend the dissenting minister of the + village. The little daughter of Dr. Doddridge, the celebrated theologian, + was overheard asking the dog if he knew who made him. Receiving no reply, + she said what you will find written there as the text of the poem.” + </p> + <p> + He put a paper in her hand, and left her. She opened it, and found what + follows:— + </p> + <h3> + DR. DODDRIDGE'S DOG. + </h3> + <p> + “What! you Dr. Doddridge's dog, and not know who made you!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My little dog, who blessed you + With such white toothy-pegs? + And who was it that dressed you + In such a lot of legs! + + I'm sure he never told you + Not to speak when spoken to! + But it's not for me to scold you:— + Dogs bark, and pussies mew! + + I'll tell you, little brother, + In case you do not know:— + One only, not another, + Could make us two just so. + + You love me?—Quiet!—I'm proving!— + It must be God above + That, filled those eyes with loving!— + He was the first to love! + + One day he'll stop all sadness— + Hark to the nightingale! + Oh blessed God of gladness!— + Come, doggie, wag your tail! + + That's “Thank you, God!”—He gave you + Of life this little taste; + And with more life he'll save you, + Not let you go to waste! + + So we'll live on together, + And share our bite and sup; + Until he says, “Come hither,”— + And lifts us both high up! +</pre> + <p> + Barbara was so much pleased with the verses that she thought them a great + deal better than they were. + </p> + <p> + Wingfold walked home thinking how, in his dull parish, where so few seemed + to care whether they were going back to be monkeys or on to be men, he had + yet found two such interesting young people as Richard and Barbara. + </p> + <p> + He had come upon Richard again at his grandfather's, had had a little more + talk with him, and had found him not so far from the kingdom of heaven but + that he cared to deny a false god; and he had just discovered in Barbara, + who so seldom went to church and who came of such strange parents, one in + whom the love of God was not merely innate, but keenly alive. The heart of + the one recoiled from a God that was not; the heart of the other was drawn + to a God of whom she knew little: were not the two upon converging tracks? + What to most clergymen would have seemed the depth of a winter of + unbelief, seemed to Wingfold a springtime full of the sounds of the rising + sap. + </p> + <p> + “What man,” he said to himself, “knowing the care that some men have of + their fellow-men, even to the spending of themselves for them, can doubt + that, loving the children, they must one day love the father! Who more + welcome to the heart of the eternal father, than the man who loves his + brother, whom also the unchanging father loves!” + </p> + <p> + Personally, I find the whole matter of religious teaching and observance + in general a very dull business—as dull as most secular teaching. If + salvation is anything like what are commonly considered its <i>means</i>, + it is to me a consummation devoutly to be deprecated. But no one ever + found Wingfold dull. For one thing he scarcely thought about the church, + and never mistook it for the kingdom of God. Its worldly affairs gave him + no concern, and party-spirit was loathsome to him as the very antichrist. + He was a servant of the church universal, of all that believed or ever + would believe in the Lord Christ, therefore of all men, of the whole + universe—and first, of every man, woman, and child in his own + parish. But though he was the servant of the boundless church, no church + was his master. He had no master but the one lord of life. Therefore the + so-called prosperity of the church did not interest him. He knew that the + Master works from within outward, and believed no danger possible to the + church, except from such of its nominal pastors as know nothing of the + life that works leavening from within. The will of God was all Wingfold + cared about, and if the church was not content with that, the church was + nothing to him, and might do to him as it would. He did not spend his life + for the people because he was a parson, but he was a parson because the + church of England gave him facilities for spending his life for the + people. He gave himself altogether to the Lord, and therefore to his + people. He believed in Jesus Christ as the everyday life of the world, + whose presence is just us needful in bank, or shop, or house of lords, as + at what so many of the clergy call the altar. When the Lord is known as + the heart of every joy, as well as the refuge from every sorrow, then the + altar will be known for what it is—an ecclesiastical antique. The + Father permitted but never ordained sacrifice; in tenderness to his + children he ordered the ways of their unbelieving belief. So at least + thought and said Wingfold, and if he did not say so in the pulpit, it was + not lest his fellows should regard him as a traitor, but because so few of + his people would understand. He would spend no strength in trying to shore + up the church; he sent his life-blood through its veins, and his appeal to + the Living One, for whose judgment he waited. + </p> + <p> + The world would not perish if what is called the church did go to pieces; + a truer church, for there might well be a truer, would arise out of her + ruins. But let no one seek to destroy; let him that builds only take heed + that he build with gold and silver and precious stones, not with wood and + hay and stubble! If the church were so built, who could harm it! if it + were not in part so built, it would be as little worth pulling down as + letting stand. There is in it a far deeper and better vitality than its + blatant supporters will be able to ruin by their advocacy, or the enviers + of its valueless social position by their assaults upon that position. + </p> + <p> + Wingfold never thought of associating the anxiety of the heiress with the + unbelief of the bookbinder. He laughed a laugh of delight when afterward + he learned their relation to each other. + </p> + <p> + The next Sunday, Barbara was at church, and never afterward willingly + missed going. She sought the friendship of Mrs. Wingfold, and found at + last a woman to whom she could heartily look up. She found in her also a + clergyman's wife who understood her husband—not because he was + small-minded, but because she was large-hearted—and fell in + thoroughly with his modes of teaching his people, as well as his objects + in regard to them. She never sought to make one in the parish a churchman, + but tried to make every one she had to do with a scholar of Christ, a + child to his father in heaven. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. <i>THE SHOEING OF MISS BROWN</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Two days after, on a lovely autumn evening, Barbara rode Miss Brown across + the fields, avoiding the hard road even more carefully than usual. For + Miss Brown, as I have said, was in want of shoes, and Barbara herself was + to have a hand in putting them on. + </p> + <p> + The red-faced, white-whiskered, jolly old Simon stood at the smithy door + to receive her: he had been watching for her, and had heard the gentle + trot over the few yards of road that brought her in sight. With a merry + greeting he helped her down from the great mare. It was but the sense that + his blackness was not ingrain, that kept him from taking her in his arms + like a child, and lifting her down—so small was she, and so friendly + and childlike. She would have shaken hands with him, but he would not with + her; it would make her glove, he said, as black as his apron. Barbara + pulled off her glove, and gave him her dainty little hand, which the + blacksmith took at once, being too much of a gentleman not to know where + respect becomes rudeness. He clasped the lovely loan with the sturdy + reverence of his true old heart, saying her hand should pay her footing in + the trade. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, miss, ain't I proud to make a smith of you!” he said. “Only you + must do nothing but shoe! I can't let you spoil your hands! You can keep + Miss Brown shod without doing that!—Here comes Dick for his part! He + might have left it to who taught him! Did he think the old man would be + rough with missie?—I dare say, now, he's been teaching you that + woman's work of his this long time!” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, stop, Mr. Armour!” cried Barbara. “When you see me shoe Miss Brown, + perhaps you won't care to talk about woman's work again!” + </p> + <p> + Richard came up, took Miss Brown in, and put her in her place. The smith + knew exactly what sort and size of shoes she wanted, and had them already + so far finished that but a touch or so was necessary to make them an + absolute fit. Barbara tucked up her skirt, and secured it with her belt. + But this would not satisfy Simon. He had a little leather apron ready for + her, and nothing would serve but she must put it on to protect her habit. + Till this was done he would not allow her touch hammer or nail. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, missie,” he said, “I'm king in my own shop, and you must do + as I tell you!” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon Barbara, who had stood out only for the fun of the thing, put on + the leather apron with its large bib, and set about her work. + </p> + <p> + Richard did not offer to put on the first shoe: he believed she had so + often watched the operation, that she must know perfectly what to do. Nor + was he disappointed. She proceeded like an adept. Happily Miss Brown was + very good. She was neither hungry nor thirsty; she had had just enough + exercise to make her willing to breathe a little; nothing had gone wrong + on the way to upset her delicate nerves—for, gentle and loving as + she always was, she was apt to be both apprehensive and touchy; her + digestion was all right, for she had had neither too much corn nor too + much grass; therefore she stood quite still, and if not exactly full of + faith, was yet troubled by no doubt as to the ability of her mistress to + put on her shoes for her—iron though they were, and to be fastened + with long sharp nails. + </p> + <p> + Richard was nowise astonished at Barbara's coolness, or her courage, or + the business-like way in which she tucked the great hoof under her arm, or + even at the accurate aim which brought the right sort of blow down on the + head of nail after nail in true line with its length; but he was + astonished at the strength of her little hand, the hardness of her + muscles, covered with just fat enough to make form and movement alike + beautiful, and the knowing skill with which she twisted off the ends of + the nails: the quick turn necessary, she seemed to have by nature. In her + keen watching, she had so identified herself with the operator, that + perfect insight had supplied the place of active experience, and seemed + almost to have waked some ancient instinct that operated independent of + consciousness. The mare was shod, and well shod, without any accident; and + Richard felt no anxiety as he lifted the little lady to her back, and saw + her canter away as if she had been presented with fresh feathery wings + instead of only fresh iron shoes. + </p> + <p> + He experienced, however, not a little disappointment: he had hoped to walk + a part of her way alongside of Miss Brown. Barbara had in truth expected + he would, but a sudden shyness came upon her, and made her start at speed + the moment she was in the saddle. Simon and Richard stood looking after + her. + </p> + <p> + With a sharp scramble she turned. Richard darted forward. But nothing was + wrong with the mare. She came at a quick trot, and they were side by side + in a moment. Barbara had bethought herself that it was a pity to get no + more pleasure or profit out of the afternoon than just a horse-shoeing! + </p> + <p> + “She's all right!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Richard imagined she had but started to put her handiwork to the test. + They walked back to the old man, and once more she thanked him—in + such pretty fashion as made him feel a lord of the world. Then Richard and + she moved away together in the direction of Mortgrange, and left Simon + praying God to give them to each other before he died. + </p> + <p> + They had not gone far when it became Richard's turn to stop. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, miss,” he said, “I must go back! Neither of us has been to see Alice, + and I haven't for more than a week! Think of her lying there, expecting + and expecting, and no one coming! It's just the history of the world! I + must go back!” + </p> + <p> + He would not have said so much but that Barbara sat regarding him without + response of word or look, appearing not to heed him. He began to wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Alice can't be dead!” he thought with himself, “She was pretty well when + I saw her last!” + </p> + <p> + “She is gone,” said Barbara quietly, and the thought just discarded + returned on Richard with a sickening clearness. + </p> + <p> + He stood and stared. Barbara saw him turn white, and understood his + mistake—so terrible to one who had no hope of ever again seeing a + departed friend. + </p> + <p> + “She went home to her mother yesterday,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Richard gave a great sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + “I thought she was dead!” he answered, “—and I had not been so good + to her as I might have been!” + </p> + <p> + “Richard,” said Barbara—it was the first time she called him by his + name—“did anybody in the world ever do all he might to make his best + friends happy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, miss, I don't think it. There must always be something more he might + have done.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the better people become, the more lamentations, mourning, and woe”—the + words had taken hold of her at church the Sunday before—“there must + always be, because of those they shall never look upon again, those to + whom they shall never say, <i>I am sorry</i>! How comes it that men are + born into a world where there is nothing of what they most need—consolation + for the one inevitable thing, sorrow and self-reproach?” + </p> + <p> + “There is consolation—that it will soon be over, that we go to + them!” + </p> + <p> + “Go to them!” cried Barbara. “—We do not even go to look for them! + We shall not even know that we would find them if we could! We shall not + have even the consolation of suffering, of loving on in vain! The whole + thing is the most wrongful scorn, the most insulting mockery!—the + laughter of a devil at all that is noble and tender!—only there is + not even a devil to be angry with and defy!” + </p> + <p> + Barbara spoke with an indignation that made her eloquent. Richard gave her + no answer: there was no logic in what Barbara said—nothing to reply + to! Why should life not be misery? Why should there be any one who cared? + There was no ground for thinking there might be one! The proof was all the + other way! The idea was too good to be true! Richard had said so to + himself a thousand times. But was the world indeed on such a grand scale + that to believe in anything better or other than it seemed, was to believe + too much—was to believe more than, without proof which was not to be + had, Richard would care to believe? The nature of the case grew clearer to + him. As a man does not fear death while yet it seems far away, so a man + may not shrink from annihilation while yet he does not realize what it + means. To cease may well seem nothing to a man who neither loves much, nor + feels the bitterness of regret for wrong done, the gnawing of that remorse + whose mother is tenderness! He was beginning to understand this. + </p> + <p> + The silence grew oppressive. It was as if each was dreaming of the other + dead. To break the pain of presence without communion, Richard spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me, miss,” he said, “why Alice went away without letting me + know? She might have done that!” + </p> + <p> + “She had a good reason,” answered Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “I can't think what it could be!” he returned. “I never was so long + without seeing her before, but surely she could not be so much offended at + that! You see, miss, I knew you went every day! and I knew I should like + that better than having any one else to come and see me! so I gave myself + no trouble. I never thought of her going for a long time yet! Did her + mother send her money?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps my grandfather lent her some! She couldn't have any herself! I + wonder why she dislikes me so much!” + </p> + <p> + He was doubting whether she would have taken money from him, if he had + been in time to offer it. He did not like to ask Barbara if she had helped + her.—And then what was she to do when she got home? + </p> + <p> + Barbara had let him talk, delighted to look in at the windows his words + went on opening. In particular it pleased and attracted her, that he was + so unconscious of the goodness he had shown Alice. Barbara and he made a + rare conjunction of likeness. So many will do a kindness who are not yet + capable of forgetting it! + </p> + <p> + Barbara could not tell him that Alice was afraid to bid him good-bye lest + in her weakness she should render an explanation necessary. She did not in + the least doubt Richard was her brother, and her heart was full of him. + How often, as she lay alone, building her innocent and not very wonderful + castles, had she not imagined herself throwing her arms about him, and + kissing him at her will!—what if she should actually do so when he + came to bid her good-bye! Then she would have to tell him he was her + brother, and so perhaps might ruin everything! She must go without a word! + </p> + <p> + “She is far from disliking you,” said Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Why then did she not tell me, that I might have given her money for her + journey?” + </p> + <p> + “There was no need of that,” returned Barbara. “She is my sister now, and + a sovereign or two is nothing between us.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you! thank you, miss! Then she will have a little over when she + gets home! But I am afraid it will be long before she is able to work + again! It would be of no use to tell my mother, for somehow she seems to + have taken a great dislike to poor Alice. I am positive she does not + deserve it. My mother is the best woman I know, but she is very stiff when + she takes a dislike. Have you got her address, miss? Arthur would take + money from me, I think, but I don't know where he is. I was always meaning + to ask her, and always forgot.” + </p> + <p> + “I will see she has everything she wants,” answered Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Bless your lovely heart, miss!” exclaimed Richard. “But I fear nothing + much will reach them so long as their mother is alive. She eats and drinks + the flesh and blood of her children. Nobody could help seeing it. There's + Arthur, cold, and thin, and miserable, without a greatcoat in the + bitterest weather! and Alice with hardly flesh enough for setting to her + great eyes! and Mrs. Manson well dressed, and eating the best butter, and + drinking the best bottled stout that money can buy! If only their mother + was like mine! If one of <i>her</i> family had to starve, she would claim + it as her right. Such women as Mrs. Manson have no business to be mothers! + Why were <i>they</i> made—if people <i>are</i> made?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they will be made something of yet!” suggested Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “If you're right, miss, and there be a God, either he's not so good as you + would be if you were God, or else somebody interferes, and won't let him + do his best.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you what our clergyman said to me the other day?” returned + Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you please, miss. I don't mind what <i>you</i> say, because the + God you would have me believe in, is like yourself; and if he be, and be + like you, he will set everything tight as soon as ever he can.” + </p> + <p> + “What Mr. Wingfold said was this—that it was not fair, when a man + had made something for a purpose, to say it was not good before we knew + what his purpose with it was. 'I don't like,' he said, 'even my wife to + look at my verses before they're finished! God can't hide away his work + till it is finished, as I do my verses, and we ought to take care what we + say about it. God wants to do something better with people than people + think.'” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a poet?” said Richard. “But when I think how he looked at the + sunrise—of course he is! That man don't talk a bit like a clergyman, + miss; he talks just like any other man—only better than I ever heard + man talk before. I couldn't help liking him from the first, and wishing I + might meet him again! But I think I could put him a question or two yet + that would puzzle him!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” answered Barbara; “but one thing I am sure of, that, if + you did puzzle him, he would say he was puzzled, and must have time to + think it over!” + </p> + <p> + “That is to behave like a man!—and after all, clergymen are men, and + there must be good men among them!—But do you think, miss, you could + get Arthur's address from Alice? The office is not where it used to be.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say I could.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, miss, I shall have to go back to London.” + </p> + <p> + There was a tone and tremble in his words, to which, not to the words + themselves, Barbara made reply. + </p> + <p> + “Will anyone dare to say,” she rejoined, “that we shall not meet again?” + </p> + <p> + “The sort of God you believe in, miss, would not say it,” he answered; + “but the sort of God my mother believes in would.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about other people's Gods,” rejoined Barbara. “Indeed,” + she added, “I know very little about my own; but I mean to know more: Mr. + Wingfold will teach me!” + </p> + <p> + “Take care he don't overpersuade you, miss. You have been very good to me, + and I couldn't bear you to be made a fool of. Only <i>he</i> can't be just + like the rest!” + </p> + <p> + “He will persuade me of nothing that doesn't seem to me true—be + certain of that, Richard. And if it please God to part us, I will pray and + keep on praying to him to let us meet again. If I have been good to you, + you have been much better to me!” + </p> + <p> + Richard was not elated. He only thought, “How kind of her!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. <i>RICHARD AND VIXEN</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Barbara turned her mare across the road, and sent her at the hedge. Miss + Brown cleared it like a stag, and took a bee-line along the grass for + Wylder Hall. Richard stood astonished. A moment before she was close + beside him, and now she was nearly out of his sight! The angel that + ascended from the presence of Manoah could scarcely have more amazed the + Danite. Though Richard could shoe a horse, he could no more have stuck to + Miss Brown over that hedge than he could have ascended with the angel. He + watched till she vanished, and then watched for her reappearance at a + point of hope beyond. Only when he knew that distance and intervention + rendered it impossible he should see her more, did he turn and take his + way to Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + He was as much in love with Barbara as a man could be who indulged no hope + whatever of marrying her—who was not even tempted to build the + humblest castle for her in the air of possibility. But so far was his love + from causing in him any kind of selfish absorption, that his heart was + much troubled at Alice's leaving him without a farewell. Her behaviour + woke in him his first sense of the inexplicable: he little thought of its + being but the first visible vapour of a mystery that involved both his + past and his future. All he knew was, that the sister of his friend had, + in a stormy night in London, fled from him as from a wild beast; and that + now, on a quiet morning in the country, she was gone from his + grandfather's house without a word of farewell to him who had called him + to her aid. + </p> + <p> + “There must be a reason for everything,” he said to himself, “but some + reasons are hard to find!” + </p> + <p> + The next day in the forenoon, Richard was busy as usual in the library. + Doors and windows were shut against draughts, for he was working with + gold-leaf on the tooling of an ancient binding. A door opened, and in came + the goblin of the house. Perceiving what Richard was about, she came + bounding, lithe as a cat, and making a willful wind with her pinafore, + blew away the leaf he was dividing on the cushion, and knocked a book of + gold-leaf to the floor. The book-mender felt very angry, but put an extra + guard on himself, caught her in a firm grasp, and proceeded to expel her. + She threw herself on the floor, and began to scream. Richard took her up, + laid her down in the hall, and closed and locked the door by which she had + entered. Vixen lay where he laid her, and went on screaming. By and by her + screaming ceased, and a few moments after, the handle of the door was + tried. Richard took no notice. Then came a peremptory knock. Richard + called out, “Who's there?” but no answer came except a repetition of the + knock, to which he paid no heed. The knock was twice repeated, but Richard + went on with his work, and gave no sign. Suddenly another door, which he + had not thought of securing, burst open, and in sailed Miss Malliver, the + governess, tall and slight, with the dignity she put on for her inferiors, + to whom she was as insolent as to those above her she was cringing. True + superiority she was incapable of perceiving; real inferiority would have + been hard to find. + </p> + <p> + “Man!” she exclaimed, the moment her wrath would allow her to speak, “what + do you mean by your insolence?” + </p> + <p> + “If you allude to my putting the child out of the room,” answered Richard, + “I mean that she is rude, and that I will not be annoyed with her!” + </p> + <p> + “You shall be turned out of the house!” + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime,” rejoined Richard, who had a not unnatural repugnance to + Miss Malliver, and was now thoroughly angry, “I will turn you too out of + the room, and for the same reason.” + </p> + <p> + Richard felt, with every true gentleman, that the workman has a claim to + politeness as real as that of any gentleman. The man who cannot see it is + a cad. + </p> + <p> + “I dare you!” cried Miss Malliver, giving the rein to her innate + coarseness. + </p> + <p> + Before he blames Richard, my reader must think how he might himself have + behaved, had he been brought up among the people. I would have him reflect + also that the woman who presumes on her sex, undermines its claim. Richard + laid the tool he was using quietly aside, and approached her deliberately. + Trusting, like king Claudius, in the divinity that hedged her, and not + believing he would presume to touch her, the woman kept her ground + defiantly until his hands were on the point of seizing her. Then she + uttered a shriek, and fled. Richard closed the door behind her, made it + also fast, and returned to his work. + </p> + <p> + But he was not to be left in peace. Another hand came to the door, and a + voice demanding entrance followed the foiled attempt to open it. He + recognized the voice as lady Ann's, and made haste to admit her. But her + ladyship stood motionless on the door-mat, erect and cool. Anger itself + could not warm her, for that she was angry was plain only from the steely + sparkle in her grey eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You forget yourself! You must leave the house!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I have done nothing, my lady,” answered Richard, “but what it was + necessary to do. I did not hurt the child in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not the point. You must leave the house.” + </p> + <p> + “I should at once obey you, my lady,” rejoined Richard, “but I am not at + liberty to do so. Sir Wilton has the command of my time till the month of + May. I am bound to be at his orders, whether I choose or not, except he + tell me to go.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann stood speechless, and stared at him with her icicle-eyes. Richard + turned away to his work. Lady Ann entered, and shut the door behind her. + Richard would have had to search long to discover the cause of her + peculiar behaviour. It was this: in his anger, he had flashed on her a + look which she knew but could not identify, and which somehow frightened + her. She must shape and identify the reminiscence! Familiar enough with + the expression of her husband's face when he was out of temper, she had + yet failed to identify with it that look on the face of his son. Had she + known Richard's mother, she would probably have recognized him at once; + for there was more of her as well as of his father in his expression when + he was angry: there must have been a good many wrathful passages between + the two! In the face of their child the expression of the mother so + modified that of the father, that lady Ann could not isolate and verify + it. She must therefore go on talking to him, keeping to the point, but not + pushing it so as to bring the interview to an end too speedily for her + purpose! + </p> + <p> + “Mr.——,—I don't know your name,” she resumed, “—no + respectable house could harbour such behaviour. I grant sir Wilton is + partly to blame, for he ought not to have allowed the library to be turned + into a workshop. That however makes no difference. This kind of thing + cannot continue!” + </p> + <p> + Richard went on with his work, and made no reply. Lady Ann looked in vain + for a revival of the expression that had struck her. For a moment she + thought of summoning Miss Malliver to do what she would not condescend to + do herself, namely, enrage him, that she might have another chance with + the suggested likeness; but something warned her not to risk—she did + not know what. At the same time the resemblance might be to no person at + all, but to some animal, or even perhaps, some piece of furniture or + china! + </p> + <p> + “You must not imagine yourself of importance in the house,” she resumed, + “because a friend of the family happens to be interested in the kind of + thing you do—very neatly, I allow, but—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped short. At this allusion to Barbara, Richard's rage boiled up + with the swelling heave in a full caldron on a great furnace. Lady Ann + turned pale, pale even for her, murmured something inaudible, put her hand + to her forehead, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + Richard's wrath fell. He thought with himself, “I have frightened her! + Perhaps they will leave me alone now!” He closed the door she had left + open behind her, unlocked the other, and fell once more to his work. + </p> + <p> + For the time the disturbance was over. When Miss Malliver and Vixen, + lingering near, saw lady Ann walk past, holding her hand to her forehead, + they also turned pale with fear: what a terrible man he must be who had + silenced my lady in her own house, and had his own way with her! Vixen + dared not go near him again for a long time. + </p> + <p> + But lady Ann's perturbation did not last. She said to herself that she was + a fool to imagine such an absurdity. She remembered to have heard, though + at the time it had no interest for her, that the bookbinder had relatives + in the neighbourhood. Such a likeness might meet her at any turn: the kind + of thing was of constant occurrence about estates! It improved the breed + of the lower orders, and was no business of hers! A child had certainly + been lost, with a claim to the succession; but was she therefore to be + appalled at every resemblance to her husband that happened to turn up! As + to that particular child, she would not believe that he was alive! He + could not be! That, after so many years, she, an earl's daughter, would + have to give way to a woman lower than a peasant, was preposterous! + </p> + <p> + It must be remembered that she knew nothing of the relation of the nurse + to the child she had stolen, knew of no source whence light could fall + upon their disappearance. Old Simon himself knew nothing of the affair + till years after the feeble search for the child had ceased. Lady Ann had + a strong hope that his birth had not been registered: she had searched for + it—with what object I will not speculate, but had not found it. She + was capable of a good deal in some directions, for she came of as low a + breed as her husband, with more cunning, and less open defiance in it; + there was not much she would have blenched at, with society on her side, + and a good chance of foiling in safety the low-born woman who had “popped” + her child “in between the” heritage “and” her “hopes.” It might be wrong, + but it would be for the sake of right! Ought not imposture to be + frustrated, however legalized? Would it not be both intrusion and + imposture for a man of low origin to possess the ancient lands of + Mortgrange, ousting a child of her family, born of her person, and bred in + the brightest beams of the sun social? + </p> + <p> + I can well imagine her coming to reason thus. For the present, unnecessary + as she was determined to think it, she yet resolved to do all that was + left her to do: she would watch; and while she watched, would take care + that the young man was subjected to no annoyance, lest in his wrath his + countenance should suggest to another, as to herself, the question of his + origin! + </p> + <p> + Thus it came that Richard heard nothing more of his threatened expulsion + from Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV. <i>BARBARA'S DUTY</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The same afternoon appeared Barbara—as none knew when she might not + appear—before the front windows of the house, perched upon her huge + yet gracious Miss Brown. Arthur was in general upon the outlook for her, + but to-day he was not, being more vexed with her than usual for + withholding the encouragement he desired, and indeed imagined he deserved—not + exactly from vanity, yet no less from an overweening sense of his own + worth. + </p> + <p> + It is an odd delusion to which young men are subject, that, because they + admire, perhaps even love a woman, they have a claim on her love. Arthur + was confident that he loved Barbara as never man had loved, as never woman + had desired to be loved, and counted it not merely unjust but cruel of her + to show him no kindness that savoured of like attraction. He did not know + or suspect that a fortnight of the London season would go far to make him + forget her. He was not a bad sort of fellow, had no vice, was neither snob + nor cad; his worst fault was pride in himself because of his family—pride + in everything he had been born to, and in a good deal he fancied he had + been born to, in which his having was small enough. He was not jealous of + Barbara's pleasure in Richard's company. The slightest probe of such a + feeling toward a man so infinitely beneath him, he would have felt + degrading. To think of the two together would have been to insult both + Barbara and himself; to think of himself and the bookbinder for one + briefest moment of comparison, would have been to insult all the + Lestranges that ever lived. Tuke had no <i>raison d'être</i> but work for + the library that would one day be Arthur's, and by its excellence add to + the honour of Mortgrange! He forgot that Richard had opened his eyes to + its merit, and imagined himself the discoverer of its value: did he not + pay the man for his work? and is not what a man pays for his own? Does not + the purchaser of a patent purchase also the credit of the invention? That + the workman in the library knew as much more than he about the insides as + about the outsides of the books, gave him no dignity in his eyes: none but + a university-man at least must gain honour by knowledge! The fact, + however, did make him more friendly; and after he got used to Richard he + seldom stiffened his jelly to remind him that their intercourse was by the + sufferance of a humane spirit. Barbara's behaviour to him had done nothing + to humble him; for humiliation is at best but a poisoned and poisonous + humility. + </p> + <p> + Little Vixen ran out to Barbara, and made herself less unpleasant than + usual: the monkey was preparing her, by what blandishment she was mistress + of, to receive a complaint against the man in the library which would + injure him in her favour. Might Vixen but see motion and commotion, + turmoil and passion around her, she did not care how it arose, or which of + the persons involved got the worse in it. She accompanied Barbara to the + stable, and as they walked back together, gave her such an account of what + had taken place, that Barbara, distrusting the child, yet felt anxious. + She knew the spirit of Richard, knew that he would never show her ladyship + the false respect a tradesman too often shows, and feared lest he should + have to leave the house. She must give lady Ann the opportunity of saying + what she might please on the matter! + </p> + <p> + It must be remembered that Barbara was under no pledge of secrecy to Alice + or any one; she was free to do what might seem for the best—that is, + for the good of Richard. It was the part of every neighbour to take care + of a blind man, particularly when there was special ground for caution + unknown to him. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to find you so poorly, dear lady Ann,” she said, with her + quick sympathy for suffering. + </p> + <p> + Vixen had told her that the horrid man had made her mamma quite ill; and + Barbara found her with her boudoir darkened, and a cup of green tea on a + Japanese table by the side of the couch on which she lay. + </p> + <p> + “It is only one of my headaches, child!” returned lady Ann. “Do not let it + disturb you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, from what Victoria tells me, that something must have + occurred to annoy you seriously!” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing at all worth mentioning. He is an odd person, that workman of + yours!” + </p> + <p> + “He is peculiar,” granted Barbara, doubtful of her own honesty because of + the different sense in which she used the word from that in which it would + be taken; “but I am certain he would not willingly vex any one.” + </p> + <p> + “Children will be troublesome!” drawled her ladyship. + </p> + <p> + “Particularly Victoria,” returned Barbara. “Mr. Tuke cannot bear to have + his work put in jeopardy!” + </p> + <p> + “Very excusable in him.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara was surprised at her consideration, and thought she must somehow + be pleased with Richard. + </p> + <p> + “It would astonish you to hear him talk sometimes,” she said. “There is + something remarkable about the young man. He must have a history + somewhere!” + </p> + <p> + She had been thinking whether it was fair to sir Wilton and his family to + conceal the momentous fact she alone of their friends knew: were they not + those, next to Richard himself, most concerned in it? Should lady Ann be + allowed to go on regarding the property as the inheritance of her son, + when at any instant it might be swept from his hold? Had they not a right + to some preparation for the change? If there was another son, and he the + heir, ought she not at least to know that there was such a person? She had + resolved, that very morning, to give lady Ann a hint of the danger to + which she was exposed. + </p> + <p> + But there was another reflection, more potent yet, that urged Barbara to + speak. Since learning Alice's secret, she had found herself more swiftly + drawn toward Richard, nor could she escape the thought that he might one + day ask her to be his wife: it would be painful then to know that she had + made progress in his regard by being imagined his superior, when she knew + she was not! Incapable of laying a snare, was she not submitting to the + advantage of an ignorance? The misconception she was thus risking in the + future, had already often prevented her from going to Mortgrange. Richard, + she was certain, knew her better than ever to misjudge her, but she shrank + from the suspicion of any one that she had hidden what she knew for the + sake of securing Richard's preference before their relations were altered—when, + on a level with the choice of society, he might well think differently of + her. + </p> + <p> + Barbara was one of those to whom concealment is a positive pain. She had a + natural hatred, most healthy and Christian, to all secrets as such; and to + take any advantage of one would have seemed to her a loathsome thing. She + constantly wanted to say all that was in her, and when she must not, she + suffered. + </p> + <p> + “He may have good blood in him on one side,” suggested lady Ann. “He was + rude to me, but I dare say it was the child's fault. He seems + intelligent!” + </p> + <p> + “He is more than intelligent. I suspect him of being a genius.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought him a tradesman all over!” + </p> + <p> + “But wouldn't genius by and by make a gentleman of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least. It might make him grow to look like one.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that the same? Isn't it all in the look?” + </p> + <p> + “By no means. A man must <i>be</i> a gentleman or he is nothing! A + gentleman would rather not have been born than not be a gentleman!” said + lady Ann. + </p> + <p> + She spoke to an ignorant person from the colonies, where they could not be + supposed to understand such things, and never suspected the danger she and + her false importance were in with the little colonial girl. + </p> + <p> + “But if his parents were gentlefolk?” suggested Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Birth predetermines style, both in body and mind, I grant,” said lady + Ann; “education and society must do their parts to make any man a + gentleman; and where all has been done, I must confess to having seen + remarkable failures. Bad blood must of course have got in somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I knew what makes a gentleman!” sighed Barbara. “I have all my + life been trying to understand the thing.—Tell me, lady Ann—to + be a gentleman, must a man be a good man?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to say,” she answered, “it is not in the least necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Then a gentleman may do bad things, and be a gentleman still?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—that is, <i>some</i> bad things.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean—not <i>many</i> bad things?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I mean certain kinds of bad things.” + </p> + <p> + “Such as cheating at cards?” + </p> + <p> + “No. If he were found doing that, he would be expelled from any club in + London.” + </p> + <p> + “May he tell lies, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not! It is a very ungentlemanly thing to tell lies.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if a man tells a lie, he is not a gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say that; I say that to tell lies is ungentlemanly?” + </p> + <p> + “Does that mean that he may tell <i>some</i> lies, and yet be a + gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann was afraid to go on. She saw that to go on answering the girl + from the colonies, with her troublesome freedom of thought and question, + might land her in a bog of contradictions. + </p> + <p> + “How many lies may a gentleman tell in a day?” pursued the straight-going + Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Not any,” answered lady Ann. + </p> + <p> + “Does the same rule hold for ladies?” + </p> + <p> + “Y—e—s——I should say so,” replied her ladyship—with + hesitation, for she suspected being slowly driven into some snare. She + knew she was not careful enough to speak the truth—so much she + confessed to herself, the fact being that, to serve any purpose she + thought worth gaining, she would lie without a scruple—taking care, + however, to keep the lie as like the truth as consisted with success, in + order that, if she were found out, it might seem she had mistaken. + </p> + <p> + Barbara noted the uncertainty of the sound her ladyship's trumpet gave, + and began to be assured that the laws of society were no firm + stepping-stones, and that society itself was a morass, where one must + spend her life in jumping from hump to hump, or be swallowed up. + </p> + <p> + She had been wondering how far, if Richard proved heir to a baronetcy, his + education and manners would decree him no gentleman; but it was useless to + seek light from lady Ann. As they talked, however, the feeling came and + grew upon her, that she was not herself acting like a lady, in going so + much to her house, and being received by her as a friend, when all the + time she knew something she did not know, something it was important for + her to know, something she had a right and a claim to know. She would + herself hate to live on what was not her own, as lady Ann would be left to + do when sir Wilton died, if the truth about Richard remained undisclosed! + It was very unfair to leave them unwarned for this reason besides, that so + the fact might at last find them, for lack of preparation, without + resource! + </p> + <p> + “I want to talk to you about something, lady Ann,” she said. “You can't + but know that a son of sir Wilton's was stolen when he was a baby, and + never found!” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time for many years that lady Ann had heard the thing + alluded to except once or twice by her husband. Her heart seemed to make a + somersault, but not a visible muscle moved. What could the girl be hinting + at? Were there reports about? She must let her talk!—the more freely + the better! + </p> + <p> + “Every one knows that!” she answered. “It is but too true. It happened + after my marriage. I was in the house at the time.—What of it, + child? There can be little hope of his turning up now—after twenty + years!” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he has turned up. I believe I know him.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann jumped to the most natural, most mistaken conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “It's the bookbinder!” she said to herself. “He has been telling her a + pack of lies! His being in the house is part of the plot. It must be + nipped in the bud! If it be no lie, if he be the very man, it must be + nipped all the same! Good heavens! if Arthur should <i>not</i> marry her—or + someone—before it is known!” + </p> + <p> + “It may be so,” she answered quietly, “but it hardly interests me. I don't + like talking of such things to a girl, but innocence cannot always be + spared in this wicked world. The child you speak of was born in this + house, and stolen out of it; but his mother was a low woman; she was not + the wife of sir Wilton.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody believed her his wife!” faltered Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Very possibly! Very likely! She may even have thought so herself! Such + people are so ignorant!” said lady Ann with the utmost coolness. “He may + even have married her after the child was born for anything I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Wilton must have made her believe she was his wife!” cried Barbara, + her blood rising at the thought of such a wrong done to Richard's mother. + </p> + <p> + “Possibly,” admitted lady Ann with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Then a baronet may tell lies, though a gentleman may not!” said Barbara, + as if speaking to herself. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann was not indignant. She had hesitated to say a lady might lie, but + did not hesitate to lie the moment the temptation came, nor for that would + doubt herself a lady! She knew perfectly that the woman was the wife of + her husband as much as she herself was, and that she died giving birth to + the heir. She had no hope that any lie she could tell would keep that + child out of the property if he were alive and her husband wished him to + have it; but a lie well told to Barbara might help to keep her for Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen think they <i>may</i> tell lies to women!” she returned with + calmness, and just a tinge of regret. + </p> + <p> + “How are they gentlemen then?” cried Barbara; “or where is the good of + being a gentleman? Is it that he knows better how to lie to a woman? A + knight used to be every woman's castle of refuge; a gentleman now, it + seems, is a pitfall in the bush!” + </p> + <p> + “It is a matter they settle among themselves,” answered lady Ann, confused + between her desire to appear moral, and to gain her lie credit. + </p> + <p> + “I think I shall not call myself a lady!” said Barbara, after a moment's + silence. “I prefer being a woman! I wonder whether in heaven they say a <i>woman</i> + or a <i>lady!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they are all sorts there as well as here,” answered lady Ann. + </p> + <p> + “How will the ladies do without gentlemen?” suggested Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Why without gentlemen? There will be as many surely of the one sex as of + the other!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Barbara, “that cannot be! Gentlemen tell lies, and I am sure no + lie is told in heaven!” + </p> + <p> + “All gentlemen do not tell lies!” returned lady Ann, herself at the moment + full of lying. + </p> + <p> + “But all gentlemen <i>may</i> lie!” persisted Barbara, “so there can be no + gentlemen in heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I had to mention the thing,” returned lady Ann, “but I was + afraid your sweet romantic nature might cherish an interest where was + nothing on which to ground it. Of course I know whence the report you + allude to comes! <i>Any</i> man, bookbinder or blacksmith, may put in a + claim. He will find plenty to back him. They will very likely get up a + bubble-company, for speculation on his chance! His own class will be sure + to take his part! Now that those that ought to know better have taught + them to combine, the lower orders stick at nothing to annoy their + superiors! But, thank heaven, the estate is <i>not</i> entailed!” + </p> + <p> + “If you imagine Mr. Tuke told me he was heir to Mortgrange, lady Ann, you + are mistaken. He does not know himself that he is even supposed to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure of that? Who then told you? Is it likely his friends have + got him into the house, under the eye of his pretended father, and he + himself know nothing of the manoeuvre?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know it was he I meant, lady Ann?” + </p> + <p> + “You told me so yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “No; that I did not! I <i>know</i> I didn't, lady Ann! What made you fix + on him?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann saw she had committed herself. + </p> + <p> + “If you did not tell me,” she rejoined, “your peculiar behaviour to the + man must have led me to the conclusion!” + </p> + <p> + “I have never concealed my interest in Mr. Tuke, but—” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly have not!” interrupted her ladyship, who both suffered in + temper and lost in prudence from annoyance at her own blunder. + </p> + <p> + “Pray, hear me out, lady Ann. What I want to say is, that my friendship + for Mr. Tuke had begun long before I learned the fact concerning which I + thought I ought to warn you.” + </p> + <p> + “Friendship!—ah, well!—scarcely decorous!—but as to what + you call <i>fact</i>, I would counsel a little caution. I repeat that, if + the man be the son of that woman, which may be difficult to prove, it is + of no consequence to any one; sir Wilton was never married to his mother—<i>properly</i> + married, I mean. I am sorry he should have been born out of wedlock—it + is anything but proper; at the same time I cannot be sorry that he will + never come between my Arthur and the succession.” + </p> + <p> + Here lady Ann saw a sudden radiance light up the face of Barbara, and + change its expression, from that of a lady rightfully angry and a little + scornful, to that of a child-angel. Entirely concerned hitherto with + Richard's loss and pain, if what lady Ann said should be true, it now + first occurred to her what she herself would gain if indeed he was not the + heir: no one could think she had been his friend because he was going to + be a rich man! If he was the wronged man her ladyship represented him—and + her ladyship ought to know—she might behave to him as she pleased + without suspicion of low motive! Little she knew what motives such persons + as lady Ann were capable of attributing—as little how incapable they + were of understanding any generous motive! + </p> + <p> + Barbara had an insuperable, a divine love of justice. She would have + scorned the thought of forsaking a friend because the very mode of his + earthly being was an ante-natal wrong to him. The righteousness that makes + a man visit the sins of a father upon his children, is the righteousness + of a devil, not the righteousness of God. When God visits the sins of a + father on his children, it is to deliver the child from his own sins + through yielding to inherited temptation. Barbara rejoiced that she was + free to approach Richard, and make some amends to him for the ass-judgment + of the world. I do not know that she said to herself, “Now I may love him + as I please!” but her thought went in that direction. + </p> + <p> + It did not take lady Ann long to interpret the glow on Barbara's face to + her own satisfaction. The report she had heard and believed, had kept + Barbara back from encouraging Arthur, and made her pursue her unpleasant + intimacy with the bookbinder! the sudden change on her countenance + indicated the relief of finding that Arthur, and not this man, was indeed + the heir! How could she but prefer her Arthur to a man smelling of leather + and glue, a man without the manners or education of a gentleman! He might + know a few things that gentlemen did not care to know, but even those he + got only out of books! He could not do one of the many things her Arthur + did! He could neither ride, nor shoot, nor dress, nor dance! He was tall, + but he was clumsy! No doubt he was a sort of vulgar-handsome, but when out + of temper, was ugly enough! + </p> + <p> + That lady Ann condescended to such comparison, was enough to show that she + believed the story at least half. The girl remaining silent. + </p> + <p> + “You will oblige me, dear Barbara,” she said, “by not alluding to this + report! It might raise doubt where it could not do serious harm!” + </p> + <p> + “There are others who not only know but believe it,” answered Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not feel at liberty to tell their names. I thought you had a right + to know what was said, but I have no right to mention where I heard it.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann grew thoughtful again, and as she thought grew convinced that + Barbara had not spoken the truth, and that it was Richard who had told + her: it is so easy for those who lie to believe that another is lying! It + is impossible indeed for such to imagine that another, with what they + would count strong reason for lying, would not lie. Gain is the crucial + question for vile souls of any rank. She believed also, for they that lie + doom themselves to believe lies as well as disbelieve truths, that Richard + had got into the house in order to learn things that might serve in the + establishing of his claim. + </p> + <p> + “It will be much better you should keep silent concerning the report,” she + said. “I do not want the question stirred. If the young man, any young + man, I mean, should claim the heirship, we must meet the thing as it ought + to be met; till then, promise me you will be silent.” + </p> + <p> + She would fain have time to think, for she feared in some way compromising + herself. And in any case, the longer the crisis could be postponed, the + better for her prospects in the issue! + </p> + <p> + “I will not promise anything,” answered Barbara. “I dread promising.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked lady Ann, raising her eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Because promises have to be kept, and that is sometimes very difficult; + and because sometimes you find you ought not to have made them, and yet + you must keep them. It is a horrid thing to have to keep a promise you + don't like keeping, especially if it hurts anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you ought to make the promise?” suggested lady Ann. + </p> + <p> + “Then you must make it. But where there is no <i>ought</i>, I think it + wrong to bind yourself. What right have you, when you don't know what may + be wanted of you, to tie your own hands and feet? There may come an + earthquake or a fire!” + </p> + <p> + “Does friendship demand nothing? You are our guest!” + </p> + <p> + It was not in lying only that lady Ann was not a lady. + </p> + <p> + “One's friends may have conflicting interests!” said Barbara. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann was convinced that Richard was at the root of the affair, and she + hated him. What if he <i>were</i> the heir, and it could be proved! The + thought was sickening. It was with the utmost strain that she kept up her + apparent indifference before the mocking imp honest Barbara seemed to her. + For heaven is the devil's hell, and the true are the devils of it. How was + she to assure herself concerning the fellow? how discover what he was, + what he knew, and how much he could prove? She could not even think, with + that little savage sitting there, staring out of her wide eyes! + </p> + <p> + “My sweet Barbara,” she said, “I am so much obliged to you for letting me + know! I will not ask any promise from you. Only you must not heedlessly + bring trouble upon us. If the thing were talked about, some unprincipled + lawyer would be sure to take it up, and there would be another + claimant-case, with the people in a hubbub, and thousands of ignorant + honest folk duped of their money to enrich the rascality. I heard a + distinguished judge once say, that, even if the claimant <i>were</i> the + real sir Roger, he had no right to the property, having so long neglected + the duties of it as to make it impossible to be certain of his identity. + Such people put the country to enormous expense, and are never of any + service to it. It is a wrong to all classes when a man without education + succeeds to property. For one thing he will always side with the tenants + against the land. And what service can any such man render his country in + parliament? Without a suitable training there can be no genuine right.” + </p> + <p> + She was on the point of adding—“And then are the hopes and services + and just expectations of a lifetime to go for nothing?” but checked + herself and was silent. + </p> + <p> + To all this Barbara had been paying little heed. She was revolving whether + she ought to tell Richard what she had just heard. Neither then nor as she + rode home, however, could she come to a conclusion. If Richard was not the + heir, why should she trouble him? But he might be the heir, and what then? + She must seek counsel! But of whom? Not of her mother! As certainly not of + her father! She had no ground for trusting the judgment of either. + </p> + <p> + Having got rid of Miss Brown, she walked to the parsonage. + </p> + <p> + But she did not find there such a readiness to give advice as she had + expected. + </p> + <p> + “The thing is not my business,” said Wingfold. + </p> + <p> + “Not!” returned the impetuous Barbara. “I thought you were so much + interested in the young man! He told me the other day that he had seen you + again, and had a long talk with you, and that you thought the popular idea + of the inspiration of the scriptures the greatest nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “Did he tell you that I said it was much nearer the truth after all than + the fancy that the Bible had no claim beyond any other book?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right!—Tell me then, Miss Wylder: are you interested in + the young man because he is possibly heir to a baronetcy?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not!” answered Barbara with indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Then why should I be?” pursued the parson. “What is it to me? I am not a + county-magistrate even!” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot understand you, Mr. Wingfold!” protested Barbara, “You say you + are there not for yourself but for the people, yet you will not move to + see right done!” + </p> + <p> + “I would move a long way to see that Mr. Tuke cared to do right: that is + my business. It is not much to me, and nothing to my business, whether Mr. + Tuke be rich or poor, a baronet or a bookbinder; it is everything to me + whether Mr. Tuke will be an honest fellow or not.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he should prove to have a right to the property?” + </p> + <p> + “Then he ought to have the property. But it is not my business to discover + or to enforce the right. My business is to help the young man to make + little of the matter, whether he find himself the lawful heir, or a much + injured man through his deceived mother.—Tell me whose servant I + am.” + </p> + <p> + “You are the servant of Jesus Christ.” + </p> + <p> + “—Who said the servant must be as his master.—Do you remember + how he did when a man came asking him to see justice done between him and + his brother?—He said, 'Man, who made me a judge and a divider over + you? Take heed and beware of covetousness.'—It may be <i>your</i> + business to see about it; I don't know; I scarcely think it is. My advice + would be to keep quiet yet a while, and see what will come. There appears + no occasion for hurry. The universe does not hang on the question of + Richard's rights. Will it be much whether your friend go into the other + world as late heir, or even late owner of Mortgrange, or as the son of + Tuke, the bookbinder? Will the dead be moved from beneath to meet the + young baronet at his coming? Will the bookbinder go out into dry places, + seeking rest and finding none?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. <i>THE PARSON'S COUNSEL</i>. + </h2> + <p> + It was a happy thing for both Richard and Barbara, that Barbara was now + under another influence besides Richard's. The more she saw of Mr. and + Mrs. Wingfold, the more she felt that she had come into a region of + reality and life. Both of them understood what a rare creature she was, + and spoke as freely before her as if she had been a sister of their own + age and standing. Barbara on her side knew no restraint with them, but + spoke in like freedom, both of her past life, and the present state of + things at home—which was indeed no secret, being manifest to the + servants, and therefore known to all the county, in forms more or less + correct, as it had been to all the colony before they left it. She talked + almost as freely of Richard, and of the great desire she had to get him to + believe in God. + </p> + <p> + “It was a dangerous relation between two such young people!” some of my + readers will remark.—Yes, I answer—dangerous, as every true + thing is dangerous to him or her who is not true; as every good thing is + dangerous to him or her who is not good. Nothing is so dangerous as + religious sentiment without truth in the inward parts. Certain attempts at + what is called conversion, are but writhings of the passion of + self-recommendation; gapings of the greed of power over others; swellings + of the ambition to propagate one's own creed, and proselytize + victoriously; hungerings to see self reflected in another convinced. In + such efforts lie dangers as vulgar as the minds that make them, and love + the excitement of them. But genuine love is far beyond such grovelling + delights; and the peril of such a relation is in inverse proportion to the + reality of those concerned. + </p> + <p> + Barbara was one who, so far as human eyes could see, had never required + conversion. She had but to go on, recognize, and do. She turned to the + light by a holy will as well as holy instinct. She needed much + instruction, and might yet have fierce battles to fight, but to convert + such as Barbara must be to turn them the wrong way; for the whole energy + of her being was in the direction of what is right—that is, + righteousness. She needed but to be told a good thing—I do not say + <i>told that a thing was good</i>—and at once she received it—that + is, obeyed it, the <i>only</i> way of receiving a truth. She did the thing + immediately demanded upon every reception of light, every expansion of + true knowledge. She was essentially <i>of</i> the truth; and therefore, + when she came into relation with a soul such as Wingfold, a soul so much + more developed than herself, so much farther advanced in the knowledge of + realities as having come through difficulties unknown and indeed at + present unknowable to Barbara, she met one of her own house, and her life + was fed from his, and began to grow faster. For he taught her to know the + eternal man who bore witness to his father in the face of his perverse + children, to know that his heart was the heart of a child in truth and + love, and the heart of a God in courage and patience; and Barbara became + his slave for very love, his blessed child, the inheritor of his universe. + Happily her life had not been loaded to the ground with the degrading + doctrines of those that cower before a God whose justice may well be + satisfied with the blood of the innocent, seeing it consists but in the + punishing of the guilty. She had indeed heard nothing of that brood of + lies until the unbelieving Richard—ah, not far from believing he who + but rejected such a God!—gave her to know that such things were + believed. From the whole swarm she was protected—shame that it + should have to be said!—by pure lack of what is generally regarded + as <i>a religious education</i>, such being the mother of more tears and + madness in humble souls, and more presumption in the proud and selfish, + than perhaps any other influence out of whose darkness God brings light. + Neither ascetic nor mystic nor doctrinist of any sort, caring nothing for + church or chapel, of observance of any kind as observance, she believed in + God, and was now ready to die for Jesus Christ, in the eternal gladness + that there was such a person as God and such a person as Jesus Christ. + Their being was to her the full and only pledge of every bliss, every + childlike delight. She believed in the God of the whole earth, not in a + puritanical God. She never imagined it could be wrong to dance: merry + almost in her very nature, she now held it a duty to be glad. Fond of + sweets, she would have thought it wrong to refuse what God meant her to + like; but she had far more pleasure in giving than in receiving them. She + got into a little habit of thanking God for Miss Brown every time she felt + herself on her back. She saw, the moment she heard it, that whatever was + not of faith was sin: “The idea,” she said, “of taking a thing from God + without thinking love back to him for it!” She shuddered at the thought of + unnecessarily hurting, yet would punish sharply. She would whip her dog + when he deserved it, but sat up all night with him once when he was ill. + She understood something of the ways of God with men. + </p> + <p> + Wingfold never sought to moderate her ardour for the good of her + workman-friend; he only sought to strengthen her in the truth. + </p> + <p> + One day, when they were all three sitting together in the twilight before + the lamp was lit—for Helen Wingfold was one of those happy women + able to let their hands lie in their laps—he said to his pupil, + </p> + <p> + “Now, pray, Miss Wylder, don't try by argument to convince the young man + of anything. That were no good, even if you succeeded. Opinion is all that + can result from argument, and his opinion concerning God, even if you got + it set right, would not be knowledge of God, and would be worth nothing; + while, if a man knows God, his opinion is either right, or on the nearest + way to be right. The notion in Richard's brain of the God he denies, is + but another form of the Moloch of the Ammonites. There never was, and + never could be such a God. He in whom I believe is the God that says, + 'This is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased.' It is as if he said—'Look + at that man: I am just such! No other likeness of me is a true likeness. + Heed my son: heed nobody else. Know him and you know me, and then we are + one for ever.' Talk to Richard of the God you love, the beautiful, the + strong, the true, the patient, the forgiving, the loving; the one + childlike, eternal power and Godhead, who would die himself and kill you + rather than have you false and mean and selfish. Let him feel God through + your enthusiasm for him. You can't prove to him that there is any God. A + God that could be proved, would not be worth proving. Make his thoughts + dwell on such a God as he must feel would be worth having. Wake the notion + of a God such as will draw him to wish there were such a God. There are + many religious people who will tell you there is no such God as I mean; + but God will love you for believing that he is as good and true as you can + think. Throw the notions of any who tell you otherwise to the winds of + hell, 'God is just!' said a carping theologian to me the other day. 'Yes,' + I answered, 'and he cannot be pleased that you should call that justice + which is injustice, and attribute it to him!' There are many who must die + in ignorance of their Father in heaven, because they will not of their own + selves judge what is right. Such never get beyond the weak and beggarly + elements. Set in Richard's eye a God worth believing in, a God like the + son of God, and he will go and look if haply such a God may be found; he + will call upon him, and the God who is will hear and answer him. What good + would it be, what could it bring but the more condemnation, that a man + should be sure there was a God, if he did not cry to him? But although a + man may never doubt and never cry, I cannot imagine any man sure there is + a God without his first having cried to him. God is God to us not that we + may say <i>he is</i>, but <i>that we may know him</i>; and when we know + him, then we are with him, at home, at the heart of the universe, the + heirs of all things. All this is foolishness, I know, to the dull soul + that cares only for the things that admit of being proved. The unprovable + mystery out of which come the things provable, has for them no interest, + they say, because it is unprovable: they take for granted that therefore + it is unknowable. Would they be content it should be unknowable if things + were all as they should be within them? When the eyes of those who have + made themselves at home in the world of the senses and care for no other + are opened, I imagine them saying—'Yes, He was after all; but none + the less were you fools to believe in him, for you had no proof!' Then I + seem to hear the children laugh and say, 'We had himself, and did not want + it.' That the unprovable is necessarily the unknowable, a thousand beliefs + deny. 'You cannot prove to me that you have a father!' says the blind + sage, reasoning with the little child. 'Why should I prove it?' answers + the child. 'I am sitting on his knee! If I could prove it, that would not + make you see him; that would not make you happy like me! You do not care + about my father, or you would not stand there disputing; you would feel + about until you found him!' If a thing be true in itself, it is not + capable of proof; and that man is in the higher condition who is able to + believe it. In proportion as a man is a fool he is unable to believe what + in itself is true. If intellect be the highest power, then the men of + proof are the wisest; if there be something deeper than intellect, causing + and including it, if there be a creative power of which our intellect is + but a faint reflex, then the child of that power, the one who acknowledges + and loves and obeys that power, will be the one to understand it. If a man + say, 'I cannot believe; I was not made to believe what I could not prove;' + I reply, Do you really say, 'It is not true,' because you have no proof? + Ask yourself whether you do not turn from the idea because you prefer it + should not be true. You accept a thousand things without proof, and a + thousand things may be perfectly true, and have no proof. But if you + cannot be sure, why therefore do you turn away? Is the thing assuredly + false? Then you ought of course to turn away. Can you prove it false? You + cannot. Again, why do you turn away? That a thing is not assuredly true, + cannot be reason for turning from it, else farewell to all theory and all + scientific research! Is the thing less good, less desirable, less worth + believing, in itself, that you cannot thus satisfy yourself concerning it? + The very chance that <i>such</i> a thing may be true, the very fact that + it cannot be disproved, is large reason for an honest, and continuous, and + unending search. Do you hold any door in your nature open for the + possibility of a God having a claim on you? The truth is, as I hinted + before, that you are not drawn to the idea, do not like it; and it is + therefore you turn away, and not because you have no proof.—If the + man then shifted his ground and said, 'He seemed to me not a good being, + and I said therefore, he <i>cannot</i> exist;' I should reply, There you + were right. But a thing that cannot be, cannot render impossible a thing + that can be—a thing against whose existence there are no such + arguments as have rightly shown that the other cannot be. In right logical + balance you must admit that a creative being who is good <i>may</i> exist. + But the final question is always this: Have you acted, or rather, are you + acting according to the conscience which is the one guide to truth, to all + that is!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Barbara, “perhaps the man would say that we see such suffering + in the world, that the being who made it, if there be one, cannot possibly + be both strong and good, otherwise he would not allow it.” + </p> + <p> + “Say then, that he might be both strong and good, and have some reason for + allowing, or even causing it, which those who suffer will themselves one + day justify, ready for the sake of it to go through all the suffering + again. Less than that would not satisfy me. If he say, 'What reason could + justify the infliction of such suffering?' then tell him what I am now + going to tell you. + </p> + <p> + “A year ago,” continued Wingfold, “my little boy displeased me horribly. I + will not tell you what he did: when the boy grows up, he will find it as + impossible to understand how he could have done the thing, as I find it + now. People say, 'Children will be children!' but I see little consolation + in that. Children must be children, and ought to be good children. They + are made to be good children, just as much as men are made to be good men. + All I will say is, that he did a mean thing. You see his mother can hardly + keep from crying now at the thought of it. Thank God, she was of one mind + with me. I took him, and, bent on making him feel, if not how horrid the + thing was in itself—for what imperfect being can ever know the full + horror of evil!—at least how horrid I thought it, broke out in + strong language. I told him I must whip him; that I could not bear doing + it, but rather than he should be a damned, mean, contemptible little + rascal, I would kill him and be hanged for it. I dare say it sounds very + improper, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least!” cried Barbara. “<i>I</i> like a man to curse what is + bad, and go down on his knees to what is good.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think the little fellow said?—'Don't kill me, + papa,' he cried. 'I will be good. Don't, please, be hanged for my + naughtiness! Whip me, and that will make me good.'” + </p> + <p> + “And then you couldn't do it?” asked Barbara anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I cried,” said Wingfold, and almost cried again as he said it. “I'm not + much in the habit of crying—I don't look like it, do I?—but I + couldn't help it. The child took out his little pocket-handkerchief and + dried my eyes, and then prepared himself for the whipping. And I whipped + him as I never did before, and I hope in God shall never have to do again. + The moment it was over, while my heart was like to burst, he flung his + arms round my neck and began kissing me. 'I will never make you cry again, + papa!' he said.—He has kept his word, and since then I have never + wondered at the suffering in the world. I have puzzled my metaphysical + brains to the last gasp about the origin of evil—I don't do that + now, for I seem to understand it—but, since then, I have never + troubled myself about the origin of suffering. I don't like pain a whit + better than another, and I don't bear it nearly so well as Helen, but I + vex neither my brain nor my heart as to God's sending it. I knew after + whipping my boy, that the tears the Lord wept over Jerusalem were not wept + by him only, but by the Father as well. Whoever says God cannot suffer, I + say he does not understand. God <i>can</i> weep, and weeps more painful + tears than ours; for he is God, and we are his little ones. That boy's + trouble was over with the punishment, but my heart is sore yet. + </p> + <p> + “It comes to this, that the suffering you see around you, hurts God more + than it hurts you, or the man upon whom it falls; but he hates things that + most men think little of, and will send any suffering upon them rather + than have them continue indifferent to them. Men may say, 'We don't want + suffering! we don't want to be good!' but God says, 'I know my own + obligations! and you shall not be contemptible wretches, if there be any + resource in the Godhead.' I know well that almost all the mothers in my + congregation would, hearing what I have just told you, call me a cruel + father. They would rather have me a weak one, loving my child less. They + would rather their child should be foul in the soul than be made clean + through suffering! I know they would! But I know also that they do not see + how ugly is evil. And that again is because they are not clean enough + themselves to value rightness above rubies! Tell the tale your own way to + your workman-friend, and may God help him to understand it! The God who + strikes, is the God whose son wept over Jerusalem.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad you whipt the darling!” said Barbara, scarcely able to + speak. “I shall love him more than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “You should see how he loves his father!” said Helen. “His father is all + his talk when we are alone together. He sees more of me than of him now, + but by and by his father will take him about with him.” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” said Barbara, “all his talk will be of you!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it is the way of the child!” + </p> + <p> + “And of the whole family in heaven and earth,” rejoined the parson. + </p> + <p> + Barbara rose. + </p> + <p> + “You'll be on the watch,” said Wingfold, “for any chance for me of serving + your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” replied Barbara. + </p> + <p> + The next morning she got on Miss Brown, and rode to the forge, where Simon + made her always welcome. It was sunshine to his heart to see her, he said. + She knew that Richard was to be there. They left Miss Brown in the smithy, + and went for a walk together, during which Barbara was careful to follow + the parson's advice. Their talk was mostly about her life in New Zealand. + Now that she knew God more, and believed more in him, she was more able to + set forth her history. Feelings long vague had begun to put on shapes + definite and communicable. She understood herself better, and was better + able to make Richard understand her. And in Richard, by degrees, through + the sympathy of affection, was growing the notion of a God in whom it + would not be hard to believe. He ought not to believe, and he had not + believed in the supposed being hitherto presented to him as God; now he + saw the shape of a God in whom, if he existed, he ought to believe. But he + had not yet come to long that he should exist, to desire him, or to cry + out in the hope that he would hear him. His hour was not yet come. But + when the day of darkness arrived, when he knew himself helpless, there + would be in his mind a picture of the God to whom he must cry in his + trouble—a God whose existence would then be his only need, the one + desire of his soul. To wake the sense of this eternal need, present though + unrecognized under every joy, was the final cause of every sorrow and pain + against which Richard rebelled—most naturally rebelled, knowing + neither the plague of a heart that would but could not be lord over + itself, nor of a nature hatefully imperfect and spotted, yea capable of + what itself could not but detest. + </p> + <p> + Naturally, his manners were growing more refined from his intercourse with + the gracious, brave, sympathetic, unconventional creature, so strong yet + so gentle, so capable of indignation, so full of love. He was gradually + developing the pure humanity that lay beneath the rough artisan. He was, + in a word, becoming what in the kingdom of heaven every man must be—a + gentleman, because more than a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + All this time Barbara was pulled two ways: for Richard's sake she would + have him heir to the baronetcy; for her own she would be rid of the shadow + of having sought the baronet in the bookbinder. But more and more the + asseveration of lady Ann gained force with her—that Richard was not + the heir. She had greatly doubted her, but now she said to herself: “She + could hardly be mistaken, and she <i>cannot</i> have lied.” The + consequence was that she grew yet more free, more at home with Richard. + She listened to all he had to tell her, learning of him with an <i>abandon</i> + of willingness that put him upon his honour to learn of her again. And he + did learn, as I have said, a good deal—went farther than he knew in + the way of true learning. + </p> + <p> + They strolled together in the field behind the smithy, within sight of the + cottage, for an hour or so; then hearing from the smithy the impatient + stamping of Miss Brown, and fearing she might give the old man trouble, + hastened back. Richard brought out the mare. Barbara sprang on a big stone + by the door, and mounted without his help. She went straight for Wylder + Hall. + </p> + <p> + As they were walking up and down the field, Arthur Lestrange passed on + foot, saw them, and went home indignant. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. <i>LADY ANN MEDITATES</i>. + </h2> + <p> + It would have been difficult for Arthur himself to say whether in his + heart rage or contempt was the stronger, when he saw the lady he loved + walking in a field, turning and returning, in close talk with the + bookbinder-fellow. Never had she so walked and talked with <i>him</i>! She + preferred the bookbinder's society to his—and made it no secret that + she did, for, although evidently desirous of having their interview + uninterrupted, they walked in full view of the high road! + </p> + <p> + What did Barbara mean by it? He could not treat her as a child and lay the + matter before Richard! If a lady showed favour to a man, the less worthy + he was, the less could he be expected to see the unfitness of the thing. + Besides, to acknowledge thus any human relation between Richard and either + of them, would be degrading. It was scorn alone that kept Arthur from + hating Richard. For Barbara, he attributed her disregard of propriety, and + the very possibility of her being interested in such a person, to the + modes of life in the half savage country where she had been born and + reared—<i>educated</i>, he remarked to himself, he could not say. + But what did she mean by it? The worst of his torment was that the + thought, unreasonable as it was, would yet come—that Richard was a + good-looking fellow, and admiration, which in any English girl would have + been rendered impossible by his vulgarity, might have a share in her + enjoyment of his shop-talk about books. The idea was simply disgusting! + </p> + <p> + What was he to do? What could any one do? The girl was absolutely + uncontrolled: was it likely she would prove controllable? Would she mind + him, when she cared no more for his stately mother than for the + dairy-woman! How could such a bewitching creature so lack refinement! The + more he thought, the more inexplicable and self-contradictory her conduct + appeared. Such a jewelled-humming-bird to make friends with a grubbing + rook! The smell of the leather, not to mention the paste and glue, would + be enough for any properly sensitive girl! Universally fascinating, why + did she not correspond all through? Brought out in London, she would be + the belle of the season! If he did not secure her, some poor duke would + pounce on her! + </p> + <p> + But again what was he to do? Must he bring scorn on himself by appearing + jealous of a tradesman, or must he let the fellow go on casting his greasy + shadow about the place? As to her being in love with him, that was + preposterous! The notion was an insult! Yet half the attention she gave + the bookbinder would be paradise to <i>him</i>! He <i>must</i> put a stop + to it! he must send the man away! It would be a pity for the library! It + was beginning to look beautiful, and would soon have been the most + distinguished in the county: lord Chough's was nothing to it! But there + were other book-binders as good as he! And what did the library matter! + What did anything matter in such a difficulty! + </p> + <p> + She might take offence! She would be sure to suspect why the fellow was + sent packing! She would know she had the blame of ruining the library, and + the bookbinder as well, and would never enter the house again! He must + leave the thing alone—for the present! But he would be on his guard! + Against what, he did not plainly tell himself. + </p> + <p> + While the son was thus desiring a good riddance of the man he had brought + into the house, and to whom Barbara was so much indebted, the mother was + pondering the same thing. Should the man remain in the house or leave it? + was the question with her also;—and if leave it, on what pretext? + She was growing more and more uncomfortable at the possibilities. The + possession of the estate by one born of another woman, and she of low + origin; the subjection in which they would all be placed to him as the + head of the family—a man used to the low ways of a trade, a man + dirty and greasy, hardly in his right place at work in the library, the + grandson of a blacksmith with brawny arms and smutty face—the ideas + might well be painful to her! + </p> + <p> + Then first the thought struck her, that it must be his grandfather's doing + that he was in the house! and there he was, at their very door, eager to + bear testimony to the bookbinder as his grandson and heir to Mortgrange! + Alas, the thing must be a fact, a horrible fact! All was over!—But + she would do battle for her rights! She would not allow that the child was + found! The thing was a conspiracy to supplant the true heir! How ruinous + were the low tastes of gentlemen! If sir Wilton had but kept to his own + rank, and made a suitable match, nothing of all this misery would have + befallen them! If her predecessor had been a lady, her son would have been + a gentleman, and there would have been nothing to complain of! To lady + Ann, her feeling had the force of a conviction, that the son of Robina + Armour could not, in the nature of things divinely ordained, have the same + rights as her son. Lady Ann's God was the head of the English aristocracy. + There was nothing selfish that lady Ann was not capable of wishing; there + was nothing selfish she might not by degrees become capable of doing. She + could not at that moment commit murder; neither could lady Macbeth have + done so when she was a girl. The absurd falsity of her notions as to her + rights, came from lack of love to her neighbour, and consequent + insensibility to his claims. At the same time she had not keen, she had + only absorbing feelings of her rights; there was nothing <i>keen</i> in + lady Ann; neither sense nor desire, neither hope nor fear, neither joy nor + sorrow, neither love nor hate. Beyond her own order, beyond indeed her own + circle in that order, the universe hardly existed. An age-long process of + degeneration had been going on in her race, and she was the result: she + was well born and well bred for feeling nothing. There is something + fearful in the thought that through the generations the body may go on + perfecting, while the heart goes on degenerating; that, while the animal + beauty is growing complete in the magic of proportion, the indescribable + marvel that can even give charm to ugliness, is as steadily vanishing. + Such a woman, like Branca d'Oria in the Inferno, is already damned, and + only seems to live. Lady Ann was indeed born capable of less than most; + but had she attempted to do the little she could, one would not have been + where she was; she would have beep toiling up the hill of truth, with a + success to be measured, like the widow's mite, by what she had not. + </p> + <p> + All her thoughts were now occupied with the <i>rights</i> of her son, and + through him of the family. Sir Wilton had been for some time ailing, and + when he went, they would be at the mercy of any other heir than Arthur, + just as miserably whether he were the true heir or an impostor; the one + was as bad as the other from her point of view! For the right, lady Ann + cared nothing, except to have it or to avoid it. The law of the land was + to be respected no doubt, but your own family—most of all when land + was concerned—was worthier still! + </p> + <p> + It were better to rid the place of the bookbinder—but how? As to + whether he was the legal heir or not, she would rather remain ignorant, + only that, assured on the point, she would better understand how to deal + with his pretension! But she could not consult sir Wilton, because she + suspected him of a lingering regard for the dead wife which would + naturally influence his feeling for the live son—if live he were: no + doubt he had enjoyed the company of the low-born woman more than hers, for + she, a woman of society, knew what was right! She had reason therefore to + fear him prejudiced for any pretender! Arthur and he got on quite as well + as could be expected of father and son—their differences never came + to much; but on the other hand sir Wilton had a demoniacal pleasure in + frustrating! To make a man he disliked furious, was honey and nuts to sir + Wilton; and she knew a woman whose disappointment would be dearer to him + than that of all his enemies together! It was better therefore that he + should have no hint, and especially from her, of what was in the air! + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann thought herself a good woman because she never felt interest + enough to be spiteful like sir Wilton; yet, very strangely, not knowing in + herself what repentance meant, she judged him capable of doing her the + wrong of atoning to his first wife for his neglect of her, by being good + to her child! Thinking over her talk with Barbara, she could not, after + all, feel certain that Richard knew, or that he had incited Barbara to + take his part. But in any case it was better to get rid of him! It was + dangerous to have him in the house! He might be spending his nights in + trumping up evidence! At any moment he might appeal to sir Wilton as his + father! But at the worst, he would be unable to prove the thing right off, + and if her husband would but act like a man, they might impede the attempt + beyond the possibility of its success! + </p> + <p> + One comfort was, that, she was all but confident, the child was not + already baptized when stolen from Mortgrange; neither were such as would + steal children likely to have them baptized; therefore the God who would + not allow the unbaptized to lie in his part of the cemetery, would never + favour his succession to the title and estate of Mortgrange! The fact must + have its weight with Providence!—whom lady Ann always regarded us a + good churchman: he would never take the part of one that had not been + baptized! Besides, the fellow was sure to turn out a socialist, or + anarchist, or positivist, or radical, or something worse! She would + dispute his identity to the last, and assert his imposture beyond it! Her + duty to society demanded that she should not give in! + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she remembered the description her husband had given her of the + ugliness of the infant: this man was decidedly handsome! Then she + remembered that sir Wilton had told her of a membrane between certain of + his fingers—horrible creature: she must examine the impostor! + </p> + <p> + Arthur was very moody at dinner: his mother feared some echo of the same + report as caused her own anxiety had reached him, and took the first + opportunity of questioning him. But neither of lady Ann's sons had learned + such faith in their mother as to tell her their troubles. Arthur would + confess to none. She in her turn was far too prudent to disclose what was + in her mind: the folly of his youth might take the turn of an unthinking + generosity! the notion of an elder brother might even be welcome to him! + </p> + <p> + In another generation no questions would be asked! Many estates were in + illegal possession! There was a claim superior to the legal! Theirs was a + <i>moral</i> claim! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. <i>LADY ANN AND RICHARD</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The same afternoon, Richard was mending the torn title of a black-letter + copy of Fox's Book of Martyrs. Vixen had forgotten her former fright, and + her evil courage had returned. Opening the door of the library so softly + that Richard heard nothing, she stole up behind him, and gave his elbow a + great push just as, with the sharpest of penknives, he was paring the edge + of a piece of old paper, to patch the title. The pen-knife slid along the + bit of glass he was paring upon, and cut his other hand. The blood + spouted, and some of it fell upon the title, which made Richard angry: it + was an irremediable catastrophe, for the paper was too weak to bear any + washing. He laid hold of the child, meaning once more to carry her from + the room, and secure the door. Then first Vixen saw what she had done, and + was seized with horror—not because she had hurt “the bear,” but + because of the blood, the sight of which she could not endure. It was a + hereditary weakness on sir Wilton's side. One of the strongest men of his + family used to faint at the least glimpse of blood. There was a tradition + to account for it, not old or thin enough to cast no shadow, therefore + seldom alluded to. It was not, therefore, an ordinary childish dismay, but + a deep-seated congenital terror, that made Vixen give one wavering scream, + and drop on the floor. Richard thought she was pretending a faint in + mockery of what she had done, but when he took her up, he saw that she was + insensible. He laid her on a couch, rang the bell, and asked the man to + take the child to her governess. The man saw blood on the child's dress, + and when he reached the schoolroom with her, informed the governess that + she had had an accident in the library. Miss Malliver, with one of her + accomplished shrieks, dispatched him to tell lady Ann. Coming to herself + in a few minutes, Vixen told a confused story of how the bear had + frightened her. Lady Ann, learning that the blood was not that of her + child, came to the conclusion that Richard had played upon her peculiarity + to get rid of her, for Vixen, incapable of truth, did not tell that she + was herself the cause of the wound whence the blood had made its + appearance. Miss Malliver, who would hardly have been sorry had Vixen's + throat been cut, rose in wrath, and would have swooped down the stair upon + Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Leave him to me, Malliver,” said lady Ann, and rising, went down the + stair. But the moment she entered the library, and saw Richard's hand tied + up in his handkerchief, she bethought herself of the happy chance of + satisfaction as to whether or not he was web-fingered: the absence of the + peculiarity would indeed prove nothing, but the presence of it would be a + warning of the worst danger: he might have had it removed, but could not + have contrived to put it there! + </p> + <p> + “What have you done to yourself, Mr. Tuke?” she said, making a motion to + take the wounded hand, from which at the same time she shrank with inward + disgust. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of any consequence, my lady,” answered Richard, who had risen, + and stood before her. “I was using a very sharp knife, and it went into my + hand. I hope Miss Victoria is better?” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing much the matter with her,” answered her ladyship. “The + sight of blood always makes her faint.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a horrid sight, my lady!” rejoined Richard, wondering at her + ladyship's affability, and ready to meet any kindness. “When I was at + school, I was terribly affected by it. One boy used to provoke me to fight + him, and contrive that I should make his nose bleed—after which he + could do what he liked with me. But I set myself to overcome the weakness, + and succeeded.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann listened in silence, too intent on his hands to remark at the + moment how the fact he mentioned bore on the question that absorbed her. + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind showing me the wound?” she said. “I am something of a + surgeon.” + </p> + <p> + To her disappointment, he persisted that it was nothing. Because of the + peculiarity she would gladly have missed in them, he did not like showing + his hands. His mother had begged him not to meddle with the oddity until + she gave her consent, promising a good reason for the request when the + right time should arrive; but he was sensitive about it—probably + from having been teased because of it. His comfort was, that a few slits + of a sharp knife would make him like other people. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann was foiled, therefore the more eager: why should the man be so + unwilling to show his hands? + </p> + <p> + “Your work must be very interesting!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I am fond of it, my lady,” he answered. “If I had a fortune left me, I + should find it hard to drop it. There is nothing like work—and books—for + enjoying life!” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay you are right.—But go on with your work. I have heard so + much about it from Miss Wylder that I should like to see you at it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, my lady, but I shall be fit for next to nothing for a day or + two because of this hand. I dare not attempt going on with what I am now + doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it so very painful? You ought to have it seen to. I will send for Mr. + Hurst.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke, she turned to go to the bell. Richard had tried to interrupt + her, but she would not listen. He now assured her that it was his work not + his hand that he was thinking of; and said that, if Mr. Lestrange had no + objection, he would take a short holiday. + </p> + <p> + “Then you would like to go home!” said her ladyship, thinking it would be + so easy then to write and tell him not to come back—if only Arthur + could be got to do it. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to go to my grandfather's for a few days,” answered + Richard. + </p> + <p> + This was by no means what lady Ann desired, but she did not see how to + oppose it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you had better go,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, my lady,” rejoined Richard, “I must see Mr. Lestrange + first. I cannot go without his permission.” + </p> + <p> + “I will speak to my son about it,” answered lady Ann, and went away, + feeling that Richard would be a dangerous enemy. She did not hate him: she + only regarded him as what might possibly prove an adverse force to be + encountered and frustrated because of her family, and because of the right + way of things—that those, namely, who had nothing should be kept + from getting anything. In the meantime the only thing clear was, that he + had better be got out of the neighbourhood! It was well sir Wilton had + hardly seen the young man: if there was anything about him capable of + rousing old memories, it were well it should not have the chance! Sir + Wilton was not fond of books, and it could be no great pleasure to him to + have the library set to rights; he was annoyed at being kept out of it, + for he liked to smoke his cigar there, and shuddered at the presence of a + working man except in the open air: she was certain he would feel nowise + aggrieved if the design were abandoned midway! The only person she feared + would oppose Tuke's departure, was Arthur. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII. <i>RICHARD AND ARTHUR</i>. + </h2> + <p> + She went to find him, told him what had happened to the young man, and, + feeling her way, proposed that he should go to his grandfather's for a few + days. Arthur started. Send him where he and Barbara would be constantly + meeting! Must he for ever imagine them walking up and down that field, + among the dandelions and daisies! He had discovered, he believed, all that + was between them, but was not therewith satisfied: she had found out, he + said to himself, that the fellow was an infidel, did not believe in God, + or a resurrection—was so low that he did not care to live for ever, + and she was trying to convert him. Arthur would rather he remained + unconverted than that <i>she</i> should be the means of converting him. + Nor indeed would he be much injured by having the growth of such a faith + as Arthur's prevented in him: Arthur prided himself in showing due respect + to <i>the Deity</i> by allowing that he existed. But the fellow was too + clever by half, he said, and would be much too much for her. Any theory + wild enough would be attractive to her, who never cared a pin-head what + the rest of the world believed! She had indeed a strong tendency to + pantheism, for she expected the animals to rise again—a most + unpleasant notion! Doubtless it was she that sought his company; a fellow + like that <i>could</i> not presume to seek hers! He was only laughing at + her all the time! What could an animal like him care about the animals: he + had not even a dog to love! He would <i>not</i> have him go to his + grandfather's! he would a thousand times rather give up the library! There + should be no more bookbinding at Mortgrange! He would send the books to + London to him! It would be degrading to allow personal feeling to affect + his behaviour to such a fellow; he should have the work all the same, but + not at Mortgrange! + </p> + <p> + So he answered his mother that he was rather tired of him, and thought + they had had enough of him; the work seemed likely to be spun out <i>ad + infinitum</i>, and this was a good opportunity for getting rid of him. He + was sorry, for it was the best way for the books, but he could send them + to him in London, and have them done there! The man, he understood, had + been making himself disagreeable too, and he did not want to quarrel with + him! He was a radical, and thought himself as good as anybody: it was much + best to let him go. He had at first liked him, and had perhaps shown it + more than was good for the fellow, so that he had come to presume upon it, + setting it down to some merit in himself. Happily he had retained the + right of putting an end to the engagement when he pleased! + </p> + <p> + This was far better than lady Ann had expected. Arthur went at once to + Richard, and speaking, as he thought, unconcernedly, told him they found + it inconvenient to have the library used as a workshop any longer, and + must make a change. + </p> + <p> + Richard was glad to hear it, thinking he meant to give him another room, + and said he could work just as well anywhere else: he wanted only a dry + room with a fire-place! Arthur told him he had arranged for what would be + more agreeable to both parties, namely, that he should do the work at + home. It would cost more, but he was prepared for that. He might go as + soon as he pleased, and they would arrange by letter how the books should + be sent—so many at a time! + </p> + <p> + Richard spied something more under his dismissal than the affair with Miss + Vixen; but he was too proud to ask for an explanation: Mr. Lestrange was + in the right of their compact. He felt aggrieved notwithstanding, and was + sorry to go away from the library. He would never again have the chance of + restoring such a library! He did not once think of it from the point of + gain: he could always make his living! It was to him a genuine pleasure to + cause any worthy volume look as it ought to look; and to make a whole + straggling library of books wasted and worn, put on the complexion, + uniform, and discipline of a well-conditioned company of the host of + heaven, was at least an honourable task! For what are books, I venture to + say, but an army-corps of the lord of hosts, at whose command are troops + of all natures, after the various regions of his indwelling! Even the + letter is something, for the dry bones of books are every hour coming + alive to the reader in whose spirit is blowing the better spirit. Richard + himself was one of such, though he did not yet know there was a better + spirit. Then again, there were not a few of the books with which + individually he was sorry to part. He had also had fine opportunity for + study, of which he was making good use, and the loss of it troubled him. + He had read some books he would hardly otherwise have been able to read, + and had largely extended his acquaintance with titles. + </p> + <p> + He was sorry too not to see more of Mr. Wingfold. He was a clergyman, it + was true, but not the least like any other clergyman he had seen! Richard + had indeed known nothing of any other clergyman out of the pulpit; and I + fear most clergymen are less human, therefore less divine, in the pulpit + than out of it! Many who out of the pulpit appear men, are in it little + better than hawkers of old garments, the worse for their new patches. Of + the forces in action for the renovation of the world, the sale of such old + clothes is one of the least potent. They do, however, serve a little, I + think, even as the rags of a Neapolitan for the olives of Italy, as a sort + of manure for the young olives of the garden of God. + </p> + <p> + But his far worst sorrow was leaving Miss Wylder. That was a pain, a keen + pain in his heart. For, that a woman is miles above him, as a star is + above a marsh-light, is no reason why a man should not love her. Nay, is + it not the best of reasons for loving her? The higher in soul, and the + lowlier in position he is, the more imperative and unavoidable is it that + he should love her; and the absence of any thought in the direction of + marriage leaves but the wider room for the love infinite. In a man capable + of loving in such fashion, there are no bounds to the possibilities, no + limit to the growth of love. Richard thought his soul was full, but a live + soul can never be full; it is always growing larger, and is always being + filled. + </p> + <p> + “Like one that hath been stunned,” he went about his preparations for + departure. + </p> + <p> + “You will go by the first train in the morning,” said Arthur, happening to + meet him in the stable-yard, whither Richard had gone to look if Miss + Brown was in her usual stall. “I have told Robert to take you and your + tools to the station in the spring-cart.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir,” returned Richard; “I shall not require the cart. I leave + the house to-night, and shall send for my things to-morrow morning. I have + them almost ready now.” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot go to London to-night!” + </p> + <p> + “I am aware of that, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then where are you going? I wish to know.” + </p> + <p> + “That is my business, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no cause to show temper,” said Arthur coldly. + </p> + <p> + “I should not have shown it, sir, had you not presumed to give me orders + after dismissing me,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I have not dismissed you; I mean to employ you still, only in London + instead of here,” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “That is a matter for fresh arrangement with my father,” rejoined Richard, + and left him. + </p> + <p> + Arthur felt a shadow cross him—almost like fear: he had but driven + Richard to his grandfather's, and had made an enemy of him! Nor could he + feel satisfied with himself; he could not get rid of the thought that what + he had done was not quite the thing for a gentleman to do. His trouble was + not that he had wronged Richard, but that he had wronged himself, had not + acted like his ideal of himself. He did not think of what was right, but + of what befitted a gentleman. Such a man is in danger of doing many things + unbefitting a gentleman. For the measure of a gentleman is not a man's + ideal of himself. + </p> + <p> + His uneasiness grew as day after day went by, and Barbara did not appear + at Mortgrange. He was not aware that Richard saw no more of her than + himself. He knew that he was at his grandfather's; he had himself seen him + at work at the anvil; but he did not know that the hope in which he + lingered there was vain. + </p> + <p> + Richard waited a week, but no Barbara came to the smithy. He could not + endure the thought of going away without seeing her once more. He must + once thank her for what she had done for him! He must let her know why he + had left Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + He would go and say good-bye to the clergyman: from him he might hear + something of her! + </p> + <p> + Wingfold caught sight of him approaching the house, and himself opened the + door to him. Taking him to his study, he made him sit down, and offered + him a pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir; I don't smoke,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Then don't learn. You are better without it,” answered Wingfold, and put + down his own pipe. + </p> + <p> + “I came,” said Richard, “to thank you for your kindness to me, and to ask + about Miss Wylder. Not having seen her for a long time, I was afraid she + might be ill. I am going away.” + </p> + <p> + There was a tremor in Richard's voice, of which he was not himself aware. + Wingfold noted it, pitied the youth because of the fuel he had stored for + suffering, and admired him for his straightforwardness. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to say you are not likely to see Miss Wylder,” he answered. + “Her mother is ill.” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly thought to see her, sir. Is her mother very ill?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very ill,” answered Wingfold. + </p> + <p> + “With anything infectious?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Her complaint is as little infectious as complaint could be; it is + just exhaustion—absolute prostration, mental and nervous. She is too + weak to think, and can't even feed herself. I fear her daughter will be + worn out waiting on her. She devotes herself to her mother with a spirit + and energy I never but once knew equalled. She never seems tired, never + out of spirits. I heard a lady say she couldn't have much feeling to look + cheerful when her mother was in such a state; but the lady was stupid. She + would wait on her own mother almost as devotedly as Miss Wylder, but with + such a lugubrious countenance that her patient might well seek refuge from + it in the grave. But it is no wonder she should be in good spirits: it is + the first time in her life, she says, that she has been allowed to be of + any use to her mother! Then she is not suffering pain, and that makes a + great difference. But more than all, her mother has grown so tender to + her, and so grateful, following her constantly about the room with her + eyes, that the girl says she feels in a paradise of which her mother is + the tutelar divinity, raying out bliss as she lies in bed! Also her father + is kinder to her mother. Little signs of tenderness pass between them—a + thing she has never known before! How could she be other than happy!—But + what is this you tell me about going away? The library cannot be + finished!” + </p> + <p> + Wingfold had dilated on the worth of Miss Wylder, and let Richard know of + her happiness, out of genuine sympathy. He knew that, next to the worship + of God, the true <i>worship</i> of a fellow-creature, in the old meaning + of the word, is the most potent thing for deliverance. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” answered Richard; “the library is left in mid ocean of decay. I + don't know why they have dismissed me. The only thing clear is, that they + want to be rid of me. What I have done I can't think. There is a little + girl of the family—” + </p> + <p> + Here he told how Vixen had from the first behaved to him, and what things + had happened in consequence, the last more particularly. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he concluded, “I do not think it can be that. I <i>should</i> like + to know what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Then wait,” said Wingfold. “If we only wait long enough, every reason + will come out. You know I believe we are not going to stop, but are meant + to go on and on for ever; and I believe the business of eternity is to + bring grand hidden things out into the light; and with them will come of + necessity many other things as well, even some, I daresay, that we count + trifles.—But I am sorry you're going.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why you should be, sir!” answered Richard, his look taking + from the words their seeming rudeness. + </p> + <p> + “Because I like you, and feel sure we should understand each other if only + we had time,” replied the parson. “It's a grand thing to come upon one who + knows what you mean. It's so much of heaven before you get there.—If + you think I'm talking shop, I can't help it—and I don't care, so + long as you believe I mean it. I would not have you think it the Reverend + Thomas and not Thomas himself that was saying it.” + </p> + <p> + “I should never say you talked shop, sir; and I don't think you would say + I was talking shop if I expatiated on the beauties of a Grolier binding! + You would see I was not talking from love of gain, but love of beauty!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. You are a fair man, and that is even more than an honest man! + I don't speak from love of religion; I don't know that I do love + religion.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you now, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here: I am very fond of a well-bound book; I should like all my new + books bound in levant morocco; but I don't <i>care</i> about it; I could + do well enough without any binding at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you could, sir! and so could I, or any man that cared for the + books themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well! I don't care about religion much, but I could not live without + my Father in heaven. I don't believe anybody can live without him.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + He thought he saw, but he did not see, and could not help smiling in his + heart as he said to himself, “<i>I</i> have lived a good many years + without him!” + </p> + <p> + Wingfold saw the shadow of the smile, and blamed himself for having spoken + too soon. + </p> + <p> + “When do you go?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I think I shall go to-morrow. I am at my grandfather's.” + </p> + <p> + “If I can be of use to you, let me know.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, sir; and I thank you heartily. There's nothing a man is so + grateful for as friendliness.” + </p> + <p> + “The obligation is mutual,” said Wingfold. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX. <i>MR., MRS., AND MISS WYLDER</i>. + </h2> + <p> + A new experience had come to Mrs. Wylder. Her passion over the death of + her son; her constant and prolonged contention with her husband; her + protest against him whom she called the Almighty; the public consequence + of the same; these, and the reaction from all these, had resulted in a + sudden sinking of the vital forces, so that she who had been like a + burning fiery furnace, was now like a heap of cooling ashes on a hearth, + with the daylight coming in. She had not only never known what illness + was, she did not even know what it was to feel unfit. Her consciousness of + health was so clear, so unmixed, so unencountered, that she had never had + a conception, a thought, a notion of what even that health was. Power and + strength had so constantly seemed part of her known self, that she never + thought of them: they were never far enough from her to be seen by her; + she did not suspect them as other than herself, or dream that they could + be disjoined from her. She could think only in the person of a strong + woman; she was aware only of the being of a strong woman. Even after she + had been some time helpless in bed, as often as she thought of anything + she would like to do, it was the act of trying to get up and do it that + made her aware afresh that she was no more the woman corresponding to her + consciousness of herself. For her consciousness had never yet presented + her as she really was, but always through the conditional and + non-essential, so that by accidents only was she characterized to herself. + Now she was too feeble even to care for the loss of her strength; her + weakness went too deep to be felt as an oppression, for it met with no + antagonism. Her inability to move was now no prison, and her attendant was + no slave with tardy feet, but an angel of God. + </p> + <p> + For her Bab was now the mother's one delight. Her love for her lost twin + had been in great part favouritism, partisanship, defence, opposition; her + love for Barbara was all tenderness and no pride. In her self-lack she + clung to her—as lordly dame, who had taken her castle for part of + herself, and impregnable, but, its walls crumbling under the shot of the + enemy, found herself defenceless before her captors, might turn and clasp + her little maid, suppliant for protection. Good is it that we are not what + we seem to ourselves “in our hours of ease,” for then we should never seek + the Father! The loss of all that the world counts <i>first things</i> is a + thousandfold repaid in the mere waking to higher need. It proves the + presence of the divine in the lower good, that its loss is so potent. A + man may send his gaze over the clear heaven, and suspect no God; when the + stifling cloud comes down, folds itself about him, shuts from him the + expanse of the universe, he begins to long for a hand, a sign, some shadow + of presence. Mrs. Wylder had not got so far as this yet, but she had + sought refuge in love; and what is the love of child, or mother, or dog, + but the love of God, shining through another being—which is a being + just because he shines through it. This was the one important result of + her illness, that, finding refuge in the love of her daughter, she loved + her daughter. The next point in her eternal growth would be to love the + God who made the child she loved, and whose love shone upon her through + the child. By nature she was a strong woman whom passion made weak. It + sucked at her will till first it hardened it to a more selfish + determination, then pulped it to a helpless obstinacy. The persistence + that goes with inclination has its force only from the weakness of pride + and the mean worship of self; it is the opposite of that free will which + is the reflex of the divine will, and the ministering servant-power to all + freedom, which resists and subdues the self of inclination, and is + obedient only to the self of duty. Where the temple of God has no windows, + earthquake must rend the roof, that the sunlight may enter. Barbara's + mother lay broken on her couch that the spirit of the daughter might enter + the soul of her mother—and with it the spirit of him who, in the + heart of her daughter, made her that which she was. + </p> + <p> + Her illness had lasted a month, when one day her husband, at Barbara's + prayer coming to see her, she feebly put out her hand asking for his, and + for a moment the divine child in the man opened its heavenly eyes. He took + the offered hand kindly, faltered a gentle-sounding commonplace or two, + and left her happier, with a strange little bird fluttering in his own + bosom. There are eggs of all the heavenly birds in our bosoms, and the + history of man is the incubation and hatching of these eggs. + </p> + <p> + She began to recover, but the recovery was a long one. As soon as she + thought her well enough, Barbara told her that Mr. Wingfold had been to + inquire after her almost every day, and asked whether she would not like + to see him. Mrs. Wylder was in a quiescent condition, non-combatant, + involving no real betterment, occasioned only by the absence of impulse. + But such a condition gives opportunity for the good, the gentle, the + loving, to be felt, and so recognized. The sufferer resembles a child that + has not been tempted, whose trial is yet to come. With recovery, fresh + claim will be put in by the powers of good. This claim will be resisted by + old habit, resuming its force in the return of physical and psychical + health,—and then comes the tug of war. For no one can be saved, as + he who knows his master would be saved, without the will being supreme in + the matter, without the choosing to fulfill all righteousness, to resist + the wrong, to do the right. Wingfold never built much on bed-repentance. + The aphorism of the devil sick and the devil well, is only too true. But + he welcomed the fresh opportunity for a beginning. He knew that pain and + sickness do rub some dirt from the windows toward the infinite, and that + things of the old unknown world whence we came, do sometimes look in at + them, a moment now, and a moment then, waking new old things that lie in + every child born into the world. I seem to see the great marshes where the + souls go wandering about after the bog-fires; a kiss blown from the walls + of the city comes wavering down among them; it flits hither and thither + with the dead-lights; it finds a soul with a spot on which it can alight; + it settles there; and kisses it alive. God is the God of patience, and + waits and waits for the child who keeps him waiting and will not open the + door. + </p> + <p> + Wingfold went to see her, but took good care to press nothing upon her. He + let her give him the lead. She spoke of her weakness, and the parson drew + out her moan. She praised her Barbara, and the parson praised her again in + words that opened the mother's eyes to new beauties in her daughter. She + mentioned her weariness, and the parson spoke of the fields and the soft + wind and the yellow shine of the butter-cups in the grass. Her heart was + gently drawn to the man whose eyes were so keen, whose voice was so mellow + and strong, and whose words were so lovely sweet, saying the things that + were in her own heart, but would not come out. + </p> + <p> + One day he proposed to read something, and she consented. I will not say + what he read, for I would avoid waking controversy as to fitness. He + thought he knew what he was about. The good in a <i>true</i> book, he + would say, is the best protection against what may not be so good in it; + its wrong as well as its right may wake the conscience: the thoughts of a + book accuse and excuse one another. In saying so, he took the true reader + for granted; to an untrue reader the truth itself is untrue. The general + sense of honour, he would say, has been stimulated not a little by the + story of the treachery of Jael. Nor was it any wonder he should succeed in + interesting Mrs. Wylder, for she had a strong brain as well as a big + heart. More than half her faults came of an indignant sense of wrong. She + had passionately loved her husband once, but he had soon ceased even the + show of returning her affection, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And to be wroth with one we love + Doth work like madness in the brain. +</pre> + <p> + After a fierce struggle against the lessons life would have her taught, a + struggle continued to her fortieth year, she was now at length a pupil in + another school, where the schoolroom was her bed, the book of Quiet her + first study, her two attendants a clergyman and her own daughter, and her + one teacher, God himself. In that schoolroom, the world began to open to + her a little. Among men who could, without seeming to aim at it, make + another think, I have not met the equal of Wingfold. His mode was that of + the open-hearted apostle, who took men by guile. He called out the + thoughts lurking in their souls, and set them dealing with those thoughts, + not with him: they were slow to discover that he was a divine musician, + playing upon the holy strings of their hearts; they thought the tunes came + alive in their own air—as indeed they did, only another hand woke + them. To work thus, he had to lay bare not a little of his own feeling, + but where it was brotherly to show feeling, he counted it unchristian to + hide it. Feeling by itself, however, that came and went without + correspondent action, he counted not only weak and mawkish, but tending to + the devilish. + </p> + <p> + Barbara was happy all day long. Life seemed about to blossom into a great + flower of scarlet and gold. She had learned from the parson that the + bookbinder was gone, but was at the time too busy and too anxious to + question him as to the cause of his going. Till her mother was well, it + was enough to know that Richard had wanted to see her, doubtless to tell + her all about it. She often thought of him, what he had done for her, and + what she had tried to do for him, and was certain he would one day believe + in God. She did not suspect any quarrel with the people at Mortgrange. She + thought perhaps the secret concerning him had come out, and he did not + choose to remain in a house the head of which, if lady Ann's tale was + true, had so bitterly wronged his mother. As soon as she was able she + would go and hear of him from his grandfather! There was no hurry! She + would certainly see him again before long! And he would be sure to write! + It did not occur to her that a man in his position would hardly venture to + approach her again, without some renewed approach on her part; and for a + long time she was nowise uneasy. + </p> + <p> + The hope alive in Wingfold made him a true consoler; and the very sight of + him was a strength to Barbara. She regarded him with profound reverence, + and his wife as most enviable of women: could she not learn from his mouth + the rights of a thing, the instant she opened hers to ask them? Barbara + did not know how much the sympathy, directness, and dear common sense of + Helen, had helped to keep awake, support, and nourish the insight of her + husband. She did not know, good and powerful as Wingfold must have been + had he never married, how much wiser, more useful, and more aspiring he + had grown because Helen was Helen, and his wife, sent as certainly as ever + angel in the old time. The one fault she had in the eyes of her husband + was, that she was so indignant with affectation or humbug of any sort, as + hardly to give the better thing that might coexist with it, the needful + chance. + </p> + <p> + So long as evil comes to the front, it appears an interminable, + unconquerable thing. But all the time there may be a change, positive as + inexplicable, at the very door. How is it that a child begins to be good? + Upon what fulcrum rests the knife-edge of alteration? As undistinguishable + is the moment in which the turn takes place; equally perplexing to keenest + investigation the part of the being in which the renovation commences. Who + shall analyze repentance, as a force, or as a phenomenon! You cannot see + it coming! Before you know, there it is, and the man is no more what he + was; his life is upon other lines! The wind hath blown. We saw not whence + it came, or whither it went, but the new birth is there. It began in the + spiritual infinitesimal, where all beginnings are. The change was begun in + Mrs. Wylder. But the tug of her war was to come. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann had not once been to see her since first calling when she + arrived. Naturally she did not take to her. In the eyes of lady Ann, Mrs. + Wylder was insufferable—a vulgar, arrogant, fierce woman, + purse-proud and ignorant. But a keen moral eye would have perceived lady + Ann vastly inferior to Mrs. Wylder in everything right-womanly. Lady Ann + was the superior by the changeless dignity of her carriage, but her + self-assured pre-eminence was offensive, and her drawling deliberation far + more objectionable than Mrs. Wylder's abrupt movements, or the rough and + ready speech that accompanied her eager dart at the gist of a matter. Even + the look that would kill a man if it could, never roused such hate as + sprang to meet the icy stare of her passionless ladyship. Many a man with + no admiration of the florid, would have sought refuge in Mrs. Wylder's + plump face, vivid with an irritable humanity, from the moveless pallor of + lady Ann's delicately formed cheek, and the pinched thinness of her fine, + poverty-stricken nose. Oh those pinched nostrils, the very outcry of + inward meanness! will they ever open to the full tide of a surging breath? + What vital interweaving of gladness and grief will at length make strong + and brave and unselfish the heart that sent out those nostrils? Less than + a divine shame will never make it the heart of a fearless, bountiful, + redeeming woman. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Wylder was nowise annoyed that lady Ann did not call a second time. + She did not care enough to mind, and preferred not seeing her. They had in + common as near nothing as humanity permitted. “Stuck-up kangaroo!” she + cried her. + </p> + <p> + “I'll lay you my best sapphire,” she said to her daughter, in the hearing + of Wingfold, whose presence she had forgotten, “that for the last three + hundred years not a woman of her family has suckled her own young!” + </p> + <p> + Neither mother nor daughter had shown the least deference to lady Ann's + exalted position. The first movement of her dislike to Mrs. Wylder was + caused by her laughing and talking as unrestrainedly in her presence as in + that of the doctor's wife, who happened to be in the room when lady Ann + entered. But now that danger, not to say ruin, appeared in the distance, + she must, for the sake of her son, wronged by his father's having married + another woman before his mother, neglect no chance! Arthur had been to + Wylder Hall repeatedly, but Barbara had not seen him! She must go herself, + and pay some court to the young heiress! She was anxious also to learn + whether any chagrin was concerned in her continuous absence from + Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + Barbara received her heartily, and they talked a little, lady Ann + imagining herself very pleasing: she rarely condescended to make herself + agreeable, and measured her success by her exertion. She found Barbara in + such good spirits that she pronounced her heartless—not to her son, + or to any but herself, who would not have come near her but for the money + to be got with her. She begged her, notwithstanding, for the sake of her + complexion, to leave her mother an hour or two now and then, and ride over + to Mortgrange. Incessant watching would injure her health, and health was + essential to beauty! Barbara protested that nothing ever hurt her; that + she was the only person she knew fit to be a nurse, because she was never + ill. When her ladyship, for once oblivious of her manners, grew + importunate, Barbara flatly refused. + </p> + <p> + “You must pardon me, lady Ann,” she said; “I cannot, and I will not leave + my mother.” + </p> + <p> + Then lady Ann thought it might be wise to make a little more of the mother + to whom she seemed so devoted. She had imagined the daughter of the coarse + woman must feel toward her as she did, and suspected a coarser grain in + the daughter than she had supposed, because she was not disgusted with her + mother. She did not know that eyes of love see the true being where other + eyes see only its shadow; and shadows differ a good deal from their + bodies. + </p> + <p> + But meeting Mr. Wylder in the avenue as she returned, and stopping her + carriage to speak to him, lady Ann changed her mind, and resolved to curry + favour with the husband instead of the wife. For hitherto she had scarcely + seen Mr. Wylder, and knew about him only by unfavourable hearsay; but she + was charmed with him now, and drew from him a promise to go and dine at + Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + Bab went singing back to her mother, who was never so ill that she did not + like to hear her voice. She could not always bear it in the room, but + outside she was never tired of it. So Bab went about the house singing + like a mavis. But she never passed a servant, male or female, without + ceasing her song to say a kind word; and her mother, who, now that she had + got on a little, lay listening with her keenest of ears, knew by the + checks and changes of Bab's song, something of what was going on in the + house. If one asked Bab what made her so happy, she would answer that she + had nothing to make her unhappy; and there was more philosophy in the + answer than may at first appear. For certainly the normal condition of + humanity is happiness, and the thing that should be enough to make us + happy, is simply the absence of anything to make us unhappy. + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” she would answer another time, “is making me happy.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I <i>am</i> happiness,” she said once. + </p> + <p> + How could she <i>naturally</i> be other than happy, seeing she came of + happiness! “Il lieto fattore,” says Dante; “whose happy-making sight,” + says Milton. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wylder went and dined with sir Wilton and lady Ann. The latter did her + poor best to please him, and was successful. It had always been an + annoyance to Mr. Wylder that his wife was not a lady. In the bush he did + not feel it; but now he saw, as well as knew, wherein she was inferior, + and did not see wherein she excelled. It was the more consolation to him + that lady Ann praised his daughter, her beauty, her manners, her wit—praised + her for everything, in short, that she thought hers, and for some things + she thought were not hers. But she hinted that it would be of the greatest + benefit to Barbara to have the next season in London. The girl had met + nobody, and might, in her ignorance and innocence, being such an eager, + impetuous, warm-hearted creature, with her powers of discrimination of + course but little cultivated, make unsuitable friendships that would lead + to entanglement; while, well chaperoned, she might become one of the first + ladies in the county. She took care to let her father know at the same + time, or think he knew, that, although her son would be only a baronet, he + would be rich, for the estates were in excellent condition and free of + encumbrance; and hinted that there was now a fine chance of enlarging the + property, neighbouring land being in the market at a low price. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wylder had indeed hoped for a higher match, but lady Ann, being an + earl's daughter, had influence with him. The remaining twin was so + delicate that it was very doubtful if he would succeed: if he did not, and + land could be had between to connect the two properties of Mortgrange and + Wylder, the estate would be far the finest in the county; when, as lady + Ann hinted, means might be used to draw down the favour of Providence in + the form of a patent of nobility. + </p> + <p> + To lady Ann, London was the centre of love-making, and Arthur, she said to + herself, would show to better advantage there than in the country. The + place where she had herself been nearest to falling in love, was a + ball-room: the heat apparently had half thawed her. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wylder thought lady Ann was right, and the best thing for Barbara + would be to go to London: lady Ann would present her at court, and she + would doubtless be the belle of the season. Her chance would be none the + worse of making a better match than with Arthur Lestrange. + </p> + <p> + It may seem odd that a like reflection did not occur to lady Ann: far more + eligible men than her son might well be drawn to such a bit of sunshine as + Barbara; but just what in Barbara was most attractive, lady Ann was least + capable of appreciating. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL. <i>IN LONDON</i> + </h2> + <p> + It was into the first of the London fogs of the season that Richard, after + a slow parliamentary journey, got out of his third-class carriage, at the + great dim station. He took his portmanteau in one hand, and his bag of + tools in the other, and went to look for an omnibus. How terribly dull the + streets were! and how terribly dull and commonplace all inside him! Into + the far dark, the splendour of life, Barbara, had vanished! Various + memories of her, now this look, now that, now this attire, now that—a + certain button half torn from her riding habit—the feeling of her + foot in his hand as he lifted her to Miss Brown's back—would enter + his heart like the proclamation of a queen on a progress through her + dominions. The way she drove the nails into her mare's hoof; the way she + would put her hand on his shoulder as she slid from the saddle; the + commanding love with which she spoke to the great animal, and the way Miss + Brown received it; the sweet coaxing respect she showed his + blacksmith-grandfather; the tone of her voice when she said <i>God</i>;—a + thousand attendant shadows glided in her queen-procession, one after the + other in single file, through his brain, and his heart, and his every + power. He forgot the omnibus, and went tramping through the dreary streets + with his portmanteau and a small bag of tools—he had sent home his + heavier things before—thinking ever of Barbara, and not scorning + himself for thinking of her, for he thought of her as true lady herself + would never scorn to be thought of by honest man. No genuine unselfish + feeling is to be despised either by its subject or its object. That + Barbara was lovely, was no reason why Richard should not love her! that + she was rich, was no reason why he should forget her! She came into his + life as a star ascends above the horizon of the world: the world cannot + say to it, “Go down, star.” Yea, Richard's star raised him as she rose. In + her presence he was at once rebuked and uplifted. She was a power within + him. He could not believe in God, but neither could he think belief in + such a God as she believed in, degrading. He said to himself that + everything depended on the kind of God believed in; and that the kind of + God depended on the kind of woman. He wondered how many ideas of God there + might be, for every one who believed in him must have a different idea. + “Some of them must be nearer right than others!” he said to himself—nor + perceived that he was beginning to entertain the notion of a real God. For + he saw that the notions of the best men and women must be convergent, and + was not far from thinking that such lines must point to some object, + rather than an empty centre: the idea of the best men and women must be a + believable idea, might be a true idea, might therefore be a real + existence. He had not yet come to consider the fact, that the best of men + said he knew God; that God was like himself, only greater; that whoever + would do what he told him should know that God, and know that he spoke the + truth concerning him; that he had come from him to witness of him that he + was truth and love. Richard had indeed started on a path pointing + thitherward, but as yet all concerning the one necessary entity was + vaguest speculation with him. He did feel, however, that to give in to + Barbara altogether, would not make him a believer such as Barbara. On the + other hand, he was yet far from perceiving that no man is a believer, let + him give his body to be burned, except he give his will, his life to the + Master. No man is a believer with whom he and his father are not first; no + man, in a word, who does not obey him, that is, who does not do what he + said, and says. It seems preposterous that such definition should be + necessary; but thousands talk about him for one that believes in him; + thousands will do what the priests and scribes say he commands, for one + who will search to find what he says that he may do it—who will take + his orders from the Lord himself, and not from other men claiming either + knowledge or authority. A man must come up to the Master, hearken to his + word, and do as he says. Then he will come to know God, and to know that + he knows him. + </p> + <p> + When he stopped thinking of Barbara, all was dreary about Richard. But he + did not once say to himself, “She does not love me!” did not once ask, + “Does she love me?” He said, “She cares for me; she is good to me! I wish + I believed as she does, that I might hope to meet her again in the house + of the one Father!” + </p> + <p> + It was Saturday night, and he had to go through a weekly market, a + hurrying, pushing, loitering, jostling crowd, gathered thick about the + butchers' and fishmongers' shops, the greengrocers' barrows, and the trays + upon wheels with things laid out for sale. Suddenly a face flashed upon + him, and disappeared. He was not sure that it was Alice's, but it + suggested Alice so strongly that he turned and tried to overtake it. + Impeded by his luggage, however, which caught upon hundreds of legs, he + soon saw the attempt hopeless. Then with pain he remembered that he had + not her address, and did not know how to communicate with her. He longed + to learn why she had left him without a word, what her repeated avoidance + of him meant; far more he desired to know where she was that he might help + her, and how she fared. But Barbara was her friend! Barbara knew her + address! He would ask her to send it him! He hardly thought she would, for + she was in the secret of Alice's behaviour, but, joy to think, it would be + a reason for writing to her! His heart gave a bound in his bosom. Who + could tell but she might please to send him the fan-wind of a letter now + and then, keeping the door, just a chink of it, open between them, that + the voice of her slave might reach her on the throne of her loveliness! He + walked the rest of the way with a gladder heart; he was no longer without + a future; there was something to do, and something to wait for! Days are + dreary unto death which wrap no hope in their misty folds. + </p> + <p> + His uncle and aunt received him with more warmth than he had ever known + them show. They were in good spirits about him, for they had all the time + been receiving news of him and Barbara, with not a word of Alice, from old + Simon. Jane's heart swelled with the ambition that her boy should as a + working-man gain the love of a well born girl, and reward her by making + her <i>my lady</i>. + </p> + <p> + I do not think Mrs. Tuke could have loved a son of her own body more than + this son of her sister; but she was constantly haunted with a vague + uneasiness about the possible consequences to herself and her husband of + what she had done, and the obstacles that might rise to prevent his + restoration; and this uneasiness had its share both in repressing the show + of her love, and in making her go to church so regularly. Her pleasure in + going was not great, but she was not the less troubled that Richard did + not care about going. She was still in the land of bullocks and goats; she + went to church with the idea that she was doing something for God in + going. It is always the way. Until a man knows God, he seeks to obey him + by doing things he neither commands nor cares about; while the things for + the sake of which he sent his son, the man regards as of little or no + consequence. What the son says about them, he takes as a matter of course + for him to say, and for himself to neglect. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Tuke noted, the next day, that, as often almost as he was still, a + shadow settled on Richard's face, and he looked lost and sad: but it only + occurred to her that of course he must miss Barbara, never that he + cherished no hope such as she would have counted hope. She took it almost + as an omen of final success when in the evening he asked her if she would + not like him to go to church with her. He felt as if in church he would be + nearer Barbara, for he knew that now she went often. But alas, while there + he sat, he felt himself drifting farther and farther from her! The foolish + utterances of the parson made him deeply regret that he had gone. While he + believed, or at least was willing to believe, that they misrepresented + Christianity, they awoke all his old feelings of instinctive repulsion, + and overclouded his discrimination. Almost as little could he endure the + unnature as the untruth of what he heard. It had no ring of reality, no + spark of divine fire, no appealing radiance of common sense, little of any + verity at all. There was in it, as nearly as possible, nothing at all to + mediate between mind and mind, between truth and belief, between God and + his children. The clergyman was not a hypocrite—far from it! He was + in some measure even a devout man. But in his whole presentation of God + and our relation to him, there was neither thought nor phrase germane to + sunrise or sunset, to the firmament or the wind or the grass or the trees; + nothing that came to the human soul as having a reality true as that of + the world but higher; as holding with the life lived in it, with the hopes + and necessities of the heart and mind. If “the hope of the glory of God” + must be fashioned in like sort, then were the whole affair of creation and + redemption both dull and desperate. There was no glow, no enthusiasm in + the man—neither could there be, with the notions he held. His God + suggested a police magistrate—and not a just one. + </p> + <p> + Richard would gladly have left the place, and wandered up and down in the + drizzle until, the service over, his mother should appear; but for her + sake he sat out the misery. + </p> + <p> + “The man,” he said to himself, “does not give us one peg on which to hang + the love of God that he tells us we ought to feel! Love a God like that! + If he were as good as my mother, I would love him! But we have all to look + out to protect ourselves from him! Mr. Parson, there's no such being as + you jabber about! It puzzles me to think what my mother gets from you.” + </p> + <p> + He had written his letter to Barbara, and when they came out he posted it. + A long, long time of waiting followed; but no waiting brought any answer. + Lady Ann had dropped a hint, and Mr. Wylder had picked it up, a hint + delicate, but forcible enough to make him do what he had never done before—keep + an outlook on the letters that came for his daughter. When Richard's + arrived, it did not look to him that of a gentleman. The writing was good, + but precise; it was sealed with red wax, but the impression was sunk: a + proper seal had not been used! Especially where his own family was + concerned, Mr. Wylder was not the most delicate of men! he opened the + letter, and in it found what he called a rigmarole of poetry and theology! + “Confound the fellow!” he said to himself. Lady Ann did well to warn him! + There should be no more of this! The scatter-brain took after her mother! + He would give it her hot! + </p> + <p> + But he neither gave it her hot, nor gave her the letter; he did not say a + word. He feared the little girl he pretended to protect, and knew that if + he entered the lists with her, she would be too much for him. But he did + not understand that the mean in him dared not confront the noble in his + child. So Richard's letter only had it hot; it went into the fire, and Bab + never read the petition of her poor friend. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Richard went to the shop, and fell to the first job that + came to his hand. He acquainted his father with Lestrange's proposal in + regard to the library: Mr. Tuke would have him accept it. + </p> + <p> + “You shall have all it brings,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want the money!” returned Richard. + </p> + <p> + “But I want the honour of the thing,” replied his uncle. “You answered the + young gentleman sharply: you had better let me write!” + </p> + <p> + Richard made no objection. He would gladly keep the door open to any place + where the shadow of Barbara might fall, and was willing therefore to + pocket the offence of his causeless dismissal. But no notice was taken of + Tuke's letter, and a gulf of negation seemed to yawn between the houses. + </p> + <p> + Thus was initiated a dreary time for Richard. Now first he began to know + what unhappiness was. The seeming loveless weather that hung over the + earth and filled the air, was in joyless harmony with his feelings. But + had his trouble fallen in a more genial season, it would have been worse. + He had never been with Barbara in the winter, and it did not seem so + unnatural to be without her now. Had it been summer, all the forms of + earth and air would have brought to him the face and voice and motion of + Barbara; and yet the soul would have been gone from them. The world would + have been worse dead then than now in the winter. Barbara had been the + soul of it—more than a sun to it. + </p> + <p> + He could not, however, dead as the world seemed, remain a moment indoors + after his work was done. Whatever sort the weather, out he must go, often + on the Thames, heedless of cold or wind or rain. His mother grew anxious + about him, attributed his unrest to despair, and feared she might have to + tell him her secret. She recoiled from setting free what she had kept in + prison for so many years. In her own mind she had settled his coming of + age as the term of his humiliation, and she would gladly keep to it. She + shrunk from losing him, from breaking up the happiness that lay in seeing + him about the house. But that her husband had insisted on accustoming + themselves to live without him, she would hardly have consented to his + late absence. She shrunk also from the measures necessary to reinstate + him, and from the commotion those measures must occasion. It was so much + easier to go on as they were doing! and delay could not prejudice his + right! In fact, most of the things that made her take the baby, were + present still, making her desire to keep the youth. A day would come when + she must part with him, but that day was not yet! She dreaded uncaging her + secret, because of the change it must work, whether immediate action were + taken or not. She never suspected that anyone knew or surmised it but + herself, or that she had to beware of any tongue but her own. + </p> + <p> + Her husband left the matter entirely to her. It was her business, he said, + from the first, and he would let it be hers to the last. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI. <i>NATURE AND SUPERNATURE.</i> + </h2> + <p> + But Richard soon began to recover both from the separation and from his + disappointment in regard to his letter. He was satisfied that whatever + might be the cause of her silence, it came from no fault in Barbara. + Nothing ever shook his faith in her. + </p> + <p> + And soon he found that he looked now upon the world with eyes from which a + veil had been withdrawn. Barbara gone, mother Earth came nigh to comfort + her child. He had always delighted in the beauty of the world—in + what shows of earth and air were to be seen in London. The sunset that + filled as with a glowing curtain the end of some street where he walked, + would go on glowing in his heart when it left the street. Even in winter + he would now and then go out to see the sunrise, and see it; and from the + street might now and then, at rare times, he beheld a dappling and + streaking, a mottling and massing of clouds on the blue. The fog of the + London valley, and the smoke of the London chimneys, did not <i>always</i>, + any more than the cares and sorrows and sins of its souls, blot out its + heaven as if it had never looked on the earth. But he had learned much + since he went to the country; he had gone nearer to Nature, and seen that + in her lap she carried many more things than he knew of; and now that + Barbara was gone, the memories of Nature came nearer to him: he remembered + her and was glad. Soon he began to find that, both as regards Nature and + those whom we love, absence is, for very nearness, often better than + presence itself. He had been used to think and talk of Nature either as an + abstraction, or as the personification of a force that knew nothing, and + cared for nothing, was nobody, was nothing; now it gradually came to him, + and gained upon him ere he knew, first that the things about him wore + meanings, and held them up to him, then that something was thinking, + something was meaning the things themselves, and so moving thoughts in + him, that came and went unforeseen, unbidden. Thoughts clothed in things + were everywhere about him, over his head, under his feet, and in his + heart; and as often as anything brought him pleasure, either through + memory or in present vision, it brought Barbara too; and she seemed their + maker, when she was but one of the fair company, the lady of the land. + Everything beautiful turned his face to the more beautiful, more precious, + diviner Barbara. With each new sense of loveliness, she floated up from + where she lay, ever ready to rise, in the ocean of his heart. She was the + dweller of his everywhere! + </p> + <p> + He knew that Barbara did not make these things; it only seemed as if she + made them because she was the better joy of them: did not the fact show + how the fiction of a God might have sprung up in the minds that had no + Barbara to look like the maker of the loveliness? But Barbara was there + already, known and loved. The mind did not invent Barbara. And again, why + should the mind want anyone to look like a maker, an indweller, an <i>ingeniuer</i>—to + use a word of Shakespeare's invention? Yet again, why should the thought + of Barbara <i>suggest</i> a soul, that is, a causing, informing presence, + to these things? Was there a meaning in them? How did they come to have + that meaning? Could it be that, having come out of nothing—the mind + of man, and all the things, out of the same nothing, they responded enough + to each other for the man to find his own reflex wherever he pleased to + look for it? Only, if man and Nature came both out of nothing, why should + they not be nothing to each other? why should not man be nothing to + himself? As it was, one nothing, having no thought, meant the same the + other nothing meant, having thought!—and hence came all the beauty + of the world! And once again, if these things meant nothing but what the + mind put into them—its own thought, namely, of them—they did + not really mean anything, they were only imagined to mean it; and why + should he, if but for a moment, imagine Barbara at the root of nothing? + And why should he not, seeing she was herself nothing? Or was he to + consent to be fooled, and act as if there was something where he knew + there was nothing? + </p> + <p> + The truth of Richard's love appeared in this that he was more able now to + see the other side of a thing, to start objection to his own idea from the + side of one who thought differently. + </p> + <p> + “If I feel,” he would say to himself, “as if these things meant something, + and conclude that they only mean <i>me,</i> being the body to me, who am + the soul of them; and still more if I conclude that the sum of them is the + blind cause of me; then, when I grow sick of myself, finding no comfort, + no stay in myself for myself, and know that I need another, say <i>another + self,</i> then the seeming sympathy that Nature offers me, is the merest + mockery! It is only my own self—myself gone behind and peeping round + a corner, grinning back sympathy at me from its sickening death-mask! Why + should man need another if he came from nothing? But he came from a father + and mother: man needed the woman: will not that explain the thing? No; for + even the relation itself needs to be comforted and sustained and + defended!” + </p> + <p> + Why was there so much, and most of all in himself, for which, as Richard + was beginning to understand, even a Barbara could not suffice? Why also + did her sufficiency depend so much on her faith in an all-sufficient? And + why was there so often such a gulf betwixt the two that seemed made for + each other? Ah! they were made for each other only in the general! For the + individual, Nature did not care; she had no time! Then how was it that he + cared for Nature? If Nature meant anything, was an intelligence, a sort of + God, why should he, the individual, who loved as an individual, was a + blessing or curse to himself as an individual—why should he care + anything for one who loved only in the general? Could a man love in + general? Yes; he himself loved his kind and sought to deliver them from + superstition. But that was because he could think of them as a multitude + of individuals. If he had never loved father, mother, or friend, would he + have loved in the general? Would crowds of men and women have <i>awaked</i> + love in him? If so, then the bigger crowd must always move the greater + love! No; it is from the individual we go to the many. Love that was only + in the general, that cared for the nation, the race, and let the + individual perish, could not be love. He would be no God who cared only + for a world or a race. The live conscious individual man could not love or + worship him! And if no individual worshipped, where would be the worship + of the crowd? Still less could a vague creator of masses, that knew + nothing of individuals, being himself not individual, be worthy to be + called God! Demon be might be—never God! But if God were a person, + an individual, and so loved the individual!—ah, then indeed!—Barbara + believed that such a God lived all about and in us! Mr. Wingfold said he + was too great to prove, too near to see, but the greater and the nearer, + the more fit to be loved! There were things against it! Nature herself + seemed against it, for, lovely us she was, she did awful things! Could + Nature have come from one source, and God be another source from which + came man? He was too near Nature, too much at home with her, to believe + it. Could it be one Nature that made all the lovely things, and another + Nature that decreed their fate? That also he could not believe: they and + their fate must be from one hand, or heart, or will! He could but hope + there might be some way of reconciling the terrible dissonance between + Nature and Barbara's God! If there was such a way, if their contradiction + was only in seeming, then the very depth of their unity might be the cause + of their seeming discord! + </p> + <p> + Something in this way the mind of Richard felt and thought and saw and + doubted and speculated. Then he would turn to the ancient story—still + because “Barbara said.” + </p> + <p> + The God Barbara believed in was like Jesus Christ!—not at all like + the God his mother believed in! Jesus was one that could be loved: he + could not have come to reveal such a God as his mother's, for he was no + revelation of that kind of a God! He was gentle, and cared for the + individual! And he said he loved the Father! But he was his son, and a + good son might love a bad father. Yes, but could a bad God have a good + son? No; the son of God must be the revelation of his father; such as the + Son is, just such and no other must the Father be; there cannot but be + harmony between the beings of the two! + </p> + <p> + In very truth there must appear schism in Nature, yea schism in God + himself, until we see that the ruling Father and the suffering Son are of + one mind, one love, one purpose; that in the Father the Son rules, in the + Son the Father suffers; that with the Son the other children must suffer + and rise to rule. To Richard's eyes there was schism everywhere; no + harmony, no right, no concord, no peace! And yet all science pointed to + harmony, all imagination thirsted for it, all conscience commanded it! all + music asserted and prophesied it! all progress was built on the notion of + it! all love, the only thing yielding worth to existence, was a partial + realization of it! So that the schism came even to this, that harmony + itself was divided against itself, asserting that the thing that was not, + and could not be, yet ought to be! Nothing but harmony has a real, a true, + an essential being; yet here were thousands of undeniable things which + seemed to exist in very virtue of their lack of harmony! There were shocks + and recoils in every part of every thinking soul, in every part of the + object-world! And yet in certain blissful pauses, unlooked for, uncaused + by man, certain sudden silences of the world, an eternal harmony would for + one moment manifest itself behind the seething conflicting discords that + fill the atmosphere of the soul—straightway to vanish again, it is + true, but into the heart of Hope that saves men. If harmony was not at one + with itself in its harmony, neither was discord at one with itself in its + discordancy! Now and then all nature seemed on the point of breaking into + a smile, and saying, “Ah, children! if you but knew what I know!” Why did + she not say what she knew? Why should she hide the thing that would make + her children blessed? + </p> + <p> + The thought, half way to an answer, did not come to Richard then: What if + we are not yet able to understand her secret—therefore not able to + see it although it lies open before us? What if the difficulty lies in us! + What if Nature is doing her best to reveal! What if God is working to make + us know—if we would but let him—as fast as ever he can! There + is one thing that will not be pictured, cannot be made notionally present + to the mind by any effort of the imagination—one thing that requires + the purest faith: a man's own ignorance and incapacity. It is impossible + to think of the object of our ignorance, how then realize the ignorance + whose very centre is a blank, a negation! When a man knows, then first he + gets a glimpse of his ignorance as it vanishes. Ignorance, I say, cannot + be the object of knowledge. We must <i>believe</i> ourselves ignorant. And + for that we must be humble of heart. When our world seems clear to the + horizon, when the constellations beyond look plainest, when we seem to be + understanding all within our scope, then have we yet to believe that, + unseen, formally unsuspected, beyond, lies that which may wither up many + forms of our belief, and must modify every true form in which we hold the + truth. For God is infinite, and we are his little ones, and his truth is + eternally better than the best shape in which we see it. Jesus is perfect, + but is our idea of him perfect? One thing only is changeless truth in us, + and that is—obedient faith in him and his father. Even that has to + grow—but with a growth which is not change. That there is a greater + life than that we feel—yea, a life that causes us, and is absolutely + and primarily essential to us—of this truth we have a glimpse; but + no man will arrive at the peace of it by struggling with the roots of his + nature to understand them, for those roots go down and out, out and down + infinitely into the infinite. It is by acting upon what he sees and knows, + hearkening to every whisper, obeying every hint of the good, following + whatever seems light, that the man will at length arrive. Thus obedient, + instead of burying himself in the darkness about its roots, he climbs to + the tree-top of his being; and looking out thence on the eternal world in + which its roots vanish and from which it draws its nourishment, he will + behold and understand at least enough to give him rest—and how much + more, let his Hope of the glory of God stand at its window and tell him. + For in his climbing, the man will, somewhere in his progress upward, the + progress of obedience, of accordance to the law of things, awake to know + that the same spirit is in him that is in the things he beholds; and that + his will, his individuality, his consciousness, as it infolds, so it must + find the spirit, that root of himself, which is infinitely more than + himself, that “one God and Father of all, who is above all, and through + all, and in you all.” When He is known, then all is well. Then is being, + and in it the growth of being, laid open to him. God is the world, the + atmosphere, the element, the substance, the essence of his life. In him he + lives and moves and has his being. Now he lives indeed; for his Origin is + his, and this rounds his being to eternity. God himself is his, as nothing + else could be his. The serpent of doubt is gagged with his own tail, and + becomes the symbol of the eternal. + </p> + <p> + Dissatisfaction is but the reverse of the medal of life. So long as a man + is satisfied, he seeks nothing; when a fresh gulf is opened in his being, + he must rise and find wherewithal to fill it. Our history is the opening + of such gulfs, and the search for what will fill them. + </p> + <p> + But Richard was far yet from having his head above the cloudy region of + moods and in the blue air of the unchangeable. As the days went by and + brought him no word from Barbara, the darkness again began to gather + around him. There are as many changes in a lover's weather as in that of + England. The sad consolations of nature by degrees forsook him; they grew + all sadness and no consolation. The winter of his soul wept steadily upon + him, laden with frost and death. He went back to his stern denial of a + God. He thought he had no need of any God, because he had no hope in any. + </p> + <p> + Strangely, but in accordance with his nature, while he denied God, he + denied him resentfully. “If there were a God,” he said, “why should I pray + to him? He has taken from me the one good his world held for me!” Not an + hour would he postpone judgment of him; not one century would he give the + God of patience to justify himself to his impatient child! He lost his + love of reading. A book was to him like a grinning death's-head. He + ministered to it no longer with his mind, but only with his hands. He + hated the very look of poetry. The straggling lines of it were loathsome + to his eyes. Where, in such a world as he now lived in, could live a God + worth being? Where indeed? Richard made his own weather, and it was bad + enough. Happily, there is no law compelling a man to keep up the weather + or the world he has made. Never will any man devise or develop mood or + world fit to dwell in. He must inhabit a world that inhabits him, a world + that envelops and informs every thought and imagination of his heart. + </p> + <p> + In Richard's world, the one true, the one divine thing was its misery, for + its misery was its need of God. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII. <i>YET A LOWER DEEP.</i> + </h2> + <p> + But while thus Richard suffered, scarce knew, and cared nothing, how the + days went and came, he did his best to conceal his suffering from his + father and mother, and succeeded wonderfully. As if in reward for this + unselfishness, it flashed into his mind what a selfish fellow he was: his + trouble had made him forget Alice and Arthur! he must find them! + </p> + <p> + He knew the street where the firm employing Arthur used to have its + offices; but it had removed to other quarters. He went to the old address, + and learned the new one. The next day he told his father he would like to + have a holiday. His father making no objection, he walked into the city. + There he found the place, but not Arthur. He had not been there for a + week, they said. No one seemed to know where he lived; but Richard, + regardless of rebuffs, went on inquiring, until at length he found a + carman who lived in the same street. He set out for it at once. + </p> + <p> + After a long walk he came to it, a wretched street enough, in Pentonville, + with its numbers here obliterated, there repeated, and altogether so + confused, that for some time he could not discover the house. Coming at + length to one of the dingiest, whose number was illegible, but whose door + stood open, he walked in, and up to the second floor, where he knocked at + the first door on the landing. The feeble sound of what was hardly a voice + answered. He went in. There sat Arthur, muffled in an old rug, before a + wretched fire, in the dirtiest, rustiest grate he had ever seen. He held + out a pallid hand, and greeted him with a sunless smile, but did not + speak. + </p> + <p> + “My poor, dear fellow!” said Richard; “what is the matter with you? Why + didn't you let me know?” + </p> + <p> + The tears came in Arthur's eyes, and he struggled to answer him, but his + voice was gone. To Richard he seemed horribly ill—probably dying. He + took a piece of paper from his pocket, and a pencil-conversation followed. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a bad cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Alice?” + </p> + <p> + “At the shop. She will be back at eight o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know; she is out.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me anything I can do for you.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it matter! I do not know anything. It will soon be over.” + </p> + <p> + “And this,” reflected Richard, “is the fate of one who believes in a God!” + But the thought followed close, “I wish I were going too!” And then came + the suggestion, “What if some one cares for him, and is taking him away + because he cares for him! What if there be a good time waiting him! What + if death be the way to something better! What if God be going to surprise + us with something splendid! What if there come a glorious evening after + the sad morning and fog-sodden night! What if Arthur's dying be in reality + a waking up to a better sunshine than ours! We see only one side of the + thing: he may see the other! What if God could not manage to ripen our + life without suffering! If only there were a God that tried to do his best + for us, finding great difficulties, but encountering them for the sake of + his children!”—“How dearly I should love such a God!” thought + Richard. He would hold by him to the last! He would do his best to help + him! He would fight for him! He would die for him! + </p> + <p> + His hour was not yet come to know that there is indeed such a God, doing + his best for us in great difficulties, with enemies almost too much for + him—the falsehood, namely, the unfilialness of his children, so many + of whom will not be true, priding themselves on the good he has created in + them, while they refuse to make it their own by obeying it when they are + disinclined. + </p> + <p> + If even he might but hope that with his last sigh Arthur would awake to a + consciousness justifying his existence, let him be the creation of a + living power or the helpless product of a senseless, formless Ens-non-ens, + he would be content! For then they might one day meet again—somewhere—somewhen, + somehow; together encounter afresh the troubles and dissatisfactions of + life, and perhaps work out for themselves a world more endurable! + </p> + <p> + But with that came the thought of Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said to himself, “let us all die—die utterly! Why should we + grumble at our poor life when it means nothing, is so short, and gives + such a sure and certain hope of nothing more! Who would prolong it in such + a world, with which every soul confesses itself disappointed, of which + every heart cries that it cannot have been made for us! When they grow + old, men always say they have found life a delusion, and would not live it + again. From the first, things have been moving toward the worse; life has + been growing more dreary; men are more miserable now than when they were + savage: how can we tell that the world was not started at its best, to go + down hill for ever and ever, with a God to urge its evil pace, for surely + there is none to stop it! What if the world be the hate-contrivance of a + being whose delight it is to watch its shuddering descent into the gulf of + extinction, its agonized slide into the red foam of the lake of fire!” + </p> + <p> + But he must do something for the friend by whose side he had sat + speechless for minutes! + </p> + <p> + “I will come and see you again soon, Arthur,” he said; “I must go now. + Would you mind the loan of a few shillings? It is all I happen to have + about me!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur shook his head, and wrote, + </p> + <p> + “Money is of no use—not the least.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you fancy anything that might do you good?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't get out to get anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother would get it for you!” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “But there's Alice!” + </p> + <p> + Arthur gave a great sigh, and said nothing. Richard laid the shillings on + the chimneypiece, and proceeded to make up the fire before he went. He + could see no sort of coal-scuttle, no fuel of any kind. With a heavy heart + he left him, and went down into the street, wondering what he could do. + </p> + <p> + As he drew near the public-house that chiefly poisoned the neighbourhood, + it opened its hell-jaws, and cast out a woman in frowzy black, wiping her + mouth under her veil with a dirty pocket-handkerchief. She had a swollen + red face, betokening the presence of much drink, walked erect, and went + perfectly straight, but looked as if, were she to relax the least of her + state, she would stagger. As she passed Richard, he recognized her. It was + Mrs. Manson. Without a thought he stopped to speak to her. The same moment + he saw that, although not dead drunk, she could by no tropical contortion + be said to be sober. + </p> + <p> + She started, and gave a snort of indignation. + </p> + <p> + “You here!” she cried. “What the big devil do you want—coming here + to insult your betters! You the son of the bookbinder! You're no more John + Tuke's son than I am. You're the son of that precious rascal, my husband! + Go to sir Wilton; don't come to me! You're a base-born wretch,—Oh + yes, run to your mother! Tell her what I say! Tell her she was lucky to + get hold of her tradesman.” + </p> + <p> + She had told her son and daughter that Richard was the missing heir; and + in what she now said she may have meant only to reflect on the humble + birth of his mother and abuse his aunt, but it does not matter much what a + drunkard means. At the same time the poison of asps may come from the lips + of a drunkard as from those of a sober liar. As the woman staggered away, + Richard gave a stagger too, and seemed to himself to go reeling along the + street. He sat down on a doorstep to recover himself, but for a long way + after resuming his walk went like one half stunned. His brain, + nevertheless, seemed to go on working of itself. The wretched woman's + statement glowed in him with a lurid light. It seemed to explain so much! + He had often felt that his father, though always just, did not greatly + care for him. Then there was his mother's strangeness—the hardness + of her religion, the gloom that at times took possession of her whole + being, her bursts of tenderness, and her occasional irritability! His + mother! That his mother should—should have made him an outcast! The + thought was sickening! It was horrible! Perhaps the woman lied! But no; + something questionable in the background of his life had been + unrecognizably showing from the first of his memory! All was clear now! + His mother's cruel breach with Alice, and her determination that there + should be no intercourse between the families, was explained: had Alice + and he fallen in love with each other, she would have had to tell the + truth to part them! He <i>must</i> know the truth! He would ask his mother + straight out, the moment he got home! But how <i>could</i> he ask her! How + could any son go to his mother with such a question! Whatever the answer + to it, he dared not! There was but one alternative left him—either + to kill himself, or to smother his suffering, and let the miserable world + go on! Why should he add to its misery by making his own mother more + miserable? Such a question from her son would go through her heart like + the claws of a lynx! How could she answer it! How could he look upon her + shame! Had she not had trouble enough already, poor mother! It would be + hard if her God assailed her on all sides—beset her behind and + before! Poor mother indeed, if her son was no better than her God! He must + be a better son to her than he had been! The child of her hurt must heal + her! Must he as well as his father be cruel to her! But alas, what help + was in him! What comfort could a heart of pain yield! what soothing stream + flow from a well of sorrow! Truly his mother needed a new God! + </p> + <p> + But even this horror held its germ of comfort: he had his brother Arthur, + his sister Alice, to care and provide for! They should not die! He had now + the right to compel them to accept his aid! + </p> + <p> + He thought and thought, and saw that, in order to help them, to do his + duty by them, he must make a change in his business relations with Mr. + Tuke: he must have the command of his earnings! He could do nothing for + his brother and sister as things were! To ask for money would wake + inquiry, and he dared not let his mother know that he went to see them! If + he did, she would be compelled to speak out, and that was a torture he + would rather see her die than suffer. He must have money concerning which + no questions would be asked! + </p> + <p> + Poor, poor creatures! Oh, that terrible mother! It was good to know that + his mother was not like <i>her</i>! + </p> + <p> + The first thing then was, to ask his father to take him as a journeyman, + and give him journeyman's wages. His work, he knew, was worth much more, + but that would be enough; his father was welcome to the rest. Out of his + wages he would pay his share of the housekeeping, and do as he pleased + with what was left. Buying no more books, he would have a nice little + weekly sum free for Alice and Arthur. To see his brother and sister half + starved was unendurable! he would himself starve first! But how was his + money to reach them in the shape of food? That greedy, drunken mother of + them swallowed everything! Like old Saturn she devoured her children; she + ate and drank them to death! Sport of a low consuming passion, thought + Richard, what matter whether she came of God or devil or nothing at all! + Redemption, salvation from an evil self, had as yet no greater part in + Richard's theories than in Mrs. Manson's thoughts. The sole good, the sole + satisfaction in life the woman knew, was to eat and drink, if not what she + pleased, at least what she liked. If there were an eternity in front, + thought Richard, and she had her way in it, she would go on for ever + eating and drinking, craving and filling, to all the ages unsatisfied: he + would <i>not</i> have his hard-earned money go to fill her insatiable maw! + It was not his part in life to make her drunk and comfortable! Wherever he + came from, he could not be in the world for that! So what was he to do? + </p> + <p> + He seemed now to understand why Barbara had not written. She had known him + as the son of honest tradespeople, and had no pride to make her despise + him; but learning from Alice that he was base-born, she might well wish to + drop him! It might not be altogether fair of Barbara—for how was he + to blame? Almost as little was she to blame, brought up to count such as + he disgraced from their birth! Doubtless her religion should have raised + her above the cruel and false prejudice, for she said it taught her to be + fair, insisted that she should be just! But with all the world against + him, how could one girl stand up for him! True he needed fair play just so + much the more; but that was the way things went in this best of possible + worlds! No two things in it, meant to go together, fitted! He fought hard + for Barbara, strained his strength with himself to be content beforehand + with whatever she might do, or think, or say. One thing only he could not + bear—to think less of Barbara! That would kill him, paralyze his + very soul!—of a man make him a machine, a beast outright at best! In + all the world, Barbara was likest the God she believed in: if she—the + idea of her, that was, were taken from him, he must despair! He could + stand losing herself, he said, but not the thought of her! Let him keep + that! Let him keep that! He would revel in that, and defy all the evil + gods in the great universe! + </p> + <p> + With his heart like a stone in his bosom, he reached the house, a home to + him no more! and by effort supreme—in which, to be honest, for + Richard was not yet a hero, he was aided by the consciousness of doing a + thing of praise—managed to demean himself rather better than of + late. The surges of the sea of troubles rose to overwhelm him; his courage + rose to brave them: let them do their worst! he would be a man still! + True, his courage had a cry at the heart of it; but there was not a little + of the stoic in Richard, and if it was not the stoicism of Epictetus or of + Marcus Aurelius, there was yet some timely, transient help in it. He was + doing the best he could without God; and sure the Father was pleased to + see the effort of his child! To suffer in patience was a step toward + himself. No doubt self was potent in the patience, and not the best self, + for that forgets itself—yet the better self, the self that chooses + what good it knows. + </p> + <p> + The same night he laid his request for fixed wages before his father, who + agreed to it at once. He believed it no small matter in education that a + youth should have money at his disposal; and his wife agreed, with a pang, + to what he counted a reasonable sum for Richard's board. But she would not + hear of his paying for his lodging; that was more than the mother heart + could bear: it would be like yielding that he was not her very own child! + </p> + <p> + The trouble remained, that a long week must elapse before he could touch + any wages, and he dared not borrow for fear of questions: there was no + help! + </p> + <p> + At night, the moment his head was on the pillow, the strain of his + stoicism gave way. Then first he felt alone, utterly alone; and the + loneliness went into his soul, and settled there, a fearful entity. The + strong stoic, the righteous unbeliever burst into a passion of tears. Sure + they were the gift of the God he did not know!—say rather, of the + God he knew a little, without knowing that he knew him—and they + somewhat cooled his burning heart. But the fog of a fresh despair streamed + up from the rain, and its clouds closed down upon him. What was left him + to live for! what to keep his heart beating! what to make life a living + thing! Sunned and showered too much, it was faded and colourless! Why must + he live on, as in a poor dream, without even the interest of danger!—for + where life is worth nothing, danger is gone, and danger is the last + interest of life! All was gray! Nothing was, but the damp and chill of the + grave! No cloak of insanest belief, of dullest mistake, would henceforth + hide any more the dreary nakedness of the skeleton, life! The world lay in + clearest, barest, coldest light, its hopeless deceit and its misery all + revealed! It was well that a grumous fog pervaded the air, each atom a + spike in a vesicle of darkness! it was well that no summer noon was + blazing about the world! At least there was no mockery now! the world was + not pretending to be happy! was not helping the demon of laughter to jeer + at the misery of men! Oh, the hellish thing, life! Oh this devilish thing, + existence!—a mask with no face behind it! a look with no soul that + looked!—a bubble blown out of lies with the breath of a liar! Words! + words! words! Lies! lies! lies! + </p> + <p> + All of a sudden he was crying, as if with a loud voice from the bottom of + his heart, though never a sound rose through his throat, “Oh thou who + didst make me, if thou art anywhere, if there be such a one as I cry to, + unmake me again; undo that which thou hast done; tear asunder and scatter + that which thou hast put together! Be merciful for once, and kill me. Let + me cease to exist—rather, let me cease to die. Will not plenty of my + kind remain to satisfy thy soul with torment!” + </p> + <p> + Up towered a surge of shame at his poltroonery; he prayed for his own + solitary release, and abandoned his fellows to the maker of their misery! + </p> + <p> + “No!” he cried aloud, “I will not! I will not pray for that! I will not + fare better than my fellows!—Oh God, pity—if thou hast any + pity, or if pity can be born of any prayer—pity thy creatures! If + thou art anywhere, speak to me, and let me hear thee. If thou art God, if + thou livest, and carest that I suffer, and wouldst help me if thou + couldst, then I will live, and bear, and wait; only let me know that thou + art, and art good, and not cruel. If I had but a friend that would stand + by me, and talk to me a little, and help me! I have no one, no one, God, + to speak to! and if thou wilt not hear, then there is nothing! Oh, be! be! + God, I pray thee, exist! Thou knowest my desolation—for surely thou + art desolate, with no honest heart to love thee!” + </p> + <p> + He thought of Barbara, and ceased: <i>she</i> loved God! + </p> + <p> + A silence came down upon his soul. Ere it passed he was asleep, and knew + no more till the morning waked him—to sorrow indeed, but from a + dream of hope. + </p> + <p> + On a few-keyed finger-board, yet with multitudinous change, life struck + every interval betwixt keen sorrow, lethargic gloom, and grayest hope, and + the days passed and passed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII. <i>TO BE REDEEMED, ONE MUST REDEEM</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The moment he received his wages from his father at the end of the week, + Richard set out for Everilda street, Clerkenwell, a little anxious at the + thought of encountering the dreadful mother, but hoping she would be out + of the way. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the place, he found no one at home. He could not go back + with his mission unaccomplished, and hung about, keeping a sharp watch on + each end of the street, and on the approaches to it that he passed in + walking to and fro. + </p> + <p> + He had not waited long before Arthur appeared, stooping like an aged man, + and moving slowly He was in the same shabby muffler as of old. His face + brightened when he saw his friend, but a fit of coughing prevented him for + some time from returning his salutation. + </p> + <p> + “When did you have your dinner?” asked Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I had something to eat in the middle of the day,” he answered feebly; + “and when Alice comes, she will perhaps bring something with her; but we + don't care much about eating.—We've got out of the way of it + somehow!” he added with an unreal laugh. + </p> + <p> + “It's no wonder you can't get rid of your cold!” returned Richard. “Come + along, and have something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't have Ally come home and not find me!” objected Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “You shall put something in your pocket for her!” suggested Richard. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to yield; but his every motion was full of indecision. Richard + took his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know any place near,” he asked, “where we could get some supper?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm afraid I don't,” answered Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Then you go in and rest, while I go and see,” returned Richard. + </p> + <p> + He searched for some time, but came upon no place where a man could even + sit down. At last he found a coffee-shop, and went to fetch Arthur. + </p> + <p> + He found him stretched on his bed, but he rose at once to accompany him—with + the more difficulty that he had yielded to his weariness and lain down. + They managed however to reach their goal, and the sight of food waking a + little hunger, the poor fellow did pretty well for one who looked so ill. + As he ate he revived, and by and by began to talk a little: he had never + been much of a talker—had never had food enough for talking. + </p> + <p> + “It's very good of you, Richard!” he said. “I suppose you know all about + it!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't. What is it? Anything new?” + </p> + <p> + “No, nothing! It's all so miserable!” + </p> + <p> + “It's not all miserable,” answered Richard, “so long as we are brothers!” + </p> + <p> + The tears came in Arthur's eyes. Their mother had repented telling them + the truth about Richard, and pretended to have discovered that, while sir + Wilton was indeed Richard's father, Mrs. Tuke was after all his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is good,” he said, “though it be only in misfortune! But I am a + wretched creature, and no good to anybody; you are a strong man, Richard; + I shall never be worth calling your brother!” + </p> + <p> + “You can do one great thing for me.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Live and grow well.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could; but that is just what I can't do. I'm on my way home.” + </p> + <p> + “I would gladly go with you!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + Richard made no answer, and silence followed. Arthur got up. + </p> + <p> + “Ally will be home,” he said, “and thinking me too ill to get along!” + </p> + <p> + “Let's go then!” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + When they entered Everilda street, they saw Alice on the door-step, + looking anxiously up and down. The moment she caught sight of them, she + ran away along the street. Richard would have followed her, but Arthur + held him, and said, + </p> + <p> + “Never mind her to-night, Richard! She don't know that you know. I will + tell her; and when you come again, you will find her different. Go now, + and come as soon as you can—at least, I mean, as soon as you like.” + </p> + <p> + “I will come to-morrow,” answered Richard. “Do you want me to go now?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be better for Alice. I will go to the end of the street, and she + will see me from where she is hiding, and come. She always does.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she in the way of hiding then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, when my mother is—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye!” said Richard. “But where shall I find you to-morrow!” + </p> + <p> + They arranged their meeting, and parted. + </p> + <p> + The next day, they found a better place for their meal. Richard thought it + better not to go quite home with Arthur, but, having learned from him + where Alice worked, and at what hour she left, went the following night to + wait for her not far from the shop. + </p> + <p> + At last she came along, looking very thin and pale, but she shone up when + she saw him, and joined him without the least hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “How do you think Arthur is?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I've not seen him so well for ever so long,” she answered. “But that is + not saying much!” she added with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + They walked along together. With a taste of happiness, say once a week, + Alice would have been a merry girl. She was so content to be with Richard + that she never heeded where he was taking her. But when she found him + going into a shop with a ham in the window, she drew back. + </p> + <p> + “No, Richard,” she said; “I can't let you feed me and Arthur too! Indeed I + can't! It would be downright robbery!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” returned Richard; “I want some supper, and you must keep me + company!” + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me!” she insisted. “It's all right for Arthur: he's ill; + but for <i>me</i>, I couldn't look myself in the face in the glass if I + let you feed <i>me</i>—a strong girl, fit for anything!” + </p> + <p> + “Now look here!” said Richard; “I must come to the point, and you must be + reasonable! Ain't you my sister?—and don't I know you haven't enough + to eat?” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” + </p> + <p> + “No one. Any fool could see it with half an eye!” + </p> + <p> + “Artie has been telling tales!” + </p> + <p> + “Not one! Just listen to me. I earn so much a week now, and after paying + for everything, have something over to spend as I please. If you refuse me + for a brother, say so, and I will leave you alone: why should a man tear + his heart out looking on where he can't help!” + </p> + <p> + She stood motionless, and made him no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” he said; “there is the money for our supper: if you will not + go with me and eat it, I will throw it in the street.” + </p> + <p> + With her ingrained feeling of the preciousness of money Alice did not + believe him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, Richard! you would never do that!” she said. + </p> + <p> + The same instant the coins rang faintly from the middle of the street, and + a cab passed over them. Alice gave a cry as of bodily pain, and started to + pick them up. Richard held her fast. + </p> + <p> + “It's your supper, Richard!” she almost shrieked, and struggled to get + away after the money. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered; “and yours goes after it, except you come in and share + it with me!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he showed her his hand with shillings in it. + </p> + <p> + She turned and entered the shop. Richard ordered a good meal. + </p> + <p> + Alice stopped in the middle of her supper, laid down her knife and fork, + and burst out crying. + </p> + <p> + “What <i>is</i> the matter?” said Richard, alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “I can't bear to think of that money! I must go and look for it!” sobbed + Alice. + </p> + <p> + Richard laughed, the first time for days. + </p> + <p> + “Alice,” he said, “the money was well spent: I got my own way with it!” + </p> + <p> + As she ate and drank, a little colour rose in her face, and on Richard + fell a shadow of the joy of his creator, beholding his work, and seeing it + good. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV. <i>A DOOR OPENED IN HEAVEN</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Some men hunt their fellows to prey upon them, and fill their own greedy + maws; Richard hunted and caught his brother and sister that he might feed + them with the labour of his hands. I fear there was therefore a little + more for the mother to guzzle, but it is of small consequence whether + those that go down the hill arrive at the foot a week sooner or later. To + Arthur and Alice, their new-found brother, strong and loving, was as an + angel from high heaven. It was no fault in Richard that he did not find a + correspondent comfort in them. It did in truth comfort him to see them + improve in looks and in strength; but they had not many thoughts to share + with him—had little coin for spiritual commerce. Even their + religion, like that of most who claim any, had little shape or colour. + What there was of it was genuine, which made it infinitely precious, but + it was much too weak to pass over to the help of another. Divine aid, + however, of a different sort, was waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + Hitherto he had heard little or no music. The little was from the + church-organ, and his not unjustifiable prejudice against its + surroundings, had disinclined him to listen when it spoke. The intellect + of the youth had come to the front, and the higher powers to which art is + ministrant, had remained much undeveloped, shut in darkened palace-rooms, + where a ray of genial impulse not often entered. For the highest of those + powers, the imagination, without which no discovery of any grandeur is + made even in the realms of science, dwells in the halls of aspiration, + outlook, desire, and hope, and round the windows and filling the air of + these, hung the dry dust-cloud of Richard's negation. But when Love, with + her attendant Sorrow, came, they opened wide all the doors and windows of + them to what might enter. Hitherto all his poetry, even what he produced, + had come to Richard at second-hand, that is, from the inspiration of + books; its flowers were of the moon, not of the sun; they sprang under the + pale reflex light of other souls: for genuine life of any and every sort, + the immediate inspiration of the Almighty is the one essential, and for + that, Sorrow and Love now made a way. + </p> + <p> + First of all, the lower winds and sidelong rays of art, all from the + father of lights, crept in, able now to work for his perfect will. For + when a man has once begun to live, then have the thoughts and feelings of + other men, and every art in which those thoughts or feelings are embodied + by them, a sevenfold power for the strengthening and rousing of the divine + nature in him. And as the divine nature is roused, the diviner nature, the + immediate God, enters to possess it. + </p> + <p> + A gentleman who employed Richard, happened one day, in conversation with + him as he pursued his work, to start the subject of music, and made a + remark which, notwithstanding Richard's ignorance, found sufficient way + into his mind to make him think over what little experience he had had of + sweet sounds, ere he made his reply. When made, it revealed in truth his + ignorance, but his modesty as well, and his capacity for understanding—with + the result that the gentleman, who was not only a lover of music but a + believer in it, said to him in return things which roused in him such a + desire to put them to the test for verification or disapproval, that he + went the next Monday night to the popular concert at St. James's Hall. In + the crowd that waited more than an hour at the door of the orchestra to + secure a shilling-place, there was not one that knew so little of music as + he; but there never had been in it one whose ignorance was more worthy of + destruction. The first throbbing flash of the violins cleft his soul as + lightning cleaves a dark cloud, and set his body shivering as with its + thunder—and lo, a door was opened in heaven! and, like the writhings + of a cloud in the grasp of a heavenly wind, all the discords of + spirit-pain were breaking up, changing, and solving themselves into the + song of the violins! After that, he went every Monday night to the same + concert-room. It was his church, the mount of his ascension, the place + whence he soared—no, but was lifted up to what was as yet his + highest consciousness of being. All that was best and simplest in him came + wide awake as he sat and listened. What fact did the music prove? None + whatever. Yet would not the logic of all science have persuaded Richard + that the sea of mood and mystic response, tossing his soul hither and + thither on its radiant waters, as, deep unto deep, it answered the + marching array of live waves, fashioned one by one out of the still air, + marshalled and ranked and driven on in symmetric relation and order by + those strange creative powers with their curious symbols, throned at their + godlike labour—that the answer of his soul, I say, was but an + illusion, the babble of a sleeping child in reply to a question never put. + If it was an illusion, how came it that such illusion was possible? If an + illusion, whence its peculiar bliss—a bliss aroused by law + imperative that ruled its factors, yet bore scant resemblance to the + bliss? What he felt, he knew that he felt, and knew that he had never + caused it, never commanded its presence, never foreseen its arrival, never + known of its possible existence. The feeling was <i>in him</i>, but had + been waked by some power <i>beyond him</i>, for he was not himself even + present at its origin! The voice of that power was a voice all sweetness + and persuading, yet a voice of creation, calling up a world of splendour + and delight, the beams of whose chambers were indeed laid upon the waters, + but had there a foundation the less lively earth could not afford. For the + very essence of the creative voice, working wildest delirium of content, + was law that could not be broken, the very law of the thought of God + himself. Law is life, for God is law, and God is life. Law is the root and + the stalk of life, beauty is the flower of life, and joy is its odour; but + life itself is love. The flower and its odour are given unto men; the root + and stalk they may search into if they will; the giver of life they must + know, or they cannot live with his life, they cannot share in the life + eternal. + </p> + <p> + One night, after many another such, he sat entranced, listening to the + song of a violin, alone and perfect, soaring and sailing the empyrean + unconvoyed,—and Barbara in his heart was listening with him. He had + given up hope of seeing her again in this world, but not all hope of + seeing her again somewhere; and her image had not grown less dear, I + should rather say less precious to him. The song, like a heavenly lark, + folded its wings while yet high in the air, and ceased: its nest was + somewhere up in the blue. Should I say rather that one after one the + singing birds flitted from the strings, those telegraph wires betwixt the + seen and the unseen, and now the last lingerer was gone? All was over, and + the world was still. But the face of Barbara kept shining from the depths + of Richard's soul, as if she stood behind him, and her face looked up + reflected from its ethereal ocean. + </p> + <p> + All at once he was aware that his bodily eyes were resting on the bodily + face of Barbara. It was as if his strong imagining of her had made her be. + His heart gave a great bound—and stood still, as if for eternity. + But the blood surged back to his brain, and he knew that together they had + been listening to the same enchanting spell, had been aloft together in + the same aether of delight: heaven is high and deep, and its lower air is + music; in the upper regions the music may pass, who knows, merging unlost, + into something endlessly better! He had felt, without knowing it, the + power of her presence; it had been ruling his thoughts! He gazed and + gazed, never taking his eyes from her but for the joy of seeing her + afresh, for the comfort of their return to their home. She was so far off + that he could gaze at will, and thus was distance a blessing. Not seldom + does removal bring the parted nearer. It is not death alone that makes + “far-distant images draw nigh,” but distance itself is an angel of God, + mediating the propinquity of souls. As he gazed he became aware that she + saw him, and that she knew that he saw her. How he knew it he could not + have told. There was no change on her face, no sign of recognition, but he + knew that she saw and knew. In his modesty he neither perceived nor + imagined more. His heart received no thrill from the pleasure that + throbbed in the heart of the lovely lady at sight of the poor sorrowful + workman; neither did she in her modesty perceive on what a throne of gems + she sat in his heart. She saw that his cheek was pale and thin, and that + his eyes were larger and brighter; she little thought how the fierce sun + of agony had ripened his soul since they parted. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of the concert, the music had sunk to a soft delight, and + took the second place; the delight of seeing dulled his delight in + hearing. All the rainbow claspings and weavings of strange accords, all + the wing-wafts of out-dreaming melody, seemed to him to come flickering + and floating from one creative centre—the face, and specially the + eyes of Barbara; yet the music and Barbara seemed one. The form of it that + entered by his eyes met that which entered by his ears, and they were one + ere he noted a difference. Barbara was the music, and the music was + Barbara. He saw her with his ears; he heard her with his eyes. But as the + last sonata sank to its death, suddenly the face and the tones parted + company, and he knew that his eyes and her face must part next, and the + same moment her face was already far away. She had left him; she was + looking for her fan, and preparing to go. + </p> + <p> + He was not far from the door. He hurried softly out, plunged into the open + air as into a great cool river, went round the house, and took his stand + at one of the doors, where he waited like one watching the flow of a river + of gravel for the shine of a diamond. But the flow sank to threads and + drops, and the diamond never shone. + </p> + <p> + He walked home, nevertheless, as if he had seen an end of sorrow: how much + had been given him that night, for ever to have and to hold! Such an hour + went far to redeem the hateful thing, life! A much worse world would be + more than endurable, with its black and gray once or twice in a century + crossed by such a band of gold! Who would not plunge through ages of + vapour for one flash of such a star! Who would not dig to the centre for + one glimpse of a gem of such exhaustless fire! “But, alas, how many for + whom no golden threads are woven into the web of life!” he said to himself + as he thought of Alice and Arthur—but straightway answered himself, + saying, “Who dares assert it? The secret of a man's life is with himself; + who can speak for another!” He had himself been miserable, and was now + content—oh, how much more than content—that he had been + miserable! He was even strong to be miserable again! What might not fall + to the lot of the rest, every one of them, ere God, if there were a God, + had done with them! Who invented music? Some one must have made the + delight of it possible! With his own share in its joy he had had nothing + to do! Was Chance its grand inventor, its great ingenieur? Why or how + should Chance love loveliness that was not, and make it be, that others + might love it? Could it be a deaf God, or a being that did not care and + would not listen, that invented music? No; music did not come of itself, + neither could the source of it be devoid of music! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLV. <i>THE CARRIAGE</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Before the next Monday, he had learned the outlets of the hall, and the + relations of its divisions to its doors. But he fared no better, for + whether again he mistook the door or not, he did not see Barbara come out. + He had been with her, however, through all the concert; there was reason + to hope she would be often present, and every time there would be a chance + of his getting near her! The following Monday, nevertheless, she was not + in the house: had she been, he said to himself, his eyes would of + themselves have found her. + </p> + <p> + A fortnight passed, and Richard had not again seen Barbara. He began to + think she must have gone home. A gentleman was with her the first night, + whom he took for her father; the second, Arthur Lestrange was by her side: + neither of them had he seen since. + </p> + <p> + Then the thought suggested itself that she might have come to London to + prepare for her marriage with Mr. Lestrange. She must of course be married + some day! He had always taken that for granted, but now, for the first + time somehow, the thought came near enough to burn. He did not attempt to + analyze his feelings; he was too miserable to care for his feelings. The + thought was as terrible as if it had been quite new. It was not a live + thought before; now it was alive and until now he had not known misery. + That Barbara should die, seemed nothing beside it! Death was no evil! + Whether there was a world beyond it or not, it was the one friend of the + race! In death at last, outworn, tortured humanity would find repose!—or + if not, what followed could not, at worst, be worse than what went before! + It must be better, for the one misery of miseries would be to live in the + same world with Barbara married: She was out of sight of him, far as + princess or queen—or angel, if there were such a being; but the + thought that she should marry a common, outside man, who knew no more what + things were precious than the lowest fellow in the slums, was a pain he + could neither stifle nor endure. Could a woman like Barbara for an instant + entertain the notion? If she loved a man worthy of her, then—he + thought, as so many have for a moment thought—he could bear the + torture of it! But for such patience in prospect men are generally + indebted to the fact that the man is not likely to appear, or, at least, + has not yet come in sight. In vain he persuaded himself that Barbara would + no more listen to such a suitor, than a man could ever show himself on the + level of her love. That Barbara would marry Lestrange grew more and more + likely as he regarded the idea. Mortgrange and Wylder Hall were + conveniently near, and he had heard his grandfather suppose that Barbara + must one day inherit the latter! The thought was a growing torment. His + heart sank into a draw-well of misery, out of which the rope of thinking + could draw up nothing but suicide. But as often as the bucket rose thus + laden, Richard cast its content from him. It was cowardly to hide one's + head in the sand of death. So long as he was able to stand, why should he + lie down? If a morrow was on the way, why not see what the morrow would + bring? why not look the apparition in the face, though for him it brought + no dawn! + </p> + <p> + Once more the loud complaint against life awoke and raged. What an evil, + what a wrong was life! Who had dared force the thing upon him? What being, + potent in ill, had presumed to call him from the blessed regions of + negation, the solemn quiet of being and knowing nothing, and compel him to + live without, nay against his will, in misery such as only an imagination + keen to look upon suffering, could have embodied or even invented? Alas, + there was no help! If he lifted his hand against the life he hated, he + might but rush into a region of torture more exquisite! For might not the + life-compelling tyrant, offended that he should desire to cease, fix him + in eternal beholding of his love and his hate folded in one—to + sicken, yet never faint, in aeonian pain, such as life essential only + could feel! He rebelled against the highest as if the highest were the + lowest—as if the power that <i>could</i> create a heart for bliss, + might gloat on its sufferings. + </p> + <p> + Again and again he would take the side of God against himself: but always + there was the undeniable, the inexplicable misery! Whence came it? It + could not come from himself, for he hated it? and if God did not cause, + yet he could prevent it! Then he remembered how blessed he had been but a + few days before; how ready to justify God; how willing to believe he had + reason in all he did: alas for his nature, for his humanity! clothed in + his own joy, he was generous to trust God with the bliss of others; the + cold blast of the world once again swept over him, and he stood + complaining against him more bitterly than ever. + </p> + <p> + It is a notable argument, surely, against the existence of God, that they + who believe in him, believe in him so wretchedly! So many carry themselves + to him like peevish children! Richard half believed in God, only to + complain of him altogether! Were it not better to deny him altogether, + saying that such things being, he cannot be, than to murmur and rebel as + against one high and hard? + </p> + <p> + But I bethink me: is it not better to complain if one but complain to God + himself? Does he not then draw nigh to God with what truth is in him? And + will he not then fare as Job, to whom God drew nigh in return, and set his + heart at rest? + </p> + <p> + For him who complains and comes not near, who shall plead?—The Son + of the Father, saying, “They know not what they do.” + </p> + <p> + He began to wonder whether even an all-mighty and all-good God would be + able to contrive such a world as no somebody in it would ever complain of. + What if he had plans too large for the vision of men to take in, and they + were uncomfortable to their own blame, because, not seeing them, they + would trust him for nothing? He knew unworthy men full of complaint + against an economy that would not let them live like demons, and be + blessed as seraphs! Why should not a man at least wait and see what the + possible being was about to do with him, perhaps for him, before he + accused or denied him? At worst he would be no worse for the waiting! + </p> + <p> + His thinking was stopped by a sudden flood of self-contempt. Was Barbara + to live alone that he might think of her in peace! He was a selfish, + disgraceful, degraded animal, deserving all he suffered, and ten times + more! What did it matter whether <i>he</i> was happy or not, if it was + well with her! Was he a man, and could he not endure! Here was a possible + nobility! here a whole world wherein to be divine! A man was free to + sacrifice his happiness: for him, he had nothing but his crowned sorrow; + he would sacrifice that! Had anyone ever sacrificed his sorrow to his + love? Would it not be a new and strange sacrifice? To know that he + suffered would make her a little unhappy: for her sake he would <i>not</i> + be unhappy! He would at least for her sake fight with his grief; he would + live to love her still, if never more to look on her face. In after + eternal years, if ever once more they met, he would tell her how for her + sake he had lived in peace, and neither died nor gone mad! Yea, for her + sake, he would still seek her God, if haply he might find him! Was there + not a possible hope that he would justify to him, even in his heart, his + ways with men, and his ways with himself among his fellows? What if there + was a way so much higher than ours, as to include all the seeming right + and seeming wrong in one radiance of righteousness! The idea was scarce + conceivable; it was not one he could illustrate to himself; but, as a + thought transcending flesh and blood, better and truer than what <i>we</i> + are able to think of as truth, he would try to hold by it! Things that we + are right in thinking bad, must be bad to God as well as to us; but may + there not be things so far above us, that we cannot take them in, and they + seem bad because they are so far above us in goodness that we see them + partially and untruly? There must be room in his wisdom for us to mistake! + He would try to trust! He would say, “If thou art my father, be my father, + and comfort thy child. Perhaps thou hast some way! Perhaps things are not + as thou wouldst have them, and thou art doing what can be done to set them + right! If thou art indeed true to thy own, it were hard not to be believed—hard + that one of thine own should not trust thee, should not give thee time to + make things clear, should behave to thee as if thou wouldst not explain, + when it is that we are unable to understand!” + </p> + <p> + He was thinking with himself thus, as he walked home, late one Monday + night, from the concert, to which had come none of the singing birds of + his own forests to meet and make merry with the song-birds of the violins. + Like a chaos of music without form and void, the sweet sounds had stormed + and billowed against him, and he had left the door of his late paradise + hardly in better mood than if it had been the church of the Rev. Theodore + Gosport, who for the traditions of men made the word of God of small + effect! + </p> + <p> + He was walking westward, with his eyes on the ground, along the broad + pavement on the house-side of Piccadilly, lost half in misery, half in + thought, when he was stopped by a little crowd about an awning that + stretched across the footway. The same instant rose a murmur of + admiration, and down the steps from the door came tripping, the very + Allegra of motion, the same Barbara to whose mould his being seemed to + have shaped itself. He stood silent as death, but something made her cast + a look on him, and she saw the large eyes of his suffering fixed on her. + She gave a short musical cry, and turning darted through the crowd, + leaving her escort at the foot of the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Richard!” she cried, and catching hold of his hand, laid her other hand + on his shoulder—then suddenly became aware of the gazing faces, not + all pleasant to look upon, that came crowding closer about them. + </p> + <p> + She pulled him toward a brougham that stood at the curbstone. + </p> + <p> + “Jump in,” she whispered. Then turning to the gentleman, who in a + bewildered way fancied she had caught a prodigal brother in the crowd, + “Good-night, Mr. Cleveland,” she said: “thank you!” + </p> + <p> + One moment Richard hesitated; but he saw that neither place nor time + allowed anything but obedience, and when she turned again, he was already + seated. + </p> + <p> + “Home!” she said to the coachman as she got in, for she had no attendant. + </p> + <p> + “I must talk fast,” she began, “and so must you; we have not far to go + together.—Why did you not write to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I did write.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you!” exclaimed Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “I did indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what could you think of me?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought nothing you would not like me to think. I was sure there was an + explanation!” + </p> + <p> + “That of course! You knew that!—But how ill you look!” + </p> + <p> + “It is from not seeing you any more at the concerts,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me your address, and I will write to you. But do not write to me. + When shall you be at the hall again?” + </p> + <p> + “Next Monday. I am there every Monday.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be there, and will take your answer from your hand in the crush + as I come out by the Regent-street door.” + </p> + <p> + She pulled the coachman's string. + </p> + <p> + “Now you must go,” she said. “Thank God I have seen you! Tell me when you + write if you know anything of Alice.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him her hand. He got out, closed the door, took off his hat, and + stood for minutes uncovered in the cold clear night, hardly sure whether + he had indeed been side by side with Barbara, or in a heavenly trance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVI. <i>RICHARD'S DILEMMA.</i> + </h2> + <p> + He turned and walked home—but with a heart how different! The world + was folded in winter and night, but in his heart the sun was shining, and + it made a wonder and a warmth at the heart of every crystal of the frost + that spangled and feathered and jewel-crusted rail and tree! The misty + moon was dreaming of spring, and almond blossoms, and nightingales.—But + did Barbara know about him? Had Alice told the terrible secret! If she + knew, and did not withdraw her friendship, he could bear anything—almost + anything! But he would be happy now, would keep happy as long as he could, + and try to be happy when he could not! She was with him all the way home. + Every step was a delight. Foot lingered behind foot as he came; now each + was eager to pass the other. + </p> + <p> + He slept a happy sleep, and in the morning was better than for many a day—so + much better that his mother, who had been watching him with uneasiness, + and wondering whether she ought not to bring matters to a crisis, began to + feel at rest about him. She had not a suspicion of what now troubled him + the most! A little knowledge is not, but the largest half-knowledge is a + dangerous thing! He knew who was his father, but he did not know who was + not his mother; and from this half-knowledge rose the thickest of the + cloud that yet overshadowed him. He had been proud that he came of such + good people as his father and mother, but it was not the notion of shame + to himself that greatly troubled him; it was the new feeling about his + mother. He did not think of her as one to be blamed, but as one too + trusting, and so deceived; he never felt unready to stand up for her. What + troubled him was that she must always know that unspoken-of something + between her and her son, that his mother must feel shame before him. He + could not bear to think of it. If only she would say something to him, + that he might tell her she was his own precious mother, whatever had + befallen her! that for her sake he could spurn the father that begot him! + Already had come this good of Mrs. Manson's lie, that Richard felt far + more the goodness of his mother to him, and loved her the better that he + believed himself her shame. It is true that his love increased upon a + false idea, but the growth gained by his character could not be lost, and + so his love would not grow less—for no love, that is loved, gave + God's, can clothe warm enough the being around whom it gathers. And when + he learned the facts of the story, he would not find that he had given his + aunt more love than she deserved at his heart. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the next day's work was over, Richard sat down to write to + Barbara. But he had no sooner taken the pen in his fingers, than he became + doubtful: what was he to say? He could not open his heart about any of the + things that troubled him most! Putting aside the recurrent dread of her + own marriage, how could he mention his mother's wrong and his own shame to + a girl so young? She must be aware that such things were, but how was he, + a huge common fellow, to draw near her loveliness with such a tale in his + mouth! It would be a wrong to his own class, to his own education! for + would it not show the tradesman, or the artisan, whichever they called + him, as coarse, and unlit for the company of his social superiors? It + would go to prove that in no sense could one of his nurture be regarded as + a gentleman! And were there no such reason against it, how could he, even + to Barbara, speak of his mother's hidden pain, of his mother's + humiliation! It would be treachery! He would be as a spy that had hid + himself in a holy place! The thing she could not tell him, how could he + tell anyone! On the other hand, if he did not let her know the sad fact, + would he not be receiving and cherishing Barbara's friendship on false + pretences? He was not what he now seemed to her—and to be other to + Barbara than he seemed, was too terrible! Still and again, he was bound to + do her the justice of believing that she would not regard him differently + because of what he could not help, and would justify his silence for his + mother's sake. She would, in her great righteousness, be the first to cry + out upon the social rule that visited the sins of the fathers on the + mothers and children, and not on the fathers themselves! If then + disclosure would make no difference to Barbara, he might, he concluded, + let the thing rest—for the time at least—assured of her + sisterly sympathy. And with that he bethought him that she had asked news + of Alice, and it seemed to him strange. For Alice had not told him that, + unable to keep the money she sent from falling into the hands of her + mother and going in drink, unwilling to expose her mother, and incapable + of letting Barbara spend her money so, she had contrived to have her + remittances returned, as if they had changed their dwelling, and their new + address was unknown. + </p> + <p> + He wrote therefore what he thought would set her at ease about them; and + then, after thinking and thinking, yielded to the dread lest his heart + should make him say things he ought not, and ended with a little poem that + had come to him a night or two before. + </p> + <p> + This was the poem: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If there lie a still, pure sorrow + At the heart of everything, + If never shall dawn a morrow + With healing upon its wing, + Then down I kneel to my sorrow, + And say, Thou art my king! + From old pale joy I borrow + A withered song to sing! + And with heart entire and thorough, + To a calm despair I cling, + And, freedman of old king Sorrow, + Away Hope's fetters fling! +</pre> + <p> + That was all—and not much, either as poetry, or as consolation to + one that loved him; but sometimes, like that ghastly shroud of Icelandic + fable, the poem will rise and wrap itself around the poet. + </p> + <p> + As Richard closed his envelope, he remembered, with a pang of + self-reproach, that the hour of his usual meeting with Alice was past, and + that Arthur too was in danger of going to bed hungry, for his custom was + to put her brother's supper in Alice's handbag. He set out at once for + Clerkenwell—on foot notwithstanding his haste, for he was hoarding + every penny to get new clothes for Arthur, who was not only much in want + of them for warmth, but in risk of losing his situation because of his + shabby appearance. + </p> + <p> + His anxiety to reach the house before the mother came in, spurred him to + his best speed. He halted two minutes on the way to buy some slices of ham + and some rolls, and ran on again. It was a frosty night, but by the time + he reached Everilda-street, he was far from cold. He was rewarded by + finding his brother and sister at home, alone, and not too hungry. + </p> + <p> + He had just time to empty his pockets, and receive a kiss from Alice in + return, when they heard the uncertain step of their mother coming up the + stair, stopping now and then, and again resuming the ascent. Alice went to + watch which door she would turn to when she reached the top, that Richard + might go out by the other, for the two rooms communicated. But just as she + was entering Arthur's room, Mrs. Manson changed her mind, and turned to + the other door, so that Richard was caught in the very act of making his + exit. She flew at him, seized him by the hair, and began to pull and cuff + him, abusing him as the true son of his father, who did everything on the + sly, and never looked an honest woman in the face. Richard said never a + word, but let her tug and revile till there was no more strength in her, + when she let him go, and dropped into a chair. + </p> + <p> + The three went half-way down the stair together. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mind her,” said Alice with a great sob. “I hope she didn't hurt you + much, Richard!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Poor mother!” sighed Arthur; “she's not in her right mind! We're in + constant terror lest she drop down dead!” + </p> + <p> + “She's not a very good mother to you!” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “No, but that has nothing to do with loving her,” answered Alice; “and to + think of her dying like that, and going straight to the bad place! Oh, + Richard, what <i>shall</i> I do! It turns me crazy to think of it!” + </p> + <p> + The door above them opened, and the fierce voice of the mother fell upon + them; but it was broken by a fit of hiccupping, and she went in again, + slamming the door behind her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVII. <i>THE DOORS OF HARMONY AND DEATH</i>. + </h2> + <h3> + That night Richard could not rest. His brain wrought unceasingly. + </h3> + <p> + He had caught cold and was feverish. After his hot haste to reach his + brother and sister, he had stood on the stair till his temperature sank + low. When at length he slept, he kept starting awake from troublous + dreams, and this went on through the night. In the morning he felt better, + and rose and set to his work, shivering occasionally. All the week he was + unwell, and coughed, but thought the attack an ordinary cold. When Sunday + came, he kept his bed, in the hope of getting rid of it; but the next day + he was worse. He insisted on getting up, however: he must not seem to be + ill, for he was determined, if he could stand, to go to the concert! What + with weariness and shortness of breath and sleepiness, however, it was all + he could do to stick to his work. But he held on till the evening, when, + watching his opportunity, he slipped from the house and made his way, with + the help of an omnibus, to the hall. + </p> + <p> + It was dire work waiting till the door to the orchestra was opened. The + air was cold, his lungs heavily oppressed, and his languor almost + overpowering. But Paradise was within that closed door, and he was passing + through the pains of death to enter into bliss! When at length it seemed + to yield to his prayers, he almost fell in the rush, but the good-humoured + crowd itself succoured the pale youth, and helped him in: to look at him + was to see that he was ill! + </p> + <p> + The moment the music began, he forgot every discomfort. For, with the + first chord of the violins, as if ushered in and companied by the angels + themselves of the sweet sounds, Barbara came flitting down the centre of + the wide space toward her usual seat. The rows of faces that filled the + area were but the waves on which floated the presence of Barbara; the + music was the natural element of her being; it flowed from her as from its + fountain, radiated from her like odour. It fashioned around her a nimbus + of sound, like that made by the light issuing from the blessed ones, as + beheld by Dante, which revealed their presence but hid them in its + radiance, as the moth is hid in the silk of its cocoon. Richard felt + entirely well. The warmth entered into him, and met the warmth generated + in him. All was peace and hope and bliss, quaintest mingling of + expectation and fruition. Even Arthur Lestrange beside Barbara could not + blast his joy. He saw him occasionally offer some small attention; he saw + her carelessly accept or refuse it. Barbara gazed at him anxiously, he + thought; but he did not know he looked ill; he had forgotten himself. + </p> + <p> + When the concert was over, he hastened from the orchestra. The moment he + issued, the cold wind seized and threatened to strangle him, but he + conquered in the struggle, and reached the human torrent debouching in + Regent-street. Against it he made gradual way, until he stood near the + inner door of the hall. In a minute or two he saw her come, slowly with + the crowd, her hand on Arthur's arm, her eyes anxiously searching for + Richard. The moment they found him, her course took a drift toward him, + and her face grew white as his, for she saw more plainly that he was ill. + They edged nearer and nearer; their hands met through the crowd; their + letters were exchanged, and without a word they parted. As Barbara reached + the door, she turned one moment to look for him, and he saw a depth of + care angelic in her eyes. Arthur turned too and saw him, but Richard was + so changed he did not recognize him, and thought the suffering look of a + stranger had roused the sympathy of his companion. + </p> + <p> + How he got home, Richard could not have told. Ere he reached the house, he + was too ill to know anything except that he had something precious in his + possession. He managed to get to bed—not to leave it for weeks. A + severe attack of pneumonia had prostrated him, and he knew nothing of his + condition or surroundings. He had not even opened his letter. He + remembered at intervals that he had a precious thing somewhere, but could + not recall what it was. + </p> + <p> + When he came to himself after many days, it was with a wonderful delight + of possession, though whether the object possessed was a thing, or a + thought, or a feeling, or a person, he could not distinguish. + </p> + <p> + “Where is it?” he said, nor knew that he spoke till he heard his own + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Under your pillow,” answered his mother. + </p> + <p> + He turned his eyes, and saw her face as he had never seen it before—pale, + and full of yearning love and anxious joy. There was a gentleness and + depth in its expression that was new to him. The divine motherhood had + come nearer the surface in her boy's illness. + </p> + <p> + Partly from her anxiety about what she had done and what she had yet to + do, the show of her love had, as the boy grew up, gradually retired; her + love burned more, and shone less. If Jane Tuke had been able to let her + love appear in such forms as suited its strength, I doubt whether the + teaching of his father would have had much power upon Richard; certainly + he would have been otherwise impressed by the faith of his mother. He + would have been prejudiced in favour of the God she believed in, and would + have sought hard to account for the ways attributed to him. None the less + would it have been through much denial and much suffering that he arrived + at anything worth calling faith; while the danger would have been great of + his drifting about in such indifference as does not care that God should + be righteous, and is ready to call anything just which men in office + declare God does, without concern whether it be right or wrong, or whether + he really does it or not—without concern indeed about anything at + all that is God's. He would have had phantoms innumerable against him. He + would have supposed the Bible said things about God which it does not say, + things which, if it did say them, ought to be enough to make any honest + man reject the notion of its authority as an indivisible whole. He would + have had to encounter all the wrong notions of God, dropped on the highway + of the universe, by the nations that went before in the march of humanity. + He would have found it much harder to work out his salvation, to force his + freedom from the false forms given to truth by interpreters of little + faith, for they would have seemed born in him because loved into him. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say, mother dear?” he returned, all astray, seeming to have + once known several things, but now to know nothing at all. + </p> + <p> + “It is under your pillow, Richard,” she said again, very tenderly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, mother? Something seems strange. I don't know what to ask + you. Tell me what it means.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been very ill, my boy; that is what it means.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I been out of my mind?” + </p> + <p> + “You have been wandering with the fever, nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been thinking so many things, and they all seemed real!—And + you have been nursing me all the long time?” + </p> + <p> + “Who should have been nursing you, Richard? Do you think I would let any + one else nurse my own child? Didn't I nurse the—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped; she had been on the point of saying—“the mother that + bore you?” Her love of her dead sister was one with her love of that + sister's living child. + </p> + <p> + He lay silent for a time, thinking, or rather trying to think, for he felt + like one vainly endeavouring to get the focus of a stereoscopic picture. + His mind kept going away from him. He knew himself able to think, yet he + could not think. It was a revelation to him of our helplessness with our + own being, of our absolute ignorance of the modes in which our nature + works—of what it is, and what we can and cannot do with it. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I get it for you, dear?” said his mother. + </p> + <p> + The morning after the concert, he had taken Barbara's letter from under + his pillow, and would not let it out of his hand. His mother, fearing he + would wear it to pieces, once and again tried to remove it; but the moment + she touched it, he would cry out and strike; and when in his restless + turning he dropped it, he showed himself so miserable that she could not + but put it in his hand again, when he would lie perfectly quiet for a + while. Dreaming of Barbara however, I fancy, he at length forgot her + letter, and his mother again put it under his pillow. With the Lord, we + shall forget even the gospel of John. + </p> + <p> + She drew out the crumpled, frayed envelope, and gave it him. The moment he + touched it, everything came back to him. + </p> + <p> + “Now I remember, mother!” he cried. “Thank you, mother! I will try to be a + better boy to you. I am sorry I ever vexed you.” + </p> + <p> + “You never vexed me, Richard!” said the mother-heart; “—or if ever + you did, I've forgotten it. And now that God has given you back to us, we + must see whether we can't do something better for you!” + </p> + <p> + Richard was so weary that he did not care to ask what she meant, and in a + moment was asleep, with the letter in his hand. + </p> + <p> + When at length he was able to read it, it caused him not a little + pleasure, and some dismay. He read that her father was determined she + should marry Mr. Lestrange; but her mother was against it; and there was + as much dissension at home as ever. She believed lady Ann had talked her + father into it, for he had not always favoured the idea. There was indeed + greater reason now why both lady Ann and her father should desire it, for + there was every likelihood of her being left sole heir to the property, as + her brother could not, the doctors said, live many months. She was sure + her mother was trying to do right, and she herself did all she could to + please her father, but nothing less than her consent to his plans for what + he called her settlement in life, would satisfy him, and that she could + not give. + </p> + <p> + She hoped Richard was not forgetting the things they had such talks about + in the old days. If it were not for those things, she could not now bear + life, or rightly take her part in it. She was almost never alone, and now + in constant danger of interruption, so that he must not wonder if her + letter broke off abruptly, for she might be wanted any moment. She was + leading, or rather being led, a busy life of nothing at all—a life + not worth living. Her father, set on, she had no doubt, by lady Ann, had + brought her up to town while yet her mother was unable to accompany them, + so that she had had to go where, and do what lady Ann pleased. But her + mother had at last, exerting herself even beyond her strength, come up to + stand by her girl, as she said: she would have no lady Ann interfering + with her! She had herself married a man she had not learned to respect, + and she was determined her girl should make her own choice—or keep + as she was, if she pleased! She was not going to hold her child down for + them to bury in money!—And with this the letter broke off. + </p> + <p> + Barbara's openness about her parents was in harmony with her simplicity + and straightforwardness. She was proud of her mother and the way she put + things, therefore told all to Richard. + </p> + <p> + He had a bad night, with delirious dreams, and for some days made little + progress. His anxiety to be well, that he might see Barbara, and learn how + things were going with her; also that he might again see Alice and Arthur, + for whom he feared much, retarded his recovery. + </p> + <p> + “If the woman is drinking herself to death,” he said to himself, “I wish + she would be quick about it! In this world she is doing no good to + herself, and much harm to others!” But it would be the ruin, he said to + himself, of all hope in the care and love of God, to believe that she + could be allowed to live a moment longer than it was well she should live. + Then he thought how wise must be a God who, to work out his intent, would + take all the conduct, good and bad, all the endeavours of all his + children, in all their contrarieties, and out of them bring the right + thing. If he knew such a God, one to trust in absolutely, he would lie + still without one movement of fear, he would go to sleep without one throb + of anxiety about any he loved! The perfect Love would not fail because one + of his children was sick! He would try to be quiet, if only in the hope + that there was a perfect heart of hearts, thinking love to and into and + about all its creatures. If there was such a splendour, he would either + make him well, and send him out again to do for Alice and Arthur what he + could, or he would let him die and go where all he loved would come after + him—where he might perhaps help to prepare a place for them! + </p> + <p> + If matter be all, then must all illness be blinding; if spirit be the + deeper and be the causer, then some sicknesses may well be openers of + windows into the unseen. It is true that in one mood we are ready to doubt + the conclusions of another mood; but there is a power of judging between + the moods themselves, with a perception of their character and nature, and + the comparative clarity of insight in each; and he who is able to judge + the moods, may well judge the judgments of the moods. + </p> + <p> + One of the benefits of illness is, that either from general weakness, or + from the brain's being cast into quiescence, habits are broken for a time, + and more simple, childlike, and natural modes of thought and feeling, + modes more approximate to primary and original modes, come into action, + whereby the right thing has a better chance. A man's self-stereotyped + thinking is unfavourable to revelation, whether through his fellows, or + direct from the divine. If there be a divine quarter, those must be opener + to its influences who are not frozen in their own dullness, cased in their + own habits, bound by their own pride to foregone conclusions, or shut up + in the completeness of human error, theorizing beyond their knowledge and + power. + </p> + <p> + Having thus in a measure given himself up, Richard began to grow better. + It is a joy to think that a man may, while anything but sure about God, + yet come into correlation with him! How else should we be saved at all? + For God alone is our salvation; to know him is salvation. He is in us all + the time, else we could never move to seek him. It is true that only by + perfect faith in him can we be saved, for nothing but perfect faith in him + is salvation; there is no good but him, and not to be one with that good + by perfect obedience, is to be unsaved; but one better thought concerning + him, the poorest desire to draw near him, is an approach to him. Very + unsure of him we may be: how should we be sure of what we do not yet know? + but the unsureness does not nullify the approach. A man may not be sure + that the sun is risen, may not be sure that the sun will ever rise, yet + has he the good of what light there is. Richard was fed from the heart of + God without knowing that he was indeed partaking of the spirit of God. He + had been partaking of the body of God all his life. The world had been + feeding him with its beauty and essential truth, with the sweetness of its + air, and the vastness of its vault of freedom. But now he had begun, in + the words of St. Peter, to be a partaker of the divine nature. + </p> + <p> + It was a long time before he was strong again—in fact he never would + be so strong again in this world. His mother took him to the seaside, + where, in a warm secluded bay on the south coast, he was wrapt closer, + shall I not say, in the garments of the creating and reviving God. He was + again a child, and drew nearer to the heart of his mother than he had ever + drawn before. Believing he knew her sad secret, he set himself to meet her + every wish—which was always some form of anxiety about himself. He + spoke so gently to her, that she felt she had never until now had him her + very child. How little men think, alas, of the duty that lies in <i>tone</i>! + But Richard was started on a voyage of self-discovery. He had begun to + learn that regions he had thought wholesome, productive portions of his + world, were a <i>terra incognita</i> of swamps and sandy hills, haunted + with creeping and stinging things. When a man finds he is not what he + thought, that he has been talking fine things, and but imagining he + belonged to their world, he is on the way to discover that he is not up to + his duty in the smallest thing. When, for very despair, it seems + impossible to go on, then he begins to know that he needs more than + himself; that there is none good but God; that, if he can gain no help + from the perfect source of his being, that being ought not to have been + given him; and that, if he does not cry for help to the father of his + spirit, the more pleasant existence is, the less he deserves it should + continue. Richard was beginning to feel in his deepest nature, where alone + it can be felt, his need of God, not merely to comfort him in his sorrows, + and so render life possible and worth living, but to make him such that he + could bear to regard himself; to make him such that he could righteously + consent to be. The only thing that can reassure a man in respect of the + mere fact of his existence, is to know himself started on the way to grow + better, with the hope of help from the source of his being: how should he + by himself better that which he was powerless to create? All betterment + must be radical: of the roots of his being he knows nothing. His existence + is God's; his betterment must be God's too!—God's through honest + exercise by man of that which is highest in man—his own will, God's + best handiwork. By actively willing the will of God, and doing what of it + lies to his doing, the man takes the share offered him in his own making, + in his own becoming. In willing actively and operatively to be that which + he was made in order to be, he becomes creative—so far as a man may. + In this kind also he becomes like his Father in heaven. + </p> + <p> + If a reader say Richard was too young to think thus, it only proves that + <i>he</i> could not think so at Richard's age, and goes for little. I may + be interpreting, and rendering more definite the thoughts and feelings + that passed through him: it does not follow that I misrepresent. Many + thoughts must be made more definite in expression, else they could not be + expressed at all; many feelings are as hazy as real, and some of them must + be left to music. + </p> + <p> + He grew in graciousness and in favour with God and his mother. Often did + she meditate whether the hour was not come for the telling of her secret, + but now one thing, now another deterred her. One time she feared the + excitement in the present state of his health; another, she judged it + unfair to the husband who had behaved with such generosity, to yield him + no part in the pleasure of the communication. + </p> + <p> + Once, to comfort him when he seemed depressed, she ventured to say— + </p> + <p> + “Would you like better to go to Oxford or to Cambridge, Richard?” + </p> + <p> + He looked up with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you ask that, mammy?” he rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it could be managed!” she answered—leaving him to suppose + his father might send him. + </p> + <p> + “Is it because you think I shall never be able to work again?—Look + at that!” he returned, extending an arm on which the muscle had begun to + put in an appearance. + </p> + <p> + “It's not for your strength,” she answered. “For that, you could do well + enough! But think of the dust! It's so irritating to the lungs! And then + there's the stooping all day long!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, mother; I'm quite able for it, dust and all—or at least + shall soon be. We mustn't be anxious about others any more than about + ourselves. Doesn't the God you believe in tell you so?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you believe in him then, Richard?” said his mother sadly. + </p> + <p> + “I think I do—a little—in a sort of a way—believe in God—but + I hope to believe in him ten thousand times more!” + </p> + <p> + His mother gave a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “What more would you have, mother dear?” said Richard. “A man cannot be a + saint all at once!” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, nor a woman either!” she answered. “I've been a believer all + these years, and I'm no nearer a saint than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're trying to be one, ain't you, mammy?” + </p> + <p> + She made him no reply, and presently reverted to their former topic—perhaps + took refuge in it. + </p> + <p> + “I think it might be managed—some day!” she said. “You could go on + with your trade after, if you liked. Why shouldn't a college-man be a + tradesman? Why shouldn't a tradesman know as much as a gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, indeed, mother! If I thought it wouldn't be too much for father and + you, there are not many things I should like better than going to Oxford. + You are good to me like God himself!” + </p> + <p> + “Richard!” said his mother, shocked. She thought she served God by going + to church, not by being like him in every word and look of love she gave + her boy. + </p> + <p> + The mere idea of going to college, and thus taking a step nearer to + Barbara, began immediately to better his health. It gave him many a happy + thought, many a cottage and castle in the air, with more of a foundation + than he knew. But his mother did not revert to it; and one day suddenly + the thought came to Richard that perhaps she meant to apply to sir Wilton + for the means of sending him. Castle and cottage fell in silent ruin. His + soul recoiled from the idea with loathing—as much for his mother's + sake as his own. Having married his reputed father, she must have no more + relation, for good any more than for bad, with sir Wilton—least of + all for his sake! To her he was dead; and ought to be as dead as disregard + could make him! So, at least, thought Richard. He was sorry he had + confessed he should like to go to Oxford. If his mother again alluded to + the thing, he would tell her he had changed his mind, and would not + interrupt the exercise of his profession as surgeon to old books. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLVIII. <i>DEATH THE DELIVERER</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The spring advanced; the days grew a little warmer; and at length, partly + from economic considerations, it was determined they should go home. When + they reached London, they found a great difference in the weather: it + cannot be said she owes her salubrity to her climate. Fog and drizzle, + frost and fog, were the embodiment of its unvarying mutability. At once + Richard was worse, and dared not think, for his mother's sake, and the + labour she had spent upon him, of going to the next popular concert, if + indeed those delights had not ceased for the season. But he ought to try, + for he could do that in the middle of the day, at least to get news of + Arthur Manson. He dreaded hearing that he was no more in this world. The + cold wintry weather, and the return to poor and spare nourishment caused + by Richard's illness, must have been hard upon him! It was a continual + sorrow to Richard that he had not been able to get him his new clothes + before he was taken ill. So the first morning he felt it possible, he took + his way to the city. There he learned that the company had dispensed with + Arthur's services, because his attendance had become so irregular. + </p> + <p> + “You see, sir,” said the porter, “the gov'nors they don't think no more of + a man than they do of a horse: so long as he can hold the shafts up an' + lean agin the collar, he's money; when he can't no longer, he's dirt!” + </p> + <p> + Sad at heart, Richard set out for Clerkenwell. He was ill able for the + journey, but Arthur was dying! He would brave the mother for the sake of + the son! He got into an omnibus which took him a good part of the way, and + walked the rest. When at length he looked up at the dreary house, he saw + the blinds of the windows drawn down. A pang of fear went through his + heart, and an infilial murmur awoke in his brain:—why was he, on + whom those poor lives almost depended, made feeble as themselves, and + incapable of helping them? After all his hoping and trusting, <i>could</i> + there be a God in the earth and things go like that? The look of things + seemed the truth of things; the seen denied the unseen. Cold and hunger + and desertion; ugly, mocking failure; heartless comfort, and hopeless + misery, made up the law of life! Moody and wretched he went up the stair + to the darkened floor. + </p> + <p> + When he knocked at the front room, that in which Alice slept with her + mother, it was opened by Alice, looking more small and forlorn than he had + yet seen her, with hollower cheeks and larger eyes, and a smile to make an + angel weep. + </p> + <p> + “Richard!” she cried, with a voice in which the very gladness sounded like + pain. A pink flush rose in her poor wasted cheeks, and she lay still in + his arms as if she had gone to live there. + </p> + <p> + He could not, for pity, speak one word. + </p> + <p> + “How ill you look!” she murmured. “I knew you must be ill! I thought you + might be dead! Oh, God <i>is</i> good to leave you to us!” Then bursting + into tears, “How wicked of me,” she sobbed, “to feel anything like + gladness, with my mother lying there, and me not able to do anything for + her, and not knowing what's become of her, or how things are going with + her!—We shall never see her again!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say that, Alice! Never say <i>never</i> about anything except it be + bad. You can't be <i>sure</i>, you know. You can't be sure of anything + that's not in your very mouth—and then sometimes you can't swallow + it!—But how's Arthur?” + </p> + <p> + “He'll know all about it soon!” she answered, with a touch of bitterness. + “If he had been left me, we should have got along somehow. He would have + lain in bed, and I would have worked beside him! How I could have worked + for <i>him</i>! But he's past hope now! He'll never get up again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh God,” cried Richard in his heart, where an agony of will wrestled with + doubt, “if thou art, thou wilt hear me, and take pity on her, and on us + all!—I dare not pray, Alice,” he went on aloud, “that he may live, + but I will pray God to be with him. It would be poor kindness to want him + left with us, if he is taking him where he will be well. May I go and see + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, Richard.—But mayn't I let him know first? The surprise + might be too much for him.” + </p> + <p> + Their talk had waked him, however, and he knew his brother's voice. + “Richard! Richard!” he cried, so loud that it startled Alice: he had not + spoken above a whisper for days. Richard opened his door, and went in. But + when he saw Arthur, he could scarcely recognize him, he was so wasted. His + eyes stood out like balls from his sunken cheeks, and the smile with which + he greeted him was all teeth, like the helpless smile of a skull. Overcome + with tenderness, the stronger that he would have passed him in the street + as one unknown, Richard stooped and kissed his forehead, then stood + speechless, holding the thin leaf of a hand that strained his. Arthur + tried to speak, but his cough came on, and his brother begged him to be + silent. + </p> + <p> + “I will go into the next room with Alice,” he said, “and come to you + again. I shall see you often now, I hope. I've been ill or I should have + been here fifty times.” + </p> + <p> + In the next room lay the motionless form of the unmotherly mother. A + certain something of human grace had returned to her countenance. Richard + did not like looking at her; he felt that, not loving her, he had no right + to let his eyes rest on her. But she had been sinned against like his own + mother: he must not fail her with what sympathy she might claim! + </p> + <p> + “Don't think hard things of her,” said Alice, as if she knew what he was + thinking. “She had not the strength of some people. I believe myself she + could not help it. She had been used to everything she wanted!” + </p> + <p> + “I pity her heartily,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + She threw her arms round his neck, and clung to him as if she would never + more let him go. + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to do?” she said, releasing him. “If I stay at home to + nurse Arthur, we must both die of hunger. If I go away, there is nobody to + do anything for him!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could stay with him!” returned Richard. “But I've been so long + ill that I have no money, and I don't know when I shall have any. I have + just one shilling in my possession. Take it, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't take your last shilling, Richard!” + </p> + <p> + “There's no fear of me,” he said; “I shall have everything I want. It + makes me ashamed to think of it. You must just creep on for a while as + best you can, while I think what to do. Only there's the funeral!” + </p> + <p> + Alice gave a cry choked by a sob. + </p> + <p> + “There is no help!” she said in a voice of despair. “The parish is all + that is left us!” + </p> + <p> + “It don't matter much,” rejoined Richard. “For my part I don't care a + paring what becomes of my old clothes when I've done with them! You + needn't think, whether she be anywhere or nowhere, that she cares how her + body gets put under the earth! Don't trouble about it, Alice; it really is + nothing. I would come to the funeral, but I don't see how I can. I don't + know now what I shall say to my mother!—Tell Arthur I hope to see + him again soon; I must not stop now. I won't forget you, Alice—not + for an hour, I think. Beg some one in the house to go in to him now and + then while you are away. I shall soon do something to cheer him up a bit. + Good-night, dear!” + </p> + <p> + With a heavy heart Richard went. It was all he could do to get home before + dark, having to walk all the way. His mother was much distressed to see + him so exhausted; but he managed not to tell her what he had been about. + He had some tea and went to bed, and there remained all the next day. And + while he was in bed, it came to him clear and plain what he must do. It + was certain that for a long time he could do nothing for Arthur and Alice + out of his own pocket. Even if he got to work at once, he could not take + his wages as before, seeing his parents had spent upon him almost all they + had saved! + </p> + <p> + But there was one who <i>ought</i> to help them! Specially in such sore + need had they a right to the saving help of their own father! He would go + to his father and their father—and as the words rose in his mind, he + wondered where he had heard something like them before. + </p> + <p> + The next day he begged his father and mother to let him spend a week or + two with his grandfather. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIX. <i>THE CAVE IN THE FIRE</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The day after, well wrapt from the cold, he took his place in a slow + train, and at the station was heartily welcomed by his grandfather, who + had come with his pony-cart to take him home. Settled in the room once + occupied by Alice, he felt like a usurper, a robber of the helpless: he + had left her in misery and wretchedness, and was in the heart of the + comfort that had once been hers. He had to tell himself that it was + foolish; that he was there for her sake. + </p> + <p> + He took his grandfather at once into his confidence, begging him not to + let his mother know: and Simon, who had in former days experienced + something of the hardness of his true-hearted daughter, entered into the + thing with a brooding kind of smile. He saw no reason why Richard should + not make the attempt, but shook his head at the prospect of success. + Doubtless the baronet thought he had done all that could be required of + him! He would have Richard rest a day before encountering him but when he + heard in what condition he had left Alice and her brother, he said no + more, but the next morning had his trap ready to drive him to Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + Richard's heart beat fast as he entered the lodge-gate, and walked up to + the front door. After a moment's bewilderment the servant who answered his + ring recognized him, and expressed concern that he looked so ill. When he + asked to see sir Wilton, the man, thinking he came to resume the work so + suddenly abandoned, said he was in the library, having his morning cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll just step in!” said Richard; and the footman gave way as to a + member of the household. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton, now an elderly and broken man, sat in the same chair, and in + the same attitude, as when Richard, a new-born and ugly child, had, in the + arms of his aunt, his first interview with him, nearly one and twenty + years before. The relation between them had not developed a hair's-breadth + since that moment, and Richard, partly from the state of his health, could + not, with all the courage he could gather, help quailing a little before + the expected encounter; but he remained outwardly quiet and seemingly + cool. The sun was not shining into the room, and it was rather dark. Sir + Wilton sat with his back to the one large bay-window, and Richard received + its light on his face as he entered. He stood an instant, hesitating. His + father did not speak, but sat looking straight at him, staring indeed as + at something portentous—much as when first he saw the ugly + apparition of his infant heir. Richard's illness had brought out, in the + pallor and emaciation of his countenance, what likeness there was in him + to his mother; and, strange to say, at the moment when the door opened to + admit him, sir Wilton was thinking of the monstrous baby his wife had left + him, and wondering if the creature were still alive, and as hideous as + twenty years before. + </p> + <p> + It was not <i>very</i> strange, however. Sir Wilton had been annoyed with + his wife that morning, and it was yet a bitterer thing not to be able to + hurt her in return, which, because of her cold imperturbability, was + impossible, say what he might. As often, therefore, as he sat in silent + irritation with her, the thought of his lost child never failed to present + itself. What a power over her ladyship would he not possess, what a plough + and harrow for her frozen equanimity, if only he knew where the heir to + Mortgrange was! He was damned ugly, but the uglier the better! If he but + had him, he swore he would have a merry time, with his lady's pride on its + marrow-bones! After so many years the poor lad might, ugly as he was, turn + out presentable, and if so, then, by heaven, that smooth-faced gentleman, + Arthur, should shift for himself! + </p> + <p> + Suddenly appeared Richard, with his mother in his face; and before his + father had time to settle what the deuce it could mean, the apparition + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry to intrude upon you, sir Wilton,” he said, “but—” + </p> + <p> + Here he paused. + </p> + <p> + “—But you've got something to tell me—eh?” suggested sir + Wilton. He was on the point of adding, “If it be where you got those eyes, + I may have to ask you to sit down!” but he checked himself, and said only, + “You'd better make haste, then; for the devil is at the door in the shape + of my damned gout!” + </p> + <p> + “I came to tell you, sir Wilton,” replied Richard, plunging at once into + the middle of things, which was indeed the best way with sir Wilton, + “about a son of yours—” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried sir Wilton, putting his hands on the arms of his chair and + leaning forward as if on the point of rising to his feet. “Where the devil + is he? What do you know about him?” + </p> + <p> + “He is lying at the point of death—dying of hunger, I may say.” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish!” cried the baronet contemptuously. “You want to get money out of + me! But you shan't!—not a damned penny!” + </p> + <p> + “I do want to get money from you, sir,” said Richard. “I kept the poor + fellow alive—kept him in dinners at least, him and his sister, till + I fell ill and couldn't work.” + </p> + <p> + At the word <i>sister</i> the baronet grew calmer. It was nothing about + the lost heir! The other sort did not matter: they were no use against the + enemy! + </p> + <p> + Richard paused. The baronet stared. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't a penny to call my own, or I should not have come to you,” + resumed Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I thought so! That's your orthodox style! But you've come to the wrong + man!” returned sir Wilton. “I never give anything to beggars.” + </p> + <p> + He did not in the least doubt what he heard, but he scarcely knew what he + answered—wondering where he had seen the fellow, and how he came to + be so like his wife. The remembered ugliness of her infant prevented all + suggestion that this handsome fellow might be the same. + </p> + <p> + “You are the last man, sir Wilton, from whom I would ask anything for + myself,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + Richard hesitated. To let him suspect the same claim in himself, would be + fatal. + </p> + <p> + “I swear to you, sir Wilton,” he said, “by all that men count sacred, I + come only to tell you that Arthur and Alice Manson, your son and daughter, + are in dire want. Your son may be dead; he looked like it three days ago, + and had no one to attend to him; his sister had to leave him to earn their + next day's food. Their mother lay a corpse in the other of their two + rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! she's gone, is she! That alters the case. But what became of all the + money I gave her? It was more than her body was worth; soul she never had + any!” + </p> + <p> + “She lost it somehow, and her son and daughter starved themselves to keep + her in plenty, so that by the time she died, they were all but dead + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “A pair of fools.” + </p> + <p> + “A good son and daughter, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “Attached to the young woman, eh?” asked the baronet, looking hard at him. + </p> + <p> + “Very much; but hardly more than to her brother,” answered Richard. “God + knows if I had but my strength,” he cried, almost in despair, and suddenly + shooting out his long thin arms, with his two hands, wasted white, at the + ends of them, “I would work myself to the bone for them, and not ask you + for a penny!” + </p> + <p> + “I provided for their mother!—why didn't they look after the money? + <i>I'm</i> not accountable for <i>them</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you accountable for giving the poor things a mother like that, + sir?” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, you have me there! She <i>was</i> a bad lot—a damned liar!—Young + fellow, I don't know who you are, but I like your pluck! There ain't many + I'd let stand talking at me like that! I'll give you something for the + poor creatures—that is, mind you, if you've told me the truth about + their mother! You're sure she's dead? Not a penny shall they have if she's + alive!” + </p> + <p> + “I saw her dead, sir, with my own eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “You're sure she wasn't shamming?” + </p> + <p> + “She couldn't have shammed anything so peaceful.” + </p> + <p> + The baronet laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, sir,” said Richard, “she's dead—and by this time buried + by the parish.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless my soul! Well, it's none of my fault!” + </p> + <p> + “She ate and drank her own children!” said Richard with a groan, for his + strength was failing him. He sank into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “I will give you a cheque,” said sir Wilton, rising, and going to a + writing-table in the window. “I will give you twenty pounds for them in + the meantime—and then we'll see—we'll see!—that is,” he + added, turning to Richard, “if you swear by God that you have told me + nothing but the truth!” + </p> + <p> + “I swear,” said Richard solemnly, “by all my hopes in God the saviour of + men, that I have not wittingly uttered a word that is untrue or + incorrect.” + </p> + <p> + “That's enough. I'll give you the cheque.” + </p> + <p> + He turned again to the table, sat down, searched for his keys, unlocked + and drew out a drawer, took from it a cheque-book, and settled himself to + write with deliberation, thinking all the time. When he had done—“Have + the goodness to come and fetch your money,” he said tartly. + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure!” answered Richard, and went up to the table. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton turned on his seat, and looked him in the face, full in the + eyes. Richard steadily encountered his gaze. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” said sir Wilton at length. “I must make the cheque + payable to you!” + </p> + <p> + “Richard Tuke, sir,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “What are you?” + </p> + <p> + “A bookbinder. I was here all the summer, sir, repairing your library.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! bless my soul!—Yes! that's what it was! I thought I had seen + you somewhere! Why didn't you tell me so at first?” + </p> + <p> + “It had nothing to do with my coming now, and I did not imagine it of any + interest to you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have saved me the trouble of trying to remember where I had seen + you!” + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly a light flashed across his face. + </p> + <p> + “By heaven,” he muttered, “I understand it now!—They saw it—that + look on his face!—By Jove!—But no; she never saw <i>her</i>!—She + must have heard something about him then!—They didn't treat you + well, I believe!” he said: “—turned you away at a moment's notice!—I + hope they took that into consideration when they paid you?” + </p> + <p> + “I made no complaint, sir. I never asked why I was dismissed!” + </p> + <p> + “But they made it up to you—didn't they?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't submit to ill usage, sir.” “That's right! I'm glad you made them + pay for it!” + </p> + <p> + “To take money for ill usage is to submit to it, it seems to me!” said + Richard. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, there are not many would call money ill usage!—Well, it + wasn't right, and I'll have nothing to do with it!—Here,” he went + on, wheeling round to the table, and drawing his cheque-book toward him, + “I will give you another cheque for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Richard, “but I can take nothing for + myself! Don't you see, sir?—As soon as I was gone, you would think I + had after all come for my own sake!” + </p> + <p> + “I won't, I promise you. I think you a very honest fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Then, sir, please continue to think me so, and don't offer me money!” + </p> + <p> + “Lest you should be tempted to take it?” + </p> + <p> + “No; lest I should annoy you by the use I made of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut! I don't care what you do with it! You can't annoy me!” + </p> + <p> + He wrote a second cheque, blotted it, then finished the other, and held + out both to Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I can't give you so much as the other poor beggars; you haven't the same + claim upon me!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Richard took the cheques, looked at them, put the larger in his pocket, + walked to the fire, and placed the other in the hottest cavern of it. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” cried the baronet, and again stared at him: he had seen his + mother do precisely the same thing—with the same action, to the very + turn of her hand, and with the same choice of the central gulf of fire! + </p> + <p> + Richard turned to sir Wilton, and would have thanked him again on behalf + of Alice and Arthur, but something got up in his throat, and, with a + grateful look and a bend of the head, he made for the door speechless. + </p> + <p> + “I say, I say, my lad!” cried sir Wilton, and Richard stopped. + </p> + <p> + “There's something in this,” the baronet went on, “more than I understand! + I would give a big cheque to know what is in your mind! What does it all + mean?” + </p> + <p> + Richard looked at him, but said nothing: he was in some sort fascinated by + the old man's gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose now,” said sir Wilton, “I were to tell you I would do whatever + you asked me so far as it was in my power—what would you say?” + </p> + <p> + “That I would ask you for nothing,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I make the promise; I say solemnly that I will give you whatever you ask + of me—provided I can do it honestly,” said the baronet. + </p> + <p> + “What a damned fool I am!” he thought with himself. “The devil is in me to + let the fellow walk over me like this! But I must know what it all means! + I shall find some way out of it!” + </p> + <p> + For one moment the books around him seemed to Richard to rush upon his + brain like troops to the assault of a citadel; but the next he said— + </p> + <p> + “I can ask you for nothing whatever, sir; but I thank you from my heart + for my poor friends, your children. Believe me I am grateful.” + </p> + <p> + With a lingering look at his father, he left the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER L. <i>DUCK-FISTS</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The godless old man was strangely moved. He rose, but instead of ringing + the bell, hobbled after Richard to the door. As he opened it, however, he + heard the hall-door close. He went to it, but by the time he reached it, + the bookbinder had turned a corner of the house, to go by a back-way to + the spot where his grandfather was waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + He found him in his cart, immovably expectant, his pony eating the grass + at the edge of the road. Before he got his head pulled up, Richard was in + the cart beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Drive on, grandfather,” he panted in triumph. “I've got it!” + </p> + <p> + “Got what, lad?” returned the old man, with a flash in his eyes, and a + forward strain of his neck. + </p> + <p> + “What I wanted. Money. Twenty pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! twenty pounds!” returned Simon with contempt, and a jerk of his head + the other way. + </p> + <p> + He had himself noted Richard's likeness to his daughter, and imagined it + impossible sir Wilton should not also see it. + </p> + <p> + “But of course,” he went on, “twenty pounds will be a large sum to them, + and give them time to look about, and see what can be done. And now I'll + tell you what, lad: if the young man is fit to be moved when you go back, + you just bring him down here—to the cottage, I mean—and it + shan't cost him a ha'penny. I've a bit of a nest-egg as ain't chalk nor + yet china; and Jessie is going to be well married; and who knows but the + place may suit him as it did his sister! You look to it when you get + home.” + </p> + <p> + “I will indeed, grandfather!—You're a good man, grandfather: the + poor things are no blood of yours!” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the odds o' that!” grunted Simon. “I reckon it was your God and + mine as made 'em!” + </p> + <p> + Richard felt in his soul that, little reason as he had to be proud of his + descent, he had at least one noble grandfather. + </p> + <p> + “You're a good man, grandfather!” he repeated meditatively. + </p> + <p> + “Middlin',” returned the old man, laughing. “I'm not so good by a long + chalk as my maker meant me, and I'm not so bad as the devil would have me. + But if I were the powers that be, I wouldn't leave things as they are! I'd + have 'em a bit straightened out afore I died!” + </p> + <p> + “That shows where you come from, Mr. Wingfold would say; for that is just + what God is always doing.” + </p> + <p> + “I know the man; I know your Mr. Wingfold! Since you went, he's been more + than once or twice to the smithy to ask after you. He's one o' the right + sort, he is! He's a man, he is!—not an old woman in breeches! My + soul! why don't they walk and talk and look like men? Most on 'em as I've + seen are no more like men than if they was drawn on the wall with a coal! + If they was all like your Mr. Wingfold now! Why, the devil wouldn't hare a + chance! I've a soft heart for the clergy—always had, though every + now and then they do turn me sick!” + </p> + <p> + They were spinning along the road, half-way home, behind the little + four-legged business in the shafts, when they became aware of a quick + sharp trot behind them. Neither looked round: the blacksmith was minding + his pony and the clergy, and the twenty pounds in Richard's heart were + making it sing a new song. What a thing is money even, with God in it. The + horseman came alongside the cart, and slackened his pace! + </p> + <p> + “Sir Wilton wants to see Mr. Tuke again,” he said. “He made a mistake in + the cheque he gave him.” + </p> + <p> + An arrow of fear shot through Richard's heart. What did it mean? Was the + precious thing going to be taken from him? Was his hope to be destroyed + and his heart left desolate? He took the cheque from his pocket and + examined it. Simon had pulled up his pony, and they were standing in the + middle of the highway, the old man waiting his grandson's decision. + Richard was not unaccustomed to cheques in payment of his work, and he + could see nothing amiss with the baronet's: it was made payable to bearer, + and not crossed: Alice could take it to the bank and get the money for it! + The next moment, however, he noted that it was payable at a branch-bank in + the town of Barset, near Mortgrange. The baronet, he concluded, had, with + more care than he would have expected of him, thought of this, and that it + would cause trouble, so had sent his man to bring him back, that he might + replace the cheque with one payable in London. His heart warmed toward his + father. + </p> + <p> + “I see!” he said. “I'm sorry to give you the trouble, grandfather, but I'm + afraid we must go!” + </p> + <p> + Simon turned the pony's head without a word, and they went trotting + briskly back to Mortgrange. Richard explained the matter as it seemed to + him. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to find him so considerate!” said the old man. “It's a bad + cheese that don't improve with age! Only men ain't cheeses!—If I'd + brought up my girls better,—” he went on reflectively, but Richard + interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't going to hit my mother, grandfather!” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, lad; I learned my manners better than that! Whatever I was going + to say, I was thinking of my own faults and no one else's. But it's not + possible we should be wise at the outset, and I trust the Maker will + remember it. He'll be considerate, lad!—The Bible would call it <i>merciful</i>, + but I don' care for parson-words! I like things that are true to sound + true, just as any common honest man would say them!” + </p> + <p> + The moment he saw that Richard was indeed gone, the baronet swore to + himself that the fellow was his own son. He was his mother all over!—anything + but ugly, and far fitter to represent the family than the smooth-faced ape + lady Ann had presented him with! But a doubt came: his late wife had a + sister somewhere, and a son of hers might have stolen a likeness to his + lady-aunt! The tradesman fellow knew of the connection, and pretended to + himself not to think much of it! + </p> + <p> + “What <i>are</i> we coming to, by Jove!” muttered the baronet. “The pride + of the lower classes is growing portentous!—No, the fellow is none + of mine!” he concluded with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + Alas for his grip on lady Ann! The pincers had melted in his grasp, and + she was gone! It <i>was</i> a pity! If he had been a better husband to + poor Ruby, he would have taken better care of her child, ugly as he was, + and would have had him now to plague lady Ann! But stop! there was + something odd about the child—something more than mere ugliness—something + his nurse had shown him in that very room! By Jove! what was it? It had + something to do with ducks, or geese, or swans, or pelicans! He had + mentioned the thing to his wife, he knew, and she was sure to have + remembered it! But he was not going to ask her! Very likely she had known + the fellow by it, and therefore sent him out of the house!—Yes! yes! + by Jove! that was it! He had webs between his fingers and toes!—He + might have got rid of them, no doubt, but he must see his hands! + </p> + <p> + All this passed swiftly through sir Wilton's mind. He rang the library + bell furiously, and sent a groom after the bookbinder. They drove in at + the gate, but stopped a little way from the house. Richard ran to the + great door, found it open, and went straight to the library. There sat the + baronet as at first. + </p> + <p> + “I bethought me,” said sir Wilton the moment he entered, “that I had given + you a cheque on the branch at Barset, when it would probably suit you + better to have one on headquarters in London!” + </p> + <p> + “It was very kind of you to think of it, sir,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Kind! I don't know about that! I'm not often accused of that weakness!” + returned sir Wilton, rising with a grin—in which, however, there was + more of humour than ill nature. + </p> + <p> + He went to the table in the window, sat down, unlocked a drawer, took out + a cheque-book, and began to write a cheque. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say was your name?” he asked: “these cheques are all made to + order, and I should prefer your drawing the money.” + </p> + <p> + Richard gave him again the name he had always been known by. + </p> + <p> + “Tuke! What a beast of a name!” said the baronet. “How do you spell it?” + </p> + <p> + Richard's face flushed, but he would not willingly show anger with one who + had granted the prayer of his sorest need. He spelled the name to him as + unconcernedly as he could. But the baronet had a keen ear. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you needn't be crusty!” he said. “I meant no harm. One has fancies + about names, you know! What did they call your mother before she was + married?” + </p> + <p> + Richard hesitated. He did not want sir Wilton to know who he was. He felt + that, the relation between them known by both, he must behave to his + father in a way he would not like. But he must, nevertheless, speak the + truth! Wherever he had not spoken the truth, he had repented, and been + ashamed, and had now come to see that to tell a lie was to step out of the + march of the ages led by the great will. “Her name, sir, was Armour,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Hey!” cried the baronet with a start. Yet he had all but expected it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,—Jane Armour.” + </p> + <p> + “Jane!” said his father with an accent of scorn. “—Not a bit of it!—<i>Jane</i>!” + he repeated, and muttered to himself—“What motive could there be for + misinforming the boy as to the <i>Christian</i> name of his mother?” + </p> + <p> + For, the moment he saw the youth again, the spell was upon him afresh, and + he felt all but certain he was his own. + </p> + <p> + Richard stood perplexed. Sir Wilton had taken his mother's name oddly for + any supposition. He had said Mrs. Manson was a liar: might not her + assertion of a relation between them be as groundless as it was spiteful? + He had at once acknowledged the Mansons, but showed no recognition of + himself on hearing his mother's name? There might be nothing in Mrs. + Manson's story; he might after all be the son of John as well as of Jane + Tuke! Only, alas, then, Alice and Arthur would not be his sister and + brother! They would be God's children all the same, though, and he God's + child! they would still be his brother and sister, to love and to keep. + </p> + <p> + “Here, put your name on the back there,” said the baronet, having blotted + the cheque. “I have made it payable to your order, and without your name + it is worth nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be safer to endorse it at the bank, sir,” returned Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I see you know what you're about!” grinned sir Wilton—saying to + himself, however, “The rascal will be too many for me!—But,” he + continued, “I see too you don't know how to sign your own name! I had + better alter it to <i>bearer</i>, with my initials! Damn it! your paltry + cheque has given me more trouble than if it had been for ten thousand! Sit + down there, will you, and write your name on that sheet of paper.” + </p> + <p> + Richard knew the story of Talleyrand—how, giving his autograph to a + lady, he wrote it at the top left-hand corner of the sheet, so that she + could write above or before it, neither an order for money nor a promise + of marriage: yielding to an absurd impulse, he did the same. The baronet + burst into loud laughter, which, however, ceased abruptly: he had not + gained his end! + </p> + <p> + “What comical duck-fists you've got!” he cried, risking the throw. “I once + knew a man whose fingers and toes too were tied together that way! He swam + like a duck!” + </p> + <p> + “My feet are more that way than my hands,” replied Richard. “Only <i>some</i> + of my fingers have got the web between them. My mother made me promise to + put up with the monstrosity till I came of age. She seemed to think some + luck lay in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother!” murmured the baronet, and kept eyeing him. “By Jove,” he + said aloud, “your mother—! Who is your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “As I told you, sir, my mother's name is Jane Tuke!” + </p> + <p> + “Born Armour?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “By heaven!” said the baronet to himself, “I see it all now! That terrible + nurse was one of the family—and carried him away because she didn't + like the look of my lady! Don't I wish I had had half her insight! Perhaps + she was cousin to Robina—perhaps her own sister! Simon, the villain, + will know all about it!” He sat silent for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Hm!—Now tell me, you young rascal,” he said, “why didn't you put in + a claim for yourself instead of those confounded Mansons?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I, sir? I didn't want anything. I have all I desire—except + a little more strength to work, and that is coming.” + </p> + <p> + The baronet kept gazing at him with the strangest look on his wicked, + handsome old face. + </p> + <p> + “There is something you <i>should</i> have asked me for!” he said at + length, in a gentler tone. + </p> + <p> + “What is that, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Your rights. You have a claim upon me before anyone else in the whole + world!—I like you, too,” he went on in yet gentler tone, with a + touch of mockery in it. Apparently he still hesitated to commit himself. + “I must do something for you!” + </p> + <p> + His son could contain himself no longer. + </p> + <p> + “I would ask nothing, I would take nothing,” he said, as calmly as he + could, though his voice trembled, and his heart throbbed with the + beginnings of love, “from a man who had wronged my mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Damn the rascal! I never wronged his mother!—Who said I wronged + your mother, you scoundrel? I'll take my oath <i>she</i> never did! Answer + me directly who told you so!” + </p> + <p> + His voice had risen to a roar of anger. + </p> + <p> + His son could do the dead no wrong by speaking the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Manson told me,” he began, but was not allowed to finish the + sentence. + </p> + <p> + “Damned liar she always was!” cried the baronet—with such a + fierceness in his growl as made Richard call to mind a certain bear in the + Zoological gardens. “Then it was she that had you stolen! The beast ought + to have died on the gallows, not in her bed! Ah, she was the one to plot, + the snake! In this whole curse of a world, <i>she</i> was the meanest + devil I ever came across, and I've known more than a few!” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about her, sir, except as the mother of Arthur, my + schoolfellow. She seemed to hate me! She said I belonged to you, and had + no right to be better off than her children!” + </p> + <p> + “How did she know you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You are like your mother, but the snake never can have set eyes on her!—Give + me that cheque. Her fry shan't have a farthing! Let them rot alive with + their dead dam!” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand: the second cheque lay on the table, and Richard had + the former still in his possession. He did not move, nor did sir Wilton + urge his demand. + </p> + <p> + “Did I not tell you?” he resumed. “Did I not say she was a liar? I never + did your mother a wrong—nor you neither, though I did swear at you a + bit, you were so damned ugly. I don't blame you. You couldn't help it! + Lord, what a display the woman made of your fingers and toes, as if the + webs were something to be proud of, and atoned for the face!—Can you + swim?” + </p> + <p> + “Fairly well, sir,” answered Richard carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother swam like a—Naiad, was it—or Nereid?—I + forget—damn it!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know the difference in their swimming.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor any other difference, I dare say!” + </p> + <p> + “I know the one was a nymph of the sea, the other of a river.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you know Greek, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I did, sir: I was not long enough at school. I had to learn a + trade and be independent.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove, I wish I knew a trade and was independent! But you shall learn + Greek, my boy! There will be some good in teaching <i>you</i>! <i>I</i> + never learned anything?—But how the deuce do you know about Naiads + and Nereids and all that bosh, if you don't know Greek?” + </p> + <p> + “I know my Keats, sir. I had to plough with his heifer though—use my + <i>Lempriere</i>, I mean!” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” said the baronet, who knew as little of Keats as any Lap.—“I + wish I had been content to take you with all your ugliness, and bring you + up myself, instead of marrying Lot's widow!” + </p> + <p> + Richard fancied he preferred the bringing up he had had, but he said + nothing. Indeed he could make nothing of the whole business. How was it + that, if sir Wilton had done his mother no wrong, his mother was the wife + of John Tuke? He was bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't like to learn Greek, then?” said his father. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; indeed I should!” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you say so then? I never saw such a block! I say you <i>shall</i> + learn Greek!—Why do you stand there looking like a dead oyster?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir! May I have the other cheque?” + </p> + <p> + “What other cheque?” + </p> + <p> + “The cheque there for my brother and sister, sir,” answered Richard, + pointing to it where the baronet had laid it, on the other side of him. + </p> + <p> + “Brother and sister!” + </p> + <p> + “The Mansons, sir,” persisted Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, give them the cheque and be damned to them! But remember they're no + brother and sister of yours, and must never be alluded to as such, or as + persons you have any knowledge of. When you've given them that,”—he + pointed to the cheque which still lay beside him—“you drop their + acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “That I cannot do, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a good beginning now! But I might have expected it!—You + tell me to my face you won't do what I order you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, sir; it wouldn't be right.” + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlesticks!—Wouldn't be right! What's that to you? It's my + business. You've got to do what I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “I must go by my conscience, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, damn your conscience! Will you promise, or will you not? You're to + have nothing to say to those young persons.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not promise.” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I promise to look after them?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” His father was silent for a moment, regarding him—not all + in anger. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you're a good-plucked one, I allow? But you're the greatest fool, + the dullest young ass out, notwithstanding. You won't suit me—though + you are web-footed!—Why, damn it, boy! don't you understand yet that + I'm your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Manson told me so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rot Mrs. Manson! she told you a damned lie! She told you I wronged + your mother! I tell you I married her! What a blockhead you are! Look + there, with your miserable tradesman's-eyes: all those books will be yours + one day!—to put in the fire if you like, or mend at from morning to + night, just as you choose! You fool! Ain't you my son, heir to Mortgrange, + and whatever I may choose to give you besides!” + </p> + <p> + Richard's heart gave a bound as if it would leap to heaven. It was not the + land; it was not the money; it was not the books; it was not even Barbara; + it was Arthur and Alice that made it bound. But the voice of his father + went on. + </p> + <p> + “You know now, you idiot,” it said, “why you can have nothing more to do + with that cursed litter of Mansons!” + </p> + <p> + Richard's heart rose to meet the heartlessness of his father. + </p> + <p> + “They are my brother and sister, sir!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And what the devil does it matter to you if they are! It's my business + that, not yours! You had nothing to do with it! You didn't make the + Mansons!” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; but God made us all, and says we're to love our brethren.” + </p> + <p> + “Now don't you come the pious over me! It won't pay here! Mind you, nobody + heard me acknowledge you! By the mighty heavens, I will deny knowing + anything about you! You'll have to prove to the court of chancery that + you're my son, born in wedlock, and kidnapped in infancy: by Jove, you'll + find it stiff! Who'll advance you the money to carry it there?—you + can't do it without money. Nobody; the property's not entailed, and who + cares whether it be sir Richard or sir Arthur? What's the title without + the property! But don't imagine I should mind telling a lie to keep the + two together. I'm not a nice man; I don't mind lying! I'm a bad man!—that + I know better than you or any one else, and you'll find it uncomfortable + to differ and deal with me both at once!” + </p> + <p> + “I will not deny my own flesh and blood,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will deny mine, and you may go rot with them.” + </p> + <p> + “I will work for them and myself,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton glared at him. Richard made a stride to the table. The baronet + caught up the cheque. Richard darted forward to seize it. Was his truth to + his friends to be the death of them? He <i>would</i> have the money! It + was his! He had told him to take it! + </p> + <p> + What might have followed I dare not think. Richard's hands were out to lay + hold on his father, when happily he remembered that he had not given him + back the former cheque, and Barset was quite within reach of his + grandfather's pony! He turned and made for the door. Sir Wilton read his + thought. + </p> + <p> + “Give me that cheque,” he cried, and hobbled to the bell. + </p> + <p> + Richard glanced at the lock of the door: there was no key in it! Besides + there were two more doors to the room! He darted out: there was the man, + far off down the passage, coming to answer the bell! He hastened to meet + him. + </p> + <p> + “Jacob,” he said, “sir Wilton rang for you: just run down with me to the + gate, and give the woman there a message for me.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried to the door, and the man, nothing doubting, followed him. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her,” said Richard as they went, “if she should see Mr. Wingfold + pass, to ask him to call at old Armour's smithy. She does not seem to + remember me! Good day! I'm in a hurry!” He leaped into the pony-cart. + </p> + <p> + “Barset!” he cried, and the same moment they were off at speed, for Simon + saw something fresh was up. + </p> + <p> + “Drive like Jehu,” panted Richard. “Let's see what the blessed pony can + do! Every instant is precious.” + </p> + <p> + Never asking the cause of his haste, old Simon did drive like Jehu, and + never had the pony gone with a better will: evidently he believed speed + was wanted, and knew he had it to give. + </p> + <p> + No hoofs came clamping on the road behind them. They reached the town in + safety, and Richard cashed his cheque—the more easily that Simon, a + well-known man in Barset, was seen waiting for him in his trap outside. + The eager, anxious look of Richard, and the way he clutched at the notes, + might otherwise have waked suspicion. As it was, it only waked curiosity. + </p> + <p> + When the man whom Richard had decoyed, appeared at length before his + master, whose repeated ringing had brought the butler first; and when sir + Wilton, after much swearing on his, and bewilderment on the man's part, + made out the trick played on him, his wrath began to evaporate in + amusement: he was outwitted and outmanoeuvred—but by his own son! + and even in the face of such an early outbreak of hostilities, he could + not help being proud of him. He burst into a half cynical laugh, and + dismissed the men—to vain speculation on the meaning of the affair. + </p> + <p> + Simon would have had Richard send the bank-notes by post, and stay with + him a week or two; but Richard must take them himself; no other way seemed + safe. Nor could he possibly rest until he had seen his mother, and told + her all. He said nothing to his grandfather of his recognition by sir + Wilton, and what followed: he feared he might take the thing in his own + hands, and go to sir Wilton. + </p> + <p> + Questioning his grandfather, he learned that Barbara was at home, but that + he had seen her only once. She had one day appeared suddenly at the smithy + door, with Miss Brown all in a foam. She asked about Richard, wheeled her + mare, and was off homeward, straight as an arrow—for he went to the + corner, and looked after her. + </p> + <p> + They were near a station at Barset, and a train was almost due. Simon + drove him there straight from the bank, and before he was home, Richard + was half-way to London. + </p> + <p> + Short as was his visit, he had got from it not merely all he had hoped, + but almost all he needed. His weakness had left him; he had twenty pounds + for his brother and sister; and his mother was cleared, though he could + not yet tell how: was he not also a little step nearer to Barbara? True, + he was disowned, but he had lived without his father hitherto, and could + very well go on to live without such a father! As long as he did what was + right, the right was on his side! As long as he gave others their rights, + he could waive his own! A fellow was not bound, he said, to insist on his + rights—at least he had not met with any he was bound to insist upon. + Borne swiftly back to London, his heart seemed rushing in the might of its + gladness to console the heaven-laden hearts of Alice and Arthur. Twenty + pounds was a great sum to carry them! He could indeed himself earn such a + sum in a little while, but how long would it not take him to save as much! + Here it was, whole and free, present and potent, ready to be turned at + once into food and warmth and hope! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LI. <i>BARONET AND BLACKSMITH</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The more sir Wilton's anger subsided, the more his heart turned to + Richard, and the more he regretted that he had begun by quarrelling with + him. Sir Wilton loved his ease, and was not a quarrelsome man. He could + dislike intensely, he could hate heartily, but he seldom quarrelled; and + if he could have foreseen how his son would take the demand he made upon + him, he would not at the outset have risked it. He liked Richard's looks + and carriage. He liked also his spirit and determination, though his first + experience of them he could have wished different. He felt also that very + little would make of him a man fit to show to the world and be proud of as + his son. To his satisfaction on these grounds was added besides a peculiar + pleasure in the discovery of him which he could ask no one to share—that + it was to him as a lump of dynamite under his wife's lounge, of which no + one knew but himself, and which he could at any instant explode. It was + sweet to know what he <i>could</i> do! to be aware, and alone aware, of + the fool's paradise in which my lady and her brood lived! And already, + through his own precipitation, his precious secret was in peril! + </p> + <p> + The fact gave him not a little uneasiness. His thought was, at the ripest + moment of her frosty indifference, to make her palace of ice fly in + flinders about her. Then the delight of her perturbation! And he had + opened his hand and let his bird fly! + </p> + <p> + His father did not know Richard's prudence. Like the fool every man of the + world is, he judged from Richard's greatness of heart, and his refusal to + forsake his friends, that he was a careless, happy-go-lucky sort of + fellow, who would bluster and protest. As to the march he had stolen upon + him on behalf of the Mansons, he nowise resented that. When pressed by no + selfish <i>necessity,</i> he did not care much about money; and his son's + promptitude greatly pleased him. + </p> + <p> + “The fellow shall go to college,” he said to himself; “and I won't give my + lady even a hint before I have him the finest gentleman and the best + scholar in the county! He shall be both! I will teach him billiards + myself! By Jove! it is more of a pleasure than at my years I had a right + to expect! To think of an old sinner like me being blessed with such a + victory over his worst enemy! It is more than I could deserve if I lived + to the age of Mephistopheles! I shouldn't like to live so long—there's + so little worth remembering! I wish forgetting things wiped them out! + There are things I hardly know whether I did or only wanted to do!—Damn + it, it may be all over Barset by this time, that the heir to sir Wilton's + property has turned up!” + </p> + <p> + He rang the bell, and ordered his carriage. + </p> + <p> + “I must see the old fellow, the rascal's grandfather!” he kept on to + himself. “I haven't exchanged a word with him for years! And now I think + of it, I take poor Robina's father for a very decent sort of fellow! If he + had but once hinted what he was, every soul in the parish would have known + it! I <i>must</i> find out whether he's in my secret! I can't <i>prove</i> + it yet, but perhaps he can!” + </p> + <p> + Simon Armour was not astonished to see the Lestrange carriage stop at the + smithy: he thought sir Wilton had come about the cheque. He went out, and + stood in hairy arms and leather apron at the carriage door. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Armour, how are you?” said the baronet. + </p> + <p> + “Well and hearty, sir, I thank you,” answered Simon. + </p> + <p> + “I want a word with you,” said sir Wilton. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell the coachman to drive round to the cottage, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I'll get out and walk there with you.” + </p> + <p> + Simon opened the carriage-door, and the baronet got out. + </p> + <p> + “That grandson of yours—” he began, the moment they were in Simon's + little parlour. + </p> + <p> + Simon started. “The old wretch knows!” he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + “—has been too much for me!” continued sir Wilton. “He got a cheque + out of me whether I would or not!” + </p> + <p> + “And got the money for it, sir!” answered the smith. “He seemed to think + the money better than the cheque!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't blame him, by Jove! There's decision in the fellow!—They + say his father's a bookbinder in London!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You know better! I don't want humbug, Armour! I'm not fond of it!” + </p> + <p> + “You told me people said his father was a bookbinder, and I said 'Yes, + sir'!” + </p> + <p> + “You know as well as I do it's a damned lie! The boy is mine. He belongs + neither to bookbinder nor blacksmith!” + </p> + <p> + “You'll allow me a small share in him, I hope! I've done more for him than + you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not my fault!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not; but I've done more for him than you ever will, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “How do you make that out?” + </p> + <p> + “I've made him as good a shoesmith as ever drove nail! I don't say he's up + to his grandfather at the anvil yet, but—” + </p> + <p> + “An accomplishment no doubt, but not exactly necessary to a gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + “It's better than dicing or card-playing!” said the blacksmith. + </p> + <p> + “You're right there! I hope he has learned neither. I want to teach him + those things myself.—He's not an ill-looking fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “There's not a better lad in England, sir! If you had brought him up as he + is, you might ha' been proud o' your work!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i> seems proud of somebody's work!—prouder of himself than + his prospects, by Jove!” said sir Wilton, feeling his way. “You should + have taught him not to quarrel with his bread and butter!” + </p> + <p> + “I never saw any call to teach him that. He never quarrelled with anything + at my table, sir. A man who has earned his own bread and butter ever since + he left school, is not likely to quarrel with it.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say <i>he</i> has done so?” + </p> + <p> + “I do—and can prove it!—Did you tell him, sir, you were his + father?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did!—and before I said another word, there we were + quarrelling—just as it was with me and my father!” + </p> + <p> + “He never told me!” said Simon, half to himself, and ready to feel hurt. + </p> + <p> + “He didn't tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone to London with your bounty.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Simon Armour,” began the baronet with some truculence. + </p> + <p> + “Now, sir Wilton Lestrange!” interrupted Simon. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Please to remember you are in my house!” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut! All I want to say is that you will spoil everything if you + encourage the rascal to keep low company!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Those Mansons.” + </p> + <p> + “Are your children low company, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I am sorry, but I must admit it. Their mother was low company.” + </p> + <p> + “She was in it at least, when she was in yours!” had all but escaped + Simon's lips, but he caught the bird by the tail.— + </p> + <p> + “The children are not the mother!” he said. “I know the girl, and she is + anything but low company. She lay ill in my house here for six weeks or + more. Ask Miss Wylder.—If you want to be on good terms with your + son, don't say a word, sir, against your daughter or her brother.” + </p> + <p> + “I like that! On good terms with my son! Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Remember, sir, he is independent of his father.” + </p> + <p> + “Independent! A beggarly bookbinder!” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir, but an honest trade is the only independence! You are + dependent on your money and your land. Where would you be without them? + And you made neither! They're yours only in a way! We, my grandson and I, + have means of our own,” said the blacksmith, and held out his two brawny + hands. “—The thing that is beggarly,” he resumed, “is to take all + and give nothing. If your ancestors got the land by any good they did, you + did not get it by any good you did; and having got it, what have you done + in return?” + </p> + <p> + “By Jove! I didn't know you were such a radical!” returned the baronet, + laughing. + </p> + <p> + “It is such as you, sir, that make what you call radicals. If the + landlords had used what was given them to good ends, there would be no + radicals—or not many—in the country! The landlords that look + to their land and those that are on it, earn their bread as hardly as the + man that ploughs it. But when you call it yours, and do nothing for it, I + am radical enough to think no wrong would be done if you were deprived of + it!” + </p> + <p> + “What! are you taking to the highway at your age?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; I have a trade I like better, and have no call to lighten you of + anything, however ill you may use it. But there are those that think they + have a right <i>and</i> a call to take the land from landlords like you, + and I would no more leave my work to prevent them than I would to help + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! I didn't come to talk politics; I came to ask a favour of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “What I can do for you, sir, I shall be glad to do.” + </p> + <p> + “It is merely this—that you will, for the present, say nothing about + the heir having turned up.” + </p> + <p> + “I could have laid my hand on him any moment this twenty years; and I can + tell you where to find the parish book with his baptism in it! That I've + not spoken proves I can hold my tongue; but I will give no pledge; when + the time comes I will speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you aware I could have you severely punished for concealing the + thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Fire away. I'll take my chance. But I would advise you not to allow the + thing come into court. Words might be spoken that would hurt! I know + nothing myself, but there is one that could and would speak. Better let + sleeping dogs lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, damn it! I don't want to wake 'em! Most old stories are best + forgotten. But what do you think: will the boy—What's his name?” + </p> + <p> + “My father's, sir,—Richard.” + </p> + <p> + “Will Richard, then, as you have taken upon you to call him”— + </p> + <p> + “His mother gave him the name.” + </p> + <p> + “What I want to know is, whether you think he will go and spread the + thing, or leave it to we to publish when I please.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell him to hold his tongue?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he didn't give me time.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a pity! He would have done whatever you asked him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! would he!” + </p> + <p> + “He would—so long as it was a right thing.” + </p> + <p> + “And who was to judge of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why the man who had to do it or leave it, of course!—But if he + didn't tell me, he's not likely to go blazing it abroad!” + </p> + <p> + “You said he would go to his mother first: his mother is nowhere.” + </p> + <p> + “So say some, so say not I!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that. Who is it he calls his mother?” + </p> + <p> + “The woman that brought him up—and a good mother she's been to him!” + </p> + <p> + “But who is she? You haven't told me who she is!” cried the baronet, + beginning to grow impatient; and impatience and anger were never far apart + with him. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, I haven't told you; and I don't mean to tell you till I see + fit.” + </p> + <p> + “And when, pray, will that be?” + </p> + <p> + “When I have your promise in writing that you will give her no trouble + about what is past and gone.” + </p> + <p> + “I will give you that promise—always provided she can prove that + what was past and gone is come again. I shall insist upon that!” + </p> + <p> + “Most properly, sir I You shall not have to wait for it.—And now, if + you will take me to the post-office, I will send a telegram to Richard, + warning him to hold his tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Come.” + </p> + <p> + They walked to the carriage, and Simon, displacing the footman, got up + beside the coachman. He was careful, however, to be set down before they + got within sight of the post-office. + </p> + <p> + The message he sent was— + </p> + <p> + “I know all, and will write. Say nothing but to your mother.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LII. <i>UNCLE-FATHER AND AUNT-MOTHER</i>. + </h2> + <p> + When Richard reached London, he went straight to Clerkenwell. There he + found Arthur, in bed and unattended, but covered up warm. Except one + number of <i>The Family Herald</i>, he had nothing to read. The room was + tidy, but very dreary. Richard asked him why he did not move into the + front room. Arthur did not explain, but Richard understood that the mother + had left so many phantasms behind her that he preferred his own dark + chamber. When Richard told him what he had done and the success he had + had, he thanked him with such a shining face that Richard saw in it the + birth of saving hope. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Arthur,” he said, “you must get better as fast as you can; and + the first minute you are able to be moved, we'll ship you off to my + grandfather's, where Alice was.” + </p> + <p> + “Away from Alice?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but you must remember there will be so much more for her to eat, and + so much more money to get things comfortable with by the time you come + back. Besides, you will grow well faster, and then perhaps we shall find + some fitter work for you than that hideous clerking!” + </p> + <p> + The flush of joy on Arthur's cheek was a divine reward to Richard for what + he had done and suffered and sacrificed for the sake of his brother. He + made a fire, and having set on the kettle, went to buy some things, that + he might have a nice supper ready for Alice when she came home. Next he + found two clean towels, and covered the little table, forgetting all his + troubles in the gladness of ministration, and the new life that hope + gives. If only we believed in God, how we should hope! And what would not + hope do to reveal the new heavens and the new earth—that is, to show + us the real, true, and gracious aspect of those heavens and that earth in + which we now live so sadly, and are not at home, because we do not see + them as they are, do not recognize in them the beginning of the + inheritance we long for! + </p> + <p> + When Alice came in, she heard Arthur cough, and hurried up; but before she + reached the top of the second stair, she heard a laugh which, though + feeble, was of such merry enjoyment, that it filled her with wonder and + gladness. Had the fairy god-mother appeared at last? What could have come + to make Arthur laugh like that? She opened the door, and all was + explained: there sat the one joy of their life, their brother Richard, + looking much like himself again! What a healer, what a strength-giver is + joy! Will not holy joy at last drive out every disease in the world? Will + it not be the elixir of life, and drive out death? She sprang upon him, + and burst out weeping. + </p> + <p> + “Come and have supper,” he said. “I've been out to buy it, and haven't + much time to help you eat it. My father and mother don't know where I am.” + </p> + <p> + Then he told her what he had been about. It was with a happy heart he made + his way home, for he left happy hearts behind him. He wondered that his + mother was not surprised to see him—wondered too why she looked so + troubled. + </p> + <p> + “What does this telegram mean?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, mother,” he replied. “Won't you give me a kiss first?” + </p> + <p> + She threw her arms about him. “You won't give up saying <i>mother</i> to + me, will you?” she pleaded, fighting with her emotion. + </p> + <p> + “It will be a bad day for me when I do!” he answered. “My mother you are + and shall be. But I don't understand it!” + </p> + <p> + The telegram let him know that sir Wilton and his grandfather had been in + communication, and gave him hope that things might be accommodated between + him and his father. + </p> + <p> + “You've got your real father now, Richard!” said his mother. + </p> + <p> + But she saw an expression on his face that made her add,— + </p> + <p> + “You must respect your father, Richard—now you know him for your + father.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't respect him, mother. He is not a good man. I can only love him.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to find fault with him. He was not to blame that I + carried you away when your mother died! I was terrified at your + stepmother!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't wonder at that, mother!—Ah, now I begin to understand it + all!—But, mother, if my father had been a good man, I don't believe + you would hare carried me away from him!” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely not, my boy—though he did make me that angry by calling + you ugly! And I don't believe I should have taken you at all, if that + woman hadn't sent me away for no reason but to have a nurse of her + choosing. How could I leave my sister's child in the power of such a + woman! Day and night, Richard, was I haunted with the sight of her cold + face hanging over you. I was certain the devil might have his way with her + when he chose: there was no love in her to prevent him. In my dreams I saw + her giving you poison, or with a pen-knife in her hand, and her eyes + shining like ice. I could <i>not</i> bear it. I should have gone mad to + leave you there. I knew I was committing a crime in the eyes of the law; + but I felt a stronger law compelling me; and I said to myself, 'I will be + hanged for my child, rather than my child should be murdered! I will <i>not</i> + leave him with that woman!' So I took you, Richard!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, mother, a thousand times! I am sure it was right, and every + way best for me! Oh, how much I owe you and my—uncle! I must call + you <i>mother</i> still, but I'm afraid I shall have to call my father <i>uncle</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “It won't hurt him, Richard; he has been a good uncle to you, but I don't + think he would have taught you the things he did, if you had been his very + own child!” + </p> + <p> + “He has done me no harm, mother,—nothing but good,” said Richard. “—And + so you are my own mother's sister?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and a good mother she would have been to you! You must not think of + her as a grim old woman like me! She was but six and twenty when you were + born and she died! She was the most beautiful woman <i>I</i> ever saw, + Richard!—Never another woman's hand has touched your body but hers + and mine, Richard!” + </p> + <p> + He took her hand and kissed it. Jane Tuke had never had her hand kissed + before, and would have drawn it away. The lady within was ashamed of her + rough gloves, not knowing they had won her her ladyhood. In the real + world, there are no ladies but true women. Also they only are beautiful. + All there show what they are, and the others are all more or less + deformed. Oh, what lovely ladies will walk into the next world out of the + rough cocoon of their hard-wrought bodies—not because they have been + working women, but because they have been true women. Among working women + as among countesses, there are last that shall be first, and first that + shall be last. <i>What kind of woman</i> will be the question. Alas for + those, whether high or low or in the middle, whose business in life has + been to be ladies! What poor, mean, draggled, unangelic things will come + crawling out of the husk they are leaving behind them, which yet, perhaps, + will show a glimmer, in the whiteness of death, of what they were meant to + be, if only they had lived, had <i>been</i>, had put forth the power that + was in them as their birthright! Not a few I know will crawl out such, + except they awake from the dead, and cry for life. Perhaps one and another + in the next world will say to me, “You meant me! I know now why you were + always saying such things!” For I suspect the next world will more plainly + be a going on with this than most people think—only it will be much + better for some, and much worse for others, as the Lord has taught us in + the parable of the rich man and the beggar. + </p> + <p> + “No, Richard,” resumed his aunt, “your father was not a good man, but he + may be better now, and perhaps you will help him to be better still.” + </p> + <p> + “It's doubtful if ever I have the chance,” returned Richard. “We've had a + pretty fair quarrel already!” + </p> + <p> + “He can't take your birthright from you!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “That may be—but what <i>is</i> my birthright? He told me the land + was not entailed; he can leave it to anybody he likes. But I'm not going + to do what he would have me do—that is if it be wrong,” added + Richard, not willing to start the question about the Mansons. “To be a + sneak would be a fine beginning! If that's to be a gentleman, I will be no + gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are, my son!” said Tuke, who that moment came in. + </p> + <p> + “Oh uncle!” cried Richard, starting to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Uncle</i>!—Ho! ho! What's up now?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing's up, but all's out, father!” answered Richard, putting his hand + in that of the bookbinder. “You knew, and now I know! How shall I ever + thank you for what you have done for me, and been to me, and given me!” + </p> + <p> + “Precious little anyway, my boy! I wish it had been a great deal more.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you what you have done for me I—You made a man of me + first of all, by giving me a trade, and making me independent. Then again, + by that trade you taught me to love the very shape of a book. Baronet or + no baronet,—” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “My father threatens to disown me.” + </p> + <p> + “He can't take your rank from you. We'll have you sir Richard anyhow!—An' + I'd let 'em see that a true baronet—” + </p> + <p> + “—is just a true man, uncle.” interposed Richard; “and that you've + helped to make me. It's being independent and helping others, not being a + baronet, that will make a gentleman of me! That's how it goes in the true + world anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + “The <i>true</i> world! Where's that?” rejoined Tuke, with what would have + been a sneer had there been ill-nature in it. + </p> + <p> + “And that reminds me of another precious thing you've given me,” Richard + went on: “You've taught me to think for myself!” + </p> + <p> + “Think for yourself indeed, and talk of any world but the world we've + got!” + </p> + <p> + “If you hadn't taught me,” returned Richard, “to think for myself, I + should have thought just as you did. But I've been thinking for myself a + great deal, and I say now, that, if there be no more of it after we die, + then the whole thing is such a sell as even the dumb, deaf, blind, + heartless, headless God you seem to believe in, could not have been guilty + of!” + </p> + <p> + “Ho! ho!—that's the good my teaching has done you? Well, we'll have + it out by and by! In the meantime, tell us how it all came about—how + you came to know, I mean. You're a good sort, whatever you believe or + don't believe, and I wish you were ours in reality!” + </p> + <p> + “It's just in reality that I am yours!” protested Richard; but his mother + broke in. + </p> + <p> + “Would you dare, John,” she cried, “to wish him ours to his loss?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Jane! You know me! It was but a touch of what you call the old + Adam—and I the old John! We've got to take care of each other! We're + all agreed about that!” + </p> + <p> + “And you do it, father, and that's before any agreeing about it!” + </p> + <p> + “Come and let's have our tea!” said the mother; “and Richard shall tell us + how it worked round that the old gentleman knew him. I remember him young + enough to be no bad match for your mother, and that's enough to say for + any man—as to looks, I mean only. There wasn't a more beautiful + woman than my sister Robina in all England—and I'm bold to say it—not + that it wants much boldness to say the truth!” + </p> + <p> + “It wants nearly as much at this moment as I have got,” returned Richard; + for his narrative required, as an essential part of it, that he should + tell what had made him go to his father. + </p> + <p> + He had but begun when a black cloud rose on his mother's face, and she + almost started from her seat. + </p> + <p> + “I told you, Richard, you were to have nothing to do with those + creatures!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” answered Richard, “was it God or the devil told me I must be + neighbour to my own brother and sister? Hasn't my father done them wrong + enough that you should side with him and want me to carry on the wrong? I + heard the same voice that made you run away with me. You were ready to be + hanged for me; I was ready to lose my father for them. He too said I must + have done with them, and I told him I wouldn't. That was why I got you to + put me on journeyman's wages, uncle. They were starving, and I had nothing + to give them. What am I in the world for, if not to set right, so far as I + may, what my father has set wrong? You see I <i>have</i> learned something + of you, uncle!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see what,” returned Tuke. + </p> + <p> + He had been listening with a grave face, for he had his pride, and did not + relish his nephew's being hand and glove with his base-born brother and + sister. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you, father? Where's your socialism? I'm only trying to carry it + out.” + </p> + <p> + “Out and away, my boy, as Samson did the gates in my mother's old bible!” + answered John. + </p> + <p> + “If a man's socialism don't apply to his own flesh and blood,” resumed + Richard, “where on earth is it to begin? Must you hate your own flesh, and + go to Russia or China for somebody to be fair to? Ain't your own got as + good a right to fair play as any, and ain't they the readiest to begin + with? Is it selfish to help your own? It ain't the way you've done by me, + uncle!” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't forget,” said John, “that a grave wrong is done the nation + when marriage is treated with disrespect.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my father did that! Was it Alice and Arthur that broke the + marriage-law by being born out of wedlock?” + </p> + <p> + “If you treat them like other people, you slight that law.” + </p> + <p> + “If sir Wilton Lestrange were to come into the room this minute, you would + offer him a chair; his children you would order out of the house!” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't do that,” said Mrs. Tuke. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, you turned them out of the house!—I beg your pardon, + mother, but you know it was the same thing! You visited the sins of the + father on the children!” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” cried his uncle; “I thought you couldn't mean the rot!” + </p> + <p> + “What rot, father?” + </p> + <p> + “That rot about God you flung at me first thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Father, it would take the life out of me to believe there was no God; but + the God I hope in is a very different person from the God my mother's + clergy have taught her to believe in. Father, do you know Jesus Christ!” + </p> + <p> + “I know the person you mean, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + “I know what <i>kind</i> of person he is, and he said God was just like + him, and in the God like him, if I can find him, I will believe with all + my heart and soul—and so would you, father, if you knew him. You + will say, perhaps, he ain't nowhere to know! but you haven't a right to + say that until you've been everywhere to look; for such a God is no + absurdity; it's nothing ridiculous to look for him. I beg your pardon, + both of you, but I'm bound to speak. Jesus Christ said we must leave + father and mother for him, because he is true; and I must speak for him + what is true, even if my own father and mother should think me rude.” + </p> + <p> + He had spoken eagerly; and man or woman who does not put truth first, may + think he ought to have held his tongue. But neither father nor mother took + offence. The mother, unspeakably relieved by what had taken place, was + even ready to allow that her favourite preacher might “perhaps dwell too + much upon the terrors of the law.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LIII. <i>MORNING</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The next post brought a letter from Simon Armour, saying, after his own + peculiar fashion, that it was time the thing were properly understood + between the parties concerned; but, that done, they must attend to the + baronet's wish, and disclose nothing yet: he believed sir Wilton had his + reasons. They must therefore, as soon as possible, make it clear to him + that there was no break in the chain of their proof of Richard's identity. + He proposed, therefore, that his daughter should pay her father a visit, + and bring Richard. + </p> + <p> + The suggestion seemed good to all concerned. Criminal as she knew herself, + Jane Tuke did not shrink from again facing sir Wilton, with the nephew by + her side whom one and twenty years before she had carried in her arms to + meet his unfatherly gaze! To her surprise she found that she almost + enjoyed the idea. + </p> + <p> + Richard cashed the post-office-order the old man sent them, and they set + out for his cottage. + </p> + <p> + The same day Simon went to Mortgrange and saw the baronet, who agreed at + once to go to the cottage to meet his sister-in-law. The moment he entered + the little parlour where they waited to receive him, he made Mrs. Tuke a + polite bow, and held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “You are the sister of my late wife, I am told,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Jane made him a dignified courtesy, her resentment, after the lapse of + twenty years, rising fresh at sight of the man who had behaved so badly to + her sister. + </p> + <p> + “It was you that carried off the child?” said the baronet. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered Jane. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad I did not know where to look for him. You did me the greatest + possible favour. What these twenty years would have been like, with him in + the house, I dare not think.” + </p> + <p> + “It was for the child's sake I did it!” said Jane. + </p> + <p> + “I am perfectly aware it was not for mine!” returned sir Wilton. “Ha! ha! + you looked as if you had come to stab me that day you brought the little + object to the library, and gave me such a scare! You presented his fingers + and toes to me as if, by Jove, I was the devil, and had made them so on + purpose!—I tell you, Richard, if that's your name, you rascal, you + have as little idea what a preposterously ugly creature you were, as I had + that you would ever grow to be—well, half-fit to look at! I was + appalled at the sight of you! And a good thing it was! If I had taken to + you, and brought you up at home, it would scarcely have been to your + advantage. You would have been worth less than you are, however little + that may be! But it doesn't follow you're the least fit to be owned to! + You're a tradesman, every inch of you—no more like a gentleman than—well, + not half so like a gentleman as your grandfather there! By heaven, the + anvil must be some sort of education! Why wasn't <i>I</i> bound apprentice + to my old friend Simon there! But, Richard, you don't look a gentleman, + though your aunt looks as if she would eat me for saying it.—Now + listen to me—all of you. It's no use your saying I've acknowledged + him. If I choose to say I know nothing about him, then, as I told the + rascal himself the other day, you'll have to prove your case, and that + will take money! and when you've proved it, you get nothing but the title, + and much good that will do you! So you had better make up all your minds + to do as I tell you—that is, not to say one word about the affair, + but just hold your tongues.—Now none of that looking at one another, + as if I meant to do you! I'm not going to have people say my son shows the + tradesman in him! I'm not going to have the Lestranges knock under to the + Armours! I'm going to have the rascal the gentleman I can make him!—You're + to go to college directly, sir; and I don't want to hear of or from you + till you've taken your degree! You shall have two hundred a year and pay + your own fees—not a penny more if you go on your marrow-bones for + it!—You understand? You're not to attempt communicating with me. If + there's anything I ought to know, let your grandfather come to me. I will + see him when he pleases—or go to him, if he prefers it, and I'm not + too gouty! Only, mind, I make no promises! If I should leave all I have to + the other lot, you will have no right to complain. With the education I + will give you, and the independence your uncle has given you, and the good + sense you have on your own hook, you're provided for. You can be a doctor + or a parson, you know. There's more than one living in my gift. The + Reverend sir Richard Lestrange!—it don't sound amiss. I'm sorry I + shan't hear it. I shall be gone where they crop one of everything—even + of his good works, the parsons say, but I shan't be much the barer for + that! It's hard, confounded hard, though, when they're all a fellow has + got!—Now don't say a word! I don't like being contradicted!—not + at all! It sends one round on the other tack, I tell you—and there's + my gout coming! Only mind this: if once you say who you are as long as + you're at college, or before I give you leave, I have done with you. I + won't have any little plan of mine forestalled for your vanity! Don't any + of you say who he is. It will be better for him—much. If it be but + hinted who he is, he'll be courted and flattered, and then he'll be stuck + up, and take to spending money! But as sure as hell, if he goes beyond his + allowance—well, I'll pay it, but it shall be his last day at Oxford. + He shall go at once into the navy—or the excise, by George!” + </p> + <p> + This expression of the baronet's will, if not quite to the satisfaction of + every one concerned, was altogether delightful to Richard. + </p> + <p> + “May I say one word, sir?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if it's not arguing.” + </p> + <p> + “I've not read a page of Latin since I left school, and I never knew any + Greek.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! ah! I forgot that predicament! You must have a tutor to prepare you!—but + you shall go to Oxford with him. I will <i>not</i> have you loafing about + here! You may remain with your grandfather till I find one, but you're not + to come near Mortgrange.” + </p> + <p> + “I may go to London with my mother, may I not?” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I see nothing against that. It will be the better way.” + </p> + <p> + “If you please, sir Wilton,” said Mrs. Tuke, “I left evidence at + Mortgrange of what I should have to say.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of evidence?” + </p> + <p> + “Things that belonged to the child and myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Hid in the nursery.” + </p> + <p> + “My lady had everything moved, and the room fresh-papered after you left. + I remember that distinctly.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she say nothing about finding anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.—Of course she wouldn't!” + </p> + <p> + “I left a box of my own, with—” + </p> + <p> + “You'll never see it again.” + </p> + <p> + “The things the child always wore when he went out, were under the + wardrobe.” + </p> + <p> + “Oblige me by saying nothing about them. I am perfectly satisfied, and + believe every word you say. I believe Richard there the child of your + sister Robina and myself; and it shall not be my fault if he don't have + his rights! At the same time I promise nothing, and will manage things as + I see best.” + </p> + <p> + “At your pleasure, sir!” answered Mrs. Tuke. + </p> + <p> + “Should you mind, sir, if I went to see Mr. Wingfold before I go?” asked + Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Who's he?” + </p> + <p> + “The clergyman of the next parish, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know him—don't want to know him!—What have you got to + do with <i>him</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “He was kind to me when I was down here before.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care you should have much to do with the clergy.” + </p> + <p> + “You said, sir, I might go into the church!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>That's</i> another thing quite! You would have the thing in your own + hands then!” + </p> + <p> + Richard was silent. There was no point to argue. The moment sir Wilton was + gone, Simon turned to his grandson. + </p> + <p> + “It was a pity you asked him about Mr. Wingfold. The only thing is you + mustn't let out his secret. As to seeing Mr. Wingfold, or Miss Wylder + either, just do as you please.” + </p> + <p> + “No, grandfather. If I had not asked him, perhaps I might; but to ask him, + and then not do what he told me, would be a sneaking shame!” + </p> + <p> + “You're right, my boy! Hold on that way, and you'll never be ashamed—or + make your people ashamed either.” + </p> + <p> + For the meantime, then, Richard went to London with his mother; and so + anxious was old Simon, stimulated in part by the faithfulness of his + grandson, to do nothing that might thwart the pleasure of the tyrant, that + when first Wingfold asked after Richard, he told him he was at home, and + the next time that he was at work in the country. + </p> + <p> + Richard went on helping his uncle, and going often to see his brother and + sister. When Arthur was able for the journey, both he and Alice went with + him. At the station they were met by Simon, with an old post-chaise he had + to mend up. Having seen Arthur comfortably settled, his brother and sister + went back to London together—Alice to go into a single room, and + betake herself once more to her work, but with new courage and hope; + Richard to the book-binding till his father should have found a tutor for + him. + </p> + <p> + The Tukes were slowly becoming used, if not reconciled, to his care of the + Mansons. His mother, indignant for her deceased sister, stood out the + stiffest; the bookbinder could not fail to see that the youth was but + putting in practice the socialistic theories he had himself sought to + teach him. True, the thing came straight from the heart of Richard, and + went much farther than his uncle's theories; but his uncle counted it the + result of his own training, and woke at last to the fact that his theories + were better than he had himself known. + </p> + <p> + With the help of the head of the college to which sir Wilton had resolved + to send his son, a tutor was at length found—happily for Richard, + one of the right sort. They went together to Oxford, and set to work at + once. It would be hard to say which of the two reaped the more pleasure + from the relation, or which, in the duplex process of teaching and + learning, gained the most. For the tutor had in Richard a pupil of + practised brain yet fresh, a live soul ready, for its own need and + nourishment, to use every truth it came near. His penetrative habit made + not a few regard him as a bore: their feeble vitality was troubled by the + energy of his; he could not let a thing go in which he descried a + principle: he must see it close! To the more experienced he was one who + had not yet learned, wisely fearful of the trampling hoof, to carry aside + his oyster with its possible pearl before he opened it. In earnest about + everything, he must work out his liberty before he could gambol. A slave + will amuse himself in his dungeon; a free man must file through his chains + and dig through his prison-walls before he can frolic. Sunlight and air + came through his open windows enough to keep Richard alive and strong, but + not enough yet to make him merry. He was too solemn, thus, for most of + those he met, but, happily, not for his tutor. Finding Richard knew ten + times as much of English literature as himself, he became in this + department his pupil's pupil; and listening to his occasional utterance of + a religious difficulty, had new regions of thought opened in him, to the + deepening and verifying of his nature. The result for the tutor was that + he sought ordination, in the hope of giving to others what had at length + become real to himself. + </p> + <p> + Richard gained little distinction at his examinations. He did well enough, + but was too eager after real knowledge to care about appearing to know. + </p> + <p> + He made friends, but not many familiar friends. He sorely missed + ministration: it had grown a necessity of his nature. It was well that the + habit should be broken for a time. For, laden with consciousness, and not + full of God, the soul will delight in itself as a benefactor, a regnant + giver, the centre of thanks and obligation: and will thus, with a + rampart-mound of self-satisfaction, dam out the original creative life of + its being, the recognition of which is life eternal. But it grew upon + Richard that, if there be a God, it is the one business of a man to find + him, and that, if he would find him, he must obey the voice of his + conscience. + </p> + <p> + As to the outward show of the man, Richard's carriage was improving. Level + intercourse with men of his own age but more at home in what is called + society, influenced his manners both with and without his will, while, all + the time, he was gathering the confidence of experience. His rowing, and + the daily run to and from the boats, with other exercises prescribed by + his tutor, strengthened the shoulders whose early stoop had threatened to + return with much reading. He was fast growing more than presentable. With + the men of his year, his character more than his faculty had influence. + </p> + <p> + Old Simon was doing his best for Arthur. He would not hear of his going + back to London, or attempting anything in the way of work beyond a little + in the garden. He was indeed nowise fit for more. + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith himself was making progress—the best parts of him + were growing fast. Age was turning the strength into channels and + mill-streams, which before, wild-foaming, had flooded the meadows. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LIV. <i>BARBARA AT HOME</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Barbara's brother, her father's twin, was fast following her mother's to + that somewhere each of us must learn for himself, no one can learn from + another. While they were in London, he was in the Isle of Wight with his + tutor. His mother and sister had several times gone to see him, but he did + not show much pleasure in their attentions, and was certainly happier with + his tutor than with any one else. Disease, however, was making straight + the path of Love. Now they were all at home at Wylder Hall, and Death was + on his way to join them. Love, however, was watching, ready to wrest from + him his sting—without which he is no more Death, but Sleep. As the + poor fellow grew weaker, his tutor became less able to console him: and he + could not look to his mother for the tenderness he had seen her lavish on + his brother. But the love of his sister had always leaned toward him, + ready, on the least opening of the door of his heart, to show itself in + the chink; and at last the opportunity of being to him and doing for him + what she could, arrived. One day, on the lawn, he tripped and fell. The + strong little Barbara took him in her arms, and carried him to his room. + When two drops of water touch, the mere contact is not of long duration: + the hearts of the sister and the dying brother rushed into each other. + After this, they were seldom apart. A new life had waked in the very heart + of death, and grew and spread through the being of the boy. His eye became + brighter, not with fever only, but with love and content and hope; for + Barbara made him feel that nothing could part them; that they had been + born into the world for the hour when they should find one another—as + now they had found one another, to have one another to all eternity: it + was an end of their being! He would come creeping up to her as she worked + or read, and sit on a stool at her feet, asking for nothing, wishing for + nothing, content to be near her. But then Barbara's book or work was soon + banished. He was bigger than she, but the muscles of the little maiden + were as springs of steel, informed with the tenderest, strongest heart in + all the county, and presently he would find himself lifted to her lap, his + head on her shoulder, the sweetest voice in all the world whispering + loveliest secrets in his willing ear, and her face bent over him with the + stoop of heaven over the patient, weary earth. In her arms his poor + wasting body forgot its restlessness; the fever that irritated every + nerve, burning away the dust of the world, seemed to pause and let him + grow a little cool; and the sleep that sometimes came to him there was + sweet as death. The face that had so long looked peevish, wore now a + waiting look: in heaven, every one sheltered the other, and the arms of + God were round them all! + </p> + <p> + One day the mother peeped in, and saw them seated thus. Motherhood, strong + in her, though hitherto, as regarded the boy, poisoned by her strife with + her husband, moved and woke at the sight of her natural place occupied by + her daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Let me take him, poor fellow!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Delighted that her mother should do something for him, Barbara rose with + him in her arms. The mother sat down, and Barbara laid him in her lap. But + the mother felt him lie listless and dead; no arm came creeping feebly up + to encircle her neck. One of her babies died unborn, and she knew the + moment the strange sad feeling of the time came back to her now; she felt + through all her sensitive maternal body that her child did not care for + her. Grown, through her late illness, at once weaker and tenderer, she + burst into silent weeping. He looked up; the convulsion of her pain had + roused him from a half-sleep. A tear dropped on his face. + </p> + <p> + “Don't rain, mamma! I will be good!” he said, and held his mouth to be + kissed. + </p> + <p> + He was much too old for such baby-speech, but as he grew weaker, he had + grown younger; and it seemed now as if, in his utter helplessness, he + would go back to the bosom of his mother. She clasped him to her, and from + that moment she and Barbara shared him between them. + </p> + <p> + So for a while, Barbara had not the same room to think about Richard; but + when she did think of him, it was always in the some loving, trusting, + hoping way. + </p> + <p> + When in London, she went to all the parties to which she was expected to + go, and enjoyed them—after her own fashion. She loved her kind, and + liked their company up to a point. But often would the crowd and the + glitter, the motion and iridescence, vanish from her, and she sit there a + live soul dreaming within closed doors. She would be pacing her weary pony + through a pale land, under a globose moon, homeward; or, on the back of + one of her father's fleet horses, sweeping eastward over the grassy land, + in the level light of the setting sun, watching the strange herald-shadow + of herself and her horse rushing away before them, ever more distort as it + fled:—like some ghastly monster, in horror at itself, it hurried to + the infinite, seeking blessed annihilation, and ever gathering speed as + the sun of its being sank, till at last it gained the goal of its nirvana, + not by its well run race, but in the darkness of its vanished creator. + Then with a sigh would Barbara come to herself, the centre of many + regards. + </p> + <p> + Arthur Lestrange found himself no nearer to her than before—farther + off indeed; for here he was but one among many that sought her. But her + behaviour to him was the same in a crowded room in London as in the garden + at Mortgrange. She spoke to him kindly, turned friendly to him when he + addressed her, and behaved so that the lying hint of lady Ann, that they + had been for some time engaged, was easily believed. A certain + self-satisfied, well-dressed idiot, said it was a pity a girl like that, a + little Amazon, who, for as innocent as she looked, could ride backward and + steer her steed straight, should marry a half-baked brick like Lestrange: + Arthur, though he was not one of the worthiest, was worth ten of him, + faultless as were his coats and neckties! + </p> + <p> + Her father had several times said to her that it was time she should + marry, but had never got nearer anything definite; for there her eyes + would flash, and her mouth close tight—compelling the reflection + that her mother had been more than enough for him, and he had better not + throw his daughter into the opposition as well. He could not, he saw + clearly, prevail with her against her liking; but it would be an infernal + pity, he thought, seeing poor Marcus must go, if she would not have + Lestrange; for the properties would marry splendidly, and then who could + tell what better title might not stand on the top of the baronetcy! + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann would not let her hope go. She grew daily more fearful of the + cloud that hung in the future: out of it might at any moment step the + child of her enemy, the low-born woman who had dared to be lady Lestrange + before her! Then where would she and her children be! That her Arthur + would not succeed him, would be a morsel to sweeten her husband's death + for him! It would be life in death to him to spite the woman he had + married! At one crisis in their history, he had placed in her hands a will + that left everything to her son; but he might have made ten wills after + that one! She knew she had done nothing to please him: she had in fact + never spent a thought on making life a good thing to the man she had + married. She wished she had endeavoured or might now endeavour to make + herself agreeable to him. But it was too late! Sir Wilton would instantly + imagine a rumour of the lost heir, and be on the alert for her + discomfiture! If only he had not yet made a later will! He must die one + day: why not in time to make his death of use when his life was of none! + No one would wonder he had preferred the offspring of her noble person to + the lost brat of the peasant woman! + </p> + <p> + How far over the line that separates guilt from greed, lady Ann might not + have gone had she been sure of not being found out, she herself could not + have told. The look of things is very different at night and in the + morning; the bed-chamber can shelter what would be a horror in a court of + justice; a conscience at peace in its own darkness will shudder in the + gaslight of public opinion. It is marvellous that what we call <i>the + public</i>, a mere imbecile as to judgment, should yet possess the Godlike + power of awakening the individual conscience—and that with its own + large dullness of conscience! Truly the relation of the world to its maker + cannot primarily be an intellectual one; it must be a relation + tremendously deeper! We do not, I mean, to speak after the manner of men, + come of God's intellect, but of his imagination. He did not make us with + his hands, but loved us out of his heart. + </p> + <p> + The same week in which sir Wilton gave that will into his lady's keeping, + he executed a second, in which he made the virtue of the former depend on + the non-appearance of the lost heir. Of this will he said nothing to his + wife. Even from the grave he would hold a shadowy yet not impotent rod + over her and her family! Lady Ann suspected something of the sort, and + spent every moment safe from his possible appearance, in searching for + some such hidden torpedo. But there was one thing of which sir Wilton took + better care than of his honour—and that was his bunch of keys. + </p> + <p> + After the return of the Lestranges and the Wylders to their country-homes, + lady Ann, having prevailed, on Mrs. Wylder to pay her a visit, initiated + an attempt to gain her connivance in her project for the alliance of the + houses. For this purpose she opened upon her with the same artillery she + had employed against her husband. Mrs. Wylder sat for some time quietly + listening, but looking so like her daughter, that lady Ann saw the + mother's and not the father's was the alliance to seek. Thereupon she + plucked the tompion out of the best gun in her battery, as she thought, + and began to hint a fear that Miss Wylder had taken a fancy to a person + unworthy of her. + </p> + <p> + “Girls who have not been much in society,” she said, “are not unfrequently + the sport of strange infatuations! I have myself known an earl's daughter + marry a baker! I do not, of course, imagine <i>your</i> daughter guilty of + the slightest impropriety,—” + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had the word left her lips, when a fury stood before her—towered + above her, eyes flashing and mouth set, as if on the point of tearing her + to pieces. + </p> + <p> + “Say the word and my Bab in the same breath again, and I'll throttle you, + you vile woman!” cried Mrs. Wylder, and hung there like a thunder-cloud, + lightening continuously. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann was not of a breed familiar with fear, but, for the first time in + her life, except in the presence of her mother, a far more formidable + person than herself, she did feel afraid—of what, she would have + found it hard to say, for to acknowledge the possibility of personal + violence would be almost as undignified as to threaten it! + </p> + <p> + “I did not mean to offend you,” she said, growing a little paler, but at + the same time more rigid. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of mother do you take me for? Offended, indeed! Would you be + all honey, I should like to know, if I had the assurance, to say such a + thing of one of your girls?” + </p> + <p> + “I spoke as to a mother who knew what girls are like!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know what my girl Bab is like!” cried Mrs. Wylder, with + something that much resembled an imprecation: the word she used would + shock thousands of mothers not comparable to her in motherhood. If + propriety were righteousness, the kingdom of heaven would be already + populous. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann was offended, and seriously: was alliance with such a woman + permissible or sufferable? But she was silent. For once in her life she + did not know the proper thing to say. Was the woman mad, or only a savage? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Wylder's eloquence required opposition. She turned away, and with a + backward glance of blazing wrath, left the room and the house. + </p> + <p> + “Home like the devil!” she said to the footman as he closed the door of + the carriage—and she disappeared in a whirlwind. + </p> + <p> + From the library sir Wilton saw her stormy exit and departure. “By Jove!” + he said to himself, “that woman must be one of the right sort! She's what + my Ruby might have been by this time if she'd been spared! A hundred to + one, my lady was insolent to her!—said something cool about her + mad-cap girl, probably! <i>She's</i> the right sort, by Jove, that little + Bab! If only my Richard now, leathery fellow, would glue on to her! + There's nothing left in this cursed world of the devil and all his angels + that I should like half so well! I'll put him up to it, I will! Arthur and + she indeed! As if a plate of porridge like Arthur would draw a fireflash + like Bab! I'd give the whole litter of 'em, and throw in the dam, to call + that plucky little robin my girl! I'd give my soul to have such a girl!” + </p> + <p> + It did not occur to him that his soul for Barbara would scarcely be fair + barter. + </p> + <p> + “Dick's well enough,” he went on, “but he's a man, and you've got to + quarrel with him! I'm tired of quarrelling!” + </p> + <p> + The instant she reached home, Mrs. Wylder sent for her daughter, and + demanded, fury still blazing in her eyes, what she had been doing to give + that beast of a lady Ann a right to talk. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me first how she talked, mamma,” returned Barbara, used to her + mother's ways, and nowise annoyed at being so addressed. “I can't have + been doing anything very bad, for she's been doing what she can to get me + and keep me.” + </p> + <p> + “She has?—And you never told me!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think it worth telling you.—She's been setting papa on to + me too!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I see! And you wouldn't set him and me on each other! Dutiful child! + You reckoned you'd had enough of that! But I'll have no buying and selling + of my goods behind my back! If you speak one more civil word to that young + jackanapes Lestrange, you shall hear it again on both your ears!” + </p> + <p> + “I will not speak an uncivil word to him, mamma; he has never given me + occasion; but I shan't break my heart if I never see him again. If you + like, I won't once go near the place. Theodora's the only one I care about—and + she's as dull as she is good!” + </p> + <p> + “What did the kangaroo mean by saying you were sweet on somebody not + worthy of you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know what she meant, mother; but the man is worthy of a far better + woman than me—and I hope he'll get her some day!” + </p> + <p> + Thereupon little Bab burst into tears, half of rage, half of dread lest + her good wish for Richard should be granted otherwise than she meant it. + For she did not at the moment desire very keenly that he should get all he + deserved, but thought she might herself just do, while she did hope to be + a better woman before the day arrived. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, child! None of that! I don't like it. I don't want to cry on + the top of my rage. What is the man? Who is he? What does the woman know + about him?” + </p> + <p> + At once Barbara began, and told her mother the whole story of Richard and + herself. The mother listened. Old days and the memory of a lover, not high + in the social scale, whom she had to give up to marry Mr. Wylder, came + back upon her and her heart went with her daughter's before she knew what + it was about; her daughter's love and her own seemed to mingle in one + dusky shine, as if the daughter had inherited the mother's experience. The + heart of the mother would not have her child like herself gather but + weed-flowers of sorrow among the roses in the garden of love. She had + learned this much, that the things the world prizes are of little good to + still the hearts of women But when Barbara told her how lady Ann would + have it that this same Richard, the bookbinder, was a natural son of sir + Wilton, she started to her feet, crying, + </p> + <p> + “Then the natural bookbinder shall have her, and my lady's fool may go to + the devil! You shall have <i>my</i> money, Bab, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “But, mammy dear,” said Barbara, “what will papa say?” + </p> + <p> + “Poof!” returned her mother. “I've known him too long to care what he + says!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like offending him,” returned Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention him again, child, or I'll turn him loose on your + bookbinder. Am I to put my own ewe-lamb to the same torture I had to + suffer by marrying him! God forbid I When you're happy with your husband, + perhaps you'll think of me sometimes and say, 'My mother did it! She + wasn't a good woman, but she loved her Bab!'” + </p> + <p> + A passionate embrace followed. Barbara left the room with a happy heart, + and went—not to her own to brood on her love, but to her brother's, + whose feeble voice she heard calling her. Upon him her gladness + overflowed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LV. <i>MISS BROWN</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The same evening Barbara rode to the smithy, in the hope of hearing some + news of Richard from his grandfather. The old man was busy at the anvil + when he heard Miss Brown's hoofs on the road. He dropped his hammer, flung + the tongs on the forge, and leaving the iron to cool on the anvil, went to + meet her. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, grandfather?” said Barbara, with unconscious use of the + appellation. + </p> + <p> + Simon was well pleased to be called grandfather, but too politic and too + well bred to show his pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “As well as hard work can help me to. How are you yourself, my pretty?” + returned Simon. + </p> + <p> + “As well as nothing to do—except nursing poor Mark—will let + me,” she answered. “Please can you tell me anything about Richard yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Can you keep a secret, honey?” rejoined Simon. “I ain't sure as I'm + keeping strict within the law, but if I didn't think you fit, I shouldn't + say a word.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell me, if it be anything I ought to tell if I knew it.” + </p> + <p> + “If you can show me you ought to tell any one, I will release you from + your promise. But perhaps you feel you ought to tell everything to your + mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not other people's secrets. But I think I won't have it. I don't like + secrets. I'm frightened at them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll tell you at my own risk, for you're the right sort to trust, + promise or no promise. I only hope you will not tell without letting me + know first; because then I might have to do something else by way of—what + do they call it when you take poison, and then take something to keep it + from hurting you?—Richard's gone to college!” + </p> + <p> + Bab slid from Miss Brown's back, flung her arms, with the bridle on one of + them, round the blacksmith's neck, and, heedless of Miss Brown's fright, + jumped up, and kissed the old man for the good news. + </p> + <p> + “Miss! miss! your clean face!” cried the blacksmith. + </p> + <p> + “Oh Richard! Richard! you <i>will</i> be happy now!” she said, her voice + trembling with buried tears. “—But will he ever shoe Miss Brown + again, grandfather?” + </p> + <p> + “Many's the time, I trust!” answered Simon. “He'll be proud to do it. If + not, he never was worth a smile from your sweet mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be a great man some day!” she laughed, with a little quiver of the + sweet mouth. + </p> + <p> + “He's a good man now, and I don't care,” answered the smith. “As long as + son of mine can look every man in the face, I don't care whether it be + great or small he is.” + </p> + <p> + “But, please, Mr. Armour,” said Bab timidly, “wouldn't it be better still + if he could look God in the face?” + </p> + <p> + “You're right there, my pretty dove!” replied the old man; “only a body + can't say everything out in a breath!—But you're right, you <i>are</i> + right!” he went on. “I remember well the time when I thought I had nothing + to be ashamed of; but the time came when I was ashamed of many things, and + I'd done nothing worse in the meantime either! When a man first gets a + peep inside himself, he sees things he didn't look to see—and they + stagger him a bit! Some horses have their hoofs so shrunk and cockled they + take the queerest shoes to set them straight; an' them shoes is the + troubles o' this life, I take it.—Now mind, I ain't told you what + college he's gone to—nor whether it be at Oxford or at Cambridge, or + away in Scotland or Germany—and you don't know! And if you don't + feel bound to mention the name of the place, I'd be obliged to you not to. + But I will let him know that I've told you what sort of a place he's at, + because he couldn't tell you himself, being he's bound to hold his + tongue.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara went home happy: his grandfather recognized the bond between them! + As to Richard, she had no fear of his forgetting her. + </p> + <p> + With more energy still, she went about her duties; and they seemed to grow + as she did them. As the end of Mark's sickness approached, he became more + and more dependent upon her, and only his mother could take her place with + him. He loved his father dearly, but his father never staid more than a + moment or two in the sick-chamber. Mark at length went away to find his + twin; and his mother and Barbara wept, but not all in sorrow. + </p> + <p> + One morning, the week after Mark's death, Mr. Wylder desired Barbara to go + with him to his study—where indeed about as much study went on as in + a squirrel's nest—and there, after solemn prologue as to its having + been right and natural while she was but a girl with a brother that she + should be allowed a great deal of freedom, stated that now, circumstances + being changed, such freedom could no longer be given her: she was now sole + heiress, and must do as an heir would have had to do, namely, consult the + interests of the family. In those interests, he continued, it was + necessary he should strengthen as much as possible his influence in the + county; it was time also that, for her own sake, she should marry; and + better husband or fitter son-in-law than Mr. Lestrange could not be + desired: he was both well behaved and good-looking, and when Mortgrange + was one with Wylder, would have by far the finest estate in the county! + </p> + <p> + Filial obligation is a point upon which those parents lay the heaviest + stress who have done the least to develop the relation between them and + their children. The first duty is from the parent to the child: this + unfulfilled, the duty of the child remains untaught. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to go against you, papa,” said Barbara, “but I cannot marry + Mr. Lestrange!” + </p> + <p> + “Stuff and nonsense! Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I do not love him.” + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlesticks! I did not love your mother when I married her!—You + don't dislike him, I know!—Now don't tell me you do, for I shall not + believe you!” + </p> + <p> + “He is always very kind to me, and I am sorry he should want what is not + mine to give him.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yours to give him! What do you mean by that? If it is not yours, it + is mine! Have you not learned yet, that when I make up my mind to a thing, + that thing is done! And where I have a right, I am not one to waive it!” + </p> + <p> + Where husband and wife are not one, it is impossible for the daughter to + be one with both, or perhaps with either; and the constant and foolish + bickering to which Barbara had been a witness throughout her childhood, + had tended rather to poison than nourish respect. Whether Barbara failed + to yield as much as Mr. Wylder had a right to claim, I leave to the + judgment of my reader, reserving my own, and remarking only that, if his + judgment be founded on principles differing from mine, our judgments + cannot agree. The idea of parent must be venerated, and may cast a glow + upon the actual parent, himself nowise venerable, so that the heart of a + daughter may ache with the longing to see her father such that she could + love and worship him as she would; but when it comes to life and action, + the will of such a parent, if it diverge from what seems to the child true + and right, ought to weigh nothing. A parent is not a maker, is not God. We + must leave father and mother and all for God, that is, for what is right, + which is his very will—only let us be sure it is for God, and not + for self. If the parent has been the parent of good thoughts and right + judgments in the child, those good thoughts and right judgments will be on + the parent's side: if he has been the parent of evil thoughts and false + judgments, they may be for him or against him, but in the end they will + work solely for division. Any general decay of filial manners must + originate with the parents. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a child. I am a woman,” said Barbara; “and I owe it to him who + made me a woman, to take care of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Mind what you say. I have rights, and will enforce them.” + </p> + <p> + “Over my person?” returned Barbara, her eyes sending out a flash that + reminded him of her mother, and made him the angrier. + </p> + <p> + “If you do not consent here and now,” he said sternly, “to marry Mr. + Lestrange—that is, if, after your mother's insolence to lady Ann.—” + </p> + <p> + “My mother's insolence to lady Ann!” exclaimed Barbara, drawing herself, + in her indignation, to the height of her small person: but her father + would rush to his own discomfiture. + </p> + <p> + “—if, as I say,” he went on, “he should now condescend to ask you—I + swear—” + </p> + <p> + “You had better not swear, papa!” + </p> + <p> + “—I swear you shall not have a foot of my land.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that is all? There you are in your right, and I have nothing to say.” + </p> + <p> + “You insolent hussy! You won't like it when you find it done!” + </p> + <p> + “It will be the same as if Mark had lived.” + </p> + <p> + “It's that cursed money of your mother's makes you impudent!” + </p> + <p> + “If you could leave me moneyless, papa, it would make no difference. A + woman that can shoe her own horse,—” + </p> + <p> + “Shoe her own horse!” cried her father. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, papa!—You couldn't!—And I <i>made</i> two of her shoes + the last time! Wouldn't any woman that can do that, wouldn't she—to + save herself from shame and disgust—to be queen over herself—wouldn't + she take a place as house-maid or shop-girl rather than marry the man she + didn't love?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wylder saw he had gone too far. + </p> + <p> + “You know more than is good!” he said. “But don't you mistake: you're + mother's money is settled on you, but your father is your trustee!” + </p> + <p> + “My father is a gentleman!” rejoined Barbara—not so near the truth + as she believed. + </p> + <p> + “Take you care how you push a gentleman,” rejoined her father. + </p> + <p> + “Not to love is not to marry—not if the man was a prince!” persisted + Barbara. + </p> + <p> + She went to her mother's room, but said nothing of what had passed. She + would not heat those ovens of wrath, the bosoms of her parents. + </p> + <p> + The next morning she ran to saddle Miss Brown. To her astonishment, her + friend was not in her box, nor in any stall in the stable; neither was any + one visible of whom to ask what had become of her; for the first time in + her life, everybody had got out of Barbara's way. In the harness-room, + however, she came upon one of the stable-boys. He was in tears. When he + saw her, he started and turned to run, looking as if he had had a piece of + Miss Brown for breakfast, but she stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Miss Brown?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Don' know, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows, then?” + </p> + <p> + “P'raps master, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you crying for?” + </p> + <p> + “Don' know, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not true. Boys don't cry without knowing why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, miss, I ain't <i>sure</i> what I'm crying for.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak out, man! Don't be foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “Master give me a terrible cut, miss!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you deserve it?” + </p> + <p> + “Don' know, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem to know anything this morning!” + </p> + <p> + “No, miss!” + </p> + <p> + “What did your master give you the cut for?” + </p> + <p> + “'Cause I was cryin'.” + </p> + <p> + Here he burst into a restrained howl. + </p> + <p> + “What were you crying for?” + </p> + <p> + “Because Miss Brown was gone.” + </p> + <p> + “And you cried without knowing where she was gone?” said Barbara, turning + almost sick with apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss,” affirmed the miserable boy. + </p> + <p> + “Is she dead?” + </p> + <p> + “No, miss, she ain't dead; she's sold!” + </p> + <p> + The words were not yet out of his mouth when he turned and bolted. + </p> + <p> + “That's my gentleman-papa!” said Barbara to herself before she could help + it. Had she been any girl but Barbara, she would have cried like the boy. + </p> + <p> + Not once from that moment did she allude to Miss Brown in the hearing of + father or servant. + </p> + <p> + One day her mother asked her why she never rode, and she told her. The + wrath of the mother was like that of a tigress. She sprang to her feet, + and bounded to the door. But when she reached it, Barbara was between her + and the handle. + </p> + <p> + “Mother! mother dear!” she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + The mother took her by the shoulders, and thought to fling her across the + room. But she was not so strong as she had been, and she found the little + one hard as nails: she could not move her an inch. + </p> + <p> + “Get out of my way!” she cried, “I want to kill him!” + </p> + <p> + “Mammy dear, listen! It's a month ago! I said nothing—for + love-sake!” + </p> + <p> + “Love-sake! I think I hear you! Dare to tell me you love that wretch of a + father of yours! I will kill <i>you</i> if you say you love him!” + </p> + <p> + Barbara threw her arms round her mother's neck, and said, “Listen, mammy: + I do love him a little bit: but it wasn't for love of him I held my + tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! Your bookbinder-fellow! What has he to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing at all. It wasn't for him either, it was for God's sake I held my + peace, mammy. If <i>all</i> his children quarrelled like you and dad, what + a house he would have! It was for God's sake I said nothing; and you know, + mammy, you've made it up with God, and you mustn't go and be naughty + again!” + </p> + <p> + The mother stood silent and still. It seemed for an instant as if the old + fever had come back, for she shivered. She turned and went to her chair, + sat down, and again was still. A minute after, her forehead flushed like a + flame, turned white, then flushed and paled again several times. Then she + gave a great sigh, and the conflict was over. She smiled, and from that + moment she also never said a word about Miss Brown. + </p> + <p> + But in the silence of her thought, Barbara suffered, for what might not be + the fate of Miss Brown! No one but a genuine lover of animals would + believe how she suffered. In her mind's eye she kept seeing her turn her + head with sharp-curved neck in her stall, or shoot it over the door of her + box, looking and longing for her mistress, and wondering why she did not + come to pat her, or feed her, or saddle her for the joyous gallop across + grass and green hedge; and the heart of her mistress was sore for her. But + at length one day in church, they read the psalm in which come the words, + “Thou, Lord, shalt save both man and beast!” and they went to her soul. + She reflected that if Miss Brown was in trouble, it might be for the + saving of Miss Brown: she had herself got enough good from trouble to hope + for that! For she heartily believed the animals partakers in the + redemption of Jesus Christ; and she fancied perhaps they knew more about + it than we think,—the poor things are so silent! Anyhow she saw that + the reasonable thing was to let God look after his own; and if Miss Brown + was not his, how could she <i>be</i>? + </p> + <p> + But the mother was sending all over the country to find who had Miss + Brown; and she had not inquired long before she learned that she was in + the stables at Mortgrange. There she knew she would be well treated, and + therefore told Barbara the result of her inquiries. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LVI. <i>WINGFOLD AND BARBARA</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Barbara went yet oftener to Mr. and Mrs. Wingfold. By this time, through + Simon Armour, they knew something about Richard, but none of them all felt + at liberty to talk about him. + </p> + <p> + Barbara had now a better guide in her reading than Richard. True reader as + he had been, Wingfold's acquaintance both with literature and its history, + that is, its relation to the development of the people, was as much beyond + the younger man's as it ought to be. What in Barbara Richard had begun + well, Wingfold was carrying on better. + </p> + <p> + With his help she was now studying, to no little advantage, more than one + subject connected with the main interest common to her and Richard: and + she thought constantly of what Richard would say, and how she would answer + him. Hence, naturally, she had the more questions to put to her tutor. Now + Wingfold had passed through all Richard's phases, and through some that + were only now beginning to show in him; therefore he was well prepared to + help her—although there was this difference between the early moral + conditions of the two men, that Wingfold had been prejudiced in favour of + much that he found it impossible to hold, whereas Richard had been + prejudiced against much that ought to be cast away. + </p> + <p> + Richard suffered not a little at times from his enforced silence: what + might not happen because he must not speak? But hearing nothing + discouraging from his grandfather, he comforted himself in hope. He knew + that in him he had a strong ally, and that Barbara loved the hot-hearted + blacksmith, recognizing in him a more genuine breeding, as well as a far + greater capacity, than in either sir Wilton or her father. He toiled on + doing his duty, and receiving in himself the reward of the same, with + further reward ever at the door. For there is no juster law than the word, + “To him that hath shall be given.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do I never see you on Miss Brown?” asked Wingfold one day of Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “For a reason I think I ought not to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then don't tell me,” returned the parson. + </p> + <p> + But by a mixture of instinctive induction, and involuntary intuition, he + saw into the piece of domestic tyranny, and did what he could to make up + for it, by taking her every now and then a long walk or drive with his + wife and their little boy. He gave her strong hopeful things to read—and + in the search after such was driven to remark how little of the hopeful + there is in the English, or in any other language. The song of hope is + indeed written in men's hearts, but few sing it. Yet it is of all songs + the sorest-needed of struggling men. + </p> + <p> + Heart and brain, Wingfold was full of both humour and pathos. In their + walks and drives, many a serious subject would give occasion to the + former, and many a merry one to the latter. Sometimes he would take a + nursery-rime for his theme, and expatiate upon it so, that at one instant + Barbara would burst into the gayest laughter, and the next have to + restrain her tears. Rarely would Wingfold enter a sick-chamber, especially + that of a cottage, with a long face and a sermon in his soul; almost + always he walked lightly in, with a cheerful look, and not seldom an odd + story on his tongue, well pleased when he could make the sufferer laugh—better + pleased sometimes when he had made him sorry. He did not find those that + laughed the readiest the hardest to make sorry. He moved his people by + infecting their hearts with the feeling in his own. + </p> + <p> + Having now for many years cared only for the will of God, he was full of + joy. For the will of the Father is the root of all his children's + gladness, of all their laughter and merriment. The child that loves the + will of the Father, is at the heart of things; his will is <i>with</i> the + motion of the eternal wheels; the eyes of all those wheels are opened upon + him, and he knows whence he came. Happy and fearless and hopeful, he knows + himself the child of him from whom he came, and his peace and joy break + out in light. He rises and shines. Bliss creative and energetic there is + none other, on earth or in heaven, than the will of the Father. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0057" id="link2HCH0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LVII. <i>THE BARONET'S WILL</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Arthur Lestrange was sharply troubled when he found he was to see no more + of Barbara. He went again and again to Wylder Hall, but neither mother nor + daughter would receive him. When he learned that Miss Brown was for sale, + he bought her for love of her mistress. All the explanation he could get + from lady Ann was, that the young woman's mother was impossible; she was + more than half a savage. + </p> + <p> + Time's wheels went slow thereafter at Mortgrange. Sir Wilton missed his + firstborn. Whatever annoyed him in his wife or any of her children, fed + the desire for Richard. Arthur did not please him. He had no way + distinguished himself—and some men are annoyed when their sons prove + only a little better than themselves. Percy was a poisoned thorn in his + side: he was even worse than his father. All his thoughts took refuge in + Richard. + </p> + <p> + He had become dissatisfied with his agent, and although he had never taken + an interest in business, distrust made him now look into things a little. + He called his lawyer from London, and had him make a thorough + investigation. Dismissing thereupon his agent, he would have Arthur take + charge of the estate; but the young man, with an inborn dislike to + figures, flatly refused, saying he preferred the army. Sir Wilton did not + like the army: he had been in it himself, and had left it in a hurry—no + one ever knew why. + </p> + <p> + The only comfort in the house occupied the soul of lady Ann: it was that + she heard nothing of the bookbinder fellow! She had grown so torpid, that + while Danger was not flattening his nose against the window-pane, she was + at peace. For the rest, a lawyer of her own had the will in his keeping, + and she had come upon no trace of another. + </p> + <p> + But when sir Wilton sent for his lawyer to look into his factor's + accounts, he had a further use for him, of which his wife heard nothing: + he made him draw up another will, in which he left everything to Richard, + only son of his first wife, Robina Armour. With every precaution for + secrecy, the will was signed and witnessed, but when the lawyer would have + carried it with him, the baronet declined to give it up. He laid it aside + for a week, then had the horses put to, and drove to find Mr. Wingfold, of + whom he had heard from Richard. When he saw him, man of the world as he + was, he was impressed by the simplicity of a clergyman without a touch of + the clerical, without any look of what he called <i>sanctity</i>—the + look that comes upon a man cherishing the notion that he is intrusted with + things more sacred than God will put in the hands of his other children. + Such men, and they are many, one would like to lay for a time in the sheet + of Peter's vision, among the four-footed animals and creeping things, to + learn that, as there is nothing common or unclean, so is there no class + more sacred than another. Never will it be right with men, until every + commonest meal is a glad recognition of the living Saviour who gives + himself, always and perfectly, to his brothers and sisters. + </p> + <p> + The baronet begged a private interview, and told the parson he wanted to + place in his keeping a certain paper, with the understanding that he would + not open it for a year after his death, and would then act upon the + directions contained in it. + </p> + <p> + “Provided always,” Wingfold stipulated, “that they require of me nothing + unfit, impossible, or wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “I pledge myself they require nothing unworthy of the cloth,” said sir + Wilton. + </p> + <p> + “The cloth be hanged!” said Wingfold. “Do they require anything unworthy + of a man—or if you think the word means more—of a gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “They do not,” answered the baronet. + </p> + <p> + “Then you must write another paper, stating that you have asked me to + undertake this, but that you have given me no hint of the contents of the + accompanying document. This second you must enclose with the first, + sealing the envelope with your own seal.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton at once consented, and there and then did as Wingfold desired. + </p> + <p> + “I've check-mated my lady at last!” he chuckled, as he drove home. “She + would have me the villain to disinherit my firstborn for her miserable + brood! She shall find my other will, and think she's safe! Then the + thunderbolt—and Dick master! My lady's dower won't be much for Percy + the cad and Arthur the proper, not to mention Dorothy the cow, and Vixen + the rat!” + </p> + <p> + He always spoke as if lady Ann's children were none of his. Her ladyship + had taught him to do so, for she always said, “<i>My</i> children!” + </p> + <p> + That night he slept with an easier mind. He had put the deed off and off, + regarding it as his abdication; but now it was done he felt more + comfortable. + </p> + <p> + Wingfold suspected in the paper some provision for Richard, but could + imagine no reason for letting it lie unopened until a year should have + passed from the baronet's death. Troubling himself nothing, however, about + what was not his business, he put the paper carefully aside—but + where he must see it now and then, lest it should pass from his mind, and + with sir Wilton's permission, told his wife what he had undertaken + concerning it, that she might carry it out if he were prevented from doing + so. + </p> + <p> + Time went on. Communication grew yet less between Mr. Wylder and his + family. He had returned to certain old habits, and was spending money + pretty fast in London. Failing to make himself a god in the house, he + forsook it, and was rapidly losing this world's chance of appreciating a + woman whose faults were to his as new wine to dirty water. + </p> + <p> + In the fourth year, Richard wrote to his father, through his grandfather + of course, informing him he had got his B.A. degree, and was waiting + further orders. The baronet was heartily pleased with the style of his + letter, and in the privacy of his own room gave way to his delight at the + thought of his wife's approaching consternation and chagrin. At the same + time, however, he was not a little uneasy in prospect of the denouement. + For the eyes of his wife had become almost a terror to him. Their grey + ice, which had not grown clearer as it grew older, made him shiver. Why + should the stronger so often be afraid of the weaker? Sometimes, I + suppose, because conscience happens to side with the weaker; sometimes + only because the weaker is yet able to make the stronger, especially if he + be lazy and a lover of what he calls peace, worse than uncomfortable. The + baronet dared not present his son to his wife except in the presence of at + least one stranger. He wrote to Richard, appointing a day for his + appearance at Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0058" id="link2HCH0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LVIII. <i>THE HEIR</i>. + </h2> + <p> + It was a lovely morning when Richard, his heart beating with a hope whose + intensity of bliss he had never imagined, stopped at the station nearest + to Mortgrange, and set out to walk there in the afternoon sun. June folded + him in her loveliness of warmth and colour. The grass was washed with + transparent gold: he saw both the gold and the green together, but + unmingled. Often had he walked the same road, a contented tradesman; a + gentleman now, with a baronet to his father, he loved, and knew he must + always love the tradesman-uncle more than the baronet-father. He was much + more than grateful to his father for his ready reception of him, and his + care of his education; but he could not be proud of him as of his mother + and his aunt and uncle and his grandfather. He held it one of God's + greatest gifts to come of decent people; and if in his case the decency + was on one side only, it was the more his part to stop the current of + transmitted evil, and in his own person do what he might to annihilate it! + </p> + <p> + His only anxiety was lest his father should again lay upon him the command + to cease communication with his brother and sister. He lifted up his heart + to God, and vowed that not for anything the earth could give would he + obey. The socialism he had learned from his uncle had undergone a baptism + to something infinitely higher. He prayed God to keep him clean of heart, + and able to hold by his duty. He promised God—it was a way he had + when he would bind himself to do right—that he would not forsake his + own, would not break the ties of blood for any law, custom, prejudice, or + pride of man. The vow made his heart strong and light. But he felt there + was little merit in the act, seeing he could live without his father's + favour. He saw how much harder it would be for a poor tradeless man like + Arthur Lestrange to make such a resolve. In the face of such a threat from + his father what could he do?—where find courage to resist? Resist he + must, or be a slave, but hard indeed it would be! Every father, thought + Richard, who loved his children, ought to make them independent of + himself, that neither clog, nor net, nor hindrance of any kind might + hamper the true working of their consciences: then would the service they + rendered their parents be precious indeed! then indeed would love be lord, + and neither self, nor the fear of man, nor the fear of fate be a law in + their life! + </p> + <p> + He had not sent word to his grandfather that he was coming, and had told + his father that he would walk from the station—which suited sir + Wilton, for he felt nervous, and was anxious there should be no stir. So + Richard came to Mortgrange as quietly as a star to its place. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the gate and walked in as of old, he was challenged by the + woman who kept it: of all the servants she and lady Ann's maid had alone + treated him with rudeness, and now she was not polite although she did not + know him. Neither was he recognized by the man who opened the door. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton sat in the library expecting him. A gentleman was with him, but + he kept in the background, seemingly absorbed in the titles of a row of + books. + </p> + <p> + “There you are, you rascal!” his father was on the point of saying as + Richard came into the light of the one big bow-window, but, instead, he + gazed at him for an instant in silence. Before him was one of the + handsomest fellows his eyes had ever rested upon—broad-shouldered + and tall and straight, with a thoughtful yet keen face, of which every + feature was both fine and solid, and dark brown hair with night and + firelight in it, and a touch of the sun here and there at moments. The + situation might have been embarrassing to a more experienced man than + Richard as he waited for his father to speak; but he stood quite at his + ease, slightly bent, and motionless, neither hands nor feet giving him any + of the trouble so often caused by those outlying provinces. The slight + colour that rose in his rather thin cheeks, only softened the beauty of a + face whose outline was severe. He stood like a soldier waiting the word of + his officer. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” said his father; and there was another pause. + </p> + <p> + The baronet was momently growing prouder of his son. He had never had a + feeling like it before. He saw his mother in him. + </p> + <p> + “She's looking at me straight out of his eyes!” he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you going to sit down?” he said to him at last, forgetting that he + had neither shaken hands with him, nor spoken a word of welcome. + </p> + <p> + Richard moved a chair a little nearer and sat down, wondering what would + come next. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what are you going to do?” asked his father. + </p> + <p> + “I must first know your wish, sir,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Church won't do?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to hear it! You're much too good for the church!—No offence, + Mr. Wingfold! The same applies to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “So my uncle on the stock-exchange used to say!” answered Wingfold, + laughing, as he turned to the baronet. “He thought me good enough, I + suppose, for a priest of Mammon!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you're not offended. What do you think of that son of mine?” + </p> + <p> + “I have long thought well of him.” + </p> + <p> + At the first sound of his voice, Richard had risen, and now approached + him, his hand outstretched. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wingfold!” he said joyfully. + </p> + <p> + “I remember now!” returned sir Wilton; “it was from him I heard of you; + and that was what made me seek your acquaintance.—He promises + fairly, don't you think?—Shoulders good; head well set on!” + </p> + <p> + “He looks a powerful man!” said Wingfold. “—We shall be happy to see + you, Mr. Lestrange, as soon as you care to come to us.” + </p> + <p> + “That will be to-morrow, I hope, sir,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, stop!” cried sir Wilton. “We know nothing for certain yet!—By + the bye, if your stepmother don't make you particularly welcome, you + needn't be surprised, my boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. I could hardly expect her to be pleased, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “Not pleased? Not pleased at what? Now, now, don't you presume! Don't you + take things for granted! How do you know she will have reason to be + displeased? I never promised you anything! I never told you what I + intended!—Did I ever now?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. You have already done far more than ever you promised. You have + given me all any man has a right to from his father. I am ready to go to + London at once, and make my own living.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know yet; I should have to choose—thanks to you and my + uncle!” + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime, you must be introduced to your stepmother.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—excuse me, sir Wilton—” interposed the parson, “do you + wish me to regard my old friend Richard as your son and heir?” + </p> + <p> + “As my son, yes; as my heir—that will depend—” + </p> + <p> + “On his behaviour, I presume!” Wingfold ventured. + </p> + <p> + “I say nothing of the sort!” replied the baronet testily. “Would you have + me doubt whether he will carry himself like a gentleman? The thing depends + on my pleasure. There are others besides him.” + </p> + <p> + He rose to ring the bell. Richard started up to forestall his intent. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Richard,” said his father, turning sharp upon him, “don't be + officious. Nothing shows want of breeding more than to do a thing for a + man in his own house. It is a cursed liberty!” + </p> + <p> + “I will try to remember, sir,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Do; we shall get on the better.” + </p> + <p> + He was seized, as by the claw of a crab, with a sharp twinge of the gout. + He caught at the back of a chair, hobbled with its help to the table, and + so to his seat. Richard restrained himself and stood rigid. The baronet + turned a half humorous, half reproachful look on him. + </p> + <p> + “That's right!” he said. “Never be officious. I wish my father had taught + me as I am teaching you!—Ever had the gout, Mr. Wingfold?” + </p> + <p> + “Never, sir Wilton.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you ought every Sunday to say, 'Thank God that I have no gout!'” + </p> + <p> + “But if we thanked God for all the ills we don't have, there would be no + time to thank him for any of the blessings we do have!” + </p> + <p> + “What blessings?” + </p> + <p> + “So many, I don't know where to begin to answer you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes! you're a clergyman! I forgot. It's your business to thank God. + For my part, being a layman, I don't know anything in particular I've got + to thank him for.” + </p> + <p> + “If I thought a layman had less to thank God for than a clergyman, I + should begin to doubt whether either had anything to thank him for. Why, + sir Wilton, I find everything a blessing! I thank God I am a poor man. I + thank him for every good book I fall in with. I thank him when a child + smiles to me. I thank him when the sun rises or the wind blows on me. + Every day I am so happy, or at least so peaceful, or at the worst so + hopeful, that my very consciousness is a thanksgiving.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you thank him for your wife, Mr. Wingfold?” + </p> + <p> + “Every day of my existence.” + </p> + <p> + The baronet stared at him a moment, then turned to his son. + </p> + <p> + “Richard,” he said, “you had better make up your mind to go into the + church! You hear Mr. Wingfold! I shouldn't like it myself; I should have + to be at my prayers all day!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, sir Wilton, it doesn't take time to thank God! It only takes + eternity.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton stared. He did not understand. + </p> + <p> + “Ring the bell, will you!” he said. “The fellow seems to have gone to + sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Richard obeyed, and not a word was spoken until the man appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Wilkins,” said his master, “go to my lady, and say I beg the favour of + her presence in the library for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + The man went. + </p> + <p> + “No antipathy to cats, I hope!” he added, turning to Richard. + </p> + <p> + “None, sir,” answered Richard gravely. + </p> + <p> + “That's good! Then you won't lie taken aback!” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes—she seldom made her husband wait—lady Ann + sailed into the room, the servant closing the door so deftly behind her, + that it seemed without moving to have given passage to an angelic + presence. + </p> + <p> + The two younger men rose. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wingfold you know, my lady!” said her husband. + </p> + <p> + “I have not the pleasure,” answered lady Ann, with a slight motion of the + hard bud at the top of her long stalk. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I thought you did!—The Reverend Mr. Wingfold, lady Ann!—My + wife, Mr. Wingfold!—The other gentleman, lady Ann.—” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Lady Ann turned her eyes slowly on Richard. Wingfold saw a + slight, just perceptible start, and a settling of the jaws. + </p> + <p> + “The other gentleman,” resumed the baronet, “you do not know, but you will + soon be the best of friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir Wilton, I do know him!—I hope,” she went on, + turning to Richard, “you will keep steadily to your work. The sooner the + books are finished, the better!” + </p> + <p> + Richard smiled, but what he was on the point of saying, his father + prevented. + </p> + <p> + “You mistake, my lady! I thought you did not know him!” said the baronet. + “That gentleman is my son, and will one day be sir Richard.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” returned her ladyship—without a shadow of change in her + impassivity, except Wingfold was right in fancying the slightest movement + of squint in the eye next him. She held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “This is an unexpected—” + </p> + <p> + For once in her life her lips were truer than her heart: they did not say + <i>pleasure</i>. + </p> + <p> + Richard took her hand respectfully, sad for the woman whose winter had no + fuel, and who looked as if she would be cold to all eternity. Lady Ann + stared him in the eyes and said,— + </p> + <p> + “My favourite prayer-book has come to pieces at last: perhaps you would + bind it for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be delighted,” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, bowed to Wingfold, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton sat like an offended turkey-cock, staring after her. “By Jove!” + he seemed to say to himself. + </p> + <p> + “There! that's over!” he cried, coming to himself. “Ring the bell, + Richard, and let us have lunch.—Richard, <i>no</i> gentleman could + have behaved better! I am proud of you!—It's blood that does it!” he + murmured to himself. + </p> + <p> + As if he had himself compounded both his own blood and his boy's in the + still-room of creation, he took all the credit of Richard's <i>savoir + faire</i>, as he counted it. He did not know that the same thing made + Wingfold happy and Richard a gentleman! Richard had had a higher breeding + than was known to sir Wilton. At the court of courts, whence the manners + of some other courts would be swept as dust from the floors, the baronet + would hardly gain admittance! + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann went up the stair slowly and perpendicularly, a dull pain at her + heart. The cause was not so much that her son was the second son, as that + the son of the blacksmith's daughter was—she took care to say <i>at + first sight</i>—a finer <i>gentleman</i> than her Arthur. Rank and + position, she vaguely reflected, must not look for justice from the + jealous heavens! They always sided with the poor! Just see the + party-spirit of the Psalms! The rich and noble were hardly dealt with! + Nowadays even the church was with the radicals! + </p> + <p> + The baronet was merry over his luncheon. The servants wondered at first, + but before the soup was removed, they wondered no more: the young man at + the table, in whom not one of them had recognized the bookbinder, was the + lost heir to Mortgrange! He was worth finding, they agreed—one who + would hold his own! The house would be merrier now—thank heaven! + They liked Mr. Arthur well enough, but here was his master! + </p> + <p> + The meal was over, and the baronet always slept after lunch. + </p> + <p> + “You'll stay to dinner, won't you, Mr. Wingfold?” he said, rising. “—Richard, + ring the bell. Better send for Mrs. Locke at once, and arrange with her + where you will sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I may choose my own room, sir?” rejoined Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Of course—but better not too near my lady's,” answered his father + with a grim smile as he hobbled from the room. + </p> + <p> + When the housekeeper came— + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Locke,” said Richard, “I want to see the room that used to be the + nursery—in the older time, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Locke pleasantly, and led them up two flights of + stairs and along corridor and passage to the room Richard had before + occupied. He glanced round it, and said, + </p> + <p> + “This shall be my room. Will you kindly get it ready for me.” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. It had certainly not been repapered, as sir Wilton thought, + and had said to Mrs. Tuke! To Mrs. Locke it seemed uninhabitable by a + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “I will send for the painter and paper-hanger at once,” she replied, “but + it will take more than a week to get ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray leave it as it is,” he answered. “—You can have the floor + swept of course,” he added with a smile, seeing her look of dismay. “I + will sleep here to-night, and we can settle afterward what is to be done + to it.—There used to be a portrait,” he went on, “—over the + chimney-piece, the portrait of a lady—not well painted, I fancy, but + I liked it: what has become of it?” + </p> + <p> + Then first it began to dawn on Mrs. Locke that the young man who mended + the books and the heir to Mortgrange were the same person. + </p> + <p> + “It fell down one day, and has not been put up agin,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where it is?” + </p> + <p> + “I will find it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Do, if you please. Whose portrait is it?” + </p> + <p> + “The last lady Lestrange's, sir.—But bless my stupid old head! it's + his own mother's picture he's asking for! You'll pardon me, sir! The + thing's more bewildering than you'd think!—I'll go and get it at + once.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Mr. Wingfold and I will wait till you bring it.” + </p> + <p> + “There ain't anywhere for you to sit, sir!” lamented the old lady. “If I'd + only known! I'm sure, sir, I wish you joy!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mrs. Locke. We'll sit here on the mattress.” + </p> + <p> + Richard had not forgotten how the eyes of the picture used to draw his, + and he had often since wondered whether it could be the portrait of his + mother. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes Mrs. Locke reappeared, carrying the portrait, which had + never been put in a frame, and knotting the cord, Richard hung it again on + the old nail. It showed a well-formed face, but was very flat and wooden. + The eyes, however, were comparatively well painted; and it seemed to + Richard that he could read both sorrow and disappointment in them, with a + yearning after something she could not have. + </p> + <p> + They went out for a ramble in the park, and there Richard told his friend + as much as he knew of his story, describing as well as he understood them + the changes that had passed upon him in the matter of religion, and making + no secret of what he owed to the expostulations and spiritual resistances + of Barbara. Wingfold, after listening with profound attention, told him he + had passed through an experience in many points like, and at the root the + same as his own; adding that, long before he was sure of anything, it had + become more than possible for him to keep going on; and that still he was + but looking and hoping and waiting for a fuller dawn of what had made his + being already blessed. + </p> + <p> + They consulted whether Wingfold should act on the baronet's careless + invitation, and concluded it better he should not stay to dinner. Then, as + there was yet time, and it was partly on Wingfold's way, they set out for + the smithy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0059" id="link2HCH0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LIX. <i>WINGFOLD AND ARTHUR MANSON</i>. + </h2> + <p> + When the first delight of their meeting was abated, Simon sent to let + Arthur Manson know that his brother was there. For Arthur had all this + time been with Simon, to whom Richard, saving enough from his allowance, + had prevented him from being a burden. + </p> + <p> + He looked much better, and was enchanted to see his brother again, and + learn the good news of his recognition by his father. “I'm so glad it's + you and not me, Richard!” he said. “It makes me feel quite safe and happy. + We shall have nothing now but fair play all round, the rest of our lives! + How happy Alice will be!” + </p> + <p> + “Is Alice still in the old place? I haven't heard of her for some time,” + said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know?” exclaimed Arthur. “She's been at the parsonage for + months and months! Mrs. Wingfold went and fetched her away, to work for + her, and be near me. She's as happy now as the day is long. She says if + everybody was as good as her master and mistress, there would be no misery + left in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't doubt it,” answered Richard. “—But I've just parted with + Mr. Wingfold, and he didn't say a word about her!” + </p> + <p> + “When anything has to be done, Mr. Wingfold never forgets it,” said + Arthur; “but I should just like to hear all the things Mr. Wingfold did + and forgot in a month!” + </p> + <p> + “Arthur's getting on.” thought Richard. + </p> + <p> + But he had to learn how much Wingfold had done for him. First of all he + had set himself, by talking to him and lending him books, to find out his + bent, or at least something he was capable of. But for months he could not + wake him enough to know anything of what was in him: the poor fellow was + weary almost to death. At last, however, he got him to observe a little. + Then he began to set him certain tasks; and as he was an invalid, the + first was what he called “The task of twelve o'clock;”—which was, + for a quarter of an hour from every noon during a month, to write down + what he then saw going on in the world. + </p> + <p> + The first day he had nothing to show: he had seen nothing! + </p> + <p> + “What were the clouds doing?” Mr. Wingfold asked. “What were the horses in + the fields doing?—What were the birds you saw doing?—What were + the ducks and hens doing?—Put down whatever you see any creature + about.” + </p> + <p> + The next evening, he went to him again, and asked him for his paper. + Arthur handed him a folded sheet. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Mr. Wingfold, “I am not going to look at this for the present. + I am going to lay it in one of my drawers, and you must write another for + me to-morrow. If you are able, bring it over to me; if not, lay it by, and + do not look at it, but write another, and another—one every day, and + give them all to me the next time I come, which will be soon. We shall go + on that way for a month, and then we shall see something!” + </p> + <p> + At the end of the month, Mr. Wingfold took all the papers, and fastened + them together in their proper order. Then they read them together, and did + indeed see something! The growth of Arthur's observation both in extent + and quality, also the growth of his faculty for narrating what he saw, + were remarkable both to himself and his instructor. The number of things + and circumstances he was able to see by the end of the month, compared + with the number he had seen in the beginning of it, was wonderful; while + the mode of his record had changed from that of a child to that almost of + a man. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wingfold next, as by that time the weather was quite warm, set him + “The task of six o'clock in the evening,” when the things that presented + themselves to his notice would be very different. After a fortnight, he + changed again the hour of his observation, and went on changing it. So + that at length the youth who had, twice every day, walked along Cheapside + almost without seeing that one face differed from another, knew most of + the birds and many of the insects, and could in general tell what they + were about, while the domestic animals were his familiar friends. He + delighted in the grass and the wild flowers, the sky and the clouds and + the stars, and knew, after a real, vital fashion, the world in which he + lived. He entered into the life that was going on about him, and so in the + house of God became one of the family. He had ten times his former + consciousness; his life was ten times the size it was before. As was + natural, his health had improved marvellously. There is nothing like + interest in life to quicken the vital forces—the secret of which is, + that they are left freer to work. + </p> + <p> + Richard was rejoiced with the change in him, and reckoned of what he might + learn from Arthur in the long days before them; while he in turn would + tell him many things he would now be prepared to hear. The soul that had + seemed rapidly sinking into the joyless dark, was now burning clear as a + torch of heaven. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0060" id="link2HCH0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LX. <i>RICHARD AND HIS FAMILY</i>. + </h2> + <p> + As the dinner-hour drew nigh, Richard went to the drawing-room, + scrupulously dressed. Lady Ann gave him the coldest of polite + recognitions; Theodora was full of a gladness hard to keep within the + bounds which fear of her mother counselled; Victoria was scornful, and as + impudent as she dared be in the presence of her father; Miss Malliver was + utterly wooden, and behaved as if she had never seen him before; Arthur + was polite and superior. Things went pretty well, however. Percy, happily, + was at Woolwich, pretending to study engineering: of him Richard had + learned too much at Oxford. + </p> + <p> + Theodora and Richard were at once drawn to each other—he prejudiced + in her favour by Barbara, she proud of her new, handsome brother. She was + a plain, good-natured, good-tempered girl—with red hair, which only + her father and mother disliked, and a modest, freckled face, whose smile + was genuine and faith-inspiring. Her mother counted her stupid, accepting + the judgment of the varnished governess, who saw wonder or beauty or value + in nothing her eyes or hands could not reach. Theodora was indeed one of + those who, for lack of true teaching, or from the deliberateness of + nature, continue children longer than most, but she was not therefore + stupid. The aloe takes seven years to blossom, but when it does, its + flower may be thirty feet long. Where there is love, there is intellect: + at what period it may show itself, matters little. Richard felt he had in + her another sister—one for whom he might do something. He talked + freely, as became him at his father's table, and the conversation did not + quite flag. If lady Ann said next to nothing, she said nearly as much as + usual, and was perfectly civil; Arthur was sullen but not rude; Theodora's + joy made her talk as she had never talked before. A morn of romance had + dawned upon her commonplace life. Vixen gave herself to her dinner, and + but the shadow of a grimace now and then reminded Richard of the old + monkey-phiz. + </p> + <p> + Having the heart of a poet, the brain of a scientist, and the hands of a + workman—hands, that is, made for making, Richard talked so vitally + that in most families not one but all would have been interested; and + indeed Arthur too would have enjoyed listening, but that he was otherwise + occupied. That he had to look unconcerned at his own deposition, while + regarding as an intruder the man whose place he had so long in a sense + usurped, was not his sorest trial: regarding as a prig the man who talked + about things worth talking about, he could not help feeling himself a poor + creature, an empty sack, beside the son of the low-born woman. But indeed + Richard, brought face to face with life, and taught to meet necessity with + labour, had had immeasurable advantages over Arthur. + </p> + <p> + The younger insisted to himself that his brother could not have the + feelings of a gentleman; that he must have poverty-stricken ways of + looking at things. He could, it was true, find nothing in his manners, + carriage, or speech, unlike a gentleman, but the vulgarity must be there, + and he watched to find it. For he was not himself a gentleman yet. + </p> + <p> + When they went to the drawing-room, and Richard had sung a ballad so as + almost to make lady Ann drop a scale or two from her fish-eyes, Arthur + went out of the room stung with envy, and not ashamed of it. The thing + most alien to the true idea of humanity, is the notion that our well-being + lies in surpassing our fellows. We have to rise above ourselves, not above + our neighbours; to take all the good <i>of</i> them, not <i>from</i> them, + and give them all our good in return. That which cannot be freely shared, + can never be possessed. Arthur went to his room with a gnawing at his + heart. Not merely must he knock under to the foundling, but confess that + the foundling could do most things better than he—was out of sight + his superior in accomplishment as well as education.—“But let us see + how he rides and shoots!” he thought. + </p> + <p> + Even Vixen, who had been saying to herself all the time of dinner, “Mean + fellow! to come like a fox and steal poor Arthur's property!”—even + she was cowed a little by his singing, and felt for the moment in the + presence of her superior. + </p> + <p> + Sir Wilton was delighted. Here was a son to represent him!—the son + of the woman the county had declined to acknowledge! What was lady Ann's + plebeian litter beside this high-bred, modest, self-possessed fellow! He + was worthy of his father, by Jove! + </p> + <p> + He went early to bed, and Richard was not sorry. He too retired early, + leaving the rest to talk him over. + </p> + <p> + How they did it, I do not care to put on record. Theodora said little, for + her heart had come awake with a new and lovely sense of gladness and hope. + </p> + <p> + “If he would but fall in love with Barbara Wylder!” she thought; “—or + rather if Barbara would but fall in love with him, for nobody can help + falling in love with her, how happy I should be! they are the two I love + best in the world!—next to papa and mamma, of course!” she added, + being a loyal girl. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, Richard came upon Arthur shooting at a mark, and both + with pistols and rifle beat him thoroughly. But when Arthur began to talk + about shooting pheasants, he found in Richard a rooted dislike to killing. + This moved Arthur's contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Keep it dark,” he said; “you'll be laughed at if you don't. My father + won't like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why must a man enjoy himself at the expense of joy?” answered Richard. “I + pass no judgment upon your sport. I merely say I don't choose to kill + birds. What men may think of me for it, is a matter of indifference to me. + I think of them much as they think of a Frenchman or an Italian, who + shoots larks and blackbirds and thrushes and nightingales: I don't see the + great difference!” + </p> + <p> + They strolled into the stable. There stood Miss Brown, looking over the + door of her box. She received Richard with glad recognition. + </p> + <p> + “How comes Miss Brown here?” he asked. “Where can her mistress be?” + </p> + <p> + “The mare's at home,” answered Arthur. “I bought her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Richard, and going into the box, lifted her foot and looked at + the shoe. Alas, Miss Brown had worn out many shoes since Barbara drove a + nail in her hoof! Had there been one of hers there, he would have known it—by + a pretty peculiarity in the turn of the point back into the hoof which she + called her mark. The mare sniffed about his head in friendly fashion. + </p> + <p> + “She smells the smithy!” said Arthur to himself.—“Yes; your + grandfather's work.” he remarked. “I should be sorry to see any other man + shoe horse of mine!” + </p> + <p> + “So should I!” answered Richard. “—I wonder why Miss Wylder sold + Miss Brown!” he said, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “I am not so curious!” rejoined Arthur. “She sold her, and I bought her.” + </p> + <p> + Neither divined that the animal stood there a sacrifice to Barbara's love + of Richard. + </p> + <p> + Arthur had given up hope of winning Barbara, but the thought that the + bookbinder-fellow might now, as he vulgarly phrased it to himself, go in + and win, swelled his heart with a yet fiercer jealousy. “I hate him,” he + said in his heart. Yet Arthur was not a bad fellow as fellows go. He was + only a man for himself, believing every man must be for himself, and count + the man in his way his enemy. He was just a man who had not begun to stop + being a devil. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast lady Ann was almost attentive to her stepson. As it happened + they were left alone at the table. Suddenly she addressed him. + </p> + <p> + “Richard, I have one request to make of you,” she said; “I hope you will + grant it me!” + </p> + <p> + “I will if I can,” he answered; “but I must not promise without knowing + what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not feel bound to please me, I know! I have the misfortune not to + be your mother!” + </p> + <p> + “I feel bound to please you where I can, and shall be more than glad to do + so.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a small thing I am going to ask. I should not have thought of + mentioning it, but for the terms you seem upon with Mr. Wingfold.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope to see him within an hour or so.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought as much!—Do you happen to remember a small person who + came a good deal about the house when you were at work here?” + </p> + <p> + “If your ladyship means Miss Wylder, I remember her perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “It is necessary to let you know, and then I shall leave the matter to + your good sense, that Mrs. Wylder, and indeed the girl herself at various + times, has behaved to me with such rudeness, that you cannot in ordinary + decency have acquaintance with them. I mention it in case Mr. Wingfold + should want to take you to see them. They are parishioners of his.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I must disappoint you,” said Richard. Lady Ann rose with a + grey glitter in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to understand you <i>intend</i> calling on the Wylders?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I have imperative reasons for calling upon them this very morning,” + answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry you should so immediately show your antagonism!” said lady + Ann. + </p> + <p> + “My obligations to Miss Wylder are such that I must see her the first + possible moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you asked your father's permission?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not,” answered Richard, and left the room hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + The next moment he was out of the house: lady Ann might go to his father, + and he would gladly avoid the necessity of disobeying him the first + morning after his return! He did not know how small was her influence with + her husband. + </p> + <p> + He took the path across the fields, and ran until he was out of sight of + Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0061" id="link2HCH0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXI. <i>HEART TO HEART</i>. + </h2> + <p> + When he came to the parsonage, which he had to pass on his way to the + Hall, he saw Mr. Wingfold through the open window of the drawing-room, and + turned to the door. The parson met him on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome!” he said. “How did you get through your dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “Better than I expected,” replied Richard. “But this morning my stepmother + began feeling my mouth: she would have me promise not to call on the + Wylders. They had been rude to her, she said.” + </p> + <p> + “Come into the drawing-room. A friend of mine is there who will be glad to + see you.” + </p> + <p> + The drawing-room of the parsonage was low and dark, with its two windows + close together on the same side. At the farther end stood a lady, + seemingly occupied with an engraving on the wall. She did not move when + they entered. Wingfold led Richard up to her, then turned without a word, + and left the room. Before either knew, they were each in the other's arms. + </p> + <p> + Barbara was sobbing. Richard thought he had dared too much and had + frightened her. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't help it!” Barbara said pleadingly. + </p> + <p> + “My life has been a longing for you!” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I have wanted you every day!” said Barbara, and began again to sob, but + recovered herself with an effort. + </p> + <p> + “This will never do!” she cried, laughing through her tears. “I shall go + crazy with having you! And I've not seen you yet! Let me go, please. I + want to look at you!” + </p> + <p> + Richard released her. She lifted a blushing, tearful face to his. But + there was only joy, no pain in her tears; only delight, no shame in her + blushes. One glance at the simple, manly face before her, so full of the + trust that induces trust, would have satisfied any true woman that she was + as safe in his thoughts as in those of her mother. She gazed at him one + long silent moment. + </p> + <p> + “How splendid you are!” she cried, like a wild schoolgirl. “How good of + you to grow like that! I wish I could see you on Miss Brown!—What + are you going to do, Richard?” + </p> + <p> + While she spoke, Richard was pasturing his eyes, the two mouths of his + soul, on the heavenly meadow of her face; and she for very necessity went + on talking, that she might not cry again. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going back to the bookbinding?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. Sir Wilton—my father hasn't told me yet what he + wants me to do.—Wasn't it good of him to send me to Oxford?” + </p> + <p> + “You've been at Oxford then all this time?—I suppose he will make an + officer of you now!—Not that I care! I am content with whatever + contents you!” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say he will hardly like me to live by my hands!” answered Richard, + laughing. “He would count it a degradation! There I shall never be able to + think like a gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + Barbara looked perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say he's going to treat you just like one of the rest” + she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I really do not know,” answered Richard; “but I think he would hardly + enjoy the thought of <i>Sir Richard Lestrange</i> over a bookbinder's shop + in Hammersmith or Brentford!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Richard! You do not mean—?” + </p> + <p> + Her face grew white; her eyes fell; her hand trembled on Richard's arm. + </p> + <p> + “What is troubling you, dearest?” he asked, in his turn perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “I can't understand it.” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible you do not know, Barbara?” he returned. “I thought Mr. + Wingfold must have told you!—Sir Wilton says I am his son that was + lost. Indeed there is no doubt of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Richard! Richard! believe me I didn't know. Lady Ann told me you were not—” + </p> + <p> + “How then should I have dared put my arms round you, Barbara?” + </p> + <p> + “Richard, I care nothing for what the world thinks! I care only for what + God thinks.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Barbara, you would have married me, believing me base born?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh Richard! you thought it was knowing who you were that made me—! + Richard! Richard! I did not think you could have wronged me so! My father + sold Miss Brown because I would not marry your brother and be lady + Lestrange. If you had not asked me, and I had been sure it was only + because of your birth you wouldn't, I should have found some way of + letting you know I cared no more for that than God himself does. The god + of the world is the devil. He has many names, but he's all the same devil, + as Mr. Wingfold says.—I wonder why he never told me!—I'm glad + he didn't. If he had, I shouldn't be here now!” + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad too, Barbara; but it wouldn't have made so much + difference: I was only here on my way to you! But suppose it had been as + you thought, it was one thing what you would do, and another what I would + ask you to do!” + </p> + <p> + “What I would have done was what you should have believed I would do!” + </p> + <p> + “You must just pardon me, Barbara: well as I thought I knew you, I did not + know you enough!” + </p> + <p> + “You do now?” + </p> + <p> + '“I do.” + </p> + <p> + There came a silence. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you known this about yourself, Richard?” said Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “More than four years.” + </p> + <p> + “And you never told me!” + </p> + <p> + “My father wished it kept a secret for a time.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Mr. Wingfold know?” + </p> + <p> + “Not till yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't he tell me yesterday, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he wouldn't have told you if he had known all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “For the same reason that made him leave us together so suddenly—that + you might not be hampered by knowing it—that we might understand + each other before you knew. I see it all now! It was just like him!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he is a friend!” cried Barbara. “He knows what one is, and so knows + what one is thinking!” + </p> + <p> + A silent embrace followed, and then Barbara said, “You must come and see + my mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't you better tell her first?” suggested Richard. + </p> + <p> + “She knows—knows what you didn't know—what I've been thinking + all the time,” rejoined Barbara, with a rosy look of confidence into his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “She can never have been willing you should marry a tradesman—and + one, besides, who—!” + </p> + <p> + “She knew I would—and that I should have money, else she might not + have been willing. I don't say she likes the idea, but she is determined I + shall have the man I love—if he will have me,” she added shyly. + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell her you—cared for me?” + </p> + <p> + He could not say loved yet; he felt an earthy pebble beside a celestial + sapphire! + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did, when papa wanted me to have Arthur!—not till then; + there was no occasion! I could not tell what your thoughts were, but my + own were enough for that.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Wylder was taken with Richard the moment she saw him; and when she + heard his story, she was overjoyed, and would scarcely listen to a word + about the uncertainty of his prospects. That her Bab should marry the man + she loved, and that the alliance should be what the world counted + respectable, was enough for her. When Richard told his father what he had + done, saying they had fallen in love with each other while yet ignorant of + his parentage, a glow of more than satisfaction warmed sir Wilton's + consciousness. It was lovely! Lady Ann was being fooled on all sides! + </p> + <p> + “Richard has been making good use of his morning!” he said at dinner. “He + has already proposed to Miss Wylder and been accepted! Richard is a man of + action—a practical fellow!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann did perhaps turn a shade paler, but she smiled. It was not such a + blow as it might have been, for she too had given up hope of securing her + for Arthur. But it was not pleasant to her that the grandchild of the + blacksmith should have Barbara's money. Theodora was puzzled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0062" id="link2HCH0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXII. <i>THE QUARREL</i>. + </h2> + <p> + For a few weeks, things went smoothly enough. Not a jar occurred in the + feeble harmony, not a questionable cloud appeared above the horizon. The + home-weather seemed to have grown settled. Lady Ann was not unfriendly. + Richard, having provided himself with tools for the purpose, bound her + prayer-book in violet velvet, with her arms cut out in gold on the cover; + and she had not seemed altogether ungrateful. Arthur showed no active + hostility, made indeed some little fight with himself to behave as a + brother ought to a brother he would rather not have found. Far from + inseparable, they were yet to be seen together about the place. Vixen had + not once made a face to his face; I will not say she had made none at his + back. Theodora and he were fast friends. Miss Malliver, now a sort of + upper slave to lady Ann, cringed to him. + </p> + <p> + Arthur readily sold him Miss Brown, and every day she carried him to + Barbara. But he took the advice of Wingfold, and was not long from home + any day, but much at hand to his father's call, who had many things for + him to do, and was rejoiced to find him, unlike Arthur, both able and + ready. He would even send him where a domestic might have done as well; + but Richard went with hearty good will. It gladdened him to be of service + to the old man. Then a rumour reached his father's ears, carried to lady + Ann by her elderly maid, that Richard had been seen in low company; and he + was not long in suspecting the truth of the matter. + </p> + <p> + Not once before since Richard's return, had sir Wilton given the Mansons a + thought, never doubting his son's residence at Oxford must have cured him + of a merely accidental inclination to such low company, and made evident + to him that recognition of such relationship as his to them was an + unheard-of impropriety, a sin against social order, a class-treachery. + </p> + <p> + Almost every day Richard went to Wylder Hall, he had a few minutes with + Alice at the parsonage. Neither Barbara nor her lawless, great-hearted + mother, would have been pleased to have it otherwise. Barbara treated + Alice as a sister, and so did Helen Wingfold, who held that such service + as hers must be recompensed with love, and the money thrown in. Their + kindness, with her new peace of heart, and plenty of food and fresh air, + had made her strong and almost beautiful. + </p> + <p> + It was Richard's custom to ride over in the morning, but one day it was + more convenient for him to go in the evening, and that same evening it + happened that Arthur Manson had gone to see his sister. When Richard, on + his way back from the Hall, found him at the parsonage, he proposed to see + him home: Miss Brown was a good walker, and if Arthur did not choose to + ride all the way, they would ride and walk alternately. Arthur was + delighted, and they set out in the dusk on foot, Alice going a little way + with them. Richard led Miss Brown, and Alice clung joyously to his arm: + but for Richard, she would not have known that human being ever was or + could be so happy! The western sky was a smoky red; the stars were coming + out; the wind was mild, and seemed to fill her soul with life from the + fountain of life, from God himself. For Alice had been learning from + Barbara—not to think things, but to feel realities, the reality of + real things—to see truths themselves. Often, when Mrs. Wingfold + could spare her, Barbara would take her out for a walk. Then sometimes as + they walked she would quite forget her presence, and through that very + forgetting, Alice learned much. When first she saw Barbara lost in silent + joy, and could see nothing to make her look glad, she wondered a moment, + then swiftly concluded she must be thinking of God. When she saw her + spread out her arms as if to embrace the wind that flowed to meet them, + then too she wondered, but presently began to feel what a thing the wind + was—how full of something strange and sweet. She began to learn that + nothing is dead, that there cannot be a physical abstraction, that nothing + exists for the sake of the laws of its phenomena. She did not put it so to + herself, I need hardly say; but she was, in a word, learning to feel that + the world was alive. Of the three she was the merriest that night as they + went together along the quiet road. A little way out of the village, + Richard set her on the mare, and walked by her side, leading Miss Brown. + Such was the tolerably sufficient foundation for the report that he was + seen rollicking with a common-looking lad and a servant girl on the high + road, in the immediate vicinity of Wylder Hall. + </p> + <p> + “He is his father's son!” reflected lady Ann. + </p> + <p> + “He's a chip of the old block!” said sir Wilton to himself. But he did not + approve of the openness of the thing. To let such doings be seen was low! + Presently fell an ugly light on the affair. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” he said to himself, “it's the damned Manson girl! I'll lay my + life on it! The fellow is too much of a puritan to flaunt his own foibles + in the public eye; but, damn him, he don't love his father enough not to + flaunt his! Dead and buried, the rascal hauls them out of their graves for + men to see! It's all the damned socialism of his mother's relations! + Otherwise the fellow would be all a father could wish! I might have known + it! The Armour blood was sure to break out! What business has he with what + his father did before he was born! He was nowhere then, the insolent dog! + He shall do as I tell him or go about his business—go and herd with + the Mansons and all the rest of them if he likes, and be hanged to them!” + </p> + <p> + He sat in smouldering rage for a while, and then again his thoughts took + shape in words, though not in speech. + </p> + <p> + “How those fools of Wylders will squirm when I cut the rascal off with a + shilling, and settle the property on the man the little lady refused! But + Dick will never be such a fool! He cannot reconcile his puritanism with + such brazen-faced conduct! I shall never make a gentleman of him! He will + revert to the original type! It had disappeared in his mother! What's bred + in the damned bone will never out of the damned flesh!” + </p> + <p> + Richard was at the moment walking with Mr. Wingfold in the rectory garden. + They were speaking of what the Lord meant when he said a man must leave + all for him. As soon us he entered his father's room, he saw that + something had gone wrong with him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, father?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Richard, sit down,” said sir Wilton. “I must have a word with you:—What + young man and woman were you walking with two nights ago, not far from + Wylder Hall?” + </p> + <p> + “My brother and sister, sir—the Mansons.” + </p> + <p> + “My God, I thought as much!” cried the baronet, and started to his feet—but + sat down again: the fetter of his gout pulled him back. “Hold up your + right hand,” he went on—sir Wilton was a magistrate—“and swear + by God that you will never more in your life speak one word to either of + those—persons, or leave my house at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Richard, his voice trembling a little, “I cannot obey you. + To deny my friends and relations, even at your command, would be to + forsake my Master. It would be to break the bonds that bind men, God's + children, together.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your cursed jargon! Bonds indeed! Is there no bond between you and + your father!” + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, father, I am very sorry, but I cannot help it. I dare not + obey you. You have been very kind to me, and I thank you from my heart,—” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, you young hypocrite! you have tongue enough for three!—Come, + I will give you one chance more! Drop those persons you call your brother + and sister, or I drop you.” + </p> + <p> + “You must drop me, then, father!” said Richard with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Will you do as I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. I dare not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then leave the house.” + </p> + <p> + Richard rose. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, sir,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Get out of the house.” + </p> + <p> + “May I not take my tools, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “What tools, damn you!” + </p> + <p> + “I got some to bind lady Ann's prayer-book.” + </p> + <p> + “She's taken him in! By Jove, she's done him, the fool! She's been keeping + him up to it, to enrage me and get rid of him!” said the baronet to + himself. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want them for?” he asked, a little calmer. + </p> + <p> + “To work at my trade. If you turn me out, I must go back to that.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn your soul! it never was, and never will be anything but a + tradesman's! Damn <i>my</i> soul, if I wouldn't rather make young Manson + my heir than you!—No, by Jove, you shall <i>not</i> have your damned + tools! Leave the house. You cannot claim a chair-leg in it!” + </p> + <p> + Richard bowed, and went; got his hat and stick; and walked from the house + with about thirty shillings in his pocket. His heart was like a lump of + lead, but he was nowise dismayed. He was in no perplexity how to live. + Happy the man who knows his hands the gift of God, the providers for his + body! I would in especial that teachers of righteousness were able, with + St. Paul, to live by their hands! Outside the lodge-gate he paused, and + stood in the middle of the road thinking. Thus far he had seen his way, + but no farther. To which hand must he turn? Should he go to his + grandfather, or to Barbara? + </p> + <p> + He set out, plodding across the fields, for Wylder Hall. There was no Miss + Brown for him now. Miss Wylder, they told him, was in the garden. She sat + in a summer-house, reading a story. When she heard his step, she knew, + from the very sound of it, that he was discomposed. Never was such a + creature for interpreting the signs of the unseen! Her senses were as + discriminating as those of wild animals that have not only to find life + but to avoid death by the keenness of their wits. She came out, and met + him in the dim green air under a wide-spreading yew. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Richard?” she said, looking in his face with anxiety. + “What has gone wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “My father has turned me out.” + </p> + <p> + “Turned you out?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I must swear never to speak another word to Alice or Arthur, or go + about my business. I went.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you did!” cried Barbara, lifting her dainty chin an inch + higher. + </p> + <p> + Then, after a little pause, in which she looked with loving pride straight + into his eyes—for was he not a man after her own brave big heart!—she + resumed: + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is no worse for you than before, and ever so much better for me!—What + are you going to do, Richard?—There are so many things you could + turn to now!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but only one I can do well. I might get fellows to coach, but I + should have to wait too long—and then I should have to teach what I + thought worth neither the time nor the pay. I prefer to live by my hands, + and earn leisure for something else.” + </p> + <p> + “I like that,” said Barbara. “Will it take you long to get into the way of + your old work?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it will,” answered Richard; “and I believe I shall do + better at it now. I was looking at some of it yesterday morning, and was + surprised I should have been pleased with it. In myself growing, I have + grown to demand better work—better both in idea and execution.” + </p> + <p> + “It is horrid to have you go,” said Barbara; “but I will think you up to + God every day, and dream about you every night, and read about you every + book. I will write to you, and you will write to me—and—and”—she + was on the point of crying, but would not—“and then the old smell of + the leather and the paste will be so nice!” + </p> + <p> + She broke into a merry laugh, and the crisis was over. They walked + together to the smithy. Fierce was the wrath of the blacksmith. But for + the presence of Barbara, he would have called his son-in-law ugly names. + His anger soon subsided, however, and he laughed at himself for spending + indignation on such a man. + </p> + <p> + “I might have known him by this time!” he said. “—But just let him + come near the smithy!” he resumed, and his eyes began to flame again. “He + shall know, if he does, what a blacksmith thinks of a baronet!—What + are you going to do, my son?” + </p> + <p> + “Go back to my work.” + </p> + <p> + “Never to that old-wife-trade?” cried the blacksmith. “Look here, + Richard!” he said, and bared his upper arm, “there's what the anvil does!” + Then he bent his shoulders, and began to wheeze. “And there's what the + bookbinding does!” he continued. “No, no; you turn in with me, and we'll + show them a sight!—a gentleman that can make his living with his own + hands! The country shall see sir Wilton Lestrange's heir a blacksmith + because he wouldn't be a snob and deny his own flesh and blood!—'I + saw your son to-day, sir Wilton—at the anvil with his grandfather! + What a fine fellow he do be! Lord, how he do make the sparks fly!'—If + I had him, the old sinner, he should see sparks that came from somewhere + else than the anvil!—You turn in with me, Richard, and do work fit + for a man!” + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” answered Richard, “I couldn't do your work so well as my + own.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you could. In six weeks you'll be a better smith than ever you'd be + a bookbinder. There's no good or bad in that sort of soft thing! I'll make + you a better blacksmith than myself. There! I can't say fairer!” + </p> + <p> + “But don't you think it better not to irritate my father more than I must? + I oughtn't to torment him. As long as I was here he would fancy me braving + him. When I am out of sight, he may think of me again and want to see me—as + Job said his maker would.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't remember,” said Barbara. “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “He says to God—I was reading it the other day—'I wish you + would hide me in the grave till you've done being angry with me! Then you + would want to see again the creature you had made; you would call me, and + I would answer!' God's not like that, of course, but my father might be. + There is more chance of his getting over it, if I don't trouble him with + sight or sound of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you're right!” said Simon. “Off with you to your woman's + work! and God bless you!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0063" id="link2HCH0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXIII. <i>BARONET AND BLACKSMITH</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Richard took Barbara home, and the same night started for London. Barbara + prayed him to take what money she had, but he said that by going in the + third class he would have something over, and, once there, would begin to + earn money immediately. + </p> + <p> + His aunt was almost beside herself for lack of outlet to her surprise and + delight at seeing him. When she heard his story, however, it was plain she + took part with his father, though she was too glad to have her boy again + to say so. His uncle too was sincerely glad. His work had not been the + same thing to him since Richard went; and to have him again was what he + had never hoped. He could not help a grudge that Richard should lose his + position for the sake of such as the Mansons, but he saw now the principle + involved. He saw too that, in virtue of his belief in God as the father of + all, his nephew had much the stronger sense of the claim of man upon man. + </p> + <p> + Richard never disputed with his uncle; he but suggested, and kept + suggesting—in the firm belief that an honest mind must, sooner or + later, open its doors to every truth. He settled to his work as if he had + never been away from it, and in a fortnight or so could work faster and + better than before. Soon he had as much in his peculiar department as he + was able to do, for almost all his old employers again sought him. His + story being now no secret, they wondered he should return to his trade, + but no one thought he had chosen to be a workman because he was not a + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + But how changed was the world to him since the time that looked so far + away! With how much larger a life in his heart would he now sit in the + orchestra while the gracious forms of music filled the hall, and he seemed + to see them soaring on the pinions of the birds of God, as Dante calls the + angels, or sweeping level in dance divine, like the six-winged serpents of + Isaiah's vision high and lifted up—all the interspaces filled with + glow-worms and little spangled snakes of coruscating sound! He was more + blessed now than even when but to lift his eyes was to see the face of + Barbara; she was in his faith and hope now as well as in his love. He had + the loveliest of letters from her. She insisted he should not write + oftener than once for her twice: his time was worth more, she said, than + twice hers. Mr. Wingfold wrote occasionally, and Richard always answered + within a week. + </p> + <p> + As soon as his son was gone, sir Wilton began to miss him. He wished, + first, that the obstinacy of the rascal had not made it necessary to give + him quite so sharp a lesson; he wished, next, that he had given him time + to see the reasonableness of his demand; and at length, as the days and + weeks passed, and not a whisper of prayer entered the ears of the + family-Baal, he began to wish that he had not sent him away. The desire to + see him grew a longing; his need of him became imperative. Arthur, who now + tried a little to do the work he had before declined, was the poorest + substitute for Richard; and his father kept thinking how differently + Richard had served him. He repented at last as much as was possible to + him, and wished he had left the rascal to take his own way. He tried to + understand how it was that, anxious always to please him, he yet would not + in such a trifle, and that with nothing to gain and everything to lose by + his obstinacy. There might be conscience in it! his mother certainly had a + conscience! But how could the fool make the Mansons a matter of <i>his</i> + conscience? They were no business of his! + </p> + <p> + He pretended to himself that he had been born without a conscience. At the + same time he knew very well there were pigeon-holes in his memory he + preferred not searching in; knew very well he had done things which were + wrong, things he knew to be wrong when he did them. If he had ever done a + thing because he ought to do it; if he had ever abstained from doing a + thing because he ought not to do it, he would have <i>known</i> he had a + conscience. Because he did not obey his conscience, he would rather + believe himself without one. I doubt if consciousness ever exists without + conscience, however poorly either may be developed. + </p> + <p> + Fur the first time in his life he was possessed with a good longing—namely, + for his son; a fulcrum was at length established which might support + leverage for his uplifting. He grew visibly greyer, stooped more, and + became very irritable. Twenty times a day he would be on the point of + sending for Richard, but twenty times a day his pride checked him. + </p> + <p> + “If the rascal would make but apology enough to satisfy a Frenchman, I + would take him back!” he would say to himself over and over; “but he's + such a chip of the old block!—so damned independent!—Well, I + don't call it a great fault! If I had had a trade, I should have been just + as independent of my father! No, I want no apology from him! Let him just + say, 'Mayn't I come back, father?' and the gold ring and the wedding + garment shall be out for him directly!” + </p> + <p> + A month after Richard's expulsion, the baronet drove to the smithy, and + accused Simon of causing all the mischief. He must send the boy Manson + away, he said: he would settle an annuity on the beggar. That done, + Richard must make a suitable apology, and he would take him back. Simon + listened without a word. He wanted to see how far he would go. + </p> + <p> + “If you will not oblige me,” he ended, “you shall not have another stroke + of work from Mortgrange, and I will use my influence to drive you from the + county.” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for an answer, he turned to walk from the shop. But he did + not walk. The moment he turned, Simon took him by the shoulders and ran + him right out of the smithy up to his carriage, into which, for the + footman had made haste to open the door, he would have tumbled him neck + and heels, but that, gout and all, sir Wilton managed to spring on the + step, and get in without falling. In a rage by no means unnatural, he + called to the coachman to send his lash about the ruffian's ears. Simon + burst into a guffaw, which so startled the horses that the footman had to + run to their heads. In his haste to do so, he failed to shut the door + properly; it opened and banged, swinging this way and that, as the horses + now reared, now backed, now pulled, and the baronet, cursing and swearing, + was tossed about in his carriage like a dried-up kernel in a nut. Simon at + length, with tears of merriment running down his red cheeks, managed, in a + succession of gymnastics, to close the door. + </p> + <p> + “Home, Peterkin?” he shouted, and turning away, strode back to his forge, + whence immediately sprang upon the air the merriest tune ever played by + anvil and hammer with a horse-shoe between them—the sparks flying + about the musician like a nimbus of embodied notes. It seemed to soothe + the horses, for they started immediately without further racket. Before + the next month was over, the baronet was again in the smithy—in a + better mood this time. He made no reference to his former ignominious + dismissal—wanted only to know if Simon had heard from his grandson. + The old man answered that he had: he was well, happy, and busy. Sir Wilton + gave a grunt. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't he stay and help you?” + </p> + <p> + “I begged him to do so,” answered Simon, “for he is almost as good at the + anvil, and quite as good at the shoring as myself; but he said it would + annoy his father to have him so near, and he wouldn't do it.” + </p> + <p> + His boy's good will made the baronet fidget and swear to hide his + compunction. But his evil angel got the upper hand. + </p> + <p> + “The rascal knew,” he cried, “that nothing would annoy me so much as have + him go back to his mire like the washed sow!” + </p> + <p> + Perceiving Simon look dangerous, he turned with a hasty good-morning, and + made for his carriage, casting more than one uneasy glance over his + shoulder. But the blacksmith let him depart in peace. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0064" id="link2HCH0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXIV. <i>THE BARONET'S FUNERAL</i>. + </h2> + <p> + It was about a year after Richard's return to his trade, when one morning + the doctor at Barset was roused by a groom, his horse all speckled with + foam, who, as soon as he had given his message, galloped to the + post-office, and telegraphed for a well-known London physician. A little + later, Richard received a telegram: “Father paralyzed. Will meet first + train. Wingfold.” + </p> + <p> + With sad heart he obeyed the summons, and found Wingfold at the station. + </p> + <p> + “I have just come from the house,” he said. “He is still insensible. They + tell me he came to himself once, just a little, and murmured <i>Richard</i>, + but has not spoken since.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go to him!” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I fear they will try to prevent you from seeing him.” + </p> + <p> + “They shall not find it easy.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a trap outside.” + </p> + <p> + “Come along.” + </p> + <p> + They reached Mortgrange, and stopped at the lodge. Richard walked up to + the door. + </p> + <p> + “How is my father?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Much the same, sir, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true that he wanted to see me?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he in his own room?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; but, I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man, “I have my lady's + orders to admit no one!” + </p> + <p> + While he spoke, Richard passed him, and went straight to his father's + room, which was on the ground-floor. He opened the door softly, and + entered. His father lay on the bed, with the Barset surgeon and the London + doctor standing over him. The latter looked round, saw him, and came to + him. + </p> + <p> + “I gave orders that no one should be admitted,” he said, in a low stern + tone. + </p> + <p> + “I understand my father wished to see me!” answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “He cannot see you.” + </p> + <p> + “He may come to himself any moment!” + </p> + <p> + “He will never come to himself,” returned the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Then why keep me out?” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the dying man opened, and Richard received his last look. Sir + Wilton gave one sigh, and death was past. Whether life was come, God only, + and those who watched on the other side, knew. Lady Ann came in. + </p> + <p> + “The good baronet is gone!” said the physician. + </p> + <p> + She turned away. Her eyes glided over Richard as if she had never before + seen him. He went up to the bed, and she walked from the room. When + Richard came out, he found Wingfold where he had left him, and got into + the pony-carriage beside him. The parson drove off. + </p> + <p> + “His tale is told,” said Richard, in a choking voice. “He did not speak, + and I cannot tell whether he knew me, but I had his last look, and that is + something. I would have been a good son to him if he had let me—at + least I would have tried to be.” + </p> + <p> + He sat silent, thinking what he might have done for him. Perhaps he would + not have died if he had been with him, he thought. + </p> + <p> + “It is best,” said Wingfold. “We cannot say anything would be best, but we + must say everything is best.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I understand you,” said Richard. “But oh how I would have loved + him if he would have let me!” + </p> + <p> + “And how you will love him!” said Wingfold, “for he will love you. They + are getting him ready to let you now. I think he is loving you in the + darkness. He had begun to love you long before he went. But he was the + slave of the nature he had enfeebled and corrupted. I hope endlessly for + him—though God only knows how long it may take, even after the + change is begun, to bring men like him back to their true selves.—But + surely, Richard,” he cried, bethinking himself, and pulling up his ponies, + “your right place is at Mortgrange—at least so long as what is left + of your father is lying in the house!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, no doubt I and I did think whether I ought not to assert myself, and + remain until my father's will was read; but I concluded it better to avoid + the possibility of anything unpleasant. I cannot of course yield my right + to be chief mourner. I think my father would not wish me to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure he would not.—Then, till the funeral, you will stay with + us!” concluded the parson, as he drove on. + </p> + <p> + “No, I thank you,” answered Richard: “I must be at my grandfather's. I + will go there when I have seen Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + On the day of the funeral, no one disputed Richard's right to the place he + took, and when it was over, he joined the company assembled to hear the + late baronet's will. It was dated ten years before, and gave the two + estates of Mortgrange and Cinqmer to his son, Arthur Lestrange There was + in it no allusion to the possible existence of a son by his first wife. + Richard rose. The lawyer rose also. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, sir Richard,” he said, “that we can find no later will. There + ought to have been some provision for the support of the title.” + </p> + <p> + “My father died suddenly,” answered Richard, “and did not know of my + existence until about five years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “All I can say is, I am very sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not let it trouble you,” returned Richard. “It matters little to me; I + am independent.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad to hear it. I had imagined it otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “A man with a good trade and a good education must be independent!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I understand!—But your brother will, as a matter of course—. + I shall talk to him about it. The estate is quite equal to it.” + </p> + <p> + “The estate shall not be burdened with me,” said Richard with a smile. “I + am the only one of the family able to do as he pleases.” + </p> + <p> + “But the title, sir Richard!” + </p> + <p> + “The title must look after itself. If I thought it in the smallest degree + dependent on money for its dignity, I would throw it in the dirt. If it + means anything, it means more than money, and can stand without it. If it + be an honour, please God, I shall keep it honourable. Whether I shall set + it over my shop, remains to be considered.—Good morning!” + </p> + <p> + As he left the room, a servant met him with the message that lady Ann + wished to see him in the library. Cold as ever, but not colder than + always, she poked her long white hand at him. + </p> + <p> + “This is awkward for you, Richard,” she said, “but more awkward still for + Arthur. Mortgrange is at your service until you find some employment + befitting your position. You must not forget what is due to the family. It + is a great pity you offended your father.” Richard was silent. + </p> + <p> + “He left it therefore in my hands to do as I thought fit. Sir Wilton did + not die the rich man people imagined him, but I am ready to place a + thousand pounds at your disposal.” + </p> + <p> + “I should be sorry to make the little he has left you so much less,” + answered Richard. + </p> + <p> + “As you please,” returned her ladyship. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to have just a word with my sister Theodora,” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I doubt if she will see you.—Miss Malliver, will you take Mr. Tuke + to the schoolroom, and then inquire whether Miss Lestrange is able to + leave her room. You will stay with her; she is far from well.—Perhaps + you had better go and inquire first. Mr. Tuke will wait you here.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Malliver came from somewhere, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + Richard felt very angry: was he not to see his father's daughter except in + the presence of that woman? But he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “There is just one thing,” resumed her ladyship, “upon which, if only out + of respect to the feelings of my late husband, I feel bound to insist;—it + is, that, while in this neighbourhood, you will be careful as to what + company you show yourself in. You will not, I trust, pretend ignorance of + my meaning, and cause me the pain of having to be more explicit!” + </p> + <p> + Richard was struck dumb with indignation—and remained dumb from the + feeling that he could not condescend to answer her as she deserved. Ere he + had half recovered himself, she had again resumed. + </p> + <p> + “If the title were ceded to the property,” she said, as if talking to + herself, “it might be a matter for more material consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Did your ladyship address me?” said Richard. + </p> + <p> + “If you choose to understand what I mean.—But I speak with too much + delicacy, I fear. Compensation it could be only by courtesy.—Suppose + I referred to the court of chancery my grave doubts of your story?” + </p> + <p> + “My father has acknowledged me!” + </p> + <p> + “And repudiated;—sent you from the house—left you to pursue + your trade—bequeathed you nothing! Everybody knows your father—my + late husband, I mean—would risk anything for my annoyance, though, + thank God, he dared not attempt to push injury beyond the grave!—he + well knew the danger of that! Had he really believed you his son, do you + imagine he would have left you penniless? Would he not have been rejoiced + to put you over Mr. Lestrange's head, if only to wring the heart of his + mother?” + </p> + <p> + “The proofs that satisfied him remain.” + </p> + <p> + “The testimony, that is, of those most interested in the result—whose + very case is a confession of felony!” + </p> + <p> + “A confession, if you will, that my own aunt was the nurse that carried me + away—of which there are proofs.” + </p> + <p> + “Has any one seen those proofs?” + </p> + <p> + “My father has seen them, lady Ann.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean sir Wilton?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. He accepted them.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he left any document to that effect?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of.” + </p> + <p> + “Who presented those proofs, as you call them?” + </p> + <p> + “I told sir Wilton where they had been hidden, and together we found + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “In the room that was the nursery.” + </p> + <p> + “Which you occupied for months while working at your trade in the house, + and for weeks again before sir Wilton dismissed you!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Richard, who saw very well what she was driving at, but + would not seem to understand before she had fully disclosed her intent. + </p> + <p> + “And where you had opportunity to place what you chose at your leisure!—Excuse + me; I am only laying before you what counsel would lay before the court.” + </p> + <p> + “You wish me to understand, I suppose, that you regard me as an impostor, + and believe I put the things, for support of my aunt's evidence, where my + father and I found them!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say so. I merely endeavour to make you see how the court would + regard the affair—how much appearances would be against you. At the + same time, I confess I have all along had grave doubts of the story. You, + of course, may have been deceived as well as your father—I mean the + late baronet, my husband; but in any case, I will not admit you to be what + you call yourself, until you are declared such by the law of the land. I + will, however, make a proposal to you—and no ungenerous one:—Pledge + yourself to make no defence, if, for form's sake, legal proceedings should + be judged desirable, and in lieu of the possible baronetcy—for I + admit the bare possibility of the case, if tried, being given against us—I + will pay you five thousand pounds. It would cost us less to try the case, + no doubt, but the thing would at best be disagreeable.—Understand I + do not speak without advice!” + </p> + <p> + “Plainly you do not!” assented Richard. “But,” he continued, “let me place + one thing before your ladyship: To do as you ask me, would be to indorse + your charge against my father, that he acknowledged me, that is, he lied, + to give you annoyance! That is enough. But I have the same objection in + respect of my uncle and aunt, of whom you propose to make liars and + conspirators!” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the door. + </p> + <p> + “You will consider it?” said her ladyship in her stateliest yet softest + tone. + </p> + <p> + “I will. I shall continue to consider it the worst insult you could have + offered my father, your late husband. Thank God, he was my mother's + husband first!” + </p> + <p> + “What am I to understand by that?” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever your ladyship chooses, except that I will not hold any farther + communication with you on the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you mean to dispute the title?” + </p> + <p> + “I decline to say what I mean or do not mean to do.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ann rose to ring the bell. + </p> + <p> + Miss Malliver met Richard in the doorway. He turned. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to bid Theodora good-bye,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You shall do no such thing!” cried her ladyship. + </p> + <p> + Richard flew up the stair, and, believing Miss Malliver had not gone to + his sister, went straight to her room. + </p> + <p> + The moment Theodora saw him, she sprang from the bed where she had lain + weeping, and threw herself into his arms. He was the only one who had ever + made her feel what a man might be to a woman! He told her he had come to + bid her good-bye. She looked wild. + </p> + <p> + “But you're not going <i>really</i>—for altogether?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sister, what else can I do? Nobody here wants me!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, Richard, <i>I</i> do!” + </p> + <p> + “I know you do—and the time will come when you shall have me; but + you would not have me live where I am not loved!” + </p> + <p> + “Richard!” she cried, with a burst of indignation, the first, I fancy, she + had ever felt, or at least given way to, “you are the only gentleman in + the family!” + </p> + <p> + Richard laughed, and Theodora dried her eyes. Miss Malliver was near + enough to be able to report, and the poor girl had a bad time of it in + consequence. + </p> + <p> + “I will not trouble Arthur,” said Richard. “Say good-bye to him for me, + and give him my love. Please tell him that, although all I had was my + father's yet, as between him and me, Miss Brown is mine, and I expect him + to send her to Wylder Hall. Good-bye again to my dear sister! I leave a + bit of my heart in the house, where I know it will not be trampled on!” + </p> + <p> + Theodora could not speak. Her only answer was another embrace, and they + parted. + </p> + <p> + Richard went to see Barbara, and found her at the parsonage. + </p> + <p> + “What an opportunity you have,” said Wingfold, “of maintaining before the + world the honour of work! The man who makes a thing exist that did not + exist, or who sets anything right that had gone wrong, must be more worthy + than he who only consumes what exists, or helps things to remain wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” suggested Barbara, with her usual keenness, “are you not now + encouraging him to seek the praise of men? To seek it for a good thing, is + the more contemptible.” + </p> + <p> + “There is little praise to be got from men for that,” said Wingfold; “and + I am sure Richard does not seek any. He would help men to see that the man + who serves his neighbour, is the man whom the Lord of the universe + honours. An idle man, or one busy only for himself, is like a lump of + refuse floating this way and that in the flux and reflux of the sewer-tide + of the world. Were Richard lord of lands it would be absurd of him to give + his life to bookbinding; that would be to desert his neighbour on those + lands; but what better can he do now than follow the trade by which he may + at once earn his living? To omit the question of possibility,—suppose + he read for the bar, would that bring him closer to humanity? Would it be + a diviner mode of life? Is it a more honourable thing to win a cause—perhaps + for the wrong man—than to preserve an old and valuable book? Will a + man rank higher in the kingdom that shall not end, because he has again + and again rendered unrighteousness triumphant? Would Richard's mind be as + free in chambers as in the workshop to search into truth, or as keen to + suspect its covert? Would he sit closer to the well-springs of thought and + aspiration in a barrister's library, than among the books by which he wins + his bread?” + </p> + <p> + With eternity before them, and God at the head and the heart of the + universe, Richard and Barbara did not believe in separation any more than + in death. He in London and she at Wylder Hall, they were far more together + than most unparted pairs. + </p> + <p> + Wingfold set himself to keep Barbara busy, giving her plenty to read and + plenty of work: her waiting should be no loss of time to her if he could + help it! Among other things, he set her to teach his boy where she thought + herself much too ignorant: he held, not only that to teach is the best way + to learn, but that the imperfect are the best teachers of the imperfect. + He thought this must be why the Lord seems to regard with so much + indifference the many falsehoods uttered of and for him. When a man, he + said, agonized to get into other hearts the thing dear to his own, the + false intellectual or even moral forms in which his ignorance and the + crudity of his understanding compelled him to embody it, would not render + its truth of none effect, but might, on the contrary, make its reception + possible where a truer presentation would stick fast in the door-way. + </p> + <p> + He made Richard promise to take no important step for a year without first + letting him know. He was anxious he should have nothing to undo because of + what the packet committed to his care might contain. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0065" id="link2HCH0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXV. <i>THE PACKET</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The day so often in Wingfold's thought, arrived at last—the + anniversary of the death of sir Wilton. He rose early, his mind anxious, + and his heart troubled that his mind should be anxious, and set out for + London by the first train. Arrived; he sought at once the office of sir + Wilton's lawyer, and when at last Mr. Bell appeared, begged him to witness + the opening of the packet. Mr. Bell broke the seal himself, read the + baronet's statement of the request he had made to Wingfold, and then + opened the enclosed packet. + </p> + <p> + “A most irregular proceeding!” he exclaimed—as well he might: his + late client had committed to the keeping of the clergyman of another + parish, the will signed and properly witnessed, which Mr. Bell had last + drawn up for him, and of which, as it was nowhere discoverable, he had not + doubted the destruction! Here it was, devising and bequeathing his whole + property, real and personal, exclusive only of certain legacies of small + account, to Richard Lestrange, formerly known as Richard Tuke, reputed son + of John and Jane Tuke, born Armour, but in reality sole son of Wilton + Arthur Lestrange, of Mortgrange and Cinqmer, Baronet, and Robina Armour + his wife, daughter of Simon Armour, Blacksmith, born in lawful wedlock in + the house of Mortgrange, in the year 18—!—and so worded, at + the request of sir Wilton, that even should the law declare him + supposititious, the property must yet be his! + </p> + <p> + “This will be a terrible blow to that proud woman!” said Mr. Bell. “You + must prepare her for the shock!” + </p> + <p> + “Prepare lady Ann!” exclaimed Wingfold. “Believe me, she is in no danger! + An earthquake would not move her.” + </p> + <p> + “I must see her lawyer at once!” said Mr. Bell, rising. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have the papers, please,” said Wingfold. “Sir Wilton did not tell + me to bring them to you. I must take them to sir Richard.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do not wish me to move in the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall advise sir Richard to put the affair in your hands; but he must + do it; I have not the power.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very right. I shall be here till five o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope to be with you long before that!” + </p> + <p> + It took Wingfold an hour to find Richard. He heard the news without a + word, but his eyes flashed, and Wingfold knew he thought of Barbara and + his mother and the Mansons. Then his face clouded. + </p> + <p> + “It will bring trouble on the rest of my father's family!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Not upon all of them,” returned Wingfold; “and you have it in your power + to temper the trouble. But I beg you will not be hastily generous, and do + what you may regret, finding it for the good of none.” + </p> + <p> + “I will think well before I do anything,” answered Richard. “But there may + be another will yet!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course there may! No one can tell. In the meantime we must be guided + by appearances. Come with me to Mr. Bell.” + </p> + <p> + “I must see my mother first.” + </p> + <p> + He found her ironing a shirt for him, and told her the news. She received + them quietly. So many changes had got both her and Richard into a sober + way of expecting. They went to Mr. Bell, and Richard begged him to do what + he judged necessary. Mr. Bell at once communicated with lady Ann's lawyer, + and requested him to inform her ladyship that sir Richard would call upon + her the next day. Mr. Wingfold accompanied him to Mortgrange. Lady Ann + received them with perfect coolness. + </p> + <p> + “You are, I trust, aware of the cause of my visit, lady Ann?” said + Richard. + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what you propose to do?” + </p> + <p> + “That, excuse me, is my affair. It lies with me to ask you what provision + you intend making for sir Wilton's family.” + </p> + <p> + “Allow me, lady Ann, to take the lesson you have given me, and answer, + that is my affair.” + </p> + <p> + She saw she had made a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” she returned, “I should not object to remaining in the + house, were I but assured that my daughters should be in no danger of + meeting improper persons.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be no pleasure, lady Ann, to either of us to be so near the + other. Our ways of thinking are too much opposed. I venture to suggest + that you should occupy your jointure-house.” + </p> + <p> + “I will do as I see fit.” + </p> + <p> + “You must find another home.” Lady Ann left the room, and the next week + the house, betaking herself to her own, which was not far off, in the park + at Cinqmer, the smaller of the two estates. + </p> + <p> + The week following, Richard went to see Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Arthur!” he said, “let us be frank with each other! I am not your + enemy. I am bound to do the best I can for you all.” + </p> + <p> + “When you thought the land was yours, I had a trade to fall back upon. Now + that the land proves mine, you have no trade, or other means of making a + livelihood. If you will be a brother, you will accept what I offer: I will + make over to you for your life-time, but without power to devise it, this + estate of Cinqmer, burdened with the payment of five hundred a year to + your sister Theodora till her marriage.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur was glad of the gift, yet did not accept it graciously. The + disposition is no rare one that not only gives grudgingly, but receives + grudgingly. The man imagines he shields his independence by not seeming + pleased. To show yourself pleased is to confess obligation! Do not + manifest pleasure, do not acknowledge favour, and you keep your freedom + like a man! + </p> + <p> + “I cannot see,” said Arthur, “—of course it is very kind of you, and + all that! you wouldn't have compliments bandied between brothers!—but + I should like to know why the land should not be mine to leave. I might + have children, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “And I might have more children!” laughed Richard. “But that has nothing + to do with it. The thing is this: the land itself I could give out and + out, but the land has the people. God did not give us the land for our own + sakes only, but for theirs too. The men and women upon it are my brothers + and sisters, and I have to see to them. Now I know that you are liked by + our people, and that you have claims to be liked by them, and therefore + believe you will consider them as well as yourself or the land—though + at the same time I shall protect them with the terms of the deed. But + suppose at your death it should go to Percy! Should I not then feel that I + had betrayed my people, a very Judas of landlords? Never fellow-creature + of mine will I put in the danger of a scoundrel like him!” + </p> + <p> + “He is my brother!” + </p> + <p> + “And mine. I know him; I was at Oxford with him! Not one foothold shall he + ever have on land of mine! When he wants to work, let him come to me—not + till then!” + </p> + <p> + “You will not say that to my mother!” + </p> + <p> + “I will say nothing to your mother.—Do you accept my offer?” + </p> + <p> + “I will think over it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do,” said Richard, and turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not settle something on Victoria?” said Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “We shall see what she turns out by the time she is of age! I don't want + to waste money!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by wasting money?” + </p> + <p> + “Giving it where it will do no good.” + </p> + <p> + “God gives to the bad as well as the good?” + </p> + <p> + “It is one thing to give to the bad, and another to give where it will do + no good. God knows the endless result; I should know but the first link of + its chain. I must act by the knowledge granted me. God may give money in + punishment: should I dare do that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you're quite beyond me!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, then. What you and I have to do is to be friends, and work + together. You will find I mean well!” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you do, Richard; but we don't somehow seem to be in the same + world.” + </p> + <p> + “If we are true, that will not keep us apart. If we both work for the good + of the people, we must come together.” + </p> + <p> + “To tell you the truth, Richard, knowing you had given me the land, I + could not put up with interference. I am afraid we should quarrel, and + then I should seem ungrateful.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you say to our managing the estates together for a year or + two? Would not that be the way to understand each other?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. I must think about it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is right. Only don't let us begin with suspicion. You did me more + than one kindness not knowing I was your brother! And you sent back Miss + Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “That was mere honesty.” + </p> + <p> + “Strictly considered, it was more. My father had a right to take the mare + from me, and at his death she came into your possession. I thank you for + sending her to Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + Arthur turned away. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Richard, “Barbara loved me when I was a bookbinder, + and promised to marry me thinking me base-born. I am sorry, but there is + no blame to either of us. I had my bad time then, and your good time is, I + trust, coming. I did nothing to bring about the change. I did think once + whether I had not better leave all to you, and keep to my trade; but I saw + that I had no right to do so, because duties attended the property which I + was better able for than you.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe every word you say, Richard! You are nobler than I.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0066" id="link2HCH0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER LXVI. <i>BARBARA'S DREAM</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Wylder could not well object to sir Richard Lestrange on the ground + that his daughter had loved him before she or her father knew his position + the same he was coveting for her; and within two months they were married. + Lady Ann was invited but did not go to the wedding; Arthur, Theodora, and + Victoria did; Percy was not invited. + </p> + <p> + Neither bride nor bridegroom seeing any sense in setting out on a journey + the moment they were free to be at home together, they went straight from + the church to Mortgrange. + </p> + <p> + When they entered the hall which had so moved Richard's admiration the + first time he saw it, he stood for a moment lost in thought. When he came + to himself, Barbara had left him; but ere he had time to wonder, such a + burst of organ music filled the place as might have welcomed one that had + overcome the world. He stood entranced for a minute, then hastened to the + gallery, where he found Barbara at the instrument. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he cried in astonishment; “you, Barbara! you play like that!” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to be worth something to you, Richard.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh Barbara, you are a queen at giving! I was well named, for you were + coming! I <i>am</i> Richard indeed!—oh, so rich!” + </p> + <p> + In the evening they went out into the park. The moon was rising. The + sunlight was not quite gone. Her light mingled with the light that gave it + her. “Do you know that lovely passage in the Book of Baruch?” asked + Richard. + </p> + <p> + “What book is that?” returned Barbara. “It can't be in the Bible, surely?” + </p> + <p> + “It is in the Apocrypha—which is to me very much in the Bible! I + think I can repeat it. I haven't a good memory, but some things stick + fast.” + </p> + <p> + But in the process of recalling it, Richard's thoughts wandered, and + Baruch was forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “This dying of Apollo in the arms of Luna,” he said, “this melting of the + radiant god into his own pale shadow, always reminds me of the + poverty-stricken, wasted and sad, yet lovely Elysium of the pagans: so + little consolation did they gather from the thought of it, that they + longed to lay their bodies, not in the deep, cool, far-off shadow of grove + or cave, but by the ringing roadside, where live feet, in two meeting, + mingling, parting tides, ever came and went; where chariots rushed past in + hot haste, or moved stately by in jubilant procession; where at night + lonely forms would steal through the city of the silent, with but the moon + to see them go, bent on ghastly conference with witch or enchanter; and—” + </p> + <p> + “Where <i>are</i> you going, Richard? Please take me with you. I feel as + if I were lost in a wood!” + </p> + <p> + “What I meant to say,” replied Richard, with a little laugh, “was—how + different the moonlit shadow-land of those people from the sunny realm of + the radiant Christ! Jesus rose again because he was true, and death had no + part in him. This world's day is but the moonlight of his world. The + shadow-man, who knows neither whence he came nor whither he is going, + calls the upper world the house of the dead, being himself a ghost that + wanders in its caves, and knows neither the blowing of its wind, the + dashing of its waters, the shining of its sun, nor the glad laughter of + its inhabitants.” + </p> + <p> + They wandered along, now talking, now silent, their two hearts lying + together in a great peace. + </p> + <p> + The moon kept rising and brightening, slowly victorious over the pallid + light of the dead sun; till at last she lifted herself out of the vaporous + horizon-sea, ascended over the tree-tops, and went walking through the + unobstructed sky, mistress of the air, queen of the heavens, lady of the + eyes of men. Yet was she lady only because she beheld her lord. She saw + the light of her light, and told what she saw of him. + </p> + <p> + “When the soul of man sees God, it shines!” said Richard. They reached at + length the spot where first they met in the moonlight. With one heart they + stopped and turned, and looked each in the other's moonlit eyes. Barbara + spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” she said, “tell me what Baruch says.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, Baruch! He was the prophet Jeremiah's friend and amanuensis. It + was the moon made me think of him. I believe I can give you the passage + word for word, as it stands in the English Bible. + </p> + <p> + “'But he that knoweth all things knoweth her,'—that is, Wisdom—'and + hath found her out with his understanding: he that prepared the earth for + evermore hath filled it with four-footed beasts: he that sendeth forth + light, and it goeth, calleth it again, and it obeyeth him with fear. The + stars shined in their watches, and rejoiced: when he calleth them, they + say, Here we be; and so with cheerfulness they showed light unto him that + made them. This is our God, and there shall none other be accounted of in + comparison of him.'” + </p> + <p> + “That is beautiful!” cried Barbara. “'They said, Here we be! And so—'—What + is it?” + </p> + <p> + “'And so with cheerfulness they showed light unto him that made them.'” + </p> + <p> + “I will read every word of Baruch!” said Barbara. “Is there much of him?” + </p> + <p> + “No; very little.” + </p> + <p> + A silence followed. Then again Barbara spoke, and she clung a little + closer to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “I want to tell you something that came to me one night when we were in + London,” she said. “It was a miserable time that—before I found you + up in the orchestra there! and then hell became purgatory, for there was + hope in it. I saw so many miserable things! I seemed always to come upon + the miserable things. It was as if my eyes were made only to see miserable + things—bad things and suffering everywhere. The terrible city was + full of them. I longed to help, but had to wait for you to set me free. + You had gone from my knowledge, and I was very sad, seeing nothing around + me but a waste of dreariness. I kept asking God to give me patience, and + not let me fancy myself alone. But the days were dismal, and the balls and + dinners frightful. I seemed in a world without air. The girls were so + silly, the men so inane, and the things they said so mawkish and + colourless! Their compliments sickened me so, that I was just hungry to + hide myself. But at last came what I want to tell you. + </p> + <p> + “One morning, after what seemed a long night's dreamless sleep, I awoke; + but it was much too early to rise; so I lay thinking—or more truly, + I hope, being thought into, as Mr. Wingfold says. Many of the most + beautiful things I had read, scenes of our Lord's life on earth, and + thoughts of the Father, came and went. I had no desire to sleep again, or + any feeling of drowsiness; but in the midst of fully conscious thought, + found myself in some other place, of which I only knew that there was firm + ground under my feet, and a soft white radiance of light about me. The + remembrance came to me afterwards, of branches of trees spreading high + overhead, through which I saw the sky: but at the time I seemed not to + take notice of what was around me. I was leaning against a form tall and + grand, clothed from the shoulders to the ground in a black robe, full, and + soft, and fine. It lay in thickly gathered folds, touched to whiteness in + the radiant light, all along the arms encircling, without at first + touching me. + </p> + <p> + “With sweet content my eyes went in and out of those manifold radiant + lines, feeling, though they were but parts of his dress, yet they were of + himself; for I knew the form to be that of the heavenly Father, but felt + no trembling fear, no sense of painful awe—only a deep, deep + worshipping, an unutterable love and confidence. 'Oh Father!' I said, not + aloud, but low into the folds of his garment. Scarcely had I breathed the + words, when 'My child!' came whispered, and I knew his head was bent + toward me, and I felt his arms close round my shoulders, and the folds of + his garment enwrap me, and with a soft sweep, fall behind me to the + ground. Delight held me still for a while, and then I looked up to seek + his face; but I could not see past his breast. His shoulders rose far + above my upreaching hands. I clasped them together, and face and hands + rested near his heart, for my head came not much above his waist. + </p> + <p> + “And now came the most wonderful part of my dream. As I thus rested + against his heart, <i>I seemed to see into it</i>; and mine was filled + with loving wonder, and an utterly blessed feeling of home, to the very + core. I was <i>at home</i>—with my Father! I looked, as it seemed, + into a space illimitable and fathomless, and yet a warm light as from a + hearth-fire shone and played in ruddy glow, as upon confining walls. And I + saw, there gathered, all human hearts. I saw them—yet I saw no + forms; they <i>were</i> there—and yet they <i>would be</i> there. To + my waking reason, the words sound like nonsense, and perplex me; but the + thing did not perplex me at all. With light beyond that of faith, for it + was of absolute certainty, clear as bodily vision, but of a different + nature, I saw them. But this part of my dream, the most lovely of all, I + can find no words to describe; nor can I even recall to my own mind the + half of what I felt. I only know that something was given me then, some + spiritual apprehension, to be again withdrawn, but to be given to us all, + I believe, some day, out of his infinite love, and withdrawn no more. + Every heart that had ever ached, or longed, or wandered, I knew was there, + folded warm and soft, safe and glad. And it seemed in my dream that to + know this was the crown of all my bliss—yes, even more than to be + myself in my Father's arms. Awake, the thought of multitude had always + oppressed my mind; it did not then. From the comfort and joy it gave me to + see them there, I seemed then first to know how my own heart had ached for + them. + </p> + <p> + “Then tears began to run from my eyes—but easily, with no pain of + the world in them. They flowed like a gentle stream—<i>into the + heart of God</i>, whose depths were open to my gaze. The blessedness of + those tears was beyond words. It was all true then! That heart was our + home! + </p> + <p> + “Then I felt that I was being gently, oh, so gently, put away. The folds + of his robe which I held in my hands, were being slowly drawn from them; + and the gladness of my weeping changed to longing entreaty. 'Oh Father! + Father!' I cried; but I saw only his grand gracious form, all blurred and + indistinct through the veil of my blinding tears, slowly receding, slowly + fading—and I awoke. + </p> + <p> + “My tears were flowing now with the old earth-pain in them, with keenest + disappointment and longing. <i>To have been there and to have come back</i>, + was the misery. But it did not last long. The glad thought awoke that I <i>had</i> + the dream—a precious thing never to be lost while memory lasted; a + thing which nothing but its realization could ever equal in preciousness. + I rose glad and strong, to serve with newer love, with quicker hand and + readier foot, the hearts around me.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of There and Back, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THERE AND BACK *** + +***** This file should be named 8879-h.htm or 8879-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/8/7/8879/ + + +Text file produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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