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diff --git a/old/8sllp10.zip b/old/8sllp10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b1c78ab --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8sllp10.zip diff --git a/old/9195-h.htm.2021-01-28 b/old/9195-h.htm.2021-01-28 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..81f1d22 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/9195-h.htm.2021-01-28 @@ -0,0 +1,11836 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Slave of the Lamp, by Henry Seton Merriman + </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 The Slave Of The Lamp, by Henry Seton Merriman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Slave Of The Lamp + +Author: Henry Seton Merriman + + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9195] +This file was first posted on September 14, 2003 +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP *** + + + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Véronique Durand, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP + </h1> + <h2> + By Henry Seton Merriman + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. IN THE RUE ST. GINGOLPHE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. TOOLS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. WITHOUT REST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. BURDENED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. A REUNION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. BROKEN THREADS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. PUPPETS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. FALSE METAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. A CLUE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. ON THE SCENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. BURY BLUFF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. A WARNING WORD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. A NIGHT WATCH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. FOILED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. BOOKS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. FOES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. A RETREAT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. AN EMPTY NEST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. FOUL PLAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. WINGED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. TRUE TO HIS CLOTH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. GREEK AND GREEK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. STRICKEN DOWN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. BACK TO LIFE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. BACK TO WORK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. SIGNOR BRUNO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. IN THE RUE ST. GINGOLPHE AGAIN + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. THE MAKING OF CHRISTIAN VELLACOTT + </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + Henry Seton Merriman published his first novel, “Young Mistley,” in 1888, + when he was twenty-six years old. Messrs. Bentley's reader, in his + critique on the book, spoke of its “powerful situations” and + unconventionality of treatment: and, while dwelling at much greater length + on its failings, declared, in effect, its faults to be the right faults, + and added that, if “Young Mistley” was not in itself a good novel, its + author was one who might hereafter certainly write good novels. + </p> + <p> + “Young Mistley” was followed in quick succession by “The Phantom Future,” + “Suspense,” and “Prisoners and Captives.” Some years later, considering + them crude and immature works, the author, at some difficulty and with no + little pecuniary loss, withdrew all these four first books from + circulation in England. Their republication in America he was powerless to + prevent. He therefore revised and abbreviated them, “conscious,” as he + said himself in a preface, “of a hundred defects which the most careful + revision cannot eliminate.” He was perhaps then, as he was ever, too + severe a critic of his own works. But though these four early books have, + added to youthful failings, the youthful merits of freshness, vigour and + imagination, their author was undoubtedly right to suppress them. By + writing them he learnt, it is true, the technique of his art: but no + author wishes—or no author should wish—to give his copy-books + to the world. It is as well then—it is certainly as he himself + desired—that these four books do not form part of the present + edition. It may, however, be noted that both “Young Mistley” and + “Prisoners and Captives” dealt, as did “The Sowers” hereafter, with + Russian subjects: “Suspense” is the story of a war-correspondent in the + Russo-Turkish War of 1877: and “The Phantom Future” is the only novel of + Merriman's in which the scene is laid entirely in his own country. + </p> + <p> + In 1892 he produced “The Slave of the Lamp,” which had run serially + through the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, then under the editorship of Mr. + James Payn. + </p> + <p> + To Mr. Payn, Merriman always felt that he owed a debt of gratitude for + much shrewd and kindly advice and encouragement. But one item of that + advice he neglected with, as Mr. Payn always generously owned, great + advantage. Mr. Payn believed that the insular nature of the ordinary + Briton made it, as a general rule, highly undesirable that the scene of + any novel should be laid outside the British Isles. + </p> + <p> + After 1892 all Merriman's books, with the single exception of “Flotsam,” + which appeared serially in <i>Longman's Magazine</i>, and was, at first, + produced in book form by Messrs. Longman, were published by the firm of + Messrs. Smith, Elder, & Co. + </p> + <p> + His long and serene connection with the great and honourable house which + had produced the works of such masters of literature as Thackeray, + Charlotte Bronte, and Robert Browning, was always a source of sincere + pleasure to him. He often expressed the opinion that, from the moment + when, as an inexperienced and perfectly unknown author, he sent “Young + Mistley” to Messrs. Bentley, until the time when, as a very successful + one, he was publishing his later novels with Messrs. Smith, Elder, he had + invariably received from his publishers an entirely just and upright + treatment. + </p> + <p> + Also in 1892 he produced “From One Generation to Another”: and, two years + later, the first of his really successful novels, “With Edged Tools.” It + is the only one of his books of which he never visited the <i>mise-en-scène</i>—West + Africa: but he had so completely imbued himself with the scenery and the + spirit of the country that few, if any, of his critics detected that he + did not write of it from personal experience. Many of his readers were + firmly convinced of the reality of the precious plant, Simiacine, on whose + discovery the action of the plot turns. More than one correspondent wrote + to express a wish to take shares in the Simiacine Company! + </p> + <p> + “With Edged Tools” was closely followed by “The Grey Lady.” Some practical + experience of a seafaring life, a strong love of it, and a great + fellow-feeling for all those whose business is in great waters, helped the + reality of the characters of the sailor brothers and of the sea-scenes + generally. The author was for some years, and at the time “The Grey Lady” + was written, an underwriter at Lloyd's, so that on the subject of ship + insurance—a subject on which it will be remembered part of the plot + hinges—he was <i>en pays de connaissance</i>. For the purpose of + this story, he travelled in the Balearic Islands, having, earlier, made + the first of many visits to Spain. + </p> + <p> + One of the strongest characteristics in his nature, as it is certainly one + of the strongest characteristics in his books, was his sympathy with, and, + in consequence, his understanding of, the mind of the foreigner. For him, + indeed, there were no alien countries. He learnt the character of the + stranger as quickly as he learnt his language. His greatest delight was to + merge himself completely in the life and interests of the country he was + visiting—to stay at the mean <i>venta</i>, or the <i>auberge</i> + where the tourist was never seen—to sit in the local cafés of an + evening and listen to local politics and gossip; to read for the time + nothing but the native newspapers, and no literature but the literature, + past and present, of the land where he was sojourning; to follow the + native customs, and to see Spain, Poland or Russia with the eyes and from + the point of view of the Spaniard, the Pole or the Russian. + </p> + <p> + The difficulties—sometimes there were even serious difficulties—of + visiting places where there was neither provision nor protection made for + the stranger, always acted upon him not as deterrent but incentive: he + liked something to overcome, and found the safe, comfortable, convenient + resting-places as uncongenial to his nature as they were unproductive for + the purposes of his work. + </p> + <p> + In 1896 “The Sowers” was published. Merriman's travels in Russia had taken + place some years before—before, in fact, the publication of “Young + Mistley”—but time had not at all weakened the strong and sombre + impression which that great country and its unhappy people had left upon + him. The most popular of all his books with his English public, Merriman + himself did not consider it his best. It early received the compliment of + being banned by the Russian censor: very recently, a Russian woman told + the present writers that “The Sowers” is still the first book the + travelling Russian buys in the Tauchnitz edition, as soon as he is out of + his own country—“we like to hear the truth about ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + In the same year as “The Sowers,” Merriman produced “Flotsam.” It is not, + strictly speaking, a romance: some of its main incidents were taken from + the life of a young officer of the 44th Regiment in Early Victorian days. + The character of Harry Wylam is, as a whole, faithful to its prototype; + and the last scene in the book, recording Harry's death in the Orange Free + State, as he was being taken in a waggon to the missionary station by the + Bishop of the State, is literally accurate. Merriman had visited India as + a boy; so here, too, the scenery is from the brush of an eye-witness. + </p> + <p> + His next novel, “In Kedar's Tents,” was his first Spanish novel—pure + and simple: the action of “The Grey Lady” taking place chiefly in Majorca. + </p> + <p> + All the country mentioned in “In Kedar's Tents” Merriman visited + personally—riding, as did Frederick Conyngham and Concepcion Vara, + from Algeciras to Ronda, then a difficult ride through a wild, beautiful + and not too safe district, the accommodation at Algeciras and Ronda being + at that time of an entirely primitive description. Spain had for Merriman + ever a peculiar attraction: the character of the Spanish gentleman—proud, + courteous, dignified—particularly appealed to him. + </p> + <p> + The next country in which he sought inspiration was Holland. “Roden's + Corner,” published in 1898, broke new ground: its plot, it will be + remembered, turns on a commercial enterprise. The title and the main idea + of the story were taken from Merriman's earliest literary venture, the + beginning of a novel—there were only a few chapters of it—which + he had written before “Young Mistley,” and which he had discarded, + dissatisfied. + </p> + <p> + The novel “Dross” was produced in America in 1899, having appeared + serially in this country in a well-known newspaper. Written during a + period of ill-health, Merriman thought it beneath his best work, and, true + to that principle which ruled his life as an author, to give to the public + so far as he could of that best, and of that best only, he declined (of + course to his own monetary disadvantage) to permit its publication in + England in book form. + </p> + <p> + Its <i>mise-en-scène</i> is France and Suffolk; its period the Second + Empire—the period of “The Last Hope.” Napoleon III., a character by + whom Merriman was always peculiarly attracted, shadows it: in it appears + John Turner, the English banker of Paris, of “The Last Hope”; an admirable + and amusing sketch of a young Frenchman; and an excellent description of + the magnificent scenery about Saint Martin Lantosque, in the Maritime + Alps. + </p> + <p> + For the benefit of “The Isle of Unrest,” his next book, Merriman had + travelled through Corsica—not the Corsica of fashionable hotels and + health-resorts, but the wild and unknown parts of that lawless and + magnificent island. For “The Velvet Glove” he visited Pampeluna, + Saragossa, and Lerida. The country of “The Vultures”—Warsaw and its + neighbourhood—he saw in company with his friend, Mr. Stanley Weyman. + The pleasure of another trip, the one he took in western France—Angoulême, + Cognac, and the country of the Charente—for the scenery of “The Last + Hope,” was also doubled by Mr. Weyman's presence. In Dantzig—the + Dantzig of “Barlasch of the Guard”—Merriman made a stay in a bitter + mid-winter, visiting also Vilna and Königsberg; part of the route of the + Great Retreat from Moscow he traced himself. He was inclined to consider—and + if an author is not quite the worst judge of his own work he is generally + quite the best—that in “Barlasch” he reached his high-water mark. + The short stories, comprised in the volume entitled “Tomaso's Fortune,” + were published after his death. In every case, the <i>locale</i> they + describe was known to Merriman personally. At the Monastery of Montserrat—whence + the monk in “A Small World” saw the accident to the diligencia—the + author had made a stay of some days. The Farlingford of “The Last Hope” is + Orford in Suffolk: the French scenes, as has been said, Merriman had + visited with Mr. Weyman, whose “Abbess of Vlaye” they also suggested. The + curious may still find the original of the Hôtel Gemosac in Paris—not + far from the Palais d'Orsay Hôtel—“between the Rue de Lille and the + Boulevard St. Germain.” + </p> + <p> + “The Last Hope” was not, in a sense, Merriman's last novel. He left at his + death about a dozen completed chapters, and the whole plot carefully + mapped out, of yet another Spanish book, which dealt with the Spain of the + Peninsular War of 1808-14. These chapters, which were destroyed by the + author's desire, were of excellent promise, and written with great vigour + and spirit. His last trip was taken, in connection with this book, to the + country of Sir Arthur Wellesley's exploits. The plot of the story was + concerned with a case of mistaken identity; the sketch of a Guerilla + leader, Pedro—bearing some affinity to the Concepcion Vara of “In + Kedar's Tents”—was especially happy. + </p> + <p> + It has been seen that Merriman was not the class of author who “sits in + Fleet Street and writes news from the front.” He strongly believed in the + value of personal impressions, and scarcely less in the value of first + impressions. In his own case, the correctness of his first impressions—what + he himself called laughingly his <i>“coup d'oeil”</i>—is in a + measure proved by a note-book, now lying before the writers, in which he + recorded his views of Bastia and the Corsicans after a very brief + acquaintance—that view requiring scarcely any modification when + first impressions had been exchanged for real knowledge and experience. + </p> + <p> + As to his methods of writing, in the case of all his novels, except the + four early suppressed ones, he invariably followed the plan of drawing out + the whole plot and a complete synopsis of every chapter before he began to + write the book at all. + </p> + <p> + Partly as a result of this plan perhaps, but more as a result of great + natural facility in writing, his manuscripts were often without a single + erasure for many pages; and a typewriter was really a superfluity. + </p> + <p> + It is certainly true to say that no author ever had more pleasure in his + art than Merriman. The fever and the worry which accompany many literary + productions he never knew. + </p> + <p> + Among the professional critics he had neither personal friends nor + personal foes; and accepted their criticisms—hostile or favourable—with + perfect serenity and open-mindedness. He was, perhaps, if anything, only + too ready to alter his work in accordance with their advice: he always + said that he owed them much; and admired their perspicuity in detecting a + promise in his earliest books, which he denied finding there himself. His + invincible modesty made him ready to accept not only professional + criticism but—a harder thing—the advice of critics on the + hearth. It was out of compliance with such a domestic criticism that the + <i>dénouement</i> in “The Sowers” was re-written as it now stands, the + scene of the attack on the Castle being at first wholly different. + </p> + <p> + The jealousy and bitterness which are supposed to be inseparable from the + literary life certainly never affected Merriman's. He had no trace of such + feelings in his nature. Of one who is known to the public exclusively + through his writings, it may seem strange—but it is not the less + true—to say that his natural bent was not to the life of a literary + man, but to a life of action, and that it was fate, rather than + inclination, which made him express himself in words instead of deeds. A + writer's books are generally his best biography: the “strong, quiet man,” + whose forte was to do much and say nothing; who, like Marcos Sarrion, + loved the free and plain life of the field and the open, was a natural + hero for Merriman, “as finding there unconsciously some image of himself.” + </p> + <p> + To any other biography he was strongly opposed. His dislike of the + advertisement and the self-advertisement of the interview and the personal + paragraph deepened with time. He held strongly and consistently, as he + held all his opinions, that a writer should be known to the public by his + books, and by his books only. One of his last expressed wishes was that + there should be no record of his private life. + </p> + <p> + It is respect for that wish which here stays the present writers' pen. + </p> + <h3> + E.F.S. + </h3> + <h3> + S.G.T. + </h3> + <p> + <i>July</i> 1909. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. IN THE RUE ST. GINGOLPHE + </h2> + <p> + It was, not so many years ago, called the Rue de l'Empire, but republics + are proverbially sensitive. Once they are established they become morbidly + desirous of obliterating a past wherein no republic flourished. The street + is therefore dedicated to St. Gingolphe to-day. To-morrow? Who can tell? + </p> + <p> + It is presumably safe to take it for granted that you are located in the + neighbourhood of the Louvre, on the north side of the river which is so + unimportant a factor to Paris. For all good Englishmen have been, or hope + in the near future to be, located near this spot. All good Americans, we + are told, relegate the sojourn to a more distant future. + </p> + <p> + The bridge to cross is that of the Holy Fathers. So called to-day. Once + upon a time—but no matter. Bridges are peculiarly liable to change + in troubled times. The Rue St. Gingolphe is situated between the Boulevard + St. Germain and Quai Voltaire. One hears with equal facility the low-toned + boom of the steamers' whistle upon the river, and the crack of whips in + the boulevard. Once across the bridge, turn to the right, and go along the + Quay, between the lime-trees and the bookstalls. You will probably go + slowly because of the bookstalls. No one worth talking to could help doing + so. Then turn to the left, and after a few paces you will find upon your + right hand the Rue St. Gingolphe. It is noted in the Directory “Botot” + that this street is one hundred and forty-five mètres long; and who would + care to contradict “Botot,” or even to throw the faintest shadow of a + doubt upon his statement? He has probably measured. + </p> + <p> + If your fair and economical spouse should think of repairing to the + Bon-Marché to secure some of those wonderful linen pillow-cases (at one + franc forty) with your august initial embroidered on the centre with a + view of impressing the sleeper's cheek, she will pass the end of the Rue + St. Gingolphe on her way—provided the cabman be honest. There! You + cannot help finding it now. + </p> + <p> + The street itself is a typical Parisian street of one hundred and + forty-five mètres. There is room for a baker's, a café, a bootmaker's, and + a tobacconist who sells very few stamps. The Parisians do not write many + letters. They say they have not time. But the tobacconist makes up for the + meanness of his contribution to the inland revenue of one department by a + generous aid to the other. He sells a vast number of cigarettes and cigars + of the very worst quality. And it is upon the worst quality that the + Government makes the largest profit. It is in every sense of the word a + weed which grows as lustily as any of its compeers in and around Oran, + Algiers, and Bonah. + </p> + <p> + The Rue St. Gingolphe is within a stone's-throw of the École des + Beaux-Arts, and in the very centre of a remarkably cheap and yet + respectable quarter. Thus there are many young men occupying apartments in + close proximity—and young men do not mind much what they smoke, + especially provincial young men living in Paris. They feel it incumbent + upon them to be constantly smoking something—just to show that they + are Parisians, true sons of the pavement, knowing how to live. And their + brightest hopes are in all truth realised, because theirs is certainly a + reckless life, flavoured as it is with “number one” tobacco, and those + “little corporal” cigarettes which are enveloped in the blue paper. + </p> + <p> + The tobacconist's shop is singularly convenient. It has, namely, an + entrance at the back, as well as that giving on to the street of St. + Gingolphe. This entrance is through a little courtyard, in which is the + stable and coach-house combined, where Madame Perinère, a lady who paints + the magic word “Modes” beneath her name on the door-post of number + seventeen, keeps the dapper little cart and pony which carry her bonnets + to the farthest corner of Paris. + </p> + <p> + The tobacconist is a large man, much given to perspiration. In fact, one + may safely make the statement that he perspires annually from the middle + of April to the second or even third week in October. In consequence of + this habit he wears no collar, and a man without a collar does not start + fairly on the social race. It is always best to make inquiries before + condemning a man who wears no collar. There is probably a very good + reason, as in the case of Mr. Jacquetot, but it is to be feared that few + pause to seek it. One need not seek the reason with much assiduity in this + instance, because the tobacconist of the Rue St. Gingolphe is always + prepared to explain it at length. French people are thus. They talk of + things, and take pleasure in so doing, which we, on this side of the + Channel, treat with a larger discretion. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jacquetot does not even wear a collar on Sunday, for the simple reason + that Sunday is to him as other days. He attends no place of worship, + because he acknowledges but one god—the god of most Frenchmen—his + inner man. His pleasures are gastronomical, his sorrows stomachic. The + little shop is open early and late, Sundays, week-days, and holidays. + Moreover, the tobacconist—Mr. Jacquetot himself—is always at + his post, on the high chair behind the counter, near the window, where he + can see into the street. This constant attention to business is almost + phenomenal, because Frenchmen who worship the god of Mr. Jacquetot love to + pay tribute on fête-days at one of the little restaurants on the Place at + Versailles, at Duval's, or even in the Palais Royal. Mr. Jacquetot would + have loved nothing better than a pilgrimage to any one of these shrines, + but he was tied to the little tobacco store. Not by the chains of + commerce. Oh, no! When rallied by his neighbours for such an + unenterprising love of his own hearth, he merely shrugged his heavy + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “What will you?” he would say; “one has one's affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Now the affairs of Mr. Jacquetot were, in the days with which we have to + do, like many things on this earth, inasmuch as they were not what they + seemed. + </p> + <p> + It would be inexpedient, for reasons closely connected with the + tobacconist of the Rue St. Gingolphe, as well as with other gentlemen + still happily with us in the flesh, to be too exact as to dates. Suffice + it, therefore, to say that it was only a few years ago that Mr. Jacquetot + sat one evening as usual in his little shop. It happened to be a Tuesday + evening, which is fortunate, because it was on Tuesdays and Saturdays that + the little barber from round the corner called and shaved the vast cheeks + of the tobacconist. Mr. Jacquetot was therefore quite presentable—doubly + so, indeed, because it was yet March, and he had not yet entered upon his + summer season. + </p> + <p> + The little street was very quiet. There was no through traffic, and folks + living in this quarter of Paris usually carry their own parcels. It was + thus quite easy to note the approach of any passenger, when such had once + turned the corner. Some one was approaching now, and Mr. Jacquetot threw + away the stump of a cheap cigar. One would almost have said that he + recognised the step at a considerable distance. Young people are in the + habit of considering that when one gets old and stout one loses in + intelligence; but this is not always the case. One is apt to expect little + from a fat man; but that is often a mistake. Mr. Jacquetot weighed + seventeen stone, but he was eminently intelligent. He had recognised the + footstep while it was yet seventy mètres away. + </p> + <p> + In a few moments a gentleman of middle height paused in front of the shop, + noted that it was a tobacconist's, and entered, carrying an unstamped + letter with some ostentation. It must, by the way, be remembered that in + France postage-stamps are to be bought at all tobacconists'. + </p> + <p> + The new-comer's actions were characterised by a certain carelessness, as + if he were going through a formula—perfunctorily—without + admitting its necessity. + </p> + <p> + He nodded to Mr. Jacquetot, and rather a pleasant smile flickered for a + moment across his face. He was a singularly well-made man, of medium + height, with straight, square shoulders and small limbs. He wore + spectacles, and as he looked at one straight in the face there was a + singular contraction of the eyes which hardly amounted to a cast—moreover, + it was momentary. It was precisely the look of a hawk when its hood is + suddenly removed in full daylight. This resemblance was furthered by the + fact that the man's profile was birdlike. He was clean-shaven, and there + was in his sleek head and determined little face that smooth, compact + self-complacency which is to be noted in the head of a hawk. + </p> + <p> + The face was small, like that of a Greek bust, but in expression it + suggested a yet older people. There was that mystic depth of expression + which comes from ancient Egypt. No one feature was obtrusive—all + were chiselled with equal delicacy; and yet there was only one point of + real beauty in the entire countenance. The mouth was perfect. But the man + with a perfect mouth is usually one whom it will be found expedient to + avoid. Without a certain allowance of sensuality no man is genial—without + a little weakness there is no kind heart. This Frenchman's mouth was not, + however, obtrusively faultless. It was perfect in its design, but, + somehow, many people failed to take note of the fact. It is so with the + “many,” one finds. The human world is so blind that at times it would be + almost excusable to harbour the suspicion that animals see more. There may + be something in that instinct by which dogs, horses, and cats distinguish + between friends and foes, detect sympathy, discover antipathy. It is + possible that they see things in the human face to which our eyes are + blinded—intentionally and mercifully blinded. If some of us were a + little more observant, a few of the human combinations which we bring + about might perhaps be less egregiously mistaken. + </p> + <p> + It was probably the form of the lips that lent pleasantness to the smile + with which Mr. Jacquetot was greeted, rather than the expression of the + velvety eyes, which had in reality no power of smiling at all. They were + sad eyes, like those of the women one sees on the banks of the Upper Nile, + which never alter in expression—eyes that do not seem to be busy + with this life at all, but fully occupied with something else: something + beyond to-morrow or behind yesterday. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet arrived?” inquired the new-comer in a voice of some distinction. + It was a full, rich voice, and the French it spoke was not the French of + Mr. Jacquetot, nor, indeed, of the Rue St. Gingolphe. It was the language + one sometimes hears in an old <i>château</i> lost in the depths of the + country—the vast unexplored rural districts of France—where + the bearers of dangerously historical names live out their lives with a + singular suppression and patience. They are either biding their time or + else they are content with the past and the part played by their ancestors + therein. For there is an old French and a new. In Paris the new is spoken—the + very newest. Were it anything but French it would be intolerably vulgar; + as it is, it is merely neat and intensely expressive. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet arrived, sir,” said the tobacconist, and then he seemed to + recollect himself, for he repeated: + </p> + <p> + “Not yet arrived,” without the respectful addition which had slipped out + by accident. + </p> + <p> + The new arrival took out his watch—a small one of beautiful + workmanship, the watch of a lady—and consulted it. His movements + were compact and rapid. He would have made a splendid light-weight boxer. + </p> + <p> + “That,” he said shortly, “is the way they fail. They do not understand the + necessity of exactitude. The people—see you, Mr. Jacquetot, they + fail because they have no exactitude.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am of the people,” moving ponderously on his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Essentially so. I know it, my friend. But I have taught you something.” + </p> + <p> + The tobacconist laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. But is it safe to stand there in the full day? Will you not + pass in? The room is ready; the lamp is lighted. There is an agent of the + police always at the end of the street now.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, bah!” and he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. “I am not afraid + of them. There is only one thing to be feared, Citizen Jacquetot—the + press. The press and the people, <i>bien entendu</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “If you despise the people why do you use them?” asked Jacquetot abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “In default of better, my friend. If one has not steam one uses the river + to turn the mill-wheel. The river is slow; sometimes it is too weak, + sometimes too strong. One never has full control over it, but it turns the + wheel—it turns the wheel, brother Jacquetot.” + </p> + <p> + “And eventually sweeps away the miller,” suggested the tobacconist + lightly. It must be remembered that though stout he was intelligent. Had + he not been so it is probable that this conversation would never have + taken place. The dark-eyed man did not look like one who would have the + patience to deal with stupid people. + </p> + <p> + Again the pleasant smile flickered like the light of a fire in a dark + place. + </p> + <p> + “That,” was the reply, “is the affair of the miller.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” conceded Jacquetot, meditatively selecting a new cigar from a box + which he had reached without moving from his chair, “but the people—they + are fools, hein!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” with a protesting shrug, as if deprecating the enunciation of such a + platitude. + </p> + <p> + Then he passed through into a little room behind the shop—a little + room where no daylight penetrated, because there was no window to it. It + depended for daylight upon the shop, with which it communicated by a door + of which the upper half was glass. But this glass was thickly curtained + with the material called Turkey-red, threefold. + </p> + <p> + And the tobacconist was left alone in his shop, smoking gravely. There are + some people like oysters, inasmuch as they leave an after-taste behind + them. The man who had just gone into the little room at the rear of the + tobacconist's shop of the Rue St. Gingolphe in Paris was one of these. And + the taste he left behind him was rather disquieting. One was apt to feel + that there was a mistake somewhere in the ordering of human affairs, and + that this man was one of its victims. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes two men passed hastily through the shop into the little + room, with scarcely so much as a nod for Mr. Jacquetot. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. TOOLS + </h2> + <p> + The first man to enter the room was clad in a blouse of coarse grey cloth + which reached down to his knees. On his head he wore a black silk cap, + very much pressed down and exceedingly greasy on the right side. This was + to be accounted for by the fact that he used his right shoulder more than + the left in that state of life in which he had been placed. It was not + what we, who do not kill, would consider a pleasant state. He was, in + fact, a slayer of beasts—a foreman at the slaughter-house. + </p> + <p> + It is, perhaps, fortunate that Antoine Lerac is of no great prominence in + this record, and of none in his official capacity at the slaughter-house. + But the man is worthy of some small attention, because he was so + essentially of the nineteenth century—so distinctly a product of the + latter end of what is, for us at least, the most important cycle of years + the world has passed through. He was a man wearing the blouse with + ostentation, and glorying in the greasy cap: professing his unwillingness + to exchange the one for an ermine robe or the other for a crown. As a + matter of fact, he invariably purchased the largest and roughest blouse to + be found, and his cap was unnecessarily soaked with suet. He was a knight + of industry of the very worst description—a braggart, a talker, a + windbag. He preached, or rather he shrieked, the doctrine of equality, but + the equality he sought was that which would place him on a par with his + superiors, while in no way benefiting those beneath him. + </p> + <p> + At one time, when he had first come into contact with the dark-eyed man + who now sat at the table watching him curiously, there had been a struggle + for mastery. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” he had said with considerable heat, “as good as you. That is all I + wish to demonstrate.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied the other with that calm and assured air of superiority + which the people once tried in vain to stamp out with the guillotine. “No, + it is not. You want to demonstrate that you are superior, and you cannot + do it. You say that you have as much right to walk on the pavement as I. I + admit it. In your heart you want to prove that you have <i>more</i>, and + you cannot do it. I could wear your blouse with comfort, but you could not + put on my hat or my gloves without making yourself ridiculous. But—that + is not the question. Let us get to business.” + </p> + <p> + And in time the butcher succumbed, as he was bound to do, to the man whom + he shrewdly suspected of being an aristocrat. + </p> + <p> + He who entered the room immediately afterwards was of a very different + type. His mode of entry was of another description. Whereas the man of + blood swaggered in with an air of nervous truculence, as if he were afraid + that some one was desirous of disputing his equality, the next comer crept + in softly, and closed the door with accuracy. He was the incarnation of + benevolence—in the best sense of the word, a sweet old man—looking + out upon the world through large tinted spectacles with a beam which could + not be otherwise than blind to all motes. In earlier years his face might, + perhaps, have been a trifle hard in its contour; but Time, the lubricator, + had eased some of the corners, and it was now the seat of kindness and + love. He bowed ceremoniously to the first comer, and his manner seemed + rather to breathe of fraternity than equality. As he bowed he mentioned + the gentleman's name in such loving tones that no greeting could have been + heartier. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Morot,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The butcher, with more haste than dignity, assumed the chair which stood + at the opposite end of the table to that occupied by the Citizen Morot. He + had evidently hurried in first in order to secure that seat. From his + pocket he produced a somewhat soiled paper, which he threw with + exaggerated carelessness across the table. His manner was not entirely + free from a suggestion of patronage. + </p> + <p> + “What have we here?” inquired the first comer, who had not hitherto opened + his lips, with a deep interest which might possibly have been ironical. He + was just the sort of man to indulge in irony for his own satisfaction. He + unfolded the paper, raised his eyebrows, and read. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, “a receipt for five hundred rifles with bayonets and + shoulder-straps complete. 'Received of the Citizen Morot five hundred + rifles with bayonets and shoulder-straps complete.—Antoine Lerac.'” + </p> + <p> + He folded the paper again and carefully tore it into very small pieces. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said gravely. + </p> + <p> + Then he turned in his chair and threw the papers into the ash-tray of the + little iron stove behind him. + </p> + <p> + “I judged it best to be strictly business-like,” said the butcher, with + moderately well-simulated carelessness. + </p> + <p> + “But yes, Monsieur Lerac,” with a shrug. “We of the Republic distrust each + other so completely.” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman looked from one to the other with a soothing smile. + </p> + <p> + “The brave Lerac,” he said, “is a man of business.” + </p> + <p> + Citizen Morot ignored this observation. + </p> + <p> + “And,” he said, turning to Lerac, “you have them stored in a safe place? + There is absolutely no doubt of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely none.” + </p> + <p> + “Good.” + </p> + <p> + “They are under my own eye.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. It is not for a short time only, but for some months. One + cannot hurry the people. Besides, we are not ready. The rifles we bought, + the ammunition we must steal.” + </p> + <p> + “They are good rifles—they are English,” said the butcher. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the English Government is full of chivalry. They are always ready to + place it within the power of their enemies to be as well armed as + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman laughed—a pleasant, cooing laugh. He invariably + encouraged humour, this genial philanthropist. + </p> + <p> + “At last Friday's meeting,” Lerac said shortly, “we enrolled forty new + members. We now number four hundred and two in our <i>arrondissement</i> + alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” muttered the Citizen Morot, without enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “And four hundred hardy companions they are.” + </p> + <p> + “So I should imagine” (very gravely). + </p> + <p> + “Four hundred strong men,” broke in the old gentleman rather hastily. “Ah, + but that is already a power.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” opined Lerac sententiously, “the strong man who is the power. + Riches are nothing; birth is nothing. This is the day of force. Force is + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” acquiesced Morot fervently. He was consulting a small + note-book, wherein he jotted down some figures. + </p> + <p> + “Four hundred and two,” he muttered as he wrote, “up to Friday night, in + the <i>arrondissement</i> of the citizen—the good citizen—Antoine + Lerac.” + </p> + <p> + The butcher looked up with a doubtful expression upon his coarse face. His + great brutal lips twitched, and he was on the point of speaking when the + Citizen Morot's velvety eyes met his gaze with a quiet smile in which + arrogance and innocence were mingled. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said the last-mentioned, turning affably to the old gentleman, + “let us have the report of the reverend Father.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” laughed Lerac, without attempting to conceal the contempt that was + in his soul, “the Church.” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman spread out his hands in mild deprecation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he admitted, “we are under a shadow. I do not even dare to wear my + cassock.” + </p> + <p> + “You are in a valley of shadow, my reverend friend,” said the butcher, + with visible exultation, “to which the sun will never penetrate now.” + </p> + <p> + The Citizen Morot laughed at this pleasantry, while the old man against + whom it was directed bowed his head patiently. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said the laugher, with a certain air of patronage, “the Church + is of some use still. She paid for those rifles, and she will pay for the + ammunition—is it not so, my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt—without doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to mention,” continued the other, “many contributions towards our + general fund. The force that is supplied by the strong right arm of the + people is, one finds, a force constantly in need of substantial + replenishment.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” exclaimed the butcher, emphatically banging his fist down upon the + table, “why does she do it? That is what I want to know!” + </p> + <p> + The old priest glanced furtively towards Morot, and then his face assumed + an air of childish bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said guilelessly, “who can tell?” + </p> + <p> + “Who, indeed!” chimed in Morot. + </p> + <p> + The butcher was pleased with himself. He sat upright, and, banging the + table a second time, he looked round defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Morot, in an indifferent way which was frequently + characteristic, “I do not see that it matters much. The money is good. It + buys rifles, and it places them in the hands of the Citizen Lerac and his + hardy companions. And when all is said and done, when the cartridges are + burnt and a New Commune is raised, what does it matter whose money bought + the rifles, and with what object the money was supplied?” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman looked relieved. He was evidently of a timid and + conciliatory nature, and would, with slight encouragement, have turned + upon that Church of which he was the humble representative, merely for the + sake of peace. + </p> + <p> + The butcher cleared his throat after the manner of the streets—causing + Morot to wince visibly—and acquiesced. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he added cunningly, “the Church, see you—Ach! it is deep—it + is treacherous. Never trust the Church!” + </p> + <p> + The Citizen Morot, to whom these remarks were addressed, smiled in a + singular way and made no reply. Then he turned gravely to the old man and + said— + </p> + <p> + “Have you nothing to report to us—my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of great importance,” replied he humbly. “All is going on well. + We are in treaty for two hundred rifles with the Montenegrin Government, + and shall no doubt carry the contract through. I go to England next week + in order to carry out the—the—what shall I say?—the loan + of the ammunition.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha!” laughed the butcher. + </p> + <p> + Morot smiled also, as he made an entry in the little note-book. + </p> + <p> + “Next week?” he said interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—on Tuesday.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + The butcher here rose and ostentatiously dragged out a watch from the + depths of his blouse. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” he said. “I have committee at seven o'clock. And I shall dine + first.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Morot gravely. “Dine first. Take good care of yourself, + citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “Trust me.” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” was the reply, delivered with a little nod in answer to Lerac's + curt farewell bow. + </p> + <p> + The butcher walked noisily through the shop—heavy with + responsibility—weighted with the sense of his own importance to the + world in general and to France in particular. Had he walked less noisily + he might have overheard the soft laugh of the old priest. + </p> + <p> + Citizen Morot did not laugh. He was not a laughing man. But a fine, + disdainful smile passed over his face, scarce lighting it up at all. + </p> + <p> + “What an utter fool the man is!” he said impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—sir,” replied the old man, “but if he were less so it would be + difficult to manage him.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure. I always prefer to deal with knaves than with fools.” + </p> + <p> + “That is because your Highness knows how to outwit them.” + </p> + <p> + “No titles—my father,” said the Citizen Morot quietly. “No titles + here, if you please. Tell me, are you quite sure of this scum—this + Lerac?” + </p> + <p> + “As sure as one can be of anything that comes from the streets. He is an + excitable, bumptious, quarrelsome man; but he has a certain influence with + those beneath him, although it seems hard to realise that there are such.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! you are right! But a republic is a social manure-heap—that + which is on the top is not pleasant, and the stuff below—ugh!” + </p> + <p> + The manner of the two men had quite changed. He who was called Morot leant + back in his seat and stretched his arms out wearily. There is no disguise + like animation; when that is laid aside we see the real man or the real + woman. In repose this Frenchman was not cheerful to look upon. He was not + sanguine, and a French pessimist is the worst thing of the kind that is to + be found. + </p> + <p> + When the door had closed behind the departing Lerac, the old priest seemed + to throw off suddenly quite a number of years. His voice, when next he + spoke, was less senile, his movements were brisker. He was, in a word, + less harmless. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jacquetot had finished his dinner, brought in from a neighbouring + restaurant all hot, and was slumberously enjoying a very strong-smelling + cigar, when the door of the little room opened at length, and the two men + went out together into the dimly-lighted street. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. WITHOUT REST + </h2> + <p> + Half-way down Fleet Street, on the left-hand side, stands the church of + St. Dunstan-in-the-West. Around its grimy foundations there seethes a + struggling, toiling race of men—not only from morning till night, + but throughout the twenty-four hours. Within sound of this church bell a + hundred printing-presses throb out their odorous broadsheets to be + despatched to every part of the world. Day and night, week in week out, + the human writing-machines, and those other machines which are almost + human (and better than human in some points) hurry through their allotted + tasks, and ignore the saintly shadow cast upon them by the spire of St. + Dunstan. This is indeed the centre of the world: the hub from whence + spring the spokes of the vast wheel of life. For to this point all things + over the world converge by a vast web of wire, railroad, coach road, and + steamer track. Upon wings that boast of greater speed than the wind can + compass come to this point the voices of our kin in farthest lands. News—news—news. + News from the East of events occurring in the afternoon—scan it over + and flash it westward, where it will be read on the morning of the same + day! News in every tongue to be translated and brought into shape—while + the solemn church clock tells his tale in deep voice, audible above the + din and scurry. + </p> + <p> + From hurried scribbler to pale compositor, and behold, the news is bawled + all over London! Such work as this goes on for ever around the church of + St. Dunstan. Scribblers come and scribblers go; compositors come to their + work young and hopeful, they leave it bent and poisoned, yet the work goes + on. Each day the pace grows quicker, each day some new means of rapid + propagation is discovered, and each day life becomes harder to live. One + morning, perhaps, a scribbler is absent from his post—“Brain-fever, + complete rest; a wreck.” For years his writings have been read by + thousands daily. A new man takes the vacant chair—he has been + waiting more or less impatiently for this—and the thousands are none + the wiser. One night the head compositor presses his black hand to his + sunken chest, and staggers home. “And time too—he's had his turn,” + mutters the second compositor as he thinks of the extra five shillings a + week. No doubt he is right. Every dog his day. + </p> + <p> + Nearly opposite to the church stands a tall narrow house of dirty red + brick, and it is with this house that we have to do. + </p> + <p> + At seven o'clock, one evening some years ago—when heads now grey + were brown, when eyes now dim were bright—the Strand was in its + usual state of turmoil. Carriage followed carriage. Seedy clerks hustled + past portly merchants—not their own masters, <i>bien entendu</i>, + but those of other seedy clerks. Carriages and foot-passengers were alike + going westward. All were leaving behind them the day and the busy city—some + after a few hours devoted to the perusal of <i>Times</i> and <i>Gazette</i>; + others fagged and weary from a long day of dusty books. + </p> + <p> + Ah! those were prosperous days in the City. Days when men of but a few + years' standing rolled out to Clapham or Highgate behind a pair of horses. + Days when books were often represented by a bank-book and a roughly-kept + day-book. What need to keep mighty ledgers when profits are great and + returns quick in their returning? + </p> + <p> + As the pedestrians made their way along the narrow pavement some of them + glanced at the door of the tall red-brick house and read the inscription + on a brass plate screwed thereon. This consisted of two mystic words: <i>The + Beacon</i>. There was, however, in reality, no mystery about it. The <i>Beacon</i> + was a newspaper, published weekly, and the clock of St. Dunstan's striking + seven told the end of another week. The publishing day was past; another + week with its work and pleasure was to be faced. + </p> + <p> + From early morning until six o'clock in the evening this narrow doorway + and passage had been crowded by a heaving, swearing, laughing mass of more + or less dilapidated humanity interested in the retail sale of newspapers. + At six o'clock Ephraim Bander, a retired constable, now on the staff of + the <i>Beacon</i>, had taken his station at the door, in order to greet + would-be purchasers with the laconic and discouraging words: “Sold hout!” + </p> + <p> + During the last two years ex-constable Bander had announced the selling + “hout” of the <i>Beacon</i> every Tuesday evening. + </p> + <p> + At seven o'clock Mrs. Bander emerged from her den on the fourth floor, + like a portly good-natured spider, and with a broom proceeded to attack + the dust shaken from the boots of the journalistic fraternity, with noisy + energy. After that she polished the door-plate; and peace reigned within + the narrow house. + </p> + <p> + On the second floor there was a small room with windows looking out into a + narrow lane behind the house. It was a singularly quiet room; the door + opened and shut without sound or vibration; double windows insured + immunity from the harrowing cries of such enterprising merchants as + exercised their lungs and callings in the narrow lane beneath. A certain + sense of ease and comfort imperceptibly crept over the senses of persons + entering this tiny apartment. It must have been in the atmosphere; for + some rooms more luxuriously furnished are without it. It certainly does + not lie in the furniture—this imperceptible sense of companionship; + it does not lurk in the curtains. Some mansions know it, and many + cottages. It is even to be met with in the tiny cabin of a coasting + vessel. + </p> + <p> + This diminutive room, despite its lack of sunlight, was such as one might + wish to sit in. A broad low table stood in the middle of the floor, and on + it lay the mellow light of a shaded lamp. At this table two men were + seated opposite to each other. One was writing, slowly and easily, the + other was idling with the calm restfulness of a man who has never worked + very hard. He was rolling his pencil up to the top of his blotting-pad, + and allowing it to come down again in accordance with the rules of + gravity. + </p> + <p> + This was Mr. Bodery's habit when thoughtful; and after all, there was no + great harm in it. Mr. Bodery was editor and proprietor of the <i>Beacon</i>. + The amusing and somewhat satirical article which appeared weekly under the + heading of “Light” was penned by the chubby hand at that moment engaged + with the pencil. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morgan, sub-editor, was even stouter than his chief. Laughter was his + most prominent characteristic. He laughed over “Light” when in its embryo + state, he laughed when the <i>Beacon</i> sold out at six o'clock on + Tuesday evenings. He laughed when the printing-machine went wrong on + Monday afternoon, and—most wonderful of all—he laughed at his + own jokes, in which exercise he was usually alone. His jokes were not of + the first force. Mr. Morgan was the author of the slightly laboured and + weighty Parliamentary articles on the first page. He never joked on paper, + which is a gift apart. + </p> + <p> + These two gentlemen were in no way of brilliant intellect. They had their + share of sound, practical common-sense, which is in itself a splendid + substitute. Fortune had come to them (as it comes to most men when it + comes at all) without any apparent reason. Mr. Bodery had supplied the + capital, and Mr. Morgan's share of the undertaking was added in the form + of a bustling, hollow energy. The <i>Beacon</i> was lighted, so to speak. + It burnt in a dull and somewhat flickering manner for some years; then a + new hand fed the flame, and its light spread afar. + </p> + <p> + It was from pure good nature that Mr. Bodery held out a helping hand to + the son of his old friend, Walter Vellacott, when that youth appeared one + day at the office of the <i>Beacon</i>, and in an off-hand manner + announced that he was seeking employment. Like many actions performed from + a similar motive, Mr. Bodery's kindness of heart met with its reward. + Young Christian Vellacott developed a remarkable talent for journalistic + literature—in fact, he was fortunate enough to have found, at the + age of twenty-two, his avocation in life. + </p> + <p> + Gradually, as the years wore on, the influence of the young fellow's + superior intellect made itself felt. Prom the position of a mere + supernumerary, he worked his way upwards, taking on to his shoulders one + duty after another—bearing the weight, quietly and confidently, of + one responsibility after another. This exactly suited Mr. Bodery and his + sub-editor. There was very little of the slave in the composition of + either. They delighted in an easy, luxurious life, with just enough work + to impart a pleasant feeling of self-satisfaction. It suited Christian + Vellacott also. In a few weeks he found his level—in a few months he + began rising to higher levels. + </p> + <p> + He was an only son; the only child of a brilliant father whose name was + known in every court in Europe as that of a harum-scarum diplomatist, who + could have done great things in his short life if he had wished to. It is + from only sons that Fortune selects her favourites. Men who have no + brothers to share their amusements turn to serious matters early in life. + Christian Vellacott soon discovered that a head was required at the office + of the <i>Beacon</i> to develop the elements of success undoubtedly lying + within the journal, and that the owner of such a head could in time + dictate his own terms to the easy-going proprietor. + </p> + <p> + Unsparingly he devoted the whole of his exceptional energies to the work + before him. He lived in and for it. Each night he went home fagged and + weary; but each morning saw him return to it with undaunted spirit. + </p> + <p> + Human nature, however, is exhaustible. The influence of a strong mind over + a strong body is great, but it is nevertheless limited. The <i>Beacon</i> + had reached a large circulation, but its slave was worn out. Two years + without a holiday—two years of hurried, hard brain-work had left + their mark. It is often so when a man finds his avocation too early. He is + too hurried, works too hard, and collapses; or he becomes self-satisfied, + over-confident, and unbearable. Fortunately for Christian Vellacott he was + devoid of conceit, which is like the scaffolding round a church-spire, + reaching higher and falling first. + </p> + <p> + There was also a “home” influence at work. When Christian passed out of + the narrow doorway, and turned his face westward, his day's work was by no + means over, as will be shown hereafter. + </p> + <p> + As Mr. Bodery rolled his pencil up and down his blotting-pad, he was + slowly realising the fact that something must be done. Presently he looked + up, and his pleasant eyes rested on the bent head of his sub-editor. + </p> + <p> + “Morgan,” he said, “I have been thinking—Seems to me Vellacott wants + a rest! He's played out!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morgan wiped his pen vigorously upon his coat, just beneath the + shoulder, and sat back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied; “he has not been up to the mark for some time. But you + will find difficulty in making him take a holiday. He is a devil for + working—ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + This “ha, ha!” did not mean very much. There was no mirth in it. It was a + species of punctuation, and implied that Mr. Morgan had finished his + remark. + </p> + <p> + “I will ring for him now and see what he says about it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery extended his chubby white hand and touched a small gong. Almost + instantaneously the silent door opened and a voice from without said, + “Yess'r.” A small boy with a mobile, wicked mouth stood at attention in + the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Has Mr. Vellacott gone?” + </p> + <p> + “No—sir!” In a tone which seemed to ask: “Now <i>is</i> it likely?” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “In the shop, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him to come here, please.” + </p> + <p> + “Yess'r.” + </p> + <p> + The small boy closed the door. Once outside he placed his hand upon his + heart and made a low bow to the handle, retreating backwards to the head + of the stairs. Then he proceeded to slide down the banister, to the + trifling detriment of his waistcoat. As he reached the end of his perilous + journey a door opened at the foot of the stairs, and a man's form became + discernible in the dim light. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the way you generally come downstairs, Wilson?” asked a voice. + </p> + <p> + “It is the quickest way, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite; there is one quicker, which you will discover some day if you + overbalance at the top!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bodery wishes to see you, please sir!” The small boy's manner was + very different from what it had been outside the door upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” replied Vellacott, putting on the coat he had been carrying + over his arm. A peculiar smooth rapidity characterised all his movements. + At school he had been considered a very “clean” fielder. The cleanness was + there still. + </p> + <p> + The preternaturally sharp boy—sharp as only London boys are—watched + the lithe form vanish up the stairs; then he wagged his head very wisely + and said to himself in a patronising way: + </p> + <p> + “He's the right sort, he is—no chalk there!” + </p> + <p> + Subsequently he balanced his diminutive person full length upon the + balustrade, and proceeded to haul himself laboriously, hand over hand, to + the top. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Christian Vellacott had passed into the editor's room. The + light of the lamp was driven downwards upon the table, but the reflection + of it rose and illuminated his face. It was a fairly handsome face, with + eyes just large enough to be keen and quick without being dreamy. The + slight fair moustache was not enough to hide the mouth, which was refined, + and singularly immobile. He glanced at Mr. Bodery, as he entered, quickly + and comprehensively, and then turned his eyes towards Mr. Morgan. His face + was very still and unemotional, but it was pale, and his eyes were deeply + sunken. A keen observer would have noticed, in comparing the three men, + that there was something about the youngest which was lacking in his + elders. It lay in the direct gaze of his eyes, in the carriage of his + head, in the small, motionless mouth. It was what is vaguely called + “power.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Vellacott,” said Mr. Brodery. “We want to have a consultation.” + After a short pause he continued: “You know, of course, that it is a dull + season just now. People do not seem to read the papers in August. Now, we + want you to take a holiday. Morgan has been away; I shall go when you come + back. Say three weeks or a month. You've been over-working yourself a bit—burning + the candle at both ends, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Hardly at both ends,” corrected Vellacott, with a ready smile which + entirely transformed his face. “Hardly at both ends—at one end in a + draught, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha! Very good,” chimed in Mr. Morgan the irrepressible. “At one end + in a draught—that is like me, only the draught has got inside my + cheeks and blown them out instead of in like yours, eh? Ha, ha!” And he + patted his cheeks affectionately. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I care for a holiday just now, thanks,” he said slowly, + without remembering to call up a smile for Mr. Morgan's benefit. + Unconsciously he put his hand to his forehead, which was damp with the + heat of the printing-office which he had just left. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Mr. Bodery gravely, emphasising his remarks with + the pencil, “you have one thing in life to learn yet—no doubt you + have many, but this one in particular you must learn. Work is not the only + thing we are created for—not the only thing worth living for. It is + a necessary evil, that is all. When you have reached my age you will come + to look upon it as such. A little enjoyment is good for every one. There + are many things to form a brighter side to life. Nature—travelling—riding—rowing——” + </p> + <p> + “And love,” suggested the sub-editor, placing his hand dramatically on the + right side of his broad waistcoat instead of the left. He could afford to + joke on the subject now that the grass grew high in the little country + churchyard where he had laid his young wife fifteen years before. In those + days he was a grave, self-contained man, but that sorrow had entirely + changed his nature. The true William Morgan only came out on paper now. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery was right. Christian had yet to learn a great lesson, and + unconsciously he was even now beginning to grasp its meaning. His whole + mind was full of his work, and out of those earnest grey eyes his soul was + looking at the man who was perhaps saving his life. + </p> + <p> + “We can easily manage it,” said the editor, continuing his advantage. “I + will take over the foreign policy article. The reviewing you can do + yourself, as we can always send you the books, and there is no pressing + hurry about them. The general work we will manage somehow—won't we, + Morgan?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we will; as well as and perhaps better than he could do it + himself, eh? Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “But seriously, Vellacott,” continued Mr. Bodery, “things will go on just + as well for a time. When I was young I used to make that mistake too. I + thought that no one could manage things like myself, but in time I + realised (as you will do some day) that things went on as smoothly when I + was away. Depend upon it, my boy, when a man is put on the shelf, worn out + and useless, another soon fills his place. You are too young to go on the + shelf yet. To please me, Vellacott, go away for three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, sir—” began the young fellow, but Mr. Bodery + interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, that is settled. Shall we say this day week? That will give + you time to make your plans.” + </p> + <p> + With a few words of thanks Christian left the room. Vaguely and + mechanically he wandered upstairs to his own particular den. It was a + disappointing little chamber. The chaos one expects to find on the desk of + a literary man was lacking here. No papers lay on the table in artistic + disorder. The presiding genius of the room was method—clear-headed, + practical method. The walls were hidden by shelves of books, from the last + half-hysterical production of some vain woman to the single-volume work of + a man's lifetime. Many of the former were uncut, the latter bore signs of + having been read and studied. The companionship of these silent friends + brought peace and contentment to the young man's spirit. He sat wearily + down, and, leaning his chin upon his folded arms, he thought. Gradually + there came into his mind pictures of the fair open country, of rolling + hills and quiet valleys, of quiet lanes and running waters. A sudden + yearning to breathe God's pure air took possession of his faculties. Mr. + Bodery had gained the day. In the room below Mr. Morgan wrote on in his + easy, comfortable manner. The editor was still thoughtfully playing with + his pencil. The sharp little boy was standing on his head in the passage. + At last Mr. Bodery rose from his chair and began his preparations for + leaving. As he brushed his hat he looked towards his companion and said: + </p> + <p> + “That young fellow is worth you and me rolled into one.” + </p> + <p> + “I recognised that fact some years ago,” replied the sub-editor, wiping + his pen on his coat. “It is humiliating, but true. Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. BURDENED + </h2> + <p> + Christian Vellacott soon descended the dingy stairs and joined the + westward-wending throng in the Strand. In the midst of the crowd he was + alone, as townsmen soon learn to be. The passing faces, the roar of + traffic, and the thousand human possibilities of interest around him in no + way disturbed his thoughts. In his busy brain the traffic of thought, + passing and repassing, crossing and recrossing, went on unaffected by + outward things. A modern poet has confessed that his muse loves the + pavement—a bold confession, but most certainly true. Why does talent + gravitate to cities? Because there it works its best—because + friction necessarily produces brilliancy. Nature is a great deceiver; she + draws us on to admire her insinuating charms, and in the contemplation of + them we lose our energy. + </p> + <p> + Christian had been born and bred in cities. The din and roar of life was + to him what the voice of the sea is to the sailor. In the midst of crowded + humanity he was in his element, and as he walked rapidly along he made his + way dexterously through the narrow places without thinking of it. While + meditating deeply he was by no means absorbed. In his active life there + had been no time for thoughts beyond the present, no leisure for dreaming. + He could not afford to be absent-minded. Numbers of men are so situated. + Their minds are required at all moments, in full working order, clear and + rapid—ready, shoes on feet and staff in hand, to go whithersoever + they may be called. + </p> + <p> + Although he was going to the saddest home that ever hung like a mill-stone + round a young neck, Christian wasted no time. The glory of the western sky + lay ruddily over the river as he emerged from the small streets behind + Chelsea and faced the broad placid stream. Presently he stopped opposite + the door of a small red-brick house, which formed the corner of a little + terrace facing the river and a quiet street running inland from it. + </p> + <p> + With a latch-key he admitted himself noiselessly—almost + surreptitiously. Once inside he closed the door without unnecessary sound + and stood for some moments in the dark little entrance-hall, apparently + listening. + </p> + <p> + Presently a voice broke the silence of the house. A querulous, + high-pitched voice, quavering with the palsy of extreme age. The sound of + it was no new thing for Christian Vellacott. To-night his lips gave a + little twist of pain as he heard it. The door of the room on the ground + floor was open, and he could hear the words distinctly enough. + </p> + <p> + “You know, Mrs. Strawd, we have a nephew, but he is always gadding about, + I am sure; he has been a terrible affliction to us. A frothy, + good-for-nothing boy—that is what he is. We have not set eyes on him + for a month or more. Why, I almost forget his name!” + </p> + <p> + “Christian, that is his name—a most inappropriate one, I am sure,” + chimed in another voice, almost identical in tone. “Why Walter should have + given him such a name I cannot tell. Ah! sister Judith, things are + different from what they used to be when we were younger!” + </p> + <p> + The frothy one outside the door seemed in no great degree impressed by + these impartial views upon himself, though the pained look was still upon + his lips as he turned to hang up his hat. + </p> + <p> + “He's coming home to-night, though, Miss Judith,” said another voice, in a + coaxing, wheedling tone, such as one uses towards petulant children. “He's + coming home to-night, sure enough!” It was a pleasant voice, with a + strong, capable ring about it. One instinctively felt that the possessor + of it was a woman to be relied upon at a crisis. + </p> + <p> + “Is he now—is he now?” said the first speaker reflectively. “Well, I + am sure it is time he did. We will just give him a lesson, eh, sister + Hester?—we will give him a lesson, shall we not?” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened, and a little woman, quiet though somewhat + anxious looking, came out. She evinced no surprise at the sight of the + good-for-nothing nephew in the dimly-lighted passage, greeting him in a + low voice. + </p> + <p> + “How have they been to-day, nurse?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they have been well enough, Master Christian,” was the reply, in a + cheerful undertone. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Judith has 'most got rid of her cold. But they've been very trying, + sir—just like children, as wilful as could be—the same + question over and over again till I was fit to cry. They are quieter now, + but—but it's you they're abusing now, Master Chris!” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow looked down into the little woman's face. His eyes were + sympathetic enough, but he said nothing. With a little nod and a + suppressed sigh he turned away from her. He laid his hand upon the door + and then stopped. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as you have brought up tea,” he said, looking back, “I will take + them for the evening, and you can have your rest as usual.” + </p> + <p> + From the room came, at intervals, the ring of silver, as if some one were + moving the spoons and forks from the table. Christian waited until these + sounds had ceased before he entered. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Aunt Judith. Good evening, Aunt Hester,” he said cheerily. + </p> + <p> + They were exactly alike, these two old ladies; the same marvellously + wrinkled features and silver hair; voluminous caps and white woollen + shawls identical. With exaggerated marks of respect he kissed each by turn + on her withered cheek. + </p> + <p> + “May I sit down, Aunt Judith?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer + drew a chair towards the fireplace, where a small fire burnt though it was + the month of August. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Nephew Vellacott, you may take a seat,” replied Aunt Judith with + chill severity, “and you may also tell us where you have been during the + last four weeks.” + </p> + <p> + Poor old human wreck! Only ten hours earlier her nephew had bid her + farewell for the day. Christian began an explanation in a weary, + mechanical way, like an actor tired of the part assigned to him, but the + old ladies would not listen. Aunt Hester interrupted him promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Your shallow excuses are wasted on us, Nephew Vellacott. You have + doubtless been away, enjoying yourself and leaving us—us who support + you and deprive ourselves in order to keep a decent coat upon your back—leaving + us to the mercy of all the thieves in London. And tell us, pray—what + are we to do for spoons and forks to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” exclaimed Christian with perfunctory interest, “have the spoons + gone—?” he almost said “again,” but checked himself in time. He + turned to look at the table, which had been carefully denuded of every + piece of silver. + </p> + <p> + “There, you see!” quavered Aunt Judith triumphantly; and the two old + ladies rubbed their hands, nodded their palsied old heads at each other, + and chuckled in utter delight at their nephew's discomfiture, until Aunt + Judith was attacked by a violent fit of coughing, which seemed to be + tearing her to pieces. Christian watched her with the ready keenness of a + sick-nurse. + </p> + <p> + “How did it occur?” he asked, when the old lady had recovered. + </p> + <p> + “There, you see,” remarked Aunt Hester, with the precise intonation of her + accomplice. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> sure!” panted Aunt Judith triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> sure!” echoed Aunt Hester. + </p> + <p> + They allowed their nephew's remorse full scope, and then proceeded + laboriously to extract the missing articles from the side of Aunt Judith's + arm-chair. This farce was rehearsed every night, nearly word for word. A + pleasant recreation for an intellectual man, assuredly. The only relief to + the monotony was the occasional loss of a spoon in the crevice between the + arm and the seat of Aunt Judith's chair. Then followed such a fumbling and + a “dear me-ing” until the worthless nephew was perforce called to the + rescue, to fish and probe with a paper-knife till the lost treasure was + recovered. + </p> + <p> + “We only wished, Nephew Vellacott, to show you what might have happened + during your unconscionable absence. Servants are only too ready to talk to + the first comer of their mistresses' wealth and position. They have no + discrimination.” said Aunt Judith in a reproving tone. The old ladies were + very fond of boasting of their wealth and position, whereas, in reality, + their nephew was the only barrier between them and the workhouse. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Aunt Judith,” replied Christian patiently, “I will try and stay at + home more in future. But you know it is time I was doing something to earn + my own livelihood now. I cannot exist on your kindness all my life!” + </p> + <p> + He had learnt to humour these two silly old women. During the two years + which had just passed he had gradually recognised the utter futility of + endeavouring to make them realise the true state of their affairs. They + spoke grandiloquently of the family solicitor: a man who had been in his + grave for nearly a quarter of a century. It was simply impossible to + instil into their minds any fact whatever, and such facts as had + established themselves there were permanent. They belonged to another + generation, and their mode of thought was a remnant of a forgotten and + unsatisfactory period. To them Napoleon the First was a living man, Queen + Victoria unheard of. The decay of their minds had been slow, and it had + been Christian Vellacott's painful task to watch its steady progress. Day + by day he had followed the gradual failing of each sense and power. + </p> + <p> + There is something pathetic about the decay of a mind which has been + driven to death by constant work, but there is a compensating thought to + alleviate the sadness. It may rattle and grow loose, like some worn-out + engine, where the friction presses; but it will work till it collapses + totally, and some of the work achieved is good and permanent. It is bound + to be so. Infinitely sadder is the sight of a mind which is falling to + pieces by reason of the rust that has eaten into its very core. For rust + must needs mean idleness—and no human intellect <i>need</i> be idle. + So it had been with these two old ladies. Born in a wofully unintellectual + age, they had never left a certain groove in life. When their brother + married Christian Vellacott's grandmother, they had left his house in + Honiton to go and live in Bodmin upon a limited but sufficient income. + These “sufficient incomes” are a curse; they do not allow of charity and + make no call for labour. + </p> + <p> + When Christian Vellacott arrived in England, an orphan with no great + wealth, he made it his first duty to visit the only living relations he + possessed. He was just in time to save them, literally, from starvation. + It was obvious that he could not make a literary livelihood in Bodmin, so + he made a home for the two old wrecks of humanity in London. Their means, + like their minds, were simply exhausted. Aunt Judith was ninety-three; + Aunt Hester ninety-one. During that vast blank (for blank it was, so far + as their lives were concerned) stretching away back into a perspective of + time which few around them could gauge—they had never been separated + for one day. Like two apples they had grown side by side, until their very + contact had engendered disease—a slow, deadly, creeping rot, finding + its source at the point of contact, reaching its goal at the heart of + each. They had <i>existed</i> thus with terrible longevity—lived a + mere animal life of sleeping and eating, such as hundreds of women are + living around us now. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, you must learn to make your daily bread, Nephew Vellacott!” + answered Aunt Hester. “The desire does you credit; but you should be + careful into what society you go without us. Girls are very designing, and + many a one would like to marry a nephew of mine—eh, Judith?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that they would,” replied the old lady. “The minxes know that they + might do worse than catch the nephew of Judith and Hester Vellacott!” + </p> + <p> + “Look at us,” continued Aunt Hester, drawing up her shrunken old form with + a touch of pride. “Look at us? We have always avoided marriage, and we are + very nice and happy, I am sure!” + </p> + <p> + She waited for a confirmation of this bold statement, but Christian was + not listening. He was leaning forward with his hands clasped between his + knees, gazing into the fire. He was recalling the conversation which had + passed in the little room in the Strand. Could he leave these two helpless + old creatures. Could he get away from it all for a little time—away + from the maddening prattle of unguided tongues, from the dread monotony of + hopeless watching? He knew that he was wasting his manhood, neglecting his + intellectual opportunities, and endangering his career; but his course of + duty was marked out with terrible distinctness. He never saw the pathos of + it, as a woman would have seen it, gathering perhaps some slight + alleviation from the sight. It never entered his thoughts to complain, and + he never conceived the idea of drawing comparisons between his position + and that of other young men who, instead of being slaves to their + relatives, made very good use of them. He merely went on doing his obvious + duty and striving not to look forward too eagerly to a release at some + future period. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, Mrs. Strawd was not long in bringing in the simple evening + meal; and the attention of the old ladies was at once turned to the + mystery hidden beneath the dish-cover. What was it, and would there be + enough for Nephew Vellacott? + </p> + <p> + Deftly, Christian poured out the tea. Two cups very weak and one stronger. + Then two thin slices of crustless bread had to be buttered. This operation + required great judgment and impartiality. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Nephew Vellacott!” said Aunt Judith, with dangerous severity. + “Is that first slice intended for Aunt Hester? It appears to me that the + butter is very thick—much thicker than on the second, which is + doubtless intended for me!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so, Aunt Judith?” asked Christian in a voice purposely loud + in order to drown Aunt Hester's remonstrance. “Then I will take a little + off!” He passed the knife harmlessly over the faulty slice, and laid the + two side by side upon a plate. Then the old ladies promptly held a survey + on them—that declared to be more heavily buttered being awarded to + Aunt Judith in recognition of her seniority. + </p> + <p> + With similar fruitful topics of conversation the meal was pleasantly + despatched. The turn of Dick and Mick followed thereon. Dick, the property + of Aunt Judith, was a canary of thoughtful temperament. The part he played + in the domestic economy of the small household was a contemplative rather + than an active one. Mick, Aunt Hester's bird, was of a more lively nature. + He had, as a rule, something to say upon all subjects—and said it. + </p> + <p> + Now Aunt Hester, in her inmost heart, loved a silent bird, and secretly + coveted Dick, but as Mick was her property, and Dick the silent was owned + by Aunt Judith, she never lost an opportunity of enlarging upon the + stupidity and uselessness of silent birds. Aunt Judith, on the other hand, + admired a lively and talkative canary; consequently she was weighed down + with the conviction that her sister's bird was the superior article. + Altogether, birds as a topic of conversation were best avoided. Dick and + Mick were housed in cages of similar build—indeed, most things were + strictly in duplicate in the whole household. Every evening Christian + brought the cages, and Aunt Judith and Aunt Hester carefully placed within + the wires a small piece of bread-and-butter, which Nurse Strawd as + carefully removed, untouched, the next morning. + </p> + <p> + When the birds' wants had been attended to, it was Christian's duty to + settle the old ladies comfortably in their respective arm-chairs. This he + did tenderly and cleverly as a woman, but it was not a pleasant sight to + look upon. The man, with his lean, strong face, long jaw, and prominent + chin, was so obviously out of place. These peaceful duties were never + meant for such as he. His somewhat closely-set eyes were not such as wax + tender over drowning flies, for even in repose they were somewhat direct + and stern in their gaze. In fact, Christian Vellacott was so visibly + created for strife and the forefront of life's battle, that it was almost + painful to see him fulfilling a more peaceful avocation. + </p> + <p> + As a rule he devoted himself to the amusement of his aged relatives for an + hour or so; but this evening he sat down to the piano at once, with the + deliberate intention of playing them off to sleep. Ten o'clock was their + hour for retiring, and before that they would not move, although they + dozed in their chairs. + </p> + <p> + He was no mean musician, this big West-countryman, with a true ear and a + touch peculiarly light and tender for a man. He played gently and drowsily + for some time, half forgetting that he was not alone in the room. + Presently he turned round, letting his fingers rest on the keys. Aunt + Judith was asleep, and Aunt Hester made a sign for him to go on playing. + Five minutes more, gradually toned down till the very sounds seemed to + fall asleep, and Aunt Hester was peacefully slumbering. Silently the + player rose, and crossing the room, he resumed his seat at the table from + which the white cloth had not yet been removed. Pen, ink, and paper were + within reach, and in a few minutes he had written the following note:— + </p> + <p> + “DEAR SIDNEY,—May I retract the letter I wrote yesterday and accept + your invitation? I have been requested to take a holiday, and, rather than + offend the powers that be, have given in. I can think of no happier way of + spending it than in seeing you all again and recalling the jolly old + Prague days. With kind regards, yours ever, + </p> + <h3> + “CHRISTIAN VELLACOTT.” + </h3> + <p> + He folded the note and slipped it into an envelope, which he addressed to + “Sidney Carew, Esq., St. Mary Western, Dorset.” Then he slipped + noiselessly out of the room and upstairs to where Mrs. Strawd had a small + sitting-room of her own. The little woman heard his footstep on the old + creaking stairs, and opened the door of her room before he reached it. + </p> + <p> + “If I went away for three weeks,” he said, “could you do without me?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I could,” replied the little woman readily. “Just you go away + and take a holiday, Master Christian. You need it sorely, that I know. You + do indeed. We shall get on splendidly without you. I'll just have my + sister to come and stay, same as I did when you had to go to the Paris + House of Parliament.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not had much of a holiday, you see, for two years now!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you haven't, and you want it. It's only human nature—and + you a young man that ought to be in the open air all day. For an old woman + like me it's different. We're made differently by the good God on purpose, + I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, if your sister comes it must be understood, nurse, that I + make the same arrangement with her as exists with you. She must simply be + a duplicate of you—you understand?” + </p> + <p> + The little woman laughed, lightly enough. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Master Christian, that is all right. But you need not have + troubled about that. She never would have thought of such a thing as + wages, I'm sure!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied he gravely, “I know she would not, but it will be better, I + think, to have it understood beforehand. Gratitude is a very nice thing to + work for, but some work is worth more than gratitude. If you are going out + for your walk, perhaps you will post this letter.” + </p> + <p> + Before Christian went to bed that night he held a candle close to the + mirror and looked long and hard at his own reflection. There were dark + streaks under his eyes, his small mouth was drawn and dry, his lips + colourless. At each temple the bone stood out rather prominently, and the + skin was brilliant in its whiteness and reflected the light of the candle. + He felt his own pulse. It was beating, at one moment fast and irregular, + at the next it was hardly perceptible. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” he muttered, with a professional nod—in his training as a + journalist he had learnt a little of many sciences—“yes, old Bodery + was right.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. A REUNION + </h2> + <p> + The gentle August night had cooled and soothed the dusty atmosphere. All + things looked fair, even in London. The placid Thames glided stealthily + down to the sea, as if wishing to speed on unseen, to cast at last his + reeking waters into the cool ocean. The bright brown sails, low hulls, and + gaily painted spars of the barges dropping down with the stream added to + the beauty of the scene. + </p> + <p> + Such was the morning that greeted Christian Vellacott, as he opened the + door of his little Chelsea home and stepped forth a free man. When once he + had made up his mind to go, every obstacle was thrown aside, and his + determination was now as great as had been his previous reluctance. He had + no presentiment that he was taking an important step in life—one of + those steps which we hardly notice at the time, but upon which we look + back in after years and note how clear and definite it was, losing + ourselves in vague conjecture as to what might have been had we held back. + </p> + <p> + Christian being practical in all things, knew how to travel comfortably, + dispensing with rugs and bags and such small packages as are understood to + be dear to the elderly single female heart. + </p> + <p> + The smoky suburbs were soon left behind, and the smiling land gave forth + such gentle, pastoral odours as only long confinement in cities can teach + us to detect. Christian lowered the window, and the warm air played round + him as it had not done for two long years. The whizz of the wind past his + face brought back the memory of the long, idle, happy days spent with his + father in the Mediterranean, when they had been half sailors and wholly + Bohemians, gliding from port to port, village to city, in their yacht, as + free and careless as the wind. The warm breeze almost seemed to be coming + to him from some parched Italian plain instead of pastoral + Buckinghamshire. + </p> + <p> + Then his thoughts travelled still further back to his school-days in + Prague, when his father and Mr. Carew were colleagues in a brilliant but + unfortunate embassy. Five years had passed since then. The two fathers + were now dead, and the children had dropped apart as men and women do when + their own personal interests begin to engross them. Now again, in this + late summer time, they were to meet. All, that is, who were left. The <i>débris</i>, + as it were. Three voices there were whose tones would never more be heard + in the round of merry jest. Mr. Carew, Walter Vellacott (Uncle Walter, the + young ones called him), and little Charlie Carew, the bright-eyed sailor + of the family, had all three travelled on. The two former, whose age and + work achieved had softened their departure, were often spoken of with + gently lowered voice, but little Charlie's name was never mentioned. It + was a fatal mistake—this silence—if you will; but it was one + of those mistakes which are often made in wisdom. In splendid, solitary + grandeur he lay awaiting the end of all things—the call of his + Creator—in the grey ice-fields of the North. The darling of his + ship, he had died with a smile in his blue eyes and a sad little jest upon + his lips to cheer the rough fur-clad giants kneeling at his side. Time, + the merciful, had healed, as best he could (which is by no means + perfectly), the wound in the younger hearts. It is only the old that are + quite beyond his powers; he cannot touch them. Mrs. Carew, a woman with a + patient face and a ready smile, was the only representative of the + vanishing generation. Her daughters—ay! and perhaps her sons as well + (though boys are not credited with so much tender divination)—knew + the meaning of the little droop at the side of their mother's smiling + lips. They detected the insincerity of her kindly laugh. + </p> + <p> + Shortly after leaving Exeter, Christian's station was reached. This was an + old-fashioned seaport town, whose good fortune it was to lie too far west + for a London watering-place, and too far east for Plymouth or Bristol. + Sidney Carew was on the platform—a sturdy, typical Englishman, with + a certain sure slowness of movement handed down to him by seafaring + ancestors. The two friends had not met for many years, but with men + absence has little effect upon affection. During the space of many years + they may never meet and seldom write, but at the end that gulf of time is + bridged over by a simple “Halloa, old fellow!” and a warm grip. Slowly, + piece by piece, the history of the past years comes out. Both are probably + changed in thought and nature, but the old individuality remains, the old + bond of friendship survives. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sidney?” + </p> + <p> + “How are you?” + </p> + <p> + Simultaneously—and that was all. The changes were there in both, and + noted by both, but not commented upon. + </p> + <p> + “Molly is outside with the dog-cart,” said Sidney; “is your luggage + forward?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is it being pitched out now.” + </p> + <p> + It was with womanly foresight that Miss Molly Carew had elected to wait + outside with the dog-cart while her brother met Christian on the platform. + She feared a little natural embarrassment at meeting the old playfellow of + the family, and concluded that the first moments would be more easily + tided over here than at the train. Her fears were, as it turned out, + unnecessary, but she did not know what Christian might be like after the + lapse of years. Of herself she was sure enough, being one of those happy + people who have no self-consciousness whatever. + </p> + <p> + On seeing her, Christian came forward at once, raising his hat and shaking + hands as if they had parted the day before. + </p> + <p> + She saw at once that it was all right. This was Christian Vellacott as she + had remembered him. She looked down at him as he stood with one hand + resting on the splashboard, and he, looking up to her, smiled in return. + </p> + <p> + “Christian,” she said, “do you know I should scarcely have recognised you. + You are so big, and—and you look positively ghastly!” She finished + her remark with a little laugh which took away from the spoken meaning of + it. + </p> + <p> + “Ghastly?” he replied. “Thanks: I do not feel like it—only hungry. + Hungry, and desperately glad to see a face that does not look overworked.” + </p> + <p> + “Meaning me.” + </p> + <p> + “Meaning you.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little sarcastic nod, and pursed up a pair of very red lips. + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless I am the only person in the house who does any work at all. + Hilda, for instance—” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Sidney came up and interrupted them. + </p> + <p> + “Jump up in front, Chris,” he said; “Molly will drive, while I sit behind. + Your luggage will follow in the cart.” + </p> + <p> + The drive of six miles passed away very pleasantly. Molly's strong little + hands were quite accustomed to the reins, and the men were free to talk, + which, however, she found time to do as well. The two young people on the + front seat stole occasional sidelong glances at each other. The clever, + mischievous little girl of Christian's recollection was transformed by the + kindly hand of time into a fascinating and capable young lady. The + uncertain profile had grown clear and regular. The truant hair was + somewhat more under control, which, however, was all that could be said + upon that subject. Only her eyes were unchanged, the laughing, fearless + eyes of old. Fearless they had been in the times of childish mischief and + adventure; fearless they remained in the face of life's graver mischances + now. + </p> + <p> + Christian had been a shy and commonplace-enough boy as she recollected + him. Now she found a self-possessed man of the world. Tall and strong of + body she saw he was, and she felt that he possessed another strength—a + strength of mind and will which, reaching out, can grasp and hold anything + or everything. + </p> + <p> + With practised skill, Molly turned into the narrow gateway at a swinging + trot, and then only was the house visible—a low, rambling building + of brick and stone uncouthly mixed. Its chief outward characteristic was a + promise of inward comfort. The sturdy manner in which its windows faced + the scantily-wooded tableland that stretched away unbroken by wall or + hedgerow to the sea, implied a certain thickness of wall and woodwork. The + doorway which looked inland was singularly broad, and bore signs about its + stonework of having once been even broader. The house had originally been + a hollow square, with a roofless courtyard in the centre, into which the + sheep and cattle were in olden times driven for safety at night against + French marauders. This had later on been roofed in, and transformed into a + roomy and comfortable hall, such as might be used as a sitting-room. All + around the house, except, indeed, upon the sea-ward side, stood gnarled + and twisted trees; Scotch firs in abundance, here and there a Weymouth + pine, and occasionally a knotted dwarf oak with a tendency to run inland. + The garden was, however, rich enough in shrubs and undergrowth, and to the + landward side was a gleam of still water, being all that remained of a + broad, deep moat. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carew welcomed Christian at the open door. She said very little, but + her manner was sufficiently warm and friendly to dispense with words. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Hilda?” asked Molly, as she leapt lightly to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know, dear. She is out, somewhere; in the garden, I expect. You + are before your time a little. The train must have been punctual, for a + wonder. Had Hilda known, she would have been here to welcome you, I know, + Christian.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect she is at the moat,” said Molly. “Come along, Christian; we will + go and look for her. This way.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Sidney had driven the dog-cart round to the stables, + kneeling awkwardly upon the back seat. + </p> + <p> + As Christian followed his fair guide down the little path leading to the + moat, he began to feel that it was not so difficult after all to throw off + the dull weight of anxiety that lay upon his mind. The thoughts about the + <i>Beacon</i> were after all not so very absorbing. The anxiety regarding + the welfare of the two old ladies was already alleviated by distance. The + strong sea air, the change to pleasant and kindly society, were already + beginning their work. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Molly stopped, and Christian saw that she was standing at the + edge of a long, still sheet of water bounded by solid stonework, which, + however, was crumbling away in parts, while everywhere the green moss grew + in velvety profusion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Christian,” said Molly lightly, “I suppose Sidney told you a little + of our news. Men's letters are not discursive as a rule I know, but no + doubt he told you—something.” + </p> + <p> + He was standing beside her at the edge of the moat, looking down into the + deep, clear water. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied slowly, “yes, Molly; he told me a little in a scrappy, + unsatisfactory way.” + </p> + <p> + A pained expression came into her eyes for a moment, and then she spoke, + rather more quickly than was habitual with her, but without raising her + voice. + </p> + <p> + “He told you—nothing about Hilda?” she said interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + He turned and looked down at her. + </p> + <p> + “No—nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Then he followed the direction of her eyes, and saw approaching them a + young man and a maiden whose footsteps had been inaudible upon the + moss-grown path. The man was of medium height, with an honest brown face. + He was dressed for riding, and walked with a slight swagger, which arose + less from conceit than from excessive riding on horseback. The maiden was + tall and stately, and in her walk there was an old-fashioned grace of + movement which harmonised perfectly with the old-world surroundings. She + was looking down, and Christian could not see her face; but as she wore no + hat, he saw and recognised her hair. This was of gold—not red, not + auburn, not flaxen, but pure and living gold. The sun glinting through the + trees shone upon it and gleamed, but in reality the hair gleamed without + the aid of sunlight. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. BROKEN THREADS + </h2> + <p> + They came forward, and suddenly the girl raised her face. She made a + little hesitating movement of non-recognition, and then suddenly her face + was transformed by a very pleasant smile. There was something peculiar in + Hilda Carew's smile, which came from the fact that her eyelashes were + golden, while her eyes were dark blue. The effect suggested a fascinating + kitten. In repose her face was almost severe in its refined beauty, and + the set of her lips indicated a certain self-reliance which with years + might become more prominent if trouble should arrive. + </p> + <p> + “Christian!” she exclaimed, “I am sorry I did not know you.” They shook + hands, and Molly hastened to introduce her sister's companion. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Farrar,” she said; “Mr. Vellacott.” + </p> + <p> + The two men shook hands, and Christian was disappointed. The grip of + Farrar's fingers was limp and almost nerveless, in striking contradiction + to the promise of his honest face and well-set person. + </p> + <p> + “Tea is ready,” said Molly somewhat hastily; “let us go in.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda and her companion passed on in front while Molly and Christian + followed them. The latter purposely lagged behind, and his companion found + herself compelled to wait for him. + </p> + <p> + “Look at the effect of the sunlight through the trees upon that water,” + said he in a conversational way; “it is quite green, and almost + transparent.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Molly, moving away tentatively, “we see most peculiar + effects over the moat. The water is so very still and deep.” + </p> + <p> + He raised his quiet eyes to her face, upon which the ready smile still + lingered. As she met his gaze she raised her hand and pushed back a few + truant wisps of hair which, curling forward like tendrils, tickled her + cheek. It was a movement he soon learned to know. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said absently. He was wondering in an analytical way whether the + action was habitual with her, or significant of embarrassment. At length + he turned to follow her, but Molly had failed in her object; the others + had passed out of earshot. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Christian in a lowered voice, “who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is the squire of St. Mary Eastern, six miles from here,” she replied; + “very well off; very good to his mother, and in every way nice.” + </p> + <p> + Christian tore off a small branch which would have touched his forehead + had he walked on without stooping. He broke it into small pieces, and + continued throwing up at intervals into the air a tiny stick, hitting it + with his hand as they walked on. + </p> + <p> + “And,” he said suggestively, “and—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Christian,” she replied decisively, “they are engaged. Come, let us + hurry; I always pour out the tea. I told you before, if you remember, that + I was the only person in the house who did any work.” + </p> + <p> + When Christian opened his eyes the following morning, the soft hum of + insects fell on his ear instead of the roar of London traffic. Through the + open window the southern air blew upon his face. Above the sound of busy + wings the distant sea sang its low dirge. It was a living perspective of + sound. The least rustle near at hand overpowered it, and yet it was always + there—an unceasing throb to be felt as much as heard. Some acoustic + formation of the land carried the noise, for the sea was eight miles away. + It was very peaceful; for utter stillness is not peace. A room wherein an + old clock ticks is infinitely more soothing than a noiseless chamber. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless the feeling that forced itself into Christian Vellacott's + waking thoughts was not peaceful. It was a sense of discomfort. + Town-people expect too much from the country—that is the truth of + it. They quite overlook the fact that where human beings are there can be + no peace. + </p> + <p> + This sudden sense of restlessness annoyed him. He knew it so well. It had + hovered over his waking head almost daily during the last two years, and + here, in the depths of the country, he had expected to be without it. + Moreover, he was conscious that he had not brought the cause with him. He + had found it, waiting. + </p> + <p> + There were many things—indeed there was almost everything—to + make his life happy and pleasant at St. Mary Western. But in his mind, as + he woke up on this first morning, none of these things found place. He + came to his senses thinking of the one little item which could be + described as untoward—thinking of Hilda, and Hilda engaged to be + married to Fred Farrar. It was not that he was in love with Hilda Carew + himself. He had scarcely remembered her existence during the last two + years. But this engagement jarred, and Farrar jarred. It was something + more than the very natural shock which comes with the news that a + companion of our youth is about to be married—shock which seems to + shake the memory of that youth; to confuse the background of our life. It + is by means of such shocks as these that Fate endeavours vainly to make us + realise that the past is irrevocable—that we are passing on, and + that that which has been can never be again. And at the same time we learn + something else: namely, that the past is not by any means unchangeable. So + potential is To-day that it not only holds To-morrow in the hollow of its + hand, but it can alter Yesterday. + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott lay upon his bed in unwonted idleness, gazing vaguely + at the flying clouds. The window was open, and the song of the distant sea + rose and fell with a rhythm full of peace. But in this man's mind there + was no peace. In all probability there never would be complete peace + there, because Ambition had set its hold upon him. He wanted to do more + than there was time for. Like many of us, he began by thinking that Life + is longer than it is. Its whole length is in those “long, long thoughts” + of Youth. When those are left behind, we settle down to work, and the rest + of the story is nothing but labour. Vellacott resented this engagement + because he felt that Hilda Carew had stepped out of that picture which + formed what was probably destined to be the happiest time of his life—his + Youth. For the unhappiness of Youth is preferable to the resignation of + Age. He felt that she had willingly resigned something which he would on + no account have given up. Above all, he felt that it was a mistake. This + was, of course, at the bottom of it. He probably felt that it was a pity. + We usually feel so on hearing that a pretty and charming girl is engaged + to be married. We think that she might have done so much better for + herself, and we grow pensive or possibly sentimental over her lost + opportunity when contemplating him in the mirror as he shaves. Like all + so-called happy events, an engagement is not usually a matter of universal + rejoicing. Some one is, in all probability, left to think twice about it. + But Christian Vellacott was not prepared to admit that he was in that + position. + </p> + <p> + He was naturally of an observant habit—his father had been one of + the keenest-sighted men of his day—and he had graduated at the + subtlest school in the world. He unwittingly fell to studying his + fellow-men whenever the opportunity presented itself, and the result of + this habit was a certain classification of detail. He picked up little + scraps of evidence here and there, and these were methodically + pigeon-holed away, as a lawyer stores up the correspondence of his + clients. + </p> + <p> + With regard to Frederick Farrar, Vellacott had only made one note. The + squire of St. Mary Eastern was apparently very similar to his fellows. He + was an ordinary young British squire with a knowledge of horses and a + highly-developed fancy for smart riding-breeches and long boots. He had + probably received a fair education, but this had ceased when he closed his + last school-book. The seeds of knowledge had been sown, but they lacked + moisture and had failed to grow. He was good-natured, plucky in a + hard-headed British way, and gentlemanly. In all this there was nothing + exceptional—nothing to take note of—and Vellacott only + remembered the limpness of Frederick Farrar's grasp. He thought of this + too persistently and magnified it. And this being the only mental note + made, was rather hard on the young squire of St. Mary Eastern. + </p> + <p> + Vellacott thought of these things while he dressed, he thought of them + intermittently during the unsettled, noisy, country breakfast, and when he + found himself walking beside the moat with Hilda later on he was still + thinking of them. + </p> + <p> + They had not yet gathered into their hands the threads which had been + broken years before. At times they hit upon a topic of some slight common + interest, but something hovered in the air between them. Hilda was gay, as + she had always been, in a gentle, almost purring way; but a certain + constrained silence made itself felt at times, and they were both + intensely conscious of it. + </p> + <p> + Vellacott was fully aware that there was something to be got over, and so + instead of skipping round it, as a woman might have done, he went + blundering on to the top of it. + </p> + <p> + “Hilda,” he said suddenly, “I have never congratulated you.” + </p> + <p> + She bent her head in a grave little bow which was not quite English; but + she said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I can only wish you all happiness,” he continued rather vaguely. + </p> + <p> + Again she made that mystic little motion of the head, but did not look + towards him, and never offered the assistance of smile or word. + </p> + <p> + “A long life, a happy one, and your own will,” he added more lightly, + looking down into the green water of the moat. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, standing quite still beside him. + </p> + <p> + And then there followed an awkward pause. It was Vellacott who finally + broke the silence in the only way left to him. + </p> + <p> + “I like Farrar,” he said. “I am sure he will make you happy. He—is a + lucky fellow.” + </p> + <p> + At the end of the walk that ran the whole length of that part of the moat + which had been allowed to remain intact, she made a little movement as if + to turn aside beneath the hazel trees and towards the house. But he would + not let her go. He turned deliberately upon his heel and waited for her. + There was nothing else to do but acquiesce. They retraced their steps with + that slow reflectiveness which comes when one walks backwards and forwards + over the same ground. + </p> + <p> + There is something eminently conversational in the practice of walking to + and fro. For that purpose it is better than an arm-chair and a pipe, or a + piece of knitting. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally Vellacott dropped a pace behind, apparently with a purpose; + for when he did so he raised his eyes instantly. He seemed to be slowly + detailing the maiden, and he frowned a little. She was exactly what she + had promised to be. The singularly golden hair which he had last seen + flowing freely over her slight young shoulders had acquired a decorousness + of curve, although the hue was unchanged. The shoulders were exactly the + same in contour, on a slightly larger scale; and the manner of carrying + her head—a manner peculiarly her own, and suggestive of a certain + gentle wilfulness—was unaltered. + </p> + <p> + And yet there was a change: that subtle change which seems to come to + girls suddenly, in the space of a week—of one night. And this man + was watching her with his analytical eyes, wondering what the change might + be. + </p> + <p> + He was more or less a bookworm, and he possibly thought that this subject—this + pleasant young subject walking beside him in a blue cotton dress—was + one which might easily be grasped and understood if only one gave one's + mind to it. Hence the little frown. It denoted the gift of his mind. It + was the frown that settled over his eyes when he cut the pages of a deep + book and glanced at the point of his pencil. + </p> + <p> + He had read many books, and he knew a number of things. But there is one + subject of which very little can be learnt in books—precisely the + subject that walked in a blue cotton dress by Christian Vellacott's side + at the edge of the moat. If any one thinks that book-learning can aid this + study, let him read the ignorance of Gibbon, comparing it with the + learning of that cheery old ignoramus Montaigne. And Vellacott was nearer + to Gibbon in his learning than to Montaigne in his careless ignorance of + those things that are written in books. + </p> + <p> + He glanced at her; he frowned and brought his whole attention to bear upon + her, and he could not even find out whether she was pleased to listen to + his congratulations, or angry, or merely indifferent. It was rather a + humiliating position for a clever man—for a critic who knew himself + to be capable of understanding most things, of catching the drift of most + thoughts, however imperfectly expressed. He was vaguely conscious of + defeat. He felt that he was nonplussed by a pair of soft round eyes like + the eyes of a kitten, and the dignified repose of a pair of demure red + lips. Both eyes and lips, as well as shoulders and golden hair, were + strangely familiar and strangely strange by turns. + </p> + <p> + With one finger he twisted the left side of his moustache into his mouth, + and, dragging at it with his teeth, distorted his face in an unbecoming if + reflective manner, which was habitually indicative of the deepest + attention. + </p> + <p> + While reflecting, he forgot to be conversational, and Hilda seemed to be + content with silence. So they walked the length of the moat twice without + speaking, and might have accomplished it a third time, had little Stanley + Carew not appeared upon the scene with the impulsive energy of his + thirteen years, begging Christian to bowl him some really swift overhands. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. PUPPETS + </h2> + <p> + “Ah! It goes. It goes already!” + </p> + <p> + The speaker—the Citizen Morot—slowly rubbed his white hands + one over the other. + </p> + <p> + He was standing at the window of a small house in an insignificant street + on the southern side of the Seine. He was remarkably calm—quite the + calmest man within the radius of a mile; for the insignificant little + street was in an uproar. There was a barricade at each end of it. Such a + barricade as Parisians love. It was composed of a few overturned + omnibuses; for the true Parisian is a cynic. He likes overturned things, + and he loves to see objects of peace converted to purposes of war. He is + not content that ploughshares be beaten into swords. He prefers + altar-rails. And so this little street was blocked at either end by a + barricade of overturned omnibuses, of old hampers and empty boxes, of a + few loads of second-hand bricks and paving-stones brought from the scene + of some drainage operations round the corner. + </p> + <p> + In the street between the barricades, surged, hooted, and yelled that + wildest and most dangerous of incomprehensibles—a Paris mob. + Half-a-dozen orators were speaking at once, and no one was listening to + them. Here and there amidst the rabble a voice was raised at times with + suspicious persistence. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Vive le Roi!</i>” it cried. “Long live the King!” + </p> + <p> + A few took up the refrain, but the general tone was negative. It was not + so much a question of upholding anything as of throwing down that which + was already up. + </p> + <p> + “Down with the Republic!” was the favourite cry. “Down with the President! + Down with everything!” + </p> + <p> + And each man cried down his favourite enemy. + </p> + <p> + The Citizen Morot listened, and his contemptuous mouth was twisted with a + delicate, subtle smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he muttered. “The voice of the people. The howling of the wolves. Go + on, go on, my braves. Cry 'Long live the King,' and soon you will begin to + believe that you mean it. They are barking now. Let them bark. Soon we + shall teach them to bite, and then—then, who knows?” + </p> + <p> + His voice dropped almost to a whisper, and he stood there amidst the din + and hubbub—dreaming. At last he raised his hand to his forehead—a + prominent, rounded forehead, flat as the palm of one's hand from eyebrow + to eyebrow, and curving at either side, sharply, back to deep-sunken + temples. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he exclaimed, with a little laugh; and he drew from an inner pocket + a delicately scented pocket-handkerchief, with which he wiped his brow. + “If I get excited now, what will it be when they begin—to bite?” + </p> + <p> + All this while the orators were shouting their loudest, and the voices + dispersed throughout the crowd raised at intervals their short, sharp cry + of— + </p> + <p> + “Long live the King!” + </p> + <p> + And the police? There were only two agents attached to the immediate + neighbourhood, and they were smoking cigars and drinking absinthe in two + separate cellars, with the door locked on the outside. They were prisoners + of war of the most resigned type. The room in which stood the Citizen + Morot was dark, and wisely so. For the Parisian street politician can make + very pretty practice of a lighted petroleum-lamp with an empty bottle or + half a brick. The window was wide open, and the wooden shutters were + hooked back. + </p> + <p> + The attitude of the man was interested and slightly self-satisfied. It + suggested that of the manager of a theatre looking down from an upper-tier + box upon a full house and a faultless stage. At the same time he was + keeping what sailors call a very “bright look-out” towards either end of + the street. From his elevated position he was able to see over the + barricades, and he watched with intense interest the movements of two + women (or perhaps men disguised as such) who stood in the centre of the + street just beyond each obstruction. + </p> + <p> + There was something dramatic in the motionless attitude of these two + women, standing guard alone in the deserted street, on the wrong side of + the barricades. + </p> + <p> + At times Morot leant well out of the window and listened. Then he stood + back again and contemplated the crowd. + </p> + <p> + Each orator was illuminated by a naphtha “flare,” which, being held in + unsteady hands, flickered and wavered, casting strange gleams of light + over the evil faces upturned towards it. At times one speaker would + succeed in raising a laugh or extracting a groan, and when he did so those + listening to his rivals turned and surged towards him. There was plenty of + movement. It was what the newspapers call an animated scene—or a + disgraceful scene—according to their political bias. + </p> + <p> + The Citizen Morot could not hear the jokes nor distinguish the cause of + the groaning. But he did not seem to mind much. The speeches were not of + the description to be given in full in the morning papers. There were, + fortunately, no reporters present. It was the frank eloquence of the + slaughter-house—the unclad humour of the market. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly one of the women—she who was posted at the southern end of + the street—raised both her arms, and the Citizen leant far out of + the window. He was very eager, and his hawk-like eyes blinked perpetually. + His hand was raised to his mouth, and the lights of the orators gleamed on + something that he held in his fingers—something that looked like + silver. + </p> + <p> + The woman held her two arms straight up into the air for some moments, + then she suddenly crossed them twice, turning at the same moment and + scrambling over the barricade. A long shrill whistle rang out over the + heads of the mob, and its effect was almost instantaneous. The “flares” + disappeared like magic. Dark figures swarmed up the lamp-posts and + extinguished the feeble lights. The voice of the orator was still. Silence + and darkness reigned over that insignificant little street on the southern + side of the Seine. Then came the clatter of cavalry—the rattle of + horses' feet, and the ominous clank of empty scabbards against spur and + buckle. A word of command, and a scrambling halt. Then silence again, + broken only by the shuffling of feet (not too well clad) in the darkness + between the barricades. + </p> + <p> + The Citizen Morot leant recklessly out of the window, peering into the + gloom. He forgot to make use of the delicately scented pocket-handkerchief + now, and the drops of perspiration trickled slowly down his face. + </p> + <p> + The soldiers shuffled in their saddles. Some of the spirited little Arabs + pawed the pavement. One of them squealed angrily, and there was a slight + commotion somewhere in the rear ranks—an equine difference of + opinion. The officers had come forward to the barricade and were + consulting together. The question was—what was there behind that + barricade? It might be nothing—it might be everything. In Paris one + can never tell. At last one of them determined to see for himself. He + scrambled up, putting his foot through the window of an omnibus in + passing. Against the dim light of the street-lamp beyond, his slight, + straight figure stood out in bold relief. It was a splendid mark for a man + with chalked sights to his rifle. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” muttered the Citizen, “you are all right this time—master, the + young officer. They are only barking. Next time perhaps it will be quite + another history.” + </p> + <p> + The officer turned and disappeared. After the lapse of a few moments a + dozen words of command were shouted, and upon them followed the sharp + click of hilt on scabbard as the sabres fell home. + </p> + <p> + After a pause it became evident that the barricade was being destroyed. + And then lights flashed here and there. In a compact column the cavalry + advanced at a trot. The street was empty. + </p> + <p> + Citizen Morot turned away and sat down on a chair that happened to be + placed near the window. His finely-drawn eyebrows were raised with a + questioning weariness. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty work!” he ejaculated. “Pretty work for—my father's son! So + grand, so open, so noble!” + </p> + <p> + He waited there, in the darkness, until the cavalry had been withdrawn and + the local firemen were at work upon the barricade. Then, when order was + fully restored, he left the house, walking quietly down the length of the + insignificant little street. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later he entered the tobacco-shop in the Rue St. Gingolphe. + Mr. Jacquetot was at his post, behind the counter near the window, with + the little tin box containing postage-stamps in front of him upon his + desk. He was always there—like the poor. He laid aside the <i>Petit + Journal</i> and wished the new-comer a courteous, though breathless, good + evening. + </p> + <p> + The salutation was returned gravely and pleasantly. The Citizen Morot + lingered a moment and remarked that it was a warm evening. He never seemed + to be in a hurry. Then he passed on into the little room behind the shop. + </p> + <p> + There he found Lerac, the foreman of the slaughter-house. The butcher was + pale with excitement. His rough clothing was dishevelled; his stringy + black hair stood up uncouthly in the centre of his head, while over his + temples it was plastered down with perspiration and suet pleasingly + mingled. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he exclaimed, with triumphant interrogation. + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said Morot. “Very good. It marches, my friend. It marches + already.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! But you are right. The People see you—it is a power!” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” acquiesced Morot fervently. + </p> + <p> + How he hated this man! + </p> + <p> + “And you stayed to the last?” inquired Lerac. He was rather white about + the lips for a brave man. + </p> + <p> + “Till the last,” echoed Morot, taking up some letters addressed to him + which lay on the table. + </p> + <p> + “And the street was quite clear before they broke through the barrier?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite—the People did not wait.” He seemed to resign himself to + conversation, for he put the letters into his pocket and sat down. “Had + you,” he inquired, “any difficulty in getting them away?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” somewhat loftily and quite unsuspicious of irony. “The passages + were narrow, of course; but we had allowed for that in our organisation. + Organisation and the People, see you—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Morot. “Organisation and the People.” Like Lerac, he + stopped short, apparently lost in the contemplation of the vast + possibilities presented to his mental vision by the mere thought of such a + combination. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” exclaimed the butcher energetically, “I must move on. I have + meetings. I merely wished to hear from you that all was right—that + no one was caught.” + </p> + <p> + He was bubbling over with excitement and the sense of his own huge + importance. + </p> + <p> + The Citizen Morot raised his secretive eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” he said, with an insolence far too fine for the butcher's + comprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Well—good-night. We may congratulate ourselves, I think, Citizen!” + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you,” said Morot. “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + It is probable that, had Lerac looked back, there would have been murder + done in the small room behind the tobacco-shop. But the contemptuous smile + soon vanished from the face of the Citizen Morot. No smile lingered there + long. It was not built upon smiling lines at all. + </p> + <p> + Then he took up his letters. There were only two of them: one bearing the + postmark of a small town in Morbihan, the other hailing from England. + </p> + <p> + He replaced the first in his pocket unread; the second he opened. It was + written in French. + </p> + <p> + “There are difficulties,” it said. “Can you come to me? Cross from + Cherbourg to Southampton—train from thence to this place, and ask + for Signor Bruno, an Italian refugee, living at the house of Mrs. Potter, + a <i>ci-devant</i> laundress.” + </p> + <p> + The Citizen Morot rubbed his chin thoughtfully with the back of his hand, + making a sharp, grating sound. + </p> + <p> + “That old man,” he said, “is getting past his work. He is losing nerve; + and nerve is a thing that we cannot afford to lose.” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to the letter again. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he exclaimed suddenly; “St. Mary Western. He is there—how very + strange. What a singular coincidence!” + </p> + <p> + He fell into a reverie with the letter before him. + </p> + <p> + “Carew is dead—but still I can manage it. Perhaps it is just as well + that he is dead. I was always afraid of Carew.” + </p> + <p> + Then he wrote a letter, which he addressed to “Signor Bruno, care of Mrs. + Potter, St. Mary Western, Dorset.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall come,” he wrote, “but not in the way you suggest. I have a better + plan. You must not know me when we meet.” + </p> + <p> + He purchased a twenty-five centime stamp from Mr. Jacquetot, and posted + the letter with his own hand in the little wall-box at the corner of the + Rue St. Gingolphe. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. FALSE METAL + </h2> + <p> + There was, however, no cricket for Stanley Carew that morning. When they + came within sight of the house Mrs. Carew emerged from an open window + carrying several letters in her hand. She was not hurrying, but walking + leisurely, reading a letter as she walked. + </p> + <p> + “Just think, Hilda dear,” she said, with as much surprise as she ever + allowed herself. “I have had a letter from the Vicomte d'Audierne. You + remember him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl; “I remember him, of course. He is not the sort of + man one forgets.” + </p> + <p> + “I always liked the Viscount,” said Mrs. Carew, pensively looking at the + letter she held in her hand. “He was a good friend to us at one time. I + never understood him, and I like men whom one does not understand.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “Your father admired him tremendously,” Mrs. Carew went on to say. “He + said that he was one of the cleverest men in France, but that he had + fallen in a wrong season, and would not adapt himself. Had France been a + monarchy, the Vicomte d'Audierne would have been in a very different + position.” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott did not open his own letters. He seemed to be interested in the + conversation of these ladies. He was not a reserved man, but a secretive, + which is quite a different thing. Reserve is natural—it comes + unbidden, and often unwelcome. Secretiveness is born of circumstances. + Some men find it imperative to cultivate it, although their soul revolts + within them. In professional or social matters it is often merely an + expediency—in some cases it almost feels like a crime. There are + some secrets which cannot be divulged; there are some deceptions which a + certain book-keeper will record upon the credit side of our account. + </p> + <p> + Like most young men who have got on in their calling, Christian Vellacott + held his career in great respect. He felt that any sacrifice made for it + carried its own reward. He thought that it levelled scruples and justified + deceptions. + </p> + <p> + He knew this Vicomte d'Audierne by reputation; he wished to hear more of + him; and so he feigned ignorance—listening. + </p> + <p> + “What has he written about?” inquired Hilda. + </p> + <p> + “To ask if he may come and see us. I suppose he means to come and stay.” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott looked what the French call “contraried.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “On Monday week.” + </p> + <p> + And then Mrs. Carew turned to her other letters. Vellacott took the budget + addressed to him, and walked away to where an iron table and some chairs + stood in the shade of a deodar. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes he looked still more put out. He had learnt of the + disturbances in Paris, and was reading a rather panic-stricken letter from + Mr. Bodery. The truth was that there was no one in the office of the <i>Beacon</i> + who knew anything whatever about French home politics but Christian + Vellacott. + </p> + <p> + A continuance of these disturbances would necessarily assume political + importance, and might even lead to a crisis. This meant an instant recall + for Vellacott. In a crisis his presence in London or Paris was absolutely + necessary to the <i>Beacon</i>. + </p> + <p> + His holiday had barely lasted twenty-four hours, and there was already a + question of recall. It happened also that within that short space a + considerable change had come over Vellacott. The subtle influence of a + country life, and possibly the low, peaceful song of the distant sea, were + already beginning to make themselves felt. He actually detected a desire + to sit still and do nothing—a feeling of which he had not hitherto + been conscious. He was distinctly averse to leaving St. Mary Western just + yet. But there is one task-master who knows no mercy and makes no + allowances. Some of us who serve him know it to our cost, and yet we would + be content to serve no other. That task-master is the Public. + </p> + <p> + Vellacott was a public servant, and he knew his position. + </p> + <p> + Somewhat later in the morning Molly and Hilda found him still seated at + the table, writing with that concentrated rapidity which only comes with + practice. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” he said, looking up, “but I must send off a telegram. I + shall walk in to the station.” + </p> + <p> + “I was just coming,” said Hilda, “to ask if you would drive me in. I want + to get some things.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” added Molly, “there are some domestic commissions—butcher, + baker, &c.” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott expressed his entire satisfaction with the arrangement, and by + the time he had finished his letter the dog-cart was waiting at the door. + </p> + <p> + Several of the family were standing round the vehicle talking in a + desultory manner, and Vellacott learnt then for the first time that + Frederick Farrar had left home that same morning to attend a midland + race-meeting. + </p> + <p> + It was one of those brilliant summer days when it is quite impossible to + be pessimistic and exceedingly difficult to compass preoccupation. The + light breeze bowling over the upland from the sea had just sufficient + strength to blow away all mental cobwebs. Also, Christian Vellacott had + suddenly given way to one of those feelings which sometimes come to us + without apparent reason. The present was joyous enough without the aid of + the ever-to-be-bright future, and Vellacott felt that, after all, French + politics and Frederick Farrar did not quite monopolise the world. + </p> + <p> + Hilda was on this occasion more talkative than usual. There was in her + manner a new sense of ease, almost of familiarity, which Vellacott could + not understand. He noticed that she spoke invariably in generalities, + avoiding all personal matters. Of herself she said no word, though she + appeared willing enough to answer any question he might ask. She led him + on to talk of himself and his work, listening gravely to his account of + the little household at Chelsea. He made the best of this topic, and even + treated it in a merry vein; but her smile, though sincere enough, was of + short duration and not in itself encouraging. She appeared to see the + pathos of it instead of the humour. Suddenly, in the middle of a + particularly funny story about Aunt Judith, she interrupted him and + changed the conversation entirely. She did not again refer to his home + life. + </p> + <p> + As they were returning in the full glare of the midday sun, they descried + in front of them the figure of an old man; he was walking painfully and + making poor progress. Carefully dressed in black broadcloth, he wore a + soft felt hat of a shape seldom seen in England. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said Hilda, as they approached him, “that is Signor Bruno. + Yes, it is. Please pull up, Christian. We must give him a lift!” + </p> + <p> + Christian obeyed her. He thought he detected a shade of annoyance in + Hilda's voice, with which he fully sympathised. + </p> + <p> + On hearing the sound of the wheels, the old man looked up in surprise, as + a deaf person might have been expected to do. This movement showed a most + charming old face, surrounded by a halo of white hair and beard. The + features were almost perfect, and might in former days have been a trifle + cold, by reason of their perfection. Now, however, they were softened by + the touch of years, and Signor Bruno was the living semblance of + guilelessness and benevolence. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Signor Bruno?” said Hilda, speaking rather loudly and very + distinctly. “You are back from London sooner than you expected, are you + not?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my dear young lady,” he replied, courteously removing his hat and + standing bareheaded. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! now indeed the sun shines upon me. Yes, I am back from London—a + most terrible place—terrible—terrible—terrible! As I + walked along just now I said to myself: 'The sun is warm, the skies are + blue; yonder is the laughing sea, and yet, Bruno, you sigh for Italy.' + This is Italy, Miss Hilda—Italy with a northern fairy walking in + it!” + </p> + <p> + Hilda smiled her quick, surprising smile, and hastened to speak before the + old gentleman recovered his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to introduce to you Sidney's friend, Mr. Vellacott, Signor + Bruno!” + </p> + <p> + Sidney's friend, Mr. Vellacott, was by this time behind her. He had + alighted, and was employed in arranging the back seat of the dog-cart. + When Signor Bruno looked towards him, he found Christian's eyes fixed upon + his face with a quiet persistence which might have been embarrassing to a + younger man. He raised his hat and murmured something unintelligible in + reply to the Italian's extensive salutation. + </p> + <p> + “Sidney Carew's friends are, I trust, mine also!” said Signor Bruno, as he + replaced his picturesque hat. + </p> + <p> + Christian smiled spasmodically and continued arranging the seat. He then + came round to the front of the cart and made a sign to Hilda that she + should move into the right-hand seat and drive. Signor Bruno saw the sign, + and said urbanely: + </p> + <p> + “You will, if you please, resume your seat. I will place myself behind!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! You must allow me to sit behind!” said Christian. + </p> + <p> + “But why, my dear sir? That would not be correct. You are Mr. Carew's + guest, and I—I am only a poor old Italian runaway, who is accustomed + to back seats; all my life I have occupied back seats, I think, Mr. + Vell'cott. There is no reason why I should aspire to better things now!” + </p> + <p> + The old fellow's voice was strangely balanced between pathos and a + peculiar self-abnegating humour. + </p> + <p> + “If we were both to take our hats off again, I think it would be easy to + see why you should sit in front!” said Christian with a laugh, which + although quite genial, somehow closed the discussion. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” replied the old gentleman with outspread hands. “There you have + worsted me. After that I am silent, and—I obey!” + </p> + <p> + He climbed into the cart with a little senile joke about the stiffness of + his aged limbs. He chattered on in his innocent, childish way until the + village was reached. Here he was deposited on the dusty road at the gate + of a small yellow cottage where he had two rooms. The seat was + re-arranged, and amidst a volley of thanks and salutations, Hilda and + Christian drove away. Presently Hilda looked up and said: + </p> + <p> + “Is he not a dear old thing? I believe, Christian, in all the various + local information I have given you, I have never told you about Signor + Bruno. I shall reserve him for the next awkward pause that occurs.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Christian quietly. “He seems very nice.” + </p> + <p> + Something in his tone seemed to catch her attention. She half turned as if + to hear more, but he said nothing. Then she raised her eyes to his face, + which was not expressive of anything in particular. + </p> + <p> + “Christian,” she said gravely, “you do not like him?” + </p> + <p> + Looked upon as a mere divination of thought, this was very quick; but he + seemed in no way perturbed. He turned and looked down with a smile at her + grave face. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied. “Not very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. There is something wrong about him, I think!” + </p> + <p> + She laughed and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she asked. “How can there be anything wrong with him—anything + that would affect us, at all events?” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders, still smiling. + </p> + <p> + “He says he is an Italian?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “I say he is a Frenchman,” said Christian, suddenly turning towards her. + “Italians do not talk English as he talks it.” + </p> + <p> + She looked puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know him?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; not yet. I know his face. I have seen it or a photograph of it + somewhere, and at some time. I cannot tell when or where yet, but it will + come to me.” + </p> + <p> + “When it does come,” said Hilda, with a smile, “you will find that it is + some one else. I can assure you Signor Bruno is an Italian, and beyond + that he is the nicest old gentleman imaginable.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied Christian. “In the meantime I vote that we do not trouble + ourselves about him.” + </p> + <p> + The subject was dropped, and not again referred to until after they had + reached home, when Hilda informed her mother that Signor Bruno had + returned. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed,” was the reply. “I am very glad. You must ask him to dinner + to-morrow evening. Is he not a nice old man, Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” replied Christian, almost before the words were out of her lips. + “Yes, very nice.” He looked across the table towards Hilda with an + absolutely expressionless composure. + </p> + <p> + During the following day, which he passed with Sidney and Stanley at sea + in a little cutter belonging to the Carews, Christian learnt, without + asking many questions, all that Signor Bruno had vouchsafed in the way of + information respecting himself. It was a short story and an old one, such + as many a white-haired Italian could tell to-day. A life, income, and + energy devoted to a cause which never had much promise of reward. Failure, + exile, and a life closing in a land where the blue skies of Italy are + known only by name, where Maraschino is at a premium, and long black + cigars almost unobtainable. + </p> + <p> + Hilda was engaged on this day to lunch and spend the afternoon with Mrs. + Farrar, at Farrar Court. Molly and Christian were to drive over for her in + the evening. This programme was carried out, but the young people lingered + rather longer at Farrar Court listening to the quaint, old-world + recollections of its white-haired hostess than was allowed for. + Consequently they were late, and heard the first dinner-bell ringing as + they drove up the lane that led in a casual way to their home. (This lane + was characteristic of the house. It turned off unobtrusively from the high + road at right angles with the evident intention of leading nowhere.) A + race upstairs ensued and a hurried toilet. Molly and Christian met on the + stairs a few minutes later. Christian had won the race, for he was ready, + while Molly struggled with a silver necklace that fitted closely round her + throat. Of course he had to help her. While waiting patiently for him to + master the intricacies of the old silver clasp, Molly said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Christian, there is one place you have not seen yet. Quite close at + hand too.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye—es,” he replied absently, as he at length fixed the clasp. + “There, it is done!” + </p> + <p> + As he held open the drawing-room door, he said: “What is the place I have + to see?” + </p> + <p> + Signor Bruno, who was seated at the far end of the room with Mrs. Carew, + rose as he heard the door opened, and advanced to meet Molly. + </p> + <p> + “Porton Abbey,” she said over her shoulder as she advanced into the room. + “You must see Porton Abbey.” + </p> + <p> + The Italian shook hands with the new-comers and made a clever, laughing + reference to Christian's politeness of the previous day. At this moment + Hilda entered, and as soon as she had returned Signor Bruno's courteous + salutation Molly turned towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Hilda,” she said, “we have never shown Christian Porton Abbey.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” was the reply. “I have been reserving it for some afternoon when we + do not feel very energetic. Unfortunately, we cannot get inside the Abbey + now, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Christian, without looking towards Hilda. He had discovered + that Signor Bruno was attempting to keep up a conversation with his + hostess, while he took in that which was passing at the other end of the + room. The old man was seated, and his face was within the radius of light + cast by a shaded lamp. Christian, who stood, was in the shade. + </p> + <p> + “Because it is a French monastery,” replied Molly. “Here,” she added, “is + a flower for your coat, as you say the button-hole is warped by constant + pinning in of stalks.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” he replied, stooping a little in order that she could reach the + button-hole of his coat. She was in front of him, directly between him and + Signor Bruno; but he could see over her head. “What sort of monastery is + it?” he continued conversationally. “I did not know that there were any + establishments of that sort in England.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda looked up rather sharply from an illustrated newspaper she happened + to be studying. She knew that he was not adhering strictly to the truth. + From her point of vantage behind the newspaper she continued to watch + Christian, and she realised during the minutes that followed, that this + was indeed the brilliant young journalist of whose fame Farrar had spoken + as already known in London. + </p> + <p> + Signor Bruno's conversation with Mrs. Carew became at this moment somewhat + muddled. + </p> + <p> + “There, you see,” said Molly vivaciously, “we endeavour to interest him by + retailing the simple annals of our neighbourhood, and his highness simply + disbelieves us!” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” Christian hastened to add, with a laugh. “It simply happened + that I was surprised. It shall not occur again. But tell me, what sort of + monastery is it? Dominican? Franciscan? Carmelite?—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, goodness! I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Christian, advancing towards the Italian—“perhaps + Signor Bruno can tell us.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that, Mr. Vell'cott?” asked the old gentleman, making a movement + as if about to raise his curved hand to his ear, but restraining himself + upon second thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Hilda noticed that, instead of raising his voice, Christian spoke in the + same tone, or even lower, as he said: + </p> + <p> + “We want some details of the establishment at Porton Abbey, Signor Bruno.” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman made a little grimace expressive of disgust, at the same + time spreading out his hands as if to ward off something hurtful. + </p> + <p> + “Ach!” he said, “do not ask me. I know nothing of such people, and wish to + learn no more. It is to them that my poor country owes her downfall. No, + no; leave them alone. I always take care of myself against—against—what + you say—<i>ces gens-là</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Christian awaited the answer in polite silence, and, when Signor Bruno had + again turned to Mrs. Carew, he looked across the room towards Hilda with + the same expression of vacant composure that she had noticed on a previous + occasion. The accent with which Signor Bruno had spoken the few words of + French was of the purest Parisian, entirely free from the harshness which + an Italian rarely conquers. + </p> + <p> + After dinner Hilda went out of the open window into the garden alone. + Christian, who had seated himself at a small table in the drawing-room, + did not move. Sidney and his mother were talking with the Italian. + </p> + <p> + The young journalist was stooping over a book, a vase of flowers stood in + front of him, but by the movement of his arm it appeared as if he were + drawing instead of reading. Presently a faint, low whistle came from the + garden. Though soft, the sound was very clear, and each note distinctly + given. It was like the beginning of a refrain which broke off suddenly and + was repeated. Signor Bruno gave a little start and a quick upward glance. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” he asked, with a little laugh, as if at the delicacy of + his own nerves. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” replied Mrs. Carew, “the whistle, you mean. That is our family + signal. The children were in the habit of calling each other by that means + in bygone years. I expect they are in the garden now, and wish us to join + them.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carew knew that Molly was not in the garden, but in making this + intentional mistake she showed the wisdom of her kind. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” said Signor Bruno, “that the air—the refrain, one + might call it—is familiar.” + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott smiled suddenly behind his screen of flowers, but did + not move or look up. + </p> + <p> + “I expect,” explained Sidney, “that you have heard the air played upon the + bugle. It is the French 'retraite,' played by the patrol in garrison towns + at night.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Christian had cut the fly-leaf from the book before him, + and, after carefully folding it, he placed the paper in his breast-pocket. + Then he rose and passed out of the open window into the garden. + </p> + <p> + Immediately Signor Bruno asked his hostess a few polite questions + regarding her guest—what was his occupation, how long he was going + to stay, and whether she did not agree with him in considering that their + young friend had a remarkably interesting face. In the course of his + remarks the old gentleman rose and crossed to the table where Christian + had been sitting. There was a flower there which he had not seen in + England before. Absently he took up the book which Christian had just been + studying, and very naturally turned to the title-page. The fly-leaf was + gone! When he laid the volume down again he replaced it in the identical + position in which he had found it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. A CLUE + </h2> + <p> + When Christian left the drawing-room he walked quickly down the moss-grown + path to the moat. Hilda was standing at the edge of the dark water, and as + he joined her she turned and walked slowly by his side. + </p> + <p> + “You are a most unsatisfactory person,” she said gravely after a few + moments. + </p> + <p> + He looked down at her without replying. His eyes softened for a moment + into a smile, but his lips remained grave. + </p> + <p> + “You deliberately set yourself,” she continued, “to shatter one illusion + after another. You have made me feel quite old and worldly to-night, and + the worst of it is that you are invariably right. It is most annoying.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was only half-playful. There was a shade of sadness in it. + Christian must have divined her thoughts, for he said: + </p> + <p> + “Do not let us quarrel over Signor Bruno. I dare say I am wrong + altogether.” + </p> + <p> + She looked slowly round. Her eyes rested on the dark surface of the water, + where the shadows lay deep and still; then she raised them to the trees, + clearly outlined against the sky. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that such practical, matter-of-fact people as you are proof + against mere outward influences.” + </p> + <p> + “So I used to imagine, but I am beginning to find that outward things are + very important after all. In London it seemed only natural that every one + should live in a hurry, with no time for thought, pushing forward and + trying to outstrip their neighbours; but in the country it seems that + things are different. Intellectual people live quiet, thoughtful, and even + dreamy lives. They get through somehow without seeing the necessity for + doing something—trying to be something that their neighbours cannot + be—and no doubt they are happier for it. I am beginning to see how + they are content to go on with their uneventful lives from year to year + until the end even comes without a shock.” + </p> + <p> + “But you yourself would never reach that stage, Christian.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Hilda. I can understand it in others, but for me it is different. + I have tasted too deeply of the other life. I should get restless——” + </p> + <p> + “You are getting restless already,” she interrupted gravely, “and you have + not been here two days!” + </p> + <p> + They were interrupted by Sidney's clear whistle, and a moment later Molly + came tripping down the path. + </p> + <p> + “Come along in,” she said; “the old gentleman is going. I was just + stealing away to join you when Sidney whistled.” + </p> + <p> + When Signor Bruno reached his home that evening, he threw his hat upon the + table with some considerable force. His aged landlady, having left the + lamp burning, had retired to bed. He sank into an armchair, and + contemplated the square toes of his own boots for some moments. Then he + scratched his head thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Sacré nom d'un chien!” he muttered; “where have I seen that face before?” + </p> + <p> + Signor Bruno spoke French when soliloquising, which was perhaps somewhat + peculiar for an Italian. However proficient a man may be in the mastery of + foreign tongues, he usually dreams and talks to himself in the language he + learnt at his mother's knee. He may count fluently in a strange tongue, + but he invariably works out all mental arithmetic in his own. Likewise he + prays—if he pray at all—in one tongue only. On the other hand, + it appears very easy to swear in an acquired language. Probably our + forefathers borrowed each other's expletives when things went so + lamentably wrong over the Tower of Babel. Still muttering to himself, + Signor Bruno presently retired to rest with the remembrance of a young + face, peculiarly and unpleasantly strong, haunting his dreams. + </p> + <p> + Shortly after Signor Bruno's departure, Christian happened to be left + alone in the drawing room with Hilda. He promptly produced from his pocket + the leaf he had cut from a book earlier in the evening. Unfolding the + paper, he handed it to her, and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Do you recognise that?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at it, and answered without hesitation— + </p> + <p> + “Signor Bruno!” + </p> + <p> + The drawing was slight, but the likeness was perfect. The face was in + profile, and the reproduction of the intelligent features could scarcely + have been more lifelike in a careful portrait. Christian replaced the + paper in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “You remember Carl Trevetz, at Paris,” continued he, “his father belonged + to the Austrian Embassy!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember him!” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow I will send this to him, simply asking who it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and then?” + </p> + <p> + “When the answer comes, Hilda, I will write on the outside of the envelope + the name that you will find inside—written by Trevetz.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment she looked across the table at him with a vague expression of + wonder upon her face. + </p> + <p> + “Even if you are right,” she said, “will it affect us? Will it make us + cease to look upon him as a friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” she said slowly, “it has come. You remember now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I remember now—but it may be a mistake yet. I would rather + have my memory confirmed by Trevetz before telling you what I know—or + think I know—about Bruno!” + </p> + <p> + Hilda was about to question him further when Molly entered the room, and + the subject was perforce dropped. + </p> + <p> + The next morning there came a letter for Christian from Mr. Bodery. It was + short, and not very pleasant. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR VELLACOTT,—Sorry to trouble you with business so early in your + holiday, but there has been another great row in Paris, as you will see + from the papers I send you. It is hinted that the mob are mere tools in + the hands of influential wire-pullers, and the worst of it is that they + were armed with English rifles and bayonets of a pattern just superseded + by the War Office. How these got into their hands is not yet explained, + but you will readily see the gravity of the circumstance in the present + somewhat strained state of affairs. Several of the 'dailies' refer to us, + as you will see, and express a hope that our 'exceptional knowledge of + French affairs' will enable us to throw some light upon the subject. + Trevetz is giving us all the information he can gather; but, of course, he + is only able to devote a portion of his time to us. He hints that there is + plenty of money in the background somewhere, and that a strong party has + got up the whole affair—perhaps the Church. We must have something + to say (something of importance) next week, and with this in view I must + ask you to hold yourself in readiness to go to Paris on receipt of a + telegram or letter from me.—Yours, + </p> + <h3> + “C. C. BODERY.” + </h3> + <p> + Christian folded the letter, and replaced it in the envelope. Suddenly his + attention was attracted to the latter. Upon the back there was a rim round + the adhesive portion, and within this the glaze was gone from the paper. + The envelope had been tampered with by a skilful manipulator. If Mr. + Bodery had been in the habit of using inferior stationery, no trace would + have been left upon the envelope. + </p> + <p> + Christian slipped the letter into his pocket, and, glancing round, saw + that his movements had passed unobserved. + </p> + <p> + “Anything new?” asked Sidney, from the head of the table. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes,” was the reply. “There has been a disturbance in Paris. I may + have to go over there on receipt of a telegram from the office;” he + stopped, and looked slowly round the table. Hilda's attention was taken up + by her plate, upon which, however, there was nothing. He leant forward, + and handed her the toast-rack. She took a piece, but forgot to thank him. + “I am sorry,” he continued simply, “very sorry that the disturbances + should have taken place just at this time.” + </p> + <p> + His voice expressed natural and sincere regret, but no surprise. This + seemed to arouse Molly's curiosity, for she looked up sharply. + </p> + <p> + “You do not seem to be at all surprised,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied; “I am accustomed to this sort of thing, you see. I knew + all along that there was the chance of being summoned at any time. This + letter only adds to the chance—that is all!” + </p> + <p> + “It is a great shame,” said Molly, with a pout. “I am sure there are + plenty of people who could do it instead of you.” + </p> + <p> + Christian laughed readily. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure there are,” he replied, “and that is the very reason why I must + take the opportunities that fortune offers.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda looked across the table at him, and noted the smile upon his lips, + the light of energy in his eyes. The love of action had driven all other + thoughts from his mind. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said conversationally, “that it will in reality be a good + thing for you if the summons does come.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied, without meeting her glance; “it will be a good thing + for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that consolatory view of the matter the outcome of philosophy, or of + virtue?” inquired Molly mischievously. + </p> + <p> + “Of virtue,” replied Christian gravely, and then he changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast he devoted a short time to the study of some newspaper + cuttings inclosed in Mr. Bodery's letter. Then he suddenly expressed his + determination of walking down to the village post office. + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” he said, “to send a telegram, and to get some newspapers, which + have no doubt come by the second post. After that you will be troubled no + more about my affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Until a telegram comes,” said Hilda quietly, without looking up from a + letter she held in her hand. She received one daily from Farrar. + </p> + <p> + Christian glanced at her with his quick smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said, “I do not expect a telegram. It is not so serious as all + that. In fact, it is not worth thinking about.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a most enviable way of putting aside disagreeable subjects,” + persisted Hilda, “for discussion at a vague future period.” + </p> + <p> + Christian was steadily cheerful that morning, imperturbably practical. + </p> + <p> + “That,” he said, “is the outcome—not of virtue—but of + philosophy. Will you come to the post office with Stanley and me? I am + sure there is no possible household duty to prevent you.” + </p> + <p> + Together they walked through the peaceful fields. Stanley never lingered + long beside them; something was for ever attracting him aside or ahead, + and he ran restlessly away. Christian could not help noticing the + difference in Hilda's manner when they were alone together. The + semi-sarcastic <i>badinage</i> to which he had been treated lately was + completely dropped, and her earnest nature was allowed to show itself + undisguised. Still she was a mystery to him. He was by habit a close + observer, but her changing moods and humours were to him unaccountable. At + times she would make a remark the direct contradiction of which was + shining in her eyes, and at other times she remained silent when mere + politeness would seem to demand speech. Who knows? Perhaps at all times + and in all things they understood each other. When their lips were + exchanging mere nothings—the very lightest and emptiest of + conversational chaff—despite averted eyes, despite indifferent + manner, their souls may have been drawn together by that silent bond of + sympathy which holds through fair and foul, through laughter and tears, + through life and beyond death. + </p> + <p> + Christian was not in the habit of allowing himself to become absorbed by + any passing thoughts, however deep they might be. His mind had adapted + itself to the work required of it, as the human mind is ever ready to do. + No deep meditating was required of it, but a quick grasp and a somewhat + superficial treatment. Journalism is superficial, it cannot be otherwise; + it must be universal and immediate, and therefore its touch is necessarily + light. There is nothing permanent about it except the ceaseless throb of + the printing machine and the warm smell of ink. That which a man writes + one day may be rendered useless and worthless the next, through no + carelessness of his, but by the simple course of events. He must perforce + take up his pen again and write against himself. He may be inditing + history, and his words may be forgotten in twelve hours. There is no time + for deep thought, even if such were required. He who writes for cursory + reading is wise if he writes cursorily. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery's communication in no manner disturbed Christian. He was ready + enough to talk and laugh, or talk and be grave, as Hilda might dictate, + while they walked side by side that morning, but she was strangely silent. + It thus happened that little passed between them until they reached the + post office. There, he was formally introduced to the spry little + postmistress, who looked at him sharply over her spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “I wish, Mrs. Chalder,” he said cheerily, as he scribbled off his message + to Mr. Bodery, while Hilda made friendly overtures to the official cat, “I + wish that you would forget to send me the disagreeable letters, and only + forward the pleasant ones. There was one this morning, for instance, which + you might very easily have mislaid. Instead of which you carefully sent it + rather earlier than usual and spoilt my breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + His voice unconsciously followed the swing of his pencil. It seemed + certain that he was making conversation with the sole purpose of + entertaining the old woman. With a pleased laugh and a shake of her grey + curls she replied: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I wish I could, sir. I wish I could burn the bad letters and send on + only the good ones—but they're all alike on the outside. It's as + hard to say what's inside a letter as it is to tell what's inside a man by + lookin' on his face.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Christian, reading over what he had just written. “Yes, + Mrs. Chalder, you are right.” + </p> + <p> + “But the reason of your letter gettin' earlier this morning was that + Seen'yer Bruno said he was goin' past the Hall, sir, and would just leave + the letters at the Lodge. It is a bit out of the carrier's way, and that + man <i>do</i> have a long tramp every day, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that accounts for it,” murmured the journalist, without looking up. + He was occupied in crossing his t's and dotting his i's. He felt that + Hilda was looking at him, and some instinct told him that she saw the + motive of his conversation, but still he played his part and wore his mask + of carelessness, as men have done before women, knowing the futility of + it, since the world began. She never referred to the incident, and made no + remark whatever with a view to his doing so, but he knew that it would be + remembered, and in after days he learnt to build up a very castle of hope + upon that frail foundation. + </p> + <p> + Hilda had not been paying much attention to what he was saying until + Signor Bruno's name was mentioned. The old man had hitherto occupied a + very secondary place in her thoughts. He was no one in her circle of + possibly interesting people, beyond the fact of his having passed through + a troubled political phase—a fighter on the losing side. Now he had, + as it were, assumed a more important <i>rôle</i>. The mention of his name + possessed a new suggestion: and all this, forsooth, because Christian + Vellacott opined that the benevolent old face was known to him. + </p> + <p> + She began to entertain exaggerated ideas concerning the young journalist's + thoughts and motives. Twice had she obtained a glimpse into the inner + chamber of his mind, and on each occasion the result had been a vague + suggestion of some mental conflict, some dark game of cross-purposes + between him and Signor Bruno. Remembering this, she, in her intelligent + simplicity, began to ascribe to Christian's every word and action an + ulterior motive which in reality did not perhaps exist. She noted + Christian's calm and direct way of reaching the end he desired, and + unconsciously she yielded a little to the influence of his strength—an + influence dangerously fascinating for a strong woman. Her strength is so + different from that of a man that there is no real conflict—it seeks + to yield, and glories over its own downfall. + </p> + <p> + After paying for the telegram, Christian took possession of the bulky + packet of newspapers addressed to him, and they left the post office. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. ON THE SCENT + </h2> + <p> + It appeared to Stanley, on the way home that morning, that the + conversation flagged somewhat. He therefore set to himself the task of + reviving it. + </p> + <p> + “Christian,” he began conversationally, “is there any smuggling done now? + Real smuggling, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I think not,” replied Christian. He evidently did not look upon + smuggling as a fruitful topic at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask?” interposed Hilda goodnaturedly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I was just wondering,” replied the boy. “It struck me yesterday + that our boat had been moved.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” suggested Christian, “it should be very easy to see whether it has + been dragged over the sand or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Three strong men could carry it bodily into the water and make no marks + whatever on the sand,” argued little Stanley, determined not to be cheated + out of his smugglers. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps some one has been out for a row for his own pleasure and + enjoyment,” suggested Christian, without thinking much of what he was + saying. + </p> + <p> + “Then how did he get the padlock open?” + </p> + <p> + “Smugglers, I suppose,” said Hilda, smiling down at her small brother, + “would be provided with skeleton keys.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” replied Stanley in an awestruck tone. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you what we will do, Stanley,” said Christian. “To-morrow + morning we will go and have a bathe; at the same time I will look at the + boat and tell you whether it has been moved.” + </p> + <p> + “Unless,” added Hilda, “a telegram comes today.” + </p> + <p> + Christian laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Unless,” he said gravely, “the world comes to an end this evening.” + </p> + <p> + It happened during the precise moments occupied by this conversation, that + Mr. Bodery, seated at his table in the little editor's room, opened the + flimsy brown envelope of a telegram. He spread out the pink paper, and Mr. + Morgan, seated opposite, raised his head from the closely-written sheets + upon which his hand was resting. + </p> + <p> + “It is from Vellacott,” said the editor, and after a moment's thought he + read aloud as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “Letter and papers received; believe I have dropped into the clue of the + whole affair. Will write particulars.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morgan caressed his heavy moustache with the end of his penholder. + </p> + <p> + “That young man,” he said, “goes about the world with his eyes remarkably + wide open, ha-ha!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery rolled the telegram out flat with his pencil silently. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Stanley Carew was so anxious that the inspection of the boat should not be + delayed, that an expedition to the Cove was arranged for the same + afternoon. Accordingly the five young people walked across the bleak + tableland together. Huge white clouds were rolling up from the south-west, + obscuring every now and then the burning sun. A gentle breeze blew gaily + across the bleak upland—a very different breath from that which + twisted and gnarled the strong Scotch firs in winter-time. + </p> + <p> + “You would not care about climbing <i>down</i> there, I should think,” + observed Sidney, when they had reached the Cove. “It is a very different + matter getting up.” + </p> + <p> + He was standing, gazing lazily up at the brown cliffs with his straw hat + tilted backwards, his hands in his pockets, and his whole person + presenting as fair a picture as one could desire of lazy, quiescent + strength—a striking contrast to the nervous, wiry townsman at his + side. + </p> + <p> + “Hardly,” replied Christian, gazing upwards at the dizzy height. “It is + rather nasty stuff—slippery in parts and soft.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and strolled off by Hilda's side. With a climber's love of a + rocky height he looked upwards as they walked, and she noted the direction + of his gaze. + </p> + <p> + Presently they sat on the edge of the boat over which Stanley's sense of + proprietorship had been so grievously outraged. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know, Christian, or what do you suspect about Signor Bruno?” + asked Hilda suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Stanley was running across the sands towards them, and Christian, seeing + his approach, avoided the question by a generality. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little longer,” he said. “Let me have Trevetz's answer to confirm + my suspicions, and then I will tell you. Suspicions are dangerous things + to meddle with. In imparting them to other people it is so difficult to + remember that they <i>are</i> suspicions and nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Stanley arrived and threw himself down breathlessly on the + warm sand. + </p> + <p> + “Chris!” he exclaimed, “come down here and look at these seams in the boat—the + damp is there still.” + </p> + <p> + The boat was clinker-built, and where the planks overlapped a slight + appearance of dampness was certainly discernible. Christian lay lazily + leaning upon his elbow, sometimes glancing at the boat in obedience to + Stanley's accusatory finger, sometimes looking towards Hilda, whose eyes + were turned seawards. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he caught sight of some words pencilled on the stern-post of the + boat, and by the merest chance refrained from calling Stanley's attention + to them. Drawing nearer, he could read them easily enough. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Minuit vingt-six. +</pre> + <p> + “It certainly looks,” he said rising, “as if the boat had been in the + water, but it may be that the dampness is merely owing to heavy dew. The + boat wants painting, I think.” + </p> + <p> + He knew well enough that little Stanley's suspicions were correct. There + was no doubt that the boat had been afloat quite recently; but Christian + knew his duty towards the <i>Beacon</i> and sacrificed his strict sense of + truth to it. + </p> + <p> + On the way home he was somewhat pre-occupied—as much, that is to + say, as he was in the habit of allowing. The pencil scrawl supplied food + enough for conjectural thought. The writing was undoubtedly fresh, and + this was the 26th of the month. Some appointment was made for midnight by + the words pencilled on the boat, and the journalist determined that he + would be there to see. The question was, should he go alone? He watched + Sidney Carew walking somewhat heavily along in front of him, and decided + that he would not seek aid from that quarter. There was no time to + communicate with Mr. Bodery, so the only course open to him was to go by + himself. + </p> + <p> + In a vague manner he had connected the Jesuit party with the disturbances + in Paris and the importation of the English rifles wherewith the crowd had + been armed. The gay capital was at that time in the hands of the most + “Provisional” and uncertain Government imaginable, and the home politics + of France were completely disorganised. It was just the moment for the + Church party to attempt a retrieval of their lost power. The fire-arms had + been recognised by the English authorities as some of a pattern lately + discarded. They had been stored at Plymouth, awaiting shipment to the + colonies, where they were to be served out to the auxiliary forces, when + they had been cleverly removed. The robbery was not discovered until the + rifles were found in the hands of a Paris mob, still fresh and brutal from + the horrors of a long course of military law. Some of the more fiery of + the French journals boldly hinted that the English Government had secretly + sold the firearms with a view to their ultimate gain by the + disorganisation of France. + </p> + <p> + Christian knew as much about affairs in Paris as most men. He was fully + aware that in the politics of a disturbed country a deed is either a crime + or a heroism according to circumstances, and he was wise enough to await + the course of events before thrusting his opinion down the public throat. + But now he felt that the crisis had supervened, and unwillingly he + recognised that it was not for him to be idle amidst those rapid events. + </p> + <p> + These thoughts occupied his mind as he walked inland from the Cove, and + rendered his answers to Stanley's ceaseless flow of questions upon all + conceivable subjects somewhat vague and unreliable. Hilda was walking with + them, and divided with Christian the task of supplying her small brother + with varied information. + </p> + <p> + As they were approaching the Hall, Christian discerned two figures upon + the smooth lawn, evidently coming towards them. At the same moment Stanley + perceived them. + </p> + <p> + “I see Fred Farrar and Mr. Signor Bruno,” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Christian could not resist glancing over the little fellow's head towards + Hilda, though he knew that it was hardly a fair action. Hilda felt the + glance but betrayed no sign. She was looking straight in front of her with + no change of colour, no glad smile of welcome for her stalwart lover. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why she never told me,” thought Christian. + </p> + <p> + Presently he said, in an airy, conversational way: “I did not know Farrar + was coming back so—so soon.” + </p> + <p> + He knew that by this early return Farrar was missing an important day of + the race-meeting he had been attending, but did not think it necessary to + remark upon the fact. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Hilda. “He does not like to leave his mother for many days + together.” The acutest ears could have detected no lowering of the voice, + no tenderness of thought. She was simply stating a fact; but she might + have been speaking of Signor Bruno, so cool and unembarrassed was her + tone. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad he is back,” said Christian thoughtlessly. It was a mere + stop-gap. The silence was awkward, but he possessed tact enough to have + broken it by some better means. Instantly he recognised his mistake, and + for a moment he felt as if he were stumbling blindfold through an unknown + country. He experienced a sudden sense of vacuity as if his mind were a + blank and all words futile. It was now Stanley's turn to break the + silence, and unconsciously he did it very well. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he said speculatively, “whether he has brought any chocolate + creams?” + </p> + <p> + Hilda laughed, and the smile was still hovering in her eyes when she + greeted the two men. Stanley ran on into the house to open a parcel which + Farrar told him was awaiting inspection. It was only natural that Hilda + should walk on with the young squire, leaving Bruno and Christian + together. The old man lingered obviously, and his companion took the hint + readily enough, anticipating some enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “To you, Mr. Vellacott,” said the Italian, with senile geniality, “to you + whose life is spent in London this must be very charming, very peaceful, + and—very disorganising, I may perhaps add.” + </p> + <p> + Christian looked at his companion with grave attention. + </p> + <p> + “It is very enjoyable,” he replied simply. + </p> + <p> + Signor Bruno mentally trimmed his sails, and started off on another tack. + </p> + <p> + “Our young friends,” he said, indicating with a wave of his expressive + hand Hilda and Farrar, “are admirably suited to each other. Both young, + both handsome, and both essentially English.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Christian, with a polite display of interest: “and, + nevertheless, the Carews were all brought up and educated in France.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” observed the old man, stopping to raise the head of a “Souvenir de + Malmaison,” of which he inhaled the odour with evident pleasure. The + little ejaculation, and its accompanying action, were admirably calculated + to leave the hearer in doubt as to whether mere surprise was expressed or + polite acquiescence in the statement of a known fact. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” added Christian, deliberately. He also stooped and raised a white + rose to his face, thus meeting Signor Bruno upon his own ground. The + Italian looked up, and the two men smiled at each other across the rose + bush; then they turned and walked on. + </p> + <p> + “You also know France?” hazarded Signor Bruno. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; if I were not an Englishman I should choose to be a Frenchman.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Now with me,” said Signor Bruno frankly, “it is different. If I were not + an Italian (which God forbid!) I think—I think, yes, I am sure, I + would by choice have been born an Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” observed Christian gravely, and Signor Bruno turned sharply to + glance at his face. The young Englishman was gazing straight in front of + him earnestly, with no suspicion upon his lips of the incredulous smile + which seemed somehow to have lurked there when he last spoke. The Italian + turned away dissatisfied, and they walked on a few paces in silence, until + he spoke again, reflectively:— + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “there is a quality in the English character which to me + is very praiseworthy. It is a certain directness of purpose. You know what + you wish to do, and you proceed calmly to do it, without stopping to + consider what your neighbours may think of it. Now with the Gallic races—for + I take this virtue of straightforwardness as Teutonic—and in my own + country especially, men seek to gain their ends by less open means.” + </p> + <p> + They were now walking up a gentle incline to the house, which was built + upon the buried ruins of its ancient predecessor, and Signor Bruno was + compelled to pause in order to gain breath. + </p> + <p> + “But,” interposed Christian softly, “you are now talking not so much of + the people as of the Church.” + </p> + <p> + Again the Italian looked sharply up, and this time he met his companion's + eyes fixed quietly on his face. He shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly + and spread out his delicate hands. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are right,” he said, with engaging frankness. “I am afraid + you are. But you must excuse a little ill-feeling in a man such as I, with + a past such as mine has been, and loving his country as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” continued Christian, “that foreigners find our bluntness + very disagreeable and difficult to meet; but I know that they frequently + misjudge us on the same account. It is to our benefit, so we cannot + complain.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way do we misjudge you?” asked Signor Bruno genially. They were + almost on the threshold of the drawing-room window, which stood invitingly + open, and from which came the sounds of cups and saucers being mated. + </p> + <p> + “You give us credit for less intelligence than we in reality possess,” + said Christian with a smile, as he stood aside to let his companion pass + in first. + </p> + <p> + Whatever influences may have been at work among those congregated at the + Hall during the half-hour or so occupied by afternoon tea, no sign + appeared upon the surface. Molly as usual led the chorus of laughter. + Hilda smiled her sweet “kittenish” smile. Signor Bruno surpassed himself + in the relation of innocent little tales, told with a true southern + “verve” and spirit, while Fred Farrar's genial laugh filled in the + interstices reliably. Grave and unobtrusive, Christian moved about among + them. He saw when Molly wanted the hot water, and was invariably the first + to detect an empty cup. He laughed softly at Signor Bruno's stories, and + occasionally capped them with a better, related in a conciser and equally + humorous manner. It was to him that Farrar turned for an encouraging + acquiescence when one of his latest Newmarket anecdotes threatened to fall + flat, and with it all he found time for an occasional spar with Signor + Bruno, just by way of keeping that inquiring gentleman upon his guard. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. BURY BLUFF + </h2> + <p> + As Christian walked rapidly across the uneven turf towards the sea at + midnight, his thoughts were divided between a schoolboy delight in the + adventurous nature of his expedition and an uncomfortable sensation of + surreptitiousness. He was not accustomed to this sort of work, and felt + remarkably like a thief. If by some mischance his absence was discovered + at the Hall, it would be difficult to account for it unless he played the + part of a temporary lunatic. Fortunately his window communicated easily + enough with the garden by means of a few stone steps, but visitors are not + usually in the habit of leaving their bedrooms in order to take the air at + midnight. Thinking over these things in his rapid and rather superficial + way, he unconsciously quickened his pace. + </p> + <p> + The night was clear and starlit; the air soft and very pleasant, with a + faint breath of freshness from the south-west. The moon, being well upon + the wane, would not rise for an hour or more, but the heavens were glowing + with the gentler light of stars, and on earth the darkness was of that + transparent description which sailors prefer to the brightest moonlight. + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott had worked out most problems in life for himself. + Taken as a whole, his solutions had been fairly successful—as + successful as those of most men. If his views upon things in general were + rather photographic—that is to say, hard, with clearly defined + shadows—it was owing to his father's somewhat cynical training and + to the absence of a mother's influence. Elderly maiden ladies, with + sufficient time upon their hands to manage other people's affairs in + addition to their own, complained of his want of sympathy, which may be + read in the sense of stating that he neither sought theirs nor asked + advice upon questions connected with himself. This self-reliance was the + inevitable outcome of his life at home and at the office of the <i>Beacon</i>. + Admirable as it may be, independence can undoubtedly be carried to an + unpleasant excess—unpleasant that is for home life. Women love to + see their men-folk a trifle dependent upon them. + </p> + <p> + Christian was in the midst of a problem as he walked across the tableland + that stretched from St. Mary Western to the sea. That problem absorbed + more of his attention than the home politics of France; it required a more + careful study than any article he had ever penned for the <i>Beacon</i>. + It gave him greater anxiety than Aunt Judy and Aunt Hester combined. Yet + it was comprised in a single word. A single arm could encompass the whole + of it. The single word—Hilda. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the narrow road, he presently struck the little pathway leading to + the Cove. Suddenly he stopped, and stood motionless. There—not + twenty yards from him—was the still figure of a man. Behind + Christian the land rose gradually to some considerable height, so that he + stood in darkness, while against the glowing sky the figure of this + watcher was clearly defined in hard outline. Instinctively crouching down + and seeking the covert of a few low bushes, Christian decreased the + intervening distance by a few yards. The faint hope that it might prove to + be a coastguard was soon dispelled. The heavy clothing and loose + thigh-boots were those of a fisherman. The huge “cache-nez” which lay in + coils upon his shoulders and completely protected the neck and throat, was + such as is worn by the natives of the Côtes-du-Nord. + </p> + <p> + The sea boomed forth its melancholy song, far down in the black depths + beyond. The tide was high, and the breeze freshening every moment. + Christian could have crept up to the man's very feet without being + detected. Lying still upon the short, dry grass, he watched for some + moments. + </p> + <p> + From the man's clumsy attitude it was almost possible to divine his slow, + mindless nature—for there is expression in the very turn of a man's + leg as he stands—and it was easy to see that he was guarding the + little path down the cliff to the Cove. + </p> + <p> + He had been posted there, and evidently meant to stay till called away. + </p> + <p> + There was only one way, now, to the Cove, and that was down the face of + the cliff: the way that Christian had that very afternoon pronounced so + hazardous. By day it was dangerous enough; by night it was almost an + impossibility. + </p> + <p> + He crept noiselessly along to the eastward, so that the watcher stood upon + the windward side of him, and reaching the brink he peered over into the + darkness. Of course he could discern nothing. The sea rose and fell with a + monotonous roar; overhead the stars twinkled as merrily as they have + twinkled over the strifes of men from century to century. + </p> + <p> + Quietly he knelt upright and buttoned his coat with some care. Then + without a moment's hesitation he crept to the edge and cautiously + disappeared into the grim abyss of darkness. Slowly and laboriously he + worked his way down, feeling for each foothold in advance. Occasionally he + muttered impatiently to himself at the slowness of his progress. He knew + that the strata of soft sandstone trended downwards at an easy angle, and + with consummate skill took full advantage of his knowledge. Occasionally + he was forced to progress sideways with his face to the rock and hands + outstretched till his fingers were cramped, and the feeling known as “pins + and needles” assailed his arms. Then he would rest for some moments, + peering into the darkness below him all the while. Once or twice he + dropped a small stone cautiously, holding it at arm's length. When the + tiny messenger touched earth soon after leaving his hand, he continued his + downward progress. Once, no sound followed for some seconds, and then it + was only a distant concussion far down beside the sea. With an involuntary + shudder, the climber turned and made his way upwards and sideways again, + before venturing to descend once more. + </p> + <p> + For half an hour he continued his perilous struggle, till his strong arms + were stiff and his fingers almost powerless. With marvellous tenacity he + held to his purpose. Never since leaving the summit had he been able to + rest both hands at once. With a dogged, mechanical endurance which is + essentially characteristic of climbers and mountaineers, he lowered + himself, inch by inch, foot by foot. Louder and louder sang the sea, as if + in derision at his petty efforts, but through his head there rushed + another sound infinitely more terrible: a painful, continuous buzz, which + seemed to press upon his temples. A dull pain was slowly creeping up the + muscles of his neck towards his head. All these symptoms the climber knew. + The buzzing in his ears would never cease until he could lie down and + breathe freely with every muscle relaxed, every sinew slack. The dull ache + would creep up until it reached his brain, and then nothing could save him—no + strength of will could prevent his fingers from relaxing their hold. + </p> + <p> + “Sish—sish, sish—sish!” laughed the waves below. Placidly the + stars held on their stately course—each perhaps peopled by millions + of its own—young and old, tame and fiery—all pursuing shadows + as we do here. + </p> + <p> + “This is getting serious,” muttered Christian, with a pitiful laugh. The + perspiration was running down his face, burning his eyes, and dripping + from his chin. With straining eyes he peered into the night. Close beneath + him there was a ledge of some breadth. It was not flat, but inclined + upwards from the face of the cliff, thus forming a shelf of solid stone. + For some seconds he stared continuously at this, so as to reduce to a + minimum the chance of being mistaken. Then with great caution he slid down + the steep incline of smooth stone and landed safely. The glissade lasted + but a moment, nevertheless it recalled to his mind a picture which was + indelibly stamped in his memory. Years before he had seen a man slide like + this, unintentionally, after a false step. Again that picture came to him—unimpressionable + as his life had rendered him. Again he saw the glittering expanse of snow, + and on it the broad, strong figure of the Vaudois guide sliding down and + down, with madly increasing speed—feet foremost, skilful to the + last. Again he felt the thrill which men cannot but experience at the + sight of a man, or even of a dumb beast, fighting bravely for life. Again + he saw the dull gleam of the uplifted ice-axe as the man dealt scientific + blow after blow on the frozen snow, attempting to arrest his terrible + career. And again in his mind's eye the pure expanse of spotless white lay + before him, scarred by one straight streak, marking where the taciturn + mountaineer had vanished over the edge of the precipice to his certain + doom. + </p> + <p> + Christian lay like a half-drowned man upon the shelving ledge, slowly + realising his position. He calculated that he could not yet be half-way + down, and his strength was almost exhausted. Yet, as he lay there, no + thought of waiting for daylight, no question of retreat entered his + stubborn West-country brain. The exploit still possessed for him the + elements of a good joke, to be related thereafter in such a manner as + would enforce laughter. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly—within the softer sound of the sea below—a harsh, + grating noise struck his ears. It was to him like the sound made by a + nailed boot upon rock. It was as if another were following him down the + face of the cliff. In a second he was upon his feet, his weariness a thing + forgotten. Overhead, against the starlit sky, he could define the line of + rock with its sharp, broken angles and uncouth turns. Not thirty feet + above him something was moving. His first feeling was one of intense fear. + Every climber knows that it is easier to pass a difficult corner than to + stand idle, watching another do it. Slowly the dark form came downwards, + and suddenly, with a quick sense of unutterable relief, Christian saw the + black line of a tightened rope. When it was barely ten feet above him he + saw that the object was no man, but a square case. In a flash of thought + he divined what the box contained, and unhesitatingly ran along the ledge + towards it. As it descended he seized it with both hands and swung it in + towards himself. With pendulum-like motion it descended, and at last + touched the rock at his feet. As this took place he grasped the rope with + both hands and threw his entire weight upon it, hauling slowly in, hand + over hand. So quickly and deftly was this carried out that those lowering + overhead were deceived, and continued to pay out the rope slowly. Steadily + Christian hauled in, the slack falling in snake-like coils at his feet. + Only being able to guess at his position on the cliff, it was no easy + matter to calculate how much rope it was necessary to take in in order to + carry out the deception. + </p> + <p> + At length he ceased abruptly, and proceeded to untie the knots round the + bale. Then, after the manner of a sailor who is working out of sight with + a life-line, he jerked the rope, which immediately began to ascend rapidly + and with irregularity. Coil after coil ran easily away, and at last the + frayed end passed into the darkness above Christian's head. He stood there + watching it, and when it had disappeared he burst into a low hoarse laugh + which suddenly broke off into a sickening gurgle, and he fell sideways and + backwards on to the box, clutching at it with his nerveless fingers. + </p> + <p> + When he recovered his faculties his first sensation was one of great cold. + The breeze had freshened with the approach of dawn, and blowing full upon + him as he lay bathed in perspiration, the effect was like that of a + refrigerator. He moved uneasily, and found that he was lying on the stone + ledge <i>outside</i> the box, from which he had fallen. After a moment, he + rose rapidly to his feet as if desirous of dismissing the memory of his + own collapse, and turned his attention to the bundle. Beneath the rough + covering of canvas, which was not sewn but merely lashed round, it was + easy enough to detect the shape of the case. + </p> + <p> + “What luck—what wonderful luck,” he muttered, as he groped round the + surface of the bundle. + </p> + <p> + Indeed it seemed as if everything had arranged itself for his special + benefit and advantage. + </p> + <p> + The three men whose duty it had been to lower the case coiled up their + rope and started off on foot inland, after telling the sentinel stationed + at the head of the little path to rejoin his boat. This the man was only + too willing to do at once. He was a semi-superstitious Breton of no great + intelligence, who vastly preferred being afloat in his unsavoury yawl to + climbing about unknown rocks in the dark. On the beach, he found his two + comrades, to whom he gruffly imparted the information that they were to go + on board. + </p> + <p> + “Had the 'monsieur' said nothing else?” + </p> + <p> + “No, the 'monsieur' said nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + The Breton intellect is not, as a rule, acute. Like sheep the three men + proceeded to carry up from the water's edge Stanley's boat, which was + required to carry the heavy case, their own dinghy being too small. This + done, they rowed off silently to the yawl, which was rolling lazily in the + trough of the sea, a quarter of a mile from the shore. Once on board they + were regaled with some choice French profanity from the lips of a large + man in a sealskin cap and a dirty woollen muffler. This gentleman they + addressed as the “patron,” and, with clumsy awe, informed him that they + had waited at the same spot as before, but nothing had come, until at + length Hoel Grall arrived with instructions from the “monsieur” to go on + board. Whereupon further French profanity, followed by unintelligible + orders, freely interlarded with embellishments of a forcible tenor. + </p> + <p> + As the yawl swung slowly round and stood out to sea, Christian turned to + climb up Bury Bluff. He found that he had in reality made very little + progress in descending. Before leaving the case, he edged it by degrees + nearer to the base of the ledge, which would render it invisible from the + beach. The ascent was soon accomplished, and after a cautious search he + concluded that no one was about, so set off home at a rapid pace. + </p> + <p> + Before he reached the Hall the light of coming day was already creeping up + into the eastern sky. All nature was stirring, refreshed with the balmy + dew and coolness of the night. Far up in the higher branches of the + Weymouth pines, the wrens were awake, calling to each other with tentative + twitter, and pluming themselves the while for another day of sunshine and + song. + </p> + <p> + Like a thief Christian hurried on, and creeping into his bedroom window, + was soon sleeping the dreamless, forgetful sleep of youth. + </p> + <p> + By seven o'clock he was awake with all the quick realisation of a + Londoner. In the country men wake up slowly, and slowly gather together + their senses after an all-sufficing sleep of ten hours. In cities, five, + four, or even three are sufficient for the unfatigued body and the + restless mind. Men wake up quickly, and are at once in full possession of + their faculties. It is, after all, a mere matter of habit. + </p> + <p> + Christian had slept sufficiently. He rose quite fresh and strong, and + presently sat down, coatless to write. + </p> + <p> + Page after page he wrote, turning each leaf over upon its face as it was + completed—never referring back, never hesitating, and only + occasionally raising his pen from the paper. Line after line of neat, + small writing, quite different from what his friends knew in letters or on + envelopes, flowed from his pen. It was his “press” handwriting, plain, + rapid, and as legible as print. The punctuation was attended to with + singular care: the commas broad and heavy, the colons like the kisses in a + child's letter, round and black. Once or twice he smiled as he wrote, and + occasionally jerked his head to one side critically as he re-read a + sentence. + </p> + <p> + In less than two hours it was finished. He rose from his seat, and walked + slowly to the window. Standing there he gazed thoughtfully across the + bare, unlovely tableland towards the sea. He had written many hundreds of + pages, all more or less masterly; he had read criticisms upon his own work + saying that it was good; and yet he knew that the best—the best he + had ever written—lay upon the table behind him. Then he turned and + shook the loose leaves together symmetrically. Pensively he counted them. + He was young and strong; the world and life lay before him, with their + infinite possibilities—their countless opportunities to be seized or + left. He looked curiously at the written pages. The writing was his own; + the form of every letter was familiar; the heavy punctuation and clean, + closely written lines such as the compositor loved to deal with; and while + he turned the leaves over he wondered if ever he would do better, for he + knew that it was good. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. A WARNING WORD + </h2> + <p> + As the breakfast-bell echoed through the house Christian ran downstairs. + He met Hilda entering the open door with the letters in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Down already?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied incautiously, “I wished to get the letters early.” + </p> + <p> + “And, after all, there is nothing for you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied. “No, but—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped suddenly and handed him two letters, which he took slowly, and + apparently forgot to thank her, saying nothing at all. There was a + peculiar expression of dawning surprise upon his face, and he studied the + envelopes in his hand without reading a word of the address. Presently he + raised his eyes and glanced at Hilda. She was holding a letter daintily + between her two forefingers, cornerwise, and with little puffs of her + pouted lips was spinning it round, evidently enjoying the infantile + amusement immensely. + </p> + <p> + He dropped his letters into the pocket of his jacket, and stood aside for + her to pass into the house; but she, abruptly ceasing her windmill + operations, looked at him with raised eyebrows and stood still. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Trevetz's answer—I suppose it is one of those letters?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes!” he replied. “I had forgotten my promise.” + </p> + <p> + He took the letters from his pocket, and looked at the addresses again. + </p> + <p> + “One is from Trevetz,” he said slowly, “and the other from Mrs. Strawd.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing from Mr. Bodery?” asked she indifferently. + </p> + <p> + He had taken a pencil from his pocket, and, turning, he held Trevetz's + letter against the wall while he wrote across it. Without ceasing his + occupation, and in a casual way, he replied:— + </p> + <p> + “No, nothing from Mr. Bodery; so I am free as yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad,” she murmured conventionally. + </p> + <p> + “And I,” he said, turning with a polite smile to hand her the letter. + </p> + <p> + She took the envelope, and holding it up in both hands examined it + critically. + </p> + <p> + “M-a-x,” she read; “how badly it is written! Max—Max Talma—is + that it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered gravely, “that is it.” + </p> + <p> + With a little laugh and a shrug of her shoulders she proceeded to open the + envelope. It contained nothing but the sketch made upon the fly-leaf of a + novel. Christian was watching her face. She continued to smile as she + unfolded the paper. Then she suddenly became grave, and handed the open + sketch to him. At the foot was written:— + </p> + <p> + “Max Talma—look out! Avoid him as you would the devil! + </p> + <p> + “In haste, C.T.” + </p> + <p> + Christian read it, laughed carelessly, and thrust the paper into his + pocket. “Trevetz writes in a good forcible style,” he said, turning to + greet Molly, who came, singing, downstairs at this moment. For an instant + her merry eyes assumed a scrutinising, almost anxious look as she caught + sight of her sister and Christian standing together. + </p> + <p> + “Are you just down?” she asked carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Christian, still holding her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have just come down.” + </p> + <p> + As usual the day's pleasure was all prearranged. A groom rode to the + station at Christian's request with a large envelope on which was printed + Mr. Bodery's name and address. This was to be given to the guard, who + would in his turn hand it to a special messenger at Paddington, and the + editor of the <i>Beacon</i> would receive it by four o'clock in the + afternoon. + </p> + <p> + The day was fine, with a fresh breeze, and the programme of pleasure was + satisfactorily carried out. But with sunset the wind freshened into a + brisk gale, and heavy clouds rolled upwards from the western horizon. This + was the first suggestion of autumn, the first sigh of dying summer. The + lamps were lighted a few minutes earlier that night, and the family + assembled in the drawing-room soon after dark, although the windows were + left open for those who wished to pass in and out. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carew's grey head was, as usual, bent over some simple needlework, + while Molly sat near at hand. According to her wont she also was busy, + while around her the work lay strewed in picturesque disorder. Sidney was + reading in his own room—reading for a vague law examination which + always appeared to have been lately postponed till next October. + </p> + <p> + Christian was seated at the piano, playing by snatches and turning over + the brown leaves of some very old music, unearthed from a lumber-room by + Mrs. Carew for his benefit. He waited for no thanks or comment; sometimes + he read a few bars only, sometimes a page. He appeared to have forgotten + that he had an audience. Presently he rose, leaving the music in disorder. + Hilda had been called away some time before by an old village woman + requiring medicaments for unheard-of symptoms. Christian looked slowly + round the room, then raising his hand he dexterously caught a huge moth + which had flown past his face. + </p> + <p> + As he crossed the room towards the open window, with a view of liberating + the moth, a low whistle reached his ear. The refrain was that of the + familiar “retraite.” Hilda had evidently gone out to the moat by another + door. Bowing his head, he passed between the muslin curtains and + disappeared in the darkness. The sound of his footsteps died away almost + immediately amidst the rustle of branch and leaf already crisp with + approaching change. + </p> + <p> + It was Stanley's bed-time. Mechanically, Molly kissed her brother, + continuing to work thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes the door opened and Hilda entered the room. She came up + to the table, and standing there with her hands resting upon some pieces + of Molly's work, she gave a graphic description of the old woman's + complaints and maladies. She stood quite close to Molly, and told her + story to Mrs. Carew merrily, failing to notice that her sister had ceased + sewing, and was listening with a surprised look in her eyes. When the + symptoms had been detailed and laughed over, Hilda turned quietly and + passed out into the garden. With fearless familiarity she ran lightly down + the narrow pathway towards the moat, but no signal-whistle greeted her. + The leaves rustled and whispered overhead; the water lapped and gurgled at + her feet, but there was no sign or sound of life. + </p> + <p> + Silent and motionless she stood, a tall fair form clad in white, amidst + the universal, darkness. So silent and so still that it might have been + the shade of some fair maid of bygone years mourning the loss of her true + knight, who in all the circumstances of war had crossed that same moat + never to return. + </p> + <p> + Presently a sudden feeling of loneliness, a new sense of fear, came over + Hilda. All around was so forbidding. The water at her feet was so black + and mysterious. She gave a soft low whistle identical with that which had + called Christian out twenty minutes before, but it remained unanswered, + and through the rustling leaves she sped towards the house. From the open + window a glow of rosy light shone forth upon the flowers, imparting to all + alike a pallid pink, and dimly defining the grey tree-trunks across the + lawn. As Hilda stepped between the curtains, the servants entered the + drawing-room in solemn Indian file for evening prayers. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carew looked up from the Bible which lay open before her, and said to + Hilda:— + </p> + <p> + “Where is Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, mother; he is not in the garden,” answered the girl, + crossing the room to her own particular chair. + </p> + <p> + Sidney rose from his seat, and going to the window, sent his loud clear + whistle away into the night. His broad figure remained motionless for some + minutes, almost filling up the window; then he silently resumed his seat. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carew smoothed down the silken book-marker, and began reading in a + low voice. It is to be feared that the Psalmist's words of joy were not + heard with understanding ears that night. A short prayer followed; softly + and melodiously Mrs. Carew asked for blessings upon the bowed heads around + her, and the servants left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Have you not seen Christian since you went to see Mrs. Sender, Hilda?” + asked Molly, at once. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Hilda, arranging the music into something like order upon + the piano. + </p> + <p> + “He went out about half an hour ago, in answer to your whistle.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda turned her head as if about to reply hastily, but checked herself, + and resumed her task of setting the music in order. + </p> + <p> + “How could I whistle,” she asked gently, “when I was in the kitchen doling + out medicated cotton-wool to Mrs. Sender?” + </p> + <p> + Molly looked puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Did <i>you</i> whistle, Sidney?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I—no; I was half-asleep over a law-book in my own room.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect he has gone for a stroll, and forgotten the time,” suggested + Mrs. Carew reassuringly, as she sat down to work again. + </p> + <p> + “But what about the whistle; are you sure you heard it, Molly?” asked + Hilda, speaking rather more quickly than was habitual with her. She walked + towards the window and drew aside the curtain, keeping her back turned + towards the room. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Molly uneasily. “Yes—I heard it, and so did he, for + he went out at once.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney stood awkwardly with his shoulder against the mantelpiece, + listening in a half-hearted way to his sisters' conversation. With a heavy + jerk he threw himself upright and slowly crossed the room. He stood for + some moments immediately behind Hilda without touching her. Then he raised + his hand and with gentle, almost caressing pressure round her waist, he + made her step aside so that he could pass out. He was a singularly + undemonstrative man, rarely giving way to what he considered the weakness + of a caress. Fortunately, however, for their own happiness, his womenfolk + understood him, and especially between himself and Hilda there existed a + peculiar unspoken sympathy. + </p> + <p> + In the ordinary way he would have mumbled— + </p> + <p> + “Le'mme out!” + </p> + <p> + On this occasion he touched her waist gently, and the caress almost + startled her. It seemed like a confession that he shared the vague anxiety + which she concealed so well. + </p> + <p> + With the charity of maternal love, which is by no means so blind as is + generally supposed, Mrs. Carew often said of Sidney that he invariably + rose to the occasion; and Mrs. Carew's statements were as a rule correct. + His slowness was partly assumed; his indifference was a mere habit. The + assumption of the former saved him infinite worry and responsibility; the + habit of indifference did away with the necessity of coming to a decision + upon general questions. This state of mind may, to townsmen, be + incomprehensible. Certain it is that such as are in that condition are not + found among the foremost dwellers in cities. But in the country it is a + different matter. Such cases are only too common, and (without breath of + disparagement) they are usually to be found in households where one man + finds himself among several women—be the latter mother and sisters, + or wife and sisters-in-law. + </p> + <p> + The man may be a thorough sportsman, he may be an excellent landlord and a + popular squire, but within his own doors he is overwhelmed. Chivalry bids + him give way to the wishes and desires of some woman or other, and if he + be a sportsman he is necessarily chivalrous. When one is tired after a + long day in the saddle or with a gun, it is so much easier to acquiesce + and philosophically persuade oneself that the matter is not worth airing + an adverse opinion over. This is the beginning, and if any beginning can + look forward to great endings it is that of a habit. + </p> + <p> + It would appear that Sidney Carew's occasion had come at last, for once + outside the window he changed to a different being. The lazy slouch + vanished from his movements, his eyes lost their droop, and he held his + head erect. + </p> + <p> + He made his way rapidly to the stable, and there, without the knowledge of + the grooms, he obtained a large hurricane-lamp, lighted it, and returned + towards the house. From the window Hilda saw him pass down a little path + towards the moat, with the lamp swinging at his side, while the shadows + waved backwards and forwards across the lawn. + </p> + <p> + The mind is a strange storehouse. However long a memory may have been + warehoused there, deep down beneath piles of other remembrances and + conceits, it is generally to be found at the top when the demand comes, + ready for use—for good or evil. A dim recollection was resuscitated + in Sidney's mind. An unauthenticated nursery tale of a departing guest + leaving with a word of joy upon his lips and warm comfort in his heart, + turning from the glowing doorway and walking down the little pathway + straight into the moat. + </p> + <p> + Christian, however, was an excellent swimmer; he knew every inch of the + pathway, every stone round the moat. That he should have been drowned in + ten feet of clear water, with an easy landing within ten yards, seemed the + wildest impossibility. Of course such things have happened, but Christian + Vellacott was essentially wide awake, and unlikely to come to mishap + through his own carelessness. Of all these things Sidney thought as he + walked rapidly towards the moat, and in particular he pondered over + Molly's statement that she had heard Hilda whistle. This had met with flat + denial from Hilda, and Sidney, with brotherly candour, could only arrive + at the conclusion that Molly had been mistaken. He would not give way to + the least suggestion of anxiety even in his own mind. After all Christian + would probably come in with some simple explanation and a laugh for their + fears. It often happens thus, as we must all know. The moments so long and + dreary for the watcher, whose imagination gains more and more power as the + time passes, slip away unheeded by the awaited, who treats the matter with + a laugh or, at the most, a few conventional words of sympathy. + </p> + <p> + Sidney stood at the edge of the water and threw the beams of light across + the rippling surface. Mechanically he followed the ray as it swept from + end to end of the moat, and presently, without heeding, he turned his + attention to the stones at his feet. A gleam of reflected light caught his + passing gaze, and he stooped to examine the cause more closely. + </p> + <p> + The smooth stonework was wet; in fact the water was standing in little + pools upon it. Round these there were circles of dampness, showing that + evaporation was taking place. The water had not lain there long. A man + falling into the moat would have thrown up splashes such as these; in no + other way could they be plausibly accounted for. Sidney stood erect. Again + he held the lamp over the gleaming water, half fearing to see something. + His lips had quite suddenly become dry and parched, and there was an + uncomfortable throb in his throat. Suddenly he heard a rustle behind him, + and before he could draw back Hilda was at his side. She slipped her hand + through his arm, and by the slightest pressure drew him away from the + moat. + </p> + <p> + “You know—Sid—he could swim perfectly,” she said persuasively. + </p> + <p> + He made no answer, but walked slowly by her side, swinging the lamp + backwards and forwards as a schoolboy swings his satchel. Thus he gained + time to moisten his lips and render speech possible. + </p> + <p> + Together they went round the grounds, but no sign or vestige of Christian + did they discover. A pang of remorse came to Hilda as she touched her + brother's strong arm. Ever since Christian's arrival she remembered that + Sidney had been somewhat neglected, or only remembered when his services + were required. Christian had indeed been attentive to him, but Hilda felt + that their friendship was not what it used to be. The young journalist in + his upward progress had left the slow-thinking country squire behind him. + All they had in common belonged to the past; and, for Christian, the past + was of small importance compared to the present. She recollected that + during the last fortnight everything had been arranged with a view to + giving pleasure to herself, Molly, and Christian, without heed to Sidney's + inclinations. By word or sign he had never shown his knowledge of this; he + had never implied that his existence or opinion was of any great + consequence. She remembered even that such pleasures as Christian had + shared with Sidney—pleasures after his own heart, sailing, shooting, + and fishing—had been undertaken at Christian's instigation or + suggestion, and eagerly welcomed by Sidney. + </p> + <p> + And now, at the first suspicion of trouble, she turned instinctively to + her brother for the help and counsel which were so willingly and modestly + accorded. + </p> + <p> + “Sidney,” she said, “did he ever speak to you of his work?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied slowly; “no, I think not.” + </p> + <p> + “He has been rather worried over those disturbances in Paris, I think, and—and—I + suppose he has never said anything to you about Signor Bruno?” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Bruno!” said Sidney, repeating the name in some surprise. “No, he + has never mentioned his name to me.” + </p> + <p> + “He does not like him——” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I.” + </p> + <p> + “But you never told me—Sid!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied simply: “there was nothing to be gained by it!” + </p> + <p> + This was lamentably true, and Hilda felt that it was so, although her + brother had no thought of posing as a martyr. + </p> + <p> + “Christian,” she continued softly, “distrusted him for some reason. He + knows something of his former life, and told me a short time ago that + Bruno was not his name at all. This morning Christian received a letter + from Carl Trevetz, whom we knew in Paris, you will remember, saying that + Signor Bruno's real name was Max Talma, also warning Christian to avoid + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this all you know?” asked Sidney, in a peculiarly quiet tone. + </p> + <p> + “That is all I know,” she replied. “But it has struck me that—that + this may have something to do with Signor Bruno. I mean—is it not + probable that Christian may have discovered something which caused him to + go away suddenly without letting Bruno know of his departure?” + </p> + <p> + Sidney thought of the water at the edge of the moat. The incident might + prove easy enough of explanation, but at the moment it was singularly + unreconcilable with Hilda's comforting explanation. And again, the + recollection of the signal-whistle heard by Molly was unwelcome. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied vaguely. “Yes, it may.” + </p> + <p> + He was, by nature and habit, a slow thinker, and Hilda was running away + from him a little; but he was, perhaps, surer than she. + </p> + <p> + “I am convinced, Sidney,” she continued, “that Christian connects Signor + Bruno in some manner with the disturbances in France. It seems very + strange that an old man buried alive in a small village should have it in + his power to do so much harm.” + </p> + <p> + “A man's power of doing harm is practically unlimited,” he said slowly, + still wishing to gain time. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but he has always appeared so childlike and innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “That is exactly what I disliked about him,” said Sidney. + </p> + <p> + “Then do you think he has been deliberately deceiving us all along?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not necessarily,” was the tolerant reply. “You must remember that + Christian is essentially a politician. He does not suspect Bruno of + anything criminal; his suspicions are merely political; and it may be that + Bruno's doings, whatever they appear to be now, may in the future be + looked upon as the actions of a hero. Politics are impersonal, and Signor + Bruno is only known to us socially.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda could not see the matter in this light. No woman could have been + expected to do so. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said presently, “that Signor Bruno is a political + intriguer.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect so,” replied her brother. + </p> + <p> + They were walking slowly up the broad path towards the house, having given + up the idea of searching for Christian or calling him. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” continued Sidney, “you think it is likely that he has gone off to + see Bruno, or to watch him?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the only reasonable explanation I can think of,” he said gravely + and doubtfully, for he was still thinking of the moat. + </p> + <p> + They entered the house, and to Mrs. Carew and Molly their explanation was + imparted. It was received somewhat doubtfully, especially by Molly. + However, the farce had to be kept up—and do we not act in similar + comedies every day? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. A NIGHT WATCH + </h2> + <p> + Cheerfulness is, thank goodness, infectious. The watchers at the Hall that + night made a great show of light-heartedness. Sidney had risen to the + occasion. He laughed at the idea of anything serious having happened to + Christian, and his confidence gradually spread and gained new strength. + Molly, however, was apparently beyond its influence. With her perpetual + needle-work in her hands she sat beneath the lamp and worked rapidly. + Occasionally she glanced towards Hilda, but contributed nothing to the + explanations forthcoming from all quarters. + </p> + <p> + Hilda was also working; slowly, however, and with marvellous care. She was + engaged upon a more artistic production than ever came from Molly's + work-basket. Once she consulted Mrs. Carew about the colour of a skein of + wool, but otherwise showed no inclination to avoid topics in any manner + connected with Christian, despite the fact that these were obviously + distasteful to her family. In all that she said, indifference was blended + in a singular way with imperturbable cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + Thus they waited until after midnight, pretending bravely to work and read + as if there were no such feeling as suspense in the human heart. Then Mrs. + Carew persuaded the young people to go to bed. She had letters to write, + and would not be ready for hours. If Christian did not appear by the time + that she was sleepy, she would wake Sidney. After all, she acted her part + better than they. She was old at it—they were new. She was + experienced in stage-craft and made her points skilfully; above all, she + did not over-act. + </p> + <p> + The three young people kissed their mother and left the room, assuring + each other of their conviction that they would find Christian at the + breakfast table next morning. Molly's room was at the head of the stairs. + With a smile and a nod she closed her door while Hilda and Sidney walked + slowly down the long passage together. Arrived at the end, Sidney kissed + his sister. She turned the handle of her door and stood with her back to + him for a few moments without entering the room, as if to give him an + opportunity of speaking if he had aught to say. He stood awkwardly behind + her, gazing mechanically at her hair, which reflected the light from the + candle that he was holding all awry, while the wax dripped upon the + carpet. + </p> + <p> + “It will be all right, Hilda,” he said unevenly, “never fear!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear, I know it will,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + And then she passed into the room without closing the door, and he walked + on with loudly-creaking shoes. + </p> + <p> + Hilda crossed her room and set the candle upon the dressing-table. She + waited there till Sidney's footsteps had ceased, and then she turned and + walked uprightly to the door, which she closed. She looked round the room + with a strange, vacant look in her eyes, and then she made her way + unsteadily towards the bed, where she lay staring at the wavering candle + and its reflection in the mirror behind until daylight came to make its + flame grow pale and yellow. + </p> + <p> + There were four watchers in the house that night. Downstairs, Mrs. Carew + sat by the shaded lamp in her upright armchair. She was not writing, but + had re-opened the large black Bible. Molly was courting sleep in vain, + having resolutely blown out her candle. Sidney made no pretence. He was + fully dressed, and seated at his rarely-used writing-table. Before him lay + a telegraph-form bearing nothing but the address— + </p> + <p> + C.C. BODERY, <i>Beacon</i> Office, Fleet St., London. + </p> + <p> + He was gazing mechanically at the blank spaces waiting to be filled in, + and through his mind was passing and repassing the same question that + occupied the thoughts of his mother and sisters. What could be the + explanation of the whistle heard by Molly? The want of this alone sufficed + to overthrow the most ingenious of consolatory explanations. All four + looked at it from different points of view, and to each the signal-whistle + calling Christian into the garden was an insurmountable barrier to every + explanation. + </p> + <p> + Before it was wholly light Hilda moved wearily to the window. She threw it + open, and sat with arms resting on the sill and her chin upon her hands, + mechanically noting the wonders of the sunrise. A soft white mist was + rising from the thick pasture, wholly obscuring the sea and filling the + atmosphere with a damp chill. Seated there in her thin evening dress, she + showed no sign of feeling the cold. At times physical pain is almost a + pleasure. The glistening damp rested on every blade of grass, on every + leaf and twig, while the many webs stood whitely against the shadows, some + hanging like festoons from tree to tree, others floating out in mid-air + without apparent reason or support. In and among the branches lingered + little secret deposits of mist waiting the sun's warmth to melt them all + away. + </p> + <p> + The suppressed creak of Sidney's door attracted Hilda's attention, but she + did not move, merely turning to look at her own door as her brother passed + it with awkward caution. A dull instinct told her that he was going to the + moat again. Presently he passed beneath her window and across the dewy + lawn, leaving a trailing mark upon the grass. The whole picture seemed + suddenly to be familiar to her. She had lived through it all before—not + in another life, not in years gone by, not in a dream, but during the last + few hours. + </p> + <p> + The air was very still, and she could hear the clank of the chain as + Sidney unmoored the old punt, rarely used except by the gardener to clean + the moat when the weeds died down in autumn. The quiet was rendered more + remarkable by the suddenness of its advent. All night it had been blowing + a wild gale, which dropped at dawn, and from the soft land the mist rose + instantly. + </p> + <p> + Prompted by a vague desire to be doing something, Hilda presently turned + from the window, and, after a moment's indecision, chose from the shelf a + novel fresh from the brain of the king of writers. With it she returned to + her low chair and listlessly turned over the leaves for some moments. She + raised her head and sought in vain the tiny form of a lark trilling out + his morning hymn far up in the blue sky. Then she resolutely commenced to + read uninterruptedly. + </p> + <p> + She read on until Sidney's firm step upon the gravel beneath the window + roused her. A minute later he knocked softly at her door. The water was + glistening on his rough shooting-boots as he entered the room, and upon + the brown leather gaiters there was a deeper shade showing where the wet + grass had brushed against his legs. His honest, immobile face showed but + little surprise at the sight of Hilda still in evening dress, but she saw + that he noticed it. + </p> + <p> + She rose from her low chair and laid aside the book, but no sort of + greeting passed between them. + </p> + <p> + “I have been all round again,” he said quietly, “by daylight, and—and + of course there is no sign.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded her head, but did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “I have been thinking,” he continued somewhat shyly, “as to what is to be + done. First of all, no one must be told. Mother, Molly, you, and I know + it, and we must keep it to ourselves. We will tell Stanley that Christian + has gone off suddenly in connection with his work, and the same excuse + will do for the neighbours and servants. I will telegraph this morning to + Mr. Bodery, the editor of the <i>Beacon</i>, and await his instructions. I + think that is all that we can do in the meantime.” + </p> + <p> + She was standing close to him, with one hand on the table, resting upon + the closed volume of “Vanity Fair,” but instead of looking at her brother + she was gazing calmly out of the window. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she murmured, “I think that is all that we can do in the meantime.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney moved awkwardly as if about to leave the room, but hesitated still. + </p> + <p> + “Have you nothing to suggest?” he asked. “Do you think I am acting + rightly?” + </p> + <p> + She was still looking out of the window—still standing motionless + near the table with her hand upon Thackeray's “Vanity Fair.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied; “everything you suggest seems wise and prudent.” + </p> + <p> + “Then will you see mother and Molly in their rooms and forewarn them to + say nothing—nothing that may betray our anxiety?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will see them.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney walked heavily to the door. Grasping the handle, he turned round + once more. + </p> + <p> + “It is nearly half-past seven,” he said, with more confidence in his tone, + “and Mary will soon be coming to awake you. It would not do for her to see + you in that dress.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda turned and raised her eyes to his face. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, with a sudden smile; “I will change it at once.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. FOILED + </h2> + <p> + When Mr. Bodery opened the door of the room upon the second floor of the + tall house in the Strand that morning, he found Mr. Morgan seated at the + table surrounded by proof-sheets, with his coat off and shirt-sleeves + tucked up. The subeditor of the <i>Beacon</i> was in reality a good hard + worker in his comfortable way, and there was little harm in his desire + that the world should be aware of his industry. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Morgan,” said the editor, hanging up his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Morning,” replied the other genially, but without looking up. Before Mr. + Bodery had seated himself, however, the sub-editor laid his hand with + heavy approval upon the odoriferous proof-sheet before him, and looked up. + </p> + <p> + “This article of Vellacott's is first-rate,” he said. “By Jove! sir, he + drops on these holy fathers—lets them have it right and left. The + way he has worked out the thing is wonderful, and that method of putting + everything upon supposition is a grand idea. It suggests how the thing <i>could</i> + be done upon the face of it, while the initiated will see quickly enough + that it means to show how the trick was in reality performed—ha, + ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Mr. Bodery absently. He was glancing at the pile of letters + that lay upon his desk. There were among them one or two telegrams, and + these he put to one side while he took up each envelope in succession to + examine the address, throwing it down again unopened. At length he turned + again to the telegrams, and picked up the top one. He was about to tear + open the envelope when there was a sharp knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + “'M'in!” said Mr. Morgan sharply, and at the same moment the silent door + was thrown open. The diminutive form of the boy stood in the aperture. + </p> + <p> + “Gentleman to see you, sir,” he said, with great solemnity. + </p> + <p> + “What name?” asked Mr. Bodery. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't give his name, sir—said you didn't know it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Even this small office-boy was allowed his quantum of discretionary power. + It rested with him whether an unknown visitor was admitted or politely + dismissed to a much greater extent than any one suspected. Into his manner + of announcing a person he somehow managed to convey his opinion as to + whether it was worth the editor's time to admit him or not, and he + invariably received Mr. Bodery's “Tell him I'm engaged” with a little nod + of mutual understanding which was intensely comprehensive. + </p> + <p> + On this occasion, his manner said, “Have him in, have him in my boy, and + you will find it worth your while.” + </p> + <p> + “Show him in,” said Mr. Bodery. + </p> + <p> + The nameless gentleman must have been at the door upon the boy's heels, + for no sooner had the words left Mr. Bodery's lips than a tall, dark form + slid into the room. So noiseless and rapid were this gentleman's movements + that there is no other word with which to express his mode of progression. + </p> + <p> + He made a low bow, and shot up erect again with startling rapidity. He + then stood quietly waiting until the door had closed behind the small boy, + who, after having punctiliously expectorated upon a silver coin which had + found its way into the palm of his hand, proceeded to slide down the + balustrade upon his waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + It often occurred that strangers addressed themselves to Mr. Morgan when + ushered into the little back room, under the impression that he was the + editor of the <i>Beacon</i>. Not so, however, this tall, clean-shaven + person. He fixed his peculiar light-blue eyes upon Mr. Bodery, and, with a + slight inclination, said suavely— + </p> + <p> + “This, sir, is, I believe, your printing day?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, sir, and a busy day with us,” replied the editor, with no great + warmth of manner. + </p> + <p> + “Would it be possible now,” inquired the stranger conversationally, “at + this late hour, to remove a printed article and substitute another?” + </p> + <p> + At these words Mr. Morgan ceased making some pencil notes with which he + was occupied, and looked up. He met the stranger's benign glance and, + while still looking at him, deliberately turned over all the proof-sheets + before him, leaving no printed matter exposed to the gaze of the curious. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery had in the meantime consulted his watch. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied, with dangerous politeness. “There would still be time + to do so if necessary—at the sacrifice of some hundredweight of + paper.” + </p> + <p> + “How marvellously organised your interesting paper must be!” + </p> + <p> + Dead silence. Most men would have felt embarrassed, but no sign of such + feeling was forthcoming from any of the three. It is possible that the + dark gentleman with the sky-blue eyes wished to establish a sense of + embarrassment with a view to the furtherance of his own ends. If so, his + attempt proved lamentably abortive. Mr. Bodery sat with his plump hands + resting on the table, and looked contemplatively up into the stranger's + face. Mr. Morgan was scribbling pencil notes on a tablet. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is,” explained the stranger at length, “that a friend of mine, + who is unfortunately ill in bed this morning—” + </p> + <p> + (Mr. Bodery did not look in the least sympathetic, though he listened + attentively.) + </p> + <p> + “... has received a telegram from a gentleman who I am told is on the + staff of your journal—Mr. Vellacott. This gentleman wishes to + withdraw, for correction, an article he has sent to you. He states that he + will re-write the article, with certain alterations, in time for next + week's issue.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery's face was pleasantly illegible. + </p> + <p> + “May I see the telegram?” he asked politely. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” + </p> + <p> + The stranger produced and handed to the editor a pink paper covered with + faint black writing. + </p> + <p> + “You will see at the foot this—Mr. Vellacott's reason for not wiring + to you direct. He wished my friend to be here before the printers got to + work this morning; but owing to this unfortunate illness—” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you are too late, sir,” interrupted Mr. Bodery briskly. “The + press is at work—” + </p> + <p> + “My friend instructed me,” interposed the stranger in his turn, “to make + you rather a difficult proposition. If a thousand pounds will compensate + for the loss incurred by the delay of issue, and defray the expense of + paper spoilt—I—I have that amount with me.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery did not display the least sign of surprise, merely shaking his + head with a quiet smile. Mr. Morgan, however, laid aside his pencil, and + placed his elbow upon the proof-sheets before him. + </p> + <p> + The stranger then stepped forward with a sudden change of manner. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bodery,” he said, in a low, concentrated voice, “I will give you five + hundred pounds for a proof copy of Mr. Vellacott's article.” + </p> + <p> + A dead silence of some moments' duration followed this remark. Mr. Morgan + raised his head and looked across the table at his chief. The editor made + an almost imperceptible motion with his eyebrows in the direction of the + door. + </p> + <p> + Then Mr. Morgan rose somewhat heavily from his chair, with a hand upon + either arm, after the manner of a man who is beginning to put on weight + rapidly. He went to the door, opened it, and, turning towards the + stranger, said urbanely: + </p> + <p> + “Sir—the door!” + </p> + <p> + This kind invitation was not at once accepted. + </p> + <p> + “You refuse my offers?” said the stranger curtly, without deigning to + notice the sub-editor. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery had turned his attention to his letters, of which he was + cutting open the envelopes, one by one, with a paper-knife, without, + however, removing the contents. He looked up. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning,” he said, “you will be able to procure a copy from any + stationer for the trifling sum of sixpence.” + </p> + <p> + Then the stranger walked slowly past Mr. Morgan out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “A curse on these Englishmen!” he muttered, as he passed down the narrow + staircase. “If I could only see the article I could tell whether it is + worth resorting to stronger measures or not. However, that is Talma's + business to decide, not mine.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morgan closed the door of the small room and resumed his seat. He then + laughed aloud, but Mr. Bodery did not respond. + </p> + <p> + “That's one of them,” observed Mr. Morgan comprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the editor, “a dangerous customer. I do not like a + blue-chinned man.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not much impressed with his diplomatic skill.” + </p> + <p> + “No; but you must remember that he had difficult cards to play. No doubt + his information was of the scantiest, and—we are not chickens, + Morgan.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Morgan, with a little sigh. He turned to the revision of + the proof-sheets again, while the editor began opening and reading his + telegrams. + </p> + <p> + “This is a little strong,” exclaimed Mr. Morgan, after a few moments of + silence, broken only by the crackle of paper. “Just listen here:— + </p> + <p> + “'It simply comes to this—the General of the Society of Jesus is an + autocrat in the worst sense of the word. He holds within his fingers the + wires of a vast machine moving with little friction and no noise. No + farthest corner of the world is entirely beyond its influence; no + political crisis passes that is not hurried on or restrained by its power. + Unrecognised, unseen even, and often undreamt of, the vast Society does + its work. It is not for us who live in a broad-minded, tolerant age to + judge too harshly. It is not for us to say that the Jesuits are + unscrupulous and treacherous. Let us be just and give them their due. They + are undoubtedly earnest in their work, sincere in their belief, true to + their faith. But it is for us to uphold our own integrity. We are accused—as + a nation—of stirring up the seeds of rebellion, of crime and + bloodshed in the heart of another country. Our denial is considered + insufficient; our evidence is ignored. There remains yet to us one mode of + self-defence. After denying the crime (for crime it is in humane and + political sense) we can turn and boldly lay it upon those whom its results + would chiefly benefit: the Roman Catholic Church in general—the + Society of Jesus in particular. We have endeavoured to show how the + followers of Ignatius Loyola could have brought about the present crisis + in France; the extent to which they would benefit by a religious reaction + is patent to the most casual observer; let the Government of England do + the rest.'” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery was, however, not listening. He was staring vacantly at a + telegram which lay spread out upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed huskily. + </p> + <p> + The sub-editor looked up sharply, with his pen poised in the air. Then Mr. + Bodery read: + </p> + <p> + “Is Vellacott with you? Fear something wrong. Disappeared from here last + night.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Morgan moved in his seat, stretching one arm out, while he pensively + rubbed his clean-shaven chin and looked critically across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it from?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Sidney Carew, the man he is staying with.” + </p> + <p> + They remained thus for some moments; the editor looking at the telegram + with a peculiar blank expression in his eyes; Mr. Morgan staring at him + while he rubbed his chin thoughtfully with outspread finger and thumb. In + the lane beneath the window some industrious housekeeper was sweeping her + doorstep with aggravating monotony; otherwise there was no sound. + </p> + <p> + At length Mr. Morgan rose from his seat and walked slowly to the window. + He stood gazing out upon the smoke-begrimed roofs and crooked chimneys. + Between his lips he held his pen, and his hands were thrust deeply into + his trouser pockets. It was on that spot and in that attitude that he + usually thought out his carefully written weekly article upon “Home + Affairs.” He was still there when the editor touched a small gong which + stood on the table at his side. The silent door instantly opened, and the + supernaturally sharp boy stood on the threshold grimly awaiting his + orders. + </p> + <p> + “Bradshaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Yess'r,” replied the boy, closing the door. His inventive mind had + conceived a new and improved method of going downstairs. This was to lie + flat on his back upon the balustrade with a leg dangling on either side. + If the balance was correct, he slid down rapidly and shot out some feet + from the bottom, as he had, from an advantageous point of view on + Blackfriars Bridge, seen sacks of meal shoot from a Thames warehouse into + the barge beneath. If, however, he made a miscalculation, he inevitably + rolled off sideways and landed in a heap on the floor. Either result + appeared to afford him infinite enjoyment and exhilaration. On this + occasion he performed the feat with marked success. + </p> + <p> + “Guv'nor's goin' on the loose—wants the railway guide,” he confided + to a small friend in the printing interest whom he met as he was returning + with the required volume. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you'll be sitten' upstairs now, then,” remarked the + black-fingered one with fine sarcasm. Whereupon there followed a feint—a + desperate lunge to one side, a vigorous bob of the head, and a resounding + bang with the railway guide in the centre of the sarcastic youth's + waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + Having executed a strategic movement, and a masterly retreat up the + stairs, the small boy leant over the banisters and delivered himself of + the following explanation: + </p> + <p> + “I 'it yer one that time. Don't do it agin. <i>Good</i> morning, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery turned the flimsy leaves impatiently, stopped, looked rapidly + down a column, and, without raising his eyes from the railway guide, tore + a telegraph form from the handle of a drawer at his side. Then he wrote in + a large clear style: + </p> + <p> + “Will be with you at five o'clock. Invent some excuse for V.'s absence. On + no account give alarm to authorities.” + </p> + <p> + The sharp boy took the telegram from the editor's hand with an expression + of profound respect upon his wicked features. + </p> + <p> + “Go down to Banks,” said Mr. Bodery, “ask him to let me have two copies of + the foreign policy article in ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + When the silent door was closed, Mr. Morgan wheeled round upon his heels, + and gazed meditatively at his superior. + </p> + <p> + “Going down to see these people?” he asked, with a jerk of his head + towards the West. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am going by the eleven-fifteen.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been thinking,” continued the sub-editor, “we may as well keep the + printing-office door locked to-day. That slippery gentleman with the + watery eyes meant business, or I am very much mistaken. I'll just send + upstairs for Bander to go on duty at the shop door to-day as well as + to-morrow; I think we shall have a big sale this week.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery rose from his seat and began brushing his faultless hat. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied; “do that. It would be very easy to get at the + machinery. Printers are only human!” + </p> + <p> + “Machinery is ready enough to go wrong when nobody wishes it,” murmured + Mr. Morgan vaguely, as he sat down at the table and began setting the + scattered papers in order. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery and his colleagues were in the habit of keeping at the office a + small bag, containing the luggage necessary for a few nights in case of + their being suddenly called away. This expedient was due to Christian + Vellacott's forethought. + </p> + <p> + The editor now proceeded to stuff into his bag sundry morning newspapers + and a large cigar case. Telegraph forms, pen, ink, and foolscap paper were + already there. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Bodery,” said the sub-editor with grave familiarity, “it seems to + me that you are taking much too serious a view of this matter. Vellacott + is as wide awake as any man, and it always struck me that he was very well + able to take care of himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a wholesome dread of men who use religion as a means of + justification. A fanatic is always dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “A sincere fanatic,” suggested the sub-editor. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so; and a sincere fanatic in the hands of an agitator is the very + devil. That is whence these fellows got their power. Half of them are + fanatics and the other half hypocrites.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery had now completed his preparations, and he held out his plump + hand, which the subeditor grasped. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” said the latter, “that you will find Vellacott at the station to + meet you—ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “If,” said Mr. Morgan, following the editor to the door—“if he turns + up here, I will wire to Carew and to you, care of the station-master.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. BOOKS + </h2> + <p> + The London express rolled with stately deliberation into Brayport station. + Mr. Bodery folded up his newspapers, reached down his bag from the + netting, and prepared to alight. The editor of the <i>Beacon</i> had + enjoyed a very pleasant journey, despite broiling sun and searching dust. + He knew the possibilities of a first-class smoking-carriage—how to + regulate the leeward window and chock off the other with a wooden match + borrowed from the guard. + </p> + <p> + He stepped from the carriage with the laboured sprightliness of a man past + the forties, and a moment later Sidney Carew was at his side. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bodery?” + </p> + <p> + “The same. You are no doubt Mr. Carew?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Thanks for coming. Hope it didn't inconvenience you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” replied the editor, breaking his return ticket. + </p> + <p> + “D——n!” said Sidney suddenly. + </p> + <p> + He was beginning to rise to the occasion. He was one of those men who are + usually too slack to burthen their souls with a refreshing expletive. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” inquired Mr. Bodery gravely. + </p> + <p> + “There is a man,” explained Sidney hurriedly, “getting out of the train + who is coming to stay with us. I had forgotten his existence. <i>Don't</i> + look round!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery was a Londoner. He did not look round. Nine out of ten + country-bred people would have indulged in a stare. + </p> + <p> + “Is this all your luggage?” continued Sidney abruptly. He certainly was + rising. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then come along. We'll bolt for it. He'll have to get a fly, and that + means ten minutes' start if the porter is not officious and mulls things.” + </p> + <p> + They hurried out of the station and clambered into the dog-cart. Sidney + gathered up the reins. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it,” he exclaimed. “What bad luck! There is a fly waiting. It is + never there when you want it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery looked between the shafts. + </p> + <p> + “You need not be afraid of that fly,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No—come up, you brute!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery turned carelessly to put his bag in the back of the cart. + </p> + <p> + “Let him have it,” he exclaimed in a low voice. “Your friend sees you, but + he does not know that you have seen him. He is pointing you out to the + station-master.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the cart swung round the gate-post of the station yard, nearly + throwing him out, and Sidney's right hand felt for the whip-socket. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, “we are safe. I think I can manage that fly.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery settled himself and drew the dust-cloth over his chubby knees. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, “tell me all about Vellacott.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney did so. + </p> + <p> + He gave a full and minute description of events previous to Christian + Vellacott's disappearance, omitting nothing. The relation was somewhat + disjointed, somewhat vague in parts, and occasionally incoherent. The + narrator repeated himself—hesitated—blurted out some totally + irrelevant fact, and finished up with a vague supposition (possessing a + solid basis of truth) expressed in doubtful English. It suited Mr. Bodery + admirably. In telling all about Vellacott, Sidney unconsciously told all + about Mrs. Carew, Molly, Hilda, and himself. When he reached the point in + his narration telling how Vellacott had been attracted into the garden, he + became extremely vague and his style notably colloquial. Tell the story + how he would, he felt that he could not prevent Mr. Bodery from drawing + his own inferences. Young ladies are not in the habit of whistling for + youthful members of the opposite sex. Few of them master the labial art, + which perhaps accounts for much. Sidney Carew was conscious that his style + lacked grace and finish. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery did draw his own inferences, but the countenance into which + Sidney glanced at intervals was one of intense stolidity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I confess I cannot make it out—at present,” he said; + “Vellacott has written to us only on business matters. We publish + to-morrow a very good article of his purporting to be the dream of an + overworked <i>attaché</i>. It is very cutting and very incriminating. The + Government cannot well avoid taking some notice of it. My only hope is + that he is in Paris. There is something brewing over there. Our Paris + agent wired for Vellacott this morning. By the way, Mr. Carew, is there a + monastery somewhere in this part of the country?” + </p> + <p> + “Down that valley,” replied Sidney, pointing with his whip. + </p> + <p> + “In Vellacott's article there is mention of a monastery—not too + minutely described, however. There are also some remarkable suppositions + respecting an old foreigner living in seclusion. Could that be the man you + mentioned just now—Signor Bruno?” + </p> + <p> + “Hardly. Bruno is a harmless old soul,” replied Sidney, pulling up to turn + into the narrow gateway. + </p> + <p> + There was no time to make further inquiries. + </p> + <p> + Sidney led the way into the drawing-room. The ladies were there. + </p> + <p> + “My mother, Mr. Bodery—my sister; my sister Hilda,” he blurted out + awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carew shook hands, and the two young ladies bowed. They were all + disappointed in Mr. Bodery. He was too calm and comfortable—also + there was a suggestion of cigar smoke in his presence, which jarred. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” said the Londoner, with genial self-possession, “to owe the + pleasure of this visit to such an unfortunate incident.” + </p> + <p> + Molly felt that she hated him. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have heard nothing of Christian?” said Mrs. Carew. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied Mr. Bodery, removing his tight gloves. “But it is too + soon to think of getting anxious yet. Vellacott is eminently capable of + taking care of himself—he is, above all things, a journalist. Things + are disturbed in Paris, and it is possible that he has run across there.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carew smiled somewhat incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “It was a singular time to start,” observed Hilda quietly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery turned and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “Master mind in <i>this</i> house,” he reflected. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he admitted aloud. + </p> + <p> + He folded his gloves and placed them in the pocket of his coat. The others + watched him in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Do you take sugar and cream?” inquired Hilda sweetly, speaking for the + second time. + </p> + <p> + “Please—both. In moderation.” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” interrupted Sidney at this moment, “the Vicomte d'Audierne is + following us in a fly. He will be here in five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Carew nodded. She had not forgotten this guest. + </p> + <p> + “The Vicomte d'Audierne,” said Mr. Bodery, with considerable interest, + turning away from the tea-table, cup in hand. “Is that the man who got out + of my train?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Sidney; “do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of him.” Mr. Bodery turned and took a slice of bread and + butter from a plate which Hilda held. + </p> + <p> + At this moment there was a rumble of carriage wheels. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said the editor of the <i>Beacon</i>, raising his voice so + as to command universal attention, “do not tell the Vicomte d'Audierne + about Vellacott. Do not let him know that Vellacott has been here. Do not + tell him of my connection with the <i>Beacon</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The ladies barely had time to reconsider their first impression of Mr. + Bodery when the door was thrown open, and a servant announced M. + d'Audierne. + </p> + <p> + He who entered immediately afterwards—with an almost indecent haste—was + of middle height, with a certain intrepid carriage of the head which + appeals to such as take pleasure in the strength and endurance of men. His + face, which was clean shaven, was the face of a hawk, with the contracted + myope vision characteristic of that bird. It is probable that from the + threshold he took in every occupant of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Carew,” he said in a pleasant voice, speaking almost faultless + English, “after all these years. What a pleasure!” + </p> + <p> + He shook hands, turning at the same time to the others. + </p> + <p> + “And Sid,” he said, “and Molly—wicked little Molly. Never mind—your + antecedents are safe. I am silent as the grave.” + </p> + <p> + This was not strictly true. He was as deep, and deeper than the + resting-place mentioned, but his method was superior to silence. + </p> + <p> + “And Hilda,” he continued, “thoughtful little Hilda, who was always too + busy to be naughty. Not like Molly, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! How old it makes one feel!” he exclaimed, turning to Mrs. Carew. + </p> + <p> + The lady laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You are not changed, at all events,” she said. “Allow me to introduce Mr. + Bodery—the Vicomte d'Audierne.” + </p> + <p> + The two men bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Much pleasure,” said the Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery bowed again in an insular manner, which just escaped + awkwardness, and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + Then Molly offered the new-comer some tea, and the party broke up into + groups. But the Vicomte's personality in some subtle manner pervaded the + room. Mr. Bodery lapsed into monosyllables and felt ponderous. Monsieur + d'Audierne had it in his power to make most men feel ponderous when the + spirit moved him in that direction. + </p> + <p> + As soon as tea was finally disposed of Mrs. Carew proposed an adjournment + to the garden. She was desirous of getting Mr. Bodery to herself. + </p> + <p> + It fell to Hilda's lot to undertake the Frenchman. They had been great + friends once, and she was quite ready to renew the pleasant relationship. + She led her guest to the prettiest part of the garden—the old + overgrown footpath around the moat. + </p> + <p> + As soon as they had passed under the nut-trees into the open space at the + edge of the water, the Vicomte d'Audierne stopped short and looked round + him curiously. At the same time he gave a strange little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hein—hein—c'est drôle</i>,” he muttered, and the girl + remembered that in the old friendship between the brilliant, middle-aged + diplomatist and the little child they had always spoken French. She liked + to hear him speak his own language, for in his lips it received full + justice: it was the finest tongue spoken on this earth. But she did not + feel disposed just then to humour him. She looked at him wonderingly as + his deep eyes wandered over the scene. + </p> + <p> + While they stood there, something—probably a kestrel—disturbed + the rooks dwelling in the summits of the still elms across the moat, and + they rose simultaneously in the air with long-drawn cries. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Ah—h!” said the Vicomte, with a singular smile. + </p> + <p> + And then Hilda forgot her shyness. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she inquired in the language she had always spoken to this + man. + </p> + <p> + He turned and walked beside her, suiting his steps to hers, for some + moments before replying. + </p> + <p> + “I was not here at all,” he said at length, apologetically; “I was far + away from you. It was impolite. I am sorry.” + </p> + <p> + He intended that she should laugh, and she did so softly. “Where were + you?” she inquired, glancing at him beneath her golden lashes. + </p> + <p> + Again he paused. + </p> + <p> + “There is,” he said at length, “an old <i>château</i> in Morbihan—many + miles from a railway—in the heart of a peaceful country. It has a + moat like this—there are elms—there are rooks that swing up + into the air like that and call—and one does not know why they do + it, and what they are calling. Listen, little girl—they are calling + something. What is it? I think I was <i>there</i>. It was impolite—I + am sorry, Miss Carew.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed again sympathetically and without mirth; for she was meant to + laugh. + </p> + <p> + He looked back over his shoulder at times as if the calling of the rooks + jarred upon his nerves. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think I like them—” he said, “now.” + </p> + <p> + He was not apparently disposed to be loquacious as he had been at first. + Possibly the rooks had brought about this change. Hilda also had her + thoughts. At times she glanced at the water with a certain shrinking in + her heart. She had not yet forgotten the moments she had passed at the + edge of the moat the night before. They walked right round the moat and + down a little pathway through the elm wood without speaking. The rooks had + returned to their nests and only called to each other querulously at + intervals. + </p> + <p> + “Has it ever occurred to you, little girl,” said the Vicomte d'Audierne + suddenly, “to doubt the wisdom of the Creator's arrangements for our + comfort, or otherwise, here below?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not,” he went on, without waiting for an answer, which she + remembered as an old trick of his. “You are a woman—it is different + for you.” + </p> + <p> + The girl said nothing. She may have thought differently; one cannot always + read a maiden's thoughts. + </p> + <p> + They walked on together. Suddenly the Vicomte d'Audierne spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Hilda followed the direction of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That,” she answered, “is Signor Bruno. An old Italian exile. A friend of + ours.” + </p> + <p> + Bruno came forward, hat in hand, bowing and smiling in his charming way. + </p> + <p> + Hilda introduced the two men, speaking in French. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know,” said Signor Bruno, with outspread hands, “that you spoke + French like a Frenchwoman.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Had it,” she said, with a sudden inspiration, “been Italian, I should + have told you.” + </p> + <p> + There was a singular smile visible, for a moment only, in the eyes of the + Vicomte d'Audierne, and then he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he said, “learnt most of it from me. We are old friends.” + </p> + <p> + Signor Bruno bowed. He did not look too well pleased. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—but is that so?” he murmured conversationally. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I hope she learnt nothing else from me,” replied the Vicomte + carelessly. + </p> + <p> + Hilda turned upon him with a questioning smile. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not imagine, little girl,” replied d'Audierne, “that you could learn + very much that is good from me.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda gave a non-committing little laugh, and led the way through the + nut-trees towards the house. The Vicomte d'Audierne followed, and Signor + Bruno came last. When they emerged upon the lawn in view of Mrs. Carew and + Mr. Bodery, who were walking together, the Vicomte dropped his + handkerchief. Signor Bruno attempted to pick it up, and there was a slight + delay caused by the interchange of some Gallic politeness. + </p> + <p> + Before the two foreigners came up with Hilda, who had walked on, Signor + Bruno found time to say: + </p> + <p> + “I must see you to-night, without fail; I am in a very difficult position. + I have had to resort to strong measures.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” inquired the Vicomte d'Audierne, with that pleasant nonchalance + which is so aggravating to the People. + </p> + <p> + “In the village, any time after nine; a yellow cottage near the well.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” + </p> + <p> + And they joined Hilda Carew. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. FOES + </h2> + <p> + It is only when our feelings are imaginary that we analyse them. When the + real thing comes—the thing that only does come to a few of us—we + can only feel it, and there is no thought of analysis. Moreover, the + action is purely involuntary. We feel strange things—such things as + murder—and we cannot help feeling it. We may cringe and shrink; we + may toss in our beds when we wake up with such thoughts living, moving, + having their being in our brains—but we cannot toss them off. The + very attempt to do so is a realisation, and from consciousness we spring + to knowledge. We know that in our hearts we are thieves, murderers, + slanderers; we know that if we read of such thoughts in a novel we should + hold the thinker in all horror; but we are distinctly conscious all the + time that these thoughts are our own. This is just the difference existing + between artificial feelings and real: the one bears analysis, the other + cannot. + </p> + <p> + Hilda Carew could not have defined her feelings on the evening of the + arrival of Mr. Bodery and the Vicomte d'Audierne. She was conscious of the + little facts of everyday existence. She dressed for dinner with singular + care; during that repast she talked and laughed much as usual, but all the + while she felt like any one in all the world but Hilda Carew. At certain + moments she wondered with a throb of apprehension whether the difference + which was so glaringly patent to herself could possibly be hidden from + others. She caught strange inflections in her own voice which she knew had + never been there before—her own laughter was a new thing to her. And + yet she went on through dinner and until bedtime, acting this strange part + without break, without fault—a part which had never been rehearsed + and never learnt: a part which was utterly artificial and yet totally + without art, for it came naturally. + </p> + <p> + And through it all she feared the Vicomte d'Audierne. Mr. Bodery counted + for nothing. He made a very good dinner, was genial and even witty in a + manner befitting his years and station. Mrs. Carew was fully engaged with + her guests, and Molly was on lively terms with the Vicomte; while Sidney, + old Sidney—no one counted him. It was only the Vicomte who paused at + intervals during his frugal meal, and looked across the table towards the + young girl with those deep, impenetrable eyes—shadowless, gleamless, + like velvet. + </p> + <p> + When bedtime at length arrived, she was quite glad to get away from that + kind, unobtrusive scrutiny of which she alone was aware. She went to her + room, and sitting wearily on the bed she realised for the first time in + her life the incapacity to think. It is a realisation which usually comes + but once or twice in a lifetime, and we are therefore unable to get + accustomed to it. She was conscious of intense pressure within her brain, + of a hopeless weight upon her heart, but she could define neither. She + rose at length, and mechanically went to bed like one in a trance. In the + same way she fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Mr. Bodery, Sidney Carew, and the Vicomte d'Audierne were + smoking in the little room at the side of the porch. A single lamp with a + red shade hung from the ceiling in the centre of this room, hardly giving + enough light to read by. There were half-a-dozen deep armchairs, a divan, + and two or three small tables—beyond that nothing. Sidney's father + had furnished it thus, with a knowledge and appreciation of Oriental ways. + It was not a study, nor a library, nor a den; but merely a smoking-room. + Mr. Bodery had lighted an excellent cigar, and through the thin smoke he + glanced persistently at the Vicomte d'Audierne. The Vicomte did not return + this attention; he glanced at the clock instead. He was thinking of Signor + Bruno, but he was too polite and too diplomatic to give way to + restlessness. + </p> + <p> + At last Mr. Bodery opened fire from, as it were, a masked battery; for he + knew that the Frenchman was ignorant of his connection with one of the + leading political papers of the day. It was a duel between sheer skill and + confident foreknowledge. When Mr. Bodery spoke, Sidney Carew leant back in + his chair and puffed vigorously at his briar pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Things,” said the Englishman, “seem to be very unsettled in France just + now.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte was engaged in rolling a cigarette, and he finished the + delicate operation before looking up with a grave smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “In Paris. But Paris is not France. That fact is hardly + realised in England, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “What,” inquired Mr. Bodery, with that conversational heaviness of touch + which is essentially British, “is the meaning of this disturbance?” + </p> + <p> + Sidney Carew was enveloped in a perfect cloud of smoke. + </p> + <p> + For a moment—and a moment only—the Vicomte's profound gaze + rested on the Englishman's face. Mr. Bodery was evidently absorbed in the + enjoyment of his cigar. The smile that lay on his genial face like a mask + was the smile of a consciousness that he was making himself intensely + pleasant, and adapting his conversation to his company in a quite + phenomenal way. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” replied the Frenchman, with a neat little shrug of bewilderment. + “Who can tell? Probably there is no meaning in it. There is so often no + meaning in the action of a Parisian mob.” + </p> + <p> + “Many things without meaning are not without result.” + </p> + <p> + Again the Vicomte looked at Mr. Bodery, and again he was baffled. + </p> + <p> + “You only asked me the meaning,” he said lightly. “I am glad you did not + inquire after the result; because there I should indeed have been at + fault. I always argue to myself that it is useless to trouble one's brain + about results. I leave such matters to the good God. He will probably do + just as well without my assistance.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a philosopher,” said Mr. Bodery, with a pleasant and friendly + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven—yes! Look at my position. Fancy carrying in France + to-day a name that is to be found in the most abridged history. One needs + to be a philosopher, Mr. Bodery.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” suggested the Englishman, “there may be changes. It may all come + right.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte sipped his whisky and water with vicious emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “If it began at once,” he said, “it would never be right in my time. Not + as it used to be. And in the meantime we are in the present—in the + present France is governed by newspaper men.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney drew in his feet and coughed. Some of his smoke had gone astray. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery looked sympathetic. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said calmly, “that really seems to be the case.” + </p> + <p> + “And newspaper men,” pursued the Vicomte, “what are they? Men of no + education, no position, no sense of honour. The great aim of politicians + in France to-day is the aggrandisement of themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery yawned. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, with a glance towards Sidney. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the Frenchman saw the glance, perhaps he was deceived by the yawn. + At all events, he rose and expressed a desire to retire to his room. He + was tired, he said, having been travelling all the previous night. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery had not yet finished his cigar, so he rose and shook hands + without displaying any intention of following the Vicomte's example. + </p> + <p> + Sidney lighted a candle, one of many standing on a side table, and led the + way upstairs. They walked through the long, dimly lighted corridors in + silence, and it was only when they had arrived in the room set apart for + the Vicomte d'Audierne that this gentleman spoke. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” he said, “who is this person—this Mr. Bodery? He was + not a friend of your father's.” Sidney was lighting the tall candles that + stood upon the dressing-table, and the combined illumination showed with + remarkable distinctness the reflection of his face in the mirror. From + whence he stood the Frenchman could see this reflection. + </p> + <p> + “He is the friend of a great friend of mine; that is how we know him,” + replied Sidney, prizing up the wick of a candle. He was still rising to + the occasion—this dull young Briton. Then he turned. “Christian + Vellacott,” he said; “you knew his father?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes: I knew his father.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney was moving to the door without any hurry, and also without any + intention of being deterred. + </p> + <p> + “His father,” continued the Vicomte, winding his watch meditatively, “was + brilliant. Has the son inherited any brain?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + When the door was closed the Vicomte looked at his watch. It was almost + midnight. + </p> + <p> + “The Reverend Father Talma will have to wait till to-morrow morning,” he + said to himself. “I cannot go to him to-night. It would be too theatrical. + That old gentleman is getting too old for his work.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, Sidney returned to the little smoking-room at the side of + the porch. There he found Mr. Bodery smoking with his usual composure. The + younger man forbore asking any questions. He poured out for himself some + whisky, and opened a bottle of soda-water with deliberate care and + noiselessness. + </p> + <p> + “That man,” said Mr. Bodery at length, “knows nothing about Vellacott.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am convinced of it. By the way, who is the old gentleman who came to + tea this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Bruno, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so—that super-innocent old man with the white hair who + wears window-glass spectacles.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they window-glass?” asked Sidney, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “They struck me as window-glass—quite flat. Who is he—beyond + his name, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “He is an Italian refugee—lives in the village.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery had taken his silver pencil from his waistcoat pocket, and was + rolling it backwards and forwards on the table. This was indicative of the + fact that the editor of the <i>Beacon</i> was thinking deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! And how long has he been here?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a few weeks.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery looked up sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Is <i>that</i> all?” he inquired, with an eager little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear sir, Vellacott is right. That old man is at the bottom of + it. This Vicomte d'Audierne, what do you know of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Personally?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “He is an old friend of my father's. In fact, he is a friend of the + family. He calls the girls by their Christian names, as you have heard + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I noticed that. And he came here to-day merely on a friendly visit?” + </p> + <p> + “That is all. Why do you ask?” inquired Sidney, who was getting rather + puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing of him personally—except what I have learnt to-day. + For my own part, I like him,” answered Mr. Bodery. “He is keen and clever. + Moreover, he is a thorough gentleman. But, politically speaking, he is one + of the most dangerous men in France. He is a Jesuit, an active Royalist, + and a staunch worker for the Church party. I don't know much about French + politics—that is Vellacott's department. But I know that if he were + here, and knew of the Vicomte's presence in England, he would be very much + on the alert.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” asked Sidney, “do you connect the presence of the Vicomte here + with the absence of Vellacott?” + </p> + <p> + “There can be little question about it, directly or indirectly. + Indirectly, I should think, unless the Vicomte d'Audierne is a scoundrel.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney thought deeply. + </p> + <p> + “He may be,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + “I do not,” pursued Mr. Bodery, with a certain easy deliberation, “think + that the Vicomte is aware of Vellacott's existence. That is my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “He asked who you were—if you were a friend of my father's.” + </p> + <p> + “And you said—” + </p> + <p> + “No! I said that you were a friend of a friend, and mentioned Vellacott's + name. He knew his father very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you”—asked Mr. Bodery, throwing away the end of his cigar and + rising from his deep chair—“were you looking at the Vicomte when you + answered the question?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And there was no sign of discomfort—no flicker of the eyelids, for + instance?” + </p> + <p> + “No; nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bodery nodded his head in a businesslike way, indicative of the fact + that he was engaged in assimilating a good deal of useful information. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to be done to-night,” he said presently, as he made a + movement towards the door, “but to go to bed. To-morrow the <i>Beacon</i> + will be published, and the result will probably be rather startling. We + shall hear something before to-morrow afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney lighted Mr. Bodery's candle and shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said the editor, turning back and speaking more lightly, “if + any one should inquire—your mother or one of your sisters—you + can say that I am not in the least anxious about Vellacott. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. A RETREAT + </h2> + <p> + It was quite early the next morning when the Vicomte d'Audierne left his + room. As he walked along the still corridor and down the stairs it was + noticeable that he made absolutely no sound, without, however, indulging + in any of those contortions which are peculiar to late arrivals in church. + It would seem that Nature had for purposes of her own made his footfall + noiseless—if, by the way, Nature can be credited with any purpose + whatever in her allotment of human gifts and failings. + </p> + <p> + In the hall he found a stout cook armed for assault upon the front-door + step. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” he said. “Can you tell me the breakfast-hour? I forgot to + inquire last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Nine o'clock, sir,” replied the servant, rather taken aback at the + thought of having this visitor dependent upon her for entertainment during + the next hour and a half. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—and it is not yet eight. Never mind. I will go into the garden. + I am fond of fruit before breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + He took his hat and lounged away towards the kitchen-garden which lay near + the moat. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” he said to himself, looking round him in a searching way, + “where is this pestilential village?” + </p> + <p> + The way was not hard to find, and as the church clock struck eight the + Vicomte d'Audierne opened the little green gate of the cottage where + Signor Bruno was lodging. + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman must have been watching for him; for he opened the door + before the Vicomte reached it. + </p> + <p> + He turned and led the way into a little room on the right hand of the + narrow passage. A little room intensely typical: china dogs, knitted + antimacassars of a brilliant tendency, and horse-hair covered furniture. + There was even the usual stuffy odour as if the windows, half-hidden + behind muslin curtains and scarlet geraniums, were never opened from one + year's end to another. + </p> + <p> + Signor Bruno closed the door before speaking. Then he turned upon his + companion with something very like fury glittering in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not come last night?” he asked. “I am left alone to contend + against one difficulty on the top of another. Read that!” + </p> + <p> + He drew from his pocket a thin and somewhat crumpled sheet of paper, upon + which there were two columns of printed matter. + </p> + <p> + “That,” he said, “cost us two thousand francs.” The Vicomte d'Audierne + read the printed matter carefully from beginning to end. He had approached + the window because the light was bad, and when he finished he looked up + for a few minutes, out of the little casement, upon the quiet village + scene. + </p> + <p> + “The <i>Beacon</i>,” he said, turning round, “what is that?” + </p> + <p> + “A leading weekly newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + “Published—? + </p> + <p> + “To-day,” snapped Signor Bruno. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte d'Audierne made a little grimace. + </p> + <p> + “Who wrote this?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Christian Vellacott, son of <i>the</i> Vellacott, whom you knew in the + old days.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + There was something in the Vicomte's expressive voice that made Signor + Bruno look at him sharply with some apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say that?” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte countered with another question. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this Mr. Bodery?” + </p> + <p> + He gave a little jerk with his head in the direction of the house he had + just left. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “I was told last night that he was a friend of this Christian Vellacott—a + protector.” + </p> + <p> + The two Frenchmen looked at each other in silence. Signor Bruno was + evidently alarmed—his lips were white and unsteady. There was a + smile upon the bird-like face of the younger man, and behind his + spectacles his eyes glittered with an excitement in which there was + obviously no fear. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” he asked in a disagreeably soft manner, “where Christian + Vellacott is?” + </p> + <p> + Across the benevolent old face of Signor Bruno here came a very evil + smile. + </p> + <p> + “You will do better not to ask me that question,” he replied, “unless you + mean to run for it—as I do.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte d'Audierne looked at his companion in a curious way. + </p> + <p> + “You had,” he said, “at one time no rival as a man of action—” + </p> + <p> + Signor Bruno shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I am a man of action still.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte folded the proof-sheet carefully, handed it back to his + companion, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Then I understand that—there will be no more of these very clever + articles?” + </p> + <p> + Bruno nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “I ask no questions,” continued the other. “It is better so. I shall stay + where I am for a few days, unless it grows too hot—unless I think it + expedient to vanish.” + </p> + <p> + “You have courage?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I have impertinence—that is all. There will be a storm—a + newspaper storm. The embassies will be busy; in the English Parliament + some pompous fool will ask a question, and be snubbed for his pains. In + the <i>Chambre</i> the newspaper men will rant and challenge each other in + the corridors; and it will blow over. In the meantime we have got what we + want, and we can hide it till we have need of it. Your Reverence and I + have met difficulties together before this one.” + </p> + <p> + But Signor Bruno was not inclined to fall in with these optimistic views. + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure,” he said, “that we have got what we want. There has + been no acknowledgment of receipt of the last parcel—in the usual + way—the English <i>Standard</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the last parcel?” + </p> + <p> + “Fifty thousand cartridges.” + </p> + <p> + “But they were sent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they were despatched in the usual way; but, as I say, they have not + been acknowledged. There may have been some difficulty on the other side. + Our police are not so easy-going as these coastguard gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the aristocrat, with that semi-bantering lightness of manner + which sometimes aggravated, and always puzzled, his colleagues, “we will + not give ourselves trouble over that: the matter is out of our hands. Let + us rather think of ourselves. Have you money?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I have sufficient.” + </p> + <p> + “It is now eight o'clock—this newspaper—this precious <i>Beacon</i> + is now casting its light into some dark intellects in London. It will take + those intellects two hours to assimilate the information, and one more + hour to proceed to action. You have, therefore, three hours in which to + make yourself scarce.” + </p> + <p> + “I have arranged that,” replied the old man calmly. “There is a small + French potato-ship lying at Exmouth. In two hours I shall be one of her + crew.” + </p> + <p> + “That is well. And the others?” + </p> + <p> + “The others left yesterday afternoon. They cross by this morning's boat + from Southampton to Cherbourg. You see how much I have had to do.” + </p> + <p> + “I see also, my friend, how well you have done it.” + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Signor Bruno, ignoring the compliment, “I must go. We will + walk away by the back garden across the fields. You must remember that you + may have been seen coming here.” + </p> + <p> + “I have thought of that. One old man saw me, but he did not look at me + twice. He will not know me again. And your landlady—where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “I have sent her out on a fool's errand.” + </p> + <p> + As they spoke they left the little cottage by the back door, as Signor + Bruno had proposed, through the little garden, and across some low-lying + fields. Presently they parted, Signor Bruno turning to the left, while the + Vicomte d'Audierne kept to the right. + </p> + <p> + “We shall meet, I suppose,” were the last words of the younger man, “in + the Rue St. Gingolphe?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—in the Rue St. Gingolphe.” + </p> + <p> + For so old a man the pace at which Signor Bruno breasted the hill that lay + before him was somewhat remarkable. The Vicomte d'Audierne, on the other + hand, was evidently blessed with a greater leisure. He looked at his watch + and strolled on through the dew-laden meadows, wrapt in thought as in a + cloak that hid the sweet freshness of the flowery hedgerows, that muffled + the broken song of the busy birds, that killed the scent of ripening hay. + Thus these two singular men parted—and it happened that they were + never to meet again. These little things <i>do</i> happen. We meet with + gravity; we part with a smile; perhaps we make an appointment; possibly we + speak of the pleasure that the meeting seems to promise: and the next + meeting is put off; it belongs to the great postponement. + </p> + <p> + Often we part with an indifferent nod, as these two men parted amidst the + sylvan peace of English meadow on that summer morning. They belonged to + two different stations in life almost as far apart as two social stations + could be, even in a republic. They were not, in any sense of the word, + friends; they were merely partners, intensely awake, as partners usually + are, to each other's shortcomings. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte d'Audierne probably thought no more of Signor Bruno from the + moment that he raised his hat and turned. A few moments later his thoughts + were evidently far away. + </p> + <p> + “The son of Vellacott,” he muttered, as he took a cigarette from a neat + silver case. “How strange! And yet I am sorry. He might have done + something in the world. That article was clever—very clever—curse + it! He cannot yet be thirty. But one would expect something from the son + of a man like Vellacott.” + </p> + <p> + It was not yet nine o'clock when the Vicomte entered the dining-room by + the open window. Only Hilda was there, and she was busy with the old + leather post-bag. Among the letters there were several newspapers, and the + Vicomte d'Audierne's expression underwent a slight change on perceiving + them. His thin, mobile lips were closely pressed, and his chin—a + very short one—was thrust forward. Behind the gentle spectacles his + eyes assumed for a moment that singular blinking look which cannot be + described in English, for it seemed to change their colour. In his country + it would have been called <i>glauque</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Hilda!” he said, approaching slowly, “do I see newspapers? I love a + newspaper!” + </p> + <p> + She handed him the <i>Times</i> enveloped in a yellow wrapper, upon which + was printed her brother's name and address. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said lightly, “the <i>Times</i>—estimable, but just a + trifle opaque. Is that all?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes were fixed upon two packets she held in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “These are Mr. Bodery's,” she replied, looking at him with some + concentration. + </p> + <p> + “And what newspaper does Mr. Bodery read?” asked the Frenchman, holding + out his hand. + </p> + <p> + She hesitated for a moment. His position with regard to her was singular, + his ascendency over her had never been tried. It was an unknown quantity; + but the Vicomte d'Audierne knew his own power. + </p> + <p> + “Let me look, little girl,” he said quietly in French. + </p> + <p> + She handed him the newspapers, still watching his face. + </p> + <p> + “The <i>Beacon</i>,” he muttered, reading aloud from the ornamented + wrapper, “a weekly journal.” + </p> + <p> + He threw the papers down and returned to the <i>Times</i>, which he + unfolded. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Hilda,” he said, “is Mr. Bodery connected with this weekly + journal, the <i>Beacon?</i>” + </p> + <p> + Her back was turned towards him. She was hanging up the key of the + post-bag on a nail beside the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied, without looking round. + </p> + <p> + “Is he the editor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte d'Audierne turned the <i>Times</i> carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he muttered, “the phylloxera has appeared again.” + </p> + <p> + For some time he appeared to be absorbed in this piece of news, then he + spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “I knew something of a man who writes for that newspaper—the <i>Beacon</i>. + I knew his father very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte glanced at her. + </p> + <p> + “Christian Vellacott,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “We know him also,” she answered, moving towards the bell. He made a step + forward as if about to offer to ring the bell for her, but she was too + quick. + </p> + <p> + When the butler entered the room, Hilda reminded him of some small + omission in setting out the breakfast-table. The item required was in the + room, and the man set it upon the table with some decision and a slightly + aggrieved cast of countenance. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte d'Audierne raised his eyes, and then he looked very grave. He + was a singular man in many ways, but those who worked with him were aware + of one peculiarity which by its prominence cast others into the shade. He + possessed a very useful gift rarely given to men—the gift of + intuition. It was dangerous to <i>think</i> when the eyes of the Vicomte + d'Audierne were upon one's face. He had a knack of knowing one's thoughts + before they were even formulated. He looked grave—almost distressed—on + this occasion, because he knew something of which Hilda herself was + ignorant. He knew that she was engaged to be married to one man while she + loved another. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. AN EMPTY NEST + </h2> + <p> + In the middle of breakfast a card was handed to Sidney Carew. He glanced + at it, nodded his head as a signal to the servant that he need not wait, + and slipped the card into his pocket. Mr. Bodery and the Vicomte + d'Audierne were watching him. + </p> + <p> + Presently he rose from the table and left the room. Mrs. Carew became + suddenly lively, and the meal went on unconcernedly. It was not long + before Sidney came back. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want,” he said to his mother, “some tickets for a concert at + Brayport on the 4th of next month?” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a concert?” + </p> + <p> + Sidney consulted the tickets. + </p> + <p> + “In aid,” he read, “of an orphanage—the Police Orphanage.” + </p> + <p> + “We always take six tickets,” put in Miss Molly, and her mother began to + seek her pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bodery,” said Sidney, at this moment, “you have nothing to eat. Let + me cut you some ham.” + </p> + <p> + He moved towards the sideboard, but Mr. Bodery rose from his seat. + </p> + <p> + “I prefer to carve it myself,” he replied, proceeding to do so. + </p> + <p> + Sidney held the plate. They were quite close together, and Hilda was + talking persistently and gaily to the Vicomte d'Audierne. + </p> + <p> + “The London police are here already,” whispered Sidney; “shall I say + anything about Vellacott?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Mr. Bodery, after a moment's reflection. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to ride over to Porton Abbey with them now.” + </p> + <p> + “Right,” replied the editor, returning to the table with his plate. + </p> + <p> + Sidney left the room again, and the Vicomte d'Audierne detected the quick, + anxious glance directed by Hilda at his retreating form. A few minutes + later young Carew rode away from the house in company with two men, while + a fourth horseman followed closely. + </p> + <p> + He who rode on Sidney's left hand was a tall, grizzled man, with the + bearing of a soldier, while his second companion was fair and gentle in + manner. The soldier was Captain Pharland, District Inspector of Police; + the civilian was the keenest detective in London. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said this man, who sat his hired horse with perfect + confidence. “Of course we are too late, I know that.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke softly and somewhat slowly; his manner was essentially that of a + man accustomed to the entire attention of his hearers. + </p> + <p> + “The old Italian,” he continued, “who went under the name of Signor Bruno, + disappeared this morning. It is just possible that he will succeed in + getting out of the country. It all depends upon who he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Who do you suppose he is?” asked Captain Pharland. He was an upright old + British soldier, and felt ill at ease in the society of his celebrated <i>confrère</i>. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” was the frank reply; “you see this is not a criminal + affair, it is entirely political; it is hardly in my line of country.” + </p> + <p> + They rode on in silence for a space of time, during which Captain Pharland + lighted a cigar and offered one to his companions. Sidney accepted, but + the gentleman from London refused quietly, and without explanation. It was + he who spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carew,” he said, “can you tell me when this monastery was first + instituted at Porton Abbey?” + </p> + <p> + “Last autumn.” + </p> + <p> + The thin flaxen eyebrows went up very high, until they were lost to sight + beneath the hat brim. + </p> + <p> + “Did they—ah—deal with the local tradesmen?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Sidney, “I think not. They received all their stores by + train from London.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have never seen any of the monks?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never.” + </p> + <p> + The fair-haired gentleman gave a little upward jerk of the head and smiled + quietly for his own satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + He did not speak again until the cavalcade reached Porton Abbey. The old + place looked very peaceful in the morning light, standing grimly in the + midst of that soft lush grass which only grows over old habitations. + </p> + <p> + One side of the long, low building was in good repair, while the other + half had been allowed to crumble away. The narrow Norman windows had been + framed with unpainted wood and cheap glass. The broad doorway had been + partly filled in with unseasoned deal, and an inexpensive door had been + fitted up. + </p> + <p> + The bell-knob was of brass, new and glaring in the morning sun. The + gentleman from London, having alighted, took gently hold of this and rang. + A faint tinkle rewarded him. It was the peculiar sound of a bell ringing + in an empty house. After a moment's pause he wrenched the bell nearly out + of its socket, and a long peal was the result. At last this ceased, and + there was no sound in the house. The fair man looked back over his + shoulder at Captain Pharland. + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” he said tersely. + </p> + <p> + Then he took from his breast pocket a little bar in the shape of a lever. + He introduced the bent end of this between the door and the post, just + above the keyhole, and gave a sharp jerk. There was a short crack like + that made by the snapping of cast iron, and the door flew open. + </p> + <p> + Without a moment's hesitation the man went in, followed closely by Sidney + and Captain Pharland. + </p> + <p> + The birds had flown. As mysteriously as they had come, the devotees had + vanished. Bare walls met the eyes of the searchers. Porton Abbey stood + empty again after its brief return to life and warmth, and indeed it + scarcely looked habitable. The few personal effects of the simple monks + had been removed; the walls and stone floors were rigidly clean; the small + chapel showed signs of recent repair. There was an altar-cloth, a + crucifix, and two brass candlesticks. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman from London noted these items with a cynical smile. He had + instinctively removed his hat; it is just possible that there was another + side to this man's life—a side wherein he dealt with men who were + not openly villains. He may have been a churchwarden at home. + </p> + <p> + “Clever beggars!” he ejaculated, “they were ready for every emergency.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Pharland pointed to the altar with his heavy riding-whip. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” he said, “you think this all humbug?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. They were no more monks than we are.” + </p> + <p> + The search did not last much longer. Only a few rooms had been inhabited, + and there was absolutely nothing left—no shred of evidence, no clue + whatever. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the fair-haired man, when they had finished their inspection, + “these were exceptional men; they knew their business.” + </p> + <p> + As they left the house he paused, and closed the door again, remaining + inside. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he said, “there is not even a bolt on the door. They knew + better than to depend on bolts and bars. They knew a trick worth two of + that.” + </p> + <p> + At the gate they met a small, inoffensive man, with a brown beard and a + walking-stick. There was nothing else to say about him; without the beard + and the walking-stick there would have been nothing left to know him by. + </p> + <p> + “That is my assistant,” announced the London detective quietly. “He has + been down to the cliff.” + </p> + <p> + The two men stepped aside together, and consulted in an undertone for some + time. Then the last speaker returned to Captain Pharland and Sidney, who + were standing together. + </p> + <p> + “That newspaper,” he said, “the <i>Beacon</i>, is word for word right. My + assistant has been to the spot. The arms and ammunition have undoubtedly + been shipped from this place. The cases of cartridges mentioned by the man + who wrote the article as having been seen, in a dream, half-way down the + cliff, are actually there; my assistant has seen them.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Pharland scratched his honest cavalry head. He was beginning to + regret that he had accepted the post of district inspector of the police. + Sidney Carew puffed at his pipe in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the detective, “the newspaper man got all this + information through the treachery of one of the party. I should like to + get hold of that traitor. He would be a useful man to know.” + </p> + <p> + In this the astute gentleman from London betrayed his extremely limited + knowledge of the Society of Jesus. There are no traitors in that vast + corporation. + </p> + <p> + Sidney and Captain Pharland rode home together, leaving the two detectives + to find their way to Brayport Station. + </p> + <p> + They rode in silence, for the Captain was puzzled, and his companion was + intensely anxious. + </p> + <p> + Sidney Carew was beginning to realise that the events of the last three + days had a graver import than they at first promised to conceal. The now + celebrated article in the <i>Beacon</i> opened his eyes, and he knew that + the writer of it must have paid very dearly for his daring. It seemed + extremely probable that the head and hands which had conceived and carried + out this singular feat were both still for ever. Vellacott's own written + tribute to the vast powers of the Jesuits, and their immovable habit of + forcing a way through all obstacles to the end in view, was scarcely + reassuring to his friends. + </p> + <p> + Sidney knew and recognised the usual fertility of resource possessed by + his friend; but against him were pitted men of greater gifts, of less + scruple, and of infinitely superior training in the crooked ways of + humanity. That he should have been so long without vouchsafing word or + sign was almost proof positive that his absence was involuntary; and men + capable of placing fire-arms into the hands of a maddened mob were not + likely to hesitate in sacrificing a single life that chanced to stand in + their path. + </p> + <p> + As the young fellow rode along, immersed in meditation, he heard the sound + of carriage-wheels, and, looking up, recognised his own grey horse and + dog-cart. Mr. Bodery was driving, and driving hard. On seeing Sidney he + pulled up, somewhat recklessly, in a manner which suggested that he had + not always been a stout, middle-aged Londoner. + </p> + <p> + “Been telegraphed for,” he shouted, “by the people at the office. + Government is taking it up. Just time to catch the train.” + </p> + <p> + And the editor of the <i>Beacon</i> disappeared in a cloud of dust. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte d'Audierne was thus left in full possession of the field. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. FOUL PLAY + </h2> + <p> + When Christian Vellacott passed out of the drawing-room window in answer + to what he naturally supposed to be a signal-whistle from Hilda or Sidney, + he turned down the narrow, winding pathway that led to the moat. The + extreme darkness, contrasting suddenly with the warm light of the room he + had just left, caused him to walk slowly with outstretched hands. Floating + cobwebs broke across his face, and frequently he stopped to brush the + clinging fibre away. The intense darkness was somewhat relieved when he + reached the edge of the moat, and the clear sky was overhead instead of + interlocked branches. He could just discern that Hilda was not at her + usual seat upon the rustic bench farther towards the end of the moat, and + he stopped short, with a sudden misgiving, at the spot where the path met, + at right angles, the broader stone walk extending the full length of the + water. + </p> + <p> + He was on the point of whistling softly the familiar refrain, when there + was a rustle in the bushes behind him. A rush, a sudden shock, and a pair + of muscular hands were closed round his throat, dragging him backwards. + But Christian stood like a rock. Quick as thought he seized the two + wrists, which were small and flat, and wrenched them apart. Then, stepping + back with one foot in order to obtain surer leverage, he lifted his + assailant from the ground, swung him round, and literally let him fly into + the moat—with a devout hope that it might be Signor Bruno. The man + hurtled through the darkness, without a cry or sound, and fell face + foremost into the water, five yards from the edge, throwing into the air a + shower of spray. + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott was one of those men whose litheness is greater than + their actual muscular force; but a lithe man possesses greater powers of + endurance than a powerful fellow whose muscles are more highly developed. + The exertion of lifting his assailant and swinging him away into the + darkness was great, although the man's weight was nothing very formidable, + and Christian staggered back a few paces without, however, actually losing + his balance. At this moment two men sprang upon him from behind and + dragged him to the ground. He felt at once that this was a very different + matter. Either of these two could have overpowered him singly. Their thick + arms encompassed him like the coils of a snake, and there was about their + heavy woollen clothing a faint odour of salt water. He knew that they were + sailors. Recognising that it was of no avail, he still fought on, as + Englishmen do. One of the men had wound a large woollen scarf round his + mouth, the other was slowly but very surely succeeding in pinioning his + arms. Then a third assailant came, and Christian knew by the wet hand (for + he used one arm only) that it was the smallest of the three, who had + suffered for his temerity. + </p> + <p> + “Quick, quick!” this man whispered in French. With his uninjured hand he + twisted the scarf tighter and tighter until Christian gasped for breath. + </p> + <p> + Still the Englishman struggled and writhed upon the ground, while the hard + breathing of the two sailors testified that it was no mean resistance. + Suddenly the one-armed man loosened the scarf, but before Christian could + recover his breath a handkerchief was pressed over his lips, and a sweet, + pungent odour filled his nostrils. + </p> + <p> + “Three to one,” he gasped, and quite suddenly his head fell forward, while + his clutch relaxed. + </p> + <p> + “He is a brave man,” said the dripping leader of the attack, as he stood + upright and touched his damaged shoulder gently and tentatively. “Now + quick to the carriage with him. You have not managed this well, my + friends, not at all well.” + </p> + <p> + The speaker raised his cold hand to his forehead, which was wet, less + perhaps from past exertion than from the agony he was enduring. + </p> + <p> + “But, monsieur,” grumbled one of the sailors in humble self-defence, “he + is made of steel!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The pale light of a grey dawn was stealing slowly up into the riven sky, + lighting up the clouds which were flying eastward on the shoulder of a + boisterous wind. The heavy grey sea, heaving, surging, and hissing, threw + itself upwards into broken spray, which flew to leeward at a sharp angle, + blown from the summit of the wave like froth from an over-filled tankard. + After a night of squally restlessness, accompanied by a driving rain that + tasted brackish, things had settled down with the dawn into a steady, + roaring gale of wind. In the growing light sea-gulls rose triumphantly + with smooth breasts bravely facing the wind. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this a dripping vessel laboured sorely. The green water + rushed from side to side over her slippery, filthy deck as she rolled, and + carried with it a tangled mass of ropes, a wooden bucket, a capstan bar, + and—ominous sign—a soaking, limp fur cap. The huge boom, + reaching nearly the whole length of the little vessel, swung wildly from + side to side as the yawl dipped her bulwarks to the receding wave. It was + certain death for a man to attempt to stand upright upon the sopping deck, + for the huge spar swung shoulder high. The steersman, crouching low by his + strong tiller, was doing his best to avoid a clean sweep, but only a small + jib and the mizzen were standing with straining clews and gleaming seams. + Crouching beneath the weather bulwarks, with their feet wedged against the + low combing of the hatch, three men were vainly endeavouring to secure the + boom, and to disentangle the clogged ropes. Two were huge fellows with + tawny, washed-out beards innocent of brush or comb, their faces were half + hidden by rough sou'-westers, and they were enveloped from head to foot in + oilskins from which the water ran in little rills. The third was Christian + Vellacott, who looked very wet indeed. The water was dripping from his + cuffs and running down his face. His black dress-clothes were clinging to + him with a soppy hindrance, while the feet firmly planted against the + combing of the hatch were encased in immaculate patent-leather shoes, and + the salt water ran off silk socks. It would have been very funny if it + were not that Fortune invariably mingles her strokes of humour most + heedlessly with sadder things. Christian Vellacott was apparently + unconscious of the humour of the situation. He was working patiently and + steadily, as men must needs work when fighting Nature, and his + half-forgotten sea-craft was already coming back. Beneath his steady hands + something akin to order was slowly being achieved; he was coiling and + disentangling the treacherous rope, of which the breaking had cast the + boom adrift, laying low a good seaman. + </p> + <p> + Farther forward upon the hatch lay the limp body of a very big man. His + matted head was bare, and the dead, brown face, turned upward to its + Maker, jerked from side to side as the vessel heaved. The stalwart legs + were encased in greasy sea-boots, deeply wrinkled, and the coils of a huge + scarf of faded purple lay upon his broad breast, where they had been + dragged down by a hasty hand in order to see more clearly the still + features. + </p> + <p> + At the dead man's side knelt upon the deck a small, spare figure clad in + black and wearing his left arm in a sling. With his right hand he held a + crucifix to the blue lips that would never breathe a prayer to the Virgin + again. The small mouth and refined features of the praying man were + strangely out of keeping with his tempestuous surroundings. Unmindful, + however, of wind and waves alike, he knelt and prayed audibly. Each lurch + of the vessel threw him forward, so that, in order to save himself from + falling, he was obliged to press heavily upon the dead man's throat and + breast; but this he heeded not. His girlish blue eyes were half closed in + an ecstasy of religious fervour, and the pale, narrow face wore a light + that was not reflected from sea or sky. This was the man who had + unhesitatingly attacked Vellacott, had dared to pit his small strength, + more of nerve than of muscle, against the young Englishman's hardened + sinews. Violence in itself was most abhorrent to him; it had no part in + his nature; and consequently, by the strange tenets of Ignatius Loyola's + disciples, he was condemned to a course of it. Any objectionable duty, + such as this removal of Vellacott, was immediately assigned to him in the + futile endeavour of subjecting the soul to the brain. A true Jesuit must + have no nature of his own and no individuality. He is simply a machine, + with likes and dislikes, conscience and soul subject to the will of his + superior, whose mind is also under the same arbitrary control; and so on + to the top. If at the head there were God, it would be well; but man is + there, and consequently the whole society is a gigantic mistake. To be a + sincere member of it, a man must be a half-witted fool, a religious + fanatic, or a rogue for whom no duplicity is too scurrilous, even though + it amount to blasphemy. + </p> + <p> + René Drucquer, the man kneeling on the slimy deck, was as nearly a + religious fanatic as his soft, sweet nature would allow. With greater + bodily strength and attendant greater passions, he would have been a + simple monomaniac. In him the passion for self-devotion was singularly + strong, and contact with men had cooled it down into an unusually deep + sense of duty. + </p> + <p> + Personally courageous, his bravery was of a high order, if the spirit of + self-devotion called it into existence. In this his courage was more akin + to that of women than of men. If duty drove him he would go where the + devil drags most people, and René Drucquer was not by any means the first + man or woman whose life has been wrecked, wasted, and utterly misled by a + blind devotion to duty. + </p> + <p> + When throwing himself upon Christian Vellacott, no thought of possible + danger to his own person had restrained or caused him a moment's + hesitation. His blind faith in the righteousness of his cause was, + however, on the wane. This disciple of St. Ignatius might have lived a + true and manly life three hundred years earlier when his master trod the + earth, but the march of intellect had trodden down the “Constitutions” + years before René Drucquer came to study them. An ignoramus and a zealot + who lived nearly four centuries ago can be no guide or help to men of the + present day, and this young priest was overshadowed by the saddest doubt + that comes to men on earth—the doubt of his own Creed. + </p> + <p> + While Christian Vellacott was assisting the sailors he glanced + occasionally towards the kneeling priest, and on the narrow, intelligent + face he read a truth that never was forgotten. He saw that René Drucquer + was unconscious of his surroundings—unmindful of the fact that he + was on board a disabled vessel at the mercy of the wild wind. His whole + being was absorbed in prayer: this priest remembered only that the soul of + the great, rough, disfigured man was winging its serene way to the land + where no clouds are. Christian was not an impressionable man—journalism + had killed all that—nor, it is to be feared, did he devote much + thought to religion; but he recognised goodness when he met it. The young + journalist's interest was aroused, and in that trifling incident lay the + salvation of the priest. From that small beginning came the gleam of light + that was to illuminate gloriously the darkness of a mistaken life. + </p> + <p> + Chance had capriciously ruled that the hand that had dislocated the Abbé's + arm should set it again, and the dead sailor lying on the sticky, tarred + hatch-cover had helped. The “patron” of the boat, for he it was whose head + had been smashed by the spar, had held the priest's trembling, swollen + shoulder while Christian's steady hands gave the painful jerk required to + slip the joint back into its socket. The great, coarse lips which had + trembled a little, with a true Frenchman's sympathy for suffering, were + now blue and drawn; the stout, tender hands were nerveless. + </p> + <p> + The priest prayed on, while the men worked near at hand seeking to restore + order, and to repair the damages made by sea and wind. They had got over + their sullen, native shyness on finding that Christian could speak French + like the Abbé and was almost as good a sailor as themselves. One offered + him a rough blue jersey, while another placed a gold-embroidered Sunday + waistcoat at his disposal, with a visible struggle between kindness of + heart and economy. The first was accepted, but the waistcoat was given + back with a kind laugh and an assurance that the jersey was sufficient. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman knew too well with whom he was dealing to harbour any + ill-feeling against the ignorant fishermen or even towards the Abbé + Drucquer for the rough treatment he had received. The former were poor, + and money never was beaten by a scruple in open combat yet. The latter, he + rightly presumed, was only obeying a mandate he dared not dispute. The + authority was to him Divine, the command came from one whom he had sworn + to look up to and obey as the earthly representative of his Master. + </p> + <p> + At length the deck was cleared, and order reigned on board, though the + mainsail could not be set until the weather moderated. + </p> + <p> + Then Hoel Grall came up to the young Englishman and said: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, let us carry the 'patron' down below. It is not right for the + dead to lie there in this wind and storm.” + </p> + <p> + “I am willing,” answered Christian, looking towards the spot where the + dead man lay. + </p> + <p> + “Then, perhaps—Monsieur,” began the Breton with some hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Christian encouragingly, “what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Monsieur will speak to—to the Abbé. It is that we do not + like to disturb him in prayer.” + </p> + <p> + The young Englishman bowed his head with characteristic decision. + </p> + <p> + “I will do so,” he said gravely. Then he crawled across the deck and + touched René Drucquer's shoulder. The priest did not look up until the + touch had been repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he murmured; “yes. What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + Christian, guessed at the words, for in the tumult of the gale he could + not hear them. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not better to take him below?” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + Then for the first time did the priest appear to remember that this was + not one of the sailors. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he said, rising from his knees. “You are right; it is + better. But I am afraid the men will not assist me. They are afraid of + touching the dead when they are afloat.” + </p> + <p> + “I will help you,” said Christian simply, “and that man also, I think, + because he proposed it.” + </p> + <p> + With a motion of the head he indicated Hoel Grall, upon whom the command + of the little vessel had now devolved. The man was better educated than + his companions, and spoke French fluently, but in the Breton character + superstition is so deeply rooted that generations of education will + scarcely eradicate it. + </p> + <p> + The priest looked into the Englishman's face with a gentle wonder in his + eyes, which were shadowy with the fervour of his recent devotions. The two + men were crouching low upon the deck, grasping the black rail with their + left hands; the water washed backwards and forwards around their feet. + </p> + <p> + It was the first time they had seen each other face to face in open + daylight, and their eyes met quietly and searchingly as they swayed from + side to side with the heavy lurching of the ship. The Englishman spoke + first. + </p> + <p> + “You must leave it to us,” he said calmly. “You could do nothing in this + heavy sea with your one arm!” + </p> + <p> + The gentle blue eyes were again filled with wonder, and presently the + priest's intellectual face relaxed into a shadowy smile, which did not + affect his thin red lips. + </p> + <p> + “You are very good,” he murmured simply. + </p> + <p> + Christian did not hear this remark. He had turned away to call Grall + towards him, and was about to move towards the body lying on the hatch, + when the priest called him back. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” continued René Drucquer quickly, as if in doubt, “are you + Christian Vellacott?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” + </p> + <p> + The priest looked relieved, and at the same time he appeared to be making + an effort to restrain himself, as if he had been betrayed into a greater + show of feeling than was desirable. When he at length spoke in reply to + the Englishman's obvious desire for some explanation of the strange + question, his voice was singularly cold, and modulated in such a manner as + to deprive it of any expression, while his eyes were fixed on the deck. + </p> + <p> + “You are not such as I expected,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Christian looked down at him with straightforward keenness, and he saw the + priest's eyelids move uneasily beneath his gaze. Mixing with many men as + he had done, he had acquired a certain mental sureness of touch, like that + of an artist with his brush when he has handled many subjects and many + effects. He divined that René Drucquer had been led to expect a violent, + head strong man, and he could not restrain a smile as he turned away. + Before going, however, he said: + </p> + <p> + “At present it is a matter of saving the ship, and our lives. My own + affairs can wait, but when this gale is over you may rest assured they + shall have my attention.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. WINGED + </h2> + <p> + Beyond this one allusion to their respective positions, Christian was + silent regarding his captivity. After the gale subsided the weather took a + turn for the better, and clear skies by day and night rendered navigation + an easy matter. + </p> + <p> + With characteristic daring the young Englishman had decided to offer no + resistance and to seize no opportunities of escape until the termination + of the voyage. The scheme half-formed within his mind was to see the + voyage through, and effect his escape soon after landing in France. It was + not without a certain adventurous fascination, and in the meantime there + was much to interest him in his surroundings. If this young Abbé was a + typical member of the Society of Jesus, he was worth studying. If this + simplicity was an acquired cloak to deeper thought, it was worth + penetrating, and if the man's entire individuality had been submerged in + the mysterious system followed in the College of Jesuits, it was no waste + of time to seek for the real man beneath the cultivated suavity that hid + all feeling. + </p> + <p> + The more the two young men saw of each other the closer grew their + intimacy, and with growing intimacy the domination of the stronger + individuality was more marked in its influence. + </p> + <p> + To the frail and nervous priest this young Englishman was a new + experience; his vitality and calm, straightforward manner of speech were + such as the Abbé had never met with before. Such men and better men there + were and are in the Society of Jesus, otherwise the power of the great + Order would not be what it is; but René Drucquer had never come in contact + with them. According to the wonderful code of laws laid down by its great + founder (who, in other circumstances, might have prepared the world for + the coming of such a man as Napoleon the First), the education of the + young is entrusted to such brethren as are of slower parts; and from these + honest, but by no means intelligent, men the young Abbé had learnt his + views upon mankind in general. The creed they taught without understanding + it themselves was that no man must give way to natural impulses; that he + must restrain and quell and quench himself into a machine, without + individuality or impulse, without likes or dislikes; that he must + persistently perform such duties as are abhorrent to him, eat such food as + nauseates him, and submit to the dictates of such men as hate him. And + these, forsooth, are the teachings of one who, in his zealous + shortsightedness, claims to have received his inspiration direct from the + lips of the Great Teacher. + </p> + <p> + René Drucquer found himself in the intimate society of a man who said what + he thought, acted as he conceived best, and held himself responsible, for + word or deed, to none on earth. It was his first mission after a long and + rigorous training. This was the first enemy of the Holy Church against + whom he had been sent to fight, armed with the immeasurable power of the + greatest brotherhood the world has ever known, protected by the shadow of + its blessing; and there was creeping into the young priest's heart a vague + and terrible suspicion that there might be two sides to the question. All + the careful years of training, all the invisible meshes of the vast net + that had been gathering its folds round him since he had first donned the + dress of a Probationer of the College of Jesuits, were powerless to + restrain the flight of a pure and guileless heart to the height of truth. + Despite the countless one-sided and ingenious arguments instilled into his + eager young mind in guise of mental armour against the dangers of the + world, René Drucquer found himself, at the very first contact with the + world, unconvinced that he was fighting upon the righteous side. + </p> + <p> + Brest had been left behind in a shimmering blue haze. Ahead lay the grim + Pointe de Raz, with its short, thick-set lighthouse facing the vast + Atlantic. Out to sea, in the fading glory of sunset, lay the long, low + Ile-de-Sein, while here and there black rocks peeped above the water. The + man holding the tiller was a sardine fisher, to whom every rock, every + ripple, of these troubled waters was familiar. Fearlessly he guided the + yawl close round by the high cliff—the westernmost point of Europe—but + with the sunset the wind had dropped and the sails hung loosely, while the + broad bows glided onwards with no sound of parted water. + </p> + <p> + The long Atlantic roll was swinging lazily in, and the yawl rose to it + sleepily, with a long, slow movement. The distant roar of the surf upon + the Finisterre coast rose in the peaceful atmosphere like a lullaby. The + holy calm of sunset, the hush of lowering night, and the presence of the + only man who had ever drawn him with the strange, unaccountable bond that + we call sympathy, moved the heart of the young priest as it had never been + moved before by anything but religious fervour. + </p> + <p> + For the first time he spoke of himself. The solitary heart suddenly broke + through the restraining influence of a mistaken education, and unfolded + its sad story of a misread existence. Through no fault of his own, by no + relaxation of supervising care on the part of his teachers, the Jesuit had + run headlong into the very danger which his Superior had endeavoured to + avoid. He had formed a friendship. Fortunately the friend was a <i>man</i>, + otherwise René Drucquer were lost indeed. + </p> + <p> + “I should think,” he said musingly, “that no two lives have ever been so + widely separated as yours and mine, and yet our paths have met!” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott took the cigarette from his lips. It was made of a vile tobacco, + called “Petit Caporal,” but there was nothing better to be had, and he was + in the habit of making the best of everything. Therefore he blew into the + air a spiral column of thin blue smoke with a certain sense of enjoyment + before replying. He also was looking across the glassy expanse of water, + but his gaze was steady and thoughtful, while his companion's eyes were + dreamy and almost vacant. The light shone full upon his face, and a + physician—or a mother—would have noticed, perhaps, that there + was beneath his eyes a dull shadow, while his lips were dry and somewhat + drawn. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said at length, with grave sympathy, “we have drifted together + like two logs in a torrent.” + </p> + <p> + The young priest changed his position, drawing in one leg and clasping his + hands round his knee. The movement caused his long black garment to fall + aside, displaying the dark purple stockings and rough shoes. The hands + clasped round his knee were long and white, with peculiarly flat wrists. + </p> + <p> + “One log,” he said vaguely, “was bound for a certain goal, the other was + drifting.” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott turned slowly and glanced at his companion's face. The smoke + from the bad cigarette drifted past their heads to windward. He was not + sure whether the priest was speaking from a professional point of view, + with reference to heresy and the unknown goal to which all heretics are + drifting, or not. Had René Drucquer been a good Jesuit, he would have seen + his opportunity of saying a word in season. But this estimable desire + found no place in his heart just then. + </p> + <p> + “Your life,” he continued in a monotone, “is already mapped out—like + the voyage of a ship traced across a chart. Is it not so? I have imagined + it like that.” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott continued to smoke for some moments in silence. He sat with his + long legs stretched out in front of him, his back against the rail, and + his rough blue jersey wrinkled up so that he could keep one hand in his + pocket. The priest turned to look at him with a sudden fear that his + motives might be misread. Vellacott interpreted his movement thus, for he + spoke at once with a smile on his face. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is best,” he said, “not to think too much about it. From what + experience I have had, I have come to the humiliating conclusion that men + have very little to do with the formation of their own lives. A + ship-captain may sit down and mark his course across the chart with the + greatest accuracy, the most profound knowledge of wind and current, and + the keenest foresight; but that will have very little effect upon the + actual voyage.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” argued the priest in a low voice, “is it not better to have an end + in view—to have a certain aim, and a method, more or less formed, of + attaining it?” + </p> + <p> + “Most men have that,” answered Christian, “but do not know that they have + it!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> have?” + </p> + <p> + Christian smoked meditatively. A month ago he would have said “Yes” + without a moment's hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “And you know it, I think,” added the priest slowly. He was perfectly + innocent of any desire to extract details of his companion's life from + unwilling lips, and Christian knew it. He was convinced that, whatever + part René Drucquer had attempted to play in the past, he was sincere at + that moment, and he divined that the young Jesuit was weakly giving way to + a sudden desire to speak to some fellow-being of his own life—to lay + aside the strict reserve demanded by the tenets of the Society to which he + was irrevocably bound. In his superficial way, Christian Vellacott had + studied men as well as letters, and he was not ignorant of the influence + exercised over the human mind by such trifling circumstances as moonshine + upon placid water, distant music, the solemn hush of eventide, or the + subtle odour of a beloved flower. If René Drucquer was on the point of + committing a great mistake, he at least would not urge him on towards it, + so he smoked in silence, looking practical and unsympathetic. + </p> + <p> + The priest laughed a little short, deprecating laugh, in which there was + no shadow of mirth. + </p> + <p> + “I have not,” he said, rubbing his slim hands together, palm to palm, + slowly, “and—I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “It will come,” suggested the Englishman, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + The priest shook his head with a little smile, which was infinitely sadder + than tears. His cold silence was worse than an outburst of grief; it was + like the keen frost that comes before snow, harder to bear than the snow + itself. Presently he moved slightly towards his companion so that their + arms were touching, and in his soft modulated voice, trained to conceal + emotion, he told his story. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” he said, intertwining his fingers, which were very restless, + “no man can be the worse for hearing the story of another man's life. + Before you judge of me, listen to what my life has been. I have never + known a friend or relation. I have never had a boy companion. Since the + age of thirteen, when I was placed under the care of the holy fathers, I + have never spoken to a woman. I have been taught that life was given us to + be spent in prayer; to study, to train ourselves, and to follow in the + footsteps of the blessed Saint Ignatius. But how are we who have only + lived half a life, to imitate him, whose youth and middle-age were passed + in one of the most vicious courts of Europe before he thought of turning + to holy things? How are we, who are buried in an atmosphere of mystic + religion, to cope with sin of which we know nothing, and when we are + profoundly ignorant of its evil results? These things I know now, but I + did not suspect them when I was in the college. There all manliness, and + all sense of manly honour, were suppressed and insidiously forbidden. We + were taught to be spies upon each other, to cringe servilely to our + superiors, and to deal treacherously with such as were beneath us. + Hypocrisy—innate, unfathomable hypocrisy—was instilled into + our minds so cunningly that we did not recognise it. Every movement of the + head or hands, every glance of the eyes, and every word from the lips was + to be the outcome—not of our own hearts—but of a law laid down + by the General himself. It simply comes to this: we are not men at all, + but machines carefully planned and fitted together, so as to render sin + almost an impossibility. When tempted to sin we are held back, not by the + fear of God, but by the thought that discovery is almost certain, and that + the wrath of our Superior is withheld by no scruple of human kindness.... + But remember, I knew nothing of this before I took my vows. To me it was a + glorious career. I became an enthusiast. At last the time came when I was + eligible; I offered myself to the Society, and was accepted. Then followed + a period of hard work; I learned Spanish and Italian, giving myself body + and soul to the work. Even the spies set to watch me day and night, waking + and sleeping, feeding and fasting, could but confess that I was sincere. + One day the Provincial sent for me—my mission had come. I was at + last to go forth into the world to do the work of my Master. Trembling + with eagerness, I went to his room; the Provincial was a young man with a + beautiful face, but it was like the face of the dead. There was no colour, + no life, no soul, no heart in it. He spoke in a low, measured voice that + had neither pity nor love. + </p> + <p> + “When that door closed behind me an hour later the scales had fallen from + my eyes. I began to suspect that this great edifice, built not of stones + but of men's hearts, was nothing less than an unrighteous mockery. With + subtle, double-meaning words, the man whom I had been taught to revere as + the authorised representative of Our Lord, unfolded to me my duties in the + future. The work of God, he called it; and to do this work he placed in my + hands the tools of the devil. What I suspected then, I know now.” + </p> + <p> + The young Englishman sat and listened with increasing interest. His + cigarette had gone out long before. + </p> + <p> + “And,” he said presently, in his quiet, reassuring voice, which seemed to + infer that no difficulty in life was quite insurmountable—“And, if + you did not know it then, how have you learnt it now?” + </p> + <p> + “From you, my friend,” replied the priest earnestly, “from you and from + these rough sailors. They, at least, are men. But you have taught me + this.” + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott made no answer. He knew that what his companion said + was true. Unconsciously, and with no desire to do so, he had opened this + young zealot's eyes to what a man's life may be. The tale was infinitely + sad, but with characteristic promptitude the journalist was already + seeking a remedy without stopping to think over the pathos of this + mistaken career. + </p> + <p> + Presently René Drucquer's quick, painful tones broke the silence again, + and he continued his story. + </p> + <p> + “He told me,” he said, “that in times gone by we had ruled the Roman + Catholic world invisibly from the recesses of kings' cabinets and queens' + boudoirs. That now the power has left us, but that the Order is as firm as + ever, nearly as rich, and quite as intelligent. It lies like a huge mill, + perfect but idle, waiting for the grist that will never come to be crushed + between its ruthless wheels. He told me that the sway over kings and + princes has lapsed with the growth of education, but that we hold still + within our hands a lever of greater power, though the danger of wielding + it is proportionately greater to those who would use it. This power is the + People. Before us lies a course infinitely more perilous than the sinuous + paths trodden by the first followers of St. Ignatius as they advanced + towards power. It lies on the troubled waters; it leads over the restless, + mobile heads of the people.” + </p> + <p> + Again the priest ceased speaking. There was a strange thrill of foreboding + in his voice, which, however, had never been raised above a monotone. The + two men sat side by side, as still as the dead. They gazed vacantly into + the golden gates of the west, and each in his own way thought over these + things. Assuredly the Angel of Silence hung over that little vessel then, + for no sound from earth or sea or sky came to wake those two thinkers from + their reverie. + </p> + <p> + At last the Englishman's full, steady tones broke the hush. + </p> + <p> + “This,” he said, “has not been learnt in two days. You must have known it + before. If you knew it, why are you what you are? You never have been a + real Jesuit, and you never will be.” + </p> + <p> + “I swore to the Mother of God—I am bound....” + </p> + <p> + “By an oath forced upon you!” + </p> + <p> + “No! By an oath I myself begged to take!” + </p> + <p> + This was the bitterest drop in the priest's cup. Everything had been done + of his own free will—at his own desire. During eleven years a + network of perfidy had been cunningly woven around him, mesh after mesh, + day after day. As he grew older, so grew in strength the warp of the net. + Thus, in the fulness of time, everything culminated to the one great end + in view. Nothing was demanded (for that is an essential rule), everything + must be offered freely, to be met by an apparently hesitating acceptance. + Constant dropping wears the hardest stone in time. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Vellacott, “you can surely represent to your Provincial that + you are not fitted for the work put before you.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” interrupted the priest, “we can represent nothing. We are + supposed to have no natural inclinations. All work should be welcome, none + too difficult, no task irksome.” + </p> + <p> + “You can volunteer for certain services,” said Vellacott. + </p> + <p> + The priest shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “What services?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman looked at him for some seconds in the fading light. In his + quick way he had already found a remedy, and he was wondering whether he + should propose it or hold his peace. He was not afraid of incurring + responsibility. The young Jesuit had appealed to him, and there was a way + out of the difficulty. Christian felt that things could not be made worse + than they were. In a moment his mind was made up. + </p> + <p> + “As you know,” he said, “the Society has few friends and a multitude of + enemies. I am afraid I am an enemy; but there is one redeeming point in + the Jesuit record which we are all bound to recognise, and I recognise it + unhesitatingly. You have done more to convert the heathen than the rest of + the Christian Church put together. Whatever the motive has been, whatever + the results have proved to be, the missionary work is unrivalled. Why do + you not offer yourself for that?” + </p> + <p> + As he asked the question Christian glanced at his companion's face. He saw + the sad eyes light up suddenly with a glow that was not of this dull earth + at all; he saw the thin, pure face suddenly acquire a great and wondrous + peace. The young priest rose to his feet, and, crossing the deck, he stood + holding with one hand to the tarred rigging, his back turned towards the + Englishman, looking over the still waters. + </p> + <p> + Presently he returned, and laying his thin hand upon Christian's shoulder, + he said, “My friend, you have saved me. In the first shock of my + disillusion I never thought of this. I think—I think there is work + for me yet.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. TRUE TO HIS CLOTH + </h2> + <p> + With the morning tide, the <i>Deux Frères</i> entered Audierne harbour. + The rough sailors crossed themselves as they looked towards the old wooden + cross upon the headland, facing the great Atlantic. They thought of the + dead “patron” in the little cabin below, and the joyous young wife, whose + snowy head-dress they could almost distinguish upon the pier among the + waiters there. + </p> + <p> + Both Christian Vellacott and the Abbé were on deck. They had been there + the whole night. They had lain motionless side by side upon the old sail. + Day vanished, night stole on, and day came again without either having + closed his eyes or opened his lips. + </p> + <p> + They now stood near the steersman, and looked upon the land with an + interest which only comes after heavy weather at sea. To the Englishman + this little fishing-port was unknown, and he did not care to ask. The + vessel was now dropping up the river, with anchor swinging, and the women + on the pier were walking inland slowly, keeping pace and waving a greeting + from time to time in answer to a husband's shout. + </p> + <p> + “That is she, Monsieur L'Abbé,” said Hoel Grall, with a peculiar twitch of + his coarse mouth, as if from pain. “That is she with the little child!” + </p> + <p> + René Drucquer bowed his head, saying nothing. The <i>Deux Frères</i> + slowly edged alongside the old quay in her usual berth above the sardine + boats. A board was thrown across from the rail to the quay, and the priest + stepped ashore alone. He went towards the smiling young wife without any + hesitation; she stood there surrounded by the wives of the sailors on + board the <i>Deux Frères</i>, with her snowy coiffe and spotless apron, + holding her golden-haired child by the hand. All the women curtsied as the + priest approached, for in these western provinces the Church is still + respected. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter,” said the Abbé, “I have bad news for you.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled still, misunderstanding his calmness. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mon père,” she said, “it is the season of the great winds now. What a + long voyage it has been! And you say it is a bad one. My husband is no + doubt in despair, but another voyage is sure to be better; is it not so? I + have not seen Loic upon the deck, but then my sight is not good. I am not + from Audierne, mon père, but from inland where we cannot see so far.” + </p> + <p> + The priest changed colour; no smile came into his face in response to + hers. He stepped nearer, and placed his hand upon her comely arm. + </p> + <p> + “It has been a very bad voyage for your poor husband,” he said. “The Holy + Virgin give you comfort.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly the colour vanished from the woman's round checks. Her soft, + short-sighted eyes filled with a terrible, hopeless dismay as she stared + at the young priest's bowed head. The women round now began to understand, + and they crossed themselves with a very human prayer of thankfulness that + their husbands and brothers had been spared. + </p> + <p> + “Loic is dead?” she said, in a rasping voice. For some moments she stood + motionless, then, in obedience to some strange and unaccountable instinct, + she began turning up the sleeves of her rough brown dress, as if she were + going to begin some kind of manual work. + </p> + <p> + “The Holy Virgin comfort you, my daughter; and you, my little one,” said + the priest, as he stooped to lay his hand upon the golden head of the + child. + </p> + <p> + “Loic is dead! Loic is dead!” spread from mouth to mouth. + </p> + <p> + “That comes from having ought to do with the priests,” muttered the + customs officer, beneath his heavy moustache. He was an old soldier, who + read the newspapers, and spoke in a loud voice on Sunday evenings in the + Café de l'Ouest. + </p> + <p> + The Abbé heard the remark, and looked at the man, but said nothing. He + remembered that no Jesuit must defend himself. + </p> + <p> + The girl-widow stepped on board the untidy vessel in a mechanical, dreamy + way. She dragged the little trotting child almost roughly after her. + Christian Vellacott stood at the low cabin door. He was in the dress of a + Probationer of the Society of Jesus, which he had assumed at the request, + hesitatingly made, of René Drucquer, and for the very practical reason + that he had nothing else to wear except a torn dress-coat and Hoel Grall's + Sunday garments. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me, mon père,” lisped the little one, stopping in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “Much good will a blessing of mine do you, little one,” he muttered in + English. Nevertheless, he lifted the child up and kissed her rosy cheek. + He kept her by his side, letting the mother go to her dead husband alone. + </p> + <p> + When the woman came from the cabin half-an-hour later, hard-faced, and + with dry, stony eyes, she found the child sitting on Christian's knee, + prattling away in broken French. Tears came to her aching eyes at the + sight of the happy, fatherless child; the hard Breton heart was touched at + last. + </p> + <p> + The Abbé's instructions were to keep his prisoner confined under lock and + key in the cabin until nightfall, when he was to be removed inland in a + carriage under the surveillance of two lay-brethren. Christian, however, + never for a moment doubted his ability to escape when he wished to do so, + and acting upon this conviction he volunteered a promise not to attempt + evasion. Dressed as he was, in the garments of a probationer, there was no + necessity of awaiting nightfall, as there was nothing unusual about him to + attract attention. Accordingly the departure from the <i>Deux Frères</i> + was fixed for midday. In the meantime the young Englishman found himself + the object of unremitting attention on the part of two smooth-faced + individuals who looked like domestic servants. These two men had come on + board at the same moment that the Abbé stepped ashore, and Christian + noticed that no word of greeting or recognition passed between them and + René Drucquer. This was to him a further proof of the minuteness of + organisation which has characterised the Order since Ignatius Loyola wrote + down his wonderful “Constitutions,” in which no trifle was too small to be + unworthy of attention, no petty dramatic effect devoid of significance. + Each man appeared to have received his instructions separately, and with + no regard to those of his companion. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, however, the journalist had not been wasting his time. + Although he still looked upon the whole affair as a very good farce, he + had not forgotten the fact that his absence must necessarily have been + causing endless anxiety in England. During the long night of wakefulness + he had turned over in his mind every possible event at St. Mary Western + since his sudden disappearance. Again and again he found himself wondering + how they would all take it, and his conclusions were remarkably near to + the truth. He guessed that Mr. Bodery would, sooner or later, be called in + to give his opinion, and he sincerely hoped that the course taken would be + the waiting tactics which had actually been proposed by the editor of the + <i>Beacon</i>. + </p> + <p> + In this hope he determined to communicate with Sidney Carew, and having + possessed himself of a blank Customs Declaration Form, he proceeded to + write a letter upon the reverse side of it. In this he told his friend to + have no anxiety, and, above all, to institute no manner of search, because + he would return to England as soon as his investigations were complete. + The letter was written in guarded language, because Christian had arrived + at the conclusion that the only means he had of despatching it was through + the hands of René Drucquer. The crew of the <i>Deux Frères</i> were not + now allowed to speak with him. He possessed no money, and it would have + been folly to attempt posting an unstamped letter addressed to England in + a little place like Audierne. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, as they were preparing to leave the vessel (the care of poor + Loic having been handed over to the village curé), Christian boldly + tendered his request. + </p> + <p> + “No, my friend, I cannot do it,” replied the Abbé promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Read it yourself,” urged Christian. “No harm can possibly come of it. My + friend will do exactly as I tell him. In fact, it will be to your benefit + that it should go.” + </p> + <p> + Still the Jesuit shook his head. Suddenly, however, in the midst of an + argument on the part of the Englishman, he gave in and took the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Give it to me,” he said; “I will risk it.” + </p> + <p> + Christian watched him place the letter within the breast of his “soutane,” + unread. The two lay-brethren were noting every movement. + </p> + <p> + Presently the priest removed his broad-brimmed hat and passed through the + little doorway into the dimly lighted cabin where the dead sailor lay. He + left the door ajar. After glancing at the dead man's still face he fell + upon his knees by the side of the low bunk, and remained with bowed head + for some moments. At last he rose to his feet and took the Englishman's + letter from his breast. The envelope was unclosed, and with smooth, + deliberate touch he opened the letter and read it by the light of the + candle at the dead man's head, of which the rays were to illuminate the + wandering soul upon its tortuous way. The priest read each word slowly and + carefully, for his knowledge of English was limited. Then he stood for + some seconds motionless, with arms hanging straight, staring at the flame + of the candle with weary, wondering eyes. At last he raised his hand and + held the flimsy paper in the flame of the candle till it was all burnt + away. The charred remains fluttered to the ground, and one wavering flake + of carbonised paper sank gently upon the dead man's throat, laid bare by + the hand of his frenzied wife. + </p> + <p> + “He said that I was not a Jesuit,” murmured the priest, as he burnt the + envelope, and across his pale face there flitted an unearthly smile. + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had the thin smoke mingled with the incense-laden air when + Christian pushed open the door. The two men looked their last upon the + rigid face dimly illuminated by the light of the wavering candles, and + then turned to leave the ship. + </p> + <p> + The carriage was waiting for them on the quay, and Christian noticed that + the two men who had been watching him since his arrival at Audierne were + on the box. René Drucquer and himself were invited to enter the roomy + vehicle, and by the way in which the door shut he divined that it was + locked by a spring. + </p> + <p> + At the village post-office the carriage stopped, and, one of the servants + having opened the door, the priest descended and passed into the little + bureau. He said nothing about the letter addressed to Sidney Carew, but + Christian took for granted that it would be posted. Instead of this, + however, the priest wrote a telegram announcing the arrival of the <i>Deux + Frères</i>, which he addressed to “Morel et Fils, Merchants, Quimper.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoel Grall asked me to despatch this,” he said quietly, as he handed the + paper to the old postmaster. + </p> + <p> + After this short halt the carriage made its way rapidly inland. Thus they + travelled through the fair Breton country together, these two strangely + contrasting men brought together by a chain of circumstances of which the + links were the merest coincidences. Christian Vellacott did not appear to + chafe against his confinement. He took absolutely no notice of the two men + whose duty it was to watch his every movement. The spirit of adventure, + which is not quite educated out of us Englishmen yet, was very strong in + him, and the rapid movement through an unknown land to an unknown goal was + not without its healthy fascination. He lay back in the comfortable + carriage and sleepily watched the flying landscape. Withal he noticed by + the position of the sun the direction in which he was being taken, and + despite many turns and twists he kept his bearings fairly well. The + carriage had left the high road soon after crossing the bridge above + Audierne, and was now going somewhat heavily over inferior thoroughfares. + </p> + <p> + The sun had set before Vellacott awoke to find that they were still + lumbering on. He had, of course, lost all bearing now, but he soon found + that they had been journeying eastward since leaving the coast. + </p> + <p> + A halt was made for refreshment at a small hillside village which appeared + to be mainly inhabited by women, for the men were all sailors. The + accommodation was of the poorest, but bread was procurable, and eggs, meat + being an unknown luxury in the community. + </p> + <p> + In the lowering light they journeyed on again, sometimes on the broad + post-road, sometimes through cool and sombre forests. Many times when + Christian spoke kindly, or performed some little act of consideration, the + poor Abbé was on the point of disclosing his own treason. Before his eyes + was the vision of that little cabin. He saw again the dancing flame of the + paper in his hand, throwing its moving light upon the marble features of + that silent witness as the charred fragments fluttered past the still face + to the ground. But as the stone is worn by the dropping water, so at last + is man's better nature overcome by persistent undermining when the work is + carried out by men chosen as possessing “a mind self-possessed and + tranquil, delicate in its perceptions, sure in its intuitions, and capable + of a wide comprehension of various subjects.” What youthful nature could + be strong enough to resist the cunning pressure of influences wielded + thus? So René Drucquer carried the secret in his heart until circumstances + rendered it unimportant. + </p> + <p> + Man is, after all, only fallible, and those to whom is given the privilege + of accepting or refusing candidates for admission to the great Society of + Jesus had made a fatal error in taking René Drucquer. Never was a man more + unfitted to do his duty in that station of life in which he was placed. + His religious enthusiasm stopped short of fanaticism; his pliability would + not bend so low as duplicity. All this the young journalist learnt as he + penetrated further into the sensitive depths of his companion's gentle + temperament. The priest was of those men to whom love and brotherly + affection are as necessary as the air they breathe. His wavering instincts + were capable of being hardened into convictions; his natural gifts (and + they were many) could be raised into talents; his life, in fact, could + have been made a success by one influence—the love of a woman—the + one influence that was forbidden: the single human acquirement that must + for ever be beyond the priest's reach. This Christian Vellacott felt in a + vague, uncertain way. He did not know very much about love and its + influence upon a man's character, these questions never having come under + his journalistic field of inquiry; but he had lately begun to wonder + whether man's life was given to him to be influenced by no other thoughts + than those in his own brain—whether there is not in our existence a + completing area in the development of character. + </p> + <p> + Looking at the matter from his own personal point of view—from + whence even the best of us look upon most things—he was of the + opinion that love stands in the path of the majority of men. This had been + his view of the matter for many years; probably it was the reflection of + his father's cynically outspoken opinion, and a well-grown idea is hard to + uproot. + </p> + <p> + Brought up, as he had been, by a pleasure-seeking and somewhat cynical + man, and passing from his care into the busy and practical journalistic + world, it was only natural that he should have acquired a certain hardness + of judgment which, though useful in the world, is not an amiable quality. + He now felt the presence of a dawning charity towards the actions of his + fellow-men. A month earlier he would have despised René Drucquer as a weak + and incapable man; now there was in his heart only pity for the young + priest. + </p> + <p> + Soon after darkness had settled over the country the carriage descended + into a deep and narrow valley through which ran a rapid river of no great + breadth. Here the driver stopped, and the two travellers descended from + the vehicle. The priest exchanged a few words in a low voice with one of + the servants who had leapt down from the box, and then turning to + Vellacott he said in a curt manner— + </p> + <p> + “Follow me, please.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman obeyed, and leaving the road they turned along a broad + pathway running at the side of the water. Christian noticed that they were + going upstream. Presently they reached a cottage, and a woman came from + the open doorway at their approach. Without any greeting or word of + welcome she led the way down some wooden steps to the ferry-boat. As she + rowed them across, the journalist took note of everything in his quick, + keen way. The depth of the water, rapidity of current, and even the fact + that the boat woman was not paid for her services. + </p> + <p> + “Are we near our destination?” he asked in English when he saw this. + </p> + <p> + “We have five minutes more,” replied the priest in the same language. + </p> + <p> + On landing, they followed another small path for some distance, + down-stream. It was a quiet moss-grown path, with poplar trees on either + side, and appeared to be little used. Suddenly the young priest stopped. + There was the trunk of an elm tree lying on the inside of the path, + evidently cut for the purpose of making a rough seat. + </p> + <p> + “Let us sit here a few minutes,” said René. + </p> + <p> + Christian obeyed. He sat forward and stretched his long legs out. + </p> + <p> + “I am aching all over,” he said impatiently; “I wonder what it means!” + </p> + <p> + The priest ignored the remark entirely. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” he said presently, “a few minutes more and my care of you + ceases. This journey will be over. For me it has been very eventful. In + these few days I have learnt more than I did during all the long years of + my education, and what I have learnt will never be forgotten. Without + breathing one word of religion you have taught me to respect yours; + without uttering a single complaint you have made me think with horror and + shame of the part I have played in this affair. I dare ... scarcely hope + that one day you will forgive me!” + </p> + <p> + Christian raised his hand slowly to his forehead. The gleam of the sleek, + smooth water flowing past his feet made him giddy. He wondered vaguely if + the strange, dull feeling that was creeping over his senses was the result + of extreme fatigue. + </p> + <p> + “You speak as if we were never going to meet again,” he said dreamily. + </p> + <p> + The priest did not answer for some moments. His slim hands were tightly + clasped upon his knees. + </p> + <p> + “It is probable,” he said at length, “that such will be the case. If our + friendship is discovered it is certain!” + </p> + <p> + “Then our friendship must not be discovered,” said the practical + Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “But, my friend, that would be deceit—duplicity!” + </p> + <p> + “A little duplicity, more or less, cannot matter much,” replied Christian, + in a harder voice. + </p> + <p> + The priest looked up sharply, half fearing that his own treachery in the + matter of the letter was suspected. But his companion remained silent, and + the darkness prevented the expression of his face from being seen. + </p> + <p> + “And,” continued the Englishman, after a long pause, “I am to be left + here?” + </p> + <p> + There was a peculiar ring of weary indifference in his tone, as if it + mattered little where he was left. The priest noticed it and remembered it + later. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing, my friend. I have but to obey my orders.” + </p> + <p> + “And close your mind against thought?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot prevent the thoughts from coming into my mind,” replied the + priest gently, “but I can keep them prisoners when they have entered.” + </p> + <p> + He rose suddenly, and led the way along the river bank. Had Christian's + manner been more encouraging he would have told him then and there about + the letter. + </p> + <p> + As they passed along the narrow footpath, the dim form of a man rose from + behind the log of wood upon which they had been sitting. It was one of the + lay brethren who had accompanied them from Audierne. Contrary to René + Drucquer's whispered instructions, he had followed them after quitting the + carriage, and had crept up behind the poplars unheard and unsuspected. He + came, however, too late. Unconsciously, Christian had saved his companion. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. GREEK AND GREEK + </h2> + <p> + When they had walked about a hundred yards farther on, the footpath was + brought to a sudden termination by a house built across it to the water's + edge. In this lay the explanation of its scanty use and luxuriant growth + of moss. + </p> + <p> + It was not a dark night, and without difficulty the priest found the + handle of a bell, of which, however, no sound reached their ears. The + door, cut deep in the stone, was opened after a short delay by a lay + brother who showed no signs of rigid fasting. Again Christian noticed that + no greeting was exchanged, no word of explanation offered or expected. The + lay brother led the way along a dimly lighted corridor, in which there + were doors upon each side at regular intervals. There was a chill and + stony feeling in the atmosphere. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the corridor a gleam of light shone through a half-open door + upon the bare stone floor. Into this cell Christian was shown. Without + even noticing whether the priest followed him or not, he entered the tiny + room and threw himself wearily upon the bed. Although it was an intensely + hot night he shivered a little, and as he lay he clasped his head with + either hand. His eyes were dull and lifeless, and the colour had entirely + left his cheeks, though his lips were red and moist. He took no notice of + his surroundings, which, though simple and somewhat bare, were not devoid + of comfort. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, René Drucquer had followed the door-keeper up a broad + flight of stairs to a second corridor which was identical with that below, + except that a room took the place of this small entrance-lobby and broad + door. Thus the windows of this room were immediately above the river, + which rendered them entirely free from overlookers, as the land on the + opposite side was low and devoid of trees. + </p> + <p> + The lay brother stopped in front of the door of this apartment, and + allowed the young priest to pass him and knock at the door with his own + hands. The response from within was uttered in such a low tone that if he + had not been listening most attentively René would not have heard it. He + opened the door, which creaked a little on its hinges, and passed into the + room alone. + </p> + <p> + In front of him a man dressed in a black soutane was seated at a table + placed before the window. The only lamp in the room, which was long and + narrow, stood on the table before him, so that the light of it was + reflected from his sleek black head disfigured by a tiny tonsure. As René + Drucquer advanced up the room, the occupant raised his head slightly, but + made no attempt to turn round. With a quick, unobtrusive movement of his + large white hand he moved the papers on the table before him, so that no + written matter remained exposed to view. Upon the table were several + books, and on the right-hand side of the plain inkstand stood a + beautifully carved stone crucifix, while upon the left there was a small + mirror no larger than a carte-de-visite. This was placed at a slight angle + upon a tiny wire easel, and by raising his eyes any person seated at the + table could at once see what was passing in the room behind him—the + entire apartment, including the door, being reflected in the mirror. + </p> + <p> + Though seated, the occupant of this peculiarly constructed room was + evidently tall. His shoulders, though narrow, were very square, and in any + other garment than a thin soutane his slightness of build would scarcely + have been noticeable. His head was of singular and remarkable shape. Very + narrow from temple to temple, it was quite level from the summit of the + high forehead to the spot where the tonsure gleamed whitely, and the + length of the skull from front to back was abnormal. The dullest observer + could not have failed to recognise that there was something extraordinary + in such a head, either for good or evil. + </p> + <p> + The Abbé Drucquer advanced across the bare stone floor, and took his stand + at the left side of the table, within a yard of his Provincial's elbow. + Before taking any notice of him, the Provincial opened a thick book bound + in dark morocco leather, of which the leaves were of white unruled paper, + interleaved, like a diary, with blotting paper. The pages were numbered, + although there was, apparently, no index attached to the volume. After a + moment's thought, the tall man turned to a certain folio which was + partially covered by a fine handwriting in short paragraphs. Then for the + first time he looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” he said, in full melodious voice. As he raised his face + the light of the lamp fell directly upon it. There was evidently no desire + to conceal any passing expression by the stale old method of a shaded + lamp. The face was worthy of the head. Clean-cut, calm, and dignified; it + was singularly fascinating, not only by reason of its beauty, which was + undeniable, but owing to the calm, almost superhuman power that lay in the + gaze of the velvety eyes. There was no keenness of expression, no + quickness of glance, and no seeking after effect by mobility of lash or + lid. When he raised his eyes, the lower lid was elevated simultaneously, + which peculiarity, concealing the white around the pupil, imparted an + uncomfortable sense of inscrutability. There was no expression beyond a + vague sense of velvety depth, such as is felt upon gazing for some space + of time down a deep well. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” replied René Drucquer, meeting with some hesitation the + slow, kindly glance. + </p> + <p> + The Provincial leant forward and took from the tray of the inkstand a + quill pen. With the point of it he followed the lines written in the book + before him. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” he said, in a modulated and business-like tone, “that you + have been entirely successful?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe so.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial turned his head slightly, as if about to raise his eyes + once more to the young priest's face, but after remaining a moment in the + same position with slightly parted lips and the pen poised above the book, + he returned to the written notes. + </p> + <p> + “You left,” he continued, “on Monday week last. On the Wednesday evening + you ... carried out the instructions given to you. This morning you + arrived at Audierne, and came into the harbour at daybreak. Your part has + been satisfactorily performed. You have brought your prisoner with all + expedition. So—” here the Provincial raised the pen from the book + with a jerk of his wrist and shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly, + “so—you have been entirely successful?” + </p> + <p> + Although there was a distinct intention of interrogation in the tone in + which this last satisfactory statement was made, the young priest stood + motionless and silent. After a pause, the other continued in the same + kind, even voice: + </p> + <p> + “What has not been satisfactory to you, my son?” + </p> + <p> + “The 'patron' of the boat, Loic Plufer, was killed by the breaking of a + rope, before we were out of sight of the English coast.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I am sorry. Had you time—were you enabled to administer to him + the Holy Rites?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my father. He was killed at one blow.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial laid aside his pen and leant back. His soft eyes rested + steadily on the book in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “Did the accident have any evil effect upon the crew!” he asked + indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “I think not,” was the reply. “I endeavoured to prevent such effect + arising, and—and in this the Englishman helped me greatly.” + </p> + <p> + Without moving a muscle the Provincial turned his eyes towards the young + priest. He did not look up into his face, but appeared to be watching his + slim hands, which were moving nervously upon the surface of his black + soutane. + </p> + <p> + “My son,” he said smoothly. “As you know, I am a great advocate for + frankness. Frankness in word and thought, in subordinate and superior. I + have always been frank with you, and from you I expect similar treatment. + It appears to me that there is still something unsatisfactory respecting + your successfully executed mission. It is in connection with this + Englishman. Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + René Drucquer moved a little, changing his attitude and clasping his hands + one over the other. + </p> + <p> + “He is not such as I expected,” he replied after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Provincial meditatively. “They are a strange race. Some of + them are strong—very strong indeed. But most of them are foolish; + and singularly self-satisfied. He is intelligent, this one; is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think he is very intelligent.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he violent or abusive?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he was calm and almost indifferent.” + </p> + <p> + For some moments the Provincial thought deeply. Then he waved his hand in + the direction of a chair which stood with its back towards the window at + the end of the table. + </p> + <p> + “Take a seat, my son,” he said, “I have yet many questions to ask you. I + am afraid I forgot that you might be tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me,” he continued, when René had seated himself, “do you think + this indifference was assumed by way of disarming suspicion and for the + purpose of effecting a speedy escape?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you converse together to any extent?” + </p> + <p> + “We were naturally thrown together a great deal; especially after the + death of the 'patron.' He was of great assistance to me and to Hoel Grall, + the second in command, by reason of his knowledge of seamanship.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! He is expert in such matters?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my father.” + </p> + <p> + A further note was here added to the partially-filled page of the + manuscript book. + </p> + <p> + “Of what subjects did he speak? Of religion, our Order, politics, himself + and his captivity?” + </p> + <p> + “Of none of those.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial leant back suddenly in his chair, and for some minutes + complete silence reigned in the room. He was evidently thinking deeply, + and his eyes were fixed upon the open book with inscrutable immobility. + Once he glanced slowly towards René Drucquer, who sat with downcast eyes + and interlocked fingers. Then he pressed back his elbows and inhaled a + deep breath, as if weary of sitting in one position. + </p> + <p> + “I have met Englishmen,” he said speculatively, “of a type similar—I + think—to this man. They never spoke of religion, of themselves or of + their own opinion; and yet they were not silent men. Upon most subjects + they could converse intelligently, and upon some with brilliancy; but + these subjects were invariably treated in a strictly general sense. Such + men <i>never</i> argue, and never appear to be highly interested in that + of which they happen to be speaking.... They make excellent listeners....” + Here the speaker stopped for a moment and passed his long hand downwards + across his eyes as if the light were troubling his sight; in doing so he + glanced again towards the Abbé's fingers, which were now quite motionless, + the knuckles gleaming like ivory. + </p> + <p> + “... And one never knows quite how much they remember and how much they + forget. Perhaps it is that they hear everything ... and forget nothing. Is + our friend of this type, my son?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he is.” + </p> + <p> + “It is such men as he who have made that little island what it is. They + are difficult subjects; but they are liable to sacrifice their + opportunities to a mistaken creed they call honour, and therefore they are + not such dangerous enemies as they otherwise might have been.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial said these words in a lighter manner, almost amounting to + pleasantry, and did not appear to notice that the priest moved uneasily in + his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” he continued, “you have learnt nothing of importance during the + few days you have passed with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, my father.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he make any attempt to communicate with his friends?” + </p> + <p> + “He wrote a letter which he requested me to post.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial leant forward in his chair and took a pen in his right + hand, while he extended his left across the table towards his companion. + </p> + <p> + “I burnt it,” said René gently. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That is a pity. Why did you do that?” + </p> + <p> + “I had discretion!” replied the young priest, with quiet determination. + </p> + <p> + The Provincial examined the point of his pen critically, his perfectly + formed lips slightly apart. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he murmured reflectively. “Yes, of course, you had discretion. What + was in the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “A few words in English, telling his friends to have no anxiety, and + asking them particularly to institute no search, as he would return home + as soon as he desired to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! He said that, did he? And the letter was addressed to—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carew.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial made another note in the manuscript book. Then he read the + whole page over carefully and critically. His attitude was like that of a + physician about to pronounce a diagnosis. + </p> + <p> + “And,” he said reflectively, without looking up, “was there nothing + noticeable about him in any way? Nothing characteristic of the man, I + mean, and peculiar. How would you describe him, in fact?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say,” replied René Drucquer, “that his chief characteristic is + energy; but for some reason, during these last two days this seems to have + slowly evaporated. His resistance on Wednesday night was very energetic—he + dislocated my arm, and reset it later—and when the vessel was in + danger he was full of life. Later this peculiar indifference of manner + came over him, and hour by hour it has increased in power. It almost seems + as if he were anxious to keep away from England just now.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial raised his long white finger to his upper lip. It was the + action of a man who is in the habit of tugging gently at his moustache + when in thought, and one would almost have said that the smooth-faced + priest had at no very distant period worn that manly ornament. His finger + passed over the shaded skin with a disagreeable, rasping sound. + </p> + <p> + “That does not sound very likely,” he said slowly. “Have you any tangible + reason, to offer in support of this theory?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my father. But the idea came to me, and so I mention it. It seemed as + if this desire came to him upon reflection, after the ship was out of + danger, and the indifference was contemporaneous with it.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial suddenly closed the book and laid aside his pen. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my son!” he said, in smooth, heartless tones, “I will not + trouble you any more to-night. You will need food and rest. Good night, my + son. You have done well!” + </p> + <p> + René Drucquer rose and gravely passed down the long room. Before he + reached the door, however, the clear voice of his superior caused him to + pause for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “As you go down to the refectory,” he said, “kindly make a request that + Mr. Vellacott be sent to me as soon as he is refreshed. I do not want you + to see him before I do!” + </p> + <p> + When the door had closed behind René Drucquer the Provincial rose from his + seat and slowly paced backwards and forwards from the door to the table. + Presently he drew aside the curtain which hid a small recess near the + door, whore a simple bed and a small table were concealed. With a brush he + smoothed back his sleek hair, and, dipping the ends of his fingers into a + basin of water, he wiped them carefully. Thus he prepared to receive + Christian Vellacott. + </p> + <p> + He returned to his chair and seated himself somewhat wearily. Although + there were but few papers on the table, he had three hours' hard work + before him yet. He leant back, and again, that singular gesture, as if to + stroke a moustache that was not there, was noticeable. + </p> + <p> + “I have a dull presentiment,” he muttered reflectively, “that we have made + a mistake here. We have gone about it in the wrong way, and if there is + blame to be attached to any one, Talma is the man. That temper of his is + fatal!” + </p> + <p> + After a pause he heaved a weary sigh, and stretched his long arms out on + either side, enjoying a free and open yawn. + </p> + <p> + “Ah me!” he sighed, “what an uphill fight this has become, and day by day + it grows harder. Day by day we lose power; one hold after another slips + from our grasp. Perhaps it means that this vast organisation is effete—perhaps, + after all, we are dying of inanition, and yet—yet it should not be, + for we have the people still.... Ah! I hear footsteps. This is our + journalistic friend, no doubt. I think he will prove interesting.” + </p> + <p> + A moment later someone knocked softly at the door. There was a slight + shuffling of feet, and Christian Vellacott entered the room alone. There + was a peculiar dull expression in his eyes, as if he were suffering pain, + mental or physical. After glancing at the mirror, the Provincial rose and + bowed formally with his hand upon the back of his chair. As the Englishman + came forward the Jesuit glanced at his face, and with a polite motion of + the hand he said: + </p> + <p> + “Sir, take the trouble of seating yourself,” speaking in French at once, + with no apology, as if well aware that his companion knew that language as + perfectly as his own. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” replied Christian. He drew the chair slightly forward as he + seated himself, and fixed his eyes upon the Jesuit's face. Through the + entire interview he never removed his gaze, and he noticed that until the + last words were spoken those soft, deep eyes were never raised to his. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said the Jesuit at length, almost humbly, “that we are + irreconcilable enemies, Mr. Vellacott?” + </p> + <p> + The manner in which this was spoken did not bear the slightest resemblance + to the cold superiority with which René Drucquer had been treated. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman sat with one lean hand resting on the table and watched. He + knew that some reply was expected, but in face of that knowledge he chose + to remain silent. It was a case of Greek meeting Greek. The inscrutable + Provincial had met a foeman worthy of his steel at last. His strange + magnetic influence threw itself vainly against a will as firm as his own, + and he felt that his incidental effects, dramatic and conversational, fell + flat. Instantly he became interested in Christian Vellacott. + </p> + <p> + “I need hardly remind a man of your discrimination, Mr. Vellacott,” he + continued tentatively, “that there are two sides to every question.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman smiled and moved slightly in his chair, drawing in his feet + and leaning forward. + </p> + <p> + “Implying, I presume,” he said lightly, “that in this particular question + you are on one side and I upon the other.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! it seems so.” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott leant back in his chair again and crossed his legs. + </p> + <p> + “In my turn,” he said quietly, “I must remind you, monsieur, that I am a + journalist.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly and waited for his + companion to continue. His silence and the momentary motion of his + eyebrows, which in no way affected the lids, expressed admirably his + failure to see the connection of his companion's remark. + </p> + <p> + “Which means,” Christian went on to explain, “that my place is not upon + either side of the question, but in the middle. I belong to no party, and + I am the enemy of no man. I do not lead men's opinions. It is my duty to + state facts as plainly and as coldly as possible in order that my + countrymen may form their own judgment. It may appear that at one time I + write upon one side of the question; the next week I may seem to write + upon the other. That is one of the misfortunes of my calling.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we are not necessarily enemies,” said the Jesuit softly. + </p> + <p> + “No—not necessarily. On the other hand,” continued Christian, with + daring deliberation, “it is not at all necessary that we should be + friends.” + </p> + <p> + The Jesuit smiled slightly—so slightly that it was the mere ghost of + a smile, affecting the lines of his small mouth, but in no way relieving + the soft darkness of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Then we are enemies,” he said. “He whose follower I am, said that all who + are not with Him are against Him.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman's lips closed suddenly, and a peculiar stony look came over + his face. There was one subject upon which he had determined not to + converse. + </p> + <p> + “I am instructed,” continued the Provincial, with a sudden change of + manner from pleasant to practical, “to ask of you a written promise never + to write one word either for or against the Society of Jesus again. In + exchange for that promise I am empowered to tender to you the sincere + apologies of the Society for the inconvenience to which you may have been + put, and to assist you in every way to return home at once.” + </p> + <p> + A great silence followed this speech. A small clock suspended somewhere in + the room ticked monotonously, otherwise there was no sound audible. The + two men sat within a yard of each other, each thinking, of the other in + his individual way, from his individual point of view, the Jesuit with + downcast eyes, his companion watching his immobile features. + </p> + <p> + At length Christian Vellacott's full and quiet tones broke the spell. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he said simply, “I refuse.” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial rose from his seat, pushing it back as he did so. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will not detain you any longer. You are no doubt fatigued. The lay + brother waiting outside will show you the room assigned to you, and at + whatever time of day or night you may wish to see me, remember that I am + at your service.” + </p> + <p> + Christian rose also. He appeared to hesitate, and then to grasp the table + with both hands to assist himself. He stood for a moment, and suddenly + tottered forward. Had not the Provincial caught him he would have fallen. + </p> + <p> + “My head turns,” he mumbled incoherently. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter? ... what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + The Jesuit slipped his arm round him—a slight arm, but as hard and + strong as steel. + </p> + <p> + “You are tired,” he said sympathetically, “perhaps you have a little touch + of fever. Come, I will assist you to your room.” + </p> + <p> + And the two men passed out together. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. STRICKEN DOWN + </h2> + <p> + In later days Christian Vellacott could bring back to his memory no + distinct recollection of that first night spent in the monastery. There + was an indefinite remembrance of the steady, monotonous clang of a bell in + the first hours, doubtless the tolling of the matins, calling the elect to + prayer at midnight. + </p> + <p> + After that he must have fallen into a deep, lethargic sleep, for he never + heard the distant strains of the organ and the melodious chanting of gruff + voices. The strange, unquiet melody hovered over him in the little cell, + following him as he glided away from earth upon the blessed wings of + sleep, and haunted his restless dreams. + </p> + <p> + The monks were early astir next morning, for the sweet smell of drying hay + filled the air, and the second crop of the fruitful earth lay waiting to + be stacked. With tucked-up gowns and bared arms the sturdy devotees worked + with rake and pitchfork. No whispered word passed between them; none + raised his head to look around upon the smiling landscape or search in the + cloudless sky for the tiny lark whose morning hymn rippled down to them. + Each worked on in silence, tossing the scented hay, his mind being no + doubt filled with thoughts above all earthly things. + </p> + <p> + Near at hand lay a carefully-kept vegetable garden of large dimensions. + Here grew in profusion all nourishing roots and herbs, but there was no + sign of more luscious fruits. Small birds hopped and fluttered here and + there unheeded and unmolested, calling to each other joyously, and the + warming air was alive with the hum of tinier wings. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this walked man—the lord of all—humbly, + silently, with bowed head and unadmiring eyes—man whose life was + vouchsafed for the enjoyment of all these things. + </p> + <p> + A little square patch of sunlight lay on the stone floor of the small cell + allotted to Christian Vellacott. The thick oak door deadened the sounds of + life in the monastery, such as they were, and the strong, laboured + breathing of the young Englishman alone broke the chill silence. + </p> + <p> + Christian lay, all dressed, on the narrow bed. His eyes were half closed, + and the ruddy brown of his cheeks had faded into an ashy grey. His + clenched hands lay numbly at his side. Through his open, swollen lips + meaningless words came in a hoarse whisper. + </p> + <p> + Presently the door opened with a creaking sound, but the sleeper moved no + limb or feature. René Drucquer entered the cell and ran quickly to the + bedside. Behind, with more dignity and deliberation, followed the + sub-prior of the monastery. The young priest had obtained permission from + his Provincial to see Christian Vellacott for a few moments before his + hurried departure for India. Thus René had received his mission sooner + than he had hoped for. The astute and far-seeing Provincial had from the + beginning intended that René Drucquer should be removed from harm's way + without delay once his disagreeable mission to St. Mary Western was + performed. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” exclaimed the young priest in alarm, “he is dying!” + </p> + <p> + The venerable sub-prior bent his head over the bed. He was a tall, spare + man, with very sunken cheeks, and a marvellous expression of placid + contentment in his eyes such as one never finds in the face of a young + monk. He was very learned in medicines, and in the administration of such + simple herbs as were required to remedy the illnesses within the monastery + walls. Perhaps some of his patients died when they might have lived under + more skilled treatment, but it is a short and easy step from life to death + within a comfortless cell, and his bony hands were as tender over his sick + brethren as those of a woman. + </p> + <p> + He felt the Englishman's pulse and watched his ashen face for some + moments, touching the clammy forehead softly, while René Drucquer stood by + with a great sickening weight of remorse and fear upon his heart. Then the + sub-prior knelt stiffly down, and placed his clean-shaven lips near to + Christian's ear. + </p> + <p> + “My son,” he said, “do you hear me?” + </p> + <p> + Christian breathed less heavily, as if he were listening to some far-off + sound, but never moved a feature. Presently he began to murmur + incoherently, and the sub-prior bent his ear to listen. + </p> + <p> + “Much good would a blessing of mine do you, Hilda,” observed Christian + into the reverend ear. The old gentleman raised his cadaverous head and + looked somewhat puzzled. Again he listened. + </p> + <p> + “Look after Aunt Judy—she cannot last long,” murmured the young + Englishman in his native tongue, which was unknown to the monk. + </p> + <p> + “It is fever,” said the sub-prior presently—“one of those terrible + fevers which kill men as the cold kills flies!” + </p> + <p> + No thought seemed to enter the monk's mind of possible infection. He knelt + upon the cold floor with one bare and bony arm beneath the sick man's + head, while the other lay across his breast. He was looking intently into + the veiled eyes, inhaling the very breath of the swollen lips. + </p> + <p> + “Will he die, my father?” asked René Drucquer in a whisper; his face was + as pale as Vellacott's. + </p> + <p> + “He is in the hands of the good God,” was the pious answer. The tall monk + rose to his feet and stood before the bed thinking. He rubbed his bony + hands together slowly. Through the tiny window a shaft of sunlight poured + down upon his grizzled head, and showed up relentlessly the deep furrows + that ran diagonally down from his cheek-bone to his chin. + </p> + <p> + “You must watch here, my son,” he continued, “while I inform the + Father-Provincial of this.” + </p> + <p> + The venerable sub-prior was no Jesuit, and perhaps he would have been just + as well pleased had the Provincial elected to live elsewhere than in the + monastery. But the Prior—an old man of ninety, and incapable of work + or thought—was completely in the power of the Society. + </p> + <p> + When he found himself alone with the Englishman, René Drucquer sat wearily + upon a small wooden bench, the only form of seat provided, and leaned his + narrow face upon his hands. + </p> + <p> + The prospect that he saw before him as he sat staring vacantly at the + floor of the little cell was black enough. He saw no possible outlet, and + he had not the courage to force his way through the barriers erected all + round him. It must be remembered that he was a Roman Catholic, and over a + sincere disciple of the Mother Church the power of the Jesuits is greater + than man should ever be allowed to exercise. The slavery that England + fought against so restlessly is nothing to it, for mental bondage is + infinitely heavier than physical service. He had determined to accept the + Provincial's offer of missionary work in Asia, but the sudden horror of + realising that he was a Jesuit, and could never be anything else than a + Jesuit for the rest of his days, was fresh upon him. He was too young yet + to find consolation in the thought that he at all events could attempt to + steer a clear, unsullied course through the shoals and quicksands that + surround a priest's existence, and he was too old to buoy himself up with + the false hope that he might, despite his Jesuit's oath, do some good work + for his Church. His awakening had been rendered more terrible by the + brilliancy of the dreams which it had interrupted. + </p> + <p> + He had not looked upon Christian Vellacott as a victim hitherto, for the + bravest receive the least sympathy, and the young Englishman's cool way of + treating his reverse of fortune had repelled pity or commiseration. But + now all that was changed. Whatever this sickness might prove to be, René + Drucquer felt that the blame of it lay at his own door. If Christian + Vellacott were to die, he, René Drucquer, was in the eyes of God a + murderer, for he had forcibly brought him to his death. This was an + unpleasant reflection for a young devotee whose inward soul was full of + human kindness; and the presence of the strong man who lay gasping for + breath upon the narrow, comfortless bed was not reassuring. + </p> + <p> + It was only natural that those thoughts, coupled with the realisation of + the aimlessness of his own existence, should have bred in the young + Jesuit's heart a dull fire of antagonism against the man who was in + immediate authority over him, and when the Provincial noiselessly entered + the cell a few minutes later, he felt a sudden thrill of misgiving at the + thought that his feelings were sacred to none—that this man with his + deep, inscrutable eyes could read the face of his very soul like an open + book. + </p> + <p> + In this, René Drucquer was right. The Provincial was fully aware of the + presence of this spirit of antagonism, and, moreover, he knew that it + extended to the taciturn sub-prior who accompanied him. But this knowledge + in no way disturbed him. The spirit of antagonism had met him in every + turn of life. It was so familiar that he had learned to despise it. + Hitherto he had never failed in any undertaking, and he had never been + turned aside from the execution of his purpose by the fear of incurring + the enmity of men. Such minds as this make their mark in the line of life + which they take up, and if they do not happen to win the love of their + fellow-beings, they get on remarkably well without it. + </p> + <p> + The Provincial came into the cell with a singular noiselessness of motion. + His pale face expressed neither surprise nor annoyance, and his eyes + rested upon the form of the sick man with no sign of apprehension. He + approached, and with his long white finger touched Christian's wrist. For + a few moments he watched the uneasy movements of his flushed face, and + then he turned aside, without, however, leaving the bedside. Here again + there seemed to be no fear or thought of infection. + </p> + <p> + The sub-prior stood behind him with clasped hands, while René, who had + risen from his seat, was near at hand. + </p> + <p> + “This man, my father,” said the Provincial coldly, “must not die. You must + take every care, and spare no expense or trouble. If it is necessary you + can have doctors from Nantes. I will bear every expense, and I shall be + grieved to hear of his death!” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to leave the cell. He was a busy man, and his visit had + already lasted nearly three minutes. + </p> + <p> + René Drucquer stepped forward hurriedly. He was between his superior and + the door, so that he was in a position to command attention. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” he pleaded, “may I nurse him?” + </p> + <p> + The Provincial raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly; then he waved his + hand, commanding the young priest to stand aside. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said softly, “you must leave for Nantes in half-an-hour,” and he + passed out into the noiseless corridor. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. BACK TO LIFE + </h2> + <p> + One mellow autumnal evening, when the sunlight reflected from the white + monastery walls upon the fruit trees climbing there was still warm and + full of ripening glow, the Provincial was taking his post-prandial + promenade. + </p> + <p> + It is, perhaps, needless to observe that he was alone. No one ever walked + with the Provincial. No footstep ever crushed the gravel in harmony with + his gliding tread. Perhaps, indeed, no one had ever walked with him thus, + in the twilight, since a fairy, dancing form had moved in the shadow of + his tall person, and footsteps lighter than his own had vainly endeavoured + to keep time with his longer limbs. But that was in no monastery garden; + and the useful, vegetable producing enclosure bore little resemblance to + the château terrace. In those days it may be that there was a gleam of + life in the man's deep, velvety eyes—perhaps, indeed, a moustache + adorned the short, twisted lip where the white fingers rasped so + frequently now. + </p> + <p> + The pious monks were busy with their evening meal, and the Provincial was + quite alone in the garden. All around him the leaves glowed ruddily in the + warm light. Everywhere the fruits of earth were ripe and full with mature + beauty; but the solitary walker noted none of these. He paced backwards + and forwards with downcast eyes, turning slowly and indifferently as if it + mattered little where he walked. The merry blackbirds in the hay field + adjoining the garden called to each other continuously, and from a hidden + rookery came the voice of the dusky settlers, which is, perhaps, the + saddest sound in all nature's harmonies. But the Jesuit resolutely refused + to listen. Once, however, he stopped and stood motionless for some + seconds, with his head turned slightly to meet the distant cry; but he + never raised his eyes, which were deep and lifeless in their gaze. It may + be that there was a rookery near that southern château, where he once had + walked in the solemn evening hour, or perhaps he did not hear that sound + at all though his ear was turned towards it. + </p> + <p> + It would be hard indeed to read from the priest's still features the + thoughts that might be passing through his powerful brain; but the strange + influence of his being was such as makes itself felt without any spoken + word. As he walked there with his long hands clasped behind his back, his + peculiarly shaped head bent slightly forward, and his perfect lips closely + pressed, no one could have looked at him without feeling instinctively + that no ordinary mind was busy beneath the tiny tonsure—that no + ordinary soul breathed there for weal or woe, seeking after higher things + in the right way or the wrong. The man's cultivated repose of manner, his + evident intellectuality, and his subtle strength of purpose visible in + every glance of his eyes, betrayed that although his life might be passed + in the calm retreat of a monastery, his soul was not there. The man was + never created to pass his existence in prayerful meditation; his mission + was one of strife and contention amidst the strong minds of the age. One + felt that he was living in this quiet Breton valley for a purpose; that + from this peaceful spot he was dexterously handling wires that caused + puppets—aye, puppets with golden crowns—to dance, and smirk, + and bow in the farthest corners of the earth. + </p> + <p> + Presently the Jesuit heard footsteps upon the gravel at the far side of + the garden, but he did not raise his head. His interest in the trivial + incidents of everyday life appeared to be quite dead. + </p> + <p> + “Softly, softly!” said a deep, rough voice, which the Provincial + recognised as that of the sub-prior; then he raised his eyes slightly and + looked across the garden, without, however, altering his pace. + </p> + <p> + He saw there Christian Vellacott walking by the side of the hard-faced old + monk with long, hesitating strides, like a man who had forgotten how to + use his legs. It was exactly six weeks since the young journalist had + passed through that garden with René Drucquer, and those weeks had been to + him a strange and not unpleasant dream. It seemed as if the man lying upon + that little bed was in no way connected with the wiry, energetic Christian + Vellacott of old. As he lay there semi-somnolent and lazily comfortable + from sheer weakness, his interest in life was of a speculative + description, as if he looked on things from afar off. Nothing seemed to + matter much. There was an all-pervading sense of restful indifference as + to whether it might be night or day, morning, noon, or evening. All + responsibility in existence seemed to have left him: his ready pride of + self-dependence had given way to a gentle obedience, and the passage from + wakefulness to sleep was very sweet. + </p> + <p> + Through all those dreamy hours he heard the soft rustle of woollen + garments and the suppressed shuffle of sandalled feet. Whenever he opened + his heavy eyes he discerned vaguely in the dim light a grey, still form + seated upon the plain wooden bench at his bedside. Whenever he tried to + change his position upon the hard bed and his weary bones refused their + function, strong, hard hands were slipped beneath him and kind assistance + freely given. As a rule, it was the tall sub-prior who ministered to the + sick man, fighting the dread fever with all his simple knowledge; his + hands smoothed oftenest the tossed pillow; but many clean-shaven, strong, + and weary faces were bowed over the bed during those six weeks, for there + was a competition for the post of sick-nurse. The monks loved to feel that + they were performing some tangible good, and not spending their hours over + make-believe tasks like a man-of-warsman in fine weather. + </p> + <p> + One frequent visitor, however, Christian Vellacott never saw beneath his + lazy lashes. The Provincial never entered that little cell unless he was + positively informed that its inmate was asleep. The inscrutable Jesuit + seemed almost to be ashamed of the anxiety that he undoubtedly felt + respecting the sick man thus thrown upon his hands by a peculiar chain of + incidents. He spoke coldly and sarcastically to the sub-prior whenever he + condescended to mention the subject at all; but no day passed in which he + failed to pay at least one visit to the little cell at the end of the + long, silent corridor. + </p> + <p> + “Softly, softly!” said the old sub-prior, holding out his bony hand to + stay his companion's progress, “you are too ambitious, my son.” + </p> + <p> + Christian laughed in a low, weak voice, and raised his head to look round + him. The laugh ceased suddenly as he caught sight of the Provincial, and + across the potato-bed the two strong men looked speculatively into each + other's eyes in the peaceful twilight. The Jesuit's gaze fell first, and + with a dignified bow he moved gently away. + </p> + <p> + “I am stronger than I look, my father,” said Christian, turning to his + companion. Then they walked slowly on, and presently rested upon a wooden + bench built against the monastery wall. + </p> + <p> + The young Englishman leaned back and watched the Provincial, who was + pacing backwards and forwards where they had first seen him. The old monk + sat with clasped hands, and gravely contemplated the gravel beneath his + feet. Thus they waited together within the high, whitewashed walls, while + the light faded from the western sky. Three types, as strangely contrasted + as the student of human kind could wish to see: the old monk with his + placid bloodless face and strong useless arms—a wasted energy, a + mere monument to mistaken zeal; and the younger men so widely severed by + social circumstances, and yet resembling each other somewhat in heart and + soul. Each had a strong individuality—each a great and far-reaching + vitality. Each was, in his way, a power in the world, as all strong minds + are; for in face of what may be said (and with apparent justice) + respecting chance and mere good fortune, good men must come to the top + among their fellows. They must—and most assuredly they do. As in + olden days the doughtiest knights sought each other in the battlefield to + measure steel, so in these later times the ruling intellects of the day + meet and clear a circle round them. The Provincial was a power in the + Society of Jesus; perhaps he was destined one day to be General of it; and + Christian Vellacott had suddenly appeared upon the field of politic + strife, heralding his arrival with two most deadly blows dealt in masterly + succession. From the first they were sure to come together, sooner or + later; and now, when they were separated by nothing more formidable than a + bed of potatoes, they were glancing askance and longing to be at each + other. But it could not be. Had the sub-prior left the garden it would + have made no difference. It was morally impossible that those two men + could speak what they were thinking, for one of them was a Jesuit. + </p> + <p> + The Provincial, however, made the first move, and the Englishman often + wondered in later days what his intention might have been. He walked on to + the northern end of the garden, where a few thick-stemmed pear trees were + trained against the wall. The fruit was hanging in profusion, for it was + not consumed in the monastery but given to the poor at harvest-time. The + Provincial selected a brown, ripe pear, and broke it delicately from the + tree without allowing his fingers to come in contact with the fruit + itself. Then he turned and walked with the same lazy precision towards the + two other occupants of the garden. At his approach the sub-prior rose from + his seat and stood motionless with clasped hands; there was a faint + suggestion of antagonism in his attitude, which was quite devoid of + servility. Christian, however, remained seated, raising his keen grey eyes + to the Provincial's face with a quiet self-assertion which the Jesuit + ignored. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad, Monsieur, to see you restored to health,” he said coldly to + Christian, meeting his gaze for a moment. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman bowed very slightly, and there was a peculiar + expressiveness in the action which betrayed his foreign education, but the + cool silence with which he waited for the Provincial to speak again was + essentially British. The Jesuit moved and glanced slowly beneath his + lowered eyelids towards the motionless figure of the sub-prior. He was too + highly bred to allow himself to be betrayed into any sign of + embarrassment, and too clever to let the Englishman see that he was + hesitating. After a momentary pause he turned gravely to the sub-prior, + and said: + </p> + <p> + “Will you allow your patient, my brother, to taste of our fruit? it is + ripe and wholesome.” + </p> + <p> + Then, without awaiting a reply, he presented the pear to Vellacott. It was + a strange action, and no doubt there was some deep intention in it. The + Jesuit must have known, however, from René Drucquer's report, and from his + own observations, that Christian Vellacott was of too firm a mould to + allow his feelings to be influenced by a petty action of this description, + however sincere and conciliatory might have been the spirit in which it + was conceived. Perhaps he read the Englishman's character totally wrong, + although his experience of men must have been very great; or perhaps he + really wished to conciliate him, and took this first step with the + graceful delicacy of his nation, with a view to following it up. + </p> + <p> + With a conventional word of thanks, Vellacott took the pear and set it + down upon the bench at his side. Whatever the Jesuit's intention might + have been, it was frustrated by his quiet action. It would have been so + easy to have said a few words of praise regarding the fruit, and it was + only natural to have begun eating it at once; but Vellacott read a deeper + meaning in all this, and he chose a more difficult course. It was + assuredly harder to keep silence then than to talk, and a weaker-minded + man would have thanked the Provincial with effusion. The manner in which + Vellacott laid the fruit upon the bench, his quiet and deliberate silence, + conveyed unmistakably and intentionally that the Provincial's society was + as unwelcome as it was unnecessary. There was nothing to be done but take + the hint; and in the lowering twilight the solitary, miserable man moved + reluctantly away. With contemplative hardness of heart the Englishman + watched him go; there was no feeling of triumph in his soul—neither, + however, was there pity. The Jesuit had chosen his own path, he had + reached his goal, and that most terrible thirst—the thirst for power—was + nearly slaked. If at times—at the end of a long day of hard mental + work, when men's hearts are softened by weariness and lowering peace—he + desired something else than power, some little touch of human sympathy + perhaps, his was the blame if no heart responded to his own. Christian + Vellacott sat and wondered dreamily, with the nonchalance of a man who has + been at the very gates of death, if power were worth this purchase-money. + </p> + <p> + The sub-prior had seated himself again, and with his strong hands meekly + clasped he waited. He knew that something was passing which he could not + understand: his dull instincts told him vaguely that between these two + strong men there was war-fare, dumb, sullen, and merciless; but unused as + he was to the ways of men, unlearned in the intricacies of human thoughts, + he could not read more. + </p> + <p> + “You have not told me yet, my father,” said Vellacott, “how long I have + been ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Six weeks, my son,” replied the taciturn monk. + </p> + <p> + “And it was very bad?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very bad.” + </p> + <p> + Christian slowly rubbed his thin hands together. His fingers were moist + and singularly white, with a bleached appearance about the knuckles. His + face was thin, but not emaciated, his long jaw and somewhat pronounced + chin were not more bony than of old, but the expression of his mouth was + quite changed; his lips were no longer thrust upward with a determined + curve, and a smile seemed nearer at hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have a faint recollection of being very tenderly nursed and cared for; + generally by you, I think. No doubt you saved my life.” + </p> + <p> + The sub-prior moved a little, and drew in his feet. + </p> + <p> + “The matter was not in my hands,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman, with some tact, allowed this remark to pass in acquiescent + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever think that ... I was not ... going back to England?” he + asked presently, in a lighter tone, though the thought of returning home + brought no smile to his face. + </p> + <p> + The sub-prior did not reply at once. He appeared to be thinking deeply, + for he leaned forward in an unmonastic attitude with his knees apart, his + elbows resting upon them, and his hands clasped. He gazed across the + prosaic potato-bed with his colourless lips slightly apart. + </p> + <p> + “One night,” he began meditatively, “I went to sit with you after the bell + for matins had been rung. From midnight till three o'clock you never + moved. Then I gave you some cordial, and as I stooped over you the candle + flickered a little; there were strange shadows upon your face, but around + your lips there was a deeper shade. I had seen it once before, on my + brother's face when he lay upon the hard Paris pavement with a bullet in + his lungs, and his breath whistling through the orifice as the wind + whistles round our walls in winter. I held the candle closer to your face, + and as I did so, a hand came over my shoulder and took it from my fingers. + The Father Provincial had come to help me. He said no word, but set the + candle down upon the bed, and I held you up while he administered the + cordial drop by drop, as a man oils a cartwheel.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Christian slowly and suggestively, “<i>he</i> was there!” + </p> + <p> + The monk made no reply. He sat motionless, with a calm, acquired silence, + which might have meant much or nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Did he come often?” inquired the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “Very often.” + </p> + <p> + “I never saw him.” + </p> + <p> + This, again, was met with silence. Presently the sub-prior continued his + narrative. + </p> + <p> + “When daylight came at last,” he said, “the shadow had left your lips. I + think that night was the worst; it was then that you were nearer ... + nearer than at any other time.” + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott was strong enough now to take his usual interest in + outward things. With the writer's instinct he went through the world + looking round him, always studying men and things, watching, listening, + and storing up experience. The Provincial interested him greatly, but he + did not dare to show his curiosity; he hesitated to penetrate the darkness + that surrounded the man's life, past, present, and future. In a minor + degree the taciturn sub-prior arrested his attention. The old monk was in + a communicative humour, and the Englishman led him on a little without + thinking much about the fairness of it. + </p> + <p> + “Did your brother die?” he asked sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “He died,” was the reply. “Yes, my son, he died—died cursing the + tyrant's bullet in his lungs. He threw away his life in a vain attempt to + alter human nature, to set straight that which is crooked and cannot be + set straight. He sought to bring about at once that which cometh not until + the lion shall eat straw like an ox. See, my son, that you do not attempt + the same.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Christian, after a pause, “that we all try a little, and + perhaps some day a great accumulation of little efforts will take place. + You, my father, have tried as well!” + </p> + <p> + The monk slowly shook his head, without, however, any great display of + conviction. + </p> + <p> + “I was not always a monk,” he said, as if seeking to excuse a bygone + folly. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly dark now. The birds were silent, and only the whispering of + the crisp, withering leaves broke the solemn hush of eventide. The two men + sat side by side without speaking. They had learnt to know each other + fairly well during the last weeks—so well that between them silence + was entirely restful. At length Christian moved restlessly. He had reached + that stage of convalescence where a position becomes irksome after a short + time. It was merely a sign of returning strength. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the Abbé Drucquer,” he asked abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “He left us some time ago,” was the guarded reply. + </p> + <p> + “He spoke of going abroad,” said Christian, deliberately ignoring the + sub-prior's tone. + </p> + <p> + “The Father Provincial told me that the Abbé had gone abroad—to + India—to spread there the Holy Light to such as are still in + darkness.” + </p> + <p> + The young journalist thought that he detected again a faint suggestion of + antagonism in the sub-prior's voice. The manner in which the information + was imparted was almost an insult to the Provincial. It was a repetition + of his words, given in such a manner that had the speaker been a man of + subtle tongue it would have implied grave doubt. + </p> + <p> + Christian was somewhat surprised that René Drucquer should have attained + his object so quickly. He never suspected that he himself might have had + much to do with it, that it had been deemed expedient to remove the young + priest beyond the possible reach of his influence, because he was quite + unconscious of this influence. He did not know that its power had affected + René Drucquer, and that some reflection of it had even touched the + self-contained Provincial—that it was even now making this old + sub-prior talk more openly than was prudent or wise. He happened to be + taking the question from a very different point of view. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. BACK TO WORK + </h2> + <p> + Day by day Christian Vellacott recovered strength. The enforced rest, and + perhaps also the monastic peacefulness of his surroundings, contributed + greatly towards this. In mental matters as in physical we are subject to + contagion, and from the placid recluses, vegetating unheeded in the heart + of Brittany, their prisoner acquired a certain restfulness of mind which + was eminently beneficial to his body. Life inside those white walls was so + sleepy and withal so pleasant that it was physically and mentally + impossible to think and worry over events that might be passing in the + outer world. + </p> + <p> + Presently, however, Christian began to feel idle, which is a good sign in + invalids; and soon the days became long and irksome. He began to take an + increased interest in his surroundings, and realised at once how little he + knew of the existence going on about him. Though he frequently passed, in + the dim corridors and cloisters, a silent, grey-clad figure, exchanging + perhaps with him a scarcely perceptible salutation, he had never spoken + with any other inmates of the monastery than the Provincial and the + sub-prior. + </p> + <p> + He noticed also that the watchful care of the nurse had imperceptibly + glided into that of a warder. He was never allowed out of his cell unless + accompanied by the sub-prior—in fact, he was a state prisoner. His + daily walks never extended beyond the one path near the potato bed, or + backwards and forwards at the sunny end of the garden, where the huge + pears hung ripely. From neither point was any portion of the surrounding + country visible, but the Provincial could not veil the sun, and Christian + knew where lay the west and where the east. + </p> + <p> + No possible opportunity for escape presented itself, but the Englishman + was storing up strength and knowledge all the while. He knew that things + would not go on for long like this, and felt that the Provincial would + sooner or later summon him to the long room at the end of the corridor + upon the upper floor. + </p> + <p> + This call came to him three weeks after the day when the two men had met + in the garden—nine weeks after the Englishman's captivity had + commenced. + </p> + <p> + “My son,” said the sub-prior one afternoon, “the Father Provincial wishes + to speak with you to-day at three.” + </p> + <p> + Christian glanced up at the great monastery clock, which declared the time + to be a quarter to three. + </p> + <p> + “I am ready,” he said quietly. There was no tremor in his voice or light + in his eyes, and he continued walking leisurely by the side of the old + monk; but a sudden thrill of pleasant anticipation warmed his heart. + </p> + <p> + A little later they entered the monastery and mounted the stone stairs + together. As they walked along the corridor the clock in the tower + overhead struck three. + </p> + <p> + “I will wait for you at the foot of the stairs,” said the monk slowly, as + if with some compunction. Then he led the way to the end of the corridor + and knocked at the door. He stood back, as if the Provincial were in the + habit of keeping knockers waiting. Such was, at all events, the case now, + and some minutes elapsed before a clear, low voice bade him enter. + </p> + <p> + The monk opened the door and stood back against the wall for Christian to + pass in. The Provincial was seated at the table near the window, which was + open, the afternoon being sultry although the autumn was nearly over. At + his left hand stood the small Venetian mirror which enabled him to see who + was behind him without turning round. + </p> + <p> + As Christian crossed the room the Provincial rose and bowed slightly, with + one of his slow, soft glances. Then he indicated the chair at the + left-hand side of the table, and said, without looking up: + </p> + <p> + “Be good enough—Mr. Vellacott.” + </p> + <p> + When they were both seated the Provincial suddenly raised his eyes and + fixed them upon the Englishman's face. The action was slightly dramatic, + but very effective, and clearly showed that he was accustomed to find the + eyes of others quail before his. Christian met the gaze with a calmness + more difficult to meet than open defiance. After a moment they turned away + simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + “I need scarcely,” said the Provincial, with singular sweetness of manner, + which, however, was quite devoid of servility, “apologise to you, + Monsieur, for speaking in French, as it is almost your native language.” + </p> + <p> + Christian bowed, at the same time edging somewhat nearer to the table. + </p> + <p> + “There are one or two matters,” continued the Jesuit, speaking faster, + “upon which I have been instructed to treat with you; but first I must + congratulate you upon your restoration to health. Your illness has been + very serious... I trust that you have had nothing to complain of... in the + treatment which you have received at our hands.” + </p> + <p> + Christian, while sitting quite motionless, was making an exhaustive survey + of the room. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” he said, in a conventional tone which, in comparison to + his companion's manner, was almost brutal, “it is probably owing to the + care of the sub-prior that I am alive at the present moment, and—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped suddenly; an almost imperceptible motion of the Jesuit's + straight eyebrows warned him. + </p> + <p> + “And...?” repeated the Provincial, interrogatively. He leant back in his + chair with an obvious air of interest. + </p> + <p> + “And I am very grateful——to him.” + </p> + <p> + “The reverend father is a great doctor,” said the Jesuit lightly. “Excuse + me,” he continued, rising and leaning across the table, “I will close the + window; the air from the river begins to grow cool.” + </p> + <p> + The journalist moved slightly, looking over his shoulder towards the + window; at the same moment he altered, with his elbow, the position of the + small mirror standing upon the table. Instead of reflecting the whole + room, including the door at the end, it now reproduced the blank wall at + the side opposed to the curtained recess where the bed was placed. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Mr. Vellacott,” continued the Jesuit, reseating himself, “I must + beg your attention. I think there can be no harm in a little mutual + frankness, and—and it seems to me that a certain allowance for + respective circumstances can well be demanded.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and opening the leather-bound manuscript book, became absorbed + for a moment in the perusal of one of its pages. + </p> + <p> + “From your pen,” he then said, in a businesslike monotone, “there has + emanated a serious and hitherto unproved charge against the Holy Society + of Jesus. It came at a critical moment in the political strife then raging + in France; and, in proportion to the attention it attracted, harm and + calumny accrued to the Society. I am told that your motives were purely + patriotic, and your desire was nothing beyond a most laudable one of + keeping your countrymen out of difficulties. Before I had the pleasure of + seeing you I said, 'This is a young journalist who, at any expense, and + even at the sacrifice of truth, wishes to make a name in the world and + force himself into public attention.' Since then I have withdrawn that + opinion.” + </p> + <p> + During these remarks the Provincial had not raised his eyes from the + table. He now leant back in the chair and contemplated his own clasped + hands. Christian had listened attentively. His long, grave face was turned + slightly towards the Provincial, and his eyes were perhaps a little softer + in their gaze. + </p> + <p> + “I endeavoured,” he said, “some weeks ago, to explain my position.” + </p> + <p> + The Jesuit inclined his head. Then he raised his long white finger to his + upper lip, stroking the blue skin pensively. + </p> + <p> + Presently he raised his eyes to the Englishman's face, and in their + velvety depths Christian thought he detected an expression which was + almost pleading. It seemed to express a desire for help, for some slight + assistance in the performance of a difficult task. He never again looked + into those eyes in all his life, but the remembrance of them remained in + his heart for many years after the surrounding incidents had passed away + from memory and interest. He knew that the Soul looking forth from that + pale and heartless face was of no ordinary mould or strength. In later + years, when they were both grey-haired men whose Yea or No was of some + weight in the world—one speaking with the great and open voice of + the Press, the other working subtly, dumbly, secretly—their motives + may have clashed once more, their souls may have met and touched, as it + were, over the heads of the People, but they never looked into each + other's eyes again. + </p> + <p> + The Provincial moved uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “It has been a most unfortunate business,” he said gently, and after a + pause continued more rapidly, with his eyes upon the book. “I am + instructed to lay before you the apologies of the Society for the + inconvenience to which you have been put. Your own sense of justice will + tell you that we were bound to defend ourselves in every way. You have + done us a great injury, and, as is our custom, we have contradicted + nothing. The Society of Jesus does not defend itself in the vain hope of + receiving justice at the hands of men. I am now in a position to inform + you again that you are at liberty—free to go where you will, when + you will—and that any sum you may require is at your disposal to + convey you home to England ... on your signing a promise never to write + another word for private or public circulation on the subject of the Holy + Order of Jesus, or to dictate to the writing of another.” + </p> + <p> + “I must refuse,” said Christian laconically, almost before the words had + left the Jesuit's lips. “As I explained before, I am simply a public + servant; what I happen to know must ever be at the public disposal or I am + useless.” + </p> + <p> + A short silence followed this remark. When at length the Provincial spoke + his tone was cold and reserved. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he said, “I expected a refusal—at first. I am + instructed to ask you to reconsider your refusal and to oblige me, at the + end of a week, with the result of your meditations. If it remains a + refusal, another week will be accorded, and so on.” + </p> + <p> + “Until—?” + </p> + <p> + The Jesuit closed the book upon the table in front of him and with great + care altered its position so that it lay quite squarely. He raised his + eyebrows slightly and glanced sideways towards the Englishman. At that + moment the bell began summoning the devotees to their evening meal, its + deep tone vibrating weirdly through the bare corridors. + </p> + <p> + “Until you accept,” suggested he softly. + </p> + <p> + Christian looked at him speculatively. The faintest suspicion of a smile + hovered for a moment in his eyes, and then he turned and looked out of the + window. + </p> + <p> + “I hope, Monsieur,” continued the Jesuit, “that when I have the pleasure + of seeing you—a week hence—your health will be quite + re-established!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” + </p> + <p> + “And in the meantime I shall feel honoured by your asking for anything you + may require.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” answered Christian again. He was still looking over his + shoulder, down at the brown river which ran immediately below the window. + </p> + <p> + “Please excuse my rising to open the door for you,” said the Provincial, + with cool audacity, “but I have a few words to write before joining our + brethren at their evening repast.” + </p> + <p> + Christian turned and looked at him vaguely. There was a peculiar gleam in + his eyes, and he was breathing heavily. Then he rose and, as he passed the + Jesuit, bowed slightly in acknowledgment of his grave salutation. He + walked quickly down the length of the room, which was not carpeted, and + opened the door, closing it again with some noise immediately. But he + never crossed the threshold. To the man sitting at the table it was as if + the Englishman had left the room, closing the door after him. + </p> + <p> + Presently the Provincial glanced at the mirror, from mere habit, and found + that it was displaced. He re-arranged it thoughtfully, so that the entire + room was included in its field of reflection. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he said aloud, “when and why he did that!” + </p> + <p> + Then he returned to his writing. In a few minutes, however, he rose and + pushed back his chair. With his hands clasped behind his back he stood and + gazed fixedly out of the window. Beneath him the brown water glided past + with curling eddy and gleaming ripple, while its soft murmur was the only + sound that broke the pathetic silence surrounding this lonely man. His + small and perfectly formed face was quite expressionless; the curve of his + thin lips meant nothing; all the suppressed vitality of his being lay in + those deep, soft eyes over which there seemed to be a veil. Presently he + turned, and with lithe, smooth steps passed down the long room and out of + the door. + </p> + <p> + Instantly Christian Vellacott came from his hiding-place within the + recess. He ran to the window and opened it noiselessly. A moment later he + was standing upon the stone sill. The afternoon sun shone full upon his + face as he stood there, and showed a deep red flush on either cheek. + Slowly he stooped forward, holding with one hand to the woodwork of the + window while he examined critically the surface of the water. Suddenly he + threw his arms forward and like a black shadow dived noiselessly, passing + into the depth without a splash. When he rose to the surface he turned to + look at the monastery. The Provincial's window was the only outlet + directly on to the river. + </p> + <p> + The stream was rapid, and after swimming with it for a short time he left + the water and lay down to recover his breath under the friendly cover of + some bushes. There he remained for some time, while the short October + twilight closed over the land. A man just dragged from the jaws of death, + he lay in his wet clothes where he first found shelter without even + troubling to move his limbs from the pools of water slowly accumulating. + Already the monastery was a thing of the past. With the rapid forethought + of his generation he was already looking to the future. He knew too well + the spirit of the people in France to fear pursuit. The monks never + ventured beyond their own walls except on ostentatious missions of + charity. The machinations of the Society of Jesus were less to be feared + in France than in England, and he had only to take his story to the + nearest sub-prefecture to raise a storm of popular opinion in his favour. + But this was not his project. With him, as in all human plans, his own + personal feelings came before the possible duty he owed to the public. He + lay beneath the bramble undergrowth, and speculated as to what might have + taken place subsequent to his disappearance. At that moment the fortunes + of the <i>Beacon</i> gave him no food for thought. What Mr. Bodery and his + subordinate might, or might not, think found no interest in his mind. All + his speculations were confined to events at St. Mary Western, and the + outcome of his meditations was that when the friendly cover of darkness + lay on the land he rose and started to walk briskly across the well-tilled + country towards the north. + </p> + <p> + That portion of Brittany which lies along the northern coast is a pastoral + land where sleep occupies the larger half of man's life. Although it was + only evening, an hour when Paris and London recover, as it were, from the + previous night's vigil and brighten up into vigour, the solitary + Englishman passed unheeded through the squalid villages, unmolested along + the winding roads. Mile after mile of scanty forest land and rich meadow + were left behind, while, except for a few heavily-breathing cattle, he met + no sign of life. At last he came upon a broader road which bore + unmistakable signs of military workmanship in its construction, and here + he met, and passed with laconic greeting, a few peasant women returning + with empty baskets from some neighbouring market; or perhaps a + “cantonnier” here and there, plodding home with “sabots” swinging heavily + and round shoulders bent beneath the burden of his weighty stone-breaking + implements. + </p> + <p> + Following the direction of this road his course was now towards the + north-east, with more tendency to the eastward than he desired, but there + was no choice. About eight o'clock he passed through a small village, + which appeared to be already wrapped in stupid slumber such as attends the + peasant's pillow. A cock crowed loudly, and in reply a dog barked with + some alarm, but Christian was already beyond the village upon the deserted + high road again. + </p> + <p> + He now began to feel the weakening effect of his illness; his legs became + cramped, and he frequently rested at the roadside. The highway was running + still more to the eastward now, and Christian was just beginning to + consider the advisability of taking to the country again, when it joined a + broader road cut east and west. Here he stopped short, and, raising his + head, stood quite still for some moments. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he muttered. “The sea. I smell the sea.” + </p> + <p> + He now turned to the left, and advanced along the newly-discovered road + towards the west. As he progressed the pungent odour of seaweed refreshed + him and grew stronger every moment. Suddenly he became aware that although + high land lay upon his left hand there was to his right a hollow darkness + without shadow or depth. No merry plash of waves came to explain this; the + smell of the sea was there, but the joyous tumble of its waters was not to + be heard. The traveller stooped low and peered into the darkness. + Gradually he discerned a distant line of horizon, and to that point there + seemed to stretch a vast dead sheet of water without light or motion. Upon + his ears there stole a soft bubbling sound, varied occasionally by a tiny + ripple. Suddenly a flash of recollection appeared to pass through the + watcher's mind, and he muttered an exclamation of surprise as he turned + towards the east and endeavoured to pierce the gloom. He was right. Upon + the distant line of horizon a jagged outline cut the sky. It was like the + form of a huge tooth jutting out from the softer earth. Such is Mont St. + Michel standing grandly alone in the midst of a shallow, sullen sea. The + only firm thing among the quaking sands, the only stone for miles around. + </p> + <p> + “The Bay of Cancale!” reflected Christian. “If I keep to the westward I + shall reach St. Mâlo before ten o'clock!” + </p> + <p> + And he set off with renewed vigour. From his feet there stretched away to + the north a great dead level of quicksand, seething, bubbling, and heaving + in the darkness. The sea, and yet no sea. Neither honest land nor rolling + water. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. SIGNOR BRUNO + </h2> + <p> + Silas Lebrun, captain and part-owner of the brig <i>Agnes and Mary</i> of + Jersey, was an early riser. Moreover, the old gentleman entertained + peculiar views as to the homage due to Morpheus. He made no elaborate + toilet before entering the presence of that most lovable god. Indeed he + always slept in his boots, and the cabin-boy had on several occasions + invited the forecastle hands to believe that he neither removed the + ancient sealskin cap from his head nor the wooden pipe from his lips when + slumber soothed his senses; but this statement was always set aside as + unauthenticated. + </p> + <p> + In person the ancient sailor was almost square, with short legs and a body + worthy of promotion to something higher. His face was wrinkled and brown, + like the exterior of that incomprehensible fruit the medlar, which is + never ripe till it is bad, and then it is to be avoided. A yellow-grey + beard clustered closely round a short chin, and when perchance the + sealskin cap was absent yellow-grey hair of a similar hue completed the + circle, standing up as high from his brow as fell the beard downward from + his chin. A pair of intensely blue eyes, liquid always with the milk of + human kindness, rendered the hirsute medlar a pleasant thing to look at. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Agnes and Mary</i> was ready for sea, her cargo of potatoes, with a + little light weight in the way of French beans and eggs, comfortably + stowed, and as Captain Lebrun emerged from what he was pleased to call his + “state-room” with the first breath of a clear morning he performed his + matinal toilet with a certain sense of satisfaction. This operation was + simple, consisting merely in the passage of four very brown fingers + through the yellow-grey hair, and a hurried dispersal of the tobacco ash + secreted in his beard. + </p> + <p> + The first object that met the mariner's astonished gaze was the long black + form of a man stretched comfortably upon the cabin locker. The green mud + adhering to the sleeper's thin shoes showed that he had climbed on board + at low tide when the harbour was dry. + </p> + <p> + Captain Lebrun gazed meditatively at the intruder for some moments. Then + he produced a powerfully-scented pipe of venerable appearance, which had + been, at various stages of its existence, bound in a seaman-like manner + with pieces of tarred yarn. He slowly filled this object, and proceeded to + inform it in a husky voice that he was “blowed.” The pipe was, apparently, + in a similar condition, as it refused absolutely to answer to the powerful + suction applied to it. + </p> + <p> + He then seated himself with some difficulty upon the corner of the low + table, and examined the sleeper critically. + </p> + <p> + “Poor devil,” he again said, addressing himself to his pipe. “He's one of + them priest fellows.—Hi, mister!” he observed, raising his voice. + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott woke up at once, and took in the situation without + delay. He was not of those who must go through terrible contortions before + regaining their senses after sleep. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Captain!” he observed pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—yourn't a parlee voo, then!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm an Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed. Then you'll excuse me, but what in the name of glory are you + doing here?” + </p> + <p> + Christian sat up and looked at his muddy shoes with some interest. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the truth is that I am bolting. I want to get across to England. I + saw where you hailed from by your rig, and clambered on board last night. + It seemed to me that when an Englishman is in a hole he cannot do better + than go to a fellow-countryman for help.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lebrun made a mighty effort to force a passage through his pipe, + and was rewarded by a very high-pitched squeak. + </p> + <p> + “Ay!” he said doubtfully. “But what sort of hole is it? Nothing dirty, I'm + hopin'. Who are yer? Why are ye runnin' away, and who are ye runnin' + from?” + </p> + <p> + Though a trifle blunt the sailor's manner was not unfriendly, and + Christian laughed before replying. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “to tell you the whole story would take a long time. You + remember perhaps there was a row, about two months ago, respecting some + English rifles found in Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I remember that; we had a lot o' trouble with the Customs just + then. The thing was ferreted out by a young newspaper fellow!” + </p> + <p> + Christian rubbed his hands slowly together. He was terribly anxious to + hear the sequel. + </p> + <p> + “I am that newspaper fellow,” he said, with a quick smile. + </p> + <p> + Captain Lebrun slowly stood up. He contemplated his pipe thoughtfully, + then laying it upon the table he turned solemnly towards Christian, and + held out a broad brown hand which was covered with scales in lieu of skin. + </p> + <p> + “Shake hands, mister?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Christian obliged him. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” he said quickly, “I want to know what has happened since—since + I left England. Has there been a great row? Has ... has anybody wondered + where I was?” + </p> + <p> + The old sailor may have had his suspicions. He may have guessed that + Christian Vellacott had not left England at the dictates of his own free + will, for he looked at him very kindly with his liquid blue eyes, and + replied slowly:— + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't say that <i>nobody</i> hasn't been wonderin' where ye was, but—but + there's been nothing in the papers!” + </p> + <p> + “That is all right! And now will you give me a passage, Captain?” + </p> + <p> + “Course I will! We sail about eleven this morning. I'm loaded and cleared + out. But I should like you to have a change o' clothes. Can't bear to see + ye in them black things. It makes me feel as if I was talkin' to a + priest.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like nothing better,” replied Christian, as he rose and + contemplated his own person reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “Come into my state-room then. I've got a few things of my own, and a bit + of a slop-chest: jerseys and things as I sell to the men.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain's wardrobe was of a marine character and somewhat rough in + texture. He had, however, a coat and waistcoat of thick blue pilot-cloth + which fitted Christian remarkably well, but the continuations thereof were + so absurdly out of keeping with the young fellow's long limbs as to + precipitate the skipper on to the verge of apoplexy. When he recovered, + and his pipe was re-lighted, he left the cabin and went forward to borrow + a pair of the required articles from Tom Slake, an ordinary seaman of tall + and slim proportions. In a short time Christian Vellacott bore the outward + semblance of a very fair specimen of the British tar, except that his + cheeks were bleached and sunken, which discrepancy was promptly commented + upon by the blunt old sailor. + </p> + <p> + Secrecy was absolutely necessary, so Tom, of the long legs, was the only + person to whom Christian's presence was made known; and he it was who (in + view of a possible berth as steward later on) was entrusted with the + simple culinary duties of the vessel. + </p> + <p> + Breakfast, as served up by Tom, was of a noble simplicity. A long shiny + loaf of yesterday's bread, some butter in a saucer—which vessel was + deemed entirely superfluous in connection with cups—brown sugar in + an old mustard-tin, with portions of yellow paper adhering to it, and + solid slices of bacon brought from the galley in their native frying-pan. + Such slight drawbacks, however, as there might have been in the matter of + table-ware disappeared before the sense of kindly hospitality with which + Captain Lebrun poured the tea into a cracked cup and a borrowed pannikin, + dropping in the sugar with careful judgment from his brown fingers. Such + defects as there might have lurked in the culinary art as carried on in + the galley vanished before the friendly solicitude with which Tom tilted + the frying-pan to pour into Christian's plate a bright flow of bacon-fat + cunningly mingled with cinders. + </p> + <p> + When the meal had been duly despatched Captain Lebrun produced his pipe + and proceeded to fill it, after having extracted from its inward parts the + usual high-toned squeak. + </p> + <p> + Christian leant back against the bulkhead with his hands buried deeply in + Tom's borrowed pockets. He felt much more at home in pilot cloth than in + cashmere. + </p> + <p> + “There is one more thing I should like to borrow,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Ay?” repeated the captain interrogatively, as he searched in his + waistcoat-pocket for a match. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “A pipe. I have not had a smoke for two months.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain struck a light upon his leg. + </p> + <p> + “I've got one somewhere,” he replied reassuringly; “carried it for many + years now, just in case this one fell overboard or got broke.” + </p> + <p> + Tom, who happened to be present, smiled audibly behind a hand which was + hardly a recommendation for the coveted berth of steward, but Christian + looked at the battered pipe with sympathetic gravity. + </p> + <p> + At ten o'clock the <i>Agnes and Mary</i> warped out of harbour and dropped + lazily down the Rance, setting sail as she went. Christian had spent most + of the morning in the little cabin smoking Captain Lebrun's reserve pipe, + and seeking to establish order among the accounts of the ship. The + accounts were the <i>bête noire</i> of the old sailor's existence. Upon + his own confession he “wasn't no arithmetician,” and Christian found, upon + inspecting his accounts, no cause to contradict this ambiguous statement. + </p> + <p> + When the <i>Agnes and Mary</i> was clear of the harbour he went on deck, + where activity and maritime language reigned supreme. The channel was + narrow and the wind light, consequently the little brig drifted more or + less at her own sweet will. This would have been well enough had the + waterway been clear of other vessels, but the Jersey steamer was coming + in, with her yellow funnel gleaming in the sunlight, her mail-flag + fluttering at her foremast, and her captain swearing on the bridge, with + the whistle-pull in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Seeing that the <i>Agnes and Mary</i> had no steerage way, the captain + stopped his engines for a few minutes, and then went ahead again at + half-speed. This brought the vessels close together, and, as is the + invariable custom in such circumstances, the two crews stared stonily at + each other. On the deck were one or two passengers enjoying the morning + air after a cramped and uncomfortable night. Among these was an old man + with a singularly benign expression; he was standing near the after-wheel, + gazing with senile placidity towards St. Mâlo. As the vessels neared each + other, however, he walked towards the rail, and stood there with a + pleasant smile upon his face, as if ready to exchange a greeting with any + kindred soul upon the <i>Agnes and Mary</i>. + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott, seated upon the rail of the after-deck, saw the old + man and watched him with some interest—not, however, altering his + position or changing countenance. The vessels moved slowly on, and, in due + course, the two men were opposite to each other, each at the extreme stern + of his ship. + </p> + <p> + Then the young journalist removed Captain Lebrun's spare pipe from his + lips, and leaning sideways over the water, called out: + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Signor Bruno!” + </p> + <p> + The effect of this friendly greeting upon the benevolent old gentleman was + peculiar. He grasped the rail before him with both hands, and stared at + the young Englishman. Then he stamped upon the deck with a sudden access + of fury. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he exclaimed fiercely, while a tiger-like gleam shone out from + beneath his smooth white brows. “Ah! it is you!” + </p> + <p> + Christian swung his legs idly, and smiled with some amusement across the + little strip of water. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the old man plunged his hand into the breast-pocket of his coat. + He appeared to be tugging wildly at some article which was caught in the + lining of his clothes, when a remarkable change came over his face. A dull + red colour flew to his cheeks, and his eyes gleamed ruddily, as if shot + with blood. Then without a word he fell forward with his breast against + the painted rail, remained there a second, and as the two ships passed + away from each other, rolled over upon his back on the clean deck, + grasping a pistol in his right hand. + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott sat still upon the rail, swinging one leg, and smiling + reflectively. He saw the old man fall and the other passengers crowd round + him, but the <i>Agnes and Mary</i> had now caught the breeze and was + moving rapidly out to sea, where the sunlight danced upon the water in + little golden bars. + </p> + <p> + “Apperlexy!” said a voice in the journalist's ear. He turned and found + Captain Lebrun standing at his side looking after the steamer. + “Apperlexy!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” asked Christian. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” was the reply, given with some conviction. “I seen a man fall just + like that; he was a broad-built man wi' a thick neck, and in a moment of + excitement he fell just like that, and died a'most at once. Apperlexy they + said it was.” + </p> + <p> + “It seemed to come over him very suddenly, did it not?” said Christian + absently. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, it did,” said the captain. “Ye seemed to know him!” + </p> + <p> + Christian turned and looked his companion full in the face. “I have met + him twice,” he said quietly. “He was in England for some years, I believe; + a political refugee, he called himself.” + </p> + <p> + By sea and land Captain Lebrun had learnt to devote an exclusive attention + to his own affairs, allowing other men to manage theirs, well or ill, + according to their fancy. He knew that Christian Vellacott wished to tell + him no more, and he was content that it should be so, but he had noticed a + circumstance which, from the young journalist's position, was probably + invisible. He turned to give an order to the man at the wheel, and then + walked slowly and with some difficulty (for Captain Lebrun suffered, in a + quiet way, agonies from rheumatism) back towards his passenger. + </p> + <p> + “Seemed to me,” he said reflectively, as he looked upwards to see if the + foretopsail was shivering, “as if he had something in his hand when a' + fell.” + </p> + <p> + Christian followed the Captain's gaze. The sails were now filling well, + and there was an exhilarating sound of straining cordage in the air while + the vessel glided on. The young journalist was not an impressionable man, + but he felt all these things. The sense of open freedom, the gentle rise + and fall of the vessel, the whirring breeze, and the distant line of high + land up the Rance towards Dinant—all these were surely worth + hearing, feeling, and seeing; assuredly, they added to the joy of living. + </p> + <p> + “Something in his hand,” he repeated gravely; “what was it?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lebrun turned sideways towards the steersman, and made a little + gesture with his left hand. A wrinkle had appeared in one corner of the + foretopsail. Then he looked round the horizon with a sailor's far-seeing + gaze, before replying. + </p> + <p> + “Seemed to me,” he mumbled, without taking his pipe from his lips, “that + it was a revolver.” + </p> + <p> + Then the two men smoked in silence for some time. The little vessel moved + steadily out towards the blue water, passing a lighthouse built upon a + solitary rock, and later a lightship, with its clean red hull gleaming in + the sunlight as it rose and fell lazily. So close were they to the latter + that the man watching on deck waved his hand in salutation. + </p> + <p> + Still Vellacott had vouchsafed no reply to Captain Lebrun's strange + statement. He sat on the low rail, swinging one leg monotonously, while + the square little sailor stood at his side with that patient maritime + reflectiveness which is being slowly killed by the quicker ways of steam. + </p> + <p> + “My calling brings me into contact with a rum lot of people,” said the + young fellow at last, “and I suppose all of us make enemies without + knowing it.” + </p> + <p> + With this vague elucidation the little skipper was forced to content + himself. He gave a grunt of acquiescence, and walked forward to + superintend the catheading of the anchor. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. IN THE RUE ST. GINGOLPHE AGAIN + </h2> + <p> + One would almost have said that the good citizen Jacquetot was restless + and disturbed. It was not that the little tobacco shop left aught to be + desired in the way of order, neither had the tobacconist quitted his seat + at the window-end of the counter. But he was not smoking, and at short + intervals he drew aside the little red curtain and looked out into the + quiet Rue St. Gingolphe with a certain eagerness. + </p> + <p> + The tobacconist was not in the habit of going to meet things. He usually + waited for them to come to him. But on this particular evening of + September in a year which it is not expedient to name, he seemed to be + looking out into the street in order that he might not be taken by + surprise in the event of an arrival. Moreover he mopped his vast forehead + at unnecessarily frequent intervals, just as one may note a snuff-taker + have recourse to that solace more frequently when he is agitated than when + a warm calm reigns within his breast. + </p> + <p> + “So quiet—so quiet,” he muttered, “in our little street—and in + the others—who knows? It would appear that they have their shutters + lowered there.” + </p> + <p> + He listened intently, but there was no sound except the clatter of an + occasional cart or the distant whistle of a Seine steamer. + </p> + <p> + Then the tobacconist returned to the perusal of the <i>Petit Journal</i>. + Before he had skimmed over many lines, he looked up sharply and drew aside + the red curtain. Yes! It was some one at last. The footsteps were hurried + and yet hesitating—the gait of a person not knowing his whereabouts. + And yet the man who entered the shop a moment later was evidently the same + who had come to the citizen Jacquetot when last we met him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed the tobacconist. “It is you!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied the other. “It is not. I am not the citizen...Morot—I + think you call it.” + </p> + <p> + “But, yes!” exclaimed the fat man in amazement. “You are that citizen, and + you are also the Vicomte d'Audierne.” + </p> + <p> + The new-comer was looking round him curiously; he stepped towards the + curtained door, and turned the handle. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” he said, “his brother. We are twins. There is a resemblance. Is + this the room? Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur. It is! But never was there such a resemblance.” + </p> + <p> + The tobacconist mopped his head breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” said the other, “and get a mattress. Bring it and lay it on this + table. My brother is wounded. He has been hit.” + </p> + <p> + Jacquetot rose laboriously from his seat. He knew now that this was not + the Vicomte d'Audierne. This man's method was quite different. He spoke + with a quiet air of command, not doubting that his orders would be obeyed. + He was obviously not in the habit of dealing with the People. The Vicomte + d'Audierne had a different manner of speaking to different people—this + man, who resembled him so strangely, gave his orders without heeding the + reception of them. + </p> + <p> + The tobacconist was essentially a man of peace. He passed out of a small + door in the corner of the shop, obeying without a murmur, and leaving the + new-comer alone. + </p> + <p> + A moment later the sound of wheels awoke the peaceful stillness of the Rue + St. Gingolphe. The vehicle stopped, and at the same instant the man passed + through the little curtained doorway into the room at the back of the + shop, closing the door after him. + </p> + <p> + The gas was turned very low, and in the semi-darkness he stood quite + still, waiting. He had not long to wait; he had scarcely closed the door + when it was opened again, and some one entered rapidly, closing it behind + him. Then the first comer raised his arm and turned up the gas. + </p> + <p> + Across the little table, in the sudden flood of light, two men stood + looking at each other curiously. They were so startlingly alike, in height + and carriage and every feature, that there was something weird and + unpleasant in their action—in their silence. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the last comer. “It is thou. I almost fired!” + </p> + <p> + And he threw down on the table a small revolver. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you done this?” continued the Vicomte d'Audierne. “I thought we + agreed sixteen years ago that the world was big enough to contain us both + without meeting, if we exercised a little care.” + </p> + <p> + “She is dead,” replied the brother. “She died two years ago—the wife + of Prangius—what does it matter now?” + </p> + <p> + “I know that—but why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “I was ordered to Paris by the General. I was near you at the barricade, + and I heard the bullet hit you. Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte looked down at his hand, which was pressed to his breast; the + light of the gas flickered, and gleamed on his spectacles as he did so. + </p> + <p> + “In my chest,” he replied. “I am simply dripping with blood. It has + trickled down my legs into my boots. Very hot at first—and then very + cold.” + </p> + <p> + The other looked at him curiously, and across his velvety eyes there + passed that strange contraction which has been noted in the glance of the + Vicomte d'Audierne. + </p> + <p> + “I have sent for a mattress,” he said. “That bullet must come out. A + doctor is following me; he will be here on the instant.” + </p> + <p> + “One of your Jesuits?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—one of my Jesuits.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte d'Audierne smiled and winced. He staggered a little, and + clutched at the back of a chair. The other watched him without emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you not sit down?” he suggested coldly. “There are none of your—<i>People</i>—here + to be impressed.” + </p> + <p> + Again the Vicomte smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said smoothly, “we work on different lines, do we not? I wonder + which of us has dirtied his hands the most. Which of the two—the two + fools who quarrelled about a woman. Ha? And she married a third—a + dolt. Thus are they made—these women!” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said the Jesuit, “you have not forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte looked up slowly. It seemed that his eyelids were heavy, + requiring an effort to lift them. + </p> + <p> + “I do not like to hear the rooks call—that is all,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The other turned away his soft, slow glance, the glance that had failed to + overcome Christian Vellacott's quiet defiance— + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” he said. “It makes one remember.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence, and then the Jesuit spoke—sharply and + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, you fool!” he said. “You are fainting.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte obeyed, and at the same moment the door opened and the + tobacconist appeared, pushing before him a mattress. + </p> + <p> + The Jesuit laid aside his hat, revealing the tonsure gleaming whitely + amidst his jetty hair, and helped to lay the mattress upon the table. Then + the two men, the Provincial and the tobacconist of the Rue St. Gingolphe, + lifted the wounded aristocrat gently and placed him upon the improvised + bed. True to his blood, the Vicomte d'Audierne uttered no sound of agony, + but as his brother began to unbutton the butcher's blouse in which he was + disguised he fainted quietly. Presently the doctor arrived. He was quite a + young man, with shifting grey eyes, and he saluted the Provincial with a + nervous obsequity which was unpleasant to look upon. The deftness with + which he completed the task of laying bare the wound was notable. His + fingers were too clever to be quite honest. When, however, he was face to + face with the little blue-rimmed orifice that disfigured the Vicomte's + muscular chest, the expression of his face—indeed his whole manner—changed. + His eyes lost their shiftiness—he seemed to forget the presence of + the great man standing at the other side of the table. + </p> + <p> + While he was selecting a probe from his case of instruments the Vicomte + d'Audierne opened his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the doctor, noting this at once. “You got this on the + Boulevard?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you get here?” He was feeling the wounded man's pulse now. + </p> + <p> + “Cab.” + </p> + <p> + “All the way?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Who carried you into this room?” asked the doctor, returning to his case + of instruments. + </p> + <p> + “No one! I walked.” The doctor's manner, quick and nonchalant, evidently + aggravated his patient. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do that?” + </p> + <p> + He was making his preparations while he spoke, and never looked at the + Vicomte. + </p> + <p> + “In order to avoid attracting attention.” + </p> + <p> + This brought the doctor's glance to his face, and the result was + instantaneous. The young man started, and into his eyes there came again + the shifty expression, as he looked from the face of the patient to that + of the Provincial standing motionless at the other side of the table. He + said nothing, however, and returned with a peculiar restraint to his + preparations. It is probable that his silence was brought about by the + persistent gaze of two pairs of deep velvety eyes which never left his + face. + </p> + <p> + “Will Monsieur take chloroform,” he asked, unfolding a clean + pocket-handkerchief, and taking from his waistcoat pocket a small phial. + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “But—I beg of you———” + </p> + <p> + “It is not necessary,” persisted the Vicomte calmly. + </p> + <p> + The doctor looked across to the Provincial and made a hopeless little + movement of the shoulders, accompanied by an almost imperceptible + elevation of the eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + The Jesuit replied by looking meaningly at the small glass-stoppered + bottle. + </p> + <p> + Then the doctor muttered: + </p> + <p> + “As you will!” + </p> + <p> + He had laid his instruments out upon the mattress—the gas was turned + up as high as it would go. Everything was ready. Then he turned his back a + moment and took off his coat, which he laid upon a chair, returning + towards the bed with one hand behind his back. + </p> + <p> + Quick as thought, he suddenly darted forward and pressed the clean + handkerchief over the wounded man's mouth and nose. The Vicomte d'Audierne + gave a little smothered exclamation of rage, and raised his arms; but the + Jesuit was too quick for him, and pinned him down upon the mattress. + </p> + <p> + After a moment the doctor removed the handkerchief, and the Vicomte lay + unconscious and motionless, his delicate lips drawn back in anger, so that + the short white teeth gleamed dangerously. + </p> + <p> + “It is possible,” said the surgeon, feeling his pulse again, “that + Monsieur has killed himself by walking into this room.” + </p> + <p> + Like a cat over its prey, the young doctor leant across the mattress. + Without looking round he took up the instruments he wanted, knowing the + order in which they lay. He had been excellently taught. The noiseless + movements of his white fingers were marvellously dexterous—neat, + rapid, and finished. The evil-looking instruments gleamed and flashed + beneath the gaslight. He had a peculiar little habit of wiping each one on + his shirt-sleeve before and after use, leaving a series of thin red + stripes there. + </p> + <p> + After the lapse of a minute he raised his head, wiped something which he + held in his fingers, and passed it across to the Provincial. + </p> + <p> + “That is the bullet, my father,” he said, without ceasing his occupation, + and without raising his eyes from the wounded man. + </p> + <p> + “Will he live?” asked the Jesuit casually, while he examined the bullet. + </p> + <p> + “If he tries, my father,” was the meaning reply. + </p> + <p> + The young doctor was bandaging now, skilfully and rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “This would be the death of a dog,” said the Provincial, as if musing + aloud; for the surgeon was busy at his trade, and the tobacconist had + withdrawn some time before. + </p> + <p> + “Better than the life of a dog,” replied the Vicomte, in his smoothly + mocking way, without opening his eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was very easy to blame one woman, and to cast reflections upon the + entire sex. If these brothers had not quarrelled about that woman, they + would have fallen out over something else. Some men are so: they are like + a strong spirit—light and yet potent—that floats upon the top + of all other liquids and will mingle with none. + </p> + <p> + It would seem that these two could not be in the same room without + quarrelling. It was only with care that (as the Jesuit had coldly + observed) they could exist in the same world without clashing. Never was + the Vicomte d'Audierne so cynical, so sceptical, as in the presence of his + brother. Never was Raoul d'Audierne so cold, so heartless, so Jesuitical, + as when meeting his brother's scepticism. + </p> + <p> + Sixteen years of their life had made no difference. They were as far apart + now as on one grey morning sixteen years ago, when the Vicomte d'Audierne + had hurried away from the deserted shore of the Côte du Nord, leaving his + brother lying upon the sand with an ugly slit in his neck. That slit had + healed now, but the scar was always at his throat, and in both their + hearts. + </p> + <p> + True to his training, the Provincial had not spoken the truth when he said + that he had been ordered to Paris. There was only one man in the world who + could order him to do anything, and that man was too wise to test his + authority. Raoul d'Audierne had come to Paris for the purpose of seeing + his brother—senior by an hour. There were many things of which he + wished to speak, some belonging to the distant past, some to a more recent + date. He wished to speak of Christian Vellacott—one of the few men + who had succeeded in outwitting him—of Signor Bruno, or Max Talma, + who had died within pistol range of that same Englishman, a sudden, + voiceless death, the result of a terrible access of passion at the sight + of his face. + </p> + <p> + But this man was a Jesuit and a d'Audierne, which latter statement is full + of import to those who, having studied heredity, know that wonderful <i>inner</i> + history of France which is the most romantic story of human kind. And so + Raoul d'Audierne—the man whose power in the world is like that of + the fires burning within the crust of the earth, unseen, immeasurable—and + so he took his hat, and left the little room behind the tobacconist's shop + in the Rue St. Gingolphe—beaten, frustrated. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. THE MAKING OF CHRISTIAN VELLACOTT + </h2> + <p> + “Money,” Captain Lebrun was saying emphatically, as the <i>Agnes and Mary</i> + drifted slowly past Gravesend pier on the rising tide. “Hang money! Now, I + should think that you make as much of it in a month as I do in a year. + You're a young man, and as far as I know ye, ye're a successful one. Life + spreads out before you like a clean chart. I'm an old 'un—my time is + nearly up. I've lived what landsmen call a hard life, and now I'm slowly + goin' home. Ay, Mr. Vellacott, goin' home! And you think that with all + your manifold advantages you're a happier man than me. Not a bit of it! + And why? 'Cause you belong to a generation that looks so far ahead that + it's afraid of bein' happy, just for fear there's sorrow a comin'. Money, + and lookin' ahead, that's what spoils yer lives nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + The skipper emphasised these weighty observations by expectorating + decisively into the water, and walked away, leaving Christian Vellacott + with a vaguely amused smile upon his face. It is just possible that Silas + Lebrun, master and owner of the <i>Agnes and Mary</i>, was nearer the mark + than he thought. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, Vellacott was walking along the deserted embankment above + Westminster, on the Chelsea side of the river. It was nine o'clock, for + which fact Big Ben solemnly gave his word, far up in the fog. The morning + was very dark, and the street lamps were still alight, while every window + sent forth a gleam suggestive of early autumnal fires. + </p> + <p> + Turning up his own street he increased his pace, realising suddenly that + he had not been within his own doors for more than four months. Much might + have happened in that time—to change his life, perhaps. As he + approached the house he saw a strange servant, an elderly woman, on her + knees at the steps, and somehow the sight conveyed to his mind the thought + that there was something waiting for him within that peaceful little + house. He almost ran those last few yards, and sprang up the steps past + the astonished woman without a word of explanation. + </p> + <p> + The gas in the narrow entrance-hall was lighted, and as he threw aside his + cap he perceived a warm gleam of firelight through the half-open door of + the dining-room. He crossed the carpeted hall, and pushed open that door. + </p> + <p> + Near the little breakfast-table, just under the gas, stood Hilda Carew. In + <i>his</i> room, standing among <i>his</i> multifarious possessions, in + the act of pouring from <i>his</i> coffee-pot. She was dressed in black—he + noticed that. Instead of being arranged high upon her head, her marvellous + hair hung in one massive plait down her back. She looked like a tall and + beautiful school-girl. He had not seen her hair like that since the old + days when he had been as one of the Carews. + </p> + <p> + As he pushed open the door, she looked up; and for a moment they stood + thus. She set down the coffee-pot, carefully and symmetrically, in the + centre of the china stand provided for its reception—and the colour + slowly left her face. + </p> + <p> + “You have come back at last!” she said quite monotonously. It sounded like + a remark made for the purpose of filling up an awkward silence. + </p> + <p> + Then he entered the room, and mechanically closed the door behind him. She + noticed the action, but did not move. He passed round the table, behind + Aunt Judy's chair, and they shook hands conventionally. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said almost breathlessly; “I am back; you do not seem elated by + the fact.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she smiled—the smile that suggested, in some subtle way, a + kitten. + </p> + <p> + “Of course—I am glad ... to see you.” + </p> + <p> + In a peculiar dreamy way she began to add milk to the coffee. It seemed as + if this were mere play-acting, and not real life at all. + </p> + <p> + “How is it that you are here?” he asked, with a broken, disjointed laugh. + “You cannot imagine how strange an effect it was ... for me ... to come in + and see you ... here—of all people.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him gravely, and moved a step towards him. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Judy is dead!” she explained; “and Aunt Hester is very ill. Mother + is upstairs with them—<i>her</i>—now. I have just come from + the room, where I have been since midnight.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, raised her hand to her hair as if recollecting something, and + stood looking sideways out of the window. + </p> + <p> + “There is something about you this morning,” he said, with a concentrated + deliberation, “that brings back the old Prague days. I suppose it is that + I have not seen your hair as you have it to-day—since then.” + </p> + <p> + She turned quite away from his hungry gaze, looking out of the window. + </p> + <p> + After a pause she broke the silence—with infinite tact—not + speaking too hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “It has been a terrible week,” she said. “Mother heard from Mr. Bodery + that they were very ill; so we came. I never dreamt that it was so bad + when you spoke of them. Five years it has been going on?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; five years. Thank you for coming, but I am sorry you should have + seen it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Every one should keep guard over his own skeleton.” + </p> + <p> + She was looking at him now. + </p> + <p> + “You look very ill,” she said curtly. “Where have you been?” + </p> + <p> + “I was kidnapped,” he said, with a short laugh, “and then I got typhoid. + The monks nursed me.” + </p> + <p> + “You were in a monastery?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; in Brittany.” + </p> + <p> + She was idly arranging the cups and saucers with her left hand, which she + seemed desirous of bringing under his notice; but he could look at nothing + but her face. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” she said, “it would have been impossible to find you?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite,” he replied, and after a pause he added, in a singularly easy + manner, “Tell me what happened after I disappeared.” + </p> + <p> + She did not seem to like the task. + </p> + <p> + “Well—we searched—oh! Christian, it was horrid!” + </p> + <p> + “I wondered,” he said, in a deep, soft voice, “whether you would find it + so.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course, we <i>all</i> did.” + </p> + <p> + This did not appear to satisfy him. + </p> + <p> + “But you,” he persisted, “you, yourself—what did you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” she answered, with painful hesitation. “I don't think I + thought at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what did you do, Hilda?” + </p> + <p> + “I—oh, we searched. We telegraphed for Mr. Bodery, who came down at + once. Then Fred rode over, and placed himself at Mr. Bodery's disposal. + First he went to Paris, then to Brest. He did everything that could be + done, but of course it was of no avail. By Mr. Bodery's advice everything + was kept secret. There was nothing in the newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped suddenly, and there was a silence in the room. He was looking + at her curiously, still ignoring that little left hand. Only one word of + her speech seemed to have attached itself to his understanding. + </p> + <p> + “Fred?” he said. “Fred Farrar?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—my husband!” + </p> + <p> + He turned away—walked towards the door, and then returned to the + hearthrug, where he stood quite still. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it was a quiet wedding,” he said in a hard voice, “on my + account; eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she whispered. He waited, but she added nothing. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I have made a most extraordinary mistake!” he said, and again laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Don't what?” + </p> + <p> + “Laugh.” + </p> + <p> + He came nearer to her—quite near, until his sleeve almost touched + her bowed head. + </p> + <p> + “I thought—at St. Mary Western—that you loved <i>me</i>.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to shrink away from him. + </p> + <p> + “What made me think so, Hilda?” + </p> + <p> + She raised her head, and her eyes flashed one momentary appeal for mercy—like + the eyes of a whipped dog. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” he said sternly. + </p> + <p> + “It was,” she whispered, “because <i>I</i> thought so myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And when I was gone you found out that you had made a mistake?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he was so kind, so <i>brave</i>, Christian—because he knew of + my mistake.” + </p> + <p> + Christian Vellacott turned away, and looked thoughtfully out of the + window. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, after a pause, “so long as you do not suffer by it—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—h,” she gasped, as if he were whipping her. She did not quite + know what he meant. She does not know now. + </p> + <p> + At last he spoke again, slowly, deliberately, and without emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Some day,” he said, “when you are older, when you have more experience of + the world, you will probably fall into the habit of thanking God, in your + prayers, that I am what I am. It is not because I am good ... perhaps it + is because I am ambitious—my father, you may remember, was + considered heartless; it may be <i>that</i>. But if I were different—if + I were passionate instead of being what the world calls cold and + calculating—you would be ... your life would be—” he stopped, + and turning away he sat down wearily in Aunt Judy's armchair. “You will + know some day!” he said. + </p> + <p> + It is probable that she does know now. She knows, in all likelihood, that + her husband would have been powerless to save her from Christian Vellacott—from + herself—from that Love wherein there are no roses but only thorns. + </p> + <p> + And in the room above them Aunt Hester was dying. So wags the world. There + is no attention paid to the laws of dramatic effect upon the stage of + life. The scenes are produced without sequence, without apparent rhyme or + reason; and Chance, the scene-shifter, is very careless, for comedies are + enacted amid scenic effects calculated to show off to perfection the + deepest tragedy, while tragedies are spoilt by their surroundings. + </p> + <p> + The doctor and Mrs. Carew stood at the bedside, and listened to the old + woman's broken murmurings. Into her mind there had perhaps strayed a gleam + of that Light which is not on the earth, for she was not abusing her + great-nephew. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Christian,” she was murmuring, “I wish you would come. I want to + thank you for your kindness, more especially to Aunt Judy. She is old, and + we must make allowances. I know she is aggravating. It happened long ago, + when your father was a little boy—but it altered her whole life. I + think women are like that. There is something that only comes to them + once. I am feeling far from well, nephew Vellacott. I think I should like + to see a doctor. What does Aunt Judy think? Is she asleep?” + </p> + <p> + She turned her head to where she expected to find her sister, and in the + act of turning her eyes closed. She slumbered peacefully. The two sisters + had slept together for seventy years—seventy long, monotonous years, + in which there had been no incident, no great joy, no deep sorrow—years + lost. Except for the natural growth and slow decay of their frames, they + had remained stationary, while around them children had grown into men and + women and had passed away. + </p> + <p> + Presently Aunt Hester opened her eyes, and they rested on the vacant + pillow at her side. After a pause she slowly turned her head, and fixed + her gaze upon the doctor's face. He thought that the power of speech had + left her, but suddenly she spoke, quite clearly. + </p> + <p> + “Where is my sister Judith?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + There are times when the truth must be spoken, though it kill. + </p> + <p> + “Your sister died yesterday,” replied the doctor. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester lay quite still, staring at the ceiling. Her shrivelled + fingers were picking at the counter-pane. Then a gleam of intelligence + passed across her face. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” she said, “I shall have a bed to myself. I have waited long + enough.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester was very human, although the shadow of an angel's wing lay + across her bed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was many years later that Christian Vellacott found himself in the + presence of the Angel of Death again. A telegram from Havre was one day + handed to him in the room at the back of the tall house in the Strand, and + the result was that he crossed from Southampton to Havre that same night. + </p> + <p> + As the sun rose over the sea the next morning, its earliest rays glanced + gaily through the open port-hole of a cabin in a large ocean steamer, + still panting from her struggle through tepid Eastern seas. + </p> + <p> + In this little cabin lay the Jesuit missionary, René Drucquer, watching + the moving reflections of the water, which played ceaselessly on the + painted ceiling overhead. He had been sent home from India by a + kind-hearted army surgeon; a doomed man, stricken by a climatic disease in + which there was neither hope nor hurry. When the steamer arrived in the + Seine it was found expedient to let the young missionary die where he lay. + The local agent of the Society of Jesus was a kind-hearted man, and + therefore a faithless servant. He acceded to René Drucquer's prayer to + telegraph for Christian Vellacott. + </p> + <p> + And now Vellacott was actually coming down the cabin stairs. He entered + the cabin and stood by the sick man's bed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have come,” said the Frenchman, with that peculiar tone of + pathetic humour which can only be rendered in the language that he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “But how old! Do I look as old as that, I wonder? And hard—yes, hard + as steel.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” replied Vellacott. “It may be that the hardness that was once + there shows now upon my face—that is all.” + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman looked lovingly at him, with eyes like the eyes of a woman. + </p> + <p> + “And now you are a great man, they tell me.” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “In my way,” he admitted. “And you?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I have taught.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! and has it been a success?” + </p> + <p> + “In teaching I have learnt.” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott merely nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know why I sent for you?” continued the missionary. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I sent for you in order to tell you that I burnt that letter at + Audierne.” + </p> + <p> + “I came to that conclusion, for it never arrived.” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + Vellacott laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of it again,” he replied heartily. + </p> + <p> + The priest was looking keenly at him. + </p> + <p> + “I did not say 'thou,' but '<i>you</i>,'” he persisted gently. + </p> + <p> + Vellacott's glance wavered; he raised his head, and looked out of the open + port-hole across the glassy waters of the river. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” said René Drucquer, “there might be some one else—some + woman—who was waiting for news.” + </p> + <p> + After a little pause the journalist replied. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Abbé,” he said, “there is no woman in the whole world who wants + news of me. And the result is, as you kindly say, I am a great man now—in + my way.” + </p> + <p> + But he knew that he might have been a greater. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Slave Of The Lamp, by Henry Seton Merriman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP *** + +***** This file should be named 9195-h.htm or 9195-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/9/9195/ + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Véronique Durand, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +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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