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diff --git a/30110-h/30110-h.htm b/30110-h/30110-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6758d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/30110-h/30110-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15836 @@ +<!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"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Name And Fame, by Adeline Sergeant. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i16 {display: block; margin-left: 16em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i18 {display: block; margin-left: 18em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i22 {display: block; margin-left: 22em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +--> + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30110 ***</div> + +<h1>NAME and FAME</h1> + +<h3>A NOVEL</h3> + +<h2>BY ADELINE SERGEANT</h2> + +<h3><i>Author of "The Great Mill Street Mystery," "A True Friend," "A Life +Sentence," etc., etc.</i></h3> + + +<h4><span class="smcap">Montreal:</span><br /> +JOHN LOVELL & SON,<br /> +<span class="smcap">23 St. Nicholas Street.</span></h4> + +<p>[Handwritten: This is the only edition of "Name and Fame" published in +the United States and Canada with my authority, and the only one by the +sale, which I shall profit. Adeline Sergeant.]</p> + +<p>Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year 1890, by John Lovell +& Son, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture and Statistics at +Ottawa.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#BOOK_I">BOOK I</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. HUSBAND AND WIFE</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. AT THE RECTORY.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. PROGRESS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. FATHER AND SON.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. SEVERANCE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOK_II">BOOK II. CHANGE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. NEW BEGINNINGS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. MRS. HARTLEY AT HOME.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. AT THE OLIGARCHY CLUB.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. LETTICE RECEIVES A VISITOR.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. THE POET SPEAKS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. SYDNEY GIVES ADVICE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOK_III">BOOK III. AMBITION.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. ALAN WALCOTT.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII. SIR JOHN PYNSENT PROPHESIES.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV. SYDNEY MAKES A MISTAKE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV. SOME UNEXPECTED MEETINGS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI. CONCEIVED IN SORROW.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII. "TO THY CHAMBER WINDOW, SWEET!"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII. A SLEEPY NOOK.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX. SIR JOHN'S GLOXINIAS.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOK_IV">BOOK IV. SORROW.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX. "I WAS THE MORE DECEIVED."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI. THE TONGUE OF SCANDAL.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII. LETTICE TRIUMPHS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII. "AM I A MURDERER?"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV. HOPELESS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV. MR. LARMER GIVES A BRIEF.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI. IN COURT.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOK_V">BOOK V. LOVE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII. COURTSHIP.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII. A SLUMBERING HEART.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX. "IT WAS A LIE!"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX. AWAKENED.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI. AMBITION AT THE HELM.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII. AT MRS. CHIGWIN'S COTTAGE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOK_VI">BOOK VI. SUCCESS.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII. AT THE PRISON GATE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV. A BRAVE PURPOSE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV. FROM PRISON TO PARADISE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI. MISTRESS AND MAID.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII. "COURAGE!"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII. SYDNEY PAYS HIS DEBTS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX. "SO SHALL YE ALSO REAP."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL. "WHO WITH REPENTANCE IS NOT SATISFIED--."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI. A FREE PARDON.</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>NAME AND FAME</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_I" id="BOOK_I"></a>BOOK I</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>HUSBAND AND WIFE.</h3> + + +<p>It was a brilliant day in June. The sky was cloudless and dazzlingly +blue, but the heat of the sun's rays was tempered by a deliciously cool +breeze, and the foliage of the trees that clothe the pleasant slopes +round the vivacious little town of Aix-les-Bains afforded plenty of +shade to the pedestrian. Aix was, as usual, very crowded and very gay. +German potentates abounded: French notabilities were not wanting: it was +rumored that English royalty was coming. A very motley crowd of divers +nationalities drank the waters every morning and discussed the latest +society scandal. Festivity seemed to haunt the very air of the place, +beaming from the trim white villas with their smart green jalousies, the +tall hotels with crudely tinted flags flying from their roofs, the +cheery little shops with their cheerier <i>dames de comptoir</i> smiling +complacently on the tourists who unwarily bought their goods. Ladies in +gay toilets, with scarlet parasols or floating feathers, made vivid +patches of color against the green background of the gardens, and the +streets were now and then touched into picturesqueness by the passing of +some half-dozen peasants who had come from the neighboring villages to +sell their butter or their eggs. The men in their blue blouses were +mostly lean, dark, and taciturn; the women, small, black-eyed, and +vivacious, with bright-colored petticoats, long earrings, and the +quaintest of round white caps. The silvery whiteness of the lake, +flashing back an answer to the sunlight, gave a peculiarly joyous +radiance to the scene. For water is to a landscape what the eye is to +the human countenance: it gives life and expression; without it, the +most beautiful features may be blank and uninteresting.</p> + +<p>But the brightness of the scene did not find an echo in every heart.</p> + +<p>"Dame!" said a French waiter, who stood, napkin in hand, at a window of +the Hôtel Venat, watching the passers-by, "there they go, that cold, +sullen English pair, looking as if nothing on earth would make them +smile again!"</p> + +<p>A bullet-headed little man in a white apron stepped up to the window and +stared in the direction that Auguste's eyes had taken.</p> + +<p>"Tiens, donc! Quelle tournure! But she is superb!" he exclaimed, as if +in remonstrance.</p> + +<p>"She is handsome—oui, sans doute; but see how she frowns! I like a +woman who smiles, who coquettes, who knows how to divert herself—like +Mademoiselle Lisette here, queen of my heart and life."</p> + +<p>And Auguste bowed sentimentally to a pretty little chambermaid who came +tripping up the stairs at that moment, and laid his hand upon his heart.</p> + +<p>"You are too polite, Monsieur Auguste," Lisette responded amicably. "And +at whom are you gazing so earnestly?"</p> + +<p>"At the belle Anglaise—you can still see her, if you look—she is +charmingly dressed, but——"</p> + +<p>"She is magnificent! simply magnificent," murmured the bullet-headed +Jean, who was not, like his friend, enamored of the pert Lisette. "I +have never seen so splendid an Englishwoman, never! nor one who had so +much the true Parisian air!"</p> + +<p>Lisette uttered a shrill little scream of laughter. "Do you know the +reason, mon ami? She is not English at all: she is a compatriot. He—the +husband—<i>he</i> is English; but she is French, I tell you, French to the +finger-tips."</p> + +<p>"Voyons; what rooms have they?"</p> + +<p>"They are au quatrième—they are poor—poor," said Lisette, with +infinite scorn. "I wait on them a little—not much; they have been here +three days, and one can see——But the gentleman, he is generous. When +madame scolds, he gives me money to buy my forbearance; she has the +temper of a demon, the tongue of a veritable fiend!"</p> + +<p>"Ah! He loves her, then!" said Auguste, putting his head on one side.</p> + +<p>Lisette snapped her fingers. "Ah, oui! He loves her so well that he will +strangle her one of these days when she says a word too much and he is +in his sombre mood! Quiet as he is, I would not go too far with him, ce +beau monsieur! He will not be patient always—you will see!"</p> + +<p>She went on her way, and the waiters remained at the window in the +corridor. The lady and gentlemen of whom they spoke had turned into the +hotel garden, and were walking up and down its gravelled paths, +apparently in silence. Auguste and Jean watched them, as if fascinated +by the sight of the taciturn pair, who now and then were lost to sight +behind a clump of trees or in some shady walk, presently reappearing in +the full sunshine, with the air of those who wish for some reason or +other to show themselves as much as possible.</p> + +<p>This, at least, was the impression produced by the air and gait of the +woman; not by those of the man. He walked beside her gravely, somewhat +dejectedly, indeed. There was a look of resignation in his face, which +contrasted forcibly with the flaunting audacity visible in every gesture +of the woman who was his wife.</p> + +<p>He was the less noticeable of the two, but still a handsome man in his +way, of a refined and almost scholarly type. He was tall, and although +rather of slender than powerful build, his movements were characterized +by the mingled grace and alertness which may be seen when +well-proportioned limbs are trained to every kind of athletic exercise. +His face, however, was that of the dreamer, not of the athlete. He had a +fine brow, thoughtful brown eyes, a somewhat long nose with sensitive +nostrils, a stern-set mouth, and resolute chin. The spare outlines of +his face, well defined yet delicate withal, sometimes reminded strangers +of Giotto's frescoed head of Dante in his youth. But the mouth was +partly hidden beneath a dark brown moustache; a pity from the artistic +point of view. Refinement was the first and predominating characteristic +of his face; thoughtful melancholy, the second. It was evident, even to +the most casual observer, that this man was eminently unfitted to be the +husband of the woman at his side.</p> + +<p>For a woman she was unusually tall. She was also unusually handsome. She +had a magnificent figure, a commanding presence, good features, hair, +and eyes; yet the impression that she produced was anything but +pleasant. The flashing dark eyes were too bold and too defiant; the +carmine on her cheeks was artificially laid on, and her face had been +dabbed with a powder puff in very reckless fashion. Her black hair was +frizzed and tortured in the latest mode, and her dress made in so novel +a style that it looked <i>outré</i>, even at a fashionable watering-place. +Dress, bonnet and parasol were scarlet of hue; and the vivid tint was +softened but slightly by the black lace which fell in cascades from her +closely-swathed neck to the hem of her dress, fastened here and there by +diamond pins. If it were possible that, as Lisette had said, Mr. and +Mrs. Alan Walcott were poor, their poverty was not apparent in Mrs. +Walcott's dress. Black and scarlet were certainly becoming to her, but +the effect in broad daylight was too startling for good taste. To a +critical observer, moreover, there was something unpleasantly suggestive +in her movements: the way in which she walked and held her parasol, and +turned her head from side to side, spoke of a desire to attract +attention, and a delight in admiration even of the coarsest and least +complimentary kind.</p> + +<p>There was certainly something in the bearing of husband and wife that +attracted notice. Her vivacity and her boldness, a certain weariness and +reluctance in his air, as if he were paraded up and down these garden +walks against his will, led others beside inquisitive French waiters to +watch the movements of the pair. And they were in full view of several +gazers when an unexpected and dramatic incident occurred.</p> + +<p>A man who had sauntered out of the hotel into the gardens directed his +steps towards them, and met them face to face as they issued from one of +the side-paths. He was not tall, but he was dapper and agile: his +moustache curled fiercely, and his eyeglass was worn with something of +an aggressive air. He was perfectly dressed, except that—for English +taste—he wore too much jewellery; and from the crown of his shining hat +to the tip of his polished pointed boot he was essentially Parisian—a +dandy of the Boulevards, or rather, perhaps, of the Palais Royal—an +exquisite who prided himself upon the fit of his trousers and the swing +of his Malacca cane.</p> + +<p>He paused as he met the Walcotts, and raised his hat with a true French +flourish. The lady laughed, showing a row of very white, even teeth, and +held out her hand. Her husband sprang forward, uttering an angry word of +remonstrance or command. The Frenchman grinned insolently, and answered +with a sneer.</p> + +<p>The Englishman seemed to gain in dignity as he replied. His wife laughed +loudly and unpleasantly, however, and then, with a quick movement which +proved him agile as a cat, the Frenchman struck him with his cane across +the face. In another moment, Alan Walcott had taken him by the collar +and wrested the cane from his hand. Whether or no he would have +administered the thrashing that the man deserved must remain an +unsettled question, for hotel servants and functionaries came rushing to +the rescue, guests flocked to the scene in hopes of further excitement, +and all was bustle and confusion. Mrs. Walcott began to scream +violently, as soon as she saw signs of an impending conflict, and was +finally carried into the house in a fit of hysterics.</p> + +<p>A very pretty little altercation between the two combatants—who were +separated with difficulty—and the landlord and his myrmidons then +followed. The police arrived rather late on the scene, but were speedily +quieted by assurances that peace was restored, and by the transfer of a +few coins from Alan Walcott's pockets to their own. The aggressor, who +gave his name as Henri de Hauteville, was politely requested to leave +the Hôtel Venat; and Mr. Walcott declared his own intention of +proceeding to Paris next morning. Accordingly the Frenchman speedily +disappeared, but it was noticed that he dropped a word to his enemy, +which Walcott answered by a bend of his head, and that he was seen +shortly afterwards arm-in-arm with a young officer who was known to be +an enthusiast in the matter of duelling.</p> + +<p>An hour later Alan Walcott was crossing the hall with a hurried step and +a face expressive of deep anxiety and vexation, when he encountered a +stout, fair Englishman, who greeted him with effusion.</p> + +<p>"You here, Walcott? Never thought of meeting you."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to see you, Dalton. I was longing at that very moment for some +one to act as my friend."</p> + +<p>"Not in the conventional meaning, I hope," laughed Dalton. "Your way of +putting it suggests a duel—which no Englishman of any sense would +embark in, I should hope!"</p> + +<p>Dalton was a fresh-colored, blue-eyed man, of nearly thirty years of +age. His frankness of manner and shrewdness of expression contrasted +forcibly with the subtle dreaminess characteristic of Alan Walcott's +face. Alan eyed him curiously, as if doubtful whether he should proceed.</p> + +<p>"I am not altogether an Englishman," he said presently, "which may +account in your eyes for some lack of sense. I want you, as a friend, in +the most conventional manner possible. Come out with me and let us talk +it over."</p> + +<p>The two men went out and talked together for upwards of an hour. When +they separated the expression of their faces afforded a curious +contrast. Alan looked defiant, resolved, almost triumphant; but Brooke +Dalton went on his way wagging his head in a depressed and melancholy +manner, as if his soul were afflicted by misgivings of many kinds.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mr. Alan Walcott had said that he should leave Aix-les-Bains next day, +but the state of his wife's health rendered it impossible for her to +quit the hotel, and he could not very well separate himself from her. +She continued for some time in shrieking hysterics, varied by fainting +fits; and when she became quieter, under the influence of a soporific +administered by the doctor, she declared herself quite too ill and +exhausted to rise from her bed. Her husband remained with her night and +day, until the second morning, when he escaped from her sight and ken +for a couple of hours, and absolutely refused to tell her where he had +been. His refusal seemed to produce a quieting effect upon her. She +became very still, and lay watching him, with a sullen, puzzled look in +her great dark eyes. He took up a paper and began to read, with an +assumption of complete calmness and unconcern; but she saw that he was +paler than usual, and that his hand shook a little as he turned the +pages of his <i>Galignani</i>. Presently she asked, in a subdued voice, for +something to drink. He brought her a glass of claret and water, and she +raised herself a little on one arm to take it from him. Suddenly she +uttered a loud cry, and fell back gasping upon her pillows.</p> + +<p>"Mon Dieu!" she cried, "there is blood upon your cuff."</p> + +<p>Alan looked down hastily. It was true enough: his white cuff was stained +with red.</p> + +<p>"You have killed him!" she said. "You have murdered him, you wretch, you +murderer——"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Walcott with the greatest composure. "Upon my word, I +rather wish I had. I think he deserved it. He has got off very easily."</p> + +<p>"You had a meeting?" his wife shrieked, her eyes beginning to flash with +rage.</p> + +<p>"We had a meeting. It was for that purpose that I left for two hours +this morning. You don't suppose that I should let myself be struck in +the face without demanding satisfaction? I have enough French blood in +my veins to think it a very natural way of settling such a quarrel——"</p> + +<p>"Was he hurt?" she asked, without waiting for him to finish.</p> + +<p>"Very slightly. A sword-cut on the shoulder. The seconds interposed, or +we should have gone on——"</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt you wanted to kill him! I shall denounce you to the +police!"</p> + +<p>"As you please" said her husband indifferently, taking up his paper. +"But M. de Hauteville has retired from the scene: he had a carriage +waiting, and has crossed the frontier by this time. I assure you he is +perfectly safe Switzerland."</p> + +<p>There was a taunt in his voice which exasperated his wife's temper +almost to madness.</p> + +<p>"Scélérat!" she said, in a hissing, unnatural voice. "You would have +killed him if you could? Beware of my vengeance then, for I swear that +you shall suffer as he has suffered—and worse things too!"</p> + +<p>Alan shrugged his shoulders. He had heard threats of this kind too often +to be greatly moved by them. And Mrs. Walcott, after a few ineffectual +remarks of the same sort, began to sob violently, and finally to work +herself into another hysterical fit, during which her husband coolly +rang the bell, and left her to Lisette's not very tender care.</p> + +<p>When he returned she was once more quiet and subdued. He noticed that +she was reading a letter, which, at his entrance, she thrust—somewhat +ostentatiously—beneath her pillow. He took no notice. He was tired of +taking notice. As a rule, he let her go her own way. He had been married +for three years, and he had learned that, save in exceptional +circumstances, it was better not to interfere. He was relieved, and +somewhat surprised, when she suddenly declared herself better, and +wishful to leave her bed. Before long she was sitting at an open window, +with a cup of black coffee and a flask of cognac on a table before her, +while Alan fanned her with a great red fan and occasionally bathed her +temples with eau-de-cologne. He paid her these attentions with an air of +gentle gravity which became him well, but the slight fold between his +brows betokened irritation and weariness.</p> + +<p>Cora Walcott seemed to delight in keeping him at her beck and call. She +did not let him stir from her side for the whole of that sultry summer +day. She put on a soft and languid manner: she shed tears and tried to +say coaxing things, which were very coldly received; for there was a +hard and evil look in her fine dark eyes that went far to neutralize the +effect of her <i>câlineries</i>. Once, indeed, when Alan had gone into an +adjoining room to fetch a vinaigrette, her true feeling found its vent +in a few expressive words.</p> + +<p>"Sacré," she muttered, drawing back the red lips from her white teeth, +with the snarl of a vicious dog, "how I hate you, cochon! How I wish +that you were dead!"</p> + +<p>And then she smoothed her brows, and smiled at him as he re-entered the +room.</p> + +<p>In the course of the evening she made the suggestion that they should +leave Aix-les-Bains next day.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," Alan answered, more warmly than usual. "And where shall we +go?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, to Paris, I suppose. To Dijon first, of course—if I am strong +enough to travel so far."</p> + +<p>Alan was eager to make his preparations for departure, and pleased to +find that his wife was as ready as he to hasten them. Only in one point +did her behavior strike him as peculiar. She announced that she meant to +leave Aix-les-Bains at an early hour, lunch and rest at Culoz, and go on +to Dijon by the afternoon train.</p> + +<p>"But why Culoz? Nobody stops at Culoz," he remonstrated.</p> + +<p>"Why not Culoz? There is an inn. I suppose we can get some lunch," she +answered. "Besides, I have always meant to go there, to look at the +château on the hill! You English like 'views,' do you not? The 'view' +must be magnificent."</p> + +<p>She had never formerly shown any interest in scenery, and Alan stared at +her for a moment with a puzzled look. If Henry de Hauteville had been +likely to join her at Culoz he could have understood this whim of hers; +but de Hauteville was safely lodged by this time in the nearest Swiss +canton, and not at all likely to intercept their journey. He did her +bidding, however, without comprehension of her reasons, as he had done +many a time before. Again, he was discomfited by her behavior in the +train, shortly after their departure from the station at Aix-les-Bains. +She suddenly flung herself back in the corner of the <i>coupé</i> and burst +into a prolonged fit of noisy laughter, which seemed as if it would +choke her by its violence. Alan questioned and remonstrated in vain. +Fortunately, they had the <i>coupé</i> to themselves; but the laughter +continued so long that he began to doubt his wife's sanity, as well as +her self-control. At last she sat up and wiped her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You will know why I laugh some day, mon ami," she remarked. "Till then, +ask no questions."</p> + +<p>Alan was not disposed to ask them. He remained silent, and his silence +continued until the little station of Culoz was reached.</p> + +<p>"We change here, of course," he said. "But why should we leave the +station?"</p> + +<p>"Do you want to starve me?" his wife inquired angrily. "We will go to +the inn. There is an inn on the road to the village; I asked about it +yesterday."</p> + +<p>Very few English tourists think it worth their while to spend any time +at Culoz, pretty little place although it be; and the landlady of the +quaint auberge, with its wooden, vine-grown piazza, was somewhat amazed +and distracted by the appearance of foreign visitors. The dining-room +seemed to be full of peasants in blue blouses, who had been attending a +fair; but lunch was served to Mr. and Mrs. Walcott in the open air, on +the verandah. Cora grumbled openly at the simple fare provided; and Alan +thought how charming would be the scene and the rustic meal if only his +companion were more congenial. For himself, he was quite satisfied with +the long French loaf, the skinny chicken, the well-salted cream cheese, +and the rough red <i>vin du pays</i>. The blue sky, the lovely view of +mountain and valley, lake and grove, the soft wind stirring the vine +leaves on the trellis-work of the verandah, would have given him unmixed +delight if he had been alone. But all was spoiled by the presence of an +unloved and unloving wife.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The road to the château leads upwards from Culoz, and is a trifle hot +and dusty. Alan wondered dumbly whether Cora had an object in dragging +him so far away from the inn, and what that object was. But he took +small annoyances patiently. It was something gained, at least, that his +wife should seem content. Anything was better than tearing rage or +violent hysterical weeping, which were the phases of temper most +frequently presented to his view. On this occasion she appeared pleased +and happy. He surprised a touch of malignity in her tones, a glance of +evil meaning now and then; but he did not greatly care. Cora could not +keep a secret. If she had any ill-will or ill intention towards him he +was sure to know it before long.</p> + +<p>"I am tired," she said at last, abruptly. "Let us sit down and rest. +Look, here is an entrance into the park of the château. Shall we go in?"</p> + +<p>"Is it open to the public?" said Alan, with an Englishman's instinctive +fear of trespassing. For, although he had had a French grandmother, and +sometimes boasted himself of French descent, he was essentially English +in his ideas. Cora laughed him to scorn.</p> + +<p>"I go where I will," she said, "and nobody finds it in his heart to turn +me out. Courage, mon ami, I will protect you, if necessary. Follow me!"</p> + +<p>Piqued by her tone, he opened the gate for her, and they passed from the +hot, white road into the green demesnes of the Count who owned the +château above Culoz. It struck Alan that his wife knew the way +wonderfully well. She turned without hesitation into a path which led +them to a wooden seat shaded by two great trees, and so situated that it +could not be seen by anyone passing on the high road. Here she seated +herself and looked up at her husband with a defiant smile.</p> + +<p>"You have been here before?" he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>She nodded. "Precisely, mon ami, I have been here before. And with whom? +With M. de Hauteville, when you imagined me suffering from a migraine a +few days ago. Surely you did not think that it was his first appearance +when he arrived at the hotel, the day before yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to discuss M. de Hauteville," said Alan turning away.</p> + +<p>"But perhaps I wish to discuss him. We discussed <i>you</i> at full +length—that day last week. We chronicled your vices, your weaknesses, +your meannesses in detail. One thing I might have told him, which I left +out—the fact that you are no gentleman, not even bourgeois—a mere +peasant clown. He would not have let you measure swords with him if he +had known the baseness of your origin, my friend!"</p> + +<p>Alan's lips moved as if he would have spoken, but he restrained himself. +He saw that she wanted him to respond, to lose his temper, to give her +some cause of complaint, some opening for recrimination; and he resolved +that he would not yield to her desire. She might abuse him as she would +and he would not reply. She would cease when she was tired—and not till +then.</p> + +<p>"You are a mean-spirited creature!" she said, her eyes flashing hatred +at him as she spoke. "You have chained me to you all these years, +although you know that I loathe the very sight of you, that I have +worshiped Henri, my lover, all the while. Who but a base, vile wretch +would not have given me my freedom? You have known all the time that he +loved me, and you have pretended ignorance because you did not want to +let me go. From the moment I found this out, I have hated and despised +you. You have no courage, no spirit; there is nothing even to be afraid +of in you. You would be brutal if you dared, but you do not dare. You +can be spiteful and treacherous and villainous, that is all. And I hate +you for all that you are and all that you do not dare to be!"</p> + +<p>Alan ground his teeth, in a moment's raging desire to bring the woman to +her senses by some actual exertion of his physical strength. But the +impulse of anger lasted only for a moment. He knew that half her rage +was simulated—that she was lashing herself up in preparation for some +tremendous crisis, and all that he could do was to wait for it in +silence. She had risen to her feet as she spoke. He rose too and leaned +against the trunk of a tree, while she stormed and raved like a madwoman +for some minutes in front of him.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said at last, "you know what I think of you, how I hate you, +how I despise you. But it is not enough. My father shot down twenty of +his enemies in the siege of Paris. Do you think that his daughter is a +coward, to be trampled on by a brutal, cold-blooded Englishman? No! +Because I hate you, and because you have tried to kill the man I love, +and because you are too mean and vile to live—I will kill <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>Her hand darted to the bosom of her dress. Before Alan could stop +her—almost before he realized what she was doing—she had drawn out a +little pistol, cocked it, and pulled the trigger. But her hurry at the +last moment spoiled her aim. Alan felt a sting in the left arm, and knew +that she had so far succeeded in her intentions; but with his right hand +he was able to snatch the pistol from her, and to fling it far into the +brushwood.</p> + +<p>Then came the reaction. She burst into loud, screaming sobs and tears, +and flung herself on the ground, where she writhed for a time like one +in convulsions. Alan seated himself, feeling somewhat sick and faint, +and waited for the storm to spend itself. Some time elapsed before she +became calm; but at last she raised herself panting from the ground and +looked half timorously at her husband. His coolness and quietness often +enraged, but now and then it frightened her.</p> + +<p>"If you have not another pistol with you," said Alan, "you cannot kill +me just now. Perhaps you have done enough to satisfy yourself for the +moment. What do you propose to do next?"</p> + +<p>"What do <i>you</i> mean to do?" she asked sullenly. "Of course, you can +follow me and give me up to the police."</p> + +<p>"I shall not do that."</p> + +<p>"I will not return with you," she said in a furious tone.</p> + +<p>"That is natural," Alan agreed politely. "What then?"</p> + +<p>"I told you I knew this place," she answered. "I am to meet a friend +upon the road, half a mile further on. I am going there now. He will +take me to the next station on the line."</p> + +<p>"Admirably planned!" said Alan. "Every detail fits in to perfection."</p> + +<p>"And I shall never come back," she said, looking at him spitefully.</p> + +<p>For answer, he raised his hat. She turned on her heel, went down the +slope towards the road, and disappeared. It was a strange parting +between husband and wife. Not a single feeling of reluctance existed in +the mind of either; only a fixed resolve to have done with each other +henceforth and for ever.</p> + +<p>Alan bound up his wounds as well as he could, and retraced his steps to +Culoz. He would have done better, possibly, to avoid the place. People +stared at him curiously as he passed them by. Why had he come back +alone? What had he done with the beautiful lady who had accompanied him +when he set forth?</p> + +<p>"Hé, monsieur," tried the black-eyed dame of the auberge, leaning over +the rail of the verandah, as he passed: "ou donc est madame? Est-ce +qu'elle ne revient pas?"</p> + +<p>"Madame est partie," said Alan continuing his walk without turning +round. The aubergiste looked after him in amaze. Where could madame have +gone? There was no other road to the station, and she had been watching +for the English milord and his lady for the last hour and a half! What +had he done with madame?</p> + +<p>It was a matter of speculation which lasted her for many a day, and was +often recounted to new comers. It became the general opinion at Culoz +that the Englishman had in some unaccountable manner killed his wife and +disposed mysteriously of her body. But although search was made for it +high and low, the murdered body was never found. Nevertheless, the +stranger's guilt remained a tradition of the neighborhood, and the story +of that marvelous disappearance is related by the villagers unto this +day.</p> + +<p>Alan went on his way rejoicing, although in somewhat grim and +shame-faced wise. For three years he had been a miserable slave. Now he +was free! And he determined that he would never submit to bonds again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>AT THE RECTORY.</h3> + + +<p>About the very time when Alan Walcott, at the age of three-and-twenty, +was making a hasty match with the daughter of a French refugee—a match +bitterly deplored before the first few weeks of married life were +over—events, which afterwards very greatly affected his career, were +quickly shaping themselves in a sleepy little English village not far +from the place where he was born.</p> + +<p>Angleford, a mere handful of red-brick cottages, five miles from a +railway station, was little known to the outer world. Its nearest +market-town was Dorminster, and the village of Thorley lay between +Angleford and the county town. Birchmead, a hamlet which had some repute +of its own as a particularly healthy place, stood further down the river +on which Angleford was built, and its merits generally threw those of +neighboring villages into the shade.</p> + +<p>But Angleford was in itself a pretty little nook, and its inhabitants +somewhat prided themselves on its seclusion from the world. These +inhabitants, it must be confessed, were few. It had once been a larger +and more important place, but had gradually dwindled away until the +village contained less than three hundred persons, chiefly laborers and +small shop-keepers. Beside these, there were the doctor, and his wife, +the rector and his family, and the squire—a childless widower, who was +of rather less account than anybody else in the parish.</p> + +<p>The Rectory was a rambling, long, low, red-brick house standing in +prettily-wooded grounds, bordered by the river, on the other side of +which lay the park belonging to the squire. The park ran for some +distance on both sides of the stream, and the Rectory grounds were, so +to speak, taken out of the very midst of the squire's, demesne. The +continuation of wooded ground on either side the narrow winding river +made the place particularly picturesque; and it was a favorite amusement +for the rector's son and daughter to push a rather crazy boat out of the +little boat-house at the foot of the garden, and row up and down those +reaches of the stream "between the bridges," which were navigable. One +of the bridges warned them of the weir, which it was not very safe to +approach; and beyond the other, three miles further down and close to +Birchmead, the stream was shallow and clogged with reeds. But within +these limits there was a peaceful tranquil beauty which made the boat a +favorite resting place for the Rectory people during the long summer +evenings and afternoons.</p> + +<p>It was two o'clock on a late autumn afternoon, when a girl of sixteen +came out of the Rectory door, which always stood hospitably open in fine +weather, and walked to the boat-house, as if intending to launch out +upon the water. The day was sunny on the whole, but not cloudless: the +sun shone out brightly every now and then, and was again obscured by a +filmy haze, such as rises so easily from the low-lying land in Essex. +But the golden haze softened the distant outlines of wood and meadow, +and the sun's beams rested tenderly upon the rapidly stripping branches, +where a few rustling leaves still told of their departed glories. The +long undefined shadows of the trees stretched far across the wide lawn, +scarcely moving in the profound stillness of the air; and a whole +assembly of birds kept up a low-toned conversation in the bushes, as if +the day were hardly bright enough to warrant a full chorus of concerted +song. It was a tender, wistful kind of day, such as comes sometimes in +the fall of the year, before the advent of frost. And a certain affinity +with the day was visible in the face of the girl who had walked down to +the riverside. There was no melancholy in her expression: indeed, a very +sweet and happy smile played about the corners of her sensitive mouth; +but a slightly wistful look in the long-lashed grey eyes lent an +unconscious pathos to the delicate face. But, although delicate, the +face was anything but weak. The features were clearly cut; the mouth and +chin expressed decision as well as sensibility; and beneath the thick, +fine waves of shining brown hair, the forehead was broad and +well-developed. Without pretension to actual beauty or any kind of +perfection, the face was one likely to attract and then to charm; +gentleness, thoughtfulness, intellectual power, might be read in those +fair features, as well as an almost infantine candor and innocence, and +the subtle and all too-transient bloom of extreme youth. Her hair, which +constituted one of her best "points," was simply parted in the middle, +fastened with a clasp at the nape of her neck, and then allowed to fall +in a smooth, shining shower down to her waist. Mrs. Campion, who had +been something of a beauty in her young days, was given to lamenting +that Lettice's hair was not golden, as hers had been; but the clear soft +brown of the girl's abundant tresses had a beauty of it's own; and, as +it waved over her light woollen frock of grey-green hue, it gave her an +air of peculiar appropriateness to the scene—as of a wood-nymph, who +bore the colors of the forest-trees from which she sprang.</p> + +<p>Such, at any rate, was the fancy of a man whose canoe came shooting down +the river at this moment, like an arrow from a bow. He slackened pace as +he came near the Rectory garden, and peered through the tangled branches +which surrounded the old black boat-house, to catch another glimpse of +Lettice. He wondered that she did not notice him: his red and white +blazer and jaunty cap made him a somewhat conspicuous object in this +quiet country place; and she must have heard the long strokes of his +oars. But she remained silent, apparently examining the fastenings of +the boat; absorbed and tranquil, with a happy smile upon her lips.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, Miss Campion: can I help you there in any way?" he +shouted at last, letting his boat slide past the boat-house entrance, +and then bringing it round to the little flight of grassy steps cut in +the bank from the lawn to the river.</p> + +<p>"Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Dalton. Thank you, no; I don't want any help," +said Lettice; but the young man had already set foot upon the lawn and +was advancing towards her. He was the nephew and heir of the childless +Squire at Angleford Manor, and he occasionally spent a few weeks with +his uncle in the country. Old Mr. Dalton was not fond of Angleford, +however, and the Campions did not see much of him and his nephew.</p> + +<p>Brooke Dalton was six-and-twenty, a manly, well-looking young fellow, +with fair hair and bright blue eyes. He was not very tall, and had +already begun to develop a tendency towards stoutness, which gave him +considerable trouble in after years. At present he kept it down by heavy +doses of physical exercise, so that it amounted only to a little unusual +fullness of body and the suspicion of a double chin. His enemies called +him fat. His friends declared that his sunshiny look of prosperity and +good-humor was worth any amount of beauty, and that it would be a +positive loss to the world if he were even a trifle thinner. And Brooke +Dalton was a man of many friends.</p> + +<p>Lettice greeted him with a smile. "So you are here again," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've been here a day or two. Have you heard from Sydney yet?"</p> + +<p>"No, and we are dreadfully anxious. But papa says we shall hear very +soon now."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose you need have the slightest anxiety. Sydney is sure to +do well: he was always a clever fellow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but he has had no teaching except from papa: and papa torments +himself with the idea that there may be better teachers than himself at +Cambridge—which I am sure there couldn't be. And I am sure he will be +disappointed if Sydney does not get at least an exhibition, although he +tries to pretend that he will not mind."</p> + +<p>"If he does not get it this year, he will be the surer of it next time."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lettice rather doubtfully. "But I wish papa were not quite +so anxious."</p> + +<p>"Did he go to Cambridge with Sydney?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and stayed for a day or two; but he said he was rather glad to get +home again—there had been so many changes since he was there."</p> + +<p>"Here he comes," said Brooke, turning round.</p> + +<p>The rector was a dignified-looking man, with a tall figure, handsome +features, and hair and beard which had of late been growing very grey. +He greeted Dalton cordially, and at once began to speak of his hopes and +expectations for his son. To all of these Dalton responded +good-humoredly. "Sydney has plenty of brains: he is is sure to do well," +he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know—I don't know. I've been his only tutor, and I may not +have laid the foundations with sufficient care. I shall not be at all +surprised if he fails. Indeed"—with a transparent affectation of +indifference—"I shall not be sorry to have him back for another year. +He is not quite eighteen, you know. And Lettice will be glad to have him +again."</p> + +<p>"But I want him to succeed!" said Lettice eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Of course you do. And he <i>will</i> succeed," said Brooke; an assurance +which caused her to flash a glad look of gratitude to him in reply.</p> + +<p>"Lettice has been Sydney's companion in his studies," said Mr. Campion, +patting her hand gently with his long white fingers. "She has been very +industrious and has got on very well, but I daresay she will be pleased +to have a holiday when he is gone."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I daresay," said Brooke; and then, looking at Lettice, he saw the +manifestation of some strong feeling which he did not understand. The +girl flushed hotly and withdrew her hand from her father's arm. The +tears suddenly came into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I never wanted a holiday," she said, in a hurt tone.</p> + +<p>"No, no, you were always a good girl," returned her father absently—his +eyes had wandered away from her to the high-road beyond the glebe. "But +of course there is a limit to a girl's powers; she can't compete with a +boy beyond a certain point. Is not that a cab, Lettice? Surely it must +be Sydney, and he has came at last. Well, now we shall know the result!"</p> + +<p>"I'll go to the fence and look," said Lettice, running away. The tears +of mortification and distress were still smarting in her eyes. Why +should her father depreciate her to their neighbor because she was a +girl? She did not mind Mr. Dalton's opinion of her, but it was hard that +her father should give her no credit for the work that she had done in +the study at his side. Step by step she had kept pace with her brother: +sometimes he had excelled her, sometimes she thought that she was +outstripping him. Now in the hour of his possible success (of which she +would be proud and glad), why should her father seem to undervalue her +powers and her industry? They would never bring her the guerdon that +might fall to Sydney's lot; but she felt that she, too, had a right to +her father's praise.</p> + +<p>She had been vaguely hurt during Sydney's absence to find that Mr. +Campion did not seem disposed to allow her to go on working alone with +him. "Wait, my dear, wait," he had said to her, when she came to him as +usual, "let us see how Sydney's examination turns out. If he comes back +to us for another year you can go on with him. If not—well, you are a +girl, it does not matter so much for <i>you</i>; and your mother complains +that you do not sit with her sufficiently. Take a holiday just now, we +will go on when Sydney comes back."</p> + +<p>But in this, Lettice's first separation from her beloved brother, she +had no heart for a holiday. She would have been glad of hard work to +take her out of herself. She was anxious, sad, <i>dés[oe]uvrée</i>, and if +she had not been taught all her life to look on failure in an +examination as something disgraceful, she would have earnestly hoped +that Sydney might lose the scholarship for which he was competing.</p> + +<p>Brooke Dalton saw that his presence was scarcely desired just then, and +took his leave, meditating as he pulled up the river on Lettice's +reddened cheeks and pretty tear-filled eyes. "I suppose she thinks +she'll miss her brother when he goes away," he decided at length, "and +no doubt she will, for a time; but it is just as well—what does a girl +want with all that Latin and Greek? It will only serve to make her +forget to brush her hair and wear a frock becomingly. Of course she's +clever, but I should not care for that sort of cleverness in a +sister—or a wife." He thought again of the girl's soft grey eyes. But +he had a hundred other preoccupations, and her image very soon faded +from his brain.</p> + +<p>Lettice ran to the fence to look at the cab, but Mr. Campion turned at +once to the gateway and walked out into the road. He had not been +mistaken, it was Sydney, indeed; and as soon as the young fellow saw his +father he stopped the vehicle, told the driver to go on to the Rectory +with his portmanteau, and turned to his father with a triumphant smile. +Lettice did not meet the pair for a minute or two, so the son's +communication was made first to Mr. Campion alone.</p> + +<p>"Here I am, sir!" was the young man's greeting, "turned up again like a +bad half-penny."</p> + +<p>"Welcome anyhow, my boy," said the rector, "and sterling coin, I'll +warrant, however much you may malign yourself." He was too nervous to +ask a direct question about his son's success. "We have been very dull +without you. Lettice is counting on your help to break in her pony to +the saddle."</p> + +<p>"You mustn't be dull after a week's absence. What would you do if I had +to be more than half the year at Cambridge?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, that would be a different thing. Have they given you an exhibition +then?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not exactly that." The rector's face fell, but it brightened as +Sydney proceeded with a touch of youthful pomposity. "Your old pupil is +a Scholar of Trinity."</p> + +<p>The rector was carrying his cane as he walked along, and when Sydney had +told his good news he stopped short, his face aglow, and for lack of any +more eloquent mode of expressing his satisfaction, raised it in the air +and brought it down with sounding emphasis on his companion's back.</p> + +<p>Sydney laughed.</p> + +<p>"Laudatur et alget," he said. "How many stripes would it have been if I +had come home disgraced?"</p> + +<p>"The stripes would have been my portion in that case," the rector +answered, with a hearty laugh. He had not been so jovial for many +months.</p> + +<p>Then Lettice came running up, and had to be told the news, and clung to +Sydney's neck with kisses, which he graciously permitted rather than +returned. But he was gratified by her affection, as well as by the pride +and pleasure which his father took in his success, and the less +discriminating, but equally warm congratulations and caresses showered +upon him by his mother.</p> + +<p>Indeed for the rest of the day, Sydney was caressed and complimented to +his heart's content. He preferred the compliments to the caresses, and +he was not unloving to his parents, although he repulsed Lettice when +she attempted to kiss him more than once. He had come back from +Cambridge with an added sense of manliness and importance, which did not +sit ill upon his handsome face and the frank confidence of his manner. +It was Sydney who had inherited the golden hair and regular features +which, as his mother said, ought to have belonged to Lettice and not to +him; but she loved him all the more dearly for his resemblance to her +family and to herself. It escaped her observation that Sydney's +blue-grey eyes were keener, his mouth more firmly closed and his jaw +squarer than those of most boys or men, and betokened, if physiognomy +goes for anything, a new departure in character and intellect from the +ways in which Mrs. Campion and her family had always walked. A fair, +roseate complexion, and a winning manner, served to disguise these +points of difference; and Mrs. Campion had not quick sight for anything +which did not lie upon the surface, in the character of those with whom +she had to do.</p> + +<p>She was usually to be found in the drawing-room—a faded, pretty woman, +little over fifty years of age, but with the delicate and enfeebled air +of the semi-invalid—a white shawl round her shoulders, a bit of +knitting or embroidery between her incapable, uncertain fingers. Her +hair was very grey, but the curliness had never gone out of it, and it +sprang so crisply and picturesquely from her white, unwrinkled forehead +that it seemed a pity to hide any of the pretty waves even by the crown +of fine old lace which Mrs. Campion loved. She was a woman at whom no +one could look without a sense of artistic satisfaction, for her face +was still charming, and her dress delicately neat and becoming. As for +her mental and moral qualities, she was perfectly well satisfied with +them, and her husband was as satisfied as she—although from a somewhat +different point of view. And as she very properly remarked, if her +husband were satisfied with her, she did not know why she should be +called upon to regard any adverse opinion of the outer world. At the +same time she was an ardent disciple of Mrs. Grundy.</p> + +<p>How this woman came to be the mother of a child like Lettice, it were, +indeed, hard to say. Sydney was fashioned more or less after Mrs. +Campion's own heart: he was brisk, practical, unimaginative—of a type +that she to some extent understood; but Lettice with her large heart, +her warm and passionate nature, her keen sensibilities and tender +conscience, was a continual puzzle to her mother. Especially at this +period of the girl's life, when new powers were developing and new +instincts coming into existence—the very time when a girl most needs +the help and comfort of a mother's tender comprehension—Mrs. Campion +and Lettice fell hopelessly apart. Lettice's absorption in her studies +did not seem right in Mrs. Campion's eyes: she longed with all her soul +to set her daughter down to crewel-work and fancy knitting, and her one +comfort in view of Sydney's approaching separation from his home was her +hope that, when he was gone, Lettice would give up Latin and Greek and +become like other girls. She was ignorantly proud of Sydney's successes: +she was quite as ignorantly ashamed of Lettice's achievements in the +same lines of study.</p> + +<p>"I can never forget," she said to Lettice that evening, when the +rector and his son were discussing Cambridge and examination papers +in the study, while the mother and her daughter occupied the +drawing-room—Lettice, indeed, wild to join her father and brother in +the study and glean every possible fragment of information concerning +the place which she had been taught to reverence, but far too dutiful to +her mother to leave her alone when Mrs. Campion seemed inclined to +talk—"I can never forget that Sydney learned his alphabet at my knee. I +taught him to spell, at any rate; and if your father had not insisted on +taking the teaching out of my hands when he was seven years old, I am +convinced that I should have done great things with him."</p> + +<p>"Surely he has done great things already, mamma!" Lettice said with +enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" said Mrs. Campion with a sigh. "But I don't think your father +has given quite the bias to his mind that I should have liked best. I +have always hoped that he would spend his strength in the service of the +Church; but——You have not heard him say much about his future career, +have you, Lettice?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think he has considered it particularly," Lettice answered. +"But he never speaks of taking Orders; he talked of the Bar the other +day. There's no reason why he should make up his mind so soon, is there, +mamma?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear, no. But I am quite sure that if he went into the Church he +would be a Bishop," said Mrs. Campion, with conviction. "And I should +like him to be a Bishop."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps he will be Lord Chancellor instead," said Lettice, +merrily.</p> + +<p>"There can be no doubt, my dear," said her mother, "that a Bishop of the +Anglican Church is able to carry himself with more dignity and +distinction in everyday life than a Lord Chancellor, who is only +dignified when he is on the Bench. I think that Sydney would make an +excellent Bishop—quite the most distinguished Bishop of the day."</p> + +<p>It was not until next morning that Lettice had time to ply her brother +with questions as to his examination and his Cambridge experiences +generally. She did not ask about the visit to London which he had also +paid. She had been to London herself, and could go there any day. But +Cambridge!—the goal of Sydney's aspirations—the place where (the girl +believed) intellectual success or failure was of such paramount +importance—what was that like?</p> + +<p>Sydney was ready to hold forth. He liked the position of instructor and +was not insensible to the flattery of Lettice's intentness on his +answers. But he was a little dismayed by one of her questions, which +showed the direction of her thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear anything about the women's college, Sydney?" For Girton +and Newnham were less well known then than they are now.</p> + +<p>"Women's colleges! No, indeed. At least, I heard them laughed at several +times. They're no good."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said Lettice, wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Now, Lettice," said the youthful mentor, severe in boyish wisdom, "I +hope you are not going to take fancies into your head about going to +Cambridge yourself. I should not like it at all. I'm not going to have +<i>my</i> sister laughed at and sneered at every time she walks out. I don't +want to be made a laughing-stock. Nice girls stay at home with their +mothers; they don't go to colleges and make themselves peculiar."</p> + +<p>"I am not going to be peculiar; but I don't want to forget all I have +learned with you," said Lettice, quickly.</p> + +<p>"You have learned too much already," said the autocrat, whose views +concerning women's education had developed since his short stay in +Cambridge. "Girls don't want Latin and Greek; they want music and +needlework, and all that sort of thing. I don't want my sister to be a +blue-stocking."</p> + +<p>Lettice felt that her lot in life ought not to be settled for her simply +as Sydney's sister—that she had an individuality of her own. But the +feeling was too vague to put into words; and after Syndey had left her, +in obedience to a call from his father, she sat on in the long, low room +with its cushioned window-seats and book-covered walls—the dear old +room in which she had spent so many happy hours with her teacher and her +fellow-pupil—and wondered what would become of her when Sydney was +really gone; whether all those happy days were over, and she must +henceforth content herself with a life at Mrs. Campion's side, where it +was high treason to glance at any book that was neither a devotional +work nor a novel. Lettice loved her mother, but the prospect did not +strike her as either brilliant or cheering.</p> + +<p>It was the beginning, although at first she knew it not, of a new +era in her life. Her happy childhood was over; she was bound henceforth +to take up the heavy burden which custom lays on the shoulders of so +many women: the burden of trivial care, unchanging routine, petty +conventionalities—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Heavy as frost and deep almost as life."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Sydney went out into the world to fight; Lettice sat in idleness at +home; and society, as well as the rector and his wife, judged this +division of labor to be fair and right. But to Lettice, whose courage +was high and whose will and intellect were strong, it seemed a terrible +injustice that she might not fight and labor too. She longed for +expansion: for a wider field and sharper weapons wherewith to contest +the battle; and she longed in vain. During her father's lifetime it +became more and more impossible for her to leave home. She was +five-and-twenty before she breathed a larger air than that of Angleford.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>PROGRESS.</h3> + + +<p>In due time, Sydney proceeded to Cambridge, and Lettice was left alone. +The further development of brother and sister can scarcely be understood +without a retrospective glance at their own and their parents' history.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Lawrence Campion, Rector of Angleford, was at this time a +prosperous and contented man. Before he reached his fortieth year, he +had been presented by an old college friend to a comfortable living. +Married to the woman of his early choice, he had become the father of +two straight-limbed, healthy, and intelligent children; and then, for +another twenty years, he felt that he would not care to change his lot +with that of the most enviable of his fellow-creatures.</p> + +<p>Being himself a scholar and a student, he determined that his boy and +girl, so far as he could shape their lives, should be scholars also. To +teach them all he knew was henceforth his chief occupation; for he would +not hand over to another a task which for him was a simple labor of +love. Day by day he sat between them in his comfortable study, where +roses tapped at the lozenge-shaped window panes all through the summer, +and in winter the glow of the great logs upon the hearth was reflected +from the polished binding and gilt lettering of his books in a thousand +autumnal hues, as pleasing to his eyes as the tints of the summer +flowers. Day by day he sat between his children, patiently laying the +foundation of all they could thereafter learn or know. He made no +distinction for age or sex; and in their case, at any rate, nature had +set no stigma of inferiority on the intelligence of the girl. Sydney was +the older of the two by eighteen months, and at first it seemed as +though his mind was readier to grasp a new idea; but there awoke in +Lettice a spirit of generous rivalry and resolution, which saved her +from being far out-stripped by her brother. Together they studied Greek +and Latin; they talked French and read German; they picked up as much of +mathematics as their father could explain to them—which was little +enough; and, best of all, they developed a literary faculty such as does +not always accompany a knowledge of half-a-dozen dead and living +languages.</p> + +<p>The day came when Mr. Campion, not without misgiving, resolved to test +the value of the education which he had given to his children. He had +held a fellowship at Peterhouse up to the time of his marriage, and had +intended that Sydney should try for a scholarship at the same college. +But the boy aimed at a higher mark; he was bent on being a Scholar of +Trinity. Perhaps it might have done him good to fail once or twice on +the threshold of his life, had his father assured himself beforehand +that he would not be disappointed if his pupil was sent back to him for +another year of preparation. But, as we have already seen, Sidney +succeeded, and, if the truth must be told, Mr. Campion was in no way +surprised at his success.</p> + +<p>From that time forward none of the Campions ever dreamed of failure in +connection with Sydney's efforts. He certainly did not dream of failure +for himself. He had that sublime confidence which swells the heart of +every young man in the flush of his first victory. We laugh in the +middle age at the ambitions which we nursed at twenty; but we did not +laugh when the divine breath was in us, and when our faith removed +mountains of difficulty from our path.</p> + +<p>Sydney's career at Cambridge was one long triumph. He gained the Craven +and Porson scholarships; his epigrams were quoted by college tutors as +models of vigor and elegance; he was President of the Union; he took an +excellent degree, and was elected to a fellowship in due course. He had, +in fact, done brilliant things; and at the age of twenty-four he was—to +those who knew him best, and especially to those who liked him +least—that shining, glorified, inspired, and yet sophisticated product +of modern university culture, an academic prig. The word is not of +necessity a term of reproach. Perhaps we are all prigs at some season in +our lives, if we happen to have any inherent power of doing great +things. There are lovable prigs, who grow into admirable men and women; +but, alas! for the prig whose self-love coils round him like a snake, +until it crushes out the ingenuous fervor of youth, and perverts the +noblest aspirations of manhood!</p> + +<p>From Cambridge Sydney went to London, and was called to the bar. Here, +of course, his progress was not so rapid. Briefs do not come for +wishing, nor even for merit alone. Nevertheless he was advancing year by +year in the estimation of good judges; and it was known to his father, +and to his intimate friends, that he only waited a favorable opportunity +to stand for a seat in parliament.</p> + +<p>At Angleford, in the meantime, they watched his career with proud hearts +and loving sympathy. Mrs. Campion, in particular, doted on her son. She +even scanned the paper every morning, never by any chance missing an +item of law intelligence, where occasionally she would be rewarded by +coming across Sydney's name. She would not have considered any +distinction, however great, to be more than his due.</p> + +<p>Lettice never thought of disagreeing with her mother when she sang the +praises of Sydney; but it must be confessed that both the rector and his +wife displayed less than their ordinary balance of judgment in +discussing the merits of their son. They unconsciously did much +injustice to the girl, by their excessive adulation of her brother, and +her interests were constantly sacrificed to his. She would have been the +last to admit that it was so; but the fact was clear enough to the few +persons who used to visit them at Angleford. Her friend, Clara Graham, +for instance, the wife of a London journalist, who came down now and +then to spend a holiday in her native village, would attempt to +commiserate Lettice on the hardness of her lot; but Lettice would not +listen to anything of the kind. She was too loyal to permit a word to be +spoken in her presence which might seem to reflect upon her parents or +her brother.</p> + +<p>Yet it would have been impossible that she should not be in some way +affected by the change which had come over her life since Sydney went to +Cambridge. From that day her regular reading with her father had ceased, +and she was left to direct her studies as she thought best. Mr. Campion +was almost entirely absorbed in the prospects of his son, and if Lettice +needed his assistance she had to ask for it, often more than once. The +consequence was that she soon gave up asking, and her mind, left to its +own devices, gradually found its true bent. She did not read much more +Latin or Greek, but devoured all the Modern literature that came in her +way. After that she began to write—not fiction in the first instance, +but more or less solid essays on criticism and social philosophy, +following the pattern of certain writers in the half-crown monthly +magazines, which her father was wont to take in. If she had known that +the time would come when she would have to earn her living by her pen, +she could scarcely have adopted a better plan to prepare herself for the +task.</p> + +<p>In the first instance, whatever she did in this way had been for her own +pleasure and distraction, without any clear idea of turning her +abilities to practical account. She had no inclination for an idle life, +but there was a limited period during which it rested with her father to +say what her occupation as a woman should be. When Sidney went to +Cambridge, Lettice had entreated that she might be sent to Girton or +Newnham; but the young Scholar of Trinity had fought shy of the notion, +and it was dropped at once. That, indeed, was the beginning of Lettice's +isolation—the beginning of a kind of mental estrangement from her +brother, which the lapse of time was to widen and perpetuate.</p> + +<p>Mr. Campion and his wife were by no means unkind to their daughter; they +simply put Sydney first in all their plans and anticipations of the +future. Her education was supposed to be complete; her lot was to be +cast at home, and not in the rough outer world, where men compete and +struggle for the mastery. If she had complained, they might not have +been shocked, but they would have been immeasurably astonished. The +rector had given her an excellent training, and though his strongest +motive was the desire to stimulate and encourage his son, no doubt he +had her interests in view at the same time. But when he finished with +Sydney he finished with Lettice, and it never occurred to him that there +was any injustice in suddenly withdrawing from her the arm on which he +had taught her to lean.</p> + +<p>She did not complain. Yet as time went on she could not shut her eyes to +Sydney's habit of referring every question to the test of personal +expediency. It was her first great disillusion, but the pain which it +caused her was on her parents' behalf rather than on her own. They were +the chief sufferers; they gave him so much and received so little in +return. To be sure, Sydney was only what they had made him. They bade +him "take," in language which he could easily understand, but their +craving for love, for tenderness, for a share in his hopes, ambitions, +resolutions, and triumphs, found no entrance to his understanding.</p> + +<p>Sydney had spent a large sum of money at Cambridge, and had left heavy +debts behind him, although his father had paid without remonstrance all +the accounts which he suffered to reach the old man's hands. He had what +are called expensive tastes; in other words, he bought what he coveted, +and did not count the cost. The same thing went on in London, and Mr. +Campion soon found that his income, good as it was, fell short of the +demands which were made upon it.</p> + +<p>The rector himself had always been a free spender. His books, his +pictures, his garden, his mania for curiosities, had run away with +thousands of pounds, and now, when he surreptitiously tried to convert +these things into cash again there was a woeful falling off in their +value. He knew nothing of the art of driving a bargain; and, where +others would have made a profit with the same opportunities, he +invariably lost money. He had bought badly to begin with, and he sold +disastrously. Being hard pressed on one occasion for a hundred pounds to +send to Sydney, he borrowed it of a perfect stranger, who took for his +security what would have sufficed to cover ten times the amount.</p> + +<p>This was in the third year after Sydney was called to the bar. Lettice +was in London that autumn, on a visit to the Grahams; and perhaps +something which she contrived to say to her brother induced him to write +and tell his father that briefs were coming in at last, and that he +hoped to be able to dispense with further remittances from home. Mr. +Campion rejoiced in this assurance as though it implied that Sydney had +made his fortune. But things had gone too far with him to admit of +recovery, even if the young man had kept to his good resolutions—which +he did not.</p> + +<p>The fact is that Sydney's college debts hung like a weight round his +neck, and he had made no effort to be rid of them. The income of his +fellowship and his professional earnings ought to have been ample for +all his needs, and no excuse can be urged for the selfishness which made +him a burden to his father after he had left Cambridge. But chambers in +Piccadilly, as well as at the Inner Temple, a couple of West End clubs, +a nightly rubber at whist, and certain regular drains upon his pocket +which never found their way into any book of accounts, made up a +formidable total of expenditure by the year's end. He was too clever a +man of the world to let his reputation—or even his conscience—suffer +by his self-indulgence, and, if he lived hard in the pursuit of +pleasure, he also worked hard in his profession. In short, he was a +well-reputed lawyer, against whom no one had a word to say; and he was +supposed to have a very good chance of the prizes which are wont to fall +to the lot of successful lawyers.</p> + +<p>At the beginning of 1880, when Sydney Campion was in his twenty-seventh +year, there came to him the opportunity for which he had waited. Mr. +Disraeli had dissolved Parliament somewhat suddenly, and appealed to the +country for a renewal of the support accorded to him six years before. +He had carried out in Eastern Europe a policy worthy of an Imperial +race. He had brought peace with honor from Berlin, filled the bazaars of +three continents with rumors of his fame, and annexed the Suez Canal. He +had made his Queen an Empress, and had lavished garters and dukedoms on +the greatest of Her Majesty's subjects. But the integrity of the empire, +safe from foes without, was threatened on either shore of St. George's +Channel—by malignant treason on one side, and on the other by exuberant +verbosity. It was a moment big with the fate of humanity—and he +strongly advised the constituencies to make him Prime Minister again.</p> + +<p>Then the country was plunged into the turmoil of a General Election. +Every borough and shire which had not already secured candidates +hastened to do so. Zealous Liberals and enthusiastic Tories ran up to +town from the places where local spirit failed, or local funds were not +forthcoming, convinced that they would find no lack of either in the +clubs and associations of the metropolis. Young and ambitious +politicians had their chance at last, and amongst others the chance came +for Sydney Campion.</p> + +<p>There is no difficulty about getting into Parliament for a young man who +has friends. He can borrow the money, the spirit, the eloquence, the +political knowledge, and he will never be asked to repay any of them out +of his own resources. Now Sydney had a friend who would have seen him +through the whole business on these terms, who would at any rate have +found him money, the only qualification in which he was deficient. But +he fell into a trap prepared for him by his own vanity, and, as it +happened, the mistake cost him very dear.</p> + +<p>"You see, Campion," his friend had said to him, after suggesting that he +should go down as Conservative candidate for Dormer, "our people know +very well what they would get for their money if you were elected. You +would make your mark in the first session, and be immensely useful to us +in ever so many ways."</p> + +<p>"Would it cost much?" asked Sydney, rather nettled by the mention of +money. He had known Sir John Pynsent at Cambridge, and had never allowed +himself to be outdressed or outshone by him in any way. But Pynsent had +beaten him in the race for political honors; and Sydney, like a showy +player at billiards who prefers to put side on when he might make a +straightforward stroke, resolved to take a high tone with his would-be +patronizing friend.</p> + +<p>"Much?" said Sir John. "Well, no, not much, as things go. But these +worthies at Dormer have their own traditional ways of working the +oracle. The Rads have got hold of a stockjobber who is good for a +thousand, and Maltman says they cannot fight him with less than that. +The long and short of it is that they want a strong candidate with five +hundred pounds, and we are prepared to send you down, my boy, and to be +good for that amount."</p> + +<p>Sydney took out his cigar case, and offered the beaming baronet a choice +Villar.</p> + +<p>"It's uncommonly good of you, Pynsent, to give me a look in at Dormer, +and to suggest the other thing in such a friendly way. Now, look +here—can you let me have two days to say yes or no to Maltman?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I can't. He must have his answer in twenty-four hours."</p> + +<p>"Well, say twenty-four hours. He shall have it by this time to-morrow. +And as for the five hundred, you may be wanting that by and by. Keep it +for some fellow who is not in a position to fight for his own hand."</p> + +<p>Sir John Pynsent left his friend with a greatly increased opinion of his +spirit and professional standing—a result of the interview with which +Sydney was perfectly satisfied.</p> + +<p>Then came the serious question, how he was to deal with the emergency +which had arisen—perhaps the most critical emergency of his life. +Within twenty-four hours he must know when and how he could put his hand +upon five hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>He might easily have saved twice the sum before now; but he had never +learned the art of saving. He thought of his father, whom he had not +seen or written to for more than a month, and determined that he would +at all events go down and consult the rector. He had not realized the +fact that his father's resources were already exhausted, and that mere +humanity, to say nothing of filial duty, required him to come to the old +man's assistance, instead of asking him for fresh sacrifices.</p> + +<p>"If he has not the money," Sydney said, "no doubt he can help me to +raise it. It will be an excellent investment of our joint credit, and a +very good thing for us both."</p> + +<p>So he telegraphed to Angleford—</p> + +<p>"I am going to contest a borough. Must make provision. Shall be with you +by next train."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>FATHER AND SON.</h3> + + +<p>Sydney's telegram reached Angleford at an awkward time. Things had been +going from bad to worse with Mr. Campion, who had never had as much +money as he needed since he paid the last accounts of the Cambridge +tradesmen. In the vain hope that matters would mend by and by—though he +did not form any precise idea as to how the improvement would take +place—he had been meeting each engagement as it came to maturity by +entering on another still more onerous. After stripping himself of all +his household treasures that could be converted into money, he had +pledged his insurance policy, his professional and private income, and +at last even his furniture; and he was now in very deep waters.</p> + +<p>A great change had come over him. At sixty, when Sydney took his degree, +he was still handsome and upright, buoyant with hope and energy. At +sixty-six he was broken, weak, and disheartened. To his wife and +daughter, indeed, he was always the same cheerful, gentle, sanguine man, +full of courtesy and consideration. In the village he was more beloved +than ever, because there was scarcely a man or woman who was not +familiar with the nature and extent of his troubles. In a country parish +the affairs of the parson, especially when they do not prosper, are apt +to become the affairs of the congregation as well. Who should know +better than a man's butcher and baker when the supply of ready money +runs short, when one month would be more convenient than another for the +settlement of a bill, or when the half-year's stipend has been +forestalled and appropriated long before it fell due?</p> + +<p>However great his trouble, the rector had generally contrived to put a +good face on things. He considered his difficulties as entirely the +result of his own improvidence, and rejoiced to think that Sydney's +position was assured, no matter what might happen to himself. Yet often +in the silence of the night he would toss upon his restless bed, or vex +his soul with complicated accounts in the privacy of his study, and none +but the two faithful women who lived with him suspected what he suffered +in his weakest moments.</p> + +<p>He had come to lean more and more constantly on the companionship of +Lettice. Mrs. Campion had never been the kind of woman to whom a man +looks for strength or consolation, and when she condoled with her +husband he usually felt himself twice as miserable as before. Some wives +have a way of making their condolences sound like reproaches; and they +may be none the less loving wives for that. Mrs. Campion sincerely loved +her husband, but she never thoroughly understood him.</p> + +<p>When the boy arrived with Sydney's telegram, Lettice intercepted him at +the door. She was accustomed to keep watch over everything that entered +the house, and saved her father a great deal of trouble by reading his +letters, and, if need be, by answering them. What he would have done +without her, he was wont to aver, nobody could tell.</p> + +<p>Time had dealt gently with Lettice, in spite of her anxieties, in spite +of that passionate revolt against fate which from time to time had +shaken her very soul. She was nearly five-and-twenty, and she certainly +looked no more then twenty-one. The sweet country air had preserved the +delicate freshness of her complexion: her dark grey eyes were clear, her +white brow unlined by trouble, her rippling brown hair shining and +abundant. Her slender hands were a little tanned—the only sign that +country life had laid upon her—because she was never very careful about +wearing gloves when she worked in the garden; but neither tan nor +freckle ever appeared upon her face, the bloom of which was tender and +refined as that of a briar-rose. The old wistful look of her sweet eyes +remained unchanged, but the mouth was sadder in repose than it had been +when she was a child. When she smiled, however, there could not have +been a brighter face.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding this touch of sadness on her lips, and a faint shadow of +thought on the clear fine brows, the face of Lettice was noticeable for +its tranquillity. No storm of passion had ever troubled those +translucent eyes: patience sat there, patience and reflection; emotion +waited its turn. One could not doubt her capabilities of feeling; but, +in spite of her four-and-twenty years, the depths of her heart had never +yet been stirred. She had lived a somewhat restricted life, and there +was yet very much for her to experience and to learn. Who would be her +teacher? For Lettice was not the woman to go ignorant of life's fullest +bliss and deepest sorrow to the grave.</p> + +<p>She looked particularly slender and youthful as she stood that day at +the hall window when Sydney's telegram arrived. She had a double reason +for keeping guard in the hall and glancing nervously down the +carriage-drive that led from the main road to the rectory front. +Half-an-hour before, a hard-featured man had swaggered up the avenue, +fired off a volley of defiance on the knocker, and demanded to see Mr. +Campion.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" said Lettice, who had opened the door and stood +boldly facing him.</p> + +<p>"I want to see the parson. At once, miss, if you please."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I can do what is necessary, if you will tell me what your +business is. You cannot see my father."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the man, with a little more respect. "You are his daughter, +are you? Well, if you can do the needful I am sure I have no objection. +Three hundred and twenty pound seventeen-and-six"—here he took out a +stamped paper and showed it to Lettice. "That's the figure, miss, and if +you'll oblige with coin—cheques and promises being equally +inconvenient—I don't mind waiting five minutes to accommodate a lady."</p> + +<p>"We have not the money in the house," answered Lettice, who had been +reading the formidable document, without quite understanding what it +meant.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's a pity," said the man. "But I didn't expect it, so I ain't +disappointed."</p> + +<p>"It shall be sent to you. I will see that you have it—within a week +from this date—only go away now, for my father is unwell."</p> + +<p>"Very sorry, miss, but I can't go without the money. This business won't +wait any longer. The coin or the sticks—those are my orders, and that's +my notion of what is fair and right."</p> + +<p>"The sticks?" said Lettice faintly.</p> + +<p>"The goods—the furniture. This paper is a bill of sale, and as the +reverend gentleman doesn't find it convenient to pay, why, of course, my +principal is bound to realize the security. Now, miss, am I to see the +gentleman, or am I not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Lettice, "it is useless."</p> + +<p>"Then what I am going to do," said the man, "is this. I am going to get +the vans, and fetch the goods right away. I may be back this afternoon, +or I may be back to-morrow morning; but you take my advice, miss. Talk +it over with the old gentleman, and raise the money somehow, for it +really would go against me to have to sell you up. I'm to be heard of at +the 'Chequers,' miss—William Joskins, at your service."</p> + +<p>Then he had gone away, and left her alone, and she stood looking through +the window at the dreary prospect—thinking, and thinking, and unable to +see any light in the darkness.</p> + +<p>One thing, at all events, she must do; a message must be sent to Sydney. +It would not be just, either to him or to his father, that the extent of +the disaster should be any longer concealed. She had just arrived at +this determination, and was turning away to write the telegram, when the +messenger from the post-office made his appearance.</p> + +<p>In five minutes all the house was astir. A visit from Sydney was a rare +occurrence, and he must be treated royally, as though he were a king +condescending to quarter himself on his loyal subjects—which indeed, he +was. When Lettice went to tell her father the news she found him seated +by the fire, pondering gloomily on what the immediate future might have +in store for him; but as soon as she showed him Sydney's telegram he +sprang to his feet, with straightened body and brightly shining eyes. In +one moment he had passed from despondency to the height of exultation.</p> + +<p>"Two o'clock," he said, looking at his watch, "and he will be here at +five! Dinner must be ready for him by six; and you will take care, +Lettice, that everything is prepared as you know he would like to have +it. Going into Parliament, is he? Yes, I have always told you that he +would. He is a born orator, child; he will serve his country +brilliantly—not for place, nor for corrupt motives of any kind, but as +a patriot and a Christian, to whom duty is the law of his nature."</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa. And you will be satisfied when he is a member of +Parliament?"</p> + +<p>"So long as Sydney lives, my dear, I know that he will grow in favor +with God and man; and so long as I live, I shall watch his course with +undiminished joy and satisfaction. What else have we left to live for? +Wife!" said the rector, as Mrs. Campion entered the room, "do you know +that our boy is to dine with us to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Lawrence, I have seen his telegram; and Mollie is doing all she +can at short notice. It will not be the kind of dinner I should like to +put before him; but times are changed with us—sadly changed! I hope he +will not miss the plate, Lawrence; and as for wine and dessert——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother dear," said Lettice, interrupting, "I quite forgot to tell +you about my letter this morning. Look here! It contained a cheque for +ten pounds, for that article of mine in the <i>Decade</i>. I mean to go into +Dorminster, and get one or two things we shall be wanting, and I shall +probably drive back in Sydney's cab. So you can leave the wine and +dessert to me. And, mother dear, be sure you put on your silver-grey +poplin, with the Mechlin cap. Nothing suits you half as well!"</p> + +<p>Lettice's earnings had sufficed for some years past for her dress and +personal expenses; but latterly she had contrived to have a fair margin +left for such emergencies as that which had now arisen. She was more +than thanked by the gleam of love which lightened the eyes of her +parents as she spoke. Even though Sydney was coming, she thought, that +smile at any rate was all for her.</p> + +<p>So she went into the town and made her purchases, and waited at the +station, shivering in the cold March wind, for Sydney's train.</p> + +<p>How much should she tell him to begin with? Or should she say nothing +till after dinner? How would he take it? How would it affect him? And +suppose for a moment that he had to choose between getting into +Parliament and rescuing his father from ruin?</p> + +<p>Clearly as she saw the worst sides of Sydney's character, yet she loved +him well, and was proud of him. How often she had yearned for tenderness +in the days gone by! What excuses she had framed for him in her own +heart, when he seemed to forget their existence at Angleford for months +together! And now, when she had this terrible news to tell him, was it +not possible that his heart would be softened by the blow, and that good +would come for all of them out of this menaced evil? What a happy place +the old Rectory might be if her father's mind were set at rest again, +and Sydney would come down and stay with them from time to time!</p> + +<p>The train was at the platform before Lettice had decided what to do. +Sydney looked rather surprised to see her, but gave her his cheek to +kiss, and hurried her off to the cab stand.</p> + +<p>"What brought you here?" he said. "How cold you are! All well at home?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they are well. But, oh, Sydney, they are growing old?"</p> + +<p>"Growing old, child? Why, of course they are. We must expect it. Do you +mean they look older than they are?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—older, and—and more——"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her sharply, for she could not quite command her voice, and +left the sentence unfinished. Then Sydney had an uncomfortable feeling. +He saw that there was something amiss, but did not care at the moment to +insist on further confidences. No doubt he would hear all that there was +to be said by and by. Meanwhile he turned the conversation, and soon +contrived to interest her, so that they reached the Rectory in excellent +spirits. All that day poor Lettice alternated between despair and giddy +lightness of heart.</p> + +<p>So the hero came home and was feasted, and his father and mother did +obeisance to him, and even he for an hour or two thought it good that he +should now and then renew his contract with the earth from which he +sprang, and remember the chains of duty and affection which bound him to +the past, instead of dwelling constantly in the present and the future.</p> + +<p>Throughout dinner, and at dessert, and as they drank the wine which +Lettice had provided, Sydney spoke of his position and prospects, +dazzling those who listened to him with his pictures of victory at +Dormer, of Conservative triumphs all along the line, of Ministerial +favor for himself, of "Office—why not?—within a twelvemonth." It would +have been treason for any of his audience to doubt that all these good +things would come to pass. If Lettice felt that there was a skeleton at +the feast, her father at any rate had forgotten its existence. Or, +rather, he saw deliverance at hand. The crisis of his boy's fortune had +arrived; and, if Sydney triumphed, nothing that could happen to Sydney's +father could rob Mr. Campion of his joy.</p> + +<p>At last the women left the room, and Sydney proceeded to tell his father +what he wanted. He must return to town by the first train in the +morning, having made an appointment with Mr. Maltman for two o'clock. Of +course he meant to contest Dormer; but it was desirable that he should +know for certain that he could raise five hundred pounds within a week, +to supplement his own narrow means.</p> + +<p>His face fell a little when his father confessed—as though it were +clearly a matter for shame and remorse—that he could not so much as +draw a cheque for twenty pounds. But, in fact, he was not surprised. +Recklessly as he had abstained from inquiring into the old man's affairs +since Lettice spoke to him in London two years ago, he had taken it for +granted that there were difficulties of some kind; and men in +difficulties do not keep large balances at their bankers'.</p> + +<p>"Well, father," he said, "I am sorry for that. Yes—it certainly makes +the thing rather hard for me. I hoped you might have seen me fairly +launched on my career; and then, you know, if the worst came to the +worst, I could soon have repaid you what you advanced. Well, what I +suggest is this. I can probably borrow the money with your assistance, +and I want to know what security we could offer between us for the +loan."</p> + +<p>Mr. Campion looked mournfully at his son, but he was not ready with a +reply.</p> + +<p>"You see," said Sydney, "it would never do for me to miss this chance. +Everything depends upon it, and I was bound to refuse Pynsent's offer of +the money. But if you have something that we can lodge as security——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Campion shook his head. The look of distress that came upon his face +might have softened Sydney's heart, if he had been less intent on his +object.</p> + +<p>"There will be an insurance policy I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No, my boy! The fact is, I was obliged to assign it a few years ago, to +cover a former engagement."</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said Sydney, in a tone of vexation, "what a nuisance! I am +afraid our signatures alone would hardly suffice. A bill of sale is out +of the question, for that would have to be registered."</p> + +<p>Something in the old man's appearance, as he sank back in his chair and +wrung his hands, struck Sydney with a sudden conviction. He sprang to +his feet, and came close to his father's side, standing over him in what +looked almost like an attitude of menace.</p> + +<p>"Good heaven!" he cried. "Don't tell me that it has gone so far as +that!"</p> + +<p>The door opened, and Lettice stood before them, with pale cheeks and +glistening eyes. She had guessed what would come of their conversation, +and had held herself in readiness to intervene.</p> + +<p>Sydney turned upon her at once.</p> + +<p>"You," he said, as deliberate now as he had been excited a minute +before, "you, with your fine head for business, will doubtless know as +much about this as anybody. Has my father given a bill of sale on his +furniture?"</p> + +<p>"He has," said Lettice.</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"Months ago. I must have known it, for I read all his correspondence; +but I hardly knew what a bill of sale meant. And Sydney," she continued, +laying her hand on his arm, and whispering so that her father should not +hear, "it may be only a threat, but a man was here this morning, who +said he should come to-morrow and take the things away."</p> + +<p>When he heard this, Sydney lost his self-command, and spoke certain +words for which he never quite forgave himself. No doubt the blow was a +heavy one, and he realized immediately all that it implied. But he did +not foresee the effect of the harsh and bitter words which he flung at +his father and sister, charging them with reckless extravagance, and +declaring that their selfishness had ruined his whole career.</p> + +<p>Lettice was stung to the quick, not so much by her brother's unjust +accusations as by the suffering which they inflicted on her father. His +childishness had increased upon him so much of late that he was in +truth, at this moment, more like a boy under correction than a father in +presence of his children. He buried his face in his hands, and Lettice +heard a piteous groan.</p> + +<p>Then she stood beside him, laid her arm upon his neck, and faced Sydney +with indignant eyes.</p> + +<p>"Look!" she said. "This is your work. Can you not see and understand? +You accuse him of selfishness—him, whose life has been one long +sacrifice for you! I tell you, Sydney, that your cruel neglect, your +ingrained love of self, have dragged our father down to this. He gave +you all that you have, and made you all that you are, and when you +should have come to his succor, and secured for him a happy old age, you +have left him all these years to struggle with the poverty to which you +reduced him. He never murmured—he will never blame you as long as he +lives—he is as proud of you to-day as he was ten years ago—and you +dare, you <i>dare</i> to reproach him!"</p> + +<p>Lettice ended in magnificent wrath; and, then, being a woman after all, +she knelt by her father's side and burst into tears.</p> + +<p>If Sydney's pride had not got the better of him he would have owned the +justice of her words, and all might have been well. Instead of that, he +went to his room, brooding upon his misfortune, and soothing his wounded +feelings in an intense self-pity.</p> + +<p>And next morning, when he came remorsefully to his father's bedside, +intending to assure him that he would make it the first business of his +life to rescue him from his difficulties, he found him rescued indeed, +with placid face and silent heart, over which the cares of earth had no +further dominion.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>SEVERANCE.</h3> + + +<p>The rector's death was a terrible shock to Sydney. For a time his +remorse for his own conduct was very great, and it bore good fruit in a +perceptible softening of his over-confident manner and a more distinct +show of consideration for his mother and sister. Little by little he +drew from Lettice the story of her past anxieties, of his father's +efforts and privations, of his mother's suffering at the loss of +luxuries to which she had always been accustomed—suffering silently +borne because it was borne for Sydney. Lettice spared him as far as she +could; but there was much that she was obliged to tell, as she had been +for so long the depositary of her father's secrets and his cares. +Man-like, Sydney showed his sorrow by exceeding sharpness of tone.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not write to me? Why was I never told?"</p> + +<p>"I told you as much as I dared, when I was in London."</p> + +<p>"As much as you <i>dared</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Dear father would not let me tell very much. He laid his commands on me +to say nothing."</p> + +<p>"You should have disobeyed him," said Sydney marching up and down the +darkened study, in which this conference took place. "It was your duty +to have disobeyed him, for his own good——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sydney, how can you talk to me of duty?" said Lettice, with a sob. +"Why did you not come and see for yourself? Why did you stay away so +long?"</p> + +<p>The reproach cut deeper than she knew. "I thought I was acting for the +best," said the young man, half defiantly, half apologetically. "I did +what it was the desire of his heart that I should do—But you, you were +at home; you saw it all, and you should have told me, Lettice."</p> + +<p>"I did try," she answered meekly, "but it was not very easy to make you +listen."</p> + +<p>In other circumstances he would, perhaps, have retorted angrily; and +Lettice felt that it said much for the depth of his sorrow for the past +that he did not carry his self-defence any further. By and by he paused +in his agitated walk up and down the room, with head bent and hands +plunged deep into his pockets. After two or three moments' silence, +Lettice crept up to him and put her hand within his arm.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, Sydney, I spoke too bitterly; but it has been very hard +sometimes."</p> + +<p>"I would have helped if I had known," said Sydney gloomily.</p> + +<p>"I know you would, dear. And he always knew it, too. That was the reason +why he told me to keep silence—for fear of hampering you in your +career. He has often said to me that he wished to keep the knowledge of +his difficulties from you, because he knew you would be generous and +kind——"</p> + +<p>Tears choked her voice. Her brother, who had hitherto been quite +unresponsive to her caresses, put out his right hand and stroked the +trembling fingers that rested on his left arm. He was leaning against +the old oak table, where his father's books and papers had stood for so +many years; and some remembrances of bygone days when he and Lettice, as +boy and girl, sat together with their grammars and lexicons at that very +place, occurred a little dimly to his mind. But what was a dim memory to +him was very clear and distinct to Lettice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sydney, do you remember how we used to work here with father?" she +broke out. "How many hours we spent here together—reading the same +books, thinking the same thoughts—and now we seem so divided, so very +far apart! You have not quite forgotten those old days, have you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I have not forgotten them," said Sydney, in a rather unsteady +voice. Poor Lettice! She had counted for very little in his life for the +last few years, and yet, as she reminded him, what companions they had +been before he went to Cambridge! A suddenly roused instinct of +compassion and protection caused him to put his arm round her and to +speak with unusual tenderness.</p> + +<p>"I won't forget those old times, Lettice. Perhaps we shall be able to +see more of each other by and bye than we have done lately. You have +been a good girl, never wanting any change or amusement all these years; +but I'll do my best to look after you now."</p> + +<p>"I began to think you did not care for any of us, Sydney."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said Sydney, and he kissed her forehead affectionately +before he left the study, where, indeed, he felt that he had stayed a +little too long, and given Lettice an unusual advantage over him. He was +not destitute of natural affections, but they had so long been obscured +by the mists of selfishness that he found it difficult to let them +appear—and more difficult with his sister than with his mother. Lettice +seemed to him to exact too much, to be too intense in feeling, too +critical in observation. He was fond of her, but she was not at all his +ideal woman—if he had one. Sydney's preference was for what he called +"a womanly woman": not one who knew Greek.</p> + +<p>He made a brave and manly effort to wind up his father's affairs and pay +his outstanding debts. He was so far stirred out of himself that it +hardly occurred to his mind that a slur would be left on him if these +debts were left unpaid: his strongest motive just now was the sense of +right and wrong, and he knew, too late, that it was right for him to +take up the load which his own acts had made so heavy.</p> + +<p>The rector had died absolutely penniless. His insurance policy, his +furniture, the whole of his personal effects, barely sufficed to cover +the money he had borrowed. What Sydney did was to procure the means of +discharging at once all the household bills, and the expenses connected +with the funeral.</p> + +<p>"And now," he said to Lettice, when the last of these dues had been paid +off and they took their last stroll together through the already half +dismantled rooms of the desolate old Rectory, "I feel more of a man than +I have felt since that terrible night, and I want to get back to my +work."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you will have to work very hard, dear!" said Lettice, +laying her hand on his arm, rather timidly. How she still yearned for +the full measure of mutual confidence and sympathy!</p> + +<p>"Hard work will be good for me," he said, his keen blue eyes lighting up +as if with ardor for the fray. "I shall soon wipe off old scores, and +there's nothing like knowing you have only yourself to look to. My +practice, you know, is pretty good already, and it will be very good by +and bye."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And, of course, you must never have any anxiety about mother and +yourself. I shall see to all that. You are going to stay with the +Grahams for a while, so I can come over one day and discuss it. I don't +suppose I shall ever marry, but whether I do or not, I shall always set +apart a certain sum for mother and you."</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking about the future," said Lettice, quietly. She +always spoke in a low, musical voice, without gesture, but not without +animation, producing on those who heard her the impression that she had +formed her opinions beforehand, and was deliberate in stating them. "Do +you know, Sydney, that I can earn a very respectable income?"</p> + +<p>"Earn an income! You!" he said, with a wrinkle in his forehead, and a +curl in his nostrils. "I will not hear of such a thing. I cannot have my +sister a dependent in other people's houses—a humble governess or +companion. How could you dream of it!"</p> + +<p>"I have not dreamed of that," said Lettice. "I do not think I should +like it myself. I simply stay at home and write. I earned seventy pounds +last year, and Mr. Graham says I could almost certainly earn twice as +much if I were living in London."</p> + +<p>"Why was I not told of this?" said Sydney, with an air of vexation. +"What do you write?"</p> + +<p>"Essays, and now and then a review, and little stories."</p> + +<p>"Little stories—ouf!" he muttered, in evident disgust. "You don't put +your name to these things!"</p> + +<p>"I did to one article, last March, in <i>The Decade</i>."</p> + +<p>"That is Graham's magazine, and I daresay Graham asked you to sign your +name. When I see him I shall tell him it was done without sufficient +consideration."</p> + +<p>"All articles are signed in <i>The Decade</i>," said Lettice. She did not +think it worth while to mention that Graham had written her a very +flattering letter about her article, telling her that it had attracted +notice—that the critics said she had a style of her own, and was likely +to make her mark. The letter had reached her on the morning before her +father's death, and she had found but a brief satisfaction in it at the +time.</p> + +<p>"I think you had better not say anything to Mr. Graham," she continued. +"They have both been very kind, and we shall not have too many friends +in London."</p> + +<p>"Why do you want to live in London?"</p> + +<p>"I think I should like it, and mother would like it too. You know she +has fifty pounds a year of her own, and if what Mr. Graham says is right +we shall be able to live very comfortably."</p> + +<p>"I can't say I like this writing for a living," he said.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we cannot have everything as we like it. And, besides, I do +like it. It is congenial work, and it makes me feel independent."</p> + +<p>"It is not always good for women to be independent. It is dangerous."</p> + +<p>She laughed—a pleasant little rallying laugh.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will not be shocked," she said. "I have set my heart on +being perfectly independent of you and everybody else."</p> + +<p>He saw that she would have her way, and let the subject drop.</p> + +<p>A few weeks afterwards, Lettice and her mother had packed up their +belongings and went to London. The Grahams were delighted to have them, +for Lettice was a great favorite with both. James Graham was a literary +man of good standing, who, in addition to editing <i>The Decade</i>, wrote +for one of the weekly papers, and reviewed books in his special lines +for one of the dailies. By dint of hard work, and carefully nursing his +connection, he contrived to make a living; and that was all. Literary +work is not well paid as a rule. There is fair pay to be had on the +staff of the best daily papers, but that kind of work requires a special +aptitude. It requires, in particular, a supple and indifferent mind, +ready to take its cue from other people, with the art of representing +things from day to day not exactly as they are, but as an editor or +paymaster wants them to appear. If we suffered our journalists to sign +their articles, they would probably write better, with more self-respect +and a higher sense of responsibility; they would become stronger in +themselves, and would be more influential with their readers. As it is, +few men with vigorous and original minds can endure beyond a year or two +of political leader-writing.</p> + +<p>Graham had tried it, and the ordeal was too difficult for him. Now he +had a greater scope for his abilities, and less money for his pains.</p> + +<p>Clara Graham was the daughter of a solicitor in Angleford, and had known +Lettice Campion from childhood. She was a pretty woman, thoroughly +good-hearted, with tastes and powers somewhat in advance of her +education. Perhaps she stood a little in awe of Lettice, and wondered +occasionally whether her husband considered a woman who knew Latin and +Greek, and wrote clever articles in <i>The Decade</i>, superior to one who +had no such accomplishments, though she might be prettier, and the +mother of his children, and even the darner of his stockings. But Clara +was not without wits, so she did not propound questions of that sort to +her husband; she reserved them for her own torment, and then expiated +her jealousy by being kinder to Lettice than ever.</p> + +<p>Lettice's plans were far more fixed and decided than Sydney knew. She +had corresponded very fully and frankly with the Grahams on the subject, +and Mr. Graham was already looking about for a place where she could set +up her household gods. It was no use to consult Mrs. Campion on the +subject. Her husband's death had thrown her into a state of mental +torpor which seemed at first to border upon imbecility; and although she +recovered to some extent from the shock, her health had been too much +shaken to admit of complete recovery. Thenceforward she was an invalid +and an old woman, who had abnegated her will in favor of her daughter's, +and asked for nothing better than to be governed as well as cared for. +The change was a painful one to Lettice, but practically it left her +freer than ever, for her mother wanted little companionship, and was +quite as happy with the maid that Lettice had brought from Angleford as +with Lettice herself. The visit to the Grahams was an excellent thing +both for Mrs. Campion and for her daughter. Clara managed to win the old +lady's heart, and so relieved her friend of much of her anxiety. The +relief came not a moment too soon, for the long strain to which Lettice +had been subjected began to tell upon her and she was sorely in need of +rest. The last three or four years had been a time of almost incessant +worry to her. She had literally had the care of the household on her +shoulders, and it had needed both courage and endurance of no ordinary +kind to enable her to discharge her task without abandoning that inner +and intellectual life which had become so indispensable to her +well-being. The sudden death of her father was a paralyzing blow, but +the care exacted from her by her mother had saved her from the physical +collapse which it might have brought about. Now, when the necessity for +immediate exertion had passed away, the reaction was very great, and it +was fortunate that she had at this crisis the bracing companionship of +James Graham, and Clara's friendly and stimulating acerbities.</p> + +<p>Lettice had reached the age of five and twenty without experiencing +either love, or intimate friendship, or intellectual sympathy. She had +had neither of those two things which a woman, and especially an +intellectual woman, constantly craves, and in the absence of which she +cannot be happy. Either of the two may suffice for happiness, both +together would satisfy her completely, but the woman who has not one or +the other is a stranger to content. The nature of a woman requires +either equality of friendship, a free exchange of confidence, trust and +respect—having which, she can put up with a good deal of apparent +coldness and dryness of heart in her friend; or else she wants the +contrasted savor of life, caressing words, demonstrations of tenderness, +amenities and attentions, which keep her heart at rest even if they do +not satisfy her whole nature. If she gets neither of these things the +love or friendship never wakes, or, having been aroused, it dies of +inanition.</p> + +<p>So it was with Lettice. The one oasis in the wilderness of her existence +had been the aftermath of love which sprang up between her and her +father in the last few years, when she felt him depending upon her, +confiding and trusting in her, and when she had a voice in the shaping +of his life. But even this love, unsurpassable in its tenderness, was +only as a faint shadow in a thirsty land. Such as it was, she had lost +it, and the place which it had occupied was an aching void.</p> + +<p>The one desire left to her at present was to become an absolutely +independent woman. This meant that she should work hard for her living +in her own way, and that she should do what seemed good and pleasant to +her, because it seemed good and pleasant, not because it was the way of +the world, or the way of a house, or the routine of a relative or an +employer. It meant that she should keep her mother under her own eye, in +comfort and decency, not lodged with strangers to mope out her life in +dreary solitude. It meant also that she should not be a burden on +Sydney—or, in plain terms, that she should not take Sydney's money, +either for herself or her mother.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the consciousness that she had to work for another, and to be +her protection and support, was not only bracing but cheering in its +effects, and Lettice now turned towards her writing-table with an energy +which had been wanting when her efforts were for herself alone.</p> + +<p>The Rectory household had been reduced as much as possible during the +last few months, and only two servants remained at the time of the +rector's death: one, an elderly cook, who was content for the love of +"Miss Lettice" to do the work of a general servant; and a young girl of +eighteen, who had lived at the Rectory and been trained for domestic +service under Mrs. Campion's eye ever since her parents' death, which +had occurred when she was fifteen years of age. Emily, or Milly +Harrington, as she was generally called, was a quick, clever girl, very +neat-handed and fairly industrious; and it seemed to Lettice, when she +decided upon going to London, that she could not do better than ask +Milly to go too. The girl's great blue eyes opened with a flash of +positive rapture. "Go with you to London? Oh, Miss Lettice!"</p> + +<p>"You would like it, Milly?" said Lettice, wondering at her excitement, +and thinking that she had never before noticed how pretty Millie +Harrington had grown of late.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of all things in the world, miss, I've wanted to go to London!" +said Milly, flushing all over her face through the clear white skin +which was one of her especial beauties. There was very little trace of +commonness in Milly's good looks. Three years of life at the Rectory had +refined her appearance, as also her manners and ways of speech; and +Lettice thought that it would be far pleasanter to keep Milly about her +than to go through the agonies of a succession of pert London girls. Yet +something in Milly's eagerness to go, as well as the girl's fresh, +innocent, country air, troubled her with a vague sense of anxiety. Was +not London said to be a place of temptation for inexperienced country +girls? Could she keep Milly safe and innocent if she took her away from +Angleford?</p> + +<p>"You would have all the work of the house to do, and to look after Mrs. +Campion a little as well," she said seeking to put her vague anxiety +into the form of a warning or an objection. But Milly only smiled.</p> + +<p>"I'm very strong, Miss Lettice. I am sure I can do all that you want. +And I should like to go to London with you. One hears such fine tales of +London—and I don't want to leave mistress and you." Though this was +evidently an afterthought.</p> + +<p>"You will see very little of London, Milly; I shall live in a very quiet +part," said Lettice. "And I shall want you to be very good and steady, +and take care of my mother when I am busy. I shall have to work hard +now, you know; quite as hard as you."</p> + +<p>Milly looked up quickly; there was inquiry in her eyes. But she answered +only by protestations of good behavior and repeated desires to go with +her young mistress; and Lettice gave her a promise, subject to the +consent of Milly's grandmother, who lived at Birchmead, that she would +take the girl with her when she went away.</p> + +<p>Old Mrs. Harrington had no objection at all to Milly's going to London. +"Indeed, Miss Lettice," she said, "I'm only too glad to think of your +looking after her, for Milly's not got much sense, I'm afraid, although +she's a woman grown."</p> + +<p>"I always thought her unusually clever and sensible," said Lettice, in +some surprise.</p> + +<p>"Clever, miss, she always was, but sensible's a different affair. Her +head's filled with foolishness, all along of her reading story books, I +tell her; and she's got an idea that her pretty face will bring her a +rich husband, and I don't know what beside. I shall be obliged to you, +miss, if you'll kindly keep a sharp eye and a tight hand over Milly. Not +but what she's a good kind-hearted girl," said the old woman, relenting +a little, as she saw a rather startled expression on Miss Campion's +face, "and I don't think there's any harm in her, but girls are always +better for being looked after, that is all."</p> + +<p>"I'll try to take care of Milly," said Lettice, as she rose to go. "But +my care will be of very little use if she does not take care of +herself."</p> + +<p>She was fated on the same day to hear a remonstrance from the doctor's +wife, Mrs. Budworth, on the subject of her choice of a servant. Mrs. +Budworth was a noted busybody, who knew everybody's business better than +the rest of the world.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lettice, dear," she said, "I do hope it's not true that you are +going to take that silly girl, Milly Harrington, up to London with you."</p> + +<p>"Why not? You cannot know anything against her," said Lettice, who was +becoming a little angry.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps not—only she is so very pretty, and London is so full of +temptations for a pretty girl of that class!"</p> + +<p>"We shall live so quietly that she will have no more temptations there +than here, Mrs. Budworth."</p> + +<p>"You can't tell that, my dear—once you get a girl away from her friends +and relations. However, she has only her old grandmother to fall back +on, and she seems a well-meaning girl enough, and perhaps she won't be +considered so pretty in London as she has the name of being here. I hope +she will keep straight, I'm sure; it would be such a worry to you, +Lettice, if anything went wrong."</p> + +<p>"Poor Milly!" said Lettice to herself, as she walked home in a state of +blazing indignation; "how easily that woman would undermine your +reputation—or that of anybody else! Milly is a dear, good little girl; +and as for her being so pretty—well, it is not her fault, and I don't +see why it should be her misfortune! I will look well after her when we +are in London, and it will be for her good, I believe, to stay with us. +What an absurd fuss to make about such a trifle!"</p> + +<p>So she dismissed the matter from her mind, remembering it only from time +to time when she was making her new household arrangements, and +carefully planning to keep Milly out of every possible danger.</p> + +<p>But dangers are oftener from within than from without. While Lettice +walked homeward after her talk with Mrs. Budworth, Milly Harrington had +locked herself into her own room, and was experimenting with her pretty +curling hair before the looking-glass. She wanted to see herself with a +"fringe"—a thing that was strictly forbidden at the Rectory, and she +had brushed the soft little curls that were generally hidden beneath her +cap well over her forehead. Then she stood and gazed at the reflection +of the fair locks, the large blue eyes, the graceful neck and shoulders. +"I suppose I look pretty," she was saying to herself. "I've been told so +often enough. Mr. Sydney thought so when he was here at Christmas, I'm +sure of that. This time, of course, he was so taken up with his father's +death, and other things, that he never noticed me. But I shall see him +again."</p> + +<p>A faint color mantled in her cheeks, and her eyes began to sparkle.</p> + +<p>"Beauty's a great power, I've heard," she said to herself, still looking +at that fair image in the glass. "There's no knowing what I mayn't do if +I meet the right person. And one meets nobody in Angleford. In +London—things may be different."</p> + +<p>Different, indeed, but not as poor Milly fancied the difference.</p> + +<p>And then she brushed back her curls, and fastened up her black dress, +and tied a clean muslin apron round her trim little figure before going +downstairs; and when she brought in the tea-tray that afternoon, Lettice +looked at her with pleasure and admiration, and thought how sweet and +good a girl she was, and how she had won the Prayer-Book prize at the +Diocesan Inspector's examination, and of the praise that the rector had +given her for her well-written papers at the Confirmation Class, and of +her own kindly and earnest teaching of all things that were good in +Lettice's eyes; and she decided that Mrs. Harrington and Mrs. Budworth +were mere croakers, and that poor Milly would never come to harm.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II.</h2> + +<h3>CHANGE.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Yet the twin habit of that early time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lingered for long about the heart and tongue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We had been natives of one happy clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And its dear accent to our utterance clung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Till the dire years whose awful name is Change<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had grasped our souls, still yearning in divorce,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pitiless shaped them in two forms that range—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Two elements which sever their life's course."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>NEW BEGINNINGS.</h3> + + +<p>"Poor dear Lettice! how she must have suffered!" said Clara Graham.</p> + +<p>"Less than you suppose," rejoined her husband.</p> + +<p>"Jim, what do you mean? You are very hard-hearted."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not! I'm only practical. Your friend, Miss Campion, has been a +source of lamentation and woe to you ever since I made your +acquaintance. According to you, she was always being sacrificed to that +intolerable prig of a brother of hers. <i>Then</i> she was immolated on the +altar of her father's money difficulties and her mother's ill-health. +Now she has got a fair field, and can live where she likes and exercise +her talents as she pleases; and as I can be as unfeeling as I like in +the bosom of my family, I will at once acknowledge that I am very glad +the old man's gone."</p> + +<p>"I do hope and trust, Jim——"</p> + +<p>"That I am not a born fool, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"—That you won't say these things to Lettice herself."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. That is what I knew you were going to say."</p> + +<p>"If it weren't that I am certain you do not mean half you say——"</p> + +<p>"I mean all that I say: every word of it. But I'll tell you what, Clara: +I believe that Lettice Campion is a woman of great talent—possibly even +of genius—and that she has never yet been able to give her talents full +play. She has the chance now, and I hope she'll use it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jim, dear, do you think she is so sure to succeed?"</p> + +<p>"If she doesn't, it will be pure cussedness on her part, and nothing +else," said Jim.</p> + +<p>Clara reflected that she would tell Lettice what her husband said. She +moved to the window and looked out. She was waiting for her guests, +Lettice and Mrs. Campion, in the soft dusk of a sweet May evening, and +she was a little impatient for their arrival. She had had a comfortable, +nondescript meal, which she called dinner-tea, set ready for them in the +dining-room, and as this room was near the hall-door, she had installed +herself therein, so that she could the more easily watch for her +visitors. Mr. Graham, a tall, thin man, with coal-black beard, deep-set +dark eyes, and marked features, had thrown himself into a great +arm-chair, where he sat buried in the current number of a monthly +magazine. His wife was universally declared to be a very pretty woman, +and she was even more "stylish," as women say, than pretty; for she had +one of those light, graceful figures that give an air of beauty to +everything they wear. For the rest, she had well-cut features, bright +dark eyes, and a very winning smile. A brightly impulsive and +affectionate nature had especially endeared her to Lettice, and this had +never been soured or darkened by her experiences of the outer world, +although, like most people, she had known reverses of fortune and was +not altogether free from care. But her husband loved her, and her three +babies were the most charming children ever seen, and everybody admired +the decorations of her bright little house in Edwardes Square; and what +more could the heart of womankind desire?</p> + +<p>"I wonder," she said presently, "whether Sydney will come with them. He +was to meet them at Liverpool Street; and of course I asked him to come +on."</p> + +<p>"I would have gone out if you had told me that before," said Mr. Graham, +tersely.</p> + +<p>"Why do you dislike Sydney Campion so much, Jim?"</p> + +<p>"Dislike? I admire him. I think he is the coming man. He's one of the +most successful persons of my acquaintance. It is just because I feel so +small beside him that I can't stand his company."</p> + +<p>"I must repeat, Jim, that if you talk like that to Lettice——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lettice doesn't adore her precious brother," said Graham, +irreverently. "She knows as well as you and I do that he's a selfish +sort of brute, in spite of his good looks and his gift of the gab. I +say, Clara, when are these folks coming? I'm confoundedly hungry."</p> + +<p>"Who's the selfish brute now?" asked Clara, with triumph. "But you won't +be kept waiting long: the cab's stopping at the door, and Sydney hasn't +come."</p> + +<p>She flew to the door, to be the first to meet and greet her visitors. +There was not much to be got from Mrs. Campion that evening except +tears—this was evident as soon as she entered the house, leaning on +Lettice's arm; and the best thing was to put her at once to bed, and +delay the evening meal until Lettice was able to leave her. Graham was +quite too good-natured to grumble at a delay for which there was so +valid a reason; for, as he informed his wife, he preferred Miss +Campion's conversation without an accompaniment of groans. He talked +lightly, but his grasp of the hand was so warm, his manner so +sympathetic, when Lettice at last came down, that Clara felt herself +rebuked at having for one moment doubted the real kindliness of his +feeling.</p> + +<p>Lettice in her deep mourning looked painfully white and slender in +Clara's eyes; but she spoke cheerfully of her prospects for the future, +as they sat at their evening meal. Sad topics were not broached, and Mr. +Graham set himself to give her all the encouragement in his power.</p> + +<p>"And as to where you are to set up your tent," he said, "Clara and I +have seen a cottage on Brook Green that we think would suit you +admirably."</p> + +<p>"Where is Brook Green?" asked Lettice, who was almost ignorant of any +save the main thoroughfares of London.</p> + +<p>"In the wilds of Hammersmith——"</p> + +<p>"West Kensington," put in Clara, rather indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Well, West Kensington is only Hammersmith writ fine. It is about ten +minutes' walk from us——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am glad of that," said Lettice.</p> + +<p>"—And it is not, I think, too large or too dear. You must go and look +at it to-morrow, if you can."</p> + +<p>"Is there any garden?"</p> + +<p>"There is a garden, with trees under which your mother can sit when it +is warm. Clara told me you would like that; and there is a grass-plot—I +won't call it a lawn—where you can let your dog and cat disport +themselves in safety. I am sure you must have brought a dog or a cat +with you, Miss Campion. I never yet knew a young woman from the country +who did not bring a pet animal to town with her."</p> + +<p>"Jim, you are very rude," said his wife.</p> + +<p>"I shall have to plead guilty," Lettice answered, smiling a little. "I +have left my fair Persian, Fluff, in the care of my maid, Milly, who is +to bring her to London as soon as I can get into my new home."</p> + +<p>"Fluff," said Clara, meditatively, "is the creature with a tail as big +as your arm, and a ruff round her neck, and Milly is the pretty little +housemaid; I remember and approve of them both."</p> + +<p>The subject of the new house served them until they went upstairs into +Clara's bright little drawing-room, which Graham used to speak of +disrespectfully as his wife's doll's house. It was crowded with pretty +but inexpensive knick-knacks, the profusion of which was rather +bewildering to Lettice, with her more simple tastes. Of one thing she +was quite sure, that she would not, when she furnished her own rooms, +expend much money in droves of delicately-colored china pigs and +elephants, which happened to be in fashion at the time. She also doubted +the expediency of tying up two peacocks' feathers with a yellow ribbon, +and hanging them in solitary glory on the wall flanked by plates of Kaga +ware, at tenpence-halfpenny a-piece. Lettice's taste had been formed by +her father, and was somewhat masculine in its simplicity, and she cared +only for the finer kinds of art, whether in porcelain or painting. But +she was fain to confess that the effect of Clara's decorations was very +pretty, and she wondered at the care and pains which had evidently been +spent on the arrangement of Mrs. Graham's "Liberty rags" and Oriental +ware. When the soft yellow silk curtains were drawn, and a subdued light +fell through the jewelled facets of an Eastern lamp upon the peacock +fans and richly-toned Syrian rugs, and all the other hackneyed +ornamentation by which "artistic" taste is supposed to be shown, Lettice +could not but acknowledge that the room was charming. But her thoughts +flew back instantly to the old study at home, with its solid oak +furniture, its cushioned window-seats, its unfashionable curtains of red +moreen; and in the faint sickness of that memory, it seemed to her that +she could be more comfortable at a deal table, with a kitchen chair set +upon unpolished boards, than in the midst of Clara's pretty novelties.</p> + +<p>"You are tired," Mr. Graham said to her, watching her keenly as she sat +down in the chair that he offered her, and let her hands sink languidly +upon her lap. "We won't let you talk too much. Clara is going to see +after her bairns, and I'm going to read the <i>Pall Mall</i>. Here's the May +number of <i>The Decade</i>: have you seen it?"</p> + +<p>She took it with a grateful smile; but she did not intend to read, and +Mr. Graham knew it. He perused his paper diligently, but he was +sufficiently interested in her to know exactly at what point she ceased +to brood and began to glance at the magazine. After a little while, she +became absorbed in its pages; and only when she laid it down at last, +with a half suppressed sigh, did he openly look up to find that her eyes +were full of tears.</p> + +<p>"I hope that you discovered something to interest you," he said.</p> + +<p>"I was reading a poem," Lettice answered, rather guiltily.</p> + +<p>"Oh—Alan Walcott's 'Sorrow'? Very well done, isn't it? but a trifle +morbid, all the same."</p> + +<p>"It is very sad. Is he—has he had much trouble?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I couldn't tell you. Probably not, as he writes about it," +said Graham, grimly. "He's a pessimist and a bit of a dilletante. If he +would work and believe in himself a little more, I think he might do +great things."</p> + +<p>"He is young?"</p> + +<p>"Over thirty. He comes to the house sometimes. I daresay you will meet +him before long."</p> + +<p>Lettice said nothing. She was not in a mood to enjoy the prospect of +making new acquaintances; but the poem had touched her, and she felt a +slight thrill of interest in its writer.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I shall be pleased to make his acquaintance—some +day." And then the conversation dropped, and Graham understood from her +tone that she was not disposed as yet to meet new faces.</p> + +<p>The house on Brook Green proved eminently satisfactory. She agreed to +take it as soon as possible, and for the next few weeks her mind was +occupied with the purchase and arrangement of furniture, and the many +details which belong to the first start in a new career. Although her +tastes differed widely from those of Clara Graham, she found her +friend's advice and assistance infinitely valuable to her; and many were +the expeditions taken together to the Kensington shops to supply +Lettice's requirements. She had not Clara's love for shopping, or +Clara's eagerness for a bargain; but she took pleasure in her visits to +the great London store-houses of beautiful things, and made her +purchases with care and deliberation.</p> + +<p>So at the end of June she settled down with her mother in the pleasant +cottage which was thenceforth to be their home. In addition to the new +plenishing, there were in the house a few favorite pieces of furniture +which had been saved from the wreck at Angleford; and Sydney—perhaps as +a sign that he recognized some redeeming features in her desire to be +independent—had made one room look quite imposing with an old-fashioned +bookcase, and a library table and chair. There was a well-established +garden behind the house, with tall box and bay-trees of more than a +generation's growth, and plenty of those old English border plants +without which a garden is scarcely worthy of its name. On the whole, +Lettice felt that she had not made a bad selection out of the million or +so of human habitations which overflow the province of London; and even +Mrs. Campion would occasionally end her lamentations over the past by +admitting that Maple Cottage was "not a workhouse, my dear, where I +might have expected to finish my life."</p> + +<p>The widow had a fixed idea about the troubles which had fallen upon her. +She would talk now and then of the "shameful robberies" which had broken +her husband's heart, and declare that sooner or later the miscreants +would be discovered, and restitution would be made, and they would "all +end their days in peace." As for Sydney, he was still her hero of +heroes, who had come to their rescue when their natural protector was +done to death, and whose elevation to the woolsack might be expected at +any moment.</p> + +<p>Lettice's friends, the Grahams, had naturally left her almost +undisturbed during her visit to them, so far as invited guests were +concerned. Nevertheless, she casually met several of Mr. Graham's +literary acquaintances, and he took care to introduce her to one or two +editors and publishers whom he thought likely to be useful to her. James +Graham had plenty of tact; he knew just what to say about Miss Campion, +without saying too much, and he contrived to leave an impression in the +minds of those to whom he spoke that it might be rather difficult to +make this young woman sit down and write, but decidedly worth their +while to do it if they could.</p> + +<p>"Now I have thrown in the seeds," Graham said to her before she left +Edwardes Square, "and by the time you want to see them the blades will +be springing up. From what you have told me I should say that you have +quite enough to do in the next three months. There is that article for +me, and the translation of Feuerbach, and the Ouf stories."</p> + +<p>This reminiscence of Sydney's criticism made Lettice laugh—she was +beginning to laugh again—and Graham's forecast of her future as a woman +of letters put her into a cheerful and hopeful mood.</p> + +<p>The summer passed away, and the autumn, and when Lettice lighted her +first study fire, one cold day at the end of October, she could look +forward to the coming winter without misgiving. In four months she had +done fifty pounds' worth of work, and she had commissions which would +keep her busy for six months more, and would yield at least twice as +much money. Mr. Graham's seeds were beginning to send up their blades; +and, in short, Lettice was in a very fair way of earning not only a +living, but also a good literary repute.</p> + +<p>One call, indeed, was made upon her resources in a very unexpected +manner. She had put by four five-pound notes of clear saving—it is at +such moments that our unexpected liabilities are wont to find us +out—and she was just congratulating herself on that first achievement +in the art of domestic thrift when her maid Milly knocked at her door, +and announced a visitor.</p> + +<p>"Please, miss, here is Mrs. Bundlecombe of Thorley!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bundlecombe was a bookseller in her own right, in a village some +three miles from Angleford. Her husband had died four years before Mr. +Campion, and his widow made an effort to carry on the business. The +rector in his palmy days had had many dealings with Mr. Bundlecombe, who +was of some note in the world as a collector of second-hand books; but, +as Lettice had no reason to think that he had bought anything of Mrs. +Bundlecombe personally, she could not imagine what the object of this +visit might be.</p> + +<p>"Did she say what her business was, Milly?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss. Only she said she had heard you were living here, and she +would like to see you, please."</p> + +<p>Milly's relations had lived in Thorley. Thus she knew Mrs. Bundlecombe +by sight, and, being somewhat inquisitive by nature, she had already +tried to draw the visitor into conversation, but without success.</p> + +<p>"Show her in," said Lettice, after a moment's pause. It was pleasant, +after all, to meet a "kent face" in London solitudes, and she felt quite +kindly towards Mrs. Bundlecombe, whom she had sometimes seen over the +counter in her shop at Thorley. So she received her with gentle +cordiality.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bundlecombe showed symptoms of embarrassment at the quiet +friendliness of Lettice's manners. She was not a person of aristocratic +appearance, for she was short and very stout, and florid into the +bargain; but her broad face was both shrewd and kindly, and her grey +eyes were observant and good-humored. Her grey hair was arranged in +three flat curls, fastened with small black combs on each side of her +face, which was rosy and wrinkled like a russet apple, and her full +purple skirt, her big bonnet, adorned with bows of scarlet ribbon, and +her much be-furbelowed and be-spangled dolman, attested the fact that +she had donned her best clothes for the occasion of her visit, and that +Thorley fashions differed from those of the metropolis. She wore gloves +with one button, moreover, and boots with elastic sides.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bundlecombe seemed to have some difficulty in coming to the point. +She told Lettice much Angleford news, including a piece of information +that interested her a good deal: namely, that the old squire, after many +years of suffering, was dead, and that his nephew, Mr. Brooke Dalton, +had at last succeeded to the property. "He's not there very much, +however: he leaves the house pretty much to his sister, Miss Edith +Dalton; but it's to be hoped that he'll marry soon and bring a lady to +the place."</p> + +<p>Lettice wondered again why Mrs. Bundlecombe had called upon her. There +seemed very little point in her remarks. But the good woman had a very +sufficient reason for her call. She was a practical-minded person, and +she was moreover a literary woman in her way, as behoved the widow of a +bookseller who had herself taken to selling books. It is true that her +acquaintance with the works of British authors did not extend far beyond +their titles, but it was to her credit that she contrived to make so +much as she did out of her materials. She might have known as many +insides of books as she knew outsides, and have put them to less +practical service.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, after a quarter of an hour's incessant talk, "you will +be wondering what brought me here, and to be sure, miss, I hardly like +to say it now I've come; but, as I argued with myself, the rights of man +are the rights of man, and to do your best by them who depend on you is +the whole duty of man, which applies, I take it, to woman also. And when +my poor dear husband died, I thought the path of duty was marked out for +me, and I went through my daily exercises, so to speak, just as he had +done for forty years. But times were bad, and I could make nothing of +it. He had ways of selling books that I could never understand, and I +soon saw that the decline and fall was setting in. So I have sold the +business for what it would fetch, and paid all that was owing, and I can +assure you that there is very little left. I have a nephew in London who +is something in the writing way himself. He used to live with us at +Thorley, and he is a dear dutiful boy, but he has had great troubles; so +I am going to keep his rooms for him, and take care of his linen, and +look after things a bit. I came up to-day to talk to him about it.</p> + +<p>"Well, Miss Campion, the long and short of it is that as I was looking +over my husband's state documents, so to speak, which he had kept in a +private drawer, and which I had never found until I was packing up to +go, I found a paper signed by your respected father, less than three +months before my good man went to his saint's everlasting rest. You see, +miss, it is an undertaking to pay Samuel Bundlecombe the sum of twenty +pounds in six months from date, for value received, but owing to my +husband dying that sudden, and not telling me of his private drawer, +this paper was never presented."</p> + +<p>Lettice took the paper and read it, feeling rather sick at heart, for +two or three reasons. If her father had made this promise she felt sure +that he would either have kept it or have put down the twenty pounds in +his list of debts. The list, indeed, which had been handed to Sydney was +in her own writing, and certainly the name of Bundlecombe was not +included in it. Was the omission her fault? If the money had never been +paid, that was what she would prefer to believe.</p> + +<p>"I thought, miss," her visitor continued, "that there might be some +mention of this in Mr. Campion's papers, and, having heard that all the +accounts were properly settled, I made bold to bring it to your notice. +It is a kind of social contract, you see, and a solemn league and +covenant, as between man and man, which I am sure you would like to +settle if the means exist. Not but what it seems a shame to come to a +lady on such an errand; and I may tell you miss, fair and candid, that I +have been to Mr. Sydney Campion in the Temple, who does not admit that +he is liable. That may be law, or it may not, but I do consider that +this signature ought to be worth the money."</p> + +<p>Lettice took the paper again. There could be no doubt as to its +genuineness, and the fact that Sydney had denied his liability +influenced her in some subtle manner to do what she had already half +resolved to do without that additional argument.</p> + +<p>She looked at the box in which she had put her twenty pounds, and she +looked at her father's signature. Then she opened the box and took out +the notes.</p> + +<p>"You did quite right in coming, Mrs. Bundlecombe. This is certainly my +father's handwriting, and I suppose that if the debt had been settled +the paper would not have remained in your husband's possession. Here is +the money."</p> + +<p>The old woman could scarcely believe her eyes; but she pocketed the +notes with great satisfaction, and began to express her admiration for +such honorable conduct in a very voluble manner. Lettice cut her short +and got rid of her, and then, if the truth must be confessed, she sat +down and had a comfortable cry over the speedy dissipation of her +savings.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>MRS. HARTLEY AT HOME.</h3> + + +<p>After her first Christmas in London, Lettice began to accept invitations +to the houses of her acquaintance.</p> + +<p>She dined several times at the Grahams', where there were never more +than eight at table, and, being a bright talker and an appreciative +listener—two qualities which do not often go together—she was always +an impressive personality without exactly knowing it. Clara was +accustomed to be outshone by her in conversation, and had become used to +it, but some of the women whom Lettice was invited to meet looked at her +rather hard, as though they would have liked to draw her serious +attention to the fact that they were better looking, or better dressed, +or older or younger than herself, as the case might be, and that it was +consequently a little improper in her to be talked to so much by the +men.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly Lettice got on well with men, and was more at her ease with +them than with her own sex. It was not the effect of forwardness on her +part, and indeed she was scarcely conscious of the fact. She conversed +readily, because her mind was full of reading and of thought, and her +moral courage was never at a loss. The keenness of her perception led +her to understand and respond to the opinions of the cleverest men whom +she met, and it was not unnatural that they should be flattered.</p> + +<p>It does not take long for a man or woman to earn a reputation in the +literary circles of London, provided he or she has real ability, and is +well introduced. The ability will not, as a rule, suffice without the +introductions, though introductions have been known to create a +reputation, lasting at any rate for a few months, without any real +ability. Lettice advanced rapidly in the estimation of those whose good +opinion was worth having. She soon began to discriminate between the +people who were worth cultivating and the people who were not. If a +person were sincere and straightforward, could say what he meant and say +it with point and vivacity, or if he possessed for her those vaguely +attractive and stimulating qualities which draw people together without +their exactly knowing why (probably through some correlation of +temperament), Lettice would feel this person was good to know, whether +the world approved her choice of friends or not. And when she wanted to +know man or woman, she exerted herself to please—mainly by showing that +she herself was pleased. She did not exactly flatter—she was never +insincere—but it amounted to much the same thing as flattery. She +listened eagerly; her interest was manifested in her face, her attitude, +her answers. In fact she was her absolute self, without reserve and +without fence. No wonder that she incurred the jealousy of half the +women in her set.</p> + +<p>But this is how an intellectual woman can best please a man who has +passed the childish age, when he only cared for human dolls and dolls' +houses. She must carry her intellect about with her, like a brave +costume—dressing, of course, with taste and harmony—she must not be +slow to admire the intellectual costume of others, if she wants her own +to be admired; she must be subtle enough at the same time to forget that +she is dressed at all, and yet never for a moment forget that her +companion may have no soul or heart except in his dress. If he has, it +is for him to prove it, not for her to assume it.</p> + +<p>It was because Lettice had this art of intellectual intercourse, and +because she exercised it in a perfectly natural and artless manner, that +she charmed so many of those who made her acquaintance, and that they +rarely paused to consider whether she was prettier or plainer, taller or +shorter, more or less prepossessing, than the women who surrounded her.</p> + +<p>In due time she found herself welcomed at the houses of those dear and +estimable ladies, who—generally old and childless themselves—love to +gather round them the young and clever acolytes of literature and art, +the enthusiastic devotees of science, the generous apprentices of +constructive politics, for politicians who do not dabble in the +reformation of society find other and more congenial haunts. This +many-minded crowd of acolytes, and devotees, and apprentices, owe much +to the hospitable women who bring them together in a sort of indulgent +dame's school, where their angles are rubbed down, and whence they +merge, perhaps, as Arthur Hallam said, the picturesque of man and man, +but certainly also more fitted for their work in the social mill than if +they had never known that kindly feminine influence.</p> + +<p>Lettice became especially fond of one of these minor queens of literary +society, who received her friends on Sunday afternoon, and whose +drawing-room was frequently attended by a dozen or a score of +well-reputed men and women. Mrs. Hartley was an excellent hostess. She +was not only careful, to begin with, about her own acquaintance, +cultivating none but those whom she had heard well spoken of by +competent judges, but she knew how to make a second choice amongst the +chosen, bringing kindred spirits together with a happy, instinctive +sense of their mutual suitabilities. In spite of her many amiable and +agreeable qualities, however, it took Lettice a little time to believe +that she should ever make a friend of Mrs. Hartley, whose habit of +assorting and labelling her acquaintances in groups struck her at first +as artificial and conventional. Lettice objected, for her own part, to +be classified.</p> + +<p>She had been entreated so often by Clara to go to one of Mrs. Hartley's +afternoons that it was with some compunction of heart that she prepared +at last to fulfil her long-delayed promise. She walked from Brook Green +to Edwardes Square, about three o'clock one bright Sunday afternoon, in +February, and found Clara waiting for her. Clara was looking very trim +and smart in a new gown of inexpensive material, but the latest, and she +surveyed Lettice in a comprehensive manner from top to toe, as if to +ascertain whether a proper value had been attached to Mrs. Hartley's +invitation.</p> + +<p>"You look very nice," was her verdict. "I am so glad that you have +relieved your black at last, Lettice. There is no reason why you should +not wear a little white or lavender."</p> + +<p>And indeed this mitigation of her mourning weeds was becoming to +Lettice, whose delicate bloom showed fresh and fair against the black +and white of her new costume. She had pinned a little bunch of sweet +violets into her jacket, and they harmonized excellently well with the +grave tranquillity of her face and the soberness of her dress.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why it is, but you remind me of a nun," Clara said, +glancing at her in some perplexity. "The effect is quite charming, but +it is nun-like too——"</p> + +<p>"I am sure I don't know why; I never felt more worldly in my life," said +Lettice, laughing. "Am I not fit for Mrs. Hartley's drawing-room?"</p> + +<p>"Fit? You are lovely; but not quite like anybody else. That is the best +of it; Mrs. Hartley will rave of you," said Clara, as they set forth. +And the words jarred a little on Lettice's sensitive mind; she thought +that she should object to be raved about.</p> + +<p>They took an omnibus to Kensington High Street, and then they made their +way to Campden Hill, where Mrs. Hartley's house was situated. And as +they went, Clara took the opportunity of explaining Mrs. Hartley's +position and claims to distinction. Mrs. Hartley was a widow, childless, +rich, perfectly independent: she was very critical and very clever (said +Mrs. Graham), but, oh, <i>so</i> kind-hearted! And she was sure that Lettice +would like her.</p> + +<p>Lettice meekly hoped that she should, although she had a guilty sense of +wayward dislike to the woman in whose house, it appeared, she was to be +exhibited. For some words of Graham's lingered in her mind. "Mrs. +Hartley? The lion-hunter? Oh! so <i>you</i> are to be on view this afternoon, +I understand." Accordingly, it was with no very pleasant anticipation +that Lettice entered the lion-hunter's house on Campden Hill.</p> + +<p>A stout, little grey-haired lady in black, with a very observant eye, +came forward to greet the visitors. "This is Miss Campion, I feel sure," +she said, putting out a podgy hand, laden with diamond rings. "Dear Mrs. +Graham, how kind of you to bring her. Come and sit by me, Miss Campion, +and tell me all about yourself. I want to know how you first came to +think of literature as a profession?"</p> + +<p>This was not the way in which people talked at Angleford. Lettice felt +posed for a moment, and then a sense of humor came happily to her +relief.</p> + +<p>"I drifted into it, I am afraid," she answered, composedly.</p> + +<p>"Drifted? No, I am sure you would never drift. You don't know how +interested I am, Miss Campion, in the development of the human mind, or +you would not try to evade the question. Now, which interests you most, +poetry or prose?"</p> + +<p>"That depends upon my mood; I am not sure that I am permanently +interested in either," Lettice said, quietly.</p> + +<p>Her hostess' observant eye was upon her for a moment; then Mrs. +Hartley's face expanded in a benignant smile.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see you are very clever," she said. "I ask the question—not from +idle curiosity, because I have representatives of both in the room at +the present moment. There is a poet, whom I mean to introduce you to by +and by, if you will allow me; and there is the very embodiment of prose +close beside you, although I don't believe that he writes any, and, like +M. Jourdain, talks it without knowing that it is prose."</p> + +<p>Lettice glanced involuntarily at the man beside her, and glanced again. +Where had she seen his face before? He was a rather stout, blonde man, +with an honest open countenance that she liked, although it expressed +good nature rather than intellectual force.</p> + +<p>"Don't you remember him?" said Mrs. Hartley, in her ear. "He's a cousin +of mine: Brooke Dalton, whose uncle used to live at Angleford. He has +been wanting to meet you very much; he remembers you quite well, he +tells me."</p> + +<p>The color rose in Lettice's face. She was feminine enough to feel that a +connecting link between Mrs. Hartley and her dear old home changed her +views of her hostess at once. She looked up and smiled. "I remember Mr. +Dalton too," she said.</p> + +<p>"What a sweet face!" Mrs. Hartley said to herself. "Now if Brooke would +only take it into his head to settle down——"</p> + +<p>And aloud she added: "Brooke, come and be introduced to Miss Campion. +You used to know her at Angleford."</p> + +<p>"It seems a long time since I saw you," Mr. Dalton said, rather +clumsily, as he took Lettice's hand into a very cordial clasp. "It was +that day in December when your brother had just got his scholarship at +Trinity."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; that day! I remember it very well," said Lettice, drawing a +long breath, which was not exactly a sigh, although it sounded like one. +"I gave up being a child on that day, I believe!"</p> + +<p>"There have been many changes since then." Brooke Dalton was not +brilliant in conversation.</p> + +<p>"You have heard of them all, I suppose? Yes, my mother and I are in +London now."</p> + +<p>"You will allow me to call, I hope?"</p> + +<p>Lettice had but time to signify her consent, when Mrs. Hartley seized on +her again, but this time Lettice did not so much object to be +cross-examined. She recognized the fact that Mrs. Hartley's aim was +kindly, and she submitted to be asked questions about her work and her +prospects, and to answer them with a frankness that amazed herself. But +in the very midst of the conversation she was conscious of being much +observed by two or three people in the room; notably by Brooke Dalton, +who had planted himself in a position from which he could look at her +without attracting the other visitors' remark; and also by a tall man +with a dark, melancholy face, deep-set eyes, and a peaked Vandyke beard, +whose glances were more furtive than those of Dalton, but equally +interested and intent. He was a handsome man, and Lettice found herself +wondering whether he were not "somebody," and somebody worth talking to, +moreover; for he was receiving, in a languid, half-indifferent manner, a +great deal of homage from the women in the room. He seemed bored by it, +and was turning away in relief from a lady who had just quoted +half-a-dozen lines of Shelley for his especial behoof, when Mrs. +Hartley, who had been discussing Feuerbach and the German materialists +with Lettice, caught his eye, and beckoned him to her side.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Walcott," she said, "I never heard that you were a materialist, and +I don't think it is very likely; so you can condole with Miss Campion on +having been condemned to translate five hundred pages of Feuerbach. Now, +isn't that terrible?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know Feuerbach," said the poet, after he had bowed to Lettice, +"but it sounds warm and comfortable on a wintry day. Nevertheless, I do +condole with her."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that I need condolence," said Lettice. "The work was +really very interesting, and one likes to know what any philosopher has +to say for himself, whether one believes in his theories or not. I must +say I have enjoyed reading Feuerbach,—though he <i>is</i> a German with a +translatable name."</p> + +<p>This was a flippant speech, as Lettice acknowledged to herself; but, +then, Mr. Walcott's speech had been flippant to begin with, and she +wanted to give as good as she got.</p> + +<p>"You read German, then?" said Walcott, sitting down in the chair that +Mrs. Hartley had vacated, and looking at Lettice with interest, although +he did not abandon the slight affectation of tone and manner that she +had noted from the beginning of her talk with him. "How nice that must +be! I often wish I knew something more than my schoolboy's smattering of +Greek, Latin, and French."</p> + +<p>Lettice had read Mr. Walcott's last volume of poems, which were just +then exciting considerable interest in the literary world, and she could +not help recalling one or two lyrics and sonnets from Uhland, Filicaja, +and other Continentals. As though divining her thoughts, Walcott went on +quickly, with much more sincerity of tone:</p> + +<p>"I do try now and then to put an idea that strikes me from German or +Italian into English; but think of my painful groping with a dictionary, +before the cramped and crippled idea can reach my mind! I am the +translator most in need of condolence, Miss Campion!"</p> + +<p>"Yet, even without going to other languages," said Lettice, "there is an +unlimited field in our own, both for ideas and for expression—as well +as a practically unlimited audience."</p> + +<p>"The artists and musicians say that their domains are absolutely +unlimited—that the poet sings to those who happen to speak his +language, whilst they discourse to the whole world and to all time. I +suppose, in a sense, they are right."</p> + +<p>He spoke listlessly, as if he did not care whether they were right or +wrong.</p> + +<p>But Lettice's eyes began to glow.</p> + +<p>"Surely in a narrow sense! They would hardly say that Handel or +Beethoven speaks to a wider audience than Homer or Shakspeare, and +certainly no musician or painter or sculptor can hope to delight mankind +for as many centuries as a poet. And, then, to think what an idea can +accomplish—what Greek ideas have done in England, for instance, or +Roman ideas in France, or French ideas in nearly every country of +Europe! Could a tune make a revolution, or a picture destroy a +religion?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, yes," said Walcott, wishing to draw her out, "if the tunes or +the pictures could be repeated often enough, and brought before the eyes +and ears of the multitude."</p> + +<p>"I do not think so. And, at any rate, that could not be done by way of +systematic and comprehensive teaching, so that your comparison only +suggests another superiority in literary expression. A poet can teach a +whole art, or establish a definite creed; he can move the heart and +mould the mind at the same time; but one can hardly imagine such an +effect from the work of those who speak to us only through the eye or +ear."</p> + +<p>By this time Alan Walcott was fairly interested. What Lettice said might +be commonplace enough, but it did not strike him so. It was her manner +that pleased him, her quiet fervor and gentle insistance, which showed +that she was accustomed to think for herself, and suggested that she +would have the honesty to say what she thought. And, of course, he +applied to himself all that she said about poets in general, and was +delighted by her warm championship of his special vocation. As they went +on talking for another quarter of an hour he recognized, without framing +the admission in words, that Miss Campion was an exceedingly well-read +person, and that she knew many authors—even poets—with whom he had the +slightest acquaintance. Most of the people whom he met talked idle +nonsense to him, as though their main object was to pass the time, or +else they aired a superficial knowledge of the uppermost thoughts and +theories of the day, gleaned as a rule from the cheap primers and +magazine articles in which a bustled age is content to study its +science, art, economy, politics, and religion. But here was a woman who +had been a voracious reader, who had gone to the fountain-head for her +facts, and who yet spoke with the air of one who wanted to learn, rather +than to display.</p> + +<p>"We have had a very pleasant talk," he said to her at last. "I mean that +I have found it very pleasant. I am going now to dine at my club, and +shall spend my evening over a monologue which has suggested itself since +I entered this room. As you know the Grahams I may hope to meet you +again, there if not here. A talk with you, Miss Campion, is what the +critics in the <i>Acropolis</i> might call very suggestive!"</p> + +<p>Again Lettice thought the manner and the speech affected, but there was +an air of sincerity about the man which seemed to be fighting down the +affectation. She hardly knew whether she liked him or not, but she knew +that he had interested her and made her talk—for which two things she +half forgave him the affectation.</p> + +<p>"I knew you two would get on together," said Mrs. Hartley, who came up +at the moment and dropped into Alan Walcott's chair. "I am not easily +deceived in my friends, and I was sure you would have plenty to say to +each, other. I have been watching you, and I declare it was quite a case +of conversation at first sight. Now, mind you come to me often, Miss +Campion. I feel that I shall like you."</p> + +<p>And the fat good-natured little woman nodded her grey head to emphasize +the compliment.</p> + +<p>"It is kind of you to say that," said Lettice, warmly. "I will certainly +take you at your word."</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Mrs. Hartley, when Alan Walcott had left them, "he is a +very nice and clever man—but, oh, so melancholy! He makes me feel quite +unhappy. I never saw him so animated as he was just now, and it must be +thoroughly good for him to be drawn out in that way."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is the natural mood of poets," Lettice answered with a +smile. "It is an old joke against them."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but I think the race is changing its characteristics in these days, +and going in for cheerfulness and comfort. There is Mr. Pemberton, for +instance—how aggravatingly prosperous he looks! Do you see how he beams +with good nature on all the world? I should say that he is a jovial +man—and yet, you know, he has been down there, as they said of Dante."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it goes by opposites. What I have read of Mr. Walcott's poetry +is rather light than sad—except one or two pieces in <i>The Decade</i>."</p> + +<p>"Poor man! I think there is another cause for his melancholy. He lost +his wife two or three years ago, and I have been told that she was a +charming creature, and that her death upset him terribly. He has only +just begun to go about again."</p> + +<p>"How very unfortunate!" said Lettice. "And that makes it still more +strange that his poems should be so slightly tinged with melancholy. He +must live quite a double life. Most men would give expression to their +personal griefs, and publish them for everybody to read; but he keeps +them sacred. That is much more interesting."</p> + +<p>"I should think it is more difficult. It seems natural that a poet, +being in grief, should write the poetry of grief."</p> + +<p>"Yes—no doubt it is more difficult."</p> + +<p>And Lettice, on her way home and afterwards, found herself pondering on +the problem of a man who, recently robbed of a well-beloved wife, wrote +a thousand verses without a single reference to her.</p> + +<p>She took down his "Measures and Monologues," and read it through, to see +what he had to say about women.</p> + +<p>There were a few cynical verses from Heine, and three bitter stanzas on +the text from Balzac:—"Vous nous promettiez le bonheur, et finissiez +par nous jeter dans une précipice;" but not one tender word applied to a +woman throughout the book. It was certainly strange; and Lettice felt +that her curiosity was natural and legitimate.</p> + +<p>Alan Walcott, in fact, became quite an interesting study. During the +next few months Lettice had many opportunities of arriving at a better +knowledge of his character, and she amused herself by quietly pushing +her inquiries into what was for her a comparatively new field of +speculation. The outcome of the research was not very profitable. The +more she saw of him the more he puzzled her. Qualities which appeared +one day seemed to be entirely wanting when they next met. In some subtle +manner she was aware that even his feelings and inclinations constantly +varied; at one time he did not conceal his craving for sympathy, at +another he was frigid and almost repellent. Lettice still did not know +whether she liked or disliked him. But she was now piqued as well as +interested, and so it happened that Mr. Walcott began to occupy more of +her thoughts than she was altogether willing to devote to him.</p> + +<p>So far, all their meetings were in public. They had never exchanged a +word that the world might not hear. They saw each other at the Grahams' +dinner-parties, at Mrs. Hartley's Sunday afternoon "at homes," and at +one or two other houses. To meet a dozen times in a London season +constitutes intimacy. Although they talked chiefly of books, sometimes +of men and women, and never of themselves, Lettice began to feel that a +confidential tone was creeping into their intercourse—that she +criticized his poems with extraordinary freedom, and argued her opinions +with him in a way that would certainly have staggered her brother Sydney +if he had heard her. But in all this friendly talk, the personal note +had never once been struck. He told her nothing of his inner self, of +his past life, or his dreams for the future. All that they said might +have been said to each other on their first meeting in Mrs. Hartley's +drawing-room. It seemed as if some vague impalpable barrier had been +erected between them, and Lettice puzzled herself from time to time to +know how this barrier had been set up.</p> + +<p>Sometimes—she did not know why—she was disposed to associate it with +the presence of Brooke Dalton. That gentleman continued to display his +usual lack of brilliance in conversation, together with much +good-heartedness, soundness of judgment, and thoughtfulness for others; +and in spite of his slowness of speech Lettice liked him very much. But +why would he persist in establishing himself within earshot when Alan +was talking to her? If they absolutely eluded him, he betrayed +uneasiness, like that of a faithful dog who sees his beloved mistress in +some danger. He did not often interrupt the conversation. He sat silent +for the most part, unconsciously throwing a wet blanket over both +speakers, and sometimes sending Walcott away in a state of almost +irrepressible irritation. And yet he seemed to be on good terms with +Alan. They spoke to each other as men who had been acquaintances, if not +friends, for a good number of years; and he never made an allusion to +Alan, in his absence, which could in the least be deemed disparaging. +And yet Lettice felt that she was watched, and that there was some +mysterious anxiety in Dalton's mind.</p> + +<p>Having no companions (for Clara was too busy with her house and her +children to be considered a companion for the day-time), Lettice +sometimes went for solitary expeditions to various "sights" of London, +and, as usual in such expeditions, had never once met anybody she knew. +She had gone rather early one summer morning to Westminster Abbey, and +was walking slowly through the dim cloistered shades, enjoying the +coolness and the quietness, when she came full upon Alan Walcott, who +seemed to be doing likewise.</p> + +<p>They both started: indeed, they both changed color. For the first time +they met outside a drawing-room; and the change in their environment +seemed to warrant some change in their relation to one another. After +the first greeting, and a short significant pause—for what can be more +significant than silence between two people who have reached that stage +of sensitiveness to each other's moods when every word or movement seems +like self-revelation?—Alan spoke.</p> + +<p>"You love this place—as I do; I know you love it."</p> + +<p>"I have never been here before," said Lettice, letting her eyes stray +dreamily over the grey stones at her feet.</p> + +<p>"No, or I should have seen you. I am often here. And I see you so +seldom——"</p> + +<p>"So seldom?" said Lettice in some natural surprise. "Why, I thought we +met rather often?"</p> + +<p>"Under the world's eye," said Alan, but in so low a voice that she was +not sure whether he meant her to hear or not. However, they both smiled; +and he went on rather hurriedly, "It is the place of all others where I +should expect to meet you. We think so much alike——"</p> + +<p>"Do we?" said Lettice doubtfully. "But we differ very much."</p> + +<p>"Not in essentials. Don't say that you think so," he said, in a tone +that was almost passionately earnest? "I can't tell you how much it is +to me to feel that I have a friend who understands—who sympathizes—who +<i>would</i> sympathize, I am sure, if she knew all——"</p> + +<p>He broke off suddenly, and the emotion in his voice so far touched +Lettice that she remained silent, with drooping head and lowered eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he went on, "you owe me your sympathy now. You have given me so +much that you must give me more. I have a right to it."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Walcott!" said Lettice, raising her head quickly, "you can have no +<i>right</i>——"</p> + +<p>"No right to sympathy from a friend? Well, perhaps not," he answered +bitterly. "I thought that, although you were a woman, you could allow me +the claim I make. It is small enough, God knows! Miss Campion, forgive +me for speaking so roughly. I ask most earnestly for your friendship and +your sympathy; will you not give me these?"</p> + +<p>Lettice moved onward towards the door. "Do you think that we ought to +discuss our personal concerns in such a place as this?" she asked, +evading the question in a thoroughly feminine manner.</p> + +<p>"Why not? But if not here, then in another place. By the bye"—with a +sudden change of manner, as they stepped into the light of day—"I have +a rare book that I want to show you. Will you let me bring it to your +house to-morrow morning? I think that you will be interested. May I +bring it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lettice mechanically. The change from fierce earnestness to +this subdued conventionality of tone bewildered her a little.</p> + +<p>"I will come at twelve, if that hour will suit you?"</p> + +<p>"It will suit me very well."</p> + +<p>And then he raised his hat and left her. Lettice, her pulses throbbing +strangely, took her way back to Hammersmith. As she grew calmer, she +wondered what had agitated her so much; it must have been something in +his look or in his tone, for every effort to assure herself by a +repetition of his words that they were mere commonplaces of conversation +set her heart beating more tumultuously than ever. She walked all the +way from Westminster to Brook Green without once reflecting that she +might save herself that fatigue by hailing a passing omnibus.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>AT THE OLIGARCHY CLUB.</h3> + + +<p>Sydney Campion had done a year's hard and remunerative work since he +paid his last visit to Angleford, and the result more than answered his +expectations.</p> + +<p>When the courts were sitting he was fully absorbed in his briefs; but +now and again he took life easily enough—at any rate, so far as the law +was concerned. In the autumn it had been his custom to live abroad for a +month or two; at Christmas and Easter he invariably found his way to his +club in the afternoon, and finished the evening over a rubber of whist.</p> + +<p>It was a rare occasion when Sydney was able, in the middle of term, to +leave his chambers between three and four o'clock, and stroll in a +leisurely way along the Embankment, peacefully smoking a cigar. The +chance came to him one sultry day in June. There was no case for him to +master, nothing proceeding in which he was specially interested, and he +did not feel disposed to sit down and improvise a case for himself, as +he used to do in his earlier days. He was minded to be idle; and we may +accompany him in his westward walk along the river side to Hungerford +Bridge, and up the Avenue to Pall Mall.</p> + +<p>On the steps of the Oligarchy Club he found his old friend, Pynsent, +just starting for the House. The time was one of great excitement for +those who had not lost their interest in the politics of the day. The +Irish Land Bill was in Committee, and the Conservatives had strenuously +opposed it, fighting, as they knew, a losing battle, yet not without +consolations. This very week they had run the Government so close that +the transfer of three votes would have put them in a minority; and Sir +John Pynsent, who was always a sanguine man, had convinced himself that +the Liberal party was on the point of breaking up.</p> + +<p>"They are sure to go to pieces," he said to Campion; "and it would be a +strange thing if they did not. What Heneage has done already some other +Whig with a conscience will do again, and more effectually. You will see +we shall be back in office before the year is out. No Ministry and no +majority could bear the strain which the Old Man is putting on his +followers—it is simply impossible. The worth and birth of the country +are sick of this veiled communism that they call justice to +Ireland—sick of democratic sycophancy—deadly sick of the Old Man. You +mark my words, dear boy: there will be a great revolt against him before +many months have passed. I see it working. I find it in the House, in +the clubs, in the drawing-rooms; and I don't speak merely as my wishes +lead me."</p> + +<p>"No doubt you are right as to London; but how about the country?"</p> + +<p>"The provinces waver more than the metropolis, I admit; but I don't +despair of seeing a majority even in the English boroughs. Ah, Campion I +never see you without saying to myself, 'There goes the man who lost us +Dormer.' You would have won that election, I am certain."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Sydney, "you know why I could not fight. The will, the +money, everything was ready: but——"</p> + +<p>"True, I forgot. I beg your pardon!"</p> + +<p>"Not at all! But I will fight for you some day—as soon as you like. +Bear that in mind, Pynsent!"</p> + +<p>"To be sure I will, my dear fellow. We must have you in the House. I +have often said so."</p> + +<p>And the energetic baronet hurried away, whilst Sydney entered the Club, +and made straight for the smoking-room. Here he found others just as +eager to predict the downfall of the Government as Sir John Pynsent had +been; but he was not in the mood to listen to a number of young men all +of the same mind, all of-doubtful intellectual calibre, and all sure to +say what he had heard a dozen times already. So he passed on to the +billiard-room, and finding that a pool was just beginning, took a ball +and played.</p> + +<p>That served to pass the time until six o'clock, when he went upstairs +and read the evening papers for an hour; and at seven he had his dinner +and a bottle of wine. Meanwhile he had met two or three friends, with +whom he kept up a lively conversation on the events of the day, seasoned +by many a pungent joke, and fatal (for the moment) to many a reputation. +It is a habit fostered by club life—as, no doubt, it is fostered in the +life of the drawing-room, for neither sex is exempt—to sacrifice the +repute of one's absent acquaintance with a light heart, not in malice, +but more as a parrot bites the finger that feeds it, in sport, or even +in affection. If we backbite our friends, we give them free permission +to backbite us, or we know that they do it, which amounts to pretty much +the same thing. The biting may not be very severe, and, as a rule, it +leaves no scars; but, of course, there are exceptions to the rule.</p> + +<p>The secret history of almost every man or woman who has mixed at all in +polite society is sure to be known by some one or other in the clubs and +drawing-rooms. If there is anything to your discredit in your past life, +anything which you would blot out if you could with rivers of repentance +or expiation, you may be pretty sure that at some time, when you might +least expect it, this thing has been, or will be, the subject of +discourse and dissection amongst your friends. It may not be told in an +injurious or exaggerated manner, and it may not travel far; but none the +less do you walk on treacherous shale, which may give way at any moment +under your feet. The art of living, if you are afraid of the passing of +your secret from the few who know to the many who welcome a new scandal, +is to go on walking with the light and confident step of youth, never so +much as quailing in your own mind at the thought that the ground may +crumble beneath you—that you may go home some fine day, or to your +club, or to Lady Jane's five o'clock tea, and be confronted by the +grinning skeleton on whom you had so carefully turned your keys and shot +your bolts.</p> + +<p>No doubt there are men and women so refined and kindly in their nature +that they have absolutely no appetite for scandal—never speak it, or +listen to it, or remember what they have overheard. Sydney and his +friends were troubled by no such qualms, and, if either of them had +been, he would not have been so ill-mannered as to spoil sport for the +rest.</p> + +<p>After dinner they had gone upstairs to the members' smoking room, in a +comfortable corner of which they were lazily continuing their +conversation. It turned by chance on a certain barrister of Sydney's +inn, a Mr. Barrington Baynes, whom one of the party not incorrectly +described as "that beautiful, bumptious, and briefless barrister, B. B."</p> + +<p>"He gives himself great airs," said Captain Williams, a swaggering, +supercilious man, for whom Sydney had no affection, and who was not one +of Sydney's admirers. "To hear him talk one would imagine he was a high +authority on every subject under the sun, but I suspect he has very +little to go upon. Has he ever held a brief, Campion?"</p> + +<p>"I never heard of it, if he did. One of those poor devils who take to +journalism, and usually end by going to the dogs. You will find his name +on the covers of magazines, and I fancy he does something, in the +reviewing way."</p> + +<p>It was an unfortunate speech for Sydney to make, and Captain Williams +did not fail to seize his opportunity of giving the sharp-tongued +lawyer—who perhaps knew better how to thrust than to parry in such +encounters—a wholesome snub.</p> + +<p>Fortune favored him. The current number of <i>The Decade</i> was lying on the +table beside him. He took it up in a casual sort of way, and glanced at +the list of contents.</p> + +<p>"By the bye, Campion," he said, "you are not a married man, are you? I +see magazine articles now and then signed Lettice Campion; no relation, +I suppose."</p> + +<p>"That is my sister," Sydney answered, quietly enough. But it was plain +that the hit had told; and he was vexed with himself for being so +snobbish as to deserve a sneer from a man like Williams.</p> + +<p>"I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Campion two or three times +lately at Mrs. Hartley's, in Kensington," said another of the quartette. +This was none other than Brooke Dalton, whom Sydney always liked. He +spoke in a confidential undertone, with the kindly intention of covering +Sydney's embarrassment. "Mrs. Hartley is a cousin of mine; and, though I +say it, she brings some very nice people together sometimes. By the way, +have you ever seen a man of the name of Walcott—Alan Walcott: a man who +writes poetry, and so forth?"</p> + +<p>"I know him by name, that is all. I have heard people say he is one of +the best poets we have; but I don't pretend to understand our latter-day +bards."</p> + +<p>"You never met him?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Mr. Dalton, who, though a justice of the peace, and +the oldest of the four, could give them all points and beat them as a +retailer of gossip; "well, then, that leaves me free to tell you as +curious a little history as any I know. But mind, you fellows," he +continued, as the others pricked up their ears and prepared to listen, +"this is not a story for repetition, and I pledge you to silence before +I say another word."</p> + +<p>"Honor bright!" said Charles Milton; and the captain nodded his head.</p> + +<p>"The facts are these: Five or six years ago, I knew a little of Alan +Walcott. I had made his acquaintance in a fortuitous way, and he once +did me a good turn by coming forward as a witness in the police court."</p> + +<p>"Confession is good for the soul," Milton interjected.</p> + +<p>"Well, I was summoned for thrashing a cabman, and I should certainly +have been fined if Walcott had not contrived to put the matter in its +proper light. For a month or two we saw a good deal of each other, and I +rather liked him. He was frank and open in his ways, and though not a +well-to-do man, I never observed anything about him that was mean or +unhandsome. I did not know that he was married at first, but gradually I +put two and two together, and found that he came out now and again to +enjoy a snatch of personal freedom, which he could not always make sure +of at home.</p> + +<p>"Once I saw his wife, and only once. She was a strikingly handsome +Frenchwoman, of that bold and flaunting type which generally puts an +Englishman on his guard—all paint and powder and cosmetics; you know +the style!"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly a poetic ideal," said Sydney.</p> + +<p>"That is just what I thought at the time; and she seems to have been +still less so in character. When I saw her she was terribly excited +about some trifle or other—treated Walcott like a dog, without the +slightest consideration for his feelings or mine, stood over him with a +knife, and ended with a fit of shrieking hysterics."</p> + +<p>"Drink or jealousy?" Captain Williams asked.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps a little of both. Walcott told me afterwards that that was his +daily and nightly experience, and that he was making up his mind to end +it. I never knew what he meant by that, but it was impressed upon my +memory by the cool sort of way in which he said it, and a quiet look in +his eyes which evidently meant mischief. About a fortnight later they +went abroad, rather in a hurry; and for some time I heard nothing more +of them. Then I went to Aix-les-Bains, and came on the scene just after +a frightful row. It seems that a French admirer of hers had followed her +to Aix, and attacked Walcott, and even struck him in the hotel gardens. +The proprietor and the police had to interfere, and I came across +Walcott just as he was looking for some one to act as second. There had +been a challenge, and all that sort of thing; and, un-English as it +seems, I thought Walcott perfectly right, and acted as his friend +throughout the affair. It was in no way a remarkable duel: the French +fellow was shot in the arm and got away to Switzerland, and we managed +to keep it dark. Walcott was not hurt, and went back to his hotel."</p> + +<p>"What did the woman do?" asked Williams, curiously.</p> + +<p>"That's the odd part of it. Husband and wife seem to have made it up, +for in a day or two they went on to Culoz, had luncheon there, and went +out for a walk together. From that walk, Mrs. Alan Walcott did not +return. Now comes the mystery: what happened in the course of that walk +near Culoz? All that is known is that the landlady saw Walcott returning +by himself two or three hours later, and that when she questioned him he +replied that madame had taken her departure. What do you think of that +for a bit of suggested melodrama?"</p> + +<p>"It lacks finish," said Milton.</p> + +<p>"I can't see where the poetry comes in," observed the captain.</p> + +<p>"It certainly looked black for Walcott," Sydney remarked. "I suppose +there was a regular hue and cry—a search for the body, and all that +kind of thing?"</p> + +<p>"So far as I know, there was nothing of the sort. Nobody seems to have +had any suspicion at the time. The peasants at Culoz seemed to have +talked about it a little, and some weeks afterwards the English people +at Aix-les-Bains got hold of it, and a friend of mine tried to extract +information from the landlady. But he was unsuccessful: the landlady +could not positively affirm that there was anything wrong. And—perhaps +there was not," Mr. Dalton concluded, with a burst of Christian charity +which was creditable to him, considering how strong were his objections +to Walcott's friendship with Miss Campion.</p> + +<p>The captain leaned his head back, sent a pillar of smoke up to the +ceiling, and laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>"There is no question about it," said Milton, "that Walcott got out of +it cheaply. I would not be in his shoes for any money, even now."</p> + +<p>"Is this business widely known?" Sydney asked. "It is strange that I +never heard anything about it."</p> + +<p>He was thinking that the acquaintance of Mr. Alan Walcott could not in +any case be a desirable thing for Miss Lettice Campion. From the manner +in which Dalton had introduced the subject he felt pretty sure that the +attention paid by this man to his sister had been noticed, and that his +friend was actuated by a sense, of duty in giving him warning as to the +facts within his knowledge.</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder you never heard of it," said Dalton. "I am not aware of +anyone in England who ever did, except myself. I have not mentioned it +before, because I am not sure that it is fair to Walcott to do so. But I +know you men will not repeat what I have been telling you."</p> + +<p>"Not a word," said Captain Williams and Charles Milton, in a breath.</p> + +<p>Yet in less than a week from that time the whole story made its +appearance in one of the baser personal journals, and people were +discussing who the "well-known poet" was, and whether "the buried +secret" would presently come to light again.</p> + +<p>And Alan Walcott saw the paragraph, and felt that he had not yet quite +done with his past, and wondered at the dispensation of Providence which +permitted the writers of such paragraphs to live and thrive.</p> + +<p>But a good deal was to happen before that paragraph was printed; and in +the meantime Dalton and Campion went off to look for partners in a +rubber, without supposing for a moment that they had delivered a stab in +the back to one who had never done an injury to either of them.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>LETTICE RECEIVES A VISITOR.</h3> + + +<p>The day following that on which Sydney Campion paid his afternoon visit +to his club in Pall Mall was one of considerable importance to his +sister Lettice.</p> + +<p>She was an early riser, and generally contrived to write half-a-dozen +pages of easy translation or straightforward fiction before ten o'clock. +That was the hour when she was due in her mother's room, to help her in +dressing, and to settle her comfortably in her arm-chair, with her Bible +and spectacles at her side, and a newspaper or magazine waiting its turn +after the lessons for the day had been read. Mrs. Campion was growing +very feeble, both in mind and in body, but she got through her waking +hours with a fair amount of satisfaction, thanks to the attention which +was paid to all her wants and wishes. Lettice did not suffer anything to +interfere with the regular routine which she had marked out for her +mother's comfort. She and her maid Milly between them kept the old lady +in peace of mind and constant good humor; and if Mrs. Campion still +believed that Sydney was their great benefactor, and that it behoved her +to comport herself with dignity and grace as the mother of a Lord +Chancellor, Lettice did not attempt the hopeless task of undeceiving +her.</p> + +<p>On this particular day there had been a poor pretence of morning work. +She had arranged her papers, the ink and pen were ready to her hand, and +a few lines were actually written. But her ideas were all in confusion, +and eluded her when she tried to fix them. She could not settle to +anything, and instead of writing she found herself drawing figures on +the blotting-pad. She knew that of old as a bad symptom, and gave up +trying to be industrious. The French window stood open, and the balmy +June morning tempted her out into the garden. She picked some flowers +for her vases, and pinned a rosebud on the collar of her soft grey +dress. It was a simple, straight-flowing dress, of the make which suits +every woman best, tall or short, handsome or plain, depending for its +beauty on shape and material alone, without any superfluous trimmings; +for Lettice had a man's knack of getting her dressmaker to obey orders, +and would have scorned to wear and pay for, as a matter of course, +whatever trappings might be sent home to her in lieu of what she wanted.</p> + +<p>Clearly there were special reasons for her perturbation of mind, and if +any other woman had been at her side, and watched her in and out of the +house for ten minutes at a time, she would have had no difficulty in +divining that Lettice expected a visitor. She would probably go further +than this, and draw some confident conclusion as to the kind of welcome +likely to be accorded to the visitor; but here, at any rate, the +criticism would have been premature. Lettice did expect a visitor—Mr. +Alan Walcott to wit; but she had not the slightest notion as to how she +should receive him, or whether she would prefer that he should come or +stay away.</p> + +<p>Her friendship with the poet had grown steadily since their first +meeting, and they were now on tolerably familiar terms. His manner had +made it impossible for her to doubt that he liked to talk and listen to +her, that he sought her company, and even considered himself entitled to +her sympathy. But when on the previous day he had gone so far as to +assert his title in words, he had done so with what seemed to her +remarkable audacity. And, although she had given him permission to come +to her house this morning, she was thinking now whether it would not +have been better if she had suggested the transfer of the volume of +which he spoke at Mrs. Hartley's on the following Sunday, or if she had +made her hint still broader by praising the cheapness and despatch of +the Parcels Delivery Company.</p> + +<p>She had done nothing of this kind. She had been neither rude nor +effusive, for it was not in her nature to be either. He was coming "some +time after twelve," and in fact, punctually as the clock struck twelve, +Mr. Alan Walcott was at the door.</p> + +<p>Milly announced him demurely. She observed him carefully, however, as +she admitted him into Lettice's room, and studied his card with interest +while carrying it to Miss Campion. No man so young and handsome had ever +called at Maple Cottage in her time before.</p> + +<p>Lettice had been sitting with her mother, and she came down to her study +and received her visitor with a frank smile.</p> + +<p>"It is really, very kind of you," she said, taking the innocent book +which he held out as a sort of warrant for his intrusion, "to be at all +this trouble. And this is a splendid copy, it reminds me of the volumes +my father used to be so fond of. I will take great care of it. How long +did you say I might keep it?"</p> + +<p>"Till you have read it, at any rate. Or till I ask you for it +again—which I don't think I shall. You say that you used to see volumes +like this on your father's bookshelves. I should not wonder if you had +seen this very book there. It is a strange coincidence that I should +have had it in my possession for some time, and yet never noticed until +this morning, when I took it down to bring to you, that it had your name +on the fly-leaf. Look!"</p> + +<p>He opened the book and held the fly-leaf against the window. The name +had been rubbed out with a wet finger, after the manner of second-hand +booksellers, but the "Lawrence Campion" was still easily legible. +Lettice could not restrain a little cry of delight.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is his dear handwriting, I know it so well! And this is his +book-plate, too, and his motto—'Vive ut vivas in vitam æternam.' Oh, +where did you get the book? But I suppose my father's library was +scattered all over the country."</p> + +<p>"No doubt it was. I have a few—perhaps twenty—with the same plate. My +uncle gave me them. I—a—Miss Campion—I came this morning—"</p> + +<p>Apparently he did not quite know why he came, or at any rate he did not +find it easy to say. Lettice spoke again in order to relieve his +embarrassment, which she did not understand.</p> + +<p>"It is so strange that I should have one of his books in my hand again. +You can imagine what a grief it was to him when he had to let them go."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad to have restored to you something that was your father's. +I want you to give me a great pleasure, Miss Campion. These books—there +are not more than forty outside—I want you to have them. They are +yours, you know, because they were his, and he ought never to have been +deprived of them."</p> + +<p>"I could not take them, indeed, Mr. Walcott. You are most kind to think +of it, but I could not!"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"That is hardly a reasonable question," she said, with a quiet little +laugh. "How could I?"</p> + +<p>"I see very well how you could, but why should you not? It will be a +good deed, and there is no good deed without a sacrifice."</p> + +<p>"And you want to sacrifice these books, which are so valuable!"</p> + +<p>"No, it is no sacrifice to me, as I could easily prove to you. Believe +that it pleases me, and sacrifice your own feelings by taking them."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you should ask me. It is too great a present to make, +and—oh, dear me, I am afraid I do not know how to say what I mean! But +if you will give me this one book, with my father's name in it, I will +take it from you, and thank you very much for it."</p> + +<p>"I shall not be satisfied if I may not send the rest. Miss Campion, I +came to say——"</p> + +<p>Again he stammered and broke down. Lettice, who thought that he had +already delivered himself of his mental burden, was a little startled +now, especially as he got up and stood by her chair at the window.</p> + +<p>"What a lovely little garden!" he said. "Why, you are quite in the +country here. What delightful roses! I—I want to say something else, +Miss Campion!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lettice, faintly, and doing her best to feel indifferent.</p> + +<p>"We have not known each other long, but it seems to me that we know each +other well—at any rate that I know you well. Before I met you I had +never made the acquaintance of a woman who at the same time commanded my +respect, called my mind into full play, and aroused my sympathy. These +last few months have been the happiest of my life, because I have been +lifted above my old level, and have known for the first time what the +world might yet be to me. There is something more I want to say to you. +I think you know that I have been married—that my wife is—is no more. +You may or may not have heard that miserable story, of my folly, +and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" cried Lettice, impulsively. "It is true that Mrs. Hartley told +me of the great trouble which fell upon you in the loss of which you +speak."</p> + +<p>"The great trouble—yes! That is how Mrs. Hartley would put it. And the +Grahams, have they told you nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing more."</p> + +<p>A look as of relief passed across his face, followed by a spasm of pain; +and he stood gazing wearily through the window.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they do not know, for I have never spoken of it to anyone. But +I want to speak; I want to get rid of some of the wretched burden, and +an irresistible impulse has brought me here to you. I am utterly +selfish; it is like taking your money, or your manuscripts, or your +flowers, or anything that you value, to come in this way and almost +insist on telling you my sordid story. It is altogether +unjustifiable—it is a mad presumption which I cannot account for, +except by saying that a blind instinct made me think that you alone, of +all the people in this world, could help me if you would!"</p> + +<p>Lettice was deeply moved by various conflicting emotions; but there was +no hesitation in the sympathy which went out to meet this strange +appeal. Even her reason would probably have justified him in his +unconventional behavior; but it was sympathy, and not reason, which +prompted her to welcome and encourage his confidence.</p> + +<p>"If I can help you—if it helps you to tell me anything, please speak."</p> + +<p>"I knew I was not mistaken!" he said, with kindling eyes, as he sat down +in a low chair opposite to her. "I will not be long—I will not tell you +all; that would be useless, and needlessly painful. I married in haste, +after a week's acquaintance, the daughter of a French refugee, who came +to London in 1870, and earned a living by teaching his language to the +poorest class of pupils. Don't ask me why I married her. No doubt I +thought it was for love. She was handsome, and even charming in her way, +and for some months I tried to think I was happy. Then, gradually, she +let me wake from my fool's paradise. I found—you will despise me for a +dupe!—that I was not the first man she had pretended to love. Nay, it +was to me that she pretended—the other feeling was probably far more of +a reality. Before the year was out she had renewed her intimacy with my +rival—a compatriot of her own. You will suppose that we parted at once +when things came to this pass; but for some time I had only suspicion to +go upon. I knew that she was often away from home, and that she had even +been to places of amusement in this man's company; but when I spoke to +her she either lulled my uneasiness or pretended to be outraged by my +jealousy. Soon there was no bond of respect left between us; but as a +last chance, I resolved to break up our little home in England, and go +abroad. I could no longer endure my life with her. She had ceased to be +a wife in any worthy sense of the word, and was now my worst enemy, an +object of loathing rather than of love. Still, I remember that I had a +gleam of hope when I took her on the Continent, thinking it just +possible that by removing her from her old associations, I might win her +back to a sense of duty. I would have borne her frivolity; I would have +endured to be bound for life to a doll or a log, if only she could have +been outwardly faithful.</p> + +<p>"Well, to make a long story short, we had not been abroad more than six +weeks when this man I have told you about made his appearance on the +scene. She must have written to him and asked him to come, at the very +moment when she was cheating me with a show of reviving affection; and I +own that the meeting of these two one day in the hotel gardens at +Aix-les-Bains drove me into a fit of temporary madness. We quarrelled; I +sent him a challenge, and we fought. He was not much hurt, and I escaped +untouched. The man disappeared, and I have never seen him from that day +to this, but I have some reason to think that he is dead."</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment or two; and Lettice could not refrain from +uttering the words, "Your wife?" in a tone of painful interest.</p> + +<p>"My wife?" he repeated slowly. "Ah yes, my wife. Well, after a stormy +scene with her, she became quiet and civil. She even seemed anxious to +please me, and to set my mind at rest. But she was merely hatching her +last plot against me, and I was as great a fool and dupe at this moment +as I had ever been before."</p> + +<p>And then, with averted face, he told the story of his last interview +with her on the hills beyond Culoz. "I will not repeat anything she +said," he went on—it was his sole reservation—"although some of her +sentences are burned into my brain for ever. I suppose because they were +so true."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" Lettice murmured involuntarily, and looking at him with +tear-dimmed eyes. She was intensely interested in his story, and Alan +Walcott felt assured by her face that the sympathy he longed for was not +withheld.</p> + +<p>"My wound was soon healed," he said when the details of that terrible +scene were told; "but I was not in a hurry to come back to England. When +I did come back, I avoided as much as possible the few people who knew +me; and I have never to this moment spoken of my deliverance, which I +suppose they talk of as my loss."</p> + +<p>"They think," said Lettice, slowly, for she was puzzled in her mind, and +did not know what to say, "that you are a widower?"</p> + +<p>"And what am I?" he cried, walking up and down the room in a restless +way. "Am I not a widower? Has she not died completely out of my life? I +shall never see her again—she is dead and buried, and I am free? Ah, do +not look at me so doubtfully, do not take back the sympathy which you +promised me! Are you going to turn me away, hungry and thirsty for +kindness, because you imagine that my need is greater than you thought +it five minutes ago? I will not believe you are so cruel!"</p> + +<p>"We need not analyze my feelings, Mr. Walcott. I could not do that +myself, until I have had time to think. But—is it right to leave other +people under the conviction that your wife is actually dead, when you +know that in all probability she is not?"</p> + +<p>"I never said she was dead! I never suggested or acted a lie. May not a +man keep silence about his own most sacred affairs?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he may," said Lettice. "It is not for me to judge you—and at +any rate, you have told me!"</p> + +<p>She stood up and looked at him with her fearless grey eyes, whilst his +own anxiously scanned her face.</p> + +<p>"I am very, very sorry for you. If I can do anything to help you, I +will. You must not doubt my sympathy, and I shall never withdraw my +promise. But just now I cannot think what it would be best to do or say. +Let me have time to think."</p> + +<p>She held out her hand, and he took it, seeing that she wanted him to go.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye!" he said. "God bless you for being what you are. It has done +me good to talk. When we meet again—unless you write and give me your +commands—I promise to do whatever you may tell me."</p> + +<p>And with that, he went away.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>THE POET SPEAKS.</h3> + + +<p>As soon as her visitor was gone, Lettice fell into a deep study. She had +two things especially to think about, and she began by wondering what +Mrs. Hartley would say if she knew that Alan Walcott's wife was alive, +and by repeating what he had said to her that morning: that a man was +not bound to tell his private affairs to the world. No! she told +herself, it was impossible for any man of self-respect to wear his heart +on his sleeve, to assume beforehand that people would mistake his +position, and to ticket himself as a deserted husband, lest forward +girls should waste their wiles upon him.</p> + +<p>The thought was odious; and yet she had suggested it to him! Had she not +done more than that? Had she not implied that he had done a dishonorable +thing in concealing what he was in no way bound to reveal? What would he +think of her, or impute to her, for raising such a point at the very +moment when he was displaying his confidence in her, and appealing for +her sympathy? She blushed with shame at the idea.</p> + +<p>He was already completely justified in her mind, for she did not go so +far as to put the case which a third person might have put in her own +interest. If Alan had been unfair or inconsiderate to anyone, it was +surely to Lettice herself. He had spoken familiarly to her, sought her +company, confessed his admiration in a more eloquent language than that +of words, and asked for a return of sentiment by those subtle appeals +which seem to enter the heart through none of the ordinary and ticketed +senses. It is true that he had not produced in her mind the distinct +impression that she was anything more to him than an agreeable talker +and listener in his conversational moods; but that was due to her +natural modesty rather than to his self-restraint. He had been +impatient, at times, of her slowness to respond, and it was only when he +saw whither this impatience was leading him that he resolved to tell her +all that she ought to know. It was not his delay, however, that +constituted the injustice of his conduct, but the fact of his appealing +to her in any way for the response which he had no right to ask.</p> + +<p>Lettice was just as incapable of thinking that she had been unjustly +treated as she was of believing that Alan Walcott loved her. Thus she +was spared the humiliation that might have fallen on her if she had +understood that his visit was partly intended to guard her against the +danger of giving her love before it had been asked.</p> + +<p>Having tried and acquitted her friend, and having further made up her +mind that she would write him a letter to assure him of his acquittal, +she summoned herself before the court of her conscience; and this was a +very different case from the one which had been so easily decided. Then +the presumption was all in favor of the accused; now it was all against +her. The guilt was as good as admitted beforehand, for as soon as +Lettice began to examine and cross-examine herself, she became painfully +aware of her transgressions.</p> + +<p>What was this weight which oppressed her, and stifled her, and covered +her with shame? It was not merely sorrow for the misfortunes of her +friend. That would not have made her ashamed, for she knew well that +compassion was a woman's privilege, for which she has no reason to +blush. Something had befallen her this very morning which had caused her +to blush, and it was the first time in all her life that Lettice's cheek +had grown red for anything she had done, or thought, or said, or +listened to, in respect of any man whatever. Putting her father and +brother on one side, no man had had the power, for very few had had the +opportunity, to quicken the pulses in her veins as they were quickened +now. She had not lived to be six and twenty years old without knowing +what love between a man and woman really meant, but she had never +appropriated to herself the good things which she saw others enjoying. +It was not for want of being invited to the feast, for several of her +father's curates had been ready to grace their frugal boards by her +presence, and to crown her with the fillets of their dignity and +self-esteem. The prospect held up to her by these worthy men had not +allured her in any way; she had not loved their wine and oil, and thus +she had remained rich, according to the promise of the seer, with the +bread and salt of her own imaginings.</p> + +<p>It would be wrong to suppose that Lettice had no strong passions, +because she had never loved, or even thought that she loved. The woman +of cultivated mind is often the woman of deepest feeling; her mental +strength implies her calmness, and the calm surface indicates the +greatest depth. It is in the restless hearts which beat themselves +against the shores of the vast ocean of womanhood that passion is so +quick to display itself, so vehement in its shallow force, so broken in +its rapid ebb. The real strength of humanity lies deep below the +surface; but a weak woman often mistakes for strength her irresistible +craving for happiness and satisfaction. It is precisely for this reason +that a liberal education and a full mind are even more essential to the +welfare of a woman than they are to the welfare of a man. The world has +left its women, with this irresistible craving in their hearts, +dependent, solitary, exposed to attack, and unarmed for defence; and as +a punishment it has been stung almost to death by the scorpions which +its cruelty generates. But a woman who has been thoroughly educated, a +woman of strong mind and gentle heart, is not dependent for happiness on +the caprice of others, or on the abandonment of half the privileges of +her sex, but draws from an inexhaustible well to which she has constant +access.</p> + +<p>So Lettice, with the passions of her kind, and the cravings of her sex, +had been as happy as the chequered circumstances of her outer life would +permit; but now for the first time her peace of mind was disturbed, and +she felt the heaving of the awakened sea beneath.</p> + +<p>Why had her heart grown cold when she heard that Alan Walcott's wife was +still alive? Why had her thought been so bitter when she told herself +that she had no right to give the man her sympathy? Why had the light +and warmth and color of life departed as soon as she knew that the woman +whom he had married, however unworthy she might be, was the only one who +could claim his fidelity? Alas, the answer to her questions was only too +apparent. The pain which it cost her to awake from her brief summer's +dream was her first admonition that she had dreamed at all. Not until +she had lost the right to rejoice in his admiration and respond to his +love, did she comprehend how much these things meant to her, and how far +they had been allowed to go.</p> + +<p>The anguish of a first love which cannot be cherished or requited is +infinitely more grievous when a woman is approaching the age of thirty +than it is at seventeen or twenty. The recoil is greater and the +elasticity is less. But if Lettice suffered severely from the sudden +blow which had fallen upon her, she still had the consolation of knowing +that she could suffer in private, and that she had not betrayed the +weakness of her heart—least of all to him who had tried to make her +weak.</p> + +<p>In the course of the evening she sat down and wrote to him—partly +because he had asked her to write, and partly in order that she might +say without delay what seemed necessary to be said.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Walcott</span>,—After you were gone this morning I thought a +great deal about all that you said to me, and as you asked me for +my opinion, and I promised to give it, perhaps I had better tell +you what I think at once. I cannot see that you are, or have been, +under any moral compulsion to repeat the painful events of your +past life, and I am sorry if I implied that I thought you were. Of +course, you may yourself hold that these facts impose a certain +duty upon you, or you may desire that your position should be +known. In that case you will do what you think right, and no one +else can properly decide for you.</p> + +<p>"I was indeed grieved by your story. I wish it was in my power to +lessen your pain; but, as it is not, I can only ask you to believe +that if I could do so, I would.</p> + +<p>"You will be hard at work, like myself (as you told me), during the +next few months. Is not hard work, after all, the very best of +anodynes? I have found it so in the past, and I trust you have done +so too, and will continue to do so.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, dear Mr. Walcott, yours very sincerely,</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Lettice Campion.</span>"</p></div> + +<p>She hesitated for some time as to whether she had said too much, or too +little, or whether what she had said was expressed in the right way. But +in the end she sent it as it was written.</p> + +<p>Then, if she had been a thoroughly sensible and philosophical young +woman, she would have forced herself to do some hard work, by way of +applying the anodyne of which she had spoken. But that was too much to +expect from her in the circumstances. What she actually did was to go to +bed early and cry herself to sleep.</p> + +<p>She had not considered whether her letter required, or was likely to +receive an answer, and she was therefore a little surprised when the +postman brought her one on the afternoon of the following day. Not +without trepidation, she took it to her room and read it.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Miss Campion</span>"—so the letter began—"I thank you very much for +your kindness. I have learned to find so much meaning in your words that +I think I can tell better than anyone else how to interpret the spirit +from the letter of what you say. So, when you tell me that no one can +decide for me what it is my duty to do, I understand that, if you were +in my position at this moment, you would rather desire that it should be +known. Henceforth I desire it, and I shall tell Mrs. Hartley and Mrs. +Graham as much as is necessary the next time I see them. This will be +equivalent to telling the world—will it not?</p> + +<p>"Two other things I understand from your letter. First, that you do not +wish to meet me so often in future; and, second, that though you know my +pain would be diminished by the frank expression of your sympathy, and +though you might find it in your heart to be frankly sympathetic, yet +you do not think it would be right, and you do not mean to be actively +beneficent. Am I wrong? If I am, you must forgive me; but, if I am not, +I cannot accept your decision without entering my protest.</p> + +<p>"Think, my dear friend—you will allow me that word!—to what you +condemn me if you take your stand upon the extreme dictates of +conventionality. You cannot know what it would mean to me if you were to +say, 'He is a married man, and we had better not meet so frequently in +future.' To you, that would be no loss whatever. To me, it would be the +loss of happiness, of consolation, of intellectual life. Listen and have +pity upon me! I could not say it to your face, but I will say it now, +though you may think it an unpardonable crime. You have become so +necessary to me that I cannot contemplate existence without you. Have +you not seen it already—or, if you have not, can you doubt when you +look back on the past six months—that respect has grown into affection, +and affection into love? Yes, I love you, Lettice!—in my own heart I +call you Lettice every hour of the day—and I cannot live any longer +without telling you of my love.</p> + +<p>"When I began this letter I did not mean to tell you—at any rate not +to-day. Think of the condition of my mind when I am driven by such a +sudden impulse—think, and make allowance for me!</p> + +<p>"I am not sure what I expected when I resolved to make my sad story +known to you. Perhaps, in my madness, I thought, 'There is a right and a +wrong above the right and wrong of society's judgments; and she is on +the higher levels of humanity, and will take pity on my misfortunes.' I +only say, perhaps I thought this. I don't know what I thought. But I +knew I could not ask you to be my wife, and I determined that you should +know why I could not.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how I hate that woman! I believe that she is dead. I tell myself +every day that she is dead, and that there is nothing to prevent me from +throwing myself at your feet, and praying you to redeem me from misery. +Is not my belief enough to produce conviction in you? No—you will not +believe it; and, perhaps, if you did, you would not consent to redeem +me. No! I must drag my lengthening chain until I die! I must live in +pain and disgust, bound to a corpse, covered with a leprosy, because the +angel whose mission it is to save me will not come down from her heaven +and touch me with her finger.</p> + +<p>"You shall not see these words, Lettice—my dear Lettice! They are the +offspring of a disordered brain. I meant to write you such a calm and +humble message, telling you that your counsel was wise—that I would +follow it—that I knew I had your sympathy, and that I reverenced you as +a saint. If I go on writing what I do not mean to send, it is only +because the freedom of my words has brought me peace and comfort, and +because it is good that I should allow myself to write the truth, though +I am not allowed to write it to <i>you</i>!</p> + +<p>"Not allowed to write the truth to you, Lettice? That, surely, is a +blasphemy! If I may not write the truth to you, then I may not know +you—I may not worship you—I may not give my soul into your keeping.</p> + +<p>"I will test it. My letter shall go. You will not answer it—you will +only sit still, and either hate or love me; and one day I shall know +which it has been. <span class="smcap">Alan.</span>"</p> + +<p>Whilst Lettice read this wild and incoherent letter, she sank on her +knees by her bedside, unable in any other attitude to bear the strain +which it put upon her feelings.</p> + +<p>"How dare he?" she murmured, at the first outbreak of his passionate +complaint; but, as she went on reading, the glow of pity melted her +woman's heart, and only once more she protested, in words, against the +audacious candor of her lover.</p> + +<p>"How could he?"</p> + +<p>And as she finished, and her head was bowed upon her hands, and upon the +letter which lay between them, her lips sought out the words which he +had written last of all, as though they would carry a message of +forgiveness—and consolation to the spirit which hovered beneath it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>SYDNEY GIVES ADVICE.</h3> + + +<p>The day after Sydney Campion had heard Brooke Dalton's story of the +disappearance of Alan Walcott's wife had been a very busy one for him. +He had tried to get away from his work at an early hour, in order that +he might pay one of his rare visits to Maple Cottage, and combine with +his inquiries into the welfare of his mother certain necessary cautions +to his sister Lettice. It was indispensable that she should be made to +understand what sort of man this precious poet was known to be, and how +impossible it had become that a sister of his should continue to treat +him as a friend.</p> + +<p>Why, the fellow might be—probably was—a murderer! And, if not that, at +all events there was such a mystery surrounding him, and such an +indelible stain upon his character, that he, Sydney Campion, could not +suffer her to continue that most objectionable acquaintance.</p> + +<p>But his duties conspired with his dinner to prevent the visit from being +made before the evening, and it was nearly eight o'clock when he arrived +at Hammersmith. He had dined with a friend in Holborn, and had taken a +Metropolitan train at Farringdon Street, though, as a rule, he held +himself aloof from the poison-traps of London, as he was pleased to call +the underground railway, and travelled mostly in the two-wheeled +gondolas which so lightly float on the surface of the stream above.</p> + +<p>As he was about to leave the station, his eye encountered a face and +figure which attracted him, and made him almost involuntarily come to a +standstill. It was Milly Harrington, Lettice's maid, who, having posted +her mistress' letter to Alan Walcott, had turned her listless steps in +this direction.</p> + +<p>Milly's life in London had proved something of a disappointment to her. +The cottage on Brook Green was even quieter than the Rectory at +Angleford, where she had at least the companionship of other servants, +and a large acquaintance in the village. Lettice was a kind and +considerate mistress, but a careful one: she did not let the young +country-bred girl go out after dark, and exercised an unusual amount of +supervision over her doings. Of late, these restrictions had begun to +gall Milly, for she contrasted her lot with that of servants in +neighboring houses, and felt that Miss Lettice was a tyrant compared +with the easy-going mistresses of whom she heard. Certainly Miss Lettice +gave good wages, and was always gentle in manner and ready to sympathize +when the girl had bad news of her old grandmother's health; but she did +not allow Milly as much liberty as London servants are accustomed to +enjoy, and Milly, growing learned in her rights by continued comparison, +fretted against the restraints imposed upon her.</p> + +<p>She might have "kept company" with the milkman, with the policeman, with +one of the porters at the station: for these, one and all, laid their +hearts and fortunes at her feet; but Milly rejected their overtures with +scorn. Her own prettiness of form and feature had been more than ever +impressed upon her by the offers which she refused; and she was +determined, as she phrased it, "not to throw herself away."</p> + +<p>Her fancy that "Mr. Sydney" admired her had not been a mistaken one. +Sydney had always been susceptible to the charms of a pretty face; and +Nature had preordained a certain measure of excuse for any man who felt +impelled to look twice at Milly, or even to speak to her on a flimsy +pretext. And Milly was on Nature's side, for she did not resent being +looked at or spoken to, although there was more innocence and ignorance +of evil on her side than men were likely to give her credit for. +Therefore Sydney had for some time been on speaking terms with her, over +and above what might have been natural in an occasional visitor to the +Rectory and Maple Cottage. He saw and meant no harm to her in his +admiration, and had no idea at present that his occasional smile or idle +jesting compliment made the girl's cheeks burn, her heart beat fast, +made her nights restless and her days long. He took it for granted that +gratified vanity alone made her receive his attentions with pleasure. +His gifts—for he could be lavish when he liked—were all, he thought, +that attracted her. She was a woman, and could, no doubt, play her own +game and take care of herself. She had her weapons, as other women had. +Sydney's opinion of women was, on the whole, a low one; and he had a +supreme contempt for all women of the lower class—a contempt which +causes a man to look on them only as toys—instruments for his +pleasure—to be used and cast aside. He believed that they +systematically preyed on men, and made profit out of their weakness. +That Milly was at a disadvantage with him, because she was weak and +young and unprotected, scarcely entered his head. He would have said +that she had the best of it. She was pretty and young, and could make +him pay for it if he did her any harm. She was one of a class—a class +of harpies, in his opinion—and he did not attribute any particular +individuality to her at all.</p> + +<p>But Milly was a very real and individual woman, with a nature in which +the wild spark of passion might some day be roused with disastrous +results. It is unsafe to play with the emotions of a person who is +simply labelled, often mistakenly and insufficiently, in your mind as +belonging to a class, and possessing the characteristics of that class. +There is always the chance that some old strain of tendency, some freak +of heredity, may develop in the way which is most of all dangerous to +you and to your career. For you cannot play with a woman's physical +nature without touching, how remotely soever, her spiritual constitution +as well; and, as Browning assures us, it is indeed "an awkward thing to +play with souls, and matter enough to save one's own."</p> + +<p>Sydney Campion, however, concerned himself very little with his own +soul, or the soul of anybody else. He went up to Milly and greeted her +with a smile that brought the color to her face.</p> + +<p>"Well, Milly," he said, "are you taking your walks abroad to-night? Is +your mistress pretty well? I was just going to Maple Cottage."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, mistress is pretty well; but I don't think Miss Lettice is," +said Milly, falling back into her old way of speaking of the rector's +daughter. "She mentioned that she was going to bed early. You had better +let me go back first and open the door for you."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it would be best. Not well, eh? What is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, but I think Miss Campion has a bad headache. I am sure +she has been crying a great deal." Milly said this with some hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to hear that."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid Mr. Walcott brought her bad news in the morning, for she +has not been herself at all since he left."</p> + +<p>"Do you say that Mr. Walcott was there this morning?"</p> + +<p>Sydney spoke in a low tone, but with considerable eagerness, so that the +girl knew she had not thrown her shaft in vain.</p> + +<p>"Milly, this concerns me very much. I must have a little talk with you, +but we cannot well manage it here. See! there is no one in the +waiting-room; will you kindly come with me for a minute or two? It is +for your mistress' good that I should know all about this. Come!"</p> + +<p>So they went into the dreary room together, and they sat down in a +corner behind the door, which by this time was almost dark. There Sydney +questioned her about Alan Walcott, with a view to learning all that she +might happen to know about him. Milly required little prompting, for she +was quite ready to do all that he bade her, and she told him at least +one piece of news which he was not prepared to hear.</p> + +<p>Five minutes would have sufficed for all that Milly had to say; but the +same story may be very long or very short according to the circumstances +in which it is told. Half-an-hour was not sufficient to-night: at any +rate, it took these two more than half-an-hour to finish what they had +to say. And even then it was found that further elucidations would be +necessary in the future, and an appointment was made for another +meeting. But the talk had turned on Milly herself, and Milly's hopes and +prospects, before that short half-hour had sped.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Milly," said Sydney, as they left the station. "You are a +dear little girl to tell me so much. Perhaps you had better not say to +your mistress that you saw me to-night. I shall call to-morrow +afternoon. Good-night, dear."</p> + +<p>He kissed her lightly, in a shadowy corner of the platform, before he +turned away; and thought rather admiringly for a minute or two of the +half-frightened, half-adoring eyes that were riveted upon his face. +"Poor little fool!" he said to himself, as he signalled a cab. For even +in that one short interview he had mastered the fact that Milly was +rather fool than knave.</p> + +<p>The girl went home with a light heart, believing that she had done a +service to the mistress whom she really loved, and shyly, timorously +joyous at the thought that she had met at last with an admirer—a lover, +perhaps!—such as her heart desired. Of course, Miss Lettice would be +angry if she knew; but there was nothing wrong in Mr. Sydney's +admiration, said Milly, lifting high her little round white chin; and if +he told her to keep silence she was bound to hold her tongue.</p> + +<p>This was a mean thing that Sydney had done, and he was not so hardened +as to have done it without a blush. Yet so admirably does our veneer of +civilization conceal the knots and flaws beneath it that he went to +sleep in the genuine belief that he had saved his sister from a terrible +danger, and the name of Campion from the degradation which threatened +it.</p> + +<p>On the next day he reached Maple Cottage between four and five o'clock.</p> + +<p>"How is your mistress?" he said to Milly.</p> + +<p>She had opened the door and let him in with a vivid blush and smile, +which made him for a moment, and in the broad light of day, feel +somewhat ashamed of himself.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, she is no better. She has locked herself in, and I heard her +sobbing, fit to break her heart," said Milly, in real concern for her +mistress' untold grief.</p> + +<p>"Let her know that I am here. I will go to Mrs. Campion's room."</p> + +<p>"Well, mother!" he said, in the hearty, jovial voice in which he knew +that she liked best to be accosted, "here is your absentee boy again. +How are you by this time?"</p> + +<p>"Not very bright to-day, Sydney," said his mother. "I never am very +bright now-a-days. But what are you doing, my dear? Are you getting on +well? Have they——"</p> + +<p>"No, mother, they have not made me Lord Chancellor yet. We must wait a +while for that. But I must not complain; I have plenty of work, and my +name is in the papers every day, and I have applied for silk, and—have +you found your spectacles yet, mother?"</p> + +<p>Details of his life and work were, as he knew, absolutely unmeaning to +Mrs. Campion.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the rogue! He always teased me about my spectacles," said Mrs. +Campion, vaguely appealing to an unseen audience. "It is a remarkable +thing, Sydney, but I put them down half an hour ago, and now I cannot +find them anywhere."</p> + +<p>"Well, now, that is strange, Mrs. Campion; but not very unusual. If I +remember right, you had lost your spectacles when I was here last; and +as I happened to pass a good shop this morning, it occurred to me that +you would not object to another pair of pebbles. So here they are; and I +have bought you something to test them with."</p> + +<p>He produced a cabinet portrait of himself, such as the stationers were +beginning to hang on the line in their shop windows. The fact marked a +distinct advance in his conquest of popularity; and Sydney was not +mistaken in supposing that the old lady would appreciate this portrait +of her handsome and distinguished son. So, with her spectacles and her +picture, Mrs. Campion was happy.</p> + +<p>When Sydney's knock came to the door, Lettice was still crouching by her +bedside over the letter which had reached her an hour before. She sprang +up in nervous agitation, not having recognized the knock, and began to +bathe her face and brush her hair. She was relieved when Milly came and +told her who the caller was; but even Sydney's visit at that moment was +a misfortune. She was inclined to send him an excuse, and not come down; +but in the end she made up her mind to see him.</p> + +<p>"My dear child," Sydney said, kissing her on the cheek, "how ill you +look! Is anything the matter?"</p> + +<p>"No, nothing. Don't take any notice of me," Lettice said, with a +significant look at her mother.</p> + +<p>They conversed for a time on indifferent matters, and then Sydney asked +her to show him the garden. It was evident that he wanted to speak to +her privately, so she took him into her study; and there, without any +beating about the bush, he began to discharge his mind of its burden.</p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you seriously, Lettice, and on what I'm afraid will +be a painful subject; but it is my manifest duty to do so, as I think +you will admit before I go. You are, I believe, on friendly +terms—tolerably familiar terms—with Mr. Walcott?"</p> + +<p>This was in true forensic style; but of course Sydney could not have +made a greater mistake than by entering solemnly, yet abruptly, on so +delicate a matter. Lettice was in arms at once.</p> + +<p>"Stay a moment, Sydney. You said this was to be a painful subject to me, +and then you mention the name of Mr. Walcott. I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Sydney, somewhat disconcerted; "I don't know what made me +conclude that it would be painful. I did not mean to say that. I am very +glad it is not so."</p> + +<p>He stopped to cough, then looked out of the window, and softly whistled +to himself. Lettice, meanwhile, cast about hastily in her mind for the +possible bearing of what her brother might have to say. She was about to +take advantage of his blunder, and decline to hear anything further; but +for more than one reason which immediately occurred to her, she thought +that it would be better to let him speak.</p> + +<p>"I do not think you could have any ground for supposing that such a +subject would be specially painful to me; but never mind that. What were +you going to say?"</p> + +<p>Now it was Sydney's turn to be up in arms, for he felt sure that Lettice +was acting a part.</p> + +<p>"What I know for a fact," he said, "is that you have seen a good deal of +Mr. Walcott during the past six months, and that people have gone so far +as to remark on your—on his manifest preference for your company. I +want to say that there are grave reasons why this should not be +permitted to go on."</p> + +<p>Lettice bit her lip sharply, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," Sydney continued, becoming solemn again as he prepared to +hurl his thunderbolts, "that Mr. Walcott is a married man?"</p> + +<p>"Whether I know it or not, I do not acknowledge your right to ask me the +question."</p> + +<p>"I ask it by the right of a brother. Do you know that if he is not a +married man, he is something infinitely worse? That the last time his +wife was seen in his company, they went on a lonely walk together, and +he came back again without her?"</p> + +<p>"How do you know this?" Lettice asked him faintly. He set down her +agitation to the wrong cause, and thought that his design was +succeeding.</p> + +<p>"I know it from the man who was most intimately connected with Walcott +at the time. And I heard it at my club—in the course of the same +conversation in which your name was mentioned. Think what that means to +me! However, it may not have gone too far if we are careful to avoid +this man in future. He does not visit here, of course?"</p> + +<p>"He has been here."</p> + +<p>"You surely don't correspond?"</p> + +<p>"We have corresponded."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! it is worse than I thought. But you will promise me not +to continue the acquaintance?"</p> + +<p>"No, I cannot promise that!"</p> + +<p>"Not after all I have told you of him?"</p> + +<p>"You have told me nothing to Mr. Walcott's discredit. I have answered +your questions because you are, as you reminded me, my brother. Does it +not strike you that you have rather exceeded your privilege?"</p> + +<p>Sydney was amazed at her quiet indifference.</p> + +<p>"I really cannot understand you, Lettice. Do you mean to say that you +will maintain your friendship with this man, although you know him to be +a——"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"At any rate, a <i>possible</i> murderer?"</p> + +<p>"The important point," said Lettice coldly, "seems to be what Mr. +Walcott is actually, not what he is possibly. Your 'possible' is a +matter of opinion, and I am very distinctly of opinion that Mr. Walcott +is an innocent and honorable man."</p> + +<p>"If you believe him innocent, then you believe that his wife is living?"</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about his wife. That is a question which does not +concern me."</p> + +<p>"Your obstinacy passes my comprehension." When Sydney said this, he rose +from the chair in which he had been sitting and stood on the hearth-rug +before the grate, with his hands behind him and his handsome brows +knitted in a very unmistakable frown. It was in a lower and more +regretful voice that he continued, after a few minutes' silence: "I must +say that the independent line you have been taking for some time past is +not very pleasing to me. You seem to have a perfect indifference to our +name and standing in the world. You like to fly in the face of +convention, to——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sydney, why should we quarrel?" said Lettice, sadly. Hitherto she +had been standing by the window, but she now came up to him and looked +entreatingly into his face. "Indeed, I will do all that I can to satisfy +you. I am not careless about your prospects and standing in the world; +indeed, I am not. But they could not be injured by the fact that I am +earning my own living as an author. I am sure they could not!"</p> + +<p>"You say that you will do all you can to satisfy me," said Sydney, who +was not much mollified by her tenderness. "Will you give up the +acquaintance of that man?"</p> + +<p>"I am not certain that I shall ever see Mr. Walcott again; but if you +ask me whether I will promise to insult him if I do see him, or to cut +him because he has been accused of dishonorable acts, then I certainly +say, No!"</p> + +<p>"How you harp upon his honor! The honor of a married man who has +introduced himself to you under a false name!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" said Lettice, starting and coloring. "Are there any +more charges against him?"</p> + +<p>"You seem to be so well prepared to defend him that perhaps you will not +be surprised to hear that his name is not Walcott at all, but +Bundlecombe, and that his mother kept a small sweet-stuff shop, or +something of that kind, at Thorley. Bundlecombe! No wonder he was +ashamed of it!"</p> + +<p>This shaft took better than either of the others. Lettice was fairly +taken aback. The last story did not sound as if it had been invented, +and Sydney had evidently been making inquiries. Moreover, there flashed +across her mind the remembrance of the book which Alan Walcott had given +her—only yesterday morning. How long ago it seemed already! Alan +Bundlecombe! What did the name signify, and why should any man care to +change the name that he was born with? She recollected Mrs. Bundlecombe +very well—the old woman who came and took her first twenty pounds of +savings; the widow of the bookseller who had bought part of her father's +library. If he was her son, he might not have much to be proud of, but +why need he have changed his name?</p> + +<p>Decidedly this was a blow to her. She had no defence ready, and Sydney +saw that she was uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "I must not keep you any longer. I suppose, even +now"—with a smile—"you will not give me your promise; but you will +think over what I have told you, and I dare say it will all come right."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were full of wistful yearning as she put her hand on his +shoulder and kissed him.</p> + +<p>"You believe that I <i>mean</i> to do right, don't you, Sydney?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He laughed a little. "We all mean to do right, my dear. But we don't all +go the same way to work, I suppose. Yes, yes; I believe you mean well; +but do, for heaven's sake, try to act with common-sense. Then, as I +said, everything will come right in the end."</p> + +<p>He went back to his mother's room, and Lettice stood for some minutes +looking out of the window, and sighing for the weariness and disillusion +which hung like a cloud upon her life.</p> + +<p>"All will come right?" she murmured, re-echoing Sydney's words with +another meaning. "No. Trouble and sorrow, and pain may be lived down and +forgotten; but without sincerity <i>nothing</i> can come right!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_III" id="BOOK_III"></a>BOOK III.</h2> + + +<h3>AMBITION.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">"I count life just a stuff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To try the soul's strength on, educe the man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who keeps one end in view makes all things serve."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Robert Browning.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>ALAN WALCOTT.</h3> + + +<p>Alan Walcott knew perfectly well that he had done a mad, if not an +unaccountable thing in writing his letter to Miss Campion. He knew it, +that is to say, after the letter was gone, for when he was writing it, +and his heart was breaking through the bonds of common-sense which +generally restrained him, he did not feel the difficulty of accounting +either for his emotions or for his action. The wild words, as he wrote +them, had for him not only the impress of paramount truth, but also the +sanction of his convictions and impulse at the moment. No stronger +excuse has been forthcoming for heroic deeds which have shaken the world +and lived in history.</p> + +<p>Who amongst us all, when young and ardent, with the fire of generosity +and imagination in the soul, has not written at least one such letter, +casting reserve and prudence to the winds, and placing the writer +absolutely at the mercy of the man or woman who received it?</p> + +<p>This man was a poet by nature and by cultivation; but what is the +culture of a poet save the fostering of a distempered imagination? I do +not mean the culture of a prize poet, or a poet on a newspaper staff, or +a gentleman who writes verses for society, or a professor of poetry, or +an authority who knows the history and laws of prosody in every tongue, +and can play the bard or the critic with equal facility. Alan Walcott +had never ceased to work in distemper, because his nature was +distempered to begin with, and his taste had not been modified to suit +the conventional canons of his critics. Therefore it was not much to be +wondered at if his prose poem to the woman he loved was a distempered +composition.</p> + +<p>The exaltation of the mood in which he had betrayed himself to Lettice +was followed by a mood of terrible depression, and almost before it +would have been possible for an answer to reach him, even if she had sat +down and written to him without an hour's delay, he began to assure +himself that she intended to treat him with silent contempt—that his +folly had cost him not only her sympathy but her consideration, and that +there was no hope left for him.</p> + +<p>He had indeed told her that he did not expect a reply; but now he +tortured himself with the belief that silence on her part could have +only one explanation. Either she pitied him, and would write to prevent +his despair, or she was indignant, and would tell him so, or else she +held him in such contempt that she would not trouble herself to take the +slightest notice of his effusion. He craved for her indignation now as +he had craved for her sympathy before; but he could not endure her +indifference.</p> + +<p>A man of five-and-thirty whose youth has been spent amongst the prodigal +sons and daughters of the world's great family, who has wasted his moral +patrimony, and served masters and mistresses whom he despised, is not +easily brought to believe that he can be happy again in the love of a +pure woman. He has lost confidence in his own romantic feelings, and in +his power to satisfy the higher needs of a woman's delicate and exacting +heart. Usually, as was once the case with Walcott, he is a cynic and a +professed despiser of women, affecting to judge them all by the few whom +he has met, in spite of the fact that he has put himself in the way of +knowing only the weakest and giddiest of the sex. But when such a man, +gradually and with difficulty, has found a pearl among women, gentle and +true, intellectual yet tenderly human, with whom his instinct tells him +he might spend the rest of his life in honor and peace, he is ready in +the truest sense to go and sell all that he has in order to secure the +prize. Nothing has any further value for him in comparison with her, and +all the roots of his nature lay firm hold upon her. Alas for this man if +his mature love is given in vain, or if, like Alan Walcott, he is +debarred from happiness by self-imposed fetters which no effort can +shake off!</p> + +<p>For four-and-twenty hours he struggled with his misery. Then, to his +indescribable joy, there came a message from Lettice.</p> + +<p>It was very short, and it brought him bad news; but at any rate it +proved that she took an interest in his welfare, and made him +comparatively happy.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I think you should hear"—so it began, without any introductory +phrase—'that the story you told me of what happened at +Aix-les-Bains is known to men in this country who cannot be your +friends, since they relate it in their own fashion at their clubs, +and add their own ill-natured comments. Perhaps if you are +forewarned you will be fore-armed.</p> + +<p>"Lettice Campion."</p></div> + +<p>Not a word as to his letter; but he was not much troubled on this score. +That she had written to him at all, and written evidently because she +felt some concern for his safety, was enough to console him at the +moment.</p> + +<p>When he began to consider the contents of her note it disturbed him more +than a little. He had not imagined that his secret, such as it was, had +passed into the keeping of any other man, still less that it had become +club-talk in London. He saw at once what evil construction might be put +upon it by malicious gossip-mongers, and he knew that henceforth he was +face to face with a danger which he could do little or nothing to avert.</p> + +<p>What should he attempt in his defence? How should he use the weapon +which Lettice had put into his hand by forewarning him? One reasonable +idea suggested itself, and this was that he should tell the true story +to those who knew him best, in order that they might at any rate have +the power to meet inventions and exaggerations by his own version of the +facts. He busied himself during the next few days in this melancholy +task, calling at the house of his friends, and making the best pretext +he could for introducing his chapter of autobiography.</p> + +<p>He called on the Grahams, amongst others, and was astonished to find +that they knew the story already.</p> + +<p>"I have told the facts to one or two," he said, "for the reason that I +have just mentioned to you, but I think they understood that it would do +me no good to talk about it, except in contradiction of unfriendly +versions. How did you hear it?"</p> + +<p>Graham took out of his pocket a copy of <i>The Gadabout</i> and said,</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you have made enemies, Walcott, and if you have not seen +this precious concoction it would be no kindness to you to conceal it. +Here—you will see at a glance how much they have embellished it."</p> + +<p>Walcott took the paper, and read as follows:—</p> + +<p>"It is probable that before long the public may be startled by a +judicial inquiry into the truth of a story which has been told with much +circumstantiality concerning the remarkable disappearance of the wife of +a well-known poet some three or four years ago."</p> + +<p>Then came the details, without any mention of persons or places, and the +paragraph concluded in this fashion. "It is not certain how the matter +will come into court, but rumor states that there is another lady in the +case, that the buried secret came to light in a most dramatic way, and +that evidence is forthcoming from very unexpected quarters."</p> + +<p>The victim of this sorry piece of scandal gazed at the paper in a state +of stupefaction.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Graham, "it is not worth while to notice that rag. +Half of what it says is clearly a downright invention. If only you could +get hold of the writer and thrash him, it might do some good; but these +liars are very hard to catch. As to the 'other lady,' there is nothing +in that, is there?"</p> + +<p>Both Graham and his wife looked anxiously at Walcott. They knew of his +attentions to Lettice, and were jealous of him on that account; and they +had been discussing with each other the possibility of their friend's +name being dragged into a scandal.</p> + +<p>Walcott was livid with rage.</p> + +<p>"The cur!" he cried; "the lying hound! He has entirely fabricated the +beginning and the end of this paragraph. There is no ground whatever for +saying that a case may come into court. There is no 'lady in the case' +at all. He has simply put on that tag to make his scrap of gossip worth +another half-crown. Is it not abominable, Graham?"</p> + +<p>"It is something more than abominable. To my mind this sort of thing is +one of the worst scandals of the present day. But I felt sure there was +nothing in it, and the few who guess that it refers to you will draw the +same conclusion. Don't think any more about it!"</p> + +<p>"A lie sticks when it is well told," said Walcott, gloomily. "There are +plenty of men who would rather believe it than the uninteresting truth."</p> + +<p>But the Grahams, relieved on the point that mainly concerned them, could +not see much gravity in the rest of the concoction, and Walcott had +scant pity from them. He went home disconsolate, little dreaming of the +reception which awaited him there.</p> + +<p>He occupied a floor in Montagu Place, Bloomsbury, consisting of three +rooms: a drawing-room, a bed-room, and a small study; and, latterly, +Mrs. Bundlecombe, whose acquaintance the reader has already made, had +used a bed-room at the top of the house.</p> + +<p>Alan's mother and Mrs. Bundlecombe had been sisters. They were the +daughters of a well-to-do farmer in Essex, and, as will often happen +with sisters of the same family, brought up and cared for in a precisely +similar way, they had exhibited a marked contrast in intellect, habits +of thought, and outward bearing. The one had absorbed the natural +refinement of her mother, who had come of an old Huguenot family long +ago settled on English soil; the other was moulded in the robust and +coarse type of her father. Bessy was by preference the household +factotum not to say the drudge of the family, with a turn for puddings, +poultry, and the management of servants. Lucy clung to her mother, and +books (though both were constant students of <i>The Family Herald</i>), and +was nothing if not romantic. Both found some one to love them, and both, +as it happened, were married on the same day. Their parents had died +within a year of each other, and then the orphaned girls had come to +terms with their lovers, and accepted a yoke of which they had +previously fought shy. Bessy's husband was a middle-aged bookseller in +the neighboring town of Thorley, who had admired her thrifty and homely +ways, and had not been deterred by her want of intelligence. Lucy, +though her dreams had soared higher, was fairly happy with a +schoolmaster from Southampton, whose acquaintance she had made on a +holiday at the seaside.</p> + +<p>Alan, who was the only offspring of this latter union, had been well +brought up, for his father's careful teaching and his mother's +gentleness and imagination supplied the complementary touches which are +necessary to form the basis of culture. The sisters had not drifted +apart after their marriage so much as might have been expected. They had +visited each other, and Alan, as he grew up, conceived a strong +affection for his uncle at Thorley, who—a childless man himself—gave +him delightful books, and showed him others still more delightful, who +talked to him on the subjects which chiefly attracted him, and was the +first to fire his brain with an ambition to write and be famous. Aunt +Bessy was tolerated for her husband's sake, but it was Uncle Samuel who +drew the lad to Thorley. In due time Alan began to teach in his father's +school, and before he was twenty-one had taken his degree at London +University. Then his mother died, and shortly afterwards he was left +comparatively alone in the world.</p> + +<p>Now, school-keeping had never been a congenial occupation to Alan, whose +poetic temperament was chafed by the strict and ungrateful routine of +the business. His father had been to the manner born, and things had +prospered with him, but Alan by himself would not have been able to +achieve a like success. He knew this, and was proud of his incapacity; +and he took the first opportunity of handing over the establishment to a +successor. The money which he received for the transfer, added to that +which his father had left, secured him an income on which it was +possible to live, and to travel, and to print a volume of poems. For a +short time, at least, he lived as seemed best in his own eyes, and was +happy.</p> + +<p>When he was in England he still occasionally visited Thorley; and it was +thus that Milly Harrington came to know him by sight. Her grandmother +did not know the Bundlecombes, but Milly came to the conclusion that +Alan was their son, and this was the tale which she had told to Sydney +Campion, and which Sydney had repeated to his sister.</p> + +<p>The last visit paid by Alan to Thorley was some time after his uncle's +death, and he had then confided to his aunt the story of his marriage, +and of its unfortunate sequel. He happened to have learned that the man +with whom he had fought at Aix-les-Bains was back in London, and it +seemed not improbable at that moment that he would soon hear news of his +fugitive wife. When he mentioned this to the widow—who was already +taking steps to sell her stock-in-trade—she immediately conceived the +idea that her boy, as she called Alan, was in imminent danger, that the +wife would undoubtedly turn up again, and that it was absolutely +necessary for his personal safety that he should have an intrepid and +watchful woman living in the same house with him. So she proposed the +arrangement which now existed, and Alan had equably fallen in with her +plan. He did not see much of her when she came to London, and there was +very little in their tastes which was congenial or compatible; but she +kept him straight in the matter of his weekly bills and his laundress, +and he had no desire to quarrel with the way in which she managed these +affairs for him.</p> + +<p>When Alan came home after his call at the Grahams', weary and +disconsolate, with a weight on his mind of which he could not rid +himself, the door was opened by his aunt. Her white face startled him, +and still more the gesture with which she pointed upstairs, in the +direction of their rooms. His heart sank at once, for he knew that the +worst had befallen him.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said his aunt in a hoarse whisper, "do not go up. She is there. +She came in the morning and would not go away."</p> + +<p>"How is she? I mean what does she look like?"</p> + +<p>He was very quiet; but he had leaned both hands upon the hall table, and +was gazing at his aunt with despairing eyes.</p> + +<p>"Bad, my boy, bad! The worst that a woman can look, Oh, Alan, go away, +and do not come near her. Fly, immediately, anywhere out of her reach! +Let me tell her that you have gone to the other end of the world rather +than touch her again. Oh, Alan, my sister's child!—go, go, and grace +abounding be with you."</p> + +<p>"No, Aunt Bessy, that will never do. I cannot run away. Why, don't you +see for one thing that this will prove what lies they have been telling +about me? They said I was a murderer—" he laughed somewhat wildly as he +spoke—"and here is the murdered woman. And they said there was evidence +coming to prove it. Perhaps she will tell them how it happened, and how +she came to life again. There, you see, there is good in +everything—even in ghosts that come to life again!"</p> + +<p>Then his voice dropped, and the color went out of his face.</p> + +<p>"What is she doing?" he asked, in a sombre tone.</p> + +<p>"She went to sleep on the sofa in the drawing-room. She made me send out +for brandy, and began to rave at me in such a way that I was bound to do +it, just to keep her quiet. And now she is in her drunken sleep!"</p> + +<p>Alan shuddered. He knew what that meant.</p> + +<p>"Come," he said: "let us go up. We cannot stand here any longer."</p> + +<p>They went into his study, which was on the same floor as the +drawing-room, and here Alan sank upon a chair, looking doggedly at the +closed door which separated him from the curse of his existence. After a +while he got up, walked across the landing, and quietly opened the door.</p> + +<p>There she lay, a repulsive looking woman, with the beauty of her youth +corrupted into a hateful mask of vice. She had thrown her arms above her +head and seemed to be fast asleep.</p> + +<p>He returned to the study, shut the door again, and sat down at the +table, leaning his head upon his hands. Aunt Bessy came and sat beside +him—not to speak, but only that he might know he was not alone.</p> + +<p>"That," he muttered to himself at last, "is my wife!"</p> + +<p>The old woman at his side trembled, and laid her hand upon his arm.</p> + +<p>"I am beginning to know her," he said, after another long pause. "Some +men discover the charms of their wives before marriage; others—the +fools—find them out after. In the first year she was unfaithful to me. +Then she shot me like a dog. What will the end be?"</p> + +<p>"It can be nothing worse, my boy. She has ruined you already; she cannot +do it twice. Oh, why did you ever meet her! Why did not Heaven grant +that a good woman, like Lettice Campion——"</p> + +<p>"Do not name her here!" he cried sharply. "Let there be something sacred +in the world!"</p> + +<p>He looked at his aunt as he spoke; but she did not return his gaze. She +was sitting rigid in her chair, staring over his shoulder with +affrighted eyes. Alan turned round quickly, and started to his feet.</p> + +<p>The woman in the other room had stealthily opened the door, and stood +there, disheveled and half-dressed, with a cunning smile on her face.</p> + +<p>"Alan, my husband!" she said, in French, holding out both hands to him, +and reeling a step nearer, "here we are at last. I have longed for this +day, my friend—let us be happy. After so many misfortunes, to be +reunited once again! Is it not charming?"</p> + +<p>She spoke incoherently, running her words into one another, and yet +doing her best to be understood.</p> + +<p>Alan looked at her steadily. "What do you want?" he asked. "Why have you +sought me out?"</p> + +<p>"My faith, what should I want? Money, to begin with."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"And then—justice! Bah! Am I not the daughter of Testard, who dispensed +with his own hand the justice of Heaven against his persecutors?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard that before," Alan said. "It was at Aix-les-Bains. And you +<i>still</i> want justice!"</p> + +<p>"Justice, my child. Was it not at Aix-les-Bains that you tried to kill +Henri de Hauteville? Was it not in the park hard by that you shot at me, +and almost assassinated me? But, have no fear! All I ask is money—the +half of your income will satisfy me. Pay me that, and you are +safe—unless my rage should transport me one of these fine days! Refuse, +and I denounce you through the town, and play the game of scandal—as I +know how to play it! Which shall it be?"</p> + +<p>"You are my wife. Perhaps there is a remedy for that—now that you are +here, we shall see! But, meanwhile, you have a claim. To-morrow morning +I Will settle it as you wish. You shall not be left to want."</p> + +<p>"It is reasonable. Good-night, my friend! I am going to sleep again."</p> + +<p>She went back into the drawing-room, laughing aloud, whilst Alan, after +doing his best to console Mrs. Bundlecombe, departed in search of a +night's lodging under another roof.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>SIR JOHN PYNSENT PROPHESIES.</h3> + + +<p>On a sultry evening in the middle of August, a few choice spirits were +gathered together in one of the smoking-rooms of the Oligarchy.</p> + +<p>All but one were members of the Upper or Lower House, and they were +lazily enjoying the unusual chance (for such busy men, and at such a +critical period of the session) which enabled them to smoke their cigars +in Pall Mall before midnight on a Tuesday. Either there had been a +count-out, or there was obstruction in the House, which was no immediate +concern of theirs, or they had made an arrangement with their Whip, and +were awaiting a telegram which did not come; but, whatever the reason, +here they were, lazy and contented.</p> + +<p>There was our old friend, Sir John Pynsent; and Charles Milton, Q.C., +certain to be a law officer or a judge, as soon as the Conservatives had +their chance; and Lord Ambermere; and the Honorable Tom Willoughby, who +had been trained at Harrow, Oxford, and Lord's Cricket Ground, and who +was once assured by his Balliol tutor that his wit would never make him +a friend, nor his face an enemy. The last of the circle was Brooke +Dalton, of whom this narrative has already had something to record.</p> + +<p>"So Tourmaline has thrown up the sponge, Pynsent?" Charles Milton began, +after a short pause in the conversation. "Had enough of the Radical crew +by this time!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Of course, he has been out of sympathy with them for a long while. +So have twenty or thirty more, if the truth were known."</p> + +<p>"As you know it!" Dalton interjected.</p> + +<p>"Well, I know some things. The line of cleavage in the Liberal party is +tolerably well marked, if you have eyes to see."</p> + +<p>"Why does Tourmaline leave the House? I hear he would stand an excellent +chance if he went to Vanebury and started as an Independent."</p> + +<p>"No doubt he would; but in a weak moment he pledged himself down there +not to do it."</p> + +<p>"What hard lines!" said Tom Willoughby. "Just one pledge too many!"</p> + +<p>"And so," continued Pynsent, without noticing the interruption, "we have +had to look out for another candidate. I settled the matter this +afternoon, and I am glad to say that Campion has promised to go down."</p> + +<p>"Just the man for the job," said Milton, who looked upon Sydney as sure +to be a formidable rival in Parliament, and more likely than any other +young Conservative to cut him out of the Solicitorship. "He has tongue, +and he has tact—and he has something else, Sir John, which is worth the +two put together—good friends!"</p> + +<p>"We think very highly of Campion," said Sir John Pynsent, "and I am very +glad you confirm our opinion."</p> + +<p>"I certainly think he will make his mark," said Dalton. "He comes of a +very able family."</p> + +<p>Dalton found himself recalling the appearance and words of Miss Lettice +Campion, whom he had met so often of late at the house of his cousin, +Mrs. Hartley, and who had made a deeper impression than ever on his +mind. Impressions were somewhat fugitive, as a rule, on Brooke Dalton's +mind; but he had come to admire Lettice with a fervor unusual with him.</p> + +<p>"From all I can learn," said the baronet, "we ought to win the seat; and +every two new votes won in that way are worth half-a-dozen such as Tom +Willoughby's, for instance, whose loyalty is a stale and discounted +fact."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I know that is how you regard us buttresses from the counties! +I declare I will be a fifth party, and play for my own hand."</p> + +<p>"It isn't in you, my boy," said Lord Ambermere; "I never knew you play +for your own hand yet."</p> + +<p>"Then what am I in Parliament for, I should like to know?"</p> + +<p>"For that very thing, of course; to learn how to do it." Willoughby +laughed good-naturedly. He did not object to be made a butt of by his +intimate friends.</p> + +<p>"Seriously, Tom, there is plenty of work for a fellow like you to do."</p> + +<p>It was Pynsent who spoke, and the others were always ready to lend him +their ears when he evidently wanted to be listened to.</p> + +<p>"The main thing is to get hold of the Whigs, and work at them quietly +and steadily until the time comes to strike our blow. The great Houses +are safe, almost to a man. When it comes to choosing between Democracy +rampant, with Gladstone at its head, assailing the most sacred elements +of the Constitution, and a great National Party, or Union of Parties, +guarding Property and the Empire against attack, there is no question as +to how they will make their choice. But if every Whig by birth or family +ties came over to us at once, that would not suffice for our purpose. +What we have to do is get at the—the Decent Men of the Liberal +Party, such as the aldermen, the shipowners, the great contractors and +directors of companies, and, of course, the men with a stake in the +land. No use mentioning names—we all know pretty well who they are."</p> + +<p>"And when you have got at them?" asked Willoughby.</p> + +<p>"Why, lay yourself out to please them. Flatter them—show them all the +attention in your power; take care that they see and hear what is +thought in the highest quarters about the present tendency of +things—about Ireland, about the Empire, about the G. O. M. Let them +understand how they are counted on to decide the issue, and what they +would have to look for if we were once in power. Above all, ride them +easy! It is impossible that they should become Tories—don't dream of +such a thing. They are to be Liberals to the end of their days, but +Liberals with an Epithet."</p> + +<p>"Imperi——"</p> + +<p>"No, no, no, no, my dear boy! Any number of noes. You must not live so +much in the past. The great idea to harp upon is Union. Union against a +common enemy. Union against Irish rebels. Union against Gladstone and +the Democracy; but draw this very mild until you feel that you are on +safe ground. Union is the word, and Unionist is the Epithet. Liberal +Unionists. That is the inevitable phrase, and it will fit any crisis +that may arise."</p> + +<p>"But suppose they dish us with the County franchise?"</p> + +<p>"We must make a fight over that; but for my part I am not afraid of +franchises. There is a Tory majority to be picked out of manhood +suffrage, as England will surely discover some day. Possibly the County +franchise must be cleared out of the way before we get our chance. What +will that mean? Why, simply that Gladstone will think it necessary to +use his first majority in order to carry some great Act of Confiscation; +to make Hodge your master; or to filch a bit of your land for him; or to +join hands with Parnell and cut Ireland adrift. Then we shall have our +opportunity; and that is what we have to prepare for."</p> + +<p>Lord Ambermere, and Dalton, and Milton, Q.C., nodded their heads. They +had heard all this before; but to Willoughby it was new, for he had only +just begun to put himself into the harness of political life.</p> + +<p>"How can we help ourselves," he said, "if the laborers have returned a +lot of new men, and there is a big Liberal majority?"</p> + +<p>"That is the point, of course. Well, put it at the worst. Say that +Gladstone has a majority of eighty, without Parnell, and say that +Parnell can dispose of eighty. Say, again, that the Irishmen are ready +to support Gladstone, in the expectation of favors to come. Now let the +Old Man adopt either a Nationalist policy or an out-and-out Democratic +policy, and assume that the Union for which we have been working takes +effect. In order to destroy Gladstone's majority of one hundred and +sixty, at least eighty of his nominal followers must come over. Of +these, the pure Whigs will count for upwards of forty, and another forty +must be forthcoming from the men I have just described. That is putting +it at the worst—and it is safer to do so. Now the question is, Tom +Willoughby, what can you do, and whom can you tackle? I don't want you +to give me an answer, but only to think it over."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you only want thinking, I'm the beggar to think. But—suppose +you land your alderman, and he don't get re-elected in 1885 or +thereabouts? That would be a frightful sell, don't you know!"</p> + +<p>"Why, that is just where the beauty of the plan comes in! A seat in the +House of Commons will always be more or less of a vested interest, +however low the franchise may descend; and the men we are speaking of +are precisely those most likely to continue in the House. It is +especially so in the case of very wealthy men, who have made their own +money; for they look out for comfortable seats to begin with, and then +nurse their constituencies by large charitable donations, so that the +chances are all in their favor. At any rate this is the best way of +setting to work—and who can tell whether the struggle may not come to a +crisis in the present Parliament?"</p> + +<p>"And you feel as confident as ever, Sir John, that this Union will be +effected?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Lord Ambermere, I assure you I am more confident than ever, and +if I were at liberty to say all I know, and to show my private +memoranda, you would be astonished at the progress which has been made +in this Confederation of Society against the Destructive Elements."</p> + +<p>It was a great comfort in listening to Sir John Pynsent, that one could +always tell where he wanted to bring in his capital letters. And there +was no doubt at all about the uncial emphasis with which he spoke of the +Confederation of Society against the Destructive Elements.</p> + +<p>At this moment Sydney Campion came in and the conclave was broken up.</p> + +<p>Sydney was full of excitement about his contest at Vanebury, and he +received the congratulations and good wishes of his friends with much +complacency. He was already the accepted Conservative candidate, being +nominated from the Oligarchy Club in response to an appeal from the +local leaders. He had even been recommended by name in a letter from Mr. +Tourmaline, the retiring member, whose secession to the Conservative +party had demoralized his former friends in the constituency, and filled +his old opponents with joy. He was going down the next day to begin his +canvass, and to make his first speech; and he had come to the Club +to-night for a final consultation with Sir John Pynsent.</p> + +<p>This Vanebury election would not, there was reason to think, be so much +affected by money-bags as the election at Dormer was supposed to be, +sixteen or eighteen months before. Yet money was necessary, and Sydney +did not on this occasion refuse the aid which was pressed upon him. He +was responding to the call of his party, at a moment which might be +(though it was not) very inconvenient for him; and, having put down the +foot of dignity last year, he could now hold out the hand of expediency +with a very good grace.</p> + +<p>So he took his money, and went down, and before he had been in Vanebury +six hours the Conservatives there understood that they had a very strong +candidate, who would give a good account of himself, and who deserved to +be worked for.</p> + +<p>His personal presence was imposing, Sydney was above the middle height, +erect and broad-shouldered, with a keen and handsome, rather florid, +face, a firm mouth, and penetrating steel-blue eyes. He was careful of +his appearance, too, and from his well-cut clothes and his well-trimmed +brown hair, beard, and whiskers, it was easy to see that there was +nothing of the slipshod about this ambitious young emissary from the +Oligarchy Club.</p> + +<p>In manner he was very persuasive. He had a frank and easy way of +addressing an audience, which he had picked up from a popular +tribune—leaning one shoulder towards them at an angle of about eighty +degrees, and rounding his periods with a confidential smile, which +seemed to assure his hearers that they were as far above the average +audience as he was above the average candidate. He did not feel the +slightest difficulty in talking for an hour at a stretch, and two or +three times on the same day; and, indeed, it would have been strange if +he had, considering his Union experience at Cambridge and his practice +at the Bar.</p> + +<p>Sydney won upon all classes at Vanebury, and the sporting gentlemen in +that thriving borough were soon giving odds upon his chance of success. +The Liberals were for the most part careless and over-confident. Their +man had won every election for twenty years past, and they could not +believe that this Tory lawyer was destined to accomplish what all the +local magnates had failed in attempting. But a few of the wisest amongst +them shook their heads, for they knew too well that "Tourmaline the +Traitor and Turncoat" (as the posters described him) was by no means +alone in his discontent with the tendencies of the party.</p> + +<p>The attention of the country was fixed upon the Vanebury election, and +Sydney Campion had become at once the observed of all observers. He knew +it, and made the most of the situation, insisting in his speeches that +this was a test-election, which would show what the country thought of +the government, of its bribes to ignorance and its capitulation to +rebellion, of its sacrifice of our honor abroad and our interests at +home. He well knew what the effect of this would be on his friends in +London, and how he would have earned their gratitude if he could carry +the seat on these lines.</p> + +<p>On the day before the poll, Sir John Pynsent came to Vanebury, to attend +the last of the public meetings.</p> + +<p>"Admirably done, so far!" he said, as he grasped Sydney's hand at the +station. "How are things looking?"</p> + +<p>"It is a certain win!" said Sydney. "No question about it."</p> + +<p>And a win it was, such as any old campaigner might have been proud of. +The numbers as declared by the returning officer were:</p> + +<table> +<tr><td>Campion (C.)</td><td align="right">4765</td></tr> +<tr><td>Hawkins (L.)</td><td align="right">4564</td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td align="right">——</td></tr> +<tr><td>Majority</td><td align="right"> 201</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>At the last election Tourmaline had had a majority of six hundred over +his Conservative opponent, so that there had been a turnover of about +four hundred voters. And no one doubted that a large number of these had +made up their minds to turn since Campion had begun his canvass.</p> + +<p>This was a complete success for Sydney. He was now Mr. Campion, M.P., +with both feet on the ladder of ambition. Congratulations poured in upon +him from all sides, and from that moment he was recognized by everybody +as one of the coming men of the Conservative party.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>SYDNEY MAKES A MISTAKE.</h3> + + +<p>There was a social side to Sydney's success which he was not slow to +appreciate. A poor and ambitious man, bent on climbing the ladder of +promotion, he was willing to avail himself of every help which came in +his way. And Sir John Pynsent was good-naturedly ready to give him a +helping hand.</p> + +<p>During the past season he had found himself welcome in houses where the +best society of the day was wont to congregate. He had several +invitations for the autumn to places where it was considered a +distinction to be invited; and, being a man of much worldly wisdom, he +was disposed to be sorry that he had made arrangements to go abroad for +two or three months. He was vague in detailing his plans to his friends; +but in his own mind he was never vague, and he knew what he meant to do +and where he was going to spend the vacation well enough, although he +did not choose to take club acquaintances into his confidence.</p> + +<p>But one invitation, given by Sir John Pynsent, for the Sunday subsequent +to his election—or rather, from Saturday to Monday—he thought it +expedient as well as pleasant to accept. Vanebury was a very few miles +distant from St. John's country-house, and when the baronet, in capital +spirits over his friend's success, urged him to run over to Culverley +for a day or two, he could not well refuse.</p> + +<p>"I am going for the Sunday," Sir John said confidentially, "but my wife +doesn't expect me to stay longer until the session is over. I run down +every week, you know, except when she's in town; but she always leaves +London in June. My sister is under her wing, and she declares that late +hours and the heat of London in July are very bad for girls. Of course, +I'm glad that she looks after my sister so well."</p> + +<p>Sydney recognized the fact that he had never before been taken into Sir +John's confidence with respect to his domestic affairs.</p> + +<p>"Lady Pynsent asked me the other day whether I could not get you to come +down to us," Sir John continued. "I am always forgetting her messages; +but if you can spare a couple of days now, we shall be very glad to have +you. Indeed, you must not refuse," he said, hospitably. "And you ought +to see something of the county."</p> + +<p>Sydney had met Lady Pynsent in town. She was a large, showy-looking +woman, with fair hair and a very aquiline nose; a woman who liked to +entertain, and who did it well. He had dined at the Wentworths' house +more than once, and he began to search in his memory for any face or +figure which should recall Sir John's sister to his mind. But he could +not remember her, and concluded, therefore, that she was in no way +remarkable.</p> + +<p>"I think I have not met Miss Pynsent," he took an opportunity of saying, +by way of an attempt to refresh his memory.</p> + +<p>"No? I think you must have seen her somewhere. But she did not go out +much this spring: she is rather delicate, and not very fond of society. +She's my half-sister, you know, considerably younger than I am—came out +the season before last."</p> + +<p>Another acquaintance of Sydney's privately volunteered the information +later in the day that Miss Pynsent had sixty thousand pounds of her own, +and was reputed to be clever.</p> + +<p>"I hate clever women," Sydney said, with an inward growl at his sister +Lettice, whose conduct had lately given him much uneasiness. "A clever +woman and an heiress! Ye gods, how very ugly she must be."</p> + +<p>His friend laughed in a meaning manner, and wagged his head +mysteriously. But what he would have said remained unspoken, because at +that moment Sir John rejoined them.</p> + +<p>Sydney flattered himself that he was not impressible, or at least that +the outward trappings of wealth and rank did not impress him. But he was +distinctly pleased to find that Sir John's carriage and pair, which met +them at the station, was irreproachable, and that Culverley was a very +fine old house, situated in the midst of a lovely park and approached by +an avenue of lime-trees, which, Sir John informed him, was one of the +oldest in the country. Sydney had an almost unduly keen sense of the +advantage which riches can bestow, and he coveted social almost as much +as professional standing for himself. It was, perhaps, natural that the +son of a poor man, who had been poor all his life, and owed his success +to his own brains and his power of continued work, should look a little +enviously on the position so readily attained by men of inferior mental +calibre, but of inherited and ever-increasing influence, like Sir John +Pynsent and his friends. Sydney never truckled: he was perfectly +independent in manner and in thought; but the good things of the world +were so desirable to him that for some of them—as he confessed to +himself with a half-laugh at his own weakness—he would almost have sold +his soul.</p> + +<p>They arrived at Culverley shortly before dinner, and Sydney had time for +very few introductions before going to the dining-room. He was surprised +to find a rather large party present. There were several London men and +women whom he knew already, and who were staying in the house, and there +was a contingent of county people, who had only come to dinner. The new +member for Vanebury was made much of, especially by the county folk; and +as Sydney was young, handsome, and a good talker, he soon made himself +popular amongst them. For himself, he did not find the occasion +interesting, save as a means of social success. Most of the men were +dull, and the women prim and proper: there were not more than two pretty +girls in the whole party.</p> + +<p>"That's the heiress, I suppose," thought Sydney, hearing a spectacled, +sandy-haired young woman who looked about five-and-twenty addressed as +Miss Pynsent. "Plain, as I thought. There's not a woman here worth +looking at, except Mrs. George Murray. I'll talk to her after dinner. +Not one of them is a patch on little Milly. I wonder how she would look, +dressed up in silks and satins. Pynsent knows how to choose his wine and +his cook better than his company, I fancy."</p> + +<p>But his supercilious contempt for the county was well veiled, and the +people who entered into conversation with Sydney Campion, the new M.P. +for Vanebury, put him down as a very agreeable man, as well as a rising +politician.</p> + +<p>His own position was pleasant enough. He was treated with manifest +distinction—flattered, complimented, well-nigh caressed. In the +drawing-room after dinner, Sydney, surrounded by complacent and +adulating friends, really experienced some of the most agreeable +sensations of his life. He was almost sorry when the group gradually +melted away, and conversation was succeeded by music. He had never +cultivated his taste for music; but he had a naturally fine ear, upon +which ordinary drawing-room performances jarred sadly. But, standing +with his arms folded and his back against the wall, in the neighborhood +of Mrs. George Murray, the prettiest woman in the room, he became +gradually aware that Lady Pynsent's musicians were as admirable in their +way as her cook. She would no more put up with bad singing than bad +songs; and she probably put both on the same level. She did not ask +amateurs to sing or play; but she had one or two professionals staying +in the house, who were "charmed" to perform for her; and she had secured +a well-known "local man" to play accompaniments. In the case of one at +least of the professionals, Lady Pynsent paid a very handsome fee for +his services; but this fact was not supposed to transpire to the general +public.</p> + +<p>When the professionals had done their work there was a little pause, +succeeded by the slight buzz that spoke of expectation. "Miss Pynsent is +going to play," Mrs. Murray said to Sydney, putting up her long-handled +eyeglass and looking expectantly towards the grand piano. "Oh, now, we +shall have a treat."</p> + +<p>"Sixty thousand pounds," Sydney said to himself with a smile; but he +would not for the world have said it aloud. "We must put up with bad +playing from its fortunate possessor, I suppose." And he turned his head +with resignation in the direction of the little inner drawing-room, in +which the piano stood. This room should, perhaps, be described as an +alcove, rather than a separate apartment: it was divided from the great +drawing-room by a couple of shallow steps that ran across its whole +width, so that a sort of natural stage was formed, framed above and on +either side by artistically festooned curtains of yellow brocade.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it effective?" Mrs. Murray murmured to him, with a wave of her +eyeglass to the alcove. "So useful for tableaux and plays, you know. +Awfully clever of Lady Pynsent to use the room in that way. There used +once to be folding doors, you know—barbarous, wasn't it? Who <i>would</i> +use doors when curtains could be had?"</p> + +<p>"Doors are useful sometimes," said Sydney. But he was not in the least +attentive either to her words or to his own: he was looking towards the +alcove.</p> + +<p>Miss Pynsent—the young woman with sandy locks and freckled face, on +which a broad, good-humored smile was beaming—was already seated at the +piano and turning over her music. Presently she began to play, and +Sydney, little as was his technical knowledge of the art, acknowledged +at once that he had been mistaken, and that Miss Pynsent, in spite of +being an heiress, played remarkably well. But the notes were apparently +those of an accompaniment only—was she going to sing? Evidently not, +for at that moment another figure slipped forward from the shadows of +the inner drawing-room, and faced the audience.</p> + +<p>This was a girl who did not look more than eighteen or nineteen: a +slight fragile creature in white, with masses of dusky hair piled high +above a delicate, pallid, yet unmistakably beautiful, face. The large +dark eyes, the curved, sensitive mouth, the exquisite modelling of the +features, the graceful lines of the slightly undeveloped figure, the +charming pose of head and neck, the slender wrist bent round the violin +which she held, formed a picture of almost ideal loveliness. Sydney +could hardly refrain from an exclamation of surprise and admiration. He +piqued himself on knowing a little about everything that was worth +knowing, and he had a considerable acquaintance with art, so that the +first thing which occurred to him was to seek for a parallel to the +figure before him in the pictures with which he was acquainted. She was +not unlike a Sir Joshua, he decided; and yet—in the refinement of every +feature, and a certain sweetness and tranquillity of expression—she +reminded him of a Donatello that he had seen in one of his later visits +to Florence or Sienna. He had always thought that if he were ever rich +he would buy pictures; and he wondered idly whether money would buy the +Donatello of which the white-robed violin-player reminded him.</p> + +<p>One or two preliminary tuning notes were sounded, and then the violinist +began to play. Her skill was undoubted, but the feeling and pathos which +she threw into the long-drawn sighing notes were more remarkable even +than her skill. There was a touch of genius in her performance which +held the listeners enthralled. When she had finished, she disappeared +behind the curtains as rapidly as she had emerged from the shadows of +the dimly-lighted inner room; and in the pause that followed, the +opening and shutting of a door was heard.</p> + +<p>"Who is she?" said Sydney to his neighbor.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Pynsent, of course," said Mrs. Murray. "Delightful, isn't +she?"</p> + +<p>"I don't mean Miss Pynsent," said Sydney, in some confusion of mind; "I +mean——"</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Murray had turned to somebody else, and scraps of conversation +floated up to Sydney's ears, and gave him, as he thought, the +information that he was seeking.</p> + +<p>"So devoted to Lady Pynsent's children! Now that little Frankie has a +cold, they say she won't leave him night or day. They had the greatest +trouble to get her down to play to-night. Awfully lucky for Lady +Pynsent," and then the voices were lowered, but Sydney heard something +about "the last governess," and "a perfect treasure," which seemed to +reveal the truth.</p> + +<p>"The governess! A violin-playing governess," he thought, with a mixture +of scorn and relief, which he did not altogether understand in himself. +"Ah! that's the reason she did not come down to dinner. She is a very +pretty girl, and no doubt Lady Pynsent keeps her in the nursery or +schoolroom as much as possible. I should like to see her again. Perhaps, +as to-morrow is Sunday, she may come down with the children."</p> + +<p>It will be evident to the meanest capacity that Sydney was making an +absurd mistake as to the identity of the violinist. The most +unsophisticated novel-reader in the world would cast contempt and +ridicule on the present writers if they, in their joint capacity, +introduced the young lady in white as actually Lady Pynsent's governess. +To avoid misunderstanding on the point, therefore, it may as well be +premised that she was in fact Miss Anna Pynsent, Sir John's half sister, +and that Mr. Campion's conclusions respecting her position were +altogether without foundation.</p> + +<p>Having, however, made up his mind about her, Sydney took little further +interest in the matter. One or two complimentary remarks were made in +his hearing about Miss Pynsent's playing; but he took them to apply to +the sandy-haired Miss Pynsent whom he had seen at dinner, and only made +a silent cynical note of the difference with which the violinist and the +accompanist were treated. He never flew in the face of the world +himself, and therefore he did not try to readjust the balance of +compliment: he simply acquiesced in the judgment of the critics, and +thought of the Donatello.</p> + +<p>A long conference in the smoking-room on political matters put music and +musicians out of his head; and when he went to sleep, about two o'clock +in the morning, it was to dream, if he dreamt at all, of his maiden +speech in Parliament, and that elevation to the woolsack which his +mother was so fond of prophesying.</p> + +<p>Sydney was an early riser, and breakfast on Sundays at Culverley was +always late. He was tempted by the beauty of the morning to go for a +stroll in the gardens; and thence he wandered into the park, where he +breathed the fresh cool air with pleasure, and abandoned himself, as +usual, to a contemplation of the future. The park was quickly crossed, +for Sydney scarcely knew how to loiter in his walking, more than in any +other of his actions; and he then plunged into a fir plantation which +fringed a stretch of meadow-land, now grey and drenched with dew and +shining in the morning sun. Even to Sydney's unimaginative mind the +scene had its charm, after the smoke of London and the turmoil of the +last few days: he came to the edge of the plantation, leaned his elbows +on the topmost rail of a light fence, and looked away to the blue +distance, where the sheen of water and mixture of light and shade were, +even in his eyes, worth looking at. A cock crowed in a neighboring +farmyard, and a far-away clock struck seven. It was earlier than he had +thought.</p> + +<p>Two or three figures crossing the meadow attracted his attention. First +came a laboring man with a pail. Sydney watched him aimlessly until he +was out of sight. Then a child—a gentleman's child, judging from his +dress and general appearance—a boy of six or seven, who seemed to be +flying tumultuously down the sloping meadow to escape from his governess +or nurse. The field ran down to a wide stream, which was crossed at one +point by a plank, at another by stepping-stones; and it was towards +these stepping-stones that the boy directed his career. Behind him, but +at considerable distance, came the slender figure of a young woman, who +seemed to be pursuing him. The child reached the stream, and there stood +laughing, his fair curls floating in the wind, his feet firmly planted +on one of the stones that had been thrown into the water.</p> + +<p>Sydney was by no means inclined to play knight-errant to children and +attendant damsels, and he would probably have continued to watch the +little scene without advancing, had not the girl, halting distressfully +to call the truant, chanced to turn her face so that the strong morning +light fell full upon it. Why, it was the violinist! Or was he deceived +by some chance resemblance? Sydney did not think so, but it behoved him +instantly to go and see.</p> + +<p>Indeed, before he reached the stream, his help seemed to be needed. The +boy, shouting and dancing, had missed his footing and fallen headlong in +the stream, which, fortunately, was very shallow and not very swift. +Sydney quickened his pace to a run, and the girl did the same; but +before either of them reached its bank the boy had scrambled out again, +and was sitting on the further side with a sobered countenance and in a +very drenched condition.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jack!" said the girl reproachfully, "how <i>could</i> you?"</p> + +<p>"I want some mushrooms. I said I would get them," Jack answered, +sturdily.</p> + +<p>"You must come back at once. But—how are you to get over?" she said, +contemplating the slippery stones with some dismay. For Jack's fall had +displaced more than one of them, and there was now a great gap between +the stones in the deepest part of the little stream.</p> + +<p>"Can I be of any assistance?" said Sydney, availing himself of his +opportunity to come forward.</p> + +<p>She turned and looked at him inquiringly, the color deepening a little +in her pale face.</p> + +<p>"I am staying at Culverley," he said, in an explanatory tone. "I had the +pleasure of hearing you play last night."</p> + +<p>"You are Mr. Campion, I think?" she said. "Yes, I shall be very glad of +your help. I need not introduce myself, I see. Jack has been very +naughty: he ran away from his nurse this morning, and I said that I +would bring him back. And now he has fallen into the brook."</p> + +<p>"We must get him back," said Sydney, rather amused at her matter-of-fact +tone. "I will go over for him."</p> + +<p>"No, I am afraid you must not do that," she answered. "There is a plank +a little further down the stream; we will go there."</p> + +<p>But Sydney was across the water by this time. He lifted the child +lightly in his arms and strode back across the stones, scarcely wetting +himself at all. Then he set the boy down at her side.</p> + +<p>"There!" he said, "that is better than going down to the plank. Now, +young man, you must run home again as fast as you can, or you will catch +cold."</p> + +<p>"I am very much obliged to you," said the young lady, looking at him, as +he thought, rather earnestly, but without a smile. "Jack, you know, is +Sir John Pynsent's eldest son."</p> + +<p>"So I divined. I think he would get home more quickly if I took one of +his hands and you took the other, and we hurried him up the hill; don't +you think so?"</p> + +<p>He had no interest at all in Jack, but he wanted to talk with this +dark-eyed violin-playing damsel. Sydney had indulged in a good deal of +flirtation in his time, and he had no objection to whiling away an hour +in the company of any pretty girl; and yet there was some sort of +dignity about this girl's manner which warned him to be a little upon +his guard.</p> + +<p>"You are member for Vanebury," she said, rather abruptly, when they had +dragged little Jack some distance up the grassy slope.</p> + +<p>"I have that honor."</p> + +<p>"I hope," she said, with a mixture of gentleness and decision which took +him by surprise, "that you mean to pay some attention to the condition +of the working-classes in Vanebury?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know; is there any special reason?"</p> + +<p>"They are badly paid, badly housed, over-worked and under-educated," she +said, succinctly; "and if the member for Vanebury would bestir himself +in their cause, I think that something might be done."</p> + +<p>"Even a member is not omnipotent, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"No, but he has influence. You are bound to use it for good," she +returned.</p> + +<p>Sydney raised his eyebrows. He was not used to being lectured on his +duties, and this young lady's remarks struck him as slightly +impertinent. He glanced at her almost as if he would have told her so; +but she looked so very pretty and so very young that he could no more +check her than he could have checked a child.</p> + +<p>"You have very pretty scenery about here," he said, by way of changing +the conversation.</p> + +<p>The girl's face drooped at once; she did not answer.</p> + +<p>"What an odd young woman she is," said Sydney to himself. "What an odd +governess for the children!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she looked up, with a very sweet bright look. "I am afraid I +offended you," she said, deprecatingly. "I did not mean to say anything +wrong. I am so much interested in the Vanebury working people, although +we are here some miles distant from them, that when I heard you were +coming I made up my mind at once that I would speak to you."</p> + +<p>"You have—friends, perhaps, in that district?" said Sydney.</p> + +<p>"N—no—not exactly," she said, hesitating. "But I know a good deal +about Vanebury."</p> + +<p>"Nan goes there very often, don't you, Nan?" said little Jack, suddenly +interposing. "And papa says you do more harm than good."</p> + +<p>"Nan" colored high. "You should not repeat what papa says," she +answered, severely. "You have often been told that it is naughty."</p> + +<p>"But it's true," Jack murmured, doggedly. And Sydney could not help +smiling at the discomfited expression on "Nan's" face.</p> + +<p>However, he was—or thought he was—quite equal to the occasion. He +changed the subject, and began talking adroitly about her tastes and +occupations. Nan soon became at ease with him and answered his questions +cheerfully, although she seemed puzzled now and then by the strain of +compliment into which he had a tendency to fall. The house was reached +at last; and Jack snatched his hands from those of his companions, and +ran indoors. Nan halted at a side-door, and now spoke with the sweet +earnestness that impressed Sydney even more than her lovely face.</p> + +<p>"You have been very kind to us, Mr. Campion. I don't know how to thank +you."</p> + +<p>It was on the tip of Sydney's tongue to use some badinage such as he +would have done, in his light and easy fashion, to a servant-maid or +shop-girl. But something in her look caused him, luckily, to refrain. He +went as near as he dared to the confines of love-making.</p> + +<p>"Give me the flower you wear," he said, leaning a little towards her. +"Then I shall at least have a remembrance of you."</p> + +<p>His tone and his look were warmer than he knew. She shrank back, visibly +surprised, and rather offended. Before he could add a word she had +quietly taken the rosebud from her dress, handed it to him, and +disappeared into the house, closing the door behind her in a somewhat +uncompromising way. Sydney was left alone on the gravelled path, with a +half-withered rosebud in his hand, and a consciousness of having made +himself ridiculous.</p> + +<p>"She seems to be rather a little vixen," he said to himself, as he +strolled up to his rooms to make some change in his clothes, which were +damper than he liked. "What business has a pretty little governess to +take that tone? Deuced out of place, I call it. I wonder if she'll be +down to breakfast. She has very fetching eyes."</p> + +<p>But she was not down to breakfast, and nothing was said about her, so +Sydney concluded that her meals were taken in the schoolroom with the +children.</p> + +<p>"Such a pity—poor dear Nan has a headache," he heard Lady Pynsent +saying by and by. "I hoped that she would come down and give us some +music this evening, but she says she won't be able for it."</p> + +<p>Sydney consoled himself with pretty Mrs. Murray.</p> + +<p>"The fair violinist is out of tune, it seems," he said, in the course of +an afternoon stroll with the new charmer.</p> + +<p>"Who? Oh, Nan Pynsent."</p> + +<p>"Pynsent? No. At least, I don't mean the pianiste: I mean the young lady +who played the violin last night."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Nan Pynsent, Sir John's half-sister. The heiress—and some people +say the beauty of the county. Why do you look so stupefied, Mr. +Campion?"</p> + +<p>"I did not know her, that was all. I thought—who, then, is the lady who +played the piano?"</p> + +<p>"Mary Pynsent, a cousin. You surely did not think that <i>she</i> was the +heiress?"</p> + +<p>"Why did not Sir John's sister come down to dinner?" said Sydney, waxing +angry.</p> + +<p>"She has a craze about the children. Their governess is away, and she +insists on looking after them. She is rather quixotic, you know; full of +grand schemes for the future, and what she will do when she comes of +age. Her property is all in Vanebury, by the bye: you must let her talk +to you about the miners if you want to win her favor. She will be of age +in a few months."</p> + +<p>"I shall not try to win her favor."</p> + +<p>"Dear me, how black you look, Mr. Campion. Are you vexed that you have +not made her acquaintance?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Sydney, clearing his brow. "How could I have looked +at her when you were there?"</p> + +<p>The banal compliment pleased Mrs. Murray, and she began to talk of +trivial matters in her usual trivial strain. Sydney scarcely listened: +for once he was disconcerted, and angry with himself. He knew that he +would have talked in a very different strain if he had imagined for one +moment that Jack's companion was Miss Pynsent. He had not, perhaps, +definitely <i>said</i> anything that he could regret; but he was sorry for +the whole tone of his conversation. Would Miss Pynsent repeat his +observations, he wondered, to her sister-in-law? Sydney did not often +put himself in a false position, but he felt that his tact had failed +him now. He returned to the house in an unusually disturbed state of +mind; and a sentence which he overheard in the afternoon did not add to +his tranquillity.</p> + +<p>He was passing along a corridor that led, as he thought, to his own +room; but the multiplicity of turnings had bewildered him, and he was +obliged to retrace his steps. While doing so, he passed Lady Pynsent's +boudoir. Although he was unconscious of this fact, his attention was +attracted by the sound of a voice from within. Nan Pynsent's voice was +not loud, but it had a peculiarly penetrating quality; and her words +followed Sydney down the corridor with disagreeable distinctness.</p> + +<p>"Selina," she was saying—Selina was Lady Pynsent's name—"I thought you +said that Mr. Campion was a <i>gentleman</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Well, dear——" Lady Pynsent was beginning; but Sydney, quickening his +steps, heard no more. He was now in a rage, and disposed to vote Miss +Pynsent the most unpleasant, conceited young person of his acquaintance. +That anybody should doubt his "gentilhood" was an offence not to be +lightly borne. He was glad to remember that he was leaving Culverley +next day, and he determined that he would rather avoid the female +Pynsents than otherwise when they came to town. He could not yet do +without Sir John, and he was vexed to think that these women should have +any handle—however trifling—against him. He thanked his stars that he +had not actually made love to Miss Anna Pynsent; and he hurried back to +town next morning by the earliest train, without setting eyes on her +again. In town, amidst the bustle of political and social duties, he +soon forgot the unpleasant impression that this little episode of his +visit to Culverly had left upon his mind.</p> + +<p>He went to Maple Cottage on the very day of his return to London, to +hear what his mother and sister had to say about his success. And he +took an opportunity also of telling Milly Harrington something of the +glories which he had achieved, and the privilege which he enjoyed in +being able to absent himself from his native country for two or three +months at a stretch.</p> + +<p>About the end of August, Lettice had to look out for a new maid. Milly +went away, saying that she had heard of a better place. She had obtained +it without applying to her mistress for a character. She had not been so +attentive to her duties of late as to make Lettice greatly regret her +departure; but remembering old Mrs. Harrington's fears for her +grand-daughter, Lettice made many inquiries of Milly as to her new +place. She received, as she thought, very satisfactory replies, although +she noticed that the girl changed color strangely, and looked confused +and anxious when she was questioned. And when the time came for her to +go, Milly wept bitterly, and was heard to express a wish that she had +resolved to stay with Miss Lettice after all.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>SOME UNEXPECTED MEETINGS.</h3> + + +<p>Two or three months had passed since Alan's wife came back to him.</p> + +<p>He had arranged, with the aid of a lawyer, to allow her a certain +regular income—with the consequence to himself that he had been obliged +to give up his floor in Montagu Place and settle down in the humbler and +dingier refuge of Alfred Place. Meanwhile, he had taken steps to collect +sufficient evidence for a divorce. He had not yet entered his suit, and +he felt pretty certain that when he did so, and Cora was made aware of +it in the usual manner, she would find some way of turning round and +biting him.</p> + +<p>But the desire to be free from his trammels had taken possession of him +with irresistible force, and he was prepared to risk the worst that she +could do to him in order to accomplish it. Even as it was, he had reason +to think that she was not true to her undertaking not to slander or +molest him so long as she received her allowance. He had twice received +offensive post-cards, and though there was nothing to prove from whom +they came, he could have very little doubt that they had been posted by +her in moments when jealous rage or intoxication had got the better of +her prudence.</p> + +<p>The scandal which began to fasten upon his name after Sydney Campion had +heard Brooke Dalton's story in the smoking-room of the Oligarchy was +almost forgotten again, though it lurked in the memory of many a +thoughtless retailer of gossip, ready to revive on the slightest +provocation.</p> + +<p>More for Lettice's sake than his own, he lived in complete retirement, +and scarcely ever left his lodgings except to spend a few hours in the +Museum Reading Room. In this way he avoided the chance of meeting her, +as well as the chance of encountering his wretched wife, concerning +whose mode of life he had only too trustworthy evidence from the lawyer +to whom he had committed his interests.</p> + +<p>Then there came a day when he could not deny himself the pleasure of +attending a conversazione for which tickets had been sent him by an old +friend. The subject to be discussed in the course of the evening was one +in which he was specially interested, and his main object in going was +that he might be made to forget for a few hours the misery of his +present existence, which the last of Cora's post-cards had painfully +impressed upon him.</p> + +<p>He had not been there more than half-an-hour, when, moving with the +crowd from one room to another, he suddenly came face to face with +Lettice and the Grahams. All of them were taken by surprise, and there +was a little constraint in their greeting. Perhaps Lettice was the least +disturbed of the four—for the rest of them thought chiefly of her, +whilst she thought of Alan's possible embarrassment, which she did her +best to overcome, with the ready tact of an unselfish woman.</p> + +<p>Alan had grown doubly sensitive of late, and his one idea had been that +Lettice must be preserved from all danger of annoyance, whether by the +abandoned woman who had so amply proved the shrewdness of her malice, or +by himself—who had no less amply proved his weakness. In pure +generosity of mind he would have contented himself with a few grave +words, and passed on. But it seemed to her as if he had not the courage +to remain, taking for granted her resentment at his unfortunate letter. +To her pure mind there was not enough, even in that letter, to cause +complete estrangement between them. At any rate, it was not in her to +impose the estrangement by any display of anger or unkindness. The +sublime courage of innocence was upon her as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"See," she said, "the professor is going to begin. The people are taking +their seats, and if we do not follow their example all the chairs will +be filled, and we shall have to stand for an hour. Let us sit down."</p> + +<p>She just glanced at Alan, so that he could regard himself as included in +the invitation; and, nothing loth, he sat down beside her. The lecturer +did not start for another ten minutes, and Lettice occupied the interval +by comparing notes with Clara Graham: for these two dearly loved a +gossip in which they could dissect the characters of the men they knew, +and the appearance of the women they did not know. It was a perfectly +harmless practice as indulged in by them, for their criticism was not +malicious. The men, after one or two commonplaces, relapsed into +silence, and Alan was able to collect his thoughts, and at the same time +to realize how much happiness the world might yet have in store for him, +since this one woman, who knew the worst of him, did not think it +necessary to keep him at a distance.</p> + +<p>Then the professor began to speak. He was a small and feeble man, wheezy +in his delivery, and, it must be confessed, rather confused in his +ideas. He had been invited to make plain to an audience, presumably well +read and instructed, the historical bearings of certain recent +discoveries in Egypt; and the task was somewhat difficult for him. There +were seven theories, all more or less plausible, which had been started +by as many learned Egyptologists; and this worthy old gentleman, though +quite as competent to give an opinion, and stick to it, as any of the +rest, was so modest and self-depreciatory that he would not go further +than to state and advocate each theory in turn, praising its author, and +defending him against the other six. After doing this, he was bold to +confess that he did not altogether agree with any of the seven. He was +on the point of launching his own hypothesis, which would have been +incompatible with all the rest, when his heart failed him. He therefore +ended by inviting discussion, and sat down, blushing unseen beneath his +yellow skin, exactly as he used to blush half a century ago when he was +called up to construe a piece of Homer. Three of the seven Egyptologists +were present, and they now rose, one after another, beginning with the +oldest. Each of them stated his own theory, showing much deference to +the lecturer as "the greatest living authority" on this particular +subject; and then, after politely referring to the opinions of the two +rival savants whom he saw in the audience, became humorous and sarcastic +at the expense of the absent four.</p> + +<p>But, as the absent are always wrong in comparison with the present, so +youth is always wrong in comparison with age. The youngest +Egyptologist—being in truth a somewhat bumptious man, fresh from Oxford +by way of Cairo and Alexandria—had presumed to make a little feint of +sword-play with one of the lecturer's diffident remarks. This brought up +the other two who had already spoken; and they withered that young man +with infinite satisfaction to themselves and the male part of the +audience.</p> + +<p>The victim, however, was not young and Oxford-bred for nothing. He rose +to deprecate their wrath. He was not, he said, contesting the opinion of +the lecturer, whose decision on any detail of the matter under +consideration he would take as absolutely final. But he pointed out that +the opinion he had ventured to examine was expressed by his friend, Dr. +A., in a paper read before the Diatribical Society, six weeks before, +and it was manifestly at variance with the canon laid down by his +friend, Dr. B., as a fundamental test of knowledge and common-sense in +the domain of Egyptology.</p> + +<p>Thus discord was sown between Dr. A. and Dr. B., and the seed instantly +sprang up, and put an end to all that was useful or amicable in that +evening's discussion.</p> + +<p>Yet everyone agreed that it had been a most interesting conference, and +the audience dispersed in high good humor.</p> + +<p>It took nearly a quarter of an hour to clear the crowded rooms, and as +Alan had offered his arm to Lettice, in order to guide her through the +crush, he had an opportunity of speaking to her, which he turned to good +account.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to see that your brother is in Parliament," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes; of course we were pleased."</p> + +<p>"He will make his mark—has made it already, indeed. He is very +eloquent; I have heard him speak more than once. He is a most skillful +advocate; if I were ever in trouble I would rather have him on my side +than against me."</p> + +<p>He was speaking lightly, thinking it must please her to hear her brother +praised. But she did not answer his last remark.</p> + +<p>"I hope Mrs. Campion is well?"</p> + +<p>"Not very well, unfortunately. I am afraid she grows much weaker, and +her sight is beginning to fail."</p> + +<p>"That must be very trying. I know what that means to an old lady who has +not many ways of occupying herself. I was making the same observation at +home this morning."</p> + +<p>"With regard to your mother?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. My mother died when I was little more than a boy. But I have an +aunt living with me, who must be nearly seventy years old, and she was +telling me to-day that she could scarcely see to read."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Lettice, with a rush of blood to her face, "is Mrs. +Bundlecombe your aunt?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, looking rather surprised, "you spoke as if you knew her. +Did you ever see Mrs. Bundlecombe?"</p> + +<p>"I—I had heard her name."</p> + +<p>"At Angleford? Or Thorley?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I heard of Mr. Bundlecombe there."</p> + +<p>"Is it not strange," Alan said, after a short pause, "that I never knew +you came from Angleford until that morning when I brought you one of +your father's books? Then I asked my aunt all about you. I was never at +Angleford in my life, and if I had heard the rector's name as a boy I +did not recollect it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is strange. One is too quick at coming to conclusions. I have +to beg your pardon, Mr. Walcott, for I really did think that—that Mrs. +Bundlecombe was your mother, and that——"</p> + +<p>"That I was not going under my own name? That I was the son of a +bookseller, and ashamed of it?"</p> + +<p>He could not help showing a trace of bitterness in his tone. At any +rate, she thought there was bitterness. She looked at him humbly—for +Lettice was destitute of the pride which smaller natures use in +self-defence when they are proved to be in the wrong—and said,</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am afraid I thought so at the moment."</p> + +<p>"At what moment?"</p> + +<p>"Do not ask me! I am very sorry."</p> + +<p>"And glad to find that you were mistaken?"</p> + +<p>"I am very glad."</p> + +<p>He tried to meet her eyes, but she did not look at him again.</p> + +<p>"It was my own fault," he said. "I was going to mention my connection +with your father's bookseller that morning; but—you know—my feelings +ran away with me. I told you things more to my discredit, did I not?"</p> + +<p>"I remember nothing to your discredit. Certainly what you have told me +now is not to your discredit."</p> + +<p>"If you had met my aunt in London, of course you would have known. But +she does not visit or entertain anyone. You knew she was in London?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"But you never saw her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, once."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I did not know that. When?"</p> + +<p>"A long time ago. It was quite a casual and unimportant meeting. Oh, Mr. +Walcott, who is that terrible woman?"</p> + +<p>They were out of the building by this time, standing on the pavement. +Graham had called a cab, and whilst they were waiting for it to draw up +Lettice had become aware of a strikingly-dressed woman, with painted +face and bold eyes, who was planting herself in front of them, and +staring at her with a mocking laugh.</p> + +<p>Alan was horrified to see that it was his wife who stood before them, +with the mad demoniac look in her eyes which he knew too well.</p> + +<p>"Alan, my dear Alan," she cried in a shrill voice, causing everyone to +look round at the group, "tell her this terrible woman's name! Tell her +that I am your wife, the wife that you have plunged into misery and +starvation——"</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake!" said Alan, turning to Graham, "where is your cab? +Take them away quickly!"</p> + +<p>"Tell her," the virago screamed, "that I am the woman whom you tried to +murder, in order that you might be free——"</p> + +<p>Here the harangue was cut short by a policeman, who knew the orator very +well by sight, and who deftly interposed his arm at the moment when Cora +was reaching the climax of her rage. At the same instant the cab drew +up, and Lettice was driven away with her friends, not, however, before +she had forced Alan to take her hand, and had wished him good-night.</p> + +<p>"That must have been his wife," said Clara, whose face was white, and +who was trembling violently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, confound her!" said her husband, much annoyed by what had +happened.</p> + +<p>"Could you not stay to see what happens? You might be of some use to Mr. +Walcott."</p> + +<p>"What good can I do? I wish we had not met him. I have a horror of these +scenes; some people, apparently, take them more coolly."</p> + +<p>He was out of temper with Lettice, first for sitting by Alan at the +conversazione, and then for ostentatiously shaking hands with him on the +pavement. Her instinct told her what he was thinking.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry it happened," she said; "but when a man is unfortunate one +need not take the opportunity of punishing him. It was far worse for him +than for us."</p> + +<p>"I don't see that," said Graham. "And everyone has to bear his own +troubles. Besides, why should a man with such a frightful infliction +attach himself to ladies in a public place, and subject them to insult, +without so much as warning them what they might expect to meet with?"</p> + +<p>"Were you unwarned?"</p> + +<p>"I was not thinking of myself. You were not warned."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, I was."</p> + +<p>"You knew his wife was alive—and—what she is?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I must say I cannot understand it."</p> + +<p>"You would not have me kind to a man who, as you say, is frightfully +afflicted? It was for that very reason I thought we ought to be kind to +him to-night."</p> + +<p>"My sense of duty does not lead me quite so far; and I do not wish that +Clara's should, either!"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," said Lettice, again.</p> + +<p>Then there was silence in the cab; but the undutiful Clara was squeezing +her friend's hand in the dark, whilst her lord and master fumed for five +minutes in his corner. After that, he pulled the check-string.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?" said Clara.</p> + +<p>"Going back again," he said. "You women understand some things better +than we do. All the same, I don't know what would happen if you always +let your hearts lead you, and if you had no men to look after you. I +shall take a hansom and follow on."</p> + +<p>He was too late, however, to do any good. The stream of life had swept +over the place where Alan and his wife had met, as it sweeps over all +the great city's joys and sorrows, glories and disgrace, leaving not a +vestige behind.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>CONCEIVED IN SORROW.</h3> + + +<p>Two days later, as Lettice was hard at work in her study on a romance +which she had begun in June, at the suggestion of a friendly publisher, +she was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was a feeble knock, as of +one who was half afraid, and the voice, which she heard inquiring for +her immediately afterwards was a feeble voice, which she did not +recognize.</p> + +<p>Nor did she at first remember the face of Mrs. Bundlecombe, when that +lady was brought into her room, so much had she changed since her last +visit to Maple Cottage. She looked ten years older than when she +transferred to her pocket the twenty pounds which Lettice had paid her, +though that was barely twelve months ago.</p> + +<p>Lettice was better pleased to see her this time; but there was a sinking +at her heart as she thought from whom the old lady had come, and +wondered what her coming might mean.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bundlecombe produced from her bag a little roll of paper, and laid +it on the table with trembling hands.</p> + +<p>"There, Miss Campion," she said, taking the chair which Lettice had put +for her, "now I feel better already, and I can answer your kind +inquiries. I cannot say that I am very well, but there is nothing you +can do for me, except take the money back that I came and asked you for +a year ago. Don't say anything against it, my dear, for my Alan says it +must be done, and there is no use in trying to turn him. It is the right +method for peace of conscience, as the good Mr. Baxter said, and that +must be my apology, though I am sure you will not think it was nothing +but sinful self-seeking that made me come to you before."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand, Mrs. Bundlecombe! I simply paid you a debt, did I +not? If it was right for my father to pay (as he would have done if he +had lived), it was right for me to pay; and as it was right for me to +pay, it was right for you to ask. And it gave me pleasure, as I told you +at the time, so that I object to taking the money back again."</p> + +<p>"That is what I said to Alan, but he would not listen to me. 'Miss +Campion was not bound to pay her father's debt,' he said, 'any more than +Mr. Campion, and therefore it was wrong for you to ask either of them. +But to go to a woman,' he said, 'was more than wrong, it was mean; and I +can never look in her face again if you do not take it back and beg her +pardon.' He can be very stern, my dear, when he is not pleased, and just +now I could not disobey him if he was to tell me to go on my knees +through London town."</p> + +<p>"How did he know that I had paid you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it was yesterday; we had been in great trouble"—and here Mrs. +Bundlecombe broke down, having been very near doing it from the moment +when she entered the room. Lettice comforted her as well as she could, +and made her drink a glass of wine; and so she gradually recovered her +voice.</p> + +<p>"Well, as I was saying, my dear, in the evening, when we were quiet by +ourselves, he said to me, 'Aunt Bessy, I met Miss Campion last night, +and I gather from what she told me that you had seen one another in +London. You never mentioned that to me. When was it?' I did not want to +make a clean breast of it, but he has such a way of cross-questioning +one that I could not keep it back; and that is how it all came out. So +you must put up with it, for my sake. I dare not touch the money again, +was it ever so."</p> + +<p>"Then I must speak to Mr. Walcott about it myself, the next time I see +him, for I think he has not been just to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, my dear, he has! He is always so just, poor boy!" There was an +ominous quaver here. "And it is not as if we wanted money. I had three +or four hundred from selling the business, and Alan has nearly that +every year—but now he gives two pounds a week——"</p> + +<p>Then there was another collapse, and Lettice thought it best to let the +old woman have her cry out. Only she went over and sat by her side, and +took one of the thin hands between her own, and cried just a little to +keep her company.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear," said Mrs. Bundlecombe at last, "it is such a comfort to +have a woman to talk to. I have not had a good talk to one of my own sex +since I came up to London, unless it is the landlady in Montagu Place, +and she is a poor old antiquity like myself, with none of your soft and +gentle ways. It would do me good to tell you all we have gone through +since that bad creature found us out, but I have no right to make you +miserable with other people's sorrows. No—I will go away before I begin +to be foolish again; and my boy will be waiting for me."</p> + +<p>"If you think Mr. Walcott would not object to your telling me, and if it +will be any relief to you, do! Indeed, I think I would rather hear it."</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Bundlecombe poured out her tale to sympathetic ears, and gave +Lettice an account of Alan's married life so far as she knew it, and of +the return of the runaway, and of the compact which Alan had made with +her, and of the post-cards, and the slandering and the threats.</p> + +<p>"And the night before last he came home in a terrible rage—that would +be after seeing you, my dearie—and he walked about the room for ever so +long before he would tell me a word. And then he said,</p> + +<p>"'I have seen her again, Aunt Bessy, and she has molested me horribly +out in the street, when I was with——'</p> + +<p>"And there he stopped short, and fell on the sofa, and cried—yes, dear, +he cried like a woman, as if his heart would break; and I guessed why it +was, though he did not mention your name. For you know," said Mrs. +Bundlecombe, looking at Lettice with mournful eyes, "or leastways you +don't know, how he worships the ground——"</p> + +<p>"Don't," said Lettice, "don't tell me more than he would like. I—I +cannot bear to hear it all!"</p> + +<p>"Maybe I have said too much; but you must forgive me if I have. And so, +when he was a bit better he said that he should go next morning and tell +the lawyer that she had broken her compact, and he would not pay her any +more money, but give her notice of the divorce.</p> + +<p>"'All the heart and all the mercy is crushed out of me,' he said; 'she +has turned her venom on <i>her</i>, and she shall suffer for it.'</p> + +<p>"So in the morning he went to his lawyer. And it was the day when she +used to call for her money, and she must have called for it and been +refused, for early in the afternoon she came round to our lodgings, and +went on like a mad woman in the street, shrieking and howling, and +saying the most horrible things you can imagine. I could not tell you +half she said, about—about us all. Oh dear, oh dear! I had heard what +one of those Frenchwomen could be, but I never saw anything like it +before, and I hope I never may again!"</p> + +<p>"Was he there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he was there. And he said to me, 'If I give her in charge, it will +have to go into the police court, and anything is better than that!' But +then she mentioned—she began to say other things, and he said, 'My God, +if this is not stopped, I shall do her an injury!' So I went out, and +fetched a policeman, and that put an end to it for the time.</p> + +<p>"You can fancy that my poor Alan is nearly out of his mind, not knowing +what she may be up to next. One thing he is afraid of more than +anything: and to be sure I don't think he cares for anything else. Ever +since I let out your name on that first night he has been dreading what +might happen to you through her spite and malice!"</p> + +<p>Lettice was deeply moved by Mrs. Bundlecombe's story, and as the old +woman finished she kissed her on the cheek.</p> + +<p>"Tell him," she said, "that I have heard what he has suffered—that I +asked you, and you told me. Tell him not to think of me because I am +forewarned, and am not afraid of anything she can do. And tell him that +he should not think of punishing her, for the punishment she has brought +upon herself is enough."</p> + +<p>"I will repeat it word for word, my dearie, and it will comfort him to +have a message from you. But I doubt he will not spare her now, for she +is more than flesh and blood can bear."</p> + +<p>Then Lettice took her visitor to her mother's room, and made tea for +her, and left the two to compare notes with each other for half an hour. +Thus Mrs. Bundlecombe went away comforted, and took some comfort back +with her to the dingy room in Alfred Place.</p> + +<p>It was hard for Lettice to turn to her work again, as though nothing had +happened since she last laid down her pen. The story to which she had +listened, and the picture which it brought so vividly before her mind of +the lonely, persecuted man who pined for her love when she had no right +to give it, nor he to ask for it, compelled her to realize what she had +hitherto fought away and kept in the background. She could no longer +cheat herself with the assurance that her heart was in her own keeping, +and that her feeling for Alan was one of mere womanly pity.</p> + +<p>She loved him; and she would not go on lying to her own heart by saying +that she did not.</p> + +<p>Her character was not by any means perfect; but, as with all of us, a +mixture of good and ill—the evil and the good often springing out of +the same inborn qualities of her nature. She had a keen sense of +enjoyment in hearing and seeing new things, in broaching new ideas and +entering upon fresh fields of thought; and her appetite in these +respects was all the stronger for the gloom and seclusion in which the +earlier years of her womanhood had been spent. She was lavish in +generosity to her friends, and did not count the cost when she wanted to +be kind. But as the desire for enjoyment may be carried to the length of +self-indulgence, so there is often a selfishness in giving and a +recklessness in being over kind. Lettice, moreover, was extravagant in +the further sense that she did not look much beyond the present month or +present year of existence. She thought her sun would always shine.</p> + +<p>Her blemishes were quite compatible with her virtues, with the general +right-mindedness and brave performance of duty which had hitherto marked +her life. She was neither bad nor perhaps very good, but just such a +woman as Nature selects to be the instrument of her most mysterious +workings.</p> + +<p>If Lettice admitted to herself the defeat which she had sustained in one +quarter, she was all the less disposed to accept a check elsewhere. Her +will to resist a hopeless love was broken down, but that only increased +the strength of her determination to conceal the weakness from every +eye, to continue the struggle of life as though there were no flaw in +her armor, and to work indefatigably for the independence of thought and +feeling and action which she valued above all other possessions.</p> + +<p>So she chained herself to her desk, and finished her romance, which in +its later chapters gained intensity of pathos and dramatic insight from +the constant immolation of her own heart as she imagined the martyrdoms +and sacrifices of others.</p> + +<p>The story which was to make her famous had been conceived in sorrow, and +it became associated with the greatest sufferings of her life. She had +scarcely sent it off to the publisher, in the month of October, when her +mother, who had been gradually failing both in body and in mind, quietly +passed away in her sleep. No death could have been easier. The heart had +done its work, and ceased to beat; but though Lettice was spared the +grief which she would have felt if her mother had lingered long on a +painful death-bed, the shock was still very severe. For a time she was +entirely prostrated by it. The manifold strain upon her mind had tried +her too much, and for several weeks after the funeral Clara Graham was +nursing her through a dangerous illness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>"TO THY CHAMBER WINDOW, SWEET!"</h3> + + +<p>The message which had been sent by Lettice to Alan, by the mouth of Mrs. +Bundlecombe, had not lost much in its transit.</p> + +<p>"Tell him," she had said, "that I have heard what he has suffered. Tell +him not to trouble for me because I am forewarned, and am not afraid of +anything she can do. And tell him that he should not think of punishing +her, for the punishment she has brought on herself is enough."</p> + +<p>It had consoled him greatly to have this assurance of her sympathy. He +did not presume too far on the mere fact of her having sent him a +message, and the words themselves did not amount to very much. But if +she had cared nothing at all, she would have said nothing at all; and +perhaps the description which his aunt gave him of Lettice's kindness to +her, and of her interest in the story which she had heard, did more to +appease his heart than anything else.</p> + +<p>It was his full intention to do all that was possible to deliver himself +from the bondage of his unhappy marriage, and in the meantime he would +take every precaution to prevent Lettice from being annoyed by this +termagant of a woman. But he rejoiced to think that Lettice herself was +in some manner prepared for what might happen to her, and was on her +guard against the danger.</p> + +<p>There was a certain sweetness in the thought that they shared this +danger between them, that his enemy was hers also, and that she had +voluntarily ranged herself by his side. A feeling of satisfaction +flashed through his mind at this community of interests with the woman +whom he loved, but it was merged at once in the conviction that he could +not be content for one single moment to leave her exposed to the +possibility of insult from Cora.</p> + +<p>She had commanded him not to punish his wife. It was very difficult for +him to obey. This bitterness against the degraded wretch was roused to +its highest pitch by her last outbreak. If she would only die out of his +life—die in any sense, so that he might hear and see her no more—he +would not ask for her punishment. If she would cease to be his wife, and +enable him to stand beside the pure and steadfast woman whose gentle +influence had transformed his soul, he would forgive her. There was no +way in which this could be done except by exposing her before the world, +and depriving her of all right to look to him for support, and in the +doing of this he knew full well there would be no room for weak pity and +misgiving.</p> + +<p>He could not forgive her if that was to mean that he should keep her as +his wife, and go on trying to buy her silence. He did not want to +inflict pain upon her out of mere resentment, and if he could have his +way in the matter of the divorce he was quite willing that she should +have some of his money. He would be so rich without her that he would +gladly go out into the street then and there, stripped of everything +that he possessed, if in that way he could shake off the galling fetters +that weighed upon him.</p> + +<p>To-morrow he would tell his lawyer that she was to have her weekly money +again, on condition of her solemnly renewing her engagement not to +molest him in any way, and not to interfere with any of his friends. She +would probably regard the offer as a sign of weakness, but at any rate +it would put her on her good behavior for a time. He would do this for +Lettice's sake, if not for his own.</p> + +<p>He knew with whom he had to deal, and of what this raving woman was +capable. If she had been English, or German, and had gone utterly to the +bad, she might by this time have been lethargically besotted, and would +have given him very little trouble so long as she received her two +pounds a week. But Cora was Latin, and belonged to the same race as the +poet who drew the harpies, and the Gorgons, and mad Dido, and frenzied +Camilla, who had painted in a hundred forms the unrestrained fury of his +countrywomen, when the grace and tenderness of their sex had deserted +them. She also was besotted at times, but whenever she was not besotted +her mind was full of vivacity, and her anger was as a whirlwind, and +neither fear nor prudence could hold her in check. Alan knew her only +too well, even before she had tried to kill him in France, and he had no +doubt that the outbreak of the last few days was only the beginning of a +persecution which she would maintain so long as she had the power to +injure him.</p> + +<p>For himself he had already resolved what to do. Even his aunt must not +be subject to these annoyances, and he bade her pack up her things and +go to an old friend of hers in the country. He would leave his present +lodging and get housed somewhere out of her reach. Why should he remain +at her mercy, when it did not matter to any one where he lived, and when +certainly no householder would endure a lodger who was liable to be +visited by a madwoman?</p> + +<p>But Lettice? How could she be defended from attack? It was clear that +Cora was jealous of her, or at all events maliciously set against her. +It had required very little to produce that effect. Heaven knew that +Lettice had done nothing to excite jealousy even in the mind of a +blameless wife, entitled to the most punctilious respect and +consideration of her husband. If only Lettice could be placed in safety, +carried away from London to some happy haven where no enemy could follow +and torment her, and where he might guard her goings and comings, he +would be content to play the part of a watch-dog, if by that means he +could be near her and serve her!</p> + +<p>Something impelled him to get up and leave the house. It was dark by +this time, and he wandered aimlessly through the streets; but by and by, +without any conscious intention, he found himself walking rapidly in the +direction of Hammersmith.</p> + +<p>Eight o'clock had struck when he left his lodgings in Alfred Place, and +it was after nine when he stood at the corner where the main-road passes +by the entrance to Brook Green. He had never once looked behind him; +and, even if he had, he would scarcely have detected in the darkness the +figure which dogged his steps with obstinate persistence.</p> + +<p>He hesitated for a minute or more at the corner, and then walked slowly +round the Green. Opposite to Maple Cottage there was a large tree, and +underneath it, barely visible from the pavement, a low wooden seat. Here +he sat down, and watched the dimly-lighted windows.</p> + +<p>Why had he come there? What was in his mind when he turned his face to +Lettice's cottage, and sat patiently looking out of the darkness? He +could not have answered the questions if they had been put to him. But +he felt a sense of comfort in knowing that she was so near, and pleased +himself with the thought that even for these few minutes he was guarding +her from unseen dangers.</p> + +<p>He may have been sitting there for half-an-hour—a hundred images +chasing each other through his disordered brain—when suddenly a blind +in the cottage was drawn up. For a moment he saw the form of Lettice as +she stood at the window, with a lamp in her hand, framed like a picture +by the ivy which covered the wall. Then the shutters closed, and he was +left alone in the darkness. Alone, as he thought: but he was not alone. +He had started to his feet when her face appeared at the window, and +stood with his arms extended, as though he would reach through space to +touch her. Then, as she disappeared, he softly murmured her name.</p> + +<p>"Lettice! My Lettice!"</p> + +<p>A harsh laugh grated on his ears. It came from the other side of the +tree, and Alan sprang in the direction of the sound. He need not have +hastened, for his wife had no desire to conceal her presence. She was +coming forward to meet him; and there, in the middle of the Green, +shrouded in almost complete darkness, the two stood face to face.</p> + +<p>"Tiens, mon ami; te voilà!"</p> + +<p>She was in her mocking mood—certain to be quiet for a few minutes, as +Alan told himself the moment he recognized her. What was she doing here? +He had thought that she did not know where Lettice lived; how had she +discovered the place? It did not occur to him that his own folly had +betrayed the secret; on the contrary, he blessed the instinct which had +brought him to the spot just when he was wanted. "A spirit in my feet +hath led me to thy chamber window, sweet!" All this passed through his +mind in a couple of seconds.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am here. And you! How came you here?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing more simple. I came on my feet. But you walked quick, my dear; +I could hardly keep up with you at times."</p> + +<p>"You followed me!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I followed you—all the way from Alfred Place. I wanted so much to +know where she lived, and I said, 'He shall show me. He, who would not +for worlds that I should know—he will be my sign-post.' Pouf! you men +are stupid creatures. I must be cunning with you, my good husband who +would leave me to starve—who would divorce me, and marry this woman, +and cut the hated Cora out of your life. But no, my poor child, it shall +not be. So long as we live, we two, Cora will never desert you. It is my +only consolation, that I shall be able to follow every step of your +existence as I followed you to-night, without your knowing where I am, +or at what moment I may stand before you."</p> + +<p>"Let us walk," said Alan, "and talk things over. Why stand here?"</p> + +<p>"You are afraid that I shall make another scandal, and rouse the +virtuous Lettice from her pillow, with the sound of her name screamed +out in the night? Ha, ha! How the poor coward trembles! Have no fear! +Twice in a week your brutal police have seized me, and I do not love +their kind attentions. Now and then I may defy them, when I need an +excitement of that kind; but not to-night. To-night I mean to be clever, +and show you how I can twist a cold-blooded Englishman round my finger. +If you go, then I will scream—it is a woman's bludgeon, my child, as +her tongue is her dagger. Bah! be quiet and listen to me. You shall not +divorce me, for if you try I will accuse you of all sorts of +things—basenesses that will blast your name for ever."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid of you," said Alan. "For anything I know, you have a +pistol under your cloak—shoot me. I took you to love and cherish, and +you have made my life a hell. What good is it? Shoot!"</p> + +<p>"No; that makes a noise. In Paris I would shoot you, for it is you who +have destroyed my life. But in London you do not understand these +things, so that I must act differently. Listen! If you try to divorce +me, and do not pay me my money, I have one or two little pistol-shots à +l'anglaise which will suit you perfectly. Shall I tell you what I would +say, to anyone who would listen to me—in court, in the street, +anywhere?"</p> + +<p>"As you please."</p> + +<p>"First, that you fired at me at Culoz, and that I can bring forward +witnesses of the attempted assassination."</p> + +<p>"That is pure nonsense; I am not to be frightened by such child's play."</p> + +<p>"Second, so far as the divorce is concerned, that whatever my offence +may have been, you have condoned it. Do you not understand, my friend? +Did I not find shelter in your rooms in Montagu Place? I would have a +good lawyer, who would know how to make the most of that."</p> + +<p>"Have you nothing stronger to rely on?"</p> + +<p>"Listen; you shall tell me. My third pistol-shot is this—that you were +wont to make private assignations with Miss Lettice Campion, and that +you had been seen dropping from her window, here in Brook Green, at +midnight. What do you think of that, for example?"</p> + +<p>"Vile wretch!" said Alan. "Your malice has robbed you of your senses. +Who would believe you?"</p> + +<p>"Do not be a child. Are you English, and do you ask who would believe a +woman telling these tales of a man? Do you not know that men are ruined +every day in England by the lies of women? The better the man, the more +abandoned the woman, the more incredible her lies, so much the more +certain is his condemnation. Bah, you know it! I should not hesitate +about the lies, and, if I made them sufficiently repulsive, your noble +countrymen would not hesitate to believe them. Do you doubt it? What +think you of my plan?"</p> + +<p>He made no answer; he was trying to command himself.</p> + +<p>"Now, tell me! Shall I have my money as usual?"</p> + +<p>"Before I left the house," he said, "I had resolved that the money ought +to be paid to you. So long as you are my wife, you ought not to starve."</p> + +<p>"Good! It is an annuity for life!"</p> + +<p>"No. I would give a hand or an eye to be free from you."</p> + +<p>"They would be useless to me, my dear. Would you give the fair fame of +Lettice? It will cost no less."</p> + +<p>"Let that pass!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we will let that pass. Then, I receive my money as usual?"</p> + +<p>"Go to Mr. Larmer to-morrow; he will pay it."</p> + +<p>"I hate this Mr. Larmer—he is an animal without manners. But no matter. +I am glad you are reasonable, my friend. You buy a respite for a few +weeks. I shall forget you with all my heart—until I have a migraine, +and suddenly remember you again. But it is too cheap; I cannot live +decently on this paltry sum. Good-bye, my child—and gare +aux-migraines!"</p> + +<p>She was gone, and Alan was left alone. He had dug his nails into the +palms of his hands, in the effort to restrain himself, until the blood +came; and long after the mocking fiend had departed he sat silent on the +bench, half-stupefied with rage and despair.</p> + +<p>Was he really the coward that he felt himself, to listen to her +shameless threats, and tremble at the thought of her machinations? +Lettice had told him that she was not afraid; but ought he not to be +afraid for her, and do all that was possible to avert a danger from her +which he would not fear on his own account?</p> + +<p>Ah, if he could only take counsel with her, how wise and brave she would +be; how he would be encouraged by her advice and strengthened by her +sympathy! But he knew that it was impossible to call to his aid the +woman whom it was his first duty to protect from annoyance. She should +never know the torture he was enduring until it had came to an end, and +he could tell it with his own lips as an indifferent story of the past.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>A SLEEPY NOOK.</h3> + + +<p>Three miles from Angleford, on the other side of the river, and hidden +away by trees on every side, sleeps the lazy little village of +Birchmead. So lazy is the place—so undisturbed have been its slumbers, +from generation to generation, that it might puzzle the most curious to +think why a village should be built there at all. There is no ford +through the river, and, though a leaky ferryboat makes occasional +journeys from one side to the other, the path which leads to the bank is +too precipitous for any horse to tread. The only route by which a cart +can enter Birchmead branches off from the Dorminster Road, across a +quarter of a mile of meadows: and when the gate of the first meadow is +closed, the village is completely shut in on every side. The world +scarcely knows it, and it does not know the world—its life is "but a +sleep and a forgetting."</p> + +<p>The place has a history of its own, which can be told in a couple of +sentences. Two hundred years ago an eccentric member of the family to +which the country-side belonged had chosen to set up here a little +community on his own account, shaped on a model which, universally +applied would doubtless regenerate the world. He built, out of stone, a +farmhouse and barns, and a score of cottages for his working-men, and +there he spent his life and his money, nursing for some thirty years his +dream of hard work and perfect satisfaction. Then he died, and a farmer +without his faith and wealth succeeded him, and the hamlet lost its +originality, and became as much like other hamlets as its love of sleep +and pride of birth would allow.</p> + +<p>One thing saves it from desertion and extinction. It has a reputation, +over half a county, for being one of the most healthy and +life-prolonging spots in England. It certainly contains a remarkable +number of old men and women, some of whom have come from the neighboring +towns to end their lives in the weather-proof stone cottages and fertile +allotments which remain at this day precisely as they were built and +measured out by the philanthropic squire in the seventeenth century. +Other cottages have been run up in the meantime, and a few villas of a +more pretentious character; but there is always a brisk competition for +the substantial domiciles, as snug and sound as any almshouse, which +encircle the village green of Birchmead.</p> + +<p>In one of these cottages Mrs. Bundlecombe found a refuge when Alan sent +her away from London. It was in the occupation of an old friend with +whom she had been on intimate terms at Thorley—a widow like herself, +blessed by Heaven with a perennial love of flowers and vegetables, and +recognized by all her neighbors as the best gardener and neatest +housewife in the community. With Mrs. Chigwin, Alan's aunt was happier +than she had ever hoped to be again, and the only drawback to her +felicity was the thought of her nephew's troubles and solitude.</p> + +<p>The next cottage to Mrs. Chigwin's was inhabited by old Mrs. Harrington, +the grandmother of Lettice's first maid. There had been no love lost +between Mrs. Bundlecombe and Mrs. Harrington, when they once lived in +the same town. The grudge had arisen out of a very small matter. The +bookseller's' wife had sold a Bible to Mrs. Harrington, in the absence +of her husband, for twopence more than Mr. Bundlecombe had demanded for +the same book, from some common acquaintance of both parties to the +bargain, on the previous day; and this common acquaintance having seen +the book and depreciated it a few weeks later, the purchaser had an +abiding sense of having been outrageously duped and cheated. She had +come to the shop and expressed herself to this effect, in no moderate +terms; and Mrs. Bundlecombe, whilst returning the twopence, had made +some disparaging remarks on the other lady's manners, meanness, dress, +age, and general inferiority. The affront had never been quite forgotten +on either side, and it was not without much ruffling of their mental +plumage that the two old bodies found themselves established within a +few yards of each other.</p> + +<p>The squire's cottages at Birchmead were detached, but their ample +gardens had only a low wall between them, so that the neighboring +occupiers could not well avoid an occasional display of their mutual +disposition, whether good or bad. It was close upon winter when Mrs. +Bundlecombe arrived in the village, and very wet weather, so that there +was no immediate clashing of souls across the garden wall; but in +November there came a series of fine warm days, when no one who had a +garden could find any excuse for staying indoors. Accordingly, one +morning Mrs. Chigwin, who knew what was amiss between her friends, +seeing Mrs. Harrington pacing the walk on the other side of the wall, +determined to bring about a meeting, and, if possible, a reconciliation.</p> + +<p>"Elizabeth, my dear, that gravel looks perfectly dry. You must come out +in the sun, and see the last of my poor flowers."</p> + +<p>"Martha Chigwin," said her visitor, with a solemn face; "do you see that +woman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see her. What then?"</p> + +<p>"I do not nurse wrath, my love, but I cannot abide her."</p> + +<p>"Are not six years long enough to remember a little thing of that sort? +Come along, Elizabeth; you will find that she has grown quite civil and +pleasant-spoken since you used to know her."</p> + +<p>So they went out into the garden, and the two ancient foes sniffed and +bridled at each other as they approached through the transparent screen +of tall yellow chrysanthemums which lined Mrs. Chigwin's side of the +wall.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Harrington," said the peacemaker, "there is no need for me to +introduce you to my old friend, Elizabeth Bundlecombe, who has come to +pay me a nice long visit. We shall be her neighbors and close friends, I +hope, and if you will do me the favor to come in this afternoon and +drink a cup of tea with us, we shall be very glad to see you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you kindly, Mrs. Chigwin. Good-morning to you, Mrs. Bundlecombe. +I hear you have been living in London, ma'am, quite grand, as the saying +is!"</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Harrington, not grand at all, ma'am. Don't say so. I have +known what trouble is since my poor dear husband died, and I shall never +feel like being grand again."</p> + +<p>"Never again, ma'am? Well, I am sure that Mrs. Bundlecombe knows how to +bear her fortune, whether good or bad. Did you say never again, ma'am?"</p> + +<p>The old lady seemed to take this phrase as a kind of comprehensive and +dignified apology for the past, which ought to be met in a conciliatory +manner.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, Mrs. Bundlecombe, bygones is bygones, and there's no more +to be said about it. Not but what principle is principle, be it twopence +or twenty pounds."</p> + +<p>"Allowance must be made, Mrs. Harrington, for the feelings of the +moment."</p> + +<p>"On both sides, ma'am," said Mrs. Harrington.</p> + +<p>"Like reasonable parties," said Mrs. Bundlecombe.</p> + +<p>Then they nodded at each other with much vigor, and shook hands across +the top of the wall through the branches of the chrysanthemums. Thus +vaguely, but with a clear understanding on the part of both combatants, +peace was made, and good relations were established. Mrs. Chigwin was +delighted at the easy way in which the difficulty had been overcome, and +in the afternoon she treated her friends in such a genuinely hospitable +and considerate fashion that they were soon perfectly at their ease. +Indeed, the three old people became very intimate, and spent their +Christmas together in peace and charity.</p> + +<p>Alan came over one day early in February to see his aunt, and make sure +that she was as comfortable as she professed to be. It was a +characteristic proceeding on his part. Mrs. Bundlecombe, as the reader +may have observed, was not very poetic in her taste, and not so refined +in manners as most of the women with whom Alan now associated. But he +always thought of her as the sister of his mother, to whom he had been +romantically attached; and he had good reason, moreover, to appreciate +her devotion to himself during the last year or so. He found her fairly +happy, and said nothing which might disturb her peace of mind. Lettice +Campion, he told her, had recovered from a serious illness, and had gone +on the Continent for a few weeks with Mrs. Hartley. He was bent on +obtaining a divorce, and expected the case to come on shortly. This he +treated as a matter for unmixed rejoicing; and he casually declared that +he had not seen "the Frenchwoman" for eight or ten weeks; which was true +enough, but only because he was carefully keeping out of her way. And it +was a poor equivocation, as the reader will presently see.</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Bundlecome flattered herself that things were going fairly well +with her nephew, and she possessed her soul in patience.</p> + +<p>Now as Alan sat talking to his aunt in Mrs. Chigwin's best room, looking +out upon the garden on Mrs. Harrington's side, he suddenly started, and +stopped short in what he was saying.</p> + +<p>"Why, Aunt Bessy, who on earth is living next door to you?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bundlecombe looked where he pointed, and was almost as much +surprised as himself to see Lettice's former maid, Milly, walking in the +garden with all the airs and graces of a grand lady. She had on a fur +cloak, and a little cap to match, and she looked so handsome and +well-dressed that it would not have been surprising if Alan had not +recognized her. But Milly's pretty face, once seen, was not easily +forgotten; and, as she was associated with Lettice in Alan's mind, he +had all the more reason for recalling her features.</p> + +<p>"That is the first I have seen of her in these parts," said Mrs. +Bundlecombe. "You remember that Miss Campion had a Thorley girl at Maple +Cottage, who left her five or six months ago?"</p> + +<p>"I remember your telling me so—Milly, she used to be called?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Emily Harrington. That is the girl, without a doubt. Her +grandmother lives over yonder; but I never knew that she was expecting a +visit from this fine lady. Only last week she was telling me that she +had not heard from Milly for several months. There was a letter from her +before Christmas, to say that she was married and traveling abroad."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bundlecombe shook her head dubiously from side to side, and +continued the motion for some time. She was thinking how much money it +would have taken to buy that sealskin cloak; but, however far her doubts +may have carried her, she did not give utterance to them in words.</p> + +<p>"She is certainly very nice-looking," said Alan. "And she seems to be +getting on in the world. Perhaps she has made a good marriage; I should +not at all wonder."</p> + +<p>"Well, it is charitable to hope so," said Aunt Bessy, with an expression +in her face that was anything but hopeful. "I can't forgive her for +leaving Miss Campion in such a hurry. I suppose she wanted to better +herself, as those minxes always say. As if anyone could be better off +than living with <i>her</i>!"</p> + +<p>Alan turned round to the window again, and looked out. His aunt's words +touched a chord in his heart, which vibrated strongly. To live with her, +in any capacity whatever—assuredly that would be the highest attainable +good. To draw from her gentle presence that bliss of absolute rest and +ease which he had never known until he came to know her—to talk and +listen without a shadow of reserve, forgetting self, unashamed of any +inferiority which his mind might show in comparison with hers, unafraid +of giving offense to that sweet and well-poised nature—to look upon her +face, almost infantile in its ingenuous expression, yet with indomitable +strength in the clear grey eyes which revealed the soul within—to live +with her would indeed be perfect happiness!</p> + +<p>And the more he felt this, the less hopeful he was of realizing his +aspiration. She had been ill, at the point of death, and he could not be +near her. He had inquired of her progress at the Grahams' house, but +always in fear lest he should bring sorrow to her, or annoyance to them. +The creature whom he had made his wife was never absent from his +thoughts. In his most despondent moments he ceased to believe that he +would ever be able to shake her off. She haunted him, asleep or awake, +at his meals and at his books, in his quiet lodging or when he stole out +for a solitary walk. He tried to persuade himself that he exaggerated +his trouble, and that there were plenty of men under similar +circumstances who would not allow their peace of mind to be disturbed. +But if he was weaker than others, that did not make his pain less +bitter. He feared her, and dreaded the fulfilment of her threats; yet +not so much on his own account as because they were directed against +Lettice.</p> + +<p>It was no consolation to him to think that the law would punish +her—that the police would remove her as a drunken brawler—that the +courts could give him his divorce, or perhaps shut her up as a madwoman. +What good would even a divorce be to him if she had slandered Lettice, +blackened his character, alienated all whom he loved, and remained alive +to be the curse and poison of his existence?</p> + +<p>As he pondered these things in his heart, the trouble which he had +fought off when he came down into the country that morning returned upon +him with renewed force. He had fled from town to escape from the agony +of shame and disgust which she had once more inflicted on him, and he +groaned aloud as he thought of what had happened in the last few days.</p> + +<p>"I think I must have a touch of the gout," he said, turning round to +where his aunt was sitting, with a pleasant smile on his face. "It +catches me sometimes with such a sudden twinge that I cannot help crying +out like that."</p> + +<p>Aunt Bessy looked hard at him, and shook her head; but she said nothing.</p> + +<p>Soon after that, Alan went away; and he had not been gone half-an-hour, +when there came a gentle rap at the cottage door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bundlecombe opened it at once, and found, as she had expected, that +the visitor was none other than our old friend Milly. Aunt Bessy had had +a few minutes to prepare herself for this scene, and was therefore able +to comport herself, as she imagined, with proper dignity. Affecting not +to see the pretty hand which was held out to her, she started back, +looked inquisitively into the other's face, and then cried out, as she +turned her head round upon her shoulders, "Well, Martha! Martha Chigwin! +Here is an old acquaintance come to see us. Emily Harrington, love, Mrs. +Harrington's grand-daughter, who went to live with Miss Campion in +London. Well, you did surprise me!" she said in a more quiet voice. +"Come in and sit down, Emily Harrington!"</p> + +<p>"Granny told me you were here," said Milly, a little taken aback by this +reception, "so I thought I must come in and see how you were."</p> + +<p>"We are very well, thank you kindly, Milly. And how are you? But there +is no need to ask you, for you look a picture of health, and spirits, +and—and good luck, Milly Harrington!"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I am very well. You don't know that I have been married since +you saw me last. My name is Mrs. Beadon now."</p> + +<p>She drew off her glove as she spoke, and let her long hand fall upon her +lap, so that the old ladies might see her wedding-ring and keeper.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Bundlecombe, in a mollified voice, "if you +are married to a good man, I am very glad, indeed. And I hope he is well +to-do, and makes you happy. You are nicely dressed, Milly, but nice +clothes are not everything, are they?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, they are not. Oh, yes, Mr. Beadon is good to me in every +way, so you need not trouble yourself on my account."</p> + +<p>After that preliminary sparring, they became friendly enough. Milly was +quite at her ease when her position as a wife was established, and she +amused her hearers by a lively account of her recent fortunes and +adventures—some of them, perhaps, slightly fictitious in character, +others exaggerated and glorified. Her husband, she told them, was a +great traveler, and was sometimes out of England for six months or a +year at a time. He had just gone abroad again, and she had taken the +opportunity of coming to see her grandmother—and even of living with +her for awhile, if she found Birchmead supportable. They were not rich, +but Mr. Beadon allowed her quite enough to live comfortably upon.</p> + +<p>So she played the grand lady in the hamlet, to her own infinite +satisfaction. But now and again she had business to transact in London, +and then she would send to Thorley for a cab, and take the afternoon +train to Liverpool Street, and return in about twenty-four hours, +generally with some little present in her bag for her grandmother, or +grandmother's friends.</p> + +<p>None the less did poor Milly find that time hung heavy on her hands. She +had not yet clipped the wings of her ambition, and she still pined for a +wider sphere in which to satisfy her vague and restless longings. +However she might brave it out to others, she was very far from being +happy; and now and then she took herself to task, and admitted that all +she had, and all she hoped for, would be but a small price to give if +she could purchase once more the freedom of her girlhood.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>SIR JOHN'S GLOXINIAS.</h3> + + +<p>Whatever may have been the intention of Nature when she produced Sir +John Pynsent, there was no doubt as to his own conception of the part +which he was fitted to play in the world.</p> + +<p>He considered himself, and indeed he was, above all things, a +manipulator of men. His talents in this direction had been displayed at +school and at college, and when he settled down to political life in +London, and impulsively began to suggest, to persuade, to contrive, and +to organize, everyone with whom he came in contact acknowledged a +superior mind, or, at any rate, a more ingenious and fertile mind. He +had refused to bind himself down to an office, as his friends wanted him +to do, or to take part in the direction of a "Central Association" for +dealing with men in the lump. It was absurd to think of tying Sir John +to a place, or a routine, or a pledge of any kind. His art was to be +ubiquitous; he aspired to be the great permeator of the Conservative +party; and by sheer force of activity he soon became the best known and +most popular of the younger generation of Tories.</p> + +<p>His triumphs as a manager of men were not confined to public life. He +was one of a numerous family, and he managed them all. Every Pynsent +deferred to Sir John's opinion, not merely because he was the head of +the house, but because he had assumed the command, and justified the +assumption by his shrewdness and common-sense.</p> + +<p>The one person in the family who gave most anxiety was his half-sister, +Anna. Sir John's father had married a second time, when his son was a +youth at Eton, and Anna, the fruit of this union, inherited, not only +her mother's jointure of twenty thousand pounds, but a considerable +fortune from her mother's elder brother, who had been a manufacturer in +Vanebury. This fortune had been allowed to accumulate for the last +eighteen years, as her father, and after him, her brother, had provided +her with a home, and disdained to touch "Nan's money." Sir John was a +very good brother to her, and it was even rumored that he had married +early chiefly for the purpose of providing Nan with an efficient +chaperon. Whether this was true or not, he had certainly married a woman +who suited him admirably; Lady Pynsent sympathized in all his tastes and +ambitions, gave excellent dinner parties, and periodically brought a +handsome boy into the world to inherit the family name and embarrass the +family resources. At present there were five of these boys, but as the +family resources were exceedingly large, and Sir John was a most +affectionate parent, the advent of each had been hailed with increasing +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>It was a great relief to Sir John's mind to find that his wife and his +sister were such good friends. He might be a manipulator of man, but he +was not—he acknowledged to himself—always successful in his +manipulation of women. If Selina had found Nan in the way, or if Nan had +been jealous of Selina and Selina's babies, Sir John felt that he would +have been placed on the horns of a dilemma. But this had not been the +case. Nan was in the schoolroom when Lady Pynsent first arrived at +Culverley, and the child had been treated with kindness and discretion. +Nan repaid the kindness by an extravagant fondness for her little +nephews, who treated her abominably, and the discretion by an absolute +surrender of her will to Lady Pynsent's as far as her intercourse with +the outer world was concerned. With her inner life, she considered that +Lady Pynsent had not much to do, and it was in its manifestation that +Sir John observed the signs which made him anxious.</p> + +<p>Nan, he said to himself, was a handsome girl, and one whom many men were +sure to admire. Also, she had sixty thousand pounds of her own, of which +she would be absolute mistress when she was twenty-one. It was a sum +which was sure to attract fortune-hunters; and how could he tell whether +Nan would not accept her first offer, and then stick to an unsuitable +engagement with all the obstinacy which she was capable of displaying? +Nan sometimes made odd friends, and would not give them up at anybody's +bidding. How about the man she married? She would have her own way in +that matter—Sir John was sure of it—and, after refusing all the +eligible young men within reach, would (he told his wife repeatedly) end +by taking up with a crooked stick at last.</p> + +<p>"I don't think she'll do that," said Lady Pynsent when her husband +appealed in this way to her. "Nan is very <i>difficile</i>. She is more +likely to remain unmarried than marry an unsuitable man."</p> + +<p>"Unmarried!" Sir John threw up his hands. "She <i>must</i> marry! Why, if she +doesn't marry, she is just the girl to take up a thousand fads—to make +herself the laughing-stock of the county!"</p> + +<p>"She will not do that; she has too much good taste."</p> + +<p>"Good taste won't avail her! You know what her plans are already, to +live in Vanebury as soon as she is twenty-one, and devote herself to the +welfare of the working-people! Don't you call that a fad? Won't she make +a laughing stock of herself and of us too? Why, it's worse than +Radicalism—it's pure Socialism and Quixotry," said poor Sir John, who +was proud of his Toryism.</p> + +<p>His wife only shook her head, and said, drily, that she would not +undertake to prophesy.</p> + +<p>"Prophesy? My dear Selina, I merely want you to exert common caution and +foresight. There is but one thing to do with Anna. We must get her +married as soon as ever we can, before she is twenty-one, if possible. +She must marry a man on our own side, some years older than herself—a +man of the world, who will look after her property and teach her +common-sense—a man who can restrain her, and guide her, and make her +happy. I would give a thousand pounds to find such a man."</p> + +<p>But in his own heart the baronet believed that he had found him, for he +thought of his friend, Sydney Campion.</p> + +<p>Campion had small private means, if any; he knew that; but then he +seemed likely to be one of the foremost men of the day, and if he could +achieve his present position at his age, what would he not be in ten +years' time? Quite a match for Anna Pynsent, in spite of her beauty and +her sixty thousand pounds. If Nan had been a little more commonplace, +Sir John would have aspired higher for her. But there was a strain of +"quixotry," as he called it, in her nature, which made him always +uncertain as to her next action. And he felt that it would be a relief +to him to have her safely married to a friend of his own, and one whom +he could influence, if necessary, in the right direction, like Sydney +Campion.</p> + +<p>Campion was a handsome fellow, too, and popular, Sir John believed, with +the ladies. It was all the more odd and unaccountable that Nan seemed to +have taken a dislike to him. She would not talk about his doings; she +would go out if she thought that he was likely to call. Sir John could +not understand it. And Campion seemed shy of coming to the house in +Eaton Square when the Pynsents returned to town; he was pleasant enough +with Sir John at the Club, but he did not appear to wish for much social +intercourse with Sir John's wife and sister. The worthy baronet would +have been a little huffed, but for the preoccupation of his mind with +other matters, chiefly political.</p> + +<p>But this was in November and December; and he knew that Campion's mother +had lately died, and that he was anxious about that clever sister of +his, who had lately written a good novel, and then been ill, and had +gone to Italy. There was that Walcott affair, too, which had lately come +to Sir John's ears, a very awkward affair for Campion to have his +sister's name mixed up in. Probably that was the reason why he was +holding back. Very nice of Campion, very nice. And Sir John became +doubly cordial in his manner, and pressed Sydney to dine with him next +week.</p> + +<p>With some reluctance, Sydney accepted the invitation. He had been +perilously near making a fool of himself with Miss Pynsent, and he knew +that she had found it out. It was quite enough to make him feel angry +and resentful, and to wish to avoid her. At the same time, he was +conscious of a feeling of regret that he had muddled matters so +completely—for Miss Pynsent was a lovely girl, her violin-playing was +delicious, she had sixty thousand pounds, and Sir John was his friend.</p> + +<p>Sydney lost himself for a moment in a reverie.</p> + +<p>"Not very likely," he said, waking up with a rather uneasy laugh. "At +the best of times, I should never have had much chance. There are a good +many reasons against it now." And it was with a slight shade upon his +brow that he dismissed the matter from his mind and applied himself to +business.</p> + +<p>He need not have troubled himself. When he went to dine in Eaton Square, +Miss Pynsent was absent. She had gone to spend the evening with a +friend. Evidently, thought Sydney, with an odd feeling of discomfiture, +because she wanted to avoid him. How ridiculous it was! What a +self-conscious little fool she must be to take offense at a compliment, +even if it were rather obvious, and not in the best possible taste! He +began to feel angry with Miss Pynsent. It did not occur to him for some +time that he was expending a great deal of unusual warmth and irritation +on a very trifling matter. What were Miss Pynsent and her opinions to +him? Other women admired him, if she did not; other women were ready +enough to accept his flattery. But just because there was one thing out +of his reach, one woman who showed a positive distaste for his society, +Sydney, like the spoiled child of the world that he was, was possessed +by a secret hankering for that one thing, for the good opinion of the +woman who would have none of him. Vanity was chiefly to blame for this +condition of things; but Sydney's vanity was a plant of very long and +steady growth.</p> + +<p>He saw nothing more of the Pynsents, however, until February, when, on +the day of the first drawing-room, he ran up against Sir John in +Piccadilly.</p> + +<p>"Come along," said Sir John instantly, "I want you to come to my wife's. +I'm late, and she won't scold me if you are with me. I shall use you as +a buffer."</p> + +<p>Sydney laughed and shook his head. "Very sorry, too busy, I'm afraid," +he began.</p> + +<p>But Sir John would not be baffled. He had put his hand within Sydney's +arm and was walking him rapidly down —— Street.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, we've not seen you for an age. You may just as well +look in this afternoon. Nan's been presented to-day, and there's a +drawing-room tea going on—a function of adoration to the dresses, I +believe. The women will take it as a personal compliment if you come and +admire them."</p> + +<p>Mentally, Sydney shrugged his shoulders. He had had enough of paying +compliments to Miss Pynsent. But he saw that there was no help for it. +Sir John would be offended if he did not go, and really he had no +engagement. And he rather wondered how Miss Pynsent would look in Court +attire. She had worn a plain cotton and a flapping straw hat when he saw +her last.</p> + +<p>Lady Pynsent's drawing-room was crowded, but she greeted her husband and +Mr. Campion with great cordiality. She was wearing an elaborate costume +of blue velvet and blush-rose satin, and bore an indescribable +resemblance to a cockatoo. A dowager in black satin and two <i>débutantes</i> +in white, who belonged to some country place and were resting at Lady +Pynsent's house before going home in the evening, were also present; but +at first Sydney did not see Nan Pynsent. She had entered a little +morning-room, with two or three friends of her own age, who wanted to +inspect her dress more narrowly; and it was not until Sydney had been in +the room for five or ten minutes that she reappeared.</p> + +<p>Was this stately and beautiful woman Nan Pynsent indeed? Sydney was not +learned in the art of dress, or he might have appraised more exactly the +effect produced by the exquisite lace, the soft white ostrich feathers, +the milk-white pearls, that Nan was wearing on this memorable occasion. +He was well accustomed by this time to the sight of pretty girls and +pretty dresses; but there was something in Miss Pynsent's face and +figure which struck him with a new and almost reluctant sort of +admiration.</p> + +<p>He was looking at her, without knowing how intent his gaze had become, +when she glanced round and caught his eye. She bowed and colored +slightly; then, after saying a word to Lady Pynsent, she came towards +him. Sydney was uncomfortably conscious that her evident intention to +speak to him made her a little nervous.</p> + +<p>She held out her long, slim hand, and favored him with the pleasantest +of smiles.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Mr. Campion? I have not met you for a long time, I +think. How good of you to come to-day! Lady Pynsent is so pleased."</p> + +<p>There was nothing for Sydney to do but to respond in the same gracious +strain; but he was certainly more reserved than usual in his speech, and +behaved with an almost exaggerated amount of respect and formality. +After the first two or three sentences he noticed that her eyes began to +look abstractedly away from him, and that she answered one of his +remarks at random. And while he was wondering, with some irritation, +what this change might mean, she drew back into a bow window, and +motioned to him almost imperceptibly to follow her. A heavy window +curtain half hid them from curious eyes, and a bank of flowers in the +window gave them an ostensible pretext for their withdrawal.</p> + +<p>"Look at John's gloxinias," said Nan. "They came from Culverley, you +know. Oh, Mr. Campion, I want to tell you—I'm sorry that I was so rude +to you at Culverley last summer."</p> + +<p>This proceeding was so undignified and so unexpected that Sydney was +stricken dumb with amaze.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you have forgotten it," said Nan, coloring hotly; "but I have +not. It all came from you not knowing who I was, I suppose—Mrs. Murray +told me that she believes you thought I was the governess; and if I had +been, how odd it must have seemed to you that I should talk about your +duties to the Vanebury laborers! You know I have some property there, +and so——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was perfectly natural, and I never thought of it again," said +Sydney lamely. But she went on unheeding—</p> + +<p>"And then I felt vexed, and when you asked me for a flower"—how +innocently it was said!—"I know I banged the door in your face. Selina +said I must have been very rude to you. And so I was."</p> + +<p>But Selina had not meant that she should acknowledge her "rudeness" to +Mr. Campion, nor had Nan told her of the bold admiration that she had +read in Sydney's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Will you forgive me, Mr. Campion? You are such a friend of John's that +I should not like to think I had offended you."</p> + +<p>"You never offended me, Miss Pynsent. In fact, I'm afraid—I—was very +dense." He really did not know what to say; Miss Pynsent's <i>naïveté</i> +almost alarmed him.</p> + +<p>"Then you are not angry with me?"</p> + +<p>How lovely were the eyes that looked so pleadingly into his face! Was +she a coquette? But he could only answer as in duty bound—</p> + +<p>"Not angry in the very least, Miss Pynsent."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad. Because I want to talk to you about Vanebury one day. But +I must not stop now, for there are all these people to talk to, you +know."</p> + +<p>"I may ask you to forgive the stupidity of my mistake, then?" said +Sydney quickly.</p> + +<p>"It was not stupid: how could you know who I was?——There, John, I have +been showing Mr. Campion your gloxinias. Don't you think them lovely, +Mr. Campion?"</p> + +<p>And she glided away with the sweetest smile, and Sydney, after a few +words with Sir John, took his departure, with a feeling of mingled +gratification and amusement which he found rather pleasant. So she had +not thought him impertinent, after all? She did not seem to have noticed +the compliment that he had tried to pay her, and which he now +acknowledged to himself would have suited for Milly Harrington better +than Sir John Pynsent's sister. Was she really as childlike as she +seemed, or was she a designing coquette?</p> + +<p>The question was not a very important one, but it led Sydney to make a +good many visits to Sir John's house during the next few weeks, in order +to determine the answer. Miss Pynsent's character interested him, he +said to himself; and then she wanted to discuss the state of the +working-classes in Vanebury. He did not care very much for the state of +the working-classes, but he liked to hear her talk to him about them. It +was a pity that he sometimes forgot to listen to what she was saying; +but the play of expression on her lovely face was so varied, the lights +and shadows in her beautiful eyes succeeded each other so rapidly, that +he was a little apt to look at her instead of attending to the subject +that she had in hand.</p> + +<p>This was quite a new experience to Sydney, and for some time his mind +was so much occupied by it that the season was half over before he +actually faced the facts of the situation, and discovered that if he +wanted to pluck this fair flower, and wear it as his own, Sir John +Pynsent was not the man to say him nay.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_IV" id="BOOK_IV"></a>BOOK IV.</h2> + +<h3>SORROW.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wer nie die kummervollen Nächte<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Auf seinen Bette weinend sass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er kennt Euch nicht, ihr himmlische Mächte!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Goethe.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>"I WAS THE MORE DECEIVED."</h3> + + +<p>Milly Harrington had passed two months at Birchmead, and her +grandmother's neighbors were beginning to speculate on the probabilities +of her staying over the summer.</p> + +<p>"Poor soul; it's lonely for her," Mrs. Chigwin said to her friend, +Elizabeth. "I do hope that Mr. Beadon, or whatever her husband's name +is, will come back before very long. She must be fretting for him, and +fretting's so bad for her."</p> + +<p>"You think there is a husband to come, do you?" asked Mrs. Bundlecombe, +mysteriously.</p> + +<p>"Why not, Bessy? She says she's married, and she wears a wedding-ring; +and her clothes is beautiful."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to see her marriage lines," said Mrs. Bundlecombe. "But, +there! maybe I'm hard on her, poor thing, which I ought not to be, +seeing that I know what trouble is, and how strangely marriages do turn +out sometimes. But if there is a husband in the case, it's shameful the +way he neglects her, never coming to see her, and going abroad on +business, as she says, while she stays with her grandmother!"</p> + +<p>"She pays Mrs. Harrington," remarked Mrs. Chigwin, reflectively, "and +she always seems to have plenty of money; but she do look sad and +mournful now and then, and money's not everything to those that want a +little love."</p> + +<p>As she concluded her moral observation, she started up, for a shadow +darkened the open doorway: and on looking up, she saw that Milly herself +was standing just outside. The girl's beautiful face was pale and +agitated; and there were tears in her eyes. The old woman noticed that +she was growing haggard, and that there were black lines beneath her +eyes; they exchanged significant looks, and then asked her to step in +and sit down.</p> + +<p>"You run about too much and fatigue yourself," said Mrs. Chigwin. "Now +you sit there and look at my flowers, how still they keep; they wouldn't +be half so fine if I was always transplanting them. You want a good, +quiet home for yourself: not to be moving about and staying with +friends, however fond of you they may be."</p> + +<p>Milly had sunk into the chair offered to her, with a look of extreme +exhaustion and fatigue, but at Mrs. Chigwin's words she sat up, and her +eyes began to grow bright again.</p> + +<p>"I think so myself, Mrs. Chigwin. I shall be glad to get back to my own +nice quiet home again. As for looking tired, it is only because I have +been packing up my things and getting ready to go. Mr. Beadon has +written to me to join him in London, and I am going to start this very +afternoon."</p> + +<p>The rosy color came back into her face: she smiled triumphantly, but her +lips quivered as she smiled.</p> + +<p>"That's right, my dear. I don't approve of young husbands and wives +living separate, unless there's some very good cause for it," said Mrs. +Bundlecombe, thinking of her beloved Alan. "It always gives occasion to +the enemy, and I think you're very wise to go back. Perhaps you had some +little bit of a tiff or misunderstanding with Mr. Beadon——"</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Milly. The color in her face was painfully hot now. "Mr. +Beadon is always very good and kind. But," she continued, looking down +and pushing her wedding-ring to and fro, "he is very busy indeed, and he +is obliged to go abroad sometimes on business. He travels—I think he +calls it—for a great London house. He is getting on very well, he says, +in his own particular line."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is nice!" said Mrs. Chigwin, comfortably. "And how glad you +will be to see each other."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," faltered Milly. There was a curiously pathetic look in her +great blue eyes such as we sometimes see in those of a timid child. +"Yes—very glad."</p> + +<p>"And you'll bring him down here to see your grandmother, I suppose? +She's not set eyes on him yet, has she? And how nice it will be for you +to come down now and then—especially when you have a family, my dear, +Birchmead being so healthy for children, and Mrs. Harrington such a good +hand with babies——"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, and to Mrs. Chigwin's infinite surprise, Milly burst into +tears. The loud, uncontrolled sobs frightened the two old women for a +moment; then Mrs. Chigwin got up and fetched a glass of water, clicking +her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and audibly expressing her +fear that Milly's exertions had been "too much for her." But Mrs. +Bundlecombe sat erect, with a look of something like disapproval upon +her comely old face. She had her own views concerning Milly and her good +fortune; and soft and kind-hearted by nature as she was, there were some +things that Aunt Bessy never forgave. The wickedness of Alan's wife had +hardened her a little to youthful womankind.</p> + +<p>"I'm better, thank you," said Milly, checking her sobs at last, and +beginning to laugh hysterically. "I don't know what made me give way so, +I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"You're tired, love," said Mrs. Chigwin, sympathetically, "and you're +not well, that's easy to see. You must just take care of yourself, or +you'll be laid up. You tell your good husband <i>that</i> from me, who have +had experience, though without a family myself."</p> + +<p>Milly wiped the tears away, and rose from her chair.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell him," she said. "But—oh, there's no need: he takes an awful +lot of care of me, you've no idea! Why, it was he that said I had better +come to my grandmother while he was away: he knew that granny would take +care of me; and now, you see"—with hasty triumph—"he wants me home +again!"</p> + +<p>She pocketed her handkerchief, and raised her head.</p> + +<p>"I thought you said he had been abroad?" said Mrs. Bundlecombe.</p> + +<p>"Of course I did, because he <i>has</i> been abroad," the girl said, laughing +nervously. "But he's in London now. Well, good-bye, Mrs. Chigwin; +good-bye, Mrs. Bundlecombe; you'll go in and comfort granny a bit when +I'm gone, won't you? She's been fretting this morning about my going +away."</p> + +<p>"Bless you, love," said Mrs. Chigwin. "I'll go in every day if you think +it will do her any good. And if you write to her, Milly, she'll be +pleased, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"I <i>will</i> write," said Milly, in rather a shame-faced way. "I was so +busy—or I'd have written oftener. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>She looked at them wistfully, as if reluctant to take her leave; and her +expression so wrought upon Mrs. Chigwin's feelings that she kissed the +girl's cheek affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, love," she said; "you know where to find us when you want us, +you know."</p> + +<p>Milly departed, and the two friends remained silent until her light +figure had passed the window, and the click of the garden gate told them +that she was well out of hearing. Then Mrs. Chigwin began, in rather a +puzzled tone:</p> + +<p>"You weren't very hearty with her, Elizabeth. You looked as if you had +something against her."</p> + +<p>"I've this against her," said Mrs. Bundlecombe, smoothing down her black +apron with dignity, "that I believe there's something wrong about that +marriage, and that if I were Mrs. Harrington I wouldn't be satisfied +until I'd seen her marriage lines."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she has seen them," said Mrs. Chigwin, the pacific. "And we've +nothing to go upon, Bessy, and I'm sure the idea would never have +entered my head but for you."</p> + +<p>"Why did she burst out crying when you talked of her husband and +children coming down here?" asked Mrs. Bundlecombe, acutely. "It may be +that she isn't to blame; but there's something wrong somewhere. She's +hurried and flurried and worried."</p> + +<p>And this was true. The summons which Milly had received was of the +briefest and least intelligible character. It was in a handwriting that +she knew well, and although it was unsigned she was tremulously ready +and eager to obey it at once. "Come back to your old lodgings at +Hampstead," the writer said. "Do not stay any longer at Birchmead: I +want you in London." And that was almost all.</p> + +<p>Milly hovered all day long between alternations of wild hope and wild +despair. If she had been accustomed to self-analysis, she herself might +have been surprised to see how widely her present moods differed from +those which had dominated her when she lived at Maple Cottage. She was +then a vain, self-seeking little damsel, affectionate and uncorrupted, +with an empty head, indeed, but an innocent heart. Now both self-seeking +and vanity were being scourged out of her by force of the love which she +had learnt to feel. She was little changed in manner, and an observer +might have said that she was as childishly pleased as ever with a new +gaud or a pretty toy; but behind the self-sufficiency of her demeanor, +and the frivolity of her tastes, there was something new—something more +real and living than mere self-indulgence and conceit. The faculty of +giving and spending herself for others had sprung into being with the +first love she had known. For the man with whom she had gone away from +Lettice's house she was willing to lay down her life if he would but +accept the gift. And when he seemed loath to accept it, Milly became +conscious of a heart-sick shame and pain which had already often brought +tears that were not unworthy to her pretty childish eyes. The strength +of her own feelings frightened her sometimes: she did not know how to +resist the surging tide of passion and longing and regret that rose and +fell within her breast, as uncontrollable by her weak will as the waves +by the Danish king of history. Poor Milly's soul had been born within +her, as a woman's soul is often born through love, and the acquisition +cost her nothing but pain as yet, although it might ultimately lead her +to a higher life.</p> + +<p>She arrived at the lodgings in Hampstead which had formerly been hers, +about five o'clock in the afternoon. The landlady received her +cordially, saying that "the gentleman had bespoke the rooms," and Milly +was taken at once into the sitting-room, which looked west, and was +lighted by a flood of radiance from the setting sun. Milly sank down on +a sofa, in hopeless fatigue.</p> + +<p>"Did he say that he would be home to-night?" she asked of the landlady.</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Beadon, he didn't; but he said that he was very busy in the +city and would write or send if he couldn't come himself."</p> + +<p>"How was he looking?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well, but a bit worried, I thought," said Mrs. Capper. "Now +let me take your things, ma'am, and then I'll bring up the tea: you +don't look as if your stay in the country had done you much good after +all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm very well," said Milly, unfastening her mantle and coloring +with nervousness under the woman's sharp eye. "I daresay Mr. Beadon will +come to-morrow, if he doesn't come to-night."</p> + +<p>But nobody came, although she sat up watching and waiting for many hours +after Mrs. Capper had betaken herself to her bed. What did this silence +and absence mean? Her heart contracted with a curious dread. She loved, +but she had never believed herself capable of retaining love.</p> + +<p>About eleven o'clock next day, she was informed that a gentleman wanted +to speak to her. "A young-looking, fair gentleman, like a clerk," said +Mrs. Capper. "Shall I show him up? It's from your good 'usband, most +likely, I should think."</p> + +<p>Milly started from the chair by the window, where she had been sitting. +"Oh, show him up, at once, please."</p> + +<p>With one hand on the table, and her delicate face flushed, she presented +a picture of loveliness such as the man who entered did not often see. +He even paused for a moment on the threshold as if too much amazed to +enter, and his manner was somewhat uneasy as he bowed to her, with his +eyes fixed in a rather furtive manner on her face.</p> + +<p>He was a man of thirty-five, although his smooth-shaven face and fair +hair made him look younger than his years. It was a commonplace +countenance, shrewd and intelligent enough, but not very attractive. +There was a certain honesty in his eyes, however, which redeemed the +plainness of his insignificant and irregular features.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Beadon, I think?" he said. "My name's Johnson. I come from +Mr.—Mr. Beadon with a message."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" said Milly, her hand upon her side. "What is it, please? Tell me +quickly—is he coming to-day?"</p> + +<p>The man looked at her oddly. There was something like pity in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Not to-day, madam," he replied.</p> + +<p>Milly sank down on her chair again and sighed deeply. The color left her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"I have a communication to make, madam," said the clerk, rather +hesitatingly, "which I am afraid may be a little painful, though not, +Mr. Beadon tells me, unexpected by you. I hope that you will be +prepared——"</p> + +<p>"Go on," said Milly, sharply. "What is it? Why have you come?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Beadon wishes you to understand, madam, that he is going abroad +again very shortly. He advises you to inform the landlady of this fact, +which will explain his absence. But he also commissions me to put into +your hands a sum for your present expenses, and to inform you that he +will be quite willing to assist you at any time if you make application +to him through me—at the address which I am to give you. Any personal +application to himself will be disregarded."</p> + +<p>"But, do you mean," said Milly, her cheeks growing very white, "that he +is not coming—to say good-bye—before he goes abroad?"</p> + +<p>"He thinks it better to spare you and himself an interview that might be +unpleasant," said Mr. Johnson. "You understand, I suppose—a—that Mr. +Beadon—my principal, that is—wishes to close his relations with you +finally."</p> + +<p>Milly started to her feet and drew herself to her full height. Her +cheeks were blazing now, her eyes on fire. "But I am <i>his wife</i>!" she +cried.</p> + +<p>Johnson looked at her for a moment in silent admiration. He had not +liked the errand on which he was sent, and he liked it now less than +ever.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, madam," he said, in some embarrassment; "but Mr. Beadon is +under the impression that you understand—that you have understood all +along—that you were not legally in that position——"</p> + +<p>"You mean," she said, her whole form quivering in her excitement, "that +what he told me was false?—that when he said that our declaration +before witnesses that we were man and wife was a true marriage—you mean +that that was a lie?"</p> + +<p>Johnson looked at the walls and the ceiling—anywhere but at poor +Milly's agonized face.</p> + +<p>"It was not a marriage, madam," he said, in a regretful tone.</p> + +<p>"Then he—he—deceived me—purposely? Oh, he is wicked! he is base! And +I thought myself—I thought myself——"</p> + +<p>Her fingers clutched at the neck of her dress, as if to tear it open, +and so relieve the swelling of her throat.</p> + +<p>"Does he think that he can make it up to me with money? Oh, I'll take +nothing from him any more. Let him go if he will, and his money too—I +shall die and be forgotten—I won't live to bear the shame of it—the +pain—the——"</p> + +<p>She did not finish her sentence. Her slight form was swaying to and fro, +like a reed shaken by the wind; her face had grown whiter and whiter as +she went on: finally she flung up her arms and fell senseless to the +floor. The end of all her hopes and fears—of all her joys and longing +and desire, was worse to her than death.</p> + +<p>Johnson lifted her to the sofa, with a sort of awkward tenderness, which +perhaps he would not have liked to acknowledge to his master; and then, +before summoning Mrs. Capper, he thrust into Milly's pocket the envelope +containing the banknotes and the address which he had brought with him. +He knew that his master was "doing the thing handsomely," as far as +money was concerned, and he had no doubt but that the forsaken woman +would see, when she had got over her first mad frenzy of despair, that +she had better accept and use his gifts. So he stowed the envelope away +in her pocket, so that it might not attract the curious eyes of prying +servant or landlady.</p> + +<p>Then he called to Mrs. Capper, and gave her a brief explanation of +Milly's swoon. "The lady's a little overcome," he said. "Mr. Beadon has +got to go abroad, and couldn't find time to see her before he went."</p> + +<p>"Hard-heated brute!" said the landlady, as she chafed Milly's hands, and +held a smelling-bottle to her nose.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, no!" said Mr. Johnson, briskly. "Family ties must not stand +in the way of business. I wish you good-day, and hope the lady will soon +be better."</p> + +<p>And he left the house rather hurriedly, for he had no desire to +encounter the despairing appeal of Milly's eyes when she recovered from +her swoon.</p> + +<p>"It is a little too bad to make me his messenger," he said to himself. +"He may do his dirty work himself another time. I thought she was quite +a different sort of person. Poor thing! I wonder how he feels about her, +or whether he feels anything at all."</p> + +<p>He had an opportunity of putting his master's equanimity to the test +when he made his report of the interview—a report which was made that +very afternoon, in spite of his representations that Mr. Beadon had +already gone abroad.</p> + +<p>"Well, you saw her?" he was asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I said what you desired, and gave her the money."</p> + +<p>"Any fuss?"</p> + +<p>"She fainted—that was all," said Johnson, grimly.</p> + +<p>"But she kept the money?"</p> + +<p>"She had no choice. I put it into her pocket while she was unconscious, +and then summoned the landlady."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, that was right. And she understands——"</p> + +<p>"Everything that you wish her to understand," said the clerk, with a +touch of disrespect in his manner, which his employer noticed, and +silently resented.</p> + +<p>"Well, it had to be done, and the sooner the better," he said, turning +away.</p> + +<p>"So I suppose," said Johnson.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>THE TONGUE OF SCANDAL.</h3> + + +<p>Alan returned to town with the full knowledge that he had something +formidable to face and overcome.</p> + +<p>He had gone to Birchmead partly in redemption of an old promise to his +aunt, not knowing when he might be able to keep it if he did not do so +now, and partly because his mind had been distracted by a fresh outbreak +of violence in his wife, and he found it absolutely impossible to sit +still and endure in patience.</p> + +<p>The country journey refreshed him, and he came back stronger and braver +than before. He was resolved to press for his divorce, and as Lettice +was in Italy, no time could be better than the present for proving to +the desperate woman, who was trying to terrify him, that there were laws +in England to which she must yield obedience. He assured himself that he +was now prepared for any fate; and yet that which had happened before he +left town was an earnest of what he had to expect.</p> + +<p>What had happened was this.</p> + +<p>A few days before Cora had been served with a notice to appear and +defend the suit for divorce which her husband was bringing against her; +and this had set her inflammable soul on fire. She had tried hard to +discover his whereabouts, without success. She had gone to Maple Cottage +and banged at the door in such furious style, that a policeman, who +happened to be passing, came up to see what was wrong, just as the new +occupants made their appearance, in mingled alarm and indignation.</p> + +<p>"I want Miss Campion," said Cora, who was half-intoxicated, but still +more excited by rage and jealousy.</p> + +<p>"She no longer lives here," said the man at the door.</p> + +<p>"Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. And I should not tell you if I did. Policeman, take this +woman in charge for annoying me! You must have seen her knocking like a +fury—and now she is evidently tipsy."</p> + +<p>Her rage increased rather than diminished when she found that her +intended prey had escaped her, she began to declaim at the top of her +voice, and to shriek hysterically; and the policeman, regarding it as a +simple case of "drunk and disorderly," took her off to the station, +where she was locked up.</p> + +<p>The first that Alan heard of it was from the papers next morning. In one +of these, which he was accustomed to read after breakfast, he found the +following report:—</p> + +<p>"At Hammersmith, a dissipated-looking woman, who gave the name of Cora +Walcott, was charged with being drunk and disorderly on the previous +day, and annoying Mr. Peter Humphreys, of Maple Cottage, Brook Green. +Sergeant T 14 stated that he had observed the prisoner behaving in an +extraordinary manner outside Mr. Humphreys' house, and knocking at the +door in a most violent manner. As she would not go away, and her conduct +was a serious annoyance to the neighbors, he was compelled to take her +into custody. In reply to the prisoner, the witness said that she was +undoubtedly drunk. She had asked for Miss Campion, and he had +ascertained that that lady did previously live at Maple Cottage. She had +told him that she was the wife of Mr. Alan Walcott, who had deserted +her, after making an attempt on her life. The magistrate here +interposed, and said that the prisoner's questions were totally +irrelevant. What she had stated, even if true, was no excuse whatever +for the conduct of which she had been guilty. Prisoner (excitedly): +'This woman had taken my husband from me.' Magistrate: 'Be silent.' +Prisoner: 'Am I to starve in the streets, whilst they are living in +luxury?' Magistrate: 'You are fined five shillings and costs. If you +have grievances you must find another way of remedying them. If you say +any more now, I shall have to send you to prison without the option of a +fine.' The money was paid by a gentleman in court."</p> + +<p>As soon as Alan had read this he went to the solicitor who knew all his +affairs, and got him to go to the Hammersmith Police Court. The +magistrate permitted him to make a statement contradicting the lies told +by Cora, and the newspapers printed what he said. But how many persons +read the first report who never saw the second? And how many of those +who read both preferred to believe the scandal, taking the contradiction +as a matter of course?</p> + +<p>The "gentleman in court" who paid Cora's fine was an enterprising +reporter, who thought it might be worth his while to hear what this +deserted wife had to say. He knew two or three papers which would +welcome a bit of copy dealing with the marital troubles of a well-known +literary man. The story of this French wife might be a tissue of +lies—in which case it would be a real advantage to Mr. Walcott and Miss +Campion to have it printed and refuted. Or it might be partly or wholly +true—in which case it was decidedly in the interest of the public to +make it known. The argument is familiar to everyone connected with a +popular newspaper, and it proves that sensational journalists have their +distinct place in the cosmogony of nature, being bound to print what is +scandalous, either for the sake of those who are libelled or out of +simple justice to those who start and spread the libel. This desire to +give fair play all round, even to slanderers and malefactors, and the +common father of these, is the crown and apex of civilization.</p> + +<p>The consequence of this gentleman's activity was that Cora found plenty +of assistance in her malicious design, to take away the characters of +Alan and Lettice. The charges which she brought against her husband were +printed and commented on in some very respectable newspapers, and were +repeated with all kinds of enlargement and embellishment wherever the +retailers of gossip were gathered together. If Alan had been under a +cloud before, he was now held up to scorn as a mean-spirited creature +without heart or conscience, who had allowed his lawful wife to sink +into an abyss of degradation. However bad she might be, the blame +certainly rested with him as the stronger. If it was impossible to live +with her now, he might, at any rate, have stretched out his hand long +ago, and rescued her from the slough of despond into which she had +fallen.</p> + +<p>This was not, of course, the universal judgment; but it was the popular +one. It might not even have been the popular judgment a year before, or +a year after, but it was the judgment of the day. The multitude is +without responsibility in such cases, it decides without deliberation, +and it often mistakes its instincts for the dictates of equity. Alan was +judged without being heard, or what he did say in his defence was +received as though it were the mere hard-swearing of a desperate man.</p> + +<p>The storm had begun to rage when he went to Birchmead, and it reached +its height soon after he returned. His lawyer advised him to bring an +action for libel against one paper which had committed itself more +deeply than the rest, and the threat of this had the effect of checking +public references to his case; but the mischief was already done. +Nothing could make him more disgusted and wretched than he had been for +some time past, so far as his own interests were concerned. It was only +the dragging of Lettice's name into the miserable business which now +pained and tormented him.</p> + +<p>But there was one who had more right than himself to come forward as the +champion of Lettice's fair fame, and was able to do it with better +effect. When a man is a Member of Parliament and a Queen's Counsel, he +occupies a position which his fellow-countrymen are inclined to regard +as one of very considerable dignity. Editors and sub-editors think twice +before they print unsubstantiated rumors about the near relatives of +such distinguished individuals as Mr. Sydney Campion, Q.C., M.P. Thus, +after the first report of the proceedings at the police court, Lettice's +name scarcely appeared again. She was, indeed, referred to as "the lady +who seems, reasonably or unreasonably, to have excited the jealousy of +the unfortunate wife," or "the third party in this lamentable case, also +well-reputed in the world of letters, with whom the tongue of scandal +has been busy;" but she was not mentioned by name. And therein the +scandal-mongers exercised a wise discretion, for Sydney had secured the +assistance of Mr. Isaacs, one of the smartest solicitors in London, who +found means to impress upon everyone whom it might concern that it would +be a very serious matter indeed to utter anything approaching to a libel +on Miss Lettice Campion.</p> + +<p>Moreover, the worthy Mr. Isaacs had an interview with Cora, whom he +found in a sober mood, and so terrified her by his warnings and menaces, +but most of all by the impressive manner and magnetic eye wherewith he +was wont to overawe malefactors of every kind and degree, that she +ceased for a time to speak evil of Lettice.</p> + +<p>Yet in Lettice's case also the mischief had been done already. All who +made a point of hearing and remembering the ill that is spoken of their +fellow-creatures, knew what had been said of her, and retailed it in +private for the amusement of their friends. The taint had spread from +Alan to her, and her character suffered before the world for absolutely +no fault of hers, but solely because she had the misfortune to know him. +That was Sydney's way of putting it—and, indeed, it was Alan's way +also, for there was no other conclusion at which it was possible to +arrive.</p> + +<p>It was a great consolation for both these men that Lettice was out of +the country at this time. Sydney wrote to her, hinting as delicately as +he could that it was essential to her interests and to his own that she +should remain abroad for at least two or three months longer. Alan wrote +about the same time to Mrs. Hartley, telling her in detail what had +happened, and entreating her to put off her return to London as late as +she could. It was not a time, he thought, to hesitate as to whether +anything could justify him in making such a request.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hartley was treating Lettice very well at Florence, and had no +intention of letting her come back in a hurry. She did not see fit to +tell her of Alan's letter, for her recovery had been very slow, and +fresh mental worry appeared to be the last thing to which she ought to +be subjected. Nor was Lettice made aware of anything connected with Alan +and his troubles, although her companion heard yet more startling news +within the next few weeks. Mrs. Hartley had come to be very fond of +Lettice, and she guarded her jealously, with all the tyranny of an old +woman's love for a young one. The first thing, in her mind, was to get +rid of the nervous prostration from which Lettice had been suffering, +and to restore her to health and strength.</p> + +<p>"We shall not go back to London," she said, in answer to a mild +expostulation from her friend, "until you are as well as ever you were. +Why should we? You have no ties there, no house, no friends who cannot +spare you for a month or two. By and by you can begin to write, if you +must write; but we shall quarrel if you insist on going back. What makes +you so restless?"</p> + +<p>"I am idle; and I hate to have nothing to do. Besides, how can one tell +what is going on, so far away from all one's friends and connections? If +one of your friends were in difficulties or danger, would you not wish +to be near him (or her), and do what you could to help?"</p> + +<p>"Of whom are you thinking, dear?" Mrs. Hartley turned round on her +quickly as she asked this question.</p> + +<p>"I put it generally," Lettice said, looking frankly at her friend, but +feeling hot and troubled at the same time.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was a mere hypothesis?"</p> + +<p>"Well, no; it was not."</p> + +<p>"I am not questioning you, my darling. At least, I don't want to. But +you can do no good to anybody just now—believe me! You must get quite +well and strong, and then perhaps you can fight for yourself or for +other people. I don't dispute your title to fight, when and where and +how you like; and if ever I am in trouble, the Lord send me such a +champion! But get strong first. If you went out with your shield this +morning, you would come back upon it to-night."</p> + +<p>So Lettice had to be patient yet awhile.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3>LETTICE TRIUMPHS.</h3> + + +<p>But there was news of another kind which Mrs. Hartley did not conceal +from Lettice. Her novel had been published, and it was a great success. +The critics, who already knew something of her literary powers, had with +one consent written long and special articles about "Laurels and +Thorns," hailing it as a veritable triumph. It was original, and +philosophic, and irresistibly pathetic; the style sufficed to mark its +author as one of the few novelists whose literary form was +irreproachable. Perhaps the praise was here and there extravagant, but +it was practically universal. And it was not confined to the critics. +The reading world more than endorsed it. Second and third editions of +the book were called for within a month. Writers of leading articles and +speakers on public platforms began to quote and commend her.</p> + +<p>Most remarkable of all, her novel made a conquest of her brother Sydney. +He did not care for novels as a rule, but he read "Laurels and Thorns," +and was desperately interested in it. Perhaps the phenomenal success +which had crowned it had some effect upon him; and Lady Pynsent wrote +him a nice letter of congratulation, expressing a great desire to know +his "<i>distinguished</i> sister." At all events, the thing was done, and +Lettice must now be definitely accepted as a writer of books. What +chiefly puzzled him was to think where she had learned her wisdom, how +she came to be witty without his knowing it, and whence proceeded that +intimate acquaintance with the human heart of which the critics were +talking. He had not been accustomed to take much account of his sister, +in spite of her knack with the pen; and even now he thought that she +must have been exceedingly lucky.</p> + +<p>It will readily be supposed that the breath of scandal which had passed +over Lettice was in no way a drawback to the triumph of her book. The +more she was talked about in connection with that sorry business, the +more her novel came to be in demand at the libraries, and thus she had +some sort of compensation for the gross injustice which had been done to +her. One small-minded critic, sitting down to his task with the +preconceived idea that she was all that Cora Walcott had declared her to +be, and finding in "Laurels and Thorns" the history of a woman who +regarded the essence of virtue as somewhat more important than the +outward semblance, attacked her vehemently for a moral obliquity which +existed in his own vision alone. This review also stimulated the run +upon her book, and carried it into a fourth edition.</p> + +<p>Lettice's fortune was made. She had nothing to do for the remainder of +her life but to choose where she would live, to take a house, to fill it +with furniture, to gratify every reasonable want, on the one condition +that she should devote herself to honest hard work, and give to her +fellow-creatures the best that she was capable of producing.</p> + +<p>It was all that her ambition had ever led her to desire, and it came to +her at a time of life when her enjoyment was likely to be most keen and +complete. Unless her own hand put aside the cup, it was hers to drink +and to be satisfied.</p> + +<p>And what did Alan think of it? She wondered dimly now and then if he had +read it, and what he thought of the words that she had spoken out of a +full heart to him and to him alone. Did he guess it? And would he ever +know? She would have been answered if she could have seen him on a +certain day in April, when she was in Florence and he in London town.</p> + +<p>Alan Walcott sat in his room, on the first floor of a house between the +Strand and the River Thames, reading Lettice Campion's book. He had read +it once, from beginning to end, and now he was turning back to the +passages which had moved him most deeply, anxious not to lose the light +from a single facet of the gem that sparkled in his hands. It would have +been a gem to Alan even if the world had not seen its beauty, and he was +jealous of those who could lavish their praise on this woman whom he +knew and worshipped, when his own hard fate compelled him to be silent.</p> + +<p>How well he recognized her thoughts and moods in every page of the +story! How familiar were many of the reflections, and even the very +words which she employed! Here and there the dialogue recalled to his +mind conversations which he had held with her in the happy days gone by. +In one case, at least, he found that she had adopted a view of his own +which he had maintained in argument against her, and which at the time +she had not been willing to accept. It rejoiced him to see the mark of +his influence, however slight, upon one who had so deeply impressed her +image on his mind.</p> + +<p>The novel was a revelation to him in more ways than one. It was as if +she had spoken to him, for himself alone, words of wisdom and comfort +and encouragement. That, indeed, was precisely what she had +done—consciously and of set purpose—though he did not know it. The +plot went home to his heart. When the heroine spoke to the hero he +seemed to catch the very tones of her voice, to see the lips in motion, +and to read in her eyes the spirit and confirmation of the words. There +was nothing in the incidents of "Laurels and Thorns" which resembled his +own troubles or the relations which had existed between them—except the +simple fact of the mutual intellectual and moral sympathy of the two +central characters. The hero had won his crown of laurels and wore his +crown of thorns; the heroine, who could not love him in his triumph, had +loved him in his humiliation.</p> + +<p>Both descended in the scale of material prosperity to rise in the scale +of honor and mutual respect; the glory of life was extinguished, but it +gave place to the glory of love. Alan read again and again the borrowed +words with which Lettice's heroine concluded her written confession of +love for the man whom she had once rejected, and who thought himself +precluded by his disgrace from coming to her again.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"He fixed thee mid this dance<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of plastic circumstance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Machinery just meant<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To give thy soul its bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Try thee, and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"What though the earlier grooves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That ran the laughing loves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around thy base no longer pause and press?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What though, about thy rim,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Scull things in order grim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Look not thou down but up!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To uses of a cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The new wine's foaming flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The Master's lips a-glow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>These were words of comfort to Alan, if only he dare take them to +himself, if he dare imagine that Lettice had had him in her mind as she +wrote, and had sent him that message to restore his self-respect and +save him from despair.</p> + +<p>He sat for some time with the book before him, and then another thought +came into his head. Why should he not write to her, just a few words to +let her know that what she had written had gone home to his heart, and +that amongst all her critics there was not one who understood her better +than he? He was entitled to do this; it was almost due to himself to do +it. He would take care not to make a fool of himself this time, as he +had done in his first letter to her.</p> + +<p>So he took a pen and wrote:</p> + +<p>"I have read your book. You would not expect to find me amongst the +critics: I only write to thank you for the pleasure and the courage it +has given me. Some parts have fitted my case so exactly that I have +applied them and made use of them, as any chance comer is permitted to +do with any work of art.</p> + +<p>"This is a great work you have produced, and I always knew that you +would do great things. Count me not last of those who praise you, and +who look to see your future triumphs. <span class="smcap">Alan Walcott.</span>"</p> + +<p>He put the letter in an envelope, sealed and addressed it. Then he +leaned back in his chair, and began to muse again.</p> + +<p>What a failure his life had been! He had told himself so a hundred times +of late, but the truth of the verdict was more and more vivid every day. +Surely he had set out from the beginning with good intentions, with high +motives, with an honorable ambition. No man ever had a more just father, +a more devoted mother, a happier home, a more careful and conscientious +training. He had never seen a flaw in either of his parents, and it had +been his single purpose to imitate their devotion to duty, their piety, +their gentle consideration for all with whom they had to deal. It had +struck him sometimes as almost strange (he had suspected once that it +was a trifle unpoetical) that he had rather sought out than shunned his +humbler relatives in the little shop at Thorley, taking the utmost care +that their feelings should never be hurt by his more refined education +and tastes. Of these three friends of his youth who were dead he could +honestly say (but he did not say all this), that he had been dutiful to +them, and that he had not wilfully brought sorrow upon any one of them.</p> + +<p>Where had he gone so far astray as to merit, or even to bring about, the +anguish which had fallen upon him? True, he had given himself to +pleasure for the few years which succeeded his father's death. He had +traveled, he had enjoyed the society of men and women, he had lived an +idle life—except inasmuch as he aspired to be a poet, and wrote two or +three volumes which the world had accepted and thanked him for, but the +standard of his boyhood had never been rejected—he had been considerate +of the feelings of every man and woman (Lettice alone, perhaps, having +the right to deny it), and had not permitted himself one pleasure, or +action, or relaxation, which might give pain to another. That had been +his rule of life. Was it not enough?</p> + +<p>He had teased himself, as thoughtful men and women often have done, and +more often will do, about the problem of human morals. It had not +occurred to him that the morals which have no conscious basis are likely +to be more sound and permanent than those which are consciously built +up; and, as a matter of fact, his own were of that kind, though he had +his rule and considered himself to be guided by it. "That which gives no +pain to another, and does not deteriorate another, or oneself, or any +sentient being, cannot be immoral, though circumstances may make it +inexpedient." He had written that sentence in his diary before he was +twenty, at an age when the expanding soul craves for talismans and +golden maxims, and he had clung to it ever since. For what violation of +the law did he suffer now?</p> + +<p>This was not Lettice's way of looking at it. The hero of her story was +an urn in the hands of a divine artist, and a sterner stress was +necessary for the consummate work. But he, Alan, was no hero. Horace' +verse was nearer the mark with him.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Amphoræ coepit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Institui; currente rota cur urceus exit?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>As water to wine were all the uses of his life henceforth, compared with +that which might have been.</p> + +<p>But, sad as he was, if Lettice could have read within his heart she +would have been satisfied with her work.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3>"AM I A MURDERER?"</h3> + + +<p>Footsteps outside his door roused Alan from his train of thoughts. Only +his landlady came along that passage, for there were no lodgers on the +same floor, nor on the one above it. A louder knock than Mrs. Gorman was +wont to give made him start from his seat.</p> + +<p>"Come in!" he cried; but before the words were spoken the door was +thrown open and Cora made her appearance. Alan turned sick at heart, and +stood leaning on the end of the mantelpiece, gazing at her without a +word.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear," she said, with a little laugh of amusement as she saw the +disconcerted look on his face, "they have not deceived me! They did not +offer to conduct me, but they said I should find you here—first floor +front—and here you are! It is long since we met, is it not? You have +sent huissiers, and gendarmes, and police to bring me your messages, as +a king to his subject, or a judge to a criminal. You should have come +yourself, my friend, for I have longed to see you. Are you not glad that +we meet thus, alone, face to face, without fear of intrusion?"</p> + +<p>She had shut the door behind her, and sat down in his easy chair by the +table, inviting him with a gesture to take a seat by her side.</p> + +<p>"Approach!" she said, in a soft but mocking voice. "Be amiable! Let us +talk. I come for peace, not for war. Let us make terms with each other. +I am sick of this farce of hostility between husband and wife—let us +arrange our little disagreements. Come!"</p> + +<p>Her familiar tone was odious to him. The sudden perversion of his +thoughts from Lettice to this creature, from his dream of purity and +elevation to this degrading reality, filled him with disgust. Nay, +something more than disgust entered his mind as he saw the smile on her +besotted face. A demon of revenge seized upon him, and all but gained +the mastery. For one instant he was perilously near to springing on her +where she sat, and strangling the life out of her. All passions and all +possibilities are in the soul of every one of us, at every moment; only +the motive power, the circumstance, the incitement, are needed to make +us cross the boundary of restraint. If Alan was not a murderer, it was +not because the thing was impossible to him, but because at the crisis +of temptation his heart had been penetrated by the influence of the +woman whom he revered, and filled with higher thoughts—even through the +channel of humiliation and self-contempt.</p> + +<p>He answered her calmly.</p> + +<p>"There is no arranging what has happened between us two—nor do you wish +it any more than I. Say what you want to say, and go."</p> + +<p>"Good! I will say what I want to say—but I will not go. I mean to stay +with my husband; it is my right. Till death do us part—are not those +the pretty words of the farce we played together?"</p> + +<p>"Who made it a farce—did I?"</p> + +<p>"Listen, my friend. This is one thing I want to say. Assuredly it was +you, and no other, who made our marriage a miserable failure. You took +me from a life I loved, from friends who loved me, from a freedom which +I valued, and you made no effort to study my tastes and accommodate +yourself to my habits."</p> + +<p>"God knows I made the effort. But what were those tastes and habits? +Think of them—think of them all! Could I have accommodated myself to +all—even to those you concealed from me?"</p> + +<p>"Bah! you should have known whom you had married. You were so blind and +foolish, that I had a right to think you would never interfere with my +liberty. I was the child of liberty—and liberty is a sacred possession, +which it is an outrage to take away from any woman. You expected me to +change, to become all at once another being, cold and impassive like +yourself—while, as for you, you were to change in nothing! It was your +duty to come to my level—at least to approach it. I would have met you +halfway; we could have made our contract, and I would have kept my part +of the bargain. You demanded too much, and that is why you lost +everything. I condemn you—humanity condemns you. The ruin was your +work!"</p> + +<p>"There is something novel in the theory, but I don't think many people +would accept it." He was prepared to talk seriously with her, if she +wished it, but no man could be serious in view of such a preposterous +claim. So he fell back upon the cold, ironical calmness which +exasperated Cora far more than a storm of rage would have done. "At any +rate," he said, "I did not deprive you of your liberty. You retained +that!"</p> + +<p>"I kept it for myself. You would have taken it away, and you hated me +for keeping it. I keep it still. I have been free to go where I would, +free to wander over this terrible and desolate city, free now to come +back to you, and stay with you, until you swear to cease your +persecutions, and swear to make a new compact on more equitable terms."</p> + +<p>"It is impossible to make terms with you, for you do not observe them. +The law will bind you down more strictly. Meanwhile you cannot remain +here, as you propose."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to throw me into the street?" she asked, passionately. +"Alive or dead, I stay here until the compact is made."</p> + +<p>"You need have no fear of me; I am not going to kill you."</p> + +<p>"Fear! Of you! Do not flatter yourself, my friend!"</p> + +<p>With an insulting laugh she plucked a thin stiletto from under her +cloak, and brandished it before him. Alan recognized it as one which he +had missed after her visit to Montagu Place.</p> + +<p>"Look there! Would you like to feel if it is sharp, or will you take my +word for it? We may want that before we part. I do not much care whether +you use it or I; but I will not leave this room unless you concede all +that I ask. Do not stand so far from me, coward. You smile, but you are +afraid!"</p> + +<p>"Why should I fear your play-acting? You will not touch me, for so long +as I live you hope to get money from me, and if I were dead you would +starve."</p> + +<p>"Miserable hound! Do you not think that hate is stronger even than love +of gold?"</p> + +<p>"Not your hate. Throw that useless toy away. Love of gold and love of +self make us both perfectly safe."</p> + +<p>"Listen to my terms."</p> + +<p>"No; they are refused before you ask them. The law is in motion—nothing +shall prevent me from getting my divorce."</p> + +<p>"That you may marry this woman!" she blazed forth, jumping from her +seat, with Lettice's book in her hand. It had been lying before her, and +the name had caught her eye. "You shall never marry her—I swear it by +my father's grave. You shall never divorce me!"</p> + +<p>She flung the book in his face.</p> + +<p>"Let me pass!" he said, moving quietly to the door.</p> + +<p>"Never!"</p> + +<p>She seized the dagger, and stood before him, swaying with her violent +emotion.</p> + +<p>"Let me pass," he said again, still pressing forward.</p> + +<p>She raised the weapon in her hand. Not a moment too soon he grasped her +wrist, and tried to take it from her with his other hand.</p> + +<p>There was a struggle—a loud scream—a heavy fall—and silence.</p> + +<p>A minute later Mrs. Gorman, attracted by the noise, burst into the room.</p> + +<p>Cora was lying on the floor, and Alan, with white face and bloody hand, +was drawing the fatal weapon from her breast.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gorman's first act was to rush to the open window, and call for the +police. Then she knelt by Cora's body, and tried to staunch the flowing +blood.</p> + +<p>A lodger from the floor beneath, who had come in behind the landlady, +was looking at the prostrate body. He was a medical student, and perhaps +thought it necessary to give his opinion in a case of this sort.</p> + +<p>"She cannot live ten minutes," he said; but that did not prevent him +from assisting Mrs. Gorman in her work.</p> + +<p>Alan had staggered back against the wall, still holding the dagger in +his hand. He scarcely knew what had happened, but the words of the last +speaker forced themselves upon him with terrible distinctness.</p> + +<p>"My God," he cried, "am I a murderer?"</p> + +<p>And he fell upon the chair, and buried his face in his hands.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h3>HOPELESS.</h3> + + +<p>"If she dies," Graham said to his wife, in answer to Clara's anxious +questioning, on the morning after Alan Walcott's arrest, "it will be a +case of murder or manslaughter. If she gets over it he will be charged +with an attempt to murder, or to do grievous bodily harm, and as there +would be her evidence to be considered in that case the jury would be +sure to take the worst view of it. That might mean five or ten years, +perhaps more. The best thing that could happen for him would be her +death, then they might incline to believe his statement, and a clever +counsel might get him off with a few months' imprisonment."</p> + +<p>"Poor man," said Clara, "how very shocking it is!" She was thinking not +of Alan alone, but of Alan's friends. "Is there no hope of his being +acquitted altogether?"</p> + +<p>"How could there be? The evidence is only too clear. The landlady heard +them quarrelling and struggling together, then there was a loud scream, +and just as she entered the room the poor wretch was falling to the +ground. Walcott had his hand on the dagger, which was still in his +wife's breast. Then the other lodger came in, and he declares that he +heard Walcott say he was a murderer. It seems as plain as it could +possibly be."</p> + +<p>"But think of the two, as we know them to have been, and the relations +which have existed between them for years past. Surely that must tell in +his favor?"</p> + +<p>"We are not the jury, remember. And, as for that, it would only go to +show a motive for the crime, and make a conviction all the more certain. +No doubt it might induce them to call it manslaughter instead of murder, +and the judge might pass a lighter sentence."</p> + +<p>"I do hope she will not die. It would be terrible to have her death on +his conscience."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, death is an ugly word, and no one has a right to wish +that another might die. At the same time, I should say it would be a +happy release for such a creature, who can have nothing but misery +before her. But it will make little difference to him. He is entirely +ruined, so far as his reputation is concerned. He could never hold his +ground in England again, though he might have a second chance at the +other side of the world. What Britain can't forget, Australia forgives. +Heaven created the Antipodes to restore the moral balance of Europe."</p> + +<p>"That is a poor satisfaction," said Clara, "to a man who does not want +to live out of his own country."</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately, my dear, we cannot always choose our lot, especially +when we have had the misfortune to kill or maim somebody in a fit of +passion."</p> + +<p>"I cannot believe that it is even so bad as that. It must have been an +accident."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could think so; but if it is, no doubt the man may have the +courage of his conscience, and then there will be nothing to prevent him +from trying to live it down in London. I should not care for that sort +of thing myself. I confess I depend too much on other people's +opinions."</p> + +<p>"It would be a terrible fight to live it down in London—terrible, both +for him and his friends."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Graham, quickly, "it is a good thing that he has nobody in +particular depending on him, no specially intimate friends that we are +aware of."</p> + +<p>Clara looked steadily at the wall for two or three minutes, whilst her +husband finished his breakfast.</p> + +<p>"I wrote to Lettice last night," she said at last, "but, of course, I +knew nothing of this business then."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad you did not. What on earth put Lettice into your head? +She has no conceivable interest in this miserable affair."</p> + +<p>"I think it is rather too much to say that she has no interest at all. +We know that she was interested in him."</p> + +<p>"We know that he is a married man."</p> + +<p>Graham's tone was growing a little savage, as it did sometimes, +especially with his wife, whom he very sincerely loved. But Clara did +not heed the warning note.</p> + +<p>"Facts are facts, and we should not ignore them. I am sure they like +each other, and his misfortune will be a great grief to her."</p> + +<p>"It was just what was wanted, then, to bring her to her senses. She may +recognize now that Walcott is a man of ungovernable passions. In all +probability he will be a convicted felon before she comes back to +England, and she will see that it is impossible to know any more of +him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, James, how hard you are! She will never think of him as a felon. No +more shall I!"</p> + +<p>"He will be one, whatever you may think. As you said yourself, facts are +facts, and they will have their proper influence upon you sooner or +later."</p> + +<p>"But do you think that Lettice is the woman to change her opinion of a +man just because he is unfortunate, or to despise him as soon as he gets +into trouble? I am perfectly sure she is not."</p> + +<p>"We shall see," said Graham. "I give her credit for more sense. I don't +think you recognize yet the sort of offence which Walcott has committed, +so we may as well drop the subject for a time. I hope, however, that you +will not do anything which might bring her home just now. Clearly she +could not do any good, and even on your own showing it would be a +needless vexation to her."</p> + +<p>He went off to his study, and Clara set about her household tasks with a +heavy heart.</p> + +<p>The fact was that she could hardly doubt that Alan Walcott had injured +his wife in a moment of desperation, when he was not fully responsible +for his actions; but she certainly doubted the justice of any law which +could condemn him as a murderer; or doom him to be an outcast amongst +his fellowmen. Her sense of equity might have suited the Saturnian reign +better than our matter-of-fact nineteenth century, in which the precise +more or less of criminality in the soul of an accused man is not the +only thing which has to be taken into consideration.</p> + +<p>Was there ever a malefactor condemned to imprisonment or torment for +whom the heart of some woman or other did not plead in mitigation of his +sentence? Yet the man-made laws against which untutored hearts will now +and again protest are often essentially merciful in comparison with the +wild and hasty judgments that outrun the law—whether in mercy or in +severity.</p> + +<p>It was so in Alan's case. The popular opinion was evidently against him. +The great majority thought this case of attempted wife-murder too clear +for argument, and too cold-blooded to warrant anything like sympathy for +the accused. Alan's private affairs had been made public property for +some time past, and he now suffered from a storm of hostility and +prejudice against which it was impossible to contend. His story, or the +world's story about him, had been current gossip for the last few +months, as the reader has already seen; and a large number of people +appeared to have fixed upon him as a type of the respectable and +hypocritical sinner, prosperous, refined, moving in good society and +enjoying a fair reputation, yet secretly hardened and corrupt. It was +not often that the underhand crimes of such men were plainly exposed to +view, and, when they were, an example ought to be made of the offender +as a warning to his class. Ever since Cora had gained a hearing in the +police-court at Hammersmith, Alan was set down as a heartless libertine, +who had grown tired of his wife, or, at any rate, as one who wanted to +wash his hands of her, and throw the burden of maintaining her upon the +rates. Thus it became quite a popular pastime to hound down "Poet +Walcott."</p> + +<p>This is how the outcry originally began. One or two newspapers with an +ethical turn, which had borrowed from the pulpit a trick of improving +the sensational events of the day for the edification of their readers, +and which possessed a happy knack of writing about anything and anybody +without perpetrating a libel or incurring a charge of contempt of court, +had printed articles on "The Poet and the Pauper," "Divorce Superseded," +and the like. Stirred up by these interesting homilies, a few shallow +men and women, with too much time on their hands, began to write inept +letters, some of which were printed; and then the editors, being accused +of running after sensations, pointed to their correspondents as evidence +of a public opinion which they could not control, and to which they were +compelled to give utterance. They were, in fact, not dishonest but only +self-deceived. They really persuaded themselves that they were +responding to a general sentiment, though, such as it was, their own +reports and articles had called it into existence. The "gentleman in +court" who paid Cora's fine at Hammersmith began the outcry in its last +and worst form, the editorials nursed and encouraged it, and the +correspondents gave it its malignant character. All concerned in the +business were equally convinced that they were actuated by the best +possible motives.</p> + +<p>The news that Walcott had stabbed his wife with a dagger did not take +these charitable people by surprise, though it added fuel to the fire of +their indignation. What else could be expected from a man who had first +deserted and then starved the unfortunate woman whom he had taken to +wife? It was only natural that he should try to get rid of her; but what +a cruel wretch he was! Hanging would be too good for him if his poor +victim should die.</p> + +<p>It is unnecessary to say that a great deal of interest was displayed by +the public, when the case came on for hearing at Bow Street; but no real +facts were elicited beyond those which had already been in print. Two +remands were taken, in the hope that Cora might recover sufficiently to +give her evidence, but though she was at last declared to be out of +danger, the house-surgeon at the hospital would not take the +responsibility of saying that she could safely attend at the +police-court. Ultimately, the magistrate having heard all the evidence +that was forthcoming, and Alan's solicitor reserving his defence, the +accused was committed to take his trial at the Central Criminal Court on +a charge of wounding with intent to inflict grievous bodily harm.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Alan was allowed to go out on bail. He had not cared to +claim this privilege, and would almost have preferred to stay in prison. +His solicitor had made much of the necessity of preparing his defence, +and of the indispensable conferences between himself and his client; but +Alan had not the slightest hope of being acquitted. He told Mr. Larmer +precisely how the whole thing had happened—how his wife had brought the +dagger with her, how she had raised it in her hand, how he seized her +wrist, and how he had never touched the weapon himself until he drew it +from the wound as she lay on the floor.</p> + +<p>"They won't believe me," he said. "You know what a prejudice there is +against me, and you will never persuade a jury to take my word against +hers. She will certainly say that I stabbed her with my own dagger; and +it was my dagger once: it has my name upon it."</p> + +<p>"That is an awkward fact. If only we could prove that she brought it +with her, it would go a long way towards acquitting you."</p> + +<p>"But we can't prove it. Then, you see, Mrs. Gorman says I had my hand on +the weapon as she was falling."</p> + +<p>"We can easily shake her in that."</p> + +<p>"And Hipkins says that I admitted the crime—called myself a murderer."</p> + +<p>"We can shake that too. You said, 'Am I a murderer?' It was an odd thing +to say, but your nerves were unstrung. Men in such predicaments have +been known to say a great deal more than that."</p> + +<p>"I assure you Larmer, my mind is so confused about it that I cannot +remember whether I said 'Am I' or 'I am.' I rather incline to think that +I said 'I am a murderer;' for I believed her to be as good as dead at +the time, and I certainly thought I had killed her."</p> + +<p>"How could you think that? You are clear in your mind that you never +touched the dagger."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I touched the hand that held the dagger."</p> + +<p>Larmer looked at his friend and client in a dubious way, as though he +could not feel quite sure of his sanity.</p> + +<p>"My dear Walcott," he said, "you are out of tune—upset by all this +miserable business; and no wonder. You say you touched the hand that +held the dagger that stabbed the woman. We know you did; what then? What +moved the fingers that touched the hand that held the dagger, etcetera? +Was it a good motive or a bad motive, tell me!"</p> + +<p>"That is just what I can't tell you, for I don't know. Perhaps it was an +instinct of self-defence; but I have no recollection of being afraid +that she would stab me. I had a confused notion that she was going to +stab herself; perhaps, I only got as far as thinking that the bodkin +would be better out of her hand."</p> + +<p>"This is a touch of your old subtlety. I do believe you could work +yourself up to thinking that you actually wanted to hurt her!"</p> + +<p>"Subtlety or no subtlety, these impressions are very acute in my own +mind. I can see the whole of that scene as plainly as I see you at this +moment. It comes before my eyes in a series of pictures, vivid and +complete in every twist and turn; only the motives that guided me are +blurred and confused. I grasped her wrist, and she struggled frantically +to shake me off. Our faces were close together, and there was a horrible +fascination in her eyes—the eyes of a madwoman at that moment, beyond +all question."</p> + +<p>"I am convinced that she is mad, and has been so for years," said Mr. +Larmer, positively.</p> + +<p>"She was mad then, foaming at the mouth, and trying to bite me in her +impotent fury. I could not hold her wrist firmly—she plunged here and +there so violently that one or other of us was pretty sure to be hurt, +unless I could force her to drop the murderous weapon. I was ashamed +that I could not do it; but she had the strength of a demon, and I +really wonder that she did not master me. Then the end came. Suddenly +her resistance ceased. The desperate force with which I had been holding +her hand must have been fully exerted at the very instant when her +muscles relaxed—when the light went out of her eyes and the body +staggered to the ground. It all happened at once. Did she faint? At any +rate, my fingers never touched the dagger until after she was stabbed."</p> + +<p>"It was a pure accident—as clear as can be; and the whole blame of it +is on her own shoulders. She brought the weapon, she held it, she +resisted you when you tried to prevent mischief. She, not you, had the +disposition to injure, and you have not an atom of responsibility."</p> + +<p>"That is your view, as a friend. It is not the view of the +scandal-mongers outside. It will not be the view of the jury. And it is +not my view."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I really do not know where my responsibility began or where it ended. I +don't know if her strength failed her at the critical moment, or if it +was simply overcome by mine—if, in fact, she was injured whilst +resisting my violence. One thing I am sure of, and that is that my heart +was full of hatred towards her. There was vengeance in my soul if not in +my intention. Who is to discriminate between motives so near allied? +Your friendship may acquit me, Larmer, but your instincts as a lawyer +cannot; and at any rate, I cannot acquit myself of having entertained +the feeling out of which crimes of violence naturally spring. To all +intents and purposes I am on exactly the same footing as many a man who +has ended his life on the gallows."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you think that tribulation is good for your soul. I cannot +see any other ground on which you torment yourself in this way about +things you have not done and acts you have never contemplated. I +understand that you entrusted me with your defence!" Mr. Larmer was +waxing impatient—almost indignant—at his client's tone.</p> + +<p>"So I do, entirely. Assuredly I have no desire to go to prison."</p> + +<p>"Then for goodness' sake don't talk to anyone else the nonsense you have +been talking to me!"</p> + +<p>"I am not likely. I have known you since we were boys together, and I +wanted to relieve my mind. It seemed right that you should know +precisely what is on my conscience in the matter."</p> + +<p>"Well, you have told me, and the effect of it has been to convince me +more than ever of your innocence. But that sort of thing would scarcely +convince anybody else. Now take my advice, and think as little about the +case as possible. You cannot do any good—you will only demoralize +yourself still more. Everything depends on how the judge and jury may be +disposed to regard our story. I shall give a brief to the best man that +can be had, and then we shall have done all that lies in our power."</p> + +<p>"I know I could not be in better hands. If anyone could get me off +scot-free you are the man to do it, Larmer. But I don't expect it, and I +am not sure that I care for it."</p> + +<p>Then they parted, and Alan went to Surrey Street and cleared out his +goods and chattels, very much to the relief of Mrs. Gorman, who assured +Mr. Hipkins that she could not have slept comfortably at night with that +outrageous man under the same roof.</p> + +<p>He found in his desk the message which he had written to Lettice on the +day of his crowning misfortune.</p> + +<p>"Thank heaven I did not send it," he muttered to himself, as he tore it +in pieces. "One week has made all the difference. Nothing could ever +justify me in speaking to her again."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h3>MR. LARMER GIVES A BRIEF.</h3> + + +<p>Mr. Larmer was not insensible to the notoriety which attached to him as +solicitor for the defence in a case which was the talk of the town, and +a topic of the sensational press. Not that it gave him any satisfaction +to make capital out of the misfortunes of a friend; but he would have +been something more than man and less than lawyer if he had despised the +professional chance which had come in his way.</p> + +<p>And in fact he did not despise it. There were one or two inexact +statements in the reports of the proceedings at Bow Street—he had +written to the papers and corrected them. Several caterers for the +curiosity of the public hashed up as many scandals as they could find, +and served them hot for the entertainment of their readers. It happened +that these tales were all more or less to the discredit of Alan Walcott, +and to print them before his trial was grossly unfair. Mr. Larmer wrote +a few indignant words on this subject also, and, made about two in a +thousand of the scandal-mongers ashamed of themselves. Not content with +this he supplied a friend with one or two paragraphs relating to the +case, which had the effect of stimulating the interest already aroused +in it. By this plan he secured the insertion of a statement in the best +of the society journals, which put the matter at issue in a fair and +unprejudiced way, dwelling on such facts as the pending divorce-suit, +the fining of Mrs. Walcott at Hammersmith, her molestation of her +husband on various recent occasions, and her intrusion upon him in +Alfred Place. This article, written with manifest knowledge of the +circumstances, yet with much reserve and moderation, was a very +serviceable diversion in Alan's favor, and did something to diminish the +odium into which he had fallen.</p> + +<p>Mr. Larmer would not have selected trial by ordeal in the columns of the +newspapers as the best preparation for a trial before an English judge +and jury; but the process was begun by others before he had a word to +say in the matter, and his efforts were simply directed to making the +most of the situation which had been created. A mass of prejudice had +been introduced into the case by the worthy gentlemen who maintain that +in these evil days the press is the one thing needful for moral and +political salvation, and who never lose an opportunity of showing how +easy it would be to govern a nation by leading articles, or to redeem +humanity by a series of reports and interviews. Alan had given himself +up for lost when he found himself in the toils of this prejudice; but +Mr. Larmer saw a chance of turning it to good account both for his +client and for himself, and not unnaturally took advantage of the +awakened curiosity to put his friend's case clearly and vividly before +the popular tribunal.</p> + +<p>Alan nearly upset the calculation of the lawyer by his impatience of the +interviewing tribe. Half-a-dozen of them found him out at different +times, and would not take his no for an answer. At last worried by the +pertinacity of one bolder and clumsier than all the rest, he took him by +the shoulders and bundled him out of his room, and the insulted +ambassador, as he called himself, wrote to his employer a particularly +spiteful account of his reception, with sundry embellishments perhaps +more picturesque than strictly accurate.</p> + +<p>The next thing that Mr. Larmer had to do was to retain counsel, and he +determined to secure as big a man as possible to conduct the defence. +The case had assumed greater importance than would attach to an ordinary +assault upon a wife by her husband. It was magnified by the surrounding +circumstances, so that the interest felt in it was legitimate enough, +apart from the spurious notoriety which had been added to it. Alan's +literary fame had grown considerably within the last year, and his +friends had been terribly shocked by the first bald statement that he +had stabbed his unfortunate wife in a fit of rage.</p> + +<p>They had begun by refusing to believe it, then they trusted that he +would be able to prove his innocence, but by this time many of his +warmest admirers were assuring each other that, "after all, the artistic +merit of a poem never did and never would depend upon the moral +character of the poet." They hoped for the best, but were quite prepared +for the worst, and thus they looked forward to the trial with an anxiety +not unmingled with curious anticipation.</p> + +<p>The indirect connection of Lettice Campion with a case of this kind was +another intelligible reason for the concern of the respectable public. +Lettice's name was in everybody's mouth, as that of the young novelist +who had made such a brilliant success at the outset of her career, and +all who happened to know how she had been mixed up at an earlier stage +in the quarrel between Walcott and his wife, were wondering if she would +put in an appearance, willingly or unwillingly, at the Central Criminal +Court.</p> + +<p>Mr. Larmer clearly saw that the business was sufficiently important to +justify the intervention of the most eminent counsel. As he was running +over the list and balancing the virtues of different men for an occasion +of this sort, his eye fell on the name of Sydney Campion. He started, +and sank back in his chair to meditate.</p> + +<p>The idea of having Mr. Campion to defend a man with whom his sister's +name had been unjustly associated was a bold one, and it had not +occurred to him before. Was there any reason against it? What more +natural than that this rising pleader should come into court for the +special purpose of safeguarding the interests of Miss Campion? The +prosecution would not hesitate to introduce her name if they thought it +would do them any good—especially as they would have the contingency of +the divorce case in their minds; and Campion was just the man to nip any +attempt of that kind in the bud. At all events, the judge was more +likely to listen to him on such a point than to anyone else. But would +not the practice and etiquette of the bar put it absolutely out of the +question.</p> + +<p>The thing was worth considering—worth talking over with Campion +himself. So Mr. Larmer put on his hat at once, and went over to the +Temple.</p> + +<p>"I have come to see you on a rather delicate matter," he said, by way of +introduction, "as you will understand if you happen to have seen my name +in connection with the Walcott assault case. There are sundry matters +involved which make it difficult to keep the case within its proper +limits, and I thought that an informal consultation on the subject, +before I proceed to retain counsel, might facilitate matters."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it might; but I hardly see how I can help you."</p> + +<p>"Well, it occurred to me that if you were in court during the trial, you +would have the opportunity of checking anything that might arise of an +irrelevant character—any references——"</p> + +<p>"And what do you propose?" said Sydney, interrupting.</p> + +<p>"It would be hard that we should be prevented from putting our case in +the hands of such counsel as we consider best calculated to bring it to +a successful issue. If there is no strong personal reason against it, +but on the other hand (as it seems to me) an adequate reason in its +favor, I trust that you will allow me to send you a brief."</p> + +<p>"Let me ask you—did you come to me in any sense at the instance of your +client?" said Sydney, suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"By no means. Mr. Walcott does not know I have thought of you in +connection with his defence."</p> + +<p>"Nor at the instance of another?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. It is entirely my own idea."</p> + +<p>Sydney looked relieved. He could not ask outright if there had been any +communication with his sister, but that was what he was thinking about.</p> + +<p>"I hope we may rely upon you," said Mr. Larmer.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I am not sure that you can. This is, as you said, a +perfectly informal conversation, and I may frankly tell you that what +you ask is out of the question. I hope you will think no more about it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Larmer was troubled.</p> + +<p>"It seemed to me, Mr. Campion, that the idea would commend itself at +once. I fear you did not quite take my meaning when I spoke of possible +side issues and irrelevant questions which might arise during the +trial?"</p> + +<p>"Surely I did. You meant that counsel for the prosecution might think to +advance his cause by referring to other proceedings, past or future, and +might even go so far as to name a lady who has been most wantonly and +cruelly maligned by one of the parties to this case?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. You use the very words in regard to it which I would have used +myself. That is a contingency, I imagine, which you would strongly +desire to avoid."</p> + +<p>"So strongly do I desire it, that you would not be surprised if I had +already taken measures with that end in view."</p> + +<p>"Decidedly not. But it will be only natural that the prosecution should +try and damage Walcott as much as possible—showing the motive he would +have for getting rid of his wife, and, going into the details of their +former quarrels. The question is whether any man can be expected, in +doing this, to abstain from mentioning the names of third parties."</p> + +<p>"Has it never occurred to you, Mr. Larmer, that there is one way, and +only one way, in which I could certainly guarantees that the name of the +lady in question should not be mentioned? Your plan, if you will excuse +my saying so, is clumsy and liable to fail. Mine is perfectly secure +against failure, and perhaps a little more congenial."</p> + +<p>Larmer's face fell.</p> + +<p>"You do not mean," he said, "that you have taken a brief from the +prosecution!"</p> + +<p>"If I had, I should have stopped you as soon as you began to speak, and +told you so. But I may say as much as this—if I am retained by them I +shall go into court; and, if they retain anyone else, I shall have good +reason to know that the case will be conducted precisely as I should +conduct it myself. I imagine that this matters very little to you, Mr. +Larmer. I have not done much with this class of cases, and there will be +no difficulty in finding a stronger man."</p> + +<p>Mr. Larmer was silent for a minute or two. Sydney Campion's manner took +him aback.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to hear what you have said," he remarked at last. "I fear it +must inevitably prejudice my client if it is known that you are on the +other side."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why it should," Sydney said, with manifest indifference. +"At any rate, with respect to the point you were mentioning, it is clear +that the lady's name will not be introduced by the prosecution."</p> + +<p>"Let it be equally clear," said Larmer, "that it will not be introduced +by the defence. This was the first instruction which I received from my +client—who, I may say, was a schoolfellow of mine, and in whose honor, +and not only honor, but technical innocence, I have the utmost +confidence."</p> + +<p>"You have undertaken his defence, and I am sure he is in very good +hands," said Sydney with a rather cynical smile. "But, perhaps, the less +said the better as to the honor of a married man who, under false +pretenses, dares to pay attentions to an unmarried lady."</p> + +<p>"Believe me you are mistaken! Alan Walcott has done nothing of the +kind."</p> + +<p>"He has done enough to create a scandal. You are not denying that his +attitude has been such as to bring the name of the lady forward in a +most objectionable manner, without the slightest contribution on her +part to such a misfortune?"</p> + +<p>"I do deny it, most emphatically, and I beg you to disabuse your mind of +the idea. What possible ground can you have for such a charge? The mere +tipsy ravings of this unfaithful wife—whom I should probably have no +difficulty in proving insane, as well as unfaithful and intemperate. +What is actually known is that she has been heard by the police, on one +or two occasions, referring by name to this lady. How far would you as a +lawyer, Mr. Campion, allow that fact to have weight as evidence in +support of the charge? And can you mention, beyond that, one tittle of +evidence of any kind?"</p> + +<p>Sydney shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"We are not considering evidence as you know very well. We are talking +as two men of the world, quite competent to draw the right deduction +from admitted facts. I say that when a lady has been so grievously +insulted as Miss Campion has been, under circumstances of such great +aggravation, the man who has brought that indignity upon her, however +indirectly, must be held directly responsible for his conduct."</p> + +<p>"It is useless to argue the point—the more so as I fancy that Mr. +Walcott himself would be very much inclined to agree with you—which I +am not. He most bitterly regrets the annoyance to which Miss Campion has +been subjected, and regards it as the greatest of all the injuries +inflicted upon him by his degraded wife. Having said this on his behalf, +let me add that any charge brought against him on this score, by that +woman or by anyone else, is absolutely without foundation, and that we +shall know how to defend his reputation, in or out of court, whenever +and by whomsoever it may be attacked."</p> + +<p>"Your warmth does you credit, Mr. Larmer. I will be equally frank with +you. You speak as a friend, I speak as a brother. After all that has +happened I do not hold myself bound, nor do I intend, to consider anyone +or anything in comparison with the credit of the name which has been so +foully aspersed. It is for me to protect that name from discredit, and I +shall adopt every expedient within my reach to carry out my purpose."</p> + +<p>"No doubt you are perfectly justified in doing so. I will merely remark +that hostility to my client cannot assist you in your object."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Sydney, rising from his seat, "there can be no use in +continuing the conversation." And he added, in a lighter tone, "I am +sorry, Mr. Larmer, that I should be compelled to decline the first brief +you have offered me."</p> + +<p>Larmer went back to his office a little crestfallen, but not at all +sorry that he had had this interview with Campion. He was better +prepared now for the course which the trial was likely to follow. He had +no doubt that Campion would be bold enough to undertake the prosecution, +and that he would do his best to get a conviction against Walcott, whom +he manifestly disliked. He was less sanguine from that moment as to the +result of his efforts; but, of course, he did not relax them. He +retained Mr. Charles Milton, a man with an excellent reputation in +criminal business, and one who, as he thought, would do his utmost to +avoid losing a case to Campion.</p> + +<p>Milton, in effect, took the matter up with much zeal. He had (so far as +his professional instinct allowed him) accepted the theory of Walcott's +guilt, rather respecting him, if the truth were known, for refusing to +put up any longer with the persecutions of a revolted wife. But he had +no sooner received his brief in the case than he was perfectly convinced +of Walcott's innocence. The story told him by Mr. Larmer seemed not only +natural but transparently true, and when he heard that his club-mate of +the Oligarchy was actively interested for the other side, he determined +that no effort on his part should be wanting to secure a verdict.</p> + +<p>Not that he had any grudge against Sydney; but they belonged to the same +profession, the same party, and the same club—three conceivable reasons +for Mr. Milton's zeal.</p> + +<p>Thus Alan's defence was well provided for, and Mr. Larmer began to feel +more easy in his mind.</p> + +<p>When Alan heard that the prosecution was likely to be conducted by +Sydney Campion, he took the news quietly, though it was a very serious +matter for him. He did not doubt its seriousness, but his heart had +already fallen so low that it could scarcely sink lower. He saw at once +that the motive of Lettice's brother in angling for this brief (as Alan +concluded that he must have done) was to protect the interests of +Lettice; and so far, the fact was a matter of congratulation. It was his +own great desire, as Larmer knew, to prevent her name from being +mentioned, and to avoid reference to anything in which she had been +indirectly concerned, even though the reference might have been made +without using her name. When Larmer pointed out that this quixotism, as +he called it, would make it almost impossible for his counsel to show +the extreme malignity of his wife and the intolerable persecution to +which he had been subjected, he had answered shortly and decisively,</p> + +<p>"Let it be impossible. The first object is not my defence, but hers."</p> + +<p>"Your vision is distorted," Larmer had said angrily. "This may seem to +you right and generous, but I tell you it is foolish and unnecessary."</p> + +<p>"I will not be guided in this particular thing," Alan rejoined, "by your +reason, but by my feeling. An acquittal at her cost would mean a +lifelong sorrow."</p> + +<p>"If I know anything of women, Miss Campion, who does not quite hate you, +would insist on having the whole story told in open court. Perhaps she +may return to England in time for the trial, and then she can decide the +point herself."</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid!" Alan had said. And he meant it. Worse than that, he +tortured himself with the idea, which he called a firm belief, that +Lettice had heard, or would hear, of his disgraceful position, that she +would be unable to doubt that he had struck the fatal blow, and that he +would be dropped out of her heart and out of her life as a matter of +course. How could it be otherwise? What was he to her, that she should +believe him innocent in spite of appearances; or that, believing him +merely unfortunate and degraded, she should not think less well of him +than when he held his name high in the world of letters and in society?</p> + +<p>"That dream is gone," he said. "Let me forget it, and wake to the new +life that opens before me. A new life—born in a police cell, baptized +in a criminal court, suckled in a prison, and trained in solitary +adversity. That is the fate for which I have been reserved. I may be +nearly fifty when I come out—a broken-down man, without reputation and +without a hope. Truly, the dream is at an end; and oh, God of Heaven, +make her forget me as though we had never met!"</p> + +<p>So, when Mr. Larmer frankly told him all that Sydney Campion had said, +Alan could not find it in his heart to blame Lattice's brother for his +hostility.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h3>IN COURT.</h3> + + +<p>No doubt it was from some points of view an unprofessional act of Sydney +Campion to appear in court as counsel for the prosecution of Alan +Walcott. Sydney knew that he was straining a rule of etiquette, to say +the least of it; but, under the circumstances, he held himself justified +in fishing for the brief.</p> + +<p>The matter had been taken up by the Treasury, and Sydney had asked an +intimate friend, who was also a friend of the Attorney-General, to give +the latter a hint. Now Sir James was, above all things, a suave and +politic man of the world, who thought that persons of position and +influence got on best in the intricate game of life by deftly playing +into each other's hands. When one gentleman could do something for +another gentleman, to oblige and accommodate him, it was evidently the +proper course to do it gracefully and without fuss. Campion's motives +were clearly excellent. As he understood the business (although the +ambassador put it very delicately indeed), a lady's reputation was at +stake; and if Sir James prided himself on one thing more than another, +it was his gallantry and discretion in matters of this kind. So he told +his friend to go back and set Mr. Campion's mind at rest; and in the +course of a day or two Sydney received his brief.</p> + +<p>"Who is going to defend?" he asked his clerk, when he had glanced at his +instructions.</p> + +<p>"I heard just now that Larmer had retained Mr. Charles Milton."</p> + +<p>"Charles Milton! The deuce! It will be a pretty little fight, Johnson!"</p> + +<p>"They don't seem to have a leg to stand on; the evidence is all one way, +even without the wife. I don't know what his story is, but it cannot +have any corroboration—and hers is well supported."</p> + +<p>"I am told she will be able to appear. She seems to be a terrible +talker—that is the worst of her. I must keep her strictly within the +ropes."</p> + +<p>"The other side will not have the same motives," said Johnson, who knew +all about the scandal which had preceded the assault, and who wanted to +get his employer to speak.</p> + +<p>"You think Mr. Milton will draw her on?"</p> + +<p>"Sure to, I should say. If I were defending (since you ask me), I would +not loose my grip until I had got her into a rage; and from all I hear +that would make the jury believe her capable of anything, even of +stabbing herself and swearing it on her husband."</p> + +<p>"But, my good fellow, you are not defending him! And I'll take care she +is not worked up in that fashion. Thanks for the suggestion, all the +same. They will contend that it was done in a struggle."</p> + +<p>"Against that, you have her evidence that the blow was deliberate; and I +think the jury will believe her."</p> + +<p>"They can't help themselves: motive, incitements, favoring +circumstances, are all too manifest. And that just makes the difficulty +and delicacy of the case for me. I want the jury to see the whole thing +impartially, that they may do justice, without bias and without foolish +weakness; and yet there are certain matters connected with it which need +not be dwelt upon—which must, in fact, be kept in the background +altogether. Do you see?"</p> + +<p>"I think I do." Johnson was a good deal in Sydney's confidence, being a +man of much discretion, and with considerable knowledge of the law. He +felt that his advice was being asked, or at any rate his opinion, and he +met Mr. Campion's searching gaze with one equally cool and serious.</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt you know as much about it as I could tell you. You seem +to hear everything from one source or another. Do you understand why it +is that I am going into court? It is not altogether a regular thing to +do, is it?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose you wish to keep the evidence well in hand," Johnson replied, +readily. "A lady's name has been used in a very unwarrantable manner, +and—since you ask me—you have undertaken to see that there is no +unnecessary repetition of the matter in court."</p> + +<p>"Precisely so—no repetition at all."</p> + +<p>"You will examine your own witness, and, of course, you need not go +behind the scene in Surrey Street, at which the crime was actually +committed—except in opening your case. What the jury will say is this: +husband and wife on bad terms, separated, and divorce pending; wife +comes to husband's rooms, reproaches him; recriminations; dagger handy +on the table (very bad for him that); a sudden temptation, a sudden +blow, and there's an end of it. No need to prove they were on bad terms, +with all those facts before you."</p> + +<p>"But then comes the defence."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, what is their line going to be? If they want to persuade the +jury that she did it herself, or that it was an accident, they will not +dwell upon all the reasons which might have tempted him to take her +life. That would be weakening their own case."</p> + +<p>"And Milton is capable of doing it!" said Sydney, talking to himself.</p> + +<p>"But if they think the jury will be bound to believe that he stabbed +her, no doubt they would go in for blackening her, and then they might +cross-examine her about those other things."</p> + +<p>"That is where the danger comes in."</p> + +<p>Sydney's words were equivalent to another question, but Johnson +preserved a perfectly stolid face. It was all very well for him to +advise his employer, and work up his cases for him if necessary. He was +accustomed to do both these things, and his help had been invaluable to +Sydney for several years past. But it was out of his line to display +more confidence than was displayed in him, or to venture on delicate +ground before he had received a lead.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's were the danger comes in," Sydney repeated. "I have reason +to believe that there is a disposition on their part to keep the lady's +name out of the case; but they are not pledged to it; and if they find +things looking very bad for Walcott, they may show fight in that +direction. Then there is Mr. Milton—no instructions can altogether gag +counsel. I don't know that I have ever given him cause of offence, but I +have an instinctive feeling that he would rather enjoy putting me in a +hole."</p> + +<p>"I think you would have the judge with you in any objection which you +might take."</p> + +<p>"But it would be a misfortune, as things stand, even to have to take +objection. Not only do I want to avoid the introduction of these +extraneous matters, but I should strongly object to figure in any way as +watching Miss Campion's interests. It would be very bad indeed for me to +have to do that. What I desire is that her interests should at no moment +of the trial appear, even to those who know the circumstances, to be +involved."</p> + +<p>"I quite see," said Johnson. "And since you ask me, I don't think you +have much to fear. It is a delicate position, but both sides are of the +same mind on the particular point, and it is most improbable that any +indiscretion will occur. Prosecution and defence both want to avoid a +certain pitfall—when they won't struggle on the edge of it. What do you +say, Mr. Campion, to setting forth in your opening statement all that is +known about their previous quarrels, not concealing that the woman has +been rather outrageous, in her foreign fashion, but quietly ignoring the +fact of her jealousy?"</p> + +<p>"That would be too bold—it would excite her, and possibly move the +defence to needless retorts."</p> + +<p>"As for exciting her, if she is thoroughly convinced that his conviction +will spoil his chance of a divorce, she will take the whole thing coolly +enough. My idea was that by opening fully, and touching on every point, +you would escape the appearance of shirking anything. And at the same +time you would be suggesting these motives for violence on Walcott's +part which, as you said, it would be their business to avoid."</p> + +<p>"There is a good deal in that," said Sydney, reflectively. "It is worth +considering. Yes, two heads are certainly better than one. I see that I +am instructed to ask about the attempt on her life at Aix-les-Bains. +Why, what a rascal the man has been to her! No wonder she is venemous +now."</p> + +<p>When the trial took place, the court was crowded with men and women who +were anxious to see the principal actors in what was popularly known as +the Surrey Street Mystery. They were both there—Alan pale and haggard +from his long suspense, and Cora, much pulled down by what she had gone +through. Of the two, she was, perhaps, the more interesting. Illness and +loss of blood had done something to efface the dissipated look which had +become habitual with her; she was languid and soberly dressed; and, +moreover, she understood, as Mr. Johnson had said she would, that the +conviction of her husband would put his divorce out of the question, at +any rate for some time to come. So it was her business to look +interesting, and injured, and quiet; and she was cunning enough to play +this part successfully.</p> + +<p>Alan, on the other hand, was completely indifferent as to the opinion +which might be formed of him, and almost indifferent as to the verdict. +When he came into court he looked carefully round at the women who were +present among the spectators, but, not seeing the one face which he had +both dreaded and hoped to see, he fell back into his former lethargy, +and took very little interest in the proceedings.</p> + +<p>Sydney Campion opened the case for the prosecution in a business-like +way, just glancing at the unhappy relations which had existed between +the prisoner and his wife for several years past, and freely admitting +that there appeared to have been faults on both sides. He took the +common-sense view of a man of the world speaking to men of the world, +and did not ask the sympathies of the jury for the injured woman who had +come straight from the hospital to that court, but only their impartial +attention to the evidence which would be brought before them, and the +expression of their deliberate opinion on the innocence or guilt of the +accused.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more fair than his observations—or so it appeared to +the majority of Campion's hearers. No doubt he had referred to the +affair at Aix-les-Bains as though it were a matter of evidence, instead +of mere allegation, and to the recent quarrels in England as though the +"faults on both sides" had been clearly established. But he was supposed +to be speaking in strict accordance with his instructions, and, of +course, it was open to the defence to question anything which he had +said.</p> + +<p>Then came the evidence for the prosecution, the substance of which is +already known to the reader; but Cora's account of the quarrel in Surrey +Street was so ingeniously colored and distorted that Alan found himself +listening with something like genuine amusement to the questions of +counsel and the replies of his lying wife.</p> + +<p>"And so," said Mr. Campion, after she had spoken of her earnest appeal +for the renewal of friendship, and of her husband's insulting refusal, +"you came to high words. Did you both keep the same positions whilst you +were talking?"</p> + +<p>"For a long time, until I lost patience, and then—yes, let me speak the +whole truth—I threw a certain book at him."</p> + +<p>Cora was on the point of saying why she threw the book, and whose name +was on the title-page, but she checked herself in time. It had been very +difficult to persuade her that her interests were safe in the hands of +Lettice's brother, and even now she had occasional misgivings on that +point. Sydney went on quickly.</p> + +<p>"A book lying close to your hand, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"She said a certain book," Mr. Milton interjected.</p> + +<p>"You must make allowance for her," said the judge. "You know she is +French, and you should follow her in two languages at once. No doubt she +meant 'some book or other.' The point has no importance."</p> + +<p>"And then," said Sydney, "you altered your positions?"</p> + +<p>"We stood facing each other."</p> + +<p>"What happened next?"</p> + +<p>"Suddenly—I had not moved—an evil look came in his face. He sprang to +the table, and took from the drawer a long, sharp poignard. I remembered +it well, for he had it when we were married."</p> + +<p>"What did he do then?"</p> + +<p>"He raised it in his hand; but I had leaped upon him, and then began a +terrible struggle."</p> + +<p>The court was excited. Alan and his counsel were almost the only persons +who remained perfectly cool.</p> + +<p>"It was an unequal struggle?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes! I became exhausted, and sank to the ground."</p> + +<p>"Before or after you were stabbed?"</p> + +<p>"He stabbed me as I fell."</p> + +<p>"Could it have been an accident?"</p> + +<p>"Impossible, for I fell backward, and the wound was in front."</p> + +<p>After Sydney had done with his witness, Mr. Milton took her in hand; and +this was felt by every one to be the most critical stage of the trial. +Milton did his best to shake Cora's evidence, not without a certain kind +of success. He turned her past life inside out, made her confess her +infidelity, her intemperance, her brawling in the streets, her +conviction and fine at the Hammersmith Police Court. It was all he could +do to restrain himself from getting her to acknowledge the reason of her +visit to Maple Cottage; but his instructions were too definite to be +ignored. He felt that the introduction of Miss Campion's name would have +told in favor of his client—at any rate, with the jury; and he would +not have been a zealous pleader if he had not wished to take advantage +of the point.</p> + +<p>By this time Cora was in a rage, and she damaged herself with the jury +by giving them a specimen of her ungovernable temper. The trial had to +be suspended for a quarter of an hour, whilst she recovered from a fit +of hysterics; but it said much for her crafty shrewdness that she was +able to adhere, in the main, to the story which she had told. She was +severely cross-examined about the scene in Surrey Street, and especially +about the dagger. She feigned intense surprise at being asked and +pressed as to her having brought the weapon with her; but Mr. Milton +could not succeed in making her contradict herself.</p> + +<p>Then the other witnesses were heard and counsel had an opportunity of +enforcing the evidence on both sides. Mr. Milton was very severe on his +learned friend for introducing matter in his opening speech, on which he +did not intend to call witnesses; but in his own mind he had recognized +the fact that there must be a verdict of guilty, and he brought out as +strongly as he could the circumstances which he thought would weigh with +the court in his client's favor. Sydney was well content with the result +of the trial as far as it had gone. There had been no reference of any +kind to his sister Lettice; and, as he knew that this was due in some +measure to the reticence of the defence, it would have argued a want of +generosity on his part to talk of the cruelty of the prisoner in +stopping his wife's allowance because she had molested him in the +street.</p> + +<p>The judge summed up with great fairness. He picked out the facts which +had been sworn to in regard to the actual receiving of the wound, which, +he said, were compatible with the theory of self-infliction, with that +of wilful infliction by the husband, and with that of accident. As for +the first theory, it would imply that the dagger had passed from the +prisoner's hands to those of his wife, and back again, and it seemed to +be contradicted by the evidence of the landlady and the other lodger. +Moreover, it was not even suggested by the defence, which relied upon +the theory of accident. An accident of this kind would certainly be +possible during a violent struggle for the possession of the dagger. Now +the husband and wife virtually accused each other of producing this +weapon and threatening to use it. It was for the jury to decide which of +the two they would believe. There was a direct conflict of evidence, or +allegation, and in such a case they must look at all the surrounding +circumstances. It was not denied that the dagger belonged to the +prisoner, but it was suggested in his behalf that the wife had purloined +it some time before, and had suddenly produced it when she came to her +husband's apartments in Surrey Street. If that could be proved, then the +woman had been guilty of perjury, and her evidence would collapse +altogether. Now there were some portions of her evidence which were most +unsatisfactory. She had led a dissolute life, and was cursed with an +ungovernable temper. But, on the other hand, she had told a consistent +tale as to the occurrences of that fatal afternoon, and he could not go +so far as to advise the jury to reject her testimony as worthless.</p> + +<p>His lordship then went over the remaining evidence, and concluded as +follows:—</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen, I may now leave you to your difficult task. It is for you to +say whether, in your judgment, the wound which this woman received was +inflicted by herself or by her husband. If you find that it was +inflicted by her husband, you must further decide, to the best of your +ability, whether the prisoner wounded his wife in the course of a +struggle, without intending it, or whether he did at the moment +wittingly and purposely injure her. The rest you will leave to me. You +have the evidence before you, and the constitution of your country +imposes upon you the high responsibility of saying whether this man is +innocent or guilty of the charge preferred against him."</p> + +<p>The jury retired to consider their verdict, and after about +three-quarters of an hour they returned into court.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen of the jury," said the clerk, "are you agreed upon your +verdict?"</p> + +<p>"We are," said the foreman.</p> + +<p>"Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"</p> + +<p>"We find him guilty of wounding, with intent to inflict grievous bodily +harm."</p> + +<p>Alan turned his face to the judge. The whole thing had been so precisely +rehearsed in his mind that no mere detail would take him by surprise. He +had expected the verdict, and it had come. Now he expected the sentence; +let it come, too. It would hardly be worse than he was prepared for.</p> + +<p>To say that Mr. Justice Perkins was dissatisfied with the verdict would +be going a little too far; but he almost wished, when he heard it, that +he had dwelt at greater length upon the untrustworthy character of Mrs. +Walcott's evidence. However, he had told the jury that this was a matter +for their careful consideration; and he had always been wont, even more +than some of his brother judges, to leave full responsibility to his +juries in matters of opinion and belief.</p> + +<p>"Alan Walcott," he said to the convicted man, "you have had a fair trial +before twelve of your peers, who have heard all the evidence brought +before them, whether favorable to you or the reverse. In the exercise of +their discretion, and actuated as they doubtless have been by the purest +motives, they have found you guilty of the crime laid to your charge. No +words of mine are necessary to make you appreciate this verdict. +Whatever the provocation which you may have received from this miserable +woman, however she may have forgotten her duty and tried you beyond +endurance—and I think that the evidence was clear enough on these +points—she was still your wife, and had a double claim upon your +forbearance. You might well have been in a worse position. From the +moment when you took that deadly weapon in your hands, everything was +possible. You might have been charged with wilful murder, if she had +died, or with intent to murder. You have been defended with great +ability; and if the jury believed, as they manifestly did, that your +defence, so fat as concerns the introduction of the dagger, could not be +maintained then they had no alternative but to find as they actually did +find. It only remains for me to pass upon you such a sentence, within +the discretion left me by the law, as seems to be appropriate to your +offence, and that is that you be imprisoned and kept to hard labor for +the term of six calendar months."</p> + +<p>Then the prisoner was removed; the court and the spectators dispersed to +dine and amuse themselves; the reporters rushed off to carry their last +copy to the evening newspapers; and the great tide of life swept by on +its appointed course. No foundering, ship on its iron-bound coast, no +broken heart that sinks beneath its waves, disturbs the law-abiding ebb +and flow of the vast ocean of humanity.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_V" id="BOOK_V"></a>BOOK V.</h2> + +<h3>LOVE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Let us be unashamed of soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As earth lies bare to heaven above!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How is it under our control<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To love or not to love?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Robert Browning.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h3>COURTSHIP.</h3> + + +<p>Busy as Sydney Campion was, at this juncture of his career, public +affairs were, on the whole, less engrossing to him than usual; for a new +element had entered into his private life, and bade fair to change many +of its currents.</p> + +<p>The rector's education of his son and daughter had produced effects +which would have astonished him mightily could he have traced their +secret workings, but which would have been matter of no surprise to a +psychologist.</p> + +<p>He himself had been in the main an unsuccessful man, for, although he +had enjoyed many years of peace and quiet in his country parish, he had +never attained the objects with which he set out in life. Like many +another man who has failed, his failure led him to value nothing on +earth so highly as success. It is your fortunate man who can afford to +slight life's prizes. The rector of Angleford was never heard to utter +soothing sentiments to the effect that "life may succeed in that it +seems to fail," or that heaven was the place for those who had failed on +earth. He did not believe it. Failure was terrible misfortune in his +eyes: intellectual failure, greatest of all. Of course he wanted his +children to be moral and religious; it was indeed important that they +should be orthodox and respectable, if they wanted to get on in the +world; but he had no such passion of longing for their spiritual as he +had for their mental development. Neither was it money that he wished +them to acquire, save as an adjunct; no man had more aristocratic +prejudices against trade and pride of purse than Mr. Campion; but he +wanted them—and especially he wanted Sydney—to show intellectual +superiority to the rest of the world, and by that superiority to gain +the good things of life. And of all these good things, the best was +fame—the fame that means success.</p> + +<p>Thus, from the very beginning of Sydney's life, his father sedulously +cultivated ambition in his soul, and taught him that failure meant +disgrace. The spur that he applied to the boy acted with equal force on +the girl, but with different results. For with ambition the rector sowed +the seeds of a deadly egotism, and it found a favorable soil—at least +in Sydney's heart. That the boy should strive for himself and his own +glory—that was the lesson the rector taught him; and he ought not to +have been surprised when, in later years, his son's absorption in self +gave him such bitter pain.</p> + +<p>Lettice, with her ambition curbed by love and pity, accepted the +discipline of patience and self-sacrifice, set before her by the +selfishness of other people; but Sydney gave free rein to his ambition +and his pride. He could not make shift to content himself, as his father +had done, with academic distinction alone. He wanted to be a leader of +men, to take a foremost place in the world of men. He sometimes told +himself that his father had equipped him to the very best of his power +for the battle of life, and he was grateful to him for his care; but he +did not think very much about the sacrifices made for him by others. As +a matter of fact, he thought himself worth them all. And for the prize +he desired, he bartered away much that makes the completer man: for he +extinguished many generous instincts and noble possibilities, and +thought himself the gainer by their loss.</p> + +<p>In Lettice, the love of fame was also strong, but in a modified form. +Her tastes were more literary than those of Sydney, but success was as +sweet to her as to him. The zest with which she worked was also in part +due to the rector's teaching; but, by the strange workings-out of +influence and tendency, it had chanced that the rector's carelessness +and neglect had been the factors that disciplined a nature both strong +and sweet into forgetfulness of self and absorption in work rather than +its rewards.</p> + +<p>But already Nature had begun with Sydney Campion her grand process of +amelioration, which she applies (when we let her have her way) to all +men and women, most systematically to those who need it most, securing +an entrance to their souls by their very vices and weaknesses, and +invariably supplying the human instrument or the effective circumstances +which are best calculated to work her purpose. Such beneficent work of +Nature may be called, as it was called by the older writers, the Hand of +God.</p> + +<p>Sydney's great and overweening fault was that form of "moral stupidity" +which we term selfishness. Something of it may have come with the +faculties which he had inherited—in tendencies and inclinations +mysteriously associated with his physical conformation; much had been +added thereto by the indulgence of his parents, by the pride of his +university triumphs, and by the misfortune of his association in London +with men who aggravated instead of modifying the faults of his natural +disposition. The death of his father had produced a good effect for the +time, and made him permanently more considerate of his mother's and +sister's welfare. But a greater and still more permanent effect seemed +likely to be produced on him now, for he had opened his heart to the +influences of a pure and elevating affection; and for almost the first +time there entered into his mind a gradually increasing feeling of +contrition and remorse for certain past phases of his life which he knew +to be both unworthy in themselves and disloyal (if persisted in) to the +woman whom he hoped to make his wife. By a determined effort of will, he +cut one knot which he could not untie, but, his thoughts being still +centred upon himself, he considered his own rights and needs almost +entirely in the matter, and did not trouble himself much about the +rights or needs of the other person concerned. He had broken free, and +was disposed to congratulate himself upon his freedom; vowing, +meanwhile, that he would never put himself into any bonds again except +the safe and honorable bonds of marriage.</p> + +<p>Thus freed, he went down with Dalton to Angleford for the Easter recess, +which fell late that year. He seemed particularly cheery and confident, +although Dalton noticed a slight shade of gloom or anxiety upon his brow +from time to time, and put it down to his uncertainty as to the +Pynsents' acceptance of his attentions to Miss Anna Pynsent, which were +already noticed and talked about in society. Sydney was a rising man, +but it was thought that Sir John might look higher for his beautiful +young sister.</p> + +<p>The Parliamentary success of the new member for Vanebury had been as +great as his most reasonable friends anticipated for him, if not quite +as meteoric as one or two flatterers had predicted. Meteoric success in +the House of Commons is not, indeed, so rare as it was twenty years ago, +for the studied rhetoric which served our great-grandfathers in their +ambitious pursuit of notoriety has given place to the arts of audacity, +innovation, and the sublime courage of youthful insolence, which have +occasionally worked wonders in our own day.</p> + +<p>Sydney had long been a close observer of the methods by which men gained +the ear of the House, and he had learned one or two things that were +very useful to him now that he was able to turn them to account.</p> + +<p>"We have put the golden age behind us," he said one day to Dalton, with +the assured and confident air which gave him so much of his power +amongst men, "and also the silver age, and the age of brass. We are +living in the great newspaper age, and, if a public man wants to get +into a foremost place before he has begun to lose his teeth, he must +play steadily to the readers of the daily journals. In my small way I +have done this already, and now I am in the House, I shall make it my +business to study and humor, to some extent, the many-faced monster who +reads and reflects himself in the press. In other times a man had to +work himself up in <i>Hansard</i> and the Standing Orders, to watch and +imitate the old Parliamentary hands, to listen for the whip and follow +close at heel; but, as I have often heard you say, we have changed all +that. Whatever else a man may do or leave undone, he must keep himself +in evidence; it is more important to be talked and written about +constantly than to be highly praised once in six months. I don't know +any other way of working the oracle than by doing or saying something +every day, clever or foolish, which will have a chance of getting into +print."</p> + +<p>He spoke half in jest, yet he evidently more than half meant what he +said.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, you have some recent instances to support your theory," +Dalton said, with a smile. They were lighting their cigars, preparatory +to playing a fresh game of billiards, but Sydney was so much interested +in the conversation, that, instead of taking up his cue, he stood with +his back to the fire and continued it.</p> + +<p>"Precisely so—there can be no doubt about it. Look at Flumley, and +Warrington, and Middlemist—three of our own fellows, without going any +further. What is there in them to command success, except not deserving +it, and knowing that they don't? The modest merit and perseverance +business is quite played out for any man of spirit. The only line to +take in these days is that of cheek, pluck, and devil-may-care."</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Campion, you have grown very cynical of late?" said Brooke +Dalton, rather more gravely than usual. "I have been rather disposed to +take some blame to myself for my share in the heartless kind of talk +that used to go on at the Oligarchy. I and Pynsent were your sponsors +there, I remember. You may think this an odd thing to say, but the fact +is I am becoming something of a fogy, I suppose, in my ideas, and I +daresay you'll tell me that the change is not for the better."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that," said Sydney, lightly. "Perhaps it is for the +better, after all. You see, <i>you</i> are now laying yourself out to +persuade your fellowmen that you can cure them of all the ills that +flesh is heir to! But I'll tell you what I have noticed, old man, and +what others beside me have noticed. We miss you up in town. You never +come to the Club now. The men say you must be ill, or married, or +breaking up, or under petticoat government—all stuff and nonsense, you +know; but that is what they say."</p> + +<p>"They can't be all right," said Brooke, with a rather embarrassed laugh, +"but some of them may be." He made a perfectly needless excursion across +the room to fetch a cue from the rack that he did not want, while Sydney +smoked on and watched him with amused and rather curious eyes. "I +suppose I am a little under petticoat government," said Dalton, +examining his cue with interest, and then laying it down on the table, +"as you may see for yourself. But my sister manages everything so +cleverly that I don't mind answering to the reins and letting her get me +well in hand."</p> + +<p>"No one ever had a better excuse for submitting to petticoat government. +But you know what is always thought of a man when he begins to give up +his club."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it can't be helped. Then again—perhaps there is another +reason. Edith, you know, has a little place of her own, about a mile +from here, and she tells me that she will not keep house for me much +longer—even to rescue me from club life. The fact is, she wants me to +marry."</p> + +<p>"Oh, now I see it all; you have let the cat out the bag! And you are +going to humor her in that, too?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I hardly think I should marry just to humor my sister. But—who +knows? She is always at me, and a continual dropping——"</p> + +<p>"Wears away the stony heart of Brooke Dalton. Why, what a converted +clubbist you will be!"</p> + +<p>"There was always a corner of my heart, Campion, in which I rebelled +against our bachelor's paradise at the Oligarchy—and you would have +opened your eyes if you could have seen into that corner through the +smoke and gossip of the old days in Pall Mall."</p> + +<p>"The old days of six months ago!" said Sydney, good-humoredly.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that Edith and I are going abroad next week?"</p> + +<p>The question sounded abrupt, but Dalton had not the air of a man who +wants to turn the conversation.</p> + +<p>"No," said Sydney, in some surprise. "Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Edith wants to go to Italy, and I should not wonder if we were to +come across a cousin of mine, Mrs. Hartley, who is now at Florence. You +know her, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly know her, but I have heard a good deal about her. She has been +very kind to my sister—nursed her through a long illness, and looked +after her in the most generous manner possible. I am under great +obligations to Mrs. Hartley. I hope you will say so to her if you meet."</p> + +<p>"All right. Anything else I can do for you? No doubt we shall see your +sister. We are old friends, you know. And I have met her several times +at my cousin's this winter."</p> + +<p>"At those wonderful Sunday gatherings of hers?"</p> + +<p>"I dropped in casually one day, and found Miss Campion there—and I +admit that I went pretty regularly afterwards, in the hope of improving +the acquaintance. If I were to tell you that I am going to Florence now +for precisely the same reason, would you, as her brother, wish me good +speed, or advise me to keep away?"</p> + +<p>"Wish you good speed?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes! Is not my meaning clear?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Dalton, you have taken me absolutely by surprise," said Sydney, +laying down his cigar. "But, if I understand you aright, I do wish you +good speed, and with all my heart."</p> + +<p>"Mind," said Dalton hurriedly, "I have not the least idea what my +reception is likely to be. I'm afraid I have not the ghost of a chance."</p> + +<p>"I hope you will be treated as you deserve," said Sydney, rather +resenting this constructive imputation on his sister's taste. Privately, +he thought there was no doubt about the matter, and was delighted with +the prospect of so effectually crushing the gossip that still hung about +Lettice's name. The memory of Alan Walcott's affairs was strong in the +minds of both men as they paused in their conversation, but neither +chose to allude to him in words.</p> + +<p>"I could settle down here with the greatest pleasure imaginable, under +some circumstances," said Brooke Dalton, with a faint smile irradiating +his fair, placid, well-featured countenance. "Do you think your sister +would like to be so near her old home?"</p> + +<p>"I think she would consider it an advantage. She was always fond of +Angleford. Your wife will be a happy woman, Dalton, whoever she may +be—sua si bona norit!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm glad I spoke to you," said Brooke, with an air of visible +relief. "Edith knows all about it, and is delighted. How the time flies! +We can't have a game before dinner, I'm afraid. Must you go to-morrow, +Campion?"</p> + +<p>"It is necessary. The House meets at four; and besides, I have arranged +to meet Sir John Pynsent earlier in the day. I want to have a little +talk with him."</p> + +<p>"To put his fate to the touch, I suppose," meditated Brooke, glancing at +Sydney's face, which had suddenly grown a little grave. "I suppose it +would be premature to say anything—I think," he said aloud, "that we +almost ought to be dressing now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we've only left ourselves ten minutes. I say, Dalton, now I think +of it, I'll give you a letter to my sister, if you'll be kind enough to +deliver it."</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>"There will be no hurry about it. Give it to her whenever you like. I +think it would be serviceable, and I suppose you can trust my +discretion; but, understand me—you can deliver the letter or not, as +seems good to you when you are with her. I'll write it to-night, and let +you have it to-morrow morning before I go."</p> + +<p>It would not have occurred to Brooke Dalton to ask for a letter of +recommendation when he went a-courting, but Sydney's words did not +strike him as incongruous at the time, and he was simple enough to +believe that a brother's influence would weigh with a woman of Lettice's +calibre in the choice of a partner for life.</p> + +<p>Sydney delivered the letter into his keeping next day, and then went up +to town, where he was to meet Sir John Pynsent at the Club.</p> + +<p>Dalton had been mistaken when he conjectured that Sydney's intentions +were to consult Sir John about his pretension to Miss Pynsent's hand. +Sydney had not yet got so far. He had made up his mind that he wanted +Anna Pynsent for a wife more than he had ever wanted any woman in the +world; and the encouragement that he had received from Sir John and Lady +Pynsent made him conscious that they were not very likely to deny his +suit. And yet he paused. It seemed to him that he would like a longer +interval to pass before he asked Nan Pynsent to marry him—a longer +space in which to put away certain memories and fears which became more +bitter to him every time that they recurred.</p> + +<p>It was simply a few words on political matters that he wanted with Sir +John; but they had the room to themselves, and Sydney was hardly +surprised to find that the conversation had speedily drifted round to +personal topics, and that the baronet was detailing his plans for the +autumn, and asking Sydney to form one of his house-party in September. +Sydney hesitated in replying. He thought to himself that he should not +care to go unless he was sure that Miss Pynsent meant to accept him. +Perhaps Sir John attributed his hesitation to its real cause, for he +said, more heartily than ever.</p> + +<p>"We all want you, you know. Nan is dying to talk over your constituents +with you. She has got some Workmen's Club on hand that she wants the +member to open, with an appropriate speech, so you had better prepare +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Miss Pynsent is interested in the Vanebury workmen. I shall be +delighted to help at any time."</p> + +<p>"Too much interested," said Sir John, bluntly. "I'll tell her she'll be +an out and out Radical by and by. You know she has a nice little place +of her own just outside Vanebury, and she vows she'll go and live there +when she is twenty-one, and work for the good of the people. My +authority over her will cease entirely when she is of age."</p> + +<p>"But not your influence," said Sydney.</p> + +<p>"Well—I don't know that I have very much. The proper person to +influence Nan will be her husband, when she has one."</p> + +<p>"If I were not a poor man——" Sydney began impulsively, and then +stopped short. But a good-humored curl of Sir John's mouth, an inquiring +twinkle in his eye, told him that he must proceed. So, in five minutes, +his proposal was made, and a good deal earlier than he had expected it +to be. It must be confessed that Sir John had led him on. And Sir John +was unfeignedly delighted, though he tried to pretend doubt and +indifference.</p> + +<p>"Of course I can't answer for my sister, and she is full young to make +her choice. But I can assure you, Campion, there's no man living to whom +I would sooner see her married than to yourself," he said at the +conclusion of the interview. And then he asked Sydney to dinner, and +went home to pour the story into the ears of his wife.</p> + +<p>Lady Pynsent was not so much pleased as was he. She had had visions of a +title for her sister-in-law, and thought that Nan would be throwing +herself away if she married Sydney Campion, although he was a rising +man, and would certainly be solicitor-general before long.</p> + +<p>"Well, Nan will have to decide for herself," said Sir John, evading his +wife's remonstrances. "After all, I couldn't refuse the man for her, +could I?" He did not say that he had tried to lead the backward lover +on.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you could," said Lady Pynsent. "You could have told him it was out +of the question. But the fact is, you want it. You have literally thrown +Nan at his head ever since he stayed with us last summer. You are so +devoted to your friend, Mr. Campion!"</p> + +<p>"You will see that he is a friend to be proud of," said Sir John, with +conviction. "He is one of the cleverest men of the day, he will be one +of the most distinguished. Any woman may envy Nan——"</p> + +<p>"If she accepts him," said Lady Pynsent.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think she will?"</p> + +<p>"I have no idea. In some ways, Nan is so childish; in others, she is a +woman grown. I can never answer for Nan. She takes such idealistic views +of things."</p> + +<p>"She's a dear, good girl," said Sir John, rather objecting to this view +of Nan's character.</p> + +<p>"My dear John, of course she is! She's a darling. But she is quite +impracticable sometimes, as you know."</p> + +<p>Yes, Sir John knew. And for that very reason, he wanted Nan to marry +Sydney Campion.</p> + +<p>He warned his wife against speaking to the girl on the subject: he had +promised Campion a fair field, and he was to speak as soon as he got the +opportunity. "He's coming to dinner next Wednesday; he may get his +chance then."</p> + +<p>But Sydney got it before Wednesday. He found that the Pynsents were +invited to a garden party—a social function which he usually avoided +with care—for which he also had received a card. The hostess lived at +Fulham, and he knew that her garden was large and shady, sloping to the +river, and full of artfully contrived sequestered nooks, where many a +flirtation was carried on.</p> + +<p>"She won't like it so well as Culverley," said Sydney to himself, with a +half smile, "but it will be better than a drawing-room."</p> + +<p>He did not like to confess to himself how nervous he felt. His theory +had always been that a man should not propose to a woman unless he is +sure that he will be accepted. He was not at all sure about Nan's +feelings towards him, and yet he was going to propose. He told himself +again that he had not meant to speak so soon—that if he saw any signs +of distaste he should cut short his declaration altogether and defer it +to a more convenient season; but all the same, he knew in his own heart +that he would be horribly disappointed if fate deprived him of the +chance of a decisive interview with Anna Pynsent.</p> + +<p>Those who saw him at Lady Maliphant's party that afternoon, smiling, +handsome, debonnair, as usual faultlessly attired, with a pleasant word +for everyone he met and an eye that was perfectly cool and careless, +would have been amazed could they have known the leap that his heart +gave when he caught sight of Lady Pynsent's great scarlet parasol and +trailing black laces, side by side with Nan's dainty white costume. The +girl wore an embroidered muslin, with a yellow sash tied loosely round +her slender waist; the graceful curve of her broad-brimmed hat, fastened +high over one ear like a cavalier's, was softened by drooping white +ostrich feathers; her lace parasol had a knot of yellow ribbon at one +side, to match the tint of her sash. Her long tan gloves and the +Maréchál Niel roses at her neck were finishing touches of the picture +which Sydney was incompetent to grasp in detail, although he felt its +charm on a whole. The sweet, delicate face, with its refined features +and great dark eyes, was one which might well cause a man to barter all +the world for love; and, in Sydney's case, it happened that to gain its +owner meant to gain the world as well. It spoke well for Sydney's +genuine affection that he had ceased of late to think of the worldly +fortune that Nan might bring him, and remembered only that he wanted Nan +Pynsent for herself.</p> + +<p>She greeted him with a smile. She had grown a little quieter, a little +more conventional in manner of late: he did not like her any the worse +for that. But, although she did not utter any word of welcome, he +fancied from her face that she was glad to see him; and it was not long +before he found some pretext for strolling off with her to a shadowy and +secluded portion of the grounds. Even then he was not sure whether he +would ask her to be his wife that day, or whether he would postpone the +decisive moment a little longer. Nan's bright, unconscious face was very +charming, undisturbed by fear or doubt: what if he brought a shadow to +it, a cloud that he could not dispel? For one of the very few times in +his life, Sydney did not feel sure of himself.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going this summer?" she asked him, as they stood beside +the shining water, and watched the eddies and ripples of the stream.</p> + +<p>"I usually go abroad. But Sir John has been asking me to Culverley +again."</p> + +<p>"You do not mean to go to Switzerland, then? You spoke of it the other +day."</p> + +<p>"No, I think not. I do not want to be so far away from—from London."</p> + +<p>"You are so fond of your work: you do not like to be parted from it," +she said smiling.</p> + +<p>"I am fond of it, certainly. I have a good deal to do."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Nan, innocently, "I thought people who were in Parliament did +nothing but Parliamentary business-like John."</p> + +<p>"I have other things to do as well, Miss Pynsent. And in Parliament even +there is a good deal to study and prepare for, if one means to take up a +strong position from the beginning."</p> + +<p>"Which, I am sure, you mean to do," she said quickly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. You understand me perfectly—you understand my ambitions, my +hopes and fears——"</p> + +<p>She did not look as if she understood him at all.</p> + +<p>"Are you ambitious, Mr. Campion? But what do you wish for more than you +have already?"</p> + +<p>"Many things. Everything."</p> + +<p>"Power, I suppose," said Nan doubtfully; then, with a slightly +interrogative intonation—"and riches?"</p> + +<p>"Well—yes."</p> + +<p>"But one's happiness does not depend on either."</p> + +<p>"It rarely exists without one or the other."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I should like to live in a cottage and be quite poor and +bake the bread, and work hard all day, and sleep soundly all night——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if it were for the sake of those you loved," said Sydney, +venturing to look at her significantly.</p> + +<p>Nan nodded, and a faint smile curved her lips: her eyes grew tender and +soft.</p> + +<p>"Can you not imagine another kind of life? where you spent yourself +equally for those whom you loved and who loved you, but in happier +circumstances? a life where two congenial souls met and worked together? +Could you not be happy almost anywhere with the one—the man—you +loved?"</p> + +<p>Sydney's voice had sunk low, but his eyes expressed more passion than +his voice, which was kept sedulously steady. Nan was more aware of the +look in his eyes than of the words he actually used. She cast a +half-frightened look at him, and then turned rosy-red.</p> + +<p>"Could you be happy with me?" he asked her, still speaking very gently. +"Nan, I love you—I love you with all my heart. Will you be my wife?"</p> + +<p>And as she surrendered her hands to his close clasp, and looked half +smilingly, half timidly into his face, he knew that his cause was won.</p> + +<p>But, alas, for Sydney, that at the height of his love-triumph, a bitter +drop of memory should suddenly poison his pleasure at the fount!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>A SLUMBERING HEART.</h3> + + +<p>Time had hung heavily on Lettice's hands during the first month or two +of her stay on the Continent. No one could have been kinder to her than +Mrs. Hartley, more considerate of her needs and tastes, more anxious to +please and distract her. But the recovery of her nerves from the shock +and strain to which they had been subjected was a slow process, and her +mind began to chafe against the restraint which the weakness of the body +imposed upon it.</p> + +<p>The early spring brought relief. Nature repairs her own losses as she +punishes her own excess. Lettice had suffered by the abuse of her energy +and power of endurance, but three months of idleness restored the +balance. The two women lived in a small villa on the outskirts of +Florence, and when they were not away from home, in quest of art or +music, scenery or society, they read and talked to each other, or +recorded their impressions on paper. Mrs. Hartley had many friends in +England, with whom she was wont to exchange many thousand words; and +these had the benefit of the ideas which a winter in Florence had +excited in her mind. Lettice's confidant was her diary, and she sighed +now and then to think that there was no one in the world to whom she +could write the inmost thoughts of her heart, and from whom she could +expect an intelligent and sympathetic response.</p> + +<p>No doubt she wrote to Clara, and gave her long accounts of what she saw +and did in Italy; but Clara was absorbed in the cares of matrimony and +motherhood. She had nothing but actualities to offer in return for the +idealities which were Lettice's mental food and drink. This had always +been the basis of their friendship; and it is a basis on which many a +firm friendship has been built.</p> + +<p>Lettice had already felt the elasticity of returning health in every +limb and vein when the news reached her of the success of her novel; and +that instantly completed the cure. Her publisher wrote to her in high +spirits, at each demand for a new edition, and he forwarded to her a +handsome cheque "on account," which gave more eloquent testimony of his +satisfaction than anything else. Graham sent her, through Clara, a +bundle of reviews which he had been at the pains of cutting out of the +papers, and Clara added many criticisms, mostly favorable, which she had +heard from her husband and his friends. Lettice had a keen appetite for +praise, as for pleasure of every kind, and she was intoxicated by the +good things which were spoken of her.</p> + +<p>"There, dear," she said to Mrs. Hartley one morning, spreading out +before her friend the cheque which she had just received from Mr. +MacAlpine, "you told me that my stupid book had given me nothing more +than a nervous fever, but this has come also to pay the doctor's bill. +Is it not a great deal of money? What a lucky thing that I went in for +half profits, and did not take the paltry fifty pounds which they +offered me?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, you need not twit me with what I said before I knew what your book +was made of," said Mrs. Hartley affectionately. "How was I to know that +you could write a novel, when you had only told me that you could +translate a German philosopher? The two things do not sound particularly +harmonious, do they?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I must have made a happy hit with my subject, though I never +thought I had whilst I was writing. I only went straight on, and had not +the least idea that people would find much to like in it. Nor had Mr. +MacAlpine either, for he did not seem at all anxious to publish it."</p> + +<p>"It was in you, my darling, and would come out. You have discovered a +mine, and I daresay you can dig as much gold out of it as will suffice +to make you happy."</p> + +<p>"Now, what shall we do with this money? We must have a big treat; and I +am going to manage and pay for everything myself starting from to-day. +Shall it be Rome, or the Riviera, or the Engadine; or what do you say to +returning by way of Germany? I do so long to see the Germans at home."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hartley was downcast at once.</p> + +<p>"The first thing you want to do with your wealth," she said, "is to make +me feel uncomfortable! Have we not been happy together these six months, +and can you not leave well alone? You know that I am a rich woman, +through no credit of my own—for everything I have came from my husband. +If you talk of spending your money on anyone but yourself, I shall think +that you are pining for independence again, and we may as well pack up +our things and get home."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, what have I said? I did not mean it, my dearest friend—my +best friend in the world! I won't say anything like it again: but I must +go out and spend some money, or I shall not believe in my good fortune. +Can you lend me ten pounds?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that I can!"</p> + +<p>"Then let us put our things on, and go into paradise."</p> + +<p>"What very dissolute idea, to be sure! But come along. If you will be so +impulsive, I may as well go to take care of you."</p> + +<p>So they went out together—the woman of twenty-six and the woman of +sixty, and roamed about the streets of Florence like a couple of +school-girls. And Lettice bought her friend a brooch, and herself a ring +in memory of the day; and as the ten pounds would not cover it she +borrowed fifteen; and then they had a delightful drive through the noble +squares, past many a venerable palace and lofty church, through richly +storied streets, and across a bridge of marble to the other side of the +Arno; so onward till they came to the wood-enshrouded valley, where the +trees were breaking into tender leafage, every shade of green +commingling with the blue screen of the Apennines beyond. Back again +they came into the city of palaces, which they had learned to love, and +alighting near the Duomo sought out a <i>pasticceria</i> in a street hard by, +and ate a genuine school-girl's meal.</p> + +<p>"It has been the pleasantest day of my life here!" said Lettice as they +reached home in the evening. "I have not had a cloud upon my +conscience."</p> + +<p>"And it has made the old woman young," said Mrs. Hartley, kissing her +friend upon the cheek. "Oh, why are you not my daughter!"</p> + +<p>"You would soon have too much of me if I were your daughter. But tell me +what a daughter would have done for you, and let me do it while I can."</p> + +<p>"It is not to do, but to be. Be just what you are and never desert me, +and then I will forget that I was once a childless woman."</p> + +<p>So the spring advanced, and drew towards summer. And on the first of May +Mrs. Hartley, writing to her cousin, Edith Dalton, the most intimate of +all her confidants, gave a glowing account of Lettice.</p> + +<p>"My sweetheart here (she wrote) is cured at last. Three months have gone +since she spoke about returning to England, and I believe she is +thoroughly contented. She has taken to writing again, and seems to be +fairly absorbed in her work, but you may be sure that I shall not let +her overdo it. The death of her mother, and the break-up of their home, +probably severed all the ties that bound her to London; and, so far as I +can see, <i>not one of them</i> remains. I laughed to read that you were +jealous of her. When you and Brooke come here I am certain you will like +her every bit as much as I do. What you tell me of Brooke is rather a +surprise, but I know you must be very happy about it. To have had him +with you for six months at a time, during which he has never once been +up to his club, is a great triumph, and speaks volumes for your clever +management, as well as for your care and tenderness. We shall see him +married and domesticated before a year has passed! I am impatient for +you both to come. Do not let anything prevent you."</p> + +<p>It was quite true that Lettice had set to work again, and that she +appeared to have overcome the home-sickness which at one time made her +long to get back to London. Restored health made her feel more satisfied +with her surroundings, and a commission for a new story had found her +just in the humor to sit down and begin. She was penetrated by the +beauty of the Tuscan city which had been her kindly nurse, which was now +her fount of inspiration and inexhaustible source of new ideas. A plot, +characters, scenery, stage, impressed themselves on her imagination as +she wandered amongst the stones and canvasses of Florence; and they grew +upon her more and more distinctly every day, as she steeped herself in +the spirit of the place and time. She would not go back to the +picturesque records of other centuries but took her portraits from men +and women of the time, and tried to recognize in them the descendants of +the artists, scholars, philosophers, and patriots, who have shed undying +fame on the queen-city of northern Italy.</p> + +<p>Entirely buried in her work, and putting away from her all that might +interfere with its performance, she forgot for a time both herself and +others. If she was selfish in her isolation it was with the selfishness +of one who for art's sake is prepared to abandon her ease and pleasure +in the laborious pursuit of an ideal. Mrs. Hartley was content to leave +her for a quarter of the day in the solitude of her own room on +condition of sharing her idleness or recreation during the rest of their +waking hours.</p> + +<p>Had Lettice forgotten Alan Walcott at this crisis in the lives of both? +When Mrs. Hartley was assuring her cousin that all the ties which had +bound the girl to London were severed, Alan was expiating in prison the +crime of which he had been convicted, which, in his morbid abasement and +despair he was almost ready to confess that he had committed. Was he, +indeed, as he had not very sincerely prayed to be, forgotten by the +woman he loved?</p> + +<p>It is no simple question for her biographer to answer off-hand. Lettice, +as we know, had admitted into her heart a feeling of sympathetic +tenderness for Alan, which, under other circumstances, she would have +accepted as worthy to dominate her life and dictate its moods and +duties. But the man for whom this sympathy had been aroused was so +situated that he could not ask her for her love, whilst she could not in +any case have given it if she had been asked. Instinctively she had shut +her eyes to that which she might have read in her own soul, or in his, +if she had cared or dared to look. She had the book before her, but it +was closed and sealed. Where another woman might, have said, "I must +forget him—there is a barrier between us which neither can cross," she +said nothing; but all her training, her instinct, her delicate feeling, +even her timidity and self-distrust, led her insensibly to shun the +paths of memory which would have brought her back to the prospect that +had allured and alarmed her.</p> + +<p>Be it remembered that she knew nothing of his later troubles. She had +heard nothing about him since she left England; and Mrs. Hartley, who +honestly believed that Alan had practically effaced himself from their +lives by his own rash act, was sufficiently unscrupulous to keep her +friend in ignorance of what had happened.</p> + +<p>So Lettice did not mention Alan, did not keep him in her mind or try to +recall him by any active exercise of her memory; and in this sense she +had forgotten him. Time would show if the impression, so deep and vivid +in its origin, was gradually wearing away, or merely hidden out of +sight. No wonder if Mrs. Hartley thought that she was cured.</p> + +<p>Lettice heard of the arrival of the Daltons without any other feeling +than half-selfish misgiving that her work was to be interrupted at a +critical moment, when her mind was full of the ideas on which her story +depended for its success. She had created by her imagination a little +world of human beings, instinct with life and endowed with vivid +character; she had dwelt among her creatures, guided their steps and +inspired their souls, loved them and walked with them from day to day, +until they were no mere puppets dancing to the pull of a string, but +real and veritable men and women. She could not have deserted them by +any spontaneous act of her own, and if she was to be torn away from the +world, which hung upon her fiat, she could not submit to the banishment +without at least an inward lamentation. Art spoils her votaries for the +service of society, and society, as a rule, takes its revenge by +despising or patronizing the artist whilst competing for the possession +of his works.</p> + +<p>Brooke Dalton and his sister were lodged in an old palace not far from +Mrs. Hartley's smaller and newer residence; and frequent visits between +the two couples soon put them all on terms of friendly intimacy. Lettice +had always thought well of Mr. Dalton. He reminded her of Angleford, and +the happy days of her early youth. In London he had been genial with +her, and attentive, and considerate in every sense, so that she had been +quite at her ease with him. They met again without constraint, and under +circumstances which enabled Dalton to put forth his best efforts to +please her, without exciting any alarm in her mind, to begin with.</p> + +<p>Edith Dalton captivated Lettice at once. She was a handsome woman of +aristocratic type and breeding, tall, slender, and endowed with the +graceful manners of one who has received all the polish of refined +society without losing the simplicity of nature. A year or two younger +than her brother, she had reached an age when most women have given up +the thought of marriage; and in her case there was a sad and sufficient +reason for turning her back upon such joys and consolations as a woman +may reasonably expect to find in wedded life. She had been won in her +girlhood by a man thoroughly fitted to make her happy—a man of wealth +and talent, and honorable service in the State; who, within a week of +their marriage day, had been thrown from his horse and killed. Edith had +not in so many words devoted herself to perpetual maidenhood; but that +was the outcome of the great sorrow of her youth. She had remained +single without growing morose, and her sweet and gentle moods endeared +her to all who came to know her.</p> + +<p>With such a companion Lettice was sure to become intimate; or at any +rate, she was sure to respond with warmth to the kindly feeling +displayed for her. Yet there were many points of unlikeness between her +and Edith Dalton. She too was refined, but it was the refinement of +mental culture rather than the moulding of social influences. She too +retained the simplicity of nature, but it was combined with an outspoken +candor which Edith had been taught to shun. Where Lettice would be ready +to assert herself, and claim the rights of independence, Edith would +shrink back with fastidious alarm; where the one was fitted to wage the +warfare of life, and, if need be, to stand out as a champion or pioneer +of her sex, the other would have suffered acutely if she had been forced +into any kind of aggressive combat.</p> + +<p>When Brooke told his sister that he had met a woman whom he could love, +she was unfeignedly glad, and never thought of inquiring whether the +woman in question was rich, or well-connected, or moving in good +society. Perhaps she took the last two points for granted, and no doubt +she would have been greatly disappointed if she had found that Brooke's +choice had been otherwise than gentle and refined. But when she saw +Lettice she was satisfied, and set herself by every means in her power +to please and charm her new friend.</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Hartley knew and backed the designs of the Daltons, Lettice was +not very fairly matched against the wiles and blandishments of the +three. Brooke Dalton, indeed, felt himself in a rather ridiculous +position, as though he were proceeding to the siege of Lettice's heart +relying upon the active co-operation of his sister and cousin, to say +nothing of her brother's letter which he carried in his pocket. But, +after all, this combination was quite fortuitous. He had not asked for +assistance, and he knew very well that if such assistance were too +openly given it would do his cause more harm than good.</p> + +<p>Dalton was one of those good-tempered men who are apt to get too much +help in spite of themselves from the womenfolk of their family and +household, who are supposed to need help when they do not, and who have +only themselves to thank for their occasional embarrassment of wealth in +this particular form. Nature intends such men to be wife-ridden and +happy. If is not alien to their disposition that they should spend their +earlier manhood, as Dalton had done, amongst men who take life too +easily and lightly; but they generally settle down before the whole of +their manhood is wasted, and then a woman can lead them with a thread of +silk.</p> + +<p>It was for Lettice, if she would, to lead this gentle-hearted English +squire, to be the mistress of his house and fair estate, to ensure the +happiness of this converted bachelor of Pall Mall, and to bid good-bye +to the cares and struggles of the laborious life on which she had +entered.</p> + +<p>The temptation was put before her. Would she dally with it, and succumb +to it? And could anyone blame her if she did?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h3>"IT WAS A LIE!"</h3> + + +<p>Up the right-hand slopes of the Val d'Arno, between Florence and +Fiesole, the carriage-road runs for some distance comparatively broad +and direct between stone walls and cypress-hedges, behind which the +passer-by gets glimpses of lovely terraced gardens, of the winding river +far below his feet, of the purple peaks of the Carrara mountains far +away. But when the road reaches the base of the steep hill on which the +old Etruscans built their crow's-nest of a city—where Catiline gathered +his host of desperadoes, and under whose shadow, more than three +centuries later, the last of the Roman deliverers, himself a barbarian, +hurled back the hordes of Radegast—it winds a narrow and tortuous way +from valley to crest, from terrace to terrace, until the crowning stage +is reached.</p> + +<p>Here in the shadow of the old Etruscan fortifications, the wayfarer +might take his stand and look down upon the wondrous scene beneath him. +"Never," as Hallam says, "could the sympathies of the soul with outward +nature be more finely touched; never could more striking suggestions be +presented to the philosopher and the statesman" than in this Tuscan +cradle of so much of our modern civilization, which even the untraveled +islander of the northern seas can picture in his mind and cherish with +lively affection. For was it not on this fertile soil of Etruria that +the art and letters of Italy had birth? and was it not in fair Florence, +rather than in any other modern city, that they were born again in the +fulness of time? Almost on the very spot where Stilicho vainly stemmed +the advancing tide which was to reduce Rome to a city of ruins, the new +light dawned after a millennium of darkness. And there, from the sacred +walls of Florence, Dante taught our earlier and later poets to sing; +Galileo reawoke slumbering science with a trumpet-call which frightened +the Inquisition out of its senses; Michael Angelo, Raffaelle, Da Vinci, +Del Sarto created models of art for all succeeding time. Never was there +in any region of the world such a focus of illuminating fire. Never will +there live a race that does not own its debt to the great seers and +creators of Tuscany.</p> + +<p>Late on an autumn afternoon, towards the close of the September of 1882, +four English friends have driven out from Florence to Fiesole, and, +after lingering for a time in the strange old city, examining the +Cathedral in the Piazza and the remains of the Roman Theatre in the +garden behind it, they came slowly down the hill to the beautiful old +villa which was once the abode of Lorenzo the Magnificent. The carriage +waited for them in the road, but here, on the terrace outside the villa +gates, they rested awhile, feasting their eyes upon the lovely scene +which lay below.</p> + +<p>They had visited the place before, but not for some months, for they had +been forced away from Florence by the fierce summer heat, and had spent +some time in Siena and Pistoja, finally taking up their residence in a +cool and secluded nook of the Pistojese Apennines. But when autumn came, +and the colder, mountain breezes began to blow, Mrs. Hartley hastened +her friends back to her comfortable little Florentine villa, proposing +to sojourn there for the autumn, and then to go with Lettice and perhaps +with the Daltons also, on to Rome.</p> + +<p>"We have seen nothing so beautiful as this in all our wanderings," +Lettice said at last in softened tones.</p> + +<p>She was looking at the clustering towers of the city, at Brunelleschi's +magnificent dome, and the slender grace of Giotto's Campanile, and +thence, from those storied trophies of transcendant art, her gaze +wandered to the rich valley of the Arno, with its slopes of green and +grey, and its distant line of purple peaks against an opalescent sky.</p> + +<p>"It is more beautiful in spring. I miss the glow and scent of the +flowers—the scarlet tulips, the sweet violets," said Mrs. Hartley.</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine anything more beautiful," Edith Dalton rejoined. "One +feels oppressed with so much loveliness. It is beyond expression."</p> + +<p>"Silence is most eloquent, perhaps, in a place like this," said Lettice. +"What can one say that is worth saying, or that has not been said +before?"</p> + +<p>She was sitting on a fragment of fallen stone, her hands loosely clasped +round her knees, her eyes fixed wistfully and dreamily upon the faint +amethystine tints of the distant hills. Brooke Dalton looked down at her +with an anxious eye. He did not altogether like this pensive mood of +hers; there was something melancholy in the drooping curves of her lips, +in the pathos of her wide gaze, which he did not understand. He tried to +speak lightly, in hopes of recalling her to the festive mood in which +they had all begun the day.</p> + +<p>"You remind me of two friends of mine who are just home from Egypt. They +say that when they first saw the Sphinx they sat down and looked at it +for two hours without uttering a word."</p> + +<p>"You would not have done that, Brooke," said Mrs. Hartley, a little +maliciously.</p> + +<p>"But why not? I think it was the right spirit," said Lettice, and again +lapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>"Look at the Duomo, how well it stands out in the evening light!" +exclaimed Edith. "Do you remember what Michael Angelo said when he +turned and looked at it before riding away to Rome to build St. Peter's? +'Come te non voglio: meglio di te non posso.'"</p> + +<p>"I am always struck by his generosity of feeling towards other artists," +remarked Mrs. Hartley. "Except towards Raffaelle, perhaps. But think of +what he said of Santa Maria Novella, that it was beautiful as a bride, +and that the Baptistery gates were worthy of Paradise. It is only the +great who can afford to praise so magnificently."</p> + +<p>Again there was a silence. Then Mrs. Hartley and Edith professed to be +attracted by a group of peasant children who were offering flowers and +fruit for sale; and they strolled to some little distance, talking to +them and to a black-eyed <i>cantadina</i>, whose costume struck them as +unusually gay. They even walked a little in the shade of the cypresses, +with which the palazzo seemed to be guarded, as with black and ancient +sentinels; but all this was more for the sake of leaving Brooke alone +with Lettice than because they had any very great interest in the +Italian woman and her children, or the terraced gardens of the Villa +Mozzi. For the time of separation was at hand. The Daltons were +returning very shortly to England, and Brooke had not yet carried out +his intention of asking Lettice Campion to be his wife. He had asked +Mrs. Hartley that day to give him a chance, if possible, of half an +hour's conversation with Lettice alone; but their excursion had not +hitherto afforded him the coveted opportunity. Now, however, it had +come; but while Lettice sat looking towards the towers of Florence with +that pensive and abstracted air, Brooke Dalton shrank from breaking in +upon her reverie.</p> + +<p>In truth, Lettice was in no talkative mood. She had been troubled in her +mind all day, and for some days previously, and it was easier for her to +keep silence than for any of the rest. If she had noticed the absence of +Mrs. Hartley and Edith, she would probably have risen from her seat and +insisted on joining them; but strong in the faith that they were but a +few steps away from her, she had thrown the reins of restraint upon the +necks of her wild horses of imagination, and had been borne away by them +to fields where Brooke's fancy was hardly likely to carry him—fields of +purely imaginative joy and ideal beauty, in which he had no mental +share. It was rest and refreshment to her to do this, after the growing +perplexity of the last few days. Absorbed in her enjoyment of the lucent +air, the golden and violet and emerald tints of the landscape; conscious +also of the passionate joy which often thrills the nerves of Italy's +lovers when they find them selves, after long years of waiting, upon +that classic ground, she had for the time put away the thoughts that +caused her perplexity, and abandoned herself to the sweet influences of +the time and place.</p> + +<p>The Daltons had been in Italy since May, and she had seen a great deal +of Edith. Brooke Dalton had sometimes gone off on an expedition by +himself, but more frequently he danced attendance on the women; and +Lettice had found out that when he was absent she had a great deal more +of him than when he was present. So much had Edith and Mrs. Hartley to +say about him, so warmly did they praise his manners, his appearance, +his manly and domestic virtues, and his enviable position in the world, +that in course of time she knew all his good points by heart. She had +actually found herself the day before, more as a humorous exercise of +memory than for any other reason, jotting them down in her diary.</p> + +<p>"B. D.—<i>testibus</i> E. D. et M. H.</p> + +<p>"He is handsome, has a manly figure, a noble head, blue eyes, chestnut +hair (it is turning grey—L. C.), a dignified presence, a look that +shows he respects others as much as himself.</p> + +<p>"He is truthful, simple in tastes, easily contented, lavishly generous +(that I know—L. C.), knows his own mind (that I doubt—L. C.), is fond +of reading (?), a scholar (??), with a keen appreciation of literature +(???).</p> + +<p>"He has one of the most delightful mansions in England (as I know—L. +C.), with gardens, conservatories, a park, eight thousand a year.</p> + +<p>"He is altogether an enviable man, and the woman who marries him will be +an enviable woman (a matter of opinion—L. C.), and he is on the +look-out for a wife (how would he like to have that said of him?—L. +C.)."</p> + +<p>Lettice had sportively written this in her diary, and had scribbled it +out again; but it represented fairly enough the kind of ideas which +Brooke Dalton's sister and cousin had busily instilled into her mind. +The natural consequence was that she had grown somewhat weary of +listening to the praises of their hero, and felt disposed to consider +him as either much too superior to be thoroughly nice, or much too nice +to be all that his womenfolk described him.</p> + +<p>Of some of his estimable qualities, however, she had had personal +experience; and, notably of his lavish generosity. A few days ago he had +taken them all to the shop of a dealer of old-fashioned works of art and +rare curiosities, declaring that he had brought them there for the +express purpose of giving them a memento of Florence before they left +the city.</p> + +<p>Then he bade them choose, and, leaving Edith and Mrs. Hartley to make +their own selection, which they did modestly enough, letting him off at +about a sovereign a-piece, he insisted on prompting and practically +dictating the choice of Lettice, who, by constraint and cajolery +together, was made to carry away a set of intaglios that must have cost +him fifty pounds at least.</p> + +<p>She had no idea of their value, but she was uneasy at having taken the +gift. What would he conclude from her acceptance of such a valuable +present? It was true that she was covered to some extent by the fact +that Edith and Mrs. Hartley were with her at the time, but she could not +feel satisfied about the propriety of her conduct, and she had a subtle +argument with herself as to the necessity of returning the gems sooner +or later, unless she was prepared to be compromised in the opinion of +her three friends.</p> + +<p>She had for the present, however, banished these unpleasant doubts from +her mind, and the guilty author of her previous discomfort stood idly by +her side, smoking his cigar, and watching the people as they passed +along the road. The other ladies were out of sight, and thus Brooke and +Lettice were left alone.</p> + +<p>After a time she noticed the absence of her friends, and turned round +quickly to look for them. Brooke saw the action, and felt that if he did +not speak now he might never get such a good opportunity. So, with +nothing but instinct for his guide, he plunged into the business without +further hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will allow, Miss Campion, that I know how to be silent when +the occasion requires it! I did not break in upon your reverie, and +should not have done so, however long it might have lasted."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you have had to stand sentinel," said Lettice; "but you told +me once that a woman never need pity a man for being kept waiting so +long as he had a cigar to smoke."</p> + +<p>"That is quite true; and I have not been an object for pity at all. +Unless you will pity me for having to bring my holiday to an end. You +know that Edith and I are leaving Florence on Monday?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Edith told me; but she did not speak as though it would end your +holiday. She said that you might go on to Rome—that you had not made up +your mind what to do."</p> + +<p>"That is so—it depends upon circumstances, and the decision does not +altogether rest with us. Indeed, Miss Campion, my future movements are +quite uncertain until I have obtained your answer to a question which I +want to put to you. May I put it now?"</p> + +<p>"If there is anything I can tell you—" said Lettice, not without +difficulty. Her breath came quick, and her bosom heaved beneath her +light dress with nervous rapidity. What could he have to say to her? She +had refused all these weeks to face the idea which had been forcing +itself upon her; and he had been so quiet, so unemotional, that until +now she had never felt uneasy in his presence.</p> + +<p>"You can tell me a great deal," said Brooke, looking down at her with +increased earnestness and tenderness in his eyes and voice. Her face was +half averted from him, but he perceived her emotion, and grew more +hopeful at the sign. "You can tell me all I want to know; but, unless +you have a good message for me, I shall wish I had not asked you my +question, and broken through the friendly terms of intercourse from +which I have derived so much pleasure, and which have lasted so long +between us."</p> + +<p>Why did he pause? What could she say that he would care to hear?</p> + +<p>"Listen to me!" he said, sinking down on the seat beside her, and +pleading in a low tone. "I am not a very young man. I am ten or twelve +years older than yourself. But if I spoke with twice as much passion in +my voice, and if I had paid you ten times as much attention and court as +I have done, it would not prove me more sincere in my love, or more +eager to call you my wife. You cannot think how I have been looking +forward to this moment—hoping and fearing from day to day, afraid to +put my fate to the test, and yet impatient to know if I had any chance +of happiness. I loved you in London—I believe I loved you as soon as I +knew you; and it was simply and solely in order to try and win your love +that I followed you to Italy. Is there no hope for me?"</p> + +<p>She did not answer. She could not speak a word, for a storm of +conflicting feelings was raging in her breast. Feelings only—she had +not begun to think.</p> + +<p>"If you will try to love me," he went on, "it will be as much as I have +dared to hope. If you will only begin by liking me, I think I can +succeed in gaining what will perfectly satisfy me. All my life shall be +devoted to giving you the happiness which you deserve. Lettice, have you +not a word to say to me?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot—" she whispered at length, so faintly that he could scarcely +hear.</p> + +<p>"Cannot even like me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, do not ask me that! I cannot answer you. If liking were all—but +you would not be content with that."</p> + +<p>"Say that you like me. Lettice, have a little pity on the heart that +loves you!"</p> + +<p>"What answer can I give? An hour ago I liked you. Do you not see that +what you have said makes the old liking impossible?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I know it. And I have thrown away all because I wanted more! I +spoke too suddenly. But do not, at any rate, forbid me still to nurse my +hope. I will try and be patient. I will come to you again for my +answer—when? In a month—in six months? Tell me only one thing—there +is no one who has forestalled me? You are not pledged to another?"</p> + +<p>Lettice stood up—the effort was necessary in order to control her +beating heart and trembling nerves. She did not reply. She only looked +out to the sunlit landscape with wide, unseeing eyes, in which lurked a +secret, unspoken dread.</p> + +<p>"Tell me before we part," he said, in a voice which was hoarse with +suppressed passion. "Say there is no one to whom you have given your +love!"</p> + +<p>"There is no one!"—But the answer ended in a gasp that was almost a +sob.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" said Brooke Dalton, as a look of infinite relief came into +his face. "Then a month to-day I will return to you, wherever you may +be, and ask for my answer again."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hartley and Edith came back from the garden terraces. With kindly +mischief in their hearts, they had left these two together, watching +them with half an eye, until they saw that the matter had come to a +climax. When Lettice stood up, they divined that the moment had come for +their reappearance.</p> + +<p>Lettice advanced to meet them, and when they were near enough Edith +passed her hand through her friend's still trembling arm.</p> + +<p>"Those dear little Italian children!" said Mrs. Hartley. "They are so +beautiful—so full of life and spirits, I could have looked at them for +another hour. Now, good people, what is going to be done? We must be +getting home. Brooke, can you see the carriage? You might find it, and +tell the driver to come back for us."</p> + +<p>Brooke started off with alacrity, and the women were left alone. Then +Edith began to chatter about nothing, in the most resolute fashion, in +order that Lettice might have time to pull herself together.</p> + +<p>She was glad of their consideration, for indeed she needed all her +fortitude. What meant this suffocation of the heart, which almost +prevented her from breathing? It ached in her bosom as though someone +had grasped it with a hand of ice; she shuddered as though a ghost had +been sitting by her and pleading with her, instead of a lover. Her own +name echoed in her ears, and she remembered that Brooke Dalton had +called her "Lettice." But it was not his voice which was calling to her +now.</p> + +<p>Dalton presently reappeared with the news that the carriage was waiting +for them in the road below.</p> + +<p>So in an hour from that time they were at home again, and Lettice was +able to get to her own room, and to think of what had happened.</p> + +<p>If amongst those who read the story of her life Lettice Campion has made +for herself a few discriminating friends, they will not need to be +reminded that she was not by any means a perfect character. She was, in +her way, quite as ambitious as her brother Sydney, although not quite so +eager in pursuit of her own ends, her own pleasure and satisfaction. She +was also more scrupulous than Sydney to the means which she would adopt +for the attainment of her objects, and she desired that others should +share with her the good things which fell to her lot; but she had never +been taught, or had never adopted the rule, that mere self-denial, for +self-denial's sake, was the soundest basis of morality and conduct. She +was thoroughly and keenly human, and she did but follow her natural +bent, without distortion and without selfishness, in seeking to give +happiness to herself as well as to others.</p> + +<p>Brooke Dalton's offer of marriage placed a great temptation before her. +All the happiness that money, and position, and affection, and a +luxurious home could afford was hers if she would have it; and these +were things which she valued very highly. Edith Dalton had done her best +to make her friend realize what it would mean to be the mistress of +Brooke's house; and poor Lettice, with all her magnanimity, was dazzled +in spite of herself, and did not quite see why she should say No, when +Brooke made her his offer. And yet her heart cried out against accepting +it.</p> + +<p>She had needed time to think, and now the process was already beginning. +He had given her a month to decide whether she could love him—or even +like him well enough to become his wife. Nothing could be more generous, +and indeed she knew that he was the soul of generosity and +consideration. A month to make up her mind whether she would accept from +him all that makes life pleasant, and joyful, and easy, and comfortable; +or whether she would turn her back upon the temptation, and shun +delights, and live laborious days.</p> + +<p>Could she hesitate? What woman with nothing to depend upon except her +own exertions, and urged to assent (as she would be) by her only +intimate friends, would have hesitated in her place? Yet she did +hesitate, and it was necessary to weigh the reasons against accepting, +as she had dwelt upon the reasons in favor of it.</p> + +<p>If it was easy to imagine that life at Angleford Manor might be very +peaceful and luxurious, there could be no doubt that she would have to +purchase her pleasure at the cost of a great deal of her independence. +She might be able to write, in casual and ornamental fashion; but she +felt that there would be little real sympathy with her literary +occupations, and the zest of effort and ambition which she now felt +would be gone. Moreover, independence of action counted for very little +in comparison with independence of thought—and how could she nurse her +somewhat heretical ideas in the drawing-room of a Tory High Church +squire, a member of the Oligarchy, whose friends would nearly all be +like-minded with himself? She had no right to introduce so great a +discord into his life. If she married him, she would at any rate try +(consciously, or unconsciously) to adopt his views, as the proper basis +of the partnership; and therefore to marry him unquestionably meant the +sacrifice of her independent judgment.</p> + +<p>So much for the intellectual and material sides of the question. But, +Lettice asked herself, was that all?</p> + +<p>No, there was something else. She had been steadily and obstinately, yet +almost unconsciously, trying to push it away from her all the time—ever +since Brooke Dalton began to betray his affection, and even before that +when Mrs. Hartley, unknown to her, kept her in ignorance of things which +she ought to have known. She had refused to face it, pressed it out of +her heart, made believe to herself that the chapter of her life which +had been written in London was closed and forgotten—and how nearly she +had succeeded! But she had not quite succeeded. It was there still—the +memory, the hope, the pity, the sacrifice.</p> + +<p>She must not cheat herself any longer, if she would be an honest and +honorable woman. She would face the truth and not palter with it, now +that the crisis had really come. What was Alan Walcott to her? Could she +forget him, and dismiss him from her thoughts, and go to the altar with +another man? She went over the scenes which they had enacted together, +she recalled his words and his letters, she thought of his sorrows and +trials, and remembered how he had appealed to her for sympathy. There +was good reason, she thought, why he had not written to her, for he was +barred by something more than worldly conventionality. When she, +strong-minded as she thought herself, had shrunk from the display of his +love because he still had duties to his lawful wife, she had imposed +upon him her demand for conventional and punctilious respect, and had +rather despised herself, she now remembered, for doing it. He had obeyed +her, he had observed her slightest wishes—it was for her, not for him, +to break through the silence. How had she been able to remain so long in +ignorance of his condition, to live contentedly so many miles away from +him?</p> + +<p>As she thought of all these things in the light of her new experience, +her heart was touched again by the old sympathy, and throbbed once more +with the music which it had not known since her illness began. It was a +harp which had been laid aside and forgotten, till the owner, coming by +chance into the disused room, strung it anew, and bade it discourse the +symphonies of the olden time.</p> + +<p>Not until Lettice had reached this point in her retrospect did she +perceive how near she had gone to the dividing line which separates +honor from faithlessness and truth from falsehood. She had said, "There +is no one to whom my love is pledged." Was that true? Which is stronger +or more sacred—the pledge of words or the pledge of feeling? She had +tried to drown the feeling, but it would not die. It was there, it had +never been absent; and she had profaned it by listening to the +temptations of Brooke Dalton, and by telling him that her heart was +free.</p> + +<p>"It was a lie!"</p> + +<p>She sank on the sofa as she made the confession to herself. Alan's +letters were in her hand; she clasped them to her breast, and murmured,</p> + +<p>"It was a lie—for I love you!"</p> + +<p>If the poor wretch in his prison cell, who, worn out at last by daily +self-consuming doubts, lay tossing with fever on a restless bed, could +have heard her words and seen her action, he might have been called back +to life from the borderland of the grave.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h3>AWAKENED.</h3> + + +<p>"What is it, darling?" Mrs. Hartley said to her friend when they met the +next morning at the late breakfast which, out of deference to foreign +customs, they had adopted. She looked observantly at the restless +movements of the girl, and the changing color in her cheeks. "You have +not eaten anything, and you do nothing but shiver and sigh."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hartley was quite convinced in her own mind that Lettice had +received an offer of marriage from her cousin Brooke Dalton. Possibly +she had already accepted it. She should hear all about it that morning. +The symptoms overnight had not been too favorable but she put down the +disturbance which Lettice had shown to an excess of nervous excitement. +Women do not all receive a sentence of happiness for life in precisely +the same manner, she reflected: some cry and some laugh, some dance and +sing, others collapse and are miserable. Lettice was one of the latter +kind, and it was for Mrs. Hartley to give her a mother's sympathy and +comfort. So she awaited the word which should enable her to cut the +dykes of her affection.</p> + +<p>Lettice turned white and cold, and her grey eyes were fixed with a stony +look on the basket of flowers which decorated the breakfast table.</p> + +<p>"I am not well," she said, "but it is worse with the mind than the body. +I have done a wicked thing, and to atone for it I am going to do a cruel +thing; so how could you expect me to have an appetite?"</p> + +<p>"My dear pet!" said Mrs. Hartley, putting out her hand to touch the +fingers of her friend, which she found as cold as ice, "you need not +tell me that you have done anything wicked, for I don't believe it. And +I am sure you would not do anything cruel, knowing beforehand that it +was cruel."</p> + +<p>"Is it not wicked to tell a lie?—for I have done that."</p> + +<p>"No, no!"</p> + +<p>"And will it not be cruel to you and to Edith that I should cause pain +to your cousin, and make him think me insincere and mercenary?"</p> + +<p>"He could not possibly think so," said Mrs. Hartley with decision.</p> + +<p>"He must."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do, Lettice?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to tell him that I was not honest when I allowed him to say +that he would come for my answer in a month, and to think it possible +that the answer might be favorable—when God knows that it cannot."</p> + +<p>"Brooke has asked you to be his wife?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you told him to come for his answer in a month?"</p> + +<p>"I agreed to it."</p> + +<p>"Well, darling, I think that was very natural—if you could not say +'yes' at once to my cousin."</p> + +<p>There was a touch of resentment in the words "my cousin," which Lettice +felt. Mrs. Hartley could not understand that Brooke Dalton should have +to offer himself twice over—even to her Lettice.</p> + +<p>"Wait this month," she went on, "and we shall see what you think at the +end of it. You are evidently upset now—taken by surprise, little +innocent as you are. The fact is, you have never really recovered from +your illness, and I believe you set to work again too soon. A +hard-working life would not have suited you; but, thank Heaven, there is +an end of that. You will never have to make yourself a slave again!"</p> + +<p>"Dear, you do not understand. I did a wicked thing yesterday, and now I +must tell Mr. Dalton, and ask him to forgive me."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, child!"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Lettice, sadly, "it is the first time you have ever spoken +sharply to me, and that is part of my punishment!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hartley sank back in her chair, and looked as though she was about +to take refuge in a quiet fit of weeping.</p> + +<p>"I can't comprehend it," she said; "I thought we were going to be so +happy; and I am sure you and Brooke would suit each other exactly."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, indeed; there are thousands of women who will make him a better +wife than I could ever have done."</p> + +<p>"Now, do listen to me, and give yourself at least a week to think it +over, before you say all this to Brooke! That cannot make things worse, +either for him or for yourself. Why should you be so rash about it?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I could see any other way out of it—but I cannot; and I have +been thinking and thinking all the night long. It is a case of +conscience with me now."</p> + +<p>"You cannot expect me to see it, dear," said Mrs. Hartley, rising from +her chair. "It is simply incomprehensible, that you should first agree +to wait a month, and then, after a few hours, insist on giving such a +pointed refusal. Think, think, my darling!" she went on, laying a +caressing hand on Lettice's shoulder. "Suppose that Brooke should feel +himself insulted by such treatment. Could you be surprised if he did?"</p> + +<p>Lettice buried her face in her hands, mutely despairing. Her punishment +was very hard to bear, and the tears which trickled through her fingers +showed how much she felt it. With an effort she controlled herself, and +looked up again.</p> + +<p>"I will tell him all," she said. "He shall be the judge. If he still +wishes to renew his question in a month, I will hold myself to that +arrangement. I shall claim nothing and refuse nothing; but if he +voluntarily withdraws his offer, then, dear, you will see that there +could be no alternative."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hartley bent to kiss her.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that is all that can be done, Lettice. I am very sorry that +my darling is in trouble; but if I could help you, you would tell me +more."</p> + +<p>Then she left the room, and Lettice went to her desk and wrote her +letter.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Dalton</span>,—When you asked me yesterday if there was any one +to whom I had given my love, I said there was no one. I ought to +have thought at the time that this was a question which I could not +fairly answer. I am obliged now to confess that my answer was not +sincere. You cannot think worse of me than I think of myself; but I +should be still more to blame if I allowed the mistake to continue +after I have realized how impossible it is for me to give you the +answer that you desire. I can only hope that you will forgive me +for apparently deceiving you, and believe that I could not have +done it if I had not deceived myself. Sincerely yours,</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Lettice Campion.</span>"</p></div> + +<p>It was written; and without waiting to criticize her own phrases, she +sent it to the Palazzo Serafini by a special messenger.</p> + +<p>Brooke Dalton knew that he did not excel in letter writing. He could +indite a good, clear, sensible business epistle easily enough; but to +express love or sorrow or any of the more subtle emotions on paper would +have been impossible to him. Therefore he did not attempt the task. He +at once walked over to Mrs. Hartley's villa and asked to see Miss +Campion.</p> + +<p>He was almost sorry that he had done so when Lettice came down to him in +the little shaded <i>salon</i> where Mrs. Hartley generally received +visitors, and he saw her face. It was white, and her eyes were red with +weeping. Evidently that letter had cost her dear, and Brooke Dalton +gathered a little courage from the sight.</p> + +<p>She came up to him and tried to speak, but the words would not come. +Brooke was not a man of very quick intuitions, as a rule; but in this +case love gave him sharpness of sight. He took her hand in both his own +and held it tenderly while he spoke.</p> + +<p>"There is no need for you to say anything," he said; "no need for you to +distress yourself in this way. I have only come to say one thing to you, +because I felt that I could say it better than I could write it. Of +course, I was grieved by your note this morning—terribly grieved +and—and—disappointed; but I don't think that it leaves me quite +without hope, after all."</p> + +<p>"Oh," Lettice was beginning in protest; but he hushed her with a +pressure of his hand.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me one moment. My last question yesterday was unwarrantable. +I never ought to have asked it; and I beg you to consider it and your +answer unspoken. Of course, I should be filled with despair if I +believed—but I don't believe—I don't conclude anything from the little +you have said. I shall still come to you at the end of the month and ask +for my answer then."</p> + +<p>"It will be of no use," she said, sadly, with averted face and downcast +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't say so. Don't deprive me of every hope. Let me beg of you to say +nothing more just now. In a month's time I will come to you, wherever +you are, and ask for your <i>final</i> decision."</p> + +<p>He saw that Lettice was about to speak, and so he went on hastily, "I +don't know if I am doing right, or wrong in handing you this letter from +your brother. He gave it me before I left England, and bade me deliver +it or hold it back as I saw fit."</p> + +<p>"He knew?" said Lettice, trembling a little as the thought of her +brother's general attitude towards her wishes for independence and her +friendship for Alan Walcott. "You had told him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he knew when he wrote it that I meant to ask you to be my wife. I +do not know what is in it; but I should imagine from the circumstances +that it might convey his good wishes for our joint happiness, if such a +thing could ever be! I did not make up my mind to give it to you until I +had spoken for myself."</p> + +<p>Lettice took the letter and looked at it helplessly, the color flushing +high in her cheeks. Dalton saw her embarrassment, and divined that she +would not like to open the letter when he was there.</p> + +<p>"I am going now," he said. "Edith and I leave Florence this afternoon. +We are going to Rome—I shall not go back to England until I have your +answer. For the present, good-bye."</p> + +<p>Lettice gave him her hand again. He pressed it warmly, and left her +without another word. She was fain to acknowledge that he could not have +behaved with more delicacy or more generosity. But what should she say +to him when the month was at an end?</p> + +<p>She sat for some time with Sydney's letter in her lap, wishing it were +possible for her to give Brooke Dalton the answer that he desired. But +she knew that she could not do it. It was reserved for some other woman +to make Brooke Dalton happy. She, probably, could not have done it if +she had tried; and she consoled herself by thinking that he would live +to see this himself.</p> + +<p>Sydney's handwriting on the sealed envelope (she noticed that it was +Dalton's seal) caught her eye. What could he have to say to her in his +friend's behalf? What was there that might be said or left unsaid at Mr. +Dalton's pleasure? She had not much in common with Sydney now-a-days; +but she knew that he was just married, and that he loved his wife, and +she thought that he might perhaps have only kindly words in store for +her—words written perhaps when his heart was soft with a new sort of +tenderness. Lettice was hungering for a word of love and sympathy. She +opened, the letter and read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Angleford</span>, Easter Tuesday.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Lettice</span>,</p> + +<p>"I am writing this at the close of a short country holiday at +Brooke Dalton's place. You know that Brooke has always been a good +friend to me, and I owe him a debt of gratitude which I cannot +easily repay.</p> + +<p>"It would be impossible to express the pleasure with which I heard +from him that he had become attached to my only sister, and that he +was about to make her an offer of marriage. You would properly +resent anything I might say to you in the way of recommendation +(and I am sure that he would resent it also), on the ground of his +wealth, his excellent worldly position, and his ability to surround +his wife with all the luxuries which a woman can desire. I will not +suggest any considerations of that kind, but it is only right that +I should speak of my friend as I know him. The woman who secures +Brooke Dalton for a husband will have the love and care of one of +the best men in the world, as well as the consideration of society.</p> + +<p>"I look forward, therefore, to a very happy time when you will be +settled down in a home of your own, where I can visit you from time +to time, and where you will be free from the harass and anxieties +of your present existence. My own anxieties of late have been heavy +enough, for the wear and tear of Parliamentary life, in addition to +the ordinary labors of my profession, are by no means +inconsiderable. And I have recently had some worrying cases. In one +of these I was called upon to prosecute a man with whom you were at +one time unfortunately brought into contact—Walcott by name. He +was accused of wounding his wife with intent to do her grievous +bodily harm, and it was proved that he almost murdered her by a +savage blow with a dagger. There could not be a doubt of his guilt, +and he was sentenced (very mercifully) to six months' hard labor. +That illustrates the strange vicissitudes of life, for, of course, +he is absolutely ruined in the eyes of all right-minded persons.</p> + +<p>"Brooke Dalton will probably give you this when you meet, and I +shall no doubt hear from you before long. Meanwhile I need not do +any more than wish you every possible happiness.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, your affectionate brother,</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Sydney.</span>"</p></div> + +<p>Mrs. Hartley was busy in the next room, arranging and numbering a large +collection of pictures which she had bought since she came to Florence, +and thinking how very useful they would be at her Sunday afternoon and +evening receptions, when she went back to London in October. That was +the uppermost thought in her mind when she began her work, but Brooke's +visit had excited her curiosity, and she was longing to know whether it +would succeed in removing her friend's incomprehensible scruples.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she was startled by a cry from the other room. It was like a +cry of pain, sharp at the beginning, but stifled immediately. Mrs. +Hartley ran to the door and looked in. Lettice, with an open letter in +her hand, was lying back in her chair, half unconscious, and as white in +the face as the letter itself. A glance showed Mrs. Hartley that this +letter was not from Brooke; but her only concern at the moment was for +her friend.</p> + +<p>Poor Lettice had been stunned by Sydney's blundering missive; and yet it +was not altogether Sydney's fault that the statement of facts came upon +her with crushing force. It was Mrs. Hartley herself who was mainly +responsible for the concealment of what had happened to Alan; and she no +doubt, had done her part with the best intentions. But the result was +disastrous so far as her intrigue and wishes were concerned.</p> + +<p>With a little care and soothing, Lettice presently recovered from the +shock, at any rate sufficiently to stand up and speak.</p> + +<p>"Read this," she said faintly to Mrs. Hartley, steadying herself against +the table. "Is it true? Is Alan Walcott in prison? Did you know it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my darling, I knew it!"</p> + +<p>"And never told me? When was it?"</p> + +<p>Lettice looked at her friend reproachfully, yet without a trace of +anger.</p> + +<p>"My dearest Lettice, would it have been wise for me to tell you at the +time—the trial was in April—when you were still dangerously weak and +excitable? It was not as if I had known that it would be—what shall I +say?—a matter of such great concern to you. Remember that we had never +mentioned his name since we left England, and I could not assume that +the old friendly interest in him survived."</p> + +<p>"I do not blame you, dear," said Lettice faintly. "I do not blame +Sydney—unless it is for prosecuting him. I cannot think or reason about +it—I can only feel; and I suppose that what I feel amounts to my own +condemnation."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk of condemnation! Your kind heart makes you loyal to everyone +whom you have called a friend—and what can be more natural? I was +terribly grieved for the unfortunate man when I heard of the trouble he +had brought on himself. But we cannot bear each other's sorrows in this +world. Each one must reap as he has sown."</p> + +<p>"And do you think that Alan has sown what he is reaping? Do you believe +that he stabbed his wife?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, I must believe it. Everyone believes it."</p> + +<p>"Alan!" said Lettice, half raising her hand, and gazing out through the +open window, over the banks of the yellow-flowing Arno, with a look of +ineffable trust and tenderness in her face, "Alan, did you try to kill +the woman who has cursed and degraded you? Did you strike her once in +return for her thousand malicious blows? Did you so much as wish her ill +to gratify your anger and revenge? No!—there is one, at least, who does +not believe you guilty of this crime!"</p> + +<p>"Lettice, darling!"</p> + +<p>"I hear no voice but that of Alan, calling to me from his prison cell." +She sprang to her feet and stood as if listening to a far-off call.</p> + +<p>"Lettice, for Heaven's sake, do not give way to delusions. Think of +those who love you best, who will be in despair if ill should befall +you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will think of those who love me best! I must go to him. Dear +Mrs. Hartley, I am not losing my senses, but the feeling is so strong +upon me that I have no power to resist it. I must go to Alan."</p> + +<p>"My child, consider! You cannot go to him. He is in prison."</p> + +<p>"I will go and live at the gates until he comes out."</p> + +<p>"You must not talk like this. I cannot let you go—you, a woman! What +would the world think of you?"</p> + +<p>"What does the world think of him? It says he is guilty—when I know +that he is not!"</p> + +<p>"You cannot know, Lettice. All that was proved against him is that in +some way or other, goaded by her reproaches, he stabbed her with his +dagger. But that was proved, and you cannot get over it. I can quite +believe that he is more unfortunate than maliciously guilty; yet, +surely, you must admit that he is ruined."</p> + +<p>"Never!" said Lettice, passionately. She could almost have stamped her +foot with rage to hear another say what was already in her own mind. But +old habits of self-restraint came to her aid. She raised her head +proudly as she replied: "A man is never ruined. Alan Walcott has a +future."</p> + +<p>"He may have a future, dear, but it is one in which we cannot be +concerned. Listen to me, Lettice—I do so strongly feel that this is the +crisis and turning point of your life! There are lines beyond which no +woman who respects herself, or who would be respected by the world, can +go. If you do not act with prudence and common sense to-day, you may +have to repent it all the rest of your life. You are strong—use your +strength to good purpose, and think, for Heaven's sake think, of the +courage and self-sacrifice which are expected from women of your +breeding and position." She ended with tears in her eyes, for although +she spoke conventionally, and as conventional women speak, her heart was +full of the truest anxiety and tenderness for her friend.</p> + +<p>Lettice was looking out of the window again, as though for inspiration +in her difficulty. When she answered, it was with inexpressible sadness +and regret.</p> + +<p>"You have been so good and kind to me that it cuts my heart to disagree +with you in any way. Have I reached such a turning point as you say? +Perhaps it is so—but I have been brought to it; I have not wilfully +walked up to it. You said that Alan's future was one in which we could +not be concerned. What I feel at this moment, more vividly than I ever +felt anything in my life, is that I am concerned and involved in his +future. I have fought against this, and put it aside, as you, my dear +friend, must know. I have tried to forget him—and my shame of the past +few weeks has been that I tried to care for some one else. Well, I +failed; and see how the very trying has brought me to this clear and +irresistible knowledge of my own heart! If I were superstitious, I +should say that it was my fate. I don't know what it is—I don't +know if my view or your view of my duty is right—but I am quite +sure of this, that I shall have to act on my own view. Courage and +self-sacrifice—yes! They are primary virtues in a woman; but courage +for what? Self-sacrifice for whom?"</p> + +<p>"For society! For the world in general!"</p> + +<p>"But the world in general has the world to help it. If one man needs a +woman's sacrifice, he has only one woman to look to. I am very, very +sorry that I cannot go my own way without giving you pain, and if only I +could think that by any act which it is in my power to do——"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by going your own way, child; but I hope you +will come to a better mind before you take a decided step." Mrs. Hartley +was growing thoroughly alarmed.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I have come to the best, the only possible resolution; and the +question is, how soon I can be in London. We have been in Italy a long +time, have we not?"</p> + +<p>"Eleven months."</p> + +<p>"Do you wish to stay much longer?"</p> + +<p>"I see very plainly, Lettice, that, if I did want to stay, it would end +in my being here alone. But I shall not let you travel by yourself. If +your interest in Italy has gone, so has mine. We will start on +Saturday."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hartley was sorely disappointed, and even angry with Lettice; but +she thought that at any rate she ought not to talk with her until they +were back again in London. And there was at least a hope that she would +be more prudent a week hence than she was to-day.</p> + +<p>As for Lettice, she found it very hard to wait. If she had been alone +she would have left Florence within an hour of reading Sydney's letter, +for her heart was on fire with impatience.</p> + +<p>She did not speak to Brooke Dalton again, except in the presence of her +friends; but after he and Edith had gone she wrote him another letter to +the address which he had given them. In this letter she begged him, as +kindly as she could, to consider her last answer as final. "Sydney's +note," she said, "has only strengthened my decision. Indeed, it has made +me ten times more decided. My heart is not mine to give. You will not +expect that I should say more than this. The best thing I can hope from +you is that you will judge me charitably, and that if others reproach me +you will not join in the chorus."</p> + +<p>Poor Brooke Dalton kissed the letter quietly, and said nothing about it; +nor did he openly give utterance to the words which entered his mind in +reference to Sydney's intervention. Mrs. Hartley silently resolved to +see Sydney Campion as soon as she got back to London, and beg him to +reason with Lettice, and, if possible, bring her to a better mind. But +she was disappointed to find that Sydney was not in town. His marriage +had taken place in September and he had gone to Scotland with his wife. +She knew that he was on fairly good terms with Lettice, and had pressed +her to be present at the wedding, also that Miss Pynsent had sent a very +charming and affectionate letter to her future sister-in-law. But +whether Lettice had written to him and told him of her intentions and +opinions, Mrs. Hartley did not know.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<h3>AMBITION AT THE HELM.</h3> + + +<p>Sydney Campion and Anna Pynsent were married early in September, while +Lettice was still in Italy. There had been a death in the Pynsent family +since the death of Sydney's mother, and Nan was not sorry to make this a +pretext for arranging every thing in the simplest possible manner. She +had no bridesmaids, and did without a wedding-feast; and, strange to +say, Sydney was perfectly well content.</p> + +<p>For it might have been expected that Sydney—with whom the roots of +worldliness and selfishness had struck very deep—would desire a wedding +that would make a noise in the world, and would not be satisfied with a +bride in a severely simple white dress and a complete absence of all +display. But it seemed as if all that was good in his character had been +brought to the surface by a marriage which his club-friends chuckled +over as so absolutely unexceptionable from a worldly point of view. For +almost the first time in his life he was a little ashamed of his +worldliness. His marriage with Nan Pynsent was making—or so he +thought—everything easy for him! His selfishness was pampered by the +girl's adoring love, by her generosity, even by her beauty and her +wealth; and it recoiled upon itself in an utterly unexpected way. +Finding life no longer a battle, Sydney became suddenly ashamed of some +of his past methods of warfare; and, looking at his betrothed, could +only breathe a silent and fervent aspiration that she might never know +the story of certain portions of his life.</p> + +<p>He was thoroughly in love with his wife; and—what was more important in +a man of his temperament—he admired as well as loved her. Her personal +charm was delightful to him, and the high-bred quietness of her manner, +the refinement of her accent, the aroma of dignity and respect which +surrounded the Pynsent household in general, were elements of his +feeling for her as strong as his sense of her grace and beauty. With his +high respect for position and good birth, it would have been almost +impossible for him to yield his heart for long to a woman in a lower +grade of society than his own; even a woman who might be considered his +equal was not often attractive to him; he preferred one—other +considerations apart—who was socially a little his superior, and could +make a link for him with the great families of England. Had Nan been the +pretty governess whom he thought her at first, not all her charm, her +talent and her originality of character, would have prevailed to make +him marry her.</p> + +<p>But in spite of these defects, when once his judgment had assented, he +gave free rein to his heart. Nan satisfied his taste and his intellect, +to begin with; his senses were equally well content with her beauty; and +then—then—another kind of emotion came into play. He was a little +vexed and impatient with himself at first, to find the difference that +she made in his life. She interested him profoundly, and he had never +been profoundly interested in any woman before. Her earnestness charmed +while it half-repelled him. And her refinement, her delicacy of feeling, +her high standard of morality, perpetually astonished him. He remembered +that he had heard his sister Lettice talk as Nan sometimes talked. With +Lettice he had pooh-poohed her exalted ideas and thought them womanish; +in Nan, he was inclined to call them beautiful. Of course, he said to +himself, her ideas did not affect him; men could not guide their lives +by a woman's standard; nevertheless, her notions were pretty, although +puritanical; and he had no desire to see them changed. He would not have +Nan less conscientious for the world.</p> + +<p>An appeal to Sydney's self-love had always been a direct appeal to his +heart. It was sometimes said of him that he cared for others chiefly in +proportion as they conferred benefits and advantages upon himself; but +he was certainly capable of warm affection when it had been called into +existence. He began to display a very real and strong affection for Nan. +She had found the way to his heart—though she little suspected +it—through his very weaknesses: she had conquered the man she loved by +means of his selfishness. The worldly advantages she conferred took his +nature by storm. It was not a high-minded way of contracting an +engagement for life; but, as a fragrant flower may easily grow upon a +very unpleasant dunghill, so the sweet flower of a true, pure love began +to flourish on the heap of refuse with which the good in Sydney's nature +had been overlaid.</p> + +<p>Sydney was treated with considerable generosity by Nan's guardian and +trustees. Her fortune was of course to remain largely at her own +disposal; but an ambitious man like Sydney Campion was certain to profit +by it in some degree. Sir John Pynsent had always known that he was not +likely to possess the management of it for long, and the next best thing +was that it should be utilized for a member of the Conservative party, +one of his own special connection, whose future career he should be able +to watch over and promote. Campion must clearly understand that he owed +his position and prospects to the Pynsents. He was apt to be somewhat +off-hand and independent, but he would improve with a little judicious +coaching. A man cannot be independent who owes his seat to the +Oligarchy, his introduction in Parliament to individual favor, and his +private fortune to the daughter of a house which had always been devoted +to the interests of a particular party. This was Campion's position, and +Sir John felt that his brother-in-law would soon fall into line.</p> + +<p>Sydney was made the proprietor of the London house in which they were to +live—the house at Vanebury was let for the present; but the whole of +the domestic charges were to be borne by his wife. His professional +income would be at his own disposal; and by special arrangement the sum +of twenty thousand pounds was set apart as a fund to be drawn upon from +time to time, by their joint consent, for the advancement of his purely +political interests, in such a manner as might be deemed most expedient.</p> + +<p>This was a better arrangement than Sydney had allowed himself to +anticipate, and he was naturally elated by his success. He was so +grateful to Nan for the good things she had brought him that he studied +her tastes and consulted her inclinations in a way quite new to him. No +doubt there was selfishness even in the repression of self which this +compliance with her habits imposed upon him; but the daily repression +was a gain to him.</p> + +<p>And Nan recompensed his considerate behavior by giving him that incense +of love and esteem and intellectual deference which is desired by every +man; and by convincing him that his ambitions—as she knew them—had in +her the most complete sympathy, and the most valuable aid. This she did +for him, and satisfied all the wishes of his heart.</p> + +<p>They had a delightful honeymoon in the Tyrol, and returned to town late +in October. The house in Thurloe Square, where they were to reside, had +been newly decorated and furnished for them, and was pronounced by +critics to be a marvel of luxury and beauty. Sydney, though he did not +pretend to be well acquainted with æsthetic fashions, recognized that +the rooms had an attractive appearance, and set off Nan's beauty to the +best advantage. He fell easily and naturally into the position which his +good fortune had marked out for him, and thought, in spite of certain +bitter drops, in spite of a touch of gall in the honey, and a suspected +thorn on the rose, in spite of a cloud no bigger than a man's hand in an +otherwise clear sky, that Fate had on the whole been very kind to him.</p> + +<p>Nan's first appearance as a bride was at her brother's house. Lady +Pynsent's whole soul was wrapped up in the art and mystery of +entertaining, and she hailed this opportunity of welcoming the Campions +into her "set" with unfeigned joy. Her gifts as a hostess had been her +chief recommendation in Sir John's eyes when he married her; he would +never have ventured to espouse a woman who could not play her part in +the drawing-room as well as he could play his part in the club.</p> + +<p>A few days after the Campions' arrival in town, therefore, the Pynsents +gave a dinner at their own house, to which Lady Pynsent had invited a +number of men, Sydney Campion amongst the number, whom Sir John desired +to assemble together. The Benedicts came with their wives, and Nan made +her first entry into the charmed circle of matrons, where Sydney hoped +that she would one day lead and rule.</p> + +<p>Sir John had an object in gathering these half-dozen congenial spirits +round his table. He always had, or invented, an object for his acts, +whatever they might be; a dinner party at home would have bored him +grievously if he could not have invested it with a distinct political +purpose. And, indeed, it was this power of throwing fine dust in his own +eyes which first made his party regard him as an important social +factor, worthy of being taken seriously at his own valuation. The spirit +of the age was just as strong in him, though in a somewhat different +sense, as it was in Lord Montagu Plumley, one of his guests on the +present occasion, who had shot up like a meteor from the comparative +obscurity of cadetship in a ducal family to the front rank of the Tory +pretenders, mainly by ticketing his own valuation on his breast, and +keeping himself perpetually front foremost to the world. The fault was +not so much Lord Montagu's as that of the age in which he lived. He had +merit, and he felt his strength, precisely as Sir John felt his strength +as a social pioneer, but in a generation of talented mediocrities he had +no chance of making his merit known by simply doing his duty. At any +rate, he had given up the attempt in despair, and on a memorable +evening, of which the history shall one day be written full and fair, he +had expounded to a select group of his intimate friends his great theory +on the saving of the Commonwealth, and his method of obtaining the +sceptre of authority, which implied the dispensation of honors to all +who believed in him.</p> + +<p>A very good fellow in his way was Montagu Plumley, and Sir John was +anxious that Sydney Campion, now a connection as well as a friend, +should be brought within the influence of one whom the baronet had +always regarded as the Young Man of the future. Sydney had been wont to +sneer a little, after his fashion, at the individuals who interpreted +the new ideas, though he accepted the ideas themselves as irrefragable. +The nation must be saved by its young men—yes, certainly. As a young +man he saw that plainly enough, but it was not going to be saved by any +young man who could be named in his presence. He had said something like +this to Sir John Pynsent, not many days before his marriage, and Sir +John, who had taken Sydney's measure to a nicety, had resolved that his +promising brother-in-law should be converted at the earliest possible +opportunity into a faithful follower and henchman of Lord Montagu +Plumley.</p> + +<p>Another old friend of the reader was amongst the guests who sat over +their wine round Sir John's hospitable board. This was the Honorable Tom +Willoughby, whom his host had initiated at the Oligarchy into the art of +fishing for men in the troubled waters of Liberalism. Tom Willoughby +was, and always would be, a light weight in the political arena, but he +was very useful when put to work that he could do. He was the spoiled +child of Sir John Pynsent, and was fast earning a character as the +chartered libertine of the House of Commons, where his unfailing good +humor made him friends on both sides. Sir John told him one day that he +was cut out to be an envoy extraordinary from the Conservative to the +Liberal ranks, whereupon the Honorable Tom had answered that he did not +mind discharging the function for his party to-day if he could see his +way to doing the same thing for his country hereafter. Whereat Sir John +laughed, and told him that if he wanted a mission of that kind he must +bow down to the rising sun; and it was then that he asked his friend to +come and dine with Lord Montagu.</p> + +<p>Gradually, after the ladies had gone, the conversation shifted round to +politics, and Sir John began to draw his guests out. People had been +talking a good deal during the last few days about the resignation of +Mr. Bright, which, coming in the same session with that of Mr. Forster, +had made something of a sensation.</p> + +<p>"How long will you give them now, Lord Montagu?" said the baronet. "Two +of their strongest men are gone—one over Ireland and the other over +Egypt. If the country could vote at this moment, I verily believe that +we should get a majority. It almost makes one wish for annual +Parliaments."</p> + +<p>"I have more than once thought, Sir John, that the Tories would have had +a much longer aggregate of power in the past fifty years if there had +been a general election every year. When we come into office we make +things perfectly pleasant all round for the first twelve month. When +they come in, it rarely takes them a year to set their friends at +loggerheads. As it is, they will stick in to the last moment—certainly +until they have passed a Franchise Act."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. We must not go to the country on the Franchise."</p> + +<p>"Rather not."</p> + +<p>"And it will be too late to rely on Egypt."</p> + +<p>"Heaven only knows what they are yet capable of in Egypt. But we shall +have something stronger than that to go upon—as you know very well."</p> + +<p>"Ireland," said Campion.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly Ireland, though the seed may spring up on Irish soil. The +main thing to do, the thing that every patriotic man ought to work for, +is to break down the present One Old Man system of government in this +country. The bane of Great Britain is that we are such hero-worshippers +by nature that we can only believe in one man at a time. We get hold of +a Palmerston or a Gladstone, and set him on a pedestal, and think that +everybody else is a pygmy. It may be that our idol is a tolerably good +one—that is, not mischievously active. In that case he cannot do much +harm. But when, as in the case of Gladstone, you have a national idol +who is actively mischievous, it is impossible to exaggerate the evil +which may be done. Therefore the object which we should all pursue in +the first instance is to throw off the old man of the sea, and not +merely to get the better of him in parliament, but to cover him with so +much discredit that he cannot wheedle another majority from the country. +It does not signify whether we do this through Irish or Egyptian +affairs, so long as we do it. Mr. Campion has shown us how seats are to +be won. We want fifty or sixty men at least to do the same thing for us +at the next election."</p> + +<p>"There is no doubt," said Campion, "that with the present electorate we +might safely go to the poll at once. Liberalism, minus Bright, Forster, +and Goschen, and plus Alexandria and Phoenix Park, is no longer what it +was in 1880. I had the most distinct evidence of that at Vanebury."</p> + +<p>"There was a considerable turnover of votes, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Unquestionably, and amongst all classes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is encouraging, so far. But in view of the new franchise, it +does not go nearly far enough. The idol must be overthrown."</p> + +<p>"Who is to do it?" Sydney asked.</p> + +<p>"That is hardly for me to say. But it will be done."</p> + +<p>"The idol is doing it very fairly," said Willoughby, "on his own +account, especially in London. Wherever I go his popularity is decidedly +on the wane amongst his old supporters."</p> + +<p>"Let that go on for a year or two," said Lord Montagu, "and then, when +the inevitable compact is made with Parnell, the great party which has +had its own way in England for so many years, at any rate up to 1874, +will crumble to pieces."</p> + +<p>The talk was commonplace as beseemed the occasion; but Sir John's object +in bringing his men together was practically gained. Before the evening +was over, Lord Montagu was favorably impressed by Campion's ability and +shrewdness, whilst Sydney was more disposed from that time to regard +Plumley as one of the most likely aspirants for the leadership of his +party.</p> + +<p>In the drawing-room, Nan had made herself as popular as her husband was +making himself in the dining-room. She was greatly improved by her +marriage, many of the matrons thought; she was more dignified and far +less abrupt than she used to be. She had always been considered pretty, +and her manners were gaining the finish that they had once perhaps +lacked; in fact, she had found out that Sydney set a high value on +social distinction and prestige; and, resolving to please him in this as +in everything else, she had set herself of late to soften down any +girlish harshness or brusquerie, such as Lady Pynsent used sometimes to +complain of in her, and to develop the gracious softness of manner which +Sydney liked to see.</p> + +<p>"She will be quite the <i>grande dame</i>, by and by," said one lady, +watching her that night. "She has some very stately airs already, and +yet she is absolutely without affectation. Mr. Campion is a very lucky +man."</p> + +<p>Nan was asked to play; but, although she acknowledged that she still +kept up her practising, she had not brought her violin with her. She was +half afraid, moreover, that Sydney did not like her to perform. She +fancied that he had an objection to any sort of display of either +learning or accomplishment on a woman's part; she had gathered this +impression from the way in which he spoke of his sister Lettice. And she +did not want to expose herself to the same sort of criticism.</p> + +<p>One of the younger ladies at Lady Pynsent's that night was a Mrs. +Westray, wife of the eminently respectable member for Bloomsbury, who, +as a city merchant of great wealth and influence, was one of the invited +guests. Mrs. Westray was by way of being a literary lady, having printed +a volume of her "Travels." Unfortunately she had only traveled in +France, over well-worn tracks, and her book appeared just after those of +two other ladies, with whom the critics had dealt very kindly indeed; so +that the last comer had not been treated quite so well as she deserved. +Nevertheless she keenly enjoyed her reputation as a woman of letters; +and having found on inquiry that Sydney Campion was the brother of the +lady whose novel had gained such a brilliant success in the spring, she +asked her husband to bring him to her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, why does Miss Campion live out of England?" Mrs. Westray asked him, +after gushing a little about his sister's "exquisite romance". "Surely +she does not mean to do so always?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Sydney. "I hope not. She was rather seriously ill last +Christmas, and we thought it best for her to live in Italy until she +quite recovered. I trust that we shall have her back again before the +end of the year." He was as yet unacquainted with the history of his +sister's movements.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad to hear it. I want very much to make her acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"We hope that my sister will come to stay with us for a time," said +Sydney, "and in that case you will be sure to see her."</p> + +<p>"That will be so very nice," said the lady; "I am quite certain I shall +like her immensely."</p> + +<p>Sydney felt a little doubtful whether Lettice would like Mrs. Westray; +and he also doubted whether his wife and his sister would be found to +have much in common. But he was more or less consciously building on the +hope that Dalton's suit would prosper, and that Lettice would settle +down quietly as the mistress of Angleford Manor, and so be weaned from +the somewhat equivocal situation of a successful author. It did not so +much as enter his mind, by the way, that there was anything equivocal in +Mrs. Westray's authorship. Her book had failed, and her husband was very +wealthy, so that she could not be suspected of having earned money by +her pen. But Lettice had cheques for <i>her</i> romances!</p> + +<p>The dinner was very successful, and the Pynsents were charmed with the +result. "It is a most suitable union," said Sir John, alluding to Nan's +marriage to Sydney Campion, and hoping to crush his wife a little, +seeing that she had objected to it: "it does great credit to my +discernment in bringing them together. I always knew that Campion would +get on. Lord Montagu was very much pleased with him."</p> + +<p>"Nan looked lovely," said Lady Pynsent, ignoring her husband's innuendo. +"She tells me that Sydney is very particular about her dress, and she +seems perfectly happy."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, as Sydney and his wife were driving home, Nan nestled up to +him and said coaxingly,</p> + +<p>"Now tell me, dear, just what you were thinking of to-night."</p> + +<p>"I was thinking that my wife was the most beautiful woman in the room."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I did not mean anything of that kind. When you were talking at +dinner-time, and after we had gone up stairs, what was really the +uppermost thought in your mind?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Sydney laughing, "you deserve all my candor, Nan. I was +thinking, if you must know, that I could meet any one of those men in +debate, or in council, and hold my own against him. There's vanity for +you! Now it is your turn."</p> + +<p>"Mine?" she said. "Why, it was just the same as your own. That you were +as wise and great as any of them——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, I didn't say that."</p> + +<p>"—And that when you are a Minister of State, and I threw open my +drawing-room, we will challenge comparison with any other house in +London. Do you like the idea?"</p> + +<p>He put his arm round her and kissed her very fondly. She had assimilated +his ambitions to a remarkable degree, and he was as surprised as he was +delighted to find her almost as eager for his success as he himself +could be. The two were by no means destitute of that community of +interests and pursuits which has been said to constitute the best hope +of wedded bliss. But Nan's hopes were less material than Sydney's. It +was as yet a doubtful matter whether he would draw her down from her +high standard, or whether she would succeed in raising him to hers. At +present, satisfied with themselves and with each other, they were a +thoroughly happy couple.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<h3>AT MRS. CHIGWIN'S COTTAGE.</h3> + + +<p>Birchmead in the summer and autumn is a very different place from the +Birchmead which Alan Walcott saw when he came down to visit his aunt in +the early days of February. Then the year had not begun to move; at most +there was a crocus or a snowdrop in the sheltered corners of Mrs. +Chigwin's garden; and, if it had not been for a wealth of holly round +the borders of the village green, the whole place would have been +destitute of color.</p> + +<p>But, in the summer, all is color and brightness. The blue sky, the +emerald lawns, the dull red earth, the many-hued masses of foliage, from +the dark copper beech to the light greys of the limes and poplars, +mingle their broad effects upon their outspread canvas of Nature, and in +the foreground a thousand flowers glow warmly from the well-kept gardens +or the fertile meadow-side. Nowhere do the old-fashioned flowers of the +field and garden seem to flourish more luxuriantly than at Birchmead, or +come to fuller bloom, or linger for a longer season. Here, as elsewhere +in the south of England, June and July are the richest months for +profusion and color; but the two months that follow July may be made, +with very little trouble, as gay and varied in their garden-show, if not +so fragrant and exquisite. The glory of the roses and lilies has +departed, but in their place is much to compensate all simple and +unsophisticated lovers of their mother-earth.</p> + +<p>In the second week of October, Mrs. Chigwin was at work in her garden, +with her dress tucked up, a basket in her left hand, and a large pair of +scissors in her right. Every flower that had begun to fade, every +withered leaf and overgrown shoot fell before those fatal shears, and +was caught in the all-devouring basket; and from time to time she bore a +fresh load of snippets to their last resting-place. Her heart was in her +work, and she would not rest until she had completed her round. From the +clematis on the cottage wall and the jessamine over the porch she passed +to a clump of variegated hollyhocks, and from them to the hedge of sweet +peas, to the fuchsias almost as high as the peas, the purple and white +phlox, the yellow evening primrose, and the many-colored asters. +Stooping here and there, she carefully trimmed the rank-growing +geraniums and the clusters of chrysanthemums, cut off the straggling +branches of the mignonette and removed every passing bloom of harebell, +heartsease, and heliotrope.</p> + +<p>The euthanasia of the fading blossoms filled her shallow skep +half-a-dozen times over, and, to anyone ignorant (to his shame) of the +art which our first ancestor surely learned from his mother, and loved, +it might have seemed that Mrs. Chigwin used her scissors with a too +unsparing hand. But the happy old soul knew what she was about. The +evening was closing in, and she had cut both the flowers whose beauty +had passed away and those which would have been wrinkled and flabby +before the morning, knowing full well that only so can you reckon on the +perfection of beauty from day to day.</p> + +<p>"There, now," she said, when her last basketful was disposed of, "I have +done. And if old Squire Jermyn, who first laid out this garden, was to +come to life again to-morrow, there would be nothing in Martha Chigwin's +little plot to make his hair stand on end."</p> + +<p>She threw her eyes comprehensively round the ring of cottages which +encircled the village green, with a sniff of defiant challenge, as +though she would dare any of her neighbors to make the same boast; and +then she came and sat down on the garden-seat, and said to her old +friend and companion,</p> + +<p>"What do you think about it, Elizabeth?"</p> + +<p>"You are right, Martha; right as you always are," said Mrs. Bundlecombe, +in a feeble voice. "And I was thinking as you went round, cutting off +the flowers that have had their day, that if you had come to me and cut +me off with the rest of them, there would have been one less poor old +withered thing in the world. Here have I been a wretched cripple on your +hands all the summer, and surely if the Lord had had any need for me He +would not have broken my stalk and left me to shrivel up in the +sunshine."</p> + +<p>"Now, Bessy," said Mrs. Chigwin, severely, "do you want to put out the +light of peace that we have been enjoying for days past? Fie, for shame! +and in a garden, too. Where's your gratitude—or, leastways, where's +your patience?"</p> + +<p>"There, there, Martha, you know I did not mean it. But I sit here +thinking and thinking, till I could write whole volumes on the vanity of +human wishes. Cut me off, indeed, just at this moment, when I am waiting +to see my dear boy once more before I die!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bundlecombe was silent again, and the other did not disturb her, +knowing by experience what the effort to speak would be likely to end +in.</p> + +<p>Things had not gone well at Birchmead in the last six months. The news +of Alan's arrest on the charge of wife-murder—that was the exaggerated +shape in which it first reached the village—was a terrible blow to poor +Aunt Bessy. She was struck down by paralysis, and had to keep to her bed +for many weeks, and even now she had only the partial use of her limbs. +Mrs. Chigwin, buckling to her new task with heroic cheerfulness, had +nursed and comforted her and lightened the burden of her life so far as +that was possible. As soon as the cripple could be dressed and moved +about, she had bought for her a light basket-chair, into which she used +to lift her bodily. Whenever the weather was fine enough she would wheel +her into the garden; and she won the first apology for a laugh from Mrs. +Bundlecombe when, having drawn her on the grass and settled her +comfortably, she said,</p> + +<p>"Now, Bessy, I have repotted you and put you in the sun on the same day +as my balsams, and I shall expect you to be ready for planting out as +soon as they are."</p> + +<p>But that was too sanguine a hope, for Mrs. Bundlecombe was still in her +chair, and there was not much chance of her ever being able to walk +again. As it had been impossible for her to go and see her nephew, +either before his trial or since, Mrs. Chigwin had written a letter for +her, entreating Alan to come to Birchmead as soon as he was free; and +the writer assured him on her own account that there was not a better +place in England for quiet rest and consolation. They heard from the +prison authorities that the letter had been received, and that it would +be given to the prisoner; and now Aunt Bessy was counting the days until +his time had expired.</p> + +<p>There had been other changes at Birchmead in the course of the year. +Mrs. Harrington no longer occupied the adjoining cottage, but lay at +peace in the churchyard at Thorley. Her grand-daughter had written once +to the old ladies from London, according to her promise; after which +they had heard of her no more, although they sent her word of her +grandmother's death, to the address which she had given them.</p> + +<p>The sun was sinking low in the sky, and it was time for Mrs. Bundlecombe +to be taken indoors. So Martha Chigwin wheeled her into the house, +rapidly undressed her, and lifted her into bed. Then there was a chapter +to be read aloud, and joint prayers to be repeated, and supper to be +prepared; and Mrs. Chigwin had just made the two cups of gruel which +represented the last duty of her busy day's routine, when she heard a +noise of wheels on the gravel outside.</p> + +<p>It was not a cart but a cab, and it stopped at the door. Cabs were not +very familiar in Birchmead, and the appearance of this one at Mrs. +Chigwin's cottage brought curious eyes to almost every window looking +out upon the green. There was not much to reward curiosity—only a lady, +dressed in a long fur-lined cloak, with a quiet little bonnet, and a +traveling-bag in her hand, who knocked at Mrs. Chigwin's door, and, +after a short confabulation, dismissed the cabman and went in. At any +rate it was something for Birchmead to know that it had a visitor who +had come in a Dorminster cab. That was an incident which for these good +souls distinguished the day from the one which went before and the one +which came after it.</p> + +<p>It was Lettice Campion who thus stirred the languid pulse of Birchmead. +She had found her way like a ministering angel to the bedside of Alan's +aunt, within three or four days of her arrival in England.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chigwin felt the utmost confidence in her visitor, both from what +she had heard of her before and from what she saw of her as soon as she +entered the cottage. Lettice could not have been kinder to her mother +than she was to the poor crippled woman who had no claim upon her +service. She told Mrs. Chigwin that so long as she was at Birchmead she +should be Mrs. Bundlecombe's nurse, and she evidently meant to keep her +word. Aunt Bessy was comforted beyond measure by her appearance, and +still more by the few words which Lettice whispered to her, in response +to the forlorn appeal of the old woman's eyes—so unutterably eloquent +of the thoughts that were throbbing in the hearts of both—</p> + +<p>"I shall wait for him when he comes out!"</p> + +<p>"God bless you!" said Aunt Bessy.</p> + +<p>"The world has been cruel to him. He has only us two; we must try to +comfort him," whispered Lettice.</p> + +<p>"I am past it, dearie. He has no one but you. You are enough for him."</p> + +<p>And she went on in the slow and painful way which had become habitual to +her.</p> + +<p>"I have been tortured in my heart, thinking of his coming out upon the +weary world, all alone, broken down may be, with none to take him by the +hand, and me lying here upon my back, unable to help him. Oh, it is +hard! And sometimes in a dream I see his mother, Lucy, my own little +sister that died so many years ago, floating over the walls of his +prison, and signing to me to fetch him out. But now she will rest in her +grave, and I myself could die to-night and be happy, because you will +not forsake him. My dear, he loves you like his own soul!"</p> + +<p>Lettice did not reply, but she kissed the cheek of Alan's aunt, and bade +her try to sleep.</p> + +<p>It was growing dark. Through the window she could trace the outlines of +the garden below. She was tempted by the balmy night, and went out.</p> + +<p>"He loves you like his own soul!" Was not that how she loved him, and +was she not here in England to tell him so?</p> + +<p>The question startled her, as though some one else had put it to her, +and was waiting for an answer. That, surely, was not her object; and +yet, if not, what was? From the hour when she read Sydney's letter at +Florence she seemed to have had a new motive power within her. She had +acted hitherto from instinct, or from mere feeling; she could scarcely +recall a single argument which she had held with herself during the past +ten days. She might have been walking in a dream, so little did she seem +to have used her reason or her will. Yet much had happened since she +left Italy.</p> + +<p>On Thursday she had arrived in London with Mrs. Hartley.</p> + +<p>On Saturday she went out by herself, and managed to see the governor of +the gaol where Alan was lodged. From him she learned, to her dismay, +that "Number 79" had had a severe and almost fatal illness. He was still +very weak, though out of danger, and it was thought that with the +careful attention which he was receiving in the infirmary he would +probably be able to leave on the 29th of October.</p> + +<p>Captain Haynes told her that his prisoner appeared to have no relatives +"except the wife, who was not likely to give herself much trouble about +him, and an aunt in the country who was paralyzed." So, Lettice arranged +to bring a carriage to the prison gates on the morning of the 29th, and +to fetch him away.</p> + +<p>Having learned Mrs. Bundlecombe's address, thanks to the letter which +had been written to the governor by Mrs. Chigwin, she came to Birchmead +on Monday—lingering an hour or two at Angleford in order that she might +see her native place again, and recall the image of the father whom she +had loved and lost.</p> + +<p>Now, at length, her heart was in a measure contented and at rest. Now +she could think, and reason with herself if need be. What did she mean +to do? What had she done already? How had she committed herself? She was +only too painfully aware that she had taken a step which there was no +retracing. Had she not virtually broken with Mrs. Hartley, with the +Daltons, with Sydney and his wife? They would doubtless think so, +whether she did or not. She had no illusions in the matter. Not one of +them would forgive her—not even Mrs. Hartley—for her treatment of +Brooke Dalton, for her independent action since she left Italy, and for +her association with Alan Walcott.</p> + +<p>As for that—it was true that she had not yet gone too far. She had not +coupled her name with Alan's in any public manner, or in any way at all, +except that she had used her own name when calling on Captain Haynes. He +would not talk, and, therefore, it was not too late to act with greater +secrecy and caution. She need not let anyone know that she had taken an +interest in him, that she had been to his prison, and had promised to +bring him away when he was released. Beyond that point of bringing him +away she had not yet advanced, even in her own mind. What was to prevent +her from sending a carriage, as though it had been provided by Aunt +Bessy, and letting him find his way to Birchmead, or wherever he wished +to go, like any other discharged prisoner. Then she would not shock her +friends—she would not outrage the feelings of poor Sydney, who thought +so much of the world's opinion and of the name they held in common.</p> + +<p>That was a strong argument with her, for, to some extent, she +sympathized with her brother's ambitions, although she did not greatly +esteem them. She would do all that she could to avoid hurting him. How +much could she do? Was it possible for her now, when she was calm and +collected, to form a strong resolution and draw a clear line beyond +which she would not let her pity for Alan Walcott carry her? What she +thought right, that she would do—no more, but certainly no less. Then +what was right?</p> + +<p>There was the difficulty. Within the limits of a good conscience, she +had been guided almost entirely by her feelings, and they had led her so +straight that she had never been prompted to ask herself such questions +as What is right? or What is the proper thing to do? She had done good +by intuition and nature; and now it was out of her power to realize any +other or stronger obligation than that of acting as nature bade her. One +thing only was plain to her at the moment—that she must be kind to this +man who had been persecuted, betrayed, and unjustly punished, and who, +but for her, would be absolutely alone in the world. Could she be kind +without going to meet him at the prison gates?</p> + +<p>She was trying to persuade herself that she could; and so deeply was she +absorbed by the struggle which was going on in her mind that she did not +notice the feeble wailing sound which ever and anon came towards her on +the silent night air. But, at last, a louder cry than before disturbed +her quiet reverie, and startled her into attention.</p> + +<p>It seemed to be close at hand—a cry like that of a little child; and +she stood up and peered into the shadow behind her. She could see +nothing, but the wailing came again, and Lettice groped her way across +the flower border, and stood by the low garden wall.</p> + +<p>There was just enough light to enable her to distinguish the form of a +woman, crouching on the rank grass in what used to be Mrs. Harrington's +garden, and vainly attempting to soothe the baby which she held in her +arms.</p> + +<p>It was too dark to see the woman's features, or to judge if she were in +much distress, but Lettice could not be satisfied to leave her where she +was.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" she asked; and, at the sound of her voice the little +child was hushed, as though it knew that a friend was near. But the +mother did not answer.</p> + +<p>"What do you want? Why are you sitting there? Have you no home?"</p> + +<p>A very weak "No" reached her straining ears.</p> + +<p>"Can you walk? Come here, if you can."</p> + +<p>The figure did not move.</p> + +<p>"Then I must get over the wall and come to you."</p> + +<p>She was beginning to do as she had said, when the other slowly rose to +her feet, and drew unwillingly a step nearer.</p> + +<p>"Come," said Lettice, kindly, but firmly. She felt that this was a woman +over whom it would not be hard to exercise authority.</p> + +<p>Gradually the mother approached, with her baby in her arms, until she +was within half-a-dozen yards of the wall. Then she leaned against the +trunk of an old apple-tree, and would not come any further.</p> + +<p>"Are you ill?" said Lettice, gently.</p> + +<p>Again the half-heard "No," but this time accompanied by a sob.</p> + +<p>"Then why are you out at this time, and with your poor little baby, too? +Have you walked far to-day?"</p> + +<p>"From Thorley."</p> + +<p>"Do you live at Thorley?"</p> + +<p>"Not now."</p> + +<p>"Where do you come from?"</p> + +<p>"London."</p> + +<p>"Let me see your baby. Is it hungry, or cold? Why do you keep so far +away from me? and why are you crying? Oh, Milly, Milly! Is it you? Dear +child, come to me!"</p> + +<p>Then the girl came from amongst the branches of the tree, and tottered +to the wall, and laid her child in the arms stretched out to receive it.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not come to the door, Milly, instead of waiting out here? +You might have been sure of a welcome!"</p> + +<p>She laid her hand on the head which was bowed down upon the wall, and +which shook with the poor girl's sobs. Her bonnet had fallen off, and +hung on her back; and Lettice noticed that the long hair of which the +girl used to be so proud was gone.</p> + +<p>"I did not come to the village till it was dark," Milly said, as soon as +she could speak. "Then I should have knocked, but I saw you looking out +at the window—and I was ashamed!"</p> + +<p>"Ashamed?" said Lettice, in a low voice. There was one thing she +thought, of which Milly could be ashamed. She looked from the weeping +mother to the baby's face, and back again to Milly. "My poor girl," she +said, with a sudden rush of tender feeling for the woman who had perhaps +been tempted beyond her strength—so Lettice thought—"my poor child, +you don't think <i>I</i> should be unkind to you!"</p> + +<p>"No, no! you were always so kind to me, miss. And I—I—was so +wicked—so ungrateful—so deceitful——"</p> + +<p>And with that she broke down utterly. Lettice's arms were round her +neck, and the young mother, feeling herself in the presence of a +comforter at last, let loose her pent-up misery and sobbed aloud.</p> + +<p>"Where is—he? your husband?" said Lettice, remembering that she had +heard of Milly's marriage from Mrs. Bundlecombe some time ago, and +conjecturing that something had gone wrong, but not yet guessing the +whole truth.</p> + +<p>Milly sobbed on for a minute or two without replying. Then she said, +somewhat indistinctly,</p> + +<p>"He's gone away. Left me."</p> + +<p>"Left you? But—for a time, you mean? To look for work, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"No, no; he has left me altogether. I shall never see him again—never!" +said the girl, with sudden passion. "Oh, don't ask me any more, Miss +Lettice, I can't bear it!"</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Lettice, pitifully, "I will ask you no questions, Milly. +You shall tell me all about it or nothing, just as you like. We must not +keep the baby out in the night air any longer. Come round to the door, +and Mrs. Chigwin will let you in. I will tell her that you want a +night's lodging, and then we will arrange what you are to do to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Milly did not move, however, from her position by the wall. She had +ceased to sob, and was twisting her handkerchief nervously between her +fingers.</p> + +<p>"Do you think Mrs. Chigwin would let me in," she said at last, in a very +low voice, "if she <i>knew</i>?"</p> + +<p>Lettice waited; she saw there was more to come.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Lettice," said the girl, with a subdued agony in her tone +which went to Lettice's heart; "it wasn't all my fault ... I believed in +him so ... I thought he would never deceive me nor behave unkindly to +me. But I was deceived: I never, was his wife, though I thought—I +thought I was!"</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Lettice, gently, "then you were not to blame. Mrs. +Chigwin would only be sorry for you if she knew. But we will not tell +her everything at once; you must just come in, if only for baby's sake, +and get some food and rest. Come with me now."</p> + +<p>And Milly yielded, feeling a certain comfort and relief in having so far +told the truth to her former mistress.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Chigwin's surprise, when she saw Lettice coming back with the baby +in her arms, may well be imagined. But she behaved very kindly: she at +once consented to take in Milly for the night and make her comfortable; +and, after one keen look at the girl's changed and downcast face, she +asked no questions.</p> + +<p>For Milly was wonderfully changed—there was no doubt of that. Her +pretty fair hair was cropped close to her head; her eyes were sunken, +and the lids were red with tears; the bloom had faded from her cheeks, +and the roundness of youth had passed from face and form alike. +Ill-health and sorrow had gone far to rob her of her fresh young beauty; +and the privations which she confessed to having experienced during the +last few days had hollowed her eyes, sharpened her features, and bowed +her slender form. Her dress was travel-stained and shabby; her boots +were down at heel and her thin hands were glove-less. Lettice noticed +that she still wore a wedding-ring. But the neat trim look that had once +been so characteristic was entirely lost. She was bedraggled and broken +down; and Lettice thought with a thrill of horror of what might have +happened if Mrs. Chigwin had left Birchmead, or refused to take the +wayfarer in. For a woman in Milly's state there would probably have +remained only two ways open—the river or the streets.</p> + +<p>"I've never had five in my cottage before," said Mrs. Chigwin, +cheerfully; "but where there's room for two there's room for +half-a-dozen; at least, when they're women and children."</p> + +<p>"You must have wondered what had become of me all this time," said +Lettice.</p> + +<p>"Nay, ma'am; you were in the garden, and that was enough for me. I knew +you couldn't be in a better place, whether you were sorrowing or +rejoicing. Nought but good comes to one in a garden."</p> + +<p>They set food before Milly, and let her rest and recover herself. The +child won their hearts at once. It was clean, and healthy, and good to +look at; and if Lettice had known that it was her own little niece she +could not have taken to it more kindly. Perhaps, indeed, she would not +have taken to it at all.</p> + +<p>Lettice's visit had greatly excited Mrs. Bundlecombe, who had for some +time past been in that precarious state in which any excitement, however +slight, is dangerous. She was completely happy, because she had jumped +to the conclusion that Lettice would henceforth do for Alan all that she +herself would have done if she had been able, but which it was now +impossible for her to do. And then it was as though the feeble vitality +which remained to her had begun to ebb away from the moment when her +need for keeping it had disappeared.</p> + +<p>In the early morning, Lettice was roused from her sleep by the +restlessness of her companion, and she sat up and looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Dearie," said the old woman, in a whisper, "my time is come."</p> + +<p>"No, no!" said Lettice, standing by her side. "Let me raise you a little +on the pillow; you will feel better presently."</p> + +<p>"Yes—better—in heaven! You will take care of my Alan?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, dear!"</p> + +<p>"And love him?"</p> + +<p>"And love him."</p> + +<p>"Thank God for that. It will be the saving of him. Call Martha, my +dear!"</p> + +<p>Lettice went and roused Mrs. Chigwin, who came and kissed her friend. +Then, with a last effort, Aunt Bessy raised her head, and whispered,</p> + +<p>"'Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace!'"</p> + +<p>The watchers scarcely heard the words; but when she sank back upon her +pillow, and smiled as though she had found the peace which passes +understandings they knew that she had gone.</p> + +<p>Lettice stayed on at Birchmead until she had seen Alan's aunt carried to +the churchyard, and laid under the shadow of the great yew trees.</p> + +<p>Aunt Bessy's death changed her plans. It was no longer necessary for +Alan to undertake so long a journey, and in his weak condition it might +be better that he should not attempt it. But what was to be done? She +had promised Aunt Bessy to "take care of him." Haw could she do it? How +do it, at least, without outraging the feelings of her brother and her +friends? She loved Sydney, although she had long ago ceased to be +greatly in sympathy with him, and she had looked forward to the day when +she could make friends with his wife and—by and by—interest herself in +their children. She knew that Sydney would be against her in this. Ought +she to consider him? Should his opinion weigh with her or not?</p> + +<p>She was still pondering this question on the day after the funeral, when +something happened which went far towards removing her hesitation. She +was sitting in Mrs. Chigwin's garden, which was warm and dry in the +afternoon sun. Mrs. Chigwin was indoors, vigorously "straightening" the +house. Milly was sewing a frock for her child, and the child itself was +tumbling about on a soft rug at her feet.</p> + +<p>During the past few days, little had been said respecting Milly's +future. Mrs. Bundlecombe's death had thrown her history into the +background, and she had not seemed eager to obtrude it on any of her +friends. Lettice's assurance that she might safely stay where she was at +present seemed to satisfy her. She had lost her briskness—her +occasional pertness—of manner; she was quiet and subdued, attaching +herself with dog-like fidelity to Lettice's steps, and showing that no +satisfaction was so great as that of being allowed to wait on her. But +her submissiveness had something in it which pained Lettice, while it +touched the deepest fibres of pity in her heart.</p> + +<p>She was vaguely wondering what it was that pained her—why there should +be that touch of something almost like subserviency in Milly's manner, +as if to make up for some past injury—when her eyes were arrested by a +locket, which, tied by a black ribbon round Milly's neck, had escaped +from the bosom of her dress, and now hung exposed to view.</p> + +<p>It contained a portrait of Sydney's face, evidently cut from a +photograph by the girl herself.</p> + +<p>A flood of light entered Lettice's mind; but she took her discovery with +outward calmness. No thought of accusing or upbraiding Milly ever +occurred to her. Why should it? she would have said. It was not Milly +who had been to blame, if the girl's own story were true. It was Sydney +who had been guilty of the blackest treachery, the basest of all crimes. +She thought for a moment of his wife, with pity; she looked with a new +interest and tenderness at the innocent child. She had no +certainty—that was true; but she had very little doubt as to the facts +of the case. And, at any rate, she allowed her suspicion to decide her +own course of action. Why need she care any longer what Sydney desired +for her? His standard was not hers. She was not bound to think of his +verdict—now. He had put himself out of court. She was not sure that she +should even love him again, for the whole of her pure and generous +nature rose-up in passionate repudiation of the man who could basely +purchase his own pleasure at the expense of a woman's soul, and she knew +that he had thenceforth lost all power over her. No opinion of his on +any matter of moral bearing could ever sway her again. The supreme scorn +of his conduct which she felt impelled her to choose her own line of +action, to make—or mar—for herself her own career.</p> + +<p>It was one of those moments in which the action of others has an +unexpectedly vivifying result. We mortals may die, but our deed lives +after us, and is immortal, and bears fruit to all time, sometimes evil +and sometimes good. If the deed has been evil in the beginning, the +fruit is often such as we who did it would give our lives, if we had the +power, to destroy.</p> + +<p>Thus Sydney's action had far-off issues which he could not foresee. It +ruled the whole course of his sister's afterlife.</p> + +<p>There was a light shawl on Milly's thin shoulders. Lettice took one end +of it and drew it gently over the telltale locket. Then, unmindful of +Milly's start, and the feverish eagerness with which her trembling hand +thrust the likeness out of sight, she spoke in a very gentle tone: "You +will take cold if you are not more careful of yourself. Have you +thought, Milly, what you are to do now? You want to earn a living for +yourself and the child, do you not?"</p> + +<p>Milly looked at her with frightened, hopeless eyes. Had Miss Lettice +seen the locket, and did she mean to cast her off for ever? She +stammered out some unintelligible words, but the fear that was uppermost +in her mind made her incapable of a more definite reply.</p> + +<p>"You must do something for yourself. You do not expect to hear from your +child's father again, I suppose?" said Lettice.</p> + +<p>"He said—he said—he would send me money—if I wanted it," said Milly, +putting up one hand to shade her burning face; "but I would rather not!"</p> + +<p>"No, you are quite right. You had better take nothing more from +him—unless it is for the child. But I am thinking of yourself. I am +going back to London the day after to-morrow, and perhaps I may take a +small house again, as I did before. Will you come with me, Milly?"</p> + +<p>This offer was too much for the girl's equanimity. She burst into tears +and sobbed vehemently, with her head upon her hands, for two or three +minutes.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't," she said at last. "Oh, you're very good, Miss Lettice—and +it isn't that I wouldn't work my fingers to the bone for you—but I +couldn't come."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I deceived you before. I—I—should be deceiving you again. If you +knew—all, you would not ask me."</p> + +<p>"I think I should, Milly. Perhaps I know more of your story than you +have told me. But—at present, at any rate—I do not want to know more. +I am not going to question you about the past. Because you cannot undo +what is past, dear, however much you try, but you <i>can</i> live as if it +had never happened; or, better still, you can live a nobler life than +you had strength to live before. Sorrow makes us stronger, Milly, if we +take it in the right way. You have your little one to live for; and you +must be brave, and strong, and good, for her sake. Will you not try? +Will it not be easier now to look forward than to look back? I used to +teach you out of an old Book that speaks of 'forgetting the things that +are behind.' You must forget the things that lie behind you, Milly, and +press forward to the better life that lies before you now."</p> + +<p>The girl listened with an awed look, upon her face.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"Forget your fear, dear, with the other things that you have to forget, +and gather up your strength to make your little girl's life a good and +happy one. In that way, good will come out of evil—as it so often does. +Will you try?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Milly, "I'll try—if you will help me—and—forgive me."</p> + +<p>"You will come with me, then," Lettice rejoined, in a more cheerful +tone. "You can bring your child with you, and you shall have money +enough to clothe her and yourself; but you know, Milly, you must be +ready to work and not to be idle. Then I shall be able to help you."</p> + +<p>Milly was glad enough to be persuaded. She had learned a sad and bitter +lesson, but she was the wiser for it.</p> + +<p>"I shall be able to work better for you than I did at Maple Cottage," +she said, with touching humility. "You see I know more than I did, and I +shall have more heart in my work. And—" with sudden vehemence—"I would +work for <i>you</i>, Miss Lettice, to my life's end."</p> + +<p>So it was arranged that they were to go up to London together. Mrs. +Chigwin moaned a little about her prospect of loneliness. "But there," +she said, "I am not going to make the worst of it. And nobody that has a +garden is ever really lonely, unless she has lost her self-respect, or +taken to loving herself better than her fellow-creatures. By which," she +added, "I do not mean snails and sparrows, but honest and sensible +flowers."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_VI" id="BOOK_VI"></a>BOOK VI.</h2> + +<h3>SUCCESS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">"May I reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That purest heaven, be to other souls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cup of strength in some great agony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be the sweet presence of a good diffused<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in diffusion ever more intense.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall I join the choir invisible<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose gladness is the music of the world."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<h3>AT THE PRISON GATE.</h3> + + +<p>Months had passed since Lettice had written a page of her story. The +arrival of the Daltons at Florence had interrupted her at a critical +point. She had not yet acquired the mechanic art of stopping and going +on again as at the turn of a handle, in obedience to a law of demand and +supply; and she would probably have been unable to gather up her threads +and continue the old woof, even if she had made the effort. But she had +not made the effort, and now that she was back in London again it seemed +less possible than ever that she should sit down and make it.</p> + +<p>This was a serious matter, for the book was to have been done to order. +She had undertaken to furnish the whole of the manuscript by the middle +of November, and now the time had come when she was obliged to admit +that this was quite impracticable. She had hoped to put such a +constraint upon herself at Birchmead as would have enabled her to fulfil +her promise in the spirit, and to ask a fortnight's grace for the +completion of the manuscript. But circumstances had prevented her from +writing a single line, and she gave up the idea as hopeless.</p> + +<p>So when she came up to London, three days before the end of October, she +called upon the publisher with whom she had made her agreement, and +confessed her inability to keep her word. Mr. MacAlpine was polite, but +at the same time evidently vexed. If Miss Campion had been ill he was +very sorry to hear it, but he liked to be able to rely on the +engagements which he made.</p> + +<p>"Pray don't let it trouble you," he said, seeing that her face had begun +to fall. "When do you think you can be ready? I must have your next +story, at any rate. Take another three months."</p> + +<p>"That is very good of you," said Lettice. "I think I can promise it +before the end of January."</p> + +<p>So it was settled, and Lettice went away contented.</p> + +<p>The discovery which she had made in regard to Sydney and Emily +Harrington had destroyed her former scruples as to the displeasure which +Sydney might feel if he were to hear what she now contemplated. She had +no wish to punish her brother. She thought he had been cruel, and +indifferent to the suffering which he had caused; but she was not moved +by anything like a vindictive feeling towards him. She had simply lost +the scruples which had beset her, and there was no longer a desire in +her mind to avoid a mere semblance of unconventionality for his sake.</p> + +<p>She had chosen three rooms on the ground-floor of a house in a long and +dreary terrace, the windows of which looked across an intervening waste +to the walls of Alan's prison; and here she watched and waited.</p> + +<p>The time hung heavy on her hands. She could do nothing, read nothing, +think of nothing—except of the unhappy man within those walls, who had +been brought to death's door, and who must have known a living death for +the past six months. To her, merely looking at the walls and thinking of +their victim, every minute seemed an hour, and every hour a day of blank +despair. What must the minutes and hours have seemed to him, buried +alive in that hideous pile of bricks, and in the yet more hideous pile +of false accusations and unmerited disgrace?</p> + +<p>She had found out the date of the trial, and procured the papers in +which it was reported. The whole wretched story was before her now. She +saw how the web had been weaved round him; she understood the pains +which had been taken to keep her own name from being mentioned, and she +noted with burning indignation the persistency with which Sydney had +labored, apparently, to secure a conviction.</p> + +<p>She was on the point of seeking out Mr. Larmer, in order to learn from +him the assurance of innocence which Alan must have given to his +solicitor; but she refrained. It would look as though she wanted +evidence of what she believed so absolutely without any evidence; and +besides, was it not one of the pleasures which she had promised herself, +to hear from Alan's own lips all that he cared for her to hear?</p> + +<p>She stood by her window in the evening, and saw the lights spring up one +by one about the frowning gates of the prison. She was quite alone, +Milly having gone out with her baby to buy her some clothes. Lettice was +miserable and depressed, in spite of her good intentions; and as she +stood, half leaning against the shutter in unconscious weariness of +body, yet intent with all her mind upon the one subject that engrossed +her, she heard the distant stroke of a tolling bell.</p> + +<p>Dong!—dong!—dong! it sounded, with long intervals between the notes. +Straight across the vacant ground, from the shrouded walls of Alan's +dungeon, and into the contracting fibres of her own tortured heart; it +smote with sudden terror, turning her blood to ice and her cheeks to +livid whiteness.</p> + +<p>Great heaven, it was a death-knell. Could it be Alan who was dead!</p> + +<p>For a moment she felt as if she must needs rush into the street and +break open those prison gates, must ascertain at once that Alan was +still alive. She went out into the hall and stood for a moment +hesitating. Should she go? and would they tell her at the gates if Alan +was alive or dead?</p> + +<p>The landlady heard her moving, and came out of a little apartment at the +back of the house, to see what was going on.</p> + +<p>"Were you going out, ma'am?" she asked, curiously.</p> + +<p>"I? no; at least," said Lettice, with somewhat difficult utterance, "I +was only wondering what that bell was, and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's a bell from the church close by. Sounds exactly like a +passing-bell, don't it, ma'am? And appropriate too. For my son, who is +one of the warders, as I think I've mentioned to you, was here this +afternoon, and tells me that one of the prisoners is dead. A gentleman, +too: the one that there was so much talk about a little while ago."</p> + +<p>Lettice leaned against the passage wall, glad that in the gathering +darkness her face could not be seen.</p> + +<p>"Was his name—Walcott?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that was it. At least I think so. I know it was Wal—something. He +was in for assault, I believe, and a nicer, quieter-spoken gentleman, my +son says he never saw. But he died this afternoon, I understand, between +five and six o'clock—just as his time was nearly out, too, poor man."</p> + +<p>Lettice made no answer. She stole back into her sitting-room and shut +the door.</p> + +<p>So this was the end. The prisoner was released, indeed; but no mortal +voice had told him he was free, no earthly friend had met him at the +door.</p> + +<p>She fell on her knees, and prayed that the soul which had been +persecuted might have rest. Then, when the last stroke of the bell had +died away, she sat down in mute despair, and felt that she had lost the +best thing life had to give her.</p> + +<p>Outside upon the pavement men and women were passing to and fro. There +was no forecourt to the house; passers-by walked close to the windows; +they could look in if they tried. Lettice had not lighted a candle, and +had not drawn her blinds, but a gas-lamp standing just in front threw a +feeble glimmer into the room, which fell upon her where she sat. As the +shadows deepened the light grew stronger, and falling direct upon her +eyes, roused her at last from the lethargy into which she had sunk.</p> + +<p>She got up and walked to the window, intending to close the shutters. +Listlessly for a moment she looked out into the street, where the +gas-light flickered upon the meeting streams of humanity—old folk and +young, busy and idle, hopeful and despairing, all bent on their own +designs, heedless like herself of the jostling world around them.</p> + +<p>She had the shutter in her hand, and was turning it upon its hinges, +when a face in the crowd suddenly arrested her. She had seen it once, +that ghastly painted face, and it had haunted her in her dreams for +weeks and months afterwards. It had tyrannized over her in her sickness, +and only left her in peace when she began to recover her strength under +the bright Italian skies. And now she saw her again, the wife who had +wrecked her husband's happiness, for whom he had lingered in a cruel +prison, who flaunted herself in the streets whilst Alan's brave and +generous heart was stilled for ever.</p> + +<p>Cora turned her face as she passed the window, and looked in. She might +not in that uncertain light have recognized the woman whose form stood +out from the darkness behind her, but an impulse moved Lettice which she +could not resist. At the moment when the other turned her head she +beckoned to her with her hand, and quickly threw up the sash of the +window.</p> + +<p>"Mon Dieu!" said Cora, coming up close to her, "is it really you? What +do you want with me?"</p> + +<p>"Come in! I must speak to you."</p> + +<p>"I love you not, Lettice Campion, and you love not me. What would you?"</p> + +<p>"I have a message for you—come inside."</p> + +<p>"A message! Sapristi! Then I must know it. Open your door."</p> + +<p>Lettice closed the window and the shutters, and brought her visitor +inside.</p> + +<p>The woman of the study and the woman of the pavement looked at each +other, standing face to face for some minutes without speaking a word. +They were a contrast of civilization, whom nature had not intended to +contrast, and it would have been difficult to find a stronger antagonism +between two women who under identical training and circumstances might +have been expected to develop similar tastes, and character, and +bearing. Both had strong and well-turned figures, above the middle +height, erect and striking, both had noble features, natural grace and +vivacity, constitutions which fitted them for keen enjoyment and zest in +life. But from their infancy onward they had been subjected to +influences as different as it is possible to imagine. To one duty had +been the ideal and the guide of existence; the other had been taught to +aim at pleasure as the supreme good. One had ripened into a +self-sacrificing woman, to whom a spontaneous feeling of duty was more +imperative than the rules and laws in which she had been trained; the +other had degenerated into a wretched slave of her instincts, for whom +the pursuit of pleasure had become a hateful yet inevitable servitude. +Perhaps, as they stood side by side, the immeasurable distance which +divided them mind from mind and body from body was apparent to both. +Perhaps each thought at that moment of the man whose life they had so +deeply affected—perhaps each realized what Alan Walcott must have +thought and felt about the other.</p> + +<p>"Why have you brought me here?" said Cora at last in a defiant voice.</p> + +<p>"It was a sudden thought. I saw you, and I wanted to speak to you."</p> + +<p>"Then you have no message as you pretended? You are very polite, +mademoiselle. You are pleased to amuse yourself at my expense?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am not amusing myself," said Lettice. There was a ring of sadness +in her tones, which did not escape Cora's attention. She argued weakness +from it, and grew more bold.</p> + +<p>"Are you not afraid?" she said, menacingly. "Do you not think that I +have the power to hurt—as I have hurt you before—the power, and, still +more, the will?"</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid."</p> + +<p>"Not afraid! You are hatefully quiet and impassive, just like—ah, like +all your race! Are you always so cold and still? Have you no blood in +your veins?"</p> + +<p>"If you will sit down," said Lettice steadily, "I will tell you +something that you ought to know. It is useless trying to frighten me +with your threats. Sit down and rest if you will; I will get you food or +coffee, if you care for either. But there is something that I want to +say."</p> + +<p>Cora stared at her scornfully. "Food! Coffee! Do you think I am +starving?" she asked, with a savage little laugh. "I have as much money +as I want—more than you are ever likely to have, mademoiselle. You are +very naive, mon enfant. You invite me into your room—Lettice Campion +invites Cora Walcott into her room!—where nobody knows us, nobody could +trace us—and you quietly ask me to eat and drink! Eat and drink in this +house? It is so likely! How am I to tell, for example, if your coffee is +not poisoned? You would not be very sorry if I were to die! Parbleu, if +you want to poison me, you should tempt me with brandy or champagne. +Have you neither of those to offer me?"</p> + +<p>Lettice had drawn back at the first hint of this insinuation, with a +look of irrepressible disgust. She answered coldly, "I have neither +brandy nor champagne to give you."</p> + +<p>"Allons, donc! Why do I stay here then?" said Cora jumping up from the +chair where she had seated herself. "This is very wearisome. Your idea +was not very clever, Mademoiselle Lettice; you should lay your plans +better if you want to trick a woman like me."</p> + +<p>"Why should I wish to trick you?" said Lettice, with grave, quiet scorn. +"What object could I have in killing you?"</p> + +<p>"Ma foi, what object should you not have? Revenge, of course. Have I not +injured you? have I not taken away your good name already? All who know +you have heard my story, and many who do not know you; and nearly every +one of them believes it to be true. You robbed me of my husband, +mademoiselle, you know it; and you have but too good reason to wish me +dead, in order that you may take a wife's place at the convict's side."</p> + +<p>"You are mad. Listen to me——"</p> + +<p>"I will listen to nothing. I will speak now. I will give you a last +warning. Do you know what this is?"</p> + +<p>She took a bottle from her pocket, a bottle of fluted, dark-colored +glass, and held it in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Look! This is vitriol, the friend of the injured and the defenceless. I +have carried it with me ever since I followed my husband to your house +at Brook Green, and saw you making signals to him at midnight. I came +once after that, and knocked at your door, intending then to avenge my +wrongs; but you had gone away, and I was brutally treated by your +police. But if I could not punish you I could punish <i>him</i>, for he +belonged to me and not to you, and I had a right to make him suffer. I +have made him suffer a little, it seems to me. Wait—I have more to say. +Shall I make him suffer more? I have punished you through him; shall I +punish him through you? For he would not like you to be maimed and +disfigured through life: his sensitive soul would writhe, would it not? +to know that you were suffering pain. Do you know what this magic water +is? It stings and bites and eats away the flesh—it will blind you so +that you can never see him again; and it will mar your white face so +that he will never want to look at you. This is what I carry about for +you."</p> + +<p>Lettice watched the hand that held the bottle; but in truth she thought +very little of the threat. Death had done for her already what this +woman was talking about. Alan was past the love or vengeance of either +of them, and all her pleasure in life was gone for ever.</p> + +<p>"I thought I should find you here," Cora went on, "waiting at the +prison for your lover! But I am waiting for him, too. I am his wife +still. I have the right to wait for him, and you have not. And if you +are there when he comes out, I shall stay my hand no longer. I warn you; +so be prepared. But perhaps"—and she lifted the bottle, while her eyes +flamed with dangerous light, and her voice sank to a sharp +whisper—"perhaps it would be better to settle the question now!"</p> + +<p>"The question," said Lettice, with almost unnatural calm of manner, "is +settled for us. Alan has left his prison. Your husband is dead."</p> + +<p>The woman gazed at her in stupefaction. Her hand fell to her side, and +the light died out of her bold black eyes.</p> + +<p>"Alan dead!' What is it you say? How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"He had a fever in the jail to which you sent him. He has been at +death's door for many weeks. Not an hour ago a warder came here and said +that he was dead. Are you satisfied with your work?"</p> + +<p>"My work?" said Cora, drawing back. "I have not killed him!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lettice, a surge of bitter anger rising in her heart, "yes, +you have killed him, as surely as you tried to kill him with your pistol +at Aix-les-Bains, and with his own dagger in Surrey Street. You are a +murderess, and you know it well. But for you, Alan Walcott would still +be living an honorable, happy life. You have stabbed him to the heart, +and he is dead. That is the message I have to give you—to tell you that +you have killed him, and that he is gone to a land where your unnatural +hate can no longer follow him!"</p> + +<p>Lettice stood over the cowering woman, strong and unpitying in her stern +indignation, lifted out of all thought of herself by the intensity of +her woe. Cora shrank away from her, slipping the bottle into her pocket, +and even covertly making the sign of the cross as Lettice's last words +fell upon her ear—words that sounded to her untutored imagination like +a curse. But she could not be subdued for long. She stood silent for a +few moments when Lettice ceased to speak, but finally a forced laugh +issued from the lips that had grown pale beneath her paint.</p> + +<p>"Tiens!" she said. "You will do the mourning for us both, it seems. +Well, as I never loved him, you cannot expect me to cry at his death. +And I shall get his money, I suppose; the money that he grudged me in +his lifetime: it will be mine now, and I can spend it as I choose. I +thank you for your information, mademoiselle, and I pardon you the +insults which you have heaped upon my head to-night. If I have my +regrets, I do not exhibit them in your fashion. Good-night, +mademoiselle: il me faut absolument de l'eau de vie—I can wait for it +no longer. Bon soir!"</p> + +<p>She turned and left the house as rapidly as she had come. Lettice sank +down upon a couch, and hid her face in the cushion. She could not shed a +tear, but she was trembling from head to foot, and felt sick and faint.</p> + +<p>As Cora sauntered along the pavement, turning her head restlessly from +side to side, her attention was caught by a young woman carrying a +child, who went in at Lettice's door. Mrs. Walcott stopped short, and +put her finger to her forehead with a bewildered air. "Now where have I +seen that face?" she muttered to herself.</p> + +<p>After a moment's reflection, she burst into a short, harsh laugh, and +snapped her fingers at the blind of Lettice's room. "I know now," she +said. "Oh yes, I know where I have seen that face before. This will +justify me in the eyes of the world as nothing else has done. Bon soir, +Madame Lettice. Oh, I have a new weapon against you now."</p> + +<p>And then she went upon her way, leaving behind her the echo of her +wicked laugh upon the still night air.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<h3>A BRAVE PURPOSE.</h3> + + +<p>If Lettice had not seen Cora when she did, she would probably have gone +to the prison that evening, to ask whether she could not arrange for +Alan's funeral, as she could not arrange for his release. Her spirit was +crushed by the blow which had fallen on her, but she could not give way +so long as his body was there to receive the last token of her love. +When the Frenchwoman left her it was too late to see Captain Haynes, +even if she had been physically able to make the attempt.</p> + +<p>It never occurred to her to think that any mistake could have been made +in the information she had received from her landlady. The struggle +which had been going on in her mind, the consciousness that she had +broken with all her old friends, the exaltation which had possessed her +since she resolved to give to Alan all that was possible for her to +give, or seemed to be worth her giving, the death of his aunt and the +thought of his loneliness, had combined to make her nervously +apprehensive. As soon as she had settled down under the shadow of the +prison walls, the idea took hold of her with unaccountable force that +the life of Alan was hanging by a thread, and the news of his death came +to her only as the full confirmation of her fears.</p> + +<p>But, as it happened, there was another man in the prison named Walters, +who had been convicted of an assault upon his wife some time previously, +and had been ill for many months of an internal complaint which was +certain, sooner or later, to end fatally.</p> + +<p>A sleepless night brought Lettice no ray of hope, and it was with a +heavy and despairing heart that she went to the governor's residence +next morning, and sent up to him the note which she had written before +leaving her room.</p> + +<p>Captain Haynes remembered her former visit, and being disengaged at the +moment, he came down at once.</p> + +<p>"My dear lady," he said, bustling into the room, "what is the meaning of +this letter? What makes you talk of burying your friend? He has been in +this tomb of stone long enough to purge him of all his offenses, and I +am sure you don't want to bury him alive again!"</p> + +<p>Lettice started to her feet, gazed at the speaker with straining eyes, +and pressed her hands upon her tumultuous heart.</p> + +<p>"Is—he—alive?" she gasped, in scarcely audible words.</p> + +<p>"Of course he is alive! I told you when you were here before that he was +out of danger. All he wants now is careful nursing and cheerful company; +and I must say that you don't quite look as if you could give him +either."</p> + +<p>"Alive—alive! Thank God!"</p> + +<p>A great wave of tenderness swept through her heart, and gushed from her +eyes in tears that were eloquent of happiness.</p> + +<p>"I was told that he was dead!" She looked at the governor with a smile +which disarmed his bluff tongue.</p> + +<p>"I am on the borderland of a romance," he thought, "and a romance of +which the ending will be pleasanter than the beginning, unless I am much +mistaken. This is not the wife; it is the woman he was writing his +verses to before he took the fever. The doctor says she has written the +best novel of the year. Novels and poetry—umph! not much in my line."</p> + +<p>Then aloud, "you are under a mistake. A man named Walters died +yesterday; perhaps that is how you have been misled. Some rumor of his +death must have got abroad. Mr. Walcott is getting over his illness very +nicely; but he will need a good rest, good food, and as much +cheerfulness as you can give him. I told him, just now, that you had +arranged to meet him to-morrow, and I fancy it roused him more than +anything Dr. Savill has done for him. I must wish you good-morning, +madam!—but let me impress upon you again, before you go, that he is to +be kept perfectly quiet, free from anxiety, and as cheerful as you can +manage to make him."</p> + +<p>Captain Haynes was rather ashamed of the laxity into which Miss Campion +had drawn him. He was not accustomed to display so much sympathy with +his prisoners, whatever he may have felt in his own mind. But, to be +sure, the case was quite exceptional. He did not have prisoners like +Alan or visitors like Lettice every day. So he had no difficulty in +finding excuses for himself.</p> + +<p>Lettice walked on air as she came out of the precincts of the jail, +which had now lost all its terrors. In less than twenty-four hours she +was to come again, and transport her hero—whom the dense and cruel +world had branded as a criminal—from slavery to freedom, from misery to +peace and joy. The world had cast him out; well, then, let the world +stand aside, that she might give this man what was his due.</p> + +<p>What would she say to him? Ah, she dare not think of that beforehand!</p> + +<p>What would she do for him? For one thing, she would give him back his +self-respect. He had been the object of scorn and the victim of lying +scandals. He should find that the woman he loved intended from +henceforth to take those paltry burdens on herself, and to know no other +praise or merit than that which came to her from him.</p> + +<p>He had borne troubles and suffered injuries which before now had driven +men to suicide, or madness, or self-abandonment. In order to save him +from any of these things she meant to give herself into his hands, +without terms or conditions, in order that the wrong-doing of the world +might be righted by her act, were it ever so little.</p> + +<p>Who could call that a sacrifice which made her heart so light, her step +so elastic, her eyes so bright with hope and satisfaction? It was no +sacrifice, but a triumph and reward of the highest kind that she was +preparing for herself. How should she not be happy?</p> + +<p>There was no time to be lost if she was to provide all that was +necessary for the well-being and comfort of her patient before to-morrow +morning. Everything had to be done at the last moment. She had been so +long in coming to a definite and final resolution to treat this +friendless discharged prisoner as a hero and a king, that it was almost +too late to make arrangements. Why had she not done yesterday something +of what she had left to be done to-day? She scarcely realized to herself +that her mind was only just made up. That facile belief in the report of +Alan's death was only the outcome of her distress and perplexity—of the +failure of her courage on the threshold of decision and action.</p> + +<p>With a cold shudder she thought of the dust which she had unwittingly +thrown in Cora's eyes. She had told her that her husband was dead, and +the tale had been readily believed, for the very opposite reason to that +which had prevailed with herself. She had been convinced by her +fears—Cora by her hopes and greed. And now she could not undeceive the +woman, for she did not know where to find her. Would she if she could? +Perhaps it was the the best thing which could have happened; for it +would be terrible if Alan were to step out of his prison back into the +hell on earth which that woman had created for him.</p> + +<p>Well, now, at any rate, she must devote herself to the task which she +had undertaken. She felt as a sister might feel who had been suddenly +commissioned to provide a home within twenty-four hours for an invalided +traveler; and she set about the work with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>She began by taking Milly in some measure into her confidence, and +giving her a number of directions as to what she was to do in the course +of the day. Then she hired a cab, and went to a house-agent whose name +she remembered. That seemed the quickest way of getting what she +wanted—a small furnished house, cheerful and yet retired, which she +could take at any rate for a month, and for longer if she needed it. The +agent by good chance had the very thing she asked for. He turned over +the leaves of his register, and presently came upon a desirable bijou +residence, plainly but adequately furnished, containing three reception +rooms and five bedrooms, conservatory, with large and well-stocked +garden, lawn and shrubbery, coach-house and stable. Vacant for three +months; very moderate terms to a suitable tenant. That sounded well. +The "very moderate terms" came to something more than Lettice wanted to +give; but she had a hundred pounds in her pocket, and a spirit which +disdained to grudge in such a service.</p> + +<p>So, having journeyed to Chiswick, and found Bute Lodge to be, if not +precisely a jewel amongst lodges, at any rate clean and comfortable, she +came back to the agent with an offer to take it from month to month, and +with a roll of notes ready to clinch the bargain. Money is the best +reference, as she found when she paid a month's rent on the spot, and +promised that all her payments should be in advance. But, as the agent +had asked her for a reference of another kind, Lettice, who had expected +this demand, and was prepared for it, gave the name of James Graham. She +ought not to have made use of him without asking him beforehand. She +might have referred to the owner of Maple Cottage, where she had lived +when last in London, or even to her publisher. But she wanted to go and +see her old friend Clara; and, woman-like, did a more important thing to +serve as a pretext for a less important.</p> + +<p>Clara Graham was delighted to see her again, and the two women had a +long and confidential talk.</p> + +<p>"I, at any rate," said Clara, "have never doubted his innocence, and I +was sure that you would not."</p> + +<p>"Yet you never told me what troubles had fallen upon him!"</p> + +<p>"My dear, I thought you must have heard about it all. But the fact was +that James asked me not to mention the trial. Remember, you were not +well at the time; and it was a difficult case. I could not quite assume +that your interest would be strong enough to justify me in risking the +loss of your health—perhaps of your life. Really, it is a hard question +to deal with—like one of those cases of conscience (didn't they call +them?) which men used to argue for the sake of having something to do. I +stood up for poor Mr. Walcott with my husband; but you know it is +useless to argue against him."</p> + +<p>"He believes with the rest of them?"</p> + +<p>"Everybody believes alike. I never heard of one who thought that he did +not do it."</p> + +<p>"Only yourself!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and that was, perhaps, for your sake," said Clara, affectionately.</p> + +<p>"And I suppose that I believe in him for his own sake."</p> + +<p>"That is natural; but will people think that it is logical?"</p> + +<p>"No, they won't," said Lettice, "at all events, not at first. But, +gradually perhaps, they will. I am perfectly convinced that Alan did not +stab his wife—because I feel it with a force that amounts to +conviction. You see, I know his character, his past history, the +character and history of his wife, the circumstances in which they were +placed at the time. I am sure he is innocent, and I am going to act up +to it. Alan will live down this horrible accusation and punishment—he +will not give way, but will keep his self-respect, and will do +infinitely better work for all the torture he has gone through. And our +hope must be this—that when the world sees him stronger than ever, +stronger in every way, and doing stronger work in his vocation, it will +come to believe in him, one by one, beginning with us, until his +vindication is brought about, not by legal proof, which is impossible, +but by the same feeling and conviction which to-day only draw two weak +women to the side of an unhappy and discredited man."</p> + +<p>"Are you calling yourself a weak woman? You have the strength of a +martyr, and in days when they used to burn women you would have chosen +to be a martyr."</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure. It is one thing to do what one likes, but quite +another thing to burn, which no one likes."</p> + +<p>"Well, you are very brave, and you will succeed as you deserve. But not +at first."</p> + +<p>"No, not at first. The hardest task will be with Alan, who has been in +despair all these months, and at death's door with fever. He will come +out weak, helpless, hopeless; there will be constant danger of a +relapse; and, even if he can be made to forget his despair, it will be +very difficult to restore him to cheerfulness." Her eyes filled with +pitying tears as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Only one thing can do that!" Clara stroked her friend's bright brown +hair, and kissed her on the cheek. "With you for his doctor he will soon +be well."</p> + +<p>"Only two things can do it—a joy greater than his sorrow, and a +self-respect greater than his self-abasement."</p> + +<p>Lettice stood up; and the far reaching look that Clara knew so well came +into the true and tender grey eyes, strong with all the rapt purpose of +a devoted woman. Her resolutions were forming and strengthening as she +went on. She had been guided by instinct and feeling, but they were +guiding her aright.</p> + +<p>There was one thing more in which Clara was a help to her. She took her +to an old woman, the mother of her own parlor-maid, exceptionally clean +and respectable, whom Lettice engaged to go at once to Bute Lodge, +taking a younger daughter with her, and make everything ready for the +morrow.</p> + +<p>"I shall come and see you soon," said Clara, as they wished each other +good-bye.</p> + +<p>"Do! And if you can convert your husband——"</p> + +<p>"If not, it will not be for want of trying."</p> + +<p>It was evening before Lettice was at her lodging again. She had done all +that she could think of—made every preparation and taken every +precaution—and now there was nothing left but to wait until the +appointed hour should strike, and Alan should be a free man again.</p> + +<p>One concession she made to Mrs. Graham's sense of propriety. There was +an old lady who had once been Clara's governess—a gentle, mild-tongued, +unobservant person, who was greatly in want of a home. Mrs. Alison was +easily induced to promise the support of her presence to Lettice during +the days or weeks which Lettice hoped to spend at Bute Lodge. She was a +woman of unimpeachable decorum and respectability, and her presence in +the house would, in Clara's opinion, prove a bulwark against all +dangers; but, although evil tongues might be silenced by the fact of her +presence, the old lady was singularly useless in the capacity of +chaperon. She was infirm, a little deaf, and very shy; but her presence +in the house was supposed to be a sop to Cerberus, in the person of Mrs. +Grundy, and Clara was less afraid for her friend than she had been +before Mrs. Alison was installed at Bute Lodge.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<h3>FROM PRISON TO PARADISE.</h3> + + +<p>Punctually at ten o'clock on the 29th of October a brougham drove up to +the gates of the prison in which Alan Walcott had spent his six months +of retreat from the world; and almost immediately Alan made his +appearance, leaning on the arm of a warder.</p> + +<p>Lettice hurried to meet him, displacing the warder with a few words of +thanks, and repressing with an effort the painful throbbing of her heart +and throat. The sight of his shrunken form and hollow eyes, as he looked +at her with pathetic and childlike trust, for a moment took away all her +strength; but when his hand was laid upon her arm, and she accommodated +her steps to his slow and unsteady movements, he found in her no trace +of the weakness she had overcome.</p> + +<p>It was clear that he had not yet made a good recovery from his fever. +Lettice's last little qualm of doubt as to the use or need for what she +had done disappeared as she saw this wreck of the man whom she +loved—whom she believed to be innocent of offense and persecuted by an +evil fate. What might have become of him if he had been left to crawl +out of his prison into the cold and censorious world, without a friend, +a hope, or an interest in life? What lowest depth of despair might he +not have touched if in such a plight as this he should be found and +tortured anew by his old enemy, whose cruelty was evidently not assuaged +by the sufferings she had heaped upon him? Who now would say that he had +no need of succor, that her service was unasked, unwarranted, unwomanly, +that the duty of a pure and delicate soul was to leave him either to his +own wife or to the tender mercies of strangers?</p> + +<p>The carriage was piled with cushions and shawls, the day was bright and +warm, Lettice was full of light gossip and cheerfulness, and Alan had +reason to think that he had never had a more delightful drive.</p> + +<p>"Where are you taking me?" he said, with a smile of restful gratitude, +which clearly implied, "I do not care where it is, so long as I am taken +by you!"</p> + +<p>"You are going to a convalescent home, where you will be the only +patient. If you obey the rules, you may get well in a month, and the +first rule is that you are not to ask questions, or to think about +unpleasant things."</p> + +<p>"Are you my nurse?"</p> + +<p>"That is the first breach of rules! They are very strict at this home, I +can tell you!"</p> + +<p>She spoke in a playful mood, but it left him with the impression that he +was really being taken to a "home" of some kind, where he was to be +nursed until he was well. He had no objection to make. He would have +gone anywhere with equal pleasure, if he could be sure that she would be +there to look after him. His one thought in prison, when he lay in the +grip of fever, was that he must surely die before his sentence had run +out. That was his hope and belief from day to day; and only when he +heard that Lettice had come and made inquiries about him, and promised +to fetch him as soon as he was released, did any real desire for life +return to him. Now, in her presence, he was so completely happy that he +forgot all his former sufferings and despair.</p> + +<p>Weak as he was, he would have found words to tell her of his +gratitude—and of much more than gratitude; but this because of, not in +spite of, weakness—if she had not carefully checked him whenever he +tried to speak. Fortunately, it was not at all hard to check him. He was +infirm in mind as in body. Apart from the illness, which sapped his +energies and paralyzed his power of thought, he had never thrown off the +cloud of callous and despairing indifference which fell upon him after +the fatal scene in Surrey Street. Add to this that the surrender of his +independence to Lettice was in itself a pleasure to him, and we need not +wonder that her self-imposed task seemed to her fairly easy of +accomplishment.</p> + +<p>At Bute Lodge they found everything very nice and comfortable. Mrs. +Jermy and Mrs. Beadon (as Milly was to be called), who had come earlier +in the morning with a cabful of yesterday's purchases, had carried out +Lettice's instructions to the letter. The best room in the house looked +out upon a delightful garden landscape—two borders, backed by +well-grown box and bay-trees, holly, Irish yews, and clambering roses, +with a lessening crowd of herbaceous plants in front, dwindling down to +an edge of brilliant annuals on either side; and between these a long +and level lawn, broken near the house by a lofty deodara, and ending in +a bowling-green, and a thickly-planted bank of laurels, beyond which lay +a far-off vista of drooping fruit-trees. The garden was reached through +a small conservatory built outside a French window at one end of the +room, and a low verandah ran along the remainder of the garden front.</p> + +<p>Inside, all was as Lettice had planned it. A square writing table in +front of the window was covered with a dozen of the books which had made +most noise during the past season, with the November magazines, and the +weekly papers which Alan had been wont to read. Milly had cut them all +over night, and here they lay, with an easy-chair beside them, ready to +tempt the student when he felt inclined and able to read. That was not +just yet; but Alan saw the pile, and darted at his guardian angel +another look of gratitude from his lustrous, melancholy eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why, here," he said, looking round the room and out upon the garden, "a +man must get well only too soon! I shall steadily refuse to mend."</p> + +<p>"You will not be able to help yourself," said Lettice. "Now you are +going to be left alone——"</p> + +<p>"Not alone!"</p> + +<p>"For half an-hour at the very least. All this floor belongs to you, and +you are to have nothing to do with stairs. When you want anything you +are to ring this bell, and Milly, whom you saw when we came in, will +attend on you. Here, on this sideboard, are wine, and biscuits, and +jelly, and grapes. Sit down and let me give you a glass of wine. We will +have some lunch at one, tea at four, and dinner at seven—but you are to +be eating grapes and jelly in between. The doctor will come and see you +every morning."</p> + +<p>"What doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Why, the doctor of the Establishment, to be sure!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, this is an Establishment?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"It is more rational in its plan than some I have heard of, since it +takes in your nurse and your nurse's maid. Will this precious doctor +dine with us?"</p> + +<p>"This precious! You are to have great faith in your doctor; but I am +sorry to say he will not be able to dine with us. He has other +occupations, you see; and for company I am afraid you will have to be +content with such as your nurse may be disposed to give you!"</p> + +<p>Before he could say anything else, she had left the room.</p> + +<p>He was alone—alone and happy.</p> + +<p>Straight from prison to paradise. That was what the morning's work meant +for him, and he could not think with dry eyes of the peri who had +brought him there.</p> + +<p>Oh, the bitterness of that dungeon torture, when his heart had been +branded with shame and seared with humiliation; when he had sworn that +life had no more hope or savor for him, and the coming out from his cell +had seemed, by anticipation, worse than the going in!</p> + +<p>This was the coming out, and he was already radiant with happiness, +oblivious of suffering, hopeful of the future. It was enough, he would +not probe it, he would not peer into the dark corners of his prospect; +he would simply realize that his soul had been lost, that it had been +found by Lettice, and that it was hers by right of trover, as well as by +absolute surrender.</p> + +<p>The mid-day sun shone in at his window and tempted him to the verandah +outside. Here he found one of those chairs, delightful to invalids and +lazy men, which are constructed of a few crossed pieces of wood and a +couple of yards of sacking, giving nearly all the luxury of a hammock +without its disturbing element of insecurity. And by its side, +wonderful, to relate, there was a box of cigarettes and some matches. +Since they were there, he might as well smoke one. His last smoke was +seven or eight months ago—quite long enough to give a special relish to +this particular roll of Turkish tobacco.</p> + +<p>As he lay back in his hammock chair, and sent one ring chasing another +to the roof of the verandah, he heard a step on the gravel beneath him. +Lettice, with a basket in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other, +was collecting flowers and leaves for her vases. Unwilling to leave him +too much alone, until she saw how he would bear his solitude, she had +come out into the garden by a door at the other end of the house, and +presently, seeing him in the verandah, approached with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Do I look as if I were making myself at home?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Quite."</p> + +<p>"As soon as I began to smoke, all kinds of things came crowding into my +mind."</p> + +<p>"Not unpleasant things, I hope?" She said this quickly, being indeed +most afraid lest he should be tempted to dwell on the disagreeable past.</p> + +<p>"No, almost all pleasant. And there are things I want to say to +you—that I must say to you, very soon. Do you think I can take for +granted all you have done, and all you are doing for me? Let me come +down and join you!"</p> + +<p>"No!" she said, with a great deal of firmness in her gesture and tone. +"You must not do anything of the kind until the doctor has seen you; and +besides, we can speak very well here."</p> + +<p>The verandah was only a few feet above the ground, so that Lettice's +head was almost on a level with his own.</p> + +<p>"There is no difficulty about speaking," she went on, "but I want you to +let me have the first word, instead of the last. This is something I +wanted to say to you, but I did not know how to manage it before. It is +really very important that you should not fatigue or excite yourself by +talking, and the doctor will tell you so when he comes. Now if you think +that you have anything at all to thank me for, you will promise not to +speak to me on any personal matters, not even your own intentions for +the future, for one clear month from to-day! Don't say it is impossible, +because, you see, it is as much as my place (as nurse) is worth to +listen to you! If you will promise, I can stay; and if you will not +promise, I must go away."</p> + +<p>"That is very hard!"</p> + +<p>"But it is very necessary. You promise?"</p> + +<p>"Have I any choice? I promise."</p> + +<p>"Thank you!" She said this very earnestly, and looked him in the eyes +with a smile which was worth a faggot of promises.</p> + +<p>"But you don't expect me to be deaf and dumb all the time?" said Alan.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not! I have been told that you ought to be kept as +cheerful as possible, and I mean to do what I can to make you so. Do you +like to be read to!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, very much."</p> + +<p>"Then I will read to you as long as you please, and write your letters, +and—if there were any game——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, now, if by good luck you knew chess?"</p> + +<p>"I do know chess. I played my father nearly every evening at Angleford."</p> + +<p>"What a charming discovery! And that reminds me of something. Is there +any reason why I should not write to Mr. Larmer? He has some belongings +of mine, for one thing, which I should like him to send me, including a +set of chess-men."</p> + +<p>"No reason at all. But you ought not to write or talk of business, if +you can help it, until you are quite strong."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I won't. I will ask him to send what I want in a cab; and +then, when I am declared capable of managing my own affairs, I will go +into town and see him. But the fact is, that I really feel as well as +ever I did in my life!"</p> + +<p>"You may feel it, but it is not the case."</p> + +<p>And later in the day, Alan was obliged to confess that he had boasted +too soon, for there was a slight return of fever, and the doctor whom +Lettice had called in was more emphatic than she had been as to the +necessity for complete rest of mind and body.</p> + +<p>So for the next week he was treated quite as an invalid, to his great +disgust. Then he fairly turned the corner, and things began to change +for the better again. Lettice read to him, talked, played chess, found +out his tastes in music and in art (tastes in some respects a little +primitive, but singularly fine and true, in spite of their want of +training), and played his favorite airs for him on the piano—some of +Mendelssohn's plaintive Lieder, the quainter and statelier measures of +Corelli and Scarlatti, snatches of Schumann and Grieg, and several older +and simpler melodies, for most of which he had to ask by humming a few +bars which had impressed themselves on his memory.</p> + +<p>As the month wore itself out, the success of Lettice's experiment was in +a fair way of being justified. She had charmed the evil spirit of +despair from Alan's breast, and had won him back to manly resistance and +courageous effort. With returning bodily strength came a greater +robustness of mind, and a resolution—borrowed, perhaps, in the first +instance, from his companion—to be stronger than his persecutors, and +rise superior to his troubles.</p> + +<p>In the conversations which grew out of their daily readings, Lettice was +careful to draw him as much as possible into literary discussions and +criticisms, and Alan found himself dwelling to an appreciative listener +on certain of his own ideas on poetic and dramatic methods. There is but +a step from methods to instances; and when Lettice came into his room +one morning—she never showed herself before mid-day—she saw with +delight on the paper before him an unmistakable stream of verses +meandering down the middle of the sheet.</p> + +<p>He had set to work! Then he was saved—saved from himself, and from the +ghouls that harbor in a desolate and outraged mind.</p> + +<p>If, beyond this, you ask me how she had gained her end, and done the +good thing on which she had set her heart, I cannot tell you, any more +than I could make plain the ways in which nature works to bring all her +great and marvelous mysteries to pass. Lettice's achievement, like her +resolution, argued both heart and intellect. Alan would not have yielded +to anyone else, and he yielded to her because he loved her with the +feelings and the understanding together. She had mastered his affections +and his intelligence at the same time: she left him to hunger and thirst +up to the moment of his abject abasement, and then she came unasked, +unhoped, from her towering height to his lowest deep, and gave +him—herself!</p> + +<p>"Do you remember," he said to her once, when he had got her to talk of +her successful story, "that bit of Browning which you quote near the +end? Did you ever think that I could be infatuated enough to apply the +words to myself, and take comfort from them in my trouble?"</p> + +<p>She blushed and trembled as he looked at her for an answer.</p> + +<p>"I meant you to do it!".</p> + +<p>"And I knew you meant it!" he said, not without a dangerous touch of +triumph in his voice. "If I were a little bolder than I am, I would +carry you to another page of the poet whom we love, and ask if you ever +remembered the words of Constance—words that you did not quote——"</p> + +<p>Ten times more deeply she blushed at this, knowing almost by instinct +the lines of which he thought. Had he not asked her to read "In a +Balcony" to him the night before, and had she not found it impossible to +keep her voice from trembling when she read Constance's passionate +avowal of her love?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"I know the thriftier way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of giving—haply, 'tis the wiser way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meaning to give a treasure, I might dole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coin after coin out (each, as that were all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a new largess still at each despair),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And force you keep in sight the deed, preserve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exhaustless till the end my part and yours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My giving and your taking; both our joys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dying together. Is it the wiser way?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I choose the simpler; I give all at once.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know what you have to trust to trade upon!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Use it, abuse it—anything, but think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hereafter, 'Had I known she loved me so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what my means, I might have thriven with it.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is your means. I give you all myself."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And in truth, that was the gift which Lettice offered to him—a gift of +herself without stint or grudging, a gift complete, open-handed, to be +measured by his acceptance, not limited by her reservation, Alan knew +it; knew that absolute generosity was the essence of her gift, and that +this woman, so far above him in courage, and self-command, and purity, +scorned to close her fingers on a single coin of the wealth which she +held out to him. And he, like Norbert, answered reverently: "I take you +and thank God."</p> + +<p>For just because he knew it, and was penetrated to the core by her +munificence, he took the draught of love as from a sacred chalice, which +a meaner nature would have grasped as a festal goblet. He might have +grasped it thus, and the sacramental wine would have been a Circe's +potion, and Lettice would have given her gift in vain. But nature does +not so miscalculate her highest moods. "Spirits are not finely touched +but to fine issues." Lettice's giving was an act of faith, and her faith +was justified.</p> + +<p>This was the true source of Alan's self-respect, and from self-respect +there came a strength greater and more enduring than he had ever known +before. Redeemed from the material baseness of his past when he changed +the prison cell for Lettice's ennobling presence, he was now saved from +the mental and moral feebleness to which he might have sunk by the +ordeal through which his soul had passed.</p> + +<p>Lettice felt that her work was accomplished, and she was supremely +happy. When Clara Graham kept her promise, and came to see her +friend—though she had not been able to bring her husband with her—she +was struck by the blithe gaiety of Lettice's looks and words.</p> + +<p>"There is no need to tell me that you are satisfied!" she said, kissing +the tender cheeks, and gazing with wistful earnestness into the eyes +that so frankly and bravely met her own.</p> + +<p>"Satisfied?" Lettice answered, with something like a sigh. "I never +dreamed that satisfaction could be so complete."</p> + +<p>When Alan came in, and Clara, who had expected to see a face lined and +marred with sorrow, found that he too had caught the radiance of +unblemished happiness, she felt that Lettice had not spent her strength +in vain. And she went home and renewed her efforts to make her husband +see things as she saw them, and to give Alan Walcott his countenance in +the literary world.</p> + +<p>But that was a task of no slight difficulty. James Graham had always +believed Walcott guilty of a barbarous attack on his wife; he thought +that he had been lightly punished, and would not admit that he was to be +received when he came out of prison as though he had never been sent +there. When Clara told him of Lettice's audacity he was terribly +shocked—as indeed were all who heard the story—and his resentment +against Alan increased. The news that they were happy together did not +produce the good effect upon his temper which Clara thought it might +have done.</p> + +<p>It was Lettice herself who tackled Mrs. Hartley. She wrote her a long +and candid letter, very apologetic as regarded her conduct in Italy, but +quite the opposite when she spoke of what she had done since she came +back to London. The answer was short, but much to the point.</p> + +<p>"I thought you would write to me," Mrs. Hartley said, in her note. "I +should hardly have forgiven you if you had not. There is some of your +letter which I cannot understand, and some which I do not quite agree +with. But come and explain it to me. I am an old woman, and have no time +to be angry with those I love. Come on Thursday afternoon—alone—and we +will have a good talk."</p> + +<p>So Lettice went, and made her peace with her old friend, and was +admitted to her favor again. But Alan was on probation still. The last +thing which he would have expected, or indeed desired, was that he +should be received and treated by his former acquaintance as though +nothing had happened since he was a welcome guest in their houses. +Especially as he and Lettice had not yet settled the question which all +their friends were asking: "How would it end?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<h3>MISTRESS AND MAID.</h3> + + +<p>Poor Milly Harrington had faithfully kept her promise of amendment. She +was as loyal and serviceable to her mistress as any one could be, and +evidently did her utmost to show her gratitude to Lettice, studying her +tastes, and, as far possible, anticipating her wishes. But it was plain +that she was not happy. When not making an effort to be cheerful as part +of her daily duty, she would sit brooding over the past and trembling +for the future; and, though she tried to conceal her hopeless moods, +they had not altogether escaped notice.</p> + +<p>Lettice was troubled by Milly's unhappiness. She had taken deep pity on +the girl, and wanted, for more reasons than one, to save her from the +worst consequences of her mistakes. To see her, in common parlance, +"going to the bad"—ruined in body and in soul—would have been to +Lettice, for Sydney's sake, a burden almost heavier than she could bear. +For this reason had she brought the girl up to London and taken her into +her own service again; and from day to day she watched her with kindly +interest and concern.</p> + +<p>Milly's good looks could scarcely be said to have come back to her, for +she was still thin and haggard, with the weary look of one to whom life +has brought crushing sorrow and sickness of heart. But her eyes were +pretty, and her face, in spite of its worn expression, was interesting +and attractive. Lettice was hardly surprised, although a little +startled, to find her talking one day in a somewhat confidential manner +to a man of highly respectable appearance who was walking across the +Common by her side as she came home one day from a shopping expedition. +It was, perhaps, natural that Milly should have acquaintances. But +Lettice felt a sudden pang of anxiety on the girl's account. She did not +know whether she had been seen, and whether it was her duty to speak to +her maid about it; but her hesitation was ended by Milly herself, who +came to her room that night, and asked to speak with her.</p> + +<p>"Well, Milly?"</p> + +<p>"I saw you to-day, Miss Lettice, when I was out," said Milly, coloring +with the effort of speech.</p> + +<p>"Did you? Yes? You were with a friend—I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I wanted to tell you about him," said Milly, nervously. "It's not a +friend of mine, it was a messenger—a messenger from <i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>Lettice sat speechless.</p> + +<p>"He does not know what has become of me; and he set this man—his +clerk—to find out. He wants to send me some money—not to see me again. +He was afraid that I might be—in want."</p> + +<p>"And what have you done, Milly?"</p> + +<p>"I said I would not take a penny. And I asked the clerk—Mr. Johnson, +they call him—not to say that he had seen me. I didn't tell him where I +lived."</p> + +<p>"Did he say that he would not tell his master?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he promised. I think he will keep his word. He seemed—kind—sorry +for me, or something."</p> + +<p>"You were quite right, Milly. And I would not speak to the man again if +I were you. He may not be so kind and friendly as he seems. I am glad +you have told me."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't rest till I had spoken. I was afraid you might think harm of +me," said the girl, flushing scarlet again, and twisting the corner of +her apron.</p> + +<p>"I will not think harm of you if you always tell me about your +acquaintances as you have done to-day," said Lettice with a smile. +"Don't be afraid, Milly. And—if you will trust to me—you need not be +anxious about the future, or about the child. I would rather that you +did not take money from anyone but myself for your needs and hers. I +have plenty for you both."</p> + +<p>Milly could not speak for tears. She went away sobbing, and Lettice was +left to think over this new turn of affairs. Was Sydney's conscience +troubling him, she wondered, after all?</p> + +<p>This was early in November, soon after she came to Bute Lodge, and as +the time went on, she could not but notice that the signs of trouble in +Milly's face increased rather than diminished. Lettice had a suspicion +also that she had not managed to get rid of the man with whom she had +been walking on the Common. She was sure that she saw him in the +neighborhood more than once, and although he never, to her knowledge, +spoke to Milly or came to the house, she saw that Milly sometimes looked +unusually agitated and distressed. It was gradually borne in upon +Lettice's mind that she had better learn a little more of the girl's +story, for her own sake; and coming upon her one day with the signs of +trouble plainly written on her face, Lettice could not forbear to speak.</p> + +<p>Milly was sitting in a little dressing-room, with some needlework in her +hand. The baby was sleeping in a cradle at her side. She sprang up when +Lettice entered; but Lettice made her sit down again, and then sat down +as well.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Milly? Is there anything wrong that I don't know of? Come, +don't give way. I want to help you, but how can I do that unless you +tell me everything?"</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to tell except what you know," said Milly, making an +effort to command herself. "But, sometimes, when I think of it all, I +can't help giving way. I did not mean you to see it though, miss."</p> + +<p>"I have never asked you any questions, Milly, about all that happened +after you left me, and I do not want to know more than you wish to tell +me. But don't you think I might do something to place matters on a +better footing, if I knew your circumstances a little better?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I could never—never tell you all!" said Milly hiding her face.</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me all then. You have called yourself Mrs. Beadon so far. +You have heard nothing of Mr. Beadon lately except what you told me the +other day?"</p> + +<p>"Only what Mr. Johnson said." Milly averted her head and looked at her +child. "The name," she went on in a low voice, "the name—is not—not +Beadon."</p> + +<p>"Never mind the name. Perhaps it is as well that you should not tell me. +When did you see him last?"</p> + +<p>"In May."</p> + +<p>"Never since May?"</p> + +<p>"Not once." Milly hung her head and played with the ring on her finger. +"He does not want to see me again!" she broke out almost bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is better for you both that he should not. But I will not +ask any more," said Lettice. "I can understand that it must be very +painful, either to tell me your story or to conceal it."</p> + +<p>"I hate to conceal it from you!" Milly said passionately. "Oh, I wish I +had never seen him, and never listened to him! Yet it was my fault—I +have nobody to blame but myself. I have never forgiven myself for +deceiving you so!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, if that were the worst, there would not be much to grieve about!"</p> + +<p>"I almost think it is the worst. Miss Lettice, may I really tell you my +story—all, at least, that it would be right for you to hear?"</p> + +<p>"If you would like to tell me, do! Perhaps I can help you in some way +when I know more."</p> + +<p>"There are some things I should like you to understand," said Milly, +hesitatingly, "though not because it will take away the blame from +me—nothing can do that. When I first knew Mr. Beadon (I'll call him +so, please), I was very giddy and foolish. I longed to see the world, +and thought that all would go well with me then. I don't know where I +picked up the idea, but I had read stories about beautiful women who had +had wonderful good fortune, through nothing at all but their looks—and +people had told me I was beautiful—and I was silly enough to think that +I could do great things, as well as those I had read about. I suppose +they must have been very clever and witty—or, perhaps, they had more +luck. I wanted to be free and independent; and I am afraid I was ready +to listen to any one who would flatter my vanity, as—as Mr. Beadon +did."</p> + +<p>"When did he first begin to say these things to you? Was it after you +came to London?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—not long after. He was above me in station, and very handsome, and +proud; and when he began to speak to me, though I was all the time +afraid of him, and uneasy when I spoke to him, my head was fairly +turned. It shows I was not meant to shine in the world, or I should not +have been so uneasy when I spoke to him. For some time he said nothing +out of the way—only kind words and flattery; but when he found what I +had set my heart on, he was always telling me that I was fit to be a +great lady, and to make a noise in the world. That set me all on-fire, +and I could not rest for thinking of what I might do if I could only +find my way into society. It makes me mad to remember what a fool I was!</p> + +<p>"But I was not quite bad, Miss Lettice. When he said that he would give +me what I wanted—make me a lady, and all the rest of it—I shrank from +doing what I knew to be wrong; or perhaps I was only afraid. At any +rate, I would not listen to him. Then he declared that he loved me too +well to let me go—and he asked me to be his wife."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Lettice. It was an involuntary sound, and Milly scarcely +heard it.</p> + +<p>"If you knew," she said, "what a proud and dignified gentleman he was, +you would laugh at me thinking that he really meant what he said, and +believing that he would keep his word. But I did believe it, and I +agreed at length to leave you and go away with him."</p> + +<p>"Did you think that I should have anything to say against your marriage, +Milly?" said Lettice, mournfully.</p> + +<p>"I—I thought you might. And Mr. Beadon asked me not to mention it."</p> + +<p>"Well!—and so you trusted him. And then, poor girl, your dream soon +came to an end?"</p> + +<p>"Not very soon. He kept his word——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"He married me, on the day when I left you. Not in a church, but +somewhere—in Fulham, I think. It looked like a private house, but he +said it was a registrar's. Oh, Miss Campion, are you ill?"</p> + +<p>Lettice was holding her side. She had turned white, and her heart was +throbbing painfully; but she soon overcame the feeling or at least +concealed it.</p> + +<p>"No. Go on—go on! He married you!"</p> + +<p>"And we went on the Continent together. I was very happy for a time, so +long as he seemed happy; but I could never shake off that uncomfortable +fear in his presence. After a while we came back to London, and then I +had to live alone, which of course I did not like. He had taken very +nice rooms for me at Hampstead, where he used to come now and then; and +he offered to bring some friends to visit me; but I did not want him to +do that—I cared for nobody but him!"</p> + +<p>"Poor Milly!" said Lettice, softly.</p> + +<p>"I had been suspicious and uneasy for some time, especially when he told +me I had better go to Birchmead and stay with my grandmother, as he was +too busy to come and see me, and the rooms at Hampstead were expensive. +So I went to Birchmead and told them that Mr. Beadon was abroad. He was +not—he was in London—and I went up to see him every now and then; but +I wanted to put the best face on everything. It would have been too hard +to tell my grandmother that I did not think he cared for me."</p> + +<p>She stopped and wiped the tears away from her eyes.</p> + +<p>"There was worse than that," she said. "I began to believe that I was +not his lawful wife, or he would not behave to me as he did. But I +daren't ask, I was so afraid of him. And I felt as if I could not leave +him, even if I was not his wife. That's where the badness of me came +out, you see, Miss Lettice. I would have stayed with him to the end of +my days, wife or no wife, if he had wanted me. But he tired of me very +soon."</p> + +<p>"Did he tell you so, Milly?"</p> + +<p>"He wrote to me to go back to the Hampstead rooms, miss. And I thought +that everything was going to be right between us. I had something to +tell him which I thought would please him; and I hoped—I hoped—even if +things had not been quite right about the marriage—that he would put +them straight before my baby came. For the child's sake I thought maybe +he wouldn't give me up. I had been dreadfully afraid; but when he sent +for me to London again, I thought that he loved me still, and that we +were going to have a happy time together.</p> + +<p>"So I went to Hampstead; but he was not there. He sent his clerk +instead—the man you saw me walking with the other day. And he told me +that Mr.——Beadon did not wish to see me again, that I had been +deceived by the mock marriage, and that he sent me twenty pounds, and I +might have more by writing to his clerk. Not to him! I was never to see +him or speak to him again."</p> + +<p>"And what did you do then, Milly?"</p> + +<p>"It was very hard for me. I fainted, and when I came to myself Mr. +Johnson was gone, and the money was stuffed into my pocket. Perhaps it +was mean of me to keep it, but I hadn't the heart or the spirit to send +it back. I did not know what I should do without it, for I hadn't a +penny of my own. I stayed for a little time at the Hampstead lodgings, +but the landlady got an idea of the true state of things and abused me +shamefully one day for having come into her house; so I was forced to +go. I don't know what I should have done if I hadn't met Mr. Johnson in +the street. He was really kind, though he doesn't look as if he would +be. He told me of nice cheap lodgings, and of some one who would look +after me; and he offered me money, but I wouldn't take it."</p> + +<p>"How long did your money last?"</p> + +<p>"It was all gone before baby came. I lived on the dresses and presents +that Mr. Beadon had given me. I heard nothing from Birchmead—I did not +know that my grandmother was dead, and I used to think sometimes that I +would go to her; but I did not dare. I knew that it would break her +heart to see me as I was."</p> + +<p>"Poor girl!" said Lettice again, below her breath.</p> + +<p>"You must despise me!" cried Milly, bursting into tears. "And you would +despise me still more—if I told you—everything."</p> + +<p>"No, Milly, it is not for me to despise you. I am very, very sorry for +you. You have suffered a great deal, for what was not all your fault."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I <i>have</i> suffered, Miss Lettice—more than I can tell you. I had a +terrible time when my baby was born. I had a fever too, and lost my +hair; and when I recovered I had nothing left. I did not know what to +do. I thought of throwing myself into the river; and I think I should +have done it when I came to Birchmead and found that grandmother was +dead, if it had not been for you. You found me in the garden that night, +just as I had made up my mind. There's a place across the meadows where +one could easily get into a deep pool under the river-bank, and never +come out again. That was where I meant to go."</p> + +<p>"No wonder you have looked so ill and worn," said Lettice, +compassionately. "What you must have endured before you brought yourself +to that! Well, it is all over now, and you must live for the future. Put +the past behind you; forget it—think of it only with sorrow for your +mistakes, and a determination to use them so that your child shall be +better guarded than you have been. You and your baby have your own lives +to live—good and useful lives they may be yet. No one would blame you +if they knew your story, and there is no reason why you should be +afraid. I will always be your friend, Milly, if you will work and +strive—it is the only way in which you can regain and keep your +self-respect."</p> + +<p>Milly bent her head and kissed Lettice's hand with another outburst of +tears. But they were tears of gratitude, and Lettice did not try to +check them now.</p> + +<p>Whilst they were still sitting thus, side by side, the servant knocked +at the door with a message for her mistress; and her voice broke +strangely through the sympathetic silence that had been for some time +maintained between mistress and maid.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Campion wishes to see you, ma'am."</p> + +<p>Lettice felt the face which still rested on her hand flush with sudden +heat; but when Milly raised it it was as white as snow. The baby in its +cradle stirred and began to wake.</p> + +<p>"I will come at once, Mrs. Jermy," said Lettice.</p> + +<p>"Milly, you had better finish your work here, and let me give baby to +Mrs. Jermy for a few minutes. She will be quite good if I take her +downstairs."</p> + +<p>She did not look at Milly as she spoke; or, if she did, she paid no heed +to the mute pain and deprecation in the mother's eyes. Folding the baby +in the white shawl that had covered it, she took it in her arms, and +with slow, almost reluctant steps, went down to meet her brother.</p> + +<p>Sydney had come upon what he felt to be a painful errand.</p> + +<p>Although the session had begun, and the House of Commons was already +hard at work on a vain attempt to thresh out the question of +Parliamentary Procedure, he was not yet able to devote himself to the +urgent affairs of the nation, or to seek an opening for that eloquent +and fiery speech which he had elaborated in the intervals of his autumn +rest. Before he could set his mind to these things there was an equally +urgent question of domestic procedure which it was necessary for him to +arrange—a question for which he had been more or less prepared ever +since he heard of the flight of Lettice from Florence, but which had +assumed the gravest possible importance within the last few hours.</p> + +<p>A terrible and incredible thing had come to the knowledge of Sydney +Campion. That morning he had looked in at his chambers in the Temple, +and he had found there, amongst other letters, one written about three +weeks before by Cora Walcott, which had made his blood run cold.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,"—the letter ran—"you were just and bold on that day when +you vindicated my character in the Criminal Court, and procured a +well-deserved punishment for the husband who had outraged me. +Therefore it is that I write to give you warning, and to tell you +that the man Walcott, discharged from prison, has been secretly +conveyed away by one whom you know, after I had been deceived in a +most shameful manner with a story of his death in prison. I saw her +on the day before his release—her and his child—waiting to +appropriate him, and like an idiot I believed her lies. I know not +where they hide together, but.... I seek until I find. If you know, +take my advice, and separate them. I go prepared. You proved last +time that my husband stabbed me. That was very clever on your part; +but you will not be able to prove the like thing again, if I should +meet my husband and your sister together.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Cora Walcott.</span>"</p></div> + +<p>This letter had exasperated Sydney beyond endurance. He did not know +Lettice's address; but, thinking it possible that Mrs. Graham might have +it, he went the same afternoon to Edwardes Square. Clara, being at home, +was able, though in some trepidation, to tell him what he wanted; and +thus it was that he found himself at Bute Lodge.</p> + +<p>Lettice came into the room where he had been waiting, intrepid, and yet +boding something which could not be entirely pleasant for him, and might +be very much the reverse. She did not want to quarrel with Sydney—she +had made many efforts in the past to please him, without much effect, +and had been pained by the increasing interval which separated them from +each other. But she believed that to earn his good word would imply the +forsaking of nearly all that she valued, and the bowing down to images +which she could not respect; and therefore she was content that his good +word should be a thing beyond her reach.</p> + +<p>She carried the baby on her left arm, and held out her right to Sydney. +He barely touched her fingers.</p> + +<p>"You are back again," she said. "I hope you had a pleasant time, and +that your wife is well."</p> + +<p>"She is pretty well, thank you. We should have gone on to Florence if +you had remained there, as we expected. You have taken your fate in your +hands, Lettice, and cut yourself adrift from those who care for you!"</p> + +<p>"Not willingly, Sydney. You might believe that at every step I have done +what seemed to be my duty."</p> + +<p>"How can one believe that? I only wish I could. Read this letter!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him first, and her eyes flashed at his expression of +unbelief. She drew herself up as she took Cora's letter in her hands, +and read it through with a curl of contempt upon her lips. Then she +dropped the paper, and, clasping Milly's child to her breast, looked +long and steadily at her brother.</p> + +<p>"Why did you give me that to read?" she said quietly.</p> + +<p>"There could be only one reason," he replied; "to ask you if it is +true?"</p> + +<p>"You <i>ask</i> me? You expect an answer?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you should object to say 'yes' or 'no' to a charge +which, if true, must destroy all brotherly and sisterly feeling between +us."</p> + +<p>"But you <i>are</i> my brother! Ask me your own questions, and I will answer. +I will not answer that woman's!"</p> + +<p>She stood in front of him, by far the more proud and dignified of the +two, and waited for him to begin.</p> + +<p>"Did you bring that man with you here from the prison?"</p> + +<p>"I brought Mr. Walcott here."</p> + +<p>"And is he here now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What more is there to be said? Wretched woman, it is well for you that +your parents are beyond the reach of this disgrace!"</p> + +<p>Whether he meant it or not, he pointed, as he spoke, to the infant in +her arms.</p> + +<p>Lettice heard a step outside. She went to the door, and spoke in a low +voice to Mrs. Jenny. Then she came back again, and said,</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Sydney, by 'this disgrace'?"</p> + +<p>"Can you say one word to palliate what you have already admitted? Can +you deny the facts which speak for themselves? Great Heaven! that such a +shameful thing should fall upon us! The name of Campion has indeed been +dragged through the mire of calumny, but never until now has so dark a +stain been cast upon it!"</p> + +<p>Theatrical in his words, Sydney was even more theatrical in his action. +He stood on the hearth-rug, raised his hands in horror, and bowed his +head in grief and self-pity.</p> + +<p>"You pointed at the child just now," said Lettice, steadily; "what do +you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Do not ask me what I mean. Is not its very existence an indelible +disgrace?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is," she said, kissing the little face which was blinking +and smiling at her. "But to whom?"</p> + +<p>"To whom!" Sydney cried, with more of real indignation and anger in his +voice. "To its miserable mother—to its unscrupulous and villainous +father!"</p> + +<p>Lettice's keen ears caught the sound of light and hesitating footsteps +in the passage outside. She opened the door quickly, and drew in the +unfortunate Milly.</p> + +<p>Sydney started back, and leaned for support upon the mantelpiece behind +him. His face turned white to the very lips.</p> + +<p>"Milly," said the remorseless Lettice, "tell Mr. Campion who is the +father of this child!"</p> + +<p>The poor mother who had been looking at her mistress in mute appeal, +turned her timid eyes on Sydney's face, then sank upon the floor in an +agony of unrestrained weeping.</p> + +<p>Except for that sound of passionate weeping, there was complete silence +in the room for two or three minutes, whilst Sydney's better and worse +self strove together for the mastery.</p> + +<p>"Milly!" he ejaculated at last, in a hoarse undertone, "I did not know! +Good God, I did not know."</p> + +<p>Then, to his sister—"Leave us alone."</p> + +<p>So Lettice went out, but before she went she saw him stride across the +floor to Milly and bend above her as if to raise and perhaps to comfort +her. He did not ask to see his sister again. In a short ten minutes, she +saw him walking hastily across the Common to the station, and she +noticed that his head was bent, and that the spring, the confidence of +his usual gait and manner had deserted him. Milly locked herself with +her baby in her room, and sobbed until she was quieted by sheer +exhaustion.</p> + +<p>But there was on her face next day a look of peace and quietude which +Lettice had never seen before. She said not a word about her interview, +and Lettice never knew what had passed between her brother and the woman +whom he had wronged. But she thought sometimes, in after years, that the +extreme of self-abasement in man or woman may prove, to natures not +radically bad or hopelessly weak, a turning-point from which to date +their best and most persistent efforts.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<h3>"COURAGE!"</h3> + + +<p>The reawakening of Alan's mind to old tastes and old pursuits, though +fitful in the first instance, soon developed into a steady appetite for +work. Much of his former freshness and elasticity returned; ideas and +forms of expression recurred to him without trouble. He had seized on a +dramatic theme suggested in one of the books which Lettice had been +reading, and a few days later admitted to her that he was at work on a +poetic drama. She clapped her hands in almost childlike glee at the +news, and Alan, without much need for pressing, read to her a whole +scene which had passed from the phase of thought into written words.</p> + +<p>Lettice had already occupied her mornings in writing the story which she +had promised to Mr. MacAlpine. Fortunately for her, she now found little +difficulty in taking up the threads of the romance which she had begun +at Florence. The change of feeling and circumstance which had taken +place in her own heart she transferred, with due reservation and +appropriate coloring, to the characters in her story, which thus became +as real to her in the London fog as it had been under the fleckless +Tuscan sky.</p> + +<p>So long as Alan was out of health and listless, it was not easy for her +to apply herself to this regular morning work. But now that he was fast +recovering his spirit and energy, and was busy with work of his own, she +could settle down to her writing with a quiet mind.</p> + +<p>Alan had not accepted the hospitality of Lettice without concern or +protest, and, of course, he had no idea of letting her be at the expense +of finding food and house-rent for him.</p> + +<p>"Why do you not bring me the weekly bills?" he said, with masculine +bluntness, after he had been at Chiswick for nearly three weeks.</p> + +<p>She looked at him with a pained expression, and did not answer.</p> + +<p>"You don't think that I can live on you in this cool way much longer? +You are vexed with me! Do not be vexed—do not think that I value what +you have done for me according to a wretched standard of money. If I pay +everything, instead of you, I shall be far more grateful, and more truly +in your debt."</p> + +<p>"But think of my feelings, too!" she said. "I have had my own way so +far, because you could not help it. If you are going to be unkind and +tyrannical as soon as you get well, I shall find it in my heart to be +almost sorry. Do not let money considerations come in! You promised that +you would not say anything of the kind before the end of the month."</p> + +<p>"I promised something; but I don't think I am breaking my promise in +spirit. Look here; I have not been in retreat for six months without a +certain benefit in the way of economy. Here's a cheque for a hundred +pounds. I want you to get it cashed, and to use it."</p> + +<p>"I have plenty of money," Lettice said, patting impatiently with her +foot on the floor. "I cannot take this; and until the month is out I +will not talk about any kind of business whatsoever. There, sir!"</p> + +<p>Alan did not want to annoy her, and let the subject drop for the time.</p> + +<p>"You shall have your way in all things, except that one," he said; "but +I will not mention it again until you give me leave."</p> + +<p>The truth is that Lettice did not know what was to happen at the end of +the month, or whenever her tenancy of Bute Lodge might be concluded. How +was she to leave Alan, or to turn him out of doors, when the object of +her receiving him should have been accomplished? Was it already fully +accomplished? He had been saved from despair, and from the danger of a +physical relapse; was he now independent of anything she could do for +him? It gave her a pang to think of that possibility, but she would have +to think of it and to act upon it very soon. She could not put off the +evil day much beyond the end of November; before Christmas they must +come to an understanding—nay, she must come to an understanding with +her own heart; for did not everything depend on her firmness and +resolution?</p> + +<p>Not everything! Though she did not know it, Alan was thinking for her +just what she could not think for herself. He could not fail to see that +Lettice had staked her reputation to do as she had done for him. As his +perception grew more keen, he saw with increasing clearness. A man just +recovering from serious illness will accept sacrifices from his friends +with little or no demur, which in full health he would not willingly +permit. Alan could not have saved Lettice from the consequences of her +own act, even if he had realized its significance from the first—which +he did not. But now he knew that she was giving more as a woman than he, +as a man, had ever thought of taking from her; and he also, with a +somewhat heavy heart, perceived that a change in their relations to one +another was drawing near.</p> + +<p>Lettice was sitting in her little study one morning, turning over in her +mind the question which so deeply agitated her, and trying to think that +she was prepared for the only solution which appeared to be possible or +acceptable. Alan and she were to go their separate ways: that was, she +told herself, the one thing fixed and unalterable. They might meet again +as friends, and give each other help and sympathy; but it was their +irrevocable doom that they should live apart and alone. That which her +heart had sanctioned hitherto, it would sanction no longer; the cause +and the justification were gone, and so were the courage and the +confidence.</p> + +<p>Lettice had appropriated to her own use as a study a little room on the +ground floor, opening upon the garden. In warm weather it was a +particularly charming place, for the long windows then always stood +open, and pleasant scents and sounds from the flower-beds and leafy +trees stole in to cheer her solitude. In winter, it was a little more +difficult to keep the rooms warm and cosy; but Lettice was one of the +women who have the knack of making any place where they abide look +home-like and inviting, and in this case her skill had not been spent in +vain, even upon a room for the furniture of which she was not altogether +responsible. Heavy tapestry curtains excluded the draught; a soft rug +lay before the old-fashioned high brass fender, and a bright fire burned +in the grate. Lettice's writing-table and library chair half filled the +room; but there was also a small table heaped high with books and +papers, a large padded leather easy-chair, and a bookcase. The walls +were distempered in a soft reddish hue, and such part of the floor as +was not covered with a bordered tapestry carpet of divers tints had been +stained dark brown. One of Lettice's favorite possessions, a large +autotype of the Sistine Madonna, hung on the wall fronting her +writing-table, so that she could see it in the pauses of her work.</p> + +<p>It was at the door of this room that Alan knocked one stormy December +day. The month which Lettice had fixed as the period of silence about +business affairs had passed by; but Alan was so very far from strong +when November ended that she had managed, by persuasion and insistence, +to defer any new and definite arrangement for at least another +fortnight. But he had gained much physical and mental strength during +those two weeks, and he had felt more and more convinced from day to day +that between himself and Lettice there must now be a complete +understanding. He knew that she had taken the house until the end of +December; after that date she would be homeless, like himself. What were +they both to do? It was the question which he had come to put.</p> + +<p>Lettice received him with a touch of surprise, almost of embarrassment +in her manner. She had never made him free of her study, for she felt it +better that each should have a separate domain for separate work and a +separate life. She had no wish to break down more barriers than +circumstances demanded; and the fact that she had utterly outraged the +laws of conventionality in the eyes of the world did not absolve her +from the delicate reticence which she had always maintained in her +personal relations with Alan. He saw the doubt in her face, and hastened +to apologize for his intrusion. "But I could not work this morning," he +said, "and I wanted to speak to you. Milly told me you were here, +and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am very glad to see you. Come and sit down."</p> + +<p>"You are not too busy for a little talk?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all."</p> + +<p>She wheeled the leather-covered chair a little nearer to the fire, and +made him sit down on it. He cast his eye round the cheery room, noting +the books and papers that she was using, the evidences of steady work +and thought. The firelight leaped and glanced on the ruddy walls, and +the coals crackled in the grate; a dash of rain against the window, a +blast of wind in the distance, emphasized the contrast between the +warmth and light and restfulness within the house, the coldness and the +storm without.</p> + +<p>Alan held his hands to the blaze, and listened for a moment to the wind +before he spoke.</p> + +<p>"One does not feel inclined," he said, "to turn out on such a day as +this."</p> + +<p>"Happily, you have no need to turn out," Lettice answered, taking his +words in their most literal sense.</p> + +<p>"Not to day, perhaps; but very soon. Lettice, the time has come when we +must decide on our next step. I cannot stay here any longer—on our +present terms, at least. But I have not come to say good-bye. Is there +any reason why I should say good-bye—save for a time?"</p> + +<p>He had risen from his chair as he spoke, and was standing before her. +Lettice shaded her eyes with her hands. Ah, if she could only give way +to the temptation which she felt vaguely aware that he was going to +raise! If she could only be weak in spite of her resolution to be +strong, if she could only take to herself at once the one consolation +and partnership which would satisfy her soul, how instantly would her +depression pass away! How easily with one word could she change the +whole current and complexion of life for the man who was bending over +her! He was still only half-redeemed from ruin; he might fall a prey to +despair again, if she shrank in the supreme moment from the sacrifice +demanded of her.</p> + +<p>Alan did not know how her heart was pleading for him. Something, indeed, +he divined, as he saw her trembling and shaken by the strife within. His +heart bounded with sudden impulse from every quickened vein, and his +lips drew closer to her hidden face.</p> + +<p>"Lettice!"</p> + +<p>There was infinite force and tenderness in the whispered word, and it +pierced her to the quick. She dropped her hands, and looked up.</p> + +<p>But one responsive word or glance, and he would have taken her in his +arms. He understood her face, her eyes, too well to do it. She gave him +no consent; if he kissed her, if he pressed her to his breast, he felt +that he should dominate her body only, not her soul. And he was not of +that coarse fibre which could be satisfied so. If Lettice did not give +herself to him willingly, she must not give herself at all.</p> + +<p>"Lettice!" he said again, and there was less passion but more entreaty +in his tone than before he met that warning glance, "will you not let me +speak?"</p> + +<p>"Is there anything for us to say," she asked, very gently, "except +<i>good-bye</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Would you turn me away into the cold from the warmth and brightness of +your home, Lettice? Don't be angry with me for saying so. I have had +very little joy or comfort in my life of late, and it is to you that I +owe all that I know of consolation. You have rescued me from a very hell +of despair and darkness, and brought me into paradise. Now do you bid me +go? Lettice, it would be cruel. Tell me to stay with you ... and to the +last hour of my life I will stay."</p> + +<p>He was standing beside her, with one hand on the wooden arm of her +circular chair. She put her hand over his fingers almost caressingly, +and looked up at him again, with tears in her sweet eyes.</p> + +<p>"Have I not done what I wanted to do?" she said. "I found you weak, +friendless, ill; you have got back your strength, and you know that you +have at least one friend who will be faithful to you. My task is done; +you must go away now and fight the world—for my sake."</p> + +<p>"For your sake? You care what I do, then: Lettice, you care for me? Tell +me that you love me—tell me, at last!"</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment, and he felt that the hand which rested on +his own fluttered as if it would take itself away. Was she offended? +Would she withdraw the mute caress of that soft pressure? Breathlessly +he waited. If she took her hand away, he thought that he should almost +cease to hope.</p> + +<p>But the hand settled once more into its place. It even tightened its +pressure upon his fingers as she replied—</p> + +<p>"I love you with all my heart," she said; "and it is just because I love +you that I want you to go away."</p> + +<p>With a quick turn of his wrist he seized the hand that had hitherto lain +on his, and carried it to his lips. They looked into each other's eyes +with the long silent look which is more expressive even than a kiss. +Soul draws very near to soul when the eyes of man and woman meet as +theirs met then. The lips did not meet, but Alan's face was very close +to hers. When the pause had lasted so long that Lettice's eyelids +drooped, and the spell of the look was broken, he spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Why should I go away? Why should the phantom of a dead past divide us? +We belong to one another, you and I. Think of what life might mean to +us, side by side, hand in hand, working, striving together, you the +stronger, giving me some of your strength, I ready to give you the love +you need—the love you have craved for—the love that you have won! +Lettice, Lettice, neither God nor man can divide us now!"</p> + +<p>"Hush! you are talking wildly," she answered, in a very gentle tone. +"Listen to me, Alan. There is one point in which you are wrong. You +speak of a dead past. But the past is not dead, it lives for you still +in the person of—your wife."</p> + +<p>"And you think that she should stand in our way? After all that she has +done? Can any law, human or divine, bind me to her now? Surely her own +acts have set me free. Lettice, my darling, do not be blinded by +conventional views of right and wrong. I know that if we had loved each +other and she had been a woman of blameless life, I should not be +justified in asking you to sacrifice for me all that the world holds +dear; but think of the life she has led—the shame she has brought upon +me and upon herself. Good God! is anyone in the world narrow-minded +enough and base enough to think that I can still be bound to her?"</p> + +<p>"No, Alan; but your course is clear. You must set yourself free."</p> + +<p>"Seek my remedy in the courts? Have all the miserable story bandied +about from lip to lip, be branded as a wretched dupe of a wicked woman +on whom he had already tried to revenge himself? That is what the world +would say. And your name would be brought forward, my dearest; it would +be hopeless to keep it in the background now. Your very goodness and +sweetness would be made the basis of an accusation.... I could not bear +it, I could not see you pilloried, even if I could bear the shame of it +myself."</p> + +<p>He sank on his knees beside her, and let his head sink almost to her +shoulder. She felt that he trembled, she saw that his lips were pale, +and that the dew stood on his forehead. His physical strength had not +yet returned in full measure, and the contest with Lettice was trying it +to the utmost.</p> + +<p>Lettice had turned pale too, but she spoke even more firmly than before.</p> + +<p>"Alan," she said, "is this brave?"</p> + +<p>"Brave? no!" he answered her. "I might be brave for myself, but how can +I be brave for you? You will suffer more than you have any conception +of, when you are held up to the scorn—the loathing—of the world. For +you know she will not keep to the truth—she will spit her venom upon +you—she will blacken your character in ways that you do not dream——"</p> + +<p>"I think I have fathomed the depths," said Lettice, with a faint, wan +smile. "I saw her myself when you were in prison, and she has written to +my brother Sydney. Oh, yes," as he lifted his face and looked at her, +"she stormed, she threatened, she has accused ... what does it matter to +me what she says, or what the world says, either? Alan, it is too late +to care so much for name and fame. I crossed the line which marks the +boundary between convention and true liberty many weeks ago. The best +thing for me now, as well as for you, is to face our accusers gallantly, +and have the matter exposed to the light of day."</p> + +<p>"I have brought this upon you!" he groaned.</p> + +<p>"No, I have brought it on myself. Dear Alan, it is the hardest thing in +the world to be brave for those we love—we are much too apt to fear +danger or pain for them. Just because it is so hard, I ask you to do +this thing. Give me courage—don't sap my confidence with doubts and +fears. Let us be brave together, and for one another, and then we shall +win the battle and be at peace."</p> + +<p>"It will be so hard for you."</p> + +<p>"Not harder than it has been for you these many years. My poor dear my +heart has bled so many times to think how you have suffered! I am proud +to have a share in your suffering now. I am not ashamed to tell you that +I love you, for it is my love that is to make you strong and brave, so +that we may conquer the world together, despise its scorn, and meet its +sneers with smiles! We will not run away from it, like cowards! I come +of a fighting race on my mother's side, the very suggestion of flight +makes my blood boil, Alan! No, we will die fighting, if need be, but we +will not run away."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, my brave darling, you are right. We will stand or fall +together. It was not for myself that I hesitated."</p> + +<p>"I know—I know. So you see, dear, that we must part."</p> + +<p>"For a time only."</p> + +<p>"You will see Mr. Larmer to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"I will."</p> + +<p>They were silent for a while. Her arm was round his neck, and his head +was resting against her wearily. It was Lettice who first roused +herself.</p> + +<p>"This must not be," she said, drawing back her arm.</p> + +<p>"Alan, let us be friends still—and nothing else. Let us have nothing to +reproach ourselves with by and by."</p> + +<p>He sighed as he lifted his head from its resting place.</p> + +<p>"I will go to Larmer to-day," he said. "There is nothing to be gained by +waiting. But—have you thought of all that that woman may do to us? +Lettice, I tremble almost for your life."</p> + +<p>"I do not think she would attempt that."</p> + +<p>"She threatened you?"</p> + +<p>"With vitriol. She said that she would blind me so that I could not see +you—scar me so that you would not care to look upon my face. Ought I to +have told you? Alan, do not look so pale! It was a mere foolish threat."</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure of that. She is capable of it—or of any other +fiendish act. If she injured you, Lettice——"</p> + +<p>"Don't think of that. You say you will go to Mr. Larmer this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And then I will look out for lodgings. And you—what will you do? +Stay here?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "I shall go into lodgings too. I have plenty of +work, and you—you will come to see me sometimes."</p> + +<p>"As often as you will let me. Oh, Lettice, it is a hard piece of work +that you have given me to do!"</p> + +<p>She took his hand in hers and pressed it softly. "I shall be grateful to +you for doing it," she said. There was a long silence. Alan stood by the +fire-place, his head resting upon his hand. Finally he spoke in a low +uncertain tone—</p> + +<p>"There is one point I must mention. I think there may be a difficulty in +getting the divorce. I believe she claims that I condoned her—her +faults. I may find insuperable obstacles in my way."</p> + +<p>Lettice drew a quick breath, and rose suddenly to her feet.</p> + +<p>"We have nothing to do with that just now, Alan. You must try."</p> + +<p>And then they said no more.</p> + +<p>But when the afternoon came and Alan was ready to depart—for when once +he had made up his mind that he must go, he thought it better not to +linger—he drew Lettice inside her little study again, and looked her +full in the face.</p> + +<p>"Lettice, before I go, will you kiss me once?"</p> + +<p>She did not hesitate. She lifted her face, calmly and seriously, and +kissed him on the mouth.</p> + +<p>But she was not prepared for the grip in which he seized her, and the +passionate pressure of her lips which he returned. "Lettice, my dearest, +my own love," he said, holding her close to him as he spoke, "suppose I +fail! If the law will not set me free, what will you do?"</p> + +<p>She was silent for a minute or two, and he saw that her face grew pale.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said at last, in a sighing voice, broken at last by a +despairing sob, "if man's law is so hard, Alan, surely then we may trust +ourselves to God's!"</p> + +<p>"Promise me," he said, "that you will never give me up—that, whatever +happens, you will one day be mine!"</p> + +<p>"Whatever happens," she answered, "I am yours, Alan, in life or +death—in time and for eternity."</p> + +<p>And with this assurance he was fain to be content.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>SYDNEY PAYS HIS DEBTS.</h3> + + +<p>The fight which Sydney Campion had had to wage with his creditors was +bitter enough up to the time of his marriage. Then there had been a lull +for a few months, during which it was confidently said and believed that +he was about to touch a large sum of money, and that all who had put +their trust in him would be rewarded.</p> + +<p>Month after month went by, and there was no realization of the prospect. +Sydney touched no money but what he earned. He might, no doubt, have +touched some of his wife's money, even for the payment of his old debts, +if he had told her the distress that he was in. But it had never +occurred to him to be thus sincere with Nan. He had thought to figure +before her as one who was not dependent on her fortune, who could very +comfortably play with his hundreds, though not able, like herself, to be +generous with thousands. He would, in fact, have been ashamed to own his +rotten financial condition, either to Nan or to any of his social or +political friends; and he fancied that he was concealing this condition +in a very ingenious manner when he made a liberal outlay in connection +with their quiet marriage, the honeymoon abroad, and the subsequent +arrangements of their household in London.</p> + +<p>This was all the more unfortunate because Nan, just of age, with her +fortune in her own hands, would have given him anything without demur or +question, if she had for a moment suspected that he needed it. His +concealment was so effectual that it never entered her unsophisticated +mind that this barrister in good practice, this rising politician, who +seemed to have his feet on the ladder of success, could be crushed and +burdened with debt. Sydney, however, was by no means blind. He knew well +enough that he could have had the few thousands necessary to clear him +if he had asked his wife for a cheque; but he did not trust her love +sufficiently to believe that she would think as well of him from that +day forward as she had done before, and he was not large-minded enough +to conceive himself as ever shaking off the sense of obligation which +her gift in such a form would impose upon him.</p> + +<p>He had therefore drifted, in the matter of his debts, from expedient to +expedient, in the hope that by good fortune and good management he might +avoid the rocks that beset his course, and reach smooth water by his own +exertion. But, as ill luck would have it, he had given a bill for six +hundred pounds, due on the 23rd of November, to a certain Mr. Copley, a +man who had been especially disgusted by Sydney's failure to obtain +ready money at the time of his marriage, and who for this and other +reasons had worked himself up into a malicious frame of mind. But on the +23rd of November, Sydney and his wife had run over to Paris for a few +days with Sir John and Lady Pynsent, and then Nan had been so seriously +indisposed that Sydney could not leave her without seeming unkindness; +so that they did not reach London again until the 26th. This delay +opened a chapter of incidents which ended as Sydney had not foreseen.</p> + +<p>He had not forgotten the date of the bill, and knew that it was +important to provide for it; but he did not anticipate that the last day +of grace would have expired before he could communicate with the man who +held his signature.</p> + +<p>Early on the morning of the 27th, he set out for Mr. Copley's office; +and it so happened that at the same moment Mr. Copley set out also for +Sydney's private house.</p> + +<p>"Master in?" said Mr. Copley, who was a man of few words.</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Lady in?"</p> + +<p>"My mistress does not receive any one so early."</p> + +<p>"Take that up—answer important—bearer waiting."</p> + +<p>The footman condescended so far as this, and gave Mr. Copley's letter +into the charge of Mrs. Campion's maid.</p> + +<p>In less than ten minutes Nan sent for the unwelcome visitor. She was +very pale when she received him, and she looked so young and fair that +Mr. Copley was a little taken aback. He knew that Sydney had married an +heiress, and it was from her, therefore, that he had determined, if +possible, to get the money; but he half repented his resolve when he saw +Mrs. Campion's face. "Too young to know anything about business," he +said to himself.</p> + +<p>But Nan was more business-like than he expected. She had for some time +insisted on knowing a good deal about her own money matters, and she was +well aware of her powers.</p> + +<p>"Where is this paper—this acceptance you mention in your letter?" she +began.</p> + +<p>Mr. Copley silently took it from his notebook, and laid it on the table.</p> + +<p>"Why did you bring this here? or, rather, why did you send it in to me? +Mr. Campion is not difficult to find when he is wanted. This is, of +course, <i>his</i> business." There was a little indignation in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Beg your pardon, madam. You will observe the date of the acceptance. I +presented it yesterday."</p> + +<p>"At the bank?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Nan bit her lip. She knew what this signified, and she would have given +a thousand pounds to undo what had happened.</p> + +<p>She went to a drawer in her writing-table and quietly took out a +cheque-book. "We were delayed in returning to England by my illness," +she said, as indifferently as she could. "Mr. Campion has gone out for +the purpose of seeing to this." Her heart smote her for making a +statement which she could not vouch for, but as Mr. Copley only bowed +and looked uninterested, she went on rapidly, "As you have the paper +with you it will save time—it will be satisfactory, I suppose—if I +give you a cheque for it?"</p> + +<p>"Amply satisfactory."</p> + +<p>She sat down before the table and took the pen in her hand, hesitating a +moment as to whether she ought to ask for further details. Her tears and +her curiosity were alike aroused, and Mr. Copley divined the question, +which she hardly knew how to put into words. He produced a sheet of +notepaper, containing a few memoranda, and passed it across the table.</p> + +<p>"That was to refresh my memory if necessary; but happily it isn't. Mr. +Campion may like to see it however. He will find it is all correct. I +knew I was right in asking to see you, ma'am."</p> + +<p>Nan did not look at the memoranda. She was satisfied that she had the +details before her for her own or Sydney's consideration if necessary. +She signed her cheque and took possession of the dishonored bill; and +then Mr. Copley departed.</p> + +<p>When he was gone, she caught up the sheet of paper and hastily glanced +at it.</p> + +<p>"1880—studs, pin, money advanced £50. 1881—ring, money advanced £100; +bracelet, necklace, pendant, money advanced £150——" and so on. Further +down the page, Nan's eye was caught by the words: "Diamond and sapphire +ring."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she said, catching her breath as if she were in pain, and laying +the paper down on the table, "<i>that</i> was mine!"</p> + +<p>The ring was on her finger as she spoke. It had been her engagement +ring. She looked at it for a minute or two, then slowly, took it off and +put it into the drawer.</p> + +<p>Next, with an absent look upon her face, she took up a small taper, and +lighted it; and, holding Mr. Copley's paper by one corner, she raised it +to the flame and converted it into ashes. One line escaped. A fragment +of the paper was scorched but not consumed, and as she took it up to +make her work more thorough, the words and a date caught her attention +once again.</p> + +<p>"Bracelet, necklace, pendant, bought after we knew each other," she +murmured with a curious smile. "Those were <i>not</i> for me. I wonder——"</p> + +<p>But she did not go on. It was the first time that a shadow from Sydney's +past had crossed her life; and she dared not investigate it too closely. +She put the bill and her cheque-book out of sight, and sat down to think +over the present position of affairs.</p> + +<p>Sydney came home just before lunch-time, and, hearing that she was in +her own little sitting-room (she would not have it called a boudoir), +went up to her. He looked vexed and anxious, as Nan was quick to notice, +but he came up to her side and kissed her affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Better, Nan?" She had not been very well when he left her: indeed, the +delicacy of her health had lately been more marked, and had several +times given him cause for uneasiness.</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you. But you don't look well, Sydney."</p> + +<p>She hoped that he would tell her what was wrong. To her disappointment, +he smiled, and answered lightly.</p> + +<p>"I'm all right, Nan. I have a good deal to do just now, and am rather +tired—that is all."</p> + +<p>"Tired—and anxious?" she said, looking at him with more keenness than +he had thought her soft eyes capable of expressing.</p> + +<p>"Anxious! no, I have not much to be anxious about, have I?"</p> + +<p>He spoke with a laugh; but, to her fancy, there was something +half-alarmed and half-defiant in the pose of his lifted head, the glance +of his handsome bright eyes. Her heart sank a little: it seemed to her +that it would have been nobler in her husband to tell her the whole +truth, and it had never occurred to her before to think of him as +ignoble in any way.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you do not want to tell me for fear of troubling me," she +said, with a tremor in her voice; "but I think I know what you are +anxious about, Sydney."</p> + +<p>He gave a little start as he turned towards her.</p> + +<p>"Some man has been here whilst you were out, and he sent up this letter +with a request that it should be opened. Look!" she said, giving him the +bill, "you can tear it up now. I was sure you had gone out to see about +it, but I thought it better that I should settle it at once. I +hope"—with a little girlish nervousness—"you don't mind?"</p> + +<p>He had sat down on a chair when she showed him Mr. Copley's letter, with +the look of a man determined to bear a blow, but he sprang up again at +the sight of his dishonored acceptance.</p> + +<p>"And you have paid it, Nan?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I paid it. Oh, Sydney, it was a little thing to do! If only you +had told me months ago!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes brimmed over with tears at last. She had been smarting under a +sense of terrible humiliation ever since Mr. Copley's visit, but +hitherto she had not wept. Now, when her husband took her in his arms +and looked into her eyes, the pain at her heart was somewhat assuaged, +although the tears fell swiftly down her pale cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Nan, I never dreamed that I should find your kindness so bitter to me," +Sydney said.</p> + +<p>He was profoundly moved by her gentleness and by her generosity alike. +But inasmuch as it requires more generosity of nature to accept a gift +nobly than to make it, he felt himself shamed in her eyes, and his wife +was in her turn pained by the consciousness of his shame.</p> + +<p>"Why should you be afraid to trust me?" she said. "All that concerns you +concerns me as well; and I am only setting myself free from trouble and +anxiety if I do anything for you. Don't you understand? And as far as my +money is concerned, you know very well that if it had not been for John +and those tiresome lawyers, you should have had it all and spent it, if +you chose, without the slightest reference to me. What grieves me, +dearest, is that you should have been suffering without taking me into +your confidence."</p> + +<p>"I ought to have done so," said Sydney, rather reluctantly, "but I felt +as if I could not tell you all these paltry, sordid details. You might +have thought——"</p> + +<p>Then he paused, and the color rose darkly in his face.</p> + +<p>"I should have thought nothing but what was honorable to you," said Nan, +throwing back her graceful head with a gesture of natural pride and +indignation.</p> + +<p>"And now you think the worse of me?"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" she cried, stealing one arm round his neck, "I think nothing +bad of you—nothing! Only you <i>will</i> trust me, now, Sydney? You will not +hide things from me again?"</p> + +<p>"No, my darling, nothing that you ought to know," he said. There was a +touch of new but restrained emotion in his voice. It struck him for +almost the first time how much of his life he had hidden from her frank +and innocent eyes.</p> + +<p>Presently, when he had kissed her tears away, she begged him to tell her +what he still actually owed, and, after some little demur, he consented. +The amount of the debt, which lay heavily on his conscience, was +comparatively a trivial thing to her. But when he had told her all, she +looked at him with eyes which, although very loving, were full of wonder +and dismay.</p> + +<p>"Poor Sydney!" she said caressingly. "My poor boy! As if you could give +your mind properly to anything with this heavy burden on it! To-morrow +we can get the money, and pay off all these people. Then you will be +able to work without any disturbance."</p> + +<p>"Thanks to you, Nan," said her husband, with bowed head. She could not +understand why he did not look more relieved. She never suspected that +his mind was burdened with another debt, that money could not pay.</p> + +<p>She had not asked him for any explanation of the items in the paper that +she had read. The momentary wonder that had flitted across her mind +passed as quickly as it came. The gifts that were not for her had been +intended perhaps for his sister Lettice, perhaps for the wedding present +of a friend. She did not like to ask. But a slightly uncomfortable +sensation remained in her mind, and she never again wore the ring for +which, as it now turned out, she herself had had to pay.</p> + +<p>Sydney's position was certainly a painful one just then. But he was at +any rate relieved of the burden of his debts, and he hoped, with some +compunction of heart, that no other secret of his life would ever come +to his wife's ears. It was about this time that he received the letter +from Cora Walcott and had the interview with Lettice, of which mention +has been made; and Nan fancied that it was anxiety about his sister that +caused him to show signs of moodiness and depression. He had told her +nothing more of Lettice's doings than he was obliged to tell, but other +friends were not so reticent, and Lady Pynsent had enlightened Nan's +mind very speedily with respect to the upshot of "the Walcott affair." +Nan made some reference to it shortly afterwards in conversation with +her husband, and was struck by the look of pain which crossed his face +as he replied,</p> + +<p>"Don't talk about it, Nan, my dear."</p> + +<p>"He must be much fonder of his sister than I thought," Nan said to +herself. She made one more effort to speak.</p> + +<p>"Could I do nothing, Sydney? Suppose I went to her, and told her how +grieved you were——"</p> + +<p>"You, Nan! For heaven's sake, don't let me hear of your crossing the +threshold of that house!" cried Sydney, with vehemence, which Nan very +naturally misunderstood.</p> + +<p>It was, on the whole, a relief to her to find that he did not want her +to take any active steps in any direction. She was not very strong, and +was glad to be left a good deal at peace. Sydney was out for a great +part of the day, and Nan took life easily. Lady Pynsent came to sit with +her sometimes, or drove in the Park with her, and other friends sought +her out: she had tender hopes for the future which filled her mind with +sweet content, and she would have been happy but for that slight jar +between Sydney and herself. That consciousness of a want of trust which +never ceased to give her pain. Sydney himself was the most attentive of +husbands when he was at home: he brought her flowers and fruit, he read +aloud to her, he hung over her as she lay on the sofa, and surrounded +her with a hundred little marks of his affection—such as she would have +thought delicious while her confidence in him was still unshaken. She +still found pleasure in them; but her eyes were keener than they had +been, and she knew that beneath all the manifestations of his real and +strong attachment to her there ran a vein of apology and misgiving—a +state of things inexpressibly unsatisfactory to a woman who knows how to +love and how to trust.</p> + +<p>Sydney, only half-conscious that something was wrong, had no idea how to +mend matters, and was, therefore, in a fair way to make them worse. +Frankness would have appeared brutal to him, and he did not see how +subtly poisonous was the effect of his habits of concealment upon his +wife's mind. Gifted with the instinct of discernment, which in sensitive +women is almost like a sort of second-sight, she knew, without knowing +how she knew, that he had trouble which he did not confide to her, +secrets which his tongue would never tell. He could deceive her as to +their existence so long as the period of illusion lasted; but as soon as +her eyes were opened her sight became very keen indeed. And he, +believing himself always successful in throwing dust in her eyes, +fancied that her wistful look, her occasional unresponsiveness to his +caresses, proceeded from physical causes only, and would with them also +pass away.</p> + +<p>Thus December left them, and the dark foggy days of January flew apace. +It was close upon February before Nan recovered from a severe cold which +had assailed her about Christmas time, and left her very weak. For a +week or two she was confined entirely to her room, and when she came +downstairs she was forced for a time to keep to the warm atmosphere of +one sitting-room. But one day, when February was close at hand, and the +fogs had begun to clear away, she felt so much stronger that she +resolved to make a new departure and show Sydney that she was really +better. Instead of going into the drawing-room, therefore, she came down +another flight of stairs, and resolved to establish herself in Sydney's +study, ready to greet him on his return.</p> + +<p>But Sydney was late, and she was rather weaker than she knew. She had +her tea, and ordered lights to be brought in, and the curtains drawn, +but still he did not come. Then she found that the lights hurt her eyes, +and she had them extinguished—all but one small silver lamp which stood +on a centre-table, and gave a very subdued light. Her maid came and put +a soft fur rug over her, and at her orders moved a screen of carved +woodwork, brought from an Arab building in Algeria, between her and the +fire before she left the room. Thus comfortably installed, the warmth +and the dimness of the light speedily made Nan sleepy. She forgot to +listen for the sound of her husband's latchkey; she fell fast asleep, +and must have remained so for the greater part of an hour.</p> + +<p>The fire went down, and its flickering flame no longer illuminated the +room. The soft light of the lamp did not extend very far, and the +screen, which was tall and dark, threw the sofa on which Nan lay into +deep shadow. The rug completely covered the lower part of her dress, and +as the sofa stood between the wall and the fire-place on that side of +the room furthest removed from the door, any one entering might easily +believe that the room was empty. Indeed, unless Nan stirred in her +sleep, there was nothing at all to show that she was lying on the couch.</p> + +<p>Thus, when Sydney entered his study about a quarter to seven, with a +companion whom he had found waiting for him on the door-step, it would +have been impossible for him to conjecture the presence of his wife. He +did not light another lamp. The first words of his visitor had startled +him into forgetting that the room was dark—perhaps, as the interview +went on, he was glad of the obscurity into which his face was thrown. +And the sounds of the low-toned conversation did not startle Nan from +her slumber all at once. She had heard several sentences before she +realized where she was and what she was listening to, and then very +natural feelings kept her silent and motionless.</p> + +<p>"No, I've not come for money," were the first words she heard. "Quite a +different errand, Mr. Campion. It is some weeks since I left you now, +and I left you because I had a competency bequeathed to me by an uncle."</p> + +<p>"Pleased to hear it, I am sure, Johnson," was Sydney's response. "As you +mentioned the name of another person, I thought that you had perhaps had +a letter from her——"</p> + +<p>"I have seen her, certainly, several times of late. And I am the bearer +of a message from her. She has always regretted that she took a certain +sum of money from you when she first found out how you had deceived her; +and she wishes you to understand that she wants nothing more from you. +The fact is, sir, I have long been very sorry for her misfortunes, and +now that I am independent, I have asked her to marry me and go with me +to America."</p> + +<p>There was a little silence. "I am quite willing to provide for the +child," said Sydney, "and——"</p> + +<p>"No," said the man, almost sternly; "hear me out first, Mr. Campion. She +owes her misery to you, and, no doubt, you have always thought that +money could make atonement. But that's not my view, nor hers. We would +rather not give you the satisfaction of making what <i>you</i> call +restitution. Milly's child—your child, too—will be mine now; I shall +adopt it for my own when I marry her. You will have nothing to do with +either of them. And I have brought you back the twenty pounds which you +gave her when you cruelly deserted her because you wanted to marry a +rich woman. In that parcel you will find a locket and one or two other +things that you gave her. I have told her, and Miss Campion, who has +been the best of friends to us both, has told her that she must +henceforth put the memory of you behind her, and live for those whom she +loves best."</p> + +<p>"Certainly; it is better that she should," said Sydney.</p> + +<p>"That is all I have to say," Johnson remarked, "except that I shall do +my best to help her to forget the past. But if ever <i>you</i> can forget +your own cruelty and black treachery and villainy towards her——"</p> + +<p>"That will do. I will not listen to insult from you or any man."</p> + +<p>"You should rather be grateful to me for not exposing you to the world," +said Johnson, drily, as he moved towards the door. "If it knew all that +I know, what would your career be worth, Mr. Campion? As it is, no one +knows the truth but ourselves and your sister, and all I want to remind +you of is, that if we forget it, and if you forget it, I believe there +is a God somewhere or other who never forgets."</p> + +<p>"I am much obliged to you for the reminder," said Sydney, scornfully. +But he could not get back the usual clearness of his voice.</p> + +<p>Johnson went out without another word, and a minute later the front door +was heard to close after him. Sydney stood perfectly still until that +sound was heard. Then he moved slowly towards the table, where an +envelope and a sealed packet were lying side by side. He looked at them +for a minute or two, and flung himself into an arm-chair beside the +table with an involuntary groan of pain. He was drawing the packet +towards him, when a movement behind the screen caused him to spring +desperately to his feet.</p> + +<p>It was Nan, who had risen from the sofa and stood before him, her face +white as the gown she wore, her eyes wide with a new despair, her +fingers clutching at the collar of her dress as if the swelling throat +craved the relief of freedom from all bands. Sydney's heart contracted +with a sharp throb of pain, anger, fear—he scarcely knew which was +uppermost. It flashed across his mind that he had lost everything in +life which he cared for most—that Nan would despise him, that she would +denounce him as a sorry traitor to his friends, that the story—a +sufficiently black one, as he knew—would be published to the world. +Disgrace and failure had always been the things that he had chiefly +feared, and they lay straight before him now.</p> + +<p>"I heard," Nan said, with white lips and choking utterance. "I was +asleep when you came, but I think I heard it all. Is it true? There was +some one—some one—that you left—for me?—some one who ought to have +been your wife?"</p> + +<p>"I swear I never loved anyone but you," he broke out, roughly and +abruptly, able neither to repel nor to plead guilty to the charge she +made, but miserably conscious that his one false step might cost him all +that he held most dear. To Nan, the very vagueness and—as she deemed +it—the irrelevance of his answer constituted an acknowledgment of +guilt.</p> + +<p>"Sydney," she murmured, catching at the table for support, and speaking +so brokenly that he had difficulty in distinguishing the words, +"Sydney—I cannot pay <i>this</i> debt!"</p> + +<p>And then she fell at his feet in a swoon, which at first he mistook for +death.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<h3>"SO SHALL YE ALSO REAP."</h3> + + +<p>For some time Nan's life hung in the balance. It seemed as though a +straw either way would suffice to turn the scales. Dead silence reigned +in the house in Thurloe Square: the street outside was ankle-deep in +straw: doctors and nurses took possession of Nan's pretty rooms, where +all her graceful devices and gentle handicrafts were set aside, and +their places filled with a grim array of medicaments. The servants, who +loved their mistress, went about with melancholy faces and muffled +voices; and the master of the house, hitherto so confident and +self-reliant, presented to the world a stony front of silent desolation, +for which nobody would have given Sydney Campion credit.</p> + +<p>"Over-exertion or mental shock must have brought it on," said the +doctor, when questioned by Lady Pynsent as to the cause of Mrs. +Campion's illness.</p> + +<p>"She can't have had a mental shock," said Lady Pynsent, decidedly. "She +must have over-excited herself. Do you know how she did it, Sydney?"</p> + +<p>"She fainted at my feet almost as soon as I saw her," said Sydney. "I +don't know what she had been doing all the afternoon."</p> + +<p>Nobody else seemed to know, either. The maid bore witness that her +mistress had insisted on going downstairs, and it was generally supposed +that this expedition had been too much for her strength. Only Sydney +knew better, and he would not confide his knowledge to Lady Pynsent, +although he spoke with more freedom to the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she had bad news which distressed her. She fainted upon hearing +it."</p> + +<p>"That did the mischief. She was not in a condition to bear excitement," +said the doctor, rather sharply; but he was sorry for his words, when he +noted the distressed look on Sydney's face. He was the more sorry for +him when it was discovered that he could not be admitted to the +sick-room, for his appearance sent Nan's pulse up to fever-height at +once, although she did not openly confess her agitation. The only thing +that Sydney could do was to retire, baffled and disconsolate, to his +study, where he passed the night in a state of indescribable anxiety and +excitement.</p> + +<p>When the fever abated, Nan fell into such prostration of strength that +it was difficult to believe she would ever rise from her bed again. +Weaker than a baby, she could move neither hand nor foot: she had to be +fed like an infant, at intervals of a few minutes, lest the flame of +life, which had sunk so low, should suddenly go out altogether. It was +at this point of her illness that she fainted when Sydney once persuaded +the doctor to let him enter her room, and the nurses had great +difficulty in bringing her back to consciousness. After which, there was +no more talk of visits from her husband, and Sydney had to resign +himself to obtaining news of her from the doctor and the nurses, who, he +fancied, looked at him askance, as blaming him in their hearts for his +wife's illness.</p> + +<p>"I can't make Nan out," said Lady Pynsent to him one day. "She is so +depressed—she cries if one looks at her almost—and yet the very thing +that I expected her to be unhappy about does not affect her in the +least."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" said Sydney.</p> + +<p>"Why, her disappointment about her baby, of course. I said something +about it, and she just whispered, 'I'm very glad.' I suppose it is +simply that she feels so weak, otherwise I should have thought it +unnatural in Nan, who was always so fond of children."</p> + +<p>Sydney made no answer. He was beginning to find this state of things +intolerable. After all, he asked himself, what had he done that his wife +should be almost killed by the shock of finding out that he had +behaved—as other men behaved? But that sort of reasoning would not do. +His behavior to Milly had been, as he knew, singularly heartless; and he +had happened to marry a girl whose greatest charm to him had been her +tenderness of heart, her innocent candor, and that purity of mind which +comes of hatred—not ignorance—of sin. A worldlier woman would not have +been so shocked; but he had never desired less crystalline transparency +of mind—less exquisite whiteness of soul, for Nan. No; that was the +worst of it: the very qualities that he admired and respected in her +bore witness against him now.</p> + +<p>He remembered the last hours of his father's life—how they had been +embittered by his selfish anger, for which he had never been able to +make amends. Was his wife also to die without giving him a word of +forgiveness, or hearing him ask her pardon? If she died, he knew that he +would have slain her as surely as if he had struck her to the ground +with his strong right hand. For almost the first time in his life Sydney +found himself utterly unnerved by his anxiety. His love for Nan was the +truest and strongest emotion that he had ever felt. And that his love +for her should be sullied in her eyes by comparison with the transient +influence which Milly had exercised over him was an intolerable outrage +on his best and holiest affections and on hers. "What must she think of +me?" he said to himself; and he was fain to confess that she could not +think much worse of him than he deserved. It was a bitter harvest that +he was reaping from seed that he himself had sown.</p> + +<p>He was almost incapable of work during those terrible days when he did +not know whether Nan would live or die. He got through as much as was +absolutely imperative; but he dreaded being away from the house, lest +that "change," of which the nurses spoke, should come during his +absence; and he managed to stay at home for many hours of the day.</p> + +<p>But at last the corner was turned: a little return of strength was +reported, and by and by the doctor assured him that, although his +patient still required very great care, the immediate danger was past, +and there was at least a fair hope of her ultimate recovery. But he +might not see her—yet.</p> + +<p>So much was gained; but Sydney's spirits did not rise at once. He was +conscious of some relief from the agony of suspense, but black care and +anxiety sat behind him still. He was freer to come and go, however, than +he had been for some time, and the first use he made of his liberty was +to go to the very person whom he had once vowed never to see again—his +sister Lettice.</p> + +<p>She had written to him since his interview with her at Bute Lodge. She +had told him of Alan's departure, and—to some extent—of its cause: she +had given him the address of the lodgings to which she was now going +(for a continued residence at Bute Lodge was beyond her means), and she +sent him her sisterly love—and that was all. She had not condescended +to any justification of her own conduct, nor had she alluded to the +accusations that he had made, nor to his own discomfiture. But there had +been enough quiet warmth in the letter to make him conscious that he +might count on her forgiveness and affection if he desired it. And he +did desire it. In the long hours of those sleepless nights and weary +days in which he had waited for better news of Nan, it was astonishing +to find how clearly the years of his boyhood had come back to him—those +quiet, peaceful years in which he had known nothing of the darker sides +of life, when the serene atmosphere of the rectory and the village had +been dear to his heart, and Lettice had been his cherished companion and +trusty comrade in work or play. It was like going back into another +world—a purer and a truer world than the one in which he lived now.</p> + +<p>And in these hours of retrospect, he came to clearer and truer +conclusions respecting Lettice's character and course of action than he +had been able to do before he was himself smitten by the hand of Fate. +Lettice was interpreted to him by Nan. There <i>were</i> women in the world, +it seemed, who had consciences, and pure hearts, and generous emotions: +it was not for him to deny it now. And he had been very hard on Lettice +in days gone by. He turned to her now with a stirring of affection which +he had not known for years.</p> + +<p>But when he entered Lettice's room, and she came to meet him, gravely, +and with a certain inquiry in her look, he suddenly felt that he had no +reason to give for his appearance there.</p> + +<p>"Sydney!" she had exclaimed in surprise. Then, after the first long +glance, and with a quick change of tone: "Sydney, are you ill?"</p> + +<p>For he was haggard and worn, as she had never seen him, with dark lines +under his eyes, and an air of prostration and fatigue.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm very well. It's Nan—my wife," he said, avoiding her alarmed +gaze.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry—very sorry. Is she——"</p> + +<p>"She has been on the brink of death. There is some hope now. I don't +know why I came here unless it was to tell you so," said Sydney, with an +odd abruptness which seemed to be assumed in order to mask some +unusually strong feeling. "I suppose you know that the man Johnson came +to see me——"</p> + +<p>"Yes: they have gone," said Lettice, quickly. "They were married +yesterday, and sailed this morning."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Well, <i>she</i> was in the room when he—made his communication to me. +I did not know it—Johnson never knew it at all. She had been +asleep—but she woke and heard what he said. She fainted—and she has +been ill ever since." He added a few words concerning the technicalities +of his wife's case.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sydney!—my poor Sydney! I am so sorry," said Lettice, her eyes +full of tears. For she saw, by his changed manner, something of what his +trouble had been, and she instantly forgot all causes of complaint +against him. He was sitting sideways on a chair, with his head on his +hand; and when she put her arms round his neck and kissed him, he did +not repulse her—indeed, he kissed her in return, and seemed comforted +by her caress.</p> + +<p>"I can't even see her," he went on. "She faints if I go into the room. +How long do you think it will last, Lettice? Will she ever get over it, +do you think?"</p> + +<p>"If she loves you, I think she will, Sydney. But you must give her time. +No doubt it was a great shock to her," said Lettice.</p> + +<p>He looked at her assentingly, and then stared out of the window as if +absorbed in thought. The result of his reflections seemed to be summed +up in a short sentence which, certainly, Lettice had never expected to +hear from Sydney's lips:—</p> + +<p>"I can't think how I came to be such a damned fool. I beg your pardon, +Lettice; but it's true."</p> + +<p>"Can I be of any use to you—or to her?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I don't think so—just yet. I don't know—" +heavily—"whether she will want you some day to tell her all you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Sydney!"</p> + +<p>"You must do just what you think best about it. I shall put no barriers +in the way. Perhaps she had better know everything now."</p> + +<p>Then he roused himself a little and looked at her kindly.</p> + +<p>"How are you getting on?" he said. "Writing as usual?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am busy, and doing very well."</p> + +<p>"You look thin and fagged."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sydney, if you could but see yourself!"</p> + +<p>He smiled at this, and then rose to go.</p> + +<p>"But you will stay and have tea with me? Do, Sydney—if only," and +Lettice's voice grew low and deep, "if only in token that there is peace +between us."</p> + +<p>So he stayed; and, although they spoke no more of the matters that were +dearest to their hearts, Lettice's bitterness of feeling towards her +brother disappeared, and Sydney felt vaguely comforted in his trouble by +her sympathy.</p> + +<p>She did not tell him of the strange marriage-scene which she had +witnessed the day before—when Milly, almost hysterical from +over-wrought feeling, had vowed to be a true and faithful wife to the +man who had pitied and succored her in the time of her sorest need: of +Johnson's stolid demeanor, covering a totally unexpected fund of +good-feeling and romance; or of his extraordinary desire, which Lettice +had seen carried out, that the baby should be present at its mother's +wedding, and should receive—poor little mite—a fatherly kiss from him +as soon as he had kissed the forlorn and trembling bride. For Milly, +although she professed to like and respect Michael Johnson, shrank +somewhat from the prospect of life in another country, and was nervous +and excitable to a degree which rather alarmed her mistress. Lettice +confessed on reflection, however, that Johnson knew exactly how to +manage poor little Milly; and that he had called smiles to her face in +the very midst of a last flood of tears; and that she had no fear for +the girl's ultimate happiness. Johnson had behaved in a very +straightforward, manly and considerate way; and in new surroundings, in +a new country, with a kind husband and good prospects, Milly was likely +to lead a very happy and comfortable life. Lettice was glad to think so; +and was more sorry to see the baby go than to part from Milly. Indeed, +she had offered to adopt it; but Johnson was so indignant, and Milly so +tearful, at the idea, that she had been forced to relinquish her desire. +All this, however, she withheld from Sydney; as also her expedition to +the station to see the little party start for Liverpool, and Milly's +grief at parting with the forbearing mistress whom she had once +deceived, and who had been, after all, her truest friend.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Nan began, very slowly, but surely, to amend; and Sydney, going back to +his usual pursuits, seemed busier than ever.</p> + +<p>But, in spite of himself, he was haunted night and day by the fear of +what would happen next; of what Nan meant to do when she grew strong. +Would she ever forgive him? And if she did not forgive him, what would +she do? Tell the whole story to Sir John, and insist on returning to her +brother's house? That would be an extreme thing, and Sir John—who was a +man of the world—would probably pooh pooh her virtuous indignation; but +Nan had a way of carrying out her resolves whether Sir John pooh-poohed +them or not. And supposing that Nan separated herself from him, Sydney +could not but see that a very serious imputation would be thrown on his +character, even if the true story were not known in all its details. +That mock marriage—which he had not at first supposed that Milly had +taken seriously—had a very ugly sound. And he had made too many enemies +for the thing to be allowed to drop if once it came to the light.</p> + +<p>His career was simply at the mercy of two women—the Johnsons were not, +he thought, likely to break silence—and if either of them should prove +to be indiscreet or vindictive, he was a ruined man. He had injured and +insulted his sister: he had shocked and horrified his wife. What Nan +though of him he could not tell. He had always believed that women were +too small-minded to forget an injury, to forgive an insult, or to keep +silence regarding their husbands' transgressions. If Nan once enlisted +Sir John's sympathies on her side, he knew that, although he might +ultimately recover from the blow inflicted by his brother-in-law's +offense and anger, his chance of success in life would be diminished. +And for what a cause? He writhed as he thought of the passing, +contemptuous fancy, for the indulgence of which he might have to +sacrifice so much and had already sacrificed part of what was dearest in +life to him. Yes, he told himself, he was at Nan's mercy, and he had not +hitherto found women very ready to hold their hands when weapons had +been put into them, and all the instincts of outraged vanity made them +strike.</p> + +<p>Sydney Campion prided himself on a wide experience of men and women, and +a large acquaintance with human nature. But he did not yet know Nan.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The story which had been so suddenly unfolded to her had struck her to +the earth with the force of a blow, for more than one reason, but +chiefly because she had trusted Sydney so completely. She was not so +ignorant of the ways of men as to believe that their lives were always +free from stain; indeed she knew more than most girls of the weakness +and wickedness of mankind, partly because she was well acquainted with +many Vanebury working-people, who were her tenants, partly because Lady +Pynsent was a woman of the world and did not choose that Nan should go +about with her eyes closed, and partly because she read widely and had +never been restricted in the choice of books. She was not a mere +ignorant child, shrinking from knowledge as if it were contamination, +and blindly believing in the goodness and innocence of all men. But this +theoretical acquaintance with the world had not saved her from the error +into which women are apt to fall—the error of setting up her lover on a +pedestal and believing that he was not as other men. She was punished +for her mistake, she told herself bitterly, by finding that he was even +worse, not better, than other men, whose weaknesses she had contemned.</p> + +<p>For there had been a strain of meanness and cruelty in Sydney's behavior +to the girl whom he had ruined which cut his wife to the heart. She had +been taught, and she had tried—with some misgiving—to believe that she +ought to be prepared to condone a certain amount of levity, of +"wildness," even, in her husband's past; but here she saw deliberate +treachery, cold-blooded selfishness, which startled her from her dream +of happiness. Nan was a little too logical for her own peace of mind. +She could not look at an action as an isolated fact in a man's life: it +was an outcome of character. What Sydney had done showed Sydney as he +was. And, oh, what a fall was there! how different from the ideal that +she had hoped to see realized in him!</p> + +<p>It never once occurred to Nan to take either Sir John or Lady Pynsent +into her confidence. Sydney was quite mistaken in thinking that she +would fly to them for consolation. She would have shrunk sensitively +from telling them any story to his discredit. Besides, she shrewdly +suspected that they would not share her disappointment, her sense of +disillusion; Sir John had more than once laughed in an oddly amused way +when she dropped a word in praise of Sydney's high-mindedness and +generous zeal for others. "Campion knows which side his bread's +buttered," he had once made her angry by saying. She had not the +slightest inclination to talk to them of Sydney's past life and +character.</p> + +<p>Besides, she knew well enough that she had no actual cause of complaint +in the eyes of the world. Her husband was not bound to tell her all that +happened to him before he met her; and he had severed all connection +with that unhappy young woman before he asked her, Anna Pynsent, to be +his wife. Nan's grievance was one of those intangible grievances which +bring the lines into so many women's faces and the pathos into their +eyes—the grievance of having set up an idol and seen it fall. The +Sydney Campion who had deceived and wronged a trusting girl was not the +man that she had known and loved. That was all. It was nothing that +could be told to the outer world, nothing that in itself constituted a +reason for her leaving him and making him a mark for arrows of scandal +and curiosity; but it simply killed outright the love that she had +hitherto borne him, so that her heart lay cold and heavy in her bosom as +a stone.</p> + +<p>So frozen and hard it seemed to her, that she could not bring herself to +acknowledge that certain words spoken to her husband by the stranger had +had any effect on her at all. In the old days, as she said to herself, +they would have hurt her terribly. "<i>You cruelly deserted her because +you wanted to marry a rich woman.</i>" She, Nan, was the rich woman for +whom Sydney Campion had deserted another. It was cruel to have made +<i>her</i> the cause of Sydney's treachery—the instrument of his fall. She +had never wished to wrong anyone, nor that anyone should be wronged for +her sake. She would not, she thought, have married Sydney if she had +known this story earlier. Why had he married her?—ah, there came in the +sting of the sentence which she had overheard: "You wanted to marry a +rich woman." Yes, she was rich. Sydney had not even paid her the very +poor compliment of deserting another woman because he loved her best—he +had loved her wealth and committed a base deed to gain it, that was all.</p> + +<p>She was unjust to Sydney in this; but it was almost impossible that she +should not be unjust. The remembrance of his burden of debt came back to +her, of the bill that he could not meet, of the list of his liabilities +which he had been so loath to give her, and she told herself that he had +desired nothing but her wealth and the position that she could give him. +To attain his own ends he had made a stepping-stone of her. He was +welcome to do so. She would make it easy for him to use her money, so +that he need never know the humiliation of applying to her for it. Now +that she understood what he wanted, she would never again make the +mistake of supposing that he cared for her. But it was hard on her—hard +to think that she had given the love of her youth to a man who valued +her only for her gold; hard to know that the dream of happiness was +over, and that the brightness of her life was gone. It was no wonder +that Nan's recovery was slow, when she lay, day after day, night after +night, the slow tears creeping down her cheeks, thinking such thoughts +as these. The blow seemed to have broken her heart and her will to live. +It would have been a relief to her to be told that she must die.</p> + +<p>Her weakness was probably responsible for part of the depth and darkness +of her despair. She was a puzzle to her sister-in-law, who had been used +to find in Nan a never-failing spring of brightness and gentle mirth. +Lady Pynsent began to see signs of something more than a physical +ailment. She said one day, more seriously than usual,</p> + +<p>"I hope, Nan, you have not quarreled with your husband."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, no," said Nan, starting and flushing guilty; "I never quarrel +with Sydney."</p> + +<p>"I fancied there was something amiss. Take my advice, Nan, and don't +stand on your dignity with your husband. A man is ready enough to +console himself with somebody else if his wife isn't nice to him. I +would make it up if I were you, if there has been anything wrong."</p> + +<p>Nan kept silence.</p> + +<p>"He is very anxious about you. Don't you think you are well enough to +see him to-day?" For Sydney had not entered Nan's room since that +unlucky time when she fainted at his appearance.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, no—not to-day," said Nan. And then, collecting herself, she +added, "At least—not just yet—a little later in the afternoon, I +mean."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell him to look in at four," said Lady Pynsent.</p> + +<p>So at four Sydney was admitted, and it would have been hard to say +whether husband or wife felt the more embarrassment. Sydney tried hard +to behave as though nothing were amiss between them. He kissed her and +asked after her well-being; but he did so with an inward tremor and a +great uncertainty as to the reception that he should meet with. But she +allowed him to kiss her; she even kissed him in return and smiled a very +little, more than once, while he was talking to her; and he, feeling his +heart grow lighter while she smiled, fancied that the shadow of sadness +in her eyes, the lifelessness of her voice and hand, came simply from +bodily weakness and from no deeper cause.</p> + +<p>After this first visit, he saw her each day for longer intervals, and +realized very quickly that she had no intention of shunning him or +punishing him before the world, as he had feared that she would do. She +was so quiet, so gentle to him, that, with all a man's obtuseness where +women are concerned, he congratulated himself on being let off so +easily, and thought that the matter was to be buried in oblivion. He +even wondered a little at Nan's <i>savoir-faire</i>, and felt a vague sense +of disappointment mingling with his relief. Was he to hear no more about +it, although she had been struck down and brought almost to death's door +by the discovery of his wretched story?</p> + +<p>It seemed to be so, indeed. For some time he was kept in continual +suspense, expecting her to speak to him on the subject; but he waited in +vain. Then, with great reluctance, he himself made some slight approach, +some slight reference to it; a reference so slight that if, as he +sometimes fancied, her illness <i>had</i> destroyed her memory of the +conversation which she had overheard in the study, he need not betray +himself. But there was no trace of lack of memory in Nan's face, when he +brought out the words which he hoped would lead to some fuller +understanding between them. She turned scarlet and then white as snow. +Turning her face aside, she said, in a low but very distinct voice,</p> + +<p>"I want to hear no more about it, Sydney."</p> + +<p>"But, Nan——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Please</i> say no more," she interrupted. And something in her tone made +him keep silence. He looked at her for a minute or two, but she would +not look at him and so he got up and left her, with a sense of mingled +injury and defeat.</p> + +<p>No, she had not forgotten: she was not oblivious; and he doubted whether +she had forgiven him as he thought. The prohibition to speak on the +subject chafed him, although he had previously said to himself that it +was next to impossible for him to mention it to her. And he was puzzled, +for he had not followed the workings of Nan's mind in the least, and the +words, concerning his marriage with her and his reasons for it had +slipped past him unheeded, while his thoughts were fixed upon other +things.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + +<h3>"WHO WITH REPENTANCE IS NOT SATISFIED—."</h3> + + +<p>Before the summer came, Mrs. Sydney Campion was well enough to drive out +in an open carriage, and entertain visitors; but it was painfully +apparent to her friends that her health had received a shock from which +it had not by any means recovered. She grew better up to a certain +point, and there she seemed to stay. She had lost all interest in life. +Day after day, when Sydney came home, he would find her sitting or lying +on a sofa, white and still, with book or work dropped idly in her lap, +her dark eyes full of an unspoken sorrow, her mouth drooping in mournful +curves, her thin cheek laid against a slender hand, where the veins +looked strangely blue through the delicate whiteness of the flesh. But +she never complained. When her husband brought her flowers and presents, +as he still liked to do, she took them gently, and thanked him; but he +noticed that she laid them aside and seldom looked at them again. The +spirit seemed to have gone out of her. And in his own heart Sydney raged +and fretted—for why, he said to himself, should she not be like other +women?—why, if she had a grudge against him, should she not tell him +so? She might reproach him as bitterly as she pleased; the storm would +spend itself in time and break in sunshine; but this terrible silence +was like a nightmare about them both! He wished that he had the courage +to break through it, but he was experiencing the truth of the saying +that conscience makes cowards of us all, and he dared not break the +silence that she had imposed.</p> + +<p>One day, when he had brought her some flowers, she put them away from +her with a slight unusual sign of impatience.</p> + +<p>"Don't bring me any more," she said.</p> + +<p>Her husband looked at her intently. "You don't care for them?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I thought," he said, a little mortification struggling with natural +disappointment in his breast, "that I had heard you say you liked +them—or, at any rate, that you liked me to bring them——"</p> + +<p>"That was long ago," she answered softly, but coldly. She lay with her +eyes closed, her face very pale and weary.</p> + +<p>"One would think," he went on, spurred by puzzled anger to put a long +unspoken thought into bare words, "that you did not care for me +now—that you did not love me any longer?"</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes and looked at him steadily. There was something +almost like pity in her face.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it is true, Sydney. I am very sorry."</p> + +<p>He stood staring at her a little longer, as if he could not believe his +ears. The red blood slowly mounted to his forehead. She returned his +gaze with the same look of almost wistful pity, in which there was an +aloofness, a coldness, that showed him as nothing else had ever done the +extent of her estrangement from himself. Somehow he felt as though she +had struck him on the lips. He walked away from her without another +word, and shut himself into his study, where he sat for some minutes at +his writing-table, seeing nothing, thinking of nothing, dumbly conscious +that he was, on the whole, more wretched than he had ever been in the +course of a fairly prosperous and successful life.</p> + +<p>He loved Nan, and Nan did not love him. Well, there was an end of his +domestic happiness. Fortunately, there was work to be done still, +success to be achieved, prizes to win in the world of men. He was not +going to sit down and despair because he had lost a woman's love. And +so, with set lips and frowning brow he once more set to work, and this +time with redoubled vigor; but he knew all the while that he was a very +miserable man.</p> + +<p>Perhaps if he had seen Nan crying over the flowers that she had just +rejected, he might have hoped that there was still a chance of +recovering the place in her heart which he had lost.</p> + +<p>But after this short conversation life went on in the old ways. Sydney +appeared to be more than ever engrossed in his work. Nan grew paler and +stiller every day. Lady Pynsent became anxious and distressed.</p> + +<p>"Sydney, what are you doing? what are you thinking about?" she said to +him one day, when she managed to catch him for five minutes alone. +"Don't you see how ill Nan is?"</p> + +<p>"She looks ill; but she always says there is nothing the matter with +her."</p> + +<p>"That is a very bad sign. I hope you have made her consult a good +doctor? There is Burrows—I should take her to him."</p> + +<p>"Burrows! Why, he is a specialist!"</p> + +<p>"Nan's mother died of decline. Burrows attended her."</p> + +<p>Sydney went away with a new fear implanted in his heart.</p> + +<p>Dr. Burrows was sent for, and saw his patient; but he did not seem able +to form any definite opinion concerning her. He said a few words to +Sydney, however, which gave him food for a good deal of reflection +during the next day or two.</p> + +<p>At the end of that time, he came to Nan's sitting-room with a look of +quiet purpose on his face. "May I speak to you for a minute?" he began +formally—he had got into the way of speaking very formally and +ceremoniously to her now. "Can you listen to me?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Won't you sit down?"</p> + +<p>But he preferred to remain standing at an angle where she could not see +his face without turning her head. "I have been talking to Dr. Burrows +about you. He tells me, I am sorry to say, that you are still very weak; +but he thinks that there is nothing wrong but weakness, though that is +bad enough in itself. But he wishes me also to say—you will remember +that it is he who speaks, not I—that if you could manage to rouse +yourself, Nan, if <i>you</i> would made an effort to get stronger, he thinks +you might do it, if you chose."</p> + +<p>"Like Mrs. Dombey," said Nan, with a faint, cheerless smile.</p> + +<p>"He is afraid," Sydney went on, with the air of one who repeats a +lesson, "that you are drifting into a state of hopeless invalidism, +which you might still avoid. Once in that state you would not die, Nan, +as you might like to do: you would live for years in helpless, useless, +suffering. Nan, my dear, it is very hard for me to say this to you"—his +voice quivering—"but I promised Burrows, for your own sake, that I +would. Such a life, Nan, would be torture to you; and you have still +within your power—you can prevent it if you chose."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me very cruel to say so," Nan answered, quietly. "What can +I do that I have not done? I have taken all the doctors' remedies and +done exactly as they bade me. I am very tired of being ill and weak, I +assure you. It is not my fault that I should like to die."</p> + +<p>She began to cry a little as she spoke. Her mouth and chin quivered: the +tears ran slowly over her white cheeks. Sydney drew a step nearer.</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't your fault," he said, hoarsely, "it is mine. I believe I +am killing you by inches. Do you want to make me feel myself a murderer? +Could you not—even for my poor sake—<i>try</i> to get stronger, Nan, <i>try</i> +to take an interest in something—something healthy and reasonable? That +is what Dr. Burrows says you need; and I can't do this thing for you; I, +whom you don't love any longer," he said, with a sudden fury of passion +which stopped her tears at once, "but who love <i>you</i> with all my heart, +as I never loved in all my life before—I swear it before God!"</p> + +<p>He stopped short: he had not meant to speak of his love for her, only to +urge her to make that effort over her languor and her indifference which +the great physician said she must make before her health could be +restored. Nan lay looking at him, the tears drying on her pale cheeks, +her lips parted, her eyes unusually bright; but she did not speak.</p> + +<p>"If there was anything I could do to please you," her husband went on in +a quieter tone, "I would do it. Would you care, for instance, to live +abroad? Burrows recommends a bracing air. If you would go with me to +Norway or Switzerland—at once; and then pass the winter at Davos, or +any place you liked; perhaps you would care for that? Is there nothing +you would like to do? You used to say you wanted to see India——"</p> + +<p>"But your work!" she broke in suddenly. "<i>You</i> could not go: it is +useless to talk of an impossibility."</p> + +<p>"If it would make you better or happier, I would go."</p> + +<p>"But the House?——"</p> + +<p>"Nothing easier than to accept the Chiltern Hundreds," said Sydney.</p> + +<p>"And your profession?" said Nan, raising herself on one arm and looking +keenly at him.</p> + +<p>She saw that he winced at the question, but he scarcely paused before he +replied.</p> + +<p>"I have thought it well over. I could go on practising when I came back +to England; and in the meantime——I suppose you would have to take me +abroad, Nan: I could not well take you," he said with a grim sort of +jocularity, which she could not help seeing was painful to him. "If it +did you good, as Burrows thinks it would, I should be quite prepared to +give up everything else."</p> + +<p>"Give up everything else," Nan murmured. "For me?"</p> + +<p>He drew a long breath. "Well, yes. The fact is I have lost some of my +old interest in my work, compared with other things. I have come to +this, Nan—I would let my career go to the winds, if by doing so, I +could give you back strength and happiness. Tell me what I can do: that +is all. I have caused you a great deal of misery, I know: if there is +any way in which I can——atone——"</p> + +<p>He did not go on, and for a few moments Nan could not speak. There was +color enough in her cheeks now, and light in her eyes, but she turned +away from him, and would not let him see her face.</p> + +<p>"I want to think over what you have said. Please don't think me +ungracious or unkind, Sydney. I want to do what is best. We can talk +about it another time, can we not?"</p> + +<p>"Any time you like."</p> + +<p>And then he left her, and she lay still.</p> + +<p>Had she been wrong all the while? Had she of her own free will allowed +herself to drift into this state of languor, and weakness, and +indifference to everything? What did these doctors know—what did Sydney +himself know—of the great wave of disgust and shame and scorn that had +passed over her soul and submerged all that was good and fair? They +could not understand: she said to herself passionately that no man could +understand the recoil of a woman's heart against sensual passion and +impurity. In her eyes Sydney had fallen as much as the woman whom he had +betrayed, although she knew that the world would not say so; and in his +degradation she felt herself included. She was dragged down to his +level—<i>she</i> was dragged through the mire: that was the thought that +scorched her from time to time like a darting flame of fire. For Nan was +very proud, although she looked so gentle, and she had never before come +into contact with anything that could stain her whiteness of soul.</p> + +<p>She had told Sydney that she loved him no longer, and in the deadness of +emotion which had followed on the first acuteness of her grief for her +lost idol, and the physical exhaustion caused by her late illness, she +had thought she spoke the truth. But, after all, what was this yearning +over him, in spite of all his errors, but love? what this continual +thought of him, this aching sense of loss, even this intense desire that +he should suffer for his sin, but an awakening within her of the deep, +blind love that, as a woman has said, sometimes</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Stirreth deep below"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>the ordinary love of common life, with a</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">"Hidden beating slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the blind yearning, and the long-drawn breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the love that conquers death"?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>For the first time she was conscious of the existence of love that was +beyond the region of spoken words, or caresses, or the presence of the +beloved: love that intertwined itself with the fibres of her whole +being, so that if it were smitten her very life was smitten too. This +was the explanation of her weariness, her weakness, her distaste for +everything: the best part of herself was gone when her love seemed to be +destroyed. The invisible cords of love which bind a mother to her child +are explicable on natural grounds; but not less strong, not less +natural, though less common, are those which hold a nature like Nan's to +the soul of the man she loves. That Sydney was unworthy of such a love, +need not be said; but it is the office of the higher nature to seek out +the unworthy and "to make the low nature better by its throes."</p> + +<p>Nan lay still and looked her love in the face, and was startled to find +that it was by no means dead, but stronger than it had been before. "And +he is my husband," she said to herself; "I am bound to be true to him. I +am ashamed to have faltered. What does it matter if he has erred? I may +be bitterly sorry, but I will not love him one whit the less. I could +never leave him now."</p> + +<p>But a thought followed which was a pain to her. If she loved him in +spite of error, what of her own sense of right and wrong? Was she not in +danger of paltering with it in order to excuse him? would she not in +time be tempted to say that he had not erred, that he had done only as +other men do?—and so cloud the fair outlines of truth which had +hitherto been mapped out with ethereal clearness for her by that +conscience which she had always regarded, vaguely but earnestly, as in +some sort the voice of God? Would she ever say that she herself had been +an ignorant little fool in her judgment of men and men's temptations, +and laugh at herself for her narrowness and the limitation of her view? +Would she come to renounce her high ideal, and content herself with what +was merely expedient and comfortable and "like other people"? In that +day, it seemed to Nan that she will be selling her own soul.</p> + +<p>No, the way out of the present difficulty was not easy. She could tell +Sydney that she loved him, but not that she thought him anything but +wrong—wrong from beginning to end in the conduct of his past life. And +would he be content with a love that condemned him? How easy it would be +for her to love and forgive him if only he would give her one little +sign by which to know that he himself was conscious of the blackness of +that past! Repentance would show at least that there was no twist in his +conscience, no flaw in his ethical constitution; it would set him right +with the universe, if not with himself. For the moment there was nothing +Nan so passionately desired as to hear him own himself in the wrong—not +for any personal satisfaction so much as for his own sake; also that she +might then put him upon a higher pedestal than ever, and worship him as +a woman is always able to worship the man who has sinned and repented, +rather than the man who has never fallen from his high estate; to +rejoice over him as angels rejoice over the penitent more than over the +just that need no repentance.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Sydney was a good deal startled when his wife said to him a few days +later, in rather a timid way:</p> + +<p>"Your sister has never been here. May I ask her to come and see me?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if you wish it." He had not come to approve of Lettice's +course of action, but he did not wish his disapproval to be patent to +the world.</p> + +<p>"I do wish it very much."</p> + +<p>Sydney glanced at her quickly, but she did not look back at him. She +only said:</p> + +<p>"I have her address. I will ask her to come to-morrow afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Very well."</p> + +<p>So Nan wrote her note, and Lettice came.</p> + +<p>As it happened, the two had never met. Lettice's preoccupation with her +own affairs, Sydney's first resentment, now wearing off, and Nan's +subsequent illness, had combined to prevent their forming any +acquaintance. But the two women had no sooner clasped hands, and looked +into each other's eyes, than they loved one another, and the sense of +mental kinship made itself plain between them.</p> + +<p>They sat down together on the couch in Nan's private sitting-room and +fell into a little aimless talk, which was succeeded by a short, +significant silence. Then Nan put out her hand and look Lettice's in her +own.</p> + +<p>"<i>You know!</i>" she said, in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"I know—what?"</p> + +<p>"You know all that is wrong between Sydney and myself. You know what +made me ill."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you know too—that I love him—very dearly." The words were broken +by a sob.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear—as he loves you."</p> + +<p>"You think so—really?"</p> + +<p>"I am quite sure of it. How could you doubt that?"</p> + +<p>"I did doubt it for a time. I heard the man say that he married me +because I was—rich."</p> + +<p>"And you believed it?"</p> + +<p>"I believed anything—everything. And the rest," said Nan, with a rising +color in her face, "the rest was true."</p> + +<p>"Dear," said Lettice, gently, "there is only one thing to be said +now—that he would be very glad to undo the past. He is very sorry."</p> + +<p>"You think he is?"</p> + +<p>"Can you look at him and not see the marks of his sorrow and his pain +upon his face? He has suffered a great deal; and it would be better for +him now to forget the past, and to feel that you forgave him."</p> + +<p>Nan brushed away some falling tears, but did not speak at once.</p> + +<p>"Lettice," she said at last, in a broken whisper, "I believe I have been +very hard and cold all these long months. I thought I did not care—but +I do, I do. Only—I wish I could forget—that poor girl—and the little +child——"</p> + +<p>She burst into sudden weeping, so vehement that Lettice put both her +arms round the slight, shaken figure, and tried to calm her by caresses +and gentle words.</p> + +<p>"Is there nothing that I could do? nothing Sydney could do—to make +amends?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Lettice gently, but with decision. "They are happy now, +and prosperous; good has come out of the evil, and it is better to +forget the evil itself. Don't be afraid; I hear from them, and about +them, constantly, and if ever they were in need of help, our hands would +be the ones stretched out to help them. The good we cannot do to them we +can do to others for their sakes."</p> + +<p>And Nan was comforted.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Sydney came home early that evening; anxious, disquieted, somewhat out +of heart. He found that Lettice had gone, and that Nan was in her +sitting-room. He generally went up to her when he came in, and this time +he did not fail; though his lips paled a little as he went upstairs, for +the thought forced itself upon him that Lettice might have made things +worse, not better, between himself and his wife.</p> + +<p>The daylight was fading as he entered the room. Nan was lying down, but +she was not asleep, for she turned her head towards him as he entered. +He noticed the movement. Of late she had always averted her face when he +came near her. He wished that he could see her more plainly, but she was +wrapped in shadow, and the room was almost dark.</p> + +<p>He asked after her health as usual, and whether Lettice had been and +gone. Then silence fell between them, but he felt that Nan was looking +at him intently, and he did not dare to turn away.</p> + +<p>"Sydney," she said at last. "Will you come here? Close to me. I want to +say something——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Nan?"</p> + +<p>He bent down over her, with something like a new hope in his heart. What +was she going to say to him?</p> + +<p>"Sydney—will you take me to Switzerland?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly." Was that all? "When shall we go?"</p> + +<p>"When can you leave London?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow. Any time."</p> + +<p>"You really would give up all your engagements, all your prospects, for +me?"</p> + +<p>"Willingly, Nan."</p> + +<p>"I begin to believe," she said, softly, "that you do care for me—a +little."</p> + +<p>"Nan! Oh, Nan, have you doubted it?"</p> + +<p>Her hand stole gently into his; she drew him down beside her.</p> + +<p>"Dear Sydney, come, here. Put your arm right round me—so. Now I can +speak. I want to tell you something—many things. It is Lettice that has +made me think I ought to say all this. Do you know, I have felt for a +long, long time as if you had killed me—killed the best part of me, I +mean—the soul that loved you, the belief in all that was good and true. +That is why I have been so miserable. I did not know how to bear it. I +thought that I did not love you; but I have loved you all the time; and +now—now——"</p> + +<p>"Now?" said Sydney. She felt that the arm on which she leaned was +trembling like a leaf.</p> + +<p>"Now I could love you better than ever—if I knew one thing—if I dared +ask——"</p> + +<p>"You may ask what you like," he said, in a husky voice.</p> + +<p>"It is not such a very great thing," she said, simply; "it is only what +you yourself think about the past: whether you think with me that it is +something to be sorry about, or something to be justified. I feel as if +I could forget it if I knew that you were sorry; and if you justified +it—as some men would do—oh, I should never reproach you, Sydney, but I +would much rather die!"</p> + +<p>There was a silence. His head was on the cushion beside her, but his +face was hidden, and she could gather only from his loud, quick +breathing that he was deeply moved. But it was some time before he +spoke. "I don't try to justify myself," he said, at last. "I was +wrong—I know it well enough—and—well if you must have me say it—God +knows that I am—sorry."</p> + +<p>"Ah," she said, "that is all I wanted you to say. Oh Sydney, my darling, +can anything now but death come between you and me?"</p> + +<p>And she drew his head down upon her bosom and let it rest there, dearer +in the silent shame that bowed it before her than in the heyday of its +pride.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>So they were reconciled, and the past sin and sorrow were slowly blotted +out in waters of repentance. Before the world, Sydney Campion is still +the gay, confident, successful man that he has always been—a man who +does not make many friends, and who has, or appears to have, an +overweening belief in his own powers. But there is a softer strain in +him as well. Within his heart there is a chamber held sacred from the +busy world in which he moves: and here a woman is enshrined, with all +due observance, with lights burning and flowers blooming, as his patron +saint. It is Nan who presides here, who knows the inmost recesses of his +thought, who has gauged the extent of his failures and weakness as well +as his success, who is conscious of the strength of his regrets as well +as the burdensome weight of a dead sin. And in her, therefore, he puts +the trust which we can only put in those who know all sides of us, the +worst side even as the best: on her he has even come to lean with that +sense of uttermost dependence, that feeling of repose, which is given to +us only in the presence of a love that is more than half divine.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + +<h3>A FREE PARDON.</h3> + + +<p>St. James' Hall was packed from end to end one summer afternoon by an +eager mob of music lovers—or, at least, of those who counted themselves +as such. The last Philharmonic Concert of the season had been announced; +and as one of its items was Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, the crowd was, +as usual on such an occasion, a great and enthusiastic one.</p> + +<p>Even the dark little gallery near the roof, fronting the orchestra, was +well filled, for there are music lovers (mostly those whose purse is +lean) who declare that, though the shilling gallery is hot, and close, +and dark, there is in all the room no better place for hearing the great +waves of sound rolled out by the orchestra from the Master's mighty +scores. And it was for this reason that Lettice Campion came up the +narrow stairs that afternoon at ten minutes to three, and found, as she +might have expected, that only a few seats against the wall remained +empty. Into the nearest of these she dropped, rather exhausted by her +climb and the haste that she had made; and then she noticed, as her eyes +became accustomed to the dim light, that some one beside her had half +turned round, and was looking earnestly into her face.</p> + +<p>"Alan!"</p> + +<p>The color sprang into Lettice's face: the roll of music that she carried +dropped from her lap as she held out her hand. Alan returned her +greeting, and then dived for her music, thus giving her a moment in +which to recover her self-possession. When he came up again, she was +still a little flushed, but she was smiling tranquilly.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad to see you," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what impelled me to come this afternoon. I never thought +that I should have this happiness." Then in a lower tone, "You don't +mind my being here? You don't want me to go away?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, why should I? It does not matter—here."</p> + +<p>They had not seen each other at all for weeks, and had met only two or +three times, and then for a few minutes only, since Alan left Bute Lodge +in December. They corresponded freely and frankly, but Lettice had +decreed, in spite of some murmurs from Alan, that they should not meet. +Scandal had been busy with her name, and, until Alan obtained his +divorce, it seemed better to her to live a very retired life, seeing +almost nobody, and especially guarding herself against accusations of +any close association with Alan Walcott.</p> + +<p>"I had just posted a letter to you before I came out," he said. They +were at the end of the last row of seats and could talk, before the +music began, without any fear of being overheard. "It is as I expected, +Lettice. There are great difficulties in our way."</p> + +<p>She looked an interrogation.</p> + +<p>"The length of time that has elapsed is an obstacle. We cannot find any +proof of worse things than drunkenness and brawling during the last year +or two. And of the events before that time, when I know that she was +untrue to me, we scarcely see how to obtain absolute proof. You must +forgive me for mentioning these things to you, but I am obliged."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and there is no reason why you should not tell me everything," she +said, turning her quiet eyes upon him with a look of such perfect trust +that the tumult in Alan's mind was suddenly stilled. "But you knew that +there would be difficulties. Is there anything else?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly know how to tell you. She has done what I half expected her to +do—she has brought a counter charge against me—against——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, I understand. All the more, reason, Alan, why we should fight it +out."</p> + +<p>"My love," he said, in the lowest possible tone that could reach her +ears, "if you knew how it grieves me that you should suffer!"</p> + +<p>"But I am suffering with you," she answered tenderly; "and don't you +think that I would rather do that than see you bear your suffering +alone?"</p> + +<p>Here the first notes of the orchestra fell upon their ear, and the +conversation had to cease. For the next hour or so they had scarcely +time to do more than interchange a word or two, but they sat side by +side rapt in a strange content. The music filled their veins with +intoxicating delight; it was of a kind that Lettice rejoiced in +exceedingly, and that Alan loved without quite knowing why. The +Tannhauser Overture, the Walküren-Ritt, two of Schubert's loveliest +songs, and the less exciting but more easily comprehensible productions +of an earlier classical composer, were the chief items of the first part +of the concert. Then came an interval, after which the rest of the +afternoon would be devoted to the Choral Symphony. But during this +interval Alan hastened to make the most of his opportunity.</p> + +<p>"We shall have a bitter time," he murmured in her ear, feeling, +nevertheless, that nothing was bitter which would bring him eventually +to her side.</p> + +<p>She smiled a little. "Leave it alone then," she said, half mockingly. +"Go your own way and be at peace."</p> + +<p>"Lettice! I can never be at peace now without you."</p> + +<p>"Is not that very unreasonable of you?" she asked, speaking lightly +because she felt so deeply. The joy of his presence was almost +oppressive. She had longed for it so often, and it had come to her for +these two short hours so unexpectedly, that it nearly overwhelmed her.</p> + +<p>"No, dearest, it is most natural. I have nobody to love, to trust, but +you. Tell me that you feel as I do, that you want to be mine—mine +wholly, and then I shall fight with a better heart, and be as brave as +you have always been."</p> + +<p>"Be brave, then," she said with a shadowy smile. "Yes, Alan, if it is +any help to you to know it, I shall be glad when we need never part."</p> + +<p>"I sometimes wonder," he murmured, "whether that day will ever come!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it will come," she answered gently. "I think that after our +long days of darkness there is sunshine for us—somewhere—by and by."</p> + +<p>And then the music began, and as the two listened to the mighty +harmonies, their hands met and clasped each other under cover of the +book which Lettice held, and their hearts seemed to beat in unison as +the joyous choral music pealed out across the hall—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Freude, schöner Götterfunken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tochter aus Elysium,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wir betreten feuertrunken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Himmlische, dein Heiligthum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deine Zauber binden wieder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was die Mode streng getheilt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alle Menschen werden Bruder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I feel," said Alan, as they lingered for a moment in the dimness of the +gallery when the symphony was over, and the crowd was slowly filing out +into Regent Street and Piccadilly, "I feel as if that hymn of joy were +the prelude to some new and happier life."</p> + +<p>And Lettice smiled in answer, but a little sadly, for she saw no happier +life before them but one, which must be reached through tortuous courses +of perplexity and pain.</p> + +<p>The dream of joy had culminated in that brief, impulsive, unconscious +transmigration of soul and soul; but with the cessation of the music it +dissolved again. The realities of their condition began to crowd upon +them as they left the hall. But the disillusion came gradually. They +still knew and felt that they were supremely happy; and as they waited +for the cab, into which Alan insisted on putting her, she looked at him +with a bright and grateful smile.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad I saw you. It has been perfect," she said.</p> + +<p>He had made her take his arm—more for the sake of closer contact than +for any necessity of the crowd—and he pressed it as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"It is not quite over yet," he said. "Let me take you home."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, no. Not to-day, Alan. See, there is an empty hansom."</p> + +<p>He did not gainsay her, but helped her carefully into the cab, and, when +she was seated, leaned forward to clasp her hand and speak a parting +word. But it was not yet spoken when, with a sharp cry, Lettice started +and cast herself in front of him, as though to protect him from a danger +which he could not see.</p> + +<p>In the confused press of men and women, horses and carriages, which +filled the street at this hour from side to side, she had suddenly +caught sight of a never-forgotten face—a hungry face, full of malice, +full of a wicked exultation, keen for revenge.</p> + +<p>Cora Walcott, crossing the road, and halting for a moment at the central +landing-place, was gazing at the people as they poured out of St. James' +Hall. As Alan helped Lettice into the hansom and bent forward to speak +to her, she recognized him at once.</p> + +<p>Without a pause she plunged madly into the labyrinth of moving carriages +and cabs; and it was then that Lettice saw her, less than three yards +away, and apparently in the act of hurling a missile from her uplifted +hand.</p> + +<p>It was all the work of an instant. The woman shrieked with impotent +rage; the drivers shouted and stormed at her; men and women, seeing her +danger, cried out in their excitement; and, just as she came within +reach of her husband's cab, she was struck by the shaft of a passing +brougham, and fell beneath the horse's hoofs.</p> + +<p>It was Lettice's hands that raised the insensible body from the mire. It +was Alan who lifted her into an empty cab, and took her to the nearest +hospital—whence she never emerged again until her last narrow home had +been made ready to receive her.</p> + +<p>Cora did not regain consciousness before she died. There was no +death-bed confession, no clearing of her husband's name from the +dishonor which she had brought upon it, no reawakening of any kind. Alan +would have to go through the world unabsolved by any justification that +she was capable of giving. But with Lettice at his side, he was strong +enough, brave enough, to hear Society's verdict on his character with a +smile, and to confront the world steadily, knowing what a coward thing +its censure not unfrequently is; and how conscious courage and purity +can cause it to slink, away abashed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On a certain evening, early in the session of 1885, some half-dozen men +were gathered together in a quiet angle of the members' smoking-room at +the Oligarchy Club.</p> + +<p>During the past day or two there had been unwonted jubilation in every +corner of the Oligarchy, and with reason, as the Oligarchs naturally +thought; for Mr. Gladstone's second Administration had suddenly come to +an end. It had puzzled many good Conservatives to understand how that +Administration, burdened by an accumulation of blunders and disasters, +was able to endure so long; but at any rate the hour of doom had struck +at last, and jubilation was natural enough amongst those who were +likely, or thought they were likely, to profit by the change.</p> + +<p>Sir John Pynsent and his friends had been discussing with much animation +the probable distribution of the patronage which the see-saw of party +government had now placed in the hands of the Conservative leader. Sir +John, whose opinion on this subject was specially valued by his +political associates, had already nominated the Cabinet and filled up +most of the subordinate offices; and he had not omitted to bestow a +place of honor and emolument upon his ambitious relative, Sydney +Campion.</p> + +<p>The good-natured baronet was due that evening at the house of Lord +Montagu Plumley, and he hurried away to keep his appointment. When he +had gone the conversation became less general and more unrestrained, and +there were even a few notes of scepticism in regard to some of Sir +John's nominations.</p> + +<p>"Plumley is safe enough," said Mr. Charles Milton. "He has worked hard +to bring about this result, and it would be impossible for the new +Premier to pass him over. But it is quite another matter when you come +to talk about Plumley's friends, or his friends' friends. I for one +shall be very much surprised if Campion gets the solicitorship."</p> + +<p>"He's not half a bad sort," said Tom Willoughby, "and his name is being +put forward in the papers as though some people thought he had a very +good chance."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, we know how that kind of thing is worked. The point most in +his favor is that there are not half-a-dozen men in Parliament good +enough for the post."</p> + +<p>"What is the objection to him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't say there is any objection. He is not a man who makes many +friends: and I fancy some of his best cases have been won more by luck +than by judgment. Then he has made one or two decidedly big mistakes. He +will never be quite forgiven for taking up that prosecution of Walcott +for a purely personal object. I know the late Attorney was much put out +when he found how he had been utilized in that affair."</p> + +<p>"Pynsent seems to think him pretty sure of the offer."</p> + +<p>"Just so; and if anyone can help him to it, Pynsent is the man. That +marriage was the best thing Campion ever did for himself, in more ways +than one. He wants holding in and keeping straight; and his wife has him +well in hand, as everybody can see."</p> + +<p>"They seem a very happy couple."</p> + +<p>"He is devoted to her, that is plain enough; and I never thought he had +it in him to care for anybody but himself. I met them last Easter at +Dalton's place. They seemed to hit off extremely well."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she has improved him; there is no doubt about that. She is a very +charming woman. What on earth does Dalton do with himself at Angleford?"</p> + +<p>"He has become an orchard man on a grand scale," said Willoughby. "Three +years ago he planted nearly a hundred acres with the best young stocks +he could find, and he says he has every apple in the <i>Pomona</i> worth +eating or cooking."</p> + +<p>"He has got over that affair with Campion's sister, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know that he has. Brooke Dalton's one of the finest fellows in +existence: there's a heart in him somewhere, and he does not easily +forget. I came upon him and Campion one day in the garden, and though +they knew I was close to them they went on talking about her and her +husband. 'You were always too hard on her, Sydney,' Brooke was saying, +'and now you have admitted as much.' 'I don't wish to be hard on <i>her</i>, +but I can't bear that man,' Campion said—meaning Walcott, of course. +'Well,' Dalton said,' I am perfectly sure that she would not have stuck +to him through thick and thin, so bravely and so purely, unless she had +been convinced of his innocence. As I believe in her, I am bound to +believe in him. Don't you think so?' he said, turning to me. 'I hope +every one who knows her will show her the respect and reverence that she +deserves. Now that they have come back to England, Edith is going to +call on her at once.' Edith is his sister, you know: and she tells my +mother that she called immediately."</p> + +<p>"How did Campion take it?"</p> + +<p>"Very well, indeed. He said, 'You were always a good fellow, Brooke, and +I may have been mistaken.' New thing to hear Campion owning up, isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>"So the Walcotts have come back?" said Milton, with some excitement. "By +Jove, I shall leave my card to-morrow. Of course, he was innocent. I +knew all about it, for I defended him at the Old Bailey.—No wonder +Campion is uncomfortable about it."</p> + +<p>The idea seemed to divert Milton very much, and he chuckled over it for +two or three minutes.</p> + +<p>"From what my mother says," Willoughby continued, "people seem disposed +to take them up. Her books, you know, are awfully popular—and didn't +you see how well the papers spoke of his last poems? You mark my +words—there will be a run upon the Walcotts by and by."</p> + +<p>"Just the way of the world!" said Charles Milton. "Three or four years +ago they would have lynched him. Poor devil! I remember when I was about +the only man in London who refused to believe him guilty."</p> + +<p>"One thing is plain enough," said Tom Willoughby. "He would have gone to +the dogs long ago if it had not been for her. I have not come across +many heroines in my time, though I have heard of plenty from other +people; but I am bound to confess that I never heard of one who deserved +the name better than Mrs. Walcott."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The world bestowed its free pardon upon Alan Walcott, and for the sake +of her who had taught him to fight against despair and death he accepted +graciously a gift which otherwise would have been useless to him. +Inspired by her, he had built a new life upon the ruins of his past; and +if, henceforth, he lived and labored for the world, it was only with the +new motives and the new energy which she had implanted in him.</p> + +<p>The house at Chiswick is now their own. There Alan and Lettice crown the +joys of a peaceful existence by remembering the sorrows of other days; +and there, in the years to come, they will teach their children the +faith of human sympathy, the hope of human effort, and the charity of +service and sacrifice.</p> + + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30110 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |