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@@ -0,0 +1,2523 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Dawn of a To-morrow, by Frances Hodgson +Burnett, Illustrated by F. C. Yohn + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Dawn of a To-morrow + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: March, 1996 [eBook #460] +Most recently updated: February 5, 2005 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAWN OF A TO-MORROW*** + + +E-text prepared by Charles Keller with OmniPage Professional OCR software +donated by Caere Corporation + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 460-h.htm or 460-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/6/460/460-h/460-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/6/460/460-h.zip) + + + + + +THE DAWN OF A TO-MORROW + +by + +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + + + + + + + +I + +There are always two ways of looking at a thing, frequently there are +six or seven; but two ways of looking at a London fog are quite enough. +When it is thick and yellow in the streets and stings a man's throat and +lungs as he breathes it, an awakening in the early morning is either an +unearthly and grewsome, or a mysteriously enclosing, secluding, and +comfortable thing. If one awakens in a healthy body, and with a clear +brain rested by normal sleep and retaining memories of a normally +agreeable yesterday, one may lie watching the housemaid building the +fire; and after she has swept the hearth and put things in order, lie +watching the flames of the blazing and crackling wood catch the coals +and set them blazing also, and dancing merrily and filling corners with +a glow; and in so lying and realizing that leaping light and warmth and +a soft bed are good things, one may turn over on one's back, stretching +arms and legs luxuriously, drawing deep breaths and smiling at a +knowledge of the fog outside which makes half-past eight o'clock on a +December morning as dark as twelve o'clock on a December night. Under +such conditions the soft, thick, yellow gloom has its picturesque and +even humorous aspect. One feels enclosed by it at once fantastically +and cosily, and is inclined to revel in imaginings of the picture +outside, its Rembrandt lights and orange yellows, the halos about the +street-lamps, the illumination of shop-windows, the flare of torches +stuck up over coster barrows and coffee-stands, the shadows on the faces +of the men and women selling and buying beside them. Refreshed by sleep +and comfort and surrounded by light, warmth, and good cheer, it is easy +to face the day, to confront going out into the fog and feeling a sort +of pleasure in its mysteries. This is one way of looking at it, but +only one. + +The other way is marked by enormous differences. + +A man--he had given his name to the people of the house as Antony Dart-- +awakened in a third-story bedroom in a lodging-house in a poor street in +London, and as his consciousness returned to him, its slow and reluctant +movings confronted the second point of view--marked by enormous +differences. He had not slept two consecutive hours through the night, +and when he had slept he had been tormented by dreary dreams, which were +more full of misery because of their elusive vagueness, which kept his +tortured brain on a wearying strain of effort to reach some definite +understanding of them. Yet when he awakened the consciousness of being +again alive was an awful thing. If the dreams could have faded into +blankness and all have passed with the passing of the night, how he +could have thanked whatever gods there be! Only not to awake--only not +to awake! But he had awakened. + +The clock struck nine as he did so, consequently he knew the hour. The +lodging-house slavey had aroused him by coming to light the fire. She +had set her candle on the hearth and done her work as stealthily as +possible, but he had been disturbed, though he had made a desperate +effort to struggle back into sleep. That was no use--no use. He was +awake and he was in the midst of it all again. Without the sense of +luxurious comfort he opened his eyes and turned upon his back, throwing +out his arms flatly, so that he lay as in the form of a cross, in heavy +weariness and anguish. For months he had awakened each morning after +such a night and had so lain like a crucified thing. + +As he watched the painful flickering of the damp and smoking wood and +coal he remembered this and thought that there had been a lifetime of +such awakenings, not knowing that the morbidness of a fagged brain +blotted out the memory of more normal days and told him fantastic lies +which were but a hundredth part truth. He could see only the hundredth +part truth, and it assumed proportions so huge that he could see nothing +else. In such a state the human brain is an infernal machine and its +workings can only be conquered if the mortal thing which lives with it-- +day and night, night and day--has learned to separate its controllable +from its seemingly uncontrollable atoms, and can silence its clamor on +its way to madness. + +Antony Dart had not learned this thing and the clamor had had its +hideous way with him. Physicians would have given a name to his mental +and physical condition. He had heard these names often--applied to men +the strain of whose lives had been like the strain of his own, and had +left them as it had left him--jaded, joyless, breaking things. Some of +them had been broken and had died or were dragging out bruised and +tormented days in their own homes or in mad-houses. He always shuddered +when he heard their names, and rebelled with sick fear against the mere +mention of them. They had worked as he had worked, they had been +stricken with the delirium of accumulation--accumulation--as he had +been. They had been caught in the rush and swirl of the great +maelstrom, and had been borne round and round in it, until having +grasped every coveted thing tossing upon its circling waters, they +themselves had been flung upon the shore with both hands full, the rocks +about them strewn with rich possessions, while they lay prostrate and +gazed at all life had brought with dull, hopeless, anguished eyes. He +knew--if the worst came to the worst--what would be said of him, +because he had heard it said of others. "He worked too hard--he worked +too hard." He was sick of hearing it. What was wrong with the world-- +what was wrong with man, as Man--if work could break him like this? If +one believed in Deity, the living creature It breathed into being must +be a perfect thing--not one to be wearied, sickened, tortured by the +life Its breathing had created. A mere man would disdain to build a +thing so poor and incomplete. A mere human engineer who constructed an +engine whose workings were perpetually at fault--which went wrong when +called upon to do the labor it was made for--who would not scoff at it +and cast it aside as a piece of worthless bungling? + +"Something is wrong," he muttered, lying flat upon his cross and staring +at the yellow haze which had crept through crannies in window-sashes +into the room. "Someone is wrong. Is it I--or You?" + +His thin lips drew themselves back against his teeth in a mirthless +smile which was like a grin. + +"Yes," he said. "I am pretty far gone. I am beginning to talk to +myself about God. Bryan did it just before he was taken to Dr. +Hewletts' place and cut his throat." + +He had not led a specially evil life; he had not broken laws, but the +subject of Deity was not one which his scheme of existence had included. +When it had haunted him of late he had felt it an untoward and morbid +sign. The thing had drawn him--drawn him; he had complained against it, +he had argued, sometimes he knew--shuddering--that he had raved. +Something had seemed to stand aside and watch his being and his +thinking. Something which filled the universe had seemed to wait, and to +have waited through all the eternal ages, to see what he--one man--would +do. At times a great appalled wonder had swept over him at his +realization that he had never known or thought of it before. It had +been there always--through all the ages that had passed. And +sometimes--once or twice--the thought had in some unspeakable, +untranslatable way brought him a moment's calm. + +But at other times he had said to himself--with a shivering soul +cowering within him--that this was only part of it all and was a +beginning, perhaps, of religious monomania. + +During the last week he had known what he was going to do--he had made +up his mind. This abject horror through which others had let themselves +be dragged to madness or death he would not endure. The end should come +quickly, and no one should be smitten aghast by seeing or knowing +how it came. In the crowded shabbier streets of London there were +lodging-houses where one, by taking precautions, could end his life in +such a manner as would blot him out of any world where such a man as +himself had been known. A pistol, properly managed, would obliterate +resemblance to any human thing. Months ago through chance talk he had +heard how it could be done--and done quickly. He could leave a +misleading letter. He had planned what it should be--the story it should +tell of a disheartened mediocre venturer of his poor all returning +bankrupt and humiliated from Australia, ending existence in such +pennilessness that the parish must give him a pauper's grave. What did +it matter where a man lay, so that he slept--slept--slept? Surely with +one's brains scattered one would sleep soundly anywhere. + +He had come to the house the night before, dressed shabbily with the +pitiable respectability of a defeated man. He had entered droopingly +with bent shoulders and hopeless hang of head. In his own sphere he was +a man who held himself well. He had let fall a few dispirited sentences +when he had engaged his back room from the woman of the house, and she +had recognized him as one of the luckless. In fact, she had hesitated a +moment before his unreliable look until he had taken out money from his +pocket and paid his rent for a week in advance. She would have that at +least for her trouble, he had said to himself. He should not occupy the +room after to-morrow. In his own home some days would pass before his +household began to make inquiries. He had told his servants that he was +going over to Paris for a change. He would be safe and deep in his +pauper's grave a week before they asked each other why they did not hear +from him. All was in order. One of the mocking agonies was that living +was done for. He had ceased to live. Work, pleasure, sun, moon, and +stars had lost their meaning. He stood and looked at the most radiant +loveliness of land and sky and sea and felt nothing. Success brought +greater wealth each day without stirring a pulse of pleasure, even in +triumph. There was nothing left but the awful days and awful nights to +which he knew physicians could give their scientific name, but had +no healing for. He had gone far enough. He would go no farther. +To-morrow it would have been over long hours. And there would have been +no public declaiming over the humiliating pitifulness of his end. And +what did it matter? + +How thick the fog was outside--thick enough for a man to lose himself +in it. The yellow mist which had crept in under the doors and through +the crevices of the window-sashes gave a ghostly look to the room--a +ghastly, abnormal look, he said to himself. The fire was smouldering +instead of blazing. But what did it matter? He was going out. He had +not bought the pistol last night--like a fool. Somehow his brain had +been so tired and crowded that he had forgotten. + +"Forgotten." He mentally repeated the word as he got out of bed. By +this time to-morrow he should have forgotten everything. THIS TIME +TO-MORROW. His mind repeated that also, as he began to dress himself. +Where should he be? Should he be anywhere? Suppose he awakened again-- +to something as bad as this? How did a man get out of his body? After +the crash and shock what happened? Did one find oneself standing beside +the Thing and looking down at it? It would not be a good thing to stand +and look down on--even for that which had deserted it. But having torn +oneself loose from it and its devilish aches and pains, one would not +care--one would see how little it all mattered. Anything else must be +better than this--the thing for which there was a scientific name but no +healing. He had taken all the drugs, he had obeyed all the medical +orders, and here he was after that last hell of a night--dressing +himself in a back bedroom of a cheap lodging-house to go out and buy a +pistol in this damned fog. + +He laughed at the last phrase of his thought, the laugh which was a +mirthless grin. + +"I am thinking of it as if I was afraid of taking cold," he said. "And +to-morrow--!" + +There would be no To-morrow. To-morrows were at an end. No more +nights--no more days--no more morrows. + +He finished dressing, putting on his discriminatingly chosen +shabby-genteel clothes with a care for the effect he intended them to +produce. The collar and cuffs of his shirt were frayed and yellow, and +he fastened his collar with a pin and tied his worn necktie carelessly. +His overcoat was beginning to wear a greenish shade and look threadbare, +so was his hat. When his toilet was complete he looked at himself in the +cracked and hazy glass, bending forward to scrutinize his unshaven face +under the shadow of the dingy hat. + +"It is all right," he muttered. "It is not far to the pawnshop where I +saw it." + +The stillness of the room as he turned to go out was uncanny. As it was +a back room, there was no street below from which could arise sounds of +passing vehicles, and the thickness of the fog muffled such sound as +might have floated from the front. He stopped half-way to the door, not +knowing why, and listened. To what--for what? The silence seemed to +spread through all the house--out into the streets--through all +London--through all the world, and he to stand in the midst of it, a man +on the way to Death--with no To-morrow. + +What did it mean? It seemed to mean something. The world withdrawn-- +life withdrawn--sound withdrawn--breath withdrawn. He stood and waited. +Perhaps this was one of the symptoms of the morbid thing for which there +was that name. If so he had better get away quickly and have it over, +lest he be found wandering about not knowing--not knowing. But now he +knew--the Silence. He waited--waited and tried to hear, as if +something was calling him--calling without sound. It returned to him-- +the thought of That which had waited through all the ages to see what +he--one man--would do. He had never exactly pitied himself before--he +did not know that he pitied himself now, but he was a man going to his +death, and a light, cold sweat broke out on him and it seemed as if it +was not he who did it, but some other--he flung out his arms and cried +aloud words he had not known he was going to speak. + +"Lord! Lord! What shall I do to be saved?" + +But the Silence gave no answer. It was the Silence still. + +And after standing a few moments panting, his arms fell and his head +dropped, and turning the handle of the door, he went out to buy the +pistol. + +II + +As he went down the narrow staircase, covered with its dingy and +threadbare carpet, he found the house so full of dirty yellow haze that +he realized that the fog must be of the extraordinary ones which are +remembered in after-years as abnormal specimens of their kind. He +recalled that there had been one of the sort three years before, and +that traffic and business had been almost entirely stopped by it, that +accidents had happened in the streets, and that people having lost their +way had wandered about turning corners until they found themselves far +from their intended destinations and obliged to take refuge in hotels or +the houses of hospitable strangers. Curious incidents had occurred and +odd stories were told by those who had felt themselves obliged by +circumstances to go out into the baffling gloom. He guessed that +something of a like nature had fallen upon the town again. The +gas-light on the landings and in the melancholy hall burned feebly--so +feebly that one got but a vague view of the rickety hat-stand and the +shabby overcoats and head-gear hanging upon it. It was well for him +that he had but a corner or so to turn before he reached the pawnshop in +whose window he had seen the pistol he intended to buy. + +When he opened the street-door he saw that the fog was, upon the whole, +perhaps even heavier and more obscuring, if possible, than the one so +well remembered. He could not see anything three feet before him, he +could not see with distinctness anything two feet ahead. The sensation +of stepping forward was uncertain and mysterious enough to be almost +appalling. A man not sufficiently cautious might have fallen into any +open hole in his path. Antony Dart kept as closely as possible to the +sides of the houses. It would have been easy to walk off the pavement +into the middle of the street but for the edges of the curb and the step +downward from its level. Traffic had almost absolutely ceased, though +in the more important streets link-boys were making efforts to guide +men or four-wheelers slowly along. The blind feeling of the thing was +rather awful. Though but few pedestrians were out, Dart found himself +once or twice brushing against or coming into forcible contact with men +feeling their way about like himself. + +"One turn to the right," he repeated mentally, "two to the left, and the +place is at the corner of the other side of the street." + +He managed to reach it at last, but it had been a slow, and therefore, +long journey. All the gas-jets the little shop owned were lighted, but +even under their flare the articles in the window--the one or two once +cheaply gaudy dresses and shawls and men's garments--hung in the haze +like the dreary, dangling ghosts of things recently executed. Among +watches and forlorn pieces of old-fashioned jewelry and odds and ends, +the pistol lay against the folds of a dirty gauze shawl. There it was. +It would have been annoying if someone else had been beforehand and had +bought it. + +Inside the shop more dangling spectres hung and the place was almost +dark. It was a shabby pawnshop, and the man lounging behind the counter +was a shabby man with an unshaven, unamiable face. + +"I want to look at that pistol in the right-hand corner of your window," +Antony Dart said. + +The pawnbroker uttered a sound something between a half-laugh and a +grunt. He took the weapon from the window. + +Antony Dart examined it critically. He must make quite sure of it. He +made no further remark. He felt he had done with speech. + +Being told the price asked for the purchase, he drew out his purse and +took the money from it. After making the payment he noted that he still +possessed a five-pound note and some sovereigns. There passed through +his mind a wonder as to who would spend it. The most decent thing, +perhaps, would be to give it away. If it was in his room--to-morrow-- +the parish would not bury him, and it would be safer that the parish +should. + +He was thinking of this as he left the shop and began to cross the +street. Because his mind was wandering he was less watchful. Suddenly +a rubber-tired hansom, moving without sound, appeared immediately in his +path--the horse's head loomed up above his own. He made the inevitable +involuntary whirl aside to move out of the way, the hansom passed, and +turning again, he went on. His movement had been too swift to allow of +his realizing the direction in which his turn had been made. He was +wholly unaware that when he crossed the street he crossed backward +instead of forward. He turned a corner literally feeling his way, went +on, turned another, and after walking the length of the street, suddenly +understood that he was in a strange place and had lost his bearings. + +This was exactly what had happened to people on the day of the memorable +fog of three years before. He had heard them talking of such +experiences, and of the curious and baffling sensations they gave rise +to in the brain. Now he understood them. He could not be far from his +lodgings, but he felt like a man who was blind, and who had been turned +out of the path he knew. He had not the resource of the people whose +stories he had heard. He would not stop and address anyone. There could +be no certainty as to whom he might find himself speaking to. He would +speak to no one. He would wander about until he came upon some clew. +Even if he came upon none, the fog would surely lift a little and become +a trifle less dense in course of time. He drew up the collar of his +overcoat, pulled his hat down over his eyes and went on--his hand on the +thing he had thrust into a pocket. + +He did not find his clew as he had hoped, and instead of lifting the fog +grew heavier. He found himself at last no longer striving for any end, +but rambling along mechanically, feeling like a man in a dream--a +nightmare. Once he recognized a weird suggestion in the mystery about +him. To-morrow might one be wandering about aimlessly in some such +haze. He hoped not. + +His lodgings were not far from the Embankment, and he knew at last that +he was wandering along it, and had reached one of the bridges. His mood +led him to turn in upon it, and when he reached an embrasure to stop +near it and lean upon the parapet looking down. He could not see the +water, the fog was too dense, but he could hear some faint splashing +against stones. He had taken no food and was rather faint. What a +strange thing it was to feel faint for want of food--to stand alone, cut +off from every other human being--everything done for. No wonder that +sometimes, particularly on such days as these, there were plunges made +from the parapet--no wonder. He leaned farther over and strained his +eyes to see some gleam of water through the yellowness. But it was not +to be done. He was thinking the inevitable thing, of course; but such a +plunge would not do for him. The other thing would destroy all traces. + +As he drew back he heard something fall with the solid tinkling sound of +coin on the flag pavement. When he had been in the pawnbroker's shop he +had taken the gold from his purse and thrust it carelessly into his +waistcoat pocket, thinking that it would be easy to reach when he chose +to give it to one beggar or another, if he should see some wretch who +would be the better for it. Some movement he had made in bending had +caused a sovereign to slip out and it had fallen upon the stones. + +He did not intend to pick it up, but in the moment in which he stood +looking down at it he heard close to him a shuffling movement. What he +had thought a bundle of rags or rubbish covered with sacking--some +tramp's deserted or forgotten belongings--was stirring. It was alive, +and as he bent to look at it the sacking divided itself, and a small +head, covered with a shock of brilliant red hair, thrust itself out, a +shrewd, small face turning to look up at him slyly with deep-set black +eyes. + +It was a human girl creature about twelve years old. + +"Are yer goin' to do it?" she said in a hoarse, street-strained voice. +"Yer would be a fool if yer did--with as much as that on yer." + +She pointed with a reddened, chapped, and dirty hand at the sovereign. + +"Pick it up," he said. "You may have it." + +Her wild shuffle forward was an actual leap. The hand made a snatching +clutch at the coin. She was evidently afraid that he was either not in +earnest or would repent. The next second she was on her feet and ready +for flight. + +"Stop," he said; "I've got more to give away." + +She hesitated--not believing him, yet feeling it madness to lose a +chance. + +"MORE!" she gasped. Then she drew nearer to him, and a singular change +came upon her face. It was a change which made her look oddly human. + +"Gawd, mister!" she said. "Yer can give away a quid like it was +nothin'--an' yer've got more--an' yer goin' to do THAT--jes cos yer 'ad +a bit too much lars night an' there's a fog this mornin'! You take it +straight from me--don't yer do it. I give yer that tip for the suvrink." + +She was, for her years, so ugly and so ancient, and hardened in voice +and skin and manner that she fascinated him. Not that a man who has no +To-morrow in view is likely to be particularly conscious of mental +processes. He was done for, but he stood and stared at her. What part +of the Power moving the scheme of the universe stood near and thrust him +on in the path designed he did not know then--perhaps never did. He was +still holding on to the thing in his pocket, but he spoke to her again. + +"What do you mean?" he asked glumly. + +She sidled nearer, her sharp eyes on his face. + +"I bin watchin' yer," she said. "I sat down and pulled the sack over me +'ead to breathe inside it an' get a bit warm. An' I see yer come. I +knowed wot yer was after, I did. I watched yer through a 'ole in me +sack. I wasn't goin' to call a copper. I shouldn't want ter be stopped +meself if I made up me mind. I seed a gal dragged out las' week an' +it'd a broke yer 'art to see 'er tear 'er clothes an' scream. Wot +business 'ad they preventin' 'er goin' off quiet? I wouldn't 'a' +stopped yer--but w'en the quid fell, that made it different." + +"I--" he said, feeling the foolishness of the statement, but making it, +nevertheless, "I am ill." + +"Course yer ill. It's yer 'ead. Come along er me an' get a cup er +cawfee at a stand, an' buck up. If yer've give me that quid straight-- +wish-yer-may-die--I'll go with yer an' get a cup myself. I ain't 'ad a +bite since yesterday--an' 't wa'n't nothin' but a slice o' polony +sossidge I found on a dust-'eap. Come on, mister." + +She pulled his coat with her cracked hand. He glanced down at it +mechanically, and saw that some of the fissures had bled and the +roughened surface was smeared with the blood. They stood together in +the small space in which the fog enclosed them--he and she--the man with +no To-morrow and the girl thing who seemed as old as himself, with her +sharp, small nose and chin, her sharp eyes and voice--and yet--perhaps +the fogs enclosing did it--something drew them together in an uncanny +way. Something made him forget the lost clew to the lodging-house-- +something made him turn and go with her--a thing led in the dark. + +"How can you find your way?" he said. "I lost mine." + +"There ain't no fog can lose me," she answered, shuffling along by his +side; "'sides, it's goin' to lift. Look at that man comin' to'ards us." + +It was true that they could see through the orange-colored mist the +approaching figure of a man who was at a yard's distance from them. Yes, +it was lifting slightly--at least enough to allow of one's making a +guess at the direction in which one moved. + +"Where are you going?" he asked. + +"Apple Blossom Court," she answered. "The cawfee-stand's in a street +near it--and there's a shop where I can buy things." + +"Apple Blossom Court!" he ejaculated. "What a name!" + +"There ain't no apple-blossoms there," chuckling; "nor no smell of 'em. +'T ain't as nice as its nime is--Apple Blossom Court ain't." + +"What do you want to buy? A pair of shoes?" The shoes her naked feet +were thrust into were leprous-looking things through which nearly all +her toes protruded. But she chuckled when he spoke. + +"No, I 'm goin' to buy a di'mond tirarer to go to the opery in," she +said, dragging her old sack closer round her neck. "I ain't ad a noo un +since I went to the last Drorin'-room." + +It was impudent street chaff, but there was cheerful spirit in it, and +cheerful spirit has some occult effect upon morbidity. Antony Dart did +not smile, but he felt a faint stirring of curiosity, which was, after +all, not a bad thing for a man who had not felt an interest for a year. + +"What is it you are going to buy?" + +"I'm goin' to fill me stummick fust," with a grin of elation. "Three +thick slices o' bread an' drippin' an' a mug o' cawfee. An' then I'm +goin' to get sumethin' 'earty to carry to Polly. She ain't no good, +pore thing!" + +"Who is she?" + +Stopping a moment to drag up the heel of her dreadful shoe, she answered +him with an unprejudiced directness which might have been appalling if +he had been in the mood to be appalled. + +"Ain't eighteen, an' tryin' to earn 'er livin' on the street. She ain't +made for it. Little country thing, allus frightened to death an' ready +to bust out cryin'. Gents ain't goin' to stand that. A lot of 'em +wants cheerin' up as much as she does. Gent as was in liquor last night +knocked 'er down an' give 'er a black eye. 'T wan't ill feelin', but he +lost his temper, an' give 'er a knock casual. She can't go out +to-night, an' she's been 'uddled up all day cryin' for 'er mother." + +"Where is her mother?" + +"In the country--on a farm. Polly took a place in a lodgin'-'ouse an' +got in trouble. The biby was dead, an' when she come out o' Queen +Charlotte's she was took in by a woman an' kep'. She kicked 'er out in +a week 'cos of her cryin'. The life didn't suit 'er. I found 'er cryin' +fit to split 'er chist one night--corner o' Apple Blossom Court--an' I +took care of 'er." + +"Where?" + +"Me chambers," grinning; "top loft of a 'ouse in the court. If anyone +else 'd 'ave it I should be turned out. It's an 'ole, I can tell yer-- +but it's better than sleepin' under the bridges." + +"Take me to see it," said Antony Dart. "I want to see the girl." + +The words spoke themselves. Why should he care to see either cockloft +or girl? He did not. He wanted to go back to his lodgings with that +which he had come out to buy. Yet he said this thing. His companion +looked up at him with an expression actually relieved. + +"Would yer tike up with 'er?" with eager sharpness, as if confronting a +simple business proposition. "She's pretty an' clean, an' she won't +drink a drop o' nothin'. If she was treated kind she'd be cheerfler. +She's got a round fice an' light 'air an' eyes. 'Er 'air's curly. +P'raps yer'd like 'er." + +"Take me to see her." + +"She'd look better to-morrow," cautiously, "when the swellin's gone +down round 'er eye." + +Dart started--and it was because he had for the last five minutes +forgotten something. + +"I shall not be here to-morrow," he said. His grasp upon the thing in +his pocket had loosened, and he tightened it. + +"I have some more money in my purse," he said deliberately. "I meant to +give it away before going. I want to give it to people who need it very +much." + +She gave him one of the sly, squinting glances. + +"Deservin' cases?" She put it to him in brazen mockery. + +"I don't care," he answered slowly and heavily. "I don't care a damn." + +Her face changed exactly as he had seen it change on the bridge when she +had drawn nearer to him. Its ugly hardness suddenly looked human. And +that she could look human was fantastic. + +"'Ow much 'ave yer?" she asked. "'Ow much is it?" + +"About ten pounds." + +She stopped and stared at him with open mouth. + +"Gawd!" she broke out; "ten pounds 'd send Apple Blossom Court to +'eving. Leastways, it'd take some of it out o' 'ell." + +"Take me to it," he said roughly. "Take me." + +She began to walk quickly, breathing fast. The fog was lighter, and it +was no longer a blinding thing. + +A question occurred to Dart. + +"Why don't you ask me to give the money to you?" he said bluntly. + +"Dunno," she answered as bluntly. But after taking a few steps farther +she spoke again. + +"I 'm cheerfler than most of 'em," she elaborated. "If yer born +cheerfle yer can stand things. When I gets a job nussin' women's bibies +they don't cry when I 'andles 'em. I gets many a bite an' a copper 'cos +o' that. Folks likes yer. I shall get on better than Polly when I'm +old enough to go on the street." + +The organ of whose lagging, sick pumpings Antony Dart had scarcely been +aware for months gave a sudden leap in his breast. His blood actually +hastened its pace, and ran through his veins instead of crawling--a +distinct physical effect of an actual mental condition. It was produced +upon him by the mere matter-of-fact ordinariness of her tone. He had +never been a sentimental man, and had long ceased to be a feeling one, +but at that moment something emotional and normal happened to him. + +"You expect to live in that way?" he said. + +"Ain't nothin' else fer me to do. Wisht I was better lookin'. But I've +got a lot of 'air," clawing her mop, "an' it's red. One day," +chuckling, "a gent ses to me--he ses: 'Oh! yer'll do. Yer an ugly +little devil--but ye ARE a devil.'" + +She was leading him through a narrow, filthy back street, and she +stopped, grinning up in his face. + +"I say, mister," she wheedled, "let's stop at the cawfee-stand. It's up +this way." + +When he acceded and followed her, she quickly turned a corner. They were +in another lane thick with fog, which flared with the flame of torches +stuck in costers' barrows which stood here and there--barrows with +fried fish upon them, barrows with second-hand-looking vegetables and +others piled with more than second-hand-looking garments. Trade was not +driving, but near one or two of them dirty, ill-used looking women, a +man or so, and a few children stood. At a corner which led into a black +hole of a court, a coffee-stand was stationed, in charge of a burly +ruffian in corduroys. + +"Come along," said the girl. "There it is. It ain't strong, but it's +'ot." + +She sidled up to the stand, drawing Dart with her, as if glad of his +protection. + +"'Ello, Barney," she said. "'Ere's a gent warnts a mug o' yer best. +I've 'ad a bit o' luck, an' I wants one mesself." + +"Garn," growled Barney. "You an' yer luck! Gent may want a mug, but +y'd show yer money fust." + +"Strewth! I've got it. Y' aint got the chinge fer wot I 'ave in me +'and 'ere. 'As 'e, mister?" + +"Show it," taunted the man, and then turning to Dart. "Yer wants a mug +o' cawfee?" + +"Yes." + +The girl held out her hand cautiously--the piece of gold lying upon its +palm. + +"Look 'ere," she said. + +There were two or three men slouching about the stand. Suddenly a hand +darted from between two of them who stood nearest, the sovereign was +snatched, a screamed oath from the girl rent the thick air, and a +forlorn enough scarecrow of a young fellow sprang away. + +The blood leaped in Antony Dart's veins again and he sprang after him in +a wholly normal passion of indignation. A thousand years ago--as it +seemed to him--he had been a good runner. This man was not one, and +want of food had weakened him. Dart went after him with strides which +astonished himself. Up the street, into an alley and out of it, a dozen +yards more and into a court, and the man wheeled with a hoarse, baffled +curse. The place had no outlet. + +"Hell!" was all the creature said. + +Dart took him by his greasy collar. Even the brief rush had left him +feeling like a living thing--which was a new sensation. + +"Give it up," he ordered. + +The thief looked at him with a half-laugh and obeyed, as if he felt the +uselessness of a struggle. He was not more than twenty-five years old, +and his eyes were cavernous with want. He had the face of a man who +might have belonged to a better class. When he had uttered the +exclamation invoking the infernal regions he had not dropped the +aspirate. + +"I 'm as hungry as she is," he raved. + +"Hungry enough to rob a child beggar?" said Dart. + +"Hungry enough to rob a starving old woman--or a baby," with a defiant +snort. "Wolf hungry--tiger hungry--hungry enough to cut throats." + +He whirled himself loose and leaned his body against the wall, turning +his face toward it. Suddenly he made a choking sound and began to sob. + +"Hell!" he choked. "I'll give it up! I'll give it up!" + +What a figure--what a figure, as he swung against the blackened wall, +his scarecrow clothes hanging on him, their once decent material making +their pinning together of buttonless places, their looseness and rents +showing dirty linen, more abject than any other squalor could have made +them. Antony Dart's blood, still running warm and well, was doing its +normal work among the brain-cells which had stirred so evilly through +the night. When he had seized the fellow by the collar, his hand had +left his pocket. He thrust it into another pocket and drew out some +silver. + +"Go and get yourself some food," he said. "As much as you can eat. Then +go and wait for me at the place they call Apple Blossom Court. I don't +know where it is, but I am going there. I want to hear how you came to +this. Will you come?" + +The thief lurched away from the wall and toward him. He stared up into +his eyes through the fog. The tears had smeared his cheekbones. + +"God!" he said. "Will I come? Look and see if I'll come." Dart looked. + +"Yes, you'll come," he answered, and he gave him the money. "I 'm +going back to the coffee-stand." + +The thief stood staring after him as he went out of the court. Dart was +speaking to himself. + +"I don't know why I did it," he said. "But the thing had to be done." + +In the street he turned into he came upon the robbed girl, running, +panting, and crying. She uttered a shout and flung herself upon him, +clutching his coat. + +"Gawd!" she sobbed hysterically, "I thort I'd lost yer! I thort I'd +lost all of it, I did! Strewth! I 'm glad I've found yer--" and she +stopped, choking with her sobs and sniffs, rubbing her face in her sack. + +"Here is your sovereign," Dart said, handing it to her. + +She dropped the corner of the sack and looked up with a queer laugh. + +"Did yer find a copper? Did yer give him in charge?" + +"No," answered Dart. "He was worse off than you. He was starving. I +took this from him; but I gave him some money and told him to meet us at +Apple Blossom Court." + +She stopped short and drew back a pace to stare up at him. + +"Well," she gave forth, "y' ARE a queer one!" + +And yet in the amazement on her face he perceived a remote dawning of an +understanding of the meaning of the thing he had done. + +He had spoken like a man in a dream. He felt like a man in a dream, +being led in the thick mist from place to place. He was led back to the +coffee-stand, where now Barney, the proprietor, was pouring out coffee +for a hoarse-voiced coster girl with a draggled feather in her hat, who +greeted their arrival hilariously. + +"Hello, Glad!" she cried out. "Got yer suvrink back?" + +Glad--it seemed to be the creature's wild name--nodded, but held close +to her companion's side, clutching his coat. + +"Let's go in there an' change it," she said, nodding toward a small pork +and ham shop near by. "An' then yer can take care of it for me." + +"What did she call you?" Antony Dart asked her as they went. + +"Glad. Don't know as I ever 'ad a nime o' me own, but a little cove as +went once to the pantermine told me about a young lady as was Fairy +Queen an' 'er name was Gladys Beverly St. John, so I called mesself +that. No one never said it all at onct--they don't never say nothin' +but Glad. I'm glad enough this mornin'," chuckling again, "'avin' the +luck to come up with you, mister. Never had luck like it 'afore." + +They went into the pork and ham shop and changed the sovereign. There +was cooked food in the windows--roast pork and boiled ham and corned +beef. She bought slices of pork and beef, and of suet-pudding with a +few currants sprinkled through it. + +"Will yer 'elp me to carry it?" she inquired. "I'll 'ave to get a few +pen'worth o' coal an' wood an' a screw o' tea an' sugar. My wig, wot a +feed me an' Polly'll 'ave!" + +As they returned to the coffee-stand she broke more than once into a +hop of glee. Barney had changed his mind concerning her. A solid +sovereign which must be changed and a companion whose shabby gentility +was absolute grandeur when compared with his present surroundings made a +difference. + +She received her mug of coffee and thick slice of bread and dripping +with a grin, and swallowed the hot sweet liquid down in ecstatic gulps. + +"Ain't I in luck?" she said, handing her mug back when it was empty. +"Gi' me another, Barney." + +Antony Dart drank coffee also and ate bread and dripping. The coffee +was hot and the bread and dripping, dashed with salt, quite eatable. He +had needed food and felt the better for it. + +"Come on, mister," said Glad, when their meal was ended. "I want to get +back to Polly, an' there's coal and bread and things to buy." + +She hurried him along, breaking her pace with hops at intervals. She +darted into dirty shops and brought out things screwed up in paper. She +went last into a cellar and returned carrying a small sack of coal over +her shoulders. + +"Bought sack an' all," she said elatedly. "A sack's a good thing to +'ave." + +"Let me carry it for you," said Antony Dart + +"Spile yer coat," with her sidelong upward glance. + +"I don't care," he answered. "I don't care a damn." + +The final expletive was totally unnecessary, but it meant a thing he did +not say. Whatsoever was thrusting him this way and that, speaking +through his speech, leading him to do things he had not dreamed of +doing, should have its will with him. He had been fastened to the skirts +of this beggar imp and he would go on to the end and do what was to be +done this day. It was part of the dream. + +The sack of coal was over his shoulder when they turned into Apple +Blossom Court. It would have been a black hole on a sunny day, and now +it was like Hades, lit grimly by a gas-jet or two, small and flickering, +with the orange haze about them. Filthy flagging, murky doorways, +broken steps and broken windows stuffed with rags, and the smell of the +sewers let loose had Apple Blossom Court. + +Glad, with the wealth of the pork and ham shop and other riches in her +arms, entered a repellent doorway in a spirit of great good cheer and +Dart followed her. Past a room where a drunken woman lay sleeping with +her head on a table, a child pulling at her dress and crying, up a +stairway with broken balusters and breaking steps, through a landing, +upstairs again, and up still farther until they reached the top. Glad +stopped before a door and shook the handle, crying out: + +"'S only me, Polly. You can open it." She added to Dart in an +undertone: "She 'as to keep it locked. No knowin' who'd want to get in. +Polly," shaking the door-handle again, "Polly's only me." + +The door opened slowly. On the other side of it stood a girl with a +dimpled round face which was quite pale; under one of her childishly +vacant blue eyes was a discoloration, and her curly fair hair was tucked +up on the top of her head in a knot. As she took in the fact of Antony +Dart's presence her chin began to quiver. + +"I ain't fit to--to see no one," she stammered pitifully. "Why did you, +Glad--why did you?" + +"Ain't no 'arm in 'IM," said Glad. "'E's one o' the friendly ones. 'E +give me a suvrink. Look wot I've got," hopping about as she showed her +parcels. + +"You need not be afraid of me," Antony Dart said. He paused a second, +staring at her, and suddenly added, "Poor little wretch!" + +Her look was so scared and uncertain a thing that he walked away from +her and threw the sack of coal on the hearth. A small grate with broken +bars hung loosely in the fireplace, a battered tin kettle tilted +drunkenly near it. A mattress, from the holes in whose ticking straw +bulged, lay on the floor in a corner, with some old sacks thrown over +it. Glad had, without doubt, borrowed her shoulder covering from the +collection. The garret was as cold as the grave, and almost as dark; +the fog hung in it thickly. There were crevices enough through which it +could penetrate. + +Antony Dart knelt down on the hearth and drew matches from his pocket. + +"We ought to have brought some paper," he said. + +Glad ran forward. + +"Wot a gent ye are!" she cried. "Y' ain't never goin' to light it?" + +"Yes." + +She ran back to the rickety table and collected the scraps of paper +which had held her purchases. They were small, but useful. + +"That wot was round the sausage an' the puddin's greasy," she exulted. + +Polly hung over the table and trembled at the sight of meat and bread. +Plainly, she did not understand what was happening. The greased paper +set light to the wood, and the wood to the coal. All three flared and +blazed with a sound of cheerful crackling. The blaze threw out its glow +as finely as if it had been set alight to warm a better place. The +wonder of a fire is like the wonder of a soul. This one changed the +murk and gloom to brightness, and the deadly damp and cold to warmth. +It drew the girl Polly from the table despite her fears. She turned +involuntarily, made two steps toward it, and stood gazing while its +light played on her face. Glad whirled and ran to the hearth. + +"Ye've put on a lot," she cried; "but, oh, my Gawd, don't it warm yer! +Come on, Polly--come on." + +She dragged out a wooden stool, an empty soap-box, and bundled the sacks +into a heap to be sat upon. She swept the things from the table and set +them in their paper wrappings on the floor. + +"Let's all sit down close to it--close," she said, "an' get warm an' +eat, an' eat." + +She was the leaven which leavened the lump of their humanity. What this +leaven is--who has found out? But she--little rat of the gutter--was +formed of it, and her mere pure animal joy in the temporary animal +comfort of the moment stirred and uplifted them from their depths. + +III + +They drew near and sat upon the substitutes for seats in a circle--and +the fire threw up flame and made a glow in the fog hanging in the black +hole of a room. + +It was Glad who set the battered kettle on and when it boiled made tea. +The other two watched her, being under her spell. She handed out slices +of bread and sausage and pudding on bits of paper. Polly fed with +tremulous haste; Glad herself with rejoicing and exulting in flavors. +Antony Dart ate bread and meat as he had eaten the bread and dripping at +the stall--accepting his normal hunger as part of the dream. + +Suddenly Glad paused in the midst of a huge bite. + +"Mister," she said, "p'raps that cove's waitin' fer yer. Let's 'ave 'im +in. I'll go and fetch 'im." + +She was getting up, but Dart was on his feet first. + +"I must go," he said. "He is expecting me and--" + +"Aw," said Glad, "lemme go along o' yer, mister--jest to show there's no +ill feelin'." + +"Very well," he answered. + +It was she who led, and he who followed. At the door she stopped and +looked round with a grin. + +"Keep up the fire, Polly," she threw back. "Ain't it warm and cheerful? +It'll do the cove good to see it." + +She led the way down the black, unsafe stairway. She always led. + +Outside the fog had thickened again, but she went through it as if she +could see her way. + +At the entrance to the court the thief was standing, leaning against the +wall with fevered, unhopeful waiting in his eyes. He moved miserably +when he saw the girl, and she called out to reassure him. + +"I ain't up to no 'arm," she said; "I on'y come with the gent." + +Antony Dart spoke to him. + +"Did you get food?" + +The man shook his head. + +"I turned faint after you left me, and when I came to I was afraid I +might miss you," he answered. "I daren't lose my chance. I bought some +bread and stuffed it in my pocket. I've been eating it while I've stood +here." + +"Come back with us," said Dart. "We are in a place where we have some +food." + +He spoke mechanically, and was aware that he did so. He was a pawn +pushed about upon the board of this day's life. + +"Come on," said the girl. "Yer can get enough to last fer three days." + +She guided them back through the fog until they entered the murky +doorway again. Then she almost ran up the staircase to the room they +had left. + +When the door opened the thief fell back a pace as before an +unexpected thing. It was the flare of firelight which struck upon his +eyes. He passed his hand over them. + +"A fire!" he said. "I haven't seen one for a week. Coming out of the +blackness it gives a man a start." + +Improvident joy gleamed in Glad's eyes. + +"We'll be warm onct," she chuckled, "if we ain't never warm agaen." + +She drew her circle about the hearth again. The thief took the place +next to her and she handed out food to him--a big slice of meat, bread, +a thick slice of pudding. + +"Fill yerself up," she said. "Then ye'll feel like yer can talk." + +The man tried to eat his food with decorum, some recollection of the +habits of better days restraining him, but starved nature was too much +for him. His hands shook, his eyes filled, his teeth tore. The rest of +the circle tried not to look at him. Glad and Polly occupied themselves +with their own food. + +Antony Dart gazed at the fire. Here he sat warming himself in a loft +with a beggar, a thief, and a helpless thing of the street. He had come +out to buy a pistol--its weight still hung in his overcoat pocket--and +he had reached this place of whose existence he had an hour ago not +dreamed. Each step which had led him had seemed a simple, inevitable +thing, for which he had apparently been responsible, but which he knew-- +yes, somehow he KNEW--he had of his own volition neither planned nor +meant. Yet here he sat--a part of the lives of the beggar, the thief, +and the poor thing of the street. What did it mean? + +"Tell me," he said to the thief, "how you came here." + +By this time the young fellow had fed himself and looked less like a +wolf. It was to be seen now that he had blue-gray eyes which were +dreamy and young. + +"I have always been inventing things," he said a little huskily. "I did +it when I was a child. I always seemed to see there might be a way of +doing a thing better--getting more power. When other boys were playing +games I was sitting in corners trying to build models out of wire and +string, and old boxes and tin cans. I often thought I saw the way to +things, but I was always too poor to get what was needed to work them +out. Twice I heard of men making great names and for tunes because they +had been able to finish what I could have finished if I had had a few +pounds. It used to drive me mad and break my heart." His hands clenched +themselves and his huskiness grew thicker. "There was a man," catching +his breath, "who leaped to the top of the ladder and set the whole world +talking and writing--and I had done the thing FIRST--I swear I had! It +was all clear in my brain, and I was half mad with joy over it, but I +could not afford to work it out. He could, so to the end of time it +will be HIS." He struck his fist upon his knee. + +"Aw!" The deep little drawl was a groan from Glad. + +"I got a place in an office at last. I worked hard, and they began to +trust me. I--had a new idea. It was a big one. I needed money to work +it out. I--I remembered what had happened before. I felt like a poor +fellow running a race for his life. I KNEW I could pay back ten times-- +a hundred times--what I took." + +"You took money?" said Dart. + +The thief's head dropped. + +"No. I was caught when I was taking it. I wasn't sharp enough. Someone +came in and saw me, and there was a crazy row. I was sent to prison. +There was no more trying after that. It's nearly two years since, and +I've been hanging about the streets and falling lower and lower. I've +run miles panting after cabs with luggage in them and not had strength +to carry in the boxes when they stopped. I've starved and slept out of +doors. But the thing I wanted to work out is in my mind all the time-- +like some machine tearing round. It wants to be finished. It never +will be. That's all." + +Glad was leaning forward staring at him, her roughened hands with the +smeared cracks on them clasped round her knees. + +"Things 'AS to be finished," she said. "They finish theirselves." + +"How do you know?" Dart turned on her. + +"Dunno 'OW I know--but I do. When things begin they finish. It's like a +wheel rollin' down an 'ill." Her sharp eyes fixed themselves on Dart's. +"All of us'll finish somethin'--'cos we've begun. You will--Polly +will--'e will--I will." She stopped with a sudden sheepish chuckle and +dropped her forehead on her knees, giggling. "Dunno wot I 'm talking +about," she said, "but it's true." + +Dart began to understand that it was. And he also saw that this ragged +thing who knew nothing whatever, looked out on the world with the eyes +of a seer, though she was ignorant of the meaning of her own knowledge. +It was a weird thing. He turned to the girl Polly. + +"Tell me how you came here," he said. + +He spoke in a low voice and gently. He did not want to frighten her, +but he wanted to know how SHE had begun. When she lifted her childish +eyes to his, her chin began to shake. For some reason she did not +question his right to ask what he would. She answered him meekly, as +her fingers fumbled with the stuff of her dress. + +"I lived in the country with my mother," she said. "We was very happy +together. In the spring there was primroses and--and lambs. I--can't +abide to look at the sheep in the park these days. They remind me so. +There was a girl in the village got a place in town and came back and +told us all about it. It made me silly. I wanted to come here, too. +I--I came--" She put her arm over her face and began to sob. + +"She can't tell you," said Glad. "There was a swell in the 'ouse made +love to her. She used to carry up coals to 'is parlor an' 'e talked to +'er. 'E 'ad a wye with 'im--" + +Polly broke into a smothered wail. + +"Oh, I did love him so--I did!" she cried. "I'd have let him walk over +me. I'd have let him kill me." + +"'E nearly did it," said Glad. + +"'E went away sudden an' she's never 'eard word of 'im since." + +From under Polly's face-hiding arm came broken words. + +"I couldn't tell my mother. I did not know how. I was too frightened +and ashamed. Now it's too late. I shall never see my mother again, and +it seems as if all the lambs and primroses in the world was dead. Oh, +they're dead--they're dead--and I wish I was, too!" + +Glad's eyes winked rapidly and she gave a hoarse little cough to clear +her throat. Her arms still clasping her knees, she hitched herself +closer to the girl and gave her a nudge with her elbow. + +"Buck up, Polly," she said, "we ain't none of us finished yet. Look at +us now--sittin' by our own fire with bread and puddin' inside us--an' +think wot we was this mornin'. Who knows wot we'll 'ave this time +to-morrer." + +Then she stopped and looked with a wide grin at Antony Dart. + +"Ow did I come 'ere?" she said. + +"Yes," he answered, "how did you come here?" + +"I dunno," she said; "I was 'ere first thing I remember. I lived with a +old woman in another 'ouse in the court. One mornin' when I woke up she +was dead. Sometimes I've begged an' sold matches. Sometimes I've took +care of women's children or 'elped 'em when they 'ad to lie up. I've +seen a lot--but I like to see a lot. 'Ope I'll see a lot more afore I'm +done. I'm used to bein' 'ungry an' cold, an' all that, but--but I +allers like to see what's comin' to-morrer. There's allers somethin' +else to-morrer. That's all about ME," and she chuckled again. + +Dart picked up some fresh sticks and threw them on the fire. There was +some fine crackling and a new flame leaped up. + +"If you could do what you liked," he said, "what would you like to do?" + +Her chuckle became an outright laugh. + +"If I 'ad ten pounds?" she asked, evidently prepared to adjust herself +in imagination to any form of un-looked-for good luck. + +"If you had more?" + +His tone made the thief lift his head to look at him. + +"If I 'ad a wand like the one Jem told me was in the pantermine?" + +"Yes," he answered. + +She sat and stared at the fire a few moments, and then began to speak in +a low luxuriating voice. + +"I'd get a better room," she said, revelling. "There's one in the next +'ouse. I'd 'ave a few sticks o' furnisher in it--a bed an' a chair or +two. I'd get some warm petticuts an' a shawl an' a 'at--with a ostrich +feather in it. Polly an' me 'd live together. We'd 'ave fire an' grub +every day. I'd get drunken Bet's biby put in an 'ome. I'd 'elp the +women when they 'ad to lie up. I'd--I'd 'elp 'IM a bit," with a jerk of +her elbow toward the thief. "If 'e was kept fed p'r'aps 'e could work +out that thing in 'is 'ead. I'd go round the court an' 'elp them with +'usbands that knocks 'em about. I'd--I'd put a stop to the knockin' +about," a queer fixed look showing itself in her eyes. "If I 'ad money +I could do it. 'Ow much," with sudden prudence, "could a body 'ave-- +with one o' them wands?" + +"More than enough to do all you have spoken of," answered Dart. + +"It's a shime a body couldn't 'ave it. Apple Blossom Court 'd be a +different thing. It'd be the sime as Miss Montaubyn says it's goin' to +be." She laughed again, this time as if remembering something +fantastic, but not despicable. + +"Who is Miss Montaubyn?" + +"She's a' old woman as lives next floor below. When she was young she +was pretty an' used to dance in the 'alls. Drunken Bet says she was one +o' the wust. When she got old it made 'er mad an' she got wusser. She +was ready to tear gals eyes out, an' when she'd get took for makin' a +row she'd fight like a tiger cat. About a year ago she tumbled +downstairs when she'd 'ad too much an' she broke both 'er legs. You +remember, Polly?" + +Polly hid her face in her hands. + +"Oh, when they took her away to the hospital!" she shuddered. "Oh, when +they lifted her up to carry her!" + +"I thought Polly 'd 'ave a fit when she 'eard 'er screamin' an' +swearin'. My! it was langwich! But it was the 'orspitle did it." + +"Did what?" + +"Dunno," with an uncertain, even slightly awed laugh. "Dunno wot it +did--neither does nobody else, but somethin' 'appened. It was along of +a lidy as come in one day an' talked to 'er when she was lyin' there. +My eye," chuckling, "it was queer talk! But I liked it. P'raps it was +lies, but it was cheerfle lies that 'elps yer. What I ses is--if THINGS +ain't cheerfle, PEOPLE's got to be--to fight it out. The women in the +'ouse larft fit to kill theirselves when she fust come 'ome limpin' an' +talked to 'em about what the lidy told 'er. But arter a bit they liked +to 'ear 'er--just along o' the cheerfleness. Said it was like a +pantermine. Drunken Bet says if she could get 'old 'f it an' believe it +sime as Jinny Montaubyn does it'd be as cheerin' as drink an' last +longer." + +"Is it a kind of religion?" Dart asked, having a vague memory of rumors +of fantastic new theories and half-born beliefs which had seemed to him +weird visions floating through fagged brains wearied by old doubts and +arguments and failures. The world was tired--the whole earth was sad-- +centuries had wrought only to the end of this twentieth century's +despair. Was the struggle waking even here--in this back water of the +huge city's human tide? he wondered with dull interest. + +"Is it a kind of religion?" he said. + +"It's cheerfler." Glad thrust out her sharp chin uncertainly again. +"There's no 'ell fire in it. An' there ain't no blime laid on +Godamighty." (The word as she uttered it seemed to have no connection +whatever with her usual colloquial invocation of the Deity.) "When a +dray run over little Billy an' crushed 'im inter a rag, an' 'is mother +was screamin' an' draggin' 'er 'air down, the curick 'e ses, 'It's +Gawd's will,' 'e ses--an' 'e ain't no bad sort neither, an' 'is fice was +white an' wet with sweat--'Gawd done it,' 'e ses. An' me, I'd nussed the +child an' I clawed me 'air sime as if I was 'is mother an' I screamed +out, 'Then damn 'im!' An' the curick 'e dropped sittin' down on the +curbstone an' 'id 'is fice in 'is 'ands." + +Dart hid his own face after the manner of the wretched curate. + +"No wonder," he groaned. His blood turned cold. + +"But," said Glad, "Miss Montaubyn's lidy she says Godamighty never done +it nor never intended it, an' if we kep' sayin' an' believin' 'e's +close to us an' not millyuns o' miles away, we'd be took care of whilst +we was alive an' not 'ave to wait till we was dead." + +She got up on her feet and threw up her arms with a sudden jerk and +involuntary gesture. + +"I 'm alive! I 'm alive!" she cried out, "I've got ter be took care of +NOW! That's why I like wot she tells about it. So does the women. We +ain't no more reason ter be sure of wot the curick says than ter be sure +o' this. Dunno as I've got ter choose either way, but if I 'ad, I'd +choose the cheerflest." + +Dart had sat staring at her--so had Polly--so had the thief. Dart +rubbed his forehead. + +"I do not understand," he said. + +"'T ain't understanding! It's believin'. Bless yer, SHE doesn't +understand. I say, let's go an' talk to 'er a bit. She don't mind +nothin', an' she'll let us in. We can leave Polly an' 'im 'ere. They +can make some more tea an' drink it." + +It ended in their going out of the room together again and stumbling +once more down the stairway's crookedness. At the bottom of the first +short flight they stopped in the darkness and Glad knocked at a door +with a summons manifestly expectant of cheerful welcome. She used the +formula she had used before. + +"'S on'y me, Miss Montaubyn," she cried out. "'S on'y Glad." + +The door opened in wide welcome, and confronting them as she held its +handle stood a small old woman with an astonishing face. It was +astonishing because while it was withered and wrinkled with marks of +past years which had once stamped their reckless unsavoriness upon its +every line, some strange redeeming thing had happened to it and its +expression was that of a creature to whom the opening of a door could +only mean the entrance--the tumbling in as it were--of hopes realized. +Its surface was swept clean of even the vaguest anticipation of anything +not to be desired. Smiling as it did through the black doorway into the +unrelieved shadow of the passage, it struck Antony Dart at once that it +actually implied this--and that in this place--and indeed in any +place--nothing could have been more astonishing. What could, indeed? + +"Well, well," she said, "come in, Glad, bless yer." + +"I've brought a gent to 'ear yer talk a bit," Glad explained informally. + +The small old woman raised her twinkling old face to look at him. + +"Ah!" she said, as if summing up what was before her. "'E thinks it's +worse than it is, doesn't 'e, now? Come in, sir, do." + +This time it struck Dart that her look seemed actually to anticipate the +evolving of some wonderful and desirable thing from himself. As if even +his gloom carried with it treasure as yet undisplayed. As she knew +nothing of the ten sovereigns, he wondered what, in God's name, she saw. + +The poverty of the little square room had an odd cheer in it. Much +scrubbing had removed from it the objections manifest in Glad's room +above. There was a small red fire in the grate, a strip of old, but gay +carpet before it, two chairs and a table were covered with a harlequin +patchwork made of bright odds and ends of all sizes and shapes. The fog +in all its murky volume could not quite obscure the brightness of the +often rubbed window and its harlequin curtain drawn across upon a +string. + +"Bless yer," said Miss Montaubyn, "sit down." + +Dart sat and thanked her. Glad dropped upon the floor and girdled her +knees comfortably while Miss Montaubyn took the second chair, which was +close to the table, and snuffed the candle which stood near a basket of +colored scraps such as, without doubt, had made the harlequin curtain. + +"Yer won't mind me goin' on with me bit o' work?" she chirped. + +"Tell 'im wot it is," Glad suggested. + +"They come from a dressmaker as is in a small way," designating the +scraps by a gesture. "I clean up for 'er an' she lets me 'ave 'em. I +make 'em up into anythink I can--pin-cushions an' bags an' curtings an' +balls. Nobody'd think wot they run to sometimes. Now an' then I sell +some of 'em. Wot I can't sell I give away." + +"Drunken Bet's biby plays with 'er ball all day," said Glad. + +"Ah!" said Miss Montaubyn, drawing out a long needleful of thread, "Bet, +SHE thinks it worse than it is." + +"Could it be worse?" asked Dart. "Could anything be worse than +everything is?" + +"Lots," suggested Glad; "might 'ave broke your back, might 'ave a fever, +might be in jail for knifin' someone. 'E wants to 'ear you talk, Miss +Montaubyn; tell 'im all about yerself." + +"Me!" her expectant eyes on him. "'E wouldn't want to 'ear it. I +shouldn't want to 'ear it myself. Bein' on the 'alls when yer a pretty +girl ain't an 'elpful life; an' bein' took up an' dropped down till yer +dropped in the gutter an' don't know 'ow to get out--it's wot yer +mustn't let yer mind go back to." + +"That's wot the lidy said," called out Glad. "Tell 'im about the lidy. +She doesn't even know who she was." The remark was tossed to Dart. + +"Never even 'eard 'er name," with unabated cheer said Miss Montaubyn. +"She come an' she went an' me too low to do anything but lie an' look at +'er and listen. An' 'Which of us two is mad?' I ses to myself. But I +lay thinkin' and thinkin'--an' it was so cheerfle I couldn't get it out +of me 'ead--nor never 'ave since." + +"What did she say?" + +"I couldn't remember the words--it was the way they took away things a +body's afraid of. It was about things never 'avin' really been like +wot we thought they was. Godamighty now, there ain't a bit of 'arm in +'im." + +"What?" he said with a start. + +"'E never done the accidents and the trouble. It was us as went out of +the light into the dark. If we'd kep' in the light all the time, an' +thought about it, an' talked about it, we'd never 'ad nothin' else. +'Tain't punishment neither. 'T ain't nothin' but the dark--an' the dark +ain't nothin' but the light bein' away. 'Keep in the light,' she ses, +'never think of nothin' else, an' then you'll begin an' see things. +Everybody's been afraid. There ain't no need. You believe THAT.'" + +"Believe?" said Dart heavily. + +She nodded. + +"'Yes,' ses I to 'er, 'that's where the trouble comes in--believin'.' +And she answers as cool as could be: 'Yes, it is,' she ses, 'we've all +been thinkin' we've been believin', an' none of us 'as. If we 'ad what +'d there be to be afraid of? If we believed a king was givin' us our +livin' an' takin' care of us who'd be afraid of not 'avin' enough to +eat?'" + +"Who?" groaned Dart. He sat hanging his head and staring at the floor. +This was another phase of the dream. + +"'Where is 'E?' I ses. ''Im as breaks old women's legs an' crushes +babies under wheels--so as they'll be resigned?' An' all of a sudden +she calls out quite loud: 'Nowhere,' she ses. 'An' never was. But 'Im +as stretched forth the 'eavens an' laid the foundations of the earth, +'Im as is the Life an' Love of the world, 'E's 'ERE! Stretch out yer +'and,' she ses, 'an' call out, "Speak, Lord, thy servant 'eareth," an' +ye'll 'ear an' SEE. + +"'An' never you stop sayin' it--let yer 'eart beat it an' yer breath +breathe it--an' yer 'll find yer goin' about laughin' soft to yerself +an' lovin' everythin' as if it was yer own child at breast. An' no 'arm +can come to yer. Try it when yer go 'ome.'" + +"Did you?" asked Dart. + +Glad answered for her with a tremulous--yes it was a TREMULOUS--giggle, +a weirdly moved little sound. + +"When she wakes in the mornin' she ses to 'erself, 'Good things is goin' +to come to-day--cheerfle things.' When there's a knock at the door she +ses, 'Somethin' friendly's comin' in.' An' when Drunken Bet's makin' a +row an' ragin' an' tearin' an' threatenin' to 'ave 'er eyes out of 'er +fice, she ses, 'Lor, Bet, yer don't mean a word of it--yer a friend to +every woman in the 'ouse.' When she don't know which way to turn, she +stands still an' ses, 'Speak, Lord, thy servant 'eareth,' an' then she +does wotever next comes into 'er mind--an' she says it's allus the +right answer. Sometimes," sheepishly, "I've tried it myself--p'raps it's +true. I did it this mornin' when I sat down an' pulled me sack over me +'ead on the bridge. Polly 'd been cryin' so loud all night I'd got a +bit low in me stummick an'--" She stopped suddenly and turned on Dart +as if light had flashed across her mind. "Dunno nothin' about it," she +stammered, "but I SAID it--just like she does--an' YOU come!" + +Plainly she had uttered whatever words she had used in the form of a +sort of incantation, and here was the result in the living body of this +man sitting before her. She stared hard at him, repeating her words: +"YOU come. Yes, you did." + +"It was the answer," said Miss Montaubyn, with entire simplicity as she +bit off her thread, "that's wot it was." + +Antony Dart lifted his heavy head. + +"You believe it," he said. + +"I 'm livin' on believin' it," she said confidingly. "I ain't got +nothin' else. An' answers keeps comin' and comin'." + +"What answers?" + +"Bits o' work--an' things as 'elps. Glad there, she's one." + +"Aw," said Glad, "I ain't nothin'. I likes to 'ear yer tell about it. +She ses," to Dart again, a little slowly, as she watched his face with +curiously questioning eyes--"she ses 'E'S in the room--same as 'E's +everywhere--in this 'ere room. Sometimes she talks out loud to 'Im." + +"What!" cried Dart, startled again. + +The strange Majestic Awful Idea--the Deity of the Ages--to be spoken of +as a mere unfeared Reality! And even as the vaguely formed thought +sprang in his brain he started once more, suddenly confronted by the +meaning his sense of shock implied. What had all the sermons of all the +centuries been preaching but that it was Reality? What had all the +infidels of every age contended but that it was Unreal, and the folly of +a dream? He had never thought of himself as an infidel; perhaps it +would have shocked him to be called one, though he was not quite sure. +But that a little superannuated dancer at music-halls, battered and worn +by an unlawful life, should sit and smile in absolute faith at such a--a +superstition as this, stirred something like awe in him. + +For she was smiling in entire acquiescence. + +"It's what the curick ses," she enlarged radiantly. "Though 'e don t +believe it, pore young man; 'e on'y thinks 'e does. 'It's for 'igh an' +low,' 'e ses, 'for you an' me as well as for them as is royal fambleys. +The Almighty 'E's EVERYWHERE!' 'Yes,' ses I, 'I've felt 'Im 'ere--as +near as y' are yerself, sir, I 'ave--an' I've spoke to 'Im."' + +"What did the curate say?" Dart asked, amazed. + +"Seemed like it frightened 'im a bit. 'We mustn't be too bold, Miss +Montaubyn, my dear,' 'e ses, for 'e's a kind young man as ever lived, +an' often ses 'my dear' to them 'e's comfortin'. But yer see the lidy +'ad gave me a Bible o' me own an' I'd set 'ere an' read it, an' read it +an' learned verses to say to meself when I was in bed--an' I'd got ter +feel like it was someone talkin' to me an' makin' me understand. So I +ses, ''T ain't boldness we're warned against; it's not lovin' an' +trustin' enough, an' not askin' an' believin' TRUE. Don't yer remember +wot it ses: "I, even I, am 'e that comforteth yer. Who art thou that +thou art afraid of man that shall die an' the son of man that shall be +made as grass, an' forgetteth Jehovah thy Creator, that stretched forth +the 'eavens an' laid the foundations of the earth?" an' "I've covered +thee with the shadder of me 'and," it ses; an' "I will go before thee +an' make the rough places smooth;" an' "'Itherto ye 'ave asked nothin' +in my name; ask therefore that ye may receive, an' yer joy may be made +full."' An' 'e looked down on the floor as if 'e was doin' some 'ard +thinkin', pore young man, an' 'e ses, quite sudden an' shaky, 'Lord, I +believe, 'elp thou my unbelief,' an' 'e ses it as if 'e was in trouble +an' didn't know 'e'd spoke out loud." + +"Where--how did you come upon your verses?" said Dart. "How did you +find them?" + +"Ah," triumphantly, "they was all answers--they was the first answers I +ever 'ad. When I first come 'ome an' it seemed as if I was goin' to be +swep' away in the dirt o' the street--one day when I was near drove wild +with cold an' 'unger, I set down on the floor an' I dragged the Bible to +me an' I ses: 'There ain't nothin' on earth or in 'ell as 'll 'elp me. +I'm goin' to do wot the lidy said--mad or not.' An' I 'eld the book-- +an' I 'eld my breath, too, 'cos it was like waitin' for the end o' the +world--an' after a bit I 'ears myself call out in a 'oller whisper, +'Speak, Lord, thy servant 'eareth. Show me a 'ope.' An' I was tremblin' +all over when I opened the book. An' there it was! 'I will go before +thee an' make the rough places smooth, I will break in pieces the doors +of brass and will cut in sunder the bars of iron.' An' I knowed it was +a answer." + +"You--knew--it--was an answer?" + +"Wot else was it?" with a shining face. "I'd arst for it, an' there it +was. An' in about a hour Glad come runnin' up 'ere, an' she'd 'ad a bit +o' luck--" + +"'T wasn't nothin' much," Glad broke in deprecatingly, "on'y I'd got +somethin' to eat an' a bit o' fire." + +"An' she made me go an' 'ave a 'earty meal, an' set an' warm meself. An' +she was that cheerfle an' full o' pluck, she 'elped me to forget about +the things that was makin' me into a madwoman. SHE was the answer-- +same as the book 'ad promised. They comes in different wyes the answers +does. Bless yer, they don't come in claps of thunder an' streaks o' +lightenin'--they just comes easy an' natural--so's sometimes yer +don't think for a minit or two that they're answers at all. But it +comes to yer in a bit an' yer 'eart stands still for joy. An' ever since +then I just go to me book an' arst. P'raps," her smile an illuminating +thing, "me bein' the low an' pore in spirit at the beginnin', an' +settin' 'ere all alone by me-self day in an' day out, just thinkin' it +all over--an' arstin'--an' waitin'--p'raps light was gave me 'cos I was +in such a little place an' in the dark. But I ain't pore in spirit now. +Lor', no, yer can't be when yer've on'y got to believe. 'An' 'itherto +ye 'ave arst nothin' in my name; arst therefore that ye may receive an' +yer joy be made full.'" + +"Am I sitting here listening to an old female reprobate's disquisition +on religion?" passed through Antony Dart's mind. "Why am I listening? I +am doing it because here is a creature who BELIEVES--knowing no +doctrine, knowing no church. She BELIEVES--she thinks she KNOWS her +Deity is by her side. She is not afraid. To her simpleness the awful +Unknown is the Known--and WITH her." + +"Suppose it were true," he uttered aloud, in response to a sense of +inward tremor, "suppose--it--were--TRUE?" And he was not speaking +either to the woman or the girl, and his forehead was damp. + +"Gawd!" said Glad, her chin almost on her knees, her eyes staring +fearsomely. "S'pose it was--an' us sittin' 'ere an' not knowin' it--an' +no one knowin' it--nor gettin' the good of it. Sime as if--" pondering +hard in search of simile, "sime as if no one 'ad never knowed about +'lectricity, an' there wasn't no 'lectric lights nor no 'lectric +nothin'. Onct nobody knowed, an' all the sime it was there--jest +waitin'." + +Her fantastic laugh ended for her with a little choking, vaguely +hysteric sound. + +"Blimme," she said. "Ain't it queer, us not knowin'--IF IT'S TRUE." + +Antony Dart bent forward in his chair. He looked far into the eyes of +the ex-dancer as if some unseen thing within them might answer him. +Miss Montaubyn herself for the moment he did not see. + +"What," he stammered hoarsely, his voice broken with awe, "what of the +hideous wrongs--the woes and horrors--and hideous wrongs?" + +"There wouldn't be none if WE was right--if we never thought nothin' but +'Good's comin'--good 's 'ere.' If we everyone of us thought it--every +minit of every day." + +She did not know she was speaking of a millennium--the end of the world. +She sat by her one candle, threading her needle and believing she was +speaking of To-day. + +He laughed a hollow laugh. + +"If we were right!" he said. "It would take long--long--long--to make +us all so." + +"It would be slow p'raps. Well, so it would--but good comes quick for +them as begins callin' it. It's been quick for ME," drawing her thread +through the needle's eye triumphantly. "Lor', yes, me legs is better-- +me luck's better--people's better. Bless yer, yes!" + +"It's true," said Glad; "she gets on somehow. Things comes. She never +wants no drink. Me now," she applied to Miss Montaubyn, "if I took it +up same as you--wot'd come to a gal like me?" + +"Wot ud yer want ter come?" Dart saw that in her mind was an absolute +lack of any premonition of obstacle. "Wot'd yer arst fer in yer own +mind?" + +Glad reflected profoundly. + +"Polly," she said, "she wants to go 'ome to 'er mother an' to the +country. I ain't got no mother an' wot I 'ear of the country seems like +I'd get tired of it. Nothin' but quiet an' lambs an' birds an' things +growin.' Me, I likes things goin' on. I likes people an' 'and organs +an' 'buses. I'd stay 'ere--same as I told YOU," with a jerk of her hand +toward Dart. "An' do things in the court--if I 'ad a bit o' money. I +don't want to live no gay life when I 'm a woman. It's too 'ard. Us +pore uns ends too bad. Wisht I knowed I could get on some 'ow." + +"Good 'll come," said Miss Montaubyn. "Just you say the same as me +every mornin'--'Good's fillin' the world, an' some of it's comin' to me. +It's bein' sent--an' I 'm goin' to meet it. It's comin'--it's +comin'.'" She bent forward and touched the girl's shoulder with her +astonishing eyes alight. "Bless yer, wot's in my room's in yours; Lor', +yes." + +Glad's eyes stared into hers, they became mysteriously, almost +awesomely, astonishing also. + +"Is it?" she breathed in a hushed voice. + +"Yes, Lor', yes! When yer get up in the mornin' you just stand still +an' ARST it. 'Speak, Lord,' ses you; 'speak, Lord--'" + +"Thy servant 'eareth," ended Glad's hushed speech. "Blimme, but I 'm +goin' to try it!" + +Perhaps the brain of her saw it still as an incantation, perhaps the +soul of her, called up strangely out of the dark and still new-born and +blind and vague, saw it vaguely and half blindly as something else. + +Dart was wondering which of these things were true. + +"We've never been expectin' nothin' that's good," said Miss Montaubyn. +"We 're allus expectin' the other. Who isn't? I was allus expectin' +rheumatiz an' 'unger an' cold an' starvin' old age. Wot was you lookin' +for?" to Dart. + +He looked down on the floor and answered heavily. + +"Failing brain--failing life--despair--death!" + +"None of 'em's comin'--if yer don't call 'em. Stand still an' listen +for the other. It's the other that's TRUE." + +She was without doubt amazing. She chirped like a bird singing on a +bough, rejoicing in token of the shining of the sun. + +"It's wot yer can work on--this," said Glad. "The curick--'e's a good +sort an' no' 'arm in 'im--but 'e ses: 'Trouble an' 'unger is ter teach +yer ter submit. Accidents an' coughs as tears yer lungs is sent you to +prepare yer for 'eaven. If yer loves 'Im as sends 'em, yer 'll go +there.' ''Ave yer ever bin?' ses I. ''Ave yer ever saw anyone that's +bin? 'Ave yer ever saw anyone that's saw anyone that's bin?' 'No,' 'e +ses. 'Don't, me girl, don't!' 'Garn,' I ses; 'tell me somethin' as 'll +do me some good afore I'm dead! 'Eaven's too far off.'" + +"The kingdom of 'eaven is at 'and," said Miss Montaubyn. "Bless yer, +yes, just 'ere." + +Antony Dart glanced round the room. It was a strange place. But +something WAS here. Magic, was it? Frenzy--dreams--what? + +He heard from below a sudden murmur and crying out in the street. Miss +Montaubyn heard it and stopped in her sewing, holding her needle and +thread extended. + +Glad heard it and sprang to her feet. + +"Somethin's 'appened," she cried out. "Someone's 'urt." + +She was out of the room in a breath's space. She stood outside +listening a few seconds and darted back to the open door, speaking +through it. They could hear below commotion, exclamations, the wail of +a child. + +"Somethin's 'appened to Bet!" she cried out again. "I can 'ear the +child." + +She was gone and flying down the staircase; Antony Dart and Miss +Montaubyn rose together. The tumult was increasing; people were running +about in the court, and it was plain a crowd was forming by the magic +which calls up crowds as from nowhere about the door. The child's +screams rose shrill above the noise. It was no small thing which had +occurred. + +"I must go," said Miss Montaubyn, limping away from her table. "P'raps +I can 'elp. P'raps you can 'elp, too," as he followed her. + +They were met by Glad at the threshold. She had shot back to them, +panting. + +"She was blind drunk," she said, "an' she went out to get more. She +tried to cross the street an' fell under a car. She'll be dead in five +minits. I'm goin' for the biby." + +Dart saw Miss Montaubyn step back into her room. He turned +involuntarily to look at her. + +She stood still a second--so still that it seemed as if she was not +drawing mortal breath. Her astonishing, expectant eyes closed +themselves, and yet in closing spoke expectancy still. + +"Speak, Lord," she said softly, but as if she spoke to Something whose +nearness to her was such that her hand might have touched it. "Speak, +Lord, thy servant 'eareth." + +Antony Dart almost felt his hair rise. He quaked as she came near, her +poor clothes brushing against him. He drew back to let her pass first, +and followed her leading. + +The court was filled with men, women, and children, who surged about the +doorway, talking, crying, and protesting against each other's crowding. +Dart caught a glimpse of a policeman fighting his way through with a +doctor. A dishevelled woman with a child at her dirty, bare breast had +got in and was talking loudly. + +"Just outside the court it was," she proclaimed, "an' I saw it. If +she'd bin 'erself it couldn't 'ave 'appened. 'No time for 'osspitles,' +ses I. She's not twenty breaths to dror; let 'er die in 'er own bed, +pore thing!" And both she and her baby breaking into wails at one and +the same time, other women, some hysteric, some maudlin with gin, joined +them in a terrified outburst. + +"Get out, you women," commanded the doctor, who had forced his way +across the threshold. "Send them away, officer," to the policeman. + +There were others to turn out of the room itself, which was crowded with +morbid or terrified creatures, all making for confusion. Glad had +seized the child and was forcing her way out into such air as there was +outside. + +The bed--a strange and loathly thing--stood by the empty, rusty +fireplace. Drunken Bet lay on it, a bundle of clothing over which the +doctor bent for but a few minutes before he turned away. + +Antony Dart, standing near the door, heard Miss Montaubyn speak to him +in a whisper. + +"May I go to 'er?" and the doctor nodded. + +She limped lightly forward and her small face was white, but expectant +still. What could she expect now--O Lord, what? + +An extraordinary thing happened. An abnormal silence fell. The owners +of such faces as on stretched necks caught sight of her seemed in a +flash to communicate with others in the crowd. + +"Jinny Montaubyn!" someone whispered. And "Jinny Montaubyn" was passed +along, leaving an awed stirring in its wake. Those whom the pressure +outside had crushed against the wall near the window in a passionate +hurry, breathed on and rubbed the panes that they might lay their faces +to them. One tore out the rags stuffed in a broken place and listened +breathlessly. + +Jinny Montaubyn was kneeling down and laying her small old hand on the +muddied forehead. She held it there a second or so and spoke in a voice +whose low clearness brought back at once to Dart the voice in which she +had spoken to the Something upstairs. + +"Bet," she said, "Bet." And then more soft still and yet more clear, +"Bet, my dear." + +It seemed incredible, but it was a fact. Slowly the lids of the woman's +eyes lifted and the pupils fixed themselves on Jinny Montaubyn, who +leaned still closer and spoke again. + +"'T ain't true," she said. "Not this. 'T ain't TRUE. There IS NO +DEATH," slow and soft, but passionately distinct. "THERE--IS--NO-- +DEATH." + +The muscles of the woman's face twisted it into a rueful smile. The +three words she dragged out were so faint that perhaps none but Dart's +strained ears heard them. + +"Wot--price--ME?" + +The soul of her was loosening fast and straining away, but Jinny +Montaubyn followed it. + +"THERE--IS--NO--DEATH," and her low voice had the tone of a slender +silver trumpet. "In a minit yer 'll know--in a minit. Lord," lifting +her expectant face, "show her the wye." + +Mysteriously the clouds were clearing from the sodden face--mysteriously. +Miss Montaubyn watched them as they were swept away! A minute--two +minutes--and they were gone. Then she rose noiselessly and stood +looking down, speaking quite simply as if to herself. + +"Ah," she breathed, "she DOES know now--fer sure an' certain." + +Then Antony Dart, turning slightly, realized that a man who had entered +the house and been standing near him, breathing with light quickness, +since the moment Miss Montaubyn had knelt, was plainly the person Glad +had called the "curick," and that he had bowed his head and covered his +eyes with a hand which trembled. + +IV + +He was a young man with an eager soul, and his work in Apple Blossom +Court and places like it had torn him many ways. Religious conventions +established through centuries of custom had not prepared him for life +among the submerged. He had struggled and been appalled, he had wrestled +in prayer and felt himself unanswered, and in repentance of the feeling +had scourged himself with thorns. Miss Montaubyn, returning from the +hospital, had filled him at first with horror and protest. + +"But who knows--who knows?" he said to Dart, as they stood and talked +together afterward, "Faith as a little child. That is literally hers. +And I was shocked by it--and tried to destroy it, until I suddenly saw +what I was doing. I was--in my cloddish egotism--trying to show her +that she was irreverent BECAUSE she could believe what in my soul I do +not, though I dare not admit so much even to myself. She took from some +strange passing visitor to her tortured bedside what was to her a +revelation. She heard it first as a child hears a story of magic. When +she came out of the hospital, she told it as if it was one. I--I--" he +bit his lips and moistened them, "argued with her and reproached her. +Christ the Merciful, forgive me! She sat in her squalid little room +with her magic--sometimes in the dark--sometimes without fire, and she +clung to it, and loved it and asked it to help her, as a child asks its +father for bread. When she was answered--and God forgive me again for +doubting that the simple good that came to her WAS an answer--when any +small help came to her, she was a radiant thing, and without a shadow of +doubt in her eyes told me of it as proof--proof that she had been heard. +When things went wrong for a day and the fire was out again and the room +dark, she said, 'I 'aven't kept near enough--I 'aven't trusted TRUE. It +will be gave me soon,' and when once at such a time I said to her, 'We +must learn to say, Thy will be done,' she smiled up at me like a happy +baby and answered: + +"'Thy will be done on earth AS IT IS IN 'EAVEN. Lor', there's no cold +there, nor no 'unger nor no cryin' nor pain. That's the way the will is +done in 'eaven. That's wot I arst for all day long--for it to be done +on earth as it is in 'eaven.' What could I say? Could I tell her that +the will of the Deity on the earth he created was only the will to do +evil--to give pain--to crush the creature made in His own image. What +else do we mean when we say under all horror and agony that befalls, 'It +is God's will--God's will be done.' Base unbeliever though I am, I could +not speak the words. Oh, she has something we have not. Her poor, +little misspent life has changed itself into a shining thing, though it +shines and glows only in this hideous place. She herself does not know +of its shining. But Drunken Bet would stagger up to her room and ask to +be told what she called her 'pantermine' stories. I have seen her there +sitting listening--listening with strange quiet on her and dull yearning +in her sodden eyes. So would other and worse women go to her, and I, +who had struggled with them, could see that she had reached some remote +longing in their beings which I had never touched. In time the seed +would have stirred to life--it is beginning to stir even now. During +the months since she came back to the court--though they have laughed at +her--both men and women have begun to see her as a creature weirdly set +apart. Most of them feel something like awe of her; they half believe +her prayers to be bewitchments, but they want them on their side. They +have never wanted mine. That I have known--KNOWN. She believes that +her Deity is in Apple Blossom Court--in the dire holes its people live +in, on the broken stairway, in every nook and awful cranny of it--a +great Glory we will not see--only waiting to be called and to answer. Do +_I_ believe it--do you--do any of those anointed of us who preach each +day so glibly 'God is EVERYWHERE'? Who is the one who believes? If +there were such a man he would go about as Moses did when 'He wist not +that his face shone.'" + +They had gone out together and were standing in the fog in the court. +The curate removed his hat and passed his handkerchief over his damp +forehead, his breath coming and going almost sobbingly, his eyes staring +straight before him into the yellowness of the haze. + +"Who," he said after a moment of singular silence, "who are you?" + +Antony Dart hesitated a few seconds, and at the end of his pause he put +his hand into his overcoat pocket. + +"If you will come upstairs with me to the room where the girl Glad +lives, I will tell you," he said, "but before we go I want to hand +something over to you." + +The curate turned an amazed gaze upon him. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +Dart withdrew his hand from his pocket, and the pistol was in it. + +"I came out this morning to buy this," he said. "I intended--never mind +what I intended. A wrong turn taken in the fog brought me here. Take +this thing from me and keep it." + +The curate took the pistol and put it into his own pocket without +comment. In the course of his labors he had seen desperate men and +desperate things many times. He had even been--at moments--a desperate +man thinking desperate things himself, though no human being had ever +suspected the fact. This man had faced some tragedy, he could see. Had +he been on the verge of a crime--had he looked murder in the eyes? What +had made him pause? Was it possible that the dream of Jinny Montaubyn +being in the air had reached his brain--his being? + +He looked almost appealingly at him, but he only said aloud: + +"Let us go upstairs, then." + +So they went. + +As they passed the door of the room where the dead woman lay Dart went +in and spoke to Miss Montaubyn, who was still there. + +"If there are things wanted here," he said, "this will buy them." And +he put some money into her hand. + +She did not seem surprised at the incongruity of his shabbiness +producing money. + +"Well, now," she said, "I WAS wonderin' an' askin'. I'd like 'er clean +an' nice, an' there's milk wanted bad for the biby." + +In the room they mounted to Glad was trying to feed the child with bread +softened in tea. Polly sat near her looking on with restless, eager +eyes. She had never seen anything of her own baby but its limp newborn +and dead body being carried away out of sight. She had not even dared +to ask what was done with such poor little carrion. The tyranny of the +law of life made her want to paw and touch this lately born thing, as +her agony had given her no fruit of her own body to touch and paw and +nuzzle and caress as mother creatures will whether they be women or +tigresses or doves or female cats. + +"Let me hold her, Glad," she half whimpered. "When she's fed let me +get her to sleep." + +"All right," Glad answered; "we could look after 'er between us well +enough." + +The thief was still sitting on the hearth, but being full fed and +comfortable for the first time in many a day, he had rested his head +against the wall and fallen into profound sleep. + +"Wot's up?" said Glad when the two men came in. "Is anythin' +'appenin'?" + +"I have come up here to tell you something," Dart answered. "Let us sit +down again round the fire. It will take a little time." + +Glad with eager eyes on him handed the child to Polly and sat down +without a moment's hesitance, avid of what was to come. She nudged the +thief with friendly elbow and he started up awake. + +"'E's got somethin' to tell us," she explained. "The curick's come +up to 'ear it, too. Sit 'ere, Polly," with elbow jerk toward the bundle +of sacks. "It's got its stummick full an' it'll go to sleep fast +enough." + +So they sat again in the weird circle. Neither the strangeness of the +group nor the squalor of the hearth were of a nature to be new things to +the curate. His eyes fixed themselves on Dart's face, as did the eyes +of the thief, the beggar, and the young thing of the street. No one +glanced away from him. + +His telling of his story was almost monotonous in its semi-reflective +quietness of tone. The strangeness to himself--though it was a +strangeness he accepted absolutely without protest--lay in his telling +it at all, and in a sense of his knowledge that each of these creatures +would understand and mysteriously know what depths he had touched this +day. + +"Just before I left my lodgings this morning," he said, "I found myself +standing in the middle of my room and speaking to Something aloud. I +did not know I was going to speak. I did not know what I was speaking +to. I heard my own voice cry out in agony, 'Lord, Lord, what shall I do +to be saved?'" + +The curate made a sudden movement in his place and his sallow young +face flushed. But he said nothing. + +Glad's small and sharp countenance became curious. + +"'Speak, Lord, thy servant 'eareth,'" she quoted tentatively. + +"No," answered Dart; "it was not like that. I had never thought of such +things. I believed nothing. I was going out to buy a pistol and when I +returned intended to blow my brains out." + +"Why?" asked Glad, with passionately intent eyes; "why?" + +"Because I was worn out and done for, and all the world seemed worn out +and done for. And among other things I believed I was beginning slowly +to go mad." + +From the thief there burst forth a low groan and he turned his face to +the wall. + +"I've been there," he said; "I 'm near there now." + +Dart took up speech again. + +"There was no answer--none. As I stood waiting--God knows for what--the +dead stillness of the room was like the dead stillness of the grave. And +I went out saying to my soul, 'This is what happens to the fool who +cries aloud in his pain.'" + +"I've cried aloud," said the thief, "and sometimes it seemed as if an +answer was coming--but I always knew it never would!" in a tortured +voice. + +"'T ain't fair to arst that wye," Glad put in with shrewd logic. + +"Miss Montaubyn she allers knows it WILL come--an' it does." + +"Something--not myself--turned my feet toward this place," said Dart. "I +was thrust from one thing to another. I was forced to see and hear +things close at hand. It has been as if I was under a spell. The woman +in the room below--the woman lying dead!" He stopped a second, and then +went on: "There is too much that is crying out aloud. A man such as I +am--it has FORCED itself upon me--cannot leave such things and give +himself to the dust. I cannot explain clearly because I am not thinking +as I am accustomed to think. A change has come upon me. I shall not +use the pistol--as I meant to use it." + +Glad made a friendly clutch at the sleeve of his shabby coat. + +"Right O!" she cried. "That's it! You buck up sime as I told yer. Y' +ain't stony broke an' there's 'allers to-morrer." + +Antony Dart's expression was weirdly retrospective. + +"I did not think so this morning," he answered. + +"But there is," said the girl. "Ain't there now, curick? There's a lot +o' work in yer yet; yer could do all sorts o' things if y' ain't too +proud. I'll 'elp yer. So 'll the curick. Y' ain't found out yet what +a little folks can live on till luck turns. Me, I'm goin' to try Miss +Montaubyn's wye. Le's both try. Le's believe things is comin'. Le's +get 'er to talk to us some more." + +The curate was thinking the thing over deeply. + +"Yer see," Glad enlarged cheerfully, "yer look almost like a gentleman. +P'raps yer can write a good 'and an' spell all right. Can yer?" + +"Yes." + +"I think, perhaps," the curate began reflectively, "particularly if you +can write well, I might be able to get you some work." + +"I do not want work," Dart answered slowly. "At least I do not want the +kind you would be likely to offer me." + +The curate felt a shock, as if cold water had been dashed over him. +Somehow it had not once occurred to him that the man could be one of the +educated degenerate vicious for whom no power to help lay in any hands-- +yet he was not the common vagrant--and he was plainly on the point of +producing an excuse for refusing work. + +The other man, seeing his start and his amazed, troubled flush, put out +a hand and touched his arm apologetically. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. "One of the things I was going to tell +you--I had not finished--was that I AM what is called a gentleman. I am +also what the world knows as a rich man. I am Sir Oliver Holt." + +Each member of the party gazed at him aghast. It was an enormous name +to claim. Even the two female creatures knew what it stood for. It was +the name which represented the greatest wealth and power in the world of +finance and schemes of business. It stood for financial influence which +could change the face of national fortunes and bring about crises. It +was known throughout the world. Yesterday the newspaper rumor that its +owner had mysteriously left England had caused men on 'Change to discuss +possibilities together with lowered voices. + +Glad stared at the curate. For the first time she looked disturbed and +alarmed. + +"Blimme," she ejaculated, "'e's gone off 'is nut, pore chap!--'e's +gone off it!" + +"No," the man answered, "you shall come to me"--he hesitated a second +while a shade passed over his eyes--"TO-MORROW. And you shall see." + +He rose quietly to his feet and the curate rose also. Abnormal as the +climax was, it was to be seen that there was no mistake about the +revelation. The man was a creature of authority and used to carrying +conviction by his unsupported word. That made itself, by some clear, +unspoken method, plain. + +"You are Sir Oliver Holt! And a few hours ago you were on the point +of--" + +"Ending it all--in an obscure lodging. Afterward the earth would have +been shovelled on to a work-house coffin. It was an awful thing." He +shook off a passionate shudder. "There was no wealth on earth that could +give me a moment's ease--sleep--hope--life. The whole world was full +of things I loathed the sight and thought of. The doctors said my +condition was physical. Perhaps it was--perhaps to-day has strangely +given a healthful jolt to my nerves--perhaps I have been dragged away +from the agony of morbidity and plunged into new intense emotions which +have saved me from the last thing and the worst--SAVED me!" + +He stopped suddenly and his face flushed, and then quite slowly turned +pale. + +"SAVED ME!" he repeated the words as the curate saw the awed blood +creepingly recede. "Who knows, who knows! How many explanations one is +ready to give before one thinks of what we say we believe. Perhaps it +was--the Answer!" + +The curate bowed his head reverently. + +"Perhaps it was." + +The girl Glad sat clinging to her knees, her eyes wide and awed and with +a sudden gush of hysteric tears rushing down her cheeks. + +"That's the wye! That's the wye!" she gulped out. "No one won't +never believe--they won't, NEVER. That's what she sees, Miss Montaubyn. +You don't, 'E don't," with a jerk toward the curate. "I ain't nothin' +but ME, but blimme if I don't--blimme!" + +Sir Oliver Holt grew paler still. He felt as he had done when Jinny +Montaubyn's poor dress swept against him. His voice shook when he +spoke. + +"So do I," he said with a sudden deep catch of the breath; "it was the +Answer." + +In a few moments more he went to the girl Polly and laid a hand on her +shoulder. + +"I shall take you home to your mother," he said. "I shall take you +myself and care for you both. She shall know nothing you are afraid of +her hearing. I shall ask her to bring up the child. You will help +her." + +Then he touched the thief, who got up white and shaking and with eyes +moist with excitement. + +"You shall never see another man claim your thought because you have not +time or money to work it out. You will go with me. There are to-morrows +enough for you!" + +Glad still sat clinging to her knees and with tears running, but the +ugliness of her sharp, small face was a thing an angel might have paused +to see. + +"You don't want to go away from here," Sir Oliver said to her, and she +shook her head. + +"No, not me. I told yer wot I wanted. Lemme do it." + +"You shall," he answered, "and I will help you." + +The things which developed in Apple Blossom Court later, the things +which came to each of those who had sat in the weird circle round the +fire, the revelations of new existence which came to herself, aroused no +amazement in Jinny Montaubyn's mind. She had asked and believed all +things--and all this was but another of the Answers. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAWN OF A TO-MORROW*** + + +******* This file should be named 460.txt or 460.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/6/460 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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