NONE OTHER 
 GODS 
 
 BY 
 ROBERT HUGH BENSON 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE CONVENTIONALISTS," "THE 
 NECROMANCERS," "A WINNOWING," ETC. 
 
 ST. LOUIS, MO., 1922 
 
 PUBLISHED BY B. HERDER BOOK Co. 
 17 SOUTH BROADWAY
 
 Copyright, 1911, by Joseph Gummersbach 
 
 -BECKTOLD- 
 
 mNG AND BOOK MFG. CO. 
 ST. LOUIS. MO.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 203113?)
 
 DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 MY DEAR JACK KIRKBY, 
 
 To whom can I dedicate this book but to you 
 who were, not only the best friend of the man I 
 have written about, but one without whom the book 
 could not have been written ? It is to you that I owe 
 practically all the materials necessary for the work : 
 it was to you that Frank left the greater part of his 
 diary, such as it was (and I hope I have observed 
 your instructions properly as regards the use I have 
 made of it) ; it was you who took such trouble to 
 identify the places he passed through; and it was 
 you, above all, who gave me so keen an impression 
 of Frank himself, that it seems to me I must myself 
 have somehow known him intimately, in spite of the 
 fact that we never met. 
 
 I think I should say that it is this sense of inti- 
 macy, this extraordinary interior accessibility (so 
 to speak) of Frank, that made him (as you and I 
 both think) about the most lovable person we have 
 ever known. They were very extraordinary changes 
 that passed over him, of course (and I suppose 
 we cannot improve, even with all our modern psy- 
 chology, upon the old mystical names for such 
 changes Purgation. Illumination and Union)
 
 vi DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 but, as theologians themselves tell us, that mysteri- 
 ous thing which Catholics call the Grace of God 
 does not obliterate, but rather emphasizes and trans- 
 figures the natural characteristics of every man upon 
 whom it comes with power. It was the same ele- 
 ment in Frank, as it seems to me the same root- 
 principle, at least that made him do those prepos- 
 terous things connected with bread and butter and 
 a railway train, that drove him from Cambridge in 
 defiance of all common-sense and sweet reasonable- 
 ness; that held him still to that deplorable and la- 
 mentable journey with his two traveling compan- 
 ions, and that ultimately led him to his death. I 
 mean, it was the same kind of unreasonable daring 
 and purpose throughout, though it issued in very 
 different kinds of actions, and was inspired by very 
 different motives. 
 
 Well, it is not much good discussing Frank in 
 public like this. The people who are kind enough 
 to read his life or, rather, the six months of it 
 with which this book deals must form their own 
 opinion of him. Probably a good many will think 
 him a fool. I daresay he was; but I think I like 
 that kind of folly. Other people may think him 
 simply obstinate and tiresome. Well, I like ob- 
 stinacy of that sort, and I do not find him tire- 
 some. Everyone must form their own views, and 
 I have a perfect right to form mine, which I am
 
 DEDICATORY LETTER vii 
 
 glad to know coincide with your own. After all, 
 you knew him better than anyone else. 
 
 I went to see Gertie Trustcott, as you suggested, 
 but I didn't get any help from her. I think she 
 is the most suburban person I have ever met. She 
 could tell me nothing whatever new about him; 
 she could only corroborate what you yourself 
 had told me, and what the diaries and other pa- 
 pers contained. I did not stay long with Miss 
 Trustcott. 
 
 And now, my dear friend, I must ask you to ac- 
 cept this book from me, and to make the best of it. 
 Of course, I have had to conjecture a great deal, 
 and to embroider even more ; but it is no more than 
 embroidery. I have not touched the fabric itself 
 which you put into my hands ; and anyone who cares 
 to pull out the threads I have inserted can do so 
 if they will, without any fear of the thing falling 
 to pieces. 
 
 I have to thank you for many pleasurable and 
 even emotional hours. The offering which I pre- 
 sent to you now is the only return I can make. 
 I am, 
 
 Ever yours sincerely, 
 
 ROBERT HUGH BENSON. 
 
 P.S. We've paneled a new room since you 
 were last at Hare Street. Come and see it soon
 
 viii DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 and sleep in it We want you badly. And I want 
 to talk a 'great deal more about Frank. 
 
 P.P.S. I hear that her ladyship has gone back to 
 live with her father; she tried the Dower House 
 in Westmoreland, but seems to have found it 
 lonely. Is that true? It'll be rather difficult for 
 Dick, won't it?
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 PART I 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 (0 
 
 C4T THINK you're behaving like an absolute 
 
 idiot," said Jack Kirkby indignantly. 
 Frank grinned pleasantly, and added his left foot 
 to his right one in the broad window-seat 
 
 These two young men were sitting in one of the 
 most pleasant places in all the world in which to sit 
 on a summer evening in a ground-floor room 
 looking out upon the Great Court of Trinity Col- 
 lege, Cambridge. It was in that short space of 
 time, between six and seven, during which the 
 Great Court is largely deserted. The athletes and 
 the dawdlers have not yet returned from field and 
 river; and Fellows and other persons, young enough 
 to know better, who think that a summer evening 
 was created for the reading of books, have not yet 
 I
 
 2 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 emerged from their retreats. A white-aproned 
 cook or two moves across the cobbled spaces with 
 trays upon their heads; a tradesman's boy comes 
 out of the corner entrance from the hostel; a cat 
 or two stretches himself on the grass; but, for the 
 rest, the court lies in broad sunshine; the shadows 
 slope eastwards, and the fitful splash and trickle 
 of the fountain asserts itself clearly above the gen- 
 tle rumble of Trinity Street. 
 
 Within, the room in which these two sat was 
 much like other rooms of the same standing; only, 
 in this one case the walls were paneled with white- 
 painted deal. Three doors led out of it two 
 into a tiny bedroom and a tinier dining-room re- 
 spectively; the third on to the passage leading to 
 the lecture-rooms. Frank found it very convenient, 
 since he thus was enabled, at every hour of the 
 morning when the lectures broke up, to have the 
 best possible excuse for conversing with his friends 
 through the window. 
 
 The room was furnished really well. Above the 
 mantel-piece, where rested an array of smoking- 
 materials and a large silver cigarette-box, hung an 
 ancestral-looking portrait, in a dull gilded frame, 
 of an aged man, with a ruff round his neck, pur- 
 chased for one guinea; there was a sofa and a set 
 of chairs upholstered in a good damask; a black 
 piano by Broadwood; a large oval gate-leg table;
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 3 
 
 a bureau; shelves filled with very indiscriminate 
 literature law books, novels, Badminton, maga- 
 zines and ancient school editions of the classics; a 
 mahogany glass-fronted bookcase packed with 
 volumes of esthetic appearance green-backed 
 poetry books with white labels ; old leather tomes, 
 and all the rest of the specimens usual to a man 
 who has once thought himself literary. Then there 
 were engravings, well framed, round the walls; a 
 black iron-work lamp, fitted for electric light, hung 
 from the ceiling; there were a couple of oak chests, 
 curiously carved. On the stained floor lay three 
 or four mellow rugs, and the window-boxes out- 
 side blazed with geraniums. The debris of tea 
 rested on the window-seat nearest the outer door. 
 
 Frank Guiseley, too, lolling in the window-seat 
 in a white silk shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, and 
 gray flannel trousers, and one white shoe, was very 
 pleasant to look upon. His hair was as black and 
 curly as a Neapolitan's; he had a smiling, humor- 
 ous mouth, and black eyes of an extraordinary 
 twinkling alertness. His clean-shaven face, brown 
 in its proper complexion as well as with healthy 
 sunburning (he had played very vigorous lawn-ten- 
 nis for the last two months), looked like a boy's, 
 except for the very determined mouth and the short, 
 straight nose. He was a little below middle height 
 well-knit and active; and though, properly
 
 4 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 speaking, he was not exactly handsome, he was 
 quite exceptionally delightful to look at. 
 
 Jack Kirkby, sitting in an arm-chair a yard away, 
 and in the same sort of costume except that he 
 wore both his shoes and a Third Trinity blazer 
 was a complete contrast in appearance. The other 
 had something of a Southern Europe look; Jack 
 was obviously English wholesome red cheeks, 
 fair hair and a small mustache resembling spun 
 silk. He was, also, closely on six feet in height. 
 
 He was anxious just now, and, therefore, looked 
 rather cross, fingering the very minute hairs of his 
 mustache whenever he could spare the time from 
 smoking, and looking determinedly away from 
 Frank upon the floor. For the last week he had 
 talked over this affair, ever since the amazing an- 
 nouncement; and had come to the conclusion that 
 once more, in this preposterous scheme, Frank 
 really meant what he said. 
 
 Frank had a terrible way of meaning what he 
 said he reflected with dismay. There was the 
 affair of the bread and butter three years ago, be- 
 fore either of them had learned manners. This 
 had consisted in the fastening up in separate brown- 
 paper parcels innumerable pieces of bread and but- 
 ter, addressing each with the name of the Reverend 
 Junior Dean (who had annoyed Frank in some
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 5 
 
 way), and the leaving of the parcels about in every 
 corner of Cambridge, in hansom cabs, on seats, on 
 shop-counters and on the pavements with the re- 
 sult that for the next two or three days the dean's 
 staircase was crowded with messenger boys and 
 unemployables, anxious to return apparently lost 
 property. 
 
 Then there had been the matter of the flagging 
 of a fast Northern train in the middle of the fens 
 with a red pocket-handkerchief, to find out if it 
 were really true that the train would stop, followed 
 by a rapid retreat on bicycles so soon as it had been 
 ascertained that it was true; the Affair of the Ger- 
 man Prince traveling incognito, into which the 
 Mayor himself had been drawn; and the Affair of 
 the Nun who smoked a short black pipe in the 
 Great Court shortly before midnight, before gath- 
 ering up her skirts and vanishing on noiseless india- 
 rubber-shod feet round the kitchen quarters into 
 the gloom of Neville's Court, as the horrified porter 
 descended from his signal-box. 
 
 Now many minds could have conceived these 
 things ; a smaller number of people would have an- 
 nounced their intention of doing them; but there 
 were very few persons who would actually carry 
 them all out to the very end ; in fact, Jack reflected, 
 Frank Guiseley was about the only man of his ac-
 
 6 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 quaintance who could possibly have done them. 
 And he had done them all on his own sole responsi- 
 bility. 
 
 He had remembered, too, during the past week, 
 certain incidents of the same nature at Eton. 
 There was the master who had rashly inquired, with 
 deep sarcasm, on the fourth or fifth occasion in one 
 week when Frank had come in a little late for five- 
 o'clock school, whether " Guiseley would not like to 
 have tea before pursuing his studies." Frank, with 
 a radiant smile of gratitude, and extraordinary 
 rapidity, had answered that he would like it very 
 much indeed, and had vanished through the still 
 half-open door before another word could be ut- 
 tered, returning with a look of childlike innocence 
 at about five-and-twenty minutes to six. 
 
 " Please, sir," he had said, " I thought you said 
 I might go ? " 
 
 " And have you had tea ? " 
 "Why, certainly, sir; at Webber's." 
 Now all this kind of thing was a little disconcert- 
 ing to remember now. Truly, the things in them- 
 selves had been admirably conceived and faithfully 
 executed, but they seemed to show that Frank was 
 the kind of person who really carried through what 
 other people only talked about and especially if 
 he announced beforehand that he intended to do it.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 7 
 
 It was a little dismaying, therefore, for his friend 
 to reflect that upon the arrival of the famous let- 
 ter from Lord Talgarth Frank's father six 
 days previously, in which all the well-worn phrases 
 occurred as to " darkening doors " and " roof " 
 and " disgrace to the family," Frank had an- 
 nounced that he proposed to take his father at his 
 word, sell up his property and set out like a prince 
 in a fairy-tale to make his fortune. 
 
 Jack had argued till he was sick of it, and to no 
 avail. Frank had a parry for every thrust. Why 
 wouldn't he wait a bit until the governor had had 
 time to cool down? Because the governor must 
 learn, sooner or later, that words really meant 
 something, and that he Frank was not going 
 to stand it for one instant. 
 
 Why wouldn't he come and stay at Barham till 
 further notice? They'd all be delighted to have 
 him. It was only ten miles off Merefield, and per- 
 haps Because Frank was not going to sponge 
 upon his friends. Neither was he going to skulk 
 about near home. Well, if he was so damned ob- 
 stinate, why didn't he go into the City or even 
 to the Bar? Because (i) he hadn't any money; 
 and (2) he would infinitely sooner go on the tramp 
 than sit on a stool. Well, why didn't he enlist, like
 
 8 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 a gentleman? Frank dared say he would some 
 time, but he wanted to stand by himself a bit first 
 and see the world. 
 
 "Let's see the letter again," said Jack at last. 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 Frank reflected. 
 
 " I think it's in that tobacco-jar just behind your 
 head," he said. " No, it isn't ; it's in the pouch on 
 the floor. I know I associated it somehow with 
 smoking. And, by the way, give me a cigarette." 
 
 Jack tossed him his case, opened the pouch, took 
 out the letter, and read it slowly through again. 
 
 " Merefield Court, 
 " near Harrogate. 
 "May 28th, Thursday. 
 
 " I am ashamed of you, sir. When you first told 
 me of your intention, I warned you what would 
 happen if you persisted, and I repeat it now. 
 Since you have deliberately chosen, in spite of all 
 that I have said, to go your own way, and to be- 
 come a Papist, I will have no more to do with you. 
 From this moment you cease to be my son. You 
 shall not, while I live, darken my doors again, or 
 sleep under my roof. I say nothing of what you 
 have had from me in the past your education 
 and all the rest. And, since I do not wish to be un-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 9 
 
 duly hard upon you, you can keep the remainder of 
 your allowance up to July and the furniture of 
 your rooms. But, after that, not one penny shall 
 you have from me. You can go to your priests 
 and get them to support you. 
 
 " I am only thankful that your poor mother has 
 been spared this blow. 
 
 Jack made a small murmurous sound as he fin- 
 ished. Frank chuckled aloud. 
 
 "Pitches it in all right, doesn't he?" he ob- 
 served dispassionately. 
 
 "If it had been my governor " began jack 
 slowly. 
 
 " My dear man, it isn't your governor ; it's mine. 
 And I'm dashed if there's another man in the world 
 who'd write such a letter as that nowadays. It's 
 it's too early- Victorian. They'd hardly stand it 
 at the Adelphi 1 I could have put it so much better 
 myself. . . . Poor old governor !" 
 
 " Have you answered it? " 
 
 " I ... I forget. I know I meant to. 
 . Y . No, I haven't. I remember now. And 
 I shan't till I'm just off." 
 
 " Well, I shall," remarked Jack. 
 
 Frank turned a swift face upon him.
 
 io NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 "If you do," he said, with sudden fierce gravity, 
 " I'll never speak to you again. I mean it. It's 
 my affair, and I shall run it my own way." 
 
 "But" 
 
 " I mean it. Now ! give me your word of 
 honor " 
 
 I_ 
 
 " Your word of honor, this instant, or get out 
 of my room ! " 
 
 There was a pause. Then: 
 
 " All right," said Jack. 
 
 Then there fell a silence once more. 
 
 (n) 
 
 The news began to be rumored about, soon 
 after the auction that Frank held of his effects a 
 couple of days later. He carried out the scene ad- 
 mirably, entirely unassisted, even by Jack. 
 
 First, there appeared suddenly all over Cam- 
 bridge, the evening before the sale, just as the 
 crowds of undergraduates and female relations be- 
 gan to circulate about after tea and iced strawber- 
 ries, a quantity of sandwich-men, bearing the fol- 
 lowing announcement, back and front:
 
 NONE OTHER GODS il 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 THE HON. FRANK GUISELEY 
 has pleasure in announcing that on 
 
 JUNE 7TH (Saturday) 
 at half-past ten a.m. precisely 
 in Rooms i, Letter J, Great Court, Trinity Col- 
 lege, he will positively offer for 
 
 SALE BY AUCTION 
 
 The household effects, furniture, books, etc., of 
 
 the Hon. Frank Guiseley, including 
 A piano by Broadvvood (slightly out of tune) ; 
 a magnificent suite of drawing-room furniture, 
 upholstered in damask, the sofa only slightly 
 stained with tea; one oak table and another; 
 a bed; a chest of drawers (imitation walnut, 
 and not a very good imitation) ; a mahogany 
 glass-fronted bookcase, containing a set of 
 suggestive-looking volumes bound in faint col- 
 ors, with white labels; four oriental mats; a 
 portrait of a gentleman (warranted a perfectly 
 respectable ancestor) ; dining-room suite (odd 
 chairs) ; numerous engravings of places of in- 
 terest and noblemen's seats; a 
 Silver Cigarette-box and fifteen Cigarettes in it 
 (Melachrino and Mixed American);
 
 12 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 a cuckoo-clock (without cuckoo) ; five walk- 
 ing-sticks; numerous suits of clothes (one lot 
 suitable for Charitable Purposes) ; some books 
 all VERY CURIOUS indeed comprising the 
 works of an Eminent Cambridge Professor, 
 and other scholastic luminaries, as well as 
 many other articles. 
 
 AT HALF-PAST TEN A.M. PRECISELY 
 
 All friends, and strangers, cordially invited. 
 
 No RESERVE PRICE. 
 
 It served its purpose admirably, for by soon 
 after ten o'clock quite a considerable crowd had 
 begun to assemble; and it was only after a very 
 serious conversation with the Dean that the sale 
 was allowed to proceed. But it proceeded, with 
 the distinct understanding that a college porter be 
 present; that no riotous behavior should be al- 
 lowed; that the sale was a genuine one, and that 
 Mr. Guiseley" would call upon the Dean with fur- 
 ther explanations before leaving Cambridge. 
 
 The scene itself was most impressive. 
 
 Frank, in a structure resembling an auctioneer's 
 box, erected on the hearth-rug, presided, with ex- 
 traordinary gravity, hammer in hand, robed in a 
 bachelor's gown and hood. Beneath him the room 
 seethed with the company, male and female, all in 
 an excellent humor, and quite tolerable prices were
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 13 
 
 qbtained. No public explanations were given of 
 the need for the sale, and Jack, in the deepest dis- 
 may, looked in again that afternoon, about lunch- 
 time, to find the room completely stripped, and 
 Frank, very cheerful, still in his hood and gown, 
 smoking a cigarette in the window-seat. 
 
 " Come in," he said. " And kindly ask me to 
 lunch. The last porter's just gone." 
 
 Jack looked at him. 
 
 He seemed amazingly genial and natural, though 
 just a little flushed, and such an air of drama as 
 there was about him was obviously deliberate. 
 
 " Very well ; come to lunch," said Jack. " Where 
 are you going to dine and sleep? " 
 
 " I'm dining in hall, and I'm sleeping in a ham- 
 mock. Go and look at my bedroom." 
 
 Jack went across the bare floor and looked in. 
 A hammock was slung across from a couple of 
 pegs, and there lay a small carpet-bag beneath it. 
 A basin on an upturned box and a bath completed 
 the furniture. 
 
 " You mad ass ! " said Jack. " And is that all 
 you have left ? " 
 
 " Certainly. I'm going to leave the clothes I've 
 got on to you, and you can fetch the hammock 
 when I've gone." 
 
 "When do you start?" 
 
 " Mr. Guiseley will have his last interview and
 
 14 NONE -OTHER GODS 
 
 obtain his exeat from the Dean at half -past six this 
 evening. He proposes to leave Cambridge in the 
 early hours of to-morrow morning." 
 
 " You don't mean that ! " 
 
 " Certainly I do." 
 
 " What are you going to wear?" 
 
 Frank extended two flanneled legs, ending in 
 solid boots. 
 
 " These a flannel shirt, no tie, a cap, a gray 
 jacket." 
 
 Jack stood again in silence, looking at him. 
 
 "How much money did your sale make?" 
 
 " That's immaterial. Besides, I forget. The 
 important fact is that when I've paid all my bills I 
 shall have thirteen pounds eleven shillings and 
 eightpence." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Thirteen pounds eleven shillings and eight- 
 pence." 
 
 Jack burst into a mirthless laugh. 
 
 " Well, come along to lunch," he said. 
 
 It seemed to Jack that he moved in a dreary kind 
 of dream that afternoon as he went about with 
 Frank from shop to shop, paying bills. Frank's 
 trouser-pockets bulged and jingled a good deal as 
 they started he had drawn all his remaining 
 money in gold from the bank and they bulged
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 15 
 
 and jingled considerably less as the two returned 
 to tea in Jesus Lane. There, on the table, he 
 spread out the coins. He had bought some to- 
 bacco, and two or three other things that afternoon, 
 and the total amounted now but to twelve pounds 
 nineteen shillings and fourpence. 
 
 " Call it thirteen pounds," said Frank. " There's 
 many a poor man " 
 
 " Don't be a damned fool ! " said Jack. 
 
 " I'm being simply prudent," said Frank. " A 
 contented heart " 
 
 Jack thrust a cup of tea and the buttered buns 
 before him. 
 
 These two were as nearly brothers as possible, in 
 everything but blood. Their homes lay within ten 
 miles of one another. They had gone to a private 
 school together, to Eton, and to Trinity. They 
 had ridden together in the holidays, shot, dawdled, 
 bathed, skated, and all the rest. They were con- 
 siderably more brothers to one another than were 
 Frank and Archie, his actual elder brother, known 
 to the world as Viscount Merefield. Jack did not 
 particularly approve of Archie; he thought him a 
 pompous ass, and occasionally said so. 
 
 For Frank he had quite an extraordinary affec- 
 tion, though he would not have expressed it so, 
 even to himself, for all the world, and a very real
 
 16 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 admiration of a quite indefinable kind. It was im- 
 possible to say why he admired him. Frank did 
 nothing very well, but everything rather well; he 
 played Rugby football just not well enough to 
 represent his college ; he had been in the Lower 
 Boats at Eton, and the Lent Boat of his first year 
 at Cambridge; then he had given up rowing and 
 played lawn-tennis in the summer and fives in the 
 Lent Term just well enough to make a brisk and 
 interesting game. He was not at all learned; he 
 had reached the First Hundred at Eton, and had 
 read Law at Cambridge that convenient branch 
 of study which for the most part fills the vacuum 
 for intelligent persons who have no particular bent 
 and are heartily sick of classics; and he had taken 
 a Third Class and his degree a day or two before. 
 He was remarkably averaged, therefore; and yet, 
 somehow or another, there was that in him which 
 compelled Jack's admiration. I suppose it was 
 that which is conveniently labeled " character." Cer- 
 tainly, nearly everybody who came into contact 
 with him felt the same in some degree. 
 
 His becoming a Catholic had been an amazing 
 shock to Jack, who had always supposed that 
 Frank, like himself, took the ordinary sensible Eng- 
 lish view of religion. To be a professed unbeliever 
 was bad form it was like being a Little Eng-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 17 
 
 lander or a Radical; to be pious was equally bad 
 form it resembled a violent devotion to the 
 Union Jack. No; religion to Jack (and he had 
 always hitherto supposed, to Frank) was a depart- 
 ment of life in which one did not express any par- 
 ticular views: one did not say one's prayers; one 
 attended chapel at the proper times; if one was 
 musical, one occasionally went to King's on Sun- 
 day afternoon; in the country one went to church 
 on Sunday morning as one went to the stables in 
 the afternoon, and that was about all. 
 
 Frank had been, too, so extremely secretive about 
 the whole thing. He had marched into Jack's 
 rooms in Jesus Lane one morning nearly a fort- 
 night ago. 
 
 44 Come to mass at the Catholic Church," he 
 said. 
 
 " Why, the " began Jack. 
 
 " I've got to go. I'm a Catholic." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " I became one last week." 
 
 Jack had stared at him, suddenly convinced that 
 someone was mad. When he had verified that it 
 was really a fact; that Frank had placed himself 
 under instruction three months before, and had 
 made his confession (his confession!) on 
 Friday, and had been conditionally baptized; when
 
 18 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 he had certified himself of all these things, and had 
 begun to find coherent language once more, he had 
 demanded why Frank had done this. 
 
 " Because it's the true religion," said Frank. 
 " Are you coming to mass or are you not ? " 
 
 Jack had gone then, and had come away more 
 bewildered than ever as to what it was all about. 
 He had attempted to make a few inquiries, but 
 Frank had waved his hands at him, and repeated 
 that obviously the Catholic religion was the true 
 one, and that he couldn't be bothered. And now 
 here they were at tea in Jesus Lane for the last 
 time. 
 
 Of course, there was a little suppressed excite- 
 ment about Frank. He drank three cups of tea 
 and took the last (and the under) piece of but- 
 tered bun without apologies, and he talked a good 
 deal, rather fast. It seemed that he had really no 
 particular plans as to what he was going to do after 
 he had walked out of Cambridge with his carpet- 
 bag early next morning. He just meant, he said, 
 to go along and see what happened. He had had 
 a belt made, which pleased him exceedingly, into 
 which his money could be put (it lay on the table 
 between them during tea), and he proposed, nat- 
 urally, to spend as little of that money as possible. 
 . . . No; he would not take one penny piece
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 19 
 
 from Jack; it would be simply scandalous if he 
 a public-school boy and an University man 
 couldn't keep body and soul together by his own 
 labor. There would be hay-making presently, he 
 supposed, and fruit-picking, and small jobs on 
 farms. He would just go along and see what 
 happened. Besides there were always casual 
 wards, weren't there? if the worst came to the 
 worst; and he'd meet other men, he supposed, 
 who'd put him in the way of things. Oh ! he'd get 
 on all right. 
 
 Would he ever come to Barham? Well, if it 
 came in the day's work 'he would. Yes ; certainly 
 he'd be most obliged if his letters might be sent 
 there, and he could write for them when he 
 wanted, or even call for them, if, as he said, it 
 came in the day's work. 
 
 What was he going to do in the winter? He 
 hadn't the slightest idea. He supposed, what other 
 people did in the winter. Perhaps he'd have got a 
 place by then gamekeeper, perhaps he'd like 
 to be a gamekeeper. 
 
 At this Jack, mentally, threw up the sponge. 
 
 " You really mean to go on at this rotten idea of 
 yours?" 
 
 Frank opened his eyes wide. 
 
 " Why, of course. Good Lord ! did you think I 
 was bluffing? "
 
 20 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " But ... but it's perfectly mad. Why 
 on earth don't you get a proper situation some- 
 where land-agent or something? " 
 
 " My dear man," said Frank, " if you will have 
 it, it's because I want to do exactly what I'm going 
 to do. No I'm being perfectly serious. I've 
 thought for ages that we're all wrong somehow. 
 We're all so beastly artificial. I don't want to 
 preach, but I want to test things for myself. My 
 religion tells me " He broke off. " No ; this is 
 fooling. I'm going to do it because I'm going to 
 do it. And I'm really going to do it. I'm not go- 
 ing to be an amateur like slumming. I'm going 
 to find out things for myself." 
 
 " But on the roads " expostulated Jack. 
 
 " Exactly. That's the very point. Back to the 
 land." 
 
 Jack sat up. 
 
 " Good Lord ! " he said. " Why, I never thought 
 of it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " It's your old grandmother coming out." 
 
 Frank stared. 
 
 "Grandmother?" 
 
 Yes old Mrs. Kelly/' 
 
 Frank laughed suddenly and loudly. 
 
 " By George ! " he said, " I daresay it is. Old 
 Grandmamma Kelly! She was a gipsy so she
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 21 
 
 was. I believe you've hit it, Jack. Let's see : she 
 was my grandfather's second wife, wasn't she?" 
 
 Jack nodded. 
 
 " And he picked her up off the roads on his 
 own estate. Wasn't she trespassing, or some- 
 thing?" 
 
 Jack nodded again. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " and he was a magistrate and 
 ought to have committed her. And he married 
 her instead. She was a girl, traveling with her 
 parents." 
 
 Frank sat smiling genially. 
 
 " That's it," he said. " Then I'm bound to make 
 a success of it." 
 
 And he took another cigarette. 
 
 Then one more thought came to Jack: he had 
 determined already to make use of it if necessary, 
 and somehow this seemed to be the moment. 
 
 " And Jenny Launton," he said. " I suppose 
 you've thought of her?" 
 
 A curious look came into Frank's eyes a look 
 of great gravity and tenderness and the humor 
 died out. He said nothing for an instant. Then 
 he drew out of his breast-pocket a letter in an en- 
 velope, and tossed it gently over to Jack. 
 
 " I'm telling her in that," he said. " I'm going 
 to post it to-night, after I've seen the Dean." 
 
 Jack glanced down at it.
 
 22 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Miss LAUNTON, 
 
 " The Rectory, 
 
 " Merefield, Yorks." 
 
 ran the inscription. He turned it over; it was 
 fastened and sealed. 
 
 " I've told her we must wait a bit," said Frank, 
 " and that I'll write again in a few weeks." 
 
 Jack was silent. 
 
 " And you think it's fair on her ? " he asked de- 
 liberately. 
 
 Frank's face broke up into humor. 
 
 " That's for her to say," he observed. " And, 
 to tell the truth, I'm not at all afraid." 
 
 "But a gamekeeper's wife! And you a Catho- 
 lic!" 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know Jenny," smiled Frank. 
 " Jenny and I quite understand one another, thank 
 you very much." 
 
 " But is it quite fair? " 
 
 " Good Lord! " shouted Frank, suddenly roused. 
 "Fair! What the devil does it matter? Don't 
 you know that all's fair under certain circum- 
 stances ? I do bar that rotten conventionalism. 
 We're all rotten rotten, I tell you ; and I'm going 
 to start fresh. So's Jenny. Kindly don't talk of 
 what you don't understand."
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 23 
 
 He stood up, stretching. Then he threw the end 
 of his cigarette away. 
 
 " I must go to the Dean," he said. " It's close 
 on the half-hour." 
 
 (m) 
 
 The Reverend James Mackintosh was an excel- 
 lent official of his college, and performed his duties 
 with care and punctilium. He rose about half- 
 past seven o'clock every morning, drank a cup of 
 tea and went to chapel. After chapel he break- 
 fasted, on Tuesdays and Thursdays with two un- 
 dergraduates in their first year, selected in alpha- 
 betical order, seated at his table ; on the other days 
 of the week in solitude. At ten o'clock he lectured, 
 usually on one of St. Paul's Epistles, on which 
 subjects he possessed note-books filled with every 
 conceivable piece of information that could be 
 gathered together grammatical, philological, to- 
 pographical, industrial, social, biographical with 
 a few remarks on the fauna, flora, imports, char- 
 acteristics and geological features of those coun- 
 tries to which those epistles were written, and in 
 whicli they were composed. These notes, guaran- 
 teed to guide any student who really mastered them 
 to success, and even distinction, in his examina-
 
 24 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 tions, were the result of a lifetime of loving labor, 
 and some day, no doubt, will be issued in the neat 
 blue covers of the " Cambridge Bible for Schools." 
 From eleven to twelve he lectured on Church his- 
 tory of the first five centuries after which period, 
 it will be remembered by all historical students, 
 Church history practically ceased. At one he 
 lunched; from two to four he walked rapidly 
 (sometimes again in company with a serious the- 
 ological student), along the course known as the 
 Grantchester Grind, or to Coton and back. At 
 four he had tea; at five he settled down to ad- 
 minister discipline to the college, by summoning 
 and remonstrating with such undergraduates as 
 had failed to comply with the various regulations ; 
 at half-past seven he dined in hall a meek figure, 
 clean shaven and spectacled, seated between an in- 
 fidel philosopher and a socialist : he drank a single 
 glass of wine afterwards in the Combination 
 Room, smoked one cigarette, and retired again to 
 his rooms to write letters to parents (if necessary), 
 and to run over his notes for next day. 
 
 And he did this, with the usual mild variations 
 of a University life, every weekday, for two-thirds 
 of the year. Of the other third, he spent part in 
 Switzerland, dressed in a neat gray Nor folk suit with 
 knickerbockers, and the rest with clerical friends 
 of the scholastic type. It was a. very solemn
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 25 
 
 thought to him how great were his responsibilities, 
 and what a privilege it was to live in the whirl 
 and stir of one of the intellectual centers of Eng- 
 land! 
 
 Frank Guiseley was to Mr. Mackintosh a very 
 great puzzle. He had certainly been insubordinate 
 in his first year (Mr. Mackintosh gravely sus- 
 pected him of the Bread-and-Butter affair, which 
 had so annoyed his colleague), but he certainly 
 had been very steady and even deferential ever 
 since. (He always took off his hat, for example, 
 to Mr. Mackintosh, with great politeness.) Cer- 
 tainly he was not very regular at chapel, and he 
 did not dine in hall nearly so often as Mr. Mackin- 
 tosh would have wished (for was it not part of 
 the University idea that men of all grades of so- 
 ciety should meet as equals under the college 
 roof?). But, then, he had never been summoned 
 for any very grave or disgraceful breach of the rules, 
 and was never insolent or offensive to any of the 
 Fellows. Finally, he came of a very distinguished 
 family ; and Mr. Mackintosh had the keenest re- 
 membrance still of his own single interview, three 
 years ago, with the Earl of Talgarth. 
 
 Mr. Mackintosh wondered, then, exactly what 
 he would have to say to Mr. Guiseley, and what 
 Mr. Guiseley would have to say to him. He
 
 26 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 thought, if the young man were really going down 
 for good, as he had understood this morning, it was 
 only his plain duty to say a few tactful words about 
 responsibility and steadiness. That ridiculous auc- 
 tion would serve as his text. 
 
 Mr. Mackintosh paused an instant, as he always 
 did, before saying " Come in ! " to the knock on 
 the door (I think he thought it helped to create a 
 little impression of importance). Then he said it; 
 and Frank walked in. 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Guiseley. . . . Yes ; 
 please sit down. I understood from you this morn- 
 ing that you wished for your exeat." 
 
 " Please," said Frank. 
 
 " Just so," said Mr. Mackintosh, drawing the 
 exeat book resembling the butt of a check- 
 book towards him. " And you are going down 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Frank. 
 
 " Going home ? " murmured the Dean, inscrib- 
 ing Frank's name in his neat little handwriting 
 
 " No," said Frank. 
 
 "Not? ... To London, perhaps?" 
 
 " Well, not exactly," said Frank ; " at least, not 
 just yet." 
 
 Mr. Mackintosh blotted the book carefully, and
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 27 
 
 extracted the exeat. He pushed it gently towards 
 Frank. 
 
 "About that auction!" he said, smiling indul- 
 gently ; " I did want to have a word with you about 
 that. It was very unusual; and I wondered. 
 ; . . But I am happy to think that there was 
 no disturbance. . . . But can you tell me ex- 
 actly why you chose that form of ... 
 of . . ." 
 
 " I wanted to make as much money as ever I 
 could," said Frank. 
 
 "Indeed! ... . Yes. . . . And . . . 
 and you were successful?" 
 
 " I cleared all my debts, anyhow," said Frank 
 serenely. "I thought that very important." 
 
 Mr. Mackintosh smiled again. Certainly this 
 young man was very well behaved and deferential. 
 
 " Well, that's satisfactory. And you are going 
 to read at the Bar now? If you will let me say so, 
 Mr. Guiseley, even at this late hour, I must say 
 that I think that a Third Class might have been 
 bettered. But no doubt your tutor has said all 
 that?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 " Well, then, a little more application and energy 
 now may perhaps make up for lost time. I sup- 
 pose you will go to the Temple in October?"
 
 28 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Frank looked at him pensively a moment. 
 
 "No, Mr. Mackintosh," he said suddenly; "I'm 
 going on the roads. I mean it, quite seriously. 
 My father's disowned me. I'm starting out to- 
 morrow to make my own living." 
 
 There was dead silence for an instant. The 
 Dean's face was stricken, as though by horror. 
 Yet Frank saw he had not in the least taken it in. 
 
 " Yes ; that's really so," he said. " Please don't 
 argue with me about it. I'm perfectly deter- 
 mined." 
 
 "Your father . . . Lord Talgarth . . . 
 the roads . . . your own living . . . the 
 college authorities . . . responsibility ! " 
 
 Words of this sort burst from Mr. Mackintosh's 
 mouth. 
 
 " Yes . . . it's because I've become a Cath- 
 olic! I expect you've heard that, sir." 
 
 Mr. Mackintosh threw himself back (if so fierce 
 a word may be used of so mild a manner) 
 threw himself back in his chair. 
 
 " Mr. Guiseley, kindly tell me all about it. I 
 had not heard one word not one word." 
 
 Frank made a great effort, and told the story, 
 quite fairly and quite politely. He described his 
 convictions as well as he could, the various steps 
 he had taken, and the climax of the letter from
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 29 
 
 his father. Then he braced himself to hear what 
 would be said; or, rather, he retired within him- 
 self, and, so to speak, shut the door and pulled 
 down the blinds. 
 
 It was all said exactly as he knew it would be. 
 Mr. Mackintosh touched upon a loving father's im- 
 patience, the son's youth and impetuosity, the shock 
 to an ancient family, the responsibilities of mem- 
 bership in that family, the dangers of rash deci- 
 sions, and, finally, the obvious errors of the Church 
 of Rome. He began several sentences with the 
 phrase : " No thinking man at the present day 
 
 n 
 
 In fact, Mr. Mackintosh was, so soon as he had 
 recovered from the first shock, extraordinarily sen- 
 sible and reasonable. He said all the proper things, 
 all the sensible and reasonable and common-sense 
 things, and he said them, not offensively or con- 
 temptuously, but tactfully and persuasively. And 
 he put into it the whole of his personality, such as it 
 was. He even quoted St. Paul. 
 
 He perspired a little, gently, towards the end: 
 so he took off his glasses and wiped them, looking, 
 still with a smile, through kind, short-sighted eyes, 
 at this young man who sat so still. For Frank 
 was so quiet that the Dean thought him already 
 half persuaded. Then once more he summed 
 up, when his glasses were fixed again; he ran
 
 30 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 through his arguments lightly and efficiently, and 
 ended by a quiet little assumption that Frank was 
 going to be reasonable, to write to his father once 
 more, and to wait at least a week. He even called 
 him "my dear boy! " 
 
 " Thanks very much," said Frank. 
 
 " Then you'll think it over quietly, my dear boy. 
 Come and talk to me again. I've given you your 
 exeat, but you needn't use it. Come in to-morrow 
 evening after hall." 
 
 Frank stood up. 
 
 " Thanks, very much, Mr. Mackintosh. I'll 
 I'll certainly remember what you've said." 
 
 He took up his exeat as if mechanically. 
 
 " Then you can leave that for the present," 
 smiled the Dean, pointing at it. " I can write you 
 another, you know." 
 
 Frank put it down quickly. 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! " he said. 
 
 " Well, good-night, Mr. Guiseley. ... I 
 I can't tell you how glad I am that you 
 confided in me. Young men are a little unwise 
 and impetuous sometimes, you know. Good-night 
 . . . good-night. I shall expect you to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 When Frank reached the court below he stood 
 waiting a moment. Then a large smile broke out
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 31 
 
 on his face, and he hurried across to a passage 
 opposite, found a friend's door open, and rushed 
 in. The room was empty. He flew across to the 
 window and crouched down, peeping over the sill 
 at the opening on the other side of the court lead- 
 ing to Mr. Mackintosh's staircase. 
 
 He was rewarded almost instantly. Even as he 
 settled himself on the window seat a black figure, 
 with gown ballooning behind, hurried out and 
 whisked through the archway leading towards the 
 street. He gave him twenty seconds, and then 
 ran out himself, and went in pursuit. Half-way 
 up the lane he sighted him once more, and, follow- 
 ing cautiously on tiptoe, with a handkerchief up 
 to his face, was in time to behold Mr. Mackintosh 
 disappear into the little telegraph oflke on the left 
 of Trinity Street. 
 
 " That settles it, then," observed Frank, almost 
 aloud. " Poor Jack I'm afraid I shan't be able 
 to breakfast with him after all!" 
 
 (IV) 
 
 It was a little after four o'clock on the following 
 morning that a policeman, pacing with slow, flat 
 feet along the little lane that leads from Trinity 
 Hall to Trinity College, yawning as he went, and
 
 32 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 entirely unconscious of the divine morning air, 
 bright as wine and clear as water, beheld a re- 
 markable spectacle. 
 
 There first appeared, suddenly tossed on to the 
 spikes that top the gate that guards the hostel, 
 a species of pad that hung over on both sides of the 
 formidable array of points. Upon this, more cau- 
 tiously, was placed by invisible hands a very old 
 saddle without any stirrups. 
 
 The policeman stepped back a little, and flattened 
 himself comparatively speaking against the 
 outer wall of the hostel itself. There followed a 
 silence. 
 
 Suddenly, without any warning, a heavy body, 
 discernible a moment later as a small carpet-bag, 
 filled to bursting, fell abruptly on to the pavement; 
 and, again, a moment later, two capable-looking 
 hands made their appearance, grasping with extreme 
 care the central rod on which the spikes were sup- 
 posed to revolve, on either side of the saddle. 
 
 Still the policeman did not make any sign; he 
 only sidled a step or two nearer and stood waiting. 
 
 When he looked up again, a young gentleman, 
 in flannel trousers, gray jacket, boots, and an old 
 deerstalker, was seated astride of the saddle, with 
 his back to the observer. There was a pause while 
 the rider looked to this side and that; and then, 
 with a sudden movement, he had dropped clear of
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 33 
 
 the wall, and come down on feet and hands to the 
 pavement. 
 
 " Good morning, officer ! " said the young gen- 
 tleman, rising and dusting his hands, " it's all right. 
 Like to see my txeai? Or perhaps half a 
 crown " 
 
 (v) 
 
 About six o'clock in the morning, Jack Kirkby 
 awoke suddenly in his bedroom in Jesus Lane. 
 
 This was very unusual, and he wondered what 
 it was all about. He thought of Frank almost in- 
 stantly, with a jerk, and after looking at his watch, 
 very properly turned over and tried to go to sleep 
 again. But the attempt was useless; there were 
 far too many things to think about ; and he framed 
 so many speeches to^be delivered with convincing 
 force at breakfast to his misguided friend, that by 
 seven o'clock he made up his mind that he would 
 get up, go and take Frank to bathe, and have break- 
 fast with him at half-past eight instead of nine. 
 He would have longer time, too, for his speeches. 
 He got out of bed and pulled up his blind, and the 
 sight of the towers of Sidney Sussex College, 
 gilded with sunshine, determined him finally. 
 
 When you go to bathe before breakfast at Cam- 
 bridge you naturally put on as few clothes as pos- 
 sible and do not even if you do so at other times
 
 34 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 say your prayers. So Jack put on a sweater, 
 trousers, socks, canvas shoes, and a blazer, and 
 went immediately down the oilcloth-covered stairs. 
 As he undid the door he noticed a white thing lying 
 beneath it, and took it up. It was a note addressed 
 to himself in Frank's handwriting; and there, 
 standing on the steps, he read it through; and his 
 heart turned suddenly sick. 
 
 There is all the difference in the world between 
 knowing that a catastrophe is going to happen, and 
 knowing that it has happened. Jack knew at 
 least, with all his reasonable part that Frank was 
 going to leave Cambridge in the preposterous man- 
 ner described, after breakfast with himself; and it 
 was partly because of this very knowledge that he 
 had got up earlier in order to have an extra hour 
 with Frank before the final severance came. Yet 
 there was something in him the same thing that 
 had urged him to rehearse little speeches in bed 
 just now that told him that until it had actually 
 happened, it had not happened, and, just conceiv- 
 ably, might not happen after all. And he had 
 had no idea how strong this hopeful strain had 
 been in him nor, for that matter, how very 
 deeply and almost romantically he was attached to 
 Frank until he felt his throat hammering and his
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 35 
 
 head becoming stupid, as he read the terse little 
 note in the fresh morning air of Jesus Lane. 
 It ran as follows : 
 
 " DEAR JACK, 
 
 " It's no good, and I'm off early ! That ass 
 Mackintosh went and wired to my people directly 
 I left him. I tracked him down. And there'll be 
 the devil to pay unless I clear out. So I can't 
 -come to breakfast. Sorry. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " F. G. 
 
 " P. S. By the way, you might as well go 
 round to the little man and try to keep him quiet. 
 Tell him it'll make a scandal for Trinity College, 
 Cambridge, if he makes a fuss. That'll stop him, 
 perhaps. And you might try to rescue my saddle 
 from the porter. He's probably got it by now." 
 
 Three minutes later a figure in a sweater, gray 
 trousers, canvas shoes, Third Trinity blazer and no 
 cap, stood, very inarticulate with breathlessness, at 
 the door of the Senior Dean's rooms, demanding 
 of a scandalized bed-maker to see the official in 
 question. 
 
 " 'E's in his barth. sir!" expostulated the old
 
 36 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Then he must come out of it ! " panted Jack. 
 
 " That is, if 'e's out o' bed." 
 
 " Then he can stop in it, if he isn't. ... I 
 tell you " 
 
 Jack gave up arguing. He took the old lady 
 firmly by the shoulders, and placed her in the door- 
 way of the audience-room; then he was up the in- 
 ner stairs in three strides, through the sitting-room, 
 and was tapping at the door of the bedroom. A 
 faint sound of splashing ceased. 
 
 "Who's there? Don't " 
 
 " It's me, sir Kirkby ! I'm sorry to disturb 
 you, but " 
 
 " Don't come in ! " cried an agitated voice, with 
 a renewed sound of water, as if someone had* hast- 
 ily scrambled out of the bath. 
 
 Jack cautiously turned the handle and opened 
 the door a crack. A cry of dismay answered his 
 move, followed by a tremendous commotion and 
 swishing of linen. 
 
 " I'm coming in, sir," said Jack, struggling be- 
 tween agitation and laughter. It was obvious from 
 the sounds that the clergyman had got into bed 
 again, wet, and as God made him. There was no an- 
 swer, and Jack pushed the door wider and went in. 
 
 It was as he had thought. His unwilling host 
 had climbed back into bed as hastily as possible,
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 37 
 
 and the bed-clothes, wildly disordered, were gath- 
 ered round his person. A face, with wet hair, 
 looking very odd and childlike without his glasses, 
 regarded him with the look of one who sees sac- 
 rilege done. A long flannel nightgown lay on the 
 ground between the steaming bath and the bed, and 
 a quantity of water lay about on the floor, in foot- 
 prints and otherwise. 
 
 " May I ask what is the meaning of this dis- 
 graceful " 
 
 "I'm sorry, sir," said Jack briefly; "but Frank 
 Guiseley's bolted. I've just found this note." It 
 did not occur to him, as he handed the note to a 
 bare arm, coyly protruded from the tangled bed- 
 clothes, that this very officer of the college was re- 
 ferred to in it as " that ass " and " the little man." 
 . . . All his attention, not occupied with Frank, 
 was fixed on the surprising new discovery that 
 deans had bodies and used real baths like other 
 people. Somehow that had never occurred to him : 
 he had never imagined them except in smooth, 
 black clothes and white linen. His discovery 
 seemed to make Mr. Mackintosh more human, 
 somehow. 
 
 The Dean read the note through as modestly as 
 possible, holding it very close to his nose, as his 
 glasses were unattainable, with an arm of which
 
 38 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 not more than the wrist appeared. He swallowed 
 in his throat once or twice, and seemed to taste 
 something with his lips, as his manner was. 
 
 ."This is terrible!" said the Dean. "Had you 
 any idea " 
 
 " I knew he was going some time to-day," said 
 Jack, " and understood that you knew too." 
 
 " But I had no idea " 
 
 "You did telegraph, didn't you, sir?" 
 
 "I certainly telegraphed. Yes; to Lord Tal- 
 garth. It was my duty. But " 
 
 "Well; he spotted it. That's all. And now 
 he's gone. What's to be done?" 
 
 Mr. Mackintosh considered a moment or two. 
 Jack made an impatient movement. 
 
 " I must telegraph again," said the Dean, with 
 the air of one who has exhausted the resources of 
 civilization. 
 
 " But, good Lord ! sir " 
 
 " Yes. I must telegraph again. As soon as I'm 
 dressed. Or perhaps you would " 
 
 " Office doesn't open till eight. That's no good. 
 He'll be miles away by then." 
 
 " It's the only thing" to be done," said the Dean 
 with sudden energy. " I forbid you to take any 
 other steps, Mr. Kirkby. I am responsible " 
 
 "But"
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 39 
 
 " We must not make a scandal. . . . What 
 else did you propose ? " 
 
 "Why fifty things. Motor-cars; police " 
 " Certainly not. We must make no scandal as 
 he ... as he very properly says." (The 
 Dean swallowed in his throat again. Jack thought 
 afterwards that it must have been the memory of 
 certain other phrases in the letter.) " So if you will 
 be good enough to leave me instantly, Mr. Kirkby, 
 I will finish my dressing and deal with the matter." 
 
 Jack wheeled and went out of the room. 
 
 It was a miserable breakfast to which he sat 
 down half an hour later still in flannels, and 
 without his bath. Frank's place was laid, in ac- 
 cordance with the instructions he had given his 
 landlady last night, and he had not the heart to 
 push the things aside. There were soles for two, 
 and four boiled eggs; there was coffee and mar- 
 malade and toast and rolls and fruit ; and the com- 
 fortable appearance of the table simply mocked 
 him. 
 
 He had had very confused ideas just now as to 
 what was possible with regard to the pursuit of 
 Frank ; a general vision of twenty motor-cars, each 
 with a keen-eyed chauffeur and an observant po-
 
 40 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 liceman, was all that had presented itself to his 
 imagination; but he had begun to realize by now 
 that you cannot, after all, abduct a young man who 
 has committed no crime, and carry him back un- 
 willingly, even to Cambridge ! Neither the Dean 
 of Trinity nor a father possesses quite unlimited 
 power over the freedom of a pupil and a son. 
 And, after all, Frank had only taken his father at 
 his word! 
 
 These reflections, however, did not improve the 
 situation. He felt quite certain, in theory, that 
 something more could be done than feebly to send 
 another telegram or two; the only difficulty was 
 to identify that something. He had vague ideas, 
 himself, of hiring a motor-car by the day, and 
 proceeding to scour the country round Cambridge. 
 But even this did not stand scrutiny. If he had 
 failed to persuade Frank to remain in Cambridge, 
 it was improbable that he could succeed in per- 
 suading him to return even if he found him. 
 About eight important roads run out of Cambridge, 
 and he had not a glimmer of an idea as to which of 
 these he had taken. It was possible, even, that he 
 had not taken any of them, and was walking across 
 country. That would be quite characteristic of 
 Frank. 
 
 He finished breakfast dismally, and blew through
 
 NONE OTHKR GODS 41 
 
 an empty pipe, staring lackadaisically out of the 
 window at the wall of Sidney Sussex for two or 
 three minutes before lighting up. Cambridge 
 seemed an extraordinary flat and stupid place now 
 that Frank was no longer within it. Really there 
 was nothing particular to do. It had become al- 
 most a regular engagement for him to step round to 
 the Great Court about eleven, and see what was to 
 be done. Sometimes Frank wanted lawn-tennis 
 sometimes a canoe on the Backs at any rate, 
 they would either lunch or dine together. And if 
 they didn't well, at any rate, Frank was there ! 
 
 He tried to picture to himself what Frank was 
 doing; he had visions of a sunlit road running 
 across a fen, with a figure tramping up it; of a 
 little wayside inn, and Frank drinking beer in the 
 shade. But it seemed an amazing waste of com- 
 pany that the figure should always be alone. Why 
 hadn't he proposed to go with him himself? He 
 didn't know ; except that it certainly would not have 
 been accepted. And yet they could have had quite 
 a pleasant time for a couple of months; and, after 
 a couple of months, surely Frank would have had 
 enough of it ! 
 
 But, again would he ? . . . Frank seemed 
 really in earnest about making his living perma- 
 nently; and when Frank said that he was going 
 to do a thing, he usually did it ! And Jack Kirkby 
 
 4
 
 42 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 did not see himself leaving his own mother and 
 sisters indefinitely until Frank had learned not to be 
 a fool. 
 
 He lit his pipe at last; and then remembered the 
 commission with regard to the saddle whatever 
 that might mean. He would stroll round presently 
 and talk to the porter about it ... Yes, he 
 would go at once; and he would just look in at 
 Frank's rooms again. There was the hammock to 
 fetch, too. 
 
 But it was a dreary little visit. He went round 
 as he was, his hands deep in his pockets, trying to 
 whistle between his teeth and smoke simultane- 
 ously ; and he had to hold his pipe in his hand out 
 of respect for rules, as he conversed with the stately 
 Mr. Hoppett in Trinity gateway. Mr. Hoppett 
 knew nothing about any saddle at least, not for 
 public communication but his air of deep and 
 diplomatic suspiciousness belied his words. 
 
 " It's all right," said Jack pleasantly, " I had 
 nothing to do with the elopement. The Dean 
 knows all about it." 
 
 " I know nothing about that, sir," said Mr. Hop- 
 pett judicially. 
 
 "Then you've not got the saddle?" 
 
 " I have not, sir." 
 
 Frank's outer door was open as Jack came to the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 43 
 
 familiar staircase, and his heart leaped in spite of 
 himself, as he peered in and heard footsteps in the 
 bedroom beyond. But it was the bed-maker with 
 a mop, and a disapproving countenance, who looked 
 out presently. 
 
 " He's gone, Mrs. Jillings," said Jack. 
 
 Mrs. Jillings sniffed. She had heard tales of the 
 auction and thought it a very improper thing for so 
 pleasant a young gentleman to do. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "There isn't a saddle here, is there?" 
 
 "Saddle, sir? No, sir. What should there be 
 a saddle here for ? " 
 
 " Oh, well," said Jack vaguely. " I've come to 
 fetch away the hammock, anyhow." 
 
 Certainly the rooms looked desolate. Even the 
 carpets were gone, and the unstained boards in the 
 middle seemed suggestive of peculiar dreariness. 
 It was really very difficult to believe that these were 
 the rooms where he and Frank had had such pleas- 
 ant times little friendly bridge-parties, and din- 
 ners, and absurd theatricals, in which Frank had 
 sustained, with extreme rapidity, with the aid of 
 hardly any properties except a rouge-pot, a burnt 
 cork and three or four wisps of hair of various 
 shades, the part of almost any eminent authority in 
 the University of Cambridge that you cared to 
 name. There were long histories, invented by
 
 44 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Frank himself, of the darker sides of the lives of 
 the more respectable members of the Senate his- 
 tories that grew, like legends, term by term in 
 which the most desperate deeds were done. The 
 Master of Trinity, for example, in these Sagas, 
 would pass through extraordinary love adventures, 
 or discover the North Pole, or give a lecture, with 
 practical examples, of the art of flying; the Provost 
 of King's would conspire with the President of 
 Queen's College, to murder the Vice-Chancellor and 
 usurp his dignities. And these histories would be 
 enacted with astonishing realism, chiefly by Frank 
 himself, with the help of a zealous friend or two 
 who were content to obey. 
 
 And these were all over now; and that was the 
 very door through which the Vice-Chancellor was 
 accustomed to escape from his assassins! 
 
 Jack sighed again; passed through, picked up the 
 parcel of clothes that lay in the window-seat, un- 
 hitched the hammock in which Frank had slept last 
 night (he noticed the ends of three cigarettes placed 
 on the cover of a convenient biscuit-tin), and went 
 off resembling a retiarius. Mrs. Jillings sniffed 
 again as she looked after him up the court. She 
 didn't understand those young gentlemen at all; 
 and frequently said so.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 45 
 
 (VI) 
 
 At half-past six o'clock that morning about the 
 time that Jack awoke in Cambridge John Harris, 
 laborer, emerged, very sleepy and frowsy for he 
 had sat up late last night at the " Spotted Dog "- 
 from the door of a small cottage on the Ely road, 
 in the middle of Grunty Fen. He looked this way 
 and that, wondering whether it were as late as his 
 kitchen-clock informed him, and observing the sun, 
 that hung now lamentably high up in that enormous 
 dome of summer sky that sat on the fenland like a 
 dish-cover on a dish. And as he turned south- 
 wards he became aware of a young gentleman car- 
 rying a carpet-bag in one hand, and a gray jacket 
 over his other arm, coming up to him, not twenty 
 yards away. As he came nearer, Mr. Harris no- 
 ticed that his face was badly bruised as by a blow. 
 
 " Good morning," said the young gentleman. 
 " Hot work." 
 
 John Harris made some observation. 
 
 " I want some work to do," said the young gen- 
 tleman, disregarding the observation. " I'm will- 
 ing and capable. Do you know of any? I mean, 
 work that I shall be paid for. Or perhaps some 
 breakfast would do as a beginning." 
 
 John Harris regarded the young gentleman in 
 silence.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 (0 
 
 "JV/TEREFIELD COURT, as every tourist knows 
 may be viewed from ten to five on Tuesdays 
 and Thursdays, when the family are not in resi- 
 dence, and on Tuesdays only, from two to four, 
 when they are. It is unnecessary, therefore, to de- 
 scribe it very closely. 
 
 It stands very nearly on the top of a hill, pro- 
 tected by woods from the north winds of York- 
 shire ; and its towers and pinnacles can be seen from 
 ten miles away down the valley. It is built, archi- 
 tecturally considered, in the form of an irregular 
 triangular court quite unique with the old 
 barbican at the lower end; the chapel wing directly 
 opposite; the ruins of the old castle on the left, keep 
 and all, and the new house that is actually lived in 
 on the right. It is of every conceivable date (the 
 housekeeper will supply details) from the British 
 mound on which the keep stands, to the Georgian 
 smoking-room built by the grandfather of the pres- 
 ent earl; but the main body of the house, with 
 which we are principally concerned the long gray 
 46
 
 NONIi OT11KK liODS 47 
 
 pile facing south down to the lake, and northwards 
 into the court is Jacobean down to the smallest 
 detail, and extremely good at that. It was on the 
 end of this that the thirteenth earl the fifteenth 
 baron and the fourteenth viscount (one man, not 
 three) thought it proper to build on a Palladian 
 kind of smoking-room of red sandstone, brought 
 at enormous cost from half across England. For- 
 tunately, however, ivy has since covered the greater 
 part of its exterior. 
 
 It was in this room also used as a billiard- 
 room that Archie Guiseley ( Viscount Merefield ) , 
 and Dick Guiseley, his first cousin, first heard the 
 news of Frank's intentions. 
 
 They were both dressed for dinner, and were 
 knocking the balls about for ten minutes, waiting 
 for the gong, and they were talking in that inco- 
 herent way characteristic of billiard-players. 
 
 " The governor's not very well again," observed 
 Archie, " and the doctor won't let him go up to 
 town. That's why we're here." 
 
 Dick missed a difficult cannon (he had only ar- 
 rived from town himself by the 6.17), and began to 
 chalk his cue very carefully. 
 
 " There's nothing whatever to do," continued 
 Archie, " so I warn you." 
 
 Dick opened his mouth to speak and closed it 
 again, pursing it up precisely as once more he ad-
 
 48 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 dressed himself to the balls, and this time brought 
 off a really brilliant stroke. 
 
 " And he's in a terrible way about Frank," con- 
 tinued the other. " You've heard all about that? " 
 
 Dick nodded. 
 
 " And he swears he won't have him home again, 
 and that he can go to the devil." 
 
 Dick arched his eyebrows interrogatively. 
 
 "Of course, he doesn't mean it. ... But 
 the gout, you know, and all that. ... I think 
 Frank had better keep out of the way, though, for 
 a bit. Oh! by the way, the Rector and Jenny are 
 coming to dinner." 
 
 "What does Jenny say to it all?" asked Dick 
 gently. 
 
 "Oh! Jenny laughs." 
 
 These two young men for Archie was only 
 twenty-five, and Dick a year or two older were 
 quite remarkably like one another in manner and 
 general bearing. Each, though their faces were en- 
 tirely different, wore that same particular form of 
 mask that is fashionable just now. Each had a 
 look in his eyes as if the blinds were down rather 
 insolent and yet rather pleasant. Each moved in 
 the same kind of way, slow and deliberate; each 
 spoke quietly on rather a low note, and used as few 
 words as possible. Each, just now, wore a short 
 braided dinner-jacket of precisely the same cut.
 
 MONK OTHER GODS 49 
 
 For the rest, they were quite unlike. Archie was 
 clean-shaven, of a medium sort of complexion, with 
 a big chin and rather loosely built; Dick wore a 
 small, pointed brown beard, and was neat and alert. 
 Neither of them did anything particular in the 
 world. Archie was more or less tied to his father, 
 except in the autumn for Archie drew the line 
 at Homburg, and went about for short visits, re- 
 turning continually to look after the estate; Dick 
 lived in a flat in town on six hundred a year, al- 
 lowed him by his mother, and was supposed to be a 
 sort of solicitor. They saw a good deal of one 
 another, off and on, and got on together rather bet- 
 ter than most brothers; certainly better than did 
 Archie and Frank. It was thought a pity by a 
 good many people that they were only cousins. 
 
 Then, as they gossiped gently, the door suddenly 
 opened and a girl came in. 
 
 She was a very striking girl indeed, and her 
 beauty was increased just now by obvious excite- 
 ment held well in check. She was tall and very 
 fair, and carried herself superbly, looking taller 
 than she really was. Her eyes, particularly bright 
 just now, were of a vivid blue, wide-open and well 
 set in her face ; her mouth was strong and sensible ; 
 and there was a glorious air of breeziness and 
 health about her altogether. She was in evening
 
 5 o NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 dress, and wore a light cloak over her white shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " I'm sorry to interrupt," she said " Oh ! good 
 evening, Mr. Dick ! but there's something wrong. 
 Clarkson ran out to tell us that Lord Talgarth 
 it's a telegram or something. Father sent me to 
 tell you." 
 
 Archie looked at her a second ; then he was gone, 
 swiftly, but not hurriedly. The girl turned to Dick. 
 
 " I'm afraid it's something about Frank," she 
 said. " I heard Clarkson mention his name to 
 father. Is there any more news ? " 
 
 Dick laid down his cue across the table. 
 
 " I only came an hour ago," he said. " Archie 
 was telling me just now." 
 
 Jenny went across to the deep chair on the 
 hearth, threw off her cloak and sat down. 
 
 " Lord Talgarth's well if he was my father 
 I should say he was in a passion. I heard his 
 voice." She smiled a little. 
 
 Dick leaned against the table, looking at her. 
 
 "Poor Frank!" he said. 
 
 She smiled again, more freely. 
 
 " Yes . . . poor, dear Frank ! He's always 
 in hot water, isn't he? " 
 
 " I'm afraid it's serious this time," observed Dick. 
 " What did he want to become a Catholic for ? " 
 
 " Oh, Frank's always unexpected ! "
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 51 
 
 " Yes, I know ; but this happens to be just the 
 one very thing " 
 
 She looked at him humorously. 
 
 " Do you know, I'd no notion that Lord Talgarth 
 was so deeply religious until Frank became a Cath- 
 olic." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Dick. " But it is just his 
 one obsession. Frank must have known that." 
 
 " And I've not the slightest doubt," said Jenny, 
 " that that was an additional reason for his doing 
 it." 
 
 "Well, what'll happen?" 
 
 She jerked her head a little. 
 
 "Oh! it'll pass off. You'll see. Frank'll find 
 out, and then we shall all be happy ever after- 
 wards." 
 
 " But meantime?" 
 
 " Oh ! Frank'll go and stay with friends a month 
 or two. I daresay he'll come to the Kirkbys', and 
 I can go and see him." 
 
 " Suppose he does something violent ? He's 
 quite capable of it." 
 
 "Oh! I shall talk to him. It'll be all right. 
 I'm very sensible indeed, you know. All my 
 friends tell me that." 
 
 Dick was silent. 
 
 "Don't you think so?" 
 
 "Think what?"
 
 52 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " That I'm very sensible." 
 
 Dick made a little movement with his head. 
 
 " Oh ! I suppose so. Yes, I daresay. . . . 
 And suppose my uncle cuts him off with a shilling? 
 He's quite capable of it. He's a very heavy father, 
 you know." 
 
 " He won't. I shall talk to him too." 
 
 "Yes; but suppose he does?" 
 
 She threw him a swift glance. 
 
 " Frank'll put the shilling on his watch-chain, 
 after it's been shown with all the other wedding- 
 presents. What are you going to give me, Mr. 
 Dick?" 
 
 " I shall design a piece of emblematic jewelry," 
 said Dick very gravely. " When's the wedding to 
 be?" 
 
 "Well, we hadn't settled. Lord Talgarth 
 wouldn't make up his mind. I suppose next sum- 
 mer some time." 
 
 " Miss Jenny " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Tell me quite seriously what you'd do if 
 there was a real row a permanent one, I mean 
 between Frank and my uncle ? " 
 
 "Dear Mr. Dick don't talk so absurdly. I 
 tell you there's not going to be a row. I'm going 
 to see to that myself." 
 
 " But suppose there was? "
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 53 
 
 Jenny stood up abruptly. 
 
 " I tell you I'm a very sensible person, and I'm 
 not going to imagine absurdities. What do you 
 want me to say? Do you want me to strike an 
 attitude and talk about love in a cottage? " 
 
 " Well, that would be one answer." 
 
 "Very well, then. That'll do, won't it? You 
 can take it as said. . . . I'm going to see 
 what's happening." 
 
 But as she went to the door there came footsteps 
 and voices outside; and the next moment the door 
 opened suddenly, and Lord Talgarth, followed by 
 his son and the Rector, burst into the room. 
 
 (n) 
 
 I am very sorry to have to say it, but the thir- 
 teenth Earl of Talgarth was exactly like a man in 
 a book and not a very good book. His charac- 
 ter was, so to speak, cut out of cardboard stiff 
 cardboard, and highly colored, with gilt edges show- 
 ing here and there. He also, as has been said, re- 
 sembled a nobleman on the stage of the Adelphi. 
 He had a handsome inflamed face, with an aquiline 
 nose and white eyebrows that moved up and down, 
 and all the other things ; he was stout and tall, suf- 
 fered from the gout, and carried with him in the 
 house a black stick with an india-rubber pad on the
 
 54 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 end. There were no shades about him at all. Con- 
 struct a conventionally theatrical heavy father, of 
 noble family, and you have Lord Talgarth to the 
 life. There really are people like this in the world 
 of whom, too, one can prophesy, with tolerable 
 certainty, how they will behave in any given situa- 
 tion. 
 
 Certainly, Lord Talgarth was behaving in charac- 
 ter now. He had received meek Mr. Mackintosh's 
 deferential telegram, occupying several sheets, in- 
 forming him that his son had held an auction of 
 all his belongings, and had proposed to take to the 
 roads; asking, also, for instructions as to how to 
 deal with him. And the hint of defiant obstinacy 
 on the part of Frank the fact, indeed, that he 
 had taken his father at his word had thrown 
 that father into a yet more violent fit of passion. 
 Jenny had heard him spluttering and exclamatory 
 with anger as she came into the hall (the telegram 
 had but that instant been put into his hands), and 
 even now the footmen, still a little pale, were ex- 
 changing winks in the hall outside ; while Clarkson, 
 his valet, and the butler stood in high and subdued 
 conference a little way off. 
 
 What Lord Talgarth would really have wished 
 was that Frank should have written to him a sub- 
 missive even though a disobedient letter, tell- 
 ing him that he could not forego his convictions,
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 55 
 
 and preparing to assume the role of a Christian 
 martyr. For he could have sneered at this, and 
 after suitable discipline forgiven its writer more or 
 less. Of course, he had never intended for one 
 instant that his threats should really be carried out ; 
 but the situation to one of Lord Talgarth's tem- 
 perament demanded that the threats should be 
 made, and that Frank should pretend to be crushed 
 by them. That the boy should have behaved like 
 this brought a reality of passion into the affair 
 disconcerting and infuriating as if an actor 
 should find his enemy on the stage was armed with 
 a real sword. There was but one possibility left 
 which Lord Talgarth instinctively rather than 
 consciously grasped at namely, that an increased 
 fury on his part should once more bring realities 
 back again to a melodramatic level, and leave him- 
 self, as father, master both of the situation and of 
 his most disconcerting son. Frank had behaved 
 like this in minor matters once or twice before, and 
 Lord Talgarth had always come off victor. After 
 all, he commanded all the accessories. 
 
 When the speeches had been made Frank cut 
 off with a shilling, driven to the Colonies, brought 
 back again, and finally starved to death at his 
 father's gates Lord Talgarth found himself in 
 a chair, with Jenny seated opposite, and the rest of
 
 56 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the company gone to dinner. He did not quite re- 
 alize how it had all been brought about, nor by 
 whose arrangement it was that a plate of soup and 
 some fish were to come presently, and Jenny and 
 he to dine together. 
 
 He pulled himself together a little, however, and 
 began to use phrases again about his " graceless 
 son," and " the young villain," and " not a penny 
 of his." (He was, of course, genuinely angry; 
 that must be understood.) 
 
 Then Jenny began to talk. 
 
 " I think, you know," she said quietly, " that you 
 aren't going the right way to work. (It's very im- 
 pertinent of me, isn't it? but you did say just 
 now you wanted to hear what I thought.)" 
 
 " Of course I do; of course I do. You're a sen- 
 sible girl, my dear. I've always said that. But 
 as for this young " 
 
 " Well, let me say what I think. (Yes, put the 
 soup down here, will you. Is that right, Lord Tal- 
 garth?)." She waited till the man was gone again 
 and the old man had taken up his spoon. Then she 
 took up her own. " Well, I think what you've done 
 is exactly the thing to make Frank more obstinate 
 than ever. You see, I know him very well. Now, 
 if you'd only laughed at him and patted his head, 
 so to speak, from the beginning, and told him you
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 57 
 
 thought it an excellent thing for a boy of his char- 
 acter, who wants looking after " 
 
 Lord Talgarth glared at her. He was still 
 breathing rather heavily, and was making some- 
 thing of a noise over his soup. 
 
 " But how can I say that, when I think " 
 
 "Oh! you can't say it now, of course; it's too 
 late. No; that would never do. You must keep 
 it up only you mustn't be really angry. Why 
 not try a little cold severity?" 
 
 She looked so charming and humorous that the 
 old man began to melt a little. He glanced up at 
 her once or twice under his heavy eyebrows. 
 
 " I wonder what you'll do," he said with a kind 
 of gruffness, " when you find you've got to marry a 
 pauper? " 
 
 " I shan't have to marry a pauper," said Jenny. 
 " That wouldn't do either." 
 
 "Oh! you're counting on that eight hundred a 
 year still, are you ? " 
 
 Jenny allowed a little coldness to appear on her 
 face. Rude banter was all very well, but it mustn't 
 go too far. (Secretly she allowed to herself some- 
 times that this old man had elements of the cad in 
 his character.) 
 
 " That's entirely my own affair," she said, " and 
 Frank's."
 
 58 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Lord Talgarth blazed up a little. 
 
 " And the eight hundred a year is mine," he said. 
 
 Jenny laid down her spoon as the servant reap- 
 peared with the fish and the menu-card. He came 
 very opportunely. And while her host was con- 
 sidering what he would eat next, she was pondering 
 her next move. 
 
 Jenny, as has been said, was an exceedingly 
 sensible girl. She had grown up in the Rectory, 
 down at the park gates; and since her mother's 
 death, three years previously, had managed her 
 father's house, including her father, with great suc- 
 cess. She had begun to extend her influence, for 
 the last year or two, even over the formidable lord 
 of the manor himself, and, as has been seen, was 
 engaged to his son. Her judgment was usually 
 very sound and very sane, and the two men, with 
 the Rector, had been perfectly right just now in 
 leaving the old man to her care for an hour or so. 
 If anything could quiet him it would be this girl. 
 She was quite fearless, quite dignified, and quite 
 able to hold her own. And her father perceived 
 that she rather enjoyed it. 
 
 When the man had gone out again, she resumed : 
 
 " Well, let's leave it," she said, " for a day or 
 two. There's no hurry, and " 
 
 " But I must answer this this telegram," he
 
 OT11KR GO US 59 
 
 growled. "What am I to say to the feller?" 
 
 " Tell him to follow his discretion, and that you 
 have complete confidence " 
 
 But " 
 
 " Yes ; I know you haven't, really. But it'll do 
 no harm, and it'll make him feel important." 
 
 " And what if the boy does take to the roads? " 
 
 " Let him," said Jenny coolly. " It won't kill 
 bun." 
 
 He looked up at her again in silence. 
 
 Jenny herself was very far from comfortable, 
 though she was conscious of real pleasure, too, in 
 the situation. She had seen this old man in a 
 passion pretty often, but she had never seen him in* 
 a passion with any real excuse. No one ever 
 thwarted him. He even decided where his doctor 
 should send him for his cure, and in what month, 
 and for how long. And she was not, therefore, 
 quite certain what would happen, for she knew 
 Frank well enough to be quite sure that he meant 
 what he said. However, she reflected, the main 
 thing at present was to smooth things down all 
 round as far as possible. Then she could judge. 
 
 " Can't make out why you ever consented to 
 marry such a chap at all ! " he growled presently. 
 
 " Oh, well " said Jenny.
 
 60 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 (m) 
 
 It was a delicious evening, and the three men, 
 after dinner, strolled out on to the broad terrace 
 that ran, looking over the lake, straight up and 
 down the long side of the house. They had not 
 had the advantage, since the servants were in the 
 room, of talking over the situation as they wished, 
 and there was no knowing when Lord Talgarth and 
 Jenny might emerge. So they sat down at a little 
 stone table at the end furthest from the smoking- 
 room, and Archie and Dick lit their cigarettes. 
 
 There is not a great deal to say about the Rec- 
 tor. The most effective fact about him was that 
 he was the father of Jenny. It was a case, here, 
 of " Averill following Averill " : his father and 
 grandfather, both second sons, as was the Rector 
 himself, had held the living before him, and had 
 performed the duties of it in the traditional and 
 perfectly respectable way. This one was a quiet 
 middle-aged man, clean-shaven except for two small 
 whiskers. He wore a white tie, and a small gold 
 stud was visible in the long slit of his white shirt- 
 front. He was on very easy terms in this house, 
 in an unintimate manner, and dined here once a 
 fortnight or so, without saying or hearing anything 
 of particular interest. He had been secretly de- 
 lighted at his daughter's engagement, and had given
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 61 
 
 his consent with t^'ntU 1 and reserved cordiality. 
 He was a Tory, not exactly by choice, but simply 
 for the same reason as he was Church of Eng- 
 land because he was unable, in the fiber of him, 
 to imagine anything else. Of course, Lord Tal- 
 garth was the principal personage in his world, 
 simply because he was Lord Talgarth and owned 
 practically the whole parish and two-thirds of the 
 next. He regarded his daughter with the greatest 
 respect, and left in her hands everything that he 
 decently could. And, to do her justice, Jenny was 
 a very benevolent, as well as capable, despot. In 
 short, the Rector plays no great part in this drama 
 beyond that of a discreet, and mostly silent, Greek 
 chorus of unimpeachable character. He disap- 
 proved deeply, of course, of Frank's change of re- 
 ligion but he disapproved with that same part of 
 him that appreciated Lord Talgarth. It seemed to 
 him that Catholicism, in his daughter's future hus- 
 band, was a defect of the same kind as would be 
 a wooden leg or an unpleasant habit of sniffing a 
 drawback, yet not insuperable. He would be con- 
 siderably relieved if it could be cured. 
 
 The three men sat there for some while without 
 interruption from the smoking-room, while the 
 evening breeze died, the rosy sky paled, and the 
 stars came out one by one, like diamonds in the
 
 62 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 clear blue. They said, of course, all the proper 
 things, and Dick heard a little more than he had 
 previously known. 
 
 Dick was always conscious of a faint, almost 
 impersonal, resentment against destiny when he 
 stayed at Merefield. It was obvious to him that 
 the position of heir there was one which would ex- 
 actly have suited his tastes and temperament. He 
 was extremely pleased to belong to the family 
 and it was, indeed, a very exceptional family as 
 regards history: it had been represented in nearly 
 every catastrophe since the Norman Conquest, and 
 always on the winning side, except once but it 
 was difficult to enjoy the distinction as it deserved, 
 living, as he did, in a flat in London all by himself. 
 When his name was mentioned to a well-informed 
 stranger, it was always greeted by the question as 
 to whether he was one of the Guiseleys of Mere- 
 field, and it seemed to him singularly annoying that 
 he could only answer " First cousin." Archie, of 
 course, was a satisfactory heir; there was no ques- 
 tion of that he was completely of Dick's own 
 school of manner but it seemed a kind of out- 
 rage that Frank, with his violent convictions and 
 his escapades, should be Archie's only brother. 
 There was little of that repose about him that a 
 Guiseley needed.
 
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 03 
 
 It would be about half-past nine that the sound 
 of an opening door, and voices, from the further 
 end of the terrace, told them that the smoking- 
 room conference was over, and they stood up as 
 Jenny, very upright and pale in the twilight, with 
 her host at her side, came up towards them. Dick 
 noticed that the cigar his uncle carried was smoked 
 down almost to the butt, and augured well from 
 that detail. The old man's arm was in the girl's, 
 and he supported himself on the other side, limping 
 a little, on his black stick. 
 
 He sat down with a grunt and laid his stick 
 across the table. 
 
 " Well, boys, we've settled it," he said. " Jenny's 
 to write the telegram." 
 
 " No one need be anxious any more," announced 
 Jenny imperturbably. " Lord Talgarth's extremely 
 angry still, as he has every right to be, and Frank's 
 going to be allowed to go on the tramp if he wants 
 to." 
 
 The Rector waited, in deferential silence, for 
 corroboration. 
 
 " Jenny's a very sensible girl," observed Lord 
 Talgarth. " And what she says is quite right." 
 
 " Do you mean to say " began Archie. 
 
 The old man frowned round at him. 
 
 " All that I've said holds good," he said.
 
 64 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Frank's made his bed and he must lie on it. I 
 warned him. And Jenny sees that, too." 
 
 Archie glanced at the girl, and Dick looked hard 
 at her, straight into her face. But there was abso- 
 lutely no sign there of any perturbation. Certainly 
 she looked white in the falling dusk, but her eyes 
 were merry and steadfast, and her voice perfectly 
 natural. 
 
 " That's how we've settled it," she said. " And 
 if I'm satisfied, I imagine everyone else ought to 
 be. And I'm going to write Frank a good long 
 letter all by myself. Come along, father, we must 
 be going. Lord Talgarth isn't well, and we mustn't 
 keep him up." 
 
 (IV) 
 
 When the last game of billiards had been played, 
 and whisky had been drunk, and Archie had taken 
 up his candle, Dick stood still, with his own in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Aren't you coming?" said Archie. 
 
 Dick paused. 
 
 " I think I'll smoke one more cigarette on the 
 terrace," he said. " It's a heavenly night, and I 
 want to get the taste of the train out of my mouth." 
 
 " All right, then. Lock up, will you, when you 
 come in? I'm off."
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 65 
 
 It was, indeed, a heavenly night. Behind him as 
 he sat at the table where they had had coffee the 
 great house shimmered pale in the summer twilight, 
 broken here by a line or two of yellow light behind 
 shuttered windows, here with the big oriel window 
 of the hall, blazing with coats, fully illuminated. 
 (He must remember, he thought, to put out the 
 lights there as he went to bed.) 
 
 And about him was the great soft, sweet-smelling 
 darkness, roofed in by the far-off sky alight with 
 stars; and beneath him in the valley he could catch 
 the glimmer of the big lake and the blotted masses 
 of pine and cypress black against it. 
 
 It was here, then, under these circumstances, that 
 Dick confessed to himself, frankly and openly for 
 the first time, that he was in love with Jenny 
 Launton. 
 
 He had known her for years, off and on, and had 
 thought of her as a pretty girl and a pleasant com- 
 panion. He had skated with her, ridden with her, 
 danced with her, and had only understood, with 
 a sense of mild shock, at the time of her engage- 
 ment to Frank six months before, that she was of 
 an age to become a wife to someone. 
 
 That had been the beginning of a process which 
 culminated to-night, as he now understood per- 
 fectly. Its next step had been a vague wonder 
 \\liv Archie hadn't fallen in love with her himself;
 
 66 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 and he had explained it by saying that Archie had 
 too great a sense of his own importance to permit 
 himself to marry a rector's daughter with only a 
 couple of hundred a year of her own. (And in this 
 explanation I think he was quite correct.) Then 
 he had begun to think of her himself a good deal 
 dramatically, rather than realistically wonder- 
 ing what it would feel like to be engaged to her. If 
 a younger son could marry her, surely a first cousin 
 could even of the Guiseleys. So it had gone on, 
 little by little. He had danced with her here at 
 Christmas just after the engagement and had 
 stayed on a week longer than he had intended. He 
 had come up again at Easter, and again at Whitsun- 
 tide, though he always protested to his friends that 
 there was nothing to do at Merefield in the summer. 
 And now here he was again, and the thing had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 At first, as he sat here, he tried to analyze his at- 
 titude to Frank. 
 
 He had never approved of Frank altogether; he 
 didn't quite like the queer kinds of things that 
 Frank did ; for Frank's reputation at Merefield was 
 very much what it was at Cambridge. He did 
 ridiculous and undignified things. As a small boy, 
 he had fought at least three pitched battles in the 
 village, and that was not a proper thing for a
 
 NX) Nl OTHER GODS 67 
 
 Guiseley to do. He liked to go out with the keep- 
 ers after poachers, and Dick, very properly, asked 
 himself what keepers were for except to do that 
 kind of thing for you? There had been a bad row 
 here, too, scarcely eighteen months ago ; it had been 
 something to do with a horse that was ill-treated, 
 and Frank had cut a very absurd and ridiculous fig- 
 ure, getting hot and angry, and finally thrashing a 
 groom, or somebody, with his own hands, and there 
 had been uncomfortable talk about police-courts 
 and actions for assault. Finally, he had fallen in 
 love with, proposed to, and become engaged to, 
 Jenny Launton. That was an improper thing for 
 a younger son to do, anyhow, at his age, and Dick 
 now perceived that the fact that Jenny was Jenny 
 aggravated the offense a hundredfold. And, last 
 of all, he had become a Catholic an act of en- 
 thusiasm which seemed to Dick really vulgar. 
 
 Altogether, then, Frank was not a satisfactory 
 person, and it would do him no harm to have a little 
 real discipline at last. . . . 
 
 It was the striking of midnight from the stable 
 clock that woke Dick up from his deep reverie, 
 and was the occasion of his perceiving that he had 
 come to no conclusion about anything, except that 
 Frank was an ass, that Jenny was well Jenny, 
 and that he, Dick, was an ill-used person.
 
 68 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 I do not like to set down here, even if I could, all 
 the considerations that had passed through Dick's 
 mind since a quarter-past eleven, simply because the 
 very statement of them would give a false impres- 
 sion. Dick was not a knave, and he did not deceive 
 himself about himself more than most of us do. 
 Yet he had considered a number of points that, 
 strictly speaking, he ought not to have considered. 
 He had wondered whether Frank would die ; he 
 had wondered whether, if he did not, Lord Tal- 
 garth would really be as good as his word; and, if 
 so, what effect that would have on Jenny. Finally, 
 he had wondered, with a good deal of intellectual 
 application, what exactly Jenny had meant when 
 she had announced all that about the telegram she 
 was going to send in Lord Talgarth's name, and the 
 letter she was going to send in her own. ( He had 
 asked Archie just now in the smoking-room, and 
 he, too, had confessed himself beaten. Only, he 
 had been quite sure that Jenny would get her way 
 and obtain Frank's forgiveness.) 
 
 Also, in the course of his three-quarters of an 
 hour he had considered, for perhaps the hundredth 
 time since he had come to the age of discretion, 
 what exactly three lives between a man and a title 
 stood for. Lord Talgarth was old and gouty; 
 Archie was not married, and showed no signs of
 
 NONE OT11KK (iODS 69 
 
 it ; and Frank well, Frank was always adventur- 
 "iis and always in trouble. 
 
 Well, 1 have set down the points, after all. But 
 it must not be thought that the gentleman with the 
 pointed brown beard and thoughtful eyes, who at 
 live minutes past twelve went up the two steps into 
 the smoking-room, locked the doors, as he had been 
 directed, took up his candle and went to bed, went 
 with an uneasy conscience, or, in fact, was a villain 
 in any way whatever.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 (i) 
 
 ^T^HE first spot in Frank's pilgrimage which I 
 have been able to visit and identify in such a 
 way that I am able to form to myself a picture of 
 his adventure more or less complete in all its parts, 
 lies about ten miles north-west of Doncaster, in 
 a little valley, where curiously enough another pil- 
 grim named Richard lived for a little while nearly 
 six hundred years ago. 
 
 Up to the time of Frank's coming there, in the 
 season of hay-making, numberless little incidents of 
 his experience stand out, vivid, indeed, but frag- 
 mentary, yet they do not form to my mind a co- 
 herent whole. I think I understand to some extent 
 the process by which he became accustomed to or- 
 dinary physical hard living, into which the initiation 
 began with his series of almost wholly sleepless 
 nights and heavy sleep-burdened days. Night was 
 too strange in barns, beneath hay-ricks, in little 
 oppressive rooms, in stable-lofts for him to sleep 
 easily at first; and between his tramps, or in the 
 dinner-hour, when he managed to get work, he 
 70
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 71 
 
 would drop off in the hot sunshine clown into depths 
 of that kind of rest that is like the sea itself 
 glimmering gulfs, lit by glimpses of consciousness 
 of the grass beneath his cheek, the bubble of bird- 
 song in the copses, stretching down into profound 
 and utter darkness. 
 
 Of how the little happenings of every day wore 
 themselves into a coherent whole, and modified, 
 not indeed himself, but his manner of life and his 
 experience and knowledge, I can make no real pic- 
 ture at all. The first of these took place within 
 ten miles of Cambridge on his first morning, and 
 resulted in the bruised face which Mr. Harris no- 
 ticed ; it concerned a piece of brutality to a dog in 
 which Frank interfered. . . . (He was ex- 
 traordinarily tender to animals.) Then there was 
 the learning as to how work was obtained, and, 
 even more considerable, the doing of the work. 
 The amateur, as Frank pointed out later, began too 
 vigorously and became exhausted; the professional 
 set out with the same deliberation with which he 
 ended. One must not run at one's spade, or hoe, 
 or whatever it was ; one must exercise a wearisome 
 self-control . . . survey the work to be done, 
 turn slowly, spit on one's hands, and after a pause 
 begin, remembering that the same activity must 
 show itself, if the work was to be renewed next 
 day, up to the moment of leaving o.
 
 72 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Then there was the need of becoming accustomed 
 to an entirely different kind of food, eaten in an en- 
 tirely different way, and under entirely different 
 circumstances. There was experience to be gained 
 as to washing clothes I can almost see Frank 
 now by a certain kind of stream, stripped to the 
 waist, waiting while his shirt dried, smoking an ill- 
 rolled cigarette, yet alert for the gamekeeper. 
 Above all, there was an immense volume of learning 
 or, rather, a training of instinct to be gained 
 respecting human nature: a knowledge of the kind 
 of man who would give work, the kind of man who 
 meant what he said, and the kind of man who did 
 not; the kind of woman who would threaten the 
 police if milk or bread were asked for Frank 
 learned to beg very quickly the kind of woman 
 who would add twopence and tell him to be off, and 
 the kind of woman who, after a pause and a slow 
 scrutiny, would deliberately refuse to supply a glass 
 of water. Then there was the atmosphere of the 
 little towns to be learned the intolerable weari- 
 ness of pavements, and the patient persistence of 
 policemen who would not allow you to sit down. 
 He discovered, also, during his wanderings, the 
 universal fact that policemen are usually good- 
 hearted, but with absolutely no sense of humor 
 whatever; he learned this through various attempts 
 to feign that the policeman was in fancy-dress cos-
 
 NONE OTIIKR GODS 73 
 
 tumc and had no real authority. He learned, too, 
 that all crimes pale before " resisting the police in 
 the execution of their duty "; then, he had to learn, 
 too, the way in which other tramps must be ap- 
 proached the silences necessary, the sort of ques- 
 tions \\liich were useless, the jokes that must be 
 laughed at and the jokes that must be resented. 
 
 All this is beyond me altogether; it was beyond 
 even Frank's own powers of description. A boy, 
 coming home for the holidays for the first time, 
 cannot make clear to his mother, or even to him- 
 self, what it is that has so utterly changed his 
 point of view, and his relations towards familiar 
 things. 
 
 So with Frank. 
 
 He could draw countless little vignettes of his ex- 
 periences and emotions the particular sensation 
 elicited, for example, by seeing through iron gates 
 happy people on a lawn at tea the white china, 
 the silver, the dresses, the flannels, the lawn-tennis 
 net as he went past, with string tied below his 
 knees to keep off the drag of the trousers, and a 
 sore heel ; the emotion of being passed by a boy and 
 a girl on horseback; the flood of indescribable as- 
 sociations roused by walking for half a day past 
 the split-oak paling of a great park, with lodge- 
 gates here and there, the cooing of wood-pigeons,
 
 74 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 and the big house, among its lawns and cedars and 
 geranium-beds, seen now and then, far off in the 
 midst. But what he could not describe, or under- 
 stand, was the inner alchemy by which this new re- 
 lation to things modified his own soul, and gave 
 him a point of view utterly new and bewildering. 
 Curiously enough, however (as it seems to me), 
 he never seriously considered the possibility of 
 abandoning this way of life, and capitulating to his 
 father. A number of things, I suppose incon- 
 ceivable to myself contributed to his purpose ; 
 his gipsy blood, his extraordinary passion for ro- 
 mance, the attraction of a thing simply because it 
 was daring and unusual, and finally, a very excep- 
 tionally strong will that, for myself, I should call 
 obstinacy. 
 
 The silence as regards his old world was 
 absolute and unbroken. He knew perfectly well 
 that by now letters and telegrams must be waiting 
 for him at Jack's home, including at least one from 
 Jenny, and probably a dozen; but as to Jenny, he 
 knew she would understand, and as to the rest, he 
 honestly did not care at all. He sent her a picture 
 postcard once or twice from Ely, Peterborough, 
 Sleaford and Newark towns where he stayed for 
 a Sunday (I have seen in Sleaford the little room 
 where he treated himself to a bed for two nights) 
 and was content. He made no particular plans
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 75 
 
 for the future ; he supposed something would turn 
 up; and he settled with himself, by the help of that 
 same will which I have mentioned before, that he 
 would precipitate no conclusions till he reached Bar- 
 ham later on in the early autumn. 
 
 His faith and morals during these weeks are a 
 little difficult to describe. As regards his morals, 
 at least in one particular point, he had formulated 
 the doctrine that, when he was very hungry, game 
 might not be touched, but that rabbits and birds 
 WITC permissible if they could be snared in the 
 hedges of the high-road. He became an expert at 
 this kind of thing, and Jack has described to me, 
 as taught by Frank, a few devices of which I was 
 entirely ignorant. Frank tramped for a couple of 
 days with a gamekeeper out of work, and learned 
 these things from him, as well as one or two simple 
 methods of out-of-door cookery. As regards his 
 religion, I think I had better not say much just 
 now; very curious influences were at work upon 
 him: I can only say that Frank himself has de- 
 scribed more than once, when he could be induced 
 t" talk, the extraordinary, and indeed indescribable, 
 thrill with which he saw, now and again, in town or 
 country, a priest in his vestments go to the altar 
 for he heard mass when he could. . . . 
 
 So much, then, is all that I can say of the small, 
 detached experiences that he passed through, up to
 
 76 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the paint when he came out one evening at sunset 
 from one of the fields of Hampole where he had 
 made hay all day, when his job was finished, and 
 where he met, for the first time, the Major and 
 Gertie Trustcott. 
 
 (n) 
 
 They were standing with the sunset light behind 
 them, as a glory two disreputable figures, such as 
 one sees in countless thousands along all the high- 
 roads of England in the summer. The Major him- 
 self was a lean man, with a red mustache turning 
 gray, deep-set, narrow, blood-shot eyes, a chin and 
 very square jaw shaved about two days previously. 
 He had an old cricketing cap on his head, trousers 
 tied up with string, like Frank's, and one of those 
 long, square-tailed, yellowish coats with broad side- 
 pockets such as a gamekeeper might have worn 
 twenty years ago. One of his boots was badly 
 burst, and he seemed to rest his weight by prefer- 
 ence on the other foot. He was not prepossessing; 
 but Frank saw, with his newly-gained experience, 
 that he was different from other tramps. He 
 glanced at the girl and saw that she too was not 
 quite of the regular type, though less peculiar than 
 her companion ; and he noticed with an odd touch 
 at his heart that she had certain characteristics in
 
 NONE UTIll-K CODS 77 
 
 common \\itli Jenny. She was not so tall. l>ut slu- 
 had the same colored hair under a filthy while sun- 
 bonnet and the same kind of blue eyes : but her oval 
 face again was weak and rather miserable. They 
 were both deeply sunburned. 
 
 Frank had learned the discretion of the roads by 
 now. and did no more than jerk his head almost im- 
 perceptibly as he went past. (He proposed to go 
 back to the farm to get his dwindled belongings, as 
 the job was over, and to move on a few miles north- 
 ward before sleeping.) 
 
 As he went, however, he knew that the man had 
 turned and was looking after him; but he made no 
 sign. He had no particular desire for company. 
 He also knew by instinct, practically for certain, 
 that these two were neither husband and wife, nor 
 father and daughter. The type was obvious. 
 
 " I say. sir ! " 
 
 Frank turned as bucolically as he could. 
 
 " I say, sir can you direct this lady and my- 
 self to a lodging?" 
 
 I rank had tried to cultivate a low and character- 
 less kind of voice, as of a servant or a groom out 
 < . f work. He knew he could never learn the proper 
 accent. 
 
 " Depends on what kind of lodging you want, 
 sir."
 
 78 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Whaf d suit you 'ud suit us," said the Major 
 genially, dropping the " sir." 
 
 " I'm going further, sir," said Frank. " I've 
 done my job here." 
 
 The Major turned to the girl, and Frank caught 
 the words, " What d'you say, Gertie? " There was 
 a murmur of talk ; and then the man turned to him 
 a'gain : 
 
 "If you've no objection, sir, we'll come with you. 
 My good lady here is good for a mile or two more, 
 she says, and we'd like some company." 
 
 Frank hesitated. He did not in the least wish 
 for company himself. He glanced at the girl 
 again. 
 
 " Very good, sir," he said. " Then' if you'll wait 
 here I'll be back in five minutes I've got to get 
 my belongings." 
 
 He nodded to the low farm buildings in the valley 
 just below the village. 
 
 " We will await you here, sir," said the Major 
 magnificently, stroking his mustache. 
 
 As Frank came back up the little hill a few min- 
 utes later, he had made up his mind as to what to 
 say and do. It was his first experience of a gentle- 
 man-tramp, and it was obvious that under the cir- 
 cumstances he could ndt pretend to be anything
 
 NOXI-: on IKK GODS 79 
 
 else himself. But he was perfectly determined not 
 to tell his name. None of his belongings had any- 
 thing more than his initials upon them, and he de- 
 cided to use the name he had already given more 
 than once. Probably they would not go far to- 
 gether; but it was worth while to be on the safe 
 side. 
 
 He came straight up to the two as they sat side 
 by side with their feet in the ditch. 
 
 " I'm ready, sir," he said. " Yes ; you've spotted 
 me all right." 
 
 " University man and public school boy," said the 
 Major without moving. 
 
 " Eton and Cambridge," said Frank. 
 
 The Major sprang up. 
 
 " Harrow and the Army," he said. " Shake 
 hands." 
 
 This was done. 
 
 " Name ? " said the Major. 
 
 Frank grinned. 
 
 " I haven't my card with me," he said. " But 
 Frank Gregory will do." 
 
 "I understand," said the Major. "And 'The 
 Major ' will do for me. It has the advantage of 
 being true. And this lady? well, we'll call her 
 my wife." 
 
 Frank bowed. He felt he was acting in some
 
 8o NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 ridiculous dream; but his sense of humor saved him. 
 The girl gave a little awkward bow in response, 
 and dropped her eyes. Certainly she was very like 
 Jenny, and .very unlike. 
 
 "And a name?" asked Frank. "We may as 
 well have one in case of difficulties." 
 
 The Major considered. 
 
 "What do you say to Trustcott?" he asked. 
 "Will that do?" 
 
 " Perfectly," said Frank. " Major and Mrs. 
 Trustcott. . . . Well, shall we be going?" 
 
 Frank had no particular views as to lodgings, or 
 even to roads, so long as the direction was more 
 or less northward. He was aiming, generally speak- 
 ing, at Selby and York; and it seemed that this 
 would suit the Major as well as anything else. 
 There is, I believe, some kind of routine amongst 
 the roadsters ; and about that time of the year most 
 of them are as far afield as at any time from their 
 winter quarters. The Major and Mrs. Trustcott, 
 he soon learned, were Southerners; but they would 
 not turn homewards for another three months yet, 
 at least. For himself, he had no ideas beyond a 
 general intention to reach Barham some time in the 
 autumn, before Jack went back to Cambridge for 
 his fourth year. 
 
 " The country is not prepossessing about here,"
 
 NOXK OT11KK CUDS 81 
 
 observed the Major presently; " Hampole is an CX- 
 beption." 
 
 Frank glanced back at the valley they were leav- 
 ing. It had, indeed, an extraordinarily retired and 
 rural air; it was a fertile little tract of ground, 
 very limited and circumscribed, and the rail that 
 ran through it was the only sign of the century. 
 But the bright air was a little dimmed with smoke; 
 and already from the point they had reached tall 
 chimneys began to prick against the horizon. 
 
 " You have been here before?" he said. 
 
 " \Vhy. yes: and about this time last year, wasn't 
 it. (iertie? I understand a hermit lived here once." 
 
 "A hermit might almost live here to-day," said 
 Frank. 
 
 " You are right, sir," said the Major. 
 
 Frank began to wonder, as he walked, as to why 
 this man was on the roads. Curiously enough, he 
 believed his statement that he had been in the army. 
 The air of him seemed the right thing. A militia 
 captain would have swaggered more; a complete 
 impostor would have given more details. Frank 
 be.nan to fish for information. 
 
 " You have been long on the roads? " he said. 
 
 The Major did not appear to hear him. 
 
 " Y<>u have been long on the roads?" persisted 
 Frank.
 
 82 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 The other glanced at him furtively and rather 
 insolently. " The younger man first, please." 
 
 Frank smiled. 
 
 "Oh, certainly!" he said. "Well, I have left 
 Cambridge at the end of June only." 
 
 " Ah ! Anything disgraceful ? " 
 
 " You won't believe me, I suppose, if I say 
 'No'?" 
 
 "Oh! I daresay I shall." 
 
 " Well, then, ' No.' " 
 
 "Then may I ask?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I was kicked out by my father I 
 needn't go into details. I sold up my things and 
 came out. That's all ! " 
 
 " And you mean to stick to it ? " 
 
 " Certainly at least for a year or two." 
 
 " That's all right. Well, then Major what 
 did we say? Trustcott? Ah, yes, Trustcott. 
 Well, then, I think we might add * Eleventh Hus- 
 sars ' ; that's near enough. The final catastrophe 
 was, I think, cards. Not that I cheated, you un- 
 derstand. I will allow no man to say that of me. 
 But that was what was said. A gentleman of 
 spirit, you understand, could not remain in a regi- 
 ment when such things could be said. Then we 
 tumbled downhill; and I've been at this for four 
 years. And, you know, sir, it might be worse! " 
 
 Frank nodded.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 83 
 
 Naturally he did not believe as necessarily true 
 this terse little story, and he was absolutely certain 
 that if cards were mixed up in it at all, obviously 
 the Major had cheated. So he just took the story 
 and put it away, so to speak. It was to form, he 
 perceived, the understanding on which they con- 
 sorted together. Then he began to wonder about 
 the girl. The Major soon supplied a further form. 
 
 "And Mrs. Trustcott, here? Well, she joined 
 me, let us say, rather more than eighteen months 
 ago. We had been acquainted before that, however. 
 That was when I was consenting to serve as groom 
 to some er some Jewish bounder in town. 
 Mrs. Trustcott's parents live in town." 
 
 The girl, who had been trudging patiently a foot 
 or two behind them, just glanced up at Frank and 
 down again. He wondered exactly what her own 
 attitude was to all this. But she made no com- 
 ment. 
 
 " And now we know one another," finished the 
 Major in a tone of genial finality. " So where are 
 you taking us er Mr. Gregory? " 
 
 (m) 
 
 They were fortunate that night. 
 The part of Yorkshire where they were traveling 
 consists chiefly of an innumerable quantity of little
 
 84 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 cottages, gathered for the most part round collieries. 
 One has the impression at any rate, from a 
 motor that there is nothing but villages. But 
 that is not a fact. There are stretches of road, 
 quite solitary at certain hours; and in one of these 
 they noticed presently a little house, not twenty 
 yards from the road, once obviously forming part 
 of a row of colliers' cottages, of which the rest were 
 demolished. 
 
 It was not far off from ruin itself, and was very 
 plainly uninhabited. Across the front door were 
 nailed deal props, originally, perhaps, for the pur- 
 pose of keeping it barred, and useful for holding it 
 in its place. The Major and Gertie kept watch on 
 the road while Frank pushed open the crazy little 
 gate and went round to the back. A minute later 
 he called to them softly. 
 
 He had wrenched open the back door, and within 
 in the darkness they could make out a little kitchen, 
 stripped of everything table, furniture, and even 
 the range itself. The Major kicked something 
 presently in the gloom, swore softly, and announced 
 he had found a kettle. They decided that all this 
 would do very well. 
 
 Tramps do not demand very much, and these 
 were completely contented when they had made a
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 85 
 
 small tire, damped down with a turf to prevent it 
 smoking, had boiled a little water, stewed some tea, 
 and eaten what they had. Even this was not lux- 
 urious. The Major produced the heel of a cheese 
 and two crushed-looking bananas, and Frank a 
 half-eaten tin of sardines and a small, stale loaf. 
 The Major announced presently that he would make 
 a savory; and, indeed, with cheese melted on to 
 the bread, and sardines on the top, he did very 
 well. Gertie moved silently about; and Frank, in 
 the- intervals of rather abrupt conversation with the 
 Major, found his eyes following her as she spread 
 out their small possessions, vanished up the stairs 
 and reappeared. Certainly she was very like Jenny, 
 even in odd little details the line of her eyebrows, 
 the angle of her chin and so forth perhaps more 
 in these details than in anything else. He began 
 to wonder a little about her to imagine her past, 
 to forecast her future. It seemed all rather sordid. 
 She disappeared finally without a word: he heard 
 her steps overhead, and then silence. 
 Then he had to attend to the Major a little more. 
 
 " It was easy enough to tell you," said that gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, if nothing else, your clothes," 
 
 " Aren't they shabby enough?"
 
 86 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 The Major eyed him with half-closed lids, by the 
 light of the single candle-end, stuck in its own wax 
 on the mantelshelf. 
 
 " They're shabby enough, but they're the wrong 
 sort. There's the cut, first though that doesn't 
 settle it. But these are gray flannel trousers, for 
 one thing, and then the coat's not stout enough." 
 
 " They might have been given me," said Frank, 
 smiling. 
 
 " They fit you too well for that." 
 
 " I'll change them when I get a chance," observed 
 Frank. 
 
 " It would be as well," assented the Major. 
 
 Somehow or another the sense of sordidness, 
 which presently began to affect Frank so profoundly, 
 descended on him for the first time that night. He 
 had managed, by his very solitariness hitherto, to 
 escape it so far. It had been possible to keep up a 
 kind of pose so far; to imagine the adventure in 
 the light of a very much prolonged and very real- 
 istic picnic. But with this other man the thing be- 
 came impossible. It was tolerable to wash one's 
 own socks; it was not so tolerable to see another 
 man's socks hung up on the peeling mantelpiece a 
 foot away from his own head, and to see two 
 dirty ankles, not his own, emerging from crazy 
 boots.
 
 XOXE OTHER GODS 87 
 
 The Major, too, presently, when he grew a trifle 
 maudlin over his own sorrows, began to call him 
 " Frankie," and " my boy," and somehow it mat- 
 tered, from a man with the Major's obvious record. 
 Frank pulled himself up only just in time to pre- 
 vent a retort when it first happened, but it was 
 not the slightest use to be resentful. The thing 
 had to be borne. And it became easier when it 
 occurred to him to regard the Major as a study ; it 
 was even interesting to hear him give himself away, 
 yet all with a pompous appearance of self-respect, 
 and to recount his first meeting with Gertie, now 
 asleep upstairs. 
 
 The man was, in fact, exactly what Frank, in his 
 prosperous days, would have labeled " Bounder." 
 He had a number of meaningless little mannerisms 
 a way of passing his hand over his mustache, 
 a trick of bringing a look of veiled insolence into 
 his eyes; there were subjects he could not keep away 
 from among them Harrow School, the Univer- 
 sities (which he called 'Varsity), the regiment he 
 had belonged to, and a certain type of adventure 
 connected with women and champagne. And un- 
 derneath the whole crust of what the Major took 
 to be breeding, there was a piteous revelation of a 
 feeble, vindictive, and rather nasty character. It 
 became more and more evident that the cheating 
 incident or, rather, the accusation, as he per-
 
 88 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 sisted in calling it was merely the last straw in 
 his fall, and that the whole thing had been the re- 
 sult of a crumbly unprincipled kind of will under- 
 neath, rather than of any particular strain of vice. 
 He appeared, even now, to think that his traveling 
 about with a woman who was not his wife was a 
 sort of remnant of fallen splendor as a man might 
 keep a couple of silver spoons out of the ruin of his 
 house. 
 
 " I recommend you to pick up with one," re- 
 marked the Major. " There are plenty to be had, 
 if you go about it the right way." 
 
 " Thanks," said Frank, " but it's not my line." 
 
 (IV) 
 
 The morning, too, was a little trying. 
 
 Frank had passed a tolerable night. The Major 
 had retired upstairs about ten o'clock, taking his 
 socks with him, presumably to sleep in them, and 
 Frank had heard him creaking about upstairs for 
 a minute or two; there had followed two clumps as 
 the boots were thrown off; a board suddenly spoke 
 loudly ; there was a little talking obviously the 
 Major had awakened Gertie in order to make a re- 
 mark or two and then silence. 
 
 Frank had not slept for half an hour: he was 
 thinking, with some depression, of the dreary affair
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 89 
 
 into which he had been initiated, of the Major, and 
 of Gertie, for whom he was beginning to be sorry. 
 He did not suppose that the man actually bullied 
 her; probably he had done this sufficiently for the 
 present she was certainly very quiet and sub- 
 dued or perhaps she really admired him, and 
 thought it rather magnificent to travel about with 
 an ex-officer. Anyhow, it was rather deplorable. 
 
 When he awoke next morning, the depression 
 was on him still; and it was not lifted by the ap- 
 parition of Gertie on which he opened his eyes from 
 his corner, in an amazingly dirty petticoat, bare- 
 armed, with her hair in a thick untidy pig-tail, try- 
 ing to blow the fire into warmth again. 
 
 Frank jumped up he was in his trousers and 
 shirt. 
 
 " Let me do that," he said. 
 
 " I'll do it," said Gertie passionlessly. 
 
 The Major came down ten minutes later, con- 
 siderably the worse for his night's rest. Yester- 
 day he had had a day's beard on him ; to-day he had 
 two, and there was a silvery sort of growth in the 
 stubble that made it look wet. His eyes, too, were 
 red and sunken, and he began almost instantly to 
 talk about a drink. Frank stood it for a few min- 
 utes, then he understood and capitulated. 
 
 7
 
 90 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " I'll stand you one," he said, " if you'll get me 
 two packets of Cinderellas." 
 
 "What's the good of that?" said the Major. 
 " Pubs aren't open yet. It's only just gone five." 
 
 " You'll have to wait, then," said Frank shortly. 
 
 Presently the Major did begin to bully Gertie. 
 He asked her what the devil was the good of her if 
 she couldn't make a fire burn better than that. He 
 elbowed her out of the way and set to work at it 
 himself. She said nothing at all. Yet there was 
 not the faintest use in Frank's interfering, and, in- 
 deed, there was nothing to interfere in. 
 
 Food, too, this morning, seemed disgusting; and 
 again Frank learned the difference between a kind 
 of game played by oneself and a reality in which 
 two others joined. There had been something al- 
 most pleasing about unrolling the food wrapped 
 up at supper on the previous night, and eating it, 
 with or without cooking, all alone; but there was 
 something astonishingly unpleasant in observing 
 sardines that were now common property lying in 
 greasy newspaper, a lump of bread from which 
 their hands tore pieces, and a tin bowl of warmish 
 cocoa from which all must drink. This last detail 
 was a contribution on the part of Major and Mrs. 
 Trustcott, and it would have been ungracious to 
 refuse. The Major, too, was sullen and resentful
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 91 
 
 this morning, and growled at Gertie more than 
 once. 
 
 Even the weather seemed unpropitious as they 
 set out together again soon after six. Rain had 
 fallen in the night, yet not all the rain that there 
 was overhead. There were still clouds hanging, 
 mixed with the smoke from the chimneys; the 
 hedges seemed dulled and black in spite of their 
 green ; the cinder path they walked on was depress- 
 ing, the rain-fed road even more so. They passed 
 a dozen men on their way to the pits, who made re- 
 marks on the three, and retaliation was out of the 
 question. 
 
 It was very disconcerting to Frank to find the 
 difference that his new circumstances made; and 
 yet he did not seriously consider changing them. 
 It seemed to him, somehow or other, in that strange 
 fashion in which such feelings come, that the whole 
 matter was pre-arranged, and that the company 
 in which he found himself was as inevitably his 
 at least for the present as the family to a 
 child born into it. And there was, of course, too, 
 a certain element of relief in feeling himself no 
 longer completely alone; and there was also, as 
 Frank said later, a curious sense of attraction to- 
 wards, and pity for, Gertie that held him there.
 
 92 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 At the first public-house that was open the Major 
 stopped. 
 
 " I'll get your Cinderellas now, if you like," he 
 said. 
 
 This had not been Frank's idea, but he hardly 
 hesitated. 
 
 " All right," he said. " Here's fourpence." 
 
 The Major vanished through the swing-doors as 
 a miner came out, and a gush of sweet and sickly 
 scent beer, spirits, tobacco poured upon the 
 fresh air. And there was a vision of a sawdusted 
 floor and spittoons within. 
 
 Frank looked at Gertie, who had stopped like a 
 patient donkey, and, like a prudent one, had let her 
 bundle instantly down beside the Major's. 
 
 " Like one, too? " he said. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " Not for me." . . . And no more. 
 
 In a couple of minutes the Major was out again. 
 
 " Only had one packet left," he said, and with an 
 air of extreme punctiliousness and magnanimity re- 
 placed one penny in Frank's hand. He had the air 
 of one who is insistent on the little honesties of life. 
 There was also a faintly spirituous atmosphere 
 about him, and his eyes looked a little less sunken. 
 
 Then he handed over the cigarettes. 
 
 " Shouldn't mind one myself," he said genially. 
 
 Frank gave him one before lighting his own.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 93 
 
 " You're a good sort," said the Major, " and I 
 wish I could give you one of my old cigars I used 
 to give my friends." 
 
 "Ah! well, when your ship comes home," <>1> 
 served Frank, throwing away his match. 
 
 The Major nodded his head as with an air of 
 fallen grandeur. 
 
 " Well." he said, " vorwdrts. That means * for- 
 ward,' my dear," he explained to Gertie. 
 
 Gertie said nothing. They took up their bundles 
 and went on. 
 
 (v) 
 
 It was not till a week later that Gertie did that 
 which was to effect so much in Frank she con- 
 fided in him. 
 
 The week had consisted of the kind of thing that 
 might be expected small negligible adventures; 
 work now and then the Major and Frank work- 
 ing side by side a digging job on one day, the 
 carrying of rather dingy smoke-stained hay on an- 
 other, the scraping of garden-paths that ran round 
 the small pink house of a retired tradesman, who 
 observed them magnificently through a plate-glass 
 window all the while, with a cigar in his teeth, and 
 ultimately gave them ninepence between them. 
 They slept here and there once, on a rainy night,
 
 94 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 in real lodgings, once below a haystack. Frank 
 said hardly a word to Gertie, and did little more 
 than listen to the Major, who was already begin- 
 ning to repeat himself; but he was aware that the 
 girl was watching him. 
 
 The crisis came about under circumstances that 
 might be expected on a rather sentimental kind 
 of Sunday evening, in a village whose name I forget 
 (perhaps it was Escrick) between Selby and York. 
 Frank had made a small excursion by himself in the 
 morning and had managed to hear mass; they had 
 dined well off cold bacon and beans, and had walked 
 on in the afternoon some miles further; and they 
 came to the village a little after six o'clock. The 
 Major had a blister, which he had exhibited at least 
 four times to the company, and had refused to go 
 further; and as they came to the outskirts of the 
 village, volunteered to go and look for shelter, if 
 the two would wait for him at a stile that led across 
 fields to the old church. 
 
 The scene was rather like the setting of the last 
 act in a melodrama of a theater on the Surrey side 
 of the Thames the act in which the injured hero- 
 ine, with her child, sinks down fainting as the folk 
 are going to church in the old village on a June 
 evening among the trees leading up to moonlight 
 effects and reunion. There was no organ to play
 
 NONE OTHKR GODS 95 
 
 "off," but the bells were an excellent substitute, 
 and it was these that presently melted the heart of 
 Gertie. 
 
 \Yhen the Major had disappeared, limping, the 
 two climbed over the stile and sat down with their 
 bundles under the hedge, but they presently found 
 that they had chosen something of a thoroughfare. 
 Voices came along presently, grew louder, and 
 stopped as the speakers climbed the stile. The first 
 pair was of a boy and girl, who instantly clasped 
 again mutual waists, and went off up the path across 
 the field to the churchyard without noticing the 
 two tramps ; their heads were very near together. 
 
 Then other couples came along, old and young, 
 and twice a trio one, two young men in black, 
 who skirmished on either side of a very sedate girl in 
 white; one, two girls who shoved one another, and 
 giggled, walking in step three yards behind another 
 young man with his hat on one side, who gloried 
 in being talked at and pretended to be rapt in ab- 
 straction. Then some children came ; then a family 
 papa walking severely apart in a silk hat, and 
 mamma, stout and scarlet-faced, in the midst of 
 the throng. Finally there came along a very old 
 Darby and Joan, who with many Yorkshire ejacu- 
 lations helped one another over the stile, and moved 
 on with bent heads, scolding one another affection-
 
 96 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 ately. It was as this last couple reached the spot 
 where the path ran into the corn that the peal of 
 four bells broke out, and Gertie broke down. 
 
 Frank had not been noticing her particularly. 
 He was gloomy himself; the novelty of the whole 
 affair had gone ; the Major was becoming intoler- 
 able, and Frank's religion was beginning to ebb 
 from his emotions. Mass this morning had not 
 been a success from an emotional point of view; 
 he had had an uncomfortable seat on a pitch-pine 
 bench in a tin church with an American organ ; the 
 very young priest had been tiresome and antipa- 
 thetic. . . . Frank had done his best, but he 
 was tired and bored ; the little church had been very 
 hot, and it was no longer any fun to be stared at 
 superciliously by a stout tradesman as he came out 
 into the hot sunshine afterwards. 
 
 Just now he had been watching the figures make 
 their appearance from the stile, re-form groups and 
 dwindle slowly down to the corn, and their heads 
 and shoulders bob along above it all with a kind 
 of resentment. These people had found their life; 
 he was still looking for his. He was watching, too, 
 the strangely unreal appearance of the sunlit fields, 
 the long shadows, the golden smoky light, and the 
 church tower, set among cypresses half a mile away 
 yet without any conscious sentiment. He had 
 not said a word to Gertie, nor she to him, and he
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 97 
 
 was totally taken by surprise when, after the first 
 soft crash of bells for evening service, she had sud- 
 denly thrown herself round face forward among 
 the grasses and burst out sobbing. 
 
 " My dear girl ! " said Frank, " whatever's the 
 matter? " Then he stopped. 
 
 Fortunately the procession of worshipers had 
 run dry, and the two were quite alone. He sat up- 
 right, utterly ignorant of what to say. He thought 
 perhaps she was in pain . . . should he run for 
 the Major or a doctor? . . . Then, as after 
 a minute or two of violent sobbing she began a few 
 incoherent words, he understood. 
 
 " Oh ! I'm a wicked girl ... a wicked girl 
 . . . it's all so beautiful . . . the church 
 bells ... my mother! " 
 
 He understood, then, what had precipitated this 
 crisis and broken down the girl's reserve. It was, 
 in fact, exactly that same appeal which holds a gal- 
 lery breathless and tearful in the last act of a Sur- 
 rey-side melodrama the combination of Sunday 
 quiet, a sunset, church bells, associations and human 
 relationships; and Gertie's little suburban soul re- 
 sponded to it as a bell to a bell-rope. It was this 
 kind of thing that stood to her for holiness and 
 peace and purity, and it had gone clean through her
 
 98 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 heart. And he understood, too, that it was his 
 presence that had allowed her to break down. The 
 Major's atmosphere had held her taut so far. 
 Frank was conscious of a lump in his own throat 
 as he stared out, helpless, first at the peaceful Sun- 
 day fields and then down at the shaking shoulders 
 and the slender, ill-clad, writhed form of Gertie. 
 . . . He did not know what to do . . . he 
 hoped the Major would not be back just yet. Then 
 he understood he must say something. 
 
 " Don't cry," he said. " The Major " 
 
 She sat up on the instant in sudden consternation, 
 her pretty, weak, sunburned face disfigured with 
 tears, but braced for the moment by fear. 
 
 "No, no," said Frank; "he isn't coming yet; 
 but" 
 
 Then she was down again, moaning and talking. 
 
 "Oh! . . . Oh! . . . I'm a wicked 
 girl. . . . My mother! . . . and I never 
 thought I should come to this ! " 
 
 " Well, why don't you chuck it ? " said Frank 
 practically. 
 
 " I can't ! . . . I can't !!...! love 
 him ! " 
 
 That had not occurred to this young man as a 
 conceivable possibility, and he sat silenced. The 
 church-bells pealed on ; the sun sank a little lower ;
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 99 
 
 Gertie sobbed more and more gently; and Frank's 
 mind worked like a mill, revolving developments. 
 Finally, she grew quiet, lay still, and, as the bells 
 gave place to one of their number, sat up. She 
 dabbed at her eyes with a handful of wet grass, 
 passed her sleeve across them once or twice, and 
 began to talk. 
 
 "I ... I'm very silly, Frankie," she said, 
 " but I can't help it. I'm better now. Don't tell 
 George." 
 
 " Of course I shan't! " said Frank indignantly. 
 
 " You're a gentleman too," said Gertie. (Frank 
 winced a little, interiorly, at the "too.") "I can 
 see that you're polite to a lady. And I don't know 
 however I came to tell you. But there it is, and no 
 harm's done." 
 
 "Why don't you leave him?" said Frank cour- 
 ageously. A little wave of feeling went over her 
 face. 
 
 " He's a gentleman," she said. ..." No, I 
 can't leave him. But it does come over you some- 
 times; doesn't it?" (Her face wavered again.) 
 " It was them bells, and the people and all." 
 
 " Where's your home? " 
 
 She jerked her head in a vague direction. 
 
 " Down Londonwards," she said. " But that's 
 all done with. I've made my bed, and "
 
 ioo NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Tell me plainly: does he bully you? " 
 " Not to say bully," she said. " He struck me 
 once, but never again." 
 
 " Tell me if he does it again." 
 
 A small, sly, admirative look came into her eyes. 
 
 " We'll see," she said. 
 
 Frank was conscious of a considerable sense of 
 disappointment The thing had been almost touch- 
 ing just now, as the reserve first broke up, but it 
 was a very poor little soul, it seemed to him, that 
 had at last made its appearance. (He did not yet see 
 that that made it all the more touching.) He did 
 not quite see what to do next. He was Christian 
 enough to resent the whole affair; but he was aris- 
 tocratic enough in his fastidiousness to think at this 
 moment that perhaps it did not matter much for 
 people of this sort. Perhaps it was the highest 
 ideal that persons resembling the Major and Gertie 
 could conceive. But her next remark helped to 
 break up his complacency. 
 
 " You're a Catholic," she said. " People say that 
 you Catholics don't mind this kind of thing me 
 and the Major, I mean." 
 
 There was a dreadful sort of sly suggestiveness 
 about this remark that stung him. He exploded; 
 and his wounded pride gave him bitterness.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 101 
 
 " My good girl," he said, " Catholics simply loathe 
 it. And even, personally, I think it's beastly." 
 
 "Well I . . ."' 
 
 " I think it's beastly," said Frank didactically. 
 " A good girl like you, well-brought-up, good par- 
 ents, nice home, religious instead of which " 
 he ended in a burst of ironical reminiscence " you 
 go traveling about with a " he checked himself 
 " a man who isn't your husband. Why don't you 
 marry him? " 
 
 " I can't! " wailed Gertie, suddenly stricken again 
 with remorse; "his wife's alive." 
 
 Frank jumped. Somehow that had never oc- 
 curred to him. And yet how amazingly character- 
 istic of the Major! 
 
 " Well leave him, then!" 
 
 " I can't ! " cried poor Gertie. " I can't ! . . 
 I can't! "
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 (i) 
 
 awoke with a start and opened his eyes. 
 But it was still dark and he could see nothing. 
 So he turned over on the other side and tried to go 
 to sleep. 
 
 The three of them had come to this little town 
 last night after two or three days' regular employ- 
 ment ; they had sufficient money between them ; they 
 had found a quite tolerable lodging; they had their 
 programme, such as it was, for the next day or so; 
 and by the standard to which he had learned to 
 adjust himself there was no sort of palpable 
 cause for the horror that presently fell on him. I 
 can only conjecture that the origin lay within, not 
 without, his personality. 
 
 The trouble began with the consciousness that on 
 the one side he was really tired, and on the other 
 that he could not sleep ; and, to clinch it, the knowl- 
 edge that a twenty-mile walk lay before him. He 
 began to tell himself that sleep was merely a ques- 
 tion of will of will deliberately relaxing atten- 
 tion. He rearranged his position a little; shifted 
 102
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 103 
 
 his feet, fitted himself a little more closely into the 
 outlines of the bed, thrust one hand under the pil- 
 low and bade himself let go. 
 
 Then the procession of thoughts began as orderly 
 as if by signal. 
 
 He found himself presently, after enumerating 
 all the minor physical points of discomfort the 
 soreness of his feet, the knobbiness of the bed, the 
 stuffiness of the room in which the three were sleep- 
 ing, the sound of the Major's slow snoring be- 
 ginning to consider the wisdom of the whole affair. 
 This was a point that he had not consciously yet 
 considered, from the day on which he had left Cam- 
 bridge. The impetus of his first impulse and the 
 extreme strength of his purpose had, up to the pres- 
 ent helped along by novelty kept him going. 
 Of course, the moment had to come sooner or later ; 
 but it seems a little hard that he was obliged to 
 face it in that peculiarly dreary clarity of mind 
 that falls upon the sleepless an hour or two before 
 the dawn. 
 
 For, as he looked at it all now, he saw it as an 
 outsider would see it, no longer from the point of 
 view of his own personality. He perceived a young 
 man. of excellent abilities and prospects, sacrific- 
 ing these things for an idea that fell to pieces the 
 instant it \vas touched. He touched it now with a 
 critical finger, and it did so fall to pieces ; there was,
 
 104 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 obviously, nothing in it at all. It was an impulse 
 of silly pride, of obstinacy, of the sort of romance 
 that effects nothing. There was Merefield waiting 
 for him for he knew perfectly well that terms 
 could be arranged; there was all that leisureliness 
 and comfort and distinction in which he had been 
 brought up and which he knew well how to use; 
 there was Jenny; there was his dog, his horse 
 there was, in fact, everything for which 
 Merefield stood. He saw it all now, visualized and 
 clear in the dark ; and he had exchanged all this 
 well for this room, and the Major's company, 
 and back-breaking toil. . . . And for no rea- 
 son. 
 
 So he regarded all this for a good long while; 
 with his eyes closed, with the darkness round him, 
 with every detail visible and insistent, seen as in 
 the cold light of morning before colors reassert 
 themselves and reconcile all into a reasonable 
 whole. 
 
 "... I must really go to sleep!" said Frank 
 to himself, and screwed up his eyes tight. 
 
 There came, of course, a reaction presently, and 
 he turned to his religion. He groped for his rosary 
 under his pillow, placed before him (according to 
 the instructions given in the little books) the " Mys- 
 tery of the Annunciation to Mary," and began the 
 " Our Father." . . . Half-way through it he
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 105 
 
 began all over again to think about Cambridge, and 
 Merefield and Jack Kirkby, and the auction in his 
 <mn rooms, and his last dinner-party and the design 
 on the menu-cards, and what a fool he was; and 
 when he became conscious of the rosary again he 
 found that he held in his fingers the last bead but 
 three in the fifth decade. He had repeated four and 
 a half decades without even the faintest semblance 
 of attention. He finished them hopelessly, and then 
 savagely thrust the string of beads under his pillow 
 again; turned over once more, rearranged his feet, 
 wished the Major would learn how to sleep like a 
 gentleman; and began to think about his religion 
 in itself. 
 
 After all, he began to say to himself, what proof 
 was there real scientific proof that the thing 
 was true at all? Certainly there was a great deal of 
 it that was very convincing there was the curious 
 ring of assertion and confidence in it, there was its 
 whole character, composed (like personality) of 
 countless touches too small to be definable; there 
 was the definite evidence adduced from history and 
 philosophy and all the rest. But underneath all 
 that was there, after all, any human evidence in 
 the world sufficient to establish the astounding 
 dogmas that lay at the root? Was it conceivable 
 that any such evidence could be forthcoming?
 
 io6 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 He proceeded to consider the series of ancient 
 dilemmas which, I suppose, have presented them- 
 selves at some time or another to every reasonable 
 being Free-will and Predestination ; Love and 
 Pain; Foreknowledge and Sin; and their compan- 
 ions. And it appeared to him, in this cold, emo- 
 tionless mood, when the personality shivers, naked, 
 in the presence of monstrous and unsympathetic 
 forces, that his own religion, as much as every 
 other, was entirely powerless before them. 
 
 He advanced yet further : he began to reflect upon 
 the innumerable little concrete devotions that he had 
 recently learned the repetition of certain words, 
 the performance of certain actions the rosary for 
 instance; and he began to ask himself how it was 
 credible that they could possibly make any differ- 
 ence to eternal issues. 
 
 These things had not yet surrounded themselves 
 with the atmosphere of experience and association, 
 and they had lost the romance of novelty; they lay 
 before him detached, so to say, and unconvincing. 
 
 I do not mean to say that during this hour he 
 consciously disbelieved; he honestly attempted to 
 answer these questions ; he threw himself back upon 
 authority and attempted to reassure himself by re- 
 flecting that human brains a great deal more acute 
 .han his own found in the dilemmas no final obsta- 
 cles to faith; he placed himself under the shelter
 
 XOXE OTHER GODS 107 
 
 of the Church and tried to say blindly that he be- 
 lieved what she believed. But, in a sense, he was 
 powerless: the blade of his adversary was quicker 
 than his own; his will was very nearly dormant; 
 his heart was entirely lethargic, and his intellect was 
 clear up to a certain point and extraordinarily 
 swift. . . . 
 
 Half an hour later he was in a pitiable state; and 
 had begun even to question Jenny's loyalty. He 
 had turned to the thought of her as a last resort for 
 soothing and reassurance, and now, in the chilly 
 dawn, even she seemed unsubstantial. 
 
 He began by remembering that Jenny would not 
 live for ever; in fact, she might die at any moment; 
 or he might ; and he ended by wondering, firstly, 
 whether human love was worth anything at all, and, 
 secondly, whether he possessed Jenny's. He un- 
 derstood now, with absolute certitude, that there 
 was nothing in him whatever which could possibly 
 be loved by anyone; the whole thing had been a 
 mistake, not so much on his part as on Jenny's. 
 She had thought him to be something he was not. 
 She was probably regretting already the engage- 
 ment ; she would certainly not fulfill it. And could 
 she possibly care for anyone who had been such 
 an indescribable fool as to give up Merefield, and 
 his prospects and his past and his abilities, and set 
 out on this absurd and childish adventure? So
 
 io8 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 once more he came round in a circle and his misery 
 was complete. 
 
 He sat up in bed with a sudden movement as the 
 train of thought clicked back into its own beginning, 
 clasped his hands round his knees and stared round 
 the room. 
 
 The window showed a faint oblong of gray now, 
 beyond where the Major breathed, and certain ob- 
 jects were dingily and coldly visible. He perceived 
 the broken-backed chair on which his clothes were 
 heaped with the exception of his flannel shirt, 
 which he still wore; he caught a glimmer of white 
 where Gertie's blouse hung up for an airing. 
 
 He half expected that things would appear more 
 hopeful if he sat up in bed. Yet they did not. 
 The sight of the room, such as it was, brought the 
 concrete and material even more forcibly upon him 
 the gross things that are called Facts. And it 
 seemed to him that there were no facts beyond them. 
 These were the bones of the Universe a stuffy 
 bedroom, a rasping flannel suit, a cold dawn, a snor- 
 ing in the gloom, and three bodies, heavy with 
 weariness. . . . There once had been other 
 facts : Merefield and Cambridge and Eton had once 
 existed ; Jenny had once been a living person who 
 loved him; once there had been a thing called Re-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 109 
 
 ligion. But they existed no longer. He had 
 touched reality at last. 
 
 Frank drew a long, dismal sigh; he lay down ; lie- 
 knew the worst now ; and in five minutes he was 
 asleep. 
 
 Of course, the thing wore away by midday, and 
 matters had readjusted themselves. But the effect 
 remained as a kind of bruise below the surface. 
 1 1 1- was conscious that it had once been possible for 
 him to doubt the value of everything; he was aware 
 that there was a certain mood in which nothing 
 seemed worth while. 
 
 It was practically his first experience of the kind, 
 and he did not understand it. But it did its work ; 
 and I date from that day a certain increased sort of 
 obstinacy that showed itself even more plainly in 
 his character. One thing or the other must be the 
 effect of such a mood in which even though only 
 for an hour or two all things other than physical 
 take on themselves an appearance of illusiveness : 
 either the standard is lowered and these things are 
 treated as slightly doubtful; or the will sets its teeth 
 and determines to live by them, whether they are
 
 no NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 doubtful or not. And the latter I take to be the 
 most utter form of faith. 
 
 About midday the twine round Frank's bundle 
 broke abruptly, and every several article fell on to 
 the road. He repressed a violent feeling of irrita- 
 tion, and turned round to pick them up. The Major 
 and Gertie instinctively made for a gate in the 
 hedge, rested down their bundles and leaned against 
 it. 
 
 Frank gathered the articles a shirt, a pair of 
 softer shoes, a razor and brush, a tin of potted meat, 
 a rosary, a small round cracked looking-glass and a 
 piece of lead piping and packed them once more 
 carefully together on the bank. He tested his 
 string, knotted it, drew it tight, and it broke again. 
 The tin of potted meat like some small intelligent 
 animal ran hastily off the path and dived into a 
 small drain. 
 
 A short cry of mirth broke from the Major, and 
 Gertie smiled. 
 
 Frank said nothing at all. He lay down on the 
 road, plunged his arm into the drain and drew up 
 the potted meat; it had some disagreeable-looking 
 moist substance adhering to it, which he wiped off 
 on to his sleeve, and then regretted having done so. 
 Again he packed his things; again he drew the 
 string tight, and again it snapped.
 
 XOXIi QTllliR GODS in 
 
 " Lord! man, don't be so hard on it." 
 
 Frank looked up with a kind of patient fury. 
 His instinct was to kick every single object that lay 
 before him on the path as hard as possible in every 
 direction. 
 
 " Have you any more string? " he said. 
 
 " No. Stick the things in your pocket and come 
 on." 
 
 Frank made no answer. He went to the hedge 
 and drew out a long supple twig of hazel, stripped it 
 of its leaves, and once more tried, with it, to tie up 
 his parcel. But the angle was too acute, and just 
 as the twig tightened satisfactorily it snapped, and 
 this time the razor slid out sideways into a single 
 minute puddle that lay on the path. 
 
 The Major snorted in mirthful impatience. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Kindly let me alone," said Frank icily. " The 
 thing's got to go like this, or not at all." 
 
 He drew out the razor from the puddle, opened 
 it and dried the blade on his sleeve. During the 
 process Gertie moved suddenly, and he looked up. 
 \Yhen he looked down again he perceived that 
 he had slit a neat slice into the cloth of his 
 jacket. 
 
 He remained quite still for one moment. Then 
 he sat down on the bank, and examined the twine 
 once more.
 
 H2 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 The Major began to make slightly offensive com- 
 ments. Then Frank looked up. 
 
 " You can go to hell! " he said quite softly, " or 
 anywhere else you like. But I'm going to do up 
 the bundle in my way and not yours." 
 
 Now that is a sort of parable. It really hap- 
 pened, for it was reported to a witness by Frank 
 himself exactly as I have told it, and it seems to me 
 a very good little symbol of his state of mind. It is 
 quite indefensible, of course and especially his 
 regrettable language that closed the interview; but 
 it gives a pleasant little glimpse, I think, of Frank's 
 character just now, in section. The things had to 
 go in a certain way : he saw no adequate reason to 
 change that way, and ultimately, of course, the 
 twine held. It must have been a great satisfaction 
 to him. 
 
 (m) 
 
 It seems that Frank must have been allowed just 
 now to sample several different kinds of moods, for 
 he had a very different kind of awakening a day or 
 two later. 
 
 They had come to some piece of open country 
 that I am unable to identify, and for some reason 
 or other determined to spend the night out of doors. 
 There was a copse a hundred yards away from the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 113 
 
 road, and in the copse a couple of small shelters 
 built, probably, for wood-pigeon shooting. The 
 Major and Gertie took possession of one, and Frank 
 of the other, after they had supped in the dark under 
 the beeches. 
 
 Frank slept deeply and well, half waking once, 
 however, at that strange moment of the night when 
 the earth turns and sighs in her sleep, when every 
 cow gets up and lies down again. He was con- 
 scious of a shrill crowing, thin as a. bugle, from 
 some farm-yard out of sight; then he turned over 
 and slept again. 
 
 When he awoke it was daylight. He lay on his 
 back looking at the network of twigs overhead, the 
 beech leaves beyond, and the sky visible only in 
 glimpses feeling extremely awake and extremely 
 content. Certainly he was a little stiff when he 
 moved, but there was a kind of interior contentment 
 that caused that not to matter. 
 
 After a minute or two he sat up, felt about for 
 his shoes and slipped them on. Then he unwound 
 the wrapping about his neck, and crept out of the 
 shelter. 
 
 It was that strange pause before the dawn when 
 tin- light has broadened so far as to extinguish the 
 stars, and to bring out all the colors of earth into a 
 cold deliberate kind of tint. Everything was abso-
 
 114 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 lutely motionless about him as he went under the 
 trees and came out above the wide park-land of 
 which the copse was a sort of barrier. The dew 
 lay soaking and thick on the grass slopes, but there 
 was not yet such light as to bring out its sparkle; 
 and everywhere, dotted on the green before him, 
 sat hundreds of rabbits, the nearest not twenty yards 
 away. 
 
 The silence and the solemnity of the whole 
 seemed to him extraordinary. There was not a 
 leaf that stirred each hung as if cut of steel; 
 there was not a bird which chirped nor a distant 
 cock that crew; the rabbits eyed him unafraid in 
 this hour of truce. 
 
 It seemed to him like some vast stage on to which 
 he had wandered unexpectedly. The performance 
 of the day before had been played to an end, the 
 night scene-shifting was finished, and the players of 
 the new eternal drama were not yet come. An hour 
 hence they would be all about : the sounds would 
 begin again ; men would cross the field-paths, birds 
 would be busy; the wind would awake and the 
 ceaseless whisper of leaves answer its talking. But 
 at present the stage was clear swept, washed, 
 clean and silent. 
 
 It was the solemnity then that impressed him 
 most solemnity and an air of expectation. Yet 
 it was not mere expectation. There was a sugges-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 115 
 
 tion of the fundamental and the normal, as if per- 
 haps movement and sound were, after all, no better 
 than interruptions; as if this fixed poise of nature 
 were something complete in itself; as if these trees 
 hung out their leaves to listen to something that 
 they could actually hear, as if these motionless crea- 
 tures of the woodland were looking upon something 
 that they could actually see; as if there were some 
 great secret actually present and displayed in dead 
 silence and invisibility before those only who pos- 
 sessed the senses necessary to perceive it. 
 
 It was odd to regard life from this standpoint 
 to look back upon the days and their incidents that 
 were past, forward upon the days and incidents to 
 come. Again it was possible for Frank to look 
 upon these things as an outsider and a deliberate 
 critic as he had done in the stuffy room of the 
 lodging-house in the town. Yet now, though he 
 was again an outsider, though he was again out of 
 the whirl of actual living, he seemed to be looking 
 at things staring out, as he was, almost unsee- 
 ingly at the grass slopes before him from exactly 
 the opposite side. Then, they had seemed to him 
 the only realities, these tangible physical things, and 
 all else illusion : now it was the physical things that 
 were illusive, and something else that was real. 
 Once again the two elements of life lay detached
 
 ii6 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 matter and spirit; but it was as obviously now 
 spirit that was the reality as it had been matter a 
 day or two before. It was obviously absurd to re- 
 gard these outward things on which he looked as 
 anything but a frame of something completely dif- 
 ferent. They were too silent, too still, too little 
 self-sufficient to be complete in themselves. Some- 
 thing solid lay embraced within them. . . 
 
 So, then, he stared and ruminated, scarcely per- 
 ceiving that he thought, so intensely conscious was 
 he of that of which he thought. It was not that he 
 understood anything of that on which he looked; he 
 was but aware that there was something to be un- 
 derstood. And the trees hung rigid above him, 
 and the clear blue sky still a hard stone beyond 
 them, not yet flushed with dawn ; and the grass lay 
 before him, contracted, it seemed, with cold, and 
 every blade soaked in wet ; and the silence was pro- 
 found. . . . 
 
 Then a cock crew, a mile away, a thin, brazen 
 cry; a rabbit sat- up, then crouched and bolted, and 
 the spell faded like a mist. 
 
 Frank turned and walked back under the trees, 
 to see if the Major was awake.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 AT 71'- are arrived now at one of those few deplor- 
 * * able incidents in Frank's career, against 
 which there is no defense. And the painful thing 
 about it is that Frank never seemed to think that 
 it required any defense. He shows no penitence 
 for it in his diary: and yet moralists are united in 
 telling us that we must never do evil that good may 
 come. It is only paralleled by his rash action in 
 leaving Cambridge in defiance of all advice and 
 good sense ; so far, that is to say, as a legally per- 
 missible act, however foolish, can be paralleled by 
 one of actual crime. Moralists, probably, would 
 tell us, in fact, that the first led inevitably to the sec- 
 ond. 
 
 It fell out in this way. 
 
 Once or twice in his travels with the Major he 
 had been haunted by an uncomfortable suspicion 
 that this or that contribution that the warrior made 
 to their common table had not been come by hon- 
 estly. When a gentleman, known to possess no 
 more than tenpence. and with a predilection to 
 117
 
 nS NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 drink, leaves the shelter of a small copse, let us say, 
 at seven o'clock, and reappears, rather breathless, 
 forty minutes later with a newly-plucked fowl 
 or even with a fowl not plucked at all, and still 
 warm, or with half a dozen eggs; and, in addition, 
 issues out again later in the evening and returns 
 with a strong smell of spirits and a watery eye it 
 seems a little doubtful as to whether he has been 
 scrupulously honest. In cases of this kind Frank 
 persevered in making some excuse for not joining 
 in the festivity : he put it to himself as being a mat- 
 ter of pride; but it is hard to understand that it was 
 simply that in a young man who made no scruple of 
 begging in cases of necessity. However, there it 
 was, and even the Major, who began by protesting, 
 ended by acquiescing. 
 
 They were somewhere in the neighborhood of 
 Market Weighton when the thing happened I 
 cannot identify the exact spot. The situation was 
 as follows: 
 
 They had secured an excellent barn for their 
 night's lodging facing on the road on the out- 
 skirts of a village. Behind them were the farm 
 buildings, and the farmer's household gone to bed. 
 The sun had set and it was dark. They had supped 
 sparingly, of necessity, and had finished every mor- 
 sel of food. (Frank had even found himself me-
 
 XOXK OTHER GODS 119 
 
 chanically gathering up crumbs on a wet finger.) 
 They had had a bad week of it; the corn was not 
 yet ready for cutting, and there seemed no work 
 anywhere for honest men. The Major's gloom had 
 become terrible ; he had even made remarks upon a 
 choice between a workhouse and a razor. He had 
 got up after supper and turned his waistcoat pockets 
 inside out to secure the last possible grains of to- 
 bacco, and had smoked about a quarter of a pipeful 
 gathered in this way without uttering one word. 
 He had then uttered a short string of them, had 
 seized his cap and disappeared. 
 
 Frank, too, was even more heavy and depressed 
 than usual. The last shreds of romance were gone 
 from his adventure long ago, and yet his obstinacy 
 held firm. But he found he could not talk much. 
 He watched Gertie listlessly as she, listless too, be- 
 gan to spread out nondescript garments to make a 
 bed in the corner. He hardly spoke to her, nor she 
 to him. 
 
 He was beginning to feel sleepy, when he heard 
 rather hurried steps, as of one trying to run on tip- 
 toe, coming up the lane, and an instant later in 
 popped the Major. 
 
 " Put out that damned light ! " he whispered 
 sharply. 
 
 The candle end went out with the swiftness of 
 thought.
 
 120 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 "What's up?" Frank roused himself to ask. 
 There had been a strenuous look about the face seen 
 an instant before that interested him. 
 
 There was dead silence. Gertie seemed frozen 
 into motionlessness in her corner, almost as if she 
 had had experience of this kind of thing before. 
 Frank listened with all his ears; it was useless to 
 stare into the dark : here in this barn the blackness 
 was complete. 
 
 At first there was no sound at all, except a very 
 soft occasional scrape of a boot-nail that betokened 
 that the Major was seeking cover somewhere. 
 Then, so suddenly that he started all over, Frank 
 felt a hand on his arm and smelt a tobacco-laden 
 breath. (Alas! there had been no drink to-night.) 
 
 " See here, Frankie, my boy. ... I 
 I've got the thing on me. . . . What 
 shall I do with it ? . . . It's no good chucking 
 it away : they'd find it." 
 
 " Got what ? " whispered Frank. 
 
 " There was a kid coming along ... she 
 had a tin of something ... I don't even know 
 what it is. ... And . . . and she 
 screamed out and someone ran out. But they 
 couldn't spot me ; it was too dark." 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered Frank sharply, and the hand 
 tightened on his arm. But it was only a rat some- 
 where in the roof.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 121 
 
 "Well?" he said. 
 
 " Frankie ... I suppose you wouldn't take 
 it from me ... and . . . and be off 
 somewhere. We could meet again later. . . . 
 I ... I'm afraid someone may have spotted 
 us coming through the village earlier. They'll 
 
 . . they'll search, I expect." 
 
 " You can do your own dirty work," whispered 
 Frank earnestly through the darkness. 
 
 " Frankie, my boy . . . don't be hard on a 
 poor devil, v . . I . . . I can't leave Ger- 
 tie." 
 
 "Well, hide it somewhere." 
 
 " No good they'd . . . Good God !" 
 
 The voice was stricken into silence once more, 
 as a light, hardly seen before it was gone again, 
 shone through a crack in the side of the barn. 
 Then there was unmistakable low talking some- 
 where. 
 
 Frank felt the man, crouched at his side, sud- 
 denly stand up noiselessly, and in that instant his 
 own mind was made up. 
 
 " Give it here, you fool," he said. " Here ! " 
 
 He felt a smooth flat and circular thing thrust 
 suddenly into his hands with a whisper that he could 
 not catch, and simultaneously he heard a rush of 
 footsteps outside. He had just time to stuff the 
 thing inside his coat and roll over as if asleep when 
 
 9
 
 122 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the door flew open, and three or four men, with a 
 policeman at their head, burst into the barn. 
 
 (n) 
 
 It would be charitable, I think, to suppress the 
 name of the small market-town where the trial was 
 held. The excellent magistrates who conducted it 
 certainly did their best under very difficult circum- 
 stances; for what are you to do if a man accused of 
 theft cordially pleads guilty? and yet, certainly it 
 would distress them to hear of a very obvious mis- 
 carriage of justice executed at their hands. 
 
 On Friday morning at ten o'clock the vehicles 
 began to arrive the motor of the country gentle- 
 man, the dog-cart of the neighboring rector, and 
 the brougham of the retired general. It was the 
 General who presided. 
 
 The court-room was not more dismal than court- 
 rooms usually are. When I visited it on my little 
 pilgrimage, undertaken a few months ago, it had 
 been repainted and the woodwork grained to repre- 
 sent oak. Even so, it was not cheering. 
 
 At the upper end, under one of the windows, 
 were ranged five seats on a dais, with a long baize- 
 covered table before them. Then, on a lower level, 
 stood the clerk's and solicitors' table, fenced by a 
 rail from the vulgar crowd who pressed in, hot and
 
 XOXE OTHER GODS 123 
 
 excited, to see the criminals and hear justice done. 
 There was a case arising from an ancient family 
 feud, exploded at last into crime; one lady had 
 thrown a clog at another as the last repartee in a 
 little dialogue held at street doors ; the clog had been 
 well aimed, and the victim appeared now with a 
 very large white bandage under her bonnet, to give 
 her testimony. This swelled the crowd beyond its 
 usual proportions, as both ladies were well known 
 in society. 
 
 The General was a kindly-looking old man 
 (Frank recognized his name as soon as he heard it 
 that morning, though he had never met him before) 
 and conversed cheerily with his brother magistrates 
 as they took their seats. The Rector was well, 
 like other rectors, and the Squire like other squires. 
 
 It was a quarter to twelve before the ladies' 
 claims were adjusted. They were both admonished 
 in a paternal kind of way, and sent about their busi- 
 ness, since there was disputed evidence as to whether 
 or not the lady with the bandage had provoked the 
 attack, not only by her language, but by throwing 
 a banana-skin at the lady without the bandage. 
 They were well talked to, their husbands were bid- 
 den to keep them in order, and they departed, both 
 a little crestfallen, to discuss the whole matter over 
 a pint of beer.
 
 124 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 There was a little shifting about in court; a po- 
 liceman, looking curiously human without his hel- 
 met, pushed forward from the door and took his 
 place by the little barrier. The magistrates and 
 the clerk and the inspector all conferred a little to- 
 gether, and after an order or two, the door near the 
 back of the court leading from the police-cells 
 opened, and Frank stepped forward into the dock, 
 followed by another policeman who clicked the bar- 
 rier behind the prisoner and stood, waiting, like 
 Rhadamanthus. Through the hedge of the front 
 row of the crowd peered the faces of Gertie and 
 the Major. 
 
 We need not bother with the preliminaries in 
 fact, I forget how they ran Frank gave his name 
 of Frank Gregory, his age as twenty-two years, his 
 occupation as casual laborer, and his domicile as no 
 fixed abode. 
 
 The charge was read to him. It was to the ef- 
 fect that he, on the night of Tuesday, the twenty - 
 third instant, had in the village (whose name I 
 choose to forget, if I ever knew it), seized from 
 Maggie Cooper, aged nine years, a tin of preserved 
 salmon, with intent to steal. The question put to 
 the prisoner was: Did he or did he not plead 
 guilty ? 
 
 " I plead guilty, sir," said Frank, without a 
 tremor.
 
 XOXK OTHER GODS 125 
 
 He had been two full days in the cells by now, 
 and it had not improved his appearance. He was 
 still deeply sunburned, but he was a little pale under 
 the eyes, and he was unshaven. He had also delib- 
 erately rumpled his hair and pulled his clothes to 
 make them look as untidy as possible. He answered 
 in a low voice, so as to attract as little attention as 
 possible. He had given one quick look at the mag- 
 istrates as he came in, to make sure he had never 
 met them out shooting or at dinner-parties, and he 
 had been deeply relieved to find them total strangers. 
 
 " You plead guilty, eh ? " said the General. 
 
 Frank nodded. , 
 
 " Well, well! let's hear the whole story. Where 
 is the complainant?" 
 
 A rather pale and awe-stricken child appeared 
 somewhere in a little box opposite Frank, with a 
 virtuous mother in black silk behind her. It ap- 
 peared that this child was on her way to her aunt 
 her father was a grocer with a tin of salmon 
 that had been promised and forgotten (that was 
 how she came to be out so late). As she reached 
 the corner by Barker's Lane a man had jumped at 
 her and seized the tin. (No; he had not used any 
 other violence.) She had screamed at the top of 
 her voice, and Mrs. Jennings' door had opened. 
 Then the man had run away. 
 
 " Had she seen the man clearly ? " No, she
 
 126 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 hadn't seen him at all; she had just seen that he 
 was a man. (" Called himself one," put in a 
 voice. ) The witness here cast an indignant al- 
 most vindictive look at Frank. 
 
 Then a few corroborations were issued. Mrs. 
 Jennings, a widow lady, keeping house for her 
 brother who was a foreman in Marks' yard, ratified 
 the statement about the door being opened. She 
 was going to shut up for the night when she heard 
 the child scream. Her brother, a severe-looking 
 man, with a black beard, finished her story. He 
 had heard his sister call out, as he was taking off 
 his boots at the foot of the stairs; he had run out 
 with his laces dangling, in time to see the man run 
 past the public-house fifty yards up the street. No 
 . . . he, too, had not seen the man clearly, but 
 he had seen him before, in company with another; 
 the two had come to his yard that afternoon to ask 
 for work and been refused, as they wanted no more 
 hands. 
 
 " Well, what had happened then ? " 
 
 He had hammered at two or three doors as he ran 
 past, among them that of the police-constable, and 
 himself had run on, in time to hear the prisoner's 
 footsteps run up the lane leading to the barn. He 
 had stopped then as he was out of breath, and as 
 he thought they would have the man now, since 
 there was no exit from the lane except through Mr.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 127 
 
 Patten's farm-yard, and if he'd gone that way they'd 
 have heard the dogs. 
 
 Finally the police-constable corroborated the en- 
 tire story, and added that he, in company with the 
 foreman and two other men, had " proceeded " to 
 the barn immediately, and there had found the pris- 
 oner, who was pretending to be asleep, with the tin 
 of salmon (produced and laid on the table) hidden 
 inside his jacket. He had then taken him into cus- 
 tody. 
 
 " Was there any one else in the barn ? " 
 Yes two persons, who gave the names of 
 George and Gertie Trustcott. These were prepared 
 to give evidence as to the prisoner's identity, and 
 as to his leaving and returning to the barn on the 
 evening in question, if the magistrate wished. 
 . . . Yes; they were present in court. 
 
 The General began to turn a little testy as the 
 constable finished. He seemed a magistrate who 
 liked to be paternal, and he appeared to grow im- 
 patient under the extraordinarily correct language 
 of the policeman. 
 
 He turned to Frank seeming to forget all 
 about the two witnesses not yet called and spoke 
 rather sharply : 
 
 " You don't deny all that ? You plead guilty, 
 eh?"
 
 128 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Frank, gazing at the very pink 
 salmon emblazoned on the tin. 
 
 " Why did you do it? " 
 
 " I was hungry, sir." 
 
 " Hungry, eh ? An able-bodied lad like you ? 
 Can't you work, then? " 
 
 " When I can get it, sir," said Frank 
 
 "Eh? . . . eh? Well, that's true enough. 
 You couldn't get it that day, anyhow. Mr. What's- 
 his-name's told us that." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Then the Rector leaned forward swiftly to 
 Frank's horror. 
 
 " You speak like an educated man." 
 
 " Do I, sir? I'm very pleased to hear it." 
 
 There was a faint snigger in court. 
 
 " Where were you educated? " persisted the Rec- 
 tor. 
 
 " Am I bound to incriminate myself, sir? " 
 
 "Incriminate?" said the General suddenly in- 
 terested. " Eh? you mean, after a good education. 
 I see. No, of course you're not, my lad." 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 
 " And you plead guilty ? And you'd like the 
 case dealt with now ? " 
 
 " If you please, sir." 
 
 The clerk rose swiftly in his place and 'began to 
 whisper to the magistrates behind his hand. Frank
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 129 
 
 understood perfectly what was happening; lie un- 
 derstood that it was doubtful whether or no his case 
 could be dealt with in this court. He exploded 
 within himself a violent adjuration to the Supreme 
 Authorities, and the next instant the General sat 
 back. 
 
 " Nonsense ! nonsense ! It isn't highway robbery 
 at all within the meaning of the term. We'll deal 
 with it now eh, gentlemen?" 
 
 There was a little more whispering, and finally 
 the General settled himself and took up a quill pen. 
 
 " Well, we'll deal with it now, my lad, as you 
 wish. I'm sorry to see a fellow like you in this 
 position particularly if you've had a good edu- 
 cation, as you seem to have had. Cowardly thing, 
 you know, to attack a child like that, isn't it? even 
 if you were hungry. You ought to be more hardy 
 than that, you know a great fellow like you 
 than to mind a bit of hunger. Boys like you ought 
 to enlist; that'd make a man of you in no time. 
 But no. ... I know you ; you won't. 
 You'd sooner loaf about and pick up what you can 
 sooner than serve His Majesty. Well, well, 
 there's no compulsion not yet; but you should 
 think over it. Come and see me, if you like, when 
 you've done your time, and we'll see what can be 
 done. That'd be better than loafing about and pick- 
 ing up tins of salmon, eh?
 
 130 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Well, I've no more to say. But you just think 
 over it. And we'll give you fourteen days." 
 
 Then as Frank went out he saw the three magis- 
 trates lean back in conversation. 
 
 (m) 
 
 I find it very hard to explain, even to myself, the 
 extraordinary depression that fell upon Frank dur- 
 ing his fourteen days. He could hardly bear even 
 to speak of it afterwards, and I find in his diary no 
 more than a line or two, and those as bald as possi- 
 ble. Apparently it was no kind of satisfaction to 
 him to know that the whole thing was entirely his 
 own doing, or that it was the thought of Gertie 
 that had made him, in the first instance, take the 
 tin from the Major. Yet it was not that there was 
 any sense of guilt, or even of mistake. One would 
 have thought that from everybody's point of view, 
 and particularly Gertie's, it would be an excellent 
 thing for the Major to go to prison for a bit. It 
 would certainly do him no harm, and it would be a 
 real opportunity to separate the girl from his com- 
 pany. As for any wrong in his pleading guilty, he 
 defended it (I must say, with some adroitness) by 
 saying that it was universally acknowledged that the 
 plea of " Not Guilty " is merely formal, and in no
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 131 
 
 way commits one to its intrinsic truth (and he is 
 right there, at least according to Moral Theology 
 as well as common sense) and, therefore, that the 
 alternative plea is also merely formal. 
 
 And yet he was depressed by his fourteen days to 
 the verge of melancholia. 
 
 There are several contributory causes that may be 
 alleged. 
 
 First, there is the extreme ignominy of all the cir- 
 cumstances, beginning with the paternal scolding in 
 court, in the presence of grocers and persons who 
 threw clogs, continuing with the dreary journey 
 by rail, in handcuffs, and the little crowds that gath- 
 ered to laugh or stare, and culminating with the de- 
 tails of the prison life. It is not pleasant for a 
 cleanly man to be suspected of dirt, to be bathed 
 and examined all over by a man suffering himself 
 apparently from some species of eczema; it is not 
 pleasant to be ordered about peremptorily by uni- 
 formed men, who, three months before, would have 
 touched their hats to you, and to have to do things 
 instantly and promptly for the single reason that 
 one is told to do them. 
 
 Secondly, there was the abrupt change of life 
 of diet, air and exercise. 
 
 Thirdly, there was the consideration, the more 
 terrible because the more completely unverifiable, as 
 to what difference all this would make, not only to
 
 132 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the regard of his friends for him, but to his own re- 
 gard for himself. Innocence of a fault does not 
 entirely, do away with the distress and stigma of its 
 punishment. He imagined himself telling Jenny; 
 he tried to see her laughing, and somehow he could 
 not. It was wholly uncharacteristic of all that he 
 knew of her; and yet somehow, night after night, 
 as the hours dragged by, he seemed to see her look- 
 ing at him a little contemptuously. 
 
 " At any rate," he almost heard her say, " if you 
 didn't do it, you made a friend of a man who did. 
 And you were in prison." 
 
 Oh ! there are countless excellent explanations of 
 his really terrible depression ; and yet somehow it 
 does not seem to me at all in line with what I know 
 of Frank, to think that they explain it in the least. 
 I prefer to believe, with a certain priest who will 
 appear by and by, that the thing was just one stage 
 of a process that had to be accomplished, and that 
 if it had not come about in this way, it must have 
 come about in another. As for his religion, all 
 emotional grasp of that fled, it seemed finally, at 
 the touch of real ignominy. He retained the intel- 
 lectual reasons for which he had become a Catholic; 
 but the thing seemed as apart from him as his 
 knowledge of law such as it was acquired at 
 Cambridge, or his proficiency in lawn-tennis. Cer-
 
 NONK OT1IKU (.iOUS 133 
 
 tainly it was no kind of consolation to him to reflect 
 on the sufferings of Christian martyrs! 
 
 It was a Friday evening when he came out and 
 went quickly round the corner of the jail, in order 
 to get away from any possibility of being identified 
 with it. 
 
 He had had a short interview with the Governor 
 
 a very conscientious and religious man, who 
 made a point of delivering what he called " a few 
 earnest words " to every prisoner before his release. 
 But, naturally enough, they were extraordinarily 
 off the point. It was not helpful to Frank to have 
 it urged upon him to set about an honest livelihood 
 
 it was what he had tried to do every day since 
 June and not to go about robbing innocent chil- 
 dren of things like tins of salmon it was the very 
 last thing he had ever dreamed of doing. 
 
 He had also had more than one interview with the 
 chaplain of the Established Church, in consequence 
 of his resolute refusal to acknowledge any religious 
 body at all (he had determined to scotch this possi- 
 ble clue to his identification) ; and those interviews 
 had not been more helpful than any other. It is 
 not of much use to be entreated to turn over a new 
 leaf when you see no kind of reason for doing so; 
 and little books left tactfully in your cell, directed
 
 i 3 4 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 to the same point, are equally useless. Frank read 
 them drearily through. He did not actually kick 
 them from side to side of his cell when he had fin- 
 ished; that would have been offensive to the excel- 
 lent intentions of the reverend gentleman. . , . 
 Altogether I do not quite like to picture Frank 
 as he was when he came out of jail, and hurried 
 away. It is such a very startling contrast with the 
 gayety with which he had begun his pilgrimage. 
 
 He had had plenty of time to think over his plans 
 during the last fortnight, and he went, first, straight 
 to the post-office. The Governor had given him 
 half-a-crown to start life with, and he proposed to 
 squander fourpence of it at once in two stamps, two 
 sheets of paper and two envelopes. 
 
 His first letter was to be to Jack; the second to 
 Major Trustcott, who had thoughtfully given him 
 the address where he might be found about that 
 date. 
 
 But there were to be one or two additional diffi- 
 culties first. 
 
 He arrived at the post-office, went up the steps 
 and through the swing doors. The place had been 
 newly decorated, with a mahogany counter and 
 light brass lattice rails, behind which two young 
 ladies of an inexpressibly aristocratic demeanor and
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 135 
 
 appearance were engaged in conversation: their 
 names, as he learned from a few sentences he lis- 
 tened to before daring to interrupt so high a collo- 
 quy, were Miss Mills and Miss Jamieson. 
 
 After a decent and respectful pause Frank ven- 
 tured on his request. 
 
 " Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two en- 
 velopes, please . . . miss." (He did manage 
 that!) 
 
 Miss Mills continued her conversation : 
 
 " So I said to her that that would never do, that 
 Harold would be sure to get hold of it, and that 
 then" 
 
 Frank shuffled his feet a little. Miss Mills cast 
 him a high glance. 
 
 " There'd be trouble, I said, Miss Jamieson." 
 
 " You did quite right, dear." 
 
 " Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two en- 
 velopes, please, miss." He clicked four pence to- 
 gether on the counter. Miss Mills rose slowly from 
 her place, went a yard or two, and took down a 
 large book. Frank watched her gratefully. Then 
 she took a pen and began to make entries in it. 
 
 " Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two en- 
 velopes, please." 
 
 Frank's voice shook a little with anger. He had 
 not learned his lesson yet.
 
 136 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Miss Mills finished her entry; looked at Frank 
 with extreme disdain, and finally drew out a sheet 
 of stamps. 
 
 " Pennies ? " she inquired sharply. 
 
 " Please." 
 
 Two penny stamps were pushed across and two 
 pennies taken up. 
 
 " And now two sheets of paper and two en- 
 velopes, please, miss," went on Frank, encouraged. 
 He thought himself foolish to be angry. Miss 
 Jamieson uttered a short laugh and glanced at Miss 
 Mills. Miss Mills pursed her lips together and took 
 up her pen once more. 
 
 " Will you be good enough to give me what I 
 ask for, at once, please? " 
 
 The whole of Frank blazed in this small sentence ; 
 but Miss Mills was equal to it. 
 
 " You ought to know better," she said, " than to 
 come asking for such things here ! Taking up a lot 
 of time like that." 
 
 "You don't keep them?" 
 
 Miss Mills uttered a small sound. Miss Jamie- 
 son tittered. 
 
 " Shops are the proper places for writing-paper. 
 This is a post-office." 
 
 Words cannot picture the superb high breeding 
 shown in this utterance. Frank should have under- 
 stood that he had been guilty of gross impertinence
 
 NONI-. UT11KR GODS 137 
 
 in asking such things of Miss Mills; it was treating 
 her almost as a shop-girl. But he was extremely 
 angry by now. 
 
 " Then why couldn't you have the civility to tell 
 me so at once ? " 
 
 Miss Jamieson laid aside a little sewing she was 
 engaged on. 
 
 " Look here, young man, you don't come bullying 
 and threatening here. I'll have to call the police- 
 man if you do. ... I was at the railway sta- 
 tion last Friday week, you know." 
 
 Frank stood still for one furious instant. Then 
 his heart sank and he went out without a word. 
 
 The letters got written at last, late that evening, in 
 the back room of a small lodging-house where he 
 had secured a bed. I have the one he wrote to 
 Jack before me as I write, and I copy it as it stands. 
 It was without address or date. 
 
 " DEAR JACK, 
 
 " I want you to do something for me. I 
 want you to go to Merefield and see, first, Jenny, 
 and then my father ; and tell them quite plainly and 
 simply that I've been in prison for a fortnight. I 
 want Jenny to know first, so that she can think of 
 what to say to my father. The thing I was sent 
 
 to prison for was that I pleaded guilty to stealing 
 10
 
 138 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 a tin of salmon from a child called Mary Cooper. 
 You can see the account of the case in the County 
 Gazette for last Saturday week, the twenty-seventh. 
 The thing I really did was to take the tin from 
 somebody else I was traveling with. He asked 
 me to. 
 
 " Next, I want you to send on any letters that 
 may have come for me to the address I enclose on 
 a separate piece of paper. Please destroy the ad- 
 dress at once ; but you can show this letter to Jenny 
 and give her my love. You are not to come and 
 see me. If you don't, I'll come and see you soon. 
 
 " Things are pretty bad just now, but I'm going 
 to go through with it. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 "F. 
 
 " P.S. By the way, please address me as Mr. F. 
 Gregory when you write." 
 
 He was perfectly obstinate, you understand, still. 
 
 Frank's troubles as regards prison were by no 
 means exhausted by his distressing conversation 
 with the young ladies in the post office, and the 
 next one fell on him as he was leaving the little town 
 early on the Saturday morning. 
 
 He had just turned out of the main street and 
 was going up a quiet side lane that looked as if it
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 130, 
 
 would lead to the York Road, when he noticed a 
 disagreeable little scene proceeding up a narrow 
 cul-de-sac across whose mouth he was passing. 
 
 A tall, loose-limbed young man, in his working- 
 clothes, obviously slightly excited with drink, had 
 hold of a miserable old man by the scruff of the 
 neck with one hand, and was cuffing him with the 
 other. 
 
 X<)\\ I do not wish to represent Frank as a sort 
 of knight-errant, but the fact is that if anyone with 
 respectable and humane ideas goes on the tramp ( I 
 have this from the mouth of experienced persons) 
 he has to make up his mind fairly soon either to 
 be a redresser of wrongs or to be conveniently short- 
 sighted. Frank was not yet sufficiently experi- 
 enced to have learned the wisdom of the second 
 alternative. 
 
 He went straight up the cul-de-sac and without 
 any words at all hit the young man as hard as pos- 
 sible under the ear nearest to him. 
 
 There seems to have been a moment of amazed 
 silence; the young man dropped the old one, who 
 fled out into the lane, and struck back at Frank, 
 who parried. Simultaneously a woman screamed 
 somewhere; and faces began to appear at windows 
 and doors. 
 
 It is curious how the customs of the Middle Ages, 
 as well as some of their oaths, seem to have de-
 
 140 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 scended to the ranks of the British working-man. In 
 the old days as also in prize-fights to-day it 
 was quite usual to assail your adversary with in- 
 sults as well as with blows. This was done now. 
 The young man, with a torrent of imprecations, de- 
 manded who Frank thought he was, asked where 
 he was coming to, required of society in general 
 an explanation of a stranger's interfering between 
 a son and a qualified father. There was a murmur 
 of applause and dissent, and Frank answered, with 
 a few harmless expletives such as he had now 
 learned to employ as a sort of verbal disguise, that 
 he did not care how many sons or fathers were in 
 question, that he did not propose to see a certain 
 kind of bully abuse an old man, and that he would 
 be happy to take the old man's place. . . . 
 
 Then the battle was set. 
 
 Frank had learned to box in a certain small saloon 
 in Market Street, Cambridge, and knew perfectly 
 well how to take care of himself. He received 
 about half the force of one extremely hard blow 
 just on his left cheek-bone before he got warmed to 
 his work; but after that he did the giving and the 
 loose-limbed young man the receiving. Frank was 
 even scientific; he boxed in the American manner, 
 crouching, with both arms half extended (and this 
 seems to have entirely bewildered his adversary) 
 and he made no effort to reach the face. He just
 
 NONE OTHKR CODS 141 
 
 thumped away steadily below the spot where the 
 ribs part, and where a doctor informs me a 
 nerve-center, known as the solar plexus, is situated. 
 He revolved, too, with considerable agility, round 
 his opponent, and gradually drew the battle nearer 
 and nearer to the side lane outside. He knew 
 enough of slum-chivalry by now to be aware that 
 if .1 >ympathizer, or sycophant, of the young man 
 happened to be present, he himself would quite pos- 
 sibly (if the friend happened to possess sufficient 
 courage) suddenly collapse from a disabling blow 
 on the back of the neck. Also, he was not sure 
 whether there was any wife in the question; and 
 in this case it would be a poker, or a broken bottle, 
 held dagger-wise, that he would have to meet. And 
 he wished therefore to have more room round him 
 than the cul-de-sac afforded. 
 
 But there was no need for precaution. 
 
 The young man had begun to look rather sickly 
 under the eyes and to hiccup three or four times in 
 a distressed manner; when suddenly the clamor 
 round the fight ceased. Frank was aware of a 
 shrill old voice calling out something behind him; 
 and the next instant, simultaneously with the drop- 
 ping of his adversary's hands, he himself was seized 
 from behind by the arms, and, writhing, discerned 
 a blue sleeve and a gloved hand holding him. 
 
 " Xow. what's all this?" said a voice in his ear.
 
 142 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 There was a chorus of explanation, declaring 
 that " 'Alb " had been set upon without provocation. 
 There was a particularly voluble woman with red 
 arms and an exceedingly persuasive manner, who 
 advanced from a doorway and described the inci- 
 dent from her own point of view. She had been 
 hanging out the children's things, she began, and so 
 forth; and Frank was declared the aggressor and 
 " 'Alb " the innocent victim. 
 
 Then the chorus broke out again, and " 'Alb," 
 after another fit of hiccupping, corroborated the 
 witnesses in a broken and pathetically indignant 
 voice. 
 
 Frank tore himself from one embracing arm and 
 faced round, still held by the other. 
 
 " All right ; I shan't run away. . '. '. _ . . Look 
 here; that's a black lie. He was hitting that old 
 man. Where is he? Come on, uncle, and tell us 
 all about it." 
 
 The old man advanced, his toothless face con- 
 torted with inexplicable emotion, and corroborated 
 the red-armed woman, and the chorus generally, 
 with astonishing volubility and emphasis. 
 
 " You old fool ! " said Frank curtly. " What are 
 you afraid of? Let's have the truth, now. Wasn't 
 he hitting you ? " 
 
 " He, he, he ! " giggled the old man, torn by the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 143 
 
 desire of self-preservation on one side and, let us 
 hope, by a wish for justice on the other. " He 
 warn't hittin' of me. He's my son, he is. ... 
 'Alb is. ... We were just having " 
 
 " There ! get out of this," said the policeman, re- 
 leasing Frank with a shove. " We don't want your 
 sort here. Coming and making trouble. . . . 
 Yes; my lad. You needn't look at me like that. I 
 know you." 
 
 "Who the deuce are you talking to?" snapped 
 Frank. 
 
 " I know who I'm talking to, well enough," pro- 
 nounced the policeman judicially. " F. Gregory, 
 ain't it ? Now you be off out of this, or you'll be in 
 trouble again." 
 
 There was something vaguely kindly about the 
 man's manner, and Frank understood that he knew 
 very tolerably where the truth lay, but wished to 
 prevent further disturbance. He gulped down his 
 fury. It was no good saying anything; but the 
 sense of the injustice of the universe was very bit- 
 ter. He turned away 
 
 A murmur of indignation broke out from the 
 crowd, bidding the policeman do his duty. 
 
 And as Frank went up the lane, he heard that 
 zealous officer addressing the court with consider- 
 able vigor. But it was very little comfort to him.
 
 144 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 He walked out of the town with his anger and re- 
 sentment still hot in his heart at the indignity of the 
 whole affair. 
 
 (v) 
 
 By the Sunday afternoon Frank was well on his 
 way to York. 
 
 It was a heavy, hot day, sunny, but with brood- 
 ing clouds on the low horizons ; and he was dispirited 
 and tired as he came at last into a small, prim vil- 
 lage street rather after two o'clock (its name, once 
 more, I suppress). 
 
 His possessions by now were greatly reduced. 
 His money had gone, little by little, all through his 
 journey with the Major, and he had kept of other 
 things only one extra flannel shirt, a pair of thick 
 socks and a small saucepan he had bought one day. 
 The half-crown that the Governor had given him 
 was gone, all but fourpence, and he wanted, if pos- 
 sible, to arrive at York, where he was to meet the 
 Major, at least with that sum in his possession. 
 Twopence would pay for a bed and twopence more 
 for supper. 
 
 Half-way up the street he stopped suddenly. Op- 
 posite him stood a small brick church, retired by 
 a few yards of turf, crossed by a path, from the 
 iron railings that abutted on the pavement; and a 
 notice-board proclaimed that in this church of the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 145 
 
 Sacred Heart mass was said on Sundays at eleven, 
 on holidays of obligation at nine, and on weekdays 
 at eight-thirty A. M. Confessions were heard on 
 Saturday evenings and on Thursday evenings be- 
 fore the first Friday, from eight to nine P. M. Cate- 
 chism was at three p. M. on Sundays; and rosary, 
 sermon and benediction at seven p. M. A fat cat, 
 looking as if it were dead, lay relaxed on the grass 
 beneath this board. 
 
 The door was open and Frank considered an in- 
 stant. But he thought that could wait for a few 
 minutes as he glanced at the next house. This was 
 obviously the presbytery. 
 
 I rank had never begged from a priest before, 
 and he hesitated a little now. Then he went across 
 the street into the shadow on the other side, leaned 
 against the wall and looked. The street was per- 
 fectly empty and perfectly quiet, and the hot sum- 
 mer air and sunshine lay on all like a charm. There 
 was another cat, he noticed, on a doorstep a few 
 yanl> away, and he wondered how any living crea- 
 ture in this heat could possibly lie like that, face 
 coiled round to the feet, and the tail laid neatly 
 across the nose. A dreaming cock crooned heart- 
 brokenly somewhere out of sight, and a little hot 
 breeze scooped up a feather of dust in the middle of 
 the road and dropped again. 
 
 Even the presbytery looked inviting on a day like
 
 146 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 this. He had walked a good twenty-five miles to- 
 day, and the suggestion of a dark, cool room was 
 delicious. It was a little pinched-looking house, of 
 brick, like the church, squeezed between the church 
 and a large grocery with a flamboyant inscription 
 over its closed shutters. All the windows were 
 open, hung inside with cheap lace curtains, and pro- 
 tected with dust-screens. He pictured the cold food 
 probably laid out within, and his imagination 
 struck into being a tall glass jug of something like 
 claret-cup, still half-full. Frank had not dined to- 
 day. 
 
 Then he limped boldly across the street, rapped 
 with the cast-iron knocker, and waited. 
 
 Nothing at all happened. 
 
 Presently the cat from the notice-board appeared 
 round the corner, eyed Frank suspiciously, decided 
 that he was not dangerous, came on, walking deli- 
 cately, stepped up on to the further end of the brick 
 stair, and began to arch itself about and rub its 
 back against the warm angle of the doorpost. 
 Frank rapped again, interrupting the cat for an 
 instant, and then stooped, down to scratch it under 
 the ear. The cat crooned delightedly. Steps 
 sounded inside the house ; the cat stopped writhing, 
 and as the door opened, darted in noiselessly with
 
 XOXK OTHER GODS 147 
 
 tail erect past the woman who held the door unin- 
 vitingly half open. 
 
 She had a thin, lined face and quick black eyes. 
 
 " What do you want ? " she asked sharply, look- 
 ing up and down Frank's figure with suspicion. 
 Her eyes dwelt for a moment on the bruise on his 
 cheek-bone. 
 
 " I want to see the priest, please," said Frank. 
 
 " You can't see him." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Frank, " but I must see 
 him." 
 
 " Coming here begging ! " exclaimed the woman 
 bitterly. " I'd be ashamed ! Be off with you ! " 
 
 Frank's dignity asserted itself a little. 
 
 " Don't speak to me in that tone, please. I am 
 a Catholic, and I wisli to see the priest." 
 
 The woman snorted; but before she could speak 
 there came the sound of an opening door and a 
 quick step on the linoleum of the little dark pas- 
 sage. 
 
 "What's all this?" said a voice, as the woman 
 stepped back. 
 
 He was a big, florid young man, with yellow 
 hair, flushed as if with sleep; his eyes were bright 
 and tired-looking, and his collar was plainly unbut- 
 toned at the back. Also, his cassock was unfas-
 
 148 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 lened at the throat and he bore a large red handker- 
 chief in his hand. Obviously this had just been 
 over his face. 
 
 Now I do not blame this priest in the slightest. 
 He had sung a late mass which never agreed with 
 him and in his extreme hunger he had eaten two 
 plate fuls of hot beef, with Yorkshire pudding, and 
 drunk a glass and a half of solid beer. And he had 
 just fallen into a deep sleep before giving Catechism, 
 \vhen the footsteps and voices had awakened him. 
 Further, every wastrel Catholic that came along this 
 road paid him a call, and he had not yet met with 
 one genuine case of want. When he had first come 
 here he had helped beggars freely and generously, 
 and he lived on a stipend of ninety pounds a year, 
 out of which he paid his housekeeper fifteen. 
 
 " What do you want ? " he said. 
 
 " May I speak to you, father ? " said Frank. 
 
 " Certainly. Say what you've got to say." 
 
 " Will you help me with sixpence, father ? " 
 
 The priest was silent, eyeing Frank closely. 
 
 "Are you a Catholic?" 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " I didn't see you at mass this morning." 
 
 " I wasn't here this morning. I was walking on 
 the roads." 
 
 " Where did you hear mass ? "
 
 NONE OT11KK CODS 149 
 
 " 1 didn't hear it at all, father. I was on the 
 roads." 
 
 " \\ 'hat's your work? " 
 
 " I haven't any." 
 
 "Why's that?" 
 
 Frank shrugged his shoulders a little. 
 
 " I do it when I can get it," he said. 
 
 " You speak like an educated man." 
 
 " I am pretty well educated." 
 
 The priest laughed shortly. 
 
 " \Yhat's that bruise on your cheek? " 
 
 " I was in a street fight, yesterday, father." 
 
 " Oh, this is ridiculous ! " he said. " Where 
 did you come from last ? " 
 
 Frank paused a moment. He was very hot and 
 very tired. . . . Then he spoke. 
 
 " I was in prison till Friday," he said. " I was 
 given fourteen days on the charge of robbing a 
 child, on the twenty-sixth. I pleaded guilty. Will 
 you help me, father? " 
 
 If the priest had not been still half stupid with 
 sleep and indigestion, and standing in the full blaze 
 of this hot sun, he might have been rather struck 
 by this last sentence. But he did have those disad- 
 vantages, and he saw in it nothing but insolence. 
 
 He laughed again, shortly and angrily. 
 
 " I'm amazed at your cheek," he said. " Xo,
 
 150 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 certainly not! And you'd better learn manners be- 
 fore you beg again." 
 
 Then he banged the door. 
 
 About ten minutes later he woke up from a doze, 
 very wide awake indeed, and looked round. There 
 lay on the table by him a Dutch cheese, a large 
 crusty piece of bread and some very soft salt butter 
 in a saucer. There was also a good glass of beer 
 left not claret-cup in a glass jug, very much as 
 Frank had pictured it. 
 
 He got up and went out to the street door, shad- 
 ing his eyes against the sun. But the street lay hot 
 and dusty in the afternoon light, empty from end to 
 end, except for a cat, nose in tail, coiled on the gro- 
 cery door-step. 
 
 Then he saw two children, in white frocks, ap- 
 pear round a corner, and he remembered that it was 
 close on time for Catechism.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 (i) 
 
 A BOUT the time that Frank was coming into 
 the village where the priest lived, Jenny had 
 just finished lunch with her father. She took a 
 book, two cigarettes, a small silver matchbox and 
 a Japanese fan, and went out into the garden. She 
 had no duties this afternoon; she had played the 
 organ admirably at the morning service, and would 
 play it equally admirably at the evening service. 
 The afternoon devotions in the little hot Sunday 
 school she had decided, in company with her 
 father a year or two ago and the management 
 of the children, were far better left in the profes- 
 sional hands of the schoolmistress. 
 
 She went straight out of the drawing-room win- 
 dows, set wide and shaded by awnings, and across 
 the lawn to the seat below the ancient yews. There 
 she disposed herself, with her feet up, lit a cigarette, 
 buried the match and began to read. 
 
 She had not heard from Frank for nearly three 
 weeks; his last communication had been a picture
 
 152 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 postcard of Selby Abbey, with the initial "F" 
 neatly printed at the back. But she was not very 
 greatly upset. She had written her letter as she 
 had promised, and had heard from Jack Kirkbv. 
 to whose care she sent it, that he had no idea of 
 Frank's whereabouts, and that he would send on 
 the letter as soon as he knew more. She supposed 
 that Frank would communicate with her again as 
 soon as he thought proper. 
 
 Other circumstances to be noted were that Dick 
 had gone back to town some while ago, but would 
 return almost immediately now for the grouse- 
 shooting; that Archie and Lord Talgarth were both 
 up at the house indeed, she had caught sight of 
 them in the red-curtained chancel-pew this morn- 
 ing, and had exchanged five words with them 
 both after the service and that in all other re- 
 spects other things were as they had been a month 
 ago. 
 
 The Dean of Trinity had telegraphed in great dis- 
 may on the morning following his first communi- 
 cation that Frank had gone, and that no one had 
 the slightest idea of his destination; he had asked 
 whether he should put detectives on the track, and 
 had been bidden, in return, politely but quite firmly, 
 to mind his own business and leave Lord Talgarth's 
 younger son to Lord Talgarth.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 153 
 
 It was a sleepy afternoon, even up here 
 the hills, and Jenny had not read many pages be- 
 fore she became aware of it. The Rectory garden 
 was an almost perfect place for a small doze; the 
 yews about her made a grateful shade, and the limes 
 behind them even further cooled the air, and, when 
 the breeze awoke, as one talking in his sleep, the 
 sound about her was as of gentle rain. The air 
 was bright and dusty with insects; from the limes 
 overhead, the geranium beds, and the orchard fifty 
 yards away, came the steady murmur of bees and 
 flies. . . . 
 
 Jenny woke up twenty minutes later with a sud- 
 den start, and saw someone standing almost over 
 her. She threw her feet down, still bewildered by 
 the sudden change and the glare on which she 
 opened her eyes, and perceived that it was Jack 
 Kirkby, looking very dusty and hot. 
 
 " I am so sorry," said Jack apologetically, " but 
 I was told you were out here." 
 
 She did not know Jack very well, though she had 
 known him a long time. She looked upon him as 
 a pleasant sort of boy whom she occasionally met 
 at lawn-tennis parties and flower shows, and things 
 like that, and she knew perfectly how to talk to 
 young men. 
 
 " How nice of you to come over," she said. 
 " Did you bicycle? Have something to drink? "
 
 154 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 She made room for him on the seat and held out 
 her second cigarette. 
 
 " It's your last," said Jack. 
 
 " I've lots more in the house." 
 
 She watched him as he lit it, and as the last 
 shreds of sleep rolled away, put the obvious ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "You've news of Frank?" 
 
 Jack threw away the match and drew two or 
 three draughts of smoke before answering. 
 
 " Yes," he said. 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 " He gave an address at York, though he wasn't 
 there when he wrote. I sent your letter on there 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Oh! did he give any account of himself? " 
 
 Jack looked at her. 
 
 " Well, he did. I've come about that. It's not 
 very pleasant." 
 
 " Is he ill ? " asked Jenny sharply. 
 
 " Oh, no; not at all; at least, he didn't say so." 
 
 " What's the matter, then? " 
 
 Jack fumbled in his breast-pocket and drew out 
 a letter, which he held a moment before unfolding. 
 
 " I think you'd better read what he says, Miss 
 Launton. It isn't pleasant, but it's all over now. 
 I thought I'd better tell you that first." 
 
 She held out her hand without speaking.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 155 
 
 Jack gave it her, and addressed himself carefully 
 to his cigarette. He didn't like this kind of thing 
 at all ; he wished Frank wouldn't give him unpleas- 
 ant commissions. But, of course, it had to be done. 
 He looked out at the lawn and the sleepy house, 
 but was aware of nothing except the girl beside 
 him in her white dress and the letter in her hands. 
 When she had finished it, she turned back and read 
 it again. Then she remained perfectly still, with 
 the letter held on her knee. 
 
 " Poor, dear old boy ! " she said suddenly and 
 quietly. 
 
 An enormous wave of relief rolled up and envel- 
 oped Jack. He had been exceedingly uncomfort- 
 able this morning, ever since the letter had come. 
 His first impulse had been to ride over instantly 
 after breakfast; then he had postponed it till lunch; 
 then he had eaten some cold beef about half -past 
 twelve and come straight away. He told himself 
 he must give her plenty of time to write by the late 
 Sunday night post. 
 
 He had not exactly distrusted Jenny; Frank's 
 confidence was too overwhelming and too infectious. 
 But he had reflected that it was not a wholly pleas- 
 ant errand to have to inform a girl that her lover 
 had been in prison for a fortnight. But the tone 
 in which she had just said those four words was 
 so serene and so compassionate that he was com-
 
 156 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 pletely reassured. This really was a fine creature, 
 he said to himself. 
 
 " I'm extraordinarily glad you take it like that," 
 he said. 
 
 Jenny looked at him out of her clear, direct 
 eyes. 
 
 " You didn't suppose I should abuse him, did 
 you? . . . How exactly like Frank! I sup- 
 pose he did it to save some blackguard or other." 
 
 " I expect that was it," said Jack. 
 
 " Poor, dear old boy ! " she said again. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Then Jack began 
 again : 
 
 " You see, I've got to go and tell Lord Talgarth. 
 Miss Launton, I wish you'd come with me. Then 
 we can both write by to-night's post." 
 
 Jenny said nothing for an instant. Then: 
 
 " I suppose that would be best," she said. " Shall 
 we go up pretty soon? I expect we shall find him 
 in the garden." 
 
 Jack winced a little. Jenny smiled at him openly. 
 
 " Best to get it over, Mr. Jack. I know it's like 
 going to the dentist. But it can't be as bad as you 
 think. It never is. Besides, you'll have somebody 
 to hold your hand, so to speak." 
 
 " I hope I shan't scream out loud," observed 
 Jack. " Yes, we'd better go if you don't mind." 
 
 He stood up and waited. Jenny rose at once.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 157 
 
 "I'll go and get a hat. Wait for me here, will 
 you? I needn't tell father till this evening." 
 
 (n) 
 
 The park looked delicious as they walked slowly 
 up the grass under the shade of the trees by the side 
 of the drive. The great beeches and elms rose in 
 towering masses, in clump after clump, into the dis- 
 tance, and beneath the nearest stood a great stag 
 with half a dozen hinds about him, eyeing the walk- 
 ers. The air was very still; only from over the 
 hill came the sound of a single church bell, where 
 some infatuated clergyman hoped to gather the 
 lambs of his flock together for instruction in the 
 Christian religion. 
 
 " That's a beauty," said Jack, waving a languid 
 hand towards the stag. " Did you ever hear of the 
 row Frank and I got into when we were boys? " 
 
 Jenny smiled. She had been quite silent since 
 leaving the Rectory. 
 
 " I heard of a good many," she said. " Which 
 was this? " 
 
 Jack recounted a story of Red Indians and am- 
 buscades and a bow and arrows, ending in the flight 
 of a frantic stag over the palings and among the 
 garden beds; it was on a Sunday afternoon, too. 
 
 " Frank was caned by the butler, I remember, by
 
 158 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Lord Talgarth's express orders. Certainly he richly 
 deserved it. I was a guest, and got off clear." 
 
 "How old were you?" 
 
 " We were both about eleven, I think." 
 
 " Frank doesn't strike me as more than about 
 twelve now," observed Jenny. 
 
 " There's something in that," admitted Jack. 
 . . . " Oh ! Lord ! how hot it is ! " He fanned 
 himself with his hat. 
 
 There was no sign of life as they passed into the 
 court and up to the pillared portico; and at last, 
 when the butler appeared, the irregular state of his 
 coat-collar showed plainly that he but that moment 
 had put his coat on. 
 
 (This would be about the time that Frank left the 
 village after his interview with the priest.) 
 
 Yes; it seemed that Lord Talgarth was probably 
 in the garden; and, if so, almost certainly in the 
 little square among the yews along the upper ter- 
 race. His lordship usually went there on hot days. 
 Would Miss Launton and Mr. Kirkby kindly step 
 this way? 
 
 No; he was not to trouble. They would find 
 their own way. On the upper terrace? 
 
 " On the upper terrace, miss." 
 
 The upper terrace was the one part of the old
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 159 
 
 Elizabethan garden left entirely unaltered. On 
 either side rose up a giant wall of yew, shaped like 
 a castle bastion, at least ten feet thick ; and between 
 the two ran a broad gravel path up to the sun-dial, 
 bordered on either side by huge herbaceous beds, 
 blazing with the color of late summer. In two or 
 three places grass paths crossed these, leading by a 
 few yards of turf to windows cut in the hedge to 
 give a view of the long, dazzling lake below, and 
 there was one gravel path, parallel to these, that led 
 to the little yew-framed square built out on the 
 slope of the hill. 
 
 Two very silent persons now came out from the 
 house by the garden door on the south side, turned 
 along the path, went up a dozen broad steps, passed 
 up the yew walk and finally turned again down the 
 short gravel way and stood abashed. 
 
 His lordship was indeed here! 
 
 A long wicker chair was set in one angle, facing 
 them, in such a position that the movement of the 
 sun would not affect the delightful shade in which 
 the chair stood. A small table stood beside it, with 
 the Times newspaper tumbled on to it, a box of 
 cigars, a spirit-bottle of iridescent glass, a syphon, 
 and a tall tumbler in which a little ice lay crumbled 
 at the bottom. And in the wicker chair, with his 
 mouth wide open, slept Lord Talgarth. 
 
 " Good gracious ! " whispered Jenny.
 
 160 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 There was a silence, and then like far-off thun- 
 *der a slow meditative snore. It was not an object 
 of beauty or dignity that they looked upon. 
 
 " In one second I shall laugh," asserted Jenny, 
 still in a cautious whisper. 
 
 " I think we'd better " began Jack ; and 
 stopped petrified, to see one vindictive-looking eye 
 opened and regarding him, it seemed, with an ex- 
 pression of extraordinary malignity. Then the 
 other eye opened, the mouth abruptly closed and 
 Lord Talgarth sat up. 
 
 " God bless my soul ! " 
 
 He rolled his eyes about a moment while intelli- 
 gence came back. 
 
 " You needn't be ashamed of it," said Jenny. 
 " Mr. Jack Kirkby caught me at it, too, half an 
 hour ago." 
 
 His lordship's senses had not even now quite re- 
 turned. He still stared at them innocently like a 
 child, cleared his throat once or twice, and finally 
 stood up. 
 
 "Jack Kirkby, so it is! How do, Jack? And 
 Jenny ? " 
 
 " That's who we are," said Jenny. " Are you 
 sure you're quite recovered?" 
 
 "Recovered! Eh !" (He emitted a short 
 laugh.) " Sit down. There's chairs somewhere."
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 161 
 
 Jack hooked out a couple that were leaning folded 
 against the low wall of yew beneath the window and 
 set them down. 
 
 " Have a cigar, Jack ? " 
 
 " No, thanks." 
 
 They were on good terms these two. Jack 
 shot really well, and was smart and deferential. 
 Lord Talgarth asked no more than this from a 
 young man. 
 
 "Well what's the matter?" 
 
 Jack left it thoughtfully for Jenny to open the 
 campaign. She did so very adroitly. 
 
 " Mr. Jack came over to see me," she said, " and 
 I thought I couldn't entertain him better than by 
 bringing him up to see you. You haven't such a 
 thing as a cigarette, Lord Talgarth? " 
 
 He felt about in his pockets, drew out a case and 
 pushed it across the table. 
 
 "Thanks," said Jenny; and then, without the 
 faintest change of tone : " We've some news of 
 Frank at last." 
 
 " Frank, eh? Have you ? And what's the young 
 cub at, now ? " 
 
 " He's in trouble, as usual, poor boy ! " remarked 
 Jenny, genially. " He's very well, thank you, and 
 sends you his love." 
 
 Lord Talgarth cast her a pregnant glance.
 
 162 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Well, if he didn't, I'm sure he meant to," went 
 on Jenny ; " but I expect he forgot. You see, he's 
 been in prison." 
 
 The old man jerked such a face at her, that even 
 her nerve failed for an instant. Jack saw her put 
 her cigarette up to her mouth with a hand that 
 shook ever so slightly. And yet before the other 
 could say one word she recovered herself. 
 
 " Please let me say it right out to the end first," 
 she said. " No ; please don't interrupt ! Mr. Jack, 
 give me the letter . . . oh ! I've got it." (She 
 drew it out and began to unfold it, talking all the 
 while with astonishing smoothness and self-com- 
 mand.) " And I'll read you all the important part. 
 It's written to Mr. Kirkby. He got it this morn- 
 ing and very kindly brought it straight over here 
 at once." 
 
 Jack was watching like a terrier. On the one 
 side he saw emotions so furious and so conflicting 
 that they could find no expression, and on the other 
 a restraint and a personality so complete and so com- 
 pelling that they simply held the field and permitted 
 no outburst. Her voice was cool and high and nat- 
 ural. Then he noticed her flick a glance at him- 
 self, sideways, and yet perfectly intelligible. He 
 stood up. 
 
 " Yes, do just take a stroll, Mr. Kirkby. . . . 
 Come back in ten minutes."
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 163 
 
 And as he passed out again through the thick 
 archway on to the terrace he heard, in an incredibly 
 matter-of-fact voice, the letter begin. 
 
 " DEAR JACK. . . ." 
 
 Then he began to wonder what, as a matter of in- 
 terest, Lord Talgarth's first utterance would be. 
 But he felt he could trust Jenny to manage him. 
 She was an astonishingly sane and sensible girl. 
 
 (m) 
 
 He was at the further end of the terrace, close 
 beneath the stable wall, when the stable clock struck 
 the quarter for the second time. That would make, 
 he calculated, about seventeen minutes, and he 
 turned reluctantly to keep his appointment. But he 
 was still thirty yards away from the opening when 
 a white figure in a huge white hat came quickly 
 out. She beckoned to him with her head, and he 
 followed her down the steps. She gave him one 
 glance as if to reassure him as he caught her up, 
 but said not a word, good or bad, till they had 
 passed through the house again, and were well on 
 their way down the drive. 
 
 "Well? "said Jack. 
 
 Jenny hesitated a moment.
 
 164 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " I suppose anyone else would have called him 
 violent," she said. " Poor old dear! But it seems 
 to me he behaved rather well on the whole con- 
 sidering all things." 
 
 " What's he going to do ? " 
 
 "If one took anything he said as containing any 
 truth at all, it would mean that he was going to 
 flog Frank with his own hands, kick him first up the 
 steps of the house then down again, and finally 
 drown him in the lake with a stone round his neck. 
 I think that was the sort of programme." 
 
 " But " 
 
 "Oh! we needn't be frightened," said Jenny. 
 " But if you ask me what he will do, I haven't the 
 faintest idea." 
 
 " Did you suggest anything? " 
 
 " He knows what my views are," said Jenny. 
 
 " And those ? " 
 
 " Well make him a decent allowance and let 
 him alone." 
 
 " He won't do that ! " said Jack. " That's far 
 too sensible." 
 
 " You think so? " 
 
 " That would solve the whole problem, of course," 
 went on Jack, " marriage and everything. I sup- 
 pose it would have to be about eight hundred a year. 
 And Talgarth must have at least thirty thousand."
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 165 
 
 "Oh! he's more than that," said Jenny. "He 
 gives Mr. Dick twelve hundred." 
 
 There was a pause. Jack did not know what to 
 think. He was only quite certain that the thing 
 would have been far worse if he had attempted to 
 manage it himself. 
 
 " Well, what shall I say to Frank ? " he asked. 
 
 Jenny paused again. 
 
 " It seems to me the best thing for you to do is 
 not to write. I'll write myself this evening, if 
 you'll give me his address, and explain " 
 
 " I can't do that," said Jack. " I'm awfully 
 sorry, but " 
 
 " You can't give me his address ? " 
 
 " No, I'm afraid I mustn't. You see, Frank's 
 very particular in his letter. . . ." 
 
 " Then how can I write to him ? Mr. Kirkby, 
 you're really rather " 
 
 " By George! I've got it! " cried Jack. " If you 
 don't mind my waiting at the Rectory. Why 
 shouldn't you write to him now, and let me take the 
 letter away and post it ? It'll go all the quicker, too, 
 from Barham." 
 
 He glanced at her, wondering whether she were 
 displeased. Her answer reassured him. 
 
 " That'll do perfectly," she said, " if you're sure 
 you don't mind waiting."
 
 i66 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 The Rectory garden seemed more than ever a 
 harbor from storm as they turned into it. The sun 
 was a little lower now, and the whole lawn lay in 
 shadow. As they came to the door she stopped. 
 
 " I think I'd better go and get it over," she said. 
 " I can tell father all about it after you've gone. 
 Will you go now and wait there ? " She nodded 
 towards the seat where they had sat together earlier. 
 
 But it was nearly an hour before she came out 
 again, and a neat maid, in apron and cap, had come 
 discreetly out with the tea-things, set them down and 
 retired. 
 
 Jack had been thinking of a hundred things, 
 which all centered round one Frank. He had had 
 a real shock this morning. It had been intolerable 
 to think of Frank in prison, for even Jack could 
 guess something of what that meant to him; and 
 the tone of the letter had been so utterly unlike what 
 he had been accustomed to from his friend. He 
 would have expected a bubbling torrent of remarks 
 wise and foolish full of personal descriptions 
 and unkind little sketches. And, indeed, there had 
 come this sober narration of facts and requests. 
 
 But in all this there was one deep relief that it 
 should be a girl like Jenny who was the heart of the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 167 
 
 situation. If she had been in the least little bit dis- 
 turbed, who could tell what it would mean to Frank ? 
 For Frank, as he knew perfectly well, had a very 
 deep heart indeed, and had enshrined Jenny in the 
 middle of it. Any wavering or hesitation on her 
 part would have meant misery to his friend. But 
 now all was perfectly right, he reflected; and really, 
 after all, it did not matter very much what Lord 
 Talgarth said or did. Frank was a free agent ; he 
 was very capable and very lovable; it couldn't pos- 
 sibly be long before something turned up, and then, 
 with Jenny's own money the two could manage very 
 well. And Lord Talgarth could not live for ever; 
 and Archie would do the right thing, even if his 
 father didn't. 
 
 It was after half-past four before he looked up 
 at a glint of white and saw Jenny standing at the 
 drawing-room window. She stood there an instant 
 with a letter in her hand ; then she stepped over the 
 low sill and came towards him across the grass, 
 serene and dignified and graceful. Her head was 
 bare again, and the great coils of her hair flashed 
 suddenly as they caught a long horizontal ray from 
 the west. 
 
 "Here it is," she said. "Will you direct it? 
 I've told him everything."
 
 i68 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Jack nodded. 
 
 "That's excellent!" he said. "It shall go to- 
 night." 
 
 He glanced up at her and saw her looking at him 
 with just the faintest wistfulness. He understood 
 perfectly, he said to himself : she was still a little un- 
 happy at not being allowed to send the letter her- 
 self. What a good girl she was ! 
 
 " Have some tea before you go ? " she said. 
 
 " Thanks. I'd better not. They'll be wondering 
 what's happened to me." 
 
 As he shook hands he tried to put something of 
 his sympathy into his look. He knew exactly how 
 she was feeling, and he thought her splendidly 
 brave. But she hardly met his eyes, and again he 
 felt he knew why. 
 
 As he opened the garden gate beyond the house 
 he turned once more to wave. But she was busy 
 with the tea-things, and a black figure was advan- 
 cing briskly upon her from the direction of the study 
 end of the house.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 (i) 
 
 r IFE had been a little difficult for the Major 
 *~* for the last fortnight or so. Not only was 
 Frank's material and moral support lacking to him, 
 but the calls upon him, owing to Gertie's extreme 
 unreasonableness, had considerably increased. He 
 had explained to her, over and over again, with a 
 rising intensity each time, how unselfishly he had 
 acted throughout, how his sole thought had been for 
 her in his recent course of action. It would never 
 have done, he explained pacifically, for a young man 
 like Frank to have the responsibility of a young 
 girl like Gertie on his hands, while he (the Major) 
 was spending a fortnight elsewhere. And, in fact, 
 even on the most economical grounds he had acted 
 for the best, since it had been himself who had 
 been charged in the matter of the tin of salmon, it 
 would not have been a fortnight, but more like two 
 months, during which the little community would 
 have been deprived of his labor. He reminded her 
 that Frank had had a clean record up to that time 
 with the police. . . . 
 
 169
 
 170 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 But explanation had been fruitless. Gertie had 
 even threatened a revelation of the facts of the 
 case at the nearest police-station, and the Major had 
 been forced to more manly tactics with her. 
 He had not used a stick; his hands had served him 
 very well, and in the course of his argument he had 
 made a few insincere remarks on the mutual rela- 
 tions of Frank and Gertie that the girl remembered. 
 
 He had obtained a frugal little lodging in one of 
 the small streets of York, down by the river in- 
 deed looking straight on to it; and, for a wonder, 
 five days' regular work at the unloading of a string 
 of barges. The five days expired on the Saturday 
 before Frank was expected, but he had several shil- 
 lings in hand on the Sunday morning when Frank's 
 letter arrived, announcing that he hoped to be with 
 them again on Sunday night or Monday morning. 
 Two letters, also, had arrived for his friend on the 
 Sunday morning one in a feminine handwriting 
 and re-directed, with an old postmark of June, as 
 well as one of the day before he had held it up to 
 the light and crackled it between his fingers, of 
 course, upon receiving it and the other an obvious 
 bill one postmark was Cambridge and the other 
 Barham. He decided to keep them both intact. 
 Besides, Gertie had been present at their delivery. 
 
 The Major spent, on the whole, an enjoyable Sun-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 171 
 
 day. He lay in bed till a little after twelve o'clock, 
 with a second-hand copy of the Sporting Times, and 
 a tin of tobacco beside him. They dined at about 
 one o'clock, and he managed to get a little spirit 
 to drink with his meal. He had walked out not 
 very far with Gertie in the afternoon, and had 
 managed by representing himself as having walked 
 seven miles he was determined not to risk any- 
 thing by foolishly cutting it too fine to obtain a 
 little more. They had tea about six, and ate, each 
 of them, a kippered herring and some watercress. 
 Then about seven o'clock Frank suddenly walked in 
 and sat down. 
 
 " Give me something to eat and drink," he 
 said. 
 
 He looked, indeed, extraordinarily strained and 
 tired, and sat back on the upturned box by the fire- 
 place as if in exhaustion. He explained presently 
 when Gertie had cooked another herring, and he had 
 drunk a slop-basinful of tea, that he had walked 
 fasting since breakfast, but he said nothing about 
 the priest. The Major with an air of great precise- 
 ness measured out half a finger of whisky and in- 
 sisted, with the air of a paternal doctor, upon his 
 drinking it immediately. 
 
 " And now a cigarette, for God's sake," said 
 Frank. " By the way, I've got some work for to- 
 morrow."
 
 172 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " That's first-rate, my boy," said the Major. 
 " I've been working myself this week." 
 
 Frank produced his fourpence and laid it on the 
 corner of the table. 
 
 " That's for supper and bed to-night," he said. 
 
 " Nonsense, my boy; put it back in your pocket." 
 
 " Kindly take that fourpence," remarked Frank. 
 " You can add some breakfast to-morrow, if you 
 like." 
 
 He related his adventures presently always ex- 
 cepting the priest and described how he had met 
 a man at the gate of a builder's yard this evening as 
 he came through York, who had promised him a 
 day's job, and if things were satisfactory, more to 
 follow. 
 
 " He seemed a decent chap," said Frank. 
 
 The Major and Gertie had not much to relate. 
 They had left the market-town immediately after 
 Frank's little matter in the magistrates' court, and 
 had done pretty well, arriving in York ten days 
 ago. They hardly referred to Frank's detention, 
 though he saw Gertie looking at him once or twice 
 in a curiously shy kind of way, and understood what 
 was in her mind. But for very decency's sake the 
 Major had finally to say something. 
 
 " By the way, my boy, I won't forget what you
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 173 
 
 did for me and for my little woman here. I'm not 
 a man of many words, but 
 
 "Oh! that's all right," said Frank sleepily. 
 " You'll do as much for me one day." 
 
 The Major assented with fervor and moist eyes. 
 
 It was not till Frank stood up to go to bed that 
 anyone remembered the letters. 
 
 " By the way, there are two letters come for you," 
 said the Major, hunting in the drawer of the table. 
 
 Frank's bearing changed. He whisked round in 
 an instant. 
 
 "Where are they?" 
 
 They were put into his hand. He looked at 
 them carefully, trying to make out the postmark 
 turned them upside down and round, but he made 
 no motion to open them. 
 
 "Where am I to sleep?" he said suddenly. 
 " And can you spare a bit of candle? " 
 
 i And as he went upstairs, it must have been just 
 about the time that the letter-box at Barham was 
 cleared for the late Sunday post. ) 
 
 (n) 
 
 Frank lay a long time awake in the dark that 
 night, holding tight in his hand Jenny's letter, writ- 
 ten to him in June. The bill he had not even 
 troubled to open.
 
 174 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 For the letter said exactly and perfectly just all 
 those things which he most wished to hear, in the 
 manner in which he wished to hear them. It 
 laughed at him gently and kindly; it called him an 
 extraordinarily silly boy; it said that his leaving 
 Cambridge, and, above all, his manner of leaving 
 it Frank had added a postscript describing his ad- 
 venture with the saddle and the policeman were 
 precisely what the writer would have expected of 
 him; it made delightful and humorous reflections 
 upon the need of Frank's turning over a new leaf 
 there was quite a page of good advice; and finally 
 it gave him a charming description just not over 
 the line of due respect of his father's manner of 
 receiving the news, with extracts from some of the 
 choicest remarks made upon that notable occasion. 
 It occupied four closely-written pages, and if there 
 were, running underneath it all, just the faintest 
 hint of strain and anxiety, loyally concealed well 
 that made the letter no less pleasant. 
 
 I have not said a great deal about what Jenny 
 meant to Frank, just because he said so very little 
 about her himself. She was, in fact, almost the 
 only element in his variegated life upon which he 
 had not been in the habit of pouring out torrential 
 comments and reflections. His father and Archie 
 were not at all spared in his conversation with his 
 most intimate friends; in fact, he had been known,
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 175 
 
 more than once, in a very select circle at Cam- 
 bridge, to have conducted imaginary dialogues be- 
 tween those two on himself as their subject, and 
 he could imitate with remarkable fidelity his Cousin 
 Dick over a billiard-table. But he practically never 
 mentioned Jenny ; he had not even a photograph of 
 her on his mantelpiece. And it very soon became 
 known among his friends, when the news of his 
 engagement leaked out through Jack, that it was 
 not to be spoken of in his presence. He had pre- 
 served the same reticence, it may be remembered, 
 about his religion. 
 
 And so Frank at last fell asleep on a little iron 
 bedstead, just remembering that it was quite pos- 
 sible he might have another letter from her to-mor- 
 row, if Jack had performed his commission im- 
 mediately. But he hardly expected to hear till Tues- 
 day. 
 
 Gertie was up soon after five next morning to 
 get breakfast for her men, since the Major had an- 
 nounced that he would go with Frank to see whether 
 possibly there might not be a job for him too ; and 
 as soon as they had gone, very properly went to 
 sleep again on the bed in "the sitting-room. 
 
 Gertie had a strenuous time of it, in spite of the 
 Major's frequently expressed opinion that women 
 had no idea what work was. For, first, there was
 
 176 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the almost unending labor of providing food and 
 cooking it as well as possible; there was almost a 
 standing engagement of mending and washing 
 clothes ; there were numerous arguments to be con- 
 ducted, on terms of comparative equality, if possi- 
 ble, with landladies or farmers' wives Gertie al- 
 ways wore a brass wedding-ring and showed it 
 sometimes a little ostentatiously; and, finally, when 
 the company was on the march, it was only fair 
 that she should carry the heavier half of the luggage, 
 in order to compensate for her life of luxury and 
 ease at other times. Gertie, then, was usually dog- 
 tired, and slept whenever she could get a chance. 
 
 It was nearly eight o'clock before she was awak- 
 ened again by sharp knocking on her door; and 
 on opening it, found the landlady standing there, 
 examining a letter with great attention. ( It had al- 
 ready been held up to the light against the kitchen 
 window.) 
 
 " For one of your folks, isn't it, Mrs. er " 
 
 Gertie took it. It was written on excellent paper, 
 and directed in a man's handwriting to Mr. Greg- 
 ory: 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. er " said Gertie. 
 
 Then she went back into her room, put the letter 
 carefully away in the drawer of the table and set 
 about her household business.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 177 
 
 About eleven o'clock she stepped out for a little 
 refreshment. She had, of course, a small private 
 exchequer of her own, amounting usually to only 
 a few pence, of which the Major knew nothing. 
 This did not strike her as at all unfair; she only 
 wondered gently sometimes at masculine innocence 
 in not recognizing that such an arrangement was 
 perfectly certain. She got into conversation with 
 some elder ladies, who also had stepped out for 
 refreshment, and had occasion, at a certain point, 
 to lay her wedding-ring on the bar-counter for ex- 
 hibition. So it was not until a little after twelve 
 that she remembered the time and fled. She was 
 not expecting her men home to dinner; in fact, she 
 had wrapped up provisions for them in fragments 
 of the Major's Sporting Times before they had left; 
 but it was safer to be at home. One never knew. 
 
 As she came into the room, for an instant her 
 heart leaped into her mouth, but it was only Frank. 
 
 " Whatever's the matter? " she said. 
 
 " Turned off," said Frank shortly. He was sit- 
 ting gloomily at the table with his hands in his 
 pockets. 
 
 "Turned off?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "What's up?" 
 
 " 'Tecs," said Frank.
 
 178 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Gertie's mouth opened a little. 
 
 " One of them saw me going in and wired for 
 instructions. He had seen the case in the police- 
 news and thought I answered to the description. 
 Then he came back at eleven and told the gov- 
 ernor." 
 
 "And" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " And George? " 
 
 "Oh! he's all right," said Frank a little bitterly. 
 " There's nothing against him. Got any dinner, 
 Gertie ? I can't pay for it ... oh, yes, I can ; 
 here's half a day." (He chucked ninepence upon 
 the table ; the sixpence rolled off again, but he made 
 no movement to pick it up.) 
 
 Gertie looked at him a moment. 
 
 " Well " she began emphatically, then she 
 stooped to pick up the sixpence. 
 
 Frank sighed. 
 
 " Oh ! don't begin all that there's a good girl. 
 I've said it all myself quite adequately, I assure 
 you." 
 
 Gertie's mouth opened again. She laid the six- 
 pence on the table. 
 
 " I mean, there's nothing to be said," explained 
 Frank. " The point is what's to be done ? " 
 
 Gertie had no suggestions. She began to scrape
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 179 
 
 out the frying-pan in which the herrings had been 
 cooked last night. 
 
 " There's a letter for you," she said suddenly. 
 
 Frank sat up. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " In the drawer there by your hand. Frankie 
 
 Frank tore at the handle and it came off. He 
 littered a short exclamation. Then, with infinite 
 craft he fitted the handle in again, wrapped in yet 
 one more scrap of the Sporting Times, and drew 
 out the drawer. His face fell abruptly as he saw 
 the handwriting. 
 
 " That can wait," he muttered, and chucked the 
 letter face downwards on to the table. 
 
 " Frankie," said the girl again, still intent on her 
 frying-pan. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " It's all my fault," she said in a low voice. 
 
 " Your fault ! How do you make that out ? " 
 
 "If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have 
 taken the tin from George, and . . ." 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " said Frank, " if we once begin on 
 that ! . . And if it hadn't been for George, 
 he wouldn't have taken the tin; and if it hadn't been 
 for Maggie Cooper, there wouldn't have been the 
 tin; and if it hadn't been for Maggie's father's sis- 
 ter, she wouldn't have gone out with it. It's all
 
 i8o NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Maggie's father's sister's fault, my dear! It's noth- 
 ing to do with you." 
 
 The words were brisk enough, but the manner 
 was very heavy. It was like repeating a lesson 
 learned in childhood. 
 
 "That's all right," began Gertie again, "but " 
 
 " My dear girl, I shall be annoyed if you go back 
 to all that. Why can't you let it alone ? The point 
 is, What's to happen? I can't go on sponging on 
 you and the Major." 
 
 Gertie flushed under her tan. 
 
 " If you ever leave us," she said, " I'll " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I'll . . . I'll never leave George." 
 
 Frank was puzzled for a moment. It seemed a 
 non sequitur. 
 
 " Do you mean " 
 
 " I've got me eyes," said Gertie emphatically, 
 " and I know what you're thinking, though you 
 don't say much. And I've been thinking, too." 
 
 Frank felt a faint warmth rise in his own heart. 
 
 " You mean you've been thinking over what I 
 said the other day? " 
 
 Gertie bent lower over her frying-pan and scraped 
 harder than ever. 
 
 "Do stop that confounded row one second!" 
 shouted Frank. 
 
 The noise stopped abruptly. Gertie glanced up
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 181 
 
 and down again. Then she began again, more 
 gently. 
 
 " That's better," said Frank. ..." Well, I 
 hope you have," he went on paternally. " You're 
 a good girl, Gertie, and you know better. Go on 
 thinking about it, and tell me when you've made 
 up your mind. When'll dinner be ready ? " 
 
 " Half an hour," said Gertie. 
 
 " Well, I'll go out for a bit and look round." 
 
 He took up the letter carelessly and went out. 
 
 (m) 
 
 As he passed the window Gertie glanced towards 
 it with the corner of her eye. Then, frying-pan 
 still in hand, she crept up to the angle and watched 
 him go down the quay. 
 
 A very convenient barrel was set on the extreme 
 edge of the embankment above the water, with an- 
 other beside it, and Frank made for this immedi- 
 ately. She saw him sit on one of the barrels and 
 put the letter, still unopened, on the top of the 
 other. Then he fumbled in his pockets a little, and 
 presently a small blue cloud of smoke went upwards 
 like incense. Gertie watched him for an instant, 
 but he did not move again. Then she went back to 
 her frying-pan.
 
 182 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Twenty minutes later dinner was almost ready. 
 
 Gertie had spread upon the table, with great care, 
 one of the Major's white pocket-handkerchiefs. 
 He insisted upon those being, not only retained, 
 but washed occasionally, and Gertie understood 
 something of his reasons, since in the corner of 
 each was embroidered a monogram, of which the 
 letters were not " G. T." But she never could 
 make out what they were. 
 
 Upon this tablecloth she had placed on one side 
 a black-handled fork with two prongs, and a knife 
 of the same pattern (this was for Frank) and on 
 the other a small pewter tea-spoon and a knife, of 
 which the only handle was a small iron spike from 
 which the wood had fallen away. (This was for 
 herself.) Then there was a tooth-glass for Frank, 
 and a teacup without a handle, but with a gold 
 flower in the middle of it, to make up for her- 
 self. In the center of the pocket-handkerchief 
 stood a crockery jug, with a mauve design of York 
 Minster, with a thundercloud behind it and a lady 
 and gentleman with a child bowling a hoop in front 
 of it. This was the landlady's property, and was 
 half full of beer. Besides all this, there were two 
 plates, one of a cold blue color, with a portrait of 
 the Prince Consort, whiskers and hat complete, in 
 a small medallion in the center, and the other white, 
 with a representation of the Falls of Lodore.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 183 
 
 There was no possibility of mistaking any of the 
 subjects treated upon these various pieces of table- 
 ware, since the title of each was neatly printed, in 
 various styles, just below the picture. 
 
 Gertie regarded this array with her head on one 
 side. It was not often that they dined in such lux- 
 ury. She wished she had a flower to put in the 
 center. Then she stirred the contents of the fry- 
 ing-pan with an iron spoon, and went again to the 
 window. 
 
 The figure on the barrel had not moved ; but even 
 as she looked she saw him put out his hand to the 
 letter. She watched him. She saw him run a 
 finger inside the envelope, and toss the envelope 
 over the edge of the quay. Then she saw him un- 
 fold the paper inside and become absorbed. 
 
 This would never do. Gertie's idea of a letter 
 was that it occupied at least several minutes to read 
 through ; so she went out quickly to the street door 
 to call him in. 
 
 She called him, and he did not turn his head, nor 
 even answer. 
 
 She called him again. 
 
 (iv) 
 
 The letter that Frank read lies, too, with a few 
 other papers, before me as I write.
 
 1 84 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 It runs as follows : 
 
 " MY DEAR FRANK, 
 
 " I know you won't like what I have to 
 say, but it has to be said. Believe me, it costs me 
 as much to write as you to read perhaps more. 
 
 " It is this : Our engagement must be at an end. 
 
 " You have a perfect right to ask me for reasons, 
 so I will give them at once, as I don't want to open 
 the subject again. It would do no kind of good. 
 My mind is absolutely made up. 
 
 "My main reason is this: When I became en- 
 gaged to you I did not know you properly. I 
 thought you were quite different from what you 
 are. I thought that underneath all your nice wild- 
 ness, and so on, there was a very solid person. 
 And I hinted that, you will remember, in my first 
 letter, which I suppose you have received just be- 
 fore this. And now I simply can't think that any 
 longer. 
 
 " I don't in the least blame you for being what 
 you are: that's not my business. But I must just 
 say this that a man who can do what you've 
 done, not only for a week or two, as I thought at 
 first, as a sort of game, but for nearly three months, 
 and during that time could leave me with only three 
 or four postcards and no news; above all, a man
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 185 
 
 who could get into such disgrace and trouble, and 
 actually go to prison, and yet not seem to mind 
 much well, it isn't what I had thought of you. 
 
 " You see, there are a whole lot of things to- 
 gether. It isn't just this or that, but the whole 
 thing. 
 
 " First you became a Catholic, without telling me 
 anything until just before. I didn't like that, natu- 
 rally, but I didn't say anything. It isn't nice for a 
 husband and wife to be of different religions. Then 
 you ran away from Cambridge ; then you got mixed 
 up with this man you speak of in your letter to 
 Jack ; and you must have been rather fond of him, 
 you know, to go to prison for him, as I suppose 
 you did. And yet, after all that, I expect you've 
 gone to meet him again in York. And then there's 
 the undeniable fact of prison. 
 
 " You see, it's all these things together one 
 after another. I have defended you to your father 
 again and again ; I haven't allowed anybody to abuse 
 you without standing up for you; but it really has 
 gone too far. You know I did half warn you in 
 that other letter. I know you couldn't have got it 
 till just now, but that wasn't my. fault; and the letter 
 shows what I was thinking, even three months ago. 
 
 " Don't be too angry with me, Frank. I'm very 
 fond of you still, and I shall always stand up for 
 
 U
 
 186 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 you when I can. And please don't answer this in 
 any way. Jack Kirkby isn't answering just yet. 
 I asked him not, though he doesn't know why. 
 
 " Your father is going to send the news that the 
 engagement is broken off to the newspapers. 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 "JENNY LAUNTON."
 
 PART II 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 (0 
 
 ARHAM, as all Yorkshire knows, lies at the 
 foot of a long valley, where it emerges into 
 the flatter district round Harrogate. It has a rail- 
 way all to itself, which goes no further, for Bar- 
 ham is shut in on the north by tall hills and moors, 
 and lies on the way to nowhere. It is almost wholly 
 an agricultural town, and has a curious humped 
 bridge, right in the middle of the town, where men 
 stand about on market days and discuss the price 
 of bullocks. It has two churches one, disused, 
 on a precipitous spur above the town, surrounded 
 by an amazingly irregular sort of churchyard, full, 
 literally, to bursting (the Kirkbys lie there, gen- 
 eration after generation of them, beneath pompous 
 tombs), and the other church a hideous rectangular 
 building, with flat walls and shallow, sham Gothic 
 windows. It was thought extremely beautiful when 
 it was built forty years ago. The town itself is 
 187
 
 i88 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 an irregular and rather -picturesque place, with a 
 twisting steep High Street, looking as if a number 
 of houses had been shot at random into this nook 
 among the hills and left 'to find their own levels. 
 
 The big house where the Kirkbys have lived since 
 the middle of the seventeenth century is close to 
 the town, as the squire's house ought to be, and 
 its park gates open right upon the northern end of 
 the old bridge. There's nothing of great interest 
 in the house (I believe there is an old doorway in 
 the cellar, mentioned in guide-books), since it was 
 rebuilt about the same time as the new church first 
 rose. It is just a big, comfortable, warm, cool, 
 shady sort of house, with a large hall and a fine oak 
 staircase, surrounded by lawns and shrubberies, 
 that adjoin on the west the lower slopes, first of the 
 park and then of the moors that stretch away over 
 the horizon. 
 
 There is a pleasant feudal air about the whole 
 place feudal, in a small and neighborly kind of 
 way. Jack's father died just a year before his 
 only son came of age ; and Jack himself, surrounded 
 by sisters and an excellent and beneficently-minded 
 mother, has succeeded to all the immemorial rights 
 and powers, written and unwritten, of the Squire of 
 Barham. He entertained me delightfully for three 
 or four days a few months ago, when I was traveling 
 about after Frank's footsteps, and I noticed with
 
 XOXE OTHER GODS 189 
 
 pleasure as we drove through the town that there 
 was hardly a living creature in the town whom he 
 did not salute, and who did not salute him. 
 
 He took me first to the bridge and pulled up in 
 the middle of it, to point out a small recess in it, 
 over the central pier, intended, no doubt, to give 
 shelter to foot-passengers before the bridge was 
 widened, in case a large vehicle came through. 
 
 " There," he said. " That's the place I first saw 
 Frank when he came." 
 
 We drove on up through the town, and at the 
 foot of the almost precipitous hill leading up to the 
 ruined church we got out, leaving the dog-cart in 
 charge of the groom. We climbed the hill slowly, 
 for it was a hot day, Jack uttering reminiscences 
 at intervals (many of which are recorded in these 
 pages) and turned in at the churchyard gate. 
 
 " And this was the place," said Jack, " where I 
 said good-by to him." 
 
 (n) 
 
 It was on the twenty-fifth of September, a Mon- 
 day, that Jack sat in the smoking-room, in Nor- 
 folk jacket and gaiters, drinking tea as fast as he 
 possibly could. He had been out on the moors all 
 day, and was as thirsty as the moors could make 
 him, and he had been sensual enough to smoke a
 
 igo NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 cigarette deliberately before beginning tea, in order 
 to bring his thirst to an acute point. 
 
 Then, the instant he had finished he snatched 
 for his case again, for this was to be the best ciga- 
 rette of the whole day, and discovered that his sen- 
 suality had overreached itself for once, and that 
 there were none left. He clutched at the silver 
 box with a sinking heart, half -remembering that he 
 had filled his case with the last of them this morn- 
 ing. It was a fact, and he knew that there were no 
 others in the house. 
 
 This would never do, and he reflected that if he 
 sent a man for some more, he would not get them 
 for at least twenty minutes. (Jack never could 
 understand why an able-bodied footman always oc- 
 cupied twenty minutes in a journey that ought to 
 take eight.) So he put on his cap again, stepped 
 out of the low window and set off down the drive. 
 
 It was getting a little dark as he passed out of 
 the lodge-gates. The sun, of course, had set at 
 least an hour before behind the great hill to the 
 west, but the twilight proper was only just begin- 
 ning. He was nearly at the place now, and as he 
 breasted the steep ascent of the bridge, peered over 
 it, at least with his mind's eye, at the tobacconist's 
 shop first on the left where a store of " Mr. 
 Jack's cigarettes" was always on hand.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 191 
 
 He noticed in the little recess I have just spoken 
 of a man leaning with his elbows on the parapet, 
 and staring out up the long reach of the stream to 
 the purple evening moors against the sky and the 
 luminous glory itself; and as he came opposite him, 
 wondered vaguely who it was and whether he knew 
 him. Then, as he got just opposite him, he stopped, 
 uneasy at heart. 
 
 Naturally Frank was never very far away from 
 Jack's thoughts just now ever since, indeed, he 
 had heard the news in a very discreet letter from 
 the Reverend James Launton a week or two ago. 
 (I need not say he had answered this letter, not to 
 the father, but to the daughter, but had received 
 no reply.) 
 
 He had written a frantic letter to Frank 
 himself then, but it had been returned, marked: 
 " Unknown at this address." And ever since he had 
 eyed all tramps on the road with an earnestness that 
 elicited occasionally a salute, and occasionally an 
 impolite remark. 
 
 The figure whose back he saw now certainly was 
 not much like Frank; but then again it was 
 rather like him. It was dressed in a jacket and 
 trousers so stained with dust and wet as to have no 
 color of their own at all, and a cloth cap of the same 
 appearance. A bundle tied up in a red handkerchief,
 
 192 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 and a heavy stick, rested propped against an angle 
 of the recess. 
 
 Jack cleared his throat rather loud and stood 
 still, prepared to be admiring the view, in case of 
 necessity ; the figure turned an eye over its shoulder, 
 then faced completely round; and it was Frank 
 Guiseley. 
 
 Jack for the first instant said nothing at all, but 
 stood transfixed; with his mouth a little open and 
 his eyes staring. Frank's face was sunburned al- 
 most beyond recognition, his hair seemed cut shorter 
 than usual, and the light was behind him. 
 
 Then Jack recovered. 
 
 " My dear man," he said, " why the " 
 
 He seized him by the hands and held him, staring 
 at him. 
 
 "Yes; it's me all right," said Frank. "I was 
 just wondering " 
 
 " Co'me along, instantly. . . . Damn ! I've 
 got to go to a tobacconist's; it's only just here. 
 There isn't a cigarette in the house. Come with 
 me?" 
 
 " I'll wait here," said Frank. 
 
 " Will you? I shan't be a second." 
 
 It was, as a matter of fact, scarcely one minute 
 before Jack was back ; he had darted in, snatched 
 a box from the shelf and vanished, crying out to
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 193 
 
 " put it down to him." He found Frank had faced 
 round again and was staring at the water and sky 
 and high moors. He snatched up his friend's bun- 
 dle and stick. 
 
 " Come along," he said, " we shall have an hour 
 or two before dinner." 
 
 Frank, in silence, took the bundle and stick from 
 him again, firmly and irresistibly, and they did not 
 speak again till they were out of ear-shot of the 
 lodge. Then Jack began, taking Frank's arm a 
 custom for which he had often been rebuked. 
 
 " My dear old man ! " he said. " I ... I 
 can't say what I feel. I know the whole thing, of 
 course, and I've expressed my mind plainly to Miss 
 Jenny." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " And to your father. Neither have answered, 
 and naturally I haven't been over again. . . . 
 Dick's been there, by the way." 
 
 Frank made no comment. 
 
 " You look simply awful, old chap," pursued Jack 
 cheerily. " Where on earth have you been for the 
 last month ? I wrote to York and got the letter re- 
 turned." 
 
 "Oh! I've been up and down," said Frank im- 
 passively. 
 
 " With the people you were with before the 
 man, I mean?"
 
 194 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " No. I've left them for the present. But I 
 shall probably join them again later." 
 
 " Join ... ! " began the other aghast. 
 
 " Certainly ! This thing's only just begun," said 
 Frank, with that same odd impassivity. " We've 
 seen the worst of it, I fancy." 
 
 " But you don't mean you're going back ! Why, 
 it's ridiculous ! " 
 
 Frank stopped. They were within sight of the 
 house now and the lights shone pleasantly out. 
 
 " By the way, Jack, I quite forgot. You will 
 kindly give me your promise to make no sort of 
 effort to detain me when I want to go again, or I 
 shan't come any further." 
 
 " But, my dear chap " 
 
 " Kindly promise at once, please." 
 
 " Oh, well ! I promise, but " 
 
 " That's all right," said Frank, and moved on. 
 
 " I say," said Jack, as they came up to the hall 
 door. " Will you talk now or will you change, or 
 what?" 
 
 . " I should like a hot bath first. By the way, have 
 you anyone staying in the house ? " 
 
 " Not a soul ; and only two sisters at home. And 
 my mother, of course." 
 
 "What about clothes?" 
 
 " I'll see about that. Come on round to the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 195 
 
 smoking-room window. Then I'll get in Jackson 
 and explain to him. I suppose you don't mind your 
 name being known? He'll probably recognize you, 
 anyhow." 
 
 " Not in the least, so long as no one interferes." 
 
 Jack rang the bell as soon as they came into the 
 smoking-room, and Frank sat down in a deep chair. 
 Then the butler came. He cast one long look at 
 the astonishing figure in the chair. 
 
 "Oh! er Jackson, this is Mr. Frank Guise- 
 ley. He's going to stay here. He'll want some 
 clothes and things. I rather think there are some 
 suits of mine that might do. I wish you'd look 
 them out." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir? " 
 
 " This is Mr. Frank Guiseley of Merefield. 
 . . . It is, really! But we don't want more 
 people talking than are necessary. You under- 
 stand? Please don't say anything about it, except 
 that he's come on a walking-tour. And please tell 
 the housekeeper to get the Blue Room ready, and let 
 somebody turn on the hot water in the bath-room 
 until further notice. That's all, Jackson . . . 
 and the clothes. You understand ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And get the eau de lubin from my dressing- 
 room and put it in the bath-room. Oh, yes ; and 
 the wooden bowl of soap."
 
 196 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " These clothes of mine are not to be thrown 
 away, please, Jackson," said Frank gravely from 
 the chair. " I shall want them again." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " That's all, then," said Jack. 
 
 Mr. Jackson turned stiffly and left the room. 
 
 " It's all right," said Jack. " You remember old 
 Jackson. He won't say a word. Lucky no one 
 saw us as we came up." 
 
 " It doesn't matter much, does it? " said Frank. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " I say, Frank, when will you tell me 
 
 " I'll answer any questions after dinner to-night. 
 I simply can't talk now." 
 
 Dinner was a little difficult that night. 
 
 Mrs. Kirkby had been subjected to a long lecture 
 from her son during the half hour in which she 
 ought to have been dressing, in order to have it 
 firmly implanted in her mind that Frank whom 
 she had known from a boy was simply and solely 
 in the middle of a walking-tour all by himself. 
 She understood the situation perfectly in a minute 
 and a half (she was a very shrewd woman who 
 did not say much) but Jack was not content. 
 He hovered about her room, fingering photographs 
 and silver-handled brushes, explaining over and 
 over again how important it was that Frank should
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 197 
 
 be made to feel at his ease, and that Fanny and 
 Jill (who were just old enough to come to din- 
 ner in white high-necked frocks that came down 
 to their very slender ankles, and thick pig-tails down 
 their backs) must not be allowed to bother him. 
 Mrs. Kirkby said, "Yes, I understand," about a 
 hundred and thirty times, and glanced at the clock. 
 She stood with one finger on the electric button for 
 at least five minutes before venturing to ring for 
 her majd, and it was only that lady's discreet tap 
 at one minute before eight that finally got Jack 
 out of the room. He looked in on Frank in the 
 middle of his dressing, found to his relief that an 
 oldish suit of dress-clothes fitted him quite decently, 
 and then went to put on his own. He came down 
 to the drawing-room seven minutes after the gong 
 with his ears very red and his hair in a plume, to 
 find Frank talking to his mother, and eyed by his 
 sisters who were pretending to look at photographs, 
 with all the ease in the world. 
 
 But dinner itself was difficult. It was the ob- 
 vious thing to talk about Frank's " walking-tour " ; 
 and yet this was exactly what Jack dared not do. 
 The state of the moors, and the deplorable ravages 
 made among the young grouse by the early rains, 
 occupied them all to the end of fish ; to the grouse 
 succeeded the bullocks; to the bullocks, the sheep,
 
 I 9 8 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 and, by an obvious connection obvious to all who 
 knew that gentleman from the sheep to the new 
 curate. 
 
 But just before the chocolate souffiee there came a 
 pause, and Jill, the younger of the two sisters, has- 
 tened to fill the gap. 
 
 " Did you have a nice walking-tour, Mr. Guise- 
 ley?" 
 
 Frank turned to her politely. 
 
 " Yes, very nice, considering," he said. ' , 
 
 "Have you been alone all the time?" pursued 
 Jill, conscious of a social success. 
 
 " Well, no," said Frank. " I was traveling with 
 a . . . well, with a man who was an officer in 
 the army. He was a major." 
 
 " And did you " 
 
 " That's enough, Jill," said her mother decidedly. 
 " Don't bother Mr. Guiseley. He's tired with his 
 walk." 
 
 The two young men sat quiet for a minute or two 
 after the ladies had left the room. Then Jack 
 spoke. 
 
 "Well? "he said. 
 
 Frank looked up. There was an odd, patient kind 
 of look in his eyes that touched Jack a good deal. 
 Frank had not been distinguished for submissive- 
 ness hitherto.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 199 
 
 "Oh! a bit later, if you don't mind," he said. 
 We can talk in the smoking-room." 
 
 (IV) 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you the whole thing as far as I 
 understand it," began Frank, as the door closed 
 behind Jackson, who had brought whisky and can- 
 dles. " And then I'll answer any questions you 
 want." 
 
 He settled himself back in his chair, stretching 
 out his legs and clasping his hands behind his head. 
 Jack had a good view of him and could take notice 
 of his own impressions, though he found them hard 
 to put into words afterwards. The words he finally 
 chose were " subdued " and " patient " again, and 
 there are hardly two words that would have been 
 less applicable to Frank three months before. At 
 the same time his virility was more noticeable than 
 ever; he had about him, Jack said, something of 
 the air of a very good groom a hard-featured 
 and sharp, yet not at all unkindly look, very capa- 
 ble and, at the same time, very much restrained. 
 There was no sentimental nonsense about him at all 
 his sorrow had not taken that form. 
 
 " Well, I needn't talk much about Jenny's last 
 letter and what happened after that. I was en-
 
 200 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 tirely unprepared, of course. I hadn't the faintest 
 idea Well, she was the one person about whom 
 I had no doubts at all! I actually left the letter 
 unread for a few minutes (the envelope was in 
 your handwriting, you know) because I had to 
 think over what I had to do next. The police had 
 got me turned away from a builder's yard " 
 
 Jack emitted a small sound. He was staring at 
 Frank with all his eyes. 
 
 "Yes; that's their way," said Frank. "Well, 
 when I read it, I simply couldn't think any more at 
 all for a time. The girl we were traveling with 
 she had picked up with the man I had got into 
 trouble over, you know the girl was calling me 
 to dinner, she told me afterwards. I didn't hear 
 a sound. She came and touched me at last, and 
 I woke up. But I couldn't say anything. They 
 don't even now know what's the matter. I came 
 away that afternoon. I couldn't even wait for the 
 Major " 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " The Major. . . . Oh ! that's what the chap 
 calls himself. I don't think he's lying, either. I 
 simply couldn't stand him another minute just then. 
 But I sent them a postcard that night I forget 
 where from; and There aren't any letters for 
 me, are there? " 
 
 " One or two bills."
 
 XOXE OTHER GODS 201 
 
 " Oh ! well, I shall hear soon, 1 expect. 1 must 
 join them again in a clay or two. They're some- 
 where in this direction, I know." 
 
 " And what did you do? " 
 
 Frank considered. 
 
 " I'm not quite sure. I know I walked a great 
 deal. People were awfully good to me. One 
 woman stopped her motor and I hadn't begged, 
 either " 
 
 " You ! Begged ! " 
 
 "Lord, yes; lots of times. . . . Well, she 
 gave me a quid, and I didn't even thank her. And 
 that lasted me very well, and I did a little work too, 
 here and there." 
 
 " But, good Lord! what did you do? " 
 
 " I walked. I couldn't bear towns or people or 
 anything. I got somewhere outside of Ripon at 
 last, and went out on to the moors. I found an 
 old shepherd's hut for about a week or ten days " 
 
 " And you " 
 
 "Lived there? Yes. I mended the hut thor- 
 oughly before I came away. And then I thought 
 I'd come on here." 
 
 "What were yon doing on the bridge?" 
 
 " Waiting till dark. I was going to ask at the 
 lodge then whether you were at home." 
 
 "And if I hadn't been?" 
 
 " Gone on somewhere else, I suppose." 
 M
 
 202 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Jack tried to help himself to a whisky and soda, 
 but the soda flew out all over his shirt-front like 
 a fountain, and he was forced to make a small re- 
 mark. Then he made another. 
 
 "What about prison?" 
 
 Frank smiled. 
 
 " Oh ! I've almost forgotten that. It was beastly 
 at the time, though." 
 
 "And . . . and the Major and the work! 
 Lord ! Frank, you do tell a story badly." 
 
 He smiled again much more completely. 
 
 " I'm too busy inside," he said. " Those things 
 don't seem to matter much, somehow." 
 
 " ' Inside ! ' What the deuce do you mean ? " 
 
 Frank made a tiny deprecating gesture. 
 
 " Well, what it's all about, you know . . . 
 Jack." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It's a frightfully priggish thing to say, but I'm 
 extraordinarily interested as to what's going to 
 happen next inside, I mean. At least, some- 
 times ; and then at other times I don't care a hang." 
 
 Jack looked bewildered, and said so tersely. 
 Frank leaned forward a little. 
 
 " It's like this, you see. Something or other has 
 taken me in hand : I'm blessed if I know what. 
 All these things don't happen one on the top of the 
 other just by a fluke. There's something going
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 203 
 
 on, and I want to know what it is. And I suppose 
 something's going to happen soon." 
 
 " For God's sake do say what you mean! " 
 
 " I can't more than that. I tell you I don't know. 
 I only wish somebody could tell me." 
 
 " But what does it all amount to ? What are 
 you going to do next ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I know that all right. I'm going to join 
 the Major and Gertie again." 
 
 "Frank!" 
 
 " Yes ? . . . No, not a word, please. You 
 promised you wouldn't. I'm going to join those 
 two again and see what happens." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 " That's my job. I know that much. I've got 
 to get that girl back to her people again. She's not 
 his wife, you know." 
 
 " But what the devil " 
 
 "It seems to me to matter a good deal. Oh! 
 she's a thoroughly stupid girl, and he's a proper 
 cad ; but that doesn't matter. It's got to be done ; 
 or, rather, I've got to try to do it. I daresay I 
 shan't succeed, but that, again, doesn't matter. I've 
 got to do my job, and then we'll see." 
 
 Jack threw up his hands. 
 
 " You're cracked ! " he said. 
 
 " I daresay," said Frank solemnly. 
 
 There was a pause. It seemed to Jack that the
 
 204 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 whple thing must be a dream. This simply wasn't 
 Frank at all. The wild idea came to him that the 
 man who sat before him with Frank's features was 
 some kind of changeling. Mentally he shook him- 
 self. 
 
 "And what about Jenny?" he said. 
 
 Frank sat perfectly silent and still for an instant. 
 Then he spoke without heat. 
 
 " I'm not quite sure," he said. " Sometimes I'd 
 like to ... well, to make her a little speech 
 about what she's done, and sometimes I'd like to 
 crawl to her and kiss her feet but both those 
 things are when I'm feeling bad. On the whole, I 
 think though I'm not sure that is not my busi- 
 ness any more ; in fact, I'm pretty sure it's not. It's 
 part of the whole campaign and out of my hands. 
 It's no good talking about that any more. So please 
 don't, Jack." 
 
 " One question? " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Have you written to her or sent her a mes- 
 sage?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And I want to say one other thing. I don't 
 think it's against the bargain." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Will you take five hundred pounds and go out 
 to the colonies? "
 
 \0\i-; OTHKK <;O!)S 205 
 
 Frank looked up \\ithan amused smile. 
 
 " Xo. I won't thanks very much. 
 Am I in such disgrace as all that, then? " 
 
 " You know I don't mean that," said Jack quietly. 
 
 " Xo, old chap. I oughtn't to have said that. 
 I'm sorry." 
 
 Jack waved a hand. 
 
 " I thought perhaps you'd loathe England, and 
 would like And you don't seem absolutely burst- 
 ing with pride, you know." 
 
 " Honestly, I don't think I arn," said Frank. 
 " But England suits me very well and there are 
 the other two, you know. But I'll tell you one thing 
 you could do for me." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Pay those extra bills. I don't think they're 
 much." 
 
 " That's all right," said Jack. " And you really 
 mean to go on with it all ? " 
 
 " Why, ves." 
 
 (v) 
 
 The moors had been pretty well shot over already 
 since the twelfth of August, but the two had a very 
 pleasant day, for all that, a couple of days later. 
 They went out with a keeper and half a dozen beat- 
 ers Frank in an old homespun suit of Jack's.
 
 206 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 and his own powerful boots, and made a very toler- 
 able bag. There was one dramatic moment, Jack 
 told me, when they found that luncheon had been 
 laid at a high point on the hills from which the 
 great gray mass of Merefield and the shimmer of 
 the lake in front of the house were plainly visible 
 only eight miles away. The flag was flying, too, 
 from the flagstaff on the old keep, showing, accord- 
 ing to ancient custom, that Lord Talgarth was at 
 home. Frank looked at it a minute or two with 
 genial interest, and Jack wondered whether he had 
 noticed, as he himself had, that even the Rectory 
 roof could be made out, just by the church tower at 
 the foot of the hill. 
 
 Neither said anything, but as the keeper came up 
 to ask for orders as they finished lunch, he tactfully 
 observed that there was a wonderful fine view of 
 Merefield. 
 
 " Yes," said Frank, " you could almost make out 
 people with a telescope." 
 
 The two were walking together alone as they 
 dropped down, an hour before sunset, on to the 
 upper end of Barham. They were both glowing 
 with the splendid air and exercise, and were just 
 in that state of weariness that is almost unmixed 
 physical pleasure to an imaginative thinker who 
 contemplates a hot bath, a quantity of tea, and a
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 207 
 
 long evening in a deep chair. Frank still preserved 
 his impassive kind of attitude towards things in 
 general, but Jack noticed with gentle delight that 
 he seemed more off his guard, and that he even 
 walked with something more of an alert swing than 
 he had on that first evening when they trudged up 
 the drive together. 
 
 Their road led them past the gate of the old 
 churchyard, and as they approached it, dropping 
 their feet faster and faster down the steep slope, 
 Jack noticed two figures sitting on the road-side, 
 witli their feet in the ditch a man and a girl. 
 He was going past them, just observing that the 
 man had rather an unpleasant face, with a ragged 
 mustache, and that the girl was sunburned, fair- 
 haired and rather pretty, when he became aware 
 that Frank had slipped behind him. The next in- 
 stant he saw that Frank was speaking to them, and 
 his heart dropped to zero. 
 
 " All right," he heard Frank say, " I was expect- 
 ing you. This evening, then. ... I say, 
 Jack!" 
 
 Jack turned. 
 
 " Jack, this is Major and Mrs. Trustcott, I told 
 you of. This is my friend, Mr. er Mr. Jack." 
 
 Jack bowed vaguely, overwhelmed with disgust. 
 
 " Very happy to make your acquaintance, sir," 
 said the Major, straightening himself in a military
 
 208 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 manner. " My good lady and I were resting here. 
 Very pleasant neighborhood." 
 
 " I'm glad you like it," said Jack. 
 
 " Then, this evening," said Frank again. " Can 
 you wait an hour or two? " 
 
 " Certainly, my boy," said the Major. " Time's 
 no consideration with us, as you know." 
 
 (Jack perceived that this was being said at him, 
 to show the familiarity this man enjoyed with his 
 friend. ) 
 
 " Would nine o'clock be too late? " 
 
 " Nine o'clock it shall be," said the Major. 
 
 " And here ? " 
 
 " Here." 
 
 " So long, then," said Frank. " Oh, by the 
 way " He moved a little closer to this appalling 
 pair, and Jack stood off, to hear the sound of a 
 sentence or two, and then the chink of money. 
 
 " So long, then," said Frank again. " Come 
 along, Jack; we must make haste." 
 
 " Good-evening, sir," cried the Major, but Jack 
 made no answer. 
 
 " Frank, you don't mean to tell me that those are 
 the people ? " 
 
 "That's the Major and Gertie yes." 
 
 " And what was all that about this evening? "
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 209 
 
 " I must go, Jack. I'm sorry ; but I told you it 
 couldn't be more than a few days at the outside." 
 
 Jack was silent, but it was a hard struggle. 
 
 "By the way, how shall we arrange?" went on 
 the other. " I can't take these clothes, you know ; 
 and I can't very well be seen leaving the house in 
 my own." 
 
 " Do as you like," snapped Jack. 
 
 " Look here, old man, don't be stuffy. How 
 would it do if I took a bag and changed up in that 
 churchyard? It's locked up after dark, isn't it?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You've got a key, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, then, that's it. And I'll leave the bag 
 and the key in the hedge somewhere." 
 
 Jack was silent. 
 
 Jack held himself loyally in hand that evening, 
 but he could not talk much. He consented to ex- 
 plain to his mother that Frank had to be off after 
 dinner that night, and he also visited the house- 
 keeper's room, and caused a small bundle, not much 
 larger than a leg of mutton, including two small 
 bottles which jingled together, to be wrapped up in 
 brown paper in which he inserted also a five- 
 pound note (he knew Frank would not take more) 
 and the whole placed in the bag in which Frank's
 
 210 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 old clothes were already concealed. For the rest 
 of the evening he sat, mostly silent, in one chair, 
 trying not to watch Frank in another; pretending 
 to read, but endeavoring to picture to his imagina- 
 tion what he himself would feel like if he were 
 about to join the Major and Gertie in the church- 
 yard at nine o'clock. . . Frank sat quite 
 quiet all the evening, reading old volumes of Punch. 
 They dined at half-past seven, by request 
 Frank still in his homespun suit. Fanny and Jill 
 were rather difficult. It seemed to them both a 
 most romantic thing that this black-eyed, sunburned 
 young man, with whom they had played garden- 
 golf the day before, should really be continuing 
 his amazing walking-tour, in company with two 
 friends, at nine o'clock that very night. They won- 
 dered innocently why the two friends had not been 
 asked to join them at dinner. It was exciting, too, 
 and unusual, that this young man should dine in an 
 old homespun suit. They asked a quantity of ques- 
 tions. Where was Mr. Guiseley going first? 
 Frank didn't quite know. Where would he sleep 
 that night? Frank didn't quite know; he would 
 have to see. When was the walking-tour going to 
 end? Frank didn't quite know. Did he really like 
 it ? Oh, well, Frank thought it was a good thing to 
 go on a walking tour, even if you were rather un- 
 comfortable sometimes.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 211 
 
 The leave-taking was unemotional. Jack had an- 
 nounced suddenly and loudly in the smoking-room 
 before dinner that he was going to see the last of 
 Frank, as far as the churchyard; Frank had pro- 
 tested, but had yielded. The rest had all said 
 good-by to him in the hall, and at a quarter to nine 
 the two young men went out into the darkness. 
 
 (VI) 
 
 It was a clear autumn night a " wonderful 
 night of stars" and the skies blazed softly over- 
 head down to the great blotted masses of the high 
 moors that stood round Barham. It was perfectly 
 still, too the wind had dropped, and the only 
 sound as the two walked down the park was the low 
 talking of the stream over the stones beyond the 
 belt of trees fifty yards away from the road. 
 
 Jack was sick at heart ; but even so, he tells me, 
 he was conscious that Frank's silence was of a pe- 
 culiar sort. He felt somehow as if his friend 
 were setting out to some great sacrifice in which he 
 was to suffer, and was only partly conscious of it 
 or, at least, so buoyed by some kind of exaltation 
 or fanaticism as not to realize what he was doing. 
 (He reminded me of a certain kind of dream that 
 most people have now and then, of accompanying 
 some friend to death : the friend goes forward, si-
 
 212 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 lent and exultant, and we cannot explain nor hold 
 him back. 
 
 " That was the sort of feeling," said Jack lamely.) 
 
 Jack had the grim satisfaction of carrying the 
 bag in which, so to speak, the knife and fillet were 
 hidden. He changed his mood half a dozen times 
 even in that quarter of an hour's walk through the 
 town. Now the thing seemed horrible, like a 
 nightmare; now absurdly preposterous; now rather 
 beautiful; now perfectly ordinary and common- 
 place. After all, Jack argued with himself, there 
 are such people as tramps, and they survive. Why 
 should not Frank? He had gipsy blood in him, 
 too. What in the world was he Jack fright- 
 ened of? 
 
 " Do you remember our talking about your 
 grandmother? " he said suddenly, as they nearecl 
 the lodge. 
 
 "Yes. Why?" 
 
 " Only I've just thought of something else. 
 Wasn't one of your people executed under Eliza- 
 beth?" 
 
 "By gad, yes; so he was. I'd quite forgotten. 
 It was being on the wrong side for once." 
 
 " How the wrong side ? " 
 
 There was amusement in Frank's voice as he an- 
 swered.
 
 XOXE OTHER GODS 213 
 
 " It was for religion," he said. " He was a Pa- 
 pist. All the rest of them conformed promptly. 
 They were a most accommodating lot. They 
 changed each time without making any difficulty. 
 I remember my governor telling us about it once. 
 He thought them very sensible. And so they were, 
 by George! from one point of view." 
 
 " Has your religion anything to do with all this ? " 
 " Oh, I suppose so," said Frank, with an indif- 
 ferent air. 
 
 There were a good many doors open in the High 
 Street as they went up it, and Jack saluted half a 
 dozen people mechanically as they touched their 
 hats to him as he passed in the light from the 
 houses. 
 
 " What does it feel like being squire ? " asked 
 Frank. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," said Jack. 
 
 " Rather good fun, I should think," said Frank. 
 
 They were nearing the steep part of the ascent 
 presently, and the church clock struck nine. 
 
 A Bit late," said Frank. 
 
 "When will you come again?" asked the other 
 suddenly. " I'm here another fortnight, you know, 
 and then at Christmas again. Come for Christmas 
 if you can."
 
 214 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Ah ! I don't know where I shall be. Give my 
 love to Cambridge, though." 
 "Frank!" 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Mayn't I say what I think? " 
 "No!" 
 
 Ah ! there was the roof of the old church standing 
 out against the stars, and there could be no more 
 talking. They might come upon the other two at 
 any moment now. They went five steps further, 
 and there, in the shadow of the gate, burned a dull 
 red spot of fire, that kindled up as they looked, and 
 showed for an instant the heavy eyes of the Major 
 with a pipe in his mouth. 
 
 " Good-evening, sir," came the military voice, 
 and the girl rose to her feet beside him. " You're 
 just in time." 
 
 " Good-evening," said Jack dully. 
 
 " We've had a pleasant evening of it up here, 
 Mr. Kirkby, after we'd stepped down and had a bit 
 of supper at the ' Crown.' " 
 
 " I suppose you heard my name there," said 
 Jack. 
 
 "Quite right, sir." 
 
 " Give us the key," said Frank abruptly.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 215 
 
 He unlocked the door and pushed it back over the 
 grass-grown gravel. 
 
 " Wait for me here, will you? " he said to Jack. 
 
 " I'm coming in. I'll show you where to 
 change." 
 
 Twenty yards of an irregular twisted path, over 
 which they stumbled two or three times, led them 
 down to the little ruined doorway at the west end 
 of the old church. Jack's father had restored the 
 place admirably, so far as restoration was possible, 
 and there stood now, strong as ever, the old tower, 
 roofed and floored throughout, abutting on the four 
 roofless walls, within which ran the double row of 
 column bases. 
 
 Jack struck a light, kindled a bicycle lamp he 
 had brought with him, and led the way. 
 
 " Come in here," he said. 
 
 Frank followed him into the room at the base of 
 the tower and looked round. 
 
 " This looks all right," he said. " It was a Cath- 
 olic church once, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes ; the parson says this was the old sacristy. 
 They've found things here, I think cupboards in 
 the wall, and so on." 
 
 " This'll do excellently," said Frank. " I shan't 
 be five minutes."
 
 216 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Jack went out again without a word. He felt it 
 was a little too much to expect him to see the change 
 actually being made, and the garments of sacrifice 
 put on. (It struck him with an unpleasant shock, 
 considering the form of his previous metaphor, that 
 he should have taken Frank into the old sacristy.) 
 
 He sat down on the low wall, built to hold the 
 churchyard from slipping altogether down the hill- 
 side, and looked out over the little town below. 
 
 The sky was more noticeable here ; one was more 
 conscious of the enormous silent vault, crowded 
 with the steady stars, cool and aloof; and, beneath, 
 of the feverish little town with sparks of red light 
 dotted here and there, where men wrangled and 
 planned and bargained, and carried on the little af- 
 fairs of their little life with such astonishing zest. 
 Jack was far from philosophical as a rule, but it is a 
 fact that meditations of this nature did engross him 
 for a minute or two while he sat and waited for 
 Frank, and heard the low voices talking in the lane 
 outside. It even occurred to him for an instant that 
 it was just possible that what Frank had said in the 
 smoking-room before dinner was true, and that 
 Something really did have him in hand, and really 
 did intend a definite plan and result to emerge from 
 this deplorable and quixotic nonsense. (I suppose 
 the contrast of stars and human lights may have 
 helped to suggest this sort of thing to him.)
 
 XOX1-: OTHKK GODS 217 
 
 Then he gave himself up again to dismal consid- 
 erations of a more particular kind. 
 
 He heard Frank come out, and turned to see him 
 in the dim light, bag in hand, dressed again as he 
 had been three days ago. On his head once more 
 was the indescribable cap; on his body the inde- 
 scribable clothes. He wore on his feet the boots in 
 which he had tramped the moors that day. (How- 
 far away seemed that afternoon now, and the cheer- 
 ful lunch in the sunshine on the hill-top!) 
 
 " Here I am, Jack." 
 
 Then every promise went to the winds. Jack 
 stood up and took a step towards him. 
 
 " Frank, I do implore you to give up this folly. 
 I asked you not to do it at Cambridge, and I ask 
 you again now. I don't care a damn what I prom- 
 ised. It's simple madness, and 
 
 Frank had wheeled without a word, and was 
 half-way to the gate. Jack stumbled after him, 
 calling under his breath ; but the other had already 
 passed through the gate and joined the Major and 
 Gertie before Jack could reach him. 
 
 " And so you think up here is the right direc- 
 tion ? " Frank was saying. 
 
 " I got some tips at the ' Crown,' " said the Ma- 
 jor. " There are some farms up there, where 
 
 " Frank, may I speak to you a minute? " 
 18
 
 218 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 "No. ... All right, Major; I'm ready at 
 once if you are." 
 
 He turned towards Jack. 
 
 " By the way," he said, " what's in this par- 
 cel?" 
 
 " Something to eat and drink," murmured Jack. 
 
 "Oh ... I shan't want that, thanks very 
 much. Here's the bag with the clothes in it. I'm 
 awfully grateful, old man, for all your kindness. 
 Awfully sorry to have bothered you." 
 
 " By the way, Frankie," put in the hateful voice 
 at his side, " I'll take charge of that parcel, if you 
 don't want it." 
 
 " Catch hold, then," said Frank. " You're wel- 
 come to it, if you'll carry it. You all right, 
 Gertie?" 
 
 The girl murmured something inaudible. As at 
 their first meeting, she had said nothing at all. The 
 Major lifted a bundle out of the depths of the 
 hedge, slung it on his stick, and stood waiting, his 
 face again illuminated with the glow of his pipe. 
 He had handed the new parcel to Gertie without a 
 word. 
 
 " Well, good-by again, old man," said Frank, 
 holding out his hand. He, too, Jack saw, had his 
 small bundle wrapped up in the red handkerchief, 
 as on the bridge when they had first met. Jack 
 took his hand and shook it. He could say nothing.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 219 
 
 Then the three turned and set their faces up the 
 slope. He could see them, all silent together, pass 
 up, more and more dim in the darkness of the 
 hedge, the two men walking together, the girl a 
 yard behind them. Then they turned the corner 
 and were gone. But Jack still stood where Frank 
 had left him, listening, until long after the sound 
 of their footfalls had died away. 
 
 (VII) 
 
 Jack had a horrid dream that night. 
 
 He was wandering, he thought, gun in hand 
 after grouse, alone on the high moors. It was one 
 of those heavy days, so common in dreams, when 
 the light is so dim that very little can be seen. He 
 was aware of countless hill-tops round him, and 
 valleys that ran down into profound darkness, 
 where only the lights of far-off houses could be 
 discerned. His sport was of that kind peculiar to 
 ^leep-imaginings. Enormous birds, larger than os- 
 triches, rose occasionally by ones or twos with in- 
 credible swiftness, and soared like balloons against 
 the heavy, glimmering sky. He fired at these and 
 feathers sprang from them, but not a bird fell. 
 Once he inflicted an indescribable wound 
 and the bird sped across the sky, blotting out half 
 of it, screaming. Then as the screaming died he
 
 220 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 became aware that there was a human note in it, 
 and that Frank was crying to him, somewhere 
 across the confines of the wold, and the horror that 
 had been deepening with each shot he fired rose to 
 an intolerable climax. Then began one of the reg- 
 ular nightmare chases: he set off to run; the 
 screaming grew fainter each instant ; he could not 
 see his way in the gloom ; he clambered over bowl- 
 ders; he sank in bogs, and dragged his feet from 
 them with infinite pains; his gun became an un- 
 bearable burden, yet he dared not throw it from 
 him; he knew that he should need it presently. 
 . . . The screaming had ceased now, yet he 
 dared not stop running; Frank was in some urgent 
 peril, and he knew it was not yet too late, if he 
 could but find him soon. He ran and ran; the 
 ground was knee-deep now in the feathers that had 
 fallen from the wounded birds; it was darker than 
 ever, yet he toiled on hopelessly, following, as he 
 thought, the direction from which the cries had 
 come. Then as at last he topped the rise of a hill, 
 the screaming broke out again, shrill and frightful, 
 close at hand, and the next instant he saw beneath 
 him in the valley a hundred yards away that for 
 which he had run so far. Running up the slope 
 below, at right angles to his own path came Frank, 
 in the dress-clothes he had borrowed, with pumps 
 upon his feet; his hands were outstretched, his face
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 221 
 
 white as ashes, and he screamed as he ran. Be- 
 hind him ran a pack of persons whose faces he 
 could not see; they ran like hounds, murmuring as 
 they came in a terrible whining voice. Then Jack 
 understood that he could save Frank; he brought 
 his gun to the shoulder, aimed it at the brown of 
 the pack and drew the trigger. A snap followed, 
 and he discovered that he was unloaded ; he groped 
 in his cartridge-belt and found it empty. . . . 
 He tore at his pockets, and found at last one car- 
 tridge; and as he dashed it into the open breach, his 
 gun broke in half. Simultaneously the quarry van- 
 ished over an edge of hill, and the pack followed, 
 the leaders now not ten yards behind the flying fig- 
 ure in front. 
 
 Jack stood there, helpless and maddened. Then 
 he flung the broken pieces of his gun at the disap- 
 pearing runners; sank down in the gloom, and 
 broke out into that heart-shattering nightmare sob- 
 bing which shows that the limit has been reached. 
 
 He awoke, still sobbing certain that Frank was 
 in deadly peril, if not already dead, and it was a 
 few minutes before he dared to go to sleep once 
 more.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 (i) 
 
 '"T A HE Rectory garden at Merefield was, obvi- 
 ^ ously, this summer, the proper place to spend 
 most of the day. Certainly the house was cool 
 it was one of those long, low, creeper-covered 
 places that somehow suggest William IV. and 
 crinolines (if it is a fact that those two institutions 
 flourished together, as I think), with large, dark- 
 ish rooms and wide, low staircases and tranquil- 
 looking windows through which roses peep; but the 
 shadow of the limes and the yews was cooler still. 
 A table stood almost permanently through those 
 long, hot summer days in the place where Dick had 
 sat with Jenny, and here the Rector and his daugh- 
 ter breakfasted, lunched and dined, day after day, 
 for a really extraordinarily long period. 
 
 Jenny herself lived in the garden even more than 
 her father; she got through the household business 
 as quickly as possible after breakfast, and came out 
 to do any small businesses that she could during the 
 rest of the morning. She wrote a few letters, read 
 a few books, sewed a little, and, on the whole, pre- 
 222
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 223 
 
 sented a very domestic and amiable picture. She 
 visited poor people for an hour or so two or three 
 days a week, and occasionally, when Lord Talgarth 
 was well enough, rode out with him and her father 
 after tea, through the woods, and sometimes with 
 Lord Talgarth alone. 
 
 She suffered practically no pangs of conscience 
 at all on the subject of Frank. Her letter had been 
 perfectly sincere, and she believed herself to have 
 been exceedingly sensible. (It is, perhaps, one may 
 observe, one of the most dangerous things in the 
 world to think oneself sensible; it is even more 
 dangerous than to be told so.) For the worst of 
 it all was that she was quite right. It was quite 
 plain that she and Frank were not suited to one 
 another; that she had looked upon that particular 
 quality in him which burst out in the bread-and- 
 butter incident, the leaving of Cambridge, the going 
 to prison, and so forth, as accidental to his char- 
 acter, whereas it was essential. It was also quite 
 certain that it was the apotheosis of common-sense 
 for her to recognize that, to say so, and to break 
 off the engagement. 
 
 Of course, she had moments of what I should call 
 " grace," and she would call insanity, when she 
 wondered for a little while whether to be sensible 
 was the highest thing in life; but her general atti- 
 tude to these was as it would be towards tempta-
 
 224 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 tion of any other kind. To be sensible, she would 
 say, was to be successful and effective ; to be other- 
 wise was to fail and to be ineffective. 
 Very well, then. 
 
 At the beginning of September Dick Guiseley 
 came to Merefield to shoot grouse. The grouse, as 
 I think I have already remarked, were backward 
 this year, and, after a kind of ceremonial opening, 
 to give warning as it were, on the twelfth of Au- 
 gust, they were left in peace. Business was to be- 
 gin on the third, and on the evening of the second 
 Dick arrived. 
 
 He opened upon the subject that chiefly occupied 
 his thoughts just now with Archie that night when 
 Lord Talgarth had gone to bed. They were sitting 
 in the smoking-room, with the outer door well open 
 to admit the warm evening air. They had discussed 
 the prospects of grouse next day with all proper 
 solemnity, and Archie had enumerated the people 
 who were to form their party. The Rector was 
 coming to shoot, and Jenny was to ride out and 
 join them at lunch. 
 
 Then Archie yawned largely, finished his drink, 
 and took up his candle. 
 
 " Oh ! she's coming, is she ? " said Dick medi- 
 tatively.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 225 
 
 Archie struck a match. 
 
 " How's Frank? " went on Dick. 
 
 " Haven't heard from him." 
 
 " Where is the poor devil ? " 
 
 " Haven't an idea." 
 
 Dick emitted a monosyllabic laugh. 
 
 "And how's she behaving?" 
 
 "Jenny? Oh! just as usual. She's a sensible 
 girl and knows her mind." 
 
 Dick pondered this an instant. 
 
 " I'm going to bed," said Archie. *' Got to have 
 a straight eye to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh ! sit down a second. ... I want to 
 talk." 
 
 Archie, as a compromise, propped himself 
 against the back of a chair. 
 
 " She doesn't regret it, then? " pursued Dick. 
 
 " Not she," said Archie. " It would never have 
 done." 
 
 " I know." agreed Dick warmly. (It was a real 
 pleasure to him that head and heart went together 
 in this matter.) "But sometimes, you know, 
 women regret that sort of thing. Wish they hadn't 
 been quite so sensible, you know." 
 
 " Jenny doesn't," said Archie. 
 
 Dick took up his glass which he had filled with 
 his third \\hiskv-and-soda. hardlv five minutes be-
 
 226 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 fore, and drank half of it. He sucked his mus- 
 tache, and in that instant confidentialism rose in 
 his heart. 
 
 " Well, I'm going to have a shot myself," he 
 said. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I'm going to have a shot. She can but say 
 ' No.' " 
 
 Archie's extreme repose of manner vanished for 
 a second. His jaw dropped a little. 
 
 " But, good Lord ! I hadn't the faintest " 
 
 " I know you hadn't. But I've had it for a long 
 time. ;. v .. What d'you think, Archie ?" 
 
 " My good chap " 
 
 "Yes, I know; leave all that out. We'll take 
 that as read. What comes next?" 
 
 Archie looked at him a moment. 
 
 " How d'you mean ? Do you mean, do I ap- 
 prove?" 
 
 " Well, I didn't mean that," admitted Dick. " I 
 meant, how'd I better set about it?" 
 
 Archie's face froze ever so slightly. (It will be 
 remembered that Jack Kirkby considered him pomp- 
 ous.) 
 
 " You must do it your own way," he said. 
 
 " Sorry, old man," said Dick. " Didn't mean 
 to be rude." 
 
 Archie straightened himself from the chair-back.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 227 
 
 " It's all rather surprising," he said. " It never 
 entered my head. I must think about it. Good- 
 night. Put the lights out when you come." 
 
 " Archie, old man, are you annoyed? " 
 
 " No, no; that's all right," said Archie. 
 
 And really and truly that was all that passed be- 
 tween these two that night on the subject of Jenny 
 so reposeful were they. 
 
 (n) 
 
 There was a glorious breeze blowing over the 
 hills as Jenny rode slowly up about noon next day. 
 The country is a curious mixture miles of moor, 
 as desolate and simple and beautiful as moors can 
 be, and by glimpses, now and then in the val- 
 leys between, of entirely civilized villages, with 
 even a town or two here and there, prick-up spires 
 and roofs; and, even more ominous, in this direc- 
 tion and that, lie patches of smoke about the great 
 chimneys. 
 
 Jenny was meditative as she rode up alone. It 
 is very difficult to be otherwise when one has passed 
 through one considerable crisis, and foresees a 
 number of others that must be met, especially if 
 one has not made up one's mind as to the proper line 
 of action. It is all very well to be sensible, but a 
 difficulty occasionally arises as to which of two or
 
 228 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 three courses is the more in accordance with that 
 character. To be impulsive certainly leads to trou- 
 ble sometimes, but also, sometimes it saves it. 
 
 Jenny looked charming in repose. She was in a 
 delightful green habit; she wore a plumy kind of 
 hat; she rode an almost perfect little mare belong- 
 ing to Lord Talgarth, and her big blue, steady eyes 
 roved slowly round her as she went, seeing nothing. 
 It was, in fact, the almost perfect little mare who 
 first gave warning of the approach to the sports- 
 men, by starting violently all over at the sound of a 
 shot, fired about half a mile away. Jenny steadied 
 her, pulled her up, and watched between the cocked 
 and twitching ears. 
 
 Below her, converging slowly upwards, away 
 from herself, moved a line of dots, each precisely 
 like its neighbor in color (Lord Talgarth was very 
 particular, indeed, about the uniform of his beat- 
 ers), and by each moved a red spot, which Jenny 
 understood to be a flag. The point towards which 
 they were directed culminated in a low, rounded hill, 
 and beneath the crown of this, in a half circle, were 
 visible a series of low defenses, like fortifications, 
 to command the face of the slope and the dips on 
 either side. This was always the last beat in 
 this moor before lunch; and lunch itself, she 
 knew, would be waiting on the other side of the 
 hill. Occasionally as she watched, she saw a slight
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 229 
 
 movement behind this or that butt no more 
 and the only evidence of human beings, beside the 
 beaters, lay in the faint wreath of all but invisible 
 smoke that followed the reports, coming now 
 quicker and quicker, as the grouse took alarm. 
 Once with a noise like a badly ignited rocket, there 
 burst over the curve before her a flying brown 
 thing, that, screaming with terrified exultation, 
 whirred within twenty yards of her head and van- 
 ished into silence. (One cocked ear of the mare 
 bent back to see if the rocket were returning or 
 not.) 
 
 Jenny's meditations became more philosophical 
 than ever as she looked. She found herself won- 
 dering how much free choice the grouse if they 
 were capable themselves of philosophizing would 
 imagine themselves to possess in the face of this 
 noisy but insidious death. She reminded herself 
 that every shred of instinct and experience that each 
 furious little head contained bade the owner of it 
 to fly as fast and straight as possible, in squawking 
 company with as many friends as possible, away 
 from those horrible personages in green and silver 
 with the agitating red flags, and up that quiet slope 
 which, at the worst, only emitted sudden noises. 
 A reflective grouse would perhaps (and two'out of 
 three did) consider that he could fly faster and be 
 sooner hidden from the green men with red flags,
 
 230 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 if he slid crosswise down the valleys on either side. 
 But Jenny observed that was already calcu- 
 lated by these human enemies, and butts (like 
 angels' swords) commanded even these approaches 
 too. 
 
 It was obvious, then, that however great might be 
 the illusion of free choice, in reality there was none : 
 they were betrayed hopelessly by the very instincts 
 intended to safeguard them; practical common- 
 sense, in this case, at least, led them straight into 
 the jaws of death. A little originality and impul- 
 siveness would render them immortal so far as guns 
 were concerned. . . 
 
 Yes; but there was one who had been original, 
 who had actually preferred to fly straight past a 
 monster in green on a gray mare rather than to 
 face the peaceful but deathly slopes; and he had 
 escaped. But obviously he was an exception. 
 Originality in grouse 
 
 At this point the mare breathed slowly and con- 
 temptuously and advanced a delicate, impatient foot, 
 having quite satisfied herself that danger was no 
 longer imminent; and Jenny became aware she was 
 thinking nonsense. 
 
 There" were a number of unimportant but well- 
 dressed persons at lunch, with most of whom Jenny 
 was acquainted. These extended themselves on the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 231 
 
 ground and said the right things one after another, 
 and all began with long drinks, and all ended with 
 heavy meals. There were two other women whom 
 she knew slightly, who had driven up half an hour 
 before. Everything was quite perfect down 
 even to hot grilled grouse that emerged from em- 
 blazoned silver boxes, and hot black coffee poured 
 from " Thermos " flasks. Jenny asked intelligent 
 questions and made herself agreeable. 
 
 At the close of lunch she found herself somehow 
 sitting on a small rock beside Dick. Lord Talgarth 
 was twenty yards away, his gaitered legs very wide 
 apart, surveying the country and talking to the 
 keeper. Her father was looking down the barrels 
 of his rather ineffective gun, and Archie, with three 
 or four other men and two women, a wife and a 
 sister, was smoking with his back against a rock. 
 
 " Shall you be in to-morrow ? " asked Dick casu- 
 ally. 
 
 Jenny paused an instant. 
 
 " I should think so ! " she said. " I've got one or 
 two things to do." 
 
 " Perhaps I may look in ? I want to talk to you 
 about something if I may." 
 
 " Shan't you be shooting again? " 
 
 " No; I'm not very fit and shall take a rest." 
 
 Jenny was silent. 
 
 "About what time?" pursued Dick.
 
 232 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Jenny roused herself with a little start. She had 
 been staring out over the hills and wondering if 
 that was the church above Barham that she could 
 almost see against the horizon. 
 
 " Oh! any time up to lunch," she said vaguely. 
 
 Dick stood up slowly with a satisfied air and 
 stretched himself. He looked very complete and 
 trim, thought Jenny, from his flat cap to his beauti- 
 fully-spatted shooting-boots. (It was twelve hun- 
 dred a year, at least, wasn't it?) 
 
 " Well, I suppose we shall be moving directly," 
 he said. 
 
 A beater came up bringing the mare just before 
 the start was made. 
 
 " All right, you can leave her," said Jenny. " I 
 won't mount yet. Just hitch the bridle on to some- 
 thing." 
 
 It was a pleasant and picturesque sight to see 
 the beaters, like a file of medieval huntsmen, dwin- 
 dle down the hill in their green and silver in one di- 
 rection, and, five minutes later, the sportsmen in 
 another. It looked like some mysterious military 
 maneuver on a small scale; and again Jenny con- 
 sidered the illusion of free choice enjoyed by the 
 grouse, who, perhaps, two miles away, crouched in 
 hollows among the heather. And yet, practically 
 speaking, there was hardly any choice at all. . . .
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 233 
 
 Lady Richard, the wife of one of the men, inter- 
 rupted her in a drawl. 
 
 "Looks jolly, doesn't it?" she said. 
 
 Jenny assented cordially. 
 
 (She hated this woman, somehow, without know- 
 ing why. She said to herself it was the drawl and 
 the insolent cold eyes and the astonishing com- 
 placency; and she only half acknowledged that it 
 was the beautiful lines of the dress and the figure 
 and the assured social position. ) 
 
 " We're driving," went on the tall girl. " You 
 rode, didn't you? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Lord Talgarth's mare, isn't it? I thought I 
 recognized her." 
 
 " Yes. I haven't got a horse of my own, you 
 know." said Jenny deliberately. 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 Jenny suddenly felt her hatred rise almost to 
 passion. 
 
 " I must be going," she said. " I've got to visit 
 an old woman who's dying. A rector's daughter, 
 you know " 
 
 "Ah! yes." 
 
 Then Jenny mounted from a rock (Lady Rich- 
 ard held the mare's head and settled the habit), and 
 rode slowly away downhill. 
 
 16
 
 234 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 (m) 
 
 Dick approached the Rectory next day a little 
 before twelve o'clock with as much excitement in 
 his heart as he ever permitted to himself. 
 
 Dick is a good fellow I haven't a word to say 
 against him, except perhaps that he used to think 
 that to be a Guiseley, and to have altogether six- 
 teen hundred a year and to live in a flat in St. 
 James's, and to possess a pointed brown beard and 
 melancholy brown eyes and a reposeful manner, re- 
 lieved him from all further effort. I have wronged 
 him, however; he had made immense efforts to be 
 proficient at billiards, and had really succeeded ; 
 and, since his ultimate change of fortune, has em- 
 braced even further responsibilities in a conscien- 
 tious manner. 
 
 Of course, he had been in love before in a sort 
 of way ; but this' was truly different. He wished to 
 marry Jenny very much indeed. . . . That 
 she was remarkably sensible, really beautiful and 
 eminently presentable, of course, paved the way; 
 but, if I understand the matter rightly, these were 
 not the only elements in the case. It was the gen- 
 uine thing. He did not quite know how he would 
 face the future if she refused him; and he was suf- 
 ficiently humble to be in doubt. 
 
 The neat maid told him at the door that Miss
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 235 
 
 Launton had given directions that he was to be 
 shown into the garden if he came. . . . No: 
 Miss Launton was in the morning-room, but she 
 should be told at once. So Dick strolled across the 
 lawn and sat down by the garden table. 
 
 He looked at the solemn, dreaming house in the 
 late summer sunshine ; he observed a robin issue out 
 from a lime tree and inspect him sideways ; and then 
 another robin issue from another lime tree and 
 drive the first one away. Then he noticed a smear 
 of dust on his own left boot, and flicked it off with 
 a handkerchief. Then, as he put his handkerchief 
 away again, he saw Jenny coming out from the 
 drawing-room window. 
 
 She looked really extraordinarily beautiful as she 
 came slowly across towards him and he stood to 
 meet her. She was bare-headed, but her face was 
 shadowed by the great coils of hair. She was in 
 a perfectly plain pink dress, perfectly cut, and she 
 carried herself superbly. She looked just a trifle 
 paler than yesterday, he thought, and there was a 
 very reserved, steady kind of question in her eyes. 
 ( I am sorry to be obliged to go on saying this sort 
 of thing about Jenny every time she comes upon 
 the scene; but it is the sort of thing that even-one 
 is obliged to go on thinking whenever she makes 
 her appearance.) 
 
 " I've got a good deal to say/' said Dick, after
 
 236 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 they had sat a moment or two. "May I say it 
 right out to the end ? " 
 
 " Why, certainly," said Jenny. 
 
 Dick leaned back and crossed one knee over the 
 other. His manner was exactly right at any 
 rate, it was exactly what he wished it to be, and 
 all through his little speech he preserved it. It was 
 quite restrained, extremely civilized, and not at all 
 artificial. It was his method of presenting a fact 
 
 the fact that he really was in love with this girl 
 
 and was in his best manner. There was a light- 
 ness of touch about this method of his, but it was 
 only on the surface. 
 
 " I daresay it's rather bad form my coming and 
 saying all this so soon, but I can't help that. I 
 know you must have gone through an awful lot in 
 the last month or two perhaps even longer 
 but I don't know about that. And I want to begin 
 by apologizing if I am doing what I shouldn't. The 
 fact is that well, that I daren't risk waiting." 
 
 He did not look at Jenny (he was observing the 
 robin that had gone and come again since Jenny had 
 appeared), but he was aware that at his first sen- 
 tence she had suddenly settled down into complete 
 motionlessness. . He wondered whether that was a 
 good omen or not. 
 
 "Well, now," he said, "let me give a little ac- 
 count of myself first. I'm just thirty-one; I've got
 
 NONE OTHKR GODS 237 
 
 four hundred a year of my own, and Lord Talgarth 
 allows me twelve hundred a year more. Then I'vr 
 got other expectations, as they say. My uncle gives 
 me to understand that my allowance is secured to 
 me in his will; and I'm the heir of my aunt, Lady 
 Simon, whom you've probably met. I just men- 
 tion that to show I'm not a pauper 
 
 " Mr. Guiseley " began Jenny. 
 
 " Please wait. I've not done yet. Do you mind ? 
 . . . I'm a decent living man. I'm not spot- 
 less, but I'll answer any questions you like to put 
 to your father. I've not got any profession, though 
 I'm supposed to be a solicitor; but I'm perfectly 
 willing to work if . . . if it's wished, or to 
 stand for Parliament, or anything like that 
 there hasn't, so far, seemed any real, particular rea- 
 son why I should work. That's all. And I think 
 you know the sort of person I am, all round. 
 
 " And now we come to the point." (Dick hesi- 
 tated a fraction of a second. He was genuinely 
 moved.) " The point is that I'm in love with you. 
 and I have been for some time past. I ... I 
 can't put it more plainly. . . . (One moment, 
 please, I've nearly done.) ... I can't think 
 of anything else; and I haven't been able to for the 
 last two or three months. I ... I ... 
 I'm fearfully sorry for poor old Frank; I'm very 
 fond of him, you know, but I couldn't help finding
 
 238 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 it an extraordinary relief when I heard the news. 
 And now I've come to ask you, perfectly straight, 
 whether you'll consent to be my wife." 
 
 Dick looked at her for the first time since he had 
 begun his little speech. 
 
 She still sat absolutely quiet (she had not even 
 moved at the two words she had uttered), but she 
 had gone paler still. Her mouth was in repose, 
 without quiver or movement, and her beautiful 
 eyes looked steadily on to the lawn before her. She 
 said nothing. 
 
 "If you can't give me an answer quite at once," 
 began Dick again presently, " I'm perfectly willing 
 to" 
 
 She turned and looked him courageously in the 
 face. 
 
 " I can't say ' Yes,' " she said. " That would be 
 absurd. . . . You have been quite straightfor- 
 ward with me, and I must be straightforward with 
 you. That is what you wish, isn't it?" 
 
 Dick inclined his head. His heart was thump- 
 ing furiously with exultation in spite of her 
 words. 
 
 " Then what I say is this : You must wait a 
 long time. If you had insisted on an answer now, 
 I should have said ' No.' I hate to keep you wait- 
 ing, particularly when I do really think it will be 
 ' No ' in the long run ; but as I'm not quite sure,
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 239 
 
 and as you've been perfectly honest and courteous, 
 if you really wish it I won't say ' No ' at once. 
 Will that do?" 
 
 " Whatever you say," said Dick. 
 
 " You mustn't forget I was engaged to Frank 
 till quite lately. Don't you see how that obscures 
 one's judgment? I simply can't judge now, and 
 I know I can't . . You're willing to wait, 
 then? even though I tell you now that I think it 
 will be 'No'?" 
 
 "Whatever you say," said Dick again; "and 
 may I say thank you for not saying ' No ' at once? " 
 
 A very slight look of pain came into the girl's 
 eyes. 
 
 " I would sooner you didn't," she said. " I'm 
 sorry you said that. . . ." 
 
 " I'm sorry," said poor Dick. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " One other thing," said Jenny. " Would you 
 mind not saying anything to my father? I don't 
 want him to be upset any more. Have you told 
 anybody else you were ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Dick bravely, " I told Archie." 
 
 " I'm sorry you did that. Will you then just tell 
 him exactly what I said exactly, you know. 
 That I thought it would be ' No ' ; but that I only 
 didn't say so at once because you wished it." 
 
 " Very well," said Dick.
 
 240 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 It was a minute or so before either spoke again. 
 Jenny had that delightful and soothing gift which 
 prevents silence from being empty. It is the same 
 gift, in another form, as that which enables its pos- 
 sessor to put people at their ease. (It is, I suppose, 
 one of the elements of tact.) Dick had a sense 
 that they were still talking gently and reasonably, 
 though he could not quite understand all that Jenny 
 was meaning. 
 
 She interrupted it by a sudden sentence. 
 
 " I wonder if it's fair," she said. " You know 
 I'm all but certain. I only don't say so be- 
 cause " 
 
 " Let it be at that," said Dick. " It's my risk, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 (m) 
 
 When he had left her at last, she sat on per- 
 fectly still in the same place. The robin had given 
 it up in despair: this human creature was not going 
 to scratch garden-paths as she sometimes did, and 
 disclose rich worms and small fat maggots. But 
 a cat had come out instead and was now pacing 
 with stiff forelegs, lowered head and trailing tail, 
 across the sunny grass, endeavoring to give an im- 
 pression that he was bent on some completely re- 
 mote business of his own.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 241 
 
 He paused at the edge of the shadow and eyed 
 the girl malignantly. 
 
 " Wow ! " said the cat. 
 
 There was no response. 
 
 " Wow ! " said the cat. 
 
 Jenny roused herself. 
 
 " Wow ! " said Jenny meditatively. 
 
 " Wow ! " said the cat, walking on 
 
 " Wow!" said Jenny. 
 
 Again there was a long silence. 
 
 " Wow ! " said Jenny indignantly. 
 
 The cat turned a slow head sideways as he began 
 to cross the path, but said nothing. He waited for 
 another entreaty, but Jenny paid no more atten- 
 tion. As he entered the yews he turned once more. 
 
 " Wow ! " said the cat, almost below his breath. 
 
 But Jenny made no answer. The cat cast one 
 venomous look and disappeared. 
 
 Then there came out a dog a small brown and 
 black animal, very sturdy on his legs, and earnest 
 and independent in air and manner. He was the 
 illegitimate offspring of a fox-terrier. He trotted 
 briskly across from the direction of the orchard, 
 diagonally past Jenny. As he crossed the trail of 
 the cat he paused, smelt, and followed it up for a 
 yard or two, till he identified for certain that it
 
 242 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 proceeded from an acquaintance; then he turned to 
 resume his journey. The movement attracted the 
 girl's attention. 
 
 "Lama!" called Jenny imperiously. "Come 
 here this instant ! " 
 
 Lama put his head on one side, nodded and 
 smiled at her indulgently, and trotted on. 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! " said Jenny, sighing out loud.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 (0 
 
 HpHERE lived (and still lives, I believe) in the 
 small Yorkshire village of Tarfield a retired 
 doctor, entirely alone except for his servants, in a 
 large house. It is a very delightful house, only 
 when I stayed there not long ago it seemed 
 to me that the doctor did not know how to use it. 
 It stands in its own grounds of two or three acres, 
 on the right-hand side of the road to a traveler 
 going north, separated by a row of pollarded limes 
 from the village street, and approached or, 
 rather, supposed to be approached by a Charles 
 II. gate of iron-scroll work. I say " supposed to 
 be approached " because the gate is invariably kept 
 locked, and access can only be gained to the house 
 through the side gate from the stable-yard. The, 
 grounds were abominably neglected when I saw 
 them; grass was growing on every path, and as 
 fine a crop of weeds surged up amongst the old 
 autumn flowers as ever I have seen. The house, 
 too, was a sad sight. There were two big rooms, 
 one on either side of the little entrance-hall one 
 243
 
 244 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 a dining-room, the other a sort of drawing-room 
 and both were dreary and neglected-looking 
 places. In the one the doctor occasionally ate, in 
 the other he never sat except when a rare visitor 
 came to see him, and the little room supposed to 
 be a study at the foot of the stairs in the inner 
 hall that led through the kitchen was hardly any 
 better. I was there, I say, last autumn, and the 
 condition of the place must have been very much 
 the same as that in which it was when Frank came 
 to Tarfield in October. 
 
 For the fact was that the doctor who was 
 possessed of decent private means devoted the 
 whole of his fortune, the whole of his attention, 
 and the whole of his life such as it was to the 
 study of toxins upstairs. 
 
 Toxins, I understand, have something to do with 
 germs. Their study involves, at any rate at pres- 
 ent, a large stock of small animals, such as mice 
 and frogs and snakes and guinea-pigs and rabbits, 
 who are given various diseases and then studied 
 with loving attention. I saw the doctor's menag- 
 erie when I went to see him about Frank; they 
 were chiefly housed in a large room over the 
 kitchen, communicating with the doctor's own room 
 by a little old powder-closet with two doors, and the 
 smell was indescribable. Ranks of cages and 
 boxes rose almost to the ceiling, and in the middle
 
 XOM-: OTIII-:K GODS 245 
 
 of the room was a large business-like looking 
 wooden kitchen-table with various appliances on it. 
 I saw the doctor's room also terribly shabby, but 
 undoubtedly a place of activity. There were piles 
 of books and unbound magazines standing about 
 in corners, with more on the table, as well as a 
 heap of note-books. An array of glass tubes and 
 vary -colored bottles stood below the window, with 
 a microscope, and small wooden boxes on one side. 
 And there was, besides, something which I think 
 he called an " incubator " a metal affair, stand- 
 ing on four slender legs; a number of glass tubes 
 emerged from this, each carefully stoppered with 
 cotton wool, and a thermometer thrust itself up in 
 one corner. 
 
 A really high degree of proficiency in any par- 
 ticular subject invariably leads to atrophy in other 
 directions. A man who eats and breathes and 
 dreams Toxins, for instance, who lives so much 
 in Toxins that he corresponds almost daily with 
 learned and unintelligible Germans; who knows so 
 much about Toxins that when he enters, with 
 shabby trousers and a small hand-bag, into the room 
 of a polished specialist in Harley Street, he sees 
 as in a dream the specialist rise and bow before 
 him who. when he can be persuaded to contribute 
 a short and highly technical article to a medical 
 magazine, receives a check for twenty-five guineas
 
 246 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 by return of post a man of this kind is pecul- 
 iarly open to the danger of thinking that anything 
 which cannot be expressed in terms of Toxin is 
 negligible nonsense. It is the characteristic dan- 
 ger of every specialist in every branch of knowl- 
 edge ; even theologians are not wholly immune. 
 
 It was so in the case of Dr. Whitty (I forget 
 all the initials that should follow his name). He 
 had never been married, he never took any exercise ; 
 occasionally, when a frog's temperature approached 
 a crisis, he slept in his clothes, and forgot to change 
 them in the morning. And he was the despair of 
 the zealous vicar. He was perfectly convinced 
 that, since the force that underlay the production 
 of Toxins could accomplish so much, it could surely 
 accomplish everything. He could reduce his roses, 
 his own complexion, the grass on his garden-paths, 
 the condition of his snakes' and frogs' skins, and 
 the texture of his kitchen-table if you gave him 
 time to terms of Toxin; therefore, argued Dr. 
 Whitty, you could, if you had more time, reduce 
 everything else to the same terms. There wasn't 
 such a thing as a soul, of course it was a mani- 
 festation of a conbination of Toxins (or anti-Tox- 
 ins, I forget which); there was no God the idea 
 of God was the result of another combination of 
 Toxins, akin to a belief in the former illusion. 
 Roughly speaking, I think his general position was
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 247 
 
 that as Toxins are a secretion of microbes (I am 
 certain of that phrase, anyhow), so thought and 
 spiritual experiences and so forth are a secretion 
 of the brain. I know it sounded all very brilliant 
 and unanswerable and analogous to other things. 
 He hardly ever took the trouble to say all this; he 
 was far too much interested in what he already knew, 
 or was just on the point of finding out, to treat 
 of these extravagant and complicated ramifications 
 of his subject. When he really got to know his 
 mice and bats, as they deserved to be known, it 
 might be possible to turn his attention to other 
 things. Meanwhile, it was foolish and uneconom- 
 ical. So here he lived, with a man-of -all-work and 
 his man's wife, and daily went from strength to 
 strength in the knowledge of Toxins. 
 
 It was to this household that there approached, 
 in the month of October, a small and dismal proces- 
 sion of three. 
 
 The doctor was first roused to a sense of what 
 was happening as he shuffled swiftly through his 
 little powder-closet one morning soon after break- 
 fast, bearing in his hand the corpse of a mouse 
 which had at last, and most disappointingly, suc- 
 cumbed to a severe attack of some hybrid of leprosy. 
 As he flew through to his microscope he became 
 aware of an altercation in the stable-yard beneath.
 
 248 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " I tell you he ain't a proper doctor," he heard 
 his man explaining ; " he knows nothing about 
 them things." 
 
 " My good fellow," began a high, superior voice 
 out of sight; but Dr. Whitty swept on, and was 
 presently deep in indescribable disgustingness of 
 the highest possible value to the human race, es- 
 pecially in the South Seas. Time meant nothing 
 at all to him, when this kind of work was in hand; 
 and it was after what might be an hour or two 
 hours, or ten minutes, that he heard a tap on his 
 door. 
 
 He uttered a sound without moving his eye, 
 and the door opened. 
 
 " Very sorry, sir," said his man, " but there's a 
 party in the yard as won't " 
 
 The doctor held up his hand for silence, gazed 
 a few moments longer, poked some dreadful little 
 object two or three times, sighed and sat back. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " There's a party in the yard, sir, wants a doc- 
 tor." 
 
 (This sort of thing had happened before.) 
 
 " Tell them to be off," he said sharply. He was 
 not an unkindly man, but this sort of thing was 
 impossible. " Tell them to go to Dr. Foster." 
 
 " I 'ave, sir," said the man. 
 
 " Tell them again," said the doctor.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 249 
 
 " i ave, sir. 'Arf a dozen times." 
 
 The doctor sighed he was paying practically 
 no attention at all, of course. The leprous mouse 
 had been discouraging; that was all. 
 
 "If you'd step down, sir, an instant 
 
 The doctor returned from soaring through a 
 Toxined universe. 
 
 " Nonsense," he said sharply. " Tell them I'm 
 not practicing. What do they want ? " 
 
 " Please, sir, it's a young man as 'as poisoned 'is 
 foot, 'e says. 'E looks very bad, and " 
 
 "Eh? Poison?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 The doctor appeared to reflect a moment (that 
 mouse, you know ) ; then he recovered. 
 
 " I'll be down directly," he said almost mechan- 
 ically. " Take 'em all into the study." 
 
 (n) 
 
 Dr. Whitty could hardly explain to me, even 
 when he tried, exactly why he had made an ex- 
 ception in this particular instance. Of course, I 
 understand perfectly myself why he did; but, for 
 himself, all he could say was that he supposed the 
 word Poison happened to meet his mood. He had 
 honestly done with the mouse just now ; he had no 
 other very critical case, and he thought he might as 
 
 17
 
 250 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 well look at the poisoned young man for an instant, 
 before finally despatching him to Dr. Foster, six 
 miles further on. 
 
 When he came into the study ten minutes later 
 he found the party ranged to meet him. A girl 
 was sitting on a box in the corner by the window, 
 and stood up to receive him ; a young man was sit- 
 ting back in a Windsor chair, with one boot off, 
 jerking spasmodically; his eyes stared unmean- 
 ingly before him. A tallish, lean man of a par- 
 ticularly unprepossessing appearance was leaning 
 over him with an air of immense solicitude. They 
 were all three evidently of the tramp-class. 
 
 What they saw with the exception of Frank, 
 I expect, who was too far gone to notice anything 
 was a benignant-looking old man, very shabby, 
 in an alpaca jacket, with a rusty velvet cap on his 
 head, and very bright short-sighted eyes behind 
 round spectacles. This figure appeared in the door- 
 way, stood looking at them a moment, as if be- 
 wildered as to why he or they were there at all; 
 and then, with a hasty shuffling movement, darted 
 across the floor and down on his knees. 
 
 The following colloquy was held as soon as the 
 last roll of defiled bandage had dropped to the floor, 
 and Frank's foot was disclosed. 
 
 " How long's this been going on ? " asked the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 251 
 
 doctor sharply, holding the discolored thing care- 
 fully in his two hands. 
 
 " Well, sir," said the Major reflectively, " he be- 
 gan to limp about let's see four days ago. 
 We were coming through " 
 
 The doctor, watching Frank's face curiously 
 (the spasm was over for the present), cut the Ma- 
 jor short by a question to the patient. 
 
 " Now, my boy, how d'you feel now?" 
 
 Frank's lips moved; he seemed to be trying to 
 lick them ; but he said nothing, and his eyes closed, 
 and he grinned once or twice, as if sardonically. 
 
 "When did these spasms begin?" went on the 
 doctor, abruptly turning to the Major again. 
 
 "Well, sir if you mean that jerking 
 Frankie began to jerk about half an hour ago when 
 we were sitting down a bit; but he's seemed queer 
 since breakfast. And he didn't seem to be able to 
 eat properly." 
 
 " How do you mean ? D'you mean he couldn't 
 open his mouth? " 
 
 " W r ell, sir, it was something like that." 
 
 The doctor began to make comments in a rapid 
 undertone, as if talking to himself; he pressed his 
 hand once or twice against Frank's stomach ; he 
 took up the filthy bandage and examined it. Then 
 he looked at the boot.
 
 252 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Where's the sock? " he asked sharply. 
 
 Gertie produced it from a bundle. He looked at 
 it closely, and began to mumble again. Then he 
 rose to his feet. 
 
 "What's the matter with him, doctor?" asked 
 the Major, trying to look perturbed. 
 
 " We call it tetanus," said the doctor. 
 
 " Who are you, my man? " he said. " Any re- 
 lation ? " 
 
 The Major looked at him loftily. 
 
 " No, sir. . ... I am his friend." 
 
 " Ha ! Then you must leave your friend in 
 my charge. He shall be well in a week at the 
 latest." 
 
 The Major was silent. 
 
 " Well? " snapped the doctor. 
 
 " I understood from your servant, sir " 
 
 " You speak like an educated man." 
 
 " I am an educated man." 
 
 "Ha well no business of mine. What 
 were you about to say? " 
 
 " I understood from your servant, sir, that this 
 was not quite in your line ; and since 
 
 The specialist smiled grimly. He snatched up 
 a book from a pile on the table, thrust open the 
 title-page and held it out. 
 
 " Read that, sir. ... As it happens, it's
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 253 
 
 my hobby. Go and ask Dr. Foster, if you like. 
 . . . No, sir; I must have your friend; it's a 
 good sound case." 
 
 The Major read the title-page in a superior man- 
 ner. It purported to be by a James Whitty, and 
 the name was followed by a series of distinctions 
 and of the initials, which I have forgotten. 
 F.R.S. were the first. 
 
 " My name," said the doctor. 
 
 The Major handed the book back with a bow. 
 
 " I am proud to make your acquaintance, Dr. 
 Whitty. I have heard of you. May I present 
 Mrs. Trustcott ? " 
 
 Gertie looked confused. The doctor made a 
 stiff obeisance. Then his face became animated 
 again. 
 
 " We must move your friend upstairs," he said. 
 " If you will help, Mr. Trustcott, I will call my 
 servant." 
 
 (in) 
 
 It was about half-past nine that night that the 
 doctor, having rung the bell in the spare bedroom, 
 met his man at the threshold. 
 
 " I'll sleep in this room to-night," he said ; " you 
 can go to bed. Bring in a mattress, will you? " 
 
 The man looked at his master's face. (He
 
 254 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 looked queer-like, reported Thomas later to his 
 wife.) 
 
 " Hope the young man's doing well, sir?" 
 
 A spasm went over the doctor's face. 
 
 " Most extraordinary young man in the world," 
 he said. . . . Then he broke off. " Bring 
 the mattress at once, Thomas. Then you can go 
 to bed." 
 
 He went back and closed the door. 
 
 Thomas had seldom seen his master so perturbed 
 over a human being before. He wondered what 
 on earth was the matter. During the few minutes 
 that he was in the room he looked at the patient 
 curiously, and he noticed that the doctor was con- 
 tinually looking at him too. Thomas described to 
 me Frank's appearance. He was very much 
 flushed, he said, with very bright eyes, and he was 
 talking incessantly. And it was evidently this de- 
 lirious talking that had upset the doctor. I tried 
 to get out of Doctor Whitty what it was that 
 Frank had actually said, but the doctor shut up 
 his face tight and would say nothing. Thomas 
 was more communicative, though far from ade- 
 quate. 
 
 It was about religion, he said, that Frank was 
 talking about religion. *... . . And that was 
 really about all that he could say of that incident.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 255 
 
 Thomas awoke about one o'clock that night, and, 
 still with the uneasiness that he had had earlier in 
 the evening, climbed out of bed without disturbing 
 his wife, put on his slippers and great-coat and 
 made his way down the attic stairs. The October 
 moon was up, and, shining through the staircase 
 window, showed him the door of the spare bed- 
 room with a line of light beneath it. From beyond 
 that door came the steady murmur of a voice. 
 
 Now Thomas's nerves were strong: he was a 
 little lean kind of man, very wiry and active, nearly 
 fifty years old, and he had lived with his master, 
 and the mice and the snakes, and disagreeable ob- 
 jects in bottles, for more than sixteen years. He 
 had been a male nurse in an asylum before that. 
 Yet there was something he told me later 
 that gripped him suddenly as he was half-way 
 down the stairs and held him in a kind of agony 
 which he could in no way describe. It was con- 
 nected with the room behind that lighted door. It 
 was not that he feared for his master, nor for 
 Frank. It was something else altogether. (What 
 a pity it is that our system of education teaches 
 neither self-analysis nor the art of narration!) 
 
 He stood there he told me he should think 
 for the better part of ten minutes, unable to move 
 either way, listening, always listening, to the voice
 
 256 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 that rose and sank and lapsed now and then into 
 silences that were worse than all, and telling him- 
 self vigorously that he was not at all frightened. 
 
 It was a creek somewhere in the old house that 
 disturbed him and snapped the thin, rigid little 
 thread that seemed to paralyze his soul; and still in 
 a sort of terror, though no longer in the same stiff 
 agony, he made his way down the three or four 
 further steps of the flight, laid hold of the handle, 
 turned it and peered in. 
 
 Frank was lying quiet so far as he could see. 
 A night-light burned by the bottles and syringes 
 on the table at the foot of the bed, and, although 
 shaded from the young man's face, still diffused 
 enough light to show the servant the figure lying 
 there, and his master, seated beyond the bed, very 
 close to it, still in his day-clothes still, even, in 
 his velvet cap his chin propped in his hand, star- 
 ing down at his patient, utterly absorbed and atten- 
 tive. 
 
 There was nothing particularly alarming in all 
 that, and yet there was that in the room which once 
 more seized the man at his heart and held him 
 there, rigid again, terrified, and, above all, inex- 
 pressibly awed. (At least, that is how I should 
 interpret his description.) He said that it wasn't 
 like the spare bedroom at all, as he ordinarily knew 
 it (and, indeed, it was a mean sort of room when
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 257 
 
 I saw it, without a fireplace, though of tolerable 
 size). It was like another room altogether, said 
 Thomas. 
 
 He tried to listen to what Frank was saying, 
 and I imagine he heard it all quite intelligently; 
 yet, once more, all he could say afterwards was 
 that it was about religion . . . about religion. 
 
 So he stood, till he suddenly perceived that the 
 doctor was looking at him with a frown and con- 
 torted features of eloquence. He understood that 
 he was to go. He closed the door noiselessly ; and, 
 after another pause, sped upstairs without a sound 
 in his red cloth slippers. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 When Frank awoke to normal consciousness 
 again, he lay still, wondering what it was all about. 
 He saw a table at the foot of his bed and noticed 
 on it a small leather case, two green bottles stop- 
 pered with indiarubber, and a small covered bowl 
 looking as if it contained beef-tea. He extended 
 his explorations still further, and discovered an 
 Hanoverian wardrobe against the left wall, a glare 
 of light (which he presently discerned to be a win- 
 dow), a dingy wall-paper, and finally a door. As 
 he reached this point the door opened and an old
 
 258 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 man with a velvet skull-cap, spectacles, and a kind, 
 furrowed face, came in and stood over him. 
 
 "Well?" said the old man. 
 
 " I am a bit stiff," said Frank. 
 
 " Are you hungry ? " 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 " Well, you're doing very well, if that's any sat- 
 isfaction to you," observed the doctor, frowning 
 on him doubtfully. 
 
 Frank said nothing. 
 
 The doctor sat down on a chair by the bed that 
 Frank suddenly noticed for the first time. 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " I suppose you want 
 to know the facts. Here they are. My name is 
 Whitty; I'm a doctor; you're in my house. This 
 is Wednesday afternoon; your friends brought 
 you here yesterday morning. I've given them 
 some work in the garden. You were ill yesterday, 
 but you're all right now." 
 
 " What was the matter ? " 
 
 " We won't bother about names," said the doctor 
 with a kind sharpness. " You had a blister ; it 
 broke and became a sore; then you wore one of 
 those nasty cheap socks and, it. poisoned- it. That's 
 all." 
 
 "What's in those bottles?''" asked Frank laa- 
 guidly. (He felt amazingly weak and stupid.)
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 259 
 
 " Well, it's an anti-toxin," said the doctor. 
 " That doesn't tell you much, does it? " 
 
 "No," said Frank. . . . "By the way, 
 who's going to pay you, doctor? I can't." 
 
 The doctor's face rumpled up into wrinkles. 
 ( Frank wished he wouldn't sit with his back to the 
 window.) 
 
 " Don't you bother about that, my boy. You're 
 a case that's what you are." 
 
 Frank attempted a smile out of politeness. 
 
 " Now, how about some more beef -tea, and then 
 going to sleep again? " 
 
 Frank assented. 
 
 It was not until the Thursday morning that 
 things began to run really clear again in Frank's 
 mind. He felt for his rosary under his pillow and 
 it wasn't there. Then he thumped on the floor 
 with a short stick which had been placed by him, 
 remembering that in some previous existence he 
 had been told to do this. 
 
 A small, lean man appeared at the door, it 
 seemed, with the quickness of thought. 
 
 " My rosary, please," said Frank. " It's a string 
 of beads. I expect it's in my trouser-pocket." 
 
 The man looked at him with extraordinary ear- 
 nestness and vanished.
 
 260 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Then the doctor appeared holding the rosary. 
 
 " Is this what you want? " he asked. 
 
 "That's it! Thanks very much." 
 
 " You're a Catholic? " went on the other, giving 
 it him. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The doctor sat down again. 
 
 " I thought so," he said. 
 
 Frank wondered why. Then a thought crossed 
 his mind. 
 
 " Have I been talking? " he said. " I suppose I 
 was delirious? " 
 
 The doctor made no answer for a moment; he 
 was looking at him fixedly. Then he roused him- 
 self. 
 
 " Well, yes, you have," he said. 
 
 Frank felt rather uncomfortable. 
 
 " Hope I haven't said anything I shouldn't." 
 
 The old man laughed shortly and grimly. 
 
 " Oh, no," he said. " Far from it. At least, 
 your friends wouldn't think so." 
 
 "What was it about?" 
 
 " We'll talk about that later, if you like," said 
 the doctor. " Now I want you to get up a bit after 
 you've had some food." 
 
 It was with a very strange sensation that Frank 
 found himself out in the garden next day, in a
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 261 
 
 sheltered corner, seated in a wicker chair in which, 
 by the help of bamboo poles, he had been carried 
 downstairs by Thomas and the Major, with the 
 doctor leading the way and giving directions as 
 to how to turn the corners. The chair was brought 
 out through an irregularly-shaped little court at the 
 back of the house and set down in the warm 
 autumn noon, against an old wall, with a big kitchen 
 garden, terribly neglected, spread before him. The 
 smoke of burning went up in the middle distance, 
 denoting the heap of weeds pulled by the Major 
 and Gertie during the last three days. He saw 
 Gertie in the distance once or twice, in a clean sun- 
 bonnet, going about her business, but she made 
 no sign. The smell of the burning weeds gave 
 a pleasant, wholesome and acrid taste to his mouth. 
 " Now then," said the doctor, " we can have our 
 little talk." And he sat down beside him on an- 
 other chair. 
 
 Frank felt a little nervous, he scarcely knew 
 why. It seemed to him that it would be far better 
 not to refer to the past at all. And it appeared to 
 him a little unusual that a doctor should be so anx- 
 ious about it. Twice or three times since yester- 
 day this old man had begun to ask him a question 
 and had checked himself. There was a very curi- 
 ous eagerness about him now.
 
 262 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " I'm awfully grateful and all that," said Frank. 
 " Is there anything special you want to know ? I 
 suppose I've been talking about my people? " 
 
 The doctor waved a wrinkled hand. 
 
 " No, no," he said, " not a word. You talked 
 about a girl a little, of course everybody does ; 
 but not much. No, it isn't that." 
 
 Frank felt relieved. He wasn't anxious about 
 anything else. 
 
 " I'm glad of that. By the way, may I smoke ? " 
 
 The doctor produced a leather case of cigarettes 
 and held it out. 
 
 " Take one of these," he said. 
 
 " Because," continued Frank, " I'm afraid I 
 mustn't talk about my people. The name I've got 
 now is Gregory, you know." He lit his cigarette, 
 noticing how his fingers still shook, and dropped the 
 match. 
 
 " No, it's not about that," said the doctor ; " it's 
 not about that." 
 
 Frank glanced at him, astonished by his manner. 
 
 " Well, then ? " he began. 
 
 " I want to know first," said the doctor slowly, 
 " where you've got all your ideas from. I've never 
 heard such a jumble in my life. I know you were 
 delirious; but . . . but it hung together some- 
 how; and it seemed much more real to you than 
 anything else."
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 263 
 
 "What did?" asked Frank uncomfortably. 
 
 The doctor made no answer for a moment. He 
 looked out across the untidy garden with its rich, 
 faded finery of wild flowers and autumn leaves, 
 and the yellowing foliage beyond the wall, and the 
 moors behind all transfigured in October sun- 
 shine. The smoke of the burning weeds drew 
 heavenly lines and folds of ethereal lace-work 
 across the dull splendors beyond. 
 
 " Well," he said at last, " everything. You 
 know I've heard hundreds and hundreds of folks 
 . . ." he broke off again, ". . . and I know 
 what people call religion about here and such a 
 pack of nonsense . . ." (He turned on Frank 
 again suddenly.) "Where d'you get your ideas 
 from?" 
 
 "Do you mean the Catholic religion?" said 
 Frank. 
 
 " Bah ! don't call it that. I know what that 
 is " Frank interrupted him. 
 
 " Well, that's my religion," he said. " I haven't 
 got any other." 
 
 " But . . . but the way you hold it," cried 
 the other; "the grip ... the grip it has of 
 you. That's the point. D'you mean to tell 
 me " 
 
 " I mean that I don't care for anything else in
 
 ,264 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the whole world," said Frank, stung with sudden 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " But . . . but you're not mad ! You're a 
 very sensible fellow. You don't mean to tell me 
 you really believe all that all that about pain 
 and so on? We doctors know perfectly what all 
 that is. It's a reaction of Nature ... a 
 warning to look out . . . it's often simply the 
 effects of building up; and we're beginning to 
 think ah ! that won't interest you ! Listen to 
 me! I'm what they call a specialist ,an investi- 
 gator. I can tell you, without conceit, that I prob- 
 ably know all that is to be known on a certain sub- 
 ject. Well, I can tell you as an authority " 
 
 Frank lifted his head a little. He was keenly 
 interested by the fire with which this other enthu- 
 siast spoke. 
 
 " I daresay you can," said Frank. " And I dare- 
 say it's all perfectly true; but what in the world 
 has all that got to do with it with the use made 
 of it the meaning of it? Now I " 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " said the doctor. " We mustn't 
 get excited. That's no good." 
 
 He stopped and stared mournfully out again. 
 
 " I wish you could really tell me," he said more 
 slowly. " But that's just what you can't. I know 
 that. It's a personal thing." 
 
 " But my dear doctor " said Frank.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 265 
 
 11 That's enough," said the other. " I was an old 
 fool to think it possible 
 
 Frank interrupted again in his turn. (He was 
 conscious of that extraordinary mental clearness 
 that comes sometimes to convalescents, and he sud- 
 denly perceived there was something behind all this 
 which had not yet made its appearance.) 
 
 " You've some reason for asking all this," he 
 said. " I wish you'd tell me exactly what's in your 
 mind." 
 
 The old man turned and looked at him with a 
 kind of doubtful fixedness. 
 
 " Why do you say that, my boy? " 
 
 " People like you," said Frank smiling, " don't 
 get excited over people like me, unless there's some- 
 thing. ... I was at Cambridge, you know. 
 I know the dons there, and " 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you," said the doctor, drawing a 
 long breath. "I hadn't meant to. I know it's 
 mere nonsense; but " He stopped an instant 
 and called aloud : " Thomas ! Thomas ! " 
 
 Thomas's lean head, like a bird's, popped out 
 from a window in the kitchen court behind. 
 
 " Come here a minute." 
 
 Thomas came and stood before them with a 
 piece of wash-leather in one hand and a plated 
 table-spoon in the other. 
 
 " I want you to tell this young gentleman," said 
 
 18
 
 266 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the doctor deliberately, " what you told me on 
 Wednesday morning." 
 
 Thomas looked doubtfully from one to the 
 other. 
 
 " It was my fancy, sir," he said. 
 
 " Never mind about that. Tell us both." 
 
 " Well, sir, I didn't like it. Seemed to me when 
 I looked in" 
 
 ( " He looked in on us in the middle of the 
 night," explained the doctor. " Yes, go on, 
 Thomas.") 
 
 " Seemed to me there was something queer." 
 
 "Yes?" said the doctor encouragingly. 
 
 " Something queer," repeated Thomas musingly. 
 . . . " And now if you'll excuse me, sir, I'll 
 have to get back " 
 
 The doctor waved his hands despairingly as 
 Thomas scuttled back without another word. 
 
 " It's no good," he said, " no good. And yet he 
 told me quite intelligibly " 
 
 Frank was laughing quietly to himself. 
 
 " But you haven't told me one word " 
 
 " Don't laugh," said the old man simply. " Look 
 here, my boy, it's no laughing matter. I tell you 
 I can't think of anything else. It's bothering me." 
 
 "But" 
 
 The doctor waved his hands. 
 
 " Well," he said, " I can say it no better. It
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 267 
 
 was the whole thing. The way you looked, the 
 way you spoke. It was most unusual. But it af- 
 fected me it affected me in the same way ; and I 
 thought that perhaps you could explain." 
 
 (v) 
 
 It was not until the Monday afternoon that 
 Frank persuaded the doctor to let him go. Dr. 
 \Vhitty said everything possible, in his emphatic 
 way, as to the risk of traveling again too soon; 
 and there was one scene, actually conducted in the 
 menagerie the only occasion on which the doc- 
 tor mentioned Frank's relations during which he 
 besought the young man to be sensible, and to allow 
 him to communicate with his family. Frank flatly 
 refused, without giving reasons. 
 
 The doctor seemed strangely shy of referring 
 again to the conversation in the garden ; and, for his 
 part, Frank shut up like a box. They seem both 
 to have been extraordinarily puzzled at one another 
 as such people occasionally are. They were as 
 two persons, both intelligent and interested, en- 
 tirely divided by the absence of any common lan- 
 guage, or even of symbols. Words that each used 
 meant different things to the other. (It strikes 
 me sometimes that the curse of Babel was a deeper 
 thing than appears on the surface.)
 
 268 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 The Major and Gertie, all this while, were in 
 clover. The doctor had no conception of what six 
 hours' manual work could or could not do, and, in 
 return for these hours, he made over to the two a 
 small disused gardener's cottage at the end of his 
 grounds, some bedding, their meals, and a shilling 
 the day. It was wonderful how solicitous the Major 
 was as to Frank's not traveling again until it was 
 certain he was capable of it ; but Frank had acquired 
 a somewhat short and decisive way with his friend, 
 and announced that Monday night must see them all 
 cleared out. 
 
 The leave-taking so far as I have been able to 
 gather was rather surprisingly emotional. The 
 doctor took Frank apart into the study where he had 
 first seen him, and had a short conversation, during 
 which one sovereign finally passed from the doctor 
 to the patient. 
 
 I have often tried to represent to myself exactly 
 what elements there were in Frank that had such 
 an effect upon this wise and positive old man. He 
 had been a very upsetting visitor in many ways. He 
 had distracted his benefactor from a very important 
 mouse that had died of leprosy; he had interfered 
 sadly with working hours ; he had turned the house, 
 comparatively speaking, upside down. Worse than 
 all, he had I will not say modified the doctor's 
 theories that would be far too strong a phrase;
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 269 
 
 but he had, quite unconsciously, run full tilt 
 against them; and finally, worst of all, he had done 
 this right in the middle of the doctor's own private 
 preserve. There was absolutely every element 
 necessary to explain Frank's remarks during his 
 delirium ; he was a religiously-minded boy, poisoned 
 by a toxin and treated by the anti-toxin. What in 
 the world could be expected but that he should rave 
 in the most fantastic way, and utter every mad 
 conception and idea that his subjective self con- 
 tained. As for that absurd fancy of the doctor 
 himself, as well as of his servant that there was 
 "something queer" in the room the more he 
 thought of it, the less he valued it. Obviously it 
 was the result of a peculiar combination of psycho- 
 logical conditions, just as psychological conditions 
 were themselves the result of an obscure combina- 
 tion of toxin or anti-toxin forces. 
 
 Yet for all that, argue as one may, the fact re- 
 mained that this dry and rather misanthropic sci- 
 entist was affected in an astonishing manner by 
 Frank's personality. (It will appear later on in 
 Frank's history that the effect was more or less 
 permanent.) 
 
 Still more remarkable to my mind was the very 
 strong affection that Frank conceived for the doc- 
 tor. (There is no mystery coming: the doctor will 
 not ultimately turn out to be Frank's father in dis-
 
 270 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 guise ; Lord Talgarth still retains that distinction. ) 
 But it is plainly revealed by Frank's diary that he 
 was drawn to this elderly man by very much the 
 same kind of feelings as a son might have. And 
 yet it is hardly possible to conceive two characters 
 with less in common. The doctor was a dogmatic 
 materialist and remains so still Frank was a 
 Catholic. The doctor was scientific to his finger- 
 tips Frank romantic to the same extremities ; the 
 doctor was old and a confirmed stay-at-home 
 Frank was young, and an incorrigible gipsy. Yet 
 so the matter was. I have certain ideas of my own, 
 but there is no use in stating them, beyond saying 
 perhaps that each recognized in the other sub- 
 consciously only, since each professed himself ut- 
 terly unable to sympathize in the smallest degree 
 with the views of the other a certain fixity of 
 devotion that was the driving-force in each life. 
 Certainly, on the surface, there are not two theories 
 less unlike than the one which finds the solution of 
 all things in Toxin, and the other which finds it in 
 God. But perhaps there is a reconciliation some- 
 where. 
 
 The Major and Gertie were waiting in the stable- 
 yard when the two other men emerged. The Ma- 
 jor had a large bag of apples given him by 
 Thomas at the doctor's orders which he was
 
 XOXE OTHER GODS 271 
 
 proceeding to add to Gertie's load at the very mo- 
 ment when the two others came out. Frank took 
 them, without a word, and slung them over his own 
 back. 
 
 The doctor stood blinking a moment in the strong 
 sunshine. 
 
 " Well, good-by, my boy," he said. " Good luck ! 
 Remember that if ever you come this way again " 
 
 " Good-by, sir," said Frank. 
 
 He held out his disengaged hand. 
 
 Then an astonishing thing happened. The doc- 
 tor took the hand, then dropped it ; threw his arms 
 round the boy's neck, kissed him on both cheeks, 
 and hurried back through the garden gate, slam- 
 ming it behind him. And I imagine he ran upstairs 
 at once to see how the mice were. 
 
 Well, that is the whole of the incident. The 
 two haven't met since, that I am aware. And I 
 scarcely know why I have included it in this book. 
 But I was able to put it together from various wit- 
 nesses, documentary and personal, and it seemed a 
 pity to leave it out
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 CO 
 
 A N enormous physical weariness settled down 
 on Frank, as he trudged silently with the 
 Major, towards evening, a week later. 
 
 He had worked all the previous day in a farm- 
 yard carting manure, and the like ; and though 
 he was perfectly well again, some of the spring had 
 ebbed, from his muscles during his week's rest. 
 This day, too, the first of November, had been ex- 
 hausting. They had walked since daybreak, after 
 a wretched night in a barn, plodding almost in si- 
 lence, mile after mile, against a wet south-west 
 wind, over a discouraging kind of high-road that 
 dipped and rose and dipped again, and never seemed 
 to arrive anywhere. 
 
 It is true that Frank was no longer intensely de- 
 pressed; quite another process had been at work 
 upon him for the last two or three months, as will 
 be seen presently; but his limbs seemed leaden, and 
 the actual stiffness in his shoulders and loins made 
 walking a little difficult. 
 
 They were all tired together. They did not say 
 272
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 273 
 
 much to one another. They had, in fact, said all 
 that there was to be said months ago; and they were 
 reduced as men always are reduced when a cer- 
 tain pitch is reached to speak simply of the most 
 elementary bodily things food, tobacco and 
 sleep. The Major droned on now and then re- 
 calling luxuries of past days actual roofs over 
 the head, actual hot meat to put in the mouth, ac- 
 tual cigars and Frank answered him. Gertie 
 said nothing. 
 
 She made up for it, soon after dark had fallen, 
 by quite suddenly collapsing into a hedge, and an- 
 nouncing that she would die if she didn't rest. 
 The Major made the usual remarks, and she made 
 no answer. 
 
 Frank interposed suddenly. 
 
 " Shut up," he said. " We can't stop here. I'll 
 go on a bit and see what can be done." 
 
 And, as he went off into the darkness, leaving his 
 bundle, he heard the scolding voice begin again, 
 but it was on a lower key and he knew it would 
 presently subside into a grumble, soothed by to- 
 bacco. 
 
 He had no idea as to the character of the road that 
 lay before him. They had passed through a few 
 villages that afternoon, whose names meant nothing
 
 274 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 to him, and he scarcely knew why, even, they were 
 going along this particular road. They were mov- 
 ing southwards towards London so much had 
 been agreed and they proposed to arrive there in 
 another month or so. But the country was unfa- 
 miliar to him, and the people seemed grudging and 
 uncouth. They had twice been refused the use of 
 an outhouse for the night, that afternoon. 
 
 It seemed an extraordinarily deserted road. 
 There were no lights from houses, so far as he 
 could make out, and the four miles that had been 
 declared at their last stopping-place to separate 
 them from the next village appeared already more 
 like five or six. Certainly the three of them had be- 
 tween two and three shillings, all told; there was 
 no actual need of a workhouse just yet, but natu- 
 rally it was wished to spend as little as possible. 
 
 Then on a sudden he caught a glimpse of a light 
 burning somewhere, that appeared and vanished 
 again as he moved, and fifty yards more brought 
 him to a wide sweep, a pair of gate-posts with the 
 gate fastened back, and a lodge on the left-hand 
 side. So much he could make out dimly through 
 the November darkness ; and as he stood there hesi- 
 tating, he thought he could see somewhere below 
 him a few other lights burning through the masses 
 of leafless trees through which the drive went 
 downhill.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 275 
 
 He knew very well by experience that lodge-keep- 
 ers were, taken altogether, perhaps the most un- 
 sympathetic class in the community. (They live, 
 you see, right on the high road, and see human na- 
 ture at its hottest and Grossest as well as its most 
 dishonest.) Servants at back doors were, as a rule, 
 infinitely more obliging; and, as obviously this was 
 the entrance to some big country house, the right 
 thing to do would be to steal past the lodge on 
 tiptoe and seek his fortune amongst the trees. 
 Yet he hesitated; the house might be half a mile 
 away, for all he knew; and, certainly there 
 was a hospitable look about the fastened-back 
 gate. 
 
 There came a gust of wind over the hills behind 
 him, laden with wet. . . . He turned, went up 
 to the lodge door and knocked. 
 
 He could hear someone moving about inside, and 
 just as he was beginning to wonder whether his 
 double tap had been audible, the door opened and 
 disclosed a woman in an apron. 
 
 " Can you very kindly direct me " began Frank 
 politely. 
 
 The woman jerked her head sharply in the direc- 
 tion of the house. 
 
 " Straight down the hill," she said. " Them's 
 the orders." 
 
 " Rut "
 
 276 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 It was no good; the door was shut again in his 
 face, and he stood alone in the dark. 
 
 This was all very unusual. Lodge-keepers did 
 not usually receive " orders " to send tramps, with- 
 out credentials, on to the house which the lodge 
 was supposed to guard. . . . That open gate, 
 then, must have been intentional. Plainly, how- 
 ever, he must take her at her word; and as he 
 tramped down the drive, he began to form theories. 
 It must be a fanatic of some kind who lived here, 
 and he inclined to consider the owner as probably 
 an eccentric old lady with a fad, and a large num- 
 ber of lap-dogs. 
 
 As he came nearer, through the trees, he became 
 still more astonished ; for as the branches thinned, 
 he became aware of lights burning at such enor- 
 mous distances apart that the building seemed more 
 like a village than a house. 
 
 Straight before him shone a row of lighted 
 squares, high up, as if hung in air, receding in per- 
 spective, till blocked out by a black mass which 
 seemed a roof of some kind; far on the left shone 
 some kind of illuminated gateway, and to his right 
 another window or two glimmered almost beneath 
 his feet. 
 
 Another fifty yards down the winding drive dis- 
 closed a sight that made him seriously wonder
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 277 
 
 whether the whole experience were real, for now 
 only a few steps further on, and still lower than 
 the level at which he was, stood, apparently, a por- 
 ter's lodge, as of a great college. There was a 
 Tudor archway, with rooms above it and rooms on 
 either side ; a lamp hung from the roof illuminated 
 the dry stone pavement within, and huge barred 
 gates at the further end, shut off all other view. 
 It looked like the entrance to some vast feudal cas- 
 tle, and he thought again that if an eccentric old 
 lady lived here, she must be very eccentric indeed. 
 He began to wonder whether a seneschal in a belt 
 hung with keys would presently make his appear- 
 ance: he considered whether or not he could wind 
 a horn, if there were no other way of summoning 
 the retainers. 
 
 When at last he tapped at a small interior door, 
 also studded and barred with iron, and the door 
 opened, the figure he did see was hardly less of a 
 shock to him than a seneschal would have been. 
 
 For there stood, as if straight out of a Christ- 
 mas number, the figure of a monk, tall, lean, 
 with gray hair, clean-shaven, with a pair of merry 
 eyes and a brisk manner. He wore a broad leather 
 l>and round his black frock, and carried his spare 
 hand thrust deep into it.
 
 278 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 (n) 
 
 The monk sighed humorously. 
 
 " Another of them," he said. " Well, my man ? " 
 
 " Please, father " 
 
 The monk closed his eyes as in resignation. 
 
 " You needn't try that on," he said. " Besides, 
 I'm not a father. I'm a brother. Can you remem- 
 ber that ? " 
 
 Frank smiled back. 
 
 " Very well, brother. I'm a Catholic myself." 
 
 " Ah ! yes," sighed the monk briskly. " That's 
 what they all say. Can you say the ' Divine 
 Praises ' ? Do you know what they are ? . 
 However, that makes no difference, as " 
 
 " But I can, brother. ' Blessed be God. Blessed 
 be His " 
 
 "But you're not Irish?" 
 
 " I know I'm not. But " 
 
 " Are you an educated man ? However, that's 
 not my affair. What can I do for you, sir? " 
 
 The monk seemed to take a little more interest in 
 him, and Frank took courage. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I'm an educated man. My 
 name's Frank Gregory. I've got two friends out on 
 the road up there a man and a woman. Their 
 name's Trust cott and the woman "
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 279 
 
 " No good ; no good," said the monk. " No 
 women." 
 
 " But, brother, she really can't go any further. 
 I'm very sorry, but we simply must have shelter. 
 We've got two or three shillings, if necessary " 
 
 "Oh, you have, have you?" said the monk 
 keenly. " That's quite new. And when did you 
 touch food last? Yesterday morning? (Don't 
 say ' S'elp me!' It's not necessary.)" 
 
 " We last touched food about twelve o'clock to- 
 day. We had beans and cold bacon," said Frank 
 deliberately. " We're perfectly willing to pay for 
 shelter and food, if we're obliged. But, of course, 
 we don't want to." 
 
 The monk eyed him very keenly indeed a min- 
 ute or two without speaking. This seemed a new 
 type. 
 
 " Come in and sit down a minute," he said. 
 " I'll fetch the guest-master." 
 
 It was a very plain little room in which Frank 
 sat, and seemed designed, on purpose, to furnish no 
 temptation to pilferers. There was a table, two 
 chairs, a painted plaster statue of a gray-bearded 
 man in black standing on a small bracket with a 
 crook in his hand; a pious book, much thumb- 
 marked, lay face downwards on the table beside 
 the oil lamp. There was another door through
 
 280 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 which the monk had disappeared, and that was ab- 
 solutely all. There was no carpet and no curtains, 
 but a bright little coal fire burned on the hearth, 
 and two windows looked, one up the drive down 
 which Frank had come, and the other into some sort 
 of courtyard on the opposite side. 
 
 About ten minutes passed away without anything 
 at all happening. Frank heard more than one gust 
 of rain-laden wind dash against the little barred 
 window to the south, and he wondered how his 
 friends were getting on. The Major, at any rate, 
 he knew, would manage to keep himself tolerably 
 dry. Then he began to think about this place, and 
 was surprised that he was not surprised at running 
 into it like this in the dark. He knew nothing at 
 all about monasteries he hardly knew that there 
 were such things in England (one must remember 
 that he had only been a Catholic for about five 
 months), and yet somehow, now that he had come 
 here, it all seemed inevitable. (I cannot put it bet- 
 ter than that: it is what he himself says in his 
 diary.) 
 
 Then, as he meditated, the door opened, and there 
 came in a thin, eager-looking elderly man, dressed 
 like the brother who followed him, except that over 
 his frock he wore a broad strip of black stuff, some- 
 thing like a long loose apron, hanging from his
 
 XOXI- OTHKR GODS 281 
 
 throat to his feet, and his head was enveloped in a 
 black hood. 
 
 Frank stood up and bowed with some difficulty. 
 He was beginning to feel stiff. 
 
 " Well," said the priest sharply, with his bright 
 gray eyes, puckered at the corners, running over 
 and taking in the whole of Frank's figure from 
 close-cut hair to earthy boots. " Brother James 
 tells me you wish to see me." 
 
 " It was Brother James who said so, father," 
 said Frank. 
 
 "What is it you want?" 
 
 " I've got two friends on the road who want 
 shelter man and woman. We'll pay, if neces- 
 sary, but " 
 
 " Never mind about that," interrupted the priest 
 sharply. " Who are you ? " 
 
 " The name I go by is Frank Gregory." 
 
 " The name you go by, eh ? . . . Where 
 were you educated ? " 
 
 " Eton and Cambridge." 
 
 " How do you come to be on the roads ? " 
 
 " That's a long story, father." 
 
 " Did you do anything you shouldn't ? " 
 
 " No. But I've been in prison since." 
 
 " And your name's Frank Gregory. . . . F. 
 G., eh?" 
 
 19
 
 282 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Frank turned as if to leave. He understood that 
 he was known. 
 
 " Well good-night, father " 
 
 The priest turned with upraised hand. 
 
 " Brother James, just step outside." 
 
 Then he continued as the door closed. 
 
 " You needn't go, Mr. er Gregory. Your 
 name shall not be mentioned to a living being with- 
 out your leave." 
 
 " You know about me ? " 
 
 "Of course I do. . . . Now be sensible, my 
 dear fellow; go and fetch your friends. We'll 
 manage somehow." (He raised his voice and 
 rapped on the table. ) " Brother James . . . 
 go up with Mr. Gregory to the porter's lodge. 
 Make arrangements to put the woman up some- 
 where, either there or in a gardener's cottage. 
 Then bring the man down here. . . . His 
 name ? ' ' 
 
 " Trustcott," said Frank. 
 
 " And when you come back, I shall be waiting 
 for you here." 
 
 (m) 
 
 Frank states in his diary that an extraordinary 
 sense of familiarity descended on him as, half an 
 hour later, the door of a cell closed behind Dom
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 283 
 
 Hildebrand Maple, and he found himself in a room 
 with a bright fire burning, a suit of clothes waiting 
 for him, a can of hot water, a sponging tin and a 
 small iron bed. 
 
 I think I understand what he means. Somehow 
 or other a well-ordered monastery represents the 
 Least Common Multiple of nearly all pleasant 
 houses. It has the largeness and amplitude of a 
 castle, and the plainness of decent poverty. It has 
 none of that theatricality which it is supposed to 
 have, none of the dreaminess or the sentimentality 
 with which Protestants endow it % He had passed 
 just now through, first, a network of small stair- 
 ways, archways, vestibules and passages, and then 
 along two immense corridors with windows on one 
 side and closed doors on the other. Everywhere 
 there was the same quiet warmth and decency and 
 plainness stained deal, uncarpeted boards, a few 
 oil pictures in the lower corridor, an image or two 
 at the turn and head of the stairs; it was lighted 
 clearly and unaffectedly by incandescent gas, and 
 the only figures he had seen were of two or three 
 monks, with hooded heads (they had raised these 
 hoods slightly in salutation as he passed), each 
 going about his business briskly and silently. There 
 was even a cheerful smell of cooking at the end of 
 one of the corridors, and he had caught a glimpse of 
 two or three aproned lay brothers, busy in the fire-
 
 284 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 light and glow of a huge kitchen, over great copper 
 pans. 
 
 The sense of familiarity, then, is perfectly intel- 
 ligible: a visitor to a monastery steps, indeed, into 
 a busy and well-ordered life, but there is enough 
 room and air and silence for him to preserve his in- 
 dividuality too. 
 
 As soon as he was washed and dressed, he sat 
 down in a chair before the fire ; but almost immedi- 
 ately there came a tap on his door, and the some- 
 what inflamed face of the Major looked in. 
 
 " Frankie ? " he whispered, and, reassured, came 
 in and closed the door behind. (He looked very 
 curiously small and unimportant, thought Frank. 
 Perhaps it was the black suit that had been lent 
 him. ) 
 
 " By gad, Frankie . . . we're in clover," he 
 whispered, still apparently under the impression 
 that somehow he was in church. " There are some 
 other chaps, you know, off the roads too, but they' re 
 down by the lodge somewhere." (He broke off 
 and then continued. ) " I've got such a queer John- 
 nie in my room ah! you've got one, too." 
 
 He went up to examine a small plaster statue of 
 a saint above the prie-dieu. 
 
 " It's all right, isn't it ? " said Frank sleepily.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 285 
 
 " And there's another Johnnie's name on the 
 door. The Rev. S. Augustine, or something." 
 
 He tip-toed back to the fire, lifted his tails, and 
 stood warming himself with a complacent but nerv- 
 ous smile. 
 
 (Frank regarded him with wonder.) 
 
 " What do all the Johnnies do here? " asked the 
 Major presently. " Have a rare old time, I expect. 
 I bet they've got cellars under here all right. Just 
 like those chaps in comic pictures, ain't it?" 
 
 (Frank decided it was no use to try to explain.) 
 
 The Major babbled on a minute or two longer, 
 requiring no answer, and every now and then hav- 
 ing his roving eye caught by some new marvel. 
 He fingered a sprig of yew that was twisted into a 
 crucifix hung over the bed. (" Expect it's one of 
 those old relics," he said, " some lie or other.") 
 He humorously dressed up the statue of the saint 
 in a pocket-handkerchief, and said : " Let us pray," 
 in a loud whisper, with one eye on the door. And 
 all the while there still lay on him apparently the 
 impression that if he talked loud or made any per- 
 ceptible sound he would be turned out again. 
 
 He was just beginning a few steps of a noiseless 
 high-kicking dance when there was a tap at the 
 door, and he collapsed into an attitude of weak- 
 kneed humility. Dom Hildebrand came in.
 
 286 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 "If you're ready," he said, " we might go down 
 to supper." 
 
 Frank relates in his diary that of all else in the 
 monastery, apart from the church, the refectory 
 and its manners impressed him most. (How easy 
 it is to picture it when one has once seen the cere- 
 monies!) 
 
 He sat at a center table, with the Major opposite 
 (looking smaller than ever), before a cloth laid 
 with knife, spoon and forks. All round the walls 
 on a low dais, with their backs against them, sat 
 a row of perhaps forty monks, of every age, kind 
 and condition. The tables were bare wood, laid 
 simply with utensils and no cloths, with a napkin in 
 each place. At the end opposite the door there sat 
 at a table all alone a big, portly, kindly-faced man, 
 of a startlingly fatherly appearance, clean-shaven, 
 gray-haired, and with fine features. This was the 
 Abbot. Above him hung a crucifix, with the single 
 word " Sitio " beneath it on a small black label. 
 
 The meal began, however, with the ceremony of 
 singing grace. The rows of monks stood out, with 
 one in the middle, facing the Abbot, each with his 
 hood forward and his hands hidden in his scapular. 
 It was sung to a grave tone, with sudden intona- 
 tions, by the united voices in unison blessing, re- 
 sponse, collect, psalm and the rest. (Frank could
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 287 
 
 not resist one glance at the Major, whose face of 
 consternation resembled that of a bird in the com- 
 pany of sedate cats.) 
 
 Then each went to his place, and, noiselessly, the 
 orderly meal began and continued to the reading 
 first of the gospel, and then of a history, from a 
 pulpit built high in the wall. All were served by 
 lay brothers, girded with aprons; almost every 
 movement, though entirely natural, seemed ordered 
 by routine and custom, and was distinguished by a 
 serious sort of courtesy that made the taking of 
 food appear, for once, as a really beautiful, august, 
 and almost sacramental ceremony. The great hall, 
 too, with its pointed roof, its tiled floor, its white- 
 wood scrubbed tables, and its tall emblazoned win- 
 dows, seemed exactly the proper background a 
 kind of secular sanctuary. The food was plain and 
 plentiful: soup, meat, cheese and fruit; and each of 
 the two guests had a small decanter of red wine, a 
 tiny loaf of bread, and a napkin. The monks 
 drank beer or water. 
 
 Then once more followed grace, with the same 
 ceremonial. 
 
 When this was ended, Frank turned to see where 
 Father Hildebrand was, supposing that all would 
 go to their rooms ; but as he turned he saw the 
 Abbot coming down alone. He moved on, this 
 great man, with that same large, fatherly air, but as
 
 288 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 he passed the two guests, he inclined slightly to- 
 wards them, and Frank, with a glance to warn the 
 Major, understanding that they were to follow, 
 came out of his place and passed down between the 
 lines of the monks, still in silence. 
 
 The Abbot went on, turned to the right, and as 
 he moved along the cloister, loud sonorous chant- 
 ing began behind. So they went, on and on, up the 
 long lighted corridor, past door after door, as in 
 some church procession. Yet all was obviously 
 natural and familiar. 
 
 They turned in at last beneath an archway to the 
 left, went through a vestibule, past a great stone 
 of a crowned Woman with a Child in her arms, 
 and as they entered the church, the Abbot dipped 
 his finger into a stoop and presented it to Frank. 
 Frank touched the drop of water, made the sign of 
 the cross, and presented again his damp finger to 
 the Major, who looked at him with a startled eye. 
 
 The Abbot indicated the front row of the seats 
 in the nave, and Frank went into it, to watch the 
 procession behind go past, flow up the steps, and 
 disappear into the double rows of great stalls that 
 lined the choir. 
 
 There was still silence and longer silence, till 
 Frank understood.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 289 
 
 (IV I 
 
 His eyes grew accustomed to the gloom little by 
 little, and he began to be able to make out the mag- 
 nificence of the place he was in. Behind him 
 stretched the immense nave, its roof and columns 
 lost in darkness, its sides faintly illuminated by the 
 glimmer of single oil-lamps, each in a small 
 screened-off chapel. But in front of him was the 
 greater splendor. 
 
 From side to side across the entrance to the choir 
 ran the rood-screen, a vast erection of brown oak 
 and black iron, surmounted by a high loft, from 
 which glimmered down sheaves of silvered organ 
 pipes, and, higher yet. in deep shadow, he could 
 make out three gigantic figures, of which the center 
 one was nailed to a cross. Beyond this began the 
 stalls dark and majestic, broken by carving 
 jutting heads of kings and priests leaning forward 
 as if to breathe in the magnetism of that immense 
 living silence generated by forty men at their 
 prayers. At the further end there shone out faintly 
 the glory of the High Altar, almost luminous, it 
 seemed, in the light of the single red spark that 
 hung before it. Frank could discern presently the 
 gilded figures that stood among the candlesticks be- 
 hind, the throne and crucifix, the mysterious veiling
 
 2 9 o NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 curtains of the Tabernacle. . . . Finally, in 
 the midst of the choir, stood a tall erection which 
 he could not understand. 
 
 ******* 
 
 An extraordinary peace seemed to descend and 
 envelop him as he looked a kind of crown and 
 climax of various interior experiences that were 
 falling on him now for the last few weeks. ( It 
 is useless trying to put it into words. I shall hope 
 to do my best presently by quoting Frank him- 
 self.) There was a sense of home-coming; there 
 was a sense of astonishing sanity; tfrere was a sense 
 of an enormous objective peace, meeting and ratify- 
 ing that interior peace which was beginning to be 
 his. It appeared to him, somehow, as if for the 
 first time he experienced without him that which up 
 to now he had chiefly found within. Certainly 
 there had been moments of this before not merely 
 emotional, you understand when heart and head 
 lay still from their striving, and the will reposed in 
 Another Will. But this was the climax : it summed 
 up all that he had learned in the last few months ; it 
 soothed the last scars away, it explained and an- 
 swered and, above all, correlated his experi- 
 ences. No doubt it was the physical, as well as 
 the spiritual, atmosphere of this place, the quiet 
 corridors, the warmth and the plainness and the 
 solidity, even the august grace of the refectory
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 291 
 
 all these helped and had part in the sensation. Yet, 
 if it is possible for you to believe it, these were no 
 more than the vessels from which the heavenly 
 fluid streamed; vessels, rather, that contained a lit- 
 tle of that abundance that surged up here as in a 
 fountain. . . . 
 
 Frank started a little at a voice in his ear. 
 
 " When's it going to begin ? " whispered the Ma- 
 jor in a hoarse, apprehensive voice. 
 
 (v) 
 
 A figure detached itself presently from the dark 
 mass of the stalls and came down to where they 
 were sitting. Frank perceived it was Father Hilde- 
 brand. 
 
 " We're singing Mattins of the Dead, presently," 
 he said in a low voice. " It's All Souls' Eve. Will 
 you stay, or shall I take you to your room ? " 
 
 The Major stood up with alacrity. 
 
 " I'll stay, if I may," said Frank. 
 
 " Very well. Then I'll take Mr. Trustcott up- 
 stairs." 
 
 Half an hour later the ceremony began. 
 
 Here, I simply despair of description. I know 
 something of what Frank witnessed and perceived, 
 for I have been present myself at this affair in a re-
 
 292 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 ligious house; but I do not pretend to be able to 
 write it down. 
 
 First, however, there was the external, visible, 
 audible service: the catafalque, a bier-like erection, 
 all black and yellow, guarded by yellow flames on 
 yellow candles the grave movements, the almost 
 monstrous figures, the rhythm of the ceremonies, 
 and the wail of the music of forty voices singing as 
 one all that is understood. . ... 
 
 But the inner side of these things the reverse 
 of which these things are but a coarse lining, the 
 substance of which this is a shadow that is what 
 passes words and transcends impressions. 
 
 It seemed to Frank that one section, at any rate, 
 of that enormous truth at which he had clutched 
 almost blindly when he had first made his submis- 
 sion to the Church one chamber in that House of 
 Life was now flung open before him, and he saw 
 in it men as trees walking. . . . He was tired 
 and excited, of course; he was intensely imag- 
 inative ; but there are some experiences that a rise 
 of temperature cannot explain and that an imagina- 
 tion cannot originate. . . . 
 
 For it seemed to him that here he was aware of 
 an immeasurable need to which those ministrations 
 were addressed, and this whole was countless in its 
 units and clamant in its silence. It was as a man 
 might see the wall of his room roll away, beyond
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 293 
 
 which he had thought only the night to lie, and dis- 
 cern a thronging mass of faces crying for help, 
 pressing upon him, urging, yet all without sound or 
 word. He attempts in his diary to use phrases for 
 all this he speaks of a pit in which is no water, 
 of shadows and forms that writhe and plead, of a 
 light of glass mingled with fire; and yet of an in- 
 evitability, of a Justice which there is no question- 
 ing and a Force that there is no resisting. And, 
 on the other side, there was this help given by men 
 of flesh and blood like himself using ceremonies 
 and gestures and strange resonant words. 
 The whole was as some enormous orchestra 
 there was the wail on this side, the answer on that 
 the throb of beating hearts there were cli- 
 maxes, catastrophes, soft passages, and yet the re- 
 sult was one vast and harmonious whole. 
 
 It was the catafalque that seemed to him the 
 veiled door to that other world that so manifested 
 itself seen as he saw it in the light of the yellow 
 candles it was as the awful portal of death itself; 
 beneath that heavy mantle lay not so much a Body 
 of Humanity still in death, as a Soul of Humanity 
 alive beyond death, quick and yet motionless with 
 pain. And those figures that moved about it, with 
 censor and aspersorium, were as angels for tender- 
 ness and dignity and undoubted power. They were 
 men like himself, yet they were far more; and they,
 
 294 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 too, one day, like himself, would pass beneath that 
 pall and need the help of others that should follow 
 them. . . ' . 
 
 Something of this is but a hint of what Frank 
 experienced ; it came and went, no doubt, in gusts, 
 yet all through he seems to have felt that sense 
 that here was a door into that great watching world 
 beyond that here, in what is supposed by the 
 world to be the narrow constraint of religion, was 
 a liberty and an outlook into realities such as the 
 open road and nature can but seldom give. But 
 for my part, I can no more follow him further than 
 I can write down the passion of the lover and the 
 ecstasy of the musician. If these things 'could be 
 said in words, they would have been said long ago. 
 But at least it was along this path of perception 
 that Frank went a path that but continued the 
 way along which he had come with such sure swift- 
 ness ever since the moment he had taken his sor- 
 rows and changed them from bitter to sweet. Some 
 sentences that he has written mean nothing to me at 
 all. . . . 
 
 Only this I see clearly, both from my talks with 
 Father Hildebrand and from the diary which Frank 
 amplified at his bidding that Frank had reached 
 the end of a second stage in his journey, and that 
 a third was to begin.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 295 
 
 It is significant also, I think, in view of what is 
 to follow, that the last initiation of this stage should 
 have taken place on such an occasion as this.
 
 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ' ^HERE are certain moods into which minds, 
 very much tired or very much concentrated, 
 occasionally fall, in which the most trifling things 
 take on them an appearance of great significance. 
 A man in great anxiety, for example, will regard 
 as omens or warnings such things as the ringing of 
 a bell or the flight of a bird. I have heard this 
 process deliberately defended by people who should 
 know better. I have heard it said that those moods 
 of intense concentration are, as a matter of fact, 
 states of soul in which the intuitive or mystical 
 faculties work with great facility, and that at such 
 times connections and correlations are perceived 
 which at other times pass unnoticed. The events 
 of the world then are, by such people, regarded as 
 forming links in a chain of purpose events even 
 which are obviously to the practical man merely the 
 effects of chance and accident. It is utterly im- 
 possible, says the practical man, that the ringing of 
 a bell, or the grouping of tea-leaves, or the partic- 
 ular moment at which a picture falls from a wall, 
 296
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 297 
 
 can be anything but fortuitous ; and it is the sign of 
 a weak and superstitious mind to regard them as 
 anything else. There can be no purpose or se- 
 quence except in matters where we can perceive 
 purpose or sequence. 
 
 Of course the practical man must be right; we 
 imply that he is right, since we call him practical, 
 and I have to deplore, therefore, the fact that Frank 
 on several occasions fell into a superstitious \vay 
 of looking at things. The proof is only too plain 
 from his own diary not that he interprets the 
 little events which he records, but that he takes 
 such extreme pains to write them down events, 
 too, that are, to all sensibly-minded people, almost 
 glaringly unimportant and insignificant. 
 
 I have two such incidents to record between the 
 the travelers' leaving the Benedictine monastery and 
 their arriving in London in December. The Major 
 and Gertie have probably long since forgotten the 
 one which they themselves witnessed, and, indeed, 
 there is no particular reason why they should re- 
 member it. Of the other Frank seems to have 
 said nothing to his friends. Both of them, how- 
 ever, are perfectly insignificant they concern, re- 
 spectively, only a few invisible singers and a couple 
 of quite ordinary human beings. They are de- 
 scribed with a wholly unnecessary wealth of de- 
 
 in
 
 298 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 tail in Frank's diary, though without comment, 
 and I write them down here for that reason, and 
 that reason only. 
 
 The first was as follows: 
 
 They were approaching a certain cathedral town, 
 not a hundred miles from London, and as the even- 
 ing was clear and dry, though frosty, and money 
 was low, they determined to pass the night in a 
 convenient brick-yard about half a mile out of the 
 town. 
 
 There was a handy shed where various imple- 
 ments were kept; the Major, by the help of a little 
 twisted wire, easily unfastened the door. They 
 supped, cooking a little porridge over a small fire 
 which they were able to make without risk, and lay 
 down to sleep after a pipe or two. 
 
 Tramps go to sleep early when they mean busi- 
 ness, and it could not have been more than about 
 eleven o'clock at njght when Frank awoke with the 
 sense that he had slept long and deeply. He seems 
 to have lain there, content and quiet enough, watch- 
 ing the last ember .dying in the brazier where they 
 had made their fire. . . . There was presently 
 a stir from the further corner of the shed, a match 
 was struck, and Frank, from his improvised pillow, 
 beheld the Major's face suddenly illuminated by 
 the light with which he was kindling his pipe once 
 more. He watched the face with a sort of artistic
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 299 
 
 interest for a few seconds the drooping shadows, 
 the apparently cavernous eyes, the deep-shaded bar 
 of the mustache across the face. In the wavering 
 light cast from below it resembled the face of a vin- 
 dictive beast. Then the Major whispered, between 
 his puffs: 
 
 " Frankie? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Oh! you're awake too, are you?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 A minute later, though they had spoken only in 
 whispers, Gertie drew a long sighing breath from 
 her corner of the shed and they could hear that she, 
 too, sat up and cleared her throat. 
 
 " Well, this is a pretty job," said the Major jovi- 
 ally to the company generally. " What's the matter 
 with us?" 
 
 Frank said nothing. He lay still, with a serise 
 of extraordinary content and comfort, and heard 
 Gertie presently lie down again. The Major 
 smoked steadily. 
 
 Then the singing began. 
 
 It was a perfectly still night, frost-bound and 
 motionless. It was late enough for the sounds of 
 the town to have died away (cathedral towns go to 
 bed early and rise late), and, indeed, almost the 
 only sounds they had heard, even three or four
 
 300 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 hours before, had been the occasional deliberate 
 chime of bells, like a meditative man suddenly utter- 
 ing a word or two aloud. Now, however, every- 
 thing was dead silent. Probably the hour had 
 struck immediately before they awoke, since Frank 
 remarks that it seemed a long time before four notes 
 tolled out the quarter. 
 
 The singing came first as a sensation rather than 
 as a sound, so far away was it. It was not at once 
 that Frank formulated the sense of pleasure that he 
 experienced by telling himself that someone was 
 singing. 
 
 At first it was a single voice that made itself 
 heard a tenor of extraordinary clarity. The air 
 was unknown to him, but it had the character of 
 antiquity; there was a certain pleasant melancholy 
 about it; it contained little trills and grace-notes, 
 such as before harmony developed in the modern 
 sense probably supplied the absence of chords. 
 There was no wind on which the sound could rise 
 or fall, and it grew from a thread out of the dis- 
 tance into clear singing not a quarter of a mile 
 away. 
 
 The Major presently grunted over his pipe some 
 expression of surprise; but Frank could say noth- 
 ing. He was almost holding his breath, so great 
 was his pleasure. 
 
 The air, almost regretfully, ran downhill like a
 
 NUNT. 01 i IKK CODS 301 
 
 brook approaching an inevitable full dnse; and 
 then, as the last note was reached, a chord of voices 
 broke in with some kind of chorus. 
 
 The voices were of a quartette of men, and rang 
 together like struck notes, not loud or harsh, but, 
 on the contrary, with a restrained softness that must, 
 I suppose, have been the result of very careful 
 training. It was the same air that they were re- 
 peating, but the grace-notes were absent, and the 
 four voices, in chord after chord, supplied their 
 place by harmony. It was impossible to tell what 
 was the subject of the song or even whether it 
 were sacred or secular, for it was of that period 
 at least, so I conjecture when the two worlds 
 were one, and when men courted their love and 
 adored their God after the same fashion. Only 
 there ran through all that air of sweet and austere 
 melancholy, as if earthly music could do no more 
 than hint at what the heart wished to express. 
 
 Frank listened in a sort of ecstasy. The music 
 was nearer now, coming from the direction from 
 which the three travelers had themselves come this 
 afternoon. Presently, from the apparent dimin- 
 uendo, it was plain that the singers were past, and 
 were going on towards the town. There was no 
 sound of footsteps; the Major remarked on that,
 
 302 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 when he could get Frank to attend a few minutes 
 later, when all was over; but there were field paths 
 running in every direction, as well as broad stretches 
 of grass beside the road, so the singers may very 
 well have been walking on soft ground. (These 
 points are dispassionately noted down in the diary. ) 
 
 The chorus was growing fainter now ; once more 
 the last slopes of the melody were in sight those 
 downhill gradations of the air that told of the 
 silence to come. Then once more, for an instant, 
 there was silence, till again, perhaps nearly a quarter 
 of a mile away, the single tenor voice began da capo. 
 And the last that Frank heard, at the moment before 
 the quarter struck and, soft and mellow though it 
 was, jarred the air and left the ear unable to focus 
 itself again on the tiny woven thread of sound, was, 
 once more the untiring quartette taking up the mel- 
 ody, far off in the silent darkness. 
 
 It seems to me a curious little incident this 
 passing of four singers in the night; it might have 
 seemed as if our travelers, by a kind of chance, were 
 allowed to overhear the affairs of a world other than 
 their own and the more curious because Frank 
 seems to have been so much absorbed by it. Of 
 course, from a practical point of view, it is almost 
 painfully obvious what is the explanation. It must 
 have been a quartette from the cathedral choir, re- 
 turning from some festivity in the suburbs; and it
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 303 
 
 must have happened that they followed the same 
 route, though walking on the grass, along which 
 Frank himself had come that evening. 
 
 The second incident is even more ordinary, and 
 once again I must declare that nothing would have 
 induced me to incorporate it into this story had 
 it not appeared, described very minutely in the sort 
 of log-book into which Frank's diary occasionally 
 degenerates. 
 
 They were within a very few miles of the out- 
 skirts of London, and December had succeeded 
 November. They had had a day or two of work 
 upon some farm or other. (I have not been able 
 to identify the place), and had run into, and, in- 
 deed, exchanged remarks with two or three groups 
 of tramps also London bound. 
 
 They were given temporary lodgings in a loft 
 over a stable, by the farmer for whom they worked, 
 and this stable was situated in a court at the end 
 of the village street, with gates that stood open 
 all day, since the yard was overlooked by the win- 
 dows of the farmer's living-house and, besides, 
 there was really nothing to steal. 
 
 They had finished their work in the fields (I
 
 304 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 think it had to do with the sheep and mangel- 
 wurzels, or something of the kind); they had re- 
 turned to their lodgings, received their pay, packed 
 up their belongings, and had already reached the 
 further end of the village on their way to London, 
 when Frank discoyered that he had left a pair of 
 socks behind. This would never do : socks cost 
 money, and their absence meant sore feet and wea- 
 riness; so he told the Major and Gertie to walk on 
 slowly while he went back. He would catch them 
 up, he said, before they had gone half a mile. He 
 hid his bundle under a hedge every pound of 
 weight made a difference at the end of a day's 
 work and set off. 
 
 It was just at that moment between day and 
 night between four and five o'clock as he came 
 back into the yard. He went straight through the 
 open gates, glancing about, to explain matters to 
 the farmer if necessary, but, not seeing him, went 
 up the rickety stairs, groped his way across to the 
 window, took down his socks from the nail on 
 which he had hung them last night, and came down 
 again. 
 
 As he came into the yard, he thought he heard 
 something stirring within the open door of the 
 stable on his right, and thinking it to be the farmer, 
 and that an explanation would be advisable, looked
 
 NONK OT1IKR GODS 305 
 
 At first he saw nothing, though he could hear a 
 horse moving about in the loose-box in the corner. 
 Then he saw a light shine beneath the crack of the 
 second door, beside the loose-box, that led into the 
 farm-yard proper; and the next instant the door 
 opened, a man came in with a lantern obviously 
 just lighted, as the flame was not yet burned up, and 
 stopped with a half-frightened look on seeing Frank. 
 But he said nothing. 
 
 Frank himself was just on the point of giving 
 an explanation when he, too, stopped dead and 
 stared. It seemed to him that he had been here 
 before, under exactly the same circumstances; he 
 tried to remember what happened next, but he could 
 not. . . . 
 
 For this was what he saw as the flame burned up 
 more brightly. 
 
 The man who held the lantern and looked at him 
 in silence with a half-deprecating air was a middle- 
 aged man, bearded and bare-headed. He had 
 thrown over his shoulders a piece of sacking, that 
 hung from him almost like a robe. The light that 
 he carried threw heavy wavering shadows about the 
 stable, and Frank noticed the great head of a 
 cart-horse in the loose-box peering through the bars, 
 as if to inquire what the company wanted. Then, 
 still without speaking, Frank let his eyes rove 
 rund. and they stopped suddenly at the sight of
 
 306 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 yet one more living being in the stable. Next to 
 the loose-box was a stall, empty except for one 
 occupant ; for there, sitting on a box with her back 
 to the manger and one arm flung along it to support 
 her weight, was the figure of a girl. Her head, 
 wrapped in an old shawl, leaned back against her 
 arm, and a very white and weary face, absolutely 
 motionless, looked at him. She had great eyes, 
 with shadows beneath, and her lips were half 
 opened. By her side lay a regular tramp's bundle. 
 
 Frank looked at her steadily a moment, then he 
 looked back at the man, who still had not moved 
 or spoken. The draught from the door behind 
 blew in and shook the flame of his lantern, and the 
 horse sighed long and loud in the shadows behind. 
 Once more Frank glanced at the girl; she had low- 
 ered her arm from the manger and now sat looking 
 at him, it seemed, with a curious intentness and ex- 
 pectancy. 
 
 There was nothing to be said. Frank bowed a 
 little, almost apologetically, and went out. 
 
 Now that was absolutely all that happened. 
 Frank says so expressly in his diary. He did not 
 speak to them, nor they to him; nor was any ex- 
 planation given on either side. He went out across 
 the yard in silence, seeing nothing of the farmer, 
 but hearing a piano begin to play beyond the 
 brightly lighted windows, of which he could catch
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 307 
 
 a glimpse over the low wall separating the yard 
 from the garden. He walked quickly up the vil- 
 lage street and caught up his companions, as he 
 had said, less than half a mile further on. He said 
 nothing to them of his experience indeed, what 
 was there to say ? but he must have written it 
 down that same night when they reached their next 
 lodging, and written it down, too, with that minute- 
 ness of detail which surprised me so much when I 
 first read it. 
 
 For the explanation of the whole thing is as 
 foolishly obvious as was that of the singing that the 
 three had heard in the suburbs of Peterborough. 
 Obviously a couple of tramps had turned into this 
 stable for shelter. Perhaps the girl was the man's 
 daughter; perhaps his wife; perhaps neither. 
 Plainly they had no right there and that would 
 explain the embarrassed silence of the two: they 
 knew they were trespassing, and feared to be turned 
 away. Perhaps already they had been turned away 
 from, the village inn. But the girl was obviously 
 tired out, and the man had determined to risk it. 
 
 That, then, was the whole affair commonplace, 
 and even a little sordid. And yet Frank thought 
 that it was worth writing down!
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 An extract, taken by permission, from a few 
 pages of Frank Guiseley's diary. These pages were 
 written with the encouragement of Dom Hilde- 
 brand Maple, OS.B., and were sent to him later at 
 his own request. 
 
 H 
 
 E told me a great many things 
 that surprised me. For in- 
 stance, he seemed to know all about certain ideas 
 that I had had, before I told him of them, and said 
 that I was not responsible, and he picked out one or 
 two other things that I had said, and told me that 
 these were much more serious. . . . 
 
 " I went to confession to him on Friday morn- 
 ing, in the church. He did not say a great deal 
 then, but he asked if I would care to talk to him 
 aftenvards. I said I would, and went to him in 
 the parlor after dinner. The first thing that hap- 
 pened was that he asked me to tell him as plainly as 
 I could anything that had happened to me in my 
 soul, I mean since I had left Cambridge. So I 
 tried to describe it. 
 
 308
 
 NONK OTHER dODS 309 
 
 " I said that at first things went pretty well in 
 my soul, and that it was only bodily things that 
 troubled me getting fearfully tired and stiff, be- 
 ing uncomfortable, the food, the sleeping, and so 
 on. Then, as soon as this wore off I met the Major 
 and Gertie. I was rather afraid of saying all that 
 I felt about these ; but he made me, and I told him 
 how extraordinarily I seemed to hate them some- 
 times, how I felt almost sick now and then when the 
 Major talked to me and told me stories. . . . 
 The thing that seemed to torment me most during 
 this time was the contrast between Cambridge and 
 Merefield and the people there, and the company 
 of this pair; and the only relief was that I knew I 
 could, as a matter of fact, chuck them whenever I 
 wanted and go home again. But this relief was 
 taken away from me as soon as I understood that 
 I had to keep with them, and do my best somehow 
 to separate them. Of course, I must get Gertie 
 back to her people some time, and till that's done it's 
 no good thinking about anything else. 
 
 " After a while, however I think it was just 
 before I got into trouble with the police I began 
 to see that I was a conceited ass for hating the 
 Major so much. It was absurd for me, I said, to 
 put on airs, when the difference between him and 
 me was just that he had been brought up in one 
 way and I in another. I hated the things he did and
 
 310 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 said, not because they were wrong, but because they 
 were what I called ' bad form.' That was really 
 the whole thing. Then I saw a lot more, and it 
 made me feel miserable. I used to think that 
 it was rather good of me to be kind to ani- 
 mals and children, but I began to see that it was 
 simply the way I was made: it wasn't any effort 
 to me : I simply ' saw red ' when I came across 
 cruelty. And I saw that that was no good. 
 
 " Then I began to see that I had done absolutely 
 nothing of any good whatever that nothing had 
 really cost me anything; and that the things I was 
 proud of were simply self-will my leaving Cam- 
 bridge, and all the rest. They were theatrical, or 
 romantic, or egotistical ; there was no real sacrifice. 
 I should have minded much more not doing them. 
 I began to feel extraordinarily small. 
 
 " Then the whole series of things began that 
 simply smashed me up. 
 
 " First there was the prison business. That came 
 about in this way : 
 
 " I had just begun to see that I was all wrong 
 with the Major that by giving way to my feelings 
 about him (I don't mean that I ever showed it, but 
 that was only because I thought it more dignified 
 not to!), I was getting all wrong with regard to 
 both him and myself, and that I must do something 
 that my whole soul hated if it was to be of any
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 311 
 
 use. Then there came that minute in the barn, 
 when I heard the police were after us, and that 
 there was really no hope of escape. The particular 
 thing that settled me was Gertie. I knew, some- 
 how, that I couldn't let the Major go to prison 
 while she was about. And then I saw that this 
 was just the very thing to do, and that I couldn't 
 be proud of it ever, because the whole thing was 
 so mean and second-rate. Well, I did it, and it 
 did me a lot of good somehow. I felt really rolled 
 in the dirt, and that little thing in the post-office 
 afterwards rubbed it in. I saw how chock-full I 
 must be of conceit really to mind that, as I did, 
 and to show off, and talk like a gentleman. 
 
 " Then there came the priest who refused to help 
 me. That made me for a time perfectly furious, 
 because I had always said to myself that Catholics, 
 and especially priests, would always understand. 
 But before I got to York I saw what an ass I had 
 made of myself. Of course, the priest was per- 
 fectly right (I saw that before I got ten yards 
 away, though I wouldn't acknowledge it for an- 
 other five miles). I was a dirty tramp, and I 
 talked like a brazen fool. (I remember thinking 
 my 'openness' to him rather fine and manly!) 
 Well, that made me smaller still. 
 
 " Then a sort of despair came on me when the po- 
 lice got me turned out of my work in York. I
 
 3 i2 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 know it was only a little thing (though I still think 
 it unfair), but it was like a pebble in your boot when 
 you're already going lame from something else. 
 
 " And then came Jenny's letter. (I want to write 
 about that rather carefully.) 
 
 " I said just now that I was getting to feel smaller 
 and smaller. That's perfectly true, but there was 
 still a little hard lump in the middle that would not 
 break. Things might have gone crumbling away 
 at me for ever, and I might have got smaller still, 
 but they wouldn't have smashed me. 
 
 " Now there were two things that I held on to 
 all this time my religion and Jenny. I gave them 
 turns, so to speak, though Jenny was never absent. 
 When everything religious tasted flat and dull and 
 empty, I thought about Jenny: when things were 
 better when I had those two or three times I told 
 Father Hildebrand about (. . .) I still thought 
 of Jenny, and imagined how splendid it would 
 be when we were both Catholics together and 
 married. But I never dreamed that Jenny would 
 ever be angry or disappointed. I wouldn't talk 
 about her to anybody ever, because I was so abso- 
 lutely certain of her. I knew, I thought, that the 
 whole world might crumble away, but that Jenny 
 would always understand, down at the bottom, and 
 that she and I would remain . 
 
 " Well, then came her letter.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 313 
 
 " Honestly, I don't quite know what I was doing 
 inside for the next week or so. Simply everything 
 was altered. I never had any sort of doubt that she 
 meant what she said, and it was as if there wasn't 
 any sun or moon or sky. It was like being ill. 
 Things happened round me: I ate and drank and 
 walked, but the only thing I wanted was to get 
 away, and get down somewhere into myself and 
 hide. Religion, of course, seemed no good at all. 
 I don't understand quite what people mean by ' con- 
 solations ' of religion. Religion doesn't seem to 
 me a thing like Art or Music, in which you can take 
 refuge. It either covers everything, or it isn't re- 
 ligion. Religion never has seemed to me (I don't 
 know if I'm wrong) one thing, like other things, so 
 that you can change about and back again. . . . 
 It's either the background and foreground all in 
 one, or it's a kind of game. It's either true, or it's 
 a pretense. 
 
 " Well, all this, in a way, taught me it was ab- 
 solutely true. Things wouldn't have held together 
 at all unless it was true. But it was no sort of sat- 
 isfaction. It seemed to me for a while that it was 
 horrible that it was true; that it was frightful to 
 think that God could be like that since this Jenny- 
 business had really happened. But I didn't feel all 
 this exactly consciously at the time. I seemed as if 
 
 I was ill, and could only lie still and watch and be in 
 21
 
 314 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 hell. One thing, however, Father Hildebrand 
 thought very important (he asked me about it par- 
 ticularly) was that I honestly did not feel any re- 
 sentment whatever against either God or Jenny. It 
 was frightful, but it was true, and I just had to lie 
 still inside and look at it. He tells me that this 
 shows that the first part of the ' process,' as he 
 called it, was finished (he called it the ' Purgative 
 Way ' ) . And I must say that what happened next 
 seems to fit in rather well. 
 
 " The new ' process ' began quite suddenly when 
 I awoke in the shepherd's hut one morning at Ripon. 
 The instant I awoke I knew it. It was very early 
 in the morning, just before sunrise, but there was a 
 little wood behind me, and the birds were beginning 
 to chirp. 
 
 " It's very hard to describe it in words, but the 
 first thing to say is that I was not exactly happy just 
 then, but absolutely content. I think I should say 
 that it was like this : I saw suddenly that what had 
 been wrong in me was that I had made myself the 
 center of things, and God a kind of circumference. 
 When He did or allowed things, I said, ' Why does 
 He ? ' from my point of view. That is to say, 
 I set up my ideas of justice and love and so forth, 
 and then compared His with mine, not mine with 
 His. And I suddenly saw or, rather, I knew al- 
 ready when I awoke that this was simply stupid.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 315 
 
 Even now I cannot imagine why I didn't see it be- 
 fore : I had heard people say it, of course in ser- 
 mons and books but I suppose it had meant noth- 
 ing to me. (Father Hildebrand tells me that I had 
 seen it intellectually, but had never embraced it 
 with my will.) Because when one once really sees 
 that, there's no longer any puzzle about anything. 
 One can simply never say ' Why ? ' again. The 
 thing's finished. 
 
 " Now this ' process ' (as Father H. calls it) has 
 gone on in a most extraordinary manner ever since. 
 That beginning near Ripon was like opening a door 
 into another country, and I've been walking ever 
 since and seeing new things. All sorts of things that 
 I had believed as a Catholic things, I mean, which 
 I assented to simply because the Church said so, 
 have, so to speak, come up and turned themselves 
 inside out. I couldn't write them down, because 
 you can't write these things down, or even put them 
 intelligibly to yourself. You just see that they are 
 so. For instance, one morning at mass quite 
 suddenly I saw how the substance of the bread 
 was changed, and how our Lord is united with the 
 soul at Communion of course it's a mystery 
 (that's what I mean by saying that it can't be writ- 
 ten down) but I saw it in a flash, and I can see 
 it still in a sort of way. Then another day when 
 the Major was talking about something or other
 
 316 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 (I think it was about the club he used to belong to 
 in Piccadilly), I understood about our Lady and 
 how she is just everything from one point of view. 
 And so on. I had that kind of thing at Doctor 
 Whitty's a good deal, particularly when I was get- 
 ting better. I could talk to him all the time, too, or 
 count the knobs on the wardrobe, or listen to the 
 Major and Gertie in the garden and yet go on 
 all the time seeing things. I knew it wasn't any 
 good talking to Doctor Whitty himself much, though 
 I can't imagine why a man like that doesn't see it 
 all for himself. 
 
 " It seems to me most extraordinary now that I 
 ever could have had those other thoughts I told 
 Father H. about I mean about sins, and about 
 wondering whether, after all, the Church was actu- 
 ally true. In a sort of way, of course, they come 
 back to me still, and I know perfectly well I must 
 be on my guard ; but somehow it's different. 
 
 " Well, all this is what Father H. calls the ' Il- 
 luminative Way/ and I think I understand what he 
 means. It came to a sort of point on All Souls' 
 Eve at the monastery. I saw the whole thing then 
 for a moment or two, and not only Purgatory. But 
 I will write that down later. And Father H. tells 
 me that I must begin to look forward to a new 
 ' process ' what he calls the ' Way of Union.' I 
 don't understand much what he means by that; I
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 317 
 
 don't see that more could happen to me. I am ab- 
 solutely and entirely happy ; though I must say that 
 there has seemed a sort of lull for the last day or 
 two ever since All Souls' Day, in fact. Perhaps 
 something is going to happen. It's all right, any- 
 how. It seems very odd to me that all this kind of 
 thing is perfectly well known to priests. I thought 
 I was the first person who had ever felt quite like 
 this. 
 
 " I must add one thing. Father H. asked me 
 whether I didn't feel I had a vocation to the Re- 
 ligious Life; he told me that from everything he 
 could see, I had, and that my coming to the mon- 
 astery was simply providential. 
 
 " Well, I don't agree, and I have told him so. 
 I haven't the least idea what is going to happen 
 next ; but I know, absolutely for certain, that I have 
 got to go on with the Major and Gertie to East 
 London. Gertie will have to be got away from the 
 Major somehow, and until that is done I mustn't do 
 anything else. 
 
 " I have written all this down as plainly as I can, 
 because I promised Father H. I would."
 
 PART III 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 S. PARTINGTON was standing at the door 
 of her house towards sunset, waiting for the 
 children to come back from school. 
 
 Her house is situated in perhaps the least agree- 
 able street Turner Road in perhaps the least 
 agreeable district of East London Hackney 
 Wick. It is a disagreeable district because it isn't 
 anything in particular. It has neither the tragic 
 gayety of Whitechapel nor the comparative refine- 
 ment of Clapton. It is a large, triangular piece of 
 land, containing perhaps a square mile altogether, 
 or rather more, approached from the south by the 
 archway of the Great Eastern Railway, defined on 
 one side by the line, and along its other two sides, 
 partly by the river Lea a grimy, depressed-look- 
 ing stream and partly by the Hackney Marshes 
 flat, dreary wastes of grass-grown land, useless 
 as building ground and of value only for Saturday 
 afternoon recreations of rabbit coursing and foot- 
 ball. The dismalness of the place is beyond descrip- 
 tion at all times of the year. In winter it is bleak
 
 XONK OTHER GODS 319 
 
 and chilly; in summer it is hot, fly-infested, and 
 hideously and ironically reminiscent of real fields 
 and real grass. The population is calculated to 
 change completely about every three years, and I'm 
 sure I am not surprised. It possesses two impor- 
 tant blocks of buildings besides the schools a 
 large jam factory and the church and clergy-house 
 of the Eton Mission. 
 
 Turner Road is perhaps the most hopeless of all 
 the dozen and a half of streets. (It is marked 
 black, by the way, in Mr. Booth's instructive map. ) 
 It is about a quarter of a mile long and perfectly 
 straight. It is intersected at one point by another 
 street, and is composed of tall dark houses, with flat 
 fronts, perhaps six or seven stories in height. It is 
 generally fairly silent and empty, and is inhabited 
 by the most characteristic members of the Hackney 
 Wick community quiet, white- faced men, lean 
 women, draggled and sharp-tongued, and countless 
 over-intelligent children all of the class that sel- 
 dom remain long anywhere all of the material 
 out of which the real criminal is developed. No 
 booths or stalls ever stand here; only, on Saturday 
 nights, there is echoed here, as in a stone-lined pit, 
 the cries and the wheel-noises from the busy thor- 
 oughfare a hundred yards away round the corner. 
 The road, as a whole, bears an aspect of desperate 
 and fierce dignity; there is never here the glimpse of
 
 320 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 a garden or of flowers, as in Mortimer Road, a 
 stone's throw away. There is nothing whatever ex- 
 cept the tall, flat houses, the pavements, the lamp- 
 posts, the grimy thoroughfare and the silence. The 
 sensation of the visitor is that anything might hap- 
 pen here, and that no one would be the wiser. 
 There is an air of horrible discretion about these 
 houses. 
 
 Mrs. Partington was indeed is (for I went to 
 see her not two months ago) of a perfectly de- 
 nned type. She must have been a handsome factory 
 girl dark, slender, and perfectly able to take care 
 of herself, with thin, muscular arms, generally visi- 
 ble up to the elbow, hard hands, a quantity of rather 
 untidy hair with the tongue of a venomous ora- 
 tor and any amount of very inferior sentiment, pa- 
 triotic and domestic. She has become a lean, 
 middle-aged woman, very upright and very strong, 
 without any sentiment at all, but with a great deal of 
 very practical human experience to take its place. 
 She has no illusions about either this world or the 
 next; she has borne nine children, of which three 
 survive ; and her husband is almost uninterruptedly 
 out of work. However, they are prosperous (for 
 Turner Road), and have managed, so far, to keep 
 their home together.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 321 
 
 The sunset was framed in a glow of smoky glory 
 at the end of the street down which Mrs. Parting- 
 ton was staring, resembling a rather angry search- 
 light turned on from the gates of heaven. The 
 street was still quiet ; but already from the direction 
 of the Board-school came thin and shrill cries as 
 the swarm of children exploded in all directions. 
 Mrs. Partington (she would have said) was waiting 
 for her children Jimmy, Maggie and 'Erb and 
 there were lying within upon the bare table three 
 thick slices of bread and black jam ; as a matter of 
 fact, she was looking out for her lodgers, who 
 should have arrived by midday. 
 
 Then she became aware that they were coming, 
 even as she looked, advancing down the empty street 
 en echelon. Two of them she knew well enough 
 they had lodged with her before ; but the third was 
 to be a stranger, and she was already interested in 
 him the Major had hinted at wonderful mys- 
 teries. , . . 
 
 So she shaded her eyes against the cold glare and 
 watched them carefully, with that same firm, reso- 
 lute face with which she always looked out upon 
 the world; and even as, presently, she exchanged 
 that quick, silent nod of recognition with the Major 
 and Gertie, still she watched the brown-faced, 
 shabby young man who came last, carrying his bun- 
 dle and walking a little lame.
 
 322 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " You're after your time," she said abruptly. 
 The Major began his explanations, but she cut 
 them short and led the way into the house. 
 
 (n) 
 
 I find it very difficult to record accurately the im- 
 pression that Frank made upon Mrs. Partington; 
 but that the impression was deep and definite became 
 perfectly clear to me from her conversation. He 
 hardly spoke at all, she said, and before he got work 
 at the jam factory he went out for long, lonely walks 
 across the marshes. He and the Major slept to- 
 gether, it seemed, in one room, and Gertie, tempo- 
 rarily with the children and Mrs. Partington in an- 
 other. (Mr. Partington, at this time, happened to 
 be away on one of his long absences.) At meals 
 Frank was always quiet and well-behaved, yet not 
 ostentatiously. Mrs. Partington found no fault 
 with him in that way. He would talk to the chil- 
 dren a little before they went to school, and would 
 meet them sometimes on their way back from school ; 
 and all three of them conceived for him an immense 
 and indescribable adoration. All this, however, 
 would be too long to set down in detail. 
 
 It seems to have been a certain air of pathos 
 which Mrs. Partington herself cast around him, 
 which affected her the most, and I imagine her feel-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 323 
 
 ing to have been largely motherly. There was, 
 however, another element very obviously visible, 
 which, in anyone but Mrs. Partington, I should call 
 reverence. . . . She told me that she could not 
 imagine why he was traveling with the Major and 
 Gertie, so she at least understood something of the 
 gulf between them. 
 
 So the first week crept by, bringing us up to the 
 middle of December. 
 
 It was on the Friday night that Frank came back 
 with the announcement that he was to go to work 
 at the jam factory on Monday. There was a great 
 pressure, of course, owing to the approach of Christ- 
 mas, and Frank was to be given joint charge of a 
 van. The work would last, it seemed, at any rate, 
 for a week or two. 
 
 " You'll have to mind your language," said the 
 Major jocosely. (He was sitting in the room where 
 the cooking was done nd where, by the way, the 
 entire party, with the exception of the two men, 
 slept ; and, at this moment, had his feet on the low 
 mantelshelf between the saucepan and Jimmy's cap. ) 
 
 "Eh? "said Frank. 
 
 " No language allowed there," said the Major. 
 " They're damn particular." 
 
 Frank put his cap down and took his seat on the 
 bed.
 
 324 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Where's Gertie? " he asked. (" Yes, come on, 
 Jimmie.") 
 
 Jimmie crept up beside him, looking at him with 
 big black, reverential eyes. Then he leaned against 
 him with a quick smile and closed his eyes ecstatic- 
 ally. Frank put an arm round the boy to support 
 him. 
 
 " Oh ! Gertie's gone to see a friend," said the 
 Major. " Did you want her? " 
 
 Frank said nothing, and Mrs. Partington looked 
 from one to the other swiftly. 
 
 Mrs. Partington had gathered a little food for 
 thought during the last few days. It had become 
 perfectly evident to her that the girl was very much 
 in love with this young man, and that while this 
 young man either was, or affected to be, ignorant of 
 it, the Major was not. Gertie had odd silences 
 when Frank came into the room, or yet more odd 
 volubilities, and Mrs. Partington was not quite sure 
 of the Major's attitude. This officer and her hus- 
 band had had dealings together in the past of a na- 
 ture which I could not quite determine (indeed, the 
 figure of Mr. Partington is still a complete mystery 
 to me, and rather a formidable mystery) ; and I 
 gather that Mrs. Partington had learned from her 
 husband that the Major was not simply negligible. 
 She knew him for a blackguard, but she seems to 
 have been uncertain of what kind was this black-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 325 
 
 guardism whether of the strong or the weak va- 
 riety. She was just a little uncomfortable, there- 
 fore, as to the significance of Gertie; and had 
 already wondered more than once whether or no 
 she should say a motherly word to the young 
 man. 
 
 There came a sound of footsteps up the street 
 as Mrs. Partington ironed a collar of Jimmie's on 
 the dining-room table, and laid down the iron as a 
 tap fell on the door. The Major took out his pipe 
 and began to fill it as she went out to see who was 
 knocking. 
 
 "Oh! good evening, Mrs. Partington," sounded 
 in a clear, high-bred voice from the street door. 
 " May I come in for a minute or two ? I heard 
 you had lodgers, and I thought perhaps 
 
 " Well, sir, we're rather upside-down just now 
 and " 
 
 " Oh ! I won't disturb you more than a minute," 
 came the other voice again. There were footsteps 
 in the passage, and the next instant, past the unwill- 
 ing hostess, there came a young, fresh-colored 
 clergyman, carrying a silk hat, into the lamplight of 
 the kitchen. Frank stood up instantly, and the Ma- 
 jor went so far as to take down his feet. Then he, 
 too, stood up. 
 
 " Good evening! " said the clergyman. " May I
 
 326 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 just come in for a minute or two ? I heard you had 
 come, and as it's in my district May I sit down. 
 Mrs. Partington?" 
 
 Mrs. Partington with sternly knit lips, swept a 
 brown teapot, a stocking, a comb, a cup and a 
 crumby plate off the single unoccupied chair, and set 
 it a little forward near the fire. Clergymen were, to 
 her mind, one of those mysterious dispensations of 
 the world for which there was no adequate ex- 
 planation at all like policemen and men's gam- 
 blings and horse-races. There they were, and there 
 was no more to be said. They were mildly useful 
 for entertaining the children and taking them to 
 Southend, and in cases of absolute despair they 
 could be relied upon for soup-tickets or even half- 
 crowns; but the big mysterious church, with its 
 gilded screen, its curious dark glass, and its white 
 little side-chapel, with the Morris hangings, the 
 great clergy-house, the ladies, the parish magazine 
 and all the rest of it these were simply inexplica- 
 ble. Above all inexplicable was the passion dis- 
 played for district-visiting that strange impulse 
 that drove four highly-cultivated young men in 
 black frock-coats and high hats and ridiculous little 
 collars during five afternoons in the week to knock 
 at door after door all over the district and conduct 
 well-mannered conversations with bored but polite 
 mothers of families. It was one of the phenomena
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 327 
 
 that had to be accepted. She supposed it stood for 
 something beyond her perceptions. 
 
 " I thought 1 must come in and make your ac- 
 quaintance," said the clergyman, nursing his hat and 
 smiling at the company. (He, too, occasionally 
 shared Mrs. Partington's wonder as to the object 
 of all this; but he, too, submitted to it as part of the 
 system.) "People come and go so quickly, you 
 know " 
 
 " Very pleased to see a clergyman," said the Ma- 
 jor smoothly. " No objection to smoke, sir, I pre- 
 sume?" He indicated his pipe. 
 
 " Not at all," said the clergyman. " In fact, I 
 smoke myself; and if Mrs. Partington will allow 
 me " He produced a small pink and gilded 
 packet of Cinderellas. (I think he thought it 
 brought him vaguely nearer the people to smoke Cin- 
 derellas.) 
 
 " Oh ! no objection at all, sir," put in Mrs. Part- 
 ington, still a little grimly. (She was still secretly 
 resenting being called upon at half-past six. You 
 were usually considered immune from this kind of 
 thing after five o'clock.) 
 
 " So I thought I must just look in and catch you 
 one evening," explained the clergyman once more, 
 " and tell you that we're your friends here the 
 clergy, you know and about the church and all 
 that."
 
 328 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 He was an extremely conscientious young man 
 this Mr. Parham-Carter an old Etonian, of 
 course, and now in his first curacy. It was all 
 pretty bewildering to him, too, this great and splen- 
 did establishment, the glorious church by Bodley, 
 with the Magnificat in Gothic lettering below the 
 roof, the well-built and furnished clergy -house, the 
 ladies' house, the zeal, the self-devotion, the paro- 
 chial machinery, the Band of Hope, the men's and 
 boys' clubs, and, above all, the furious district-vis- 
 iting. Of course, it produced results, it kept up the 
 standards of decency and civilization and ideals; it 
 was a weight in the balances on the side of right and 
 good living; the clubs kept men from the public- 
 house to some extent, and made it possible for boys 
 to grow up with some chance on their side. Yet 
 he wondered, in fits of despondency, whether there 
 were not something wrong somewhere. . . . 
 But he accepted it : it was the approved method, and 
 he himself was a learner, not a teacher. 
 
 " Very kind of you, sir," said the Major, replacing 
 his feet on the mantel-shelf. " And at what time 
 are the services on Sunday? " 
 
 The clergyman jumped. He was not accustomed 
 to that sort of question. 
 
 "I . . ."he began. 
 
 " I'm a strong Churchman, sir," said the Major. 
 " And even if I were not, one must set an example,
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 329 
 
 you know. 1 may be narrow-minded, but I'm par- 
 ticular about all that sort of thing. I shall be with 
 you on Sunday." 
 
 He nodded reassuringly at Mr. Parham-Carter. 
 
 l< Well, we have morning prayer at ten-thirty next 
 Sunday, and the Holy Eucharist at eleven and, of 
 course, at eight." 
 
 " No vestments, I hope ? " said the Major sternly. 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter faltered a little. Vestments 
 were not in use, but to his regret. 
 
 " Well, we don't use vestments," he said, " but 
 
 The Major resumed his pipe with a satisfied air. 
 
 " That's all right," he said. " Now, I'm not 
 bigoted my friend here's a Roman Catholic, 
 but" 
 
 The clergyman looked up sharply, and for the 
 first time became consciously conscious of the sec- 
 ond man. Frank had sat back again on the bed, 
 with Jimmie beside him, and was watching the little 
 scene quietly and silently, and the clergyman met his 
 eyes full. Some vague shock thrilled through him ; 
 Frank's clean-shaven brown face seemed somehow 
 familiar or was it something else ? 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter considered the point for a 
 little while in silence, only half attending to the Ma- 
 ior, who was now announcing his views on the Es- 
 tablishment and the Reformation settlement. Frank 
 said nothing at all, and there grew on the clergyman
 
 330 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 a desire to hear his voice. He made an opportunity 
 at last. 
 
 " Yes, I see," he said to the Major; " and you 
 I don't know your name ? " 
 
 " Gregory, sir," said Frank. And again a little 
 shock thrilled Mr. Parham-Carter. The voice was 
 the kind of thing he had expected from that face. 
 
 It was about ten minutes later that the clergyman 
 thought it was time to go. - He had the Major's 
 positive promise to attend at least the evening service 
 on the following Sunday a promise he did not 
 somehow very much appreciate but he had made 
 no progress with Frank. He shook hands all round 
 very carefully, told Jimmie not to miss Sunday- 
 school, and publicly commended Maggie for a recita- 
 tion she had accomplished at the Band of Hope on 
 the previous evening; and then went out, accom- 
 panied by Mrs. Partington, still silent, as far as the 
 door. But as he actually went out, someone pushed 
 by the woman and came out into the street. 
 
 " May I speak to you a minute ? " said the strange 
 young man, dropping the " sir." " I'll walk with 
 you as far as the clergy-house if you'll let me." 
 
 When they were out of earshot of the house Frank 
 began.
 
 XOXIi OTHER GOUS 331 
 
 "You're Parham-Carter, aren't you?" he said. 
 " Of Hales'." 
 
 The other nodded. (Things were beginning to 
 resolve themselves in his mind.) 
 
 " Well, will you give me your word not to tell a 
 soul I'm here, and I'll tell you who I am? You've 
 forgotten me, I see. But I'm afraid you may re- 
 member. D'you see ? " 
 
 " All right." 
 
 " I'm Guiseley, of Drew's. We were in the same 
 division once up to Rawlins. Do you remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 "Good Lord! But" 
 
 " Yes, I know. But don't let's go into that. I've 
 not done anything I shouldn't. That's not the rea- 
 son I'm like this. It's just turned out so. And 
 there's something else I want to talk to you about. 
 When can I come and see you privately? I'm going 
 to begin work to-morrow at the jam factory." 
 
 The other man clutched at his whirling faculties. 
 
 " To-night at ten. Will that do ? " 
 
 " All right. What am I to say when I ring 
 the bell, I mean? " 
 
 " Just ask for me. They'll show you straight up 
 to my room." 
 
 " All right," said Frank, and was gone.
 
 332 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 (ni) 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter's room in the clergy-house 
 was of the regular type very comfortable and 
 pleasing to the eye, as it ought to be for a young 
 man working under such circumstances; not really 
 luxurious ; pious and virile. The walls were a rosy 
 distemper, very warm and sweet, and upon them, 
 above the low oak book-cases, hung school and col- 
 lege groups, discreet sporting engravings, a glorious 
 cathedral interior, and the Sistine Madonna over the 
 mantelpiece. An oar hung all along one ceiling, 
 painted on the blade with the arms of an Oxford 
 college. There was a small prie-dieu, surmounted 
 by a crucifix of Ober-Ammergau workmanship; 
 there was a mahogany writing-table with a revolving 
 chair set before it; there were a couple of deep 
 padded arm-chairs, a pipe-rack, and a row of photo- 
 graphs his mother in evening dress, a couple of 
 sisters, with other well-bred-looking relations. Al- 
 together, with the curtains drawn and the fire blaz- 
 ing, it was exactly the kind of room that such a 
 wholesome young man ought to have in the East of 
 London. 
 
 Frank was standing on the hearth-rug as Mr. Par- 
 ham-Carter came in a minute or two after ten 
 o'clock, bearing a small tray with a covered jug, two 
 cups and a plate of cake.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 333 
 
 " Good-evening again/' said the clergyman. 
 "Have some cocoa? I generally bring mine up 
 here. ... Sit down. Make yourself comfort- 
 able." 
 
 Frank said nothing. He sat down. He put his 
 cap on the floor by his chair and leaned back. The 
 other, with rather nervous movements, set a steam- 
 ing cup by his side, and a small silver box of cig- 
 arettes, matches and an ash-tray. Then he sat down 
 himself, took a long pull at his cocoa, and waited 
 with a certain apprehensiveness. 
 
 " Who else is here ? " asked Frank abruptly. 
 
 The other ran through the three names, with a 
 short biography of each. Frank nodded, reassured 
 at the end. 
 
 "That's all right," he said. "All before my 
 time, I expect. They might come in, you know." 
 
 "Oh, no!" said the clergyman. "I told them 
 not, and " 
 
 " Well, let's come to business," said Frank. " It's 
 about a girl. You saw that man to-day? You 
 saw his sort, did you? Well, he's a bad hat. 
 And he's got a girl going about with him who 
 isn't his wife. I want to get her home again to 
 her people." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Can you do anything? (Don't say you can if 
 you can't, please. . . .) She comes from Chis-
 
 334 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 wick. I'll give you her address before I go. But 
 I don't want it muddled, you know." 
 
 The clergyman swallowed in his throat. He had 
 only been ordained eighteen months, and the ex- 
 treme abruptness and reality of the situation took 
 him a little aback. 
 
 " I can try," he said. " And I can put the ladies 
 on to her. But, of course, I can't undertake " 
 
 "Of course. But do you think there's a reason- 
 able chance? If not, I'd better have another try 
 myself." 
 
 " Have you tried, then ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, half a dozen times. A fortnight ago 
 was the last, and I really thought ' ' 
 
 " But I don't understand. Are these people your 
 friends, or what ? " 
 
 " I've been traveling with them off and on since 
 June. They belong to you, so far as they belong to 
 anyone. I'm a Catholic, you know " 
 
 "Really? But" 
 
 " Convert. Last June. Don't let's argue, my 
 dear chap. There isn't time." 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter drew a breath. 
 
 There is no other phrase so adequate for describ- 
 ing his condition of mind as the old one concerning 
 head and heels. There had rushed on him, not out 
 of the blue, but, what was even more surprising, out 
 of the very dingy sky of Hackney Wick (and Turner
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 335 
 
 Road, at that!), this astonishing young man, keen- 
 eyed, brown- faced, muscular, who had turned out 
 to be a school- fellow of his own, and a school-fellow 
 whose reputation, during the three hours since they 
 had parted, he had swiftly remembered point by 
 point Guiseley of Drew's the boy who had 
 thrown off his coat in early school and displayed him- 
 self shirtless; who had stolen four out of the six 
 birches on a certain winter morning, and had con- 
 versed affably with the Head in school yard with the 
 ends of the birches sticking out below the skirts of 
 his overcoat ; who had been discovered on the fourth 
 of June, with an air of reverential innocence, dress- 
 ing the bronze statue of King Henry VI. in a surplice 
 in honor of the day. And now here he was, and from 
 his dress and the situation of his lodging-house to be 
 reckoned among the worst of the loafing class, and 
 yet talking, with an air of complete confidence and 
 equality of a disreputable young woman his com- 
 panion who was to be rescued from a yet more 
 disreputable companion and restored to her parents 
 in Chiswick. 
 
 And this was not all for, as Mr. Parham-Car- 
 ter informed me himself there was being im- 
 pressed upon him during this interview a very curi- 
 ous sensation, which he was hardly able, even after 
 consideration, to put into words a sensation con- 
 cerning the personality and presence of this young
 
 336 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 man which he could only describe as making him feel 
 " beastly queer." 
 
 It seems to have been about this point that he first 
 perceived it clearly distinguished it, that is to say, 
 from the whole atmosphere of startling and suggest- 
 ing mystery that surrounded him. 
 
 He looked at Frank in silence a moment or two. 
 
 There Guiseley sat leaning back in the red 
 leather chair, his cocoa still untouched. He was in 
 a villainous suit that once, probably, had been dark 
 blue. The jacket was buttoned up to his chin, and 
 a grimy muffler surrounded his neck. His trousers 
 were a great deal too short, and disclosed above a 
 yellow sock, on the leg nearest to him, about four 
 inches of dark-looking skin. His boots were heavy, 
 patched, and entirely uncleaned, and the upper toe- 
 cap of one of them gaped from the leather over the 
 instep. His hands were deep in his pockets, as if 
 even in this warm room, he felt the cold. 
 
 There was nothing remarkable there. It was the 
 kind of figure presented by unsatisfactory candidates 
 for the men's club. And yet there was about him 
 this air, arresting and rather disconcerting. . 
 
 It was a sort of electric serenity, if I understand 
 Mr. Parham-Carter aright a zone of perfectly 
 still energy, like warmth or biting cold, as of a
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 337 
 
 charged force: it was like a real person standing 
 motionless in the middle of a picture. (Mr. Par- 
 ham-Carter did not, of course, use such beautiful 
 similes as these ; he employed the kind of language 
 customary to men who have received a public school 
 and university education, half slang and half child- 
 ishness ; but he waved his hands at me and distorted 
 his features, and conveyed, on the whole, the kind 
 of impression I have just attempted to set down.) 
 
 Frank, then, seemed as much out of place in this 
 perfectly correct and suitable little room as an In- 
 dian prince in Buckingham Palace; or, if you pre- 
 fer it, an English nobleman (with spats) in Delhi. 
 He was just entirely different from it all; he had 
 nothing whatever to do with it ; he was wholly out 
 of place, not exactly as regarded his manner (for he 
 was quite at his ease), but with regard to his sig- 
 nificance. He was as a foreign symbol in a familiar 
 language. 
 
 Its effect upon Mr. Parham-Carter was quite clear 
 and strong. He instanced to me the fact that he 
 said nothing to Frank about his soul: he honestly 
 confessed that he scarcely even wished to press him 
 to come to Evensong on Sunday. Of course, he did 
 not like Frank's being a Roman Catholic; and his 
 whole intellectual being informed him that it was 
 because Frank had never really known the Church 
 of England that he had left it. (Mr. Parham-Car-
 
 338 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 ter had himself learned the real nature of the Church 
 of England at the Pusey House at Oxford.) But 
 there are certain atmospheres in which the intel- 
 lectual convictions are not very important, and this 
 was one of them. So here the two young men sat 
 and stared at one another, or, rather, Mr. Parham- 
 Carter stared at Frank, and Frank looked at nothing 
 in particular. 
 
 " You haven't drunk your cocoa," said the clergy- 
 man suddenly. 
 
 Frank turned abruptly, took up the cup and drank 
 the contents straight off at one draught. 
 
 " And a cigarette? " 
 
 Frank took up a cigarette and put in his mouth. 
 
 " By the way," he said, taking it out again, 
 " when'll you send your ladies round ? The morn- 
 ing's best, when the rest of us are out of the way." 
 
 " All right." 
 
 " Well, I don't think there's anything else ? " 
 
 " My dear chap," said the other, " I wish you'd 
 tell me what it's all about why you're in this sort 
 of life, you know. I don't want to pry, but " 
 
 Frank smiled suddenly and vividly. 
 
 " Oh, there's nothing to say. That's not the point. 
 It's by my own choice practically. I assure you I 
 haven't disgraced anybody." 
 
 " But your people " 
 
 " Oh ! they're all right. There's nothing the mat-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 339 
 
 ter with them. . . . Look here ! I really must 
 be going." 
 
 He stood up, and something seemed to snap in the 
 atmosphere as he did so. 
 
 " Besides, I've got to be at work early " 
 
 " I say, what did you do then? " 
 
 " Do then? What do you mean? " 
 
 " When you stood up Did you say anything ? 
 
 Frank looked at him bewildered. 
 
 " I don't know what you're talking about." 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter did not quite know what he 
 had meant himself. It was a sensation come and 
 gone, in an instant, as Frank had moved 
 a sensation which I suppose some people would call 
 " psychical " a sensation as if a shock had vibrated 
 for one moment through every part of his own being, 
 and of the pleasant little warm room where he was 
 sitting. He looked at the other, dazed for a second 
 or two, but there was nothing. Those two steady 
 black eyes looked at him in a humorous kind of con- 
 cern. . . . 
 
 He stood up himself. 
 
 " It was nothing," he said. " I think I must be 
 getting sleepy." 
 
 He put out his hand. 
 
 " Good-night," he said. " Oh ! I'll come and see 
 you as far as the gate."
 
 340 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Frank looked at him a second. 
 
 " I say," he said; " I suppose you've never thought 
 of becoming a Catholic? " 
 
 " My dear chap " 
 
 "No! Well, all right. ... oh! don't 
 bother to come to the gate." 
 
 " I'm coming. It may be locked." 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter stood looking after Frank's 
 figure even after it had passed along the dark shop 
 fronts and was turning the corner towards Turner 
 Road. Then it went under the lamplight and dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 It was a drizzling, cold night, and he himself was 
 bareheaded ; he felt the moisture run down his fore- 
 head, but it didn't seem to be happening to him. 
 On his right rose up the big parish-hall where the en- 
 tertainments were held, and beyond it, the east end 
 of the great church, dark now and tenantless; and 
 he felt the wet woodwork of the gate grasped in his 
 fingers. 
 
 He did not quite know what was happening to 
 him but everything seemed different. A hundred 
 thoughts had passed through his mind during the 
 last half hour. It had occurred to him that he ought 
 to have asked Guiseley to come to the clergy-house 
 and lodge there for a bit while things were talked 
 over; that he ought, tactfully, to have offered to lend
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 341 
 
 him money, to provide him with a new suit, to make 
 suggestions as to proper employment instead of at 
 the jam factory all those proper, philanthropic 
 and prudent suggestions that a really sensible clergy- 
 man would have made. And yet, somehow, not 
 only had he not made them, but it was obvious and 
 evident when he regarded them that they could not 
 possibly be made. Guiseley (of Drew's) did not 
 require them, he was on another line altogether. 
 . . . And what was that line ? 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter leaned on the gate a full five 
 minutes considering all this. But he arrived at no 
 conclusion.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 '"TT^HE Rector of Merefield was returning from 
 -" a short pastoral visitation towards the close 
 of an afternoon at the beginning of November. 
 His method and aims were very characteristic of 
 himself, since he was one of that numerous class 
 of persons who, interiorly possessing their full 
 share of proper pride, wear exteriorly an appearance 
 of extreme and almost timid humility. The aims of 
 his visiting were, though he was quite unaware 
 of the fact, directed towards encouraging people to 
 hold fast to their proper position in life (for this, 
 after all, is only another name for one's duty to- 
 wards one's neighbor), and his method was to en- 
 gage in general conversation on local topics. There 
 emerged, in this way, information as to the patient's 
 habits and actions; it would thus transpire, for ex- 
 ample, whether the patient had been to church or not, 
 whether there were any quarrels, and, if so, who 
 were the combatants and for what cause. 
 
 He had been fairly satisfied to-day; he had met 
 with good excuses for the absence of two children 
 342
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 343 
 
 from day-school, and of a young man from choir- 
 practice; he had read a little Scripture to an old 
 man, and had been edified by his comments upon it. 
 It was not particularly supernatural, but, after all, 
 the natural has its place, too, in life, and he had un- 
 doubtedly fulfilled to-day some of the duties for 
 whose sake he occupied the position of Rector of 
 Merefield, in a completely inoffensive manner. The 
 things he hated most in the world were disturbances 
 of any kind, abruptness and the unexpected, and he 
 had a strong reputation in the village for being a 
 man of peace. 
 
 It sounds a hard thing to say of so conscientious 
 a man, but a properly preserved social order was 
 perhaps to his mind the nearest approach to the es- 
 tablishment of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. 
 Each person held his proper position, including him- 
 self, and he no more expected others to be untrue 
 to their station than he wished to be untrue to his 
 own. There were, of course, two main divisions 
 those of gentle birth and those not of gentle birth, 
 and these were as distinct as the sexes. But there 
 were endless gradations in each respectively, and 
 he himself regarded those with as much respect as 
 those of the angelic hierarchy : the " Dominations " 
 might, or might not be as " good " as the " Powers," 
 but they were certainly different, by Divine decree. 
 It would be a species of human blasphemy, there-
 
 344 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 fore, for himself not to stand up in Lord Talgarth's 
 presence, or for a laborer not to touch his hat to 
 Miss Jenny. This is sometimes called snobbishness, 
 but it is nothing of the kind. It is merely a marked 
 form of Toryism. 
 
 It was a pleasant autumnal kind of afternoon, 
 and he took off his hat as he turned up past the 
 park gates to feel the cool air, as he was a little 
 heated with his walk. He felt exceedingly content 
 with all things : there were no troubles in the parish, 
 he enjoyed excellent health, and he had just done 
 his duty. He disliked pastoral visiting very deeply 
 indeed; he was essentially a timid kind of man, but 
 he made his rules and kept them, for he was essen- 
 tially a conscientious man. He was so conscien- 
 tious that he was probably quite unaware that he 
 disliked this particular duty. 
 
 Just as he came opposite the gates great iron- 
 work affairs with ramping eagles and a Gothic 
 lodge smothered in ivy the man ran out and be- 
 gan to wheel them back, after a hasty salute to his 
 pastor ; and the Rector, turning, saw a sight that in- 
 creased his complacency. It was just Jenny riding 
 with Lord Talgarth, as he knew she was doing that 
 afternoon. 
 
 They made a handsome, courtly kind of pair a
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 345 
 
 sort of " father and daughter " after some romantic 
 artist or other. Lord Talgarth's heavy figure 
 looked well-proportioned on horseback, and he sat 
 his big black mare very tolerably indeed. And 
 Jenny looked delicious on the white mare, herself 
 in dark green. A groom followed twenty yards 
 behind. 
 
 Lord Talgarth's big face nodded genially to the 
 Rector and he made a kind of salute ; he seemed in 
 excellent dispositions ; Jenny was a little flushed with 
 exercise, and smiled at her father with a quiet, 
 friendly dignity. 
 
 "Just taking her ladyship home," said the old 
 man. . .' . " Yes ; charming day, isn't it ? " 
 
 The Rector followed them, pleased at heart. 
 Usually Jenny rode home alone with the groom to 
 take back her mare to the stables. It was the first 
 time, so far as he could remember, that Lord Tal- 
 garth had taken the trouble to escort her all the way 
 home himself. It really was very pleasant indeed, 
 and very creditable to Jenny's tact, that relations 
 were so cordial. . . . And- they were dining 
 there to-morrow, too. The social order of Mere- 
 field seemed to be in an exceedingly sound condi- 
 tion.
 
 346 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 (n) 
 
 Lord Talgarth, too, seemed to the lodge-keeper, as 
 ten minutes later the gates rolled back again to wel- 
 come their lord, in an unusually genial temper (and, 
 indeed, there was always about this old man as great 
 a capacity for geniality on one side as for temper on 
 the other; it is usually so with explosive characters). 
 He even checked his horse and asked after " the 
 missus " in so many words ; although two days be- 
 fore a violent message had come down to complain 
 of laxity in the gate-opening, owing to the missus' 
 indisposition on an occasion when the official him- 
 self had been digging cabbages behind the Gothic 
 lodge and the hoot of the motor had not been 
 heard. 
 
 The missus, it seemed, was up and about again 
 (indeed her husband caught a glimpse out of the 
 tail of his eye of a pale face that glanced and with- 
 drew again apprehensively above the muslin curtain 
 beyond his lordship). 
 
 "That's all right," remarked Lord Talgarth 
 heartily, and rode on. 
 
 The lodge-keeper exchanged a solemn wink with 
 the groom half a minute later, and stood to watch 
 the heavy figure ahead plunging about rather in the 
 saddle as the big black mare set her feet upon the 
 turf and viewed her stable afar off.
 
 XOM-: OTHKR GODS 347 
 
 It was a fact that Lord Talgarth was pleased with 
 himself and all the world to-day, for he kept it up 
 even with the footman who slipped, and all but lost 
 his balance, as he brought tea into the library. 
 
 "Hold up!" remarked the nobleman. 
 
 The footman smiled gently and weakly, after the 
 manner of a dependent, and related the incident 
 with caustic gusto to his fellows in the pantry. 
 
 After tea Lord Talgarth lay back in his chair 
 and appeared to meditate, as was observed by the 
 man who fetched out the tea-things and poked the 
 fire ; and he was still meditating, though now there 
 was the aromatic smell of tobacco upon the air, 
 when his own man came to tell him that it was time 
 to dress. 
 
 It was indeed a perfect room for arm-chair medi- 
 tations; there were tall book-shelves, mahogany 
 writing-tables, each with its shaded electric lamp; 
 the carpet was as deep as a summer lawn ; and in the 
 wide hearth logs consumed themselves in an almost 
 deferential silence. There was every conceivable 
 thing that could be wanted laid in its proper place. 
 It was the kind of room in which it would seem that 
 no scheme could miscarry and every wish must pre- 
 vail ; the objective physical world grouped itself so 
 obediently to the human will that it was almost im- 
 possible to imagine a state of things in which it did 
 not so. The great house was admirably ordered;
 
 348 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 there was no sound that there should not be no 
 hitches, no gaps or cracks anywhere; it moved like 
 a well-oiled machine ; the gong, sounded in the great 
 hall, issued invitations rather than commands. All 
 was leisurely, perfectly adapted and irreproach- 
 able. 
 
 It is always more difficult for people who live in 
 such houses as these to behave well under adverse 
 fortune than for those who live in houses where the 
 Irish stew can be smelled at eleven o'clock in the 
 morning, and where the doors do not shut prop- 
 erly, and the kitchen range goes wrong. Possibly 
 something of this fact helped to explain the owner's 
 extreme violence of temper on the occasion of his 
 son's revolt. It was intolerable for a man all of 
 whose other surroundings moved like clockwork, 
 obedient to his whims, to be disobeyed flatly by one 
 whose obedience should be his first duty to find 
 disorder and rebellion in the very mainspring of the 
 whole machine. 
 
 Possibly, too, the little scheme that was maturing 
 in Lord Talgarth's mind between tea and dinner 
 that evening helped to restore his geniality ; for, as 
 soon as the thought was conceived, it became 
 obvious that it could be carried through with suc- 
 cess.
 
 NONK OTHER GODS 349 
 
 He observed : " Aha ! it's time, is it ? " to his man 
 in a hearty kind of way, and hoisted himself out of 
 his chair with unusual briskness. 
 
 (in) 
 
 He spent a long evening again in the library alone 
 Archie was away; and after dining alone with alt 
 the usual state, the old man commanded that coffee 
 should be brought after him. The butler found 
 him, five minutes later, kneeling before a tall case 
 of drawers, trying various keys off his bunch, and 
 when the man came to bring in whisky and clear 
 away the coffee things he was in his deep chair, a 
 table on either side of him piled with papers, and 
 a drawer upon his knees. 
 
 " You can put this lot back," he remarked to the 
 young footman, indicating a little pile of four draw- 
 ers on the hearth-rug. He watched the man medi- 
 tatively as he attempted to fit them into their places. 
 
 " Not that way, you fool ! Haven't you got 
 eyes? . . . The top one at the top !" 
 
 But he said it without bitterness almost con- 
 templatively. And, as the butler glanced round a 
 moment or t\vo later to see that all was in order, 
 he saw his master once more beginning to read 
 papers. 
 
 " Good-night." said Lord Talgarth. 
 
 " Good-night, my lord," said the butler.
 
 350 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 There was a good deal of discussion that night 
 in the men's wing as to the meaning of all this, and 
 it was conducted with complete frankness. Mr. 
 Merton, the butler, had retired to his own house in 
 the stable-yard, and Mr. Clarkson, the valet, was 
 in his lordship's dressing-room; so the men talked 
 freely. It was agreed that only two explanations 
 were possible for the unusual sweetness of temper: 
 either Mr. Frank was to be reinstated, or his father 
 was beginning to break up. Frank was extremely 
 popular with servants always; and it was generally 
 hoped that the former explanation was the true one. 
 Possibly, however, both were required. 
 
 Mr. Clarkson too was greatly intrigue that night. 
 He yawned about the dressing-room till an unusu- 
 ally late hour, for Lord Talgarth generally retired 
 to rest between ten and half -past. To-night, how- 
 ever, it was twenty minutes to twelve before the 
 man stood up suddenly from the sofa at the sound 
 of a vibration in the passage outside. The old man 
 came in briskly, bearing a bundle of papers in one 
 hand and a bed-candle in the other, with the same 
 twinkle of good temper in his eyes that he had car- 
 ried all the evening. 
 
 " Give me the dispatch-box under the sofa," he 
 said; " the one in the leather case." 
 
 This was done and the papers \vere laid in it,
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 351 
 
 carefully, on the top. Mr. Clarkson noticed that 
 they had a legal appearance, were long-shaped and 
 inscribed in stiff lettering. Then the dispatch-box 
 was reclosed and set on the writing-table which my 
 lord used sometimes when he was unwell. 
 
 " Remind me to send for Mr. Manners to-mor- 
 row," he said. (This was the solicitor.) 
 
 Getting ready for bed that evening was almost 
 of a sensational nature, and Mr. Clarkson had to 
 keep all his wits about him to respond with suffi- 
 cient agility to the sallies of his master. Usually it 
 was all a very somber ceremony, with a good deal of 
 groaning and snarling in asides. But to-night it 
 was as cheerful as possible. 
 
 The mysteries of it all are too great for me to 
 attempt to pierce them; but it is really incredible 
 what a number of processes are necessary before an 
 oldish man, who is something of a buck and some- 
 thing of an invalid, and altogether self-centered, is 
 able to lay him down to rest. There are strange 
 doses to be prepared and drunk, strange manipula- 
 tions to be performed and very particular little 
 ceremonies to be observed, each in its proper place. 
 Each to-night was accompanied by some genial com- 
 ment : the senna-pod distillation, that had been soak- 
 ing since seven p. m. in hot water, was drunk almost 
 with the air of a toast; the massaging of the ankles
 
 352 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 and toes (an exercise invented entirely by Lord 
 Talgarth himself) might have been almost in prepa- 
 ration for a dance. 
 
 He stood up at last, an erect, stoutish figure, in 
 quilted dressing-gown and pyjamas, before the fire, 
 as his man put on his slippers for him, for the little 
 procession into the next room. 
 
 " I think I'm better to-night, Clarkson," he said. 
 
 " Your lordship seems very well indeed, my lord," 
 murmured that diplomat on the hearth-rug. 
 
 " How old do you think I am, Clarkson? " 
 
 Clarkson knew perfectly well, but it was better 
 to make a deprecatory confused noise. 
 
 " Ah ! well, we needn't reckon by years ... I 
 feel young enough," observed the stately figure be- 
 fore the fire. 
 
 Then the procession was formed : the double doors 
 were set back, the electric light switched on; Lord 
 Talgarth passed through towards the great four- 
 posted bed that stood out into the bedroom, and was 
 in bed, with scarcely a groan, almost before the 
 swift Mr. Clarkson could be at his side to help him 
 in. He lay there, his ruddy face wonderfully hand- 
 some against the contrast of his gray hair and the 
 white pillow, while Mr. Clarkson concluded the 
 other and final ceremonies. A small table had to 
 be wheeled to a certain position beside the bed,
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 353 
 
 and the handle of the electric cord laid upon it in 
 a particular place, between the book and the tray 
 on which stood some other very special draught 
 t> he drunk in case of thirst. 
 
 " Call me a quarter of an hour earlier than us- 
 ual," observed the face on the pillow. " I'll take 
 a little stroll before breakfast." 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 " What did I tell you to remind me to do after 
 breakfast?" 
 
 " Send for Mr. Manners, my lord." 
 
 " That's right. Good-night, Clarkson." 
 
 " Good-night, my lord." 
 
 There was the usual discreet glance round the 
 room to see that all was in order; then the door 
 into the dressing-room closed imperceptibly behind 
 Mr. Clarkson's bent back.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 TT71NTER at Merefield Rectory is almost as 
 delightful as summer, although in an en- 
 tirely different way. The fact is that the Rectory 
 has managed the perfect English compromise. In 
 summer, with the windows and doors wide open, 
 with the heavy radiant creepers, with the lawns 
 lying about the house, with the warm air flowing 
 over the smooth, polished floors and lifting the thin 
 mats, with the endless whistle of bird song then 
 the place seems like a summer-house. And in win- 
 ter, with the heavy carpets down, and the thick 
 curtains, the very polished floors, so cool in summer, 
 seem expressly designed to glimmer warmly with 
 candle- and fire-light; and the books seem to lean 
 forward protectively and reassert themselves, and 
 the low beamed ceilings to shelter and safeguard 
 the interior comfort. The center of gravity is 
 changed almost imperceptibly. In summer the 
 place is a garden with a house in the middle; in 
 winter a house surrounded by shrubberies. 
 354
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 355 
 
 The study in one way and the morning-room in 
 another are the respective pivots of the house. The 
 study is a little paneled room on the ground-floor, 
 looking out upon the last of the line of old yews 
 and the beginning of the lawn; the morning-room 
 ( once known as the school-room ) is the only other 
 paneled room in the house, on the first floor, look- 
 ing out upon the front. And round these two 
 rooms the two sections of the house-life tranquilly 
 revolve. Here in one the Rector controls the af- 
 fairs of the parish, writes his sermons, receives his 
 men friends (not very many), and reads his books. 
 There in the other Jenny orders the domestic life of 
 the house, interviews the cook, and occupies herself 
 with her own affairs. They are two rival, but per- 
 fectly friendly, camps. 
 
 Lately (I am speaking now of the beginning of 
 November) there had not been quite so much com- 
 munication between the two camps as usual, not 
 so many informal negotiations. Jenny did not look 
 in quite so often upon her father for ten min- 
 utes after breakfast, for instance, or before lunch 
 and when he looked in on her he seemed to find 
 her generally with rather a preoccupied air, often 
 sitting before the wide-arched fireplace, with her 
 hands behind her head, looking at the red logs. 
 
 He was an easy man, as has been seen, and did
 
 356 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 not greatly trouble his head about it: he knew 
 enough of the world to recognize that an extremely 
 beautiful girl like Jenny, living on the terms she 
 did with the great house and a house with men 
 coming and going continually, to say nothing of 
 lawn-tennis parties and balls elsewhere cannot 
 altogether escape complications. He was reason- 
 able enough, too, to understand that a father is not 
 always the best confidant, and he had supreme con- 
 fidence in Jenny's common sense. 
 
 I suppose he had his dreams; he would scarcely 
 have been human if he had not, and he was quite 
 human. The throwing over of Frank had brought 
 him mixed emotions, but he had not been consulted 
 either at the beginning or the end of the engage- 
 ment, and he acquiesced. Of Dick's affair he knew 
 nothing at all. 
 
 That, then, was the situation when the bomb ex- 
 ploded. It exploded in this way. 
 
 He was sitting in his study one morning to be 
 accurate, it was the first Saturday in November, 
 two days after the events of the last chapter 
 preparing to begin the composition of his sermon 
 for the next day. They had dined up at the great 
 house the night before quite quietly with Lord Tal- 
 garth and Archie, who had just come back. 
 
 He had selected his text with great care from
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 357 
 
 the Gospel for the day, when the door suddenly 
 opened and Jenny came in. This was very unusual 
 on Saturday morning; it was an understood thing 
 that he must be at his sermon; but his faint sense 
 of annoyance was completely dispelled by his daugh- 
 ter's face. She was quite pale not exactly as if 
 she had received a shock, but as if she had made 
 up her mind to something; there was no sign of 
 tremor in her face ; on the contrary, she looked ex- 
 tremely determined, but her eyes searched his as 
 she stopped. 
 
 " I'm dreadfully sorry, father, but may I talk to 
 you for a few minutes ? " 
 
 She did not wait for his answer, but came straight 
 in and sat down in his easy-chair. He laid his pen 
 down and turned a little at his writing-table to face 
 her. 
 
 " Certainly, dear. What is it ? Nothing 
 wrong? " 
 
 (He noticed she had a note in her hand.) 
 
 " No, nothing wrong. . . ." She hesitated. 
 " But it's rather important." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 She glanced down at the note she carried. Then 
 she looked up at him again. 
 
 " Father, I suppose you've thought of my marry- 
 ing some day in spite of Frank?"
 
 358 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " Would you mind if I married a man older than 
 myself I mean a good deal older? " 
 
 He looked at her in silence. Two or three names 
 passed before his mind, but he couldn't remember 
 
 " Father, I'm in trouble. I really am. I didn't 
 expect " 
 
 Her voice faltered. He saw that she really 
 found it difficult to speak. A little wave of ten- 
 derness rolled over his heart. It was unlike her 
 to be so much moved. He got up and came round 
 to her. 
 
 "What is it, dear? Tell me." 
 
 She remained perfectly motionless for an instant. 
 Then she held out the note to him, and simultane- 
 ously stood up. . As he took it, she went swiftly 
 past him and out of the door. He heard the swish 
 of her dress pass up the stairs, and then the closing 
 of a door. But he hardly heeded it. He was read- 
 ing the note she had given him. It was a short, 
 perfectly formal offer of marriage to her from 
 Lord Talgarth. 
 
 (n) 
 
 " Father, dear," said Jenny, " I want you to let 
 me have my say straight out, will you ? " 
 He bowed his head.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 359 
 
 They were sitting, on the evening of the same 
 day, over the tea-things in his study. He had not 
 seen her alone for one moment since the morning. 
 She had refused to open her door to him when he 
 went up after reading the note: she had pleaded 
 a headache at lunch, and she had been invisible all 
 the afternoon. Then, as he came in about tea- 
 time, she had descended upon him, rather pale, but 
 perfectly herself, perfectly natural, and even rather 
 high-Spirited. She had informed him that tea 
 would be laid in his study, as she wanted a long 
 talk. She had poured out tea, talking all the time, 
 refusing, it seemed, to meet his eyes. When she 
 had finished, she had poured out his third cup, and 
 then pushed her own low chair back so far that he 
 could not see her face. 
 
 Then she had opened the engagement. 
 
 To say that the poor man had been taken aback 
 would be a very poor way of describing his con- 
 dition. The thing simply had never entered his 
 head. He had dreamed, in wild moments, of 
 Archie; he had certainly contemplated Dick; but 
 Lord Talgarth himself, gouty and aged sixty-five! 
 . . . And yet he had not been indignant. In- 
 dignation not only did not do with Jenny, but it 
 was impossible. To be quite frank, the man was 
 afraid of his daughter; he was aware that she
 
 362 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 . . . " And that, of course, is perhaps the 
 strongest argument of all. If I could be of any 
 real use to him " She stopped again. 
 
 The Rector shifted a little in his chair. 
 
 It was impossible for him to conceal from him- 
 self any longer the fact that up to now he had really 
 been expecting Jenny to accept the offer. But he was 
 a little puzzled now at the admirable array of reasons 
 she had advanced against that. She had put into 
 words just the sensible view of which he himself 
 had only had a confused apprehension; she had 
 analyzed into all its component parts that general 
 sense which one side of him had pushed before him 
 all day that the thing was really abominable. 
 And this side of him at this time was uppermost. 
 He drew a whistling breath. 
 
 " Well, my dear," he began, and the relief was 
 very apparent in his voice. But Jenny interrupted. 
 
 " One minute, please, father ! In fairness to 
 to everyone I must put the other side. ... I 
 suppose the main question is this, after all. Am I 
 fond of him? fond enough, that is, to marry 
 him because, of course, I'm fond of him; he's 
 been so extraordinarily kind always. ... I 
 suppose that's really the only thing to be consid- 
 ered. If I were fond enough of him, I suppose 
 all the arguments against count for nothing. Isn't
 
 NONK OTHER GODS 363 
 
 that so? . . . Yes; I want you to say what 
 you think." 
 
 He waited. Still he could make out nothing of 
 her face, though he glanced across the tea-things 
 once or twice. 
 
 " My dear, I don't know what to say. I ' 
 
 " Father, dear, I just want that from you. Do 
 you think that any consideration at all ought to stand 
 in the way, if I were I don't say for one single 
 moment that I am but if I were well, really 
 fond of him? I'm sorry to have to speak so very 
 plainly, but it's no good being silly." 
 
 He swallowed in his throat once or twice. 
 
 "If you really were fond of him I think 
 . . . I think that no consideration of the sort 
 you have mentioned ought to ... to stand in 
 your way." 
 
 " Thank you, father," said Jenny softly. 
 
 " When did you first think of it? " 
 
 Jenny paused. 
 
 " I think I knew he was going to ask me two 
 days ago the day you met us out riding, you 
 know." 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 They had already discussed, when Frank's af- 
 fair had been before them, all secondary details.
 
 362 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 . . . " And that, of course, is perhaps the 
 strongest argument of all. If I could be of any 
 real use to him " She stopped again. 
 
 The Rector shifted a little in his chair. 
 
 It was impossible for him to conceal from him- 
 self any longer the fact that up to now he had really 
 been expecting Jenny to accept the offer. But he was 
 a little puzzled now at the admirable array of reasons 
 she had advanced against that. She had put into 
 words just the sensible view of which he himself 
 had only had a confused apprehension; she had 
 analyzed into all its component parts that general 
 sense which one side of him had pushed before him 
 all day that the thing was really abominable. 
 And this side of him at this time was uppermost. 
 He drew a whistling breath. 
 
 " Well, my dear," he began, and the relief was 
 very apparent in his voice. But Jenny interrupted. 
 
 " One minute, please, father ! In fairness to 
 to everyone I must put the other side. ... I 
 suppose the main question is this, after all. Am I 
 fond of him? fond enough, that is, to marry 
 him because, of course, I'm fond of him; he's 
 been so extraordinarily kind always. ... I 
 suppose that's really the only thing to be consid- 
 ered. If I were fond enough of him, I suppose 
 all the arguments against count for nothing. Isn't
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 363 
 
 that so? . . . Yes; I want you to say \vhat 
 you think." 
 
 He waited. Still he could make out nothing of 
 her face, though he glanced across the tea-things 
 once or twice. 
 
 " My dear, I don't know what to say. I ' 
 
 " Father, dear, I just want that from you. Do 
 you think that any consideration at all ought to stand 
 in the way, if I were I don't say for one single 
 moment that I am but if I were well, really 
 fond of him? I'm sorry to have to speak so very 
 plainly, but it's no good being silly." 
 
 He swallowed in his throat once or twice. 
 
 "If you really were fond of him I think 
 . . . I think that no consideration of the sort 
 you have mentioned ought to ... to stand in 
 your way." 
 
 " Thank you, father," said Jenny softly. 
 
 " When did you first think of it? " 
 
 Jenny paused. 
 
 " I think I knew lie was going to ask me two 
 days ago the day you met us out riding, you 
 know." 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 They had already discussed, when Frank's af- 
 fair had been before them, all secondary details.
 
 364 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 The Rector's sister was to have taken Jenny's place. 
 There was nothing of that sort to talk about now. 
 They were both just face to face with primary 
 things, and they both knew it. 
 
 The Rector's mind worked like a mill a mill 
 whose machinery is running aimlessly. The wheels 
 went round and round, but they effected nothing. 
 He was completely ignorant as to what Jenny in- 
 tended. He perceived as in a series of little 
 vignettes a number of hypothetical events, on 
 this side and that, but they drew to no conclusion 
 in his mind. He was just waiting on his daughter's 
 will. 
 
 Jenny broke the silence with a slow remark in 
 another kind of voice. 
 
 " Father, dear, there's something else I must tell 
 you. I didn't see any need to bother you with it 
 before. It's this. Mr. Dick Guiseley proposed to 
 me when he was here for the shooting." 
 
 She paused, but her father said nothing. 
 
 " I told him he must wait that I didn't know 
 for certain, but that I was almost certain. If he 
 had pressed for an answer I should have said ' No.' 
 Oddly enough, I was thinking only yesterday that 
 it wasn't fair to keep him waiting any longer. Be- 
 cause . . . because it's ' No ' any- 
 how, now."
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 365 
 
 The Rector still could not speak. It was just 
 one bewilderment. But apparently Jenny did not 
 want any comments. 
 
 " That being so," she went on serenely, " my 
 conscience is clear, anyhow. And I mustn't let 
 what I think Mr. Dick might say or think affect 
 me any more than the other things. Must I ? " 
 
 ". . . Jenny, what are you going to do? Tell 
 me!" 
 
 " Father, dear," came the high astonished voice, 
 " I don't know. I don't know at all. I must think. 
 Did you think I'd made up my mind? Why! 
 How could I? Of course I should say ' No' if I 
 had to answer now." 
 
 " I " began the Rector and stopped. He per- 
 ceived that the situation could easily be compli- 
 cated. 
 
 " I must just think about it quietly," went on 
 the girl. " And I must write a note to say so. 
 . . . Father . . ." 
 
 He glanced in her direction. 
 
 " Father, about being fond of a man. . . . 
 Xeecl it be well, as I was fond of Frank? I 
 don't think Lord Talgarth could have expected 
 that, could he? But if you well get on with 
 a man very well, understand him can stand up 
 to him without annoying him . . . and . . . 
 and care for him, really, I mean, in such a way
 
 3 66 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 that you like being with him very much, and look 
 up to him very much in all kinds of ways (I'm 
 very sorry to have to talk like this, but whom am 
 I to talk to, father dear?) Well, if I found I did 
 care for Lord Talgarth like that like a sort of 
 daughter, or niece, and more than that too, would 
 that " 
 
 " I don't know," said the Rector, abruptly stand- 
 ing up. " I don't know ; you mustn't ask me. You 
 must settle all that yourself." 
 
 She looked up at him, startled, it seemed, by the 
 change in his manner. 
 
 " Father, dear " she began, with just the faint- 
 est touch of pathetic reproach in her voice. But 
 he did not appear moved by it. 
 
 " You must settle," he said. " You have all the 
 data. I haven't. I " 
 
 He stepped towards the door. 
 
 " Tell me as soon as you have decided," he said, 
 and went out. 
 
 (in) 
 
 The little brown dog called Lama, who in an 
 earlier chapter once trotted across a lawn, and who 
 had lately been promoted to sleeping upon Jenny's 
 bed, awoke suddenly that night and growled a low
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 367 
 
 breathy remonstrance. He had been abruptly 
 kicked from beneath the bedclothes. 
 
 " Get off, you heavy little beast," said a voice in 
 the darkness. 
 
 Lama settled himself again with a grunt, half of 
 comfort, half of complaint. 
 
 " Get off! " came the voice again, and again his 
 ribs were heaved at by a foot. 
 
 He considered it a moment or two, and even 
 shifted nearer the wall, still blind with sleep; but 
 the foot pursued him, and he awoke finally to the 
 conviction that it would be more comfortable by 
 the fire; there was a white sheepskin there, he re- 
 flected. As he finally reached the ground, a scratch- 
 ing was heard in the corner, and he was instantly 
 alert, and the next moment had fitted his nose, like 
 a kind of india-rubber pad, deep into a small mouse- 
 hole in the wainscoting, and was breathing long 
 noisy sighs down into the delicious and gamey- 
 smelling darkness. 
 
 " Oh ! be quiet ! " came a voice from the bed. 
 
 Lama continued his investigations unmoved, and 
 having decided, after one long final blow, that there 
 was to be no sport, returned to the sheepskin with 
 that brisk independent air that was so characteristic 
 of him. He was completely awake now, and 
 stood eyeing the bed a moment, with the possibility
 
 368 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 in his mind that his mistress was asleep again, and 
 that by a very gentle leap But a match was 
 struck abruptly, and he lay down, looking, with that 
 appearance of extreme wide-awakedness in his black 
 eyes that animals always w r ear at night, at his rest- 
 less mistress. 
 
 He could not quite understand what was the 
 matter. 
 
 First she lit a caridle, took a book from the small 
 table by the bed and began to read resolutely. This 
 continued till Lama's eyes began to blink at the 
 candle flame, and then he was suddenly aware that 
 the light was out and the book closed, and all fallen 
 back again into the clear gray tones which men call' 
 darkness. 
 
 He put his head down on his paws, but his eye- 
 brows rose now and again as he glanced at the 
 bed. 
 
 Then the candle was lighted again after a cer- 
 tain space of time, but this time there was no book 
 opened. Instead, his mistress took her arms out of 
 bed, and clasped them behind her head, staring up 
 at the ceiling. . . v 
 
 This was tiresome, as the light was in his eyes, 
 and his body was just inert enough with sleep to 
 make movement something of an effort. 
 Little by little, however, his eyebrows came down, 
 remained down, and his eyes closed. . . .
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 369 
 
 He awoke again at a sound. The candle was 
 still burning, but his mistress had rolled over on 
 to her side and seemed to be talking gently to her- 
 self. Then she was over again on this side, and a 
 minute later was out of bed, and walking to and 
 fro noiselessly on the soft carpet. 
 
 He watched her with interest, his eyes only fol- 
 lowing her. He had never yet fully understood 
 this mysterious change of aspect that took place 
 every night the white thin dress, the altered ap- 
 pearance of the head, and most mysterious of 
 all the two white things that ought to be feet, 
 but were no longer hard and black. He had licked 
 one of them once tentatively, and had found that 
 the effect was that it had curled up suddenly ; there 
 had been a sound as of pain overhead, and a swift 
 slap had descended upon him. 
 
 He was observing these things now to and fro, 
 to and fro and his eyes moved with them. 
 
 After a certain space of time the movement 
 stopped. She was standing still near a carved desk 
 important because a mouse had once been de- 
 scribed sitting beneath it; and she stood so long 
 that his eyes began to blink once more. Then 
 there was a rustle of paper being torn, and he was 
 alert again in a moment. Perhaps paper would be 
 thrown for him presently. . . .
 
 370 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 She came across to the hearth-rug, and he was 
 up, watching her hands, while his own short tail 
 flickered three or four times in invitation. But it 
 was no good : the ball was crumpled up and thrown 
 on to the red logs. There was a " whup " from the 
 fire and a flame shot up. He looked at this care- 
 fully with his head on one side, and again lay down 
 to watch it. His mistress was standing quite still, 
 watching it with him. 
 
 Then, as the flame died down, she turned 
 abruptly, went straight back to the bed, got into it, 
 drew the clothes over her and blew the candle out. 
 
 After a few moments steady staring at the fire, 
 he perceived that a part of the ball of paper had 
 rolled out on to the stone hearth unburned. He 
 looked at it for some while, wondering whether 
 it was worth getting up for. Certainly the warmth 
 was delicious and the sheepskin exquisitely soft. 
 
 There was no sound from the bed. A complete 
 and absolute silence had succeeded to all the rest- 
 lessness. 
 
 Finally he concluded that it was impossible to lie 
 there any longer and watch such a crisp little roll 
 of paper still untorn. He got up, stepped delicately 
 on to the wide hearth, and pulled the paper towards 
 him with a little scratching sound. There was a 
 sigh from the bed, and he paused. Then he lifted
 
 XUXK OT11KR GODS 371 
 
 it, stepped back to his warm place, lay down, and 
 placing his paws firmly upon the paper, began to 
 tear scraps out of it with his white teeth. 
 
 " Oh, be quiet! " came the weary voice from the 
 bed. 
 
 He paused, considered; then he tore two more 
 pieces. But it did not taste as it should; it was a 
 little sticky, and too stiff. He stood up once more, 
 turned round four times and lay down with a small 
 grant 
 
 In the morning the maid who swept up the ashes 
 swept up these fragments too. She noticed a wet 
 scrap of a picture postcard, with the word " Selby " 
 printed in the corner. Then she threw that piece, 
 too, into the dustpan.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 (i) 
 
 1%/TRS. PARTINGTON and Gertie had many 
 ** of those mysterious conversations that such 
 women have, full of " he's " and " she's " and nods 
 and becks and allusions and broken sentences, 
 wholly unintelligible to the outsider, yet packed 
 with interest to the talkers. The Major, Mr. Part- 
 ington (still absent), and Frank were discussed 
 continually and exhaustively ; and, so far as the sub- 
 jects themselves ranged, there was hardly an un- 
 important detail that did not come under notice, 
 and hardly an important fact that did. Gertie of- 
 ficially passed, of course, as Mrs. Trustcott always. 
 A couple of mornings after Frank had begun his 
 work at the jam factory, Mrs. Partington, who had 
 stepped round the corner to talk with a friend for 
 an hour or so, returned to find Gertie raging. She 
 raged in her own way ; she was as white as a sheet ; 
 she uttered ironical and unintelligible sentences, 
 in which Frank's name appeared repeatedly, and 
 it emerged presently that one of the Mission-ladies 
 had been round minding other folks' business, and 
 372
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 373 
 
 that Gertie would thank that lady to keep her airs 
 and her advice to herself. 
 
 Now Mrs. Partington knew that Gertie was not 
 the Major's wife, and Gertie knew that she knew 
 it; and Mrs. Partington knew that Gertie knew 
 that she knew it. Yet, officially, all was perfectly 
 correct; Gertie wore a wedding-ring, and there 
 never was the hint that she had not a right to it. 
 It was impossible, therefore, for Mrs. Partington 
 to observe out loud that she understood perfectly 
 what the Mission-lady had been talking about. 
 She said very little; she pressed her thin lips to- 
 gether and let Gertie alone. The conversations 
 that morning were of the nature of disconnected 
 monologues from Gertie with long silences between. 
 
 It was an afternoon of silent storm. The Major 
 was away in the West End somewhere on mysteri- 
 ous affairs; the children were at school, and the 
 two women went about, each knowing what was in 
 the mind of the other, yet each resolved to keep- up 
 appearances. 
 
 At half-past five o'clock Frank abruptly came in 
 for a cup of tea, and Mrs. Partington gave it him 
 in silence. (Gertie could be heard moving about 
 restlessly overhead.) She made one or two or- 
 dinary remarks, watching Frank when he was not 
 looking. But Frank said very little. He sat up 
 to the table; he drank two cups of tea out of the
 
 374 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 chipped enamel mug, and then he set to work on 
 his kippered herring. At this point Mrs. Parting- 
 ton left the room, as if casually, and a minute later 
 Gertie came downstairs. 
 
 She came in with an indescribable air of virtue, 
 rather white in the face, with her small chin care- 
 fully thrust out and her eyelids drooping. It was 
 a pose she was accustomed to admire in high- 
 minded and aristocratic barmaids. Frank nodded 
 at her and uttered a syllable or two of greeting. 
 
 She said nothing ; she went round to the window, 
 carrying a white cotton blouse she had been wash- 
 ing upstairs, and hung it on the clothes-line that 
 ran inside the window. Then, still affecting to be 
 busy with it, she fired her first shot, with her back 
 to him. 
 
 " I'll thank you to let my business alone. 
 
 > 
 
 (Frank put another piece of herring into his 
 mouth. ) 
 
 ". . . And not to send round any more of 
 your nasty cats," added Gertie after a pause. 
 
 There was silence from Frank. 
 
 "Well?" snapped Gertie. 
 
 " How dare you talk like that ! " said Frank, per- 
 fectly quietly. 
 
 He spoke so low that Gertie mistook his attitude,
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 375 
 
 and, leaning her hands on the table, she poured out 
 the torrent that had been gathering within her ever 
 since the Mission-lady had left her at eleven o'clock 
 that morning. The lady had not been tactful; she 
 was quite new to the work, and quite fresh from a 
 women's college, and she had said a great deal 
 more than she ought, with an earnest smile upon 
 her face that she had thought conciliatory and per- 
 suasive. Gertie dealt with her faithfully now; she 
 sketched her character as she believed it to be ; she 
 traced her motives and her attitude to life with an 
 extraordinary wealth of detail; she threw in de- 
 scriptive passages of her personal appearance, and 
 she stated, with extreme frankness, her opinion of 
 such persons as she had thought friendly, but now 
 discovered to be hypocritical parsons in disguise. 
 Unhappily I have not the skill to transcribe her 
 speech in full, and there are other reasons, too, why 
 her actual words are best unreported : they were ex- 
 tremely picturesque. 
 
 Frank ate on quietly till he had finished his her- 
 ring; then he drank his last cup of tea, and turned 
 a little in his chair towards the fire. He glanced at 
 the clock, perceiving that he had still ten minutes, 
 just as Gertie ended and stood back shaking and 
 pale-eyed. 
 
 "Is that all?" he asked. 
 
 It seemed it was not all, and Gertie began again,
 
 3 ;6 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 this time on a slightly higher note, and with a 
 little color in her face. Frank waited, quite simply 
 and without ostentation. She finished. 
 
 After a moment's pause Frank answered. 
 
 " I don't know what you want," he said. " I 
 talked to you myself, and you wouldn't listen. So 
 I thought perhaps another woman would do it bet- 
 ter " 
 
 " I did listen " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Frank instantly. " I 
 was wrong. You did listen, and very patiently. I 
 meant that you wouldn't do what I said. And so I 
 thought " 
 
 Gertie burst out again, against cats and sneaking 
 hypocrites, but there was not quite the same venom 
 in her manner. 
 
 " Very good," said Frank. " Then I won't make 
 the mistake again. I am very sorry not in the 
 least for having interfered, you understand, but 
 for not having tried again myself." (He took up 
 his cap.) "You'll soon give in, Gertie, you know. 
 Don't you think so yourself?" 
 
 Gertie looked at him in silence. 
 
 " You understand, naturally, why I can't talk to 
 you while the Major's here. But the next time I 
 have a chance " 
 
 The unlatched door was pushed open and the 
 Major came in.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 377 
 
 (n) 
 
 There was an uncomfortable little pause for a 
 moment. It is extremely doubtful, even now, ex- 
 actly how much the Major heard ; but he must have 
 heard something, and to a man of his mind the sit- 
 uation that he found must have looked extremely 
 suspicious. Gertie, flushed now, with emotion very 
 plainly visible in her bright eyes, was standing look- 
 ing at Frank, who, it appeared, was a little discon- 
 certed. It would have been almost miraculous if 
 the Major had not been convinced that he had inter- 
 rupted a little private love-making. 
 
 It is rather hard to analyze the Major's attitude 
 towards Gertie; but what is certain is that the 
 idea of anyone else making love to her was simply 
 intolerable. Certainly he did not treat her with any 
 great chivalry ; he made her carry the heavier bun- 
 dles on the tramp; he behaved to her with consid- 
 erable disrespect; he discussed her freely with his 
 friends on convivial occasions. But she was his 
 property his and no one else's. He had had his 
 suspicions before; he had come in quietly just now 
 on purpose, and he had found himself confronted 
 by this very peculiar little scene. 
 
 He looked at them both in silence. Then his 
 
 lips sneered like a dog's. 
 25
 
 378 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Pardon me," he said, with extreme politeness. 
 " I appear to be interrupting a private conversa- 
 tion." 
 
 No one said anything. Frank leaned his elbow 
 on the mantelpiece. 
 
 " It was private, then? " continued the Major with 
 all the poisonous courtesy at his command. 
 
 " Yes ; it was private," said Frank shortly. 
 
 The Major put his bowler hat carefully upon the 
 table. 
 
 " Gertie, my dear," he said. " Will you be good 
 enough to leave us for an instant ? I regret having 
 to trouble you." 
 
 Gertie breathed rather rapidly for a moment or 
 two. She was not altogether displeased. She un- 
 derstood perfectly, and it seemed to her rather pleas- 
 ant that two men should get into this kind of situa- 
 tion over her. She was aware that trouble would 
 come to herself later, probably in the form of per- 
 sonal chastisement, but to the particular kind of 
 feminine temperament that she possessed even a 
 beating was not wholly painful, and the cheap kind 
 of drama in which she found herself was wholly at- 
 tractive. After an instant's pause, she cast towards 
 Frank what she believed to be a " proud " glance and 
 marched out. 
 
 "If you've got much to say," said Frank rapidly, 
 as the door closed, " you'd better keep it for this
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 379 
 
 evening. I've got to go in . . . in two min- 
 utes." 
 
 " Two minutes will be ample," said the Major 
 softly. 
 
 Frank waited. 
 
 " When I find a friend," went on the other, " en- 
 gaged in an apparently exciting kind of conversa- 
 tion, which he informs me is private, with one who 
 is in the position of my wife particularly when I 
 catch a sentence or two obviously not intended for 
 my ears I do not ask what was the subject of the 
 conversation, but I " 
 
 " My dear man," said Frank, " do put it more 
 simply." 
 
 The Major was caught, so to speak, full in the 
 wind. His face twitched with anger. 
 
 Then he flung an oath at Frank. 
 
 " If I catch you at it again," he said, " there'll be 
 trouble. God damn you ! " 
 
 " That is as it may be," said Frank. 
 
 The Major had had just one drink too much, and 
 he was in the kind of expansive mood that changes 
 very rapidly. 
 
 " Can you tell me you were not trying to take her 
 from me?" he cried, almost with pathos in his 
 voice. 
 
 This was, of course, exactly what Frank had been 
 trying to do.
 
 380 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " You can't deny it ! . . . Then I tell you 
 this, Mr. Frankie " the Major sprang up "one 
 word more from you to her on that subject . . . 
 and . . . and you'll know it. D'you under- 
 stand me ? " 
 
 He thrust his face forward almost into Frank's. 
 
 It was an unpleasant face at most times, but it 
 was really dangerous now. His lips lay back, and 
 the peculiar hot smell of spirit breathed into Frank's 
 nostrils. Frank turned and looked into his eyes. 
 
 " I understand you perfectly," he said. " There's 
 no need to say any more. And now, if you'll for- 
 give me, I must get back to my work." 
 
 He took up his cap and went out. 
 
 The Major, as has been said, had had one glass 
 too much, and he had, accordingly, put into words 
 what, even in his most suspicious moments, he had 
 intended to keep to himself. It might be said, too, 
 that he had put into words what he did not really 
 think. But the Major was, like everyone else, for 
 good or evil, a complex character, and found it per- 
 fectly possible both to believe and disbelieve the 
 same idea simultaneously. It depended in what 
 stratum the center of gravity happened to be tempo- 
 rarily suspended. One large part of the Major 
 knew perfectly well, therefore, that any jealousy of 
 Frank was simply ridiculous the thing was sim-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 381 
 
 ply alien; and another part, not so large, but ten 
 times more concentrated, judged Frank by the 
 standards by which the Major (qua blackguard) 
 conducted his life. For people who lived usually 
 in that stratum, making love to Gertie, under such 
 circumstances, would have been an eminently natu- 
 ral thing to do, and, just now, the Major chose to 
 place Frank amongst them. 
 
 The Major himself was completely unaware of 
 these psychological distinctions, and, as he sat, sunk 
 in his chair, brooding, before stepping out to attend 
 to Gertie, he was entirely convinced that his sus- 
 picions were justified. It seemed to him now that 
 numberless little details out of the past fitted, with 
 the smoothness of an adjusted puzzle, into the 
 framework of his thought. 
 
 There was, first, the very remarkable fact that 
 Frank, in spite of opportunities to better himself, 
 had remained in their company. At Barham, at 
 Doctor Whitty's, at the monastery, obvious chances 
 had offered themselves and he had not taken them. 
 Then there were the small acts of courtesy, the 
 bearing of Gertie's bundles two or three times. 
 Finally, there was a certain change in Gertie's man- 
 ner a certain silent peevishness towards himself, 
 a curious air that fell on her now and then as she 
 spoke to Frank or looked at him. 
 
 And so forth. It was an extraordinarily con-
 
 382 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 vincing case, clinched now by the little scene that 
 he had just interrupted. And the very irregularity 
 of his own relations with Gertie helped to poison 
 the situation with an astonishingly strong venom. 
 
 Of course, there were other considerations, or, 
 rather, there was one that Frank, obviously, was 
 not the kind of man to be attracted by the kind of 
 woman that Gertie was a consideration made up, 
 however, of infinitely slighter indications. But this 
 counted for nothing. It seemed unsubstantial and 
 shadowy. There were solid, definable arguments 
 on the one side ; there was a vague general impres- 
 sion on the other. 
 
 So the Major sat and stared at the fire, with the 
 candle-light falling on his sunken cheeks and the 
 bristle on his chin a poor fallen kind of figure, 
 yet still holding the shadow of a shadow of an ideal 
 that might yet make him dangerous. 
 
 Presently he got up with a sudden movement and 
 went in search of Gertie. 
 
 (m) 
 
 There are no free libraries in Hackney Wick ; the 
 munificences of Mr. Carnegie have not yet pene- 
 trated to that district (and, indeed, the thought of a 
 library of any kind in Hackney Wick is a little in- 
 congruous). But there is one in Homerton, and
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 383 
 
 during the dinner-hour on the following day Frank 
 went up the steps of it, pushed open the swing 
 doors, and found his way to some kind of a writing- 
 room, where he obtained a sheet of paper, an en- 
 velope and a penny stamp, and sat down to write a 
 letter. 
 
 The picture that I have in my mind of Frank at 
 this present time may possibly be a little incorrect 
 in one or two details, but I am quite clear about its 
 main outlines, and it is extremely vivid on the whole. 
 I see him going in, quietly and unostentatiously 
 quite at his ease, yet a very unusual figure in such 
 surroundings. I hear an old gentleman sniff and 
 move his chair a little as this person in an exceed- 
 ingly shabby blue suit with the collar turned up, 
 with a muffler round his neck and large, bulging 
 boots on his feet, comes and sits beside him. I per- 
 ceive an earnest young lady, probably a typist in 
 search of extra culture, look at him long and va- 
 cantly from over her copy of Emerson, and can al- 
 most see her mind gradually collecting conclusions 
 about him. The attendant, too, as he asks for his 
 paper, eyes him shrewdly and suspiciously, and 
 waits till the three halfpence are actually handed 
 across under the brass wire partition before giving 
 him the penny stamp. These circumstances may 
 be incorrect, but I am absolutely clear as to Frank's 
 own attitude of mind. Honestly, he no longer
 
 384 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 minds in the very least how people behave to him ; 
 he has got through all that kind of thing long ago : 
 he is not at all to be commiserated; it appears to 
 him only of importance to get the paper and to be 
 able to write and post his letter without interrup- 
 tion. For Frank has got on to that plane (I 
 know no other word to use, though I dislike this 
 one) when these other things simply do not mat- 
 ter. We all touch that plane sometimes, generally 
 under circumstances of a strong mental excitement, 
 whether of pleasure or pain, or even annoyance. A 
 man with violent toothache, or who has just become 
 engaged to be married, really does not care what 
 people think of him. But Frank, for the present 
 at least, has got here altogether, though for quite 
 different reasons. The letter he wrote on this oc- 
 casion is, at present, in my possession. It runs as 
 follows. It is very short and business-like : 
 
 " DEAR JACK, 
 
 " I want to tell you where I am or, rather, 
 where I can be got at in case of need. I am down 
 in East London for the present, and one of the 
 curates here knows where I'm living. (He was at 
 Eton with me.) His address is: The Rev. E. 
 Parham-Carter, The Eton Mission, Hackney Wick, 
 London, N. E. 
 
 " The reason I'm writing is this : You remember
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 385 
 
 Major Trustcott and Gertie, don't you? Well, I 
 haven't succeeded in getting Gertie back to her peo- 
 ple yet, and the worst of it is that the Major knows 
 that there's something up, and, of course, puts the 
 worst possible construction upon it. Parham-Car- 
 ter knows all about it, too I've just left a note on 
 him, with instructions. Now I don't quite know 
 what '11 happen, but in case anything does happen 
 which prevents my going on at Gertie, I want you 
 to come and do what you can. Parham-Carter will 
 write to you if necessary. 
 
 " That's one thing ; and the next is this : I'd 
 rather like to have some news about my people, and 
 for them to know (if they want to know I leave 
 that to you) that I'm getting on all right. I haven't 
 heard a word about them since August. I know 
 nothing particular can have happened, because I 
 always look at the papers but I should like to 
 know what's going on generally. 
 
 " I think that's about all. I am getting on ex- 
 cellently myself, and hope you are. I am afraid 
 there's no chance of my coming to you for Christ- 
 mas. I suppose you'll be home again by now. 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " F. G." 
 
 " P.S. Of course you'll keep all this private 
 as well as where I'm living."
 
 3 86 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 . Now this letter seems to me rather interesting 
 from a psychological point of view. It is extremely 
 business-like, but perfectly unpractical. Frank 
 states what he wants, but he wants an absurd im- 
 possibility. I like Jack Kirkby very much, but I 
 cannot picture him as likely to be successful in help- 
 ing to restore a strayed girl to her people. I sup- 
 pose Frank's only excuse is that he did not know 
 whom else to write to. 
 
 It is rather interesting, too, to notice his desire 
 to know what is going on at his home; it seems as 
 if he must have had some faint inkling that some- 
 thing important was about to happen, and this is 
 interesting in view of what now followed immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 He directed his letter, stamped it, and posted it in 
 the library post-box in the vestibule. Then, cap in 
 hand, he pushed open the swing-doors and ran 
 straight into Mr. Parham-Carter. 
 
 " Hullo ! " said that clergyman and went a lit- 
 tle white. 
 
 "Hullo!" said Frank; and then: "What's the 
 matter?" 
 
 " Where are you going? " 
 
 " I'm going back to the jam factory." 
 
 " May I walk with you ? "
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 387 
 
 " Certainly, if you don't mind my eating as I go 
 along." 
 
 The clergyman turned with him and went beside 
 him in silence, as Frank, drawing out of his side- 
 pocket a large hunch of bread and cheese, wrapped 
 up in the advertisement sheet of the Daily Mail, Ije- 
 I;H:I to fill his mouth. 
 
 " I \\ant to know if you've had any news from 
 home." 
 
 Frank turned to him slightly. 
 
 " Xo," he said sharply, after a pause. 
 
 Mr. Par ham-Carter licked his lips. 
 
 " Well no, it isn't bad news; but I wondered 
 whether " 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Your governor's married again. It hap- 
 pened yesterday. I thought perhaps you didn't 
 know." 
 
 There was dead silence for an instant. 
 
 " Xo, I didn't know," said Frank. " Who's he 
 married? " 
 
 " Somebody I never heard of. I wondered 
 whether you knew her." 
 
 " What's her name?" 
 
 " Wait a second," said the other, plunging under 
 his greatcoat to get at his waistcoat pocket. " I've 
 got the paragraph here. I cut it out of the Morn-
 
 3 88 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 ing Post. I only saw it half an hour ago. I was 
 coming round to you this evening." 
 
 He produced a slip of printed paper. Frank 
 stood still a moment, leaning against some area- 
 railings they were in the distinguished quarter of 
 Victoria Park Road and read the paragraph 
 through. The clergyman watched him curiously. 
 It seemed to him a very remarkable situation that 
 he should be standing here in Victoria Park Road, 
 giving information to a son as to his father's mar- 
 riage. He wondered, but only secondarily, what 
 effect it would have upon Frank. 
 
 Frank gave him the paper back without a tremor. 
 
 "Thanks very much," he said. "No; I didn't 
 know." 
 
 They continued to walk. 
 
 " D'you know her at all ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know her. She's the Rector's daughter, 
 you know." 
 
 " What ! At Merefield ? Then you must know 
 her quite well." 
 
 " Oh! yes," said Frank, " I know her quite well." 
 
 Again there was silence. Then the other burst 
 out: 
 
 " Look here I wish you'd let me do something. 
 It seems to me perfectly ghastly " 
 
 " My dear man," said Frank. " Indeed you
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 389 
 
 can't do anything. . You got my note, 
 
 didn't you? " 
 
 The clergyman nodded. 
 
 " It's just in case I'm ill, or anything, you know. 
 Jack's a great friend of mine. And it's just as 
 well that some friend of mine should be able to find 
 out where I am. I've just written to him myself, 
 as I said in my note. But you mustn't give him my 
 address unless in case of real need." 
 
 " All right. But are you sure " 
 
 "I'm perfectly sure. . . . Oh! by the way, 
 that lady you sent round did no good. I expect 
 she told you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she said she'd never come across such a 
 difficult case." 
 
 " Well, I shall have to try again myself. . . . 
 I must turn off here. Good luck ! " 
 
 (IV) 
 
 Gertie was sitting alone in the kitchen about nine 
 o'clock that night alone, that is to say, except for 
 the sleeping 'Erb, who, in a cot at the foot of his 
 mother's bed, was almost invisible under a pile of 
 clothes, and completely negligible as a witness. Mrs. 
 Partington, with the other two children, was paying 
 a prolonged visit in Mortimer Road, and the Major,
 
 390 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 ignorant of this fact, was talking big in the bar of 
 the " Queen's Arms " opposite the Men's Club of 
 the Eton Mission. 
 
 Gertie was enjoying herself just now, on the 
 whole. It is true that she had received some chas- 
 tisement yesterday from the Major ; but she had 
 the kind of nature that preferred almost any sensa- 
 tion to none. And, indeed, the situation was full 
 of emotion. It was extraordinarily pleasant to her 
 to occupy such a position between two men and, 
 above all, two " gentlemen." Her attitude towards 
 the Major was of the most simple and primitive 
 kind ; he was her man, who bullied her, despised her, 
 dragged her about the country; and she never for 
 one instant forgot that he had once been an officer 
 in the army. Even his blows (which, to tell the 
 truth, were not very frequent, and were always ad- 
 ministered in a judicial kind of way) bore with 
 them a certain stamp of brilliance; she possessed a 
 very pathetic capacity for snobbishness. Frank, on 
 the other side, was no less exciting. She regarded 
 him as a good young man, almost romantic, indeed, 
 in his goodness a kind of Sir Galahad; and he, 
 whatever his motive (and she was sometimes terribly 
 puzzled about his motives), at any rate, stood in a 
 sort of rivalry to the Major ; and it was she who was 
 the cause of contention. She loved to feel herself 
 pulled this way and that by two such figures, to be
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 391 
 
 quarreled over by such very strong and opposite 
 types. It was a vague sensation to her, but very 
 vivid and attractive; and although just now she be- 
 lieved herself to be thoroughly miserable, I have no 
 doubt whatever that she was enjoying it all im- 
 mensely. She was very feminine indeed, and the 
 little scene of last night had brought matters to an 
 almost exquisite point. She was crying a little 
 now, gently, to herself. 
 
 The door opened. Frank came in, put down his 
 cap, and took his seat on the bench by the fire. 
 
 " All out ? " he asked. 
 
 Gertie nodded, and made a little broken sound. 
 
 " Very good," said Frank. " Then I'm going to 
 talk to you." 
 
 Gertie wiped away a few more tears, and settled 
 herself down for a little morbid pleasure. It was 
 delightful to her to be found crying over the fire. 
 Frank, at any rate, would appreciate that. 
 
 " Now," said Frank, " you've got the choice once 
 more, and I'm going to put it plainly. If you don't 
 do what I want this time, I shall have to see whether 
 somebody else can't persuade you." 
 
 She glanced up, a little startled. 
 
 " Look here," said Frank. " I'm not going to 
 take any more trouble myself over this affair. You 
 were a good deal upset yesterday when the lady
 
 392 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 came round, and you'll be more upset yet before the 
 thing's over. I shan't talk to you myself any more : 
 you don't seem to care a hang what I say; in fact, 
 I'm thinking of moving my lodgings after Christ- 
 mas. So now you've got your choice." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 "On the one side you've got the Major; well, 
 you know him; you know the way he treats you. 
 But that's not the reason why I want you to leave 
 him. I want you to leave him because I think that 
 down at the bottom you've got the makings of a 
 good woman " 
 
 " I haven't," cried Gertie passionately. 
 
 " Well, I think you have. You're very patient, 
 and you're very industrious, and because you care 
 for this man you'll do simply anything in the world 
 for him. Well, that's splendid. That shows 
 you've got grit. But have you ever thought what 
 it'll all be like in five years from now ? " 
 
 " I shall be dead," wailed Gertie. " I wish I was 
 dead now." 
 
 Frank paused. 
 
 " And when you're dead ? " he said slowly. 
 
 There was an instant's silence. Then Frank took 
 up his discourse again. (So far he had done ex- 
 actly what he had wanted. He had dropped two 
 tiny ideas on her heart once more hope and fear. ) 
 
 " Now I've something to tell you. Do you re-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 393 
 
 member the last time I talked to you? Well, I've 
 been thinking what was the best thing to do, and a 
 few days ago I saw my chance and took it. You've 
 got a little prayer-book down at the bottom of your 
 bundle, haven't you? Well, I got at that (you 
 never let anyone see it, you know), and I looked 
 through it. I looked through all your things. Did 
 you know your address was written in it ? I wasn't 
 sure it was your address, you know, until " 
 
 Gertie sat up, white with passion. 
 
 " You looked at my things ? " 
 
 Frank looked her straight in the face. 
 
 " Don't talk to me like that," he said. " Wait 
 till I've done. . . . Well, I wrote to the ad- 
 dress, and I got an answer ; then I wrote again, and 
 I got another answer and a letter for you. It came 
 this morning, to the post-office where I got it." 
 
 Gertie looked at him, still white, with her lips 
 parted. 
 
 " Give me the letter," she whispered. 
 
 soon as I've done talking," said Frank se- 
 renely. " You've got to listen to me first. I 
 knew what you'd say: you'd say that your people 
 wouldn't have you back. And I knew perfectly 
 well from the little things you'd said about them 
 that they would. But I wrote to make sure. . . . 
 
 " Gertie, d'you know that they're breaking their 
 hearts for you? . . . that there's nothing in 
 
 26
 
 394 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the whole world they want so much as that you 
 should come back? . . ." 
 
 " Give me the letter ! " 
 
 "You've got a good heart yourself, Geriie; I 
 know that well enough. Think hard, before I give 
 you the letter. Which is best the Major and this 
 sort of life and . . . and well, you know 
 about the soul and God, don't you? . . . or to 
 go home, and " 
 
 Her face shook all over for one instant. 
 
 " Give me the letter," she wailed suddenly. 
 
 Then Frank gave it her. 
 
 (v) 
 
 " But I can't possibly go home like this," whis- 
 pered Gertie agitatedly in the passage, after the 
 Major's return half an hour later. 
 
 " Good Lord ! " whispered Frank, " what an ex- 
 traordinary girl you are, to think " 
 
 " I don't care. I can't, and I won't." 
 
 Frank cast an eye at the door, beyond which 
 dozed the Major in the chair before the fire. 
 
 " Well, what d'you want? " 
 
 " I want another dress, and . . . and lots of 
 things." 
 
 Frank stared at her resignedly. 
 
 " How much will it all come to ? "
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 395 
 
 " I don't know. Two pounds two pounds 
 ten." 
 
 " Let's see : to-day's the twentieth. We must 
 get you back before Christmas. If I let you have 
 it to-morrow, will it do? to-morrow night?" 
 
 She nodded. A sound came from beyond the 
 door, and she fled. 
 
 I am not sure about the details of the manner in 
 which Frank got the two pounds ten, but I know he 
 got it, and without taking charity from a soul. 
 I know that he managed somehow to draw his 
 week's money two days before pay-day, and for 
 the rest, I suspect the pawnshop. What is quite 
 certain is that when his friends were able to take 
 stock of his belongings a little later, the list of them 
 was as follows: 
 
 One jacket, one shirt, one muffler, a pair of trous- 
 ers, a pair of socks, a pair of boots, one cap, one 
 tooth-brush, and a rosary. There was absolutely 
 nothing else. Even his razor was gone. 
 
 Things, therefore, were pretty bad with him on 
 the morning of the twenty-second of December. 
 I imagine that he still possessed a few pence, but 
 out of this few pence he had to pay for his own and 
 Gertie's journey to Chiswick, as well as keep him- 
 self alive for another week. At least, so he must 
 have thought.
 
 396 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 It must have been somewhere in Kensington 
 High Street that he first had a hint of a possibility 
 of food to be obtained free, for, although I find it 
 impossible to follow all his movements during these 
 days, it is quite certain that he partook of the hos- 
 pitality of the Carmelite Fathers on this morning. 
 He mentions it, with pleasure, in his diary. 
 
 It is a very curious and medieval sight this 
 feeding of the poor in the little deep passage that 
 runs along the outside of the cloister of the monas- 
 tery in Church Street. The passage is approached 
 by a door at the back of the house, opening upon 
 the lane behind, and at a certain hour on each morn- 
 ing of the year is thronged from end to end with 
 the most astonishing and deplorable collection of 
 human beings to be seen in London. They are of 
 all ages and sizes, from seventeen to seventy, and 
 the one thing common to them all is extreme shab- 
 biness and poverty. 
 
 A door opens at a given moment; the crowd 
 surges a little towards a black-bearded man in a 
 brown frock, with an apron over it, and five min- 
 utes later a deep silence, broken only by the sound 
 of supping and swallowing, falls upon the crowd. 
 There they stand, with the roar of London sounding 
 overhead, the hooting of cars, the noise of innumer- 
 able feet, and the rain at least, on this morning 
 falling dismally down the long well-like space.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 397 
 
 And here stand between two and three hundred 
 men, pinched, feeble, and yet wolfish, gulping down 
 hot soup and bread, looking something like a herd 
 of ragged prisoners pent in between the high walls. 
 
 Here, then, Frank stood in the midst of them, 
 gulping his soup. His van and horses, strictly 
 against orders, remained in Church Street, under the 
 care of a passer-by, whom Frank seems to have 
 asked, quite openly, to do it for him for God's sake. 
 
 It is a dreary little scene in which to picture him, 
 and yet, to myself, it is rather pleasant, too. I like 
 to think of him, now for the second time within a 
 few weeks, and all within the first six months of his 
 Catholic life, depending upon his Church for the 
 needs of the body as well as for the needs of the 
 soul. There" was nothing whatever to distinguish 
 him from the rest; he, too, had now something of 
 that lean look that is such a characteristic of that 
 crowd, and his dress, too, w r as entirely suitable to his 
 company. He spoke with none of his hosts ; he took 
 the basin in silence and gave it back in silence ; then 
 he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and went out com- 
 forted.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "T\ICK GUISELEY sat over breakfast in his 
 *^ rooms off Oxford Street, entirely engrossed 
 in a local Yorkshire paper two days old. 
 
 His rooms were very characteristic of himself. 
 They were five in number a dining-room, two 
 bedrooms, and two sitting-rooms divided by cur- 
 tains, as well as a little entrance-hall that opened on 
 to the landing, close beside the lift that served all 
 the flats. They were furnished in a peculiarly re- 
 strained style so restrained, in fact, that it was 
 almost impossible to remember what was in them. 
 One was just conscious of a sense of extreme com- 
 fort and convenience. There was nothing in par- 
 ticular that arrested the attention or caught the eye, 
 except here and there a space or a patch of wall 
 about which Dick had not yet made up his mind. 
 He had been in them two years, indeed, but he had 
 not nearly finished furnishing. From time to time 
 a new piece of furniture appeared, or a new pic- 
 ture always exceedingly good of its kind, and 
 even conspicuous. Yet, somehow or other, so ex- 
 cellent was his taste, as soon as the thing was in 
 398
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 399 
 
 place its conspicuousness (so to speak) vanished 
 amidst the protective coloring, and it looked as if it 
 had been there for ever. The colors were chosen 
 with the same superfine skill : singly they were bril- 
 liant, or at least remarkable (the ceilings, for in- 
 stance, were of a rich buttercup yellow) ; collectively 
 they were subdued and unnoticeable. And I sup- 
 pose this is exactly what rooms ought to be. 
 
 The breakfast-table at which he sat was a good 
 instance of his taste. The silver-plate on it was 
 really remarkable. There was a delightful Caro- 
 line tankard in the middle, placed there for the sheer 
 pleasure of looking at it; there was a large silver 
 cow \\itli a lid in its back; there were four rat-tail 
 spoons ; the china was an extremely cheap Venetian 
 crockery of brilliant designs and thick make. The 
 coffee-pot and milk-pot were early Georgian, with 
 very peculiar marks ; but these vessels were at pres- 
 ent hidden under the folded newspaper. There 
 were four chrysanthemums in four several vases 
 of an exceptional kind of glass. It sounds start- 
 ling, I know, but the effect was not startling, though 
 I cannot imagine why not. Here again one was 
 just conscious of freshness and suitability and com- 
 fort. 
 
 But Dick was taking no pleasure in it all this 
 morning. He was feeling almost physically sick.
 
 400 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 and the little spirit-heated silver dish of kidneys on 
 his Queen Anne sideboard was undisturbed. He 
 had cut off the top of an egg which was now rap- 
 idly cooling, and a milky surface resembling thin 
 ice was forming on the contents of his coffee-cup. 
 And meanwhile he read. 
 
 The column he was reading described the wed- 
 ding of his uncle with Miss Jenny Launton, and 
 journalese surpassed itself. There was a great deal 
 about the fine old English appearance of the bride- 
 groom, who, it appeared, had been married in a 
 black' frock-coat and gray trousers, with white spats, 
 and who had worn a chrysanthemum in his button- 
 hole (Dick cast an almost venomous glance upon 
 the lovely blossom just beside the paper), and the 
 beautiful youthful dignity of the bride, " so popu- 
 lar among the humble denizens of the country- 
 side." The bride's father, it seemed, had officiated 
 at the wedding in the " sturdy old church," and had 
 been greatly affected assisted by the Rev. 
 Matthieson. The wedding, it seemed, had been un- 
 usually quiet, and had been celebrated by special 
 license: few of the family had been present, "ow- 
 ing," said the discreet reporter, " to the express 
 wish of the bridegroom." (Dick reflected sardon- 
 ically upon his own convenient attack of influenza 
 from which he was now completely recovered.) 
 Then there was a great deal more about the ancient
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 401 
 
 home of the Guiseleys, and the aristocratic appear- 
 ance of Viscount Merefield, the young and popular 
 heir to the earldom, who, it appeared, had assisted 
 at the wedding in another black frock-coat. Gen- 
 eral Maimvaring had acted as best man. Finally, 
 there was a short description of the presents of the 
 bridegroom to the bride, which included a set of 
 amethysts, etc. . . . 
 
 Dick read it all through to the luxuriant end, 
 clown to the peals of the bells and the rejoicings in 
 the evening. He ate several pieces of dry toast 
 while he read, crumbling them quickly with his left 
 hand, and when he had finished, drank his coffee 
 straight off at one draught. Then he got up, still 
 with the paper, sat down in the easy-chair nearest 
 to the fire and read the whole thing through once 
 more. Then he pushed the paper off his knee and 
 leaned back. 
 
 It would need a complete psychological treatise 
 to analyze properly all the emotions he had recently 
 gone through emotions which had been, so to 
 say, developed and " fixed " by the newspaper col- 
 umn he had just read. He was a man who was ac- 
 customed to pride himself secretly upon the speed 
 with which he faced each new turn of fortune, and 
 the correctness of the attitude he assumed. Per-
 
 402 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 haps it would be fair to say that the Artistic Stoic 
 was the ideal towards which he strove. But, some- 
 how, those emotions would not sort themselves. 
 There they all were fury, indignation, contempt, 
 wounded pride, resignation, pity there were no 
 more to be added or subtracted ; each had its place 
 and its object, yet they would not coalesce. Now 
 fury against his uncle, now pity for himself, now 
 a poisonous kind of contempt of Jenny. Or, again, 
 a primitive kind of longing for Jenny, a disregard 
 of his uncle, an abasement of himself. The emo- 
 tions whirled and twisted, and he sat quite still, with 
 his eyes closed, watching them. 
 
 But there was one more emotion which had made 
 its appearance entirely unexpectedly as soon as he 
 had heard the news, that now, greatly to his sur- 
 prise, was beginning to take a considerable place 
 amongst the rest and this was an extraordinarily 
 warm sense of affection towards Frank of all 
 people. It was composed partly of compassion, and 
 partly of an inexplicable sort of respect for which 
 he could perceive no reason. It was curious, he 
 thought later, why this one figure should have 
 pushed its way to the front just now, when his uncle 
 and Jenny and, secondarily, that Rector ( " so visi- 
 bly affected by the ceremony " ) should have occu- 
 pied all the field. Frank had never meant very 
 much to Dick : he had stood for the undignified and
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 403 
 
 the boyish in tin midst of those other stately ele- 
 ments oi' which Meretield, and, indeed, all truly ad- 
 mirable life, \\as composed. 
 
 Yet now this figure stood out before him with 
 startling distinctness. 
 
 First there was the fact that both Frank and him- 
 self had suffered cruelly at the hands of the same 
 woman, though Frank incomparably the more cru- 
 elly of the two. Dick had the honesty to confess 
 that Jenny had at least never actually broken faith 
 with himself; but he had also the perspicuity to see 
 that it came to very nearly the same thing. He 
 knew with the kind of certitude that neither needs 
 nor appeals to evidence that Jenny would certainly 
 have accepted him if it had not been that Lord Tal- 
 garth had already dawned on her horizon, and that 
 she put him off for a while simply to see whether 
 this elderly sun would rise yet higher in the heav- 
 ens. It was the same consideration, no doubt, that 
 had caused her to throw Frank over a month or two 
 earlier. A Lord Talgarth in the bush was worth 
 two cadets in the hand. That was where her sensi- 
 bleness had come in, and certainly it had served 
 her well. 
 
 It was this community of injury, then, that pri- 
 marily drew Dick's attention to Frank; and, when 
 once it had been so drawn, it lingered on other 
 points in his personality. Artistic Stoicism is a
 
 404 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 very satisfying ideal so long as things go tolerably 
 well. It affords an excellent protection against 
 such misfortunes as those of not being appreciated 
 or of losing money or just missing a big position 
 against all such ills as affect bodily or mental con- 
 veniences. But when the heart is touched, Artistic 
 Stoicism peels off like rusted armour. Dick had 
 seriously began to consider, during the last few 
 days, whether the exact opposite of Artistic Sto- 
 icism (let us call it Natural Impulsiveness) is not 
 almost as good an equipment. He began to see 
 something admirable in Frank's attitude to life, and 
 the more he regarded it the more admirable it 
 seemed. 
 
 Frank, therefore, had begun to wear to him the 
 appearance of something really moving and pa- 
 thetic. He had had a communication or two from 
 Jack Kirkby that had given him a glimpse of what 
 Frank was going through, and his own extremely 
 artificial self was beginning to be affected by it. 
 
 He looked round his room now, once or twice, 
 wondering whether it was all worth while. He had 
 put his whole soul into these rooms there was that 
 Jacobean press with the grotesque heads ah ! how 
 long he had agonized over that in the shop in the 
 King's Road, Chelsea, wondering whether or not it
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 405 
 
 would do just what he wanted, in that space be- 
 iwcen the two doors. There was that small statue 
 of a Tudor lady in a square head-dress that he had 
 bought in Oxford : he had occupied at least a week 
 in deciding exactly from what point she was to 
 smile on him; there was the new curtain dividing the 
 two rooms : he had had half a dozen patterns, gradu- 
 ally eliminated down to two, lying over his sofa- 
 back for ten days before he could make up his mind. 
 (How lovely it looked, by the way, just now, with 
 that patch of mellow London sunlight lying across 
 the folds!) 
 
 But was it all worth it ? ... He argued the 
 point with himself, almost passively, stroking his 
 brown beard meditatively ; but the fact that he could 
 argue it at all showed that the foundations of his 
 philosophy were shaken. 
 
 Well, then . . . Frank . . . What 
 about him? Where was he? 
 
 (n) 
 
 About eleven o'clock a key turned in his outer 
 door and a very smart-looking page-boy came 
 through, after tapping, with a telegram on a salver. 
 
 Dick was writing to Hamilton's, in Berners 
 Street, about a question of gray mats for the spare 
 bedroom, and he took the telegram and tore open
 
 406 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the envelope with a preoccupied air. Then he ut- 
 tered a small exclamation. 
 "Any answer, sir?" 
 " No. Yes. . . . Wait a second." 
 He took a telegraph- form with almost indecent 
 haste, addressed it to John Kirkby, Barham, Yorks, 
 and wrote below: 
 
 "Certainly; will expect you dinner and sleep. 
 RICHARD GUISELEY." 
 
 Then, when the boy had gone, he read again the 
 telegram he had received : 
 
 " Have received letter from Frank; can probably 
 discover address if I come to town. Can you put 
 me up to-night? JACK KIRKBY, Barham." 
 
 He pondered it a minute or so. Then he finished 
 his note to Hamilton's, but it was with a distracted 
 manner. Then for several minutes he walked up 
 and down his rooms with his hands in his jacket- 
 pockets, thinking very deeply. He was reflecting 
 how remarkable it was that he should hear of Frank 
 again just at this time, and was wondering what 
 the next move of Providence would be. 
 
 The rest of Dick's day was very characteristic of 
 him; and considering my other personages in this
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 407 
 
 story and their occupations, I take a dramatic sort 
 of pleasure in writing it down. 
 
 He went out to lunch with a distinguished lady 
 of his acquaintance whose name I forbear to 
 give; she was not less than seventy years old, and 
 the two sat talking scandal about all their friends 
 till nearly four o'clock. The Talgarth affair, even, 
 was discussed in all its possible lights, and Dick 
 was quite open about his own part in the matter. 
 He knew this old lady very well, and she knew him 
 very well. She was as shrewd as possible and ex- 
 tremely experienced, and had helped Dick enor- 
 mously in various intricacies and troubles of the 
 past ; and he, on the other hand, as a well-informed 
 bachelor, was of almost equal service to her. She 
 was just the least bit in the world losing touch with 
 things (at seventy you cannot do everything), and 
 Dick helped to keep her in touch. He lunched with 
 her at least once a week when they were both in 
 town. 
 
 At four he went to the Bath Club, ordered tea 
 and toast and cigarettes, and sat out, with his hat 
 over his eyes, on the balcony, watching the swim- 
 mers. There was a boy of sixteen who dived with 
 surprising skill, and Dick took the greatest possible 
 pleasure in observing him. There was also a stout 
 man of his acquaintance whose ambition it had been 
 for months to cross the bath by means of the swing-
 
 4 o8 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 ing rings, and this person, too, afforded him hardly 
 less pleasure, as he always had to let go at the 
 fourth ring, if not the third, whence he plunged into 
 the water with a sound that, curiously enough, was 
 more resonant than sibilant. 
 
 At six, after looking through all the illustrated 
 papers, he went out to get his coat, and was pres- 
 ently in the thick of a heated argument with a 
 member of the committee on the subject of the new 
 carpet in the front hall. It was not fit, said Dick 
 (searching for hyperboles), for even the drawing- 
 room of the " Cecil." 
 
 This argument made him a little later than he 
 had intended, and, as he came up in the lift, the 
 attendant informed him, in the passionless manner 
 proper to such people, that the Mr. Kirkby who had 
 been mentioned had arrived and was waiting for 
 him in his rooms. 
 
 (m) 
 
 Shortly before midnight Dick attempted to sum 
 up the situation. They had talked about Frank 
 practically without ceasing, since Dick's man had 
 set coffee on the table at nine o'clock, and both had 
 learned new facts. 
 
 " Well, then, wire to go down to this man, Par- 
 ham-Carter," said Dick, " the first thing after break-
 
 XOXE OTHER GODS 409 
 
 fast to-morrow. Do you know anything about the 
 Eton Mission ? " 
 
 " No. One used to have a collection for it each 
 half, you know, in the houses." 
 
 " How do we go ? " 
 
 " Oh ! railway from Broad Street. I've looked 
 it up. Victoria Park's the station." 
 
 Dick drew two or three draughts of smoke from 
 his cigar-butt, and laid it down in a small silver 
 tray at his elbow. (The tray was a gift from the 
 old lady he had lunched with to-day.) 
 
 " All you've told me is extraordinarily interest- 
 ing," he said. " It really was to get away this girl 
 that he's stopped so long? " 
 
 "I expect that's what he tells himself that's 
 the handle, so to speak. But it's chiefly a sort of 
 obstinacy. He said he would go on the roads, and 
 so he's gone." 
 
 " I rather like that, you know," said Dick. 
 
 Jack snorted a little. 
 
 " Oh, it's better than saying a thing and not doing 
 it. But why say it?" 
 
 " Oh ! one must do something," said Dick. " At 
 least, some people seem to think so. And I rather 
 envy them, you know. I'm afraid I don't." 
 
 "Don't what?" 
 
 " Don't do anything. Unless you can call this 
 sort of thing doing something." He waved his 
 
 27
 
 410 XOXE OTHER GODS 
 
 hand vaguely round his perfectly arranged room. 
 
 Jack said nothing. He was inclined to be a little 
 strenuous himself in some ways, and he had always 
 been conscious of a faint annoyance with Dick's 
 extreme leisureliness. 
 
 " I see you agree," went on Dick. " Well, we 
 must see what can be done." 
 
 He stood up smiling and began to expand and 
 contract his fingers luxuriously before the fire be- 
 hind his back. 
 
 "If we can only get Frank away," murmured 
 Jack. " That's enough for the present." 
 
 " And what do you propose to do with him 
 then?" 
 
 "Oh, Lord! Anything. Go round the world if 
 he likes. Come and stay at my place." 
 
 " And suppose he thinks that's a bit too near to 
 ... to Lady Talgarth." 
 
 This switched Jack back again to a line he had 
 already run on for an hour this evening. 
 
 "Yes, that's the ghastly part of it all. He's 
 sure not to have heard. And who the devil's to tell 
 him? And how will he take it?" 
 
 " Do you know," said Dick, " I'm really not 
 frightened about that? All you've told me about 
 him makes me think he'll behave very well. Funny 
 thing, isn't it, that you know him so much better
 
 NONE OTHMi: CiODS 411 
 
 than I do? I never dreamed there was so much in 
 him, somehow." 
 
 " Oh, there's a lot in Frank. But one doesn't 
 always know what it is." 
 
 " Do you think his religion's made much differ- 
 ence ? " 
 
 " I think it's done this for him," said Jack 
 slowly. " (I've been thinking a lot about that). 
 I think it's fixed things, so to speak. . . ." He 
 hesitated. He was not an expert in psychological 
 analysis. Dick took him up quickly. He nodded 
 three or four times. 
 
 " Exactly," he said. " That's it, no doubt. It's 
 given him a center a hub for the wheel." 
 
 "El. 
 
 " It's . . . it's joined everything on to one 
 point in him. He'll be more obstinate and mad than 
 ever before. He's got a center now. ... I 
 suppose that's what religion's for," he added medi- 
 tatively. 
 
 This was Greek to Jack. He looked at Dick 
 uncomprehendingly. 
 
 Dick turned round and began to stare into the 
 fire, still contracting and expanding his fingers. 
 
 "It's a funny thing this religion," he said at 
 last. " I never could understand it." 
 
 " And what about Archie? " asked Jack with sud-
 
 4 I2 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 den abruptness. (He had no continuity of mind.) 
 
 Dick brought his meditations to a close with equal 
 abruptness, or perhaps he would not have been so 
 caustic as regards his first cousin. 
 
 " Oh, Archie's an ass ! " he said. " We can leave 
 him out." 
 
 Jack changed the subject again. He was feeling 
 the situation very acutely indeed, and the result 
 was that all its elements came tumbling out any- 
 how. 
 
 " I've been beastly uncomfortable," he said. 
 
 " Yes? " said Dick. " Any particular way? " 
 
 Jack shifted one leg over the other. He had not 
 approached one element in the situation at all, as 
 yet, with Dick, but it had been simmering in him 
 for weeks, and had been brought to a point by 
 Frank's letter received this morning. And now the 
 curious intimacy into which he had been brought 
 with Dick began to warm it out of him. 
 
 " You'll think me an ass, too, I expect," he said. 
 "And I rather think it's true. But I can't help 
 it." 
 
 Dick smiled at him encouragingly. (Certainly, 
 thought Jack, this man was nicer than he had 
 thought him.) 
 
 " Well, it's this " he said suddenly. " But it's 
 frightfully hard to put into words. You know
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 413 
 
 what I told you about Frank's coming to me at 
 Barham ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, there was something Tie said then that 
 made me uncomfortable. And it's made me more 
 and more uncomfortable ever since. . . ." (He 
 paused again. ) " Well, it's this. He said that he 
 felt there was- something going on that he couldn't 
 understand some sort of Plan, he said in 
 which he had to take part a sort of scheme to 
 be worked out, you know. I suppose he meant 
 God," he explained feebly. 
 
 Dick looked at him questioningly. 
 
 " Oh ! I can't put it into words," said Jack des- 
 perately. " Nor did he, exactly. But that was the 
 kind of idea. A sort of Fate. He said he was 
 quite certain of it. ... And there were lots 
 of little things that fitted in. He changed his 
 clothes in the old vestry, you know in the old 
 church. It seemed like a sort of sacrifice, you 
 know. And then I had a beastly dream that night. 
 And then there was something my mother said. 
 . . . And now there's his letter: the one I 
 showed you at dinner about something that might 
 happen to him. . . . Oh! I'm a first-class ass, 
 aren't I?" 
 
 There was a considerable silence. He glanced up
 
 4 i4 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 in an ashamed sort of way, at the other, and saw 
 him standing quite upright and still, again with his 
 back to the fire, looking out across the room. From 
 outside came the hum of the thoroughfare the 
 rolling of wheels, the jingle of bells, the cries of 
 human beings. He waited in a kind of shame for 
 Dick's next words. He had not put all these feel- 
 ings into coherent form before, even to himself, and 
 they sounded now even more fantastic than he had 
 thought them. He waited, then, for the verdict of 
 this quiet man, whom up to now he had deemed 
 something of a fool, who cared about nothing but 
 billiards and what was called Art. (Jack loathed 
 Art.) 
 
 Then the verdict came in a surprising form. But 
 he understood it perfectly. 
 
 "Well, what about bed?" said Dick quietly. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 It was on the morning of the twenty-fourth that 
 Mr. Parham-Carter was summoned by the neat 
 maid-servant of the clergy-house to see two gentle- 
 men. She presented two cards on a plated salver, 
 inscribed with the names of Richard Guiseley and 
 John B. Kirkby. He got up very quickly, and went 
 downstairs two at a time. A minute later he 
 brought them both upstairs and shut the door.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 415 
 
 " Sit down," he said. " I'm most awfully glad 
 you've come. I ... I've been fearfully up- 
 set by all this, and I haven't known what to do." 
 
 " Now where is he? " demanded Jack Kirkby. 
 
 The clergyman made a deprecatory face. 
 
 " I've absolutely promised not to tell," he said. 
 " And you know " 
 
 " But that's ridiculous. We've come on purpose 
 to fetch him away. It simply mustn't go on. 
 That's why I didn't write. I sent Frank's letter on 
 to Mr. Guiseley here (he's a cousin of Frank's, by 
 the way), and he asked me to come up to town. I 
 got to town last night, and we've come down here 
 at once this morning." 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter glanced at the neat melan- 
 choly-faced, bearded man who sat opposite. 
 
 " But you know I promised," he said. 
 
 "Yes," burst in Jack; " but one doesn't keep 
 promises one makes to madmen. And 
 
 " But he's not mad in the least. He's " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I was going to say that it seems to me that he's 
 more sane than anyone else," said the young man 
 dismally. " I know it sounds ridiculous, but " 
 
 Dick Guiseley nodded with such emphasis that he 
 stopped. 
 
 " I know what you mean," said Dick in his gentle 
 drawl. " And I quite understand."
 
 4 i6 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " But it's all sickening rot," burst in Jack. " He 
 must be mad. You don't know Frank as I do 
 neither of you. And now there's this last business 
 his father's marriage, I mean ; and " 
 
 He broke off and looked across at Dick. 
 
 " Go on," said Dick; " don't mind me." 
 
 " Well, we don't know whether he's heard of it 
 or not; but he must hear sooner or later, and 
 then" 
 
 " But he has heard of it," interrupted the clergy- 
 man. " I showed him the paragraph myself." 
 
 " He's heard of it ! And he knows all about it ! " 
 
 " Certainly. And I understood from him that 
 he knew the girl: the Rector's daughter, isn't it? " 
 
 " Knows the girl ! Why, he was engaged to her 
 himself." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Yes ; didn't he tell you ? " 
 
 " He didn't give me the faintest hint " 
 
 "How did he behave? What did he say?" 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter stared a moment in silence. 
 
 " What did he say ? " snapped out Jack impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " Say ? He said nothing. He just told me he 
 knew the girl, when I asked him." 
 
 " Good God ! " remarked Jack. And there was 
 silence. 
 
 Dick broke it.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 417 
 
 " Well, it seems to me we're rather in a hole." 
 
 " But it's preposterous," burst out Jack again. 
 " Here's poor old Frank, simply breaking his heart, 
 and here are we perfectly ready to do anything we 
 can why, the chap must be in hell ! " 
 
 " Look here, Mr. Parham-Carter," said Dick 
 softly. " What about your going round to his 
 house and seeing if he's in, and what he's likely to 
 be doing to-day." 
 
 " He'll be at the factory till this evening." 
 
 "The factory?" 
 
 " Yes ; he's working at a jam factory just 
 now." 
 
 A sound of fury and disdain broke from Jack. 
 
 "Well," continued Dick, " (May I take a ciga- 
 rette, by the way ?), why shouldn't you go round and 
 make inquiries, and find out how the land lies? 
 Then Kirk by and I might perhaps hang about a bit 
 and run up against him if you'd just give us a 
 hint, you know." 
 
 The other looked at him a moment. 
 
 " Well, perhaps I might," he said doubtfully. 
 " But what " 
 
 " Good Lord ! But you'll be keeping your prom- 
 ise, won't you? After all, it's quite natural we 
 should come down after his letter and quite on 
 the cards that we should run up against him. 
 . . . Please to go at once, and let us wait here."
 
 418 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 In a quarter of an hour Mr. Parham-Carter 
 came back quickly into the room and shut the 
 door. 
 
 " Yes; he's at the factory," he said. " Or at any 
 rate he's not at home. And they don't expect him 
 back till late." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " There's something up. The girl's gone too. 
 (No; she's not at the factory.) And I think there's 
 going to be trouble."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 (i) 
 
 ' I MlE electric train slowed down and stopped at 
 the Hammersmith terminus, and there was 
 the usual rush for the doors. 
 
 " Come on, Gertie," said a young man, " here 
 we are." 
 
 The girl remained perfectly still with her face 
 hidden. 
 
 The crowd was enormous this Christmas Eve, 
 and for the most part laden with parcels ; the plat- 
 forms surged with folk, and each bookstall, blazing 
 with lights (for it was after seven o'clock), was a 
 center of a kind of whirlpool. There was sensa- 
 tional news in the evening papers, and everyone 
 was anxious to get at the full details of which the 
 main facts were tantalizingly displayed on the post- 
 ers. Everyone wanted to know exactly who were 
 the people concerned and how it had all happened. 
 It was a delightful tragedy for the Christmas fes- 
 tivities. 
 
 419
 
 420 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Come on," said the young man again. 
 " They're nearly all out." 
 
 " I can't," moaned the girl. 
 
 Frank took her by the arm resolutely. 
 
 " Come ! " he said. 
 
 Then she came, and the two passed out together 
 into the mob waiting to come in. 
 
 " We shall have to walk," said Frank. " I'm 
 sorry; but I've got to get home somehow." 
 
 She bowed her head and said nothing. 
 
 Gertie presented a very unusual appearance this 
 evening. Certainly she had laid out the two- 
 pound-ten to advantage. She was in a perfectly 
 decent dark dress with a red stripe in it; she had a 
 large hat and some species of boa round her neck; 
 she even carried a cheap umbrella with a sham 
 silver band and a small hand-bag with one pocket- 
 handkerchief inside it. And to her own mind, 
 no doubt, she was a perfect picture of the ideal 
 penitent very respectable and even prosperous 
 looking, and yet with a dignified reserve. She was 
 not at all flaunting, she must have thought; neither 
 was she, externally, anything of a disgrace. It 
 would be evident presently to her mother that she 
 had returned out of simple goodness of heart and 
 not at all because her recent escapade had been a 
 failure. She would still be able to talk of " the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 421 
 
 Major " with something of an air, and to make 
 out that he treated her always like a lady. (When 
 1 went to interview her a few months ago I found 
 her very dignified, very self-conscious, excessively 
 refined and faintly reminiscent of fallen splendor; 
 and her mother told me privately that she was be- 
 ginning to be restless again and talked of going on 
 to the music-hall stage.) 
 
 But there is one thing that I find it very hard to 
 forgive, and that is, that as the two went together 
 under the flaming white lights towards Chiswick 
 High Street, she turned to Frank a little nervously 
 and asked him if he would mind walking just be- 
 hind her. (Please remember, however, in exten- 
 uation, that Gertie's new pose was that of the 
 Superior Young Lady.) 
 
 " I don't quite like to be seen " murmured this 
 respectable person. 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! " said Frank, without an in- 
 stant's hesitation. 
 
 They had met, half an hour before, by appoint- 
 ment, at the entrance to the underground station 
 at Victoria. Frank's van-journeyings would, he 
 calculated, bring him there about half-past six, and, 
 strictly against the orders of his superiors, but very 
 ingeniously, with the connivance of his fellow- 
 driver of the van, he had arranged for his place to
 
 422 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 be taken on the van for the rest of the evening 
 by a man known to his fellow-driver but just 
 now out of work for the sum of one shilling, to 
 be paid within a week. He was quite determined 
 not to leave Gertie alone again, when once the jour- 
 ney to Chiswick had actually begun, until he had 
 seen her landed in her own home. . 
 
 The place of meeting, too, had suited Gertie very 
 well. She had left Turner Road abruptly, with- 
 out a word to anyone, the instant that the Major's 
 military-looking back had been seen by her to pass 
 within the swing-doors of the " Queen's Arms " 
 for his usual morning refreshment. Then she had 
 occupied herself chiefly by collecting her various 
 things at their respective shops, purchased by 
 Frank's two-pound-ten, and putting them on. She 
 had had a clear threepence to spare beyond the 
 few shillings she had determined to put by out of 
 the total, and had expended it by a visit to the 
 cinematograph show in Victoria Street. There had 
 been a very touching series of pictures of the " Old 
 Home in the Country," and the milking of the 
 cows, with a general atmosphere of roses and 
 church-bells, and Gertie had dissolved into tears 
 more than once, and had cried noiselessly into her 
 new pocket-handkerchief drawn from her new 
 hand-bag. But she had met Frank quite punctu-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 423 
 
 ally, for, indeed, she had burned her boats now en- 
 tirely and there was nothing else left for her to do. 
 
 At the entrance to Chiswick High Street another 
 brilliant thought struck her. She paused for Frank 
 to come up. 
 
 " Frankie," she said, " you won't say anything 
 about the two-pound-ten, will you? I shouldn't 
 like them to think " 
 
 " Of course not," said Frank gravely, and after 
 a moment, noticing that she glanced at him again 
 uneasily, understood, and fell obediently to the rear 
 once more. 
 
 About a quarter of a mile further on her steps 
 began to go slower. Frank watched her very care- 
 fully. He was not absolutely sure of her even now. 
 Then she crossed over the street between two trams, 
 and Frank dodged after her. Then she turned as 
 if to walk back to Hammersmith. In an instant 
 Frank was at her side. 
 
 " You're going the wrong way," he said. 
 
 She stopped irresolutely, and had to make way 
 for two or three hurrying people to pass. 
 
 " Oh, Frankie ! I can't ! " she wailed softly. 
 
 " Come ! " said Frank, and took her by the arm 
 once more.
 
 424 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Five minutes later they stood together half-way 
 down a certain long lane that turns out of Chiswick 
 High Street to the left, and there, for the first time, 
 she seems to have been genuinely frightened. The 
 street was quite empty; the entire walking popula- 
 tion was parading up and down the brightly-lit 
 thoroughfare a hundred yards behind them, or 
 feverishly engaged in various kinds of provision- 
 shops. The lamps were sparse in this lane, and all 
 was comparatively quiet. 
 
 " Oh, Frankie ! " she moaned again. " I can't ! 
 I 'can't! ... I daren't!" 
 
 She leaned back against the sill of a window. 
 
 Yet, even then, I believe she was rather enjoying 
 herself. It was all so extremely like the sort of 
 plays over which she had been accustomed to shed 
 tears. The Prodigal's Return ! And on Christmas 
 Eve! It only required a little snow to be falling 
 and a crying infant at her breast . . . 
 
 I wonder what Frank made of it. He must have 
 known Gertie thoroughly well by now, and cer- 
 tainly there is not one sensible man in a thousand 
 whose gorge would not have risen at the situation. 
 Yet I doubt whether Frank paid it much attention. 
 
 "Where's the house?" he said. 
 
 He glanced up at the number of the' door by 
 which he stood.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 425 
 
 " It must be a dozen doors further on," he said. 
 
 " It's the last house in the row," murmured Ger- 
 tie, in a weak voice. " Is father looking out? Go 
 and see." 
 
 " My dear girl," said Frank, " do not be silly. 
 Do remember your mother's letter." 
 
 Then she suddenly turned on him, and if ever she 
 was genuine she was in that moment. 
 
 " Frankie," she whispered, " why not take me 
 away yourself? Oh! take me away! take me 
 away! " 
 
 He looked into her eyes for an instant, and in 
 that instant he caught again that glimpse as of 
 Jenny herself. 
 
 " Take me away I'll live with you just as you 
 like ! " She took him by his poor old jacket-lapel. 
 " You can easily make enough, and I don't ask " 
 
 Then he detached her ringers and took her gently 
 by the arm. 
 
 "Come with me," he said. "No; not another 
 word." 
 
 Together in silence they went the few steps that 
 separated them from the house. There was a little 
 garden in front, its borders set alternately with sea- 
 shells and flints. At the gate she hesitated once 
 more, but he unlatched the gate and pushed her 
 gently through. 
 
 28
 
 426 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " Oh! my gloves! " whispered Gertie, in a sharp 
 tone of consternation. " I left them in the shop 
 next the A.B.C. in Wilton Road." 
 
 Frank nodded. Then, still urging her, he 
 brought her up to the door and tapped upon it. 
 
 There were footsteps inside. 
 
 " God bless you, Gertie. Be a good girl. I'll 
 wait in the road for ten minutes, so that you can 
 call me if you want to." 
 
 Then he was gone as the door opened. 
 
 (n) 
 
 The next public appearance of Frank that I have 
 been able to trace, was in Westminster Cathedral. 
 Now it costs an extra penny at least, I think, to 
 break one's journey from Hammersmith to Broad 
 Street, and I imagine that Frank would not have 
 done this after what he had said to Gertie about 
 the difficulty connected with taking an omnibus, 
 except for some definite reason, so it is only possi- 
 ble to conclude that he broke his journey at Vic- 
 toria in an attempt to get at those gloves. 
 
 It seems almost incredible that Gertie should 
 have spoken of her gloves at such a moment, but 
 it really happened. She told me so herself. And, 
 personally, on thinking over it, it seems to me tol- 
 erably in line (though perhaps the line is rather un-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 427 
 
 usually prolonged) with all that I have been able to 
 gather about her whole character. The fact is that 
 gloves, just then, were to her really important. She 
 was about to appear on the stage of family life, and 
 she had formed a perfectly consistent conception 
 of her part. Gloves were an integral part of her 
 costume they were the final proof of a sort of 
 opulence and refinement; therefore, though she 
 could not get them just then, it was perfectly nat- 
 ural and proper of her to mention them. It must 
 not be thought that Gertie was insincere: she was 
 not ; she was dramatic. And it is a fact that within 
 five minutes of her arrival she was down on her 
 knees by her mother, with her face hidden in her 
 mother's lap, crying her heart out. By the time 
 she remembered Frank and ran out into the street, 
 he had been gone more than twenty minutes. 
 
 One of the priests attached to Westminster Ca- 
 thedral happened to have a pause about half -past 
 nine o'clock in his hearing of confessions. He had 
 been in his box without a break from six o'clock, 
 and he was extremely tired and stiff about the 
 knees. He had said the whole of his office dur- 
 ing intervals, and he thought he would take a little 
 walk up and down the south aisle to stretch his 
 legs. 
 
 So he unlatched the little door of his confes-
 
 428 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 sional, leaving the light burning in case someone 
 else turned up; he slipped off his stole and came 
 outside. 
 
 The whole aisle, it seemed, was empty, though 
 there was still a sprinkling of folks in the north 
 aisle, right across the great space of the nave; and 
 he went down the whole length, down to the west 
 end to have a general look up the Cathedral. 
 
 He stood looking for three or four minutes. 
 
 Overhead hung the huge span of brickwork, lost 
 in darkness, incredibly vast and mysterious, with 
 here and there emerging into faint light a slice of 
 a dome or the slope of some architrave-like dogmas 
 from impenetrable mystery. Before him lay the 
 immense nave, thronged now with close-packed 
 chairs in readiness for the midnight Mass, and they 
 seemed to him as he looked with tired eyes, almost 
 like the bent shoulders of an enormous crowd 
 bowed in dead silence of adoration. But there was 
 nothing yet to adore, except up there to the left, 
 where a very pale glimmer shone on polished mar- 
 ble among the shadows before the chapel of the 
 Blessed Sacrament. There was one other excep- 
 tion; for overhead, against the half-lighted apse, 
 where a belated sacristan still moved about, him- 
 self a shadow, busy with the last preparations of 
 the High Altar there burgeoned out the ominous 
 silhouette of the vast hanging cross, but so dark
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 429 
 
 that the tortured Christ upon it was invisible. 
 . . . Yet surely that was right on this night, 
 for who, of all those who were to adore presently 
 the Child of Joy, gave a thought to the Man of 
 Sorrows? His Time was yet three months away. 
 
 As the priest stood there, looking and imagining, 
 with that strange clarity of mind and intuition that 
 a few hours in the confessional gives to even the 
 dullest brain, he noticed the figure of a man detach 
 itself from one of the lighted confessionals on the 
 left and come down towards him, walking quickly 
 and lightly. To his surprise, this young man, in- 
 stead of going out at the northwest door, wheeled 
 and came towards him. 
 
 He noticed him particularly, and remembered his 
 dress afterwards: it was a very shabby dark blue 
 suit, splashed with mud from the Christmas streets, 
 very bulgy about the knees ; the coat was buttoned 
 up tightly round a muffler that had probably once 
 been white, and his big boots made a considerable 
 noise as he came. 
 
 The priest had a sudden impulse as the young 
 man crossed him. 
 
 " A merry Christmas," he said. 
 
 The young man stopped a moment and smiled 
 all over his face, and the priest noticed the ex-
 
 430 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Iraordinary serenity and pleasantness of the face 
 and that, though it was the face of a Poor Man, 
 with sunken cheeks and lines at the corners of the 
 mouth. f 
 
 " Thank you, Father," he said. " The same to 
 you." 
 
 Then he went on, his boots as noisy as ever, and 
 turned up the south aisle. And presently the sound 
 of his boots ceased. 
 
 The priest still stood a moment or two, looking 
 and thinking, and it struck him with something of 
 pleasure that the young man, though obviously of 
 the most completely submerged tenth, had not even 
 hesitated or paused, still less said one word, with 
 the hope of a little something for Christmas' sake. 
 Surely he had spoken, too> with the voice of an edu- 
 cated man. 
 
 He became suddenly interested he scarcely 
 knew why, and the impression made just by that 
 single glimpse of a personality deepened every mo- 
 ment. . . . What in the world was that young 
 man doing here? . . . What was his business 
 up in that empty south aisle? Who was he? 
 What was it all about? 
 
 He thought presently that he would go up and 
 see; it was on his way back to the clergy-house, 
 too. But when he reached the corner of the aisle
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 431 
 
 and could see up it, there seemed to be no one 
 there. 
 
 He began to walk up, wondering more than ever, 
 and then on a sudden he saw a figure kneeling on 
 the lower step of the chapel on the right, railed off 
 and curtained now, where the Crib was ready to 
 be disclosed two hours later. 
 
 It all seemed very odd. He could not under- 
 stand why anyone should wish to pray before an 
 impenetrable curtain. As he came nearer he saw 
 it was his friend all right. Those boots were un- 
 mistakable. The young man was kneeling on the 
 step, quite upright and motionless, his cap held in 
 his hands, facing towards the curtain behind which, 
 no doubt, there stood the rock-roofed stable, with 
 the Three Personages an old man, a maid and 
 a new-born Child. But their time, too, was not 
 yet. It was two hours away. 
 
 Priests do not usually stare in the face of people 
 who are saying their prayers they are quite ac- 
 customed to that phenomenon; but this priest (he 
 tells me) simply could not resist it. And as he 
 passed on his noiseless shoes, noticing that the light 
 from his own confessional shone full upon the man, 
 he turned and looked straight at his face. 
 
 Now I do not understand what it was that he 
 saw; he does not understand it himself; but it seems 
 that there was something that impressed him more
 
 432 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 than anything else that he had ever seen before or 
 since in the whole world. 
 
 The young man's eyes were open and his lips 
 were closed. Not one muscle of his face moved. 
 So much for the physical facts. But it was a case 
 where the physical facts are supremely unimpor- 
 tant. ... At any rate, the priest could only 
 recall them with an effort. The point was that 
 there was something supra-physical there (per- 
 sonally I should call it supernatural) that stabbed 
 the watcher's heart clean through with one over- 
 whelming pang. ... (I think that's enough.) 
 
 When the priest reached the Lady chapel he sat 
 down, still trembling a little, and threw all his 
 attention into his ears, determined to hear the first 
 movement that the kneeling figure made behind him. 
 So he sat minute after minute. The Cathedral was 
 full of echoes murmurous rebounds of the noises 
 of the streets, drawn out and mellowed into long, 
 soft, rolling tones, against which, as against a foil, 
 there stood out detached, now and then, the sudden 
 footsteps of someone leaving or entering a con- 
 fessional, the short scream of a slipping chair 
 once the sudden noise of a confessional-door being 
 opened and the click of the handle which turned 
 out the electric light. And it was full of shadows, 
 too; a monstrous outline crossed and recrossed the
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 433 
 
 apse behind the High Altar, as the sacristan moved 
 about ; once a hand, as of a giant, remained poised 
 for an instant somewhere on the wall beside the 
 throne. It seemed to the priest, tired and clear- 
 brained as he was, as if he sat in some place of ex- 
 pectation some great cavern where mysteries 
 moved and passed in preparation for a climax. All 
 was hushed and confused, yet alive; and the dark 
 waves would break presently in the glory of the 
 midnight Mass. 
 
 He scarcely knew what held him there, nor what 
 it was for which he waited. He thought of the 
 lighted common-room at the end of the long corri- 
 dor beyond the sacristy. He wondered who was 
 there ; perhaps one or two were playing billiards and 
 smoking; they had had a hard day of it and would 
 scarcely get to bed before three. And yet, here he 
 sat, tired and over-strained, yet waiting waiting 
 for a disreputable-looking young man in a dirty 
 suit and muffler and big boots, to give over praying 
 before a curtain in an empty aisle. 
 
 A figure presently came softly round the corner 
 behind him. It was the priest whom he had heard 
 leaving his confessional just now. 
 
 " Haven't you done yet ? " whispered the new- 
 comer, pausing behind his chair. 
 
 " Coming in a minute or two," he said. 
 
 The figure passed on; presently a door banged
 
 434 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 like muffled thunder somewhere beyond the sacristy, 
 and simultaneously he heard a pair of boots going 
 down the aisle behind. 
 
 He got up instantly, and with long, silent steps 
 made his way down the aisle also. The figure 
 wheeled the corner and disappeared; he himself 
 ran on tip-toe and was in time to see him turning 
 away from the holy-water basin by the door. But 
 he came so quickly after him that the door was still 
 vibrating as he put his hand upon it. He came out 
 more cautiously through the little entrance, and 
 stood on the steps in time to see the young man 
 moving off, not five yards away, in the direction of 
 Victoria Street. But here something stopped him. 
 
 Coming straight up the pavement outside the Art 
 and Book Company depot was a newsboy at the 
 trot, yelling something as he came, with a poster 
 flapping from one arm and a bundle of papers 
 under the other. The priest could not catch what 
 he said, but he saw the young man suddenly stop 
 and then turn off sharply towards the boy, and he 
 saw him, after fumbling in his pocket, produce a 
 halfpenny and a paper pass into his hands. 
 
 There then he stood, motionless on the pavement, 
 the sheet spread before him flapping a little in the 
 gusty night wind. 
 
 " Paper, sir ! " yelled the boy, pausing in the 
 road. " 'Orrible "
 
 X(A'E OTHER GODS 435 
 
 The priest nodded ; but he was not thinking much 
 about the paper, and produced his halfpenny. The 
 paper was put into his hand, but he paid no atten- 
 tion to it. lie was still watching the motionless 
 figure on the pavement. About three minutes 
 passed. Then the young man suddenly and dex- 
 terously folded the paper, folded it again and 
 slipped it into his pocket. Then he set off walking 
 and a .moment later had vanished round the corner 
 into Victoria Street. 
 
 The priest thought no more of the paper as he 
 \\CMU back through the Cathedral, wondering again 
 over what he had seen. . . . 
 
 But the common-room was empty when he got 
 to it, and presently he spread the paper before him 
 on the table and leaned over it to see what the ex- 
 citement was about. There was no doubt as to 
 what the news was there were headlines occupy- 
 ing nearly a third of a column; but it appeared to 
 him unimportant as general news: he had never 
 heard of the people before. It seemed that a 
 wealthy peer who lived in the North of England, 
 who had only recently been married for the second 
 time, had been killed in a motor smash together 
 with his eldest son. The chauffeur had escaped 
 with a fractured thigh. The peer's name was Lord 
 Talgarth.
 
 .CHAPTER VII 
 
 (i) 
 
 the morning of the twenty-fourth a curious 
 little incident happened I dug the facts out 
 of the police news in a small public-house on 
 the outskirts of South London. Obviously it is no 
 more than the sheerest coincidence. Four men were 
 drinking a friendly glass of beer together on their 
 way back to work from breakfast. Their ecclesias- 
 tical zeal seems to have been peculiarly strong, 
 for they distinctly stated that they were celebrating 
 Christmas on that date, and I deduce from that 
 statement that beer-drinking was comparatively in- 
 frequent with them. 
 
 However, as they were about to part, there en- 
 tered to them a fifth, travel-stained and tired, who 
 sat down and demanded some stronger form of 
 stimulant. The new-comer was known to these 
 four, for his name was given, and his domicile was 
 mentioned as Hackney Wick. He was a small 
 man, very active and very silent and rather pale; 
 and he seems to have had something of a mys- 
 terious reputation even among his friends and to be 
 considered a dangerous man to cross. 
 43 6
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 437 
 
 He made no mystery, however, as to where he 
 had come from, nor whither he was going. He 
 had come from Kent, he said, and humorously 
 added that he had been hop-picking, and was going 
 to join his wife and the family circle for the fes- 
 tival of Christmas. He remarked that his wife 
 had written to him to say she had lodgers. 
 
 The four men naturally stayed a little to hear all 
 this news and to celebrate Christmas once more, 
 but they presently were forced to tear themselves 
 away. It was as the first man was leaving (his 
 foreman appears to have been of a tyrannical dis- 
 position) that the little incident happened. 
 
 " Why," he said, " Bill " (three out of the five 
 companions seemed to have been usually called 
 " Bill "), " Bill, your boots are in a mess." 
 
 The Bill in question made caustic remarks. He 
 observed that it would be remarkable if they were 
 not in such weather. But the other persisted that 
 this was not mud, and a general inspection was 
 made. This resulted in the opinion of the majority 
 being formed that Bill had trodden in some blood. 
 Bill himself was one of the majority, though he 
 attempted in vain to think of any explanation. 
 Two men, however, declared that in their opinion 
 it was only red earth. (A certain obscurity ap- 
 pears in the evidence at this point, owing to the 
 common use of a certain expletive in the mouth
 
 438 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 of the British working-man.) There was a hot 
 discussion on the subject, and the Bill whose boots 
 were under argument seems to have been the only 
 man to keep his head. He argued very sensibly 
 that if the stains were those of blood, then he 
 must have stepped in some perhaps in the gutter 
 of a slaughter-house; and if it was not blood, then 
 it must be something else he had trodden in. It 
 was urged upon him that it was best washed off, 
 and he seems finally to have taken the advice, 
 though without enthusiasm. 
 
 Then the four men departed. 
 
 The landlady's evidence was to the same effect. 
 She states that the new-comer, with whose name 
 she had been previously unacquainted, though she 
 knew his face, had remained very tranquilly for 
 an hour or so and had breakfasted off bacon and 
 eggs. He seemed to have plenty of money, she 
 said. He had finally set off, limping a little, in a 
 northward direction. 
 
 Now this incident is a very small one. I only 
 mention it because, in reading the evidence later, 
 I found myself reminded of a parallel incident, re- 
 corded in a famous historical trial, in which some- 
 thing resembling blood was seen on the hand of the 
 judge. His name was Ayloff, and his date the six- 
 teenth century.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 439 
 
 (n) 
 
 Mrs. Partington had a surprise not wholly 
 agreeable on that Christmas Eve. For at half- 
 past three, just as the London evening was be- 
 ginning to close in, her husband walked into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 She had seen nothing of him for six weeks, and 
 had managed to get on fairly well without him. 
 I am not even now certain whether or no she knows 
 what her husband's occupation is during these ab- 
 sences of his I think it quite possible that, hon- 
 estly, she does not and I have no idea myself. 
 It seemed, however, this time, that he had pros- 
 pered. He was in quite a good temper, he was 
 tolerably well dressed, and within ten minutes of 
 his arrival he had produced a handful of shillings. 
 Five of these he handed over to her at once for 
 Christmas necessaries, and ten more he entrusted 
 to Maggie with explicit directions as to their ex- 
 penditure. 
 
 While he took off his boots, his wife gave him 
 the news first, as to the arrival of the Major's 
 little party, and next as to its unhappy dispersion 
 on that very day. 
 
 " He will 'ave it as the young -man's gone off 
 with the young woman," she observed. 
 
 Mr. Partington made a commentatory sound.
 
 440 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " An' 'e's 'arf mad," she added. " 'E means 
 mischief if 'e can manage it." 
 
 Mr. Partington observed, in his own particular 
 kind of vocabulary, that the Major's intentions 
 were absurd, since the young man would scarcely 
 be such a peculiarly qualified kind of fool as to 
 return. And Mrs. Partington agreed with him. 
 (In fact, this had been her one comfort all day. 
 For it seemed to her, with her frank and natural 
 ideas, that, on the whole, Frank and Gertie had 
 done the proper thing. She was pleased, too, to 
 think that she had been right in her surmises as to 
 Gertie's attitude to Frank. For, of course, she 
 never doubted for one single instant that the two 
 had eloped together in the ordinary way, though 
 probably without any intentions of matrimony.) 
 
 Mr. Partington presently inquired as to where 
 the Major was, and was informed that he was, of 
 course, at the " Queen's Arms." He had been 
 there, in fact, continuously except for sudden 
 excursions home, to demand whether anything had 
 been heard of the fugitives since about half-past 
 eleven that morning. It was a situation that needed 
 comfort. 
 
 .Mrs. Partington added a few comments on the 
 whole situation, and presently put on her bonnet 
 and went out to supplement her Christmas prepara- 
 tions with the extra five shillings, leaving her hus-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 441 
 
 band to doze in the Windsor chair, with his pipe 
 depending from his mouth. He had walked up 
 from Kent that morning, he said. 
 
 She returned in time to get tea ready, bringing 
 with her various " relishes," and found that the 
 situation had developed slightly since her departure. 
 The Major had made another of his infuriated re- 
 turns, and had expanded at length to his old friend 
 Mr. Partington, recounting the extraordinary kind- 
 ness he had always shown to Frank and the con- 
 fidence he had reposed in him. He had picked him 
 up, it seemed, when the young man had been prac- 
 tically starving, and had been father and comrade 
 to him ever since. And to be repaid in this way! 
 He had succeeded also by his eloquence, Mrs. Part- 
 ington perceived, in winning her husband's sym- 
 pathies, and was now gone off again, ostensibly 
 to scour the neighborhood once more, but, more 
 probably, to attempt to drown his grieved and 
 wounded feelings. 
 
 Mrs. Partington set her thin lips and said noth- 
 ing. She noticed also, as she spread the table, a 
 number of bottles set upon the floor, two of them 
 with yellow labels the result of Maggie's errand 
 and prepared herself to face a somewhat riotous 
 evening. But Christmas, she reflected for her con- 
 solation, comes but once a year. 
 
 29
 
 442 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 It was about nine o'clock that the two men and 
 the one woman sat down to supper upstairs. The 
 children had been put to bed in the kitchen as 
 usual, after Jimmie had informed his mother that 
 the clergyman had been round no less than three 
 times since four o'clock to inquire after the, van- 
 ished lodger. He was a little tearful at being put 
 to bed at such an unusually early hour, as Mr. Par- 
 ham-Carter, it appeared, had promised him no less 
 than sixpence if he would come round to the clergy- 
 house within five minutes after the lodger's return, 
 and it was obviously impossible to traverse the 
 streets in a single flannel shirt. 
 
 His mother dismissed it all as nonsense. She 
 told him that Frankie was not coming back at all 
 that he wasn't a good young man, and had run 
 away without paying mother her rent. This made 
 the situation worse than ever, as Jimmie protested 
 violently against this shattering of his ideal, and 
 his mother had to assume a good deal of stern- 
 ness to cover up her own tenderness of feeling. 
 But she, too though she considered the flight of 
 the two perfectly usual was conscious of a very 
 slight sense of disappointment herself that it 
 should have been this particular young man who 
 had done it. 
 
 Then she went upstairs again to supper.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 443 
 
 (m) 
 
 The famous archway that gives entrance to the 
 district of Hackney Wick seems, especially on a 
 rainy night, directly designed by the Great Eastern 
 Railway as a vantage ground for observant loafers 
 with a desire to know every soul that enters or 
 leaves Hackney Wick. It is, of course, possible 
 to enter Hackney Wick by other ways it may 
 be approached by the marshes, and there is, I think, 
 another way round about half a mile to the east, 
 under the railway. But those ways have nothing 
 whatever to do with people coming from London 
 proper. You arrive at Victoria Park Station; you 
 turn immediately to the right and follow the pave- 
 ment down, with the park on your left, until you 
 come to the archway where the road unites with 
 that coming from Homerton. One is absolutely 
 safe, therefore, assuming that one has not to deal 
 with watchful criminals, in standing under the arch 
 with the certitude that sooner or later, if you wait 
 long enough, the man whom you expect to enter 
 Hackney Wick will pass within ten yards of you. 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter, of course, knew this per- 
 fectly well, and had, finally, communicated the fact 
 to the other two quite early in the afternoon. An 
 elaborate system of watches, therefore, had been 
 arranged, by which one of the three had been on
 
 444 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 guard continuously since three o'clock. It was Jack 
 who had had the privilege (if he had but known 
 it) of observing Mr. Partington himself returning 
 home to his family for Christmas, and it was Dick, 
 who came on guard about five, who had seen the 
 Major or, rather, what was to him merely a 
 shabby and excited man leave and then return 
 to the " Queen's Arms " during his hour's watch. 
 
 After the amazing and shocking news, however, 
 of the accident to Lord Talgarth and Archie, the 
 precautions had been doubled. It was the clergy- 
 man who had first bought an evening paper soon 
 after five o'clock, and within five minutes the other 
 two knew it also. 
 
 It is of no good to try to describe the effect it 
 had on their minds, beyond saying that it made all 
 three of them absolutely resolute that Frank should 
 by no possible means escape them. The full dra- 
 matic situation of it all they scarcely appreciated, 
 though it soaked more and more into them grad- 
 ually as they waited two of them in the Men's 
 Club just round the corner, and the third, shivering 
 and stamping, under the arch. (An unemployed 
 man, known to the clergyman, had been set as an 
 additional sentry on the steps of the Men's Club, 
 whose duty it would be, the moment the signal was
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 445 
 
 given from the arch that Frank was coming, to call 
 the other two instantly from inside. Further, the 
 clergyman as has been related had been round 
 three times since four o'clock to Turner Road, and 
 had taken Jimmie into his pay.) 
 
 The situation was really rather startling, even to 
 the imperturbable Dick. This pleasant young man, 
 to whom he had begun to feel very strangely tender 
 during the last month or two, now tramping Lon- 
 don streets (or driving a van), in his miserable old 
 clothes described to him by the clergyman, or work- 
 ing at the jam factory, was actually no one else at 
 this moment but the new Lord Talgarth with all 
 that that implied. Merefield was his ; the big house 
 in Berkeley Square was his; the moor in Scotland. 
 . . . It was an entire reversal of the whole 
 thing : it was as a change of trumps in whist : every- 
 thing had altered its value. . . . 
 
 Well, he had plenty of time, both before he came 
 off guard at seven and after he had joined the 
 clergyman in the Men's Club, to sort out the facts 
 and their consequences. 
 
 About half-past ten the three held a consultation 
 under the archway, while trains rumbled overhead. 
 They attracted very little attention here : the arch- 
 way is dark and wide; they were muffled to the eyes;
 
 446 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 and there usually is a fringe of people standing 
 under shelter here on rainy evenings. They leaned 
 back against the wall and talked. 
 
 They had taken further steps since they had last 
 met. Mr. Parham-Carter had been round to the 
 jam factory, and had returned with the news that 
 the van had come back under the charge of only 
 one of the drivers, and that the other one, who was 
 called Gregory (whom Mr. Parham-Carter was in- 
 quiring after), would certainly be dismissed in con- 
 sequence. He had taken the address of the driver, 
 who was now off duty somewhere in Homerton 
 
 with the intention of going to see him next morn- 
 ing if Frank had not appeared. 
 
 There were two points they were discussing now. 
 
 First, should the police be informed? Secondly, 
 was it probable that Frank would have heard the 
 news, and, if so, was it conceivable that he had 
 gone straight off somewhere in consequence to 
 his lawyers, or even to Merefield itself? 
 
 Dick remembered the name of the firm quite well 
 
 at least, he thought so. Should he send a wire 
 to inquire ? 
 
 But then, in that case, Jack shrewdly pointed out, 
 everything was as it should be. And this reflection 
 caused the three considerable comfort. 
 
 For all that, there were one or two " ifs." Was
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 447 
 
 it likely that Frank should have heard the news? 
 He was notoriously hard up, and the name Talgarth 
 had not appeared, so far, on any of the posters. 
 Yet he might easily have been given a paper, or 
 picked one up ... and then. . . . 
 
 So the discussion went on, and there was not 
 much to be got out of it. The final decision come 
 to was this : That guard should be kept, as before, 
 until twelve o'clock midnight ; that at that hour the 
 three should leave the archway and, in company, 
 visit two places Turner Road and the police-sta- 
 tion and that the occupants of both these places 
 should be informed of the facts. And that then 
 all three should go to bed. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 At ten minutes past eleven Dick moved away from 
 the fire in the Men's Club, where he had just been 
 warming himself after his vigil, and began to walk 
 up and down. 
 
 He, had no idea why he was so uncomfortable, 
 and he determined to set to work to reassure him- 
 self. (The clergyman, he noticed, was beginning 
 to doze a little by the fire, for the club had just been 
 officially closed and the rooms were empty. ) 
 
 Of course, it was not pleasant to have to tell a
 
 448 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 young man that his father and brother were dead 
 (Dick himself was conscious of a considerable 
 shock), but surely the situation was, on the whole, 
 enormously improved. This morning Frank was a 
 pauper; to-night he was practically a millionaire, 
 as well as a peer of the realm. This morning his 
 friends had nothing by which they might appeal to 
 him, except common sense and affection, and Frank 
 had very little of the one, and, it would seem, a very 
 curious idea of the other. 
 
 Of course, all that affair about Jenny was a bad 
 business (Dick could hardly even now trust himself 
 to think of her too much, and not to discuss her 
 at all), but Frank would get over it. 
 
 Then, still walking up and down, and honestly 
 reassured by sheer reason, he began to think of what 
 part Jenny would play in the future. ... It 
 was a very odd situation, a very odd situation in- 
 deed. (The deliberate and self -restrained Dick 
 used an even stronger expression.) Here was a 
 young woman who had jilted the son and married 
 the father, obviously from ambitious motives, and 
 now found herself almost immediately in the posi- 
 tion of a very much unestablished kind of dowager, 
 with the jilted son reigning in her husband's stead. 
 And what on earth would happen next ? Diamonds 
 had been trumps; now it looked as if hearts were to
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 449 
 
 succeed them; and what a very remarkable pattern 
 was that of these hearts. 
 
 But to come back to Frank 
 
 And at that moment he heard a noise at the door, 
 and, as the clergyman started up from his doze, 
 Dick saw the towzled and becapped head of the un- 
 employed man and his hand beckoning violently, 
 and heard his hoarse voice adjuring them to make 
 haste. The gentleman under the arch, he said, was 
 signaling. 
 
 The scene was complete when the two arrived, 
 with the unemployed man encouraging them from 
 behind, half a minute later under the archway. 
 
 Jack had faced Frank fairly and squarely on the 
 further pavement, and was holding him in talk. 
 
 " My dear chap," he was saying, " we've been 
 waiting for you all day. Thank the Lord you've 
 come! " 
 
 Frank looked a piteous sight, thought Dick, who 
 now for the first time saw the costume that Mr. Par- 
 ham-Carter had described with such minuteness. 
 He was standing almost under the lamp, and there 
 were heavy drooping shadows on his face ; he looked 
 five years older than when Dick had last seen him 
 only at Easter. But his voice was confident and 
 self-respecting enough. 
 
 " My dear Jack," he was saying, " you really
 
 450 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 mustn't interrupt. I've only just " Then he 
 broke off as he recognized the others. 
 
 " So you've given me away after all," he said with 
 a certain sternness to the clergyman. 
 
 " Indeed I haven't," cried that artless young man. 
 ^'They came quite unexpectedly this morning." 
 
 " And you've told them that they could catch me 
 here," said Frank. " Well, it makes no difference. 
 I'm going on Hullo ! Dick ! " 
 
 " Look here ! " said Dick. " It's really serious. 
 You've heard about " His voice broke. 
 
 " I've heard about it," said Frank. " But that 
 doesn't make any difference for to-night." 
 
 " But my dear man," cried Jack, seizing him by 
 the lapel of his coat, " it's simply ridiculous. We've 
 come down here on purpose you're killing your- 
 self " 
 
 " One moment," said Frank. " Tell me exactly 
 what you want." 
 
 Dick pushed to the front. 
 
 " Let him alone, you fellows. . . . This is 
 what we want, Frank. We want you to come 
 straight to the clergy-house for to-night. To-mor- 
 row you and I'll go and see the lawyers first thing 
 in the morning, and go up to Merefield by the after- 
 noon train. I'm sorry, but you've really got to go 
 through with it. You're the head of the family 
 now. They'll be all waiting for you there, and
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 451 
 
 they can't do anything without you. This mustn't 
 get into the papers. Fortunately, not a soul knows 
 of it yet, though they would have if you'd been 
 half an hour later. Now, come along." 
 
 " One moment," said Frank. " I agree with 
 nearly all that you've said. I quite agree with you 
 that" he paused a moment "that the head of 
 the family should be at Merefield to-morrow night. 
 But for to-night you three must just go round to 
 the clergy-house and wait. I've got to finish my 
 job clean out and " 
 
 " What job? " cried two voices simultaneously. 
 
 Frank leaned against the wall and put his hands 
 in his pockets. 
 
 " I really don't propose to go into all that now. 
 It'd take an hour. But two of you know most of the 
 story. In a dozen words it's this I've got the 
 girl away, and now I'm going to tell the man, and 
 tell him a few other things at the same time. That's 
 the whole thing. Now clear off, please. (I'm aw- 
 fully obliged, you know, and all that), but you really 
 must let me finish it before I do anything else." 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 It seemed tolerably reasonable, put like that 
 at least, it seemed consistent with what appeared to 
 the three to be the amazing unreason of all Frank's 
 proceedings. They hesitated, and were lost. 
 
 " Will you swear not to clear out of Hackney
 
 452 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Wick before we've seen you again?" demanded 
 Jack hoarsely. 
 
 Frank bowed his head. 
 
 " Yes," he said. 
 
 The clergyman and Dick were consulting in low 
 voices. Jack looked at them with a wild sort of ap- 
 peal in his face. He was completely bewildered, and 
 hoped for help. But none came. 
 
 " Will you swear " he began again. 
 
 Frank put his hand suddenly on his friend's shoul- 
 der. 
 
 " Look here, old man. I'm really rather done 
 up. I think you might let me go without any 
 more " 
 
 "All right, we agree," said Dick suddenly. 
 "And" 
 
 " Very good," said Frank. " Then there's really 
 no more " 
 
 He turned as if to go. 
 
 " Frank, Frank " cried Jack. 
 
 Frank turned and glanced at him, and then went 
 on. 
 
 " Good-night," he cried. 
 
 And so they let him go. 
 
 They watched him, in silence, cross the road by 
 the " Queen's Arms " and pass up the left-hand 
 pavement. As he drew near each lamp his shadow
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 453 
 
 lay behind him, shortened, vanished and reappeared 
 before him. After the third lamp they lost him, 
 and they knew he would a moment later pass into 
 Turner Road. 
 
 So they let him go. 
 
 (v) 
 
 Mr. Parham-Carter's room looked very warm 
 and home-like after the comfortlessness of the damp 
 lamp-lit streets. It was as has already been related : 
 the Madonna, the prints, the low book-cases, the 
 drawn curtains, the rosy walls, the dancing firelight 
 and the electric lamp. 
 
 It was even reassuring at first safe and pro- 
 tected, and the three sat down content. A tray with 
 some cold meat and cheese rested on the table by 
 the fire, and cocoa in a brown jug stood warming 
 in the fender. They had had irregular kinds of 
 refreshments in the Men's Club at odd intervals, 
 and were exceedingly hungry. 
 
 They began to talk presently, and it was aston- 
 ishing how the sight and touch of Frank had 
 cheered them. More than one of the three has con- 
 fessed to me since that a large part of the anxiety 
 was caused by his simple absence and by imaginative 
 little pictures of street accidents. It would have
 
 454 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 been so extremely ironical if he had happened to 
 have been run over on the day on which he became 
 Lord Talgarth. 
 
 They laid their little plans, too, for the next day. 
 Dick had thought it all out. He, Jack and Frank 
 were to call at the lawyers' office in Lincoln's Inn 
 Fields, and leave a message, as the office would be 
 closed of course, immediately after the wanderer 
 had been dressed properly in ready-made clothes. 
 Then they would catch the early afternoon train 
 and get to Merefield that night. The funeral could 
 not possibly take place for several days : there would 
 have to be an inquest. 
 
 Then they read over the account of the smash 
 in the Star newspaper special edition. It seemed 
 to have been nobody's fault. The brake had re- 
 fused to act going down a steep hill ; they had run 
 into a wall; the chauffeur had been thro\vn clean 
 over it; the two passengers had been pinned under 
 the car. Lord Talgarth was dead at once; Archie 
 had died five minutes after being taken out. 
 
 So they all talked at once in low voices, but in 
 the obvious excitement of relief. It was an ex- 
 traordinary pleasure to them now that they looked 
 at it in the sanity conferred by food and warmth 
 to reflect that Frank was within a quarter of a mile 
 of them certainly in dreary surroundings ; but it 
 was for the last time. To-morrow would see him
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 455 
 
 restored to ordinary life, his delusions and vagaries 
 plucked from him by irresistible circumstance, and 
 the future in his hands. 
 
 Midnight still found them talking alert and 
 cheerful; but a little silence fell as they heard the 
 chiming of bells. 
 
 " Christmas Day, by George ! " said the clergy- 
 man. " Merry Christmas ! " 
 
 They shook hands, smiling shamefacedly, as is 
 the custom of Englishmen. 
 
 " And to think of old Frank " mused Jack 
 half aloud. " I told you, Guiseley, about his com- 
 ing to me in the autumn? " (He had been think- 
 ing a great deal about that visit lately, and about 
 what Frank had told him of himself the idea he 
 had of Something going on behind the scenes in 
 which he had passively to take his part ; his remark 
 on how pleasant it must be to be a squire. Well, 
 the play had come to an end, it seemed ; now there 
 followed the life of a squire indeed. It was curious 
 to think that Frank was, actually at this moment, 
 Lord Talgarth!) 
 
 Dick nodded his head, smiling to himself in his 
 beard. Somehow or another the turn things had 
 taken had submerged in him for the present the 
 consciousness of the tragedy up at Merefield, and 
 his own private griefs, and the memory of Jenny.
 
 456 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 Jack told it all again briefly. He piled it on 
 about the Major and his extreme repulsiveness, and 
 the draggled appearance of Gertie, and Frank's in- 
 credible obstinacy. 
 
 " And to think that he's brought it off, and got 
 the girl home to her people. . . . Well, thank 
 the Lord that's over! We shan't have any more 
 of that sort of thing." 
 
 Dick got up presently and began to walk about, 
 eyeing the pictures and the books. 
 
 "Want to turn in?" asked the cleric. 
 
 " Well, I think, as we've an early start " 
 
 The clergyman jumped up. 
 
 " You've a beastly little room, I'm afraid. We're 
 rather full up. And you, Mr. Kirkby ! " 
 
 " I'll wait till you come back," he said. 
 
 The two went out, after good-nights, and Jack 
 was left staring at the fire. 
 
 He felt very wide-awake, and listened contentedly 
 to the dying noises of the streets. Somewhere in 
 that hive outside was Frank old Frank. That 
 was very good to think of. . . . 
 
 During these last months Frank's personality had 
 been very persistently before him. It was not that 
 he pretended to understand him in the very least; 
 but he understood enough now to feel that there 
 was something very admirable in it all. It was
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 457 
 
 mad and quixotic and absurd, but it had a certain 
 light of nobility. Of course, it would never do if 
 people in general behaved like that ; society simply 
 could not go on if everyone went about espousing 
 the cause of unhappy and badly-behaved individ- 
 uals, and put on old clothes and played the Ass. But, 
 for all that, it was not unpleasant to reflect that his 
 own friend had chosen to do these things in despite 
 of convention. There was a touch of fineness in it. 
 And it was all over now, thank God. . . . 
 What times they would have up in the north ! 
 
 He heard a gate clash somewhere outside. The 
 sound just detached itself from the murmur of the 
 night. Then a late train ran grinding over the em- 
 banked railway behind the house, and drew up with 
 the screaming of brakes at Victoria Park Station, 
 and distracted him again. 
 
 "Are you ready, Mr. Kirkby?" said the clergy- 
 man, coming in. 
 
 Jack stood up, stretching himself. In the middle 
 of the stretch he stopped. 
 
 "What's that noise?" he asked. 
 
 They stood listening. 
 
 Then again came the sharp, prolonged tingle of 
 an electric bell, followed by a battering at a door 
 downstairs. 
 
 Jack, looking in the other's face, saw him go ever 
 
 so slightly pale beneath his eyes. 
 30
 
 458 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 " There's somebody at the door," said Mr. Par- 
 ham-Carter. " I'll just go down and see." 
 
 And, as Jack stood there, motionless and breath- 
 less, he could hear no sound but the thick hammer- 
 ing of his own heart at the base of his throat.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 (i) 
 
 A T half-past eleven o'clock Mrs. Partington 
 came upstairs to the room where the two men 
 were still drinking, to make one more suggestion 
 that it \vas time to go to bed. 
 
 It was a dreary little room, this front bedroom 
 on the first floor, where Frank and the Major had 
 slept last night in one large double bed. The bed 
 was pushed now close against the wall, the clothes 
 still tumbled and unmade, with various articles lying 
 upon it, as on a table. A chair without a back 
 stood between it and the window. 
 
 The table where the two men still sat was pulled 
 close to the fire that had been lighted partly in 
 honor of Mr. Partington and partly in honor of 
 Christmas, and was covered with a debris of plates 
 and glasses and tobacco and bottles. There was a 
 jam-jar filled with holly obtained from the butcher's 
 shop, in the middle of the table. There was very 
 little furniture in the room; there was a yellow- 
 painted chest of drawers opposite the door, and 
 this, too, held a little regiment of bottles; there was 
 459
 
 460 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 a large oleograph of Queen Victoria hanging above 
 the bed, and a text for some inscrutable reason 
 was permitted to hang above the fireplace, pro- 
 claiming that " The Lord is merciful and long-suf- 
 fering," in Gothic letters, peeping modestly out of 
 a wealth of painted apple-blossoms, with a water- 
 wheel in the middle distance and a stile. On the 
 further side of the fireplace was a washhand-stand, 
 with a tin pail below it, and the Major's bowler hat 
 reposing in the basin. There was a piece of carpet 
 underneath the table, and a woolly sort of mat, 
 trodden through in two or three places, beside the 
 bed. 
 
 Mrs. Partington coughed as she came in, so tre- 
 mendous was the reek of tobacco smoke, burning 
 paraffin and spirits. 
 
 " Bless the men ! " she said, and choked once 
 more. 
 
 She was feeling comparatively light-hearted; it 
 was a considerable relief to her that Frank actually 
 had not come back, though she never had for one 
 instant expected him to do so. But she didn't want 
 any more disturbances or quarrels, and, as she 
 looked at the Major, who turned in his chair as she 
 came in, she felt even more relieved. His appear- 
 ance was not reassuring.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 461 
 
 He had been drinking pretty steadily all day to 
 drown his grief, and had ended up by a very busi- 
 ness-like supper with his landlord. There were 
 four empty beer bottles and one empty whisky bot- 
 tle distributed on the table or floor, and another 
 half-empty whisky bottle stood between the two men 
 on the table. And as she looked at the Major (she 
 was completely experienced in alcoholic symptoms), 
 she understood exactly what stage he had reached. 
 
 Now the Major was by no means a drunkard 
 let that be understood. He drank whenever he 
 could, but a tramp cannot drink to very grave ex- 
 cess. He is perpetually walking and he is perpetu- 
 ally poor. But this was a special occasion; it was 
 Christmas; he was home in London; his landlord 
 had returned, and he had lost Gertie. 
 
 He had reached, then, the dangerous stage, when 
 the alcohol, after having excited and warmed and 
 confused the brain, recoils from it to some extent, 
 leaving it clear and resolute and entirely reckless, 
 and entirely conscious of any idea that happens to 
 be dominant (at least, that is the effect on some 
 temperaments). The maudlin stage had passed 
 long ago, at the beginning of supper, when the Ma- 
 jor had leaned his head on his plate and wept over 
 the ingratitude of man and the peculiar poignancy
 
 462 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 of " old Frankie's " individual exhibition of it. A 
 noisy stage had succeeded to this, and now there 
 was deadly quiet. 
 
 He was rather white in the face; his eyes were 
 set, but very bright, and he was smoking hard and 
 fast. 
 
 " Now then," said Mrs. Partington cheerfully, 
 " time for bed." 
 
 Her husband winked at her gravely, which was 
 his nearest approach to hilarity. He was a quiet 
 man at all times. 
 
 The Major said nothing. 
 
 " There ! there's 'Erb awake again," said the 
 mother, as a wail rose up the staircase. " I'll be up 
 again presently." And she vanished once more. 
 
 Two of the children were awake after all. 
 
 Jimmie lay, black-eyed and alert, beside his 
 brother, and looked at his mother reflectively as she 
 came in. He was still thinking about the sixpence 
 that might conceivably have been his. 'Erb's lam- 
 entation stopped as she came in, and she went to 
 the table first to turn down the smoking lamp. 
 
 She was quite a kindly mother, a great deal more 
 tender than she seemed, and 'Erb knew it well 
 enough. But he respected her sufficiently to stop 
 crying when she came in.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 463 
 
 " Now then," she said with motherly sternness. 
 " I can't 'ave " 
 
 Then she stopped abruptly. She had heard steps 
 on the pavement outside as she came into the room, 
 and now she heard the handle of the street door 
 turned and someone come into the passage. She 
 stood wondering, and in that pause she missed her 
 chance, for the steps came straight past the door 
 and began to go upstairs. It might, of course, con- 
 ceivably be one of the lodgers on the top-floor, and 
 yet she knew it was not. She whisked to the door 
 a moment later, but it was too late, and she was 
 only just in time to see the figure she knew turn the 
 corner of the four stairs that led to the first-floor 
 landing. 
 
 "Is that Frankie?" asked Jimmie, suddenly sit- 
 ting up in bed. " Oh ! mother, let me " 
 
 " You be quiet! " snapped the woman, and stood 
 listening, with parted lips. 
 
 (n) 
 
 From that point Mrs. Partington seems^to have 
 been able to follow very closely what must have 
 taken place upstairs. 
 
 It was a very quiet night, here in Turner Road : 
 the roysterers were in the better-lighted streets, and
 
 464 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 the sober folk were at home. And there was not a 
 footstep on the pavements outside to confuse the 
 little drama of sound that came down to her through 
 the ill-fitting boards overhead. She could not ex- 
 plain afterwards why she did not interfere. I im- 
 agine that she hoped against hope that she was mis- 
 interpreting what she heard, and also that a kind of 
 terror seized her which she found it really impossi- 
 ble to shake off. 
 
 First, there was the opening and closing of the 
 door ; two or three footsteps, and then dead silence. 
 
 Then she heard talking begin, first one voice, then 
 a crescendo, as if two or three clamored together; 
 then one voice again. (It was impossible, so far, 
 to distinguish which was which.) 
 
 This went on for a minute or two; occasionally 
 there was a crescendo, and once or twice some voice 
 rose almost into a shout. 
 
 Then, without warning, there was a shuffling of 
 feet, and a crash, as of an overturned chair; and, 
 instant upon the noise, 'Erb set up a prolonged wail. 
 
 " You be quiet ! " snapped the woman in a sharp 
 whisper. 
 
 The noises went on: now the stamp of a foot; 
 now the scraping of something overhead and a voice 
 or two in sharp deep exclamation, and then com- 
 plete silence once more. 'Erb was sobbing now, 
 as noiselessly as he could, terrified at his mother's
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 465 
 
 face, and Jimmie was up, standing on the floor in 
 his flannel shirt, listening like his mother. Maggie 
 still slept deeply on the further side of the bed. 
 
 The woman went on tip-toe a step nearer the 
 door, opened it, and peeped out irresolutely. But 
 the uncarpeted stairs stretched up into the dark- 
 ness, unlit except for the glimmer that came from 
 the room at whose door she was standing. ... 
 
 There was a voice now, rising and falling steadily, 
 and she heard it broken in upon now and again by 
 something that resembled a chuckle. Somehow or 
 another this sickened her more than all else ; it was 
 like her husband's voice. She recoiled into the 
 room, and, as she did so, there came the sound of 
 blows and the stamping of feet, and she knew, in a 
 way that she could not explain, that there was no 
 fight going on. It was some kind of punishment, 
 not a conflict. . . . 
 
 She would have given the world to move, to run 
 to the street door and scream for help; but her 
 knees shook under her and her heart seemed to be 
 hammering itself to bits. Jimmie had hold of her 
 now, clinging round her, shaking with terror and 
 murmuring something she could not understand. 
 Her whole attention was upstairs. She was won- 
 dering how long it would go on. 
 
 It must be past midnight now, she thought; the 
 streets seemed still as death. But overhead there
 
 466 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 was still movement and the sound of blows, and 
 then abruptly the end came. 
 
 There was one more crescendo of noise two 
 voices raised in dispute, one almost shrill, in anger 
 or expostulation; then one more sudden and heavy 
 noise as of a blow or a fall, and dead silence. 
 
 (m) 
 
 The next thing that Mrs. Partington remembered 
 afterwards was that she found herself standing on 
 the landing upstairs, listening, yet afraid to move. 
 
 All was very nearly silent within: there was just 
 low talking, and the sound of something being 
 moved. It was her husband's voice that she heard. 
 
 Beyond her the stairs ran up to the next story, 
 and she became aware presently that someone else 
 was watching, too. An untidy head of a woman 
 leaned over the banisters, and candle-light from 
 somewhere beyond lit up her face. She was grin- 
 ning. 
 
 Then the sharp whisper came down the stairs de- 
 manding what was up. 
 
 Mrs. Partington jerked her thumb towards the 
 closed door and nodded reassuringly. She was 
 aware that she must be natural at all costs. The
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 467 
 
 woman still hung over the banisters a minute longer 
 and then was gone. 
 
 Jimmie was with her too, now, still just in his 
 shirt, perfectly quiet, with a face as white as paper. 
 His big black eyes dwelt on his mother's face. 
 
 Then suddenly she could bear the suspense no 
 more. She stole up to the door, still on tip-toe, 
 still listening, and laid her fingers on the handle. 
 There were more gentle movements within now, the 
 noise of water and a basin (she heard the china 
 clink distinctly), but no more words. 
 
 She turned the handle resolutely and looked in. 
 
 The Major was leaning in the corner by the win- 
 dow, with his hands in his pockets, staring with a 
 dull, white, defiant kind of face at the bed. The 
 lamp on the mantelpiece lighted him up clearly. On 
 his knees by the bedside was her husband, with his 
 back to her, supporting a basin on the bed and some- 
 thing dark that hung over it. Then she saw Frank. 
 It was he who was lying on the bed almost upon 
 his face; one boot dangled down on this side, and 
 it was his head that her husband was supporting. 
 She stared at it a moment in terror. . . . Then 
 her eyes wandered to the floor, where, among the 
 pieces of broken glass, a pool of dark liquid spread 
 slowly over the boards. Twigs and detached leaves
 
 468 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 of holly lay in the midst of it. And at that sight 
 her instinct reasserted herself. 
 
 She stepped forward and took her husband by 
 the shoulder. He turned a face that twitched a lit- 
 tle towards her. She pushed him aside, took the 
 basin from him, and the young man's head. . . . 
 
 " Clear out of this," she whispered sharply. 
 " Quick, mind ! You and the Major ! . . . 
 Jimmie! " The boy was by her in an instant, shak- 
 ing all over, but perfectly self -controlled. 
 
 "Jimmie, put your things on and be off to the 
 clergy-house. Ring 'em up, and ask for Mr. Car- 
 ter. Bring him round with you." 
 
 Frank's head slipped a little in her hands, and 
 she half rose to steady it. When she had finished 
 and looked round again for her husband, the room 
 was empty. From below up the stairs came a sud- 
 den draught, and the flame leaped in the lamp-chim- 
 ney. And then, once more unrestrained, rose up 
 the wailing of 'Erb. 
 
 (IV) 
 
 A little after dawn on that Christmas morning 
 Mr. Parham-Carter sat solitary in the kitchen. The 
 children had been packed off to a neighbor's house 
 before, and he himself had been to and fro all night 
 and was tired out to the priest's house at Homer-
 
 XOXE OTHER GODS 469 
 
 ton, to the doctor's, and to the parish nurse. All 
 the proper things had been done. Frank had been 
 anointed by the priest, bandaged by the doctor, and 
 settled in by the nurse into the middle of the big 
 double bed. He had not yet recovered conscious- 
 ness. They were upstairs now Jack, Dick and 
 the nurse ; the priest and the doctor had promised to 
 look in before nine there was nothing more that 
 they could do for the present, they said and Mrs. 
 Partington was out at this moment to fetch some- 
 thing from the dispensary. 
 
 He had heard her story during one of the inter- 
 vals in the course of the night, arid it seemed to 
 him that he had a tolerably accurate theory of the 
 whole affair, if, that is to say, her interpretation 
 of the noises she had heard was at all correct. 
 
 The Major must have made an unexpected at- 
 tack, probably by a kick that had temporarily dis- 
 abled Frank, and must then, with Mr. Partington's 
 judicial though amused approval, have proceeded 
 to inflict chastisement upon Frank as he lay on the 
 floor. This must have gone on for a considerable 
 time ; Frank seemed to have been heavily kicked all 
 over his body. And the thing must have ended 
 with a sudden uncontrolled attack on the part of the 
 Major, not only with his boots, but with at least 
 one of the heavy bottles. The young man's head 
 was cut deeply, as if by glass, and it was probab!';
 
 470 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 three or four kicks on the head, before Mr. Parting- 
 ton could interfere, that had concluded the punish- 
 ment. The doctor's evidence entirely corroborated 
 this interpretation of events. It was, of course, im- 
 possible to know whether Frank had had the time 
 or the will to make any resistance. The police had 
 been communicated with, but there was no news yet 
 of the two men involved. 
 
 It was one of those bleak, uncomfortable dawns 
 that have no beauty either of warmth or serenity 
 at least it seemed so here in Turner Road. Above 
 the torn and dingy strip of lace that shrouded the 
 lower part of the window towered the black fronts 
 of the high houses against the steely western sky. 
 It was extraordinarily quiet. Now and then a foot- 
 step echoed and died suddenly as some passer-by 
 crossed the end of the street; but there was no mur- 
 mur of voices yet, or groups at the doors, as, no 
 doubt, there would be when the news became known. 
 
 The room, too, was cheerless; the fire was long 
 ago gone. out; the children's bed was still tumbled 
 and disordered, and the paraffin lamp had smoked 
 itself out half an hour ago. Overhead the clergy- 
 man could hear now and again a very gentle foot- 
 step, and that was all. 
 
 He was worn out with excitement and a kind of
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 471 
 
 terror; and events took for him the same kind of 
 clear, hard outline as did the physical objects them- 
 selves in this cold light of dawn. He had passed 
 through a dozen moods : furious anger at the sense- 
 less crime, at the hopeless, miserable waste of a life, 
 an overwhelming compassion and a wholly unrea- 
 sonable self-reproach for not having foreseen dan- 
 ger more clearly the night before. There were 
 other thoughts that had come to him too doubts 
 as to whether the internal significance of all these 
 things were in the least analogous to the external 
 happenings; whether, perhaps, after all, the whole 
 affair were not on the inner side a complete and 
 perfect event in fact, a startling success of a 
 nature which he could not understand. Certainly, 
 exteriorly, a more lamentable failure and waste 
 could not be conceived; there had been sacrificed 
 such an array of advantages birth, money, edu- 
 cation, gifts, position and for such an exceed- 
 ingly small and doubtful good, that no additional 
 data, it would appear, could possibly explain the 
 situation. Yet was it possible that such data did 
 exist somewhere, and that another golden and per- 
 fect deed had been done that there was no waste, 
 no failure, after all? 
 
 But at present these thoughts only came to him 
 in glimpses ; he was exhausted now of emotion and
 
 472 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 speculation. He regarded the pitiless facts with a 
 sunken, unenergetic attention, and wondered when 
 he would be called again upstairs. 
 
 There came a footstep outside; it hesitated, then 
 the street door was pushed open and the step came 
 in, up to the room door, and a small face, pinched 
 with cold, its eyes all burning, looked at him. 
 
 " Come in, Jimmie," he whispered. 
 
 And so the two sat, huddled one against the other, 
 and the man felt again and again a shudder, though 
 not of cold, shake the little body at his side. 
 
 (v) 
 
 Ten minutes later a step came down the stairs, a 
 little hurriedly, though on tip-toe ; and Mrs. Parting- 
 ton, her own thin face lined with sleeplessness and 
 emotion, and her lips set, nodded at him emphatic- 
 ally. He understood, and went quickly past her, 
 followed closely by the child, and up the narrow 
 stairs. ... He heard the street-door close be- 
 hind him as the woman left the house. 
 
 It seemed to him as he came into the room as if 
 he had stepped clean out of one world into another. 
 And the sense of it was so sudden and abrupt that 
 he stood for an instant on the threshold amazed at 
 the transition.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 473 
 
 First, it was the absolute stillness and motionless- 
 ness of the room that impressed him, so far as any- 
 one element predominated. There were persons in 
 the room, but they were as statues. 
 
 On the farther side of the bed, decent now and 
 arranged and standing out across the room, kneeled 
 the two men, Jack Kirkby and Dick Guiseley, but 
 they neither lifted their eyes nor showed the faintest 
 consciousness of his presence as he entered. Their 
 faces were in shadow: behind them was the cold 
 patch of the window, and a candle within half an 
 inch of extinction stood also behind them on a table 
 in the corner, with one or two covered vessels and 
 instruments. 
 
 The nurse kneeled on this side, one arm beneath 
 the pillow and the other on the counterpane. 
 
 And then there was Frank. 
 
 He lay perfectly still upon his back, his hands 
 clasped before him (and even these were bandaged). 
 His head lay high on three or four pillows, and he 
 wore what looked like a sort of cap, wholly hiding 
 his hair and ears. His profile alone showed clear- 
 cut and distinct against the gloom in the corner be- 
 hind. His face was entirely tranquil, as pale as 
 ivory; his lips were closed. His eyes alone were 
 alive. 
 
 Presently those turned a little, and the man stand- 
 Si
 
 474 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 ing at the door, understanding the look, came for- 
 ward and kneeled too by the bed. 
 
 Then, little by little, he began, in that living still- 
 ness, to understand rather better what it was that he 
 was witnessing. ... It was not that there was 
 anything physical in the room, beyond the things 
 of which his senses told him; there was but the 
 dingy furniture, the white bed, august now with a 
 strange dignity as of a white altar, and the four per- 
 sons beside himself five now, for Jimmie was 
 beside him. But that the physical was not the 
 plane in which these five persons were now chiefly 
 conscious was the most evident thing of all. 
 There was about them, not a Presence, not an air, 
 not a sweetness or a sound, and yet it is by such 
 negatives only that the thing can be expressed. 
 
 And so they kneeled and waited. 
 
 " Why, Jack " 
 
 It shook the waiting air like the sound of a bell, 
 yet it was only whispered. The man nearest him 
 on the other side shook with a single spasmodic 
 movement and laid his fingers gently on the ban- 
 daged hands. And then for a long while there was 
 no further movement or sound.
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 475 
 
 " Rosary ! " said Frank suddenly, still in a whis- 
 per. . . . "Beads. . . ." 
 
 Jack moved swiftly on his knees, took from the 
 table a string of beads from where they had been 
 laid the night before, and put them into the still 
 fingers. Then he laid his own hands over them 
 again. 
 
 Again there was a long pause. 
 
 Outside in the street a footstep came up from the 
 direction of Mortimer Road, waxed loud and clear 
 on the pavement, and died again down towards the 
 street leading to the marshes. And, but for this, 
 there was no further sound for a while. Then a 
 cock crew, thin and shrill, somewhere far away; a 
 dray rumbled past the end of the street and was 
 silent. 
 
 But the silence in the room was of a different 
 quality; or, rather, the world seemed silent because 
 this room was so, and not the other way. It was 
 here that the center lay, where a battered man was 
 dying, and from this center radiated out the Great 
 Peace. 
 
 It was no waste then, after all! this life of 
 strange unreason ending in this very climax of use- 
 lessness, exactly when ordinary usefulness was 
 about to begin. Could that be waste that ended so?
 
 476 NONE OTHER GODS 
 
 '* Priest," whispered the voice from the bed. 
 
 Then Dick leaned forward. 
 
 " He has been," he said distinctly and slowly. 
 " He was here at two o'clock. He did what he 
 came for. And he's coming again directly." 
 
 The eyes closed in sign of assent and opened 
 again. 
 
 He seemed to be looking, as in a kind of medi- 
 tation, at nothing in particular. It was as a man 
 who waits at his ease for some pleasant little event 
 that will unroll by and by. He was in no ecstasy, 
 and, it seemed, in no pain and in no fierce expecta- 
 tion ; he was simply at his ease and waiting. He 
 was content, whatever those others might be. 
 
 For a moment it crossed the young clergyman's 
 rnind that he ought to pray aloud, but the thing was 
 dismissed instantly. It seemed to him impertinent 
 nonsense. That was not what was required. It 
 was- his business to watch, not to act. 
 
 So, little by little, he ceased to think actively, he 
 ceased to consider this and that. At first he had 
 wondered how long it would be before the doctor 
 and the priest arrived. (The woman had gone to 
 fetch them. ) He had wished that they would make 
 haste. . . . He had wondered what the others 
 felt, and how he would describe it all to his Vicar. 
 Now, little by little, all this ceased, and the peace 
 grew within and without, till the balance of pres-
 
 NONE OTHER GODS 477 
 
 sure was equalized and his attention floated at the 
 perfect poise. 
 
 Again there was no symbol or analogy that pre- 
 sented itself. It was not even by negation that he 
 thought. There was just one positive element that 
 included all : time seemed to mean nothing, the ticks 
 of the clock with the painted face were scarcely con- 
 secutive; it was all one, and distance was nothing, 
 nor nearness not even the nearness of the dying 
 face against the pillows. 
 
 It was so, then, that something of that state to 
 which Frank had passed communicated itself to at 
 least one of those who saw him die. 
 
 A little past the half hour Frank spoke again. 
 
 " My love to Whitty," he said. ..." Diary. 
 . . . Tell him. . . ." 
 
 The end came a few minutes before nine o'clock, 
 and it seems to have come as naturally as life itself. 
 There was no drama, no dying speech, not one 
 word. 
 
 Those who were there saw him move ever so 
 slightly in bed, and his head lifted a little. Then 
 his head sank once more and the Failure was com- 
 plete. 
 
 THE END
 
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