I 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS 
 
SECOND EDITION. 
 
THE 
 
 OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS 
 
 BARRY PAIN 
 
 LONDON AKD NEW YOEK 
 
 HAEPEE AND BEOTHEES 
 
 45, ALBEMAELE STREET, W. 
 
 1897 
 
1 '^ ^ 
 
 ■\ o n 
 ( -^ ' / J 
 
 TO MY WIFE 
 
 M74S757 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Mrs. WvcnERLF.Y was not quite old. She 
 seemed always to be keeping one foot on the 
 tail of her youth ; the poor thing squeaked, 
 but could not quite break away. In her 
 conversation she would often drag you, all 
 tremulous, with her into the confessional, 
 where you found, to your disappointment, that 
 she had no sins, only errors of diet. She was 
 by way of being a woman of the world, with 
 the world left out. Its place in her Erciston 
 Square salon was taken by the world's under- 
 studies. Henry Burnage, who for years had 
 made her salon a habit, would torture himself 
 at times with the thought that he was only a 
 fashionable man's understudy ; but the torture 
 did not persist, for his opinion of himself was 
 
2 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 high and on the whole stable. Of the under- 
 studies there were many ; her rooms were full 
 on Sunday evening. Mr. Wycherley would be 
 seen there sometimes ; he sat in corners, and 
 was mildly disapproving ; he made the money, 
 and Mrs. Wycherley spent it. Still, he 
 acknowledged that his daughter Angela must 
 have every chance, and the salon was in some 
 sense a chance. More often Mr. Wycherley 
 did not show himself. He liked to take a 
 walk on Sunday evenings, and he frequently 
 took it. He had a dislike, not wholly 
 irrational, to the mlon. Reason was a strong 
 point with him. 
 
 " Be rational, Jessica," he would frequently 
 say to his wife. " I only ask you to be 
 rational." 
 
 When he went his walk, she alluded to his 
 headache. Nobody minded. He was not the 
 attraction, neither was she, and they both 
 knew it ; but Angela wore pink, and under- 
 studies attract one another. Angela petted 
 her papa a good deal ; and, in return, he never 
 mentioned anything in which he was seriously 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 3 
 
 and commercially interested. In public she 
 would sometimes talk to him with endearing 
 facetiousness ; this mildly puzzled him — he 
 only dealt in the milder sensations — because 
 in private she rarely tried to talk brightly to 
 him. 
 
 Mrs, Wycherley's drawing-room was not in 
 itself wonderful. The walls were covered 
 with a paper that had a dado to it ; she had 
 ordered it some years ago herself, and she 
 regretted it. She knew now that it had been 
 premature, and that a paper-with-a-dado did 
 not constitute art's last word with regard to 
 wall-decoration. Mr. Wycherley did not think 
 the times were yet ripe for it to be superseded. 
 He had said so more than once. Mrs. 
 AVycherley rather believed in what she called 
 " those pretty trifles that make a room look 
 bright ; " so she concocted some flower-holders 
 out of Japanese fans and some velvet that had 
 been on the dress that she had worn when 
 Maria was married. These things afterwards 
 were transferred to a spare and permanently 
 unoccupied bedroom. It was thought that 
 
4 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Angela had been responsible for their removal. 
 Angela considered that the room was irre- 
 deemable, and thought that cheap attempts at 
 redemption humiliated her. 
 
 It was late one evening. Mrs. Wycherley's 
 guests had all gone ; she had interviewed the 
 hired man in the hall, paid him, swung back 
 into the room again with a declaration that 
 Jameson was invaluable, and now sat down in 
 her rocking-chair, facing her daughter, fanning 
 herself rather vehemently with a fan that had 
 been mended. 
 
 " Oh yes, Angela, you may say what you 
 like, but there's never any need to tell Jameson 
 anything. Why he goes on the job instead of 
 taking a permanent place is more than I can 
 imagine. He's just the picture of the perfect 
 butler." 
 
 " All right, mamma, all right ! " said Angela, 
 rather irritably. " He does, but you needn't 
 think that he deceives anybody." 
 
 " I don't wish that he should, dear ; far 
 from it. The queen herself may know that 
 he's hired for the evening for all that I care. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. ' 5 
 
 When one is entertainino^ a o-reat number of 
 people, one supplements one's staff". The very 
 best people have to do it." 
 
 " Yes," drawled Angela, " but they have a 
 staff to supplement. Ah, if we were only 
 quite poor ! " 
 
 " Angela, that is really wicked ! If you 
 dislike our means— our moderate means — you 
 would dislike poverty still more. We do our 
 best, and it's too ungrateful of you. Mind, I 
 don't say that I am not fond of a little society 
 myself " 
 
 " Oh, mamma, dear ! don't be intolerable ! " 
 
 " I don't know w^hat you mean. But I do 
 know that it's chiefly for your sake that your 
 father consents to these Sunday evenings. 
 And you know that it's the dream of our lives 
 to see you happily married — like Maria. 
 Poverty would be to you Life's Greatest 
 Curse." 
 
 "Mr. Burnaoje told me to-nisjht that he 
 thought families whose income just touched 
 the four figures really had the hardest fight 
 against vulgarity ; but he added, from 
 
6 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 conjecture and a subsequent politeness, that 
 all things were possible to genius. We have 
 the fatal income without the genius, I 
 fancy." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Burnage is one of these rather 
 clever young men. I don't understand 'em. 
 But he looks very well in a room. Angela, 
 my dear, I must hunt myself up a little 
 supper. I hadn't any, I dare not eat when 
 I'm feeling nervous. It only means that I 
 wake with a fluttering in my side and feel as 
 if the angel of death had summoned me. I'll 
 just go into the dining-room and see what 
 I can rescue." 
 
 She returned in a minute with a champagne- 
 bottle — still loyal to the third of its contents 
 — and a plate and small tumbler. On the 
 plate was a cold cutlet in aspic, and a silver 
 fork ; on the portion of the plate which still 
 remained untenanted were two chocolate 
 eclairs. She was careful to keep the aspic 
 clear of the eclairs until their turn came ; she 
 ate rather greedily. Angela looked genuinely 
 distressed. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 7 
 
 " Honesty is a poor word for Jameson," 
 Mrs. Wyclierley remarked as she filled her 
 glass. " Any other man would have finished 
 the bottle. You can trust him ; that's what 
 I feel so much about Jameson. As a tonic 
 for the stomach I believe that there's 
 nothing " 
 
 " Oh, mamma, mamma ! " said Angela 
 suddenly, " why do we keep on fighting ? 
 I used to love our parties once, but I'm 
 getting to know things. We're ridiculous. 
 We aren't quite what we want to be, and 
 we are the more absurd because in some 
 things we are so very near it. I don't think 
 I want to marry. I used to, but I don't 
 now. I certainly don't want to marry any 
 of the underbred young men who come to 
 this house and fall in love with me. I often 
 wonder why I go on trying to be bright and 
 amusing to them, and why I do my best to 
 cover up the rough places and make things 
 go smoothly, and cajole papa, and dress as 
 well as I can. The hell — the awful hell of 
 this London life ! " And poor Angela buried 
 
8 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 licr head in a recently purchased cushion, and 
 began to sob a little. 
 
 "You distress me," said Mrs. Wycherley, 
 excitedly ; " I can't bear to see you like this, 
 Angela. I insist that you shall not sob. I 
 cannot digest when my mind is disturbed. 
 Poor Angela ! do be comforted ! " 
 
 Angela sat up, and dried her eyes in silence. 
 Her brief storm had passed. 
 
 "You're feeling low," Mrs. Wycherley 
 continued decisively. " Now, be guided by 
 me, and take something. There are some 
 of these eclairs still left, you may just as 
 well have one ; you know what things with 
 cream in them are like on the second day. 
 And chocolate's sustaining — now do. And 
 that," she said, suddenly breaking ofi" as she 
 heard a sound at the front door, "is your 
 father's latch-key. Don't let him come in 
 and find you like this." 
 
 By the time that Mr. Wycherley had 
 entered, Angela had composed herself. Mr. 
 Wycherley was short and bald, with a slight 
 tendency towards rotundity. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 9 
 
 " I have had such a ^^■alk,"' he said, ^vith 
 enthusiastic satisfaction, as he took a distinctly 
 uncomfortaljle chair, " I went as far as 
 Putney by an omnibus, just as I said I would, 
 then I struck across the common — wonderful 
 place ! — round by the mill (thinking about 
 Eichmond, you know), and then oif to the 
 left into Wimbledon (changed my mind, you 
 see). From Wimbledon I took train to 
 Waterloo, and walked to the club. I found 
 Bodgers there, and we split a bottle of old 
 port. Bodgers would pay. I hope you've 
 all enjoyed yourselves as much as I have." 
 
 " It's been a most successful evening," said 
 ]\Irs. Wycherley. 
 
 "Do you like the new^ champagne, 
 Jessica ? " 
 
 " On the whole I think it an improvement." 
 
 " Sixpence a bottle cheaper — that's what 
 it is. Be reasonable, Jessica, and don't pre- 
 tend to know anything about anything. 
 There kiss me, and good night, Angela ; it's 
 time you were off to bed." His lips smacked 
 on her forehead, hers In^uslied his cheek 
 
10 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Sixpence a bottle cheaper," he murmured 
 to himself again, and went oft' with a mild 
 approach to hilarity. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley turned once more to her 
 daughter. She was feeling quite optimistic. 
 
 "I notice, Angela, that you talk a good 
 deal to Henry Burnage." 
 
 "Do I ? I'm glad you mentioned it, mamma. 
 I won't do it in future. As a rule, I talk 
 to any one who isn't talking to any one else." 
 
 "I haven't a word to say against your 
 manner. It isn't the old-school, stately 
 manner exactly." 
 
 Angela leant forward, her elbows resting 
 on her knees, her pretty face — she was not 
 nearly as pretty as she looked — framed by 
 her warm little hands. At this point she 
 interrupted her mother — 
 
 "Dear mamma, I'm a ftirt. When you 
 can't be what you want to be, it's a kind of 
 baby's consolation to be the thing you hate 
 most. But you must not deceive yourself. 
 It occasionally seems to me that Henry 
 Burnase is less foolish and rather better bred 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 11 
 
 than the average here ; but don't imagine 
 that I love him. And he's not in the least 
 in love with me." 
 
 "Well, he's been here, off and on, for years. 
 He must be a good deal taken by us. I don't 
 say that, as a rule, I would recommend a 
 girl to marry a young commencing barrister. 
 No, no ! I'm not so unwise as that. But 
 Mr. Burnage has means, independent means. 
 I ask you to look at the way his rooms are 
 furnished. You may call them what you 
 like, but I call them gorgeous. And then 
 he entertains — not so frequently as we do, 
 nor on so large a scale." 
 
 " But so infinitely better," said Angela, 
 fervently. 
 
 " There ! you're defending him ; what does 
 that mean ? " 
 
 " It does mean that I tolerate him, and it 
 does not mean that I love him. I know 
 what you want, and it couldn't be done. 
 "Why, if he kissed me, or if I thought even 
 that he wanted to kiss me, I should go quite 
 mad — mad with dissfust." 
 
12 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Oh, Angela, darling ! " said Mrs. Wy- 
 clierley. " You know that I wouldn't force 
 you into anything. There, good night ! We 
 must not sit up any longer, or what will 
 your father say ? You'll come directly, won't 
 you ? " 
 
 At the drawing-room door she paused 
 a moment, and looked almost beseechingly at 
 her daughter. 
 
 " Angela," she said, " I believe that I've 
 had one eclair too many." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 If Mr. Wycherley had taken his stroll over 
 Wimbledon Common later in the evening, 
 he would have had an opportunity to play 
 the part of the Good Samaritan. There is 
 no role which is more popular ; the feelings 
 of self-satisfaction and superiority help to 
 make life enjoyable, and in consequence it 
 is delightful to rescue. But to be rescued 
 is quite another affair. The thing which 
 is condemned as ingratitude is often a very 
 natural resentment of one who has been 
 placed compulsorily under an obligation. 
 Most men, given a certain amount of sensi- 
 tiveness, would sooner fall among thieves 
 than among good Samaritans. 
 
 The chance which Mr. Wycherley lost was 
 taken by Dr. Gabriel Lamb. The doctor was 
 
14 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 returning home rather late ; it was already 
 beginning to get dark. When he was within 
 a few yards of the garden-gate of his own 
 house, he noticed a young man lying in an 
 awkward position on the grass by the road- 
 side. Dr. Gabriel Lamb bent over him, found 
 him half -conscious, and made a cursory 
 examination of him. 
 
 The young man was clad in a well-cut 
 tweed suit, worn to utter shabbiness. His 
 boots were in holes. He was lying where he 
 had fallen when he found that he coidd go 
 no further ; his hat was off, and had received 
 from the fall a damage with which it was 
 already familiar. His face was thin, and at 
 present quite colourless, but it had the tokens 
 of refinement and strength. 
 
 Dr. Lamb's examination lasted less than a 
 minute. " I shall be back directly," he said, 
 and began to run towards his own house. 
 He was a middle-aged man. His head, save 
 for a fringe of reddish hair all round it, was 
 bald ; but he was very active. He dashed up 
 the garden drive and into the house ; here he 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 15 
 
 gave one or two rapid orders to servants, and 
 hurriedly prepared what he wanted. In a 
 very few minutes he was out on the roadway 
 again, with a glass in his hand, bending over 
 the young man. The doctor's servant had 
 accompanied him, and stood at a few yards' 
 distance, waiting. 
 
 The young man's eyes were half closed. 
 When the doctor held the glass to his lips, he 
 turned his head away impatiently. 
 
 " Drink it at once ! " said the doctor, 
 sharply. " Do you want to die ? " 
 
 The young man spoke in a faint whisper, 
 and with some difficulty. 
 
 " Not a beggar. I'm much obliged — very 
 natural mistake of yours. I — I'd rather you 
 left me alone." 
 
 " I won't, then. Whoever heard such non- 
 sense ? Any man who is taken suddenly ill 
 accepts help from the first stranger who is not 
 too much of a brute to give it him. It's no 
 question of begging. Damn it ! " he went on, 
 getting furious, " you shall pay for the 
 ha'porth of brandy, if yon like — but drink it." 
 
16 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 The young man shook his head. " No 
 
 money," he mm-mured, " that's why I'm " 
 
 The effort at explanation seemed to be too 
 much for him, and he stopped. 
 
 " All right, then, I'll take your clothes, or 
 you shall work for me ; at any rate, I promise 
 you that I will put you under no obligation 
 which you cannot repay. I swear it. Now 
 then." 
 
 The young man drank the contents of the 
 glass ; in a moment or two his eyes opened 
 wider. He looked reflective. 
 
 " That wasn't brandy," he said. His voice 
 was already a shade stronger. 
 
 *' Not brandy alone. There were other 
 things in it. I'm a doctor, you know. Now, 
 do you see that house ? " 
 
 The young man raised himself into a sitting 
 position, looked at it, and nodded his head. 
 
 " That's my house, and I'm going to take 
 you there, with the help of my servant. 
 Then you'll be put to bed. In a day or two 
 you'll be all right. Now, you must place 
 yourself entirely in my hands and trust to 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 17 
 
 me. I'm not going to put you under any 
 obligation. You shall work out your debt. 
 You look like an educated man." 
 
 " Eton and Cambridge — but you couldn't 
 believe it." 
 
 " I believe it entirely. Now then, you 
 shall get up. Steady ! — there, that's it ! 
 Now, slowly." 
 
 Supported — almost carried — by the doctor 
 and his servant, the young man was taken 
 into the house. It was a house which seemed 
 to have an old quiet in it — a quiet that had 
 long been there. The colours in the interior 
 were low ; it was lit softly and without glare ; 
 one's footsteps were not heard on the thick 
 carpets. The house was of red brick ; but the 
 red had been softened and shaded by time, 
 and the walls were partly covered with ivy. 
 At the back of the house there was a modern 
 addition, which Dr. Lamb had erected for his 
 own purposes. It was a long, low building, 
 and had a separate entrance into the garden. 
 
 The young man found himself in a large 
 and very comfortable bedroom. At one end 
 
 
 
18 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 of the room there was a door into a bath- 
 room, at the other end the room communi- 
 cated with a dressing-room and a small study. 
 Here the doctor's servant did for him all that 
 a valet could do for a man. Soon he was 
 lying in bed, refreshed by a bath, soothed 
 by the luxuriousness that he had missed so 
 much and for so long, dreamingly wondering 
 whether it could be all true. He had suffered 
 very much, and this sudden change for the 
 better seemed so strange. He thought lialf- 
 amusedly that the doctor liad done a foolish 
 thing ; he had taken into his house a man 
 of whom he knew nothing, except that he 
 had found him, a mere vagrant, shabby and 
 fainting from exhaustion and want of food. 
 But the young man reflected that in the 
 course of his life he had frequently been 
 trusted like this— -on sight. Certainly, in 
 some way or other, he must repay the doctor. 
 How, he could not imagine. It did not 
 matter — the doctor had promised to find a 
 way for him. But the doctor's kindness and 
 trust were, he felt, beyond repayment. He 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. W 
 
 began to wonder if they would bring liim 
 something to eat ; he hoped so. The valet 
 had left the lamp and the candles by his bed- 
 side alight, so it seemed certain that he would 
 return. The valet had treated him with the 
 utmost respect, as an honoured guest, and 
 not as a relieved vagabond. If he ever got 
 any money, he would remember the man. 
 Presently the door opened, and the doctor 
 and the servant entered. The servant carried 
 a small tray, on which were a cup of chocolate 
 and two sandwiches, made of toast and some 
 kind of meat-jelly. While the young man 
 was eating (he was ordered to eat slowly) the 
 doctor sat down by the bedside and began to 
 talk to him. At first he was merely medical, 
 then he said — 
 
 " My name, you know, is Lamb. I'm Dr. 
 Gabriel Lamb. May I ask what your name 
 is?" 
 
 " Mine is Claudius Sandell. I really don't 
 know how to thank you." 
 
 *' Not a word, not a word, if you please." 
 
 "Words would certainly be of very little 
 
20 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 good. I hope that I have not been keeping 
 you from any other patients." 
 
 The doctor smiled. " Oh, I don't practise," 
 he said. " It was lucky for you — and I think 
 it lucky for me also — that you chose a Sunday 
 evening for your collapse. I only walk on Sun- 
 day evenings — chiefly because it is not church. 
 Ah, yes — quite true — there is church also on 
 Sunday morning, Sunday afternoon, and on 
 certain occasions in the week ! My wife — to 
 whom I hope soon to introduce you — attends 
 every service ; she also stays for the after- 
 meetings. You must not, by the way, think 
 that I am an unbeliever. I am not ; at one 
 time I always went to church on Sunday 
 evenings, and there was much in it that I 
 enjoyed. But the curate's banalities, the 
 superstitiousness of the people, and the per- 
 fectly evil singing of the choir vexed me. 
 Then it occurred to me that if I went for a 
 walk on Sunday evening instead, I could get 
 the service without the church. I could have 
 the sunset and the aspirations, the longings 
 for the far-away that it produces." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 21 
 
 He stopped abruptly, and noticed that the 
 servant was listening with rather a puzzled 
 face. He turned to him. 
 
 " Wait outside, Francis," he said. 
 
 When the man had retired, the doctor besran 
 to pace the room, and went on talking. 
 Under his very thick sandy eyebrows and long 
 lashes his grey eyes grew luminous. 
 
 " Sometimes it's in the spring. Damn it ! 
 there's nothing like a spring evening. I'm in 
 earnest about it. The poetry of it is so strenu- 
 ous and yet so quiet ; so full of fresh life, and 
 yet so full of the old peace that still passes all 
 understanding. But it's always as the service of 
 God that I take my Sunday evening walk. I 
 love the lime-trees — trees of the Pentecost — 
 with their leaves turning to tongues of fire as 
 they shake under the strokes of wind and 
 sunlight. I love the cold purity of the sky on 
 winter evenins-s that o-et dark so soon. How 
 all the stars look at one ! The heavens declare 
 the glory of God. Ah ! I'm talking far too 
 much ! " 
 
 Claudius was watchincj him with keen 
 
22 TEE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 interest. " No, no," he said, " go on, I'm 
 beginning to understand." 
 
 " That really is all — only on Sunday even- 
 ings do I walk, because it is not church but 
 is service. The rest of my time is given to 
 work." 
 
 " To work, doctor ? But you said that you 
 did not practise." 
 
 " Quite so, I do not, although, Avhen I was a 
 younger man, I had a practice for a time. It 
 did not content me. One night I was rung 
 up by a woman ; I went downstairs and found 
 her hysterical on the door-steps. She pulled 
 herself together, and prayed me to come at 
 once to see her son who was dying. She lived 
 about a mile off. We ran a good deal ; she 
 was distressed and I was sympathetic. When 
 we got there, I found that the boy was not 
 dying, but was slightly bilious. Then I asked 
 myself if that kind of thing was science as 
 I loved it — if it really assisted the great cause 
 of humanity for which alone I live. I gave 
 up my practice. I study the individual 
 man only when he is likely to throw light on 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 23 
 
 the ao^sfreo-ate. I never work on behalf 
 of the individual. But I tire you." 
 
 " No, I am not tired." 
 
 " Pardon me, but you are. It is merely the 
 effect of the restorative that makes you feel 
 strong, and that effect will pass off. You are 
 very much run down, and yon need rest. You 
 would perhaps like something more to eat ; 
 I shall not give it you. To-morrow you shall 
 be better treated. Good night, Mr. Sandell, 
 ojood night ! " 
 
 When he got to the door, he paused a 
 moment, and said, " Do the clothes you were 
 wearing fit you perfectly ? " 
 
 " Very fairly — it's about all you can say 
 for them. I have got thinner since they were 
 made." 
 
 " That's all right. A tailor can make others 
 from them, I suppose : it will save you the 
 bother of measurements. Good night, again." 
 
 Before Claudius could answer, the doctor 
 had gone. In the passage, outside the room. 
 Dr. Lamb was detained for a minute by the 
 valet. 
 
24 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir, but I've seen this Mr. 
 Sandell before." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " At Cambridge. I was a gyp at Trinity, 
 sir, you remember, before I came to you. This 
 Mr. Sandell was really there ; it's quite true 
 what he said." 
 
 " Don't make that mistake again," said 
 Dr. Lamb, somewhat impressively, " When I 
 told you, a few minutes ago, that Mr. Sandell 
 was my guest, it ceased to be necessary for 
 you to give him a character for truthfulness, or 
 sobriety, or early rising, or anything else. 
 You will sleep in the dressing-room, in case 
 Mr. Sandell should want you during the night. 
 If he is unable to sleep, or turns faint again, 
 you know what to do, but he won't. I shall 
 want you to go to town to-morrow for me ; 
 you must go early. I will give you your orders 
 immediately after breakfast." 
 
 As Dr. Lamb was coming down the stairs, a 
 carriage drove up to the door. Mrs. Lamb 
 had come back from the after-meeting. She 
 placed on the hall table two or three devotional 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 25 
 
 books : amongst them was her Bible, fastened 
 by an elastic band, and bulged with sheets of 
 written notes. She was rather a short woman, 
 with dark hair, and plain anaemic face and 
 ecstatic eyes. She looked very young, twenty 
 years younger than the doctor. 
 
 " I'm late," she said to him, " but I've been 
 very happy — so happy ! We had Mr. Catcome 
 as usual — Elijah and the believer's hope." 
 
 Dr. Lamb looked at his wife, and said 
 nothing ; then he smiled slightly. When he 
 smiled his thin lips showed rather large white 
 teeth. She saw the smile, and a nervous 
 expression came into her face ; she appeared 
 to be slightly afraid of her husband. 
 
 They went into the dining-room. At a 
 small table supper was laid; and they both sat 
 down. Mrs. Lamb said grace audibly, while 
 her husband stared pensively at a mayonnaise. 
 
26 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Mrs. Lamb's want of tact was so pronounced 
 that it even overcame lier fear of lier liusl)and, 
 and she still spoke about the service of the 
 church and the great good that she had 
 received from it ; he listened politely with 
 attention, occasionally looking up from his 
 plate at her, almost inquisitively. At each 
 glance from under the thick sandy eyebrows, 
 and at each slight smile that showed the big- 
 white teeth, she faltered. The glance and 
 smile had a kind of reserved meaning in them ; 
 they forced her into the exasperating belief 
 that she was being treated with superiority. 
 She was half-inclined to lose her temper — did, 
 indeed, for one moment cut the chicken-wino- 
 on her plate as if it had been an enemy — but 
 commanded herself. She w\as not a very 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 27 
 
 clever woman, emotional, half-fanatical, witli 
 the pathetic want to be good. 
 
 Dr. Lamb said very little until supper was 
 over, and his few remarks to his wife were 
 commonplace enough. As she rose from the 
 table, he said — 
 
 " I've told them to take the coffee to my 
 room to-night. I can't talk comfortably in 
 these big rooms, and I've got some news for 
 you. Will you come, Hilda ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, in one minute." 
 
 He held open the door for her, she passed 
 into the hall. He stood a moment reflective ; 
 his brows were slightly wrinkled. He did not 
 like the substitution of a late cold supper for 
 dinner at the usual time ; but it marked Sunday 
 for Hilda. He did not like Hilda to sit down 
 to an evening meal in an afternoon dress, with 
 her hat on ; but it marked Sunday for her. 
 This interested him slightly ; he wondered 
 how her observation of Sunday would work 
 out when her day came. There had been 
 signs lately (he had noted them all as they 
 came) that her day was very near. 
 
28 THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 
 
 He crossed the hall and went down a corridor 
 to the two rooms which constituted the addi- 
 tion which he had made to the house. The 
 first of these rooms was furnished as a study ; 
 the walls were covered with books, most of 
 them books of the advanced scientist, some of 
 them books that even an advanced scientist 
 would have classed as heterodox, the work of 
 charlatans. It was brightly lighted ; on a side 
 table the coffee and liqueurs had been placed 
 all ready. At one end of the room was a door 
 leading into the laboratory. The doctor 
 opened the door and looked in ; the laboratory 
 was in darkness, but he reached his hand 
 upward to a button in the wall and switched 
 on the electric light. The lamps reflected 
 themselves on polished mahogany cases and on 
 the bell-glass that protected a large microscope 
 from the dust. There was rather an unpleasant 
 smell in the room. Shelves and cabinets were 
 ranged all round the walls ; in one corner 
 stood a lead-covered table ; on another table 
 stood two or three bottles and a measuring 
 glass. The doctor put the bottles Ijack in 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 29 
 
 their places on the shelves, and washed the 
 glass at a square stone basin. He had used 
 the things in preparing the restorative. Then 
 he switched off the electric light and went 
 back into the study again, closing the door 
 behind him. Here he sat down, poured out 
 his coffee, tilted a little glass of Co2:nac into 
 it, lit a cigarette, and began to think. 
 
 He really had a very great deal to think 
 about that night. 
 
 He was interrupted, however, almost imme- 
 diately, by the entrance of his wife. She had 
 changed her dress, and was wearing a loose 
 black tea-gown. It suited her fairly well, and 
 her pale face had now a pretty tinge of colour 
 in it. Dr. Lamb looked at her critically. 
 
 " You've changed," he began. 
 
 " Yes, I saw you weren't liking the other." 
 
 "Ah!" said Dr. Lamb, "that's good of 
 you. It's the curse of the individual that 
 such trifles should matter to him. There's 
 nothing so small in the impulses of collected 
 humanity, the aggregate. Mankind," he con- 
 tinued, speaking more to himself than to 
 
30 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 her, " is so great, and isolated man's so 
 small." 
 
 " You had something to tell me," Hilda 
 said timidly. 
 
 "Ah, yes." He told her how he had found 
 Claudius Sandell, and taken him into the 
 house. It was his intention to keep him for 
 a few days — perhaps weeks— to provide him 
 with clothes, and so on. "He says that he 
 must repay me — cannot bear the obligation — 
 is very strong on that point." 
 
 " Gabriel, this is one of the queerest things 
 you have done. Of course, it is very kind 
 of you, and I must say that many professing 
 Christians would have been quite content just 
 to have given the man a copper — or a six- 
 pence." 
 
 " He would not have taken it ; and in that 
 condition it would have been no good to him 
 if he had taken it." 
 
 " No ? It was so silly of him not to want 
 to be helped ; I rather like him for that. 
 Quite dark hair, you said — and tall, I imagine 
 him. Well, I hope it will turn out all right. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 31 
 
 But you have done almost more than you 
 need. The best suite of rooms in the house, 
 and in every way the treatment of an honoured 
 guest ! " 
 
 " Quite so. Apart from the fact that a 
 gentleman cannot very well take advantage 
 of another gentleman's poverty in order to 
 humiliate him, there are reasons. You will 
 oblige me by treating him exactly as I have 
 done — as an honoured guest." 
 
 "I will do anything to please you," she 
 said humbly. 
 
 " And I must confess that I like you better 
 in this docile mood than in the mood which 
 it has replaced. When you came back to the 
 house to-night, you addressed me as if I were 
 an atheist, which was incorrect of you — as I 
 have frequently explained. You also spoke 
 to me about the curate and Elijah, and the 
 believer's hope, and you are quite aware that 
 I do not discuss such subjects with you. 
 Your God is the projection of the curate upon 
 the average feminine intelligence ; you believe 
 in your heart that your God wrote the whole 
 
32 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Bible in English and got it published by 
 Bagster. I cannot share your conception or 
 your view ; but I am not an atheist. I love 
 God ; that is the reason why I love and serve 
 to the uttermost His humanity, and would 
 sacrifice any unit of it in the cause of the 
 aggregate. Now this must be the last time. 
 I leave you your intellectual freedom and you 
 may go to church, but you shall not talk 
 church." 
 
 " Gabriel, did you love me when you 
 married me ? " 
 
 Her downcast eyes were raised and looked 
 full at his. 
 
 " I am a man of like passions to others." 
 
 " You made me happy, you know. It was 
 a life of sordid drudgery at home — papa was 
 always overworked and mamma was always 
 tired, and there was that trouble with my 
 sister Matilda. You gave me all that money 
 could give. And then" — she gasped and 
 caught her breath — " our child ! " 
 
 " Well, go on ! " 
 
 " Now I don't know whether you love me 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 33 
 
 or not — I don't even know whether I love 
 you, because I am afraid of you so. But I 
 know that there's a change. You used even 
 to go to church with me. You were not 
 always locked up in the laboratory. Even 
 now you are good to me ; you give me more 
 money than I can spend ; you give me 
 presents ; you are considerate for me, and do 
 things to please me. But I'm shut out of 
 your real life. Oh, Gabriel, I hate science ! " 
 
 " You should not do that, dear," said the 
 doctor, blandly. "My interest in you is 
 largely scientific." 
 
 " Don't ! " she said, pathetically, not irri- 
 tably. " Don't look at me as if I were a 
 specimen. Don't be just interested in me. 
 I'm a woman. It wasn't for the money and 
 comfort that I married you. I loved you. 
 You loved me once, Gabriel ; science did not 
 stand first ; you used to make concessions 
 to me." 
 
 " I am making concessions now." 
 
 " By listening to me politely ? Yes, you 
 regard all the smaller conventionalities." 
 
 D 
 
U THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " I do. I have no pretence to transcend 
 humanity. My contempt for the individual 
 includes my individual self. I try to regard 
 all the smaller conventionalities, and to some 
 of them I am really attached. I get vexed 
 at trifles. I am particular about some quite 
 unimportant things. For that reason I prefer 
 the conventional dinner to the Sunday supper, 
 which is one of m}^ concessions to you ; to 
 which you sit down, perspiring and religious, 
 in a hat. And I despise myself for ever 
 thinking about such light things, when I 
 realize the greatness of the work before me. 
 Do I love you ? My dear Hilda, I do not 
 even love myself My point of view has 
 been changed by " 
 
 " Don't talk," she broke in passionately, 
 bursting into tears, " don't go on talking ! 
 It doesn't comfort me. Love me ao-ain, 
 Gabriel ! Love me ! Else I shall hate you." 
 
 " Excessive emotion," said the doctor, " is 
 not good for you, and will probably hasten 
 your day. You must go to bed at once." 
 
 She rose like a whipped child. " I'm sorry," 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 35 
 
 she said, in a low husky voice ; "I forgot, 
 I know you don't like scenes, and I'm wanting 
 to try very hard to please you in everything. 
 I'm going ; good night, dear." 
 
 The doctor raised one of her hands and 
 kissed it, and opened the door for her. She 
 passed out. Halfway up the broad staircase 
 that led to her room she paused a moment, 
 thinking. What had he meant by " hasten 
 her day " ? He had said once before that 
 "her day would come." She knew instinc- 
 tivel)^ that it would be useless to ask him, 
 and put the question by with a kind of 
 despair. In her room she stood before the 
 glass, surveying herself. The colour on her 
 cheeks was slightly disordered. She took a 
 sponge and washed it all off. She made up her 
 mind not to use it again. It was of no good 
 for her to try and make herself look pretty 
 any more ; and, even if rouge had given her 
 beauty, that would not have made her husband 
 love her again. " Love ! " she whispered to 
 herself, panting. Then she remembered that 
 it was wicked to use rouge. She had but 
 
36 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 just come from cliurch, and liad painted lier 
 face like a bad woman : it was wicked of her. 
 She knelt and prayed God to forgive her. 
 Then she rose, and took a candle and stepped 
 across the passage to another room. It had 
 been her baby's nursery. She unlocked the 
 door and entered. 
 
 The room w^as neatly kept. A little cradle 
 stood in one corner, bedecked and emptj^ 
 She walked over to it, and rocked it a little. 
 Then she opened a drawer, and turned over 
 piles of tiny clothes that were not wanted 
 now. " My little baby ! " she whispered. Her 
 eyes were strained, and aching, and dry. But 
 she cried again in bed that night. 
 
 It was long before Dr. Lamb came to bed. 
 
 o 
 
 He had not been working in his laboratory ; 
 he had been thinking about Claudius Sandell. 
 The doctor had not had much opportunity to 
 observe him ; but, nevertheless, he summed 
 him up : a man whose pride was greater than 
 his instinct of self-preservation, a truthful 
 man. 
 
 The doctor thought for a long time. " Oh, 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 37 
 
 I shall use him— I shall certainly use him," 
 he said to himself at last. " A great find ; 
 he will quite repay me." 
 
 Upstairs Claudius Sandell slept peacefully. 
 
38 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "Yes," said Harry Burnage to himself, "I 
 must marry Angela." He paced up and down 
 the soft carpet, thinking about it. He was 
 alone in his well-ordered chambers, smoking a 
 cigarette that was not to be bought in shops. 
 It was a good cigarette, but its flavour was 
 as nothing to the fact that it was not to be 
 bought in shops. It seemed to fill the room 
 with that atmosphere of uniqueness, distinc- 
 tion, speciality, that Henry Burnage believed 
 that he loved. He had arrived slowly at his 
 resolution ; he rarely hurried important 
 things ; he liked to act correctly ; and, 
 though he would say a passably brilliant 
 thing about the commercial spirit and the 
 middle classes, he very much liked to get on 
 in the world. He had been considering 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 89 
 
 marriage with Angela Wyclierley as one 
 might consider anonymous journalism — in a 
 critical spirit, weighing the arguments for 
 and against. That was the way he had 
 begun at least. 
 
 Angela's mother was barely possible. She 
 was too large, too obvious, too good-tempered, 
 and she gave too much publicity to that side 
 of her which should have been reserved for 
 the specialist in dyspepsia. Her circle in- 
 cluded too generously. Well, once married, 
 Henry Burnage felt that Mrs. Wycherley 
 could be deleted altos^ether. Then there was 
 her father — a mildly commercial person, whose 
 Sunday night anxiety (unless he had one of 
 those headaches) seemed to be first to find 
 the background, and then to sit in it. He 
 would not need to be deleted, he would delete 
 himself. He would probably do something 
 for Angela. The commerce was only mildly 
 successful, but Angela was the only unmarried 
 child ; it was almost certain there would be 
 something for her. Besides, Henry Burnage's 
 own father had made him a very liberal offer 
 
40 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 — if he oot married. The elder Burnao;e did 
 not believe that young men kept straight 
 unless they married — besides, he wanted to 
 see a grandchild. 
 
 Then there was Angela to be considered. 
 Just here the merely critical consideration 
 became touched by emotion — the material 
 side of Henry Burnage was in love with 
 Angela, he had come under her charm. Now, 
 this charm was not peculiar to Angela ; many 
 other girls have it, and it is more easily 
 described in its result. Angela made the men 
 that she met imagine her secrets ; she inspired 
 fascinating reverie. Burnage, with all his 
 business qualities, was much given to fasci- 
 nating reverie. 
 
 A catalogue's justice would have been 
 unjust to her looks, for her features were 
 slightly irregular. The ebb and flow of colour 
 on her dusky cheeks, or a chance movement 
 of her long eyelashes, or the curve of her 
 figure in some chance position that she had 
 taken would baulk dispassionate criticism ; 
 she had a store of trifles to throw into the 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 41 
 
 scale against classical beauty, and apparently 
 outweigh it. She had seemed at one time 
 to Burnage to be a flirt ; but now he was 
 inclined to think that she had grown serious- 
 hearted, and was being hurt by it. He 
 wondered if she cried sometimes at night, just 
 before she went to sleep, because of her 
 thoughts. That would be terrible. She 
 should tell him about it — just give him her 
 warm little hands to hold, cast her eyes down, 
 and make shy confidences. His vanity, 
 caught by his imagination, soared grandly 
 upwards, like thistledown riding the wind. 
 He began to picture things ; her rapt eyes 
 seemed to look at him, and her low voice to 
 tell him how good he was. He seemed to 
 hear music ; the wedding march took its 
 memorable downward sweep, curled over the 
 key-note, and broke at his feet. It moved 
 upwards again, changed to a slow, straining- 
 waltz that beat its great wings regularly — 
 upwards into the rarefied atmosphere of the 
 passionate lover, where the whole world 
 stopped, and one kiss continued. 
 
42 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 He had arrived slowly at his resolution — 
 beginning with criticism and ending in ecstasy, 
 just at the last, warming a cold ambition by 
 the fires of love, or the nearest that he could 
 get to love. He was glad that the resolution 
 was taken ; it had been hovering in his mind 
 for some time. He felt a kind of importance 
 in consequence of it ; he seemed to himself 
 to be embarking on a fresh epoch in his 
 existence. 
 
 He dined at his club, and dined well. 
 Thoughts of a love-touched future, black 
 coffee, a small o-lass of kirsch, and another of 
 the cigarettes that could only be obtained by 
 favour occupied him for the next two minutes. 
 Then he proceeded to write two letters. 
 
 His first letter was to his father, and Henry 
 Burnage's letters to his father were exceed- 
 ingly unlike his letters to anybody else. The 
 elder Burn age had started life with a small 
 shop, and although he had long ago retired 
 from his business he had never been able to 
 feel properly ashamed of it ; and he never 
 said even a passably brilliant thing about the 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 43 
 
 commercial spirit and the middle classes. 
 This alone made him different from the kind 
 of man that his son was. The father was 
 somewhat Puritanical, and quite uncultured ; 
 here again the son was different. In a more 
 humorous moment the father would some- 
 times say : " Have you been buying any 
 aesthetic things lately, Henry ? " What was 
 to be done with such a man — a man who 
 could never succeed in forgetting the back 
 numbers of Punch — a man who was quite 
 crude and point-blank — a man who could 
 never be convinced that he misunderstood 
 another man's point of view, and yet always 
 did misunderstand it ? Henry could only 
 sigh drearily, and try to read the essays of 
 Matthew Arnold without noticing that their 
 severest thrusts went straight through his 
 own father — happily ignorant of the assault, 
 and quite contented. Just as a mean motive 
 and a more generous motive had made Henry 
 decide to marry Angela, a mixture of motives 
 influenced him in the treatment of his father. 
 He was not without filial affection, but he 
 
44 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 also wondered, occasionally, in what proportion 
 his father would, in his last will and testa- 
 ment, divide his property between him and 
 his very plain and unattractive sister. He 
 tried to write to his father the kind of letter 
 that his father would like, but he spent as 
 little time as possible on the composition of 
 it, knowing that his father was not critical in 
 such thin2;s. To-nioht his letter ran as 
 follows : — 
 
 " My dear Father, 
 
 " You may be assured that your 
 last letter — stating that you have had no 
 return of the sciatica — gave me great pleasure. 
 I was delighted to hear that you managed to 
 get as far as from our house to the cemetery. 
 You must be careful not to overdo it, but I 
 suppose you would not walk that distance 
 without permission from the doctor. Certainly 
 the embrocation which he prescribed seems to 
 have done wonders. So you have got the 
 main drainage at last, and are compelled to 
 connect with it ; I always said that it would 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 45 
 
 come, and after the initial expenses you will 
 probably find the arrangement much more 
 satisfactory. I am sorry that the new vicar is 
 not to your liking ; his adoption of the east- 
 ward position and other ritualistic practices 
 in face of so many protests seems to me very 
 silly. It is, as you say, a great pity that the 
 living should be in the gift of Sir Constantine 
 Sandell — a man who has belonged at times 
 to almost every conceivable religious sect. 
 By the way, I am almost certain that I saw 
 Claudius Sandell in the Fulham Koad about 
 a month ago, just after I sent you my last 
 letter. It was Qrettino- dark, and I cannot be 
 positive ; but, if I am right, he has very much 
 come down in the world. The man I saw 
 was dressed in the seediest clothes, no stick 
 or gloves, smoking a clay-pipe, and peering 
 into the window of a small eating-house. As 
 I had two other men with me, I was naturally 
 not anxious to claim the acquaintance of 
 — apparently — a half-starved tramp ; so I 
 hurried on to avoid recognition. Otherwise 
 I should have been glad to have lent him 
 
46 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 a few shillings for the sake of old times 
 together at Cambridge. Of course, we do 
 not know what the quarrel w^as between Sir 
 Constantine and Claudius. You think that 
 Sir Constantine was in the wrong ; he may 
 have been. At the same time I do not think 
 that a father — however hot-tempered, and 
 however eccentric — entirely breaks with his 
 only son for nothing. Why was it that 
 Claudius, who was quite by way of being my 
 friend at Trinity, never told me one word 
 of the reason for the quarrel, and parried my 
 questions on the subject ? Why is it that, 
 although he has been in London, and knew 
 that he could get my address at the Temple, 
 he has never been to see me, and has never 
 sent me his own address ? It must mean 
 that he is ashamed of something. It is 
 strange that he — who was always thought so 
 wonderful — should have been compelled to 
 leave Cambridge without taking a degree, 
 and should then have gone completely under ; 
 while I — who was nobody in particular — 
 took a second in my tripos, and am already 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 47 
 
 beginning to get on at the bar. By the way, 
 is that curious woman, Miss Comby, still at 
 Sir Constantine's ? 
 
 " In conclusion, I have something important 
 to say. I feel that you are right, and I 
 accept your very generous offer. You will 
 not be surprised to hear that the lady whom 
 I intend to marry is Angela Wycherley, of 
 whom I have often spoken to you. I am now 
 only waiting my opportunity to make a formal 
 proposal ; and I think I may say, without 
 conceit, that I know w^iat her answer will be. 
 Before I do so, I shall be glad to hear from 
 you if you think the alliance suitable. 
 " Your affectionate son, 
 
 " Henry Burnage." 
 
 His next letter was to Luke Monsett. And to 
 him Henry Burnage employed a sort of sham 
 literary style, with a good deal of affectation, 
 short paragraphs, and capital letters in it. 
 
 '• Dear Luke, 
 
 "Action and reaction make me dis- 
 trust all. The swing of the pendulum in 
 
48 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 one direction seems to take a man so far : it 
 also returns as far. There is no Stability. 
 How we clung to tlie expression of culture 
 through furniture — environment. Nay, I 
 still cling to it. Yet always I shift my 
 sround from time to time. Even now it is 
 better to employ aniline dyes with a duchess 
 than to like the art flower-pot that has pene- 
 trated Bloomsbury. 
 
 "Stability! 
 
 " If you knew — if you could only know — 
 how I long to get to it ! 
 
 " Now comes some hope at last. You ask 
 what ? A woman's eyes, that are more 
 beautiful because they are now grow^i serious ; 
 on my part, nights in which I do not sleep, 
 but think entrancingly. Is there not hope of 
 Stability there ? The bourgeois marry to 
 perpetuate their very indifierent species ; and 
 I to find anchorage for my soul in calm waters. 
 If so — then, at last, Stability. Of other 
 news, nothing — save that I hear that our 
 friend, Claudius Sandell, is now definitely 
 gone under. And you thought him very 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. -iO 
 
 great. All, well, it wi» "eacli you to dis- 
 trust ! 
 
 " Of your own life, what ? 
 '* Write soon. 
 
 " Yours in these bonds of flesh, 
 
 " Henry Burn age." 
 
 He did not write in this style to his father, 
 because his father was not sympathetic, would 
 not have understood, and would certainly 
 have called him an ass. But Henry Burnage 
 fancied the style, and probably would have be- 
 lieved that his letter to Luke was rather good. 
 
 But in one point he was mistaken : Claudius 
 was not yet definitely " gone under." 
 
 In fact, not very long after this date. Dr. 
 Gabriel Lamb wrote a letter to his bankers, 
 asking them to place eight thousand pounds 
 to the credit of Mr. Claudius Sandell (of whose 
 signature he enclosed examples) during a 
 period of eight consecutive days, to commence 
 on the following Saturday morning. The 
 circumstances which led to this order may 
 now be recorded. 
 
50 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 Three days after the curious arrival of 
 Claudius Sandell at the house of Dr. Gabriel 
 Laml), the two men stood together in the 
 garden, one morning after breakfast. Claudius 
 was smoking a delicious cigar, the first that 
 he had smoked for over a year. He had 
 drunk good coffee ; his memory contrasted it 
 with the " cup o' thick " that he had been 
 compelled to take a few days before at an 
 early-morning stall. He remembered the 
 sharp eyes of the man who had handed it 
 him, and the furtive Jew boy that had rubbed 
 shoulders with him, and the bad green smell 
 of everything. 
 
 And now he was looking out on a well-kept 
 garden, noting the fruit trees as they spread 
 themselves to the sun along the wall. He 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 51 
 
 heard the sleepy hum of the mowing-machine, 
 where at a little distance a gardener was busy- 
 on the lawn. He had been refreshed by a 
 long sleep and a cold bath ; he was wearing 
 good clothes ; he had fed well and been well 
 treated. It was hard for him to realize that 
 all this was the result of charity, for the kind- 
 ness that had been shown him had come in 
 the guise of hospitality. Dr. Lamb had acted 
 up to his principle, that it was impossible 
 for a gentleman to take advantage of the 
 necessities of another gentleman in order to 
 humiliate him. 
 
 " Come down to the end of the garden," 
 said the doctor, cheerily. " You haven't half 
 seen the place yet." 
 
 The doctor was wearing a short holland 
 jacket and no hat ; in one hand he swung a 
 small empty canvas bag. As they went down 
 the paths Claudius happened to make some 
 remarks, with almost boyish naivete, on the 
 perfection of the house and garden. He hdd, 
 he said, never seen a place which was so com- 
 plete in small details — trifles. 
 
52 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Now, my dear Sandell," said the doctor, 
 putting ODe hand on his arm, " I am not going 
 to contradict you, but I am going to correct 
 an impression that I believe you must have 
 formed of me. I own that I have taken great 
 care lest there should be anything wrong in 
 even the minutest domestic matters, but you 
 must not think, that because I am particular 
 about trifles, I admire them or take an interest 
 in them. I assure you that I hate them ; I hate 
 them so much that I cannot bear to have them 
 in my mind. If the details of my house and 
 domestic life were wrong, they would always 
 be obtruding themselves upon my attention : 
 I should think about them, and I should 
 detest that. It is the same with money. If 
 a man really hates money he takes good care 
 that he has enough of it for all his needs, in 
 order that he may not think about it.'" 
 
 " You found me," said Claudius, " without 
 a penny in my pocket and fainting from 
 exhaustion. But, all the same, I assure you 
 that I do not love money." 
 
 " Do not," said the doctor, pleadingly, " be 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. r.3 
 
 SO ultra-sensitive, my clear fellow. I like fine 
 feelings, but to be ultra-sensitive is so— so 
 altogether damnable. I assure you tliat your 
 case was not in my mind when I spoke. And 
 my remark would not apply to you in any 
 case, because you are too young. You will 
 make money yet, because you hate it ; there 
 is plenty of time before you." 
 
 "You're much too good to me, doctor,"' 
 Claudius said rather seriously. " I am in- 
 clined to agree with you : one of the greatest 
 curses of poverty and privation is that they 
 make a man who is not used to them sensitive 
 and bad-tempered. I never used to be bad- 
 tempered." 
 
 " There's good enough evidence of that." 
 
 Claudius looked as if he did not quite 
 understand, and the doctor went on — 
 
 " I mean, of course, in your physiognomy. 
 You are, on the whole, very good-tempered ; 
 you can lose your temper badly, for all that. 
 In that you are not exceptional at all. But it 
 is queer that you have never told a lie, and 
 couldn't tell one if you wanted to." 
 
54 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS, 
 
 " Why," said Claudius, " I've told any 
 amount of the usual " 
 
 " Quite so— the ordinary social fib, that has 
 no other motive but to spare somebody's 
 feelings. We may leave that out ; that is BOfc 
 dishonourable. You have never told the dis- 
 honourable lie — the lie that would get you 
 out of some scrape or be of some advantage to 
 you." 
 
 " But, of course," Claudius answered, " one 
 doesn't do that." 
 
 " No ? I've told dozens of dishonourable 
 lies myself. But there, my system of ethics 
 is different and simpler : there is one great 
 purpose, and all else is subordinate to it. But 
 men, in other respects, like yourself, do, as a 
 matter of fact, tell mean lies, or would, if the 
 occasion were ur2;ent enouQ-h. Now, no occa- 
 sion, however urgent, would make you break 
 your word." 
 
 *' Well, one never knows." 
 
 Claudius found this open praise, as it 
 seemed, of himself very embarrassing ; and he 
 hastened to change the subject. 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 55 
 
 " If it comes to that, doctor, I have noticed 
 one exceptional point in you." 
 
 " I had flattered myself," the doctor said, 
 " that I was composed chiefly of exceptional 
 points. Which do you mean ? " 
 
 " You talk a great deal of your work, and 
 profess to be devoted to your work, and call it 
 the enthusiasm of your life ; and yet you 
 really do work very hard. I've only been 
 here a few days, but I've noticed that. I 
 happened to wake at three o'clock this morn- 
 ing, and looked out. There was still a light 
 in your laboratory. Now, at Cambridge it 
 was different : the men who talked much 
 about their work, as a rule, did least ; and to 
 keep an average of your number of hours' 
 work per diem was simply a preliminary step 
 to being spun in your tripos." 
 
 " Well, the case is so different. The ordi- 
 nary man at Cambridge works, I suppose, for 
 the purpose of his tripos, and with the in- 
 volved purposes of pleasing his people and 
 providing himself with a profession. Oh yes 
 those arc very good things, of course — but 
 
56 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 they are not great. If you try to simulate an 
 enthusiasm for work with such purposes, you 
 arc likely to use up all the energy for the 
 simulation, and have none left for the work. 
 ■Yes ; I did work late last night." The 
 doctor's eyes grew brighter, and his manner 
 more excited ; he gesticulated a little with 
 the hand that held the canvas bag. "Last 
 night, Sandell, I stood before the gate 
 — the locked gate that stands between 
 the living and the mystery of life. I tam- 
 pered wdth the lock, but I could not force it. 
 I could not get in. But, Sandell, I assure 
 you — I am speaking seriously — last night I 
 caught a glimpse between the bars. It makes 
 me breathless. Can you w^onder that I am 
 enthusiastic and — Lord ! I do keep talking 
 about myself. I wish I did not. I shall 
 become a bore." 
 
 " Will you ? " said Claudius. "If I may 
 speak as frankly of you to you as you have 
 done of me to me, I will say that I have 
 never met any one w^ho interested me so 
 much, and I do not suppose that I shall 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 57 
 
 ever meet any one wlio will be half so kind 
 to me." 
 
 " Oh, kindness is not in the question at all. 
 For all that I give you, I intend to receive as 
 much again. Practically, you are in a hotel, 
 and have the means to pay your bill, only it 
 docs not quite suit either of us to treat each 
 other just like that. No, not a word. I won't 
 be thanked — I assure you that I shall come 
 out of this under a great obligation to you. 
 Now, look here, we won't talk of this ; I want 
 to show you my rabbits." 
 
 They had reached the end of the garden. 
 Here there was a row of twelve small rabbit- 
 hutches, standing about two feet from the 
 ground. The hutches were kept very clean 
 and dry, and it was evident that good care 
 was taken of their occupants. 
 
 " I didn't know you were a fancier," said 
 Claudius. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not ; these are all of the common 
 kind. They hardly remain here long enough 
 for me to make pets of them, and in a pet one 
 would prefer a little more intelligence. Still, 
 
5S THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 
 
 these hutches are well planned, I think, and I 
 like to have them properly fed and cared for 
 until they are wanted. Research, you know, 
 would be impossible without experiment ; one 
 is as humane, of course, as it is possible to be 
 under the circumstances. By the way, I want 
 one of these this morning for my work." 
 
 He opened one of the hutches, and a black 
 doe that had been nibbling green stuff at the 
 entrance scurried away to the far end of the 
 cage ; pressed close to the boards she watched 
 the two men with soft, furtive, frightened 
 eyes. 
 
 " Pretty creature, isn't it ? " said the doctor. 
 
 " Now then, my common rabbit, you're 
 wanted. Why didn't you stand erect, and 
 have articulate speech, and wear white ties in 
 the evening ? Then you would have had a 
 God and lost Him, and worried yourself about 
 it at nights, when you had no one to talk to, 
 and never got any further ; and also you 
 would have bragged about it — people always 
 do. You weren't consulted, neither was I. 
 Now you arc going to die in a dream, but first 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 59 
 
 you have got to tell me what you know, but 
 don't know that you know." He stretched his 
 great hand into the hutch, and grasped the doe 
 by the neck. " Come, now," he said, pleasantly, 
 as she kicked and struggled, "don't you be 
 frightened, my little dear." Then he dropped 
 her into the canvas bag. 
 
 The two men walked on to the garden 
 entrance of the laboratory. Vivisection had 
 been the subject of debates at which Claudius 
 had been present ; they had not been, as a 
 rule, very well-informed debates : it had been 
 a case of brutality against sentimentality, and 
 had not interested him very much. One of 
 the most potent arguments for vivisection that 
 he had yet come across was that Dr. Gabriel 
 Lamb practised it. He mentioned this to the 
 doctor. Dr. Lamb put down his canvas bag 
 in the garden path, and fumbled for the key of 
 the laboratory door. He was an astonishing 
 grotesque figure ; the short holland jacket did 
 not seem to go well with the bald head, with 
 its fringe of auburn hair. Curious traces of 
 scientist, sensualist, and poet, seemed to flit 
 
60 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 across his face, hopelessly inconsistent and 
 passing in a moment. Between the box- 
 edging on either side of the path the black 
 doe- rabbit jumped and struggled in the bag 
 that imprisoned it. 
 
 " Vivisection ? I am not, of course, opposed 
 to it ; at the same time I realize its limitations. 
 It has taught us what we know of physiology, 
 and it will teach us more ; but it will never 
 teach us everything, as practised at present, 
 and nothing less than everything is of much 
 good to myself. I have got to pass through 
 that gate of which I spoke to you. See here, 
 — you know, of course, that a pig is internally 
 much the same as a man. But the pig's 
 nervous constitution — a very important factor, 
 
 mark you — is as different from a man's " 
 
 Once more he broke off abruptly. " You are 
 provoking me to become a scientific bore," he 
 went on ; " and all bores are hateful ; and the 
 scientific bore is the worst of the lot." 
 
 "Well, doctor," said Claudius, " I can only 
 say again that I am not bored. Now, by the 
 way, I could not, perhaps, do a good hard day's 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 61 
 
 work. But I am so far recovered that a few- 
 hours' secretarial work would not hurt me. 
 May I not undertake your correspondence for 
 you, or copy your scientific memoranda ? You 
 have already decided that I am to be trusted — 
 that I should not abuse your confidence — and 
 I need not tell you that I should be careful. 
 I should give you the best of such ability as 
 I have." 
 
 " That is quite so," said the doctor. " If 
 I were the usual philanthropist, I should pro- 
 bably fake up some secretarial work for you 
 to do. But I am not ; and the work for which 
 I want your assistance is far more serious and 
 important. I will tell you about it when the 
 time comes. In the meantime, if you would 
 order the victoria and take my wife for a drive, 
 I know she would be delighted. No ; you'd 
 rather drive yourself, I think. Have the dog- 
 cart and the bay mare. Oh yes — and you'd 
 better ask for her, or they will give you 
 ' Peach-blossom,' who's a good horse, but not so 
 amusing." 
 
 Claudius drove the bay mare, and she did 
 
62 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 not give him much leisure for conversation. 
 She was a beauty, but she needed driving. 
 Mrs. Lamb watphed him earnestly all the way, 
 and only spoke to praise him. The doctor 
 never drove the mare himself. It is curious 
 that even the cleverest man will fail to notice 
 when things are significant, if they concern 
 himself. Claudius had that morning omitted 
 to notice several things. 
 
TPIE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. G3 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It was a comfortable house to live in, Claudius 
 decided, but there were some queer points 
 about it. In the first place, there were no 
 visitors : it suited the doctor, apparently, to 
 live in a certain style — dinner, for instance, 
 was distinctly a formal function — but he 
 evidently did not think there was any 
 necessity for witnesses of his severe taste in 
 appointments, or of his conversation, which 
 at times was brilliant, or of the excellence 
 of his chef and his cellar. In a word, he 
 did, merely to suit himself, what most people 
 do in order to keep up appearances. Ko 
 stranger apparently, with the exception of 
 Claudius, ever trod those soft carpets, or 
 tasted those exquisite wines, or heard the 
 doctor on those few occasions when it pleased 
 
64 THE OCTAA^E OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 him to put his great ideas aside and be 
 merely eccentrically witty. Mrs. Lamb must 
 have realized that Claudius would notice this. 
 She took particular pains to tell him that 
 the doctor was a recluse and would see no 
 one — and so on. 
 
 There was something queer, too, about Mrs. 
 Lamb. She was religious — ardently religious, 
 but yet she was an untamable woman. 
 Keligion might inspire her, Claudius thought 
 — and he was angry with himself for such 
 analysis of his hostess, — but it would never 
 hold her. Her eyes looked searchingly at 
 him out of her pale face, and he saw in them 
 this much, at least, that she was not a woman 
 to be taken lightly and easily. With regard to 
 her feelings towards her husband, he was very 
 much in doubt; but he was certain that she 
 was afraid of him. 
 
 And what was the doctor's own position ? 
 He was formally courteous to his wife in 
 public ; further, he did not talk her over 
 with Claudius ; further, he took an evident 
 interest in her. But, for all that, Claudius 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 65 
 
 could not persuade liimself that tlie interest 
 which the doctor took in his wife was the same 
 as the interest which a man takes in the 
 woman whom he loves ; it seemed a colder, 
 more scientific, thing. Claudius could not 
 explain it : he could only wonder. 
 
 But one point seemed stranger to him than 
 all — the curious way in which he was taken 
 for granted. He had been in the house for 
 days, and he had come into it as a broken- 
 down tramp ; the Lambs had only his word 
 for it that he was not a broken-down tramp : 
 yet the days went by, and no question was 
 put to him about his past, and very little 
 was said about his payment of his obligation 
 — nothing, in fact, except the doctor's in- 
 definite assurance that it would be all right. 
 As a rule he spent the greater part of the 
 day with Mrs. Lamb : he drove her out, read 
 to her, educated her taste in music. She 
 began to make some sort of confidences to 
 him ; she told him that she had had a very 
 great sorrow, and that religion had been a 
 consolation to her in it. Once she beo;an to 
 
 F 
 
€G THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 talk about the doctor — with her eyes fixed 
 nervously on the door of the room, lest he 
 should enter suddenly. Claudius did not like 
 this. Gabriel was very clever, she said, Ijut 
 it was too awful — he despised religion. He 
 seemed to be entirely given up to one thing. 
 8he did not know whither it was leading, 
 but she had an uncomfortable sensation that 
 it was leading somewhere — that they were on 
 the vero-e of thina-s. Then she hesitated, and 
 looked shyly down at her own knees, and said, 
 with seeming irrelevance : — 
 
 " I want you, Mr. Sandell, to be very 
 careful." 
 
 " In what way ? In my dealings with the 
 
 doctor ? Why surely " He broke oH" 
 
 and laughed. ** You must not have these pre- 
 sentiments ; there is nothing to be afraid of 
 in a scientific enthusiasm." 
 
 " Isn't there ? " she said, rather drearily. 
 
 Claudius had no desire whatever to make 
 confidences — if anything he was inclined to 
 reserve ; but he felt that his host and hostess 
 had a claim to know somethins; about him, 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 67 
 
 and it was characteristic of him that he had 
 to satisfy all claims of which he was conscious, 
 whether they were pressed or not. He chose 
 his opportunity one night after dinner. The 
 dining-room was large and irregular in shape. 
 The table — an oval oak table — was laid in a 
 square recess, and brightly lighted with wax 
 candles ; the rest of the room was almost in 
 shadow. It had been rather an interesting 
 dinner. The doctor, starting from a case in 
 the papers that morning, had gone on to a 
 theory that suicide was largely the result of 
 a sense of humour. People killed themselves 
 because they saw that any further existence 
 would be ridiculous. It was a pity — but 
 those who had a sense of humour generally 
 had it over-accentuated. Had Claudius ever 
 noticed that ? And had it never occurred to 
 him how much better things must be on the 
 moon ? Yes, of course, there were the usual 
 shilling-manual baby's arguments to show that 
 the atmosphere and temperature of the moon 
 did not permit the existence of human beings. 
 It was the common confusion of beings with 
 
68 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 bodies. There were certainly beings on the 
 moon, and the Ijodies did not matter. Things 
 would be much l^etter there, because nothing- 
 there would be over-accentuated. The con- 
 suming passion of love that we men and 
 women feel would be on the moon a mild 
 preference. Our Athanasian Creed would be 
 there a hesitating assent to Matthew Arnold's 
 definition. Dinner would be afternoon tea, 
 and afternoon tea would ])e no more than one 
 transient, dreamy glance at the thinnest 
 possible bread-and-butter. Everything would 
 be toned down. 
 
 " My own enthusiasm," he concluded, 
 " would be nothing more than the feeling 
 which makes a boy buy the sixpenny 
 chemical cabinet, do lour tricks, l)reak one 
 test tube, and swop the remainder for a 
 specimen of common quartz with which to 
 initiate a new geological passion." 
 
 Claudius took up the idea, and went on 
 with it mirthfully. He and the doctor com- 
 bined their suggestions — the wildest sugges- 
 tions — of what this under- accentuated, toned- 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 69 
 
 down moon-life would be like. Mrs. Lamb, 
 consciously well dressed, watched them in 
 silence, sometimes with anxious eyes, as she 
 wondered if all this was quite religious, some- 
 times with quite a different expression as she 
 thouo;ht what a o-ood thine^ it was to look at 
 Claudius and hear his musical voice, and then 
 oTcw afraid of the thouojht. The doctor said 
 that the moondife would be heavenly. 
 
 " Why not have it ? Why not reconstruct 
 your existence here ? Why not reduce your 
 enthusiasm to the school-boy's whim ? " 
 
 The doctor became suddenly serious. " That 
 is my own fault for speaking inaccurately," 
 he said. " I spoke of my own enthusiasm, 
 and I was wrong. The enthusiasm is not 
 mine, but I am its. I belong to it ; I am 
 its slave. Body and soul I am claimed ]^y 
 the service of humanity, and given up 
 to it.'" 
 
 " But a willing slave ? " 
 
 The doctor did not answer for a moment. 
 He went on peeling a peach, his white nervous 
 fingers and the knife in them suggesting the 
 
70 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 rapid neatness of a surgical operation. He 
 seemed to l^e thinking deeply. 
 
 " I really do not know," he said at last. 
 "I never wanted it to come, and I never 
 resist it. It is, I should say, that some 
 powerful tendency has absorbed my will into 
 it. I feel like part of a natural law. Yes, 
 that's absurd, but I really grope for words 
 to describe my sensations, and I do not get 
 them very well." 
 
 " And your ^ work is for the good of 
 humanity ? " 
 
 " Ultimately." 
 
 " I wish I had some part in it. My end 
 in view in my own work was so much more 
 selfish. Perhaps that was why I failed. I 
 have never told you about it." 
 
 Dr. Lamb shot a rapid glance at his wife, 
 and it was she who answered. 
 
 "Yes? You must not speak about it, 
 Mr. Sandell, if the subject hurts you." 
 
 " On the contrary," he protested, " I am 
 anxious to tell you. The one thing I can 
 do, apparently, is to prevent you from being 
 generous in the dark." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 71 
 
 " No, no ! " said Mrs. Laml), leaning back 
 in her chair, " You must not imply that we 
 could possibly mistrust you. That is hard 
 on us." She spoke earnestly. 
 
 The doctor looked at her significantly. She 
 was saying just what he wished, but he was very 
 well aware that she was not saying it because 
 he wished it, nor from mere politeness, but 
 because she really meant it. It confirmed a 
 vague notion that had crossed his mind that 
 day. It enabled him, as he thought over his 
 future plans, to see where there was a possible 
 weak spot. The whole thought went through 
 his mind in a flash. 
 
 " Quite so," he murmured, as he passed the 
 tips of his fingers gently through the rose- 
 water in the bowl beside him. " Quite so." 
 
 " I should really like to tell you," said 
 Claudius. " I think it would interest you." 
 
 Mrs. Lamb leant her elbows on the table, 
 and her head on her hands, and looked at 
 him intently. 
 
 " Ah I That is undoubted ; it would be 
 very good of you," said the doctor. 
 
72 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 At this moment a servant came forward 
 with the coffee, and Dr. Lamb gave a rapid 
 order, 
 
 " The coffee and — and everything we are 
 likely to want — on the lawn. At once," 
 
 " You would rather ? " the doctor went on 
 inquiringly, turning to the others. " The 
 nioht is so hot, and I thouo;ht it would be 
 pleasanter to talk out there," 
 
 They both thought it a capital idea, Mrs. 
 Lamb's maid had entered the room, with an 
 Oriental shawl in her hands, Mrs. Lamb 
 adjusted it carefully over her head and 
 shoulders. She was a curiously grotesque 
 figure in that shawl. Her dinner- dress had 
 all that Madame EUice could do for mortal 
 woman. The pallor of her face and the dark- 
 ness of her hair were noticeable. She missed 
 being beautiful. She looked like an Egyptian 
 dissenter that had known Bond Street, The 
 w^orld had chosen her dress ; the flesh and 
 the spirit showed alternately in the expression 
 of her face. 
 
 Outside it was OTOwino; dusk. A biof rus 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 73 
 
 had been spread over the grass ; on it were 
 lounge chairs and a low table. On the table 
 were the smoking apparatus and the wonder- 
 ful Madeira that the doctor liked to taste after 
 dinner. The tiny Eoman lamp gave a minute 
 weird flame. The servant handed the coffee, 
 and withdrew. The two men lii^'hted their 
 
 o 
 
 cigars from the lamp. 
 
 "Now," said the doctor, "if you are ready, 
 Mr. Sandell." 
 
 Claudius began. " I think," he said slowly, 
 " that the thing I have wanted most all 
 through life has been freedom — the absence 
 of limitation. I have often thought that I 
 would be willing merely to taste it and then 
 die. Yet I have never tasted it. As for my 
 Ijirtli, I am the only son of my father, and 
 my recollection of my mother — who died when 
 I was a child — is very vague. My father, 
 Sir Constantine Sandell — his knighthood was 
 one of the birthday honours in the year that 
 I was born, and it is an honour that he has 
 since regretted — would have been considered, 
 in some respects, an indulgent man. At 
 
74 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Eton — I know now — I had very much more 
 pocket-money than was good for me. At the 
 age of sixteen I got the parental sanction to 
 the use of tobacco — well, my father is himself 
 a smoker. At Cambridge, again, my allow- 
 ance was very generous. But in important 
 points I was never free. Now, religion is, 
 I suppose, an important point." 
 
 Mrs. Lamb looked up at the grey sky, and 
 then slowly down again. Claudius continued — 
 
 " Religion was, is, and always will be, a 
 most important point to my father. Unfortu- 
 nately, it is a point on which he has never been 
 able to satisfy himself. He has changed his 
 religion times without number. He is about 
 due into Buddhism by now," he said with a 
 bitter laugh, " for I do not see what else is left. 
 No, I am not joking. And I was always 
 compelled to follow any sect with which he 
 happened to be in sympathy. I myself have 
 been a Scotch Presbyterian, an English Low 
 Churchman, and an English Ritualist ; I have 
 found that the truth was in the Greek Church 
 alone ; I have been a Roman Catholic ; I have 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 75 
 
 followed my father into the religion of ' three 
 persons and no God,' which has its dwelling 
 somewhere off Fetter Lane ; I have tried witli 
 him to find consolation in metaphysics that 
 neither of us could quite understand ; then I 
 listened to the sermons of Parker, and after 
 that to Voysey. I did not mind, I was only a 
 boy ; fellows always believed what their fathers 
 believed ; it was all in the day's work. It was 
 at the call to spiritualism that I rebelled ; by 
 this time I was at Cambridge, and had begun 
 to think. Now, my father had invited to our 
 place a professed medium from London— a 
 Miss Matilda Comby." 
 
 At this moment the doctor and Mrs. Lamb 
 exchanged glances, as though the name of 
 Miss Matilda Comby were significant. It was 
 almost dark. Claudius noticed nothing, and 
 continued — 
 
 " For all I know to the contrary, Miss 
 Matilda Comby may be there still. AVith all 
 that I have against her, I must own that she is 
 a distinctly clever woman. I began to study 
 conjuring tricks ; I paid — with my father's 
 
76 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 money — for lessons from professors. When I 
 thought that the time was ripe, I exposed 
 Miss Matilda Comby, and showed to my father 
 that the absolute proof — as he called it — was 
 ingenious, but that they did better at the 
 Egyptian Hall. I might as well have spoken 
 to the Pyramids. Miss Matilda Comby was 
 clever and plausible ; she had warned my father 
 against the very explanations that I offered. 
 He considered that her position was confirmed, 
 and told me, in so many words, that I was a 
 blasphemer." 
 
 " And that was the cause of your quarrel 
 with your father ? " said Dr. Lamb, dreamily. 
 
 '' No, he still had hopes of me. "VVe did 
 quarrel, of course, but the real reason is much 
 more difficult to tell. One day, at Cambridge, 
 I had a letter from him that surprised me and 
 distressed me a good deal. I knew that this 
 woman, Matilda Comby, had a great infiuence 
 over my father, but I did not guess how great 
 — until I read that letter. Briefly, it peremp- 
 torily ordered me to marry Matilda Comby 
 — a woman ten years older than myself — a 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 77 
 
 woman whom I had always had the greatest 
 difficulty to treat with even the barest civility 
 — a woman whom I knew to be a fraudulent 
 charlatan. During the whole of a year I had 
 been doing my best to get this woman turned 
 out of our house — and now I was calmly told 
 that I was to marry her. The spirits had 
 willed it ; the spirits were very anxious for it ; 
 the spirits had foretold that it would be ' a 
 singularly blessed union.' It sounds like mad- 
 ness ; yet in all business matters my father, at 
 this very time, was« showing himself particu- 
 larly sane, particularly judicious." 
 
 " That," said the doctor, " is not un- 
 common." 
 
 " Matilda Comby also must have had some 
 talent for speculative business. My father is, 
 I suppose, a very wealthy man. With all her 
 influence she doubted at first if she could 
 persuade him to leave his entire property away 
 from me. On money matters he was too sane. 
 But it had probably occurred to her that she 
 might marry me, and come into the money 
 that way. The spirits had suggested the 
 
78 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 marriage, but there was never any doubt that 
 the spirits were merely Matilda Comby." 
 
 " One moment," said Mrs. Lamb, rather 
 shyly. " Matilda — I mean Miss Comby — was 
 a charlatan, of course. I think myself that 
 spiritualism is wicked. But has it not occurred 
 to you that possibly she was really — it is so 
 hard to be certain — really in love with you ? " 
 
 " Impossible, Mrs. Lamb. I had always 
 made it fairly clear that I despised her." 
 
 " Sometimes, you know, that does not make 
 any difference." 
 
 " Well, I do not think that her subsequent 
 behaviour showed that she was very fond of 
 me. At first I treated the thing as a joke ; 
 but I soon saw that my father was in earnest : 
 then I refused point-blank. Now, my father does 
 not take point-blank refusals nicely as a rule, 
 and I expected a storm. On the contrary, I 
 got a very patient letter. The spirits had been 
 at it again. They had told him that I was 
 secretly engaged to another woman, and that 
 it was for this reason I had refused, but that 
 it would be to the advantage and happiness of 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 79 
 
 tlie other woman if I gave her up. I replied 
 that there was no other woman in the case at 
 all — as a matter of fact, althouo-h it is not 
 a particularly interesting fact, I have never 
 Ijeen in love in my life — and I repeated my 
 refusal. His next letter accused me of having 
 triHed with Matilda Comby's aftections. Oh, 
 it was the wildest business ! Matilda Comby 
 never appeared directly in it at all. But it was 
 obvious that her hand guided my father's in 
 every letter that he wrote. I need not give 
 you details of all the correspondence. At last 
 he called me a liar, and I sent him a letter, 
 which I now regret — for, after all, I am his son. 
 That finished it. I had a brief communication 
 from him to the effect that he did not wish to 
 see me or hear from me again. He enclosed 
 me a checjue for one quarters allowance in 
 advance, and told me that I was to expect 
 nothing further from him, either during his 
 lifetime or after his death. I sent the cheque 
 back. "Well, there I was with a bank balance 
 of fifty pounds and the world before me." 
 " It was very cruel of him," said Mrs. Lamb. 
 
80 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " It was very cruel and unjust." She shivered 
 slightly. 
 
 " Ah," the doctor said, " it has turned a 
 little chilly, hasn't it? Let us finish the 
 story indoors — in my study, Sandell. I have 
 got some of that tobacco about which you 
 were speaking, if you care to try it." 
 
 "Thanks very much," said Sandell. "I 
 should be delighted to try the tobacco, but 
 I must get my pipe first from upstairs." 
 
 As soon as he had gone upstairs, Doctor 
 Lamb turned bruscjuely to his wife. 
 
 "Matilda Comby ? " he said. "Your 
 sister ? " 
 
 " I — 1 fear so." 
 
 " Why is she going by her maiden name ? 
 Oh, I see — yes, her husband." 
 
 " I thought she would go back to it after 
 her husband — went away, but I know no 
 more for certain than you do. She had 
 stopped writing letters to us, you know, 
 Gabriel, even before my marriage. It is 
 possible that her husband may have died 
 in — died there." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 81 
 
 " Ah, yes. My wife's sister originally ran 
 away with a fraudulent company promoter ; 
 he married her, and got into difficulties ; he 
 is now, if alive, doing a term of penal servi- 
 tude ; so your sister resumes her maiden 
 name, becomes a common swindler, and 
 attempts bigamy. What trifles these things 
 are ! They ought not to concern me. And 
 yet, Hilda, I should prefer that you did not 
 mention these facts to Mr. Sandell." 
 
 " But they give him the means of recon- 
 ciliation with his father." 
 
 '' He will never take the first step in that 
 direction. Besides, why sacrifice any man's 
 good opinion of you ? How will you be 
 regarded if you say that you are the sister 
 of Matilda Comby ? With involuntary dis- 
 like and distrust." 
 
 " But I might write to Sir Charles — anony- 
 mously — giving proof of my statements." 
 
 " Quite so ! Admirable ! But you must 
 get proof. Unless you know that the convict 
 is still alive, you have no case. Find that 
 out first. How ? I have not the least idea. 
 
82 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Be clear on your facts, before you sacrifice 
 
 sisterly affection to your passion for " 
 
 lie paused a moment, and added, " your 
 passion for justice and reconciliation." 
 
 " I will do that, Gabriel. I won't say 
 anything to Mr. Sandell. How happy he 
 will be to get back in his right place again ! " 
 
 ''There, run along, Hilda. He will be 
 down in the study by now. Join him, and 
 say I will be there in a moment. I have a 
 short note to write, which must go to-night." 
 
 When she had gone, he sat down before 
 the fire, with his head in his hands, thrusting 
 fingers into the fringe of hair. His brow 
 wrinkled, and then cleared ; he smiled horribly 
 to himself 
 
 " Hilda's letter cannot go for three or four 
 days. I think that I can finish my business 
 with Claudius Sandell to-night, to-morrow at 
 latest. After I have got him — once got him 
 — bound him by his word — after that, there 
 may be as much reconciliation as you please, 
 my dear Hilda, because it will not make any 
 difference. Praise God ! " He rose and 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 83 
 
 paced the room excitedl}'. " Praise God in 
 the highest ! " he said with fervour. 
 
 He sat down and scribbled a brief note, 
 and gave it to a servant. Then he crossed 
 the hall, and went down the passage to the 
 study. " I wonder," he thought to himself, 
 " does Hilda think that I notice nothing — 
 nothing at all ? She is falling in love with 
 Sandell — I use it. He is entirely honourable 
 — I use it. I have been kind to him — and 
 I use that, and now, — we really progress." 
 
B4 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The rest of the story Claudius had to tell 
 need not be told in his own words. He had 
 come to London with his fifty pounds in his 
 pocket, and had taken cheap lodgings in % 
 Bloomsbury. He meant to live economically, 
 but he did not quite know how to do it ; he 
 also meant to write, and he did not quite 
 know how to do that either. It was probably 
 his acquaintance with Burnage and Monsett 
 at Cambridge that had given him this idea 
 of making a living by literature. These two 
 men had been actually printed in a London 
 paper — Burnage once, and Monsett twice. 
 In all three cases it was poetry, and unre- 
 munerated. Claudius did not think that he 
 could write poetry ; he cheerfully acknow- 
 ledged in Burnage and Monsett their superior 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 85 
 
 talents. But, in common with most men, 
 lie wanted to tell a story — and, unlike most 
 men, lie had a story to tell. He had had 
 it for a long time. He remembered vaguely 
 what had started it. He had been one 
 summer evening on a country railway-station ; 
 and as he waited for the train, he had read 
 the advertisements, and some chance line of 
 the merest foolishness had been whimsical 
 enough to give him a suggestion. Looking 
 up, he saw at the further end of the platform 
 a woman standino; silhouetted ao^ainst the sun- 
 set sky, and the sight of her had carried the 
 suggestion on. It had all been forgotten 
 next day, and all remembered many days 
 afterwards. Since that time it had gone 
 through a long period of change and growth 
 in his own mind, until he knew all the people 
 of his story intimately, and its incidents had 
 become like incidents in his own career. 
 Now, when he had to make his own livelihood, 
 he thought he would write his own novel. 
 Both Burn age and Monsett had drawn for 
 themselves brilliant pictures of literary success, 
 
86 'JlIE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 and Claudius had listened. He knew that 
 such success was not for him ; he merely 
 hoped to write a passable, readable, and 
 consequently salable story. There was 
 nothing else that he cared to do. 
 
 While he was learning how to write — he 
 was surprised to find there was so very much 
 to learn — and learning how to live economi- 
 cally, the fifty pounds slipped away. There 
 came a day when he left his Bloomsbury 
 lodgings and took all his personal belongings 
 to a shop in the Fulham Road. Nominally 
 and externally it was a second-hand furniture 
 shop, but there was really nothing that its 
 proprietor would not buy and sell. He was 
 an obese man, with a little voice, and a quick, 
 narrow eye, and a w^atch-chain like a golden 
 snake that suns itself on a hillock. To this 
 man Claudius sold all his books and almost 
 all his clothes, leaving himself hardly enough 
 to keep himself warm — it was late winter. 
 
 "Now, sir," said the man, when the last 
 iniquitous bargain had been completed, "is 
 there nothing else ? I buy anything and 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 87 
 
 sell anything. Think now, sir. Any little 
 bits of furniture? Old carpets or rugs? 
 Fetch 'em away in my own cart and give 
 you no trouble. Or bedding now — I give a 
 fair price for that." 
 
 Claudius beinsf in rather a mad and bitter 
 
 CD 
 
 mood, had answered that he would sell himself, 
 body and soul, for one thousand pounds and 
 one year to spend it in. 
 
 " Come now, sir," the man went on, "joking 
 apart " 
 
 "I'm not joking; I've nothing else to sell, 
 and I mean what I say." 
 
 " Supposing," the man said, rubbing his 
 fat chin, " the law allowed it and I could tic 
 you up somehow : I might risk two hundred 
 pounds and give you your year. It 'ud be 
 a speculation. But there — there — where'd 
 my security be ? No, that's all nonsense." 
 
 Claudius went off with something under 
 ten pounds in his pockets. Instead of two 
 rooms in Bloomsbury he now took one small 
 and dirty room in a back street in the Ful- 
 ham neighbourhood. Here he almost starved 
 
88 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 himself and constantly overworked himself. He 
 had intended at one time to write his novel 
 to make his living ; now he chiefly wanted 
 to live in order to write his novel well. It 
 was, as it were, a race against time, to get 
 the novel finished as he would have it before 
 the little money that he had gave out. Hope- 
 lessly improvident and unpractical, he made 
 no calculation for a possible future when the 
 novel might be finished and prove a failure. 
 His experiences in those lower strata of London 
 in which he now lived had helped to make 
 him bitter and angry with the world, so that 
 he told himself that wlien his novel was 
 finished he would no longer want to live in 
 the world at all. It seemed to be a world 
 in which there was no generosity, and no 
 sense of what was really valuable. To guess 
 the motives of those with w^hom he came in 
 contact, he persuaded himself that he had 
 only to guess the meanest possible in order 
 to be always right. The struggle for life 
 hardly seemed worth while. Sore as he still 
 w^as at the treatment he had received from 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 89 
 
 liis father, his depression was further increased 
 by his miserable surroundings, his semi- 
 starvation, his occasional loss of his belief in 
 his power to write at all, and his terrible 
 loneliness. 
 
 This latter was his own proud and foolish 
 fault. It is true that the friends he might have 
 ]iad in London were quite singularly few, but 
 still there were some. Partly from the belief 
 that he would work best if he worked alone, 
 and still more from a reluctance to meet in 
 his adversity those whom he had known in 
 his prosperity, or to discuss the quarrel with 
 his father, Claudius had kept to himself. 
 Otherwise Burnage, to do him justice, would 
 have been willing — staunch and loyal — to have 
 walked hand-in-hand with this lonely embryo- 
 novelist until that point when Claudius really 
 needed a friend. Lady Verrider, an old friend 
 of the Sandell family, a kindly and worldly 
 woman who was fond of Claudius, would 
 have gone with him much further ; and there 
 were others, of less importance, who would 
 have been glad to see him. But Claudius 
 
90 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 would have none of them. The lower he 
 sank in poverty and dejection, the more 
 obstinate he became on this point. He had 
 much the same instinct that makes the 
 wounded animal hide itself. 
 
 On the day that the novel was finished, 
 Claudius sent it off to a publishing firm. 
 It came back almost directly, and he sent 
 it to another. He paid his landlady, and 
 had one shilling left in his pocket. And now 
 he thought that he could die quite easily, 
 and soon found that he could not. He was 
 young, and unable to rid himself of the 
 instinctive love of life. There were many 
 ways in which a man of good character and 
 education and some abilities could make a 
 fair livelihood. None of them appealed to 
 his tastes particularl}^ but he determined to 
 adopt one of them — any one ; only it was 
 necessary to have a little money first : he 
 must be able to buy an outfit and pay a 
 railway fare, or he could do nothing. If the 
 publishers accepted his novel, he determined 
 to sink his pride and ask for an advance from 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 91 
 
 tliem. This was his only chance ; he had in 
 his letter to them asked them to let him have 
 their opinion as soon as possible, and some- 
 how or other he must hang on until their 
 letter came. He had only one shilling on 
 which to wait ; to speak accurately, he had only 
 elevenpence, for the landlady had intimated 
 that she would charge one penny for taking 
 in the letter for him when he was no longer 
 her lodger. As it was necessary to make 
 his elevenpence last as long as possible, he 
 considered that it would be absurd to spend 
 any of it on a bed ; the early summer had 
 begun now, fortunately, and the nights were 
 just warm enough to make it possible to 
 keep in the open air without killing one's 
 self. He had found a spot away on Wimble- 
 don Common, where it was unlikely that 
 any one would interfere with him. There 
 he slept for nine successive nights ; indeed, 
 he spent most of the days there too, for he 
 found himself too weak to do very much 
 walking about. On the morning of the tenth 
 he had only one penny left out of the shilling, 
 
92 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 which the landlady would want if there was 
 a letter for him. He walked slowly to his 
 old lodging in Fulham, and inquired if there 
 was a letter. 
 
 There was a letter, and the novel had come 
 back again. The landlady refused to take 
 his penny, and said that he could leave the 
 parcel with her. His first sensation was one 
 of intense delight that he would now be able 
 to l)uy something to eat. He hurried oft"; 
 when he got to the l>akcr's shop, he was so 
 breathless that he could hardly ask for what 
 he wanted. He bought a penny loaf and 
 hid it under his coat, breakinoj bits off" it and 
 eating them as he went along. It was very 
 beautiful l)read, he thought. 
 
 Wlien he had finished half the bread, he put 
 the rest in his pocket. He had a vague idea 
 that when he had come to the end of the 
 bread, he would have come to the end of 
 everything. It was with the greatest difficulty 
 that he walked back to Wimbledon Common. 
 There, among some furze bushes, out of sight, 
 he lay down. Late in the evening he finished 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 03 
 
 his bread. He did not sleep that night, but 
 in the early morning he dozed otF for an hour 
 or two. When he awoke, the world seemed 
 to be very far off ; nothing that he had ever 
 said or done seemed to him to be quite real. 
 There was no gnawing of hunger now, and 
 even the instinctive craving for mere life had 
 left him. He did not think about his novel 
 at all, but he noticed very small things : he 
 picked a big leaf and counted the veins 
 in it carefully. A gradual drowsiness came 
 over him, and he had moments when his con- 
 sciousness seemed to go, and he was not sure 
 whether he was walking or lying down. 
 
 It was on that night that— as has already 
 been described— the doctor found him. 
 ***** 
 
 Claudius did not tell all this. He gave 
 the bare facts without comment, and hardly 
 recorded at all what his sensations had been. 
 When he had finished, Mrs. Lamb rose, and 
 said quietly — 
 
 "That has been very interesting to mo, 
 Mr. Sandell. I am sorry that you suft'ered 
 
94 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 SO much. You must not suffer any more — life 
 must be made easy for you." 
 
 " It has been already — too easy, I'm afraid." 
 
 " I am tired, and must say good night." 
 
 She gave him her hand. It shook visibly, 
 and even Sandell noticed that she seemed to 
 be with difficulty concealing some emotion. 
 He reproached himself. 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Lamb," he said, " you must not 
 believe too much in my own story of my own 
 sufferings. One is ignobly tempted to make 
 the most of such things when one is speaking 
 to sympathetic people." 
 
 " No," she said, " you did not do that. 
 But I certainly am sympathetic. Good night, 
 Mr. Sandell ; good night, Gabriel." 
 
 Dr. Lamb looked at her curiously from 
 narrowed eyes. He looked like a chess-player, 
 hovering over a great and final move, whose 
 attention has been for a moment distracted. 
 
 " Good night, my dear," he said. 
 
 AVhen she had got upstairs that night, she 
 hesitated a moment before the door of the 
 room that had been her dead baby's nursery. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 95 
 
 Her thin white hand touched the handle of 
 the door and then left it. 8he dared not go 
 in. In her own room, she flung herself on the 
 hed ; after a minute or two she rose and 
 knelt down. There were prayers which she 
 said in a certain formal order every night. 
 She began the first of them in a low voice. 
 
 " Almighty and most merciful " 
 
 Then she stopped suddenly, her whole body 
 shaken by a dry sob. 
 
 " God help me ! " she wailed. " God help 
 me J I'm a wicked woman. I hate Gabriel ! 
 I hate him — hate him ! Make me love him 
 again. Take away my sin — my sin that I 
 can't help or fight against an)' more ! " 
 
 Even in the moment of her prayer she felt 
 no faintest hope. This sudden, awful love for 
 Claudius that had come upon her seemed to 
 have entered too deeply, to be part of her, so 
 that not even the fires of torment could burn 
 it out. In great anguish she prayed on. 
 
 " Was I not tried enough and hurt enough ? 
 Every day I see women in -the street that 
 have their babies with them, and they're 
 
96 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 laughing. They don't know that they're 
 driving me mad. They don't know it, but 
 they are. I bore it all when my darling was 
 taken away from me. I bore it all when I 
 lost Gabriel's love, too. Only have mercy 
 now I Do not let me be wicked I Oh, God ! " 
 
 Once more she stopped suddenly. This 
 time she rose to her feet. 
 
 " It's no use," she said. " God has left me ! " 
 
 She did not sob any more at all ; she was 
 perfectly quiet. 
 
 When the dawn stole into her room, hours 
 afterwards, she still lay with eyes wide open. 
 Her hands rested quietly by her side ; all 
 through her sleepless hours she had hardly 
 moved. It was such a little thing to lose 
 one's sleep, when one had lost one's child, and 
 h)ve, and God. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS 97 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 3owxsTAiRS in the study the two men went 
 >n talking, long after Mrs. Lamb had left 
 hem. Claudius felt himself to be just a 
 hade above his normal state. The difference 
 vas very slight — a feeling of unusual content- 
 nent, almost of exaltation. Perhaps it was 
 lo more than the pleasure that comes in 
 idling of trouble past. 
 
 " Sandell," said the doctor, " in some 
 espects I observe that you are a practical 
 nan." 
 
 Claudius laughed. " I've never been accused 
 )f that before," he said. " Do you mean it ? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps I should have put it that, 
 Lccording to my view, you are practical. The 
 vorld would think otherwise ; it would con- 
 ider that you should have gone to your 
 
98 THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 
 
 friends in London, and bothered tliem to find 
 you work of some sort ; it would rebuke you 
 for your foolishness in having written a novel 
 when you ought to have been earning money ; 
 it would have asked you why you did not 
 take a post as a master in a private school, 
 or become a cab-driver — my wdfe tells me 
 that you drive well — since either profession 
 would have brought you a certain income." 
 
 " For that matter," said Claudius, " they 
 would both have brought about the same 
 income. Well, when I come to look back on 
 my life now, I honestly think that the world 
 would be right." 
 
 " Do you ? Is life, for mere life's sake, 
 worth living ? Could you, for instance, live 
 on in a state of continual humiliation and 
 obligation ? " 
 
 " Do not forget that I am living in a state 
 of great obligation at this moment. It is 
 
 true that I will not " 
 
 "There, there — I wasn't referring to that. 
 If it is any comfort to know it, 1 will 
 give you the chance to-night to end all the 
 
THK OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 99 
 
 obligations — even to place me under an obli- 
 gation to you." 
 
 " I accept it at once ! " said Claudius, 
 impulsively. 
 
 " No ; you must hear about it first. Oh, 
 don't let's bother about it just now ! Let me 
 see, I was speaking of life for its own sake. 
 There I entirely agree with what must have 
 been your own belief. Life for its own sake 
 is without value. I do not want it. You 
 reached a point in your career in which you 
 lived for your work alone. Believe me, what- 
 ever your future fate may be, you will always 
 look back on that period with a great and 
 legitimate elation. For myself, I always live 
 for my work alone. I also should be elated, 
 only I haven't the time ; besides, my work 
 makes me humble." 
 
 " Your work," Claudius said, " is different 
 from mine. It is so much finer. I suppose 
 that my novel is very bad. I have been too 
 close to it, worked too long on it, to be able 
 to form any opinion about it myself. Now 
 that it is written I hardly ever think about 
 
100 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 it. But if it were good, and deserved reward, 
 I should have it. The days of the unappre- 
 ciated are over. The unseen blush is gone 
 out. I work for myself and get a reward, if 
 I deserve it. You work for humanity at large, 
 regardless of rewards." 
 
 " Pioneers are seldom rewarded," the doctor 
 answered. " Ideas don't pay ; the improve- 
 ments on ideas do, and the tinkers are kings 
 nowadays. But I certainly have my reward. 
 You have noticed, perhaps, that only people 
 with imagination lay down wine. The old 
 man in his cellar, storing the vintage that 
 he knows he cannot live to drink, tastes in 
 that moment all its unborn perfections that 
 one day his grandson overhead will praise. 
 The man that plants trees sleeps in imagina- 
 tion under their Q-rateful shade." 
 
 He began to pace slowly up and down his 
 study. He went on — 
 
 " And I have at least imagination enough 
 to picture the humanity that might be, if my 
 own line of research would do all that it 
 promises. Ah, Sandell, it is well enough that 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 101 
 
 we should look backward — from man to the 
 anthropoid ape, from the ape to the original 
 bird or reptile : but to look forward is better. 
 We are not at the end yet. I see — yes, in 
 my mind's eye, I actually see — this new 
 humanity. It walks erect, cringing to no 
 mystery. It holds the keys of life or death 
 — of heaven and hell. It is the master 
 of its fate, makes its character, moulds its 
 physique, has just what intellect it wills. 
 And all that may happen if I will tell it, 
 as I hope to tell it, some two or three 
 things." 
 
 He opened the window, and looked out in 
 the direction of the lights of London. 
 
 " There 1 " he exclaimed. " There they are, 
 millions of them, away in the smoke, laugh- 
 ing, sweating, living, dying ! Each man of 
 them is nothing as an individual. Charles 
 Peace and William Shakespeare were both 
 accidents. Yet how I am compelled— as by 
 some blind force — to love them in the mass ! 
 They don't know where they came from or 
 whither they go ; they have their hopes about 
 
102 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 it, or their fears, or tlieir complete indifference, 
 but not one of tliem knows." 
 
 " Not one," echoed Claudius. 
 
 " They don't know their own potentialities. 
 .Vnd most of them are half afraid to push the 
 limits of their knowledge. Yes, that is really 
 pathetic — unspeakably pathetic." 
 
 "I should have thought," said Claudius, 
 " that the tendency nowadays was the oppo- 
 site of that — a thirst to find out all that one 
 possibly could." 
 
 "Yes, yes — in certain directions." 
 
 " Not in all ? " 
 
 " Not for the average man. He believes 
 in his divine genius and his devilish criminal. 
 He does not want to have them explained 
 away ; he does not want to find their origin 
 traced otherwise than directly to God or 
 devil. He will let the doctor give him pills 
 for his body ; but he believes that his mind 
 and his morals are exclusively in the hands of 
 God and fate." 
 
 " And you do not believe in any of that ? " 
 
 " At any rate, I substitute ' very indirectly ' 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 103 
 
 for 'directly.' If there is any antagonism 
 between religion and science, it is the fault of 
 religion. It will defend untenable positions, 
 and then — when the positions are lost — assert 
 that it w^as unnecessary to have defended 
 them, as they were immaterial. That kind of 
 thing makes any man angry who loves truth. 
 At the same time, I do not rail against 
 religion. While your raw medical student is 
 making himself objectionable about the doc- 
 trine of the Incarnation, I am studying par- 
 thenogenesis. True, I sneered just now at 
 the divinity of genius and the devilishness of 
 the criminal. Neither has the inevitability 
 which belongs to one's idea of a superhuman 
 power. Bring me a genius, and permit me to 
 hit him on the head ; if 1 hit him hard enough, 
 but not too hard, he will not die ; but his 
 genius will leave him, his books will remain 
 unwritten, his pictures unpainted." 
 
 " But the reverse process," said Claudius, 
 " to make a stupid man intelligent." 
 
 " By the simple operation required for the 
 removal of a post-nasal growth, a stupid child 
 
J 04 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 may be made intelligent ; the administration 
 of a simple purge may preserve tlie sanity 
 that a man would otherwise have lost ; by the 
 — but why should I quote these common- 
 places? You know that the connection 
 between mind and body exists — the connec- 
 tion between fear and the heart, for instance ; 
 between hope and the respiratory organs ; 
 between anger, or melancholy, and the diges- 
 tive apparatus, is as well known as the con- 
 nection between thought and the brain. 
 After all, why should I bother you with the 
 starting-points of medical psychology — of my 
 own beliefs, and my own line of research ? " 
 
 "Keally, doctor, I am more eager to find 
 out than you are to tell. I want to know how 
 this research is going on, and how it will 
 end." 
 
 " It will go on and end in the service of 
 humanity. If I gave you the details, I 
 think that you would regard me rather as a 
 quack than as a doctor — a quack with the 
 restless ambitions of a mad man. Yet re- 
 member that the heterodoxy of to-day is the 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 105 
 
 orthodoxy of to-morrow. AVliat the charlatan 
 falsely pretends to do, the man of science 
 sneers at as impossible ; but the man of 
 science of the next generation actually does 
 what that charlatan falsely pretends to do. 
 If I have been ambitious, at any rate I have 
 not been reckless. I have worked — I have 
 won my way step by step. If I was ever 
 tempted to make a theory, and one little fact 
 stood in the path, I have either accounted for . 
 the fact or modified the theory, or abandoned 
 it altogether. I have proved theories, on the 
 other hand, that I should have never dared to 
 imagine — they have been forced upon me 
 by the chain of facts — theories that have 
 never even been propounded before. As far 
 as I have got, I could write my discoveries on 
 half a sheet of note-paper ; but though they 
 may be few, they are vital. I tell you 
 solemnly, Sandell, that the whole future of 
 humanity depends upon them and what will 
 follow them." 
 
 *' Will it be long before you reach the 
 end?" 
 
106 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " I cannot say. At present I cannot get on 
 properly. I am in a position of the greatest 
 tantalization and difficulty. If I had not 
 learnt from my work the utmost patience and 
 humility, this tantalization would be enough 
 to drive me mad. I told you how — the other 
 night— I almost forced the gate. That word 
 ' almost,' it comes in and spoils everything. 
 There is one thinoj that I want." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " I want a man whom I can trust implicitly 
 — who will trust me implicitly." 
 
 "I am at your service, doctor," Claudius 
 answered. " I mean it. You said the other 
 day that you knew I did not tell lies : I would 
 keep your secrets." 
 
 " Ah, yes ; it is proverbial, of course, that 
 it is better not to show children or fools half- 
 finished work ! I should be reluctant to have 
 one of my discoveries known at present, 
 because it could be so easily misused. Still, 
 you must not think that I'm the victim of 
 scientific jealousy. Lord, what a lot there is 
 of that ! Let me do the work, and o-et the 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 107 
 
 knowledge — and any one else may have the 
 glory of it. But you must hear more." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 Doctor Lamb sat down afyain, his o-rcat 
 hands interlocked, his eyes fixed steadily on 
 Claudius. You must have had your finger 
 on his pulse to know that he was going 
 through critical and exciting moments, 
 
 " Sandell," he said, " do you remember that 
 when you sold all your personal property, to 
 get enough money to enable you to finish 
 your novel, that you made one offer — ironical, 
 I suppose — which the shopman was foolish 
 enough not to accept." 
 
 " Yes. But my offer was more foolish than 
 his refusal." 
 
 "Your ofter w^as foolish for two reasons. 
 You asked too little. You have probably 
 thirty efficient years before you in the 
 ordinary course of things." The doctor 
 pulled out a pocket-pencil, and did a rapid 
 sum on his shirt-cuff. " The entire command 
 of your body and soul must be worth to any 
 man more than £33 6s. Sd. a-year. Even 
 
108 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIQS. 
 
 you must see that. You would get more if 
 you simply worked for a few hours a day as 
 a bricklayer's labourer. Then, again, you 
 asked for a year in which to spend that 
 money." 
 
 "Yes, too little." 
 
 " Too little, my dear Sandell ? It was too 
 much — very many times too much. Think 
 what may happen in a year— the countless 
 ties that one may form and find it difficult 
 to break ; the entire change that may come 
 over one's opinions, the entire alteration in 
 one's views of life. How could you go back 
 at the end of a year ? The temptation to 
 break your word would be almost insuperable." 
 
 *'Yet, if I had made the senseless arrange- 
 ment, I should have gone back." 
 
 " You would — but you would have rendered 
 it difficult. Besides, that year — that pleasant 
 holiday in which you would have said farewell 
 to the world and your own past — should have 
 been characterized by freedom, as far as 
 freedom could possibly be obtained. You 
 said to-night that you had never tasted real 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 100 
 
 freedom. You would certainly not licave had 
 it if you had lived for a year on a thousand 
 pounds ; you would have found yourself con- 
 stantly exercising common care to avoid a 
 pecuniary indiscretion. In that last holiday 
 of your life, you should have no common 
 care — at any rate, no thought of money." 
 
 " Yes, it sounds reasonable. It always 
 interests me to discuss imaginary conditions 
 of life — the moon-life of which we were 
 speaking at dinner, for instance." 
 
 " Sandell," said the doctor, seriously, " the 
 conditions which we are discussing now need 
 not be imaginary. I told you that I wanted 
 a man who would trust me implicitly. I 
 want a man who will trust me so far that he 
 will make over to me, asking no questions, 
 the remainder of his life, for the consideration 
 —eight thousand pounds — that I am prepared 
 to offer. He must come to me as he would 
 come to death itself, putting his past behind 
 him and away from him, giving up himself, 
 body and soul, to me. Twice recently have 
 I found a man who would have been willinoj 
 
110 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 to have placed that trust in me ; but in 
 neither case could I have trusted the man. 
 Sooner or later he would have gone back on 
 his bargain, and, of course, the law would 
 not have helped me. But I trust you. If 
 you give me your word of honour, I do not 
 want other security. I do not ofler you more 
 than you are worth to me — indeed, I am not 
 wealthy enough to offer you as much as you 
 are worth. You would leave me under an 
 obligation. I offer eight thousand pounds, 
 and I give you eight days." 
 
 " Are you really meaning this ? " 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 " I am to ask no questions about the 
 future ? " 
 
 "It would be l)etter not. For your own 
 sake, it would be better that the eight days 
 of holiday and farewell should be without 
 anticipations — that you should be able to shut 
 the future out of your mind. And for my 
 sake — you must place yourself in my position, 
 you know, — it, at any rate, shows me that 
 you place the same confidence in me that I do 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. Ill 
 
 in you. Perhaps it is for that reason I ask 
 it. Eemember that I risk eiojht thousand 
 pounds on your word alone." 
 
 " True. Why eight days ? And I could 
 Qot possibly take the money." 
 
 " On that point you must let me decide. 
 The money is not too much. A thousand 
 pounds a day will make it unnecessary for 
 you to exercise common care ; besides, it will 
 be a satisfaction to me to feel that I have 
 paid it. In eight days you will not have 
 time to form new ties, or make new opinions 
 — only time to taste freedom for once in your 
 life, to enjoy deeply, and yet not to that pitch 
 of nausea which comes to those who follow 
 enjoyment for a long period ; to say farewell 
 in happiness instead of saying it — as you 
 would have done on the night that I found 
 you — in abject misery. For me the eight 
 days is too long. I am impatient for — for 
 your co-operation. Eight days — the octave 
 that the Church gives to its saints — do not 
 ask for more." 
 
 " Well, if I refuse, is there no other way 
 
112 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 by which I can repay my obligations to 
 you ? " 
 
 " Oh, why speak of them ? If you refuse, 
 there is an end of it, and I am charmed to 
 have been able to give my medical advice, 
 and my poor hospitality, to such a good 
 fellow as yourself. That is all ; that ends 
 it so far as you are concerned. Of course 
 there remains for myself a considerable dis- 
 appointment." 
 
 The doctor's voice was careless : his ex- 
 pression was one of geniality and generosity. 
 
 " It is a tremendous thing," said Claudius, 
 slowly. "Yet I do not see why I should 
 refuse. As you say, you found me when — if 
 you had not found me —I should have died, 
 probably. I really speak the truth without 
 affectation, when I tell you that I was 
 perfectly ready and willing to have died then. 
 Very little has changed since. I have been 
 away from all friends for so long, that I have 
 got used to doing without them. I am still 
 cut off from my father and my home. I have 
 never been in love in my life. I am alone in 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 113 
 
 he world. If I gave my mind to it now, 1 
 ould probably make a livelihood — enough to 
 ;ive me l^are life, without the things in it 
 hat I should like. But possibly I couldn't ; 
 f I could, I should be serving no good end. 
 f I come to you, you use me, as you use 
 'ourself, for the service of man. I have no 
 cientitic training, and I do not see how I can 
 elp you. But you know that. What you 
 ay suggests to me that you may require my 
 ssistance in some — well, you know, doctor, 
 b is inevitable that in your research there 
 hould be experiments, and I dare say some 
 f them are singularly repulsive. You may 
 equire from me good nerves, laboriousness 
 great that it takes no account of health, 
 nd complete secrecy and devotion, rather 
 han scientific attainments. I do not see 
 /hy I should not leave these things to you. 
 
 have myself had some experience of your 
 musual knowledge — the rapidity with which 
 
 recovered my strength under your treat- 
 aent was almost miraculous. Still more 
 ave I reason to trust your kindness and 
 
 I 
 
114 THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 
 
 humanity — it is not merely the material 
 kindness that I have had from you. I think 
 under difficult circumstances you have shown 
 inore delicate regard for the feelings of a 
 foolishly sensitive man than ever I experi- 
 enced before. You showed no trace even of 
 unkindliness when I spoke of refusing your 
 offer, proving, if proof had been wanted, that 
 your generosity was spontaneous, without a 
 second motive." 
 
 Claudius was not looking at Dr. Lamb at 
 this moment ; the doctor half closed his eyes, 
 and smiled slightly. 
 
 There was a short pause. Claudius sat 
 with his eyes fixed on one point of the 
 carpet, then he drew a long breath, and 
 said — 
 
 " I put the responsibility for myself in 
 your hands, doctor. I accept. 1 will take 
 my eight days of freedom, and then come 
 back to you." 
 
 " You understand that you give me your 
 word of honour," said the doctor, " and that 
 the arrangement once made will not be 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 115 
 
 revoked ? It will be terminated only by your 
 own death or mine." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 A deep-toned clock struck the hour of 
 midnight. The doctor stretched himself, 
 picked up a cigarette, and lit it. " Extra- 
 ordinary thing, Sandell," he said, " the difti- 
 culty that two men have who are not used 
 to l)usiness experience in concluding a money 
 bargain with each other. They shirk it, and 
 get awkward in their manner, and clumsy in 
 their speech. Well, it's over, I'm glad of it." 
 
 " The day's over too," said Claudius, 
 glancing at the clock. '" Personally, I'm not 
 sleepy. But it seems to me that I must be 
 keeping you either from your work or your 
 sleep." 
 
 " From neither, I assure you. The day 
 was made for working, and the night was 
 made for talking, whenever one wants to 
 talk. If you care to discuss the details, by 
 all means let us do it." 
 
 " Well, doctor," said Claudius, " there is 
 ^■ery little to say. I shall spend the eight 
 
il6 THE OCTAVE OIF CLAUlDIUS. 
 
 days in London, probably. When would 
 you like them to begin ? " 
 
 " Now," said the doctor, laughing. " Of 
 course I don't mean that. Let me see, 
 to-moiTow's — no, to-day's Friday. That's the 
 worst of sitting up past midnight ; to-morrow 
 becomes to-day, which is damnably confusing. 
 I really don't see why you shouldn't leave 
 me at midnight on Friday, returning, conse- 
 quently, at midnight on Saturday— eight 
 days afterwards. Then you begin your new 
 career with a new week. One's always 
 despicably hungry to secure these dirty little 
 coincidences." 
 
 Both men laughed. "I should like, of 
 course," Claudius said, '' to see my friends 
 again in London in these eight days — the two 
 or three friends that I have there. True, I 
 didn't see them when I might have done so ; 
 I felt too poor to see anybody, which — now 
 I come to think of it — was vulgar of me. 
 But, still, friends are friends. Besides, how 
 can I say farewell unless I have some one 
 to say it to ? And my father decides that 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 117 
 
 r have already said it as far as he is con- 
 cerned." 
 
 " By all means see your friends," the doctor 
 replied, cheerfully. " Have as good a time 
 as you possibly can. Remember that for 
 eight days you are absolutely free. In the 
 morninoj Francis shall sro into London for us. 
 He will take the necessary letter to my 
 banker for me, and he will do anything for 
 you that you want — secure you the best 
 rooms in the best hotel, take letters to your 
 friends and bring back their answers, order 
 your box at the opera, carry out any com- 
 mission you like." 
 
 " Thanks, very much. A thousand pounds 
 a day ! It is tremendous. What couldn't 
 one do with it ? " 
 
 " Let us hope that you won't find out the 
 answer to that question, Sandell," the doctor 
 went on. " We are neither of us drinking 
 anything. The formal, necessary, unpre- 
 tentious whisky-and-seltzer is here, but it 
 doesn't seem to me to be suited to the 
 occasioii. I may be old, but I am young 
 
118 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 enough to want to drink champagne now. 
 The servants are all in bed, but no matter. 
 Where are my keys ? Ah, here ! It's a 
 wise man that knows his own cellar. Don't 
 you trouble to come, I'll find what I want." 
 
 He was back in a minute or two with the 
 bottle in his hand. "The last," he said, 
 " the very last of a wine that I have rever- 
 enced." With deft fingers he l)egan to 
 uncork it. Both men had for some unex- 
 plained midnight reason got into the highest 
 spirits, and they jested like l)oys over the 
 operation. The doctor filled two tumblers, 
 handed one to Claudius, and raised his own. 
 
 " Success to your eight days ! " he cried. 
 
 " Success to the octave ! " 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 119 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Claudius breakfasted late and alone on Friday 
 morning. The doctor had breakfasted long 
 before, and Mrs. Lamb did not leave her room. 
 The doctor excused her on the ground of ill- 
 health, and said that when Claudius returned 
 they would probably be leaving England. 
 " She needs a change." 
 
 After breakfast Claudius wrote two notes — 
 one to Burnage and the other to Lady Verrider. 
 Francis was to take them to town and l)ring 
 back answers. He was also to execute various 
 other commissions for Claudius, and make the 
 necessarv arrangements at the bank. Dr. 
 Lamb was much more fertile than C^laudius in 
 su2;2:estino; what mio-ht be done. The doctor 
 had a keen appreciation of the various luxuries 
 and pleasures that eight thousand pounds 
 
120 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 would procure. To Claudius the chief point 
 was that the eight thousand pounds would free 
 him from the necessity for thinking about 
 pounds at all. He did not want nearly so much 
 money, but the doctor insisted, and only by 
 this arrangement, carried out exactly as the 
 doctor proposed it, would he be allowed to free 
 himself of his obligations. The doctor had 
 told him very little, and it was useless for him 
 to make conjectures. Possibly he had done a 
 very foolish thing, but there had seemed to be 
 nothing else before him. 
 
 It was just before dinner that Francis 
 returned from London. He brous-ht back with 
 him two notes for Claudius. The first was 
 from Henry Burnage. It contained this 
 
 " Of course I shall be delighted to lunch 
 with you at your hotel to-morrow. I need 
 not inquire after the material prosperit}^ of an}^ 
 one who can aftbrd to patronize such a place, 
 and I am glad to think that all goes well with 
 you. But why have you hidden yourself like 
 this for so long ? It was such an exceedingly 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 121 
 
 bad thing to do, that there is probably a woman 
 at the bottom of it. And why are you leaving 
 England ? But we can talk about that to- 
 morrow. Yes, I still write. My work is not 
 of a class that could be called popular, nor 
 should I wish it to be. I am writing a series 
 entitled ' Inward Incidents ' every week, in a 
 new journal called The Latest Light. They 
 are impressions of some emotional experiences 
 in the life of a young and sensuous girl. 
 I will bring you a number or two to see, but 
 I dare say you won't make much of them. 
 ' Are you married, or engaged, or anything ? ' 
 you ask. No, my dear Sandell. Art is my 
 only mistress. It is unaccountable to me, and 
 I do not say it out of any spirit of boasting, 
 ]jut the fact is that I seem to have a horrible 
 gift of seeing right through every woman 
 I meet — an absolute incapacity for being 
 illusionized. The wonder to me is that every 
 other man does not show a similar incapacity. 
 But they do not. Poor Luke Monsett — you 
 remember him — has just engaged himself to 
 his principal's daughter," 
 
122 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add that 
 Henry Burnage had carried out his intention 
 and proposed to Angela Wycherley, and that 
 Angela had in the kindest and most considerate 
 way refused him. It had been a great sorrow 
 to Mrs. Wycherley, but her husband, who was 
 not without shrewdness, had quite approved 
 of the refusal. 
 
 The other letter was briefer. It was from 
 old Lady Verrider. 
 
 " My good Claudius, 
 
 " I've half a mind never to speak to 
 you again. I've Cjuarrelled with your father 
 about you ; and, by way of showing your 
 gratitude, you leave me severely alone for over 
 a year. Well, you always were erratic, and, 
 honestly, I shall be very glad to see you again. 
 Young men always do as they like. Now, 
 I am going to be at home to you on Saturday 
 afternoon, if you will come and have a talk and 
 account for yourself a little, and, in any case, 
 you must dine with me on Saturday night. 
 You shall take in to dinner a good and sufficient 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 123 
 
 reason for elianging your mind about leaving 
 England. I've recently discovered her, and 
 love her, and her name's Angela. 
 " Always your friend, 
 
 " Jane Verrider." 
 
 Claudius saw but little of the doctor during 
 the day. He had been busy in his laboratory. 
 But shortly before dinner he came into the 
 library where Claudius was reading. 
 
 " Your carriage will come for you at twelve 
 precisely to-night," he said. " You forgot to 
 tell Francis when you wanted it, and so I took 
 the liberty. You see I am not going to let you 
 off one single minute of your imprisonment 
 bere. At twelve exactly the octave begins." 
 
 " Imprisonment ! " said Claudius. " Good 
 iieavens ! what a word for it. Why didn't you 
 let me go to town to-day instead of Francis ? 
 I've been dying for want of occupation except 
 when I was driving your bay mare, and then 
 [ pretty nearly died for other reasons. You'd 
 3etter sell her before she kills somebody." 
 
 " I shall be sellinsf all three horses before 
 
124 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 I leave England. You couldn't liave gone to 
 town, anyhow. You haven't the genius that 
 Francis has for doing a whole lot of uninterest- 
 ing things in the quickest and most practical 
 way, without forgetting any of them. I'm 
 afraid, though, you've been having a rather 
 solitary time of it. I was at a point in my 
 work when I simply couldn't leave it, and 
 my wife " 
 
 " Oh, I hope she's better to-night ! " 
 
 " She says she is. She will dine with us." 
 The doctor's shaggy eyebrows contracted a 
 little. " A curious case," he said, almost as 
 if he were speaking to himself, " a very 
 curious case." 
 
 Claudius did not like to hear the doctor 
 speak of his wife as a " case." He had a 
 vague idea that to doctors all sick persons 
 were cases, but this seemed to be in bad taste. 
 He changed the subject. 
 
 " Doctor," he said, " Francis brought me 
 back from town a note from a man called 
 Burnage, whom I used to know at Cambridge. 
 I won't say that he was an absolutely intimate 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 12b 
 
 friend of mine, but certainly I thought I 
 knew him fairly well. I wrote to ask him 
 to lunch with me to-morrow — a half-chaffing 
 letter. Well, he sends me back a long and 
 serious reply — the most preposterous stuff — 
 and it puzzles me. Has Burnage changed 
 altogether since I knew him at Cambridge, 
 or have I ? " 
 
 " Both," said Doctor Lamb. " As far as 
 character is concerned, it is pretty certain 
 that the boy is not father to the man. It 
 was the ambition of my life at one time to 
 be an evangelical preacher. I fainted on the 
 first occasion when I went into a dissecting- 
 room, and I wrote a letter attacking vivi- 
 section to an evening paper. I fell in love 
 several times, and I certainly wanted to make 
 money. Do you mean to tell me that the 
 man who did these things is the man who 
 speaks now ? Of course not. Is the girl who 
 flutters under a first kiss the same as the 
 wearisome mammal who's the mother of your 
 seventh ? Of course not." 
 
 "That sounds brutal. But this man 
 
126 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Burnage, he wasn't particularly popular at 
 Cambridge ; lie went in for despising athletics, 
 which was a stupid kind of thing to do. ■ But 
 he wouldn't have written that letter then. 
 He went in for being distinctly the man of 
 taste." 
 
 " Certainly. Corruptio optimi pessima. 
 Carry precision in literary style too far, and 
 you may get the precious and emasculated. 
 Carry truth too far, and, as you observe, you 
 may get brutality. The worst possible taste 
 is the result of an attempt to grow the best 
 possible taste from anything but the best 
 possible feeling." 
 
 " I don't fancy that the belief in the change 
 of individuality could be carried to its logical 
 conclusions," said Claudius. " For instance, 
 now, doctor, when I was a boy of fourteen, 
 I, in company with another boy, surreptitiously 
 procured a bottle of whisky. We put a lot 
 of sugar into it to make it more palat- 
 able, and even then we didn't like it ; and, 
 of course, we had no previous experience 
 of spirits. However, we l^oth of us got 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 127 
 
 completely drunk. We weren't discovered, as it 
 happened, but we sutFered punishment for all 
 that. Well, I laugh about this, and yet for 
 the life of me I can't help feeling ashamed 
 3f it. The boy that got so badly intoxicated 
 3u cheap whisky wasn't the man I am now. 
 Then why should I feel ashamed of his 
 notions ? " 
 
 " Why, indeed I To me it seems that it 
 is no more logical to be ashamed of one's past 
 than to be ashamed of one's waste tissues. 
 Be ashamed of your present, if you like, but 
 what has the past got to do with you ? You 
 are illogical because you are influenced by a 
 lono-formed habit. Haljits of thouo-ht are 
 just as hard to break off as other habits." 
 
 " After all," said Claudius, " it's only a 
 question of a point of view^. The illogicality 
 does no actual harm." 
 
 "' In your case possibly not. But take our 
 method of dealing with the criminal. We 
 tie him tight down to his past, and we do 
 our best to destroy his self-respect, which is 
 the most important factor in the production 
 
128 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 of self-improvement. In fact, if we can make 
 the man heartily ashamed of himself, we call 
 him penitent, and we are very glad. When 
 we do these things we say that we are repress- 
 ing crime or punishing crime — as a matter 
 of fact, we are making crime. One night a 
 clerk — in the ordinary way a respectable clerk 
 — allows the utter pig within him to come 
 uppermost. There may, perhaps, be some 
 exceptional combination of temptation and 
 opportunity. Well, the utter pig is so out- 
 rageous that the man is imprisoned. His 
 name is in all the papers. When he comes 
 out he finds not only that his self-respect is 
 gone, but that the conditions of his life have 
 been so altered that it is more difficult for 
 him to get work and be decent and upright. 
 Of course it should be much more easy. 
 Equally, of course, the man's self-respect 
 should be strengthened in every possible way." 
 "That's all very well, doctor, but what 
 about the habitual criminal ? Would it be 
 of any use to take the habitual criminal, slap 
 him on the back, tell him that there was 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 120 
 
 plenty of good in him after all, and put him 
 into a position of trust ? " 
 
 " Possibly not. I was not speaking of the 
 habitual criminal. When the criminal has 
 really ceased to be responsible — as in the case 
 of some of the habitual female drunkards 
 that you come across in the police reports — 
 I think medical treatment might be good, 
 occasionally. And in cases where medical 
 treatment could do nothing, obviously the 
 really moral and humane thing is to kill the 
 criminal." 
 
 " No one would hear of it." 
 
 " No one ever will hear of the obviously 
 right thing to do — they mistrust it just 
 because it's obvious. So we kill the man 
 who has committed one murder. Often he 
 is a man of talent and activity ; with strong 
 potentialities for good, a man who might do 
 his part towards human happiness and human 
 improvement. But we let the confirmed sot 
 live and breed more sots. Remember, too, 
 that it is under your penal system that the 
 hardened criminal occurs, and that method 
 
 K 
 
130 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 wliicli you considered ridiculous has at any 
 rate never been tried." 
 
 ''AVouldyou try it ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! It's not much less ridiculous 
 than you think it. It would succeed in a 
 greater percentage of cases than you suppose ; 
 but even then the percentage would be very 
 small. It is wrons:, because it is workins^ at 
 the wronsj end. It is dealing^ with effect 
 instead of cause, and that kind of mistake is 
 a good deal more common than you would 
 suppose. Even Darwin — popularly supposed 
 to be the exponent of a belief that man 
 sprang from the monkey — curious all these 
 popular suppositions are — made the same kind 
 of mistake in a different use. In the question 
 of sex difference he substitutes a teleological 
 for an etiological explanation." 
 
 "Ah," said Claudius, laughing; "it's just 
 as well that we've got to get up and dress I 
 You're taking me too deep." 
 
 " Deep I Good heavens, man, we aren't 
 even paddling ! Your education — pardon me 
 —was too one-sided. It gave you much that 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 131 
 
 . would like to have and have not. But it 
 vas the kind of education which could let 
 rou hold a popular and imperfect notion of 
 Darwinism, and could let you be ignorant 
 low far the theories of Darwin have since 
 3een modified or corrected." 
 
 " And you think that omission very impor- 
 tant ? " 
 
 " Well, yes, for certain reasons. But we 
 ivill discuss them after dinner." 
 
 Subsequently Claudius found Mrs. Lamb 
 in the drawing-room. She was wearing some 
 tine diamonds. They were quite out of place, 
 of course. The doctor raised his thick eye- 
 brows. Yes, it was so — of taste and tact she 
 had very little. Yet the greater things — the 
 things that lie at the back of life — the things 
 that we try to put away because they are too 
 serious — seemed sometimes to rise and at once 
 to claim her for their own, and to justify her. 
 Twice that night she surprised Claudius. At 
 dinner, in the course of ordinary talk, quite 
 suddenly and quite calmly she made a re- 
 mark that was worse than irrelioious : it was 
 
132 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 virulently blaspliemous. It did not involve the 
 use of any word that a decent woman could 
 not use ; but, for all that, it was indescribably 
 shockino- even to the two men, who were 
 neither of them orthodox — the more shocking 
 because it was so utterly unexpected. Claudius 
 was staggered ; for a moment he hardly knew 
 what was happening, and then he became 
 conscious that the doctor was talking to him 
 about steam-rollers and, at the same time 
 looking at Mrs. Lamb, and that Mrs. Lamb 
 seemed nervous and half frightened. For the 
 rest of dinner she was almost entirely silent. 
 She seemed to avoid her husband's glance. 
 Her eyes looked hard and dry. 
 
 After dinner she excused herself to Claudius 
 on the ground of her health. She felt tired, 
 and must go back to her room ; certainly she 
 looked very pale. Claudius opened the door 
 for her. The doctor stood at the dining-table, 
 some distance away, absorbed in the choice 
 of a cigar. 
 
 " You have chosen a queer time for leaving 
 us," she said. " You should have stopped 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 133 
 
 and driven over to London in the morning. 
 However, good-bye." 
 
 She said it without the least trace of excite- 
 ment. 
 
 He took her hand. " Don't let us call it 
 good-bye. I am coming back. I must have 
 another opportunity to thank you for all your 
 kindness to me. It is an revoir, Mrs. Lamb." 
 
 She laughed, said that she was not to be 
 thanked at all, and passed into the hall. 
 
 Claudius shut the door, and then noticed 
 Mrs. Lamb's handkerchief lying on the floor. 
 He picked it up, and opened the door again 
 to Sfive it her. As he did so, she called from 
 halfway up the stairs — 
 
 " Have I dropped my handkerchief, Mr. 
 Sandell ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said, " and I'll bring it to you ; 
 don't trouble to come down." He went up 
 and handed it to her. Without a word of 
 thanks she clutched his arm, and said in a 
 low, rapid voice — 
 
 " Listen quickly. You must not come 
 I tack. For my own sake, for yours. I warned 
 
134 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS, 
 
 you before, and you wouldn't believe me. It's 
 a matter of life or death." 
 
 " I'm sorry," said Claudius, " hut I must 
 not discuss it at all. The doctor wants me, 
 and I have given my word of honour." 
 
 " I shall do all I can to prevent your 
 return ; I've had ideas. But Gabriel used to 
 say my day was coming, and I know now 
 what he meant. It may come before I can 
 carry the ideas out, and if I fail you onu.sf 
 break your word. Ah, if I only had time 
 to tell you ! It would be less wrong to l)reak 
 your word " 
 
 " No, no," said Claudius, gently withdraw- 
 ing his arm, " you must not think about 
 this, Mrs. Lamb. Everything will be all 
 right. You need have no fear. Good night 
 again." 
 
 She put one hand to her throat for a second, 
 and seemed to he trying to speak again. 
 But she said nothing ; she turned and ran 
 upstairs. 
 
 " Poor lady ! " said Claudius, to himself 
 She was, he felt sure now% far more ill than 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 1S5 
 
 he had supposed. She had evidently not 
 known what she was saying. 
 
 In the dining-room he found the doctor, 
 leaning back in his chair, smoking placidly. 
 
 " Sandell," he said, " there are tw^o alter- 
 natives between which every night after 
 dinner I find it difficult to choose. If I 
 perform a simple amputation of the end of 
 my cigar I find that the draught is good but 
 that the leaf unrolls. If, on the other hand, 
 I make a wedge-shaped incision, at a distance 
 of one-eighth of an inch from the end, the 
 leaf does not unroll, but the draught is less 
 satisfactory. "What am I to do ? What do 
 you do ? " 
 
 "AVell," said Claudius, "I've tried both 
 ways, and I've always found both of them 
 answer perfectly. But if your cigars won't 
 w^ork, why don't you try a pipe ? " 
 
 " Sublime in its simplicity ! I will. It's 
 only my own method with the irreclaimable 
 criminal adapted. Have some more w^ine ? 
 No ? Then let's go into the study, out of the 
 smell of the mutton." 
 
136 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 In the study the doctor suddenly changed 
 his tone. 
 
 " Sandell," he said nervously, " I've been 
 thinking it over, and I've have an uneasy 
 feeling that I've been taking advantage of you 
 in this business. I hurried you. I rushed it 
 too much." 
 
 "No," said Sandell. "When I spoke, I 
 spoke deliberately. The chances of my book 
 are, I am persuaded, worth nothing. As a 
 schoolmaster, or a secretary, I might have 
 scraped up enough to repay you what you 
 have spent upon me, but there would still be 
 much of another kind that could not be 
 repaid, and I have some doubt whether I 
 could stand the life. Doctor, I'm sick of 
 pettiness and struggling ; I had so much of 
 it in the months before you found me, and 
 I'm equally sick of working for merely selfish 
 and ignoble reasons. Let me be some good 
 to somebody. The work that you do is great, 
 and if I can help you at all in it I ask nothing 
 better. No, my one objection is that I do 
 not in the least want eight thousand pounds." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 137 
 
 ''No more of that," said the doctor. "See 
 here — I don't want reputation. I only want 
 to get the knowledge. But the reputation 
 will come, and you will not share it. Money 
 boo will come, though I shall take no steps 
 :o acquire it. You will not have any of it. 
 ^ou are merely taking your share in advance, 
 ind you must see your own point of view, 
 rhe law does not recognize any such arrange- 
 nent as we have made together. By the law 
 [ am wrong, but there are grades in wrongness, 
 md if I did not carry out my side of that 
 irrano'ement I should he more wrono-. If I 
 illowed you to give yourself to me and gave 
 >^ou nothing in return, I should stand con- 
 lemned l)y my own moral sense. Curious 
 hing my own moral sense is. Owing to my 
 lisregard of individuals, it is never affected 
 3y any personal bias, and is always perfectly 
 ust. It will let me use any means, however 
 vrong, that are requisite for the great end 
 :hat I have in view ; but it will not let me 
 ise means that are more wrongr than is reallv 
 'equisite. I don't ask or expect yon to listen 
 
138 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 to this, of course. If any man talked to me, 
 after dinner, about his moral sense, I'd go 
 to sleep under his very eyes, and tell him 
 afterwards why I did it. But " 
 
 " Oh, I'm not going to sleep. Very well, 
 then — we let things stand just as we arranged 
 last night." 
 
 " I was more or less in a hurry," said the 
 doctor, "and consequently I hurried you. 
 But there is some excuse for me. When you 
 first came here, my wife was — for her — un- 
 usually well. She — well you saw for yourself 
 to-night. I must get her abroad as soon as 
 possible. And " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand," said Claudius. 
 
 They fell to chatting of other subjects. 
 The doctor was, as usual, sometimes enthu- 
 siastic, sometimes bitter, and sometimes 
 blasphemous, and sometimes showed the 
 clearest judgment and sense. He began by 
 saying how glad he was that Claudius had 
 friends in London who w^ould help him to 
 enjoy his eight days. 
 
 " Otherwise you'd have died of emmi. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF Cr.AUDlUS. 139 
 
 One can enjoy nothing alone — except 
 solitude." 
 
 " And now I come to think of it," said 
 Claudius, " I suppose I must make rather 
 a point of not dying ? " 
 
 " To die intentionally," the doctor said, 
 smiling, " would, of course, be fraudulent. 
 Otherwise your death would merely end the 
 bargain — I take the risk of that — just as I 
 take the risk of my own death. By the way, 
 death isn't altogether uninteresting." 
 
 " "What is death, doctor ? " 
 
 " Grood heavens, man ! if I could define it, 
 I should know enough about it to avoid it 
 for ever. To be out of harmony with one's 
 environment is to die, if you can stand a 
 definition that tells nothing and means 
 nothing. Death is the price we pay for l)eing 
 multicellular. That's rather Ijetter. The 
 happy protozoan, with his single cell, never 
 dies — never, at any rate, by natural death. 
 The strength of wind blows down the tower, 
 but does not damage the single brick." 
 
 " Yes," said Claudius, rather impatiently. 
 
140 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " That accounts for the body — looks at the 
 mechanical side. One knows all that, our 
 bodies are ' roll'd round in earth's diurnal 
 course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.' 
 But I have a personality, feel sure of it — what 
 becomes of that ? " 
 
 The doctor altered the position of the 
 lamp, and spread out the fingers of his great 
 hand. 
 
 "You observe," he said, "the shadow of 
 my hand on the wall. I take away the 
 hand — the shadow goes. That's the second 
 analogy I've used to-night, and I might as 
 well be a curate. However, no matter ! 
 Take away the liody and the personality goes. 
 We find them always together — not con- 
 nected, but simultaneous. Is it unreasonable 
 to suppose that if the body breaks up the 
 personality suffers some similar dispersion ? 
 And," he added, with sudden passion, " is 
 there the least comfort, the least satisfaction, 
 in finding that that conclusion, or any| other 
 conclusion, is ' not unreasonable to suppose ' ? 
 Damn it, man ! why do you take me on to 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 141 
 
 the subject of my greatest ditiiculties ? The 
 questions that you ask are just the questions 
 that you may ultimately help me to answer. 
 The thing that most surprises me in man is 
 his lethargic, contented ignorance about some 
 essential points. He has been here so long, 
 and he does not yet know how he gets here, 
 how he goes, or how to influence with certainty 
 and to a really appreciable extent his moral 
 character or his intellectual abilities. There 
 are moments when he cares, and gets very 
 nervous. But, as a rule, he is quite com- 
 fortable — sits before the fire, reads the daily 
 papers, and says he is ' master of his fate.' 
 Master of his fate, indeed ! Never was there 
 a more astounding and audacious lie."' 
 
 "Yes," he said at another point in the 
 conversation, later in the evening, " that is, 
 put in a few words, the aim of my work — to 
 make man master of his fate. Ah, Sandell, 
 I've been ordinary enough I I've loved a 
 woman. I loved my child, and my child 
 died. I have had delight out of good books 
 and good wine. I've felt fear, envy, sorrow. 
 
142 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 hate — gone througii every experience which 
 could show that I do not transcend humanity. 
 But my work is not ordinary ; it is on a 
 higher plane. The time has come for man 
 to hasten his own evolution. For the slow, 
 crude modifications of Nature he must sub- 
 stitute his own thought, his own researches. 
 He must put truth into that boast that he is 
 master of his fate." 
 
 "Doctor," said Sandell, "you told me once 
 that you believed in God, without giving any 
 definition. Do you believe in the will of God? " 
 
 " The phrase," Dr. Lamb answered, frowning 
 slightly, "is anthropomorphic. To ascribe 
 will to God is to ascribe a limitation which, 
 except to a theologian with his talk of the 
 self-conditioned, must seem futile." 
 
 " Well, put it in other words : Do you 
 believe that there is something which you 
 cannot thwart " 
 
 " I dislike the word ' thwart,' " interrupted 
 the doctor. " I believe that there is a 
 tendency which man can neither retard nor 
 accelerate. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 143 
 
 " All ! " said Claudius. " Now, a moment 
 ago, you said that the time had come for man 
 to hasten his evolution." 
 
 " I am not illogical. The time has come — 
 the tendency is here. Thanks to the primitive 
 instincts of reproduction and self-preservation, 
 we have arrived slowly at what we are. 
 Thanks to the evolved mind of man, we shall 
 arrive more quickly at what we shall be. 
 Evolution itself has provided that which will 
 accelerate evolution. The tendency is not 
 accelerated by man, but by itself acting 
 through man." 
 
 " I see what you mean, but how will it 
 happen ? " 
 
 ''If I said that I myself was the point of 
 the new departure, you would probably con- 
 sider me a megalomaniac ; but then you are 
 not yet in possession of the facts. Possibly 
 I may only live to see the l^are commence- 
 ment of the results of my own work, if even 
 that. But I trust I shall not die until I am 
 assured that those results must ultimately 
 follow." 
 
144 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Is there any satisfaction to be got out of 
 being the slave of a tendency ? " 
 
 ' ' Can one be said to be the slave of a 
 master that is doino- all that the slave wishes ? 
 
 o 
 
 The tendency is but part of the manifestation 
 of God, and to the man of science in my 
 position the love of God has passed from a 
 religious duty into a logical necessity. God, 
 so far as God is revealed by our knowledge of 
 Nature, is taking man ' to the haven where he 
 would be.' Sandell, you've often thought me 
 brutal, and once said so. It is because I do 
 not regard the individual, but the race, and 
 what the race may ultimately be. But think 
 whether my view or yours is most in accord 
 with the laws of Nature, the manifestation, 
 if you like the term, of ' the will of God.' 
 It is on the just and the unjust alike that 
 the sun shines or the tower of Siloam falls. 
 There is no regard there of the individual. 
 A moment ago you spoke of your personality 
 as though it were so precious a thing that 
 you could not l^ear to lose it. No, I am 
 not sneering at you. The instinct for self- 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 145 
 
 )reservation is almost universal ; but do not 
 et it make you lose your sense of proportion, 
 ^ead a manual of astronomy, read Darwin — 
 ve all crib liis facts even when we correct 
 lis theories — familiarize yourself with great 
 tendencies, great numbers, great space. You 
 nay still believe that you are something ; 
 )ut to give that up when your time comes 
 vill seem to you — in a delightful obedience 
 hat is no slavery — to be far better." 
 
 The doctor, who had paced up and down 
 lie room as he was talking, now seated him- 
 self, facing the fireplace. He had seemed to 
 jpeak with sincerity, enthusiasm, almost ex- 
 citement. But with him excitement did not 
 dowly die ; it vanished like a flame blown 
 )ut. As he filled another pipe, he remarked, 
 n a matter-of-fact w^ay — 
 
 " Look here, Sandell, if you'll write me a 
 -lieque for fifty, with to-morrow's date, I'll 
 ^ash it for you now. You may want small 
 5ums to-morrow before it is convenient for 
 you to change a cheque." 
 
 "Thank you," said Claudius. He did not 
 
 L 
 
146 THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 
 
 quite seem to be hearing and understanding. 
 However, he wrote the cheque, took the 
 notes and thrust them into a pocket, and 
 thanked the doctor again. For a few 
 moments there was silence, and then Claudius 
 said — 
 
 " And I'm going away to spend eight 
 thousand pounds — or as much of it as I can — 
 in eight days. When I think of all you've 
 been saying, I feel like a bibulous coster, who 
 has come into a little money, and means to go 
 on the burst with it." 
 
 " You will do in your way what he would 
 do in his, but the ways are widely different. 
 Don't frighten yourself with phrases. Enjoy ! 
 Enjoy ! " 
 
 Before Claudius could answer, Francis 
 opened the door : — 
 
 " Mr. Sandell's carriage is here." 
 
 Both men glanced at the clock ; it was five 
 minutes to twelve. As Francis shut the door, 
 the doctor said — 
 
 " Don't be impatient. You have tried to 
 earn what you are now going to have, but 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 117 
 
 you have failed. I know the feeling that 
 you are going through. But remember you 
 will earn fully, afterwards, all the enjoyment 
 that eight days can bring you. Ah ! you 
 will do iiiT more than that. Words cannot 
 express the obligation under which I shall be 
 to you, or the delight which I feel in having 
 found you." 
 
 They had passed into the hall, as the doctor 
 talked. Claudius smiled drearily. 
 
 " How do you know that I shall come back ? 
 You must have me watched." 
 
 " I know it, because you have truth and 
 courage. You will not be watched, of course. 
 The greater your freedom — and the law will 
 not recognize our contract — the more such a 
 man as you will feel bound." 
 
 For a minute or two they chatted ; the 
 clock had begun to strike the hour as they 
 shook hands and Francis opened the carriage 
 door. The doctor waved his hand as Claudius 
 stepped into the carriage. 
 
 "Alt revoir, Sandell ! Saturday after next, 
 at the same hour. Hope you will have a 
 
148 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 good time ; I'll give your message to my 
 wife. ..." 
 
 The carriage drove off. In tlie window 
 above tlie entrance doors there was a light. 
 It was the window of the room that had been 
 the nursery. The l)lind was held back a little ; 
 Mrs. Laml) was watching the lights of the 
 carriage passing down the drive. As the 
 carriage turned on to the road, Claudius 
 thought he heard a cry ; the coachman must 
 also have heard it, for he almost pulled up 
 his horses, and then — probably with a reflection 
 that, after all, it was none of his business — 
 drove on again. The doctor standing alone 
 in the hall heard that cry very distinctly ; 
 it was the scream of a hysterical woman, and 
 it came from the room overhead. He wrinkled 
 his brow a little, and his lips drew back 
 showing his great white teeth. He crossed 
 the hall and took down a light riding-whip. 
 Then he went slowly upstairs, humming to 
 himself. He opened the door of the nursery. 
 On a chest of drawers stood a couple of lighted 
 candles, in tall candlesticks, that Mrs. Lamb 
 
THE OCTAVE OB^ CLAUDIUS. 149 
 
 liacl brought from lier own room. On the 
 Hoor against the window she lay, face upwards 
 — chuckling, panting, sobbing — occasionally 
 speaking incoherently. 
 
 Gabriel Lamb closed the door behind him. 
 " Get up ! " he said curtly. 
 
 " No, no ! " she moaned. " Don't come near 
 me, Gabriel ; don't touch me." 
 
 In four quick steps he had crossed the room 
 and was by her side. She began to scream 
 again. He dragged her to her feet, and as 
 she went staggering away from him with 
 arms wide-spread he struck her savagely 
 across the back again and again with the 
 whip. The immediate effect of this brutality 
 was that the hysterical fit stopped suddenly. 
 She reached the mantelpiece, and stood 
 clutching it and facing her husband. Her 
 bosom rose and fell, quickly and deeply, with 
 anguish in her eyes. But her self-control had 
 partly returned, and when she spoke it was in 
 a subdued voice. 
 
 " Why — why have you done this awful 
 thino- ? " 
 
150 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " For two reasons. When you come to 
 tliink over it, you will see that you know 
 them both." 
 
 She could think of nothing. The blows 
 that he had given her stung and throbbed ; 
 from sheer physical pain she began to cry — 
 quietly. 
 
 " Oh, Gabriel, you have hurt me so ! you 
 have hurt me so 1 " 
 
 "You had better go to bed now." He 
 opened the door for her. " I will put the 
 lights out here. Be careful not to drop your 
 handkerchief as you go out this time." 
 
 Without another word she went into her 
 room. The doctor went downstairs, through 
 his study and into the laboratory. He 
 switched on the electric light, flung the riding- 
 whip into a corner, and began work. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 151 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 As Claudius dressed for the dinner at Lady 
 Verrider's on tlie following night, he felt that, 
 so far, he had had a pleasant day. He had 
 breakfasted late, had had a delightful ride 
 in the park, an amusing luncheon with Bur- 
 nage, and a friendly talk afterwards with 
 Lady Verrider at her house, and had just left 
 her in time to dress and return to dinner. 
 It did occur to him once that it was not 
 perhaps worth while to barter the rest of his 
 life for eight such days — but still it had been 
 pleasant enough. 
 
 Burnage had been full of questions at first, 
 and Claudius had evaded them. Burnage did 
 not press his inquiries, for a chance was 
 offered him of talking about himself, and he 
 could not bear to miss it. He apologized at 
 
152 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 intervals for egotism. He referred rather 
 slightingly to his 'Varsity days. " One is 
 so young, you know, when one is young," he 
 said. He was fond of saying that kind of 
 thing ; it was not difhcult. He knew that 
 if he only adopted the form of the epigram, 
 a humble and stupid world would always give 
 him credit for the point of it. Finally, at 
 the request of Claudius, he read out one or 
 two of the " Inward Incidents," those passages 
 in the life of a " young and sensuous girl." 
 If Claudius had taken them seriously, he 
 would have been of the opinion that Burnage 
 must have lived a very moral life, but have 
 Ijeen afflicted with a very indecent imagina- 
 tion. But he did not take them seriously ; 
 he chaffed him good-naturedly about them, 
 and regarded them as evidence of merely a 
 passing phase. Burnage served to remind 
 Claudius of the good times he had had at 
 Cambridge, and merely for that Claudius was 
 grateful to him. Burnage's irrepressible 
 superiority was not to be overcome by 
 good-natured chaff. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 153 
 
 "My dear fellow/' he said, "you have 
 1-iven me an excellent linicheoii. The wme 
 las been beyond reproach. Consequently I 
 im sorry to have to be rude to you. But 
 '. fear that you are a sojourner in the land 
 )f Gath. You have told me that you don't 
 ike my cigarettes. They're quite perfect. 
 't's only by the greatest — well, the Turkish 
 
 Embassador happens to . However, I 
 
 leedn't go into that. The dislike of those 
 cigarettes is a mark. Then there is the way 
 n which you receive my little ' Inward Inci- 
 lents.' You don't understand them. You 
 lave gone backward. At Cambridge, I re- 
 nember, you used to think about writing — 
 ;o take an interest in literature. Now, if you 
 >vrote at all, you would turn out — let me see 
 ^-a novel with a plot to it, with adventures 
 in\it." 
 
 Claudius chuckled. " That's just exactly 
 ivhat I have done," he said. 
 
 " Ah ! Where is it ? " 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I exactly know 
 l)ut don't in the least care." 
 
154 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Then you can have given no trouble 
 to it." 
 
 "I gave too much, and that's why I want 
 to forget it, please." 
 
 "Well, doing anything to-night? " 
 
 " Yes, dining out." 
 
 " I was to have dined to-night at Lady 
 Verrider's. But I had to send an excuse the 
 other day, I happened to find out that — 
 well, it's nothing of importance, but a girl's 
 dinino; there who ouo;ht not to meet me." 
 
 "Why not? It isn't as if you talked as 
 you wrote." 
 
 " You misunderstand. Poor little thing — 
 pretty too, in her way ! It would hardly be 
 fair to tell you more ; and l^esides, it's nothing, 
 I say." 
 
 In the afternoon Lady Verrider had been 
 a little puzzled by Claudius. He had been 
 charming to her as ever ; his looks, she 
 thought, had improved as they had passed 
 from boyishness to manliness — most faces, 
 she noticed, coarsened in the process, or else 
 became effeminate. But there had been a 
 
 J 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 155 
 
 3ertain reserve ; he had not told her all she 
 tiad expected. He had exphiined freely his 
 long absence from her house — he had wanted 
 to give himself up entirely to his work ; and 
 lie had, besides, been too poor to see any one. 
 [t was with reference to the future that he 
 vas so reticent. Where was he o-oino- to 
 
 o o 
 
 vhen he left England ? With whom was he 
 ^oing ? What would he do — if anything — 
 ^vhen he went abroad ? He would, he told 
 [ler, earn the money which he was now 
 ■spending. For the rest he was afraid that 
 [lis future was not his own secret, and that 
 therefore it must remain a secret. 
 
 " Entangled ! " cried Lady Verrider. " A 
 ^voman I I see it all." 
 
 " No," said Claudius, " there is no w^oman 
 in the case at all. It's almost a matter of 
 business. Be as kind to me as you always 
 j-re, and don't ask me any more about it, or 
 iiiention to anybody that there is any mystery. 
 [t's embarrassing. I can't be mysterious. 
 [ couldn't look the part." 
 
 " Yes, you could, do, and always did," 
 
156 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Lady A^errider answered snappishly, " How- 
 ever, young men always have their own way 
 — I've known that for a long time. Unless, 
 of course, you marry her. M'yes, Angela. ' 
 
 " I beg your pardon ? " 
 
 " I said Angela. Oh, it's lucky that you're 
 C(jming here to dine to-night ! A man 
 dropped out two days ago, and you've got 
 his place. Otherwise there might not have 
 been, as far as you're concerned, any Angela 
 at all. She's your reason for not leaving 
 England, as I told you in my letter." 
 
 " Might we hear more ? " Claudius asked. 
 
 " The father's invisible, and the mother 
 ought to be. No ; that's sheer spite and 
 worldliness. The mother's a good mother, 
 with social aspirations — I believe they're 
 chiefly for the daughter's sake, and that, as 
 soon as she's married, the aspirations will be 
 folded up and put away, and the poor old 
 lady w^ill go to bed tired. Looks as if she 
 dressed too youthfully, and always had done 
 — even in her cradle. Homeopath, I fancy — 
 talks pills, anyhow. But quite a good heart." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 157 
 
 " And if you had not set aside all spite and 
 A'orldliness," said Claudius, " how would you 
 lave described her then ? " 
 
 " My dear Claudius, haven't I said that 
 •;lie's got a good heart ? " 
 
 Claudius smiled. " "When it comes to men- 
 
 ionino- that But, however, with reo;ard 
 
 :o Angela ? " 
 
 Lady Verrider's grey eyes lit up w^ith entliu- 
 dasm. 
 
 " A wayward lamb. Eyelashes, So wrong, 
 md sweet, and rather discontented, and good ! 
 Jh ! I can't describe her ! " 
 
 "Ah," said Claudius, "I've not deserved 
 ;hese treasures ! I'm an outcast." 
 
 Lady Verrider sighed. " If only I could be 
 mything half as romantic as that ! But no — 
 '. simply must not talk about your dear father, 
 remper upsets me. In his last letter he said 
 ;hat he ' Utterly, absolutely, and altogether 
 leclined ' to receive any further communica- 
 ion from me. Think of it ! " 
 
 " I recognize the idiom," said Claudius. 
 ' Then you've no recent news, 1 suppose ? " 
 
158 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Fairly recent ; but there's no change. 
 That Comby woman has a cottage in your 
 father's phace now. The spiritualistic business 
 goes on. I got that, by the way, from my 
 maid, whose cousin is in service there. I 
 didn't ask her anything, of course, but some- 
 times one has to give her the run of her 
 tongue." 
 
 Lady Verrider's husband had been long 
 dead. At her dinners her brother acted as 
 host, if he was in London. He was a dried-up 
 little man, who drank water during dinner, 
 and one glass of claret afterwards. He knew 
 nothing about horses, something about men, 
 and quite a great deal about women ; so he 
 liked best to talk about horses — at any rate, 
 in the first stage of acquaintanceship. In the 
 last stao;e — there were with him about sixteen 
 of them — you would perhaps find out that he 
 had lived much abroad, fought three duels, 
 killed one man, and regretted exceedingly that 
 he had not killed the other two. He was 
 good-tempered, rather absent-minded, and 
 lived chiefly at his club. " He's a nice little 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 159 
 
 nan, Geoffrey," Lady Verrider used to say, 
 ' and kind and obliging to me, though we 
 lon't know each other very well." Lady 
 ^^errider looked brilliant that night. She 
 iould no longer be beautiful as in her youth, 
 jut she had such pearls and old lace as can be 
 lad for money, and always seemed more digni- 
 ied than she felt. 
 
 " Don't hurry away to-night," she mur- 
 mured, as she shook hands with Claudius, 
 ■' otherwise I shan't have a chance of seeing 
 you. One never sees anybody in one's own 
 house if there's any one else there." 
 
 With this enigmatical utterance she turned 
 to shake hands with a member of parliament, 
 who believed that he had rescued her from a 
 bore ; everybody who shook hands with Lady 
 Verrider at once believed that he had done 
 something great and right. 
 
 Geoffrey Severn emerged from behind a 
 palm to greet Claudius. 
 
 "Delighted to meet you again, old man," 
 he said. " Saw you in the park this morning, 
 on the top of a horse. You w^re in the 
 
160 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 distance, or I'd have saluted you before. Going 
 abroad, I hear. Well, well — you'll get tired 
 of it. I did — at least, I tliink I did. At any 
 rate, I came back to England — and mind you 
 do the same. And, by the way, you're taking 
 in Miss Wycherley, if you would. Know her '\ 
 Come along, then." 
 
 Silhouetted against a shaded lamp, Claudius 
 saw the foce of a young girl. She turned as 
 Geoffrey spoke to her, presenting Claudius. 
 She smiled prettily ; but as the smile died 
 away her eyes looked rather sad. She was the 
 image of sweet discontent. There had cer- 
 tainly been some fog that evening ; the real 
 question was whether it w^ould or would not 
 become any worse. He thought and said with 
 due gravity, that he feared it would. She 
 half opened her fan, and looked down at it 
 caressingly. Then she said, a little shyly, 
 that she hoped it wouldn't. 
 
 "We're going out of the land of fogs on 
 Monday," she added, as he gave her his arm ; 
 " mamma and I are going down into the 
 country." 
 
TFIE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 161 
 
 " Really ? So am I," he said. " But can 
 '■ou bear to part with Loudon in the 
 leason ? " 
 
 "We shan't be there for more than a few 
 lays. Do you know Guilbridge at all ? " 
 
 " Yes ; very well. (Here are our places — 
 vhy must one always go to the wrong side 
 irst ?) You don't mean to tell me that it's to 
 jruilbridge that you're going ? " 
 
 " Y-yes." Rather humbly, " Do you 
 nind ? " 
 
 " It's a coincidence, because I happen to be 
 yoing there myself." 
 
 " Still, there's plenty of room, isn't there ? 
 [ hoped you wouldn't mind. You see we've 
 :aken our rooms there now, and I don't think 
 we can afford " 
 
 Their eyes met and understood. They both 
 laughed. 
 
 " Don't you think," Claudius said, " that 
 >7ou're being a little severe ? " 
 
 " Then," she answered, somewhat inconse- 
 ^uently, '' why did you say that I couldn't 
 bear to part with London in the season ? Do 
 
 M 
 
1(52 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 I look merely worldly ? Has somebody tra- 
 duced me ? " 
 
 " I believe," he said seriously, " tliat I asked 
 the question for much the same reason that 
 I feared the fog was getting w^orse. It's a 
 humiliating confession to have to make. As 
 for the rest, no one has traduced you. Lady 
 Verrider adores you, and spoke of you to me. 
 You don't look merely worldly." 
 
 She drew a long breath. " Ah ! please say 
 the last part of that again — slowly." 
 
 " As for the rest, no one has " 
 
 " No ; go on after ' You don't look merely 
 worldly,' and say some more." 
 
 " You don't look merely worldly. You look 
 — but I'm afraid I've not known you long 
 enough to say that." 
 
 " Let me see," she said meditatively, " how 
 long have you known me ? " 
 
 "Either five minutes, or five hundred 
 years." 
 
 " Well " — with conscious audacity — " make 
 it years, then." 
 
 " In that case I may say that you look 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 163 
 
 like — like your first name, grown a little tired 
 of paradise." 
 
 " Oh, stop ! you must go back at once. 
 Away with those years ! You've only known 
 me minutes, just three minutes, Mr. Sandell." 
 
 " Pardon me. Miss Wycherley, but it must 
 be at least six — probably more. You observe 
 that we are eating salmon." 
 
 Angela laughed. " What a nice idea to 
 measure time by the menu. Now observe, 
 when it's half-past the caramel pudding, we 
 may possibly speak about myself again. Until 
 then — no. You've been to the Academy, of 
 
 course 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " A sfreat theatre-o;oer ? " 
 
 " Hardly ever. Come soon — soon — caramel 
 pudding." 
 
 " You ought not to say that. Here's 
 another chance for you. The lady in black 
 satin is my mamma, and Lady Verrider's a 
 dear too. But you can say anything you like 
 about anybody except those two — and me." 
 
 " Then," said Claudius, " I shall talk about 
 
164 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 myself, and at some considerable lengtli. I've 
 made up my mind to it, and it's your fault." 
 
 Slie lowered her voice and looked mis- 
 chievous. 
 
 " Do you think, Mr. Sandell, that you ought 
 to neglect that quite nice lady on your other 
 side all through dinner ? Oughtn't you to — 
 to — give her some of it ? " 
 
 They laughed again. " Not at all, she's 
 very busy, telling Mr. Severn all about herself. 
 She doesn't wait for any caramel puddings. 
 And as he knows a great deal more about 
 her than she does, he's amused and she's 
 interested. It would be brutal to interrupt 
 them." 
 
 "Very well. Why are you going to 
 Guilbridge ? " 
 
 The moment that Angela had said that she 
 was going down into the country Claudius 
 had decided also to go down into the country. 
 To know that she was going to Guilbridge was 
 to know that he also was going there. He 
 had changed all his plans, suddenly, gladly, 
 without the slightest hesitation, and now he 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 1G5 
 
 was asked why, why was he going ? He hardly 
 knew. He was a little dazed, like a man who 
 is suddenly wakened from sleep and with his 
 eyes half-closed vaguely feels that it is a 
 glorious morning. But he knew, quite clearly, 
 that the reason, whatever it was, was not one 
 that could be told — now, at any rate. 
 
 " I think London's at its worst in the hot 
 weather. I've been to Guilbridoje l)efore — had 
 the quaintest lodgings there. It's so jolly to 
 be near the river in the summer." 
 
 " Most lodgings are quaint," said Angela, 
 meditatively. " The people who let them 
 have always had more bereavements than 
 other people, and everything looks too clean 
 at the beginning of the season and too dirty all 
 the rest of the time. And the furniture is of 
 a type. Our rooms at Guilbridge are of the 
 normal hideousness, I believe. But they look 
 out over the heath. You know it ? " 
 
 " Ah — it's lovely, that heath ! " 
 
 They talked on of the heath, of boating, of 
 riding, of many things — not more seriously 
 than a dinner- table permits, but just a little 
 
166 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 cocfidentially, happy in a kind of tacit under- 
 standing that each pleased the other. 
 
 "Ah ! " said Claudius suddenly, " the 
 moment has come. It is exactly half-past the 
 caramel pudding." 
 
 " Yes," Ano-ela answered, " that is the time 
 by your plate. But your plate's a little fast." 
 
 "Miss Wycherley," said Claudius, " you 
 may think that I eat too quickly. You may 
 regret it. But you really can't mention it — 
 not to me. You're now going to talk about 
 yourself." 
 
 " I only said I miglit There's nothing 
 
 to say, too. Oh yes, why did you say that I 
 was like my first name ? How could you 
 even know that I had a first name ? " 
 
 " As for the last question I may answer 
 that I conjectured it. I do these brilliant 
 things at times." 
 
 " But, listen : you said that I was like my 
 first name. Now my first name is Laura." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " What did you think it was ? " 
 
 " Ano-ela." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 167 
 
 She had wanted to hear how it sounded 
 when he said it. She had just what she 
 wanted, and straightway blushed slightly. 
 
 "It is Angela, really. But I wouldn't be 
 discontented with paradise, or tired of it — if 
 only I could find it." 
 
 " Does anybody ever find it ? 1 haven't." 
 
 " Some do. Don't look at the girl opposite 
 to you, because I'm going to talk about her. 
 Know her ? No ? Her name's Eva Murray, 
 and of no importance. To look at, she's pretty 
 but commonplace." 
 
 " I noticed her a few minutes ago. I grant 
 you the commonplace." 
 
 " Well, most of the time her face has had 
 the usual expression — the expression that a 
 woman puts on with the powder for social 
 purposes. But I caught her just now at a 
 moment when she was neither talking nor 
 listening ; she allowed herself a moment's 
 absent-mindedness. Her story seemed to come 
 up into her eyes ; her face was transfigured, 
 ecstatic, and pathetic. It only lasted a moment, 
 and it was not very becoming — made her look 
 
168 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 seven years older. She was quite right to 
 change it for that metallic, insincere bright- 
 ness. But none the less if we were in pos- 
 session of Miss Murray's private history, we 
 should fine a paradise-period in it." 
 
 " Really, Miss Wycherley ? If you can tell 
 as much as that from a momentary change of 
 expression, I shall be very much afraid of you. 
 Suppose, for instance, that you were to guess 
 all my horrible past." 
 
 " One can only guess such things vaguely 
 and occasionally. I — I don't think you've 
 
 had a horrible past, but " she stopped 
 
 short. 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Isn't it quite absurd that we should have 
 a fog at this time of year ? I call it perfectly 
 preposterous." 
 
 " Perfectly. Well ? You had a sentence 
 to finish." 
 
 " I'm not quite sure how I was going to 
 finish it : you must let me think." 
 
 At that moment the matronly lady on the 
 other side secured Claudius. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 169 
 
 " Now, Mr. Sanclell, I haven't seen you for an 
 ige, and when we do meet you don't talk to me." 
 
 "Ah!" said Claudius, "Mr. Severn has 
 ^iven me no chance. A selfish man, I'm 
 ifraid, Lady Dunwich." 
 
 " Very nicely put. On a French model, 
 " should say. Now, do you know anything 
 ibout guinea-pigs ? I am most anxious to 
 ind out about them, and Mr. Severn knows 
 lothing. My daughter Ella (you remember the 
 shild) keeps them, or I should say did keep 
 hem. There were thirteen. They died at 
 ntervals — I mean they died one after another, 
 beautifully kept, died perfect, everything all 
 ight — and yet they died. So very annoying 
 o poor Ella. Can you explain it ? " 
 
 " It looks to me like foul play. It is 
 nysterious — even romantic. Has Ella an 
 nemy ? Had the guinea-pigs an enemy ? " 
 
 " You really suggest the most horrible 
 hings. You don't think a good vet. " 
 
 " Oh, his evidence would be useful. You 
 /ant the police, detectives, the vengeance of 
 he law." 
 
170 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " But, Mr. Sandell, I assure you I do not ; 
 I refuse, positively, to go to law about any- 
 thing. I am not going to stand up in a public 
 witness-box with a young man in a foolish wig 
 paid to be impertinent to me." 
 
 The hostess was already making her pre- 
 parations for departure when Claudius got 
 free from Lady Dunwich and turned again to 
 Angela. 
 
 " You have a moment in which to finish 
 that sentence. Please do it. You do not 
 think I have a horrible past, but " 
 
 " It's only a conjecture. You'll laugh at it, 
 I think — I'm inclined to think you have some- 
 thing very important at stake just now." 
 
 She rose with the rest of the women. She 
 had dropped a glove ; Claudius picked it up, 
 saying, as he gave it to her — 
 
 "No, I'm not amused at your conjecture — 
 it is right." 
 
 Then followed what seemed to Claudius a 
 waste of time. The man who chatted with 
 him over the coffee thought him slightly 
 absent-minded, as indeed he was. The days of 
 
TEE OCTAVE OF CLxVUDlUS. 171 
 
 he octave had suddenly acqmred a value lor 
 lim far beyond the value of material luxury 
 .nd enjoyment. Plans formed themselves 
 apidly, one after another, in his mind. 
 
 When the men entered the drawing-room 
 afterwards, Angela Wycherley wondered what 
 Claudius would do. She did not want him to 
 !ome and talk to her just at first. He did 
 lot. She saw him go up to Lady Verrider 
 md chat with her for a few moments. Then, 
 Lt his recjuest, Lady Verrider took him up to 
 ^rs. Wycherley and presented him to her. 
 Claudius was not always reckless. He could 
 lo wise things at times. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley found him delightful. He 
 lad known their old friend Mr. Burnagje at 
 I-ambridge. She was the soul of indiscretion, 
 md he heard with a flickering smile that 
 ingela had refused Burnage. On the question 
 )f her own health, however, Mrs. Wycherley 
 showed what was for her an unusual reticence. 
 But he understood that she was a sufferer, 
 md was quite sympathetic. He was mildly 
 imazed to find that this was the mother of 
 
172 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 iVngela, but lie recognized that she really had 
 the good heart of which Lady Verrider had 
 spoken. She spoke of her daughter Angela 
 with pride but slightly concealed, and told 
 stories of her childhood. The way w^ard Angela 
 had had rather a naughty childhood. Mrs. 
 AVycherley was expecting to have a few friends 
 at her house on the following evening — the 
 Sunday evening. She wondered many things, 
 and apologized too much ; but Claudius was 
 delighted and said that he would come. Mrs. 
 Wycherley was equally delighted to find that 
 he was going to Guilbridge. He was so 
 considerate, so interesting, had such a pleasant 
 manner. She decided to find out more about 
 him from Lady Verrider. She glanced across 
 at her daughter Angela, and for the moment 
 her imagination ran riot. 
 
 The drawing-room gradually emptied. 
 Lady Dunwich and several other guests 
 were going on to a dance. Mrs. Wycherley 
 began to be a little uneasy. The hired 
 brougham (it was never less than that when 
 she dined with great wealth or slight title) 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 173 
 
 lacl not come, and was already twenty 
 ainutes late. It was not the first time that 
 b had defected. Claudius crossed the room 
 nd sat down beside Anerela. 
 
 " I have been making your mother ask me 
 or to-morrow night," he said. " It was very 
 jood of her." 
 
 " It was kind of you," said Angela, demurely. 
 
 " Yes," he said smiling, " I am never 
 mnecessarily severe with myself, Miss 
 Vycherley. May I say how glad I shall be 
 meet you again ? I think we have some 
 —some explanations." 
 
 " Yes," she said, looking down, " we have. 
 Lnd yet — well, you must not think that my 
 nfortunately right guess compels you at all 
 tell me anything that you would rather 
 ot tell." 
 
 " Nor to believe that it would be of the 
 3ast interest to you." 
 
 "Mamma is oroino- I see. Good niorht, 
 ILv. Sandell." She gave him her pretty 
 and. " And " — she hesitated a little — " it 
 /■ould interest me." 
 
174 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Mrs. Wyclierley wished to know if she 
 might have a cab called — a four-wheeler, 
 please. For some reason or other her 
 brougham had not come, and it was really 
 most annoying. 
 
 " One moment, Mrs. Wycherley," said 
 Claudius. ''My carriage is waiting, and I 
 shall not be going yet for some little time. 
 It would be pleased and proud if you would 
 allow it to take you and your daughter home, 
 and then come ])ack for me." 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley w^as infinitely obliged. It 
 was very kind of Mr. Sandell, and really if 
 it was not giving trouble she thought she 
 would. Keassured on this point, and with 
 her hand warmly shaken, she and Angela 
 departed. 
 
 " Son of Sir Constantine Sandell," she 
 thought to herself, " keeps his own carriage, 
 and is a very charming young man. 
 Obviously much attracted by Angela. Ah 1 
 if it could only be ! " The poor lady had 
 given up hoping much. To her feminine and 
 most intimate friends and contemporaries she 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 175 
 
 id frankly that Angela simply would not 
 ok at a man. 
 
 Lady Verrider, Geoffrey Severn, and Claudius 
 3re left together. 
 
 " I say, Jane," said Geoffrey, " if you've 
 me with me now, I've got a sort of half- 
 )pointment at the club. You might come 
 lere too, Sandell." 
 
 " You may go," said Lady Verrider. 
 You've behaved very nicely, and I'm very 
 :ateful to you. Shan't let you take Claudius 
 LOUgh, because I want him myself. Good 
 Lght, Geoffrey, and thanks again." 
 
 When they were alone, Lady Verrider went 
 ) the fireplace, rested an arm on the mantel- 
 iece and gazed into a quaint Venetian 
 lirror. Her back was turned on Claudius 
 ^ she spoke — 
 
 " Well, Claudius, I'm not blind. I have 
 yeB and see. I don't want you to tell me 
 hat you think of my Angela. I know, 
 i^hat difference does it make ? " 
 
 "The future is not in my own hands. 
 Fothing can alter that — after next Saturday." 
 
176 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " You mean that seriously ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I would give worlds to know what hideous 
 trouble you have got yourself into. I have 
 been a friend to you since you were a baby, 
 and you tell me next to nothing. Why do 
 you stop at a hotel, and why don't you stop 
 here with me? Why should I lose your 
 confidence ? " 
 
 She stamped her foot impatiently. 
 
 " My dear lady, you have not lost my 
 confidence in the very slightest. I should 
 be very glad to accept your hospitality, but 
 my plans are changed. I am going into the 
 country on Monday." 
 
 " Are you going to the Wycherleys on Sun- 
 day night ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Is it to Guilbridge that you are going on 
 Monday ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Knowing that she will be there ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Lady Verrider turned round and faced him. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 177 
 
 " Claudius, my good friend, I'm going to 
 speak to you very plainly. There is a chance 
 that the girl may get fond of you. I think 
 she will. And then ? And then you suddenly 
 leave her without a word, pass out of her 
 life, drop her, leave her humiliated and 
 puzzled. You cannot do that." 
 
 " I do not think there is much chance of 
 what you say. But I propose to tell her as 
 soon as I decently can, at least as much as 
 I have told you." 
 
 " Your intimacy with her seems to have 
 progressed sufficiently rapidly. I know that 
 you cannot do anything dishonourable. I 
 have the utmost faith in you, but you're 
 human — a man, and not a god ; and she is 
 human — poor, pretty Angela. You may 
 explain to her that you cannot marry, but 
 that will not prevent the chance that she may 
 fall in love with you." 
 
 " And," said Claudius, rising, " I am un- 
 willing to risk on so slight a chance the 
 utmost happiness I have ever had. Do I 
 not speak frankly to you now? The days 
 
 N 
 
178 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 are so few that are left me. Trust me a 
 little further." 
 
 " I hope the best," Lady Verrider said. 
 " Women go by siege, man by assault. The 
 days are few, certainly, and it is possible no 
 harm may be done to her. But I'm anxious." 
 
 " Tell me," she added, " is this a money 
 matter ? " 
 
 "No, dear lady," he said. " Money could 
 not help me. I know your kindness though, 
 and do believe that I am very grateful for 
 it. Good night." 
 
 " Good night, then, Claudius. Let me 
 know if I can help you in any way, and in 
 any case write to me." 
 
 As he stepped from his carriage into the 
 hotel, he heard above the sound of the traffic, 
 the clang and chime from many steeples. 
 The first day of the octave was over. 
 
TQE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 179 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Claudius slept ill and rose early. From his 
 brief sleep he had been awakened by a horrible 
 dream. He dreamed that he saw the doctor's 
 face bending over him ; the eyes were wolfish 
 and eager, the lips drawn back a little, the 
 whole expression diabolical. He tried to 
 speak, but could not. As the face came 
 nearer and the horror of it grew on him, he 
 tried to raise his arms and thrust it away, but 
 he was unable to move. Then he awoke ; it 
 had merely been ordinary and typical form of 
 nightmare. 
 
 Yet long after he was awake something of 
 this horror from his sleep haunted him. For 
 the first time a suspicion of the doctor and 
 a dread of the future entered his mind. He 
 banished them at once as reasonless. What 
 the doctor required, he told himself, was 
 
180 THE OCTAVE OB^ CLAUDIUS. 
 
 an assistant absolutely devoted ; there might 
 be experiments which would require con- 
 stant watching night and day ; secrets 
 that could be trusted only to one who 
 first forfeited his rioht to use them for him- 
 self. A thousand explanations occurred to 
 him. He had been told that he was to regard 
 himself as a slave, body and soul ; it had been 
 said seriously, and he must be prepared to 
 accept it literally. Yet it was always possible 
 that there had been in the doctor's use of the 
 phrase much of that whimsical exaggeration 
 which was habitual with him. It seemed 
 even probable, and the suspicions vanished. 
 Before the octave was over they were to re- 
 turn again. 
 
 After breakfast Claudius chose the inexpen- 
 sive pleasure of an aimless walk through the 
 London streets. He had much to think about. 
 His point of view had changed. The doctor 
 had been right in saying that a year of 
 freedom was too long, if it was to be one's last 
 year ; much might happen in that time to 
 bind one to earth and make the farewell 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 181 
 
 bitter. But eight days, one day, even one 
 hour might also be too long. It was little 
 more than an hour that had made the change 
 in Claudius, placed him in the position of one 
 who with the strongest possible motive for 
 living sees the end of life very, very near. 
 He loved Angela though he had seen her but 
 once. " Quant d nous," wrote Theophile 
 Gautier, '"' notre avis est que si Von n'aime pas 
 une personne la premiere fois qiton la volt, il 
 ny a aucune raison pour I'aimer la seeonde et 
 encore moins la troisieme." If Claudius had 
 met Angela but one hour l^efore the doctor 
 spoke of their strange contract, that contract 
 would never have been made. If life meant 
 Angela, then it would be worth while to 
 undergo poverty, sordid struggles, many 
 humiliations, in order to live. Life would 
 then be beyond price. Claudius saw now that 
 among the many mingled causes which had 
 resulted in the contract under which he was 
 bound there was one which he had not sus- 
 pected at the time. 
 
 Yet, in this tragic position, he had no feeling 
 
182 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 of tragedy and no unhappiness. He loved, 
 and it was enough. True, it seemed that the 
 ordinary end of love was not for him, but then 
 no lover at first thinks of marriage or posses- 
 sion. Lady Verrider's word of warning was 
 vaguely in his mind — the dim memory of one 
 who was wise from her point of view. He 
 could not bring himself to think that Angela 
 would love him like that. The nauseous 
 vanity of such a supposition was insufferable. 
 He hoped that she would be kind to him and 
 let him see her often. On his part he knew 
 that he was not free to — he hated the banal 
 words — to make love to her. Doctor Gabriel 
 Lamb seemed a shadow, and all the previous 
 incidents of Claudius's life seemed obscure and 
 unsubstantial when he thought of Angela. 
 She was the light. In the joy of thinking 
 that for these few days he would often be with 
 her, he could forget that when those days 
 were passed he was to leave her for ever. On 
 one point he forced himself, however, to be 
 clear — doing this much justice to Lady Verri- 
 der. He would take advantage of the strange 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 183 
 
 yuess that Angela had made at dinner the 
 light before to tell her everything. He did 
 lot l)elieve that in this point it mattered one 
 itraw whether he deceived her or not, but all 
 ;he same he would not deceive her. She 
 ihould know exactly how he stood. Until he 
 net her he had decided not to tell any one the 
 tory of his contract with the doctor. But if 
 iiy one could possibly think that he ought to 
 ell Angela, then he would tell her. He would 
 eave it for the night to settle how much and 
 LOW little he should tell her then. But cer- 
 ainly she should know all as soon as might be 
 Qanaged. 
 
 In the afternoon he went to Guilbridge, and 
 ook three rooms at the hotel there. He re- 
 urned and dined in town. Halfway through 
 inner it occurred to him that he would have 
 referred another wine, but he did not commit 
 lie extravagance of ordering it. Of course, 
 e might have taken the entire hotel at Guil- 
 ridge, and ordered the entire wine-list in 
 jondon. But, perhaps, one of the best proofs 
 hat it was not for the thousand pounds a day 
 
184 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 that he had sold himself, was that he con- 
 stantly forgot that he had a thousand pounds 
 a day. The doctor had strangely insisted on 
 his side of the contract — it had little or no 
 interest for Claudius. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley had not a thousand pounds 
 a day, but she had no doubt that her husband 
 had been making money lately — within the 
 last fortnight. He had. In his mild and 
 unpretentious way he had been practically 
 Camljlino;, and oamblino- for far more than he 
 could have afforded to lose. It is a pity to 
 have to record it, because its effect may ]3e 
 deplorable on those — if any — who hear about 
 it, but Mr. Wycherley had won. Having 
 won, he had decided not to gamble any more, 
 but to stick to his legitimate business. He 
 kept to that decision. Once only in his life 
 did he sell shares which he did not possess 
 in a mine which practically did not exist ; 
 once only did he buy shares for which he 
 would have been unable to pay from people 
 w^ho had not got them to sell. These two 
 speculations, although they may not look 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 185 
 
 promising when stated baldly, put money 
 into Mr. Wycherley's pocket, and left liim 
 quite satisfied that dabbling in mines was a 
 dangerous business, and he must never touch 
 it again. He did not tell his wife any of 
 this. He did not want to make her 
 anxious. Besides, in matters masculine and 
 commercial, Jessica did not know anything 
 about anything, and explanations were 
 tedious. 
 
 But still she noticed things. Mr. Wycher- 
 ley one day tasted the party-champagne. On 
 inquiry he found that he had six dozen of 
 it. He sent that six dozen off to a hospital, 
 remarking dryly that it ought to be drunk in 
 some place where the doctors were handy. 
 Also he thought that, after all, he might as 
 well have some wine that he could drink 
 himself. And he ordered that wine. Then, 
 again, he suddenly discovered that the house 
 needed to be re-decorated. Jessica and 
 Angela were to go to Guilbridge while it 
 was being done, and Jessica might have those 
 Oxford Street people she was always thinking 
 
186 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 about to do it. No, lie wouldn't go to Guil- 
 bridge himself. When a man leaves his 
 business, his business leaves him. Besides, 
 there ought to be somebody in the house to 
 keep an eye on the workmen. 
 
 Mrs. AYycherley was delighted. " Things 
 are looking up in the city, then," she said. 
 
 "We get alonsc somehow," he answered, 
 with a sigh. It was his invariable reply to 
 that question. 
 
 He would not let Mrs. Wycherley keep her 
 own carriage. 
 
 " Be reasonable, Jessica. In people in our 
 position that would be ostentatious " 
 
 " Mrs. Bodgers," Jessica began. Bodgers, 
 by the way, had joined Mr. Wycherley in 
 that speculation. 
 
 " Bodgers is a fool — a fair judge of port, 
 but in many ways sadly wanting in discre- 
 tion. No ; you may have that hired brougham 
 sometimes — well, pretty often. You can 
 fetch me from the office at five, now and 
 then, if you like." 
 
 The first time that Mrs. Wycherley and 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 187 
 
 Angela fetched him from the office, he in- 
 quired of them vaguely — 
 
 " What's the name of the place where you 
 get your clothes ? " 
 
 They suggested several places. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Wycherley. " This is more 
 comfortable than the 'bus. Mustn't do it 
 every day though." Then he relapsed into 
 silence. But presently he added, " I don't 
 like your clothes, Angela, and I don't like 
 your mother's either. We'll go and get some 
 more." 
 
 On this occasion he was wildly generous, 
 insisting on Bond Street and the best of 
 everything. On the next afternoon he came 
 back on the 'bus though, and — not to make 
 a penny fare into twopence — walked the last 
 (|uarter of a mile. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley had a few people to dinner 
 that night, and the invaluable Jameson 
 assisted. After the dinner, Jameson retired 
 to the basement, and spoiled a previously 
 immaculate career by getting drunk on about 
 equal parts of kitchen beer and upstairs 
 
188 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 cura9oa. He did not appear again, fortu- 
 nately, until the guests were gone, and then 
 he attempted to leave the house surrepti- 
 tiously. That is to say, he took off his coat, 
 folded it neatly over his arm, opened his 
 umbrella, and came up into the hall. Here 
 he paused, possibly to add some further 
 touches to the disguise, and was discovered 
 by Mr. Wycherley. Mr. Wycherley had been 
 inquiring the reason for Jameson's al)sence, 
 and had been told by a euphemistic parlour- 
 maid that "Mr. Jameson had come over very 
 strange in his manner." Mr. Wycherley was, 
 in fact, looking for Jameson. 
 
 " Mister Wy'Fly," said Jameson, with 
 dignity, " I've know your family many yearsh, 
 and I'm man as liksh to sliee ev'rythin' tidy 
 roun' 'bout me. Ev'rythin' qui' tidy, and 
 then I'm — I'm as I ought to be." He lowered 
 himself into one of the hall chairs. " You'll 
 'shcuse me for speakin', bur when thingsh are 
 understood, then they're — they're ash they 
 ought to be. And ev'rythin' ought to be ash 
 it ought." With which remarks on the comme 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 189 
 
 ilfaiit, Jameson immediately fell asleep. He 
 was removed from the house in a four-wheeled 
 cab, and he never returned to it. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley, aghast and much upset, 
 said she was deeply and truly thankful that 
 this shocking scene had not taken place when 
 the guests were still there. 
 
 Mr. Wycherley said, " Get a permanent 
 man, Jessica — good, but not too expensive. 
 Get him to-morrow." 
 
 It was the crowning extravagance. It 
 was this permanent and perfect person who 
 hovered at the doors of Mrs. Wycherley's 
 salon when Claudius entered. Claudius, 
 generally self-possessed, felt himself almost 
 trembling^ with excitement to-nio;ht. He 
 could not, however, see Angela at first. Mrs. 
 Wycherley — breaking in waves on a black 
 velvet shore — shook his hand and was so glad. 
 She handed him on to a clever girl in the 
 wrong pink, with the smudgy complexion 
 that almost always goes with much soul. 
 She talked vivaciously, and so did Claudius. 
 The buzz of conversation around them made 
 
190 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 most of their remarks inaudible to each other, 
 but neither minded it much. As Claudius 
 was talking, he caught a glimpse of Angela. 
 She was standing at some distance away in 
 the window, and an undersized young man 
 with yellow hair and a make-up tie was openly 
 and rather nervously adoring her. He was 
 one of the world's understudies, and there 
 were many of them there. However, Lady 
 Verrider had almost promised to come and 
 bring her title. Mrs. Wycherley did not 
 despair of the evening's brilliancy. 
 
 Angela was in white satin and silver, and 
 the dress had cost a great deal of money. 
 She was feeling quite all right about herself, 
 as far as appearance went. But her eyes 
 were sad and thoughtful. She knew that 
 Claudius was in the room — had glanced once 
 rapidly at him, found him looking intently 
 at her, and not dared to glance again until 
 she heard his voice and he was shaking hands 
 with her. 
 
 " May I be introduced to nobody and talk to 
 you all the rest of the evening ? " said Claudius. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 191 
 
 " Thy servant is the daughter of the house," 
 she said, " and has duties " 
 
 "Which I am sure Mrs. Wycherley per- 
 forms to perfection. Has the daughter of 
 the house also had supper ? " 
 
 Angela rose, put her hand under his arm, 
 ind the two joined the stream flowing supper- 
 wards. 
 
 " Isn't that a charming dress ? " said 
 Angela. " I mean the lady right over there 
 in the corner." 
 
 '• I should have thought so." 
 
 '' You must think so." 
 
 " I have seen one I admired more." 
 
 "Which? What colour?" 
 
 " If my audacity may be forgiven, white 
 and silver." 
 
 " Oh, this ! Yes, it's pretty. I tried to 
 dress like an angel, and I've come out like 
 a wedding-cake. I didn't dare to go into 
 supper before, for fear some one would cut 
 a slice." 
 
 " I will protect you." 
 
 " Me ? No ; protect them. Think of their 
 
192 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 disappointment. It's true, though, those that 
 go often to dances and things always become 
 gradually exactly like some dish in a ball- 
 supper. Their dresses are no longer trimmed, 
 they are garnished. Their expressions alter 
 too — get creamy like a mayonnaise, luscious 
 like a macedoine, virulent like a boar's head, 
 patient and vacuous like a cold fowl. Every 
 chaperone looks like a cold fowl. I know one 
 of them will get carved by accident one of 
 these days." 
 
 Their talk at supper-time was not much 
 more serious. Angela was happy, bewitching, 
 and in rather mad spirits, apparently. She 
 introduced Claudius maliciously to several 
 people. She had a way of making others fall 
 into her mood. Many dull and heavy people 
 sprang into wit at her end of the table that 
 night, and wondered, when they got home, 
 with approving wonder at the things they 
 themselves had said. 
 
 Afterwards Claudius took Angela out on 
 to the balcony. Here striped canvas made 
 a sweet seclusion for two lounge chairs, a 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. iU;] 
 
 :iiiy tabic, a .shaded lamp, and a potted 
 palm. 
 
 " Well," he said, " and now we are out of 
 the crowd." 
 
 '•My crowd, please. Poor little struggling 
 3rowd ! I must go back to it soon." 
 
 " Before you go, I have something to tell 
 
 )^0U." 
 
 She leaned rio;ht back in her chair, a o-race- 
 :"ul creature, her pretty white hand playing 
 tvith her ivory fan. Her eyes had grown sad 
 igain, almost plaintive under the long lashes. 
 Eler red lips had lost their garb of raillery. 
 
 " Yes," she said, '' you have. But there is 
 3ne thing, tell me nothing if you would rather 
 aot. We met by chance. I guessed some- 
 bliing by chance. I ought n(jt to have guessed 
 — shall we leave it ? " 
 
 " It would be kind of you if you would let 
 me tell you." 
 
 " Yes, then, tell me. I am interested. I 
 guessed that you had something of importance 
 it stake, and — why should I not say it ? I 
 tiave thought a great deal about it since." 
 
 
 
194 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 '' Have you ? " lie said eagerly. " Have 
 you ? I have myself, my life, at stake. No 
 doubt it is chiefly important to myself ; 1 )ut it 
 is more important to myself than I thought 
 once. By a promise given — a contract made 
 — after a few days I become body and soul 
 the property of another man, his to kill or to 
 keep alive, his to do just as he likes with, his 
 utterly until one or other of us dies." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Angela's 
 eyes were wide open. 
 
 " You astonish me ! " she said. "It is a^ 
 airy story. I cannot understand." 
 
 " It is literally true." 
 
 " Yes ; that — of course. But I do not 
 understand how it happened — how it could 
 happen." 
 
 " The story is long. I don't want you to 
 think too badly of me. When I gave my 
 promise I thought — I thought I was right. 
 I'm sure enough now — God knows ! — that I 
 was wrong. It is a long story, but if you 
 have the patience to hear it, I will tell it 
 you." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 195 
 
 Angela rose from her chair and clasped her 
 hands. She was thinking. 
 
 " I cannot hear it now," she said, " because 
 we must go back. I am not quite sure 
 whether I want you to tell me it or not. 
 That has nothing to do with patience or 
 interest, of course. I am interested — it is all 
 so strangely romantic 1 My possible reason 
 for not hearing it would be — be different. 
 Did you not say that you expected to be at 
 Guilbridge ? " 
 
 " To-morrow. Your mother has promised 
 to bring you to dine with me at my hotel 
 that night. I am hoping to see you very 
 often," 
 
 " I wonder why you spend your last days 
 there ? No ; don't tell me — not now. Per- 
 haps one day at Guilbridge I shall ask you 
 for the whole story. Will you tell it me 
 then ? " 
 
 " Yes ; whenever you wish it." 
 
 " You have given me the impression that 
 you are a lonely man, and sometimes that you 
 are unhappy." 
 
196 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " I ought to be unhappy. I do not think I 
 am, strangely enough." 
 
 " I want," she faltered quickly and sud- 
 denly, " to give you my sympathy." 
 
 She stretched out both her hands, and he 
 held them for a second. Her face had grown 
 pale ; she looked to him unspeakably beautiful. 
 He checked an impulse, and they passed back 
 into the crowded room together. A formal 
 farewell followed. On his way home he felt 
 glad that he had not made love to Angela 
 Wycherley. Better men have had similar 
 illusions. 
 
 After all the guests had gone, Mrs. 
 Wycherley had a talk with Angela. 
 
 " We met him last night," said Mrs. 
 Wycherley, with fat gaiety, *' and again 
 to-night, and we're to dine with him to- 
 morrow ; and he means to see us often at 
 Guilbridge, he tells me. I'm sure I don't 
 know what it means. Perhaps you could tell 
 me, my dear." 
 
 Angela sat down beside her. " Mamma, 
 dear," she said, " I am going to be serious." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 197 
 
 "What? Is it? At last?" 
 
 "To-night Mr. Sandell told me something 
 of his private affairs. He will not and cannot 
 marry " 
 
 " Then why " 
 
 " I wish to see a sfood deal of him durins; 
 the next few days. I am grown-up. You 
 must trust me completely." 
 
 " Yes, darling Angela, I do trust you. But 
 is this right in him ? And is it — is it, dear 
 - — for your own happiness ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so. The circumstances are 
 strangle. You know me, mamma dear, and 
 you trust me. That is sweet of you. Leave 
 this to me, and don't ask me any more 
 questions now. I will tell you all one day, if 
 Mr. Sandell lets me ; and I am sure he will." 
 
 "My dear, this is terribly upsetting. I 
 wonder— no, I won't ask any questions. Of 
 course, he does not make love to you." 
 
 " Don't say those words, mamma dear. I 
 do hate them so. No, no ; he has not." 
 
 She honestly believed it. Better women 
 have had similar illusions. 
 
198 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley allowed herself to be 
 persuaded on every point. In her heart she 
 supposed that there was but some temporary 
 obstacle, exaggerated by Angela's imagination, 
 and that, although Angela might not think it 
 now, she would yet be happily married to 
 Claudius Bandell. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Before Claudius left for Guilbiidge on the 
 followins; mornino- lie sent a messena;er to 
 his old lodgings, to recover the manuscript 
 of his novel. The motive of living had come 
 now, and come too late. It was his whim to 
 see if the means of living would not come 
 also now, and with a similar irony. The 
 book had been refused, when refusal meant 
 despair. Possibly it would be accepted when 
 acceptance could bring with it no hope. He 
 sent the manuscript off to another publisher. 
 In the note that accompanied it, he said that 
 as he was leaving England, an early decision 
 would greatly oblige him. 
 
 At the same time, he despatched another 
 messenger with a note to Dr. Gabriel Lamb. 
 It was only after long consideration that he 
 had decided to send it. The cjuestion which 
 
200 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 lie wished to ask was, indeed, one whicli, 
 practically, had been asked and answered 
 before. Yet there seemed to him just the 
 barest possilnlity that the doctor might 
 change his mind, and — if not — it would be 
 something definitely to know the worst. 
 Besides, it was possible that the doctor's 
 answer miojht throw some light on the future 
 — on what was to come when the octave was 
 over. In the course of the letter Claudius 
 wrote : "Is there any consideration which 
 would make you rescind our contract ? If, 
 for instance (though I cannot imagine any- 
 thing of the kind could happen), some stroke 
 of luck made it possible for me to repay to 
 you twice or three times the sum that you 
 have advanced to me, would you then — if I 
 asked it — give me back my promise ? Or 
 is there any other way ? " 
 
 There were several arrangements besides 
 that Claudius had to make before his de- 
 parture, to supplement the resources of a 
 provincial hotel, and make things more 
 worthy of Angela. >She had mentioned that 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 201 
 
 she had meant to ride, when she was at 
 Guilbridge, if she found that she could hire 
 a horse that was suitable ; Claudius had to 
 make it certain that that horse would be 
 forthcoming, and without any necessity for 
 hiring it. Just as he was leaving for Guil- 
 bridge, the man who had taken his note to 
 Wimbledon returned with a verbal messasre 
 
 o 
 
 that the doctor would send his reply by post 
 that night. 
 
 At the last moment, Mr. Wycherley decided 
 that he would accompany his wife and 
 daughter down to Guilbridge, see them safely 
 established in their lodgings, and then return 
 bo dine at his club. 
 
 " You don't understand about trains, 
 Jessica," said Mr. Wycherley ; " and you 
 might let these lodging-house people be too 
 — too independent. I'll just come dow^n with 
 you and see that you really get there." 
 
 So Mr. Wycherley put on a light tweed 
 mit ; he had bought it and paid for it, but 
 t did not look in the least as if it belonged 
 -jO him — guided his wife and daughter safely 
 
202 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 througli the intricacies of Waterloo Station, 
 and finally conducted them to their lodgings 
 at Guilbridge. There he explained to the 
 landlady that a variety of things which she 
 was sure she had never been asked for before 
 would be both asked for and insisted upon. 
 Then, with a consciousness of duty done, he 
 took Mrs. Wycherley and Angela for a stroll 
 on the heath previous to his return to the 
 station. 
 
 Here Claudius chanced to meet them, and 
 he would not hear of Mr. Wycherley going 
 back to the station. He had been told that 
 Mr. Wycherley was not coming to Guilbridge, 
 but as he had come lie must certainly stop 
 and dine with him. 
 
 Angela seconded the appeal. " Do stop, 
 papa, there are lots of trains after dinner, and 
 you can't eat your poor little dinner all alone 
 in a solitary club." 
 
 " There was a chance — well, half a chance 
 — of my meeting Bodgers at the club. I said 
 something about it, and he said something 
 about it — but nothinoj definite." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 203 
 
 "Mr. Bodgers must dine alone," said 
 Claudius. " A telegram to the club, in case 
 he goes there, and the thing is settled. You 
 really must not disappoint me." 
 
 " And," added Mr. Wycherley, " I've no 
 clothes with me except what I stand up in." 
 
 " That doesn't matter in the least. I also 
 will dine in this very identical suit, if you 
 like. There's the last excuse shot dead." 
 
 " Oh, well ! " said Mr. Wycherley, with 
 mild geniality. " I'm sure I'm not anxious 
 to make excuses. If you'll take me as I am, 
 I'll come with pleasure. Very kind of you." 
 
 The pleasure was quite real on Mr. 
 Wycherley 's part. Young people did not 
 as a rule make much fuss with the little 
 man, or seem particularly desirous for his 
 society. He felt rather flattered. 
 
 The hotel proprietor did not feel flattered 
 at all. Claudius had taken some trouble 
 about this dinner ; there had been various 
 importations from London which seemed to 
 the hotel proprietor to cast imputations on 
 the quality and extent of his resources. He 
 
20i THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 ventured respectfully and grandiloquently to 
 remonstrate with Claudius, and lie did not 
 obtain a lengthy hearing. 
 
 " Go away, and don't bother," said Claudius. 
 " I know that what I've done is unusual, but 
 no slight to you is intended by it. I must 
 have my own way, and I expect to pay you 
 for the privilege." 
 
 The actual dinner was short and simple. 
 But the wine, the Venetian glass, the linen, 
 the silver and cutlery, the flowers and fruit, 
 even the oak tal)le on which the dinner was 
 served, had all come from London, and the 
 arrangement of the table had 1)een wrested 
 from the hands of the hotel head waiter and 
 given to an imported, superior, and pro- 
 fessional person. And this was all done for 
 the entertainment of a mature lady in a tea- 
 gown that looked like a dressing-gown — or 
 it may have been a dressing-gown that looked 
 like a tea-gown- — a young girl in pink, a 
 young man in a tweed suit, and another 
 tweed suit with an older man lurking in its 
 interior. But then the girl in pink had 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 205 
 
 eyelashes, and very pretty ways, and was 
 sympathetic. Even the hotel proprietor could 
 see this. 
 
 And he was stirred to emulation. He 
 liimself stood in the kitchen, closely inspect- 
 ing, wisely directing, even with his own 
 hands adding last touches, while the dinner 
 was being prepared. He himself decanted 
 a bottle of port, that was one of a remaining 
 three, long ago taken out of the wine list and 
 reserved for the most rare and exquisite 
 occasions. The dinner was short and simple, 
 but it was perfect. 
 
 " You know," said Mr. Wycherley, mildly, 
 " I was once at this hotel before — came over 
 with Mr. Bodgers one Sunda}^ But they 
 didn't do me like this. Yet we ordered our 
 dinner carefully — very carefully. Bodgers is 
 always careful about that. This — this is 
 miraculous." 
 
 " You flatter me," said Claudius, laughing. 
 " Hotels won't trouble themselves for mere 
 men, I believe : you should have brought 
 your wife and daughter with you." 
 
206 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " No, no," cried Angela, " I protest against 
 that, I'm not going to be taken about the 
 country as a decoy-dinner even for my own 
 starving father. It's too sordid a rdle.'' 
 
 Claudius changed the subject. " Now," he 
 said, "I do take to myself some credit for the 
 view from this window. I think I've arranged 
 that very well. Will you please look ? " 
 
 Through the open window one saw a big 
 yellow moon and a clear night sky, in front 
 the tops of the dark trees in the garden outside 
 and beyond the dim low hills. 
 
 " Now that is nice," said Mrs. Wycherley. 
 
 " You don't think," asked Claudius, " that 
 it would have improved the composition of 
 the picture if I had put my moon a little 
 more to the right ? " 
 
 " Don't be irreverent, Mr. Sandell," said 
 Angela, reprovingly. " It's two far-awayly 
 lovely ! " She sighed. " I don't think any of 
 us deserve it, except, perhaps, me." 
 
 "Ah, well," Mr. Wycherley said, ," views 
 are not a thing that I'm much of a judge of. 
 Now this port " 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 207 
 
 " That is to remind us that we are to 
 leave them to drink it, x\ngela," said Mrs. 
 Wycherley. They passed into the next room. 
 
 Mr. Wycherley settled himself again and 
 filled his glass. 
 
 " This port," he continued, " is not the 
 port that they gave my friend and myself 
 when we were here, Mr. Sandell. Shouldn't 
 have believed a country hotel', had got any 
 of it." 
 
 " I seem to be particularly lucky," said 
 Claudius. 
 
 Mr. Wycherley rolled the wine round in 
 his glass meditatively. 
 
 " Luck," he said, " I wish there wasn't 
 such a thing. It's the ruin of legitimate 
 business." 
 
 Claudius led him out on this subject. L It 
 was Ml'. Wycherley 's own subject, and he 
 talked exceedingly w^ell upon it. In a dry 
 and unpretentious way he gave Claudius 
 glimpses of the romantic side of commerce. 
 He had stories of the mining market that 
 were worth telling, and he told them. When 
 
208 THE OCTAVK OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 lie paused Claudius started liim afresh. On 
 the subject that he thoroughly understood 
 Mr. Wycherley Ijecame fascinating and in- 
 teresting. He was, it appeared, strongly 
 opposed to avoidable gambling. 
 
 " Of course," he said, " all business is 
 nowadays more or less of the nature of a 
 gamble. But there is avoidable speculation, 
 and the number of men that go in for it 
 is astounding. Some make fortunes, more 
 get broken. I won't touch it myself." 
 
 Mr. Wycherley, it will be oljserved, did not 
 say that he never had touched it. 
 
 '' A man came to me to-day," he went on. 
 " It was that friend of mine, Bodgers, I spoke 
 to you about, lie wants me to buy some 
 shares that are at present on the rubbish heap. 
 He's seen the last report from the mine, n(jt 
 yet published, and it's very favourable. He 
 knows that a syndicate is just l)eing formed 
 in Paris to deal with the shares. I'm con- 
 vinced that his information is as good as it can 
 be, and I can trust him as I can trust myself. 
 But for all that I'm not going to touch it." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 20it 
 
 When they had rejoined Mrs. Wychcrley 
 and Angehx in the next room, Angela tokl 
 her father that he had been behaving very 
 badly, and she had a great mind to send him 
 to bed at once. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Mr. Wycherley, " what 
 have I done ? " 
 
 "You have been talking business after 
 dinner, which is wicked of you. No, I didn't 
 listen at all. You raised your voice once, 
 and I couldn't help hearing the words, ' three 
 hundred per cent.' I won't have any ' three 
 hundred per cent.' after business hours." 
 
 " I never have it during business hours," 
 replied i\lr. AVycherley. " I confess I've been 
 talking ' shop,' l)ut it is really Mr. Sandell's 
 fault. AVhcn I stopped and apologized, he 
 made me go on again." 
 
 " Oh— oh ! How cowardly 1 " 
 
 " But perfectly true, ' added Claudius. " I 
 can't understand this prejudice against talking 
 'shop,' Miss Wycherley. If a man speaks of 
 something that he really and specially knows, 
 and makes it exceedingly interesting, why 
 
 P 
 
210 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 .should lie 1)0 stopped with the word ' shop ' ? 
 Everybody ought — at times, at any rate — to 
 talk his regular ' shop.' " 
 
 " Very well," said Angela. " If he really 
 has l)een interesting, he may sit up a little 
 longer. I wonder what my own particular 
 ' shop ' is ? " 
 
 " You professed," Claudius said, " to have a 
 special gift for appreciating the moon. I don't 
 know whether there was anything in it." 
 
 " And, by the way," Mrs. Wycherley re- 
 marked, " what a pity it is we can't 'see it 
 from this room I 80 pretty it was." 
 
 Claudius suggested the hotel garden. The 
 night was fine and warm, and Mrs. Wycherley 
 was sure it would be most pleasant. All four 
 went downstairs, and out into the gravel walk. 
 Here Claudius and Angela passed on in front. 
 When they were out of hearing Mr. Wycherley 
 said — 
 
 " Don't know when I've enjoyed an evening 
 so much, Jessica. Most pleasant and sensible 
 young man, that. Who is he, by the 
 way i 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 211 
 
 " Son of Sir Constantino Saudell, my Jear, 
 md a great friend of Lady ^'en•ide^"s. She 
 ^peaks most highly of him. And money — as 
 ^^ou see." 
 
 " Does he want to marry Angela ? " asked 
 Mr. Wycherley, bluntly. 
 
 " Ah, my dear, that's where I'm puzzled I 
 There may be a certain something, though 
 Angela doesn't say there is ; but there's sonie- 
 bhing else rather in the way at present. I 
 don't know whether you see." 
 
 " I don't," said Mr. Wycherley, laconically. 
 
 " And I don't know that I do either, 
 exactly. Angela was really most mysterious. 
 If the child has a fault, it is that she won't 
 discuss tilings enough. She wants me to take 
 110 step at all, to leave things to her, and one 
 day she will tell me." 
 
 " It sounds all wrong, and rather shady," 
 said Mr. Wycherley. " If he's entangled with 
 some other woman " 
 
 " Oh, I don't think it's that ! " 
 
 " It generally is that, Jessica. You see, 
 you don't know about things. If it is, he has 
 
212 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 no business here — for he's obviously here for 
 Angela." 
 
 " Shall I speak to her firmly — take her 
 away ? " 
 
 " No ; it is not necessary." 
 
 " But, my dear, you said it was all wrong." 
 
 " I said it sounded all Avrong. You were 
 never exact enouoh in your lanouai'e, Jessica. 
 As a matter of fact, it's all right, 1 believe. 
 It sounds as if he were entangled with another 
 woman, and had no business to be after 
 Angela, (hi the other hand, Lady Verrider, 
 who is devoted to Angela, introduces him. 
 Also Angela is independent, and takes care of 
 herself. Girls have more freedom now than 
 they had when you and I were young — they've 
 got used to it — don't lose their heads over it. 
 Also there may be nothing in it ; and as it's a 
 question of a few days only, we'd better not 
 interfere — unless something- fresh and ditierent 
 happens." 
 
 " How you -do see the reasons of things ! " 
 said Jessica, admiringly. 
 
 " Besides, I'm much inclined to like tlie 
 
THE OCTAVK OF CLAUDIUS. 21 .J 
 
 young man — and I don't ol'lcn like an) body 
 on .sight. If dining out wore always like 
 this, you'd get me to dine out more often. 
 Small dinner, no crowd, no tinn'd liuml)ug to 
 cat, and good wine to drink — that suits me."i 
 
 Mrs. Wycherlcy was switched into her 
 favourite topic at once. 
 
 " I never had a better appetite," she ob- 
 served. " It may be the country air, or it may 
 be the railway jerking being good for the 
 liver, which Maria always said. But, for me, 
 I had a capital dinner. And, afterwards, not 
 a touch — not a twinge. You know how it is 
 sometimes." 
 
 Mrs. Wy(iherley expatiated with some plain- 
 ness of speech on how it was sometimes. Her 
 husband listened, or appeared to listen, 
 patiently. He was smoking an excellent 
 cigar, and placidity came easily to him. 
 
 On ahead, Angela and Claudius walked 
 together. They saw the golden moon through 
 gently swaying branches. The summer night 
 was lavish of its poetry. Angela's voice was 
 soft, and touched with emotion. She spoke 
 
214 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 of tlie most matter-of-fact commonplace things, 
 but lier personal glamour made tliem beautiful 
 to Claudius. She wondered if she would be 
 able to find anything to ride in Guilbridge — 
 perhaps the hotel let out horses. Did Claudius 
 know ? 
 
 Claudius said that he himself had a little 
 mare there — had bought her because she w^as 
 
 o 
 
 beautiful and cheap, though he didn't know 
 what to do with her beyond selling her again. 
 He would be very glad if Angela would try 
 her. On the following afternoon perhaps they 
 might ride together over to Deepwater. Mrs. 
 Wycherley might drive and meet them there. 
 There was a picturesque inn by the river, 
 where they could get tea. It was arranged. 
 And it was all commonplace, and yet it brought 
 back to Claudius's mind echoes of a poem that 
 every one knows and loves — 
 
 " I and my mistress, side by side, 
 Shall be together, breathe and ride, 
 So one day more am I deified." 
 
 And the possible days were few and flying with 
 terrible swiftness. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 After breakfast on Tuesday morning, Clau- 
 dius took the morning papers out into the 
 garden, and stretched himself comfortal:)ly 
 under the mulberry tree on the lawn to glance 
 throuo;li them. He had had a lono- swim in 
 the ri\'er l)efore breakfast, and had eaten a 
 breakftist that would not have discredited a 
 criminal on the mornimx of his execution. As 
 he lay there in a light flannel suit, with his 
 pipe in his mouth, and the Times open before 
 him, he felt perfectly placid and contented. 
 The day was glorious. In a few hours he 
 would see Angela again and be riding by her 
 side. He was so absorbed in feeling that life 
 was o'ood that he could foroet that for him 
 it was so brief. He glanced up for the first 
 time in his life, over a report of the mining 
 market. He wondered which out of the long 
 
216 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 list it was tliat Mr. Wycherley had been told 
 to buy. His eye was attracted by the name 
 Martenliuis Deep. That might be it or might 
 not. Possibly it was not even in that list 
 at all. He Hung the paper down and picked 
 up another. He opened it casually, and once 
 more the same name caught his eye — Marten- 
 huis Deep. He noted that the shares were 
 to 1)0 bought at 13-16. He recollected at the 
 same time that he knew personally his father's 
 broker. For a few minutes he lay back and 
 reflected. Then he got up and walked briskly 
 back into the hotel. He wrote a hurried note 
 to the broker, asking him to purchase four 
 thousand Martenhuis Deep, and giving the 
 name of his banker. He sent this off at once 
 by a messenger to town. He had never 
 transacted any business of the kind before. 
 He was not even clear if his note was correct, 
 and the commission would be executed, or if 
 he had omitted any necessary formality. By 
 the second post came a letter from Dr. Gabriel 
 Lamb, written in a small neat hand on thick 
 white paper. It ran as follows : — 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 217 
 
 " My dear Sandell, 
 
 " How on earth did you get the 
 preposterous notion that I entered into our 
 contract in a commercial spirit, and would 
 be likely to close it for a consideration of one 
 hundred, or more, per cent. ? You really do 
 me an injustice. Remember that you were 
 positively reluctant to take the sum that you 
 will fully earn. I had, to satisfy my own 
 conscience, actually to insist. Should I, if 
 I had been commercially-minded, have spent 
 eight thousand pounds on what I might have 
 ol>tained with equal ease for eight hundred 
 or merely as a return for such poor hospitality 
 and attention as I was able to show you — a 
 consideration of no value whatever except for 
 the pleasure your company gave us. It is 
 a pity, of course, that you have met her — 
 you obviously have met her, you know. 
 Under these circumstances I waited to reply 
 to your letter until I had once more thought 
 the matter over. The notion had occurred 
 to me that you might perhaps (in the event 
 of that ' stroke of luck ') be able to find 
 
218 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 and purchase a substitute. I liad to decide 
 whether I would accept a substitute. Speak- 
 ing quite frankly, any young man of a normal 
 type would, if I could only trust him, suit 
 me just as well as yourself. But I am 
 afraid that T cannot trust any one as well as 
 I trust you. Mind, 1 have nothing but the 
 word of the other party to the contract. He 
 has but to break his word and he can go. I 
 have no legal hold. 
 
 " For the matter of that, you have only 
 to Ijreak your word. You are not watched. 
 I do not know whether you have left London 
 for Guilbridge in order to l^e with her or in 
 order to avoid her — I think the former and 
 hope the latter. Even if I had you watched 
 I should have no power to compel you to 
 come to me next Saturday at midnight and 
 to be mine, to do as I please with. It 
 remains with you — if you break your word, 
 you will not come. Otherwise only the death 
 of one or other of us will end the contract. 
 I need not point out again that murder or 
 suicide would have for you — in addition to 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 219 
 
 the coiiveiitioiial objections — the objection 
 that either act would be dishonourable. But 
 although I can hold out no hope to you — the 
 enthusiasm of my work which requires you 
 is stronger than myself — I can honestly 
 sympathize with you. You entered into that 
 agreement when you had no motive for living 
 — you have now found the motive. It is 
 possible that within the few remaining days 
 you may have that motive strengthened — 
 possible, even, that you may find yourself 
 in a position to offer me absurd sums to free 
 you, as you suggest. This will make you 
 feel bitter against what the story-teller calls 
 fate, and, though unjustly, bitter against me. 
 "Believe me, my dear Sandell, the best 
 romance is the briefest. Thousfh I am actino- 
 in the interests of my work and without the 
 least regard to your own private interests, I 
 do you a service in saving you from satiety. 
 Come away from life while it is still giving 
 you youth, and poetry, and romance, and 
 possibilities. I myself should have left it 
 long ago had not my work detained me. 
 
220 THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " It may interest you to hear that the bay 
 mare, whose temper has daily grown more 
 damnable, has killed the coachman. Did not 
 you say that she would kill somebody ? 1 
 have never driven her myself — my life is 
 valuable to humanity. The coachman was 
 not a perfect coachman. But his widow has 
 already called twice at the house, apparently 
 with no other motive than to tell me that he 
 would have preferred to live (which I could 
 have conjectured for myself) and to have 
 hysterics on the door mat. 
 
 " We leave England next Sunday, and. of 
 course, you with us. I have sold the house, 
 and preparations for departure are already 
 being made. If you happen to come across 
 any really fine madeira, would you let me 
 know, or better still, order twelve dozen to be 
 packed for shipping and sent to me here. 
 I have nearly finished my own wine, and my 
 wine merchant seems to think that I will buy 
 disease and disappointment at a hundred and 
 twenty the dozen. This is quite above the 
 current market quotation for such commodities. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 221 
 
 LS I have explained to him. I wouhl pay 
 louble that to get exactly tlie wine I want. 
 3y the way, there is no earthly likelihood of 
 ^our finding anything of the kind, but I 
 thought I would mention it on the liarest of 
 jhances, as you have a palate and understand 
 □ay taste. 
 
 " If my wife were in the room, I am sure 
 she would join me in sending kind regards. 
 Her health is at present a subject for the 
 gravest anxiety. Au plaisir. 
 
 " Cordially yours, 
 
 " Gabriel Lamb." 
 
 Claudius read this letter through twice, and 
 put it in his pocket. He walked up and 
 down thinking about it. Certain phrases in it 
 haunted him. His suspicions of the doctor 
 came back again — came back with more force 
 and would not be dispelled. He had strange 
 and horrible fears f(jr the future before him. 
 He could not put them from him till he was 
 cantering over the turf with Angela beside 
 him. Angela was not a very experienced 
 
222 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 horsewoman, but she was not nervous. A 
 child would have been safe with the mare she 
 was riding — perfectly made and as kind and 
 easy as possible. In the exhilaration of the 
 ride and the presence of Angela, the worst 
 could be easily forgotten. 
 
 From the heath their way lay through a 
 gate into a grassy lane with high hedges on 
 either side. As they approached the gate at a 
 walking pace two youths — humorous louts 
 apparently — shut tlie gate, latched it, and then 
 ran off laughing down the lane. 
 
 " Please wait here a moment," said Claudius 
 to Angela, quietly. 
 
 He wheeled his horse round and then put it 
 at the gate. Over he went and down the lane 
 after those louts. 
 
 He returned in a minute, literally driving 
 them before him, with a pleasant smile on his 
 face. Men who smile pleasantly when they 
 have lost their temper are mostly dangerous. 
 Possibly the two louts knew this. Their 
 choice lay between going back to the gate, 
 being ridden down, and pulling Claudius off 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 223 
 
 lis liorse ; they decided to go back to the 
 yate. 
 
 " Open it," said Claudius, curtly, " and hold 
 t open until we're through." 
 
 " It was only a joke," said one of them 
 ■ather sheepishly, as he pulled the gate 
 jack. 
 
 " So's this," replied Claudius. " Don't let 
 t go any further than that." 
 
 Claudius rode up to Angela, laughing, and 
 ■eturned throuoh the i^ate with her. His fit 
 >f temper had completely vanished. He flung 
 I coin to the youths as they passed. 
 
 "To show them that their civility will pay 
 ^hem better than their humour," he explained. 
 
 " That was rather pretty," said Angela, 
 
 " And rather silly, I'm afraid," said Claudius. 
 ' I don't know exactly why, but I feel a little 
 ike a circus rider in consequence. I expected 
 I bad brass l)and to begin as I came down the 
 ane, and was rather disappointed that it 
 lidn't." 
 
 " Oh no ! " Angela answered. " You were 
 n a very bad temper. Many a poor child 
 
224 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 lias liad its pudding and its pocket-money cut 
 off for less." 
 
 " Leave me my pudding, and I will 
 apologize." 
 
 " I've got the nastiest possible temper 
 myself." 
 
 " I can't pretend to believe it," said Claudius. 
 " You ask too much. But look, here we are 
 at the inn ! " 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley had not yet arrived. Angela 
 said that she would order tea, while Claudius 
 saw that the horses were properly looked 
 after. They met in the garden of the inn — a 
 picturesque garden, dotted about with tables 
 and chairs and arbours. 
 
 " Have you ordered a very good tea ? " 
 
 " Well," said Angela, " I've done my best. 
 The place looked so tumble-down and old, and 
 out of the world, that I had great expectations 
 of it. I hoped that there would be a surly 
 landlord who would say that he never had 
 been asked for tea and wouldn't give us 
 it. Then I should have persuaded him, 
 and bribed him, and helped to cut the 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 2li5 
 
 bread-and-butter, and gradually lie would have 
 got to like me." 
 
 " It's not impossible,"' said Claudius. 
 
 " But the place is different, spoiled l^y the 
 patronage of tlic tripper — ruined by civiliza- 
 tion. I gave my orders to a trim little person 
 in a clean London apron, with a lot of nasty 
 little hotel ways. And there was a tariff, 
 mark you, Mr. Sandell, a horrible fixed tariff 
 with three kinds of tea on it — plain tea, tea 
 with eggs, and tea with meat." 
 
 " Tea with meat would be extravagant and 
 ostentatious. If you have ordered that, I 
 refuse to pay for my share, or to countenance 
 it in any way except by eating it." 
 
 " But I didn't, neither did I order the plain 
 tea, because it sounded dull, and also because 
 I thought it would make the trim person think 
 that we were not wealthy. I went in for the 
 golden mean, which takes the form of eggs." 
 
 " And where are we going to have the 
 golden mean ? " 
 
 " Out here in the o-arden. I insisted on 
 honey and cream. I prayed the trim person 
 
 Q 
 
'226 TH^ OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 if only for a few hours to be as pastoral and 
 unsopliisticated as possible. And she said, 
 ' Oh, you'll find us quite punctual ! ' So 
 possibly she hasn't caught the spirit of the 
 thing." 
 
 " Possibly not. Why this hunger and thirst 
 after pastorality ? " 
 
 " Because I'm in the country," she said 
 impetuously ; " because all of a sudden I hate 
 horrible, vulgar, complex, social, dirty, striving, 
 mean London life. It has made me so bad, 
 and I want to be better again. Oh, I'm much 
 more in earnest than you think ! Eeally, 
 really, I am ! It's been coming upon me 
 lately — and quite suddenly, I know it. I'm a 
 changed eirl." 
 
 There was a whimsical smile on her face, 
 but her eyes were serious and looking out for 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Yes ! tell me all about it." 
 
 " It would l)e a heavenly thing to confess 
 everything. You confessed to me a little, 
 didn't you, at our house the other night ? I 
 haven't been criminal in spots — no murders 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 227 
 
 or burglaries, or things of that kind. I've 
 only been mildly always and altogether 
 wrong. I believe I would have been good 
 if the world and circumstances had not spoiled 
 me. I was very vulgar in one way, and 
 very angry with anybody who was very 
 vulgar in the other way. I didn't know the 
 right value of things. I ran after straws 
 that were worth nothing. I see now that 
 nothing's more vulgar than to think much 
 about vulgarity and to use the word." 
 
 " This is subtle." 
 
 " Subtle ! Ah, believe me, I am fairly 
 crying for simplicity. If I could get work 
 as a dairy-maid, not the stage dairy-maid 
 but the real thing, I might save my soul 
 alive. As it is I " — she made a movement 
 of her hands to her throat — " I am choked 
 in London. It's all one game of brag — silly, 
 undignified brag. I've played at it — loathed 
 it — and gone on playing it. Every one tries 
 for an efiect, and most of them miss it, and 
 are laughed at for their failure, and those 
 who get it find that it is not worth getting. 
 
228 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 One manages and schemes and does humiliating 
 things to secure — what ? — less than the fluff 
 on that seeding dandelion." 
 
 " Is this all quite serious ? " 
 
 " Yes. If you like, it is the cynicism of 
 extreme youth, and therefore counts for 
 nothing. But it's not assumed, at any rate. 
 I'm being very honest this afternoon." 
 
 With the arrival of Mrs. Wycherley and 
 tea, Angela suddenly changed her tone. She 
 was no longer mournful ; her eyes brightened, 
 her talk was full of the brightest and maddest 
 raillery. But as Claudius and she rode back 
 again together, she as suddenly became very 
 quiet. 
 
 They had ridden for some time, side by 
 side, without a word, when Angela raised her 
 head and said — 
 
 " Mr. Sandell, what are you thinking about ? " 
 
 " I had the presumption to be thinking 
 about you." 
 
 " What are you thinking about me ? " 
 
 " That you have as many moods as an April 
 day." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 229 
 
 " Do you mind ? " 
 
 " I would have nothing altered." 
 
 " You enter into all my moods. When I 
 am in good spirits, you are in good spirits 
 too. How can you do it with the end so 
 near for you ? I think I shall ask you to 
 tell me the rest of your story very soon. I 
 have not forgotten it." 
 
 There was a pause, and then she added, " 1 
 am in a sad mood now." Their eyes met, 
 and she read the sympathy that he did not 
 speak. He found himself wishing that the 
 ride might last for ever, on and on in a 
 perpetual quiet summer afternoon. He desired 
 nothing better than the strange exaltation 
 that he felt just now. The ride lasted exactly 
 until half-past six. Angela praised Jeannie, 
 the mare that she had been ridins;. She 
 thanked Claudius. 
 
 " You must ride her again if you like her," 
 said Claudius. 
 
 " She's an adorable beauty and too good 
 for me. Perhaps. And thank you again, 
 Mr. Sandell. Good-bye." 
 
230 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Even as lie left her he knew that he was 
 to see her again that night. He felt sure 
 of it. After dinner he strolled out on to 
 the heath. It was OTowinar dark, and the 
 twilight was cool and fascinating. He was 
 not surprised to see her standing silhouetted 
 against the sky, a slender grey figure. Nor 
 did she seem surprised as she turned and 
 saw him. 
 
 " Are you not afraid to be out alone ? " 
 
 " No — no, thank you. AYhen we are in 
 the country, I often do this. Mamma writes 
 one letter, and then goes to bed early — and 
 I, if I'm restless, walk until I'm tired. See — 
 I have my own key." 
 
 " Would you rather be by yourself, Miss 
 Wycherley, or, may I ? " 
 
 " If you would walk with me, and tell me 
 the rest now — the rest of the story." 
 
 He began at once. He told the story 
 as briefly as possible, wasting no word on 
 apologies for telling it. He told how, an 
 outcast from his own home, a failure in the 
 work he had attempted, with no tie to life, 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 231 
 
 and no motive for living, worn out by 
 privations and disappointment, lie had been 
 found by Dr. Gabriel Lamb. He dwelt at 
 length on the kindness of the doctor and his 
 wife, and tried to indicate the character of 
 the man. He described how the agreement 
 came to be made, and told the precise terms 
 of it. 
 
 " Thank you for telling me," she said 
 quietly, when he had finished. " It's worse 
 than I had feared. Is there no other way ? 
 Can he not be bought ? " 
 
 " I thought of that — only yesterday I wrote 
 and asked him. Early this morning I ventured 
 on a mining speculation — your father had 
 spoken of such things the night before. I do 
 not care in the least for gambling of any kind 
 — it doesn't amuse me. I know nothino- what- 
 ever of the shares I have bought, except their 
 name and present price. I somehow felt sure 
 — it was a silly presentiment, but a strong- 
 one — that I was right, and that I should make 
 a profit large enough to buy my release. I had 
 hardly sent off the order to the broker, before 
 
232 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 the second post came in. The doctor refuses 
 to cancel the agreement for any money con- 
 sideration whatever. I believe that he really 
 does not care for money in the least — or for 
 anything very much except his work." 
 
 " Is the name of the mine Martenhuis 
 Deep ? " 
 
 " Yes — why ? How do you know ? " 
 
 " Because, as we were coming here yester- 
 day, papa asked me jokingly if I should like 
 him to make a fortune. He said he could 
 make one in less than a week by buying ]\Iar- 
 tenhuis Deep, but that he w^ouldn't do it, 
 1)ecause it w^as outside his legitimate business. 
 As you were speaking, the name flashed into 
 my memory again. Wait, there is another 
 thing I want to ask you. Will you let me see 
 the manuscript of your novel ? " 
 
 " I would, but I have sent it off to another 
 publisher." 
 
 " Why — why," she exclaimed impatiently, 
 " did you not do that before the agreement ? " 
 
 " The l)Ook had been refused twice, and I 
 was quite hopeless about it. But if I had 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 233 
 
 known that the aoreement was comino-, I 
 think I should have tried again first. I did 
 not know. It came suddenly — time was 
 apparently of great importance to the doctor, 
 and he would not have waited for the pub- 
 lisher's decision. Then I was under great 
 obligations to him. He had saved my life, 
 clothed me, fed me, treated me with the most 
 delicate kindness and perfect trust. By accept- 
 ing, I repaid him ; if I refused, I saw nothing 
 before me." 
 
 " It is too soon to say yet. But if every- 
 thing came now — now in these few days — 
 now when it is too late, that w^ould be terrible. 
 Do not be angry with me, Mr. Sandell, for 
 what I am going to say. You tell me that 
 the doctor has no legal hold on you. I think 
 he has no moral hold — that he is not acting in 
 good faith. Have you thought of the possi- 
 bility of — of breaking your word ? " 
 
 " I am not angry with you," said Claudius, 
 with a dreary smile. " I'm no better than 
 other men, and I've thought of it. If I did it, 
 [ dare say for a few days I should feel nothing 
 
234 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 but relief, freedom, pleasure. The other thing 
 would come thouojh — I should feel that I had 
 broken my promise, betrayed a man who 
 trusted me. I should feel that I had done it 
 through cowardice. It would not be possible 
 to live like that. Perhaps it would be easier 
 to break my word, if he had a legal hold upon 
 me — if I ran the least risk in breakingr it — if 
 
 o 
 
 it were not mere cowardice." 
 
 "Yes, yes; I see," said Angela. "I had 
 not guessed what the story would be ; and 
 very often when I have been laughing and — 
 generally silly — you must have hated it, and 
 thought me unsympathetic. You know, when 
 you were at your house, I gave you my sym- 
 pathy, and I meant it. Only, I did not know 
 that it was quite so horrible or quite so hope- 
 less then, and so, sometimes " 
 
 " Ah ! Do not alter ! Let me be happy 
 for the little time that is left ! " 
 
 Anoela laus^hed a little mirthless laug-h. 
 " I feel," she said, "as if I had been play- 
 ing the fool at a funeral." 
 
 " No, no. If you must reproach any one. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 235 
 
 reproach me for having done a reckless and 
 suicidal thing, and for having distressed you 
 by telling you about it. I have told no one 
 else." 
 
 " I wanted you to tell me about it — I would 
 not have that different. Will you please let 
 me go home alone, Mr. Sandell ? Now, please, 
 o;ood nio;ht." 
 
 Her small cold hand touched his a moment, 
 and she had turned and gone. As he stood 
 still watching her as she walked away, he 
 heard through the still night a faint sound, 
 and knew that she was sobbing. 
 
 He went back to the hotel, cursing himself 
 for all he told her, cursing that excellent Lady 
 Yerrider for her well-meant advice that had 
 led him to do it. He spent a wretched and 
 sleepless night. 
 
 In the letter which Mrs. "VYycherley wrote 
 to her husband, she said — 
 
 " Angela has gone for one of her favourite 
 evening strolls — just after dinner — l)ut the 
 young never think of these things. A good 
 daughter she always was, but really she 
 
236 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 improves. Never corrects me now if I do or 
 say anything that isn't quite as it should be. 
 Less strict she seems to be, and fonder. We 
 have much to be thankful for. Not one touch 
 or one twinge since I've been here— country 
 air and plain food account for it. The cooking 
 is good here with the exception of the gravies 
 — no richness or strength in them ; but I've 
 not spoken about it yet." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Wednesday morning brought two letters for 
 Claudius. One of them was merely the con- 
 tract note for four thousand Martenhuis Deep 
 purchased at thirteen-sixteenths. In the 
 report in the morning paper Claudius read : 
 " The chief feature in the minincr market was 
 the demand for Martenhuis Deep on Paris 
 buying. After quickly springing to two and 
 five-eighths, there was a slight relapse owing 
 to profit taking. This, however, was nearly 
 recovered in the street, the last price reaching 
 two and a half." Claudius had thought of 
 wiring to Mr. Wycherley, to ask whether he 
 should sell or hold. Then he decided for 
 himself to hold and leave it to luck. Whether 
 he won or lost could not matter to him now. 
 
238 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 His other letter was a friendly and informal 
 note from the senior partner in the publishing 
 firm, to which he had sent his novel. 
 
 " It is not a common thing," wrote Mr. 
 Arragon, "for a novel to be sent us on 
 Monday, and accepted on Tuesday. That, 
 however, is the case with your book. On 
 Monday afternoon, I happened to want some- 
 thing to read in the carriage as I drove home 
 from business, and picked up the first few 
 pages of your novel. There were several 
 manuscripts on the table waiting to be sent 
 oft' to my reader — it is seldom that I read 
 anything myself, and it was the merest 
 chance that I picked up part of your book 
 rather than one of the others. Well, I read 
 these few pages on my way home ; and, as 
 soon as I got there, I sent the carriage back 
 again for the rest of it. I finished it after 
 dinner. That was c[uite enough to decide 
 me. If the book took hold of me like that — 
 and I am fairly hardened — it is certain to 
 interest others. AYe shall be very glad to 
 publish it." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 239 
 
 The terms offered were fair and business- 
 like — neither unjust nor wildly generous. 
 Claudius wrote to thank Mr. Arragon and 
 accept them. That also could not matter to 
 him now — save that it added to the irony and 
 Ijitterness of the fate that held and mocked 
 him. 
 
 He sent round a note to ]\Irs. Wycherley, 
 offerinor her his carriao;e. Jeannie, too, was 
 at Miss Wycherley 's disposal if she preferred 
 to ride. He waited impatiently for the reply. 
 He picked up a book and tried to read — then 
 found that he was turning the pages mechanic- 
 ally, without being in the least conscious of 
 w^hat he was reading. He flung the book 
 down and went out into the road, pacing 
 up and down impatiently. It seemed as if 
 the messenger would never come. 
 
 He came in sight at last, sauntering 
 leisurely along until he saw Claudius. The 
 note that he brought was from ]\Irs. Wycherley. 
 It was brief: it thanked ]\Ir. Sandell very 
 much for his kindness, but neither she nor 
 her daughter would ride or drive that day. 
 
240 THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 
 
 It gave no reason, and suggested no meeting. 
 Claudius at once read into that letter more 
 than poor Mrs. Wycherley had ever intended 
 to put there. It vexed him with a certainty 
 that there was something behind, and an 
 uncertainty what that something was. It 
 seemed cold. Was Angela ill ? — Mrs. 
 Wycherley distrustful ? What could it be ? 
 
 To remain still was impossible. He had 
 his horse brought round, and started out. 
 He rode past the house where Mrs. Wycherley 
 and Angela were lodging. He had some 
 faint hope that they might come out or in 
 as he passed — that, if only for a moment, he 
 might speak to Angela. He saw nothing of 
 them. He noticed though that the blinds 
 were drawn in the upstairs rooms. Again 
 the fear came to him that Angela might be 
 ill. His mind was a torture-chamber. 
 Anxiety for her, self-reproach, impotent rage 
 at his fate, burning and stifled passion goaded 
 and maddened him. The octave was drawing 
 near to its end, and the hours were flying 
 wasted away — wasted without Angela. He 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 241 
 
 turned on to the heath and rode as a man 
 rides who wouki fain get away from himself 
 — from his own thoughts. 
 
 It was three o'clock when he returned. He 
 had come back l)y the same way he went. 
 Once more he had failed to see Angela. Once 
 more he had noted the drawn Ijlinds. At 
 four o'clock he could endure it no longer. 
 He had decided to call at the house, expecting 
 only to be refused admission. 
 
 But ]\Irs. Wycherley was at home. She 
 was in the garden. If he would walk through 
 the house he would find her there. He 
 found her seated in the shade, in an easy- 
 chair, propped up with cushions that she took 
 with her when she went aw\ay from home. 
 She looked benevolent. She was readino; a 
 shilling paper-covered book that she had 
 purchased at the station book-stall — " Dainty 
 Dishes : How to Cook and how to Serve 
 them." "It might give me some ideas," she 
 had said to Angela. She laid aside the book 
 (with the title downwards) as she saw 
 Claudius. 
 
 B 
 
242 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Now this is very kind of you," said Mrs. 
 Wycherley, " not to have got tired of us." 
 
 Claudius looked for satire in her voice or 
 expression, and found none. 
 
 " It was so good of you to send round this 
 morning too," Mrs. AVycherley continued. 
 " But Ano;ela seemed so tired. No — not ill — 
 merely tired. I thought a quiet day would 
 be the best thing for her. They are bringing 
 you a chair, aren't they ? Yes, I see, that's 
 right. Oh, Angela — yes ! I was speaking 
 about her. A short walk — that really has 
 been all we have done. In this heat, you see, 
 everything is so — so hot. And that induces 
 lassitude. Angela, in fact, is lying down 
 upstairs now. I insisted upon it." 
 
 " I ought to have proposed the river this 
 morning ; it would have been cool there." 
 
 " For Angela, yes ; for me, I am afraid 
 it would not do. T suppose I am a curiously 
 constructed person, but the rocking of the 
 boat sadly interferes with — with my being 
 jjerfectly well. As my doctor once said to 
 me, putting it as I thought very neatly, ' You 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 243 
 
 have not,' he said, ' got a delicate constitution, 
 but you have got a sensitive constitution.' 
 Angela is not a sufferer at all. She adores 
 the river. Now to my mind there is nothing 
 pleasanter than to be driven through l^eautiful 
 green country in a comfortable carriage. That 
 drive to Deepwater and back really did me 
 good." 
 
 " You must try it again." Claudius spoke 
 at intervals, as her babble demanded it of his 
 civility. All the time he was looking towards 
 the house. 
 
 And Angela came at last— contempora- 
 neously with the tea-things. She stepped 
 slowly through the French windows and down 
 the lawn towards them. She walked grace- 
 fully, her head thrown back. She was pale, 
 and dark under the eyes ; her expression was 
 one of patience — new to her, wonderfully 
 appealing. 
 
 She shook hands hurriedly with Claudius, 
 and busied herself with the tea-cups. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that I tired you out 
 yesterday, Miss Wycherley," said Claudius. 
 
2U TQE OCTAVE OB^ CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Sh3 smiled and shook lier head. " I wasn't 
 tired, and you didn't do it if I was, and 
 besides I've got over it — modelled on the 
 housemaid's excuse for the broken vase." 
 She seemed afraid to meet his eyes ; in her 
 manner she was strangely shy. 
 
 " And I had meant to tire you again 
 to-morrow," he said. " I thought the 
 river 
 
 " Ah ! the river — I love it — but 
 mamma " 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley would not hear of that 
 obj ection. 
 
 " We might arrange something," she said. 
 She had just been reading in that yellow- 
 covered book a descriptive passage entitled, 
 " The Picnic Pie." A picnic was in her mind. 
 Her imagination built up a lovely entertain- 
 ment, with the pie as its chief corner-stone, and 
 seated her on emerald moss under an azure sky. 
 
 Angela refused the suggestion of a picnic. 
 " Unless you leave the picnic part out," she 
 added, " I don't mind the sward so much, but 
 I dislike the sandwiches. Then there's bother 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 245 
 
 and discomfort, and one always tears one's 
 dress," she sighed. " Give me peace and a 
 public-liouse," she said earnestly. 
 
 Claudius laughed. Mrs. Wycherley said 
 that Angela was really too shocking. 
 
 " But the idea is excellent, Mrs. Wycherley. 
 We go by the river to the inn at Deepwater. 
 You go in the carriage and meet us there. 
 Then luncheon — peace and a public-house." 
 
 That was settled. Soon after Claudius left, 
 with some, at least, of his troubles over. Mrs. 
 AVycherley and Angela were not angry with 
 him for anything. Angela was not ill — he 
 would be alone with her on the morrow. All 
 that was good. But each time that he saw 
 Angela made it harder to part with her, and 
 harder to love in silence. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 That night Mrs. Lamb dined downstairs with 
 her husband. She said that she felt better and 
 she looked better, though the extreme pallor 
 of her face was still noticeable. Her eyes 
 were restless and unsteady, and she was very 
 talkative. Throudiout dinner he took his 
 
246 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 own part in the conversation genially enough, 
 admired her dress, told her a good story or 
 two, and answered readily her questions as 
 to their departure from England. As dinner 
 progressed she seemed to grow rather more 
 excited, and as soon as the servants had gone, 
 she turned abruptly to the doctor, and said, 
 " I want to be forgiven, Gabriel." He looked 
 critically at her, and did not answer. She 
 avoided his gaze, and rambled on — speaking 
 vaguely, at times almost incoherently. She 
 wanted to be forgiven. She had saved him 
 from himself, or believed she had, and he 
 knew nothing about it. She said that she 
 felt that she had to tell the truth now, and 
 that she was compelled to say that she hated 
 him, but she had saved him from himself all 
 the same. She knew he was clever, but it 
 was better to be good, and she was trying to 
 be good again. He might trust her. 
 
 Dr. Lamb gave a long, slow yawn. " This," 
 he said, " is becoming tiresome, Hilda. How- 
 ever, as you insist, I will go through it all 
 once, quite plainly, and get it over. You 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 247 
 
 should not try to be mysterious with mc, for 
 you are not good at mystery. You have said 
 more than once that you want me to forgive 
 you. You do not tell me why." 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 " I can tell you, though." 
 
 " No ! no ! " she cried, " I will not hear it." 
 
 " You will understand your own position, 
 and mine, better if you hear it. You want 
 me to forgive you for your desire to be a 
 much worse woman than you will ever have 
 the chance to be. Claudius Sandell " 
 
 She rose, gasping, looking round her with 
 agonized eyes. She took two or three steps 
 to the window. A heavy curtain was drawn 
 over it. She stood there with her back to the 
 doctor, holding on to the curtains with both 
 hands, her white face pressed against its folds. 
 
 " Claudius Sandell does not and never will 
 love you. You are saved from being bad by 
 being — pardon me — insufficiently attractive. 
 Even if he cared for you, it would make no 
 difference, because he is an honourable man, 
 and also — but I need not go into that. Your 
 
248 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 own position is, therefore, contemptible, and 
 my position is perfectly secure. His position, 
 by the way, is unfortunate. I had a letter 
 from him the other day, from which I under- 
 stand that there is another woman. Hopeless, 
 of course. As I have not quite finished, I 
 would suggest that you should sit down. 
 Standing will tire you." 
 
 She sat down, covering; her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 " I pass to the next point. You say that 
 you have saA^ed me from myself — a pulpit 
 phrase, I should imagine. Strange that 
 though you have suddenly passed from a 
 somewhat crude religion to a somewhat crude 
 atheism, you still use the phrases of the 
 religion. If you mean that you have written 
 to Sir Constantine Sandell, I am perfectly 
 well aware of it — could have easily stopped 
 it, but did not care enough about it. Your 
 letter may bring about a reconciliation between 
 father and son, but that will not prevent 
 Claudius Sandell from keeping his word and 
 returning here ; and it will not alter my 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 249 
 
 sul)sequent treatment of liim — your guess as 
 to what that will be is, roughly speaking, 
 correct. It will turn Miss Matilda Comby — 
 a fraud, but your sister — out of a very com- 
 fortable berth, and make Sir Constantino 
 miserable. Nothing more than that. Lastly, 
 you say that you hate me. I pass over the 
 impropriety of it. I merely ask you to 
 consider the possibility that the fact — if it 
 is a fact — though apparently of great interest 
 to you, may not be of the least interest to 
 me. Have I made everything clear ? " 
 
 She nodded her head. 
 
 " Then we need not refer to these matters 
 again. That will be in every way better. 
 I am exceedingly sorry to use language to you 
 which is positively rude, and excitement is 
 very bad for you. After to-night there need 
 be no occasion for either. As to your future 
 conduct, I should prefer that you did not tell 
 me I was clever, and also that you did not 
 treat me as if I were a fool — that is to say, do 
 not plot, be mysterious, or undertake the 
 guidance of my actions, especially where my 
 
250 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 work is concerned. Always speak to me as if 
 there were a servant in the room. Great 
 though my contempt is for every individual, 
 including myself, I find that my tastes can be 
 best disregarded when they are entirely satis- 
 fied, and my tastes are not in favour of Clapham- 
 Villa squabbles with you. I cling, positively 
 clino;, to the conventionalities of decent life. 
 There are many men in my place who would 
 have killed you, or tried to divorce you. I 
 myself gave you a certain remedial punish- 
 ment that you have not forgotten. But 
 violence and scandals, though the violence was 
 necessary in that instance, off"end my love of 
 conventionality. I only ask to live (until 
 your day comes) as almost every man of the 
 world lives — on perfectly friendly and civil 
 terms wdth a woman in whom he has ceased to 
 be interested. You understand ? Is there 
 anything you would like to ask ? " 
 
 Hilda Lamb slowly raised her head. Her 
 fit of excitement and volubility had passed ; 
 she looked beaten and suff'ering. There was 
 blood on her lower lip, where she had bitten it. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 251 
 
 " Ah, God 1 " she wailed, " if I could only 
 die to-night ! " Once more she rose, and paced 
 up and down the room. Then she stopped 
 and said — 
 
 " Am I free to do what I like — to write 
 letters if I like ? Are you having me 
 watched ? " 
 
 " How could you suspect me of such 
 abominable vulgarity ? Of course you are 
 Free, and of course you are not watched. By 
 ill means write your letter to Scotland Yard 
 bo say that your husband intends to murder 
 Jlaudius Sandell, and has told you so, and will 
 "Scotland Yard please come and stop it. If 
 ^ou succeed in making your story sufficiently 
 3robable to induce the police to investigate it 
 —which I do not for one moment think — the 
 Dolice will discover that I am about to employ 
 m amanuensis, a Mr. Sandell, as my poor 
 ifflicted wife is no longer able to help me." 
 
 " Yes," she said, drearily, " I believe that 
 '. am going mad. Sometimes I am mad 
 dready. I could do nothing. But I was 
 iglit then, and it will be murder." 
 
252 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " My dear child," said the doctor, " we do 
 not use these coarse, crude, inappropriate 
 terms. That word ' mad,' for instance. Con- 
 sider rather that you are in a state of unstable 
 equilibrium. I apply a certain force, notice, to 
 the saucer of my cofiee-cup. It moves slightly, 
 but returns to its original position. Its 
 equilibrium is stable. The same force or stress 
 applied to this wine-glass would knock it over 
 and break it — its equilibrium is unstable. 
 You must o'uard aoainst stress — aejainst excite- 
 ment. Avoid violent emotion of any kind. 
 There is no occasion to think or speak of mad- 
 ness. As for the other word equally melo- 
 dramatic, murder, it is out of place. Supposing 
 that an experiment ends in death — in this case 
 death merely means the conclusion of a com- 
 mercial transaction. I might also point out 
 that the loss of life to one individual is 
 nothing, as compared with the gain to the race 
 — but I know that you do not take these broad 
 views. Say to yourself that Claudius Sandell 
 has, for a consideration, agreed to help me to 
 verify much which at present is merely theory. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 253 
 
 md that you hope all will be satisfactory. 
 Be optimistic — be euphemistic — and you may 
 fet be happy." 
 
 Mrs. Lamb half closed her eyes. 
 
 " Gabriel," she said, " did he — did Mr. 
 Sandell — know about me ? " 
 
 " About the — tacit but unfortunate com- 
 pliment that you paid him? He did not — 
 and I should not tell him." 
 
 " Can you tell me the name of the other 
 woman ? " 
 
 "I do not know it. But in any case he 
 must leave her on Saturday, and he will not 
 see her again. She does not concern any of us." 
 
 " Gabriel, one cannot help thoughts and 
 feeling. One can only try to check them ; 
 and, at first, when I could pray, I did." 
 
 He made a little impatient gesture. She 
 went on. 
 
 " I have not said or done anything wrong. 
 The rest I could not help ; and, perhaps, if 
 you had gone on loving me, or if my baby 
 had not died, it would not have happened. 
 But you are my husband, and you pay for 
 
254 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 everything for me, so it was wicked ; and so I 
 asked you to forgive me. And now I want to 
 ask you a favour." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 She spoke very slowly. " Let Mr. Sandell 
 go, and use me instead. I can bear things, 
 and I would not let any one suspect, and I 
 should be glad to die." 
 
 " Do you think it probable," the doctor 
 asked, " that I should allow you the exquisite 
 pleasure of dying for him ? Surely it is not 
 to me that you should offer evidence of such 
 devotion. But in no case could I have thought 
 of it, as you are not suitable, not what I want. 
 Is there anything else that you w\ant to ask ? 
 No ? " He gave a deep sigh of relief. " That 
 is capital ; we have been through it all, and 
 got it over. It is half-past nine, and you 
 should get as much sleep as possible." Mrs. 
 Lamb rose obediently. " And after this, no 
 more scenes. We meet to-morrow on ordinary 
 terms — the most ordinary possible — perfectly 
 ordinary. Good night, Hilda." He opened 
 the door for her, and she passed out. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 255 
 
 He sat clown aojain, lit a cio'ar, and smilino- 
 1 he sat there, smoking, he made two obser- 
 itions. The first was — 
 
 " Typical — that connection between religion, 
 slf- sacrifice, and the sexual instinct ! " 
 
 The second was — 
 
 " Wonder why I told her to avoid excite- 
 ent and not think about her mental state ? 
 rofessional habit, I suppose." 
 
256 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Mrs.Wycherley supposed that it must have 
 been in consequence of her sitting out in the 
 garden. She did not see how it could have 
 been that ; but, at the same time, if it was not 
 that, what else could it have been ? Anyway, 
 there it was — a slight chill — not so much a 
 cold, she explained, as the beginning of a 
 cold. 
 
 " Deal with these things promptly," she said 
 to Claudius, " and you get them over in a day. 
 Keep indoors and in one room as much as 
 possible. Spirits of camphor, light diet, and a 
 little chamjDagne in the evening — that is my 
 rule, and I do not know what it is to have a 
 cold last more than one day. You nip it in 
 the bud, Ijefore it really gets hold of the 
 system." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 257 
 
 Claudius was properly sympathetic. Mrs. 
 t\^yclierley must not, of course, dream of 
 romg out. The visit to Deepwater could 
 easily be postponed until the morrow. 
 
 But the good-natured lady would not hear 
 )f this. 
 
 " Why," she said, " should three people sit 
 ndoors for one cold — or, rather, the beginning 
 )f a cold — on a glorious morning like this ? 
 if you don't mind conducting Angela, alone 
 md unchaperoned, I am sure you would take 
 3'ood care of her, and for that matter I think 
 }he is quite capable of taking care of herself. 
 [ told her I should insist, and she's putting 
 ler hat on now." 
 
 " But won't you be wretchedly dull all 
 done?" 
 
 " My dear Mr. Sandell, if I thought that 
 [ Avas spoiling everybody's pleasure, then I 
 should indeed be dull. But I assure you I 
 lave much to occupy me. I'm working for 
 I bazaar. I don't know if you ever " 
 
 iVt this moment Angela entered. She wore 
 white muslin, and it was quite a new dress. 
 
 S 
 
258 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Mamma won't let me nurse her," she said, 
 " and lias turned me out-of-doors. I am Q-oino; 
 
 to iD 
 
 back to live with papa." 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley smiled, protested, fluttered, 
 fussed. There were a few moments of amiable 
 and aimless small talk, and as much opposition 
 to Mrs. Wycherley 's plan as civility demanded. 
 And then Claudius and Angela started out. 
 
 "This is your own boat," said Angela, as 
 she stepped into the stern of it and took the 
 lines. 
 
 " Yes ; it's mine. Why did you think so ? ' 
 
 " I thought it looked too new for a hired 
 boat ; and the cushions are too good ; and it's 
 got several little treats in it that one does not 
 get in a hired boat." 
 
 They spoke further of the difficulty of steer- 
 ing with the sun blazing on the water, of 
 dragon-flies, and of certain popular beliefs as 
 to the bad temper and physical strength of 
 swans. And of all these they spoke with that 
 appearance of great interest that one always 
 shows when one is being more interested in 
 something of which one is not speaking. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 259 
 
 After a little while they came to a back- 
 iTater, and went down it. Here they were 
 uite alone. The dragon-flies flashed across 
 he river over the floating water-lily leaves, 
 'he midges in fevered shoals danced out their 
 ay. From the high white road in the dis- 
 ance, where a man was driving^ cattle, and 
 aving trouble w^itli them, came the faint echo 
 f an angry shout. In a shady place, with 
 rees meeting over the w^ater, Claudius drew 
 he boat into the bank, and Angela, nestling 
 lore comfortably into the silken cushions, 
 hanked him for having found so lovely a spot. 
 
 They had both known through all their im- 
 lersonal talk that the personal question was 
 3r them the inevitable question — that on that 
 ay, sooner or later, in one way or another, it 
 ,^ould arise. 
 
 " I have been thinking a good deal," said 
 mgela, suddenly, looking away from Claudius, 
 nd over the water. 
 
 " I was afraid so," said Claudius. " I was 
 nrong, but I know it now, and I'm very sorry 
 or it." 
 
260 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " In what way wrong ? I do not under- 
 stand." 
 
 " For telling you, even though you asked it, 
 all that I told you on Tuesday night. I knew 
 that you were sensitive, tender-hearted — that 
 the story must hurt you. I knew that by 
 telling you I was not materially benefited. 
 The only thing that can be said for me 
 IS 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " Yes ? " said Angela, in a low voice. 
 
 " Why should I not say it ? I could not 
 endure to be in a false position with you." 
 
 A slight flush came and died in her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " And, besides," he continued, " I felt — I 
 think it was the first time in my life — that I 
 needed sympathy." 
 
 "Why should tender-hearted people be 
 cowards?" said Angela. "In order to give 
 sympathy, one must first feel pain, but in 
 giving it there is pleasure : the greater that 
 pain the greater that pleasure. No, you 
 must not reproach yourself. I should be 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 261 
 
 glad if you would tell me more — if there is 
 any more." 
 
 "We shall soon be at the end of that 
 story. Last night I laid awake an hour and 
 seemed to hear all the clocks in the world 
 tickino^ out the minutes left to me. There 
 is little that is new since I spoke to you that 
 niorht on the heath, and what is new is very 
 prosaic. A publisher has accepted my novel- 
 Before I came to you this morning, telegrams 
 passed between my broker and myself. I 
 have sold my Martenhuis Deep — they were 
 up again yesterday — at a profit of twelve 
 thousand pounds. I could repay Dr. Lamb 
 twofold, if there were the remotest chance 
 that money would tempt him." 
 
 '' Your book accepted," murmured Angela, 
 " and fortune come to you — and all too 
 late ! " 
 
 " If that were all," said Claudius, passion- 
 ately. " If that were only all ! " 
 
 " Isn't it ? " she said. 
 
 " You know that it is not. You must 
 know what I have no right to tell you — 
 
262 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 except it be tlie right of a dying man. It 
 is the love which comes too late— it is that 
 which hurts : Angela, I love you — I who have 
 no right to say it — I love you." 
 
 " I think I knew," she said. She spoke 
 with quiet serenity, but her bosom rose and 
 fell more deeply and quickly. Her pathetic 
 eyes looked fixed away from him. " And 
 it all goes on," she said after a moment's 
 silence, " the shadow of the clouds drifting 
 over the water, and little bits of things 
 floating down stream, and that thrush there 
 singing — ^just the same. And — in a few 
 hours you will have gone away, and I shall 
 not hear you speaking to me any more, 
 and " 
 
 Just then she broke down. Suddenly she 
 covered her face with her hands — 
 
 " I can't bear it, Claudius ! " she sobbed. 
 " I can't bear it ! " 
 
 " Forgive me, dear Angela." 
 
 She let her hands drop, looked at him with 
 tears in her eyes, and spoke, catching her 
 breath here and there — 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 263 
 
 "But no— if you had not spoken — that 
 would have been harder. Now there's happi- 
 ness coming through it all." 
 
 He was as one dazed. " It's so hard to 
 believe," he said. " Do you mean that you 
 care — that you love me ? " 
 
 " Yes — oh yes ! " She said it almost 
 proudly, with her sad eyes still looking full 
 into his. 
 
 " Though I die to-night," he said, " I shall 
 have seen Paradise. Do you remember saying 
 that ? " 
 
 " Yes, I remember." 
 
 "That was the first evening I met you 
 and loved you." 
 
 " Oh, Claudius ! " 
 
 " All my life through I must have been 
 looking for you." 
 
 " Only two days more. I too — I seem 
 to hear all the clocks in the world ticking 
 out the minutes. Have you no hope at all, 
 dearest ? " 
 
 He smiled. " I have but to break my word, 
 and I am free." 
 
264 TUE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 She shook her head. " You know," she 
 said, " I could not ask that. Is there no other 
 hope ? " 
 
 "So little," he said drearily, "that I had 
 no right " 
 
 " Don't," she broke in impetuously — " Don't 
 say that any more. You must not reproach 
 yourself. You have done right in telling 
 me — I feel it, know it. It cannot go on to — 
 to the conventional end, but it's good that 
 you have loved me even this very little 
 while." 
 
 Away in the distance a church-clock chimed 
 out the hour. Then near at hand they heard 
 the regular turn of oars in the rowlocks ; 
 another boat was approaching ; voices and 
 laughter grew gradually more distinct. 
 Claudius pushed out from the bank. They 
 were not far now from the inn at Deepwater, 
 and he rowed towards it in silence. Angela 
 lay back on the cushions, watching him. 
 
 Beyond the garden of the inn, with its sly, 
 commonplace, sentimental arbours, was an 
 old orchard. They had their coffee brought 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 265 
 
 here after luncheon. Angela sat, playing 
 ^vith her cofFee-cup ; Claudius lying on the 
 ^ grass at her feet, looked up in her eyes and 
 praised her. Their talk was enraptured, 
 full of those endearing words and phrases 
 that lovers use and the rest of the world 
 derides. After a while they spoke of the 
 past, each wanting to know what the other's 
 life had been like. 
 
 " Full of the smallest things," said Angela, 
 " until — until this." 
 
 "Until I loved you," said Claudius, "my 
 life was worthless — not worth what Dr. Lamb 
 gave me for it — not worth anything." 
 
 They praised love — love was the light in 
 life, the stars in the night, the scent in the 
 flowers, the soul in the music. All the truisms 
 come out new when one is living the truth of 
 them. To the dying man Temims fugit is 
 no commonplace. 
 
 As they rose, at last, to go homewards, 
 Claudius took her by the hands and drew 
 her towards him. She half-whispered some- 
 thins — he could not hear the words. 
 
266 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " I love you ! " he cried. " If you knew 
 how I loved you ! " 
 
 " I love you ! " Her gentle voice came like 
 an echo. 
 
 He held her closely in his arms now. Her 
 head fell backward, her eyes fainted, her 
 breathing quickened. He kissed her beautiful 
 mouth. 
 
 Together, in silence, they passed back 
 through the orchard, through the garden, to 
 the inn and the river. 
 
 In the boat, too, for some time they sat in 
 silence. 
 
 " If," said Claudius at last, " by some means 
 — by some means that I cannot foresee now — 
 I can get back my liberty, I shall come back 
 to you. I am bound to you. But you must 
 not think yourself bound to me. You are 
 free." 
 
 She held her little hands together like a 
 chained captive. 
 
 " I shall never be free again," she said ; " I 
 would not be." 
 
 " Will you come to me to-night on the 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 267 
 
 heath ? " said Claudius. " I will be by the 
 white beeches — you remember, where I found 
 you that night when I told you my story — 
 and wait for me there. The time is so short, 
 and I must see you again before the day's 
 over." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I will come to you, 
 Claudius." 
 
 * * * * , 
 
 Once that afternoon Angela had said, " I 
 do not think we need tell any one al:)out this. 
 No one else could understand." 
 
 Lovers love secrecy, and Claudius would 
 fain have given in to her wishes, but he felt 
 that he had no right in this matter. 
 
 " I am afraid," he said, " that you must 
 tell your mother our secret ; but not, of course. 
 Dr. Lamb's." 
 
 Perhaps no one could have understood. 
 Certainly when Angela tried to do as Claudius 
 had said, poor Mrs. Wycherley was mystified 
 extremely. She sympathized. She said that 
 she could have wished for nothing better 
 than an engagement between her daughter 
 
268 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 and Claudius Sandell — who was a kind and 
 honourable gentleman, if Mrs. Wycherley had 
 ever seen one. But was this an engagement ? 
 If not, what was it ? Oh ! couldn't Angela 
 explain a little more ? Angela, on the verge 
 of tears, could not. Mrs. Wycherley there- 
 upon roamed into a wild field of hypothetical 
 explanations on her own account. Some of 
 them sounded likely, some were very wild, 
 and all were quite wrong. Then she became 
 expostulatory. Until this obstacle, whatever 
 it was, was removed, Angela ought really not 
 to see Mr. Sandell. 
 
 "Well, as you have promised, I shall let 
 you go to-night, just for five minutes — or 
 shall we say four ? — well, five then. But, 
 after that, no more — no more at all, until 
 he is free to — to go on as he ought to 
 go on." 
 
 "But, mother," Angela pleaded, "you've 
 told me that you like him and trust him. 
 If I do not see him again after to-night, 
 perhaps I shall never see him again at all, 
 never as long as I live. You can't understand. 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 269 
 
 The difficulty is not any of the things you 
 think — not anything he can escape or alter. 
 If not to-morrow, let me see him on Saturday 
 before he goes. It will only be like saying 
 good-bye to a dying man. Oh, I will be 
 good and do what you tell me, but I'm so 
 unhappy, and — • — " Here Angela, not in- 
 effectively, though the poor child was not 
 acting, burst into tears. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley was sure that she was 
 more distressed than she could express. She 
 blamed herself that it had ever come to this ; 
 and how, she asked, was she to know what 
 to say, when she only wanted to act in the 
 way that was best for Angela? What she 
 said at last was that they would be back in 
 London on Saturday, that Claudius might 
 call on them in Erciston Square on Saturday 
 evening, and Angela should be allowed to 
 see him alone then. 
 
 When they met on the heath that night, 
 Angela told her sorrows breathlessly, and 
 asked what was to be done. 
 
 " I had meant to ask you that," he replied. 
 
270 THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " See — can you read this ? I found it waiting 
 for me when I got back this afternoon — it is 
 from Lady Verrider." 
 
 By the light of the wax match that 
 Claudius held in his hand, Angela read the 
 telegram. 
 
 " Your father wires me nothing wrong with 
 him, but he would like to see you at once. 
 Do please go to him. Am sure it would 
 be best." 
 
 " What does it mean ? " said Angela. " The 
 telegram says that he is not ill." 
 
 " It may mean reconciliation," said Claudius 
 thoughtfully, " or it may mean that the 
 spirits have advised Matilda Comby to send 
 for me. It may mean anything." 
 
 " Claudius, I think you must go to 
 him." 
 
 "Yes, I think so too, now. If I cannot 
 be seeing you, I will go there — indeed, if it 
 does mean reconciliation, I shall be glad to 
 go. I should love to be on good terms with 
 him again before the end. But, Angela, to 
 think that we have only two days left and 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. '271 
 
 that we are to lose almost the whole of 
 them ! " 
 
 " Dear love ! " 
 
 As best they could they comforted each 
 other, yet parted with heavy hearts. 
 
272 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 That niglit, immediately after leaving Angela, 
 Claudius took the train from Guilbridge to 
 London, and then went on by the night-mail 
 north. It was a hideous journey. The man 
 was in a fever, and could not sleep. In 
 following the Wycherleys to Guilbridge, he 
 had acted as those weak fools act who shut 
 their eyes and deceive themselves. It was 
 a bitter reproach to one who had in him the 
 makings of a strong man. He had before 
 him, horribly and vividly, the certainty that 
 he would lose his life, and that life — since 
 now he knew that life meant love — was 
 immeasurably valuable. And above reproaches 
 and above horror, came the exaltation of 
 mutual love. Angela's words seemed to speak 
 themselves again to him. The dawn, coming 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 273 
 
 pale through the carriage windows, seemed 
 to him symbolical of her farawayuess. His 
 life had been like a grey day, working and 
 commonplace ; and its sunset was like the 
 gate of heaven ; and the night was inevitable. 
 
 It was little wonder that he could not 
 sleep. 
 
 A servant in livery was on the platform 
 when he arrived — in a slow local train from 
 the junction — and the carriage was waiting 
 for him, although it had been too late for 
 him to telegraph that he was coming. 
 
 It was a wearisome drive to Sir Constan- 
 tine's place. In the hall he found a servant 
 whom he remembered — the old butler. 
 
 " Yes, sir, Sir Constantine is in very good 
 'ealth, sir. He'd expected you'd come by this 
 train. Well, this is a pleasure, if I may say 
 so, sir." 
 
 Claudius chatted with the old man for a 
 minute or so ; they had always been friends, 
 and it is pleasant to be welcomed. 
 
 " Well, now, Gunning," he said, " what's 
 the news here ? How's Miss Comby ? " 
 
 T 
 
274 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Gunning dropped his voice. " Gone, sir. 
 Went Wednesday night, aft«r telegrams had 
 been comin' and goin'. Marchin' orders, I 
 fancy. And if I might take the liberty, we're 
 all of us — well, we c<in live through the loss 
 of her. We'd a fire, too, last night, while you 
 were in the train. But that you'll hear about, 
 sir, and it's not for me to speak. Breakfast 
 will be ready directly ; but if you'd like to 
 have your bath first " 
 
 Claudius had his bath, and made his way 
 into the dining-room. 
 
 Gunning brought a message that Sir Con- 
 stantine would be down directly, and Claudius 
 was not to wait. Claudius was in love, but 
 he was also physiologically hungry. He had 
 scarcely begun breakfast when the door 
 opened, and Sir Constantine, noticeably well- 
 dressed, with a newspaper in his hand, 
 sauntered into the room. 
 
 Sir Constantine had the face of a di-eamer, 
 poetical eyes, and rather a weak chin ; he 
 had an erratic sense of humour ; his forehead i 
 was developed in a way that showed he was 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 275 
 
 not .such a fool as his chin woukl have had 
 )'ou believe. 
 
 Me shook hands with Claudius, calmly and 
 (|uietly, as if they had parted the night before. 
 Sir Oonstantine had an admirable talent for 
 ignoring anything which he wished to ignore, 
 and it was very soon apparent that he 
 intended to use it. 
 
 " While you were asleep in the train, 
 Claudius," he said, " we were having a little 
 excitement here — a fire. That's why I'm 
 late this morning." 
 
 " Nothing serious, I hope, sir," said 
 Claudius. He had been brought up to 
 address his father in this old-fashioned way. 
 
 " Just a cottage — burned to the ground, 
 and not insured. I dare say it won't ruin 
 us, but still it's a loss, of course." 
 
 " But your private wire to the fire-station 
 in the town 1 " 
 
 " For some reason or other it wouldn't 
 act." 
 
 " That's a pity. Who had the cottage ? " 
 
 "No one at the time. Up till the night 
 
276 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 before it had been occupied by a woman 
 called Comby. You know nothing about 
 her. She did not arrive here until some time 
 after you had left — for your work." 
 
 Claudius opened his eyes wider. Sir Con- 
 stantine quietly repeated this pleasant fiction. 
 Claudius smiled and accepted it. The past 
 Avas to be ignored — or, rather, it was to be 
 altered to suit the taste of Sir Constantine. 
 
 He gave a little more information about 
 Miss Comby. He had thought her a deserving 
 woman who had seen trouljle, with some 
 knowledge of philosophy — " in which, as you 
 know, my boy, I have always taken an 
 interest." He was willinaj to own that he 
 had been deceived. An anonymous letter had 
 arrived — he had telegraphed, and had received 
 teleorams. It was a shocking; — a most de- 
 plorable and shocking case. He " utterly 
 and altogether declined " to go into it. But 
 he might say that the anonymous letter had 
 stated the actual facts, and in consequence 
 the woman had gone. He dwelt with an 
 ill-concealed satisfaction on the fact that in 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 277 
 
 the fire at the cottage the whole of the 
 furniture assigned to Miss Comby's use, and 
 even the books which Sir Constantine had 
 lent her, were completely destroyed. He 
 spoke of a poacher seen lurking about the 
 grounds, but Claudius had little doubt who 
 the incendiary was. 
 
 After breakfast. Sir Constantine took 
 I Claudius round the stables. A pony, he 
 mentioned, had been stolen by gipsies. Then 
 I they wandered out into the paddock. At the 
 end of the paddock was a disused slate quarry, 
 deeply excavated, and fenced off some distance 
 from its edge. Sir Constantine climbed over 
 the fence, and Claudius followed ; under a 
 tree Claudius saw a neat little governess-cart 
 with a set of plated harness, the cushions, a 
 rug, and a little clock, lying in it. 
 
 " What is that doing here, sir ? " Claudius 
 asked with some surprise. 
 
 Sir Constantine chose to misunderstand the 
 question. 
 
 " What is that ? Oh, that's the cart that 
 Miss Comby used to drive ! " He picked up 
 
278 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 the shafts, " Neat little thing, isn't it ? 
 Runs so lightly." 
 
 He pushed it from him. There was a loud 
 crash from a projecting jagged ledge, and a 
 splash in the deep water in the pit Lelow. 
 The cart had gone over. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " Claudius exclaimed. 
 
 "Careless of me," said Sir Constantine. 
 "Really, very careless." He fumhled for his 
 cigarette papers. 
 
 " We'd Ijetter send a man to see after it," 
 said Claudius. 
 
 " Not worth while." They retraced their 
 steps to the house. The fire — the theft of the 
 pony — the accident to the cart — were all 
 perfectly obvious. Sir Constantine would 
 not allow one trace of Miss Comby to 
 remain, 
 
 " By the way," said Sir Constantine, " as 
 that woman displeased me, it might be as 
 well if her name were not mentioned. In fact, 
 I utterly and altogether decline to have her 
 name mentioned in my presence." 
 
 " Very well, sir." 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 279 
 
 "And now what about yourself? You w^U 
 be here sometimes, I hope ? " 
 
 Then came rather a difficult part for 
 Claudius. There was so very little about 
 himself that he could tell. It was unfortunate, 
 but he would have to return to London almost 
 at once — he was leaving- England on Sunday. 
 
 " You will not be away for long ? " 
 
 "I do not really know exactly. It does 
 not depend entirely on me." 
 
 " Yes, your work," said Sir Constantine, 
 vaguely. " A man ought to be able to support 
 himself by his work — even if it is not necessary 
 it increases his self-respect. I am glad to see 
 you a capaljle man. I reverence capacity. 
 You used to have, I remember, a tendency 
 tow^ards — er — writing." 
 
 " I have written a novel," said Claudius. 
 " It has been accepted, and will be published — 
 and that will be the end of it." 
 
 " Let us hope not. From what I know of 
 your abilities, speaking frankly, I do not think 
 your novel will l)e either good enough or 1)ad 
 enougli for a complete failure. But a novel — 
 
280 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 I could have wished it had been a philosophical 
 work." 
 
 " I have not the knowledsje." 
 
 " Nor I — nor I. But I am taking a great 
 interest in it. I have gone back to my Greek. 
 Aristotle is very difficult — so is Plato. I 
 employ the classical master at the grammar 
 school here three evenings in a week, and 
 I also use translations. That is, I have 
 arranged for the classical master and the trans- 
 lations. I only began on Wednesday. But 
 yesterday — though I had other things to think 
 about — I gave some hours to the subject, and 
 I already have the idea. The Socratic gospel 
 — the gospel according to Socrates — in that 
 lies the only real consolation." 
 
 He warmed to his newly-acquired pet. 
 
 " Not only for the man of education," he 
 went on. " The Socratic gospel is universal. 
 The bricklayer may leave his crude salva- 
 tionism. The hysterical woman " — he said it 
 without the least sio;n of embarrassment — 
 " may leave her silly spiritualistic nonsense. 
 The gospel according to Socrates is the gospel 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 281 
 
 of the future. It may fall to my lot to present 
 it in English — in a popular form. It would be 
 an honourable work. On the title-page, " The 
 Gospel of Socrates. Translated, arranged, and 
 edited for the use of the English-speaking 
 races by " 
 
 And so he went on, galloping his latest 
 conviction into the land of nowhere. It was 
 half sad and half ridiculous. But the son had 
 known the father for so long now that the 
 exposition neither depressed him nor amused 
 him. It was his father as he had always 
 known him — and now once more his good 
 friend. 
 
 Sir Constantine showed very little curiosity. 
 He took it for granted that Claudius would 
 come to see him again — in two or three 
 months, or possibly later. Claudius did not 
 undeceive him. That could be better done 
 by letter, at the last moment. 
 
 On the station platform a few minutes 
 before the train came in by which Claudius 
 was to return, Sir Constantine remarked 
 hesitatingly that Claudius looked well — fairly, 
 
282 THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 
 
 only fairly, well-dressed, but well-fed, com- 
 fortable. He was very pleased to see it. 
 By this route he arrived at what he wanted 
 to say. 
 
 " But all the same, my boy, I don't want 
 you to be absolutely dependent on your 
 work — your novels — for the comforts and 
 necessities of life. Now I find from my 
 bankers that there has lieen a very grave 
 irregularity in paying you your allowance : 
 in fact, for some little time it has not been 
 paid. Even the best of banks seem to make 
 silly mistakes and misinterpret orders some-' 
 times. Now I must have my wishes carried 
 out, and I have made this arrangement. I 
 have made over to you the sum of ten 
 thousand pounds. It's invested, and I shouldn't 
 alter the investment if I were you. But the 
 money is yours absolutely, and if you ever 
 had any pressing need for a large sum you 
 could of course realize. The interest will be 
 paid into your account at the bank. Strellan, 
 old Strellan, arranged it for me. He thought 
 it the best plan." 
 
 i 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 283 
 
 Strellan was Sir Constantine's country 
 solicitor, and his opinion of Sir Constantine's 
 plans was generally complimentary. 
 
 " Here's your train," the old man went on. 
 " Now take this " — he drew an envelope from 
 his pocket and handed it to Claudius — " it's 
 the particulars about the money. Certainly 
 not — I absolutely and altogether decline to 
 be thanked. Merely my duty, and at the 
 same time my pleasure." 
 
 He shook Claudius warmly by the hand, 
 and, without waiting a moment longer hurried 
 from the station, as if escaping from the 
 consequences of a shameful act. 
 
 Claudius found in his travelling-bag, placed 
 there by his father's hand, a volume of Grote's 
 History of Greece, with certain passages 
 marked. On the fly-leaf was scrawled an 
 injunction to him to read the book on his 
 journey and post it back when he arrived. 
 
284 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Saturday morning was, fortunately for 
 Claudius, full of business. There were 
 arranojements to be made, bills to be settled, 
 and a really good solicitor to be persuaded to 
 do something in a hurry — and the really good 
 dislike hurry. He had to call at the bank and 
 at the publishers, he had a score of trifles that 
 needed his attention. So far he had preserved 
 appearances well. On his journey north and 
 on his return he had spoken and acted in 
 a normal way, had forgotten nothing, given 
 no sim of absent-mindedness, allowed no rail- 
 way porter or chance travelling companion 
 even the vague idea that there must be "some- 
 thing the matter." He had gone successfully 
 through the ordeal of meeting with his father 
 and parting from him. But this morning it 
 was different. Every business act was a great 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 285 
 
 effort to him ; continually he had to recall his 
 thoughts and to concentrate his attention. 
 Sometimes he would find that he had forgotten 
 to say something of importance, and sometimes 
 that he had repeated some needless common- 
 place — a remark on the weather, for instance — 
 two or three times. But the flicker of a 
 suppressed smile on the face of the man who 
 happened to be talking with him at the time 
 gave him no annoyance. The same thing that 
 made him capable of small mistakes made him 
 incapable of small annoyances. The excite- 
 ment overmastered him — the excitement of 
 love returned yet hopeless, of fortune gained 
 yet worthless, of life continued yet worse 
 than death, of fate laughing and the end 
 near. 
 
 Two letters had reached him that morning 
 at his London hotel by the first post, one — 
 how often he had read it ! — was from Angela. 
 Early on Friday morning Mrs. Wycherley had 
 telegraphed to her husband, and he had come 
 at once. First he had seen Mrs. Wycherley 
 alone ; then he had called Angela down and 
 
286 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 taken her out in the garden with him. He 
 had seemed serious, but not in the least angry 
 with her ; on the contrary, he had never been 
 kinder. He had questioned her, but there 
 had been some questions which she had to tell 
 him she could not answer. Indeed, she had 
 not told him very much. After that, he had 
 left for London. Angela had heard him say, 
 " I shall certainly call upon Lady Verrider 
 this afternoon." She quoted another remark 
 of his, " It's a case, I think, for a man of 
 business and plain common sense, and I am 
 that and very little else." At the end he had 
 tried to cheer Angela up, and told her that 
 all might be well. He could not say for 
 certain, but he thought the case was not quite 
 hopeless, if Claudius could be got to listen to 
 reason. Her little budget of news, told — poor 
 child ! — somewhat incoherently, occupied but a 
 little of her long letter. The rest was quite 
 sacred, and quite human, and to Claudius 
 most lovely, and priceless, and sad. 
 
 The second letter, which was from Mr 
 Wycherley, ran as follows : — 
 
the octave of claudius. 287 
 
 " My dear Mr. Sandell, 
 
 " I intend to call at your hotel to- 
 morrow (Saturday) afternoon at five, and take 
 my chance of finding you. I know that you 
 will naturally be much occupied, but I hope 
 you will be able to spare a few minutes in 
 which to see me. 
 
 " I am far from thinking that you have acted, 
 to say the least of it, with discretion. But 
 I do not want you to suppose that I am calling 
 in order to l^lame you or oppose you. The 
 happiness of my only child is very dear to mc, 
 and any obstacle to that must be removed 
 if I can remove it. Believe me, I am only 
 anxious to secure what you yourself must 
 wish. I may be able to help you, and I hope 
 you will let me try. From the little that 
 I have been able to learn, I think that my 
 business experience may be of service to you." 
 
 The letter presented Mr. Wycherley to 
 Claudius as the very image of the completely 
 kind father on the utterly wrong tack ; but 
 of course, he determined to see him. 
 
288 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 He wished first to see Lady Verrider, but 
 the business of the morning prolonged itself 
 into the afternoon, and it was after four before 
 he arrived at her house. Lady Verrider paced 
 the room. She was beautifully dressed and 
 quite furious, angry and affectionate by 
 turns, and the more angry because she was 
 really fond of him. He had to listen to 
 tirades. 
 
 "What did I tell you ? What did I warn 
 you ? I knew what would happen — what was 
 bound to happen — if you went to Guilbridge. 
 Oh I know that devout lover type so well ! 
 It's going to love in silence, and it never does. 
 It's going to worship from afar, and it always 
 insists on propinquity. It is determined to 
 be content with very little, and it never is. 
 And if it's good-looking (as I suppose you are) 
 and takes trouble (as I know you did), it may 
 manage to make some poor girl love it and 
 confess her love. Then the devout lover raises 
 his hat politely and says good morning, and 
 how sorry he is that it can never be, and he 
 had never dreamed that it would come to that, 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 289 
 
 and he is not worthy, and so on. Then he 
 walks off. Pretty figure, isn't he ? " 
 
 " My dear lady, I am not that cur exactly. 
 I told Ans^ela from the first that the rest of 
 my life was not mine. Then the time was so 
 short — ^just a few days — it did not seem 
 possible that any harm could happen. Angela 
 was, and is, so far beyond me that I did not 
 suppose " 
 
 " No, you devout lovers never do suppose 
 that any perfectly ordinary thing can possibly 
 happen. But why did you say that you loved 
 her — why did you tell her ? " 
 
 "My God!" said Claudius, with sudden 
 passion. '' Do you ask me that ? Have you 
 never been in love ? " 
 
 "Yes, I was in love with the man I m^arried. 
 That is one of the reasons why I am so sorry 
 for the poor girls who are made to fall in love 
 with the men that they can never marry." 
 
 " I dare say," said Claudius, " that you will 
 tell me that it is the usual formula of the 
 devout lover ; but I can only say again that 
 I did not expect what happened." 
 
290 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Of course," Lady Verrider continued, " I 
 know in my heart that you don't deserve what 
 I say to you. But I am angry and miserable. 
 You are not a cur, I almost wish you were. 
 What I am afraid of in you is your silly, 
 out-of-date, romantic, high-falutin chivalry. 
 Nothinoj but that, I am convinced, could have 
 got you into your present impossible position. 
 I have been talking to Mr. Wycherley — a 
 very sensible little man. He quite agrees 
 with me." 
 
 There was a pause, and then Lady Verrider 
 asked quickly — 
 
 "You went to see your father — are you 
 reconciled ? " 
 
 " No formal reconciliation took place. The 
 past was ignored — you know his way. But 
 we are on the best of terms. He insisted on 
 giving me money — ten thousand." 
 
 " And you also made a small fortune by 
 speculation, I am told." 
 
 " Yes, I made some money." 
 
 "And your novel has been accepted, and 
 Angela would marry you. And just at this 
 
THE OCTAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 291 
 
 point you disappear, and will not explain 
 why." 
 
 " I cannot explain it to you. I have told 
 Angela, and she will tell no one." 
 
 " Will you tell me one little thing? You 
 say that your life has been disposed of. To 
 whom ? Who is this mysterious man in the 
 background ? His name, please — ^just his real 
 name and nothing more. Tell me that, and 
 the rest I will manage for myself." 
 
 " I know you ask it from the kindest 
 motives. I am ashamed not to be able to 
 tell you. If the secret were all my own, it 
 should be yours too, and at once. But it is 
 not only mine. I cannot tell you." 
 
 "Oh, I give it up ! It is killing me — I am 
 absolutely miserable." 
 
 " I am sorry indeed," said Claudius, " that 
 I should distress you in this way." 
 
 She stood before the mantelpiece, moving 
 little objects on it restlessly. 
 
 " Mind you," she added, suddenly, " you 
 will find j\Ir. Wycherley far more deter- 
 mined." 
 
292 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " That may be. I am to see him — almost 
 directly. I must be going." 
 
 " He has certain rights now. You have 
 given him those rights — yes, I am glad you 
 told Angela — and you cannot get over them." 
 
 " Dear Lady Verrider, don't speak as if I 
 wanted to get over them. I'm not a natural 
 martyr. I'm longing to he free and happy. 
 My wishes are just the same as yours and 
 Wycherley's. If without knowing the cir- 
 cumstances — and I cannot tell him them — he 
 can show me a possible solution, I shall 
 welcome it." 
 
 Then Claudius said good-bye. He assured 
 Lady Verrider that he would do all he could, 
 and reminded her that some unforeseen chance 
 might possibly favour him. But she would 
 not be assured. She had a presentiment, she 
 said, that she would never see him again. 
 
 Claudius found Mr. Wycherley at the hotel. 
 " How is Angela ? " Claudius asked eagerly. 
 
 " She is very unhappy," the little man 
 replied simply. He was rather nervous at 
 first, observed that the rain still kept off 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 293 
 
 inquired as to the health of Sir Constantine, 
 fidgetted with his hat ; then he put down the 
 hat, seated himself, wiped his forehead, and 
 plunged — 
 
 " Now, Mr. Sandell, you know that I have 
 seen my wife and daughter. Jessica is, you 
 may have noticed it, a little inclined to be 
 vague. If I may put it so, she never seems 
 actually to know anything about anything. 
 I'm not finding fault with her for it, you'll 
 understand. It's in her nature, and we're 
 none of us perfect. I mention it, to account 
 for any mistakes I have made in forming my 
 idea of the situation. Angela is fax more 
 clear in her statements, but she will not go 
 beyond a certain point. She could tell, but 
 won't. My wife would, but can't. Will 
 you let me question you — somewhat plainly 
 — that I may correct myself where I am 
 wrong ! " 
 
 " Ask anything, and plainly as you will. I 
 will tell you all that I can." 
 
 " You love my daughter, and would marry 
 her ? " 
 
294 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The simple answer was as effective as a 
 more fervent protest. 
 
 " But after to-niglit you cease to be your 
 own master ? Of the remainder of your life 
 some disposition was made before you met 
 Angela ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I have known young men — good fellows, 
 really — make for themselves unending trouble. 
 Youth, hot blood, and ignorance — they do a 
 deal of harm. Pardon me, but is there — is 
 there another woman in the case ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Has there been some previous — er ? " 
 
 " Nothing, nothing. I have never loved, 
 nor ever shall love, any one else." 
 
 " I believe you. Indeed, you tell me what 
 I expected, but I wanted to be quite sure. 
 That finishes with woman. We come to 
 money." 
 
 Claudius handed Mr. Wycherley some memo- 
 randa and letters — one dated that day from 
 the bank. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS, 295 
 
 " No, no, no ! " protested Mr. Wycherley. 
 " It's not necessary." 
 
 " I would rather," said Claudius. 
 
 Mr. Wycherley examined, and his face fell. 
 " If all this money will not h.e\^, then the case 
 is bad indeed." 
 
 " No amount of money could help. The 
 case is bad indeed. I want you also to read 
 this. It is my will — by which I leave all un- 
 conditionally to iVngela. My solicitors arc 
 also acting as my executors, and I am just 
 returning it to them." 
 
 Mr. Wycherley stared at the carpet. " God 
 help her ! " w^as all he said. 
 
 " I knew it was nothing," said Claudius, 
 after a pause. " All that I can do now is 
 nothing. I shall not, at least, die happily." 
 
 " Die ? Die ? " exclaimed Mr. Wycherley, 
 suddenly. " Then you expect to die ? Is 
 that so — is it — is it ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you." 
 
 " But I think you have told me. You leave 
 me to work in the dark. You won't show me 
 the reason, the motive. If it had been woman 
 
2m THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 1 could have helped you, for I was once young. 
 If it had been money I could have helped 
 you, for I am now old. It seems that it's 
 neither. But I have worked in the dark 
 before. In the City — I needn't go into it — 
 but I have had to play the game when I did 
 not know what the game was, or where it 
 would end. But as I have gone on, I have 
 found a glimmer here and a glimmer there, 
 until at last there was lio-ht enoug;h. I'm 
 going to work in the dark now, for already, 
 Mr. Sandell, I've seen the glimmer — ^just the 
 faintest. Now you said that I might question 
 you, tell me under what compulsion you 
 agreed that within a few days you would 
 sacrifice your life ? " 
 
 " I did not guess at the time " Claudius 
 
 paused. 
 
 " Go on ! Go on ! " said Mr. Wycherley, 
 excitedly ; " you say that you did not guess 
 at the time that there was an actual peril of 
 life. However, you know it now. Go on ! 
 
 " There was no compulsion whatever. I 
 was broken down at that time, and did not 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 297 
 
 think that my life could ever have any value 
 for me." 
 
 " But why to this man ? Why give it to 
 him ? " 
 
 " Mr. Wycherley, it's no use," said Claudius. 
 *' I beg you not to ask me any more questions. 
 I've had no sleep, and I'm worn out. I can't 
 think clearly, and I can't trust myself to talk. 
 I'm so afraid of telling you things unin 
 tentionally, which I am hound in honour not 
 to tell. Don't think me ungrateful — I am 
 not that. You have been very kind to me 
 when you might with justice have been only 
 very angry." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Wycherley ; " you look 
 tired and ill — I had noticed that. I won't 
 question you any further. On the contrary, 
 instead of asking for an explanation I will 
 give you one. I'm nothing much, you know, 
 only a business man. But Angela is — is a 
 good deal to me. I can't see the rest of her 
 life spoiled, and I won't do it. Nor will I let 
 you be murdered, because from some sense of 
 honour (which as a business man I can't 
 
298 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 understand) you feel yourself bound by a con- 
 tract of a nature which the law doesn't allow. 
 I've not been angry with you, though you were 
 in the wrong to go to Gruilbridge in the first 
 place — once there, the rest was inevitable. 
 Now, you must not be angry with me if I 
 should seem afterwards to have interfered 
 with you, for I am going on working." 
 
 "How? In what way?" 
 
 " It is my turn to say that I cannot tell 
 you." 
 
 Claudius thought for a few moments. " You 
 are justified," he said. " Mr. Wycherley, there 
 is one more thing to say. I must tell you 
 how sorry I am. The worst that I have to 
 bear is that Angela should suffer ; I never 
 dreamed that she would come to care for me. 
 My days were so few — I thought the joy and 
 the sorrow of it would be mine alone. And 
 now, when I think of it, and how you and 
 her mother love her, I see that I have done 
 the worst thing I ever did in my life. I have 
 done a terrible thing that will weigh me down 
 to the end. Ano;ela will not let me ask for 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 299 
 
 forgiveness, and will not bear that there is 
 anything to forgive. You know how^ much 
 there is." 
 
 " I won't say there's nothing to forgive," 
 said Mr. Wycherley. And then very simply 
 and kindly he held out his hand. "But it's 
 all right, Claudius. I believe you're a good 
 fellow — I couldn't have wished for a better 
 for Angela. I should be a harder man than 
 I am if I couldn't forgive you now. I see 
 how^ you're placed- -if you're to be saved, it 
 must be in spite of yourself, and in spite of 
 you I'm going on working. When you come 
 to-night to say good-bye to Angela, remember 
 that she takes things hard. Don't let her 
 think that it's the last time— that she'll never 
 see you again. You understand, of course." 
 
 "Perfectly. Thank you, thank you very 
 much." 
 
 It was arranged between them that Claudius 
 was to call at Erciston Square at nine o'clock 
 that night. He was to see Ano-ela alone, and 
 only Angela. 
 
 Mr. Wycherley was no sooner outside the 
 
•600 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 hotel than his work began ; and he was not, 
 he thought, working so completely in the 
 dark now. He remembered all that he had 
 heard from his wife, from Angela, from Lady 
 Verrider, from Claudius himself He pieced 
 his information together rapidly, and formed 
 his conjectures. The commissionaire called 
 a cab for him. 
 
 " Where to, sir ? " the man asked. 
 
 "Ludgate Circus," said Mr. Wycherley. 
 
 From Ludgate Circus Mr. Wycherley had 
 not far to go to the office of Mr, Abraham 
 Penny's Detective Agency. It was after six 
 on Saturday night, but that office knows no 
 hours. His business was simplicity itself. A 
 young gentleman (description given) would 
 arrive at Mr. Wycherley's house at nine 
 o'clock that night. He would leave it for 
 some other house before twelve, for he had 
 to be at this other house by twelve. Mr. 
 Wycherley wished to know where this other 
 house was, who its occupants were, and — and 
 all that could be discovered about them, in 
 fact. Mr. Wycherley would like a report to 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 301 
 
 this effect to he on his breakfast-table on 
 Sunday morning, and would then send further 
 instructions ; until these were received, a close 
 watch by night and day was to be kept on 
 that other house, and every movement of that 
 young gentleman or of the occupants of the 
 house was to be followed and reported to 
 Mr. "Wycherley at once ; and Mr. Wycherley 
 hoped that there would be no difficulty. 
 
 "Difficulty?" said the assistant manager. 
 '•' It's the ABC. We see the young gentle- 
 man go into your house, and follow him when 
 he comes out. You shall hear from us by 
 eleven on Sunday morniug, and anything tliat 
 turns up further as the day goes on. You 
 don't want the young gentleman or his com- 
 panions to suspect that they're shadowed, and 
 you'd like the thing to be done thoroughly ? " 
 
 " Quite so. Put your best men on to it, 
 and don't spare expense. Want a cheque in 
 advance, or a reference ? " 
 
 " Not from you, sir," said the assistant 
 manager, and thereby showed his astute- 
 ness ; and he showed it further by not 
 
302 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 putting his best men on to do work which the 
 less good could do equally well. 
 
 Mr. Wycherley was well pleased. He had 
 common sense, and had proved it. As he 
 entered the omnibus that would take him 
 nearest to Erciston Square, he smiled upon 
 his achievement. But common sense is not 
 the gift of prophecy, and Mr. Wycherley 
 little knew what the next few hours were to 
 bring forth. 
 
 " How is Angela ? " he asked his wife as 
 soon as he got home. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley was troubled and tremulous. 
 
 " She doesn't cry any more — not since this 
 morning. She seems to me to try to talk of 
 other things, and cheer me up, and there's 
 nothing lireaks me down more than that, 
 coming from her. Takes nothing — a biscuit 
 and a glass of wine that I insisted upon, but 
 nothing more. So she won't be down to 
 dinner. You saw Mr. San dell ? What have 
 you done ? " 
 
 " I saw him, and I have done the right 
 thing. Go and tell Angela that Claudius will 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 303 
 
 come to say good-bye to her at nine to-night, 
 that I have been doing what I can, and have 
 good reason to hope that Qaudius will not be 
 away long." 
 
 " But — one moment — before I go, "What 
 have you really done "? " 
 
 " Don't tell Angela, for she'd tell Claudius, 
 and he must not know, or it would spoil all." 
 
 "Not a word." 
 
 "I've put it in the hands of Abraham 
 Penny." 
 
 " Penny — what Penny ? " 
 
 " Private detective." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 And then was Mrs. Wycherley greatly com- 
 forted and refreshed. For, like most really 
 good women, she had a faith in private 
 detectives that never reasoned wh}', and could 
 not be justified by facts. 
 
304 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 There was a little l)ack sitting-room in the 
 house in Ereiston Square which had been 
 known in the Wycherleys' earlier days as the 
 library. Angela had objected that there were 
 no books in it, and that therefore it was not 
 a library. So Mrs. Wycherley, who could see 
 a point very well when her attention was 
 directed to it, decided that it should be called 
 the breakfast-room, and issued a solemn 
 kitchen decree to that effect. There were 
 relapses into the use of the word "library" 
 on the part of the housemaid — a creature of 
 habit ; Mrs. Wycherley took a strong line, 
 and the weeping maiden obtained a fixed 
 idea that the use of the word " library " was 
 indecent. So the breakf^ist-room triumphed, 
 and was securely established. Nobody ever 
 breakfasted there, of course. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 305 
 
 It was in this room, lit by two red-shaded 
 candles on the mantelpiece, that Claudius 
 said good-bye to Angela. The dim rose light 
 was kind to her pale face. Claudius had 
 no longer any hope at all in his own heart. 
 Mr. Wycherley might attempt something : it 
 did not much matter what he attempted ; 
 Claudius knew that Dr. Lamb would be clever 
 enough to foresee that some such attempt 
 might be made, and clever enough to check- 
 mate it. Yet he spoke to Angela as if he 
 would come back, perhaps, and she, too, spoke 
 as one who hoped. Then at times a hard 
 look of horror came into her soft eyes, and 
 both were very careful not to raise the question 
 of the purpose for which Dr. Ga])riel Lamb 
 needed Claudius Sandell. 
 
 " Kemember," said Claudius, " that as 
 long as I live I shall always be loving 
 you." 
 
 " But not to hear you say it any more ! " 
 cried Angela. " If that should be ! " 
 
 " It can't be. It can't end like this." 
 
 " Oh, Claudius, dear love, what shall I do ? 
 
306 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Tell me what I shall do ? How shall I wait 
 for you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Wycherley had quite realized that this 
 was ciii emotional hour in her house, and that 
 for the sake of others she must bear up. To 
 that end she took a glass of coca-wine, and 
 found it a broken reed. The poor, silly affec- 
 tionate woman loved her beautiful daughter so 
 dearly that the thought of Angela's unhappi- 
 ness made composure impossible. She was in 
 her bedroom now% with her cap off, all sobs 
 and sal volatile. The undignified love as much 
 as the dignified. This idea of an emotional 
 hour, this sense that there was sorrow in the 
 house, had even permeated into the basement. 
 Cook sniffed. The housemaid (the one who 
 never said " library " now) observed : " It's my 
 Sunday out to-morrow, but I shan't take it " 
 — a dark saying, a vague, well-meant effort to 
 get into keeping with the general atmosphere. 
 Mr. AVycherley sat bolt upright in a straight- 
 backed chair in the drawing-room. He held 
 the Times in his hands, and thought he was 
 reading it, and his face was solemn. He was 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 307 
 
 ready — ready and waiting. He would hear 
 the breakfast-room door open and shut, and 
 the front door open and shut, and the carriage 
 drive away : and at that moment he would 
 emerge with a most cheerful smile and take 
 the broken, crying Angela into his arms, and 
 he would say, " Don't fret, Angela. It's all 
 right. I couldn't tell you before, but I have 
 taken this in hand myself, 1 have. To-morrow 
 morning you shall have news of Claudius. I 
 promise it. I absolutely promise it." That 
 would surely do some good. 
 
 Her parents had entrusted Angela with 
 comforting messages for Claudius and with 
 their farewells. The messages were easily 
 delivered : the rest was difficult. 
 
 " And as they will not see you to-night, and 
 it may be long before they see you again, they 
 asked me to say — Oh, Claudius, I don't want 
 to say good-bye ! " 
 
 Her breast heaved and her lips trembled. 
 Claudius drew her to him and kissed her again 
 and again. Neither of them spoke any more 
 now until the moment when Claudius left the 
 
3C8 THK OCTAVE OB^ CLAUDIUS. 
 
 house. He could hardly see, his head swam, 
 he staggered like a man that has been 
 druo-o-ed. 
 
 Hardly had he flung himself back in his 
 carriage before he fell asleep. Nature was 
 exhausted. He did not wake until the carriage 
 entered the drive before Dr. Lamb's house. 
 Waking, he wondered where he was, for he 
 had dreamed that he was back at home. Then 
 he remembered. He pulled out his watch and 
 glanced at the time. It still wanted ten 
 minutes to twelve. 
 
 He got out, and just as he w\as on the point 
 of ringing the bell, paused, changed his mind, 
 and turned round. 
 
 " You can put my portmanteau down," he 
 said ; " you needn't wait." 
 
 " Very good, sir," the man replied. 
 
 There were still a few minutes of freedom 
 left. Claudius clung to them. 
 
 The coachman hesitated before driving off. 
 Claudius had been very liberal — after all it 
 might be as well to mention what he had 
 noticed. 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 303 
 
 " I beg your pardon/'[]ie said, " but I'm not 
 sure if you know we've been followed ? " 
 
 " Followed 1 " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I noticed a hansom hanging 
 about when I was waiting in Erciston Square. 
 As soon as I drove off the cab followed. It 
 kept behind me all the way, and when I 
 turned in here, went on a few yards and then 
 stopped. It's there now." 
 
 " Any one in the cab ? " 
 
 " Two men, sir. I only got a glimpse. 
 Common-looking they seemed." 
 
 " Thanks. You were quite right to tell 
 me, though I don't know that it's of much 
 importance." 
 
 The carriage drove off. Claudius stood 
 beside his luggage with his watch in his hand. 
 After all, then, he supposed. Dr. Lamb had 
 not trusted him, and had put detectives on to 
 follow him. The black shrubberies stood out 
 clear against the pale sky ; a breath of wind 
 woke and rustled and fell ao;ain. All was 
 absolutely still. In a moment Claudius put 
 his watch back in his pocket and rang the bell ; 
 
310 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 tlie sound spoke out, resonant, far back in the 
 house. 
 
 And immediately the door opened, almost 
 before tlie bell sounded. It was opened 
 slowly, and not to the full extent — not as 
 Francis opened it. Mrs. Lamb stood there. 
 She was bare-footed, and in her nightdress ; 
 her hair hung loose about her shoulders ; her 
 eyes were wild and roaming ; she spoke in a 
 horrible whisper. 
 
 " I've been waiting liehind the door for 
 you. I got up and crept out, and they 
 never knew." 
 
 She shivered in the chill night air. Behind 
 her was a chaos of packing-cases. The carpets 
 were up in the hall and on the stairs. The 
 house looked naked. A gas-jet flared without 
 a globe. 
 
 " Mrs. Lamb," Claudius began. He was 
 going to persuade her to go in, poor mad 
 woman, but she would not let him speak. 
 
 " There is no time. Listen quickly, before 
 they come and take me. I have lieen sent by 
 Heaven to save you. You are to go away at 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 311 
 
 once, and you must never come here again." 
 She pointed to the passage that led to the 
 study and laboratory. " Gabriel's in there — 
 not the angel Gabriel, but the devil Gabriel. 
 He's getting ready to kill you, sharpening 
 knives. Every night I can hear him sharpen 
 knives, though he does not want me to hear. 
 Always sharpening knives. It goes like this 
 — b-r-r-r-r — b-r-r-r-r." She made a hideous 
 guttural imitation of the sound of a grindstone. 
 At the same moment a door opened, and a 
 woman in a plaid dressing-gown came out. 
 She had a cloak over one arm, and she said 
 quietly, " Mrs. Lamb, you must come back 
 to bed." Hilda Lamb flung herself down on 
 the floor of the hall, kicking and screaming. 
 The nurse was a big woman, with a not un- 
 kindly face. She would not let Claudius help 
 her, and indeed she needed no help ; her 
 strength was enormous. She wrapped JMrs. 
 Lamb in the cloak, lifted her and carried 
 her off. Then Claudius saw that the servant 
 Francis was standing waiting at the further 
 end of the hall. 
 
312 THE OCTAVE UF CLAUDTUS. 
 
 He now came forward, greeted Claudius 
 respectfully, and hegan to carry in the 
 luggage. 
 
 " Dr. Lamb is in the study, sir," he said. 
 
 " My dear Sandell,"said the doctor, cordially, 
 coming forward as Sandell entered, "welcome 
 to a half-empty and exceedingly uncomfortable 
 home. I trust that you have been enjoying 
 yourself in your absence." 
 
 Claudius shook hands mechanically, thanked 
 him mechanically, and sat down. 
 
 "The octave is over. Lusisti satis — how 
 does it go ? Tempus ahire tihi est. You will 
 notice the preparations for departure every- 
 where here. Indeed, had all been well, we 
 should have gone aboard the yacht on Sun- 
 day afternoon. But there has been a sudden 
 change in my wife's mental condition. I'm 
 afraid that when you came in just now you 
 heard " 
 
 " I saw Mrs. Lam1). The nurse took her 
 back into her room. Believe me, I am very 
 sorry." 
 
 " Well, this change, though not uninterest- 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 313 
 
 ing from one point of view, is, of course, 
 exceedingly sad, and it has altered my plans 
 slightly. My wife cannot possil)ly come with 
 us now, and I have not yet finished the 
 arrangements for her remainino; in Enp'land. 
 It may be Monday before we can start." 
 
 " AVhere are we going ? " 
 
 " Sandell, I own you now. I do not want 
 to insist on that ownership more than is 
 necessary for my purpose, and I cannot bring 
 myself to give you an order like a servant. 
 But I ask you, for your own sake, not to put 
 questions to me about the future. Do not 
 ask me where my yacht will take you. Do not 
 ask what I am going to do with you." 
 
 Sandell looked the doctor straight in the 
 eyes. 
 
 " I know very well what you are going to 
 do with me," he said. 
 
 "You believe," said the doctor, "that I 
 intend to use you for the subject of experiment. 
 And yet you keep your word — well, I was sure 
 you would." 
 
 " You were sure I " Claudius said. " Yet I 
 
314 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 have been followed 1)y your detectives to-inglit 
 right up to your house." 
 
 " My good Sandell, I have never employed 
 a private detective in my life. I should think 
 it dishonourable, and it has the additional 
 disadvantage of being almost always useless — 
 they are far from clever, that class, as a rule. 
 At the same time I can readily believe that 
 you were followed here, and that you are being 
 shadowed now. I can believe that there may 
 be some one in London who has sufficient 
 interest in you to be suspicious of your 
 mysterious disappearance at a time when I 
 understand you have every reason for not dis- 
 appearing. Is that not so ? " 
 
 Claudius remembered that Mr. Wycherley 
 had said that he would work on his own 
 account and in the dark. He saw it all now. 
 
 " I think you are right — I did you an 
 injustice. I believe I know now who sent 
 them. I have no doubt he believed he was 
 acting in my interests, but it was done with- 
 out my knowledge and authority. I should 
 not have thought that I had any right to 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 315 
 
 interfere with you in that way. Shall I tell 
 you who I think sent them ? " 
 
 " No," said the doctor, " I don't think his 
 name would interest me. He can do nothing, 
 of course. His very smart people will hardly 
 come aboard my yacht. They're amusing to 
 watch for a short time, but I don't propose to 
 allow them to take a voyage with me." 
 
 " Sandell," the doctor added, after a pause 
 in which Claudius had not replied to him, " you 
 look very tired and broken-down. You are 
 also very depressed. I will not keep you here 
 much longer, for you need sleep. But there is 
 one thing I want to say. You have done me 
 one injustice to-night (perfectly trivial, as it 
 happened), and I am afraid that you also do 
 me another injustice. You doubt my humanity. 
 There was a time when you regarded me 
 as a good Samaritan ; you now regard me as 
 a murdering devil. The reaction has set in, 
 and, possibly, it has been assisted by the chatter 
 of that mad woman. I heard her talking to 
 you. Now I cannot let you suspect my 
 humanity, and partly for that reason, and 
 
316 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 partly because I really trust you, I will change 
 my mind and tell you wliat I have arranged. 
 You are, of course, to be the subject of ex- 
 periment." 
 
 Claudius Sandell looked steadily and con- 
 temptuously at the doctor. 
 
 "I do not mean it in any offensive sense," 
 the doctor continued, " when I say that you 
 are of no practical use to me for any other 
 purpose. I value your good opinion as I am 
 now showing, and have always found you a 
 most pleasant and interesting companion." 
 
 " If I were not yours absolutely, and had 
 any right to suggest, I should suggest that 
 we pass over this part." 
 
 " My dear fellow, do not be so humble 
 or so bad-tempered. I am not Legree in 
 ' Uncle Tom's Cabin.' You can suggest any- 
 thing you like, and be sure that your sugges- 
 tions will always be considered with respect, 
 and adopted wherever it is possible. I do not 
 bask and revel in villainy, and for the purposes 
 of melodrama I am useless. Your attitude 
 towards me hurts me. For days and nights I 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 317 
 
 have been planning how to make everything 
 as easy as possible for you." 
 
 " Shall we pass over that also ? " 
 " Certainly, in one moment, I want to 
 tell you how tliiugs stand. AVlien the time 
 comes I shall ask you to allow me to ad- 
 minister an au aesthetic. After a time you 
 will regain consciousness. Then from thirty 
 to fifty seconds you will suffer. The anassthetic 
 will be administered again immediately." The 
 doctor paused. 
 
 " xind when I regain consciousness the 
 second time 1 " 
 
 The doctor lit a cigar, blew out the match, 
 and flung it into the grate. " You will uot 
 regain consciousness a second time. That will 
 be — in fact, that will be all." 
 
 " That is why you are leaving England ? " 
 The doctor shrugged his shoulders. " There 
 is no privacy in England," he said. " But I 
 ask you to notice that the very most you have 
 to fear is fifty seconds of suffering — probably 
 not acute. All the lurid pictures that your 
 imagination may have conjured up, or my 
 
318 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 wife in her madness may have depicted, may 
 be dismissed from your mind. I am em- 
 phatically a humane man. If it were not for 
 my humanity, for my broad love of the race, 
 for my infinite longing that some future 
 generation might be born, not under the curse 
 which weighs us down, but free and masters 
 of their fate — I would not even ask you for 
 that little thing, your life." 
 
 Again Claudius made no reply. 
 
 " Until that moment comes when I beo^in 
 the experiment, your comfort shall be my 
 first consideration ; no indignity shall be 
 put upon you ; except for that one purpose, 
 and what is connected with it, you are 
 free." 
 
 " I have a considerable fortune," said 
 Claudius. 
 
 " I am afraid," said the doctor, " that I 
 cannot consent to accept gratuities." 
 
 " You had already told me that money was 
 of no consideration with you. I was not 
 intending to repeat my offer to buy myself 
 from you. I wanted to ask if I were free to 
 
THE OCrAVE OP CLAUDIUS. 319 
 
 dispose of my money now, and to wdl it after 
 my death, as I wish ? " 
 
 " Absolutely —perfectly free." 
 
 " And I may w^rite letters ? " 
 
 " Certainly — any letters which do not 
 prejudice my main purpose. After we leave 
 England you will omit the address, of course." 
 
 " Thank you," said Claudius. " I have 
 only one more question — is there any con- 
 sideration whatever which would induce you 
 to terminate our agreement : any considera- 
 tion apart from money ? " 
 
 " I had thought that you would be likely 
 to ask the question, and I have no objection 
 to it. My answer is — none, absolutely none." 
 
 At that moment Francis entered. 
 
 " The nurse would like to speak to you for 
 a moment, sir." 
 
 "Excuse me," said the doctor, and went 
 out. 
 
 Claudius leant forward with his head in his 
 hands ; he felt how easy it would be to fall 
 asleep and to forget. 
 
 In a moment or two the doctor returned. 
 
?aO THIC OCTATl: OP CLATTPXri?^ 
 
 *' The mxm^^^' \<^ said, *' s^sems to think t^liai 
 soEJc one slH->xild sit xip vith my wife t^v-night 
 It cstnuot Iv dcai«. Tiio uxirs^? iins not ht>cii 
 to \>eid for two lagiits, and it w<>xi}d bt 
 
 liarl^vrous to keep lier up a third night milc:^< 
 ii were absolutdj necessary, and I do noi 
 think it is. Portcmatehr I liave to be up all 
 nig-ht myse^ I iavo sometiiing in thi 
 laboratory which iH^qnires Wiitching, and ] 
 shall be bere until six. With the door opex. 
 I shall hear any sound. My wife sleep> 
 downstairs now, you know," 
 
 '*Yes"?" said Claudius, bardly pon^rn on > o: 
 wbat bad been said, 
 
 "Tes. It is ber idea that her dead babv 
 crawls about upstairs, and would disturb be: 
 rest At any rate, she will not sleep upstairs." 
 
 Claudius rose from bis chair, " May I gt 
 to bed now ? " be said, *■■' I am so tired iba: 
 I am not very good company," 
 
 **' Certainly. I hope you'll £nd your room 
 comfortabla Francis will get auTitbing you 
 want. AVbisky-and-soda before you go ? l^ol 
 Ab, Claudius, I am sorry I can't give you my 
 
 n 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 321 
 
 philosophy, and I won't insult you by trying ! 
 Eveiybody has the philosophy which is suitable 
 to the situation of somebody else. My philo- 
 sophy is the very thing for a man in your 
 situation. Well, well — good night." 
 
 " May I make one request ? " 
 
 "Again this Legree business — do, please, 
 ask for anything you want," said the doctor a 
 little irritably. 
 
 " I want you to begin this experiment as 
 soon as possible. To wait for it — that is hard 
 to do." 
 
 " Be assured," smiled the doctor, suavely, 
 " that I also am impatient. Good night again 
 — sleep well, and breakfast just when you 
 ha])pen to feel like it." 
 
 Claudius left the room, and went upstairs 
 without a word. 
 
 The doctor went on composedly with his 
 work, and two hours slipped by. He had 
 grown drowsy, and, leaning forward with his 
 head on his arms, fell into a doze. He often 
 found that half-an-hour's sleep snatched in this 
 Avay made a great difference to him, and sent 
 
 Y 
 
322 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 him back to liis work as fresh and energetic 
 as ever. 
 
 And as he slept, pit-pat, pit-pat, across the 
 stone floor of the hall came the sound of naked 
 feet. Past the bare hall, where the windows 
 had stared like lidless eyes since the curtains 
 were packed away, and unfaded patches stood 
 where pictures had been, and the naked gas- 
 light flared — past the hall and down the 
 passage came Hilda Lamb, quiet and cunning 
 as a cat, with all hell awake in her mad eyes. 
 She opened the study door softly ; she smiled 
 when she saw that the doctor was asleep. 
 
 Without a sound she passed through into 
 the laboratory and switched on the electric 
 light. She opened the big mahogany case of 
 instruments, and was careful not to let the 
 click of steel be heard. She took what she 
 wanted, switched off the light, and came back 
 into the studio again. The bright edge of the 
 thing she held in her hand attracted her 
 attention. " B-r-r-r-r, b-r-r-r-r, b-r-r-r-r," 
 she said in her throat, imitating the sound of 
 the grindstone. Doctor Lamb began to move 
 
THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 323 
 
 his head. In a moment she flung herself 
 upon him, and thrust and hacked and pulled. 
 ***** 
 
 A storm came into the dream that Claudius 
 dreamed that night. The forked lightning 
 split the sky, the thunder cracked and roared. 
 Below were people with white, frightened 
 faces — a dense mass of people, all looking 
 upward. They began to howl with terror, 
 waving their arms. The dream suddenly 
 ceased, and Claudius w^as awake. 
 
 He was awake, and the room was filled 
 with smoke. Some one was knocking violently 
 at the door and crying to him to get up. 
 "Fire! fire!" 
 
 And some one outside in the garden was 
 singing — a poor mad woman that had been 
 rescued from the merciful fire. The servants 
 of the house watched her in awe-struck silence 
 as she was dragged away, ceasing her singing 
 from time to time and fighting hard to get 
 back to the flames. 
 
 The fire had broken out in the annexe — in 
 the doctor's study. This was completely 
 
324 THE OCTAVE OF CLAUDIUS. 
 
 wrecked before the arrival of the engines. 
 The main body of the building was damaged 
 l)ut not ruined. In the grey, early dawn the 
 police on watch talked confidentially among 
 themselves. " I saw her myself," said one of 
 them, ''and there was blood both on her hands 
 and face. It'll be Broadmoor." 
 
 At a little distance from the house Chiudius 
 stood alone on the road and looked towards 
 London. A four-wheeled cab lumbered slowly 
 up, and Francis, who had gone to Wimbledon 
 to order it, jumped down from the box. 
 
 " It's the best they could do, sir." 
 
 "Thanks," said Claudius, as he got in. 
 " It will do very well. Tell him to drive as 
 quickly as be can." 
 
 " Yes, sir. Where to, sir ? " 
 
 " Erciston Square." 
 
 Francis shut the carriage door. " Erciston 
 Square," he echoed, as he seated himself 
 beside the driver asfain. 
 
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