1 
 
 < c< <, 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A MODERN ANT^US
 
 A MODERN ANTiEUS 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 "AN ENGLISHWOMAN'S LOVE LETTERS" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO. 
 
 1 90 1
 
 Copyright, 1901, by 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY. 
 
 October, 1901. 
 
 Nortoooti $reBB 
 
 J. S. Cusliing & Co. - Berwick & Smith 
 
 Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. THE NURSING OF ANTAEUS 
 
 II. GERMINAL . 
 
 III. SHOWS THAT OUT OF A MARE'S NEST MAY SPRING 
 
 NIGHTMARE 
 
 IV. FOLLY LEADS TO WISDOM 
 
 V. REAL CHARACTERS AND FICTITIOUS PERSONS 
 
 VI. TRISTRAM'S HEART HAS ITS GROWING PAINS 
 
 VII. ARBOREAL CHILDHOOD ..... 
 
 VIII. MYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION .... 
 
 IX. THE ROD THAT BUDDED 
 
 X. THE AFFLICTION OF MORALS .... 
 
 XI. IN WHICH A GENTLE CHARACTER DISAPPEARS FROM 
 
 THE STORY 
 
 XII. SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS .... 
 
 XIII. A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS ..... 
 
 XIV. THE WATER-FINDER 
 
 XV. THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER 
 
 XVI. A CHAPTER OF CONTRASTS .... 
 
 XVII. APOLOGIES TO LADY PETWYN .... 
 
 XVIII. LADY PETWVN'S PAST 
 
 XIX. A FALL RASHLY REPENTED .... 
 
 XX. BOOTS LEAD A DANCE AT HILL ALWYN 
 
 XXI. BEMBRIDGE FAIR 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 18 
 
 27 
 
 39 
 50 
 64 
 72 
 89 
 
 99 
 
 115 
 122 
 140 
 158 
 
 175 
 189 
 203 
 217 
 
 228 
 
 240 
 250 

 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 XXII. A CONFLICT OF THE ELEMENTS 
 
 XXIII. A CHAPTER OF MISUNDERSTANDINGS 
 
 XXIV. PLANS AND SECTIONS 
 XXV. BUSINESS HEADS AND LOGGERHEADS 
 
 XXVI. LIZZIE LOSES HER REPUTATION 
 
 XXVII. PRELIMINARY TO A STORM 
 
 XXVIII. A BATTLE OF MORALS . 
 
 XXIX. VIRTUE IN A SWELLED HEAD 
 
 XXX. TRISTRAM ENCOUNTERS OBSTACLES 
 
 XXXI. TRISTRAM EXTENDS PROTECTION TO AN ENEMY 
 
 XXXII. LOVE AND WAR .... 
 
 XXXIII. FORTUNE SHOWS A BLACK FACE 
 
 XXXIV. SHOWS THAT THERE IS SOMETHING IN A NAME 
 XXXV. LETTERS AND A VISIT 
 
 XXXVI. ANTAEUS IN TOWN .... 
 XXXVII. TRISTRAM AND HIS TRAINER . 
 XXXVIII. A CHANGE OF ADDRESS . 
 XXXIX. WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 
 XL. THE WOMAN ON THE ROAD . 
 XLI. A LETTER FROM A DEAD HAND 
 XLII. LADY PETWYN'S EXPERIMENT . 
 XI. III. ANTAEUS DROPS TO EARTH . 
 XLIV. THE TENDER MERCIES OF THE RIGHTEOUS . 
 XLV. THE HOUSE OF MY FRIENDS . 
 
 XLVI. IN WHICH THE READER WILL DRAW HIS CON 
 CLUSIONS ... • 
 
 514
 
 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ~°>Kc 
 
 T 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE NURSING OF ANTAEUS 
 
 HE Antaeus of Greek myth wins his fame before 
 men's eyes only at the decisive moment when the 
 gift of his birthright fails him. The contest which by 
 fresh sips of strength he maintains against one stronger 
 than himself, comes suddenly to an end, when Hercules, 
 clipping him from his mother's embrace, has crushed and 
 flung him back to earth like a squeezed orange. It is as 
 though we only came on Achilles in overthrow, when the 
 arrow of the Trojan pierces his heel ; or on Meleager at 
 the moment when his mother restores his fate to the 
 flames; and the modern mind feels a longing to know 
 more of a legend lovelier in itself than that of the arbi- 
 trary protection given by the gods to their chosen among 
 mortals. For about the life of Antaeus there was a nat- 
 ural rather than a miraculous charm : he had but in ex- 
 cess the gift which lies, remote or near, in us all. 
 
 What, one wonders, must his childhood and growth 
 have been like, from the moment when he emerged 
 earthy out of some cleft of rocks which had once given 
 lap to Oceanus on a day of spring-tides, and crawling to 
 his first wash in the bay, had there lain rocked by the
 
 2 A MODERN AXTAEUS 
 
 cradling shallows, a confident suckling ; till the day when, 
 as the plough turns the clod back into the furrow, Her- 
 cules, the pioneer of the gods of the uncouth ways of 
 earth, turned him back to the place whence he had come. 
 One sees him a valiant crawler from his birth, toppling to 
 his feet early in the first moon of his existence; presently 
 a runner and a jumper, rebellious against leading-strings, 
 yet always back again, rolling a tough hide in mould and 
 flowers, and grass which for him soon ceases to have 
 rough edges at all. One fancies him later testing his 
 strength by the roots and small saplings which he man- 
 ages to tug up out of Mother Earth ; and Earth herself, 
 like the pelican in piety, giving her torn breast gladly that 
 out of it her youngling may fetch strength. Out of a 
 headlong day one sees him plunging back into profound 
 rest and sleep that is without a break — so earth-bound in 
 repose that a beauty half-womanly takes possession of 
 his relaxed limbs ; and the nymphs whom he has harried 
 to their crannies during the day, peep out at him, and are 
 no longer afraid. He awakes flushed with that familiar 
 strength which comes to him, he knows not whence, and 
 with brain all abroad for the far ends of a new day now 
 begun ; sees, perhaps, up on a sunned hillside what in the 
 distance are like faint streaks of snow lying — knows 
 them for nymphs basking in the security of the open, and 
 is up and on the run, his freakish boy's blood already at 
 caper within him for the manhood that is yet to be ; and 
 so, stretches his legs in the wake of those ever wary ones, 
 and brings his morning appetite to the den of an old 
 satyr, who talks racy wisdom while crunching acorns and 
 cob-nuts with the few teeth left to him. One imagines 
 him from fight or play with bruises and wounds, which 
 disdainfully he ignores, curling down in his lair to awake 
 healed at the next dawn. A careless conscienceless rogue 
 he grows, much of a vagabond and a little of a marauder;
 
 THE NURSING OF ANTAEUS 3 
 
 till, perhaps, some day he sees visible suffering in his 
 mother's face, and finds that she who is so lavish has also 
 her hours of affliction and penury, which with a rough 
 frightened tenderness he tries to comfort. Also he him- 
 self has fears which he cannot master : yet it is not out of 
 these that his fate springs at last ; nor is it with fear at all 
 that he goes finally to meet his doom. 
 
 So, perhaps, might one try to fill up the lacking detail 
 of the old legend, only to see at last how modern it was 
 under its mask of classic form, and to realise that it might 
 scarcely have interested a Greek mind. 
 
 It is a freak of modern thought thus to throw back into 
 the past for things that belong as much or more to our 
 own day : to invent a new myth in order that we may 
 look with wistful self-indulgent regard at what, lying 
 close against our own door, we have failed to recognise. 
 And, indeed, Antaeus to-day is to be known by far differ- 
 ent signs from those which marked him in the fallow days 
 of his early legend. Nature herself moves among us in 
 reduced circumstances ; she is thankful to sit in compara- 
 tive peace and self-possession between the four hedges of 
 a square field, and attend in a sort of domestic drudgery 
 to the crops which man puts there into her keeping. And 
 if it is her good chance to have the care of grown grass, 
 which the haymakers will take from her when the days 
 are long, among all the lovers and children who come to 
 tumble there, few are of the Antaeus breed, or mean by 
 their coming more than the ox when he comes to his 
 straw, or than Midas when well-feasted and drunk, he 
 sinks into his bed of down. To very few does she give 
 now the deep sustenance of her breast ; and to them often 
 enough her milk is bitter. 
 
 This that follows is the story of one to whom her breast 
 was still sweet, and her strength piercing ; in him she had 
 back in her arms a contented suckling of huge big appe-
 
 4 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 tite — a blithe piece of clay shaped to take in the oil and 
 
 wine and gladness which still How from her veins. In the 
 
 beginning you shall see him vigorously at suck ; and at 
 
 the end you shall not find him properly weaned. If. in 
 
 the meanwhile, her milk has soured to his taste, others, 
 not I, must judge where the fault has lain. 
 
 ****** 
 
 There is a moment in early childhood when existence, 
 outgrowing mere instinct, takes to itself the shape of 
 thought : the mind which till then was merely receptive 
 becomes active, and asserts a self -consciousness that can 
 never again be wholly lost sight of. It is then, perhaps, 
 that the life of character begins, and that association 
 starts to lay those colours upon the brain, those primings 
 for the picture that is to follow, which remain so perma- 
 nent. A word then first laid to mind may carry ever after 
 a distinction that cannot be got rid of ; to many minds, for 
 instance, the word " daylight " must have in it also a no- 
 tion of dawn, the hour which makes light most memor- 
 able, the hour at which, perhaps, we first noticed it as 
 children. 
 
 The first daylight of Tristram Gavney's life, in any 
 special sense, was that which saw him up from a long bed 
 of sickness, feeling his frail body back again, after an im- 
 measurable absence, in clothes which now seemed harsh 
 and difficult to live in. An outer world dimly remembered 
 was waiting for him ; the doctor had given word that, if 
 the weather held fair, he was to go out, and his trained 
 nurse, after dressing and covering him with innumerable 
 wraps, had gone to fetch him his posset, and was taking 
 time to return. 
 
 The minutes of waiting had so little purpose that they 
 grew tedious ; he took his muffled body to the head of the 
 staircase, lingered there till patience once more became an 
 apparent folly, and at last let a bold proposition venture
 
 THE NURSING OF ANTAEUS 5 
 
 ahead of the scruples which stayed his feet. From top to 
 bottom the stairs seemed a great descent, and the dark 
 hall archway through which they led made them all the 
 more formidable. He put down a foot and drew it up 
 again. Then he took hold of the overhead banister rail, 
 slid forward his weight on it, and began to descend. 
 
 Even so it felt safer to plant both feet upon every grade ; 
 stairs had become unfamiliar things to him. Progressing 
 thus in the flop-and-shuffle style of babyhood, he felt him- 
 self ridiculous when the sound of a footstep threatened to 
 make him a spectacle. He loosed hold two steps from the 
 end, tottered, and came floundering forward into the 
 thick-haired rug below. 
 
 " All right ! " he grumbled aloud, apprehensive of de- 
 tection in so all wrong an attitude. But the alarm was 
 false ; nobody came ; and the respite set him off upon his 
 legs again. Across the hall toward the front door his 
 boots made a big feeble clatter ; those ends of him had be- 
 come noisy and too heavy for management ; they bumped 
 his feet down at random, and seemed half-stuck to the 
 ground before each step. That he had been ill all over 
 for weeks he remembered ; but only now when he tried to 
 walk did he realise how ill his legs had been. All the 
 house seemed to have been ill. too ; the coat-rack was 
 emptied of its appendages, and through an open door he 
 saw bare boards, lowered blinds, carpets rolled and 
 stacked into a corner, and dust-sheets over the few large 
 pieces of furniture that remained. The whole place — 
 the hall, the staircase, and the banister — smelt, as he did, 
 of embrocations. Every sight that met his eye denied him 
 recognition, mutilated his feelings, and decimated his af- 
 fections ; and a vague resentment grew in the child's mind 
 against sickness and .the absence of friends, as if these 
 were one and the same thing, or arose from the same 
 causes.
 
 6 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 In his own case it was mainly true. His illness had 
 come late to prove the expediency of a change already 
 determined on. The house that had long seemed un- 
 healthy had even then been vacated by the rest of its ten- 
 ants, and nothing but the boy's illness from a lingering 
 fever had prolonged the partial occupancy. So now the 
 revival of his early childish intelligence was to synchronise 
 rather unfitly with the snapping of old associations, when 
 the word " home " would have once more to shape a 
 meaning for itself out of new settings, on the top of 
 others, which were never quite to lose their significance. 
 Tristram's brain, from the camera obscura of his sick 
 room, was destined to receive briefly, as on a sensitive 
 film, this impression of old things in dissolution, of things 
 which he had already learned vaguely to love, and would 
 meet with no more in life. 
 
 Overhead the nurse's voice called " Tristram ! " Before 
 him the front door stood open ; he went gravely on, and 
 stepping out on to the gravel, took his first stare at the 
 sunshine and a world new and old. 
 
 He knew the ways of this garden well enough, but not 
 its looks. What he remembered best was a place of bare 
 boughs, which had suddenly all gone white and sick, like 
 the furniture under its dust-sheets. After that had fol- 
 lowed his own sickness ; and from his bed he had 
 watched, at times, a dull sky and the tops of trees that 
 had no green in them. Now it seemed a thousand new 
 things had stepped in ; the garden was full of sweet dis- 
 turbances, flittings of birds, and siftings of a light wind 
 coming and going among the boughs. Also in the heart 
 of the stems was a thick flush of green ; and here and 
 there a foam of blossom cast itself white against dark 
 piles of evergreen, or broke in soft dusk against the gay 
 air. 
 
 Out of laurels hard bv a blackbird broke cover, and fled
 
 THE NURSING OF ANTAEUS 7 
 
 chinking to a more distant shelter. To the child that loud 
 note, sounded so near and so suddenly, was like a buffet 
 in the face. Other cries pealed round him, the arrogant 
 laughter of bright lives disregarding his. 
 
 He grew sick for a little recognition, and turned to look 
 up at the windows of the house. White blinds looked 
 back at him. Lower than the rest of the first storey, but 
 above his reach, was one irregularly set, and with raised 
 blind, that he remembered with special affection ; the 
 lower branches of an easy-climbing tree led up to its sill. 
 
 " Auntie Dorrie ! " called the child, trusting that the 
 radiant visitor who had brought gay intervals to his sick- 
 chamber might be there within call, " Auntie Dorrie ! " a 
 little anger mixed with his surprise that the windows did 
 not fly open to him. 
 
 Within doors Tristram's nurse was rummaging in cor- 
 ners for her escaped charge ; not dreaming to look for him 
 so far out of hand, she searched in vain. Presently from 
 the end of a small corridor she heard tabberings on glass, 
 and the cry of " Auntie Dorrie ! " that began to be a wail. 
 Tracking the sounds in anxious wrath, she came flurrying 
 to the little sun-lit sitting-room, half-bared of its belong- 
 ings, and saw a white face among branches, flattening 
 itself against the pane. 
 
 To Tristram the angry apparition which flew hastily to 
 the window to grab at him was that of an entire stranger : 
 a dearer vision had so strong a hold on his expectations. 
 He went down solid into the bush below him; and his 
 nurse's scream was ever after a part in the bird-chorus 
 that fluted through his memories of that first day.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 GERMINAL 
 
 T?OR his health's sake and for out-of-the-way quiet. 
 ■*■ they brought Tristram to a small hillside cottage, 
 three miles from his late home, which had lain too low, 
 draining an old graveyard, and hemmed round by elms as 
 ancient as the house itself. Now, like a pot-plant turned 
 out to sun, he sat in a trellised porch, where after a while 
 small old-fashioned magenta roses began to bloom, and 
 imbibed there a liking for a colour which turns vicious 
 when transferred from its flowery texture to any fabric of 
 man's weaving. This was the home of his old nurse, who 
 had been his mother's nurse also, and had here retired, 
 worn by domestic strain, on savings and a pension. Com- 
 ing to this hale locality, she had greened into fresh vigour, 
 and hearing of Tristram convalescent after his long ill- 
 ness, she had clamoured to have that latest of her babes 
 back into her arms. The sight of the welcoming face 
 which leaned into the carriage on his arrival, brought with 
 it only a vague sense of familiarity ; but soon her habits 
 with him, and the little home she had made round her of 
 knick-knacks gathered in long service, coaxed his memory 
 to recover the charm of their old relations. 
 
 This place where he found himself was hardly beauti- 
 ful ; but to Tristram's eyes it became so. Two cottages 
 backed by a barton stood off the road on a bank, with a 
 bright edge of garden dividing them from the rural traffic 
 
 8
 
 GERMINAL 9 
 
 that went by. Round them stood fields, rather treeless, 
 but thick in crops, for the service of which the barton 
 stood as stable-yard and granary, an off-shoot from a 
 larger farm. 
 
 The light lay still inarticulate and blanched on the 
 child's mind, brought to renew its sense of local colour in 
 that simple place. His body had still some tremors of its 
 recent illness, and his brain took fright easily at darkness 
 or unexpected sounds ; loneliness, on the other hand, be- 
 gan already to be one of his pleasures. All the more 
 quickly did he receive the inspirations of the small rural 
 world, which in a few days contained nothing that was 
 stranger to him than the safe open spaces where he might 
 be alone, yet within sound of Mrs. Harbour's chiding call. 
 Within a fortnight he vegetated into a true cottager. 
 
 No doubt his small doings in the few weeks he was 
 there had a plain prosaic exterior ; but this ring of fields 
 and farm and garden became to Tristram an enchanted 
 spot, memory made him look back on it as the nest where 
 he first fledged, the holy ground on which, so it seemed to 
 him then, he had stood and watched the tree of life brim- 
 ming with fire yet not consumed. 
 
 Unknown to himself the boy was renewing the asso- 
 ciations of a still earlier visit, discovering a mysterious 
 familiarity in things he had seen while yet in the first 
 toddling stage of infancy, and again forgotten. 
 
 No chronicle can take in a whole life, and follow it 
 without gaps and omissions ; there is a blind spot in the 
 eye of each one of us ; it is only by that incompleteness 
 that we see anything. Autobiographers leave whole tracts 
 of themselves undiscovered ; nor could Tristram in after 
 years have given more than a maimed account of himself. 
 Even this chronicle depending on many synoptic records 
 has to stray backwards and forwards for hints of him, un- 
 certain of their true sequence ; some of them perhaps were
 
 io A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 earlier than the day already told of when consciousness 
 first struck hard upon his faculties, belonging in that case 
 to his previous coming into the locality where we now 
 find him. Hints only, for to follow elaborately the school- 
 ing of early years would only be wearisome. Young life 
 picking out its five-fingered exercises sounds monotonous 
 when heard without intermission ; only now and then does 
 accented experience break in on the routine. Then the 
 exercise changes and becomes a sort of tune ; out of it the 
 gods get humorous promptings of what troubles their 
 puppet is likely to be in hereafter, and so set the callow 
 tunester back again to his stiff digital drill. 
 
 Mrs. Ann Harbour, the " Xan-nan " of Tristram's 
 youth, tells in her grey old age of his two visits to her 
 hillside cottage many things that would otherwise be for- 
 gotten. To her ears the daily noise of him never grew 
 monotonous : of nurses, gods and men may learn a lesson 
 in patience and kind charity. But to the outer world we 
 give no more than random pictures of him, cinematograph 
 glimpses, faces that he threw on and off, till life, taking 
 his measure, found a face-mould to fit him, or to cramp 
 him into that likeness which it chose that he should wear. 
 These faces are the lives through which all that is human 
 passes in its growth ; and one wonders how many of them 
 will be allowed to appear before that last Court of Appeal, 
 where Theology calls souls up to judgment. Will each 
 face in turn come pleading its creation, and claiming a 
 soul to inhabit it, as scrupulous Moslems teach to veto 
 the painted and the graven image? Or is it only the last 
 mask of all, the worn-out one lying under the death-sheet, 
 that counts? At the end of most men's lives there are 
 seven bodies demanding resurrection, and which of them 
 all does the soul take to wife? Surely an unbiassed record 
 of life must almost of necessity put a note of interrogation 
 in the place of any final Amen. So here you may find it 
 when all is done.
 
 GERMINAL n 
 
 Of Tristram's earliest days memories have hoarded 
 things which he himself had soon forgotten. Mrs. Har- 
 bour tells of him, that from the hour when he could first 
 walk, never was there such a child for getting into water. 
 She might have added — for getting out of it also, from 
 the many times Tristram had stood before her in an un- 
 explained state of drench, requiring dressings in two 
 kinds, each preventive of cold to the system. It was on 
 this point that his tongue first learned to babble fiction, 
 ascribing to a fabulous being whom he named " the 
 Kitchyman " the wringing wetness of his attire. Pres- 
 ently, however, finding that he had to bear the Kitchy- 
 man's sins in his own body, he resumed the glory which he 
 had laid aside, let the Kitchyman's name go the way of 
 dreams, and avowed himself independently the culprit. 
 
 Once he appeared dragging by the collar a large amiable 
 retriever, and demanded backsheesh for the quadruped. 
 For wetness there was not a dry hair to choose between 
 them ; but the dog, he insisted, was good, while for Baba 
 he had no kind word — thus early distinguishing a moral 
 difference between his own dampness and that of an un- 
 clothed animal. The dog was rewarded with fire-warmth 
 and a meal, dimly suspected of a deed of modest heroism 
 which was born to blush unseen in his own dumb beast's 
 consciousness. Tristram meeting him afterwards about 
 the lanes and fields, would point him out as " Kitchyman's 
 wow-wow," and the two kept up a tail-wagging acquaint- 
 ance. Yet it may be curiously noted that the only recollec- 
 tion Tristram had of the affair in later years was 
 friendship for a large dog, the origin of which lay for- 
 gotten behind the genial character of their meetings. 
 
 In many small ways those early years proved him a rare 
 handful ; but in the direction of water he seemed to pre- 
 cipitate himself with a sort of chemical affinity. His old 
 Nan-nan, after she had wrung him out to dry time and
 
 12 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 again, wept at last, believing that she saw the drowned 
 end of him already revealing itself. She became so ap- 
 prehensive on the subject that her application of the disci- 
 pline ceased. On a dry skin he continued to pay tribute to 
 her motherings : wet, he became a sacred object to her. 
 Obstinate questionings began in her devout mind whether 
 her charge had ever been properly baptised or no ; and as 
 the pious dread presented itself, she beheld all at once a 
 reason why on every occasion he should gravitate to that 
 element where his spiritual birthright lay denied to him. 
 The closing duty of her domestic service had been to re- 
 ceive him from the hands of a gabbling French bonne, 
 and she doubted whether pure Christianity could come 
 out of a land where the English tongue was not spoken. 
 So from long to short it was borne in on her that her 
 babe was in spiritual distress, and his soul clamouring by 
 outward and visible signs for a remedy. Her blood cur- 
 dled in her one day to hear him talking over the well's 
 mouth and coining back answers from below. Supersti- 
 tiously she came to the conviction that the child had a fa- 
 miliar spirit ; so, in the hopes of setting a barrier between 
 him and further communications, she nerved herself the 
 same night to give him provisional baptism in the large 
 crock tub wherein she bathed him, choosing the name of 
 an old heroic race, and the one which she herself applied 
 to the sturdy troublesomeness of her bantling, as likely to 
 be effectual against any futile assaults of the enemy. 
 
 " Trojer, I baptise thee! " was the formal beginning of 
 that exorcism, and the name tickled a place for itself in 
 the child's memory. She followed it up by complete im- 
 mersion, put extra prayers into his mouth before bed, and 
 tucked him between the sheets with a satisfied sense that 
 she had made a whole Christian of him. 
 
 A couple of days later, her confidence sank to a queegle 
 of alarm when she overheard something of the following
 
 GERMINAL 13 
 
 colloquy taking place over the well's edge ; and, as before, 
 inaudible answers seemed to be finding their way up from 
 below. 
 
 Tristram had begun by dropping down a pebble ; listen- 
 ing till he heard the sound of its splash below, he called 
 over the brim: " Kitchyman, you 'wake down there? ,: 
 
 The question was repeated with insistence till a satis- 
 factory answer seemed to arrive. 
 
 Kitchyman having awakened ; " Why can't you climb 
 up here ? " was the next inquiry. Repeated as before, it 
 gained impressiveness ; the studied deafness of the oracle 
 made him a more real person to the child's brain. 
 
 Presently an answer was vouchsafed. " Oh, is that 
 why ? " came Tristram's surprise. 
 
 The child cogitated, then spoke further : " How am I 
 to come down — in a bucket ? " And after longer delib- 
 eration, roving off on a fresh theme, " Shall I frow you 
 down some more stones ? " 
 
 The stones were thrown till the child wearied. He bent 
 forward on his knees and peered down into the well. 
 After a pause he said : " Now I'm going to play in the 
 garden ; when you want me you've got to call." 
 
 There was a further pause, "What?" said Tristram, 
 preparing to go. Then again, more interrogatively, 
 "What?" 
 
 This time he was able to gather the Kitchyman's mean- 
 ing. " Oh ! " he blabbed, " call ' Trojer ' ! " 
 
 As the word went out of him he felt himself caught up 
 from behind and borne away indoors, there to be set 
 down to say his prayers in the presence of kitchen 
 chairs and fire-irons, and with the smell of dinner seeth- 
 ing to him from under saucepan lids — a thing disturbing 
 to his small jog-trot sense of theology. For the rest of 
 that day, and for many days afterwards, his well was for- 
 bidden him.
 
 M A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Other talkings to himself which she overheard on his 
 second visit to her, had the effect of raising in the old 
 body beliefs which had grown dormant. It was evident 
 to her senses that the child knew of places whither his 
 legs did not carry him, and saw things for which experi- 
 ence provided him with no name. His powers of escape 
 were phenomenal ; when she thought him most safe in 
 one direction, he would return to her mildewed and mired 
 from another. Mrs. Harbour seriously doubted within 
 herself whether he had not two states. She tempted his 
 confidence with the best she had to give : on the tablets of 
 his brain her characters stood writ large. But though 
 she was a veritable storehouse of wise lore which he was 
 free to rummage for the satisfaction of his own terrors, 
 never could he be persuaded to repay her in kind : over the 
 parallel wonders of his own life his lips shut stolidly. 
 The fairies and the evil chances, and the happenings 
 which filled hobgoblin corners of Mrs. Harbour's super- 
 stitious soul did but push into the deepest recesses of his 
 secrecy the child's assured sense of their truth. Her 
 mouth was a medium for dark and oracular utterances ; 
 he worshipped its sound silently. Words of a gory flavour 
 that she used, he loved and waited for ; they lay sensation- 
 ally at certain points of her stories, like murder stains on 
 a carpet whose pattern he knew by heart. Left unex- 
 plained, they made for themselves enlarged meanings in 
 his brain : horror enriched itself with the sensuous opu- 
 lence of their sound. 
 
 " A whole menagerie of wives," was a phrase in the 
 " Blue Beard " story, against which his mind aired itself 
 aghast; and from "Jack the Giant Killer," the "out 
 tumbled his tripes and his trollibones," which described 
 the haggis-like undoing of the hospitable giant, at whose 
 table Jack treacherously sat down, gave him another 
 freezing vision.
 
 GERMINAL 15 
 
 Such dear terrors childhood hugs, nor wills to be rid of 
 them ; prefers rather, like older greedy dyspeptics, to suf- 
 fer horribly from the satisfaction of its fundamental crav- 
 ings. The appetite for knowledge has lasted well since 
 our first parents implanted it in us, and we hunt it more 
 through life than we do happiness. Beside its charms, 
 blissful ignorance nods, a withered wall-flower. One por- 
 tion of childhood, that especially between the ages of three 
 and seven, is almost entirely dominated by the dreams of 
 waking and sleeping, which spring from undigested know- 
 ledge. When those years are over, they leave behind 
 them a field ploughed alike by battle and by burial, 
 wherein at least one phase of theological thought has died 
 and another sprung. Here, one may think, meets the min- 
 gled blood of ancestry, and we feel our parentage fighting 
 within us to a confused end for the predominance of race. 
 During that time of his life, names and sounds and things 
 had for Tristram a weight and terror which worked out 
 into a species of fetish worship. 
 
 Strange little antipathies moved in him also, as opposed 
 to the terrors of which he grew fond. Mrs. Harbour saw 
 him rise up one day from his crawlings with a white face, 
 crying to her that he had touched a " pussy cat." Know- 
 ing of nothing that could be there, she explored, and 
 found a ball of fluff, such as collects from the brushing of 
 carpets ; and as she handled it, the child whimpered, im- 
 ploring her to put it away. 
 
 Upon Tristram's solitary goings a wonderful troop of 
 potencies waited, big and black and bogey-like. In his 
 pursuit of and flight from the evil chances which dodged 
 his footsteps, he became something of a gambler with fate ; 
 yet had, too, the elation of a hunted thing sure of its agil- 
 ity and speed. Adventurous instinct would draw the child 
 on to snuff the tainted air of dark corners, and to tempt, 
 where mystery and danger lurked, the spring which he
 
 16 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 never saw, but felt rearing at his back as he turned and 
 ran. 
 
 Many of these potencies had come out of the lullabies 
 sung to him by his old Nan-nan, dreamy suggestions of 
 them gradually becoming more real as their legends fixed 
 themselves in his mind, till each at last grew into a sepa- 
 rate godhead. Robin the Bobbin was one of these, a 
 deep-mouthed brute, swelling visibly over his Sunday din- 
 ner of priests, people, and churches. 
 
 " Robin the Bobbin, the big-bellied Ben, 
 Ate more meat than fourscore men : 
 He ate a cow, he ate a calf, 
 He ate a butcher and a half; 
 He ate the church, he ate the steeple, 
 He ate the priest and all the people." 
 
 So the song ran. Tristram used to wonder how and 
 why, out of that rapacious appetite, the second half of one 
 poor butcher escaped. His imagination gave him sight 
 of a pair of legs shooting in panic round the world, any- 
 where, anywhere, to be out of it; and his fear was lest 
 some day in the lane he might meet them running. 
 
 Another of his most cherished bogeys was the " Korn- 
 kree," that had lived for many days in a great fixed ward- 
 robe of the now vacated home, but had easily transferred 
 its dwelling to the dark coffin-like stair-cupboard of Mrs. 
 Harbour's small cottage. Never could Tristram climb 
 that stair alone without a dreadful anticipation in his two 
 legs that some day the devil would take the hindmost and 
 have him fast. 
 
 The ritual and religion of Tristram's life were far 
 more bound up in these hobgoblin observances than in 
 the small forms, which he said over by rote night and 
 morning at his old nurse's knee. Started from so pagan a 
 setting, a similar, dissimilar being, germinating out of the
 
 GERMINAL 17 
 
 innumerable births and deaths of these mental microbes, 
 we are presently to see him come to youth's and man's 
 estate. 
 
 If by now the reader has a smattering of Tristram's in- 
 tellectual and physical equipment, he will be ready to fol- 
 low him for a while through incidents toward which the 
 motive force lies here behind.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SHOWS THAT OUT OF A MARE's NEST MAY 
 SPRING NIGHTMARE 
 
 Hp HE barton at the rear formed a boundary for poultry, 
 which lay in the care of Mrs. Tracy, the tenant of 
 the adjoining cottage. She and her daughter Sally would 
 often take Tristram with them when they went the rounds 
 on a search after eggs ; and before long the child became 
 familiar with the queer habits of broody hens, and found 
 zest in tracking these cenotaphs of maternity to their 
 shadowy nesting-places. Every day gave chance of dis- 
 covering lyings-in illicitly conducted ; and to pry out some 
 nest richly lined with accumulated deposit was a delight 
 to the boy's marauding instinct. To the methodical egg- 
 collector, on the other hand, these brood-cravings were a 
 worry and a waste of profit, eggs of doubtful date and 
 condition having to be tabled off from the results on 
 which payment was earned. It was natural, therefore, 
 that unauthorised sittings should be sternly suppressed. 
 Tristram saw one day with squirmy horror an obstinate 
 brooder ducked almost to death ; pleaded for its life, and 
 watched it slowly revive from the heap of rubbish where 
 the callous-hearted Sally had flung it to drain. It was as 
 broody as ever the next day, and for its persistence went 
 up in the urchin's estimation, while its foiled persecutor 
 went down. 
 
 Though at times he played with the children from the 
 neighbouring cottages, his games with them gave the 
 
 18
 
 OUT OF A MARE'S NEST 19 
 
 least effective employment to his intellect. He preferred 
 loneliness, or to stand at elbow of older folk, watching 
 doings that for him had a far greater suggestion of real 
 purpose. He would follow the farm-hands as they fed 
 and stabled their horses ; or when the haymaking had set 
 free the fields by the lower farm, would accompany the 
 beasts down to their night-pastures, himself proudly at 
 perch on the broad back of a dark favourite. There, no 
 rider, the boy would hang, clinging to a last tuft of worn 
 mane, and, if the creature stopped to browse, was as likely 
 to get tumbled off as to stick on, but would in no case ask 
 to be dismounted till the end was reached. 
 
 One morning he awoke to a busy humming noise abroad 
 in air, and to feel his bed shaken under him by an accom- 
 panying vibration. Looking out of his small lattice, he 
 saw, for the first time, a threshing-machine busy at work 
 in the yard below ; workers were up aloft, and round 
 them motes were flying, making a mist in the bright air. 
 The machine itself was backed close upon the wall against 
 which rested Tristram's bed, so that from his window he 
 almost could look down the black throat of the monster 
 who inspired him with so little fear: and for many ab- 
 sorbed hours of that day, he stood watching the steam- 
 thing and its human accessories at work. Then it chanced 
 that, peeping into the water-tank from which it drew sup- 
 ply, he saw a mouse that had wantonly been thrown there 
 to slow death, paddling round the sides in endeavour to 
 escape, and reaching instinctively to pull it out, got sur- 
 prisingly bitten for his pains. He threw off the rescued 
 vermin in a sort of horror, while frightened wonder took 
 possession of him at the un-understandingness of the 
 creature he had been moved to pity. Creeping furtively 
 away with his bleeding finger-end, he cried softly to him- 
 self, not for the pain, but for the shock to his hurt feel- 
 ings. The incident aged him, thrust life at him in a fresh
 
 20 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 aspect ; and it was as a tired morsel of himself that he 
 came soon after, and dropped to sleep long before bed- 
 time, in Mrs. Harbour's arms. 
 
 Thus from one and another, and only at times from 
 himself, we get a few memorable factors of the child's 
 life, its wild-honey storing itself in the cells of many di- 
 verse minds. Mrs. Harbour, as she clasped him sleeping, 
 and wondered at that early weariness, did not know how 
 his small brain already held beginnings of an old age, 
 which was to be so much before he was twenty-two. 
 
 Some days later at breakfast, while he sat mugging his 
 bread and milk, Tristram's ears were ravished by hearing 
 the name of his Aunt Doris read out to him from a letter 
 which Mrs. Nannie was holding. It was from the dear 
 lady herself, and contained in one part devout messages 
 addressed to her boy, ending in a long series of round 
 O's, an established form of epistolary greeting between 
 her and the illiterate eyes of her godchild. 
 
 Tristram demanded his own, and hugging them with a 
 fondling remembrance of their author's niceness, babbled 
 to have repeated to him once more all that the letter had 
 said. While he kept fast possession, Mrs. Harbour re- 
 cited the substance of news which put a term to her own 
 happy tenure of authority : within a few days he would be 
 under his godmother's roof, there to await the re-gather- 
 ing of kindred, who had almost dropped out of recollec- 
 tion. In the names read over to him, those of his mother 
 and of Marcia, his sister, were the fainter memories. 
 The sunny South of France had held them estranged ; 
 even now, with the former, his meeting was likely to be 
 delayed till the most equable conditions of sea and weather 
 could add ease to the long journey, and so northward a 
 return. 
 
 But for Tristram the thought of his Aunt Doris was 
 sufficient for the day ; behind that all happiness blew.
 
 OUT OF A MARE'S NEST 21 
 
 His mind went out into his small world on a search for 
 her whereabouts. To his question " Where is she now? " 
 the name of Little Towberry for answer carried a flavour 
 of fruits, a garden, and a creeper-covered house, lighting 
 on a mind in which sweet tastes and scents were the 
 keenest prompters of memory. To spot it down on his 
 picture-puzzle of places, he asked how long it would take 
 them to get there ; and his nurse, meaning by train, reck- 
 oned it as only an hour. 
 
 He retained the letter with a parade of ownership 
 which Mrs. Nannie was at no trouble to dispute, knowing 
 that at the day's end it would return to her safely enough, 
 with all the dirt of his affections upon it, but in no other 
 way damaged. His instinct for treasure was tenacious ; 
 this particular one accompanied him through the many 
 occupations of a long day. She saw him building it 
 round with a wall of pebbles on the brick floor of the 
 porch, till near the hour of noon ; later he was tempting 
 the snap-dragons to take bites of it ; and at tea-time he 
 sold her the corner kiss on the last page, in return for 
 some sugar upon his bread. When the indulgence had 
 been won, the mercenary character of the transaction lay 
 upon his conscience ; so the kiss was bought back by a 
 promise to be good and obedient under charge of Sally 
 Tracy, while Mrs. Harbour went off with the girl's 
 mother for an evening's marketing. 
 
 To be put to bed by any hands but the customary ones 
 of his own Harbour was purgatory to the subtle, shy in- 
 stincts of the child's anatomy. On a previous Tuesday 
 night he had sat up stolid and stormy, refusing the minis- 
 tration of strange hands ; and had fallen into Mrs. Har- 
 bour's bosom on her late return, weeping loudly for relief 
 after the long tension of his resistance. Sally Tracy had 
 in her nature the growing-pains of the bully, and remem- 
 bered against him the impotence to which her short spell
 
 22 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 of management had been reduced. Now, however, Tris- 
 tram's promise of goodness extended even to an engage- 
 ment that Sally should do the necessaries of his toilet. 
 Mrs. Harbour relinquished him with a few parting in- 
 junctions, and the child watched her till out of sight 
 round the corner of the lane. 
 
 Sally chose for a beginning to be nice to him, inviting 
 his company on her evening search for eggs among the 
 farm out-buildings ; and the small, willing body followed 
 her blissfully about, peeping behind ladders and boards, 
 and under piles of farm-implements, in huge content over 
 being made useful. He found two eggs himself in a spot 
 which she had overlooked ; and her apron being heavy, 
 she allowed him to carry them. He held them as care- 
 fully as if they had been chickens, and with small regard 
 for anything else, followed her about with the tremulous 
 enthusiasm of a child when it feels itself emphatically 
 good. 
 
 Into a dark corner went Sally, peering for spoil. Com- 
 ing too closely behind with no eyes but for what he held, 
 Tristram set foot on a nest hidden among straw. At 
 sight of three fair yokes spilled ruinously from cracked 
 egg-shells, away went his heart into his boots ; he cried 
 out on himself in sheer dismay over so deplorable a mis- 
 hap. Could Sally have trounced him on the spot, or 
 shaken the breath out of his body as he deserved, her 
 temper had been relieved ; but her lapful of eggs was in 
 the way. To give vent to her feelings she let her tongue 
 go, and assailed him in venomous words. 
 
 Tristram heard the dread arm of the Law invoked ; 
 was assured in all seriousness that a policeman should 
 be fetched that very night to take him away to the town- 
 gaol. " No, no ! " the child protested ; his voice rose up 
 in a wail and hung ready to expend itself in weeping. 
 " But I say yes ! " retorted Sally ; " you wait till I've taken
 
 OUT OF A MARE'S NEST 23 
 
 all the eggs in, then see ! And it'll be handcuffs as well if 
 you go dropping those other two." He stretched them out 
 to her in terror lest the thing should happen ; but now she 
 would not do him the bare kindness of taking them from 
 him. She shot at him another threatening look, and re- 
 turned to her occupation, little knowing how hard a blow 
 she had already struck. As for Tristram, wherever she 
 went, he followed her about mutely ; in the gathering dusk 
 of the day's end he saw a Robin the Bobbin of real flesh 
 and blood waiting for him, a vision which had not the ex- 
 altation of imaginary horrors. 
 
 For a time, fearing the greater desolation of solitude, 
 he clung to his persecutor ; while she, seeing what effect 
 her words had, started to harp once more upon the terrors 
 she had conjured. Then the fear of being put to bed by 
 her, there to wait till the Law's arm should reach out and 
 claim him, became once more a mastering horror, and he 
 set to planning a hiding-place for himself till Mrs. Har- 
 bour's return. Sally spied legs beginning to lag, and this 
 hint of old insubordination jogged her to fresh cruelty. 
 Happily to her purpose she found waiting at the thresh- 
 old, when she brought in her takings, a bullock-eyed 
 youth who had begun loutishly to seek her favour, and to 
 carry on with her in the long summer evenings an incip- 
 ient and desultory courtship. He came now to invite her 
 to a walk in the lanes. 
 
 Sally, having Tristram on hand, could not well leave 
 him and go ; she suggested, therefore, as a thing of sound 
 sense, that they should set off and meet the policeman, so 
 as to save him one half of the journey. The bullock-eyed 
 youth, told how matters stood, grunted ominously, and 
 guessed he knew a bit of road where they would be cer- 
 tain to meet him. Tristram had not a word to say against 
 it ; in the presence of this new enemy his spirit died ut- 
 terly, and he went as a lamb to the slaughter, feeling but
 
 24 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 a slight alleviation of his distress, when for a while they 
 ignored him to talk of their own affairs. 
 
 The last bands of level sunlight were casting themselves 
 through high hedges on to opposing slopes of pasture, 
 when they came to the division of roads which Sally's 
 follower had spoken of. There, on the angular grass- 
 plot which the trisecting traffic spared, for lack of other 
 employment they turned their idle minds once more to 
 Tristram's discomfiture. When the girl dropped her 
 threats from dull-witted weariness, her swain, to flatter 
 her, took up the tale ; he pictured the gaol, thumbing its 
 horrors in clumsy fashion, but effectively enough for a 
 child's imagination. 
 
 Tristram had at last reached that point of panic when 
 to be desperately brave or cowardly becomes equally pos- 
 sible. Boots and the leathery creak of corduroys sounded 
 along the lane ; farm-hands whom the child had come to 
 know from their nightly passings were returning after 
 work in the fields. He rose to his feet with determination, 
 and no doubt in a visibly scared way, but without a word 
 said, pushed his hand into the fist of the first he could 
 get to. 
 
 The two on the grass-patch called to him to come back ; 
 Tristram tightened his clasp, and the man getting a rough 
 comprehension of his plight, turned and let go some rough 
 words on the pair of them. His beneficent oaths flew 
 with sufficient moral weight to strike cowardice into the 
 culprits ; they made no struggle for the possession of 
 Tristram, and the child went off with his new-found pro- 
 tector, forgetting almost in his sudden relief the terror 
 that still lay ahead. When they were come to the two 
 cottages, his companion paused, and was for letting the 
 boy go at what he judged must be his intended destina- 
 tion. But the place still looked empty, and Tristram 
 feared to be left where the others might return and find
 
 OUT OF A MARE'S NEST 25 
 
 him. So, to friendly enquiries, he replied stoutly that he 
 meant to go on with them to the farm, there to meet Mrs. 
 Nannie as she returned ; and the man was quite satisfied. 
 
 Within the rickyard from a dark corner of the cart- 
 shed, he watched the waggons housing for the night, 
 and began to be comfortably assured that no policeman 
 would come to look for him there. He thought to be 
 safe at least until the return of Mrs. Harbour, whom he 
 would see as she went by up the road. Stepping more 
 and more into the shade, he was presently forgotten by 
 the men busy over the wind-up of their work : before the 
 rick-stands had become wholly frocked in the shadows 
 of approaching night he found himself left alone. But 
 in a little while the comfort of solitude was devoured by 
 the increasing dusk, and the influences of an hour impres- 
 sive to a child's fears ; limb-bound he had not strength 
 or will to return alone up the darkening lane. Yonder, 
 or still more when the cottages were reached, he might 
 find the dreaded handcuffs lying in wait for him, and 
 he realised, with a chilly dread of being altogether for- 
 gotten, that there he must stay on till he was called for. 
 
 A child in distress waits upon many hopes, and is very 
 slow in letting each one go by. For a long time Tristram 
 hoped that his Nan-nan would come here and find him. 
 He doubted whether he had kept his promise to her, or 
 been good at all ; but he had reached so low a stage of 
 fear that an honest scolding from a familiar tongue would 
 be welcome to him. Mrs. Nannie's beneficence shone to 
 him palely like the beginning of evening's star. Was it 
 not to her bed that he crept out of the way of evil dreams ? 
 In fevered wakefulness also it was her bosom that had 
 soothed him, and often over wasp-stings and other evils 
 of life her mitigating influence had been displayed. In 
 his comfortlessness he longed for her, but with the delay 
 longing had grown sad ; there was no radiant hope in it
 
 26 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 now. Pitted against the terrors that were pressing 
 against him even Nan-nan might prove no sure tower 
 of defence. 
 
 When darkness in its full degree had settled over his 
 hiding-place, he became so dispirited that he had a mind 
 to cry out to the next footstep that went by. Yet when 
 some undetermined wayfarer came down the road and 
 halted to peer in over the rickyard gate, he found all at 
 once that even the courage to cry out for succour had 
 been wrung out of him. As soon as the intruder was 
 gone and he could feel himself safe from observation, to 
 make concealment doubly sure he climbed up into the 
 waggon by which he had been standing, and finding it 
 thickly stowed with sacks, crept into a hollow corner 
 where lay some straw. There he curled himself into a 
 tight ball, and began wearily to cogitate whether, when 
 light came to release him, he would not go boldly ahead, 
 and, from certain peril to a chance of safety, turn runa- 
 way. He remembered with soft affection that somewhere 
 in the world was his Aunt Doris, the fair keystone of 
 dreams only a few hours old, living, if he could only 
 know in what direction to look for her, not more than 
 an hour's journey from where he was. Thinking of her 
 so near to hand, and of the probability of finding her if 
 he kept straight along the one road he knew, he let his 
 eyes close on the saddest day's end of his whole life ; and 
 it was with no evil dreams to break the completeness of 
 the relief that mild-handed sleep at last stole in on him, 
 and let her balm soak through the pores of his tired 
 faculties.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FOLLY LEADS TO WISDOM 
 
 ■\*7HEN he awoke it was with an apprehension of 
 sound which had grown customary to him dur- 
 ing sleep. The waggon was in forward motion, and 
 through all its boards and beams, was grumbling and 
 exclaiming at the unevenness of the way ; the sudden jolt- 
 ing of a patch of rough road-mendings had shaken Tris- 
 tram back to consciousness. Overhead were vanishings 
 of starlight ; and an atmosphere, grey within grey, lifting 
 itself slowly back toward life, told of an hour altogether 
 unusual and strange. 
 
 Presently, as the waggon eased from the toil of its 
 ascent into level going along a brief ridge of hill, he 
 became convinced of new daylight: like the splinter of 
 straw thrust through a partition into the pent space where 
 he lay, joggled a ray of sunbeam. The child peered out ; 
 in amazement he found himself nowhere at all ; all the 
 short landmarks of his life had disappeared, and so far 
 as his knowledge went, he was as much adrift as a casta- 
 way with no horizon on all sides save dead levels of 
 water. 
 
 On the foot-board against the partition where he leaned, 
 sat a carter with feet dangling over the shaft. Tristram, 
 by putting his hand through the railed side of the wag- 
 gon, could have touched the man's coat. When, pres- 
 ently, he summoned up courage to do so, off jumped the 
 
 27
 
 28 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 fellow into the road : mere coincidence ; yet the action set 
 Tristram's blood tingling at the dread of unfriendly dis- 
 covery in so unexplainable a position, and fixed him in a 
 determination not to reveal himself. The cart still jogged 
 on, the man walked by its side, and Tristram lay within, 
 feeling very chill and cramped after his hard night's 
 lodging. 
 
 Maybe more than an hour had elapsed when the carter 
 drew up before a wayside inn, and went round to the back 
 to find whether any one were astir at that early hour. 
 Tristram pushed up his head from between the sacks 
 and looked out. In another moment he had stepped 
 across on to the footboard, and was scrambling his way 
 to ground. Delightful firm earth was under him; he 
 tottered on feet that had grown numb from constraint. 
 All at once a spaniel from the inn-yard spied him and 
 gave tongue. It was the mere bully-ragging of habitual 
 watchfulness, but enough to send Tristram bolting down 
 the road ; nor did he halt till he had scrambled through 
 a gap and put the cover of a small plantation between 
 himself and the highway. When he had attained to that 
 degree of safety, wonder began what he was to do next. 
 He feared to go back to the road till the waggon had 
 passed by ; having now an absurd feeling that the carter 
 would, at sight of him, know how he had come, and forth- 
 with lay hands on him as a vagabond and trespasser. So 
 to wile away the time till the track for the following of 
 Aunt Doris should be free, he climbed up the slope of the 
 plantation, that he might from the higher ground find 
 what sort of country lay round him. 
 
 In the still morning air he heard presently the sound 
 of a whet-stone upon a scythe : somewhere near late hay- 
 cutting must be going on. He followed out the sound 
 till it brought him through an upper edge of coppice to 
 the brink of a bare field, over which a figure was stepping
 
 FOLLY LEADS TO WISDOM 29 
 
 methodically under the pure light of early day. Tristram 
 stayed to watch within cover of the plantation. The man 
 scythed, but he scythed ill; along his track lay jagged 
 edges and uncut tufts, and his strokes lacked confidence 
 and breadth. Now and again he gave a sanguine flourish, 
 and was pulled up as the point of his implement skegged 
 the turf. When this happened, he did not use the lan- 
 guage of ordinary men : he said, " Dear, dear ! " in a soft, 
 grieved voice, and went over the piece he had bungled 
 with slow and painstaking humility. 
 
 Tristram had enough knowledge to tell him that here 
 was no farm-hand. It was a small elderly figure, dressed 
 in clothes of a peculiar grey, and wearing a bright blue 
 tie; the coat which had been taken off lay neatly folded 
 on a shorn space of ground hard by. He noticed also 
 that one of the hands which wrestled with the scythe wore 
 a ring with a green stone in it. Bold curiosity quickened ; 
 the thought grew formed, " I will go and let him see that 
 I am looking at him ; then he will speak to me." It was 
 the child's most diplomatic way of securing an introduc- 
 tion. He stepped cautiously to the adventure, with his 
 eye upon the swing of the scythe, till he came within 
 the mower's sphere of vision. The movement stopped ; 
 the man stood up, and saw a fragile apparition of child- 
 hood gravely standing within the borders of his privacy. 
 
 Tristram felt the inquisition of a clear blue eye per- 
 vading his identity, and was as much trapped as though 
 a hand had been laid upon his collar. A voice of gentle 
 sprightliness saluted him with " Good-morning." Where 
 had he sprung from? he was asked. 
 
 " I came in a cart," said the boy. 
 
 "A cart? Not up here," objected the other. 
 
 " I ran." 
 
 " An entirely right thing to do ! " was the genial re- 
 sponse. " And where are you for now?"
 
 30 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " I'm going to find Auntie Dorrie," said the boy. 
 
 " And ' Auntie Dorrie ' ; where is she ? " 
 
 " I don't know. She's somewhere where I've been 
 once. I want to go to her." 
 
 " But are you going to her all alone? " 
 
 With a lip that began to quiver Tristram mumbled 
 ' Yes ; " adding, " Please, I don't want any one else to 
 know ! " 
 
 The mower put down his scythe. " Where have you 
 come from now ? " he asked. 
 
 Tristram's eyes showed tears. " I don't want to go 
 back there at all ! " he pleaded. " I only want to go to 
 Auntie Dorrie." 
 
 " Have no fear, you shall go to her ! But you have not 
 yet told me what your name is." 
 
 The child became suspicious at the question, and made 
 a beginning of reserve. " Please, I would rather not tell 
 you," said he. 
 
 To that the stranger nodded in courteous agreement, 
 and taking up his fallen scythe, wiped it meditatively 
 with a wisp of mown grass. Presently he looked towards 
 the boy again. " You seem tired ; chilly, too, eh ? Sit 
 down there on my coat, then, while I finish what I'm 
 about. Wrap yourself in it and go to sleep if you 
 like." 
 
 ' I'm not tired," said Tristram, " I went to sleep in the 
 cart." But he went and curled himself down on the coat. 
 One of his queer instincts was to judge of people with 
 whom he wished to make friends by the smell of their rai- 
 ment. Before altogether trusting him he wished to know 
 what sort of smell this new acquaintance carried about 
 with him. A very brief sniff approved to his judgment 
 the man he had to deal with : the coat actually bore the 
 scent of lavender. He sat up in full reassurance to watch 
 the scythe when it resumed its play ; and as the other went
 
 FOLLY LEADS TO WISDOM 31 
 
 on working without seeming to observe him at all, the 
 child grew convinced that Providence had sent to him 
 here a person altogether good and kind and fit to be 
 trusted. 
 
 Presently, when the stranger had finished a square, he 
 leaned his implement against the fence and straightened 
 himself with a sigh of relief. Glancing across to Tris- 
 tram, " Little prince," said he, " are you hungry ? " 
 
 The child found an explanation suddenly supplied for 
 the gnawing pain within him. The world had gone so 
 wrong with him in the last twelve hours, that he had for- 
 gotten to think of its ordinary comforts. Now with a 
 big sense of injury, he confessed to have had nothing 
 since tea the day before. 
 
 " Since tea ! " cried his friend. " Why, you must be 
 famished ! There's some oat-bread in that left-hand 
 pocket ; eat and be filled ! " 
 
 The boy munched his way blithely through a hunch of 
 home-made brown. The other, after regarding him for 
 some time, put on his coat with decision, and said, " Come 
 along with me and have some breakfast." 
 
 Tristram hesitated, having a conscience to purge of 
 offence against this angelic being who accepted his exist- 
 ence on such generous and unenquiring terms. He went 
 forward to give himself frankly up into the custody of 
 a kindness which had overthrown his suspicions. They 
 joined hands. " My name is Trampy," said the boy. 
 
 " And a very good name too ! " chuckled his companion. 
 " Auntie Dorrie is Trampy also, I suppose? " 
 
 " No, that's my name ; it's what she calls me." 
 
 " It is not your father's, either? " 
 
 " Oh no ! it's nobody's but mine ; it means Tristram. 
 Nan-nan calls me ' Trojer ' ; but Tristram Gavney is 
 what I am." 
 
 " And which of all these names am I to call you? "
 
 $2 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 The boy's heart was all up in love and embraces for 
 this benign sending of fate, but as yet he could not utter 
 his feelings. He became garrulous upon other matters; 
 his quick bird-like voice chirruped and prattled by the 
 old man's side ; and while susceptible youth rippled a 
 tale concerning the simple facts of its life, susceptible 
 age bent flattered ears to listen, and thought much was 
 wonderful which was really quite ordinary. 
 
 They walked through long grass on a short cut to the 
 house, which could be seen ahead, bowered over by trees ; 
 and all the way Tristram ran breathless over names and 
 things, but had not a word to say of the events which 
 had brought him to his present pass. " Tristram Gavney 
 I am," he repeated; "I've been ill, but I'm well now. 
 Auntie Dorrie is going to have me to stay with her; I've 
 got a letter from her in my pocket. Mother's away, be- 
 cause she can't get well over here ; she's got Marcia with 
 her. I remember Marcia. Mother couldn't take me 
 because I'm a boy and too noisy ; Marcia's noisier, though, 
 when she's here." To an enquiry from his friend : " Oh, 
 Marcia? — that's my sister; they used to call us twins 
 once ; but I know I'm taller than her now. Nan-nan says 
 she's a tomboy. Mother and father are fondest of her, 
 and Auntie Dorrie is fondest of me; I'd rather have 
 Auntie Dorrie fond of me. My father's rich, and that's 
 why he has to be often away. I don't remember him 
 much. When mother comes back we shall all be together 
 again and live in a big house because my father's rich. 
 Are you rich, too? " 
 
 " I have more than is good for me, I'm afraid," replied 
 his companion. 
 
 " Then why do you have to mow ? " asked Tristram. 
 " It's only the poor people who mow where we are." 
 
 " The grass wants cutting, so I am learning how to do 
 it. I like to find out how things are done."
 
 FOLLY LEADS TO WISDOM 33 
 
 " Then do you want to be a labourer really ? " 
 
 " Yes, a labourer really ; that's the best thing on 
 earth that one can be." 
 
 " And what are you now ? " 
 
 "I'm a poor thing they call a philosopher." 
 
 Tristram went back to his own interests; he had a 
 simple genius for happiness: Life's primaries glowed 
 under his artless handling, and his listener did not tire. 
 A wonderful friendship sprang up there and then be- 
 tween the two, as they went damp-footed over dewy 
 clover towards the railings which hemmed in shaven 
 and shorn turf and bright garden beds. Crossing a 
 slight indentation of ground, Tristram put down his 
 foot: " Is there water under there? " he enquired. 
 
 " No," returned his companion, " it's only that the 
 dew lies a little heavier there ; it's what comes at night 
 without rain." 
 
 " Is it all down there, then ? " asked the child. 
 
 The Sage took gentle pains to explain the matter. 
 
 Tristram said : " There's often water where there's 
 long grass ; once I didn't see it, and I fell in." Had his 
 nurse been by she would have marvelled to hear him 
 speak of " once " ; but to the child many occasions had 
 become only one memory. 
 
 When they were entering the house, at sight of a man- 
 servant, Tristram drew back. ' Is there any policeman 
 there ? " he enquired. 
 
 Friendly intelligence grew enlightened in some small 
 degree as to his disorder. " Oh no," said the philoso- 
 pher. " I don't let policemen in here ; I've no 
 use for them." He felt the child's hand tighten upon 
 his. 
 
 "You won't let them take me?" 
 
 His hand affirmed friendship. " Indeed I won't ! " he 
 responded.
 
 34 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 There was silence : then, " I broke three eggs yester- 
 day ! " said Tristram. 
 
 " Does Auntie Dorrie know? " 
 
 His answer, "No; I want to tell her!" was uttered 
 with wild eagerness. 
 
 During breakfast the whole tale was told; and at the 
 finish, in spite of those friendly eyes, the child had 
 grown white over the telling of it. The philosopher 
 smiled, and put the law to him with sage simplicity of 
 speech. ' What you did by accident," he said, for a 
 wind-up, " Miss silly Sally thought you had done on 
 purpose. Knowing what I know, not a policeman in the 
 kingdom would want to touch you. Now I, too, keep 
 fowls, and somebody has been stealing mine, for which 
 thing our local policeman is a little to blame. Now, if 
 you would like to see a policeman scolded, come and 
 behold my biddies first while we send for him, and the 
 deed shall be done. Then, when I have chastened him, 
 you can send word by him to yours of the mistake there 
 has been about you. I myself will take care that Miss 
 Sally's mind gets put straight." 
 
 Tristram listened with large breaths until the last 
 shadow of doubt had been removed from his under- 
 standing ; once delivered, the rush of his faculties back 
 to their wonted liberty of action would have struck 
 memorably on a heart less tender than the one now 
 open to him. The Sage, on telling it afterwards, made 
 note of the sensitive face with sorrow in it, like that of 
 some wild creature straining to be free ; and, suddenly 
 finding itself so, giving in the joy of its abandonment, 
 a poignant indication of the unnatural anguish through 
 which it had passed. It was only with some reserve 
 that he allowed himself to speak of the wild outburst 
 of gratitude which a cruel contrivance of dull wits had 
 indirectly won for him. Tristram fairly romped through 
 the rest of that day.
 
 FOLLY LEADS TO WISDOM 35 
 
 To the inn enquiry was sent, bringing back infor- 
 mation as to the precise locality from which Tristram 
 and his waggon had come ; for of names and places 
 that could give postal guidance, Tristram had only 
 words of domestic usage in his memory, and in his 
 pocket the letter bearing at its head the Little Towberry 
 address of his Aunt Doris. The charitable philosopher 
 had the thought to send two telegrams — one to a 
 rather chance address for the blameless Nan-nan, whose 
 distracted condition needed no guessing on his part. 
 Before noon wires sped in two directions comfortable 
 tidings of the small tramp's safety, and offer of a wel- 
 come to any friend who might come to claim him. 
 
 An answer came with dispatch that his Aunt Doris 
 was already flying to receive him, roundabout, but with all 
 speed possible. Rich apologies for the causing of trouble 
 followed ; the philosopher smiled at the pretty wording 
 of them, and reckoned ruefully the few short hours left 
 to him of the small creature who now gambolled una- 
 bashed through the ordered privacy of his domain. 
 
 The comfort when it came to Mrs. Harbour was 
 badly needed ; her poor humiliated soul lay in a state of 
 wreck and hot fiery indignation. The blow dealt to her 
 prestige was felt by that most loyal old body amid her 
 shrewdest grief. Sally had confessed to a part at least 
 of her wickedness; and Mrs. Nannie, wringing heart 
 and hands over the dimly understood sufferings of her 
 babe, shut her door at once and for ever against her 
 neighbours, being of that charity which in most cases is 
 extreme, but has its moments of becoming adamant. 
 Only when, some days later, she clasped Tristram once 
 more to her bosom, and, to the child's tender astonish- 
 ment, lifting up her voice, wept over him, did any degree 
 of comfort return to her. Finding that her babe loved 
 her as of old, she was able at last to forgive herself the 
 thing for which nobody else blamed her.
 
 36 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Miss Doris Foley, arriving late in the afternoon, found 
 Tristram on terms of intimacy with an elderly gentle- 
 man of homely looks, bearing a distinguished name. 
 She fluttered into apologetic speeches, holding the child 
 clasped in her arms ; for the rapture at having hold of 
 her was very great, and not easy to be assuaged. 
 
 "You are fond of him?" smiled the celebrity, when 
 the child had been packed out of the room for the two 
 to talk over his escapade. 
 
 " Oh, am I not! " cried the lady, hugging the memory 
 of but just finished endearments. 
 
 ' I have spent the day turning him inside out, while 
 we awaited your coming," said the Sage. " 'Tis a dear 
 laddie, promising to have a shapely mind if life and 
 time will allow." 
 
 " Oh, he is healthy ! " she made anxious protest. 
 
 ' Yes ? " admitted the other with interrogation. " But 
 things affect him curiously. Youth in health ought not 
 to have nerves like that. He has had a fright; and it 
 is as if he had had an illness. Sane I should certainly 
 call him ; but all his nature is quick to be up and off in 
 alarms and excursions. Life exhausts him. You will 
 see him sleeping like a top to-night — I wish it could 
 be here, for I am loth to lose him." He returned to the 
 thought presently, saying, " Could I prevail upon you 
 at no notice to accept an old bachelor's invitation for the 
 night? I have a home-made housekeeper very much 
 at your service." 
 
 The lady shook her head, smiling; the honour of it 
 alarmed her. Her eyes beamed softly in gratitude as 
 she pressed her refusal ; for here indeed was a wonder- 
 ful new addition to Tristram's conquests. She was 
 proud of her boy, and saw that she might babble of 
 him. Two enthusiasts talked, dove-tailing their eager 
 sentences ; he had only a day's doings to retail — he gave 
 it full of laughter; she, a short lifetime.
 
 FOLLY LEADS TO WISDOM 37 
 
 " Oh, excellent, excellent ! " cried he, watching how 
 devotion in her was balanced by insight and roguish 
 management of an innocent sinner; " his aunt is worthy 
 of him ! " 
 
 " Oh, high praise ! " said she ; " may I live to deserve 
 it!" 
 
 " Only let him live his life confidently, and do you 
 keep yourself in his confidence ; he will be safe then. 
 Be the leash which he will never have to be aware of. 
 Your name should be Cynthia, I think; you remember 
 the poem : — 
 
 ' Oh, huntress soul, with leash and thong, 
 Keep and control these hands and feet! ' — 
 
 and the rest; that is your task — a happy one, I think it." 
 When she was starting to carry her precious handful 
 away with her, the Sage said, " If he should ever ask to 
 come and see me again, do not be afraid of troubling 
 me ; let him come ! I like to have a will-o'-the-wisp 
 dancing over my old bones." He gave his hand to 
 Tristram gravely upon the moment of parting; and all 
 at once the child became shy and constrained, finding 
 their affectionate union disturbed. " It seems you keep 
 them all for your aunt now ! " smiled his host, wickedly 
 laying the burden upon him. The child's confidence 
 came back at a rush. " Yes, yes ! Only don't choke 
 me! " protested the old man, depositing him in the car- 
 riage by the side of his lady-love. 
 
 Even upon the way Tristram slept well, snuggling 
 closely into the warmth of that adored companionship ; 
 nor had he full consciousness again until, late the next 
 morning, he woke to find Marcia prancing in night- 
 gown attire, upon his bed, and calling out to him in 
 funny French ways of speech. In five minutes they 
 ceased to be strangers, and Tristram was realising his
 
 38 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 sudden growth that made him, at least in physical 
 things, the leader, where before he had only been the 
 follower. The physical race between them was already 
 over ; but it was to be years before Marcia lost her 
 mental supremacy. 
 
 Among the elders talk went chiefly about Tristram's 
 capture of a splendid celebrity, whose fame ran to the 
 ends of the earth, but whose door was shut so closely 
 against the ordinary inroads of society. Word of it 
 went to Mrs. Gavney, still gathering up health in foreign 
 parts, and unable as yet to travel ; and she, writing 
 almost as a stranger, enquired wistfully about this inde- 
 finable charm which drew people toward the younger of 
 her two offsprings. Her letters failed not every week 
 to bring from her sister Doris replies in a devout strain ; 
 for to that lady the famous man's friendship, so readily 
 accorded, was a crowning proof, if any were needed, 
 that her boy was all that she declared of him. 
 
 And while Tristram's scape-grace charms had drawn 
 to him this large conquest, record should not be missed 
 of homage rendered from a much humbler quarter. The 
 new home to which he was soon going seemed too far 
 away for the fond ageing bosom that had nursed him. 
 After their last parting Mrs. Harbour's heart-strings 
 were strained to cracking point ; also by asperity of 
 demeanour she had made herself neighbourless. So one 
 day she moved herself and her few belongings into a 
 green court, which lay behind the main street of Bern- 
 bridge, the post-town two miles distant from Tristram's 
 new home. And there, shaping garments of a rather 
 nondescript cut, she tailored for him till the convention 
 of school-days rescued him from her amorous stitchings. 
 Her woollens and knittings followed him through life, 
 and the last garment she worked for him was made 
 when her eyes were nearly as blind as Love's own, and 
 was never seen by him.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 REAL CHARACTERS AND FICTITIOUS PERSONS 
 
 r T" , HE reader will by this time be perceiving that 
 what is to be told here is history and not fiction. 
 A hero of romance at five or six years of age it not too 
 young to start on a life of manly adventure. In the 
 " Rule Britannia " school of fiction we find dauntless 
 midshipmites showing their first teeth to an affrighted 
 foe, and shouting their country's war-cries in treble 
 tones. Given a hero who, before his seventh year, has 
 broken from leading strings and cleared himself for 
 action and a life of " over the hills and far away," no 
 writer of fiction will sacrifice the situation and return 
 him the very next day to the dull rounds of domesticity. 
 
 Here, however, are we already upon anti-climax: life 
 takes the Tramp back almost to the point whence he 
 first started. He comes, with but a slight shift of local- 
 ity, to his new home, a house set in terraced grounds, 
 overlooking a broad valley whose woody knolls and 
 rising pasture-lands shut away from view the not far 
 distant market-town of Bembridge. Over a broad roll 
 of hill westward hang the dark edges of Randogger, 
 wood-lands which will play a deep part in the story to 
 follow. Below them run on a lower level the ups and 
 downs of a rich arable tract whose well-clipped boun- 
 daries witness by common features to a single owner- 
 ship. 
 
 Between Hill Alwyn, the " place " of the locality, and 
 
 39
 
 4 o A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Little Alwyn and Long Alwyn, its rural appendages, 
 there was no house of standing to disturb the social 
 seclusion of the district, save the one in which the 
 Gavneys now found themselves. All round lay a delec- 
 table country, whose only drawback was the privacy 
 which stood erected across so many by-ways attractive 
 to the eye, a thing altogether inconvenient to one in 
 whom ere long the lust of the eye was to become the 
 ruling passion. How he adapted himself to those im- 
 pediments will be seen later. 
 
 The Gavney family was still waiting for the maternal 
 presence to make it complete. Marcia talked much to 
 Tristram of their mother in those days, and was restless 
 for the day when she might show to each other the two 
 between whom, from more recent intercourse, she felt 
 herself in a way the connecting link. Being jealous for 
 Tristram to feel as she did, she raged to find him so 
 satisfied with his Aunt Doris. She averred that their 
 mother was far more beautiful : he as stoutly denied it. 
 It was their continual and long-standing quarrel. 
 
 Mr. Gavney appeared among them only at a late hour 
 of the day or for brief week-ends. Preoccupied with 
 affairs and fretted by the absence of his wife, he took 
 but small pleasure in the new home and its surround- 
 ing's. In those first days the children came little into 
 his society. Marcia, who claimed proprietary rights 
 over him until her mother's return, knew him best by 
 the patterns upon his waistcoats, against which she 
 would compulsorily come to be nursed. Tristram, on 
 such occasions, would cuddle down into another lap 
 spread open to him ; and the two children would corre- 
 spond silently by eye-signal, while the talk of the elders 
 went on over their heads. 
 
 Doris Foley assured her brother-in-law in reply to 
 his enquiries that she was not dull ; her visit to install
 
 REAL CHARACTERS 41 
 
 and look after the new menage she declared to he a 
 pleasure. 
 
 " But society — you get none. Until we have Anna 
 here, naturally the neighbourhood delays." 
 
 " Oh, people from Bembridge are calling." 
 
 " Ah, yes ; that one would expect. But there is Lady 
 Petwyn." His voice paused interrogatively over the 
 name. 
 
 " Lady Petwyn has not called," said his sister-in-law. 
 
 " No : as I say ; she waits, I have no doubt, to hear of 
 Anna's return." 
 
 " I should be sorry if she did otherwise," said his 
 companion, and started to draw a blithe picture of her 
 doinsrs with the two children. 
 
 He objected that it was time now for them to be 
 under regular tuition. She pleaded the beauty of the 
 summer days for a respite, adding, " I assure you they 
 are learning; every day I teach them something." But 
 she acquiesced when the date for a new order of things 
 was fixed upon. " Only three weeks more! " she sighed, 
 " then we will go picnicking to-morrow ! " 
 
 They visited the great Randoggers, and came home 
 in a violent fall of the weather, which, when it was over, 
 seemed to have carried green-hearted summer away 
 with it, and to have started the withering autumnal tints. 
 A few days later Mr. Gavney was hurrying away to 
 bring his wife back from the South, to whom went also 
 a letter from Doris, worded with welcome, and touching 
 on the changes her sister would find, coming after long 
 absence to new home and surroundings. 
 
 " Marcia," wrote her correspondent, " you will find all 
 on tiptoe; absence stiffens her affections. She is abso- 
 lutely dogged : loves you and the Tramp, and, I believe, 
 no other thing. Just as she had hankerings after him 
 when abroad with us, so now she has hankerings after
 
 42 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 you, and is jealously striving to work up Trampy to the 
 same state. As for him, you will have for a time not to 
 be jealous of me: he has been making much of me — for 
 lack of you, and his small heart-strings are all entangled ; 
 you will get them back quickly enough, and then / shall 
 be desolate. 
 
 " He came upon me the other day with my hair down. 
 ' Oh, Auntie Dorrie, how beautiful you are ! ' he cried. 
 It's a real romance; the wee one was almost in tears. 
 He makes me sing to him, too, on all occasions — the 
 other day for an hour in the rain, under dripping boughs. 
 I must tell you about that, for it connects with a queer 
 notion that has got into my head about him. There's 
 a knowingness, a sort of weather-cock wisdom he has, 
 which is almost uncanny : it came out comically the very 
 day I refer to. We were off on a picnicking jaunt, under 
 a blue sky, which seemed to have no end to it. Just at 
 the start Trampy was missing. I am never for waiting, 
 so I whistled him and went on. Presently he comes 
 after, dragging a great water-proof, for me, if you 
 please, and would bring it ! I laughed at him ; but before 
 the clay's end, we were all under it, and thankful for the 
 shelter. 
 
 " And that's the creature who himself likes to get wet! 
 My Nannette remembers where in the world he was 
 during the insufferable heat and drought of that one 
 summer she and I spent in France ; how you lay and 
 gasped for air so many weary hours of each day; till one 
 evening late the heavens were moved, and you thanked 
 God and got to bed in haste, while Pierre rode off for 
 the doctor through a night loud with rain. The last 
 thing you said to me was, ' Is it raining still?' 
 
 ' It never stopped all that night. I remember also 
 how on his return Pierre waited drenched for two whole 
 hours in order to have safe news of you, before going off
 
 REAL CHARACTERS 43 
 
 to his own home. Poor people take to you, my dear, 
 and your boy has the same gift of winning them; but 
 he tramps over all sorts and conditions; even birth and 
 intellect are not safe from the spell of him. A propos: 
 I prophecy that Lady Petwyn will come calling on him 
 some day: she has not yet done so on me, your proxy. 
 Beresford is alarming himself on the subject. You know 
 how, if he gets a thing on his mind, he fusses over it. 
 Better persuade him you want no formidable callers. I 
 hear she is a crank, of aldermanic origin, no aristocrat — 
 married a bad specimen of the breed, and disembarrassed 
 the estates, which have now become hers. She is a 
 recently confirmed widow, and, they say, a jubilant one; 
 walks lame, rides in defiance of orders : there is all I 
 know about her." 
 
 A letter which touched lightly over the many interests 
 of the new neighbourhood, wound up with a return to 
 family topics, and a last mention of the two children. 
 " They are sitting together now on the terrace steps," 
 she wrote, " hatching mischief, by the look of them, 
 which will probably mean mud-heaps for me before bed- 
 time. Their little back-views send you much love." 
 
 Among the thick of her correspondence Doris Foley 
 had before her eyes as she wrote fresh proof of Tris- 
 tram's conquest of " intellect." Less than a month's 
 waiting had brought from the Sage a letter, whimsically 
 pathetic, begging not to be dropped. Naming the 
 Tramp, it was apparent he meant both. She burned 
 humbly in reply to do him the honours of her own house, 
 as soon as ever she could return to Little Towberry. 
 " Whenever you can come, the boy shall be with me," 
 she wrote, and begged for a day to be named. Looking 
 out, she saw the two small back-views still in position, 
 and wondered what the plot could be which kept them 
 so long sedentary.
 
 44 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Tristram and Marcia were at the moment deep in a 
 comparison of experiences. Of the two, though Tris- 
 tram might be the romantic one, Marcia was the roman- 
 cer. She saw life out of a level eye, and for her age 
 was a stern thinker; within her were the makings of a 
 rigorously truthful character, but the time for truth of 
 that quality had not arrived in the seventh year of her 
 conscience's up-bringing: merely did it leaven her grim 
 powers of invention to be very logical and circumspect, 
 as the present instance will show. 
 
 Tristram was hearing from Marcia the true story of 
 her life; and as the narrative went in sombre phrase, 
 as an unpleasant duty having to be done, he without 
 a quiver of suspicion drew into his brain a vision of her 
 fitting well enough with his own vague inspirations and 
 dreams. 
 
 Marcia began by asking him if he had not noticed 
 her to be different on some days from others ; had she 
 not looked sulkier and prettier now and again ? Tris- 
 tram thought it over, and was ready to be sure he had. 
 
 Marcia having her quarry up and on the run, drove 
 him nimbly down the ways of her will. She bid him 
 know the reason. 
 
 "I'm two different people," she declared; "one of 
 them is me and the other isn't." 
 
 "Which of them isn't you?" asked Tristram. 
 
 " The sulky and pretty one." That one, she told him, 
 came and took her place during the recurring periods of 
 her absence ; and the likeness between them was so 
 close that even fathers and aunts were taken in by it. 
 
 Tristram questioned why she had to go away at all. 
 
 Marcia plucked for him the heart of her mystery. 
 " It's because," said she, " I've got two fathers and two 
 mothers. Even when father and mother are both here, 
 I've still another father and mother living somewhere
 
 REAL CHARACTERS 45 
 
 else ; and when they want me, they send the other girl 
 to take my place, and she's so like me it doesn't matter 
 — nobody finds out the difference." 
 
 Tristram wanted to know, with the beginnings of a 
 small jealousy in the matter, why she had two fathers 
 and mothers. 
 
 " Oh," said Marcia, " it's the way I was born ; they 
 knew I was going to be troublesome, so they gave me 
 two. You need a lot of fathers and mothers when you 
 are naughty." 
 
 " But I'm just as naughty as you ! " cried Tristram, in 
 protest, at finding himself so much of an orphan. 
 
 " Oh no, you are not ! And there's children naughtier 
 than me, too. Where I and mamma were, there was a 
 little girl who used to go about with three mothers. 
 She wanted me to exchange with her, but I wouldn't, 
 because my own mother wanted me." 
 
 "How often do you go away?" he enquired, intent 
 on waylaying and accompanying her at her next flitting. 
 
 " I go every week," said Marcia. " I've got to go 
 away to-day. The next time you see me it won't be me 
 at all ; it will be the other one." 
 
 Tristram became all agog for the appointed hour. 
 Misery at the thought of losing her, determination not 
 to let her go, made him staunch in his refusals of her 
 request that he would run on a small errand indoors 
 for her : walking-boots were the things she wanted. 
 Presently, vowing that she must be gone, if unutterable 
 woes were to be avoided, she shed real tears over him, 
 kissed him, and cried good-bye ! She begged him to be 
 good to the other one for her sake ; then, with a resolute 
 push, sent him tumbling down the steps to the grass- 
 patch below, and made away at full speed through the 
 shrubbery, in the direction of the fowl-pens. 
 
 The Tramp gathered himself up, and went after her;
 
 46 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 his excitable small body shook with sobs that choked 
 him as he ran. When he got round to the back prem- 
 ises, the fugitive was no longer in sight. He butted 
 himself against the first door, and finding it would not 
 open, beat lamentably upon it. Then he ranged the 
 premises in all directions for half-an-hour, searching in 
 vain for traces of the missing one. Presently he heard 
 a voice, not quite Marcia's, cooeying to him from a far- 
 away spot in the back-gardens. That way he went in 
 all haste, and there found Marcia sitting demurely 
 among the currant bushes, her lips stained by the red of 
 the fruit, and looking, to be sure, prettier and sulkier 
 than as he had last seen her. 
 
 He drew near with a sort of awe, spying to find more 
 strangeness in her. She eyed him aslant, and nodded 
 over a mouthful, saying never a word. 
 
 " Is it you? " he asked at last, " or are you the other 
 one?" 
 
 Marcia threw a full stare at him. " I don't know what 
 you mean ! " was her first parrying answer. 
 
 " I mean, are you Marcia ; or are you the girl that 
 comes to take her place when her other home wants her ? " 
 
 At that the other swung herself round with an air of 
 being wonderfully startled. " Do you mean to say she 
 told you?" cried the new Marcia. "Why, she could be 
 put to death for doing that ! " 
 
 " Oh, but I won't tell ! " cried Tristram ; " you mustn't 
 either." 
 
 " No; for if we were to, she would never be allowed 
 to come back again. If you want to see her again, you 
 must promise never to say that she has told you ! " 
 
 The promise given, Tristram began to examine his 
 new companion soberly ; he looked her over from top to 
 toe, up into her eyes, and under her chin. " How like 
 you are ! " he said at last. " When you come, do you 
 have to change clothes? "
 
 REAL CHARACTERS 47 
 
 " No," she answered ; " we have dresses made alike 
 for our going-away days." 
 
 He asked her, next, what her real name was. 
 
 " Georgiana," she told him ; " but here I have to be 
 Marcia." 
 
 Tristram thought that funny. " Georgiana," said he, 
 " is Marcia's favourite name." 
 
 After thinking for a little she answered, " Marcia's 
 mine," adding, "I'd give anything to be Marcia!" a 
 remark which showed that Georgiana was at present 
 but an implement in Marcia's hands, an underling to her 
 stronger personality. 
 
 " Are her other father and mother good to her? " was 
 Tristram's next question. 
 
 " Oh yes ! but they are very poor ; they can't afford to 
 keep her as well dressed as she is when she is here." 
 
 Tristram fell into deep thought : presently it came into 
 his head to say : " Has she any brothers or sisters ? " 
 
 " Of course," said the cunning Georgiana ; " she has a 
 brother there exactly like you." 
 
 The Tramp's intellect fidgeted under this new fact. 
 " Why doesn't he come here, then, and change with 
 me? " he enquired. 
 
 " Because," said Georgiana, " he is always so ill : he's 
 lame, too, and can't walk. She goes there to nurse him ; 
 so do I when it's my turn." 
 
 Tristram was thinking that he knew now where his 
 old clothes must go to. But a fresh idea drove him 
 abruptly to enquire, " Don't you ever get punished for 
 things she has done the day you change places ? " 
 
 " If I do," said the other grimly, " I pay her out when 
 my turn comes ; that's quite easy." 
 
 "Aren't you fond of her?" asked Tristram rather 
 wistfully, wondering how he was to divide into two his 
 own affection for Marcia.
 
 48 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Georgiana's answer to that was : " You see, I hardly 
 ever meet her; we are always having to be in different 
 places." 
 
 The story took a long telling, for many details of 
 deception had to be gone through. Marcia-Georgiana 
 played her part with the utmost gravity, and Tristram 
 took it all in, and never murmured; he gazed enchanted 
 upon this new sister, who was prettier and sulkier than 
 the old one, and who had a small lame brother exactly 
 like himself. For many days afterwards his heart 
 yearned toward his afflicted double, whom he was never 
 to see; at night he dreamed of him, and would some- 
 times in his waking hours play at being lame, with 
 Georgiana looking on serious and unamused. 
 
 Now from this incident those who live by the letter 
 rather than by the spirit, will conclude that there was not 
 much to choose morally between the Marcia Gavney of 
 this chapter, and the Sally Tracy of a previous one. 
 Like priests in the dark ages, both of them bore rule 
 by their means; but to a different end. The effect of 
 the story on Tristram was strange : he loved Georgiana 
 better than the old Marcia; and Marcia herself, when 
 she returned, better than both. 
 
 When she returned : for, a few days afterwards, Mar- 
 cia came running up to him from nowhere, and throwing 
 her arms round his neck, " I've come back again, 
 Trampy!" she cried, "I'm Marcia. How did you like 
 Georgiana? " 
 
 Tristram owned that he saw but a shade of difference 
 between them ; unless, may be, the other were a little 
 bit the taller. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! " Marcia seized on the admission. " They 
 are getting rather anxious about that at my other home. 
 She is growing so fast that they are beginning to be 
 afraid of sending her in my place for fear of being 
 found out."
 
 REAL CHARACTERS 49 
 
 In course of time Georgiana was allowed to grow so 
 fast that Marcia could no longer be exchanged with 
 safety: the legend seemed to be dying a natural death. 
 Yet more than a year went by before Tristram was 
 sufficiently advanced to say doubtfully : — 
 
 " Marcie, was it true what you used to tell me about 
 your changing places with Georgiana?" 
 
 Marcia herself had grown fast in the last year. She 
 turned on him an eye of fierce sorrow. " Oh, Tris, why 
 did you ask me that ? Marcia died while she was at her 
 other home a year ago. I'm Georgiana; I'm taking her 
 place for good and all now." Possessive instinct 
 prompted her to add : " He's dead too : Chris, I mean, 
 — the poor little lame boy. They were buried the same 
 day." 
 
 And from that position all Tristram's arguments, ex- 
 hortations and denials could not bring her to budge. 
 It were shame to say how long afterwards he still carried 
 about with him a vague ghostly belief that the story 
 might have been a true one, after all. Even when he 
 stood clear in his teens his faith in Marcia's consistency 
 kept life; and he knew that had he questioned her 
 again on the subject of that foolish, childish fable, she 
 would have turned on him a steady eye as of old, and 
 answered under a sense of honourable obligation, " I am 
 Georgiana."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Tristram's heart has its growing pains 
 
 *TpHE day during which Mrs. Gavney's return was 
 waited for, proved one of constant bickerings and 
 peace-makings between brother and sister. Marcia awoke 
 unnaturally bright, with a fixed eye. She raged over the 
 delays in her dressing, grudging Tristram his turns. To 
 his babble of scatter-brained remarks about all the things 
 he would have to say and show when their mother was 
 with them, she opposed a harsh doubt, whether they 
 would be seeing her at all that day. Steeling herself for 
 disappointment she said, " I'm sure she won't come ! " and 
 reiterated it with such a parade of gloomy conviction, that 
 Tristram flew off in scared appeal to his Aunt Doris. He 
 triumphed back to the nursery with his expectations con- 
 firmed. " She is coming," he cried ; " Auntie Dorrie says 
 so!" 
 
 For that Marcia slapped his face. They fought, and 
 had to be divided. 
 
 An hour later Marcia raided his solitude; kissed him, 
 declared that she loved him, and flew out again. After a 
 time they were loosed once more into each other's com- 
 pany, but could not agree in their differences. Tristram 
 was for being happy with his playthings. Encamped in 
 a general litter of them, his own and hers mixed, he 
 began whispering to all that had ears or insides wherewith 
 to hear, news of the great event which was at hand. 
 
 5°
 
 TRISTRAM'S PAINS 51 
 
 Marcia made a jealous swoop, picked out those which 
 were her separate property, and packed them severely 
 back into their cupboard. 
 
 There remained to become a bone of contention an 
 article in which they held common ownership ; Tristram 
 was for keeping it out, Marcia for having it in. They 
 broke it in the struggles which put a close to arguments ; 
 a useless piece of it went into the cupboard; Tristram 
 kept possession of the equally useless remains. " This is 
 my half ! " he said, and played with it. 
 
 They were summoned from a state of rumbling hos- 
 tility to their morning's airing. Their Aunt Doris was 
 busy over household preparations, and to have the nurse 
 as her substitute, made the exercise definitely distasteful. 
 Marcia wished to know where they were going and re- 
 belled, being sure now that her mother would arrive 
 prematurely in their absence. Tristram begged for the 
 Bembridge road, so that in any case they might meet her ; 
 and the concession was granted him. It left Marcia 
 without a grievance, but with a temper that showed itself 
 in a staid deportment during the whole of their walk. 
 While Tristram ranged, she followed the nurse at heel 
 just too distant for conversation. Seeing cows coming, 
 of which she had a dread, she remembered that the road 
 was her brother's choosing, and said to herself, " So, if 
 they toss me, it will be Trampy's fault ! " They did not : 
 before the cattle came much nearer Tristram remembered 
 her weakness ; he trotted back and slipped his hand into 
 hers. She gave him an affectionate squeeze, and they 
 were better friends for a while. Nevertheless it remained 
 for her a day of sharp edges, and companionship was the 
 thing which proved least suited to her complaint. 
 
 During the afternoon they played in the garden ; but 
 before long she took refuge in her pet climbing-tree and 
 would not come down. Tristram made daring climbs in
 
 52 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 her neighbourhood to heights he had never aimed at 
 before, but could not tempt her to a following. 
 
 He left her at last, and they did not meet again till tea- 
 time. Over their cups and cake they fell into a concilia- 
 tory mood : word had come by telegram that Mrs. Gavney 
 was really on the way, but to arrive an hour later than 
 timed. They feasted on certainty : Tristram's brain 
 became crowded with plans. ' Mayn't we," he demanded, 
 " go along the road and meet her, before any one else 
 does ? " 
 
 Restraint was set upon any such highway attack on a 
 tired traveller. Marcia looked across at him with an eye 
 that spoke volumes ; but when the meal was over she 
 avoided his signals, had her bib unfastened, and went 
 hastily out of the room. 
 
 Tristram roamed about to catch sight of his Aunt Doris, 
 whom he had hardly seen that day. He fell upon her at 
 the store-closets, and starting impatient enquiries as to 
 how many hours longer he would have to wait, was 
 warned when the time came to be more gentle in his rap- 
 tures : those romping attacks of affection, delightful to 
 her, would not do where convalescent nerves were con- 
 cerned : "Take them up tenderly, lift them with care!" 
 explained Doris, thinking of her tired sister's arrival. 
 
 " Will she be afraid of me? " queried Tristram. 
 
 " No no ! " cried the dear lady, " who could be ! " She 
 let herself be hugged, and ordered the boy off: " Go and 
 find Marcia, and be ready when the time comes ! " 
 
 " We are both ready now," he declared ; but his nurse 
 thought differently; he was caught on the run, and put 
 through the process of washing and clean-collaring it 
 had been his plan to avoid. His sister had been before- 
 hand in submitting to the inevitable : there were no signs 
 of her in the nursery when he went up. His impatience 
 to get down and out again, brought on him only a cajoling
 
 TRISTRAM'S PAINS 53 
 
 measure of reproof: so near now was the moment for 
 which all the household stood in expectation. 
 
 At the sound of carriage wheels from a distance, just 
 before dusk, Tristram cried out for Marcia, and ran in a 
 flutter of haste to search out the missing link of his happi- 
 ness. One of the servants had seen Miss Marcia going 
 down the drive. 
 
 He scurried out to overtake her, and was shouting 
 " Marcia ! " as the brougham emerged upon the sweep at 
 the front. Marcia's head came serenely out of the car- 
 riage-window ; her face was flushed with happiness. 
 
 " She's in here, Trampy ! She's in here ! Come and 
 look at her ! " was the invitation flung out to him. 
 
 Tristram jumped up on to the step, and saw vague 
 things within. 
 
 " My boy ! " cried a sweet voice, " my boy ! " His 
 father's arms lifted him across the sill ; from a corner of 
 the shadowy interior a pale face smiled at him, bringing 
 sudden memories. Tumbling to be clasped, he heard 
 another voice, Marcia's, saying, " This is Trampy." Out 
 of breath he felt a heart under his — tears that were not 
 his own, flowing warm over his cheeks ; and twisting his 
 mouth free to whisper that he was glad, saw eyes strange 
 and familiar, and Marcia, with a fast hold on them both, 
 lean down her face to join theirs. They embraced all 
 three together ; mists were on Tristram ; he kissed mother 
 and sister, scarcely knowing them apart till the carriage 
 drew up. There waiting her turn to come in and be 
 kissed he saw his dear Aunt Lady-love, and with a great 
 cry of affection, threw himself on her too, as though fear- 
 ing lest new love had been a sort of treason to the old. 
 
 When welcomings were over, Marcia alone had dry 
 eyes. Yet that night she was the one that lay wakeful 
 and cried of her happiness. 
 
 The next morning an early awakening moved Tristram
 
 54 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 to go and tap at his Aunt Doris's door and make plea for 
 admittance. Sweet sleepy speech bade him enter. 
 " You ! " she cried, surprised, as he frolicked up to her 
 bedside and crouched for an invitation to spring in. She 
 opened her arms through a sea of golden-brown locks. 
 "Jump!" cried she: and he, nestling his ear in the soft 
 frills under his lady's chin, cried, "Sing!" and purred 
 for the notes to follow. 
 
 She sang to him of Cock Robin ; " And, why do you 
 listen like that ? " she asked him. " Oh, I like to hear it 
 in the tunnel before it comes out ! " was the explanation 
 given her to laugh at. 
 
 He made love to her in funny quaint speeches, and 
 fluttered to let her see she was loved to-day as much as 
 yesterday; but could not put himself into words. She 
 talked to him of his mother ; he, listening with grave 
 attention, asked, "Is she going to be w r ell now?" and 
 was troubled not to get a more sure answer. In his 
 mind, so susceptible to emotions of pity, a tender filial 
 devotion had begun toward that mother who was ever 
 to remain a sort of stranger to him : a piety evoked by 
 the frailty of a body aged before its time, and destined 
 never to renew its youth or feel again the joy of un- 
 hindered health. 
 
 " You, Auntie Dorrie, are always quite well, are you 
 not ? " he asked, eyeing her dear beauty. 
 
 " Oh, quite, quite, quite ! " she cried, with a sudden 
 shoot of colour to her cheeks. 
 
 She started talking to him of his old man, the Sage, 
 and of the promised return visit which she hoped to 
 arrange. Would Trampy come? Indeed, and would he 
 not ! The mere mention was enough to spring fondness 
 to his memories of that one day's acquaintance : she could 
 not tell him fast enough a tithe of the things he wished 
 breathlessly to know. And this remained characteristic
 
 TRISTRAM'S PAINS 55 
 
 of the boy all through life: utterly contented though he 
 might seem with present surroundings to be reminded in 
 absence of those he loved gave him a curious restlessness, 
 a disturbed sense that he had been remiss toward their 
 claims on him. It seemed to him always, then, that he 
 had never yet loved them as they deserved; and if some 
 had reason at times to think him the most forgetful of 
 lovers, they found him at others astonishingly the most 
 grateful. Doris Foley spoke of him with some insight 
 in regard to his friendships, when she declared that his 
 heart was a thorn working through his body in all direc- 
 tions, and constantly coming out at his sleeve ; and the 
 Sage, who had a weakness for finding truth and beauty 
 eternally united, gave extravagant praise to a saying that 
 came from lips so fair. " Almost the only wise things I 
 hear now-a-days come from the young!" he declared. 
 " I am finding young people the best book of wisdom for 
 my old age." 
 
 " Ah ! but I am no longer young," sighed the lady. 
 
 " Twenty-five, I should judge," he answered, " if I may 
 be allowed to put Time's cage round you." 
 
 " You are generous : you have spared me two whole 
 years in your reckoning! " was her reply. " But I judge 
 of age by looking forward, not by looking back. I shall 
 never be very old ; and therefore I have ceased to be very 
 young." She smiled gaily, adding, " I have lived one of 
 the happiest lives I know, and still live it! Surely you 
 can judge of that, who sighed just now for jealousy of 
 me over Trampy's ways of giving us our ' good-nights ' ! 
 He loves you well enough ; but I am his first romance. I 
 shall die with that in my proud possession." 
 
 This was the lady whose sense of the fleetingness of 
 things expressed itself so well in the sigh uttered just a 
 month before : " Only three weeks ! then we will go pic- 
 nicking to-morrow."
 
 56 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Little Towberry lay but four miles on the other side of 
 Bembridge, or six from the Valley House, and the goings 
 to and fro between the two homes were frequent. Even 
 Mrs. Gavney, before the cold of winter came to make her 
 a prisoner within doors, could drive over the distance, 
 stay a night, and return on the next day. It was thus 
 that she came, with Tristram under her weak wing, 
 for the day that brought the great Sage to her sister's 
 roof. 
 
 Mr. Beresford Gavney came also from his place of 
 business in Sawditch, and at first in the presence of 
 Tristram's celebrity showed less ease than did his wife 
 and sister-in-law. It was with difficulty that Miss Foley, 
 during dinner, kept him from talking " county," that 
 height toward which he furtively aimed, and from which 
 his women-kind, with a better sense of fitness, strove to 
 keep him retired. 
 
 " If Beresford would only take a pride in the wheels he 
 himself runs on, and have less of a wish to run behind 
 other people's, what a happy man of business he might 
 be ! " his sister-in-law had said in early days when she 
 knew him less well than now. She had struck at once 
 on the weakest point of a character, whose surfaces did 
 not fairly correspond to the merits underneath. Mr. 
 Gavney was a discontented man of business, vain of his 
 capacity, ashamed of his calling. As a young man suc- 
 ceeding to the business which his father had founded, he 
 had sacrificed some of the goodwill that a fixed appella- 
 tion carries, lest his name should stand connected with 
 the sources of his income. He now traded as a firm, a 
 device by which few were deceived, and outside business 
 hours nervously avoided all mention of the commodities 
 and processes about which he knew most. " Beresford 
 always stops short at the point where he could become 
 informing!" was another of his sister-in-law's small
 
 TRISTRAM'S PAINS 57 
 
 shafts. But it would be a mistake to think that she had 
 no affection for the man whom she thus probed with slight 
 ridicule. Before her sister she was always careful to spare 
 him ; spoke warmly indeed, and had cause, for he was a 
 devoted and impeccable spouse. 
 
 " It is a mercy," she declared to others of her family, 
 " that in spite of appearances his heart does not run en- 
 tirely to waistcoat ; under that patterned exterior there's 
 a pattern of a man. Anna is never quite happy when 
 she's without him, and never quite unhappy when with 
 him. Can one say much more when the poor health she 
 has cuts her off from the more active enjoyments of life? 
 He is a man I like genuinely whenever I see him with 
 her; and respect always when he does not try to make 
 himself respected outside his limitations." 
 
 " Positively, I could be thankful sometimes, if he would 
 drop one of those carefully held ' H's ' of his ! " was a 
 complaint the same friendly on-looker made against his 
 manner of going into society. 
 
 Mr. Gavney had looked forward with flattered trepida- 
 tion to the half-hour's tcte-a-tcte with a great celebrity 
 which the wine after dinner would secure him, and had 
 laid up stock of polite conversation which he hoped might 
 put them at ease one with another. He emerged at the 
 end of that period of promised felicity with a scared feel- 
 ing of satisfaction over the impression he had made, but 
 a lowered sense of the Sage's gentility. He had talked — 
 well, he believed ; but on what topics ? 
 
 Doris, when the two reappeared, sent her brother-in- 
 law a smile of amused interrogation. " How did you get 
 on? " the smile seemed to say ; " And if well, — as by the 
 look of you, — then, how so? " 
 
 Mr. Gavney had nothing that his lips could impart. 
 Was he to go over to his sister-in-law and own that 
 against his will he had been talking informingly on the
 
 58 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 one subject he knew thoroughly, and had found genius 
 most meanly interested in it, for all the world like a shop- 
 man ? He glowed over the proceeding, and blushed with 
 shame. Where had he placed himself socially in the great 
 man's estimation, he wondered. Had they met to talk 
 factory ? All that talk had been wrung from him ; he 
 was for dismissing it quickly from his thoughts. 
 
 But the Sage having tasted at the fresh springs of 
 knowledge, was hardly ready as yet to relinquish the topic. 
 " Miss Foley," he cried, " I have come from so much 
 good wine and so much good instruction, that they have, 
 between them, almost atoned to me for the absence of 
 my hostess. I am refreshed and informed. I am on 
 better terms with the habiliments I live in ; I feel myself 
 larger: my intelligence passes into the shell which en- 
 closes me. Until to-day I was packed like a parcel ; now 
 my garb is a part of me ; cloth has a real meaning to me 
 at last ; — Mr. Gavney has been expounding everything 
 and with the modesty of a master " 
 
 He got no further; Beresford Gavney's modesty mas- 
 tered all further speech of it. He became eager to know 
 if his sister's guest had yet heard a voice that her family 
 was proud of. 
 
 " It is one of those things I have come for ! " cried the 
 Sage. " If you are readers of Mr. Browning's poems you 
 will remember that one which deals with both these things 
 together — textiles and song : Tyrian purple, the cloth of 
 kings, and the porridge of John Keats. In literature 
 1 purple patches ' we say ; the two lend terms to explain 
 each other. Mr. Gavney, I come to be shown your works 
 the first fine day ; only promise that I see none of your 
 fair young factory girls dipped in the blues : no Plutonian 
 Proserpines, I beg of you ! " 
 
 Mr. Gavney in care for his wife was able to cover his 
 embarrassment. He craved leave that she might with-
 
 TRISTRAM'S PAINS 59 
 
 draw ; she already looked tired, he told her ; still half an 
 invalid, she was under orders to observe early hours, 
 positively must go. He apologised, and with fond, fussy 
 solicitude led her out of the room. 
 
 " A proud man ; it is pretty to see them," remarked the 
 Sage, when the door closed on the retiring pair. " An 
 honest man, too, I take him to be." 
 
 Doris, smiling, laid her hand on his arm. " He has," 
 said she, " two best sides to his character ; now you have 
 seen him in both. He is a good husband and a good man 
 of business. But I must beg you, if you would let him 
 be comfortable, not to pursue your subject when he 
 returns ; business makes him blush." She added, " Did 
 you talk to him at all of our boy ? " 
 
 " A little," said the old man, " but they seem to be 
 strangers. Our boy, as we see him, appears to be almost 
 unknown to him." 
 
 " That is going to be the tragedy," she murmured. 
 " Yes, and with my sister it is the same. But you see his 
 dear nature; he picks up fathers and mothers as he goes 
 along." Her smile adopted him to a share in the spiritual 
 relationship. She crossed to the piano, and sang to 
 ravished old ears. Her voice filled up the rest of the 
 evening, preserving to her brother-in-law the good im- 
 pression he had created. He and the Sage parted 
 cordially ; but no fine day ever brought that invitation to 
 view the dye-works and cloth-making for which the other 
 had bargained. 
 
 This was the first of a series of meetings under Doris 
 Foley's roof between a trio of lovers. The offer used to 
 be hung over the Tramp's head shamelessly, as a bribe 
 to industry ; and he would wriggle patiently through a 
 week of hard sittings at sums and words of two syllables, 
 for the sure prospect of his two dear delights waiting to 
 give him joy at the end of it.
 
 60 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Marcia went also at first, from a curiosity to see this 
 wonderful being of whom Tristram raved. She settled 
 not to like him, because of a quizzical look his blue eves 
 had when they turned on her, and because Tristram 
 lavished on him an intimacy of affection which she con- 
 sidered unseemly when bestowed outside the family circle. 
 
 She found fault with his ways. " Why does he go like 
 that?" — she imitated an uncouth habit the Sage had of 
 looking down the arm-hole of each sleeve in turn, like a 
 bird when it preens its wings. " And why does he put 
 ' r.r.r.r.' into everything he says? " — she made a mock of 
 his north-country accent. In everything about him she 
 found something to object to, fighting hard against an 
 instinct which told her he was lovable. She offered him 
 no more than an abrupt hand-shake after witnessing the 
 Tramp's warmer demonstrations of welcome, and in all 
 ways was stiff and priggish, with a determination not to 
 be liked. After their one meeting she chose to imagine 
 that her mother was too ill to spare her — for it was but 
 once that Mrs. Gavney was able to be of the party — and 
 would beg off more often than not, after her going had 
 been thought settled. 
 
 Behind her back the Sage spoke of her with waggish 
 awe, and revelled in Tristram's tales of her great wisdom. 
 Marcia would listen in a fever for report of any crumbs 
 of his speech that had reference to her; and having 
 secured them, professed utter indifference as to what he 
 thought or said. " Between me and your Marcia, there 
 will only be a death-bed reconciliation," prophesied the 
 Sage. " The question is, which of us shall bring it about 
 by making haste to die? " 
 
 Marcia pondered the saying deeply. All she said was, 
 " I think he is a silly old man." Her feelings were 
 hurt ; his charity was merely a way of putting her in the 
 wrong.
 
 TRISTRAM'S PAINS 61 
 
 To have one of his adorations thus unappreciated was 
 to Tristram like the discovery of a defect in his own char- 
 acter ; he kept trying to put it right ; the more Marcia 
 objected to his idol, the more she brought in argument to 
 her side. 
 
 After a quarrel, she was always specially demonstrative 
 of her love for him. She ran gloriously, and climbed 
 better than he; in swarming, short skirts give a grip. 
 He was the better kangaroo; Marcia excelled as a 
 monkey. 
 
 She had one climbing-tree of her very own ; the Tramp 
 never came into it without leave; many reconciliations 
 between the two took place there. He had his own 
 climbing-tree also, but of that she was made free without 
 any conditions at all ; he had not the gift of exclusiveness 
 which, in her, grew to so fine an edge. 
 
 One day well on in winter, Tristram alone was sent 
 over to Little Towberry, and found cousins old and young 
 — the Sage amongst them, at his sociable best, dispelling 
 the awe which gathered when his name was pronounced. 
 In a corner, not looking well, sat the beautiful Aunt 
 Doris ; she who was generally the centre. The child spied 
 at her, and questioned. She patted his mouth to stop all 
 foolish, tender enquiries, and became gay when presently 
 the Sage's mastery of the revels had thrown the whole 
 company into merriment. 
 
 Tristram vibrated between his two stars, a giddy 
 meteor never to be held still. It was the dressing-bell 
 ringing for his elders that skurried him to bed late. 
 
 His beloved had forgotten to sing to him ; he called out 
 to her as she went down to dinner. She peeped in at him 
 beautifully arrayed. 
 
 " No time now, my Tramp ; afterwards I will, if you 
 are still awake. But you will find me a bird without a 
 voice — no coo, all croak ! "
 
 62 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 She ran away and forgot one, with whom bed meant, 
 touch the pillow and it is to-morrow. She never dreamed 
 of his keeping awake. 
 
 It is what he did. Waiting wide-eyed till social sounds 
 ascended once more from the drawing-room, he expected 
 to hear her voice at the piano, and would have gone to 
 sleep upon that. But from singing when her visitor pre- 
 ferred a petition to that end, Doris excused herself. She 
 blamed her throat and the weather ; but her face, in spite 
 of smiles, showed distress. 
 
 Two hours after, she was dragging herself to bed, more 
 tired than she knew. Tristram's little voice called her 
 to him. "My song, Auntie Dorrie, my song!" he 
 whimpered, almost aggrieved. 
 
 " Oh, Trampy, you poor, wakeful little imp ! " she cried, 
 full of ruth at having forgotten him. She took him up 
 and let his head go where it loved to nestle. Twice 
 she tried : then sang. 
 
 Tristram heard the beautiful notes thrown high, break 
 quavering and come down with a sob ; there was a soft 
 ripping sound and stillness. Doris let herself fall back 
 under the child's weight into the bed his body had made 
 warm. She lay motionless. He clawed at her in the 
 dark ; and, at her breast, where her closed hands were, 
 felt crumpled paper. 
 
 Without knowing it, he had touched the tragedy of 
 Doris Foley's life. It was then but a day old. 
 
 The next morning she kissed him from her bed. though 
 it was mid-day when he came to bid her good-bye. Her 
 smile was ravishingly sweet to him — yet he felt guilty. 
 Had he, he wondered, done her some injury. 
 
 The week could not pass without an exchange of let- 
 ters between the two. At the end of it he came to be 
 reassured, found a bright face waiting for him, and the 
 old Auntie Dorrie quite renovated, with not a difference
 
 TRISTRAM'S PAINS 63 
 
 that he could discover. She sang him his songs at first 
 asking, and deceived him thoroughly as to her state. 
 Marcia was in their company, and the three had the 
 house to themselves. " I sent all my visitors away in a 
 bundle last week ! " said Miss Foley. It suggested brown 
 paper to Tristram, and on his return home, he had him- 
 self delivered absurdly at his mother's door in a huge 
 parcel done about with strings. Marcia helped at the 
 untying, and there was much merriment and kissing when 
 the crackling had been removed. " We made mother 
 laugh," was the report Tristram had to send back.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ARBOREAL CHILDHOOD 
 
 A FEW weeks later Doris Foley was again at the 
 "**• Valley House, and owned that it would be for 
 something more than a short stay. " I want you and my 
 boy with your belongings, and not a thing in the way of 
 visitors ! " she said to her sister, and having shut up her 
 home at Little Towberry, declared that she felt relieved 
 of all care. 
 
 Her hands became in reality more full than when she 
 was merely her own mistress ; taking over the house- 
 keeping of an establishment which taxed too heavily Mrs. 
 Gavney's frail energies, she had enough to think and do. 
 Knowing herself welcome, she claimed to be a defending 
 providence to the family. " If I could not have come," 
 was her argument, " it would have been a case of send- 
 ing for Julia Gavney; you may choose between us yet! 
 That last letter of hers reads peckishly ; 'tis like a benevo- 
 lent bird of prey she hovers over you ! " 
 
 "Julia is good; but she is too managing," said Mrs. 
 Gavney, " and Beresford gratified me by saying that I 
 should find you the better companion." It was the dear 
 lady's way to put on the chains of her husband's authority 
 as articles of adornment. " These are my jewels ! " she 
 seemed to say, and would quote his opinions on quite 
 slight matters; it saved her a world of thinking; these 
 decisions of life she left gladly to others. In this instance 
 
 64
 
 ARBOREAL CHILDHOOD 65 
 
 Mr. Gavney was glad that his wife's favourite sister 
 should be with her. In spite of a ten years' difference in 
 their ages, the two fitted companionably together; nor 
 was he unmindful of that social charm for which Doris, 
 of all the Foleys, stood first. Across the valley Hill 
 Alwyn stood out to view ; quite likely was it that his very 
 presentable sister-in-law might be of use in bringing the 
 two houses to a neighbourly footing. 
 
 Coming between the children and the jarred nerves of 
 her invalid sister, Miss Foley was a relief to both sides. 
 She allowed her charges to run more wild than was 
 generally told ; the neighbourhood got to know them, a 
 fast-stepping trio, with wide-awake voices, and always in 
 full spirits over the business on hand. Their walks took 
 adventurous shapes, and sent them home, often a little 
 more weary than was well. Making a fairly wide range 
 over the country, they touched, when time allowed, the 
 dark borders of Randogger, counting their miles roughly 
 by the brooks which moistened the dip of each green 
 valley. Woodsides just then were beginning to break 
 into soft flower; overhead were larch trees, rushing into 
 a spurt of green and knobs of red blossom ; catkins came 
 tumbling like a plague of caterpillars from the black 
 poplars along the roads ; pushed out of place by the turbu- 
 lent growth behind, so eager to lay hold on air, they 
 littered the ways like autumn already come. Every day 
 the wind, sunning its wings in thicket and meadow, dis- 
 closed new eyes and set new doors a-swing to the bright 
 world. Earth lay in the rapids of time ; spring's green 
 flood rushing over its sides forced it to the caress of life. 
 Doris Foley was resolute to see the beauty of each day 
 as it flew by; to her the spring-quickening of that year 
 spoke as she remembered no other to have done ; each 
 morning to enquiry she was able to say, " I feel well," 
 and to herself declared constantly " I am happy! "
 
 66 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 There could be no doubt she seemed so. Tristram had 
 visions of her afterwards with her lap full of the flowers 
 gathered on their different rambles: daffodils, violets, 
 primroses, she helped them to bear home. On a later day 
 white wood anemones were their spoil, quick-fading 
 things, which drooped and grew old in the hand that car- 
 ried them, refusing an indoor life. 
 
 The children named each small dell after the things that 
 grew there. They chanced on the anemone wood for the 
 first time, when its flowers were in full snow, and the walk 
 which brought them new wood and new flower together 
 was remembered long after as a special stroke of good 
 fortune. For Tristram that wood held magic, it seemed 
 like a promised land flowing with milk and honey; he fell 
 down on all fours to wallow in its beauty, and ran carry- 
 ing white armfuls, unwilling to let any of them go, till 
 he saw his Aunt Doris sitting in a snow-drift of the offer- 
 ings Marcia had heaped on her. 
 
 Nor did that day's ramble finish without some further 
 adventure. Up the steep bank of wood Tristram heard 
 a wild note of distress, and bounding to find the cause, 
 saw a stoat, disturbed by the noise of his approach, slip 
 from a young rabbit's back and dart back into the under- 
 growth. The little wounded thing ran quite fearlessly to 
 the boy's feet; stopping then, half-stunned, it let itself 
 be taken up and fondled, and without begging it, seemed 
 to suffer gladly the shelter his presence extended. 
 
 Tristram feared to let it go again where destruction 
 awaited it; mothering instinct prompted him to carry it 
 away home, heal its wound, and bring it restored again 
 to its own place. Just behind the ears, where the stoat 
 had fastened, blood was flowing; the child imagined that 
 human, if not medical treatment was necessary ; he ran 
 back to his aunt with its small anatomy hugged fast, and 
 between them they made a most benevolent to-do over
 
 ARBOREAL CHILDHOOD 67 
 
 the little beast, fancying they could read grateful recog- 
 nition through the round opening of its eyes. Tristram 
 made a pannier for it, lined his coat under with grass 
 and flowers, and brought it home, putting it into an im- 
 provised hutch for the night. 
 
 It was quite alive the next day, eating what was set 
 before it with a sober cheerful demeanour. If the hutch 
 was rough, the lying was soft and the food plentiful ; nor 
 had it a dull moment while Tristram was free to come 
 and give it company. Withered wood-anemones thrust 
 through the bars were to remind it of home. 
 
 On the second morning, Tristram broke in upon Marcia 
 wild-eyed. " Where's Mike ? " he demanded. 
 
 Mike was Marcia's very special, and was, at that 
 moment, reposing on his young mistress's lap. " He has 
 eaten my rabbit ! " squealed Tristram, on catching sight 
 of the culprit. " Oh, the black devil ! Just you give him 
 to me ! " He struck a demanding attitude. 
 
 Marcia stood up for defence. " How do you know ? " 
 she demanded, in doubt as to the evidence. 
 
 " Who else would ? " retorted Tristram. " Bring him 
 down to the hutch, and see if he doesn't show it! Oh, 
 Marcia ! my poor little rabbit is all gone ! " 
 
 " He got out," was suggested. 
 
 " Oh no, he wouldn't ! He was much too tame ! " 
 Tristram wept with rage for the loss of his dear two-day- 
 old. 
 
 Marcia refused to be convinced. Being a wild rabbit, 
 of course he went, was her theory. Could Tristram show 
 a better ? 
 
 The boy made a sudden dart on Mike, crying : " Look, 
 there's grey fur on his paws, and his whiskers are bloody ! 
 You shall let me have him ! " 
 
 " He shan't be hurt! " stuck out Marcia. 
 
 Tristram smote in with all his might. The cat fuffed,
 
 68 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 and dug claws. Resenting on Tristram the pains her 
 flesh had to endure, Marcia held up Mike's body, now 
 ramping in heraldic attitude, and darted him, all fours 
 out, on Tristram. The cat dealt him rather more of a 
 scratch than its mistress intended ; she made haste to get 
 the table between them for a barrier. 
 
 Tristram dropped the fight, threw up a bleeding chin, 
 and marched out, crying : " Yes, that's the way girls fight, 
 like cats ; all spittings and scratchings." He called back 
 from the passage: " If I catch Mike, I kill him! Mind 
 that ! " 
 
 " You won't catch him ! " said Marcia ; and to make 
 sure, carried him off there and then to the gardener's 
 lodge, and begged for him to be locked away in a safe 
 place till called for. 
 
 Coming back to the house under cover of the shrub- 
 bery she beheld flagrant trespass taking place — Tristram 
 up aloft, where he had least right to be, in her own 
 climbing-tree, wagging its high branches defiantly, and 
 singing shrill scorn of her at the top of his voice. It 
 was apparent that he hoped to have her within hearing; 
 but his eye prowled, and had not lighted yet upon her 
 whereabouts. 
 
 She knew the words of his summons well enough : it 
 was their established battle-cry, an insult she had never 
 yet let pass. She heard " Cowardy custard " sent forth 
 to rhyme with " mustard " ; " slugs, snails, and puppy- 
 dogs' tails " were the ingredients which went to her mak- 
 ing. It was choice language; children have the gift for 
 finding it. Marcia was all but in honour bound to take 
 up the cudgels when that song was borne in on her. 
 Now, however, she stopped, sought deeper shelter in the 
 shrubs, and, avoiding every bit of open, skulked in by a 
 back way. In truth, her sense of justice smote her, for 
 on further examination there had been no doubt that 
 Mike's black paws had grey fur on them.
 
 ARBOREAL CHILDHOOD 69 
 
 Her mean evasion left Tristram to the weary bother 
 of remaining enskied for the whole hour preceding lesson- 
 time, and of singing his throat dry, like a scarer of birds, 
 with the challenge that remained unanswered. At the 
 end of that time he began to guess what dogged un- 
 derhand tactics she opposed to him, for he knew well 
 that bright sunshine and the leisure-hour would have 
 brought her out of doors, had not crafty knowledge 
 kept her away. He pulled out his pocket knife, carved 
 his initials large on her pet climbing-branch, and came 
 down. 
 
 During lessons they stiffened their necks at each other 
 like two towers in Coventry. Tristram's eye was waiting 
 to shoot disdainful fires whenever she looked up. He 
 curled a superior lip at every mistake she made, but, for 
 reasons, knew his own lessons badly enough. 
 
 By dint of headstrong blundering he got himself kept 
 in, and, having secured the penalty, tossed his nose in 
 triumph, as to say : " Anything rather than be in your 
 company, Sister Marcia ! " 
 
 Her own tasks ended, Marcia went away soberly with- 
 out looking at him. Presently she came back into the 
 school-room, and sat down to a lesson-book. Tristram 
 grew puzzled, for he remembered how his war-whoops 
 had kept her at an earlier hour from her usual run in the 
 open air. Outside the sun shone still ; Marcia, as he 
 looked at her now, wore a demure air of penance. Her 
 meaning remained dark to him. 
 
 In the silence that followed Tristram's perfunctory 
 scratchings upon his slate, these two queer natures acted 
 and re-acted on each other's consciences. Compunction 
 dripped steadily in the mild corners of their hearts. Pres- 
 ently Marcia must raise gloomy eyes to see Tristram's 
 burning hot upon hers. She endured his gaze, softening 
 her glance the while, but making no other sign.
 
 70 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 It was not till the slow tedium of luncheon was over 
 that she took his hand, and led him out silently to the 
 scene of last night's tragedy. 
 
 She jerked her head, and showed him her pride brought 
 low in the person of her beloved special — Mike, in such 
 disgrace as had never before fallen upon his sacred sleek 
 body. He sat a hunch of misery in the desolated rabbit- 
 hutch, among scatterings of bran and withered lettuce- 
 stalks, mewing miserably to be let out. Round his 
 neck was a bow of black which drooped long weeper 
 ends. Never did quadruped show a more pilloried sense 
 of shame. 
 
 Tristram, who knew how unbending was Marcia's pride 
 in her own belongings, became awed by such a sight. 
 Remorse rained into his soul also ; he too, now, had a 
 guilt which he must own to. 
 
 " Oh, Marcia ! " he mumbled, " I didn't know you'd 
 done that; so I " So far he got, and paused. 
 
 Her eye required that he should make an end of what 
 he had to say. 
 
 " So I carved my name up in your tree, that's what I 
 did ! " said Tristram. 
 
 She gave him a long stare, saying nothing while you 
 might have counted ten. 
 
 " All right, Trampy," she said, at last, " you may have 
 it." Her tree for his rabbit was, after all, no robbery. 
 She kissed him, feeling that the magnanimity lay more 
 on her side now, then went slowly and unfastened the 
 door of the rabbit-hutch. Mike leapt out with an afflicted 
 air, and went stumbling over the trailing ends of his scarf. 
 " He may wear that till he can get it off," observed 
 Marcia. 
 
 For her and Tristram the incident was over ; they were 
 as good as gold to each other the same day. If the 
 Tramp wept for his rabbit, it was not when Marcia was
 
 ARBOREAL CHILDHOOD 71 
 
 by. As for Mike, it was days before his mistress caressed 
 him again in Tristram's presence; but furtively, when 
 they were in private together, she made him divine 
 amends. He did not have to wear his weeds many 
 days.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION 
 
 ' | 4 HE Sage had spoken confidently of Tristram to his 
 aunt as " our boy," meaning to say, " You and I 
 have this right to him above others, seeing that we know 
 him best." In truth they had a common sympathetic 
 understanding of the sweet, sociable animal he was, of 
 quick heart and intellect, built upon highly-strung nerves ; 
 yet it may be doubted if they had a notion of the depths 
 of him. Solitude, as we have seen, turned him into 
 another creature, difficult to track. Into that part of his 
 being Marcia made the deepest guess, waylaid it where 
 she could, yet knew that something escaped her. There 
 were times when she would see Tristram by himself, full 
 of small gesticulations, asseverations and denials of the 
 head, forefinger or fist at play, foot stamping out argu- 
 ment — all the live springs in him at work. But if she 
 joined herself to him then, blank looks put up a barrier 
 of secrecy : nothing would he tell. In all their games of 
 make-believe, it was from her that the invention had first 
 to come. Tristram would submit himself to her inspira- 
 tion when any definite game was up, and would foot it 
 well to the other's tune ; but there were times when to 
 Marcia's imperious " I want you ! " his answer in effect 
 would be "I want myself!" nor could companionship 
 then be got out of him. He was off like quick-silver 
 from a jerked palm, to gather for himself there is no tell- 
 
 72
 
 .MYTH RITUAL, AND RELIGION 73 
 
 ing what handfuls of mystery. In that world of his own 
 he dwelt hidden : Aiarcia knew of it, but little enough 
 of what went on there. 
 
 Streamside dwellers will tell how they have lived on a 
 spot for years, and watched the current water and the 
 fishers up and down its banks, but have never once seen 
 the solitary otter that has his range there. Yet he is no 
 sentimentalist, this diver shy of men's eyes : he seems 
 to know well that hands are dead against him, that his 
 is a dying race, of a savagery which Nature, no longer 
 wild, seeks to shake off: knows it with a tragic intensity 
 that does not belong to the water vole or the other small 
 vermin, for whom there is still space and to spare. Dog 
 of Pan ! when the hounds get upon his trail, something of 
 the heroic age runs in him, and dies fighting great odds. 
 Look for it among humans, this survival of a breed 
 fierce and aboriginal, now become hermetic from men's 
 eyes ; traces of it you shall find, yet they shall not bring 
 you to its lair. There, hidden yet in our midst, an old 
 atavism of the race dies hard, rebellious against Time, 
 savage, yet wondrously shy — so shy that it may be at 
 your side, or under your own roof, and you not know 
 that it is there. The survivors of the tribe make few 
 signs, caring, perhaps, but little to be recognised by their 
 fellows : solitaries they stale it out, till it grows faint in 
 the blood. Civilised custom so soon makes us unfaithful 
 to the natural man that is within us. The domestic dog 
 is more staunch, and will wind himself round three times 
 before he settles, though he lies in a kennel and wears 
 collar and chain. 
 
 What follows of Tristram, grotesque though it be, 
 gives you him at no game of shadowy make-believe. 
 Growing experience and every-day fact have done little 
 to put sobriety into his brain, or bring his thoughts into 
 open play. Just below the surface, not to be tracked, his
 
 74 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 mind runs like a mole : the earth of ancestry clings to it. 
 You find here the fears of the savage, preserved and 
 cropping up with strange force ; all his furtiveness and sly 
 dealings with the odds and chances of life ready again 
 to become strong. With Tristram there was little need 
 to pick and choose a day to have sight of the two natures 
 in him — the social and the solitary. 
 
 New places excited him : to light on a fresh field-way, 
 still more to enter a new bit of wood, started the kindling 
 process, and the less then did he care for the fellowship 
 of his own kind. If in that mood he were to come upon a 
 stream, then it must be crossed, no matter how ; to be at 
 the other side of everything, and to beat pursuit in getting 
 there, became a sort of a necessity to him. A mile from 
 home the sense of adventure began. 
 
 One wild morning of March and wind, homeless be- 
 tween earth and cloud, brother and sister had run up into 
 the wilderness above the house, to give a short stretch 
 to their limbs. Tristram had vowed to Marcia that before 
 clock-stroke he would be quit of her company, and the 
 tussle of pursuit and escape grew hot. The hour grew 
 close: they ran and tumbled to an accompaniment of 
 squeals, Marcia determined, Tristram beginning to be 
 scared. She had him by the coat ; he left it in her 
 hands ; she was driving him down towards a high fence ; 
 it challenged his eye desperately. Could he leap it? en- 
 quired fear. 
 
 Suddenly the whole thing became dead earnest, a matter 
 of life and death to him. Her laugh was behind him. 
 " You can't do it, Trampy ! " and he, with a wild catch 
 of the heart, went up into air, broke across the obstacle, 
 and leapt away to possess himself of solitude. The im- 
 perious mood had come like a seizing hand through his 
 hair, and lifted him clean back to savagery. Marcia might 
 then cry after him in vain ; he had other companions.
 
 MYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION 75 
 
 When her feet ceased running, these ceased not to follow 
 on: and " Mother, mother, mother! " cried his blood, as 
 he dashed wildly through bowing woodlands that roared, 
 enchantment to right and left of him ; and, where his 
 feet fell, heard snap and crumble the dry bones of the 
 monstrous age ; and felt on face and hands the exhala- 
 tions of its dead breath. Sensation spun in him of a 
 speed that overtook the wind : wild horses after him he 
 would not have feared ; yet a terror came that the wood 
 was endless, that he was never again to look out upon 
 clear sky. 
 
 The mood passed; spent lungs and legs acquiesced, 
 when he came to open ground, that danger no longer 
 followed close. Over his head, up a slight rise of field, 
 a poplar bowed hugely before the blast. In the shelter 
 of its scooped rind he threw himself down, and through 
 the throbbing of his own blood heard within the sound 
 of its strained fibres, and the deep waters of its sap sob- 
 bing up and down without rest. How much life went on 
 there that he had not suspected ! Merely to place his 
 ear and listen had been the key. Now he was to know 
 about trees (recurring to it whenever after great winds 
 blew), how within the maenad motion and gesticulation 
 of their limbs, this sound went on of disastrous struggle, 
 this wrestling-out of a wish to live, with the element 
 which was finally to bring them death. Only once had 
 he heard a sound at all like it, a little sound against which 
 he had cried out in the darkness for help to come. Do- 
 mesticity crept back into his heart; after all, the thing 
 he loved best in the whole world was his Aunt Doris. 
 He snatched a handful of daffodils, and to look at her 
 once more set out on a race for home. He was late for 
 lessons when he got there, and was very little concerned 
 to find Marcia in sulks. 
 
 At a much later day, on the bare hill above the Beacon
 
 76 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Farm, he was to know a tree peculiar and clear, that he 
 would visit when the winds were up, for the sake of the 
 strange voice with which it spoke to him. A gaunt 
 twisted fir, weather-bitten by all the gales of the locality, 
 it seemed to fulfil the adage and to have had its features 
 wried many times and fixed, this way and that, by 
 changes of the wind, and so was already a nipped and 
 gnarled specimen of battered age when the boy first came 
 on it. He took it in his arms often, and discovered in 
 himself, one day, a quaint scruple and solicitude in regard 
 to its honour, when having swarmed to a high bough, he 
 found there five wind-hover's eggs in a crow's nest, and 
 would take none of them, because his tree was their 
 guardian. 
 
 But the boy's cranks needed little of romance to work 
 upon; drop upon him wherever you liked, you would 
 have found him cheating life of its prose. An unadorned 
 view of facts was the thing most difficult for his mind 
 to attain. What he made of even a plain pike-staff (rod. 
 pole, or perch, call it!) you will see before this chapter 
 is ended. 
 
 Tt happened one day that, for lack of any one else, 
 Tristram had to be sent into Bembridge, and for the 
 first time was going alone. His person was due at Mrs. 
 Harbour's to be measured for new clothes, and for a test 
 whether his brain could be as well trusted over the 
 distance as his legs, sundry small errands were given to 
 him. His Aunt Doris armed him with a slip of instruc- 
 tions for a guide, but he had a method of his own which 
 he thought better. One commission he hung here and 
 another there, looping them by imaginary strings to the 
 flaps and buttons of his apparel. Thus visualised, they 
 came more adhesive to his memory than had he learned 
 the list of them by rote. Marcia commissioned him for 
 sweets, and the terms being cash, her twopence went into
 
 MYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION 77 
 
 his pocket — alas, not to be found again when felt for: 
 his mind proved itself the better carrier. 
 
 It was early morning, and a day's holiday ahead made 
 the boy in haste to be off and back again. His ritual of 
 preparation for going out had become an instinct ; but 
 the telling of it takes time. Going to the boot-hole for 
 his shoes and gaiters, he had to keep one foot carefully 
 planted in the passage above, lest the evil genius of the 
 place should have a hold on him. Down there dwelt the 
 quick-into-the-pit ghosts of rebellious Israelites whom, 
 from his Scripture-readings, he had thus familiarly local- 
 ised, choosing for them the blackest and most pit-like 
 place in the whole house, a mouth ever ready and waiting 
 for more fodder to be added to it. From that shadowy 
 maw of death boots came, with a suspect character ; be- 
 fore putting one on, he would shake it violently, charging 
 unclean spirits to come out of it, and squeeze its toe 
 to warn trespassers forth, as punctiliously as ever lonely 
 dame looked under bed in the dread hope of finding flat 
 burglary below. 
 
 From the swing-door to the foot of the staircase was 
 a matter of ten paces, a distance to be crossed smartly 
 at a bound ; for woe betide him if he had not a first foot 
 planted before the door should slam to behind him. On 
 the way upstairs other delicacies of ritual had to be gone 
 through ; the half-landing was a place of peril ; to escape 
 its local demons he had, time and again, hauled himself 
 past by way of the banisters. Once he fell ; yet, for all 
 that, seemed to his own mind to have steered clear by a 
 marvel of the evil chance which had been threatening 
 him. 
 
 " I was sliding down the banisters ! " was the fib he let 
 fly when raging authority hastened to pick up a grievously 
 battered object : for the fall was merely a healthy inci- 
 dent by the way. Indeed, all strokes actually dealt him
 
 78 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 by fate Tristram took as in the day's work. The evil 
 against which he so constantly fought, never in fact fell 
 on him ; nor had he even a notion what the thing itself 
 would be like, save that in all probability it had four 
 ravenous legs to run on, — an apprehension which harks 
 him fairly back, one may think, to the fears which first 
 drove imperilled man to the sharpening of his primitive 
 wits. 
 
 With Tristram, however, the fear had become half- 
 spiritualised ; the point is that some aspect of wild nature 
 dwelt behind his brain, and made a gnawing at his bones. 
 Physical knocks he ever accepted with stolid good 
 humour, as he had accepted at Marcia's hands his first 
 helping of mud-pie, on the day when they had sat down 
 resolutely to get through and have done with that portion 
 in life, the " peck of dirt," which they had heard was 
 decreed to be every man's. In that case, however, Nature 
 had raised her hand against the first mouthful, and taught 
 them to be more patient in fulfilment of their destiny. 
 We give Tristram no more than his due ; patience over 
 what he received went ever side by side with an equal 
 impatience over what he was about to receive ; wherein 
 he was but like the early Christian martyrs, perhaps like 
 all the enthusiasts and cranks who have helped from 
 first to last to salt and preserve the world into what it is. 
 
 In receptiveness the reader must follow his example, 
 or throw down the book, for he perceives by this time, 
 no doubt, that Tristram's history is not to be told without 
 many parentheses, back-slidings and forward-slidings by 
 the way. 'Tis not without a very business of explanation 
 to and fro, that we can even get him started out of the 
 house on an ordinary week-day errand ; such an eel is he 
 to catch and set into straightforward motion. 
 
 By dint of right-footing he gets himself at last fairly 
 out and on to the public way. The gate-demon, fellow to
 
 MYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION 79 
 
 the one which battened on the slam of the swing-door, 
 he made impotent for a while, by propping its jaws back 
 with a stone, and getting in many steps to the good on 
 his run towards town, before the next passer-by should 
 let it once more click itself to the latch. The poor gate- 
 keeper was indeed now of very small account, having 
 no strong springs to act on like his fellow within doors ; 
 Tristram by his devices had trodden him into very fine 
 dust, but belief in his actuality did not diminish. 
 
 Half a mile below the house, by the mill lying down 
 in the hollow, Tristram lingered to watch the big wheel 
 trampled round by the steady tread of incoming water. 
 He sent a prying eye into the depths to see at what point 
 the trough-like cogs heaved off their load. Presently he 
 was stretched prone almost at touch with this great 
 elephantine marker of time. Mrs. Harbour's old dread 
 for her nursling would have been revived, could she have 
 looked at him then, and heard all the confidences that 
 passed, while into his face the wheel flew spray, and the 
 roof dripped moisture over his head from pendants of 
 moss and fern. 
 
 There as he hung absorbed, the miller took note of 
 him, and coming behind, asked what fish he was hoping to 
 catch. Tristram said he was looking to see where the 
 corn went in. The man laughed, friendly to such igno- 
 rance, and bid the boy come in and see how corn really 
 got itself ground. The Tramp's conscience pricked him 
 to his errands, and with a promise to take a look in upon 
 his way back, he was up and off. 
 
 Half a mile further was the beginning of the debatable 
 land, where a sense of distance from home began to act 
 on his blood and rouse adventurous expectations. On 
 this day it chanced that they were satisfied. In the 
 straight run of fields which bordered on the town the 
 child sighted from afar a figure he had once before met
 
 80 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 when in the safe company of his elders ; a tall thin man 
 with a high hat low down over his ears, tight lips, a large 
 roving eye, distended nostrils, that breathed vehemently, 
 and a body thrown to its work like a pendulum on the 
 swing — altogether a queer, uncanny figure to be seen at 
 any time on a country way. 
 
 Tristram and Marcia had described him to themselves, 
 after that first meeting, as " the man with the yellow 
 breath," and had looked forward, in trepidation, to a 
 second encounter. 
 
 Now Tristram, all alone, conceived a great horror of 
 passing him ; over the half-breadth of one field he faced 
 his approach, but at the last fairly turned and ran. Quit- 
 ting the path, he sprang through a hedge, and creeping 
 down the further side of it, saw his man come to a stand- 
 still, and look vaguely to right and left, as if to make 
 out what wind had raked the nearing pedestrian so sud- 
 denly off his path. Presently he nodded to himself under 
 his great hat, as if the meaning of the thing had come 
 to him, and swung forward again upon his solitary road. 
 
 Tristram breathed free. On his return journey he 
 enquired of the miller, and was told of the man and his 
 condition. He lived, the boy heard, beyond Hiddendon, 
 tenant of a small farm and officer of excise in that remote, 
 rural district, a lonely man, without wife or family. 
 The oddity of his appearance had won him the nick-name 
 of Daddy Wag-top. The miller asked if Tristram had 
 been afraid of him; some children, he remarked, were 
 " skeert " at him. Tristram denied the impeachment. 
 " I thought him just a funny man," said he, choosing to 
 forget how unsteady had been his legs when he returned 
 to the field-track after the gaunt figure of Daddy Wag-top 
 had disappeared. 
 
 Free of that apparition he discovered on reaching the 
 town that somewhere unon the road the virtue of two-
 
 MYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION 81 
 
 pence had gone out of him. Straightway it was in his 
 mind to tell Marcia how on his lonely way he had been 
 pursued by " the man with the yellow breath," caught by 
 the heels, suspended head downwards in air, and shaken 
 empty of his wealth : and he had not a doubt that, al- 
 though Marcia might not believe him, she would regard 
 the explanation as a satisfactory money's worth, without 
 suspecting him of so base a thing as a lie might ordinarily 
 be suspected to cover. Truth that touched not the vital 
 sensation of things, that sounded paltry and mere in the 
 telling, had not a value for Tristram, nor was owed to a 
 comrade of Marcia's staunchness of intellect. Had he 
 fallen into a pond by walking forward with his eyes shut, 
 he would sooner have claimed that it was by walking 
 backwards with his eyes open. For the falls of man con- 
 tinue, in the following of Adam, to make him feel naked 
 and ashamed ; concealment is his instinct ; and true to his 
 nature he invents his own excuses. 
 
 The creature of mystery drew near at last to Mrs. 
 Harbour's door. It lay in a small enclosed court where 
 cockle-shells and bright flowers abounded ; between railed 
 squares of garden-plot, cobbled paths led up to the 
 threshold of each small tenement. Halting at one of 
 these, the boy tapped ; heard, after a pause, movement 
 within ; and became a changed creature. Away crumbled 
 the mould of ancestry ; his mole mind no longer grubbed 
 in dim passages for under-world meanings ; 'twas with a 
 twittering impatience of the affections that he waited for 
 admission to a heart that held welcome for him. 
 
 A second knock, imperatively delivered, caused the 
 door to open and reveal Mrs. Harbour rearing herself 
 like a barricade, with refusal in her countenance. When 
 she recognised her visitor, her eye softened to him ; but 
 there was woe in it. It was apparent she had a grievance. 
 
 " What, Master Trampy dear, is it you ? " she began in
 
 82. A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 fond utterance. " Come in, my love, my lamb! What's 
 brought you so early? A body mayn't get up late, it 
 seems, without all the world catching her at it. It's been 
 knock, knock, knock, all the morning; and I vowed that 
 the next might go on knocking till they thought me to 
 be out. But I didn't : my heart telling me I should be 
 doing it to the wrong person. Sit ye down there, my 
 dear; and I wish ye'd not have come before I got rid of 
 the taste of my breakfast." 
 
 Tristram, seeing a meal in remains, begged that she 
 would finish it, while he sat and looked on. 
 
 ' No," wailed the aggrieved woman. ' It's not my 
 breakfast, Master Trampy ; it's my prayers ! I can't get 
 'em said through. Hardly had I set down to 'em after 
 breakfast, when, for my forgetting to take it off, the 
 kettle boils over. That made me to begin again the first 
 time : for it never do, I say, to give the Almighty His 
 due piece-meal, like a coat that's not been stitched to- 
 gathers. Then I'd hardly got down on my knees again, 
 when the butcher come by for his weekly order. And 
 then, as the angels would have it, you come a-knocking 
 your little body against the door : which is where we are 
 now ! Just you set yourself down easy in that chair, and 
 let me get through with 'em, for work's not in me till me 
 prayers are done." 
 
 The Tramp sat down with a solemn face ; though Mrs. 
 Harbour had many times heard him say his prayers, hers 
 he had never heard. It was a thing he had not seen his 
 elders do out of church, having no idea, indeed, that they 
 were bound to that same convention; and painfully 
 abashed he was on beholding his old Nan-nan at any such 
 exercise. But seeing her honestly distressed over the 
 lets and hindrances she spoke of, he gave her a friendly 
 smile, and then looked grave, while Mrs. Harbour went 
 slowly down on her two knees, and started once more like
 
 MYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION 83 
 
 Sisyphus, to accomplish the labour which three times that 
 day had been brought to nought. 
 
 She prayed aloud from a habit which belonged to her 
 loneliness ; also because she prayed by book, and silent 
 reading was beyond her powers of scholarship. It 
 touched Tristram's instinct of respect, to see that his 
 presence was forgotten as soon as the first words of piety 
 were uttered. But hardly had she fetched way into her 
 general statement of transgression than he noted, with a 
 sinking of the heart, how deliberately pondered were the 
 words of her complaint ; how slow came the punctuating 
 Amens, as though from a reluctance to let a good thing 
 go ; and when at last she turned from familiar prayers to 
 the unfamiliar of her own privacy, his dismay deepened, 
 so stodgy grew the vocabulary of her devotions ! 
 
 One good turn she did him — she prayed straight out 
 and honestly for " Mr. Harbage, the green-grocer in 
 Brook Street, whom the doctors can do no good to : " 
 bringing to his mind's eye a pleasant note of local colour, 
 a small shop-front containing fruit, and boxes frilled in 
 tinsel and lined with pink tissue-paper — and making 
 him aware that prayer might have some real connection 
 with the actual concerns of life, a thought that had not 
 occurred to him before. Also did she touch his heart 
 once by the mention of his own name and that of his 
 mother with the rest of the family in order. Her " Make 
 him be a good boy," took a sense quite different from his 
 own twice-a-day utterance of the same petition, and won 
 for her the sincere addition of her name to the list of 
 those he prayed for, till later developments released him 
 from a habit which the literal not the spiritual law had 
 imposed. 
 
 But these helps by the way did not deprive the ordeal 
 of all its irritants. As ill fate would have it, the season 
 was penitential and lenten, or the day was a Friday, and
 
 84 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 according to the domestic rubric, an abridged litany had 
 to be ground through. Tristram, listening while prayer 
 after prayer made plodding for old Mrs. Nannie's speech, 
 felt at last that violence must break out of him. The 
 crock spaniel on the chimney-piece overhead, as it stared 
 out of window with great owl-like eyes, wore an ex- 
 pression of hooting derision ; the tall eight-day clock, 
 tapping like a wood-pecker, as it picked with mincing 
 distinctness small bits off the minutes, seemed deserving 
 of assault and battery. He was dreading what other 
 pieties might have to follow, when there came a sound 
 of steps over the cobbles outside, and the sprightly attack 
 of an umbrella handle on the door. The summons was 
 repeated ; Tristram writhed as the droning voice of Mrs. 
 Harbour faltered and slowed preparatory to surrender. 
 Was this, then, to be all gone over once more in his 
 hearing, from the beginning to the place where they stood 
 now, and so on with more to the end ? Perish rather 
 the favour wherein Mrs. Nannie now held him, and the 
 fit of the garments she was shaping for him ! He 
 screwed up his courage to the inspiration that seized him, 
 crossed on tip-toe to the door, and opening it but a couple 
 of inches, wedged in a face resolute to oppose intrusion. 
 
 "Please," he said, "would you mind going away? 
 Mrs. Harbour's here, but she can't come to you! She 
 can't see anybody, not just now." Then he shut the door 
 quickly, and heard, with relief, the sound of departing 
 feet ; and the steadily continued rhythm of the abridged 
 litany was almost as music to his ears. 
 
 He sat back meekly in his chair, and endured gladly 
 what little had to follow, having averted the larger catas- 
 trophe. A rebuke for his presumption he could scarcely 
 hope to escape ; but had a thought to mitigate its severity. 
 
 So when Mrs. Harbour closed the well-thumbed book 
 and shuffled to her feet, Tristram led.
 
 MYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION 85 
 
 " Nannie," said he, " while you were saying your 
 prayers, some one came and knocked at the door ; so I 
 asked them to go away and not disturb you. I might, 
 mightn't I ? And they went." 
 
 The charming assumption that her rapt mind had been 
 oblivious to things earthly secured its object. Mrs. 
 Harbour winked within her honest old heart at the cheat- 
 ing flattery of his tongue, and loved the lad for a soft- 
 voiced rogue. The squirrel-motions of his small body, 
 as her fat hands played on it with the measuring-tape, 
 wrought pleasure in her enough to last that day, and 
 many days after. She babbled to him wondrously of 
 warm " flannens " (her own word for linings), and of 
 bright buttons to be put on the legs and sleeves of the 
 " filleteens " she was to make for him : heard from him 
 while discussing pockets, complaint about the lost two- 
 pence, and conjured it back to him out of her own small 
 store, greatly to the child's mystification and delight. 
 And did he love her still, and remember she was his old 
 Nan-nan? she enquired, then, for a reward. Indeed she 
 believed so, when his arms went round her, when the 
 stress of present emotion was persuading him that his 
 dear Nannie, was dearest but one to him in the whole 
 world. 
 
 So they parted ; and it was only natural, perhaps, for 
 a light weight in years such as he, to carry much more 
 of her heart away with him than he left behind of his. Is 
 he for that to be set down as fickle ? 
 
 At least he had memory enough to go and spend Mar- 
 cia's recovered twopence at the small green-grocer's in 
 Brook Street ; and greatly did he surprise the shop- 
 woman by enquiring if Mr. Harbage were better, or had 
 found doctors to suit him yet ; a courtesy, in small coin 
 and speech, which all came from Mrs. Harbour's late 
 getting up that morning, and was in its small degree an 
 answer, one may suppose, to the good woman's prayer.
 
 86 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 And here, in a chapter already out at elbows in its 
 motley of incidents, may be set down a final sample of that 
 strain of credulous fancy never quite separate from the 
 running of Tristram's blood. It is the plain pike-staff 
 story already promised to the reader, and must stand, 
 unconnected even as it stood in Tristram's life, a mere 
 freak out of the fermentation of his brain. 
 
 Deep in the wilderness above the Valley House, in the 
 midst of a dense overgrowth of privet and laurel, Tris- 
 tram came one day upon an old post set upright in the 
 ground. Remnants of red paint showed bleached and 
 blistered on its surface ; about the base there were signs 
 of fire ; no path led up to it. Round it the laurels had left 
 a space as fearing to close in on it. So standing in leafy 
 secrecy, for no purpose that could be seen, the thing 
 seemed merely to be there in the assertion of its own 
 existence. Once found, it drew Tristram day after day 
 to ponder the mystery of its presence : it took on an 
 aspect of age pre-historic, of lurking forces, of malignant 
 capacities. 
 
 Slowly its meaning grew : why it had stood there so 
 long, and remained there so secretly, bidding, beckoning, 
 and warning with uplifted finger, requiring a certain wor- 
 shipper, who had never come, to render the necessary 
 homage. Tristram could name him. 
 
 He began to divine certain things this god had required 
 of him, and to dread penalties ready to fall on him for 
 all the years wherein he had ignorantly let observance 
 go by. It was borne in on him that for every day of his 
 life one full circuit round this perch of divinity was 
 owing; and that for his long neglect of service so deeply 
 in arrears speediest atonement was necessary. How 
 many days had he lived ignorant of this godhead? He 
 questioned his Aunt Doris, and heard that the number 
 of them was more than one thousand, more than two, not
 
 MYTH, RITUAL, AND RELIGION 87 
 
 more than three. Between two and three thousand, then. 
 He started to work off the reckoning. 
 
 Will you behold a fellow-creature, with a full sense of 
 humour in him, walking round and round a post solemnly 
 by the hour, and day after day, for the purpose of avert- 
 ing an unknown evil chance ? And believe him probable 
 or not, there he is ; you have to stomach him. A sincere 
 devotee he is too, yet if he finds you looking at him, 
 will shrivel and shrink at the discovery, and under the 
 oppression of your judgment, swear that he knows the 
 whole thing to be folly. 
 
 By dint of hard labour, Tristram had achieved a clear 
 conscience toward his new deity, when one day quite 
 suddenly the malicious power sprung a surprise on him. 
 All those laps of worship had been wound on the wrong 
 way ; going from right to left, he should have gone from 
 left to right! Conviction took hold of him grimly; his 
 labour had been worse than useless, a very negation of 
 worship: what he had thought to be praise had really 
 been insult. 
 
 There was only one thing to do. Penitently he un- 
 wound the work of his crude noviciate, and penitently 
 wound it on again the right way, trusting that his deity 
 would yet be patient with him till he had found out the 
 true and orthodox ritual of post-reverence. 
 
 His heart grew in jealous affection for his tormentor. 
 When he had honourably paid his debt he rendered gra- 
 tuitous service ; he larded with flowers the uprightness he 
 bowed down to ; he offered to his idol with a free con- 
 science windfalls that for his own eating he would not 
 have taken, and poured out in libation the collected dregs 
 of wine-bottles. Something of prudence no doubt was 
 in this piety : by advance offerings of circuitous worship 
 he laid up store in Heaven, foreseeing that some day he 
 might be absent or ill, and in time to come might go away
 
 88 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 for good, never to return ; yet the Post would still be 
 demanding its daily circuit so long as his life continued. 
 Therefore did he now push forward his stewardship of 
 the mysteries that in the years ahead he might stand 
 blameless, with a consciousness of duties fully per- 
 formed. 
 
 One day he saw that upon the top of his post were bird- 
 droppings, a natural defilement which displeased his 
 sense of the reverence owed there. To prevent the dese- 
 cration he secured a straw bottle-sheath, and fitted it to 
 the post ; and behold ! an old symbol of sun-worship, 
 blindly, fortuitously attained. And round this for many 
 days and months Tristram gyrated in the performance of 
 heliotropic mysteries, satisfying to his heart ; till on a 
 day of festival, as he grovelled ceremoniously, he chanced 
 to look up, and beheld with dismay the solemn great eyes 
 of Marcia staring at him.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE ROD THAT BUDDED 
 
 A LL through the summer and autumn of that year the 
 "^^ Doris-days extended, shaping a golden memory 
 for all concerned. Their only drawback was that they 
 passed so quickly, bearing with them in their retreat irrev- 
 ocable delights. The lady herself was too conscious of 
 their fleeting character not to feel it so. When crocus 
 and fruit-blossom, laburnum and peony died against the 
 warming heart of the season's life, she watched them go 
 with a wonder whether she had ever before found them 
 so fair, and with a quickened sense of the autumnal mood 
 which the year holds for ever in its blood. 
 
 She had taught the children her own love of gardening, 
 and to keep them in good countenance became the pro- 
 prietor of ground close to theirs, which no hands but her 
 own might plant or water. The gardener himself was 
 supposed to share with the children their envy of the 
 beauty of " Auntie Dome's garden." Flowers from it 
 stood on birthday breakfast-tables, and in their fragrant 
 depths held offerings which were doubly delightful, 
 sprung from such floral foldings. 
 
 Tristram helped himself to a large measure of earth, 
 and gave up most of it to romantic experiments, of which 
 nothing remained in the years after but a fig tree and a 
 plantation of foxglove that throve rankly when neglect 
 
 89
 
 90 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 became their portion. His weakness was to bring in 
 wild things from his walks, and give them a rich soil to 
 live in. The others named it his weed-garden. " At 
 least it keeps him dirty ! " said Doris, as though that in 
 itself were a craving of his nature, good to be satisfied. 
 
 Marcia let her ground go to the flowers that pleased 
 her mother's fancy : to mignonette, over which she claimed 
 a monopoly, to periwinkle, and bright, velvet-eyed sweet- 
 williams, and white pinks, and the rock-loving valerian : 
 all these were serviceable to her purpose: she was jealous 
 against imitation. In their several ways the three gar- 
 dens flourished ; but even Marcia had to admit that Auntie 
 Dorrie's stood unrivalled, though liking her own better. 
 
 During a fortnight of dry summer weather Doris, 
 having to be away, left her garden in Tristram's hands. 
 He performed the task faithfully and with humility, en- 
 tering upon no freakish experiment of his own ; and upon 
 her return presented her to nurslings, whose bloom of 
 life satisfied even her exacting requirements. 
 
 She said to the boy lightly, handling his hair with small 
 pulls to get at his attention, " Will you look after it, then, 
 always, whenever I am away? Always?" 
 
 He was for promising straight off. 
 
 " Oh, I don't want promises," she said ; " you might 
 break them. But I would like you to ; so remember it ! " 
 She gave his hair a parting tug, and raced him to get first 
 at the big watering-can. " I've beaten Auntie Dorrie! " 
 he cried out in triumph to Marcia. It was an event to 
 have done that. 
 
 Those days that rippled with the flowing charm of her 
 companionship wrote themselves happy ones on the tablets 
 of two memories, and made quiet history better than 
 eventful to look back upon. 
 
 One afternoon, in the warm glows of middle autumn, 
 the Sage came on them by surprise. He had taken a
 
 THE ROD THAT BUDDED 91 
 
 good part of the day to arrive, driving a quaint shandry- 
 dan of his own through the country lanes, and was the 
 more pleased with himself in consequence. He declared 
 that he felt fit and morally braced through having avoided 
 fifteen miles of railway — a living creature instead of a 
 thing ignominiously shoved and shunted from place to 
 place, mere parcel with ticket attached — label he chose 
 to call it — needing to be classed also, first, second, or 
 third — an indignity to himself or his fellow-passengers 
 — lowering, he declared, to any man's conscience. In a 
 word, having ridden his hobby for over four hours, he 
 was slow to get off it again. At the end of all his sweet 
 crabby nonsense, he was forced to own apologetically that 
 as he had so come, they must put up with him for the 
 night. 
 
 Doris dropped him a low curtsey and leaned her face 
 for a salute, understanding the gentle amorousness of his 
 regard. Her ways of welcome made it so easy for him 
 to forget that he was a celebrity at all. She loved the gar- 
 rulous quaint foolishness to which he gave way when in 
 privacy, and was ever at intrigue to get more of it. 
 
 "And where is the Tramp?" was his question, when 
 greetings to the two sisters were over. " Not run away 
 again, I hope? " 
 
 Doris thought it likely, since he was not in sight, nor 
 to be heard of ; and declared that she believed him to be 
 always on the verge of it. " I have but to speak of you," 
 she said, " to see the wandering fever take hold of him." 
 
 " And I," replied the Sage, " never go out, but I leave 
 word with my housekeeper to hold him till my return ; so 
 confidently am I expecting him some day or another ! 
 But the anniversary is past ; I look now for some change 
 of the wind to bring him. I prophesy to you, Madam, of 
 times when you will not be able to hold him at a stand- 
 still. Tether him, and like a kite he'll strain ; loose him,
 
 92 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 and he comes to earth. Let him feel free, and he will 
 twizzle on one leg and keep happy." 
 
 Mrs. Gavney did not see why Tristram should not be 
 settled and happy with all the liberty he had. The mere 
 talk of him running away distressed her. She believed 
 him more docile and obedient than the others would allow, 
 and cited his gentle ways with her as proof how easily he 
 could be made domestic and governable. 
 
 ' I have only to speak quietly to him," she said with a 
 hint of superior wisdom. And the fact was true if the 
 inference was not. 
 
 " All the same," said Doris, " some fine day he will run ! 
 He will come back again, dear," she added. ' You need 
 never be anxious for him." 
 
 But Mrs. Gavney had a mother's belief in her own in- 
 tuition, and would not let go her claim to know better. 
 " You talk," was her complaint, " as if we had some wild 
 animal in the family ! " 
 
 " If I showed him to you in one of his dishevelments, 
 you would think so ! " said Doris. 
 
 " Then, surely, we should now be training him," said 
 her sister. 
 
 " Not to be tame," thought Doris. 
 
 " Not to be a wild animal," maintained Mrs. Gavney. 
 
 Doris imagined she saw combinations which made the 
 thing lovable. 
 
 " I pray that he may be neither wild nor animal ! " cried 
 the elder sister, casting timorous thoughts toward the pro- 
 pensities of youth. 
 
 " Now there," broke in the Sage, " is why the phrase 
 frightens you ! You damn the words separately, and 
 doubly damn them in company, letting the adjective act 
 on the noun like a red rag on a bull. Separate them fairly, 
 and see if they may not become innocent. To be animal 
 one needs not to be bestial; and to be wild means to be
 
 THE ROD THAT BUDDED 93 
 
 unharnessed rather than savage. That boy of yours now 
 — I take the wild in him first : call him wild, if you will, 
 as wind-flowers, clover, and the breath March are wild ; 
 or as the wild bee who makes honey as sweetly and in- 
 dustriously as the one we hive and take toll from. He 
 may be wild as a bird's notes are, which contain trills our 
 trained voices cannot equal, or as water which runs pure 
 on its native hillside. Have you any fear of such wild 
 things as these that your boy must not be like them? " 
 
 " I would prefer to see even his best qualities disci- 
 plined," demurred Mrs. Gavney. 
 
 " By their own laws! " the Sage assented. ' They will 
 be : these they live by. Dew, and song, and sunlight, and 
 cloud are all wild things untamable by man. Though you 
 can sadden the lark's song by caging it, you cannot re- 
 shape it to your liking. Would you wish to? It is the 
 wildness that springs eternal out of Nature's unspoiled 
 beauty. It rose up before the Fall, and came unchanged 
 to us out of Eden, and remains divine. There is another 
 wildness, wanton and predatory, that comes of deformity ; 
 where creation groans you find it ; in likeness to that, man 
 becomes base. But apart from that, to be wild is not to be 
 libertine ; while to be tame can seldom mean to be free. 
 What do you think, madam? " 
 
 Mrs. Gavney replied, with an unintended touch of 
 irony, " I think, dear Professor, that you have been talk- 
 ing poetry." 
 
 Doris laughed. " And I know," said she, " what 
 Anna's definition of poetry would be : something beauti- 
 ful, which we know not to be true. For my part, I accept 
 my Tramp's wildness on those terms with a whole heart ; 
 it is the foundation to start from. Now, for the animal 
 in him ; will you not expound that also? " 
 
 The Sage answered : " The poetry for that, Madam, is 
 in the word itself ; I have merely to be etymological. For
 
 94 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ' animal ' — what is it but the name of the soul in the most 
 durable language on earth, linked into daily use by the 
 softest letter of our alphabet. When the animal body 
 dies, 'tis but a single letter of its nature that perishes ; its 
 accident vanishes, ' anima,' the substance, lives. Man 
 bulks but by reason of the breath of life, breathed into his 
 nostrils by God ; as the wind-bag shrivels to a small thing 
 when the air is out of it, so the corruptible body ; 'tis a 
 microscopic part of us, grass cut down ; only when it stood 
 up and was filled with the breath of Heaven, had it the 
 stature and the fulness of a man. Animal to me says 
 soul ; and death, I believe, holds a far smaller kingdom 
 in us than appears : the symbols of our quickening lie 
 everywhere." 
 
 The Sage put forth the faith that was in him with some 
 fervency, and while he did so noted how the two sisters 
 with eyes that met in wavering and tender enquiry, were 
 each at gaze into the other's thoughts. The significance 
 of that silent correspondence of the two faces was not 
 missed by him ; intuitively he read a meaning. " Adieu, 
 adieu, oh, adieu, dear Beloved; think me not gone when I 
 am ! " the looks of one seemed to say ; and where regards 
 of affection and grief so equal were exchanged, it was but 
 natural that he should misread the giver for the receiver. 
 So it was the elder lady his mind fixed on ; and he thought 
 compassionately, how natural was her dread, even of the 
 small running away on Tristram's part with which they 
 had playfully threatened her. Watching the frail, languid 
 figure, he wondered if only a few months or a whole year 
 remained to a life destined to last for twentv. 
 
 Doris spoke out of reverie : " Your mention of bees in 
 reference to Tristram, reminds me; he has them in his 
 bonnet to a certainty. I found him the other day at the 
 hives, handling them as they went in and out. And an 
 odd thing he had to say ! — ' Don't touch me, Auntie
 
 THE ROD THAT BUDDED 95 
 
 Dorrie, or they'll sting ! ' — himself, not me. He owned 
 to having been stung, but very seldom; and when that 
 happens, what do you think he does? He runs till he 
 drops, and assures me that then all the pain has gone out 
 of him." 
 
 " There," remarked the Sage, " do you behold the true 
 animal : the ' anima,' the breath of its life relieving it of 
 its humours. Pain and disease come mainly from dwell- 
 ing on them. Death itself, without man's morbid dread 
 of it, might be staved off till the day when it was desired. 
 It is said that snake-bitten natives are beaten to divert 
 their attention ; if it is done sufficiently, they don't die. 
 You must go on according to the receipt for the pig and 
 the Amblongas patties — ' If he squeals, beat him again ! ' 
 But, 'tis melancholy, if after a beating they do die ! Dare 
 one risk such a thing on one's conscience as to have beaten 
 a man through his last moments ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear Professor," complained Doris, " why do 
 you always give practical doctrine such a sad wind-up? 
 Put sins for snake bites — now I shall never be able to 
 beat the Tramp for any of his sins, lest, through my noi 
 beating him enough, he should die in them ! " 
 
 " Never beat for the deadly sins, and you will be safe," 
 answered the Sage. " Beat for the lesser ones, and a 
 short beating won't matter." 
 
 "But do you ever have to beat him, my dear?" en- 
 quired Mrs. Gavney ; whereat Doris and the Sage broke 
 into merry laughter, which put an end to the matter of 
 their present discussion. 
 
 Tristram was not then to be found ; only Marcia, who 
 for once was gracious to the old man, and took him to see 
 their gardens. He praised hers for what he called its con- 
 tented veracity ; Doris's he named the garden of a soul ; 
 he flattered it by saying that Dante and Beatrice should 
 meet there. Doris owned that she had found footmarks,
 
 96 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 and had consolation now for the loss of a few roses. 
 Viewing the Tramp's portion, the Sage said, " I think he 
 wants the beating ! " It showed a dry soil, the result of 
 a week's neglect. 
 
 " It's my fault," said Marcia, and when asked how, 
 
 threw out her hands with a forlorn show of indifference. 
 
 'While I'm here he won't come!" she explained, and 
 
 added, " we are having a quarrel, and it's not finished ; 
 
 and Trampy says he hates me ! " 
 
 When hunger and the tea-hour called him, the Tramp 
 turned up from a place which he defined as " Oh, no- 
 where." He was very abashed to find that he had missed 
 two hours of the Sage's company. They had much to say 
 to each other then, but talk did not flow with quite the 
 uninterrupted gaiety of previous occasions. The Sage 
 watched him thoughtfully. 
 
 The next day, after their visitor had departed, Tris- 
 tram, the godless, chanced to roam by the gardens where 
 Marcia was at work, and saw that his own had been tam- 
 pered with. 
 
 " What have you been doing to my garden ? " he de- 
 manded. It had been raked to a neat surface, and in one 
 corner stood something to represent an olive-branch, lift- 
 ing up its green head and arms to him. 
 
 " I've not touched it ! " said Marcia, and walked away. 
 
 " No? " he muttered in retort, to gratify his own ears: 
 "then you did it without touching; that's all!" And 
 hardening himself, he pulled up the little emblem of 
 peace, cast it across on to Marcia's border, and went off 
 to nurse his demon afresh. 
 
 The two were at their lessons when Doris looked in on 
 them to say, " Marcia, have you been touching any one's 
 garden but your own ? " 
 
 ' I? no! " said Marcia. surprised, and looked across to 
 Tristram.
 
 THE ROD THAT BUDDED 97 
 
 " Oh, then it's all right," was Doris's quiet answer, and 
 she went away, leaving the Tramp a very nice little prob- 
 lem to think out. 
 
 Thinking brought him near to the facts, and he passed 
 the next two hours in a purgatory, which wrought havoc 
 on his marks for good conduct and efficiency. 
 
 On the instant that lessons were over he darted off to 
 forestall other eyes, and reinstate the despised olive- 
 branch. That moral emblem was nowhere to be found. 
 He divined a hand ; and was for kissing it in abject peni- 
 tence. 
 
 Coming to Doris with a face of sad confusion, he 
 asked, " Auntie Dorrie, who put that tree into my gar- 
 den?" 
 
 And she; " Who pulled it out again, Trampy?" 
 
 " I did," he confessed. 
 
 Said Doris, " The Professor put it in." 
 
 The boy looked at her hard. " And you? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I helped. Your garden has been growing 
 weedy. We thought we might put it straight for you. 
 Marcia thought not. I see she was right." 
 
 " That's the worst of Marcia ! " grumbled the boy. 
 " She always is right." 
 
 " Then if she was right, the poor Professor and I have 
 to make our apologies." 
 
 "No!" he contradicted, "she wasn't right; she was 
 wrong! I mean she has got a nasty way of being right 
 generally. And she does know it so, too ! " 
 
 ' Prove her wrong, then, this once. I think she will 
 forgive you." 
 
 The boy's demon struggled with him for a while : then, 
 " Where is it? " he said at last. 
 
 "Where is what?" 
 
 " That tree thing." 
 
 "You want it?"
 
 98 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " Yes, Auntie, you know I do ! where is it, please ? " 
 
 " Marcia knows already; I have told her," said Doris. 
 " Do you want me to show it to you ? " She made a small 
 pretence of being occupied. 
 
 " No, I'll ask Marcia ! " said the Tramp, and started to 
 go ; then returned and taking her hand, " come with me ! " 
 he pleaded. 
 
 Her willingness had its reward : she was witness to a 
 pretty ceremony, of which she wrote word to the Sage. 
 "A week's quarrel!" she commented, "all on his side, 
 I believe, this time. Think of the evil courage and the 
 obstinacy, to make such a thing possible in a creature 
 of his years ! And would to Heaven that all quarrels 
 ended as quickly ! " 
 
 " So," wrote the Sage in reply, " you have been beating 
 him?" 
 
 " With your rod ! " was her retort, " and it budded ! "
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MORALS 
 
 V\7HEN autumn fell into its chills, the Valley House 
 garden whispered all day with the fall of leaves. 
 From the adjacent woodland more drifted in; and in 
 every nook and angle of the walks piled a great waste 
 and litter which to the children seemed wealth. 
 
 Doris had become so much a member of the household, 
 that a word she let fall as she watched her young couple 
 piling a storage of leaf-mould for their gardens, had little 
 meaning to their ears. 
 
 " Tramp," she said, " do you know that in a week I 
 shall be gone ? " 
 
 The boy looked up and said, "Where?" and, "How 
 long for?" nor troubled to take his hands off his work, 
 thinking so little could be meant. 
 
 " In a kind of way, for good," she answered. " Not to 
 Little Towberry ; further away than that." 
 
 "Oh, but we don't want you to go!" objected Tris- 
 tram. 
 
 " Don't want to go myself, silly one ! It's a case of 
 'must'!" 
 
 " Why ? " asked the boy. 
 
 " All this fall of the leaf doesn't suit me. I am going 
 to hunt the summer, and suck honey by the sea." 
 
 Hunt the summer ! The phrase brought back the long 
 delight of the months that were just over. She had been 
 
 99
 
 ioo A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 goddess to them through the green of the year ; wherever 
 she went, it seemed, summer would go with her. 
 
 ' I wish I could go, too, then," pleaded Tristram. 
 " I've never seen the sea. I want to ! " 
 
 " Come and lend me your eyes, then ! " she invited in 
 sweet tones ; and sat down on a bench, making a lap for 
 him to climb into. ' Now look, and tell me what 
 colour? " 
 
 " Blue," said the child. 
 
 " I see grey," she returned ; " grey, and a wheel with a 
 squirrel running round inside. That's my Tramp. Where 
 does a squirrel carry its memory, Tramp? In its eyes or 
 its tail ? " 
 
 His eyes, star-gazing into hers, answered for him. 
 
 " Put into yours, then, the colour these give you ; take 
 a long look and remember ! Then when I'm away by the 
 sea, think of these two poor eyes of mine, and you will 
 have sea-colour to think of." 
 
 " Auntie, why are you crying? " asked the boy. 
 
 " Only salt water ! " she assured him. " It comes of 
 my eyes being sea-like ! " She kissed him and shook him 
 off, while he hungered not to be let go. Tristram re- 
 membered afterwards his long gaze into those blues 
 which moistened as he looked at them ; but her final fare- 
 well of a week later was a mere good-night, so lightly 
 spoken, that it made no place for itself in his memory. 
 He woke the morning after to find flowers on his pillow, 
 a bunch of Japanese anemones, tied to a note in Doris's 
 handwriting, that bid him look after her garden while 
 she was gone. It is to be feared that after the first fort- 
 night he rendered but a fitful obedience to her request, 
 thinking more of the sea for which her eyes promised to 
 remain an emblem. Before long, Marcia was to be found 
 taking up his unfulfilled trust and keeping to reality 
 things which under his handling tended so soon to become
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MORALS 101 
 
 a dream. By no word would she ever bring herself to 
 admit the fondness of which her drudgery gave token; 
 she regarded it as an unruly affection, for she could never 
 entirely rid herself of a jealousy for preference in a heart 
 where Tristram held first place : though with her, too, 
 love of Tristram came first. To console herself, she was 
 keen to claim a rival ownership. " Aunt Doris belongs to 
 Trampy," she explained to her governess one day; 
 " Mother belongs to me." For ideal content she must 
 have all three as her belongings. 
 
 Following upon the Doris regime came that of Miss 
 Julia Gavney, of which there is in the beginning less to be 
 told. The children were now more with their governess, 
 whose daily comings and goings were changed into resi- 
 dence when Doris was no longer at hand to take charge 
 of their leisure. 
 
 Winter settled down and brought with it discontent to 
 both, but especially to Tristram. Letters from Doris, full 
 of the South and sunshine, came to cheer them at inter- 
 vals through a penitential season. Without a companion 
 who could go at the stretch they wished, and safely con- 
 duct their energies to exhaustion, there was no doubt the 
 children ran into mischief ; or, to be exact, one ran, and 
 one, out of loyalty, followed. 
 
 Tristram measured out his miles by the rod that sought 
 to rule him. : ' Let's invent something ! " he would say, 
 not meaning the invention to be altogether innocent : and 
 would collect his thoughts, for some doing more scatter- 
 brained than that for which he had last been punished. 
 Miss Gavney reflected adversely on a supervision which 
 could have allowed the boy to get so out of hand. There 
 was discontent all round. 
 
 Tristram also found a subtle change taking place in 
 Marcia : her loyalty to him grew strained when she saw 
 him plunging into escapades merely that he might make
 
 102 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 himself a spectacle distressing to the authority at home. 
 Not all at once, but gradually, he discovered under all her 
 staunchness that she harboured disapproval of his doings ; 
 at times she stuck her heels dead into the ground, refus- 
 ing to join his vagrancies. 
 
 One day, hearing that ice bore on the smaller of 
 the two ponds in the Hill Alwyn woods, he proposed 
 forthwith to go skating. The promise had been given 
 them of a free day so soon as the ice should prove safe 
 enough. Here was the occasion ; of the ice he had no 
 doubts, of immediate permission he had : better, he 
 thought, to go first and find out afterwards if full leave 
 had been granted. 
 
 " Eut is it safe yet? " queried Marcia. 
 
 Tristram affirmed that it was : young John Tunny had 
 been there at hockey with other lads heavier than himself, 
 and the ice had borne them. 
 
 " Who let them in there, though ? " she asked. 
 
 " Nobody. They were chevied off by the bailiff ; but 
 we'd go to the lodge and get leave." 
 
 Marcia said: " I don't think we were meant to go on to 
 the Hill Alwyn ponds at all." 
 
 " But it's all the ice there is ! " argued Tristram. " Old 
 Grey at the mill breaks his up every morning with a punt, 
 because he says mill-ice isn't safe." 
 
 Marcia was curt. " I shan't go ! " she said. 
 
 " Then I shall ! " retorted the boy at once. 
 
 " You'd better ask first." 
 
 " I shan't do that either : Aunt Julie's cross with me 
 this morning, and would say no, out of spite." 
 
 " Ask mother, then ! " 
 
 " She's frightened of ice until it's a foot thick, and 
 would fancy we were going to be drowned all the time. 
 Come on ! Miss Binning can only keep us in some other 
 day ; and it may be all gone, by then."
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MORALS 103 
 
 The discussion ended with Marcia going in to lessons 
 and Tristram off by himself. He was right about the 
 ice ; but got less enjoyment than he had hoped. Marcia 
 had put an effective damper upon his morning's pleasure, 
 merely by sitting at home and submitting herself to stale 
 duty's call. The bailiff came and looked at him, and 
 asked how he got in there. " I asked at the lodge," said 
 Tristram. 
 
 " That's not enough," objected the sub-magnate; " you 
 should have come to me." But, as he was there, he let 
 him stay. " If any one comes down from the House, 
 though, you must be off," said the bailiff. " This is pri- 
 vate : only those who have keys are supposed to come." 
 
 The vicar of Little Alwyn had a key, Tristram knew ; 
 he wondered why his father had not also. The Valley 
 House was bigger than the Vicarage, and they were 
 nearer neighbours. 
 
 About noon Raymond Hannam, the vicar's son, turned 
 up, and cried " Hullo ! " on seeing him. He was a big 
 lad three years Tristram's senior. Hitherto they had 
 hardly met but in church, where they had exchanged nods 
 and tokens of outside interests over the edges of their re- 
 spective pews. The Tramp inclined toward friendship 
 with one who held a free pass to those solitudes of wood 
 and water. He drew up and watched the other putting 
 on his skates. They swung away together ; Tristram's 
 blades kept time ; he dropped behind that he might see 
 and imitate the other's action. With a big heart he 
 shouted " I'll race you ! " and shot out, just to see. 
 
 " Where to? " was demanded. 
 
 " Anywhere ! " he cried. 
 
 " Round the island and back? " • 
 
 They raced : Tristram was easily beaten. 
 
 ; ' I'll give you a start," said Raymond. Tristram was 
 too proud to take all that was offered him. They raced
 
 104 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 again ; toward the end it was neck and neck for a while ; 
 Tristram was just beaten. 
 
 " How long have you been learning? " young Hannam 
 enquired in a friendly way. 
 
 " Last year," answered Tristram. 
 
 " Not half bad ! " commented the other. " You'll do ! " 
 
 Finding himself approved the Tramp said, " My Aunt 
 Doris taught me; she taught Marcia, too. She could 
 beat you, she could ! " 
 
 Raymond refrained from direct contradiction. " Can 
 she do this? " he queried, and executed a flourish. 
 
 "There's nothing she can't do!" declared Tristram 
 stoutly. 
 
 " Oh, that's all nonsense! " retorted the other; " a man 
 can always do more than a woman can." This was news 
 to Tristram ; he contested the point doggedly, and was 
 left unconvinced. 
 
 The boys glided into a quick liking for each other's 
 society as their feet buzzed up and down those clear soli- 
 tudes of frost, where thwarted reflections of hoar beech- 
 wood lay shadowing the crusted surface like dryad-ghosts 
 hankering for a dip. Raymond Hannam had brought 
 sandwiches, and offered a share to Tristram, improvident 
 in his truancy. They sat down on the island to eat. 
 Overhead the Tramp spied a solitary heron's nest ; Ray- 
 mond said he had seen the young ones. " In the sum- 
 mer," he explained, " I come here then to swim. I can't 
 do that next year though ; not till the holidays. I shall be 
 going to a big school then : that'll be instead of Bern- 
 bridge. I shall like a public school better." 
 
 Tristram said: " What are they like? " 
 
 " Schools?" queried Raymond. 
 
 " No," corrected Tristram. " Herons, I meant: young 
 ones like those you saw." 
 
 The other only remembered that they had feathers, and
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MORALS 105 
 
 were much like the older birds ; he could give no nearer 
 description. About big schools he had much more to say. 
 There were more games there, more larks, more fighting 
 than in smaller schools. Rowing and swimming were 
 what he liked best. He talked as if the brink of the 
 w T orld were before him : just a jump and he would be in it. 
 
 Tristram thought him a wonderfully fine fellow ; three 
 years' seniority made him almost grown up in the small 
 boy's eyes. At parting Raymond asked whether he was 
 for coming again another day. 
 
 Tristram answered: " Yes, to-morrow, if they'll let me 
 out. I ran away from lessons to come here," he ex- 
 plained, and was not the worse thought of for that. 
 
 He came home famished, just before dark, and received 
 the discipline of bed and dry fare, as a natural wind-up to 
 the experiences of the day. Marcia stole up to him after 
 dark, and snuggling under an eider-down from the cold 
 heard him loud in the praises of his new friend. 
 
 " He's ever so big and strong," cried the boy ecstati- 
 cally. " He could knock down a man easily. He calls 
 me Tramp, and he says I'm to call him Ray; and he's 
 coming here, too, and I'm to go and see him. I say, 
 Marcia, you will like him ! You'll come to-morrow, won't 
 you? Can't he skate, too! What did Miss Binning say 
 when she found I was gone? " 
 
 " She asked where you were." 
 
 " And what did you say ? " 
 
 " I said I didn't know. I didn't — not just then; and 
 she never thought of asking where you were going to, so 
 I hadn't to say that." 
 
 Marcia, it may be gathered from this, was becoming 
 truthful. As a growing-pain affecting her speech, or a 
 sense of tidiness attaching to facts instead of to things 
 she accepted it with a sort of pride. It sprang not so 
 much out of any instinct or moral notion, as out of self- 
 
 (/
 
 106 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 consciousness ; she told the truth to satisfy herself, — not 
 in the least because she felt that she owed it to other 
 people. Probably we derive most of our virtues from 
 quite unvirtuous motives to begin with, till we hear the 
 world applauding them as good qualities. Marcia started 
 on a good honest home-brew of self-applause. 
 
 Tristram's truthfulness went on different lines. He 
 would tell the truth with uncalculating candour, so long 
 as he was not challenged for it ; any attempt to hector him 
 into an admission against his will, produced dogged si- 
 lence. His only reason for not lying was that lying was 
 generally mean ; he would be evasive to secure freedom, 
 never to escape punishment. 
 
 " That boy of yours has a devil ! " said Miss Julia Gav- 
 ney with becoming conviction to his father one night, 
 when Mrs. Gavney's retirement had left them alone. She 
 had her reasons for putting off the recital till Anna was 
 out of the way ; for without any intention to misstate the 
 facts, could not dissociate them from a personal grievance, 
 a reason why the whole truth of the tale were hardly to 
 lie learned by the reader, if it were left to her telling. 
 Even the historian states the case with a certain bias. 
 
 The affair was a very simple one. Julia had left a six- 
 pence on some packages which awaited the carrier, and 
 on her return the money was missing. Tristram had been 
 seen to go into the room, and owned, when charged, 
 to having gone out by the window. The evidence was 
 sufficient for a lady of hasty logic, whose mind was always 
 at jangle like a bunch of keys, over the details of \\er ener- 
 getic housekeeping. To her his absence meant flight ; 
 catching sight of him at a distance she went after him at 
 a hot run as though he were an escaping convict : collared 
 him, and cried, " Give me back that sixpence, at once! " 
 
 Tristram wished to know what sixpence. 
 
 She shook him, saying, " Give it me! If you don't, I 
 turn out your pockets ! "
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MORALS 107 
 
 The boy kicked against the violation of his person till 
 overpowered by superior force Many absurd things 
 tumbled into the light of day : nothing that mattered, but 
 the exposure of them roused him to fury. Along with 
 them came a few coppers, but no sixpence; nor did any 
 linings or corners reveal him the culprit. 
 
 Julia Gavney's remedy was to take the coppers in pres- 
 ent payment for the sixpence. Tristram's was to rush to 
 his mother and declare that his Aunt Julia had been rob- 
 bing him. She came on his heels and delivered her own 
 version of the affair. 
 
 Anna, with her natural conciliatoriness of speech, 
 slipped into wisdom by mere accident. " But, my dear 
 boy, have you really taken it? " she asked. 
 
 " No, mother, of course not ! " said the boy in a tone of 
 high disdain. And to the "Why then?" of further en- 
 quiry, replied, " She never even asked me ! " 
 
 Miss Gavney was amazed at Anna's weakness of mind 
 when she heard herself invited to make a wider search 
 after the missing coin. But. sure enough, when she lifted 
 the top parcel again from the pile, the thing dropped out of 
 a fold in the brown paper, under which it had slipped ; a 
 denouement which cleared Tristram altogether of the 
 charge, and left her looking a little foolish. 
 
 Mrs. Gavney had a soft triumph over her sister-in-law, 
 and let it show as she kissed the boy's still flushed and 
 angry face. To Julia, the offence of his innocence was 
 greater than his guilt would have been ; its effect was to 
 undermine her authority. :< It is a pity Tristram so much 
 dislikes telling the truth, that it has to be dragged out 
 of him ! " was the way in which she covered her retreat. 
 
 The incident augured ill for their future relations ; it 
 showed clear to her view the devil of opposition that was 
 in the boy's nature. She had the faculty, it appeared, for 
 calling it out.
 
 108 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Mr. Beresford Gavney merely thought that the affair 
 proved Tristram to be ripe for heavier tutorial discipline ; 
 and suggested that in the coming summer term, he would 
 be old enough to enter as a day-boy the Friars-gate School 
 at Bembridge. As a result of their consultation the 
 Tramp found Latin added to his daily tasks, and when 
 told the reason, could only regret that his years had kept 
 him behind, and that before he arrived at the school, 
 Raymond Hannam would have left it. 
 
 Of his new friend he spoke constantly to Marcia, and 
 always with applause. Once or twice she had the oppor- 
 tunity of seeing him when he came up to the Valley House 
 to carry Tristram off on some expedition, or to find sport 
 with him on the grounds. She joined vigorously in their 
 games when invited to, and found it quite easy to dislike 
 the new-comer for a way he had of saying " That's jolly 
 good for a girl ! " about things she did quite as well as 
 Tristram. It was a phrase she had taught the Tramp not 
 to use. Doris, too, had kept him free from an early 
 knowledge of masculine superiority. 
 
 Seeing clearly that influences of separation were at 
 work between herself and Tristram, Marcia chose charac- 
 teristically to put the blame of it all on others, and take 
 none on herself. She could not look in and see the change 
 there also at work, undoing the tie of their old boon-com- 
 panionship, not to be knit again till present phases in 
 both should be past. 
 
 One of the first unsettlings of life, which, looking back, 
 we see to have modified so much our appreciation of it 
 as a thing merely of weathers and seasons, is the growth 
 of the moral sense. To the animal in us it is a calamity ; 
 to the spiritual at first but a doubtful benefit. The moral 
 sense seldom makes us better at the first infection ; only 
 more conscious of the evil that is in us, and a little more 
 disagreeable to our neighbours than we were before. As
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MORALS 109 
 
 a rule, it is the girl who stumbles into it first, obeying the 
 new order with less resistance than her brother in afflic- 
 tion. The misfortune is hers as well as his ; she begins to 
 feel deserted, not knowing why ; unconscious that she 
 herself has moved, she sees that she is estranged from his 
 side. Hitherto she has been his rib and very good com- 
 rade; the half-skirting about her limbs has been a mere 
 accident, carrying with it no present significance. Within 
 that symbol of coming doom, the tomboy has gambolled 
 at large, unabashed and undefiant, having nothing to be 
 ashamed of or to dread. Alas ! Greek Atalanta becomes 
 Eve again ; and stooping to take up the apples of her 
 maiden sex, finds she may run no more with the same 
 spirit. A lamentable self-consciousness hampers her 
 actions ; she consults a self within herself of which she 
 has hitherto been ignorant, and as a whole companion is 
 done for. So, until the youth also has gone through that 
 corresponding state of complexity out of which adoles- 
 cence has to fret its way, she being bound, he still free, 
 they come naturally to loggerheads, knock and strike 
 sparks, and start asunder, wondering sullenly at the op- 
 position that has come on them. And let her take her 
 share of the shocks as penitentially as she may, he will 
 not value her the better for meekness where incompati- 
 bility is the offence. Instead of a support she becomes a 
 flaw in that structure of concealment, which youth with 
 the most moral future before it will rear against the over- 
 reachings of authority. Under such circumstances it is 
 quite likely that the girl, though morally the aggressor, 
 suffers more, nor is she consoled that conscience is on her 
 side. Here is the moment in the lives of young Adam 
 and Eve when the gods still deal out poetic justice; and 
 the woman suffers for her importation of the interroga- 
 tive note of conscience into youth's Eden of the appetites. 
 ' We were twins once," Tristram had said on one occa-
 
 no A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 sion of himself and Marcia, his memory catching on a 
 term which had been fictitiously applied to them when 
 their two heads were found on a level. For a much 
 longer time, when physical growth had sent him ahead, 
 they had remained twins in effect. Now the moral law 
 decided for them, that it was no longer to be. Marcia, 
 with the encumbrance of spirit adding itself to flesh, was 
 for the time outgrowing him ; she no longer gave to his 
 mind's eye pictures of the world as it ought to be. When 
 she stood up one day before the bar of enquiry like an up- 
 rooted mandrake of the earth, her raiment streaming pel- 
 lets of soil, she confessed at once what she had been do- 
 ing. " I've been burying myself ; at least, Tristram did it ; 
 I asked him to." Also she told plain home-truths over the 
 wettings and tearings of her frocks. " It got itself wet," 
 and " It came torn," were no longer terms to satisfy her 
 ear for detail. Conscientiousness never made her a tell- 
 tale ; all the more did it act as a moral deterrent on Tris- 
 tram. Her betrayals of herself disheartened him ; they 
 made his own secrecy seem craven. After one or two de- 
 spairing efforts to recover her as an accomplice, his spirit 
 forsook her and fled. 
 
 Marcia buried her forlorn life in much book-reading, 
 and punished him by the accuracy of her learned lessons, 
 against which he cut but a poor figure. Miss Binning 
 reported that his industry was deteriorating. It was, but 
 not so much as appeared. Hitherto there had been an un- 
 written compact between the two, by which they had 
 kept each other's shortcomings in countenance : they had 
 only allowed themselves to do so much, or so much ; to 
 be word-perfect was counted by them as uppishness. 
 Thus had the rigours of discipline fallen more mildly 
 across backs that were true yoke-fellows. Marcia's 
 morals wrought havoc in that old code of theirs. Tris- 
 tram resisted the change by doing rather worse.
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MORALS in 
 
 Thus it came about that war simmered between them, 
 and for his scrapes Tristram chose loneliness. If occa- 
 sionally, in his search for them, honest accident overtook 
 him, he no longer had an eye-witness at hand to help him 
 out in a good cause; and he found to his surprise that, 
 singly, he bore a reputation for untruthfulness. 
 
 One day some error of judgment made from the high 
 bird's-eye-view of authority, had ordered him to a tea 
 of dry bread without butter or jam. The jam chanced to 
 be a particular one ; he reached out his hand for it, reas- 
 serting his innocence. Restrained by the presiding 
 power, he cast his bread to float in the contents of his 
 tea-cup: though sopped food was distasteful to him, he 
 would not eat dry bread, not for all the thunders that 
 were! 
 
 It did not mollify him in the least that Marcia, sitting 
 opposite, was joining herself to his cause in this instance 
 by meekly foregoing the syrupy object of his desires, lest 
 comparison should the more inflame his mind. Her kind 
 self-denial only irritated him; with savage contrariness 
 he remarked : 
 
 "Why don't you have any jam? Nobody has told 
 lies about you! Go on! Eat your own and my share as 
 well ! I give it you ; nobody else has a right to it ! " 
 
 This defiant gift of his rights he would at least make, 
 even under the nose of Miss Binning's authority. But 
 Marcia remained a creature of mean spirit, a deserter: 
 she sat and made no sign, lifting up dry mouthfuls. 
 
 He turned with more interest to watch the soppy frag- 
 ments of his own bread being spooned out of his tea-cup. 
 Evasion of the penalty was not to be permitted to him: 
 his tea returned to him crumby and cool from much spill- 
 ing, and dry bread was again set before him. But having 
 now declared war against food in that form, he would 
 perish rather than own to being hungry.
 
 ii2 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 In the free hour following the conclusion of the meal, 
 Marcia roaming down the pantry passage, sighted Tris- 
 tram, a figure of guilt, fleeing out of a recess at her ap- 
 proach. The instinct of the chase, rather than any idea 
 of detecting crime, led her to pursuit. She caught him 
 up as he was wrestling with the spring-door to open it. 
 The Tramp with a squeal of rage huddled himself down 
 in a corner, covering some prize under the flap of his 
 coat. 
 
 One of the servants went by ; Marcia held her tongue, 
 but did not loose him. "What have you there?" she 
 asked, when the coast was clear. 
 
 "You mustn't look, Marcia!" he protested; "it's a 
 secret ! " 
 
 She withdrew honourably, though not convinced. 
 Compunction seized Tristram ; such generous dealing 
 forced him to forego deceitful secrecy. He sat up, dis- 
 closing a pot of the identical jam of which he had been 
 robbed at tea-time, already ravished of its covering, and 
 indented by tell-tale spoon marks. Tristram had been 
 remedying the injustice of the authorities by a foray on 
 his own account. 
 
 Marcia was moved by his voluntary self -betrayal, but 
 was none the less concerned at the revelation. The moral 
 sense made her say : 
 
 " Tris, you've been stealing it ! You must put it back 
 again." 
 
 " No," he protested ; " it wasn't fair to do me out of my 
 jam ! And besides," he added, " I've begun it now." 
 
 There was decided satisfaction in that ; the Rubicon had 
 been crossed. In the face of that, let moral questionings 
 hide a diminished head. A bright idea struck him : 
 
 "Have half!" he proposed, "you had none at tea 
 either." 
 
 Marcia pressed refusing lips over a mouth that watered.
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MORALS 113 
 
 There was, she saw, a plain difficulty over the restitution 
 of the theft ; but not the less was what he proposed unjus- 
 tifiable to her conscience. 
 
 " I ought to have had jam for my tea! " insisted Tris- 
 tram, " and if we were to finish it, a whole pot wouldn't 
 be missed ; nobody is likely to think of counting them." 
 
 It was wicked gospel truth. But Marcia's feminine 
 soul had acquired a dignity lacking to the male. 
 
 " You ought not to have done it ! " she declared. 
 " Trampy, dear, can't you smooth it down, and put it back 
 again ? " 
 
 Tristram was dogged on that point ; rather would he 
 eat a share, leave the remainder, and be found out. But 
 it was half ruefully, at last, that he sat down in a retired 
 spot to dispose wholesale of the thing he could not restore 
 entire. 
 
 Marcia eyed him remorselessly the whole time ; and the 
 jam tasted very ill. She even followed him to see how he 
 got rid of the empty jar. Her doing so made that part of 
 his task doubly distasteful ; for clearly it was beyond his 
 rights to dispose of the jam-pot: his claim did not extend 
 beyond its contents. 
 
 Rolling it conspicuously into the dust heap, he turned 
 upon her resentfully. " Now, go and tell ! " he sneered. 
 " Girls are all sneaks ! " 
 
 He knew this statement to be untrue, but to set injus- 
 tice against injustice relieved his feelings. After sulking 
 for the rest of the evening as in duty bound, he was for 
 regarding the incident as closed. 
 
 He was mistaken. It was not until tea-time the next 
 day that the moral sense began to unmask the full aspect 
 of its tyranny. For three weeks from that date, with 
 faithful regularity, Marcia puzzled Miss Binning, and 
 admonished her brother by refusing jam to her tea. 
 Tristram took it all the more, in large helpings, as fodder
 
 ii 4 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 to his wrath, hoping by such callous defiance to rouse her ; 
 but he made no impression. To Miss Binning, who 
 sought a private explanation, she said, " Trampy was un- 
 fairly punished last week, that's why ! " A remark which 
 made Miss Binning believe that she saw the true culprit 
 now before her, doing penance in a fashion of her own 
 choosing. 
 
 Marcia was let alone to complete it. She was angeli- 
 cally sweet-tempered through it all, going out of her way 
 to show Tristram that she bore him no grudge, that this 
 merely was duty. She was indeed very sorry for him, 
 and for herself too, while the three weeks lasted. 
 
 Tristram watched her, trying to make out what new 
 creature was this ; the downright tyranny of the experi- 
 ment was what chiefly struck his mind. And while his 
 brain mazed, he questioned within his rankled bosom how 
 a girl could so smile and smile, and yet be a villain !
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 IN WHICH A GENTLE CHARACTER DISAPPEARS FROM 
 
 THE STORY 
 
 OPRING was again showing bright edges of green, and 
 the walks which Doris had made familiar to the 
 children's feet grew alive with memories of her as, group 
 by group, the flowers rushed back to the places of her 
 ramblings. 
 
 To Tristram they almost cried her name. An epistolary 
 fervour seized him ; he seemed for a whole winter to have 
 forgotten her. Now he pestered his mother to send to 
 her the great handfuls of wild-flowers he brought home: 
 they were all for his Aunt Doris. By the sea, he appeared 
 to think, there could be no flowers. 
 
 A few specimens his mother consented to slip between 
 the pages of her correspondence ; but such things as wood- 
 anemones were too perishable for forwarding ; it seemed 
 better merely to send word of the will that was in him. 
 
 Doris, hearing of the boy's floral mood, sent to enquire 
 after her own garden. He fell to energetic upheavals of 
 its soil, and sent her lists of the things which were ap- 
 pearing. He even probed beneath the surface to spy the 
 whereabouts of late comers ; many a tender green nose 
 got frost-nipped in consequence. 
 
 One day he drove over with his mother to Little Tow- 
 berry, where certain matters required to be arranged for 
 
 "5
 
 u6 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 its absent mistress; and fell into a sort of awe over the 
 oppression of the shut-up house, once so full of life. 
 
 The caretaker opened shutters to let in light ; and while 
 Mrs. Gavney turned over the contents of carefully ar- 
 ranged drawers, Tristram looked out on a desolate gar- 
 den. 
 
 " Why does nobody do anything to this garden?" he 
 asked. " Doesn't Auntie Dorrie mean ever to come back 
 here?" 
 
 His mother had just got her hand on one of the things 
 she sought. " Come here, Tristram ! " she called to him. 
 " This is for you." She held out a little miniature ; in it 
 were blue eyes and a face he knew. 
 
 "Oh!" he cried, looking, "that is Auntie Dorrie, I 
 know ! " and realising he was to be its possessor, fell into 
 extravagant love for it during the rest of the day. 
 
 His mother studied him in gentle perplexity, puzzled at 
 the wild tenderness which had broken out of his rough- 
 ened surface. She sent word of it to Doris. 
 
 " Ah ! " wrote that dear lady out of her fast banishment, 
 " if I could be given one selfish wish now, it would be to 
 see you again, and him ! Dear, I write it down only the 
 more to forbid it: you must not come! (let good news of 
 your health come instead!), and the other thing is out of 
 the question. Besides I am sure that I am much better, 
 so the need can wait." 
 
 In a later letter she asked that out of her own plot of 
 garden Tristram should send her one gathering of its 
 spring-beauties as a proof of his stewardship. May was 
 beginning then, and letters were no longer in her own 
 handwriting. 
 
 The letter arrived late one evening ; Tristram had the 
 message when he went in to say good-night to his parents. 
 His mother kissed him with a troubled countenance as 
 she told him. ' To-morrow, dear," she said. It was then
 
 A CHARACTER DISAPPEARS 117 
 
 dark ; but the boy was in a fever to be off at once into the 
 garden, and pick his flowers ready for the first morning 
 post. It seemed to him an act of unfaithfulness to post- 
 pone fulfilment of the request. Mrs. Gavney whispered, 
 " Do as I say, dear ; to-morrow will be time enough." 
 And he went. 
 
 She came up to his room just as he was getting into 
 bed, and asked : " Tristram, have you said your prayers? " 
 
 " Oh yes, I think so ! " said the boy doubtfully, with one 
 leg out. He was quite willing to do them again to make 
 sure. 
 
 Did he pray, she asked him, for his Aunt Doris ? 
 
 " Oh yes, I do, mother," he said ; " always for her." 
 
 She left him then, saying no more. A quarter of an 
 hour later Marcia came into the room and got on to the 
 bed beside him. " Trampy," she cried out in the dark. 
 " Auntie Dorrie is ill ! " 
 
 "Oh, it's not true!" said he, but pulled himself up 
 quickly from under the bed-clothes. 
 
 " It is ! Mother told me ; and I know it's true from the 
 way she said it." 
 
 "How did she say it?" 
 
 " Oh ! " Marcia shook herself for an explanation she 
 could not give. A gloomy conviction pervaded her that 
 " ill " meant very ill ; she did not spare to speak her 
 thoughts to him. She talked into pitch darkness ; her 
 voice over his head seemed to move to and fro in a sort of 
 stumble across his senses. He became sick with dread 
 that there was reason in what she uttered, only he wished 
 and wished that she would leave off speaking of it : to ar- 
 gue in the dark was like kicking against a blank wall. 
 
 Presently she said, " I'm cold ; I'm going back to bed 
 again. Good-night, Tramp." They exchanged kisses, 
 a thing rare between them now, except after quarrels; 
 she stole off to her own room again, leaving him in a fer-
 
 n8 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ment of unreasoning remorse over the days when mind- 
 fulness of Doris and the service due to her had been put 
 aside or forgotten. 
 
 In the middle of the night Marcia, a heavy sleeper, 
 grew half awake with a belief that she saw Tristram by 
 her side, clothed and standing, a dim figure between her 
 and the open door. What he said she did not understand. 
 She turned afresh, cheek to pillow, and lost consciousness ; 
 then starting suddenly awake looked up to see sure enough 
 that the door stood open. ' Trampy ! " she called ; but 
 there was no answer. She was in doubt if he had been 
 there at all. 
 
 It would be hard to say in what state of consciousness 
 Tristram had left his bed. What he could recall the next 
 day gave but a half of his troubled movements during the 
 night. He remembered his visit to Marcia and his find- 
 ing her in too heavy a sleep to be stirred, but could not 
 account for the few poor pullings of flowers, bare stalks, 
 bruised and crumbled grass which lay scattered on the 
 floor by his bedside. They seemed a feeble expression of 
 the great wish which had filled and broken his night's 
 rest. 
 
 Day dawned gloomy ; he woke late and found that the 
 desire had worn itself out ; it lay in him now with the 
 weight of a leaden duty to be done. Nevertheless before 
 many minutes he was out of the house to find a chill air 
 blowing over the ground where there had of late been 
 rain. Across the borders of Doris's garden, he saw upon 
 the mould fresh footprints between the flowers, and won- 
 dered if they could be his own. Solitary he felt at that 
 chill gathering, a Dante missing his Beatrice. 
 
 Close on the breakfast hour he returned from his task, 
 bearing a double handful of flowers : Marcia met him with 
 a strange face. Something of a hush had taken hold of 
 the establishment. She looked at the flowers, then at him.
 
 A CHARACTER DISAPPEARS 119 
 
 " No, no, Trampy ! " she said ; " mother mustn't see 
 them ! " and told him in a quick whisper the news that 
 had just come into the house, of grief not many hours old. 
 His hands became insensible of what they held. Staring 
 at her for an amazed moment with a stunned sense of 
 shame, he tried to believe that he had heard foolishly 
 something not true ; yet did not dare to ask for it to be re- 
 peated to him. Marcia told him that the news had come 
 by telegram ; their mother was expecting it, she held it 
 for a long time unopened, weeping bitterly. Tristram 
 remembered to have seen the messenger not many minutes 
 ago, returning down the drive ; and with the prosaic vis- 
 ion presented, the reality darted into him like a wound 
 into the flesh. Pie spun round, letting the flowers fall in 
 a heap, and raced out into the garden. 
 
 Marcia saw him at top speed, disappearing down the 
 field under the terrace ; and the practical thought that he 
 was gfone without his breakfast crossed her mind to call 
 up troubled pity for him, and remained when long hours 
 brought no sign of his return. 
 
 In the afternoon she watched for him out of an upper 
 window, and spied him at last creeping into the stables by 
 a back way. She found him in the dark of the small 
 granary, munching at a handful of corn. 
 
 " Tris," she said, " mother has been wanting to know 
 where you are." 
 
 " Tell her I am here ! " mumbled the boy. 
 
 " But she wants you. I think she's ill." 
 
 " How ill ? " he asked. 
 
 " Lying down in the dark ; I don't know : she hardly 
 speaks." 
 
 "What time is it?" enquired Tristram. She told 
 him. 
 
 A few minutes later there was a rub at Mrs. Gavney's 
 door. Her sigh gave him admittance to the veiled still-
 
 120 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ness of the chamber. A small body climbed up and lay 
 down on the bed by her side. 
 
 "Mother?" 
 
 " My boy." 
 
 The two faces fell to an embrace on the same pillow. 
 
 " Are you going to die, too, mother? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, no, my dear, not yet." 
 
 " Where are you ill, then? " 
 
 She murmured, " My head ! " and let his hands feel 
 their way to a hot tortured forehead. 
 
 " I won't talk ! " he said ; and they lay silent for some 
 while, side by side, only his hands giving her news of 
 him. 
 
 After a while she whispered, " I feel better ! " and be- 
 gan speaking on the subject they had at heart. Little 
 tales of the childhood of Doris stole from her sad lips. 
 " She was the merriest child I ever knew ! " came, and had 
 a story to fit it. " She was so pretty ! as long as I can re- 
 member quite the prettiest of us all ; and I remember the 
 first time she was put into my arms." 
 
 Anna sighed, but had no more tears to give; in this 
 evening of her grief Doris seemed to smile at her through 
 a clear-washed space of atmosphere. At each pause she 
 heard Tristram murmur, " Tell me more, mother ! " and 
 still found much to say. 
 
 After a time, as she went on, she began to notice that 
 his hands were quite cold against her face; and to ease 
 him of the strain, " I am better, dear," she said, " oh, 
 much better ! " and was surprised to find it so true. " Put 
 down your hands now ; they must be tired." 
 
 There was no response, nor movement beyond a low 
 breathing. Soon Anna found that she had him fast asleep 
 in her arms ; and all her heart went motherly and warm 
 to make a nest for the poor small animal which had crept 
 to her for comfort of its wants.
 
 A CHARACTER DISAPPEARS 121 
 
 " It needs a mother to understand him," she thought to 
 herself, and with that grew consoled over all the aspects 
 of his troublesomeness. She lay quite out of pain now, 
 comforted in her gentle pride by the feeling that she and 
 her boy were not strangers. The thought smiled tenderly 
 to her that Doris by dying had afforded proof that Doris 
 could be a little wrong.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 
 
 TN the life of childhood Earth re-acts her story; there 
 the parable of her creation becomes told again in 
 small, and leads on to a very similar end. Creation in its 
 completion leaves man, an interrogating mind, face to 
 face with the tree whose fruit it is peril for him to taste 
 of ; and with the fall that follows, creation proper may be 
 said to have ended, and civilisation, the problem-play, the 
 fabrication of a single species, as opposed to the consent- 
 ing movement of a whole order, to have begun. Even so 
 do we come to a point in the life of man where childhood, 
 the natural creation, is done for and the artificial recipe 
 of civilisation takes its place ; when the raw roots of him 
 have to go into the stews and flesh-pots which hands, not 
 Nature's, have prepared. 
 
 Or we may make the parable more personal to the indi- 
 vidual, and see in childhood once again the forming of 
 the first man. Taken up out of common earth, he receives 
 in his nostrils breath already sweet with scents of 
 quickening for his soul. The doors of his being sway 
 freely to the draughts of Heaven ; large natural inspira- 
 tions predominate in the stir-about of his blood. Memory 
 looking back, thereafter has the burden of knowing that 
 healthier motions then went to the balance of his being 
 than when civilisation in him was completed. Surely it 
 was better for his mere happiness when each thing in 
 
 122
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 123 
 
 Nature had its own broad meaning, unassociated with 
 man's sad right of usufruct ; when sheep in the fields did 
 not stand for meat, nor grass for fodder, nor roads for 
 the dull jointing of trade, nor women for travail, nor men 
 for labour, but all were alike useless and wonderful things, 
 to be enjoyed as the uninstructed senses might direct; 
 when desire held up a cup to catch the whole reflection of 
 the sun, and drank, not wine, but the light and warmth of 
 Heaven. 
 
 Your average man-child gets an abrupt addition to his 
 first principles of knowledge when he goes forth from his 
 home to become one in the educational community. 
 Caught and set down in no garden, but a walled town, he 
 stands before the Tree of Knowledge under a new law ; 
 and, " Thou shalt eat of it ! " is now the word of com- 
 mand. That is well enough ; as logical followers of Adam, 
 since we aim not to reverse his record, we do rightly to 
 exalt his deed and eat of the same damnation. But time 
 has caused the Tree to throw out rank seedlings, and the 
 city of Wisdom whose high places it crowns has its slums 
 also — outskirts which lie to be crossed by the infarer. 
 And is it not amazing, if you think of it, that we are con- 
 tent to let the slums give to the raw citizen his first dip 
 into new knowledge, that we let him run loose into by- 
 ways where the gutter is almost the only footpath to walk 
 in ? And meanwhile the human parent, smug worshipper 
 of the conventional sanctities, stands like an ostrich, bury- 
 ing an obtuse head from all avoidable recognition of con- 
 sequences. 
 
 The fact is but stated here as a short means to history, 
 where unattractive ground has to be crossed over : a re- 
 minder in brief of how in the first years of schooling the 
 Devil holds his confirmation classes, so that, if you be- 
 come not his converts henceforth, it is not his fault nor 
 the fault of your sponsors. At least he makes sure that
 
 124 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 youth shall no longer he the same thing, for here a line, 
 sharp as the furrow of a sacrificial knife, is drawn over 
 the human body ; and at a blow the life of childhood is 
 ended. 
 
 The reader knows by now that it is no life of a saint 
 we are recording. In Tristram's nature influences of good 
 and bad were for ever at touch and go. As the arrow 
 must be free for the string that sends it, so with him for 
 a motion to have weight it was essential that he should be 
 at liberty to fly. In this new Antaeus the instinct of the 
 spiritual law is not come at by fasting and holy obedience, 
 and if you find him ever on his knees, 'tis as the half-way 
 sign of a grace in him whose whole aim is a full-length 
 roll on the tawny clay of mother-earth. 
 
 The beginning of autumn saw Tristram entered as a 
 day-scholar at the Friars-gate school of Bembridge, with 
 a two miles' stretch of limb morning and evening to make 
 an acceptable sandwich of the food there forced upon his 
 brain. He went believing he would like better than any- 
 thing the social contact of his own kind which school 
 promised him ; but in the event he found himself lonelier 
 with a crowd than with a few. 
 
 Friars-gate, as then constituted, was a foundation of 
 mixed condition and history, a compromise between claims 
 deriving from an old pious endowment of pre-reforma- 
 tion times and the acquisitiveness which marks in educa- 
 tional matters the upper middle classes of our own day ; 
 for the benefits of the institution had been largely trans- 
 ferred to a class higher in the social scale than the one 
 which the charitable founder had originally in view. The 
 school still existed by right of an ancient charter, which 
 secured twenty scholarships to sons of the Bembridge 
 townspeople : it prospered on more modern lines as a pro- 
 prietary boarding-house, where the sons of gentry were 
 trained for a University career. A certain social differ-
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 125 
 
 ence, in consequence, marked these two constituent bodies 
 of the school. As a day-boy, there was to some extent 
 also a separation of interests. 
 
 Tristram found himself one of a race somewhat looked 
 down on by those whose presence gave the school its 
 standing, but who, as regards the original intention of the 
 founders, were interlopers. Many names were bandied 
 between the two parties, expressive of a continuous small 
 friction, which, not generally amounting to much, was 
 never quite absent. The daily arrivals from the outer 
 world were scornfully reminded of the plebeian dust they 
 bore about them by the appellation of " Door-mats." 
 They responded with an elegant feat in tit quoquc by 
 naming as " Bed-brats " those who slept on the premises. 
 Epithets, first fired in mutual derision by opposing wits 
 of one generation, stuck and became the common phrase- 
 ology of school-life ; in time these produced playful varia- 
 tions, coming in pairs for the most part, the result of 
 repartee. Thus the " Doorers " was a hit which produced 
 the " Snorers " as a more successful counterstroke on the 
 day-boy side. The " Dormers " and the " Attics " were 
 paler comparisons, lacking in contrast of meaning ; while 
 the " Dormice " and the " Bedouins " made a sheer turn- 
 over of the significance with which this war of words had 
 started. They are set down here merely that, in use 
 hereafter, they may be understood at their poor native 
 worth — the efforts of crude wit in a race which, starting 
 from Shakespeare himself, has always had more difficulty 
 in making a tolerable play on language, than in turning 
 it to humorous extravagance. Shakespeare and your 
 average school-boy pun very much on a par. 
 
 At the date of Tristram's coming to Friars-gate the 
 school's fortunes were under the direction of one who 
 held the old-fashioned claim to tutorial office of a Doctor's 
 degree of Divinity. Without the " Doctor " his name,
 
 126 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Coney, made an insufficient fitting to a massive presence 
 wherein weight and dignity stood ponderously balanced. 
 The nickname applied to him by his scholars behind his 
 back had also been inadequate, but that its double mean- 
 ing saved it; for " Beak," applied as it undoubtedly had 
 been in the first instance to his chief facial characteristic, 
 bore also a magisterial significance ; and the magisterial 
 side of him was not lost upon those who came under his 
 tutelage. It had made the school what it was. He was 
 a man presenting that marble majesty of front which pro- 
 vokes the irreverent from a distance to utter high ridicule, 
 but is formidable when confronted. Only once in each 
 month was the school able to vent before his face any 
 whisper of the disrespect it strove hard to cherish. The 
 whisper was in fact a roar ; for to that grew the dull per- 
 functory mumblings of response, when, at evening prayer 
 in the school-chapel upon each twentieth day, the red- 
 letter verse of the whole psalter came to be recited. " And 
 so are the stony rocks for the conies," was the cry, which 
 would then rise in crescendo off three-score rebellious 
 tongues, and straightway the hubbub would die down 
 again till another month should renew to their lips that 
 delirious draught of an inspired utterance. 
 
 The Doctor stood with an unmoved face while that 
 safety-valve uttered its steam in outrageous attack upon 
 his ears ; causing thereby very much debate whether he 
 was aware at all of the provocation hurled at him. " Stony 
 rock " was indeed his refuge ; behind that marble none 
 could guess whether lay dark ire or amusement at the 
 paltry satisfaction of the herd. Young Coney, who held 
 the difficult position of eldest son to his father and school- 
 fellow to those who felt his father's sway, assured curious 
 enquirers that he did not know his parent's mind on the 
 subject. But it was to that youth's credit that he was no 
 filterer of news through his double relationship to tutor
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 127 
 
 and tutored ; and as he had earned an honourable name 
 for carrying no tales out of school, so too, maybe was it 
 his rule to bring none in. His school-fellows, even when 
 mischief was afoot, could see undismayed the Doctor 
 walking with his hand on his son's shoulder, and be with- 
 out suspicion of foul-play or countermine. Moreover, in 
 class he had the virtue of being quite as much afraid of 
 the Beak in his father as any of the others. The sight of 
 Tom Coney trembling like the rest of them over his 
 stumbles in construe, gave the school an added sense of 
 respect towards a power whose affection never showed it- 
 self through favour ; and though it could not be doubted 
 that the Doctor was a despot by nature, and something 
 of a bully, a sharp assault on his central dignity was 
 needed to make him unfair or vindictive in the penalties 
 he imposed. If hereafter we see him and our hero at log- 
 gerheads, it will be because the latter went wilfully to the 
 attack, with his eyes well open : nor is the reader to think 
 that records of hair-brained adventure, however moving, 
 are set down here to throw any colour of virtue over pro- 
 ceedings in themselves doubtful. It is the picturesque 
 and not the moral side of things which must commend 
 itself to the historian of Tristram's youth, whereof move- 
 ment was the most essential characteristic — movement 
 carrying with it its proper complement of occasional im- 
 mobility, which in the moral category would have to be 
 prejudiced under the term obstinacy. And if out of a 
 non-moral presentment a moral is sought to this story, I 
 say that, over every donkey's back amongst us, morals 
 hang in pairs like panniers ; and that when the weight of 
 them has broken it for him you shall have the two to 
 choose from, to find in which of them lay the last straw 
 that caused his overthrow. 
 
 But for the present Tristram's life piles its records less 
 in the restraint of his school-hours than in the loosenings
 
 128 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 of his vacations. The Doctor's verdict on him at the end 
 of his first term was, '* He has a mind, but fails to apply 
 it," and the reports of his class-masters carried the same 
 accusation. No definite charge of idleness was made 
 against him ; one of the most lenient of his instructors put 
 the case sympathetically : " If a window is open in the 
 room where he is at work, his brain flies out of it." And 
 the remark gave just the right colour to his lack of indus- 
 try. The end of term was like a window set open to him : 
 on the last day he raced home in rapturous spirits, and 
 seemed quite pleased with himself: merely to have en- 
 dured through the first three months of his schooling 
 seemed to him an achievement almost for boasting. 
 
 Two days later young Raymond Hannam was also 
 home again at Little Alwyn. Tristram found him loud in 
 praise of his new school ; and it seemed to matter little to 
 his pride that he, too, was near the bottom of his class. 
 The difference between the two boys lay in this, that 
 whereas the Tramp cared nothing for the school-life from 
 which holiday gave him an escape, Raymond found in it 
 all that he had longed for. He preached its joys to a 
 heart that showed little wish to be converted. 
 
 " I'd like to be wherever you are, Ray," said Tristram, 
 busy twining new heart-strings, " but there isn't much 
 else about it I think I'd care for." He hinted a distaste 
 for the companionship of his own kind ; and of school- 
 games said he did not care for them. 
 
 It was an odd outcome, for the boy had tremendous en- 
 ergy and animal spirits. He had been through his first 
 fight, and rather liked it ; though he was in doubt whether 
 he had lost or won. " We got tired and left off," he said, 
 in telling Raymond ; " I offered to go on again next day, 
 but we forgot all about it." So it would seem he and 
 his antagonist had fought for the mere mood, and been 
 satisfied. Hearing of it, his friend began teaching him to
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 129 
 
 box, that he might " lick any fellow of his own size." It 
 was Ray's idea that as a good fighter he would become 
 popular and like his school-life better. Yet, in the event, 
 Tristram fought but one other battle before he left Bern- 
 bridge. 
 
 The two boys became inseparable. Marcia was allowed 
 to hear of doings in which she had less and less of a part. 
 When at last she went to share the schooling of some 
 cousins at their own home, the separation of her life from 
 Tristram's would have been almost complete, had not 
 ruth and inclination then turned him into a correspond- 
 ent. In absence, his heart returned to her ; and she found 
 herself on paper taken back into his confidence in a way 
 that recalled the old days, for, with scrapes that had 
 already happened she could safely be trusted ; nor was it 
 her trick to preach, when she wrote back to him. Thus, 
 she learned astonishing things that never reached the 
 ears of her elders, and had a map of his life that to them 
 was so much unknown country. Raymond's flag flew 
 over most of it. 
 
 That first term and the holidays following were typical 
 of a good many that came after. In the summer vacation 
 it became necessary to order Tristram to be at home for 
 at least one meal a day, besides breakfast. The injunc- 
 tion followed Miss Julia Gavney's discovery that it was 
 not at the Vicarage that her nephew made up for meals 
 missed at home. Mr. Hannam washed his hands in 
 innocency as to the general whereabouts of the boys' 
 ramblings. " I don't know where they go." he said, 
 " but they come back safe enough; mine does, that is to 
 say." 
 
 For the father of a youth just arriving at the age called 
 " difficult," he seemed singularly incurious. He astonished 
 Miss Gavney by appearing to regard Tristram as a sort 
 of safeguard to his own bigger offspring. " I find him
 
 130 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 a nice little fellow," he asserted under correction. " He's 
 as troublesome as they make them ! " declared Miss Julia, 
 and told an anecdote or two. 
 
 The vicar's " Dear me ! " was uttered in mere polite- 
 ness, receptive of a point of view that passed straightway 
 out of mind. His thoughts went back to the parish mat- 
 ters, wherein he felt his only true responsibility. 
 
 His wife had made the mistake of leaving him a 
 widower with one boy to look after ; the mistake was 
 hers, not his. He did his duty so far as the object of it 
 came under his eye, but could hardly be expected to divert 
 himself from his work, on account of one who showed a 
 nice manly faculty for looking after himself. He came 
 out of his clouds to administer a rebuke now and again, 
 and was alw r ays gratified to find how well the boy took 
 his occasional displays of authority. Raymond came to 
 his father for extra pocket-money with a quite ingenuous 
 confidence in their relations, and answered all questions 
 frankly. On these grounds his father was ready to swear 
 that he had a boy of good honest character to deal with, 
 one without much brain, but enough for the Church, to 
 which he destined him. If in holiday time Raymond 
 chose the son of so advantageous a neighbour as Mr. 
 Beresford Gavney for a companion, Mr. Hannam trusted 
 that he need trouble himself no further in the matter. So 
 long as Raymond came home of nights, he was free to go 
 far a-field in the day-time. Thus the companionship 
 secured extra freedom for them both. 
 
 If to get far a-field was his aim, Raymond found that 
 in this one thing the Tramp was ahead of him, and, 
 though not aspiring to be his leader, proved himself a 
 born guide. He knew the country as far a-foot as they 
 cared to go to quite an astonishing degree. He knew the 
 people also. Up at the Beacon Farm, he assured Ray- 
 mond, there was food and a welcome for them whenever
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 131 
 
 they liked to go. And it was not the only homestead to 
 which the same hospitable truth applied. " I'm going to 
 be a farmer ! " said Tristram, and when occasion offered, 
 showed he could handle a pitchfork as to the manner 
 born. He could use sickle or scythe, too, and bind a sheaf. 
 He pointed out to Raymond a sheep he had helped to 
 shear; but had to confess he knew it by a certain scar on 
 its side. The farmer to whom it belonged vowed it was 
 none the worse mutton for a little blood-letting. Tris- 
 tram professed himself a connoisseur in cider ; at Beacon 
 Farm there was a story against him on the point, telling 
 how in his raw ignorance, he had been beguiled and over- 
 come by the potent beverage, and had been carried up to 
 bed to recover from the novel effects of his initiation 
 into alcohol as a thirst-quencher. The farmer's offer of 
 more cider now ever took the stereotyped form of 
 " And do'ant yo' spare it, Muster Tristram ; yor bed be 
 upstairs, made." This, with a waggish turn of the head, 
 suggesting that the memory was worth recalling. 
 
 Raymond owned that his friend had cheek beyond his 
 own when one dark night, hungry, belated, and far from 
 home, Tristram's soft tongue got them mounted up by 
 the coachman of a carriage returning to its stables, and 
 in the end set down to sup off dishes that came straight 
 from the table of a country magnate. The boy had an 
 easy faculty for getting at the sociable side of men, even 
 of that haughty under-aristocracy, which as a rule is 
 most unbending to those a little above it in the social scale. 
 Nevertheless over this particular episode his conscience 
 showed an uneasiness. He pleaded to Ray their raven- 
 ous state of hunger for an excuse, and cleared out his 
 own and his friend's pockets in a gratuity to the butler, 
 who had acted as mine host to them over his master's wine 
 and viands. " It wouldn't have clone, would it," he en- 
 quired, " to have offered help him wash-up ? " The awk-
 
 1 32 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 wardness of the final thanksgiving taught him in future 
 to prefer yeomen and cottagers, people with whom he 
 could feel on an equality. " Why," he wondered, " does 
 being in the households of lords and high gentry make 
 the serving classes less human ? " Raymond thought in- 
 congruous imitation and the high pampering of coarse 
 grain did the mischief: an eternal aping of habits and 
 manners that didn't belong to them. " Share a kennel 
 with a blood-hound," said he, " and you catch his fleas, 
 not his breed." He instanced the Hill Alwyn establish- 
 ment — every man Jack of them with the temper and 
 expletives of its mistress, — curses caught down from on 
 high, and sent the rounds. Talking of curses — the alco- 
 holic elements of speech — Raymond said, " D'you know 
 old Haycraft ? " and proposed an early excursion to the 
 old man's domain. " He keeps ferrets," was added as an 
 inducement; and the morrow saw them on the 
 confines of Randogger, where the old scamp had his 
 abode. 
 
 Of all the country lying between Hill Alwyn and Hid- 
 denden, north and south, Pitchley and Compton Covey, 
 east and west, the true centre was Randogger. Many- 
 roofed Bembridge sat apart, — only on market days a 
 rallying-point for all the scattered rustic community. 
 Randogger's single roof, green and sparsely inhabited, 
 laid the weight of its solitude with almost hourly insistence 
 on the rough-grained life of the whole district. One who 
 understood the locality could judge with sufficient 
 accuracy by the build of the homesteads and the appear- 
 ance of their inhabitants, in what relation they stood to 
 the country's main feature. 'Twas a centralisation that 
 betokened a veritable moral aloofness from the hurrying 
 of the age : a stranger was a marked man in the quiet cart- 
 tracks which threaded these wood-ways. 
 
 Randogger, for all its complexity, had a singular unity;
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 133 
 
 the eye ranging over it from higher ground saw only an 
 impressive monotony. " Where is anything? " one might 
 say, if in search for landmarks. Yet a closer investigation 
 showed how life lay round it in concentric rings like the 
 rind enclosing a tree, till the inner ring was quick with the 
 growth and sap of the wood itself. Tree-like, it threw 
 random seedlings of itself ; or, let us say, like some great 
 fowl with brood bulging from beneath its wing, whence 
 here and there ran a straggler, recognisable still, a fledg- 
 ling of the common nest. The neighbourhood was named 
 after its offspring. Here and there, at the distance of 
 a few fields, lay Pedlar's Thicket, Wooton Hatch, Rip- 
 penstow, and the Quarry Coppice; Hill Alwyn Wood 
 itself seemed but a lusty straggler gone farther than the 
 rest. Tucked into a corner of this last, between it and 
 Randogger Edge, Parson's Copse affronted the symmetry 
 of the larger estate. It was glebeland attaching to the 
 living of Little Alwyn, and in the days gone by had been 
 the cause of standing feud between Parson and Squire. 
 
 Those were days when Parson was a week-day sports- 
 man, and Squire sucked liquor in curtained privacy to 
 relieve the tedium of the Sunday's sermon. In this parish 
 they fell to feud : the man of God was the first to take 
 up the cudgels. The Squire, Parson averred, poked his 
 fire and clinked his glasses when pulpit-eloquence grew 
 wearisome to him. And would ! vowed the irate magnate : 
 he knew a good sermon when he heard it — which was 
 seldom ; and his pew was his own property : he was not 
 to be ousted from that, — he would behave there how he 
 chose, and would apply cushions external and internal to 
 suit his own comfort! Week-day partnership in the 
 stubble was thenceforth over between them. ' My pew," 
 the Parson forthwith nicknamed his bit of copse, and 
 bagged on it more game than his due. ' You poke when 
 I preach, I poach while you preserve ! " was his way of
 
 i 3 4 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 putting the case. On that text lie secured a substantial 
 revenge. They took to shooting each other's dogs ; and 
 in all ways set a strange example of Christianity for the 
 parish to look up to. One bleak winter's day sent a blast 
 which flared out after a brief draught the vital fire animat- 
 ing the body of each. It was recorded that on his death- 
 bed the parson ate pheasant, and died two full days earlier 
 in consequence. 
 
 With their deaths the personal squabble came to an 
 end, but a traditional coldness passed on to their suc- 
 cessors. Now, in Lady Petwyn's day, the manorial pew 
 stood unoccupied ; but the parson's " pew " had a tenant, 
 and something of the old grievance was revived. Mr. 
 Theodore Hannam, the vicar, not himself a sportsman, 
 without an intention of malice, had let the place go to a 
 wrong occupant. Haycraft now had a lease and could 
 not be turned out. While Sir Cooper Petwyn was drink- 
 ing to his own riddance, there had been little game-pre- 
 serving on the estate, and Haycraft's methods had not 
 mattered. When, under bailiffs and keepers, things were 
 set in order once more, stern eyes and complaint were 
 directed against him. It was the old parson's game that 
 he was playing. 
 
 Lady Petwyn wrote of him to Mr. Hannam as, " your 
 poacher by Church established," and at length made a 
 point of sending no game to the Vicarage. There could 
 be no doubt she had a grievance. Haycraft had poaching 
 in his blood, and by a shrewd stroke of wit the old 
 marauder had procured a settlement for his old age which 
 satisfied his instincts. He made his bit of wood attractive 
 to the pheasants of the neighbouring estate, and could be 
 heard by the keepers potting merrily at birds he had 
 done nothing to rear. Hard words were bandied to and 
 fro across the boundaries ; but Haycraft, for all his rough- 
 ness of tongue, had an imperturbable temper, and would
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 135 
 
 offer to sell his filchings when emptier fists were shaken 
 at him. 
 
 The vicar was brought at last to remonstrate. Hay- 
 craft swore that he bred birds of his own. He did, to the 
 extent of a single sitting of pheasants' eggs each year, and 
 took so little care of them that the rats and stoats of the 
 neighbourhood carried most of them away. On the 
 strength of that outlay he bagged weekly through five 
 months of the year, and sold in the market birds which 
 had cost his neighbour much and him nothing. 
 
 Over at the Vicarage it was his office to be useful twice 
 a week as odd- jobber; the employment fitted into a knack 
 he had of getting through a day's work without any show 
 of energy. Look at him, you would say he was a loafer : 
 test his muscle, you would believe he had had his day 
 as a prize-fighter. Whatever records he held in that 
 direction had been achieved far a-field ; now, only a wild 
 outlandish reverie of eye told something of an adventur- 
 ous life over which his lips shut fast. He was never to be 
 seen in a hurry, never in drink, never in a temper, and 
 never in church. By comparison with many of his neigh- 
 bours he could say that this was to have a good 
 character. 
 
 On the Church question, his parson tackled him; he 
 listened dutifully, and at the end let go a fervent utter- 
 ance, expressive of a mind fully prepared for the great 
 change. " When a' can do no more rotting and robbiting, 
 Parson, then a'll be ready and willing for the Lord to 
 take me." In that submission concluded his creed; could 
 a body in reason, he asked, say more? On the stroke 
 of that hour he would be as ready with his " Nunc dimit- 
 tis " as any saint in the calendar. The vicar spoke to him 
 of his language, which was bad enough in the village, 
 and far worse when the game-controversy was on up 
 at his own holding. He contended that language was
 
 136 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 given to a man to defend himself from the assaults of his 
 enemies ; it was a matter of give and take, lie called his 
 pastor to witness that he had never to him used words 
 unscriptural ; and held the fact up as a proof of his inno- 
 cence with the world at large. 
 
 Haycraft was still reckoned to be the tallest man on 
 Randogger side, though his shoulders had now begun to 
 stoop, and his sap to run dry. Thirty years before he- 
 had disappeared from the neighbourhood under some 
 cloud; and from that day nothing was heard of him 
 save, from across the county, a vague rumour that he 
 had been seen among gipsies at Bambury fair, with Welsh 
 ponies for sale; till one night, ten years before the date 
 of the present chapter, he had turned up again in his 
 native place, carrying a child on his arm, with money 
 enough in his pocket to make some show at the village ale- 
 house. It was told of him that he stood treat, and took 
 treat on that occasion with every villager who entered 
 the inn-parlour, and at the end of the ordeal was as 
 sober in his skin as a man need be. Those present on 
 the occasion could relate how, through the whole of that 
 carouse, the child had slept in the rigid circle of his arm, 
 only waking once to cry " Mammy ! " and be strictly 
 hushed back again to sleep in tones of command ; and of 
 1 lavcraft's face, how it bore marks of conflict, seeming to 
 have run the gauntlet of terrible buffetings ; yet how his 
 eye, what was left of it, carried a victorious light. 
 
 " Here I am home again ! " he had said ; and no other 
 word was vouchsafed or asked as to what lay behind. 
 
 This was the man, now in his sere and yellow leaf from 
 a tempestuous past, whom Raymond was taking Tristram 
 to visit. 
 
 They found him among his guns in the low-beamed 
 kitchen of his cottage by Randogger Edge; the place 
 seemed a tool-shed more than a living-room; ferrets
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 137 
 
 squirmed in a corner near the door ; nets and other tackle 
 lay about ; yet the abode had an appearance of cleanliness 
 and was draughted through by fresh air. Behind the old 
 fellow's chair sat a young girl basket making. She 
 looked up bright-eyed as the two boys entered ; after that 
 she shook forward a thick mane of black hair, and seemed 
 by the act to be shutting herself off from observation, and 
 from consciousness of anything that went on outside her 
 own task. 
 
 Haycraft had bidden the boys in, without rising from 
 his seat, gruffly enough ; but the question of the ferrets 
 set his hinges rustily in motion. He swung his great 
 length up till he stood near to the roof, then dropping 
 two of the vermin into the mouth of a capacious pocket, 
 led the way round toward the warren behind the house. 
 The Tramp began to consider his face ; it was keen, with 
 a sort of stagnant intelligence, a face behind which the 
 processes of thought moved cumbrous and slow. The 
 impression he got was of one whose ear was attuned less 
 to human voices than to the sounds given forth by trees, 
 whose eye took in the indications of the weather for a 
 week ahead. He had, in fine, wisdom with which the boy 
 wished to communicate. 
 
 Raymond named his friend. " Oh, ah," said the ol 1 
 fellow, " I know 'im ; I've seed 'im when he haven't seed 
 me. Times I 'ave." He turned a slow look of scrutin- 
 on to the boy's face. Tristram thrilled queerly, an ' 
 wondered where and in what way his solitude had been 
 spied on. 
 
 Haycraft went on slowly, " Collecks eggs, don't yer? ' 
 adding with an ironic chuckle, " I seed 'im ater a pheas- 
 ant's one day. Lord, if Mr. MacAllister had caught yer; 
 he'd a g'en yer what for! " 
 
 He asked further what particular eggs he wanted 
 Tristram named a few.
 
 138 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " When we come back to the house, you ask my Liz to 
 show you what she's got ; maybe she'll sell you some." 
 
 Tristram said, " I don't care to buy them, I want to 
 get them myself." 
 
 " Oh," said the old fellow, " you be a sportsman. I 
 likes 'em hatched." 
 
 He indicated the gun across his shoulder: one of his 
 many industries was to supply naturalists with specimens. 
 When they came back into the house, Haycraft, with 
 scarcely more than a sign, bade his daughter up and get 
 down her egg-boxes for the young gentleman to see. 
 Tristram bent over the hoard and saw things that he 
 coveted. 
 
 The girl gave him monosyllabic information as to 
 where they had been found. She had king-fisher's eggs ; 
 touching them he seemed to see the haunts of that shy 
 bird, and its flight like a blue flame; ever a stroke that 
 made magic to his eye. Settling the box-lid back to its 
 place, his hand rested for a moment upon hers. " Got 
 anything else?" he asked. Her fingers uncurled under 
 his, and let them in to where a dormouse lay nesting 
 within the hollows of her palm ; no word was said. 
 
 Caressing the little beast, their two hands fell into 
 familiaritv, cradle and coverlet to the drowsv life curled 
 between. Their eyes met and struck friendship. 
 
 To Ray's observation she seemed of a sulky breed. He 
 said so on the road home. The Tramp's answer was but 
 to wish he had known how to get at all the eggs she had 
 shown him. She was without books, yet could lay her 
 finger unerringly on every egg after its kind, could tell 
 him what differentiated the markings of one from another, 
 and needed no labels to remind her of knowledge gathered 
 at Nature's breast. A sort of envious cupboard-love grew 
 in him for an adept whose faculties were clearly ahead 
 of his own. Had the boy's thoughts run less on collector
 
 SCHOOL-DAYS AND HOLIDAYS 139 
 
 lines, he might have remembered her by the dormouse 
 asleep in the hollow of her palm. That small indi- 
 cation of her love of soft things to touch he forgot at 
 the time, though over it for a moment they had made 
 friends.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 
 
 \ FEW months later the boys were together again, 
 making the most of the four weeks following on 
 Christmas. On one of their last days of holiday they 
 went off to a meet on the outskirts of Pedlar's Thicket. 
 With luck, and intelligence to forecast events, it was 
 possible for one on foot to see a good part of the run, 
 always supposing it avoided the fiasco of a breakaway, 
 into the depths of Randogger. It was difficult country ; 
 but foxes were plentiful, and carried on traditions to 
 which skilful huntsmen had learned to play up. Stead- 
 fast pedestrians attending each meet might hope to see 
 something of the finish at least twice in a season. A cut 
 over Beacon Hill at the right moment, in the direction of 
 Fox's Gully, was in nine cases out of ten the thing to 
 reckon for; the hunt that had vanished to the west wouM 
 reappear setting eastward once more, on a last scamper 
 back to the borders of Randogger. There below the eye, 
 the last heat decided itself; often it was in favour of the 
 fox. 
 
 The boys went off to the meet in high spirits, for they 
 knew the country-side, and were confident of their powers. 
 On the road they were passed by sharp-trotting riders 
 in twos and threes. Young Hannam seemed to know 
 most of them : one he saluted was a lady who came riding 
 solitary, with a bleak face and dark imperious eye. 
 Tristram had his first sight of Lady Pctwyn. Behind 
 
 140
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 141 
 
 her back Raymond made a wry face. " Look how she 
 rides, though ! " he was forced to exclaim. " She's a 
 capital old Tartar ! " 
 
 " But she isn't old," objected Tristram. 
 
 " See her off horseback and you'd say so ! " said his 
 friend. " She's fifty-five if she's a day. Goes mostly on 
 one leg : no one sees her hardly except riding." 
 
 " Is that why she never comes to Church ? " 
 
 " No ; or, if it is, it's the least reason. She'd loathe the 
 notion. My father says she's a veritable pagan. ' Old 
 humgruffin ' is my name for her." 
 
 The subject of their discussion had disappeared from 
 view, when a groom came clattering down the road 
 behind them, and pulled up to ask: " Mr. Raymond, has 
 my lady been along ? " 
 
 Raymond nodded him ahead : the man was off. He 
 vanished over the rise to reappear presently, retracing 
 his way at double speed. 
 
 " Didn't you find her ? " Raymond sang out. 
 
 " Find her? Yes; damn her, I did! " cried the man in 
 irate tones, and was gone. 
 
 The boys laughed. Raymond said : " That's what she's 
 like. Jove ! she's always scratching and fighting them. 
 But she keeps them, and they stick to her. It's her 
 money, I suppose. She's a generous old jade; you may 
 give her that ! " 
 
 Tristram queried — then, how about Cob's Hole, and 
 the poor people living there in ram-shackle hovels at 
 high rent : all workers on the estate. 
 
 " Oh," explained Ray, " that's where MacAllister, the 
 bailiff, comes in : he's a skin-flint, and has his pickings, 
 you bet ! " 
 
 Upon the field they saw Lady Petwyn again, and 
 heard her in high voice and spirits to the men gathered 
 about her. Ladies eyed her distantly. It was Tristram's
 
 142 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 first glance into the social grades ; but the sight, had he 
 been old enough to calculate on its significance, would 
 have been misleading: Lady Petwyn's reputation stood 
 high ; and the distance, for the most part, was of her own 
 choosing. 
 
 The hounds were already at work in the adjoining 
 wood. Lady Petwyn cast an eye round for her missing 
 man. She signalled Raymond across to her. " If we're 
 off," she said, " when my fool returns, send him to wait 
 in the lower lane below Beacon Farm ; that'll be safe 
 unless we go altogether in the other direction, then, he 
 must simply follow, and catch me up when he can." 
 
 Raymond said, " But I shan't be here, Lady Petwyn ! " 
 
 She said brusquely, " Then I ask you to be. I can't 
 risk going without my food. If you like to bring it on 
 yourself, tell him to mount you: you ride? " 
 
 Raymond produced a packet of his own and presented 
 it with a gallant air. It indicated the farthest he would 
 do for the satisfaction of her whims. 
 
 " Good ! " said the lady, and took it without more ado. 
 " Exchange is no robbery." 
 
 Raymond returned to his companion, chuckling over 
 her graspingness and lack of conscience. " They say 
 she's the greediest woman in the county, and I believe it 
 now ! " he declared, prompted by personal loss ; and in 
 that at least did the dame an injustice, since it was more 
 the imperative demands of disease than of health which 
 made her fierce for her food. She would have eaten 
 crusts to ride bareback steeds rather than stay at home 
 and live on cushions and French cookery. All she did 
 was with such an air of head-strong will as to earn her a 
 reputation for more vices than she possessed. 
 
 Once off, and they had not long to wait, the lads saw 
 little more of her that day. Luck was against them for 
 any close share in the day's proceedings. Getting to the
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 143 
 
 farther side of the Beacon they heard of an easy kill a 
 mile below. Thence the hounds had been taken across 
 the neck of the Randoggers to draw a coppice lying out 
 on its north side. They followed hot-foot, but arrived 
 late, and saw nothing save far off a field of red-coats 
 making in the direction of Hiddenden : there was no 
 over-taking them on that line : it was already two o'clock, 
 long after the reasonable hour for luncheon. 
 
 Raymond's thoughts ran back to the robbery of the 
 morning. " Now she's eating my sandwiches ! " he 
 grumbled ; he had shared Tristram's, with the result that 
 they both remained hungry as ogres. 
 
 Through all the wide rolling country before them was 
 now no sign of the hunt, and but little likelihood of its 
 return. Raymond prayed Providence to show him where 
 lay the nearest inn. Tristram said a cottage would do: 
 where there was a roof there was bread. They had a 
 shilling between them. 
 
 Tristram's was the wish which found readiest fulfil- 
 ment. They procured bread and cheese and well-water 
 from an old deaf woman at a lonely cottage far from any 
 broad beaten track. Since they had come now even 
 beyond the Tramp's reckoning, they shouted down her 
 ear to enquire in what part of the world they were. She 
 named the places round and the distances : there seemed 
 to be no name at all for the spot where they were then 
 standing. At the mention of Mander's Hill a mile away, 
 Tristram brightened and turned to his companion, " Then 
 I know where we will go," said* he. He named, as 
 worth a visit, the caves which lay under shelter of that 
 shaggy ridge. The chance of further adventure made 
 them forget to think if they were tired, or of distance or 
 of time. 
 
 For the food she had already supplied, and for the 
 matches and candle they now asked for, the old woman
 
 144 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 refused to take more than a few coppers. Tristram laid 
 three more under the bucket by the well's mouth as they 
 departed. " She will find them to-morrow," he said, 
 " when she goes for her pour boirc," and was pleased to 
 think of the little surprise that lay ahead for her. 
 
 They found their way to the caves with some difficulty ; 
 gruesome holes to enter. Raymond gave a groan : 
 1 This is where the murder was," said he. " Didn't vou 
 hear Mander's ghost?" The oracular darkness ahead, 
 sounded like a blanketed drum, as their voices rang into 
 the crannies and windings of the way. They passed in, 
 leaving cold daylight behind them. Four hours elapsed 
 before they again crossed that threshold. It was seven 
 of the clock and a cloudy night, when the throat of the 
 cave became filled with boyish laughter: Tristram was 
 crying what idiots they had been. He stumbled out, and 
 dropping exhausted to ground, cried : " Midnight ! " Ray 
 said : " Now for Mander's ghost to finish us ! " 
 
 Up went Tristram's laugh, pealing once more. " And 
 it was just round the corner all the time' Oh, my 
 socks !' : He held in his hand a bunch of unravelled 
 worsted. Most ludicrous to them now seemed these in- 
 genious threadings of the labyrinth. They had lost them- 
 selves, and despaired, and hoped, and hungered, and 
 thirsted, all within twenty yards of the outer world. Only 
 now after weary hours of vain searching did the truth 
 dawn on them. 
 
 Tristram rolled helpless against Ray's shoulder : " Oh, 
 my socks, my socks ! " he cried again, and grew voiceless. 
 The dark wood-slopes rang with the youth's merriment. 
 But however they might laugh and laugh they were 
 obliged to recognise at last that their situation was some- 
 what dismal. They began to realise, now that the 
 adventure was over, how dog-tired they really were. 
 They had but two coppers between them, and were
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 145 
 
 something like twelve miles from home. It was night ; 
 stars shone faintly through mist, and there was no moon. 
 Black hummocks of ground waited to entrap their feet. 
 
 " Through Randogger it would only be eight," said 
 Tristram ; " if we could find the way we came, it would 
 cut off all Hiddenden." 
 
 Raymond voted for the short cut. " Only save us," 
 said he, " from getting lost again ! " 
 
 " I'm all right," Tristram declared, " once we hit on the 
 right track ; then's it due west. I can do that by instinct : 
 it's my bump of locality." 
 
 Randogger they came to after two miles of stumbling 
 in rutty lanes. 
 
 " This looks like it," said Tristram, peering through a 
 black hole in the boundaries, beside which only a ruined 
 gate-post remained. "If the stars would show up, one 
 could make quite sure. Hullo, here are two paths ; right 
 hand must mean west — come on ! " 
 
 A hundred yards further, he toppled head-foremost into 
 a gully down which the track unexpectedly descended. 
 A miry bottom broke his fall, but did not altogether save 
 him ; he picked himself out, dazed and shaken. " Oh, 
 I say ! " he held his hand up to his forehead, " I've a 
 bump of locality the size of a hen's egg here ! " cried he. 
 
 Raymond helped him to his feet. They tramped 
 stolidly along, holding arms. The Tramp carried a swim- 
 ming head, and reckoned little of the way. An hour's 
 heavy plodding seemed to bring them nowhere. 
 
 " It's the cave over again ! " growled Raymond. 
 " Whenever will we get home ? " 
 
 " Oh, bother it ! " sighed Tristram. " It's not home, it's 
 bed, or a place to sit down, I want now ! I'm walking 
 without socks. Home's ten miles off by now, I guess ; " 
 he went on, " and we are going away from it ; the very 
 name makes me sick ! That cave's haunted ; Mander's
 
 » 
 
 -146 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ghost hangs out in it ; Maunder must be his real name. 
 Now we've got to maunder up and down for ever more. 
 You and I aren't real people any more; we are ghosts; 
 we came out of that cave dead ! " 
 
 His companion bade him " shut up." 
 
 " Better to know when you are dead," persisted the 
 Tramp, " because then you don't expect anything, and 
 won't be disappointed at not getting it. Even to meet 
 the Devil now would be cheering. What's the time? 
 Have you a match left ? " 
 
 Raymond struck a light and discovered that it was 
 nearer nine than eight. 
 
 The Tramp groaned. " Doesn't knowing the time make 
 one hungry?" he remarked. 
 
 " Why did you ask, then ? " 
 
 " Being hungry's not a bad thing if one wants to have 
 something to think of. If you think about getting home, 
 your heart goes into your boots ; think of food, and it 
 stops at your stomach, and that's only half-way. What 
 are we walking into ? " 
 
 It was a gate. " Well, that shows we are somewhere, 
 at any rate ! " was Tristram's comment. ' We aren't so 
 dead as I thought we were." 
 
 They were in fields ; uncertain forms loomed ahead 
 seeming to be farm-buildings. To the boys' great relief 
 a faint light showed stationary between two large bulks 
 of shade. These turned out to be ricks stranded lonely 
 in the now bare field which had supplied their building. 
 Wattles made an enclosure of the intervening space. 
 There, over the light of a lantern, stooped a besmocked 
 figure in an old beaver hat. Catching a glimpse of what 
 was within, Raymond said, " Why, there's lambing going 
 on ; it's early ! " 
 
 They halted to look in over the fence, and beheld dis- 
 tressed maternity. The man in the smock, intent on
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 147 
 
 humane service, was too much wrapped up in his em- 
 ployment to take notice of their approach. When Ray- 
 mond called out, " Gaffer, will you tell us where we are? 
 we are out of our reckonings," it seemed that for the 
 second time that day he had put the question to one hard 
 of hearing. The man made no start at a voice thus com- 
 ing to him out of the darkness : he finished the matter in 
 hand before enquiring in a soft high voice whither they 
 were intending to go. 
 
 Raymond was naming the Alwyn district ; Tristram, 
 with the conviction of exhausted energies, broke in, and 
 declared for " food and bed." Where they might be he 
 cared not. 
 
 The three Alwyns were eight miles away, they heard. 
 
 " Where are we now ? " asked Raymond ; and was told 
 " Hiddenden." 
 
 " Then we've come the round after all ! " he declared, 
 utterly vexed at their continued ill-luck. 
 
 Tristram said, " We've maundered ! " as though the 
 thing were Fate's, and had to be. 
 
 But concern for themselves came to be forgotten for a 
 while; under their eyes a very common tragedy was 
 taking place. The stricken ewe stretched herself ineffec- 
 tively in a last effort to overcome destiny, and gave up 
 the struggle. Her life went out in a few gasps ; a meek, 
 pathetic, almost human resignation seemed to come 
 upon her at the moment of death. In the dark and 
 chilly atmosphere sounded the feeble bleating of a new- 
 born lamb. 
 
 The man in the smock showed an agitation in which 
 something of resentment mingled ; yet he spoke mildly. 
 " The poor dam, the poor dam ! " he muttered, smoothing 
 down the thick fleece with his hand. " Three mortal 
 hours of pain, and this for the end to it all." 
 
 Without moving to look round he addressed himself
 
 148 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 to his hearers : ' 'Twas a sorry chance : the hounds come 
 along by here to-clay, and killed in the very paddock 
 where a dozen of 'em were. Of course they were all 
 about the place then, and the mischief was done. The 
 other she'p were all right, but this one ; aye, it was a case 
 from the first ; she lay panting and never moved till her 
 turns took her. 
 
 Tristram had begun peering round to get a glimpse of 
 the speaker's face. When presently the latter rose and, 
 holding the lamb in one arm, stooped to take up his lan- 
 tern, its rays fell strongly on his large horse-like features. 
 The boy recognised his old childish horror. 
 
 " It's Daddy Wag-top ! " he whispered. 
 
 The yeoman showed he had keen hearing. " Aye," he 
 said, "I'm Daddy Wag-top; that's what they call me. 
 Who may you be ? " 
 
 The boys gave their names. 
 
 " Well," said he, " you'll not get home to-night, I 
 reckon; come along wi' me." He added with a queer 
 note of apology, " I ask you to be so good ; " and started 
 to show them the way. " You say you are hungry," he 
 said presently over his shoulder; "I dunno' wdiat may 
 be in the house, but whatever it is you'll be quite wel- 
 come." 
 
 The path led through dark farm-buildings and a low 
 door into the black opaqueness of an interior. They 
 sounded their way along a passage, their host murmur- 
 ing apologetically that the woman who did for him left 
 for home at eight o'clock. The very mention of such an 
 arrangement indicated a strange solitariness of habit. 
 
 When a light showed, they found themselves in a 
 heavily beamed room, with tiled floor ; a broad ingle 
 seat, made comfortable with patchwork cushions, enclosed 
 the hearth. Two dogs came out of the ashes and 
 wagged a dubious welcome. The boys dropped like two 
 stones.
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 149 
 
 " Put your feet up ! " said their host. 
 
 Removing their boots they did so, and were thankful. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot ; I'm all over mud ! " said Tristram, and 
 got up again. 
 
 Daddy Wag-top viewed him with a concerned eye. 
 " You've had a fall?" said he. Opening a deep dresser, 
 he drew out a clean smock. " Lie on that," was his 
 advice. 
 
 "No, I'll put it on," said the boy, "if I may?" It 
 swathed him to his ankles ; within the sleeves his hands 
 rambled helplessly till he had turned back six inches of 
 wrist. 
 
 Raymond could not but laugh out loud at the sight he 
 presented. " You look like a tramp in a snow-drift," said 
 he, when the other had settled back on to his bench. 
 Light and warmth restored their spirits. 
 
 Daddy Wag-top's first care was for the sock-lamb. 
 Laying it in a basket by the hearth he fetched rum, and 
 milk which he set to warm ; a rude feeding-bottle was 
 in waiting. " Young gentlemen," said he, " I ask your 
 pardon ; but accidents have to be attended to first." 
 
 They made apologies in return for disturbing his quiet. 
 
 ; ' It's a pleasure," said he, " that don't often happen to 
 me." 
 
 Pity caught Tristram by the throat : he looked at this 
 solitary man from whom he had fled when a child. Now 
 he seemed a creature dignified past the ordinary of man- 
 kind. The old beaver laid aside showed a high forehead 
 seamed with care ; a sort of perplexed thought had set 
 its mark there. Ashamed of his panic of six years ago, 
 the boy wished genuinely to make amends. 
 
 ' You are awfully good to trouble about us," he de- 
 clared half shyly. " Will you tell us your name? " 
 
 " My name? " said their host ; " Bagstock — Benjamin 
 Bagstock ; but few use it : ' Wag-top ' is like enough, and 
 comes easier."
 
 150 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 It was very true : the nickname did fit ; but to the two 
 lads he was Mr. Bagstock thenceforward. Behind his 
 back, when preparations of the meal took him out of the 
 chamber, Raymond thumped his fist down with the re- 
 mark, " I tell you what, Tramp, that old boy's a by-ordi- 
 nary good sort; he's a gentleman! " 
 
 The notion was aided by the sight they had of walls 
 lined with books. While their host was bringing them 
 their supper from the rear, Raymond got up and examined 
 the titles. 
 
 " Hullo ! " he sang out, " Classics ! — Livy, Horace, 
 Virgil, and no end to them ! Here's one whose name I 
 can't read; it's rubbed off. By Jove, though, they are 
 dusty ! He doesn't take them down often, I think. Here's 
 Homer, too ; and commentaries without end. Don't you 
 feel small, Tramp?" 
 
 " I do, in this thing ; " Tristram indicated the smock. 
 " It seems a sort of pastoral doctor's gown ; graduates 
 wore them once, didn't they ? — regular smocks — in 
 Milton's day, I mean. ' For we were shepherds on the 
 self-same hill,' " he quoted to support his contention; but 
 the mere sound of English in verse caused Ray's mind 
 to become unintelligent. 
 
 The farmer returned, and found that young gentleman 
 still nosing his book-shelves with a puzzled air. The 
 youth spoke respectfully : — 
 
 " Mr. Bagstock, you seem to be a scholar." 
 
 " Seem ! is about all I can do," answered his host, set- 
 ting down provender on the board. ' They were my 
 father's books before me; they're not mine. I can only 
 sit and look at the outsides of them, or, now and then — 
 now and then, for the sake of old memories, I take one 
 in my hands. Young gentlemen, draw up chairs for 
 yourselves" (he spoke from over a saucepan into which 
 he was setting down eggs to boil) ; " you are welcome to
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 151 
 
 everything but the milk and the rum, which must go to 
 the feeding-bottle. If you are for saying grace over such 
 poor fare, let it be Latin : Latin was my father's lan- 
 guage ; I've lost the sound of it, but my ears would wel- 
 come it again. I beg you to begin." He left them to 
 fetch in ale. 
 
 " Latin, eh ? " quoth Raymond, with a wry face. 
 " Benedictus ! Benny Bagstock says my sentiments for 
 me! " and with that by way of thanksgiving they fell to. 
 
 Their host had no need to apologise of poor fare to 
 such appetites. The boys out of politeness to one thus 
 almost forced into entertaining them, made a point of 
 talking, in spite of weariness and the rage their mouths 
 had for food and drink. It was evident that their coming 
 was a welcome event in that lonely abode. 
 
 " Your father, Mr. Bagstock, will you tell us of him? " 
 asked Tristram. " Was he a great scholar? " 
 
 " Nothing more than a country school-master," 
 answered his host ; " but a student, sir ; he never called 
 himself a scholard. Books were like flesh and blood to 
 him. He used to say that to know Latin made one equal 
 to men of birth. The Squire of the place where he lived 
 thought so too : would have him over of an evening to 
 see him, lent him books, and at his death left him a part 
 of his library — what you see here." He waved his hand 
 round the chamber with a dejected air. 
 
 " It was then I remember him," he went on. " A little 
 money accompanied the bequest. We came here; my 
 mother did the farming, did everything ; I cannot re- 
 member her without something in her hand to do. My 
 father, I fear, helped her but little : he was a wonderful 
 man ; at fifty he had the spirits of a boy at having found 
 leisure to become a scholard. Aye, he used to sit here, 
 where I do now, and burn rush-dips over the page (we 
 didn't have candles in those days). Often he took me in
 
 152 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 hand, making me read aloud to him. I learned things by 
 heart too ; he believed I should come at it better that way 
 — get it into me ' living/ he used to say ; but he died too 
 soon. On his death-bed he was talking Latin. ' Timor 
 mortis conturbat me,' I remember him saying over and 
 over, till the sound of it stuck in my head. The parson, 
 when I repeated it to him, told me it meant ' fear of 
 death.' He had a great work he was about, and thought 
 to finish, though it was hardly begun ; the ' Iliad ' into 
 Latin hexameters it was to be." 
 
 Farmer Bagstock named the scope of the work confi- 
 dently, as though it had merely been a question of time to 
 get such a thing ended. The conception was the achieve- 
 ment. It was clear to his mind that, had the thing been 
 done, his father would have ranked by Homer for future 
 generations. 
 
 Raymond enquired rashly, "Have you it: — what he 
 did get finished? " 
 
 Bagstock spoke low. '' None of it, sir, none. He took 
 it into his hands just before he died, and never let go 
 of it again. My mother thought it a sort of madness; 
 she had it buried with him. It lies yonder in Hidden- 
 den churchyard, six feet under the ground." He spoke 
 tremendously, as though a matter of vast significance 
 lay waiting there till the Last Trump should call it back 
 to life. 
 
 " Strange, gentlemen, is it not ? the unfinished things 
 which lie waiting in dead minds till God needs them." 
 
 The boys could not but be impressed by so much con- 
 viction and the simple eloquence of his speech. This 
 peasant-farmer, of crude knowledge and ridiculous ex- 
 terior, inspired them with respect. 
 
 Tristram said, " Mr. Bagstock, how much Latin do you 
 know? " 
 
 ' To be honest," answered the farmer, " I should say
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 153 
 
 none. I have the sound of some, that is all ; and even 
 that grows less every day. Hear now ! " 
 
 He spoke five lines of Virgil, the opening of the seventh 
 book of the "yEneid," stumbled, and came to a standstill. 
 Raymond prompted him. " Right, right ! " he cried, his 
 eye lighting up, and pieced on another four or five lines, 
 till memory gave out. His tongue pitched in a sea of 
 false quantities. Stopping abruptly he said, " Then you 
 know Latin, sir? " 
 
 " I learn it," said Raymond with honesty, adding, 
 " You have the books there, Mr. Bagstock ; can't you 
 refer to them when your memory breaks down ? " 
 
 The farmer shook his head : " I can't find the places. 
 What was that from, that I said just now ? " 
 
 Raymond told him. 
 
 He reached down the book with excitement, and had 
 the place found for him. He plunged, reading aloud with 
 horrid sing-song intonation, which suddenly fell into false 
 quantities and breaches of metre. Seeming to know some- 
 thing was amiss, he halted. " It was to there I learned," 
 he explained. " I was seven years old when my father 
 first put that into my mouth ; it is many a day since most 
 of it went away. I was only ten when he died." 
 
 The old fellow became so stirred by the returning recol- 
 lection that the boys were almost ashamed to remain 
 observers of his emotion. They had risen from the table, 
 leaving a board fairly cleared. Tristram went across to 
 look at the lamb, now quietly reposing in the glow from 
 the hearth. 
 
 Bagstock recurred to his duties as host. " Young 
 gentlemen," said he, " excuse me for one moment ; to- 
 night must be a feast ! " He disappeared and came back 
 bearing two dusty black bottles : he exhibited them with 
 decent complaisance as containing stuff whose worth he 
 was sure of.
 
 154 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " This," he said, " is Madeira, sent to my father by his 
 Squire friend in the old days : a Christmas gift ; three 
 dozen they were once. ' Wine, wisdom, and women be 
 three good things,' the Squire wrote when sending them. 
 ' You've samples of two ' — my father's book-learning, 
 and my mother, he meant to say — ' now sample the 
 third!' The three dozen came regularly every year so 
 long as the Squire lived. My father left some half dozen 
 still unopened when he died; they are as he left them. 
 Ah, well ! you wonder at me, but this is how it was : he 
 would sit at his books, I by him, my mother over there 
 knitting or mending. Supper over, out would come this 
 wine. My father would take a glass and stand it by him : 
 a bottle lasted him a week. Now and then, when he had 
 taught me anything new, he would give me perhaps a 
 quarter of a glass in water. I used to taste it, and think 
 it strong stuff in those days. He would say — ah, I can't 
 quote it now — some name to do with the Muses, and I 
 would toss off the draught, and say my piece over again 
 to him. Maybe, if I learned more, he might offer me a 
 second ; then my mother would say : ' Ben, it's time you 
 were in bed ! ' Latinity was not in my poor mother's 
 composition ; how she escaped it, having had me, I can't 
 say. So, you see, I used to taste wine as a reward for my 
 new learning. Now, when learning is past me, I let it 
 stand. But for the sake of that memory I've sat here on 
 winter nights with books at my elbow and a bottle un- 
 opened at my side, and thought of him. You'll understand 
 he was a wonderful man ! " 
 
 The boys began to think so. 
 
 Bagstock drew out the corks, and filled three glasses. 
 
 " To-night," he said, " I come back to where I left off 
 when a boy ; I feel as if my father were in the room. 
 Master Hannam, Master Gavney, I beg you: you have 
 the books there — you may delight my ears once more. 
 Things, as you read, perhaps I shall remember."
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 155 
 
 It was a strange situation : two boys without a particle 
 of love for Latin, and only a compulsory acquaintance 
 therewith, set down by an old man with no knowledge of 
 its meaning, to spout to him extracts from the poets. 
 
 " Get hold of something we know ! " suggested Tris- 
 tram ; and Raymond found a place to begin. 
 
 Now and then between them the boys knocked together 
 a rough construe. Daddy Wag-top leaned over the table 
 in a state of ecstatic happiness, and sipped nectar while 
 the numbers rolled. The youths also took a taste of his 
 wine, and exchanged shy glances. No doubt it had once 
 been liquor fit for a lord, but its day had gone by while 
 waiting in Bagstock's wine-bin. It seemed now to repent 
 of a wasted and heady youth, in flavours that bore a fanci- 
 ful resemblance to sack-cloth and ashes. 
 
 Its taste did not dim their host's enthusiasm for its 
 history ; he poured it down his gullet on trust, past a palate 
 that told him nothing of its decay. 
 
 " A fine wine ! " he cried, holding it up to the light ; 
 " my father used to say so ; he was a good judge. Young 
 gentlemen, I shall remember this night while I live, and 
 thank you for it ! Come ; I fill up your glasses and my 
 own ; another bottle remains. Ah, now I recall the name ; 
 it comes back to me ! Mnemosyne ! he used to say : have I 
 it right ? Memory, the mother of song ; strange that I 
 should have forgotten it ! " He struck his forehead. " To 
 be sure! to be sure! I could say that now; I have not 
 repeated it, since when ? " 
 
 He broke forth once more into recitative : — 
 
 fis e(f>ar ev^o/xevos ' tov 8' «kAvc <Pol(3o<; 'A7ro'AA.<oy. 
 
 he began, and came presently upon famous lines. He 
 gave them with gesture, seeming to know their meaning. 
 " 'Twas so my father used to bid me say it," he ex- 
 plained to his hearers.
 
 156 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Raymond said, " That's Greek." 
 
 " Greek ! " Bagstock would scarcely believe his ears 
 or his tongue : to have stumbled on such good fortune ! 
 " It's forty years ago," he cried, " I believed I had for- 
 gotten it. The one bit of Greek he ever taught me, and 
 now not to know it from Latin ! Mnemosyne ! " — he 
 uttered the name with an exalted air — " it came when 
 her name returned to me ! " 
 
 He emptied the glass and refilled it again. After that 
 there was no holding him ; classic stammerings broke 
 from his tongue ; old cells of memory opened under the 
 influence of the fusty beverage as it mounted through 
 impoverished blood to the hungry brain. So across the 
 board Bacchus sat in pantaloon age, and tippled into a 
 riotous flow of speech. 
 
 ' Poor old chap ! " murmured Ray, and seized the bot- 
 tle. ' You must help, Tramp ; we shall be ill ; but a little 
 more, and he'll be dead ! " 
 
 The charitable youths got the remainder of a bottle 
 empty between them ; under the table portions had to be 
 spilled when loathing stomachs refused all further service. 
 Old Wag-top had passed, then, beyond cognisance of the 
 small things that went on round him. His voice took on 
 a triumphant ring, till he discerned dimly before him 
 two heads fairly dropping with fatigue. 
 
 " Ah, yes," he murmured, vague words of hospitality. 
 1 Tired of course ; want your beds ; I'll show you the 
 way," and sat helpless. 
 
 Raymond replied, "If you are sure that we are not 
 turning you out of yours; rather than that we'll lie down 
 here."' 
 
 His host declared there was a bed for them to share. 
 They helped him to mount the stairs, and were pointed 
 to a chamber roughly got ready. In his sober state, 
 Daddy Wag-top must have had the hands of a house-
 
 A CHAPTER OF PURSUITS 157 
 
 wife, to make such swift and quiet preparations for his 
 guests. 
 
 In his break-down they felt quite tenderly grateful to 
 the old fellow ; they saw him into his room, set his 
 candle in a place of safety, and shook his hands, bidding 
 him good-night. 
 
 Feeling the cares of the establishment upon them they 
 descended to lock up, a rather needless precaution, and 
 to coax the sock-lamb to its last possible feed for the 
 night. Their efforts made it querulous and wakeful ; 
 packing it warm they left the bottle by its side, hoping 
 that if it grew hungry in the small hours, it would have 
 sense to discover comfort for itself. 
 
 It was long after eleven o'clock when they crawled up 
 again to the bed that awaited them. 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! we've earned it ! " cried Tristram, for 
 prayer and thanksgiving, and dropped himself, smock 
 and all, into the sheets. He and his companion lay like 
 logs felled to earth until the next day's sun was abroad, 
 and Bagstock himself, restored and in his right mind, 
 came to rouse them to breakfast. 
 
 At parting they found it difficult to speak their own 
 gratitude against his. The Tramp said, with final pro- 
 testation of thanks, " May we come again, some day ? " 
 whereto their host replied, his face hungry with anticipa- 
 tion of such a pleasure, " 'Twould make me young again 
 if you did ! " 
 
 One of them, at least, required no further invitation. 
 So it was not the last time that Daddy Wag-top heard 
 the Classics.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE WATER-FINDER 
 
 ~D EADERS who remember Tristram's early inclina- 
 tions will not imagine he was to be kept out of 
 water, because its cool silver eye beckoned to him from 
 the recesses of a guarded privacy. Even had there been 
 other pools available, he had so often in Raymond's 
 company been through the lodge gates and the other 
 locked wickets of the Hill Alwyn domain, that he came 
 at last to regard himself as a privileged trespasser, 
 against whose comings and goings no barrier would 
 oppose itself. 
 
 Therein he reckoned without MacAllister. That 
 worthy had an eye on him, or, at least, on the many 
 footmarks of him which he had come to recognise on 
 cross-cuts over the estate. Nor did it escape his obser- 
 vation that elsewhere the youth was to be met in Hay- 
 craft's company, a circumstance in itself sufficient to make 
 the bailiff regard him with suspicion. A busy popping 
 up at Parson's Coppice in the late autumn had brought 
 him to see from afar Tristram shouldering a gun at 
 pheasants that flew over, out of the Hill Alwyn covers; 
 and within an hour, red-handed from the business, having 
 with him a brace of his own shooting, the boy had given 
 him good-day in passing, as though being in league with 
 a half-poaching old vagabond who drained a neighbour's 
 preserve laid no weight whatever on his conscience. 
 
 158
 
 THE WATER-FINDER 159 
 
 The Tramp grew aware that one face at least made a 
 surly response to his glances, and that tawny MacAllister 
 was no friend to him. The man asked him curtly one 
 day — had he a gun-license ? and got for answer, a state- 
 ment at how many hundred yards Tristram chose to think 
 he could bring down a bird, the boy regarding his skill 
 as a sportsman a proof of his right to practise the art. 
 He gave instances. 
 
 " Whose birds ? " the bailiff wanted to know, and was 
 met by a cheeky enquiry, whether he thought he had 
 hatched them himself, and whether in that case, he was 
 prepared to recognise them again by a squint in the left 
 eye. 
 
 Such bandying of words, left the makings of a very 
 pretty quarrel between the two. MacAllister coming in 
 the following summer upon Tristram just up from bath- 
 ing in one of the ponds, gave him curt warning to keep 
 away unless he could come as a key-holder. 
 
 Tristram said, as if to ask was to receive, that he would 
 write to Lady Petwyn for the privilege. MacAllister 
 retorted that the matter rested with him, his eyes show- 
 ing a clear negative. Orders against trespassing were 
 repeated and with emphasis. On that Tristram promised 
 that if Lady Petwyn would state a complaint against 
 him, he would never again set foot on her acres. His 
 tone inferred that he judged MacAllister officious, a Jack- 
 in-office, and a boaster of more power than he wielded. 
 .On their parting, it was quite evident that the boy in- 
 tended to disobey. 
 
 His enemy kept watch for him around the ponds, 
 reckoning on what would be the likeliest hours for catch- 
 ing him. Two days later he beheld his quarry bobbing 
 like a dab-chick midway between bank and island. A 
 short search under the trees brought the bailiff on a 
 deposit of raiment; in a twinkling he beheld his advan-
 
 160 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 tage, and with true Celtic rapacity seized it to the titter- 
 most. MacAllister, that is to say, was not content with 
 holding- ground which would have enabled him to 
 administer a sharp wigging under conditions humiliating 
 to the culprit immediately on his landing, but must re- 
 move the whole pile to a depth of thicket hard by the 
 boat-house, whence he could survey unseen the approach- 
 ing discomfiture of our hero. 
 
 Tristram had swum round the island and out of sight 
 up to the far end of the pond ; landing there he had raced 
 back through the wood to the spot where his cast-off 
 garments should have been lying. Behold them vanished ! 
 MacAllister's heavy trail did not tend to concealment: the 
 situation became clear to the culprit's understanding. 
 
 A very little stalking was needed to show him the 
 whereabouts of his enemy. The red-headed bully was to 
 be seen glaring steadfastly out over the water in expecta- 
 tion of the swimmer's return ; under him lay the bundle 
 of clothes safely sat on. 
 
 The sight produced retrograde movement : it was not 
 the modesty of the flesh which persuaded the boy to 
 retreat, but the knowledge that, MacAllister having 
 planned one thing, it was his bounden duty to plan 
 another. Beholding MacAllister at watch like a spider 
 for his fly, the Tramp determined that to catch the one 
 he was after he should be driven into becoming a water- 
 spider. '' How can I make him come for me? " he cogi- 
 tated, and was quick at devising a way. 
 
 "Query," he said to himself, "can the beast swim? 
 In any case, will he? " thought he; and settled to doubt it. 
 
 MacAllister's peerings had become rather anxious; 
 the bather was remaining a long time at the head of the 
 lake. Possibly the Tramp had only to lie hidden close by, 
 and curiosity would move the other to a quest up the 
 banks, leaving the spoil behind him. Possibly, again, not ;
 
 THE WATER-FINDER 161 
 
 he might smell a rat; there was danger in delay. Tris- 
 tram crept back to the nearest point whence unobserved 
 he could slip down into the water. Could he act well 
 enough ? he wondered. 
 
 Presently MacAllister had the joy of beholding his 
 unsuspicious prey swimming slowly towards him. He 
 swam low down in the water, coming along by the further 
 shore. Thence he skirted, till passing the boat-house, 
 and from there struck out straight for his landing-point. 
 
 The bailiff now had him well under his eye, a pleasant 
 morsel to contemplate; all the virtuous spider in him 
 spread out its claws for the bait. 
 
 All at once he was concerned to notice that the poor 
 water-fly was in difficulties; his mouth ducking up and 
 down in the water, gasped and blew bubbles ; his strokes 
 were feeble and spasmodic, making no way at all ; exhaus- 
 tion wrote itself over this swimmer's efforts to keep afloat. 
 He gathered himself for a final struggle, got his mouth 
 free, put out a faint cry for help, threw up his arms, and 
 went down like a stone. 
 
 MacAllister knew little about aquatics, had never seen 
 a man drown, and could not swim. He raced headlong to 
 the boat-house, lost time fumbling to unhasp the door, 
 but with commendable expedition got the punt unchained, 
 and thrust out hurry-skurry to the rescue. 
 
 Not only could he not swim, he could not even punt 
 with any efficiency ; under his manipulation the craft zig- 
 zagged and swung round and about, making heads and 
 tails of his humane efforts at life-saving. 
 
 Half by blundering force, half by luck, he got it at last 
 over the spot where the boy's body had disappeared. 
 He probed desperately in all directions, bringing up yards 
 of black slime on the end of his pole ; but no limpet claim 
 to existence ever attached weight to the end of it. 
 
 To a watcher from the banks it might have been a 
 
 M
 
 162 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 laughable, yet also a piteous sight — the red man, strong, 
 perspiring, angry and helpless, wondering in himself 
 when it would be decent to throw up a profitless quest, 
 and go off to bid dredges be fetched for the body of the 
 silly, hapless youth, whose trespassings had proved his 
 undoing. When at last he landed, dispirited and aching 
 from the exertion to which he had been driven, great at 
 first was his astonishment, thereafter his perplexity, and 
 last of all his rage, to discover that not the bather alone, 
 but his clothes also, had vanished. 
 
 No report of a drowned body waiting to be fished out 
 was carried back by him to Hill Alwyn. 
 
 Tristram's wits were thenceforth maliciously at work 
 to circumvent a declared enmity. He heard that MacAl- 
 lister walked down to the ponds, whip in hand, daily. 
 Not to show himself now, under such a challenge, was to 
 appear craven. Had Raymond been at home, the Tramp 
 could have gone in with impunity, the keys being a recog- 
 nised passport to all the wilderness portion of the de- 
 mesne. But it was important to his pride that he should 
 make an appearance without delay ; then, if he was to be 
 finally warned off, let Lady Petwyn express the wish, and 
 her grounds should be rid of him. 
 
 One morning he ran down to Little Alwyn, and came 
 back primed for the project. He undressed in a tree that 
 sent long boughs far out into the water. Though he 
 conceived that a bolt for home under cover of dusk, in an 
 unconventional state of grace might be amusing, clothes, 
 after all, were necessary to him for the sake of argument ; 
 and to have his garments returned to him the next day 
 with Lady Petwyn's or the MacAllister's compliments, 
 was not a solution that fitted with his notions of a suc- 
 cessful raid. 
 
 Therefore, selecting his tree carefully, as one which 
 older limbs would not care to climb, he bound his raiment
 
 THE WATER-FINDER 163 
 
 to a high fork, and dropped from branch to branch till he 
 touched water. 
 
 He returned well-spent, half-an-hour later, to behold 
 MacAllister puzzling in various directions to find the 
 whereabouts of his clothes. He had not yet looked high 
 enough. 
 
 He sighted the bather a moment before his landing, and 
 came on well-assured of his prey. 
 
 " Good-morning ! " cried Tristram, and swung up on 
 to his bough. 
 
 The bailiff watched him climb with grim satisfaction, 
 thinking it a temporising expedient for escaping cap- 
 ture. 
 
 " It's no use, my young gentleman ! " he called ; " you 
 may just as well come down." 
 
 " Oh, but I dress up here! " replied Tristram, and pro- 
 ceeded to unpack his bundle. " Clothes," he explained, 
 " have a habit of running about if one leaves them ; so I 
 tie them up here in a tree-top cradle, as if they were 
 babies. Have you any babies, Mr. MacAllister?" 
 
 MacAllister was married to a wife who had proved im- 
 perfect in her duties to the clan ; the family tree had put 
 forth no branch. If rumour uttered no slander, elsewhere 
 compensating appearances had been noted. To be asked 
 by the whipper-snapper he was about to thrash, whether 
 he had babies, whitened the already red-hot rage which 
 burned in the big man's choleric body. 
 
 " What I do with babies when I get 'em," he sent up 
 word, " you shall know when you come down ! " 
 
 " Dear me ! shall I ? " said Tristram, and drew on a sock 
 with fastidious attention to its fit. 
 
 " You will ! " the other reiterated ; and let it be seen 
 how, flicking his whip. 
 
 " Are you violent to them? " the boy asked. 
 
 " I treat 'em how they deserve ! "
 
 164 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " But if you do that, Mr. MacAllister, you will never, 
 never rear them ! Think of their poor mothers ! " 
 
 The bailiff swallowed down his wrath, reckoning that a 
 little more waiting would right the balance between them. 
 In carrying on a wordy conflict from below he stood like 
 an unhorsed rider at a tourney. Every insolence where- 
 with Tristram chose to probe him, sounded to advantage 
 from the lofty position he then held. 
 
 " I'll think of your poor mother when you show her 
 your back to-night ! " said he, in a voice that strove to be 
 assured and calm in its promises. 
 
 The Tramp was all but dressed, when by mischance 
 down went one of his boots. His foe forebore to take 
 note of so small a windfall ; expecting so much more he 
 let it lie. 
 
 Tristram began to descend from his bower ; arrived at 
 one of the lower branches he said, " Mr. MacAllister, 
 would you throw me up my boot ? " 
 
 The bailiff nodded him on with a resolute jerk of the 
 chin. " You may just as well come now as ever," said 
 he, and stood ready to pounce on the moment of the boy's 
 descent. 
 
 Tristram studied him as though for the first time getting 
 a near view of some strange animal. 
 
 " Mr. MacAllister," he said, " you look quite violent." 
 
 " You'll see me looking a little more violent pres- 
 ently," was the answer. 
 
 The Tramp doubted if that were possible. " And you 
 won't give me up my boot?" he asked, straddling the 
 bough he was on. 
 
 He was told he must come down for it. 
 
 " But this is my boot-tree! " he said, for the first ab- 
 surdity that came handy. 
 
 " And this is mine! " broke out MacAllister, brandish- 
 ing.
 
 THE WATER-FINDER 165 
 
 Affecting an extremity of surprise, Tristram enquired, 
 " Mr. MacAllister, are you proposing to beat me?" and 
 got the " I am ! " of an unalterable determination. 
 
 Wishing to know what for, he was bidden to remember 
 he had had many warnings. Compound trespass was now 
 to bring in compound interest. 
 
 "Oh, but I'm not trespassing!" said Tristram, "I'm 
 visiting at the Vicarage," and produced the keys which he 
 had obtained that morning on loan from Mr. Hannam. 
 
 The bailiff took the intended blow without the stir of a 
 muscle. 
 
 " You weren't visiting there yesterday," said he, " and 
 you won't be visiting there to-morrow. W'hat I've got to 
 say to you will be for t'other time instead of for this. I 
 mean it, and I'll do it, and I'll face the consequences. You 
 may come down for it when you like." 
 
 Here then was a new fact beyond the Tramp's reckon- 
 ing : he had fairly miscalculated the man he had to deal 
 with ; but he had gone too far with his tongue to retreat 
 now. 
 
 " Mr. MacAllister," he addressed his enemy in wheed- 
 ling tones, " do you always mean what you say ? " 
 
 " This time, anyway, my young master, as you'll find ! " 
 the bailiff replied. 
 
 " And do you always mean what you do? " 
 
 " You may say yes to that." 
 
 ' When you make a punt go round and round on itself, 
 for instance, are you beating the punt, or is the punt 
 beating you ? " 
 
 For the moment the bailiff contained his temper. " Talk 
 away ! young gentleman," said he, " you'll be answered 
 presently." 
 
 Tristram said with an emotional stress that threw ridi- 
 cule on the words ; " Mr. MacAllister, you tried to save 
 my life then ! Will you save it again ? "
 
 1 66 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 The boy smiled with meaning - , and beheld a visage sud- 
 denly inflamed : at last he had got MacAllister up to 
 storming pitch. The big man dashed about under the 
 boughs and flourished his whip ; words inarticulate with 
 wrath flew from him. Tristram stood up on his branch. 
 
 " Here, catch ! " he cried, all at once, and cast the re- 
 maining boot. 
 
 MacAllister saw too late his line of escape, and was 
 helpless. The boy ran like a squirrel along the bough, out 
 over the water, dropped to a lower, and plunged, carrying 
 leaves and twigs with him. When he rose he was far out 
 in the open. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. MacAllister ! " he cried, " come and save me, 
 come and save me ! " All the woods round rang with his 
 laughter. 
 
 He was out upon the other side long before the bailiff 
 could get round either end of the long pond to be after 
 him. To run home bare-footed was nothing to him. It 
 was true MacAllister had his boots: on the whole, con- 
 sidering the return " rise " got out of him, he was wel- 
 come to the trophy. 
 
 Tristram meeting Lizzie Haycraft the day after, told 
 her of the affair with glee ; and detected in her eyes, dur- 
 ing the recital, an extreme hatred of MacAllister's name. 
 So bitter was it she could not rightly take in the laugh- 
 able aspect of the thing; that MacAllister was the subject 
 spoiled everything ; she would not say why. 
 
 They were on their way up to the Beacon Farm, where 
 water-scarcity on high ground and an easily drained soil 
 had cropped up in an aggravated form. The dry season 
 had made the only well on the premises unusable ; nothing 
 but mud came up from it. Men were being employed at 
 all hours of the day in carting water up to the farm. 
 
 Under such conditions, with no rain fallen for over a
 
 THE WATER-FINDER 167 
 
 fortnight, a single spark carried in their direction might 
 mean doom for the farmer's ricks. There could be no 
 remedy if a conflagration once started. 
 
 After borings had been tried for over a week without 
 success, the farmer, nervously anxious over his haystacks, 
 was reverting to an old-world expedient, having bidden a 
 reputed dowser come over from the neighbouring district 
 and try his hand at divination. 
 
 The Tramp, hearing of it from Lizzie, went over with 
 her to see the operation in process. 
 
 The water-wizard was not up to the time appointed ; he 
 arrived a full hour late. It was apparent that the drink 
 which had sustained him by the way had not come from 
 wells. Out of his own village he became a great man, 
 and accepted freely, when offered, a great man's privi- 
 leges : to sit in an inn parlour and brag of his mysterious 
 powers, meant the filling of it to the profit of the land- 
 lord ; thus drink came cheap to him. To-day, it had made 
 him unpunctual to his appointment. 
 
 Farmer Duffin, seeing his state, guessed him an un- 
 profitable servant for the occasion, and swore downright, 
 that only for the job done should he receive a farthing of 
 his fee. That was the bargain, true enough ; but travelling 
 expenses were to be in any case. The dowser, feeling 
 prejudice at work against him, and reckoning his em- 
 ployer likely to prove close-fisted were he to fail, stipu- 
 lated for his return fare to be first paid him ; he named an 
 amount. Thereat, the claim being impudently large, the 
 farmer raised protest. 
 
 " That's what it's took 'e to swim here ! " quoth he. " I 
 don't pay for the liquor." 
 
 " Thee do ! " said the dowser ; " 'twas to be and liquor." 
 So, he pointed out, ran the terms of agreement that had 
 brought him. 
 
 " Right ye be ! " quoth the big farmer ; " on the
 
 i68 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 job, that meant. Y'aren't on it yet, ye great lousing 
 swindle ! " 
 
 So accosted, the man left off preparation of the mystic 
 twig wherewith the search was to be conducted, and wag- 
 gled unsteadily to his feet with intentions at dignity. He 
 didn't come over forty miles on a hot day to oblige a client, 
 he gave the farmer to understand, only to hear himself 
 called names at the other end and be grudged the price of 
 a drink on the way. Did he think a water-finder went for 
 it with his tongue out like a dog — the thirstier, the more 
 likely he to come on it ? 
 
 "Be easy!" quoth the farmer; "ye be one who 
 wouldn't know water if he saw it ! " 
 
 " Ye mean I doan't know me business, then ? " said the 
 insulted wizard. 
 
 " I mean, ye don't let it touch your in'ards, nor your 
 out'ards more than ye can help ! I mean, ye be come here 
 so gone in liquor as you'd strike on the sock tank and call 
 it a well — and be for having me pay 'e for the lie ! You 
 be a bucket without a bottom, you be ! " continued the 
 farmer ; " a poor, helpless, hickory-dickory, dry pump of 
 a thing, for all the water we shall ever get out of 'e. Show 
 me ever a well 'at's been made on your recommendation, 
 and I'll go and drown meself in it ! " 
 
 Whether or no the dowser had, for all his fuddled con- 
 dition, been spying the land and reckoning what small 
 chances it offered of credit to his powers, certain it is he 
 made no struggle to secure the larger fee which a success- 
 ful operation would have won him ; he haggled over six- 
 pences, demanding to be sent back again not out of pocket 
 by his excursion. 
 
 The farmer rigorously put down the third-class return 
 fare to the place he had come from, with a shilling over, 
 and forthwith turned his back on him. As the fellow still 
 sat cursing and demanding heavier dues, he returned pres-
 
 THE WATER-FINDER 169 
 
 ently to say, that if, five minutes from that time, he found 
 a sham dowser on his premises, he would have him ducked 
 in his element. 
 
 " There's just enough to do it left in the water-butt," 
 quoth the farmer; " and if there warn't I'd have it carted 
 up for the occasion." 
 
 So threatened, and feeling himself in a poor minority, 
 the man picked up the ill-earned parings of his commis- 
 sion, spat, and went off to drink his way back to the place 
 that knew him. 
 
 After he had gone, rustics stood handling the twig he 
 had left behind him. " This is the way 'tis done ! " quoth 
 one, and showed them how. Many tried their hands, but 
 manifested no grasp of the magic properties. Farmer 
 Duffin looked on in dejection, regretting a wasted morn- 
 ing. The field all about the farmstead was dotted with 
 borings as though some great mole had been there at 
 work. 
 
 Tristram roamed the premises, casting a judicial eye 
 this way and that for any tokens that might be a guide for 
 fresh experiment. He returned at last, and pointing to a 
 tree that stood over on the far side of the foredraft which 
 led up to the farm, " There ought to be water there," said 
 he. " Notice how the roots go, and the boughs ; they 
 haven't the curve of those others ; there's pull at work 
 somewhere." 
 
 The farmer shook his head incredulously as a man who 
 had heard a tale told too often. " It ain't a bit of use, 
 Muster Tristram," said he. " We've tried all likely places ; 
 I reckon there be no water left on the land since the old 
 spring be run dry." 
 
 Tristram took up the divining rod. He had read how 
 the thing was done, and the little knowledge gave him 
 quite a professional air. Taking off his boots, which were 
 thick and had nails in them, he started on a methodical
 
 i;o A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 course up and down the well-explored field. The rod held 
 out by its two prongs before him stayed quite unrespon- 
 sive, but already the mummery of the thing pleased him ; 
 it fitted in with things he had done when a child to avert 
 the evil chance ; and as he followed the ritual, an underly- 
 ing belief in its truth began to take hold of him. He bent 
 his head intent on the character of the ground under his 
 feet, and watching the rod for an indication he was half 
 ready to expect. He forgot where he was. Presently he 
 felt shadow : his foot struck on to tree-root under grass. 
 He halted and threw back his head quickly to see boughs, 
 and just before him the bole of the tree to which he had 
 first pointed. As he did so, up swung the twig. On the 
 hazard lie accepted the omen, and cried " Water! " 
 
 Mr. Beresford Gavney, taking his wife for an evening 
 drive in the lanes threading the outskirts of Randogger, 
 came suddenly on a shocking sight. A party of labourers, 
 emerging from a field-path on to the public way, revealed 
 to him on nearer view one of themselves as his own son, 
 Tristram. 
 
 The lad was miry, daubed over with red clay from head 
 to foot, and in extraordinary spirits. The sight of his par- 
 ents puzzling their eyes to recognise him did not abash 
 him in the very least. He ran forward and mounted the 
 low foot-board of the carriage, crying : — 
 
 'Mother, mother, only think! I've found water. I 
 have! Up at Beacon Farm. Old Duffin says it's worth a 
 hundred pounds to him. And it runs like the Nile ; looks 
 as if it were going to be the biggest river in England! " 
 
 ' Really, my dear Tristram, you alarm me! " said Mrs. 
 Gavney. hearing of so large a thing as so near a neigh- 
 bour. " Is it safe for you to do such things? " 
 
 His father in cold tones bade him get off the carriage. 
 " If you must get yourself into that state, keep your dis- 
 tance. You are too dirty to be seen. A pity you can
 
 THE WATER-FINDER 171 
 
 never be given liberty without forgetting that you are a 
 gentleman." 
 
 Tristram in haste to make them realise the situation, 
 passed over the reproof. ' Yes, but I found water," said 
 he. " Duffin wanted to give me a horse ; but I thought 
 you wouldn't like it, so I said no." 
 
 There was a note of interrogation in his voice, as he 
 gave the information, but it drew no concession: he had 
 been quite right, of course, to say no to any such sugges- 
 tion. The carriage moved on, leaving him alone in his 
 glory ; but that was sufficient to keep him satisfied in the 
 face of any slight rebuffs. To appreciate the honourable 
 mire his clothes bore on them, it was necessary to have 
 seen the rush of water that had followed the first boring. 
 He had done so; and had heard stout yokels applauding 
 with honest delight. The taste of the Beacon Farm cider 
 was still sweet on his palate ; but, somehow, sweeter still 
 was the red stained water which, with a stroke like that of 
 Moses, he had fetched forth out of the dry earth. Hence- 
 forth it seemed to him that his name must belong to 
 Beacon Hill, and he be a part of it along with that welling 
 spring, that veritable river, which he had conjured forth 
 to the service of man and beast. 
 
 Farmer Duffin had proved the value of his service by 
 the offer willingly made, even pressed, and by him re- 
 luctantly declined. Tristram had the generosity which 
 hates to refuse a gift that is cordially intended; but he 
 hardly remembered his regret in the almost passionate 
 pleasure of the day's fortune. His sleep that night was 
 fevered by dreams of it, and contrary to habit he awoke to 
 find nisrht scarcely half over. 
 
 It was one or two in the morning. Not merely awak- 
 ened, but wakeful, he wanted to stir and be doing. For 
 a while he tossed, feeling the unreasonableness of the im- 
 pulse, but at last rose, and pushing his head under the 
 blind, looked out on to the night.
 
 i;2 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 All was still and wonderful; not asleep, but under a 
 mask ; conscious, mute but alert. Over every familiar 
 form a hand without fingers, a mitten of darkness, seemed 
 to have closed. Shapes that showed out hard in the day 
 made mysterious blottings, rising out of a deep pool of 
 impenetrable shade. He saw the stables, the out-houses, 
 the fowl-paddock, herded and gregarious under that dim 
 air ; a net of mystery and restraint spread over them ; 
 while the trees stood aware of night, these others lay 
 dormant. The boy's heart beat. Instinctively his lungs 
 drew in a deep breath ; it seemed, then, that his body 
 became infected with the spirit of night. 
 
 The wind said so little, he could hear each separate 
 thing that moved under space: the house-dog turning in 
 its kennel, the rub of the carriage-horse against its stall, 
 the shuffle in the fowl-house of a hen upon its roost, the 
 asthmatic breathing of a sheep in the field on the opposite 
 slope, the cry echoed from the woods where some night- 
 bird had seized on its prey, the awakening of water-fowl 
 at the ponds. But of inanimate things only the garden 
 stirred audibly ; not a field through all its trees and hedges 
 seemed to send forth a breath. 
 
 From far away, suddenly, struck one point of sound, 
 and all the world grew wide. The boy's spirit seemed to 
 reach out across space, crying, " I, too, am awake ! " 
 
 Yonder on the turnpike road, toward Randogger's dark- 
 roofed solitudes, under three miles of night emptied of 
 human-kind, he heard the going of a horse. All earth, 
 muffled and mute environed him; but there, there (how 
 much of romance did not the fever of the road mingle 
 with the thought of it in his blood!), there, like an anvil, 
 was the ring of the iron way, and there alone, amid the 
 thousand populous silences of night, adventured feet 
 bound to some unknown goal. 
 
 The sound struck down and died in a fold of the hill ;
 
 THE WATER-FINDER 173 
 
 after, came faintly the click of heels cresting a more dis- 
 tant rise. Once over the brow, it passed not to return. 
 Night shook off its traveller and resumed the vague bur- 
 den of its huge quietude. Yet not for long without indi- 
 cation of an approaching change ; from the hen-house 
 came the discord of the first cock-crow. Sound of it went 
 to the gardener's poultry at the lodge ; thence was carried 
 to the Hill Alwyn farms, and stirred the hen-roosts of 
 the village ; till fainter and fainter borne, cock-crow out- 
 reaching cock-crow, it touched the borders of Randogger, 
 a landmark which returned no sound. Whence came it 
 when silence once more settled, that, without lifting a 
 shade, darkness recognised that another of its hours was 
 flown ? Only as an after-thought then did the clocks of 
 Bembridge toll two. 
 
 To the listener at night, sound is ever more suggestive 
 than by day. Replacing in a measure intimations we are 
 accustomed to receive through the eye alone, it finds us in 
 a more apprehensive mood, and stimulates the mind to 
 discover all the meanings that it has to convey. The ru- 
 mours that rise from the dark hush of night-bound earth 
 map out audibly to the brain the whereabouts and traces 
 of sleeping humanity through tracts invisible under shade. 
 And at once, by some affinity left over from a wilder state, 
 we seem to have joined the fox stealthily on its rounds 
 through the hen-roosts of the district, and to hear, at how 
 great a distance, the nearest watch-dog beginning to give 
 the alarm. So little commotion of the blood is needed for 
 all the rover within us to be awake. 
 
 The heart still stands for the unknown part of man ; 
 it invents for itself worlds out of quite prosaic elements, 
 and knows not why. Wills it so ; nay, rather, is seized by 
 the inspiration, as the priestess when she feeds on the 
 gaseous fumes of the oracle ; and the result is straightway 
 beyond its power of control. Some name it the divine
 
 174 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 voice. Youth, at least, unconscious of the source, recog- 
 nises when it has heard the inevitable call. 
 
 From that moment a new vagabondage took hold of 
 the Tramp's heart. It was to him like the discovery of a 
 new dimension. He saw night then as for the first time: 
 sleepless night lifting a conscious eye. To him, sleepless, 
 she beckoned: the hour of initiation' was here and now, 
 his window the door out into her world. Quickly he 
 dressed, slid down by the water pipe to the lean-to below, 
 and was out to the fields. His feet were tasting the deep 
 and wonderful dampness of the crops ; his heart was 
 drawing him on to follow the sound that had beckoned 
 from the woody ridge below Beacon Farm. So, before 
 long he came where thick coppice circled the upland he 
 sought, high on whose crest heart and foot now longed 
 to be. 
 
 In the shivering and uprising twilight he mounted the 
 hill-side, the goal of his fantastic quest ; turned to look 
 back, and saw the woods black below him still ; stooped 
 and drank, and heard in the tree overhead, sharp as a 
 blade, the cry of the first awakened bird ; looked up, and 
 saw at the farm the yellow gleam of blinds behind which 
 labour arose to its work. 
 
 On the way home he passed Haycraft's solitary abode. 
 Father and daughter were already up ; and the bread he 
 shared with them seemed the sweetest he had ever tasted.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER 
 
 [T was said of an ill-constitutioned monarch that noth- 
 ing in his life became him so well as his manner of 
 quitting it. Certainly by that retirement he accomplished 
 more to his purpose than by all the egregious acts of his 
 reign. Picturesquely he stands out in history, not alto- 
 gether a failure ; going down to his house justified, if to 
 live long in men's minds be a thing worthy to die for. 
 
 Of Tristram Gavney's school-life also some would hold 
 that nothing in it became him better than the last wild act 
 which brought down the curtain. That would have been 
 the verdict of his school-fellows. So high a picture did 
 he leave of himself in that final flourish, that even adverse 
 critics were fain to admit he had carried the folly through 
 in a gallant style. Thereafter his name stood in tradition 
 along with one mad episode little relished of the authori- 
 ties, but lifting him high in the eyes of his contemporaries. 
 
 At the end of the autumn vacation, when the school 
 met, rumour went round that an old commemorative tra- 
 dition of Friars-gate was about to perish, and that the 
 half-holidays of the mid-term were to lose that peculiar 
 jollity which had marked their recurring place in the 
 school-calendar. There was to be no November bonfire. 
 Big schools were letting the celebration go ; little schools 
 were in a hurry to follow. 
 
 i 75
 
 176 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Next to paper-chasing nothing was so accordant with 
 Tristram's mind as those log-rolling jaunts to Randogger 
 and the outlying farmsteads, which had been the game 
 twice a week for a whole month preceding the day of con- 
 flagration. In these expeditions the Tramp had figured 
 well ; he knew the locality and was known and liked at 
 the farms. Also he loved the hard manual labour of haul- 
 ing and hoisting the odd scraps of timber which were 
 given them. Often the formula was, when some big 
 decayed log was in request — for the boys were arrant 
 beggars — "Aye, you may take it if you can carry it." 
 And Tristram, returning once with a picked body and a 
 strong small-wheeled trolley, had succeeded in carrying 
 off a mighty weight abandoned a few days before, which 
 had been offered to a party of them on such terms. The 
 farmer who had been chaffing them, meaning no such gift, 
 beheld a pound's worth of good timber gone on the 
 strength of his rash word. He wagged his head and bore 
 his loss sportsmanlike, only saying, " You'll find me 
 stingier come twelvemonth." Tristram had promised to 
 test him. 
 
 Now, it seemed, these honest marauding expeditions 
 were to be over, and even the great blowing woodland of 
 Randogger to which a day's permit had always been 
 available was to remain unriflcd of its dead wood ; and 
 the pity was that high gales were abroad promising a 
 rich harvest. 
 
 All Friars-gate growled, and wondered how most ef- 
 fectively to show its sulks. Some suggested that deprived 
 of their trolleyings they should be resokitely slack and do 
 nothing, neither at football nor in the chase. 
 
 " Rot ! " said Tristram, and preserved a cheerful coun- 
 tenance, perceiving with his histrionic faculty awake, that 
 there might be glory ahead for the down-trodden Door- 
 mats. He held conference with a few leading spirits, and
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER 177 
 
 at the end of it briefly announced that the Attics might do 
 as they pleased, but so far as the Dormers were concerned, 
 the bonfire was still to be. 
 
 It so happened that quite early in the term, the Door- 
 mats were made to feel their outside standing in a matter 
 which touched their honour more than their inclinations ; 
 and thereafter the prospect of their coming vantage was 
 the more sweet to them. An upper school-boarder de- 
 tected in viPainous bullying was to receive public chastise- 
 ment, and for the preliminary call-over the whole school 
 trooped in obedient to bell-summons. At the end of the 
 recitation, the Door-mats were informed that they might 
 retire beyond the threshold, Dr. Coney holding this to 
 be a boarding-house matter of no concern to the town 
 element. 
 
 The slight was felt, and the unfairness, for the big 
 culprit had bullied not boarders only. Shipton minor 
 bore bruises, and had a vindictive wish to see himself 
 avenged. Climbing up by two tiers of backs, he got an 
 eye to a lower window-pane and made report of what 
 went on within. Down below, an open-air indignation 
 meeting mouthed for a while ; but on the signal of com- 
 mencement, windy talk about not going into the next 
 call-over died down. When the swishing started, the 
 outsiders found that their position was not without its 
 attraction. Shipton up aloft, reported merrily his bird's- 
 eye view of the proceedings. 
 
 " Treacles has him ! " word came down. " All right ; 
 wait now! One, two, three; can you fellows hear it? 
 Oil yes, I'm counting. Seven, eight, nine. What ? — 
 only nine; and I've had twenty from the brute myself! 
 Oh ! the Beak's jawing a moral in between ; it's to be 
 sandwiched. Stop ! — four more. That's something like ! 
 Treacles lets him down ; he don't seem to know which 
 leg to stand on. He won't sleep on his back to-night, I
 
 178 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 bet, — the beast ! Hullo ! the Beak's looking ; he'll not 
 recognise such a bit of me though. Let me down ! " 
 
 Little Shipton slithered to ground with a countenance 
 of beatific contentment. 
 
 Yes, exclusion had its charms ; but for all that the 
 injustice was remembered. It was the old question of 
 prestige; though the word lay outside a school-boy's 
 vocabulary, its essence was understood. Tristram deter- 
 mined that before the term was old the Door-mats' horn 
 should be exalted with honour, and their light set shining 
 before men in a fashion not to be blinked at. Before a 
 week was over he had thirty of them itching to follow his 
 lead. 
 
 Thus it came about that for a whole month no Door- 
 mats were to be got to the half-holiday " pick-ups." 
 Even the first paper-chase of term failed to attract them. 
 There was no secret about what they were up to. Coming 
 that day upon the trail of the hares in the outskirts of 
 Bembridge they waited the arrival of the hounds, and 
 raised cheers of rivalry. " Go it, Bed-brats! " they cried, 
 and charged into their midst with a trolley loaded glori- 
 ously with fuel for the Fifth. 
 
 They tossed off their caps defiantly to any master they 
 passed. Doctor Coney himself one day met the procession 
 rattling down High Street. " I say, you beggars," cried 
 Tristram, after they had all solemnly saluted, " mind you 
 know your swot ! The Beak has got liver in his eye, and 
 he'll be on you to-morrow." 
 
 They rose to his leading. Their effrontery clothed itself 
 in virtue, and rendered them immune from detention. 
 Outrageous industry and propriety of deportment made 
 them an offence to their school-fellows. Door-mats came 
 out top of each class week by week through sheer excess 
 of naughtiness directed into new channels The thing 
 could not have lasted ; one or two of them showed signs 
 of overtraining before the day came.
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER 179 
 
 Doctor Coney, wishing to know the chosen whereabouts 
 for their proposed flare up of independence, made secret 
 enquiry through one of his under-officials, known to the 
 school as the grass-widower. The plotters were playing 
 a deep game : nothing could be learned except that they 
 had secured storage in an old cart-shed near the school. 
 No bonfire was building. Aware, now, that protest was 
 their intention, the Doctor suspected that they had some 
 wild notion of introducing fuel into the school-field on 
 the night itself, and there kindling the blaze. Against that 
 it might be necessary, when the day came, to set Treacles 
 and the grass-widower on extra duty as bound-beaters. 
 For the rest, forewarned being forearmed, he thought 
 that he might sleep secure.' Nevertheless he deemed it 
 fair, at the last moment, to give a word of warning to the 
 evident ringleader. 
 
 " You will understand, Gavney," he said, " that new 
 rules are made to be kept. My authority here is not to 
 be defied. How you may choose to waste your leisure 
 outside is another matter. You understand? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Tristram, " I quite understand that." 
 He waited with deference for anything more to be said, 
 and received his short dismissal with a demure aspect. 
 
 November's Fifth fell on a Saturday. In the afternoon 
 the day-boys came on to the foot-ball field with looks of 
 overbearing importance ; they showed pockets which 
 bulged with chrysalis explosives. 
 
 "Where is it going to be?" asked boarders, hungry 
 with curiosity, and received winks to stimulate intelli- 
 gence. Yet when seven o'clock sounded for lock-up, 
 sending the lower school into hall, and the upper into 
 studies, there was no sign of the promised bonfire. The 
 grass-widower, parading the lower field with a yoke of 
 buckets, began to feel foolish. Treacles was for report- 
 ing the evident break-down of the conspiracy.
 
 180 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Quite suddenly, to the other side of the school build- 
 ings, on the higher ground of Hartop's grazing land, a 
 light broke, and revealed the audacious whereabouts of 
 the whole business. The field in question jutted like a 
 squared elbow into a rear angle of the Friars-gate acres; 
 half the windows of the school looked out on it. Treacles 
 said, " They've got Hartop's and there's naught to be 
 done. Come you on ! " and went to report to Doctor 
 Coney the evasion of his jurisdiction. 
 
 Disconsolate boarders, sitting mewed up in their 
 studies, saw, too, the triumph of the despised Door-mats. 
 Gaping flames leered at them across their boundaries, and 
 wagged derision of their tame surrender to outrageous 
 authority. Presently, it was not only the fire getting to 
 work at its big meal which raised rebel feelings, there 
 was also a merry pyrotechnic display going on ; shooting 
 rockets dropped their sticks over the playground wall ; 
 dark figures ran and gesticulated against the glare, familiar 
 to the envious eyes that watched. The revellers made 
 much more noise than their numbers warranted, bent as 
 they were on throwing word to attendant ears of the full 
 jollity that possessed them. It became more at last than 
 some flesh and blood could stand. 
 
 Before long, ground-floor study-windows lay ajar; 
 heads popped up over the top of the playground wall 
 for a nearer view. Their owners received a cordial invi- 
 tation to come over; and offers of fair barter in the matter 
 of squibs and crackers completed the seduction. Over a 
 dozen bold spirits leapt out of bounds to join in the 
 revelry, trusting to darkness, a posting of sentries, luck 
 and fleetness of foot, for the avoidance of detection and 
 capture. The playground was broad and had a high 
 wall ; the two offering to calculating eyes a sufficient 
 interposition in the way of approaching danger. 
 
 The new-comers were in time to see the crowning
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER 181 
 
 glory of the show ; a trussed figure treveted on three poles, 
 was borne forward, and set to swing across the flames. 
 The fiery element, like an hungry fledgling on its nest, 
 threw up its beak peckishly to snatch at the impending 
 worm. ' Treacles " figured in black on a white label, 
 stuck into the effigy's head-gear ; a choleric red-face 
 dripped wax to the flames below. When the straw in 
 the stuffed legs caught fire, it was time for the spectators 
 to back to a respectful distance; up higher lay the keg 
 of villainous saltpetre containing dissolution for the poor 
 object of their ridicule. 
 
 The boom of the explosion when it broke, adding to 
 the report carried in to him by his myrmidons, brought 
 up Doctor Coney to take a far view of the scene. Going 
 for a more commanding view from an upper window, 
 he looked, in passing, into one of the studies, and found 
 it empty. A few minutes later the school-bell rang, and 
 gave a momentary hitch to the consciences of a few 
 bound-breakers. 
 
 " What ? Then it must be half-past eight already ! " 
 exclaimed one, " and we've got to get back before nine ! " 
 Time of course passed quickly ; the explanation gave them 
 the hour without the trouble of consulting their watches, 
 and freed them from qualm about what for the moment 
 had seemed to be an unfamiliar bell. So the sport danced 
 on, nimble-legged, beyond the high-wall boundary. There 
 was no denying that the Door-mats had scored their 
 point ; it seemed better to make the admission frankly, 
 and go in for a share in the feast. 
 
 Round and round flew the fire-worshippers in a glitter 
 of powdered flame. Catherine wheels span ; Roman 
 candles spat gobbets of light ; underfoot crackers leapt 
 like fiery grasshoppers across the ground ; overhead lordly 
 rockets ran up like corn-stems of fire, and shed coloured 
 grain to the stars. All round, the field ran away velvety
 
 i82 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 in shadow to the final swallowing-up and darkness of 
 night. 
 
 Riot was still high when the small figure of Tabbin 
 minor sprung in on the company. 
 
 "Oh, I say, won't you fellows just catch it!" he 
 cried, addressing the bound-breakers. " There's been a 
 call-over; word came round to the studies; and fifteen 
 names have gone up as absent. Treacles has been all 
 round and locked the outers, and the penny-slide's been 
 fastened. I came over by the pigeon-houses. I'm off 
 back again ; it's no use your hurrying, you're all caught. 
 Oh ! Chubby, the fat'll be in the fire to-morrow ! " He 
 smacked his hand cheerily over the pillowy form of a 
 large fellow from the lower-fourth, and scuttled out of 
 sight. 
 
 The out-bounders formed a depressed group. " What 
 shall you say ? " one queried. 
 
 ;< Say ? Oh, say that I was nowhere, and didn't hear the 
 word. How was I to know it was a call-over, thought it 
 was the kid's bed-bell." 
 
 " That won't do ! Treacles went everywhere, you bet. 
 Your tale won't wash ! " 
 
 " Then it must pig it ; that's all ! " 
 
 They let off their last remaining squibs in each other's 
 faces, and seemed valiant to meet their fate. But the 
 heart was gone from the game. The Door-mats were 
 giving themselves superior airs of freedom ; they had 
 stuck their light under no bushel but on a candlestick ; 
 if moths came singeing their wings that was their own 
 look-out. 
 
 The out-bounders began to slink away ; conscious that 
 they stood detected though no eye of authority had 
 lighted on them, they felt now that to stay longer might 
 involve them in deeper damnation. The event proved 
 them wise.
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER 183 
 
 " Cave ! Cave ! " was sung up from the corner of the 
 field. " Now then, you Bed-brats, look alive ! Here's 
 the Beak coming." 
 
 The word was hardly out when darkness swept them 
 up from the glare of the flames. The Door-mats rubbed 
 in their triumph ; shouting with unenslaved lungs, their 
 song could be heard even up at the dormitories, to which 
 the small boys of the lower forms had now mounted. 
 
 " We won't go home till morning ! " rang out defiantly 
 above the crackling of the flames. 
 
 Tristram led. Authority was over-stepping its limits 
 and coming to overawe them ; their point was to make a 
 full parade of a good conscience. 
 
 " Gavney ! " said the voice they were all expecting. 
 
 Tristram came respectfully to attention, with cap off. 
 
 " Here, sir! " said he. 
 
 " Oblige me by putting an end to this orgie. Every 
 one of you go to your homes." 
 
 Tristram stood his ground. " But we've hired the field, 
 sir!" 
 
 " You will do as I say, sir ! " said the Beak, with 
 asperity. 
 
 " But, sir, we've all done our preparation. We've a 
 right to do as we like now." 
 
 " There, Gavney, we differ. Enough that I now tell 
 you to go." 
 
 "No, sir," retorted Tristram; " I'm a Door-mat, and I 
 shall stay where I am! " 
 
 The Doctor swung himself sharply round, and made 
 summons of authority. Treacles and the grass-widower 
 ranged into sight. Their orders were to dowse and scatter 
 the bonfire. 
 
 "If they try it on, sir, we shall squib them!" said 
 Tristram. The men faced a furious singeing; their 
 buckets were dexterously tripped for them, still they
 
 1 84 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 came on and began to beat open the fire-stack. The 
 heat of that, glowing to a white incandescence within, 
 drove them back for a moment to fetch breath. They 
 found themselves bonneted with the empty pails, about 
 the exterior of which sticks rattled. 
 
 " Torches ! " cried Tristram. He seized up a burning 
 faggot and swung it. " Come on, you fellows ! " 
 
 Two or three others joined ; mad blood was up ; they 
 advanced in a smother of fire and smoke, whirling their 
 weapons wide. Tristram's shin was caught by a descend- 
 ing bucket, he hacked it ahead of him; that and its 
 fellow went spinning down the field, a troop after them 
 crying ; ' Hurrah ! " The torch-bearers stuck to their 
 bigger game. The Doctor had to stand by with what 
 dignity he could muster, and see his myrmidons harried 
 to the boundaries. 
 
 Tristram chose to be insolent in Latin. ' Trcspassores 
 erunt prosecuti! " he cried. The language chosen, and 
 the doggish use of it, gave it point to the ears for which 
 it was intended. As soon as, with the rest, he had 
 chevied the pair beyond bounds, he came back at a run 
 to where the Beak was still standing. 
 
 " I'm sorry, sir, that you set them on to us," was his 
 first delivery. ' I think you had no right to." 
 
 " What my rights are, I shall prove to you very shortly, 
 sir!" said the enraged Doctor. 
 
 Tristram said, " We'd do anything in reason to oblige 
 you; but the bonfire has taken us a lot of trouble, and 
 our people know of it." 
 
 "If they do not, Gavney, they certainly will!" said 
 Doctor Coney. 
 
 Tristram threw up his head. " Have you any com- 
 plaint to make, sir?" he enquired with an amazing 
 assumption of innocence. 
 
 " Something more than a complaint, you will find, 
 Gavney ! "
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER 185 
 
 " The complaint here, sir, is ours, I think," retorted the 
 lad. 
 
 " I don't discuss it with you," said the Doctor. ' We 
 return to the subject on Monday." He turned his back 
 on them and walked away. 
 
 Tristram, to show that he stood where he did before, 
 sent a resolute word after the retreating figure. 
 
 " Good-night, sir ! " 
 
 It echoed down the field unanswered. 
 
 The boys drew round Tristram with hushed applause; 
 they admired his momentary snatch of victory, but could 
 not blink what must needs come after. In tones of 
 awe and curiosity they asked him what he was going to 
 do now. 
 
 " Do ! " said Tristram. " Are there any more rockets ? " 
 
 In another minute a salvo went up. It was near mid- 
 night when the Tramp reached home. 
 
 The next day brought Jim Bowling, son of a Bern- 
 bridge doctor, on a special errand to Tristram. What 
 was he going to do? he was asked once more. He had 
 no intention of doing anything, and enquired why it was 
 expected of him. He was told not to be an ass. 
 
 " Look here ! " said Bowling. " My father's all on our 
 side" (He wouldn't be if he were the school-medical, 
 thought Tristram), "and he says Coney's an interfering 
 old ass, and deserves all the setting down he can get. 
 Well ; so he has started a roundrobin, and the rest have 
 taken it up ; and every one of us is going to turn up 
 to-morrow morning with a letter from our people to say 
 that what we did was with their knowledge and consent. 
 That'll be all right, won't it? " 
 
 " Oh yes, that'll be all right for you," said Tristram. 
 
 " Well, don't go leaving yourself in the lurch and stand- 
 ing out a martyr ! " Bowling discerned that possible 
 weakness in Tristram.
 
 1 86 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " With me it's different," the other replied. 
 
 "How different?" 
 
 " Well, I'd give something to be able to leave school." 
 
 " It mayn't be a matter of leaving." 
 
 "If he touches me, I leave. You may be jolly certain 
 of that ! " 
 
 " Well," said Bowling, " I think he will touch you." 
 
 Tristram answered, " Then, there's an end of it." 
 
 And for any practical outcome of their present con- 
 ference it was. Bowling reported on his return to Bern- 
 bridge, that Gavney had a mind for facing the switch 
 without any parental protection ; but he hinted that there 
 might yet be a scene, and a problem in physics to be 
 solved when the time came. 
 
 " If he kicks," said one, " shan't we back him? " 
 
 Bowling shrugged. "He don't consult us," said he; 
 " why should we? If he chooses his own way, he must 
 go it alone." 
 
 Nevertheless there was expectation that Gavney would 
 not tamely submit himself, nor become a public spectacle 
 except by compulsion. They were mistaken. 
 
 Tristram had an early interview with Doctor Coney, 
 and an opportunity to speak his mind. He found that 
 gentleman at his desk behind a pile of letters. "If you 
 bring me a letter it will be of no avail for you?" were 
 the Doctor's first words. Tristram assured him he had 
 none. He beheld his fate in a determined eye. Nothing 
 that he said at the interview diminished his offence. 
 
 When at the end of morning school the bell rang all in 
 to call-over, Tristram appeared with a calm face. Names 
 were read over ; and at the finish day-boys had not to be 
 excluded. It was no great merit to know how to take a 
 licking; but for a fellow almost to go out of his way 
 to let it fall on him was a little surprising. The Doctor 
 had his mind on Tristram's parting word : " Remember.
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER 187 
 
 sir, if you punish me publicly, I will repay it publicly ! " 
 and had his reinforcements at hand against any event. 
 They were not needed. Tristram took his thwackings 
 with stolid exterior. 
 
 The whole school trooped out into the playground ; 
 the Door-mats raised a loyal cheer and gathered round 
 their stricken hero on his appearance. Tristram's eyes 
 were at sharp play ; lighting on young Tom Coney, they 
 stopped from their quest. That blameless youth heard 
 his name sung out like a word of command, and beheld 
 confronting him a white, stung face that bade him stand. 
 Tristram was polite, " I'm sorry to have to hurt you," 
 said he. 
 
 " I should be sorry if you tried ! " retorted the other, 
 wondering what was meant. 
 
 The two lads were of equal height ; Coney's was the 
 thicker build. 
 
 " Your father has thrashed me," said Tristram, " now I 
 thrash you, unless you like to save trouble at once by 
 carrying him this message for me." The message was 
 indicated smartly ; young Coney was quick to let the 
 sender have it back again. Neither of them drew back 
 then. Etiquette called them off to ground allowed by 
 usage to stern encounters such as this. Sixty boys 
 headed away in a rush to get places; on the way Tris- 
 tram called on Bowling to be his second. Coats were 
 soon off and belts made tight. " Now, if you please, Dr. 
 Coney," said Tristram, for the rest to hear, fitting the 
 title to his opponent, and with a visionary's eye sprang 
 in to the attack. He made all perceive that it was the 
 Beak himself he had before him; every blow he dealt 
 out was against that unjust authority, and those received 
 coming from the same source only kindled him to a more 
 virtuous ardour. 
 
 Young Tom, with his father's honour to protect, hit
 
 1 88 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 out valiantly ; for ten minutes by the clock he seemed 
 more unlike taking a thrashing than giving one to his 
 opponent. Bowling, whispering encouragement at a 
 moment when it seemed sorely needed, heard Tristram 
 mutter, " Oh, I'm all right. Can't turn my tail, don't you 
 see ! " and was relieved to discover his principal in such 
 spirits. Tristram could explain afterwards that he 
 really did not feel the blows delivered against the fore- 
 part of him. The panacea was behind. " I was bound 
 to win," he said, " — short of a knock-out ; and I was 
 just enough his equal for that not to be likely. I tell 
 you, if you want to feel certain of yourself, get a thrashing 
 first ! " 
 
 Yet it took him twenty minutes to arrive at his cer- 
 tainty. At the finish, there were few pins to choose 
 between them ; but Tom Coney promised to carry the 
 sense of Tristram's message to the Doctor — to state the 
 case, that was to say. The two boys shook hands on it, 
 Tristram averring that his opponent was not to think 
 himself a tale-bearer: the exacter the account the better 
 would he love him. 
 
 The Door-mats, lifting their hero on high, bore him 
 enthusiastically off the school grounds — a painful prog- 
 ress for him, and one that he was destined never to 
 retrace. 
 
 The next morning a letter was received at the Valley 
 House requesting Mr. Gavney to withdraw his son from 
 the school.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A CHAPTER OF CONTRASTS 
 
 ' I A RISTRAM had never seen his father so moved. 
 " My son expelled ! " he kept repeating, and re- 
 quested the culprit if he had any respect for himself to 
 invent no excuses. Tristram had to sit and listen. " What 
 will your poor mother say ! " cried his father, seeing him 
 remain stolid. 
 
 " It depends on what she is told ! " retorted the lad. 
 
 ' Told ! what is she to be told but the truth ? This is 
 the way you shorten her life ! The whole episode is dis- 
 graceful ! A son of mine ! You associate with your 
 inferiors ; pick them out, it seems, as fitter material for 
 the stirring up of rebellion : and from that go on publicly 
 to insult your head-master. To-day I send him my 
 apology, and shall promise him yours, to be made as he 
 shall dictate, if he will consent to your return." 
 
 Tristram cried out that no apology should come out of 
 his lips. " I'd die first! " was his way of putting it. 
 
 " Where do you think you are going to finish your 
 education ? " his father asked, with a better sense of pro- 
 portion ; and when " other schools " were suggested 
 (Tristram having one particularly in his mind's eye) let 
 his son understand with sudden frankness of speech, 
 that he could not afford it. 
 
 " If you think I am to spend extra money to relieve 
 
 189
 
 iqo A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 you of the results of your folly," said Mr. Gavney, " let 
 me tell you that you come at the wrong time." 
 
 " I thought " said Tristram, and paused. 
 
 "You thought?" 
 
 ' That Aunt Doris had left enough : Mother told me 
 something about it one day." The boy seemed ashamed 
 to speak. 
 
 His father said curtly, with offended tone, " Your cost 
 already covers what is available. Understand I can pay 
 no more for you than I do now. You make but a poor 
 return on the outlay, I think. Does this last exploit en- 
 courage me to increase it ? " 
 
 Tristram's face burned with confusion and anger. He 
 said desperately in self-defence: "You never told me, 
 sir, that we were poor." 
 
 ' Who tells you ? who tells you ? " cried Mr. Gavney 
 with irritation. " Am I to be questioned, and have words 
 imputed to me if I cannot make my ends meet your ex- 
 travagant expectations? Do you disgrace me, because 
 you think I have means to repair your mistakes ? " 
 
 Tristram became altogether mute: his father beheld a 
 stock-solid face of impenitent opposition. It stung him 
 to demand a definite submission. " On my return to-night 
 you will have a written apology ready to accompany 
 mine! " was Mr. Gavney's last word. " You hear? " 
 
 ' I hear," said Tristram. When his father enquired for 
 him twelve hours later he was not to be found. 
 
 At that moment the Sage's housekeeper was having the 
 benefit of his presence. He had arrived in the late after- 
 noon only to find his old friend absent. By the looks of 
 him he was fagged out, for his coming there was an 
 after-thought, when fatigue had warned him to seek 
 some destination for the night. A welcome waited him ; 
 he had hardly to ask for a night's lodging, so ready was 
 the offer of it. The evening of the morrow brought the
 
 A CHAPTER OF CONTRASTS 191 
 
 * 
 
 Sage, and all the fine story of himself had to be gone 
 over. The lad told it ruefully enough, but on certain 
 points doggedly ; he did not now expect to be commended, 
 but he was prepared to do battle for what he considered 
 his principles. He was convinced at least that he had 
 done nothing disgraceful ; and the word had been hurled 
 at him : had sent him out of the house " for ever," as he 
 had declared to himself dramatically, vowing henceforth 
 to be a free man. He had spent two objectless days in 
 finding that the vocation hung heavy on his hands. 
 
 The Sage's rebuke came from an unexpected quarter. 
 " What on earth," he demanded, " had sane, healthy 
 English youth to do with that most vile of modern follies 
 and abominations called fireworks. 'Twas a conspicuous 
 product of Lucifer the fallen ; and came hot out of hell, 
 its chief factory ; 'twas the gift of Prometheus to men 
 derisively thrown to waste ; the folly of Babel breaking 
 out in the ministry of fire whose pure tongue was to 
 preach the sacredness of the domestic hearth ; " and a 
 hundred more things over which the Sage made eloquent 
 and giddy comparisons. He told the boy emphatically 
 that to handle the fires of idolatry destroyed the moral 
 consciousness ; that he was bound to be wrong enlisting 
 himself in such a cause. 
 
 Tristram took the rebuke in good part, knowing him- 
 self free to argue on level terms with this antagonist, in 
 the mountains of whose prejudice existed no malice ; who 
 had the gift of making opposition the bond of friendship, 
 and with whom to be poles apart implied no rancour 
 deeper than of the tongue. The self-applause which 
 affronted youth is keen to detect in the wisdom of its 
 elders lay but surface-deep — in the crustiness, that is 
 to say — of the wise rattle-pated Sage. To work off his 
 hot blood, Tristram could not have come to a better place 
 of exercise. He carried the war into his mentor's com-
 
 192 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 parisons, declaring the tin fallen angels also to have a 
 penchant for fireworks, and citing Scripture. The Sage 
 could point out to him in return that right-minded man 
 had exhibited a wholesome dread of their display : expul- 
 sion from Eden and a crushed foot were the two results 
 recorded on the points instanced. 
 
 Tristram boasted a battered shin, a back yet more bat- 
 tered, and a face bearing the marks of desperate combat ; 
 he thought he had earned honourably by these expulsion 
 from a place which was to him no Eden at all. Through 
 the frank laughter the Sage got out of him, showed the 
 hard edge of a determination to make no retraction to 
 an authority which had seized ells where inches were but 
 its questionable property. The boy's final position came 
 to be: " Yes, I may have behaved badly; but I'd a right 
 to! " He had to laugh at himself as soon as that remark 
 came to be heard. 
 
 The Sage discerned the limits of his conquest : Tris- 
 tram was no longer unduly proud of his achievement ; 
 internally he was moved to see error in himself; out- 
 wardly to those who had dealt high-handed judgment 
 against him he was adamant. He put in another way, to 
 the more sympathetic ears which now heard him, what 
 he had already told his father. " It would be mere 
 cowardice for me to go back and say what I did not feel ! " 
 And the Sage, understanding how in that mood the 
 wheat and tares stood mingled, and mindful of a wise 
 parable, became an advocate of the boy's claim to do 
 penance without strains to his conscience. 
 
 " Tristram is with me," he wrote to the boy's father. 
 " An order from you for his return he would now obey ; 
 that is why I beg you not to send it." He followed up the 
 request with rather wordy wisdom, in the main a true 
 enough reading of that unruly character. Perhaps the 
 dead hand of Doris gave some guidance to his pen,
 
 A CHAPTER OF CONTRASTS 193 
 
 Mr. Gavney read little meaning into the old man's 
 periods, but was flattered that Celebrity should be at such 
 pains and take so eloquent an interest in his son's career. 
 He trusted there was sense in the advice, and accepted 
 the glory of having a famous man for his confidential 
 adviser. His thanks to the Sage conveyed to Tristram 
 the inference of at least a formal pardon for his misde- 
 meanour. He was not required to eat humble-pie before 
 Dr. Coney ; it seemed unnecessary to tell him that that 
 offended dignitary had already refused the offer. 
 
 Tristram wrote penitently to his father of the trouble 
 he had caused, and a certain measure of gratitude warmed 
 his words, making them humble. Mr. Gavney styled it, 
 " a very proper letter." It brought from Mrs. Gavney a 
 tender epistolary caress to the pardoned sinner ; and 
 therewith a hinted reproach that he had not come to her 
 for mediation and advice when difficulties had befallen 
 him. Tristram's thoughts flew out in kisses to the deli- 
 cate apprehensive face of his would-be confidante, who 
 understood so little her inability to bear the worry of 
 any thinking but what the conventions of life brought 
 her. 
 
 Cooler consideration showed to Mr. Gavney that his 
 son's school failure had relieved him of a difficulty ; he 
 did not feel bound now to afford him the final polish 
 of a university career ; he regretted that the release 
 should be so great a convenience under present circum- 
 stances, but there it was. In the matter of another 
 school — also a public school which would be so expen- 
 sive — he could plead Tristram's practical expulsion from 
 Friars-gate as an obstacle. It remained then to fit him for 
 the inheritance in trade awaiting him at Sawditch, while 
 still giving him the veneer of culture required in a 
 gentleman. 
 
 The Doris legacy? well, he trusted as a parent that he 
 Q
 
 194 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 was spending it honestly for his son's benefit — his 
 eventual benefit, which was, after all, the business in 
 which his life itself would have to be spent — without 
 rendering an account to the uttermost farthing. When 
 Tristram came of age he should hear a satisfactory ex- 
 planation of the matter ; in his own mind " & Son " 
 would then be the virtual terms under which the business 
 was to go flourishing. It was the generous out-look 
 natural to a sanguine man ; and he had the proud belief 
 that his son, rid of the early tares of youth, would grow 
 up like-minded to himself, with a disposition for business 
 equal to his own. 
 
 The problem of the completion of Tristram's education, 
 more especially of his initiation into the theory of com- 
 merce, lay easy of solution : Mr. Gavney found himself 
 hand in glove with Fate. One, Gilpinger, for many years 
 right-hand man and head clerk at the works, but lately 
 retired from office on savings and a grievance, had come 
 to live on the outskirts of Bembridge. Mr. Gavney knew 
 of no better man to give his son technical instruction in 
 the commercial side of the business he was to belong to. 
 A temper of increasing crustiness had caused Gilpinger 
 to become a clog to the establishment. Clerks refused 
 to work under him ; he had not the eye that could wink 
 at venial irregularities ; the waste of a minute won threat 
 of a report for dismissal ; his rectitude was austere, 
 growling, and without a grace in its manifestations. 
 There had been storm ; a body of valuable clerks had 
 offered their resignation. Mr. Gavney had considered 
 Gilpinger's age, his manifest infirmity of temper, and had 
 bidden him take the rest he now deserved. Thus it was 
 that the old clerk sat at home, pathetically empty-handed, 
 hating the sunshine of unoccupied hours, while his eye 
 could still snap up a column of figures, and his head 
 foregather the meaning of disturbed markets and fluctuat-
 
 A CHAPTER OF CONTRASTS 195 
 
 ing prices. Resentment perhaps caused him to utter 
 jeremiads against the house which had shaken off his 
 serviceable dust ; yet a personal loyalty to his old employer 
 still clung to him. 
 
 The offer that he should have the coaching of Tristram 
 in the lar^e mvsteries of commerce, was as a restored 
 testimonial to his powers. It was settled that the youth 
 should come to him three mornings a week for instruc- 
 tion ; old books of the firm were sent down to him, that 
 he might have means at hand for practical demonstration ; 
 he beheld himself surrounded by a library which repre- 
 sented the labours of a lifetime, very different to that 
 wherewith old Daddy Wag-top comforted his loneliness. 
 
 Tristram, coming penitentially to bear the burden of 
 his sins and to be for the first time in his life industrious 
 at something lying right away from real interests, met 
 and recognised an enthusiast. A mind wondrous for 
 docketed contents and innumerable pigeon-holes opened 
 to give him its stores, and stuffy as they were, the boy 
 discovered a perverted romance in mathematics that 
 seethed with the hum of markets, and in figures that 
 represented men rushing to ruin or to fortune. The old 
 fellow's finger pointed the tortuous way the firm had 
 wound past this and that peril, to safety and affluence; 
 that was his work more perhaps than Air. Gavney was 
 aware. Of what went on under present conditions, Mr. 
 Gilpinger indicated a jealous ignorance. 
 
 Tristram watched with fascination the massive grasp 
 the old man's mind had on years represented merely by 
 columns of figures, checked over everywhere in red and 
 blue ink. His memory could inspire his hand to turn back 
 unerringly over a hundred pages and show cause and 
 just impediment why this or the other had not to be 
 done for the firm's welfare ; and more, too, how the keen 
 eye of supervision had detected an inefficient or dishonest
 
 196 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 stewardship. The sight was comparable to that of a 
 general with commissariat army and transport. The boy's 
 brain whirled, seasick and tossed ; he began to settle that 
 he had no head for figures, and must presently fall down 
 in penitent despair at his father's feet and beg to be let 
 off. 
 
 Presently the old man let him know that he had but 
 taken him up on to Pisgah-top to give him a glimpse of 
 the Promised Land, and a longing for its glories. He 
 brought him down to dry figures, and so smoothed his 
 teaching with the methodical accuracy of long experience, 
 that Tristram, finding no difficulties at all, was left with 
 the deadly dulness of the thing and the caged thought 
 somewhere at the back of his brain that he owed all this 
 to a night of fireworks and a beating. 
 
 Often at the end of his three hours' tuition, he would 
 leap up wild of eye on the stroke of time, as if to hear 
 another syllable on the subject would be too much for his 
 endurance. For recompense he would arrive home 
 breathless; his body became hard and lean with much 
 running — the result of arithmetic and book-keeping. No 
 new thing, one might suppose, since he had already been 
 through some schooling, but with this difference: he 
 began to see that instead of a thing almost meaningless, 
 or laid on him for discipline, it meant life : days and days 
 of what he was to expect, made bearable to him for the 
 present only because old Gilpinger loved him after a sour 
 fashion of his own, and took a pride in his progress. 
 
 Looking out with a glum eye on the clock to know if 
 his pupil would be punctual, he would brighten his 
 crabbed looks to welcome a scrambled arrival which was 
 always just not late. Tristram could have loved him in 
 return, had the bond between them been a little more to 
 his liking ; as it was, his respect mounted to an enormous 
 enthusiasm. He told Marcia, when writing word of his
 
 A CHAPTER OF CONTRASTS 197 
 
 new studies, that the House was what it was, and they 
 themselves what they were, because old Gilpinger had the 
 biggest head for figures in the three kingdoms. " When 
 he's dead they ought to have his brain weighed ! "' he 
 declared. It was with a puzzled sensation of distress that 
 he heard one evening from his father that this mighty 
 mind of business was positively gratified over his applica- 
 tion and progress. " Hopeful " was one of the words 
 used ; and the youth's heart metaphorically rapped the 
 floor over all that such hope betokened. Thus was Tris- 
 tram inducted into the path destined for his feet. 
 
 Over the other side of his training, gentle and classical, 
 he had less cause to sigh : it brought Ray back to him. 
 That youth was in trouble to pass his " smalls," a stand- 
 ard too high for his attainment after a course of public- 
 school athletics, to which brain-work had stood secondary. 
 If college was to be his next step, a coach had become 
 necessary. The two friends went in company, morning 
 and afternoon, to a solitary curate quartered at Long 
 Alwyn under Randogger, as spiritual guide to all the 
 scattered community living between Parson's Coppice and 
 Hiddenden. The youths found it a good neighbourhood 
 for the recreation which sandwiched perfunctory scholar- 
 ship. Some of their Latinity they carried over to Hidden- 
 den, and dropped raw and crude into the delighted ears 
 of Daddy Wag-top. Wilder rambles found them in the 
 company of old Haycraft, with whom sometimes Tristram 
 would leave Raymond and be carried off by Lizzie to the 
 less manly but more exciting sport of birds'-nesting. Few 
 as the words were that he ever got from her he found 
 that she had a fine instinct for the game. She would as 
 often nod her meaning as speak it : she could keep a secret 
 that habit seemed to say. It brought him to be observant 
 of each passing look : often over a clutch of eggs their 
 eyes met triumphantly, till at last, after many meetings
 
 198 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 and partings, the Tramp's began to carry a clear memory 
 of the brownness in hers. The note they gave him of her 
 inner character was very pleasant. He judged people by 
 their eyes ; these were the brownest he had ever seen, the 
 clearest depths of a shaded brook shared that note of 
 deadened gold infinitely charged with shadows of a like 
 tone ; nothing that touched common air was quite the 
 same. The boy, looking into their mystery as into a 
 picture-book, was too raw as yet to read any romance 
 into them ; but vaguely they appealed to him, making 
 comradeship easy. So did her brief, direct utterance, and 
 those long silences which, when a quest was on, made her 
 so commendable a companion. She was two vears his 
 senior, and the beauty of early day which hung about 
 her visage, shadowy under dark folds of hair, promised 
 to be greater. He noted her stride and the confidence 
 with which she lifted weights ; everything approved her 
 to his eyes. Had he been sentimentally-drawn, he would 
 presently have been mooing calf-love to her; but he was 
 still at the age when friendship, not sex, kindles the mind 
 to its romance. Latent, under the healthy run of his 
 blood, the animal in him said a word or two ; but it found 
 and let go again without any disturbances to their rela- 
 tions. She was a girl just bordering on womanhood, 
 without that consciousness of the fact, which disturbs the 
 charm while making it dangerous. Tristram recalled how 
 Raymond had first put her down as sulky, and still so 
 thinking, he supposed, by something in his manner, had 
 taught her to dislike him ; for of Raymond she fought shy. 
 It mattered little : the Tramp's knack of comradeship lay 
 in the limits of two, finding in three, according to the 
 adage, not company but society : to be one of four was to 
 be in a crowd. 
 
 The limitation made his affections appear more weather- 
 cock-like than they really were; his life seemed a process
 
 A CHAPTER OF CONTRASTS 199 
 
 of desertions, till the opportunity came for an affection 
 to reassert itself. Marcia, home for a holiday from her 
 own schooling, had her turn of finding herself approved 
 once more. Her brother contemplated her for some days, 
 puzzled and charmed by the stranger in her. He solved 
 his problem at last by supposing her to be grown-up and 
 " finished " in all the educational graces that were her 
 due. He paid her a naive compliment by enquiring, " I 
 say, Marcia, aren't you very pretty?" and really required 
 to be told or rather confirmed in his own opinion, which 
 might be the result of brotherly blindness or family preju- 
 dice in her favour. He consulted his mother on the sub- 
 ject, with Marcia's laugh ringing at him, and finally, to 
 get an outsider's opinion, Raymond, who said, "Yes!" 
 with an emphasis that made him proud. After that he 
 remained quite certain of Marcia's exceeding prettiness. 
 Her spirits were quite as they used to be, and the moral 
 phase in her had been comfortably tucked to rest; if it 
 peeped ever, to moderation, it was with a twinkle. She 
 gave him anecdotes of the cousins, outlining pleasant 
 conditions, but letting him understand that the end of it 
 would bring her back " home " to him. 
 
 Now they could have ridden together and taken big 
 breaths of the country-side, but were confronted by a 
 stable reduced to the modest requirements of Mrs. Gav- 
 ney's daily drive, a silent indication of things about which 
 no word was ever said to them. Tristram said, " I get a 
 ride, though, now and then ? " and looked mysterious. He 
 told his sister he could ride bare-backed, and that no horse 
 could get him off. She declared she had done the same 
 for a wager among her Foley cousins, and not told, since 
 the thing would have been thought unladylike there. 
 The bit of news solved for Tristram some fresh part of 
 her developed character. " Why, you are like Lizzie ! " 
 he declared, and seemed to have lighted on the reason
 
 200 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 why the two of them were so satisfactory. Now he saw 
 a resemblance in looks as well, and took Marcia to make 
 the acquaintance of her rustic double. On their meeting 
 the likeness fell away. Lizzie drew into her shell and 
 showed so awkwardly, that Tristram was surprised to 
 hear Marcia say that she liked her. To give Lizzie a 
 title to such favour, he told his sister of the Amazon 
 courage the girl possessed — Duffin's horses in the 
 secluded fields under Randogger Edge knew it if nobody 
 else did. Dawn was the time ; he and she in the grey 
 mists of that hour had ridden races under a chill air. 
 They had their eye, too, on a field where lively colts ran 
 loose, owner unknown. Marcia was invited to the spec- 
 tacle but declined, calling them horse-lifters. 
 
 Tristram should not have boasted : a week after Mar- 
 cia's departure, he got a surprising fall. Unaccountably 
 it was his foot and not his head that met with damage. 
 He got himself up, and tried limping with Lizzie's aid, 
 but had to give in ; the jolt of it was too much for him. 
 They had two fields and a brook to cross before getting to 
 any foot-track. Lizzie took him up on her back, an easy 
 task to her strength, and too sensible for the Tramp to 
 make more than a show of protest. Her hearty service 
 to him in his disablement caused him as a sort of honour- 
 able obligation to make little of the pain : having a pang 
 at one end he became the more frivolous at the other. It 
 was ridiculous, yet nice, to feel himself aloft by the 
 strength of this firm piece of budding womanhood, who 
 strode evenly under the weight of him. " After all," he 
 said, " what's the difference? Instead of a colt I've got 
 a filly ! Woa, my girl ! " Lizzie bade him not talk. 
 
 He blew into her hair behind, called it her mane, and 
 teased her with the phraseology of the stable. When she 
 threatened to drop him if he did not cease his nonsense, 
 he called her vicious, and talked about her mouth in
 
 A CHAPTER OF CONTRASTS 201 
 
 terms of bit and bridle. Shy, he said, was good for a 
 woman, but bad for a horse. " Are you shy, my filly?" 
 Beginning with boyish chaff, his talk took a thoughtless 
 run into mischief ; the situation made him a little more 
 foolish. Just when she stepped down with him to the 
 brook, he thought a good moment for being rather more 
 absurd than ever. A skin-deep idea that to be in love 
 with her would be nice, caused him to rub his cheek on 
 hers and ask like a fondling fool — Did she love him 
 or no ! 
 
 Apparently no ; he found himself abruptly deposited, 
 legs in water, with a sharp wrench to the injured ankle; 
 and beheld Lizzie sitting angry-eyed on the further bank. 
 
 Sight of her face was sufficient to make him say, 
 " Serve me right ! " and to beg pardon, humbly. He 
 meant it, and had taken his lesson. It came at the right 
 moment to help him over the crude mock-turtle season, 
 which raw youth goes through on its way to the makings 
 of a man. Lizzie, the playmate, had by a simple display 
 of mettle, received stature and gained his respect. She 
 showed her magnanimity by coming back to fetch him 
 across, and the culprit took the favour as a very proper 
 chastisement. She had not again to complain of him. If 
 thereafter Tristram cogitated on the growing charm of 
 womanhood, he did so with a greater respect than edu- 
 cational convention had taught him, and for that had to 
 thank Lizzie. 
 
 That good girl showed her forgiveness of him by 
 making no change in her frank acceptance of his friend- 
 ship. Coming upon her at dawns in the yet twilight fields 
 to help fill her mushroom basket, he found in her an un- 
 troubled and untroubling type of fair womanhood, carry- 
 ing out for him into the world of her sex the sisterhood 
 of Marcia. In those primal hours, when tentative 
 lights and colours washed in faint waves over the
 
 202 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 threshold of the sun, she seemed to have part in the spirit 
 of the wind itself which sprang, harbinger of day, equable 
 and cool with the wide breath of health. Dawn, for those 
 who will rise to it, is the daylight hour of the soul, so 
 little then does the body hinder that perspective of the 
 higher intelligence which momentarily opens to us all. 
 In this year of his life, following the freaks of his blood, 
 Tristram grasped something of its health-giving signifi- 
 cance, and felt in his veins a response to the divine 
 alchemy. By his side during many of these hours Lizzie 
 Haycraft moved humble yet sisterly. On a later day he 
 had to remember that debt, and to the best of his ability 
 he paid it.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 APOLOGIES TO LADY PETWYN 
 
 r T"*\YO days later Tristram was still limping tenderly 
 on a convalescent foot, when his father threw down 
 before him a letter from Lady Petwyn, abrupt, and 
 couched in outrageous terms, giving stiff warning that 
 his son's trespasses were no longer to be tolerated. She 
 spoke of previous communications ; none had come. 
 
 Mr. Gavney finding feud at work where he had still 
 hoped one day to find favour, was the more indignant 
 with his son as the cause of it. He demanded to know 
 what it all meant in a voice of irresolute chagrin. He 
 fought the air to discover a larger grievance. 
 
 " I have a right to be offended ! " he exclaimed ; " I 
 have worries enough ! " was a pathetic after-thought. He 
 wished to be deaf to anything Tristram could say, as the 
 way was with him ; argument upset his judgment. 
 
 But on this occasion his son showed a readiness to fall 
 in with his strictest demands : he would go himself, he 
 said, and apologise ; no time should be lost. A few 
 hours afterwards he set off as proud as Lucifer on his 
 self-imposed errand of humility. Underneath Lady Pet- 
 wyn's terms of opprobrium he scented MacAllister, the 
 rank fox that he was ! 
 
 By that wily official's contrivance the Tramp had been 
 given long rope to hang himself. He had announced with 
 covert insult that Lady Petwyn's word would be enough 
 
 203
 
 204 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 for him; nor did MacAllister doubt that a note from her, 
 civilly worded, would have sufficed to put an end to the 
 nuisance. But things had got to such a pitch between 
 him and the youth that his rancour could not so be satis- 
 fied. He complained moderately to her ladyship at 
 stated intervals, but omitted to send on the merely con- 
 ventional complaints for which he received direction. 
 Thus it came about at last that an absolute defiance in 
 Tristram's attitude was conveyed to her. 
 
 The affair of the loose-ridden colts, of which an eye- 
 witness brought word, gave the finishing touch to an 
 indignation artfully stimulated. MacAllister wanted to 
 get his hand on the boy ; but on cool reflection had decided 
 that for such a step he required the backing of his 
 employer's authority. When at last he got it he could 
 assure himself that, whatever extremities he might pro- 
 ceed to, the legal penalties would not be allowed to fall 
 upon him. 
 
 Behind his back the lady's liking for a fair field and no 
 favour undid all his plans. She wrote openly to Tris- 
 tram's father that, ordinary complaints failing, she had 
 given orders to her bailiff that the boy should be whipped 
 off the ground if found committing depredations on her 
 property. 
 
 The Tramp was aware of none : in all his record he 
 believed he had done no damage. With the possible 
 exception of the colts-episode — and those he had not 
 known to be her property — he had been guilty of noth- 
 ing worse than fair trespass, a thing allowable under the 
 broad laws of England. If his mood was apologetic, it 
 was with a high head that he rang at the doors of Hill 
 Alwvn, and demanded admission to the presence of its 
 mistress. 
 
 A footman carried word of him, and returning after a 
 while ushered him into the crippled presence.
 
 APOLOGIES TO LADY PETAYYX 205 
 
 Lady Petwyn was waiting to receive him. She re- 
 mained seated, and bowed with ironic ceremony to a tall 
 lad at the awkward age, whose movements escaped the 
 reproach, showing even a grace, which the slight limp 
 he brought with him tended to enhance. 
 
 Prettily and frankly he made his apologies. She 
 chose to think they were done to escape a beating, and 
 gave him to understand that they came rather late after 
 the offence. 
 
 " That is not my fault," he said ; " your ladyship must 
 have chosen an untrustworthy messenger. It is of that 
 I have to complain." 
 
 " Oho! " quoth the other, " so it's a complaint I'm to 
 listen to, is it?" She heard the heads of it concisely 
 put ; and was able to perceive that it was more an 
 errand of protest than of apology that had brought him 
 to her. 
 
 " This morning," said Tristram, " I heard your wishes 
 for the first time, though ever so long ago I gave my 
 word to attend to them if you thought my running about 
 did any harm. In your letter you are good enough to say 
 I am to be horse-whipped off the estate. I promise you, 
 your wish alone is sufficient. Mr. MacAllister tried to get 
 in with his horse-whip before, and failed." 
 
 " It seems, however," said Lady Petwyn, " that you 
 have repeatedly ignored his remonstrances, though know- 
 ing him to be my agent." 
 
 "He and I have had rows," answered Tristram; " I 
 took it he was merely trying on his authority to spite me. 
 A word from you would have ended the matter ; by not 
 carrying out your instructions he has made me be unin- 
 tentionally rude to you. I am very sorry." 
 
 " Made me be very intentionally rude to you, I suspect 
 you to mean," said the lady, amusing herself over the 
 boy's covert demand for an apology.
 
 206 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " It shan't happen again," he promised. 
 
 " No! " she laughed, catching at cross-purposes to con- 
 fuse his assurance, " I'll do my best that it shan't. Apolo- 
 gies given and received ; we accept each other's excuses. 
 / withdraw the horse-whip, and you let poor MacAllister 
 alone. Is that so? " 
 
 Tristram thanked her, adding, " Then I am to under- 
 stand that you wish me to keep altogether off the estate? " 
 
 Before denying the wish, " It seems you have done 
 damage," said the lady. 
 
 " I go about everywhere," replied Tristram, " and none 
 of the farmers make any complaint." 
 
 " You have a taste for horses ; ride, it seems ; not always 
 with discretion," was her countering stroke, to show that 
 she had reason on her side. 
 
 " If I get a chance, I do," he admitted. 
 
 " Other people's horses ; of course, with their permis- 
 sion ? " She put the point with crafty interrogation. 
 
 " Oh, that ? " Tristram smiled, to show that at last he 
 gathered her meaning. " It's for a special thing, then, I 
 have to ask your pardon. I've been punished for it. The 
 colts, you mean? They were in one of Duffin's fields, I 
 might have thought they were his. Had I supposed they 
 were yours, I would have thought twice before making 
 use of them." 
 
 With Farmer Duffin's more genial qualities thus 
 pleasantly hinted to her, Lady Petwyn enquired : — 
 
 " And what does your Duffin say when they happen to 
 be his?" 
 
 Tristram was lured on by the lady's tone to let go the 
 roguish impertinence of a full statement : " Oh, he and I 
 are quite friends. Probably when he sees me next he 
 says, ' Drat your carcass,' with, maybe, just another word 
 thrown in." 
 
 " A very suitable remark," observed the lady ; " without
 
 APOLOGIES TO LADY PETWYN 207 
 
 our being exactly friends I may be permitted to endorse 
 it. And your friendship with Duffin continues? " 
 
 " Oh yes; you see, we understand each other," said the 
 boy. 
 
 " I accept the rebuke," said Lady Petwyn ; " you and I, 
 it seems, do not. My fault, no doubt. So, since the other 
 thing is beyond us, let us instead come to a full //n'^under- 
 standing, and have done with it ! For the future, tramp- 
 ling over my land is forbidden you ; you will please quite 
 to misunderstand that! " 
 
 " I will obey your wishes, Lady Petwyn," he replied 
 stiffly. 
 
 She laughed out at his defensive simplicity. " I think 
 you are making a mock of me," she said. ' But let that 
 go ; we've done ! " 
 
 Throughout the interview Tristram had been standing ; 
 now she pointed him to a chair. u So then," she said, 
 " business is over ; we've both apologised, both been 
 forgiven. Please to sit down a moment. I ask it as a 
 favour." 
 
 Tristram dropped to the seat indicated, and waited. 
 She fixed him with an unwinking eye, and perused his 
 features. He gazed back in frank curiosity to know what 
 she meant by it, finding himself in the presence of a new 
 and strange breed. 
 
 Lady Petwyn finished her study of him. 
 
 Decidedly she liked the creature. 
 
 " Is it your friendship or your acquaintance I am to 
 make? " she asked him abruptly. 
 
 He was taken aback by her sudden cordiality. " I think 
 you are very kind to wish either," he replied, " after 
 you've found me so troublesome." 
 
 " That," she retorted, " is the first dishonest remark 
 you have made to me ! " 
 
 " Well," objected the youth, " I'm a trespasser, and
 
 208 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 you've warned me off. How's friendship to come out of 
 that?" 
 
 " When did I warn you off? " 
 
 " You said I wasn't to trample." 
 
 "That you were to misunderstand : it seems that, like 
 an idiot, you have done just the contrary. Listen, here! 
 Do what you will ; come and go as you will ; don't break 
 fences; be civil to MacAUister; and if you do a damage, 
 report yourself! It has gone too far now for me to 
 promise that he shan't frown at you ; but you shan't be 
 horse-whipped. Will you write him a formal apology?" 
 
 " No, I won't! To you, I will, Lady Petwyn." 
 
 " Then / must — for letting you on ; that's all about it ! 
 After all, the man had my authority, and you flouted it. 
 Go and tell him I've winked at you ! " 
 
 She sheered off, without listening to his protests and 
 thanks, to enquire curiously : — 
 
 " And the other ; the petticoat, who also rides bare- 
 backed, and can stick on, it seems : — who is she? " 
 
 Tristram laughed. ' That was Lizzie Haycraft," he 
 informed her. 
 
 " What? daughter of old Haycraft, the vicar's poacher? 
 Is she another of your friends ? " 
 
 The Tramp's answer was a plump affirmative, heartily 
 uttered. The old dame eyed him discreetly. 
 
 " How old are she and you ? " 
 
 " From seventeen and on. She's the elder, I fancy." 
 
 " Very well ; you shouldn't teach a girl to straddle at 
 that age. It damages her character." 
 
 " She taught herself, though," said Tristram. " It's 
 the natural way." 
 
 " Loss of character is ? Oh yes, no doubt ! " Lady 
 Petwyn let further thought on the subject lie unspoken. 
 She said in matter-of-fact tones, "If you want to ride, 
 come and take one of my horses for an airing ; and if there
 
 APOLOGIES TO LADY PETWYN 209 
 
 is anything else that will enable our better acquaintance, 
 if you can think of it, name it ! " 
 
 Tristram asked if he might have the run of the ponds. 
 
 " For fishing? " she enquired. 
 
 " Yes, if I may ; but I meant for boating or bathing. It 
 was over that that MacAllister and I fell to loggerheads." 
 He told her the whole story ; Lady Petwyn sat through it 
 grim with suppressed laughter. 
 
 " Well ! " she exclaimed at the finish, " I must say you 
 behaved abominably ; it's lucky, when MacAllister re- 
 proaches me, that I can plead ignorance. You got my 
 word out of me first, remember that ! Keys you'll want ; 
 they are not supposed to be transferable. If the vicar goes 
 lending them to professional trespassers he may as well 
 give them up altogether. I don't suppose he uses 
 them." 
 
 " Oh, but Raymond does when he is at home," said 
 Tristram. 
 
 " Raymond ; who is he? " 
 
 " Young Hannam ; he's my friend." 
 
 " Oh ! another friend," grunted the lady ; " you are a 
 dangerous gang, the whole lot of you." 
 
 She vowed at parting that she must humble herself to 
 MacAllister. Tristram anticipated her ; he met the bailiff 
 at his own door. 
 
 " Mr. MacAllister," said he, " I've been to see Lady 
 Petwyn. and she has made matters right. I'm to be a 
 trespasser no longer, and she says that you and I are not 
 to quarrel any more. Since we can't be friends, let's do 
 our best to be neutrals. Shall that be the bargain ? " 
 
 The bailiff looked at him under a fixed lowering of the 
 eyelids, and made reply. " To be neutrals, Mr. Gavney, 
 one needs to have a bad memory. I've a good one ! ' : He 
 turned and went into his house. 
 
 " Well, you are an honest beast," said Tristram to him-
 
 210 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 self, watching him disappear. ' Yet a dishonest one, too, 
 or I'm much mistaken." 
 
 There could be no doubt that Lady Petwyn had made 
 her offer with the intention that it should be accepted. 
 A set of keys came to the Valley House for Tristram with 
 her ladyship's compliments, and his letter of thanks 
 brought an intimation that a horse was kicking its legs 
 off in her stables waiting for him to try it. The lady 
 denied that she had any kindly intention in the matter. 
 " You pay for the keys," she told him, " by exercising 
 my horses. If you will only use one of the beasts regu- 
 larly I can keep a groom the less. They have nothing to 
 do but go out riding on what spare mounts I keep for my 
 occasional visitors. Farmer Duffin, on the contrary, 
 doesn't want his horses extra ridden." 
 
 Tristram became an occasional companion to the lady 
 when she rode out. She found his views of life entertain- 
 ing : he quoted his friend, the Sage, and swore by all the 
 unreasonable high morality of that great student of the 
 eternal economies. It was her pleasure to flout him and 
 put logical spokes into the wheel of his argument, having, 
 for her own part, strong notions of the uselessness of all 
 man's efforts to mend a bad world not of his own making. 
 "Why turn scavenger?" she asked him. "Leave that 
 to the vestries, clerical and lay ; they are a breed by 
 themselves." 
 
 Her ideas to him sounded terrific and abominable. Yet 
 under mountains of evil-speaking and enmity, she con- 
 cealed a contemptuously humane heart. If she knew 
 herself, it was only up to a point. Stood she ever self- 
 convicted of an act that went beyond her theory of limita- 
 tions she would scold herself with angry repetition, and 
 would endeavour to eradicate the weakness by an indul- 
 gence of unreasonable animosity in some other direction. 
 Thus, if she pardoned a stableman for drink one day, she
 
 APOLOGIES TO LADY PETWYN 211 
 
 would probably give her cook notice the next. She 
 humoured herself infinitely in thinking proudly of her 
 vices, and boasted childishly of things she should have 
 been ashamed of. She claimed to have taught her butler 
 to be honest with the wine, by throwing at his head a 
 bottle of inferior quality which had come up for her con- 
 sumption. 
 
 " At his head," was her word for it ; actually, she had 
 pushed the offending vintage off the table. This had 
 happened in the first days of her widowhood ; it taught the 
 servants' hall that a knowledge of wine had not departed 
 from the establishment with the defunct Sir Cooper. 
 
 In wrath her tongue became abominable. Tristram 
 hearing it for the first time was fairly aghast. Noticing 
 that he winced, she dismissed her victim, to say in boastful 
 apology : " It took me ten years to beat Sir Cooper at his 
 own game, and I can't afford to drop the habit now I've 
 learned it. I might marry again — we women are all 
 fools ! " 
 
 She had so dismissed ceremony from their relations 
 that Tristram was able to answer : " Don't marry old 
 Haycraft, then, or you will find yourself a backward 
 student ! " 
 
 She pretended a wish to have details of so rare a vocab- 
 ulary. 
 
 " He's gorgeous ! " declared the Tramp, and there let 
 the matter rest, without sample. 
 
 She was so assiduous in showing off her vices to the 
 youth that the wonder was he got through them and was 
 able to like her. 
 
 There was no doubt he did. She put him to the test 
 and found him one who would not cringe for her favour. 
 At the second word of her worst, he got up and left her, 
 and believed in doing so that he had made the breach 
 between them irrevocable. A groom overtook him at the
 
 212 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 gate, bearing him a scribbled apology. She greeted his 
 return, which was immediate, with the words, " That's 
 the last time I grovel to you, young man ! Explanations 
 are not in my line. You must get to understand me ! " 
 
 " Still " said Tristram. 
 
 " Oh yes ! " growled the old scold ; " you may either 
 stop up your ears, or run out of the room. But you will 
 please to come back again without expecting me to run 
 after you ! " 
 
 She asked him then why he had come back. 
 
 " Because I like you," said the youth. 
 
 " Like ? What is there to like ? " 
 
 " When I know that, I'll tell you." 
 
 " At present, then, you like me as a conundrum? " 
 
 " Put it that way, ma'am, if you will." 
 
 " My dear," she said, " what I suffer from is a hot head 
 and a cold heart ; and a tongue that gets wagged by the 
 two of them." 
 
 He told her at last that she was like Queen Elizabeth, 
 and supposed that his affection for her must have a histor- 
 ical basis. He found her the next day reading Green's 
 History. She threw the book at him, and asked — Did he 
 expect rigadoons from her in her old age? 
 
 " And I never patted a young man's neck in my life ! " 
 she protested. 
 
 It was curious that at opposite poles she and the Sage 
 had the same gift ; they could make him laugh at them, 
 and like them all the better as a consequence. Something 
 youthful lay crusted in both : to each of them he felt it 
 possible to confess his follies — with very different re- 
 sults. Lady Petwyn might be depended on for a jocular 
 encouragement of them ; the Sage for extravagant blame. 
 Yet in their secret estimate of him their views reversed : 
 the lady considered him a delicious sweet fool, gloriously 
 headstrong; the Sage had hopes that, could he but beat
 
 APOLOGIES TO LADY PETWYN 213 
 
 the rebel out of his composition, he would grow up to 
 deserve Doris's love for him. He held a letter of hers 
 received but a few days before her death, requiring of 
 him a promise ; the answer to it had reached dead hands. 
 
 Moralists might guess that at this point they saw 
 Tristram divided between his two angels of good and 
 evil : and that the question was henceforth to be, which of 
 them should have the mastery. But complex influences 
 seldom divide their forces with such simplicity. Had 
 Tristram always followed Lady Petwyn's advice when 
 she seriously gave it, this tale might have remained a 
 comedy. 
 
 The energetic dame industriously waylaid the youth's 
 goings. Meeting him in the roads, she would dismount 
 a groom to have his company; and presently had all the 
 will to present to him the particular mount he favoured, 
 but that to continue it as a loan brought him more cer- 
 tainly day by day to her stables. 
 
 When the call to attend his father to Sawditch on 
 certain days of the week took Tristram off for the whole 
 day, he came over to Hill Alwyn to secure an early morn- 
 ing canter, at an hour when the grooms were still rubbing 
 their eyes. Lady Petwyn growled like a dog defrauded 
 by its bone. " You do that to avoid me," she snapped. 
 " I'll be even with you ! " and the next morning was true 
 to her word. 
 
 He assured her it was the dullest of dull reasons that 
 drove him to be so unseasonably early, and heaved a tre- 
 mendous sigh, naming the trade he was being put to. 
 
 " Come out of it, and I'll allow you two hundred a 
 year ! " was the bait she threw him. 
 
 He shook his head dolefully, " I am paying debts," he 
 said, not knowing how doubly true was the remark ; 
 " and besides " 
 
 The truth was he could not tell what he wanted to be :
 
 2i4 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 could name no calling', unless that of water-finder, whose 
 duties held colours of attraction to him. " A jockey, I 
 might be," he jokingly suggested, after he had taken cred- 
 itable part in a steeple-chase into which Lady Petwyn had 
 urged the amateur riders of her side of the county. 
 
 But from a free choice he was subtly debarred, hardly 
 realising as yet how fast circumstances were involving 
 him. 
 
 His father behind his back owned to have become proud 
 of him, and hoped by an indulgent extension of favours 
 to make his son's office-stool with its present drudgery 
 seem to him the ladder to a throne. Could he have given 
 it the semblance of a saddle or a spring-board it had been 
 more to the purpose. 
 
 "The Pater says I have a business head!" Tristram 
 grumbled to Marcia. " I have, if an ache is the sign of 
 it!" 
 
 Mr. Gavney began to look out sanguinely over present 
 embarrassments. Some capital, it was true, would pres- 
 ently be imperatively needed ; he had staved off the day ; 
 Tristram on his coming of age could set the deficiency 
 right. Thereafter the firm would go forward with en- 
 larged capacities, and with a higher standing, becoming 
 perhaps something more than prosperous. The cloth- 
 merchant's eye went over-sea to focus visions of future 
 greatness ; he hoped some day to see merchandise of his 
 own sailing to nil parts of the habitable globe. When 
 his trade had reached that size the meanness of the mate- 
 rial would be forgotten ; the firm would stand so high 
 that glory, not shame, would be reflected upon him. His 
 heart glowed over the prospect ; well might he believe that 
 so much enthusiasm at his age did honour to his paternal 
 instincts. This was for Tristram. He should have ad- 
 vantages which for lack of time had not been his father's 
 before him ; he should snuff the marts of the world, an
 
 APOLOGIES TO LADY PETWYN 215 
 
 air infected with the wealth of nations ; not trade, com- 
 merce — its larger aspect — should reveal to him the 
 great workings of capital and enterprise. London should 
 be the place then for the bringing of desultory energies to 
 their perfect use. 
 
 In these calculations Beresford Gavney did not forget 
 society. He intended that his son should take a place 
 within that circle at whose vaguely-defined threshold he 
 himself had stood many years discontentedly awaiting 
 fuller recognition. He did not urge his claim ; in his own 
 family he saw it becoming justified. Lady Petwyn, for 
 instance, had not called, yet had chosen to become intimate 
 with his son. Pie was at pains to conceal the gratification 
 it gave him : even appeared indifferent when the boy spoke 
 of her — as much as to say, " In your leisure you choose 
 your own society ; you are a free agent." Yet to his wife 
 he professed himself puzzled that Lady Petwyn, wishing 
 to befriend their son as she evidently did, should still 
 omit the interchange of conventional amenities with his 
 parents. 
 
 " I am told she calls nowhere," said his wife. " Some 
 think it is because she will not be seen on foot ; they say 
 she is quite hunched when she walks across a room." 
 
 If Tristram was without apprehension of the fact that 
 the great lady's acquaintance with him alone made invid- 
 ious comparisons, another of the family was not. Marcia, 
 he found, would not accompany him on to the private 
 paths of the estate. 
 
 ' The keys were to you, Tramp," she said ; " to nobodv 
 else." 
 
 " But I used to go with Ray." 
 
 " Oh, you ! yes : you can do those things ; I am only a 
 conventional young woman, and I won't be seen trespass- 
 ing." 
 
 Tristram fidgeted : he liked now to have Marcia with
 
 216 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 him when a-foot. Ray had at last passed the necessary 
 entrance test and gone up to Oxford, so for comradeship 
 the Tramp was thrown back on women-folk. Here, for 
 an insufficient reason, was Marcia denying him the pleas- 
 ure of her company. 
 
 Having a puzzle on his mind hints of it showed in his 
 speech one day. He asked Lady Petwyn bluntly whether 
 the keys which had been sent to the Valley House were 
 only for him. ' Marcia," he said, " won't use them, and 
 says they are not intended for any one but me." 
 
 : ' So you want that translated into plain English, do 
 you ? " enquired the lady. ' It means first and foremost 
 that Miss Marcia disapproves of me ; secondly, that she's 
 jealous of me; and thirdly, that my manners as a neigh- 
 bour are detestable. So were yours formerly ; that is why 
 we get on with each other now we are reconciled. Very 
 well, the matter shall have my attention." 
 
 Two days later there was joy in Mr. Beresford Gavney's 
 breast ; Lady Petwyn had left cards in person at the Val- 
 ley House. At that moment the merchant would have 
 gone to the inconvenient trouble and expense of stabling 
 a horse for his son's use, had Lady Petwyn carried out 
 her half- formed project of sending one.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 LADY PETWYN S PAST 
 
 ' I *HE world is slow to recognise romance out of its 
 accustomed grooves. Youth woos maid, the spring- 
 time of two lives rush together, Nature in an outbreak 
 of extravagance looses on them more happiness than 
 ever mortal could claim by right ; and at once the over- 
 rewarded creatures are made the darlings of popular sen- 
 timent. The world becomes green listening to protesta- 
 tions of eternal fidelity, which sober sense knows to be 
 false ; for the joy of a season must express itself from the 
 topmost of its vocabulary, and should the lover of a day 
 swear a less word than " forever " in urging his suit, he 
 were untrue to the emotion of a moment that carries in it 
 the semblance of eternity. The disillusioned listen to the 
 overflowings of this natural hyperbole and fall to illusion 
 once more. This pair of lovers, though all the millions 
 paired since the world began have stopped short of their 
 promise, this pair, we say, shall attain their ideal, and jus- 
 tify that greenness of the human eye that springs not of 
 jealousy. 
 
 And if the natural base of all this beauty be Nature's 
 claim that the sexes shall meet and propagate, why does 
 so slight a shifting of the desire make it such worlds 
 away, and discover in the race so many callous or thought- 
 less beings ready to laugh at passion that has missed the 
 blossoming season ? The longing of the old maid for a 
 
 217
 
 218 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 son to her barren body at the lonely closing-in of her life, 
 is surely as tender a testimonial to bitter Mother Nature 
 as any the maiden can give under seal of her lover's lips. 
 Nay, it is the very phcEnix of love rising out of the ashes 
 and disillusions of youth. Life is full enough of things 
 more deserving of ridicule than the passion with which 
 the crabbed, the spoiled, and the aged, go back and seek 
 to reconstruct or retrieve the past. 
 
 Some such longing had seized on the stiff gnarled body 
 and jaded mind of Lady Petwyn, at lighting on one who 
 accepted her favour for the simple and sufficient reason of 
 a cordial liking; who had no fear of her frowns, and 
 could to-morrow be independent as air, were her caprice 
 to bid him back to the place he had come from. 
 
 She studied him, puzzled to know wherein lay the at- 
 traction. " Had you been my son," she owned, " I should 
 have bullied you out of the very thing I like you for be- 
 ing ! " Maybe, for all the difference in their years, instinct 
 taught him to see in the debonair motions of his youth, 
 the shadow of the thing she had sought and missed as a 
 match to her own strong energies. 
 
 She wooed him, wished to have at once the spoiling 
 and the making of him in her own hands, tried him with 
 her humours, cajoled him with her favours, resented his 
 independence, yet admired it in the same breath. One 
 day she made a pretext for cutting off his rides, declaring 
 that he had lamed one horse and over-ridden another, 
 proving himself not to be trusted with them alone ; and 
 found him just as happy on foot, and as friendly. She 
 became jealously convinced that bribes would not bring 
 him any nearer to her affections, and was all the more 
 flattered and taken to see him unaffected by her vile 
 moods and occasional moroseness of demeanor. " The 
 cunning dog makes a point of understaying his welcome," 
 she told herself, to explain her irritated liking for his com-
 
 LADY PETWYN'S PAST 219 
 
 pany. It was quite an unconscious play of tact on Tris- 
 tram's part ; he believed himself merely quick to follow the 
 signals of the lady herself. 
 
 One day he came upon her sitting - among heaps of 
 musty documents. A post-mortem mood had seized on 
 her; she had a presentiment, she told him, that she was 
 going to die — prayed it might be with the hounds dur- 
 ing the coming winter : and was mindful to spare her ex- 
 ecutors unnecessary labour. " If to save trouble were all." 
 she remarked, " I might as well put a match to every se- 
 curity I possess, and die intestate ; then cousins and the 
 law could wrangle it out at leisure. Executors are usually 
 one's friends : heirs, not necessarilv : none of mine are ! 
 There are Cooper-Petwyns, and Coopers, who seem to 
 think because I was cooped up with one of them for all 
 the best years of my life and bought up embarrassed prop- 
 erty, that I owe it back to them. ' It should stay in the 
 family,' is the phrase they have in their greedy mouths. 
 I tell them they may buy it back if they want to. Their 
 grievance is that Sir Cooper reaped the benefit of a broken 
 entail, if to pay one's creditors by the sale of one's patri- 
 mony be indeed a benefit ! 
 
 ' Burn that, and that, and that ! " she gave Tristram 
 dusty bundles to throw to the flames. 
 
 Presently a curious perturbation came over her face, 
 as she crackled her fingers on a bunch of notes tied up 
 with pack-thread ; self-disgust seemed to predominate. 
 
 "Am I into rav dotasre?" she exclaimed. " It would 
 
 i fe* 
 
 seem so. Here have I been hoarding a budget of my 
 Skeleton's letters for over seventeen years without know- 
 ing it ! " 
 
 She glanced her eye through one of them. 
 
 " Poor ghost," she murmured. " How he gibbers ! 
 Ghosts I can't stand ; they whine too much about a future 
 life, invoking me to be Christian and charitable. My
 
 220 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 charity burned a large enough hole in my pocket when it 
 had him to deal with. Thieves got at it then ; it's moth 
 and rust now. Help us ! What a liar the fellow was : 
 writes he knows I have a kind heart ! He knew exactly 
 the contrary, but. that was Bones all over : — made love to 
 me when he was dying because he wanted a particular 
 brand to which I had the key, and cursed me in his last 
 will and testament ! made a will to do it, I imagine : for he 
 had no money to leave. That's the man my memory's got 
 to deal with! I'm widow to that, my dear; my ' Lady- 
 ship ' I got from him ! 
 
 ' When he did his duty finally, and died. I asked the 
 doctor how long it would take him to become bone. Med- 
 ical science gave me a date. After he was turned into a 
 bone-man, forgiveness of him became possible ! And yet 
 his Christian relatives reproached me for putting him in 
 an earth-to-earth coffin ; cremation wasn't to be had in 
 those days. Lord! what moles we all are with our preju- 
 dices ! You know now why I call him ' Bones ' ; it strips 
 him of his vices. Can you imagine a skeleton taking too 
 much to drink, for instance? No, it's a mercy ! " 
 
 Tristram's sensitiveness showed a shrinking from such 
 a squalid inspection of the past. The old dame's tongue 
 turned a sharp corner. 
 
 ' I'm going to tell you a love-story," said she. " That 
 man kicked to death a friend of mine, and I broke my leg 
 jumping too fast out of window to get at him. Provi- 
 dence seems to have stamped on the wrong foot that time ; 
 eh? There's one of the things I have to think him out of 
 the flesh for, for comfort's sake. This is not the love- 
 story, but it comes round to it. Bones used to beat his 
 own dogs every day and all day long, but not my boy — 
 till once. That day I heard curses, and all at once Billy 
 give a cry. I knew it for his. out of all others, and ran — 
 could run, I tell you, in those days ! Out of window I saw
 
 LADY PETWYN'S PAST 221 
 
 my poor beast chained, and my other beast in top-boots 
 kicking him. Murder's a quick brew: two of us got the 
 infection. Ever you've been in a real rage you've felt you 
 could fly. Anyway, a woman before she's forty has her 
 hallucinations at times. That was mine. In reality I 
 came smash. There was I along the cobble-stones ; and, 
 over the way, butchery by all the fiends ! Bones was doing 
 it : Billy, staunch beast, tugging at his chain to be at him. 
 Soon as he saw me, 'twas a double struggle : — he to get 
 my way, I to get his, — I dragging pain along with me 
 that was like a ton of mustard. Down goes Billy just as 
 I got to him. The last I remembered was having hold of 
 Bones's hand with my teeth where Billy had bitten him 
 just before. And for the result of that day's work Sir 
 Cooper had to do without an heir. 
 
 " Five years I shared house with him after that. Think 
 of it, and me lame, hobbling with that thing for a memory ! 
 He never struck me ; I waited for it ; he seemed to know 
 why. That's how it is, my dear, I never murdered him. 
 People who knew what he was, thought me a model of 
 duty ; and when I die, as I've made no provision against 
 it, I suppose they will lay me alongside of Bones with all 
 the decorum in the world. Poor Bones, how will he like 
 it, I wonder ! " 
 
 From this narrative Tristram gathered for the first time 
 the full meaning of a certain tombstone in Little Alwyn 
 churchyard. After many years of neglect Lady Petwyn 
 had one day set herself right with the neighbourhood by 
 erecting a handsome memorial over the late Baronet's re- 
 mains. That had been done within Tristram's own brief 
 memory. He remembered the wording of the inscription, 
 and saw now its underlying significance. 
 
 ■ti 
 
 '•'Here rest," was how it ran. "the bones of Sir Cooper Cooper 
 Petwyn, Bart., Lord of the Manor of Alwyn, sometime Master of 
 the Tavishire Foxhounds, Justice of the Peace."
 
 222 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Date of death and date of erection followed ; not a word 
 of sentiment or untruth ; only the ponderous eloquence of 
 costly stone to say whether this poor dust had not once 
 its value in men's eyes. 
 
 " And now," went on her ladyship, " how did I come to 
 marry him? It's a life of me you will have to hear." So, 
 then and there, Tristram heard from hard withered lips, 
 a brave lady's love-story. 
 
 The only love her gaoler of a heart had ever let go to 
 man had won freedom behind sound of galloping hoofs 
 on a road leading she knew not whither. The gallant, 
 fine gentleman, pauper, and rogue, all rolled into one, who 
 was her companion and tempter in that exploit, had beheld 
 her first in a church pew, ranked with the demure misses 
 in their teens, of an aristocratic boarding school; and, 
 more dazzled by her high darting glance than by her for- 
 tune — for 'twas whispered there sat an heiress — had 
 come, a stranger, and borne her off under the full stare of 
 day. Adding by a few dextrous strokes ten years to the 
 ten which already made him her senior, he had presented 
 himself in a post-chaise white with the dust of its speed, 
 bearing a missive purporting to tell of a father dying in 
 apoplectic state, as befitted an alderman. 
 
 The heiress of two hundred thousand pounds was trust- 
 ingly confided to a man without a penny that was not 
 borrowed, by a head mistress who had the merit of know- 
 ing a gentleman when she saw him. 
 
 A mile from the start, being a man of feeling, the gal- 
 lant dried the young girl's eyes with a broad hint of her 
 father's safety. He bade her look at the bright world that 
 flew past, and draw full breath at being out in it. Did 
 she wish to return ? 
 
 " Where am I going? " she asked him. 
 
 Exactly wherever she liked, he told her, — to Scotland, 
 whose marriages were more made by Heaven than were
 
 LADY PETWYN'S PAST 223 
 
 England's for preference. He promised her his heart, 
 and white heather instead of orange blossom, yet declared 
 that the decision of the matter rested with her. She 
 tested him once, bidding him put the chaise about. The 
 thing was done promptly. The sight of the school roofs, 
 and the sound of the bell at that moment giving harsh 
 summons to drudgery from which she was free, made her 
 reverse the order. They arrived very late at the inn which 
 was to be their first resting-place. The lover had insisted, 
 in spite of postilions ; had even allowed himself to appear 
 in fear of pursuit. They roused a sleeping house ; and 
 the cause of his solicitude presently appeared in a respect- 
 able waiting-woman whom he had engaged beforehand to 
 keep guard over a young girl's reputation. She received 
 her mistress into safe-keeping, and was able to give evi- 
 dence after, which was the undoing of the whole scheme. 
 " Heigho ! " was the poor lady's regretful comment on 
 that incongruity in the midst of an otherwise romantic 
 and promising episode. 
 
 The northward miles flew all too briefly ; separation 
 followed hard. After an unchurched clinching before 
 witnesses, the lover handed back his wedded wife to the 
 pursuing and enraged relatives, and went gaily off to en- 
 dure the legal penalty for abduction which he had in- 
 curred. Any church ceremony, if they wished for it, 
 could wait his return to liberty. The girl-wife swore faith 
 to his face and behind his back. It was noticeable that 
 she met the parental eye without blushing. Enquiry was 
 started ; the waiting-woman was questioned ; the gallant 
 himself made a courteous avowal that he had postponed 
 till a more ceremonious occasion the assertion of his 
 indubitable rights. He kissed his hand metaphorically to 
 the mistress of his heart, retiring behind iron doors for 
 the space of two years. The period was long enough to 
 give the lady's family time to act on hopes destined cruelly
 
 224 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 to be realised. Supported by certain certificates, proof 
 up to the hilt, a private bill was brought into Parliament 
 and passed, annulling the fly-away marriage. 1 icing a 
 minor the poor girl was left without voice in the matter, 
 and deprived willy-nilly of the man of her heart. Pathet- 
 ically ignorant to the last as to how her lover's generous 
 , scruples had betrayed her, she returned to school and 
 spinsterhood, and became five years afterwards the wife 
 of Sir Cooper Petwyn, a man willing, for the sake of com- 
 pensations, to take over the victim of a dead romance. 
 Thus Lady Petwyn went to her living tomb. 
 
 She told Tristram the tale with a dry relish, ironic to 
 the last : yet with her own fate had not quite reached the 
 end of her story. After her parent's death, being then 
 tied up in decent matrimony, she became the mistress of 
 her own property, and was minded to override such 
 things as private acts of Parliament. Thus she finished 
 her story : — 
 
 ' I saw myself free to be my own mistress — and his. 
 A year or two of Bones had sufficed to make me feel 
 under no bonds. Off I went to discover my true mate; 
 hunted, and found him. I had no illusion or romance 
 then. Yet there was a mutual something between us. I 
 knew to my cost that there was loyalty in him. Poor 
 rogue! to pass the time, perhaps to rid himself of a 
 momentary embarrassment, he had married a mere any- 
 body, and between them the precarious couple had come 
 by a baby. The event proved that no life lay in it. I 
 never saw so disappointed a face as his when he found 
 what he had missed for lack of a little patience. Words 
 stopped : we recognised each other's meaning : seeing 
 that new bonds were uppermost, silence was the best med- 
 icine for our chagrin. 
 
 " I saw the wife: a good little thing, cut out to be the 
 drudge of a brilliant ne'er-do-weel. His truth to her was
 
 LADY PETWYN'S PAST 225 
 
 foolish and touching ; there was so little need for it ; and 
 he pitied himself so hugely ! 
 
 " I never saw them again ; but it pleased me to dribble 
 out a dole to that poor domestic squaw about which he 
 was to know nothing. It gave him an easier conscience 
 to see that, whatever he did or didn't do for her, she had 
 food enough for her mouth, and a roof over her head. He 
 ambled about, wit, buffoon, and odd-corner man to gay 
 circles ; I don't know what he did to avoid making a 
 living, I should doubt whether he kept honest. It took 
 him twenty years to catch his death, the one thing he 
 proved slow over. When he was dying in his own way, 
 I suppose his wife got soft-hearted and blabbed my name. 
 A child had turned up to them absurdly just at the last, 
 and the poor woman's betrayal of my finger in their pie 
 set him naming the thing after me. She sent me word of 
 it in black edges — I was a widow and a godmother in 
 one ; also a puppy he had the training of. It came by his 
 last orders, with his grateful respects, I was to be told. 
 That was poor Billy : the dog only survived his master 
 two years. Bones ! bones ! bones ! there's three of them 
 to think about ! " 
 
 Tristram had not a face he could decently show. She 
 looked at him curiously. " I'm glad it can make some- 
 body snivel," she said ; " it never did me ! To me it's all 
 dead history; there isn't an ounce of sentiment left in 
 me." 
 
 And Tristram, with his heart raging for the pity of the 
 romance which had fallen from those dry lips, was ready 
 with youth's credulity to take her word for it ! 
 
 He had some reason to believe in her general hardness 
 of heart : he had talked to her of Cob's Hole, a disgrace 
 to any property, and had been scornfully chaffed for his 
 pains. It was then she had bid him quit scavenging. 
 " Those hovels," said she, " are merely what the people 
 2
 
 226 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 have made of them. Were I to spend two thousand 
 pounds and set up model dwellings in their places, before 
 three years were over they would be human pig-sties once 
 more. When your labourer lives less like a beast it 
 will be time enough to think of housing him." That was 
 her last word as regards practical reform ; the rest was 
 chaff of Tristram, high-horsed on theories drawn from 
 the books of his beloved Sage. " I hear that your source 
 of wisdom has gone dotty," she said ruthlessly. 
 
 The Tramp, hearing rumour of it elsewhere, went over 
 to the dear man's abode, and was told of illness in the 
 room over his head ; the faithful housekeeper's grief 
 grew fresh as she spoke of it. The boy begged leave to 
 go and stand by the Sage's door for a moment. He 
 called through softly, sending his love, and heard within 
 a frail voice that rambled. It seemed to wither and 
 make unsubstantial all his raw dreams for the help of 
 his fellow-man, flawing the structure of his first scheme 
 of morality. 
 
 Trudging home tired and dispirited from that errand, 
 he got cheer in meeting Lizzie Haycraft carrying her 
 week's laundry down to the Vicarage. She bore it on 
 her head proudly, high-stepping, a dark gipsy beauty ; 
 other girls laughed at her as she went by, for so outland- 
 ish a mode of carrying her burden. To Tristram it gave 
 her so fine an air, he would not spoil it by any offer to 
 share the load. It satisfied his theories that England 
 could still produce such women from her lowliest classes ; 
 by the strength of such maidenhood she could still be a 
 mother of nations. 
 
 Lizzie told him of Ray's unexpected return home. 
 Hurrying to the unlooked-for encounter he found his 
 friend gloriously bronzed and well, laid up with an athletic 
 malady, his arm in a sling, and defiantly cheerful under 
 discomfort. Three weeks' anticipation of the term's end 
 seemed good pay for a put-out shoulder.
 
 LADY PETWYN'S PAST 227 
 
 During the companionable weeks following, Marcia fell 
 into line, consenting even to be one in excursions through 
 the Hill Alwyn demesne. Tristram, perceiving that Ray 
 was no longer one of her absurd jealousies, sucked the 
 sweets of this new harmony, for coldness among his 
 friends was a slight to his happy instinct for selection. 
 Pleased to see that one shadow had passed, he was aware 
 that Lady Petwyn still lay outside Marcia's pale of 
 charity. It was an amusing situation, therefore, when 
 one day the dame rode in on them, nodded to the two 
 youths, and reaching out a cordial hand took Marcia's, 
 saying, "So you are the Tramp's sister? We must be 
 better acquainted." 
 
 All the way home Marcia carried in her eye a light of 
 opposition. The jealous demon it seemed was not dead 
 in her.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A FALL RASHLY REPENTED 
 
 \ T the fag end of a three months' idleness Raymond 
 found time lying heavily on his hands. Circum- 
 stances deprived him of the companionship which had 
 made many long holidays spin merrily ; the Tramp was 
 away with mother and sister tanning himself in sea- 
 breezes and the wash of tides that brought to him a 
 memory of blue eyes. There, on a sunny slope high over 
 the bay, Doris's name marked the place of her enduring 
 exile. 
 
 Raymond had not Tristram's knack of busying himself 
 with solitude, and now, being left to his own resources, 
 the dread of being involved in parochial interests as a 
 preliminary training to the " call " which was to come 
 upon him with ordination, kept him adrift early and late 
 from the paternal roof. 
 
 ' I a parson ! " At sound of the church-bell each 
 morning the thought shocked him out of sleep, to the 
 knowledge that his father was already up reciting matins 
 for an absent parish. The parental example before his 
 eyes made him shame-faced over his intended vocation ; 
 yet affection compromised him into silence. Only once 
 had he broached the subject directly, in order to express 
 doubts of himself. His father commended them, and 
 passed them by. Had he, was the main question, doubts 
 that touched critically to the root of things? The good, 
 
 228
 
 A FALL RASHLY REPENTED 229 
 
 equable youth could declare he had none, and so answer- 
 ing, saw the other's mind forthwith set at rest. Protesting 
 himself not good enough, he spoke to a benevolent blank 
 wall. " The best of us are unworthy," said his father, 
 and gave him a priest's book of private devotions to keep 
 by his pillow. 
 
 The two were excellent friends, but shy in communi- 
 cation with each other; to his father alone of all men 
 Raymond was conscious of deceit and eye-service. He 
 spoke of him to Tristram with easy affection, and would 
 have run to the world's end to express his gratitude for 
 the hundred and one absent-minded kindnesses which 
 had smoothed their relations through life. To '' keep 
 square " was to Raymond's mind the filial debt which he 
 owed, but his endeavours to do so never drew him into 
 confidential intimacy with the one whose approval he 
 sought. Thus it was that, when the neighbourhood of 
 Little Alwyn set up an irritation in his moral system, the 
 poor fellow, with his father at hand, discovered himself 
 lonely. Tristram, his absurd gallivanting junior, was 
 the medicine his soul missed. He found himself quitting 
 home in fits and starts — away on a round of visits to 
 acquaintances and relatives, only to return in haste. For 
 the cure to be of any effect it must be found on the same 
 spot where the malady existed. Rushing to study his 
 disease again at closer quarters, he discerned fresh 
 symptoms that amazed him by their intensity. In the 
 grip of fresh irresolution, he shook his head savagely ; 
 cursed himself honestly for a fool and a worse thing still, 
 and with that salve to his conscience became all the more 
 entangled. 
 
 Flight up to town itself failed also to give the counter- 
 distraction he needed. He came back again after a few 
 days' absence, and was seen gun in hand roaming through 
 fields where little game was to be had, where he was as
 
 230 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 like to find mushrooms as partridges. At other times a 
 yet more solitary mood caught him : he took to roving 
 Randogger empty-handed, an idle young giant with no 
 trees to fell. 
 
 The matter was quite an ordinary one ; but the 
 novelty of this, the first attack, set Raymond plunging. 
 To the energies of a big breezy machine of a body, that 
 bore him involuntarily to strenuous trials of a sound 
 constitution, he coupled a minimum of philosophy. Days 
 were when he chased like a hunter on a false trail, fooled 
 by his game; then, again, would protest his indifference 
 and fever himself under forced inactivity. He groaned 
 and set his teeth ; held on, only to let go ; took fire once 
 again for the quest, applied bellows to the flame, flagged, 
 beat himself with opprobrious epithets — and was where 
 he had been before. Never was so much waste to so little 
 purpose, as in this his first conscious fight with himself, 
 one wherein English youth is characteristically lonely. 
 Tristram on such matters had already his high theories, 
 and was beginning to mouth them : Ray had none. The 
 blood, boots, and bones of beefy manhood took him afield 
 early and late, but found him no cure beneath the sky. 
 
 With a mingled feeling of discontent and relief he saw 
 himself at last with only one day's more freedom ; he 
 was due at Oxford again on the morrow. Having but a 
 few hours in hand to make or mar, he let the fever in his 
 feet carry him a likely way. 
 
 Under the red flanks of Quarry Wood, he saw, up 
 amid the nut-bushes that crowned the impossible ascent, 
 an abrupt ruffling among the leaves. Before long he had 
 glimpsed a blue print gown, and an arm busy crooking 
 down the green cluster. So sighting the very thing he 
 had sought, he called it Fate; and skirting the quarries 
 to a place where footing became possible, bolted up the 
 ascent.
 
 A FALL RASHLY REPENTED 231 
 
 He reached the crest breathless, and pushed his way 
 through a thick screen of branches, to the spot where he 
 saw the picker at work. Her figure stood in dusk against 
 the clear daylight behind, laced over by a lattice-like 
 pattern of boughs and leaves. Below lay a wide land- 
 scape, wooded and pastoral, already tinting into golden 
 decay ; while picture-like between the bend of her arm 
 and her side, showed a group of red cattle grazing over 
 a distant hill. So scaled the girl's form stood out large 
 and impressive amid its surroundings ; she seemed a 
 Pomona of the woods, a goddess run free, making the 
 wilds her home. 
 
 She paid no heed at all to the youth's approach, till 
 the disingenuous " Hullo, Liz ! " of his surprise at finding 
 her bade her know that her solitude was invaded. Thereat 
 her head went round with a slow gesture of unwelcoming 
 recognition. She returned his gaze, not his salutation ; 
 and while her hands continued to ply their task, went on 
 eyeing him with a quiet air of enquiry. 
 
 When a maid is nut-harvesting a man may lend hands 
 and play at lightening her task for her. However much 
 she might look to question his coming, Raymond showed 
 no embarrassment in holding his ground. He gathered, 
 and threw his handfuls into the pouch that depended from 
 her waist, till to mix fingers over the same bough became 
 the natural thing. 
 
 " It's a warm day, Liz ! " he observed presently. She 
 answered, " Yes," and picked on. If his choice was to 
 stay, hers was to go on with her work. As she moved 
 independently he followed her from bush to bush, with a 
 mind divided between restraint and avowal, cudgelling 
 his wits for speech. 
 
 " Liz," he began at length, with stress of tone, " I saw 
 you from down yonder ; that's why I came. You didn't 
 see me? "
 
 232 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ' I wasn't looking behind me," she answered. 
 
 He reached across, and dropped more nuts into her 
 pannier. "You know I'm off to-morrow?" he pursued 
 urgently. 
 
 She nodded. ' They told me that when I was over 
 yesterday. You'll be wanting your things ready. They'll 
 be down the first thing in the morning." 
 
 " You know I'm not thinking about them ! " said 
 Raymond. 
 
 " Maybe not," replied the girl. 
 
 " You know what I am thinking of? " 
 
 " Maybe I do: I don't ask 'e to say?" 
 
 " I will say ! " cried Raymond, getting hot. 
 
 " As you please," she answered, and plucked fast and 
 hard. She worked, smothered under nuttage and leaves, 
 the rough clusters rubbing against her face. Suddenly, 
 the youth's hands parted the covering, " Liz, my beauty ! 
 Oh, Liz! " he cried, his lips reaching forward for hers. 
 They brushed retreating sweetness. 
 
 For a moment he saw only her reddened visage drawn 
 back angrily with a gesture of disdain. Unaccountably 
 it changed. Her eyes opened wide, full of horrid interro- 
 gating surprise : she slipped bodily from his view ; in her 
 place he beheld sky. The bough her hand had released 
 flew across and fetched him a buffet over the face ; it left 
 him blind for an instant to the thing that was happen- 
 ing. 
 
 Lizzie's free-limbed movement quickened- by anger had 
 carried her further than her reckoning. For one moment 
 she felt herself standing clear of the bushes ; in another 
 her feet had given way on leathery turf ; she was down. 
 
 Horrified, but without a cry, she found herself still fall- 
 ing. Her hands went out to catch at grass that snapped 
 or came away whole from a shallow soil. Nothing checked 
 the decisive impetus of her descent. Her feet came over
 
 A FALL RASHLY REPENTED 233 
 
 a sheer edge ; slipped as from land ; broke the crumbling 
 rim of earth that held them to life. She felt herself hor- 
 ribly sucked to the gulf of space below ; up overhead light 
 nut boughs bobbed in the wind, airy hand-holds, not one 
 within reach. 
 
 So Raymond caught sight of her, already half-lost, on 
 the utter verge of a slope where his feet could find no 
 standing. Yet had the attempt been rank folly,, he would 
 still have gone after her. His hand, by instinct, got hold 
 of the one chance of safety for both — the forked ends of 
 a far-leaning bough; with that he sprang and slid the 
 incline, crying out to her to lay hands on him. Not a 
 moment too soon his feet shot into her reach ; she caught 
 him by ankle and shin, and clung, on the very edge of 
 death. He was the chain that held her to life, he ! — she 
 clasped him with that at her heart. 
 
 With limbs sensitive to the crisis of the moment she 
 shook horribly, and felt bound, powerless to stir. Her 
 knees quailed as the earth gave under them. 
 
 " I am going to let go ! " she murmured. 
 
 His voice above her said, " No! " and " If you loose, 
 Liz, I go too ! " 
 
 She clung the harder for that, but could not move. Her 
 breast tugged for air, and relapsed in harsh sobbings — a 
 pitiful sound. Ray spoke to give her comfort, hardly 
 reckoning what he said. She held on and on. 
 
 "Have pluck, then you'll feel safer!" he told her. 
 " You are quite safe so long as you hold on to me." 
 Presently he called, " Bring yourself a little higher, then 
 you can take hold of my hand ! " 
 
 Her mind obeying his word of command began to re- 
 cover its faculties. She looked up to see on what link 
 he and she hung together in life, and recognised by how 
 hazardous a thread their being depended. Raymond lay 
 on his back, one hand stretched over his head had hold of
 
 234 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 a few leafy stems ; not so much as a main branch held 
 their weight. 
 
 The sight strung her to action. With the thought, " If 
 one of those give way, I must loose," she struggled to 
 bring her knees across the brink of soil which continually 
 gave under them. Succeeding after a while, and relieved 
 of the lower strain, her hands began to creep upwards ; 
 gaining inch by inch, at last she held him by the knees. 
 His free hand reaching down, caught and gave her a full 
 hoist, so high that she was drawn clear of the abyss, and 
 could dig temporary foothold for herself in the recovered 
 ground. 
 
 After that, though the position was scarcely a com- 
 fortable one for unstrung nerves, the real peril was over; 
 she needed but to regain strength before mounting the 
 remainder of the slope by her companion's aid. At once 
 she became weak again, and lay sobbing with her head 
 against his knee, having scarcely the will to move. So 
 long as she had hung suspended over death Raymond had 
 been to her no more than an instrument, a rope or pole 
 thrust for her deliverance. Now her hand lay in his, a 
 mutual thankfulness thrilled them both; shame and pride 
 inextricably mingled made bonds betw r een them. She 
 closed her eyes in a vain attempt to recover possession of 
 her soul. 
 
 Raymond began to speak ; she could not defend her 
 ears, but must hear her deliverer give himself all the 
 bitter blame he deserved. To let him do so at all seemed 
 to her now ingratitude. 
 
 To his prayer for forgiveness, " Don't speak of it ! " she 
 whispered, " don't ever ! " 
 
 " But I must ! " he insisted, and was selfish, pushing his 
 claim for the word to be spoken. " Just think, Liz," he 
 urged, " supposing you had gone, it would have been my 
 doing!"
 
 A FALL RASHLY REPENTED 235 
 
 " But you didn't, Mr. Raymond ; you saved my life. 
 Remember that, no need to mind about the rest! It was 
 folly ; you didn't mean nothing." 
 
 " Eh, my girl, but I did," said Raymond, unwilling to 
 have that particular fault made light of. " I meant a 
 good deal — a deuced sight too much, and that's the 
 truth ! " 
 
 She said no more for the moment. Raymond, begin- 
 ning to realise the cramping strain of his position, gave 
 forth a groan of lenient complaint. Getting his hand in 
 under her arm, " Up with you ! " he cried, " I am tired 
 of dangling here like a pendulum. So ! " and had her up 
 on the slope beside him. 
 
 They sat looking over the place which a few moments 
 before had promised them death. The sense that she was 
 but just safe made him still hold her fast. He got sight 
 then for the first time of her poor face, blanched and 
 haggard with its emotions. The havoc wrought on her 
 physical beauty woke in him a more lively contrition ; 
 he became a suitor for full and immediate pardon. " Poor 
 Liz," he murmured, " poor dear Heart, call me a brute ; 
 it's what lam!" 
 
 She turned her face away, mounting a colour she 
 wished him not to see. 
 
 He was urgent again to know whether she forgave 
 him. 
 
 " There's naught to forgive ! " she declared. " You 
 done nothing; it was foolish of me to fling out as I did. 
 And now, whatever you'd done, I'd have to forgive 'e, 
 and be in your debt always. It's not a thing to be 
 spoken of." 
 
 She ended by begging him to let her go. But for that 
 their hearts are now too close ; neither of them could act 
 quite honestly : each spoke the word and stayed, irresolute 
 to perform.
 
 236- A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 At length, to get herself free, she began gently to push 
 off the hand which held her. In spite of the action, he 
 saw pardon flowing to him out of her deep eyes. Her 
 breath warmed his cheek as she made her first faint effort 
 to escape ; and, " Oh, Liz, Liz ! " cried the youth, drawing 
 breath over the fire within, and held her fast. 
 
 " Let me go, let me go," she whimpered ; and sighed 
 blissfully to feel his clasp tighten at the word. 
 
 The man in him moaned like an animal getting free of 
 its pain. Crying, " I love you! " he believed deeply then 
 the truth of his word. 
 
 " Let me go ! let me go ! " she answered, testing the 
 strength of the chain that kept her his prisoner. 
 
 " Show me you forgive me ! " cried Ray ; " then I will." 
 
 " I do, I do ! " 
 
 " Make me believe it ! " 
 
 She moved her head hopelessly about, with eyes that 
 said " Take " plainly enough. " Give ! " she saw, was the 
 demand made by his. 
 
 " Dear girl, what was it you wouldn't give me just 
 now? " he taxed her to say. " Why did you jump down 
 here with me after you ? " 
 
 She sighed, yielding her defences one by one. 
 
 " You didn't mean nothing then," she said. 
 
 " I did ; and I mean it more than ever now ! " 
 
 " What ? " she murmured, and threw back her head to 
 drink in the light of day through half-shut lids. From 
 the blue communing of heaven, her eyes fell back upon 
 her lover's face. 
 
 " Just this ! " he sent word to her ear, " that I love you 
 best of all the women in this world. Love you ! — there 
 you have it, Liz ! — so much, that if you had gone over, 
 over I'd have gone too; and if that hadn't done for me, 
 I'd have been a miserable wretch to the end of my days! 
 Just a kiss, Liz ! Two ! What'll you give me ? "
 
 A FALL RASHLY REPENTED 237 
 
 " Oh, that's all foolishness," muttered the girl, but laid 
 all at once a face of crimson down by his. ' Take 'em," 
 she whispered, " take 'em, Mr. Raymond, but never tell 
 me no lies ! 'Twas bound to be so. You love me just for 
 a bit; but you I love worse than well. I've knowed that 
 all along ! " 
 
 Raymond gathered her to him, surprised by the passion 
 of her face in its surrender. She seemed a new woman, 
 uplifted by the pure effort of her heart to show him its 
 love. Conceiving dimly something in her nature tran- 
 scending his, he felt a shame lest her eyes should discern 
 the shortcomings he knew. He urged his tongue to speak 
 flattery to her ears — self-flattery to his own also; for a 
 man's passions win the credulous hearing of his heart. 
 
 " Ah, Liz," he sighed, " it's easy for a woman to talk ! 
 You can't tell how I love you ; for it's certain I can't tell 
 myself. You only see a corner of it all." 
 
 She covered his lips with her cheek to keep them from 
 words. ; ' Don't 'e tell me no lies," she whispered again; 
 " I can think you love me well enough so long as you don't 
 speak it ; and that's good enough : — all I can ever want 
 or hope." 
 
 She felt the protest his lips made. " No, no, Mr. Ray- 
 mond ! " she cried, and drew herself away from him. " you 
 can never love me as I do you, not if I was to save your 
 life fifty times, you couldn't do it. That's no lie I'm tell- 
 ing you." 
 
 " Save it and see," said Raymond, and had her fast 
 once more. " See now ! Which kisses best, you or I ? " 
 
 But from the midst of his embrace she held herself 
 back, and gazed long into his eyes ; and at the end of 
 the scrutiny, turned her head and looked away from him. 
 She had too much common-sense to be deceived by such 
 signs. 
 
 Raymond felt a chill. Somehow she judged him ; her
 
 238 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 very humility accused him and set her higher than it could 
 please his conscience to feel. His eyes, too, went out 
 with hers across the fields, dotted over with the slow- 
 moving incidents of rustic life; through the green and 
 the gold, foot-tracks showed in thin lines making toward 
 the road that led on to Little Alwyn ; field and wood, all 
 ways converged to that end. 
 
 Presently his attention became fixed on a dark figure 
 moving at a busy and earnest pace along the nearest field- 
 path, the black-frocked figure of a man un-native to its 
 surroundings; solitary, and a little foolish he seemed to 
 the young man's eye. 
 
 The pedestrian had traversed over a hundred yards 
 before Raymond broke silence ; he spoke with effort : — 
 
 " Liz, look out there! " He nodded her to the object 
 of his regards. "There goes a good man!" said he; 
 " one who believes his son is going to be a parson like 
 himself. If he could look up here, what would he think 
 now? " 
 
 " Maybe the truth," said Lizzie, " that the world's a 
 foolish place to preach in." Together they stared at the 
 stooped form ambling in black, a dense preoccupied figure 
 of a man. 
 
 " You think that is the truth? " queried Raymond, and 
 got himself up from the turf. Lizzie rose too, and stood 
 at his side: neither looked at the other. After a long 
 silence Raymond spoke. 
 
 " Liz," he said, " I'm a devil of a fool ; have been, I 
 mean. You know what I want to say." 
 
 " If I know," she answered, " why say it?" 
 
 " I will; truth is better said out. Look here! I'm off 
 to-morrow. We — we shan't forget each other in a hurry, 
 shall we, Liz? You arc a good girl, I swear it ! As good 
 as they make 'em. We — I — oh, hang it ! — say good- 
 bye, Liz, but don't look at me! I'm off; that's all about
 
 A FALL RASHLY REPENTED 239 
 
 it!" He turned his back abruptly, crying, "Good- 
 bye ! " 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Raymond," said the girl, and without 
 another word reached back her hands to the nutting. He 
 did not see her face. So they parted. Raymond ran. 
 
 He was but halfway down the declivity out of the 
 wood when his movements underwent a sharp change. 
 He turned and raced back to the nut-coppice with more 
 speed than he had left it a moment before, the lover 
 conquering. 
 
 " Liz, Liz ! " he called. Her place was vacant. " Liz ! " 
 Distant echoes answered him. He searched the wood 
 over but could not find her. She was away — lost to 
 him, it seemed, by a momentary lapse into the unnatural 
 man. Morals then to the youth seemed a very utter 
 folly.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 BOOTS LEAD A DANCE AT HILL ALWYN 
 
 QO, when the Tramp returned home in the late 
 ^ autumn, history of which he knew nothing had 
 been shaping behind his back. Brief history, it is true, 
 and showing at first sight a negative aspect, an undoing 
 rather than a doing of the mischief devised by fate. Yet 
 there is some significance, if you think of it, when fain 
 wooer and fain wooed, the masterful and the mastered, 
 without any fixed principle to go by, consent to the 
 thwarting impulse of a moment, destined thereafter to 
 drag out a sorry repentance. 
 
 Raymond schooled his bewildered chagrin under a 
 grudging acceptance of the moral aspect which had 
 obtruded in so unwelcome a fashion. The thing he had 
 done seemed so out of character he could scarcely regard 
 it as his own action ; nor did separation do anything to 
 reconcile him to the act he had been in such haste to 
 recall. Now that he had let the girl go he felt himself 
 all the more drawn by the wild woodland enchantment 
 her beauty had for him. The world recks little of the 
 keen repentance that follows upon some of our most 
 correct actions. 
 
 Lizzie submitted more easily to a separation which 
 came not of her own initiation ; having once declared its 
 passion, her more chaste nature stood quiescent, attendant 
 on a stronger will. In other hands now lay the decision 
 
 240
 
 A DANCE AT HILL ALWYN 241 
 
 of her future : she was there, if her lover should ever 
 choose to return to her. 
 
 Her common sense bade her not think of it. To have 
 won so much of Raymond's regard, despite their relative 
 stations, was a memory she could be proud of ; and the 
 sudden scruple which had led to his abrupt leave-taking 
 had but enhanced the value of the expression. She could 
 honour the act that left her desolate ; prizing him, and 
 setting more store on his passion from the very fact that 
 he had torn their two inclinations in twain. The differ- 
 ence in their two natures drew them to make opposite 
 sacrifices : she was ready in faithful service to risk any- 
 thing : he, by a momentary impulse of self-restraint, had 
 proved that his passion held unexpected grains of good. 
 With loyal silence she had given him the quittance he 
 demanded : her laurels were the release she had been 
 quick to render him. " Liz ! Liz ! " he had called, and 
 she had not answered. 
 
 Tristram's first meeting with the girl on his return be- 
 fell at an opportune moment. On the right-of-way foot- 
 path across the Hill Alwyn property he heard high voices 
 ahead of him, and presently recognised the disputants. 
 Lizzie came up to him with a high head and a flushed face, 
 quitting the enforced company of MacAllister. The un- 
 welcome encounter was not by any means the first she 
 had had to put up with, but of that Tristram knew noth- 
 ing. Lizzie herself disdained to state her cause for com- 
 plaint ; while Tristram, for his part, took the evidence his 
 eyes afforded, forbearing to ask questions. 
 
 He gave MacAllister the curtest of salutations and 
 marched past him, strutting somewhat consciously, a 
 squire of beauty in distress. 
 
 The MacAllister, left to his own meditations, looked 
 after the couple with something more than suspicion, and 
 snuffed a tainted air. Fist down on palm registered con
 
 2 4 -' A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 viction of a new reason for hatred between him and Tris- 
 tram. Within a week a bloody head got from a knock 
 behind on a dark night precipitated him into further in- 
 sane suspicions utterly wide of the mark. A neighbour- 
 hood that bred poachers gave cover also to released gaol- 
 birds, between whom and a prosecuting bailiff grudges 
 had occasionally to be paid off. MacAllisters vindictive 
 and hasty temper, however, lighted forthwith on the prov- 
 ocation that lay nearest; so, beholding himself with a 
 bruised head, he took woman to be its cause, and let his 
 mind run naturally towards the one who had proved most 
 kittle in her receipt of his attentions. From that hour he 
 had his nose down on the fancied scent, pursuing a double 
 vengeance along a single trail. 
 
 Through this slight incident Tristram came to be in- 
 volved, without knowing it, in the workings of a drama 
 whose mainsprings lay hidden from his sight, and to act 
 a leading part in the play of other folks' passions : a 
 curious fate for one who was not lacking in wilful initia- 
 tive of his own. Here in his career his history begins to 
 be secondary to that of other people, till his faculty for 
 meddling brings him to fresh catastrophe. You that dis- 
 approve of him have but to wait to see his self-destructive 
 instincts bringing him to the fore again. 
 
 Just at the beginning of winter rumours went about that 
 Hill Alwyn was in commotion : maids twittering with 
 hysterics, grooms actually giving notice to quit, my lady 
 in high dudgeon back from town to know what the mean- 
 ing of it all was. A scaring tale was told her. 
 
 On the evening of her return she sent a man over for 
 Tristram, with a horse to ensure his speedier arrival. He 
 came in by the stable-entrance. 
 
 " Seen Bones ? " was her first word of greeting to him 
 on entrance. She thumped her fist up and down in wrath, 
 and bewildered him by a plunge into the centre of things
 
 A DANCE AT HILL ALWYN 243 
 
 concerning which he had not even the beginnings of 
 knowledge. 
 
 " He's trying to turn me out of the place, as though I 
 hadn't paid for it ! " she started to cry in high tones. 
 ' Who? — why, Bones, of course! If he goes on with it 
 I'll have his monument hauled down over his head; he 
 shall have green grass to lie under, and thank himself for 
 the scandal it'll make ! " 
 
 The Tramp begged to be told what had happened ; the 
 dame let him hear her end of it. Word had come up to 
 her in town that two stablemen and the coachman were 
 bent on leaving, and pending release would not go into 
 the stables after dark ; that all the women were squealing 
 themselves into hysterics, gratuitously gluing their faces 
 night by night to windows looking out over the kennels; 
 and that no less than five top-boots had been seen standing 
 in the yard and agitating themselves in a singular manner 
 for empty ones. 
 
 " Top-boots ? " queried Tristram, with his mind back 
 into history. 
 
 " Alive and kicking," the lady asserted them to be. 
 " It's poor Billy he's after," she said. " Don't tell me it's 
 repentance ; none of your Doctor Johnsons standing bare- 
 headed in the rain at Lichfield ! If that were his state of 
 mind he wouldn't be kicking his toes out rehearsing the 
 job. No! he does it to drive me out and get the Cooper- 
 Petwyn crew in again. Family pride was always his 
 next strongest point after drink ; he always let me know 
 he'd married beneath him." 
 
 ' Very well," she went on, arguing into air, " to-morrow 
 my lawyer comes, and I make my will ! After that he may 
 kick till Doomsday ; his family shan't profit ! " 
 
 It was apparent that hatred had swallowed up the lady's 
 common sense. 
 
 Tristram said, " Have you seen the thing yourself? "
 
 244 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 'I'm going to!" she answered. ' That's what I've 
 come down from town to do. If five fools have seen it 
 why shouldn't 1 ? " 
 
 She ordered the household to bed, and made Tristram 
 keep her company at a back-window to past midnight. 
 To while away the time he talked till she bade him not 
 chatter ; in the silence that ensued she snapped at every 
 least sound like a terrier for rats : animosity not fear set 
 her trembling by fits ; she had hold of the boy's hand. 
 Nothing at all happened. 
 
 She declared this to be his fault, and when the regula- 
 tion hour was well over dismissed him as unprofitable to 
 her purpose. Letting himself out of the dim hollow- 
 sounding house he went off, part for curiosity and part 
 for bravado, by way of the stables, and looking up saw 
 the implacable grey face still staring out at the night. 
 She shook her head at him savagely, waving him off as 
 though he were in the way of the ghostly manifestation. 
 Leaving her there was pathetic and grotesque enough ; 
 she, not the ghost, haunted him. A woman with a past 
 she was indeed ! 
 
 The event gave him a strange corner of her mind to 
 look into. If the Cooper- Petwyns got word of it thev 
 would hardly account her sane. He wondered how a will 
 would stand made under such circumstances. 
 
 A few days afterwards old Haycraft chuckled to Tris- 
 tram of the rumour that had reached him. 
 
 " Lord, Lord ! " he said, " it's wonderful what a little 
 the gentry do know ! Them boots be a sight older than 
 the Bar'net — a hundred years and more. Folks a' forgot 
 'em; they bin seen so seldom of late years. I seen 'em 
 though ; saw 'em when I was a boy." 
 
 He told Tristram the true storv. 
 
 From time immemorial, before there was a house at 
 Hill Alwyn, there were kennels and stables. One Harrop,
 
 A DANCE AT HILL ALWYN 245 
 
 a crusty devil by all accounts and a brute to his beasts, 
 was huntsman at a date near the middle of the eighteenth 
 century. He trained his pack on the empty-stomach sys- 
 tem, and was an all-round hard disciplinarian. One night 
 in early December there was a great noise up at the ken- 
 nels ; possibly a fox had skulked by and left scent of him- 
 self to his would-be eaters. Anyway, a very madness of 
 excitement took hold of the whole pack ; the din of it 
 came down to the huntsman's cottage about the hour when 
 he was making ready for bed. Making ready for bed 
 with him was by way of the brown jug. He got up from 
 his liquor with a curse, and stumbled out into darkness, 
 whip in hand. 
 
 Next morning his top-boots only were found, lying torn 
 and bloody against the doors of the kennels, and all the 
 hounds were on rampage fairly ravening. Those who saw 
 them got a horror over the sight ; they w r ere let forth one 
 by one and shot. 
 
 A true story, Haycraft averred ; and scoffed that a gang 
 of town menials should live in the place and not know of 
 it. After the tragedy the boots walked steadily for some 
 years, till the cottage was pulled down and the house built 
 over its site. That seemed- to give a check to the clock- 
 like regularity of the ghostly pedestrian ; but at times the 
 old uneasy spirit re-asserted itself, and boots were to be 
 seen up at the kennels doing the same dance as formerly. 
 
 " One man did tell me," said Haycraft, " that he saw 
 'em the year Sir Cooper died; — just before he died, 
 that would be. As to that I can't say, I was elsewhere in 
 those days ; but they do say always that it's a token of 
 evil to come ; twice it have been followed by the death of 
 a Master of the Tavishires, that being when he happened 
 to be one of the family. 'Tis a bad sign, anyway." 
 
 Tristram called to mind Lady Petwyn's gloomy fore- 
 bodings about herself, and her talk of making a will, and
 
 246 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 questioned whether to tell her or no. He did so, only to 
 rouse her into wrath at being robbed of the feud toward 
 which her heart had kindled a malignant welcome. " And 
 I've made my will," she said, as though it had become 
 wasted labour. She flourished in his face a threat to burn 
 it ; and when he saw no reason why not, if the thought of 
 the thing done displeased her, called him jackanapes and 
 fool. 
 
 At the beginning of December young Aubrey Cooper- 
 Petwyn, the least disliked of her numerous heirs pre- 
 sumptive, came to stay for a couple of weeks, and broke 
 his neck in the hunting-field through sheer bad riding. 
 Lady Petwyn harped on that fact, to wither her pity for a 
 young man cut off in his prime. 
 
 " I couldn't have trusted my horses to him," she said. 
 " A gentleman's first duty is to know how to ride." 
 
 She let Tristram understand that he owed her thanks 
 for that initiation. He had been present when the acci- 
 dent occurred, and went over as Lady Petwyn's represen- 
 tative to attend the poor lad's funeral. He found himself 
 curiously eyed by the relatives among whom he had come 
 on an errand of sympathy. They remained cold ; and 
 left him. an eye-witness, unquestioned for details of the 
 lamentable event, and unthanked for his presence. He 
 was forced to suppose that they blamed Lady Petwyn, 
 notorious for her reckless riding, and let a shadow of 
 their minds in the matter fall upon him, her emissary. 
 
 A kindly feeling prompted the dame to be absent from 
 the next meet of the season. Regarding one abstinence as 
 a sufficient sop to conventions she disrespected, she undid 
 the good by being present at the meet following. Word 
 went of it, and the whole house of Cooper-Petwyn, Cooper 
 and Co. bristled at the news. " They write to me with 
 porcupine quills," she told Tristram, " on paper with 
 black phylacteries double-breadth ! Am I to be cooped up
 
 A DANCE AT HILL ALWYN 247 
 
 a whole season because they couldn't teach a poor, foolish 
 boy how to ride properly ? " She nagged to quiet her con- 
 science ; for it was quite true that she had led the youth to 
 the jump that landed him in eternity. 
 
 As a consequence she demanded much of Tristram's 
 time to keep her amused, and wanted to know one day 
 why she always saw him in a hurry, with his nose pointing 
 
 WQSt. 
 
 He told her of Ben Haycraft smitten down under the 
 rigours of winter and approaching age; Lizzie, single- 
 handed, and so, house-bound, unable to do the necessary 
 marketings, or procure for the sick man the extra com- 
 forts he required ; only not driven to be bread-winner as 
 well, for the old rascal had his store, and could afford to 
 be frostbitten for a while without fear of lean poverty. 
 
 Beholding him much concerned, the lady doubted 
 whether the youth's errand was one of pure philanthropy ; 
 pious philandering rather, she suspected it to be, and en- 
 couraged it with promises of beef-tea and wine if Tris- 
 tram would trouble to come over and fetch them. One 
 day she added a bundle of blankets, and saw him carry off 
 the huge ungainly parcel without a suspicion that he was 
 being laughed at. 
 
 She was more puzzled when Christmas came to find 
 Raymond impressed into the same service, and just as 
 hot on it. " Young men didn't play at district-visiting 
 and parish-nursing in my day ! " she remarked ; and sup- 
 posed that among poachers blood was thicker than water 
 in some special degree. 
 
 It was by the old man's bed that Raymond and Lizzie 
 set eyes on each other again. The circumstances sealed 
 the compact of silence between them ; after many visits 
 the young man had not even the touch of her hands to 
 judge by. Her call for any to enter who knocked saved 
 her from coming to the door to meet him ; and from her
 
 248 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 eyes he could read nothing but gratitude for immediate 
 services. 
 
 Under their combined efforts Haycraft was cooked and 
 coddled through the worst part of the winter, and a 
 charmingly disreputable character saved to the neighbour- 
 hood. On the first pick-up of his strength the old man 
 hankered for a taste of his own game, much as did Isaac 
 for his son's venison. Together the two friends went out 
 and foraged the leafless cover: often keeping afield when 
 reward was scanty, and waiting freezing work. For the 
 mere sound of their shooting, coming down to him from 
 his own coppice, brought a queer satisfaction to the sick 
 man's ear; the passion of the chase infected his blood; 
 the thought that his " two young gen'lemen were at it " 
 whiled away the hours. Lizzie declared that nothing did 
 him so much good. 
 
 Tristram marched off a brace of her own pheasants to 
 Lady Petwyn one day, and made her purchase them for 
 the sake of the old poacher lying ill. The impertinence 
 of it pleased her vastly ; she invited him to go further and 
 try the same game on MacAllister, and saw his brow 
 go a little black over the pleasantry. It was plain that 
 the youth's genial heart contained its dark spot of irrecon- 
 cilable dislike. 
 
 She taxed him with an ungenerous harbouring of old 
 grudges. Tristram said he hoped he could like a mere 
 enemy, if that were all ; but some characters he could not. 
 MacAllister, he declared, was an ill beast, giving his em- 
 ployer also an ill name in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Not the only woman he does that for, I'm told," re- 
 plied the outrageous dame, indicating a hearty tolerance 
 for any male who had the wits to be successful with the 
 fools and frauds of creation. She prided herself on an 
 utter lack of charity for her own sex ; if not noodles, 
 anglers she held them to be; when not calculating, then
 
 A DANCE AT HILL ALWYN 249 
 
 miscalculating their fates. 'Twas either, " Where am I ? " 
 or, " Here I am! " when catastrophe came to them. 
 
 She had but to drop a few words of this sort to get 
 Tristram noisy, and have her play with his raw theories. 
 She listened, chaffed, avoided argument by calling him 
 boy and child : from that dropped to babe ; and finally told 
 him not to be a prig. 
 
 " What is a prig ? " he challenged her to explain. 
 
 She amused herself studying his hot face. " Some- 
 thing you are always trying to be and can't be ! " she told 
 him. " And the ambition makes you look foolish." 
 
 The gibe shut his mouth for the moment. Lady Pet- 
 wyn's thought was, " Poor youth, what a cropper he will 
 come some day when facts get hold of him! " and had 
 in her mind's eye the particular petticoat that might render 
 him that service. Nor had she the slightest intention of 
 intervening to prevent the catastrophe. 
 
 When she sent bed-ridden Haycraft a good price for the 
 return of her pheasants, there was little enough of charity 
 in the deed.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 BEM BRIDGE FAIR 
 
 ADY PETWYN was not destined to see ideal youth 
 put upon trial, though during the year that fol- 
 lowed, momentary twinges of the moral problem had hold 
 of Tristram, telling round what corner there was capering 
 to be done at the beck of the goat-shanked god. Now 
 and again, some fumes of what reeked ahead blew over 
 his senses ; but to sniff and feel a smother is one thing, 
 the actual scorching another. How an initial smoke-cur- 
 ing differs from the smelting-process is the discovery not 
 of the 'teens but of the twenties. Had he come to her 
 cobweb for a confessional, the dame could have pointed 
 him a quicker way to the singeing she wished him ; but 
 her lures up to town with its sights of the gay world had 
 no attraction as yet for the foolish youth, wise with the 
 hand-to-mouth conceits of his age. One day she caught 
 him reading the book of an American recluse : dipped into 
 it herself, only to find it despairingly dull ; and begged 
 him not to be affected, pretending to a liking for such 
 stuff. When he quoted pieces at her she concluded that 
 prehistoric anarchy had infected his brain, and determined 
 wisely to give him his run till this latest diet of prig-nuts, 
 as she termed it, should be digested. Her reckoning gave 
 a year for so much madness to come out of him. 
 
 Accepting her word for it he enlisted her services, to 
 get him quick through with that particular folly. He 
 
 250
 
 BEMBRIDGE FAIR 251 
 
 wanted one large helping of liberty before the bondage of 
 the desk should swallow him into manhood's estate, and 
 knew that a formal invitation from her would count for 
 much with his father. She became a ready conspirator; 
 an invitation for him to come and join a house-party at 
 her place in Wales for part of the ensuing summer and 
 autumn had the right sound about it. Consent being ob- 
 tained, July, with two months to follow, was the date 
 fixed. Then he was to start off and play the fool in his 
 own way on territory Lady Petwyn would supply, she 
 claiming the right to come at intervals and contemplate 
 his hark-back into savagery. 
 
 When the invitation came down in state to be read by 
 his elders, Tristram saw Marcia's wise-acre eyes looking 
 at him, and knew himself spotted ; she had a feline instinct 
 for all the rat-runs that abounded on his moral premises, 
 without knowing quite where they led to. Never inquis- 
 itive, by sheer insight she compelled herself into his con- 
 fidence. So, now when he said to her: " You and I will 
 write to each other, Marcia," she knew she had him fast, 
 and cared very little after that about his long absence 
 under auspices she disapproved. 
 
 The date of his departure gave the Tramp time to be in 
 Bembridge for the big annual orgie of pleasuring which 
 shortly after midsummer made a vicious gathering of the 
 whole rural activity of the district. St. Swithin was then 
 called on to preside over a festival wherein his element 
 played but a subsidiary part, unless he chanced to assert 
 sovranly his pluvial influence, give a drenching to the 
 whole spectacle, and make doubly miserable in their 
 ditches along all the highways leading out of Bembridge 
 the poor tipplers who had set forth with a bona fide hope 
 of reaching home before morning. To these, and to 
 others with them less reputably determined, the Saint 
 would then prove a stern shepherd and bishop of souls;
 
 252 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 but, as a rule, he gave the Devil his opportunity, ana for 
 a good three mile radius over a country-side on all other 
 days peaceable and passable, the Devil took the same, and 
 had helping and surfeit. 
 
 For the sake of its local colour, Tristram had a liking 
 for the bucolic frenzy which then frothed itself to a head. 
 Youth has a taste for all meats offered to idols, and the 
 yeasting of a human mob will draw minds superior to 
 sensibler excitements. He went down for the hurly-burly 
 with Raymond, newly back from Oxford ; and, even so 
 early in the day, their ears caught the hubbub of the fair a 
 mile before they came into the town. They overtook has- 
 tening groups ; Tristram knew most of them ; something 
 of their clothes too, it would seem, for he threw the laugh- 
 ing compliment of " There's bunting! " and, " First time 
 on ! " to three girls trolloping along in fresh finery. 
 
 ' Pretty' minxes," was his summing of them when they 
 had passed. To Raymond's enquiry, Tristram had their 
 names off pat ; Emma, Jane, and Polly, maidens of ill- 
 reputed parentage : Tilt by name, and Tilt by nature to 
 the verge of actual spill and upset. " As fast as they grow 
 up they become handfuls," said he. " Your father could 
 tell you about them, I suspect : they must give him trouble 
 enough." 
 
 Raymond gave an off-hand laugh. ' You know about 
 them too, it seems," said he. " Getting a bit of a handful 
 yourself, eh ? " 
 
 The Tramp was too light-witted to make much of the 
 remark ; he shrugged and laughed off into anecdote of the 
 Tilt family, a centre of squabble and scandal to the Cob's 
 Hole community ; the father a hawker, often away ; the 
 mother immensely fat, a sedentary scold ; would pull off 
 her shoes and hurl them among the family with words as 
 well, rather than rise up off her scat to deal chastisement. 
 That was her method of discipline ; from its exercise
 
 BEMBRIDGE FAIR 253 
 
 Polly, the youngest, had gone to church with a black eye. 
 boasting that in revenge she had put the shoe and its fel- 
 low into the pig's wash tub : an amusing, scurrilous breed, 
 always noisy, very often disreputable. Tristram main- 
 tained they had their good points ; undertaking their de- 
 fence because of his friend, the hawker, a clever, plausible 
 rogue, now in temporary retirement for a breach of the 
 peace. He had come upon the fellow in his trampings, 
 and had culled racy wisdom from his wayside expe- 
 riences. 
 
 Reaching Bembridge they rounded a street-corner, and 
 through an alley of elms came forthwith into a full view 
 of the merry-making. The public green was already 
 trampled out of recognition ; wherever a gap showed, 
 battened brown sod had taken the place of grass. 
 Through a carpet-beating atmosphere, the crowd moved, 
 swallowing the dust shaken up by its feet. Dull and fierce, 
 the pursuits of pleasure and profit were urging side by 
 side. With an air of unconscious docility the sight-seers 
 went their rounds of the booths : the led herd baaed ; the 
 herders barked them from place to place. Brown gipsies, 
 a sharp-eyed crew, rubbed shoulders with dull-faced 
 bumpkins ; fellows styled prize-fighters exhibited them- 
 selves before their tent in preliminary show of fisticuffs ; 
 showmen stood on tubs and waved; buxom sylphs in 
 tights strutted on platforms and lolled over handrails ; a 
 surviving portion of a Bulgarian massacre coloured Mid- 
 lothian rhetoric to the cold stare of an English crowd; 
 weight-pounders smote the bolt that shot an indicator up 
 a pole toward the just-attainable point where a bell waited 
 to give tongue. Added to all these movements and sights 
 went a villainous babel of sound : the crack of cocoanut- 
 shying, the churning of steam and hand organs, the long- 
 drawn whistles of merry-go-rounds, the squeals of tossing 
 humanity in boats and swings, the popping of toy-rifles
 
 254 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 at bell-targets, the hoarse yahing of quacks, clowns, and 
 showmen; all the hideous uproar of forced business and 
 mirth squeezed into the limits of a single day, for the vio- 
 lent exhaustion of dull wits, spewed over a madding pop- 
 ulace. 
 
 Sight of some gipsies whom he recognised made Tris- 
 tram wonder whether old Haycraft would be over to re- 
 vive buried enmities and friendships out of an obscured 
 past. Raymond answered for him, not : knew him to be 
 away on a three days' ratting job the other side of Ran- 
 dogger. Lizzie then, left alone, was not likely to come 
 either. 
 
 Tristram said, " I want to go and talk to some of that 
 gang," and dragged Ray into a booth where drinking and 
 eating were in progress. He astonished his friend by 
 talking in a strange tongue to an old woman he found 
 there. She, too, was disconcerted ; she looked sharp and 
 sly at him, and answered with some reserve, on hearing 
 the speech of her tribe coming from a stranger. 
 
 " Where did you get that gibberish? " asked Raymond; 
 but Tristram held it as the final prize of his intimacy with 
 Haycraft, and refused to tell; he doubted whether any 
 other knew that the old fellow had the gift, and was proud 
 to have wheedled instruction out of him. In Romany, 
 Haycraft had told him things not to be spoken in his 
 mother-tongue. 
 
 Tristram got Raymond to give his palm to the old 
 woman ; his own she refused to look at, though silver lay 
 in it. Ray listened indolently to the grey crone's gabble, 
 but stood up sharp and turned a quick look on his friend 
 when she spoke of a dark girl waiting to meet him. She 
 bid him beware of another man, no friend to either of 
 them ; and added, after Raymond had drawn back his 
 hand, " You've a long journey before you, my pretty gen- 
 tleman ; and a far-off land's where you'll have to live."
 
 BEMBRIDGE FAIR 255 
 
 Her earnestness amused the Tramp, and he offered his 
 hand once more for inspection. " I've seen you about 
 Randogger," said he. She bade him repocket his coin 
 and refused to have anything to do with him. As he was 
 following Raymond out of the tent, she pulled him back. 
 ' When do you come to us ? " she whispered. He an- 
 swered in Romany, " When I do come shall I bring him 
 along with me ? " uttering a name that took her in mid- 
 breath. He went out and left her staring. 
 
 Later in the day some one plucked at him in the crowd. 
 It was the old crone again. " Give him that," she said; 
 thrust a small pouch into his hand and made off. 
 
 The Tramp had not a chance of seeing how Hay craft 
 took it when it came to him ; having to leave before the 
 old man's return, he made Lizzie his medium for convey- 
 ing it. Haycraft made no mention of it when they met 
 again. 
 
 Before evening set in Raymond's interest in the fair 
 was over ; he declared for home, and before long was off. 
 Tristram by then was among his farmer friends. He 
 wished to get old Duffin off his liquor to come and see a 
 fair, fat woman on view in one of the shows. " Poor old 
 boy," said he, " I mean to find him a second wife ; and a 
 fat beauty's the shape for him." In the booth he had 
 great fun with that sturdy specimen of an English yeo- 
 man, cheery and mellow from his cups; and dropped a 
 sly bribe to the lady to fall on him and kiss him. She did, 
 declaring he was the man she had waited for ; her an- 
 nouncement that she was a widow with ten children, the 
 eldest still growing, sent him out heart-whole amid the 
 laughter of the onlookers. 
 
 Outside he turned on Tristram a reproachful eye, de- 
 tecting the game to be his. " Muster Tristram," he said, 
 " I ha'n't kissed a woman since I lost my poor wife three 
 year ago come Michaelmas: and now you gone and done
 
 256 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 it for me ! " He declared it as though virtue had gone 
 out of him in the process. 
 
 Tristram vowed it was a friendly act. " Your old 
 woman,'' said he, " was too good a wife not to wish you 
 comfortable in your old age ; and that you're not, though 
 you could be. There's three sighing for you that I know 
 of to a certainty." 
 
 " Three? Lord, but you don't say three?" the old boy 
 protested, his vast frame tickled through with vanity at 
 the bare notion of it. 
 
 " Three for certain," answered the youth. " Give 
 another the benefit of the doubt, I'd say four : — Bonny 
 ones too ! It's for you to find them out." 
 
 The hale old farmer slapped his thigh to hear of him- 
 self so much in request ; he required but little pushing. 
 The Tramp had caught him in the right mood. 
 
 " My poor wife 'ud wish it," he assented : " hearty, she 
 would. She was a kind "un." 
 
 " Not to be beaten ! " Tristram cried, in praise to her 
 memory. " You were a good trainer, Duffin." 
 
 The old man thanked him. Truth to tell, Tristram's 
 trick had revived snuggling memories of comforts he had 
 forgotten. Thanks to the youth, he carried away with 
 him from Bembridge fair a notion that the gay dog was 
 not dead in him yet ; and there, before his recovered mind 
 in the matter was a sure knowledge of what his Susan's 
 emphatic wishes in the matter would be. Before the chills 
 of winter came to make him once more a conscious bach- 
 elor, he had picked out for himself one of Tristram's im- 
 aginary three, a comely spinster well under forty ; and 
 marrying her, like Job in renewed prosperity, begat sons 
 and daughters to give joy to him in his old age. It was 
 little more than a year later that to the first of these, at 
 his bidding, Tristram had fitly and properly to stand god- 
 father. He did so then with a battered reputation, not 
 nltogether new to the office.
 
 BEMBRIDGE FAIR 257 
 
 This great matter from a little fire has carried the 
 narrative away from the day whose tale has still to be 
 told ; but we do well to follow up the Tramp's responsi- 
 bility for sins as fast as he commits them, else we might 
 never overtake them ; and we must bear in mind that an 
 elder's moral has to be spoken on the whole of his story. 
 For this day, at least, there is no more evil to tell of him, 
 though an event of some importance has yet to follow. 
 
 Inside his riotous hours the youth had a knack for a 
 level calculation of events ; mother-wit told him that 
 Farmer Duffin's offer of a lift home in his cart when the 
 clocks struck eleven was an hour later than his soul's wel- 
 fare demanded. At ten, therefore, he got himself up 
 from the company of more seasoned drinkers, bid a round 
 dozen of good-nights, and escaped from a smoke-laden 
 atmosphere to the purer heat of a breathless summer's 
 night. 
 
 He skirted the broad fairground where revelry was 
 now guttering down to its final flare, and by way of the 
 elm avenue made for the quiet of open field spaces 
 beyond. Entering the first of these, he came upon 
 dancers, footing it in partial time to a couple of fiddlers 
 who sawed, each with a will of his own, a portion of the 
 same tune. The music was sufficiently precise for the 
 legs that went to it ; the dancers, so long as they could 
 keep clasped, cared not what way they twirled, nor by 
 what sounds accompanied. Wherever a group rested 
 bottles went up and down : bottles without glasses, both 
 sexes drinking alike, a sure sign that the polite picnic- 
 stage had passed. The Tramp recognised several Alwyn 
 and Hiddenden villagers among the groups ; he picked 
 his way through their midst, avoiding as best he could 
 the dusky figures that swung this way and that across 
 his path. Suddenly, from behind, a couple lurched into 
 him ; the man went down, dragging with him a torn
 
 258 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 strip of white skirt; only the Tramp's arm saved his 
 partner from sharing his fall. 
 
 " Go along, Tom, you're drunk," cried the girl, skittish 
 and vexed. "I'll have no more of you; here's my 
 gentleman ! " 
 
 Tristram recognised the voice of Miss Polly Tilt. 
 Hadn't he come on very purpose to dance with her? she 
 asked him. Once round, he said, if she would promise to 
 go home after it. 
 
 ' Lor' ! why, it's young Mr. Gavney ! " she cried, flut- 
 tered at the discovery. ' I'm sure, I do ask your pardon! 
 hut I was jest spoiling for a dance; and Tom, it's beyond 
 'im." 
 
 Tristram assured her she might have her dance if she 
 wished for it. She giggled and hung on him with delight, 
 declaring that it was like being a real lady to be danced 
 by him. All at once she became coy, and wanted to know 
 if any one was looking. "Why shouldn't they?" en- 
 quired Tristram, and without waiting for further argu- 
 ment spun her round the field on the outskirts of the 
 bobbing multitude. " Lor', how beautiful you do dance ! " 
 she sighed from the shelter of his arm. 
 
 He halted her out of ear-shot of her companions to 
 say, " Now, Polly, you've had your dance, be as good as 
 your word and go home ! Where are all the rest of you ? " 
 
 She pouted, declaring herself left in the lurch ; her 
 sisters had gone off about their own devices, each with 
 her young man. 
 
 " And what about yours ? " asked Tristram. " Where's 
 he?" 
 
 ' Yon ! " said the girl, pointing to the recumbent figure 
 of her recently discharged partner. "That's mine; we 
 took up las' Sunday; we done it o' purpose for the fair; 
 and see what 'e's fit for now ! " 
 
 Tristram hardly liked leaving her in the hands of such
 
 BEMBRIDGE FAIR 259 
 
 a guardian at that hour, and on that night. A mere slip 
 of a girl still, she had wild blood in her ; was pretty too, 
 a bit of a kitten ; for the rest, a baggage. He was in doubt 
 what to do. From her manner he could tell that she too 
 had been drinking, and there would be more drink 
 waiting wherever Tom was. 
 
 " I'll see you home," said he finally. 
 
 " You ? " She grinned at the rank impropriety of the 
 proposal. " Oh no ! where'd my character be if I was 
 seen going home at this time o' night along of a gentle- 
 man ? " 
 
 ' Very well," said Tristram, " you go on first, and I'll 
 follow and keep an eye on you. You'll feel safe enough 
 that way." 
 
 "Go along!" she said, "ye don't mean it. I'll get 
 Tom." 
 
 She went across to her fallen swain and lugged him 
 by the arm. " Come along, Tom," said she. ' My new 
 man says you got to take me 'ome. If you don't, 'e will, 
 'e says. So now ye know. I w r as asking ye to come half- 
 an-hour ago." 
 
 The bumpkin thus addressed sat up, fuddled and truc- 
 ulent. " G'on ! " said he at last. ' You talk ! who pushed 
 me down 'ere ? " 
 
 " You done it ye'self ; you run ye'self and me slam into 
 'im, as 'e w r as comin' along." 
 
 " Oh yes, and who've you bin dauncin' w r ith ever since ? 
 You bring 'un on 'ere; I'll gie 'un what for! " 
 
 He refused still to get up at her bidding, calling out 
 for his rival to come and have his measure taken ; 
 wouldn't have anything more to do with her till he'd 
 met the other man square. 
 
 Without further ado she loosed hold of him. " You 
 must get 'im for ye'self then," she said. " Tell ye, I'm 
 goin' 'ome now along of 'im."
 
 2 6o A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 She left her man sitting quite helpless, and cantered 
 back to Tristram. " All right, Master," she said, " I be 
 all ready to start. Tom's got too much liquor in 'im ; 'e 
 won't be home to-night, I know; I'll come! You got to 
 go be'ind, though, if anybody's a-looking ; I won't be seen 
 along of you." 
 
 The Tramp took her at her word, letting her range 
 ahead; so they started. When they got into the next 
 field he saw that they were behind the hour when modesty 
 should be abroad; human conduct was doffing its day- 
 light disguise. Keeping his eyes straight he beheld Polly 
 with unconcerned air roaming in front of him, head this 
 way and that, a well-instructed child of Nature. 
 
 Beyond the next boundary she began to slacken her 
 pace ; Tristram did likewise. Finding that he measured 
 his movements by hers, she sat down on the bar of the 
 next stile to wait for him to come up. 
 
 " Now, Polly, get on with you ! " he called, having a 
 wish to step out fast and be rid of the ruck in which he 
 found himself. 
 
 " I think I'll go back for Tom," she answered. 
 
 " Better not," Tristram advised her. " He won't be 
 any the less off his legs when you get back to him." 
 
 " I'm going back, though," she repeated ; " I don't like 
 walking alone." 
 
 " You'll have to do the going back alone, then," he 
 told her. " Settle that for yourself. I'm going on." 
 
 The girl sidled on her seat. " It's lonesome goin' like 
 this," she said, " and I ought to go and see as nobody gets 
 hold of 'im. I ain't kissed 'im. I ain't said good-night 
 to 'im ; and 'e's been spending a lot on me." 
 
 " Do that another time," suggested her companion. 
 
 " D'you want me to come along o' you, then ? " 
 
 " It's quite the best thing you can do now." 
 
 " All right," said the girl. " Give me a kiss, and I will."
 
 BEMBRIDGE FAIR 261 
 
 " I'll see you further first! " was his smart parry. 
 
 " Where to? Where are you going to take me? " 
 
 "Just to the near end of the village; you will be all 
 right then." 
 
 The girl got up sullenly and walked on. Only one 
 stile further, she sat down again to remark : " You've 
 promised, 'aven't you ? " 
 
 " Promised what?" 
 
 " When you've seen me further." 
 
 " So have you ; you promised me you'd go home. Don't 
 take all night about it ! " 
 
 "All night? No, I've me character to think of. You 
 think I 'aven't ? " 
 
 " Walk, don't think ! " said Tristram. 
 
 " My dress is torn," was her complaint ; " it wants 
 pinning, I can't reach it for myself." 
 
 He took the pins and did the thing for her. That 
 operation concluded, she moved on at her own slow 
 walking-rate. 
 
 " Won't you come alongside now ? " she asked him 
 presently. " There ain't nobody about." 
 
 " Oh, anything to get you on ! " He took her arm and 
 pushed to quicken her pace. 
 
 " Now, you are pinching ! " she complained. 
 
 " I shall do it more, if you don't come faster." 
 
 She fell at once into a steady rallantando to lure him 
 into an exercise of the force he had threatened. 
 
 He got her to walk at last by going ahead of her. 
 Behind his back she started gabbling. 
 
 " Oh, my! it do make me laugh to think of it! " she 
 declared. " Won't Emma and Jane be jealous when I 
 tell 'em of this ? They're both sweet on you ; in church 
 they looks at you through their 'ands, and under their 
 'ymnbooks out of the gallery, they do! Haven't ye ever 
 looked up and caught 'em doin' it?"
 
 262 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Tristram said he would be on the look-out the next 
 Sunday. 
 
 " Lor', you are good," she said, heaving a sigh, " going 
 so reg'lar ! " 
 
 " Plenty of people are good, if you go by that." 
 
 " I goes for the singing," she explained; " I feels good 
 when a 'ymn's bein' sung. Don't you?" 
 
 " That's what the hymns are for," replied Tristram. 
 
 "But," continued the introspective damsel, 'I feels 
 just as bad again on the Monday. It don't carry one 
 over the week." 
 
 " Not over fair-day, perhaps." 
 
 "And there's Mr. Raymond," she went on; " 'e goes 
 reg'lar too. Ain't he a beauty ? " 
 
 " I'll tell him you say so," laughed her companion. 
 
 So, by humouring her in her talk, he got her at last to 
 the point where, with a good conscience, he could leave 
 her to her own devices. He turned then to bid her good- 
 night, and without more ado was ridding her of his 
 company. " Here you are home," said he. 
 
 She started whimpering at once, and put up a protesting 
 face. "I'll not go; no, I'll not! So now then!" was 
 her resolute avowal. " Not till you've give me what you 
 promised. You've called me names all the way along, 
 you 'ave! I know you meant to be nasty to me. You 
 think I'm bad." 
 
 " I think you'd be better at home." 
 
 " Give me one, then, and I'll go! " 
 
 Tristram dropped her an indifferent brief salute. She 
 smacked her lips in air, a fish missing its fly. " That 
 don't count!" she declared. 
 
 " Polly," said the youth more soberly than he felt, 
 " you've been very silly to-night. Now run along ; you 
 ought to be in bed ! " He gave her a second peck to the 
 fair cheek, and put her away from him.
 
 BEMBRIDGE FAIR 263 
 
 " Call that a kiss?" cried the aggrieved damsel. 
 " Why, you done it with your chin, you did ! I ain't bad, 
 I'm weak, just! A man might do anything with me if he 
 only knew." 
 
 Tristram's second " Good-night " was decisive, coming 
 with the sound of his departing footsteps. 
 
 " And he calls hisself a gentleman ! " was Polly's quaint 
 meditation as she arrived solitary at her own door, to 
 find her mother already asleep and snoring, and her sisters 
 not yet returned. Two miles away her derelict lover lay 
 consoling himself in the field where the rasp of the 
 fiddlers had ceased. Over Bembridge and the ashes of 
 its feast, the sky leaned sultry and lowering ; St. Swithin, 
 with suspended purpose, hung a coppery black mantle 
 across the night.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 A CONFLICT OF THE ELEMENTS 
 
 A T the top of the first rise on his now solitary road, 
 Tristram paused to gain the companionship of 
 night. He began to take in deep breaths from a still 
 atmosphere ; the balm he sought was not there. A day 
 of close contact with perspiring humanity, his evening's 
 carouse with Farmer Duffin and his thirsty set, the cir- 
 cumstances of the way back from Bembridge, had laid 
 a tarnish on body and soul which they were hard put to 
 to shake off. Not a breath from the four quarters of 
 heaven would come to his rescue. From where he stood 
 he could see the glow-worm lights of Bembridge low 
 down among the ridge of fields by which he had come, 
 those fields so filled to-night with sunken humanity; a 
 faint blare of music still came up from the town, to tell 
 where the revelry was dying hard. His mind's eye 
 carried him back to the scene he had quitted, where riot- 
 ous flesh stood on its last leg and crowed against decent 
 retirement and repose, and thence to the muffled field- 
 path along which he and Polly had steered their way 
 home. Something of the Bacchanal was in his nature, 
 prompting him, when he saw others roll, to roll likewise ; 
 so, as he stood and looked back over these leavings and 
 dregs of beast-man's entertainment of himself, things 
 wrestled this way and that for the hot or cold possession 
 of his mind. 
 
 264
 
 A CONFLICT OF THE ELEMENTS 265 
 
 Presently, with a laugh, he threw himself abruptly 
 into action, and ran, turning his back on the lights of 
 hamlet and town. Even the hedgerows on either side 
 seemed to hamper his mood for free air. He leapt a 
 fence, heard the swish of deep clover under his feet, and 
 at last felt solitude. 
 
 Over the undulating obscurity ahead night flowed out 
 to meet him ; breathless she lay against his cheek, accom- 
 panying him as he ran. Far off he heard sounds of her 
 — she was still there by his side. 
 
 Over the dubious horizon of woods to the north crept 
 a faint suspicion of light ; its ghostly passage did but 
 deepen the sense of slumber in the mass which gave 
 cover by day to so much song. Lone, and harshly inter- 
 rogating, a night-bird here and there lifted its cry. A late 
 cuckoo surprised him with one clear unbroken note, as 
 though the night air were good for its voice, — a solitary, 
 surely left over from its true month of song. The scent 
 of recently stacked hay drew across in a sudden hot puff 
 of wind from the slopes above. In the hollows pockets of 
 cooler air waited to receive him ; he dived and came 
 out again. From a body strangely at home in the dubious- 
 ness of surrounding shadow, his senses put out hands to 
 the oppressed and drowsy atmosphere. 
 
 Taking a short cut to his objective he leaped a high 
 fence, and could hear presently the noise of water falling 
 from the upper to the lower of the Hill Alwyn ponds, 
 and the splash and rustle of disturbed water-fowl. The 
 wood was heavy with the smell of the damp corrupt heat 
 that had stagnated there through the day. As he entered 
 its deepening archway the Tramp became aware that St. 
 Swithin's attentions were imminent : above the lattice of 
 boughs went a faint play of light, and he heard from a 
 far distance a deeply muttered roll. A more conscious 
 stillness seemed then to take hold of mother-earth, a listen-
 
 266 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ing for stealthy hands at work undoing the bolts and bars 
 of her hushed dwelling. 
 
 Arrived at the lower pool where the water went deepest 
 over a smooth bottom, Tristram pushed his way through 
 high weeds and hazel, then over an oozy edge of bulrush 
 till he reached the side of the boat-house. Without 
 troubling over the door-hasp, he scrambled his way along 
 the skirting, got his foot on to a pile beside the entrance, 
 and by a dexterous push landed himself on the fore-part 
 of the punt there moored. He pulled deep breaths, quite 
 winded by the speed of his coming. 
 
 Within the shed hung pitchy blackness, obscuring en- 
 tirely the two boats at the further end; under the zinc 
 roof remained the close warmth of the day's heat ; the 
 proximity of water-weeds on the pond's surface permeated 
 the shelter with a faint unclean odour. Without entering 
 further the Tramp stood up on the beak of the punt and 
 disrobed. To an observer from within his movements 
 must have been easily apparent during the short minute 
 occupied by the process ; his slight athletic figure showed 
 out dark against the deadened silver of waters midway 
 between gloom and gleam, over which there passed now 
 and then washes and flicks of a mysterious light. 
 
 Having reached the ultimate stage of naturalness, Tris- 
 tram took footing on the extreme verge of his standing- 
 place, drew himself high, arched, leaned, dipped over, and 
 disappeared with a soft crash into the coolness below. 
 
 The water poured over him with welcoming rush as 
 his body shot out from the bank ; down he went and 
 down ; such delicious cold embraced him, he wished never 
 to rise. 
 
 Suddenly, as he still dived, enchantment opened round 
 him : all beneath him became vivid, illuminated, moving. 
 Refore his gaze the pool's bed was flicked by three sharp 
 shocks of light; his eye took in ripple of weed, spectral
 
 A CONFLICT OF THE ELEMENTS 267 
 
 colour of darting fish, his own shadow frog-like and huge 
 moving under him with antic gesture, a whole under- 
 world alive with uncouth form, scattering away in panic 
 motion as he charged. 
 
 Only for a moment ; the vision vanished. He rose in 
 time to hear the rattling tail of the thunder, and to feel 
 the first huge drops of storm descending over the 
 pond. 
 
 Antaeus had found his play-fellow. The rain lashed 
 him over head and face as seeking to drown what re- 
 mained of him in air ; thunder battered its applause, 
 lightnings came straight-hurled against the broad target 
 of grey water that held him safe ; in livid shocks the sur- 
 rounding trees seemed to break out into green flame, and 
 every rushing rain-drop to become a tongue of fire. On 
 the island a single pine toppled and crashed down : Tris- 
 tram beheld it, cleft from crest to base, and felt that for 
 the first time he had seen thunder. He shouted and sang 
 like a madman as he swam up and down in the splendour 
 of the storm : a strange sound for ears that listened under 
 cover of the rain-beaten wood. 
 
 Two, a man and a woman, stood watching the vertical 
 mist of water that sheathed itself in the pond, crossed now 
 and again by quick shuttles of fire ; they could hear the 
 bather's voice making uncanny music from the other side 
 of the island ; neither he nor the thunder seemed to tire. 
 Vexation and amusement showed itself in the tones of the 
 one who spoke first. 
 
 " What a scatter-brained devil it is ! Just hark at the 
 idiot ! " said he. 
 
 "It's Mr. Tristram! Oh, if he sees us!" came from 
 the other in a deeply troubled voice. 
 
 " He won't see us," said her companion, holding her 
 hands fast. Still she wished at once to get away, and 
 was urgent that they should start.
 
 268 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 "How can we," he demanded, "in this rain? Move 
 and you'll get drenched."' 
 
 ' No," she said, " 1 can't hear it ; for us to he here, — 
 and him. It 'ud hurt him; can't you feel what I mean? 
 1 wish we had never come ! " 
 
 "What, sorry already?" his lips were sentinels over 
 hers. 
 
 ' No, no! " she pressed her face upon his. " I can't be 
 that; not in the way you mean. But 1 am, I am! I feel, 
 seeing him, that I've done you and him and myself a 
 wrong. There'll be always something to hide now. That's 
 what hurts me! " 
 
 " Good things have often to hide themselves in this 
 world ; it's a hard place, full of fools and hypocrites." 
 
 " He's neither," said the girl. 
 
 " Nor are you; nor am I more than 1 need be. Ah, 
 come, come ! You are my own girl, you know. Not in 
 all the world is there another." He had her fast, and felt 
 then the sobbing she had kept silent. 
 
 She clung close to protest her love while yet having 
 another thing to say. " Oh, Ray, Ray, T love 'e ! " she 
 breathed, and had difficulty to get on. " It's this," she 
 said at last, " I can't ever he sorry to have found you ; 
 you was my own man from the beginning ; I can't never 
 change. But I do know how it must end. I can on'y 
 please 'e for a little while ; there's not that in me to keep 
 'e true, though you may think it now ! I know T've 
 done wrong, though I can't ever repent of it. Do 'e 
 remember that; don't ever blame yourself when the time 
 comes ! " 
 
 " You'll have to name the time, Liz, not I," said Ray- 
 mond, and felt that he had spoken hut a bare truth. 
 
 " Ah, no ! " she cried, " it won't be, it can't be ! Never, 
 never! " 
 
 She drew his hand into her bosom. " Let us go! " she 
 urged again.
 
 A CONFLICT OF THE ELEMENTS 269 
 
 Raymond yielded to her longing to get away, and 
 accompanied her through the drenching thickets over 
 which the rain still rattled, or hroke past in sudden cas- 
 cades. It seemed almost a drowned woman he held in 
 his arms when they were parting at the narrow footway 
 leading up to her home. He could but guess from the 
 heaving of her breast that the moisture he kissed from 
 her face was not all rain. 
 
 ; ' Not sorry? promise me you are not that ! " he said. 
 
 She did so faithfully, though her tones belied her 
 words. 
 
 ' It's like a woman," said Raymond to himself as he 
 went his own way alone. " Give her one thing and she 
 always wants another." He spoke as though a whole 
 world of experience had brought him to the knowledge ; 
 the pretence of such cold philosophy eased his heart of a 
 small ache he already had over her. " I love her ! " he 
 protested to himself if ever a doubt recurred, and bat- 
 tered his pillow with that when divided thought threat- 
 ened his slumber. Tristram's mad shouting at the weather 
 was the sedative his brain finally held fast by. Conscience 
 forbade sound slumber while his thoughts were fixed on 
 the woman who had so utterly committed her future to 
 his hands. 
 
 As for Tristram, though his suspicions went wide of 
 the mark, he had reason to guess that he had not been 
 the sole visitor that night to the Hill Alwyn woods. 
 Coming up out of the Water, he noticed how the boat- 
 house door lay wide, that he had passed closed ; and as 
 he trod within came on a little scarf, evidently of woman's 
 wear. The faint play of now distancing lightning was 
 not enough to show him either the colour or the pattern. 
 It was no business of his ; thinking it might be, likelv 
 
 OCT »■ 
 
 enough, of MacAllister's. he threw it upon a pile of boat 
 cushions, where, as chance would have it, that worthy
 
 2J0 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 found it a day or two after, lie recognised it at once; 
 and putting that by other things, kept it to strengthen 
 him in an opinion already formed on grounds which he 
 thought adequate. 
 
 The next day the Tramp had left the neighbourhood, 
 to follow as Lady Petwyn's guest a fresh freak on his 
 path to perdition or salvation. Not till the late autumn 
 did he return again. Raymond had by then gone off for 
 his final year at Oxford. Old Haycraft was indefinitely 
 away : where, Lizzie herself did not know. He got rest- 
 less, she told Tristram, and finally went off, bidding her 
 expect him when she saw him : he might be back again 
 by Christmas; if not she would look for him in the 
 spring. Something of the sort she had long reckoned 
 might happen. He had always told her of the wish he 
 had to be once more amongst those he had long lived 
 with, before going underground for good. '■ And since 
 his illness," said she, " he thinks he ain't got so many 
 years to live as he used to reckon for." 
 
 She spoke indifferently ; from her manner it would 
 have been difficult to guess that there was, between 
 father and daughter, a strong bond of affection ; it lay 
 deeper than words. Tristram learned that money came 
 from him at regular intervals, bearing various post marks 
 but no address. Lizzie welcomed the remittances when 
 they came merely as evidence of her father's wellbeing. 
 She had known early how to work for her own living, 
 and was free, as she told Tristram, to leave the cottage 
 shut up and go out into service if she choose: the old 
 man made no claim for her to stay and keep watch for 
 his return. 
 
 A strange pair their neighbours thought them, and for 
 their strangeness left them very much alone. Tristram 
 wished he himself could be as detached from the fixed 
 and hampering circumstances of life. For him it seemed
 
 A CONFLICT OF THE ELEMENTS 271 
 
 that was never to be : business again made its clutch at 
 him. 
 
 Brother and sister exchanged looks of friendly intelli- 
 gence on their first meeting. She admired the ruddy 
 glare of his skin, called it clay-colour, and wishing to 
 know what condition of body went with it, found muscles 
 like door-knobs to her fingers. For a drawback the crea- 
 ture was slightly rheumatic. She knew enough of his 
 ways to guess how he had come by that ; he was one who 
 to warm his two hands would have preferred a prairie fire 
 to a hot potato, and, put to the test of open-air bathing 
 all the winter, would claim to have it with the ice on. 
 So when his aim was to be like Nebuchadnezzar, the more 
 did he require the dews of heaven to descend on him. 
 The variations of the autumn season made him happy ; 
 he paid his penalty cheerfully through the winter fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 He brought but little social news to his elders concern- 
 ing his visit, beyond quoting the names of those who 
 had been of Lady Petwyn's house-party. Some of these 
 appeared again that same winter at Hill Alwyn, coming 
 for a sort of hunt ball into which at about Christmas the 
 dame chose suddenly to throw all her energies. Tris- 
 tram went to it growling, submitting to its polish and 
 flummery for the sake of Marcia, who declared herself 
 now a victim to pins and needles in her feet whenever 
 her ear caught music. Certain it was that the spring 
 and whirl of the dance brought out her beauty and charm ; 
 she missed nothing over a stretch of four hours, yet 
 emerged from the carriage on their return the freshest of 
 the party. Raymond also was there, another of active 
 ones, finding in her a partner who also danced " for exer- 
 cise," and to get rid of super-abundant energy. 
 
 Mr. Beresford Gavney went less for exercise than for 
 the atmospheric influences of a function that had about
 
 272 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 it the mystic flavour of " county." Lady Petwyn was 
 
 handsome in her introductions, and was herself gracious 
 to him in her own off-hand fashion. He also talked to a 
 Lady Tetheridge, who remembered acquaintance with his 
 wife in their maiden days. He presumed to remember 
 that she had met him also at the time when he had been 
 fluttering into the gentle passion that brought him his 
 mate ; and she let him see that it was with no displeasure 
 that she met him again. She confessed to a frank interest 
 in his son. With hesitation he said : " I am relieved to 
 hear it. I thought you must disapprove of him when I 
 heard you calling him ' the ploughboy.' " 
 
 " Ah," she said, " that is a pet name for him, meaning 
 exactly the opposite, as is the way with pet names. He 
 is eccentric. I admire your courage in letting him have 
 his run. As a result he is adorable." 
 
 Mr. Gavney doubted whether " adorable " were a 
 morally right word for a lady to apply to a young man ; 
 but coming from Lady Tetheridge, the wife of a county 
 magnate, the adoration and the pet name were acceptable 
 testimonials to his son's progress. 
 
 The merchant had grounds for thinking that the three 
 months' leisure granted to his son had not been thrown 
 away, if it led to amenities such as these. He left the 
 ball highly pleased ; and instructed : ' Ploughboy," he 
 was glad to understand, used as a pet name, meant 
 " exactly the opposite." For a week afterwards Tristram 
 felt the weight of a benevolent eye. He feared lest in 
 some way his business capacity had earned it. " Lon- 
 don " came to be the dreaded word ; there hung, like the 
 sword of Damocles, over all their conversations, a date 
 waiting to be named. 
 
 Tender thoughts of his mother for ever hampered him ; 
 his father's wish he knew would be hers, and might be 
 wrought on to become passionate. ' You will not dis-
 
 A CONFLICT OF THE ELEMENTS 273 
 
 appoint us all," he foresaw already would be the darling, 
 helpless, powerful woman's argument, the inferred 
 reproach she would bring against him. But for her how 
 much more possible would it be to possess himself, and 
 say no to things for which life least fitted him.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A CHAPTER OF MISUNDERSTANDINGS 
 
 "D AYMOND returned to Lizzie with his pride set on 
 convincing - her that absence had not made him 
 cease to be the devout lover. In the process of battering 
 his heart back to the early stage of its passion he took 
 vehemence for his guarantee ; and with that salved his 
 conscience. 
 
 He swore to himself still, without conscious dishonesty, 
 that the girl was all to him ; the thought of her kept him 
 from many plans for his future ; could there be a better 
 proof? The only plan that had existed for him in any 
 one's mind was now at an end, thanks to her. He told 
 his father bluntly at last that the Church was no place 
 for him ; and only from a hard sense of duty consented 
 to go on and try for his degree. Such plans as were in 
 his head, then, when he went Lizzie's way the day after 
 his return, did but concern the months immediately to 
 follow. 
 
 He broached them to the girl of his heart ; her present 
 loneliness, and the uncertainty of her father's return all 
 fitted in with the fine scheme he propounded. Put shortly 
 it ran thus: here was Lizzie, there was he; and why? 
 when in all parts of England, and not least in Oxford- 
 shire, small cottages were to be had. If she were free to 
 go into service, let her come to him — somewhere, as he 
 phrased it, where he could look after her. 
 
 274
 
 MISUNDERSTANDINGS 275 
 
 He pressed his scheme with the more ardour when he 
 found that Lizzie was utterly set against it ; inarticulately 
 hostile, she could give no reason. ' No, no, Ray, be 
 content to let me stay where I am ! " she answered to all 
 his tender entreaties, and at last fell back upon silence 
 which he took for mule obstinacy. He, the headier 
 animal, the grosser, missed altogether the subtle dis- 
 tinction made by the girl's sensitive mind between the 
 freedom of her surrender among home surroundings, and 
 the conditions to which her transplanting would bring her 
 down. 
 
 She gave herself to him with the more passionate sub- 
 mission now, because her very love forced her to hold 
 out on a matter which she could not argue. Yet when- 
 ever he renewed the proposal she seemed to shrink from 
 his tenderness. So, throughout that month of passion, 
 Raymond perceived in her shades of variableness ; and 
 seeing how she denied to herself and to him a logical 
 fulfilment of their relation, began in dudgeon to question 
 the constancy of her love rather than his own. 
 
 Charged to look him in the face and say at their last 
 meeting why she was determined that it should be so, 
 she showed an unaccountable depth of distress, and at last 
 told him haltingly that it was because she loved him 
 better here than she could there. It was the nearest 
 she could get to the truth he was too slow to feel. 
 
 " I've my own way of life here," she murmured, " and 
 you love me now just for what I am. It wouldn't be so 
 if we was away together in a strange place. Let it be 
 as it is. I'll be proud, Ray, to think you miss me some- 
 times ; not more, it won't be, than I miss you every 
 time I lose sight of 'e, when maybe it's on'y for a few 
 hours." 
 
 When he said good-bye she kept mute hold of him, 
 sensible of a disapproval she could not avert.
 
 276 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ' What may I take, then ? " he asked reproachfully at 
 being robbed of his way, and as though he had found her 
 to be a grudging giver. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, take me life with 'e ! " she cried. " I'd 
 lie down at your feet and die now, if that could give 'e 
 any happiness ! There : take that, if it can be any pleasure 
 to 'e ! " She let down her dark hair into his hands, and 
 bade him have what he liked of it. Then seeing how little 
 he was about to take, denied him that, and herself cut off 
 a great strand close up to the temple, causing disfigure- 
 ment by the prodigality of the gift. 
 
 Raymond, from that last sight resolved a belief that 
 only a little waiting and the right word were needed to 
 give him the mastery his pride required. 
 
 So on his return to College he sent an ardent order to 
 her to come, kind, firm, vehement, considerate, peremp- 
 tory ; and was astonished to receive an unyielding nega- 
 tive. The poor girl, too sure of her own honesty of intent, 
 injured herself in Ins eyes now, by softening the word 
 with excuses which touched little on her true feeling in 
 the matter. Her master, discerning subterfuge, began to 
 steel himself against her; so far at least as letter-writing 
 went he kept to the note of his decree ; if for a few 
 months they were to be separated, against his will and 
 to suit hers, it did his pride some good to make sure that 
 she suffered for it. How much she suffered he was not 
 to learn till he had greatly changed his opinion of her. 
 
 During the lonely discomfort of the next few months 
 Lizzie had to bear the renewal of a certain persecution 
 she had before suffered from. She had too high a spirit 
 to let herself be harassed by the mere folly of an unwel- 
 come admirer; but when patience was passed, gipsy blood 
 came uppermost, and she was keen to try a fall with her 
 persecutor. 
 
 Her shortest road to and from the Vicarage, whither
 
 MISUNDERSTANDINGS 277 
 
 she went twice each week to fetch and bring again the 
 household laundry, lay along the right-of-way over the 
 Hill Alwyn estate. There MacAllister, aware of her 
 regular transits, was accustomed to waylay her. That she 
 had been forced at last to choose daylight for her goings 
 was the circumstance that did most wounding to her 
 pride, seeming to accord to a foot-pad the compliment 
 of a fear she did not feel. It was merely her strong dis- 
 taste for his persistent company that made her select 
 the hours when he was most likely to be employed, or 
 when danger of interruption would drive him from the 
 game. 
 
 In addition to her basket, she took to carrying a small 
 bag slung from her waist. The suspicious bailiff noting 
 the fact, and having plenty of will to be unpleasant, chose 
 to assume that she was a pilferer, hiding ill-gotten hoards 
 picked off the estate. One day he demanded to know 
 what she had there, under the dry leaves covering the 
 sack's mouth. 
 
 " Ferrets," she told him with a high-headed directness 
 that convinced him she lied. She carried her basket 
 piled with white linen, and being so hampered, it was 
 easy for him to make a dart on the thing she concealed. 
 A single deep thrust of his hand convinced him only too 
 painfully that she had spoken truth ; her laugh, mis- 
 chievous and triumphant, told him another thing, that 
 the trap had been planned. The big man stood up before 
 her at white heat. For a moment she believed he was 
 about to strike her, and stood braced. He chose a 
 shrewder way. Beside himself with rage, he did not stint 
 suddenly to tell her what he knew, or supposed he knew, 
 about her character. "In a few months' time you won't 
 be holding yourself so high, my beauty ! " 
 
 Outwardly calm, her soul took in panic at the words. 
 She feared that his malice drew its inspiration from
 
 278 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 actual observation, and that she could no longer front 
 the world with confidence of her secret remaining 
 unperceived. 
 
 With quick decision on arriving at the Vicarage she 
 gave notice that in another week she was going away 
 out of the neighbourhood to seek service. Bearing home 
 with her for the last time the soiled linen that awaited 
 her handling, she was struck with a strange sense of deso- 
 lation at the thought that in quitting her home she was 
 not going to seek her lover. 
 
 The temptation to do so was strong ; she fought with 
 it, and, twice worsted, sat down to write to him. But 
 however she set herself to words, the old meaning of 
 the thing stared her in the face ; to go to him there 
 would be, she was sure, to go down in his estimation ; 
 in her own, too, though of that she thought less. The 
 sense of how she would stand in his eyes made her hold 
 herself sacred. 
 
 An event that happened during what she intended to 
 be her last week at home, put into her hands a means 
 of conveying to her uncommunicating lover information 
 that she felt was owing him. However much his silence 
 meant offence at her separation from him, he had the 
 right to know what her circumstances had become. 
 
 She stood one brisk February morning hanging linen 
 out in a brief glint of sunshine that fell over Randogtnr 
 Edge upon the wood-bounded space before the cottage, 
 having already filled the hearth-line indoors with as many 
 things as it would hold, when she became aware of a 
 stranger, who had halted by the gate, contemplating her 
 at her work. Under one arm he carried a square black 
 box, with a round snout or eye projecting from its 
 surface: and, under the other, a sheathed trestle or 
 tripod. 
 
 The amateur of the picturesque called out to know if
 
 MISUNDERSTANDINGS 279 
 
 she would stand and be taken. Smiling' her consent, she 
 arranged herself as he directed her. 
 
 " Hands up ! " he told her. No, she must show her 
 face ! He set up his camera, so that her figure, tip-toeing 
 to reach the lines, came clear against the dark of the 
 open doorway. Presently she heard screws and clicks, 
 and the thing was done. 
 
 ' There, I have you ! " exclaimed the photographer, 
 regarding his subject with evident admiration. "If it 
 comes out well, I'll bring you a copy, when I pass again 
 in a day or two." 
 
 She thanked him for the offer ; she had never yet been 
 photographed, and to possess a counterfeit presentment 
 of herself appealed to her woman's curiosity : she would 
 be able to see herself then with new eyes. But having 
 watched the stranger pack up and depart, she went on 
 with her drying, and thought little more of the matter. 
 
 A little after dusk that same evening, her father strolled 
 into the house and sat down in his accustomed chair. 
 
 " Well, Liz, how be you goin' on ? " was the single 
 remark with which he announced his return. The girl's 
 face flushed for a moment with pleasure at seeing him ; 
 but in her answer she showed no more emotion than he; 
 each settled back at a word into the groove of habit 
 which the old man's six months' absence had not dis- 
 turbed. He had already been up in the coppice, he told 
 her ; coming in by way of Randogger. When he had 
 asked after the ferrets, and seen that his guns were in 
 proper order, nothing was said or done to show that he 
 had been away longer than from the day before. He 
 seemed hale enough to his daughter's eye, stronger and 
 better set up than the year before ; now and then some 
 trick in his speech showed he had been hearing other talk 
 from that about Randogger side ; there were certain 
 changes also in his attire from what he customarilv
 
 28o A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 wore, though with him winter and summer made but 
 little difference. 
 
 When they had finished their evening meal together, 
 Lizzie, to make him a special welcome, went out to the 
 wood-shed, and brought in some large faggots ; with these 
 she roused a smart blaze, that threw its cheer over the 
 low, barely-furnished room. 
 
 After laying aside the supper things she came across 
 and sat down on the opposite side of the hearth facing 
 her father. She pulled out some mendings and had 
 well settled herself before she was aware that the old 
 man's eyes were fixed on her. 
 
 " Get me that pipe from over there, my wench," said 
 he, after a while, speaking slow. 
 
 It was unlike his silent ways to ask for anything. With 
 a little wonder, but supposing he must be tired, she got 
 up and fetched what he wanted. 
 
 No sooner had she put it into his hand, than he cast 
 it* away from him. 
 
 " Woman, what 'a yer done to yerself ? " he cried at her 
 in hoarse speech. 
 
 She started, and reddened deeply under his gaze, but 
 did not flinch from the ordeal while it endured. 
 
 "Will y' answer me?" he insisted. 
 
 She looked back at kim, saying no word; their eyes 
 fought in silence for a while. 
 
 " Are ye not ashamed to go on looking so? " cried the 
 old man at last. 
 
 " No, father," she answered, " that I be not! I'll not 
 lie to please 'e. What I've done, it's there, and has got 
 to be. Don't think but I'm sorry enough for myself now ; 
 aye and for you, too, that's got to put up wi' me. But 
 you've on'y got to call me a name an' I'll go! " 
 
 " Ay, ye've got your mother's tongue ! " growled the 
 old fellow. It was the first time that Lizzie had ever
 
 MISUNDERSTANDINGS 281 
 
 heard mention of that other parent; it struck a strange 
 thrill in her now. 
 
 " I've more of my mother in me than that, and of my 
 father too, I reckon," said the girl proudly. 
 
 " An' had better have less of both, mebbe," returned 
 he. 
 
 " I wouldn't be any different to what I am!" she re- 
 plied ; and with that, turned and sat down again to her 
 mendings. For a time neither of them spoke. 
 
 Haycraft stooped his head down to the fire, and bent 
 questing. Presently he broke silence again. ' Is there 
 any party ye've to complain against ? " he asked deliber- 
 ately. 
 
 The girl shook her head. " No, it's not him. Don't 
 you be troubling yourself, father ; you'd best leave it 
 alone." 
 
 "Then be danged, I know 'm ! " cried the old man, 
 stamping down firm conviction with his foot. " There 
 'tis ; say no more ! " 
 
 " Father," entreated Lizzie, " let it be. You can't do 
 no good." 
 
 " Ay, wench, I'll not say a word." A moment later 
 he added heavily, "I'd 'a given more nor I can say, 
 I'd 'a given more nor I know, that this shouldn't 'a come 
 about." 
 
 On that he smoked through a pipe of tobacco, and 
 without another word mounted to his bed. 
 
 Within the week Lizzie's photographer kept his word. 
 "' There, Missis ! That ought to please your man," he 
 said, smiling as he handed over the print. 
 
 She murmured her thanks with burning cheeks ; and 
 as soon as she could be rid of him, retired hastily into the 
 house. There, with the photograph before her eyes she 
 wondered how she could have been so blind to her state, 
 and wondered more that no whisper of it should have got
 
 282 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 abroad, albeit her recent visit to the Vicarage assured 
 her she was still safe. MacAllister's spiteful shot, her 
 father's sharp scrutiny, and her own fears, all conspired 
 to give her an exaggerated idea of the fact she wished 
 to conceal. Increased pity for herself, and a depression 
 from which she could not escape, made her more than 
 ever long for the comfort her lover only could give 
 her. 
 
 She had put the picture out of sight into a drawer and 
 for a week or two could not bring herself to repeat the 
 shock of looking at it again. At last, after deep musing, 
 she drew it out one day, and endeavoured to study it 
 with another's eyes. From that point of view it found 
 favour ; there was no doubt it made her look fair, made 
 her look altogether as she wished now to appear in Ray- 
 mond's regard. Sanguine in the thought and the wish, 
 she slipped it into an envelope, and addressed it to the 
 absent one, hoping that it would carry word to him of all 
 she wished to convey. 
 
 For weeks afterwards she stayed on at home, her 
 father relieving her of all errands ; stayed, hoping with 
 a hope that slowly chilled for the answer that never 
 came. 
 
 More and more she shut herself off from the world, 
 even to the point of remaining unresponsive when Tris- 
 tram came knocking at the cottage door. She let him 
 depart supposing the place to be shut up and empty. 
 
 Going away after his second or third attempt to find 
 her at home, the Tramp met Haycraft, and greeted him 
 with surprise ; it amazed him to hear that he had been 
 back over three weeks. " Why didn't you come round 
 and tell me, you old prodigal?" cried the boy, wringing 
 him warmly by the hand. 
 
 The old fellow met his advances with a hard front. 
 " You'd 'a found me," said he, " any night if yer'd chosen,
 
 MISUNDERSTANDINGS 283 
 
 Muster Gavney. Your visits have stopped like, since I 
 come back." 
 
 " Stopped ? " cried the Tramp in a perplexity over the 
 old man's stern demeanour. " Why, I've been coming for 
 the last fortnight, and never finding any one at home ! 
 Where's Lizzie ? " 
 
 " She be in," said Haycraft, " she be never out now, so 
 to speak." 
 
 " Is she ill, then ? " enquired Tristram, alarmed. 
 
 " She's as she's likely to be ; you ought to know." 
 
 " But I know nothing! " he cried, bewildered. 
 
 " And she 'aven't told 'e to keep away ? " asked the old 
 man incredulously. 
 
 " Lord ! Ben, I haven't even seen her ! " exclaimed Tris- 
 tram, exasperated at not knowing what his companion 
 was driving at. 
 
 Haycraft grew grim on hearing that. " Will ye be 
 so good as to step wi' me ? " he demanded, and, on Tris- 
 tram's assent, led the way to a small paddock behind the 
 cottage where he kept his ferrets and the implements 
 and tackle of his various trades. It was a secluded and 
 battered piece of ground, fenced in with high wire 
 netting ; occasionally a few fowls had their run there ; it 
 was empty now. 
 
 Haycraft clicked-to the gate with a decisive snap, and 
 stood fronting Tristram. 
 
 " Muster Gavney," he asked, " are you goin' to tell me 
 truth or lies?" 
 
 " Help us! " exclaimed the injured youth. " What on 
 earth is the man after? Out with it! What is your 
 truth first ! " 
 
 " Last time you saw Liz was — when ? " 
 
 Tristram reflected : a month ago he thought was the 
 likely date. 
 
 "And didn't she tell 'e anything, either then or before? "
 
 284 A MODERN' ANTAEUS 
 
 "Anything? Nothing that I remember." 
 ' That's truth ? " the old man demanded, looking at 
 him hard. 
 
 ' Truth, Ben," he affirmed. A horror began to creep 
 over him ; the shadow of what was to come. 
 
 " Muster Gavney," pursued the old man, " you've 
 seemed a good friend to me, when I've needed it ; but 
 you've took a higher price for it than 'twas worth. My 
 girl's got in trouble. Did 'e not know that much ? " 
 
 Tristram stared aghast. Lizzie in trouble of that sort ? 
 he asked himself. "I swear it's not true!" he cried, 
 rallying to a belief in her which he had good cause to 
 hold. 
 
 " You swear! " replied the other. ' Maybe you didn't 
 know ; maybe she kep' it from you ; but there 'tis." 
 
 Tristram could only shake his head at a thing he would 
 not credit ; it seemed monstrous. All at once the shadow 
 of a suspicion crossed his mind : he fought it, forced it 
 away. It was not true ; of Liz — he would not believe it. 
 
 ' Now, sir," continued Haycraft, " there be this ques- 
 tion left: what'll you do; and what'll / do?" 
 
 Tristram wrested his suspicion about : — the fact was 
 there; he had Haycraft's word. How was he to think 
 it possible? In one way only : he recalled a scene he had 
 witnessed, and in a direct flash of thought .had singled 
 his man. Let the case be so horrible, he could believe it 
 then ! 
 
 " Do ! " he cried. " Smash him to pieces ; break every 
 bone of him ! Oh, if she would but have told me of this ! 
 You were away ? " 
 
 ' Yes, I were away," answered Haycraft, " but I'm here 
 now. Don't 'e think, Muster Gavney, that we part till 
 this thing's bin settled up. Man to man ; that's what I 
 say. Ah ! I know, I'm a poor man, and you are a gentle- 
 man ; and it's no good our likes asking your likes to make
 
 MISUNDERSTANDINGS 285 
 
 honest women of our girls. But, by God, here where we 
 now stand we'll find which is the better man, the young 
 'un or the old." 
 
 Tristram stared mute to see the great fellow stripping 
 himself for action. A fine figure of a man he became : 
 the stoop went out of his shoulders, he braced himself up 
 to his height, a rugged beauty showed out of the hard, 
 weather-beaten visage. The formidable old limbs re- 
 sponding to great memories of a pugilist's day, promised 
 that they carried behind them a tough customer, one 
 whose movements might be slow but whose stroke could 
 still fell a man. 
 
 The lad's first motion towards rage and disgust was 
 swept clean away by a generous impulse of affection and 
 pity. The sight gave him too absolute proof of the poor 
 fellow's honesty for him to stand rigorously to his dues. 
 
 " Ben, dear old Ben! " he cried, and had the old man 
 fairly in his arms before he knew. " Listen to me, it's 
 no lie I'm telling you! Oh, I'm not afraid of you; if I 
 had done what you think, you might knock me dead and 
 welcome. But I've done nothing : I knew nothing of this : 
 I'm clear of the whole thing. That I swear! " He saw 
 staggered belief come into his accuser's face. 
 
 " No, but," he went on, " I'll not be clear of it in one 
 way; no, Ben! you and I'll stick true! I tell you this: 
 only let me be certain of the man, once certain, and 
 while I have a leg to stand on he shall know if I'm not 
 Lizzie's friend ! " 
 
 Ending, " Give us your fist ! " he had the old fellow 
 hard by the hand ; they held each other like steel. Honest 
 hearts reach each other by short cuts when subtlety of 
 intellect would be caught tripping. Haycraft had no 
 doubts left in him : the truth shone too evidently through 
 the lad's vehemence of speech. 
 
 The old man's tongue stumbled to make amends.
 
 286 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " Muster Tristram, I ask your pardon," he said, and 
 could not get further; there was no need that he should. 
 The Tramp, half unconscious of him, had his mind fixed 
 on the central tragedy. " Dear Liz ! dear, hrave Liz ' " 
 he murmured. " Oh, she's too brave to be pitied. What 
 can one do for her ? " 
 
 " Aye. aye," answered Haycraft, " she mun put up wi v 
 the weight on it. Tis a hard load ; never fear, she'll bear 
 it. But, you'll understand me, Muster Tristram," he 
 rested his eyes with friendly meaning on the youth's 
 face, " so far as I be concerned, half the load of it be off 
 now. Things beant so double black as I thought 'em 
 when I met 'e alone just now. Aye," he added, " Liz may 
 baud her tongue, she's a right to ; I won't never force her 
 to speak; but I ain't got me eyes shut for a' that; an' if 
 I had I be a light sleeper, so to speak." 
 
 The old man offered Tristram entry to the house on 
 their return, but he, mindful of Lizzie's signal of the shut 
 door, declined the proposal, feeling that without her ex- 
 pressed wish he should not intrude. The very thought of 
 having to see her in her trouble shot confusion to his 
 brain. Yet he told himself that she had but to signal 
 for his help, and from the ends of earth he would come 
 to her. 
 
 Now when Lizzie went out, she chose only solitary 
 places, and hours when few folk were likely to be abroad. 
 One morning in early May she rose before dawn, and 
 making her way through pathless fields, came to the 
 brook over which she had once carried the boy Tristram 
 on her back, and given him his first lesson in morals. 
 Coming on the place she sought, she left her basket on 
 the bank, and began gathering watercress, stepping to 
 and fro ankle-deep in the ooze over which it grew. She 
 had not half-filled her basket when the strain of stooping 
 told on her; she mounted the bank to a dry place, and sat
 
 MISUNDERSTANDINGS 287 
 
 down to rest. Presently her lassitude became so great 
 that she had to lie back, and adjusting her head to the 
 slope, she let her cheek rest against the cool, close growth 
 there that was pushing into leaf. 
 
 Under her eyes, through every fissure of the soil, small 
 life was beginning to show : things that sprouted, others 
 that ran. Nature was in her most excrescent mood ; the 
 sun fingered the uncurling herbs with skilful midwifery; 
 the brook that purled softly at her feet threw out bubbles 
 to air that broke to let out wings ; and from below and 
 above came hungry mouths and beaks eager to be fed, 
 birth-rate and death-rate carrying on a breathless rivalry 
 side by side. 
 
 Watching all this, Lizzie's eyes gradually grew closed. 
 The rosy curtains so delicately adapted to a state half- 
 way between waking and sleeping, prompting the mind 
 to the beauty without and to the contentment within, 
 gave the right invitation to rest. Simply the sun's palm, 
 warm, over tired eyelids — if life could only be that, just 
 that and no more, how easy it would be to live ! To rest, 
 and to know that, outside rest, bright things lay if one 
 chose to look for them, — that surely would be the perfect 
 state, if ease were the true goal. 
 
 She was so close on sleep, that quiet footfalls on the 
 grass approached and stopped, before she could gather 
 sense enough to force open her eyes. Even then they 
 were slow to know the figure that stood, backed by the 
 morning's broadening beams. 
 
 It was only when he turned to go that she recognised 
 Tristram. And, alas ! of all men that it should be he 
 whom the siq-ht of her had driven away. 
 
 What kindness and pity his going indicated she could 
 not tell. Impulsively her hands went out, seized and 
 tore up by the roots the young herbage beside her; went 
 on tearing, till a bare patch from her handling showed
 
 288 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 in the green. " Oh, Ray, Ray," she cried, " and I bear 
 all this for you ! " She threw herself over on her face, 
 weeping bitterly. 
 
 The next day she had left the neighbourhood. Not 
 even her father knew where she had gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 PLANS AND SECTIONS 
 
 13 AYMOND, nursing his resentment against one to 
 whom his memory still leaned in fondness, was 
 flattered and a little touched at receiving her token. It 
 rekindled so much of the lover in him, brought back to 
 him so vividly the spell of her presence, that, while lav- 
 ishing tenderness on the small space which gave him her 
 features, he regretted that in the place of a whole-length 
 he had not a fuller rendering of dear mouth and eyes. 
 
 Yet, even as it was, the sweet memories it brought al- 
 most moved him into relenting the hard silence he had 
 practised. Had one word of her love for him come with 
 it, his resolution had not been proof against sending her 
 some small token in reply. 
 
 But the very muteness of the missive made him regard 
 it suspiciously as a riddle; and seeking the solution, he 
 restrained his desire to find in it more than was there. 
 Should it mean that Lizzie was willing now to yield the 
 point that separated them, then a little more silence on his 
 part would help her to know who henceforth was to be 
 master. If, on the other hand, it was but a lure inviting 
 him to accept things as she had ordered them, and to 
 grant her an indulgence in writing, then delay would 
 serve still better to instruct her. So, for the settling of 
 the question he, too, waited, thinking that a week or two 
 at the most would bring the fond girl to her knees ; and, 
 as he cherished the fair profile which gave but half the 
 
 u 289
 
 290 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 mouth's sweetness, and one cheek only under a dark-set 
 eye, missed altogether the real meaning with which it 
 came laden, and, with a little intentional cruelty, was cruel 
 in a far larger degree than he dreamed. 
 
 While he still held off, a letter reached him from Tris- 
 tram making mention of Haycraft's return. With much 
 to say of the father, of the daughter it told nothing. 
 Chafing to have news of her, Raymond was vexed hy the 
 omission, and chose to imagine it strange. He was pro- 
 voked also at having to admit that Lizzie now stood justi- 
 fied in her refusal to quit home. So Raymond let the 
 estrangement keep its force, planning for their meeting 
 in the ensuing summer a scene of fond wrath and re- 
 proach which should win her to a more meek allegiance 
 in the future than she had rendered him in the past. Let 
 her but confide absolutely in him, and the world, he told 
 himself, should not contain a lover more tender in fulfill- 
 ing the obligations of his trust. 
 
 So he planned. 
 
 Midway through June, having failed to gain his degree, 
 Raymond quitted the University for good. Arriving to 
 play the wounded lover he found that his heroine had 
 quitted the stage. 
 
 Meeting the Tramp he questioned him obliquely, and 
 got oblique answers in return. He heard from him no 
 more than was known at the Vicarage as to Lizzie's 
 whereabouts. As she had spoken of going out to service, 
 it was supposed now she had gone. To his further prob- 
 ings the Tramp bade him ask Haycraft, and at that, Ray- 
 mond was forced to let the matter rest. With Haycraft 
 he could not well push enquiry beyond a casual remark. 
 Yet all day the thought of her engaged his mind. 
 
 Was he not a lover faithful and constant? His feet 
 sought the lonely wood-tracts where they had been used 
 to meet ; he chose her hours, and stood continually on the
 
 PLANS AND SECTIONS 291 
 
 spot whence could be seen her window looking out on the 
 high wood-bank surrounding her home. Even when he 
 ceased to persuade himself that her return was merely de- 
 layed by accident, or through a mistake as to the date of 
 his own, he came back again and again to the quest, 
 though it was with embittered feelings that he now longed 
 for her to appear. Before showing mercy, he needed to 
 be unmerciful first, — must strike before he could forgive. 
 She, not he, he told himself, had started division between 
 them ; for, at the very best interpretation, her removal 
 meant distrust of him. 
 
 Thus lonely in the places of their past meetings, the 
 lover came to regard Lizzie's absence as a definite affront, 
 a breach that was intended to be final. With her father 
 back, she must have gone for the sole purpose of avoiding 
 him ; that she should have done so, leaving no clue as to 
 her whereabouts, was a further proof that she meant to 
 be quit of him. 
 
 Utterly bewildered when first called on to believe it, he 
 found in conviction a quick hardening process for his 
 heart. His mind recalled the sweetness of Lizzie's looks 
 and words, only to sum up a whole that he must reject as 
 false. Whatever had seemed truest in her ways towards 
 him, came to be the measure of her pretence ; her passion- 
 ate abandonment of herself to his hands, her humble fore- 
 bodings concerning a future wherein he was to stand 
 blameless, all that had then seemed to place him high, 
 served now only to inflame the wound his pride had sus- 
 tained. He had not ceased loving her ; she, incredible, 
 had ceased to love him ; believing himself worshipped, he 
 had come to find himself deserted. 
 
 Here, then, was woman, cried self-love, treating him 
 as man, if he stooped and let himself be conquered, must 
 expect to be treated. He was not the man to take reverse 
 of this sort in meek submission ; rather must he smite, and
 
 292 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 smite till the fair image that unworthy had won place in 
 his heart, should seem no longer fair to him. Still to love 
 her, was to stand small in his own esteem, the cheat of his 
 senses ; all the tenderness for her that his heart retained 
 was but convicted folly that whined not to be cast out. He 
 had to admit, in the astonishing pang of the process, that 
 he had loved the woman, whom he now put to inner tor- 
 ment and death. Once he had almost thought of her as 
 mate-worthy, his right complement and pair; now he 
 forced himself so deeply to doubt all he knew of her, as 
 to make her a different creature, scarce recognisable even 
 as a debased version of his dream. He was implacable till 
 he had turned her into an unimportant item of the past; 
 the struggle was, he found, to do it. 
 
 Lookers-on who know more of Lizzie's case than Ray- 
 mond had wit to guess, may think badly of a love that 
 could turn to such rancour and pride; but human nature 
 is peculiarly at its worst when, wrong, it assumes itself to 
 be right. If you would measure a man finally, wait till he 
 convicts himself of sin, then judge him. That surely is 
 Heaven's own test, and the meaning of the hour when 
 neither the earth nor the rocks shall be able to give cover 
 to man's conscience. 
 
 Tristram discovered soon enough the change that had 
 come over his friend, for the happy relations between 
 them fell into some disorder. Raymond's reckless air 
 showing the man out of sorts was forgivable enough ; 
 not so the new tone of cynical disdain he affected : it sat 
 ill on one who, truth to say, had no intellectual ability to 
 carry it off. More than once the two came to words over 
 differences which would before have but set them chaffing. 
 Quick after the clash of tongues broke out the old Ray- 
 mond, straightforward, dictatorial, but honest. 
 
 ' Don't mind me, Tramp! " he cried. " I tell you I've 
 been hard hit, devilish hard. You remember what that
 
 PLANS AND SECTIONS 293 
 
 old gipsy woman told me last year; a long journey to go, 
 and a far-off country to live in, was her word for it. 
 Well, it saves me the trouble of thinking; I'm for the 
 Colonies : — to live in England one needs a head-piece. 
 I've been taking three years to find out that I've none. 
 I've made a mess of it here; best thing I can do is to go 
 and be a new broom in a new country. I've a few things 
 to settle and a few more to learn ; then it'll be good-bye 
 everybody ! In a year not one of you will miss me." 
 
 Tristram imagined that his friend's pride had been 
 deeply hurt by failure for his degree, and was puzzled to 
 find him so put out over a thing toward which he 
 had previously had so little ambition. How would he 
 have stood better in prospects, the Tramp asked him, had 
 he succeeded? He thought very little of Raymond's 
 grumble at himself, crying, " To be as free as you are 
 now, I'd exchange skins with you to-morrow ! " 
 
 Raymond hunched and spoke of debts. He had still to 
 break them to his father. Tristram said, " In another 
 year I believe I could lend you something," adding, " You 
 wait, and you'll see me dancing to a tune of my own, 
 then! I'm going to chuck this precious business head of 
 mine ; but it's no use crying off till I can start the other 
 thing, and I don't know what the other thing will be yet. 
 Oh, fresh air's the first item ! I've given my father hints. 
 He won't seem to see it ; thinks that to sit on a wool-sack 
 all one's life is as good as becoming Lord Chancellor." 
 
 He summed up his grievance by protesting that to go 
 into Sawditch every day was to put his head into a sack 
 and feel suffocated. His morning rides were the only 
 present comfort and stretch that his energies could secure ; 
 for those he was as regular as the clock, up punctually two 
 full hours before breakfast. 
 
 Another member of the household was also an early 
 riser. In the open air Marcia and the Tramp generally
 
 294 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 exchanged morning greetings ; and the footway between 
 Hill Alwyn and the Valley House became their usual 
 place of encounter. 
 
 Thus, a week after his home-coming Raymond fell in 
 with her. With the woods behind him, he fronted a pitch 
 of bare meadow tingling with, red field sorrel, al< >ng whose 
 edge the run of wind made a hurrying pulse of lights 
 and darks. Over earth's shoulder Phoebus still leaned 
 low, lifting his bonnet of cloud to the morning; from the 
 air overhead jetted invisible sparkles of song. It was the 
 dew-lit hour, before heat had drawn off the cool bloom of 
 dawn. No other country can give to an Englishman the 
 full incense-breath of early day which comes to him 
 through the laden airs and fields of his native land. Ray- 
 mond had never travelled, but turning his thoughts now 
 to places far over-sea he felt in his blood a prediction of 
 the loss he would have to know ; and a sentiment for his 
 own country, almost a stay-at-home wish, took hold of 
 him consciously for the first time. 
 
 Towards him came a fresh vision of English girlhood, 
 stepping at a great pace, making a bright business of her 
 morning's walk. Her warm colour over the fluttering 
 coolness of a light summer gown gave to her face the 
 posy-beauty of flowers close-massed without leaves to 
 single them into form. In the even glow of its rich tints, 
 face before features was what one saw. For face alone 
 posy was the word ; for form and bearing, a rod in blos- 
 som, a high, straight spray swinging free, was the thought 
 that came nearer. Warmed breezes off a high hill, brac- 
 ing vision of cool sunlight, to a lover with a taste of com- 
 parisons, Marcia's beauty had stood sisterly to these. 
 
 The fair girl had no lover; to be heart-whole was still 
 part of her charm ; the rose-window of her face lay cool in 
 its morning shadows, unswept dews still guarded her 
 earth from the piercing of Love's beams.
 
 PLANS AND SECTIONS 295 
 
 " Ah, Raymond, is it you? " she cried, with a look of 
 welcome on seeing him. " Up so early ? " sang her own 
 praises as well as his. " I'm meeting Tristram," was the 
 explanation she gave of herself. 
 
 Raymond was willing enough to turn and go back with 
 her. They walked together, she doing the talking, for the 
 full breadth of a field. Her tongue was in its most up- 
 with-the-lark mood ; the mere pleasure of seeing things 
 awake put her into livelier speech than was her custom. 
 
 " What, you are moody still? " she turned to say pres- 
 ently. " Even now ; and look what a morning! " 
 
 " Ought one to change one's moods with the weather? ' 
 enquired he. 
 
 "To be sure! What's the weather for, otherwise? 
 Give me grey all the year round and I'll be con- 
 sistent ! " 
 
 " Whatever would you be like then? " 
 
 " Crabby, unbearable ; you would get to the bed-rock of 
 all my bad qualities at once ! " She glanced to take in her 
 companion's aspect. " Don't go in grey, dear man, Ray- 
 mond, not internally, I mean." 
 
 "What, you find me unbearable?" he asked, with a 
 hard, short laugh. 
 
 " So-so," she answered, giving a friendly tone to her 
 words. " Noises like that you might just as well leave 
 out." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I laugh at myself? It helps me to 
 bear being shown I'm a fool." 
 
 " Who shows you that? " 
 
 " Don't facts ? " he asked. 
 
 " You mean negatives, disappointments. Why, a man 
 should bear those and be the better for them. Who ever 
 thinks the worse of you for not being a B.A. ? " 
 
 " Oh, I can bear that," growled Raymond. " It's other 
 things I mind about."
 
 296 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ' Every one has to bear something," said Marcia. 
 " I've a woe, though I don't show it ; or do I ? " 
 
 He looked into the quiet laughter of her dark eyes. 
 " Indeed, and you don't! " he assured her; " I'll believe it 
 when I hear it." 
 
 " I'm too strong for my sex," she told him. " There are 
 so many tilings I can do, and mayn't. It never strikes a 
 man, I suppose, what a prison that is? You don't want 
 to thread needles and darn stockings, or wear your hair 
 long ; all things you could do if you wished. If you want 
 to break out, you break out, and that's the difference. 
 But look at me ! " 
 
 " That's what I'm doing," said Raymond. They were 
 at a stile ; vaulting it he stood on the other side ready to 
 hand her over. 
 
 " There, I could do that ! " she said to him. 
 
 " Then do it ! " 
 
 ' No," she said, and set herself demurely to climb. 
 * Now you see how I have to waste time. To see any 
 one jump gives me a pang. And think with those feel- 
 ings, what it must be to have Tramp as one's brother? 
 Sometimes it's no use ; I have to let myself go." 
 
 " What do you do then ? " 
 
 ' Pick up the first thing that comes handy, and carry it 
 till I drop, or till it drops. Generally it kicks and cries, 
 ' Oh, Miss Marcia ! ' or, ' Really, Marcia, my dear, you 
 mustn't ! ' in quite a dignified, shocked fashion. But I 
 must! A man really doesn't know the trial it is to be 
 well-behaved, because he hasn't to be." 
 
 She chattered on, with quick turns of the head, while 
 keeping to his pace. Her eyes threw laughter at him 
 over a mouth controlled gravel)' to the burden of its com- 
 plaint. 
 
 ' Yet, behold me, happy enough ! " she declared finally. 
 " And have you any grievances so great, that you should
 
 PLANS AND SECTIONS 297 
 
 not be? Do, please, be holiday-like, and come walks with 
 me!" 
 
 Raymond glanced at the high colour and lit eye ; she 
 seemed glad merely to be feeling her feet under her. The 
 romance of another face drifted across his senses. Fairer? 
 no. Yes, for him. Ah, no ! not now. He banished it to 
 ask whether walking were a hobby of hers. 
 
 " My hobby-horse," she answered ; " the Tramp taught 
 me to ride it." 
 
 " His own pace too." Raymond, stepping beside her, 
 recognised it. 
 
 . " Oh yes ! He has spoiled me for walking with all 
 women-kind ; when I can't get him I go alone. Slow- 
 walking is what tires me ; it gets hold of different muscles 
 that I haven't got. You remember what a rate we three 
 used to go at ? Aunt Julie tells me I look improper when 
 I do that now. D'you think anything improper that one 
 really likes? " 
 
 " I don't think you improper," said Raymond, and let 
 his meaning be seen. 
 
 She returned the compliment, laughing, " And I'm sure 
 you are not ! " 
 
 Marking how confidently she stepped, he asked her 
 how much walking she thought she could do. 
 
 " I never get a fair test now," she complained ; 
 " Trampy's time is too occupied. Once or twice I have 
 been on the beginnings of my last legs ; but it was mud 
 not distance that brought me there." 
 
 " Do you mind about hills? " 
 
 " Up I like them ; not down." 
 
 " That's because you wear heels. Women are like 
 hares, all up at heel. They think it helps them to get 
 there ; and, pushing a toe, they cut off a limb." 
 
 Marcia showed him hers, guiltless of the excrescence. 
 
 " Ah, so that's how you get your stride," said Raymond.
 
 298 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ' See some women walk, and it would never occur to one 
 that they had legs above their ankles. Do you run ever? " 
 
 " Alone: or when Tramp makes me." 
 
 " How does he make you." 
 
 ' Brings me through a field where cows are," she re- 
 turned with perfect gravity. " It's his one cruelty ; he 
 says it's to cure me ; but I can't be cured. Mice I've no 
 feeling about, cows I have. 1 feel creepy about them ; it's 
 no question of size. I look at them and I run." 
 
 " Come," said Raymond ; " over there are cows." 
 
 " No ; there's Trampy ! " She waved up her hand and 
 sang out to him for his news, as he came on with a par- 
 ticularly radiant face. 
 
 " News? Oh, none! " he answered; but added, "you 
 wait ! " 
 
 " You look like a spread eagle ! " 
 
 " I feel it," said the boy. 
 
 Truly he felt uplifted, like Ganymedes. He was fresh 
 from colloquy with Lady Petwyn : without warning she 
 had sprung on him a proposal, a buffet from the blue. 
 
 ' If MacAllister died or departed," she said, " would 
 you care to replace him? " 
 
 'Him?" exclaimed Tristram, hanging on the wrong 
 word to express his surprise. 
 
 " Oh, of course, you'd want training ; but some day you 
 may reckon that the post will be vacant." 
 
 Tristram had a scruple. " You don't turn him out?" 
 
 " No, I don't turn him out. At present he suits me. 
 The point is, will you go in and study the business under 
 him?" 
 
 The Tramp shook his head, with solid certainty that he 
 could not. 
 
 ' I didn't suppose so! " said the dame. " You are far 
 too stuck up and proud to accept things sensibly. Luckily 
 I've the other place in Wales which you've been to. Will
 
 PLANS AND SECTIONS 299 
 
 it suit you to go and make a mess of things on a small 
 scale first ; and perhaps come on here afterwards ? I've 
 thought of this but said nothing — left your father to 
 give you your first polish. He tells me you've a busi- 
 ness-head ; now I strike in. What d'you say? Will 
 you come?" 
 
 The future opened on him like a landscape. 
 
 " To-morrow ! " cried the Tramp. 
 
 " Well, I give you three months," said she. ' I'm mis- 
 taken if you'll find it such plain sailing. For all I know, 
 a quarter's the legal notice. If so, I don't imagine I shall 
 get you away for less. Understand, young man, if you do 
 this, there's more work ahead for you than perhaps you 
 think of." She nodded darkly, scrutinising his unsuspi- 
 cious face. 
 
 It was with this brimming in his body that the Tramp 
 went down that day to join his father at Sawditch. Find- 
 ing him much harassed he postponed word of it ; and from 
 day to day, for the same reason allowed the matter to 
 stand undiscussed. At the end of a week, dislocation of 
 interests so wrought on him, that to contain himself be- 
 came actual pain. 
 
 " You are not any help to me, Tristram ! " Mr. Gavney 
 cried irritably one day, cast this way and that with worry 
 and the stress of matters requiring immediate settlement. 
 His hand went up to his head as he spoke. ' You might 
 as well not be here! " 
 
 Tristram, seizing on the verbal opening, braced himself 
 to deliver his mind. Let this be settled, he would put his 
 back into all that had to be done so long as he remained. 
 Without great affection for his father, he felt a tender- 
 ness, almost a compunction, at coming to the point. He 
 spoke, and saw before him a petrified face. Having 
 begun, he felt that he owed it to himself and Lady Petwyn 
 to put the matter clearly. He was hot upon the new
 
 300 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 project. Meeting amazed protest, he did not scruple to 
 show a settled mind. 
 
 That night there was grief and dismay at the Valley 
 House. Mr. Beresford Gavney had been brought home 
 ill ; how ill, no doctor could say with certainty. Absolute 
 quiet was enjoined. His faculties hung wavering in a 
 darkened room. 
 
 Tristram felt himself a culprit.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 BUSINESS HEADS AND LOGGERHEADS 
 
 A T the Valley House, order and the repose wrought 
 by ministering hands succeeded the shock of catas- 
 trophe. Tristram's arrival at Sawditch close on noon of 
 the next day showed him a different picture. A pile of 
 correspondence lay unanswered, and unanswerable, the 
 head clerk assured him, needing the attention of a direct- 
 ing head. Other matters pressed shrewdly ; certain set- 
 tlements were impending ; and on the credit side the books 
 showed unsatisfactory features, several debts marked as 
 bad, together with others slow to realise. The big firm 
 had been living in hand-to-mouth fashion ; and the least 
 check threatened to throw the whole machinery out of 
 order. Tristram found that, while he himself had an 
 inkling on most matters, gathered from consultations in 
 his father's sanctum, at which he had been present, the 
 head clerk had definite knowledge of only a third. He 
 felt the weight of the house pressing on his shoulders, 
 and was without confidence in his coadjutor. Before four 
 o'clock in the afternoon a message went from him to the 
 outer office for despatch, informing Gilpinger that his 
 old berth lay open for his immediate acceptance. The 
 " come " of the offer was urgently emphasised. 
 
 A minute later the senior clerk presented himself, form 
 in hand. 
 
 " This telegram, sir? " 
 
 301
 
 302 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " I wish it sent," said Tristram. 
 
 The man offered a respectful protest. None of the 
 other clerks would work with Mr. Gilpinger, was what he 
 begged leave to state. 
 
 " They won't have to. He will work with me ; he will 
 occupy my father's chair during his absence." 
 
 " That is a large order, sir." 
 
 " A necessary one," said young Jack in office, and 
 when the other threatened argument, reminded him that 
 he had not been invited to discuss the matter. The tele- 
 gram was sent. Tristram could hear mutterings. 
 
 He had not counted on his man in vain ; before the office 
 closing-hour, Gilpinger presented himself, and touched 
 Tristram by enquiring eagerly and foremost for last news 
 of his old employer. It was not the errand he had come 
 on. 
 
 His pupil showed him the machine he had once handled 
 so well, now out of gear, at friction, threatening a stand- 
 still. Was he up to the work ? the boy asked him. 
 
 " Who trained you? " was the grim response, showing 
 that the old fellow did not think his day over for the sur- 
 mounting of great obstacles. 
 
 To a further enquiry, " When will you come? " " I'm 
 here," sounded satisfactory. 
 
 " Ah ! you are all right," cried Tristram, and had him 
 by the shoulders down into the chair he was to occupy. 
 
 "Now, John Gilpin, you set the pace!" said he, and 
 turned his back resolutely on broad daylight. 
 
 It was a late hour that night when he reached home. 
 His mother was sitting up for him, worn out and anxious. 
 All was still well, he heard, being no worse. ;< He has 
 spoken," was the best news. 
 
 " You mean consciously ? " 
 
 " He said, ' Where's Tristram ? ' When I told him, he 
 said, ' That's better.' " Doubtless she knew of differences,
 
 BUSINESS HEADS 303 
 
 for she said anxiously, though without reproach, " My 
 dear, you love your father ? " 
 
 "I'd do anything in the world to help him!" cried 
 Tristram, and satisfied her. 
 
 She put her thin hands round his face and kissed him. 
 " Go to bed, my dear," she ordered tenderly. 
 
 " Dear little mother," murmured the boy, " you must 
 do that ; see, I'll carry you ! Who sits up? " 
 
 " Marcia," said she. " Ah ! if I had her strength ! " 
 
 His sister met him returning from his mother's room; 
 she touched his forehead with her cheek and looked 
 shrewd enquiry at him. 
 
 " I've been putting my business-head on to older shoul- 
 ders," was his account of the day's work. 
 
 "What may I tell him?" she asked; "he is sure to 
 question. He wakes up to enquire after you, and won't be 
 satisfied till he has heard." 
 
 " Tell him, I'm there, that I'm sticking to it. Oh, yes, 
 give him my love, and say it's all right." 
 
 Five minutes later the touch of the sheets won him to 
 dead slumber till the call of the morrow. He woke to a 
 round of similar days. 
 
 Work so pressed on him that he had no longer time to 
 run over to Hill Alwyn for his morning rides. Aware of 
 the reason, his kind old dragon sent across to the Valley 
 House a mount for him, punctual to the stroke of eight 
 each day. He took his canter to and from Sawditch, full 
 of gratitude for a service which gave him time for his be- 
 loved exercise. Thus did strong and weak, with contrary 
 pullings, strive to divide his heartstrings between them. 
 So hard were the hours he kept, and so keen was his appli- 
 cation, that when his father's danger was declared to be 
 over he almost felt that the curing process had come from 
 him ; and trusted confidently to receive reward for his 
 stewardship.
 
 3 04 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Gilpinger had done wonders; with a malicious joy he 
 traced out the mistakes, shortcomings, and laxities of 
 book-keeping which had followed the withdrawal of his 
 iron rule. The Gilpinger code was reinstituted. Tris- 
 tram stood as buffer between his snarling tempers and the 
 flesh and blood of office-workers who could not have put 
 up with it. Nevertheless, black looks followed the old 
 man as he entered and left the establishment. 
 
 A book came up done in the old fashion, a deliberate 
 assertion of the sacredness of custom. Tristram weeded 
 out the recalcitrant with a quick hand. " If you like to 
 come and ask to be taken back again when my father re- 
 turns, I'll state a case for you," said he as he paid the man 
 his wages. ' For the present my authority holds good ; 
 you happen not to agree with it." 
 
 He stood the test, hard to youth, of being a little un- 
 popular for a time, having before been a favourite. Gil- 
 pinger's shot-out lip, which had shown things were seri- 
 ous, relaxed after a while ; they ceased to burn oil 
 approaching on midnight. The old clerk said one day : — 
 
 ' See, we've got the web right again ; the centre of it's 
 here!" he slapped his desk. " Your father has been sit- 
 ting too much to one side. Fact is, he never took my 
 seat at all after I left ; it seems to have been a general 
 play-place for fools. Mind you, if you or he don't sit in 
 it when he comes back and I'm gone, you'll be in the same 
 mess again." 
 
 Tristram said, " If my word is good for anything you 
 are to keep it and choose your own time for getting out of 
 it. I shall not be in your way, that I promise you. As 
 soon as I can speak to my father on business matters, 
 your name goes foremost. I've been constitutional prince- 
 ling to your Prime Ministry is the report T take him. If 
 you want to do me a return service, tell him I've no busi- 
 ness-head."
 
 BUSINESS HEADS 305 
 
 " And any other lie? " asked the old fellow, by way of 
 showing crusty admiration of the lad's abilities. 
 
 Riding home every evening Tristram fell into pleasant 
 thoughts of coming freedom. An omen of happiness had 
 reached him at a time when his heart needed cheering, a 
 letter from the dear Sage back from foreign travel and 
 restored to his old health. The boy longed to have speech 
 with him again, and wrote that the pleasure was only 
 briefly postponed. He hoped to carry fine news over 
 with him when he went. 
 
 Wishing to thank his old dame for her kindness, he 
 came back betimes one evening and rode on to Hill 
 Alwyn. On the way he passed a cart coming up out of 
 Cob's Hole laden with cottage furniture ; beside it walked 
 a labourer with wife and children, a respectable, poor 
 family, not the sort to be victims of an eviction. 
 
 "What, are you leaving?" he stopped to exclaim; 
 and when they affirmed the fact, " Where to, then?" he 
 enquired. 
 
 From question to question he came on a sad enough 
 story. Their two youngest children had died of diph- 
 theria in the home they were now quitting ; and since no 
 remedy to existing conditions was promised them, these 
 poor folk, who actually wished for their children to 
 live, were moving to Bembridge, the nearest place avail- 
 able. Thence to the man's work was three miles, but not 
 a cottage was to be had nearer. 
 
 The shame of it flushed the boy's cheek as he entered 
 the rich Hill Alwyn acres. Lady Petwyn's conscience, 
 with MacAllister as its keeper, was no pretty object to 
 him. 
 
 His lady welcomed him with open arms and kind scur- 
 rilous abuse. " How's your father ? " she asked presently, 
 and so came to her main point : " When is he going to 
 let you off ? when am I to call you my man ? "
 
 306 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Tristram spoke his mind straight on that subject, with 
 conscience fresh from a toasting. " Madam," said he, 
 " if I am ever to follow MacAllister, it must be on con- 
 ditions : Cob's Hole will have to go." 
 
 " I hear you say so," said the dame. " How long has 
 your brain had that bubble in it ? " To his hot state- 
 ment of the circumstances by which he hoped to move 
 her : " Froth it off," said she. 
 
 To attempt the cajolery of soft words would, he saw, 
 be ruinous to the cause he advocated. He pointed instead 
 to the plain fact that such hovels drove good labourers 
 off the estate. 
 
 " It's pound foolish," said he. 
 
 " Well," she retorted, " call it my penalty for be- 
 ing extravagant; I haven't the pennies to be wise 
 with." 
 
 " You could start building on a loan to-morrow, if you 
 chose. The cottages themselves would be a sufficient 
 security." 
 
 " And three years hence would be pig-sties ! " 
 
 She relished argument with the Tramp too well to 
 trouble to talk soberly. Her tongue whipped him along 
 a well-beaten track that, as ever, was to lead them 
 nowhere. 
 
 " I make you an offer," she said finally, " I'll do the 
 same by you as by the Cooper-Petwyn gang. If you 
 want Cob's Hole you may buy it, and build a new 
 tower of Babel in your own way. There, I mean it ; 
 I've listened quite enough to your nonsense and 
 temper! " 
 
 "Seriously?" asked Tristram. She nodded. 
 
 He jumped up, crying, "Done!" 
 
 " Very well," she snapped, with a grim look at him. 
 
 " Mind you be ready. In a year's time MacAllister 
 goes ; I may as well tell you now that he got his notice
 
 BUSINESS HEADS 307 
 
 from me this midsummer. When the time comes I must 
 replace him. I'll do no dancing attendance on cranks 
 and crazes ; I want a business man. I warn you the thing 
 will cost you a cool five thousand." 
 
 " MacAllister goes ! You promised you wouldn't turn 
 him out ! " 
 
 " He turns himself out : wouldn't obey my orders : went 
 trespassing in a direction I chose to think inconvenient. 
 There the matter stands ; he goes out, somebody has 
 got to come in. The offer rests with you ; take it or 
 leave it ! " 
 
 " Give me just a month over the year, and I'll take it." 
 
 " Oh, I'll give you the month, if you think your 
 conscience can bear up under Cob's Hole in the 
 interval." 
 
 She felt somehow that she was being conquered ; the 
 Tramp was gaining his ridiculous point, notwithstand- 
 ing her contempt and threats to have done with him. 
 The thought made her put a bark on to her parting 
 speech. 
 
 " For once," she said, " you have succeeded." 
 
 " In what way? " he asked. 
 
 " Been a prig." 
 
 ' Your nursing has done it," he answered. 
 
 At home he found Marcia back from an airing, with 
 Raymond for a companion. She came laden with wild- 
 flowers. 
 
 " Talking of small incidents by the way, we met Lizzie 
 Haycraft," she said. " No, we didn't speak to her ; 
 I just caught sight of her, and hardly knew her till 
 she had passed ; she looks pale and altered. Service has 
 knocked her up, I suppose ; so now she's back. Have 
 you seen her? " 
 
 The Tramp flushed a little consciously at the news ; he 
 was glad to hear it, yet had a wonder. " No," he said,
 
 3 o8 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " I've had no time to see any one; in a day or two I 
 must go over." 
 
 " Ray," said Marcia, " tells me he's off." 
 
 "Off! When? where to?" 
 
 " To-morrow, into Wiltshire. I shall miss him, 
 Trampy ; he has helped me to breathe ; I don't look 
 broken down, do I ? And I've been chief nurse all along ; 
 to-day I made papa own it ; as if he knew anything at 
 all about it, poor darling! He's most meek when I talk 
 to him; agrees with everything I say, even when I tell 
 him you are a good boy. He'll get up with quite a re- 
 formed notion of you." 
 
 The shadow of what his father's commendation meant 
 crossed Tristram's mind ; but his new scheme had now 
 grown too material and big for him to have fears about 
 its ultimate reality. Thus he built his castle on the edge 
 of a precipice of sand. 
 
 Marcia's last walk with Raymond remained imprinted 
 on her mind, by reason of a kindly fear that, by some 
 careless word, she had done him an injury. Starting in 
 gayest spirits they had returned in gloom. What had 
 she done to bring about the change? Somewhere she 
 knew he carried a wound ; had she, she asked herself, 
 been heedless in a chance handling of it? 
 
 " I go to-morrow," he had said at parting, though 
 when speaking of the project only two hours earlier he 
 had left the date indefinite. " No," he declared, then, in 
 the face of her surprise, " I've not changed my mind 
 at all; I've had it made for me. You told me I ought 
 to be up and doing; there's sheep-farming to be learnt, 
 and away in Wiltshire the opportunity is waiting for 
 me. Oh, you've been a good fellow to me, Marcia ; 
 talking to you has shown me what I'm fit for, and some- 
 thing that I'm not. Now, if I don't see you again before 
 Christmas, you needn't think I'm idle. And if I want
 
 BUSINESS HEADS 309 
 
 advice again before I leave England, I'll come to you for 
 it." They parted firm friends. What, then, had so 
 abruptly decided him? Marcia reviewed the incidents 
 of the road and all their conversation together during 
 that day, but could hit on no solution. To be sure she 
 had on this, as on other occasions, given him motherly 
 advice, for she loved dearly to be wise. When he first 
 spoke of his debts to account for the strain of depression 
 she noticed, her common-sense cut off his right to the 
 luxury altogether. 
 
 " You haven't really an anxiety," she then told 
 him. 
 
 " But how can I help having? " he urged. 
 
 " About them ? none. You know your father will pay 
 them. You've only a bad conscience ; that's a very differ- 
 ent thing. Get rid of it." 
 
 To his " How?" she replied, " Make a clean breast of 
 it." And on their next meeting he owned to a conscience 
 so much the lighter. 
 
 Afterwards, in his first gay mood, she asked him, 
 
 "Now haven't I done you good?" and won laughing 
 admission of the fact. Getting him to talk nonsense, 
 she was quick to approve the change of note in 
 him. 
 
 " Now you are more sensible," she said. 
 
 " Yes ? if you call this being sensible." 
 
 "I do ; to enjoy one's self always is ! " 
 
 That was her doctrine, and to a point it had acted 
 as a cure for his malady. What then had she done 
 differently on this one occasion to bring about the 
 change ? 
 
 She retraced their way over meadow and hill, and 
 through deep wooded lanes ; and from each reconstructed 
 scene came memories of the subjects they had discussed. 
 Was it there that she hurt him, or there? Their talk
 
 310 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 on sheep-farming- had suggested Hiddenden for an objec- 
 tive; and she wanted to be introduced to quaint old Daddy 
 Wag-top. Time failing them, their farthest point had 
 been a cottage hidden away in the bend of the Ran- 
 dogger wood. They found themselves then, on enquiring, 
 seven miles from Hill Alwyn, mid might have been 
 twenty from anywhere, such a remote strange little corner 
 of the world did it seem. 
 
 A small girl standing at the cottage gate directed them 
 to the shortest way, so far as she knew it ; but her 
 knowledge of the country ceased at the main road to 
 which she pointed them. A child herself, this slippet of 
 a body sustained the weight of a small babe slung in a 
 shawl over her arm. Marcia stopped to look into a brown 
 face buttoned up with sleep. 
 
 " Sister or brother ? " she enquired. 
 
 " 'Tain't ourn, it belongs to lodger; it's a 'e," answered 
 the child. 
 
 Marcia laid a finger on the soft poll, touching its down 
 fondly. 
 
 " Oh ! what a furnace! " she cried, " I can feel his heart 
 beating ! " Smiling to Raymond she said, ' ' I suppose 
 babies bore you ? " 
 
 " I've never found much to see in them yet," he ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 " I lose my heart to them," she said, " I should like to 
 buy that little dormouse." On their way home they passed 
 late dog-roses, and Marcia, wilfully gathering more than 
 she could hold, made Raymond share her prickly handfuls. 
 He was gay enough then. 
 
 She could not trace to anything said or done the mani- 
 fest change that had come over him, and showed most of 
 all in his parting words. 
 
 It was to be a separation of some months, if his 
 intentions held good. Bidding him good-bye, she said
 
 BUSINESS HEADS 311 
 
 frankly, " I shall miss you, Ray." Hearing of him 
 actually gone the next day, she found in the thing accom- 
 plished something less understandable than the mere 
 threat, which might have sprung from the mood of a 
 moment. 
 
 'Is the poor boy in love with somebody?" was the 
 notion that came involuntarily into her head. A moment 
 later she was vexed to have let it come there, and did her 
 best to be rid of it. 
 
 Raymond's thoughts of her on parting were not of the 
 lover's kind : yet they were those of a man who was 
 willing to efface a past by whatever he could find of fair 
 in the present. " There's the sort of girl I like ! " he told 
 himself. " Who likes me," lay as the unrecognised germ 
 to that statement. Matching him with spirits half blithe, 
 half grave, she did something to restore his self-respect: 
 much to give him a new reverence for womanhood. For 
 through all her frank comradeship he discerned no easy 
 way to the loverly caress. She was a woman who would 
 make no compromise for love ; stride by stride she would 
 race and test the man who should wish to secure her 
 heart, inferiority on a single point she prized would lose 
 her to him ; like Atalanta she would run ; unlike her, 
 no golden apples would ever turn her aside. By a 
 continence of beauty similar to the continence where- 
 with an athlete endows his body, it was her gift to 
 banish all that body of sentiment which goes to bid 
 flickering sparks ape the pure flame of love. Her 
 manner stood independent of the troublous charm of her 
 sex ; there was no lurking in it of the things quick to 
 fascinate and lure ; there might some day be revelation 
 for one alone where the secrecies of hearts unfold. This 
 was the woman whose face Raymond kept as a barrier 
 between him and a thing he wished to forget, another 
 face passed without a sign of recognition. Just so much
 
 3 i2 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 at the moment had off-hand pride enabled him to accom- 
 plish. " Halt ! halt ! " had cried his heart. " Forward ! " 
 came from somewhere the opposing voice. 
 
 Obeying it, he yet found that to maintain that resolution 
 he must quit his home. Pride ruled, but had not the entire 
 allegiance of his soul.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 LIZZIE LOSES HER REPUTATION 
 
 IZZIE had seen once more the man she loved ; death 
 *-' of love had looked back at her out of his face. 
 Her feet succeeded in bearing her through the ordeal of 
 his eyes : no more. When he had gone by, she stood 
 still, turned and would have given her world then to 
 see his face, however forbidding, look round on her 
 once more, to show that she still travelled in his 
 thoughts. Instead she saw a head kept resolutely 
 straight, and heard light talk and laughter receding 
 up the lane. Tristram's name reached her. Was his 
 sister, then, the woman whose face she had not seen, 
 whose flowers Raymond bore in his cap? She neither 
 knew nor cared to know : the searing vision of love's 
 recognition denied to her threw so black a night over her 
 brain that there remained hardly any meaning in what 
 she saw. 
 
 It was evening light; over her head the wood boughs 
 were hung wonderfully with song ; the outcry of torture 
 had been better company to her ears. 
 
 Over and above the shrewd anguish of her heart, a 
 terrible perplexity took hold of her reason. In that her 
 mind so stumbled that for a while her limbs remained 
 without the directing impulse necessary to action. As 
 though she thought instruction would come with patient 
 waiting, she stood looking up the road by which Raymond 
 
 313
 
 314 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 had gone, never stirring a step. So she remained stunned 
 while many minutes went by. 
 
 All at once she drew a hard, dry breath that ended 
 in a sound of shivering. Her hands went up to her 
 forehead and down again ; all the thinking in the 
 world was no use. "Oh, my God, but it can't be!" 
 she murmured, and stumbled to the grass-bank under 
 the hedge. " Oh, Ray, oh, my dear love ! " came then 
 as the free utterance of her grief. " Oh, Ray ! " she 
 rang his name up and down, to exclaim against and to 
 cherish. 
 
 ' Why have you done this to me ? " she was presently 
 enquiring of the absent one, but again could not get quit 
 of the sound that meant more to her than all words. 
 " Ray, Ray," she cried, " what have I done that you 
 should wish to forget me so soon ? Were you so afraid 
 that I should speak t'e ? Oh, Ray, was it that ? " So 
 she cried, and seemed waiting answers that did not 
 come. 
 
 It was not pride but humility which forced these piteous 
 interrogatories. The poor girl, questioning her own 
 mind and her absent lover aloud, was ready to discover 
 that the fault had in truth been hers. But in spite 
 of all that she could urge against herself, the stony 
 denial of his look was a cruelty whose meaning she 
 could not solve save by accepting it at its surface-value 
 — seeing in it the death of the love that had once been 
 hers. 
 
 At the thought that it might be true the hard tensity 
 of her agitation broke down into a simple abandonment 
 of grief. 
 
 Recognising how low she stood in his regard, acquies- 
 cing in what she had ever believed must one day be 
 inevitable, she allowed her tears to get the better of her, 
 and seemed in the wild indulgence of her sorrow to
 
 LIZZIE LOSES HER REPUTATION 315 
 
 recover touch with the heart she had lost. Raymond's 
 love for her was over and done with ; fate had but brought 
 home to her with quick stroke the end she had always 
 feared ; and she could receive the dead past, like a mother 
 her babe, to weep over. 
 
 Humility gave her courage to accept what it seemed 
 must henceforth be her lot ; but it was with pure pride 
 and gladness in the midst of her distress that she 
 remembered the one thing of which she could not be 
 deprived, hers and his. The thought of that which 
 finally drew her onward to her present place of abode. 
 Nature indeed was calling her, plucking her by the 
 breast with familiar thrills, reminding her of the lapse 
 of time. With a face already quiet in its grief, she rose 
 and stepped out. 
 
 For a short distance she had to follow the high road 
 before again entering into cover of the quiet Randogger 
 lanes ; she found the broader track as solitary, however, as 
 the one she had just quitted, and followed its windings 
 for nearly a mile without meeting or seeing a soul. But, 
 as she drew within sight of her next turning, she saw 
 just before her a couple of tramps, man and woman, 
 plodding slowly along. The man led, the woman fol- 
 lowed, bearing a double burden : over one arm hung a 
 bundle tied up in a dirty cloth, on the other a child lay 
 and wailed miserably. The pair seemed utterly dis- 
 pirited and worn out ; the man lame, the woman dragged 
 down and wrenched crooked by the two loads she carried. 
 Coming within earshot, Lizzie could hear the man's 
 voice thrown back in loud grumbling at his wife. Hav- 
 ing little wish just then to come into contact with any 
 of her fellow-creatures, the girl hung back, hoping to 
 reach her corner without overtaking them ; but insensibly 
 she drew nearer, her feet unused to so slow a pace, 
 until she could overhear the words they exchanged.
 
 316 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Turning aside, she leaned on a gate, and waited for them 
 to go forward. 
 
 "Cries? course, 'er cries," answered the woman, to 
 some remark of her companion. 'Er's 'ungry, 'er won't 
 sleep till 'er's fed." 
 
 "Who stops yer feedin' it?" enquired the other, and, 
 wanting an excuse for rest, sat down on a heap of 
 turf by the roadside, twenty paces beyond where Lizzie 
 now stood. ' There," said he, " don't say I tells yer 
 to starve it." The woman sank down beside him, and 
 began with a dull, listless motion to rock the child to 
 and fro upon her knee, disregarding the plucking of 
 its tiny hands. At length, since its wail increased, she 
 drew open her gown, and allowed the small creature to 
 fasten upon her breast. 
 
 For a moment only the monotonous crying lulled ; it 
 broke again into louder complaints than before ; the babe 
 beat itself about with feeble rage, then choked and fell 
 into a prolonged strain of coughing. 
 
 "Call yerself a mother?" said the man; " 'ush it, I 
 tell yer ! " 
 
 The woman took down the child from her breast, and 
 began to fasten her frock. " I ain't got a drop for it," 
 she cried in a leaden voice of indifference or despair ; 
 " 'ow can I 'ave, walkin' all these miles, an' no proper 
 food to do it on ! It's you, Bill, with your drink and 
 gettin' out o' work, starves the two on us. I say it ; yer 
 do!" 
 
 For evidence against him she strained the little misery 
 up to her breast ; — let him see how starved. ' It's no 
 use yer cryin'," she said, " Mammy's got nothing. Yer'd 
 be better if yer was dead." 
 
 Down wind every word carried to Lizzie ; she listened 
 to the voice of a misery deeper than her own ; a misery 
 without hope or wish left to it ; it gave her a sense of
 
 LIZZIE LOSES HER REPUTATION 317 
 
 shame. She stood up from the gate and started on, 
 wanting, she knew not why, to look on the face of this 
 other woman. It was perhaps as much pitying curiosity 
 as charity that drew her on. 
 
 Coming nearer her looks fell first on the man. She 
 shifted them quickly to the face of his companion ; dumb- 
 dog eyes met hers. With a thrill of sisterliness she 
 discovered in herself a sudden fear, a wish that she had 
 not looked. In spite of herself, it seemed, her feet slack- 
 ened ; a delicate panic came over her face, as with a timid 
 gesture she advanced to where the other stayed seated. 
 Then with a quick glance up the road and down, she took 
 the child in her arms, and without a word sat down by 
 the woman's side. 
 
 The crying ceased all at once ; and the red flush mount- 
 ing over Lizzie's cheek did not die. 
 
 " God love yer ! " said the woman in a whisper. 'E 
 be good to yer! You be the only Christian soul I met, 
 for I dunno' 'ow long." 
 
 " When did you feed it last? " enquired Lizzie. 
 
 " Lor', I dunno'," answered the other, " I've 'ad 'er 
 now and then, an' 'er's sucked a bit an' cried, an' ain't 
 seemed fed like ; an' that's 'ow it's gone on ; oh, it 'ave, 
 ever since me and my man's bin on the road." 
 
 Lizzie, unseen by the husband, slipped a coin into the 
 woman's hand ; her eyes bespoke silence. 
 
 Suddenly alarm sprang through her blood. Out from 
 a deep sandy cutting swung a light market-trap into the 
 high-road ; three or four men and women sat in it. 
 Concealment was too late, she trusted that there were 
 strangers enough in the world for her secret to be safe. 
 From the cart curious regards were turned on the group 
 seated by the wayside ; the blend of squalor and outward 
 respectability was sufficient to make it noticeable. 
 
 Lifting up her eyes Lizzie saw Little Alwyn faces
 
 3 i8 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 staring at her ; one, a woman, set up a shrill laugh. So 
 long as the cart remained in view faces appeared for the 
 backs of heads ; away went a fine tale of her to be noised 
 through all the neighbourhood that knew her. 
 
 Her breast gave one long rise, and fell again, a cold 
 feeling went into her hands and feet. No outward sign 
 marked the crisis through which she passed. She kept 
 her place till the child had taken its fill. It was almost 
 asleep when she returned it to its mother's arms. The 
 woman's hand touched hers as she rose to go ; Lizzie knew 
 that it contained within it the shilling she had given. She 
 smiled a " good evening," saw the man give her a surly 
 nod and stare, and so parted from them, a different 
 woman from the one who a few minutes before had come 
 there, and bearing a different and less excellent name in 
 the language of men. 
 
 That night she arrived at her own home, with her child 
 
 in her arms. Since it was to be, she would face the 
 world. It was significant of the relations between father 
 and daughter that she did not hesitate, when her reason 
 
 decided her to the step, to bring her so-called shame to 
 
 her father's roof. 
 
 He gave her the greeting of a rough nod ; looking at 
 
 the child, said : " He be a fine 'un," that was all. A more 
 
 eloquent sign of welcome was when he bade her sit down, 
 
 and himself set out the meal. 
 
 " Muster Tristram's bin enquiring after you," he said 
 
 presently. " Lots 'e 'ave." 
 
 " God bless him ! " she said in moved tones ; " and 
 
 you too, Dad," she added, touching the old man's head 
 
 with her cheek : the nearest to an embrace that had 
 
 been between them, for all the years they had lived 
 
 together. 
 
 The next day gossip tongues had plain facts to go 
 
 upon. Before a fortnight was over scandalous connec-
 
 LIZZIE LOSES HER REPUTATION 319 
 
 tion was made between the names of Tristram Gavney 
 and Lizzie Haycraft. None seemed to know whence 
 the first rumour of it had sprung, though once 
 started, there were twenty to say they knew so much 
 for a fact. 
 
 MacAllister managed to let his word for it seem to 
 come after a general knowledge was abroad. His report 
 had first gone up to high quarters, and was spoken 
 confidentially. 
 
 " I've seen them together, not a matter of once or twice, 
 my lady," was his statement, and therewith went a 
 malicious hint of the use certain keys had been put to. 
 He was disappointed to see that credence of his story did 
 not entail disfavour for the offending parties. 
 
 For a few days, however, the tale of Tristram's deep 
 damnation hung fire, or was breathed only in secrecy 
 among the elect gossips of the neighbourhood. To the 
 vicar, most guileless of men, that particular rumour 
 came late, and after another, naming a more frequent 
 source of mischief, had been whispered to him. Coming 
 to cheer the convalescence of his chief parishioner and 
 churchwarden, he sought the advice of that good man of 
 the world concerning this latest parish scandal. 
 
 As one holding a cure of souls, he was solicitous for 
 the girl's good ; had been to her, advising her to carry 
 her damaged reputation elsewhere, and make, as he 
 termed it, a fresh start. 
 
 " I am sorry to say," he said, " that I found her obsti- 
 nate, at last even defiant ; her father encourages her 
 in her determination to stay with him. Naturally one 
 would wish to countenance such parental feeling in 
 theory ; but Haycraft is not a good guardian for a lonely 
 girl who has already gone astray, and there are circum- 
 stances which make it, I say, incumbent that she should 
 go — or marry.
 
 320 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " It so happens she has been, I may say, in my service; 
 if the thing is to be kept a mystery, I feel there is a slur 
 on my — my employment of her, shall I say ? I bid her 
 give me the man's name; I would use my influence to 
 make him marry her, if that be possible. Previously she 
 has borne a good character ; I conceive that she may have 
 been more sinned against than sinning. She meets me 
 with silence. My answer to that, then, is that she ought 
 to go — you agree with me? " 
 
 He had Mr. Gavney entirely with him on that point: 
 he pursued his argument. 
 
 " So long as she is here she is the centre of scandal; I 
 have even heard a name suggested, a married man's ; 
 I will not repeat it ; the mere naming does mischief. Her 
 father is all obstinacy on the point ; used strong language, 
 I regret to say, to me ; thumped his fist down contradict- 
 ing me in the rudest way, ordering her to stay. He 
 forgets, I think, that Michaelmas gives me a certain hold 
 over him. My duty is to my parish ; I make the renewal 
 of his lease conditional on my counsel being accepted ; 
 my counsel I call it, no more. I mean sincerely the girl's 
 good." 
 
 A few days later the reverend gentleman who talked 
 thus, got such definite news of the general cry as made 
 him very shy of broaching the subject again to the con- 
 fidant he had at first chosen. " The girl's good " in the 
 face of social claims became then a somewhat changeable 
 quantity ; but more than ever his wish was to get her 
 away ; her case had then become the centre not of one but 
 of two problems, and the solution of the one was glar- 
 ingly at variance with the solution of the other.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 PRELIMINARY TO A STORM 
 
 A N hour of fidgeting waters, perplexed surfaces, and 
 criss-crossing currents precedes, we are told, the ter- 
 rific gaping of the Maelstrom's maw. Then it is that craft 
 shuttling on a choppy sea, bob this way and that, unde- 
 termined, cork-like, helpless to advance or recede from 
 the death which like an inverted bottle-neck is presently to 
 suck them down. Even the wary and forewarned, caught 
 in that tangle of preliminary foam, may not know from 
 signs at what point the reeling of the skein will begin, 
 when the watery spool must perforce draw all things to 
 the control of its furious windings. Yet see the down- 
 ward nozzle once pointing, how determined becomes the 
 previous flux ; as by the jerk of a conjurer's trick, we be- 
 hold a portent fixed in its causes as the foundations of the 
 eternal hills. 
 
 So in the affairs of men small circumstances wait for 
 results, before they reveal their design or assume the 
 aspect of fate. For here is what happens ; by a phenom- 
 enon of the human brain, nothing under the sun looks 
 new. At the click of the trap, the situation stands sud- 
 denly revealed: and 'Inevitable!'" cries the conscious 
 soul, as though for every Childe Roland his dark tower 
 had stood since the beginning of the world. Thus was 
 Tristram from a long spell of comparative discipline and 
 y 321
 
 322 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 submission to be hurled into the rebellion for which he 
 was born. 
 
 Behold in a small space the toss of contending circum- 
 stances, at first opponent, presently consentient to the 
 spectacle ; the visible and invisible array of influences 
 pushing to the mastery of that most assailable of high 
 foolishnesses, a young man's pride. Mark the stage cun- 
 ningly arranged to a scale that he can fill ; applause ready 
 to become provocative ; hostile elements waiting to be up 
 and active with the rotten eggs of abuse ; and like a sec- 
 ond skin, so fit and easy to slip on, the cap and bells of 
 motley tomfoolery, lying handy for a performance wherein 
 self-love and generosity, gracelessness and chivalry, 
 truth and dishonesty, humility and vain-glory, desire and 
 dislike were to stand inextricably mixed. 
 
 And, of course, at the root of it all, as ever where youth 
 and hot blood are concerned woman was the mischief. 
 Remember then, that it is through the hero's eye you 
 must consent to see her, if you would understand his 
 madness. 
 
 Scandal had now seized hold upon Lizzie's name ; sud- 
 denly when her danger was past she had declared herself 
 to the world. Brazen she must be. As rumour gave out 
 the circumstances, seated by the roadside, choosing her 
 company from the lowest, and flaunting an office which 
 her case rendered dishonourable, she seemed so indeed. 
 
 Tristram had a truer insight at the first word : know- 
 ledge of her character made him at once guess the charity 
 of the deed. " Ah ! I love her ! " cried the inflamed heart 
 of youth, rising up to challenge the scornful verdict of 
 tongues. His idea of the wrong she suffered gave an addi- 
 tional crown to her woman's goodness of heart. He be- 
 lieved her to have been basely stricken ; and, too proud to 
 claim redress where none adequate could be given, to 
 have borne with conquering submission a wrong which it
 
 PRELIMINARY TO A STORM 323 
 
 shook his manhood to conceive. Then she had come back 
 into the world with the stain of it removed, wearing a fair 
 name still in the eves of men ; vet at the crv of motherhood 
 had risked the event, and for that act of honest charity 
 now stood ashamed. Had it been for her courage alone 
 Tristram would have vowed himself to her service. " Oh, 
 brave soul! Oh, dear friend, Liz!" his heart cried of 
 her. 
 
 He surmised how the world already questioned with 
 ugly interest, and how cruellest of all things now for her 
 to bear would be that serpent truth on which she had set 
 her foot. He sighed hungrily for Lizzie's word, and to 
 have his hand on the man ; longed to go to her and claim 
 it ; yet, from a scruple and the fiery flush of sex that came 
 over him, knew not how. So, with a mind distraught 
 between pity and rage, going elsewhere, he became con- 
 scious of more eyes than usual turning to watch him as he 
 passed through the slummy purlieus of Cob's Hole on 
 his way up to Hill Alwyn. 
 
 His lady greeted him with curious effusion, flavouring 
 her speech with ironic remarks that veered artfully about 
 the covered subject of their thoughts. Morals were her 
 theme — those of natural and unprotected youth in par- 
 ticular ; she barbed her innuendoes without making them 
 too definitely pointed. Tristram had to understand pres- 
 ently that the current slander of his friend Lizzie was the 
 chaff Lady Petwyn thought fit to throw at him. 
 
 He let himself go, crying out on her lack of charity. 
 " You of all women to have so little ! " 
 
 " What are you tarring me for? " she cried, pleasing to 
 impute quite another meaning to his words. 
 
 " In other things you pretend to be broad-minded," he 
 cried, in high anger. 
 
 " What else have I been now ? " she enquired ; for in 
 truth lax ethics gave a sort of charity to her scandalous
 
 324 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 tongue ; her scepticism was only of a virtue about which 
 she cared not one pin. " For youth I've charity without 
 end!'' she continued. 'I give it countenance with the 
 last feature I possess. Isn't that I receive you proof of 
 it?" 
 
 " Now it's your turn with the tar! " he retorted. 
 
 "Oh!" she said, grim and amused, " I'm not asking 
 you for your confidences, but you'll please to understand 
 there are tales going about. I suppose we shall hear next 
 that you are marrying. MacAllister seems anxious to be 
 your best man : came up and talked morals to me, ' of all 
 people,' as you would say, till I shut his mouth up." 
 
 The hated name sprung Tristram from his seat, eager 
 to be off from the sound of it. Enjoying the accuracy of 
 her power to sting, " Mind you," said the dame, and sent 
 a sharp look after him, " if you ask me, my impression is 
 that you've him to thank for what you'll presently be 
 hearing. If you are peached on, 'tis through that great 
 man's sense of the duty he owes himself. I warn you, he 
 will not brook rivalry." 
 
 No further word was allowed her; like a snap on the 
 tail of her last sentence the inflammable youth was off. 
 Lady Petwyn was left with the queer satisfaction of per- 
 ceiving that some of his anger burned personally against 
 herself; the bully in her was glad to have discovered a 
 way through defences that had so long thwarted her 
 efforts to pierce them. As a matter of fact she had blun- 
 dered, scoring her point through a mistaken diagnosis of 
 his disorder. At a moment when unusual obtuseness 
 joined itself to her habitual indiscretion, she thought her- 
 self most canny in regard to him. 
 
 It did not take long for Tristram, with his suspicions 
 awakened, to learn what coupling of names gossip was 
 making. When he went down into Little Alwyn he felt 
 himself a marked man. and noticed with bitter resentment
 
 PRELIMINARY TO A STORM 325 
 
 how smirking went with the knowing looks turned on 
 him in the fresh light of scandal. An insane wish to 
 punch every face that dared meet him with any friendly 
 aspect began threatening to make him a highway danger 
 to the community. By comparison, the reserve and pain 
 which he detected in Mr. Hannam's face on passing him 
 was an almost welcome injustice; he received as curt a 
 recognition from that quarter as he gave in reply to the 
 more cordial greetings of others. 
 
 For him it was a new loneliness to be in a world where 
 he wished to be hated. In revenge he was all for flouting 
 it ; and had for the moment quarrelled with the only friend 
 who could have kept him at all sensible through the vio- 
 lence of the proud malady that then took hold on him. 
 Had he been champion to no cause but his own, laughter 
 would in a while have rescued him from the ridiculous 
 extremes into which mere loyalty of heart and super- 
 abundant courage were presently to plunge him. The 
 poor youth's vices fattened upon his virtues : on that sus- 
 tenance they helped him to success in the new role towards 
 which Lady Petwyn had once jeeringly encouraged him. 
 
 At home there was no sign as yet of the disturbing 
 rumour. Mr. Beresford Gavney, on the high road to re- 
 covery, had not yet gone further than the grounds for 
 recreation and airing. That same evening he and Tris- 
 tram held their first business consultation over what had 
 been going on in his absence, a thing hitherto interdicted 
 by medical authorities. Before long the father did not 
 fail to notice his son's restlessness and the difficulty he had 
 in fixing his mind on the subject under discussion. With 
 a lively fear that such symptoms meant a revival of Tris- 
 tram's stubborn inclination to seek a hazardous indepen- 
 dence, he decided that the earliest possible moment was the 
 right time for speaking. Newly risen from the bed of 
 sickness on to which his son's undutiful clamour for re-
 
 326 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 lease had precipitated him, he might well reckon that 
 physical feebleness would not count against him in a re- 
 newal of the struggle. Speaking kindly, indulgently even, 
 and hoping to natter his son by admitting him frankly to 
 his counsels, he told Tristram the past difficulties of the 
 firm, of others also soon to be faced. Always with an air 
 of scrupulous regret that the point had to be enforced on 
 his attention, he drew him by the thread of his narrative 
 to see the conclusion at which he aimed. 
 
 Only that afternoon Gilpinger had been over to report, 
 and had spoken his proud mind of the boy, — his own 
 product, and a very wonder of docility and industry. 
 The Tramp had to learn that he had now become a val- 
 uable adjunct to the firm's property: in the sweat of his 
 brow he had earned the very last commendation he wished 
 for. 
 
 " Since we spoke last on these matters," said his father, 
 — "some of your remarks were intemperate then, my son : 
 I speak of it only to pardon you ; but since then, since all 
 that, you have discovered yourself, you have found out 
 your value. My boy, you make me proud to say you are 
 necessary — I will not say to me — to the firm ; now more 
 than ever we require you." 
 
 " Not me," said Tristram, " Gilpinger ; it's he who has 
 the head." 
 
 " I say 'you," returned Mr. Gavney. " Remember, Gil- 
 pinger is an old man ; — you did the right thing in recall- 
 ing him under the circumstances, — but past his best ; a 
 year, two years, how long can one count on him ? " 
 
 " Oh, there's new life in him, now he's back at his 
 desk." 
 
 " New wine in an old bottle, a precarious investment. 
 But there is another point, he brings no settled interest 
 into the firm." Mr. Gavney hummed. " In another year 
 you will be of age."
 
 PRELIMINARY TO A STORM 327 
 
 Tristram threw a despondent gaze at his father's face. 
 
 " You mean there's money I'm to come into? Is that 
 what you mean ? " 
 
 Mr. Cavney bowed his head honourably to the im- 
 peachment. " My boy, that is what I mean. Every penny 
 of that will be required imperatively; there is the point 
 you have to consider ; or rather you have no reason to con- 
 sider it. As an investment you could not have better. 
 Understand, it will make you practically my partner; at 
 twenty-two you may be in receipt of an income you might 
 marry on." 
 
 " It's not income I'm thinking of, sir," said Tristram, 
 " something much more important for me depends on it. 
 It's a case of conscience. Some of this money I must have 
 free ; you are welcome to the rest." 
 
 Mr. Gavney showed the irritability of convalescence. 
 
 " You exhaust me with discussion," he cried. " I have 
 told you, told you already, that it can be no question of 
 amounts ; learn clearly to see this, the firm is pledged ; in 
 another year money must be forthcoming or we go ! " 
 The word sounded cavernously. That his son should 
 abase him to such plain speaking seemed to this man, 
 with his heart set on the future prosperity of his house, 
 a wanton piece of tactlessness. 
 
 But the poor youth's heart was set equally on its own 
 projects ; he cried out selfishly to be spared. Others had 
 money free for investments, if these were so good : Marcia 
 was already of age. 
 
 " What ? " he asked, " does Marcia do with hers ? Had 
 she not the same as I ? " 
 
 At this question a flush crossed Mr. Gavhey's face ; with 
 some embarrassment and a deeper irritation in his tones, 
 he replied, " Your sister has already done freely and with- 
 out question the thing you wish to avoid ; she trusts her 
 father. At this very moment her money is helping to hold
 
 328 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 the firm where it stands. What you have to face is this : 
 if you refuse to do what I ask you, my efforts for the last 
 ten, nay twenty years, are wasted. Everything I have 
 done for you, mind, depends on you if it is not finally to 
 fail. You withdraw, you stand aside, refusing the inher- 
 itance that has been entrusted for you to my hands — you 
 leave a ruined firm, and your family penniless." 
 
 "Oh, father, say no more about it!" said Tristram, 
 speaking low, and rising. Why should he listen any 
 more to the dashing of his fair prospects by wordy itera- 
 tions of the thing he had to accept — " Have the money. 
 Have everything your way for the present. Perhaps 
 at a later date, if I can come to you with plans of my 
 own, you will listen, and give me, then, the right you deny 
 me now — to be free. It's no use talking now. May I 
 go?" 
 
 He was allowed to quit the room, feeling bitterly that 
 he had been made to appear ungrateful for favours which 
 he could have prayed to be rid of. 
 
 Outside he met Marcia. He took her hand, and bade 
 her come down with him to his own little sanctum. There 
 in the deep gloom of late twilight she sat with him ; 
 unable to see his face, she knew by his tone and manner 
 that something had deeply moved him. 
 
 Keeping hold of her hand, ' Marcie," he said, and 
 repeated " Marcie," hesitating over the thing he wished to 
 say. 
 
 ' Well, Tris, you know I'm here! " she told him at last. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " but you are a riddle, you puzzle 
 me. I wish " he paused. " Do I knozv you, Mar- 
 cie?" 
 
 " No one knows me better, I think ! We were twins 
 once, you know, and we haven't quarrelled." The old tag 
 came with fond meaning from the dear girl's lips. 
 
 " Ah, that's it ! are we still ? Can you promise so much ?
 
 PRELIMINARY TO A STORM 329 
 
 To-day I heard you were grown up, Marcie; your own 
 mistress — heard it to realise, I mean. But are you as 
 old as I am ? " 
 
 " You talk like furrowed age. Why, I'm five years 
 older ! my sex gives me the right to claim four." 
 
 " You are really a woman, then? " 
 
 She laughed. " As much as you are a man, Trampie. 
 Say an old maid if you like." 
 
 " No, no ! there's what I don't want you to be," he said. 
 
 "What do you want, dear boy ? " she leaned on his 
 shoulder to ask. 
 
 " Marcie, I want a good woman, a sister — it isn't for 
 myself I mean. You named Lizzie Haycraft the other 
 day; you know she's back. I've not seen her yet, but I 
 wish to. Will you come with me? Oh! Marcie, trust 
 me; I don't ask you to do this for any small reason. 
 There's a good girl in trouble, and you can help her: it's 
 
 help she wants. It's — it's Marcie, they are calling 
 
 her bad names ! " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " There's — oh, you've only to go ; you'll see all about 
 it then ; you'll understand." 
 
 " About Lizzie? What shall I see, Trampie? " 
 
 " Just the thing you like best : a baby." 
 
 " She has one?" The question came in a whisper of 
 held breath. 
 
 He nodded assent. 
 
 " But that's wrong! " said^the girl. 
 
 " Yes, it's wrong. How wrong you can't guess." He 
 threw out his hands unable to explain. :< But — but she's 
 a good woman, Marcie! You've only to see her to read 
 that in her. And brave ! She would go through fire ; it's 
 what she has done, and it's for that they punish her." 
 He told her, as he read it, the tale of Lizzie's charity to 
 the tramp and her child.
 
 330 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " I guess," he said, " because I know her. Is that not 
 enough to show you what sort of a woman she is ? ' 
 
 Marcia took her brother's hand and laid it against her 
 face. 
 
 " I'll go, Trampie," said she quite simply. 
 
 His thanks were carried less by words than by the 
 warmth of his embrace. ' I trusted you from the first, 
 that you would do as much," he said, and broke off sud- 
 denly to ask : " Marcie, are you doing this just for me? " 
 
 " No, just for her; hardly for you now at all. I mean, 
 I understand." The girl's voice carried her emotion of 
 pity to his ear. 
 
 " Then I'm not wrong to have told you about it? " 
 
 " I'm glad." After a while she said, " Will you know 
 why?" 
 
 " I will indeed, if you will tell me, Marcie." 
 
 " Because it has told me something ; I didn't know it ; 
 I've realised it now — just now." She kissed him, saying 
 — " since I came in here, dear, and had your hand." 
 
 " What?" he asked, astray for her meaning. 
 
 " That I'm not the only grown-up : you as well. And 
 we — why, we are twins again ! " 
 
 She nodded to him and herself, proud in the certainty 
 of her new possession ; and with a full faith in the wisdom 
 contained under her fair brow, she committed herself 
 most readily to his service, nor guessed what a rebel stand- 
 ard of revolt against things old and tried it was which 
 waved over her. 
 
 A fortnight later she stood on the outskirts of storm 
 that raged behind closed doors, herself the partial cause. 
 Her demure industry over needlework, a thing she did 
 not love, caused Miss Julia Gavney one day to enquire 
 what it was that employed her so many hours of the day. 
 She was shown dainty garments suitable for small limbs. 
 
 " I've a pet dormouse," said xMarcia ; " these are for it 
 to cuddle into."
 
 PRELIMINARY TO A STORM 331 
 
 The girl's mind was open and without secrecy ; she 
 played her aunt merely to tease curiosity, saying finally, 
 
 " They are for Lizzie Haycraft's baby." 
 
 Miss Gavney showed looks of imperilled sanity when, 
 from the lips of a young, innocent, and tenderly-nurtured 
 girl, she heard that most scandalous name of the whole 
 neighbourhood. Marcia was actually proud of her em- 
 ploy. Tristram had told her, she said, that she might be 
 useful. 
 
 Julia's remedy was a rash invasion of her brother's pri- 
 vacy. She found the door locked, and clamoured loudly 
 for admission. Her errand brought horrible confirmation 
 of news Beresford Gavney had received within the hour. 
 Exposing the criminous pieces to view, she exclaimed 
 Tristram's name, denouncing him as the root of fresh mis- 
 chief. Mr. Gavney had baby linen thrown down before 
 his astonished eyes. These were the things which Tris- 
 tram — she choked repeating her words to underline their 
 horror — which Tristram had procured, commissioned, 
 might not one say debauched, his sister into making for 
 Lizzie Haycraft's offspring. She gathered that Marcia 
 had even been there! Where would England's maiden- 
 hood show its face next ? 
 
 Decency stood overwhelmed at the unutterableness of 
 the deed. It was the signal for thunder to rouse and 
 shake through the Gavney establishment.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A BATTLE OF MORALS 
 
 HPRISTRAM stood before his father. They were 
 alone. " I was told you wished to see me," said 
 the youth. 
 
 " I do not wish to see you ! " replied Mr. Gavney. " It 
 gives me no pleasure. The point is, I have to. Yes, it 
 seems, what with one thing and another, that I am always 
 to be deprived of my peace through you ; that is my fate. 
 Yes, that is what I must bear ! Don't look at me like that, 
 sir ! Do you know what I have heard to-day ? " 
 
 " I suppose I do know." 
 
 " Yes, you suppose you do ! Now it comes out. Now 
 all the world knows of this fine story ! Now it's brought 
 to my ears, and I have to ask you ; then you suppose you 
 know ! Your knowledge, sir, if it only comes now, comes 
 late in the day, let me tell you. The thing's out ; your 
 name is being cried about the whole place with that of a 
 woman who has made herself public, a common drab. Is 
 that what you know ? " 
 
 " Lizzie Haycraft is not common, sir," said Tristram 
 hotly. 
 
 " I go by the evidence," retorted his father. ' There 
 it's against you. Let that pass, I have not to think of 
 her character ; it is the reputation of my name, of my 
 family that concerns me. Your poor mother will be ready 
 to die when she hears of it ; she has heard of it ; it has aged 
 
 33a
 
 A BATTLE OF MORALS 333 
 
 her ten years ; it is a blow she can't recover from, ever, 
 ever ; you have done that for her — you, her son ! " 
 
 " She has not had it from me," said Tristram. 
 
 " No ! you conceal it till concealment is useless. This 
 thing as it stands is scandalous : how does it come to be 
 said ? Why have you let it go on ? It is not to : I say it 
 must be denied. Decency demands. You hear me?" 
 
 " Deny it, sir, by all means ! " said Tristram. 
 
 " It seems you yourself have not taken the trouble." 
 
 " I have never been asked the question. If I had been, 
 I should." 
 
 " It must be done, and quickly ! the thing is, I suppose, 
 a mere rumour; you should not have allowed it a mo- 
 ment's life. Does the woman want money? " 
 
 " Of me? Lizzie Haycraft? I have not offered it; if 
 she needed it she knows me well enough. I think she 
 will take nothing from any man. These lies, sir, which 
 you call rumour, have not started from her. Understand, 
 sir, I love her ; yes, she is my friend. Think ill of that if 
 you must. She's the truest soul I know! " 
 
 " I would rather hear nothing of that : keep it to your- 
 self! What I have in mind is the disgrace you have 
 brought on your name in public by such friendship." 
 
 " Tell me definitely, sir, of what you accuse me." 
 
 " Of the disgrace, which you must needs flaunt before 
 the world. Of disgracing yourself; of disgracing me; 
 your mother — all of us. In your own place, where your 
 name should stand high, where you have your family duty 
 to think of ; you, you — I must imagine from your words 
 that you take the blame to yourself — you lead a girl into 
 wrong — ruin, and then have allowed the thing to become 
 a scandal." 
 
 " If you believe that, why don't you tell me to marry 
 her?" 
 
 " You look at me like that to insult me ; you speak to
 
 334 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 insult me ! It seems easy for you to hold your head high 
 and speak as if the shame were anywhere but on your 
 own shoulders. If you had a conscience you would be 
 silent." 
 
 "If you would rather I were silent, sir, I will say noth- 
 ing! 
 
 " What then? Will you pretend now that the blame is 
 in the other direction ? How did you come to mix your- 
 self with such a person ? " 
 
 " Nothing shall be said to me against her ! Believe 
 what you like of me. As soon as the thing started — the 
 rumour I mean — I did one thing that should have 
 counted more than any denial from me : 1 took Marcia to 
 see her, and she goes now of her own accord." 
 
 " You dare look me in the face and tell me that ! Your 
 own sister, a young girl, to a woman named for loss of 
 character; you took her, you say?" 
 
 " I asked her to go ; she came, we went together ; since 
 then she has gone alone." 
 
 " Then what came before me to-day was not the full 
 extent of your villainies. What? to shield yourself you 
 make use of your sister, of one you are bound to protect 
 from the very knowledge of such things. Is my son so 
 base ? " 
 
 " Listen here, father! " cried Tristram, " you will have 
 to hear me now. Either this thing is true or is not true. 
 You tell me it is to be denied, that I am to deny it, yet you 
 speak as if you believed it all the time. Believe what you 
 like then : you did so before ever speaking to me, I think ! 
 But it's late now to begin asking me questions, and ex- 
 pecting me to tell you truth which you don't want. Only 
 I say this, and with my whole heart I believe it's true. 
 This girl whom you sling names at, this poor Lizzie Hay- 
 craft, whose name has been taken from her, I am still 
 proud to call my friend. What wrong she has had to suf-
 
 A BATTLE OF MORALS 335 
 
 fer, wrong without remedy, Heaven knows, I only guess. 
 With what courage she has borne it I do know ; and for 
 that I honour her. Father, believing what you do of me, 
 bid me marry her, and I will be glad to obey. If she 
 would have me, I swear I would be ready to take her be- 
 fore all the world, for I have not yet seen a nobler woman 
 on this earth. But if you would have me do anything less, 
 your advice, like enough, will only drive me the opposite 
 way. Think me as guilty as you like, perhaps you have 
 that right; you have had some means of judging of my 
 character, and there are times I own when I have not be- 
 haved well to you. All the more, let that stand between 
 you and any uncharitable thoughts of her. Make your 
 own flesh and blood do right before you begin handling 
 others. Of her you have no right to speak ill ; whatever 
 is wrong in her, according to your view, goes with wrong 
 in me. Remember, if you speak to me of her, there is no 
 woman I honour more — not Marcia, not my own mother 
 even ! Now say what you like." 
 
 Mr. Gavney heard the sound of a fury that carried no 
 meaning to his brain ; this voice of the young man's pas- 
 sion came to him out of an unknown world. 
 
 " Are you mad ? " he asked simply, when his son had 
 ended. 
 
 Tristram read into his eyes. Black rage urged him into 
 a retort, echo to the conviction he found there. 
 
 " Mad and a liar ! " he answered. " You would believe 
 nothing I said now ! " 
 
 His father was inspired to reply, " Go, then, and break 
 your mother's heart ; you have it in your power to do so. 
 I say no more." 
 
 He put out his hand forbiddingly. Tristram was not 
 to speak — he felt himself dismissed. Directing his 
 thoughts to that gentle presence into which he was bidden 
 to go was like an exchange from some churning torrent of
 
 336 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 mud and foam to a cistern of sweet waters. In obedience 
 to the literal command, the last thing actually expected of 
 him, he went up before an hour was over to his mother's 
 room. There, under the shadow of blinds, he saw her 
 resting on a couch. She had heard his footstep ; her face 
 turned upon its cushions for his coming; out came the 
 dear hands to meet him, impatient to have hold of him. 
 She believed in her power to cure him ; what she had been 
 told within the hour convinced her only the more. 
 
 " My dear, oh, my dear! " she said, and drew his head 
 down. 
 
 At once she felt his body shaken between her arms; 
 her boy he was ; and even in a mind filled for rebuke she 
 congratulated herself with a mother's triumph. Had she 
 not told her husband it should be so? 
 
 " Leave him to me ! " had been her word. 
 
 To the boy in her arms she let silence for a while be her 
 prayer. " Comprehend me ! " it said ; " I have love, com- 
 passion, understanding." His devout heart was ready to 
 admit two-thirds of her claim. Oh, the comfort of that 
 breast. 
 
 Gently her voice whispered to him : — 
 
 " Oh, my dear, what a sorrow you have brought me! " 
 
 He drew himself away from her embrace to say : — 
 
 " Mother, do you, too, believe everything that you are 
 told?" 
 
 " Not all, not all ! " she answered. " I can see mistakes 
 and pardon them. I will believe what you tell me," she 
 added in invitation to his confidence. 
 
 " You are the first to say that to me! " murmured the 
 boy, turning her palm to his lips. 
 
 " I am listening," she answered. 
 
 " My father " he said, and stopped. 
 
 " You have grieved him, my dear ! " 
 
 " I must ; he will not believe what I say."
 
 A BATTLE OF MORALS 337 
 
 ' Trust me, I will make your peace with him ! " she 
 said. It was not the thing he yearned for. 
 
 " Let him think what evil about me he chooses ! " 
 cried Tristram. " But you, mother, do you think I have 
 been so base, so treacherous — I have heard of men who 
 can — as to do this that they accuse me of : to ruin an 
 honest girl's life, and then leave her in her trouble, for 
 fingers to point scorn at ? " 
 
 The effort to say even so much was extreme for him ; 
 he found himself bashful, his tongue stumbling for an 
 escape in words that should not shock her ears. Alas ! 
 when we must veil our mother-speech from the one being 
 to whom it should run freely. 
 
 With fond misunderstanding Mrs. Gavney held an 
 unknown heart to her breast. 
 
 " I do not think that," she said. " Looking at you, my 
 dear, I am slow to think it. Yes, yes, even / know, it is 
 so with the young. Often one who is bad has a great 
 power over the innocent ; and the harm comes before they 
 know there is any wrong almost." 
 
 To the boy's mind, so much as there was of unexpected 
 insight and knowledge in her speech, did but link her to 
 the world's view. He hardened a little while she lay 
 holding him. 
 
 " Mother, whom are you charging now ? " His eye 
 on her grew stern ; his tone made her afraid ; she had 
 been warned what she might hear. 
 
 " My dear," she pleaded, " I have said very little of 
 blame." 
 
 Tristram attacked the thing she had left unsaid. 
 
 " Of me? No ! If you are going to speak evil of that 
 poor girl, let me go ; I cannot bear it ! There is no wrong 
 in her; she had no chance. Why accuse when you have 
 no proof? " 
 
 He heard the dearest of titles used to instruct him
 
 338 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 where the wrong lay in her. Lizzie with her child at 
 her breast — in brave betrayal of her case — leaned to 
 him with claims for chivalrous tenderness. Apart from 
 what his mind told him of her, testimony to which he 
 clung, he believed that the whole world was without 
 charity in these things. His own eye had seen things to 
 make him generous ; his ear had caught sounds. Once 
 under a blue evening of stars, fainting where the moon 
 rose bringing night, he had heard lovers' farewells 
 spoken under a hedge of may ; the man away to seek 
 work and no chance for marriage between them yet. He 
 had heard the man's moan and the woman's, as of 
 dumb beasts in pain, saying chiefly that they were young 
 and hard put to it by fate; and the trembling balance 
 then between right and wrong, as social man must hold 
 such, and the hardly won self-denial of two bodies bound 
 for a while to part, had taught him charity toward all 
 such cases. 
 
 The name, now spoken by his own mother as a cir- 
 cumstance of shame, he held in such honour, wild theories 
 rose in him that the whole world should give way to 
 it. Honest manhood he thought should meet nature's 
 claim and allow no stigma to rest on the production 
 of the race. He repeated his belief that a good woman 
 was the subject of their thoughts, one incapable of such 
 wrong as was hinted against her. His hand sought re- 
 sponse from the one it held, now when his words were 
 making her afraid. 
 
 " No wrong," he added, " that a man who held woman's 
 honour as high as his own should not be ready to set 
 right." 
 
 She shrank scared at that, her husband's cry of astonish- 
 ment and alarm still drumming on her brain. Tristram, 
 she was told, had almost threatened to marry the girl. 
 Could she have believed that it was a case of innocence
 
 A BATTLE OF MORALS 339 
 
 wronged, she would have sided with her son's conscience, 
 if not to the extent of the actual atonement he proposed ; 
 but she saw just enough of the truth to keep her from 
 that extent of succour demanded by his pride. Weak, 
 tempted, she could believe him, but no tempter of one 
 not dipped in the wickedness of men's ways. With a full 
 wish to believe what he told her, she attached a minimum 
 meaning to his words, and thought that his own gener- 
 osity deceived him as to the wrong he had done. 
 
 She saw his eyes full of moisture, tender and pleading, 
 looking to find a companion in hers. Weakness set sobs 
 to her speech. 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! " she cried, " pray to do right ; do not 
 be rash! It is not always a simple thing to set wrong 
 right." 
 
 Her hands were caught and passionately kissed ; speak- 
 ing so she seemed to belong to him. That was not the 
 world speaking; at last he had some one with him; 
 wonderful that it should be she! 
 
 " Mother," he cried, " it is not true; there, there I tell 
 you now ! I have never done such a wrong as that. I 
 have never betrayed innocence. I have nothing to boast 
 of myself, but I have not done that ! " 
 
 She believed him still. " I was right," she told herself, 
 and could speak strongly then, against his pride and the 
 threats he had used to dismay his father. " I will see 
 him for you," she said, " I will explain ! " and wondered 
 why his face should suddenly set hard. He rose and 
 stood behind the couch, leaning over her. 
 
 " Yes, yes, mother, do as you like," he said, and let her 
 say on. He understood her now ; and this, too : that 
 another had been there before him, speaking in her ear. 
 The thought brought bad blood back to his heart. Pride 
 returned and shut his lips ; he would not speak again. 
 
 Feeling her forehead kissed from above, Mrs. Gavney
 
 340 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 reached up her hand for his, that she might soften what 
 sounded from her lips like hard words. It was not taken ; 
 she turned to find herself left alone. 
 
 To her boy's father, " Be gentle with him ! " she said ; 
 " I think this is the first time he has done wrong, and 
 he knows too little of the wickedness of the world. He 
 blames himself, and will not have it spoken of another. 
 That is a good fault, it shows a generous heart." 
 
 The generous heart was at that moment engaged in 
 dealing itself one more wound. Compromise had grown 
 hateful in his eyes. He wrote to Lady Petwyn, begging 
 her to think no more of the plans she had made to help 
 him. It was now out of his power to keep to their 
 bargain ; he found he had not the means, yet could not 
 alter his mind where matters of principle were concerned. 
 He preferred a friendship which left them free to differ, 
 rather than office where he would be bound by her judg- 
 ment. The letter was stiff, and a little ungracious. Lady 
 Petwyn snapped her acceptance : his decision, she told 
 him, settled the matter. 
 
 Having dealt himself that stroke, he hoped that it 
 proved the honesty of his heart ; thus bucklered in pride 
 he stood up to fight society and the world alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 VIRTUE IN A SWELLED HEAD 
 
 "T^ROM Hill Alwyn Lady Petwyn looked abroad upon 
 a sight that warmed all that was worst in her blood : 
 the rampant youth who had flouted her favours for the 
 sake of a crude theory was now making an egregious fool 
 of himself. To have full news of his progress she conde- 
 scended to glean gossip from the flightiest tongues, and 
 with a venomous charity for folly accepted whatever was 
 told her. To the culprit himself she remained very 
 friendly ; inviting him to come up for periodical inspec- 
 tion, she traced the stages of his disorder with a keen 
 relish. Early in the game she had declared herself on 
 his side, as in a way she was. What, as a friend, she 
 asked, did he wish her to say for him : was the thing true 
 or untrue? Tristram did homage to a direct question; 
 he wished her to say nothing for him : as for " the thing " 
 — it was not true. 
 
 The old rogue accepted his word, not in the least believ- 
 ing it. It was a gentleman's duty in certain cases to tell 
 lies ; the amusing thing was that he should regard this as 
 one of them. His gratitude should have touched her ; 
 instead, she wondered whether he thought her a fool, 
 though she delighted in the audacity with which he put 
 the rest of the world in that category. " It seems to me," 
 she said, " that you are fighting civilisation and the whole 
 history of England, from the Reformation on." 
 
 341
 
 342 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 After capering from pillar to post, from the paternal 
 to the spiritual authority, Tristram would come upon 
 her to blaze off his indignation. He was demanding value 
 for an insult he would not stoop to refute. " I'm not 
 questioned, I'm accused," he said. " They say it is so : 
 very well, then, if that is their view, let them have the 
 honesty to act as if they thought it." She believed verily 
 that a claim to matrimony was the bee that buzzed in 
 his bonnet ; and divined triangular tactics taking place, 
 one pursuing, two elusive. " Face it out with a clean 
 conscience," she told him, when he hinted of attempts to 
 stifle him. He wrung her hand and thanked her : she had 
 fanned the pugilist to a fresh round. 
 
 The vicar had at last to be " not at home " when Tris- 
 tram kept coming to propound horrible theoretical cases, 
 wishing to be told what, in this, that, or the other, was 
 a man's Christian duty. Mr. Hannam felt bound to 
 remember that he was not only a Christian but a neigh- 
 bour, when delivering his answer. He endeavoured to 
 evade a decision, by deprecating so young a man 
 entangling himself in such moral conundrums. 
 
 " Take it that the case were my own ? " said Tristram. 
 " You hear what's said." 
 
 " Your duty would be to your father first, I think," 
 responded the vicar cautiously. " You are under age." 
 
 The youth asked whether coming of age were an 
 ordinance of the Church. 
 
 He was reminded that marriage had its legal as well 
 as its moral side. Minority involved an obstacle. 
 
 Tristram thought that parents as well as sons might 
 fail to see what was their clear duty, and might need 
 discreet and learned ministry to show it them. ' Will 
 you meet my father?" he asked. "Will you speak to 
 him?" 
 
 " Do you desire to give me any message to him ? "
 
 VIRTUE IN A SWELLED HEAD 343 
 
 " I have put the same thing to him as to you. He says 
 I insult him." 
 
 " Probably you have shown temper," observed Mr. 
 Hannam, and checked all further discussion ; it was im- 
 possible, he said, for him to come between father and 
 son. " Your duty towards your father is best learned at 
 home ; you need not come to me to define it : you make 
 me suspect your motives." 
 
 The absurd youth gave him every reason for so doing 
 with his next question : " Why is Lizzie Haycraft turned 
 off from work here? Why are you turning out her 
 father?" 
 
 " Why," asked the vicar, " are these subjects any con- 
 cern of yours ? " 
 
 " I am friends with them." 
 
 " It would be well if you were not. Some friendships 
 lead to trouble. Over the whole of this business some 
 one has very much to answer for." 
 
 Wind of this came to Lady Petwyn in a request from 
 Tristram that she would find Lizzie Haycraft employ- 
 ment. 
 
 " Find your Beale Isoud employment?" enquired the 
 dame; "what does she do? Needlework?" 
 
 " Yes, that, and washing." 
 
 "Of dirty linen in public? It seems you help her. 
 Very well, send her along ! " 
 
 " You mean it?" 
 
 She did. Lizzie, cast off at the Vicarage, was taken in 
 at the Hall. Mr. Hannam remonstrated ; Lady Petwyn 
 bade him be charitable. Tristram had the proud feeling 
 of having scored a point against the enemy. 
 
 He saw an enemy in near'y everybody now : they were 
 as numerous as his friends were few. Marcia had been 
 sent away with her mother out of reach of his contami- 
 nating influence ; Raymond was still absent ; MacAllister
 
 344 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 unscathed, went on still in wickedness, a sign to Tristram 
 that his mission was as yet unaccomplished. 
 
 For relief, one day, he became a truant from work, and 
 flew over to the Sage, who had begun asking for him once 
 more. He found him feeble, but as full as ever of cranks 
 and petulant reproof of him. 
 
 At the tender pressure of the old man's hands on his 
 shoulders, the poor youth was ready to lift up his voice 
 and weep : the relief of level companionship in an elder 
 who yet differed from him in most things was so great. 
 
 They talked on many subjects, of much very near to 
 the trouble the young man's pride had brought on him. 
 The elder discerned a spirit, befogged by the fumes 
 of some passion, tilting at windmills. He counselled 
 peace as the best wisdom for youth, because the hardest 
 to attain. 
 
 " But fighting must be right sometimes ? " 
 
 " Yes, under a higher authority." 
 
 "Is not conscience that?" 
 
 " Conscience may enlist you in a cause. To assert it 
 singly, if literal fighting is what you mean, brings you 
 down to the duel." 
 
 "Down? Is not the duel sometimes the only right 
 way? " asked Tristram. The fighter rang in his tones. 
 
 ' The duel," said the Sage, " was a necessary institution 
 in its day ; it has lost its use now in civilised countries. 
 Like the mastodon, it is no longer needed in the jungles 
 of the cooler sphere we live in. Yesterday, fifty years 
 ago that is to say, it had become immoral ; it has now 
 sunk lower, and has become ridiculous. 
 
 " Of its immorality here is an instance out of my own 
 youth, when the transition from the immoral to the 
 ridicu'ous was taking place. A man of my native town, 
 with more than a finger in trade, had married a too fair 
 lady, his superior in rank. Out of the shop he was pre-
 
 VIRTUE IN A SWELLED HEAD 345 
 
 sentable : for her sake the upper quality would sit in his 
 wife's parlour and drink tea. If her husband came in, 
 they merely shortened their stay, without at once rising 
 to go. He took no offence at it ; and was never in a hurry 
 for recognition. 
 
 " One young roysterer, a buck of the county, thought 
 the lady ' devilish fair,' rumour said she was flattered by 
 his attentions ; anyway, for her sake, he became intimate 
 with the shopman, sat down at his table, borrowed money 
 of him, and at last gets caught making round love to his 
 wife. 
 
 " What does our shopman do when he hears of it ? 
 Shut his door on a scoundrel, and so let the thing go? 
 Not for a moment ! Bitten with gentility he sends him 
 a challenge, and, being disdained, whips his man in the 
 street one quiet night before a few witnesses ; perhaps 
 chooses his time shrewdly, when the gallant is in drink 
 and unsteady on his legs. Gives as his reason that the 
 fellow had come drunk, and used unseemly language 
 in his wife's presence ; all of which was literally true. 
 When a leading gentleman of the place backs him up, it 
 becomes certain that the meeting must come off. This 
 gentleman, who offers to second him, says ' What can 
 you handle? ' and is reminded that the other side has the 
 choosing of weapons, himself remaining the challenger : 
 an elementary piece of knowledge from an honest fellow 
 swaggering at gentlemanly revenge. The shopkeeper 
 owns he can hit a bull's-eve if it be a tub across the breadth 
 of his back-yard ; and can make the preliminary passes ; 
 that is about all. He puts his point frankly : ' Sir, I have 
 no wish to kill, or to be killed. But my wife is a lady 
 born ; and, as her husband, I am to be treated as a gentle- 
 man. My opponent is an expert, I am told. If I can 
 get through his guard I will ; if not, let him pink me 
 where he likes, and I'll carry a scar which my wife will
 
 346 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 regard honourably.' The remark shows, perhaps, why 
 the poor fellow insisted on fighting. 
 
 " In the end they met. Not being born to such things, 
 and feeling his courage in him, the gallant shopman must 
 needs swagger a little. His opponent merely plays with 
 him, and feigns a miss or two. ' Bad ! ' says the trader, 
 and hacks out ; and ' Bad ! ' again. Pitying on-lookers 
 can scarcely refrain from laughing. 
 
 " The right thing, you'll say, was to disarm him ; "but 
 the other, growing careless, fumbles a ward, barely es- 
 capes being touched, and is told ' Bad ! ' for the third 
 time. Being true, it stings him ; this talking target shall 
 be permitted no longer. 
 
 " At the sight, one of the seconds exclaims in irre- 
 pressible pity against so adroit a cruelty. ' Good ! ' cries 
 the excellent shopman, and drops choking with his own 
 blood. 
 
 "Where was honour in that miserable affair?" 
 
 Tristram thought the wife would find in widowhood a 
 husband worthy to be sorrowed over. 
 
 " It is to be feared," said the Sage, " that her grief 
 only began a month after she had married the other 
 party." 
 
 " Yet he died finely, and like a gentleman ! " asserted 
 the youth. 
 
 Replied the Sage, " Or like puss, when the field's after 
 him, leading his own funeral procession. I doubt if 
 ' gentleman ' was added to his epitaph. And you see how 
 little his gentlemanly effort saved his wife from a fate 
 which, as a shopman, he might have averted. One 
 scarcely knows whether to laugh or cry over him." 
 
 " I'd never laugh ! " dedared Tristram. " I think that 
 to meet his man was the right instinct. Are you against 
 fists even ? " 
 
 " Fists, ah no ! " replied the Sage, " I grant certain
 
 VIRTUE IN A SWELLED HEAD 347 
 
 insults call for personal chastisement ; man is still a fight- 
 ing animal, when he protects the honour of his women. 
 But he need not risk murder and suicide in keeping 
 scoundrels their proper distance. The fist of an honest 
 man may sometimes do the work of the finger of God, 
 and write truth on the face of cowardice." 
 
 If Tristram had come to the Sage with any idea of 
 pistols all round, as a cure for injuries in the cause he 
 was championing, this praise of fists may have helped to 
 bring his histrionics to a saner level. But were these to 
 be his remedy, he had needed the equipment of Briareus 
 to smite all the mischievous mouths that now wagged 
 tongues at him. 
 
 On his return home he found that a stroke had been 
 prepared for his folly which he had not just then calcu- 
 lated on. To get him away from a neighbourhood where 
 his presence did mischief, where every day threatened 
 to see him plunging into yet madder course, Mr. Gavney 
 had taken means to snap off his independence at the 
 roots. Within a fortnight London was to swallow him 
 up ; and for the one year his father spoke of he under- 
 stood it was to be banishment. After that, if he were 
 wise, he would accept the higher training which the 
 opportunity afforded, and remain to acquire that culture 
 in commerce which only a great business house could 
 supply him. He saw in black and white documents prac- 
 tically binding him ; his father's name to them, making 
 him a chattel of trade ; he was reminded that in the eyes 
 of the law he was yet an infant. Shrewdest stroke of 
 all was word of his mother returning with Marcia in 
 a few days to give him his send-off under a veneer of 
 harmony. He detected the leash and muzzle, to one 
 in his present mood a form of constraint difficult 
 to endure. He spoke on the matter with a cold calm he 
 did not feel.
 
 348 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " You had better delay their coming, sir, if it be for 
 me ; I may decide not to go." 
 
 Mr. Gavney answered, " That is not left to you for 
 discussion." 
 
 I lis retort, " I did not name discussion, decision was 
 my word ! "' was uttered in a manner with which his 
 father was now becoming familiar. 
 
 Blow for blow, and to promote with passionate effront- 
 ery the rivalry of incompatible codes, was now the longing 
 of his heart. Told he was a child, he was childishly set 
 on proving himself a man ; pride forbade him to quit the 
 scene, and the cause he had emptily championed without 
 some ringing counter-stroke. Lizzie's honest name still 
 stood needing to be vindicated. Fiercely to his head 
 rushed the resolution to put theory in practice, and practi- 
 cally, by the same act, to give justification to the talkers 
 of scandal. 
 
 ' I love her! " he cried, to fight down a doubt which 
 threw ridicule on the scheme ; and did not know that it 
 was self-love which carried him at such speed along 
 Randogger Edge, to win a point that would stagger those 
 who traded on his infancy.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 TRISTRAM ENCOUNTERS OBSTACLES 
 
 'T 1 RISTRAM found Lizzie in deep depression; the 
 time for leaving her old home was near. The 
 uprooting of her father from the one spot which could 
 have kept him settled for his old age, was the thing which 
 weighed most upon her mind. 
 
 " I'd go," she said in recounting her trouble to Tris- 
 tram, " I would go willingly, if that 'ud end the matter ; 
 but Dad's pride's bound up in it now ; he'll not stay on any 
 condition if he can't keep me as well. He talks savage 
 at me if I mention it ; but at night I see him looking hard 
 when he's cleaning his guns, and I know he's minding 
 how soon he'll have to leave it all and go. Dear Mr. 
 Tristram, the thought of it do wear him so ; it's only a 
 month now between this and then. Have 'e not noticed 
 how thin he be getting ? " 
 
 " Much may happen in a month, Liz," he replied to 
 comfort her. He spoke truth, though events went far 
 from the thing that he planned while he spoke. 
 
 The little cause of so much trouble lay fast asleep on 
 his mother's arm. Tristram turned to gaze on the uncon- 
 scious face ; as he did so the girl's eyes were on his. 
 Thinking of what he wished to say, with stare grown 
 intent and fixed, he was aware that a shawl had been 
 drawn between him and the object of his regard. Look- 
 ing up he met in Lizzie's gaze a half-frightened enquiry ; 
 
 349
 
 350 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 his glance went down again on the covered head. He 
 understood. 
 
 Generous pity swelled in his blood; he laid his hand 
 on hers. " Liz," he asked softly, " haven't you given him 
 a name yet ? " 
 
 She shook her head, eyeing him still. 
 
 " Don't you mean to?" he enquired. 
 
 " I would like " she said, and stopped. After some 
 
 hesitation she added, " A name did ought to mean some- 
 thing ; once you did tell me what your name meant, and 
 the thought of it's come back. ' Sorrow-born,' you said. 
 That would have done well enough for him. Some day, 
 when I'm right away from here, I would like to give him 
 vour name ; I've not had a better friend." 
 
 Suddenly as she envisaged the objection, her face grew 
 stained. Before she could cover her remark, he said, 
 " That is just what I have come to ask." 
 
 Again she shook her head at him ; confusion made her 
 look down. 
 
 " I shouldn't ever have named such a thing," she mur- 
 mured ; " I forgot folk 'ud be saying things about you 
 if I did." 
 
 He was surprised at her ignorance. ' They do say 
 
 it!" 
 
 " They do ! Oh ! " A spasm shook her features ; shame 
 fought with anger, and anger fell to ruinous weeping. 
 With heaving shoulders she turned and leaned her face 
 to the wall. 
 
 " Oh, my friend ! " she cried in shaken speech, " do 'e 
 go and leave me! I only bring pain on them as is kind 
 to me. Go! Don't ever come near me again." 
 
 She was more moved than Tristram had ever seen 
 her ; more hurt now for him than she had ever been for 
 herself. Her generous grief accused him for having let 
 word of it go.
 
 ENCOUNTERS OBSTACLES 351 
 
 " Liz," he cried, " I shouldn't have told you this, but 
 for the other thing that I wanted to say. Listen ! I ask 
 you: will you give your boy my name? Yes, the whole 
 of it, I mean — the right to it ; yourself too ? Do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 She turned slowly round to face his meaning. He gave 
 her no chance but to see clearly what it was. " Liz, dear, 
 say yes ! " he cried, and having his arms about her, had 
 the child as well. 
 
 She pushed him back with one hand, forbidding him 
 with all her force, though her face held no anger. 
 
 " But, Liz," he urged, discovering rejection in the act, 
 " do you think I don't love you, then ? " 
 
 " I know you do," she answered. " You hadn't got to 
 speak it for me to know that. You be the truest friend I 
 have in the world, Mr. Tristram." 
 
 " I want the right to be ! " 
 
 " You have it ; I can't give 'e more." 
 
 " Oh, Liz," cried Tristram, trying to measure his 
 chagrin, " won't you believe I want you ? " 
 
 " It's not true," she answered. " You want to be good 
 to me ; that's a different thing. Don't 'e say no more ; 
 this is not the way you can do it. I tell 'e it could 
 never be ! " 
 
 Dissatisfied he opened his lips to plead further the 
 cause of pride. " I ask 'e," she said quickly, " not to 
 speak of it again ! no, no ; it pains me too much. I 
 can't even thank 'e with any word that'll say what I feel." 
 
 He cried out, drawing his hand back from the pressure 
 of her lips. " Oh, Liz, how you shame me ! " he muttered, 
 suffering sharp scruples over such a salute. 
 
 " And you me, dear, dear friend," murmured the girl. 
 " God can never bless you enough now to please me ! 
 But you'll not talk of this any more. Let a 1 l be as it is ! " 
 
 Her simple act of homage had silenced him. What
 
 352 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 he said during the rest of their interview was wholly- 
 sensible, and much more kind in fact. 
 
 Hearing that old Haycraft was up in the paddock at 
 the back of the cottage he went across to have a talk with 
 him, and finding him busy at the repair of his tackle, 
 lent a hand to the work. They conversed of indifferent 
 matters, or sat silent, not speaking what lay in their 
 thoughts. Tristram noticed that the old man's lips had 
 a new trick, shaping continually at words unuttered ; his 
 old habit of equable reserve had broken down under 
 the slow fever that, through blood and brain, was wasting 
 him. Lizzie had spoken truly ; his body was showing 
 the gaunt framework of its former strength, and the 
 old fire of his eye was slow in kindling under the shaggy 
 brow. 
 
 Suddenly Haycraft, conscious that he was watched, 
 cast on his companion a searching regard, fixed a rigid 
 mouth, and laid down his work. 
 
 "Speak out, Ben!" said Tristram. "What is it? 
 You've something on your mind." 
 
 " Like enough, I have," retorted the other. " So've 
 you ; both on us 'a got it ; it sticks an' it 'ont come away." 
 
 " Some things do take a time, Ben," said Tristram. 
 
 "Time?" returned the old man; "that's the thing I 
 can't wait for ; there ain't much time for me ! I be a-goin', 
 I says to meself, I be a-goin' ! Soon I'll be gone ! " 
 
 ' Where do you go, Ben? Isn't it about time you 
 were looking round ? " 
 
 " That be true, Muster Tristram ; it be time, and the 
 time be gettin' on ; and I've bin lookin' round ; never a 
 day but I've bin lookin' round. And now I be come 
 back on the thing I thought foremost, 'fore ever I said a 
 word to 'e. Muster Tristram, there be summat you do 
 know." 
 
 " But I know nothing : not a thing ! "
 
 ENCOUNTERS OBSTACLES 353 
 
 " You've a name in yor mind, if you chose to speak 
 it." 
 
 " In my mind? yes, Ben, but I can't go on it. If only I 
 could!" 
 
 " You think my girl's had wrong done her? " 
 
 " Yes, Ben, that I could swear," whispered Tristram, 
 and his eye grew fierce. 
 
 Haycraft pitched out a great oath. " And so here be 
 we two," he cried, " both much of a mind, and you with a 
 name as you could name, and nothin' to come of it ; and 
 my time welly nigh over. Muster Tristram, I must be at 
 the rights of this 'fore I go ! " 
 
 ' Your way to the rights may bring you out wrong, 
 Ben," the boy warned him. " If you must tackle it, best 
 go quick and straight ; face your man. Yes, if I could be 
 by, I'd trust to the instincts of the two of us." 
 
 " You mean to know whether he spoke true or lied? " 
 
 " I mean that." 
 
 " So now, will you name the man to me, then ? " 
 
 But Tristram had still a scruple ; his code of honour 
 was more punctilious towards an enemy than a friend ; 
 and his head was cool enough to tell him that vengeance 
 in Haycraft's hands would not stop on the side of mercy. 
 He must be sure. Forlornly he had to admit to himself 
 that he held no proof. So for a w r hile he kept his own 
 counsel, promising to see Haycraft again in a few days' 
 time. 
 
 " I say, Ben, don't be in a great hurry ! " he said, laying 
 kind hands on the old man. " Mind you, it's Lizzie you 
 hurt most, if you get yourself into a scrape." 
 
 The old fellow's ears were half deaf to him. Tristram 
 left him sedentary, at his task. Looking back, he noticed 
 the more deliberate movements and the deeper stoop of 
 the head, giving si<rn of faculties and sinews less imme- 
 diately responsive to his call on them than of yore. From 
 
 2 A
 
 354 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 his speech also the boy had realised how suddenly his 
 friend had aged; it was with a sad heart that he turned 
 away. 
 
 Wrath in his heart at the position of affairs at home 
 drove Tristram further afield. That evening he supped 
 with Daddy Wag-top, and delighted him thereafter with 
 readings from his beloved classics. To confer so much 
 pleasure to a simple heart lulled his sick soul. " Shall I 
 come over and stay with you for a few days ? " he en- 
 quired of his host, and saw the light he anticipated come 
 into the lonely man's eyes. In a high mood for asserting 
 his threatened independence he quitted home the next day, 
 leaving conjecture to work alarm as to his whereabouts. 
 For his mother's sake he posted a line to Marcia, hinting 
 that he would return when his mind was made up on the 
 London project. Thus the news came back to his father 
 at second hand, revealing yet a new aspect of his son's 
 rebellion against authority. 
 
 For a week the culprit employed himself very happily 
 between farm labour and classical readings; Bagstock's 
 head wagged merrily all day over his great good fortune. 
 In the evenings his guest read to him, so assiduously 
 that the yeoman was seized with a veritable belief that 
 his library contained rare things attractive to the literary 
 mind. 
 
 " You are the only master I do Latin with now," said 
 Tristram. " I come to you to feel young." He could 
 have stayed for ever. 
 
 A wish to look up at his mother's window and know 
 whether she had returned ; to throw up to Marcia's and 
 be let in for a midnight conference, and have a scolding 
 from her kind tongue; to let himself out again in the 
 early morning, to go over to Hill Alwyn and steal a ride ; 
 in fact a general wish for social contact once more came 
 at a week's end to disturb the contentment which had
 
 ENCOUNTERS OBSTACLES 355 
 
 lasted so long. He spoke his mood to his host, naming 
 such strange hours for his going and return, that the yeo- 
 man for the first time had an inkling that he entertained 
 a clandestine guest. He put the question : Did Mr. Gav- 
 ney know whose roof was honoured by his son's pres- 
 ence? 
 
 " I have not told him," said Tristram ; " if he chooses to 
 find out, he may." 
 
 Benjamin Bagstock received a shock. Reverence of a 
 father was with him an infatuation ; it ran equal with his 
 craze for the classics. He sighed, stumbled for speech, 
 and could not, 'twixt affection for his dear young bene- 
 factor and his creed of filial duty find mild words honest 
 enough for his homily on parental claims. 
 
 Tristram perceiving a yeasting of conscience under 
 cover of many kind words, bade him be comforted. " I 
 go to-night," he said. " If I come back it shall be with 
 permission." 
 
 He reckoned that to promise so much meant a longish 
 farewell to Daddy Wag-top's company. 
 
 He gave him good measure at parting, in the way of 
 Latin hexameters. They held sitting in the low farm- 
 parlour till a late hour ; no rank dissolute vintage ap- 
 peared to trouble the feast ; the Tramp had long since 
 instituted cider in its stead. He had sworn that apple- 
 orchards grew round Olympus, and that sliced apples 
 floated on the cups of the Gods when with Peleus they 
 feasted. The Greek origin of cider thus set in evidence, 
 backed by a twisted classical allusion, Bagstock ever after 
 held the beverage in high honour, and let it be the drink 
 wherewith Tristram thereafter crowned his quotations. 
 His musty old Madeira went under. The fable gave con- 
 tentment to two, and the farmer's board becoming thereby 
 hospitable in fact, as well as fancy, led them into late 
 habits.
 
 356 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Tristram read till eleven sounded. When he rose to 
 go, wind blew and rain struck the windows, telling of 
 weather without that had gone unperceived. Bagstock, 
 with courtesy before morals, prophesied a wet night, and 
 begged him to stay. 
 
 " No," said Tristram, with a glance out at the sky, " it 
 will clear." Having set his word on it, some instinct held 
 him ; a notion of the " evil chance " cropping up again, he 
 wished to get away. 
 
 Bagstock's word was the truer. The close tortuous 
 paths of Randogger kept the traveller fairly dry, though 
 in the tree-tops whispered a continuous mizzle of rain. 
 Crossing the open from Randogger Edge, and thence 
 under Parson's Coppice, to the accompaniment of a 
 thorough drenching, he could see the Haycrafts' lonely 
 cottage still showing a light, and wondered why they 
 should be up so late. 
 
 Along the Hill Alwyn footpaths he was again protected 
 from weather that had now settled miserably till the small 
 hours ; the air had by this time grown darker, showing 
 that behind the blistering grey clouds the moon had gone 
 its setting. 
 
 Suddenly he was conscious of an obstacle in the path, 
 — too late. He stumbled and found himself across a 
 man's body. 
 
 Living or dead, he wondered : most likely only drunk. 
 He heard a groan, not like a drunken man's. 
 
 ' Who are you? " he cried ; and getting silence, scraped 
 a light with difficulty from half damp matches, and saw 
 in a brief spurt of flame Ben Haycraft with disfigured 
 visage looking at him; a death's head, still staring and 
 conscious ; nothing moved in it but the eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 TRISTRAM EXTENDS PROTECTION TO AN ENEMY 
 
 OICK at heart, Tristram beheld the shape of his 
 fears. 
 
 " Ben ! " he cried, when darkness fell again between 
 them. " Dear man, what has been done to you? Are you 
 much hurt ? " 
 
 Receiving no answer, he laid hands on the inert mass, 
 and groped to find how much life lay in it. By the uni- 
 form moisture of the garments he guessed the fallen man 
 must have lain exposed there for over an hour. The 
 Tramp's mind was now all to fetch help, for alone he 
 could not carry a man of Haycraft's weight. To take 
 stock of his injuries he struck a second match, and saw 
 enough to know what immediate bandaging was needed. 
 
 The light fell on a burnt-out end. " What's o'clock?" 
 came in a voice like that of an awakened sleeper, or as the 
 enquiry of a brain fuddled with drink. 
 
 To the reply telling of midnight come, his " Yo be 
 Muster Tristram? " showed clearer perceptions. 
 
 " Yes, it's me," answered the boy, and felt a hand 
 thrown feebly up against him, astray, and borne down 
 again by its own weight. 
 
 " Good lad ! " muttered the old man as their hands met 
 and clasped. 
 
 Placing his cap under the damaged head that it might 
 have softer lying, he tore into rough bandages a shirt 
 
 357
 
 358 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 from the wallet he carried; and did his best to adjust 
 them to the wounded part. 
 
 Haycraft seemed unconcerned with his doings, his 
 mind all abroad on matters outside his present condition. 
 As pressure on the weights of a clock adds impetus to its 
 going, so it seemed did the drag on his physical forces 
 bring about a quicker working of the brain. 
 
 ' Them 'ounds ! Where be they gone to ? " he started 
 muttering; and in the darkness dry and low his voice 
 went on. 'Did yer see any on 'em? Muster Tris- 
 tram, haven't yer seen ere a one? I put me sign on 'em 
 all ; I'd know 'em again. There was three ; ah ! there was 
 four on 'em at one time, but I did for 'im." 
 
 " Who were they, Ben ? Couldn't you tell ? " asked 
 Tristram, still bandaging. 
 
 " Look about, lad, look about, and you'll find 'em ; they 
 can't be got far ! " The husking voice spoke in an ex- 
 alted tone, impressive coming out of the blackness of 
 night, and from a bulk of body so weak, so drenched, it 
 seemed already to belong to the soil on which it lay. 
 
 " I tell 'e how it was," he went on. " They won't tell 'e 
 for themselves — one won't. I come along, carrying my 
 Liz, and the time gettin' dark ; up they leps out of no- 
 where, an' behind comes down a knock on me 'ead. 
 Then I sets Liz to one side. There's three up afore me ; 
 two on 'em goes down ; one stays there thinkin' whether 
 he'll get up again ; thinks a good while, 'e do. Then one 
 — 'e come behind me again, and all three of 'em on me, I 
 goes down. Man under me 'e outs with 'is knife. ' Oh, 
 yer will, will yer? ' sez I, and quicker nor 'e knows 'e gets 
 his knife back into him, and kingdom come into the bar- 
 gain." 
 
 The Tramp listened bewildered ; this tale he had heard 
 before, of a day when Haycraft was twenty years 
 younger ; aye, and had seen on the brawny body the scars 
 of that fight.
 
 PROTECTION TO AN ENEMY 359 
 
 " Shut talking, Ben ! " said he. " Quiet's best for you 
 now ! " 
 
 Under him in the darkness the withered voice still went 
 on, not heeding his words, drawing the narrative to its 
 known goal : a desolate and wintry breath, lifting like 
 dead leaves the ghosts of a buried field. 
 
 " That fellow," Haycraft took up the thread of his 
 story, " the one as had got his knife back again ; well, they 
 others seein' so much done, an' havin' had sommat their- 
 selves, they sheers off, they do. And for 'im, where I done 
 it, there I puts 'im to rot. Little Liz, 'er a lookin' on an' 
 crowin' all the time — Just done it as you come along. 
 ' So that's ended,' sez I. And now where be me legs, I 
 wonder ? " 
 
 Tristram was giving but half an ear to such talk. 
 " Your head's been cut open," said he, " and you've been 
 bleeding like a pig; I've got to get you home." 
 
 " Aye," murmured the old man, " cut open, be I ? 
 'Twan't done with a knife, though. 'Twas the red 'un 
 done that ; he was the one as fought fair. ' Man to man,' 
 sez I. That must 'a bin after the rest ; and 'ow a come 
 to get the better o' me. 'Twas you ! ' sez I to 'im ; and 'e 
 swears a dommed lie that 'twas another. When 'e outs 
 yor name, ' Dommed liar ! ' sez I, and struck 'im. Where 
 be Liz got to now ? " 
 
 " She's at home waiting for you to come in," said 
 Tristram. " Ben, you lie quiet here while I bring her. 
 You must be got home, and you can't do it on your own 
 legs. Are you comfortable enough to be left ? " 
 
 " A wants Liz," said the old man. 
 
 Tristram gave a parting pressure to his hand and ran. 
 After brief absence he returned, with Lizzie, carrying 
 restoratives and a lantern. They found the old man dazed 
 and scarcely conscious of their presence ; his tongue no 
 longer shaped sentences that could be understood. Be-
 
 360 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 tween them they propped him up, and staggering under 
 the weight of his mighty bones, bore him home, and to 
 the bed from which he was never to rise. 
 
 Tristram went off at once to summon medical aid : he 
 had more than four miles to go, and the stir of birds in 
 the damp woods was already indicating the close approach 
 of dawn when he and the doctor were set down at Hay- 
 craft's door. 
 
 Returning then to the wood, for the lantern and the 
 things he had left thrown down, he came unexpectedly on 
 his own cap. He put his hand to his head ; whose was he 
 wearing? He pulled the thing off and examined it. 
 " Ah ! " he murmured, " the red 'un." 
 
 He searched further ; no other evidence came to hand. 
 
 Before night the old man lay dead ; loss of blood and 
 failure of the heart's action combined to account for the 
 overthrow of that tough frame. 
 
 During those hours of his sinking strength he had but 
 once opened his eyes on his watchers, and then twice 
 broke silence to say, " The red 'un, he fought fair." The 
 reiteration came like an entreaty for his hearers to under- 
 stand. 
 
 Tristram saw Lizzie lift and fix a blank stare at her 
 father's face ; he heard her murmur of desolate reproach, 
 "Oh, Dad, did 'e think I lied to 'e?" — strange matter 
 for cogitation to him who held handy a thing which 
 might yet prove an uncomfortable fit for a certain head. 
 
 At noon an arm of the law arrived, and was conducted 
 by Tristram to the scene of the tragedy. He told as much 
 as he thought good at present for law and order to know ; 
 spoke of numbers, quoting Haycraft's words, who was 
 now past making any statement of his own. Under his 
 eyes a barren search was conducted. The suppressor of 
 evidence had ever one hand in his pocket while speaking. 
 
 Parting from Lizzie at the day's end, Tristram saw her
 
 PROTECTION TO AN ENEMY 361 
 
 calmly prepared to pass the night alone in company with 
 the dead. It brought out doubly the pathetic loneliness 
 which now threatened to be her lot. 
 
 He put his hands on hers to say, " Liz, my word still 
 stands, if you will think of it. Say no more about it 
 now." 
 
 She shook her head mutely, her mind too dulled by the 
 strain of long hours for speech to be anything but an 
 effort. Letting him go she did not even take his hand, or 
 show signs of emotion till his lips touched her face. At 
 once her eyes brimmed and colour overspread her fea- 
 tures ; she saw him only through mist as he turned away. 
 That was their good-night. 
 
 Tristram went home feeling that she had accepted, 
 though indefinitely, the protection he offered ; he was con- 
 tent now to let it take whatever form she wished, though 
 his own wish, his rebel mood being now in the ascendant, 
 was the extreme one. 
 
 With his mind thus keyed, he had to face at home the 
 stern demands that greeted his re-appearance. 
 
 "Have you been with that woman?" his father en- 
 quired. The question embraced his whole week's absence. 
 
 " Not in the way you mean," answered his son. " I 
 have seen her ; she is in great trouble ; her father is dead." 
 
 Mr. Gavney's answer expressed a cold satisfaction. " It 
 will get her out of the neighbourhood," was his comment 
 upon the news. It stung the youth to a reply which car- 
 ried in it threat of destruction to the whole house of Gav- 
 ney. " I have asked her to marry me," he said. 
 
 Words had not succeeded to the consternation and 
 wrath which this statement produced, when the vicar, Mr. 
 Hannam, was announced. Tristram had at last his double 
 quarry in hand ; he had also the mood for pitting them 
 against each other without compassion. Argument be- 
 tween the two, himself directing it, would, he knew, hold
 
 362 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 no water. The moral of the unhappy hour that followed 
 was that it is peril for a minister of the Gospel to have 
 social standing with a section of his flock ; it is damaging 
 to true doctrine. Let the door close on that unseemly- 
 spectacle : high voices were behind it for one hour of the 
 clock. ; ' Not another word ! " in the raised tones of Mr. 
 Gavney put a raw finish to the conference. At the end of 
 it that unhappy parent deemed it his duty to go upstairs 
 and make his wife ill with a report of the proceedings. 
 He had all the success he anticipated. 
 
 ' You have taken ten years off your mother's life," he 
 said to his son when they met again. 
 
 " If you could add one to mine," retorted Tristram, " I 
 would be thankful ! " It was the voice of rebellion hun- 
 gering to be full-fledged and in possession of its powers. 
 For Mr. Gavney the morrows became dreadful to look 
 forward to. 
 
 The rebel had at the moment a troublesome point to 
 solve with his own conscience. Being full of bad blood, 
 it was natural that he should solve it wrong. In his 
 pocket he had headgear belonging to the MacAllister : in 
 his mind Haycraft's reiterated testimony to that brute's 
 fairness in fight. Over and above, he had Lizzie's mur- 
 mured words to clear a brain darkened by reasonable 
 prejudice. Lie had also, being a rebel, a profound distrust 
 of the fair dealing of the law ; he decided, therefore, to be 
 judge himself in a matter which had come, as it were, 
 under his own jurisdiction. 
 
 The pomp of a righted conscience carried him off to 
 beard the lion in his den. He found " the red 'un " ex- 
 hibiting no undue alarm at his appearance, and no particu- 
 lar deference. A nod and a grunt bade him stand or be 
 seated. MacAllister remained at his desk. 
 
 "Yours, I think!" said Tristram, and tossed the in- 
 criminating piece across to him.
 
 PROTECTION TO AN ENEMY 363 
 
 " Mine it is," said MacAllister, letting it lie. 
 
 " Found, where do you suppose? " 
 
 " Where I imagine you'd have done well to leave it," 
 answered the bailiff, unmoved. 
 
 A shrewd answer ! An attitude of bold non-committal 
 seemed to be the fellow's line of defence. Tristram ap- 
 proved it. He said : — 
 
 " Mr. MacAllister, only one other living person besides 
 yourself knows a bit of what I know ; you needn't fear a 
 word either from her or me. I know now that you were 
 unjustly suspected of a certain wrong ; and the only man 
 who could have charged you gave his good word to ac- 
 quit you before he died." 
 
 " If you talk of charges and acquittals it would be 
 fairer to name names," said the other disdainfully. 
 
 " I name Haycraft," answered Tristram. 
 
 " A rogue who escaped hanging." 
 
 " A brave man, and honourable, according to his lights. 
 You owe him a kinder word." 
 
 " Footpad and poacher's my word for him." 
 
 " As you will," said Tristram. " If you did him or his 
 less wrong than you schemed, you may be glad now that 
 you failed. His death needn't trouble you. Every dog 
 has a right to his day." 
 
 MacAllister nodded agreement to that, and wished him 
 good-day. " Dog yourself ! " stood implied. " And 
 thank you for nothing," said MacAllister, as the other 
 departed. 
 
 A doubt lay in Tristram's mind whether he had cut as 
 fine a figure on the judicial bench as he had desired. It 
 should have warned him. 
 
 A few days later, at the inquest, he went into the wit- 
 ness-box with a magnanimous mind. He was flattered to 
 perceive that MacAllister also attended, anxious, no 
 doubt, to hear him fulfil the part he had promised to play.
 
 364 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 The bailiff's disdain of his evidence was then rather more 
 on the surface than he had thought. " The fox doesn't 
 trust me ! " thought the youth. " He shall ! " 
 
 With punctilious accuracy he recounted the ramblings 
 of the dying man's brain ; in his narrative the red 'un ap- 
 peared but as one among many, and disappeared again 
 with no special importance attaching to him. A scuffle of 
 poachers in rivalry was the inference that remained on 
 the conclusion of his evidence. 
 
 Great was Tristram's astonishment, on quitting the 
 box, to hear MacAllistcr called to take his place. As 
 a voluntary witness unsummoned by the police, he had 
 his credentials ; moreover, he spoke the truth. Oh ! 
 shrewd brain under the red head ! Tristram had to listen 
 and admire. His suppression of the truth came out. Eyes 
 turned to look at him. Why, by the turn of a lie on his 
 tongue MacAllister could have brought the implication 
 round to him ! Hark to the court questioning, and the 
 cool-headed replies. 
 
 " Can you account for the deceased attacking you? " 
 
 "«He had a grudge against me." 
 
 The witness was asked to name it. 
 
 " It had been put into his head that I had ruined his 
 daughter." Shrewd punishment that, to certain ears ; 
 there sat Lizzie, there Tristram ; at him eyes set thick and 
 fast, he felt them on him like a swarm of stings. The 
 thought came to succour him, " If I have brought this on 
 her, it gives ne the more right to make amends." The 
 rebel in him reared up its head. Meantime question comes 
 again ; the witness is ready and waiting for it. 
 
 " Was there any truth in that suggestion ? " 
 
 "A lie!" said MacAllister, and let his eye travel to 
 Tristram. 
 
 The court buzzed. 
 
 Tristram heard himself recalled. He stood up and took
 
 PROTECTION TO AN ENEMY 365 
 
 his punishment ; even the verbal truth of his testimony 
 was doubted in the face of new facts. The cap episode 
 damned him utterly. His evidence was censured ; he es- 
 caped with that. MacAllister's unscrupulous honesty 
 had won the day. His committal for manslaughter there- 
 after before the magistrate was merely a formal proceed- 
 ing ; the same evening saw him released on his own recog- 
 nisances ; and a week later he was free even from the 
 mild shadow of a hold that the law had kept on him. 
 
 Meeting Tristram on a later day the bailiff cocked a 
 sharp eye on him. 
 
 " YOU TRIED TO SAVE MY LIFE ONCE, MASTER GAVNEY ! " 
 
 he said, and passed. 
 
 Tristram for all his honest hatred of the man could 
 have shaken hands with him for that ; the condescension 
 to such a move would have been on MacAllister's side. 
 He was incapable of it. Give him his triumph, it is one 
 honestly earned. With this he passes out of history.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 LOVE AND WAR 
 
 \J\70RD of these things flew abroad. It came to Lady 
 Petwyn, who greeted it, crowing triumphantly 
 over the strokes publicly dealt to the idiot she adored. 
 On his own family it fell with all the bitterness of sharp 
 disgrace. Mr. Gavney beheld scandal pointing at his door 
 so long as Tristram remained in the neighbourhood. 
 Further the tidings went, and now, for the first time, with 
 particulars of the whole scandal, reached Raymond's ears ; 
 it found him on the very point of returning for a brief 
 visit to his home. The news struck him a double blow ; 
 and with the typical injustice of the male, he was quicker 
 to doubt the woman whose heart had opened its depth to 
 him, than to believe in the treachery of his friend. The 
 honour that exists among thieves is the specially preserved 
 virtue of the predatory sex. Of woman, the unknown 
 quantity, it will believe things that of its own it rejects. 
 
 Raymond damned Tristram without prejudice, regard- 
 ing him merely as an honest sinner like himself. But 
 elsewhere his thoughts ran black as night. Unbelievable ! 
 cried his heart as base suspicions took shape ; and straight- 
 way he believed them all. To set down here all the mad- 
 ness into which a revived jealousy temporarily threw him, 
 were to give too permanent a record of thoughts dishev- 
 elled, flying, clouds worried out of all shape by the black 
 teeth of a mounting storm. 
 
 366
 
 LOVE AND WAR 367 
 
 Let the reader, if he will, retrace for himself the course 
 of Raymond's inquisition of the past, and construct with 
 him the forgeries of jealousy. For though love may be 
 abused or forgotten, jealousy for the past leaps to life, 
 and from the heart of memories that had once been sweet, 
 tears food it craves for and loathes. At the end woman's 
 honour had flown to the winds : his friend's stood firm. 
 Tristram would have been the last to thank him for the 
 compliment — thanked him surprisingly little for it when 
 it came to the point. 
 
 All that Raymond heard of the Tramp's extravagant 
 attitudes, his almost published threat to go to the ex- 
 tremes of a foolish chivalry, convinced him of his friend's 
 honesty. In spite of pique and indignation at the trick 
 circumstance had played him, he conceived, therefore, 
 that he had a duty to perform, a sharp word of sense and 
 instruction to level at his addle-pated comrade's intelli- 
 gence before it should be too late. To him, as to Mac- 
 Allister, the fitting of caps had become a duty : for per- 
 cussion-caps they might well have been named in view of 
 the explosive results which followed. The young man, 
 calling virtue and vice to his aid, wrote in loathing as 
 duty dictated ; in further loathing as temper whipped him 
 to comment ; and with a last swell of loathing despatched 
 the missive. 
 
 Gloom was governing the breakfast hour at the Valley 
 House when the distribution of the post brought the letter 
 into Tristram's hands. 
 
 He nodded to Marcia, saying " from Raymond," as he 
 opened it. In another moment she saw his brow go black ; 
 and at the end of his perusal a trembling hand make a vin- 
 dictive crumble of the sheets it held. Hot fire was over 
 his face. Murmuring an excuse, he rose to leave the 
 room. Marcia looked away. In the culprit's absence Mr. 
 Gavney spoke.
 
 368 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " Your brother goes to London early next week," he 
 remarked, giving the news with the tone of an order laid 
 down. 
 
 " Does he? " said Marcia, more interrogatively than she 
 meant. 
 
 " He goes out of this house," said her father. 'If you 
 have influence with him, advise him." 
 
 " If Marcia has any influence with him," said Julia, 
 " she is a blessed exception to the rule. Don't, my dear, 
 let it turn your head." 
 
 " His, you mean," said the girl, smiling. " Yes, I will 
 use my influence with him, papa," she went on, laughing 
 over her parent's chair. ''Shall it be done like this?" 
 The display that followed evoked protest. 
 
 " It's no over-exertion," she said, setting him on his 
 feet again, " influence never is with me ; only be good- 
 tempered to him, papa, and I will see what I can do." 
 
 Having, as she would have termed it, shaken her father 
 into a good temper, she bided her time for dealing with the . 
 other half of her problem. He was missing for the rest of 
 that day. Outside the village during the forenoon she 
 met Raymond, and finding him eager to be in her com- 
 pany, had much to hear of him fresh from sheep-farm- 
 ing. She admired the superabundant signs of health he 
 displayed. His spirits, too, seemed as of old. Asking for 
 news of Tristram he let the answer go unheeded. 
 
 " It's you I want to see more, Marcia," he said. ' I've 
 looked forward to it, I can't say how much. You wouldn't 
 believe me if I did." 
 
 " Is it advice you've been wanting, then? " 
 
 " As an accompaniment, yes ! But it was you ; I swear 
 you are the jolliest friend a fellow could have! Just to 
 hear you talk puts me in a happy frame of mind. Now 
 you laugh ! What have I said foolish ? " 
 
 " Nothing yet."
 
 LOVE AND WAR 369 
 
 "You think I will presently?" 
 
 " Not unless you begin to mope. You were doing that 
 in the summer." 
 
 "Oh, that's over! Don't I look good? Haven't I 
 swallowed all your advice ? Now I come back for more." 
 
 " Give me a point to start from, then ! I'm brimming 
 with wisdom." 
 
 " Why am I leaving England, tell me ? " 
 
 " Tired of old faces, want fresh ones, I imagine." 
 
 " Yes, fresh ones are what I like," he said, looking at 
 hers. " One fresh face would go a long way with me." 
 
 "Would it?" she asked, and looking for slight chaff, 
 saw the keen edge of his meaning. Without intending 
 anything she had given him the lead he wanted. 
 
 " Will it ? " he asked. " Don't say I talk nonsense ! 
 I'm asking you for advice now." 
 
 " Fresh faces don't remain fresh for ever, Ray ! Some 
 questions require a look twenty years ahead before they 
 can be answered." 
 
 " Look ahead, Marcia, and answer me ! " 
 
 " Answers from a long distance take a long time in 
 coming, Raymond." 
 
 " They may take what time they like, so that they 
 come at last." 
 
 " They may bring a shake of the head. How then ? " 
 
 " I should say, then — you didn't look far enough ; 
 look again ! " 
 
 " I declare, Ray, I think you are sensible ! " 
 
 " I can swear I think I am in this." 
 
 " Do you know what it is you want ? " 
 
 " You to love me, Marcia ! " 
 
 " But I only like you now." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 " Just as much as is comfortable ; not one bit more. 
 
 " No chance of it getting uncomfortable?" 
 
 2 B
 
 370 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " I think we are both too sensible. No." 
 
 " You think I'm not, then ? " 
 
 " Not what ? " 
 
 " Uncomfortable." 
 
 " Not very." 
 
 "I am!''' Raymond spoke with solemn conviction. 
 The girl's laughter flew out. 
 
 " Oh, Ray," she cried, " if you could see your face when 
 you say that ! " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " You look so contented." 
 
 " Because I believe you like me." 
 
 "I've said so!" 
 
 " Love me, then, I mean." 
 
 " Oh no, I don't ! except as I say, comfortably. That's 
 fact, Ray." 
 
 " Can't we improve on it, put a piece on day by day? " 
 
 Once more Marcia laughed. " Oh, Ray, you are nice 
 about it ! " she cried. " You are no trouble at all ! I 
 could say ' yes ' out of mere gratitude, if I didn't mean 
 no. Dear boy, I've never thought of it ! I must be 
 wanted desperately before I can begin to think. We are 
 neither of us at the stage to do that." 
 
 Raymond said : " I'd stay in England to serve you, 
 Marcia : make new plans : be a different man." 
 
 " No, no," she protested, " I like you as you are." 
 
 " But like isn't love, you say ? So before you'll love 
 me I must alter." 
 
 " Don't begin to be clever, Raymond, or I can't answer 
 you," said Marcia, entangled by the argument. 
 
 Raymond replied : " I'll be a fool, Marcia, if you'll only 
 give me the answer I want." 
 
 " But I haven't it in me, Ray." 
 
 Looking, he found her eyes very cordial and friendly. 
 " Will you ever?" they gave him encouragement to say.
 
 LOVE AND WAR 371 
 
 " There's a question that takes time to answer," she 
 told him. 
 
 " Oh, take time, if you must ! " he conceded, and 
 made generous allowance. " Will you tell me to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " What ? will to-morrow have altered you so much, do 
 you think ? " 
 
 " Perhaps a little if I have that to look forward to ; 
 and you a little, Marcia ; add the two up, we might 
 make it into much. Enough for you to begin an answer 
 on. 
 
 " Begin an answer ! Now you are trying to be crafty. 
 How can I begin an answer of which I don't know the 
 end?" 
 
 Raymond said with humble seriousness : " You might 
 have the end in your own mind ; but you needn't tell it 
 me until you think I deserve it." 
 
 Marcia took his hand and swung it laughing. " Oh, 
 Raymond," she cried, " you dear impossible person, what 
 will you be saying next? To-morrow I'm to find like 
 changed into love; and then I am to bottle it up till I 
 think you deserve it! What repentances and changes 
 have you to get through ? Aren't the debts all paid and 
 done penance for ? " 
 
 " One may think so," he answered, " but they have a 
 way of cropping up again and looking as if they were 
 not paid. Some debts never leave quite a clean slate 
 behind them, however much one may rub with one's 
 own fingers to get rid of them. I want another's hand 
 to polish me." 
 
 He held Marcia's ; there was the old moody strain in 
 his voice that she knew and hoped to have mothered out 
 of him. It brought her back to the old tone of hearty 
 comradeship, covering a tenderness for the concealed 
 malady.
 
 372 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " My hands are always at your service, Ray," she in- 
 formed him. 
 
 " But I want your heart, too," was the youth's discon- 
 tented cry. 
 
 " Warm, you have it ! " she replied ; " but soft, I don't 
 believe is in me." 
 
 " Warm does for me! " he said; " I can leave the soft 
 for babies." 
 
 " For babies ; it's where I come nearest it," she 
 answered. " I've been hugging a little brown one since 
 I saw you." 
 
 " Then I'll be one ! " cried the inconsistent youth, taking 
 fire. " Marcia, I want you — I do ! I want to be made 
 a man of; when I'm with you I feel I've been far off it. 
 You undo my pride, and make me ashamed of things : 
 things if I had loved you sooner I'd never have done. 
 Looking at life ahead it seems full, with you in it ; with 
 you out of it, I don't care where I go to, or what I do. 
 Tell me to stay in England, I'll stay: tell me to go, I'll 
 go, though I shall understand what that means. Let me 
 only have your wish for me to work on, and I'll be a 
 reasonable contented Christian. Keep your answer till 
 I've proved I'm worthy to have given you the trouble 
 to think of me ! I'll come back for it and take it, what- 
 ever it is, as that of an honest and true woman, the 
 best alive, who would rather hurt than wrong any man, 
 and hurt herself rather than not do right. Marcia, when 
 may I come ? " 
 
 Her voice thrilled slightly as she lifted breath to reply; 
 his words had touched strangely the weak and the strong 
 places of her character. She said : " Come to-morrow, 
 Raymond, or the day after, or any day; you will be sure 
 of seeing a friend. If I can give you any answer then, 
 I will." 
 
 She spoke from a moved, but an untroubled heart,
 
 LOVE AND WAR 373 
 
 gave him her two hands, looked him in the face with all 
 the good-will in the world, but for conscience' sake could 
 not say the word she would almost have liked then to 
 let him hear. 
 
 "To-morrow ! " she said. " No, no, that will be Sunday ! 
 the day after will be best." Had her voice sounded less 
 confident and free, Raymond could have discovered more 
 immediate hope in the prospect. She seemed too heart- 
 whole for a lover's eye. 
 
 So they parted, from a wooing in which much honest 
 speech and few words of sentiment had been uttered. 
 The raging wooer would have affronted her taste. Ray- 
 mond, schooled unconsciously by her friendship, was 
 approved. The stride of her free spirit was not diminished 
 because she had listened to the voice of a man searching 
 for his mate. 
 
 Marcia had claimed respite of one clear day. She used 
 it honestly for the quiet searching of her heart, prepared 
 to find no more than a benevolent vacuum, unserviceable 
 to the man she would have been honestly glad to satisfy. 
 Other spirits paid less observance to the day appointed 
 for rest. 
 
 Raymond had received a peremptory word from Tris- 
 tram, naming time and place, as though the world and its 
 Sabbath belonged to him. He screwed himself up to get 
 over an unpleasant task. Since his return he had heard 
 the full ins and outs of his friend's madness ; much also 
 that he did not credit. That Tristram had by putting 
 off blame from himself to MacAllister hoodwinked the 
 girl's father, and then, with an evil conscience over the 
 catastrophe that ensued, had striven to repair his fault 
 and shield the man he had wronged, was a suggestion 
 he refused to listen to. It surprised him to find his mild 
 father bitter against the youth. " He has done irreparable 
 harm to the parish," was Mr. Hannam's complaint. " I 
 regard him no longer as a fit friend for my son."
 
 374 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 His son, nevertheless, kept the appointment snapped 
 at him in a few lines of Tristram's handwriting. The 
 friends met in a quiet corner of the Hill Alwyn covers 
 at the hour when the parish was making outward con- 
 fession of its sins; other occupants of the Vicarage and 
 Valley House pews were left to speculate on their 
 absence. 
 
 Tristram was first on the ground; he disregarded the 
 hand his friend offered him. 
 
 " Come, come," said Raymond, " we'll not begin like 
 that! Aren't we friends still?" The offer once more 
 held out was again ignored. Tristram's eyes shot level 
 enmity at eyes which strove to be friendly. 
 
 " Oh, very well ! " said Raymond, and hardened his 
 face. 
 
 Said Tristram, " Which of us is to hear the other first? 
 You've something to say, I suppose ? " 
 
 'Nothing," answered Raymond; "I came at your 
 call." 
 
 " You've been making a queer duty of absence, till 
 now ! " retorted the other with a stiff lip. 
 
 " And you've been enjoying elbow-room; it seems you 
 haven't been in want of me." 
 
 "Not particularly. I've been fighting liars!" said 
 Tristram. 
 
 " Using their own weapons a bit?" 
 
 " Giving them full play ; yes, all I could do while the 
 man who should have met and silenced them was hiding 
 himself comfortably away." 
 
 " Name where you accuse! " said Raymond with sud- 
 den sharp delivery. 
 
 Tristram raised his voice. 
 
 " Skulked, I say, put his tail between his legs and ran ! 
 Cared nothing what was said, or who accused, so his 
 back was out of it. The man who could be silent, then —
 
 LOVE AND WAR 375 
 
 I didn't know him till yesterday, not till yesterday ! — I 
 thought he must be so much a brute that he had best 
 be let go, that even by lies it were better to keep the 
 very woman he betrayed from being named along with 
 him! — yes, I looked about to hit on some rank fox of 
 a fellow: thought I'd found him, though I never named 
 him — and got punished for looking too low among the 
 scum of things instead of where I ought, at the man I 
 once called my friend." A trembling white fit of rage 
 went over Tristram as he spoke. 
 
 " When you've done being mad, I'll speak," said 
 Raymond. 
 
 " I asked you to do that first." 
 
 Raymond was no fast thinker; he understood but the 
 half of what he heard. 
 
 " Two days ago," he said, " I was told of this for the 
 first time. It was on that I wrote." 
 
 Tristram stared ; his enmity rallied to the retort. " Let 
 so much be, then ! The cause of all this lies in some- 
 thing of a year ago. Do you pretend ignorance of that 
 too?" 
 
 The sneer was obvious. " Are you expecting that I 
 shall tell you lies ? " asked Raymond, with wrath fast 
 smouldering to a flame. 
 
 " As you please ! " Tristram had almost said. " That 
 you begin to tell anything is the surprise ! " was what he 
 actually did say. 
 
 Raymond discerned that Tristram had been through 
 fire ; he made allowances, and answered : " It was news 
 to me ; of the actual event I knew nothing at all ! " 
 
 Tristram's brow gathered for storm. " And at once 
 when you know you write insult of the woman you have 
 wronged ! " 
 
 " I told you a plain truth," said Raymond. " Yes, 
 perhaps I wrote in a temper. The wrong was all round.
 
 376 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 If not, where do you come in? Don't speak, you, of 
 insults ! " 
 
 " I," said Tristram, " have asked her to marry me. Is 
 that insult ? " 
 
 " No, but it implies something," said the other. " Too 
 much for me ! " 
 
 " Yes, that I love her, and would give my life to make 
 up for the wrong she has been done ! I grant you have 
 the first claim. Will you take it, having been so back- 
 ward ? I see now for her there's one man in the whole 
 world. One — Ray ! " 
 
 " Facts stand," said Raymond ; " you must be mad, or 
 you'd see reason. I wrote to get you out of that mess." 
 
 " It's a pity I can't thank you ! What you have done 
 is to throw insults where in all this world you have least 
 right ! Raymond, if — if you would do that — yes, marry 
 her — I'd call you my friend again ! " 
 
 " I don't marry " Raymond spoke a deliberate 
 
 word. An astonishing thing happened. 
 
 " Right ! " he got out through clenched teeth, and spoke 
 no more. Madness must have its way. 
 
 Within twenty minutes Tristram was lying on his back 
 with closed eyes. A mere enemy might have pitied him 
 then ; his friend had a harder resentment to get through ; 
 forgiveness came slow. 
 
 " Damn his obstinacy ! " muttered Raymond, beholding 
 him thus. ' Why couldn't he have taken his beating ten 
 minutes ago? I hate pluck when it's so senseless! It's 
 a mad brute that won't know when it's beaten. He is 
 mad, I think ! " 
 
 Physical pity for the sight that confronted him moved 
 him at last ; he put his hands under the wrecked youth 
 and lifted him, making a support for his head. The feeling 
 of those slack limbs wrung thorough commiseration from
 
 LOVE AND WAR 377 
 
 him ; a moan came to tell him of a stunned brain, which 
 would not consciously have blabbed so dolorous a note. 
 Composing his burden to what he trusted was comfortable 
 repose, Raymond ran to find water for his victim, feeling 
 himself the most victimised of the two. His hat was 
 fairly water-tight ; but to carry it back and not spill what 
 it retained took time. 
 
 When he returned Tristram was sitting up with his 
 back to a tree; dead pallor showed obscurely through a 
 countenance whereon livelier hues were bedded out in 
 patches and streaks. 
 
 The stricken object sat passively regarding Raymond 
 as he approached. 
 
 " Come, you ass, drink this ! " was that grudging 
 Samaritan's remark; and the ass indifferently took it 
 and drank. 
 
 There was an elevation of the nose, as the thing was 
 done, out of keeping with the sullenness of defeat. Ray- 
 mond beheld it with no little astonishment. ' Tough ! " 
 was his grunt of mental admiration. " And a very devil 
 for obstinacy!" To account thus for him with hard 
 words, made in Raymond's mind the beginning of charity. 
 His kindlier mood met with no recognition ; that battered 
 visage wore a fine edge of contempt ; after one glance the 
 eves let him alone, turned elsewhere to be rid of him. 
 Raymond felt himself ignored. His attitude, proffering 
 the water that Tristram might again refresh himself and 
 be clean, became servile under the continual slight of his 
 studied inattention. 
 
 Feeling he must say something, Raymond strove to be 
 generous. " Here, Tramp, old chap, I say ! do you feel 
 better, then?" was his first effort. 
 
 Tristram was mute, and began slowly to draw down 
 his sleeves over the arms he had bared for the encounter. 
 Raymond glanced from those to his own more formidable
 
 378 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 display, and with some shame of face started to do like- 
 wise. 
 
 Presently he beheld Tristram knotting his cravat, still 
 with the chin-airs of a dandy. What did the fellow 
 mean ? He had taken his whipping well ; couldn't he 
 become sensible? 
 
 Raymond stood up, feeling the accusation of brute, as 
 the bigger and better man, unfairly thrust at him; he was 
 hungry at heart to be generous, to make all the amends 
 he could. Was there no getting hold of the creature? 
 He stretched out his hand to claim the final courtesy, the 
 prize of the stricken field — his opponent's hand ; yearned 
 to have hold of it, and by a clasp say so much that the 
 lips would blunder to speak. 
 
 " Give us your fist, Tramp ! " he said, reaching down. 
 " We must make this up again somehow. Come ! " 
 
 Tristram gave him a level look, and away again, and 
 entangled both hands in the sleeves of his coat. Actually 
 he had no strength for hoisting it on. 
 
 Raymond's eye became a little hardened. 
 
 " You won't shake hands, Tristram ? " 
 
 " Rather not," he replied in curt tone. 
 
 " But you've fought me ; you must ! It's not 
 friend'y!" 
 
 ; ' I didn't suppose fighting was friendly." 
 
 "If you fight an equal, he has a right to your hand 
 after it. Come ! " 
 
 " I'm not your equal," said Tristram. 
 
 As he spoke the boy was rising to his feet by the help of 
 the tree ; with his coat dangling down one arm he leaned 
 toward the trunk for safety, looking very deadly the while. 
 
 Raymond was endeavouring to deal generously with 
 an enemy who seemed bent on driving him from one 
 ungrateful attitude to another. The bad form of the 
 thing cut him. " Sulky cur! " he could have cried. The
 
 LOVE AND WAR 379 
 
 sneer that they were not equals made it one worse. 
 " Well, was it my doing? " he cried. " You might behave 
 decently ; it was to please you I fought. You would 
 have it." 
 
 " Very well, and you've licked me. I'm much obliged 
 to you ! " 
 
 " God ! " cried Raymond, " was there ever anything 
 like this? You take a licking till you can't see, till you 
 can't stand ! till you are knocked out of your senses, and 
 lie a mere log. Then, when you're up on your feet, 
 because you can't have the thing over again, you sulk 
 like a cad ! " 
 
 Tristram's body became strung again with passion. 
 " Do you suppose," he cried, " that as long as I had feet 
 under me I didn't wish I could kill you ; or now, if I had 
 any strength left in me, that I wouldn't wish to still ? 
 Yes, with my last breath ! " 
 
 The words struck Raymond like a bolt. Rallying, he 
 said : " That sort of talk is mere wind. Why should you 
 want to kill me ? " 
 
 " Why? She's Marcia's sister, and the man asks why! 
 It drives one mad ! Yes, that's how I think of her : I 
 love her! She is like Marcia: I can't separate them. 
 And so brave I've seen her, — and suffering, — and I 
 couldn't help ! And all the time, where were you ? Don't 
 think because you've beaten me once that you've done 
 with me! Till I die I'm her friend! " 
 
 Raymond said scornfully, giving the word its uglier 
 meaning, " Did she choose you for her protector?" 
 
 "No," said Tristram softly, all at once; "she chose 
 you! — a poor thought, wasn't it?" 
 
 " That's folly ! " struck out Raymond doggedly. 
 " You've turned your brain mad over this ; you've no 
 sense to see. I can forgive you your mouthings, though 
 precious little of them can I understand. There, I won't
 
 380 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 listen to you again ! Give me your hand, and hush all 
 this talk ! I'll see you home." 
 
 " Ray," said Tristram, " I used to think you the best 
 fellow alive. I couldn't be prouder to know any one than 
 to know you. I thought to be your friend was the biggest 
 piece of luck that ever came my way. Well, that's over 
 now ! Now I think you so poor in honour that I would 
 rather never have a word with you again — never, unless 
 you do right to that poor girl whose one wrong-doing 
 was to love you. Oh, if I could find the right word for 
 you now, I'd spit it in your face." 
 
 The other crimsoned, though with the thought that 
 none but a madman, or wilfully blind, could use such 
 speech. " You forced me to fight you, thinking that of 
 me ? " he asked. 
 
 "I — I," Tristram stammered ; then turning his con- 
 fusion to scorn, "I'm not proud of having fought you ! " 
 he said. 
 
 " Perhaps not, but fight me you did ; whatever you 
 thought of me you brought yourself down to my level 
 to do that ; you can't get away honourably without pay- 
 ing the price." He paused and went on: "Tramp, I 
 refused to think ill of you — any worse, I mean, than of 
 myself, though I was told worse, — oh ! had it from those 
 who believed it with a good conscience — my own father 
 for one. I say you must give me your hand ; it isn't a 
 mere form. It's — it's — give me just this chance of 
 thinking you aren't quite mad ; or well, let it be that it's 
 for the last time ; let it mean as little as you like ! Tramp, 
 / mean it ; and you don't know what hard things you've 
 said to me." 
 
 The younger man only heaved his chest, looking in- 
 tently at the other's face of pleading and reproach. 
 
 " Suppose, Tramp," Raymond went on, " that I'd been 
 the one who came off worst, that you'd whacked me, 
 perhaps as I deserved : what then ? "
 
 LOVE AND WAR 381 
 
 A bitter smile curled Tristram's lips. " Maybe then," 
 he said, " I should have killed you." 
 
 " I know better," said Ray. " Before I'd asked, you'd 
 have given me your hand." 
 
 "My hand?" Tristram turned indifferent contempt 
 on himself, " I needn't be so scrupulous with a thing 
 that has served me so ill. There, if you want it, take it! " 
 
 The hand, after so much dispute, lay dead for Ray- 
 mond to clasp — dead, dead. He held it with more desire 
 than he could name for a returning pressure upon his. 
 
 That never came ; he let it fall. 
 
 " Now go ; get out ! " said Tristram, bitter to the last. 
 
 " I'll see you home," said Raymond. " Oh, that may 
 mean nothing at all. I'd do it for a dog ; you are too 
 knocked up to go alone." 
 
 " Get out ! " reiterated the implacable voice. There 
 was nothing left for Raymond but to go. He went, feel- 
 ing, what was perhaps the truth, that a most ungenerous 
 measure had been dealt out to him. Once he looked back 
 and saw Tristram leaning his head against the tree; his 
 arms were up ; his body strained as though violent sick- 
 ness had come upon him. 
 
 When Raymond reached home, he mounted to his 
 room and looked furtively in the glass. " Oh, damn ! " 
 he cried, transfixed by what he saw. Scarcely a trace 
 of the conflict marked his face. He felt himself a very 
 hound. Tristram's best had never got home with any 
 weight behind the long reach of his arm. The very 
 reverse of what he intended, — therein lay Tristram's 
 master-stroke, the moral and the summing up of the 
 whole battle. 
 
 Raymond Hannam's self-respect lay, if one may make 
 use of so shadowy a paradox, shattered at a blow. The 
 negative was stronger than any positive Tristram could 
 have devised.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 FORTUNE SHOWS A BLACK FACE 
 
 "VTATURE had given to Tristram a comely counte- 
 nance, making him a presentable and likeable object 
 to his fellow-men. " Your Greek bronze," had been 
 Lady Tetheridge's description of him to the Hill Alwyn 
 dame : a phrase intended to flatter the ears of one who 
 over all the youth's good qualities made great show of 
 proprietary rights. But there are bronzes and bronzes ; 
 it was no Phoebus Apollo that his features took after. 
 Faun and Hermes rolled into one give a better vision of 
 his style ; or were one to emulate the exactness of a com- 
 pass indicating that the wind's way lies north-north by 
 west, Faun should be named twice to once for the light- 
 heeled messenger of Zeus. 
 
 No sleeping Faun, let it be understood, but one ready 
 for the dance up to the very roots of his hair ; a sight 
 of his eyes only would tell you of blood briskly at the 
 tramp. His lips were typical of his nature ; they fought, 
 upper with under, met only to part again, and played 
 quickly at moments in keeping with divers senses ; when 
 the eye was alert, they breathed ardour and surprise ; 
 when the ear, they opened and became a cavity, indicative 
 of sound. Movement was the controlling genius of the 
 whole face ; a momentary arrest of thought gave it the 
 pause of a thing aimed, or of a bird suddenly checked in 
 flight. His sister, catching him asleep once, had dis- 
 
 382
 
 FORTUNE'S BLACK FACE 383 
 
 covered a different person ; bringing her mother to see, 
 they were met by the full open eyes of a light sleeper 
 awakened, one not easy to catch. 
 
 For the rest of this chapter, the face one has here tried 
 to make visible has to be conjured away; a very different 
 one takes its place : a temporary affair not needing to be 
 described, but a portent while it lasted, destined as it 
 went the rounds to startle conjecturing minds, give a 
 little pain to a few tender hearts, and mischievous delight 
 to a certain tough one. 
 
 Tristram's place at home was empty during the rest of 
 Sunday's meals. Though Mr. Gavney wondered fret- 
 fully what fresh piece of indiscipline the day was to bring 
 forth, Marcia's peaceable explanation seemed probable. 
 " Raymond was not at church, either," she said. " It is 
 long* since they have met ; no doubt they are off together 
 for the day." She wondered what confidences Tristram 
 was receiving from his friend, but soon corrected the 
 fancy, preferring to think of Raymond as one who un- 
 burdened seldom to others, and in this case to none. 
 
 Late at night, on her way up to bed, she thought of 
 looking into the Tramp's room ; at times he had quiet 
 ways of returning. She knocked lightly and entered ; 
 the room was dark ; Tristram's voice replied to her call, 
 apparently he was already in bed. 
 
 Marcia had learned that the best way to news of her 
 brother's performances was not to ask questions. She 
 sat down against his knees and told him her own small 
 doings of the day. She got little from him in reply. 
 He confessed at last to being sleepy ; his tone did not 
 make her believe it. Going out she was struck instead 
 with the conviction that he was ill. Over ailments he 
 had an indomitable pride and secrecy, hating to be 
 nursed. To get proof for herself Marcia returned with a 
 light. She turned him over ; would look at him, she
 
 384 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 insisted ; only the sight of his tongue would satisfy her. 
 'I warn you," he said; "you'll drop the candle! I've 
 had an " 
 
 She almost did when he sat up. 
 
 ' Tris, you've been fighting ! " was her cry. 
 
 He nodded doggedly to the correctness of the sup- 
 position. 
 
 " All I knew how ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " went Marcia in a low breath. The actual en- 
 quiry she longed to make died on her tongue ; she asked 
 him instead, " Are you hurt much ? " 
 
 " As much as you see ! " he answered shortly, and re- 
 fusing to have anything done for him, lay down again, 
 by silence inviting her to leave him. 
 
 But first she wished to know, was he not ill as well as 
 hurt? ' If I don't eat a good breakfast to-morrow," he 
 answered, " you may begin doctoring me." And the 
 promise was hearty enough to give ease to her mind. 
 
 Preparing to go, she enquired, " Were you not with 
 Raymond any of the time ? " 
 
 " Some," he murmured. 
 
 She left him on that, and passed to her own room and 
 a sleepless night. 
 
 On the morning of the next day the pageant of the 
 woful countenance started on its rounds ; its bearer 
 carried a high head, answering only such questions as he 
 chose. 
 
 Mr. Gavney, ready with enquiries as to his yesterday's 
 absence, broke off abruptly to exclaim : — 
 
 " Good heavens ! you can't go to London with a face 
 like that ! " 
 
 ' I can't ! " said Tristram, with demure satisfaction. 
 He had not thought of that before, though certain trunks 
 had stood packed for the last three weeks, waiting on his 
 pleasure to move.
 
 FORTUNE'S BLACK FACE 385 
 
 His father's request to him to absent himself from the 
 family board till he had recovered the looks of a gentle- 
 man, led him to enquire whether those same looks were 
 compatible with trade : — was he to come to Sawditch as 
 usual ? 
 
 In that direction also he was to consider himself crim- 
 inally incapacitated, and to take holiday in disgrace. Mr. 
 Gavney refrained from direct investigation into the spec- 
 tacle before him ; but his mind registered a dread that 
 he might yet have to hear of his son as a drunkard, 
 a lover of taverns and low company. For that reason 
 he curtly bade Tristram keep out of his mother's 
 sight. 
 
 The youth dutifully avoided her room. 
 
 When from a window she saw him first, he did his best 
 to soothe her lamentations, by crying up that he had had a 
 fall. Strictly true. To have said several would have been 
 still nearer the mark ; and all on his back, he might have 
 added to make bewilderment perfect. 
 
 Marcia coming upon him in the light of day, ran out of 
 his company in strange fashion, as though she too partook 
 of the general disgust. 
 
 Recalling their interview the night before, Tristram 
 was at a loss to account for the change, till, coming on 
 her again, he detected tragic lights and stains about eyes 
 which ordinarily made little show of emotion. 
 
 Miss Julia Gavney sent unsolicited fomentations to his 
 room with hourly regularity ; this was her way of indi- 
 cating that he was a sight unfit to be abroad, and the place 
 therefore in which he ought to stay. 
 
 Indeed Tristram was not anxious to meet the world 
 even of his own intimates ; and for some days while his 
 spirits were recovering he surrendered his rides rather 
 than make a gratuitous display of himself before Lady 
 Petwyn under present conditions. Nevertheless, when 
 a c
 
 386 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 summons came for him, pride stood uppermost, and he 
 disdained to shirk the encounter of her remarks. 
 
 At the first shock of him her eyebrows went up. "Well, 
 you look handsome, I must say ! " was her immediate 
 greeting. Peering sharply to get at the meaning of the 
 damage done him, she detected human agency. 
 
 " So that's the moral, is it ? " she nodded, assuming that 
 the matter stood explained. 
 
 " A moral certainty, you may call it," he answered, " if 
 you mean that I've got a bruised head. Accidents will 
 happen." 
 
 " And some take two to bring them about," she grunted, 
 adding : " I know a double event when I see one side of 
 it. You haven't, I suppose, been brow-beating yourself 
 in the witness-box? No! there's another half of you 
 about somewhere. What I want to know is which looks 
 the better one ? " 
 
 Her play of tongue made it easier for Tristram to be 
 merry over the traces of his punishment. " If it's evidence 
 you are after," said he, " I think I'm the best witness. 
 Oh, yes; the better half's here for you to stare at. You 
 sent word you wanted to see me, and for once I'm worth 
 looking at ; that's the advantage of having a thin skin ; 
 you'll not find my match anywhere." 
 
 ' But you've brought me the box where it struck," she 
 retorted, holding him with a shrewd eye. 
 
 'I'm sure you flatter me," he answered: "the box 
 lasts after the match that struck on it is done for; here 
 am I, at all events, alive, you see; I do claim to be 
 that ! " 
 
 "So that's a thing to boast of, is it?" she enquired; 
 " and MacAllister hasn't, at present, got another justifi- 
 able homicide on his conscience? I must have a look at 
 him." 
 
 1 Then you'll be on the wrong scent," said Tristram,
 
 FORTUNE'S BLACK FACE 387 
 
 " though you'll find a fox. For his kind I've learned to 
 love him, and wouldn't have him shot for the world." 
 
 He told of MacAllister's passing remark at their last 
 meeting, and showed a new respect for him amounting 
 almost to enthusiasm. 
 
 " Then, you haven't been fighting him ? " questioned 
 the lady, preparing to speculate afresh. 
 
 Tristram assured her with inimitable coxcombry that 
 he had let the red rascal off. " I've realised," said he, 
 "that a man can't help the colour of his hair; it has 
 taught me to be charitable." 
 
 Lady Petwyn saw that he was talking her off the track. 
 "Then, you mean I'm not to know?" she enquired 
 bluntly. 
 
 " Oh, you are welcome to, if you can find out," he 
 answered. " But really, if you meet a friend sober in the 
 morning with the marks of dissipation on him, you don't 
 immediately ask him what ditch he lay in the night before, 
 do you ? " 
 
 " It's the ditches of your sobriety I'm anxious to find 
 out," she retorted. " They are the exception. You 
 have spasms of common-sense which make you danger- 
 ous, and hold you from the wisdom which awaits the 
 fool who persists in his folly. As for your dissipations, 
 I have but to sniff the wind, and open my ears, and there 
 they are ! " 
 
 " Sniff the wind and open your ears, by all means ; 
 and then call this an attack of common-sense, if you 
 don't find the solution." He indicated his bruised 
 countenance. 
 
 " I declare," cried the lady, with a quaint air of con- 
 viction, " I believe you've been fighting your own 
 father ! " 
 
 Tristram's laughter pealed ; henceforth he had her at 
 arm's length. Up and down she might beat the bush ;
 
 388 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 when she had him most cornered, ripples broke over his 
 face, and he exploded once more. " There, there," he 
 protested, " don't spoil a good explanation ! " and would 
 have it that it was so. 
 
 " I tell you what ! " he declared, " my father's a real 
 bruiser; he beats me to make me become a Londoner; 
 and now I'm so bruised I can't go! " 
 
 Lady Petwyn heard then, for the first time, how closely 
 London was threatening him. She halted him abruptly 
 to say, " Do you want money?" He could have had a 
 hundred pounds on the spot from her just then, if he 
 would have consented to play her game. She had by no 
 means relinquished her schemes to capture him, and saw 
 her easiest way to them in a breach between him and those 
 having natural authority over him. 
 
 Instead of securing him, however, the calculating dame 
 beheld one of those spasms of common-sense, of which 
 she had accused him, and had to lay by her offer as a bait 
 for an hour when he should be less wise. So it was that 
 at a later day signs of a questionable affluence were to 
 sink alarm into the paternal breast, making it appear 
 that, however Tristram's feet might be directed for 
 him, he had the faculty for shaping the course into a 
 road for ruin. 
 
 But the shrewdest questions on the face of events were 
 not to Tristram ; in silence they rose ; and were answered. 
 Strange to Marcia,at first, and then less strange as thought 
 went over the worn ground once more, was the fact that 
 no hour of the first day that offered had brought Ray- 
 mond to gather the possible sweetness of her second 
 thoughts. An early hour of the day following saw her 
 setting forth defiant on an interdicted road, and at the 
 end of it holding out motherly arms for a much clothed 
 dormouse to be put in them. She nursed it with unques- 
 tioning tenderness, and thereafter went back to her daily 
 round of occupations with a serene brow.
 
 FORTUNE'S BLACK FACE 389 
 
 Raymond's face, when at last they met, showed an 
 anxious consciousness, a covert enquiry. Her bright 
 welcome of him seemed to give relief to a mind ill at ease. 
 But when, rushing to his point forthwith, he asked, 
 " Have you an answer for me now, Marcia ? " she became 
 unlike herself, and fenced the question. 
 
 " Am I to believe that you want what you come so 
 late for?" she enquired. 
 
 His excuse was a little too subtle to approve itself to 
 her ears. He feared, he told her, to come on uncertainty, 
 and had schooled himself to wait; she had asked for 
 time ; he had given her all he could. 
 
 " It was not like you," she answered, " but I suppose I 
 must say thank you ; though it's a day lost." 
 
 Her eyes were grave ; " a day lost " had not the 
 meaning a smile could have given to the phrase. In 
 doubt as to what it might foreshadow, he was in haste 
 to plead. 
 
 " I know this of you," he said. " If you were for me 
 yesterday, you are not against me to-day." 
 
 " Dear Ray," said the girl, and gave him her hands, 
 " I am always for you, never against you ; be sure of 
 that ! " 
 
 Her words might have seemed to hold encouragement 
 for him, but her tone implied a difference. Though her 
 eyes were bending kind looks upon him, they seemed to 
 withhold the promise he sought to find in them. 
 
 A fear caused him to say suddenly, "If you had heard 
 anything against me, you would tell me, Marcia? " 
 
 " I would," she answered. " I have heard nothing, 
 Ray." 
 
 So quiet an answer, without surprise, given in response 
 to a question that should surely have startled protest, 
 failed to reassure him. 
 
 Her hands were still lying in his : " Dear friend," she
 
 390 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 murmured in a low breath, and turned bright eyes to 
 him, " believe indeed that I care for you ! " Her full 
 aim seemed to be to convince him that her good-will to 
 him was unchangeable. But for a young man striving 
 to win first place in a woman's regards, so general a 
 cordiality was beside the point. He intimated as much 
 at last, saying: 
 
 " I want to know whether you mean ever to care for 
 me more than you do now ? " 
 
 For a moment she startled his hopes surprisingly by 
 replying, " I mean to ; yes ! Let it begin to-day. You 
 must do your part, Ray. It shan't be my fault if my 
 liking for you stands still." 
 
 Her words quickened his thoughts. A little fleet foot- 
 ing, a breath of the outer world, — they wanted that to 
 bring them together; such conditions had been their 
 happiest auspices hitherto. 
 
 "Will you come out?" he said. "Yes, for a run! 
 never mind what the weather is. I have a thousand things 
 I want to say ; and sitting-still ties my tongue. A walk, 
 Marcia ; perhaps a last one before I leave England, — if 
 I go." His looks were keen on her when he said that. 
 " You won't refuse ; say you'll come ? " 
 
 Marcia seemed to be consulting the sky; she looked 
 long through the window before she turned to give him 
 his answer. " I'll come, Raymond," she said finally ; and 
 in a couple of minutes she was ready. 
 
 Outside they found themselves under a grey headlong 
 sky, in a world filled with a thin flight of leaves and the 
 cawing of rooks. Gusty autumn had taken an early hold 
 of the year, unsettling the woods even before October 
 came. Slanting over their shaken tops went scuds of 
 rain ; here and there down the valley ran a furrow of 
 light ; to the west a watery weather-gleam filmed over the 
 ridge of Randogger.
 
 FORTUNE'S BLACK FACE 391 
 
 As they set out together her eyes were friendly, meet- 
 ing his ;-they swung along side by side like well-contented 
 comrades ; any one who met them then might have had 
 pleasant thoughts at sight of so well matched a pair. 
 Tristram saw them go : Marcia in the company of the 
 friend he had cast off. Was he bound in honour to be 
 silent if Raymond dared so to presume? 
 
 Marcia chose the first turn of the way, not lending an 
 eye to the clouds. " I'm quite prepared to get showered 
 on ! " she said, and handed to Raymond a small bundle 
 for carrying. " I have an errand I want to do on the 
 way," she explained, "it won't take a minute; if you 
 like you can drop me." She spoke on, of common-place 
 subjects, giving no sign of the strange hunger she was 
 beginning to feel for the heart she intended that day to 
 let go ; nor did anything in her face tell Raymond that, 
 before many hours were over, he would have to abandon 
 hope of her. 
 
 On the evening of that same day, the Tramp ran over 
 to see Lizzie. In a few days she would be giving up 
 her home to become part-tenant of a cottage further along 
 Ran dogger Edge. Having gone through so much fire, 
 she was not one to hide her face, even to secure a better 
 standing elsewhere. The employment found for her at 
 Hill Alwyn was, moreover, a reason for her staying in 
 the neighbourhood. So the morals of Little Alwyn were 
 still to be disturbed by her unscrupulous presence ; and 
 the clerical edict was taking effect without securing its 
 end. 
 
 His few days of seclusion had made of Tristram a 
 more presentable object, and he thought to escape Liz- 
 zie's scrutiny if he went near dusk to see if she needed 
 his help. In any case she should not be left to feel 
 friendless and deserted when the trial of change was 
 hard upon her.
 
 392 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Amid all the upset of a dismantled home, Lizzie was 
 pleased to see him, and grateful for his coming. She 
 eyed him, saying, " I heard you'd been hurt," but asked 
 nothing. She added, " Miss Marcia's been here to-day," 
 and saw him start and change colour. 
 
 "Alone?" he asked, unable to restrain the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 It was Lizzie's turn then to be suddenly sensitive; the 
 blood rushed to her face as she affirmed that it was alone 
 her visitor had come. Her thought was of a day when 
 she had seen Marcia not alone ; more recent sight had 
 confirmed the memory. Two had approached through 
 the upper wood; only one had descended to her door. 
 So their thoughts flew abreast in the dark ; but Tristram, 
 with the home interdict suddenly in mind, misunderstood 
 her face. 
 
 "Oh, Lizzie!" he cried, distressed; "could you think 
 I meant anything so brutal ? No : she had some one 
 with her when she started ; that was all." 
 
 Lizzie's eyes were on him then, under deep ambushes 
 of shade. Confusion was upon them both ; over silence 
 as a barrier each looked to see what the other knew or 
 thought. 
 
 ' No, no," half whispered the girl in husky tones, " she 
 came alone ; she stayed a long time. She's like you, Mr. 
 Tristram ; so good to me she is, and makes as if it was 
 nothing." 
 
 Tristram's thoughts mazed over Marcia's coming : over 
 the increasing consciousness of the look Lizzie directed 
 at him. Saying nothing, they went on reading each 
 other's eyes; therein a hurried mute conference was tak- 
 ing place. His said: " I know, and you know. I am 
 your friend, give me the right to speak ! " Hers said : 
 ' If you know, what good to speak? It would only be 
 more pain for us both."
 
 FORTUNE'S BLACK FACE 393 
 
 At that, " Oh, Liz! " cried the youth, with the longing 
 to speak too strong to be repressed. 
 
 But the girl to whom friendship had been so far kinder 
 than love, dreaded now to let friendship speak. 
 
 " Don't, don't ! " she cried, and hung back from him. 
 fearing what next she might hear. 
 
 ''Nothing, Liz; I'll say nothing then!" he cried; 
 " only let me help you more than ever now ! " He spoke 
 of mon^y, thinking she might be in some present em- 
 barrassment over the expenses of her move. He felt sure 
 she needed money, he said. " If no one else will help 
 you, let me ! " 
 
 She cried out suddenly as in pain, " Oh, Mr. Tristram, 
 then was it you put that into his head? You couldn't 
 have done crueller. See what you've forced me to do ! " 
 
 "What?" he interrogated, bewildered. 
 
 '' It's gone back to him ! " she cried, and spoke as 
 though some unclean thing had touched her and been 
 shaken off. " Did he think, after all, I would take money 
 from him so? Money, and not a word! " 
 
 Tristram began to comprehend. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; you've been kind," she went on, " I know ; 
 I love 'e for it all ! But this, this ; oh, it's like a fresh 
 shame come to me ! " 
 
 " Liz," cried the youth, confounded and all abashed. 
 "I just know, yes, I do just guess what you mean! but 
 don't think it was my doing ! I never breathed a 
 thought of such a thing:, so poor, so miserable a thing 
 as that ! " 
 
 ' But 'twas your doing ! " she said, and fixed her eyes 
 
 at his face. " Yes, you did it, for you, you " her 
 
 gaze let the thing be understood before the words could 
 come out — " fought him," she whispered. " You see I 
 know. You've hurt his pride : — and me : as though I 
 had ever complained to 'e ! You got this from poor
 
 394 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 father ; his notion was not to let things alone. And now 
 it's you, Mr. Tristram ! and that do hurt: that you should 
 have made him think to go and do so ! " 
 
 The force of her reproach ended in a wavering gentle- 
 ness ; she could not hold out against the pain her words 
 gave him. With a sudden impulse she seized his hand. 
 " You must forgive me for what I've been saying," she 
 sighed. " I know what you did was all for me. But 
 there's only one thing I wish now : — that he shan't be 
 ever troubled by me, or let me come between him and his 
 happiness. What I have I'm proud of; while that lives 
 I can thank him, for all the pain ! " 
 
 For a strange end to her words she drew down his head 
 and pressed her lips to his forehead. He heard her 
 weeping then. 
 
 Tristram went, feeling himself indeed an unprofitable 
 meddler in the cause he had wished to serve. For all his 
 pains he had received — what ? Forgiveness for a foolish 
 fault generously done. Thus he went home in a tractable 
 mood, more humble than he had been for many days ; 
 even Mr. Gavney, had he tackled him then, might have 
 found him tractable. 
 
 Late in the dark end of the evening, as he strolled 
 along the shadowy fruit-walks, a hand was slipped under 
 his arm. Marcia's voice spoke. 
 
 ' Trampy," said she, " your twin wants to talk to 
 you." 
 
 He welcomed the hand to his side with a gentle press- 
 ure. " Yes," he answered, " yes. I've been hearing of 
 my twin to-day ; and nothing but best things, Marcia." 
 
 " And I of you," she answered in graver speech. 
 
 " Anything new ? " 
 
 ' Not to me: it was hardly said for me to understand; 
 I only guessed because I already knew. Dear Trampy, 
 I'm telling you this because I want you to know that I
 
 FORTUNE'S BLACK FACE 395 
 
 never thought more of you than I do now, when I've 
 something to ask you, that you mayn't like." 
 
 " But ask it ! " ' 
 
 " It's to do something." 
 
 " For whom ? " 
 
 " For me." 
 
 " Then it's almost done ; if it's possible." 
 
 " No, no, it's not begun ! " 
 
 They had stopped, and stood now face to face, the 
 sister holding her brother's hands. 
 
 ' But you can say it, Marcia ! or are you afraid of 
 me?" 
 
 " Only that you won't do it! " she sighed. 
 
 " It must be a truly dreadful thing, then," said he, 
 trying to laugh. 
 
 " It is ! Oh, for you, it is, I know ! " 
 
 He waited patiently to be told. At last, out of silence 
 she spoke. 
 
 " Give it a trial : for two years." 
 
 " You mean ? " 
 
 " I mean just for two years, Trampy; what is that in 
 a whole life? " 
 
 Her voice sounded like weeping. 
 
 ' Why have you asked me this, you of all people ? " he 
 cried, perplexed. 
 
 " Because," she said, " to-day, I want to know that 
 there is one heart in all the world that loves me. One 
 that I can be of use to ; just one." 
 
 " Wherever you go you do good," said her brother, 
 with fond belief. 
 
 She doubted it, having in her brain a memory of angry 
 eyes, and of the reproaches cast by wounded pride. Had 
 she thrown, or been thrown ? she hardly knew. 
 
 " To-night, I wish to do good," she said. They stood 
 under a window showing a soft light through its blinds.
 
 396 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Marcia pointed : " May I go up and tell her you will go? " 
 She waited, and getting no answer said, " A word from 
 von, Tris, can make us a happy house.'' 
 
 " Because I go! " said the boy bitterly. 
 
 " My best happiness will wait till you come back, 
 Trampy," she murmured. ' But I'll make no more 
 plans : they bring too much danger with them. Will 
 you give me two years of hope? To-night, I feel that 
 it's all been wrung out of me." 
 
 "Has anything happened?" he asked. 
 
 "Nothing, nothing!" she said in dull tones. 'Give 
 me something that shall happen ! " 
 
 Holding hands their hearts exchanged pained meaning 
 through the clasp of flesh. Tristram nodded to her out of 
 deep thought ; he seemed to have hold of something then, 
 and was moved to grant what she asked. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I'll go. Dear Marcia." 
 
 He stooped his head. She lifted hers. " So that's said 
 and settled," she affirmed, and pressed a quiet kiss to his 
 face. 
 
 " You love me, my twin? " she said. 
 
 " No one better in the world, I think," he declared. 
 " Whom else would I have said yes to? " 
 
 That satisfied her heart. 
 
 As they went into the house: "By the way, I have 
 a bit of news for you," she said. " In a month Raymond 
 leaves England. It is to be the Colonies for him; he 
 will do well there." 
 
 Her voice was cool ; even to his ear no tremor was 
 in it.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 SHOWS THAT THERE IS SOMETHING IN A NAME 
 
 TN the brief writing she held, signed with Raymond's 
 name, Lizzie's eyes looked on a mystery to which 
 the words themselves gave no key. She read in them 
 recognition of herself and of her child ; yet could not 
 recognise him, her lover of old days ; behind the known 
 writing the hand seemed strange. Here, if words told 
 anything true, was a full acknowledgment of the past, of 
 her good faith to him, of his own faithlessness to her; he 
 offered their child a name ; he begged her pardon, humbly 
 and fully accepting blame ; yet he was not a lover when 
 he wrote these things. 
 
 What exactly he was she had yet to learn, and extend 
 to him the help which only a heart proud of its posses- 
 sions and humble of its claims could give. She was to 
 be his succour when others had brought him into discredit 
 with his own conscience, when self-respect was bitterly 
 in quest of a hand to mend its wounds. But at present 
 she saw in his letter only a strange response to her recent 
 rejection of his aid, and marvelling why his heart had 
 melted to her at all, failed all the more to understand why 
 it remained so cold. 
 
 Indeed his case was a strange one, and one altogether 
 beyond his own wits to fathom. Self-love had filled him 
 with suspicions ; these had now been overthrown. Self- 
 love again had driven him to take refuge from one 
 
 397
 
 398 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 woman's sweetness in another's; and Marcia had seemed 
 to him then a rose without thorns. Yet under the benign 
 graciousness of her aspect there had been discipline for 
 his blood : she had given him a vision of love that was 
 neither animal nor sentimental ; and having so raised a 
 reverent understanding in him of what union with a 
 woman might be, she had let him go almost with a toss 
 of the hand. So at the end of his strange steeple-chase 
 with conscience an impenetrable barrier rose. 
 
 Marcia gave him a riddle hard to read; the words she 
 delivered were straightforward enough and plain, but 
 coming from her what did they mean? When as a last 
 cast in the attempt to save his pride, he made a final 
 claim for her love, her bidding to him was that he should 
 seek another mate. " I will love you best," she said. " the 
 day I see you give up thought of me." In anger then he 
 made charges he did not believe, accusing her of things 
 foreign to her nature ; till, in the midst of his battery of 
 words, she abruptly quitted his side to fulfil the errand 
 she had spoken of. 
 
 Then for the first time he realised where he stood. 
 Her absence became revelation to him. With her part- 
 ing word she had bidden him go, yet for an hour he 
 waited, though the sky broke over him in torrents. He 
 understood at last that until he chose to come for her 
 where he could not, his dismissal had indeed been given 
 to him there ; she, sheltering meanwhile in the cottage 
 whose thin blue smoke- curled up from the woody hollow 
 be^w him, had cast him that test. 
 
 He went home wise, bent upon quitting Little Alwyn 
 the same day. Tristram's madness had come to have a 
 meaning at last. 
 
 Of that wisdom, late in coming, others knew nothing. 
 It kept him close company, bringing him at length to 
 entertain a different guest with an aspect that had grown
 
 SOMETHING IN A NAME 399 
 
 strange. Understanding of those features of truth which 
 he had misread, revealed his self-respect grievously over- 
 thrown ; so with a hard purpose of self-conquest, he was 
 brought at last to sit down and write to the woman he 
 had wronged. 
 
 Yet it was not at the dictate of love that the letter 
 was dispatched. Lizzie receiving it could see that much. 
 None the less did she hold sacred the wish that it ex- 
 pressed. As the father of her child, obedience on such a 
 point was due to him. Whatever he had made her 
 endure, in one thing they had a common property ; the 
 feeling of that had been constantly with her from the first 
 day of its coming, standing between her and shame. 
 Now that she had his wish, implying the claim so long 
 ignored, pride, if not joy, carried her to look on the 
 cause. She buried her face in soft flesh, murmuring a 
 name ; and cried suddenly in answer to the child's cood- 
 ling notes, " You will be proud of your Mammy, now, 
 now! " 
 
 Tristram, coming to say good-bye, found her with 
 strange eyes. She would not hear that he was off in 
 another day. " Wait," she said, took up her child in her 
 arms, and passed the letter into his hands. With head 
 up and wide eyes she caught at her breath, and laughed 
 as he read, perilously on the brink of tears ; and when 
 she saw his eye on the last words, said, " Mr. Tristram, 
 you will wait for that, won't you? I wouldn't have any 
 other god-father for my boy." 
 
 It seemed to Tristram as if autumn's leaves were 
 leaping back on to the trees and the woods rushing on a 
 return to spring; almost he had his hands on his friend 
 again — a 1 most. Lizzie had not to hear him say the 
 words, " I will come ! " they were there on his face. She 
 was glad to see him glad. 
 
 Why Lizzie herself remained at all despondent then,
 
 40o A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 he failed to see; his eye, with a lighter and more hopeful 
 glance, had missed what stared her in the face: the fact 
 that the man who sought her pardon and recognised her 
 claim, still held hack from restoring either love or pardon 
 to her. Her task was only to satisfy his pride; justice he 
 would give her, generosity had not awakened in him yet ; 
 she was too humhle to think that she could ever regain 
 her place in his heart. Mother-love told her he might 
 one day be proud of his boy ; not ever of her, she 
 feared. 
 
 Under Randogger Edge, on the borders of that side 
 of the Hill Alwyn estate, stood the district church of 
 Long Alwyn, which shared with more distant Hiddenden 
 the ministrations of a resident curate. Once a month, 
 by aid sent over from the mother parish, it received the 
 compliment of a morning service with communion to 
 follow ; but the fixed hour for the district to parade in 
 worship was upon Sunday afternoons, when the church 
 was accustomed to receive within its walls a full rural 
 congregation with a sprinkling of the local fashion. 
 
 The latter element was chiefly represented by two long 
 rows of men and maid servants from the great House up 
 at Hill Alwyn, an establishment too eaten up with greed 
 and indolence to bestir itself for the earlier and more 
 orthodox hour of eleven at the parish church, to which 
 also it was half a mile further to go. There and here 
 Lady Petwyn's pew stood empty ; and her evil example 
 had spread laxness among those over whom she ruled. 
 Nevertheless, at Long Alwyn, the hour being convenient, 
 a fair force mustered in livery and plumes, and sat to 
 be admired by rustic eyes. 
 
 On the particular Sunday to which we are now brought, 
 it chanced that the curate was away upon his holidays, 
 and Long Alwyn received the rare compliment of a visit
 
 SOMETHING IN A NAME 401 
 
 from the vicar. Beholding his approach, Mrs. Gummet, 
 the clerk's wife, became a little flustered. The charge of 
 the service had fallen upon her hands, and she had 
 important matter to communicate to whoever came to 
 take duty. 
 
 Curtseying to Mr. Hannam in the porch, she told first 
 how her husband was laid up with a bad knee, and hoped 
 she stood excused, she a woman, for her assumption of his 
 official duties. 
 
 The vicar heard her apologies and was passing on ; an- 
 other curtsey and an eye charged with meanings and a 
 moral caused him to pause. 
 
 ' There's a christening, sir," said Mrs. Gummet, and 
 gasped for indication that more was to be said on the sub- 
 ject if she should be allowed. 
 
 ' Very well," said Mr. Hannam. Still she spoke : — 
 
 ' The font is ready, sir" (meaning that in spite of high 
 reasons her submission to his possible ruling had been 
 prepared). " But do you allow, sir, that it should be? is 
 what I ask ! A Sunday of all days ! " She threw up her 
 eyes, at a loss to express her scandalised sense of the 
 matter ; and, to the interrogation her words drew, " It's 
 that girl, sir! " she exclaimed; and thought then to have 
 spoken all. 
 
 She was bidden to give the name, and heaved a breath. 
 
 "Lizzie Haycraft, sir!" By his assenting look she 
 gathered that the vicar considered the thing to be in order. 
 " And my husband," she went on protestingly, " when he 
 hears of it last night — for she come down and give him 
 the notice of it beforehand — she did that — he do say, 
 that for the like of her to choose a Sunday ; why, a Sun- 
 day ! he said, sir, — it seemed to him it was an ungodly 
 thing to do, and a scandal ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gummet had been among the foremost in the cam- 
 paign against Lizzie. ' She's brazen, sir, that's what she 
 
 2 D
 
 402 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 is," she declared finally. " But she 'aven't come yet ; so 
 shame may 'ave struck her at last ! What I'm to do, sir, 
 if she does, is what I want to be told." 
 
 " If she comes," said Air. Hannam, mindful that a 
 priest's duties were towards sinners as well as saints, 
 " you mustn't send her back. It's a case in which there 
 has been too much delay already." 
 
 "And so my husband told her when she come! " said 
 Mrs. Gummet, eager to let the vicar have her agreement 
 on that point. " And says he to her, ' Are you going to 
 be churched now, Miss?' (It made me laugh, sir, that 
 did !) ' You can't have that on a Sunday,' says he. ' You 
 go and have it done quiet one day in the week ! ' but no, 
 she wouldn't." 
 
 " It would have been better," said Mr. Hannam, but 
 would hear no more from Mrs. Gummet just then. ' I 
 must baptise the child if she brings it ! " On that point 
 there could be no discussion. 
 
 Mrs. Gummet folded her hands over the conclusion of 
 the matter, as who should say, " I have done my duty ; it 
 only remains for the Powers to do Theirs." Emphatically 
 she disapproved of that child being received into that 
 church on a Sunday afternoon, as though it had come re- 
 spectably into life like other children. Where were mor- 
 als if such things were allowed to be? she wished to 
 know. 
 
 The vicar hastened to prepare himself for his duties. 
 To the credit of his flock be it spoken, such cases as Liz- 
 zie's were rare; and anything like her peculiar attitude 
 was unheard of. He had done his best to get the girl out 
 of the parish, but eviction had failed ; she was still there ; 
 it gave him a hard struggle to be charitable. 
 
 He strove to conduct the public worship of his parish- 
 ioners with a detached mind ; but the pricks of the world 
 entered in and disturbed him. He grew painfully con-
 
 SOMETHING IN A NAME 403 
 
 scious that the christening, to which he was bound, would 
 leave his congregation profoundly unedified. Presently 
 scandal would be fluttering in that place where no such 
 thing should enter, and the miserable sinners of a whole 
 parish would be fixing their eyes upon one, wondering to 
 see her appear in a church of all unsuitable places for 
 trespass. 
 
 After the second Lesson he turned westward, and 
 stepped towards the corner cleared of pews, and dignified 
 by the name of the Baptistery. He had proceeded half- 
 way down the aisle, when he perceived Lizzie rising from 
 a back seat below the gallery, and saw Mrs. Gummet 
 gazing round-eyed over the lid of the font. 
 
 Then it became apparent to him that scandal had in- 
 deed entered the church in spread-eagle fashion ; both 
 sides of it were there, and neither had he now the power 
 to expel. In company with that daughter of mischief 
 stood another of the same breed, no other than Tristram 
 Gavney, wearing a most ungodly look of satisfaction and 
 encouragement to the sinner beside him ; he seemed to be 
 wantonly using the church, in order to clinch the rumour 
 which had connected their names. 
 
 The malevolence of the deed fetched a buffet at the de- 
 fenceless man ; his priestly duty compelled him to go on. 
 The colour of the thing grew lurid to his mind. What, 
 what would Mr. Gavney say when he heard of it? And 
 what could he, friend and neighbour, but surpliced in of- 
 fice, do to lessen the blow ? He had to walk into the trap 
 open-eyed. 
 
 In the westering congregation heads were bobbing to 
 and fro. Grooms from Hill Alwyn were upon the grin. 
 New light for many showed amazingly on a situation of 
 some mystery ; and burning gossip, suddenly confirmed, 
 stifled in the enforced silence of the sacred edifice. Every- 
 body who knew anything, knew all now ; could swear that
 
 4 04 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 all along they had known. But at these supreme moments 
 the longing is to be able to tell the world so; and to whis- 
 per it to no more than a single pew-full, was a poor, thin 
 way of uttering the " I told you so! " of clamorous scan- 
 dal-mongers. 
 
 Mr. Hannam guessed fearfully that he was about to 
 lend his aid to an act of outrageous rebellion : from pri- 
 vate insubordination Tristram was preparing to claim 
 recognition as a published criminal. And why, when 
 there had always been that obstinate refusal to commit 
 himself to a clear confession? He should be brought to it 
 now. At least the vicar hoped to arm himself with that. 
 He would make Tristram speak: if there on permissible 
 grounds, he should be brought to utter the truth. 
 
 Overhead the organ wheezed flourishes of a proces- 
 sional character, to accompany the footsteps^ of office. 
 Mr, Hannam, approaching his objective, beckoned Tris- 
 tram towards him, first by a signalling eyebrow, then by 
 a more imperative motion of the hand. 
 
 So summoned, Tristram showed a courteous willingness 
 to advance. The musical tunes up aloft covered a short 
 whispered conference. 
 
 " Why are you here ? " enquired the vicar, breathing his 
 anger low. 
 
 " Church! " said Tristram, like a good boy puzzled at 
 reproof. 
 
 " Here, at the font ? " The presence of Lizzie and her 
 child were indicated. ''' Are you the father?" 
 
 " The god-iather," Tristram corrected, and drew away. 
 He had a wrathful pleasure in the situation, the contre- 
 temps that had brought Mr. Hannam of all people there. 
 Beside him Lizzie stood, having a pained heart, genu- 
 inely distressed. 
 
 The organ stopped ; they stood like confronting parties 
 on a field of war; Mrs. Gummet and the vicar formed the 
 one side, Tristram and Lizzie the other.
 
 SOMETHING IN A NAME 405 
 
 The baptismal service began ; the prayers were read ; 
 the god-parents stood and were catechised as to their 
 creed ; Tristram gave manful answers for himself and the 
 small drowsy recruit at his elbow ; with a ring here and 
 there on the words he strove to smite the clerical con- 
 science with the protesting activity of his faith. His part 
 ended, Lizzie's began. Oh, beautiful soul! suddenly she 
 made his angry spite seem small indeed. Bidden to 
 " name this child! " she stepped forward, and under her 
 breath passed the words. So low, Tristram, though he 
 knew them, could not catch their sound. And as she re- 
 linquished her burden, by some kind of help the sleeper 
 was roused, and lifted a hearty outcry to the roof. Up 
 and up went the crescendo of the shamefully disturbed 
 suckling. His cries served their charitable purpose, cloak- 
 ing the words the vicar had to pronounce. 
 
 The ears of the congregation were deluged in the sound 
 of those healthy lungs. Thus does bitter ironic life ever 
 mix situations of laughter and tears. 
 
 When Mr. Hannam handed back his burden properly 
 washed and bedewed, a staggered look was upon his 
 face. 
 
 What had he heard? He had expected rebellion to 
 sign itself in Tristram's name ; had listened for that. No; 
 he heard instead his own son's : " Raymond . . . Han- 
 nam ..." and low as the words were breathed, had not 
 been able to doubt their sound. Dark eyes from a dark, 
 grave face looked up into his. The statement lay as much 
 there as in the utterance itself. Could such a thing be 
 true ! 
 
 Part true, may be. He looked at Tristram, and was 
 ready to stake his conviction that a major truth lay sup- 
 pressed. Oh, shameful ! his own son ; yes, he could admit 
 that it was possible; but behind — behind? 
 
 He beheld a conspiracy of vengeance ; thus she struck
 
 4 o6 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 him for seeking- to purge the neighbourhood of her pres- 
 ence, for ousting her from her home ! Let that wait! He 
 resigned himself to the formal completion of the office. 
 Heavily over the heads of a restless congregation the con- 
 cluding portion of the afternoon service dragged. 
 
 Out rushed the gossipers to the porch ; they sat upon 
 tombstones and rails, and hung about the gate till the 
 chief actors should pass by. The scene was rehearsed, 
 canvassed, amended, put into fresh form and back again ; 
 many asked for the name — who had it? it had not been 
 heard. Scandal rattled on a cracked nut empty of its 
 kernel, and was happy, thinking it possessed all. Wise- 
 acres harped exultantly on the indecorous sight they had 
 just witnessed. Lady Petwyn, too, when she heard of 
 that scene, smote herself with a curse for having ceased 
 from church-going. 
 
 In the vestry stood Lizzie to have her child registered. 
 Before her sat the vicar in office, with suspended pen. 
 
 " Is that," he asked, " your own child I have just chris- 
 tened, or another's? " 
 
 " Mine," murmured Lizzie, with her eyes down on its 
 face. 
 
 " You are not married yet? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Are you going to be? " 
 
 Lizzie's colour mounted high : she did not answer ; 
 seeming to ignore his presence, she began rearranging 
 the shawl in which her child had its nest. 
 
 " Your silence is an answer," said the vicar. ' What I 
 have to ask is this. Are you aware that the name you 
 have given to your child is my own son's name? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, your son's name," she answered in quiet 
 tones. 
 
 " Will you tell me what right you conceive you have to 
 call him by that name ? "
 
 SOMETHING IX A NAME 407 
 
 " It was his wish."' 
 
 " I am to believe that?" 
 
 "If you ask him, sir, I think he will tell you so. He 
 wrote to me ; I've not seen him ; he said the name was to 
 be his." 
 
 There was dead silence for a while. 
 
 " And do you hold yourself justified in naming your 
 child after my son, in spite of any other circumstances that 
 may be unknown to him ? " 
 
 Lizzie was too simple to see his drift. 
 
 " I shouldn't have done it, sir, without he'd asked," she 
 conceded, that she might be acquitted of presumption in 
 the matter. 
 
 " Then I ask you only one thing more : if you had not 
 named it after my son, had you the name of another for 
 it?" 
 
 Lizzie was blind still : she believed all now to have been 
 declared. With her heart full of gratitude for the friend 
 who had stood by her in need, " I did wish," she said, 
 "and Mr. Tristram wished; — he asked me to name it 
 
 after him ; but that was before, before " she paused. 
 
 " I heard from Mr. Raymond after that." 
 
 The vicar shut his mouth, and filled in the Register. 
 " I knew it ! " he said in his heart, believing that cross-ex- 
 amination had brought the truth to his ear. Yet it was a 
 poor triumph he had gained ; and the pride of his name 
 had been brought low. He and his stood at least indebted 
 to the silence of this girl who had been sinned against and 
 sinned. How far shame had carried her he dared no 
 longer to ask. She was armed with Raymond's written 
 word. 
 
 Oh, poor fathers of sons ! oh, the depravity of young 
 men I
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 LETTERS AND A VISIT 
 
 T ADY PETWYN'S comments on the affair followed 
 "^ the Tramp up to town. ' I hear you have adopted 
 the infant," she wrote, " not at the altar, but next door to 
 it — in sanctuary, where decency couldn't have you by the 
 leg, and haul you out again. A good notion, the result of 
 prayer, I imagine. Sorry I was away that week, and on 
 the day you came to scrape your dust on my door-step. 
 So parents are still made to be obeyed, are they — that 
 old-fashioned notion ! — and I am to behold you no more. 
 "How did the respectable Billings look (the only truly 
 respectable one I can boast of) when he opened the door 
 to you the day after? He was there among the rest of 
 the twelve eye-witnesses from the servants' hall. Whose 
 gabble dinning up from below shall I re-embellish for you, 
 to hear how a silly, clever exploit sounds when that class 
 gets hold of it, applying its own ideals thereto? Seven- 
 teen years have I paid for that pew, which Bones used 
 only to owe for, and this is the first return it has ever 
 made me. Cheap at the price, I call it now, for I never 
 thought to adore virtue like this. I perceive your flagrant 
 possession of it has made the neighbourhood too hot to 
 hold you ; so what I lose in companionship, I gain in the 
 elevation of my ideal. London's your place. I'll see you 
 there before long." 
 
 A.0 8
 
 LETTERS AND A VISIT 409 
 
 " Harriet Jane Petwyn," she signed herself at the end 
 of a string of the half-malicious but harmless tittle-tattle 
 with which she showed her contempt for the world in gen- 
 eral, and for her neighbours in particular. ' Your vicar 
 goes about the land with his head on one side, looking 
 bung up and sad," was one of her phrases for a sight that 
 rather contented her than otherwise ; and for a postscript, 
 ' Your Beale Isoud gives me up at the end of the month ; 
 I suppose you have found washing for her to do in. town. 
 But she doesn't tell me her plans." 
 
 A fortnight later he got another letter from the lady, 
 recording a further progression of events. 
 
 ' Your Parthian shaft has been found sticking," she 
 wrote. ' The neighbourhood quivers like a jelly when 
 your name is mentioned. Billings, it seems, had the ex- 
 travagant curiosity last week to pay the fee for a search of 
 the Register ; and the guileless curate let him. In the flick 
 of the eye the thing stood to view. All rumour became 
 boulverse at the news ; with an ugly crick in its tail as re- 
 gards you, my friend. Lurid is what you have become 
 now. Only I, understanding at last the particular frolic 
 your virtue has been indulging in, can weed out the crimi- 
 nal element ; others don't. Your act reads treasonable, 
 and nothing less ! Don't imagine, because I acquit you of 
 the major offence, that I approve your way of conducting 
 the show. Nature does not require cuckoos to hatch their 
 own eggs ; and your male parent-bird is let off in this 
 country if he fulfils his pecuniary obligations. I doubt 
 too whether a change of weapons was permissible, after 
 you had received your knock-out (for I perceive now the 
 particular cause in which your visage became clouded). 
 But the ways of virtue are beyond me." 
 
 Tristram was finding those ways hard, now that they 
 led to regular hours at an office in the city each day, 
 where the roar of the monev-markets of the world reached
 
 410 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 his ears : to him a vaporous ado about nothing, when he 
 had not old Gilpinger's enthusiasm to jog him to its ro- 
 mantic possibilities. 
 
 Deadlier ordeal still was the proper boarding-house, 
 wherein he had to bury his leisure under the weight of 
 unimpeachably respectable surroundings. After a fort- 
 night of it he begged for relief, complaining of the tedious 
 society of old maids and city young men. It was refused 
 him ; his tender age forbade the notion of solitary lodgings 
 to those who guided his destiny. Lady Petwyn hearing 
 his groans gave him introductions, which served some- 
 what to raise his spirits. People who kept horses and 
 rode, even in no more open space than the now withered 
 Row, breathed an air of country and freedom over his 
 sense of exile. 
 
 Among acquaintances, old and new, he warmed to two : 
 Lady Tetheridge and her nephew, Jack Talbot, a happy, 
 silly youth, sent down a freshman from Oxford with the 
 task of cooling his heels for a twelvemonth. The kind 
 matron set him to show her adorable ploughboy a few of 
 the wise and foolish things of town: and, in the compan- 
 ion thus thrown on his hands, the young scapegrace had 
 presently found a kind ear to chatter into concerning his 
 college delinquencies, and a senior who was in all worldly 
 tilings his junior — a delightful friend for the boyish van- 
 ity of a town youth. 
 
 They met less often than they would have liked owing 
 to the disarrangement of their hours. The sight of towels 
 flicking by the morning Serpentine had drawn the Tramp 
 to join himself to the celebrated parade of the buffs which 
 takes place there all the year round ; and the practice drove 
 him to his bed early, when the chief activities of Master 
 Jack's day were about to begin. Nevertheless, the hint of 
 gay things to be seen for the asking became attractive 
 when his sparkish friend hung the weight of a wheedling
 
 LETTERS AND A VISIT 411 
 
 hand upon his arm. A very innocent likeable mad-cap 
 Tristram found him. 
 
 Jack cantered daily in the Park, and enquired wonder- 
 ingly why he never saw Tristram there. "You ride?" 
 he asked ; but as though the question were as superfluous 
 as " You wash? " addressed to an Englishman of healthy 
 instincts. " Not here,"' said Tristram, to whom, after the 
 claims for his stolid and stodgy board were satisfied, small 
 margin remained. The enquiry from a friend fevered him 
 to consider the thing a necessity. By docking himself of 
 wine and a few other luxuries, and by a mid-day diet of 
 something like buns, he compassed the hiring of a mount, 
 and on most days took a jog when few but vigorous appe- 
 tite hunters were abroad. Jack Talbot met him now and 
 then with protestations against the unreasonableness of 
 the hour. " But you are so jolly ! " he groaned, and 
 heaved off sleepy habits for the sake of such fresh com- 
 radeship. 
 
 Marcia wrote how she, too, was riding. She described 
 the sensations of the exercise to her brother as, " like be- 
 ing tossed up to heaven in a blanket, with angels combing 
 one's hair all the time, and a feeling that one can't fall 
 off." Her letters told of a new friend, one Harry Ferring ; 
 it seemed that the two rode together most days. Harry 
 was a girl, god-daughter and ward to Lady Petwyn, who 
 had bidden Marcia over, and put into her hands this boon 
 comrade of her own age and sex if she would be so 
 good as to approve. Marcia's approval of her own sex 
 was the rarest thing under the sun ; yet it was evident 
 that at first sight she had unstiffened her back-bone, and 
 yielded to the charm of this new acquaintance. Her let- 
 ters hardly showed what it was. " She can't walk as far 
 as I can, but she's not afraid of cows, and she rides ever 
 so much better," was almost the only critical note Marcia 
 gave of the newcomer's personal qualities.
 
 412 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Tristram's own rides, which in London had to be paid 
 for, had brought his exchequer low ; he was on the point of 
 relinquishing them when, like the gift of a fairy god- 
 mother, a lavish cheque fell on him. ' I gather they have 
 been screwing you down," wrote the bountiful dame, "as 
 if good ever came of that ! Do with this as you like ; no 
 questions will be asked." He was forbidden on utter 
 pains and penalties to return it. ' You may squander it 
 in charity if you like." 
 
 The gift was accepted. His charity began at home. 
 In the midst of his imprisonment it secured him a flutter 
 of freedom. The boarding-house had been protesting 
 against his hours — his early hours. At one end of the 
 day he gave trouble, at the other he was unsociable ; his 
 habits cast a slight on an establishment which ordered 
 itself on a clock-like system of punctuality. A week later 
 he was in rooms of his own, and had sent word of the ac- 
 complished fact to his home. The purse-strings might 
 tie themselves into knots now ; and did for a time, till his 
 father discovered that by some stealthy means the terrible 
 youth had become independent. 
 
 Thus from a distance, with her shrewd eye on his do- 
 ings, informed therein by Lady Tetheridge, who told tales 
 of the youth's social success, Lady Petwyn kept her hold 
 on Tristram. She knew when to step in and throw her 
 toils to secure him. Town should polish him to her pur- 
 poses ; two years would not be too much ; in her own good 
 time she would reward him well ; but as her subject he 
 was only to hear the declaration of her favour, to win his 
 allegiance without revealing the actual bait ahead. Cap- 
 tive of her bow and spear, was the game on which she had 
 set her tyrannical old heart. 
 
 She had jeered Tristram through his mad fit as a mere 
 laughing-stock ; now that his back was turned she was be- 
 ginning to conceive a grim respect for the concentrated
 
 LETTERS AND A VISIT 413 
 
 devilry of the seizure. She discovered it to have been no 
 empty flourish of an addle-pate. Results had been coming 
 to light. Within two months of his departure one came 
 which shocked the rest into insignificance. 
 
 He received an enigmatic missive, shot with baleful 
 gleams of admiration for the long reach of his arm. " I 
 confess myself," wrote the dame, " a convert to the Jesuit 
 doctrine. Such a knock-out as you have delivered now, 
 justifies all the means. The poor vicar has taken a holi- 
 day on the strength of it ; his duty has to be done for him 
 — I wonder you, with your meddlesomeness, didn't come 
 down and offer for the vacancy. The news is a week old 
 here ; and to you, of course, it comes stale." 
 
 Tristram had not a notion what she meant : home- 
 tidings had told him nothing of any new stir. He puzzled 
 over her letter all day. Returning to his rooms in the 
 evening he was told a lady was waiting to see him. 
 ' Mrs. Hannam " caught his ear ; the servant sent the 
 name after him as he was ascending the stair. The word 
 pitched on a bewildered mind. 
 
 Opening the door he thought to meet some elderly kins- 
 woman of Raymond's, and anticipated small comfort from 
 such an interview. It took him an appreciable moment to 
 recognise the dear visage, so little expected, which rose up 
 to greet him as he advanced. 
 
 " Liz ! " Was it she indeed? Her voice confirmed him. 
 
 " Tristram," she cried, half shy in dropping at last the 
 prefix to his name. 
 
 He had her in his arms ; like brother and sister they em- 
 braced. 
 
 "They told me?" he said; — "they told me?" He 
 paused, and she answered : — 
 
 " I was married to him last week." She said it without 
 triumph, without emotion ; merely as one making a grave 
 statement of fact.
 
 414 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " Oh, Liz," cried her friend, clasping hands on hers. 
 " So it has come to that? I'm glad, very glad ; yes, much 
 more than glad ! " He was jubilant and could not let her 
 
 go- 
 
 'Dear friend, I knew you would be glad!" she an- 
 swered. " Thankful is what I feel." 
 
 ' Is he the old Raymond again? " cried Tristram, eager 
 to have his friend again before his mind's eye. " Is it his 
 old kind self?" 
 
 ' No one could be kinder than he's been," she said, and 
 said it without joy. " He's goodness itself! " 
 
 " And you love him, Liz ? " asked Tristram, merely to 
 have her " yes " clear away the suspicion of a cloud. 
 
 "I do, oh, I do!" 
 
 " And he loves you, Liz, you may be sure of that." She 
 was silent. Her womanhood was paying its penalty now : 
 not a thing to be named to any, even the dearest friend. 
 Her debt to Raymond she was restoring him patiently, 
 day by day. All life ahead of her, if need be, should be 
 that. 
 
 " He is coming," she said ; " he wishes so much to see 
 you. This is our last day in England. We go to South- 
 ampton to-night." 
 
 "And the babe?" 
 
 Lizzie took up the heavy sleeper in her arms. 
 
 " He's always asleep," laughed Tristram. His fingers 
 fell over hers to touch the baby flesh. 
 
 " Miss Marcia " be°an she. 
 
 Marcia," corrected Tristram ; " yes? " 
 
 ' She used to call him her dormouse because he slept 
 so. 
 
 Tristram smiled into the face he was seeing for the last 
 time; then from the mother's to the child's, and said: — 
 
 ' Liz, do you remember? the first time I ever had my 
 hand on yours, you'd a dormouse in it."
 
 LETTERS AND A VISIT 415 
 
 " Asleep," she said. " I remember." 
 
 " And you opened and let me stroke it." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And we've never not been friends after that. Aren't 
 quite little things strange ? " 
 
 " They are the best things of all," she said. 
 
 He stooped and peeped. " This one is growing quite 
 big ; yet he'll never remember me." 
 
 " Oh, he must ; I shall always talk of you to him. I 
 want you to give me something that'll show you to him 
 when he grows ? " 
 
 Tristram promised. " Marcia shall send it you," said 
 he. " I haven't one myself." 
 
 " And you'll give her my love ? I saw her before I 
 came away, but didn't dare say good-bye. I couldn't ; not 
 then." 
 
 " I'll say it for you. She'll understand." 
 
 " Yes ; she'll understand ; nobody else so well. You'll 
 say I thank her too." 
 
 They were realising what a parting they were come to. 
 It became best at last not to speak of that. They sat to- 
 gether, with long silences folding their hearts to the safe 
 keeping of time, till Raymond came. 
 
 Tristram heard the wheels that brought him, and went 
 out. The two friends met below. 
 
 Hardly a word was said ; it bears no telling here. Xo 
 sound could utter the overflowing wish these two had to 
 put away the gap of friendship from their memories and 
 re-fasten the old bonds. The boyish impulse of his early 
 hero-worship returned to Tristram as they joined hands; 
 quite simply for one moment he pressed his heart on his 
 friend's, and felt the comfort of its beat. The old joy was 
 in him again. 
 
 " Here you are, Ray ! " said he. 
 
 " Yes, old Tramp, I'm here ! " answered the deep voice
 
 4 i6 A MODERxN ANTAEUS 
 
 of his friend, very low. All that needed was said then. 
 So they went up to the room where Lizzie awaited them. 
 
 That night Tristram felt rich in grief ; in nothing else. 
 Out of his life had gone two of the hearts he loved. In a 
 new mood of violent regret, it seemed to him that his rash 
 and unkind remedies had most of all aided the fate which 
 bore them away. -
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 ANTAEUS IN TOWN 
 
 "jV/TAINLY by aid of Lady Petwyn's conversational and 
 epistolary powers we get our earlier glimpses of 
 Tristram's life in town. Ill-luck in certain betting trans- 
 actions at Epsom and elsewhere during the year had 
 driven her to the economy of country residence for a 
 longer time than was her custom. Letters from Lady 
 Tetheridge at last whipped her up to town to behold her 
 youth in his new element. Accounts of the way his mod- 
 est effrontery had been capturing hearts taught her there 
 might be a danger of capture to his own heart in turn, a 
 contingency to be avoided if her own plans were to rule 
 the future. To subdue certain stingy qualms of con- 
 science, she quarrelled with Tomlin, her country doctor, 
 declared that the treatment of a specialist was the only 
 thing that could save from the results of his mismanage- 
 ment, and came up to get a near view of her escaped 
 lunatic. 
 
 Mr. Gavney, lulled to acceptance of his son's change of 
 abode by favourable reports from the Heads in office, re- 
 ceived his second shock from her mischievous pen. 
 
 Lady Petwyn's intention to make the youth plunge and 
 cut lively figures before men's eyes gave a premature 
 flourish and adornment to her sentences. 
 
 " Your son," she wrote, after a ride in the Park, " sup- 
 ports the family credit, now he is here, in a style others 
 
 2 E 4.I7
 
 418 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 more to the manner born may well envy. I met him rid- 
 ing the best horse in the Row, where my doctor bids me 
 amble for an appetite somewhat before the fashionable 
 hour ; or, rather, I avoided meeting him, in order to fol- 
 low him round and watch people staring to know what 
 kind of a lord or foreign prince he might be. Undoubt- 
 edly he is a success at this end of town ; whether he gets 
 his work clone in the other quarter is a question beyond 
 me. He seems to have recommended himself to all the 
 introductions I gave him ; certainly he has taken to town 
 life very fast, considering how he used to babble of green 
 fields." 
 
 As regards Tristram's presence among the morning 
 riders, her exaggerations only skirted a little short of the 
 truth. His form, not instinct as yet with the moderation 
 of town equestrianism, did cause a few to turn and look 
 smilingly at the handsome youth ; and his love of having 
 a good beast under him had taken him to a stable where 
 the taste could be satisfied. There his knack of getting 
 himself liked made him an unconscious subject of favour- 
 itism, and brought him, on days when mounts were not 
 greatly in request, steeds far above the figure he paid for 
 them. 
 
 "Circus bounding!" was Lady Petwyn's jeer at the 
 easy hands-off attitude she had herself partly trained him 
 to. " Riding in the face of Providence and a top-hat ! " 
 her attack on the appearance he presented. Tristram's 
 dress had been a compromise on his way up to town : he 
 caught from her a hint which friendly Jack Talbot had 
 been too shy to give, secured a dressing-room at the 
 stables where he was known, and thereafter looked less 
 like " the country cousin let loose," which was another of 
 her names for him. Half-an-hour after his appearance in 
 the Row saw him fixed down to his city desk for the day, 
 and for a time at least exemplary diligence was reported 
 of him.
 
 ANTAEUS IN TOWN 419 
 
 His lady went regularly to the Park to get her rub with 
 him ; it was a favourite place for showing him off to her 
 circle. 
 
 She hailed a friend's face in a large, lovely Amazon, 
 Airs. Paisley Cashel by name, a faithful follower of 
 hounds, and one whom Lady Petwyn had, on past occa- 
 sions, sheltered from matrimonial tyranny. 
 
 " Seen my cross-country rider? " she enquired, pointing 
 him out with a flourish of contemptuous pride. " I've 
 been hoping to find you up in town if the bondage of 
 weeds was not holding you ; fact is, I want you. Yes ; 
 that's my invention ; you've heard me tell of him ; forget 
 whether you've ever seen him before ? " 
 
 " Oh, the ploughboy ? " A pair of admiring fine eyes 
 tracked him. " Yes, I recognise him ! I've been up a 
 week." 
 
 " Long enough, then. If you'd seen him once, you 
 would," replied my lady ; " he's that sort — always either 
 standing on his head or falling on his feet — one can't 
 miss him." 
 
 " Yes, and I've seen him do it," cried the fair one with 
 laughter. 
 
 " Which ? " 
 
 ' The last chiefly ; it was smartly done." She spoke of 
 a run-away incident of a few days back : a young girl 
 clinging and about to fall from a horse bolting, and the 
 groom left pounding behind. Tristram on a dive at the 
 beast's head, wrenched out of the saddle, yet landing on 
 his feet firm ; and the whole run pulled to a standstill in 
 time for the quakey girl to slip unharmed to the ground. 
 There had been audible applause of the exploit from those 
 standing by. 
 
 " Like a circus ! " grunted his proud lady. " So that's 
 what his bandaged wrist comes from? The creature's so 
 conceited he tells one nothing ! "
 
 4 20 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 She dropped an instruction to her companion, and on 
 the first opportunity beckoned Tristram up to them. 
 
 " Content yourself for a while to ride decently," she 
 told him, and brought him to make his bow to the fair face 
 that smiled for his acquaintance. 
 
 " Your riding school was out in the Far West? " was 
 the pretended compliment with which she greeted him; 
 " and now you are here to set us the fashion of the 
 Pampas? " 
 
 " No," said Tristram, " I'm here to be got into fashion 
 myself; but it's so early. Till the crowd comes, mayn't 
 one ride as one taught oneself? " 
 
 " How was that ? " 
 
 " I used to ride horses bare-backed when I was smaller 
 — unbroken ones." 
 
 " Mine," put in Lady Petwyn. 
 
 " Then Lady Petwyn broke me in to the use of the 
 saddle." 
 
 " And here," said that lady, " you will kindly also break 
 yourself in to the use of the reins. I never saw such a 
 sight in a London park as this slapping and tickling of a 
 horse to steer him." 
 
 " This one has been under me before," said the boy, 
 " and when they get to understand one it's nice to play 
 with them." 
 
 " It's the form of the thing you're to consider ! " was 
 the dame's correction. 
 
 " Talk of form ; look at that ! " said Tristram, laughing 
 and pointing ahead. 
 
 " Poor old Lord Keldy," said Mrs. Paisley Cashel, 
 " riding to get the edge of an appetite." 
 
 " A forlorn hope," commented Lady Petwyn, " for a 
 man whose interior is said to resemble a gothic ruin." 
 
 ' Providence," said Tristram. " seems to have set reins 
 to his appetite ; and before him the meal to assuage it.
 
 ANTAEUS IN TOWN 421 
 
 Looks as though he were picking the bones of a particu- 
 larly tough chicken." 
 
 Mrs. Cashel smiled at his prompt picture of the old 
 lord, sawing away at his steed, elbows out and shoulders 
 heaved. 
 
 Lady Petwyn's remark was, " Now you know how ab- 
 surd you look, only in the other direction. Don't appear 
 to be so brazenly healthy ; give us a chance to take a little 
 of it for granted ! I've announced you, and am respon- 
 sible for the figure you cut here, so be a trifle more reti- 
 cent." 
 
 " And to think," sighed Tristram, as a comment on such 
 instruction, " that there are downs only twelve miles 
 away, if one had only time to get there ! " 
 
 At the end of the ladies' mile his trainer released him ; 
 the hour summoned him. " Come, pony-boy ! " they 
 heard him say as they parted, and saw him soon a tramp- 
 ling speck along the distance. 
 
 'He's beautiful: quite!' 1 said Mrs. Cashel, with a 
 humorous nod of recognition to his trainer. 
 
 " Do me the favour, then," said the other, " to let him 
 fall in love with you ! " 
 
 " Absurd ! I'm twice his age." 
 
 " Quite so, and I want him in safe keeping. He's ready 
 to fall in love with anything matronly that lends him an 
 eyelash of encouragement ; and as I've my own particular 
 plans for him I wish to have him preserved." 
 
 The younger lady sighed rebellious submission. " You 
 call me ' safe ' to pique me into doing it ! " she said. " I'm 
 in love with him already ! — were I ten years younger ! 
 
 Well, if I catch him I don't promise I'll let him 
 
 go ! " 
 
 " Oh, I'll let him go! " said Lady Petwyn, with a grim 
 persuasion of her powers. ' You can keep him till I want 
 him, that's all I ask of you."
 
 422 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 "Then I've only to be a stalking horse?" wailed the 
 lady comically. 
 
 " A decoy duck, if you like the name better." 
 
 " It's the thing, not the name, that shunts me to my 
 coffin. I wouldn't do it for any one but you ; and even for 
 you I don't know why ! " 
 
 Lady Petwyn made a frank statement. " The girl's still 
 a shade — not too young — she's a little the elder, but not 
 enough ; there's the difficulty ; I daren't let her show. I 
 want something from thirty up to forty till he gets the 
 curl to his moustache. Town will give it him before a 
 year's over." 
 
 She softened, and leaned a secret look into her friend's 
 face. " You can be mute, Janet? " 
 
 •' I think you've proved me," said the other. 
 
 " Very well. You used to be fond of Hill Alwyn? " 
 
 " I spent safe days there." 
 
 Lady Petwyn pointed in Tristram's track. ' Now," 
 said she, " you have seen its future : one half of it."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 TRISTRAM AND HIS TRAINER 
 
 ' I A HE curl did not come to Tristram's moustache, to 
 use Lady Petwyn's phrase, quite so soon as that 
 managing dame had expected. The callowness of youth 
 showed in his perverse preference for conversation to 
 looks : charm of the tongue and a fair knowledge of life 
 recommended a woman to his liking more than beauty or 
 a smooth skin. ' Talk to me ! " was his sociable demand ; 
 and the passport to his friendship was outlook and in- 
 sight. 
 
 Airs. Paisley Cashel secured his liking, yet with a doubt 
 whether he knew her to be beautiful ; many little arts and 
 feminine tricks, obediently practised by the decoy duck 
 in fulfilment of her role, seemed lost on him. ' You are 
 in danger, dear youth, if you play that game," was her 
 first thought, " women grow piqued by it ; have a care ! " 
 After a while she came, on the contrary, to believe that he 
 was safe ; and practising no more, studied him with very 
 friendly regards. " I like that ! " she said to herself, 
 smiling to see him go unconscious through certain ordeals 
 which the huntress in woman, not born of Artemis, put 
 on him. 
 
 ' Your hot head has the secret of cool blood," she in- 
 formed her old friend. 
 
 ' The little wretch is chaste ! " said Lady Petwyn. " I 
 don't need to be told that." 
 
 423
 
 4 2 4 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 These were still early days. 
 
 ' He is charming - ," wrote Lady Tetheridge, reviving 
 with Tristram's mother the correspondence of their girl- 
 hood, " but, oh, so shocking! " A remark which conveyed 
 quite a different meaning from that which she intended. 
 
 The youth's frankness, for which after her rural train- 
 ing of him his lady delighted to set traps hefore ears least 
 able to stand the assault, was the main charge against 
 him. To put out of countenance those whose social 
 prudery she despised (and she kept many of them in her 
 circle) was a delight to the old dame; she found her per- 
 fect material in one whose singular faculty for hair- 
 breadth escapes of unconscious agility, and gaucheries 
 done with a modest self-possession that in itself disarmed, 
 could make a whole table audibly gasp, and the next mo- 
 ment leave half of it laughing. 
 
 She kept a lavish house ; and at Tristram's bank a bal- 
 ance, whose origin he forgot to look into, for his business- 
 head was assumed like a cap in office, never coming west 
 of Temple liar. Jack Talbot's habits of friendship also 
 helped him to forget the exact standing of his credit. 
 The accent of independence grew in the news of him that 
 reached home. He had taken a social leap, and found en- 
 tertainment enough in contemplating this strange modish 
 world, where men and women moved in graceful conven- 
 tional restraint, athletes in the art of ease : it was a new 
 pleasure to the susceptible country -bred youth to find him- 
 self popular among men, and an intimate of women with 
 nice eyes, friendly to his young enthusiasms. 
 
 A lady of wits, who wrote books, heard of the creature, 
 and asked for a sight of him. She came and dined, sitting 
 near to a brown youth who sparkled indiscretions and 
 blushed boldly, not out of shyness, but from the mount- 
 ing of a lively blood under the whip of the fierce old 
 dame's sarcasms and retorts.
 
 TRISTRAM AND HIS TRAINER 425 
 
 She sighted the game early enough, and admired the 
 young man's grace when he was tripped. 
 
 He had rubbed shoulders with female clerks in the city, 
 poor things, bloodless with close living and long hours ; 
 the employment of women, therefore, was upon him in 
 sharp access as a problem to be solved. 
 
 Lady Petwyn supposed it had to be done before he 
 left London. 
 
 " Pooh ! " she said at his clamour for equal wages to 
 the weaker sex. " Your virtuous woman, making her 
 own living, is a drug upon the market." 
 
 Tristram's retort, " So is your unvirtuous — only look 
 late enough ! " was a fine fish drawn up to the lady's 
 bait. 
 
 To that his hostess replied, " So, like Miss Pry, who 
 complained of the naughty things found in Johnson, 
 you've been looking them out ? " and sent him down 
 again. She was always giving him leads ; and he, too 
 natural to perceive the game, supplied her in most cases 
 with views which a few months' experience had done 
 little to amend as yet. " I wish you hadn't such a naked 
 eye," she told him, not wishing it in the least ; " at any 
 rate, you might condescend to clothe it before com- 
 pany ! " She was doing her best all the time to prevent 
 his seeing that all the world was not to be talked to on 
 the lines in which she had trained him. 
 
 This friendly world in which he found himself helped 
 him perhaps to fancy that he was happy in the life it led 
 him ; he was at all events amused. Lady Petwyn carried 
 back word of him to his home ; and it was one well calcu- 
 lated to rouse alarm. The simple fact was that Tristram 
 had not the income for the life he was leading. Where, 
 then, did it come from? Mr. Gavney feared some awful 
 day of reckoning must be ahead, and wrote imploring his 
 son to keep out of debt.
 
 426 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Tristram treated his father's enquiries lightly, saying 
 that he found rooms cheaper than the boarding-house, 
 and what he saved in one direction was able to fling out 
 in another. He believed he had a balance at the bank, and 
 thanked for the remittances that had preserved it. But 
 he wrote to one who knew rather too well that the allow- 
 ance he received was not handsome. Air. Gavney 
 gathered that his son's confidence was withdrawn from 
 him ; the withdrawal was indeed quite mutual. 
 
 Too late now, the paternal pocket, highly susceptible 
 to the danger of being bled at this precise epoch in 
 affairs, smote its owner on the hip for having thus pre- 
 cipitated the mercurial youth to the spot where instinct 
 and opportunity could most riotously combine in causing 
 it to disgorge. It was satisfactory at least to learn that 
 Tristram was still regular in his attendance on duty, 
 though his hour of arrival had become eleven instead 
 of ten. 
 
 Lady Petwyn did her best to stimulate Mr. Gavney's 
 fears ; flinging out wild views of the youth caught up 
 by the giddy whirl of fashion, she gave the figure of one 
 buoyantly financed ; and with designing craft set his 
 nerves shuddering by congratulating him on the hand- 
 some provision he had made for his son's introduction to 
 Life. Her stress on the word made it as if spelled with 
 a capital that had been better away, and threw less day- 
 light than gaslight on the meaning it covered. To set 
 the apron-strings fluttering for a renewed hold of the 
 emancipated youth who had so long strained in their 
 leash, was very agreeable to her mind. Tn the end he was 
 to follow her leading, not theirs ; and if she could not 
 have him cutting all the capers she wished, to report as 
 cutting them was the only thing left to her. 
 
 Before leaving she had taken means to have him intro- 
 duced beyond her own rather middle-aged set, to the
 
 TRISTRAM AND HIS TRAINER 427 
 
 manly, clubbable youth of town, calculating on them to 
 turn to a series of dissolving views his provincial notions 
 of all that blood, breeding, and the word honour 
 decreed. 
 
 For this purpose she handed him over to one, Captain 
 Rasselles, a skilled Adonis of forty, to be looked after, 
 pushed here, pulled there, but for the most part be let 
 alone, save for the observation of a friendly eye. Tris- 
 tram found him an attractive enough sort of fellow, 
 combining a sportive manliness with the subtle refinement 
 of town. 
 
 " Show him Life," said the lady, instructing him confi- 
 dentially beforehand ; " within reason, I mean, of course." 
 Consideration had taught her that for her purpose in- 
 genuous youth must be set to school ; much thought it 
 amused her, it took too long to be rid of its indiscretions, 
 and her limbs warned her at times of the fast approach 
 of age. Warfare had been her life ; she wished now for 
 peace as the solace of her decline, and to hear the echoes 
 of Hill Alwyn filled with a blend of the only two romances 
 her life contained. " Mind," she added, " I don't want 
 the bloom taken out of his cheeks. Let him be healthy, 
 but do put into his head a little of the something that is 
 lacking. He wants congruity, and an understanding that 
 to be a gentleman is not necessarily to be a Joseph. How 
 he escapes the Puritan sniffle and the wide bib I don't 
 know ; unless because he has jumped back clear into the 
 Middle Ages. He comes up here with a past, I can assure 
 you ; there's not a sound windmill left in his native tilting- 
 ground. Teach him also to talk to unmarried women, 
 young ones ; he becomes dumb before them. At present 
 when he chatters he's like a jack-in-the-box in the con- 
 fessional. That's the peculiarity of the male species ; 
 its tongue only becomes decently discreet when its life 
 is discreetly indecent. I leave him with you, because I
 
 428 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 detect in you the perfect medium between virtue and 
 vice." 
 
 Captain Rasselles bowed his acknowledgements, and 
 when the lady was gone, drew Tristram to his schooling 
 with a genial hand.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 A CHANGE OF ADDRESS 
 
 QPRING blew into the gateless city, and in a single 
 breath taught Tristram to know the captive he had 
 become. One of those great heavings of Nature's heart 
 had taken place, lifting, like a beneficent Pandora, the lid 
 off the season's delay, to reveal what simmerings lay 
 below ; and at once a sweet steaming fragrance filled all 
 the air, and the silent rush on summer had begun. 
 
 To Tristram it was like the migrant's call. An almost 
 physical longing to run for some field out of sight of 
 roofs, and roll himself in the resurrecting grass, fetched 
 him from office ; a spiritual nausea for figures and the 
 calculations of commerce seized on his brain. 
 
 His claim to a day's freedom was grudgingly accorded 
 by the authorities ; he ranged out with an eye to any 
 beckoning ridge of trees, till sweet stretches of Kentish 
 country faced him in their fresh green. 
 
 The larches which Doris had taught him to look out 
 for at this season were already wearing their little beads 
 of blood, and bristling in tiny spirts of living green ; and 
 every over-head elm into which he gazed was white with 
 the unsheathing of its first growth. Where his hand 
 rested on them long enough the moist rinds of the young 
 saplings seemed to heave at the push of an intelligence 
 below. He, too, shared in the general wisdom, and while 
 daylight lasted turned his back upon town. 
 
 He supped late at a wayside inn, after roundabout 
 
 429
 
 43o A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 goings, and at twenty direct miles from town turned to 
 walk back under a dim sky of stars. 
 
 The steady elation of the road was in his blood; that 
 grey serpent winding through a dusk}- land was the 
 counsellor who of all had failed him least, when the 
 distempers of life pressed hard. Over his senses cool 
 night air was pouring its balm ; he was the Tramp, feel- 
 ing once more the almost forgotten power of his limbs 
 under him. He might be stiff on the morrow ; he had not 
 reached his limits as yet. Twenty miles of wisdom were 
 between him and that submissive folly in which, if he 
 were to stick to the letter of his word, two years of his 
 life were yet to waste. Sugared folly — for he admitted 
 that there was some sweetness where he had expected 
 nothing but bitterness to be — but folly : his mind now 
 saw that clearly. He wondered on what point of honour 
 he was to consider himself held. The only one to whom 
 he had given his word would release him from it ; he 
 knew that he had merely to ask. It had been a bargain of 
 consent ; his own decision would set him free. 
 
 Said Wisdom, " Here is the spring and the bloom 
 beginning, and life is not to be lived twice ; have courage 
 to be humble and say, ' It is a mistake, I am wasting, I 
 must be free.' ' But to answer that came Folly, crying 
 sweets, denying the waste, "You are learning life: men 
 and women, like a book gaily run through the hand, are 
 showing you the world as it is made. You make friends ; 
 you are courted; they like you; it is not flattery that 
 you hear. If for all this you pay a price, do you not 
 receive good value?" Wisdom said, " Rut these people 
 and these sights, is it among these that you plan to spend 
 your days? Does your scheme of life lie here or there? 
 Are you not, in touching new friends, losing touch with 
 old? And is it ' for a time ' worth anything to do what 
 does not bring you to your goal ? " " But," Folly ob-
 
 A CHANGE OF ADDRESS 431 
 
 jected, " what other goal lies in view? Does any circum- 
 stance offer, that spells a fuller freedom to the soul ? " 
 Wisdom said, " Every man possessing his four limbs 
 and a head has at least these to try before saying, ' I 
 am without power to be myself.' " Thus, or thus about, 
 the colloquy of his brain shaped, as he tramped the way 
 leading back to town. His blood rhymed to the speech 
 of one ; by the other it was merely tickled. When he 
 fetched a breath of the night, it was one only that he 
 heard. 
 
 The conference was interrupted. Along the firm track 
 of the high road he became aware of an obscurity ahead 
 of him. A waggon stacked high with baskets under a 
 tarpaulin hood, stationary and askew, waited where no 
 sign of habitation was to be seen. One of its wheels had 
 sunk into the grass-edged drain-course which divided 
 the footpath from the road. Passing round to the horses 
 by the flicker of a lantern, Tristram perceived the driver's 
 seat to be empty, and a dark body, lying partly under the 
 shafts, partly against the foundered wheel. He took 
 down the light and examined closer. The cause of the 
 accident was fairly clear ; a sleepy head, a gradual drag 
 on the left rein, a sudden tilt into the ditch, and there was 
 a poor fellow fit only to be carted to hospital. 
 
 Tristram got the man up against the bank, and searched 
 for the flask he guessed the likeliest companion of a night- 
 waggoner on his road. In a while he had wrought a 
 beginning of consciousness into the hulk of flesh that 
 sprawled there. 
 
 " I bean't drunk," drawled the fellow, feeling that 
 hands had hold upon him. 
 
 " No, my friend, but I found you in a ditch ; so you'd 
 the less excuse for getting there," replied Tristram. 
 : ' Here, keep that arm still, it's there you've done yourself 
 the damage."
 
 432 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 ' Damage be damned ! " said the man, unaware as yet 
 how things stood with him. " 'Oo be you ? " 
 
 "At this moment, I'm your doctor. If I give you a 
 hand, d'you think you can stand upright? " 
 
 " Yer think I'm drunk ! " answered the man, with some 
 ill-will ; to prove the falseness of the supposition, he 
 hauled himself up by the aid of an arm, and straightway 
 collapsed again. 
 
 " Seems to me I be ! " was his honest conclusion of the 
 matter on thus finding himself down : more must have 
 gone on in his world than he was aware of. Struggling 
 to recall whence came this lapse from sobriety, and at 
 what wayside tavern, — the memory that he was sup- 
 posed to have a waggon under his charge hammered at 
 his consciousness. " Where be the cairt ? " he enquired, 
 not sighting it beyond the beams of the lamp that hung 
 over him. 
 
 ' It's here," said Tristram. " I have to get you into 
 it." 
 
 ' It's got to be up at Covent Garden before foive," 
 declared the fellow, without any concern as to his own 
 condition for getting it there. 
 
 Tristram gave his word that it should be done. "That's 
 reasonably easy ; the difficulty is where to put you ! " 
 He looked up at the dumpy round baskets piled one on 
 the top of another; until the cart was emptied no lying 
 was to be found amongst those ; nor was the perch in 
 front the place for a man bruised and disabled. Tris- 
 tram's practical sense took him round to the tail-board; 
 he found it more lightly laden than the body of the 
 waggon, and straightway began hauling. 
 
 He discovered presently that he was under an over- 
 seer whose word he might not disregard. Called on to 
 explain his doings, he heard that those unloadings were 
 not to be left on the road ; place must be found for them ;
 
 A CHANGE OF ADDRESS 433 
 
 either all went or all stayed together, man and load. An 
 honourable thirty years' record of the road had to be 
 looked to. That a man should slumber at his post and 
 get pitched out on to his head was an act of God ; but 
 to go back to his employer with market-baskets not 
 accounted for, was outside the honest carter's reckon- 
 ing. " Be danged to 'e, you do as I tell 'e ! " quoth the 
 fellow, "or you let it be!" The Tramp spent a good 
 half-hour hauling and re-arranging to suit the unreason- 
 able dictates of a man who sat dizzy and helpless against 
 the hedge, fit only to be loaded on, and freighted to the 
 nearest hospital. 
 
 With difficulty he was finally got up. Tristram found 
 sacking and horse-cloths to put under him, and left him 
 in all the comfort that circumstances made possible. He 
 received no thanks for any of these services ; but the 
 enquiry " Be you a waggoner? " addressed to him before 
 he went round to the horses was a better reward, and 
 helped to buckle his heart to the work which lay ahead. 
 He took his seat up in front, and started the beasts on 
 their long foot-pace jog toward London-town. It was 
 after midnight then. 
 
 Before an hour was over the searching chills of the 
 spring night had struck his blood; he got down again, 
 and walking alongside came presently through Chisle- 
 hurst, feeling its dim bank of woods upon his right, and 
 seeing for the first time ahead of him the hectic flush. 
 which marked the whereabouts under heaven of the great 
 gaoler-city, charged with the fate of its four million 
 human souls. 
 
 Some ironic amusement stirred the Tramp's mind. 
 Here was he, one of thousands under the same quiet 
 canopy of stars, carting the sleeping beast its food. To 
 this, then, after all, tended the life of the tilled acres over 
 which plain Hodge toiled with horny hands. In modern 
 
 z r
 
 434 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 England natural man lived but on sufferance, or so long 
 as he subserved the great maw that drained the ever less 
 adequate resources of its soil. Yes, in his own country, 
 Town had become the heart of life; thence did little 
 Great Britain reach out hands over the whole world, most 
 just and mighty and grasping of all the breeders of men. 
 Let him not maudle to be quit of her, unless, like Ray- 
 mond, he were ready for a bold break with his age, and 
 across the seas to bow himself to the simpler ambitions 
 of the furrow and the fold. 
 
 Thus the Tramp to himself, driving his slow market- 
 cart up to town. The man at his back dozed ; Tristram's 
 occasional call to know how he fared ceased to extract 
 a growling response. Three hours had registered their 
 flight, and the heavy pace of the team at last brought 
 weariness to his feet ; forced thus to plod, he found 
 monotony becoming a test to his spirits, as the signs of 
 town grew round him. He passed through straggled 
 miles of villadom, looking cosy amid clustered evergreens 
 in the dull light, and presently was threading shallow 
 streets of artisan dwellings, newly built, where men were 
 already rising for the distant scenes of their toil. From 
 right and left, wheels were beginning to converge upon 
 his way, most of them laden like his own ; past him at 
 double pace a great milk-cart rattled and clanged. Cows, 
 then, must be milked at the dead of night : for it was night 
 still ; yet here around him were men up, with hours of 
 toil already counted in to their day's work. A caller ran 
 down the street routing slumberers from their rest; 
 knockers were beaten, and windows tapped with the end 
 of a long pole. 'Twas a postman without bags, bringing 
 regularly the time of night when weary men must give 
 up their beds. Homing cats knew the hour, and at the 
 sound of him, as at the coming of the cat's-meat-man, ran 
 shadowlike across the open to squat at doors which
 
 A CHANGE OF ADDRESS 435 
 
 would presently unfasten and admit them to warmth and 
 food. 
 
 The air had become very chill, and not a wink of dawn 
 was due for another hour, as he drew his horses into 
 Deptford and viewed the brown squalor of its littered and 
 deserted streets under the shabby gaslight on either side 
 the way. Somewhere about here was a hospital he 
 knew ; a policeman directed him, eyeing him doubtfully 
 when he spoke of his mate laid up behind with a broken 
 arm. 
 
 Tristram took him round to have a look at the fellow, 
 stolidly asleep in spite of a bruised head and the shaking 
 of the road ; he envied such stout nerves, or even the dull 
 vegetable-like strain of tissue through which pain was a 
 mere floating discomfort with no power to obtrude when 
 leisure was found for sleep. 
 
 Under a large archway, where a light swung, gate- 
 porters came to help the carter down. His head still 
 waggled with obstinate drowsiness, and he was reluctant 
 to let his waggon go. The Tramp bade him be easy, 
 promising that before five, Covent Garden should have 
 its delivery in strict tale, according to the way-bill passed 
 on to him. 
 
 "Count the baskets!" was the final injunction he re- 
 ceived as he saw the patient carried through the hospital 
 doors; he gave his word to return and report on duty 
 done. Before noon, waggon and all should be there. 
 
 The Old Kent Road had not, at that date, roused the 
 lyric ardour of the music-halls ; and its two miles of 
 slovenly shop-fronts and uncleaned gutters were without 
 the associated charm of coster ebullience to give it soul. 
 Not till the Tramp neared Waterloo Bridge did any 
 beauty of aspect in city or atmosphere begin to reward 
 him for his unbedded and chilly condition. The yielding 
 of night to dawn had been proceeding under a slow
 
 436 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 thickening of the firmament, film upon film, till behind 
 them the stars shrank rayless and resigned. Now in the 
 cold, shivering east a whiteness began to tell, revealing 
 like a dark sounding-board overhead, one spreading 
 canopy of cloud, low and brown, smirched with the dross 
 of the city's upcast breath. Its fringed edges were but 
 waiting for the wind's fall to drop rain and send a uni- 
 form greyness over the tremulously mounting light, whose 
 quickening motion seemed, each moment, to prelude 
 the Mushing consciousness of day. 
 
 Gaslights disappeared from point to point along vistas 
 of streets, leaving them nakedly aware of the colder 
 heaven opening on them from above ; the effect was as 
 the change of a painter's touch from canvas to fresco ; 
 tawny shadows yielded to grey. The foot-falls of a few 
 pedestrians singled themselves far along each street. 
 Traffic grew and became faster in pace. News-carts 
 whipped by. Tristram's waggon formed one of a slow- 
 moving line skirting the curb ; a dozen similar could be 
 seen at intervals along the road leading to the bridge. 
 
 Steely light, as he crossed, shot up from the water, 
 between black barges swinging slowly in the pull of the 
 tide. And now a shrewd wind blew strong across the 
 wide river-way, and in the heavens overhead began roll- 
 ing aside the threatening surfaces of cloud. Lucent 
 spaces of pale gold opened like windows under the 
 grey, and like slow bars of music, light flooded and 
 grew strong. 
 
 Across the Strand, up Wellington Street, and into 
 Russell Street, Tristram piloted his charge, and stood 
 wedged by the incoming stream. It took him a quarter 
 of an hour to work round to his place of delivery. 
 
 The name on his waggon-board was like the carcass to 
 the eagles ; porters pounced and began carrying off their 
 prey. They ran close, one behirid the other in strings
 
 A CHANGE OF ADDRESS 437 
 
 of eight or ten, brawny fellows in jerseys and vests, with 
 foul, merry mouths, swinging at a smart pace under their 
 head-balanced loads. A foreman coming up for the 
 invoice, at first took Tristram to be joking when he 
 claimed the waggon to be his. When he got his receipt 
 he found that it would be hours before he could take up 
 his returned empties ; it seemed likely that Co vent Garden 
 would engage his energies for the whole day. He was 
 told where he might stand his waggon and give the horses 
 their feed. Looking within he cried, " Hullo, but you've 
 not cleared ! " Two low square boxes lay still on the floor 
 of the waggon. 
 
 ' Nothing to do with us," said the man, who had given 
 him his discharge for the broccoli, parsnips, spring 
 spinach, and kale, which had formed the bulk of his 
 load. What remained now were flowers. 
 
 ' Yonder's where they go ! " He pointed across the 
 yard. Tristram ploughed his way into a seething mass, 
 where, among floral deliveries still going on, flower- 
 sellers were already purchasing for the streets. Baskets 
 knocked his shins, and bruised his back and sides ; he 
 stumbled wearily about from stall to stall, and shot en- 
 quiries to right and left for any one accustomed to receive 
 of Mr. James Coggerton, of Orpingley, Kent. None 
 answered him. He drew out at last in despair. 
 
 Having seen to his horses and stationed them as 
 directed in line with other empty vans, there seemed 
 nothing left but to trust to chance and a time when the 
 market was less occupied, for discovering where his last 
 delivery was due. The sight of a coffee-stall, with bread 
 in huge slices and smoking urns, told him he was 
 famished as well as cold. 
 
 Here also there was a throng bustling to be served ; he 
 had to wait his turn. Ahead of him a woman with a 
 jetty bonnet over one eye worked hustling to be first.
 
 438 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 When furious altercation rose, he distinguished the voice 
 that matched the bonnet, " 1 am, am I ? " came truculent 
 challenge, met by a squeal of rage. ' Yer will, will yer? " 
 told in another moment of un feminine warfare begun. 
 Across the corner of the stall one lunged, and mugs 
 danced and rattled. Resolute peace-makers held between : 
 the disputants could do no more than screech and scratch 
 arms. The one imprisoned termagant beat herself against 
 pacifying barriers, like a butter-pat in a churn ; the other, 
 panting to the assault from without, declared her griev- 
 ance to the crowd : it was great : could ears hear her and 
 not be moved ? 
 
 " She called me a giddy old whelk ! " Out flourished 
 a hat-pin. " I'll whelk her! only let me get at her! " she 
 yelled, and made a renewed dab for her quarry. Down 
 over both eyes flapped the untethered bonnet. 
 
 These were the miserable night-scum of the streets, 
 soured at the barren coming of dawn. Honest labour 
 laughed and looked on, contented merely to hold them 
 apart. 
 
 " 'Ark to her ! she's got a voice like a crab ! " cried the 
 ingenious inventor of the epithet that had roused wrath. 
 A comely wench, basket-laden, laughed at the aptness of 
 the phrase ; for it was a queer voice that the old whelk 
 possessed, and indeed very like a crab's. The injured 
 jade flew at her. Laugh, would she? The poor pretty 
 one showed genuine panic ; in another moment hat and 
 feather might be a ruin to the eye. She threw out pro- 
 testing arms : " Oh, my 'at and 'airpins ! " was her cry. 
 Tristram, being nearest, intervened. " Come, missis ! " 
 said he. 
 
 "Who are yer touching?" cried the woman, as she 
 struggled in his embrace. Her accent was on the touch ; 
 the outrage on her person was great. The girl had 
 scuttered to a safe distance : Tristram relaxed his hold.
 
 A CHANGE OF ADDRESS 439 
 
 " Who are yer touching? " the fierce-tongued jade went 
 on, finding herself at liberty again. " Touch mc, will yer? 
 d'yer calls yerself a respectable man ? What d'yer think 
 / am, then ? — A respectable grandmother ! " she in- 
 formed the world, and she spurned lesser recognition ; 
 an ancestress at forty, she could make her boast. 
 
 " All right, granny ! " answered the youth. " You want 
 your breakfast, that's what's the matter with you. Come 
 along and you shall have it ! " 
 
 The woman found herself dealing with one of the 
 quality ; she beheld treating possibilities in his eye, and 
 became a lamb. 
 
 Friendliness settled on the crowd; the time of day was 
 medicinal to all. Tristram's heart grew happy as the 
 mug of hot brown fluid went up to his lips. At his 
 elbow came the young girl he had succoured from the 
 old whelk's rage. She smiled shyly on him, but was ready 
 enough to be treated when pressed. Flowers, she told 
 him, were her trade. And of its ways some of the ins 
 and outs and hardships were given him to comprehend, 
 while he plied her with buns. With luck, the girl had, 
 she informed him, just five shillings in hand each morn- 
 ing for fresh purchases ; she could pick and choose then ; 
 but luck seldom kept strong two days at a time. Without 
 it, shady doings had to be practised. 
 
 " There's days when p'r'aps I can only afford a bob's 
 worth," said she. " Then I takes 'em home, and mixes 
 'em with last day's ; there's art in that. But, lor' ! that 
 means goin' about an' doin' it like as you was 'ungry an' 
 'omeless, and you 'as to pick out the folk as don't reely 
 want 'em. It wears yer out, that do, I can tell yer. If 
 yer can afford good 'uns, you sets yerself down in a place 
 where they know yer, and custom comes. 
 
 " Then you've to 'ave a good eye for what goes down. 
 Up at Kensin'ton, they'll buy weeds, they will ; anything
 
 440 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 that looks as if it 'ad slep' in the country the night hefore. 
 Whitechapel way, they won't. Geraniums '11 sell there, 
 when Kensin'ton won't even sniff at 'em. Oh, you 'ave 
 to be careful, that you do! " 
 
 Tristram asked, what worst strait she bad ever been 
 put to. 
 
 " Once I 'adn't got a penny to get a bed," she told him. 
 " It did seem 'ard ; las' summer that was. I walked the 
 streets, an' kep' be'ind the bobbies ; even then I 'ad a time, 
 always 'ad to be on the move and not get rekonised. 
 Bobbies is bad theirselves, yer know, sometimes; that 
 they are ! Up at 'Ampstead, and a bit out, they're the 
 worst. They'll swear anything to cover theirselves. Oh, 
 you know ! Well, I tell yer, you want to be cured of 
 thinking there isn't no 'ell ; you do a night out in the 
 street ; that'll 'elp yer soul, that will ! " 
 
 He discerned under her unblushing speech an honest 
 girl, merely hardened in a sort of brazen modesty by the 
 perilous independence of her calling. Twenty-four hours 
 lav between her and the thing she would not blush to 
 name, vet lived this life to be free from. There was 
 beauty under the pinched face, certainly in the abundant 
 soft hair ; it caused Tristram to ask, if she had never 
 thought of marrying. 
 
 A slight shudder coursed through her at the words. 
 "Marry!" she said. "I saw father beat mother to 
 death. I was a little 'un then. He didn't do it all at once, 
 so they brought it in manslaughter, and he came out 
 again in a twelvemonth. Then 'e 'ad another woman in, 
 and began beatin' 'er, and when she went off he began 
 beatin' me. T.or'! T've a mark now. One night T stole a 
 shillin' out of his pocket and run. T've seen 'im since; 
 but I know the ropes ; 'e daren't touch me now ! Marry ! 
 I ain't seen the man I'd trust yet." 
 
 She told her tale as though it held more comedy than
 
 A CHANGE OF ADDRESS 441 
 
 tragedy ; thanked Tristram for the coffee and buns, but 
 would take no money. " You be a detective, ain't yer? " 
 she asked him, making him laugh out. He told her his 
 plight. " Why," she said, " / know who you's lookin' 
 for ; come on, you'll be late. It's a greengrocer up from 
 Chelsea what your man brings flowers for." The young 
 man submitted himself to her guidance ; after a hunt they 
 found the tradesman they were in search of. Tristram 
 got a clean draft, at last, and before noon had returned 
 with the waggon and its empties to the carter awaiting 
 him at Deptford. The indomitable man meant driving 
 himself home ; the hospital authorities interfered. In- 
 stead, he was driven. 
 
 He offered his deputy half-a-crown for the perform- 
 ance of the job; that being the full amount of his own 
 pay, seemed to him fair wage. Tristram was reluctant 
 to refuse it, but did, though it lowered him in the man's 
 eyes that waggoning turned out not to be his trade. 
 
 Tristram had slept in the waggon for three hours while 
 waiting for his return load. He arrived at his office 
 about two in the afternoon, and took from his employer, 
 with the most cheerful countenance, the reprimand due 
 to him. 
 
 With less cheerfulness he received a few days later a 
 similar dressing from home. He was indignant and 
 amazed to hear that his lax hours were a cause of anxiety, 
 and the reference was not merely to those owed to busi- 
 ness. It was apparent that report of him had been 
 gathered from his lodgings. 
 
 He gave no reason to his landlord for an immediate 
 change of address. To his father he wrote but briefly 
 on the same point. " I found he was not trustworthy," 
 was a phrase which, under the circumstances, confirmed 
 Mr. Gavney's fears.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 
 
 I"N his youth it had been the proud hope at Jack Talbot's 
 home that he would develop into a man of brain. 
 Tales of him had been told showing that a veritable 
 philosopher once slumbered in the makings of his mind. 
 One morning — he was then at the tender age of seven — 
 the breakfast summons having already sounded, his 
 mother looked into his room and beheld him sitting on 
 his bed, clothed only in one stocking, with the toe of his 
 right foot hitched into the mouth of its fellow ; there he 
 sat lord of his time. His name had to be thrice called 
 before his attention could be secured. " I'm finking ! " he 
 explained then, and seemed quite prepared to " fink " on. 
 Nor did any single or repeated routing cure him of that 
 early propensity to think at inopportune hours. Time 
 brought about the cure ; as he put on size and muscle it 
 became apparent that he put off brain. Where these early 
 brains go to is an unexplained phenomenon. If ever 
 youth in the full possession of good average faculties 
 deserved to be called brainless, it was Master Jack, when 
 each year approaching manhood seemed to remove the 
 quality of discretion further than ever from his grasp. 
 Forethought had effervesced and evaporated from his 
 handsome skull in a final effort of wit ingeniously dis- 
 played during his first year up at Oxford. At that seat 
 of learning all soberness left in his senses had given up 
 
 442
 
 MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 443 
 
 the ghost. Allowance was extended to his youth : the 
 authorities had damped him down for no more than a 
 twelvemonth, but his brief record hardly made them look 
 cordially for his return. 
 
 It pleased this youth to consider that his friend, Tris- 
 tram Gavney, possessed brain to a degree that was awe- 
 inspiring — an actual drawback to equality of intercourse. 
 " You are so fearfully good ! " was another of his involun- 
 tary certificates of character, an impediment he could have 
 wished away. 
 
 Jack Talbot would roam round to Tristram's rooms at 
 all odd hours, and imbibe from him a dim presentment of 
 the solemnities of life. The Tramp's Allegro held as 
 much sobriety as the Penseroso of his younger friend ; yet 
 a pleasant froth blew off this vintage of a light mind. 
 Those who were charged anxiously with the consideration 
 of his future had to own him lovable. He had a heart of 
 most genuine affection, and would lay siege with meek 
 devotion to the door of any friend he had unwittingly 
 offended. His avoidance of his own father was explained 
 with actual pathos by the forlorn youth, in moments when 
 he believed himself miserable. ' The sight of me puts 
 him in the blues," said he. " Best I can do to make him 
 happy is to keep out of his way. It's what I do ; and the 
 old boy hasn't an idea how I miss him ! " An experiment 
 of good conduct as a restorative to his parent's esteem 
 seemed not to occur to him. 
 
 He confided to Tristram one day in gloomy retrospect, 
 that his mother had met him in tears when he was sent 
 down. " As if I could help it ! " he expostulated. " Why 
 the Dickens should she cry because the Dean couldn't 
 take in a joke ? I told her that. But no, she couldn't look 
 at it in that light ; thought it was my doing, and said as 
 much, making me feel myself a brute ! At last I had 
 to say I'd run away if she cried another tear. ' Where
 
 444 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 to?' she asked, not believing me a bit. 'London, East 
 End ! ? said I : horridest place I could think of. 1 meant 
 it too ; swore I did, though it only made her laugh when 
 1 said so." 
 
 These dark shades and profundities of the youth's griefs 
 may help the reader to a conception of his character ; for, 
 says the philosopher, " By sorrow you shall measure a 
 man." Here then you have the plummet measurement 
 of one, and shall expect no great tragedies where he is 
 concerned. 
 
 Jack Talbot's eye for all feminine charm was not the 
 least lively of his faculties ; he wooed outrageously what- 
 ever was unobtainable and fair. His quaint preference 
 was to be at the feet of one serenely happy in another's 
 claims. Beauty wedded or betrothed lured him ever 
 from the less arduous quest : of the favoured kind, he 
 could sigh to six at a time, and be happy and unembar- 
 rassed in the company of them all. They laughed to- 
 gether over him, with no jealousy or rivalry in their 
 hearts ; to be " one of Jack's sweethearts " was at least 
 a certificate of looks. His panting flight after these 
 employed his days ; at night, one may suppose, he had 
 the whole fair half-dozen weaving him a rich tapestry 
 of dreams. 
 
 Not that six was the constant limit of his mercurial 
 passion. Rounding the Park with his friend he would 
 have an eye on any silhouette that from a distance 
 seemed shapely, till a nearer view of features should in- 
 form him whether or no he were the victim of love once 
 more. 
 
 The women to whose charms he fell a free victim did 
 him the credit of being nice as well as fair; employing 
 him, they kept him out of scrapes. He turned the few 
 notes he received from them inside out, to discover terms 
 of endearment therein. " But women in love are so
 
 MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 445 
 
 cunning," said he; " when they feel sweetest, they won't 
 write it." 
 
 Tristram was forced to laugh out at hearing his simple 
 ways of giving entertainment to his heart. " My belief 
 is," he remarked, " that if one of your pretties said, 
 ' Come on ! ' you'd be off to the North Pole ! It's the 
 gallop not the goal you are after." 
 
 " Any magnet, so long as it doesn't mean matrimony ! " 
 retorted Jack. " Oh, I say, Gavney, don't you think 
 monogamy the silliest, selfishest invention ever made by 
 man r 
 
 Tristram only defended it on the score of economy. 
 Whereat — " Cold-blooded chap you are ! " exclaimed his 
 friend, "and, besides — no — why? There are just the 
 same number of pretty women in the world whether we 
 may marry them or not. They all have to be paid for 
 somehow, I suppose ; there you are then ! " He thought 
 that he had routed a specious economic fallacy, and let 
 his friend know that his argument went nowhere. Tris- 
 tram was but mildly interested to hear it. 
 
 " Ah, well, wait till you are in love," said the other, as 
 though love necessarily involved numbers, and nodded a 
 weight of experience at him. 
 
 The Tramp's theories made him seem more equable 
 than he was in reality. Two things alone kept young 
 Talbot from thinking him a bit of a muff — the strength 
 of his arm, and his ability in the saddle. ' You are 
 devilish deep ! " said Master Jack at his friend's silence 
 when the eternal feminine became his theme ; and he 
 grew to have a respect for the other's mysterious aloof- 
 ness from the random pursuits of youth. 
 
 One morning in summer he and Jack were trotting in 
 company down the comparatively empty Row. Epsom 
 was the world's centre for the day ; to meet acquaintances 
 in the denuded metropolis caused surprise. Young
 
 446 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Talbot was there for the sufficient reason that he had no 
 pocket to take him elsewhere. " It's a plot of my old 
 governor's," said he ; " he has been keeping me short for 
 months for fear I should be saving up to go." 
 
 " He might have slept in peace over that fear," said 
 Tristram, who had himself abetted the plot, if it were 
 so, by withholding a fresh loan till the week following. 
 The empty aspect of town made him also more conscious 
 of his fetters : he sighed to be off over solitary golden 
 downs ; crowded Epsom was not for him the attraction. 
 
 The day before Lady Petwyn had driven past him 
 with only an abrupt nod and an off-wave of the hand. 
 She was up for the races, and they had not seen each 
 other for months. He imagined she must be in one of 
 her adverse moods towards him, and bent on a cur- 
 mudgeonly display ; and without serious concern over 
 the matter, wondered what could be his offence. It 
 occurred to him that, just then, the change of bailiffs 
 would be taking place ; enough, for the nonce, to ruffle 
 her against him. In his own bosom also the thought 
 raised a sigh. 
 
 On his right a young girl with a groom came by at a 
 foot-pace. Her head averting as they neared, the youth 
 saw no more than the glow of a rounded cheek. His 
 cursory glance was taken off by sight of Captain Rasselles 
 pressing forward at a smart trot. A busy nod of recogni- 
 tion was thrown him ; " I'm on duty," it seemed to say. 
 The Captain whipped past. 
 
 A voice of music sang out, " What, have you not 
 gone to the Derby?" Tristram's head swung after the 
 sound. 
 
 At the fair girl's side Rasselles was bowing in happy 
 apology for an unpunctual meeting. " You don't look 
 half the martyr you've a right to be!" she retorted, 
 " Why did you come? "
 
 AUGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 447 
 
 Living gold was the voice ! 
 
 The youth beheld a loose knot of warm brown hair 
 shaking its lights as she threw her horse to the gallop. 
 Away they went west. The sound of her voice and 
 laughter were borne away. 
 
 ' That was a spanker ! " cried Jack, sending an amorous 
 calf's-head over his shoulder to mark the receding form. 
 " And rides, doesn't she ? Oh, ah ! " He whistled bright 
 as a bullfinch on his perch. " And what a lollipop of a 
 laugh she's got ! " 
 
 The fast diminishing view of the girl's gay beauty left 
 him with a robbed appetite. " Oh, come on round ! " he 
 cried. " Let's go and meet them ! Doesn't Rasselles 
 look the lucky dog all over? He ought to introduce 
 us." 
 
 Tristram held a like sentiment and wish ; but the 
 mere fact of random Jack voicing them kept him from 
 joining in the chase. ' You go ! " said he, with seeming 
 nonchalance. Off shot his companion, and left him to 
 his own thoughts. 
 
 The perfection of a human voice rang in his ears. 
 Since Doris had fired the heart of early romance for him, 
 voices had been the lure of his soul. He had a presenti- 
 ment that could he see the face which went with such 
 sounds, he would behold his dream, and worship it. 
 Scapegrace Jack, speeding to satisfy the lust of his eye, 
 kept him back ; hugging his ideal under the self-denying 
 ordinance, he yet wantoned in the delicate commotions 
 that seized his heart. It had rained gold on him from 
 high heaven. Gazing at the blue, he let the voice seem 
 over him like a lark's : rings of laughter and bubbles of 
 light ; ay, a very sunbeam of sound ! L T p and up, Pegasus 
 was the steed who bore it on ; the sun itself was its goal. 
 How green stayed all the leaves of town ; even at this 
 season of dust and heat young spring still seemed to be
 
 448 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 in them! And the words, the words! were they not to 
 him? ' Have you not gone to the Derby?" they cried: 
 and, behold, he had not gone. Considering his love of 
 horses it was a marvel. He astonished himself now that 
 he had not ; he believed lie had made promises to go and 
 broken them; and hoped that a dozen were upbraiding 
 him for his breach of faith. Choosing to forget that the 
 main cause had been benevolent friendliness for Jack, 
 doomed to stay up in town, he hugged Providence as an 
 ally for keeping him there. And for what ? Merely that 
 he might hear a voice ! 
 
 Well, well! some madnesses are but life in excess. 
 Here was youth exulting as youth will, drawing a new- 
 sense of eternity from the depths of the heart, and 
 wondering how to apply it to the actual hours that ran 
 by. The happy delirium lasted perhaps to the end of 
 that summer's day ; the memory of it stayed. He asked 
 neither Jack Talbot nor Captain Rasselles to give his 
 dream a face. 
 
 Two days later Lady Petwyn had left town again 
 without once sending for him : planning soon to lay fast 
 hands on him, she was the more pleased just now to affect 
 the cold shoulder. Captain Rasselles the lady had seen ; 
 she bade him bring report of her favourite's progress. 
 He had to admit that he knew less than she wished ; it 
 had become difficult to keep under observation one who 
 went everywhere. 
 
 " Jack Talbot has caught on to him," said the Captain, 
 " a well-meaning lad so far as he has anv meaning at 
 all ; but the limit of his acquaintances I have failed vet 
 to discover. If a man will lend him a fiver, he regards 
 him as a friend, and claims his company while spending 
 it. The consequence is, through him, your protege knows 
 a good many more than T know." He mentioned one or 
 two doubtful reputations. " ' Friends of Jack's ' is his
 
 MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 449 
 
 word for them when I drop depreciatory remarks. He 
 has a wonderful notion that whatever happens to be 
 young is also harmless; and I believe it's true of himself. 
 Like him ? — who wouldn't ? There's his danger ; too 
 many kinds take to him. All the same he has tact — or 
 instinct — it comes to the same thing." 
 
 Lady Petwyn declared that among women he had none. 
 
 Captain Rasselles said, " You mean that he says things 
 no one else would ? He does that with us, too ; it's 
 his gift. He mixes well, yet never seems to lose himself ; 
 believes marvellously in his own eyes too — they are 
 straight ones, I admit, and can read character so far as 
 knowledge gives him a reckoning. Outside that he may 
 stray ; not that I've ever seen him caught yet ; but of course 
 a day will come when he'll get taken in. Has he a free 
 purse ? " 
 
 " He has pocket-money," said the dame. 
 
 "Well, there's that Lord Argent Ilkley, for one — a 
 fellow with no interests but himself, and ambitious to have 
 follow-my-leader played to him ; talks plausibly too, and 
 has wit, which your youth is fond of ; he seems to have got 
 hold of him lately, I hear : and wherever he can get a 
 laugh, the fellow will go. Lord Argie gives it him, but 
 it's a racketty that he's taking to ; and I'd have you see I 
 can't keep a perpetual net over your butterfly ; an eye on 
 him is all I can do. He looks fresh enough still." 
 
 " I saw him," nodded Lady Petwyn ; " I'm keeping out 
 of his way just now for certain reasons. Has he, perad- 
 venture, set eyes on your charge any of the few days when 
 you had her in safe conduct? " 
 
 " Once, I think," was the Captain's reckoning. 
 
 " Did he seek your company? " 
 
 " Not specially. Xo, not at all, as a matter of fact. 
 Was I to have drawn him ? " 
 
 " No, just to have left him, as you did. I'm glad to 
 
 Z G
 
 450 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 know. I'm an old woman with a theory, Captain Ras- 
 selles." 
 
 He asked that he might hear it. 
 
 " That, their virtues running contrary, it is recoil brings 
 the sexes together. Woman by nature goes through her 
 unripe stage, mellowing virtuously; while man, like the 
 medlar, isn't ripe till corruption has touched him. Adam 
 and Eve attack their apple from opposite sides : Eve bites 
 through the green to get the red ; and Adam through the 
 red comes at last to appreciate the green. Eor general 
 application, contemplate the youth of the two sexes 
 wherever you have it before you. And preserve me from 
 having to waste my time over the freaks who make the 
 exceptions ! " 
 
 With a serene confidence that the tonic she prescribed 
 was fit and right, Lady Petwyn was contented to leave 
 Tristram to whatever hands Fate might lay on him. Cap- 
 tain Rasselles had a more male appreciation of the differ- 
 ences which separated this youth from the average of his 
 contemporaries, and held them in generous respect. But 
 however he would have liked to keep a benevolent hand 
 on him, it was not in his power now to affect the event. 
 That Tristram had tact, was, to a man of the world, his 
 surest safeguard. When manners make the man, Tact 
 has henceforth become the only sure guardian angel of 
 his soul ; among the virtues it stands as a tailor among 
 men. 
 
 Within a week of the conversation just recorded, an 
 affair took place, under Lord Argie's tutorship, which put 
 sharply to the test that quality which Captain Rasselles 
 trusted him to possess. 
 
 Tristram was supping at the Hyperion one night, on 
 Lord Argie's invitation; a third man failing to join them, 
 the two had the table to themselves. Wherever Lord 
 Argie feasted wine flowed ; an unseasoned head began
 
 MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 451 
 
 soon to feel at a disadvantage in the company of that 
 trained diner. Tristram followed his leader at a respect- 
 ful distance, and was occasionally rallied for backward- 
 ness. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Lord Argie, " let us keep our 
 glasses on bowing terms. Where gentlemen dine no inno- 
 vation of the Franchise should be permitted. In the days 
 of toasts equality was a point of honour ; now the toast is 
 dying, and honour in drinking seems to die with it. When 
 our present Premier goes, there will be hardly a man left 
 who knows even how to propose a toast. It has become 
 perfunctory, scarcely more than a political expedient. On 
 occasions of social ceremony, woman and wine, the two 
 great exalters of the human heart, have become divorced ; 
 actually we cause the sex to withdraw when the proces- 
 sion of the wine begins. Your guest mellows ; you give 
 him nothing better than a bottle to embrace. If you must 
 be so niggardly, the wine-skin were a better substitute for 
 the missing priestess : and we call ourselves a religious 
 nation ! Now, when we have concluded this shorn cere- 
 mony, you will allow me to conduct you to the courses 
 that should follow ; here, to finish a feast one has to go 
 clumsily from place to place ; the ballet and the banquet 
 are no longer a unity ; nor in the West is one allowed to 
 dine off a bed." 
 
 Lord Argie's periods fell a little flat on the indifferently 
 comprehending youth, till wine helped him to perceive 
 their fun. Lord Argie himself improved as the meal ad- 
 vanced, and was occasionally humorous, extracting loud 
 laughter from his guest. When the meal with its many 
 courses was over the two stood very much on a par — 
 sober in the legal and strict sense, and capable of a correct 
 carriage — anything but sober in the essential. The big 
 restaurant with its lights fizzed round the vounffer man's 
 senses like a charged beaker of champagne ; its bubbles
 
 45^ A MODERN' WTAEUS 
 
 blew into his brain; the top of his head felt like a cork 
 under pressure waiting to fly up. 
 
 His leader struck on his hat with the resolute air of a 
 man who starts to the pursuit of pleasure. By his hat he 
 could have passed muster before duchesses ; the correct- 
 ness of its slope was perfect. Thus with the sign-proof 
 of sobriety topping him, he pushed a hand through Tris- 
 tram's arm and led him out into the street. 
 
 ' Shall we drive ? Shall we walk ? What do you say to 
 the Tarantella?" were the questions which he answered 
 to his own liking. Tristram was led to the place where to 
 suit the incoming fashion of spectacular ballet the largest 
 number of leg-artistes skipped nightly. There for an hour, 
 till fairly wearied, he watched doll-like women-athletes in 
 gauzes, spangles, and fleshings, tilting and spinning to an 
 accompaniment of brainless noise as unentertaining to the 
 ear as the rest was to the eye : he found neither virtue nor 
 vice, nor human nature in the thing to attract him. On 
 revealed anatomy Lord Argie indulged in a string of faint 
 witticisms which helped to pass the time, till at the de- 
 scent of the second curtain he conducted his companion 
 to that nearer view for which he had the entree. 
 
 Tristram was fain to admit that human nature was not 
 lacking under the new focus. Behind its tawdry overlay 
 of painting and canvas he discerned, not as the machine it 
 had seemed from the auditorium, Life, monstrous enough, 
 but recognisable. 
 
 The unceremonious ways and straightforward looks of 
 these strutting sylphs amused him; they came naturally 
 to talk, not waiting on introductions. A challenge of the 
 eye, and a smile, led without affectation to converse as 
 sensible as the average of a London drawing-room. If 
 the manners were free, the language was clothed and re- 
 spectable; they chattered of what interested them. Talk 
 was most easy to him on those terms.
 
 MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 453 
 
 One little lady, all smiles, toying with his watch-chain, 
 and chattering half on tip-toe to his cravat, slipped a visit- 
 ing card into his pocket, and was quite honest and frank 
 about the action. " Now you've got me next your heart," 
 said she, " and '11 know where to turn when you feel 
 lonely." She told him where she stood on the stage 
 when the curtain went up, anxious, it would seem, to 
 shine professionally before him ; talked with a healthy 
 pride of her physical fitness, and let him know the diet 
 which secured it. He was genuinely sorry when the 
 bell rang this gay working little gymnast back to her 
 place. 
 
 " You 7 11 look out for me ? " she cried, as she flew, blow- 
 ing him a kiss. 
 
 He nodded, laughing, and found some small amusement 
 in tracking her out when the gaudy machinery of the 
 spectacle again met his eye. To watch her at her evolu- 
 tions gave him the human element otherwise missing. 
 
 He owned to Lord Argie as they strolled out into the 
 streets again, that he preferred sense to flummery. "If 
 they must kick," said he, " let it be for something! Oh, 
 yes, the notion of decorative action is well enough, but it 
 has to be beautiful." 
 
 ' You sigh for beauty? " said his companion. 
 
 " And fun," appended Tristram. 
 
 " Beauty and fun — we call that joy," said the other. 
 " All the world pursues it. I, now, have a thirst. There 
 is a delectable club that brews the one liquid for which my 
 present soul is yearning. I have the wanton thirst of a 
 well-dined man ; it requires coaxing. Come and share my 
 felicity ; we'll not part yet." 
 
 He named the club at which the subtle beverage was 
 concocted. ' The Gold-Button ; you have not heard of 
 it? " he enquired, and displayed the passport. 
 
 Tristram had not.
 
 454 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " That is one of its charms," said Lord Argie; " it is so 
 little heard of. Few know of it, so it has not been over- 
 run ; just a circle of its own, no more. Of course a little 
 mixed in the, ah — theatrical direction, say. But very 
 passable indeed, as such things go. An ingenious old 
 crank named Tollock runs it, an adept at keeping inside 
 the ropes ; legally, I believe, it can't be called a club, and 
 therefore, as it is not disorderly, there's no loop-hole for 
 outside interference. Enter the door, you are guest at a 
 private house : I have the privilege of extending an occa- 
 sional invitation to a friend. Please me by coming ! " 
 
 Tristram gave an indulgent assent. " Oh yes," he 
 answered, seeing it was expected of him. 
 
 " To-night," went on his companion, " there is some 
 show on ; we shall be just in time for it. Tollock's an in- 
 ventive old boy ; one never knows what he will be up to. 
 The theatrical is his craze: I have seen things there I 
 could really laugh at; a little naughty, now and then, but 
 extremely nice. A couple of weeks ago there was a good 
 idea, and capitally done — living marionettes, the notion. 
 Droll, very droll, that was." lie went on to give an indi- 
 cation of this last piece of old Tollock's ingenuity. " They 
 come on, you know," said he, " with strings carefully 
 made visible ; therein lies the humour. Ha, ha ! " The 
 relish of comic happenings was traceable in his tones. 
 " Off they start working by rote; cord jerks, up goes leg 
 or arm ; sticks sometimes, refusing to come down. When 
 strings get mixed — that of course is done on purpose — 
 well, when they become mixed, they become very, very 
 mixed. Oh, very droll indeed ! " 
 
 He chuckled naughtily at the memory. 
 
 Tristram saw laughable possibilities, and only a 
 shadowy degree of objection ; though he had sense to 
 perceive that the flavour of such farce might very easily 
 become rank. But experience, so far, had not taught him
 
 MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 455 
 
 to be squeamish ; he had a friend's word for it that the 
 thing was amusing; its humour seemed to cover such in- 
 discretions as he sighted. Hearing finally that Jack Tal- 
 bot was to be there, he was hearty in repeating his readi- 
 ness to come. 
 
 " Hartley told me he was bringing him," said his com- 
 panion ; " I don't suppose you'll meet any one else you 
 know." 
 
 They were among the late arrivals, a crowd was already 
 before them ; a bluish atmosphere of smoke, hot and fra- 
 grant, noise of tongues and clatter of glasses filled the 
 chambers into which they entered. They passed through 
 a supper-room. " We will take our drinks on with us," 
 said Lord Argie, securing bumpers for himself and his 
 companion. Tristram looked round him ; his eye took in 
 gay groups ; it was evident that here, at least, beauty 
 crowned the revels according to Lord Argie's doctrine of 
 the true decorum. The brief sight was enough to confirm 
 vague premonitory suspicions. With the actual fact star- 
 ing at him, " Of course, what else did you expect ? " en- 
 quired reason ; yet he had not troubled himself sufficiently 
 to foresee the thing beforehand. 
 
 In the groups scattered about the room amid drinking 
 and smoking, women's voices were loudest ; the harsh 
 bursts of unmusical laughter started with them, and with 
 them ended ; they laughed imperiously, commanding the 
 tongues of their hearers to obedient homage ; each unspon- 
 taneous cackle of merriment once started was slow to ex- 
 haust itself. Spirits are a genuine manufacture ; but they 
 ring a little crudely in the making. 
 
 The crowd was already setting towards the further 
 chamber, at the far end of which hung plush curtains 
 covering a stage. Those who waited sat expectant, faces 
 and chairs turned in the one direction. Lord Argie was 
 beginning to regard Tristram with a quizzical eye; his
 
 450 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 colour was up ; there was an interrogating challenge 
 in his glance when the other spoke to him. Sighting 
 the blond boyish head he liked, " I'm going over to speak 
 to Jack," he said, and shook off his companion's arresting 
 hand. 
 
 " Time ' ' was calling impatiently from the crowd as 
 he pushed his way forward. "Hullo, you here!" cried 
 Jack with an ingenuous flush, beholding him. 
 
 " It seems I am," said Tristram ; " and you? " 
 
 " Oh, I ! " retorted Jack, " do I count? Here, sit down ! 
 Is this place new to you ? 'tis to me ; I came with Martley ; 
 seems queer, don't you think ? but there's fun coming, they 
 tell me. Ah, the lights are going down. Yes, but you, 
 Gavney? well, I swear, I never expected to see you here." 
 The boy hugged his arm cordially. Tristram understood 
 that Jack was affectionately putting him down from the 
 pedestal he had stood him on. 
 
 " Seats ! " was called suddenly ; a sighing of music was 
 beginning behind the curtain ; it rose and grew loud, 
 drowning the thinning hubbub of voices ; excitement be- 
 came shrill in the swift beating of its bars. Lights went 
 out. 
 
 For one moment the company sat buzzing in darkness ; 
 then a vertical shaft of light slit the pendent draperies ; 
 they swayed, parted, and disappeared, disclosing a minia- 
 ture stage. 
 
 Amid pops of laughter and sharp fizzes of applause, 
 Tristram stood up to go. :< Sit down! " came an object- 
 ing cry from behind. 
 
 He stayed for one moment to lay a hand on his friend's 
 arm, and spoke low. " Come out of this, Jack ! " said he. 
 
 " Sit down, sit down ! " came murmurs from behind. 
 
 The other looked up irresolute ; from there to the door 
 was a very ordeal to one alive to the fear of ridicule. 
 " Are you really going? " temporised the boy.
 
 MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 457 
 
 Tristram's eyes widened. " I'm waiting to," he said 
 with kind delay, adding in a bitter inflection of surprise, 
 " Do you want to stay? " 
 
 Shame flew over the boyish face. " Don't know that I 
 do," he grumbled. ' No, I'll come with you ! " 
 
 He was on his feet at once. 
 
 The murmurs behind were growing more definite. 
 Tristram linked an arm in his friend's. 
 
 At the door, from one of a standing group, dulcet re- 
 monstrance met him. He recognised Lord Argie's voice. 
 
 ■' My dear fellow," exclaimed that worthy, " what 
 means this unreasonable display? Do you really insist on 
 going? And Talbot too, Talbot? What, both so young 
 yet so inexperienced ! " 
 
 Tristram felt sensitive youth beside him. " Tastes dif- 
 fer," said he; "if that surprises you, the inexperience must 
 be yours." He passed with a cold salutation before Lord 
 Argie's sneer could fit itself to words. 
 
 Jack Talbot swore softly to himself, to be helped 
 through the unpleasantness of his singularly enforced re- 
 treat. Laughter behind him shot stings into his flesh. 
 Scarcely noticed, in fact, he believed that all eyes were at 
 him ; that the whole air was charged with laughter for the 
 same cause. 
 
 " Oh, damn you, Gavney ! " he cried, for audible relief 
 to his ridiculed sensations, so soon as thev were well 
 through. His companion hurried him on. 
 
 In the street he beheld a white face ; Tristram rocked 
 bodily against him for support. Initiative and virtue had 
 gone out of him ; he hung a quavering lip, and stared at 
 pavement and sky. ' Yes, yes," he muttered, ready to as- 
 sent to anything his friend might say. His chest fought 
 for one big breath of air ; the relief of a clean atmosphere 
 swept over his swimming brain. " Jack ! " he shuddered, 
 ' Jack ! " showing a strange aspect then to the friend he
 
 458 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 had led captive. " You were a good chap to come with 
 me ! " was what he got out at last. 
 
 ' Was I ? " queried the other, amiably surprised. " You 
 didn't give me much choice ! " 
 
 " You were " Tristram's grasp tightened upon 
 
 his arm to feel that he had him still, " just something 
 
 clean to catch hold of. Ah ! " His voice sounded 
 
 the depression of his soul : " Dear fellow ! " it came back 
 to, for a refrain. 
 
 That was all very well ; there was yet the march home to 
 be done. Jack was frank in warning him of the difficulty. 
 " Hold on to me ! " he cried, beholding the advance of a 
 seductive figure. " I'm a cork waiting to go pop ! " 
 
 The combustible nature of the creature showed no 
 diminution as they advanced. A distressing inability to 
 let well alone took hold of him and sent him off on the 
 retrospective tack ; wavering unsteadiness began to mark 
 his retreat. It was as though Joseph, after virtuous flight, 
 should have begun to enquire — " I wonder what she is 
 doing now with my coat ! " and should in spirit have ago- 
 nised for a peep back through the key-hole. 
 
 Saints can tell of the danger of flight conducted on 
 such lines. Naughtiness of mind fast turned ill-con- 
 ducted retreat into a demoralised rout. Tristram found 
 presently that there was no holding the volatile youth to 
 his side. The streets seemed to be perilously charged with 
 attractive material. At sight of it Jack blew and puffed, 
 becoming marvellously discomposed when night-fashion- 
 able pavements had to be crossed. 
 
 Tristram from habit pulled whenever a contrary tug 
 reminded him that he had in charge a will other than his 
 own ; otherwise cloud fell over his consciousness, he 
 thought more of himself. There settled on his brain a 
 steady exasperation lending heat to his blood ; a vague 
 sense urged him to walk and walk for remedy to the driv-
 
 MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 459 
 
 ing tumult within. "Jack, Jack!" he cried admonishingly, 
 as that youth's comments on passing faces became more 
 and more caressing in tone. He was whipping his head 
 this way and that; almost any object now struck him as 
 sweet. 
 
 " By George ! that's a pretty filly ! " was presently his 
 cry. He swung round : saw a laughing eye look back at 
 him. 
 
 Where wealth and poverty touch so closely on the bor- 
 ders of Soho, Tristram found himself standing solitary ; 
 bitter reflections were left to him over his evening's work. 
 He was well rebuked for his pains ; virtue in town was, it 
 appeared, ridiculously out of place. 
 
 Standing under the shadow of an arcade he felt a hand 
 laid on his arm ; timidly it seemed. A girl addressed to 
 him a few words with a queer catch of breath. Voice and 
 face were pleasant, half-familiar, too ; abundant fair hair 
 shadowed the features toward which he gazed. She grew 
 bashful under his eye. 
 
 Strange natural little petition coming in the roar of 
 great London's streets : she had but asked him for a kiss. 
 
 In the darkness of a small chamber high up on a dimly 
 lighted stair, the fragrance of flowers brought memory to 
 Tristram. So charged was the air with sweetness that it 
 seemed to caress his face on entering. He looked at his 
 companion with more attention ; was London after all so 
 small ? 
 
 In the gloom he saw a large basket stacked with white 
 blossom standing under a bare window-sill. The girl was 
 closing the door when with a quick gesture he stayed her. 
 and said in haste, " You have had a bad day ; you haven't 
 sold your flowers ? " 
 
 It was true. Upset and damage had befallen them 
 earlier in the day. Even at night when their defects
 
 460 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 shewed less visibly, they had failed to find a market. 
 " Clove pinks, most on 'em/' said she. ' If they gets 
 messed they looks brnised-like. and there's no freshness 
 in 'em. It's no use washing 'em, they never looks the 
 same." 
 
 For all that Tristram deelared himself a belated pur- 
 chaser; his tone was constrained and implausible. She 
 struck a light, and stolidly lifted the basket for him to 
 view the ruin. ' Don't say I sold 'em to yer in the dark." 
 she said, with a sort of incredulous indifference in her 
 tone. " How many d'yer suppose yer want? " 
 
 To the poor girl in search of her capital amount, such 
 small custom as he was seeming to offer was of little value 
 at the present hour of the market. Tristram picked out a 
 bunch. " This will do," he said. 
 
 The coin that touched her palm caused her to send a 
 quick look up to his face ; it seemed unbelievable munifi- 
 cence. And she saw him preparing to go. 
 
 " Oh, yer be good ; yer be good ! " she cried, and caught 
 his hand. He laughed rather coldly. ' There, there, you 
 can get your pick in Covent Garden to-morrow," he said, 
 and nodded, wishing to be gone. 
 
 Recognising him, her eye became illumined. " Ah then, 
 it is you ! I thought how 'twas like yer ; but yer wasn't so 
 dressed up then." She breathed her wonder, and raised 
 a bashful look on him. " O Lor' ! Yer be a good friend, 
 yer be ; and you a gentleman ! " It was the old wonder of 
 Polly Tilt under like circumstances ; but this girl was no 
 longer asking to be kissed. " Oh, sir," she cried, " sir! " 
 and shook her head, unable to speak ; she drew in her lips, 
 hanging an ashamed countenance over a breast that 
 heaved ; looking anywhere but at him now. 
 
 Tristram held her hand ; a slight frown showed specu- 
 lation in his mind. Suddenly he flushed and turned 
 about. " Good-night ! " he called abruptly, and in
 
 MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED 461 
 
 another moment was making a determined exit down the 
 stairs. 
 
 When he found himself once more in the street, his 
 thoughts found expression in no pleasant laughter. 
 Casual charity seemed to him the very meanest protec- 
 tion to extend to a woman whose daily chance was the 
 earning of a few shillings to stand between her and 
 an outcast's lot. The act bore to him the taint of hypoc- 
 risy ; no high consciousness of virtue carried him on his 
 way. 
 
 Traversing the quieter West-End streets where traffic 
 was now grown scant, he marked a cab draw up a few 
 doors ahead of him, and a well-attired damsel preparing to 
 dismount. A corner of her finery became entangled in 
 the step as she was about to spring. Feeling herself go- 
 ing, " Catch me! " she cried, and fell into the arms of a 
 charming youth. 
 
 Decidedly charming she thought him, realising that 
 she was safe. ' I beg your pardon ! " and, " Oh, thank 
 you so much ! " she fluttered, hanging elaborately upon 
 his arm to recover breath. Thus situated, she smelled 
 a sweet fragrance, and beheld white flowers beneath her 
 nostrils. 
 
 ' What, were these for me ? " she exclaimed with de- 
 lightful laughter. " Have you waited long? " She made 
 no pause for his answer. ' Here," she cried, " wait one 
 moment while I get out my key. Will you pay the cab 
 for me? " 
 
 Tristram performed her bidding, and returned with 
 hands empty. " So many thanks," she said again, seeing 
 that the thing was done. ;< Now, I suppose you won't 
 come in? " 
 
 Her sprightly laughter belied the incredulous speech. 
 ' Why, wherever are the flowers gone to ? " was the quick 
 exclamation that followed.
 
 462 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 The cab was then pursuing its way toward the far end 
 of the street. Tristram spoke "no word of the flowers' 
 whereabouts. 
 
 The lady of the latch-key stood looking at him with 
 pleasant eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE WOMAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 T 7"ERY dutifully Tristram fulfilled the obligations of 
 his majority, and received his father's quiet thanks 
 when documents were signed. London was the scene of 
 their meeting. ' It is hardly a matter for thanks," said 
 the young man coldly, too conscious of compulsion to 
 wish for any gracing of the act. 
 
 ' It should not be," retorted Air. Gavney ; " but I have 
 to thank for what most fathers take as granted. My son 
 has not always seen that advantage and duty lay to- 
 gether." 
 
 Tristram accepted the reproach and spoke openly. 
 Having resigned so much, he asked now to be released : 
 mere freedom for himself was the payment he begged. 
 His voice was uncompromising and cold. So obstinate a 
 recurrence to old folly seemed to Mr. Gavney a graceless 
 effrontery put on merely to annoy. He requested to be 
 told what fine plans his son had for shaping his own 
 future. 
 
 " None," said Tristram curtly. " At present my only 
 wish is to be home again, and away from London." 
 
 His face wore the weary look brought on by wasted 
 hours ; but his wear of mind was greater than the wear of 
 body, which was now making him wish to return home. 
 
 " You forget, perhaps," objected Mr. Gavney, " that 
 
 463
 
 464 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 your reputation there does not stand high. You have no 
 other proposal to offer ? " 
 
 " Except to leave the country," said Tristram, stung to 
 bitterness. " I might go out and join Raymond : he would 
 have me, in spite of what you call my reputation, I 
 fancy." 
 
 ' I should be sorry," replied his father, " to let Mr. 
 Hannam hear that I had assented to any such proposal. 
 To send you to his son ! I wonder you can name it ; it 
 shames me to speak of you to him after the division you 
 were instrumental in bringing about. I beg you not to 
 speak of it. It is for that reason that I refuse to have you 
 living at home for the present : the disgrace you have been 
 the cause of is too flagrant, too recent ; I will not seem to 
 countenance you. Your poor mother, however, wishes to 
 see you ; the thought of you is a perpetual sorrow to her ; 
 in a month's time, T have said, you may come down for a 
 week or so. I shall be away then ; Mr. Hannam also. I 
 trust that in my absence you will be able to behave your- 
 self. But you have yet to earn your reinstatement under 
 my roof. You may atone for, you cannot obliterate, the 
 past. As for your breaking with the present arrangement, 
 remember that my word has been pledged for you, that 
 you are not free for another year. Perhaps you care little 
 for that ! You cause me to speak bitterly, my son." 
 
 Mr. Gavney, blind to the subtler elements of his son's 
 malady of body and soul, saw enough to cause sharp 
 trouble to a heart not devoid of paternal feeling. The 
 sight made him raise higher the voice of authority : he be- 
 came dictatorial : his son had at least to understand that 
 he ruled under his own roof : the froward young man was 
 not to imagine that independence awaited him there. 
 
 Tristram listened, but would make no promises, his 
 silence, though unlike him, seemed to indicate the rebel- 
 lious spirit; and his father began to think it might be
 
 THE WOMAN ON THE ROAD 465 
 
 very well that he should be with his mother for a while ; 
 experience taught him to hope that her weak words might 
 have more effect than all the wisdom he could utter. 
 
 Mrs. Gavney was ready to confirm his belief. " Send 
 him to me," she said, when her husband's report reached 
 her, and began counting the days till she could have 
 the prodigal in her arms and work her gentle will with 
 him. 
 
 Her conquest was destined to be easy ; she had no 
 longer to fight that high belief in himself which had been 
 Tristram's bulwark of old. The understanding that he 
 had sacrificed his natural birthright had at last entered 
 like iron into his soul ; and had found there the wreck of 
 his youth's pride ; and the last act of it had been this sign- 
 ing away of his freedom without any previous bargaining 
 for his own release to follow. He was generously reluc- 
 tant to press his claim over a monetary transaction ; 
 moreover, for all his bitterness, he was now humble about 
 himself, and had, as he told his father, no plans at all ; 
 nor did he understand how fatally that fact had helped 
 him to his overthrow. 
 
 His silence under his father's reproaches had meant, 
 not opposition, but submission to the demands made on 
 him ; yet the surrender threw him back in the worst mood 
 of all to the conditions from which he was struggling to 
 escape. 
 
 A couple of weeks later a letter from Lady Petwyn 
 came to revive hopes he had long since let go. ' So," 
 wrote the old dame, steadfast in following her purpose, 
 " you still prefer London to Cob's Hole as a solution of 
 the housing question ? And the East End and its Dockers 
 are a connection that fall in sufficiently with your moral 
 notions? Truly you have strained at a needle's eye 
 and swallowed a camel ; I trust it may bring you to 
 Heaven." 
 
 2 H
 
 466 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 She sent him late greetings on the attainment of his 
 majority, and after her customary flick of compliments, 
 that strove to sting, made a renewal of her old offer. In 
 true Elizabethan character, the pecuniary side of her pro- 
 posal was reduced to well-nigh niggardly proportions. 
 After a mischievous generosity to him, spread over recent 
 months, she chose now sourly to test him : let him know 
 bluntly that bets and some still more foolish extrava- 
 gances of the last year had crippled her resources, and 
 that those who took service with her must share the con- 
 sequences. " Do just as you like about the matter! " she 
 finished abruptly, and branched away into other topics. 
 She omitted to tell him that Cob's Hole was about to 
 undergo a visitation from the sanitary inspector, without 
 much likelihood of passing the very lenient official stand- 
 ard. Her anxiety was to get hold of him before sub- 
 mission to his quixotic conditions should be forced on 
 her from outside ; and she understood him well enough 
 to guess that the diminished salary, as explained by her, 
 would rather help than otherwise to draw him into her 
 net. Anyway, it pleased her spiteful old heart to indulge 
 in that snap of the purse-strings. Like the Cumaean 
 Sibyl when driving the superb Tarquin to a harder bar- 
 gain, she was willing for Tristram to feel that procrasti- 
 nation had not meant worldly wisdom. 
 
 The poor fellow was in the mood to be her bond-servant 
 for the merest pittance; her comparison of London to 
 Cob's Hole, just then, seemed to shatter the purist objec- 
 tions which had once stood between them. 
 
 He answered gratefully and wrote plainly of the offer 
 to his father; having a plan now, he was urgent in 
 renewing his petition. Mr. Gavney in reply spoke scorn- 
 fully of MacAllister's shoes ; hardly fit standing for a 
 gentleman, he thought, and wondered that Lady Petwyn 
 should propose it. The same letter gave a date for his
 
 THE WOMAN ON THE ROAD 467 
 
 son's home-coming; fear of this threatening prospect 
 made it immediate. 
 
 Three days later, the hour of dusk brought Tristram to 
 his journey's end. As he stood in the doorway there 
 came through the hall the quick flutter of raiment ; a 
 bright running laugh greeted him, and he saw Marcia's 
 face flying towards him with welcoming eyes. " My 
 Trampy ! " was her cry. 
 
 With a sudden inward pain he caught up her hands 
 fearfully, and held them between his lips and hers. 
 " Don't, don't kiss me," he said ; adding, to appease the 
 beautiful trouble of her eyes, "Marcia, dearest," and let 
 her arms go round him then. 
 
 Her face was still straining for his : " Not kiss you, 
 Trampy? oh, why?" she asked tremulously, and taking 
 hold of his hands, with the fondling demonstrativeness 
 which belonged to her when stirred, drew them in an 
 embrace about her cheeks. " My Trampy, my own 
 Trampy," she cried, holding him fast. 
 
 He put her gently back from him at arm's length, and 
 fondly regarded her. u How beautiful you are," he ex- 
 claimed, " and to think that it's only a year ! " 
 
 She laughed troubled : " What compliment is that to 
 the Marcia you left behind, — or to me now, if you won't 
 even kiss me ! " 
 
 : ' I do, I do ! " he cried, caressing her hands. 
 
 She took possession of him ; and turning him to the 
 light, she asked, " Are you ill, then ? " and beholding him, 
 cried suddenly, "You are!" Her voice became tender 
 and compassionate. " 111, ill ! Oh, my poor Tris ! " 
 
 He could not bear it : breaking from her scrutiny, 
 " How is mother ? " he asked ; of the rest he left Marcia 
 to give news as she chose. 
 
 She told him their mother's door would be open to him 
 whenever he went up ; he heard that no one else was in the
 
 468 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 house. Bitterly his mind welcomed the repose which his 
 coming had secured. " Oh, holiday ! " he murmured, and 
 smiled to let her know it was she he meant. 
 
 Marcia said: "I shall be on the cubby-room hearth- 
 rug when you come down." 
 
 ' Then we'll be twins ? " he answered. They squeezed 
 hands as they parted. Tristram went upstairs. 
 
 His mother's room was darkened, save for firelight, 
 when he entered. Soft aromatic warmth greeted him, 
 awaking childish memories. The very carpet that he 
 trod seemed to say " hush," reminding him to be gentle 
 in this place. He crossed to where he knew she would 
 be lying, and whispered " Mother ! " for her to hear. 
 ' My boy ! " she murmured, " my boy ! " 
 
 It was the old form of greeting that she kept for him. 
 
 The young man knelt down, letting his brow be taken 
 to her lips. ' Mother me ! " said he ; and was like a child 
 on her breast. Comforting his face against her hands 
 much as Marcia had done when his kiss had been re- 
 fused her, he began almost babbling for good news of 
 her health. 
 
 She said less than an invalid might ; her mind seemed 
 pre-occupied with other things. Stroking his head where 
 it lay in her lap with hands whose touch seemed to plead : 
 ' Have you come back to disappoint us all ? " she said. 
 
 He knew whose word was between them then. 
 
 ' I don't know," he replied, " why you should be dis- 
 appointed. Can I help wanting to come back ? " 
 1 You can please your father, if you wish." 
 
 " Not in everything." 
 
 " But in this," she urged. 
 
 " Oh, mother," he sighed, " all I want is a little peace! 
 give it me, give it me ! I have only come to you for that." 
 
 He wondered whether after all to go right away would 
 not be best. These two hearts of home did not divine
 
 THE WOMAN ON THE ROAD 469 
 
 what sudden reproaches they started upon him now. To 
 put out three months of his life he needed a new world, 
 a new birth. Marcia's beloved face reaching up to him 
 to be kissed, had shown him suddenly the unlooked-for 
 barriers ; before that moment he had not guessed what 
 they would be. He laid his face against his mother's 
 knees and prayed without words — prayed that one little 
 portion of his life might be swept away, for it was not 
 his : he could swear it was not his ! Convulsively his 
 breath heaved, giving out no sound. He had come back 
 to the hearts of love only to find agony there. 
 
 Mrs. Gavney's secluded, almost lonely existence had 
 made her mind a harbour of retrospect : her memory of 
 the child that had been was fuller than her knowledge of 
 the young man now laying his head for balm against her 
 breast. But his way of showing the fondness he had for 
 her — a sort of wooing reverence with ever an under 
 current of play — had encouraged her from early days to 
 retain that right which some mothers have to resign. 
 
 When she put to him one of those individual questions 
 which she, only, might ask, which had once or twice in 
 his life come to him from her, sacredly requiring a re- 
 sponse, he was tenderly quick to admit the claim ; he 
 had even expected it to be made. 
 
 He waited ; the question came : " Have you been good, 
 my dear? " and he answered it: " No, mother, not very." 
 
 Then there was silence, only faintly broken at last by 
 her sigh, as she gathered up courage to speak a firmer 
 word, since on her heart he had in confession laid the 
 sacrifice of his pride. 
 
 It was not to be then. Though no other word was 
 spoken, he saw what request would come, and could not 
 bear it then. He rose quietly to his feet. " May I go 
 down now ? " he asked, waited to receive her assent, 
 pressed his cheek to hers, and went out, knowing in his
 
 47o A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 heart that he must grant it later, since in all the world 
 no hand was so strong over him as hers ; once it might 
 have been Marcia's : it was his mother's now — because 
 he had lost his pride. 
 
 He and Marcia, when dinner was over, returned to his 
 room for the " hearthrug evening " they had promised 
 themselves. " Let us have only firelight ! " said Tristram, 
 seeing that the hearth's welcome had been prepared for 
 them, though the windows lay opened wide to the late 
 September air. 
 
 He approached to put out the lamp. Marcia, watching 
 him as he stooped his head under its rays, cried: " Tris- 
 tram, you are grey ! " She parted the wave over his left 
 temple, and drew out a hair to witness the truth. 
 
 " And there are more ! " she said. 
 
 " You may have them all," he answered. " Keep them 
 to remind you of your twin-that-was ; — not lost but gone 
 before. You see I'm the first of us to age." 
 
 Some sadness in his tones set Marcia hankering. 
 " Trampy, you have a grief, and you won't tell it me." 
 
 " Grief enough, Marcia. Here am I for no more than 
 a week. All the more let us be happy to-night ! " 
 
 But happiness was hardly to be the note of this first 
 meeting, grateful though they were to be together once 
 more. 
 
 " Ah ! " Marcia said. " And it was I helped to send 
 you away. You are letting the sight of you reproach me 
 now ; yet I thought I did right." She closed with him, 
 crying: " I take back what I said, dearest, then. Do you 
 — do you feel bound?" 
 
 He hesitated: did he feel bound? No. Yet he would 
 bind himself, he knew. 
 
 She pressed her meaning upon him, saying: "Don't 
 listen to me now, or anybody ; choose for yourself ! That 
 is right sometimes."
 
 THE WOMAN ON THE ROAD 471 
 
 He shook his head : doubt of himself in the last months 
 had come to be his familiar ; strange opposite to his state 
 a year ago. 
 
 " What has altered your mind, Marcia?" he enquired. 
 " That used not to be easy." 
 
 He was the reason of her change. " Do you like 
 London, so much, then, yourself?" she said, eyeing him. 
 
 He kept in his heart the cry, " Do I like sackcloth and 
 ashes, and dead-sea apples ! " 
 
 She recurred then to her thought that he must be ill, 
 and pressed him to own it. 
 
 " I don't know, dear," he said. " Old age ! it's a mere 
 feeling and may pass. Let us leave off talking about me ! 
 You, Marcia, what have you done? you are altered too. 
 Is nobody in love with you yet? You talk always of this 
 Harry of yours now ; but she is a girl. W T hen shall I 
 see her? " 
 
 " Just now she is away at Portruddock with Lady 
 Petwyn. Yes, Trampy, you will have to be friends with 
 her ; she's my very great one. Think ! I even have my 
 days of liking Lady Petwyn because of her. We talk 
 often of you too ; ah ! and I've heard things from her ; all 
 nice ones, I mean." 
 
 " Oh, have you ? And where does she get them from ? " 
 
 " Happens to have been over your ground, my Tris, 
 being in Lady Petwyn's hands. She told me about you 
 and Lady Tetheridge, and the pug, and the bull." 
 
 " Cow," Tristram corrected her. 
 
 " Well, and the cow-boy, then ; oh, much more than 
 you ever told me. And to think of you very nearly laying 
 down your life for a wretched pug ! " 
 
 " No ; but to die a cow-boy ! " said Tristram, as though 
 that were a thing he could still heartily wish. 
 
 " I couldn't have forgiven you," declared Marcia. 
 
 " I could myself ! " he all but sighed. " After all, one
 
 472 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 can forgive one's self most things — up to a certain age ; 
 not after." 
 
 " Most things, not some," said Marcia. ' They stick, 
 for no reason that one can see ; and yet one wouldn't have 
 them away. Oh, one I would ! and yet that wasn't my 
 fault. But it seems as if it was ! '' Her eyes looked back 
 on tragedy. 
 
 " Anything I know? " asked Tristram. 
 
 " No," said Marcia ; " it was after you went. Aunt 
 Julia did the deed ; and is ignorant about it to this day, 
 I imagine ! " 
 
 She told the story. It is here, as Tristram heard it. 
 
 "I was out with her one morning," said Marcia, " along 
 the Pitchley Road, at the bottom of the hill where the 
 turnpike used to be. We met a woman coming along, 
 decent-looking, but very shabby and threadbare. She 
 wasn't interesting ; just the dull-faced, hard-working sort ; 
 grind more than poverty was what marked her. She 
 stopped us ; I thought at first to beg ; it was to ask whether 
 she could find any work about here — odd jobs of needle- 
 work, or anything, she didn't care what. She talked in 
 a listless way, dead-beat ; one could see from the dust on 
 her clothes that she had come a good distance, and she 
 had a way of pulling herself up and falling together 
 again, that meant genuine weariness trying to keep up 
 an appearance. 
 
 " Well, I felt sure that Aunt Julia knew of nothing, and 
 wasn't likely to offer her any work herself; and yet in a 
 sort of sham benevolent way she began talking to that 
 woman, and got at who she was, and where she had come 
 from, and the rest of it. She was a soldier's wife, she 
 told us, off the strength, and his regiment had gone out 
 to Malta or somewhere ; it was the usual sort of thing, she 
 had to make a living for herself while he was away. She 
 mentioned Chiltham as the place where he had last been
 
 THE WOMAN OX THE ROAD 473 
 
 quartered. ' Oh,' said Aunt Julia, ' I used to stay there ! ' 
 and began talking of all the officers' wives she had known, 
 quite brisk, and chattery, and condescending ; you know 
 that manner of hers. I suppose she imagined she was 
 showing interest in the woman's story. Anyway she 
 began presently naming this person and that person, and 
 gossiping about them, and the woman either knew them 
 or knew of them ; said she had worked for one or two, 
 before the regiment went away in which she was known. 
 It was quite a genuine-sounding story, and no begging 
 in it. And there went Aunt Julia with — ' Then I sup- 
 pose you knew Mrs. So-and-So?' or ' Was Colonel So- 
 and-So's family still there?' and ' How many have they 
 now ? ' all questions of that sort. And the woman went 
 on nodding, and got quite cheery and interested, and 
 quick in her answers ; and all the time one could see the 
 sort of natural expectation she had that something was 
 to come of it. I suppose we were there a good five 
 minutes, with Aunt Julia drawing the woman out, and 
 getting her to talk ; and while it went on, I just had 
 to stand and say nothing. / had no money myself ; there 
 was nothing I could say, nothing I could do, to put an 
 end to it. 
 
 "I began to think at last that Aunt Julia was really 
 trying to find out her character before giving her some- 
 thing to do, or that she had some one in her mind to send 
 her to. Five minutes! my dear Tris ; and then, in her 
 prim, quick way of collecting herself when she finds she 
 has been wasting time, Aunt Julia gives her a friendly 
 nod, and says, ' Well, you seem to have known some very 
 nice people, and I hope you will get something to do soon. 
 Good-day to you ! ' 
 
 " That was the end ; we dismissed the interruption and 
 resumed our course ; I never felt so like the scum of the 
 earth as I did then. All the way up that long hill Aunt
 
 474 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Julia talked of Chiltham people, and things, continuing 
 her reminiscences. As I listened, her dense complaisance 
 over the thing was I think what crushed me most; my 
 back burned as though I were being morally branded; I 
 would rather die than repeat that sensation ! 
 
 " It takes — how long to get up that hill? Ten minutes, 
 I might have said once ; a year I think now. At the top 
 of it — what moved me I don't know — I turned and 
 looked back. 
 
 " Trampy, there was that woman standing where we 
 had left her, looking at us, looking at us still! And I 
 feel as though she stood there now, had stood there ever 
 since, and would go on standing there for ever ! " 
 
 " Oh, my aunt ! " said Tristram in brief tones : emphatic 
 showing of his mind. 
 
 He gave a slight shudder, and added in a much more 
 moved voice. 
 
 " Marcia, one half of civilisation is like that woman 
 standing in the road."
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 A LETTER FROM A DEAD HAND 
 
 IV/TR. GAVNEY'S announcement of his early return 
 was the unargumentative way he chose to indicate 
 the time for his son's visit to terminate. He found it 
 easier to be firm from a distance with his offending off- 
 spring, who had quick ways of the tongue, which in 
 conversation left him at a disadvantage. 
 
 Tristram saw the letter first in his mother's hands ; 
 she gave him its contents, saying afterwards, ' Then 
 the day after to-morrow my boy goes back to his work ? " 
 It was spoken simply, with as little interrogation showing 
 as possible. 
 
 Tristram answered, " Do not trouble yourself ; I 
 promise I will make room for him, mother." She let 
 that appear a full settlement of the question between them. 
 Kissing him she said, " You are no trouble to me, my 
 dear ; I trust you will never be that. If you would only 
 
 come to me sooner sometimes " She paused, and 
 
 added softly, " My boy and I understand each other, do 
 we not ? " 
 
 He evaded an answer, saying with much fondness, " I 
 understand what you wish, mother." It left her satisfied. 
 
 He was intent then on a long-delayed visit, and spoke 
 of being out for the rest of that day. A wish to see his 
 old Sage once more, and to avoid for a few hours his 
 Aunt Julia on her return, gave him a double motive for 
 
 475
 
 476 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 absence. Marcia, hearing what he proposed, told him 
 he might find the dear old man unable to receive him ; 
 she had heard rumours, though they were but vague. 
 Tristram said, " I must see him ! " and went off, even at 
 the risk of a fruitless errand. 
 
 A sudden desire had seized him to have the old man's 
 hands on his head before he went back to town. He 
 wished to take with him, if go he must, all the blessing 
 that was possible : utterly without trust in himself, his 
 dependence was on others now. London to his thoughts 
 spelled fiery failure ; his weakness and his strength lay in 
 the contact of his fellows. Here, at home, he shuddered 
 to think into what a gulf that weakness had brought him 
 down ; yet he dreaded that his shuddering was but a pass- 
 ing fit and soon to be over. 
 
 Marcia had forewarned him truly. ' You must not 
 see him," he was told in answer to his petition. For a 
 long time he held out, declaring, " But T must ! Does he 
 not remember me?" he asked. The faithful housekeeper 
 said, " He talks of you sometimes." ' If he saw me, 
 then ? " She shook her head. " You would be a stranger," 
 she told him. 
 
 That struck cold to his heart. 
 
 He saw finally that he must accept her ruling, and 
 begged only one favour. " Mention me to him," he said. 
 " Say that I have been ; ' the Tramp,' call me. T wanted 
 him to give me his blessing — want it still, if he will send 
 it. He does not remember, perhaps, that just a month ago 
 — he always told me I was to come and see him then — I 
 came of age. He said he had a message for me ; and T 
 think he would remember it. Remind him also of my 
 aunt, my Aunt Doris, Miss Foley ; you saw her once. He 
 was very fond of her, I think." 
 
 ' Your aunt ? " said the good lady. " Yes ; I believe 
 he quite loved her ; her portrait is in his room now."
 
 A LETTER FROM A DEAD HAND 477 
 
 ''Oh, my love to him!" cried Tristram, fetching a 
 breath. 
 
 Very late indeed he returned home that night. Steady 
 rain had been on him for hours as he tramped, striving 
 to work off the despondency that oppressed him. Utterly 
 fatigued, he crept into the house, fit only for bed and 
 oblivion to cover him. 
 
 He was surprised to hear sounds of movement still 
 about the house. It was then close on one o'clock. In 
 the passage he met a grey swathed figure bearing a 
 candle, and recognised his Aunt Julia in dressing-gown 
 and capless. She gave him a witheringly cold greeting. 
 " You keep your old hours," she said to him. 
 
 ' They seem to have infected you, my dear aunt," was 
 the retort which relieved him of her presence. 
 
 Marcia coming on him at the stairhead explained 
 matters. She seemed relieved to see him, saying in soft 
 haste, "The poor little mother: no danger, only great 
 pain. It is her head. She has been asking for you." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Tristram, with a pang of self-reproach 
 for being absent. ' Has she wanted me for long ? " 
 
 " Some hours ago she asked for you first ; go very 
 softly." 
 
 ' I met Aunt Julia just now," said Tristram. 
 
 Marcia nodded. ' Yes ; she does no good ; she has 
 been talking, and of course, sourly, about you. The 
 mother wants you to comfort her." 
 
 Tristram slipped noiselessly into his mother's room. 
 He heard her moan, and knelt down by the bed, laying 
 cool hands on her. The dear head lay like fire in his 
 touch. 
 
 A sigh of relief shivered to him, " Tristram ? " said a 
 whisper. 
 
 He answered " Yes," hushing her not to speak. But 
 still she said, " You ? — you ? "
 
 478 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 " It is I, little mother," he answered. 
 
 " Ah, I thought " Pain ended the attempt to 
 
 speak. 
 
 " Don't think, don't think, dear head, until I've cured 
 you," he pleaded. 
 
 " You can," she whispered back to him. : ' So late, 
 my dear," was presently sighed. Yes, Julia had been 
 talking. 
 
 " You hurt yourself if you speak," he said. " Don't 
 try to ! " 
 
 " You hurt me," she said, " so long away ; I wondered 
 
 " Dim thoughts of him a runaway from duty had 
 
 entered her brain. To resolve the matter she said, " To- 
 morrow, dear, you go ? " 
 
 He said, " Yes." 
 
 " You will ? to please your father ? " 
 
 " I will to please you ! " he sighed, and bowed his head 
 to her pillow, that he might feel how near she was to him, 
 as he sealed up another year of his life to give comfort to 
 her heart. 
 
 She was quiet at once, submitting to the soothing touch 
 he laid on her. He had still that virtue, and began to 
 know it now. The pain shot into him ; he received it from 
 her. More, let more come! He welcomed it, knowing 
 that the longed-for relief must be coming now. ' Poor 
 mother, was this what you were bearing?" thought he, 
 to steady himself to the task, and closed his eyes for utter 
 darkness to be his help. 
 
 Shocks like the beating of red-hot hammers went from 
 back to front of his brain. Her voice rewarded him at 
 last: "You are doing me good," she said. 
 
 He knew by her tone that there was more pain to come. 
 
 It was to be the emptying of a fire from one brazier 
 to another. Presently he could no longer move his 
 hands ; they dragged and lay passive. " I am much 
 better," she said.
 
 A LETTER FROM A DEAD HAND 479 
 
 Yes, he knew that : no answer came from him. Silence 
 flowed over the couch inviting sleep to one. After a while 
 there was a slight sound in the room. Marcia had re- 
 turned. She came and leaned over the bed. 
 
 " She is asleep," was the welcome word that presently 
 fell to Tristram's ear. 
 
 His hands dropped away ; he turned to rise. '' Marcia," 
 he whispered, " Marcia ! help me, I am quite blind ! " 
 
 She saw him lift a drawn face ; quickly her arms were 
 round him ; he got to his feet, staggering. Then she said 
 no further word, but took him up bodily and carried him 
 to his room. 
 
 '' She was suffering this," he smiled as she laid him 
 down. Marcia would have done more for him. " Go, 
 go ! " said he ; " it will pass ; then I can undress." So he 
 lay, waiting for time to bring a sensible decrease to the 
 strain, heedless altogether of wet clothes chilling upon 
 his limbs, while in his brain raged that fire. 
 
 A very dread of giving in sent him early up to town 
 the next day : to break down at the last would seem indeed 
 a pitiful begging off. If he were to be ill, he thought, 
 he might as well be ill there where nobody need know. 
 He would not have his father come upon him so. In 
 certain directions, it seemed that he still had his pride. 
 His old trick of hating to be thought ill, was as strong in 
 him as ever. 
 
 At home they had no letters from him for three weeks ; 
 when he wrote, it was briefly, giving little news. Marcia, 
 looking at his handwriting, said, " He is not well." It 
 was the one sign of his state that Tristram could not 
 conceal ; the fact that he wrote from the private ward of 
 a hospital was never guessed. Those who expected him 
 in the city and at the West End believed he was taking 
 holiday, till in the beginning of November he reappeared. 
 He seemed then to have been anywhere but at health
 
 480 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 resorts, and his superiors, noting with what flagging 
 energy he applied himself to work, drew their own con- 
 clusions. At a later date, that month's absence from 
 lodging and office counted for something in those black- 
 book reckonings of him which were soon to follow. 
 
 Obstinate pride, of that physical sort which was still 
 left to him, made Tristram slow to admit that he was 
 suffering from anything but a tardy recovery from illness. 
 It was the fault of town that he could not get back 
 his strength, he told himself. The delusion could not 
 last. 
 
 "I feel ill through and through," he owned, when finally 
 he sought medical advice. 
 
 " You are," was the doctor's practical summing-up and 
 verdict after examining him : he spoke definitely. 
 
 Tristram had to face stern facts. The doctor was 
 urgent in counselling him to quit London for a time and 
 return to his home. Alas ! however much he wished it, 
 that was the one thing he could not do. The mood that 
 had brought him in sickness back to town made him feel 
 now that to return invalided to the home that did not wel- 
 come him, would be ignominy. Moreover — there was no 
 moreover — outlook became obstructed. Dark doubt 
 troubled his brain : bitter enough were the thoughts that 
 came to him, but they brought with them no plans for 
 the future. 
 
 Out of them grew features he could not mistake : he 
 saw how one by one the foundations of his independence 
 had been struck away. The bondage into which he had 
 fallen was entering to become part of his flesh. Could 
 he even say much longer that he possessed limbs and a 
 brain that were truly his own? Was his body his own? 
 Did he possess it now ? The question tormented him. It 
 had been his, and again it had not been. Could he resume 
 what he had once let go ; or was this the secret of his fate :
 
 A LETTER FROM A DEAD HAND 481 
 
 the Evil Chance so long evaded, come face to face with 
 him at last ? Was " No ! " to be the sudden and final 
 answer to all the eager interrogations of his blood? 
 
 "But others!" He cried out against the injustice, 
 looking round him on the life of associates on whom no 
 such thing as this seemed to fall. "Others!" echoed 
 back at him from the hollow of his own heart. " Do you 
 come now, only now, to claim fellowship with them ? " 
 
 He did not. Passionately his soul cried out for solitude, 
 for the breath and space for over a year denied to him ; 
 that he had not known while, about his life, had spun the 
 pleasant coil of acquaintance, so far removed from fellow- 
 ship itself. Anywhere, anywhere ! the aspiration filled his 
 heart, bidding him escape from bricks, and mortar, and 
 crowds ; and thin and bloodless and cold seemed the mere 
 word that held him back. Nay, did not the medical advice 
 he had received free him from that? He recognised its 
 force as giving him release, not its direction : he could 
 not, he told himself, go home. Where then? And as in 
 certain moods, anywhere to a man comes in effect to mean 
 a somewhere very much defined — to the Devil, for in- 
 stance — so with Tristram, anywhere grew to have a 
 pointed meaning of its own — not to the Devil this time ; 
 flesh and spirit were very sick of him. 
 
 While in this mood two missives reached him, not with- 
 out import concealed or expressed, though tardy over the 
 errand they were set to perform. The one was from Lady 
 Petwyn, announcing herself up in town, with more cir- 
 cumstance than usual, prepared to keep open house, and 
 to give entertainment to her world. Tristram, apparently 
 restored to favour, was bidden to present himself with 
 speed. 
 
 The other : he opened a letter covering enclosures. It 
 was from the housekeeper of his old Sage, to say how 
 tardily, though not through any negligence of hers, his 
 
 Z I
 
 482 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 message had been delivered, bringing him at last these. 
 What were they? A line in the crippled handwriting of 
 age, showing intellect worn thin after honourable toil ; yet 
 in the childish sentences manifesting a tender remem- 
 brance of him. " From your Aunt Doris with her love, 
 to be yours the day you become a man," were the words 
 which took him to the inmost sanctuary of all. Deep 
 blue-eyed regards from the happy spaces of infancy 
 seemed on him as he broke that seal. 
 
 " My Trampy," were the first words that met his eyes, 
 making them blind. He kissed before he could read on ; 
 and became a child again, in love for the dear hand that 
 had sent him remembrance from so far away. It was her- 
 self ; every word brought her back to him ; not dead — liv- 
 ing, she gave him her love for the day which was to make 
 him his own master, and a man. " A good man," said her 
 faith in him, having waited all these years to reach its 
 goal. Could it but have come sooner ! A simple thing to 
 cry. It was grievous coming to him now. She looking 
 ahead, loved and believed in him. ' My Trampy," she 
 wrote, more than once, as though to catch back to her 
 heart its dear grown fellow whom years were to have 
 made so little strange. 
 
 This was one of the things she wrote : " I never found 
 your heart difficult to read ; your very secrets used to look 
 at me out of your eyes, so that I have had to look away, 
 and pretend that I did not know them. That was difficult 
 sometimes. Sweetheart, that has been a pleasure, to think 
 that years hence there will be a man with those same eyes 
 which I am not to see again ; and yet do see. I carried 
 them away with me here, to the south of France. Will 
 my Trampy remember me as well as I see him fourteen 
 years from now ? I loved him ; oh, well ; let him be sure 
 of that ! " 
 
 Remember her! It was only yesterday: oh, gulf of
 
 A LETTER FROM A DEAD HAND 483 
 
 time never to be crossed ! Had such keen memory com- 
 fort in it now ? 
 
 Again she wrote : " You made me happy ; all day I had 
 reason to be grateful to you since I learned this — the 
 knowledge that I write under now — that I have not long 
 to live. I cannot tell you how it is : you, by loving me so 
 much, taught me to be brave : I feel that I do not lose 
 you when I lose other things ; I hold you now, my 
 Trampy, do I not? We were little lovers, my dear, you 
 and I." 
 
 Yes, she held him ; if tears were the answer to that. 
 His heart cried out for want of her. Let her speak, even 
 to reproach, and not cease speaking, if she could do any 
 good to him now ! 
 
 Yes ; there also her hand was on him ; she knew him 
 well, had foreseen danger clearly in that nature which 
 gambolled so joyously at her side, which she loved so; 
 and out of so much knowledge had trusted — alas, too 
 much : " a good man," she believed that ! He bowed his 
 head under it as though to some awful charge covering 
 him with shame. It was not a long letter ; but it took him 
 long to read. She wrote of the money that would be his. 
 " Yours, to be used freely and well ; I trust you. You are 
 to be yourself. If you have kept your tastes simple it 
 gives you the means. My Trampy is to feel that his old 
 sweetheart sends him this because she trusts him. Live 
 free, dear heart, and you will not live ill. I have foreseen 
 that in you." Her message to him lay there. This from 
 the dear dead hand smote a blow upon his heart. 
 
 Tristram laid the letter down. What wisdom lay in its 
 love ! Who else, then, had spoken over him sentence of 
 death? Who said now, And may God have mercy on 
 your soul? 
 
 His soul? It stood up like an apparition before him, 
 clearly defined now, and wearing the hues of death.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 LADY PETWYN'S EXPERIMENT 
 
 ADY PETWYN, sighting Tristram over a crowd of 
 heads, spoke sharply to the friend at her side. 
 
 " Which of you has been spoiling my boy ? " 
 
 Captain Rasselles had not then seen him. " We all 
 do," he answered, " when we get the chance. Is he in 
 town? " 
 
 Her eye stonily fixed, and a directing nod, told that she 
 had her quarry in view. 
 
 The Captain's eye fell on Tristram as he approached : 
 "Ah, no!" he was quick to retract; "not our doing, 
 that ! " He had seen men go under fire with that sort of 
 face : men cold and conscious of their risk, with no shout 
 of battle in their hearts. 
 
 ' So here you are ! " spoke up Lady Petwyn. " Well, 
 you come quick at call, I'll say that for you. Anything 
 wrong? " 
 
 Tristram was trained now, and could answer directly 
 and with ease. " Am I so off colour ? I have a cold." 
 
 " That, with you, counts as a portent." returned the 
 lady. ' You used to spend the days of your youth run- 
 ning about and trying to catch one." 
 
 ' Youth, then, has accomplished its end," said Tristram. 
 ' I am growing up, you see. Rasselles need no longer 
 despair of me." 
 
 Lady Petwyn's duties as hostess carried her away. 
 
 484
 
 LADY PETWYN'S EXPERIMENT 485 
 
 " I thought you must be out of town," said the Captain 
 when they were alone ; "' where have you been hiding 
 these last months ? " 
 
 " Chiefly in the Underground," answered Tristram, 
 " that's where I am morning and evening. Punctuality 
 is the thief of time ; but in the city the thief sets the fash- 
 ion. There I arrive feeling myself robbed, and am re- 
 garded as a reformed character. Xo, I'm in the Park no 
 mornings at all now ! Jack Talbot's up at Oxford again, 
 making virtue easier for me." 
 
 " Expect no long respite then," said Captain Rasselles, 
 " Jack at Oxford, from all I hear, is the same as Jack in 
 town." He gave samples. " Catapulting a blank wall 
 with soda-water bottles is his very latest, I hear: one 
 burst over the Dean's head, making him run for his life. 
 Jack's window was not spotted then, but the engine is 
 there ; and he has select parties before whom he exhibits, 
 hoping to set a fashion in playthings which will subject all 
 the quads to internal bombardment. The catapult will 
 have him presently. Prepare to receive the projectile! " 
 
 While the Captain talked, Tristram smiled, but his at- 
 tention was not fixed. The air buzzed with the chatter of 
 a polite crowd : through it rippled laughter ; seldom did 
 any distinct words carry that a listener's ear might take 
 up. Toward the din Tristram's head kept turning with 
 an alert movement, as though his mind were with the 
 crowd at his back. Rasselles, noticing it, stopped to ask, 
 " Are you expecting anybody? " 
 
 He apologised, saying, " No ; I thought I heard a 
 voice." 
 
 " Several, I should imagine ! " 
 
 " One that I have heard before." His face brightened. 
 " There ! and she laughs ! " he cried at the confirming 
 sound. 
 
 " Oh, susceptible youth ! " The Captain rallied him,
 
 486 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 but became serious to say. " Own up that you have been 
 ill, my dear fellow ; or your looks will be on my nerves." 
 
 " I have," said Tristram ; " I'm well again, but I haven't 
 my new skin on, that is all." 
 
 His hostess came and led him away to introductions. 
 " You don't come here to talk to the people you know," 
 she said, and kept him employed. He was useful in gath- 
 ering's where people talk to pass the time, having learned 
 the trick of light chatter, a few removes from foolishness, 
 which society calls interesting. 
 
 Half-an-hour later Lady Petwyn had her hand on him 
 again. Resting her full weight she was able almost to 
 disguise the limp which, unsupported, passed now and 
 then into contortion ; therefore she loved strong arms. 
 Rasselles and Tristram had both learned to stand negli- 
 gently under the pressure she put on them. 
 
 She led him towards a corner whence came bright talk 
 and laughter. " Harriet Jane, turn yourself and be en- 
 tertained ! " cried the Dame, with a slight flourish of tone 
 to a knot of luxuriant tresses. Tristram's countenance 
 wore a singular look ; his eyes grew keen. Round came a 
 sweet face, lively with smiles ; rogue eyes glanced from 
 Lady Petwyn to Tristram, and back again. As though 
 to inward admonition, they became grave abruptly — too 
 honest to be demure. 
 
 " Miss Ferring, Mr. Tristram Gavney," they were cere- 
 moniously named to each other, and straightway left alone. 
 
 " Then it was you ! " said Tristram, without pause, 
 eager to draw speech from the mouth that waited to smile 
 on him once more. 
 
 " Yes, you've heard of me? I am Marcia's friend." 
 
 " I did not mean that. I heard your voice." 
 
 "My voice?" 
 
 " Long ago ; this summer ; in the Park. ' Have you not 
 gone to the Derby ? ' was what I heard you say. It was 
 Captain Rasselles you spoke to."
 
 LADY PETWYN'S EXPERIMENT 487 
 
 "And you remembered — my voice?" Rogue eyes 
 looked at him again. Oh, the fair face she had! 
 
 Blunt speech was Tristram's once more ; it was the boy 
 again that spoke. ' You had gone by then ; I only saw 
 your back." His looks said the rest. 
 
 " And you did not remember my back? " 
 
 " Yes, I did." Tristram's eye dwelt on the warm 
 masses of hair that waved low over the bend of a high 
 brow. " But I remembered your voice more ; and I have 
 been hearing it all this evening ! " 
 
 " Yes, I do chatter," she made excuse. 
 
 " Do now ! " he begged. 
 
 " What about ? " 
 
 Tristram could have cried, " About yourself ! " 
 
 " About Marcia," he said instead ; " have you news of 
 her for me? " 
 
 There was a ready response : " I have messages. She 
 knew I should be seeing you — at least, if you were in 
 town." 
 
 " If I were in town ? " repeated Tristram. " Where 
 else could she think I would be ? " 
 
 " You have written to her very little : she thinks you 
 may be away, or ill. I was to tell her if you were looking 
 ill ; but how can I, when I have never seen you looking 
 well." She eyed him in some doubt. " Are you not look- 
 ing ill ? " she asked. 
 
 ' Londony,' you mav say. What else were you to tell 
 her?" 
 
 The fair girl laughed. " Two very special things ; but 
 it is too soon to say them." 
 
 " Not if they were messages." 
 
 *' They were to be to her, not to you." 
 
 " It will give me something to write about. Let me 
 send them. They were ?" 
 
 Ah, rogue eyes, honest eyes! Beautiful Harriet Jane
 
 488 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 said, " It is Marcia, and you know her : how she hugs all 
 she gets hold of. Well, I was to meet you ; then I was to 
 let her know — did I like you, and did you like me ! How 
 much, etc., was to come after." 
 
 ' Now ! " said Tristram, " that is something to write 
 about ! — I mean for me. Marcia shall hear ! " 
 
 ' Don't write more than your own share! " said Harriet 
 Jane, looking at him with friendly eyes. 
 
 Easy it was for Tristram to forget himself, to believe 
 he was happy, to become gay, with one so beautiful and 
 kind to talk to. Oh ! beauty and kindness were not all ; 
 nor yet the voice, though the charm of it drew him on. 
 
 She was a woman to know 7 : it seemed he did know her. 
 Six months ago his presentiment had been right ; to-night 
 she appeared, and straightway she filled the place of his 
 dream. Strange how on the same day these two things 
 should have happened. In the morning Doris's word had 
 reached him ; in the evening her sister-spirit had come, 
 promising, if eyes told truth, henceforth to be his friend. 
 
 Behind those eyes lay a mind he wished dearly to know. 
 Let her tell him of all the things she had ever done ; of 
 the places where she had lived and grown ; of her thoughts 
 and her tastes, and the books she had read ; of everything 
 great or small, that had brought her out of yesterday into 
 to-day. Gazing at her. he did not guess how little others 
 found her extravagantly fair. The mystery of her beauty 
 was for him : his to question or to read. Who, his heart 
 kept asking, is this sibyl with the dryad eyes that laugh 
 and are grave again, and the voice born of the dancing of 
 some mountain brook? Callirrhoe she might be named, 
 Callirrhoe, who had nine sweet museful voices of her 
 own : Harriet Jane was the name she bore. He had a 
 friendship for the name, but could not think it beautiful 
 or fitting for her. Marcia's " Harry " made a better 
 sound : it had the right liquid note, and the ring.
 
 LADY PETWYN'S EXPERIMENT 489 
 
 He came back to the flowing charm of her voice. 
 
 They talked fast together; Marcia was an easy link, 
 and a cover to their quick intimacy. " Why, we are not 
 strangers a bit ! " cried Tristram, as they exchanged anec- 
 dotes, and learned how often they had stood on common 
 ground ; Portruddock and Hill Alwyn held place in their 
 hearts. He wondered why they had never met, to reiter- 
 ate that in spite of it they were not strangers. 
 
 *' It would be difficult," said she, " to be that. I know 
 too many things of you — have known ever so long." 
 
 " Has Marcia talked so much?" asked Tristram. 
 
 " Not Marcia : it was Aunt Harriet ; she has always told 
 me about you. When she abused you I used to laugh. I 
 knew you must be great friends." 
 
 " And to me she has never once mentioned you ! " cried 
 Tristram. " I doubt whether to call her a friend again. 
 No ! I'll expect now to hear that her abuse of me has left 
 off." 
 
 " Perhaps since yesterday," said the girl, " not longer. 
 I judge from the noise she made she had not left off lov- 
 ing you then." 
 
 They laughed, with a common understanding of the old 
 dame's heart. 
 
 ' You ? does she abuse you ? " asked Tristram, hoping 
 to discover that she had a share in those fierce favours. 
 ' We are great friends," said Harriet Jane. 
 ' That is answer enough, I see," said he. " You call 
 her aunt? " 
 
 " She is not : we are no relations ; but she is everything 
 I have." She added, " I am telling you nothing sad, not 
 sad to me, I mean, for I only remember her. She and my 
 father were great friends. Has she never spoken to you 
 of him 5 " 
 
 " Ferring? " queried Tristram, beginning to recall the 
 name. It grew familiar to his ear. " Then I have heard
 
 490 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 of you ! " he said : " the little baby that was named after 
 her; and your father died the same year that you were 
 born. Oh, wonderful ! was it you ? " 
 
 Why it was wonderful he did not know : he chose to 
 think that it was. Everything about her was that. To 
 Lady Petwyn also his heart went out with a new tender- 
 ness : did so fair a result prove her goodness of heart? 
 
 The girl spoke of home. " Where is that ? " asked 
 Tristram. 
 
 ' It is Hill Alwyn now. I mean Portruddock, that 
 used to be my home. Sentimentally it is still." 
 
 " Yet you were away when I came." 
 
 She said " Yes," and returned to the ploughboy epi- 
 sode that had already been named and laughed over. 
 " You do not look like a ploughboy now," she told him. 
 
 He sighed, wishing much that he did. " How can one 
 in London ? " he complained. 
 
 " You should come out of it ! " 
 
 " Ah! You think so! " he said, as though her lightest 
 word were wisdom. " You do not like London ? Could 
 you live here ? No ! " 
 
 But she had not such reasons as he to hunger for es- 
 cape: no shadows of the prison-house had crossed her 
 life. 
 
 ' Like London?" she said, " I think I do? I seldom 
 dislike being where I am. Live in it ? Not unless one had 
 to. Country is where I run ; and the sight of hills makes 
 home for me. I am only in London for a month. I think 
 I look forward to it." 
 
 Could he do as much ? Back thoughts came to trouble 
 him ; he threw them off, living for the moment that gave 
 him a semblance of happiness once more. For the rest of 
 the evening, while guests came and went, the two new 
 friends talked on, and noticed little the gradually empty- 
 ing rooms. They had found a corner for themselves
 
 LADY PETWYN'S EXPERIMENT 491 
 
 away from the general gaze ; there at last Lady Petwyn 
 came on them. 
 
 " Harriet Jane," she cried, " off with you to your bed ! 
 You should have been asleep an hour ago. Young man, 
 as the last of my guests, if you require a bed say so. 
 Otherwise it is time you left ! " 
 
 In spite of her words her hand on his arm detained him. 
 Harriet Jane and he exchanged adieux under the lady's 
 eye. 
 
 " Then we write and tell Marcia? " said she. 
 
 " Marcia shall be pleased at what / say," he replied. 
 
 Laughing they loosed hands. Lady Petwyn accepted a 
 caress ; the beautiful vision fled. 
 
 Tristram still had his eyes on the door through which 
 she had passed, when Lady Petwyn's voice brought him 
 back to earth. 
 
 " Well, and are you not tired of your Necropolis yet ? " 
 she asked him. 
 
 " And if I were, what good? " he queried back. 
 
 She shrugged, and said, " There's all the wickedness of 
 Cob's Hole waiting to exchange, when you like. You 
 flout me : I'm a fool : I'm a faithful soul : I don't go back 
 on my word." 
 
 " Believe that I'm grateful " said Tristram, and 
 
 would have said more. 
 
 " Gabble, Gabble ! " cut in the lady. " If you are, show 
 it ! " She would hear no more from him, making haste 
 to say : " What about my Harriet Jane ? Do you like 
 her?" 
 
 Tristram's "I do ! " should have given her what she 
 wanted. 
 
 She looked at him to know more, saying, " Much ? 
 Little ? Enough ? " She would not release him till he had 
 answered. 
 
 He warmed under her scrutiny, troubled by sudden
 
 492 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 thoughts. ' Perhaps too much! " he said in a tone that 
 satisfied her. 
 
 Harriet Jane Petwyn opened his eyes to her meaning 
 
 ' Kiss me ! " she said. A little triumph rang in her 
 voice. 
 
 He pressed his lips to the hard, withered cheek, saying 
 no word. It was their first embrace — their last. " Good- 
 night," was all he said. 
 
 Simply and fatally she had revealed to him where he 
 stood ; in her wish he saw his own. There was some- 
 thing then more sacred to him than his word. ' The 
 glutton's God is his belly, the proud man's his word ! " 
 was a gibe of Lady Petwyn 's that recurred to him now. 
 
 If he were a proud man, that night he cast off his God. 
 London was empty of him the next day.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 ANTAEUS DROPS TO EARTH 
 
 HP HE indication of Tristram's flight came into Marcia's 
 ■*■ hands. It was brief: his letter named freedom as 
 the goal toward which he had disappeared. Let all who 
 cared for him, he wrote, be glad that he had found sense 
 at last to know what he could and what he could not be ; 
 cowardly he had been, merely from the fear of giving 
 pain. What he did now, spared them a later blow. If he 
 came back, she should find him a different man, and his 
 own master; let that much be known. Those were cruel 
 words to pass on to one gentle heart. His mother's face 
 became grey at hearing them ; she bowed submissively as 
 to a fresh stroke of age. 
 
 Marcia's own belief was too indefinable to be put into 
 words ; almost unreasonable to herself was the trust she 
 held fast. She sat for hours with her mother's hands in 
 hers, seeking to extend comfort, and could find no speech 
 for it. "I have lost my boy, I have lost him ! " cried the 
 poor lady again and again. 
 
 Suspense lay over the house while Mr. Gavney went 
 up to town to gather what information was to be had. 
 A calendar month of absence from the places that should 
 have known him raised to conviction the lurid suspicions 
 he had formed of his son's doings. Enquiry as to Tris- 
 tram's hours added evidence that common-sense could not 
 refuse. Much that he gathered was true enough. Where 
 
 493
 
 494 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 no record could be traced apprehension made missing ends 
 meet. He went home with a clear understanding of the 
 case. The young man had not merely dabbled, as young 
 men will; over bead and ears he had plunged; his flight 
 had been but the finishing scandal, covering he knew not 
 what of monstrous and horrible. For many weeks after 
 he ran an anxious eye over the columns of his newspaper. 
 
 His meeting with his wife when he returned, assured of 
 the main fact, was pathetic. Coming to her couch he 
 lifted deprecating hands. "Ask me nothing!" he said, 
 as he kissed her, and drew a wailing woman to his breast. 
 " You tell me I have lost my boy? " echoed again the cry 
 that had worn her daughter's nerves. 
 
 Marcia kept to herself a better hope, and the words 
 that gave it, secret from other eyes. Breaking a larger 
 promise, Tristram had not forgotten to fulfil a small 
 one. " I have seen your Harry," he wrote. " Do I like 
 her? you wish to know. Marcia, my answer is this: I 
 like her as I like perhaps two other women in all the 
 world ; if I see her again it will be love. That is my wish : 
 pray it may come true ! I am for the air-cure now. 
 You cannot long to see me again as I to see you, with 
 all it means." 
 
 That longing had to last for many months. Short 
 record is best, till time brings the thing that is desired so 
 much ; though in the fulfilment of the desire one may not 
 be able to find joy. 
 
 Bembridge, in the following July, was gathering the 
 wandering tribes of England to the celebration of St. 
 Swithin's fair. Yellow caravans roHed along the quiet 
 country roads ; and on Randogger's Edge Welsh ponies 
 were camped to get into condition for the day of sale. 
 
 Gipsies are as a rule their own doctors ; but one night 
 a man rode in to Bembridge on an errand that brought 
 Doctor Tomlin back with him.
 
 ANTAEUS DROPS TO EARTH 495 
 
 The doctor was led to a tent pitched by a stream-side, 
 with the reach of great boughs overhead between it and 
 the stars. Under its shelter a thin body lay stretched, 
 making a feeble motion of hands, as though forbidding 
 any stranger to approach. 
 
 A light was brought ; by its flicker and glare, amid odd 
 shadows cast along the flapping sides of the tent, the 
 Bembridge doctor saw and could recognise Tristram Gav- 
 ney's face.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 THE TENDER MERCIES OF THE RIGHTEOUS 
 
 O OFT light slanting as through a depth of green waters 
 fell over the bed on which Tristram lay. He was 
 hack in his old room. There sleep had visited him best, 
 there waking had given him most joy ; it was the very nest 
 of home. Recognising it faintly his faculties absorbed 
 peace : the repose of childhood seemed to wait upon him 
 there. Not troubling to count the days, he yet watched, 
 as the hours drew over him, the familiar slopes of shadow 
 cast by the morning and evening light across those walls ; 
 and remembered what childish fancies had attached to 
 each moving form. Across the ceiling at certain hours 
 walked the shadows of folk traversing the court below : 
 headlong figures flinging dim diagonal limbs from corner 
 to corner as they passed. These, coming and going fit- 
 fully, were restful company to his brain ; entertained by 
 them he did not have to think. 
 
 His bed was drawn close to the window ; a mere turn 
 of the head allowed him to lay his face on the sill, and 
 catch a glimpse of garden and field, and the ridge of 
 wooded slopes beyond. 
 
 Outside lay heat, and over everything the dry, strained 
 look of a continuing drought. 
 
 The pallid air, robbed of its moisture, was filmed 
 through as with impalpable dust ; light seemed like a file 
 rasping the ether as it came ; overhead the heavens were 
 
 496
 
 MERCIES OF THE RIGHTEOUS 497 
 
 as brass, and every day seemed to put off further from 
 the weary earth the faint prospect of rain. Better than 
 such outlook, till the covering hours of night, were the 
 cool shadows of Tristram's own room ; there he lay and 
 had not to move or think. It was sufficient to feel him- 
 self at home. 
 
 Since it had received him, two faces had been by his 
 pillow to add a welcome to the comforts of which he was 
 but dimly conscious. His mother's visit had been brief ; 
 even that seemed to strain the strength of a body more 
 frail than he had known it before. Her whispered joy 
 at seeing him, if indeed it could be called joy, had been 
 answered more in signs than speech ; after first words 
 five minutes of clasped hands had been the extent of their 
 communing. 
 
 Miss Julia Gavney was a more frequent visitor. She 
 came to see that the nurse omitted no duty and to fulfil 
 her own ; in her practical way she meant to be kind. She 
 devised cooling drinks for him, and, unasked, brought 
 flowers to his bedside : things small enough, but unlike 
 the aunt with whom he had exchanged exasperation in 
 the old days. 
 
 One day, wild flowers showed her remembrance of his 
 taste for " weeds," and a patience towards it at last. It 
 caused him to say almost with apology at their next meet- 
 ing, " You are very kind, Aunt Julie ! " 
 
 " Things are so dried up in the garden," she answered, 
 to put a mere matter-of-fact reason on the gratification 
 she had given him ; but seized the occasion to say, " Are 
 you dull? shall I sit with you?" And though, from a 
 dislike to be waited on, he always when possible dismissed 
 his nurse, his faculty for wishing was too faint to oppose 
 what was kindly meant : he let her come. 
 
 She secured the habit of sitting with him for an hour 
 or two each day. "Shall I read?" came next to be a 
 
 2 K
 
 498 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 natural query on the days that followed. " Yes," he 
 would say, or " no." She was patient to his least wish; 
 and he, trying to find hers. Curious, if to a mind that 
 had become altogether incurious it could be called that, 
 seemed this attendance on him of one with whom he was 
 so little in sympathy. He wondered why, on the use- 
 less remnant of him, so much trouble should be ex- 
 pended. 
 
 One day, in answer to the usual question, he said, 
 " Yes, do read ! " and named his book. She hesitated, 
 and ended by stating gently the direct scruple she had in 
 her mind. 
 
 " It is Sunday ! " she said. 
 
 That w r as news to him. The objection was met by his 
 saying, " Read what you like, then." He knew now 
 what she wished her reading to be. Very well, let it be 
 that! 
 
 Miss Julia Gavney worshipped the church-calendar. 
 Mere formality, and not intent, caused her to open upon a 
 sentence startlingly to the point. 
 
 '* My son, hast thou sinned? " were the first words she 
 read ; "do so no more, but ask pardon for thy former 
 sins." 
 
 Tristram heard, and no resentment rose in his heart, 
 though he believed the passage deliberately chosen for his 
 benefit. He let her read on ; and of sin itself was told : 
 ' If thou come too near it, it will bite thee; the teeth 
 thereof are as the teeth of a lion slaying the souls of 
 men." 
 
 Yes, that was true ; this also that followed : " The inner 
 parts of a fool are like a broken vessel." There, plainly 
 enough, he saw himself. 
 
 At the end of the chapter his aunt's eye dwelt on his 
 face ; compunction caused her then to excuse her selection. 
 " It is to-day's special lesson," she explained.
 
 MERCIES OF THE RIGHTEOUS 499 
 
 " Extra-special ! ' : murmured Tristram, with a faint 
 smile. The cry of the London streets was in his ears. 
 
 After that Julia Gavney was allowed to have her way ; 
 daily she read to him as he drowsed languidly through 
 the hours. Life meant little enough to Tristram now; 
 the useless thread of it still running through him helped 
 him to realise more and more man's impotence to grasp 
 the forces on which he sets his feet. The connection 
 between the two seemed scarcely more than exists between 
 a swallow and the telegraph-wire on which it alights. 
 Just as the bird rests and is supported, but with its claws 
 cannot grasp or stay the current that speeds below, so 
 conscious life rests ignorantly on a flow of forces, whose 
 whence or whither it knows not. Let us own ourselves 
 ignorant if we would begin to be wise, became for Tris- 
 tram the ultimate advice to be accepted by the human race. 
 With such a philosophy it was easy for him to sink what 
 remained of his pride and let his aunt do as she would in 
 satisfaction of her own sense of obligation towards him ; 
 it could matter so little now. 
 
 He had lain for over a week passively receiving the 
 impressions of his surroundings, before it occurred to 
 him to make enquiry after what was missing. 
 
 "Where is Marcia?" he asked then. 
 
 Constraint was in Miss Julia Gavney's reply. " Marcia 
 is away," said she. 
 
 On Tristram's further enquiry, " Does she know I am 
 here ? " an evasive answer followed a moment of cogitat- 
 ing silence. 
 
 He understood and acquiesced. 
 
 The humility of his silent acceptance of that news did 
 not reach a mind so lacking in intuition as Miss Gavney's. 
 Indifference was all she discerned in his mild reception of 
 the decree which kept Marcia from her home. Could she 
 have looked below the surface she would have discovered
 
 5oo A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 strange turmoil. Tristram's brain had now something 
 definitely like famine to set it working again, robbing it 
 of repose. 
 
 " Marcia ! I am not to see her! " was the blank-eyed 
 thought that stared at him. The realisation of that roused 
 the old passionate emotions which had always been prone 
 to spring with a consciousness of absence from those he 
 loved. In his feeble body great wants began to grow 
 which had lain quiescent under the burden of his sick- 
 ness. His heart started on a passionate retrospect ; with 
 a desperate repair of their forces, all against his will, his 
 senses became keen-edged once more. They wandered 
 down separate vistas of his memory, each on its own 
 track, joining at moments of delight among the perished 
 days of his childhood and youth. Memories of sight and 
 hearing and scent drew him back into the world which he 
 was never again to see ; and the things farthest off were 
 now as much a possession to him, a mere spectator hence- 
 forth, as those that belonged but to yesterday. More; 
 for did they not contain more joy, were they not more 
 vivid than anything that could touch him now ? That 
 was the one test of life; since no future remained, only 
 the past could be real for him now. 
 
 He remembered a fall, and the sound of waters in his 
 ears, and the clear sunny bed of a shallow brook in 
 which he had lain contentedly bubbling out his breath ; 
 of water, from that day he never remembered to have 
 had a fear. Water! The thought called him back from 
 the past. Outside lay a parched earth, fainting in the 
 hot drought. 
 
 He remembered the voice of his Aunt Doris, singing 
 to him in the woods: he, and she, and Marcia, huddled 
 together under a cloak over which came the pelt of rain. 
 That was in great Randogger. Never again was Ran- 
 dogger to spread its boughs between him and the sky.
 
 MERCIES OF THE RIGHTEOUS 501 
 
 He remembered Marcia saying that she was taller than 
 he ; and how, for the test, they had stood back to back, 
 with elders looking on to see that they stood fair ; and 
 how at the level touching of their heads he had clapped 
 his hands crying, "Then we are twins!" Marcia had 
 been cross with him then. His twin ! Marcia also he 
 was to see no more. 
 
 He remembered a summer night when he had dived, 
 and seen lightning come down and visit the hollow bed 
 of the pond, mapping it out like a world washed by air; 
 and thence had risen to hear the roar of the storm. Never 
 was he to dive into those deep waters again. 
 
 He remembered at night the trampling of a horse on 
 a distant hill; and how he had been drawn by the sound 
 to a free run over the shadowy earth ; and to a climb up 
 from the valley to catch over the dark hollows below the 
 first gleam of dawn. Xo horse, nor foot, nor hill, nor 
 valley was ever to feel the weight of him again. 
 
 He remembered a hillside where a tree stood apart in 
 a broad field, how water had sprung tawny from the clay, 
 and flowed wide around the tree's roots ; how the tree had 
 given place to a well, whose waters were a cool drink 
 whatever heat lay above. Was he never again to taste 
 that well, that water which he had once proudly named 
 his own ? 
 
 He remembered the scent of flowers brought out by 
 rain ; and the smell that rose with it from the drenched 
 and thankful soil. Rain ! was he never to hear it again 
 sounding from heaven to earth ? 
 
 He remembered the scent of white flowers coming to 
 him as he entered a dark room : flowers which had been 
 soiled and whose freshness no washing could restore. 
 
 Consciousness brought him back to his own surround- 
 ings ; clove pinks were standing in a jar at his bed-side. 
 
 That dav when his aunt came to dole out to him the
 
 502 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 portion of scripture reading upon which her heart was 
 set, he surprised her by saying, " There is something I 
 want you to read; may I choose?" 
 
 She assented, hopeful of having at last touched his 
 spirit with her ministrations ; but when the actual passage 
 he had asked for lay under her eye she was puzzled, so 
 little reference did it seem to have to spiritual things. 
 Tristram had petitioned for the chapter wherein the names 
 and deeds of David's mighty men stand recorded. Much 
 was mere catalogue, a boastful stringing of the names of 
 heroes. He let her read on, giving no nearer indication 
 of the thing he was in quest of. It came at last, and 
 struck a desolate thrill to his heart. Water ! was its cry ; 
 a passion three thousand years old became the prayer 
 of to-day ! 
 
 " And David longed and said, Oh, that one would 
 give me drink of the water of the well of Bethlehem, that 
 is at the gate." He heard his own soul crying in those 
 words. He, too, had a well of water lying free under the 
 eye of heaven ; many days of the waste of life left to him 
 he would give to have drink of it now ; and yet he would 
 not ask. 
 
 Miss Gavney finished the chapter rigorously; through 
 all the string of long names which form its concluding 
 portion, she read, and reading, came to believe that she 
 was mocked. Tristram lay with closed eyes, listening no 
 more. ' Thank you," he said, when at last she had done. 
 She laid the book down, and without another word left 
 the room. 
 
 For a few days afterwards he wondered mildly why 
 her readings to him were not renewed ; but presently he 
 let thought of it go. She still came and sat with him, and 
 renewed the flowers on the table at his side ; but. did not 
 again submit herself to the chance of having her ministra- 
 tions reduced to a cataloguing of dead Hebrews. Thus
 
 MERCIES OF THE RIGHTEOUS 503 
 
 characteristically did these two come to yet another mis- 
 understanding, mattering little enough in itself, which 
 time was never to put right. 
 
 A few days later, Tristram opening his eyes at dusk, 
 after a drowsy lapse from consciousness, saw beside his 
 bed a figure bowed forward in the attitude of prayer. 
 
 The face was hidden in the coverlet, across his feet he 
 felt the faint pressure of hands. "Aunt Julie!" he 
 thought, and grew troubled, wondering whether affection 
 that he had coldly rejected crouched there praying for 
 one who would not pray for himself. 
 
 He eyed her pitifully, till doubt arose. It became cer- 
 tainty, clutching him by the throat. He broke silence, 
 crying, " Marcia ! "
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 THE HOUSE OF MY FRIENDS 
 
 tJER face was like well-water to his thirsty soul. Its 
 draught of love lay waiting for his lips. " My 
 Trampy ! " was the low, eager cry with which she sprang 
 and leaned to take and be taken to his embrace. 
 
 By no gesture, but by the deadly quiet of his utterance. 
 he held her back from him. " You must not kiss me now, 
 Marcia," he whispered. " Dear, dearest, oh, why have 
 you come ? " 
 
 ' Trampy," she moaned, " could I stay away, with von 
 here? Oh, my dear, my dear! they were cruel; it had 
 been kept from me. You and I, to be parted ! — Who in 
 all the world had such a right ? " 
 
 She had his hands, with humble lips showing him her 
 love. 'You will not ask me to leave you now?" she 
 asked, and cried, "no, no! " laying her face back on the 
 thin palms. 
 
 He begged her to turn the blinds to let in the dusk of 
 the outer world. "Look at me," he said; — "your face 
 this way ! T want all the light there is to see you." He 
 added, " T had three prayers which I thought useless to 
 pray ; one of them was to see you." 
 
 " And the others ? " she begged him to tell. 
 
 " No. You are the best of them," he said. 
 
 ' T would wish them to be better than me if they can 
 
 <;o4
 
 THE HOUSE OF MY FRIENDS 505 
 
 be had," cried this new Marcia. " Dearest, what are your 
 prayers? " 
 
 " One — you shall tell me of that presently. The other 
 — water from my well ! Will you get me that ? " 
 
 " Oh, my Trampy," she cried in deep sorrowfulness of 
 tone. " Don't ask me another thing I can't do ! Your 
 
 well, dear " She stopped; his eyes searched her 
 
 face. 
 
 There he read grief, and wondered what truth was 
 about to pour its poison into his ear. 
 
 " Is dry," she whispered ; " I was told to-day — quite 
 dry ! " 
 
 He tasted the drought of his mother-earth. 
 
 There was silence between them for a while. " And 
 your other prayer? will you tell me that? " Marcia at last 
 found voice to say. 
 
 It seemed an unsubstantial one now, and best left un- 
 spoken : merely to hear a voice ! " One prayer in three is 
 as much as I deserve," said he, and so let the third lie 
 secret. 
 
 Gradual silence fell over this first meeting of brother 
 and sister, while feebleness laid its weight on him once 
 more. When darkness drew him away to sleep. Marcia 
 sat by him still, wondering at the thin flow of life which 
 pricked in his pulse. 
 
 She learned, in the days following, to submit her love 
 to the hardest thing of all — absence from his side. They 
 met but for short moments ; he wished apparently for no 
 more — giving her errands that filled many hours of her 
 time ; service to him that made it just bearable to be away. 
 To Hiddenden and Beacon Farm, and to the small green 
 court at the back of Bembridge High Street, and else- 
 where in the bowered ways round Randogger she took 
 and brought back messages ; she, the jealous one, carrying 
 faithfully and eagerly little messages of love, rendering
 
 506 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 back to him the uncouth eloquence of simple hearts. He 
 was to be quick and get stout again, was Duffin's word. 
 Many echoed it; and sent him, with good wishes, gifts 
 home-grown and home-made, heavy enough sometimes 
 even for Marcia, when she volunteered to save hard-work- 
 ing poor folk the long charitable tramp they proposed. 
 
 One day she came with word of Lady Petwyn back at 
 Hill Alwyn, wrestling with sharp incredulous speech over 
 the news that had reached her. " What's he doing it 
 for?" was the harsh complaint of a tongue that had no 
 soft ways of indicating distress. And, "Fiddlesticks!" 
 quoth she to Marcia's matter-of-fact statement that the 
 doctor's comings were twice a day ; " Tomlin's a very 
 weasel for his fees! An ache costs me more under him 
 than to be turned inside-out up in town. Cut down his 
 calls, and you'll have your prodigal sitting up and eating 
 fatted calf before the week's out ! Oh, yes, take him my 
 best respects; say I'll come over and rout him if he per- 
 sists." A mere saying ; she never put herself to the ordeal, 
 dreading too much to have to believe the sight of her eyes. 
 Marcia, for an obstinately offending countenance, under- 
 went a fierce fly-out of the old dame's abuse. Long faces 
 might go to the hangman for her ; she could not tolerate 
 them. Her own face strained ; she gesticulated, laughing 
 angrily now and then. " Tell him," said she for a 
 wind-up, " that Harriet Jane arrives next week ; that'll 
 brisk him ! " 
 
 That last item of intelligence Marcia did convey to Tris- 
 tram ; comforted for herself also, that her own great friend 
 was soon to be at hand. The prospect brought a definite 
 request to his lips. " When she comes, Marcia, take her 
 into the garden, and — make her laugh." 
 
 She looked at him to wonder, and became wise when 
 he answered, " My third prayer will be granted then." 
 
 But the event proved that he had spoken rightly of the
 
 THE HOUSE OF MY FRIENDS 507 
 
 event; his portion was to be one out of three; just 
 what he deserved, his fate allowed. 
 
 Lady Petwyn unwittingly interposed between him and 
 the fulfilment of that other wish. After the interview 
 with Marcia, she summoned Doctor Tomlin imperiously 
 to a breach of professional etiquette. Having reduced 
 him to submission, she rated him to the doorstep ; till, 
 beholding the kind fellow actually moved to an unmanly 
 display of feeling as he mounted his gig, and realising 
 that her own harsh words were not the immediate cause, 
 she retired abruptly to her own solitude, and may be 
 pardoned by tender hearts for her brief and emphatic 
 damning of Life's play as she beheld it then, under the 
 shivering verge of the last dark curtain's descent. Any 
 comings to Hill Alwyn were countermanded after that. 
 Harriet Jane remained at her Welsh home. 
 
 How far Tristram was from the feast of the fatted calf 
 may be known by this : he, the sociable lover of his 
 fellows, prayed now constantly to be left alone ; now till 
 disembodiment came, he could welcome no longer the 
 touch of hands, the meeting of eyes ; friends, lovers, and 
 kinsfolk, he wished them all to stand afar off, not at 
 gaze. 
 
 Marcia set an obedience that was followed, so far as 
 was possible, by all who moved round the sick chamber. 
 Tristram was given his wish, such freedom as could be 
 his still ; he was let alone. Many hours at his door, the 
 faithful love of his sister kept watch, refusing to break 
 the seal of the privacy which he had chosen as the last 
 refuge of sick body and sick mind. A heart as gentle 
 and as loving did as a duty what Marcia for a like reason 
 left undone. 
 
 One afternoon Tristram became conscious by a faint 
 movement of drapery at his ear that his peace had been 
 invaded. He turned his face and found his mother sitting
 
 508 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 listless and quiet beside the bed. She had the appearance 
 of long waiting, till the effort of watching and expecting 
 had become too much for her ; her eyes drooped, weary 
 over that vigil of attendance for recognition. Now it 
 came, she was no longer on the look-out. 
 
 He moved his hand towards her and spoke; his voice 
 had fallen to a whisper of its old strength. " Why, 
 mother!" he said, "is this right?" She seemed more 
 worn than he imagined himself to be ; it was pity to him 
 to think of her in such weakness coming to him, dragged 
 from the tender ruin of her own days to this, the more 
 tragic scene into which his own had fallen. He pushed 
 his hand in a slow crawl across the coverlet, inviting the 
 clasp that came; she lifted it between thin palms, and 
 drew it to her lap. 
 
 For him she was the greater invalid still ; he was full 
 of solicitude, faintly importuning her to speak. Did she 
 sleep well now, without pain ? 
 
 " Yes, my dear," she answered in the soft grieving tones 
 which suffering had given her. " I get good nights now 
 and then ; except when I have to be thinking of you." 
 
 Her hand invited a response from his. Tristram lay 
 and felt the pressure, and without answer let it relax 
 again, nor knew how to convey to the dear mind contri- 
 tion that any hour of her night's rest should be given up 
 to him. These were helpless loves, his and hers ; they 
 could give and take no comfort from each other now ; to 
 give pain was the one power left to them. Bitter sadness 
 for her filled his heart ; but it held, he knew, no balm to 
 satisfy her prayer for him ; his own prayer was merely to 
 die; could he tell her that? 
 
 So he lay, fearing to move eye or hand, lest he should 
 provoke a touch too personal in a case where all the 
 tenderness in the world could bring no healing. " And 
 she loves me ! " was the wonder that recurred ; and the
 
 THE HOUSE OF MY FRIENDS 509 
 
 convicting thought that she loved not him, but a stranger 
 whom he did not know, came to drive its bitter iron into 
 his soul. 
 
 " She does not love me," he thought, " why should 
 she?" and could no longer thrill to the touch of her 
 frail fingers. What memories, he wondered, had she of 
 him, which made her tender to him now, or what for 
 which her love rebuked him ? Were they those for which 
 he rebuked himself, and was one of them submission and 
 obedience to her blind word? Himself, not her, he 
 charged with the wrong of that ! 
 
 Oh, woman thy son : oh, son thy mother ! What 
 strangers now are two between whom never a harsh word 
 has been ! what failures can be Love's ! 
 
 Her composure melted under his withering silence. She 
 sat weeping silently over the hand she held. Conscious 
 that some of her tears had fallen on him, unguessing the 
 dire anguish they caused, she wondered that no sign came 
 in answer to her grief. He must have a hard heart, she 
 thought, to let her weep on uncomforted ; yet even to have 
 sight of such coldness she turned his way, hoping yet that 
 the spectacle of her sorrow might make him hers. 
 
 The unearthly quiet of his gaze struck her with a kind 
 of dread ; was he disembodied that he could lie there 
 watching the tears that flowed for love of him, and make 
 no answer at all ? 
 
 Soul and body were indeed already in dissolution ; 
 the one no longer expressed what the other felt. Out- 
 wardly this calm ; within the ever-repeated cry, " Oh, 
 mother, and you love me ! " beating against the feeble 
 brain till he almost fainted, to be soul to the soul that 
 could not read him. 
 
 Thus soundless griefs lay between them, and gulfs they 
 could not plumb. Only the mother recognised the weak- 
 ness of the body before her, and on that built up excuse
 
 510 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 for him. She imagined it must have sunk him too low 
 for the experience of emotion, that it was a dying flame 
 without warmth in it, whose expiring struggle she 
 watched. Scarcely did he seem the child whom the birth- 
 pangs had first made dear to her, and whom disgrace 
 heaped on disappointment and trouble had not estranged 
 from her affections. Now, instead, she trusted she might 
 find a human soul waiting for a mother's word to help it : 
 and, as she faced the task, her terror was lest the gentle 
 creed of her life should be short of stark truth, presuming 
 too human a hope under the deeper shadows of God's 
 will. Terrible to her mild eyes was the statement of life 
 here summed up for them to gaze on. Praying for speech, 
 she dreaded lest at last she should fail. She prayed ; yet, 
 when she spoke, it was more intimate and earthly teaching 
 which guided the limited insight of her words. 
 
 " When I lie awake thinking of you." The long silence 
 was broken at last in the repetition of that thought. 
 
 Her tired face as she spoke, nerving herself for what 
 she must say, gave to Tristram's sensitive vision a retro- 
 spect of solitary watchings and prayer that had taxed her 
 beyond her strength. He submitted himself then without 
 a sign to the operation of that loving-kindness which he 
 saw was to fall on him. 
 
 She spoke of what was in her heart ; of her own sorrow 
 and fear ; of his record, leading by self-will and rebellion 
 and sin to this that lay now before their eyes ; nor dared 
 she any longer spare herself from the utterance of words 
 she believed true. "Do not think me hard," she murmured 
 once. Had there been tears in him, he must have shed 
 them then. 
 
 She spoke of the father whom his conduct had 
 estranged. " Do not think," she said, " that he does not 
 suffer and feel a father's love because he has not been to 
 you here. A word of sorrow from you would bring him,
 
 THE HOUSE OF MY FRIENDS 511 
 
 my dear." She paused and said again — "A word from 
 you." 
 
 Tristram was silent. The kindest voice in all the 
 world went on, and delivered up to the end the message 
 it had for his ear. 
 
 " You have been headstrong," she said ; " the young 
 often are. But you with your wild ways and your self- 
 will made so-bad a name for yourself here that we had to 
 let you go away. There are things I do not know ; but I 
 do know that Mr. Hannam most truly forgives you the 
 wrong you did, the deception of his son, letting him cover 
 your sin. Because of you he has no son now to comfort 
 him ; yet he comes, and you will not see him. There, also, 
 my dear, your pride — a word from you." 
 
 Tristram's hand expressed acceptance of her wish. 
 
 His mother said, " You cannot undo what is done ; all 
 the more, what you can do, do ! You have not always 
 banished deceit from your actions, my dear. You may do 
 that now." She referred again to the causes which sent 
 him from home. " In London," she said, " you were given 
 the means to a fresh start ; yet you did not seem even 
 glad of the opportunity. And what did you do with it in 
 the end? Dear boy, let your own conscience answer; I 
 am not asking you to tell me anything now. That chance 
 which your father's kindness gave you, costing him so 
 much at a time when he could ill afford it, that chance 
 also you threw away ! You are young still, yet have much 
 to look back upon that should make you grieve. How 
 many fair hopes you have wrecked, and why ? Think, as 
 you lie here ! " 
 
 Fondling his hand, she spoke her last word. " My boy, 
 my Tristram, you are home again, and your mother's 
 heart has not changed, whatever may have become of 
 yours. When you lie awake, and cannot sleep — you do 
 sometimes, do you not ? — remember that I, too, may be
 
 512 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 keeping awake with you, praying God, if He will, not to 
 hasten the time, but to have pity upon my boy." 
 
 It was ended at last, the voice of sad age to sad youth ; 
 and ignorance, made so little wise by love, had uttered 
 its dear, pitiable, fond say. 
 
 Tristram, without looking at her, thought when all was 
 done, " Does she know what an old man she has been 
 talking to?" Well, this old man had been her child once 
 upon a time. 
 
 It was ended. He could not look at her face ; the 
 thought of her gentle inexperienced age coming to give 
 counsel to him after his own devouring speed through the 
 lessons of life, touched him with its infinite futility. The 
 good grey spirit of her face, that soft domestic presence 
 contemporary to a thousand vibrating memories, made an 
 exquisite demand for grace at his hands at this last time 
 of their meeting. 
 
 His love grew in a fantasy of tenderness. The way she 
 had worn silk and sat to receive company ; the withered 
 flower-like face, the throat wrinkled and thin before the 
 true middle-age had come ; her voice through an open 
 window on warm clays which were still too cold for her ; 
 her gradual disappearance from her place at the family 
 meals ; each short-coming which had fallen to her portion 
 of the bliss of life; all these things accumulated now to 
 lay pitying constraint upon him, bidding him extend to her 
 such comfort as truthfully he could. 
 
 When she had done a trembling seized her; she looked 
 at him with frightened cast-down eyes, her whole spirit a 
 feather for the breath of any rebuff; the weakest lips 
 could have delivered it had they willed. 
 
 Tristram uttered no word. He lay still, stroking her 
 hand down with his own, softly and slowly, many times 
 over; only weakness at last caused him to forbear. 
 
 Then she was gone; and the white drought of the outer
 
 THE HOUSE OF MY FRIENDS 513 
 
 world and the fiery languor of the long afternoon were 
 his infinite companions once more. 
 
 His longing for all the cooling springs earth held buried 
 for the seasons to come, or heaven might one day send 
 and restore, grew slack in a body too feeble to look for 
 anything that was still so undiscoverably far. He wished 
 instead that he might live long enough to see the dawn 
 once more come trembling over the east, folding in its rays 
 the high lonely tree he had climbed when a boy to find the 
 crow's nest wherein a wind-hover had made its home. 
 
 2L
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 IN WHICH THE READER WILL DRAW HIS 
 CONCLUSIONS 
 
 V\70RD went out one evening late in August, that 
 Tristram Gavney lay dead. The news was carried 
 in the rough country dialect from Little Alwyn, over the 
 Beacon way as far as Hiddenden ; in other directions 
 it touched remote places, not named in this record, 
 which the Tramp had visited in his wild rounds, claiming 
 the hospitality of open doors. It was strange how many 
 knew him, had spoken with him, perhaps but once, and 
 remembered him — none unkindly. Lady Petwyn, when 
 the rumour became confirmed, had the blinds of Hill 
 Alwyn down, and went growling up to town to abuse her 
 doctor for the ills he had failed to cure in her. She had 
 taught him to deal frankly with her ; temper he told her 
 was her worst disease. She owned it, and the reason, 
 shaking a haggard face at him. " All my life," she said, 
 "my affections have run iron into me; either into my 
 hair, or my heart, or my legs. I'm a lame dog, doctor 
 (wrong sex, but it doesn't matter) : get me over the stile 
 quick, and have done with me ! " 
 
 He told her his belief that she had another good ten 
 years of life in her. 
 
 "What? can't you send mc to some waters where I 
 can get poisoned off quicker than that?" she asked him, 
 " you aren't half a doctor! " 
 
 5*4
 
 CONCLUSIONS 515 
 
 She went off huffing, full of complaints and grey loneli- 
 ness, but not in the least either wishing or intending to 
 depart this life with the speed her words indicated. Hill 
 Alwyn saw her not again till the next spring. Tristram's 
 grave was then already green ; homely in its surroundings, 
 so wearing a likeness to his memory in simple minds 
 which had seen but the kindly surface of his youth. 
 
 Mr. Gavney, fulfilling the last duty of a father, had 
 walked as chief mourner to his son's dishonoured remains. 
 Surprised, he noted how many attended at so simple a 
 ceremony ; it was gratifying as a tribute to the high re- 
 spect which the name of Gavney had attained in the neigh- 
 bourhood. That Lady Petwyn's unoccupied carriage 
 should follow his own, was a condescension of sympathy 
 which helped him greatly in the ordeal he had to undergo. 
 
 Somewhat troubling to his mind was the presence of 
 Marcia, whose insistence in the matter had seemed to him 
 un feminine, hardly in keeping with the social usages of 
 the day. He had told her it was unnecessary. Her 
 answer had been, " I must." So she was there, moving 
 in a world of thoughts which revealed nothing of their 
 nature in her face. A single sentence uttered after the 
 ceremony, told him much of her fortunate ignorance con- 
 cerning her brother's true character. He spoke on the 
 way home of the mother, so broken in her grief, and con- 
 fessed his anxious haste to get back to her. Thinking of 
 her, he could not spare to indicate the trial and disappoint- 
 ment of such a sen to so tender a heart. " Youth is so 
 selfish," he lamented, covering the individual in the type. 
 
 Marcia said, " All that I ever learned of unselfishness 
 was from him. No one knew him as I did ! " 
 
 To Mr. Gavney the remark sounded uncomfortably 
 inappropriate. Wishing to be tender to her he said, " You 
 saw a better side of him than he showed to others." 
 
 She answered passionately, " I did ! yet I never loved
 
 516 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 him enough !" and was silent thereafter, having eased her- 
 self of a duty which she conceived she owed to Tristram's 
 memory ; her outspokenness secured silence in her hear- 
 ing from lips which could speak no truth of one she held 
 in honour. 
 
 What did speak surely were the two letters under one 
 cover which the irony of fate had brought over-sea only 
 that morning. It was by Tristram's wish that Marcia laid 
 claim to missives which came addressed to him, thinking 
 with sisterly content how out there one dear memory was 
 safe. They bore a far-away post-mark, not to be called 
 foreign by one whose blood belonged to the great modern 
 mother of nations. In them she read of a man she loved, 
 happy with another woman, pledged to a life that suited 
 his faculties. Both letters named her, both blessed Tris- 
 tram. Lizzie's she laid to her face, and could shed on it 
 the tears which had not fallen by her brother's open grave. 
 
 Only an extract from it may be given here, where every- 
 thing is so near an end. " Just a line," wrote Lizzie, " to 
 say with my own hand that we are happy and doing well, 
 and my one trouble quite over. You will understand I 
 am happy if I can write that! The new baby belongs to 
 you and is to have your name ; he is yours any time you 
 like to come for him ; or must we bring him to you ? 
 Little Raymond has your portrait over his bed ; he sits up 
 and kisses it, and calls it his beautiful man ; and says he 
 remembers you, though it's not truly possible. He grows 
 too fast for anything, and knows more than I have time 
 to teach him. I tell him I write to you, and he sends a kiss 
 inside this mark to his ' beautiful man.' 
 
 ' My other Raymond looks well, and so much the squire 
 for all the rough life and the ways out here. The people 
 round call him that, and he's pleased ; for he always does 
 like to lead, as you know. 
 
 ' What he tells you is true : you would be welcome as
 
 CONCLUSIONS 517 
 
 day to come and be with us, as your letter last year said 
 perhaps you might. I'm glad this one's to be called Tris- 
 tram, else I should be afraid of Raymond being the only 
 favourite. Thank Marcia for remembering me, with my 
 love ; whenever I make things for my two babies I think 
 of her. Whatever I do, 1 believe I have you somewhere 
 back in my thoughts, and so shall always, dear friend." 
 
 This simple message of remembering hearts told one 
 thing surely, making it very precious to Marcia as she 
 read. There, where Tristram was loved, he still lived. 
 
 It was his certificate ; a piece of his life snatched from 
 waste. She carried it all day at her heart, and at night 
 spread it before her mother's eyes to see how much of 
 its inner meaning they would discover. Mrs. Gavney read 
 it and remained uninstructed ; sighing, she laid it by. She 
 took her daughter fondly in her arms for their good-night 
 embrace. ' You, dear," she said, " are left to me," and 
 wept self-pityingly. With a sort of loyalty to some good 
 that might have been in him, she refrained from speaking 
 her boy's name ; it seemed to bring back his faults and his 
 father's anger. 
 
 To Marcia, passing through the country-side under the 
 droppings of autumn's gold, it became scarcely possible 
 to think of Tristram as dead. Wherever she moved his 
 feet had been before her ; wherever she stopped were 
 people who had known him, upon whose lives his hand 
 had lain lightly in a hundred small ways ; it was as his 
 sister that they greeted her. Through that common bond 
 she came to have a better and a far kindlier understanding 
 of her fellow-men ; and by a deeper insight into the losses 
 and recompenses of individual lives to make a humbler 
 claim for happiness in her own. It was a teaching which 
 led her to set less store on the books that had been too 
 much her world, and to look more into human faces for 
 the knowledge she must turn to use.
 
 518 A MODERN ANTAEUS 
 
 Apart from this record, I set two passages from the 
 poets, expressive of what those who loved him in different 
 ways might have felt was the true thing to be said of 
 Tristram when at last the fever of his days was ended. 
 Marcia's word, one might be called; the other that of a 
 very gentle, charitable woman, his mother. Like epitaphs, 
 one-sided statements of truth, let them stand. They 
 differ; yet each of them in its way defines a life which the 
 world has to regard as a failure ; and in one or other of 
 them the reader may find a moral to the record which now 
 closes.
 
 I. 
 
 " And Youth, / most bewail thee, 
 
 Thy purpose was so great ; 
 But t lie foes that did assail thee 
 
 Were stronger than thy fate, 
 And thy heart it was so ruddy red 
 
 That every archer knew 
 Where he might best impale thee 
 
 And drive his arrows through." 
 
 II. 
 
 " All this, and more, comes from some young man's pride 
 Of power to see, — in failure and mistake, 
 
 Relinquishment, disgrace, on every side — 
 Merely examples for his sake, 
 
 Helps to his path untried." 1
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-Series 4939
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 376 853 8
 
 i i 
 
 
 
 utt 
 
 I 11 
 
 i^mm 
 
 m