92.3 
 co732
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/phantomfuture01merr
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE 
 
 PHANTOM FUTURE 
 
 HENRY SETON MERRIMAN 
 
 AUTHOR OF "YOUNG MISTLEY 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON 
 
 |)nblisbers in ©rbinaro to %n UTajfstg % Q"«" 
 1888 
 
 [All rights reserved]
 
 Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, 
 london and bitngay. 
 
 U^
 
 .4 
 
 f 
 
 r 
 
 i 
 
 ^3 
 1J 
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " Greybeard crept through a village street, 
 ^ His head was bowed, his weary feet 
 
 Were bruised and torn. 
 A staff in his right hand he bare, 
 The wind played with his silver hair — 
 His coat was worn. 
 
 Onward he passed through golden corn, 
 "Weary with toil from early morn 
 
 He cast him down. 
 A youth and maiden came along, 
 Grave she ; but he, with noisy song 
 
 Learnt in the town. 
 
 ^ ' "What seek you in this sunny field ? ' 
 
 ^ Greybeard, to whom he thus appealed, 
 
 i/\ Slow raised his head — 
 
 1 A Phantom Future I pursue ! ' 
 
 * * * ' * * 
 
 ' Methinks we seek the same as you,' 
 The maiden said."
 
 CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. 
 
 myra's bar 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 SYRa's ADMIRERS 
 
 ... 18 
 
 III. 
 
 THE FUTURE 
 
 ... 34 
 
 IV. 
 
 GOLDHEATH 
 
 ... 48 
 
 V. 
 
 OLD SHIPMATES ... 
 
 ... 66 
 
 VI. 
 
 PLAYMATES 
 
 ... 84 
 
 VII. 
 
 crozier's LIE ... 
 
 ... 102 
 
 VIII. 
 
 RESURRECTION PIE 
 
 ... 116 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE ACADEMY OF CHEERFULNESS 
 
 ... 133 
 
 X. 
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MELANCHOLY ... 
 
 ... 147 
 
 XI. 
 
 QUICKSAND 
 
 ... 163 
 
 XII. 
 
 HOLDSWORTH MOVES 
 
 ... 174 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE DOCTOR'S MALADY... 
 
 ... 189 
 
 XIV. 
 
 BURNT FINGERS ... 
 
 ... 205 
 
 XV. 
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE 
 
 ... 218 
 
 XVI. 
 
 INTRUDERS 
 
 ... 235 
 
 XVII. 
 
 syra's SECRET ... 
 
 ... 253
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MYRAS BAR. 
 
 " XTES, Mr. Crozier, I think it is very good. 
 
 -L Tell me, will it make a difference in 
 his life ? " 
 
 The girl who spoke closed the book she had 
 been glancing through, and laid it upon the 
 marble counter among the sherry-decanters, 
 black china match-boxes, and ash-trays. She 
 was only a barmaid, and the brilliant gas shining 
 down from a sun-light in the ceiling overhead 
 betrayed the fact that her faultless face was not 
 quite innocent of artificial aid. Faultless ? — no, 
 not quite faultless. The lower lip was pressed 
 upward when in repose, forcing the upper 
 
 vol. I. 1 1
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 slightly out of place. The expression imparted 
 thus to the daintiest mouth imaginable was not 
 disagreeable, but it was somewhat sad, if studied 
 closely, for it seemed to imply that existence 
 was an effort. 
 
 The man to whom her innocent question was 
 addressed did not answer at once. He took a 
 long sip of whiskey-and- water, and by 'a turn 
 of his tongue shifted his cigar from the left to 
 the right-hand corner of his mouth. He was 
 a heavy- shouldered man, with a large head and 
 small blue eyes set close together. When he 
 thought deeply his eyes appeared to contract 
 and sink deeper beneath the splendid forehead. 
 This expression came over his face now, although 
 his gaze was fixed on nothing more interesting 
 than the linoleum which covered the floor. 
 
 " I don't know," he said, thoughtfully ; and 
 being seated on a high stool he swung his right 
 les backwards and forwards. "It is hard to 
 say what the result will be. He is such a 
 harum-scarum sort of fellow that one never 
 knows what he will do next. Seems to be sick 
 of medicine, does he not ? " 
 
 2
 
 MYRA'S BAR. 
 
 The girl had risen from her seat behind 
 the bar, displaying a perfect figure, shown to 
 full advantage by a tight-fitting black dress. 
 She moved along to the end of the curving 
 counter and turned the gas that burnt beneath 
 a huge silver coffee-urn slightly higher. 
 
 " They will be coming in, in a few minutes," 
 she murmured to herself, glancing upwards at 
 the clock suspended on the wall opposite. Then 
 she answered Crozier's question carelessly and 
 indifferently, after the manner of a person who 
 has been talking on uninteresting topics all 
 day. 
 
 " Yes ; he seems tired of it. I do not think 
 that he ever was very enthusiastic about it 
 though ! " 
 
 Her voice was somewhat deep and she spoke 
 very neatly, clipping her words occasionally in a 
 manner which suggested that she had, at one 
 time, learnt elocution. 
 
 "Sickening profession," grumbled the man. 
 He emitted a cloud of smoke from his lips 
 without removing the cigar, and looking up 
 presently, saw that it floated directly into the 
 
 3
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 girl's face and around her elaborately dressed 
 fair hair. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said hastily, and 
 with his broad hand he waved the smoke aside 
 gravely. 
 
 " Oh, never mind," she laughed, " I do not 
 mind smoke. I have been accustomed to it 
 for some years now. There are very often ten 
 of you smoking in this little room in the 
 evening." 
 
 She spoke in a quick, heartless way, with a 
 conventional smile upon her lips. 
 
 " flakes no difference," he said gravely. " You 
 may be accustomed to it, but I have been 
 accustomed to look upon myself as a gentle- 
 man for the last fifteen years or so. It may 
 be a mistake — probably it is — but it is a 
 little idiosyncrasy which does no one much 
 harm." 
 
 For a moment an odd expression flitted 
 through the girl's eyes, or to be more strictly 
 correct, an expression came where none had been 
 before, for her eyes were singularly cold and 
 lifeless. She was occupied with the duties 
 
 4
 
 MYBA'S BAR. 
 
 appertaining to her office — polishing decanters, 
 arranging symmetrically inverted wine-glasses 
 and tumblers upon the marble counter, and 
 seeing that a plentiful supply of each brand 
 of whiskey was ready, for Myra's Bar boasted of 
 seventeen different distillations in Scotch whiskeys 
 alone. 
 
 She glanced towards the heavy-featured man 
 who was the sole occupant of the little room 
 of which she was the presiding divinity and — 
 almost spoke. Her lips were parted for an 
 instant, and then they closed again with the 
 odd upward pressure. If any man or woman in 
 the world had reason to be thankful for Samuel 
 Crozier's idiosyncrasy, this girl most assuredly 
 was that human being. 
 
 Of all the frequenters of this small curtained 
 room at the back of Myra's Bar he was the 
 only man who took her seriously, who gave 
 her credit for being something more than a 
 beautiful machine whose duty it was to smile 
 at doubtful jokes, ignore double meanings, and 
 pass from morning till night glasses of a hundred 
 different intoxicating liquors across a marble 
 
 5
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 counter into unsteady hands. There were other 
 gentlemen among these thirsty souls, men with 
 true and gentle hearts perhaps, with deep- 
 hidden hopes and aspirations ; but they re- 
 served the graver sides of their lives for other 
 moments. They dropped into Myra's on their 
 way to their engraving-shops, after hospital 
 hours, or before the stage-doors were open ; and 
 they came to discuss the newest play, the latest 
 book, or the best picture. They never drank 
 very much, but they talked a great deal, and 
 laughed more. Myra's Bar was no place for 
 gravity. 
 
 Crozier took up the book again, and slowly 
 turning over the pages, looked at the illustrations 
 critically. To the letterpress he gave no heed. 
 Perhaps the poems were familiar to him, or, 
 more likely still, he did not care for such stuff, 
 although there was a well-read look about his 
 face. The drawings were exquisite, soft, deli- 
 cate, and full of subtle meaning. The hand that 
 guided the pencil might almost have held the 
 pen. It was a well-known collection, but never 
 had such au edition appeared before, never 
 
 6
 
 MYBA'S BAB. 
 
 had Longfellow's thoughts met with such a 
 sympathetic exponent. 
 
 Crozier rarely talked of himself. That subject 
 was laid aside by his action of taking up the 
 book. 
 
 " Yes, Syra," he said, in a business-like tone, 
 " there is good work here — better work than 
 sawing bones and making pills." 
 
 " And drinking gin-and-bitters," added the 
 girl, with a faint suggestion of severity in her 
 tone. Her back w 7 as turned towards him, and 
 a very graceful back it w 7 as. She w r as wiping 
 the dust from the shelves, which rose in a tier 
 up to the ceiling, all glittering with full and 
 brilliantly-labelled bottles. Crozier looked up 
 with slightly raised eyebrows. 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, cynically ; and he pushed 
 his empty glass across towards her, adding at the 
 same time, " I'll have a little more poison, please." 
 
 She turned and gave him some whiskey from 
 a small glass barrel, measuring the quantity 
 rapidly and dexterously with a silver vessel 
 shaped like a tiny tumbler. 
 
 He opened his light top-coat in order to take 
 7
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 a cigar from an inner pocket, and in doing so 
 displayed that he was in dress clothes. The 
 manner in which he wore them seemed to imply 
 that he was in the habit of donning such apparel 
 every night. 
 
 " Have you been singing to-night ? " asked 
 the girl carelessly. 
 
 " Xo ; I have been to the opening of the new 
 comic opera," he replied, with a cleverly sup- 
 pressed yawn ; " Minette, they call it. But I came 
 away early ; I could not stand it. Very poor 
 music, very badly sung. Syra, mark my words, 
 these comic operas, redolent of ... of ..." he 
 hesitated, and looked at her quizzically, " of gin- 
 and-bitters, let us say — reeking with Strand 
 slano-, overwhelmed with vulvar ' business/ and 
 disfigured by stupid ' gag ' — are dancing over the 
 grave of music, deceased, and reproduced in 
 painted wax-work like Madame Tussaud's defunct 
 heroes." 
 
 Beneath his thick cloak of bitter cynicism the 
 man really felt what he was saying. Had Syra 
 been a reader of newspapers, she would have 
 found a strangely ambiguous criticism in several 
 
 8
 
 MYRA'S BAB. 
 
 of the "dailies " next morning, which one and 
 all left a very vague impression of the merits 
 of Minette, and in no way coincided with the 
 opinion just expressed. But Syra was not 
 thinking of the opera at all. 
 
 ""Was Mr. Valliant with you?" she asked 
 indifferently. 
 
 " No," was the prompt reply. " I have not 
 seen him since this morning. No doubt he will 
 be coming in soon." 
 
 " I wish he would not come in so often." 
 
 " Syra," said Crozier, reproachfully, " that is 
 not a business-like remark. I have endeavoured 
 for some years . . . years, no ! let us say months — 
 to make you look at things and men in a business- 
 like manner. I am disappointed ! " 
 
 The girl laughed, but did not look towards him. 
 
 " One cannot always be business-like," she 
 replied, in her neat w T ay. 
 
 " Why not ? Everything goes ; youth, illu- 
 sions, pleasure, whiskey, and even music. Only 
 work stays with us. Therefore let us be business- 
 like. Besides, your remark was rude. Mr. 
 Valliant is my friend." 
 
 9
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " One would hardly think so." 
 
 " Indeed," said Crozier, with great serenity. 
 " Am I to understand that you are of opinion 
 that Samuel Crozier's friendship is a doubtful 
 acquisition ? " 
 
 She laughed again in a terribly mechanical 
 way, and shrugged her shoulders saucily. 
 
 " As you like." 
 
 "Then please pass me the water. I will 
 drown this amber liquid and my dull grief at 
 the same time." 
 
 She handed him the carafe, and turned away 
 a^ain, standing with her two hands — a little 
 reddened by constant contact with beer and 
 other liquors — resting upon the marble counter. 
 It was thus that she stood when the little bar- 
 room was full ; at attention, surrounded by her 
 innumerable bottles, with all her decanters at 
 hand, in front of the cash- drawer. 
 
 He filled up his glass with grave deliberation, 
 and a hand that was as steady as a rock. 
 
 " There is something," he said, as he raised 
 the glass, "in the atmosphere of this secluded 
 chamber to-ni^ht which is new to me. Smoke 
 
 10
 
 MYRAS BAB. 
 
 I see ; chops, kidneys, and other delicate odours 
 of the grill I detect, wafted in no doubt from 
 the neighbouring supper-room, where the portly 
 Myra dispenses hospitality at a fixed and moderate 
 charge. But it is none of these. Neither is it 
 the subtle scent of whiskey. It is impalpable, 
 indefinite. Syra, is it Virtue ? " 
 
 Beneath her lowered lids she glanced side- 
 ways towards him, and her lips curled slightly 
 in a smile which was almost sickly and quite 
 unpleasant. She was accustomed to Crozier's 
 grave jocularity, and rose to the occasion at 
 once. 
 
 "If it is," she said merrily, " be very careful 
 how you inhale it." 
 
 He smiled at the sally, and rose from his seat 
 to cross the room towards the fireplace where a 
 few cinders lingered unheeded. It was late in 
 February, and a fire was hardly necessary in the 
 small curtained room where the gas burnt all 
 day. "With a flip of his finger he threw the ash 
 from his cio-ar cleverly into the cinders. Then 
 
 o 
 
 he turned and walked slowly towards her. 
 
 " There is something wrong to-night," he said. 
 11
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " What is it ? Have you bad a young Christian 
 in here from Exeter Hall, or has some mistaken 
 person been leaving tracts ? " 
 
 There was a subtle difference in his tone, so 
 slight and. so delicate, that no one who did not 
 know his manner very well would have suspected 
 that he was quite serious. The girl, however, 
 whose human studies must have been very 
 interesting and strangely contradictory, knew 
 at once that he expected a grave reply. 
 
 " Is it right," she asked quickly, " that a 
 man who can draw like that," and she laid her 
 hand upon the book, " should spend his time 
 drinking and smoking in here ? " 
 
 Again he looked at her in a gravely quizzical 
 manner. 
 
 "Is it right," he asked solemnly, " that a 
 man who can sing like Sam Crozier should make 
 music for the common herd of St. James's Hall ? 
 Is not his place in another sphere with a golden 
 harp of his own ? Is it right that Miss Faucit, 
 the fair and gracious, otherwise known as Syra, 
 should dispense liquid nourishment to Tom, Dick, 
 and Harry, receiving in return badly turned 
 
 12
 
 MYBA'S BAR. 
 
 compliments ? Is anything right, Syra — life, 
 trouble, woe, and joy ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Don't play the fool ! " exclaimed the 
 girl impatiently. 
 
 "My dear Syra, I am as grave as a judge. 
 The world would be a dull place if there were 
 no fools, or no wise men with a turn for playing 
 the fool." 
 
 " I wish," said the girl, without looking to- 
 wards him, " that you would keep Mr. Valliant 
 away from here, and from all these loafers whom 
 he is pleased to call his friends." 
 
 " I ? " he exclaimed in wonder. " What have 
 I to do with it ? " 
 
 " You are the only man who has any influ- 
 ence with him, the only one among them all 
 who knows anything of his private life, who is 
 acquainted with his people/' 
 
 Crozier raised his glass to his lips, and took a 
 slow, meditative sip. His face was very grave 
 when he set it down again, and his deep-set eyes 
 were overshadowed. 
 
 "Why this interest in Valliant?" he asked 
 pointedly. 
 
 13
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 She met Lis deep, searching glance with calm 
 assurance. Then suddenly she laughed in his 
 face and shook her head merrily. 
 
 " How funny ! " she exclaimed. " Did you 
 really think . . . ." 
 
 "No/' he interrupted, "I thought nothing. 
 Thinking does not lie in my line of country. 
 I merely asked a question." 
 
 " And I will answer it. This interest in Mr. 
 Yalliant comes from the fact that he is too good 
 for such a life as he is drifting into. You and 
 he are different — different from the rest of them. 
 You may not dress so well, you may not be so 
 rich, but — but you know what I mean/' 
 
 u I suppose I do," he replied, swinging his leg 
 and glancing up at the clock. " But I don't 
 think you can accuse me of leading him astray. 
 He came up to town to pass his exams and go 
 through the hospital. Is it my fault that he 
 should have fallen into the fastest set ? It was 
 bound to be the case ; the cleverest men as a rule 
 are the fastest, and Yalliant is the sort of fellow 
 to be at the front wherever he may be. He is 
 
 not a rear-rank man." 
 
 14
 
 MYBA'S BAR. 
 
 " Bat you can hold him back." 
 
 " Perhaps," said the man, with an odd, con- 
 scious look upon his powerful face. " Perhaps I 
 do hold him back. Perhaps, Syra. I know him 
 better than you. Has it never struck you that 
 he is the sort of man who can never be influenced 
 by strong measures — a man who is as difficult 
 to lead or hold back as a woman ? He cannot 
 bear the curb and spur." 
 
 He rose and walked towards the heavy curtains 
 which, falling together across a broad doorway, 
 separated the inner from the outer apartment. 
 There were a few men in the larger room where 
 Myra held sway ; second-rate actors whose 
 evening duties were over, and journalistic 
 loafers. They were all talking in loud tones 
 of matters dramatic, and there was an attendant 
 clink of glasses. The odour that came through 
 the curtains was only that of the little room 
 intensified and more heavily laden with the 
 smell of cooking. 
 
 Syra stood beside the coffee-urn absently 
 fingering a pair of sugar-tongs, and when 
 Crozier returned she did not desist or look up. 
 
 15
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 "You were rude just now," he said in his 
 habitual semi-bantering way, "I will return it. 
 Do you think for a moment, Syra, that I come 
 here because I have fallen a victim to your 
 charms ? Does it seem a likely thing that I 
 should prefer this little room with its smoky, 
 smelly atmosphere to a comfortable arm-chair 
 and an evening paper across the road at the 
 Savage Club?" 
 
 The girl threw the sugar-tongs carelessly 
 on to the marble counter, where they fell 
 with a loud clang, and glanced up at the 
 clock. 
 
 " Then," she said curtly, " you are watching 
 him." 
 
 " I am doing what I can." 
 
 " Why not warn his — his people % " 
 
 He laughed and contemplated the end of his 
 cigar complacently. 
 
 " I have not trodden the stony paths of 
 existence for thirty years, young woman, without 
 learning to mind my own business." 
 
 " Which means that I will do well to mind 
 
 mine, I suppose ? " 
 
 16
 
 MYEA'S BAR. 
 
 " Which means exactly what it says. What 
 I intend to be understood I usually say in a 
 manner which allows of no misunderstanding. 
 It is very good of you to think of the matter 
 at all. Be careful ! Here they come ! " 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 M 
 
 SYRA S ADMIRERS. 
 
 YRA'S" was situated not in the Strand 
 
 itself, but in a narrow street running 
 upward and northward. An old lease, a central 
 position, and a faithful clientele had combined to 
 ruin Myra's trim figure arid make her active 
 life a happy one. Among her regular patrons 
 were a few journalists, a few actors, and a few 
 engravers, but her kedge-anchor was Saint 
 Antony's. The students at that Samaritan estab- 
 lishment never swerved from their devotion 
 to the little chop-house. Syras came and Syras 
 went, but Saint Antony's remained for ever. 
 Rotund and jovial Myra was part of their educa- 
 tion, and in her motherly way she performed a 
 vast deal of good among the boys learning in 
 
 18
 
 SYRA'S ADMIREBS. 
 
 the cheeriest possible manner the saddest 
 profession a man can undertake. 
 
 Myra could cook a chop in the most dainty 
 way, and with a broad warm smile she had 
 grilled many a succulent kidney for pale-faced 
 students whose appetites had suffered from a 
 grim morning's work in the accident ward. 
 More than one anxious mother to whom distant 
 London was a den of thieves and haunt of sirens, 
 owed an unsuspected debt to this portly dame. 
 More than one medical student had been saved 
 from sfoinff iust a little too far by a laughing: 
 word of caution, delivered with uplifted fork 
 and face all glowing from proximity to the 
 spluttering grill. 
 
 It mav be thought that the inner room with 
 its goddess was rather a blot upon the fair 
 reputation of " Myra's," but in excuse there is 
 much to be said. Profits are large, and Myra 
 argued comfortably that if her supporters did 
 not drink there they would drink somewhere 
 else. She was a remarkably quick reader of 
 human faces, and the young persons selected to 
 assume charge of the inner bar and take the 
 
 19
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 inevitable name of Syra were invariably such as 
 the stout proprietress ambiguously called "good 
 girls." 
 
 It will perhaps be politic to confess at once 
 that Saint Antony's was not a steady hospital. 
 The disciples of the revered Saint were not 
 young men from whose ranks many promising 
 Sunday-school teachers could have been selected, 
 but (like many of us) they were less black than 
 it was their good or evil fortune to be painted. 
 Very few of them went irretrievably to the dogs. 
 Hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder they 
 danced merrily enough clown the slope, but 
 before the impetus was allowed to gain mastery 
 over their legs, some one or other (it was never 
 quite known who) would give a check and set 
 a firm foot ; then shoulder pressed closer to 
 shoulder and hand clasped hand more bravely. 
 
 These cheery followers of iEsculapius now 
 trooped through Myra's apartment with many 
 an evening greeting for the lady herself. The 
 curtain of the inner room was drawn hastily 
 aside and a voice called out — " Syra, my own, 
 accept thy slave's devotion." 
 
 20
 
 S YEA'S ABMIEEES. 
 
 The man who spoke entered the room first. 
 When he perceived Crozier the smile that lighted 
 up his sharp, merry face wavered for a minute. 
 
 "Ah, Sam," he said, "how are you, old 
 fellow ? " 
 
 He was of medium height, of slight and 
 graceful build, with small, frail hands and feet. 
 His pallor, which was remarkable, had no dis- 
 agreeable association of ill-health with it, for his 
 complexion was singularly clean and cream-like. 
 It was the steady, unchangeable whiteness of a 
 refined Italian, which remains unaltered morning, 
 noon, and night ; through health and sickness, 
 through joy and grief. Seen in repose the 
 features were good; a small straight nose, red 
 lips, and a dainty chin thrust forward ; but 
 repose was rare. The lips were always curling 
 in laughter, the eyes were always dancing with 
 merriment ; and yet he never laughed aloud^ 
 there was no voice in his mirth. He was clean 
 shaven, and there was no blue shade about his 
 lip or chin to suggest that a luxuriant growth of 
 moustache or beard called for a very sharp razor. 
 
 In an instant his quick dark eyes lighted 
 21
 
 THE PH AXIOM FUTURE. 
 
 upon the book which lay among the decanters 
 near to Syra's hand, and he turned to the 
 comrades who had followed close upon his heels. 
 
 " Friends, Eomans, sawbones," he exclaimed 
 oratorically, " the cat has escaped. I am at 
 liberty to tell you that my ship has come home. 
 Breathe into Syra's shell- like ear what your 
 health requires and refer her to me. To-night 
 I bury the scalpel and start growing an artistic 
 head of hair ! " 
 
 They were accustomed to surprises of this 
 description, these decorous revellers. Among 
 them were men who had already written books 
 and painted pictures ; others there were with 
 manuscripts and canvases secretly treasured. 
 Tom Valliant had made a hit. All the better 
 for Tom Valliant ! Drink to his success at Ids 
 expense, without thought of envy. 
 
 While the noisy group clustered round Syra 
 and peered over each other's shoulders at the 
 book, calling out their requirements as they 
 did so, Valliant drifted nearer to Crozier, who 
 was still sitting on a high stool beside the 
 marble counter swinging one leg idly. 
 
 22
 
 SYBA'S ADMIRERS. 
 
 " Well, Sam," lie said alnost gravely, beneath 
 the cover of many voices ; " well, old fellow, 
 what do you think of it ? " 
 
 Already he was looking the other way, 
 laughing in his soft, noiseless way at some 
 sally, and his eyes were still dancing with 
 merriment when he turned again for Crozier's 
 reply. 
 
 " It is good," said the singer kindly, " very 
 good ; and the drawings have not been spoilt 
 by the engraving. There is a long life in the 
 future for that book/' 
 
 Yalliant seemed scarcely to have heard. He 
 was waving his hand above his head to attract 
 Syra's attention. She was very busy, and her 
 pink fingers flitted from one decanter to another 
 with marvellous and noiseless celerity. At 
 length she looked up, and Yalliant called out, 
 " Oh, faithless one, think of me ! " 
 
 She knew only too well w T hat he wanted, and 
 the little silver measure came into use. Her 
 movements were so quick that there seemed 
 hardly time for her to have measured at all. 
 
 When the glass was handed to Yalliant he 
 23
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 raised it and looked at the quantity critically, 
 with, however, the ready smile in his eyes. 
 Then he turned with mock indignation to the 
 man nearest to him, a tall and solemn medical 
 student. 
 
 " I really believe," he exclaimed, " that Syra 
 gives me short measure on purpose." 
 
 He took another glass that happened to be 
 within reach and held the two side by side above 
 his head. 
 
 " Look here, you fellows," he cried ; " com- 
 pare these two, and tell me when and how and 
 where I have done aught to deserve such 
 treatment from Syra ! " 
 
 The men laughed aloud and groaned in unison, 
 depreciatively. Crozier alone was grave, but 
 his gravity was never forbidding, never cold ; 
 there was a sympathetic warmth about it which 
 was almost as good as a smile. He glanced 
 towards the girl, and from his position at the 
 end of the counter he could see her where she 
 had laughingly taken refuge behind the coffee- 
 urn. His deep-set eyes met a distinct and 
 unmistakable glance of appeal, which was more 
 
 24
 
 SYBA'S ADMIRERS. 
 
 remarkable from the usual clulness of the girl's 
 expression. Moreover she was scarlet. Syra 
 was blushing a deep, painful blush beneath her 
 powder, such as had not swept upwards to those 
 dainty cheeks for many a year. 
 
 Then Crozier suddenly joined in the general 
 laughter, and raised his mellow voice with a 
 quiet consciousness of power, a well-founded 
 knowledge of the fact that he would be heard 
 and heeded. 
 
 " It is," he said, " because you fellows hurry 
 her so. One would think that you had not seen 
 a tumbler or a wine-glass for months. If you 
 want full measure you should come in quietly 
 as I do before the theatres are out. I really 
 think, Syra, you ought to fill that up." 
 
 The girl took the glass and obeyed him 
 without, however, glancing in his direction. 
 
 "Mr. Crozier," she said lightly to Valliant, 
 " was accusing me just now of being unbusiness- 
 like. As soon as I display the true spirit of 
 commerce, you pounce upon me." 
 
 " Never mind what he says, Syra," replied 
 Valliant, raising the glass to his lips. 
 
 25
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 He took a long draught and set it down half 
 empty. Near to it was the glass of the solemn 
 medical student, who happened to be looking 
 the other way. It contained much more, and 
 with great gravity Valliant changed the glasses, 
 keeping the fuller one for himself. 
 
 " Never mind, Syra," he continued, " I bear 
 no malice. I love my Syra with an S because 
 she swindles. As a proof of my forgiveness 
 accept these lilies which have adorned this 
 manly breast all the evening." 
 
 With a careless laugh he turned away, while 
 the girl placed the flowers in her belt. He 
 began discussing a new play with one of the 
 actors in it. It happened to be the man who 
 played the lover's part, rendering it with ex- 
 quisite pathos, and yet the two laughed and 
 joked. No one was allowed to be grave, to 
 treat anything seriously, when Tom Valliant 
 was near. 
 
 Crozier was still seated at the end of the bar, 
 still swinging his strong leg idly. His arm 
 was resting on the counter and his finger and 
 thumb restlessly polished his glass up and down. 
 
 26
 
 8TRA'8 ADMIRERS. 
 
 He was watching Syra meditatively, his lips 
 slightly parted, his eyes contracted in his usual 
 indifferently speculative manner. 
 
 "Poor Syra!" he was thinking; "I wonder 
 how long she has been playing that trick upon 
 him." 
 
 Presently some new arrivals made their 
 appearance, and the little room became uncom- 
 fortably crowded. Among them were a few 
 actors of clean- washed appearance and red- 
 rimmed eyes, but perhaps the most conspicuous 
 was a tall, pale-faced youth immaculately dressed, 
 clean-shaven, and aristocratic. He was a medical 
 student, the son of a well-known west- country 
 physician. A new disciple of St. Antony's, and 
 the best-dressed man in the room. Perhaps he 
 was too well dressed. His clothes had not the 
 appearance of sitting easily, and there was an 
 awkward, self-conscious suggestion of discomfort 
 in his gestures. Walter Varden was a gentle- 
 man, but he had the misfortune to be a fool. 
 Xow, among ladies a fool often gets on very 
 well if he has the good sense to stop short of 
 familiarity in his friendships ; but men soon 
 
 27
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 discover the depth or shallowness of each other's 
 intellects. St. Antony's voted "Walter Varden 
 a fool, and they were quite right ; but he was 
 accorded an un^rudsjinsj welcome at Mvras, and 
 his foolishness was good-naturedly ignored. He 
 was not in reality a bad fellow, and it was 
 convenient for the lesser wits to have a butt 
 always at hand upon which to practise. Also 
 he had plenty of money, and was an easy victim 
 for borrowers. 
 
 His manner of addressing Syra and the heavy 
 style in which he attempted to establish a flirta- 
 tion grated upon the nerves of some of the older 
 men. He now came in, and with a vacuous nod 
 for any one whose policy it might be to wish 
 him good evening, leant awkwardly across the 
 counter close to Crozier. 
 
 " Syra," he said, mysteriously, with a beckon- 
 ing finger upraised. 
 
 In a few moments she came towards him 
 without hurrying. The men who happened to 
 be near turned to hear what he might have to 
 communicate. There was a tacit understanding- 
 
 o 
 
 among the admirers of Syra that no monopoly 
 
 28
 
 SYRA'S ADMIRERS. 
 
 was to be allowed, and this new-comer seemed 
 inclined to ignore the wholesome rule. 
 
 " Syra," said Yarden, in a patronizingly 
 lowered voice, " I have two tickets for a ball at 
 the Westminster town-hall to-morrow night ; 
 I'll take you. There will not be a soul I know 
 there, and we will have a lark." 
 
 She laughed in her easy mechanical way, and 
 turned aside to attend to some one else. 
 
 " No, thanks," she said. 
 
 " Why not ? " he asked, in a louder tone, quite 
 content to impress his listeners with the fact 
 that he was a " devil of a fellow." 
 
 She shook her head smilingly, but made no 
 answer. 
 
 " Xo, I say. Tell me why," argued the lady- 
 killer in his most " devilish " style. 
 
 rt / will tell you why," said Crozier, suddenly, 
 and his quiet voice caused a momentary silence. 
 Saint Antony's knew that Yarden was going to 
 be taken down a peg. " I will tell you 
 why!" 
 
 " Ouh ! " said the young swell, doubtfully. 
 
 Crozier looked up at him with perfect gravity, 
 
 29
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 without removing the ci^ar from the comer of 
 his mouth. 
 
 " Yes. She will not go because I won't let 
 her. Syra never goes to balls except with me 
 and her aunt, who is kind enough to chaperon 
 us." 
 
 There were a few moments of strained silence, 
 and then an actor gravely broke the spell, leaving 
 Varclen quite puzzled as to whether he had been 
 snubbed or made to appear a fool, 
 
 " That is Crozier ! " said the actor in the back- 
 ground. He was a small man and could not see 
 over his companions' heads. " That is Crozier, 
 I am sure. A song, a song — come along, old 
 fellow ! " 
 
 " Yes, a sons: ! Give us a song ! " called out 
 various voices. 
 
 Then the actor who had first spoken raised 
 his voice again. 
 
 o 
 
 " Crozier has a new song," he cried. " En- 
 cored seven times at St. James's Hall last night. 
 We'll have that or nothing. If he does not 
 sing that we will chuck him out of Syra's 
 presence ! " 
 
 30
 
 SYBA'S ADMIRERS. 
 
 The heavy -featured man smiled slowly until 
 his eyes were hardly visible, and then — sitting 
 on a high stool with one muscular arm resting 
 on the marble counter — he raised a voice that 
 never had been given him to ruin in a smoky 
 tap-room. But it was not ruined yet, full, deep, 
 and mellow, strong when needed, soft and 
 pathetic by nature, he used it with confidence 
 and great skill, for he had studied in Naples and 
 Rome. 
 
 The song he sang was hardly appropriate for 
 the occasion, but with professional wisdom he 
 left that matter to his audience. They had 
 asked for the new ballad, and he gave it. Perhaps 
 there was beneath this strong fellow's cloak of 
 genial cynicism a little pride, a small wish to 
 make the best of his great gift though it was 
 only in a little bar-parlour in a quiet street 
 where the passers-by would take him for some 
 drunken reveller. Impresarios and managers said 
 that Crozier took almost a delight in refusing- 
 good offers. His voice was in great demand ; it 
 was at its full strength, and equal to any amount 
 of work. Probably there were men in that very 
 
 31
 
 TEE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 room who had gladly accepted engagements 
 laughingly and heedlessly refused by him. There 
 were critics present also, men who wrote and 
 composed and lived in a work-a-day atmosphere 
 of music. Without accompaniment, in a choking 
 atmosphere, the good-natured singer sang to 
 them ; good-natured, not because he was too 
 weak to refuse, as most good-natured people are, 
 but because he could well afford to give. No 
 man raised glass to lip, no match was struck, 
 and all smoked noiselessly, while Syra stood 
 quite still with her hands upon the counter 
 in front of the cash-drawer listening to the 
 words — 
 
 " Greybeard crept through a village street, 
 His head was bowed, his weary feet 
 
 "Were bruised and torn. 
 A staff in his right hand he bare, 
 The wind played with his silver hair — 
 His coat was worn. 
 
 Onward he passed through golden corn, 
 Weary with toil from early morn 
 
 He cast him down. 
 A youth and maiden came along, 
 Grave she ; but he, with noisy song 
 
 Learnt in the town. 
 
 32
 
 SYRA'S ADMIRERS. 
 
 ' "What seek you in this sunny field ? ' 
 Greybeard, to whom he thus appealed, 
 Slow raised his head — 
 1 A Phantom Future I pursue ! ' 
 ***** 
 1 Methinks we seek the same as you,' 
 The maiden said." 
 
 "When the applause had died away, the occcu- 
 pants of the little room were disturbed by the 
 advent of Myia, who drew aside the heavy 
 curtains and stood smiling in the doorway. 
 
 "I am sorry, gentlemen," she said, with good- 
 humoured severity, " but time is up." 
 
 As they all trooped out a few minutes later, 
 Crozier slipped his hand through Valliant's arm 
 with an undeniable though gentle touch. 
 
 " Come to my rooms," he said, " and have a 
 smoke. I want to talk to you about that book." 
 
 a#^ 
 
 vol. I. 33 3
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FUTURE. 
 
 CROZIER'S rooms were in the Temple. His 
 quiet, unobtrusive windows looked into 
 other quiet unobtrusive windows. In the centre 
 of the small quadrangle a single lime-tree existed. 
 It never grew in bulk or stature, neither did it 
 die. Every spring it unclasped its gummy buds 
 and threw a delicate green reflection upon the 
 dusty windows. Early in the autumn it shed 
 its leaves and closed negotiations for the winter 
 Lime Court would have been a sorry abode 
 without its leafy god- father. The men who 
 lived there would have sorely missed their con- 
 necting link, their mutual pride, and topic of 
 conversation. It was by the merest incident 
 that their affection for the tree was one day 
 
 34
 
 TEE FUTURE. 
 
 discovered. It happened that a legal cat of 
 weighty person mounted its branches one spring 
 morning for the purpose of taking a siesta in 
 the warmth of the sun. About breakfast-time 
 the outrage was discovered, and from every 
 window came protestation in sacrificial form. 
 One man devoted half a muffin to the cause of 
 protection, another had the satisfaction of dealing 
 a heavy blow upon the cat's left ear with a 
 dainty slipper worked for him by fair and affec- 
 tionate fingers. Crozier himself did terrible 
 execution with a volley of loaf-sugar followed 
 closely by the bread-knife. 
 
 The rooms were melancholy and exceedingly 
 comfortable, with thick red curtains, a number 
 of low arm-chairs, and a subtle homely odour 
 of tobacco smoke in the atmosphere. 
 
 Yalliant entered the sitting-room first and 
 turned up the gas with the air of a man who 
 is quite at home and amidst familiar surround- 
 ings. A few letters lay upon the table, and 
 nodding his head towards them he turned and 
 walked towards the fire. 
 
 "Billets-doux!" he said, lightly; " you had 
 35
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTUBE. 
 
 better read them while my back is turned, so 
 that I may be spared the sight of a blush upon 
 that leathery cheek ! " 
 
 He turned his back towards the room and 
 stood with one foot upon the fender gazing into 
 the fire, while he sought slowly in his pockets 
 for pipe and pouch. The fire, dancing and 
 flickering, showed his face to be quite grave, 
 almost melancholy. 
 
 "More likely to be bills," muttered Crozier, 
 as he stood with his hands thrust into his 
 pockets, gazing speculatively and lazily at the 
 envelopes. 
 
 "Then do not open them, that these ears 
 may be spared the shock of an expletive." 
 
 Crozier sat down slowly and comfortably in 
 a deep soft arm-chair. He left the letters lying 
 on the table, and raised his close-set and earnest 
 eyes towards his companion. 
 
 "Well," he inquired, "what is the next 
 move { 
 
 Valliant turned and looked down at him with 
 a bright smile. 
 
 "The next move is to fill my pipe," he 
 36
 
 THE FUTURE. 
 
 answered, " and then suggest that you should 
 lend me a match. " 
 
 This brought forth no smile. A solemn humour 
 had come over the singer. He was determined 
 to make Valliant talk sensibly of his affairs. 
 
 " Are you going to give up medicine ? " he 
 asked pleasantly. 
 
 The younger man lighted his pipe. 
 
 " There is some vast idea surging about in 
 your brain, Sam. Let us have it. You will 
 feel all the better for it, my boy ! " 
 
 He sat down in a deep chair, and stretched 
 his slight graceful legs out with a jerk. Crozier 
 took the pipe from his lips and spoke slowly, 
 with a grave masterfulness that betrayed his 
 wish to act well by his young friend. 
 
 " That book," he said, " will be all over the 
 country in a few weeks. You must follow it up. 
 A man with a talent like that has no right to 
 neglect it. His duty towards himsilf and the 
 public is to make the most of it, cultivate it, and 
 improve it. . . . What are you grinning at ? " 
 
 " Stone-throwing is a risky pastime," explained 
 Valliant, with a light laugh. 
 
 37
 
 TEE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 "It does not matter when all the panes are 
 broken," replied the singer. 
 
 For an instant Valliant looked grave. He 
 changed his position slightly, and pressed the 
 burning tobacco into his pipe with the end of a 
 cedar-w T ood pencil. 
 
 " Are they broken, Sam ? " he asked seriously. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Crozier, with a smile. 
 " It feels a little draughty at times. But that 
 is not the point. It seems to me that the time 
 has come for you to look seriously to the future. 
 One hundred and twenty pounds a-year is not 
 a bad income for a medical student, but it is not 
 much for a man of twenty-five. If you are 
 going to stick to the bone-sawing business it is 
 time you began to work, and make a name at 
 the hospital. If not, you ought to throw aside 
 the whole affair at once, and take to art as a 
 profession ! " 
 
 " A profession," . . . echoed Valliant. " A 
 profession is a thing that a man spends the best 
 years of his life in learning, and by the time he 
 is sick of the whole business he begins to make 
 a small income by it." 
 
 38
 
 THE FUTURE. 
 
 " You are speaking of men who are driven 
 into a profession when they are too young to 
 know w T hat they are about." 
 
 " Seems to me I am being driven at the 
 present moment." 
 
 " Not by me," said Crozier, gravely, " but by 
 the force of circumstances." 
 
 Valliant moved uneasily, and smoked in silence 
 and hastily for some moments. Once or twice 
 his quick gay eyes rested on his companion's 
 face. This man of thirty had quietly assumed 
 a place in his existence during the last four 
 years. Before that he had not known him, and 
 the remembrance of his first impression was still 
 a tangible thought. To the youthful man of 
 twenty-one this grave singer had at first appeared 
 to be much more than five years his senior. But 
 Crozier had never lost sight of him, never made 
 one backward step in the steady progress of 
 friendship. The disparity in years never dis- 
 appeared, but it came to be a tacitly recognized 
 thing, and one that conveyed no sense of dis- 
 comfort or estrangement with it. It was part 
 of their friendship. Crozier neglected, perhaps 
 
 39
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 purposely, great aid to mutual sympathy. 
 
 He rarely . ke of himself, and never compared 
 VaHiant ades, of which he heard sooner or 
 
 later, with similar experiences passed through by 
 himself in earlier years. And yet Valliant never 
 doubted th t his grave friend had many strange 
 S a in life of which he could have told. 
 There was about his strong immobile face a quiet 
 
 a I ion of experience. The man had evidently 
 passed through the mill, and the result was by 
 no means a failure. He was a little hardened, 
 a little sceptical ; perhaps a trifle aimless, but the 
 true metal was close-knit and bright beneath the 
 outward coat of indifferent 
 
 At length Valliant . with a faint under- 
 
 note of humour in the sound of his momentarily 
 £rrav 
 
 "That old gentleman," he said, "of whom 
 you sang this evening — with the worn coat 
 and the silver hair — was probably a professional 
 man." 
 
 Crozier made no reply for some minutes, and 
 the only sound that broke the silence of Lime 
 rt was the distant note of a cat stridently 
 40
 
 TEE FUTURE. 
 
 lamenting its lot. Presently a second feline voice 
 joined in harmoniously. 
 
 Ci The waits ! " suggested Valliant in a whisper, 
 with an irrepressible twinkle in his eye. 
 
 His companion smiled, and roused himself 
 suddenly from his reverie. 
 
 " If you won't take to art as a profession,'* he 
 said briskly, "take to it as an amusement. You 
 will do better amusing yourself with art than 
 busying yourself with medicine." 
 
 " I hate making plans. Life is but a fleeting- 
 shadow, Samuel." 
 
 " So do I, for myself. There is a sort of 
 melancholy satisfaction, however, about making 
 them for other people, because one is perfectly 
 sure that they never will be carried out. If you 
 are not going to make plans, what do you pro- 
 pose doing ? Allow other folks to make them for 
 you, or drift ? " 
 
 "Drift." 
 
 Again Crozier thought deeply, while the smoke 
 rose slowly in reflective clouds from his lips to 
 the dusky ceiling. 
 
 " I have done a good deal of that in my time," 
 41
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 he murmured. "It is not satisfactory work. 
 My idea is, that you ought to go down to Gold- 
 heath to-morrow with the book under your arm. 
 Show it to your uncle, Mrs. Valliant, and — and 
 your cousin, and hear what they have to say on 
 the subject." 
 
 " Where is that copy you had this evening ? " 
 asked Valliant, with a peculiar ring in his voice, 
 while he glanced round the room. 
 
 " I gave it to Syra, She asked for it." 
 
 Again a silence, broken only by the distant 
 cats, fell upon the room. 
 
 " The waits again ! " suggested Valliant. 
 
 This time Crozier laughed suddenly, and 
 with unnecessary loudness. The smoke no 
 longer rose from his lips for the pipe had gone 
 out. 
 
 " I might send them the book," continued 
 the younger man. 
 
 " Why not go down ? " 
 
 Valliant's quick glance rested for an instant 
 on his friend's face. 
 
 " Goldheath is a lovely place," he said with a 
 smile, " but the wind blows across that moor like 
 
 42
 
 THE FUTURE. 
 
 a knife. Besides, it is a trifle dull at tins time of 
 year." 
 
 The singer relighted his pipe and leant far 
 back in his chair, thus concealing his face. His 
 legs were crossed, and one foot swung in a 
 thoughtless and indifferent way. 
 
 " It would be of no use sending the book 
 unless you went yourself. There must be a lot 
 to tell about it, and of course they will want to 
 hear everything," he said in a steady, business- 
 like tone. 
 
 It almost seemed as if the mere mention of 
 Goldheath had caused a change to come over the 
 humour of both men. There was in the manner 
 of their conversation a subtle and almost 
 intangible sense of embarrassment. 
 
 "Oh, there is not much to tell," said Valliant, 
 speaking rapidly. " In fact . . . Elma . . . has seen 
 a good many of the sketches before I had any 
 idea of selling them, you know. I did most of 
 them at Goldheath, and finished them here. The 
 house appears several times and . . . and Elma." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 Crozier s voice was drowsy. One would almost 
 43
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 have said that he was half-asleep, but his foot 
 swung still. 
 
 " You recognized it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I recognized them." 
 
 "Them?" 
 
 " The house and . . . your cousin/' explained 
 Crozier." 
 
 Then they smoked pensively until the singer 
 left his chair and went to the fireplace, where he 
 pressed the burning embers clown with his neatly 
 shod foot. 
 
 " I think they would feel it rather strange if 
 you simply sent the book by post. It is a long 
 time since you were there." 
 
 Valliant was wavering. Beneath his airy 
 manner there was a strong will, but he knew 
 that Crozier would ultimately achieve his 
 purpose. He invariably did so when he took 
 the trouble to be determined — to exert his strong 
 fixity of purpose. 
 
 " If I go," he said, " you must come too, and 
 sing them that song before I produce the book." 
 
 " Which song ? " 
 
 " That one about the old gentleman." 
 
 44
 
 THE FUTURE. 
 
 "Why should I sing that?" asked Crozier, 
 displaying very slight interest. 
 
 Yalliant rose suddenly and sou oh t his hat 
 and stick. He stood in front of his friend, 
 ready to go, with his pipe slightly elevated and 
 his small chin thrust forward. He leant upon 
 his stick and looked down at Crozier with a gay 
 smile. 
 
 " Because they will be wanting me to waste 
 the living present in the pursuit of the wildest 
 o-oose a man can chase. " 
 
 The singer rose and took his companion's 
 outstretched hand. 
 
 " What is that?" he asked, without meeting 
 his friend's eyes. 
 
 " A phantom future," laughed Yalliant. 
 
 Crozier followed him to the door. He went 
 out into the little entrance-hall where their 
 footsteps echoed weirdly. He held open the 
 street-door and Yalliant passed down the worn 
 steps into the darkness of Lime Court. 
 
 " Tom ! " cried Crozier suddenly. 
 
 "Yes." The reply came back softly and the 
 singer knew that his friend was grave for once. 
 
 45
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 "When he spoke, however, there was in his 
 tone the old sound of grave badinage. 
 
 u Were you ever a cricketer ? " 
 
 " I used to bowl wides at one time." 
 
 " When I was a kid," continued Crozier, " I 
 used to keep wicket. I thought I did it very 
 well. At first I was in the habit of not raising 
 my hand until the batsman missed the ball ; the 
 consequence was that I got a good many in the 
 eye and quite a number in the chest. Then 
 I learnt to make a grab at every ball as if the 
 batsman were not there at all. Seems to me 
 that a little wicket-keeping is good training. 
 It is best to grab at everything and pretend 
 to ignore the possible obstacles." 
 
 Valliant stood with his hands thrust deeply 
 into the pockets of his light coat, his stick 
 under his arm and his hat slightly tilted back- 
 wards. He looked quizzically up at his friend 
 who stood in the doorway. 
 
 "Is that all?" he asked. 
 
 " That is all." 
 
 " Thanks. I will make a note of it on my 
 cuff." 
 
 46
 
 TEE FUTURE. 
 
 He performed a pas-sevl upon the pavement 
 and presently walked off. 
 
 " Good-night, Samuel," he called out over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Good-night," said the mellow voice from the 
 doorstep. 
 
 47
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GOLDHEATH. 
 
 TTTHERE Sussex merges into Surrey there lies 
 * " a vast sweeping moorland, where heather 
 and gorse and whin hold united sway. All the 
 chemical fertilizers yet invented, were they com- 
 bined and shaken up in one malodorous sack, 
 could not spoil this golden land. The august 
 body which calls itself the Royal Agricultural 
 Society could make nothing out of it. A steeple- 
 chase, a coursing meeting, or a ramble, but never 
 a turnip, has been associated with Goldheath. 
 
 Over the low broken hill, two miles away, 
 there is indeed a railway-station on the main 
 line between Portsmouth and London ; but the 
 quick trains never stop there, and the local 
 traffic is limited. Once a week the station- 
 
 48
 
 GOLDHEATH. 
 
 master is kept out of Led until eleven o'clock at 
 night to await the arrival of a goods train which 
 drops one or two trucks carrying chemical 
 manure, and biscuits, cheese, ploughshares, and 
 haberdashery. 
 
 Goldheath has the good fortune to lie well 
 away from the coach-road. The lanes are narrow 
 and ill-kept, consequently the ubiquitous bicyclist 
 is rarely met. The little village lying on the 
 westward slope of a long sweeping hill gazes 
 meditatively down upon the broad moor, of 
 which the farthest limit is lost upon the blue 
 slope of a distant range. 
 
 To the south the moorland is bordered by a 
 pine forest, beyond which are meadows, and in 
 the distance arable land. At the edge of this 
 forest lies Goldheath Court, a long low house 
 composed of a series of gables. It is built of 
 red brick, which age has softened and beautified 
 as it softens and beautifies all things of which 
 
 o 
 
 the angles are too sharp and cutting ; including 
 men and women. The northern facade looks 
 across a large though scantily furnished orchard, 
 towards the moor, which is divided (as well as 
 vol. I. 49 4
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 the orchard) by a narrow gravelled road drawn 
 in a deadly straight line from the last house in 
 the village to the front-door of Goldheath Court. 
 This same broad door is the only outlet from the 
 northern side, while to the east and south every 
 ground-floor window is, so to speak, a door. 
 
 All round the house there is a narrow pave- 
 ment of green and moss-grown stone extending 
 for some three feet outwards. Before the library 
 window to the east, and the two drawing-room 
 windows to the south, this stone pavement is 
 worn white by friction, and there are small 
 rounded indentations (where the rain collects) 
 showing that the inhabitants of Goldheath Court 
 are in the habit of passing freely in and out of 
 the windows. 
 
 The eastward end of the house looks into what 
 is, or was a few years ago, called the AValled 
 Garden. From the north-eastern angle to the 
 south-eastern a high brick wall extended in a 
 circle, broken only by a trellised door upon the 
 north, and another upon the south, of which the 
 inner posts were fixed against the house itself. 
 To pass through one of those trellised doors is to 
 
 50
 
 GO LI) HEATH. 
 
 step back one hundred and fifty years into the 
 past. Within that circle a quaint old-day peace- 
 fulness and melancholy reign supreme. Against 
 the dull red wall are climbing; now, (marled and 
 crooked pear-trees, of which the branches have 
 been pressed by feet once lithe and tiny, now 
 mouldering beneath the sand of Goldheath 
 churchyard. Here grow T quaint old-fashioned 
 flowers, simple briar-roses and sturdy tufts of 
 lavender. But the pride of the Walled Garden 
 is the huge cedar in the centre, near the fountain, 
 which played spasmodically thirty years ago 
 when old Valliant brought home his little wife. 
 Around the cedar grows a strange and wondrous 
 assortment of conifers and leafy evergreens. 
 Weymouth pines and spruce overshadow arbutus 
 and laurel, while a tall straight larch drops its 
 brown needles down upon the repelling arms of 
 a monkey-puzzle, disfiguring it sorely. Even in 
 February — Nature's dullest season — the library 
 window looks upon a pleasant verdure. 
 
 Within the northern curve of the wall is 
 ensconced the old violet-bed, now carefully pro- 
 tected by straw, and here, crouching carelessly 
 
 51 
 U OF ILL LIB
 
 TEE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 upon the gravel-walk, a little maiden sat one 
 sunny morning. With her chilled pink fingers 
 she was routing about among the straw for the 
 short-stalked, deep-coloured little flowers ; for 
 the white violets were not budding yet. 
 
 Presently she rose and shook her skirts free of 
 dead leaf and dust, and also a little dry and 
 powdery snow which had collected beneath the 
 box border. She was of medium height, with 
 slight square shoulders as straight as an arrow. 
 A dainty girlish form that might have been the 
 growth of seventeen or eighteen years, clad in 
 woolly blue serge, with a black leather belt 
 around the tiniest waist. Elma Valliant was 
 almost twenty- one, but her youthful figure and 
 sweet eyes were those of a school-girl. Behind 
 such eyes as hers, woman's brain can think 
 wondrous thoughts and never betray them. 
 Daring and demure, iunocent and wicked by 
 turns, they changed colour strangely by artificial 
 light. By day they were light in colour of a 
 blue hovering into grey. With perhaps a little 
 hope of contradiction she herself playfully called 
 them green, but such was not their hue. At 
 
 52
 
 GOLDEEATH. 
 
 night the pupil dilated greatly, and her eyes 
 were deep, dark, and melting. Very eloquent 
 they might be some day, but now they only 
 spoke of lighter things ; passing sorrow and 
 ready laughter. Her hair had been flaxen at 
 one time, but it was slowly darkening, while 
 sudden gleams of gold lurked in the stray curls 
 near her ears, or low down her white neck. She 
 was generally in a hurry, this little maiden, and 
 her hair suffered most becomingly from this 
 characteristic. In a most wonderful manner she 
 arranged it in less than three minutes, and for 
 the rest of the day or evening it was a greater 
 wonder still that the erection survived three 
 seconds. 
 
 While she was walking slowly round the 
 circular path towards the library window which 
 stood open, she arranged deftly in a small bunch 
 the violets she had just picked. In passing the 
 trellised door she glanced through the open 
 woodwork and saw the old postman slowly 
 making his way up the straight avenue of 
 Weymouth pines, vhich stood gauntly among 
 the leafless fruit-trees of the orchard. 
 
 53
 
 THE PHAST03I FUTURE. 
 
 Then she opened the garden-door and ran 
 clown the avenue to meet the ancient letter- 
 carrier, whose rheumatism suddenly acquired 
 acute severity at the sight of her. Every step 
 of her light foot saved him two. 
 
 " Good-morning, Anson," she panted, with 
 soft cheeks rosily glowing. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mi^s Elm v. Here's a bright 
 morning to be sure. A lot o' letters this 
 morning I do think, and one from Master 
 Tom." 
 
 The rosy tint upon her cheeks lost nothing ; 
 perhaps it deepened slightly. 
 
 " A letter from Tom. Oh, I am so glad," she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "To be sure," replied the postman, as with 
 quavering hands clad in ancient leathern gloves, 
 he assorted his homoeopathic stock of corre- 
 spondence. 
 
 " Thank you," she said, taking the letters and 
 her father's newspaper with its printed wrapper. 
 " Yes, Anson, you are right ; this is from Master 
 Tom ! " 
 
 The old man lingered, gazing at her sweet 
 54
 
 GOLDHEATR. 
 
 flushed face beneath his shaggy eyebrows, very 
 kindly. 
 
 11 1 suppose he'll be coming down to see us, 
 Miss. He's not been near us for many months 
 
 now." 
 
 " No doubt ! " she replied. " He seldom wTites 
 unless he is coming. He is very bad at WTitingf. 
 you know, and gives you very little work, 
 Anson." 
 
 "I wish, Miss Elmy," said the old man 
 gravely, " he'd give me a bit more ; I do, 
 indeed." 
 
 He was not looking at her now, but was busy 
 with his large canvas letter-bag. "Without 
 looking up he continued, 
 
 " I wonder now if Mr. Crozier's coming; with 
 him this time." 
 
 " I do not know, I am sure, Anson," replied 
 the girl, reading the printed address upon the 
 newspaper wrapper. 
 
 The old man turned a little and looked across 
 the moorland, now bleak and brown with patches 
 of dry powdery snow here and there, towards 
 
 the village. 
 
 55
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " The old church doesn't seem the same," he 
 said reflectively, "without a Crozier to preach 
 the word to us o' Sundays. Master Sam ought'er 
 been there, Miss, to be sure he ought." 
 
 The girl laughed merrily. A moment before 
 she had been on the point of turning to 
 go. Now she stood and looked across the 
 moor. 
 
 "I do not think Mr. Crozier would have made 
 a good parson, Anson," she said lightly. 
 
 " Perhaps not, perhaps not, Miss Elmy. 
 Though to be sure, none can tell what's inside a 
 man till the husk has been scraped a bit. But 
 he's a main good fellow, a main good fellow, Miss 
 Elmy." 
 
 " Yes, Anson," she said indifferently as she 
 turned to go. " Good morning." 
 
 "Good morning, Miss Elmy," replied the old 
 man. 
 
 The girl walked slowly up the narrow avenue 
 towards the peaceful old house. There were 
 two or three other letters, but that from Tom 
 Valliant received her undivided attention. 
 
 " I wonder," she murmured, "if he is coming 
 56
 
 GOLDHEATH. 
 
 on Saturday ! This is Wednesday — three whole 
 days before then ! " 
 
 She suddenly drew up the soft woollen shawl 
 which had fallen a little from her shoulders, and 
 beg^an running; towards the trellised gate into 
 the walled garden. In the library she found 
 her father, who was carefully airing the local 
 morning paper before the fire. 
 
 " There is a letter from Tom," she cried out 
 gleefully, as she fastened the window. 
 
 " Ah, I am glad of it." 
 
 With these words the heavily-built man 
 turned towards his daughter with a smile of 
 sincere pleasure upon his broad and honest 
 English face. He pressed his right hand into 
 the small of his back — if the word " small " be 
 allowed to pass — and grunted ; then he crossed 
 the room slowly and kissed his daughter ; 
 straightening himself afterwards with another 
 grunt. Elma was apparently accustomed to these 
 sounds of anguish, for the smile never left her 
 face. Squire Valliant had the habit of grunting 
 until eleven o'clock in the morning ; after that he 
 forg-ot his lumbago, which was laid aside until 
 
 57
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 bed-time. At ten o'clock at niffht he invariably 
 recollected to place bis band once more in tbe 
 centre of bis back and groan, tbe precise 
 moment of this occurrence being usually when 
 he began to mount the broad stairs, candle 
 in hand. 
 
 He now sought vigorously in the region of 
 his throat for the string of an eye-glass which 
 had as usual been tucked into his waistcoat with 
 the end of his black tie. Having fixed the glass 
 in his eye, he took the letters from his daughter's 
 hand . 
 
 " Yes," he said, holding one up to the light ; 
 " that is from Tom, undoubtedly ; that is from 
 Tom. Your scapegrace of a cousin has remem- 
 bered his relations at last. Eh, little woman, 
 eh 1 ha, ha ! " 
 
 He chuckled and presently threw the letter 
 down upon the breakfast-table. 
 
 " But," he said simply, " it is addressed to 
 your mother, so we must leave it till she comes 
 down." 
 
 Elma was engaged in spreading out the 
 London newspaper. It was one of her daily 
 
 58
 
 GOLD HEATH. 
 
 duties to smooth it out and cut the pages for 
 her father's convenience in reading. If Squire 
 Valliant was deprived of his morning's paper 
 he remembered his lumbago, and grunted all 
 day. 
 
 " I wonder," said the girl absently, " if they 
 are coming at the end of the week." 
 
 " Who ? " inquired her father carelessly, while 
 he lifted the cover off the dish set before him. 
 
 " Tom, I mean," she replied rather hurriedly ; 
 " I wonder if he is coming at the end of the 
 week." 
 
 The squire made no reply just then. He was 
 a slow thinker, this honest country gentleman. 
 Born and bred amidst these low open hills he 
 had acquired a certain love of openness, and 
 never sought for motives in the thoughts or 
 words of others, as townsmen love to do. Elma's 
 little slip had been a slip and nothing else, and 
 so he thought no more about it, but turned his 
 attention to the domestic arrangements for the 
 end of the week. 
 
 " Is there anything arranged for Saturday — 
 any one coming, I mean ? " he asked. 
 
 59
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 The girl seated herself beside the fire, crouch- 
 ing low upon the fender, and holding her hands 
 to the warmth. 
 
 " I believe," she replied, " that mother asked 
 Willy Holds worth to lunch if it proves too hard 
 for hunting. He expects a friend, a Mr. Varden, 
 and does not know how to amuse him. 
 
 " Hunting ! " muttered the squire, and then 
 he laughed, and was pulled up suddenly by a 
 violent fit of coughing, of which, however, he 
 made the most, holding his back and making 
 a great to-do with his lips. " Hunting ! " he 
 gasped ; " Holdsworth's hunting is a regular 
 farce. He rides like a sailor." 
 
 The girl looked quickly across the table. Her 
 round, innocent eyes rested for a moment upon 
 her father's genial face. The old gentleman 
 sought vigorously for a pocket-handkerchief in 
 the tail of his grey tweed coat and wiped his 
 moustache noisily with a flourish. 
 
 " He does many things like a sailor," said 
 Elma carelessly. 
 
 " No harm in that ; I've known some good 
 men in my time who were sailors." 
 
 60
 
 GOLBHEATH. 
 
 She looked into the fire for some moments 
 before answering. There was a gentle wonder 
 in her eyes, and she rubbed one hand slowly 
 over the back of the other which lay upon 
 her lap. 
 
 " Yes," she acquiesced, " but . . . ' 
 
 " But what, little woman ? " 
 
 " I wonder where he learnt to do thing's like a 
 sailor." 
 
 The squire smiled a little grimly, and pushing 
 his chair back from the table crossed his legs. 
 Then he glanced at his huge, old-fashioned 
 watch. Mrs. Valliant was already five minutes 
 late for breakfast, and everything was getting 
 cold, for the air was sharp ; but there seemed 
 to be no question of beginning the meal 
 without her. 
 
 "Better not inquire," he said, "better not 
 inquire, I think. When a man disappears for 
 eight years and comes back with his hair very 
 neat, and a devil-may-care self-possession about 
 him, it is best not to ask where he has been. 
 He is very steady now, and he is very good to 
 the old people. The past must be allowed to go 
 
 61
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 lUKjiiestioned, but . . . but lie cant ride. Can't 
 ride a bit ! " 
 
 There was in the old man's tone a suspicion 
 of forced charity, as if he were trying to make 
 the best of a poor bargain, which his daughter 
 did not fail to detect. She was a little country 
 maiden, not greatly experienced, not too wise 
 perhaps ; and the mysterious portion of her old 
 playmate's life interested her. It is a lament- 
 able fact that a man, if he is known to have 
 been or to be a rake, arouses an interest in the 
 hearts of most women by reason of his reputa- 
 tion, and it was something of this spirit that 
 caused Elma Yalliant's thoughts to turn repeatedly 
 towards William Holdsworth. 
 
 At this moment, however, the girl heard her 
 mother's step in the long corridor, and rose 
 from her crouching position without undue 
 haste, but in time to be standing up before 
 Mrs. Valliant entered the room. 
 
 Mrs. Valliant was rather a colourless little 
 woman ; a worthy representative of a generation 
 which was in reality more heartless and colder 
 than the present, although it is not the fashion 
 
 62
 
 GOLDHEATH. 
 
 to believe so. She liad married late in life, 
 after having ruled for some years a spinster 
 household of her own, and thus had contracted 
 views and habits of thought which clung to 
 her still. Nevertheless she was in her way a 
 good woman. Thoroughly conscientious, truly 
 dutiful and strictly just, but heartless. Heart- 
 less in her love, heartless in her hatred. Smiling 
 rarely, weeping never. How she came to be 
 the mother of an impulsive and joyous little 
 maiden like Elma it would be hard to say. 
 The girl had certainly not inherited from the 
 maternal side her quick loving heart, of which 
 the emotions glowed so transparently upon her 
 smooth and dainty cheek. Her large bright 
 eyes bore no resemblance to the lifeless hazel 
 orbs of Mrs. Valliant. They were her father's 
 eyes, with the quick eager glance of the true 
 sportsman softened into womanly tenderness and 
 coquetry. 
 
 The household arrangements w T ere conducted 
 with a rigid regard for precedent and custom 
 which was characteristic of the mistress. The 
 heartless little woman was in fact an excellent 
 
 63
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 housekeeper, loving punctuality at all times 
 except breakfast, for she was a bad riser, exer- 
 cising a ruthless economy, and taking care to 
 provide such dishes as pleased her husband's 
 taste with a punctilious disregard for her own 
 opinion upon the matter. 
 
 Elma was the scapegrace of the family. She 
 was invariably down in time for breakfast ; but 
 there was no merit in that, for her mother 
 was usually late, and at other meals she was 
 often in default. It will be remembered that 
 she rose somewhat hurriedly from her graceful 
 but "unfinished" posture on the fender before 
 her mother entered the room. 
 
 Mrs. Valliant attended to her duties in con- 
 nection with breakfast before looking at her 
 letters. Then she opened Tom's envelope first 
 and proceeded to read the contents with a vague 
 smile. Tom Valliant was, perhaps, the only 
 human being in her circle of friends and rela- 
 tions who was not wholesomely afraid of the 
 mistress of Goldheath. 
 
 Presently she laid the letter down beside her 
 plate and said — 
 
 64
 
 GOLDEEATE. 
 
 " Tom asks if he may come on Saturday — he 
 and Samuel Crozier." 
 
 The Squire nodded his head. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, in a tone which committed 
 him neither to approval nor otherwise until his 
 wife's opinion had been received. 
 
 "William Holdsworth and his friend Mr. 
 Varden are coming to lunch," said Mrs. Valliant. 
 " It will be rather heavy for the servants, but 
 we must manage as best we can." 
 
 Very few arrangements were completed with- 
 out some reference to the servants by Mrs. 
 Valliant. She regulated her life with a view of 
 suiting their convenience, whilst their opinion 
 was invariably quoted and considered. She 
 was, nevertheless, a strict mistress, and rarely 
 kept her domestics for any length of time. 
 
 vol. i. 65
 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 On the Saturday morning, before the dis- 
 sipated denizens of Lime Court were astir, the 
 silence of that sacred nook was broken by a 
 sharp, light footstep. Tom Valliant, although 
 a high-spirited man among his companions, was 
 by no means given to a display of hilarity when 
 alone. He never whistled merry airs for his 
 own edification, and never sang gently as Crozier 
 was in the habit of doing wdien in his bedroom. 
 
 However, on this bright February morning 
 the medical student felt unusually gay. A 
 slight frost had cleared the air and exhilarated 
 tired nature. Nature in this case was repre- 
 sented, however, by nothing more important 
 than the lime tree, which was hard and dry and 
 shrivelled. 
 
 66
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 On being admitted by a dusty servant with 
 a forlorn cap, he ran lightly up-stairs. The fire 
 was burning in Crozier's sitting-room, but there 
 were no signs of breakfast yet. Valliant passed 
 unhesitatingly through into the bed-room which 
 communicated by a curtained door. Here he 
 found Crozier on his knees before an open 
 Gladstone bag, humming an operatic air to 
 himself. 
 
 " Packing ! " he exclaimed, cheerfully. " Allow 
 me to assist you." 
 
 With this purpose in view he took a seat 
 upon the bed, and with a quick swing of his 
 right arm sent a pillow flying into the open 
 bag, scattering what was already there. Crozier 
 returned the missile gravely, and Valliant, ward- 
 ing it off with his foot, sent it through the 
 open door into the sitting-room, where it lay 
 upon the carpet unheeded. 
 
 Then the medical student lighted a cigarette 
 and watched his companion in silence. The 
 singer continued his occupation with indolent 
 gravity. 
 
 " Our new tweed suit is very effective," said 
 
 67
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 Valliant, presently, poising his head sideways, 
 and gazing critically towards his companion. 
 
 Crozier ceased humming for a moment, and 
 pulled clown his waistcoat with a smi]e of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " I was told that it is a most successful turn- 
 out — by the man who made it," he said, 
 with gentle irony. Then he opened a drawer 
 and took therefrom a dress-suit carefully 
 folded. 
 
 "We have, in addition, a new dress suit," 
 said Valliant, with an amused smile. 
 
 "It is not new," said Crozier, quite gravely. 
 " I always keep two going." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 The singer did not answer at once. He 
 closed the bag and strapped 'it up vigorously. 
 
 " One for the shady side, the other for the 
 sunny." 
 
 Valliant rose and walked slowly to the window. 
 There he stood with his hands in his pockets 
 contemplating the lime tree, while a thin spiral 
 column of smoke rose from the end of his 
 
 cigarette. 
 
 68
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 " Which allegory meaneth what ? " he said, 
 indifferently and lightly. 
 
 " One for Myra's and another for Goldheath — 
 one for Syra and another for . . . your cousin," 
 explained the singer with a soft laugh. " Just 
 ring that bell," he continued, " and I will order 
 breakfast." 
 
 Valliant moved slightly, but not towards the 
 bell, which was almost within reach, and then 
 he stood swaying from side to side, lifting first 
 one foot and then the other. 
 
 " Let us go across to Myra's for breakfast," 
 he said, almost sharply, as he glanced backwards 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 Crozier passed behind him and rang the bell 
 himself, before he answered with a persistence 
 which would have surprised a close observer had 
 such been there to see. It was so unlike him, 
 so directly contrary to his indolent ways of 
 speech and action. 
 
 " I have not the least intention of going over 
 to Myra's. It is much more comfortable here. 
 I asked you to breakfast ; you accepted, and 
 you must take the consequences. I have better 
 
 69
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTUBE. 
 
 marmalade than Myra, and the forks do not 
 come ' all hot ' from a wooden tub behind the 
 counter." 
 
 Valliant laughed in his silent way and said 
 nothing. At this moment a voice in the sitting- 
 room called, out, 
 
 "Yess'r!" 
 
 " Breakfast, please, Mrs. Sanders." 
 
 " Yess'r ! " 
 
 Crozier was still occupied in a methodical, 
 slow way with his toilet. When the door of 
 the sitting-room had been closed somewhat 
 hastily behind the housekeeper, he said, without 
 looking towards his companion, 
 
 " The talented Mrs. Sanders is a wonderful 
 woman. You observe that there is now no 
 sign of breakfast. In four minutes it will be 
 ready upon the table. She has her faults, how- 
 ever. Even that wonderful woman has her 
 faults." 
 
 He drew on his coat and looked critically 
 round the room before continuing pensively, 
 
 " Creaky boots," he murmured ; " creaky boots. 
 It is not a venial sin, but it serves to show that 
 
 70
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 she is only human after all. . . And — and I have 
 reason to believe that she brings most of the 
 breakfast-things up-stairs in her pockets. Now 
 I'm ready. Come along and witness Mrs. 
 Sanders' miracle." 
 
 Valliant followed his companion into the 
 other room and threw the end of his cigarette 
 into the fire. Then he turned, and in his usual 
 bantering way said, 
 
 " Were your dulcet tones delighting the heart 
 of the British public last night ? " 
 
 " Yes, I was singing at a smoking concert." 
 
 " You are a fool, Samuel, to do that sort 
 of thing." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose you gave your services for 
 nothing. Of course it was a benefit." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You shouldn't do it, mon vieux. Keep your 
 market price up. People do not set a high 
 value on what costs them nothing. You ought 
 to be making more money than you are 
 making now with a voice like yours." 
 
 " The pot is casting aspersions upon the 
 71
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 complexion of the kettle," said Crozier, as he 
 took up the morning paper from the breakfast- 
 table. " I am very happy as I am, my friend," 
 he continued, with lazy good nature. Mrs. 
 Sanders cooks kidneys perfectly. Lime Court, 
 if not rural, is at least quiet and peaceful. My 
 soul hankers not after wealth." 
 
 " Did you sing the song about the old sports- 
 man ? " 
 
 " The old sportsman . . . ? " echoed Crozier, in 
 surprise, as he looked over the paper towards 
 his companion. " Which old sportsman ? " 
 
 " The venerable wild-goose chaser," explained 
 Valliant. " The new song you sang the other 
 night at Myra's." 
 
 "Oh yes. I sang it by way of an encore." 
 Then he continued reading the morning news, 
 and did not seem to hear his companion's muttered 
 remark made a few minutes later. 
 
 " I like that song," Valliant said vaguely 
 and even seriously. " Have you put it in your 
 Gladstone ? " he added later in a louder voice. 
 
 " I think so, but at all events I know it," was 
 the careless reply. 
 
 72
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 " You had much better take it and — and then 
 Elma can play the accompaniment. She likes 
 doing so, I believe." 
 
 Over the newspaper a pair of deep-set earnest 
 eyes were fixed upon Yalliant's face. The pos- 
 sessor of the eyes slowly moistened his lips. 
 The paper was quite motionless, the strong, heavy- 
 featured man then turned away and laid it aside. 
 
 " Accompanying is never a pleasure," he said 
 indifferently. 
 
 There was a short silence, during which the 
 singer brought two chairs forward to the table. 
 Then Valliant spoke again. 
 
 " She once told me that she liked accompany- 
 ing you," he said placidly. 
 
 " I think it is in my bag," muttered the singer 
 in a tone which implied that he had no intention 
 of verifying his supposition. 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Sanders bustled into the 
 room, bearing an enormous tray. As predicted 
 by Crozier, breakfast was served in a few minutes, 
 and the two men sat down. Crozier did the 
 honours in a quick cleft way, pouring out the 
 coffee and moving the cups and plates with a 
 
 73
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 certain noiseless ease. Had Elma Yalliant been 
 there she would perhaps have detected a subtle 
 resemblance between his way of moving and 
 that of William Holdsworth, who, she thought, 
 did things like a sailor. It almost seemed as if 
 these two men had passed through the same 
 school. 
 
 " By the way," said the singer, when Mrs. 
 Sanders had left the room, " you never told 
 me what Mrs. Valliant said in reply to your note. 
 I don't know whether I am invited or not." 
 
 Yalliant fumbled in his pockets. 
 
 " I have a letter for you somewhere," he 
 replied. " I wonder where it is." 
 
 " From Mrs. Yalliant," inquired the singer, 
 quietly. 
 
 His companion looked across the table sharply, 
 without however abandoning his search. 
 
 " Yes, from the old lady herself." 
 
 " Then I suppose it is all right ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. It is all right and . . . yes . . . here is 
 the letter." 
 
 The note was short, but kindly enough in its 
 stiff wording. Merely an invitation to go down 
 
 74
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 to Goldheath with Tom at the end of the week 
 and stay as long as was convenient, hospitably 
 expressed, but with no heartiness. People with 
 greenish gray eyes, around the iris of which 
 there is a distinct light-coloured rim, are never 
 hearty. There is no impulsiveness, no warmth 
 of self-sacrificing love in the soul that is hidden 
 behind such eyes as these. 
 
 Tom Yalliant took up the letter which his 
 companion had thrown across to him, and read it 
 with a smile in his quick, restless eyes. 
 
 " I have seen my respected aunt," he said 
 cheerily, " under many different circumstances, 
 but I have never yet seen her sans starch. 
 
 Crozier made no reply to this remark, and 
 presently rose from the table to ring the bell and 
 request that a hansom cab should be called. 
 
 They drove to Waterloo Station through the 
 keen frosty air — a pair of cheery, heart whole 
 men, to all appearance. 
 
 The journey was slow and somewhat unevent- 
 ful. At the station they found the Goldheath 
 dog-cart under the care of a smart young groom, 
 who relinquished the reins to Tom with alacrity. 
 
 75
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " They're skating this morning, Mr. Tom," 
 said the young fellow, as he jumped up behind. 
 
 " On the Canal ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. On the Old Canal, and beautiful 
 ice it is. Miss Elmy sent me round by the 
 parsonage to ask Miss Gibb to go to the Court 
 and take her skates. And I believe there's some 
 gentlemen eomin' over as well." 
 
 " What gentlemen ? " inquired Tom rather 
 sharply, as he cleverly guided the horse round a 
 nasty corner. 
 
 " There's young Mr. Holds worth, sir — hini as 
 has been awav so Ions; ; an' he's going to bring a 
 friend, I believe." 
 
 Tom made some remark to his companion on the 
 front seat, and the groom settled himself squarely, 
 with folded arms and a stony countenance. 
 
 When they drove up to the door of Goldheath 
 Court the squire was upon the step awaiting 
 their arrival. 
 
 " How do, my dear boys, how der do ? " he 
 exclaimed heartily. " They have all just gone 
 down to the pond — Elma, that is, and Lily Gibb, 
 and those two men. My wife . . . well ... let mc 
 
 76
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 see, she's about somewhere — speaking to the 
 servants, no doubt." 
 
 The two men returned the old fellow's hearty 
 grip, and then proceeded to unpack their skates 
 before t the fire in the carpeted hall. In a few 
 minutes they all passed out of a glass door at 
 the opposite side of the house, not into the 
 walled garden, but on to a large lawn where the 
 thin snow lay untouched by footsteps. There 
 were more cedars here, large solemn fellows with 
 mournful slice-like branches touched with white. 
 They skirted the lawn and came presently to a 
 railing. This they climbed, and in a few minutes 
 stood at the edge of a long narrow strip of water. 
 This had once been part of a canal running right 
 through Surrey and Sussex, but the Eailway 
 Company, fearing opposition, had bought up the 
 water-way, with the view of allowing it to fall 
 into disrepair. Here and there short stretches 
 had been preserved for irrigation or ornament. 
 
 Elma Valliant, who was standing on the ice 
 with her skates already strapped on, came to 
 meet them at once, followed more leisurely by 
 a young lady on skates and two men on foot. 
 
 77
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 After the greetings were over a general intro- 
 duction followed, and the men raised their hats 
 vaguely. 
 
 Tom and Crozier immediately shook hands 
 with Varden, expressing some surprise at seeing 
 him there. Then Crozier looked quietly at 
 Holdsworth, to whom he had been introduced, 
 generally, a moment before. Holdsworth did 
 not, however, appear to notice this glance. 
 
 The two girls then glided away, leaving the 
 four men to put on their skates. 
 
 It happened that Holdsworth and Crozier were 
 next to each other, and they both saw that their 
 skates were identical, of a peculiar Canadian 
 pattern rarely seen in England. The former 
 remarked upon this at once, and Crozier with 
 a low laugh replied that he had noticed the fact. 
 The girls came back in a few. minutes and found 
 that Tom and Varden had fixed their Acmes 
 and were ready. All four then shot away hand 
 in hand in long sweeps on the outside edge. 
 
 The two men seated on the bank were still 
 talking about their skates. 
 
 " They take longer to put on, but they never 
 78
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 slip when once screwed up as Acmes do," 
 Elma heard Crozier say as she took Tom's 
 hand. 
 
 "There are none like them," replied Holds- 
 worth. 
 
 "I have not skated this year," said Crozier, 
 bending over his foot. 
 
 " Nor I," was the reply. 
 
 Then the skaters moved away and Elma heard 
 no more. Something in the manner of these two 
 men interested her. There was in both faces the 
 same slow observant look, and in their strong 
 persons there was a distinct resemblance of 
 carriage, notably of the shoulders and head. 
 Beside them Walter Varden looked lamentably 
 boneless and weak, although he was taller and 
 more carefully dressed. 
 
 When they were left alone Crozier raised his 
 head slightly as if to make sure that they were 
 out of earshot. Then he ceased screwing the nut 
 at his heel, and stamped his foot tentatively on 
 the ice. 
 
 He turned suddenly towards his companion 
 and his blue eyes seemed to contract. 
 
 79
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " What devil's work are you doing here ? " he 
 asked in a softly deliberate way. 
 
 Holdsworth seemed in no manner surprised. 
 He continued fixing his skate, but glanced 
 furtively towards his companion's hands, which 
 were lying strong and quiescent upon either 
 knee. Then he answered in a low voice — 
 
 " That is my business." 
 
 Crozier did not change countenance. He rose 
 to his feet and stood upon the ice in front of 
 his companion, looking down at him with no 
 hardness in his earnest eyes. 
 
 "That style will not do with me," he said, 
 "you know me better than that." 
 
 " Hang it, sir, ..." began Holdsworth, then 
 he stopped suddenly. The last word had 
 slipped from his tongue inadvertently, and 
 he looked up with an awkward embarrassed 
 laugh. 
 
 " The old habit sticks closely," he murmured, 
 deprecatingly. 
 
 Crozier's smile was also tinged with embar- 
 rassment, but it was perhaps characteristic of 
 the man that he was in no way softened. 
 
 80
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 "Did you know I was coming to-day?" he 
 asked gravely. 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " And you had the cheek to come too ? " 
 
 "Call it pluck," suggested Holdsworth, au- 
 daciously. He dragged at his fluffy fair 
 moustache and glanced at Crozier with daring 
 blue eyes as he spoke. 
 
 " Suppose/' began Crozier, meditatively, 
 M suppose I had recognized you publicly and 
 called you by . . . by the name you sailed 
 under." 
 
 " You are not the sort of man to make a 
 mistake of that description," said the other 
 coolly, and with no intention of flattery. 
 
 " It never does to trust too much to luck. 
 It might have been very awkward," insisted 
 Crozier. 
 
 " I didn't trust to luck, I trusted to you." 
 
 " Then don't do it again." This was uttered 
 shortly and with a steady tone of determina- 
 tion which Crozier assumed at times, and 
 which clashed with his indolent way of taking 
 the world. He glided away backwards, but 
 
 VOL T. 81
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 Holclsworth was now on his feet and skated 
 after him. 
 
 " Oh," he said in a voice half-sneering and 
 half-pleading, "it is so easy to hit a fellow when 
 he is down, so confoundedly easy to prevent him 
 getting up again/' 
 
 " Are you trying to get up again ? " asked the 
 singer. 
 
 " I cannot expect the attempt to be well 
 received at your hands," was the sullen reply. 
 
 They were now skating down the length of 
 the pond towards the rest of the party, each in 
 his individual and characteristic way — Crozier 
 backwards with a marked ease and assurance of 
 movement. Holclsworth keeping close to him, 
 advancing upon the outside edge with a greater 
 display of action and even some flourish, but not 
 so firmly set upon the ice. 
 
 Crozier glanced over his shoulder before re- 
 plying. They were still some way from the rest 
 of the party. 
 
 "That is bosh," he said quietly, "and you 
 know it." 
 
 Perhaps there was a slight softening of tone, 
 82
 
 OLD SHIPMATES. 
 
 or it may have been that a sudden recollection 
 arose before Holdsworth's mind. At all events 
 his manner suddenly changed. 
 
 "Ah, Crozier," he exclaimed eagerly, "you 
 are the only man who has gone out of his way 
 to help me. Don't turn against me now. I 
 have tried, man ; I've tried hard. Don't push 
 me down -hill now. Give me another chance. I 
 cannot be wholly bad. I was a good sailor — 
 remember that. Whatever I was, I made a good 
 sailor." 
 
 " Yes," replied the singer absently, " you were 
 a good sailor, a better one than I was myself 
 most likely ..." 
 
 Suddenly he stopped, his eyes acquired at 
 that instant a hard, almost metallic look. His 
 strong face was fixed and rigid. The other saw 
 it and grew ashy pale. 
 
 "By God," he whispered, "your time is not 
 up. I have a good memory for dates ! " 
 
 "Look out," gasped Holdsworth. "Here is 
 VaUiant!" 
 
 83
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PLAYMATES. 
 
 AT this moment Tom Valliant skated up to 
 them. 
 
 " Do come," he cried out, " and see Yarden's 
 figure eight. It is certainly the very finest thing 
 of the kind that I have ever seen. He does the 
 first loop splendidly, and then sits down." 
 
 The two men laughed, and followed him at 
 once. Walter Varden, who was the w r orst skater 
 present, was attempting to conceal the fact under 
 a flow of technical terms and phrases. A sort 
 of competition w T as presently set on foot, and all 
 the party stood in a group. In this, Holds worth 
 undoubtedly came out the best man. There was 
 a certain dash and recklessness in his perform- 
 ance, which, if of doubtful value in life, is useful 
 
 84
 
 PLAYMATES. 
 
 upon skates. While this was still going on Tom 
 Valliant moved to his cousin's side, and under 
 cover of a loud laugh, in which every one joined 
 except Varden, he took her hand and drew her 
 away. 
 
 " Come round the pond with me," he said, " I 
 have something to tell you." 
 
 There may perhaps have been a shadow of 
 hesitation in her smile, but she obeyed him 
 instantly, and with crossed hands they shot 
 away. 
 
 " I suppose, Elma," he said carelessly, " that 
 Crozier has not spoken to you about me, or my 
 affairs." 
 
 " No," she replied shortly. 
 
 " I did not expect that he had," continued her 
 cousin. " The praiseworthy manner in which 
 the grave Samuel minds his own affairs is almost 
 worthy of a better cause." 
 
 " He has not spoken at all except to say ' how 
 do you do ! ' " murmured she, indifferently. 
 
 Elma and Tom were almost of the same height, 
 for he was not a tall man. He glanced sideways 
 at her with those quick merry eyes of his, and 
 
 85
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 drew her towards him a little, so that his grip 
 was firmer round her fingers, for the ice was 
 hard and difficult. 
 
 " And yet with all his aversion to meddling 
 with other people's affairs he is the cause of our 
 being here now." 
 
 " Indeed," she said, laughingly. " Did he 
 think you required a change of air, or did you, as 
 his medical adviser, prescribe the same for him." 
 
 " Neither, ma cousine. He was pleased to 
 proclaim it necessary under circumstances which 
 have arisen that I should come down to Gold- 
 heath, confess the circumstances, and seek the 
 advice of my honoured relatives." 
 
 She looked at him suddenly with a wondering 
 smile curling her lips, which were very red and 
 dainty. 
 
 " What are the circumstances ? " she asked. 
 "Though my advice can hardly be of much 
 value." 
 
 He turned quickly, as if about to contradict 
 the last statement, but appeared to change his 
 mind. 
 
 " The circumstances," he began, with mock 
 86
 
 PLAYMATES. 
 
 pomposity, " are briefly these. Nearly a year 
 ago Sam gave a bachelor's party ; perhaps you 
 remember it. There were a lot of clever fellows 
 there, and not least among these was your 
 devoted admirer — the deponent. One fellow 
 played the mandolin, another played something 
 else, and I, as usual, played the fool. During 
 the evening Sam sans; several songs, and anions 
 them he sang the ' Bridge.' I don't know which 
 bridge or what bridge, but he declared that he 
 was there at midnight as the clock was striking 
 the hour. When he had finished sinmno r , one 
 of the men there, a well-known publisher, said 
 that he believed that there was a fortune to be 
 made by illustrating Longfellow's Poems, and 
 that it ought to be a comparatively easy task. 
 Presently the subject was changed, and was not 
 again referred to before the men left. When 
 they had all gone, somewhere about three in the 
 morning, Sam and I sat down to have a last 
 solemn pipe. After we had been meditating 
 upon the political condition of our fatherland for 
 some time, he took his pipe from his mouth, and 
 looked at me in his most gravely melancholy 
 
 87
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 manner. You know the way he looks at one 
 when he is going to be rather funny." 
 
 " Yes/' said Elma softly, " I know." 
 
 " I suppose you will start to-morrow morning," 
 he said quietly. " 1 asked him what he was 
 driving at, and he explained that I would be a 
 fool not to have a shot at illustrating Longfellow. 
 I had a shot, Elma. I tried for it . . . and . . . 
 and I've won." 
 
 He broke off into a short laugh, and looked 
 away past her, across the low meadow towards 
 the dark belt of pine trees. 
 
 "I am very very glad," she said softly, and in 
 her sweet voice there was a thrill of heartfelt 
 sincerity. She was quite grave, and his jesting 
 reply must have struck harshly upon her ears. 
 
 " Sam says it is luck," he laughed, " whereas 
 I am of the opinion that it is genius." 
 
 " And what are you going to do ? " she asked. 
 " I suppose you will give up St. Antony's ! " 
 
 If she failed to appear excited over Tom's 
 good fortune it was because she had not seen 
 the book, because she did not know how great 
 and assured its success was considered by experts ; 
 
 88
 
 FLATMATES. 
 
 and if he was disappointed in the manner in 
 which she received the news he had only to 
 blame his own off-hand way of imparting it. It 
 was often a difficult matter to define exactly 
 where gravity merged into jest with Tom Yalliant, 
 and being a sensitive man he had received many 
 a little rankling stab from no other reason than 
 that he had been misunderstood. 
 
 M My dear, Elma," he now said, with a smile, 
 "that is precisely why I am here. It is because 
 I do not know myself, or do not care, that I 
 seek your advice and that of your stern parents.'' 
 
 " Have you told them ? " she asked. 
 
 "No," he answered, with a sudden access of 
 gravity. " No ; I wanted to tell you . , . first 
 of all." 
 
 She was pleased to ignore his gravity. 
 
 " Because of the superior value of my advice ? 
 she asked, with a flash of mischievous eyes. 
 
 " Of course," he answered laughingly. The 
 group at the end of the pond had broken up, 
 and at this moment Crozier passed near to them. 
 Tom stopped him. 
 
 " Sam ! " he cried. " Samuel ! " 
 89
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 The singer swung round and faced them. 
 Valliant half extended his hand as if to invite 
 him to join them, but Crozier did not appear 
 to notice it, although Elrna's quick eyes detected 
 the movement at once. 
 
 " I have been telling; Elma about that book," 
 said Valliant. 
 
 " Ah ! " He turned towards the girl at once 
 with his slow smile. 
 
 " You must congratulate him," he added ; " he 
 has made a great hit ! " 
 
 Then he skated away. The manoeuvre was 
 not well executed. His intention of leaving 
 them alone was too obvious, and they both 
 experienced a little momentary shock of anta- 
 gonism towards him. Considering that he had 
 been distinctly invited to join them, the move- 
 ment was a mistake. 
 
 Tom was annoyed, and changed the subject 
 almost immediately, with a murmur to the effect 
 that Elma would see the book later. Presently 
 he left her, and his place was taken without 
 delay by Holds worth, w T hose style of skating 
 suited Elrna's admirably. 
 
 90
 
 PLAYMATES. 
 
 Her new companion made himself very 
 agreeable, exercising freely a pleasant gift of 
 talking happily upon trifling subjects. But 
 Elma was absent-minded. She answered briefly 
 though kindly enough, and her laugh had that 
 peculiar ring in it which betrays a lack of 
 interest. Presently, however, she accorded a 
 greater attention to him, and even encouraged 
 his sallies by bright responses of her own. She 
 had seen that Yalliant and Crozier were now 
 skating together with the usual kindly exchange 
 of chaff, which dispelled a half- conceived fear 
 that there was some cloud upon the horizon of 
 their friendship. 
 
 She was very desirous of speaking with Crozier 
 before Tom produced the book which promised 
 so well, but no opportunity occurred before the 
 luncheon-bell was heard. She even began to 
 think that the singer was purposely avoiding 
 her, which is a dangerous thought to harbour, 
 for it gathers evidence, like a cunning attorney, 
 where none exists. 
 
 After luncheon they all returned to the pond, 
 and it was then that Crozier had a severe fall. 
 
 91
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 There had been much tumbling about, but no 
 one had been hurt. Crozier's fall, however, was 
 something nastier, as he was going a great pace 
 at the time, and came down heavily upon his 
 shoulder. Moreover it was not his own fault, 
 which perhaps made matters worse. Walter 
 Varden was executing a very elaborate figure, 
 and fell j ust in time to upset Crozier as he came 
 rapidly backwards on the outside edge. Both 
 men sat on the ice and laughingly apologized. 
 Presently they rose and continued skating, 
 but the singer soon went towards a small garden- 
 seat which had been brought to the edge of the 
 water. 
 
 " I am going to smoke," he said with grave 
 jocularity to Tom, "and recover my shattered 
 senses." 
 
 From that little garden-seat he watched them 
 all — watched Holds worth skating with Elma, 
 and watched Tom Valliant watching Holds worth. 
 At the same time he smoked meditatively with 
 many a speculative glance at the burning end 
 of his cigar. Occasionally his deep-set eyes 
 solemnly followed the movements of Walter 
 
 92
 
 PLAYMATES. 
 
 Varden and Miss Gibb, not that these personages 
 were interesting, but because they formed a 
 necessary part of the picture. 
 
 He was in no manner surprised when Elm a 
 left Holdsworth and came towards him. 
 
 " I am a little tired," she explained, as she 
 took her place at his side upon the seat, and 
 then she sat with rather heightened colour, 
 breathing rapidly from her late exertions. 
 
 " It is about this time in the afternoon," said 
 Crozier, " that peusiveness comes upon us." 
 
 Then he recollected his cigar, and glanced over 
 his shoulder to see where he could throw it. 
 
 " If you throw it away I shall go," said Elma, 
 " and I want to sit here, so please be reasonable." 
 
 He inclined his head by way of thanking her, 
 and continued smoking. 
 
 " I am always reasonable," he said, with slow 
 humour, " and by seeking to combine close 
 attention to the interests of the nobility and 
 gentry with prompt execution of orders, S. C. 
 hopes to receive continued patronage." 
 
 "If S. C. would kindly be serious for a few 
 minutes I should be much obliged." 
 
 93
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " Zum befelil," he murmured, turning towards 
 her. " What riddle are } r ou about to propound ? " 
 
 " Firstly," she replied, with a little imperious 
 smile, " I want to know if you hurt yourself 
 just now." 
 
 " Not at all, thank you ; it was only a shake. 
 I am getting rather old to roll about, and . . . 
 and as I observed before, a certain pensiveness 
 comes over man and beast at this time in the 
 afternoon." 
 
 In completion of his meaning he slightly 
 raised his cigar and glanced at it. 
 
 " Quite sure ? " she asked, with her pretty head 
 poised sideways.' 
 
 " Quite," he answered carelessly, almost 
 rudely, in face of her evident sympathy. " Has 
 Tom told you all about the book ? " he added at 
 once, with the obvious intention of changing the 
 subject. 
 
 " I think so," she replied, looking across the 
 ice towards her cousin ; " but I have no doubt 
 that you can tell me more.'' 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " Tom's account of it was — to say the least — 
 94
 
 PLAYMATES. 
 
 sketchy. Most of his statements are sketchy, 
 I think. Is it really going to be a success, 
 Mr. Crozier ? I mean enough of a success to 
 justify his giving up medicine and taking to 
 art." 
 
 " I think so," he said quietly, with no hesi- 
 tation, no mock modesty. 
 
 " And," she added with a business-like little 
 turn of the head, " will the sale be large ? " 
 
 He smiled involuntarily at her evident delight 
 in her own show of commercial shrewdness. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I think it will be large. In 
 fact by the arrangement which has been made 
 with the publisher it should bring him in a 
 small income for some years. The publisher has 
 been very generous." 
 
 " I did not know that Tom was such a good 
 man of business." 
 
 She had turned a little and was looking 
 directly at him. 
 
 " No," he answered rather consciously. " He 
 is very far-sighted, I think, though he is pleased 
 to conceal the fact." 
 
 " Who made the arrangement ? " she asked, 
 95
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 with a momentary gleam beneath her demurely 
 lowered lashes. 
 
 "The arrangement . . . oh . . . er — I made the 
 
 arrangement, 
 
 o 
 
 )) 
 
 He drew in his feet and stooped to examine 
 the fastenings of his skates with a critical eye. 
 
 She laughed a clear rippling little laugh, and 
 leant back, dangling her feet with girlish enjoy- 
 ment of her small triumph. 
 
 " You are very good to Tom," she said with 
 sudden gravity ; "an invaluable friend." 
 
 " The obligation is no more on one side than 
 on the other," he replied. " ' We halve our griefs, 
 and double our joys.' " 
 
 She recognized the ring of a quotation in the 
 low tones of his voice, and asked — 
 
 " Who said that ? " 
 
 " Somebody defined friendship in that way . . . 
 Lord Bacon, I believe." 
 
 For some moments they sat in silence, listen- 
 ing to the long continuous ring of the ice 
 beneath the bright blades. It was a still evening- 
 such as often comes in February. The pine-trees 
 all round them, like voiceless sentinels, seemed 
 
 9fi
 
 PLAYMATES. 
 
 to watch and wait. All the western sky was 
 ruddy with a dismal cold glow not yet speaking 
 of spring. But the two sitting there did not 
 seem to feel the cold, and they watched the 
 skaters with superficial interest. At last she 
 moved a little. 
 
 " I wish I could remember things like that," 
 she said ; " I am afraid I forget everything that 
 I read or hear." 
 
 " Urn — " he murmured, and smoked harder. 
 
 " You seem to have read a great deal," she 
 continued. 
 
 He had thrown away his cigar and was 
 leaning; forward with his elbows resting; on his 
 knees, and his strong, brown hands clasped 
 restful] y. He turned towards her without 
 actually looking into her face. 
 
 " You see," he explained in a practical way, 
 " sailors have plenty of time on their hands in 
 fine weather, and — and I suppose, taking it all 
 in all, there is more fine weather to be met with 
 than bad. When I was a sailor I read a good 
 deal." 
 
 She did not answer at once. It almost seemed 
 vol. i. 97 7
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 as if she had caught a little of his indolent 
 pensiveness and indifference. 
 
 " I always understood," she said in a slow 
 way, which dispensed with the necessity of a 
 direct answer, " that sailors never quite settle 
 down on land." 
 
 " No . . . no, perhaps you are right." 
 
 " You are still fond of the sea ? " she said, with 
 soft interrogation. 
 
 " Yes. Some day, when I am a rich man 
 (through the exertions of some one else of 
 course), I shall keep a yacht." 
 
 He looked thoughtfully over the still trees 
 towards the southern heavens, where huge clouds 
 hung lazily with softly-rounded edges and a 
 wondrous look of " distance " about them. She 
 concluded that he was thinking of his beloved 
 sea, but in that she was wrong. The past 
 occupied no place in his mind. 
 
 " And yet," she said tentatively with a 
 woman's quick sympathy, " you left it by your 
 own free will." 
 
 He shook his head slowly and sat back in the 
 
 seat. 
 
 98
 
 PLAYMATES. 
 
 " Xot quite," he replied with a smile. " It 
 was a case of mistaken duty — of giving way to 
 an over-sensitive conscience. I do not err in 
 that way now. "When my father died my mother 
 completely broke down. I was on the China 
 station then, and I thought it my duty to come 
 home, even if I had to give up the sea in order 
 to do it. When I reached England she had been 
 
 o 
 
 buried three weeks." 
 
 He spoke quite unemotionally, and there was 
 almost a speculative feeling in his voice as if he 
 were relating an incident in the life of some one 
 else, wondering over the possible effect in a 
 semi-interested way. 
 
 At this moment William Holdsworth passed 
 before them. 
 
 "Tired V he said, with respectful familiarity 
 to Elma, and glided away with a meaning smile 
 before she had time to reply. 
 
 " I sometimes think," she said presently, in a 
 lower voice, "that Willy Holdsworth should have 
 been a sailor. There is something about the way 
 in which he holds himself, and the movements of 
 
 99
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 his hands that reminds me of . . . of you, and of 
 other naval men." 
 
 Without turning his head he glanced at her 
 face. She was watching Holdsworth with a little 
 interested smile. 
 
 " What is he ? n he asked, indifferently. 
 
 " Nothing, at present," was the reply. He 
 came home from abroad, somewhere, three 
 months ago. Since that he has lived with his 
 parents. Their house is about five miles away. 
 They are very very old, and I have been told that 
 he is a devoted son, now." 
 
 Sam Crozier made no answer to this, and soon 
 he rose, holding out his band. 
 
 " Come," he said, " let us skate. You will catch 
 cold if you sit here too long in the twilight." 
 
 Presently he handed her over to the care of 
 Tom Valliant, and continued to sweep about in 
 long sure curves by himself. He seemed to love 
 solitude for its own sake. Certain it is that he 
 preferred his own society to that of Holdsworth, 
 Varden, or even the lively Miss Gibb. Now that 
 he had brought Tom and Elma together, he was 
 
 100
 
 PLAYMATES. 
 
 quite content to spend the last hour of their 
 day's pleasure alone — whirling, skimming, gliding 
 
 from side to side, from end to end of the long 
 
 sheet of ice. 
 
 His strong, gentle face was restful as it always 
 was, his deep-set eyes contemplative and very 
 soft in their earnestness. In short, the man was 
 strong, with that great, deep, enduring strength 
 which is independent of human sympathies. Few 
 men of this stamp pass through their allotted 
 years without doing some good, lightening some 
 burdens, and holding up some stumblers. They 
 are seldom beloved by the many, for the many 
 know them not ; but the lives around them if 
 not brighter, are surer in their brightness and 
 braver in their shadows for the unconscious in- 
 fluence wielded by strength over great and small. 
 
 +& 
 
 b> 4 
 
 101
 
 3 ^([%^^k 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CROZIER S LIE. 
 
 'I/TES. VALLIANT had scruples about asking 
 -*-"■*■ Crozier to sing more than one or two 
 songs. She felt, perhaps, that it was a species 
 of charity for which she was sueing ; attempting 
 to get for nothing, as it were, a commodity for 
 which money was demanded. But Elma was 
 not held back by such doubts as these, estimable 
 and admirable as they certainly were. After 
 dinner that evening she seated herself airily at 
 the piano, and swung round upon the revolving 
 music-stool towards Crozier with her hands 
 clasped upon her lap. 
 
 "Now," she said, imperiously, " how many 
 songs have you brought ? " 
 
 " Two or three," was the reply. 
 
 102
 
 CBOZIER'S LIE. 
 
 " My dear Elma," murmured Mrs. Yalliant, 
 reproachfully, "how can you be so high- 
 handed ? Just when Tomkins was bringing in 
 the coffee too. What will the servants think 
 of you ? " 
 
 Tom winked at Crozier over his coffee-cup and 
 promptly went to his cousin's assistance. 
 
 " Ah, Aunt Minnie, you see El ma knows how 
 to treat Sam. If she asked him prettily to 
 oblige us with a song, he would hum and ha, 
 and wait to be pressed. I know the man. That 
 is the way to overcome him. Push him, don't 
 try to draw him with silken cords." 
 
 He laughed, his quick infectious laugh, and 
 stepped forward respectfully to take Mrs. Val- 
 liant's empty coffee-cup. Then he crossed the 
 room and took possession of a low chair near 
 the piano. There he leant back and gave him- 
 self over to the enjoyment of the music. His 
 quick sensitive nature was easily touched by 
 outward influences, and Crozier's sino-ing: was 
 always an unalloyed pleasure to him. 
 
 From his position at the side of the piano 
 he was closer to Elma than Crozier, who stood 
 
 103
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 behind her, and her dress thrown carelessly aside 
 fell over his extended feet. He leant back and 
 unconsciously watched his cousin, noting the play 
 of her deft ringers, and the little frown that 
 came over her face at the difficult passages. 
 Once or twice when the song; was well known to 
 her, she forgot her anxiety about the accompa- 
 niment, and followed dreamily with her lightly 
 mobile head the rise and fall of the splendid 
 voice. 
 
 All this Tom Yalliant noticed as he lay softly 
 smiling;, and there was something else that im- 
 pressed itself upon his memory. This was, that 
 Sam Crozier never looked down at the fair girl 
 who was playing for him. His eyes kept strictly 
 to the music-book, althoug-h he stood so far back 
 that he could not possibly have read the words. 
 When she turned round to him to ask some 
 question with reference to the accompaniment, 
 or to demand his aid in the selection of the next 
 song, he looked past her towards the book in a 
 business-like, almost professional way, which was 
 not quite natural. 
 
 After singing for some time he asked her to 
 104
 
 CROZIEES LIE. 
 
 play, and she did so on condition, laughingly 
 made, that it was only in order to allow him a 
 rest. When she began he had been standing 
 behind her, and at last she finished with a 
 decisive little flourish, and swung round. But it 
 was only to find that he had noiselessly crossed 
 the room, and was sitting; beside her father 
 and mother near the fire. Somehow she had 
 expected him to remain standing near to the 
 piano, and the incident struck her at the moment 
 and remained in her memory. 
 
 " Thank you," said Crozier, looking up for a 
 moment from a book which lay open before him. 
 
 Then she turned towards her cousin who was 
 sitting near her, leaning forward in order to 
 thank her. 
 
 "Tom," she said, in a voice which, without 
 being purposely lowered, must have been inau- 
 dible at the far end of the room, " can you' not 
 stay over Monday ? " 
 
 He leant farther forward, and for a moment 
 his eyes were quite grave. 
 
 " 1 ? " he inquired, touching his breast with one 
 finger. 
 
 105
 
 TEE PHAXTOM FUTUBE. 
 
 With lier lips she formed the single word 
 " Do ! " — not speaking it, but expressing it 
 with a coquettish little pout. 
 
 " I ? " he whispered again, (: or both ? " And 
 with his eves he indicated Crozier. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, and played a few 
 chords carelessly. 
 
 " As you like," she replied, " and as he likes." 
 
 Tom Valliant leant back in his low seat again 
 and crossed his legs. His cousin began playing 
 again, a light German air, much in vogue just at 
 that time, and he rubbed his slim hands slowly 
 one over the other, as he looked vaguely across 
 the room towards Crozier. Presently he roused 
 himself. 
 
 " Oh, nightingale," he exclaimed, dramatically, 
 " come and warble. We have not had the new 
 song yet." 
 
 The singer obeyed, and sang two songs. Then 
 he said that they had had enough, and closed 
 the book in his lazily decisive way. 
 
 " I have been trying," said Elma, in a low 
 voice, as she turned half aside towards Crozier, 
 " to persuade Tom to stay over Monday. The 
 
 106
 
 CROZIER'S LIE. 
 
 frost is going to hold good and the skating will 
 be worth staying for." 
 
 " Both of us, of course ? " put in Torn, with a 
 short laugh. 
 
 Crozier took no notice of this. He was 
 arranging the music on the piano, and he looked 
 down at her with his blue eyes, softened by a 
 smile. 
 
 " Do not persuade," he said. " Make him du it." 
 
 " Can I ? " she inquired, saucily. 
 
 " Of course you can," replied he, looking 
 towards Tom, who, however, did not meet his 
 glance. " There is absolutely nothing to take him 
 to town, and the matter of his brilliant future 
 can be discussed in the family circle till it is 
 worn threadbare." 
 
 Valliant drew in his feet, and rose suddenly 
 with the evident intention of crossing the room 
 towards the fire-place. 
 
 "Phantom future, my boy, phantom future," 
 he exclaimed in tragic tones. "Not brilliant 
 future. If you stay, I will ; not otherwise." 
 
 " I do not believe that he wants to stay," said 
 Elma, playfully. 
 
 107
 
 THE PH AXIOM FUTURE. 
 
 VaUiant moved away, but Crozier raised his 
 arm and detained him. 
 
 " My dear Tom," he said, " I cannot stay. I 
 wish I could, but I have an engagement on 
 Monday night." 
 
 " Break it," suggested Elma. 
 
 Crozier shook his head. 
 
 Valliant looked down at his cousin gravely. 
 She was sitting before them on the music-stool 
 in her favourite half-girlish attitude, with her 
 hands folded upon her lap. She swung from 
 side to side in a jerky way, making the stool 
 revolve. 
 
 " Sam never breaks an engagement," he said, 
 steadily. 
 
 She laughed merrily, not without a suggestion 
 of mischief. 
 
 " Oh no," she said, " of course not." 
 
 "The worst of it is," put in Crozier, "that 
 there is no sentimental consolation to be got out 
 of it on this occasion. It is not a charity concert, 
 so I cannot claim sympathy. As there is money 
 to be considered in the question, Miss Yalliant, 
 you will understand that I must go." 
 
 108 

 
 CBOZIERS LIE. 
 
 " Well," she replied gaily, " Tom must stay at 
 all events." She rose and passed across the 
 room with her cousin. 
 
 Crozier, who did not follow them, at once 
 noticed that she expressed no regret that he 
 should be obliged to go, and yet some expression 
 of this sort was the least that he might have 
 expected. He closed the piano and stood for 
 some moments contemplating the little group 
 round the fire-place. Tom was talking gaily in 
 his usual chaffing style, and the singer saw 
 that his friend's merry dark eyes followed his 
 cousin's every movement and every glance 
 with a persistence that was almost furtive at 
 times. 
 
 " A week," meditated the watcher as he 
 brushed aside his brown moustache with a 
 quick backward movement of the finger. c< A 
 week together would do it . . . but ... but 
 why does he keep constantly harping on that 
 old joke about the phantom future ? I wish I 
 had never sung the song." 
 
 Then he crossed the room and joined in the 
 discussion which was going on relative to the 
 
 109
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 book of ' Poetical Works/ illustrated by Tom 
 Valliant. 
 
 Later in the evening, as the young people 
 stood together in the long broad passage that 
 ran the whole length of the house, lighting 
 their bed-room candles, Elma again returned to 
 the question. 
 
 " Tom," she said, with a little imperious nod, 
 "you are going to stay over Monday." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and laughed as he 
 swung lightly round on his heel to face her. 
 
 " I should like to," he said, " and I suppose I 
 will because Sam says I must. I generally do 
 what he wants me to, sooner or later ; n'est-ce-pas, 
 Samuel." 
 
 Crozier smiled. He was busy straightening 
 the wick of his candle with a match, and the 
 flame flickered, casting its searching light up- 
 ward upon his powerful head and face, which 
 would have been unpleasantly resolute had it 
 not been for the lazy pensiveness of the deep -set 
 eyes. 
 
 " Invariably," he answered, " when your own 
 wish tallies with mine." 
 
 110
 
 CROZIERS LIE. 
 
 "And you," said Elma, turning to him, "will 
 come back on Tuesday morning for some more 
 skating, as mother suggested." 
 
 " Thank you," he said, gravely, " if I can 
 manage it." 
 
 She moved away a little and glanced quickly 
 into his face. He was still interested in the 
 wick of the candle. 
 
 " I have," said Tom, lightly touching his 
 shirt-front, " an aching conviction just here, that 
 he will not turn up on Tuesday morning." 
 
 Elma laughed merrily and looked at Crozier. 
 She had moved away as if to go to her room, 
 but she stood still again a few yards from them. 
 
 " I have my doubts," she said, mischievously. 
 
 " Miss Valliant," said the singer with, quizzical 
 reproach, " you tacitly admitted just now that I 
 was not the sort of man to break his en^a^e- 
 ments. Eemember that the man who keeps an 
 engagement for money may be expected to keep 
 one for pleasure. If I were you I should not 
 count upon my failing to turn up on Tuesday." 
 
 " I shall take care not to do so," she said, 
 laughingly, as she went up-stairs. 
 
 Ill
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 Nevertheless, she knew as well as if he had 
 told her that Samuel Crozier had no intention 
 then of coming back to Goldheath. She also 
 knew that with a man of his stamp intentions 
 once conceived are usually carried out. Some of 
 us may consider it a mistake, this unswerving 
 adherence to a pre-conceived plan. Doubtless it 
 leads to sorrow, but what does not ultimately 
 trend downwards to that same £oal ? If a mis- 
 take be made is it not better to stand by it — to 
 steer the straight est course possible under the 
 circumstances, and press bravely forward through 
 the broken water to the smooth depths which 
 (we are asked to believe) exist beyond ? A good 
 pilot does not " down-helm " and put the ship 
 about on n earing the rocks, it is wiser to hold 
 on the same tack and find a way through. 
 Better come to grief in advancing than in 
 retreating. 
 
 Tom Yalliant accompanied his friend to his 
 
 bed-room, but he did not stay long. Crozier 
 
 was tired and unresponsive, he sank into a low 
 
 chair before the fire and stretched out his legs 
 
 with a groan of comfort, answering Tom's re- 
 
 112
 
 CBOZIER'S LIE. 
 
 marks by monosyllables. At last the younger 
 man left the room with a cheery " good-night." 
 Then the singer rose from his seat and stood 
 with his hands in his pockets and his feet 
 slightly apart on the hearth-rug. He was not 
 a clever man, this musician, not very brilliant, 
 not too intellectual ; but he was steadfast, very 
 steadfast, and as true as steel. In the course of 
 a wandering life he had seen many things that 
 had puzzled him, strange unsatisfactory men and 
 incomprehensible women. He had moved in 
 many grades of society. Among men — from 
 the gun-room to Myra's. Among musicians — 
 from Chatham Music Hall to St. James's. Among 
 women — from Syra, and lower than Syra, to his 
 aristocratic mother. In all circles and under all 
 circumstances he had experienced no difficulty in 
 steering his own course, guided by that subtle 
 sense of refinement which is the true instinct of 
 gentlemanliness. Through everything he had 
 (as he jocosely informed Syra one night) en- 
 deavoured to remember that he was a gentleman, 
 and in view of that remembrance he had this 
 evening considered it expedient to act and 
 vol. i. 113 8
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 practically tell a lie in a lady's drawing-room 
 to a lady's face, looking into her eyes with his, 
 innocently and calmly. He knew he had done 
 it well. He had even led up to the invitation 
 to return to Goldheath before accepting it with 
 as much eagerness as he ever displayed in any- 
 thing. Elma had expressed her complete satis- 
 faction with the arrangement, her father had 
 added a few hearty words of welcome, and Tom 
 had been merrily appeased. Crozier, however, 
 never had the intention of returning, and now 
 he was puzzling himself as to how Tom and 
 Elma had found this out. Concerning the 
 former, he did not trouble himself much. Tom 
 Valliant had an irresponsible way of saying, at 
 hap-hazard, things he did not mean, and his 
 friends soon learnt to set small store by such 
 remarks. His statements — as Elma observed — 
 were often sketchy. But with Elma herself it 
 was a different matter. There were many 
 reasons why the singer did not wish her to 
 think that he was desirous of avoiding a longer 
 visit to Goldheath, so many that he did not 
 attempt to define them. And he knew — he had 
 
 114
 
 CROZIEKS LIE. 
 
 read in her eyes as she looked back over her 
 shoulder with one foot on the stairs — that she 
 was fully aware of his intention. 
 
 He stood for some time before the fire, and 
 arrived no nearer to a solution : then he be^an 
 to think of going to bed. It was strange how 
 wakeful he now appeared to be. From the 
 button-hole of his dress-coat he proceeded to 
 unpin a flower in the mechanical manner with 
 which some men wind their watch at the mere 
 mention of bed. It was a single spray of lily 
 of the valley which Elma had given him before 
 dinner, presenting one to her cousin at the same 
 time. He raised it to his face and critically 
 inhaled the odour. 
 
 " Dead ! " he muttered, and deliberately threw 
 it into the fire, where it writhed and crackled, 
 then he turned away peaceably, humming an 
 operatic air. 
 
 "^^^- 
 
 115
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 RESURRECTION PIE. 
 
 THE next afternoon brought with it Holds- 
 worth and Varden, who arrived about three 
 o'clock with their skates, having walked the 
 distance. It happened that they came rather 
 mal-aproj)os. Some snow had fallen in the 
 night, and in view of his wife's consideration of 
 her servants' feelings the Squire had deemed it 
 prudent to refrain from proposing that the pond 
 be swept. Elma did not want to skate, because 
 forsooth she had too fine a dress, and was too 
 indolent to change it. Tom had his suspicions 
 that she was aware of its becoming her exceed- 
 ingly well, and therefore preferred to continue 
 wearing it, and this opinion he audaciously aired. 
 It was settled, however, that there was to be 
 116
 
 RESURRECTION PIE. 
 
 no skating, a walk being substituted, and a few 
 moments later the two men arrived. 
 
 " Oh hang ! " said Tom aloud, when he saw 
 them pass the window. 
 
 " Confound that fellow Holdsworth ! " thought 
 Crozier. 
 
 The two new arrivals expressed themselves 
 delighted at the notion of a walk. They were 
 not at all tired, and would as soon walk as skate. 
 
 On leaving the house, Holdsworth made a 
 gallant attempt to get to Elma's side, but failed. 
 Tom Valliant was before him, and Crozier's quiet 
 eyes were fixed on his face with a significant 
 persistence, which said only too plainly that if 
 he succeeded he would not be left in undisputed 
 possession. The quiet gaze of those eyes haunted 
 Holdsworth as he walked on by the side of Squire 
 Valliant. He knew that the singer had something 
 to say to him, something unpleasant and probably 
 true ; he felt that sooner or later in the afternoon 
 he would get him alone, and say it in that gentle 
 undeniable way which was so hard to meet, and 
 he recognized when too late that he had made a 
 mistake in coming to Goldheath again. 
 
 117
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 Nevertheless, William Holdswortli laughed and 
 chatted gaily with the genial old squire. He was 
 a courageous fellow in his reckless, jaunty way, 
 and he knew it, which made him over-confident. 
 
 Crozier had something to say to the returned 
 ne'er-do-weel, and he succeeded, in his deliberate 
 way, in walking with him alone at last, although 
 it was not until they had turned homewards 
 again. He came to the point at once. 
 
 " Holdswortli," he said, " this sort of thing 
 won't do ! " 
 
 "What sort of thing?" 
 
 " I should recommend you not to come to 
 Goldheath quite so often." 
 
 Holdsworth's quick eyes flashed round towards 
 his companion. He touched the turf lightly 
 with his stick several times. 
 
 "This is not the quarter-deck," he remarked 
 insolently. 
 
 " No," murmured the singer gently. He threw 
 a significance into the monosyllable, which made 
 his companion bite his lip in vexation. 
 
 " Why should I not come to Goldheath ? " 
 was the sullen rejoinder. 
 
 118
 
 RESURRECTION PIE. 
 
 " Because," said Crozier, " you are doing no 
 good here." 
 
 " What business is it of yours ? " 
 
 11 None." 
 
 Holds worth felt that he was getting no further 
 on. It would be worse than folly to lose his 
 temper with Crozier, who was never ruffled, and 
 he felt that he was verging on to a display of 
 heat. 
 
 " The men used to say," he muttered, u that 
 you were a gentleman. "Is it a gentlemanly 
 thing to bully a man when he is down ? " 
 
 "Look here," said Crozier, with an uncomfort- 
 able ring of anger in his voice. " Look here, 
 Holdsworth. If you think that I am going to 
 stand by with my hands in my pockets, and 
 watch you make love to Miss Valliant, you are 
 greatly mistaken." 
 
 They walked on in silence for some distance. 
 Holdsworth edged away from his companion a 
 yard or so as if to think in solitude. Then he 
 went closer to him so that their arms touched. 
 
 "I have never quite understood," he said 
 softlv, " why vou should have troubled with me 
 
 119
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 at all. You were the only man on board who 
 had a good word for me, the only fellow I have 
 met in the whole of my useless career who held 
 out a hand to help me. I suppose it's no good 
 telling you that I did try. I tried, sir, to keep 
 straight, not for my own sake, but for yours, 
 to show you that I was not quite a blackguard. 
 But it was useless ; I went wrong again. Either 
 I'm the unluckiest chap that has ever lived, or 
 I'm a blackguard. I used to think, Crozier, 
 that I was one, with no hope of ever being any- 
 thing else. Then one day I came home. I 
 found it was not so hard to keep straight after 
 all. The old folks were very good to me — very 
 glad to see me. That was the beginning. Then 
 I went to Goldheath one day and saw Elma . . . 
 that was the end." 
 
 They had come to a stile, over which Crozier 
 vaulted, but his companion made no attempt 
 to follow him, and they stood leaning on the 
 topmost bar, one on each side. 
 
 " You never were the fellow to leave a thing 
 half done," pleaded Holdsworth. "You have 
 given me more chances than any man on earth, 
 
 120
 
 RESURRECTION PIE. 
 
 give me this one more. Let me tiy. I think 
 she cares for me." 
 
 Crozier actually smiled — the last remark was 
 so absurdly characteristic of the man. The 
 singer had pulled a little branch of black- 
 thorn from the hedge, and was biting it pen- 
 sively. 
 
 " You forget/' he said ironically, " that I 
 knew you out there." 
 
 Holds worth looked at him. 
 
 "You mean . . . that other girl," he whispered 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " I mean that other girl," affirmed the singer. 
 There was a peculiar embarrassment about his 
 manner of speaking which Holdsworth did not 
 understand until later. 
 
 " She is dead," said Holdsworth, in a softer 
 tone. 
 
 Crozier lifted his head suddenly as a man 
 lifts his head upon hearing a distant, uncertain 
 sound, which he cannot explain. Still holding 
 the little twig- of blackthorn between his short 
 
 o 
 
 strong teeth, he turned and looked into his 
 companion's eyes. 
 
 121
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " That is a lie ! " he said, almost exultingly. 
 
 Holdsworth promptly made himself safe. 
 
 " To the best of my knowledge she is dead." 
 
 " She is alive," said Crozier, moving a little, 
 and crossing his feet in order to lean more 
 comfortably against the stile. 
 
 " Where is she ? " 
 
 " I am too kindly disposed towards her to 
 tell you that," said the singer. 
 
 " By God, Crozier, you're a hard man ! " 
 exclaimed Holdsworth. 
 
 Before replying the other turned and looked 
 speculatively at him. 
 
 " Perhaps I am," he said in a softer manner. 
 " Perhaps I am, but you have done it. You 
 have shaken my faith in human nature more 
 than anything or any person I have met 
 with." 
 
 Holdsworth turned away and looked across 
 the level meadows where the snow lay whitely. 
 His companion stood in a square, immoveable 
 way, with his shoulders against the polished bar 
 of the stile. He brushed aside his moustache 
 with that peculiar backward movement of the 
 
 122
 
 KESURBECTION PIE. 
 
 fingers which was the only quick thing about 
 him ; coming at times in strange contrast as a 
 suggestion of powers quiescent. 
 
 "I suppose," said Holdsworth, "that it is 
 hard for } r ou to realize the position of a fellow 
 who has fought against bad luck from the very 
 beginning. Hitherto I have had nothing to 
 save me, nothing to urge me on to better things. 
 With you it is different." 
 
 " What have I ? " interrupted the singer. 
 
 " You ? Why, you have your voice." 
 
 " Yes, " returned Crozier slowly, without any 
 suggestion of vanity, speaking as if the posses- 
 sion were something that he had found at the 
 road-side. " Yes, that is true. I have my 
 voice." 
 
 "And now," continued the other, "now that 
 I have a real chance, surely you will let me try 
 and hold it." 
 
 " You forget . . . the other girl ! " 
 
 " I believe she is dead." 
 
 " I know for a positive fact that she is alive." 
 
 " Then," exclaimed Holdsworth, " tell me her 
 address." 
 
 123
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " What good would it do her ? What good 
 would it do you ? " 
 
 "Well," began Holdsworth, w 7 ith the hesitation 
 of a man who is not telling the strict truth, "of 
 course I owe her some reparation. I could 
 at least see that she is not suffering from 
 want." 
 
 " Oh, that is all right," said Crozier un- 
 guardedly. 
 
 Holdsworth looked at him sharply. 
 
 " Indeed," he said, slowly clasping his hand 
 round his weak chin, half-hidden by a fair beard 
 of apparently recent growth, " you seem to know 
 a good deal about it." 
 
 The singer made no reply. He moved his 
 legs slightly, and taking a case from his pocket, 
 selected a cigarette from it which he lighted, 
 while his companion watched every movement 
 with a puzzled expression. 
 
 " How is it all right ? " he continued. "Does 
 she make her own living or, or ... is it charity ? " 
 
 Crozier shruo-ored his shoulders and glanced at 
 
 DO ~ 
 
 his companion's face through a cloud of smoke. 
 " I suppose you would call it charity." 
 124
 
 RESUBRECTION PIE. 
 
 "Charity," muttered the other jealously, 
 " whose charity ? " 
 
 The singer smoked in silence, looking straight 
 in front of him with contracted eyebrows. He 
 would not answer the question, but Holdsworth 
 knew now. 
 
 " I don't understand you, Crozier," he said un- 
 steadily. Then suddenly jealousy, that strange 
 unhealthy jealousy which inconstant men suffer 
 on hearing or suspecting that another has taken 
 up what they have left, came into his heart. 
 
 " Charity," he insinuated with horrible signifi- 
 cance — " charity from a young man to a devilish 
 pretty girl. People might misconstrue it." 
 
 " That is my business ! " 
 
 Crozier moved away, and his companion 
 vaulted over the stile and followed him. 
 
 "Crozier," he hissed, "give me her address." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Hang it, man, I love her still." 
 
 Crozier walked on rapidly. He heaved a 
 weary sigh. 
 
 "You have a large heart," he said with biting 
 
 sarcasm. 
 
 125
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " I thought she was dead," pleaded the other. 
 " I did, indeed." 
 
 " And so turned to the living ? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 Crozier laughed unpleasantly and made no 
 further comment. 
 
 "I believe," said Holdsworth presently, "that 
 you love Elma Yalliant yourself." 
 
 The singer turned and looked at him gravely. 
 His cigarette was almost finished. He drew one 
 long inhalation and threw the burning end into 
 the snow, where it fizzled faintly. Then he 
 emitted the smoke pensively in a thin spiral 
 column. 
 
 " You are at perfect liberty," he said quietly, 
 and without any suggestion of embarrassment, 
 " to believe anything you like. It will not 
 affect me. For the sake of convenience we will 
 say that I want Elma Yalliant for myself, and 
 consequently if I catch you endeavouring to 
 take the wind out of my sails I will make 
 things uncommonly hot. And now let us drop 
 the subject." 
 
 They walked home in silence. It was not that 
 126
 
 RESURRECTION FIE. 
 
 there was only the choice of speaking of the past 
 or keeping silence. They could have conversed 
 pleasantly enough upon indifferent topics if they 
 had so wished, or if it had been necessary owino- 
 to the presence of others; but both were occupied 
 with their own thoughts, and they knew each 
 other well enough to find silence devoid of 
 embarrassment. 
 
 Samuel Crozier was by no means a domineering 
 man. He found nothing but displeasure and 
 disgust in the position in which he was placed. 
 Some men there are who take delight in the 
 
 tmere sense of a commanding position ; to possess 
 power over their fellows, to dictate the corning 
 and going of others, is in itself a distinct satis- 
 faction. These men were undoubtedly bullies at 
 school. But the ex-sailor was not of this class, 
 and even while accusing him of it, Holdsworth 
 knew that he was no bully. Nevertheless there 
 was in the man the instinct of exacting obedience 
 which, like the art of making music or writing 
 books, crops up in unexpected quarters wdiere it 
 is frequently allowed to run to waste. Frail 
 women often have it while some big men cannot 
 
 127
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 acquire it even when conscious of the failing. 
 Perhaps this instinct had been fostered greatly 
 by the fact that Crozier had, when quite a boy, 
 found himself in a position of command over 
 men old enough to be his father — perhaps it was 
 merely a part of his nature. Be that how it 
 may, he never doubted that Holdsworth must 
 obey him, although their wills had clashed before, 
 when the gold lace on his own sleeve gave him a 
 practically unlimited power over the unruly blue- 
 jacket, which he hesitated to take advantage of. 
 He had not lost sight of the fact that this man 
 was under the ban of naval law. His term of 
 service was not complete, and he was liable at 
 any time to be arrested and punished by a 
 lengthened service before the mast. This know- 
 ledge, however, Crozier never thought of using. 
 He argued (wrongly perhaps) that he was no 
 longer in Her Majesty's service, and that it was 
 not his business to inform on runaways. 
 
 Holdsworth, although coldly silent, was not 
 sullen. He was too light-hearted, too sanguine, 
 and too reckless to indulge in a display of temper 
 lasting for any space of time. His sins of the 
 
 128
 
 KESUBRECTION PIE. 
 
 past troubled him very little. Of the unfortu- 
 nate woman whose existence had been summarily 
 recalled to his memory that afternoon, he thought 
 lightly enough. With the self-deception which 
 comes so easily to men of his stamp, he argued 
 that she had had herself to blame. She had 
 drawn him on, exercised her all-powerful wiles 
 and coquetries for the benefit of such a notably 
 unfaithful lover as a sailor. Clearly her down- 
 fall was at her own door. With such and similar 
 sophistries he dismissed the subject. Some day 
 he would insist on repaying Crozier the money 
 which he had spent in mistaken philanthropy. 
 In the meantime he was in love with Elma 
 Valliant — sweet Elma Valliant — and she — well 
 — she most assuredly cared for him. She was 
 no longer a mere chit of a girl despite her 
 youthful ways. Within that slender bodice was 
 a woman's heart of which the secret was hidden 
 with all a woman's jealous care. It was whis- 
 pered in the country-side that Elma Valliant 
 had changed lately. She had been in a childish 
 way a wicked little flirt and coquette, but now 
 the primmest matron could find no fault in her 
 vol. I. 129 9
 
 TEE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 conduct. Of course that meant that there was 
 someone — Someone — written with a capital 
 letter. It could not be Tom Valliant ; he was 
 her cousin, and had been brought up with her 
 as a brother since his father's early death and 
 his mother's hasty second marriage. There were 
 a few young men in the neighbourhood, but none 
 of them good enough for Elm a, none of them to 
 be compared with himself — William Holds worth. 
 No, no ; he was undoubtedly that Someone, and 
 Crozier might go to Davy Jones and take his 
 moral lectures with him. 
 
 "When they reached home the others had been 
 in some time, and Elma was assisting her mother 
 to dispense tea. It was about this time that 
 Walter Varden arrived at the humiliating con- 
 clusion that his personal importance was not 
 being recognized with the sense of admiration 
 and respect which w T as its due. He found that 
 his opinion was rarely asked, and when vouch- 
 safed it was sometimes ignored. Tom Valliant 
 and his friend were undoubtedly the honoured 
 o'uests. Tom's sallies were laughed at, Crozier's 
 opinion was asked. Mr. Varden therefore be- 
 
 130
 
 BESUBRECTIOy PIE. 
 
 thought himself of the expedient of showing 
 these country people that he was a man about 
 town, a regular " dog," with a wicked side to 
 his character. With this end in view he looked 
 Mephistophelian, and asked Crozier in an audible 
 aside — 
 
 "How was the fair Syra wmen you 'last saw 
 her, eh ? " 
 
 An unfortunate silence followed. Mrs. Valliant 
 pricked her ears, and inwardly thanked a wise 
 Providence that the butler was not in the 
 room. 
 
 Crozier stirred his tea and looked critically at 
 Varden from the top of his sleek, mal-formed 
 head to his o-aitered feet. Then he answered 
 
 o 
 
 him with deliberation — 
 
 " I believe she was enjoying her usual rude 
 health." 
 
 Then to Elma's infinite relief, Tom Valliant 
 came forward with his ready merriment. 
 
 " Now don't — dorit!" he exclaimed, holding 
 up a warning tea-spoon. " Please draw a veil 
 over city vices. Syra, as it happens, is only a 
 young person who attends to the inward require- 
 
 131
 
 TEE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 ments of St. Antony's ; but still, let us draw a 
 curtain over your wild career. Bern ember, 
 Yard en, that I am young ; spare this youthful 
 cheek ; and if you — you dog — have led Sam 
 away on the downward slope, do not breathe 
 such darksome hints to me!" 
 
 The situation was saved. Crozier created a 
 masterly diversion with a plate of bread-and- 
 butter, and Varden wondered vaguely whether 
 he had made a fool of himself. It was a pity, 
 however, that Holdsworth happened to be 
 present. 
 
 132
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ACADEMY OF CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 TT7ILL any enterprising person join with heart 
 " " and hand and purse in setting up an 
 Academy where the cultivation of cheerfulness 
 shall receive sole and special care 1 It may be 
 that those shadows which come with years are 
 gathering round ; it may be that the eye of the 
 present writer is dimmed a little by much study, 
 much sorrow, and much gas-light, but it seems 
 to me that cheerfulness is leaving us. Are we 
 a grave generation, or are we oppressed by the 
 speed at which we travel ? An express train 
 makes less noise than its slower companions. 
 Is there much sorrow in a multitude of balls, 
 routs, soirees, dinners, theatres, and tennis 
 parties ? Is there additional wisdom and con- 
 sequently additional grief in the view of many 
 
 133
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 faces, the clatter of many tongues ? It would 
 seem so. A ball-room was in bygone times the 
 scene of revelry and mirth, now it is dimly 
 lighted, the floor is more highly polished, the 
 feet that tread it are no heavier, but they are 
 more skilful, and the faces are graver. If you 
 doubt this go to a public ball in London. The 
 music is louder than the laughter, the feet are 
 lighter than the hearts. Smiles there are, of 
 course — are they not the mask of society ? — but 
 of laughter there is none, except, perhaps, among 
 the old maids and stout married men around 
 the walls. 
 
 In my Academy of Cheerfulness, however, the 
 real genuine article shall be cultivated. At the 
 head of it we will place an elderly unmarried 
 lady — to be frank, an old maid — who has seen 
 sorrow and waded in it since her girlhood ; 
 whose lover was perhaps killed before his 
 moustache was aught but fluff ; whose brothers 
 are dead ; who nursed her aged cross-grained 
 mother when her own vitality revolted against 
 the enervating warmth of a sick room ; who is 
 called upon in times of sorrow as the sheep is 
 
 134
 
 THE ACADEMY OF CHEERFUZyESS. 
 
 called by its lamb when a dog is loose. She 
 will not be brought into these pages, but I have 
 her address by my side, and when the capital is 
 fully subscribed, I will write to her, and with 
 pleasure, for there is a vague reflection of good- 
 ness in the very sight of her name. For patrons 
 and directors we will have a middle-aged doctor 
 who has stood in a hundred sick-rooms by the 
 bedside where Death was hovering, alone un- 
 moved amidst the tearful watchers, and the 
 brave young vicar who has knelt at the other 
 side of that same bed. To these we will leave 
 the choice of professors, who must, however, be 
 mostly gathered from the ranks of the unwed, 
 and then we will order a brass door-plate. 
 
 Had such an institution been in existence 
 when Tom Valliant was a St. Antony's man it 
 would have found in him an apt and ready 
 pupil. Without it, however, he was studying 
 more or less successfully by himself. I say 
 more or less, because some people received his 
 lightness of heart as a gift sent to him from 
 whence all gifts are despatched, whereas a 
 few scented as it were the art that made it 
 
 135
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 sometimes almost artificial. Among these latter 
 was his cousin Elma, and her suspicion was quite 
 unformed and indefinite. But it was to her 
 that he betrayed himself the oftenest. It was 
 with her that his humours changed most fre- 
 quently, and it was when talking to her that 
 he sometimes avoided gravity too obviously. 
 
 She wanted to talk to Samuel Crozier about 
 this matter, and in walking home from church 
 on Sunday evening the opportunity presented 
 itself. Tom was in front with his uncle and 
 aunt, and the Squire's hearty apoplectic laugh 
 came back to them through the still night air 
 at intervals. It was probably freezing very 
 hard, but as the air was quite still, the cold 
 was not unpleasant, and no one evinced a desire 
 to walk quickly. 
 
 " I am sure Tom will send papa into a fit 
 some day," said Elma, after a little pause, during 
 which an extra loud laugh had reached their 
 ears. 
 
 " Yes ; he is a cheerful soul," answered 
 Crozier, gravely, for he knew that her humour 
 just then was grave. The clear bright moon- 
 
 136
 
 THE ACADEMY OF CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 light resting softly on the sleeping land was 
 enough to make her a little pensive and quiet, 
 especially after the solemn evening service. 
 
 "Is he always like that 1 " she asked. 
 
 He looked down at her, his deep eyes con- 
 tracted and almost searching. 
 
 " When he remembers," he answered, divining 
 her thoughts. 
 
 She smiled a little, but did not look up, and 
 they walked on without speaking for a few 
 moments. 
 
 " And you," she said, in a lighter tone, " are 
 you like that too when you are alone with 
 him ? " 
 
 "No," he answered, with a low laugh, "no; 
 there is a lamentable monotony about me." 
 
 She did not smile. Her lips were slightly 
 parted, and he saw the gleam of her short 
 white teeth, but they were not parted in mirth. 
 
 " What a strange friendship ! " she murmured. 
 " What a strange friendship it is ! I think it is 
 rather interesting." 
 
 He set back his head and looked up to the 
 heavens with the eye of an amateur astronomer. 
 
 137
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 "It is convenient," he said, " and very 
 commonplace, I can assure you." 
 
 " Are you much together ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh yes. We see each other every day, 
 and usually have at least one meal too-ether." 
 
 " At Syra's ? " she asked, carelessly. 
 
 " At Myra's," he corrected. " Syra is only 
 Myra's assistant." 
 
 " Myra," she said, u is the motherly old lady 
 who sees that the students do not get into 
 mischief, is she not ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And Syra ? " she inquired, peremptorily. 
 
 " Syra is young and charming," he answered, 
 lightly. " All the students fall in love with her 
 in turn." 
 
 " Is she pretty and . . . and lady-like ? " asked 
 Elma, drawing her fur boa closer round her throat. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, in the same careless, 
 perfunctory way. " Yes, she is both. She is 
 rather interesting also." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 By that single word she managed to shelve 
 the subject most completely, and a sudden 
 
 138
 
 THE ACADEMY OF CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 silence came over them. Then he returned to 
 the question of Tom's cheerfulness. 
 
 " Why do you ask whether Tom is always 
 cheerful ? " he inquired. 
 
 She looked up towards him. He was looking 
 straight in front of him, and did not appear 
 to be aware of her scrutiny. The moon was 
 nearly full, and its soft light detracted a little 
 from the habitual sternness of his expression. 
 The face she saw there was merely that of a 
 strong, thoughtful man, with perhaps a some- 
 what unusual curve of lip and chin, imparting 
 a pleasant sense of steadfastness. 
 
 " It sometimes seems to me," she said, frankly, 
 " that it is not quite natural. And yet there 
 is surely no reason why he should assume it — 
 there can be nothing on his mind, I mean, 
 nothing that he wishes to hide from us." 
 
 He showed no surprise. In fact when he 
 answered her his manner clearly betrayed that 
 such thoughts had passed through his own mind 
 also. His voice was gentler than usual, with a 
 suggestion of mutual confidence in it, of which 
 
 no ' 
 
 he was probably unaware. 
 
 139
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " It ma) r be the effect," he said, " of havino- 
 concealed the affair of that book. Concealment 
 leaves its mark upon men. I know a fellow 
 who is now a celebrated novelist, but his own 
 name is quite unknown. When he was youno- 
 he lived a double life. In his family he was 
 merely the second son — a Government clerk, 
 with no great prospect of advancement. Under 
 his assumed name he was one of the most 
 prominent literary men of the day. Of course 
 it was a mistake, an utter mistake ; but he 
 began with the idea of suppressing his identity 
 with the promising writer until he was sure 
 of his success, and then it was difficult to tell 
 the secret. It is all out now, for it happened 
 years ago, but there is something unnatural 
 and almost furtive about him still." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, softly, " it may be that." 
 She was not thinking of the novelist whose 
 thirst for personal fame had never been satisfied. 
 The argument was ingenious. It might apply 
 to Tom Valliant, but she thouo;ht that it did 
 not, if indeed she was giving attention to the 
 argument at all. Probably she was thinking 
 
 140 "
 
 THE ACADEMY OF CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 of the arguer, a way women have. Perhaps she 
 was treating the little story merely as a glimpse 
 of this man's past life — this indifferent idler who 
 only displayed energy when the effort was wrung 
 from him — who deliberately chose to waste one 
 of the greatest gifts vouchsafed to men. And 
 she wondered indefinitely whether there was a 
 motive in it all, whether there was some sad story 
 hidden behind the glance of those grave eyes. 
 Perhaps she pitied him a little, pitied his lone- 
 liness — that strange loneliness of a man living; 
 in London chambers — and regretted his apparent 
 aimlessness. It was only by little glimpses that 
 he raised the curtain over his past existence, 
 and Tom knew no more than she did. If 
 directly questioned, the singer said that he 
 had no past. He protested that his history 
 was like the history of a ship's bell — the record 
 of certain voyages made, certain climates en- 
 dured, and certain dangers passed through. To 
 the bell such details served to lend a fictitious 
 interest, but the story was not part of its indi- 
 viduality, failing to affect its tone, neither 
 increasing nor detracting from its value. 
 
 141
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " I wish/' said Crozier, again returning to the 
 subject, " that Tom would really give up medicine 
 decisively and take to art." 
 
 "Do you think," she said indifferently, after a 
 short pause, " that he would really make a name ? " 
 
 "He is more likely to do so as an artist than 
 as a doctor ; but he does not seem inclined to 
 set his mind steadily upon one thing. He used 
 not to be like that. It is a recent development 
 in his character." 
 
 "I have noticed it also," said Elma ; "and 
 yet he is not what might be called superficial, 
 like that Mr. Varden." 
 
 " No ; he is not superficial." 
 
 "I wonder what it is," she murmured fore- 
 bodingly. 
 
 He glanced down at her, brushed aside his 
 moustache, thrust his hands into his coat-pockets, 
 and looked straight in front of him. 
 
 " I think I know what it is." 
 
 "Please tell me," she begged. 
 
 " Evil influence," he answered. 
 
 " Ah ! " she exclaimed, as if she had ex- 
 pected it. 
 
 142
 
 THE ACADEMY OF CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 He laughed rather awkwardly. 
 
 " Xot the influence you mean," he explained 
 hastily. " It is that of the men he associates 
 with in town. We are apparently an idle lot ; 
 we get up late, and we lounge the day away, 
 but it is not really idleness. The explanation 
 lies in the fact that we are mostly night-birds 
 — journalists, actors, singers, and writers — our 
 work begins when most people begin their 
 leisure. Tom is a day-worker, and it is a bad 
 thins for him to associate with night-workers. 
 Do you understand ? When we are playing he 
 should be at work, and the temptation is very 
 strong to come and p>lay with us. If he were 
 to study art he would get into another set. 
 They may be vain, affected, and shallow, but 
 the life he will lead among them is a purer, 
 healthier, more natural life than that he leads 
 with us. I am speaking physically as well as 
 morally. From the latter point of view he is 
 strong enough, but in body he is a little shaky, 
 I think." 
 
 He spoke to her as if she were not a frivolous, 
 light-hearted girl at all, without apologizing for 
 
 143
 
 THE PH AXIOM FUTURE. 
 
 his gravity, without attempting to suppress 
 details, or make light of serious facts. And 
 strange to say she liked being treated thus ; 
 she preferred his gravity to the wit of other 
 men. 
 
 "And you think," she said, "that it will be 
 wise for him to leave St. Antony's if it is only 
 in order to get away from your influence ? " 
 
 He looked at her in a puzzled way, failing to 
 understand whether the pronoun was intended in 
 the singular or plural sense. 
 
 " Yes," he answered nevertheless, " I do." 
 
 " You think," she continued judicially, " that 
 this influence is doing him harm ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered, wondering. 
 
 " Then," she said, very gravely, " I think you 
 are quite wrong. I think you are doing a de- 
 liberate injustice to Tom and . . . and to yourself, 
 Mr. Crozier. Your influence over him can be 
 for nothing but good, and you must be purposely 
 blinding yourself to the fact if you do not recog- 
 nize it as I do." 
 
 He drew in a deep, unsteady breath through 
 his parted lips, and she heard it distinctly as 
 
 144
 
 THE ACADEMY OF CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 they walked along the sandy road. Then he 
 laughed suddenly in a deprecating, apologetic 
 way and said — 
 
 "It is very good of you to say so, but I am 
 afraid you are too charitable. Valliant requires 
 something very different from my society. He 
 w T ants stimulating and encouraging — urging on 
 instead of holding back. Someone younger and 
 brighter, more imaginative perhaps, and . . . and 
 less experienced. " 
 
 "In fact/' she exclaimed with a merry 
 laugh, " someone who is not so desperately old 
 and cynical and sceptical as Samuel Crozier, 
 Esquire." 
 
 " That is so/' he assented meekly. 
 
 They were now very near to Goldheath Court, 
 and the front-door stood invitingly open, while 
 a flood of warm light shone out upon the snow- 
 clad earth and fairy-like trees, where the white 
 frost nestled and gleamed daintily. 
 
 " Well," she said, almost coldly, he thought, 
 "it has been the erroneous custom of us all at 
 Goldheath to be thankful that Tom had you 
 near him as a friend and adviser. Perhaps it 
 
 vol. i. 145 10
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 would not be politic to dispel that illusion now — 
 or to attempt to dispel it." 
 
 Then she passed in front of him beneath the 
 broad hospitable porch, and he followed silently 
 with a singularly lifeless look in his close-set 
 eyes. 
 
 146
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MELANCHOLY. 
 
 TT does not seem a necessity that melancholy 
 ■*• should follow on the footsteps of solitude. 
 But the state of loneliness has attendant mental 
 conditions which might easily be mistaken for 
 melancholy, or degenerate into it. The great 
 mental difference between men and women is 
 merely a matter of .comparative solitude. The 
 most manly women are only daughters who 
 have led comparatively lonely lives, slept in a 
 room by themselves, formed their characters 
 with their own hands and without the influence 
 of contemporary girls and women. The most 
 womanly women (bless them !) are those who 
 have had many brothers and sisters, who have 
 known a nursery life, who have shared their 
 
 147
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 sleeping-room with sister or sisters, who have 
 always had a recipient at hand for thoughts that 
 come at night when they are sleepy, and -those 
 that come in the morning when they are sleepier. 
 They may not be so clever — these womanly ones ; 
 so well read, so deeply learned, so weighty in 
 conversation ; but again I say, " Heaven bless 
 them ! " And you, my middle-aged brother, if 
 you have married one of them, look across the 
 table to where she is at work, lay aside this 
 book, take that old pipe from your lips, and 
 mutter a word of thanks for your good fortune. 
 " Eat re nous" it is probably more than you 
 deserve. 
 
 There is more solitude in the lives of most 
 men than is generally realized, and one of the 
 most solitary beings on earth is the man who 
 lives in chambers in London. In the very 
 centre — at the hub of the wheel of life— he is 
 alone. He goes to bed at night without saying 
 even the words " Good-night," because there 
 is no one to say them to. There may indeed 
 be a sweet and gentle photograph on the mantel- 
 piece, but it is not our business to inquire whether 
 
 148
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MELANCHOLY. 
 
 he salutes that or no. In the morning he rises, 
 and passes from his bed-room to his sitting-room 
 to start a new day, to take one more step up- 
 wards or downwards, without exchanging a salut- 
 ation of any description, without the cheering 
 sound of a human voice, though it be only 
 raised to wish a perfunctory good-morning. 
 Now all this must assuredly leave its mark 
 upon men. It fosters habitudes of silence and 
 reserve ; in some cases it leads to brooding and 
 discontent. 
 
 Most men pass some portion of their lives 
 alone thus, and carry the effect of it on with 
 them. Many a fine sense of humour has thus 
 died an unnatural death. We boast, my brethren, 
 that the sense of humour is ours alone, that our 
 sisters have it not, and yet in our intercourse 
 with them are we the amusers or the amused ? 
 
 On the Monday following the events just 
 chronicled, Samuel Crozier returned to London, 
 and recommenced his solitary life. The clean 
 pavement of Lime Court knew again his firm 
 tread. The man who dwelt above him heard 
 once more that low murmurous voice in the 
 
 149
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 morning when he was dressing. The piano was 
 opened again ; and again Mrs. Sanders had to put 
 up with gentle iron} 7 . The good lady had been 
 suffering: from " indigestion crool," which Crozier 
 attributed to the fact that his whiskey-decanter 
 had been locked away for three days. 
 
 Tranquilly he returned to his old unsatisfactory 
 ways. There were many letters awaiting his 
 attention, and these he answered in a business- 
 like manner, shortly and tersely, before dressing 
 to dine at his club, and go on to the concert- 
 room where he was to sing afterwards. 
 
 He w r as in good voice that night, and as usual 
 scored a decided success. His reception w r as 
 such as would have turned the head of a less 
 self-contained man. He, however, merely bowed 
 his thanks, and looked with a quiet emotionless 
 smile upon the sea of upturned faces, before 
 turning to give his accompanyist the signal to 
 begin. Then he stood in his square sailor-like 
 way, and sang his song without affectation, 
 without emotion ; and, as he called a hansom 
 afterwards, and drove off to a club with a brother- 
 musician, he w T as supremely unconscious that the 
 
 150
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MELANCHOLY. 
 
 full soft notes of his splendid voice had found 
 something to say to more than one heart that 
 night. 
 
 On his late breakfast-table the next mornino- 
 there were several letters, and as he took the 
 top one up and threw it aside he suddenly 
 stopped humming a popular tune — stopped 
 abruptly in the middle of a bar. The super- 
 scription on the envelope was in a somewhat 
 large hand, but firm and clear, while the words 
 showed no tendency to run down hill at the 
 end. 
 
 " From Elma ! " he muttered, with unconscious 
 familiarity. And then he walked to the win- 
 dow with the letter in his hand, while Mrs. 
 Sanders' culinary productions grew cold and 
 tough. 
 
 Before he opened the envelope he was hum- 
 ming again — a hymn this time. Although the 
 letter occupied three sides of a sheet of paper, 
 the perusal of it was a matter of a few seconds 
 only. Then he refolded it, and placing it in the 
 envelope, stood at the window looking absently 
 down into Lime Court, where a milkman was 
 
 151
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 exchanging amorous chaff with a housekeeper's 
 daughter. Then he unfolded the letter and read 
 it a second time. 
 
 "Dear Sam, 
 
 " Though a fairer hand than mine guides 
 this halting pen, its effusions emanate from my 
 brain alone. Put on your hat, and go round to 
 St. Antony's, then hurry on to Myra's with the 
 dread tidings that Thomas Valliant is laid low. 
 Breathe into the ear of the concerned that he 
 has broken the small bone of his leg (which is 
 strictly true), ask them to shed a tear, and to 
 keep their peckers up, as the poet hath it. The 
 spirit of emulation was aroused in this breast 
 yesterday by the superior skating of Mr. Holds- 
 worth, and these legs getting mixed up there 
 was a crash and a small crack. The crash was 
 my head which held, the crack w T as the small 
 bone as aforesaid which went. It is a neat 
 enough break, and has just been nicely fixed up 
 by a local practitioner, who actually knows more 
 about it than the patient. Ah ! my boy, who 
 wouldn't have a broken leg? A comfortable 
 
 152
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MELAXCHOLY. 
 
 sofa, a roaring fire, an untidy library, and the 
 sweetest little . . ." 
 
 Here the letter broke off suddenly, and below 
 was written in another handwriting — 
 " Secretary struck work. 
 
 "Yours, 
 
 "Tom Valliant." 
 
 Elma, however, had managed to scribble a 
 postscript on her own account. 
 
 "He has been and is still in horrible pain, 
 but keeps up his spirits — a little too high, per- 
 haps, to be quite natural. You know how plucky 
 he is.— E. V." 
 
 " Yes," said Crozier aloud, " I know how 
 plucky he is. It is not so very difficult to be 
 plucky, however, when one is winning the day." 
 
 He folded the letter, and turned to his lonely 
 breakfast-table. Then he raised the cover of a 
 dish critically, and sniffed the subtle odour of 
 grilled kidney. 
 
 " I know," he added meditatively, being in 
 afterthought, " how lucky he is also." 
 
 153
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 Then he sat down and drew the morning 
 paper towards him, humming an operatic air as 
 he poured out the coffee. TWards the end of 
 a remarkably good meal he suddenly pushed his 
 cup away and leant back in his deep chair. It 
 was a favourite attitude of his, this, combining 
 comfort and the suggestion of another drop of 
 coffee with his cigarette ; and he usually brushed 
 aside his moustache with a hasty movement 
 before stretching out his leg for greater facility 
 in finding his match-box. He turned his head 
 sideways and gazed peacefully out of the dirty 
 window at the chimney-pots of number 5 A, Lime 
 Court opposite. The result of his meditations 
 was of a damnatory nature. 
 
 " Hang Holdsworth ! " he said gently. Then 
 he lighted his cigarette and threw the extin- 
 guished match over his shoulder on the off 
 chance of its falling into the fireplace behind 
 him. As a matter of fact it found a resting- 
 place in one of his boots airing on the hearth- 
 rug, but the ways of bachelors are proverbially 
 reprehensible, and he did not care. 
 
 Before he had condescended to explain his 
 154
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MELANCHOLY. 
 
 reasons for condemning Holdsworth to an 
 ignominious death there was a knock at the 
 door, and a fair grave young man entered the 
 room. 
 
 " Ah, Leonard ! " said Crozier, rising ; " glad 
 to see you." 
 
 Dr. Leonard, house-surgeon at St. Antony's 
 Hospital, came forward with his small white 
 hand extended. 
 
 " How are you, Crozier ? " he inquired. As 
 he spoke he gazed into the stalwart singer's face 
 with rather mournful eyes, full of anxious ques- 
 tion. There was clearly nothing the matter 
 with Crozier ; he was as strong and robust and 
 healthy as men are created in these days, but 
 AVilson Leonard was a young doctor, and a con- 
 scientious man. He was overwhelmed just then 
 by the gravity of his profession. For him every 
 man and woman was a possible patient. There 
 were unsuspected diseases lurking in every limb, 
 unthought-of germs in every breath. The whole 
 world was for him a hot-bed of sickness, of 
 bodily woe. His somewhat sensitive organiz- 
 ation had been seriously affected by the long and 
 
 155
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 painful training through which he had passed. 
 He had never grown callous. Like many of us, 
 he took human woes and human weaknesses too 
 seriously. At the hospital he was considered an 
 alarmist, and over-anxious. Not, be it under- 
 stood, on his own account, for he never knew 
 the fear of infection, which, like other cowardices, 
 is unaccountable and in the blood. I have 
 known a brave soldier turn pale at the thought 
 of sea-sickness. I have seen a blockade-runner 
 run away from a wasp. He had yet to learn 
 that men fight for life as they never fought for 
 anything else. He had yet to shake off a 
 certain suspicion anent the power of his own 
 knowledge, the weight of his own endeavours, 
 and the infallibility of his tactics against the 
 hosts of sickness. This was not a personal 
 doubt, but a professional realization. Among 
 other things he had learnt how very little 
 doctors know ; how very much they have to 
 guess, and what a great lot they leave to nature. 
 Doubtless he has sained a greater confidence 
 by this time, or has acquired the noble art of 
 looking w T ise when sorely puzzled, which serves 
 
 156 

 
 THE SCHOOL OF MELANCHOLY 
 
 just as well with us others. At all events, he 
 is high up in the professional tree now, and 
 his coming into a house is as that of a good 
 angel or a demi-god, so comforting, so hopeful, 
 so full of relief is the sound of his footsteps on 
 the stairs. 
 
 "Sit down," said Crozier, "and have a cup 
 of coffee. It is tepid still."' 
 
 " Thanks," replied the doctor, absently looking 
 at his watch. 
 
 The singer noticed the action, and smiled in 
 a barefaced and shameless manner. It was past 
 ten o'clock. 
 
 " Here," he said, " take a cigarette, and never 
 mind the time. I suppose you have been up 
 hours, curing the diseased, healing the wounded, 
 comforting the sick. Thank God I am not a 
 doctor." 
 
 Wilson Leonard rarely smiled, but he looked 
 at the singer with a soft expression about the 
 eyes which meant the same thing. Then he 
 passed his bloodless hand up over his high, 
 broad forehead, where the hair was already very 
 thin. 
 
 157
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " I have been at it all night," he said simply, 
 " more or less." 
 
 Crozier pushed the cigarette-case towards his 
 visitor, and looked sympathetic. 
 
 " I came," continued the young doctor, " to ask 
 you where Tom Valliant is." 
 
 " He's in very comfortable quarters," answered 
 Crozier, looking into his empty cup as if he 
 expected to find some interesting fish swimming 
 there. 
 
 "Is he ill ? " asked Leonard, with a peculiar 
 shortness of enunciation. His lips were slightly 
 apart, and the smoke hovered about his face. 
 Again he looked too anxious, too much as if it 
 were his duty to sympathize with all the sorrow 
 on earth. 
 
 Crozier glanced involuntarily towards the 
 envelope which lay on the table near his hand. 
 The address was obviously written in a girlish 
 hand, quite unlike Tom's careless style. 
 
 " I had a letter from him this morning," the 
 singer said. " He has broken the small bone 
 in his leg — nothing much, he says ; but it will 
 keep him on his back for a few days, I suppose ? " 
 
 158
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MELANCHOLY. 
 
 The doctor detected the interrogation. 
 
 " That is nothing very serious," he answered. 
 " He will have to be careful for a short time, 
 that is all." 
 
 In matters of surgery Dr. Wilson Leonard was 
 confident enough, and a daring operator. 
 
 "He writes," continued Crozier, "that it has 
 been seen to and that he is very comfortable." 
 
 The doctor rose and drank off his coffee. 
 
 " I am glad it is only a small break," he said. 
 "I was afraid when he did not turn up this 
 morning that there was something wrong." 
 
 The singer looked up into the young fellow's 
 grave face. His deep-set, earnest eyes were 
 overshadowed. 
 
 " Something wrong ? " he repeated interro- 
 gatively. " I don't think that Tom will go to 
 the dogs. He is a trifle wild . . . but ... I 
 suppose we have all been a little that way in 
 our time. Oh, no ! There is nothing wrong, 
 Leonard ! " 
 
 The doctor had placed his hat upon his head — 
 rather forward over the eyes, which suited his 
 grave and refined style — but instead of leaving 
 
 159
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 the room he went slowly to the fire-place, and 
 stood there with one foot on the fender, gazing 
 into the fire. 
 
 " I dare say," he acquiesced, " that he is right 
 enough. He goes too much to Myra's," he added 
 after a momentary pause. " Lives too restless a 
 life. It is all very well for fellows like you, 
 Crozier ; thick-limbed fellows with a constitution 
 like an ostrich, but it is a bad style of existence 
 for men who are at all shaky. Besides, it's a 
 stupid, aimless waste of time. Of course they 
 are clever fellows with whom he associates, but I 
 do not see that any of them profit much by each 
 other's society, however pleasant it may be. I 
 don't want you to think that I am meddling, Sam. 
 I suppose it is none of my business, beyond the 
 fact that I am a St. Antony's man. But I don't 
 want Tom to go wrong. None of us would like 
 that. He is the best man we have had there in 
 my time, and the nicest. Everybody is fond of 
 Tom Valliant." 
 
 Crozier had turned his chair round. He was 
 sitting forward with his hands clasped round one 
 knee. His features were slightly screwed up as 
 
 160
 
 TEE SCEOOL OF MELANCHOLY. 
 
 he looked towards his companion, doubtless by 
 reason of the smoke which curled up from the 
 end of his cigarette into his eyes. He ignored 
 the personal hits contained in the young doctor's 
 remarks in a quiet, indolent way. Indeed he 
 seemed to have been listening carelessly, for he 
 remembered only one little phrase. 
 
 " Is Tom shaky ? " he asked, without lowering 
 his eyes. 
 
 Wilson Leonard nodded his head gravely. 
 Then he raised his right hand and touched the 
 left side of his waistcoat significantly. 
 
 " Heart ... I believe," he said in a whisper. 
 
 There was silence in the room for some time. 
 The sparrows twittered and chattered in the 
 lime-tree outside, and over the roofs came the 
 deep tones of Westminster clock striking eleven. 
 The doctor moved a little and held out his 
 hand. 
 
 " I must go," he said. 
 
 " Tell me," said Crozier, as he rose and opened 
 the door for his friend to pass out — " tell me, 
 Do you think he suspects ? " 
 
 " I do not know at all. One of the young 'uns 
 
 vol. i. 161 11
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 told me. He found it out when they were 
 examining each other one day in fun." 
 
 Crozier usually practised after breakfast when 
 he had smoked one cigarette, but he now lighted 
 another soon after Dr. Leonard had left the 
 room. He stood upon the hearth-rug facing the 
 fire and smoked it right through. Even after he 
 had thrown the end away, he stood there with 
 his legs set slightly apart and his hands clasped 
 behind his back, gazing into the fire with a 
 peculiar concentrated expression upon his dogged 
 face. 
 
 "Poor little woman!" he murmured. "Poor 
 little woman ! " 
 
 Then he went to the piano. 
 
 162
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 QUICKSAND. 
 
 TN the mean time life at Goldheath was very 
 -*- pleasant. The frost vanished, and for a 
 week it appeared as if March were to be missed 
 out of Nature's calendar that year. On the 
 moors the yellow furze came peeping out among 
 the brown heather and stiff pine trees. In the 
 hedgerows green things began to push their way 
 through the moist soil, and there was on all the 
 earth a subtle odour of new verdure. 
 
 After a short and sharp winter, spring was at 
 hand. Spring ! Shall I describe it ? No. The 
 great transformation scene at Goldheath was very 
 much upon the same lines as in other places. It 
 is just possible that you have lived through 
 more of them than I. If you have watched the 
 process with loving eyes, if you have inhaled 
 
 163
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 those wonderful scents of growing things and 
 budding flowers, if you have stood still for even 
 an hour and tried to enumerate the thousand 
 petty details, the million wheels within wheels 
 running smoothly, you know as much about it 
 as I do. For you a few printed lines could 
 contain nothing new. If on the other hand you 
 have learnt from the calendar that spring has 
 come or will come next week, and have hailed its 
 advent as a mere period connected with a thinner 
 overcoat or a new bonnet — if spring tells you 
 nothing more, I am dumb. Probably you have 
 skipped two or three pages, and are a long way 
 ahead of me among the open paragraphs and 
 conversation farther on. 
 
 Tom Yalliant's broken bone progressed famous- 
 ly. Perhaps spring had something to say to it 
 — something that knit it quickly and drew in the 
 strained sinews again. After a week he limped 
 about merrily enough. The doctor's high dog- 
 cart drew up no more before the broad door, and 
 there was consequently a perceptible diminution 
 in the daily consumption of sherry, as noted by 
 Tomkins the butler. 
 
 164
 
 QUICKSAND. 
 
 And while Tom limped about by Elma's side 
 at Goldheath, his good name strode abroad, in all 
 England and across the seas. Not with halting 
 gait, but strongly and speedily. In a week the 
 sale of the new edition of the American singer's 
 songs gained a firm hold upon the public. 
 Daily the ex-medical student received envelopes 
 addressed in Crozier's smooth running hand- 
 writing, of which the form and style never 
 altered perceptibly from day to day. The man 
 was steadfast even to his penmanship. These 
 envelopes contained no letter, but printed matter 
 only — cuttings from newspapers and periodicals. 
 Praise, and only praise, tempered of course here 
 and there by kindly advice. The work was 
 good, and like all good work it was recognized 
 by its critics. For good work must come to the 
 top, and critics are just, let cynics say what they 
 like. The public has been invited ere now to 
 inspect a collection of pictures rejected by a 
 committee of painters and critics, and the result 
 has invariably been a confirmation of the opinion 
 given by experts. The public has rejected the 
 pictures as well. A publisher's ledger will be 
 
 165
 
 THE PHAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 found to confirm in a remarkable degree the 
 literary critic's review. 
 
 Not only did Tom Yalliant's venture contain 
 in itself the elements of success, but its pub- 
 lisher knew that he had done a good stroke of 
 business. Moreover (with all due respect to the 
 profession) he was watched and urged to further 
 endeavours by a certain singer who had much 
 spare time upon his hands and an exceptionally 
 shrewd head upon his shoulders. 
 
 So the sale went on apace, and the critics 
 talked while the object of their surmises and 
 praise grew graver day by day at Goldheath. 
 It was rather a remarkable incident, this gravity 
 that came to Tom Valliant during his convales- 
 cence, for convalescence is in itself a happy 
 time. Spring is also a happy time, for it is 
 mostly anticipation, of which all human joy 
 consisteth chiefly. Youth again is assuredly all 
 
 brightness. Holding within his arms convales- 
 ce o 
 
 cence, springtime, and youth, Tom's face and 
 manner acquired fresh gravity day by day. 
 There was no sombreness in his demeanour, no 
 pensiveness nor outward signs of mental woe ; 
 
 166
 
 QUICKSAND. 
 
 but the power of turning everything to laughter 
 seemed to be no longer at command. With 
 Mrs. Valliant he was little changed. The 
 audacity which was really full of tact and never 
 impertinent, was daringly displayed as of yore. 
 The careless little attentions and signs of 
 thoughtfulness never failed to please her cold, 
 unenthusiastic heart. Perhaps indeed she saw 
 no difference in this merry nephew, who had 
 forced his way into her heart by the sheer con- 
 tradiction of his ways and fearlessness of his 
 demeanour in respect to herself. With the old 
 squire Tom was hearty, and ready enough with 
 the quick repartee which never failed to make 
 him chuckle and gurgle, while he held his back 
 with both hands just where the lumbago struck 
 him when he remembered it. But with Elma 
 his manner was different. He chaffed her still 
 with a certain gleam of enjoyment in his dancing 
 eyes ; but on several occasions he allowed him- 
 self to be drawn into long and serious discussions 
 upon abstract topics, such as thoughtful little 
 maidens love. Life, treated speculatively, as 
 we can afford to treat it from the threshold ; 
 
 167
 
 TEE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 the past mentioned with laughter, awakening 
 recollections ; but the future was never dis- 
 cussed in this grave spirit. Elma was ready 
 enough, but Tom became cynical and flippant at 
 the mention of anything beyond the present. 
 
 One day they talked of Samuel Crozier. Tom 
 started the subject. 
 
 " I know," he said, " what Sam is doing. He 
 is worrying that unfortunate publisher into an 
 untimely grave, in a gently persistent way, with 
 a sweet smile. He is hammering away at all 
 the critics and art-journalists —in fact, he is 
 running the wdiole concern." 
 
 Elma looked up at her cousin over a plate 
 w T hich was fixed upon her easel. She said 
 nothing just then, but dropped her two hands 
 upon her paint-stained apron, and looked out 
 into the walled garden. 
 
 " I wonder why he does it ? " she said practi- 
 cally after a pause ; and without waiting for 
 enlightenment she raised her palette, and began 
 dabbino" daintily thereon with a brush which 
 showed signs of having been imperfectly washed 
 upon several occasions. The paints used by 
 
 16S
 
 QUICKS A XD. 
 
 Elma were of a peculiar nature. They some- 
 what resembled honey in so much as they were 
 frequently to be found in small quantities, in 
 most impossible and unexpected quarters. 
 
 " I don't exactly know," answered Tom re- 
 flectively. He was seated on a low chair 
 with his leg upon the end of the sofa, and in 
 such a position that he could watch his cousin 
 creating most delicate flowers with the dirty 
 brush. "I don't exactly know; I suppose he 
 likes it." 
 
 " That roust be a comforting reflection," said 
 she, with a short laugh. 
 
 "It is, miss, a most comforting reflection. 
 Because I know perfectly well that if I wanted 
 to stop him I could not. It seems to be Sam's 
 mission in life to keep other folks straight, and 
 ursje them on to better thing's while he meditates 
 
 o o 
 
 peacefully in the background." 
 
 She laughed and continued painting, but there 
 was little mirth in the sound of her laughter. It 
 had the effect of making him continue. 
 
 " Sam," he said, " is the most unselfish man I 
 have ever met. When I was at work on Miles 
 
 169
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 Standish he cropped up on every page as the 
 living illustration of John Alden ; but I didn't 
 put him in. His style and his manner convey 
 nothing. You cannot tell from his appearance 
 what sort of man he is." 
 
 " I don't know ..." said the girl slowly ; "I 
 think you can — a little." 
 
 " Ah, but you know him." 
 
 She was busy with a very delicate piece of 
 work, and before replying she touched the plate 
 lightly once or twice with the end of her brush, 
 and sat back a little to contemplate the result. 
 
 " Not so well as you do," she murmured 
 absently and yet encouragingly, as if the topic 
 interested her almost as much as her painting. 
 
 "No, of course not," was the reply given 
 with a certain pride of possession. " I suppose 
 no one knows him so well as I do. If ever I 
 were tempted to write a book (which the heavens 
 forbid ! because I cannot compete against the 
 lady novelist of the day !) I should follow him 
 about with a note-book and a pencil to take 
 down everything he said and did. Then I should 
 work that into shape." 
 
 170
 
 QUICKS AND. 
 
 " With the view of making him the hero ? " 
 asked Elma indifferently. 
 
 " Well ... I don't exactly know. He is hardly 
 the style of hero admired by the reading public of 
 the day. No ; he would be in the book some- 
 where. He would represent a character which the 
 lady novelist has wiped out. The character of a 
 man. A man who is neither a fop nor a barber's 
 block, a humbug, a blackguard, a fool, or a woman 
 dressed up in coat and unmentionables.' , 
 
 Elma laughed, because Tom had a terse, 
 cheerful way of saying things which demanded 
 laughter. 
 
 " Poor Mr. Crozier," she said ; " he would not 
 recognize himself, I am sure." 
 
 " Then other people might. Of course he 
 would not, though. I do not suppose any of us 
 would. I firmly believe that Sam looks upon 
 himself as a lazy, selfish, good-for-nothing 
 lounger." 
 
 " He has a certain indolent way of moving 
 and speaking," said Elma critically, " but that is 
 only habit. His mind is not indolent. It is a 
 habit wh'ch many people have. Lily Gibb has 
 
 171
 
 THE PEAXTOM FUTURE. 
 
 it a little, and in reality she gets through as 
 much work in a clay as I do in a week. I think 
 all sailors get it." 
 
 "Save me," ejaculated Tom fervently, "from 
 a girl who gets through as much work in a day 
 as another does in a week. It is not the mission 
 of girls to get through work." 
 
 " I wish," sighed Elma, putting back her hair, 
 which was curling forward very prettily over her 
 ears, " that I could look at it conscientiously in 
 that light." 
 
 "It is the mission of girls," said Tom solemnly, 
 " to paint flowers and gather them. To make 
 their little fingers in a mess over both occupa- 
 tions, and to fill up their spare time by flirting 
 with their cousins." 
 
 Elma laughed and blushed rosily. Ah ! that 
 habit of blushing prettily and easily at the 
 wrong time ! When I write of it I must perforce 
 lay down my pen and look out of the window 
 upwards towards the clouds. I once knew a 
 person who blushed like that. 
 
 Keeping her face averted, she rose suddenly, 
 and threw her brushes down pell-mell. 
 
 172
 
 QUICKS A XD. 
 
 " 1 was thinking," she said gravely, "of going 
 for a long, quick walk." 
 
 He leant forward and took hold of the extreme 
 corner of her apron. 
 
 " No, don't," he pleaded. " I apologize. Hear 
 me swear ! . . . " 
 
 " Thanks. I would rather not hear you swear. 
 If you feel it coming on you must go into 
 another room." 
 
 " Sit down, Elma, and go on painting," said 
 Tom, gravely. "It was a libel — a base libel. 
 Of course, we all know ..." 
 
 " Now," she said, holding up a warning paint- 
 brush, " you are going to make matters worse." 
 
 " I doubt," he said, with a short laugh, 
 " whether they could be worse. What were 
 we talkioo; about? Sam. Yes. I am going to 
 talk about Sam. He is quite safe as a topic, and 
 a friend in all weathers, at all times, and in every 
 situation." 
 
 173
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HOLDSWORTH MOVES. 
 
 IT is a pity that theatrical managers are endowed 
 with a very small power of recognizing that 
 which is for their own benefit. This well-known 
 blindness alone withholds my dramatic pen. A 
 commercial spirit within this ardent soul points 
 out the undeniable fact that it would be a waste 
 of paper and ink, likewise of valuable moments, 
 to write a really excellent play in face of a pro- 
 bability that the public would never enjoy it, or 
 (says the Commercial Spirit) have the oppor- 
 tunity of paying to sit in a stall and yawn. 
 
 Of course, there are other dramatic pens, 
 excellent quills no doubt, with keen points 
 chiselled by the stage carpenter and polished 
 by the property-manager, but they fail in the 
 
 174
 
 HOLDSWOBTH MOVES. 
 
 depiction of a villain. Now the villain of the 
 phy is an important person, almost as im- 
 portant, perhaps, as the violinist, who soothes 
 our troubled breasts — pianissimo — when the 
 hero talks to the moon at the open window, or 
 the heroine bends over her dying father, and 
 says nice things about her late maternal relative. 
 The villain is the spice, the salt and flavouring of 
 stage existence — but he is lamentably unnatural. 
 The heroine is all right ; she is sweet, and 
 womanly, and tender. The hero is more or less 
 real, although he is perhaps more eloquent and 
 flowery in his love-scenes than us others acting 
 on the broader stage. But this is perforce a 
 matter in which men can judge from a purely 
 personal point of view only, and I am not an 
 eloquent man myself. The heavy father with a 
 crime upon his conscience, or otherwise, is pass- 
 able ; but the stage villain is no more like the 
 villains of real life than the pantomime police- 
 man is like the honest constable walking up and 
 down the pavement below the window with loud- 
 voiced boots at this moment. 
 
 There are not many people around us who 
 175
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 have seen the villain rush away from their 
 existence at the correct moment, with all his 
 crimes exposed to public gaze, his love hurled 
 into the dust, his wretched mask wrenched aside. 
 No ! In real life he brazens it out — and some 
 there are who pity him, while others secretly 
 admire. His constitution is robust, there is no 
 reason to suppose that he will die young, there 
 is not even the usual escaped criminal to rush 
 on and say, " At last ... at last," previous to 
 despatching him on the drawing-room carpet. 
 On the contrary, he will probably live long 
 and borrow money. 
 
 Again, it often happens that the heroine pre- 
 fers the villain to the good young man, who 
 talks to the moon while the fiddler fiddles. Here 
 is a case in point. It is true, and so to those 
 concerned an apology is hereby offered. The play 
 is not over yet, and the issue is still uncertain, 
 but I have a sort of lurking suspicion that her 
 heart is just a little inclined towards him. The 
 worst of it is that he is a very nice fellow. I 
 like him. But I am convinced that his part is 
 that of the villain. He gained her affections 
 
 176
 
 HOLDSWOBTH MOVES. 
 
 years ago, when she was a mere child, and it 
 seems that he has them still. He bullies her, 
 neglects her, and is rude at all times. He must 
 be the villain, but the fact is not recognized by 
 the general public and the audience, as it 
 should be. 
 
 Most assuredly there is something wrong about 
 the stage villain, but as this is not a play, and is 
 not even written with the view of some one else 
 dramatizing it without leave and making a lot of 
 money, there is perhaps no need to lead up any 
 farther to the statement that William Holdsworth 
 was not a thorough-paced villain. He did not 
 possess the requisite backbone, and he was too 
 susceptible, too soft-hearted, and too easily led. 
 
 The advent of his whilom officer at Goldheath 
 was annoying, to say the least of it, but as he 
 was just then under the spell of Elma's beauty 
 and sweet girlish fascination, he was in a jealous 
 frame of mind. Things had hitherto gone very 
 well. He saw Elma frequently, she was always 
 gracious and kind to him ; and, as is the way 
 with young men, he was fully convinced that she 
 loved him. He was determined to win her for 
 
 vol. i. 177 12
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 his wife, and, as he knew that sooner or later 
 Samuel Crozier would (to use his own expres- 
 sion) run foul of him, he audaciously sought 
 the danger. As previously observed, he was 
 courageous enough ; but, although brave, the 
 move was unwise. He should first have dis- 
 covered the degree of intimacy existing between 
 Crozier and the Valliants. He should have 
 gained from Elma a further insight into the 
 character of the man whom he had only known 
 as a kind officer and patient benefactor. All 
 these and similar precautions he neglected ; and 
 moreover he counted too much upon the possi- 
 bility of not being recognized. The result was 
 a failure, and Holdsworth found himself under 
 the influence of a mind stronger than his own, 
 a will superior to his. Impertinence quailed 
 before cool justice. Audacity fell back in face 
 of courage. 
 
 There was nothing for it but the consumption 
 of humble pie. It was not his fault that he 
 met Crozier again on the following day. His 
 guest, Walter Varden, armed with a genial 
 invitation from the Squire, expressed a desire 
 
 178
 
 HOLDSWOBTH MOVES. 
 
 to skate on the old canal, and so tliey walked 
 over to Goldheath. The unwelcome news that 
 a girl who certainly did owe her ruin to kirn, 
 although he had almost forgotten the matter, 
 was under Crozier's protection and existing 
 upon his charity, came at first as a severe blow ; 
 but Holdsworth was hardly a scrupulous man, 
 and not over nice in his susceptibilities. It 
 was, he argued, a mere piece of Quixotism on 
 the part of the ex-naval officer, and if the 
 girl had been left alone she would have found 
 her own level. It was therefore merely a 
 matter of levels, upon which, however, folks are 
 prone to disagree. 
 
 There were, he reflected, extenuating circum- 
 stances. The girl, whose parents kept a small 
 tobacconist's shop in Gibraltar, had come more 
 than half-way to meet his advances. She had 
 led him on, and the consequences were at her 
 own door. These ungallant reflections were, 
 unfortunately, more or less true. There was 
 that modicum of veracity in them which can so 
 easily be enlarged at will. But he did not care 
 to think very much over this question. It was 
 
 179
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 an incident in his life which jarred inharmoni- 
 ously with this new love unwittingly inspired 
 by Elm a Valliant, and it suggested an un- 
 comfortable question as to whether a man can 
 love two women at the same time. This phe- 
 nomenon occurs at times, and in the majority 
 of cases it is the old love that wins, unless 
 circumstances favour, to an exceptional degree, 
 the new. It may be that conscience has some 
 influence in this matter, but in William Holds- 
 worth's case this factor was wanting. His 
 conscience was dead. He preferred not to 
 inquire too deeply into the question, and in 
 the meantime he waited patiently until Tom 
 Valliant should leave Goldheath. After the 
 accident he kept away from the house, content- 
 ing himself with sending a groom to inquire 
 after the broken bone every day. 
 
 One afternoon, however, he met Elma at 
 the house of a mutual friend. He had gone 
 on purpose to meet her, and yet there was no 
 fixed plan of conduct in his mind. He was 
 vaguely aware of his own vacillation, and rarely 
 
 made plans. 
 
 180 

 
 HOLDSWORTH MOVES. 
 
 " Mr. Varden," said Elma, when she had 
 shaken hands, " has gone, I suppose ? " 
 
 In his quick reckless way Holdsworth saw 
 an opportunity. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " he has gone back to 
 St. Antony's. They are a strange lot these 
 medical students. Happy-go-lucky fellows, who 
 appear to spend all their time in journalistic 
 haunts and among theatrical people. Varden 
 gave me some very funny details of their life. 
 My faith in the medical profession has con- 
 sequently become rather shaken. I dare 
 say, however, that it is not the same in all 
 hospitals." 
 
 Elma was listening in a perfunctory way. 
 She nodded and smiled to a girl friend at the 
 other end of the room before taking any notice 
 of Holdsw r orth's observations. 
 
 " I am afraid," she said, at length, in a tone 
 of marked indifference, "that St. Antony's is 
 a trifle fast in its style." 
 
 Holdsworth stroked his beard shiftily. Then 
 he changed his oround. 
 
 " Xot all of them," he said, reassuringly. 
 181
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " Your cousin, for instance, seems to be quite 
 untainted. He is a thorough gentleman ..." 
 
 "Thank you, Willy," she interposed, with a 
 light laugh. 
 
 The irony slid off his back unheeded. 
 
 " I really mean it," he said. " From what 
 Varden told me I somehow conceived the idea 
 that the students associate with a set of men 
 who do them no good." 
 
 He stirred his tea meditatively, and smiled 
 in sympathy with a general laugh that came 
 from the main group of visitors around the 
 tea-table. Then he suddenly turned grave again 
 and continued. 
 
 " Actors," he murmured, suggestively, " and 
 theatrical critics, journalists, and second-rate 
 musicians." 
 
 Elma sipped her tea. There was very little 
 in her cup, but she eked it out so as to make 
 it last the longer. She looked straight in front 
 of her, but in her round innocent eyes there 
 was a singular expression which was almost that 
 of expectancy. He glanced towards her and 
 saw it not, for his eyes were blind with admir- 
 
 182 

 
 EOLDSWOBTH MOVES. 
 
 ation, and his spirit was puffed up at the 
 realization of his own astuteness. In sublime 
 ignorance he blundered on. 
 
 o 
 
 " Of course," he said, didactically, " such asso- 
 ciations cannot be good for young fellows." 
 
 " For Mr. Varden," she asked, innocently. 
 
 " No ... o, no ; I think Varden is all right, 
 although none of them can profit by the society 
 of such men as — as I mentioned." 
 
 He glanced at her again. The tone in which 
 she had spoken puzzled him. But her sweet 
 face was sympathetically grave, as if thinking 
 of a possible danger being run by her cousin, 
 while her child-like eyes were a triumph of 
 inscrutability. Holdsworth's eyes travelled over 
 her person, even down to her dainty feet, with 
 an evil linger of admiration. Had he noticed 
 her round white throat, he would have seen 
 that the muscles were moving slowly and rest- 
 lessly beneath the milky skin, as if her teeth 
 were clenched. 
 
 " Still I suppose these men are clever," she 
 suggested. 
 
 " In their way," he allowed, graciously ; " but 
 183
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 they are a terribly idle set. It is a matter 
 of genius, you understand — genius without 
 application. And unless a genius is of the first 
 water he is usually the reverse of an ornament 
 to society. These men are the scum of the 
 intellectual world." 
 
 She laughed and set aside her cup. Still she 
 showed to him that he might continue. 
 
 " I am afraid," she said, " that your description 
 interests me in them. Do you speak from 
 personal acquaintance ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! " he said, cleverly avoiding a tone 
 of self-satisfaction ; " except indeed that — Mr. 
 Crozier ; but Walter Varden told me a great 
 deal about them and their habits of life." 
 
 " Yes," she murmured, slowly drawing on her 
 gloves. There was a stir of departure in the 
 room. In her eyes there was a faint gleam 
 which almost amounted to triumph. 
 
 " Have you noticed," whispered Mrs. Gibb 
 to the hostess at the other side of the room, 
 "how Eima Valliant has lost her girlishness 
 lately. Look at her now ; she is a woman at 
 
 this moment." 
 
 184
 
 HOLDSWORTH MOVES. 
 
 "And a very sweet woman," answered the 
 kindly old aristocrat. " A very sweet and 
 charming woman, Mrs. Gibb. I wish I had a 
 son young enough, and good enough, to try and 
 win her." 
 
 " There seems to be some one else," whispered 
 Mrs. Gibb, glancing at Holdsworth. 
 
 "Ah!" replied the old lady, following her 
 companion's glance. "Who is that sitting 
 beside her ? Mr. Holdsworth, is it not ? Yes, 
 Mrs. Gibb, there may be some one else, but it is 
 not William Holdsworth." 
 
 In the meantime Elma had buttoned her 
 gloves. 
 
 " It is a pity," Holdsworth was saying to her, 
 " that men like your cousin and Varden, who 
 have been well educated, and are essentially 
 gentlemen, should be forced by circumstances to 
 choose their friends among a class so distinctly 
 beneath them in the social scale." 
 
 " I have never heard," said Elma lightly, as 
 she rose, " of any one being forced to choose a 
 friend. Surely there can be no choice where 
 force is brought to bear." 
 
 185
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " Well, perhaps force is hardly the word. 
 They are led to do so. Of course people say 
 that it is Bohemianism, and nothing worse. But 
 men should not forget that their fathers were 
 gentlemen, even if they should happen to possess 
 a knack of writing, a trick of acting, or the gift 
 of a voice." 
 
 He had risen, and was standing before her 
 with a pleasant smile upon his brown face. His 
 hands were hanging half-clenched at his side, 
 and he moved on his feet restlessly. She looked 
 straight into his eyes with an innocent expression 
 of attention to his words, and an utter disregard 
 for the significance of his admiring gaze. 
 
 " But," she said, " I think there are no 
 circumstances whatever to justify a man in 
 forgetting that." 
 
 Then they crossed the room together, and 
 Elma offered to drive Mrs. Gibb home to Gold- 
 heath, which offer was accepted. 
 
 Tom was at the door to meet her when she 
 reached home. His limp was scarcely percep- 
 tible now. On the following day he purposed 
 returning to town in order to see his publisher, 
 
 186
 
 EOLDSWOBTH MOVES. 
 
 and come to some definite decision about the 
 future. 
 
 " Well," he said. " How has the muffin-worry 
 gone off? " 
 
 " Oh, very well, thanks," replied Elma, who 
 was a little thoughtful. " All the neighbourhood 
 was there." 
 
 Tom glanced at her sharply as she passed 
 into the hall before him. It was a chilly 
 evening, and she went straight to the fire, 
 which burnt merrily, and threw ruddy gleams 
 upon the black rafters and panelling of the old 
 room. 
 
 " Holdsworth ? " suggested Tom, interroora- 
 tively. He followed her, and stood before the 
 fire. 
 
 " Yes. He was there," 
 
 She leant forward and held her gloved hands 
 nearer to the flame. 
 
 " My fingers are simply frozen," she said. 
 " Rocket pulled most viciously all the way home, 
 and I could not let him go because of Mrs. Gibb's 
 nerves." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Tom, with an intonation 
 187
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 which mio;ht have indicated relief. " She drove 
 home with you." 
 
 " Yes. I dropped her at the Vicarage. 
 
 He knelt down on the black fur mat at her 
 side, and took one of her hands. 
 
 " Poor little hands," he said, with burlesque 
 sympathy. Then he drew off her gloves for her, 
 slowly and lingeringly. 
 
 188
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE DOCTOK'S MALADY. 
 
 rjIHE next evening was one of some importance 
 -*■ in the musical world, and Samuel Crozier 
 was heavily engaged. He dined alone at the 
 Savage Club, and afterwards walked across to 
 Myra's in order to learn whether Tom Valliant 
 had returned to Town. 
 
 He passed through the outer room, where 
 Myra herself was attending to the wants of a 
 few diners, whose tastes or purses did not reach 
 beyond the succulent products of the grill. Syra 
 was never very busy between the hours of six 
 and eight, and Crozier was not surprised on 
 drawing back the heavy curtain of the Inner 
 Bar to find but one toper there. This faithful 
 admirer was not Tom Valliant. It was Wilson 
 Leonard, the young house-surgeon. 
 189
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 Crozier had heard stories connecting the name 
 of the grave young doctor with the presiding 
 goddess of the Inner Bar, but he possessed a 
 strange faculty of stowing such tales neatly away 
 in some inner pigeon-hole, where they were for 
 ever hidden from the eye of the curious. It was 
 long before, when Wilson Leonard was a grave 
 young student. 
 
 He entered the small apartment with a smile, 
 and a hand raised to his hat. There was no 
 sign of surprise at finding these two in a some- 
 what confidential attitude at the far end of the 
 room, both leaning upon the marble counter, 
 beyond the high silver coffee-urn. 
 
 " Good evening, Syra," said Crozier. " How 
 are you, Leonard? I came in in the hopes of 
 finding a Saint Antony's man here. Do you 
 know if Tom Valliant is back ? " 
 
 " No, old fellow, I don't," answered the young 
 doctor. He crossed the room, and leant against 
 the little iron mantelpiece, so that he was as 
 far away from Syra as the dimensions of the 
 apartment would allow. 
 
 Then Crozier turned to Syra. 
 190
 
 THE DOCTORS MALADY. 
 
 " Have you heard anything about him ? " he 
 asked quietly. He was looking at her rather 
 more searchingly than he was perhaps aware of, 
 but she scarcely betrayed a sign of discomfort. 
 The delicate pink of her cheek altered not in 
 hue for reasons already hinted at ; her mouth 
 was slightly to one side, her lips delicate and 
 ruddy, being pressed upwards with a strained 
 sense of effort. Only, her eyes told him some- 
 thing. They gleamed defiance into his, daring 
 him to think what he chose, to attempt as he 
 might the perusal of her motives. But the very 
 glance of defiance was a confession. It betraved 
 that Samuel Crozier's opinion of her actions was 
 a distinct factor in her conduct, that his approval 
 or disapproval carried weight and influence. And 
 yet he was nothing to her. He was one of many, 
 merely a passer-by, who dropped in at odd 
 moments to meet his friends, and satisfy an 
 imaginary thirst for the benefit of the estab- 
 lishment. Nothing perhaps but a strong earnest 
 man, who had a peculiar and embarrassing way 
 of treating her as if she might have been a 
 lady. She knew that he was aware that Wilson 
 
 191
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 Leonard had not spoken to her for nearly two 
 years. Those close-set inscrutable eyes could 
 not hide that knowledge from her, and over the 
 decanters she dared the singer to think that she 
 had called the young doctor to come to her. 
 
 " No," she answered, " he has not been in 
 here, Mr. Crozier ; and I have heard nothing of 
 him." 
 
 Crozier struck a match and lighted his 
 cigarette. He showed no intention of going 
 just then. 
 
 "I suppose," said Leonard, "that you have 
 dined." 
 
 " Yes," answered Crozier, waving his match 
 from side to side in order to save himself the 
 trouble of blowing it out. 
 
 " Then have a cup of coffee." 
 
 The singer accepted readily. He was well 
 posted in certain intricacies of the hospitality of 
 the bar, which is a question of getting in the 
 first word. 
 
 Before their eyes, while they both watched 
 him, he deliberately poured some cold water 
 into his coffee which seemed forbiddingly hot. 
 
 192
 
 THE DOCTORS MALADY 
 
 Leonard contemplated the action gravely. Syra 
 watched with indifferent eyes. It would be a 
 nice and far-reaching question to solve whether 
 either or both guessed that he was spoiling his 
 coffee with a view of drinking it quickly and 
 leaving them to themselves. 
 
 " If he comes in," he said to Syra, " please 
 tell him that I am singing to-night, and will not 
 be home before eleven. After that time I shall 
 be very glad if he will come in and have a pipe." 
 
 " Yes," answered she, " I will tell him so, with 
 pleasure." 
 
 He nodded to Leonard, raised his hat slightly 
 to Syra, and with a murmured " good-night" 
 passed out between the curtains. It was none 
 of his business, he reflected, if Wilson Leonard 
 went to the dogs. 
 
 He had not walked many yards along the 
 brilliantly-lighted Strand (wending his even way 
 assuredly through Virtue and Vice) when a hand 
 was slipped through his arm, and some one 
 walked alongside, falling into his pace. 
 
 " I have soon caught you up," said Wilson 
 
 Leonard, quietly. 
 
 vol. 1. 193 13
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 ' 'Yes. One cannot get along very quickly 
 through this crowd ; it is just theatre time, I 
 suppose." 
 
 Conversation is not easily conducted in the 
 Strand between seven and eight o'clock in the 
 evening, when the later journals are in full cry, 
 when cabs are colliding and their drivers ex- 
 changing civilities, when the "pit" doors are 
 being cast open to the " two-shilling " public. 
 The two men walked together in silence because 
 they could only converse in shouts, and that 
 which was to be said between them could not 
 be cried aloud. 
 
 " Let us get out of this," said Crozier, 
 presently, and he led the way up a dark and 
 narrow alley. It was not an aristocratic quarter 
 through which they passed ; malodorous, dark, 
 and reeking with hopelessness and vice, it was 
 at least quiet ; for neither of these are the 
 children of light and noise. 
 
 " I have not been in that place for nearly two 
 years," said the house-surgeon, reflectively. 
 
 "No ? " said Crozier, with meek interrogation. 
 He glanced up at the dark walls of Drury Lane 
 
 194
 
 THE DOCTORS MALADY. 
 
 theatre which they happened to be passing, and 
 smoked vigorously in view of the approaching 
 Covent Garden bouquet w T hich already assailed 
 his sense of smell. This indolent singer w T as the 
 unfortunate victim of confidences. These were 
 poured upon him from all sides without his 
 having in the least encouraged the confiders. 
 It w T as the natural result of his quiet steadfast- 
 ness. People with troubles upon them looked 
 on him as a sort of well wmerein to sink their 
 woes — a well where Truth lay hidden, w T here all 
 things dropped lay in safe and kindly darkness 
 until called for. 
 
 He knew that Leonard was going to confide 
 in him. There was no help for it, so he looked 
 meekly up to the heavens and essayed to inhale 
 as little bad cabbage and putrid potato as 
 possible for the sake of his throat, 
 
 "I suppose," continued Leonard, w T ith an 
 attempt at cynicism, " that I w T as bound to go 
 back some time or other." 
 
 " U'm ! " observed the singer, sympathetically. 
 
 When a man is determined to confide in one, 
 it is next to an impossibility to turn aside the 
 
 195
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 stream. The same is it when a man has made 
 up his mind to tell a girl that he loves her. Let 
 him get her alone for a few minutes, and I defy 
 her to prevent him telling her, somehow or 
 other, eloquently or clumsily, gaily or sadly, 
 even if she wants to. 
 
 " I suppose," said the doctor, " that you would 
 call it luck. When I left St. Antony's I was 
 fully convinced that a month at home among 
 my people, with my sisters and their friends, 
 would cure me of what was nothing more than 
 a boyish fancy. Confound that phrase ! Those 
 boyish fancies leave a scar, Crozier, if they ever 
 heal at all. I was done with St. Antony's, done 
 with London, and the Strand, and that con- 
 founded Myra's. I thought, at least, that I had 
 seen the last of Myra's. Then came the offer of 
 a house-surgeonship. Of course I had to accept 
 it. It was clearly the only thing to do. They 
 all called it a grand opportunity. The governor 
 leant across the table and shook hands with me. 
 The dear old boy is a baronet, you know, and 
 terribly aristocratic in his ideas. "While I held 
 his hand, I knew that this grand opportunity 
 
 196
 
 THE DOCTOR'S MALADY. 
 
 meant — Sj/ra ; that sooner or later I would go 
 back to that place. You strong-minded fellows 
 don't understand it, Crozier." 
 
 The singer did not answer at once. He threw 
 away his cigarette half smoked. 
 
 " Don't say that, Leonard," he said at length. 
 " I think every one understands it a little. It 
 is a malady which is beyond us all, that is the 
 long and short of it. The worst of it is that we 
 cannot help each other much, because each fellow 
 is best left to make his own muddles. The 
 muddle tcill be made, you may be sure of that — 
 we all do it ; but there is a melancholy satisfac- 
 tion in the thought that you went your own way 
 and had only yourself to blame. At least, I 
 have found it so." 
 
 " It seems funny," said Leonard, with a sudden 
 laugh which came strangely from his grave lips, 
 "that a fellow who has been brought up with 
 refined and gifted ladies, who has known and 
 associated with delicate and attractive girls, 
 should make an ass of himself by falling in love 
 with a barmaid — a girl who paints her face and 
 touches her eyebrows with a black pencil, who 
 
 197
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 is ready to accept compromising presents from 
 the first spendthrift simpleton who comes along 
 and asks for a drink — whose trade it is to flirt 
 across the bar with every one, old and young, 
 good and bad, drunk and sober . . . 
 
 "That will do," interrupted Crozier in his 
 softest manner. " You will gain nothing by 
 abusing her. You forget, Leonard, that I know 
 Syra as well as you do. What you say is true 
 enough about her class, no doubt, but it is not 
 quite true of her ! " 
 
 They had crossed Leicester Square and were 
 now in Piccadilly, where the tide of humanity 
 flowed in a broader and brighter stream. From 
 the darker haunts of poverty and vice they had 
 emerged suddenly into a throng on pleasure 
 bent, hurrying onward on foot, in cab and in 
 carriage to theatres, concert-halls, and soirees. 
 Most of the carriages were moving slowly in a 
 long, serpentine file westward towards St. 
 James's Hall. 
 
 In this throng conversation became more 
 difficult. It was broken, and there were per- 
 force long pauses in which both had time to 
 
 198
 
 THE DOCTOR'S MALADY. 
 
 think with the acquired absorption of Londoners, 
 which remains undisturbed by noise and bustle. 
 
 " Of course,'' said Leonard, bitterly, " I can- 
 not marry her. I am not quite sure that I want 
 to. It would simply mean ruin to myself and 
 endless sorrow to my relations. She would be 
 miserable, and so would I. The world never 
 makes allowances ..." 
 
 At this moment they were separated. Crozier 
 passed through a narrow place and waited for 
 his companion to come up. 
 
 " Xo, old man," he said, when Leonard had 
 retaken his arm ; " the world never makes 
 allowances. You must never' expect that of it. 
 I gave up doing so long ago. Time, Leonard, 
 time is the only thing that can do it, and from 
 what I have seen of life I am convinced that 
 there is no sorrow, no disappointment, no be- 
 reavement which is beyond the power of time 
 to cure." 
 
 " Oh," replied the other, somewhat impatiently 
 — Crozier was aggravating] y unemotional at times 
 — " oh, I dare say. No doubt it will be all the 
 same a hundred years hence." 
 
 199
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " Yes," assented the singer, " probably ; let us 
 hope so, at least. I should not be surprised, 
 however, if it were all the same as far as we are 
 concerned thirty years hence if you take that 
 line of argument." 
 
 They were now in the brilliantly-lighted 
 entrance-hall of the building where the great 
 ballad-concert of the year was about to take 
 place. Brightly-dressed ladies were passing in, 
 throwing off, with due regard to their hair and 
 flowers, dainty wraps and shawls. Among them 
 were their attendant knights, some with Ion 2 hair 
 and musical aspirations, others with closer-cropped 
 heads and truer music in their souls. As stated, 
 it was a musical event, and among the throng 
 passing through the entrance-hall many recog- 
 nized Samuel Crozier, and turned to look at him 
 again with a whisper to their friends. 
 
 " In the meantime," Leonard was saying (for 
 they were apart and the conversation was not 
 
 laid aside yet) — " in the meantime it is d d 
 
 unpleasant to feel that I cannot get past the 
 door of Myra's, and to know that when I go in 
 I will find that girl flirting with the last comer, 
 
 200
 
 THE DOCTORS MALADY. 
 
 and laughing at his double-meaning jokes. 
 Such men as Marton, the old play-writer, who 
 always shakes hands with her, and leers across 
 the counter — a man with a face like a walrus 
 and a voice like that of an omnibus- driver. 
 Young fops like Varden ..." 
 
 " Look out ! " said Crozier, interrupting him ; 
 " he is just behind vou. I will tell vou what 
 you will do to-night, Leonard ; you will come 
 inside. Here is my card, that will admit you ; 
 and there are sure to be some seats returned at 
 the last minute, they will give you one. Don't 
 you £0 back to Mvra's to-nioht. Xext to time 
 there is no cure like music ! " 
 
 He spoke quickly in a low voice, for there 
 were ears around him listening, and eyes that 
 sought the face of this young singer. Bright 
 eyes, some of them beneath lace-shawls, held 
 aside by bare, rounded arms — eyes that would 
 not have been sorry to meet his. But he saw 
 none of them. He was engaged just then in one 
 of his Quixotic endeavours to throw out of the 
 path of life a few of those jagged stones which 
 lie in front of us all — stones which we all try 
 
 201
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 to throw aside for ever, but they only fall on 
 the road where another is at work, and he is 
 sure to pitch them hack again with others that 
 obstruct his way, and so the merry farce 
 goes on. 
 
 Of course Wilson Leonard obeyed. Most men 
 obeyed Crozier when he stood before them in 
 that square, persistent attitude, and spoke in a 
 low, concentrated tone which was musical enough 
 by reason of the suppressed force that was in it, 
 and because Sam's voice was always musical. 
 The young doctor took the card with a murmur 
 of thanks and was about to move onwards with 
 the gay crowd when Walter Varden came up. 
 
 This amiable young student had noticed that 
 the public attention was turned in some degree 
 towards the two men, and he promptly took 
 advantage of the situation. Such an oppor- 
 tunity of displaying his intimacy with a public 
 character (for in that hall Crozier was as impor- 
 tant a person as the Premier) was not to be lost. 
 Therefore he swaggered up to them, immaculate 
 as to shirt-front and button-hole, shiny as to 
 sleek head, and well -washed as to vacant face. 
 
 202
 
 THE DOCTORS MALADY. 
 
 " Ah, Crozier," he said in a cunningly-raised 
 
 voice, "how are you? Hallo, Doctor! — good 
 evening. I have just come from Myra's ; ex- 
 pected to see some of you chaps there. The fair 
 Syra is in great form to-night ; but she would 
 not smoke a cigarette." 
 
 The two men looked at him gravely. Crozier 
 examined critically the single diamond stud 
 upon his manly breast. There was a want of 
 heartiness about his reception, but the public 
 saw that he was on intimate terms. They could 
 not fail to do that, and there was a pretty girl, 
 whom he knew slightly, coming up- stairs. . 
 
 " Is Tom back yet ?" he continued. Then he 
 added roguishly, " Ah, Crozier, the lucky clog 
 has been in clover all this time — you bet ! — with 
 that little cousin of his. Nice little thing, with 
 a figure like an angel, and a pair of eyes ..." 
 
 He finished up with a short whistle, such as 
 the conductor of an omnibus employs with a 
 view of attracting the attention of his driver, 
 given softly. 
 
 Crozier moved a little towards the door. The 
 overture had been begun. There was a some- 
 
 203
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 what unnatural smile hovering about his lips, 
 but his eyes were dull, as if he were making an 
 effort to control some emotion. 
 
 " Varden/' he said gently, " you are a pleasing 
 mixture of a cad and a fool ; at present the fool 
 predominates ; that is the best I can say for 
 you." 
 
 Then he joined the stream of pleasure-seekers 
 with Wilson Leonard at his side. 
 
 >£&*- 
 
 204
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 BURNT FINGERS. 
 
 QHORTLY before eleven o'clock Crozier re- 
 ^ turned to Lime Court. There was a full 
 moon, and the old houses were actually poetic. 
 Poetry seems out of place, does it not, in the 
 heart of London, in sight almost of the lowest 
 haunts of mankind, within sound of a hundred 
 harsh voices calling out the attractions of their 
 evening papers ? And yet poetry lingered in 
 the old courts and passages of the Temple that 
 night. A solitary young barrister was walking 
 some way in front of Crozier, his light footstep 
 ringing firmly on the pavement of the sleepy 
 courts and passages. Presently this man let 
 
 I himself into one of the dark, narrow- windowed 
 houses, and Crozier was alone, 
 205
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 He walked slowly with his ungloved hands 
 in his pockets, his cigar held firmly between his 
 teeth. As usual he was humming a tune softly 
 and reflectively. On entering the precincts of 
 Lime Court he perceived that there was some one 
 on his doorstep. This person was not standing 
 impatiently with his back against the door, but 
 seated peacefully upon the step smoking a pipe. 
 Immediately the plaintive note of a cat in 
 distress broke upon the singer's ears, very 
 cleverly rendered and dying away softly. The 
 effect was so life-like amidst the silent passages 
 where there lingered an echo, that Tom Valliant 
 repeated the wail before rising from his humble 
 seat. 
 
 " Sam," he said, tragically holding out his 
 hand, " how is it with you ? The situation is 
 poetic. Young man discovered courting lumbago 
 on a stone step ; he smokes the pipe of medi- 
 tation ; there breaks upon the silence of the old 
 mullioned dwellings a soft and murmurous sound. 
 Is it a ghost 1 No ! Is it the note of the 
 mghtingcile ? No! Is it the cat? Yes! To 
 
 him comes presently a troubadour. His cloak 
 
 206
 
 BURNT FINGERS. 
 
 flies in the wind, his shirt-front gleams in the 
 cold moonlight. His cigar is tilted rakishly 
 upwards in the right-hand corner of his mouth ; 
 his eye roves. The gallery cheers. They 
 think the troubadour is screwed. Lend me your 
 latch-key and I will open the door. Thank 
 you." 
 
 " When did you come up ? " Crozier asked 
 presently, when they were in the comfortable 
 room. He was turning up the gas and he 
 glanced over his shoulder towards Tom. 
 
 " This afternoon, my boy," was the answer. 
 Tom seated himself cheerfully and threw open 
 his coat. The singer noticed that there was a 
 small bunch of white violets in his button-hole. 
 "Yes, sir, this afternoon. I tore myself away 
 from the delights of a country life and from 
 . . . from my aunt." 
 
 Crozier knelt down on the hearth-rus: and 
 poked the fire leisurely. The far-seeing Mrs. 
 Sanders had left a small copper-kettle on the 
 hearth, and this was soon brought into use in 
 the very smokiest part of the fire where five 
 men out of six would have placed it, and from 
 
 207
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 whence six women out of seven would have 
 caused it to be removed at once. 
 
 " Did you leave them all well ? " he asked 
 conventionally, without turning his attention 
 away from the fire. 
 
 Valliant pressed the tobacco into his pipe and 
 blew the ash off his gloved finger before answering. 
 
 "Yes, very well — thanks." 
 
 Then a short silence came over them. Crozier 
 
 busied himself with the simple hospitality of 
 
 his bachelor establishment. A tobacco-jar was 
 
 placed on the table, and a box of matches. 
 
 Subsequently the copper-kettle came into use, 
 
 and a sugar-basin was discovered incidentally in 
 
 the lower part of the sideboard. This, however, 
 
 was not indicative of tea. The odour that 
 
 arose presently from steaming glasses was quite 
 
 different from that of the subtle herb. It is 
 
 painful to have to make this record, as it will 
 
 perhaps lead to the downfall of Crozier and 
 
 Valliant in the estimation of certain excellent 
 
 people into whose hands this book may fall, but 
 
 it must be remembered that I have never set up 
 
 either as a hero. 
 
 208
 
 BURNT FIXGERS. 
 
 When they were both seated the singer lighted 
 his pipe. 
 
 " 1 saw Varden to-night," he said ; " he was at 
 St. James's Hall." 
 
 Tom turned his head a little towards his 
 companion, but his eyes were fixed on the 
 fire. 
 
 " It was funny/' he said, pensively, " that he 
 should have turned up at Goldheath. When I 
 saw him I cursed loud and deep in my sleeve. 
 There was a taste of sulphur in my mouth for 
 some time afterwards. The fellow is an ass, 
 Samuel. It is rather aggravating that the only 
 St. Antony's man that Elma . . . that they . . . 
 know down there should be Varden." 
 
 Crozier looked sympathetic and waited for 
 him to talk of Holdsworth. This he did almost 
 at once, for he had been thinking of him since 
 the mention of his friend's name, for "William 
 Holdsworth was something more than a cypher 
 in life at Goldheath. 
 
 "That fellow Holdsworth," observed Tom, 
 
 "was very kind in sending over almost every 
 
 day to inquire after the health of the deponent." 
 vol. I. 209 14
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " Sending ? " repeated Crozier with indifferent 
 interest. 
 
 " Yes. He never turned up himself." 
 
 Crozier moved slightly, drawing in his legs 
 and leaning forward as if about to rise. This he 
 presently did and went to his bed-room, where 
 he changed his dress-coat for a very shabby 
 garment of brown velvet. Then he returned to 
 his seat and smoked pensively. The result of 
 his cogitations was soon forthcoming. 
 
 " There are certain biblical stories," he said, 
 " which are of a strictly contemporary nature. 
 I mean that the incidents related could not very 
 well happen now-a-days. At all events if they 
 did take place the result would probably be quite 
 different." 
 
 Tom smiled suddenly. They knew each other 
 very well, these two, despite the utter disparity 
 of age, and thought, and nature; and the younger 
 man was quick-witted enough to follow his 
 friend's meaning even while he was speaking. 
 
 " Wisdom," he said solemnly, " is falling 
 heavily from thy lips. You are quite right, 
 Sam. It may be that in ancient clays pigs were 
 
 210
 
 BURNT FINGERS. 
 
 housed upon a different principle, but it seems to 
 me in these times that there is a faint aroma of 
 the stye about the young man who returneth to 
 his father." 
 
 That was all they said about Holdsworth. 
 They never discussed him more fully than that. 
 Indeed, it happened that Tom Valliant remained 
 in ignorance that there was anything else to say. 
 Crozier was singularly charitable for a man who 
 had knocked about in the world. He was at 
 heart a sailor, and sailors are undoubtedly the 
 most charitable men on earth in a simple, 
 straightforward, honest way. It may also have 
 been some memory of dangers passed through 
 together, of clays spent on sunny seas beneath 
 a cloudless sky, that prompted this ex-sailor to 
 conceal his knowledge of William Holclsworth's 
 history, for when a man claims you as a ship- 
 mate he invokes a very strong spirit of com- 
 radeship. Crozier would have liked to warn 
 Elma also against this man, subtly and vaguely 
 as he had warned Tom, but this he could not do. 
 There was no course open to him beyond leaving 
 it to her pure maidenly instinct (which is a 
 
 211
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 wondrous sure guide) to detect the ring of false 
 metal. He did not know that Holdsworth had 
 warned her himself by a stupid blunder. 
 
 The singer now changed the subject. He 
 spoke of the concert, and incidentally mentioned 
 that Wilson Leonard had been there. This led 
 to the disclosure of a fact of which Crozier had 
 hitherto been ignorant — namely, that Dr. Leo- 
 nard's secret was almost public property at St. 
 Antony's. 
 
 " By the way," Tom said, " I was told to-day 
 that he was back at Myra's. There was some- 
 thing serious between Leonard and Syra, I believe, 
 when he was a student. The fellows say that 
 they were engaged at one time. At all events I 
 know that he was always there, watching her 
 every glance and movement. He tried, I believe, 
 to get her away from the place, but she would 
 not go governessing, and I suppose it would 
 hardly have done for the fiancee of Wilson 
 Leonard, Esq., to have served behind a genteel 
 counter." 
 
 "I am very very sorry for the fellow," said 
 Crozier. "He is making a muddle of his life." 
 
 212
 
 BUBNT FINGERS. 
 
 " Well," answered Tom, with a sudden laugh, 
 " I suppose, in the eyes of the disinterested 
 observer we all do that. It certainly seems as 
 if he were burning his finders, but that a^ain is 
 a common practice. We do it in different ways, 
 that is all. Even I, old man, I, the practical, 
 the light-hearted, the callous, have been doino* so." 
 
 More confidences. Crozier rose suddenly from 
 his seat and poked the fire. He moved about 
 the room and took up the evening paper casually, 
 looking at the advertisement columns with deep 
 interest. Leonard's tale was bad enough, but 
 Crozier would have given a great deal, for reasons 
 of his own, to be spared this. 
 
 " Yes," he was compelled, however, to murmur. 
 
 Tom Valliant sat quite motionless in the deep 
 arm-chair, waiting until his friend should be 
 seated or still. His slim white hands were 
 clasped round his knee. His head was slightly 
 on one side, and he was very pale — paler perhaps 
 than usual. His lips, which were thin and sensi- 
 tive, were parted slightly, and his heavy eyelids 
 seemed to weigh wearily over his eyes. It was a 
 beautiful face, of a delicate and super-refined 
 
 213
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 mould, but there was strength in it too ; the 
 patient enduring strength of a woman. Such a 
 face as that is always a stud)', frequently a lesson. 
 But just at that moment it was not pleasant to 
 look upon. It was the face of a miserable and 
 hopeless man. 
 
 The singer stood on the hearthrug with his 
 elbow resting on the mantelpiece. He held the 
 evening paper in his hand and was still studying 
 the advertisements. The contrast between these 
 two men reached even into the tiny subtle dif- 
 ferences of carriage and attitude. Valliant sat 
 with his fingers interlocked around his knee ; the 
 attitude was a favourite one with him. Crozier 
 stood, and moreover he stood squarely and in- 
 dependently. The arm resting on the mantel- 
 piece was not supporting his weight. He never 
 clasped his hands or interlocked his fingers. His 
 limbs (if the expression be comprehensible) never 
 supported each other. Do you see the difference ? 
 If not, it must be the fault of this halting pen. 
 It exists ; it is in glaring evidence around us 
 every day, but we go on — go on wilfully and 
 deliberately — ignoring the resemblance that most 
 
 214
 
 BU EXT FIXGEBS. 
 
 assuredly will be found between a man's mind 
 and his limbs. In either attitude lay the story 
 of an existence. 
 
 There was a singular stillness in the room for 
 a few seconds, then Tom Valliant spoke. 
 
 " When," he said reflectively, " a man is shut 
 up for a fortnight in a country-house with a girl 
 whom he has been trying to avoid for the last 
 three years, the chances are rather in favour of 
 burnt fingers." 
 
 The singer was reading the paper no longer. 
 He had not moved, but his eyes were looking 
 over the journal, presumably into the folds of 
 the heavy red curtains. 
 
 '• You talk," he said at length, in measured 
 tones, " as if there were points of resemblance 
 between your case and Leonard's. I do not see 
 those points." 
 
 He stopped for a second and brushed aside his 
 moustache with a quick movement of the fingers. 
 
 " Some day you will," said Tom, in that 
 moment, but in such a low voice that it seemed 
 probable that Crozier did not hear. 
 
 "Of course," continued Crozier, tranquilly, 
 215
 
 TEE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " you may call it burning your fingers if you 
 like, but it is only a pleasant fable. Leonard 
 cannot possibly marry Syra, it would only lead 
 to endless misery, and a few months of un- 
 happiness is better than a lifetime : you could 
 marry in six months if you chose to work. 
 Leonard has good prospects, but they would be 
 ruined by marriage with a barmaid, whereas your 
 work would be assisted, if anything, by your 
 marrying and settling down. His people would 
 cast him off, yours would be delighted at the 
 idea. ..." 
 
 Suddenly Tom interrupted him with a merry 
 laugh. 
 
 " You are the greatest architect I know," he 
 exclaimed. " Your castles are a triumph of 
 artistic excellence — but, my friend, the building 
 material is only found in Spain. It has just 
 struck twelve, I must seek my humble dwelling ; 
 Craven Street looks well at midnight." 
 
 He rose and put on his top-coat with a great 
 display of energy. Crozier smiled, without how- 
 ever losing the thread of his discourse. 
 
 " Personally speaking "... he hazarded depre- 
 216
 
 BURNT FINGERS. 
 
 catingly, but lie got no further. He moved 
 away from trie mantelpiece towards the window 
 and drew aside the heavy curtain, looking search- 
 ing! y into the night for some seconds. There 
 was no visible motive in this action, for it was a 
 clear moonlight night, and there was no question 
 of rain. He did not even look upwards to the 
 sky, but across to the dark houses ojiposite. He 
 turned and allowed the curtain to fall back into 
 its place, crossing the room in a vague peculiar way. 
 
 " Personally speaking," he began again, as if 
 with a slight effort, " you are the only man I 
 know who is good enough — for her." 
 
 " Thank you, Sam," said Valliant simply. He 
 was ready to go, with his hat set jauntily upon 
 the back of his head. He moved towards the 
 door, followed by his companion. 
 
 " I don't see how you can imagine that there 
 is an obstacle," said Crozier, almost argument- 
 atively, wdien they w r ere in the passage. 
 
 Tom turned on the doorstep and shook hands. 
 
 " Some day you will see it," he said ambigu- 
 ously. Then he ran lightly down the steps, and 
 walked away into the shadow without looking back. 
 
 217
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 THERE are certain definitions of human 
 character which have acquired in use a 
 meaning never conveyed by the words spoken. 
 To be called a creature of impulse is to-day a. 
 compliment. This, perhaps, arises from the 
 melancholy fact that impulse as a human incen- 
 tive is dying away from amongst us. We are 
 becoming so wise, so prudent, so self- suppressing, 
 that we rarely act, either for good or evil, without 
 thinking twice upon the matter. 
 
 Now Impulse, like Prudence, is a double-faced 
 hussy. Once she goads us towards good, and 
 we, hesitating, leave that good undone. The 
 next moment she will urge us towards evil, and 
 again we draw back. This sounds like a doctrine 
 
 218
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 of counterbalance, but it is nut such. Impul- 
 sive goodness is superior to slow beneficence. 
 Bis dot qui cito clat. While impulsive evil is 
 less loathsome than wrought-out, thought-out 
 wickedness. 
 
 When it is stated that William Holdsworth 
 was a creature of impulse, it is therefore con- 
 veyed additionally that he possessed redeeming 
 virtues. 
 
 The influence exercised over him by the mere 
 presence of El ma Valliant was not a good one. 
 Her beauty made him jealous that other men 
 should have eyes to see it also. Her sweet and 
 cheerful individuality did not soothe his spirit. 
 The effect of it was to cause wild schemes of 
 winning her to flit through his brain — unscru- 
 pulous schemes, most of them, smacking of the 
 convenient sophistry of the sea-lawyer. The 
 impulse given to his soul was that of evil, and 
 being open to the movements of mental impulse, 
 he succumbed readily enough. 
 
 Once he sought to poison her mind — gratuit- 
 ously and with no definite aim — against the man 
 to whose Quixotic beneficence he owed more 
 
 219
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 than he cared to think about. Indirectly he 
 endeavoured to lower Tom Valliant's position 
 in her estimation by careless hints of misdoings 
 in London, and — grossest error of all — he never 
 lost an opportunity of blowing his own trumpet. 
 
 Women are most wonderfully tolerant of 
 vanity, conceit, and bumptiousness in young 
 men, much more so than their brothers ; but 
 their love (at least if they be true women) has 
 never been won by virtues of which the happy 
 possessor has been the first to make mention. 
 In other words, a woman never loves the man 
 we love. Most of us manage to convey, sooner 
 or later, to her whose love we seek the picture of 
 a wonderful individuality which we modestly 
 take to be our own. But — if we win — it is not 
 that individuality which she loves ; it is another 
 which she constructs for herself. This latter 
 creation is probably as far from the reality as 
 our own, but if she elects to blind herself into 
 the belief that we are the incarnation of an 
 impossible human being, it is wiser to refrain 
 from too close inquiry, or enlightenment. 
 
 Elma never loved William Holdsworth. The 
 220
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 thought of it never entered her head. She con- 
 sidered him very pleasant to talk to, for he had 
 a thousand little tales of adventure to tell, such 
 as women love to hear. Of these he was with 
 suspicious invariety the hero, and with clue 
 modesty he related them. He had pleasant, 
 hearty ways with him, and he was neat and 
 clever with his hands as most sailors are. Per- 
 haps she flirted with him, just a little, in an 
 innocent childish way which was beyond his 
 comprehension. There was that glamour of an 
 evil past in his favour, and it rendered him 
 interesting in the sight of this inexperienced and 
 imaginative girl. Truly the ways of innocence 
 are strange. To-day Elma is no longer a girl, 
 she is no longer a young woman even. She has 
 passed through sorrow and great joy. She has 
 smiled in the sun, and she has wept in the 
 shadow. She has known many men and women, 
 and their characters have been patent to her 
 understanding. Yes, she is most certainly an 
 experienced woman of the world, but that sweet 
 fascinating innocence has never left her. It is 
 
 like pure snow, which makes the shadows that 
 
 221
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 lie upon it look beautiful. Nothing will ever 
 sully the purity of her mind. I do not think 
 she will ever believe in the existence of evil pure 
 and simple. With her it is nothing worse than 
 negative good. 
 
 William Holdsworth was a constant surprise 
 to her. Little virtues and pleasant accomplish- 
 ments were for ever turning up at odd moments. 
 ]n a semi-interested way she made a sort of 
 study of him — such studies as young men make 
 of maidens, and thoughtful maidens make of men 
 — studies made in a purely contemplative spirit ; 
 mere observations on the ways of human nature. 
 We all study at that school, but we never learn 
 to keep away from the fire ; to keep a firm hold 
 upon our contemplative hearts. 
 
 Elma Valliant was far from expecting an 
 immediate result to her investigations, but this 
 came a few weeks after Tom had returned to 
 town. As usual, luck was against Holdsworth, 
 but for once he did not recognize the fact. Luck 
 in this case consisted of a dimly-lighted con- 
 servatory, where a soft pink glow lay on the 
 delicate flowers ; where the atmosphere was 
 
 919.9
 
 A CREATUBE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 heavy with the melancholy odour of refined 
 white blossoms such as stephanotis, tuberose, and 
 lilies of the valley. There was music also in a 
 distant room, the voice of a violin in the cunning 
 hands of a poetic Italian, who made the instru- 
 ment wail out the waltz-tune softly. Every- 
 thing was against Holdsworth — dead against 
 him. And El ma was at his side, just a little 
 breathless, the flowers on her dress a little 
 crushed, and the lace rising and falling rapidly. 
 The moment was propitious for the study of 
 human nature, and Elma saw it in a new 
 phase. 
 
 Holdsworth was glancing at her sideways. 
 They were quite alone in the conservatory. The 
 path of virtue lay before him bright and smooth 
 just then. 
 
 " Elma," he said softly, " do you remember 
 years ago when the canal was full there were 
 boats upon it ? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered, wondering, "I re- 
 member." 
 
 " And once we had a large picnic in two 
 boats above Scar Lock." 
 
 223
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " Oh yes, I remember, and you had a fight 
 with a little boy." 
 
 Holdsworth wondered uncomfortably whether 
 she recollected that the boy was considerably 
 smaller than himself. 
 
 " Yes/' he said, " I was going to remind you 
 of that fight. Do you know that the quarrel 
 originated with you. I wanted to be in the 
 same boat as you. It is long ago, Elma. We 
 were quite little then, but the boy who wanted 
 to be near you is of the same mind still." 
 
 He stopped and laid his hand upon her wrist. 
 Elma experienced a sudden sense of chilliness all 
 over. There was an obstruction in her throat, 
 and she prayed inwardly that something might 
 happen suddenly — as it does in books — to pre- 
 vent him saying more. But nothing did happen. 
 The music went on, and there was a vibration in 
 the floor as of people dancing. In a dark corner 
 of the conservatory the monotonous drip — drip — 
 of a tap imperfectly turned made itself heard. 
 Holdsworth had taken her hand within his 
 fingers now. 
 
 " I know," he said, " that I have done little 
 224
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 good in the world. I have had a hard fight to 
 keep straight, for luck has been against me from 
 the very first. Every one has given a helping 
 push to the man who seemed destined to go 
 down-hill. The one thing that saved me, the 
 one thought that encouraged me was the remem- 
 brance of that little girl — the little queen of my 
 boyhood. Through hardship and danger, through 
 hope and despair, I have thought of that little 
 girl and wondered whether she remembered the 
 boy who fought for a place at her side. When 
 at last I saw the old country again, the golden 
 heath and the placid old canal, the only question 
 I asked myself was, £ How will Elma greet me ? '" 
 
 He was very earnest, but in the impulse of 
 the moment he was reeling off lies most impru- 
 dently. Elma also was of an impulsive nature, 
 but, strange to say, she was quite calm and 
 self-possessed now. She made no attempt to 
 release her hand from his grasp. She felt his 
 other hand at her dainty waist, but she left it 
 unmolested. His very earnestness should have 
 carried her away ; the thrilling tones of his deep 
 voice so near to her ear should assuredly have 
 
 vol. I. 225 15
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 touched a maidens heart. But it must be re- 
 membered that Elma was no longer a girl in her 
 teens. No one, it is true, had ever spoken to 
 her in such tones as these before ; no one had 
 held her hand in such a grip as this, but there 
 are some situations in life in which instinct is 
 infallible while experience is useless. A young, 
 heartwhole girl would have succumbed to the 
 man's power of wooing. Elma found herself 
 criticizing the sincerity of his words. To some 
 people the quick knowledge of wise action, which 
 is vaguely called presence of mind, only comes 
 when the danger is actually upon them. For 
 some time back Elma had, in her more thoughtful 
 moments, contemplated the bare possibility of 
 this avowal, but Holdsworth's manner had de- 
 ceived her ; his lightness of heart had instilled a 
 false confidence. And now that the moment 
 had come she was equal to the emergency. She 
 was actually thinking how she should word that 
 which she had to say to him. 
 
 Suddenly she rose ; but he remained seated. 
 She stood in front of him and looked down at 
 his stalwart form. Strange to say his eyes were 
 
 226
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 averted instead of seeking hers. Again he 
 reminded her of Samuel Crozier. No two men 
 could have been less like each other in nature or 
 face, but there was some subtle point of resem- 
 blance in the manner in which they held them- 
 selves — a suggestion of past discipline through 
 which both alike had passed. 
 
 " Willy," she said, gravely, " when I heard 
 that you had come back I was very glad indeed, 
 because I thought that it would lead to the 
 renewal of an old friendship. If you say any 
 more you will shatter that friendship utterly, 
 and nothing can ever patch it together again." 
 
 "I suppose," he said, almost humbly, "that 
 you look upon me as a hopeless ne'er-do-well, 
 an idler and a vagabond — a sort of person in 
 fact whom no lady in her senses would ever 
 think of loving." 
 
 This appeal was clever. It had paid well 
 upon former occasions. He rose and stood 
 beside her with real and earnest dejection 
 depicted on his handsome face. 
 
 " No," she answered, " I suppose nothing of 
 the sort. It has never entered my head to pass 
 
 227
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 a mental judgment upon you or your doings. If 
 any of us had thought what you suppose, we 
 would not have been insincere enough to assume 
 a friendliness we did not feel. If," she continued 
 with sudden contrition, " if I am to blame in 
 this ... if, I mean, I have led you into any 
 mistake I am very, very sorry." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders in a deprecating 
 way, as if to imply that his own feelings were 
 of secondary importance, and yet to insinuate 
 that he had received no light blow. The move- 
 ment betrayed a certain knowledge of women 
 and their ways, for nothing appeals so strongly 
 to the female heart as its own sympathy drawn 
 " nolens volens " towards a strong man who 
 rather avoids than seeks it. By that slight 
 shrug William Holds worth placed himself in 
 this position with regard to El ma. He was 
 thus the victim of a flirt — a simple straight- 
 forward man deceived and ruined in happiness 
 by a pair of coquettish eyes. And moreover he 
 fully believed it himself, for it is a part of some 
 characters, especially those that possess weakness 
 and strength strangely mixed, to deceive them- 
 
 228
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 selves with even greater success than thev 
 deceive others. 
 
 " I suppose," he said in a dreamy way without 
 looking at her ; " I suppose there is some one else." 
 
 This cool supposition put forward in a vaguely 
 meditative way, not untinged with a hopeless 
 despair, was calculated to leave Elma in rather 
 an awkward position. It was distinctly a ques- 
 tion, and yet she could not take it as such and 
 tell him tragically that he had no business to 
 ask it. If she treated it with silence the infer- 
 ence would be that the supposition was correct, 
 and I have already said that no man had 
 hitherto spoken to Elma Valliant of love treated 
 personally. Farther than that it is neither wise, 
 courteous, nor instructive to peer into her heart. 
 Of course you may infer. We may all infer, in 
 our great astuteness. And what wealth of in- 
 ference may be drawn from the fact that this 
 dainty little maiden was out of her teens, and 
 that she had moved in both country and town 
 circles, looking upon men with those dangerously 
 innocent eyes of hers, without having heard a 
 word of love ! Of course we all clamour that 
 
 229
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 the reason of it is that she did not want to, and 
 that she had managed very well to slip out of 
 dangerous positions. But why did she not want 
 to ? Here I must leave you, being out of my 
 depth, and a poor swimmer in troubled waters. 
 
 She looked down at her companion without 
 a blush. 
 
 "I do not see," she said, " what that has to 
 do with the question." 
 
 He was very much in love with her in his 
 way, and he could not quite persuade himself 
 that she did not love him. This latter is a way 
 we have in our masculine modesty. We cannot 
 f nlly realize that the young person whom we 
 honour with our youthful affections can do other- 
 wise than love us most consumedly. It would 
 only redound to her infinite credit and good 
 taste. This happy blindness, however, lasts no 
 length of time, and I am told that when a man 
 does win the love of a woman — the great, glorious, 
 unreserved love — his first feeling is one of fear. 
 He is thereafter divided between a sense of his 
 own utter un worthiness and a vagaie uncom- 
 fortable feeling that he has got more than 
 
 230
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 lie quite bargained for, or knows what to do 
 with. 
 
 Holdsworth was, however, untroubled by an}' 
 such misgivings as these. He was still in the 
 first happy period of conscious irresistibility, 
 because perhaps he had never won the love of 
 any good woman. And although it would appear 
 that Elma did not love him yet, he was fully 
 and pleasantly convinced that it was only the 
 matter of a little more time. Had he looked up 
 into her face just then he would assuredly have 
 thought twice over this conviction, or had he 
 taken the trouble to study a photograph of Elma 
 which was gradually fading in his mother's album 
 he might never have said the words that came 
 naturally to his lips. There is a pleasant and 
 harmless little theory (doubtless leading — as most 
 theories do — to nothing) that photographs are 
 more natural than they are usually considered. 
 If a man shows you a likeness of himself, and 
 the face delineated is that of a weak and vapid 
 person, custom and politeness bid you abuse the 
 sun and the artist. It is not the face you are 
 accustomed to see. But it is just possible that 
 
 231
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 you have never seen the real face — only a mask ; 
 because masks are worn as successfully to hide 
 weakness as to conceal strength. The photograph 
 may cause you to think about your friend ; may 
 awaken suspicions or arouse questions ; and if it 
 does, the result will be a verdict in favour of the 
 sun. Thus, fierce people who smile sweetly upon 
 the world will unconsciously assume a ferocity of 
 demeanour before the camera ; and people who 
 possess a dainty little square chin, like Elma 
 Valliant, will poke it forward, and impart a 
 sense of determination to their features which 
 the softest of eyes cannot counteract. 
 
 But Holdsworth had not studied the faded 
 photograph (which, by the way, had been con- 
 demned as a bad likeness), and was in total 
 ignorance of that little square chin, which was 
 at this moment singularly noticeable. 
 
 "Well," he muttered doggedly, "I believe 
 you love me, and I simply won't take no. I 
 shall go on hoping, Elma, as long as I live." 
 
 Ah ! human nature ! Yes, human nature, for 
 women are no better than men ! There is nothing 
 to choose between us. One would almost imagine 
 
 232
 
 A CREATURE OF IMPULSE. 
 
 that Holds worth did not know that a week's 
 absence would make him forget all about Elma 
 Valliant — that he was ignorant of the dormant 
 feeling towards the girl whom Crozier had rescued 
 from his clutches — a feeling which held his 
 vacillating heart as nothing else had held it, 
 and which for want of a comparative name must 
 perforce be called love — love as understood by 
 William Holdsworth . . . and the rest of us. 
 
 " I will never," said Elma, with dangerous 
 calmness, " be bullied or frightened into loving 
 you. Surely you know me well enough to 
 recognize that." 
 
 She turned half away from him, and moved 
 towards the door, but before she had taken two 
 steps his arms were round her, crushing her 
 painfully. With sudden passion he kissed her 
 twice on the lips, and strange to say she made 
 no resistance. Then he released her with equal 
 abruptness. She stood for a moment, while he 
 looked down at her, breathing hard ; then she 
 raised her gloved hand, and pressed back over 
 her ear a tiny wisp of golden hair that had 
 escaped and curled forward to her smooth cheek. 
 
 233
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 When at last she spoke, there was in the tone of 
 her voice a withering contempt, a cool fearless 
 despisal, infinitely more cruel than the hottest 
 indignation. 
 
 " You do not know," she said, " what love is." 
 And without another word she left him, walk- 
 ing away quietly and without haste. In the 
 drawing-room she found her father standing with 
 his hands behind him watching the dancers with 
 his genial hearty smile, and slipping her hand 
 within his arm she stood beside him. 
 
 kc&s\j?r 
 
 234
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 INTRUDERS. 
 
 WITH inexplicable dilatoriness Tom Valliant 
 wasted his time at Saint Antony's. Some 
 weeks had elapsed since the publication of the 
 book so successfully illustrated by him, and its 
 career was assured. A second edition upon 
 superior paper with a view to doing better justice 
 to the engravings was already in hand, and offers 
 of work, and well-paid work, were showered upon 
 him. Artists of standing* began to ask each other 
 whose pupil this new man was, where he had 
 acquired his art, and from whence he came, but 
 publishers asked no questions, they wanted to 
 secure his pencil, and not his past. These clear- 
 sighted readers of the public taste knew better 
 than to cavil at a man's work because it was 
 the emanation of genius, untaught callow genius, 
 
 235
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 instead of straiglitlaced talent. Some of them 
 even went so far as to oppose Samuel Crozier's 
 advice, boldly telling Valliant to shun all art 
 schools. I have an immense respect for the 
 astuteness and foresight of the average publisher, 
 and it would almost seem from a study of facts 
 that these Philistines were right, and the thought- 
 ful singer wrong. The kingdom is plentifully 
 stocked with art schools. No small town is 
 complete without an establishment of this de- 
 scription, duly connected with the head-centre 
 in London. No doubt the popular taste, the 
 artistic feeling of the multitude, is raised by their 
 agency, but do these schools produce artists ? 
 It would appear not. Frenchmen come across — 
 unwashed, untaught, merry Frenchmen, if you 
 please — who have never looked upon a plaster 
 cast in their lives with the intention of drawing 
 it, and they illustrate our newspapers as we can- 
 not illustrate them ourselves ! Italians — long- 
 haired, melancholy Italians — come and hang upon 
 the walls of our exhibition-rooms pictures painted 
 with a delicacy and truth which make our best 
 wielders of the brush feel humble. Hard smok- 
 
 236
 
 INTRUDERS. 
 
 ing Germans sit down in our engraving shops, 
 and bend over the Frenchman's drawing with 
 a result infinitely creditable. And the worst of 
 it is that these men are totally without artistic 
 training. Some of them, indeed many of them, 
 have actually never been taught at all. The 
 age is essentially artificial, but are we not making 
 a mistake when we take it for granted that art 
 can be taught ? From the statistics of art 
 schools as regards their production of artists it 
 w T ould seem that education hUh instead of foster- 
 ing this delicate growth. 
 
 Tom Valliant did not deign to explain whether 
 he was guided in this matter by his would-be 
 publishers or his natural laziness ; but he treated 
 all suggestions of study in a hopelessly jocose 
 spirit, which entirely killed any argument upon 
 the subject. 
 
 ''In much study," he would say in a tone of 
 which the solemnity led many to believe that 
 they had been crushed by a Biblical quotation — 
 "is also great vanity! I am not vain, but as 
 long as people are willing to buy I am willing to 
 draw T things as I see them." 
 
 237
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 He undertook to illustrate a story to be 
 brought out shortly in a magazine ; began slowl} 7 , 
 and suddenly became interested in it, finishing 
 in a few weeks in such a manner as to make the 
 publisher come forward at once with a handsome 
 bid for the monopoly of his pencil, which, 
 however, he refused. 
 
 Withal his name was still upon the books of 
 St. Antony's Hospital, and he attended lectures, 
 and put in an appearance in the dissecting-room 
 in a desultory way. When questioned he laughed 
 carelessly, and talked vaguely of going on to 
 the end of the term, when he would see what 
 turned up. In his attendance at Myra's, how- 
 ever, he was very regular, much more so than 
 Sam Crozier liked ; but, like a wise man, the 
 singer made no comment — indeed he did not 
 appear to notice it. 
 
 " It seems to me," Syra said to him one 
 evening, in her neat, clipping way, " that you 
 are an adept at letting things slide." 
 
 Valliant had just left them, accompanied by 
 some rather uproarious friends, bent upon 
 visiting a transpontine music-hall of doubtful 
 
 238
 
 INTRUDERS. 
 
 reputation, merely, he explained, with a view of 
 studying human nature in a new phase. 
 
 There was no mistaking her meaning, and 
 Crozier did not pretend to. He smiled slowly 
 in answer to the thinly-hidden bitterness of her 
 tone, and looked at her with a quizzical tolerance. 
 
 But there was no answering smile in her 
 peculiarly lifeless eyes, and the sad lips were 
 firmly closed. 
 
 "I can't see why you do it," she added, 
 impatiently. 
 
 He was smoking a cigar, which he removed 
 from his lips before leaning his elbow resignedly 
 upon the marble counter. 
 
 " Parables ! " he said with mock humi- 
 lity, " parables which this thick head cannot 
 elucidate. " 
 
 " Why did you let him go to that place 
 to-night \ " she asked, as she turned aside and 
 washed some glasses noisily. It almost seemed 
 as if the matter had a greater interest for her 
 than she cared to show. Crozier did not always 
 understand Syra ; she interested him greatly, 
 and he studied her at times with a kindly and 
 
 239
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 tolerant keenness. He frequently forgot that 
 she was only a barmaid — a creature whom you 
 and I, gentle reader, would not expect to possess 
 any human interest at all, any feelings worthy 
 of our virtuous consideration, any thought above 
 vapid flirtation across the counter. Steeped in 
 vice she must of course have been to the tips of 
 her pink fingers, her calling vouched for that ; a 
 living decoy, her trade and profession was to 
 entrap the unwary, to lure innocent and con- 
 fiding young men to their destruction, and to 
 sell her smiles with the liquor she handed across 
 the counter, to the highest bidder and the 
 deepest drinker. 
 
 It was a strange friendship, and one, we all 
 know, infinitely discreditable to any one pre- 
 tending, as Crozier sometimes did, to the title 
 of gentleman. 1 will not attempt to defend 
 him. He himself would not have done so, 
 labouring as he did under the reprehensible 
 notion that so long as his motives were clear 
 and honourable to himself the rest of the world 
 was at perfect liberty to look on, criticize, and 
 find fault, just so much and so long as it pleased. 
 
 240 
 
 I
 
 INTRUDERS. 
 
 And in this matter Tom Valliant's welfare was a 
 strong and visible motive. 
 
 They quarrelled in a semi-serious, semi- 
 mocking way, these two strange beings, and 
 moreover they loved quarrelling with each other 
 and no one else in the world. Through the veil 
 of mockery there peeped occasionally something 
 more serious. At times there was a second 
 meaning behind the " staccato" abruptness of 
 the girl or the man's tolerant cynicism, and 
 these tiny shafts of truth were never lost. Thus 
 they had learnt to know each other very well, 
 better perhaps than each in turn suspected. 
 
 Samuel Cuozier and Tom Valliant were, as 
 Syra had once said, different from the rest of 
 the frequenters of the little bar beyond the thick 
 curtain. This difference may have been a mere 
 creation of the girl's fancy (for even a barmaid 
 may possess imagination, poor soul !), but it is 
 certain that they occupied a different place in her 
 mind. The one with his grave good-breeding, 
 his suggested cynicism, and his quiet way of 
 telling home-truths ; and the other with his 
 everlasting good spirits, his assumed chaff, and 
 
 vol. I. 241 16
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 his sndlmo; mask were different in her imagina- 
 tion in so much as they were credited with 
 meaning. The rest had no meaning — they were 
 merely happy, thoughtless boys, or improvident, 
 reckless men. Some instinct told the girl that 
 there was a purpose in these two friends — a 
 purpose and another life of which " Myra's " and 
 their present day-to-day existence formed no part. 
 They belonged to a different world altogether. 
 From a hundred little incidents, a hundred pass- 
 ing 'gestures, momentary silences and veiled 
 glances she drew with the unerring insight of 
 her sex her own deductions. Though others 
 had not noticed it, the remembrance w T as patent 
 to her that never since they had first set eyes 
 upon each other had Samuel Crozier, in mere 
 reckless fun, or with that peculiar disguised 
 earnestness of his, addressed to her a word that 
 might have been turned into an expression of 
 love or admiration. On the other hand, Tom 
 Valliant was always doing so, but in such a 
 manner, with such lightness of heart and such 
 merry smiles, that there was nothing either offen- 
 sive or sincere to be understood or seized upon. 
 
 242
 
 INTRUDERS. 
 
 In this lay a greater part of the difference. 
 Crozier might inexplicably treat her at times as 
 if she might have been a lady ; Valliant might 
 bring her flowers and cast comically languishing 
 glances over the decanters ; but Syra looked 
 through these outward manners and saw that 
 she was but a passing incident in their lives. 
 She saw, however, more than that. Depraved, 
 lost, fallen as she might have been (though we 
 may reserve an opinion on this subject — we men 
 who in our wider travels have come upon virtue 
 in rocky places), she was a woman still, and a 
 woman in something more than the baser in- 
 stincts that prompted her to bring out the 
 daintiness of her cheeks by a touch of rouge, 
 to make the most of a perfect figure, and to 
 wield such arms as she possessed without quarter 
 or reserve. She looked through the veil which, 
 although worn so differently, was of the same 
 texture, and what her lifeless, hopeless eyes saw 
 there was the shadow of another woman, and 
 illogically, without just cause or reason, she had 
 taken the thought into her head that the shadow 
 on both lives was cast by one form. 
 
 243
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 By way of reply Crozier shrugged his shoul- 
 ders. Presently, however, he vouchsafed an 
 explanation. 
 
 " I allowed him to go, Syra, because I could 
 not stop him." 
 
 " Indeed. Because you could not stop him. 
 Not because you are one of the people who 
 habitually let things slide ; who, rather than 
 find yourself involved in an argument, shut 
 your ears placidly to lies and let misery grow up 
 all around you ? " 
 
 The singer rose from his seat and took up his 
 argumentative post before the fireplace leisurely, 
 with his back against the corner of the iron 
 mantelpiece. 
 
 " No," he answered, " no. As you have done 
 me the honour of asking the question, I reply 
 unhesitatingly that it is not because I shut my 
 ears and let things slide. Moreover, misery is a 
 growth which is quite natural, and I am informed 
 even necessary, to the existing state of things. 
 I am not interested in its cultivation at all." 
 
 He allowed her some time to reply, but she 
 continued drying and placing upon the counter 
 
 244
 
 IXT RULERS. 
 
 in an inverted position certain small tumblers, 
 without showing any wish to continue the 
 conversation in this channel. 
 
 " I don't think, Syra," he murmured gravely, 
 and with some meaning, " that my eyes are not 
 more often closed than those of other people." 
 
 She raised her expressionless orbs to meet 
 his and closed her lips with a defiant twist to 
 one side. She was not afraid of him, and showed 
 it boldly. Before speaking she shook out the 
 damp glass-towel and laid it on the coffee -urn 
 to dry, all with a curving of rounded arms and 
 curling of pink fingers which was second nature 
 to her now. 
 
 " The atmosphere you breathe and the life 
 you live," she said, with mocking demureness, 
 " are hardly calculated to make you go about the 
 world with your eyes shut." 
 
 He looked up to the ceiling as if inhaling the 
 atmosphere of the room. 
 
 " Xo," he said innocently, and with a weight 
 of meaning. 
 
 " Oh," she said lightly, " I speak for myself as 
 
 well." 
 
 245
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " Which," he suggested with a twinkle in his 
 deep-set eyes, " places me in good company." 
 
 " I doubt it," she said bitterly, and turned 
 away. 
 
 Presently he crossed the little room and took 
 his seat on a high mahogany stool near the 
 counter. For some time he smoked slowly, 
 examining the quality of his cigar between 
 each puff. 
 
 " Syra," he observed reflectively at length, 
 " Kome was not built in a day." 
 
 The girl was at the far end of the counter, idly 
 glancing at the columns of a newspaper. 
 
 " So I have been told," she replied, without 
 looking up. " But," she added after a moment, 
 " I doubt whether it would ever have been built 
 at all if . . ." 
 
 She broke off with a short, mirthless laugh 
 and turned the newspaper impatiently, afterwards 
 placing both her elbows upon the counter and 
 bending low over it. 
 
 " I was going to be rude," she explained, 
 abruptly. 
 
 Crozier was looking at her in a speculative 
 246
 
 INTRUDERS. 
 
 manner, his deep-sunken eyes very grave and 
 sympathetic. 
 
 " Syra," lie said, with quiet masterfulness, 
 " the better I know you, the less I understand 
 you . . ." 
 
 " Oh, for goodness' sake," she interrupted, "do 
 not let us discuss me ! You once told me that 
 it was bad taste, and worse than unprofitable to 
 discuss oneself or one's feelings with, anybody 
 whomsoever." 
 
 " So I did," he allowed, with memory as 
 unerring as hers ; "I had no intention of 
 bringing forward the topic . . . you mention, 
 beyond insinuating in the most respectful man- 
 ner possible that it has either been my individual 
 misfortune to do or say something which has 
 displeased you, or some event has occurred to 
 worry you. If it is the former . . ." He stopped, 
 and taking the cigar from his lips, threw it 
 neatly into the fire. Then he slid off his stool 
 and went to the other end of the bar, where he 
 stood before her with his two hands resting on 
 the counter. "If," he repeated, "it is the 
 former, without knowing any details, I have no 
 
 247
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 hesitation in saying that the slight, or the offence, 
 was unintentional. " 
 
 She moved nervously and laid her hand upon 
 the paper without, however, looking up. His 
 tone had quite changed, and the alteration 
 afforded her a glimpse of the other man — the 
 man of drawing-rooms, the well-bred gentleman 
 whose place was certainly not beside that marble 
 counter. It was a rare glimpse, and no one but 
 Samuel Crozier afforded it. She would rather 
 have remained in the darkness of her station — 
 rather have listened to his easy cynicism than 
 the softer tones which fell so musically from 
 those trained lips — rather have laughed cheer- 
 lessly than have been oppressed by a nauseating 
 lump in her throat, which reminded her uncom- 
 fortably of the days when she could weep. 
 
 "You are not perhaps aware," she said, while 
 continuing to study the advertisement columns 
 closely, "that people are talking about you." 
 
 He raised his eyebrows indifferently. 
 
 " What a calamity ! " he murmured, with great 
 serenity. " May I inquire what ' people ' are 
 pleased to say ? " 
 
 248
 
 INTRUDERS. 
 
 "It is the connnon talk of Saint Antony's that 
 Mr. Valliant is going to . . ." 
 
 " Let us say the ' dogs,' " suggested Crozier, 
 seeing her hesitation. 
 
 " Yes, the dogs, although that is not quite 
 the expression. And your name is frequently 
 brought in." 
 
 " As showing him the way ? " asked Crozier. 
 
 She nodded her head, but made no further 
 reply. He tugged at his moustache pensively — 
 an action very rare with him. 
 
 " That is the sort of thing," he was reflecting, 
 " that Varden will be only too delighted to tell 
 Holdsworth, and Holds worth will be only too 
 delighted to pass it on." 
 
 Nevertheless he smiled at Syra's grave face. 
 
 "That cannot be helped," he said. reassuringly. 
 " All will be put right in time. He is going to 
 leave Saint Antony's at the end of the term. 
 Once away from there it will be an easy matter 
 to drop its associations and form more profitable 
 friendships." 
 
 She saw the semi-grave meaning of the last 
 
 words, but chose to ignore it. 
 
 249
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " He does not care a bit about any of these 
 men," she said, decisively. " He associates with 
 them, but they cannot be called his friends." 
 
 "You have noticed that too, have you?" 
 said the singer, selecting a second cigar. " I 
 bow to the correctness of your judgment. He 
 will probably go down into the country and 
 stay with his people. There he will come 
 under a new influence, and a fresh incentive to 
 
 The words were spoken with inimitable un- 
 consciousness. His careless attitude as he chose 
 a cigar and closed the case, preparatory to re- 
 turning it to his pocket, was that of a man 
 who was not giving his whole mind to the 
 subject of which he was talking. The choice 
 of a tobacco-leaf was at that moment of para- 
 mount importance. But Syra's dull eyes were 
 not taking him in as a whole. She disregarded 
 utterly his attitude ; and the measured indiffer- 
 ence of his voice carried no conviction to her 
 ears. Her entire attention was given to his 
 lips. During the course of their disjointed, 
 half- veiled friendship she had discovered this 
 
 250
 
 INTRUDER 
 
 weak point in his worldly armour, and the 
 habit had grown upon her of watching the 
 singer's thoughts, not through his impenetrable 
 eyes, not in his strong manly way of facing 
 joys and sorrows squarely and perhaps too un- 
 impressionably for a young man ; but through 
 the motion or the stillness of his trained lips, 
 for it must not be forgotten that he was a 
 professional singer. 
 
 " I am sure," she said, " I hope it will be 
 the case." 
 
 " It is bound to be so," he answered, re- 
 assuringly, but very gravely. Then his manner 
 suddenly changed, and at the same moment 
 Syra moved restlessly, and had Crozier looked 
 up he would have seen a dull patch of red 
 beneath her eves which was not there a moment 
 before. Both had heard a voice in the outer 
 bar wishing Myra a good-evening in unusually 
 quiet and sympathetic tones. 
 
 " Come, Syra," said Crozier, a little hurriedly, 
 " this will never do ; we are getting quite 
 serious. The future, and especially the future 
 of some one else, is not worth getting serious 
 
 251
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 over. We two should know that by this time. 
 I must be off. Good-nio;ht ! " 
 
 He raised his hat, drew back the curtain, and 
 confronted Wilson Leonard, whose arm was 
 actually stretched out towards the heavy folds. 
 
 Crozier nodded, as if the young doctor were 
 a regular habitue, and betrayed no surprise 
 whatever as he passed on. 
 
 " Hallo, Leonard," he said, genially ; " how 
 are you ! I'm just off to the club to see the 
 Paris papers. Good-night, old fellow ! " 
 
 }&&#• 
 
 252
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 syea's secret. 
 
 fTIHERE is a sad want of economy in everyday 
 -*- life. It is like a very large book with a small 
 plot and few incidents. We take a long time 
 to do very little ; in fact, to use a technical 
 expression, there is too much padding. The 
 real incidents, the real crises, and the actual 
 successes and failures are of short duration. 
 They usually come and go in a few minutes 
 with their attendant emotions. The pleasure 
 of a great success is after all a passing joy. A 
 man succeeds, and lo ! in a few weeks he is 
 accustomed to success — it thrills him no longer 
 — its joy is dead. He longed for success : it 
 has come, and yet he is the same man. He 
 gets up in the morning, eats, works, and sleeps 
 
 253
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 again, as lie did before. Eating is no greater 
 pleasure, sleep is no more restful, work is no 
 less monotonous. 
 
 Hope and regret are alone long lived. These 
 two are the padding of our lives, the fine writing 
 in the novel which goes on and on, from page 
 to page, with a few incidents thrown in here 
 and there to break the paragraphs. Hope is all 
 sweetness, and regret is bitter sweetness. In 
 excess they clog the taste, just as too much 
 fine writing wearies the reader. 
 
 To suit the hurried days in which we live 
 the novelette has been invented. I wish that 
 we might have the power vouchsafed to us 
 of reducing the weary volumes of our daily 
 existence. Why can we not live lifelettes ! 
 Reduce volume one by beginning at the end 
 of it : id est, at the end of childhood. Scurry 
 through volume two and reach the beginning; 
 of number three. All the incidents could be 
 detailed in a few pages. I could reduce thirty 
 years to five, and get into that space all the joys 
 and sorrows, the hopes and aspirations, the suc- 
 cesses and the failures, the laughter and the 
 
 254 

 
 SYBA'S SECRET. 
 
 tears. No neglect of necessary detail would 
 result, no scamped work. In that time the joys 
 would be thoroughly enjoyed ; the sorrows 
 treasured with a certain melancholy pride ; the 
 hopes disappointed ; the aspirations crumbled to 
 the ground ; the successes realized, and the 
 failures recognized. And all in a business-like, 
 shipshape manner worthy of a most practical 
 and estimable generation. 
 
 Poor, dear, slow old Nature is getting sadly 
 behindhand. Her system of managing human 
 affairs is effete. She must either work in more 
 incident or reduce her detail. We have too 
 much getting up and washing and drying, and 
 eating and drinking, and going to bed again. 
 When our family bibles credited us with seven- 
 teen years we were twenty-five, and instead of 
 making up her lost time Nature gets more and 
 more behindhand as life goes on. 
 
 Most assuredly Syra thought such thoughts as 
 these when Wilson Leonard left the little room 
 which was called hers, only half-an-hour after he 
 had drawn aside the curtain to find himself face 
 to face with Samuel Crozier. Undoubtedly 
 
 255
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 some reflex of them passed through the young 
 doctors anxious brain as he hustled his way 
 through the crowded humanity of midnight 
 Strand. Half-an-hour — thirty minutes out of 
 all the millions — but thirty containing more 
 than three thousand. That half-hour left them 
 both older ; both wiser, the preacher will say ; 
 both better . . . tvlio will say ? Not I, for one. 
 
 When Crozier left the inner bar Syra turned 
 a pale set face towards the new-comer. Why 
 had Wilson Leonard taken to frequenting Myra's 
 again ? 
 
 And so they looked at each other for a brief 
 moment over the decanters, across the daintily 
 arranged counter. Dull lifeless eyes looking into 
 eyes that were too sympathetic, too kindly for 
 their possessor's happiness in a world where 
 human sympathy is a hindrance. 
 
 Outside, in Myra's bar, there was the everlast- 
 ing sound of frizzling chops, spluttering kidneys, 
 and seething steaks. One or two male voices 
 were raised in merry altercation, and there was a 
 laugh — a single throaty laugh — occurring with 
 weary regularity at short intervals. Crozier, had 
 
 256
 
 SYRA'S SECRET. 
 
 he heard it, would have said with quiet humour 
 that the laugher was supping at somebody else's 
 expense. Years afterwards Leonard heard that 
 laugh again in a room full of gaily-dressed people, 
 and it brought back to his nostrils the sickening 
 odours of cooking meat, damp sawdust, tobacco- 
 smoke, and beer. Before his eyes it raised a 
 picture of gaudy bottles rising in tiers to the 
 ceiling, and before them, amidst them, the most 
 beautiful face he had ever known. It recalled 
 the dull eyes, where life and a great hopeless 
 misery were struggling for mastery over an 
 indomitable will ; and into his heart it poured 
 a sudden flood of wretchedness which over- 
 whelmed all other feeling, quenched all resistance, 
 and made him for a moment no better than a 
 dead man. 
 
 Leonard raised his hat in silent salutation. 
 His lips indeed did move, but no words came 
 from them. The girl bowed her head slightly 
 and busied herself with some glasses. The 
 silence was becoming irksome. 
 
 " What can I give you ? " she asked, in a 
 business-like tone. 
 
 vol. i. 257 17
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 He looked round almost stupidly, and stooped 
 to examine a brilliant label on a whiskey-bottle, 
 in a singularly interested manner. 
 
 " Oh . . . I'll have some coffee, please." 
 
 She handed the cup in a careless, nonchalant 
 way, which was not calculated to forward Myra's 
 commercial interests. 
 
 " You have grown very abstemious," she said 
 lightly. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, stirring his harmless 
 beverage leisurely. " I have to be more careful 
 now-a-days. I need all my steadiness and all 
 my nerve. They are my stock-in-trade." 
 
 Her eyes, resting on him, were almost endowed 
 with life, but she soon turned away and went to 
 the end of the counter, where she sat down 
 wearily. 
 
 " I once told you," he began in a critical way, 
 " years ago, when I was a student, that a couple 
 of years of this work would kill you." 
 
 "It is three years since you told me 
 
 that." 
 
 " Yes ? " he murmured interrogatively. " Three 
 
 years ago, is it ? " 
 
 258
 
 SYRA'S SECRET. 
 
 " And here I am still. I am not to be killed 
 by work it seems." 
 
 She spoke in a hard discouraging voice, as if 
 the subject were utterly distasteful ; as if no 
 possible end could be served by discussing it. 
 
 " As I came along just now," said Dr. Leonard, 
 looking into her eyes for the first time since he 
 had come in, "I was wondering why you stayed 
 here." 
 
 " Ten shillings a week," she answered promptly, 
 " and all found ! " 
 
 It was a splendid farce, but her flippancy was 
 not successful. She could not even laugh at it 
 herself. It fell very flat, and there was utter 
 misery in the air. 
 
 " I asked you once before," continued Leonard, 
 ignoring her explanation, " if you would let 
 me find you some other work — something easier 
 and quieter ; and something less ..." he hesitated 
 for a word. 
 
 " Degrading . . . ? " she suggested. 
 
 " Yes," he said, looking at her gently — " de- 
 grading." 
 
 Beneath his gaze the poor girl turned away. 
 259
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 He came nearer to her, so that only the breadth of 
 the marble counter was between them. Standing 
 there with his arms resting on the clear space 
 before him where no decanters were, he looked 
 down at her where she sat on an inverted mineral- 
 water case. Her face was averted, her hands were 
 clasped together. She was almost crouching at 
 his feet — crouching gracefully in her close-fitting 
 black dress, with the beautiful golden head bent 
 and turned from his sorrowful eyes. 
 
 It seemed that at last he had conquered — that 
 at last his stubborn manliness had triumphed over 
 her power of will. 
 
 " You have had many opportunities that I 
 know of for bettering your position. Many 
 better . . . places have been offered you. You 
 know you are far too good and . . . and lovely for 
 this sort of thing, and yet you stay. It cannot 
 be from love of the work — that is impossible. 
 You do not pretend to be devotedly attached to 
 Myra. Why do you stay % " 
 
 She moved restlessly, drawing in one neatly- 
 shod foot and dropping her arms to her 
 side. 
 
 260
 
 SYRA'S SECRET. 
 
 " Ten shillings a week," she repeated, " and all 
 found." 
 
 " Syra," he said gravely — the habit of calling 
 her Syra was still with him — " Syra. For 
 heaven's sake don't copy Tom Valliant. Don't 
 throw away your life as if you had many to 
 spare. It is the only one you have. Is this ? " 
 — he indicated the bar, the bottles, the smoke- 
 begrimecl room — " is this your idea of life. Do, 
 for goodness' sake, think what you are doing." 
 
 Suddenly she rose and glanced at the clock, in 
 obvious hopes that the theatre-goers would soon 
 be coming in. 
 
 " Oh ! " she answered, with an impatient sigh, 
 " I am thinking what I am doing. I have thought 
 about it so much that I am sick and weary of the 
 whole business." 
 
 She turned her back upon him and dusted the 
 bottles with a worn feather duster. 
 
 " Then leave this place." 
 
 Then she threw away the duster and turned 
 upon him sharply, resting her two hands upon 
 the counter. 
 
 " Why ? " she asked, with flushed cheeks and 
 261
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 eyes that glowed for once. " Why do you take 
 it upon yourself to dictate to me ? " 
 
 " Because I love you," he answered simply. 
 "You know that. I told you three years ago, and 
 it is the same now as if I had told you every 
 day since. Every man has a right to try and do 
 something for the woman he loves. Is that not 
 so, Syra ? " 
 
 Still she resisted, and in reply to his question 
 merely shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 Then he took her hand, pink from constant 
 contact with warm water and damp towels, moist 
 from beer-drippings. 
 
 " Is that not so, Syra ? " he repeated. 
 
 She made no attempt to draw her hand away, 
 but looked at it dreamily, as if comparing its 
 pinkness with his white slim fingers. No answer 
 to his question came, and presently he con- 
 tinued — 
 
 " If you will not tell me why you deliberately 
 throw away every chance, why you stay here 
 against the advice of everybody who takes any 
 interest in you — Crozier, Myra, myself — every 
 one — I must simply draw my own conclusions. 
 
 262
 
 SYBA'S SECRET. 
 
 You stay, Syra, to be near some one ! Who 
 is it?" 
 
 She raised her head and looked at him. Her 
 lips were pressed upwards and sideways with 
 that pathetic twist ; there was defiance in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " You ! " she answered, coolly. 
 
 For a moment he ceased to breathe, and when 
 at last he spoke there was a break in his voice 
 like a sob. 
 
 " Oh ! " he exclaimed, in a low, unsteady tone, 
 " what a muddle we have made of it 1 " 
 
 "No," she answered, "we have not. You 
 have made a mistake — a terrible mistake — in 
 coming back, that is all." 
 
 He slowly withdrew his fingers from round 
 hers, and moved away a few steps, where he sat 
 wearily down upon one of the high mahogany 
 stools near the counter. He leant his elbow on 
 the marble, and pushing his hat on to the back 
 of his head, sat holding his forehead in silence 
 for some moments. 
 
 "Why?" he asked. "Why have I made a 
 mistake ? " 
 
 263
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 She looked at him for some moments without 
 repl) T ing. Had he raised his eyes then he would 
 have soen the quivering tears in hers. He would 
 have seen the beautiful face transformed to some- 
 thing still more beautiful — purer, holier, loftier; 
 lightened by a glow, the pure and glorious illu- 
 mination of a great unselfish love. A dog can 
 ]ove like this, can we — dare you — deny it to a 
 barmaid ? How pitifully small is the basis upon 
 which turns the axis of a human existence ! Had 
 Leonard raised his eyes he could not have with- 
 stood the magnetism of her glance ; he would have 
 asserted his manhood, the rights of his devotion. 
 His greater passion would have conquered her 
 noble resistance, and a splendid surgeon would 
 have been lost to suffering humanity. As it was 
 he only heard her words, spoken in a coldly 
 modulated monotone. 
 
 Ci Surely you must know," she said, " that I 
 could never marry you. I have seen too much 
 of this . . . degrading . • . existence to be able 
 ever to settle clown into humdrum married 
 life. T am too fond of admiration, too much 
 accustomed to it, to live without it until — well, 
 
 264
 
 SYRA'S SECRET. 
 
 until there is nothing left to admire. I should 
 he miserable in a year, and so would you. It is 
 only in books that such things come right. 
 Misery and nothing but misery could ever come 
 of it, and you know it." 
 
 He shook his head without looking up, but it 
 was a wavering denial. He knew it, but what 
 could he do ? 
 
 "Could things be worse ?" he asked hopelessly. 
 
 "Yes, I think so," she replied more softly. 
 "I am sure of it. This . . . this wretchedness 
 cannot so on loner- In a few vears it will be all 
 right. Something may happen — something must 
 happen. If we married we should find out the 
 utter folly of it in a year, and think of what we 
 should have to face then." 
 
 Like the proverbial postscript to a woman's 
 letter, the true thought, the inward secret 
 motive of her heart came last. She must have 
 been very sure of her power over herself and 
 over the man before her, or she would not have 
 dared to speak the words. 
 
 "Besides," she added, as she moved a little 
 and pretended to be attending to her duties — 
 
 265
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " besides, you must think of your own family. 
 You must think of your career. It would be 
 ruined. The great absorbing desire of your life 
 would be entirely frustrated if you married 
 a . . . a . . ." 
 
 " Syra," interrupted Dr. Leonard, "for God's 
 sake, don't be so hard upon yourself ! " 
 
 "It is best to look things in the face," she 
 answered, in a dull voice. Then she broke into 
 a sudden laugh which was terrible to hear, it 
 was so utterly devoid of mirth, so hopelessly 
 miserable. 
 
 " In ten years," she continued recklessly, " we 
 will laugh at all this." 
 
 He winced at the sound of her voice, it was so 
 cruelly harsh. Perhaps he realized for a moment 
 what a terrible struggle was going on behind that 
 lauodi, but he never knew the full extent of 
 it. He could not. It was an impossibility for 
 him to realize what this girl was sacrificing for 
 his sake. She was right — of course she was 
 right — in the principle. They would not have 
 been happy together ; but who is ? AYho is 
 entirely happy when the glamour fades away ? 
 
 2G6
 
 SYBA'S SECRET. 
 
 And it is currently supposed that a few years' 
 rejoicing in that glamour are worth the risk of 
 what may follow. Soit — so be it ! Let us shrug 
 our shoulders and go on our way. We must live 
 and understand it not, grieve and comprehend it 
 not, rejoice and lose the joy. Our lives must be 
 lived in a state of semi-blindness, of wishing to 
 see more, to understand a little more the point 
 of it all. 
 
 Syra's had been a joyless life. Beauty had 
 been given her, for what ? A great temptation — 
 nothing; more. Intellect of a certain keen order 
 had been vouchsafed to her, to the furtherance 
 of what end ? That she might have thoughts 
 above her station, that she might dream of better 
 things and realize that they were beyond her 
 reach, that she might raise herself from the lower 
 rungs to the glorious position of barmaid in a 
 Bohemian drinking den. Think of this, my 
 sisters ; think of what she was throwing away — 
 and tell me why she was born. 
 
 "Tell me, Syra," said the young doctor 
 presently, " has it always been . . . me ? " 
 
 "Yes," she answered simply, "always." 
 267
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 He rose from his seat and went nearer to her. 
 His soft mournful eyes met hers over the arrayed 
 glasses and decanters. 
 
 " Then you must marry me," he said stubbornly, 
 " and we will go away and try our luck in some 
 other country." 
 
 "No," she answered gently; "no, I will never 
 do that. I have heard the students talking of 
 you, and Mr. Crozier has told me what others say 
 of you. You have a splendid career before you — u 
 follow it, and . . . for heaven's sake doii t come 
 here ! " 
 
 But he merely shook his head. 
 
 " No," he answered, " I cannot agree to that ; 
 I must come until you give in or go away. You 
 don't know what torture it is to me, Syra, to 
 think that you are here, a prisoner from morning 
 till night, a slave who has to smile upon the first 
 comer and do his bidding. It ought not to have 
 Lasted so long as this, but I never knew . . . 
 You hid it from me too well. I thought it was 
 Tom Valliant." 
 
 " No," she murmured. 
 
 " Or Crozier," almost suspiciously. 
 268
 
 SYRA'S SECRET. 
 
 She ceased her occupation of arranging some 
 small coffee-cups and saucers upon a shelf behind 
 the counter, stopped abruptly, and left the task 
 half done. 
 
 " Oh no," she said slowly, reflecting gravely ; 
 " I admire him very much. He is a better man 
 than he himself is aware of, which is very rare. 
 It was better, perhaps, that you should have 
 thought that I cared for him, because .... 
 because it has made you what you are. I think 
 w r e are all the better for having met and come 
 under the influence, however slight, of Sam 
 Crozier." 
 
 She finished with a shadowy, pathetic smile, 
 as if half ashamed at the vehemence of her own 
 words, and at "the same moment there was a 
 sound of mingled voices in the outer bar, accom- 
 panied by approaching footsteps. 
 
 " Here they come," she whispered. 
 
 " I am sure," he said hurriedly, lingering a 
 moment, "that it will all come right in the 
 end." 
 
 But there was no assurance in his voice, no 
 gleam of hope in his eyes. 
 
 269
 
 THE PHANTOM FUTURE. 
 
 " Why should it ? " she asked bitterly. " There 
 is no reason why things should come right. It 
 is so much easier for them to go wrorjg." 
 
 And he turned away from her, passing out of 
 the little room, sick at heart, with her hopeless 
 tones still ringing in his ears. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 041770055